He was a Punk. He did Ballet. |nomin|

Two

Jaemin lived on the twenty-fifth floor of his building. It was a modern, cozy loft apartment that he had lived in since the day he became of age. Jaemin was grateful to afford such a home, a home he was proud to have gained on his own.

Closing the front door behind him, Jaemin threw his bag on the floor. The apartment was well maintained, with plants at each corner and frames of art handing off the bright walls. He had a hutch full of antique books and vinyls. The windows in the living room reached from the floor to the ceiling, and the city lights in the horizon dimmed the entire loft.

Jaemin limped over to the couch and sat down. He leaned back with an unpleasant sigh. His bed was right up the stairs, but there was no way in hell he was going to torture himself even more.

Every day was the same routine: wake up, go to practice for eight hours, go home, shower, and go to sleep. Just to do it all over again. He didn't know how he did it... he didn't know why. Maybe it was to prove something to himself. Maybe it was to keep himself alive. He didn't know what to believe anymore. He didn't have any faith. Nothing would change anyway.

He took out his phone.

9:12pm.

Still not one notification.

It's not like he expected anyone to message him. At least, not anymore. Jaemin went to his social media page. It was pretty bare, with only three nature pictures posted years ago. His follower list was in the four hundreds.

Being a ballet dancer gave him fame, but it was the kind of fame that only applied to members of that community. Jaemin liked it that way. Or did he? He wasn't sure.

Jaemin bent over to the coffee table, where a bottle of pills and a pair of earbuds were left from previous use. The pain in his ankle traveled up his calf and he couldn't take it.

Jaemin was aware that he shouldn't be taking pills on an empty stomach, but he got the bottle open and dry swallowed three of them anyway. Dinner was served.

Jaemin connected the earbuds to his phone and put them on. He found a radio in his music app that ranged from old songs to new releases. Jaemin rested his sore back on the cushion.

He let the music play.

The first song that came on started off with an acoustic solo. He closed his eyes, imagining the artist's fingers gently strumming their guitar, whoever they were. The notes were hauntingly beautiful, as if this artist had poured their heart and soul into it. It felt real... in the sense that it communicated through the speakers and seeped down deep into his ears like a seductive whisper. It was simple and yet so evocative, like a sunrise and sunset all at once.

Then the drums came on. The beat went at the rate of his resting heart. And when the male artist began to sing, Jaemin felt chills going down his spine. The deep vocals tickled his eardrums the right way, and he held his breath. He turned the volume up, treating his desire for more.

For as long as he could remember, music had always been his therapy, music that was organic and unedited. He could never get into what was mainstream, but of course he never judged others for liking it. But this song... it was a mixture of instrumentals and unique, sensual vocals that Jaemin couldn't get enough of.

And the lyrics... they weren't just lyrics. It was a message. A command. A request. It was meant to be heard by him.

Jaemin had never heard such beauty before. As the song approached its bridge, he started chewing on his lower lip and his eyes welled up with tears. A solemn tear fell down his cheek, his body calm compared to how tangled his mind was. And by the time the song concluded, a great sob escaped his lips and he covered his face with shaking hands. The song brought up emotions he hadn't felt in forever... emotions that he used to suppress. It brought up memories that went by in flashes. It did what other songs could not... he fell in love.

Jaemin sat right up. He wiped his eyes dry, and then looked at his phone. He needed to know who this song belonged to.

"My Last," Jaemin exhaled, upon looking at the song's title. The album's cover was a simple white rose on top of a red puddle. And right beneath the title was the band's name:

Nightshade.

The same one performing in that club at 10pm sharp. Jaemin glanced at the time. It was already twenty 'til. It had to be a coincidence.

"Who is he?" Jaemin asked himself, referring to that irresistible voice. He needed to put a face next to their name. He needed to find out.

Jaemin quickly thought back to what his mother said. She was the one who advised to try something new... what if he did go? Jaemin stood up and limped over to the window, to gaze off into the skyline, with the song on repeat. His ankle was feeling a little better, thanks to those pills in his system.

Jaemin had never been inside a club before. He was a goody two-shoes who didn't drink and danced for work purposes only. But that song... something about it... it was meant for him. He imagined how it would sound live. And besides, after the horrible night he had, he could really use a break.

"Maybe... just this once." Jaemin nodded, still wiping leftover tears away. Soon, he made his way upstairs to change into some fancier clothing. It was now or never.

He needed to heal.