summary: The road to recovery is never a linear one.
For Jimin, time passes by in waves, days documented by a sinusoidal graph of restless emotions fighting for dominance over a frail body. He wonders when all of it will just end.
a/n: I'm going to pretend that there aren't already thousands of stories out there about jimin's insecurities okay let's gooo
pick up your pieces (put yourself back together)
It's been three months. Three months since Jimin's debut as a vocalist and three months since he's been a member of Bangtan. The interviewer asks, "What's it like being an idol so far?"
The boy smiles the smile where the corners of his lips curl up slightly, the one where his teeth just poke out from between his lips. The one that he's practiced many times in front of the mirror, aimed to make his fans swoon.
"I love it."
And at the time, he truly believed that.
.
Somewhere along the way, absolutely nothing has changed.
Jimin's daily schedule consists of practicing his vocals and learning new dance choreographies. The seven of them are at the studio for hours at a time, sometimes separating to do their own thing, sometimes coming together to coordinate their movements and harmonize their voices.
It's like this for months and months. Every day becomes routine, practice after practice, until he starts to forget what they're even working toward, what the end goal is. He's tired by the end of it, all had work and little reward, until their schedules get more hectic, more sleepless nights; and in a few days, they'll be having their debut concert.
Jimin's first performance does not go as planned.
The stage is dark when the seven of them first enter, cheers from the crowd already blowing up the concert hall. Lights flash a myriad of colours—red and green and yellow among others—hyping up the audience as the K-pop group Bangtan ascends up to the center of the stage on a rising platform.
Multiple spotlights focus on them and it's almost blinding, nothing like their practice rehearsal just a few hours ago, nothing like anything they've ever done before because they're not only performing in front of their dance teacher this time. Fans have come to watch them in person, listen to them sing even if they don't fully understand the language, and it makes all the difference.
This is the result of hours of trying to harmonize their voices in the studio, straining vocal chords and chugging down bottles of water to hit that high note. This is the reward for perfecting their dances until they're fast enough, sharp enough, until the seven of them move in sync as easy as breathing, until their legs are sore the following days because it's worth it to finally go through the entire choreography for a song without a single mistake.
This is the real deal.
The fans' cheering only die down a little when music starts playing from the speakers, indicating the beginning of the performance. Everything in this moment is theirs, Jimin watches in awe as he scrambles into position beside his band members. The beat that's blasting throughout the room, the rhythm that has the crowd swaying—they made all of it.
Jungkook is the first to sing, starting them off with a soft melody. As the boy's voice vibrates into the microphone with a delicacy that no doubt resonates with everyone in the audience, Jimin feels inexplicably proud. Their youngest member sets off the atmosphere for the rest of the song and it's here, they're here. For so long, they have been seen as children in the eyes of adults who think they know better, discouraged for their choice of career and why don't you choose a stable, office job instead?
But here they are now, seven boys soaring on broken wings, out to show the world that they want this, that this is their dream. That they own this sky and the sun won't be blocked by constricting, judgmental clouds anymore.
It all starts on this small stage in Seoul, Korea.
They have something to prove and this is their proof. This is it. A girl near the front of the stage holds up a sign that has his name, Park Jimin, written inside a heart and he looks at it, smiling, smiling for one second, two, three, four, and then it's fatal.
Four seconds too long. Four seconds behind.
The others are in position and it's his turn to sing. Focus and he's off center, move Jimin move, and when the lyrics flow out, his voice wavers just the slightest and—and it's over. He's walking off stage and yes, he thinks, this is the way it should be, isn't it? He doesn't deserve to be on stage, after all.
No one mentions his mistake, no one mentions how he messed up—four seconds—but he knows that they know; knows that the pats on the back are just to be polite.
They come back a few minutes later for an encore performance and Jimin is barely even there. He moves on autopilot, just wanting the whole thing to be over because he is already done. There's no redeeming this, he thinks grimly. This is supposed to be their debut concert and he's already ruined it.
When everyone is crowded around the living room the next day, watching the recorded footage of their concert, Jimin makes the excuse of having to go to the bathroom and tells them to start without him. He locks himself in the stall and blinks back the tears because even this is better than having to see himself blank out on stage during their very first performance.
He doesn't know how long he stays in there, but then Jungkook is yelling at him to please hurry up, hyung because Taehyung has taken up the other bathroom and he has to go really badly. So Jimin quickly washes his face, wipes away the evidence of tears on his cheeks, and opens the door to let the younger boy in.
Jungkook takes one look at Jimin and seems to stop, eyes scanning his body up and down. "Hyung," and Jimin looks up because Jungkook sounds serious, more serious than usual, and he wonders if he's going to be scolded by even their youngest member for messing up, "you did well at the concert yesterday."
Jimin blinks. Swallows. "Thanks," and forces a smile on his face, "so did you, Jungkookie."
The younger boy rushes inside the bathroom and frowns. Jimin is always too hard on himself, he thinks.
.
The studio is Namjoon and Yoongi's private place, a small room filled with personalized posters and equipment and whatever else they need for inspiration when they compose music. Jimin knocks on the door tentatively, hopping from foot to foot because it's not every day that he gets called into the studio by Yoongi of all people, Yoongi who uses harsh words bluntly and has a look that seems to stare into Jimin's very core, who can be really intimidating when he wants to be and Jimin sometimes wonders if they're even all that close.
The door opens and the rapper steps aside to let Jimin in. The room is somehow warmer than the rest of the building. There is a blanket hanging off the chair and Jimin wouldn't be surprised if Yoongi fell asleep working here late into the night again.
"Take a seat," Yoongi gestures beside him at the only other chair in the room, which has to be Namjoon's. "I was hoping you could help me with a song I've been working on. It's just not coming along very well and I've been stuck for days."
Jimin nods eagerly even though his voice still feels strained from hours of vocal practice the day before. "Sure thing, hyung."
The older boy picks up a notebook filled with scratches of words, the majority of them crossed out in frustration, and flips to the most recent page. "Sing these lines for me so I can hear how it sounds." He plays a beat on the computer and watches Jimin so intensely that Jimin has to fight the urge to squirm under his gaze.
He opens his mouth and things are going along well. The rhythm of the song is very much Yoongi's style and the lyrics are simple but effective. He finds that he's truly enjoying himself, singing for the older boy in the intimate space of the studio room, when Yoongi waves a hand to cut him off.
"That last part—do you think you could go higher?"
Jimin nods because of course he can go higher; he can do anything Yoongi asks of him. So he starts over but then his voice cracks and suddenly he's singing an octave lower and he's laughing nervously because he can usually do this, should be able to do this no problem. Repeats the line again and again and—oh.
He can't.
He can't.
There's a burning sensation in his throat, in his lungs, and he's heaving. Mouth dry and eyes unfocused and why can't he hit that high note? Yoongi almost looks worried when he sighs, muttering something about having to change that part so that there's less strain on Jimin's vocals before turning his back to him to cross out more lines in the notebook.
Jimin tells himself to breathe. "W-wait—hyung, let me try again, I can do it—"
He's not even sure if the rapper is listening anymore, so absorbed into his work, changing the entire song to suit Jimin's vocal range. Yoongi curses softly under his breath at something and Jimin clenches his hands into fists. It isn't supposed to be like this; he isn't supposed to make things worse for Yoongi.
He had been called to the studio to help.
Quietly, Jimin stands up to leave the room. Yoongi doesn't even notice.
.
There is a camera pointed toward his face and Jimin tries his best to change his expression into something film-worthy. His hair is messy, uncombed, and without the usual layers of makeup on his face, he almost feels exposed.
From behind the camera, Taehyung grins. "Show the fans some aegyo, Jiminie!"
And it's not a choice when he pushes out his lower lip into a pout while raising a hand to make the peace sign, not really, because the people watching him want fan-service and this is nothing more than routine. Protocol. He is only here to deliver.
Taehyung seems satisfied with his performance, turning around to find Hoseok next, and Jimin drops his face back into a frown. He watches Hoseok over-exaggerate his actions, cheerfully putting on a show that will surely please the fans, and Jimin can't help but think that aegyo isn't made for people like Hoseok, for people who are already cute without having to put in the effort, handsome even.
Aegyo is only made for people like Jimin, who need the extra gestures and animated facial expressions to hide the fact that underneath it all, he's just plain and ordinary.
Nothing special.
.
Seokjin is cooking in the kitchen when Jimin goes downstairs at around six in the evening. All of them had skipped lunch that day in favour of more practice so he can feel his stomach churning and growling for food before he's even close enough to smell it.
When the meal is finally served, all seven of them are gathered around one table. He cuts up some of the meat into bite-sized pieces, then even smaller, smaller and smaller until he's split up all its calories into little cubes. Until it looks like he's eaten enough of it to pass as being full.
Although Jimin knows that no one is really focused on him, he feels as if they're all watching his actions. Under their stares, he feels like he's suffocating. It's the guilt, he realizes, of being provided good food and then putting it to waste. He counters that thought immediately by reasoning that this is the right
But the others don't comment on it at all, except for Yoongi's occasional questioning gaze. Jimin avoids making eye-contact with the older boy and before long, everyone else has left the table after finishing their meals. Now that he is alone, he knows what it is he must do.
Pausing in front of the garbage can, he looks down at the bowl in his hands that Seokjin worked so hard to make for him and the others and knows that he shouldn't do this. But when he glances down and pats his stomach, feeling all the fat on his body and thinking how disgusting it is, how ugly and utterly revolting, he decides that he's doing the right thing. The responsible thing. For the fans. For himself.
So Jimin flips the bowl over and watches in satisfaction as the food falls into the trash can.
.
Yoongi brings a plate of food to him again a few hours later and sits down in front of him, worry creasing over the rapper's features. The plate is pushed toward him wordlessly and Jimin forces himself to smile under the older boy's scrutinizing gaze.
"Hyung," he greets, "how's the new song coming along?"
Yoongi's frown deepens like he knows exactly what Jimin is trying to do. "Just fine. What have you eaten today, Jimin?"
He shrugs, trying to seem casual. "I've had a few snacks here and there." Maybe like a grape or two.
"You need to eat more," Yoongi says sternly, placing a pair of chopsticks in the younger boy's hand.
Jimin leans back away from the food as if it's poisonous (it is, it'll poison his mind and he won't be able to stop eating and he'll get fat) and does his best to look Yoongi in the eyes when he declines.
He says, "No thanks."
He says, "I'm not hungry right now."
He says, "I just don't feel like it, but thank you for offering, hyung."
He says all those things over and over again until the only words he knows are excuses and lying becomes instinct and he can almost pretend that it's the truth, that he's just following a diet and not starving himself sick.
There is disappointment in Yoongi's eyes when he attempts to feed Jimin himself, but the younger boy just presses his lips into a thin line, stubbornly refusing. He thinks he might be scaring Yoongi when the rapper whispers, "You're killing yourself."
Jimin stares at the food and all he can think of is calories, calories, calories. Wants to scream don't you understand, hyung, I can't eat all that, wants to cry because the grumbling in his stomach is betraying the diet plan he so carefully set up for himself and I'm already too fat, why can't I skim down, why am I such a glutton, hyung, why—
—and maybe he is killing himself. Maybe that's what he wants.
.
Standing on the tiled floor of the bathroom, Jimin wears disappointment like a cloak, wrapping it around himself tightly, so tight that it looks like it's choking the life out of him. It's evident in the way his shoulders are drawn down to the ground, how he notices himself dragging his feet more and more when he walks.
The makeup around his eyes only seems to emphasize his fatigue, dark mascara outlining the wrinkles of flaws he's no longer able to hide. He sees the world through lenses that only display the negatives, the criticism and expectations thrown on him because he's an idol now and the fans want more, Jiminie, more, and he can't change the filter, can't look past the absurd standards he has to meet.
The image in the mirror stares back at him, eyes curving into crescents in what's supposed to be a sign of a smile—and he wonders, not for the first time, if he's losing himself. Because it's getting easier to pretend, to fool his closest friends and even himself. How long until he won't be Park Jimin anymore? How long until he won't even be able to recognize himself?
It's times like these that he wishes he chose a stage name. Yoongi and Namjoon and Taehyung and Hoseok and even Seokjin to an extent can separate their real selves from who they are when the public sees them. Of course, their personalities aren't fake on camera, but Jimin thinks being able to transform into Suga and Rap Monster and V and J-hope and Jin definitely helps to remind them of who they are, who they have to be, and who they should never lose sight of.
(Jimin is definitely losing sight of himself.)
He leans over the edge of the sink and puffs up his cheeks. Presses his hands to his face and why are they still so chubby? Why can't his skin be perfectly smooth without applying layers and layers of makeup? Why wasn't he born with double eyelids?
Why, why, why, why, why—
And so Jimin makes friends with mirrors and seeks advice from images reflected off camera lenses. He wakes up in the mornings to wave at himself in the bathroom like it's a duty and goes to sleep obsessively watching old Bangtan Bombs. At times, when he thinks his mind has gone delirious and his vision blurs, he can almost hear them talking back to him.
Here, the light shines down at an angle that points to his left shoulder, where Taehyung had wrapped his arm around that one time to document the moment with a selca. Jimin remembers the way roses blossomed on his cheeks at the unexpected gesture, sunlight bleeding through their laughter as they leaned in close. Here, the top of his head where Namjoon likes to ruffle his hair, followed by a dimpled smile and the words, You did well, Jiminie. And finally, here, Jungkook had gone to him in the middle of the night, the younger's face pressed against his chest. One of the few times their maknae went to Jimin in a mess of sniffles, and reminded him that there are people who rely on him, too.
That he is loved, too.
.
—and he may be an idol with fans all around the world who look up to him, who expect things from him, but he's still human.
He's only human.
.
"Eat," Yoongi says again on a different day at a different time. It's become a frequent thing lately, the rapper checking up on the younger boy to make sure he's not starving himself sick.
Jimin looks at the food and already knows that it's too much. He can't finish it. But he takes the bowl in his hands anyway, glances up at Yoongi with understanding now in his eyes.
"Thanks."
.
The road to recovery is never a linear one.
Jimin doesn't expect to get better immediately; the dark thoughts have plagued his mind for far too long for them to go away simply because he wishes it. Instead, time passes by in waves, days documented by a sinusoidal graph of restless emotions fighting for dominance over a frail body.
There are peaks of confidence where his lyrics come out flawlessly in the recording room and his dance instructor compliments him on his smooth movements, words of praise lulling him to sleep after the sun has set. These are the moments that make him believe that he'll be able to move away from the gnawing sensation of starving himself and the feeling of never being enough.
And then, of course, there are troughs that sometimes seem to go on exponentially. Locked doors and muffled screams into his pillow, hours and hours of having to face the fact that he's inadequate, may never be suited for this career, and fear of disappointing the fans creeps in like an unsuspecting shadow of doubt. Practice, practice, practice, but something's still lacking, he's still lacking, and quitting seems like the only option left.
But there are also rare days of acceptance when Jimin is glad that his he doesn't get better instantly. Learning to love himself isn't something that happens overnight, shouldn't be something that happens overnight, and—he's trying, he thinks. He's getting there.
He's getting there.
.
.
.
It's a different interviewer this time but Jimin knows the basic questions because he's gone through it so many times by now and they're always pretty much the same.
"What do you think of being an idol?"
Jimin takes a pause to think. To really think.
He's had many glitches on this career path he chose for himself as a teenager. Setbacks that have engraved their marks on his body. There's no doubt that his mind wanders, sometimes, to the possibilities of a different life free of thirteen-hour dance practices and exaggerating his reactions to create a new persona on camera.
Questions of self-worth are always prominent, caused by everything they do and the judgement they receive from a variety of different people. Loving his job is hard sometimes and it's so easy to focus on the things he's lost as an idol.
But what he has now, he realizes with a force that overpowers his regrets, is even more valuable: connections, a team that supports him, a common goal they're all working toward. A second family. Experiences that are hard to be expressed as words but significantly easier as music.
He takes a step back and thinks about how much has happened in the past years. How much he has improved, both as a performer and as a person in general.
And how, in the end, all the blood, sweat, and tears were worth it to stand on the big stage, spotlight shining down on them from above, the rest of Bangtan beside him as fellow performers and artists and friends, singing and dancing until he feels light-headed and his legs ache to give in.
But he doesn't—doesn't give in because that's the last thing he wants. The fans in the audience in front of him are cheering them on and, yes, they may put a lot of pressure on him without even realizing it but it's their messages and tweets and continuous encouragement and loyalty to their music that motivates him. Keeps him going.
He thinks about the moment it all ends, when fans exit the concert hall. How the too-familiar sad feeling washes over him as they depart, how he regrets not putting on a better performance for the people who have been supporting him since day one, and next time—
—next time he'll have new dance moves to show off, better vocals to broadcast through the speakers, sharper movements and higher notes and faster beats.
Because there will be a next time. There will always be a next time.
Jimin glances up at the interviewer, smiling, and thinks that even now, although he's had his share of doubts, his answer is still the same as when he was first asked the question.
"I've been part of Bangtan for three years," he starts, eyes twinkling, "and I love it."
And that's the truth.
A/N: wow a happy ending? what a rare occurrence.
so I had started this story like a year ago and didn't touch it for a long time until recently. I can clearly see that my feelings toward bangtan has changed because I don't feel nearly as strongly for them anymore haha. interesting.
regardless, even though I don't keep up with many of their activities anymore, I hope the real jimin is doing okay on the other side of the world.