Chapter Text
Seokjin's icecream is almost gone and it's four in the afternoon. It's quiet where he sits in the cool golden silence of his living room, under the honey golden of the barely setting sun. It's warm. He has a bed and a furry family and a warm space. Happy things are always in his presence. But something more heavy lulls him to its attention. It's the solice of loneliness.
If loneliness has a scent, it will smell like laundry detergent and bleachy mop water. Loneliness has a movement, Seokjin knows, barely if any at all. It's a drifty lightweight. A weigh in which he floats through the present moment, it doesn't lurch him toward the the past or future, keeping him stagnant in the floating light of the mid afternoon in his living room, the light coming through his windows in rays, lighting the little dust specs that drift by like angels. Loneliness is iridescent.
Seokjin knows it all too well, he's felt it more times than he can count.
He lets the warm light from his living room window dip onto his awaiting arm, his arm hairs glowing a honey brown. He knows the feeling all too well. He holds it.
Loneliness has a sound as well. Sounds like ceiling fans going at all days of the year, no matter how cold or hot it is. It stays stagnant and constant in the background, whirling around and around, gathering dust and specs. But when he lays down for bed finally after a long day, the music of loneliness is louder than ever, still playing, more pronounced. It consumes him if he doesn't pull up his thick, oatmeal quilt over his head to block out its music.
It still whirls over his head.
It makes him grind his teeth, struggling to hold it under the thick blankets, regret sitting in his throat, holding heavy and fat, like a chunk of dust, a hair ball in the dark. He lets it scrape at the walls of his throat and prowl in the cavern of his chest.
Seokjin lets it simmer.
All of the objections and protest swallowed up and folded up neatly like a fat, porridge blanket.
He lets it cool.
Regretting the regrets bring more regrets, more of it to swallow. Seokjin's throat is now a linen closet, packed to the brim with quilts that he hasn't used since he last folded them.