Chapter Text
Most of the country was snowing, so Park Jimin gratefully breathed in the cool valley air of the oh-so-typical Los Angeles afternoon. Still, he wore a light zip-up over his t-shirt and track pants, the early March weather not entirely innocent. The sleeves reached his knuckles. His fingers followed with their grip on a manila folder carrying a hard copy of his resume and portfolio.
Like many areas of LA, the warehouse before him looked desolate. It was three stories of height, faded windows, and flaking beige walls. The alley separating its run-down parking lot from the building wasn’t any less shabby with its cracked roads in desperate need of a repave. The smell of dust and the gutter filtered through Jimin’s nose. To any outsider, the environment screamed to stay out. To Jimin, it was just one of the many charms of LA. Films broadcast the city as some luxurious palm tree heaven, but unless you resided in Beverly Hills, it really was just a place on the verge of succumbing to the likes of a disaster flick.
Jimin was unsurprised when he pushed through the doors of the warehouse to be faced with an entirely different interior. The walls may have matched the outside, but the light gray floor was polished enough to see blurry reflections from the brightness of the afternoon sun streaming through the large windows. The entire space was free of any rooms, the single floor under the high ceiling simply one massive area. It was big enough to compare with a concert stage, which was kind of the point. One wall making up the length of the building was an entire mirror that stood around ten feet tall. Opposite the mirror displayed various things: a clump of folding chairs and spotted folding tables, a pile of backpacks and other belongings, a white van pulled in at the opposite end before a closed garage door, trunks and trunks of who knew what in the farest corner.
And people. Some were near the trunks beginning to unload, some were sitting in the chairs looking as though they were waiting for something, some were stretching before the mirror, and some were huddled at any of the various tables.
The vast room smelled of air freshener and sweat.
Jimin stepped over to the closest table, only a few feet from the door and clearly where he needed to go. Sitting behind it was a young woman perhaps around Jimin’s age, with black bobbed hair as straight as pins with bangs to match. Instantly, Jimin was sucked into her eyes. They were like glittering black holes.
“Here to audition?” she greeted with a kind smile, taking Jimin’s folder as he handed it to her outstretched hand.
“Yes,” Jimin replied, watching as she checked that his folder had the required elements. She then spun around a tablet.
“Fill this out, and then you can go take a seat over there. We’re starting at two on the dot, so it shouldn’t be long.”
Jimin took the device and bowed his back to fill out the form with his electronic signature and timestamp. The woman placed his folder into a file storage container at the edge of the table’s surface as he went over to the clump of chairs to wait.
He slipped out his phone. It was 1:52 p.m.
He glanced at some of the other auditionees who’d decided to take the time to stretch. Jimin had already done so right before he’d left his apartment, not knowing for how long he’d be able to stretch while here or if he would be able to at all. Still, his legs had slightly tensed from being bent up in the ride over, so he figured it wouldn’t hurt to complete some basic poses in the few minutes he had.
He stood up, and he froze.
Through the mirror, his eyes landed on him.
On Jeongguk.
The mononymously known superstar was walking away from the direction of the van, as though he’d just come from lounging inside the shut-off vehicle. He wore combat boots with white laces, cargo pants cinched at the ankles, a turtleneck under a trench coat that reached his shoes, and a plain ball cap atop his permed wavy hair. Everything was black besides his shirt, which was the color of the warehouse floor. He paid no mind to the awaiting dancers, most of whom were now focused on the celebrity like how Jimin was. Jeongguk just kept his eyes averted, stopping before a slim man in loose shorts and a giant tee.
Two men perhaps an odd amount of years older than the twenty-four-year-old singer followed, one in belted black jeans and a tucked in black polo, clearly a bodyguard. His face was blank, until the one in shorts said something that made him suddenly cackle out a laugh. The second of the two following men must have been a manager, agent, or publicist. He had that air of overt importance around him with his focused expression and phone in hand, as well as a bag slung across his shoulders to rest at his hip. Jimin guessed it was full of Jeongguk’s desperate needs, like breath spray or low-calorie snacks.
Jimin couldn’t see Jeongguk’s expressions. The man was turned away from everyone, though Jimin didn’t doubt some in the room were fawning over his broad back.
Jimin cracked his neck before bending in half to not only reach his toes, but to hug his legs. He shut his eyes, holding the position easily. Blood began to rush to his head.
“Holy shit, do you have bones?”
Jimin snapped open his eyes, lifting his neck. Standing before him was a teenager, or perhaps a college kid. Jimin couldn’t tell. The boy was a mix between fresh out of high school and entry-level worker, though his amazed mouth shape at Jimin’s stretch knocked down some years.
“Surprisingly, I do,” Jimin said, standing straight.
“How do you do that?” the kid—man—asked, lowering down to inspect Jimin’s legs as if he’d find the answer in a tangible form.
“I just do.”
The man-kid gave him a severely unimpressed look, though it was far from threatening. His lips naturally downturned, so his frown was even more expressive. “Yeah, I got that, but I mean, how long did it take you to be able to do that?”
Jimin shrugged. “I’ve danced all my life.”
“Okay, me too, but I’m not that flexible. Did you do gymnastics or something?”
“No, but I did contemporary dance.”
“Ah, see, now that makes sense.” He held out a hand. He must have been at least three or four lanky inches taller than Jimin. “I’m Yeonjun.”
Jimin released a quiet breath of amusement. “I’m Jimin.”
“You’re Korean, too!” Yeonjun stated excitedly. “That’s dope. Is that why you’re auditioning for Jeongguk? You wanna keep with our people?”
With the mention of the singer’s name, Jimin’s eyes automatically flickered to the mirror. Jeongguk was still turned away.
“I mean, I kind of like dancing,” Jimin answered in an attempt at a joke.
Yeonjun snickered. “Duh.”
“How old are you?”
“Younger than you.”
Jimin held back a snort at the kid’s boldness.
“But I’m twenty-two,” Yeonjun added cheekily.
“Then I’ve got four years on you, kid.”
“Everyone listen up!"
The voice had come from the man in the shorts and tee. He was waving both arms animatedly, walking around a table placed dead center of the room, opposite of the mirror. Closer now, Jimin recognized him as one of the staff who’d initially interviewed Jimin only a few days before. The hirers had wanted to first get a feel of everyone’s personality before seeing their talent, and Jimin knew he’d aced his interview, considering he was now at the following dance audition.
The shorts guy, who now stood diagonally from the seated auditionees, said to all of them, “It’s two o’clock, so we’re going to start the audition.”
Jeongguk settled into a chair behind the same table, scooting his seat all the way in. His shoulders slightly turned inwards. The woman who Jimin had given his documents to joined him, and, to Jimin’s surprise, Yeonjun bounded over to take a third seat.
Apparently, the kid was not there to audition.
“My name is Jung Hoseok, but you can all call me Hobi. Beyond being one of the people who you all met at the past week’s interview, I am the choreographer director for Jeongguk’s upcoming world tour slated to begin in May, as well as one of the stage performers. Throughout the room are performers already a part of this team—wave, guys!”
Sprinkled people throughout the warehouse waved in greetings to the auditionees. There were perhaps fifteen, including Yeonjun and the woman with the bob.
“Behind me are two of them, Choi Yeonjun and Hirai Momo. They, specifically, will be helping judge who we choose to add to our fabulous team of performers. Of course, Jeongguk will also be judging how well you all do today. It’s his show, after all.”
Jimin expected Jeongguk to interject with maybe some light-hearted banter, to introduce himself as the heartthrob whose latest single had yet to leave the top ten of the Billboard Hot 100 after weeks and weeks, how his album had sold a record number of physical copies when no one bought physical copies anymore, how his most recent late night appearance was still trending on YouTube—but Jeongguk didn’t say any of that. He didn’t say anything at all. He just softly smiled and barely nodded his head towards the auditionees.
“Here’s how this is going to work,” Hoseok continued, clapping his hands together. “We’ll start with some group warm-ups to get rid of any kinks, and then I’ll teach you a one minute routine in thirty minutes. The routine is actually one being used for the tour—the tour is already choreographed, by the way,” he added off-handedly. “Today is hopefully the final audition we’ll hold to find our last needed dancers. After learning the routine, you’ll immediately present it to us in groups of four, and that will be it. You’ll be free to go, and the group of us here will convene and get back to you by the end of the day on whether you’ve been selected or not. Please be reminded that we only have two spots available, one male and one female—well, sorry—the two spots will be two people each filling one of the two more stereotypical gender positions on stage, but it doesn’t matter who is filling the spot. We don’t discriminate here, got it? Okay, now.”
Hoseok stalked up towards the mirror, halting only a few feet before it. His reflection showcased a long nose and heart-shaped lips, as well as brown hair parted down the middle to frame his face. His limbs were thin, enough for Jimin to consider how he’d dance.
“Come on, everyone, stand behind me,” Hoseok urged, not quite demanding but not exactly without intimidation. The auditionees scrambled to follow his request, naturally forming into equal sized lines. Jimin figured there must have been twenty or thirty of them.
Only two would make it. Jimin swore he’d be one of them.
Hoseok began with ten minutes of simple stretching, and Jimin was glad. There could never be too much stretching. From neck rolls to splits, the group completed them all. Someone had turned on house music, the tunes coming loudly from previously set-up floor speakers, but not deafening enough to miss Hoseok’s instructions. Once Jimin felt loose enough to potentially go from a dramatic tumbling flip into a floor straddle, Hoseok waved a hand to shut off the music.
“This routine is for Jeongguk’s song, ‘Golden.’ Have you all heard it before?”
Everyone nodded and hummed out yeses, everyone except Jimin.
“It’s very bright and fun,” said Hoseok, “so this routine is the fastest of the tour. It requires a lot of body control and energy. However, the bridge has been rearranged to include a contrasting dance break in half-time that’s more sensual, so what you’ll be showcasing through this one is both the upbeat, sharp moves amongst the ones where you get to feel yourself. We’ll be starting from the second chorus and into the dance break. So, your starting position will be this ...”
Jimin was not an expert at picking up choreography quickly. He had to carefully watch every jerk of Hoseok’s elbows, every curve of his spine, and every point of his arm. But once Jimin’s brain translated the moves to his body, that was all it took. He appreciated that Hoseok went through each move thoroughly, stern in his leading but compassionate enough to make sure everyone had got the current move down well enough before moving on. If Yeonjun had thought Jimin had been boneless from his stretch, Jimin thought Hoseok was boneless from his dancing. Before the choreographer had the group run through the entire routine, he showcased it fully to them himself. Pairing his precise instructions spoken through easy-to-understand phrasing, matching with his clear passion for dance, his performance of the routine was the cherry on top to Jimin’s instant respect for the man. Hoseok’s nimble limbs easily executed the hip-hop based routine, adjusting to showcase a sexier side for the break down. He made it look easier than walking.
He finished, releasing curt huffs of breath and waving off the following applause.
“Okay, we’re going to go through the first thirty seconds together,” he announced, “then we’ll do the entire thing. Are you ready? Okay, music, please!”
Jimin locked himself into the starting position.
The music began.
Jimin focused on himself as he repeated the routine in the mirror, letting the song guide his dance. It flowed in through his ears and out his fingers and toes. He maintained attention out of his peripherals to make sure he was in sync with the others, knowing that it did not benefit him to stand out by executing the movements on his own terms. At the end of the day, performing as a backup dancer for Jeongguk on his world tour would be a team effort, one where he’d have to frequent synchronized dance moves. He was not meant to be the main act. That was Jeongguk’s job.
“Okay, okay, that was pretty good!” Hoseok complimented as they halted halfway, though he met eyes with a dancer in the mirror. “You, what's your name?”
“Sarah,” the woman breathed out, tired.
“You fell behind halfway through, Sarah. Are you confused over a part? Which is it?”
She hesitated, catching her breath. “Oh, just—when we do this” —she stretched out her arms in front of her and crossed them— “it goes pretty fast, and it’s just tight-knit, so I just need to practice it a few more times.”
Hoseok copied her exact position. “From here, we go two, three, four . . .” Despite however many minutes they had left—it couldn’t have been many—he went over the section giving the woman trouble. She thanked him, and Hoseok motioned for the song to begin again.
They performed the first thirty seconds, and this time, Jimin paid more attention to those around him. Despite Sarah remembering the choreography on round two, her moves were not precise. Jimin immediately ruled her out, though it wasn’t like that mattered. Even though Hoseok had corrected himself earlier to say the open positions were just to stereotypically fit two gender roles, Jimin was sure one man and one woman would still be selected. Because of that, it didn’t matter to Jimin which women in the room were doing well or poor.
The man directly in front of Jimin was off a half-beat. The one diagonal of him was too stiff. Most of the remainder were more than decent, with a select few being fair competition. Jimin would have to wait and see how everyone did after completing the entire routine.
“All right, see?” Hoseok was saying, grinning at everyone. “That was much better this time. We’ll go through the full routine twice, and then we’ll take a fifteen minute break. Afterwards, you’ll officially audition. Let’s go!”
Going through the first thirty seconds was already easy the third time. Jimin admittedly slipped up for a few seconds with a quarter left of the full sixty second song, the section having been forgettable due to its timeframe in the routine. He hastily watched what others were doing, and on the second go, he fixed his mistake.
“Perfect!” said Hoseok, turning around and beaming at everyone. “You can practice on your own, eat a snack, go to the bathroom, or whatever. Just take a seat in the chairs when you’re done, and we’ll all start around … 2:58.”
Jimin watched Hoseok stroll over to the table of Jeongguk, Yeonjun, and Momo. He sat atop the edge’s surface, gratefully taking a water bottle from Yeonjun. The four of them chatted quietly, most voices even near Jimin drowned out by the volume of the returned house music.
Jeongguk suddenly looked at Jimin.
Jimin held the gaze, and the celebrity instantly glanced down at the table, his eyes now hidden under his hat.
Jimin went for the corner of the warehouse beside the van, a small jut-out having been added to the building at some point to incorporate a bathroom. He had to wait in line, it only being a one-room stall. Once inside, he stood before the mirror and wiped away the beads of sweat across his hairline and brow. He ran his hands through his blonde hair a few times. As he stared at himself in the small mirror, a stark contrast from the lengthy warehouse wall, he loosely went over the section of the routine he’d slipped up. It was only five seconds of time, but Jimin spent perhaps twenty more going over it.
Outside, he filled a cup from the water filter not once, but twice, before taking a seat in one of the chairs. He pulled out his phone. Six minutes to go. Still sitting, he straightened his back and shut his eyes. He tuned out the blasting house music, simultaneously wondering if it had been put on purposefully to weed out those who’d forget the moves while another song played as they tried to practice on their own. Jimin hummed what he could remember from “Golden” under his breath, weakly going over the routine in his seat.
“Okay, everyone! It’s time to begin!”
Jimin’s lids flicked open as the background music turned off. Hoseok now sat among the other three judges, someone having brought over the filing container. Piles of folders were spread across the table. One was opened before each judge.
“Tyler Garcia, Peter Luckin, Sarah Brown, Hannah Tran—you’re up first.”
The four auditionees took their places before each judge, facing the mirror.
“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Hoseok added. “You’ll be facing us, not the mirror.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. The one named Tyler visibly groaned.
Yeonjun whispered something to Momo, who giggled behind her hand.
“Music, please!”
The four of them weren’t terrible. It was obvious they were thrown off from the sudden rule of not being able to see themselves, and thus, each other, but Hannah Tran did pretty amazing. The Peter guy was okay. Tyler, despite his grumbling, pulled it off. Sarah, unfortunately, lost herself during the dance break. When the song ended, unshed tears filled her eyes.
Hoseok noticed, and instead of critiquing any of them, simply said, “Good job, all of you. I know it was hard. You may stay to watch, or you can leave for the day. You’ll hear a response by tonight.”
Hoseok, along with his three tablemates, scribbled notes down onto each dancer’s folder.
“Next four!” Hoseok announced.
Jimin was not called until the end.
Maybe the other three auditionees going up with Jimin were intimidated from having to watch the rest showcase themselves beforehand. They made their way over slowly. Jimin was also human, so his stomach instinctively flurried at the realization that it was finally his turn. Still, without hesitation, he slipped off his jacket and took his place directly before Jeongguk, meeting the singer’s eyes.
Jeongguk swept his focus down, fiddling with the corner of one of the folders.
What’s his problem? thought Jimin.
One of the auditionees made a reluctant sound at having to stand before Hoseok, who just chuckled. “You being in front of me means nothing,” Hoseok assured him, amused. “I’m watching everyone like a hawk.” To prove it, he brought his pointer and index finger shaped into a V to his eyes before flicking the gesture to the four of them.
Being before Hoseok didn’t mean anything, Jimin thought. Hoseok had even said it himself; it was Jeongguk’s show. Standing before Hoseok was neither an advantage nor a disadvantage, but Jimin standing before Jeongguk was another story.
“Okay, you guys are the last ones,” Hoseok said. “Wow me. Music!”
Jimin closed his eyes, and when the first beat dropped, he snapped them open. The routine flooded through his body as though it was liquid, carrying from his core to his palms. He hit each mark with pops and halts, maintaining energy to speed up and slow down when needed. He kept on time, knowing he was executing each section correctly. When the break dance part came, he adjusted his expression to shift from playful to pure sensuality, exuding emotion through the change in atmosphere. It was not just his arms and legs that needed to memorize a routine, but his heart and soul that had to express the quality of the music. Dance was a story. It was a form of expression.
From watching those who’d gone before him, Jimin knew most of them didn’t quite have that down.
Throughout the entire sixty seconds, Jimin kept his attention on Jeongguk. The star could not look away this time, not when he was judging their dancing, and he didn’t, unless he shifted his focus to pay attention to the other auditionees. But his gaze kept finding its way back to Jimin. Somehow, that only boosted Jimin’s confidence.
When the one minute ended, Jimin slowly removed himself from the final position, standing straight with his hands clasped before him. He uttered thank yous to everyone after Hoseok repeated his goodbye greeting. Jeongguk was not looking at him anymore.
Grabbing his jacket, Jimin exited the warehouse.
—
“He didn’t say a word?” Taehyung asked, his mouth bulging as he chewed a sushi roll through his talking.
Jimin elegantly dipped his own piece into the wasabi spiked soy sauce. “Not one that I could hear.”
“Well, that’s kind of weird, isn’t it?” Taehyung gulped down his piece, going for another. Despite his enthusiastic eating, his sunglasses-covered eyes, and his beret-covered hair, there was still something enticing about Kim Taehyung. Maybe it was because he was a highly successful actor on one of Netflix’s most popular dramas in which he played a sexy psychopath, the character causing his true sunshine self to only emphasize his real-life charm. Maybe it was because even though he was covering up to not be spotted by unwanted paparazzi, he still managed to look good. His curly black hair peeked out over his forehead, his cardigan swallowing him whole. To a casual fan, it might have been shocking to see Taehyung so innocent when they were used to his sickening role on their television screen.
Despite knowing Taehyung half of his life, Jimin himself was still impressed by the man’s acting.
“Yoongi adores the guy,” Taehyung added, picking up a new piece. “I mean, I’ve only met Jeongguk personally a few times because he’s so busy—and I am, too—but wouldn’t he at least say hello at his own tour auditions? He at least said hi, right?”
“Nope.”
“Whoa.”
Jimin chewed his sushi roll, the shrimp tempura inside crunching under his teeth. The audition had starved him. After going home to shower and change, he’d met Taehyung for dinner at a nearby sushi restaurant, its backyard patio closed off to the street. Jimin and Taehyung’s spot in the corner, with Taehyung facing away from the other patrons, made it easy for them to enjoy a bite out. Jimin didn’t have to worry about passersby—he wasn’t the famous one. Taehyung, on the other hand, was subject to the downsides of fame. Even though Taehyung hardly said no to a picture, he still had his preferences for when he was in the mood to play the unrealistically kind celebrity. The cliche of LA locals being numb to stars was far from the truth. There was always someone trying to boost their social media clout through a picture or autograph. Don’t even mention vloggers.
“Honestly,” Jimin continued, “he was kind of off-putting. It was obvious he didn’t even want to be there.”
“Really? That doesn't seem like him. He’s known for being nice, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know, Tae. I don’t have a stan account called JKLover123. He couldn’t even look me in the eyes for two seconds.”
“Maybe he was intimidated.”
Jimin laughed at that, shoving a roll in his mouth. “Intimidated of what?”
Taehyung gave him a knowing look. “You’re, like, the best dancer in the universe.”
Jimin scoffed through his chewing.
“I’m not just saying that because you’re my best friend,” assured Taehyung.
“Okay,” said Jimin, swallowing and leaning forward into their table. “If I’m the best dancer in the universe, then tell me: did you refer me to your boyfriend?”
Taehyung bit back his lips, caught.
“Exactly.” Jimin smiled, relaxing as he took another bite.
“Okay, but listen, Jimin,” Taehyung instantly tried to explain, shifting in his seat. “Yoongi is Jeongguk’s personal stylist, and he was the one who even told me of the audition in the first place. It was super secret, you know? He told me thinking you’d be good for it, so obviously I then told him to tell Jeongguk to watch out for you.”
Jimin raised a brow. “Maybe that’s why Jeongguk couldn’t look me in the eyes.”
Taehyung pouted, reaching for his cola and taking a long sip.
Intimidated. Why would the Jeon Jeongguk be intimidated by some nobody dancer like Jimin? Jeongguk, who was arguably the biggest pop act in the world right now? Jeongguk, who had reshaped the pop industry by bringing back quality performance not seen since the early 2000s? Jeongguk, a superb dancer in his own right through his known style of masculinity and power?
Meanwhile, there was Jimin, skinny and slight and only five-foot-eight, maybe five-foot-eight-and-a-half at most, with a mixed background of ballet to contemporary to hip-hop, going job-to-job of his own accord. Even though he’d danced backup for other celebrities before, the one gig he’d yet to do was complete a full tour for a singer. It was on his dance bucket list.
He just never thought it’d be for someone like Jeongguk.
There were two types of celebrities. There were the clearly genuine ones, like Taehyung, who only hid what was personal to him. Taehyung adapted well to the famous life, accepting what came with it and following through with his responsibility as someone in the spotlight. He was not tarnished by the attention and dollar bills, or by the access to ecstasy and darkness. Though he had to live like a famous person, he didn’t act like it. That was made obvious by how he shamelessly shoved another sushi roll into his mouth and sighed in happiness whilst dressing anonymously to stay unknown.
Then there were the types like Jeongguk. His type was the one to let the fame go to his head. Intimidated at the audition? No, he’d been stuck-up. Wasting time at an audition for his tour was Jung Hoseok’s job, he probably thought, not his. Jeongguk hadn’t said anything because he hadn’t cared to, because he hadn’t wanted to. Being at the audition was just another checked off task on his schedule. He’d even waited in that white van until he absolutely had to come out. How much more pretentious could he have gotten? Taehyung would have hugged everyone and told them to text him whenever they needed a hand, even if it was at two in the morning.
“Whether Yoongi told Jeongguk about me or not doesn’t matter,” Jimin decided.
Taehyung lifted his brows. “It doesn’t?”
“No. I don’t think I’m the best dancer in the universe, but I know I’m good. I’m getting that part whether I got a referral from your boyfriend or not.”
When Jimin got home that night, it was a quarter past eight. From being hungry enough to eat an entire boat of sushi to being bloated enough from eating an entire boat of sushi, Jimin washed up early and climbed into his bed, scrolling mindlessly on his phone for a good hour or two.
Then his phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Park? Hi, this is Momo from Jeongguk’s tour performance team. I’m happy to inform you that you’ve been chosen as one of the newest additions to our roster! ...Hello? Mr. Park?”
“Oh, yes, I’m here.”
“Speechless, huh? I know, it’s exciting! Before we onboard you, we want to make sure you’re committed to this position. I know you must have read the details in the initial online application, so I’m also calling to know if you’ll accept the job. It’s a massive undertaking. You may have until Friday to—”
“I accept.”
“Oh! Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then, awesome! In that case, you should receive an email in the next few days with login information to your online work portal, where you’ll fill out your direct deposit information, as well as sign the necessary job forms. You know, like contracts and non-disclosure agreements—all of that boring but important stuff. Through the portal is where you’ll receive your information from now on—well, only the fancy stuff, like schedules. The dancers all have a group chat. I’ll add you to it. This is my personal number, by the way, so you can save it. I’ll text you after the call and put names to numbers for you. I’m really excited to be working with you Mr. Park—Jimin. I’m calling you Jimin, now, as we’ll be working together. You were amazing at the audition.”
“Really? Thank you so much.”
“Yeah, of course! Well, have a good night, Jimin, and congrats, again! This is going to be an incredible experience.”
“Thank you, I’m—I’m really looking forward to it.”
“Me too. Have a good night.”
“You, too. Bye.”
Jimin held his phone to his chest as he stared up at the ceiling. His hand rose and fell with the beating of his heart.
He didn’t care that it was for Jeongguk. He was officially part of a singer’s tour. A world tour. And Jeongguk’s music didn’t suck, at least, from what he’d heard on the radio. The routine from Hoseok had actually been pretty fantastic. If the rest of the routines were anything similar, Jimin knew he’d be having a once in a lifetime job as a tour performer. It would be tiring. Exhausting. He’d miss home. He’d miss his friends. But he’d get to explore the country. The world. And he’d be dancing through all of it.
His dance bucket list was complete.
He supposed he needed to find some new dreams to write down.
—
The first day of tour practice was the following week.
Jimin’s work schedule revealed that he’d be practicing four days out of seven, each day from ten in the morning to eight at night. The long hours initially looked grueling, but then he figured that he’d have three days off, and that this type of job was not some nine-to-five that he could half-ass. Like Momo had told him in her phone call, it was something he needed to be committed to.
And he was. There was a concert date nearly every other day from May to December. There would be break months and weeks off in between, but the scale of the tour was grand, nonetheless. Jimin had done long individual shows before, but never as long as the expected setlist time of two-and-a-half hours. Besides, he’d also only played small roles in such long shows. From what Jimin had seen from YouTubing past concert clips of Jeongguk’s shows, the singer’s dancers were as much performers on the stage as Jeongguk was. Jimin hadn’t expected that.
He didn’t know what he’d expected.
He hadn’t looked much into Jeongguk’s tours before auditioning, only going off of his knowledge of how he’d seen the singer perform on talk shows and award shows. Jimin’s mind had focused on the fact that Jeongguk danced at all, and because he was a popstar, his dancing leaned more towards fun hip-hop. Jimin had auditioned knowing he’d be dancing and not be relegated to doing some side-steps in the back while Jeongguk stood still and looked pretty, but he hadn’t thought much about how involved Jeongguk’s dancers truly were.
That was why Jimin showed up at the warehouse the first day of practice expecting to work his ass off, only to be taken aback when the first day incorporated no dancing at all.
He sat crisscrossed in a circle on the floor with the other performers, seventeen in total, split nearly half and half between men and women. Jimin wondered if they were all going to hold hands and break out into a group song, and he wasn’t too far off when Hoseok said, “State your name, age, and what you’re most excited about for Jeongguk’s tour!”
“I left school solely to never do icebreakers again,” Yeonjun commented in response. He was sitting beside Jimin.
“Not to dance?” Momo mused with a knowing glance from across the circle. “Weird, I thought that was the reason.”
“Nope. I was just sick of introducing myself. Absolute deal-breaker.”
“We have new members,” said Hoseok, “so everyone needs a first introduction, and it’s better to all suffer together like this. We’re gonna be suffering together for months, so might as well start now.”
Jimin glanced around the room, noticing how the trunks from the audition had been unpacked to reveal stage sets and props. Tape had been stuck all over the floor, creating the shape of the would-be stage. Jimin sat halfway across a strip.
“I’ll go first,” Hoseok announced, and even though everyone knew who he was, he said, “I’m Hobi. I’m twenty-eight, and I can’t wait to just dance nearly every night and feel free up on stage. It’s magical, seriously. Okay, Momo, you’re up.”
“Well, you just told everyone my name,” she murmured before smiling wide and adding, “But, hi! I’m Momo, I’m twenty-five, and I’m looking forward to all of the places we’ll get to go to this year.”
The next person went, and the next, and it was clear who else was new versus who was grandfathered in. The newbies spoke with thick throats and polite tones, though everyone was excited. Eventually it rolled around to Jimin, who said, “I’m Jimin. I’m twenty-six. The basic answer is that I can’t wait to dance before a ton of people, but honestly, I’m looking forward to working in a team like this. You know, something where we’ll all have to depend on each other.”
“Oh, for sure,” Hoseok agreed with a nod. “We’re all gonna get extremely close whether you all want to or not, let me tell you. I apologize starting now for the overall indecency, body odor, physical pain, and all of the other shit we’re gonna have to deal with. But I’m not sorry for how much I’ll probably be screaming, and I mean that in both a good way and bad way.”
Before Jimin could contemplate what the good way of screaming meant, Yeonjun went next, and then after some more, the introductions wrapped up.
“Awesome!” Hoseok exclaimed. “Now, for fun stuff. How many of you have played the game Concentration?”
Most hummed knowing answers or raised their hands eagerly.
“Bet you’ve never played with this many people,” said Hoseok with a half-turn of his lips. “For those who’ve never played, what we’re gonna do is this: because we’re sitting in a circle, I’ll start the game with the intro, which you’ll see, and we’re all gonna clap our laps twice and then clap our hands three times. The starter will announce a category, and we’ll go around the circle and each person, in the time frame of the clapping, has to mention one thing in that category. You can’t repeat, and if you don’t say something within your turn, you’re out. It’s really easy. The fun is that it’s fast, okay? You have to stay on rhythm with everyone else, so no slowing down! Okay, I’ll start, and Momo will go next. Let’s go! Let’s play” —clap, clap, clap— “concentration.” Clap, clap, clap— “No repeats” —clap, clap, clap— “or hesitations …”
Jimin followed along with the group, in disbelief that his first day working towards Jeongguk’s world tour was playing slumber party games.
But he liked it.
“Category is” — clap, clap, clap — “fruits! Apple!”
“Banana!”
“Orange!”
“Strawberry!”
“Durian!”
“Durian?” Yeonjun exclaimed as others burst out laughter.
“Kiwi!”
“Mango!”
“ … oh, shit!”
Everyone laughed as the first person got out. Just as quickly as they failed, the round continued.
“Watermelon!”
“Peach!”
“Honeydew!”
The game went on until a winner was crowned, and the next round began, the category being cities. Two more rounds were played, and as it went on, Jimin began to understand Hoseok’s motives. The atmosphere loosened up like a scattered sky, levity finding its way among the performers like light. The initial separation between the newcomers and previously employed began to fade. As Hoseok introduced new games and topics of conversation, they all only ceased when it came for lunch time and a deliverer brought in stacked boxes of cheesy pizza coated in oil and various toppings, from the favored pepperoni to the controversial pineapple.
“Pig out, please!” Hoseok told them all as he slipped his own slice onto a paper plate after everyone had gotten their share. “Today’s the last day you can pig out, got it? You’ll be getting a recommended food guide in your portal inbox, and it’s not exactly a diet, but more like just being health conscious. We need energy to keep up the work. We’re basically like athletes. We can eat a normal amount, just the right stuff. We need good fats, not bad fats. Stuff your faces with avocados but please avoid ice cream.”
Hoseok further explained that they’d all also be receiving a workout guide focusing on stamina. It included mostly cardio with light weight training, as well as sections on pilates. Hoseok emphasized warm ups and cool downs, particularly stretching.
“Having a muscle seize up on tour is terrible,” he shared. “It once happened to me so badly that I couldn’t participate in a show, which really affected the entire production. Thankfully, the other performers filled in amazingly, and Jeongguk, of course, handled it without a problem.”
While some of the new performers seemed less than thrilled to be given exercise and eating instructions, Jimin could only chew silently on his pizza and think how it was the first time he was being given such detailed leadership in a dance team. Past leaders had expected God-tier work from shit-tier instructions. They’d pushed the dancers hard enough for them to faint, only to get angry when they claimed it was from the lack of water that the leaders had failed to provide. Despite only being under Jung Hoseok for less than a day, Jimin could already sense that the man would be a pillar for their team throughout the tour.
“Starting from our first day of official practice until the last day of tour,” Hoseok continued, “we’ll have personal trainers who are also pro massagers—really, they’re the best. There are only four, one of whom is Jeongguk’s, with three for the rest of us. They’ll work with whoever needs them at the moment, and during shows, they’ll actively care for all of us in action. Don’t hide any pain, okay? It’s super important that we all remain fit and healthy in order to get through this tour. It’s going to be physically and mentally exhausting. I’m not going to lie. This is my third tour with Jeongguk, and it doesn’t get easier, just familiar.”
Three tours. If Jimin was correctly recalling the wikipedia knowledge he’d read over the past week, Jeongguk’s last tour had ended about a year ago. The one before that was also a year prior. It seemed like Jeongguk had no break. In between his tours, the singer dropped albums. With that came promotional performances. Jimin had seen Hoseok dancing backup in a few of Jeongguk’s single-song performance videos. Jung Hoseok was also booked and busy.
After the pizza boxes were nothing but crumbs, Hoseok had the team split into small groups in order to chat more closely with one another. After some time, he then had everyone switch to form new combinations.
When Choi Yeonjun met with Jimin’s newly formed group, Jimin asked, “Why isn’t Jeongguk here?”
The other two new performers in their group of four went wide-eyed and shot their attention to Yeonjun, expectantly waiting. Their interest searched for something scandalous, but all Jimin did was quietly wait.
“Oh, I think he has a fitting or something,” Yeonjun said with a casual shrug. He squinted at the two performers. “What? Hoping for something juicy?”
"No," one shot at him defensively, but they all laughed.
“Shouldn’t he be here to get to know the new dancers?” asked Jimin.
Yeonjun bobbed his head left and right in consideration. “We’ve got months and months to get to know each other. Today’s not even a real practice. Once we officially start, he’ll get to know you whether he wants to or not.”
So, he doesn’t want to. How pathetic, Jimin thought. If Jeongguk should have come to any practice, it should have been this one that wasn’t really one. Jeongguk would be the center of all of their performances; it would benefit the team if he took part in the silly games and ice-breaker conversations like how everyone else was. How were they meant to trust him as a team member if they didn’t get to personally know him? Jimin didn’t think today would resemble any of their upcoming practices again, forgoing the chance for Jeongguk to casually meet everyone.
Jimin was used to dancing with strangers, but a months-long tour was different from a single five-minute performance.
Jeongguk should have come today.
—
The following morning, Hoseok’s promise of truly beginning was in full effect.
The moment everyone arrived, Hoseok wasted no time rounding them all up to begin a slew of warm-ups. They began with rolling their necks and ended with splits—those of who could accomplish a split, anyway. Jimin was surprised to see that not even Hoseok could press himself all the way down to the ground, but it wasn’t like being ultra flexible determined the skill of a dancer. Jimin earned some impressed callouts when he effortlessly stretched himself into the position, even more so when he turned into a straddle and lowered his torso to the floor. Yeonjun pretended to vomit in abhorrence at the sight of seeing a human splayed so unnaturally, as he so eloquently worded it.
“No one should be able to do that,” he muttered, shaking his head. Everyone giggled at the irony of his comments, considering they were all at least significantly flexible for the sake of their careers. Yeonjun could reach as much as Hoseok, which was already more than the average person.
Perhaps the strain on his muscles at being so close was enough to give him shivers at imagining planting his entire middle on the ground.
“Hey, Yeonjun,” Momo called.
He turned, only to find the woman stretched as much as Jimin. When Yeonjun dramatically wiggled his arms out in mock disgust, Momo shot Jimin a wink.
After stretching, a non-performer team member had them all sit on the floor while she announced a rough schedule of the next two months for their practice sessions. She additionally presented the tour setlist, described the stage setup, and provided summarized details of what the scenes backstage would look like. Every bit of information was stapled together in packets for each of them to take home in addition to an online PDF version.
“I know some of you have toured with Jeongguk before,” she said, the rustling of packets in the background as team members flipped through the details, “but for those who haven’t—particularly those who’ve never done a concert tour at all—everything must be organized to the T. It’s like clockwork every night. On stage, it will come across to the audience that you’re all these artistic and beautiful dancers, but in your heads, you won’t be able to focus solely on your current performance. You’ll need to remember which song is next, which stage exit to use, and how to change your clothes the most efficiently. That’s why we like to use the word performer here instead of dancer. You’re all not just dancing—you’re performing. That includes the logistics and management of putting on a show.”
The more that the tour was explained to Jimin, the faster his blood flowed through his veins in anticipation. He didn’t think he’d ever been more excited for anything in his life. Not when he moved from South Korea to the United States. Not when he graduated university with honors. Not when he even danced backup for his past slew of celebrities—though, a fair share of them had been rather dope.
The hype was building for Jeongguk’s tour, and it was only the second day of practice.
Yet, the star of the show still wasn’t there.
Someone else had beaten Jimin in asking where Jeongguk was today. Hoseok mentioned that Jeongguk would be there Friday, not needing to show the first few days when he already had the basic organization aspect down, considering that he’d assisted in planning the tour himself. Apparently, the B stage design was his idea—a lengthy U that reached the end of each venue’s floors, all in order so he could span the entire room and meet fans from the front to the back. Jeongguk also knew the setlist, as he’d primarily chosen it. There was also the matter of some songs already having choreography. Jeongguk’s main singles had choreo that rarely changed, meaning Jeongguk had the moves down to memory, whereas the newbies needed to learn them from scratch.
After a thirty minute break for lunch, the team began learning its first song.
It wasn’t like the audition. They didn’t have to learn the routine in half an hour, nor did they have to come even close to perfecting it. While teaching it, Hoseok described his style of instructing.
“Rarely will all of you be on stage at a single time completing the exact same movements,” he began. “Team synchronization is cute for choruses, but the remainder of most songs will have you all individually doing different movements or pairing up together. What I like to do first is run through the parts that are synchronized, having you all roughly get the group moves down, and then move onto the more difficult aspects of the choreo.
“For now, I have the general choreo down for certain positions, but I have to pick and choose which of you suit different positions. You know, someone will be over here doing something while another is over there doing something else. While watching you all when we start with the group dances, it’ll be easier for me to grasp your individual strengths more so I can put you all in your own positions for each song. And don’t worry; you’ll all be pretty evenly distributed throughout the show.”
Hoseok went through the synchronized sections together, the particular track bright and innocent with its standard money beat percussion. The movements were light and fun, causing Jimin to work up a sweat but in no way tire out. The choreographer observed all of them carefully, and though Jimin had gotten the job, he still felt a healthy layer of desire to prove just how much he deserved to be there. Jimin didn’t care if it was the beginning of practice; he would not half-ass any extension, any turn, or any hop. Though he knew how to save his strength, holding back power did not equate to lacking rhythm, flow, and grace.
Around three in the afternoon, Hoseok took a pause on dance practice, letting them all take an extended breather. That really just meant the entire team spreading out throughout the open warehouse, some plopping down in chairs while others gathered on the floor. Jimin watched as Hoseok went over to the stage team, starting a discussion with them. Yeonjun and Momo went to one of the tables near the clusters of unloaded supplies, sliding into seats across from one another as Momo opened up a laptop. Yeonjun opened up a granola bar.
A small group of team members found their way to Jimin’s spot along where he was propped up against the wall opposite of the mirrors. They settled around him, starting a conversation about their first impressions of the practice, how they felt about Hoseok, and what they thought they’d be doing next. They were all too nice. No one had anything bad to say about one another. Many sentences ended in laughter. Jimin found that he liked everyone. It was easy to chat with people who shared the same experiences as him, and right now, the only thing on each of their minds was the upcoming tour.
“I can’t wait to meet Jeongguk,” said Hannah Tran, the woman from Jimin’s audition who’d passed with him. “Karina, you told me yesterday that you’re a legit fan of him, but what about you two?”
“I’m not a fan fan,” the other woman named Karina corrected, throwing back a handful of braids behind her shoulder. “But I definitely have a good amount of his songs saved to my Spotify.” She paused, pursing her lips in a knowing smile. “And I totally think he could get some.”
“Oh, really?" Hannah laughed alongside Matty, the other member of their party. Jimin just blew out an amused breath.
“No way are any of you gonna sit here and tell me Jeongguk isn’t a whole course meal,” Karina went on quite passionately. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner—doesn’t matter which one.”
“Isn’t dinner typically the heartiest meal of the day?” Jimin offered, playing along.
Karina snapped her fingers at him in agreement. “Exactly. Phew, ya’ll, I’m telling you, I don't know what I’d do if I was an actual stan of his.”
“I don’t want to know how much thirstier you’d be if you were an actual stan,” joked Matty, getting a casual shrug from Karina in return. “I think Jeongguk’s super dope,” he explained, answering Hannah’s question, “but, yeah, I’m not some hardcore fan. But what does that matter? I’m here, aren’t I? And come on. He’s Jeongguk.” The emphasis made it sound like Jeongguk’s name could make pigs fly.
“Jimin?” asked Hannah, three sets of eyes on him.
How was Jimin supposed to tell his new team members who so dearly viewed the celebrity they were to perform with that Jimin didn’t give two shits about the oh-so famous Jeongguk? That Jimin didn’t care much for celebrities at all? At the end of the day, they were just regular people who happened to have jobs that put them in the spotlight. The sparkly status that came with an occupation like Jeongguk’s didn’t matter to Jimin. He’d seen enough behind the scenes to know that.
So, he just flashed a white grin and repeated Matty’s words. “He’s Jeongguk.”
That satisfied the three more than enough.
They continued their riveting discussion about the singer, but Jimin was only half listening as his sight followed Hoseok stalk from one side of the room to the other. The choreographer went for the main entrance door, greeting a man a bit shorter in stature dressed in Nikes, ripped jeans, and a flannel. His dark roots faded to ash, the bangs falling into his eyes. Even from the size of the warehouse, Jimin could easily make out that the newcomer was Min Yoongi. Hoseok clapped a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder in greeting, getting a close-lipped smile in return. They shared a few words before another joined them, a young woman who more so looked like a girl. She shook the hand Hoseok reached out towards her, Jimin assuming from the gesture it was a first meeting. Hoseok then led the two further into the warehouse, animatedly chatting with them. As they got closer, their voices came into earshot, but Jimin didn’t get the chance to hear much of their conversation before Hoseok was calling for everyone’s attention.
“I’d like to introduce you all to Min Yoongi and his assistant, Valerie Soto—oh, Val—you can call her Val. Yoongi is Jeongguk’s main stylist, but he’s also taken the role of being the main stylist for this entire tour. So, not just Jeongguk’s outfits, but all of yours, too. They’re here today to take your measurements so they can start preparing your individual clothes. Yoongi, you should have come first thing Thursday before I got them sweating.”
Yoongi shrugged, nonplussed. “I’ve done this for so long, my nasal canal doesn’t even recognize body odor. Good thing, too, Hoseok, because apparently you stink.”
Hoseok swatted at Yoongi while the jest earned some giggles from the performers.
Jimin tried getting Yoongi’s attention by making a very blatant Hey! Look at me! type of face, but Yoongi wasn’t focusing on any particular performer. He was half-turned towards Hoseok, not looking at anyone head on. His shoulders were a bit slumped, his hands jumbled together at his naval. His slothful posture contrasted with Hoseok’s squared frame and bright clothes. The assistant, Val, stood like an assistant. Watchful eyes, ever ready to jump into action at the call of her boss’s instruction.
“You wanna take it away, Yoongi?” Hoseok asked, splaying out an arm like a showman. He said to the rest of the room, “I’ll be working on arranging your individual positions over at that corner table while you all get fitted. Come over if you need anything!”
While Hoseok walked off with a wave, Yoongi pressed down on his lips and faced the room.
“Right. Hi, I’m Yoongi. This shouldn't take too long. You can all follow me and start lining up.”
He moved over to the closest table, Val on his heel. She slipped off the small backpack she had on, pulling out a rolled up measuring tape.
Everyone scrambled into a makeshift line, Jimin somewhere at the end. He decided to step out and take the final spot, not wanting anyone behind him to hear a potential conversation he’d have with the stylist.
Jimin peeked his head to the side to see Yoongi measuring the first performer from head to toe. He didn’t just do bust, waist, and hips, but the in-seam, shoulders, arms, and feet. He mumbled each number to Val, who typed it into her phone.
The line did end up moving fairly fast. Yoongi didn’t waste time making small talk, and before Jimin knew it, he was face to face with his best friend’s boyfriend.
“Wow, what a surprise to see you here,” Jimin grinned wide at him.
“Hardly,” Yoongi murmured indifferently, zero insult but not exactly any thrill. To Jimin’s ears, it just sounded funny. Yoongi stepped close to wrap the tape around Jimin’s waist. “Twenty-seven.” With the close proximity, their eyes were nearly leveled, though Yoongi’s focus was on his task. Jimin was barefoot, making him just barely shorter than Yoongi with his kicks on.
“Mean,” Jimin pouted, feigning hurt. He then quickly shifted to an expression of mirth. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this close. Maybe Taehyung is on to something.”
Yoongi halted his measuring of Jimin’s bust to lean his head back and make a show of scanning Jimin’s frame. “Hm. Not sure what he sees in you.”
Jimin couldn’t help it when he threw back his head in disbelieving laughter. That got Yoongi to crack a small smile of his own. Val was watching them curiously, recognizing that they clearly knew each other but keeping quiet in her wonderment as to how.
“Hey, speaking of,” Jimin continued, Yoongi stretching the tape across his shoulders, “Tae told me how you referred me for the audition.”
Yoongi just barely hesitated. He quickly tried to cover it by instantly reading off another number, moving next to Jimin’s arms, but the slight pause couldn’t be hidden. “Right,” he said slowly.
“You want to tell me what you told your little friend Jeongguk about me?”
Yoongi shrugged. He said to Val, “Twenty-nine,” before crouching at Jimin’s side to do his hips. “Just that I told you about the audition, and who you are to me.”
“Which is?”
“My boyfriend’s best friend.”
“Sounds pretty special.”
“It’s just a fact. It’s not like I told Jeongguk to cast you or else I’d quit. You have pretty long legs for your height, by the way.”
“Um, is that bad?”
“It’s not good or bad. Well, maybe good for dancing, I guess? I wouldn’t know. Jeongguk has long legs for his height, too.”
Jimin frowned at that bit of information, not sure what to do with it. Instead, he continued, “So, you didn’t brag to your superstar client of how great I am?”
“Did you want me to?”
“No, not at all.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
“But, still, what a wasted opportunity. I’m kind of offended you didn’t.”
Yoongi made a sheepish noise, standing after finishing up with Jimin’s foot. “Well, it doesn’t matter if I did or not. You still made it.”
Jimin beamed at him. “Yes, I did, thank you very much.” And though Jimin wondered if Jeongguk, or even Hoseok for that matter, had paid a certain level of attention towards him during the audition because of Yoongi’s heads up, Jimin was grateful towards Yoongi. Jimin wouldn’t have found out about the audition otherwise. And whether Jimin had wanted special consideration from the judging team or not, he was touched that Yoongi went out of his way to shout out Jimin’s name at all. Jimin was always surprised when Yoongi did things like this. Maybe Jimin shouldn’t have been anymore.
When Jimin winded down for the day after he returned to his apartment that night, he texted Taehyung about meeting Yoongi at the warehouse. Taehyung replied with something short and silly, paired with appropriate emojis. Switching from messages to Spotify, Jimin searched Jeongguk’s artist profile. Despite having already glanced through the discography on Jeongguk’s Wiki page, Jimin scrolled all the way to the bottom.
Jeongguk’s first album was released when he was fifteen, a freshman in high school. Jimin wondered how long Jeongguk stayed in public school, or rather how quick he had to leave once his career picked up. It must have been pretty fast—the main single of Jeongguk’s debut album was a throwback hit at this point. It’d been overplayed to death on the radio back in its heyday.
Even though Jimin had been a junior at the time, he didn’t remember anything about the pop star from back then beyond that single, as well as the passion of his female classmates who’d instantly devoted their lives to the new, young cutie entering the pop music scene.
Curious, Jimin forgoed his intention to listen to Jeongguk’s first record and switched to YouTube, searching Jeongguk’s name and the year of his first release. An array of content popped up, from the single’s music video to interviews to award show performances. Jimin clicked on an interview, some morning talk show that was in surprisingly low quality even though Jimin knew for a fact that technology had been perfectly capable at that time. Ignoring the pixels, Jimin watched.
“Our next guest is a boy taking the country by storm with his fresh hit, ‘School’s Out!’ Discovered after making cover songs on the internet and posting his own original music, he’s just released his debut album, ‘Youth,’ which debuted on the Billboard 200 at number two. Give a big welcome to Jeongguk!”
Jimin’s brows lifted to his hairline when he watched Jeongguk reveal himself from behind a curtain, looking like a drenched cat in how visibly scared and uncomfortable he was. Unlike most talk show guests, he didn’t come out waving his arms wide or skipping to his seat. His arms were tucked tight to his sides. He practically shuffled over to the chair opposite of the host. Beyond his terrified demeanor, Jimin’s shock came from how young Jeongguk looked. Had he really ever looked so young? His doe eyes were as big as saucers, making up most of his face. His mouth was tiny, his cheeks round, his nose too large for the rest of his features. Black hair fluffed over his forehead. Objectively, he was adorable, and not just because he looked like a deer in headlights. He was a pretty kid, even then. If anything, Jimin could get why the boy’s sweet innocence at that time would have sucked people in, particularly those his own age who’d be quick to adore someone like him.
It was just funny. That kid had no idea back then of the man he’d grow into. People didn’t view Jeongguk as cute now, as evidenced by Karina during today’s practice.
In the old video, Jeongguk miraculously made it to his seat, bowing his head much too low for an American audience. Jimin’s mouth quirked at that. He knew Jeongguk had lived in the U.S. for most of his life, but the instant bowing proved his parents had not. Jimin could relate in his upbringing, yet he’d rather quickly adapted to refrain from bowing to Americans who did no such thing.
“I’m so excited to meet you,” the host began, smiling so wide she was one centimeter away from resembling a clown. “I’ve watched your music video about a hundred times by now—you’re such an amazing dancer!”
“Thank you,” Jeongguk mumbled, hands held tight in his lap, his back pin straight. He seemed like he’d appreciate a fidget toy if he was offered one.
“Did you grow up dancing, or was it something you picked up as a partner to your singing?”
Jeongguk looked like he’d recently downed a glass of rotten milk with how green he was. “Oh, um, I’ve never—I didn’t dance. They thought it’d look good if I could dance, so I did.”
The host equated Jeongguk’s poor answer to something endearing, chuckling alongside the cooing audience. Jeongguk flickered his gaze nervously around the room, throat bobbing.
“Well, you sure did dance, didn’t you? You just have natural talent, isn’t that right? I’d look like a monkey if I was told to just dance—who just said out there that I should show you? Hey, I will not be dancing for you all. We’ll leave that to Jeongguk here.” More laughing. Jeongguk found none of it funny.
“Now, Jeongguk, you were born in South Korea, but you moved to California when you were in preschool, I’ve heard.”
He nodded.
“What made your family move to the U.S.? Do you have extended family here?”
He shook his head. “My dad got a tech job.”
“And your mother?”
“She’s a hairdresser.”
“Oh, really? I guess that’s why your hair is so shiny, huh? I gotta get in on that! Could you ask your dear mom to make me an appointment?”
Jeongguk took the question literally, eyes somehow expanding even more as he seemed to be troubled by how he’d manage to fit this obnoxious host (though with good intentions) a slot in his probably very busy mother’s schedule. The host just cackled some more, assuring Jeongguk that he did not have to book her next hair appointment.
The interview lasted three more minutes, and it was just as painful to watch as the beginning. Jeongguk was perpetually tense, his voice too quiet and his aura too timid. But he got away with it because of his age and puppy face. Though Jimin couldn’t blame him for the nerves at being a teenager suddenly thrust into the spotlight, it was Jeongguk’s job to be a star. Whether he liked it or not, he had to appear in public and act accordingly. Being bashful could only last him so long. Clearly he needed better media training.
Jimin compared the early interview to one he’d watched the past week that had taken place last year. The difference in fifteen-year-old Jeongguk to twenty-four-year-old Jeongguk was so vastly different that it was almost eerie.
Jimin supposed that Jeongguk had eventually understood what his role required him to do.
The segment ended with the host announcing that Jeongguk would be performing his single after the commercial break, though the video had been uploaded with the break cut out to instantly swing back to the performance. Jeongguk wore the same outfit from the interview: black skinny jeans and a blue jean jacket, little accessories here and there to prove the ensemble was designer and not from a department store. He stood before a mic stand, feet spaced a bit apart and mouth covered by the microphone pressed against his lips. Two backup dancers stood behind him, readied in position.
The song began.
By the time Jeongguk reached the first chorus, it was like the nervous boy from the interview had been replaced with a confident clone. Jeongguk ripped the mic out of the stand and danced along with his backup dancers, the moves simple but fun. And his voice. It was near perfect, even then. It fluctuated a bit when he moved too quickly, but it never went off key. The tone was soft and light, matching the brightness of the track. During the final chorus, he let out a sweet belt that didn’t sound too difficult, but maybe that was just because Jeongguk made it sound easy. The moment he finished and the host was approaching, clapping and cheering with the audience, Jeongguk straightened up again, bowing far too much in every possible direction. His cheeks were red, Jimin guessing not solely from the physical exertion. He looked a bit bewildered at the audience response, as though he wasn’t just surprised that they’d immensely enjoyed the performance, but confused as to why they’d even like it at all.
Jimin wondered when too much humility became insulting. It was obvious as to why the audience was cheering so supportively, and that was coming from someone like Jimin, who had found the teen’s track a little too boyish for his liking (then again, Jimin was not the intended audience of the Jeongguk from back then).
But Jeongguk’s command of the stage even then was impressive. It was enough to excuse his terrible interview skills. Maybe if Jimin had paid any attention to the star nine years ago, he would have at least appreciated Jeongguk’s performance skill.
For now, Jimin paused his blast from the past endeavors, figuring he had weeks to discover more about his boss. For now, Jimin clicked off his phone and settled into his bed covers, shutting his heavy eyes and feeling pleased with the knowledge that tomorrow was an off day.