—

"Hello, welcome to Sunny Side Thrift Shop, how can I help you?"

Seokjin was beaming today as always. He sat perched behind the counter with his head in his palm and a smile on his face as he welcomed the incoming customer, a man with pretty periwinkle hair and backpack on his back. He was a regular at Sunny Side.

Momo was in the back taking inventory, and he, ringing up another customer.

As he handed the woman her change and receipt, he gave a gracious bow and waved her goodbye. The fan oscillated back in his direction, but it only spewed more humid air in his direction. Seokjin couldn't wait for fall to swing back around in their heaven. July's in the thrift shop were always a hot, sweaty mess. Nonetheless, he loved his job. So he would never stop trying to approach each new day with a bright and sunny attitude.

Since his passing, he felt much much lighter. And the people around him felt his renewing aura wherever he went, no matter how little or great the contact was. His personality, in essence, was radiant. Seokjin was like a sun that rarely set.

"Can I help you out with anything?"

The man with the purple hair could tell what kind of person Seokjin was as soon as he approached him in the men's aisle with all thirty-two pearly whites bared, but that did nothing to lift his dampened spirits. He was stuck in the mud for some reason these past few days. Thinking about it only made him feel worse.

That's why he was here.

"Yeah," He admitted willingly,"a bit actually."

"Don't be embarassed. At least you asked for help, most people are too afraid or irritated to do that." Seokjin laughed, patting the man's shoulder, "Anyway, how can I be of your assistance today?"

"I'm looking for something...— for something..." He kissed his teeth, "Sorry, I don't know how to put it into words."

The man ran his hand through his hair, looking around at the beach-shop theme of the store. The worn wooden floors creaked under his sneakers as he shifted his weight, lightly dusted by sand. A ceiling fan whirled slowly above him, and a sweet island song drifted through the speakers. When he looked again, Seokjin — as his name tag read — was staring back expectantly with doe-eyes: one steel grey, one brown.

He sighed, pinching his nose-bridge, "I dunno, like. Just something new and young, something that makes me feel renewed? Does that make sense?"

Seokjin shook his head, "I'm sorry to say we don't really have anything like that in stock. Most of the stuff here is vintage clothing."

"Do you...?" The man also shook his head, dismissing himself with a shy grin. "Nevermind."

"No, it's fine. You can ask."

"Seokjin, do you feel renewed by your death? Do you still feel like you mean something?"

Well,

that's certainly not what I was expecting.

He guessed he had been more caught off guard by the fact that this man called him by his name than the question itself. Because in reality, this was the very thought that pestered him every night, when the moonlight poured into his bedroom, and he was alone within linen sheets. When he sank into his mind and the shadows defined themselves among lucid dreams, the thought alone kept him awake. Before this, he was the only person to have asked himself these questions.

One year later, presently, that had changed.

"I do, actually."

Because a year ago, Seokjin's response would have been a white lie. Now though, it could not be any truer than time itself.

The man seemed surprised.

"And what is it?"

Seokjin skipped out of the aisle backwards.

"Wait here."

He skipped until he was leaned over the counter again, on the customers' side this time. An elbow rested against the countertop, he called back to his co-worker in the back room, "Momo!"

"Yeah?!"

"I'm going to be out awhile!"

The petite girl entered the front room with a pile of unfolded denims in her hand, dropping them on the tabletop between them with a huff. She brushed her blonde hair out of her face and looked up at Seokjin with a knowing smirk.

"You're leaving me here again, huh?"

"Only for an hour or so."

"Do you even know his name this time?"

"Yes I know his—" Seokjin flushed red as he realized he was in the wrong. Momo chuckled as her co-worker turned around and hollered to today's customer of choice, the man with the fading purple undercut,

"Wait, what's your name?"

The man stopped browsing the racks to reply,

"Namjoon."

"See? Told you I knew his name." Seokjin laughed as he took Namjoon's hand, "Me and Namjoon are going back to my place, 'kay?"

Namjoon felt his blood rush to his neck, eyes widening, "Wait, wha—?"

"Don't ask questions."

It was quiet as they walked under the sun, Seokjin taking the lead while Namjoon trailed behind. Cars drove past on the dirt road, but they stayed to the side, trotting over dewy grass and dandelions. Namjoon's converses were white, and grew dirtier with almost every step, but he guessed he could wash them after he picked Kanha up from day camp. After Seokjin took him to his home.

He still didn't know what the purpose was for him going there. Besides, it seemed that they were already there; when he looked up, the man was opening a chain link fence and at the door of a beachside bungalow.

Namjoon was hesitant to follow. He and Seokjin were complete strangers, was this right?

Then again, it wasn't like Seokjin could actually hurt him or anything. He'd been the only person who could hurt himself in this world. Only him.

They entered together. Seokjin stood off to the side, tossing his keys into a bowl in a side table and Namjoon waited at the doormat with a grin.

"Nice place."

Seokjin looked around at the small three-room flat, his furniture mix-matched like his eyes. He felt a bit proud, but not too much.

"Eh, it isn't much. S'very homey though." He gave his modest reply, before nodding Namjoon in another direction. "Come on."

Namjoon didn't understand. Everyone in this heaven had the chance to create their dream home. Why was Seokjin's so small? Why wasn't it filled with designer furniture and professionally designed, the way most souls' houses were? He didn't ask. He only followed him down the short hall until he opened a blue door, revealing a mattress and a closet, and screen doors.

Beyond the screen doors, Namjoon saw the beach. The landscape had completely mesmerized him with its beauty, just like everything else in the world now. And he wondered, even though things were much simpler now for them, how he could still feel so grey inside.

Seokjin accidentally slipped on a shirt that had been lying on the wooden floors, gripping the pastel-haired boy's shoulder for support. He jolted, but held him up. Seokjin chuckled sheepishly, picking it up from the ground as he tried to make a feeble explanation, "Sorry it's so messy, but um."

Namjoon stared at him, but no answer came. Instead he cleared his throat and went to the closet on the other end of the room. Namjoon sat on the bed.

Turns out, the closet wasn't all that small.

The doors were tiny, but in depth, the closet stretched about forty feet inward. It was more organized than his room, shelved shoes of all kinds on one wall and two racks of dress shirts on the other. Fascinated as he was, Namjoon did not want to seem nosy. He remained on Seokjin's mattress and waited ten minutes for his return.

And when he did return, he returned with a hoard of shirts and pants and accessories, folded and stacked above his head. Namjoon was in awe at the sight of both his strength and the collection of clothes in his arms as he waddled over to him.

"I kind of run my own thrift shop in here, I guess you could say?" Seokjin sighed, dropping the items on his bed beside Namjoon, "I don't know, really. I just have too many clothes for my own good, so I like to share them."

The boy smiled, hands on his hips as he observed the other, "I'm guessing by your outfit that you're into high fashion and aesthetics. Black turtlenecks, washed out jeans, baseball caps, leather jackets, peacoats, that kind of stuff. Am I right?"

And Namjoon grinned a little, "Maybe."

"Great!" He smiled, "Pick out whatever you'd like, I can tailor it to your size."

Except he purple-haired fellow's smile faded after a while, "Seokjin, thank you, but..."

"But what?"

"What is this all for?"

Seokjin sighed and sat beside him on the mattress, crossing his legs. It was silent for a while, in that way.

"When kids go back to school after summer break, what do they do?"

".... Cry?"

"No, they— well, you're not wrong." He laughed, picking up a wide-rimmed fedora and settling it atop the periwinkle hair, "The correct answer is they get new clothes, for back to school. They want a new start, a clean slate, so what do they do? Buy new clothes. Find a different style. Clothes can be that for some people."

"I guess you're right." Namjoon toyed with his slender fingers. He didn't seem very happy though.

Seokjin scooted closer.

"And I don't know you. I don't know you at all. Me and you probably have nothing in common except for that fact that we both need to learn to let go. It's hard and it sucks. I haven't even completely moved on from my life, if we're being honest. But in this world, letting go and purpose go hand in hand."

"You see, Namjoon, life on this side isn't at all about continuing life the way it was before; it's about starting over again. You can't let go without having a purpose, you can't find your way without letting go."

"That's the problem, Seokjin." He looked away, "I can't figure out my purpose."

Seokjin wanted to open his mouth to say more, but some things couldn't be helped. It became quiet again. Namjoon checked the time on his phone, because it was almost time for him to go pick up Kanha, and let out a sigh. His lock screen caught Seokjin's eye, and he grinned.

"Is that your daughter?"

Namjoon breathed out the answer in great content, "Yeah. That's my angel."

"Then you've found your purpose."

He looked at Seokjin like he'd sprouted horns then, so Seokjin chuckled.

"I mean, I'm no mom or dad but I know that your love for her must be out of this world. And I know that you probably want the best for her, so why not focus your energy into making sure she grows up right?"

"But I put her here."

"She still loves you the same, doesn't she?" He tilted his head.

"I..." Namjoon twisted his lips to the side, "I guess she does."

"Ah, Namjoon, you dwell on the past too much." Seokjin scolded jokingly, patting his new friend's shoulder as he had done in the store only half an hour ago. Namjoon brushed his hand off, slumping in his posture, "How can I not?"

"I took her away from her mother. She asks for her every day. I don't think she knows we're.... we're dead yet." His voice cracked, eyes landing anywhere and everywhere but in the other's own.

Seokjin shut his eyes, feeling a familiar fluttery feeling where his heart used to belong. He clutched the fabric over his chest, breathing a bit faster than normal. The world seemed like it was turning slower around him.

A steering wheel in front of him, black leather seats, a baby crying in the back seat.

Sake, vodka, schnapps, all on his tongue.

A fever, but cold sweat.

Pressure building, falling faster and faster.

City lights turn into traffic lights. The moon.

A familiar face in the crosswalk hits the windshield, shattered glass, more cars.

Traffic, but no brakes.

No seat belt. These hands are not his.

The baby is not crying.

He is not breathing.

A weeping mother.

A mourning woman.

Black hair, black dress, red eyes.

Two funerals in one.

He blinked once and saw stars. He blinked twice and saw Namjoon looking at him.

And her name flew past his plump lips in one outward breath before he could process them.

"Im Saetbyul... "

Namjoon's brows came together, "Seokjin?"

He jolted, "I was wondering who I kept sensing! Im Saetbyul! She's your wife — no, your girlfriend!"

"Y-You know her?"

"No, well, I don't know. I think I might," He explained, "I sense a lot of the stuff going on on earth still, for some reason. A lot of my friends' loved ones and relatives come to me in my dreams and thoughts. Saetbyul, though, I couldn't figure out where she was coming from. She was coming from you, Namjoon."

"How?"

"I mean, you do come to Sunny Side quite often, if that counts."

Quiet.

"You know," Namjoon pierced the silence with a dashing smile, looking into Seokjin's grey and brown eyes, "I heard somewhere that dogs with two colored eyes can see between heaven and earth at the same time."

"Are you calling me a bitch?"

"If the shoe fits."

Their laughter died down. Seokjin got up and opened the sliding doors, letting the ocean breeze dance over their sticky skin. He leaned against the door frame, looking out at the waves beyond, a boat rocking slow and steady on the current. He didn't look back.

"She still talks about you like you put stars in the sky, you know." He told.

"S-She does?"

Pause.

".... Can you tell her I'm sorry?"

"I'm afraid I can't, Namjoon."

"Why?"

"Because she's already forgiven you."