His Obsession ➸ Taekook ✓

- Fifth -

When Jungkook returned to the dressing room after his performance, it was almost empty. He usually finished quite late, and all the girls were tired, so they often left before he did. He didn't mind, on the contrary. Even late at night, he liked the peace and quiet. He liked to undress and remove his make-up alone, in the silence, immersed in his thoughts. An intimate moment with himself.

But as he sat there, alone in front of the mirror, lazily rubbing the cotton with make-up remover over his face, he heard the dressing room door open and then close again. At first, he thought it was a dancer, who had perhaps flirt a little with a customer before returning to change, but he changed his mind when the room fell back into silence. Not a word was exchanged, and Jungkook continued to remove his make-up. He suspected the identity of this person.

Finally, after a few seconds, which the stranger surely had spent watching Jungkook, he moved again, striding confidently but nonchalantly towards the sparkling dress, which was right behind Jungkook. And so, through the mirror, the singer got a glimpse of the man who had disturbed his moment of intimacy.

"You were perfect again tonight, just as I expected."

Jungkook watched him for a moment, his eyes squinting and looking indifferent, before returning to his duties.

"I'll never understand what you all see in my performances. Especially you, Yoongi. You're not one to be fooled."

Yoongi gave a faint smile, never taking his eyes off the sumptuous dress. He even caressed it with his fingertips, brushing gently against it for fear of damaging it. As if someone like Yoongi wasn't worthy of it, too common to deserve it.

"They say butterflies can't see their wings. That they can't see their own beauty." he replied simply.

Jungkook put the cotton back on the dressing table and turned, looking at Yoongi with a blank stare. The man had long black hair that he pulled back, but a stray lock kept falling over his face. Objectively, he was a very handsome man. But what set him apart was the long scar across his right eye. At that point, his beauty became subjective. Jungkook found him even more charming, but it terrified many. It made him look like a mafioso, even though he had tried to be honest all his life. Fate wasn't kind to those who struggled to stay in the light.

"What do you want, Yoongi?" Jungkook asked, looking slightly suspicious.

The thirty-year-old finally turned his attention from the dress to the singer. And it was only then that Jungkook noticed the newspaper in his boss's hand. Yoongi approached him and handed it to him.

"What's this? Jungkook asked, implicitly wanting to know what he was supposed to do with it.

"Today's newspaper." Yoongi simply replied. "You should read the headline."

Jungkook wasn't very interested, but he did it anyway. He gently grabbed the newspaper and unfolded it, before placing it on the dressing table to read it. His gaze immediately fell on the headline: "Another murder in Seoul: man had his eyes gouged out". Jungkook stared at it for a moment before handing the paper back to Yoongi, whose gaze was riveted on his singer.

"And? It's sad, but I don't see how it concerns me."

Yoongi sighed.

"Jungkook, honestly, you can do whatever you want with your life. I'm the last man who should be lecturing you. In the world I live in, crime has become a daily occurrence. But I'd like to tell you that you're venturing into dangerous territory."

Jungkook suddenly looked amused, despite the death in his eyes.

"Oh, are you afraid I'm going to get arrested?"

Yoongi walked over to the bin and nonchalantly threw the newspaper in.

"That's probably the best thing that could happen to you." he sighed.

Jungkook frowned.

"So what are you afraid of, Yoongi?"

The thirty-year-old turned to look into his employee's eyes.

"That you'll lose yourself, Jungkook. There will come a time when you will not be able to go back. A time when the 'you' you've tried so hard to protect will die at your hands."

Jungkook didn't answer, turning to go back to removing his make-up. Yoongi sighed. Sometimes he felt like he was talking to a child. Probably because in his eyes, Jungkook was one. He didn't want the young man to shut himself, because if he did, Jungkook would really be on his own. Yoongi had to remain someone he could trust, someone he could confide in.

"Do you like the dress?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

Jungkook paused for a moment before continuing.

"Yes, it's beautiful. But Suzy told me that you didn't want it to be worn. Why? I'm sure it would look good on Suzy. Or Dayun. They're by far the most beautiful here."

Yoongi shook his head, a small smile once again making its way to his lips.

"They won't wear it." he explained.

Jungkook frowned.

"Why? If they're not worthy, then who is?"

"You are. I bought it for you."

Jungkook abandoned what he was doing and turned around, looking visibly confused.

"What?"

"It'll wait as long as it takes. Maybe even this cabaret will die without it ever having been worn. But no one will ever lay their hands on this dress but you."

"Yoongi I'm a man, I don't wear dresses."

"What's the big deal? I thought of you when I saw it, so I bought it for you. It belongs to you. If you don't want to wear it, then don't. But if one day the desire takes you, know that in this cabaret, you are free. Free to be yourself. I fight for that every day."

With these last words, Yoongi left the room, leaving Jungkook alone again with his thoughts. And he couldn't take his eyes off the dress.

"It's true that it's beautiful..."

***

When Jungkook closed the door of his flat, it was pitch black. The whole flat was plunged into darkness, and you could see absolutely nothing. But the young man didn't bother to turn on the light, knowing the way to his bedroom by heart. So he took off his shoes, and walked towards his room without a sound, with a feline gait. He undressed on the way, dropping his clothes one by one along the corridor, so that when he reached his room he immediately fell into bed, diving under the covers.

But he kept his eyes open, staring at a ceiling he couldn't see. And instinctively, his gaze wandered to his bedside table. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there. The picture frame. The only one in the whole flat. He reached out, grabbing it gently, and brought it to him. He stroked the photo with his fingertips, guessing the shapes and colours because he'd memorised them. And involuntarily, a tear rolled down his cheek.

"Mom, Hyuna... I'm so tired..."