Chapter Text
The only sound in Seokjin's apartment is the scratch of a pen on paper.
Envelopes lie scattered across the small, cluttered table. Some are torn open. Others are still pristine; he hasn't been brave enough to face their contents yet.
He scribbles a few more notes to himself: Grocery store Tuesday. Talk to landlord about paint job.
Then he lets the pen slip from his grip, dropping his head into his hands in an attempt to ease the ache he feels building behind his eyes. He only has a small lamp on to save on electricity, and he knows the dim light can't be doing wonders for his sight.
The digital clock resting on the cramped kitchen counter blinks at him. 11:33. He knows he should probably head to bed, but something about curling up on a mattress two inches from the floor doesn't appeal to him. Besides, the bedroom always feels colder than the rest of the house.
Cold seems to radiate from the floorboards, seeping through his layers of socks; he's lowered the thermostat as far as he can tolerate. Even pulling on all the sweaters he owns doesn't feel like enough to keep out the chill.
With a sigh, he pushes himself up and pads over to the kettle in the corner. Lunch today was half a banana and a bag of chips, and the growing emptiness in his stomach refuses to be ignored. He boils some water, then adds it to the cup of cheap, cardboard-tasting ramyeon that's become his nightly routine.
Running low. I need to restock.
The thought is like a weight dropped into the pit of his stomach. Another sticky note on the fridge. Another order he can't promise he'll follow.
Just when he's about to take a bite, the fridge's constant hum dies. The sudden silence presses in on him.
The lamp flickers. Once. Twice. Then goes out, leaving the apartment in darkness.
He can still see the vague outlines of the kitchen in the moonlight streaming in through the blinds: small two-burner stove shoved in the corner, empty cabinets, faded mats. But the problem remains: his power is out.
He wants to think it's just a temporary outage, but the bill sitting on the table disagrees.
His phone is in his hand before he knows it. At least it's close to full charge; it'll last until he figures this out.
He pauses, fingers hovering over his landlord's contact. Is calling worth drawing attention to this month's late rent? The landlord is usually good-natured about these things, but Seokjin can't help but wonder as he calls anyways.
The landlord picks up on the fourth ring. "Hello?"
"Hi," Seokjin says, trying his best to keep his voice professional even as his hands shake slightly. "Sorry, I know it's late, but my power just went out. Do you know what I can..." He trails off.
There's a pause. "Other units seem to have power. Have you checked the breaker?"
"Yeah." His throat closes around the next words.
The landlord sounds politely bemused. "Well, then. Um. I don't know if there's anything I can do tonight. Maybe try getting an electrician over soon?"
"Okay," Seokjin whispers. Then he hangs up before the landlord can ask if the utility company has sent out any notices.
He wishes he were the kind of person to call an electrician and schedule a visit without counting how many days he could stretch his groceries with that money instead.
The cup of ramyeon has already begun to cool. His stomach complains loudly, but he ignores it.
For a few seconds, he simply stares at the dark refrigerator.
He sinks into one of the kitchen chairs and presses the heels of his palms against his eyes until bursts of color bloom behind them.
Think.
He needs to think. Call the utility company tomorrow. Figure out how much he owes. Figure out how much is left in his account. Figure out what can wait.
The landlord. Groceries. Internet. The medication refill he's been putting off.
Everything pours in at once, sweeping him away in a wave of envelopes, dripping faucets, and sticky notes with impeccable, cramped handwriting.
His eyes burn unexpectedly. He blinks hard, willing away the hot, stuffy feeling behind them. The last thing he wants is to cry over a power bill.
But the tears come anyway. Not many; just enough to blur his vision.
A few drops hit the table, and he wipes them away at once. Silly, he thinks. Nobody is here to see. Still, he scrubs at his face with the sleeve of his sweater and forces himself to breathe slowly. In, out. In, out.
Eventually the tears stop as abruptly as they started, yet the exhaustion remains.
He sits there for several more minutes, staring at nothing in particular while the ramyeon grows cold beside him. When he finally reaches for it, the noodles are swollen and unpleasant.
He eats them anyway, because he can't afford to waste a single bite.
Afterward, he rinses the cup in the sink and leaves it upside down to dry. The routine comforts him slightly. A small task, something he can actually finish.
His phone flashlight guides him through the apartment as he checks the locks one final time. The habit feels pointless; after all, he's sure nobody would want anything he owns. Even so, he checks, then checks again.
Only when he's satisfied does he retreat to the bedroom. The room is colder than the rest of the apartment, just like always.
He crawls into bed fully clothed. There's an indentation on one side of the mattress; he shifts a few times in an attempt to find a comfortable position before giving up. The cold settles under his skin, undeterred by the tangled heaps of blankets.
The darkness feels different without power, bigger somehow. The apartment around him seems to disappear, leaving only the cold, distant glow of moonlight and city life.
Pulling the blankets up to his chin, he curls up on his side. Tomorrow. He'll figure it out tomorrow.
He repeats the promise until he almost believes it.
One hand slips out of the blanket to trace the cool grain of the wooden floor. His eyes remain open for a long while, staring at nothing.
Finally, he sinks into sleep.
Seokjin is swimming in an inky-black ocean. Dark clouds loom in the sky before him; sheets of rain whip the roiling surface of the water into a frenzy. His limbs are already growing heavy as he struggles against the crashing waves.
But it's okay, because he can just barely make out some sort of land on the horizon. If he makes it there, he knows he'll be safe from the storm.
A wave crests, pushing him back several feet. He kicks frantically in order to keep his head above water. Some part of him has just realized how deep this ocean is, miles and miles of freezing water and darkness.
Water rushes into his mouth and nose. He coughs violently, trying to rid his lungs of as much of it as possible, but taking a deep breath now feels impossible. His legs are like lead, heavier than normal, dragging him back down into the watery blackness.
He's so close. Just a little further.
No matter how hard he kicks, movements increasingly wild and desperate, he only sinks further beneath the waves. He can no longer see the overcast sky, only the murky water closing just above his head.
Darkness is creeping in at the corners of his vision.
Please, he tries to shout, but the words come out in a stream of bubbles.
And anyways, who's here to listen?
Everything is blurry. He sinks slowly, eyes unfocused. His lungs still scream for air, but it fades into the background somehow.
For reasons he can't quite understand, he reaches out a hand, up through the water, until he thinks he can feel the cool air caress his fingertips.
Then a warm, dry hand slips into his and yanks him up.
Sunlight spills over his face as his feet find solid ground. A slight breeze ruffles his hair, and green grass grows perfectly trim under his shoes.
But they aren't the duct-taped, dingy sneakers he's been using for years. They look brand-new, although it's been a long time since that was something he could afford.
"Come on!"
A shout from somewhere in front of him has Seokjin's head snapping up. The voice is low, musical, and the person it belongs to looks straight out of a dream. His wavy bangs flop into his eyes; his smooth, perfect skin seems almost to glow in the light.
He laughs again, gesturing with the baseball glove he wears on one of his hands. "Jin-hyung! Are you going to throw or not?"
Seokjin realizes he's holding a yellowed baseball. It doesn't occur to him to ask how this beautiful stranger knows his name. All he knows is that he's safe here, that he's not drowning anymore.
A smile spreads across his face, the wideness of it unfamiliar to him. He winds up and tosses as hard as he can, and a laugh bubbles up inside him as the stranger catches it.
It doesn't feel right to think of him as a stranger, somehow. Seokjin is sure they know each other, or at least have some connection. He can feel it in his bones.
There are others. A man with a grin brighter than the sunlight itself. A man with soft, delicate features, sitting on a windowsill. A man whose teeth show just a little too much when he smiles. Someone with cat-like eyes. Someone tall and strong.
All of them carry the same thread of familiarity, the thrum of connection. Seven hearts beating in unison.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, Seokjin is warm.
The golden glow of the scene begins to fade, but Seokjin isn't worried about it. He knows he'll see these people again soon.
When Seokjin wakes, he notices two things. One, it's sunny, which it hasn't been for weeks. And two, there's a soul mark on his hand.
A golden vine winds from the top of his index finger down the back of his hand, stopping a few inches below his wrist. Along it are six flowers; they vary slightly in shape and size, but they're very clearly part of the same plant.
A soul mark. He mulls the words over in his mind as he gets dressed for the day. Having a soulmate isn't something he's ever even considered: it isn't rare, but it's not exactly common. And besides, having not one soulmate, but six – as evidenced by the number of blooms – is almost unheard of.
It doesn't matter. He doesn't have the time to go chasing after soulmates. What he needs right now is to call the utility company, pay the overdue bills, figure his life out.
Still, he can't help but pause and run his fingers over the mark. Something about its bright hue tugs a blurry memory to the front of his mind: grass, sun, sky, and the feeling of security.
It feels like the most important piece is missing, but Kim Seokjin has bigger problems to worry about.