"𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀. 𝒴𝑒𝓈, 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀. 𝒮𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝐼 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝒻 𝓌𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒹𝒾𝒹, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓌𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉."

-𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓅𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝑔

***

Jimin

"That's good, good...keep going," he yelled from across the hall of middle-schoolers, who were currently stumbling upon attempting an arabesque despite their grasp of the barre, and despite their teacher's repetitive and ongoing advice.

Jimin sighed as he ran his fingers through his roots once again, maybe for the fifth time that evening, and then he caught the attention of one of the girls who pleaded from across the room with wide, wet eyes. "Mr Park! I can't...!"

"Ha Rin...you can!" Jimin exhorted, the taste of the false positivity upon his tongue revolting him to the point of psychological pain. "Just make sure you hold the barre firmly, then stretch out your other arm in front of you-"

"I keep trying, but I don't look anything like the ballerina's when they do it," she interrupted, her pout signifying her slump as well as the fold of her delicate arms against her chest.

"Just..." Jimin's patience was wearing, and everyday he found resisting his internalised exasperation more and more difficult. Especially with over-achievers like the girl in front of him. "Here. Stand up straight," he continued, his hand planted firmly on Ha Rin's shoulder with his other gently adjusting her lower back, "posture is one of the most important aspects of ballet, because it grants you balance. When I count to three, I want you to perform an arabesque-"

"But, Mr Park-"

"I'll hold your front so you don't fall! Don't worry. Okay. One, two three," Jimin counted, before he moved his hands to Ha Rin's waist as her leg came up and brushed his side. Then, whilst leaning over her smaller body, Jimin raised her free arm and elevated her already lifted leg so that her limbs became aligned. The other students who were practicing behind them had stopped, and were crowding around them amongst wrangled chatter and whispers. "See? You can do it. Look at the reflection," Jimin announced, as he took a step back.

Ha Rin's head zipped around to her right, and the smile on her face was almost large enough to split those cheeks into two, so fairly she beamed up at her teacher. "I did it! I look like Kang Sue-Jin!"

"Pfffft, no way Rin!"

"Yeah, we're only middle schoolers, she's professional-"

"Was professional! Don't you practice your theory?"

"Yah-"

"Alright, alright," Jimin clapped, before eyeing the clock face and dragging a palm across his own. "Lesson's over, everybody go and change so that you're ready for when your parents come to pick you up. And make sure always to stretch-"

"But Mr Park, we still have five minutes! Can't you dance for us?"

Like a bullet through his stomach, a surge of dread, somewhat hysteria, washed over his body and the man felt the rigidity of his lower limbs spread upwards. "N-no, there's not enough time."

"But you always say that!"

"Yeah!"

The ongoing chorus of whines and shrills encased Jimin into a gradually declining box, and the rising uneasiness along with the rapid thumping of his chest was making it harder to reply. That was, reply normally. Kids would be kids, and if any one of these were to figure out that something was actually very wrong with their ballet instructor they'd blab to someone who'd be able to do something unfavourable about it. And so, with as much will as he could muster through uneven breaths, Jimin only shook his head with clenched and sweaty fists, his smile haggard but still apparent. "I-I know, but there's just never any time. Go on, go get changed."

"Okayyyy~"

During the time that it took for the irregular pattering of feet to disappear from the dance hall, Jimin found his constitutional stability crumbling, which soon cultivated from the silence that came with his seclusion, and he then in turn declined against the mirrored-walls. With balled fists, Jimin tried to contain the growing capriciousness from within his chest, his body convulsing with every tormented breath, and his anxiety then presented itself in the form of the spreading condensation against the glass. As much as he tried, to both physically and mentally contain himself, it still pained him. He felt sick, and he also wanted to cry, to shut the world out and to dissolve into nothing, to explode even, but the organic entity from which he inhabited seemed to be the strongest material at withholding his breakdowns.

He really was thick skinned, as it ironically seemed.

No sooner than ten minutes later, the last parent arrived to pick up their child, which deemed Jimin finally able to leave. Being an adult really did entitle an individual passage into a strange, new world and perspective. Jimin had dreamed of doing this for as long as he could remember: of dancing, for a living, whether that meant performing or teaching. He finally had the chance to do this, and yet, being here now in this very much so messed up state of living whilst simultaneously hunched over his desk, filing his safe-guarding reports as well as homework, tests, lesson plans...Jimin found him questioning if it had all really been worth it. Because, well...he didn't have anyone to share this with. He didn't have...him, anymore.

The gentle knock on the wall awoke him from his thoughts, and when Jimin looked up he found the older, kind face which he'd gotten used to recently. Joowon ducked into the teacher's lounge before taking a seat next to the dance instructor, before brightly grinning at him, his smile lines unsurprisingly evident from beneath the rough layer of stubble. "You're still here, I see?"

Rolling his eyes in response, half sarcastically and half out of fatigue, Jimin turned back to his netbook and resumed outlaying his lesson plan for the following week. "Unless you're blind, I'd agree."

"You're actually, well, exceptionally organised Mr Park," Joowon chimed, with his chin grazing the balls of his palm. "I mean, I have to stay behind a lot of the time to mark tests and weekly pop quizzes, and it's understandable because I teach both English Language and Literature since it involves a lot of reading and writing-"

"Where're you going with this, exactly?" Jimin didn't really have time to sit and listen to this weird, older man's way of getting around to the point. He had somewhere to be, and that was home.

Despite Jimin's interruption, and his particularly rude way of expressing his obvious annoyance, Joowon only smiled more before leaning further into his hand. "You're a dance teacher? I figured that there'd actually be less for you to do, all thing's considered, you do just prance around the dance hall all day."

And now, Jimin finally had a valid reason to snap back at Joowon. "That's really simple minded of you to assume that, Mr Chang. I'm not just a dance teacher during regular school hours. I'm also a ballet and contemporary dance instructor during the evenings, and just like you and every other teacher in the country I'm also subjected to regularities such as-" Jimin gestured to his netbook, and the black binder which sat next to his elbow, "this. The whole ordeal."

"Ahh, yeah. Fair enough, I'm sorry I didn't understand before but I do now. I felt the need to ask, because you're here most nights. Can't you do this at home?"

Jimin paused, his fingers faltering against the keys whilst trying to find the right response, and in the end he found himself vaguely shrugging instead. "I guess. But I like finishing everything here before I leave. It's just...easier."

Joowon's hair found itself flopping over his eye, and the suited man heaved out a hefty sigh before standing to his feet. "Alright. Just don't push yourself Mr Park, the last thing this school needs right now is your sick leave. It's difficult to find substitutes who have your sense of integrity," he coquetted, before waltzing over to the door. Then, just when Jimin thought he'd leave, Joowon turned back around, with his brows furrowed, in perhaps hesitation. "We're...all going to karaoke next Friday. Do you maybe want to join us? I know you don't really like that sort of thing, but it felt rude on the contrary to not ask...actually no, I'd really just like it if you came," Joowon chuckled awkwardly, however his gaze never wavered from Jimin's.

Was this a date? They'd be with coworkers technically. Why was he even debating it, like it was even an option?

"I, Jimin, would you consider...maybe, I don't know, him?"

Was it because of Yoongi's suggestion, that Jimin actually took the time to ponder this possibility? How could he even do such a thing? And now, he found himself panicking once more. "No, I...you're right, I'm not really into those kind of social gatherings. But thank you, for asking."

"You're sure? I just-" Joowon scratched the back of his head, and the fact that he was now unable to reply immediately was a touch down from Jimin's side, and he internally rejoiced. "No it's fine, I get it. If anything comes up that's maybe more discreet, I'll let you know, okay?"

Well damn. "Mhm. Um...thanks again. For asking."

The other smiled, again. "It's no problem Mr Park. I'll see you on Monday then."

"You too Mr Chang."

***

The drive home, was the part of the day which Jimin found himself relishing the most. As someone who now thought so much about the present time to the point of almost insanity, having compartmentalised this time of his day to think and further rearrange was somewhat therapeutic. Night time and twilight hours were calming, a setting and something which his brain required; the mellow blur of headlights and the soft, gentle flares of conjoined city glows refracted across both his windshield and vision, and it eased Jimin's constant weariness. He had at least the knowledge to appreciate that although he was now in between two destinations which added to his lethargy, right now he was here driving alone with the heater warming his toes. And with the rush hour now finishing, the long roads seemed only more welcoming, and if he could Jimin would've danced there and then.

But, that was to say, he hadn't danced in months, and honestly he doubted he would've started in that moment even if he really could. The kids nagged at him for the majority of his lessons to dance, to demonstrate, however Jimin couldn't find himself to do so whole-heartedly. Maybe it was because of the turmoil which he found himself constantly encased in, or perhaps this was a form of self punishment. Did he even deserve to dance? To be happy? To find enjoyment in something that he loved doing? To be where he was now? Jimin found himself feeling guilty, after Joowon's claim at Jimin's excellence because he felt undeserving when all thing's considered, he only did his work at the school because he'd find himself too depressed at home to find the energy to complete it all.

So after all this time, Jimin found himself behind a façade so believable, it only added to his sadness. Just one person. One person was all it took to render him this way. No, don't think about it.

His new apartment, was inconceivably different to his other apartment. His last place had been light, airy, and open. Jimin had been here for over a year now, and still there was a couple of boxes piled in the doorway which he hadn't touched since initially planting them there on moving day. It was unbearably plain, lacklustre, and on the verge of collapsing- again, maybe a form of self torture? Jimin wasn't even sure if he had selected this place with those subconscious and malicious intentions.

After hanging up his coat and keys Jimin began unlacing his shoes, and instead found his head in his hands. It wasn't uncommon for him to sit there with one shoe untied, and edging towards a breakdown. His cheeks dampened, and for many justified reasons Jimin could never find the will to stop. And so, some days he'd sit there for ten minutes, maybe twenty. Or, even hours. Just until the tears stopped, and until he found the energy to stand again.

Two years. Two years since it had all collapsed, since it had all ended. Everything that had happened since then seemed so distant, as if every memory between then and now hadn't mattered and was infinitely drowned out. Everything since then had been a blur, and yet during the time it took to reach today Jimin had been subjected to the mere torture of waiting for something. Anything.  How time had passed so quickly Jimin would never be able to fathom.

Jimin pressed his fingers into his eyes, his head shaking violently to rid of his thoughts, before sucking in and standing from his hunched state. If he allowed himself to think of what could've been, he knew he'd sit there until morning.

When he took a step, his foot sunk into something flat instead of carpet, and when he glanced down he found crinkled a sealed envelope with his name hand-written across the front. Frowning, Jimin bent down to lift it from the floor, along with other miscellaneous letters strewn across his landing, and headed for his kitchen table. He opened them one by one, paying less attention to what was written and instead seemingly paying more attention to side-eyeing the envelope with his hand-written name, and when he finally came to the suspicious letter, Jimin took a minute to think.

Who would it be from? Who could have possibly sent it? He didn't recognise the hand writing, and it lacked a stamp, and return address. Whoever had sent this, had actively posted it through his letter box, and that daringly frightened Jimin because this person knew him and where he lived, but he most probably didn't know them himself.

Shaking his head once more, Jimin found himself tearing through the seal, with anticipation and dread lining his movements. What he found inside, was a small note. Not even an A4 side of paper. And all that was written, to Jimin's stupefaction, consternation, and incredulous reverence, was:

'𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓮𝓮 𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓴𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓪𝓰𝓪𝓲𝓷, 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻.'

-J

And, in a singly agonizing instance, Jimin's world fell to pieces all over again.