A Muse

1: Jungkook

   The stage is awash in blue and pink lights, and the colors recall the space that hovers between the day and the evening. There is a boy on the floor of the stage—he is on his knees, and his head is bent back, lips parted, the planes of his face a myriad of color. I watch transfixed as his body displays pure emotion, for the dance is an ocean in which the boy on the stage navigates. The rise and fall of his body, the swaying between contemporary dance moves and something that is completely his own, the boy is a flame, a storm, powerful. I gasp as he leaps into a split parallel with the stage floor before he reaches a peak in the music, and I expect another perfectly executed ballet jump; instead, when his feet touch the floor, he uses his momentum to gracefully roll into a fall.

   He is on his knees again, almost in the exact spot as he began, and he flicks his head forward; his hair forms a momentary halo before hiding his face from the crowd. His chest is heaving. His shadow is a smear of black behind him. He raises his head as the curtain drops, and I swear he meets my eyes before he is blocked from my sight.

   The tears are falling, falling, fall—

   "—ungkook! Can you hear me? Turn off your alarm, and come down for breakfast! You'll be late for your first day of university!"

   I am pulled from my dream to the retreating sound of my mother's footsteps and the annoying blare of my phone's alarm. I swipe a hand down my face and sigh; the recurring dream from that night makes my heart feel heavy every time I have it.

   I push the thoughts to the back of my mind and stand up to stretch: grab toes for 40 seconds, raise arms and clasp hands for 40 seconds, and plank for two minutes. I yawn as I finish; I grab some jeans from the floor, sniff, and deem them clean to wear, and I yank them on after changing my briefs. Twenty white shirts stare at me from my closet, so I choose one of the many and pull it over my head. I snatch my beanie and my backpack on the way out of my room.

   "Jeon Jungkook, you better hurry down these stairs right now if you want a good breakfast," my mom calls up to me.

   She turns to scold me, but I am already behind her. I pat her head and give her a sleepy smile. She gives me the mom look.

    "Jungkook, I told you to wake earlier," she chides and looks to my hair, "did you even brush it?"

   "I know, I know. What did you make?" I shrug, and I dodge her question because I didn't brush my hair; it'll be under a beanie anyways.

   I can tell she doesn't want to be done with the conversation, but she lets it go anyways, "Sit down and you'll find out."

   "Yes ma'am," I say with a teasing smile.

   She sets out a bowl of rice, cold cucumber soup, radish kimchi, and eggs. My chopsticks are in my hand before she sets the last plate down, and the first bite makes my stomach rumble. Realizing how hungry I am, I dig in, and that makes my mother smile. Like any mom, she loves when her sons eat well.

   "Your brother should be here this weekend, Jungkook," my mom states as she watches me.

   "Jung-hyun hyung is coming? He is free this weekend?" I ask around a mouthful.

   "Yes, he made some time since it is your first week in university!"

   I nod as I finish the last of the food, and I check the time. Shit. My stomach is somersaulting, and I am brutally reminded of how much I hate places with crowds.

   "We'll talk more later, mom, I have to hurry!" I say as I run upstairs; I brush my teeth, run back down, shove my feet into my boots, and bolt out the door.

   I can make it if I'm fast enough, I can make it.

   I sprint through the doors of the train station, and the train is still at the platform! I push past the early morning pedestrians and step onto the train right before the doors close. I let out a breath and wipe my forehead with my arm. I lace my boots while the train makes its way to the center of the city, but I get the nagging feeling that I forgot something.

   The train is fast, so I make it to the center in 10 minutes which gives me enough time to make it to my first class without running. I take my time because the nerves in my stomach are roiling, angrier now than this morning; my palms start to sweat as I near the doors of the university, Korea National Institute of Arts. I move to grab onto my backpack straps, but my hands simply grasp air. I have to close my eyes and breathe because I forgot my backpack on the first day of university. Great.