SKELETONS. | J. JK

PART THREE

        Only sometimes, barely often, definitely not as usual as fifteen years ago, do Jungkook's dreams feel realer than what they actual are, which is saying a lot since dreams aren't real at all. He has read that different dreams have different meanings and reoccurrences, that dreams are his subconscious interpretations of his reality, that dreams are other parallel worlds where you live in during your sleep, that you can't dream about things or people who you never saw before— which is a blatant lie because he's sure he has never seen those fucking ugly creatures who ate calculators he used to dream about frequently before he had any math test.

He got to the conclusion, after an exhaustive search through some less credible websites that dreams could only mean absolutely nothing. They aren't real events and you could bullshit him about all that spiritual stuff about his pessimist vibes and broken astral shit but they are mere products of his imagination, that part of his brain that refuses to sleep along with the rest of his body. Not that he sleeps a lot either way.

"It's just a dream. It's not real."

He says that to himself a lot too. When it's dark at night and everything is deadly quiet, with the exception of the assertive tic-toc of the clocks around the house and the random clicks of the wooden cabinets of Taehyung's kitchen. "Wood relaxes during the night, so you hear little cracks here and there." Jungkook doesn't believe that's the reason but plays along because it is the only thing keeping him company when both Taehyung and Jimin are deep into their seventh sleep, every Thursday night.

(Because they are bros in their twenties and bros in their twenties do sleepovers every week to talk about cute boys, feelings and new makeup.)

Jungkook likes this perspective too because it allows him to drown the murmur that perhaps, maybe, he should look into a more profound explanation to which he dreams what he dreams. It also serves of some comfort every time he wakes in cold sweat and breathless and it takes him a few seconds to remember his own name.

"Dude, your dreams are intense." Jimin mumbles— drags his words out with great effort—, from his dark blue sleeping bag in front of Taehyung's coffee table in the living room woken up from whatever fuss Jungkook was making during his sleep, before he turns to the other side, yawns and goes back to sleep. "Try to sleep, Kook."

Jungkook knows he won't though. He squeezes his eyes and, fumbling up the floor till he finds his phone, he realizes the daily four hours of sleep are already over. Damn, it felt like an eternity.

He doesn't remember what he dreamed tonight— not yet, the flashes of memory usually spur during the day casually— and it eats him from the inside because he swears it felt so real, just a few moments ago. He will lie if someone asks him but it does bother him having all the feeling escape through his fingers. All the paint and the brushstrokes that completely disappear from the canvas that he won't get to recover later, in his impromptu studio, because he can never grasp the entirety of the dream again.

All he asks for is a couple lucid dreams. He has never had one of those before. Sometimes he still doubts if they really exist— dreaming about dreaming seems a more exact expression in his opinion— but, maybe, that's just the jealousy talking.

So, here he is, at 5:36 AM, laying on the heated floor of Taehyung's living room, challenging the darkness in a staring game. Jungkook likes to think he's being a good competitor but it's just wishful thinking if he has any chance to win. He's using the same sleeping bag he used on that camping trip from junior year at the lake, he remembers it fondly, the gleaming dew drops on the tips of the leaves, the smell of wet soil and Jinhee's dripping smile— that he later recreated in timid scribbles all over his history notebook. Rarely, he wonders what is of his high school crush, these days.