Jimin doesn't recognize the street he's on, but it has the sort of familiarity that comes with growing up on similar residential streets. Vines grow up fence posts, and curious muzzles try to push between the slats. Flowers stand in neat rows, all even in height. The treetops are perfectly round, like the clouds.
Everything is hazy and pink. The fuzziness is what bothers Jimin, and he rubs at his eyes. Maybe he needs new glasses.
The houses are different styles with different features but the same color. He looks over his shoulder and sees the same houses as before; looking in front of him, the houses are new.
He's walking without realizing it. His feet have somewhere to go, and they're not sharing the destination with his brain. A lamp post leans over the sidewalk. Its body bends like the neck of a giraffe to nuzzle a large blossoming bush. The bush shivers and shakes apart, dividing itself in two for Jimin to pass.
He should be more wary, leaving the open street, but he knows there's something important, or his feet and the bush wouldn't want him entering this person's yard.
It's soft, is his first thought. The color, the texture, everything is subdued and pulls away from him, stretching into a corridor of arching plantlife and painted fencing. At the very end is a man. He's broad-shouldered and tall, facing away from Jimin, who doesn't know what to say to call out to him.
He's been dreaming about him for weeks and keeps getting closer, yet he still doesn't know his name or face. He'll dream for as long as it takes, until he meets the man in his dreams.