4. it's dark and cold at the bottom of the sea

                                    

                                          

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ Dream Interlude ✦✧☾.·:·.*
Jimin was lying at the bottom of the sea.
It was dark and quiet. He didn't move, let himself be gently tugged by the sea. He simply looked, cast his gaze upwards to what he thought to be the surface, even though it seemed very far away. He could barely make out the tiny spots of light that pierced weakly through where the water met the sky, somewhere up there. But here it was dark and quiet. And cold. So cold.
He lay there and watched and breathed.
No, he wasn't breathing; it was water, not air, that was filling his lungs, so icy that it hurt his chest and made his throat constrict.
The glittering surface above was faint and far.
It was so dark and quiet and cold. There were no animals or plants here, not even rocks, only infinite plains of greyish sand and black water.
Jimin felt like a decaying ship's wreck at the bottom of the sea, unbearably perpetual and withering at the same time. The waters continued to pull at him with impatient, icy fingers, dragging him across the pale sand. There's no rush, he wanted to say to the ocean swallowing him, I will not leave. But there was water in his lungs and mouth, so he stayed silent.
He floated heavily in the depths of the sea and looked, forever upwards. The dancing spots of light above him shone feebly like dying stars, and sometimes he wondered if he only imagined them, that his eyes desperately wanted to conjure up a distracting light in the all-consuming blackness that weighed so heavily around him.
It was dark and quiet and cold at the bottom of the sea, and all Jimin could do was watch the stars. They looked beautiful, he thought.
Beautiful and far away.
*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*
Jimin woke up bleary-eyed and confused.
Confused, because there was warmth clinging to his skin, enveloping his body with gentle, velvety hands. In fact, everything around him was so peculiarly warm and soft and pleasant, as if Jimin found himself still in a dream that had not yet succumbed to the harshness of reality. For the first time in a long while, there was no cold hard ground digging into his body, biting at his skin with sharp and greedy teeth until it was all numb and red, and the gnawing hunger that had long become a loyal companion to him was weirdly muted, leaving behind only a faint and bearable tugging in his belly.
It was dark around Jimin, but not frighteningly so; there was light spilling in from a slim crack across from him, a door left ajar. The darkness was light on his shoulders, not as preying and hostile as it used to be.
The memories came back sluggishly, gently lapping at his consciousness. Brown eyes. A soft coat against his shoulders, smelling of vanilla and something more, a tentative promise. Someone holding his face, brushing his tears away with hands so unimaginably tender and careful as if he, Jimin, were something precious, something that shouldn't be broken. Jimin reached up to his face and traced the shadow of the touch he could still feel so vividly on his cheeks, the memory lingering on his skin like a butterfly's kiss.
And for one moment, one split, foolish moment Jimin thought that he could get used to this, to waking up in a comfortable bed in a warm room where he felt...safe. Cared for even. But already as the thought passed his mind, he wanted to slap himself for his utter silliness. Don't get used to it, stupid. It'll only make it harder when you'll have go back there.