Chapter Text
And you think love is to pray
But, I'm sorry, I don't pray that way
Once I ran to you
Now I'll run from you.
OVERTURE.
Giselle was a tenderhearted peasant who devoted her life to dancing. Her feet would never stop moving around, carrying the weight of her body through dazzling arabesques and graceful soubresauts. The sun would come out just to watch her dance, offended when the time came to give up his position to his lover, the moon. She would bathe Giselle in her light, softening her features and making her look like an authentic angel. Bewitched, the moon uttered her secret to the stars about how she had poured a part of herself when the sweet ballerina was conceived.
Due to her passion for it, worried, her mother prompted her to stop dancing, scared that her daughter’s heart would give out. She told her about how terrified she was for her to fall into the same fate as a young maiden who had died just before her wedding and must spend eternity dancing, forced by the Wilis.
Too invested to listen to her, Giselle never stopped dancing. Just like that, time passed, and she found herself being courted by a villager known to her as Loys. They danced, enjoying each other's company, moving together under the apprehensive eyes of the moon and her children, the stars. Their limbs were synchronized with an exquisite reverie; they could feel their hearts beating together every time Loys found his chest against her back while doing a pas de deux.
One night, the devil lurked, casting shadows on Giselle’s demeanor when through the woodsman she found out her caring and honest Loys was a duke, one who was engaged to another beautiful woman. Distraught, Giselle felt madness taking over her mind, and in an unforeseen turn of events, she stabbed herself with Loys’ sword.
Compunctious, the man went to her grave to ask for her forgiveness. Giselle, now buried in the depths of the forest, appeared in front of Loys to accept his sorrowful pleas for pardon. Uncaring of the nature of their relationship and ignoring Giselle’s implorations, the haunted queen of the Wilis commanded him to join Giselle, for he must dance until he dies.
Holding no animosity, Giselle helped him to stay alive until dawn. Once the sun's rays bathed the surface of the tomb with their early warmth, both Giselle and the looming figure of the Wilis vanished. Loys was left alone with his sorrow and weeping face, but his life was saved.
ACT I
The rough surface of the tulle covered his petite frame, causing the small trims to sting his collarbones. The whiteness of the fabric highlighted the red ink on his lips and the pitch black of his hair.
Hundreds of voices mixed with each other could be heard in the theater, along with the rustle of the last spectators finding their seats. The place went silent, the air was thrumming in anticipation when the lights went off, giving room to the soft-edged pool of light pointing at the heavy red curtains.
He held his breath, feeling the reverberation of the sounds vibrating through the stage under his pointe shoes. Going throughout the whole sequence of steps again inside his head he placed himself over the red cross placed right in the center of the stage. From the corner of his eyes he could catch the glimpse of the other cast members looking at him from the backstage wings.
The border lights cast a sorrowful blue luminosity over the whole stage, accentuating the grieving atmosphere felt by the characters. The backdrop of the stage carried black painting strokes aiming to convey the imagery of a haunted forest. Artificial smoke danced weightless wrapping around Jimin’s feet in a melancholic motion, resembling the early morning fog.
One last movement of the stage manager and the velvety material of the burgundy main drape splitted in two. Revealing the delicate figure of Park Jimin. La prima ballerina.
He was standing with one leg crossed at his front, foot pointed at the floor and one arm rounded over his head, which lay over his left shoulder, facing the public with dejected expression. His croiséd devant quickly switched to the sound of the first chords on the loudspeakers.
As the music started his body moved with a mind of its own, knowing by heart every movement. He stepped over his fully pointed foot moving forward across the stage, both arms extended at his sides. His body language showed desolation, delicate movements yet desperate at finding himself alone in that gloomy place, away from his lover.
When a gap of silence took over, the figure of his character’s lover came into the scene. He stood far behind him, gasping at the sight of Giselle, Jimin’s role.
Another string of chords, this time more gentle and naive framed the reunion of two lovers separated by death and tragedy. They met halfway, mirroring each other’s steps softly to the song.
Moving in circular pathways they aimed to reach each other but they did not touch, disbelief painting their features, it was too good to be true. They stood in a contemplative pose, looking into their eyes with longing. Tenderly Loyd reached for Giselle's hand and pulled her into a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground next, performing a supported arabesque symbolizing their mutual recognition.
The visual connection between both lovers caused several gasps in the audience. The lights bathed Jimin’s white dress, making him look ethereal almost like an angel ascending to Heaven.
However, a bell reverberated and the charm faded away. Slowly the strong arms holding Jimin descended, placing him safely on the floor.
The new sequence of clarinet sounds made way for a new character; the Wilis’ queen. She entered the stage with rapacious eyes covered by a translucent white veil. Gliding with decisive piqué tours she stepped over her pointé foot and rotated on her supporting leg, creating a graceful motion across the stage.
She cast her eyes on Giselle and Loys, who before her threatening gaze shrank in their embrace. Determined to punish Loys for intruding her forest, she raised her eyebrows and performed sharp menacing movements. Small precise leaps closed the space between the lovers and the evil woman. Depicting dramatic gestures and inaudible screams of mercy, Jimin came between his partner and the spirit, but this was to no avail.
Jimin pleaded, trying to persuade the evil queen, but she resolutely ignored him. Her arms moved with purpose as she condemned Loys to a deadly dance. Performing fast turns and spins towards each other the Queen and Giselle confronted, driven by restlessness the peasant tried to save her loved one from a hopeless end. The atmosphere around them was heavy with tension and dominance, both dazzling dancers exchanged grand jetés and turns. The audience held their breath in awe.
The music quickly escalated to its climax, and after wrestling weakly with her, Jimin fell with a thump. Laying defeated in the front corner of the stage his saddened eyes faced the audience, in a feeble attempt to avoid looking back at his condemned love.
The stage lights signaled the end of the fragment with a strident white flash. Jimin's labored breaths came to a halt, his body froze in place as he looked at the front row of seats.
Washed by the blue lights and cladded in an expensive suit matching the black of his eyes, Jeon Jeongguk was staring straight into his eyes. Jimin forced himself to keep his expression sorrowful not to get out of character, something that certainly was not difficult as he looked at the eyes of his once childhood love.
Jimin’s gaze navigated through his now sharp features, eyes lingering on the piercings reflecting the stage light on them. Behind Jimin’s figure a group of six ballerinas led by the antagonistic spirit entered the scene, surrounding Loys' body in delicate movements, but it all faded into the background for Jimin.
For about two minutes Giselle would be out of the spotlight so Jimin, still attentive to the instrumental and the scene happening behind him, indulged in his desire to drink every detail of Jeongguk's presence.
He was sitting on the front row; an area reserved only for the highest ranked investors in the ballet company, or for personalities who brought prestige by being seen attending their showcase. Jimin suppressed the confusion on his face, wandering through his memories in a futile attempt to find something useful, a piece of information that would reveal the nature of Jeongguk occupying the most exclusive seat in the theater.
He sat with open legs, a dominant aura loomed all around him. His hands were placed over his thick thighs in an open display of confidence. Jimin strained his eyes to make out the lines of black ink covering his hands. Tattoos, Jimin noted, trying to give coherence to the inked scribbles that were almost imperceptible in the darkness.
Jimin was quick to find his eyes once more, just as the chords started to shift, signaling the entrance of his character again. Jeongguk looked at him with dark eyes before gifting Jimin with a smug smile and a wink. The mutual recognition and blatant display of cockyness ignited something inside Jimin, a small spark that had remained off for so long now beginning to light a burning fire in his gut. Whether it was for a good or bad reason, Jimin couldn't tell.
Jimin was forced to tear himself away from Jeongguk's hungry look when the place went silent. The new fragment focused on Giselle and Loys was next. In a delicate motion Jimin stood up, letting his footsteps guide him back to the center of the scene.
His costume cascaded softly around his form, accompanying the graceful movements of his body. The white tulle was ornamented with subtle jewels that catched the stage lights, accentuating his slender frame. As Jimin glided across the stage the dress flowed with his every move, taking over the stunned gazes of everyone in the audience.
Once the second act was halfway through the end, Jimin risked looking at the first row of seats, nevertheless where earlier two doe eyes looked back at him, now were three empty spots. He was quick to shut his brain, pushing back his lingering thoughts in order to nail the last few sequences of steps before the grand finale.
Giselle eventually faded away when the morning sun, a warm light emitted by the incandescent spotlights on the stage, arose. Jimin retreated swiftly into the backstage, finally being able to breathe and to relax his stance. It didn't take long for the applause to reverberate from the opposite side of the stage. The solid response from the audience plastered a smile on everyone’s faces.
Lining up in between the curtain legs dividing the backstage, each group of ballerinas prepared to give the final bow. They would introduce themselves starting from the extras and finishing with the soloists.
As la prima ballerina, the last member to stand on stage was Jimin, who with weightless little leaps stood under the effulgent white light. He felt the reflector’s heat melting the thick layer of makeup away from his face.
He bowed, crossing one leg behind the other, flashing a grateful white smile. The applause turned into roars and from the right side of backstage emerged the ballet director with a large bouquet of red roses, which she extended with a smile towards him.
He took them carefully, and bowed again, this time aimed at the imposing figure of the woman in front of him. It was well known that being chosen directly by her as Prima Ballerina was a privilege that only a few could enjoy, so he respected and feared her in equal amounts.
With one last bow Jimin clapped too, congratulating the entire cast of ballerinas and their directors. Slowly the heavy curtains closed again, ending the first gala of the season.
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Jimin walked rather quickly to his individual dressing room, where he carefully freed himself from his white tights and tulle dress. He placed his expensive costume on the rack and with acquired skill he quickly changed into his black tailored pants and old rose satin blouse. Hoping to find a certain person in the crowd, Jimin hurried towards the theater lobby.
As soon as la prima ballerina set foot there a horde of different well-known political figures surrounded him, exclaiming empty congratulations tied with lascivious glances. They had to keep up appearances and feign interest before asking for a photo, which they would later use to clean up their images in the public eye.
Pretending interest he held meaningless chit chats, but his eyes betrayed his lack of commitment as they were always lurking in every corner of the room and on every person wearing a black tuxedo. Of course it was futile, Jeongguk was nowhere to be seen. Being somewhat discouraged by this, Jimin scolded himself for giving so much thoughts to a person that had already disappeared from him once.
Resigned, Jimin tried to move closer to the revolving door, wanting nothing else but to escape from the crowded space. Keeping the facade up in front of each guest was demoralizing, nothing moved him less than listening to hollow words that were everything but selfless. A certain amount of adulation carried with it pleasure and self contentment, who didn’t enjoy being complimented after all?
Yet when it crossed deliberately the line of ill intentions and hungry eyes Jimin could only pray his patience didn't wear thin before he could flee the scene. So he said goodbye to the last high-ranking guests and Jimin called it a night, declining his colleagues invitation to go clubbing. He also declined with a forced cloying voice, rolling his eyes in exasperation on the inside, the offer of a wealthy politician to drive him back to his apartment.
In favor of treating himself, Jimin chose to call a cab over walking to the bus station, which would have been his only option any other night. But because of the upcoming ballet season his monthly income was going to be a little more generous. Thus, he could afford a taxi ride. Besides, his feet were aching and his body was kind of sore, he wanted to get home as soon as possible.
Crossing the ornamented threshold of the prestigious theater a dozen white flashes were contained behind metal fences that prevented cameras from breaking into Jimin's personal space. At the sight of him reporters started to call out his name loudly, trying to get a picture or in the best of cases an exclusive.
As the opening act of the fall season "Giselle" used national media coverage to assert Korean National Ballet’s position as the most influential and distinguished company in the country. Hence, Jimin wore his well-practiced “newspaper cover young celebrity dancer” smile and greeted the reporters with no complaints. He posed on his good side basking on the undivided attention and held the bouquet of red roses to his chest.
Walking over to his ride awaiting for him at the end of the sidewalk he answered a few questions about his new role as the company's prima ballerina and he also publicly thanked everyone who attended the season's grand opening. Greeting with a final wave of hands, Jimin left the red carpet and hopped into the car.
Fifteen minutes later he was climbing the stairs, jumping quickly over the barely illuminated steps. Once he reached the second floor he walked over the somber outdoor shared corridor. The moon cast eerie shadows over the trash bags piled against the balcony rails, irregular lumps filled the darkness of the apartment complex as pieces on an abstract painting.
Avoiding bumping into his neighbors’ potted plants, Jimin finally stood in front of his unit. He punched his access code with shivering fingers and walked inside making as little noise as possible. Closing the door behind him he took off his black heel boots, placing the expensive Louboutins on the shoe rack, right next to a pair of floral rain boots.
“For a second thought you weren’t coming” said his grandma holding both ends of her cardigan together covering her floral pajamas.
“Halmeoni! What are you doing up this late? Told you not to wait for me” he bowed before engulfing her tiny frame, crumpling some red roses from the bouquet he was holding.
“Aish, who would make sure you eat all of your food if not me huh?” She kissed his temple tenderly and then proceeded to guide him towards the cramped kitchen.
She took the flowers out of his hands and inhaled their aroma before placing them in the center of the counter inside a pot of water.
“I cannot eat all of the food you give me halmeoni, or else I'll be rolling on stage rather than rotating” he objected with a laugh.
He dragged his feet heavily over to his room in order to change into his pajamas -a holey t-shirt with an illegible text, consequence of the corrosive agents of cheap laundry soap, and cotton pants that hung off his hips due to the stretched elastic of its waist.
“If you eat well, you will live well” she said, placing the different dishes on the floor table located in the middle of the small living room.
“Who says I cannot live well with carrots and cucumbers?” he teased, sitting on the soft cushions and dipping his chopsticks into his grandmother's tasty kimchi.
“Unless you're a rabbit, I say so!” She placed the plate of steaming ramyeon in front of him cautiously.
“This is delicious, thank you halmeoni!” He suddenly felt emotional by the caring nature hidden beyond each one of his grandmother's acts of love.
“It’s nothing, baby, now tell me. How was it?” Her eyes gleamed behind the rectangular framed glasses.
“Oh, it was a success.” he answered, moving his head to point at the flowers resting on the counter.
Against his grandmother's best wishes he didn't eat all of the food, yet by the end of the night his stomach was growling at the uncomfortable feeling of fullness. They went on about details of the showcase over a warm cup of tea. After Jimin used a ridiculous amount of zoom to show her pictures of his costume, they finally decided it was time to head to bed.
Jimin took a quick shower and did a shortened version of his skincare routine to remove the heavy layers of foundation and concealer covering his pimples and moles. He let out an exhausting yawn before he dived into his blankets and pillows, however before falling asleep he started to put ointment on his battered feet, a caring gift given by his pointe shoes.
As he massaged the sole of his feet he couldn't stop himself from going back to Jeongguk. He placed his feet gently on a fleece blanket as he lay on his back again, eyes connected to the white ceiling of his room.
Was he sure that that man was even Jeongguk? His gaze was as dark as it was indecipherable and for a few seconds Jimin struggled to juxtapose the image of the imposing man with the little boy carrying chubby cheeks and big shy eyes.
Jimin tried to find an explanation plausible that didn't involve Jeongguk, but there was no denying the obvious. If Jimin had any doubt because of his appearance, the wink and the flicker of recognition illuminating the man’s eyes were the confirmation he needed to connect the dots.
He scolded himself for losing precious hours of sleep spiraling about Jeongguk, and Jeongguk's strong, tattooed hands, and Jeongguk's thick thighs and Jeongguk's angular jaw and-
“Oh my God,” Jimin buried his face on the mushy pillow, stifling his improper thoughts.
“Sleep Park Jimin, that asshole can go fuck himself. Who would appear after years like that anyway? We're mad, not horny!” his voice came out muffled against the fresh cotton.
“No, you're totally right Jimin. He should be crawling and begging for forgiveness at our feet, or at the very least pretending he's sorry” he agreed, putting on a jaded face as he settled his tiny frame under several layers of blankets.
“He should be doing that and not trying to eye-fuck us, or whatever that was, in the middle of one of the most important performances of our career. My God! He has no shame, what about the kid who once cried because he couldn't perform a jump properly.”
Sighing for what could have been the ninth time, Jimin decided that any thoughts regarding Jeongguk could wait until he got his beauty sleep. After all it had taken Jeongguk almost a decade to show any sign of life, nothing would happen if Jimin put the man’s existence on standby for a few more hours.
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Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into another eleven Korean National Ballet's performances where Jimin dazzled the public with his exquisite stage presence and delightful choreography execution. He had every high-rated critic in the field of arts inside his pocket. Perfect reviews wouldn't stop coming out his way when it came to his ability to engage the public with his heartfelt performances. The director was also pretty much satisfied with how it all was going down. Jimin was aware that it was mostly because those positive opinions were also directed towards her, praising her impeccable judgment when she chose him as her prima ballerina.
The season was halfway through the showcases scheduled for the three months it lasted. Being a prima ballerina made it easier for Jimin to fall into an exhaustive pattern of rehearsing for their current and next ballet; performing at nights three times per week; and occasionally scheduling a quick visit to the beauty salon or gym.
Jimin's pace of life quickly increased from 60% to 120% and yet he was satisfied with how things were going. Standing in front of the event banner his heart had expanded inside his chest threatening to break through it. Wearing melancholia as a mask and being held by his co-star, Jimin wore a white tulle dress making him look like a swan in the darkness of a lake. Below them it could be read "Giselle" and right next to it both names of the dancers playing the leading roles; Park Jimin - Ryuk Seungmin.
Jimin would never forget how he had felt the first time he saw himself on the big poster. That memory was the one that replayed his mind constantly every time he felt like slaking. He was constantly under pressure, having to subject himself to absurd diets laced with even more ridiculous beauty standards; heavy long lasting hours of rehearsals; and plus having to survive inside an environment as harsh and competitive as it was the ballet field.
Some days he felt like he was mere minutes away from reaching his breaking point, constantly teetering on a fine line. Nonetheless, the sleepless nights, the humiliations, the heartbreaking pain and even the dangers he had subjected himself to would always come back to haunt him whenever he closed his eyes. He couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop.
Rehearsing his best prefabricated smile, Jimin stood in front of his full-length mirror. His petite frame was sinking in his holey t-shirt, covered by a frayed cardigan he had stolen from his grandmother. Without makeup, fatigue was painfully evident and etched grooves on his once smooth skin. No amount of skin-care products had the ability to restore the youth and freshness of his expression; getting proper rest was one way to achieve it and it was totally off the table.
Jimin relaxed his face and it immediately turned again into an unsettling mixture of anguish, melancholy and exertion. Not that he was anguished or melancholic, it was just his face that did not help in projecting any positive emotion. Luckily some fairy godmother of beauty had created makeup, otherwise Jimin might have been mistaken for an entity belonging to the depths of the Hades.
Laughing at the absurdity of his thoughts he checked his digital watch.
6:13 A.M.
“Fuck” he muttered.
Hurriedly sliding from one end of the room to the other, Jimin filled his duffle bag and dropped it with a loud thud in the living room on his way to the bathroom. He quickly applied a light layer of concealer, blackberry lip balm, and styled his raven locks -that resembled more the wings of a plucked crow.
The final look was not his best but at least he was somehow closer to the dancer look spectrum than the junky look spectrum.
Few minutes later Jimin was skipping down the hallway -Should he mention how he almost tripped over the monstera of an elderly woman who lived three units to his left? Fortunately he managed to reach Line 3 just on time. He chased a seat in the far corner of the subway and untangled his worn-out earbuds to accompany his trip with some chill tune.
The subway car rattled rhythmically, the fluorescent lights flickering faintly above. Jimin shifted in his seat, tugging his scarf tighter around his neck despite the stifling warmth of the train. He scanned the sparse crowd, his gaze lingering a second too long on anyone who seemed even slightly out of place. A man with a hood pulled low over his face. A woman whose posture was too stiff. The elderly man whose eyes seemed to flick up at him every so often.
He told himself it was paranoia. Again. Still, the prickling sensation at the back of his neck wouldn’t dissipate. Jimin exhaled softly, his fingers tightening around the strap of his duffel bag. He had felt this way too many times lately, on his way to the academy, walking down the street, even in his apartment some nights.
His head leaned back against the window, and he almost closed his eyes, but the unease crawling under his skin stopped him. The memory of the encounter earlier that week flashed vividly in his mind, sharp and invasive.
It had all started shortly after the season's debut gala. He had been riding home late one evening, replaying choreography in his mind, when the first wave of unfounded anxiety hit. He was quick to dismiss his trepidation and he’d laughed it off as overexertion. Yet, his reasoning quickly lost strength and morphed into alarm.
He halted with irregular strides through the seemingly deserted streets near his block, he felt haunted by the type of silence that made the city feel smaller. The persistent presence of heavy eyes pinned on his back, bristling the hair on his nape.
Jimin wasn't one to be agitated easily, the attributes he lacked physically he made up for with a tenacious personality. Still, he couldn't allow himself to be murdered that easily. The picture was clear, the calculations precise. A street completely devoid of light and witnesses was the exact place in which someone would pull the trigger to graze his head with a bullet. He was no stranger to the criminal world lurking beneath Seoul’s welcoming façade and certainly he was well aware of the implications of a potential murderer following him home.
Gripping the handle of his bag until his knuckles turned completely white, Jimin turned around looking for the person stalking him. There were only flickering lights and shadows that cast a wide range of eerie monsters; Jimin felt scorching eyes coming from the dark folds of the walls and corners. He could feel a presence still not seeing it, unsettling him more than being harassed.
Jimin had a long record of situations he had managed to overcome due to his explosive nature, especially in a culture that treated all dancers as submissive dolls. For that he was proud. However, there were also instances where his volatility became a self-imposed sentence.
Now being one of those moments.
“I know you’re there!” Jimin screamed, feeling a dangerous rush of adrenaline clouding his senses “Whoever you are! Come face me like a fucking man instead of hiding!”
An unnerving silence stared back at him, there was not a single sound nor movement that betrayed the presence of anyone beyond himself. But Jimin knew better.
"Stop following me, ‘cause the moment I lay hands on you, you'll see what a ballerina is capable of! You hear me? Go away!"
The lack of response frustrated him, he stomped his feet in vexation.
“I'm not afraid of you!” his voice echoed off the walls as his eyes darted from shadow to shadow.
Every nerve in his body was on edge, ready to react at the slightest hint of danger.
Nothing.
Feeling not only threatened but also humiliated, Jimin resumed his walk, heading back to the bus station. Once he finally took a bus headed to the busy heart of Seoul, he managed to free himself from those watchful eyes.
After that one incident Jimin felt subtle signs of surveillance most of the time he was out. He wouldn't know if he was falling victim to his own paranoia and lack of rest, or if he was really under a creep’s radar. His every move became more deliberate, his instincts sharper. Still, the tension never fully dissipated.
He often brushed the feeling off, convincing himself it was nothing. A trick of the mind. But even as he tried to shake the unease, he could feel it, eyes in the shadows, watching. It never escalated, so he did his best to ignore it. Pretending it wasn’t real became his coping mechanism. Paranoia, if left unchecked, could devour him whole.
Now, like so many other evenings, Jimin let himself be lulled by the white noise of the tracks sliding on the rail, trying to dissociate himself from the anonymous scrutiny. He settled uncomfortably in his seat, his bag sat protectively on his lap, a makeshift barrier against prying eyes.
The twenty minute journey passed in slow motion and when the train finally approached his stop, he was on his feet before it fully halted, eager to escape the stifling atmosphere. People walked in and out, colliding carelessly in their incessant rush to reach their destinations on time.
Upon emerging from the subway station, Jimin skittered through the streets. Morning fog still plagued the air as the sun started to emerge from the horizon, signs of darkness remained from the previous night painting the atmosphere a melancholic hue. Streets were busy but even so the only perceptible sound was that of the car engines, people were still too sleepy to even emit a murmur.
Jimin exhaled sharply, the warmth of his breath billowing through his scarf, forming a small cloud in front of his red nose. Cold threatened to freeze his legs, despite the leg warmers protection, prompting him to hasten his pace.
Once he crossed the threshold of the academy, a wave of relieving warmth engulfed his body. His feet echoed, tapping softly against the pristine floor. The ivory walls reflected the light of dawn breaking through the glass dome crowning the main hall. The dome was adorned with elaborate geometric patterns that seemed to dance in the natural light filtering through the glass skylight at its apex.
On the back wall, opposite to the main doors, an imposing staircase began its ascent, spiraling upwards following the contour of the cylindrical walls. The intricate wrought-iron railing and polished wooden steps shone under the morning sky, beaming out the orange rays of the rising sun. Jimin’s eyes held stars as he looked at the majesty of the place. Each surface of the building was spotless, and the dancer sometimes felt like an intruder, as an outsider squatting in a place that wasn’t his.
Some of his colleagues were exchanging casual chat at the foot of the large stairs. Jimin greeted them casually before passing by them to climb the stairs, which led to the upper floors where most of the rehearsal rooms were housed.
Large archways framed the multiple rooms scattered through the two floors. The corridors’ walls were adorned with sepia photographs and posters of past performances, coating the place with the pride of the rich history and artistic achievements of the company.
Upon reaching the first landing, the staircase unfurled gracefully. Jimin walked next to the mahogany balustrade, looking down at the main hall and the few people coming in through the doors. Moving rather quickly, he crossed the arched portal of a secluded hallway and reached the changing rooms.
He changed into his rehearsal attire. The tight fabric of his black leggings slid over his legs as he gathered his essentials. Minutes later Jimin was already leaning on his feet, looping the ties of his pink shoes around his ankle. The reflection of the mirrored walls returned the image of a small frame in the immensity of a cold room and somehow Jimin felt powerful.
Hours passed in a blur of music and movement. The room was alive with the echo of rhythmic counts and the soft thuds of dancers landing leaps. By the end of the rehearsal, the choreographer called for a halt, and Jimin collapsed onto the sprung hardwood floor, sweat tracing paths down his flushed cheeks.
“Park,” Ms. Hwang’s voice pulled him from his reverie as he reached for his towel. He looked up, meeting her steady gaze. “Ms. Kim asked me to let you know she’ll be waiting for you in her office.”
“Oh? Okay, Ms. Hwang, thank you.” He offered her a polite bow before heading to the changing rooms.
He didn’t think about it much, the director would call him sometimes to have a briefing about his performance improvements throughout the ballet season. Once he’d showered and changed into fresh clothes, his steps carried him through the quiet corridors to the sturdy door of her office. He knocked twice before stepping inside, greeting the woman behind the desk with his usual polite demeanor.
“Jimin-ssi, thank you for coming,” Ms. Kim said, looking up from her papers, her reading glasses perched low on her nose.
“Of course, Ms. Kim. Is this about the season’s development?”
She smiled faintly, gesturing for him to sit. “Not quite. I have a proposal for you, a big investment company is interested in hiring you for an exclusive event.”
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After pondering about it later that night Jimin decided that accepting the offer was logically the best option. The juicy sum of money would help him cross out some zeros of the debts plaguing his monthly figures. Whatsmore, it was always advantageous to keep doors open beyond the artistic sphere. Moving on affluent circles could foster new opportunities and contacts so he decided upon attending the lavish event. He just had to perform a contemporary choreography and earn almost the same amount of money the Ballet Company paid him monthly.
Jimin steadied his stance, stopping his legs from wobbling as he stood in front of the imposing façade towering over him like a concrete giant. The cold autumn night seeped into his bones making him hug himself in a futile attempt to shelter his body. From behind the glass doors, the warm light of luxurious chandeliers spilled out, casting shadows on Jimin's features, making his smokey eyes look even more enticing. His trenchcoat danced under the force of the night wind and he was sure his nose was red from the harsh cold.
As he approached the ornate hotel doors, he caught sight of a figure leaning casually against the building's shadowed exterior. The man stood with a deliberate ease, dressed in a tailored coat that brushed his thighs, high-waisted leather pants glinting faintly under the streetlights. His sharp, feline eyes swept up as if he had been waiting for Jimin, the movement unnervingly intentional.
Jimin slowed his steps, gripping the strap of his bag a little tighter. The man pushed off the wall and sauntered toward him, his boots clicking softly against the pavement. Despite the cold biting at Jimin's exposed skin, there was a simmering heat in the way the stranger's gaze settled on him, scrutinizing with a detachment that made his skin prickle.
Jimin had always trusted his instincts, and tonight, they were ringing loud and clear.
"Hello,” the man greeted, roaming his eyes over every detail of his body, there was no hint of decorum. Despite Jimin always being subjected to lascivious ogles this wasn’t the case, it was rather scrutinizing and indecipherable.
The hair on his nape stood up in alert as uneasiness stirred uncomfortably inside him, a vague sense of deja vu filling his guts.
“Park Jimin” he extended his hand, the gesture looked anything but friendly, it seemed as if he could squash Jimin's little fingers effortlessly.
Jimin hesitated for about a second, yet he quickly responded to the squeeze with intention. He once heard the way you reciprocate a handshake revealed more about you than words ever could, and he refused to be perceived as a trembling deer.
Jimin tilted his head, the sharpness in his features mirrored by the slight furrow of his brows. "Do we know each other?"
The handshake lingered just a second too long before the man pulled back. "This way," he said curtly, turning on his heel without further preamble and heading toward the narrow gap between the hotel and the adjacent building.
Jimin’s steps faltered as the man disappeared into the shadows. A dark alleyway? His gut churned with suspicion, the edges of unease creeping up his spine unsure whether it was his paranoia coming back as a train wreck or a genuine cause for concern. His heels clicked once against the pavement before he stopped at the entrance to the alley, refusing to cross the threshold.
“Hold on,” Jimin called, his voice crisp. “Where exactly are we going?”
The man paused mid-stride and glanced back, his expression cool and unreadable. "The service entrance," he said, as if it were obvious.
“Huh?” Jimin blinked, then tilted his head incredulously.
The man’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, his tone measured but tinged with impatience.
“You're here as an entertainer, not to mingle with the guests.”
Jimin let out a breathy laugh, sharp and unimpressed. "Right. Because clearly, a world-class dancer is no better than the catering staff." He planted his feet, refusing to budge. "If your company hired me, they’d better remember that I bring more to the table than just entertainment. So either you figure out how to escort me properly, or I’m walking back the way I came."
For a moment, the man just stared, the air between them humming with unspoken tension. There was something calculating in his gaze, a flicker of annoyance but also... respect? He exhaled through his nose, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.
Jimin crossed his arms over his chest, meeting the man’s gaze with a defiant arched arrow.
The alley stretched behind the man, shadowy and narrow, its damp asphalt gleaming faintly under the glow of a flickering streetlamp. It was an insult to everything this event represented, prestige, luxury, artistry. Jimin had clawed his way to stages much grander than this, and being funneled through a service entrance like a second-class citizen was unacceptable.
A smirk tugged at the corner of the man’s lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes
“Do you even know who I am?” Jimin’s voice softened, but the steel in it was undeniable. He wasn’t asking for validation; he was reminding the man that he should never be treated like an afterthought.
The man shifted his weight, his lips pressing into a thin line as he took in the challenge in Jimin's eyes. There was a long, silent moment before he spoke, his voice just above a whisper.
“I know exactly who you are,” he said, his words almost biting, yet carrying an unexpected hint of something Jimin couldn’t quite place. “And I know exactly where you belong.”
Jimin’s brows furrowed at the cryptic tone, but before he could respond, the man’s hand moved, his fingers tapping lightly on his phone screen before he turned it toward Jimin.
“You’re right,” he said with an edge of finality. “Your company didn’t hire you for catering. And I’m sure they’d love to know you’re making a scene out here.” His voice lowered, but the unspoken threat was clear. “Take the front entrance. Strut in like you own the place. But don’t forget, your job tonight is to entertain.”
Jimin smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Noted,” he said coolly, turning around with a deliberate flick of his perfectly styled hair. “And don’t worry, I’m very good at my job.”
The man walked behind Jimin with a heavy presence, his steps deliberate and sure. Jimin, despite the earlier tension, didn’t flinch. He’d faced far more intimidating figures in his life, and this one, as imposing as he might have been, couldn’t rattle him. The hotel lobby they passed through was quieter than expected, but he didn’t mind, he wasn’t there for the small talk or the glances of recognition. His mind was already focused on the performance ahead, tuning out anything that wasn’t related to it.
The man, still at his side, led him toward the dressing room without a word, his presence slightly less imposing now that the silence stretched between them. Once they reached the door, he stopped, turning toward Jimin with a gesture that was neither welcoming nor dismissive.
"This is your room," his voice low and cool, though not unkind. "You can get ready here. Just don’t keep anyone waiting."
Jimin nodded before he entered. The space was modest but functional, with bright lighting and mirrors lining the walls. A single chair sat in front of a vanity, and a simple rack held his costume for the evening.
He noticed a figure near the mirror. A man with soft eyes sporting a blonde buzzcut was adjusting his cufflinks, his movements calm and collected. He was dressed in a tailored suit, clearly someone of importance, but there was something relaxed about his demeanor that immediately set Jimin at ease.
"Park Jimin, right?" The man spoke with pleasant voice, glancing up with a warm smile that didn’t feel rehearsed. There was no pressure in his tone, no urgency, just a quiet acknowledgment of who Jimin was.
"That’s me," Jimin responded, offering a small but genuine smile, as he finally allowed himself to lower his stance.
"I’m Kim Namjoon," the man said, extending a hand in a welcoming gesture. "I’m one of the event organizers. I’ve heard a lot about you."
Jimin shook his hand firmly, his own demeanor steady but open. "Nice to meet you. I didn’t expect to be greeted like this," he said, his tone casual, not pretending to be overly impressed, but appreciating the approach nonetheless.
Namjoon’s smile widened slightly, as if recognizing Jimin’s independent nature.
"You’ve earned your place here, Jimin," he said, his voice calm but carrying a weight of sincerity. "Tonight’s performance is important, not just for you, but for everyone here. I’m sure you already know that, but I thought I’d remind you anyway. It’s easy to forget when you’re just focused on your next move."
Jimin nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the words. "I appreciate the reminder. I’ve got it covered."
“Of course. You’re a professional. But just in case you don’t hear it from anyone else tonight," he continued his tone more personal now, "I wish you the best of luck. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you, but I’m sure you know how to handle that."
Jimin felt a faint warmth in his chest. There was no pretense, no sense of competition or condescension, just a quiet understanding and well-wishing that didn’t make Jimin feel like he was being sized up.
"Thanks, Namjoon," Jimin replied, his voice steady. "Don't worry about it, the stage is mine, you just sit back and watch"
Namjoon gave a final nod, his expression soft but knowing. "I have no doubt." He lingered for a moment longer before stepping back toward the door, leaving Jimin alone with his thoughts.
The door clicked softly behind him, and Jimin turned to the mirror. He was calm, but beneath the surface, his determination was bubbling. This was his chance, not just to perform, but to leave an impression, to carve his name in everyone's mouth. This stage, small as it was, would be his for the taking.
He made quick work of changing into his attire. The moment his fingers touched the waistband of his trousers, he felt the weight of the night settle into his body. The fabric was smooth against his skin as he slipped into the loose-fitting pants, the dark material flowing gracefully from his hips down to his ankles. The voluminous cuts would accentuate his movements with elegance and grace.
Carefully Jimin checked his makeup, the smoky black eyeshadow gave him a dangerous feline-like gaze, the exquisite mix of alluring and menacing. He traced his hands down his barely visible abs and gripped the skin of his stomach.
“I told her to stop feeding me those dumplings,” he complained .
With a final check, he grabbed the lightweight fabric from his bag, the key prop for his choreography. His fingers moved with precision as he prepared everything just so. It was the night where nothing would be left to chance. Everything had to be perfect.
He arranged his black locks one last time, making sure each strand fell just the way he liked it. When he stepped toward the door, Mr. Kim was waiting. There was no time to waste. The anticipation of the performance filled the air as they walked down the narrow corridor.
As they neared the stage, Jimin took in the size, a bit smaller than the grand venues he was used to, but that didn’t matter. He could work with it. A catwalk stretched out toward the spectators, adding an intimate, almost dangerous energy to the space.
Jimin felt like he was about to play Cabaret, the maroon walls matched the upholstered furniture and ornate chandeliers hung from the low ceiling, their crystals cast a warm bath of shimmering glow across the place. The opulent environment was both intimate and luxurious, a perfect backdrop to hold an event of such demeanor.
The lights dimmed a bit and the voices in the place went silent. Expectant.
He stood with his back against the sharp eyes and let the music flood his senses. Once again Jimin was going to show why he deserved to be on stage.
As the music started he lost himself in the rhythm, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next. The audience dissolved into the background, their gazes a distant hum as the music carried him. And by the time the final note resonated and his last pose settled into stillness, Jimin felt the quiet satisfaction of a performance delivered with precision.
The applause swelled as the lights dimmed, his cue to exit. He moved offstage with practiced grace, his breath steadying as he left the heat of the spotlight behind. As he passed an open window, the cool night air licked against the sheen of sweat drying on his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.
Reaching the familiar door adorned with his name in delicate, swirling letters, Jimin paused. The echo of the music still lingered in his chest, his body humming with the afterglow of performance. With a deep breath, he turned the handle and stepped inside.
He trudged into the barely lit room, the creak of the door echoed through the desert hallway. A lethargic yawn filled the space as Jimin stretched his arms above his head, his body arching in a graceful, cat-like pose. The gentle crack of his back released a sweet satisfying sound as his joints eased.
The hairs on his nape bristled with a bone deep shiver when a dark human shaped figure came into his field of vision as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. His hands moved on instinct, flying to the switch of the vanity mirror lights with an imperceptible trembling. The sudden glimmer of illumination cast an unsettling glow on the unknown man, his features looking chiseled from shadows.
Jimin’s eyes emulated an owl as they went wide, frozen in horror and stupefaction. His gaze was transfixed on the man, time stood still as his pupils dilated with a storm of thoughts swirling violently inside him. A tornado destroying his guts.
“Nice to finally see you again, Jimin.”
His eyes were somewhere along dangerous and captivating, dark gaze devouring Jimin’s exposed body with no qualms. The gears inside the dancer’s brain felt rusty and sulphated as it struggled to process the situation.
"What. The. Fuck?"
His tongue became an anvil, heavy on his mouth, his saliva thick and bitter like a toxic warning sign. The taste clawed its way up his esophagus, threatening to unleash the bile churning in his stomach that should preferably be kept there.
Jimin swallowed hard, forcing his rebellious stomach to keep its content down. The man slowly rose from his seat closing the gap between himself and Jimin, careless of the latter’s defensiveness. His nonchalant stance screamed casual entitlement, as if boundaries were bent to his liking.
“Don’t move.”
Jimin’s sharp warning sliced through the eerie silent room, making the man wiggle his eyebrows in amusement. His dark smirk unfurled, revealing white bunny teeth.
“Scared much?”
The taunting remark gained him a scoff from Jimin who rolled his eyes in a deliberate show of contempt.
“Scared? Of you? Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Thought you would be excited to see me, Jiminie hyung.”
The honorific coming out from those sinful lips felt more like a failed attempt of mockery than of respect. It sounded wrong and a bubbling fury pooled within Jimin.
“I stopped being excited to see you when I was seventeen maybe, Jeongguk-ssi.”
The stoic expression on his face betrayed the veracity of the statement. Had Jimin not been gazing into Jeongguk’s doe eyes, he would have missed the fleeting shadow crossing the youngest’s facade. For a moment, just a moment, the mask slipped, and Jimin saw hesitation, hesitation, or maybe regret
“Too bad, then” Jeongguk’s tone expressed no feelings, voice low and smooth “‘cause I’ve been wanting to meet you again for what feels like an eternity.”
“Ain’t that cute?” Jimin snorted “You thought I’d be sitting around, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for you.”
Jeongguk’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink.
“I see you haven’t changed a bit.”
“No,” Jimin shot back, stepping forward with deliberate force. His movements were feline, poised and threatening, as if stalking prey. “I’m sure that would’ve been convenient for you. If I’d been broken enough for you to swoop in unannounced like it hasn’t been, what? Six years?”
His bare chest nearly brushed against the plain black suit that clad Jeongguk's frame, the proximity sending a shiver down his spine. Jeongguk took advantage of the closeness, letting his eyes trace the delicate concave of Jimin's collarbones, the milky skin inviting his scrutiny. His eyes traveled up Jimin's neck, the slow, sensual exploration allowing him to witness the dancer's pulse, the artery throbbing rhythmically with each beat of Jimin's adrenaline-fueled heart.
When his gaze landed on Jimin's full, glossy lips, the atmosphere shifted, the air thickened with tension. Jeongguk forced himself to tear his gaze away from the sinful sight, only to meet Jimin's raised eyebrow, a silent inquiry burning in his eyes, accompanied by a darkness that had never before lurked in their depths.
“What are you looking at?” Jimin spat, but his voice lacked conviction. The heat of Jeongguk’s presence seemed to press against his skin, igniting something dangerous beneath the surface.
Jeongguk stepped closer, his breath ghosting across Jimin’s ear as he leaned in. “You,” he murmured, the single word heavy with implication. “Still so beautiful when you’re angry, hyung.”
“You’re awfully calm for someone who’s been gone for years,” Jimin snapped, though his pulse betrayed him, hammering in his throat. “What’s your game, Jeongguk?”
Jeongguk tilted his head, a small, almost playful smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t have a game, Jimin hyung,” he replied, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind Jimin’s ear. The touch was so casual it felt rehearsed, but it sent a jolt through Jimin, who flinched, his fists clenching at his sides.
“Don’t play me for a fool, Jeonggukie,” Jimin drawled, his sarcasm cutting deep. Yet even as the words left his mouth, he felt that sickeningly familiar twist in his stomach, like butterflies and warning signs.
It was humiliating, how his body remembered Jeongguk, how his skin seemed to buzz in proximity to him. Time should have dulled that. He should have grown out of that... whatever it was.
“What are you doing here? Or in the front row back at the gala opener?” Jimin demanded, stepping back just enough to create a sliver of distance.
Jeongguk’s hand fell to his side, but he didn’t step back. The years had widened the gap between them, physically, emotionally, but now, with Jeongguk standing taller, broader, and infinitely more composed, Jimin had to tilt his head slightly to meet his gaze.
“This event…” Jeongguk began, his voice dipping into a smooth, almost disarming tone, “I organized it. Specifically with you in mind.”
Jimin’s brow furrowed, confusion clouding his expression as his mind raced. “What do you mean, with me in mind?”
“I needed an excuse to see you,” Jeongguk admitted, his voice soft but deliberate, his words curling around Jimin like a net. “And let’s just say I enjoy watching you dance more than I should.”
The honesty, or what seemed like honesty, hit Jimin like a slap. His gaze flicked to Jeongguk’s lips against his will, drawn to the way his words lingered in the air. But he caught himself, his eyes hardening as he forced his attention back to Jeongguk’s eyes.
“Why now?” Jimin demanded, his voice sharp. “What’s in it for you?”
Jeongguk’s smile shifted, something darker flickering behind his gaze. “We should talk about that once you’ve eaten and changed,” he replied, the nonchalance in his tone doing little to hide the weight of his words.
“You just decided to vanish out of my life, and now you’re back when it suits you?” Jimin’s voice rose, his anger spilling over. “Am I just a damsel in distress, waiting for you to rescue me from my tower?”
Jeongguk’s smile faded, and he took another step forward, closing the distance again. This time, his voice was colder, the edges sharp. “Don’t mistake my absence for convenience, Jimin. You have no idea what I’ve been through to be here.”
“Enlighten me,” Jimin bit back, refusing to back down. “Tell me, Jeongguk, what could be so important that it kept you from even saying goodbye?”
Jeongguk’s jaw tightened, his carefully constructed facade cracking just enough to reveal something raw beneath. For a moment, the commanding presence he’d built around himself faltered, and Jimin caught a glimpse of the boy he once knew, vulnerable, unsure, and desperate.
But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a cold, calculated mask. “I didn’t come here to explain myself, hyung. I came here to see you. That’s all you need to know. For now.”
Jimin’s laugh was bitter, filled with disbelief. “For now? You don’t get to dictate the terms anymore, Jeongguk. Not after the way you left. I’m not your playdoll and I don’t have time for this.”
Jeongguk’s eyes narrowed. “Playdoll? Is that really what you think this is, Jimin?” His voice dropped an octave, dangerous, but Jimin refused to be intimidated.
“Don’t twist my words,” Jimin shot back, folding his arms over his chest.
Jeongguk didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stepped closer again, so close that the faint scent of him, woodsy, expensive, and maddeningly familiar, filled the space between them. His lips twitched into a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve changed, hyung,” he said softly. “Bitter doesn’t suit you.”
“And you’ve grown arrogant,” Jimin snapped.
“Maybe,” Jeongguk admitted with a slight shrug, his confidence unnerving. “But I’ve earned it. Just like you’ve earned your reputation. Funny how life works.”
“I don’t have time for your cryptic bullshit, Jeongguk. I’m done playing games.”
“Good,” Jeongguk replied, his voice like silk. “Neither do I. I don’t have time for them anymore.”
Jimin’s heart skipped at the subtle implication in Jeongguk’s words, but he forced himself to stay composed. “Then why are you here?”
“Because I wanted to see you.” Jeongguk’s voice softened just enough to sound genuine, but there was still an edge to it, like he was holding something back. “I needed to know if you’re still… you.”
Jimin’s laugh was harsh. “Me? The same boy you left behind without a word? That’s rich, Jeongguk. The only thing that’s changed is I don’t need you anymore.”
Jeongguk’s expression faltered for a split second, and Jimin caught it, a flicker of vulnerability buried beneath the layers of control. “Maybe,” Jeongguk said finally, his voice quieter now, though no less intense. “But I needed you back then. And maybe I still do.”
Jimin froze, his breath catching at the admission. For a moment, the air between them seemed to crackle, the weight of everything unsaid pulling them closer together. But Jimin quickly shook his head, breaking the spell.
“You don’t get to need me,” Jimin said firmly, though his voice wavered ever so slightly. “Not now, not ever again.”
Jimin stepped back, his shoulders stiffening as if to shield himself from whatever Jeongguk might say next.
“I have work to do,” Jimin muttered, turning toward the door. “Find someone else to haunt, Jeongguk.”
But as he reached for the handle, Jeongguk’s voice stopped him cold.
“Hyung,” he said softly, almost pleading, and for the first time that night, his tone sounded unguarded. “I never wanted to leave you. You have to believe that.”
Jimin paused, his hand trembling slightly as it hovered over the door. “Wanting doesn’t matter anymore,” he said quietly, without turning around. “What matters is what you chose.”
And with that, he opened the door and walked out, leaving Jeongguk standing alone in the room, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.
──── ∗∙⋅:✯:⋅∙∗ ────
The office was dim, the faint glow of the monitors casting shadows across Jeongguk’s sharp features. He sat in his leather chair, fingers steepled as he stared at the grainy black-and-white feed displayed on the largest screen. The camera, perched discreetly in the stairwell of an aging apartment complex, showed the silhouette of a figure moving behind thin, floral curtains.
Jimin.
The sight wasn’t clear, just the outline of his form pacing back and forth, occasionally pausing near the window. The curtains swayed slightly giving Jeongguk only glimpses of his former lover’s restless shadow.
“Still watching,” Namjoon’s voice came, steady and disapproving as he stepped into the room. He held a thick folder in one hand, his gaze flicking to the screen. “You realize he’s going to find out eventually, right?”
Jeongguk’s jaw tightened. “Let him,” he muttered, but the edge in his voice betrayed him. “It’s for his own good.”
Namjoon scoffed lightly, tossing the folder onto the desk. “Protecting him from people who want to harm him, sure. But this?” He gestured toward the screens. “This is going to feel like a betrayal, Jeongguk. You’re not the same kid he used to trust.”
“Trust me, I know. He made that pretty clear last time we met.” Jeongguk’s eyes flickered to Namjoon. “Now, what did you find out?” he asked, deflecting.
Namjoon opened the folder, pulling out a few documents. “The Han syndicate’s been watching him. They’ve been careful, but not careful enough. A couple of their guys were spotted near his dance academy and the old theater last week.”
Jeongguk’s hands curled into fists on the desk. The thought of anyone even looking at Jimin with malicious intent made his blood boil.
“They’re not just watching,” Namjoon continued. “Word is, they’re planning to use him as leverage. Maybe worse. You need to act and you need to do it smart. No slip-ups.”
Jeongguk pushed himself to his feet, the leather of his chair creaking as he moved. “I’ll handle it.”
Namjoon closed the folder, studying him carefully. “And when he realizes what you’ve been doing? That you’ve been keeping secrets again?”
Jeongguk’s jaw tightened, the weight of the question heavy in the room.
“He can hate me all he wants, he already does” he said finally, his voice cold but tinged with something softer beneath. “As long as he’s alive to do it.”
Namjoon shook his head, pity crossing his features.
“You’re walking a fine line, Jeongguk. Be careful it doesn’t snap beneath you.”
──── ∗∙⋅:✯:⋅∙∗ ────
NINE TO SEVEN.
The hallway of the dance academy was bustling with activity; the small space was filled with nervous whispers and the occasional click of heels on the polished marble floors. Nine-year-old Jimin sat on the edge of a red velvet chair, his small hands gripping the folds of his freshly ironed trousers.
“Sit back properly, Jimin-ah,” his mother hissed, tugging him into the seat with a firm hand. She was beautiful, the kind of beauty that turned heads, though there was an air of artifice to her appearance. Her lips were painted a bold red, her makeup heavy enough to cast soft shadows over her features. Her nails, long and lacquered in a deep burgundy, glinted as she adjusted the lapel of her tailored blazer. It was secondhand, but she wore it with the poise of someone who wanted to seem wealthier than she was.
“I am sitting eomma,” Jimin murmured, shifting uncomfortably under her sharp gaze.
“Not like that,” she scolded with her voice low but sharp enough to make him sit straighter. “You’ll wrinkle your clothes before you even get inside. Do you want them to think we’re sloppy?”
“No, eomma,” Jimin mumbled, glancing at his lap. His mother sighed, her tone softening, though her patience remained thin.
“You’ve worked hard for this. Just do as we practiced, and don’t let them see you’re nervous.”
Jimin nodded, his wide eyes darting around the room as he tried to distract himself from the knot in his stomach and the sweat coating his hands. Across the way, his gaze landed on another boy, small like him –or even smaller– with dark, doe-like eyes and a delicate face.
He looked out of place among the polished adults and stiff children, as if the room’s energy was too much for him. The imposing aura of the place seemed to weight him down threatening to swallow his tiny aura. The boy was sitting quietly, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. His shoes were polished, and his dark hair was combed neatly, but his posture was tense. Beside him stood a buff tall man in a sharp black suit, his arms were crossed and his face was stern, like a sculpture carved out of stone, he wouldn’t even look at the kid next to him.
Jimin tilted his head, curiosity overriding his nerves -a habit his mother would always scold him for alleging her son was too curious for his own good. The boy seemed shy, his gaze flitting nervously around the room but never settling on anyone for long. When their eyes finally met, the boy froze, his lips parting slightly as if caught off guard.
Jimin offered a small smile that he was sure nerves made look crooked, a weak attempt at connection. The boy blinked, his eyes widening before quickly looking away, his cheeks tinged with pink.
“Stop staring,” his mother whispered, her long nails tapping against his knee. She leaned in, her perfume, a mixture of floral and something faintly citric, washing over him. “Focus. We didn’t come all this way for you to gawk at strangers.”
“Yes, eomma,” Jimin said for the sixteenth time that day, though his gaze flickered back to the boy for a split second.
He wondered what the boy was thinking, why he looked so nervous when the man beside him seemed unshakable. Was he here to audition too? Where did his parents were? Did he want this as much as Jimin did, or was he being pushed, just like Jimin sometimes felt he was?
“Park Jimin,” a stern voice called from the doorway.
Jimin jolted, his hands clenching into fists. His mother gave his shoulder a gentle yet firm push. “Go. Remember, shoulders back, chin up, and smile.”
As Jimin stood, he cast one last glance at the boy across the room. Their eyes met again, and this time, Jimin swore he saw the smallest flicker of encouragement in the boy’s timid smile and big eyes.
It was fleeting, but it was enough. With a deep breath, Jimin straightened his posture and walked toward the audition room, his mother’s expectations heavy on his small frame and a strange sense of comfort lingering from the boy’s shy gaze.
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
The imposing hallways were quiet save for the echo of Jimin’s hurried footsteps on the pristine floor. He was late, in his defense, the showers were crowded and he wanted to keep his dignity safe, thus now he was late, really late. His mother’s sharp words rang in his head as he clutched his ballet slippers to his chest, weaving through the maze of corridors. The north wing was always so far from the main entrance, and Jimin cursed the winding layout of the prestigious dance institute.
Taking a shortcut, he veered toward the institute’s auditorium. It was usually deserted so early in the morning, the perfect hour to cross unnoticed. The heavy doors creaked as he pushed them open, and he slipped inside, his pace slowing as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.
There were three persons sitting on the front row, still Jimin’s presence passed unnoticed because of the boy up in the stage that hoarded their entire attention. The stage was illuminated by a single spotlight, casting a warm glow on the polished wooden boards. Jimin’s breath hitched as he stopped in his tracks, his gaze drawn to the figure standing in the center of the stage.
It was the boy from the waiting room, Bambi, as he had started calling him in his head because of his big, expressive eyes.
He looked smaller than Jimin remembered which was strange because on that stage, under the radiant light, he seemed larger than life. His dark hair caught the light, glowing with a halo-like softness, and his posture, though still shy and uncertain, held a quiet grace. The dancer moved with hesitant steps, his arms rising as if testing the air around him, his tiny body perfectly framed by the golden light.
Jimin felt rooted to the spot, captivated. For a moment, he forgot his tardiness, the scolding he’d surely receive, and even the ache of his hurried footsteps. All that existed were gracious limbs and big doe eyes, lost in his own world on that vast stage, his movements timid yet mesmerizing.
He doesn’t look like a beginner, Jimin thought, his chest tightening with something he couldn’t quite name, not sure if it was something good or bad, leaving a bittersweet after taste on his tongue.
Jimin had assumed, after months of not seeing the boy around, that he hadn’t passed the audition. The academy was strict, even for children, and the idea of rejection wasn’t uncommon. But here he was, not just present but performing, as if the stage itself had been waiting just for him.
Jimin’s stomach twisted as he realized why Bambi hadn’t been around before. This wasn’t a class; it was an evaluation. The professors were watching him, their notes scrawling across clipboards, murmuring quietly to one another.
He really passed, Jimin thought, his chest tightening. He’s here, just like me.
The boy completed a turn, his movements slightly stiff but steady, and his gaze flicked toward the audience. For a moment, it seemed like he was searching for reassurance, his wide eyes scanning the empty rows. Then his gaze landed on Jimin.
Jimin’s heart jumped, and he instinctively pressed himself closer to the wall, as if trying to disappear into the shadows. He knew he shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be watching, but the way Bambi’s eyes softened when they found him made him hesitate.
The boy didn’t react outwardly, his expression remaining calm despite the flicker of recognition in his eyes. But Jimin could see it, the faintest shift in his posture, the way his shoulders relaxed just a little. It was as though seeing Jimin gave him a thread of courage to keep going.
Jimin swallowed hard, feeling an inexplicable warmth bloom in his chest. He stayed enchanted in place, barely breathing, watching as he moved into another sequence. The professors were speaking again, their words too quiet for Jimin to hear, but their attention remained fixed on the stage.
The boy finished with a soft landing, his arms raised delicately, and the room fell into silence. The professors exchanged looks, jotting down final notes, before dismissing him with a curt nod. Bambi stepped back into the shadow of the stage, bowing slightly before retreating. His eyes darted one last time toward where Jimin stood hidden.
Jimin couldn’t help it, he smiled, a small, fleeting gesture meant just for him.
The boy’s lips twitched upward in the faintest of smiles before he turned away, disappearing into the backstage area. Jimin lingered for a moment, his heart still racing. Then, as quietly as he had entered, he slipped out of the auditorium, a strange mix of admiration and anticipation swirling in his chest.
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
For the first few weeks after Jimin caught a glimpse of the boy in the auditorium, he found himself searching for him everywhere. It wasn’t intentional at first, just pure and honest curiosity. He would glance into classrooms while walking to his own or scan the cafeteria more than necessary, hoping to spot those big, shy eyes again.
But time passed, and Bambi was nowhere to be found. Jimin reasoned that they probably didn’t share any classes, and even if they did, the academy was massive. Students in different programs would rarely cross paths. After a while, he stopped looking. What was the point?
Instead, Jimin threw himself into a well-structured routine. He practiced harder, held his chin higher, and pretended not to care when the older students whispered about him. Ballet was all that mattered; he told himself he didn’t need distractions.
Yet, the universe had a strange way of working.
It was a late afternoon, the academy’s hallways were quiet, revealing that the vast majority of the students were in their rooms. Jimin was heading back to the dorms after an exhausting session, his duffle bag slung over one shoulder. His feet ached, his muscles were tight, and all he wanted was to curl up in bed and not move until morning.
As he turned a corner, a sharp voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Again! Do it properly this time!”
Jimin froze, his head tilting toward the sound. It came from one of the practice rooms nearby, the words sharp and dripping with impatience. Curious as always, he crept closer, his small feet barely making a sound against the polished floor.
The door to the practice room was slightly ajar, and Jimin hesitated before peeking inside. What he saw made his heart clench. There, in the middle of the room, was Bambi.
The small boy’s slim frame trembled under the weight of the teacher’s harsh words. His arms were raised in position, but they wavered slightly, his fear visible in the tension of his shoulders.
“That’s not how you do a pirouette!” the teacher barked, pacing in a tight circle around the boy. “Are you even trying, or are you just wasting my time?”
Bambi flinched but didn’t look up. His head was bowed, his dark hair falling into his eyes, and his fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that Jimin thought his knuckles might turn white.
“Do you think you’re special? That you don’t have to put in the effort like everyone else just because of your daddy?”
Bambi shook his head quickly, his lips pressed into a thin line to keep himself from crying.
“Then prove it. Again!”
The boy stepped back into position with stiff and unsure movements, as though the weight of the teacher’s words were on his shoulders dragging him down. He tried the sequence again, a plié, a spin, a leap, but his footing faltered slightly, making him stumble on the landing.
Jimin winced as the teacher’s voice rose again, sharp enough to make the air feel colder.
“Pathetic!” he snapped, shaking his head. “If you can’t even manage this, you’ll never survive here Jeon.”
Jimin felt his stomach twist almost with pain, a strange mix of rage and helplessness bubbled inside him. He wanted to burst into the room, to tell that old man a few well-earned curses, to pull the boy away and tell him it was okay to make mistakes. But he couldn’t.
The teacher dismissed him with a wave, turning his back as if the boy wasn’t even worth looking at anymore. Bambi stood there for a moment, unmoving, before quietly gathering his things and walking towards the door.
Jimin stepped back quickly, his heart pounding as he pressed himself against the wall. He didn’t want to be seen, didn’t know what he would say if Bambi noticed him.
But when the boy walked past without looking up, his steps slow and heavy something ached within Jimin’s chest and against his own reasoning he walked fast to reach the boy before losing track of him again. His bag slapped lightly against his side with each hurried step, but he didn’t care. His heart pounded as he closed the distance.
“Hey,” he called softly, barely above a whisper.
The boy froze in his tracks, his slim frame stiffening before he turned slowly. His wide, doe-like eyes met Jimin’s, and for a moment, neither of them said anything.
Up close, the boy looked even more fragile than he had on stage or in the practice room. His cheeks were flushed, his hair slightly messy, and his eyes still glistened with unshed tears. Jimin hesitated, suddenly unsure of what to say now that he had the boy’s attention.
“I…” He swallowed, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “Are you okay?”
The boy blinked, his brows furrowing slightly as if the question confused him. He glanced down at his shoes, his lips pressing together tightly before he gave a small nod.
Jimin frowned, his chest tightening further. “No, you’re not.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice soft but firm. “That teacher was really mean to you.”
Bambi’s head shot up, his big eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, Jimin thought he might bolt, but instead, the boy just stood there, staring at him like he didn’t know what to do.
Jimin shifted his bag higher on his shoulder, his fingers fiddling nervously with the strap. “You… you don’t have to listen to them, you know,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re not pathetic. You’re just learning. Everyone messes up.”
The boy blinked again, his lips parting slightly, but he didn’t say anything.
“I mess up all the time,” Jimin continued, trying to make his voice sound casual even though his cheeks were beginning to burn. “Like… I fall out of turns, or my jumps look like I’m a baby bird trying to fly.” He gave a small, awkward laugh, hoping to make the boy smile.
It worked, if only a little. The corner of the boy’s lips twitched upward before falling back into a neutral line.
Jimin took a step closer, emboldened by the tiny response. “What’s your name?”
The boy hesitated, his fingers clenching the strap of his own bag tightly. For a moment, Jimin thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he spoke, his voice soft and almost too quiet to hear.
“Jeongguk.”
Jimin smiled, the ache in his chest easing slightly. “Jeongguk,” he repeated, testing the name on his tongue. “I’m Jimin.”
Jeongguk nodded, still looking at him cautiously, as if unsure whether Jimin was someone to be trusted.
“I saw you,” Jimin said quickly, before the boy could retreat again. “In the auditorium that day. You were really good.”
Jeongguk’s cheeks flushed, and he looked down at his shoes again. “No, I wasn’t,” he mumbled.
“Yes, you were,” Jimin insisted, his voice firm. “You looked…” He searched for the right word. “Like you belonged there.”
Jeongguk glanced up at him through his lashes, his expression softening slightly. For a moment, the two boys just stood there, the silence between them oddly comforting.
“Thanks,” Jeongguk murmured finally, his voice barely audible. Jimin nodded, his lips curving into a small smile.
“You’ll be okay,” he said, the words carrying more certainty than he felt. “We both will.”
Jeongguk didn’t say anything, but the tiny nod he gave in response was enough. Jimin stepped back, suddenly aware of how fast his heart was beating.
“I guess… I’ll see you around?”
Jeongguk hesitated, and then gave another small nod. With one last smile, Jimin turned and started walking back down the hallway, his steps slower now. Something about the encounter had left him feeling lighter.
It was after that specific encounter that Jimin started noticing Jeongguk everywhere, as if the boy had suddenly begun frequenting the same spaces or had stopped blending into the background. They would exchange smiles, but only when Jimin initiated, which he always did, as Jeongguk seemed far too shy to even hold his gaze. They would share fleeting moments time to time, like lunch or dinner, nothing too serious but still important for both of them who found in each other's presence a certain comfort that resembled the feeling of being back at home.