Work Text:
Jimin wandered into the empty dance studio, placing his bag on the floorboards before sitting cross-legged in his usual seat. Taking out his phone, he scrolled through the countless videos of Hoseok and his newest intern, Ivy, marveling at the chemistry between them as they effortlessly performed their powerful street-dance routine. The empty room grew lonelier, Jimin’s face glowing green in envy as he continued to watch – not only did Hoseok have the ability to crossover dance styles Jimin himself was unfamiliar with, but he had what Jimin desperately craved: Ivy.
The doors swung open, light emitting into the room as if the sun had reappeared from behind the clouds – because for Jimin, it did so when he saw Ivy walk in following behind her, his raincloud: Hoseok. Jimin scrambled to pause and exit their dance video that he had watched on repeat over a million times since their last recording – yesterday. Ivy waved at Jimin, smiling her beautiful smile that Jimin could never grow accustomed to, and of course, Hoseok cheered his brightest smile as he rambled to Ivy about his new ideas for their duet.
Ivy and Hoseok continued to add more and change parts of the choreography – perfecting their movements. Every time the pair high fived, synchronised their dancing or even so much as made brief eye contact with each other, Jimin could feel his jealousy bubble towards his surface’s limit. He longed to be the one with her, making her laugh with his silly little dances, being able to lift her when the routine needed it; Jimin longed not to be an outsider to the relationship blooming before him. Jimin paused the filming, lunging towards his bag as he quietly excused himself from the studio – envy roping like vines around his twisting words, ‘have fun’.
He walked down the hallway, the pale blue darkness around him reminding Jimin of how lonely he truly is. Opening the doors to the studio where they first met, he swiftly moved towards the sound system – knowing exactly what he had to do to win Ivy. Jimin took his place in front of the mirror, the song beginning as he mimicked the movements he had only watched minutes ago, the same moves he had studied for hours on end – it all becoming second nature. The song ceased, silence replacing the atmosphere. Jimin replayed the image of himself dancing in the mirror, mentally criticising every move he powered out – only one consistent complication: Jimin is a contemporary dancer; he expels his movements in a form of liquid – the opposite of the powerful street dancing he attempted to mimic.
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Hoseok and Jimin sat in the middle of the sun-filled room, awaiting Ivy’s arrival; they replayed through various video recordings of their newest routine as they discussed minor changes. Without warning, the doors flew open, revealing Ivy and her bright smile – although, this time, Jimin could not feel the brightness, but rather the epitome of darkness lurking through space. She held a vanilla-iced cake, completed with a ring of blueberries towards Hoseok; ‘to celebrate and wish luck to our competition’ was what Jimin had heard before jealousy tuned everything out.
Jimin was to his feet in one fluid movement, rage drowning any thought close to reasonable. He took his place in front of the mirrors he had corrected himself relentlessly for hours in front of – beginning to shake due to anticipation as he let his body guide him through the routine. It was the same dance as what Hoseok and Ivy had been practicing for the past three months, Jimin perfecting it within one – that means he is better than Hoseok, does it not. Jimin powered through it, accentuating his efforts through every beat before ending in a ‘cooler’ pose to Hoseok.
He moved his gaze from his mirrored image to the two pairs of eyes watching him, their faces expressing no interest in Jimin’s performance. He has lost; lost all hope. He has lost Ivy. Jimin hung his head, barely lifting his feet as he tiptoed out of the studio – out into the hustling streets.
Placing his pale hands into the pockets of his jeans, Jimin released a lonely whistle – calling out for his childhood friend, Jungkook, hoping the younger male would hear his desperate plea. The endless void above him painted a new picture – the bold blue sky drifting towards a depressing greyness – perfectly complimenting Jimin’s numb emotions. Rain splattered across the pavement, the raindrops against his skin, comforting him, assuring him that he will be okay – but the thunder booming ahead told otherwise.
He unlocked his door, dumping his gym bag in the foyer as he dashed down his hall of memories – pausing as he was faced with his favourite polaroid photo: It was of them, Ivy and Jimin, both happy as they had returned home from eating ice cream; a fantastic day it was. Jimin ripped the photo from its place on the wall, continuing his short-lived journey to his bathroom. Turning the taps, Jimin dipped his toes into the rising water, the warmth providing comfort for his cold, broken heart.
Allowing the water to relax his tensed muscles, Jimin closed his eyes only to reopen them, faced with the burden of the ‘happy’ photo laying on the tiled floor. Her hair was stunning; her eyes being so precious that they could hold the galaxy; her smile was a joyous sight for his eyes and her as a whole was his own epitome of happiness – nothing more, nothing less.
Jimin reached for the photo, his fingers tracing over her printed face. He felt tears brim his eyes, adding to the salty collection he laid within. Blinking the tears away, his eyes refocused – zoning towards the bench of his basin, home to the lighter Yoongi had bought him last birthday. Inspired by Yoongi’s obsession with fire, Jimin’s mind constructed the perfect idea: retrieve the lighter and burn her. Stumbling out of the tub, Jimin reached for the lighter, grabbing the photo before retreating to the cooling heat of the water. Igniting the lighter, he brought the photo to his lips, kissing her smiling face ‘goodbye’ before moving the corner towards the flame – watching how the painful memory contained within the photo became nothing but a lost figure of his imagination, because that is what his happiness only ever was: his imagination.
Tears cascaded down his puffy cheeks, his happiness disappearing faster than the ashes lying beside the bathtub. Jimin’s breathing grew unsteady, his face blotching with purples and reds from lack of oxygen and prolonged crying as his mind flooded with irrationally rational thoughts. He was shaking – uncontrollably – tears continuing to streamline down his face, the sadness moulding into pure numbness. Jimin’s mind begged for the sweet relief of death, for him to take his final breath and give in to the powerful ways of water – like the many other attempts beforehand – ‘failed attempts’ he sighed. He wanted to scream, he wanted to whistle for Jungkook, he wanted Ivy – but his internal pain prevented him from doing so, his depressed state numbing any emotion other than the immense longing for home: for death’s open arms.
Jimin had managed to restrict his movement enough not to instinctually kill himself but the dullness washed over him again and he had no choice but to take his final breath. His head slipped beneath the water’s surface, staying underwater for as long as possible – feeling the calming effects of his heart rate begin to slow. Jimin counted the seconds since his last breath, after surpassing his usual sixty-second mark he noticed how movie-like calm he was, how his body surrendered to its inevitable death.
And as if Jimin had seen a lost friend for the first time in years, he sprinted towards the open arms of the masked man in front of him, accepting the warm embrace of his blissful death.