He floated in utter darkness. Complete silence and pitch black. He tried to move but couldn't. The darkness, a strong force, tightly prevented him.

Where was he? What was happening? 

He felt like a glitch lost in the depths of his very own mind.

Then, somewhere in front of him, a light began to configure. It grew bigger and brighter until shapes took form. It was an expanding picture— no, a vision. There was a person sitting on a bed in front of a wide window. He peered closer as the vision grew clearer.

The person looked young and familiar, like a boy from his school, like... like someone he recently met. He gasped when he realized who it was.

Jin.

Jin was sitting on a bed in front of a wide window. There were many mirrors attached to the white walls of his gloomy bedroom. He was staring sorrowfully down at an old photograph he was holding, sitting next to a bouquet of white flowers, a tear trailing down his round face.

"I don't know how to save them" he whispered.

Taehyung wanted to yell, "Save who? Where am I?" But before he could even open his mouth, the image in front of him flashed and changed.

This time, he was standing in a dark street. In front of him was Namjoon, his best friend, yelling hysterically and trying to open the door of a telephone booth.

Namjoon was crying out his name. "Taehyung." 

Taehyung wanted to reach out and grab him, but he couldn't move or do anything, except watch him. Giving up, Namjoon kicked the door of the telephone booth and fell to his knees sobbing.

The image in front of him flashed and changed again.

This time, he was standing in the hallway of a hospital. Nurses and doctors were running around. Suddenly, on the far end of the hallway, a patient dressed in white slowly walked into view and turned to examine a dismal painting of a forest. Although Taehyung could only spot the back of the person's head, the patient looked familiar... like someone he knew...

Once again, his vision flashed and he changed location.

Why was he seeing all this? What is happening?

This time, he was standing solidly in a place most familiar to him: his own home. It was fearfully, dreadfully silent like someone was holding their breath from shock. He peered down at the hollow wooden boards of his apartment's floor, shattered glass of liquor bottles stippled around his feet. He squinted and saw... saw blood spattered on the floor. He blinked as the unwavering shapes of his hands slowly rippled into view. Blood dripped from his own fingers and onto the floor.

He screamed and his eyes flew open.

He was lying on the cold cement of the same street he had collapsed on. He pressed his hand against his head, realizing that it was still hurting. Without saying a single word, he scuffled to his feet, numb from the cold, and began running home.

But there was nothing inside of his home that was the least welcoming and hospitable. His steps became slow and heavy, until it felt like he was pushing forward with metal dumbbells strapped to his feet.

"Take it slow, Tae," he whispered to himself, breathing heavily. 

Stopping at a park bench near a pack of chained bikes, maybe six of them if he counted, he sunk down and scanned his dark surroundings. He was near an old, vintage light turquiose car parked alongside the green scenery and across the street from the town's most famous street sign. Even in the dim lamplight he could read what the gray street sign said: Kim's Bakery, Telephone Booth, and Book Store. Trees surrounded his area, a perfect place for nostalgic photographs.

Footsteps were heard, growing louder. A dark figure of someone walking, maybe a girl, began to pass him. He turned his head, but eyes still half closed.

"Hello," he said weakily to the stranger. "Can you help m—"

But the footsteps had only became more fast paced as the person rushed away, without turning back.

Head rolled to the side, he blinked tiredly into the night that stared back at him. Why was he treated like this? Like he was worth nothing and was nobody? No one ever paid attention to him. 

He moved up weakly and his hands went up in prayer. God would listen. His visions could have only been God-given after all. How else could he so perfectly envision boys that he had just met recently?

Jin in his fancy home holding eerie photographs. Namjoon crying in a photobooth. Jimin in a hospital. All of these were places in his sterile town that he recognized. 

Moreso, Taehyung knew that his visions were beyond imagination. It had happened before... visions that came true. But never as vivid and clear as these ones had been, and never potent enough to push him into uncousiousness in the middle of the street at night.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself upwards from the bench, stuck his hands into his pockets, and with his hoodie on and the diminutive amount of motivation and energy he had left inside of him, started walking home. Night in the city was beautiful in its own way— dancing balls of lamplight in his blurr of tears fighting to stay aboard, rustles of a breeze in the faithful trees, and empty streets he could roam to his heart's content. 

It did not take much thought to register the correct conclusion. His past experience, and the details of the settings his mind caught, confirmed it. He was convinced. It was so obvious, clear as the daylight of a summer day in Seoul.

He, Kim Taehyung, had seen the future. 

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