Work Text:
the universe is curled
up inside us all,
it is up to us
to find the stars.
[christopher poindexter]
To pose a question to yourself is a challenge. When you reflect on yourself and think, 'What would I ask myself?', it can become easy to let your thoughts wander from place to place, and end up in front of the mirror again, scrutinizing, watching, concluding things that you have pushed to the back of your mind for a very, very long time. The most stable people leave these sessions thinking, 'Why exactly did I do that, again?', and the weakest think, 'I can correct these problems, just give me some time.'.
While correcting a problem is a Very Big Task that requires a lot of abstaining from the roots of it, a 'problem' is often a label placed upon a masked insecurity, or character flaw. The reasoning behind it is simple - if you are to be offered the chance to either turn up to work naked, or wearing clothes, most people would choose to wear clothes. Why? Because if they are naked, everyone will look at them and see what lies behind their clothes, what is covered by a nice shirt or a pair of expensive jeans, and think to themselves about what exactly they're witnessing.
Our insecurities are shared explicitly only with a handful of people during our lifetime. Maybe offhandedly mentioned to the man sat next to you at the bar one Friday, but otherwise, a private affair avoided at all costs.
Jimin stares into the mirror and dwells on his question.
Looking back at him, is a tired man. His eyes are vacant of emotion, his mouth pulled into a tight line of disapproval, and his hands scrape over his bony hips and drag down his taut thighs. They lay there for a minute, before being hastily pulled back, as if he was burnt.
His eyes trail back up to his face, and he draws closer to the reflective glass. Nowadays, his cheekbones appear more clearly, and his skin is pulled as tightly as possible over the muscles of his face. Sometimes, it is complimented. The stylists will smile their blinding white smiles and put the contour supplies back into the makeup bag, proud their nagging about diets is rubbing off nicely. They tell Jimin he should be proud, should bask in the glory of not having eaten properly since Wednesday, even though it's Monday now and he feels lightheaded. Beside him, one of the older makeup artists is nagging at the others about following Jimin's example.
In their eyes, Jimin is simply sticking to a prescribed diet and the arranged dance practices. What they don't see are 500 press-ups in the early morning light, breakfast fed to the dog when no one is looking, meal substitutes being scrutinised and thrown away. What they don't see is the pain and insecurity knitted into Jimin's daily life, that pesters and plagues him from early morning until late at night, and nag at the dark corners of his dreams, so that he wakes up in a cold sweat, scared that he may have gained weight.
And, somehow, he ends up on the scale every time.
Other times, however, people frown at Jimin's face. They run their fingers against his own and ask quietly if he is doing okay, and Jimin, an adult male who is not supposed to have been so concerned about his calorie intake, will nod and thank them for their concern. They'll move on. Jimin hopes that one day they won't, but maybe they always will. Maybe he'll slip through the cracks and people will sigh and say, 'He could have been even better, that Jimin. He could have gotten well again.'
The shower running in the bathroom attached to Jimin and Hoseok's room creaks as it gets turned off, and Taehyung emerges brightly from behind the door, his firework show of happy emotions following through behind him and orbiting him. He is the sun, and stuck in the gravitational draw of space, Jimin is circling him, denied as a planet as he is Pluto, forever being told that he isn't following the planet criteria. Not complying with expectations again.
Taehyung smiles his square smile. His hair flips in a wet mess onto his forehead and over his eyes. "What were you staring into the mirror for, Jimin?"
"Nothing," Jimin replies in a soft voice, blinking away tears. In the gentle glow of his bedside lamp, Taehyung's slight frame is illuminated. It is difficult not to stare and not to long and not to be envious. From between his lips, a lie slips out. "Wondering about how the clothes for the upcoming tour are going to suit me."
A hum in understanding. "They might dye your hair, or something."
They lapse into silence, either because they know that Jimin is lying, or because they know that they don't want to talk about it. On the window frame, Jimin has hung all sorts of pretty things from their travels. Dried flowers, plane tickets, small colourful rocks and shells, jewellery, postcards ... he used to take photos of the meals they'd eat as a group, but he took them down and hid them in a drawer in his closet. Looking at himself eating so much without thinking about the consequences repulses him.
Laughter drifts under the door, and it disturbs the thick silence of the bedroom. The eldest are sat in the kitchen, drinking whiskey bought by Yoongi from the convenience store, as they talk about life and about singing and about themselves. Jimin wishes he was older and allowed to slip into the seat next to them and ask, 'Am I doing okay yet?'.
He wants them to smile and assure him that he's perfect.
Taehyung, observant and wiser than he lets on, sees the distance between him and Jimin. Physically, it is less than a metre, but otherwise, miles and miles of land lies between them, no roads along it, covered in obstacles. Every day, the gap widens by at least the size of Russia. Not a single plane in the world could cover the distance anymore.
They turn around at the same time, and Jimin meets Taehyung's eye as the younger tries to imagine what he's thinking. It could be awful, it could be beautiful, but either way, Taehyung wants to hold him and love him and care for him, because he can and he loves to see the light in his boyfriend's eyes twinkle. So, without thinking, he reaches a cautious hand out, and as it gently drags across Jimin's lower arm, the fear appears back in the older's eyes and he tugs his arm away harshly.
Jimin turns on his heel, and leaves.
To pose a question to yourself is a challenge, but there's something even more difficult.
Answering it.