Nights in the Studio - Taejoon

43

Jimin's POV

"The first time I felt the need to leave home was when I was thirteen." I open my eyes and rub my face, wishing for a moment I hadn't already finished the two bottles of wine "There was, this at home...a feeling of alertness. My father wasn't exactly the model citizen," I take a deep breath, try to focus my cool head on that time that seems to have gotten the best of me "although no one ever knew, only mother, my brother and I think me."

"You didn't have to understand everything, Jimin-ah. You were a child." The female voice tells me. He is sober.

"Really?" I ask, jokingly.

"Yes. Even your decision to come to Seoul seems...rushed." He mumbles, I try to interfere, but he corrects himself on time "I know it was your dream to dance and all that but, maybe you were just really running away?"

"From what would I? my dad went to rehab. And mother got better. They even allowed me to become a dancer. My life was perfect." I defend.

"Or...it was just what you thought." He says and I can almost smell the horrible cinnamon in the therapist office all over again. "And even with that, those things cannot justify your ways with Taehyung, or with anyone else."

I groan.

"You talk like that damn doctor...they both think they're special trying to make me understand what things are correct and what aren't. In the end it turns out that good and evil aren't real..." I sigh.

"Maybe you think it's because your shit isn't together, or you feel guilty but you..."

"Should not?" I lean back in the chair to look Cho right in the eye "Is that what you were going to say?" I wait a moment and see him hesitate. I smile. "Forget it then. I don't need any more of that shit from someone who has no problems."

A minute of dead silence.

"It wasn't always like this you know," he says "being human is complicated."

"Then what did you suffer with? Why are you like this now?" I ask, intrigued and with a desire to inconvenience that doesn't seem to be successful.

"If you ask about my gender, you are wasting your time. Being non-binary has many interpretations...for me it is just accepting the fact that I am human, there is not much to add." He says, I settle into my place, deep in the nuances of his words.

"Define being human." I ask, he smirks before looking at me.

"It's impossible to do that, Jimin. That's the beauty of it."

"I think that's what really pisses you off: being human means you'll always be mean, selfish, deceitful, and ridiculously miserable when you do the same thing to others at the same time."

"You don't know that."

"It's who I am now." I say, trying not to get mad at myself, "I hurt the one person who was my best friend, the one who could have been my soulmate...all because I couldn't stand the thought of losing him. I became the thing he hates the most." He chuckled a bit "at least until I'm gone... just thinking about all the things I do for him and still he prefers to hate me."

"I'm sure Taehyung doesn't hate you."

"Everyone seems to do it; it doesn't even matter anymore."

"I do not hate you." He says, letting my breath settle.

"Maybe, but I do. Not only him, but me, my father, all of this, everyone..." I reply curtly.

"Even me?" He asks, I gulp as I stand up. I face him for a second, sees his soft yet deadly face. It reminds me of a wounded animal.

"This is complicated enough already. You know I'm just using you, right?"

"Even though I'm in love with you..." He says to himself, not taking his eyes off me. The certainty of him makes me tremble with fear and excitement at the same time.

"I don't care about that; I can't just accept it. Not you or anyone other than him."

"But you're not good for each other, Namjoon..."

"Please, doctor. I don't give a shit about all that speech. My mind can only think that I want to be next to him."

"It's a matter of time."

"Perhaps of a lifetime." I dare to conclude, truly hoping that it is not so.

"I'm beginning to think I want to wait until you're done with this." I raise an eyebrow at him, I see him falter "Because I think I'm starting to really care about you."

"Why? Because of the dates we have? Because of the sex we had?" I ask, wanting to make him cry so he can get the hell out of there with his words of encouragement "Or am I your improvement project? You believe you can fix me? With the motherfucking power of fucking love?" He looks at me distractedly.

"Yes." He answers, almost without thinking.

I laugh under my breath.

"I thought you were better than this."

"Me too, but I mean," he plays with his fingers while speaking "you're going to try and get better. Then maybe go away, and I don't see why I shouldn't try."

I move closer to him and try to figure the face he has: innocence and lust at the same time.

"I think you're rather expecting a cheesier romance type of shit, and trust me, I'm not the guy."

"Yet." Is more of a question than an answer but it still makes me smile out of pity.

"I don't think I'm ever forgetting him, or anything that we shared. Not even if the entirety of my life depends on it. Not even if I do." I try being honest, but it ends up being disgustingly sincere that I feel like throwing up.

This is what I've become.

The doctor smiles before getting up, taking the two empty glasses on the table in my room, and walking to the exit to leave the tray with the leftovers from room service. He comes back after a few minutes; I can barely stand up.

In the subconscious, I feel him approach and kiss me on the forehead, before walking back to the exit, wishing me good night.

I am sure that I can die at any moment.

After all, it is only a matter of time.