One day. Twenty four hours.

Jimin was watching the sunrise, his breakfast in his lap and mug of hot chocolate in his small hands, knuckles and fingertips a light pink, his nose and cheeks dusted just as so.

He was at the cliffs again, watching the beautiful sky. And then he looked down over the edge where his feet dangled. If he were to just scoot forward... just a bit.

Just a little bit.

He would fall into the rocks and the calmly dancing ocean.

He would be at peace. He'd be with his father.

He swung his feet, clad in sheepskin boots over the jagged rocks and roaring ocean. If he just scooted an inch.

And inch.