Jimin is dancing terribly, unashamedly so.  He pushes the duster back and forth across the floor, picking up bits of dust and dirt on the indoor basketball court and leaving a smooth, streak free surface for when morning practice comes.  From time to time, he stops, bringing the end of the long wooden handle to his mouth, pretending that it’s a microphone.

A pop song is being played through his headphones, disconnecting him from the world.  He swings his hips as the chorus comes up again, energizing him as he pushes forward. He’s sure that some sounds escape his mouth when he lip-syncs to the song.  He can’t hear how much he might be butchering it because he has cranked the volume on his mp3 player high enough to keep his own additions from reaching his ears.

Jimin turns, preparing to walk back down the length of the court when he sees a figure in the shadows.  It’s not comforting that it’s the middle of the night and that the basketball court is supposed to be closed.  It only serves to make him jumpier due to the fact that this person has chosen to watch him from one of the unlit portions of the gymnasium.  He yelps, the shaft of his duster hitting the floor with a resounding crack.    He yanks on the wires that connect his headphones to his mp3 player.  They clatter to the floor as Jimin tries to regain his grip on his masculinity, acting nonchalantly.

Jimin straightens out the fabric of his uniform, fingers unconsciously outlining the nametag that has been ironed onto the navy fabric of his uniform; the characters of his name are smoothly stitched in cursive.   Jimin can feel his cheeks flushing with excess blood that is working to cool him down from the heat of embarrassment.  It’s entirely feasible that this person has borne witness to his impromptu performance.  He swallows thickly before clearing his throat, “May I help you?”  His voice comes out weak and unsure.

The person, man, steps into the light, revealing the familiar shape and hair of his supervisor.  Jimin’s knees are ready to give out.  The man clears his throat, “Jimin, there’s a spill that needs to be mopped up in the second dance room.” There is an audible struggle on his supervisor’s part to keep from laughing, which only adds fuel to the fire beneath his cheeks.

Jimin bows without saying anything.  He reclaims the duster in order to set it against the nearest wall.  He pulls his headphones up by their wire, which is still connected to the mp3 player in his pocket, wrapping them snugly around his neck as he walks out of the dimly lit gym.  The keys that are clipped on his belt jingle as he makes his way to the janitorial closet.

Jimin’s job as a “maintenance technician” at the local community center has him working odd hours.  Jimin isn’t ashamed of his job, but it’s not something he necessarily boasts about because it involves having to explain that he didn’t go to a prestigious university or the performing arts school he had his eyes on at one point.  He doesn’t like the tone of voice that people use with him after he tells them that he didn’t graduate from high school.

He works the night shift, limiting the number of coworkers he has to recognize.  He’s tentative to tell his colleagues about his face blindness.   His supervisor is the only one that knows, and he promised that he wouldn’t be the one to spill the beans unless that’s what Jimin wants.

Jimin arrives at the supply closet, pulling his keys from his belt.  It doesn’t take Jimin very long to find the correct key for the locked door.  He knows which key goes where, a skill that took him quite some time and several awkwardly long attempts to open a door to master.  He finds it ironic that he can identify keys almost instantaneously but not faces.  The key slides into the locked door, a quick snap of the wrist and Jimin pulls the door open.

A distinctly chemical smell slaps Jimin in the face as he takes a step inside of the small closet.  He pulls a thin chain connected to the light bulb downward with a small click, and the lone, bare light bulb flickers to life, casting a soft glow that leaves much to be desired in terms of lighting.  A yellow and blue janitorial cart is tucked away in the corner between shelves of sanitizing cleaners and gigantic rolls of toilet paper.

Jimin grabs the plastic handle of the cart, backing out of the closet to the sound of the loose wheel squeaking. The door swings shut by itself, but Jimin is already halfway down the hall by the time that the door swings to a shut with a thud.  At this time of night, only half of the lights that illuminate the building are still on, leaving patterns of lights and shadows on the floor.  The community center doesn’t close technically speaking, with the exception of national holidays, so for budgetary purposes and a lower electricity bill, lights aren’t in full use during the night.

Jimin makes his way to the dance practice hall; there are several “dance rooms” that serve many purposes, most of which are related to classes.  Anyone can use the dance rooms for personal practice unless the room has been booked for classes.  There’s a late night Jazzercise geared toward working parents that meets tonight.  Jimin can see through the narrow window that runs along the length of the closed door as middle-aged women throw out stiff limbs; the instructor faces the mirror, going through her flawless routine as her students follow a step behind.  The music is muted somewhat, but an overly energetic pop song makes its way to Jimin’s ears.

This is the only class going on right now, but the spill that he has been dispatched to mop up is in the adjacent room.  He opens the door to “Dance Room 2” (the label has been torn at, leaving a broken 2 as the only signifier for the room).

There is a puddle of sticky pink liquid near the mirror, telling Jimin that someone spilled his or her sports drink.  Jimin wheels the cart right up the stain, grabbing the shaft of the mop and dunking it in the bucket filled with cleaning solution.  Jimin pulls the mop back up, wringing out the discolored strings of the mop.  He drops the mop onto the floor with a wet squelch.  It doesn’t take very long, only a few movements back and forth, for Jimin to wipe away all traces of the spilt drink.

Jimin sighs, placing the mop back on the cart, glancing up and seeing his own reflection.  His hand is still gripping the handle of the mop, and his uniform is pristine in the reflection.  He stares at his face for a while.  He can feel himself making a dissatisfied facial expression, but he can’t verify it.  He runs a hand over his face, ultimately deciding that no matter how long he looks at himself, he’ll never be able to recognize the face as his own.  He doesn’t even see any of the distinctive features of his face.  He looks like everyone else in that he doesn’t look like anything, at least not in his eyes.

Jimin leaves the dance room in an unexpected state of glumness.

Jimin opens the door to his shared apartment, the strong smell of burnt toast punching him in the face.  Jimin slips his shoes off in the tiny foyer, placing them on the small shoe rack that is overflowing with shoes.  He jams his feet into his slippers, feet shuffling against the carpeted floor of the apartment.

He makes his way to the kitchen, setting his workbag down on the couch, making a mental note to take it to his room once he’s eaten.  He enters the kitchen, greeted by the sight of a freshly showered and shirtless Namjoon shoving a piece of blackened bread into his mouth.  Namjoon’s bleached white hair is hanging in wet, stringy clumps that obscure his eyes.

Namjoon raises a hand in acknowledgement, continuing to chew noisily as he turns to open the refrigerator.  “Burn your toast again?” Jimin asks, immediately biting back his tongue to suppress the laughter bubbling inside of his chest. 

Namjoon has never had the best of luck despite his many talents and atrociously high intelligence.  Almost every morning, he found a new way to mess up his breakfast.  Instant rice didn’t turn out well.  The porridge that he made once was too salty, and then it was too sweet.  His attempts at both oatmeal and frozen waffles were disastrous.  Namjoon had been reduced to toast and cereal, and Jimin can tell that pretty soon Namjoon will give up on toast. 

Namjoon sighs, pulling out a carton of milk, and unscrewing the cap, “Jungkook went out late last night.” He says in a rough voice, chugging milk straight from the carton.

“You didn’t stop him?” Jimin picks up the other piece of toast that Namjoon had given up on.

“He’s an adult.” Namjoon shrugs, putting the milk back into the refrigerator, wiping his lips off with the back of his hand.  “Heard him snoring when I woke up anyways.”

Namjoon stretches, walking out of the kitchen and toward his bedroom; “I’ll see you guys when I get back from work.”

Jimin takes a bite of the toast, immediately spitting the dry, acrid burnt toast into the trashcan.  He shakes his head, hurrying to the bathroom to rinse his mouth out.  He brushes his teeth roughly, following up with minty mouthwash.

As Jimin finishes ridding himself of the terrible taste, his cellphone rings. Jimin fishes his phone out of his back pocket, eyeing the name that is displayed.  It’s his supervisor.  Jimin frowns, eyebrows pulling together as he wonders why he could be calling.

He accepts the call, “Hello?” Jimin’s voice is very unsure, and it echoes against the tiles walls of the tiny bathroom.

“Park Jimin?” His supervisor asks, prompting Jimin to hum in affirmation, “Look, Jimin, I’m sorry to have to tell you this over the phone, but, um, there was budget cut back for the community center.  Your position has been dissolved because the board decided that we don’t need as many maintenance technicians as we have, so…” His supervisor clears his throat as he tries to put it delicately.

“I’m being fired.” Jimin whispers, his moment of clarity has long since arrived, leaning against the wall and sinking to the floor.

“You’ll get a pretty nice severance package.” His supervisor quickly reassures him, “You can pick up your last paycheck on Friday.  If you ever need a reference, I’ll vouch for you.  Good luck kid.”  With that, his supervisor cuts the line.

Jimin holds his phone to his ear for several minutes after he’s been hung up on.  He stays in the same place frozen, until Jungkook stumbles in to go to the bathroom.  Jungkook almost screams bloody murder, clutching his chest and the doorframe as he regains his grip on himself with deep breaths, “What are you doing?”

“I’m unemployed.” Jimin mutters, pushing himself to his feet, moving past Jungkook toward his room.

___

Jungkook doesn’t make a habit out of eavesdropping; he really doesn’t.  In fact, when he does find himself eavesdropping, he hears his mother reprimanding him in the back of his mind.  Jungkook, however, is having a crisis this time.  Jimin just told him this morning that he got fired, and it was hard for Jungkook to even come to work today.  Worrying about his best friend comes very easily to Jungkook; Jimin already thinks that getting his janitorial job was a of luck.

He has been wiping down the same table for the past two minutes in order to figure out the details of the conversation going on between the man drinking a fruity smoothie and whoever he is on the phone with.  From what Jungkook has figured out so far, the well-dressed, smoothie-drinking man wants to hire a personal maid for some (semi-rich?) friend.  Unlivable conditions and a contract are heavily influencing the decision.

“I do not care if he doesn’t like it.  His house is a pigsty, and I can’t, I ju- I can’t.” The man pauses after his last whine, listening to the comments from the phone.  He lets out a soft chuckle, “Maybe some company will unblock him.”

Jungkook glances at the table that he is cleaning, which practically shines back at him.  It forces him to move on to another table that is close enough to continue listening in on the conversation.

The man clears his throat, “Look, Taehyung, I’m doing it whether either of you like or not.  Both of you have obligations to this company, and thus far, he has been falling short.  I will be paying for it, so he cannot say anything nor can he fire whomever it is that I decide to hire.”  He hangs up with a determined sigh.

The man stands up, stretching out his long legs, gripping a tear-away flier in his hand, walking straight up to the small bulletin board that hangs by the order pick up counter.  He purposefully sticks a tack into the flier, successfully pinning it to the board.

Jungkook stills as the stranger comes back, snatching up his smoothie and finally leaving the shop. Jungkook straightens up, eyes trained on the flier on the board.  He glances around, gnawing on his lower lip.  No one else is around to see what he does next.

Before he can stop himself (because this has to be slightly immoral), he rushes across the parlor, snatching the entire flier.  He folds it neatly, placing in his back pocket before anyone can see him and call him out on his actions.  He’ll let it eat him up later (if Jimin doesn’t get the job).

Jungkook practically runs back home.  He cannot wait to tell Jimin that he has found a potential job replacement after less than a day.  The paper in his back pocket practically burns, spurring him onward even when his lungs have begun to hurt.

He busts into the apartment, already clutching the paper in his hand above his head triumphantly, a wide smile plastered on his face.  A muffled “welcome home” originates from the kitchen.

Jungkook doesn’t even bother neatly placing his shoes away; he just runs up to the kitchen to find Jimin, who is turning the knob on the stovetop in order to begin boiling the pot of water set on top of the burner.  “I found you a job.” Jungkook says breathlessly, extending the crinkled paper to Jimin.

Jimin looks between Jungkook and the paper, delicately taking the paper into his hands.  Jungkook watches as Jimin reads the information on the flier.  The words that come out of Jimin are not what Jungkook expects: “Why is this the entire flier?”

Jungkook sputters, “I-I-I, um, look I did something a tiny bit unethical, but please call the guy.  Make my morally compromising action worth it?” Jungkook rubs his hands together to beg for forgiveness.

Jimin sighs, rolling his eyes, “Fine.”  Jimin walks out of the kitchen and into his room, pulling out his cellphone before shutting the door.

Jungkook bounces in excitement, smiling widely.  He finally sees the green numbers of the clock on the microwave, excitement draining from him instantaneously.  7:12PM is normally a safe time, but not today because his dance practice is starting an hour earlier than usual, meaning he has 18 minutes to make it to practice on time.

Jungkook almost curses as he dashes out of the apartment.  He’ll have to ask Jimin about the job later.

Jungkook groans because he wants to cry.  The competition is soon, and their practices have been getting more intense.  They practiced for an extra hour, and he’s so exhausted.  Jungkook feels gross and wants to shower badly.  He also wants some banana milk, but he doesn’t want the poor night clerk to think he’s disgusting because he is much sweatier than usual.

It's days like today that Jungkook finds himself questioning his commitment to dance.  However, he always finds reasons to remind himself for why he should continue to give it his all.  He never thinks about quitting, though, all of the blood, sweat, and tears that he puts into his dance are worth it.  

Jungkook finds himself on the same bench as the night before.  He exhales deeply, letting his head fall back, fingers resting on the grooves of a freshly carved pair of initials.  Jungkook is almost afraid he’ll fall asleep at the bus stop because it’s much more comfortable than he had anticipated.  His thoughts are mix of exhausted complaints and to-do's for the days to come.  He briefly thinks about the night before; Jungkook hopes that giving away his banana milk will bring him good karma.

Jungkook’s eyes snap open when a cold, damp plastic surface is pressed against his cheek.  He flinches away, looking at whoever had just touched him.  Orange hair is peeking from a gray beanie.  Jungkook’s eyes widen in recognition, but the stranger just seems confused and slightly hurt, forcing Jungkook to realize that something is in his hand.

He looks at the arm that’s extended toward him, seeing that a bottle of strawberry milk is being offered.  Jungkook looks between the stranger and the strawberry milk.  “They were out of banana.” The stranger has come to the conclusion that it’s the flavor of the milk and not the person that’s the problem.

Jungkook hesitantly takes the milk, slowly relaxing back into his original position.  The stranger nods happily, sticking his straw into the milk and drinking it.  Jungkook just continues to hold his strawberry milk in quiet disbelief.  He honestly doesn’t know what to do; he had assumed that they would never encounter each other again.

“Do you not like strawberry milk?” He asks, prompting Jungkook to look back into his eyes, which are wide with concern and much closer than Jungkook was expecting.

“It’s fine.” Jungkook whispers, leaning away from the man infringing on his personal space.

“I’m Taehyung.” He states with a wide smile, sticking out his free hand.

“Jungkook.” He grips the hand lightly, quickly letting go.

“Do you want to be friends?” Taehyung’s eyes are wide with excitement and anticipation.  He’s almost too genuine in hopefulness, and his breath smells like strawberry milk.

Jungkook is at a loss for words, but he’s lucky because his bus chooses this moment to pull up.  Jungkook tears away from the situation, quickly boarding the bus and escaping his conflicting emotions about the stranger, no, Taehyung.  He’s still holding the strawberry milk.  He glances at Taehyung from his seat on the bus.  Taehyung is still there, smiling brightly and waving at him.  As the bus pulls away, Jungkook finds himself thinking that Taehyung’s smile could light up a room.  (Also, his hand tingles, but he attributes that to the numbing effects of the cold strawberry milk.)

a/n: (the original version of I Need U came out and OH my GOD.  tae is such a good actor.  i mean they're all good actors, but taetae gave me chills. also murdering people is not okay.  just a PSA for my impressionable readers.)
THANK YOU FOR SUBSCRIBING. *happy author*
i'm sorry if it feels slow :/
forgive mistakes? I read through it a bunch of times.