Somebody that I used to know

There is a common misconception that a dream and a memory are different. That somehow one is fact and the other is fiction. Because how would you know the difference when they both feel the same? When they both hurt the same? And when they both end the same?

Jongin thinks dreams represent the future while memories carve out the past. But the problem is when these two things meet. When the nightmare exists in both forms of reality. When there’s no escaping it. When there’s no waking up from it. And when there’s no forgetting it. And this time, Jongin’s eyes are wide open. He can’t hide it, he can’t undo it, and he certainly can’t ignore it.

It just came to light in the worst possible way. The person, the place, and the aftermath are all things Jongin will need to rectify.

But how did he get here?

Face full of tears, heart full of regret, and his body curled on his bedroom floor as he sobs recklessly. And in his hands, he holds what's left of his sister, while Taemin . . .

But how did he get to this point?

He can’t even remember. The Workshop performance seems like a blur in his mind. As if it never even happened. The weeks of practicing, the days of perfecting, the hours of memorizing. All for what? A thirty-minute routine that could decide the rest of his life? Yes, that’s how big of a deal the Workshop had been to Jongin. And yet, why now can he not even remember it? The lights, the stage, the crowd, surely there’s something. And there is, but more like fragments of little things instead of a complete picture. As if he's seeing himself outside of his body. He watches his figure turning and turning in succession. Around and around, his eyes are fixed on one single spot, so as to not dizzy himself. His feet are prepared to plant firmly down, arms extended, graceful, strong, proud. . . and most of all . . . perfect.

Well, technically. Every step, every motion. It was as expected, but not as it was intended.

It wasn't enough. That's why he can't remember it properly. That's why the pieces seem to keep fading away. His mind is breaking up the puzzle, trying to destroy it so that it can never be put back together again.

For that's how his heart copes . . . with failure . . . with loss.

Jongin knows now. He can see it in Chanyeol’s face right after the performance. The older and taller man’s smile didn't show teeth like it usually did. No, Chanyeol's smile was tight and pitiful and it felt just as heavy as the hand that patted Jongin's back reassuringly. As if to say 'you tried your best.'

How cruel.

At least Sehun had been more transparent. Hand covering his mouth as he leaned casually against the side of the stage. Those dark, frowning eyes seeing through him, judging him. He knew. Sehun always knew when Jongin wasn't at his best.

And then of course, there had been Jongdae. That’s right. That’s how this whole thing had started.

Jongin had been at the pinnacle. At the very top of falling off the edge. Because everything was coming into focus. Everything was about to come crashing down with ultimate clarity.

Why? Why did it end up this way?

Jongin knows this too. And it all started with Taemin and that day in the stairwell. How could he have done that? How could he have pushed it so far? It was something he couldn't wrap his mind around and it had been eating him up inside, it had been driving him insane, and it had been . . . breaking him down. He couldn't focus. All he saw was himself, pushing Taemin up against a dirty wall. Spreading the boy's thin legs apart. Long fingers digging ruthlessly into beautiful red hair. He remembers Taemin's sudden refusal. Taemin's eyes as they looked at him. Betrayed. Hurt. Those pouty lips as they trembled. It was enough to take Jongin's breath away. It was enough to remind him of himself.

Of who he was and who he wasn't.

He just never imagined he could do that to something so precious. Something so fragile. Something so beautiful.

Ah, but that's just it. It's not some thing. It's some one. And it only further breaks Jongin's heart.

That was what he thought of as the crowd watched his dancing figure. Himself and the man he had become. Who was he? What was he doing here? Where did that little boy go, so sure of his answers, so full of life, so full of lo-

He would falter then, not in step, but in expression. His eyes would betray him. Eyes that were supposed to show strength, to show lust, to show an animalistic desire to control and take over the female dancer in front of him. For that was the role he was intended to play. That was why he was dancing in the first place. But how could he? How could he show that again? How could he go back to that place? Where lines were crossed.

It made his chest hurt. It made him want to throw up. He cringed under the lights as his hands grasped Hyoyeon's body. Picking her up into the air, twirling her around and placing her back down again. It was supposed to be powerful, supposed to show dominance. But every time he pushed. Every time he pulled. He saw Taemin's face staring back at him. And it scared him. It made his face pale, his eyes go blank and it caused his mind to wander.

He's not even sure how he finished the routine at all. It had been an absolute mess. And he was soley to blame. Everything was riding on his shoulders. Everything had led up to that moment. Everything . . . was falling apart.

That was when he first saw Jongdae standing behind the stage, waiting with a big bouquet of flowers. And it felt like a string. A tight string wrapping around his hand. Calling to him. Familiar and warm. His brother. His big brother that meant so much to him. That knew him so completely. He knew everything because he had been there.

Jongdae was always the cushion. And this time Jongin really was falling. And he was falling fast.

Jongin had ran up and hugged the boy. Even picked him up and spun him around for good measure, all the while burying his face into the crook of the shorter's neck. If only to hide. If only to shield himself from the world. For everyone knew, didnt they? Everyone could see it. Behind the fake smiles and underneath the compulsory applause. He knew they could see it. The proud, beautiful dancer . . . the one with so much promise, so much talent. He was supposed to be the best. He was supposed to go far. . . but oh, how the mighty have fallen. Oh, how the strong have suddenly become weak. And oh, how recklessly he had messed everything up.

Jongin never felt the tears coming before they actually came. And he didn't know what Jongdae was going say next. What his brother would whisper as he hugged the younger so tightly.

"Our parents are here, Jongin. In the audience."

Oh, how cruel.

Jongin wanted to freeze. Wanted time to stop. That's why he squeezed his eyes shut. That's why his teeth gritted together and that's why his hug became insufferably tight. His fingers digging, almost clawing into the other's back for support, for strength . . . for redemption.

But oh, when he opened his eyes, misty as they were from the tears that wanted to seep and pour and rush out. He wouldn't be saved.

For the Devil in red was waiting. Teasing him. Taunting him. Forsaking him.

No! That's not right. Taemin wasn't the Devil. But he was there. Just out of sight, standing meekly by the stage exit as if not to be seen or afraid to be caught. But there was no mistaking that beautiful glimpse of bright red hair.

Jongin wiped his eyes. Taemin. . . Oh, Taemin. The person he wanted to protect. The person he wanted to cherish. But the person . . .

Jongin went to him then, leaving Jondae behind. Leaving. . . the people, the faces, and the past behind as a mere afterthought. Because Taemin looked stricken. He looked absolutely horrified. As if he were on the verge of a breakdown.

And what Jongin didn't realise was that Taemin's face was merely a mirror of his own.

Their beautiful eyes, so wide in fear. Their brows, casted down like sorrowful little puppies. And their pouty lips, trembled as they tried to speak. Oh, how much they needed to say. To explain. To Learn. To apologize for. To Understand.

And to Jongin, Taemin had been so gorgeous in his white button up and black slacks. With his tiny little hands drifting forward, fluttering towards Jongin's, reaching for their touch. Reaching for a strength that Jongin too needed. But Jongin brushed past Taemin's reaching fingers and wrapped both arms around the smaller boy. He crushed them together chest to chest, hoping that Taemin wouldn’t shrink back away from him. Praying that Taemin wouldn't put him off.

And of course Taemin didn’t. Jongin thinks Taemin was nervous too, if his shaking hands that smoothed across the sweat covered shirt of Jongin’s back were any indication. But Taemin sighed in to the hug. He had let out a breath so heavy, Jongin felt like it could have weighed them both down. And Jongin knew what he needed to say.

"I’m sorry." He had whispered, deep and low into the space right beside Taemin’s ear. Because he felt ashamed of what he had done, or almost did, or lost himself in the idea of. Whatever it was, he was dreadfully sorry and embarrassed.

But Taemin moved away. Moved back to look in to Jongin's eyes, with a look of question and confusion, his words coming out in a whisper. "It's not my fault, is it?"

And the question might be confusing, but you have to see it from Taemin's perspective.

For you see, Taemin had made it on time. He had seen Jongin's entire routine. From first jump to last twirl. And . . . he knew. He knew what Jongin looked like when he was dancing. Had seen it all. Every expression; the low lidded glare, the sultry pout, even the arrogant smirk. But where did all of that go? Who had that been dancing on the stage? That wasn't the Jongin he knew. So calculated. So mechnical. So technically perfect. Isn't it everything Jongin didn't want to be? Isn't it everything he has been fighting so hard to overcome?

Because what was left at the end of it all? Just a hollow shell. As if Jongin was dancing for nothing and no one. And it broke Taemin's heart. Had he done this to Jongin? Was the beautiful dancer losing his passion for dance?

Taemin knew exactly what it felt like to lose yourself. To just let go, and let your body say everything you’ve been holding inside. To start off as a dream. So vivid and full of life. One that you can see, and taste and feel, as if it were real. But how can it be? When it’s all so encompassing. Everything you have, everything you want to be, personified in a single moment. And it’s that realization that brings you to your knees when it’s all over. Because you have to wonder if life gets better than that. And for Taemin, he didn't think so. He never thought anything in life could get