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The man turned and turned, arms extended in front of him. He felt all eyes on him, watching his every movement, every single centimeter that his body could have wrongly moved. The tip of his foot turned on itself over and over again, the hard shoe digging into his skin. He remembered all the times he had practiced this for hours on end, to the point where his legs would simply give up beneath him. He remembered how wounded his feet had been, blood oozing from countless blisters. It was a merciless pirouette to perfect, but right then and there, he was executing it so naturally you would have thought he had done it for years.

“Keep it tight,” his teacher said, watching him like a hawk.

He tightened up his abdominal muscles and his quadriceps, elongating his body. He glanced at his teacher to see a nod of approval and continued to twirl, every single muscle in his body on fire. His breaths were sharp and controlled like a metronome, guiding his rhythm. Every clap she did echoed in the silent room and kept him focused, motivating him to keep on going. He knew he could not stop; stopping would mean failure.

Failure, to him, was not an option. One he would not even consider even in the darkest of times he had faced. Between being told he would never make it as a ballet dancer and being praised for his practically perfect form, it had been one hell of an emotional rollercoaster. He had given blood, sweat and tears for this. He had given up his life, all of his hard earned savings working as a busboy in a restaurant during high school, all of the time he could have spent hanging out with friends. He barely remembered his high school days; time had passed by too quickly. He had studied, worked, and practice. Nothing more. No matter the taunting for his choice of sport, the names he had been called, he had succeeded in shutting everything out and keeping focus. Defeat was unimaginable.

She kept on clapping, keeping the rhythm for him, or should he say she kept him sane. No normal person could do this. However, he knew he was born to do it. He had danced his whole life, ever since he could stand on his two legs properly. He danced before he could speak; a small toddler just swaying around to the classical music his mother played for him. She had noticed how much he loved it and had signed him up for dancing lessons as soon as he was of age. “A little genius”, his first teacher had called him.

Following those classes, his mother had become even more persistent on his improvement. She had seen the way he excelled in his classes, the way his teachers praised him constantly. In her son she saw success, triumph, achievement. She saw herself boasting to her friends about how talented and famous he was, about how much he spoiled her. She yearned after that fantasy so much, her loving attitude towards her son turning into one of a strict teacher. She would not let him fail like she had, let him work himself to misery just to survive. When he would come back from school, it was always practice time. On nights where he worked after school, she would still make him practice afterwards. She knew she was being hard on him; but it was for his own good.

“Good. Very good,” his teacher said, dismissing him.

He landed perfectly and firmly, completely out of breath. Every bone, every ligament and muscle in his body ached; yet he loved it. It reminded him he still had a lot of work to do to attain perfection. He fell to his knees when she turned around to talk to the rest of the class, his body thoroughly drained. The teacher was an ass yet also a wonder to him. She kept pushing him to his breaking point, using him as examples in front of the class, knowing his ego would force him not to mess up. She was one sick teacher… but she had helped him a lot, too. In class, she was strict, demanding, pretty horrible actually. Out of class, she gave him tips and let him open up to her. It was a love-hate relationship. She reminded him of his mother.

One of his close classmates came and brought him a bottle of water and a clean towel, patting his drenched back. He thanked her and chugged half the bottle, taking a break to catch his breath. The cool water trailing down his parched throat made him sigh in relief, content. He took the towel and wiped away the dripping sweat on his face, chest, arms and back.

“That is what I want to see from you,” the teacher said to the class. “His form is the closest to perfection in this whole group. If you want to go far, get to his level first. None of you can execute that long of a continuous fouette turn, am I right?” she asked without waiting for an answer.

Jimin snorted, always surprised by his dear teacher’s bluntness. It was hard to stay humble when she constantly praised him and compared every student to him. He knew he was good. Very good, actually. Nonetheless, he always aimed for improvement. Dancing had been his whole life, and would be what he dedicated the rest of it to. He knew he was the best of his program, that his teacher practically had a spot reserved for him at her ballet studio. He knew that people would probably fight to get him in their own ballet company. He tried not to let it get to his head.

The class was close to ending, so Jimin started unwrapping his ballet shoes. His feet were stiff and most likely blistered and bloody from that excessive turning on pointe. His fingers brushed over the marks of his shoes on his feet, the tight fabric had dug into his skin so much it almost drew blood. All he wanted was to sit down, his feet soaked in a iced bucket of water and snooze off.

“You’re not done. Practice the recital routine. One hour,” she ordered, her face serious.

He subtly sighed and strapped his shoe back on, fighting against his aching body. One hour… that’s a little rough, he thought to himself. She was always this cruel to him, but he knew there was a little love behind it. She wanted to see him succeed, so she pushed him to the breaking point. That breaking point, however, had never been reached. He remained undefeated. If she had told him to stay for three hours, he would have done so. Dancing was his drug; it was his oxygen. It was what kept him alive.

When everyone in class left, his classmates giving him looks of encouragement and thumbs up, he went to the stereo and started his song. It was a song his teacher had chosen for him. She had helped him choreograph it, as she knew there were going to be head hunters at the annual dance recital. The dancer did not particularly connect with the song or dance, but he still did it to please his teacher. He knew that if he perfected this, he would most certainly get a spot at his favorite dance company.

“One, two, three, four…” he whispered, forgetting about all the pain in his body, completely focused.


He caught the ball as he threw himself over the line, avoiding his teammate’s tackle by an inch. His shoulder dug into the ground, sending bits of the plastic grass in the air. He heard the cheers from his team behind him as he got back up, his shaking legs threatening to give in. As he turned around he threw the ball on the ground and did his usual victory dance, making all of his teammates laugh loudly. He walked towards them, arms in the air, triumphant.

“You can’t drop one fucking ball, huh,” Taehyung said as he smacked his ass, beaming.

“Never intend to,” Jungkook replied, putting his arm around his shoulders.

His coach clapped as they all huddle around him, chatting and cheering, arms over one another. They were all anxious and on edge as days passed by and the game got closer. It was a very important game; one where recruiters would certainly be assisting. They all worked hard, but not too hard, so they could still show their best during the game. The fact that Jungkook was on the team was stressful in itself, as he usually stole the spotlight from the others. His talent had made him target of envy and jealousy from his teammates, though they usually kept quiet about it. They secretly trained harder and longer in hopes of one day getting on his level. Unfortunately for them, he was a natural.

“Great practice, guys, as always. Taehyung, you need to be clearer with your indications. You can’t always rely on our golden all-star here,” their coach said, motioning to Jungkook. “Jungkook, if you ever drop that fucking ball, I swear I’ll make you run around this field a hundred times butt naked,” he joked.

They all laughed and hit him either on the ass, the back or the head; it was a football player’s way of showing love. Jungkook was beaming, giggling, unbelievably proud of himself. This practice had gone great. He had pushed himself to his limit, practicing wide receives until his body could not take it anymore. He had once thought he would be the quarterback, putting out and directing the play. For that job, however, he was no match to his best friend Taehyung. He was guided towards the receiver position by previous coach a couple of years back. He had been reluctant at first, but then fell in love with it. All eyes were on him, in the end. He was the one to make the touchdowns. Taehyung was the producer, and Jungkook the performer. They were an unstoppable duo, an intimidating force in the team.

The coach ended the practice, sending them off to the showers. Jungkook took his helmet off and ran a hand through his drenched hair, pushing it out of his face. They took their bags and walked off from the field, directed towards the locker room on the other side of the building.

In a sudden moment of nostalgia, he remembered all the games they had played where the score was tight. Their coach often pressed Taehyung to throw to other players than Jungkook, so everyone could show their true colors on the field. However, when scoring was this close, it was almost too easy for them to get ahead. It was rare for the opposite team to figure out Taehyung kept throwing to Jungkook. When they did eventually notice, it was already too late. They were too far ahead for a change of plays to advantage them in any way.

They walked through the corridor, and music caught Jungkook’s attention, dragging him out of his football souvenirs. He stopped in front of the windowed wall of the dance studio, confused as to how there was music playing when no one seemed to be inside. He then noticed the door was open, which explained why the music resonated so loudly in the hallway. He looked inside the room, intrigued.

His breath stopped when he saw him. He quite literally took his breath away. The dancer’s sweat covered body twirled and swayed to the classical music, kicking and jumping, in perfect control. He observed him, completely mesmerized by the sight in front of him. The man did not even seem real. Such precision and control was not possible for a normal human being. He was delicate yet harsh, each movement contrasting with the next. Jungkook did not know much about ballet dancing, but he definitely knew that this guy was a big deal. His eyes trailed across his lean and toned body, every muscle flexed and protruding; the only piece of clothing he wore a pair of black spandex shorts.

“Pf, what a faggot,” Taehyung spat, snapping Jungkook out of it.

Jungkook frowned, confused, then shook it off.

“Yeah…” he agreed unwillingly, still entranced by the dancing man.

His gaze crossed the dancer’s for a split second. The man quickly looked away, obviously not interested, completely focused on his dance. Taehyung pulled Jungkook away from the window and pushed him in front roughly.

“You checking him out, bro?” Taehyung accused with a smirk.

“What? No...” Jungkook replied, his voice weak.

“I’m messing with you, man,” Taehyung laughed, putting his arm around him.

They entered the locker room and threw their bags in front of their respective lockers, relieved they would finally be able to get out of their heavy and smelly equipment. The room itself smelled like dust and heavy cologne, a scent Jungkook had weirdly grown fond of. The locker room was where they celebrated wins, bantered and bonded. The smell reminded him of that. Jungkook kept his head low as everyone undressed, trying to hide his embarrassment. It was hard for him to be around a bunch of naked guys. He saw them as brothers, obviously, but there was one person who was an exception to that.

Taehyung called his name out from across the room and he instinctively looked up. He swallowed as he tried not to stare at his completely naked body, the only piece of cloth on him his favorite headband. Taehyung was definitely not a prude. He pranced around naked all the time, completely aware of the effect it may have had on other people. He knew he was attractive. He knew that his body was envied and lusted after, so he took advantage of it.

“I forgot my shampoo, mind giving me yours?” he asked casually, scratching the back of his head.

Jungkook nodded quickly and threw his bottle at him before getting undressed himself. He tried his best to shake off the sight he had just seen. He took a deep breath before entering the shower room, looking up high, trying very hard to seem unfazed by the muscular, broad men surrounding him. He settled under the shower head next to Taehyung, since he had his shampoo, and put his soap on the ledge. He jumped at the cold water hitting his warm skin, relaxing when it started warming up. Look forward, Jungkook, he said to himself.

“Damn man, you’re getting really big aren’t you,” said a voice behind him.

“Hey, Seokjin,” Jungkook smirked as he turned around, recognizing the familiar voice.

“I don’t think that’s the best thing to say in a shower full of fucking dudes, Jin,” Taehyung snorted.

Laughs of team members echoed in the shower. Seokjin placed himself next to Jungkook, turning the shower knob, smirking. Seokjin never really thought about what he said before he said it, and even so, did not really care for the repercussions. He was completely and utterly honest, which had both its qualities and flaws.

“How was the training?” Jungkook asked, slight worry in his voice.

“It went good, actually. My ankle is keeping up,” Seokjin answered, a smile on his face.

Jungkook smiled back, relieved, then focused on getting himself cleaned up. Seokjin had injured himself during a game; a wound that Jungkook blamed on himself. Out of greediness, he had stolen the ball in front of Seokjin. However, he had not calculated his footsteps right and ended up running into Seokjin, tackling him to the ground, twisting his ankle in the process. At least he had caught the ball.

Taehyung closed his shower and ran his fingers through his wet hair, a charming tic that Jungkook embarrassingly caught a glance of. He looked down, his cheeks flushed, praying that he had not noticed. It was incredibly hard to be attracted to your best friend; especially when he was Kim Taehyung.

Jungkook had had feelings for Taehyung ever since they were children. At first, when he was young, Jungkook did not quite understand his feelings; he just thought that he really liked him as a friend. When they got older, however, he realized that it was more than just a friendship he wanted with Taehyung. He wanted to hold his hand and hug him the way he did with girls. Knowing Taehyung, Jungkook had to repress his feelings and accept the fact that anything more than friendship was impossible. Taehyung was obviously attracted to girls, and as he got older, his hate towards homosexuality only grew stronger; one of the reasons why Jungkook never came out to him or anyone. He did not understand where that hate stemmed from, but he knew there must have been a reason. Now, he was only physically attracted to him; he did not love him anymore. His mind was set on the fact it was just friendship, no matter how much he hated it.

“Clean up faster, you fags,” Taehyung joshed loudly in the shower as he turned to walk out.

“Do you really have to use that word?” Seokjin replied, annoyed.

“What? You triggered, cock-sucker?” Taehyung smirked.

Seokjin shook his head and flipped him off, making them both laugh. Seokjin was one of the good guys. He was nice to everyone, gave everyone a chance. A lot of girls were head over heels for him, being a football player and a nice guy. And as if that was not enough, he could sing very well. However, no matter the amount of attention he got, he was not interested in love. It was not that he did not like women, on the contrary, but he wanted to focus on himself and his studies. His passion for football and hobbies came before everything. Not being an all-star player with naturally incredible physical abilities like Jungkook and Taehyung, he had to work extra hard to stay on the team’s level. Dating and love were simple distractions to him, nothing more. He did enjoy the attention, though.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of Seokjin. He had his qualities, yes, but definitely was an asshole. He judged people from their appearance and considered himself greater than most. He was good, and he was cocky about it. He was the most confident man Jungkook had ever met. Like Jungkook, he was a natural at football, which gave him the liberty of not dedicating all of his time to the sport. He went out, got wasted and fucked girls every night he could. Women also adored him, but for nothing more than sex. They all knew he was bad news romantically; lying and cheating were his forte. That did not keep them from fucking him, though. Apparently he was a “god” at it. Their words, not his.

However, Jungkook knew there was something more to Taehyung than his charisma, cockiness and good looks. Only a couple of times had Taehyung let his guard down and opened up, mostly when he was very high or drunk. Jungkook had seen a softer, more sensitive side of Taehyung. But then, he would snap right back to his arrogant facade. Taehyung had told him only a little bit of what was going on inside of his mind. He had confessed to wanting to find true love and all sorts of ideas that Jungkook never would have thought to hear come out of Taehyung’s mouth. Taehyung was a smart, perceptive guy when they were alone, just the two of them. It saddened him to see his friend hide away behind this idea of who he wanted to be, but he assumed there was a reason behind it all. One Taehyung would probably never talk about.

Nonetheless, both were his best friends. They had played football together ever since high school, and had all got a scholarship for this sports college together. They knew each other better than they knew themselves. Seokjin was the one Jungkook opened up to and talked seriously to, whereas Taehyung was the one he went to when he wanted to get a little wild. He loved them both greatly and cherished them more than anything, which was why he kept his attraction to Taehyung a secret to anyone and everyone.

He smiled as he finished washing up, thinking of the good old high school days and taking his bottles of soap with him. He dropped them in his bag as he grabbed a towel and ruffled his hair with it, barely even drying it, before securing it around his hips. He stopped applying deodorant when he heard shouts in the row of lockers behind him. He sighed and walked towards the guys gathered in a circle. He shook his head when he saw it was Taehyung yelling at one of the new guys. Was he surprised? Not one bit.

“What the fuck did you say?” Taehyung said in such a low tone that it even made Jungkook shiver.

“I said what I said; you’re one of the worst quarterbacks I’ve ever seen... a lot of your dumb plays will end up costing us games,” he replied, almost hesitant, raising his chest as if to take an intimidating stance in front of a man twice as big as him.

Taehyung laughed and turned around, raising his eyebrows at his teammates. He looked at them as if asking: “Really, guys? You think that too?” Jungkook stiffened as he felt the tension rise in the room, readying himself mentally and physically for every possible outcome of this altercation. It took only a couple of seconds before Taehyung turned around and punched the new guy right in the nose, sending him head first in the lockers. Jungkook jumped forward and pulled Taehyung back, noticing he was about to punch again even though the kid was knocked out on the floor. Taehyung was not one to anger.

“I think he got the message,” Jungkook said, struggling to pull him away.

“That little fucker─” Taehyung spat as he tried to wriggle out of Jungkook’s grip.

Luckily for the new guy, Jungkook was stronger than Taehyung and was able to pull him away and back to his own row of lockers. He held on tightly to him until he had seemed to calm down. When Taehyung reassured him he was okay, he finally let go. Taehyung smirked and sighed, shaking the hand he had punched with. Taehyung had the worst temper out of everyone Jungkook had ever known. He could snap in seconds at the slightest annoyance, preferring the use of fists over words.

“If it means anything, you’re the greatest quarterback I’ve ever played with,” Jungkook said, a hand on his chest.

“I’m the only quarterback you’ve ever played with, you fucker,” Taehyung laughed, pushing him in the locker.

Jungkook laughed but then quickly straightened up when he saw the coach enter the locker room. He loudly asked what was going on, seeing the new kid with a broken and bloody nose. Being one of the coach’s favorite, Taehyung stepped up and explained the situation jokingly, a hand on the old man’s shoulders. The coach laughed and patted Taehyung on the back before leaving, completely unfazed by the injured boy in front of him. It was almost unfair. The guy’s friends helped him up and took him to the infirmary. Jungkook did not understand where the boy was coming from. Yes, Taehyung was a little reckless with his plays; but they had never lost.

“You didn’t have to punch him, Tae,” Seokjin stated when he got out of the showers, tying his towel around his hips.

“You’re right, I didn’t have to,” Taehyung agreed, nodding. “But I wanted to.”

Jungkook snickered at Taehyung’s wicked grin and finished dressing up, getting cozy in the football team’s hoodie. Taehyung and him left together, heading towards the boys’ dorms. Jungkook was already dreaming of his bed, of his soft blankets that would warmly embrace his beaten up body. A girl jumped in front of them at the exit, waving both her hands at them. Taehyung put his arm around her as he continued walking, not in the least bit surprised by her since she practically always did this. She was the exception to the girls who did not mess with Taehyung romantically; she was completely obsessed with him, and Taehyung kind of took advantage of it. “I mean, she’s pretty fucking hot,” he had told Jungkook in the past over a beer.

“How was practice, baby?” she asked, her voice too high.

“Good, as always,” he replied, seeming slightly annoyed.

“That’s my man!” she giggled.

Jungkook laughed silently, then suddenly remembered she was in the ballet program. He wondered if she knew the guy he had seen dance earlier. They passed in front of that same dance studio, and he could not help but glance inside. He saw him with another guy, chatting. Maybe he is gay, Jungkook thought. He shook the idea off. He was not like that. He did not judge people by their appearances. He was better than that. He suddenly heard music booming once again, a very… sensual beat reverberating in the hallway. He stopped and looked back, uncontrollably curious.

“I think I forgot something in the locker room, I’ll catch you guys later,” Jungkook shouted to the two who were many steps in front of him already.

They waved without looking back. Jungkook turned around and placed himself against the edge of the window, watching the two guys dance. He had never seen something so sensual, so raw in his life. He almost felt envious.


Jimin kicked and jumped three times after the other on pointe, before turning on himself. He flew across the room in a matter of seconds, taking flight. He noticed people in front of the window and tried to ignore them. As always, he could not. His pride got the best of him. He gave himself an extra push, trying to impress them, going out of his routine and mixing in a bit of contemporary dance.

“Pf, what a faggot,” one of the guys spat.

Jimin swallowed and clenched his fists, slowing his rhythm and going back to his original ballet routine. Focus, he told himself. Shut them out. He bit his lip when he heard the one who had been staring at him agree. His gaze crossed his, but he quickly looked away. He knew they were all the same. Those football players were all macho idiots who could not understand nor appreciate art. That guy was probably only staring at him because he was disgusted, not fascinated. Jimin stiffened and finished the routine without effort, suddenly unmotivated.

He exhaled loudly when they finally left the front of the room, resting his hands on his hips and trying to catch his breath. His sudden improvisation had taken a lot out of him, and he did not think he could keep on practicing for the day. He turned, anxious, when he heard footsteps cross the door, relieved when he saw who it was.

“Overtime, again?” Hoseok asked, frowning.

Jimin nodded, unable to answer, panting. It was hard for him to hear words like that being spat at him constantly. As much as he said it did not bother him, that he was not affected by them, they still did. It left a subtle cut, but one deep enough to feel. Hoseok came closer, worried. He knew Jimin too well, and that look on his face was not a good one. They were childhood friends, and any slight worry Jimin could show was totally obvious to him. He could not hide anything from him.

“Did those guys say anything?” he asked softly, pointing back behind his shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jimin answered too quickly, brushing him off.

“Because if they did I─” he started.

“It doesn't fucking matter, Hoseok,” he spat, concluding the topic.

Hoseok put his hands up in defeat, taking a step back. Jimin was not to be messed with when he was angry. He always channeled his emotions through dancing, piling everything up inside his head until he could finally let it go at once when he danced. Hoseok understood, he danced with emotion too, but Jimin took it to a whole other level. He never really showed emotion, looking mostly cold and serious. His face only lit up when he danced. It was beautiful but heart wrenching at the same time.

Jimin never told him anything anyways, so Hoseok usually let it go. Before, he would pester him with questions and try to force him to open up; all in vain. It was impossible to make Jimin speak his mind, the only way you could see inside would be if you watched him dance. Before dancing had become dead serious to him, before he had a scholarship, before he was training to be a professional dancer; dancing was just for fun to him. It all changed when he got that scholarship, when multiple coaches and school representatives fought to get him. Hoseok had seen Jimin change right in front of him. They barely danced together anymore; Jimin was so focused on improving his ballet dancing that he shut everything else out. Jimin was incredible at dancing every genre; he was a genius. His body moved to every single beat, heck, he did not even need a beat to dance perfectly. Every person who watched him was completely and utterly bewitched by him. No one could take their eyes off of him when he would start to dance. Hoseok knew the feeling a little too well.

“I think you danced enough for today, let’s go back,” Hoseok muttered, careful not to anger him.

Jimin frowned and looked at the window again, crossing eyes with the same guy from before. He felt anger building up inside of him. He looked down, cracking his knuckles, then looked back up to Hoseok. He still had something to get off of his chest. Suddenly, he felt like he could give one last push.

“Wanna dance?” he asked, a tone of challenge in his voice.

Hoseok’s face lit up and he threw his bag across the room, too excited to care if anything broke inside. He had not danced with Jimin for months. Every time they did, they would mix Hoseok’s hip hop skills with Jimin’s contemporary improvisation, making a visually striking performance, contrasting one another perfectly. He ran to the stereo, plugging his phone in. He put one of his favorite songs on, a slow r&b song with a soulful voice. It was sexual enough for him to feel shy blasting it on the speakers, but he knew it was a beat that Jimin would adore.

He turned and walked slowly to Jimin, watching him. He observed as Jimin started feeling the beat, letting loose. To Hoseok, when Jimin gave in to the music, it was the most magnificent sight he could lay eyes upon. When he started dancing, Hoseok recognized his moves, remembering an old choreography they had danced together at a dance show in high school. He smiled when he mirrored his moves, his body mechanically remembering the routine. They danced in perfect harmony, two opposites attracting. Hoseok gave out the intense, strong vibe of the song whereas Jimin showed the more sensual, soft side of it. His moves flowed when Hoseok’s locked, creating a balanced contrast with each movement. They were an unforgettable duo, complementing one another entirely.

The song finished and they stopped, looking at each other, panting. Hoseok could not help but smile, so happy that he had finally got to dance with his best friend again. There was something about dancing with someone you loved that made it so much more exciting. Dancing with Jimin to him was like a drug; he could never get enough. To his surprise, Jimin was also smiling.

“That was nice… thanks,” Jimin said, out of breath.

Hoseok simply nodded and walked back to the stereo, unplugging his phone. Jimin stretched his shoulders, lost in thought. Contemporary had always been his favorite style to dance. It was the genre he felt like he could truly let go, where he could freely improvise and still make it into a masterpiece for the eye. Yet, he had chosen ballet. Ballet, to him, was a challenge. He had always admired ballet dancers when he had focused more on contemporary. When he tried his hand at it, he got hooked. It had strict guidelines, which Jimin actually appreciated. As much fun as it was to dance freely with your heart, it could get overwhelming at times. To Jimin, nothing was as scary as delving into the darkest, deepest emotions of his mind. Ballet had limits. It was controlled. Jimin could not just “let loose”. It’s what he loved the most about it.

“We should really go now,” Hoseok said, interrupting Jimin’s thoughts, showing the time on his phone.

Jimin sighed, realizing how little sleep he would be getting, and quickly put on his hoodie before heading to the entrance of the room, grabbing his bag on the way. Hoseok followed closely behind.


The dance ended and Jungkook simply stared. He had not noticed his hand covering his mouth until now. He was simply out of words. He did not know much about dancing, but the performance he had just seen from those two guys was enough to make him want to know more. The way their bodies moved in perfect sync with the music… he was shocked.

He snapped out of it and quickly grabbed his bag when he noticed the two guys dressing up and picking up their stuff. He ran to the exit, still baffled, and walked towards the guys’ dorms. He could not stop thinking about them. Especially the ballet dancer. The way he moved was just so… intoxicating. The other guy was a great dancer too, but, the first one had left such an impression on him. He was so in control, so incredible, so… sexy. Jungkook gulped and tried his best to forget about him as he entered his room, throwing his bag next to his bed. He sighed loudly, his aching muscles suddenly feeling like complete shit. Taehyung laughed as Jungkook fell face first on his bed and put his phone down beside him, stretching his arms.

“What do you want to eat?” Taehyung asked as he got up, looking through their food cupboard.

“Nothing that’s in there,” Jungkook answered, his voice muffled by his pillow.

“Wanna order?” he replied.

“Myeah,” Jungkook muttered, completely out of it.

Taehyung snorted as he grabbed his phone and dialed the pizza place’s number.

“Hey dude, it’s Tae… Good, you?... Yeah… Yeah… I’ll take a large Hawaiian and a large chicken and bacon… Yeah… Give me one liter of sprite with that… Yeah… Yeah… Thanks bro, see ya.”

Jungkook smirked, always impressed with Taehyung’s massive repertoire of contacts. He knew and was friendly with pretty much everyone in the city. Or was it that everyone knew him? Jungkook turned on his back and looked through his phone, multiple notifications across all the social media platforms Taehyung had forced him to join pinging. He sighed, seeing the amount of girls that were dm’ing him, throwing his phone at the foot of his bed.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung asked, raising an eyebrow.

“So many girls want my dick, man,” Jungkook tried to say seriously, but then ended up laughing.

“And that’s what’s annoying you? What an ass,” he joked as he threw his pillow on Jungkook, chuckling.

Jungkook laughed louder as he caught the pillow, his football reflexes kicking in. He rested on his elbow, facing Taehyung’s bed, throwing the pillow back at him. Keeping this “I’m totally straight” facade was exhausting. He had gotten used to it throughout the years, commentary like the previous one almost becoming natural. It was scary to him to have to hide like that. He wondered how long he would have to keep it up, how long it would take before he could finally admit it to his best friend. Certainly not soon, that was for sure.

“What’s with you and Carla, anyways?” Jungkook asked, curious.

“What do you think? We fuck. That’s all,” Taehyung answered, uninterested.

“She seems to like you a lot though…” Jungkook added, raising an eyebrow.

Taehyung made a disgusted face as he swiped through his phone, most likely looking for his next hookup. Taehyung always acted like the tough, macho guy, but Jungkook still believed that he actually wanted a real relationship. He remembered that time in high school when Taehyung got his heart broken by a girl he really, really liked. It fucked him up. Ever since, he swore off relationships and only hooked up with girls. Afterwards, when he had confessed to wanting to find true love, it only confirmed Jungkook’s theory that he was actually, deep down, a hopeless romantic. It saddened Jungkook, but there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was be a good friend and support him no matter his decisions. Also, supply him with condoms whenever he ran out. Jungkook barely used his anyways.

Taehyung jumped up when he heard a knock on the door, opening it hastily. He grabbed the pizzas and put them on their small table. Jungkook watched as the guy also gave him a brown paper bag, which he assumed was the “one liter of sprite”. Taehyung gave him too much money for the food, confirming Jungkook’s assumption that the brown paper bag was something entirely different than food, then closed the door behind him. Jungkook got up, his grumbling stomach forcing him out of bed against his muscles’ will. Taehyung took the paper bag and put it in his nightstand.

“Weed?” Jungkook asked.

“Yep,” Taehyung replied before stuffing a slice of the Hawaiian pizza in his mouth.

Jungkook smirked and took a slice of the chicken and bacon, also eating it too quickly. He grabbed the box and brought it to his bed, stuffing one slice after the other down his throat. It was not long after finishing the large pizza that he fell asleep, completely exhausted, the dancing man twirling around inside his head.


Jimin came back to his room with his small plate of brown rice, boiled chicken and broccoli. Hoseok made a disgusted face when he saw the unimpressive meal, taking a big bite out of his burger. Jimin had to stay at his lowest weight possible, one of the hardships of a ballet dancer.

“Poor you,” Hoseok said, pointing at his plate.

“You get used to it. I think of food as fuel,” he shrugged, yawning afterwards.

He did miss the times when he could eat greasy, salty food and sweets. He had always been a foodie, excited to try out all sorts of different foods. However, professional ballet dancing took that away from him. He did not mind it that much, his perspective on food had changed. He was not eating for pleasure anymore, but simply to nourish his body for sustenance and performance. Good carbs and lean protein; nothing more, nothing less. Jimin sat on his bed and started eating slowly, trying not to gulp down his whole meal as his famished stomach growled.

“You’re not going to tell me what those guys said, huh?” Hoseok mumbled, breaking the silence.

Jimin swallowed his bite and put his spoon down, annoyed to have to think about it again. He had already pushed it to the back of his mind, and Hoseok reminding him of the incident annoyed him. He wanted to be done and over with those idiots, not constantly be reminded of how they teased him regularly. Especially that one with the headband. He was the worst. Jimin frowned at the thought.

“Just jock idiots, Hoseok, as always, stop asking,” he mumbled, taking a spoonful of rice.

Hoseok swallowed and tensed up. Being a hip hop dancer, he never got teased for his art, since it was more “masculine”. He knew Jimin was, though. He was one of two guys in the ballet dancing program, and they were both constantly teased by the jocks. It was pretty much always homophobic, as ballet dancing was considered too “feminine” for guys apparently, or maybe just to football players. Jimin had been teased his whole life about it. He acted as if it did not bother him, but Hoseok could clearly see it did.

“Don’t listen to them, they could barely do half of what you do,” Hoseok mumbled, angry.

“And I half of what they do. It’s two different sports. That’s normal,” Jimin replied sternly.

Hoseok could not help but feel bad for Jimin. He was too good for this world. He was a simple guy, full of love and passion. He did not want to fight those guys back, he did not feel the need to. He took everything in, the insults and the hits, then released it through powerful dance. It was admirable, really, but Hoseok strongly believed it was not healthy for him to do so. He wanted to protect Jimin from all those idiots, protect his soft heart from their unnecessary hate. Hoseok would do anything for Jimin, as a man would his lover.

Jimin finished his plate and placed himself on the floor, stretching. The day had been arduous and he could not offer the risk of going to bed without stretching first. Last time he had done that, his back had been locked a whole day and his teacher had yelled at him in front of the whole class. It had been embarrassing enough and he had not gotten to dance, so he had promised himself it would not happen again. Hoseok joined him in his stretching, giving a helping hand.

“Thanks,” Jimin murmured, concentrated, as Hoseok pushed down on his back.

“No problem,” he answered, smiling softly.

Jimin winced at the feeling of his sore muscles being pulled, regretting not having stretched when his muscles were still warmed up. After they were done, they went straight to bed, hoping to get the most sleep they possibly could. Jimin stayed a couple of minutes staring at the ceiling, visualizing himself dancing his routine. Even his imaginary self made mistakes. He sighed and turned to the side, gripping his blanket tightly. Tomorrow is a new day, he thought before drifting off to sleep.