vanilla at 3am. ➳ dnf

sanctuary

cross-posted on ao3! author note: first time writing something outside of the bts fandom so um, wish me luck lol 

each chapter is inspired by a song from this playlist: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XhRtmk7vm3k ! this one is inspired by sanctuary by joji

        one, two, one, two, one, two, one, two, three- an error. it was out of line, it's flawed, it is unpredicted, it is ugly, it is disgusting, and nobody wants an imperfection. agility, balance, coordination, a sequence, flexibility, that is lovely, that is wanted. falling, choking, gasping, begging, crying, a simple flaw in the sequence felt like dying. nobody wants to hear of how that duck had become such a gorgeous swan, yet filled with such hatred towards the rest of the other ducks. once an ugly duckling became a beautiful swan, would a swan choose to lose its beauty once again? the weak duck was foible, proving it wasn't enough, it was a shortcoming. children had hoped for that, adults wished for it, to be of someone greater. to feel special, pretty, to feel like a special swan out of all the others. 

       the true story of the ugly ducklings seems to remain unspoken, the hideous truth that is hidden. had no one thought of the other plausible perspective of the graceful swan? when night fell, the self-loathe swallowed him. he wanted to be loved therefore, he needed to be in line-one, two, one, two. he needed to be separated from the unwanted, he needed to be associated with the beautiful swans. he was a swan, feathers covering him in innocence. adorned in jewels, dripping in elegance, he captured beauty and grace. but who is to say that he wasn't the one trapped in the lake instead? swimming in circles, it is secret that the pitiful swan would eventually sink if it didn't leave the water soon. when the morning arose, the feathers shimmered, far too charming than what meets the eye. even as it begins to set, the crystal lake reflecting an ombre of oranges and reds melted perfectly with his dance. but it was too much, far too deep, the mud beneath was grabbing at his legs. the surface was gorgeous, oh it truly was. the performance the swan gave was wonderous, such a whimsical time. within the lake, the hunters, the predators, the evil, couldn't lay a finger on the swan. he was safe there...right?

        "george, demonstrate for us." a head tilt, a nod. everyone knew of it too, it was a simple exchange. "perform, understood."  it was a thursday, a gloomy one, the greys and gentle pastels of blue were overshadowing the sun as if it were in mockery of its inability to provide light. london, home to the royal swan university, in all its glory, had established itself in high regard. it won countless awards over the years, producing nothing but elite ballet dancers since the nineties. only the best of the best were allowed on stage, which meant no imperfections. this included anyone with less than the standard that was taught. there had been controversy with paid admissions but it was no secret that no matter what, those who could not withstand the harsh programs would crumble. a broken mirror, a shattered doll, pieces go missing and are no longer needed. the creators couldn't care less for the rest of the dolls if it meant there would be at least one flawless one produced. it didn't matter if the 'flawless' doll was crying, scratching at the throat for air. what did matter was that the doll stood with poise on that stage, as if it were a beacon of pure light. one that would intimidate others with its brightness but draw them in as if there were moths to a flame. oh, the horrors the woeful dancers went through, of course, everyone wanted to be part of that light. it was so attractive, it was so seemingly perfect, but it burns to be in that light. killing a little part of themselves each time just to shine for others, it was a cycle. a simple one at that, yet so, so, complex. 

        the sound of music began to fill the air as george stood up, shoulders back, head held high. swan lake, one of the most difficult pieces in ballet had been the name of the piece to be performed at this year's competition. "pyotr ilyich tchaikovsky composed this piece, sometime between 1875 through 1876. the critics deemed it ugly, it wasn't pleasant to the ears, the dancers complained about the pacings, it just wasn't good to them. now, today? it is such a popular piece, an iconic one you may say." a pause, sir hendrey turned his head to george who had already begun the piece with the soft embrace of the instruments behind him. "now, what made this piece so legendary was not only the discovery of the talent behind the composing but also the story. the tragedy, the romance, the sacrifice, the-the, the emotion! another man known as julius reisinger gave the music a story- look at that, a fouette, one of the most difficult turns. well done george, so challenging, oh aren't you just beautiful!" the man continued to ramble onward, teaching history whilst describing ballet. sir hendrey usually meant no harm really, he was a fine fellow that had been teaching ballet for nearly twenty years. at the age of nearing sixty, his head of grey hair with his nose with a slight curve to it gave him a sort of charm. he has often nicknamed himself a dancing gnome, with soft smiles reflecting whenever he'd crack his corny jokes once in a while. with that said, however, he was strict with a tendency to rub his nose and squint before yelling at a poorly performed routine. nonetheless, if you did impress him, you would be fine for the majority of the class.