hotel_omelas | An autumn post office presence

Kim Seokjin lives so much of his life carefully. Everything is bound up in what's proper, in invisible rules that he follows just in case something he does makes it back to his father. None of those careful, unspoken rules dictate what he should do about going into a music store except, probably, that he shouldn't be spending 68,000 won on an acoustic guitar.

He sends a post about how he's about to make a terrible decision and something about Namjoon's dread encourages him. Maybe because he still remembers their talk about living by made up rules that make no sense. No one is going to care if he buys a guitar. It's not like learning an instrument will bring shame on his family. Why can't he try it?

What he decides on isn't particularly extravagant. It's a handsome guitar made of blonde wood, advertised as a 'starter' guitar. It comes in a simple case and he grabs a few instruction books too. There's no point in making a stupid impulse buy if he can't even figure out how to play it.

Rather than go straight home, Seokjin takes his new guitar and goes to the empty classroom instead. The abandoned piano sits in the middle of the room and Seokjin sits on the bench, propping the instruction book on the piano's sheet music ledge.

On impulse, he takes a quick selca and posts it, telling his friends where he'll be. After all, Yoongi did promise music lessons...

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Seokjin leans into it, only now realizing how stiffly he's been holding himself. He forces his shoulder to relax down and lets out a sigh at the stretch. It's going to take so long to cultivate anything worthwhile, getting his hands used to the process when they're already so naturally uncooperative.

"I was thinking of getting a video camera," he admits. "But I wanted to use it to record you and Yoongi at the piano or Hoseok and Jimin's performances. You can record me and tell me how bad I sound so that we can laugh when I get better." It's a strange form of optimism but it still feels a little more hopeful than outright self-deprecation.

"Heol," Jungkook remarks, blinking at the idea of a video camera. It's a great idea, though not one that Jungkook has ever personally considered before, not having enough spare pocket money to buy any camcorder of the quality he would prefer to have. Photography, cinematography — all of these forms are adjacent to the art that Jungkook loves most, composition bearing similarities across paper and film.

Capturing perfect moments and committing them to permanence.

"You should definitely get a camera! Not just for filming performances, but for the times we all spend together, too. Namjoonie hyung and I were talking about trying to wrangle all of us together for a trip sometime. Wouldn't it be nice to be able to film it? We can film while you're driving the truck."

Seokjin grins. "Yeah, he mentioned it to me too." There's always been an undercurrent to everything they say, to all of their daydreams. Every single one of them has so much he wants to escape that it's become the ultimate fantasy to pile into the car and go somewhere that none of it can touch them. Seokjin wants to drive away from his father's gaze, from his guilt and failings. He wants to go somewhere that he can just be a young man who loves his friends and plays guitar.

"Maybe somewhere warm, like a beach." Not that there's any beach anywhere in the country that's going to feel very warm this time of year, but if they're only dreaming, why not dream up the impossible?

"We'll make a movie about us, our lives, it'll be perfect."

"Ah, hyung! I love the water," Jungkook pipes up, brightening at the mere mention. He's always had a bias for the ocean, for the endless expanse of blue that he's seen in films, in photographs. It's been years since he's spent any meaningful amount of time at the beach, something he laments, considering the close proximity of the shores.

For some reason, he never gets much further than the Han River. Maybe it's a lack of time.

Maybe it's for the want of company.

"The beach sounds perfect. And yeah, a movie about us, that sounds great," Jungkook murmurs, tone slightly wistful. The thing about capturing memories, he thinks, is always the hidden implication — that such days won't last forever.

Jungkook goes from thoughtful and introspective to delighted in the space of a moment and Seokjin's reminded that he really is the youngest of them. Jungkook is so mature that it's easy to forget a lot of the time. It's why he fits in with them. Seokjin, on the other end of the spectrum, makes a point of being immature whenever possible.

"I've never had friends like you guys. A trip like that with the six of you would be perfect." And no matter what else happens, they'll always have those memories. Seokjin prays they don't drift apart but he knows it could happen. In a perverse way, that gives him hope. He's never feared it so much with other friends and now he feels like this is worth trying to keep.

There are times when Seokjin suddenly looks thoughtful in the midst of a close conversation - when his gaze turns elsewhere, not necessarily distant, but still somewhere Jungkook can't really turn his own attention. In this moment, Jungkook isn't sure what's caused it, but the sentiment that Seokjin shares isn't new. He's mentioned before that the six of his dongsaengs are the best friends he's ever known, and while Jungkook feels similarly about his hyungs, it feels different, coming from Seokjin.

For Jungkook, the idea of coming into these new, uncharted friendships is understandable given his age; in some ways, he feels like he's grown up with the other boys. But Seokjin is so kind, giving, that it's so hard to imagine that people haven't been flocking to him for all his life.

"Then let's go," Jungkook insists, one foot gently bouncing against the ground. "I'm sure that if we plan more, Namjoonie hyung and Taehyungie hyung can plan to have the days off. I know Namjoonie hyung really wants to go. Somewhere that doesn't feel so crowded like it is here in Seoul."

"Everywhere is too crowded for Namjoon," Seokjin says, not cruelly. He thinks it's because Namjoon has so much inside of him, so many thoughts and hopes and possibilities, that it's almost too much to put into one person. Take a person who's that stuffed full of potential and put him in a crowded place like Seoul and he feels like he might explode. It's how Seokjin feels lots of times and he's not any kind of match to Namjoon for intellect.

He closes his eyes for a second and imagines it. Somehow, they've found an empty beach and all they can hear are waves and seagulls and their own laughter. They're all safe and far away.

"We'll make it happen."

An autumn post office presence

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