#thegodfiles

FEBRUARY --, 19--

Jimin’s skin, pale and sparkling like a diamond in it's purest form, was covered by the flimsy black mask. It covered part of his forehead, his upper cheekbones, nose and the skin above his cupid's bow. It was lazily encrusted by false gems that would surely fall off the moment he took it off. It felt itchy and like he was being held hostage by it, but for the considerable pay, he’d wear anything. So if it was a false mask to fit into the "masquerade" party, so be it.

Even then, his arms ached as he held the circular serving tray, holding flutes of bubbly champagne for exuberant and shameless guests to take as they pleased. His arms strained from holding it in the same position for hours on end.

There was a prickle underneath his skin, but he bubbled it down to the environment. Who wouldn't feel like the world had chosen favorites when the chandeliers glistened, the hors-d'œuvre were combinations unknown to most men on silver platters and the clothing was probably worth more than any job he'd ever take?

How lucky – they all know they belong, something he never had. 

A sharp cackle followed by a tidal wave of equally pitched laughter echoed across the large hall and snapped Jimin out of his daydream. He swiveled his head to the sound of the noise to find that it was merely impossible to do so in a room of over three hundred people.

“Section one and two need refills. Their drinks are at the bar.” There was barely any time for Jimin to react as he was nudged towards the bar by his manager, who did not know his name nor cared to learn it. He was a tall and grubby man who seemingly did not care for anyone but the money he placed in his pocket at the end of the night.

Walking towards the bar made him feel the usual normal sweat he always endured. Not that he did this often as the language barrier caused communicational issues, but he was relieved to take the temporary position after the raise in rent for his apartment shot up without warning. Maybe it wouldn’t have been a big deal to anyone else, but it burned a hole in his pocket. His job at the bookstore paid well enough to help him get by but the rise in costs for textbooks, food, rent and phone calls began to pile up. He had promised himself to never take servicing jobs again, but in desperate times, there were desperate measures taken. 

Still, it didn't mean he had to enjoy it. 

The bartender, who wore a similar mask to his own but had gold instead of silver nodded his head to the tray of drinks and turned to continue cutting limes and orange slices. Jimin slowly grabbed the tray and with careful steps, walked towards the front of the room, avoiding the drunken party-goers who made the event seem like a rave concert rather than an engagement party. Hell, he didn’t even know it was an engagement party until he saw the sign in front of the entrance. He couldn’t read it, but anyone who knew anything would know that the two rings in the painting signified marriage.

He hadn't worked at that particular hotel before, so the layout was unknown to him. However, it was easy to not speak at all, (he thanked every deity ever up above because of it), as all he had to do was look out for which table had empty drinks that resembled the ones he had on the tray. He waltzed up to the table that matched his tray and began to exchange drinks for the refilled ones. He never looked up from his task, not that he needed to anyway. 

No one noticed him that night for two reasons – he was a staff member waiting on hand and foot and he had a mask that covered his face, keeping a wall between everyone. It was a relief that he could walk around without fear of being called over to be reduced to a pretty thing on someone’s arm. Even with his suit of armor in the shape of a cheap mask, he felt himself stiff. 

He had lived with stiffness and paranoia in his bones since he was born a gorgeous little boy in his mother’s arms – but that was ways across the ocean and with a name that he no longer identified with.

So he shook it off, carrying the tray to the back kitchen where the heat of pots and stoves prickled his skin. He laid the tray of drinks near the sink where a Hispanic boy was washing dishes and who merely nodded his head in acknowledgement. 

Rinse and repeat. 

Get drinks filled to the brim with legal poison, clean up the old drinks, bring them to the back. 

Rinse and repeat. 

He followed this pattern to the point he could feel his shirt wrinkling with every second passing. Sweat began to pour down his neck and he consistently patted his face to ensure he didn’t look like he had jumped into the olympic sized pool that was down the hall. By the end of the night, he was sure that he had lost nearly all of the liquid in his body to the extensive labor he had of walking, carrying, moving for over ten hours at that point. 

Nearing three in the morning, when most of the guests had begun to flee to their rooms either in groups or in duos fumbling around as if they were rabid animals, he was directed to clean the outside balcony. One step outside and he could feel his vision go black – just an array of glasses and fallen bracelets and glass littering the entire balcony. 

How disgusting the aristocracy are.

He cleaned up the spills and cracked glass, giving the last of his energy to finish the last task before making his way home. He tied up the garbage bags and stepped forward to enter back into the main ballroom. But he stopped and instead dropped the bags near the door and moved forward to leaned on the railing of the balcony, allowing the cool wind to soothe his neck and flow through his thin button up shirt. With a deep inhale and the closing of eyes, he stared out into the night, allowing the moon to cast light on him like a spotlight on a stage. He could hear laughter and something else that he didn’t care or feel comfortable paying attention to. 

When he opened his eyes, taking in the garden down below, he smiled for the first time that night. It looks gorgeous, something out of a painting from the little he could see in the dark of night. Trees, fountains and florals. It would be a great place to propose or have a first date. He wondered if the couple that was being celebrated had something as beautiful as this in their engagement story. To get married was a commitment and a great beauty for two souls who desired to be intertwined – something he could only imagine and receive from novels. 

Snap.

His head swiveled to the sound of something cracking and his eyes landed downward to a figure standing near the side of the garden below him.

Eyes met.

The gown she wore was sparkly and had a soft pink hue that made her glow. A mask, one that was the same pink as her gown, sat on her face like a tiara – something she was worthy of from the way she stood. 

She stared up at him, lips parting in a soft gasp, but she made no move to keep walking. It was as if she was staring at something she had longed for – like an ex-lover that got away or a forbidden piece of gold she wanted to touch. She never took her eyes off of him, a view of awe and glued to the ground. 

He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, but he didn’t know what for. At the same time, she copied his movement as her pink lips parted, Noticing their parallel movements, he blushed red but she let out a giggle. It wasn't pointed to humiliate him, but a laughter of amusement, of a jester accidentally making the princess laugh. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” She smiled brightly, tilting her in a teasing way, “Forgive me?"

Jimin didn't move, didn't speak, only lifted his head up and down in response. He wasn't allowed to talk to guests and he actually physically couldn't. English never came easy to him and even with over a year of learning, his mind couldn't stick to it. And Americans never spoke Korean unless they were Korean themselves.

At his nod, she chuckled once more, probably taking his silence as shyness, and opened her mouth once again before some loud sound caught her attention. A voice calling out from beyond the garden. At this, he turned away from the balcony, grabbing the bags and stepping into the ballroom.

He wasn’t blind and wasn’t stupid as many thought he was. Even with the little English he knew, body language was universal. However, it wasn’t for him – the idea of comfort in a world filled with rubies and velvet lined chairs. In another world, they could have met in a room like the one he was cleaning, but in this one, he was just a waiter and she was a vibrant guest. The glimmer, the spark, the tether, that held tightly around his neck like a noose, was something that he escaped once.

He would never go back again. 

Not for a pretty face. 

Not for all the money or fame in the world. 

Not for the chance to feel human for once. 

And although the simple few words could have meant nothing, it was a door he never wanted to cross, let alone see in his life. So he threw out the trash, collected his paycheck, and walked to the bus stop with his belongings strapped to his back as he moved from fantasy driven land of the Parthenia hotel and into the late night trash covered roads of reality.

The full chapter will be available on tumblr on July 30th! To be tagged for the full chapter, just comment below on this post! TGF index is posted (click link at top!)

all comments, reposts, likes, etc are all appreciated!!!!

see you all very soon - xo, calipso

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