Chapter Text
The nightmares begin a week later. All of them are gone, and Jimin is alone. So he goes back to the only other place he knows and they don't recognize him. Don't let him dance. Park Jimin is nobody. And nobody cares.
They end with him waking up in silent tears. Every single time, because he doesn't ever want to be forgotten. Not when he remembers. And it is like he has been taken through the past, back to being a desperate college student, willing to do anything to achieve his dreams.
The nightmares were happening then too. Different theme, but same phenomenon. He hates it, hates crying, always hates crying, but can't stop. Has never been able to stop.
No-one is aware of this, as Jimin clamps a hand over his mouth and is silent. Is always silent. Needless to say, he hasn't been sleeping well and the deep bruises under his eyes clashing with the lies he tells.
And when it gets bad and Jimin is shaking in front of the mirror, he hears the voice of his mother in his head. You don't even know what you're talking about. Stop being selfish, and earn your attention. He just needs to pull himself together and keep going.
He feels alone. And he hates it. Feeling is something he tried to shut off a long time ago, and this had been stupid to think that this would fix him. Nothing could fix him. He was useless and didn't deserve anything he ever got-
Jimin finds himself in the practice room. The large mirrors reflecting multiple versions of himself. He flinches, but reaches for his phone to turn something on to dance to. He's been using this as an escape, going going going until he's so numb nothing hurts.
And he's more careful than last time.
He looks haunted, eyes numb, shadows etched into his face. He's thinner again, covering it up with loose clothing. His hands seem to shake and he walks as if he falls people will die. Tells himself he's doing a good job. And he gets through it. Selfishly clinging to the fragments of color that he's been gifted with. He'd rather die than lose them.
And he can never get anywhere, feel alive and human again to be brought down twice as hard. He's been fighting for so long. It slowly becomes more obvious, as Jimin recedes to the panicked shell he arrived in. They look after him with eyes full of worry, watching closely for the small signs.
Drastic measures are taken when Jimin in the kitchen one day begins to hack violently. That isn't as bad as the fact that he pulled away with blood dripping past his lips, covering his arm. “Hyung!” Jeongguk shouts.
“I'm fine.” He hurts.
“You're not fine?” Taehyung retaliates as he wipes the blood from his skin.
“Just a little thirsty is all.”
“I call bullshit. A little thirsty? Yeah I cough up blood all the time.” Yoongi looks mad and Jimin ducks his head.
“And what about everything else?” Jin asks quietly, looking so so scared. “Jimin what else is happening.” The second one is more of a plea.
“It's stupid. I'm being selfish I apologize.” It sounds almost robotic, from the amount of times that he's repeated that to his mother.
“Being human isn't selfish? Selfish is something that we all are, all need to be to become better people, so be as selfish as you want.” Jin retorts, eyes blazing in a good way, not the angry way. Jimin gets goosebumps. He doesn't know that Jin is still so so scared. He's not perfect either, but love for the broken figure of Park Jimin they have all gained keeps him together.
Jimin doesn't say another word that day, letting the others words run through his head.
He's never fully conscious on the dance floor anymore, doesn't really know what he's doing. He realizes this when he can't tell Taehyung what he worked on last night. He wanted to when Taehyung asked, but there was nothing to draw from. He sends panicked eyes back, with an “I don't know.”
“That's okay.” Taehyung says, smiling wide and happy. Happy is a word his mother would be when he cut himself into an ice sculpture. Making no mistakes, but never going anywhere. Taehyung is not his mother and is smiling over something that Jimin did wrong. It makes his skin crawl.
When he dances this time, he attempts to feel all that he is doing. A new dance, one that he knows all the movements to. It excites him, heart pumping. He doesn't have to think, just lets himself go. Even pours a little bit of the emotions he still can feel in. Pours the memories of the ones he doesn't.
Maybe he could teach this.
Probably not. Not yet, maybe never again. He's too empty to face himself. He waits for the music to end, only to realize there isn't any. Just the beat of his heart, and the rush of his breath. This came from him. Heart and soul, and from a flicker of flame deep deep down. Threw some kindling on today, more tomorrow if all goes well.
And he jeers softly at what his head tells him. So what? Right now this is… confidence. He's feeling a shadow of confidence and it feels good and he wants to feel it again. “You felt this all the time.” He whispers, almost to another person the obvious difference between the two.
He's going to go eat. Willingly put food in his body, and then sleep on the couch where he won't be alone.
He gets smiles when he gets into the kitchen. They fuel his desire to do better, to not brokenly glue his pieces back on but be shiny and new. “Hey hyung, what's for dinner?”
Jin cries. He's not the only one, because suddenly Jin's hair is a color and it's soft and gentle and pink and he loves it. Confidence and happiness and melancholy mixed into a shade with countless other hints. They don't know why he's crying, but don't do anything except hand him a towel.
“You okay?” Namjoon asks as they sit down for an official meal.
“I'm pink.” He grins, crookedly, the action rusty but feeling good. He likes feeling good. Won't always be good but has moments. And it's enough for now.
Jimin has his nightmares, but is learning slowly that he is allowed to grow. Can stay warm in his bed, scared, upset, but separating fact and fantasy. It's good when he gets it right. Very pink.