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a flat plain of land, daisies in clusters surrounded by bright green grass. it was like a fairy tale setting, something you’d only see in a dream. year by year it grew, dandelions, lavender and poppies joining the overgrown grass. in the middle sat a boy clad in white. he bathed in the sunlight, relished in the scent of the flowers, savoured the feel of grass on his bare feet.
every day he came to the meadow, a smile on his face as he let the hours pass by. it was like any other day. the boy bounced over to the meadow, stopping as soon as he saw what had happened. bricks, red-orange with jagged edges were thrown about the field, cutting into the delicacy of the flowers. tears in his eyes, he apologised to the flowers, to the flattened grass, scrambling across the grass trying to pick every piece of destruction up. the sun had set by the time the boy had left. the bricks had been picked up and placed in stacks outside the meadow.
jimin was the epitome of innocence, his members once said. they told him to never change, to keep his chubby cheeks and puppy eyes that opened so wide to show that child-like glee when he was doing what he loved.
at least, that’s what they used to say.
he didn’t know when the change came, didn’t know when he started thinking of chubby as fat and fat as bad. because it was bad; that’s common knowledge, but jimin didn’t just eat fats - he was fat. he was fat and so big and-and-
he started noticing little things, like how his thighs spread over the edge of the middle seat in the car. like how he could feel the fat on his stomach moving as he danced, and wasn’t it just so fucking funny that every smile he gave was empty because all he could think about was the fucking fat that clung to his goddamn cheeks.
he ignored the thoughts, brushing them aside as he listened to seokjin compliment his looks, hoseok congratulate him for perfecting the dance so quickly (although jimin knew he only did that because he had spent so long dancing last night because maybe it would help him get rid of some of the fat, some of the calories he had indulged in by eating dinner).
he ignored it all, focusing on his career, on dancing and singing and making ARMY happy.
the next day, trepidation in his eyes, the boy walked into the meadow. it was worse. his scraped, bandaged hands were aching all over again. the meadow, his beautiful fairy tale land, had been blocked by a layer of bricks, placed side by side in a row. his hands, still so small and weak, hurt too much. rage overtook him.
he screamed and ran. one kick, another, then another. he kicked and kicked till he felt the blisters, the bruises forming on the soles of his feet, and then he kicked once more. the once perfectly lined bricks now lay across the field. solid red and orange broke the softer greens, purples and whites but at least his meadow was still there. at least he could still go to his fairy tale land.
he sat down in the middle of the meadow, surrounded by the familiar scent of lavender.
and occasionally those thoughts crept back up urging him to weigh himself, to lose the extra calories until he was perfect.
he ignored them. sort of.
because it wasn’t working. it was as if a metaphorical dam had broken and everything kept flooding in even when he didn’t want it to. the water was too violent, pent up anger and frustration, anger at being ignored for so long, frustration because jimin just. wasn’t. listening.
didn’t jimin know this would be for his own good?
the water was flowing relentlessly, colliding with the walls, overflowing onto the riverbanks, reaching further and further until jimin couldn’t run any further, standing in the middle of a pool of water, the rush of it beckoning him in.
he refused to get swept up. he knew better than that. he was the one who was supposed to be in control.
the boy awoke to the sun’s rays blinding and urgent. rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he stood up, plucking hay out of his soft hair. his white clothes had been stained, sporting brown, red and purple, but he didn’t care. he would do anything for his meadow.
but why was he in his meadow? he had never fallen asleep in it before. and suddenly the events of the last few weeks played in his head. he limped over to the edge of the meadow, where he had seen the bricks layered before.
he gasped.
this wasn’t just one layer. his knees gave out, lips trembling. layer upon layer upon layer of red stood tall, intimidating, unbreakable. this wasn’t like before. he wouldn’t be able to kick this down. he-he had to bring something to break the wall. he couldn’t let anything happen to his meadow. he looked around the meadow, limping along the wall, trying to find where it ended.
it didn’t.
frantic, he started running, adrenaline numbing the pain in his feet yet, no matter how much he ran, he couldn’t find the end. it was a circle, like the meadow he was in. the meadow he was trapped in.
so when he woke up an hour earlier than the rest to go out for a run, he knew he was in control.
when he skipped lunch, he knew he was in control.
when he danced for an extra two hours, he knew he was in control.
right?
a closer look at the layers. cement had reinforced them. he was trapped. no. he wasn’t trapped. he was in his meadow. he loved his fairy tale land. he would love to stay here forever. he-he would. he would. he loved his meadow. the sun rose once, then twice, then again and again and the boy had lost count of how many days had passed. each morning seemed the same, the same bland routine, the same desperation, the same monster crawling under his skin.
jimin glared at the mirror, eyes narrowed into slits as he took in the chubby cheeks, the fat clinging to the bare stomach, the thighs taking up so much space. it had been weeks. weeks of diligently following meal plans and exercise routines and working till he was past his limit and then going further but, looking in the mirror, he could see no progress.
and jimin wondered when “doing what he loved” meant shoving his fingers down his throat. he wondered whether his eyes still held that bright innocence he was said to have with his stomach cramping painfully, the two pieces of bread he had swallowed weighing him down. he wondered whether his eyes still smiled when he felt the acid burning his throat and the food leaving his stomach in that emptiness that he craved.
it was okay. he was okay. the words repeated in his mind like a mantra and then the boy chanted them out loud because the voice was right. nothing was wrong. he was okay. ‘i-it’s okay’ he whispered once more, letting the warmth of his blanket envelop him as he fell asleep once more, forgetting the fact that he had woken up less than five hours ago. he was just tired, maybe a bad night, nothing else. it was okay.
his stomach rumbled again. his lips were chapped. he was breathing heavily, lungs taking in gulps of air. he took the bottle of water hoseok was offering him, pointedly ignoring the concern on his face.
he knew why it was there.
he knew it was because jimin had only performed the song once. sure the choreography was harder than usual but he shouldn’t be this out of breath. he knew it was because of the three layers he was wearing, the hours he had spent dancing and dancing, burning those calories that he had eaten this morning because jungkook was looking at him so pleadingly he couldn’t help it (and he had already eaten over half of the cereal before he realised because he was stupid and weak and-). despite it all, he was shivering and he knew that worried hoseok.
but hoseok had no reason to be worried. neither did jungkook, nor the rest. jimin wasn’t doing anything wrong. it may not have been the best method to perfect himself, but it was okay.
it wasn’t okay.
desperation crawled up from the butterflies in his stomach, a hungry monster scratching at his throat, begging to be let out and saved and- and the boy couldn’t do anything for it because he couldn’t even save himself. there was no way out of the meadow. he had searched for days, running and then walking and then even crawling when he could no longer muster the energy, body protesting heavily at the notion of moving from the makeshift bed.
"it's okay," jimin whispered, licking his lips as he rubbed his hands over his arms, trying to warm his shivering body up. the numbers on the scale were clearly displayed in the blinding light of the bathroom. a smile bloomed on his face at the number so much lower than before.
('dangerously low' a voice warned him.
'not low enough' the other replied.
jimin tuned them out.)
his hands were bruised, scratched from the sharp edges of the bricks as the dirt mixed with dried blood, pulling sharply at the cuts but the boy had given up, the walls of his utopian cage still standing tall and unbreakable, shielding his eyes from what was happening outside. but he could still hear the voices, the screams shouting "this is wrong" and begging and pleading but the boy could do nothing, trapped in the meadow he had once believed to be his home, his heaven, now just a utopia he had fallen in love with too much, too fast, too deep.
and yet, as he watched the expression on taehyung’s face cycle from shock to anger to a sadness that didn’t fit his usually carefree best friend.
“jiminie.” and he sounded like he was choking and it was all wrong because why did taehyung sound so sad when jimin was so happy? “what did you do?”
jimin was confused. they should have been happy to hear what he had done, “i made myself perfect” is what he said in reply because he had. the scale beneath his feet was still flashing the numbers he had wanted, the numbers he had been aiming for, the numbers so dangerously low he couldn’t help but grin.
“what made you do this? what-who made you think this was perfect, jimin?”
jimin was speechless, shocked by the outburst that he hadn’t expected (yet the niggling voice in his mind was saying that he should have because what he was doing was wrong.)
“taehyung i-”
“promise me,” taehyung said, tears in his eyes, “promise me you won’t do it again. you can’t do this to yourself, jimin. please .”
“i promise.”
“thank you.”
the boy stared at his reflection in the water. he was gaunt, stick-thin, almost invisible. almost. ‘almost invisible but not enough’ a voice whispered. the voice sounded like it was his, but he hadn’t said those words. something was wrong. he jerked away from the lake, backtracking till he was back to his makeshift bed. something was wrong.
"i'm sorry, taehyungie."
because taehyung hadn't noticed how jimin had stood, hands hidden behind his back, fingers crossed as his mind worked at double speed, thinking of ways to hide better, be stealthier, be better, be perfect .
‘perfect.’ a voice whispered - not his own. the boy woke with start. head spinning, words ringing, loud and foreign.
‘perfect.’ he stood up on shaky legs. the world tilted.
‘perfect.’ red faded into orange into purple into green and then black. pitch black. nothing.
‘perfect, perfect, perfect,’ the voices chanted, feather-light touches creeping up his arms, across his shoulders. jimin shivered. phantom arms wrapping around him, engulfing him.
‘perfect, perfect, perfect,’ his mind was reeling. a silent scream, the studio lights flaring. black spots decorating his blurry vision and ‘perfect, perfect, perf-’
a dull thud, the voices ceased.
“who are you?” blinding light, fading slowly and jimin blinked rapidly as the figure in front of him cleared. a boy, no older than himself, clothes dirtied in a variety of stains.
“jimin. my name is jimin.” his voice was soft, weak, eyes barely open as he sat on the floor.
“b-but-” but you can’t be jimin because i am, he wanted to say. the words wouldn’t come out.
“are you trapped here too?”
jimin stopped in his tracks, “trapped?”
the boy nodded, finally opening his eyes, blinking slowly and then quickly until his eyes focused on jimin, “this was my meadow. i used to come here every day.”
“used to?”
“something happened. see that brick wall?” the boy gestured.
jimin whipped his head around, squinting into the distance, eyes zeroing in on a splash of red in the field of green. he followed it around, looking for the end.
“it doesn’t. i’ve tried. i’m trapped here.”
“why?”
“i don’t know.” the boy shrugged, shoulders hunching inwards as he fidgeted.
it was only then that jimin got a good look at the boy. the clothes were hanging off of his thin frame, practically engulfing him. his eyes were dull, eye bags that could be mistaken for bruises with how purple they were surrounding them. his cheeks were hollow, sunk, empty.
there was some kind of familiarity about him, though. as if he had met the boy before. as if they had spent years together side by side.
orange hair, puppy dog eyes, chubby cheeks.
a boy frollicking in the meadows.
aching muscles, empty stomach, a clump of orange hair in his fist.
the ghost of a smile, cheeks lifting as his eyes shaped into crescents, “you are jimin, aren’t you?”
the boy just nodded.
“but why do you look so different?”
the boy laughed bitterly, bringing jimin’s attention back around, “i don’t.”
“but-” this didn’t look like jimin. jimin was so much bigger, so much fat clinging to his body, so many calories he had yet to get rid of.
“follow me.” he began limping to the river, wincing every few steps.
jimin had no choice but to follow, so he did, lagging behind the boy. he noted that his own leg was throbbing, but it was pain that jimin had learned to ignore, barely even pausing like he could see the other boy doing so often.
“see? i don’t.”
the boy was peering over the river, reflection clear in the water and jimin joined him. he had barely glanced at his reflection, flinching once he caught sight of it.
“what have i done?”