As far as Taehyung is concerned, the term ‘great idea’ usually consists of the most ridiculous gimmicks in the world and ends up with one, or if they’re lucky, both of them getting injured.

                  Like when they attended their graduation ceremony in middle school, he suggested that they prank their teachers one last time by posing as a mariachi band and singing Anaconda off-key. Two minutes into said performance, he realized the red speckles under his nose weren’t early facial hairs like he thought they were, but rather an allergic reaction to the latex moustaches they were wearing.

                  They had to call an ambulance.

                  So when Taehyung says, “I had the greatest idea last night”, it’s no surprise that Jimin just groans.

                  “Famous last words,” he whispers, wary of his teacher sitting at the front of the room. “And why are you even here?! This isn’t your class.”

                  Taehyung scoffs. “Bro, I had two consecutive days of jazz-freaking-band. I’m supposed to be in music class right now, but I don’t want to touch any woodwinds for a while, man.”

                  “That doesn’t mean you should skip class for my class.” Jimin tries to focus on the projector screen in front of them, which is playing a movie they’ve been assigned to take notes on. “Go back to your class before someone notices you.”

                  His friend leans back in his chair and continues to eat whatever kind of chips he’d snuck in. “I’d rather be here. It’s Friday, and I’m lazy as . Besides, this documentary you guys are watching is hella.”

                  “It’s about the World War, you .”

                  “Oh, .” Taehyung bites his lip. “To be honest, I wasn’t watching it.”

                  “I know.” Jimin rolls his eyes and jots a couple dates in his notebook. “So what’s this great idea of yours?”

                  The orange-haired boy sits up and scoots closer. “Okay, so you know how my mom’s been on my case about band? Yesterday she was all like, ‘if you don’t join band this year, I’ll chop your off and fry it for dinner!” Some of Jimin’s classmates turn around to stare. Jimin regrets asking. “That means either band or no ; I kind of like my .”

                  He nods, one eyebrow furrowed. He’s not sure where this is going.

                  “Now our bet is invalid. It doesn’t matter if you try out for dance team or not, I still have to join jazz band. So I was thinking of changing the conditions a bit.”

                  Jimin groans again. “, I forgot the auditions were today.”

                  “Does dance team just like, disintegrate from your mind every time you leave the building?” He stuffs a chip into his mouth and chew nosily. Crumbs fall into his lap. “It’s not too late to back out, Park Jimin. We’ve still got a period before lunch.”

                  The movie becomes white noise and Jimin’s taken to doodling on the page. “… I don’t know.”

                  “Maybe you’ll change your mind if I tell you what the new conditions are.”

                  “Okay.” He puts down his pencil. “Hit me.”

                  Taehyung thwacks him across the back of the head.

                  “I didn’t mean literally!”

                  He retracts his hand. “Oh. Well, um, the idea I had is a little ambitious so we’re going to need a couple months to pull it off. But the good news is we’re going to be insanely popular next year! We might even have—wait for it—friends.”

                  Jimin squints. “Just tell me what it is.”

                  “Okay. If, for any reason at all, you fail to attend the auditions for dance team today at lunch…” He pauses for effect. “You, Park Jimin, are to help me crash Jin-sunbaenim’s grad party in June.”

                  The stupidest grin is plastered across Taehyung’s face as he anticipates a reaction, but Jimin is completely void of words. In fact, he’s pretty much done; he’s done with him, with this, with life itself. He’s going to go home afterwards, forget about everything and maybe have a toaster strudel or something. Cherry-flavored.

                  It takes him a moment before he manages to respond. “You’re ting me,” he sputters, “you’ve gone insane.”

                  “But no, just think about it!” Taehyung grabs his notebook and starts to write. “It’s the biggest party of the year and all the cool seniors, or señores if you’re into that kind of thing—”

                  “What kind of thing?!”

                  “—are going to be there. If we crash it, turn the whole thing upside-down, they’ll be talking about it for months.” He scribbles the words ‘instant popularity’ and circles it. “And by the time we start our third year, we’ll be labeled as the school’s resident badasses. We’ll be kings!”

                  “Or we’ll make ourselves look like idiots,” Jimin shoots back. “How can you be so sure?”

                  Taehyung sighs and pats his back. “Oh, Park Jimin. Sometimes you need to shoot for the moon. It’s okay if you miss, because black holes are comforting to be in.”

                  “I don’t think that quote applies here.”

                  “Look man, I’m only going through with this plan if you don’t audition.” He feeds Jimin the last chip and crumples the bag. “Would you rather try out for something you’re destined to do, or crash a seniors’ party?”

                  Defeated, Jimin chews on the chip. It slides awkwardly down his throat, like a lump of ketchup, potatoes, and impending regret.

--

                  The next period is nothing but a blur to him. Sure, he’d missed the material taught in class that morning because he was reciting dance movements in his head, but asking his classmates for notes is way out of Jimin’s social field. He can only assume that the World War was a large-scale event that involved tacos of some sort, probably fish or beef.

                  Let’s just hope it won’t show up in the exam.

                  He’s got more pressing matters right now, like figuring out how to impress the dance team and its revered leader, Kim Seokjin. Auditions begin in a few minutes, time in which Jimin tries to create a false sense of security (‘you can do it! Oh, who am I kidding? I’m going to fail and die and fail at dying’) before Taehyung gives him actual support.

                  They’re sharing a table in the cafeteria, surrounded by many of their peers while the dance team sets up onstage. His best friend has an arm around his shoulders, constantly assuring that no Jimin, you will not puke because you had oatmeal for breakfast and that is gross.

                  There’s a girl walking around with a clipboard, asking kids to sign up. Only a handful actually does, so she’s quick to get to Jimin before he gets to think it over for the hundredth time. Taehyung writes his name for him because he still can’t stop shaking.

                  Jimin spots Chanmi sitting at a table not too far away. She’s with her friends, laughing about something trivial and the sight of it is just so beautiful. He imagines that she’ll be laughing at him too.

                  Great.

                  A generic pop song starts pounding through the speakers, vibrations running down Jimin’s spine and everything attached to it. There are four students onstage, all of whom are executing solid moves and never losing the attention of their hyped audience. Seokjin isn’t one of the four, he notices, but is off to the side observing.

                  When the song is over, the dancers leave with an ovation and Jimin isn’t sure if he can do this anymore. The clipboard girl from earlier replaces them and starts calling students up to plug in their music and audition right here, right now, in front of all these people. “Up first is Kim Yugyeom, please!”

                  The first couple people aren’t bad, but it’s hard to focus with all that blood pulsating to his ears. At every potential candidate, Seokjin makes one of two actions. He either nods, meaning ‘you’re in’, or shakes his head to say ‘what are you even doing here, loser?’ It’s so tense. He can’t breathe.

                  His name is called after the fourth audition, and piece by piece, he feels himself fall apart. Jimin is breaking out in cold sweat, clutching way too hard onto Taehyung’s sleeve and oh god, oh god, oh god. He can’t move. The girl is repeating his name over and over again, to the point that the people near him are going, “who the hell is Park Jimin?”

                  I don’t know. Park Jimin? I’ve never heard of him. I’m not him, I’m not Park Jimin.

                  He’s so angry, and sad. Why am I like this? He’s fighting back tears willing to get up and stand on that damn stage, but he can’t. There are too many people. There are too many eyes, too many thoughts.

                  Why am I such a coward?

                  “Jimin?” Taehyung never says his name like that, so that’s when he knows it’s all over. Their foreheads are pressed together, and there’s a hand rubbing circles on his back. “Hey, man… It’s okay. Just remember rabbit shoes, alright? It’s okay.”

                  He can’t do this.

                  “… S-Sorry,” he chokes out, the first of many tears sliding down his face. A sweater goes over his head, shielding him from any eyes that might wander his way. What he wouldn’t give to be someone else right now, someone like Taehyung.

                  His name is called about two more times, and then it’s forgotten of as they move onto the next person. Just like that, he disappears from everyone’s minds, going back to evanescence where he belongs. He doesn’t need to be seen. He’s fine where he is.

                  The sweater reeks of ketchup chips.

did anyone see the new BTS concept pics? hahahaha Yoongi is mint-colored goodbye
don't get me started on Jimin