Chapter Text
At seven o’clock on a Saturday, most university students were getting ready for a night out on the town. Heck, on as many Saturday nights as it was possible, Jimin and his friends were among those revelers, out to escape the ceaseless hours of rehearsal and theory and technique that kept them on top of their game.
For once, though, the friends were neither in a practice room nor gathered around every mirror available in the apartment shared by Jimin, Taemin, and Taehyung. It was always at their place, of course, because they lived closer to campus than anyone else. It was a clear sign of their privilege that they were able to share a three bedroom in the Upper East Side, but Jimin liked to think they were all humble about it. There was no way they would let varying combinations of eight people clamber into the space at all hours of the day and night otherwise.
At that moment, there were six of them piled on Taemin’s king sized bed, limbs tangled and bodies used as makeshift pillows. Jimin’s laptop sat next to the television, and the screen was lit with a Youtube video, which was the whole purpose of their gathering.
On the screen, a girl belted the refrain to “Burn,” her voice straining as she reached for notes on too little breath and too much confidence. “Overdone,” Taemin sighed as he rolled his eyes and flopped onto his back. “Seriously, there’s such a wealth of beautiful musical theatre, why do they all choose the same song?”
A snort came from Yoongi where he sat with his back against the headboard and Jeongguk’s head in his lap. “Because they’re all suffering from emotional turmoil that only Eliza Hamilton could possibly understand, don’t you know?” His voice dripped with a bored sarcasm until it was cut off by a yawn. “Come on, Jimin, next audition.”
They’d been at it for at least two hours, and had skipped more lackluster videos than they had sat through even remotely decent ones.
That Saturday, instead of heading out on the town, Jimin and his friends had gathered to watch audition videos for the East Harlem School of the Arts’ latest scholarship program. While final judgment went to the admissions board, those with the most likes on their videos were being offered advantage. They had all agreed it was the responsible thing to do to help ensure votes went to the most worthy. They couldn’t let just anyone into their school, now could they?
With a stifled giggle, Jimin obediently clicked to the next video. “Hoseok Jung, J-Hope. He’s a dancer,” Jimin read out to the others as the video loaded. The intro screen flashed up, a clash of neon colors with blocky black font that read ‘Hope on the Street.”
Yoongi was the one to perk up first, his head bopping to the heavy hip-hop beat that poured out of the speakers. “Oh - oh this is different.” A lovestruck smile spread its way onto Jeongguk’s face as he looked up at his boyfriend and sat up to see the screen better.
“Damn,” Taehyung whispered appreciatively as the silhouette appeared on the screen. That was undoubtedly the body of a dancer. Even under a baggy t-shirt and oversized shorts, glimpses of muscular thighs, calves, and arms could be seen. A snapback sat backwards on his head, and when he turned toward the camera, a smoldering gaze pierced right through to the viewer.
“Down boy,” Taemin teased as he pushed gently on Taehyung’s shoulder. “You know Minho likes to admire the pretty ones with you.”
Taehyung, as usual, channelled his inner five-year-old as he stuck his tongue out, but no one was paying attention anymore. Everyone was too mesmerized by the screen, where the man had begun to move.
It was a stunned silence, a moment that had caught the friends by surprise. Jimin had seen a great many dancers in his life, but he had never seen anyone move like that.
J-Hope did not move with the graceful flow of a ballerina or contort his body in impossible arches and lines the way Jimin learned to do in his passion for contemporary. Rather than gliding through the motions, his body popped and locked and almost crunched through it all. It wasn’t jerky though, not disorienting the way popping could be when it was done by the wrong person. His knees bent at what should have been an impossible angle, looking like they might be dislocated, and in one swift swivel of hips they were righted and the motion had travelled through his body, stopping at every joint along the way.
The dancer dipped and lifted, fell to his knees in a half split only to spin and be on his feet again in the sort of motion half the dancers at EHSA couldn’t pray to mimic. He wasn’t like the other street dancers Jimin had seen. There were no b-boying head spins and flips like Jaebum performed at lunch to the cheers of classmates. There was just a never-ceasing motion, an energy that seemed to come from within and reach from the top of his head to the tips of his toes and back again in a circuit.
Jimin was already mesmerized by the dancer on the screen, but his heart might have actually skipped a beat when J-Hope looked dead into the camera. His face was so expressive, a wicked grin on his lips and eyes so dark they looked like they might claim the soul of the viewer. This man was a born performer. This was a man Jimin wanted to work with, and so without hesitation he liked the video, in hopes that, one day, he would have the chance.
“You filmed me without permission??” Hoseok shoved the chair he sat in backwards and stood abruptly as he glared at Namjoon and Seokjin.
Namjoon sighed and glanced at Seokjin before crossing his arms and looking up to Hoseok. “Please, we’ve filmed you countless times, and what’s more is that plenty of strangers have done the same and you’ve never complained. So go on, tell us what you’re really upset about.”
Hoseok shook his head in such an exaggerated motion that it was almost comical, at least until he shoved his hands into his hair and then slammed his arms back down to his sides in frustration. “You, you - I didn’t tell you that you could do this! What if I don’t want this, Namjoon? What the hell gives you the right to decide what’s best for my future?”
Even with a temper as hot as his ran, it had been years since either of his friends had seen Hoseok so worked up over anything so quickly. It was a miracle that he missed the computer as he spun on his heel and started to pace back and forth, until finally his fist slammed against the wall.
“You put a hole in that wall and you’ll be the one repairing it, Hoseok,” Seokjin warned. Hoseok’s shoulders slumped as he turned to face his friends again, but none of the irritation had left his eyes.
A deep breath through gritted teeth helped Hoseok find his focus again, and the words came more easily the second time around. “Did it not occur to you that I might like to be asked whether I had any interest in attending some fancy fucking art school before you went and entered me in a scholarship competition? I mean it’s kind of a big deal, guys! It’s kind of four years of commitment and, you know, art schools ruin dancers. I don’t want to be some goddam ballerina!”
It was Seokjin who sighed that time, fighting the urge to get up and place a comforting hand on Hoseok’s shoulder. Getting into his space at that moment would have been putting himself at risk, and they would all feel awful if anyone actually got hurt. Instead, he pulled one leg up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his shin as he let his head rest on his knee. “Hoseok. Hobi. Don’t lie to yourself about this, please.”
Before Hoseok could retort, Seokjin held up one hand and closed his eyes, and Hoseok knew that the gesture meant his friend was on his last nerve. “I can’t begin to believe you’ve forgotten your dreams so easily. Ballerina or no, I remember the day you told your mother you wanted to dance on stage at places like Lincoln Center and The Joyce.”
Hoseok winced at those words, which recalled a memory he tried to keep buried behind the walls he’d built in his heart. “And don’t pretend for a minute that we haven’t snuck into theatres to watch shows we couldn’t afford, or that you never looked into going to one of these schools. Hoseok. We know you better than anyone else - even Dawon - and even she agreed that this was the best thing any of us could ever do for you.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Hoseok leaned back and slid down the wall until he was squatted with his forehead resting against his fists. “You called my fucking sister ? In Seoul ?” Everything in his body was tense for a moment, and the room was silent until he thudded his head back against the wall and opened his eyes again. “You really, really want me to do this, don’t you?”
“I mean, yeah,” Namjoon half snapped, but there wasn’t much fight in his voice anymore. “Look, Hobi, it’s not really about what Seokjin and I want, and it’s not about what Dawon thinks is best for you.” He kept the thought that her say in what Hoseok did went out the window when she abandoned her sixteen year old brother to move to fucking Korea, but they all knew it was there, under the surface. “You are the most stubborn asshole I’ve ever met, but goddamnit you’re also the best fucking dancer in New York, and you’re wasting your talent by sticking to dance battles and flash mobs while you sit behind the 7-Eleven counter to make ends meet.”
It hit home. Every word reminded Hoseok of everything that had gone so, so awry from the life he’d planned as a kid. He had resigned. He didn’t remember anymore when it had happened, but at some point he had realized that adults didn’t have dreams - they had jobs that paid the bills and painful memories of their childhood innocence that kept them grounded and secure.
“What makes you think I’ll actually make this work? I’m not - what if I fuck it up?” Like I’ve fucked up every chance I’ve ever had.
Seokjin was on the ground, reaching for Hoseok, and Namjoon followed, if a bit more slowly. It was easy, falling into Seokjin’s broad embrace, taking the hand offered by his best friend in the world. They had been his strength since they were kids. They were the only reason he had survived his parents passing and his sister’s move back to Korea. This was home, and Hoseok was honestly terrified of leaving the safety and comfort he had found in complacency.
They didn’t need to say anything. They didn’t need to tell him that they believed in him, that he was capable - that as much was clear from the overwhelming number of likes his video had received and the enthusiastic letter that had come from the board of admissions.
“Okay,” Hoseok breathed as he fought the tears that he wouldn’t let fall. “Okay, I, I’ll,” he swallowed and shook his head. “Thanks,” he finally managed when he looked up to two pairs of eyes full of more affection than he could ever deserve.
Seokjin pulled Hoseok in and practically squealed as he squeezed him, and Namjoon rolled his eyes. “Yah, don’t suffocate him before he gets to his first day. Come on, let’s get away from this sob-fest and get dinner to celebrate. Shake Shack? I’m buying!”