"You're a liability to this company," said a well-dressed man in his fifties as he stood in front of the window, looking out at the sunny afternoon day. He kept his arms clasped behind his back as he thought over what to say next to the man sitting at the conference table behind him. "However, you're a moneymaking liability."

He turned when he heard a scoff behind him, looking at the twenty-five-year-old blond man seated at the conference table, looking down at his cuticles. There was a small smirk on the young man's face as he began to speak without looking up.

"Can't help it that I was blessed with charm."

"Charm and a rebellious spirit," muttered the man as he moved his arms from the front to the back so he could cross them across his chest. Even now that he was glaring at the young man, he still refused to look up. "Am I boring you?"

The smirk widened for half a second before it disappeared as the young man finally looked up at the older one as he replied, "No. It's just I've heard this speech what feels like a hundred times already, Uncle."

"And yet it's still not sinking in," said the man, "which is why I have to have this repetitive discussion with you again."

"I don't get what I did wrong," said the young man. "I do what you ask. I wake up at the butt crack of dawn to go to rehearsals and do performances without compliant. Why can't I go out and do what I want during my free time, alone?"

"Because - even though you seem to forget - you're an idol. You can't just walk the streets alone."

"I can too. I don't need dumb and dumber following me around like some paid stalkers."

"You need to be nicer to them, Jimin."

"I just...I want to breathe," he said, "I want to feel normal again, and you don't seem to get it."

His uncle sighed as he moved to take a seat at the table across from Jimin as Jimin leaned back in his chair to look upwards at the puckered white ceiling tiles.

"I didn't ask to be famous," said Jimin to the ceiling. "Technically I didn't ask for anything. It's my dead father that asked you to take care of me. Emphasis on the take care of."

Jimin sighed as he moved to stand up from his seat before his uncle could respond.

"I need some space to breathe, and don't call the lug head duo to follow me or I'll run off on them again like I did last night."

Jimin walked out of the conference room after, yanking open the heavy glass door so suddenly that a suction of air caused the papers to rustle on the secretary's desk. She peered over the top of the desk as Jimin stalked towards the elevators. As Jimin entered the elevator and the doors closed behind him, his uncle moved to stand in the doorway of the conference room with a sigh.

"Please phone his bodyguards," said his uncle to the secretary as she looked over at her. "Have them make sure he stays out of trouble."

- - -

A light knock came at the doorway, but Posey lacked the strength or willpower to lift her head off the desk. The headache that echoed throughout her cranium made it feel like the effort would be impossible. She was still wondering how she had managed to get up that morning and make it all the way across town to the dance studio.

"Posey? Your two o'clock dance troupe is here," called out the voice of her best friend, Daisy.

Without lifting her head, Posey rolled her eyes to look at the clock that was mounted on the grass green wall. Not that she thought Daisy was wrong, but she didn't realize how late in the day it was already.

She heard the door open to the office she shared with Daisy followed by the tsking of her best friend as she walked over, brushing the hair back out of Posey's face.

"You look awful."

"Thanks. I feel awful," said Posey.

"Are you sick?" asked Daisy as she quickly put the back of her hand to Posey's forehead. Posey just as quickly swatted it away and rolled her head to face the other way.

"Sort of. I'm sick of men," she muttered. "I'm hungover from the failed date last night."

"Oh," said Daisy. "Did you want to talk about it?"

Posey reluctantly forced herself to sit up, shaking her head and immediately regretting the action as she winced.

"Not now. Besides, you said my two o'clock class was here. I can't cancel or the moms will riot."

Daisy smirked as she watched Posey yank open a drawer on her desk to look for some aspirin, pouring two pills onto the palm of her hand before downing them with help from some water from the water bottle on her desk. Daisy backed up as Posey moved to get up and walk towards the door.

"I want to talk about everything last night with you later, Posey," said Daisy.

Posey just nodded, not wanting to think about how to word it all later. She still couldn't come to terms with being stood up followed by being used by a man to escape. The mystery man had kept her hungover self occupied last night until she had passed out, and even this morning he wouldn't leave her mind. She tucked him away in the back of her mind though as she walked down the bright white hallway to the room where her class was located.

As Posey entered the room, she looked at the eight ten-year-old girls already assembled. A few of their prissily dressed mothers sat in folding chairs along the back walls with their phones out. As if coordinated, the mothers all lifted their heads to look at her as she entered like they did every time. And like every time, they all seemed to look at Posey in a way that made her feel like she wasn't a fit dance instructor for their purebred children.

Posey turned away from the judgmental looks to instead focus on her students as she walked to stand in front of the wall of mirrors. Off to her left, she had a view of the lazy city street; a few pedestrians walking by on the street lost in their own worlds. All the girls moved to assemble in front of her as she clapped her hands together to get their attention.

She would have time to feel miserable about last night later. Right now, she had students to instruct.