The Broken Dancer

The Weight of Silence

The dressing room still felt full even after Jimin's footsteps faded down the corridor. His storm of anger had left a heavy silence in it's wake, one that settled like smoke on the air.

Taehyung broke it first, his voice small and tight. "Should we... go after him?"

Jungkook was already halfway toward the door, fists clenched, but Seokjin's hand on his arm stopped him. "No," Seokjin said firmly, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. "Let him breathe. If we press too hard now, he'll only close himself off more."

Taehyung bit his lip, clearly fighting the urge to run after their friend. Jungkook glared, muttering, "He shouldn't be alone right now." But Seokjin's grip held fast.

Inside, Seokjin's thoughts twisted with guilt. He had seen this before - Jimin snapping when the pressure became unbearable, then retreating into silence and smiles. He wanted to say something, to tell them all the truth he carried like a stone in his chest. It's his father. It's always his father. But the words stayed locked in his throat. His silence was a choice, a coward's choice, and it was killing him piece by piece.

Jimin walked alone that night, the hallway lights overhead buzzing faintly. His chest still heaved from the outburst, but the sharp edges of his anger were already curling inward, cutting him instead.

Why had he yelled? Why at Yoongi, of all people?

He rubbed his ribs absentmindedly, where bruises pulsed beneath the fabric of his shirt. Yoongi's face haunted him - startled, hurt, and yet steady, as if nothing Jimin could say would drive him away. The memory made his throat tighten.

But apologies were dangerous. They required vulnerability, and vulnerability invited pain. So instead, Jimin painted on another smile the next night, then the night after that, slipping back into his performer's mask like a second skin.

Yoongi returned.

Not just once, but every night that week. He never approached Jimin, never risked another explosion. Instead, he kept to the edges of the room, slipping into shadows like a ghost, nursing a drink he barely touched.

And he watched.

Onstage, Jimin danced beneath the lights as if nothing had happened. His body twisted, glided, and burned with elegance that stole the air from Yoongi's lungs. But Yoongi's eyes caught what others missed - the flinch when Jimin landed too hard on his bruised side, the stiffness in his shoulders, the fleeting grimance smothered beneath a practiced smile.

Jimin looked like a mirror Yoongi once knew too well: shining glass on the surface, but cracked underneath, each fracture threatening to spread until the whole thing shattered.

Yoongi's chest ached with guilt. You lied to him. You can't even tell him who you really are. And still you want to save him.

Taehyung and Jungkook were less subtle. They hovered at Jimin's side between sets, making sure he ate, leaving drinks around Jimin's makeup table, and quietly adjusting costumes so they wouldn't rub against bruises. They tried not to corner him again, but their watchfulness never wavered.

Jimin noticed. The warmth of their care sometimes soothed him, but more often it prickled, a constant reminder of his fragility. He hated being seen as breakable.

Seokjin, meanwhile, said little. He moved behind the bar with his usual ease, but his eyes followed Jimin constantly. Every time Jimin's father passed through the club, Seokjin's shoulders stiffened, his gaze sharp with fear. He wanted to drag Jimin away, to scream the truth to anyone who would listen, but his silence was a chain he couldn't break.

The week crawled forward, each night heavy with unspoken things.

Finally, late one evening after the crowd had thinned and the stage lights dimmed, Jimin lingered in the dressing room with his friends. He stared at the floor for a long moment, then whispered, almost too quietly to hear: "...I'm sorry."

Taehyung's head shot up, eyes wide. Jungkook blinked, caught off guard.

"I didn't mean to snap at you. Any of you," Jimin continued, his voice rough. "I know you're just... trying to help."

For once, Taehyung didn't tease or smile. He just pulled Jimin into a quick, fierce hug. "Don't be sorry. Just... don't carry it all alone, okay?"

Jungkook nodded, expression unusually soft. "We're not going anywhere, hyung."

Seokjin didn't move from his spot by the mirror, but his eyes softened. He wanted to say more - wanted to admit he knew too much, that he should have done something long ago. Instead, he only murmured, "That's all we ever wanted."

Jimin smiled faintly, though his eyes were tired. He felt lighter for a moment, the weight in his chest easing just enough to breathe.

Outside, parked beneath the weak glow of a streetlamp, Yoongi sat in his car, hands clenched around the steering wheel. He'd kept his distance all week, afraid of angering Jimin again, but watching him endure in silence had become unbearable.

He thought of mirrors. Of the cracks that grew until they couldn't be hidden anymore. Of Jimin dancing beautifully while breaking inside.

No one waiting. No more watching.

Yoongi's resolve hardened like stone: the next time, he would act - no matter what it cost him.

Jimin lingered in the empty club after his friends had gone, the stage lights long since dimmed. The silence pressed in on him, heavier than the music ever had.

He sat at his dressing table, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The makeup was gone now, the bruises visible beneath the harsh glow of the bulbs. He traced one with a fingertip, the ache familiar, almost comforting in it's constancy.

But it wasn't the bruises that held his thoughts. It was the absence.

Yoongi hadn't approached him all week. Jimin had caught glimpses - a shadow at the edge of the room, a steady gaze he felt even without looking - but not a word had been spoken between them.

A part of him was relieved. If Yoongi came too close, Jimin feared the fragile mask he wore would crumble. But another part - a part he refused to name - missed the quiet strength of Yoongi's presence. Missed the way his voice had steadied him the night he collapsed. Missed how it felt, for once, not to be entirely alone.

Jimin let out a shaky laugh at his own foolishness. Missing someone he barely knew? Longing for comfort he wasn't supposed to want? It was pathetic. Dangerous.

And yet, as he sat in the dim light, he couldn't stop wondering when Yoongi would step out of the shadows again.