he stood in a corner of the studio’s lobby, watching dance students file out of the mirrored practice room, toting duffle bags, swinging water bottles, mopping sweat from their faces and chatting boisterously with each other as if the world around them wasn’t a complete lie. one or two eyed him curiously, maybe even suspiciously, as they passed; he wasn’t a regular, he wasn’t even familiar. he didn’t do anything resembling dancing ever, let alone set foot in the dance studio his best friend taught at. he loomed ominously in his corner, quiet, unmoving, his hands in his pocket, like a shadow with eyes.
if he made eye contact with any of the students, he stared back, as if challenging them to say something. he was in a confrontational mood, in fact, it was what he’d come here for in the first place, and if he had to get any nosy passerby off his case with a few choice words, he would.
when he was sure the room was empty he brushed past the last student, his target in sight. the air was still thick with the lingering humidity of sweat and active bodies, making the cotton of his own t-shirt hug his frame, as if prompted by some sudden bout of static electricity. he sniffed, eyeing the back of jongin’s frame with all the patience of a hungry wolf.
taeyong hadn’t missed the sudden shift in jongin’s behavior, the way he seemed to avoid eye contact or conversation or interaction altogether. they’d been best friends one minute, then strangers the next, almost literally, leaving taeyong to add jongin’s distressing apathy to a growing list of stressors.
perhaps it was too self-indulgent to think his best friend might have been there for him after the death of his brother.
he thought about picking up a nearby towel from the floor, balling it up, and throwing it at the back of jongin’s head to get his attention. instead he sniffed, cleared his throat, kept his hands safely in the pockets of his jeans.
“so you are alive then,” he greeted finally, flatly, a dig at the fact that he hadn’t heard from jongin in weeks, yet was all too aware of his presence (or lack thereof) looming over his head, “good to know.”
there are little things to cherish when you’ve only lived life once. jongin’s lived it twice; has known the pain of loss, of feeling. in the first timeline, he’d almost completely lost dancing once, out of stupidity. a broken heart. in this timeline he learns that dancing gives him just the right amount of distraction he needs.
one step, two. one step, two. there’s a rhythm to it as he lets his body follow the music. he turns away from the large mirror to look at the students, some of them breathing heavily, some he’d never even seen in his first life. “well,” he says, clapping his hands together, “that’s all for today! it’s getting a little late so please get home safely! i’ll see you guys next week!” he dismisses them before he walks towards the speaker where his phone laid.
the students leave one by one, waving goodbye to him and when the class is finally, completely empty, jongin rests his cheek against the palm of his hand as he scrolls through his playlist solely for the class. it’s a good distraction, really, it keeps his mind away from the fact that he lives a life less worthy than this.
and then he hears it, a distinct voice –– one he’d admittedly been avoiding for a while. the voice that had once yelled at the world to kill him only to turn silent when faced with the fact that his best friend offered to be the one to do so.
he turns to taeyong and his heart clenches like it’s been forcefully squeezed. “barely,” he manages to reply before he locks his phone, carefully setting it to the side. he’d rather not be here, he’d rather be at home; somewhere much further from taeyong. his existence alone served as a reminder that jongin was a murderer (as though his status as a hero wasn’t enough to fuel it already).
“what are you doing here?” he asks, eyebrow raised. “if you want to sign up for lessons you should try the other classes. mine is full and filled with sixteen year olds.”
izzy806
dailybridgerton
