ㅤ" 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝, ㅤ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑦 𝑚𝑒 … "
𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 // 𝙿𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚂𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙼 In which Jamie's hopes and dreams come tumbling down … 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,137 words
[ tw: broken bones ]
The sky outside is beginning to darken, and Jamie thinks they have at least a few more hours of group practise in preparation for the performance tomorrow to do, before they break off to work alone, or head to bed for a good nights rest—something a lot of them desperately need. His body aches, and he's beginning to notice sloppy mistakes in his dancing. Perhaps, if he sits out for a while, his 'battery' will recharge just enough to get him through the next few hours. The success of his performance relies on him feeling ready, rested, and him not overthinking everything. It's easier said than done.
Things had been difficult for Jamie since Mason's elimination. Even harder since Mason had left altogether. The future Jamie had imagined for them together began to crumble, and so did his previously unshakable belief that he'd debut with his best friend. When he'd only been eliminated, he'd hoped he'd make it back into the elite class, only to hear of his departure from the company. There seemed no coming back from that. It all left Jamie so unsure of what he was doing, where he was headed, and if he'd ever even make it without the support of his best friend. Sure, he had Suho and Chaemin, Robby and all his other friends, but none of them were Mason. None of them truly understood him the way Mason had.
For not the first time in Jamie's life, he feels a dark cloud begin to gather over his head. It's slow at first, creeping in like the drizzle of lukewarm rain in springtime, the sun still stubbornly peeking through the light rainclouds. That day, as he practises for the Scent of You performance, he'd noticed how oppressive it had begun to feel. The rain was no longer gentle and unoffending, it had a sharp, chilling bite to it that made him flinch. While he's surrounded by friends, somehow, as he peers around him at the familiar faces, he feels more alone than he ever has.
Jamie had never been very good at recognising when he was beginning to spiral, not, at least, until it was far too late. He'd wake up one day, many weeks after it began, and realise that his life had been falling down around him and he'd been standing, oblivious amongst the rubble, smiling as if it was all fine until that smile ran out and he was faced with the ruin of what he couldn't prevent. He hadn't yet noticed it, though. His gaze sits just above the steadily growing wasteland of broken dreams around his feet.
The music abruptly stops, and break time is called. A collective sigh of relief ripples across the room as the trainees disperse to prop themselves up against the walls for the next fifteen minutes, catching their breathe and sitting as still as they possibly can. Jamie turns to walk over to where he'd left his water bottle, his mind elsewhere, eyes cast only ahead of him—it's his fatal mistake. He doesn't see the rubble waiting to bring him down amongst the rest of the broken dreams.
It happens quickly.
Jamie's foot catches on something (which he'd later come to find out had been Sungho's foot), and as he falls forward, he reaches out his arms to catch his fall. He'd always wondered whether, in the seconds before tragedy, time would slow down, and he'd be able to see it all happen frame by frame. Instead, his eyes shut, anticipating a painful embrace with the floor. He isn't, however, expecting a loud snap! to echo through the room as his left hand meets the wooden floor. The pain is immediate, like a hot, incessant ache. As he lays there on the floor, eyes clamped shut, he realises someone's screaming. For a moment he wonders why, and who, until it dawns on him that it's his voice. He's the one screaming. The ache is constant, but with every minute movement, a breathtaking, shooting pain flashes through the entirety of his arm. After what could have been a mere second, or a whole five minutes, Jamie opens his eyes and finds himself lay on his back, right arm curled protectively over his very obviously crooked left one that he's holding to his chest.
Amidst frantic shouting and a blur of faces above him, Jamie can tell he's still crying out intermittently and a few tears are sliding down the sides of his face. It begins, then, to dawn on him; the reality of the situation. He'd just broken his arm, badly. So badly in fact that he doesn't need an x-ray to confirm it. This, however, isn't what makes him cry—it's the realisation that they won't let him perform tomorrow. He's under no misguided impressions that the staff will let him, with a severely broken arm, perform on stage less than 24 hours after an injury like this.
Finally, Jamie can see the rubble that had been piling up around him for a while now. He's been dragged down amongst it, and he can see it piling up, building itself up so high that it blots out the sun. There's nothing surrounding him now but the dark cloud, and the ruin of all he'd hoped to achieve. It's as if, in slow motion, he watches his entire future fade away. The debut he'd hoped to make, snatched away from him, and with it, the belief that he'll ever make it.
Jamie can't speak as his fellow trainees are shooed away and he's helped to his feet, escorted out. It's as if, with the loss of his future, his voice had abandoned him too. The thing he'd relied so heavily on had left him when he proved himself no longer a worthy vessel for it. The lump in his throat, he believes, will remain forever. A reminder of his failure.
He was right—they don't let him perform, and inform him that, for his own well-being, he'll be removed from the show, to give him time to recover. He'd broken both bones in his left arm, and is told he'll be in a cast for six weeks, that he shouldn't do any form of exercise at all for at least two weeks. With that, his fate is sealed, and he's sent back to the company dorms, his belongings from the Hyde Academy rooms already packed and sent back to his dorm room.
The room is unfamiliar—Mason's belongings are gone, and Jamie's side of the room has a fine layer of dust covering the surfaces. He shakes out his blankets with his good hand, and despite it being the middle of the day, he crawls under them, clutches one of his plushies to his chest, and cries himself to sleep.
