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Pairing: Jimin x Reader Genre: Ballet au, Romance, Angst Warnings: None Wordcount: 3758

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Everything had gone wrong tonight. Not one thing had gone to plan, but perhaps that was made the night one of the best of your life.

Your ankle turned out to have a very bad strain. Doctor Hill was almost gleeful to tell that you’d have to be off for at least three weeks, delightedly pointing at one of his posters:

‘Paralysis with your Pirouettes’

Three weeks seemed far too long, but Jimin assured you he’d lend you all the theory books he’d tortured himself with, so you wouldn’t miss out. Doctor Hill taped up your ankle and let you borrow a crutch for the night, and you hobbled into the dining hall with one hand around Jimin’s waist, the other clutching the ugly grey thing. At least your pointe shoe ribbons half concealed the tape.

There was a bit of a pause in conversation as the tow of you entered. All the patrons and audience turned, taking in your condition. You blushed a deep red as the hall turned silent, but then they began to clap.

Suddenly, Jimin and you were enveloped in a rush of compliments and questions, handshakes and pats on the back. People wanted to know how long you’d been dancing together for, where you’d trained before Amour and what had happened to Shinn Taeyeon?

Jimin answered the last with a firm ‘Taeyeon and I are no longer partners.’ It sent an exciting thrill in you, hearing those words, although you knew that they were dangerous. There was no question that Taeyeon was better than you, but then Jimin had chosen, and you had to trust him. As another person asked the same question, you decided that at least for tonight, you wouldn’t worry yourself stressing about whether he would really be able to put up with you.

Though it was still difficult not to be in awe of him. He knew so many of the people, and graciously introduced you to every single one. He was only seventeen, yet these ballet fans and directors and teachers and patrons talked to him with the high regard they would to a principal dancer.

Eventually Master Hwan made the call for everyone to take their seats for the award ceremony. Jimin and you excused yourselves from the portly-looking benefactor you’d been speaking with, and Jimin helped you over to where your class sat, still in their light blue ensembles.

He sat by you as they all clucked about, giving you a blow-by-blow account of all they’d seen. It was hard for him, you knew, trying to keep a teacher-student relationship with everyone else but the complete opposite with you. Yuna and Hyeun could hardly stop giggling, looking between Jimin and you like you were playing a game of tennis.

Despite the slight awkwardness of the situation, your class felt like a proper class again. Seohyun was perched on the lap of a beaming Kihyun, chatting away to Areum and Jongsoo. And Minjee actually seemed quite animated as she picked out all the flaws in Master Kang’s routine, which you supposed was a slight improvement on face-to-face insult.

It was bizarre, really, that all of you were so close after so many hostilities. You knew that it wouldn’t last – that soon you’d all be at each other’s throats again. But for the moment, everyones were a team who had beaten the worst of odds and had still come through shining.

Although, your class didn’t win.

Master Hwan announced with quite the most irksome smile at you that Madame Choi’s class was disqualified for having a dancer in their piece who was not registered in the class and, indeed, not even registered in the same year group. Jimin whispered an earnest ‘sorry’ to your class, but they all looked at him like he was mad.

Master Hwan asked Master Kang to come up and collect the trophy for the fifth year running.

You clapped politely with everyone else. Some looked slightly down-beat, but Minjee leaned over and, with a smirk. “Well, maybe we didn’t win, but Jesus, whose dance is going to be more memorable? We were badass.”

Though Jimin, probably wasn’t ever destined to forgive her, looked away stonily, you had to smile back. She was right, you were the history makers. And up on the stage Madame Choi clapped with a twinkle in her eye. You were glad. Even after your surprise entry, things hadn’t gone as planned. You certainly hadn’t gotten the win she’d been wanting, but it seemed she was happy.

Jimin’s class won the senior competition, despite his absence. You squeezed his hand as you watched them all jump up and hug each other. “I’m a real idiot.” He muttered.

“You know they’ve already forgiven you.” You said, smiling as Taehyung lifted Yoongi up in his arms. They were once again back to their rowdy selves.

Dawon and Jin’s pas de deux had apparently given Master Jinho and Madame Hyejin a run for their money. Yuna and Hyeun whispered to Jimin and you that they’d done a 'seriously hot’ tango kind of thing, and that they’d probably have beaten the teachers if Jinho and Hyejin had done a clean, classical piece. But, as it was, they seemed to have predicted what Jin and Dawon were going to do, and so they equalled the heat with a saucy pas de deux from Carmen, the story of the seductress.

You laughed as Master Jinho gave Madame Hyejin a chaste kiss, then held up their trophy in triumph with a wink to Jin and Dawon.

With the awards ceremony finished, you had figured you’d all be sent to bed to rest before a full day of classes tomorrow. But then music began playing and drinks and food were brought out. The champagne however was kept well away from the students, as people began mingling again. Jimin whispered you a promise of return and went to apologize to his friends.

Eungkwan came up and congratulated you, saying that it seemed you’d found his replacement. You bit your lip, smiling. You’d managed to foster a fondness for him over the past week, even though he was probably one of the most serious dancers you’d ever met. He was funny, in a quiet way., but he was right. Jimin was the one and only who could ever dance with you the way you truly wanted.

Jiwoo came hurrying up soon after, pulling a besotted Kwangsik along behind her. You amusedly noticed her rumpled hair and blushing cheeks before she threw her arms around you. “That was insane! I was so proud! Everyone in the crowd was gawping, seriously!”

You laughed, feeling so happy. You pulled back and looked at her bad arm. “I just wish you could’ve been on stage with us, Jiwoo. I missed you up there.”

She smiled with a hint of sadness. “We’ll find out soon, just promise me free tickets to all of you and Jimin’s performances when you’re both famous and I’ll be happy.”

“We’ll get you through it, Jiwoo.” Kwangsik said gently putting his arm around her. “You’ll be back dancing in no time.”

“With you, I hope?” She said, leaning back against his chest.

You hid your smile and slipped away before things got too hot.

The night wore on, and the kitchen staff certainly showed their skills, serving out platter after platter of treats. You guessed that tonight was the one exception to the strict diet they usually kept everyone on.

You didn’t see Taeyeon for the rest of the night, although rumours were circulating that she’d been seen in a corner in a deep discussion with the director of the US Ballet Academy. You wondered what to think of it.  Did it mean she was going into the school? Or straight into the US Ballet, despite her missing the audition. However you decided it would be better not to care. She could talk all she wanted with Chongsu Sungmin. You didn’t want to have anything to do with either of them.

Of course, if you were going to continue with ballet then you would eventually bump into them again.

And continuing with ballet? You could hardly think of doing anything else, because when you had first come to this academy, you had thought yourself just a schoolgirl with an affection for dance. An academic toying with the idea of ballet. But now you knew who you were, and what you were capable of.

Now you were a ballet dancer.

When the time was nearing Midnight, you were standing with Yuna, Hyeun, Jiwoo and Kwangsik and a few others, half listening to their conversation about what the big production might be this year. Seohyun had managed to swig a couple of glasses of champagne from somewhere, and her giggling was higher than ever as she suggested a ballet version of Hannah Montana.

A pair of strong arms suddenly wrapped around your shoulders. You smiled as his scent swirled around you. “You look like you need an escape.” He whispered in your ear.

“Is it that obvious?” You replied.

His chest moved against your back as he chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to rescue you, then.”

With a quick excuse to your friends, you slipped your hand into Jimin’s and together snuck through the crowd to the doors.

The entrance hall was cool in comparison to the dining hall, and you let out a long breath, turning to look at him. He gazed at you, a smile on his lips. “You are beautiful, (Name).”

You blushed, glancing down at your hands. “Stage makeup.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, it doesn’t detract too much.”

You couldn’t help but beam at him then, feeling happiness flow through you, calm and seemingly endless but  you knew it wasn’t. You knew that tomorrow would see Taeyeon’s revenge and Minjee’s return to bitchiness and Master Jinho’s various punishments and expectations.

“Things aren’t going to be easy.” Jimin murmured, seeming to concur with your thoughts without meaning to.

“I know.” You said.

Together you slowly began making your way to the stairs. Without a word, Jimin hoisted you up in his arms. You balanced your crutch in one hand and wrapped the other around his neck. Stars twinkled outside the great window as he carried you up the stairs. You looked at his chiselled features. If you were beautiful then he was godlike, and you were so, so lucky to have him.

I have him…

The thought started it. The music in your head, serene and light.

You reached the first floor, and you both stilled. The notes played strongly in your head. Jimin gently sat you down, still holding your weight as your foot touched the ground. You looked down the corridor, past the various doors where you’d taken your classes each day. The pull was so strong. You looked back at Jimin.

“(Name).” Jimin said. “You’re injured. it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

You raised your eyebrow, seeing the complete contradiction in his brown eyes. They were alight with emotion. And you knew that he could hear it too: the music.

A smile crept to his lips once more, and he stepped back, taking your hand in his own.

You walked down the corridor, the pain in your ankle faded by the feel of something much stronger. You knew Doctor Hill had commanded that you had to rest, but he didn’t understand. Dance had so much power over you, much more than an injury.

You entered the last door on the left, the door through which you had first glimpsed this man.

Moonlight poured through the windows, catching on the dust which lingered in the air. The empty floor was bathed in white. You relaxed, feeling the cool air surround you.

Jimin returned from the stereo. He took both your hands in his own and led you to the centre.

You looked at each other, breathing as one. And the music began all around the two of you.

Together you stepped back, lowering your hands, as the first notes played, delicate and soft. You lowered into a deep curtsy, he into a bow. A surrender. To one another. And then your fingertips touched again, and he slowly pulled you back up to him. You let yourself lean back, your spine curving over his hands. Your arms stretched above your head, fingers swirling the dust. You smiled, eyes shutting, languishing in this freedom.

You came back up, and turned so that he stood behind you. His lips brushed your bare neck as your leg reached out. You couldn’t help but sigh, letting your head lean back against his chest. He turned you in a slow pirouette, the notes gently coming down as your arms rose. He spun you faster as the music gained intensity, and faster again.

And then quickly it came into its first flourish, and you halted, your arms around his neck, one leg back in an arabesque. He spun you again, and then once more. Jimin and you grinned: both knowing what was coming next. With the final flourish, you pulled back, and he kissed your knuckles in farewell, his eyes meeting yours with a glint mischief.

The fast notes began, and you parted, you one way and he the other. You spun and twirled in wide circles the notes tumbled on delightfully, letting your happiness reign free! In his own circle, Jimin leapt high and free, his face one of pure bliss. It seemed like the second time tonight that you could not help but laugh with glee as you danced.

As the music darkened for a moment, you stayed at opposite sides, moving in place on your pointes, your arms in an oval above your head, and Jimin tiptoeing, his arms out wide, showing all his power.

The music broke out of its hush into its high notes again, and finally you were rushing to each other, spinning into a pirouette as your hands met. You toured the room, Jimin lifting you in high leaps and complex catches which seemed like the easiest thing in the World. Everything was natural, everything was meant to be, he twirled you in a tight set of step turns as the music twinkled up even higher. As they reached their breaking point, his hands quickly went to your waist, and he lifted you into the air, as if you were a bird he was setting free. You let out yet another exhilarated breath, feeling so joyous.

But then the music began to soften, turning delicate again. Your breathing slowed. Gently, Jimin turned you so that you faced him. You put your hands on his shoulders. Slowly, ever so slowly, he brought you down his body, first your legs and then your stomach gliding down his chest until your toes touched the ground once more. You looked at him, realizing that here you had something as precious as the melody described. How? How was you worthy of this?

You turned yourself away from him as the notes gently dropped. Eyes closed. Was this really possible? This connection? Really?

But Jimin stepped closer behind you. His hand gently slid down your wrist, his fingers linking with yours. He knew your thoughts, he knew your worry - the other hand did the same. As a new chord played, he wrapped his arms, joined with yours across your chest, holding you against him. You felt his warmth, his trust, his love.

You turned to face him, unshed tears suddenly warm in your eyes and a smile curved on your lips. He gazed at you with all the emotion in the world before the music flowed into its final tumble of notes, quick and yet deeper than the previous times. Joy running as deep as the heart.

Together, Jimin and you danced those final few bars, letting your very essences entwine.

And as the last chord played, you held each other, your leg up in an arabesque, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. And as the final note faded, your lips met, sealing whatever fate awaited Jimin and you.

Clair de Lune…

A/N I Just want say it’s been such a honour to write and share this story with you guys! I want to thank you for staying with me all the way, and thank you for alle the sweet encouraging support! It truly means a lot! As promised I’ll be writing a sequel and everything is already planned out and ready, however as you may know I have some very important exams, which means I won’t post or be much online for the next couple of weeks. I’m also planning a Jungkook au, which I’m very excited for, so stay tuned. 

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Pairing: Jimin x Reader Genre: Ballet au, Romance, Angst Warnings: None            

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Genre: Ballet au, Romance, Angst Warnings: None Wordcount: 4042

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The rain thrashed down on the both of you. Your mind, it seemed, didn’t want to think about what you were doing. All you knew was that your heart was hammering, and that if you stayed out here much longer you’d get frostbite. You hurried through the downpour to the car door, which he pushed open. It was then that you hesitated, looking over the top of the car at the waving trees. Was this a smart thing to do? Get in Park Jimin’s car for the whole forty minute journey back to Amour? However you could already feel the warm air blasting from the heaters. Thunder growled overhead and you quickly made a decision.

You slid into the black leather seat, shutting the door with a very audible clunk. The rain was muffled. The two of you were alone together. This had been a bad idea. Why hadn’t he just ignored you as usual? He cleared his throat and began pulling out of the bus stop. Was he realizing it as well? Was he thinking he should have just driven on?

You glanced at him. His hands were a little tight on the steering wheel, eyes concentrated on the road. He was dressed in jeans and a black turtleneck sweater.

“Thank you.” You said quietly.

“It’s no inconvenience.” His voice was smooth, but his eyes stayed the same, focusing only at the road ahead.

You resigned yourself to a long, silent car journey back. You shivered and folded your arms close to your chest, trying to conserve some of the heat your wet clothes were stealing from you. Your teeth chattered, and you ground them together, trying to focus on the shops the two of you were shooting past.

Jimin seemed to have his walls up. If you put your up too then maybe you could get through this.

You shivered again, gritting your teeth harder.

He was honorable, he wouldn’t leave you standing out in the rain, but that was all. It was just like in the dining hall. He didn’t want anything to do with you. What he did, he did because he had no choice.

You tried to make your breathing quieter, but it shook with cold as you tried to breathe in.

Jimin stopped at a set of traffic lights. You heard a seatbelt unclip. He was pulling off his sweater, revealing a fitted black t-shirt underneath. He held the sweater out to you.

You stared at it. “I’m fine.”

He raised his eyebrows, finally looking at you. “You’re frozen, (Name).”

You tentatively took the sweater. It was already warm. You gulped hard and peeled off Dawon’s sodden jacket. Your skin was goosebumped all over. Quickly, you pulled his sweater on and Jimin’s scent surrounded you.

“Thank you.” You said, not able to resist huddling into it. Your hands hid within the long sleeves, revelling in the warmth.

Jimin glanced at you. His eyes flashed in surprise, and he quickly looked away again. “You should take better care of yourself.” He murmured, speeding up as you the traffic lights turned green.

Holding on to what little defiance you seemed to have left, you replied. “I do.”

He glanced at you. A concerned, and sceptical, look. “If I hadn’t picked you up then you would’ve stood out there in the freezing cold until the bus came?”

“Of course.” You said indignantly. “I don’t have a hundred thousand Won for a Porsche at my disposal.”

“And if I hadn’t found out about Minjee, you would’ve kept silent about it?”

“I had it under control.”

“And you would have kept dancing with a concussion if I hadn’t worked it out?”

“I – ”

“And if I hadn’t seen the pain on your face, you would have kept dancing with – ”

You suddenly snapped. “I would’ve kept thinking that pas de deux was the worst, not the most beautiful part of ballet!” You locked you lips together. Shit. You were a stupid, stupid girl.

Jimin was quiet, emotions playing on his face which you couldn’t understand. Pain, irritation, weariness, but they all faded quickly, and his face turned smooth and passive. He’d shut himself off again. Only his eyes gave away that he was thinking something. But they did not tell you what.

All there was to be heard was the gentle hum of the heaters and the muffled rain on the windscreen. It was unbearable. There was so much you wanted to talk about, but Jimin wanted silence.

Silence was easier.

A ringtone began playing and Jimin pulled the newest iPhone out of his pocket. “Hello?” His voice was smooth, as if he wasn’t sitting in the most tensioned car in the world. “Yeah, where? Right, see you in ten, bye.” He slid the phone back in his pocket and kept driving. “Taeyeon’s stuck in Jung-gu.” He said, staring uninterestedly at the road. “We’re going to have to pick her up.”

“Right.”

You stared out the window. Taeyeon. Any chance of talking to Jimin was now entirely crushed, although you should’ve known that they were crushed long before you even got in the car.

Soon you were entering Jung-gu and Jimin pulled up outside a cafe. It was much flashier than the one you’d been in. The Dance Emporium was across the road. It’s warm lighting and flaking paint was looking very appealing right now.

Inside the car, he’d taken his phone out again, and was glaring at the screen. “Taeyeon’s decided she wants me to have coffee with her.” He sighed and looked at you tiredly,

“You can come if you want.” Then he got out, slamming the door.

The car now was truly silent. Oh for the love of God. You took your seatbelt off and opened the door. The rain was falling heavily. You couldn’t stay in here, you had to try and repair the damage you’d just done.

You got out, hurrying under the awning of the cafe and into the cafe. Jimin stood at the counter. You stood beside him, careful not to brush him. He didn’t look exactly happy.

“Caramel macchiato, please.” You said to the waitress. You grabbed your wallet out of your pocket, but Jimin was already handing her a shiny silver credit card. “I can pay myself.” You muttered to him as the waitress pressed some buttons on the till.

“My treat.”

Treat. Yeah right…

“Jiminnie!” Taeyeon’s call came from a table by the window. She was dressed in jeans, high heeled boots and a gold tight-fitting top, with sleeves which wound down to her knuckles. Her hair was done up in a bun, as usual. She seemed like the height of elegance, but then you saw who sat opposite her.

Shinn Taeil.

The name everyone knew.

She had straight, silvery blonde hair which was plaited into a high, regal bun. She wore a silver off-the-shoulder top which hung from her arms with just a few delicate threads at her elbows and wrists. But it wasn’t her clothes. It was her posture. It was like she was born to play Aurora and she knew it. She presided over the entire coffee shop, her shoulders pushed back, her chin high, and her thin, impossibly long legs crossed over.

Taeyeon had finally noticed you and she gave a death glare. “What the hell is she doing here?” She demanded as Jimin and you reached them.

“Taeyeon.” Chastised Shinn Taeil. She stood up, gracefully rising, and offered you a slender, delicate hand. “Forgive my sister. I’m Shinn Taeil.”

“(Surname) (Name).” You said, shaking it.

“Hmm, yes I’ve heard about you.” She gave you a glossy smile at bemusement, then turned to Jimin.

“Ah, Jimin!” Though she was tall, she only came up to his chin. She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him on each cheek. “It’s been too long!”

Jimin gave her a slight smile, then sat down next to Taeyeon, leaving you to sit next to the future principal dancer of the US Ballet. In your current state, you didn’t count yourself to make the best impression.

“I thought your car broke down?” Jimin asked Taeyeon.

She shrugged, giving him a smile which didn’t quite equate to her sister’s. “Taeil gave me a lift here, but she’s got a flight from Incheon and so I needed a lift back.” Jimin didn’t look happy, and so Taeyeon changed her battle plan. “Anyway! Taeil’s got some very exciting news for us. I thought you’d want to hear it from her, Chim.”

Taeil gave a high, tinkling laugh. “It is rather exciting, I must admit. Do you remember Alexei Lebedev?”

“The soloist?”

She nodded. “He had to move back to Russia on short notice.” She giggled, holding manicured fingers to her lips. “Something about getting his old girlfriend pregnant. Anyway, the US Ballet needs two danseurs in the Nutcracker, and I might just have suggested to Frank that he should choose you two. He wants to audition you.”

“When?” Asked Jimin. His voice was cool, but you saw the slight excitement. He exchanged a glance with Taeyeon, who smiled dazzlingly at him.

“Tomorrow.” Taeil answered. “In Los Angeles.”

He frowned. “That’s a ten hour flight.”

If Taeyeon’s smile was dazzling, Taeil’s was like a solar flare. “Don’t worry, I’ve booked you guys a flight 3.30 p.m from Incheon today. You’ll get to L.A. 9.30 a.m. That gives you time to freshen up and maybe rehearse once or twice before you see him at 3.00 pm next day.”

A waiter delivered you your coffees, but your mind was spinning too fast to register.

Oh no, that could only mean one thing.

“We’ll miss the review.” He said it more like an observation than a problem.

Taeil shrugged. “I remember Amour reviews. The two I went to before I got into the USB. They’re not that great.”

“Yeah.” Taeyeon nodded. “There’s some pretty crap dancing in there.” Her eyes suddenly flicked to you. Mocking, teasing. Something nudged at the side of your thoughts.

“We’re up against Jinho and Hyejin, Taeyeon.” Jimin spoke up, stirring his coffee. “You’ve been going on about it for months.”

Taeyeon rolled her eyes. “I haven’t, besides, we know that everyone wants to see Jin and Dawon do it. It would have way more comic value.”

Taeil gave a high, tinkling laugh. “Father versus son would be more interesting.”

You looked at Jimin, trying to hide your expression behind your coffee cup. He still looked uncertain, maybe there was hope. “Isn’t there another day we could do this on?”

Taeil shook her head. “It was the only time Frank had available, besides, Jimin, school life is so slow in comparison to a real dance company. We don’t have time to gradually ease you guys in. If you get it – and you will – you’ll be into rehearsals straight away. We go on tour in two weeks. We can’t afford to waste any time.”

“Don’t they have anyone in the Corps who could move up?”

Taeyeon patted his arm. “Jimin, you know that you’re better than any of them.”

He shook his head. “That’s not the question, Taeyeon; why isn’t Frank Rebrevae putting up someone from the Corps? Someone who’s already in the company.”

She tried to appeal again. “Jimin – ”

“This is the one hundredth anniversary of the Nutcracker.” Taeil butted in. “People want to see stars like the Shinn sisters and Park Jimin. They don’t want to see some unpolished corps members so damned excited about their promotion that they wet their tights before going on.”

Jimin looked away distastefully at her words. “I suppose I get your point. I don’t like it, though.”

Taeyeon grabbed his hand. “Jimin this is a chance to get in early. If we do this, we’ll skip the open auditions and we’ll skip the years of being in the corps. We’ll go straight to soloists!” She grabbed his other hand as well, looking earnestly at him. “Do you seriously want to be in the corps? To do exactly what everyone else does? To be restricted, there’s no room to add your own flair in a corps. You won’t be able to dance like you do here.”

Taeil nodded along. “True fact, Jimin. I’ve been through it. It’s no fun.”

For a moment, you stepped out of the conversation. You looked at the bigger picture. You saw two girls coaxing Jimin into doing something, using all his weaknesses. Gently turning him in the direction they wanted him to go in, but why? Why were they so desperate? Maybe it was just for Taeyeon, but you sensed it was something else.

“And what about the review?” Jimin was back to his – and yours – key concern, though for different reasons. “We’re in two of the dances, Taeyeon; maybe we can let Dawon and Jin use one of their old pas de deuxs, but we can’t just leave our class. We’ll screw up all the choreography.”

You were distracted for second, almost snorting into your coffee.

“They’ll live, Jimin.” Taeil spoke up. “It’s a school review – it’s not like they’re auditioning for one of the world’s top ballet companies, is it?”

He raised his eyebrow. “This just shows me as an unreliable jerk, Taeil. Not a reputation I want to have.” He took another sip of his coffee.

Taeyeon glanced anxiously at Taeil, who replied with a meaningful widening of the eyes.

Taeyeon stood up. “Sorry, gotta go to the ladies. I’ll be back in a sec.”

As soon as she left, Taeil sighed and reached into the silver Gucci handbag at her feet. She brought out a thick envelope and slid it across the table to him. “That’s the plane tickets, the location details and the letter from Frank.” She leaned in lowering her tone. It was as if you didn’t exist.

“Jimin, please, do this for my sister. You’ve been with her since she came to Amour. This has been your goal and hers since you found each other. I know she’s not as.” She looked down at her hands. “As capable as me and Tiffany, but she’s still good, and you know it. Take this chance – you don’t know if it’ll come again for a very long time. I get that you’re all for equal opportunity, but this is something you deserve. God knows you guys work your asses off.” She shook her head. “Just do this – for my sister and for yourself.”

Jimin stared at her, narrowing his eyes slightly. Maybe he saw that something wasn’t quite right. That they were too desperate, but then he slowly nodded. “Fine, Taeil, but it won’t be for you. It will be for Taeyeon’s prospects alone. I know you only care about your family’s reputation – don’t spring that sisterly love crap on me.”

She gave him a curt nod in return and they both leaned back.

Taeyeon returned shortly afterward.

“Jimin’s agreed.” Taeil told her, giving a smile which reminded you too much of the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland.

“We better get going.” Jimin suddenly said, while standing up. “It was good to see you, Taeil.”

Taeil smiled again. “You too.” Taeyeon got her bag and we began to head for the door. “Oh, and Jimin!“The two of you turned back around. "Don’t worry about the review.” She glanced at you for a split second. “You won’t be missing anything.”

Jimin returned it with a raised eyebrow, and pushed the door open.

What was she up to?

It was as you walked out into the rain that your memory was violently yanked back to two nights ago. The studio. Rehearsing with Madame Choi. Taeyeon. Taeyeon’s face at the door, coming in. Madame Choi telling her. Telling her about your solo…

That little…

Jimin was helping her into the front seat. You quickly got into the back, strapping on your seatbelt. So that was why the artistic director, Frank Rebrevae, could only do it tomorrow. That was why Taeil was posing it as a ‘once in a lifetime opportunity’.

Taeyeon didn’t want Jimin to see you dance.

It was as if, she knew. Or at least, she thought, like you, that Jimin had some connection to you. It was as if Jimin saw you, he might leave her.

‘Jimin broke all his rules when he danced with you. You can imagine how Taeyeon might’ve been a little concerned.’

Dawon’s words. Well apparently Taeyeon was concerned and she was going to drag Jimin away.

“Do you think we should wear the same costumes?” She was saying right now in the front. “I was thinking something less glitzy, seeing as it’s not a performance.”

Oh no, they couldn’t do this…It wasn’t fair…

Perhaps because Taeyeon seemed to believe it as well, your resolve about Jimin was stronger than ever. That he had felt that connection, and your dance which you’d worked so hard on could really show him, but that didn’t help if he wasn’t going to be there.

You had to tell him, but if you told him then he would guess how you felt and if you were wrong about how he felt. Then you would be the world’s biggest idiot. You’d be a laughing stock and realistically, you probably were wrong, but if you didn’t tell him then you had no chance…

Your mind kept going round in circles the entire drive back. Taeyeon chattered easily in the front. Jimin said only a little, he just nodded from time to time, though not necessarily when Taeyeon had actually asked him something. His thoughts were elsewhere. You looked at his expression in the rear-view mirror. It was dark. Brooding. Dangerous.

When you finally drove through the gates – they opened automatically for him – You were on tenterhooks. Your thoughts had gotten you some where. You had to tell him. Tell him that the review was important to Dawon and the others. That they’d be disappointed. Oh, but it was so damned obvious, he would see right through it.

“Just drop us here, Chim.” Taeyeon said as you pulled up at the front door. “I don’t want to get my clothes wet.”

“Sure.” He murmured, putting it into idle.

Taeyeon got out, hurriedly grabbing her handbag and slamming the door.

You didn’t budge.

“Don’t you want to get out?” Jimin muttered, staring straight ahead.

“No.” You told him. “I need a walk.” Oh, you were going to make an idiot out of youself.

Jimin drove back down the driveway, but then took a concealed right just before the gates. It was a small cobbled road which led through the trees to the car park. Jiwoo had pointed it out to you on our tour.

“Thanks for the coffee.” You said as Jimin manoeuvred into a spot.

“You’re welcome.” He switched off the engine.

You quickly got out, hugging your bag to your chest, as if it would protect you.

By the time you’d shut the door, you realized Jimin was already walking away, back down the drive.

“Jimin!” You called out. Your nerves made you giddy. You ran to catch up with him, though he kept walking, his hands in his pockets. You got on level with him, two of your strides matching his.

“What, (Name)?” He said harshly, not looking at you.

You stopped midstep. The words that were meant to come out – the ones about his friends, about the review – didn’t. Instead, you found other words pouring from your mouth. “Why can’t you talk to my nicely for once? Why have we never had a decent conversation? Why can’t we talk to each other without storming out? Why don’t you ever look at me and Eungkwan in class? And in the dining hall?”

You hardly noticed you were shouting. “What the hell have I done to repulse you so much? Was I that bad a dancer? Why can’t you just talk to me? Without chastising me or telling me I’m inexperienced? I’m your freaking age! You have no right to treat me like I know nothing! I’ve seen just as much of life as you! It’s not all freaking pirouettes and auditions! Even if I can’t dance like you, I’m still just as intelligent! Why can’t we just.” You suddenly felt very tired. Sick of all of it. “Just talk.”

Jimin stared at you calmly. Too calmly, he just watched you as your breathing levelled out, and your balled fists loosened a little. He looked at you and you knew it was over. “This is about what you said earlier, isn’t it? About me dancing with you in class the other week?”

Your heart turned to stone. You nodded, feeling more of a child than ever before.

He took a deep breath, clasping his hands behind him. “I can see why it’s upset you like this. I know you know I don’t demonstrate, and I can see why that would give you reason for thinking something out of the ordinary, but it wasn’t. I knew you had lost any confidence in pas de deux after what Kihyun did. I’m your teacher, (Name), it’s my job to make sure you have confidence and skill in partnering. I was only repairing the damage that Kihyun had done. I had to show you what it could be like, and, judging by your words earlier, it worked. A little too well.”

The wind swirled your hair around your face. Every pain you had felt in your  life was nothing compared to what you felt now. Nothing. Because now every single thought that you had had since that dance had to be remade. Because Jimin hadn’t felt anything. Because now you saw clearly; he was just your teacher. Everything he had done – reprimanding Minjee, helping you trust Kihyun, even now, rescuing you from the rain – it had all been because he was your teacher.

“Why did you stop coming to classes?” You asked him quietly.

His face was blank. “Several reasons. One I already told you the other day when you had your concussion – I danced with you as I would have with Taeyeon, simply because you seemed as mature and I was used to partnering like that. It reminded me why I didn’t demonstrate – I’ve never been quick to lower standards, and dancing with people with little experience is frustrating, but at the same time, I know that teachers have to demonstrate in some way. Mistress Hyejin was always picking on some unlucky boy to demonstrate with her.” He said with a slight smile. “I’m not cut out for teaching, (Name) – not really.” You swallowed, trying keep in control of your raging, despairing, weeping emotions.

He continued. “Then there was also all those people who suggested. Other things about the two of us.” Your mind flashed back to the next morning, when those girls had asked you if Jimin and you were an item. “I’m in the eye of a lot of dance companies at the moment, (Name) – the US Ballet’s not my only option. It’s not that great to have rumours flying around about this sort of thing. I figured that staying away was the best course of action.”

You looked away, down at the stones and wet leaves. “But it wasn’t.” You whispered.

“No, it wasn’t, and I will always regret what happened to Jiwoo and to you, (Name).” You ignored his words, the pain in was just too much. A few minutes ago, they would have given you an outrageous thrill. They didn’t now.

“It was stupid of me to stay away, but I didn’t like what had happened.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “It doesn’t matter, (Name) You just need to know, before I go away to Los Angeles tomorrow, that the dance meant nothing.”

He began walking again.

You didn’t follow.

You stood in the wind and the rain, all your strings broken.

You didn’t need some stupid solo. You didn’t need him to be here tomorrow. It didn’t matter…

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Genre: Ballet au, Romance, Angst Warnings: None Wordcount: 3782

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Minjee yanked her pointe shoe off with everyone watching. Her face was bright red, and at breaking point. Almost the whole class was laughing. Even Eungkwan had a covert smile on his face. You nearly felt sympathetic. Because of Jimin and Taehyung, Minjee had had a pretty hard class. But not really, she totally deserved it. Besides you couldn’t be a saint. She hadn’t cared when it had been you.

She spun around to face you, her eyes venomous. “You’re gonna pay for going and crying to the seniors.” She spat. Her eyes roved around your class, who tried to stifle their giggles. “Shut up!” She snapped, and stormed out the door, her gum-covered pointe shoe swinging dangerously from the ribbons. Seohyun hurried after her.

“Those men are legends.” Yuna said, shaking her head in disbelief. She glanced at you. “Were you in on that?” She sounded curious, not accusing.

“Nope, though it seems like the sort of thing Taehyung might do.”

“Oh my god, (Name)!” Hyeun squealed. “You’re so lucky being on first name basis with them!” She grabbed your hands and jumped up and down excitedly. “And they did all this for you!”

Yuna and you exchanged glances. “Minjee’s pissed.” She said with a grin as the two of you sat down. “Though it might not have been the best idea to ruffle her feathers just before the review.”

“Aw, come on Yuna!” Hyeun exclaimed. “Jimin’s already ruffled her to oblivion. God, he was terrifying.”

Yuna nodded. “He had a very good point though, for all of us.”

Hyeun sobered, her eyes turning regretful as she picked at the knot of her pointe shoe.

You glanced at your phone. “I better get going.” You said, pulling the drawstrings of your shoe bag and standing up. “I have to get to that ballet store before it shuts.”

“Wrystone?” Yuna asked. “What fo - oh, right shoes.”

You nodded, not quite able to keep your irritation off your face.

“Wait a sec.” Hyeun mumbled as she began rummaging around in her dance bag. Eventually she pulled out around 25000 Won and held it out to you.

You frowned. “Hyeun I can’t…”

She shook her head. “Jimin was right. We had no authority to do that to you. And now you have to get a whole new pair of pointe shoes which you shouldn’t have to pay for. 25000 Won won’t pay for all of it, but I’ll try getting some of the others to chip in” Hyeun gave you a shy smile. “We’ll pay you back.”

You hesitantly took the money. “Thank you, Hyeun.” You said sincerely. Maybe Hyeun could be mislead, or made  judgements without thinking them through, but what person hadn’t gone through a stage like that?

She grinned, once again her normal self.

“See you later!”

~~~~~~

The bus stop was about a hundred yards down the road from Amour you found out from Mrs Cope, the receptionist who you’d discovered behind a massive stack of fabric receipts and post-it notes. She’d handed you a bus timetable and a map, before writing that you were ‘out of house’ on a little whiteboard.

You looked at the bus timetable as you headed up the stairs. The buses were infrequent. As far as you knew, Amour was in a pretty secluded area, and most students probably didn’t bother going in that often. If you wanted to see Jiwoo as well as get your pointe shoes, you’d have to catch the bus that left in ten minutes and miss lunch.

The dorm room was empty by the time you got there. You were glad, another confrontation with Minjee was not on your agenda. You opened up your trunk, the stench of horrible wet, stained clothes hit you. Those idiots…

Holding your breath you dove an arm in searching for your wallet. After a while you finally found it, typically it was at the bottom.

The sticky stuff dripped from the wallet. It looked like porridge. Quickly you shut the trunk with your elbow and hurried to the bathrooms. You ran your wallet and arm under the tap, feeling nauseated. Jimin’s words had put them so clearly in the wrong that you found yourself even more repulsed than this morning. How could they have done this when they didn’t even know whether you’d ‘ruined the review’ or not? Why hadn’t anyone thought about what they were doing?

You took a deep breath. Maybe Jimin had changed that.

You turned off the tap, only just realizing that running water on your credit card and banknotes might not have been the greatest idea.

Then you changed into the clothes Dawon had given you. Black tights, a short blue and black tartan skirt and a long sleeved dark blue v-neck. She’d even managed to find you a pair of knee high boots and dark blue leg warmers. You smiled. Leg warmers seemed to be essential to Dawon. Last of all, she’d included a black jacket. Quickly you pulled off your hairnet and hair ties, slipped your wallet into your pocket and rushed out, knowing you had wasted way too much time.

By the time you got out the double doors and down the steps, it was raining. You sat of in a sprint seeing as the bus was beginning to take off.

“Hey!” You yelled, waving your arms frantically. The bus suddenly swerved onto the side, just a few metres from the bus stop. You hurried up to it, breathing hard as the doors hissed open.The bus driver looked at you grumpily as you fumbled around for money.

You finally handed him some coins. He raised a displeased eyebrow. What? Oh no, there was a glob of oatmeal stuck to one of the coins. “Sorry.” You said, and replaced it with another, the bus driver grunted, and you quickly moved in. The few other people on the bus gave you irritated looks.

You shuffled into one of the back seats, staring out the window at the lashing rain. A tiny smile came to your lips. It felt so normal. Aside from the dressy clothes and oatmeal, you were used to running after the bus. Before you’d gotten your Honda a few months ago, you’d spent many mornings running after the school bus, then guiltily walking back into the house and asking your mom or dad for a lift, or, if you did manage to stop it, clambering on to the amused looks of other students. It was funny to think that only a few months ago, ballet had just been a cherished hobby.

The jolting stop of the bus pulled you out of your thoughts.

You quickly got out, carefully avoiding the flooded gutter. You hurried under the awning of a shop, avoiding the pouring rain, and walked along. Wrystone, it seemed, was nothing more than a few shops and a tiny park, maybe two blocks on either side of houses, it was kind of cute. The ballet shop Dawon had told you about was pretty easy to spot. It had a hanging sign, like the ones outside old English taverns, with a painting of ballet shoes, and the words:

Sung & Sons

Dance Emporium

You went in, a bell tinkling with the door. The shop was warm and well lit. Surprisingly, there were a few people milling around, even though Wrystone seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Maybe people made long journeys to get here, it would certainly be worth it. It was like Dawon’s room, just more orderly and much, much bigger. Practise tutus hung from the ceiling, and clothing racks full of black leotards were scattered about, along with great barrels of packeted tights. A mother was trying to pull two little girls away from the mannequin of a sparkling fairy tutu.

But there weren’t just ballet things. On short shelves were rows and rows of tap shoes and tango shoes and jazz shoes and dance sneakers. Glittering ballroom costumes and unitards filled more clothing racks. On another shelf was a collection of dance class CD’s, music sheets and books.

There was another stand with hooks, on which hung every colour of bandeaus and crocheted hairnets and bobby pins known to man. At the very back of the shop was the biggest collection of pointe shoes you’d ever seen. The entire back wall was concealed by floor to ceiling shelves, each one stacked high with pointe shoes.

“Freed of London?” Came a voice from behind. You spun around.

A man with greying red hair and a goatee beaming down at you. He had old, circular glasses, and he wore a grey and red pinstriped waistcoat over his shirt. A badge pinned to it said:

Mister Sung, owner

You frowned, confused for a second, then realised what he meant. “Oh, yes.” You said nodding. “I use, Freed pointe shoes.”

“Mmm.” He nodded, pensive. “I thought as much. I can always tell, you see. You have the calves for it, you and I am guessing your feet are not as wide as some. You’re from Force de la Beauté?”

You smiled, narrowing your eyes. “How did you know?”

“Ah!” He clapped his hands together. “Your eyes, my dear, your eyes!” He chuckled at your bemusement. “You look terribly tired, you know. I am supposing you’re in need of something specific?”

You nodded. “Pointe shoes, actually.”

“Splendid!” He clapped his hands again and began leading you through the store. You marvelled at a beautiful collection of tiaras sitting in a glass case you passed. “Now, I’m sure your past the studio brand, yes?”

“Yes.” You said. You’d only been en pointe for three years, and you knew very little about the different brands of shoes. However you did know that Freed of London had studio shoes, for beginner pointe dancers, and then another range for the more experience dancers.

“Classic Pro.” You told him.

“Aha.” He said. “A nice design, you know. Not for the fainthearted, mind. They don’t have a beginner’s support.” You reached the back shelves. A two metre barre was secured to the ground right by it, and a bench. Mister Sung climbed up one of the shelf ladders with surprising agility. You sat down on the bench and began taking your leg warmers and boots off. “I’m curious Miss?”

“(Surname)” You supplied.

“Miss (Surname), as to why you need another pair of pointe shoes so soon. You see, we have been delivering three pairs of pointe shoes for every Amourian danseuse each month since Jinho signed a contract with us all those years ago. You must be a very fierce dancer to warrant a fourth pair in such a short amount of time?”

“I arrived late.” You told him as he shifted through the many packets of pointe shoes. “My old pointes were a few months old.”

“They died, then?” He spoke as if they were relatives, not just shoes.

“Yes.” You said. If he liked pointe shoes that much, then getting into what actually happened didn’t seem like a good idea.

“Ah, the time we cobblers take to make them.” He grumbled fondly. “Only to have you stamp them out in a single performance. Now, what are your measurements?”

You told him the measurements you had memorized after your first fitting. He eventually came down with a pair, and you slipped them on. Without any ribbons, they were loose, but using the barre you were able to follow Mister Sung’s instructions. “Every pair is slightly different, Miss (Surname).” He said, kneeling down to check the shank length. “And so every shoe must be tested. All these silly people buying pointes on the internet. Now please climb up to pointe.”

One foot at a time, you stood up on your platforms. You gritted your teeth against the added pressure. Until the toe box had moulded to your own toes, it was going to hurt more than usual. The fact that you weren’t wearing gel pads probably made it worse. “A nice arc there, Miss (Surname).” He said approvingly while gently squeezing the toe box.

The image of Taehyung twisting Minjee’s foot this way and that came into your head, and you tried not to giggle. How Minjee possibly thought that Taehyung had any knowledge of pointe shoes you did not know.

“Well, these seem to fit you perfectly well, Miss (Surname).” Mister Sung stood back up, and you went back down to flat. “I take it you’ll be needing ribbons and such?”

“Yes please.” You said, putting your boots back on.

He grabbed the necessary packets and took them to the counter. As he put your new shoes back in their plastic and tallied up the total, you looked at the beautiful jewellery boxes next to the till. Each one had a different ballerina on it. One was wearing a deep blue tutu, her arms in an oval above her head, her leg out behind in an attitude. You ran a gentle fingertip down her figure. That would be you tomorrow.

“Beautiful little pieces, aren’t they?” Mister Sung asked.

You nodded, still staring at the tiny dancer. Tomorrow. You gulped and snapped out of it, reaching into your wallet for your credit card. You handed it to him.

“Thank you.” You said as he gave you the plasticbag.

“It was good to meet you, Miss (Surname)” He gave a little bow.

You smiled and bowed back. “And you too.”

You left the warm store, and began walking again, digging the map out of your pocket. Miss Cope had circled the next bus stop you’d have to go to, to get to the hospital.

You got there with ten minutes to spare, and ducked into a nearby cafe to get a takeaway chocolate. You didn’t trust yourself to do nothing. You couldn’t have a nervous breakdown in the middle of the street.

Having waited for your chocolate you got out just in time for the bus, and managed to pay without any oatmeal. The hot creamy chocolate, managed to calm you the rest of the way.

The hospital, Seoul Hospital, was a fancy modern building, ten storeys high. You hopped out of the bus, with excitement. You were finally going to see Jiwoo! You hurried through the automatic doors and away from the rain.

Immediately you were enveloped in the white cleanliness and quietness. Doctors and nurses walked about purposefully, walking past patients as if they didn’t exist. If any of the few people in the main reception spoke, it was in hushed tones.

The receptionist registered you and told you where to go. The orthopaedics ward was on the fourth floor. You took the elevator up. It was a great relief from Amour’s endless stairs.

The fourth floor was almost identical to the bottom, and you quickly navigated your way through a maze of shiny white corridors. Jiwoo’s was the second to last on the right. You knocked gently, though your excitement was mounting.

“Yeah?”

You pushed open the door. “Oh my God, (Name)!” Jiwoo sat propped up with pillows on a bed in the centre of the small, generic hospital room. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, and there were bags under her eyes, but she grinned widely.

You quickly shut the door behind you, trying not to squeal. “How are you?” You asked as she pulled you into a one sided hug. You pulled back quickly, not wanting to hurt her. Her left arm was in a cuff and collar, but she was still smiling.

“I’ll do. How are you?” She grabbed your hand. “You have to tell me everything that’s happened since I left!”

“But you’re the patient.” You began, but she shook her head.

“My days have consisted of painkillers, get well cards and hospital food. Not that intersting. Tell me how the review preparations are going! What are the costumes like? How’s your solo? Have you spied on Master Kang’s class yet? Get me up to date!”

You laughed. “Fine, fine…”

And so you began. You described the costumes to her, right down to the smallest detail, and how you’d been absolutely terrible dancing in your tutu, and how Master Kang’s class was apparently doing a pas de deux in the middle of their piece. You told her how Madame Choi had asked Mister Ghim to alter the ending to make the music more dramatic.

That was all you could say without telling her about everything that had happened with Minjee. You didn’t want to worry her. You could see how tired she was. She couldn’t sit right up for long, and sometimes the slightest wrong movement made her gasp. However she knew something was up when you fucked up and accidentally told her about Mister Sung, the extremely enthusiastic pointe shoe seller.

“Wait! You’re planning to break in a new pair of pointe shoes by tomorrow?” She scrunched her face. “Why?”

You sighed, tracing the seam of your tights. “Minjee and I had a bit of a fall out.”

She grinned. “Because you were best buds before.”

“Totally…well, you know how me and Eungkwan were doing the lift as well?” She nodded. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but I bashed my head, and so I got a concussion.” You paused, looking at her.

She gave you a pained look. “I asked if you were okay. You should have told me, I’ve been wondering about that.”

You shrugged. “You were looking much words. I didn’t feel it at the time anyway.” She gave you a disapproving look, but nodded for you to go on.

And so you told her everything, from the awful tech class the next day to Jimin taking you to Doctor Hill. She laughed when you told her about the posters, but you’d been vague about Jimin and your’s argument. You just said that Jimin had been patronizing, and that you’d gone and messed around with the choreography to prove him wrong. She scowled when you told her about Minjee and everyone turning against you. You told her all your frustrations, your sadness this morning, and your trunk.

Jiwoo, who always saw the best in people, had scowled. “Minjee and her little group should be thrown out onto the street.”

You also told her what Jimin had said, though you couldn’t say it quite so elegantly, and then what Taehyung had done.

She laughed until the jiggling of her shoulder got too much. “I should send them a thank you card.”

The two of you sat in silence for a minute or two, Jiwoo digesting all that you’d told her.

“How’s Kwangsik?” She asked.

“Guilty.”

She shook her head sadly. “Doesn’t he know it wasn’t his fault?”

“I tried to tell him.” You said. “He danced with Yuna today, when Jimin put Dongwon with Jongsoo, and I think Jimin talked to him.” You sighed. “He doesn’t think you’ll forgive him and we haven’t been told much about your condition.”

Jiwoo looked down unhappily. “The surgery went fine. I mean, it was scary beforehand, but they’ve managed to get it all back in the right place, it’s just (Name).” She looked at you, her eyes filled with tears. “They’re saying it might never join back together correctly.” She swallowed. “I can’t dance with a messed up shoulder, (Name). I might not be able to dance again.”

“Oh Jiwoo.” You put your arms carefully around her.

Not being able to dance. Never dance again…

She cried into your shoulder. You couldn’t think of any words of comfort, only that it wasn’t for certain, and you knew that wouldn’t help.

The two of you stayed like that for a long time.

“Jimin was here earlier.” She said eventually, wiping her cheek with the back of her good hand.

You pulled back. “Really?”

She nodded. “I didn’t tell him, about the – ” She took a breath. “The possibilities, but he got injured as well when he was in first year. He injured his leg, and had to take three months off.”

“And yet he’s still at the top.” You murmured.

“I know, right? He said that he was really depressed at the beginning, but he said that he realized that just because he couldn’t do ballet didn’t mean he couldn’t still learn it.” Jiwoo seemed to perk up a little.

“He said that I should watch as much ballet as possible, see how the professionals do it and he said that he used to torture himself through hours of theory and choreography. Jimin said it gave him time to think about why he did ballet. ” She gave a small smile. “I know it’s not…smart to – to get my hopes up…but I want to do those things. I should make the most of all this, you know?”

“I understand.” You said.

There was an attentive knock on the door, and a nurse came in. “Visiting times are over, Hun.” She gave you a polite smile, and shut the door again.

“Right, I’ll tell you all about the review as soon as I can.”

She smiled. “Could you tell Kwangsik I said 'hi’? And for him not to worry.”

You pulled your boots back on. “Of course.”

You gave Jiwoo one last hug. “And don’t you worry about anything, 'kay?”

She grinned. “Just so long as you have Taehyung and Jimin to ward off Minjee…(Name)?”

You turned at the door.

“Thanks.” She said.

You smiled and left.

Your mind was full of thoughts as you went back down the way you came. Poor Jiwoo. You could only imagine the idea of never being able to dance. It was horrifying. But Jiwoo was strong and young. That might give her more of a chance?

You went out into the freezing cold. The rain lashed at you, seeping right through your jacket. You pulled the collar up around your neck, running along the pavement to the bus sign.

Arriving at the bus stop you looked at the timetable, trying to read past the rain. Twenty minutes. Great. You pulled your jacket even tighter, trying to shelter as much of your face as possible. Through your thin tights, your legs were absolute frozen.

You were glad Jimin had given Jiwoo had something to think about. Even if she couldn’t dance, there were so many positions in ballet companies and schools…

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Genre: Ballet au, Romance, Angst Warnings: None Wordcount: 4692

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Eight o'clock. Eight o'clock and you were still laying in bed. The sun was getting weaker as winter crept in. A faint light was shining through splits in your curtains, cutting across your cheek and arm. An arm which was looking less toned day by day.

You frowned at it, then pushed your covers back. Your stomach was still flat, your legs still slender. To most, you would have looked like a ballet dancer. But to you, you felt like a fat cow. Your neck felt stiff, posture seemed to be lazy and bent, and you would be lucky if your legs could make it halfway into the splits. You kicked back your comforter a little further. And there was the problem - Your ankle.

It had been three weeks since Shinn Taeyeon, Amour de la Beauté’s ex-prima ballerina, had shoved you from your pointe just as you’d been about to go on stage, and your ankle was still weak. It kept turning over just when you were walking down a street or stepping out of a car. You looked like a klutz. Ballet dancers were not meant to look like klutzes.

Taeyeon doesn’t look like a klutz.

You bit your lip, pushing away the thought, and slowly got up. But Taeyeon was a total bitch, no reason to worry. Jimin had chosen you. Though, he hadn’t at first. He was your Pas de Deux teacher and a senior, but somehow he’d ended up dancing with you in class, and you’d had some sort of a connection. Dancing with him was like nothing you’d ever experienced.

But that connection wasn’t practical, and Jimin had chosen to ignore it. It was only when he’d gotten to Los Angeles for an audition for the American Ballet that he realized he would rather be with you. And so he’d come back, just for you.

And a very pissed off Taeyeon had come too, hell bent on revenge. And that was when she’d pushed you. And that was why you were here, back in Gwangju with your parents, letting your bones forget their strength and mind forget its discipline.

A/n: I decided to take a break from Shimmering Skies and Twinkling Lights. I’ve had this idea for a little bit, especially after reading @frejafc“s Jimin’s series Pas de Deux I recommend it. I tried not to copy it as much as I can. I only wanted the idea of ballerino! Jimin. Here is a bit of a disclaimer actually, I am not a ballerina or a shoe maker, so some stuff may not be the most accurate.

Part 1~

Etre Royale Academy was a ballet school that combined the four arts of French, Russian, Italian, and English ballet. Many hopefuls enter the tough auditions, and only the toughest can make it through. Even if you make it through, the uphill battle of bettering yourself, and making it into a company still exists. 

Park Jimin came from a long line of performers. The Park family always excelled in the art of ballet, every Park ballerina or ballerino always made a lasting impression in the ballet world. Of course, the young Jimin is definitely living up to his family name. He is Etre’s most prized ballerino, the boys wished for his strength and grace, while the girls wanted to be the Odette to his Siegfried.

But behind every dancer a maker supports that dancer. Your family, the (l/n) family is family of fine craftsmen/women. Everyone in your family have made thousands or pointe shoes and ballet slippers for the special ballerinas and ballerinos who fit the unique shoe each (l/n) member makes. Ever since you were little you’ve been surrounded by ballet. The shoes, the shows, the dancers. You were one of the youngest workers entering the force, the moment you sat down, and made your first pair of custom made shoes. Even though you were young, you still had years of experience of shoe making under your belt. 

You remember the first time when the ballerina who owned the first pair of pointe you ever made came to “meet her maker”. She was a young and beautiful, fit, with excellent posture even when she walked. She went from person to person asking to find her maker, not even noticing you, for you were just only twelve years old. You looked and saw that the ballerina was with one of the older makers, and he pointed a thimble covered finger at you in your work station. She walked over to you with the bottoms of her pointe shoes facing up. You saw your symbol imprinted in the soft leather of the shoe. It was a lone dandelion seed, very unusual for a maker, most would use letters or simplified symbols, yours was actually more complex than others. Usual marks were the outlines of the objects, yours was solid and filled in. When you designed your mark, you took great care and quality into making the dye that will be pushed into the leather. 

“Are you the dandelion maker?” She asked in a quiet voice. You looked up from the new pair of shoes you were making for her and nodded. You wanted to be just like her, graceful, beautiful, with neat hair, and pink shoes. 

Over the next couple of years you got more dancers ordering more shoes from you. Your young and precise vision always made sure the size the shoe was always dead on correct, and you never changed a thing in how you made your shoes. From a young age you knew that what makes a maker the great maker is that they do not change anything about the shoe they are ordered to make unless the dancer says so. If you were off my a little bit the dancer can automatically feel it the moment he or she steps into them. You kept profiles on each type of shoe you have to make, and every time there is a little change you take the paper of notes, throw it out and start over. 

You were standing outside of Entre academy, with other makers. A briefcase in of your hands. It was the beginning of the new year and it was when all the makers would sit in a big circle and have dancers that needed find the perfect maker or find a new maker try on shoes. Dancers could also go up to their maker and have them do a quick fix or do small modifications to their shoe.

You were now seventeen, it’s your fifth year at Delladova Ballet. This new year was also going to be interesting. The wave maker just retired, and he was the maker that supplied three Park dancers their shoes: Jimin, his mother, and his father. Jimin would have to find a new maker now. Your family has worked with the Parks before. Your grandparents made Jimin’s grandparents’ shoes. Your mother use to make Park Jueun’s, Jimin’s mother, shoes in her early career. Your mother stopped making shoes so she could raise you and your siblings. Your father also made the finest satin slippers for almost every Park ballerino except for Jimin and his father. 

 You set up your little station in the circle by the shoe room, taking out your sewing kit, different kinds of shoes, fabrics, measuring kits. You strategically sit by the shoe room so you can go inside it quickly if you need to find another pair of shoes you made.

You recognized one of the ballerinas who orders from you. Her name is Seo Yeona, she was eighteen, and she was getting ready to audition for companies. She came up to you with a pristine set of pointe shoes you made. “(Y/n) can you darn these pair for me? I have an audition for the royal ballet, and I want these shoes to be perfect, and you darn them just perfectly for me. I know I can dance my best if you darn them.“ 

You smiled at Yeona and took her shoes “Of course. I will make sure it will be my best, just like the rest.” You said, opening up your sewing kit, you took out your thimble and darning needle. You pulled a good amount of wool out from the bunch you had and cut it off with the rest. You looped the wool through the needle, tied the the wool on to the needle, and started the darning process. You made the first darn stitch, and continued to chain stitch all the way around the platform of the shoe, pulling tightly each time. You consecutively made the same chain stitch making them look almost perfectly the same. Once you reached the end of the platform back at your darn stitch, you the excess wool off and ties the loose ends. You repeated the thing to her second shoe. Both shoes took you less than ten minutes to darn, and the stitches were consistent and not sloppy. Yeona looked happily at her new darned shoes and hugged them to her chest. 

“Thank you so much, I don’t know what to say.” You smiled and looked her in the eye. “You don’t have to say anything, just dance your best in these, and then once you get into the royal ballet, send my a ticket so I can watch one your shows.” You laughed, and with that Yeona was gone. 

 Next was a second year boy. His name was Im Taejoon, he was sixteen. He said he was having difficulties finding a maker. You offered him the stool you were sit on, so he can sit down it and you can quickly measure his foot. You found that his size was really close to another boy, who ordered from you. You pulled out a shoe that was his and slipped it onto Taejoon’s foot, you examined how the shoe conformed to the foot and shook your head. You thought a double sole shoe with tighter elastic would be better. So you pulled out a double sole shoe, snipped off the elastic, and measured new elastic the fit Taejoon’s ankle and over the bridge of his foot. You cut off that piece of elastic, and sewed it onto the shoe with a smaller needle and black thread. 

 "Now, give me a quick pirouette.“ You said, after he put on the new shoes. The boy obeyed and you closely observed the boys feet. Something was off, and you tapped your pencil against your lip to figure it out. 

“How did it feel?” You asked him. “I think it felt fine actually.” He replied. “Go on your toes.” You said, and Taejoon did just that. And you finally saw it. “I got it!” You exclaimed. 

“Hold still do not move.” You pinched together some parts of the canvas together, shrinking the fabric to conform to the boy’s foot some more, and you sewed the shoe shrinking the amount of fabric. “Pirouette one more time.” The boy performed the elegant move perfectly. When he landed he had a wide smile on his face. 

 "These felt amazing. I can tell these are the perfect fit. I want you be my maker.“ You smiled and took the shoe off of the boy, measured it quickly and wrote down his measurements, and what he preferred. 

 "If you need anything, just tell me or put in a order, I am happy to deliver for you. I am the dandelion maker, and at the bottom of every shoe I make you will see the imprint of a single dandelion seed pressed into the sole. That’s how you know I made. When it appears in your pigeon hole that means it is especially made for you.” The boy nodded listening to all of instructions, then ran off with his new shoes to dance with. Every dancer gets excited when they try on the perfect shoe from the perfect maker.

 Out of nowhere, your best friend Son Chaerin tackle hugged you. “I missed you (y/n).” Shrieked as she squeezed the the life out of you. “You saw me the day before yesterday…” You choked out, gasping for air.

 "But that’s a day too long (y/n)ah.“ Chaerin whined leaning onto your back. "Can you let go?” You asked. “I kind of can’t breathe.” Chaerin instantly let you go, making you fall to the ground.

 "Oops sorry (y/n)ah, I forgot you need to breathe sometimes.“ Regaining your composure, you looked and her and asked, 

"What do you need this time.” “Oh yeah, I need to change my shoes again. These don’t work for me anymore. My feet got stronger again.” You rolled your eyes at Chaerin. If this was any other dancer you wouldn’t do this to them, but you have know Chaerin since you were three. Your grandmother made Chaerin’s mother’s shoes, and your mother made Chaerin’s first pointe shoes. They custom made and your mother made sure to make them with the prettiest pink satin that was in the workshop that day. Now you make Chaerin’s shoes, like others she hopes to get into a company and works hard every day. When you work with Chaerin you feel like you can be a bit more relaxed, and more yourself. You noted the new changes in Chaerin’s shoes. 

“I’ll send a new pair over, and we’ll keep tweaking it until we get it right, then I’ll re-do your shoe profile.” You said, handing her back her shoes. “Got it!” She said cheerfully. “Hey (y/n) why don’t we got for barbecue or pizza later?” Chaerin asked. 

 "Aren’t you on a diet?“ You mentioned. Chaerin rolled her eyes. "Does it even matter anymore? Everyone has the same diet, so that means I am the same with everyone else. I’ll be fine.” Chaerin shrugged, she was actually the perfect size for a ballerina, slim, and muscular but not too muscular.

 "Besides if we go out, I’ll just run it off. Especially if I run with you.“ She snickered. "Hey! It’s not my fault I run fast besides, you’re the better athlete. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up with.” You said. Even though you and Charin bicker like an old married couple you still loved her. You always went to her performances and cheered her on. She was there for you when you needed it, and you were there for her when she was in slumps. 

 "Anyways, I gotta go and head off to practice.“ She said. "Oh wait did you hear that Park Jimin is looking for a new maker?! That could be you (y/n)!” Chaerin squealed. “He’s so hot, I wish I could be his partner. Oh what would I give to just have one pas de deux dance with him, it doesn’t have to be a performance, just a dance and I’ll be satisfied.” She swooned. 

 "Yah, don’t you think you’re cheating on Hoseok a little bit?“ Hoseok and Chaerin weren’t actually dating. They’ve been partners for the last seven years and they complimented each other well. They were so energetic, they could pull off the most tiring choreographies , and Hoseok was strong enough to life Chaerin. They were just two dorks together though. They would call each other "wifey” or “hubby” just for shits and giggles. Chaerin lifted a finger to her lips.

“Don’t tell Hoseok, he doesn’t need to know.” And Chaerin ran off finally to get to practice. You sat on your stool and took measures of different students feet, some didn’t like your shoes, and that’s okay. A maker is not supposed to make everyone’s shoes. Every dancer has a different foot, and a certain maker, can make that specific shoe.  

You waved off another first year girl who tried on her first pointe shoes with you. She was a young girl of fourteen, Choi Hanbyul. “Look forward to working with you as your maker, if you need me I will be at factory, and on Friday’s I help mister Chanu in the shoe room.” The girl nodded and left. The next person who came after the girl, was the last person you ever expected to see….Park Jimin. He was the usual apparel of boy dancer. Black tights that was a stream line fit to his muscular legs, and a white t-shirt, tucked into the tights, creating an overall clean look.

“So you’re the dandelion maker…”  You just nodded. The boy tilted his head a bit, most makers were older, they had to study the art of shoe making for a long time in school, and then be a apprentice. You did all that too, from the moment when you were born to when you were twelve, you watched your mom and dad make shoes, and other relatives make shoes. 

“Aen’t you too young to be a shoe maker?” You slightly frowned at the question, you were always shot that question whenever people first meet you. 

“Well I must be at some degrees okay, I’ve been coming here and helping dancers fit into their dream shoes for five years now. Inn’t that longer than your years here?” You knew Jimin entered this school as fourteen years old, and he is now your age. Jimin’s faced darkened, and he leaned down into a squat to meet your face. 

“For an artist in this mature and respective field you sure do have a fresh mouth.” He said harshly. If anything, you really wanted to deck him in his perfect face, but you cannot do that, or the other ballerinas will jump you for that. Also the school would be livid if their main dancer had a humongous bruise on his face, and not to mention what your parents would say. You kept your temptation at bay, while you continued to talk to dancer. 

“So did you want to try on the shoes I make?” You asked. “Or do you want to keep wasting my time?” You mentally cursed yourself the moment your last sentence left your mouth, why couldn’t just keep your mouth shut. You never did this any other dancer, but other dancers didn’t give you a hard time like this. 

“Maybe you’re just too immature for this work.” Jimin said. You decided to not fight back anymore, and pulled out your measuring tape to measure his feet. overall his sole was two hundred and sixty-five millimeters, and continued to measure other parts of his foot. You took a shoe that was the same measure as his sole, cut the elastic off, and measured it over the the bridge of his foot, and crossed it over into the nice, classical ‘X’ the crossed over each dancer’s foot in a slipper. You cut the elastic off, and sewed it to the slipper, and had Jimin try it on. He walked a couple of steps in them, did a pirouette and a tour en l’air. 

“What do you think?” You asked the moment he landed. 

“They’re pretty good, might take a little getting use to though. I guess Master Daejung was right. Your shoes are pretty close to wave maker’s. Which maker are you?” He asked looking at you. 

“I’m the dandelion maker. You know the shoe is mine, if there is a lone dandelion seed on the shoe.” Jimin nodded. 

“I’ll have my measurements sent to you.” You gave him a disapproving look when he mentioned that he was going to send his previous measurements for you. 

“Why would you do that? If I am your new maker I rather take your measurements myself. I trust the wave maker was excellent in making your shoes, but I never trust anyone’s measurements unless I take it.” You explained. If a dance were to have a new maker, the new maker always creates a new profile for a dancer, to ensure nothing goes wrong and everything stays consistent. 

Jimin sighed, the breath from his sigh lifted his bangs up from his skin a bit. “Fine when do you want me to come in?”

“Tomorrow at Delladova after lunch. I’ll be there, and I will take your measurements, and take notes on specific designs you need and want.” You said.