Yoongi takes a long drag of his cigarette and lets the smoke waft out his open window. The wispy tendrils drift off, framed against the starry night sky. When he was a kid, his mother would tell him wishes made on stars always came true. He'd sit before his window and wish for little things - silly, childish things. Now his mother's dead and he doesn't believe in wishing.
His dreams are too big for him to rely on anything but himself.
He flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette and traces the path of a plane through the stars with his gaze. Yesterday, Kihyun linked him an article that chronicled his journey over the past year. The article said he'd made it. Yoongi takes another drag and lets his eyes drift shut, his lashes fluttering against his skin. His dreams are too big for him to believe that yet, either.
He opens his eyes. The sky will start to lighten soon. He's got places to go and people to meet, but he's tired. He's been tired for a while now. He crushes the stub of his cigarette on the sill and lights another one.
This year, he's going to make it.