When the two of them meet, only in their dreams.
Every time, a different location.
Every night, a little more is learned.
Without knowing their true identities.
Park Jimin has much more to worry about rather than silly dreams. Bangtan's name has...
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?:?? ??
p.j.m.
The figure's breathing is ragged as I slowly released her wrist, softening my other hand over her mouth. She slumps, as if she's already given up on escaping my loose contact over her.
"Look, there's something out there," I lean closer to her ear, whispering instructions as calmly as possible through gritted teeth. "Try to make as little sound as possible,"
She nods quickly, and I hesitantly remove my hand from her face. A rush of cold invades my palm, where it used to be over warm skin of another.
This had to be a dream.
But the way everything seems so . . . lucid, is beginning to make me doubt it.
If this really is all part of my imagination, there's nothing I can do about it. I've already tried waking myself up, the hard way. Wringing my hands to remember, I relive the short amount of anxiety I had begun with when opening my eyes.
But there's no change. I can't even feel an ounce of pain.
I guess the only thing I can do now is survive through this nightmare.
Either way, it's better being in the company of a character from my imagination than being alone in the darkness.
I squint, trying to get a better look at the unknown figure's face, but I can barely make out a feminine silhouette, a pair of round glasses resting crookedly upon her nose along with a face framed by long, elbow length hair.
She's about my height,
. . . maybe a little taller.
Looks like my worst fear is confirmed.
"Who are you?" she suddenly speaks, keeping her voice down low as she glances back over her shoulder.
"Uh. . . I'm. . ."
If she's part of my dream, there's no harm in telling her anything, right?
