Taehyung hated dancing.

Dancing entailed imprisonment in Hoseok’s sanctuary. Dancing was closely associated with the waiting for sands to slide down the thin middle of the hourglass.

Dancing landed Taehyung in a spot between a rock and a hard place.

As the bottom bulb of the hourglass was filled with sand, it would immediately be rotated. He inhaled, hoping that the neck width between the bulbs would widen and the sands would rush down quicker.

Until slender fingers were taking hold of his hands, moving him around as they pleased, Taehyung would be an empty shell on the ground.

Dancing was a synonym of destruction.

Even prior to his life in his self-built cage, Taehyung was familiar with the ominosity of hourglasses, the symbol of an infinite loop. He’d look at the empty bottom half and inhale sharply, oppressing his frustration because time seemed to never pass while dancing.

Dancing destroyed him slowly, steadily.

With every step and movement he’d decay, feel his dreams and ambitions vaporize. His life was stagnant, defined by hands that promised paradise yet threw him in a frenzy of poisonous lullabies and reminded him of the imminent sandstorm.

“You know why I use an hourglass instead of an actual clock, Taehyung?” The uplift of heart-shaped lips encapsulated Taehyung’s attention, rendering him speechless despite being fully aware. “With a digital clock, we’ll be too cautious of time, try to keep up with our daily routine whether or not we prioritize them. With an hourglass, ‘ante meridiem’ or ‘post meridiem’ doesn’t exist.”

Taehyung smiled like that was the absolute best things he’d heard all day. Maybe so, given they were the only coherent words he’d heard that day. Or that week. There were no such things as minutes, seconds or hours anymore. There were only hourglasses, the inaudibly loud sound of sand pouring over sand.

He never told Hoseok that he no longer had a schedule. Everyday was horribly uneventful. He was a marionette now, always waiting to fall back into the arms of his puppeteer. Time was irrelevant.

Dancing always put him in a reverie afterwards.

Words no longer had any effect on him. All he heard was the rush of sand.

“Why are the curtains always drawn, Taehyung? What is it you and Hoseok do?”

The sentence was repeated three times before it permeated his hearing.

“Dance.”

The whizzing grew louder and the words drowned in the sound. He ran and he ran fast until he was back to the abominable room where the hissing was loudest. His inside felt as hollow as the bottom bulb of the newly rotated hourglass, as if he’d lost himself on the way.

Hoseok smiled at him, extending his arms inviting Taehyung in an embrace. That was enough to rejuvenate his spirits. The warmth seeping into his hands from Hoseok’s helped him follow every step.

Dancing robbed him of everything that gave him happiness in exchange for a holy grail.

He’d swallow down the bitterness as he clung onto Hoseok’s arm, walking towards the dance floor. It was the only time the hissing stopped.

He could hear the canards circulating around Hoseok and he. It was sick, but they ignited his spirits by allowing him to live through vivacious speculations.

Hoseok would tell him to lose himself to the music. Taehyung would lose himself in Hoseok instead. He’d focus on everything but the music: like the brilliance that lied in his partner’s movements. He’d keep his ear perked for the soft giggles coming from the direction of the young women in the room. He’d hear the older men jeering, openly calling him the ‘Belle of the Ball’ with vile connotations.

He’d take pleasure in seeing the protective, murderous glare Hoseok threw towards the spot where such men congregated.

With every crest added to row situated in the oak shelf in the vintage sanctuary, Taehyung forgot for a moment the still number in his own bedroom showcase.

He ignored Yoongi every time. It didn’t matter whether Yoongi was in his studio or the basketball court- both places were zones Taehyung didn’t dare venture unless his masochistic tendencies surfaced, inducing him to tread through territories where nostalgia was bound to engulf him.

Yoongi’s dejected tone only succeeded in causing aggravation.

“Is Hoseok worth it? Is Hoseok worth you?”

He was tired of answering in the affirmative. It didn’t matter if the muscle pain wasn’t from basketball practice, it was okay if it was Hoseok. Taehyung didn’t know who he was trying to convince. Judging by the prickling tears- it was probably himself.

Dancing stole him.

It whisked him away from the life he used to lead as an extroverted teenager and into a life where smiling was strenuous exercise that wore him out. It warped his reason to live with the temptation of delectable looking lips that hummed hypnotic tunes, putting him in a daze.

Taehyung knew that the effect Hoseok had on him was far greater than Mata Hari had on her audiences.

“To tell you the truth, all my future partner needs to have is the ability to dance with me. Constantly. On and off stage.”

Taehyung remembered that he hadn’t wasted a breath before volunteering.

“He’s manipulative. You’re placed exactly where he wants you. You’re pulled off course by the desire to possess him, but he turned the table on you.  Do you know how unhealthy this is?”

Seokjin shook his head when Taehyung remained impervious to warnings. Driven by a selfish desire, Taehyung turned self-destructive. With every sting of pain he felt because of reminiscence, the more obstinate he became.

Words vanished and Taehyung waited for Hoseok to return, to guide him around the dance floor like always.

Hoseok only wanted to dance and Taehyung only wanted Hoseok.

That was all there was. It was a neverending vicious cycle. Hoseok danced, unaware of everything else on the planet. With Taehyung by his side, Hoseok never felt alone. Dancing alone never made Hoseok lonely- just alone.

Taehyung always stayed, dancing with Hoseok in perfect synchrony. He knew he was nothing but a third wheel to Hoseok and his dance. But with the self-assurance that he’d be fine, all he aimed for was a smile on Hoseok’s face- he danced with him even if his feet felt heavy as lead, as if dance was his sworn enemy and he was surrendering.

The bitterness always rose up in guise of bile he swallowed back down.

It was cul-de-sac for him, who was now a mere puppet.

There were times when he questioned why he didn’t leave, why he persevered with the futility of pursuing Hoseok, why he condoned being a second choice to something inanimate.

The noise of pouring sand would answer: he had no choice. He was nothing but a paper figure navigated by strings, strings of words coming out of Hoseok’s mouth in his mesmerizing voice. Time was nonexistent, white noises and soft clinks  accompanied the ache in his limbs.

He hated dancing but he didn’t want to leave the room just to realize what he could have been. Envy was toxic but he let it eat him up. Pain was the best anesthetic and he indulged in the addiction.

During cessations of his infatuation, his rationale resurfaced. Unable to free himself of besiegement, he vowed to leave when a crack appeared on the hourglass.

The sands were falling fast as Hoseok held him close, moving him in a sensual rhythm that made Taehyung’s pulse quicken.

A knock on the door caused a sudden contretemps.

The interruption didn’t irritate Hoseok as he opened the door and allowed in a stranger:  tall, broad, handsome and capable of painting Hoseok’s cheeks a lovely crimson.

“Taehyung… the company selected a partner for me. With the frequent contests... we needed someone more experienced. This is Jungkook.”

The familiar feeling of being turned inside out arrived uninvited. Or maybe very much invited, as he saw the bashfulness Hoseok now sported because of Jungkook. Helpless and disoriented, Taehyung croaked, “Did I not… move the way you wanted me to?”

Hoseok flinched and averted his gaze.

Surprisingly, Jungkook was the one who answered, “He was simply tired of pulling the strings of a lifeless marionette.”  

Jeon Jungkook- Taehyung’s faceless confidant of whom he knew nothing but the neat, elegant handwriting. The one who was enamored by Taehyung’s depiction of Hoseok.

Astounded by the cruelty with which the world played him, he froze but felt his knees give way. The sacrifices, the endurance diminished into nothingness, leaving him in no man’s land.

Dancing took everything away from him- even the one reward he’d gotten- right in front of his eyes, his arms bound behind his back and eyes forced open to witness the diabolic deed. He shuddered, feeling his insides churn.

Staggering back, he stumbled over the table. The hourglass fell over and Taehyung saw a glorious crack appearing on the glass through eyes glazed over with tears.

Taehyung had to leave.

And he loathed dancing.