“Jiminnie! Come give me a hug my precious little-” Mrs. Park was cut off as she pulled Jimin into a bone-crushing hug. Jimin wrapped her up in his arms and spun her around. She was a small woman, but so was Jimin. They fell around the same height, but Jimin was stockier than her. Even though it had been years since he had last seen her, she hadn’t aged a bit. Her warm brown hair shined in the afternoon sun just like her creamy white skin, touched with a kiss of gold from all her gardening escapades. She had a very round and plump face, giving Jimin his trade-mark chubby cheeks. She had dark blue eyes that bulged out slightly, making it seem like she was always happy or surprised. Her cute sundress fell a little above her knees, and flared out when she walked. She wore her favorite apron over her sunflower dress, a picture of a woman grilling saying “hot mama”. Despite her little eye crinkles, she didn’t look a bit over twenty-five. Jimin was pleased to see that their spacious yellow cottage had been renovated and improved. There was a large front porch complete with lounge furniture and a porch swing. Jimin grabbed his luggage from the path he set them on and pulled them into the front yard of the house. Jimin’s mother fawned over him as he went, commenting on how much he had grown and how different he looked.

    “Mom, I get it, it’s been a while. Can I move without being suffocated?” Jimin laughed as she huffed and pouted at the same time.

    “I haven’t seen my son in years, and this is how you treat me? I shouldn’t even make you your favorite dinner!” Jimin immediately dropped to his knees and grasped her soft hand. He put on his sincerest repentance expression and tugged on her hand.

    “No mom! You can’t do that! Please, I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll be good, just make my kimchi~” Jimin moaned like he was dying on the inside. His mother smirked and smacked his arm as he passed.

    “Your theatrics are unnecessary. Go get yourself settled in first. You’re father will want to see you.” Jimin nodded and she took the luggage from his hand. He set off for the front door, dreading the moment he’d see his father. If he was the same man Jimin once knew, he would be standing in the foyer, arms crossed, feet spread shoulder-width apart, permanent frown spread across his lips and hard brown eyes pointed straight at him. Jimin felt a new sense of hope accompany his usual bout of dread whenever he saw his father. They had always had a strained relationship, but maybe all those years apart had done something for them? Maybe his father had finally accepted him? Maybe Jimin wouldn’t have to be afraid at all? Jimin opened up the door and peered through. The open hallway led to the kitchen, but at a good ten meters away. In between were four structures, one being the mudroom at the opening where the front door was, the second being the staircase on the left wall, the third being the living room, and the fourth being the dining room, both on the right side. There, at the large open entrance leading to the living room, stood Jimin’s father.

He was a rather short man despite his build, coming in at about a hundred and eighty centimeters. He had a broad back, large hands and feet, a square face, defined chest and abdomen, lean legs, and small facial features. His hair was close cropped and black. He had a small mouth and thin lips, making it seem like he was always frowning. He had a small nose, but rounded out perfectly above his lips. His eyes were deep-set into their sockets, making it appear like he was always squinting. The little crescent shape of his eyes were the only thing that Jimin and he shared with respect to genetics. Jimin had adopted more of his mother's features. Just like he had been all those years ago, he pressed his hard stare on Jimin, neither blinking nor moving, just staring in some form of resentment. Jimin gulped and walked up to him. He looked at him for a few seconds, taking in his appearence. Jimin didn’t speak, for fear that it might break the spell, might ruin some chance Jimin might have had at consolation. Never before had Jimin been so needing of his father’s approval. It weighed him down every second that went by without a word uttered between them. Just when Jimin felt like he was going to explode, his father did something completely unexpected. He smiled.

    It wasn’t really the type of expression that can be called a smile. It was really just the raising of the corner of his mouth, and the pinching of the side of his nose. It actually looked more like a grimace to those who were unfamiliar with the image. But Jimin knew his father well, had seen that look on his face only a few times before in his life. It was Mr. Park’s trade-mark smile. It meant one of two things. One, he was mocking you. It was the equivalent of a sneer in some people’s minds. It meant he thought you were wholly ridiculous and in need of some serious readjustment. Jimin had seen this plenty of times in his life, as most of the time it was directed at him. If not the first situation, then there is a second one for the reason as to why Mr. Park is smiling. It meant he was actually happy. This was extremely rare, and the one Jimin had only seen a few times in his life. Jimin felt the beginning of tears start to burn the back of his eyeballs. He was gripping his hands into hard fists that trembled ever so slightly. His father’s hand slipped from the crook of his elbow into the air, then hovered over Jimin’s head like a storm. Jimin panicked, thinking he was going to strike him and squeezed his eyes shut in preparation for the hit. Instead, he felt soft pats on his head. Jimin let one eye slip open, and his father was still smiling at him. The action could almost be considered loving, almost.

    “Welcome home son.” His father said in a low baritone. He turned and walked away, leaving Jimin in stuttering silence and disbelief. His father hadn’t insulted him, hadn’t demeaned or reprimanded him. His father had patted his head, like a proud father. It was unbelievable. Jimin stared at his retreating back in silent awe, wishing that the moment would be forever seared in his mind. Jimin would lock that away deep in his heart, and keep it there for later analysis. Right now, he needed to help his mother with the items. Turning back, he went to his mother’s hunched figure-trying in vain to carry two carry-ons and a suitcase. Jimin laughed and called out to his mother.

    “Now what made you think that you could actually carry all that? You act like you're still spry!” Jimin’s mother growled and slapped him hard on the arm before handing him his suitcase.

    “Stupid brat! I’m only in my thirties, stop acting like I’m old and decrepit. Two or three bags is nothing compared to that huge wheel-barrel out back that I use to carry my fertilizer. I lug that thing around no problem.” Jimin laughed and held the door for her as she went in.

    “Yes, but you move at the pace of a dying snail. You’re sweating so much, you look like you’ve just run a marathon.” Another hard smack went to Jimin’s head. He hissed and grumbled in response.

    “Apparently all that city time has made a smart alec out of you. Thank goodness that whole ‘performer’ ship has sailed and you can get back to something more serious. Maybe a few hours in a cubicle will take that sass right out of you!” Jimin’s mother said it so casually, so sure and sweetly, but it nearly broke his heart to hear it. They thought he was giving up, they were sure he had come home because he was giving up on being a performer. Jimin then realized with bittersweetness just why his father had been so loving earlier. The gesture wasn’t one of acceptance, it was one of accomplishment. He was glad because he had been proven right, and was relishing in it. Jimin felt all the happiness zapped out of him. Of course they would be rejoicing, if Jimin really was coming home with his tail between his legs, then they assumed that it was back to business as usual. Jimin felt anger grow inside of him. His dreams had just been crushed, and they were smiling and laughing about it, like it was just some silly joke, some stupid phase he was bound to grow out of. In their world, it was back to business as usual. Couldn’t they feel even the least bit remorseful? Upset? Empathetic maybe? Even after all this time they had spent apart, they hadn’t changed. Not. One. Bit.

Jimin accepted with disgruntlement that his hope for proud parents was impossible. When they found out the real reason he was here, they would be just as upset and disappointed as they were when he left. They would yell, they would guilt-trip and argue, and finally accept with angered resolve that this was Jimin’s dream. And they would have no part of it. Truly, this would be that last time Jimin ever talked to his parents, because after this, they would never want to see him again.

    Jimin was pulled from his bitter musing as his phone vibrated. Jimin pulled it out and smiled fondly. Taehyung had just texted him, telling him that they would be arriving in Busan at about seven o'clock, around dinner time. Jimin responded back with a pair of thumbs up and details about his encounters with his parents. He knew Taehyung was dying to know. He expected a full on rant of how terrible his parents were and how they didn’t deserve such a good kid like Jimin, but he was surprised for the third time that day when Taehyung told him to remain strong, and have faith in his parents. He said to not take to heart his mother’s words and to not condemn his father’s actions. Jimin blinked at the response and texted back something lame. Jimin ruffled his hair and shook his head. Taehyung was right, he shouldn’t get disheartened when they hadn’t even tried yet. He still had half a day to warm his parents up to the idea. Jimin jumped up his stairs two at a time to his room. He made two turns down the hall till he came to his old bedroom. His brows knit in confusion at the unfamiliar setting. His room had been turned into an office.

    “Mom? What happened to my room?” Jimin called. His mother’s pinched voice responded to him.

    “What do you mean what happened? We changed it of course! You’ll be staying in the guest room sweety.” Jimin tried to keep his bottom lip from trembling in disappointment. They had changed it because they thought he wasn’t coming back. Maybe it was a silent hope that he would be successful? Jimin bounded away to the guest room, which was about five feet narrower than his old bedroom. It had pastel blue walls, a queen-sized four-poster bed with a cream-colored bed spread and forest green duvet, tan wooden dressers and desk, and an attached bathroom and walk-in closet. Jimin set his bag on the bed and started unpacking. Another buzz sounded off from his phone, this one from Hoseok. Jimin smiled fondly at the message.

    “Just bought the tickets. It’ll be a bit, but we should be there closer to three hours. Save a spot for me next to you at dinner. Winky-face.” Jimin giggled softly at the happy-crying emoji in the message. It was really cute, plus he followed the message with five exclamation marks. He must have really wanted to sit next to him. Jimin thought for a moment on his response, then texted him back.

    “Yeah, mom hasn’t even started cooking yet so you’re good. I can try to, but it’s usually first come first serve.” Jimin whispered as he wrote. He was about to send it when he paused, thought that something was missing, and then added an embarrassed emoji at the end. Jimin had sent it and resumed unpacking when his phone buzzed much faster than he expected. Pulling it out, it was hoseok again. He had responded within ten seconds. It was actually really endearing. Jimin giggled and bit his lip after reading the message.

    “Guess I’ll just have to be first then.” Hoseok added a kissy face this time. Jimin wasn’t sure when it started, but Hoseok had been really sociable with him lately. He just got his number today for work related reasons, but he had been texting him stuff unrelated to work all day. He sent him a picture of what he had for lunch and Yoongi yawning, a video of him sliding down a rail, and little tidbits about what he was doing at that moment. Jimin used to complain to Taehyung about doing the same thing to him, and it was annoying as crap. But with Hoseok, it was just endearing. Jimin liked thinking-entertaining is a better verb-the idea that Hoseok wanted him to know about everything he was doing. Maybe even trying to make him feel comfortable before they start working together. Jimin didn’t question it, but enjoyed the monotony of it. It was like a little treat to look forward to every few minutes or so. Jimin sighed happily as he finished unpacking his clothes and rested on the bed.

It was so surreal. Jimin laughed and rolled around on the bed spread as he remembered everything that had happened. First he had his audition, then he met Hoseok, then he had the whole costume fiasco, then he had his farewell with Taehyung and Jungkook, then he left, then he called his parents to tell them he was coming home, then he boarded the plane, then he got the call from Hoseok, then he found out he passed the audition and was a floater on the line-up for Bangtan, and now he was here. Somewhere along the line, Jimin had done something right. He still couldn’t believe that after all this time, all the countless hours of sweaty, back-breaking labor, after times of being made fun of and bullied, after times of being told he would fail, he did it. He accomplished his