The Siren's Song

Chapter 89- the torment of waiting

HOBI POV:

The final two days before the performance is a wait, a torment like no other. A wait as that anticipation that had steadily been climbing higher and higher slowly reaches the finishing line. Slowly reaches that peak of it, the climax that would be the dance performance, would be that unveiling of the stunning duet Jimin and (Y/N) had been pouring their efforts into, investing all their energy and time into.

It was a painful wait and torment because it seemed like we barely got to see (Y/N). To suddenly go from seeing her every day, spending time with her, hearing from her to this. To these stolen moments of getting lunch or dinner together after their rehearsals or to pick her up before dropping the two to the studio, stolen moments where they weren't dancers, when they weren't competitors, but just ours, just each other's.

And in these fleeting moments the rest of us began to pick up on small changes in (Y/N). Small changes that anyone else would've passed by unnoticed, unobservant of them.

But we all noticed those lapses into silence. Where in the loud bubble of noise and chatter, she became silent, lost in thought. Where she seemed to drift away, eyes losing focus, drowning with emotions and memories and thoughts, unfocused on the present and lost within her mind.

It happened during lunch once. Happened as Tae moved to steal pasta off her fork, hand clutching at it but not making any move to draw it to her lips and eat it. Nudging her and telling her how he was planning on taking photographs of their performance, for a new project. And it had seemed as if it was a struggle for her to remove herself from that haze, consumed by it but slowly tugged out by Tae's words and soft gaze, by the way his hand had curled around hers, fork lowered down but skin still pressed together. Silently helping her, staying with her with a physical closeness until she focused on it, until her fingers wriggled and twisted to encircle his wrist, moving to feed him with her fork this time.

It happened when she was curled up beside Joon on the couch, head resting on his lap and absently fiddling with the rips in his jeans, fingers teasing and dancing along bare skin in a way that was more fiddly then it was to rile up. But it still had Joon's cheeks pinkening and eyes darkening as her fingers absentmindedly slipped under the denim on his thigh and wriggled, brushed against his skin, head smushed against his thigh, puffy and sweet. At odds with how her touch was a torment too.

And as the final two days trudged by, my curiosity grew. Because it seemed as if her silence tied in to whenever the competition was mentioned. A flash of thought or emotion seeping into her eyes, always so expressive still, before she nodded along. Or murmured how lucky she was to have Jimin as her duet partner, that she couldn't ever have found a better one, one more fitting for this song.

Her flitting expressions gave away that whatever she was thinking about the song, about the dance it was a mixture of past and present merging. It meant that the song held a unique, personal significance to her. Because her eyes became haunted at once but also hopeful. It was a conflicting mixture of good and bad emotions battling, merging. And I knew that this wait wasn't just a torment on us. It was a torment for her too. An agony to wait out the final days in a blur of practices and hidden moments together, sweet fleeting moments that burned themselves across my mind and soul. The sweet press of her lips hastily pressed to mine, sliding away before they could truly linger, before I could coax them closer. The feel of her wrapped up in my embrace, soft warmth that barely curled around me before it vanished, darting for the next figure.

It seemed as if there was an urgency simmering away, bubbling with growing anticipation within her too. And all those thoughts, all those curious, absently drifting questions and musings where answered on the night before the performance. When Yoongi hyung had curled close, had softly murmured that the song had made her cry. He didn't divulge the depth of what had transpired that day at Magic Shop, didn't say what exact state she had been but his low, deep murmurs were enough. Underlined with worry and contemplation, making it clear that it was the very song, or the lyrics were something that tugged at her, called to her. That he knew and connected her recent silence and bouts of internal processing tied in to the song and what it meant to her.