0112.

iii.

iii.

Some dreams are new but most of them were old ones. Sometimes he dreams of the same thing for a week. On other occasions, he dreams of nothing but black vast space flooding his vision. It gets tiring sometimes. There are nights where he wakes up covered in cold sweat and a lingering fear in his chest. For a brief moment, he sits there with his fists clenched, trying to remember the dream which made him feel this way—made him feel everything and nothing all at once.

Most of the faces he sees in his dreams are broken fragments—half a smile and a wave of hello. But they're all incomplete. He remembers, sadly, dreaming of a woman dressed in a bright yellow sundress and whose smile is just as bright and lovely. The dream felt real, like those cases where he feels something stir inside of him. It was comforting and he feels fuzzy inside. But he couldn't see her eyes. He couldn't remember how they looked like—or if he'd never seen them at all.

"Solipsism," He says as he peels an apple, trying to avoid looking up at the dark orbs watching his movements. "Have you heard of it?"

Jongin looks up to find the other male looking at him intently. His eyes are dancing excitedly. The corners of his lips quirk up but not enough to draw a smile. "A theory that everything around you only exists because of your consciousness. A belief that nothing in the universe exists but you who believes in the idea that your mind made everything up. Do you believe in it?"

"Not so," Jongin replies. Then, bit the insides of his cheek. His best friend often told him about it. He always talked about theories. Presentism, great glaciation, the multiverse theory, phenomenalism—there were so many of them. They were interesting and often made him think. He would write about them, too. But only for himself. "What do you think?"

"Maybe it's an escape," Kyungsoo says and his eyes drift past Jongin's shoulders to stare at the wall behind him. There was an abstract painting hung on the wall. Kyungsoo once admitted that he never liked it. He said the colors were dull and that the hospital doesn't need a very somber looking painting when it was already just that. "When the reality is too messed up, you could find comfort in the idea that everything around you was made up by your mind."

Jongin pauses then shrugs. "It's comforting to think that nothing exists but your consciousness. Bit depressing, but okay."

Kyungsoo nods with him. "It's nice to know that there's a chance that the number system doesn't exist."

He sees Chanyeol's face when he blinks and doesn't dare to close his eyes for a minute until he could no longer take it. The sight of him connected to all those machines made his head spin a little. Chanyeol... Chanyeol has a clock counting down to zero like everyone else except Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo..

Jongin studies Kyungsoo with his gaze. He looked frail, sure. On some days, he looked too pale. It was as if all the color in his body was being sucked out by the numerous machines strapped to him while he slept. Kyungsoo looked like he was dying, yet he looks more solid than Chanyeol ever was. His number was zero. He was the finale—the last kid. He will still be here when everyone else disappears. He will still be breathing that same stale air while everyone else draws their last breath. He would still be here, alive, while Chanyeol slept through his death. Kyungsoo would live through Jongin's death and everyone else's.

"I'd take that chance."

He'll believe in anything at this point—now that he no longer knows the difference between the reality and his dreams.