Translations:
"gosse" is French for "kid"
"mon cher" is French for "my dear"
"-ah" is a Korean honorific used with someone who is close in age/younger than you
~ ~ ~
--Flashback--
"Cherisse. Cherisse, love. Honey, can you wake up?"
My eyelids fluttered, and bright artificial light infiltrated my eyes. I blinked twice to clear the sleep and crusty tears from my eyes. My back ached from sleeping across two stiff plastic chairs in the waiting room, and I had a headache from crying myself to sleep last night, but those were the least of my worries.
"Is everything okay, nurse?" I asked, my voice hoarse and crackly as I sit up slowly. My small hand rubbed any lingering tiredness from my eyes.
Her brown eyes were flooded with sympathy. "Dear, I don't even know how to tell you this, but your grandfather passed away a few minutes ago."
"W-what?" I knew what she was saying, but I didn't know how to comprehend it.
"We believe his wife's death was too much for his heart to handle, and a few minutes ago, it simply stopped."
"But why?" Tears began to sting my eyes and tickle my cheeks innocently as the news of my grandpa's death sunk in. "Why is everything being taken from me, nurse? Who would let this happen?"
The nurse knelt in front of me, taking my hands in hers. "Death is a part of life, sweetheart. It is very saddening that you have to experience it so early."
I closed my eyes to stop the flow of any more tears. At that point, after everything had been taken from me, I wondered what I had left that was worth living for.
"Why am I alive while everyone that ever loved me is dead?"
"God works in strange ways. It may seem like his actions are inexplicable, but good can always come out of suffering and grief."
I shook my head. "There is no God; at least, not one who cares about me."
Grandpa and Grandma's funerals were combined into one – exactly what they would have wanted. I was not asked to speak because everyone thought I was too young to understand what was happening. I remember thinking I was the only one who knew what was happening. I did not mourn their deaths – I only mourned the loss of the only living relatives who cared about me and reminded me that a little bit of my parents lived on. A week after the funeral, I moved in with my aunt in Paris.
The door popped open in front of me, and I stumbled backward, hiding behind my second cousin, George. An attractive young woman with an hourglass figure stood in the doorway with an impatient hand on her hip.
"Well, is this the gosse I have to deal with for the next eight years?" she demanded in a foreign language. I looked towards George for a translation, but he only set his jaw and placed a protective hand on my shoulder.
"She is your niece, Clara. You have an obligation to take care of her as you would your daughter."
"My daughter has my love." Her sharp gaze fell to me. "Not her." I didn't know what she was saying, but I cowered further behind George.
"You are the only living relative she has with the ability and welfare to take care of her."
"She will be a reminder of what happened to my sister. How am I expected to love her?"
"I never told you to love her," George said with a far more kind tone, seeing how Auntie looked like she was on the verge of crying. "You simply need to take care of her until my family can take her in."
"How long will that be?" A self-satisfied smirk rose to her face, erasing all sadness. "You are poor as dirt, mon cher."
George's hand tightened on my shoulder. The pressure was uncomfortable, but I did not have the heart to shrug his hand off. "We will find a way to make ends meet. Until then, she is all yours." He ignored the rude manner in which Auntie rolled her eyes and knelt in front of me, taking my small, ten-year-old hands in his large ones.
"I will be back for you in a month when I can take care of you," he told me. "Do you think you can wait that long?"
I nodded. I was not sure if I could survive in such an unfamiliar place with a woman I have only seen a few times in my life, but I knew he was doing the best he can.
"She does not even speak French," Auntie spat. "She will be a disgrace to the family."
George fixed Auntie with a threatening glare. "Then you will teach her French and ensure that she has everything she needs to live a comfortable life. Are we understood?"
Auntie scoffed. "If you are trying to intimidate me, it is not working. I will take the brat, but I would like to make it clear I am not getting paid enough for this." Her hand lashed out and grabbed my wrist suddenly, yanking me into the villa. I almost tripped on the doorstep but caught myself.
"Bye, kid. Remember I'll be back in–" George was cut off as the door slammed shut in front of him.
"Hello, Auntie," I said shyly.
"Do not 'hello'," she ordered in broken English. "Sylvie will show room."
"Thank you, Auntie."
She huffed and stormed back into the kitchen where I saw her dicing peppers through the window earlier. The meal she was cooking looked quite delicious.
"Room," Sylvie told me, pointing to a drab room in the basement no larger than a small office. "Bed. Closet. Desk."
"Thank you, Sylvie." She left, and I examined my surroundings closer. So, this was to be my home until George came to get me. I thought I could make it work. A hopeful smile lightened my small, innocent features. Yes, I would make it work.
To make a long story short, George never came back for me. He wrote letters every few months or so explaining his difficult financial situation, and how they could never quite make ends meet. Eventually, the expense of sending letters became too much for his family to afford, so I never heard from him again.
Living with Auntie was a nightmare come to life. It would have been a blessing to be kicked out if the circumstances hadn't been so difficult.
Two years after I moved in with my aunt, I ended up wandering through the streets of Lyon, tucking my worn, grey jacket around my petite frame. The snow beat down on my head like sheets of ice, but the children of the town were laughing merrily, building snowmen and having snowball fights. The three boys silenced themselves as I walked past them on the sidewalk. I offered a shy smile, and their eyes widened in fear before they ran back into the house. Their mother emerged, the dangerous glint of anger and hatred in her eyes.
"You stay away from my house and my children, or I will call the police, Cherisse Williamson!" she screeched.
"Yes, madame, I apologize." I quickly hurried through the frostbitten streets to the narrow alleyway – the only place that provided shelter for me. I sunk against the dirty cobblestone wall and buried my head in my hands. If I wasn't alive, would the world be happier? Is that what they want – for me to die, just like my parents and grandparents? Twelve years old was far too young to be having these thoughts, but at this moment, I wondered if the world would be better off if I ceased to exist.
"Tough day, Cherisse?" a man asked, a coughing fit hacking at his lungs. His hair was matted, and he barely managed to stay warm in a torn woolen coat and thin trousers, but his eyes carried the warmth of kindness I always longed to see.
I managed a shy smile, but my soul ached with grief. "Not as bad as some days."
"Is the Dubois woman going at it again?"
I nodded shallowly.
"Ah. Well, it can only get better, right, Cherisse?"
"I don't know at this point," I admitted, swiping my hand across my forehead to wipe away the stream of melted snow trickling down my skin.
The man paused before continuing. "I wasn't going to interfere in your life, but I feel like I am being called to. A few months ago, around the time you got kicked out, my wife kicked me out." I nodded, remembering how he cried when he told me the full details of this story. I was his sole comfort in that moment, and now that he was trying to comfort me, I gave him my full attention. "I stayed in a church for the first few weeks and that time changed my life."
I sighed, realizing what he was trying to tell me. "Alexandre, you know I don't believe in God anymore."
"But, Cherisse, you aren't listening. He got me through the most difficult time of my life, and He can help you, too. You saw how downtrodden I was and you saw how I came back – that is not a coincidence."
"If there is a God, he took everything from me. I don't believe in anything anymore, not even myself."
"Cherisse, you're just a kid. Twelve years old, fresh out of childhood. God works in strange ways. It may seem like his actions are inexplicable, but good can always come out of suffering and grief."
Something stirred in my soul, and I looked towards the man, frowning. I remembered the nurse said the same thing when I found out my grandparents died – and I did remember how low Alexandre was when I first met him.
I tilted my head back and squinted at the sky. The snow had stopped, and the sun shined gently down on my head. It was so bright, peaceful, and hopeful – everything I wished would fill my soul. Tears filled my eyes and streaked down my cheeks as I thought about how far I had fallen from the innocent child I used to be. I wanted to experience the same peace as the man, and I wanted to remember everything my parents stood for.
I glanced at Alexandre, tears shining in my blue eyes. "What would I do?"
The man did not appear shocked at my response. He smiled towards the sun and told me, "That was Jesus right there, Cherisse. Did you feel Him?"
"I-I think so," I said hesitantly. "I don't know."
The man smiled widely, revealing a set of straight teeth. "The church service begins in ten minutes. I think you should come with me this time."
I paused, but I could feel something inside pulling me to church. "I think I should, too."
We walked in a few minutes late, and the entire congregation collectively turned around to look backward. Their noses wrinkled when they see the man, and families pulled their children closer and whispered something fiercely to them. The pastor standing before the congregation smiled kindly when he saw Alexandre and paused the sermon to stride down the aisle and shake his hand warmly.
"Bonjour, Alexandre. I am glad to see you again. Who is your friend?"
"This is Cherisse," he said. I tucked my hands into my pockets shyly, doing my best to ignore the glares of hatred around me.
"Welcome, Cherisse," the pastor said kindly. "My name is Jean. I would love to speak with you after the service if you are able."
I nodded. "I can do that."
Alexandre lead me to a pew in the middle of the church, and we listened to the sermon together. Even though stares of fear and hatred radiated onto me, as the pastor spoke about salvation and an eternity of peace, I found myself ignoring the people and praying that we all find this truth in our hearts. By the time the sermon ended, tears were running down my cheeks. Something was moving within me, and I had no way to tell what it was, but I had felt it before. I was not going to ignore it this time.
That was the day I found true inner peace. I owe it all to Alexandre and Pastor Jean. When I exited the church after accepting Christ into my heart for the first real time, a woman was waiting outside the church. She explained that she had heard about my situation and wondered if I was in need of a real home. She took me in as her daughter and taught me the very thing that had saved her from misery – dance. I know there has to be a God. No one else could change the downward spiral of my life in a split second. No one.
--End of Flashback--
"Cherisse? Are you okay?"
I jolt from my thoughts and cast a fleeting smile towards Taehyung. His brown eyes are swimming with concern, but the others have only just turned a confused gaze towards me.
"Yes, I am fine," I assure him. "I was just lost in my thoughts. Thank you for your concern, though."
He nods, and his tense shoulders sink in relief. My heart flutters lightly, and I avert my gaze to avoid the feelings that have been plaguing me for the past month I have known him.
"Anyways, as I was saying..." Hoseok begins, engaging once more in his lively recollection of their first concert. I smile at his never-ending supply of energy and eagerness. Jungkook entertains his story with a small "mm-hmm" every few sentences, but he appears to be more interested in the anime cartoon playing on Taehyung's iPad.
I wander around the room backstage, trying not to think about how many people await BTS' performance in one hour. This is the first concert of their tour, and everyone is buzzing with nervous energy - even Yoongi is bouncing his leg anxiously.
"Cherisse, do I look okay?" Jimin asks, spreading out his arms and giving a slow twirl.
"You all look amazing," I say, smoothing down a tiny crease in his shirt. "And your eyeliner is perfect."
"Isn't it always?"
"...sure."
I had to pause to think of a time I saw him wearing eyeliner, but he takes my hesitation as a signal that I am lying and mocks an offended gasp. "And here I thought I always looked positively dashing."
I giggle. "That is undeniable, Jiminie."
He smiles and wraps me in a warm embrace, which sends the wardrobe team into a frenzy. "Wrinkles, wrinkles!" they squeak, gesturing for him to move away from me. He ignores them and holds me tightly. I sigh and let the familiar feeling of protection sink in as I return the embrace. When he pulls back, the wardrobe team releases a collective sigh of relief and swarms around him to smooth down his shirt.
"I am so glad you came back into my life," he admits.
"Believe me - I am, too," I say, reaching up to brush a stray piece of hair off his forehead. "Can I have a hair stylist over here?"
"Yes, Cherisse-ssi," a young woman says, ushering Jimin back into a seat.
His eyes fill with the hurt of betrayal. "Why, Cherisse?"
"Goodbye, Jimin," I giggle, continuing my course around the room to check in on everyone's progress. The excessive amount of heat being used to style the members' hair has made the temperature in the room rise a few degrees, so I take off my hoodie and toss it onto the sofa in the middle of the room, leaving me in my black t-shirt and light pink jeans.
"Did someone do Taehyung's makeup?" a young man on the makeup team asks. I heard one of the wardrobe team call him Dae-Jung earlier.
"I did," someone calls out, her eyes glued to Hoseok's face as she expertly dabs foundation onto his cheek and blends it out to his jawline.
"Where is he, anyway?"
"Who, Taehyung?"
"Yes."
"I have no idea. He was here a minute ago."
"What about Tae-hyung?" Jungkook asks, looking up from the iPad propped against the wall.
I sigh and put my hand on Jungkook's shoulder reassuringly. He has been fidgeting nervously for the past hour – this situation is not severe enough to be added to his anxiety. "I'll find him. How long do we have before the concert begins?"
"Forty minutes," Dae-Jung tells me.
"That gives me plenty of time. I will be right back."
There are not many places Taehyung could go in this concert hall without being noticed. Even if he is bold enough to leave without telling anyone, he wouldn't go into plain sight. I bite my lip, praying to God I don't have to look for him in the men's restroom. That would be extremely awkward for both of us.
The sparse number of hallways are darkened with the hue of night, but a silhouette presents itself around the last corner. The figure is leaning against the wall, his forehead resting in one hand and his arm crossed over his body. His body language communicates anxiety and despair. My hearts aches as I try to piece together what would make him feel this way.
"Taehyung?" I say carefully, leaning against the wall beside him. "Are you all right?"
He shakes his head shallowly. "No."
I shiver as a cold draft twists through the hallway, sending goosebumps flickering to life on my exposed arms. Taehyung doesn't seem to notice.
"Are you worried about this concert?"
"I am worried about many things," he admits.
"Do you want to tell me about them?"
"I don't think you would understand."
I smile shyly. "I'll do my best. My nickname isn't Worldwide Shy for nothing – I am better at listening than talking."
That makes a small smile pull at his lips, and his eyes meet mine for the first time. In that moment, there are a million words I want to say and a million gestures I want to make, but they would all fall short of describing what I am feeling.
"Why do you make me feel like this?" he murmurs so quietly I almost don't hear him.
I shake my head, baffled. "I-I don't know what 'this' is."
"I think you do." He pushes himself off of the wall and steps closer. My fingertips graze his palm as he takes my hands lightly in his and a short gasp emits from my mouth.
"That's what this is," he says shortly, his voice sounding slightly strained as he entwines his fingers with mine. "What are you doing to me?"
"I'm not... I don't... Taehyung, what is happening?"
He bites his lip, and I find myself unable to look away from him as he draws slightly closer. "I am worried our fans will be disappointed with us. I am worried we didn't do enough to prepare for this tour."
"We spent eight hours a day polishing the choreography," I remind him, finding it difficult to breathe when he is this close. "I don't think you could be any more prepared."
"What if people don't like me? For a long time, I was the hidden member of BTS, the one no one knew about."
"That was strategic, I think. You are, um... good-looking and all, so, uh, they kind of – I don't know. I guess they thought it would be, um, b-better that way."
A smirk rises to his face as he draws even closer. "You think I'm good-looking?"
My heart patters out a quick beat, and my breaths become labored. "W-well, I don't know anyone who, uh, doesn't. Not that I ask around or anything. I mean, I'm not sure who wouldn't notice... I didn't mean that, uh, to sound like that. Um, what I meant was... um..."
"You're cute when you are flustered," he breathes, cupping my cheek with his hand. His thumb grazes my cheekbone, and I gasp as his warm breath tickles my lips.
"P-please, stop," I say desperately, both unable and unwilling to pull away. We are so close – closer than we should be – and although this feels horribly right, I recognize that my emotions are so jumbled, this could be terribly wrong.
He immediately jerks backward as if something shocked him, his eyes filled with the pain of regret. "I'm really sorry – I don't know what came over me. Hananim, I'm going mad."
I stare at the wall as a million emotions pass over me. I have no idea what just happened, but the memory is forever engrained in my mind. Taehyung keeps muttering apologies beside me until my eyes meet his once more and his breath hitches.
"It isn't your fault," I sigh, rubbing my temples harshly. "You're nervous about the concert, and I am desperate that you feel like all the work we have done paid off, so we felt like we needed a release. This is just what we happened to resort to. It isn't something we could – w-what are you doing?" Taehyung wraps his hand around my wrist and holds my hand gently, brushing my hair back from my face.
"Your forehead is becoming red," he says gently, touching the now-sensitive skin on my forehead.
"I-I was?"
"Yes. As you said, we are both a bit nervous. Maybe we should head back."
"Oh, yes, that was, uh, actually why I came here. So, that's a good idea. Yeah, let's go back."
"Cherisse, I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I-I don't know what I was doing," he says, looking down at me apologetically.
"You didn't, so we don't need to discuss it. Taehyung, as long as you are feeling better, I think we should head b–"
"You're right. Lead the way, Cherisse-ah."
My face flushes at the honorific, but I refuse to acknowledge my discomfort – if that is my prevailing emotion at the moment – and start towards the backstage room. My and Taehyung's arrival is met with a frenzied staff and a relieved BTS.
"Taehyung, where did you go?" Hoseok asks accusingly. "The concert begins in ten minutes! We were really worried." Taehyung's eyes lift from the ground, and he offers Hoseok a contrite glance.
"I'm so sorry," I apologize. "We lost track of time."
"We?" Hoseok asks, his frustration masked with confusion.
"Relax, Hoseok-hyung," Jimin says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "They're here now. Cherisse? Any last-minute words of encouragement before we go onstage?"
I take a deep breath and look around at the seven boys that have shaped the past month of my life. They have unknowingly carried me through a lot of difficult memories out of the pure kindness of their hearts, and that is something nothing can repay. Words will not do justice to how grateful I am for them, but I will try.
"I met you all a month and a half ago, right?" They nod. "I-I'm not sure if you know this, but my parents died in a car accident when I was eight years old. I can't say I was close to them, but their death has haunted me since the day of their passing – when I sat in the hospital waiting room with my grandparents, waiting to hear if my parents had made it out of the accident alive. Since then, I have never been the same, and anyone who knows me can account for that. Something broke in me and after many hardships where it seemed like the world was against me, I just... I didn't know how much longer I could take it." Jimin touches my shoulder gently, comforting me and urging me to keep going even though tears are trickling down my cheeks.
"The truth is that you all helped pull me out of that rut. I didn't think I could ever fully open myself up to anyone again, but since I have met you, you have treated me with nothing but kindness, and that is a feat unlike any other in this world. So... thank you. I am so glad you bear with me every day and my ridiculous teaching style." A chorus of gentle chuckles washes over everyone who is listening, and I smile, swiping away my tears with my sleeve. "I am proud of you and how far you have come. If anyone were to rock the first concert of their tour, it would be you. We have worked tirelessly over the same setlist for the past month and a half, and I look forward to seeing how that work paid off tonight. J-just know that I believe in you. And thank you for everything you have done for me."
"This feels like a sad movie," Hoseok sniffles, rubbing the tears from his eyes.
"Oh, be careful," I say quickly. "You're going to... smudge your makeup."
"What?" Hoseok demands as the boys snicker to themselves. "What's wrong?"
"I think we need a makeup stylist over here," I say with a small smile as I wipe away the last of my tears.
"Makeup? I already did makeup. What would you need makeup f – eek! Oh, Lord above, what happened?" the young woman shrieks as she takes in the black ring around Hoseok's eye.
"He expressed emotions," Namjoon says solemnly.
"Never do that again," the girl grumbles, fixing up the issue in under a minute.
Jimin tucks me close to him, and I rest my head against his chest, my heart bursting with so much emotion that I feel like I might cry again.
"I didn't know you felt that way," he murmurs.
"I didn't know I did either," I mumble. "Then I had to open my big mouth and make everyone cry."
"Hey, we needed a little bit of emotion before we start the concert."
"Not enough to smudge your makeup!" I insist.
"This is supposed to be waterproof," he tells me, pointing at his eyeliner.
"Well, it is failing."
"You are on in two minutes," one of the staff says, peeking his head into the room.
"No one is still crying, right?" I ask, biting my lip.
"If you keep talking, who knows what will happen?" Hoseok teases.
Before the boys go onstage, I take it upon myself to give each of them a few words of encouragement – only happy words from now on – and a warm hug. When I come to Taehyung, I am not sure what to say, but he pulls me into a hug that speaks more words than I ever could.
"You are going to do wonderful," I whisper in his ear before he pulls back.
"Thank you," he says quietly. "And again, I'm really sorry–"
"Taehyung, there is nothing to apologize for," I insist. "If you are still nervous, don't be. Everyone will love you no matter what you do."
"That implies you think I will mess up."
"I said no such thing."
He lowers his head, and I intake a sharp breath, thinking he's going to kiss me. Instead, he rests his forehead on mine and wraps his hands around my upper arms gently. I breathe deeply, trying to calm my nerves and keep my gaze averted. The contact is sending a flurry of shivers through my nerves, and his proximity is making it very difficult to think of anything else.
"Cherisse?"
I look up, and everything fades away but him. His brown eyes stare universes into my blue and gold eyes. Raw human emotion decorates his eyes and face, pouring his soul into mine with no more than a single word. In that moment, I know that as much as I may try to shove my feelings aside and pretend they don't exist, nothing is powerful enough to stop this. I don't even know what 'this' is. It doesn't feel like love; it feels like infinity.
"Vous êtes votre seule limite," I murmur, unable to tear my eyes away as I scan his handsome face for any distinction between all the confliction he is facing.
"What does that mean?" he asks. His husky voice sends shivers down my spine.
"'You are your only limit,'" I translate. "When you go onto that stage, don't hold anything back. Show the emotion you are showing me now and run with it."
"Yes, Cherisse-ah."
He lets me go, and I offer him a fleeting smile before stepping to the side. He and the rest of the group walk onstage, and the anxious crowd goes wild. Their screams fill every corner of the hall, muffling my last words that I never intended for anyone to hear. No one would understand them, anyway, not unless they speak French.
"Je dirais que je t'aime, Taehyung, mais cela ne rend pas justice à mes sentiments."