His palms rest on his bare stomach, his eyes reflecting the horror he feels as he gazes at his mirror reflection. His abs are barely visible anymore, and it terrifies him.

His cheeks appear chubbier than before. The roundness that has embraced his cheeks paints a picture of newfound plumpness. In the intimate confines of his perception, a relentless chorus rises, where every facet of his being seems to unite in a single declaration, the resounding cry of "fat."

He nurtures an intense loathing, a sentiment that courses through his entire being. He detests how he seems to slip back to the very chapter of his life that he found most unbearable. It was a time when the weight of hurtful critiques bore down upon him, particularly concerning the lingering presence of his youthful plumpness that adorned not just his cheeks but his entire form.

Jimin was no stranger to these insecurities that surfaced in moments he felt utterly vulnerable.

What triggered it this time?

Their comeback.

The boys had spent months preparing for it, pouring their whole heart and soul into their performance on stage that night. They were ecstatic with how well the night turned out, all except for Jimin. Within him raged a silent struggle against the relentless inner voices that persistently sought to persuade him that his appearance was nothing short of a catastrophe.

He found it hard to keep those voices at bay as their relentless barrage slowly chipped away at his resolve, leaving him vulnerable. Their assault left him more and more susceptible until he found himself fully embracing their destructive narrative as undeniable truth.

In this moment, as he stood in front of the expansive full-length mirror, his body bared and vulnerable, his gaze was laden with criticism. With meticulous scrutiny, his eyes traced every contour, every nuanced curve that sculpted his form, and a profound sense of repugnance welled up within him.

Inescapably, he found himself questioning each and every instance of praise that originated from his partner, scrutinizing every word of admiration that flowed effortlessly from Jungkook's lips—whether in intimate moments or casual exchanges. The sincerity of those expressions, which once brought him comfort, was now clouded by doubt, creating a dissonance within him that he couldn't ignore.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there. His gaze, clouded by tears, bore into his reflection with an intensity that conveyed his self-loathing in stark clarity. In that unrelenting moment, he couldn't help but lay bare the extent of his inner turmoil, openly expressing his profound self-disdain to none other than his own reflection.

His fingers harshly pinched the skin of his stomach.

Fat.

The word seemed etched into his skin as a constant reminder,  a message that resonated with every pore he possessed.

The initial tear forged its solitary path down his cheek, soon accompanied by a procession of others. Their descent formed a delicate rivulet upon his skin, a wordless testament to the welling emotions within him.

In the wake of this internal tempest, a decision was made—rash, yet logical to him.

A diet.

It was the remedy he perceived as necessary, the antidote to banish the word that haunted him.