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pas de deux

/ˌpɑː də ˈdəː/

noun

a dance for two people, especially as part of a ballet.

"One, two. Let those muscles tighten," the professor's voice bounced off the walls. "Jiwoo, I really hoped you would learn to do your plié better," he tsked, disgust visible on his harsh features. "We're not in starting classes anymore, this is third year ballet if I remember right."

Jiwoo knew better than to try to explain her situation and instead turned her hips out more, the muscles in her glutes burning just as hot as her calves. Minkus' Don Quixote blared through the studio, almost deafening, as sweat rolled down her forehead.

"Minseo, lower," he looked at her in the mirror, giving her a really harsh look from the side. He began softly nudging her legs, turning her pointe outward and pushing her lower into position. The uncomfortable look was clear on her face, her hand holding onto the barre shaking with the strain.

When he moved forward, his eyes settled on your figure, just for a second and went on to Ikhyun's, and then a sort of appreciative noise left his lips, threatening a smile to break out on your face. He just continued walking behind the line of students in front of the mirror, adjusting everyone with small yet harsh moves. Ikhyun's gaze found yours in the mirror, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Okay, stop." Professor Lee dismissed his hands, coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose in feigned disappointment. The class sighed collectively, dropping from their toes, "disastrous." Okay, maybe not feigned… "I want everyone's pliés looking like those two's by next class, or I swear to god I am failing all of you." His words made some people give you and your partner envious stares, in their breathless misery.

"y/n, and Ikhyun, stay. Everyone else, leave." His arms crossed against his chest, and his nose flared with the breath he took. "So, La Bayedére." His eyebrows shot up in an impressed manner as the classmates scurried out of the room while they could.

"Yes, sir." Your voice betrayed the confidence in your choice.

"You couldn't have picked a piece that requires more control and trust," his lips curled into a snarl, gaze picking you and your best friend to pieces. "Why?" he questioned, looking genuinely intrigued, "for Varna especially, Swan Lake or Don Quixote would've gone even better."

Because Varna called for something new, something unfamiliar to you. It was the biggest challenge for pair dancers. You recall dancing mindlessly at the mere age of six, dreaming of the competition while your seniors trained for it - you even remember the tone in your voice when you asked Ikhyun if he believed you could succeed. Imagine flying to Bulgaria, returning with a gleaming gold medal in hand and a smile wider than you ever imagined.

"We like a good challenge, sir," Ikhyun smiled up at him, his back straight, ready to answer all of his concerns - and voice just as confident as it was when you first asked him. "and as you said, Varna actually requires stepping out of the comfort zone." The Professor only hummed in response, his hand rubbing his chin.

"Okay, show me what you've got," he motioned to the now empty classroom, backing up to his phone to put the music on.

"Gladly, sir."

Both of you were on mark by the time the music started, the violins slicing through the air sharply. You knew the set by heart. Effortless with the movements, turns, lifts and supports. Back as straight as it can get. Moving elegantly from one side of the floor to the other. You didn't need to look at him to stay in sync anymore.

Usually, during performances with Ikhyun - even in the classroom for only one professor - your mind cleared of all worries. Only focusing on his steps and moves as if it were muscle memory rather than a dance. As if it were something rehearsed, not felt.

When the music suddenly stopped after what felt like only seconds, your lungs burned. Sweat gathered everywhere - forehead, ribs, palms. Your feet were nearly numb in the pointe shoes as you held your ending pose. After a few moments, both of you released the pose simultaneously without any cue, because after all this time, that's simply how it happened.

Professor Lee gave one firm nod - which translated to a storm of applause from a real and not-so-harsh audience. "Lift your legs higher, y/n, let the music guide you, not the habit," he told you with a puzzled look on his face, "The same goes for you too, Ikhyun, but with enough practice it will settle, hopefully." You both nodded at his critiques, still breathless from the dance. "What about the competition this Friday?"

"I wanted to tell you one of the reasons we're not doing Don Quixote is because we're doing it this weekend," Ikhyun explains easily, between ragged breaths.

"Easier, not as flashy; and definitely for smaller competitions," you finished for him, trying to stretch your forefoot with the pointes impeding your movement. Mr Lee nodded along to your words, looking deep in thought.

"Take this win home, this is child's play for a pair like you." his voice turned softer than the authoritative loud tone it usually held in class. "Who will be there? No-names, maybe Minho and Mina are the only pair as a respectable rival there," he scoffed, dismissively rolling his eyes. "You will do it." his voice held no argument, practically demanding your return with the golden trophy in hand.

"Of course, Sir," you replied at the same time, bowing in front of him, taking those last words as a dismissal from class, finally. Your bag's strap cut into your aching shoulder, trying to kick off your pointes as fast as possible.

"You want me to give you a ride home?" Ikhyun's voice came from behind you as you stepped through the door he held open.

"Obviously," you giggled at him, shooting him a playful glance, which he rolled his eyes at. This banter was an everyday thing for you since you both learned to talk, way before all this ballet lunacy started.

But when it started, you did it with him in tow - parents pushing you financially to the best masters and educators. The ultimate goal was to get into the ballet university of your choice, an ambition that had seemed entirely childish at the time.

When the letter of acceptance came to both you and Ikhyun, you told the boy to pinch you at least fifteen times in a row, making the soft skin of your forearms sting with every squeeze. All those late nights spent in the practice room, sweat, tears and blood put into your moves and reps - as if it was more than just a passion. It was worth it in the end, but the real work only started in the first year of university.

They pushed you harder, stronger, until failure every day. Attendance was mandatory for first-year students at every competition, even if they weren't selected to perform their variation.

And soon it started to show: the ballet community began talking about your pair, quickly making it one of the most-liked young pas de deux dancers in the country. Ikhyun's shredded figure next to your own, in such contrast, brings out each other's best features: his height and your fluid grace. Everything had an eternal essence to it. That's what people loved most about the two of you.

And that's why, when the music ended, the applause came louder than it had for any dancer at today's competition. It echoed off the walls, swelling around you, forcing your smile wider despite the strain in your chest.

You needed to hold the pose, even though the headpiece rubbed your scalp raw. Even though you wanted nothing but to get off stage, holding the pose at the end sometimes got appreciated more than the whole performance. Even though you felt the last few notes of Don Quixote try to rip your head apart.

These seconds felt longer than the dance itself, but everything must come to an end, right? You bowed to the audience in unsaid synchronisation with Ikhyun, hearing the claps even from the side of the stage.

Some guys from your school clapped Ikhyun's shoulders as soon as he was in reach, not helping the ache in every limb of his - or yours, for that matter. But right now, the adrenaline was still in you, feeding the fire of your ambition, blurring everything that came after the performance.

"You were lovely as always out there, darling." Ikhyun's mother came up to you with your parents behind them. Both of them held flowers in their hands, which was a habit rather than a congratulation at this point. Her soft hand caressed your cheeks, eyes shining in a way they only did after seeing you and her son connect on a different level.

But her supposed son was still all laughs and jokes with the guys - Mingi, Yunho, and some others you didn't recognise. Just other dancers in your year that never lived up to Ikhyun's skill - or at least to you.

They were here tonight to compete in solo categories, dressed in way too tight clothes that have always been the norm for ballet dancing - but on Mingi, the black unitard with silver details seemed to look… good. You wonder if he has already danced his variation - or if you could still wish them good luck.

But your eyes returned to Ikhyun, who was still school girlishly giggling around, not even registering that you had left his side to talk to your families, who seemed to blend after all this time seamlessly.

You called out his name rather sharply, pulling one eyebrow up questioningly.

"Oh, I gotta go, think about that party tonight, Mingi," his smile was wide still as he fist bumped everyone in his little circle. "Hey, Mom," as soon as he was in the vicinity, he planted a loud, sloppy kiss on her cheek. She laughed, swatting him away to wipe her face, but the affection was practically a ceremony by now. He greeted your parents, too, with that usual boyish charm he always wore proudly.

His arms wrapped around your shoulder, "Don't be so stiff, y/nnie, you're coming tonight also," his tone held no argument, but oh, this guy was nothing to one up.

The thought of anything other than a hot shower and your bed made your skin crawl right now, and you doubted it would change any time soon. And there wasn't even a win yet to celebrate. "You know damn well I won't," you chuckled, turning back to face your families. As soon as you were about to speak, the booming voice of the announcer called up the last pair to the stage.

"Hwang Hyunjin and Kazuha Nakamura from Seoul Arts University performing Swan Lake."

Your head snapped to the pair walking onto the stage. A small smile grazed your lips at their grace-filled steps, already giving themselves to the performance.

"I didn't know Hwang was here," Ikhyun said, his tone making it sound more like an accusation than a question, making your eyes roll. Did this guy even use his brain? - better one, did he even have one?

"Name one competition in Seoul- in the country we haven't seen them at," you deadpanned. Your eyes found their way back to their performance, magnetised to Kazuha's frame, "I still envy the elegance with which she moves." A weary sigh escaped your lips.

Ikhyun only chuckled, "You move better, and I outdance Hwang in every possible criteria." his chest puffed with pride, "They are no match."

And suddenly the adrenaline started to wear off, kicking back the strains and sorespots at full force. Giving place to the anxiety to claw its way into you, until the announcements came.

Pointe shoes were discarded everywhere backstage. Sweat mixed with some left behind bouquets that made everything smell like a flower field in the worst way possible. But hearing your name being called for the gold medal made all of this endurable.

When you were packing in your still ecstatic mood, Ikhyun came begging, almost even going as low as getting on his knees to get you to the after-party. But the call of your bed was way stronger than anything he could have promised.

By the time you got home, your mind was muddled. Long forgotten about that shower collapsing headfirst into the bed, still smelling like sweat and hairspray - unusual, but not unheard of.

You woke up early the next day, not by your own will but rather the non-stop buzzing of your phone. Endless messages flood your home screen.

Dahyun
have you seen?

Jiwoo
y/n wake up
this is bad.
link attached

Your stomach dropped even before you opened the article. Skipping every other notification and opening what they all had in common.

Prestigious ballet university student involved in street fight

No.

No, no, no.

Soo Ikhyun, a student at the School of Korean Ballet - and widely regarded as one of the nation's most promising young dancers - has been involved in a disagreement that appeared to escalate into a physical altercation with a student from a rival school, An Kangmin.

Footage from nearby street cameras shows the presence of multiple students from both institutions. The cause of the conflict remains unclear, though further statements are expected once An Kangmin is discharged from urgent care.

With potential legal consequences pending, the university has yet to release an official statement regarding disciplinary action. However, sources suggest that expulsion is being considered, as students have previously been dismissed for significantly lesser offences.

This incident places a shadow over Ikhyun's rising career. The dancer has been preparing for the upcoming Varna International Ballet Competition in Bulgaria, where he was expected to compete as a leading contender in the pas de deux category alongside his long-time partner, y/n l/n.

Tears blurred your vision by the time you finished the article. Your knuckles turned white with how hard you were holding the phone with your grip, and your breath came in short bursts. This isn't real. How will you compete now? How will- wait, will they expel him? Will they let him stay because he is the Soo Ikhyun?

This isn't a matter money can hush; this will be the talk of the ballet community for at least the season - if not the next five. What was he thinking? Going out all mighty, getting drunk beyond recognition, just to hit someone …for what reason exactly?

Your fingers worked with haste, opening the chat with your best friend, who, as of right now, felt like someone you didn't know.

Ikhyun <3 - 12:07 am
i wish you would've came tn
its so empty w/o uuuuuuu

Ikhyun <3 - 01:54 am
fuck this is baasd
thatfucker kangmin is here

Ikhyun <3 - 03:21 am
pick up please
i am so sorry
please wake up
fuck
i messed up
please don't be mad

Don't be mad?

Don't be mad?

You
what the fuck have you done

Your calls go unanswered. Ikhyun and whatever he might be doing better be important. The tears just pour down your face, shaking your whole body with the force. The door opens, figures come in, but it's way too blurry to even think about who it might be. There must be a way to salvage this, there must.

What has he done.

On the other side of town, Ikhyun is taking in the damage from yesterday. The dean and Professor Lee are sitting in the room - or rather, the latter is pacing back and forth along the walls of the room.

"Such careless actions!" the professor murmurs under his breath, the hand he holds in front of his mouth somewhat muffling his words. "What were you thinking?" His voice doesn't carry the strictness that has bounced off the studio's walls every day; students have never seen this side of him.

"Mr Lee, I advise you to sit down," The dean's voice is more collected, her well-manicured hands tapping against the wooden surface of her table. How can one be so calm in a situation like this? "You're only making matters worse."

"Worse?" his steps falter, facing Ms Payer, his eyes turn eerily dark as his next words boom off the walls, "He won't be able to compete at Varna- or more like any competition!" his hands gesture animatedly, anger overtaking all of his earlier rationality, "He will be locked out of ballet circles because of this! It doesn't matter what we decide; it has already been decided by the others!"

"I understand, Mister Lee, and that is why you should calm down; the outcome is out of our hands." He huffs at her words. Hands crossing over his chest, while shaking his head, "And most importantly, I am sorry, Ikhyun," she says to the boy, whose eyes were just snapping from one figure to the other until she finally addressed him. Sorry about what exactly? "You threw away your career the exact time you threw the punch, but I am sure you know that by now."

Oh, wouldn't she like to know. His chest has been convulsing as if it wants to give up on him any minute since he registered what exactly happened. But he couldn't just let the guy degrade you freely when you weren't there to protect your pride. He nods at her, head falling between his sagged shoulders.

"You were the only competition we had against the Russians." Mr Lee's voice broke the sudden mourning silence that settled over the room. Ikhyun's hands balled into fists next to him, nails breaking the delicate skin of his palm. Because that's all he was, an asset - a chance for the school.

When he was dismissed from the room, his eyes immediately took in your shaking frame, barely held up by your parents. Your first reaction was to grab onto his jacket, maybe shake some sense into him, but you just collapsed into his arms. Now crying on each other's shoulders.

Your eyes sting from being unable to cry, and you must ask him: Why did he do it? Why would he do it? Was there no other way to resolve this? What will you do without him now? You never danced with anyone else before - only during practices he missed due to sickness, and never for more than a few hours.

But you can't form the words, can't force them out, no matter how much you want to. You sit there in the suffocating mourning silence in the comfort of your bed and his arms. He is the one to break the silence first after all.

"We went over a few things with Miss Payer and Mister Lee." his words die down into an unsteady breath that shakes your head on his chest. "It's not official yet, but I will be expelled."

The words crumble every last hope you had, starting the dry tears to come back again. He released a weary sigh, letting the silence take over.

Until he couldn't.

"There are a lot of good dancers in the school-"

"No." You support yourself up from the bed, grabbing his shoulders for purchase. Eyes wide in disbelief as the tears still fell.

"I don't want you to not reach your dreams because of me."

"Are they really my dreams if you're not in them?" The words hit him like a shot. He is shaking his head as he closes his eyes, unable to look into your broken gaze anymore. And your cries come back at full force, until his comforting words lull you to sleep.

Your chemistry was a weird one. Everyone thought there must be some romantic aspect to it, but there never was. You loved each other as siblings would. You grew up together, glued together by ballet. But what would happen to the bond if ballet weren't there anymore?

—

plié

/ˈpliːeɪ/

noun

a movement in which a dancer bends the knees and straightens them again, usually with the feet turned right out and heels firmly on the ground.

—

Getting to university is way harder on Monday than it should have been.

Ikhyun wasn't there in the morning to pick you up. He didn't force you to listen to his horrible music, and he didn't tell you at least fifty dad jokes before arriving at the parking lot.

Dahyun and Jiwoo joined your side the minute you stepped into the building, trying to shield you from the pitying glances every student threw you, with more or less success. It wasn't their fault; men twice their size wouldn't have been enough to block them all.

Your blood boiled more with each. Nails digging into your palms, drawing blood. No breathing exercise could have helped, no topic Jiwoo or Dahyun could have brought up, because there wasn't any that didn't concern you or him.

And even the professors joined in the public pity. Making you stay behind after class to ask you if you need help with anything, as if Ikhyun died, not just left.

The cafeteria was the worst part. As if everyone judging each other's plates wasn't enough, you craved the little comforting touches the others gave you with their mock-up sad smiles. The most mind-blowing part was the way some first-years let you go in front of them in the line. You couldn't even help the little "what the fuck" that escaped your lips, and the scowl that came with it.

There were always whispers everywhere you walked, but now they were louder, crueller, and not as slick as they were before. Almost as if the absence of Ikhyun made them bolder.

You were taking your tray back when you bumped into someone.

Poor girl's face drained from blood, white as a ghost, as she murmured repeated apologies while she scurried away, head pulled between her shoulders. Jiwoo and Dahyun chuckled when you looked at them with a questioning glance.

Okay, maybe I lied when I said the cafeteria was the worst - it definitely was the studio.

Chatter fully died down when you stepped inside. You felt every eye on you, but they all looked away the moment you stared back.

These were the same mirrors you looked at for three years now, the same studio, same everything. But all of it was so wrong. How can one feel so out of place, especially somewhere they spend their everydays? Tying your pointe shoes was an unfamiliar experience, as if you were looking through their eyes, only seeing the empty pot next to you.

When Mr Lee came in, that was usually the time he told you to practice the set for any upcoming competition, but even his voice faltered at the sight of you. It might've been the puffiness of your eyes, the messiness of your hair, or the way your leotard was crooked; it could have been anything, honestly.

His eyes quickly averted, not even giving you any task. Just calling out to the others to do their variations, avoiding your existence altogether.

So you do what you know best. Dance.

You try just letting go to the current variation's music playing through the studio's speakers, trying to feel the music instead of letting your body search for the warmth beside you. But somehow entirely different routines steer you right back to a move that's in a dance you did with Ikhyun, and you just let it happen from there.

You dance that choreography anyway, even though he won't be there to lift you, to guide you through it. Because maybe if you held your arms out further and jumped higher, he would be there to catch you.

The stares didn't disappear; they just got softer, not as pointed. Just like Mingi's - his gaze lingering a little longer than the others'. He hurt too. Maybe not as a partner, but as someone who had lost a friend, a constant. So he just watched you in pure silence from across the studio.

By Wednesday, you were over the stares, staring back openly at everyone who still felt the need to pity, who still pointed out the lack of him next to you. On Thursday, you also called them out loudly, "Why the fuck are you staring holes into my head?" and, "Don't you have turnouts to practice?"

Jiwoo and Dahyun only fueled it, adding their own degrading comments to the people you didn't notice, maybe even going further than you would. "You're staring, asshole," came from Dahyun. "At least close your mouth, it smells," Jiwoo said to someone.

On Friday, the verdict finally came. You were called into the dean's office, trying hard not to stab an insult into anyone who passed you. When you saw his frame, your shoulders dropped, knots relaxing immediately, no matter the context. No matter, you know he is here to get expelled.

Mr Lee, Ms Payer and another professor stood there with Ikhyun. Their looks no different from any student you lost yourself over. But with him there, you swallowed the words down before you joined your best friend in being expelled.

The greetings were cut short by Mr Lee, who quickly started explaining, "I'm gonna be straight with you, there is no need to sugar coat it." his voice held despair, and maybe anger, "You have two choices, you don't compete at Varna, or you pick another partner."

You looked around the room, Ikhyun's hand caressed yours in a barely there touch. His eyes are quietly pleading with you to choose the second option. The other professor spoke up, her voice so much more caring than Mr Lee's was before, "There are plenty of dancers who would jump at the chance to partner you." she gave you a weak smile but dropped her gaze before you could reciprocate it.

What was there to lose if you didn't go? You would probably save yourself the humiliation of showing up with someone you barely know and have no chemistry with.

But on the other hand... What was there to lose if you didn't go? Nine-year-old you would shatter. She would scream at you for throwing away an opportunity as not dancing at the biggest international competition.

Would it be worth it?

"I…" Words died down your throat, but the questions just got louder in your head, bringing up more questions. More things to be worried about, more to be mad about. "I'll think about it."

They gave you a defeated smile. Nodding along, because this wouldn't be an easy decision.

Ikhyun couldn't stay any longer. As soon as you left the office, he left, but hugged you tightly before he did.

What you haven't thought of before is how all of this went down on him? He was actually the one getting practically exiled from everything he learned to love from a young age. Ballet was everything for him, too, not just you.

He would soon be shut out of every circle as the guy who beat up the competition. Because in ballet, this was worse than doing drugs or actually sabotaging someone. Drugs were so normalised due to the extreme thinness it required, and the sabotage just came with them.

Everyone thought they were too elegant to physically hurt someone with their hands. Too refined. Too sophisticated. And they made your skin crawl.

You didn't even notice heading to the studio; your feet just took you there. You could've just hoped nobody would actually be there to disturb your sudden need to practice. The doors were open, lights down and… Nobody was there.

You slammed your bag down, letting it fall where it may, already tugging your pointe shoes on. But as soon as they were, you actually realised: for the first time in years, you didn't know what to practice.

—

grand jeté

/ˌɡrɒ̃ ˈʒɛteɪ/

noun

a jump in which a dancer springs from one foot to land on the other with one leg forward of their body and the other stretched backwards while in the air.

—

People don't talk about how hard the first week is without someone who was always there before, a prominent figure. Not in an absolute sense - like dying. Just being robbed of doing your passion, while still breathing… And that somehow feels worse than passing.

Because there Ikhyun was again, lying in your bed with you in his arms, staring at the ceiling endlessly. "You should still go," his chest rumbles under your head, "I'm sure there is someone to match your energy."

His shirt was cold with your spilt tears on it. You were too exhausted to start explaining your worries again, because he was just as stubborn as you were, sticking to his opinion until the very end.

You already told him about everyone's stares, words and endless pity towards you. He listened in silence, a hand rubbing circles on your back, eventually steering the conversation away from school, from ballet, because the wound was still too fresh to be ripping it up continuously.

At some point, the conversation faded. Your voices were overpowered by a random show that was screening on the TV. Occasionally broken by your sniffles, or his longing sighs. The weekend slipped away from your fingers, just like everything seemed lately - no matter how hard you hold onto it - and you were back in the studio.

Warm-up already done and forgotten, as you do certain spins and moves. Getting comfortable high on your toes. But there isn't music to filter out the others' words from your head, and one particular moment catches your attention while you tie your shoes tighter.

The boys are doing Grand Jetés left and right, trying to show how it's done around here, while laughing around, smiles wide on their faces.

San jumped with finesse, arms elegantly folded around his torso, maintaining perfect posture mid-air. He glides momentarily, reminding you so much of Ikhyun. They applaud him, Wooyoung's jaw nearly drops in amazement, while Mingi appears barely entertained.

"Ikhyun still did it better." Mingi declares while still clapping. Your fingers paused mid-knot. And he earns himself a slap on the back of his head from Yeosang. "Yah! It's not like I'm lying!" His hands flew up to shield himself, failing to block the incoming onslaught.

As you watch them, - so domestic, and child-like - you wonder what Ikhyun would do. Playfully order them around, playing his strict ballet teacher part for the day. Which would only make them laugh harder, while also practising and improving. A smile tugs on your lips at the sight; it doesn't last long, nevertheless. Because the thoughts only spiral with the what-ifs from there.

But this was the first time you genuinely smiled since that Saturday.

Jiwoo and Dahyun are still stuck to your side as soon as you leave the studio, leading the way to the cafeteria. "Have you thought about what Ms Payer said?" Dahyun's head is tilted to the side as she looks at you from across the table.

Both of them wait for your answer with curious glances. "I did." They wait for a few seconds only to realise you don't intend to explain further.

"And?"

"I don't know." The truth felt harder to confess out loud. Because yes, you have thought about it. But there were too many odds against both that neither seemed like a good idea. You're getting lost in your thoughts again when someone takes a seat at your table.

And it's… Mr Lee?

The sigh that leaves him as he sits down is sharp. "Girls," he nods to all three of you, but a harsher frown pulls at his when his eyes settle on you. "Have you decided?" Not playing around, I see.

"Not yet."

He scoffs at that, shaking his head before he speaks up again, "You had the time. Your and your future partner's time isn't the only one you're playing with."

Confusion pulls your brows together. It was easy for him to say. While in practice, this is a bigger stake than just a few days of thinking.

Before you could reply, he was talking again. "If you want Varna, you choose this week." He paused, hesitation crossing his eyes. "Or I pull you from the lineup myself." And with that, he was back on his feet, grumbling a goodbye.

His words resonate in your head in classes. The pressure of it is almost physically sitting on your shoulders, hoping to pull you under. And they do, in a way. Pulling your focus from the lectures.

You don't remember pulling your phone out on the way to the studio. Nor typing a message out to Ikhyun. Mind hazy with the spiralling thoughts.

I don't think anyone will match you

Your fingers hover over the mockingly blinking send button. Regretting participating will always be better than regretting not. It could go either way if you try, but at least you tried and didn't give up when you already saw the finish line.

You pocket your phone and pick up your steps towards the building. The message stays unsent. Your chest tightens when you step in, finding Mr Lee alone.

"I'll do it."

You swear you could've seen a smile threatening his way onto his face, but he just nodded.

By the next morning, the whole school seemed to know, and that made you realise this decision didn't concern you alone. But most male dancers in the school.

"Do you have anyone in mind?" The professor who was in the office with you the other day asks. The soft smile seems to be the default on her face.

"No. I haven't danced in pair with anyone except Ikhyun."

"Aah, I understand why it was so difficult-"

Her voice is cut off by the clattering opening of the studio doors. Mr Lee waltzes in with multiple men in tow. "Stand aside, Eunseo, I got this."

The boys set their bags to the side, voices overbearing in the studio. You notice familiar faces, from your classes and lower-years who Ikhyun hung out with. Maybe some were even there at the after-competition parties he dragged you to.

"I don't think this would require such an upheaval." Your voice only reaches the female professor - Eunseo - but even calling her by her first name in your thoughts only feels weird.

She chuckles, but her eyes are just as wide as yours as she takes in the stretching forms. "Warm up well, gentlemen, we're gonna look over lifts, and particular steps from La Bayedére."

One of the younger students straightened immediately. "Yes, Mrs Lee."

—

Ballet lifts are dynamic partner movements designed for height and spectacle in a pas de deux, relying on core strength, precise hand placement, and mutual trust. Key techniques include secure waist grips, using pliés for momentum, and maintaining upright posture to ensure safety. Common lifts include overhead lifts, shoulder sits, fish dives, and the split over, often enhanced by creative, fluid transitions.

—

What you thought about this part was everything, but definitely not this.

Swan Lake blared over the speakers as another pair of unstable hands lifted you high. It just didn't feel right. He was too stiff, too careful. And something you know by now is: being careful gets you nowhere.

The second he put you down, you stopped. Hands finding purchase on your hips as your ribs expanded with each strained inhale. You just shook your head in the Professors' direction, and they looked at each other with an unreadable expression before cutting the music.

Your limbs feel numb after all the trying. You lost count of the partners after the fifth. Nobody felt like him. They didn't even try. Maybe they already felt defeated, knowing whose replacement they would be. But your blood began to boil. May it be all the failed attempts, the hunger, or just the exhaustion - you didn't know, didn't care.

Then the next promising gentleman came. His figure was similar to the one you were used to; he even was in your class - Yeosang.

No more room left for the fatigue to set in, because the music started again. His form was so effortlessly pretty as you locked on his reflection in the mirror. The hold was stable- until it wasn't. The same mistake, over and over again.

This time, you didn't even shake your head; you just stared at them, barely containing your eyeroll.

The next guy that stepped up boomed with confidence. Chest all puffed up as he murmured a small, "Watch this," to his friends in the back. The scowl this time couldn't be held back; it sat out on your face loudly.

The music started again, and you could see the way his eyes were locked on himself in the mirror. Yeah, no. He danced for the mirror. Not for you and definitely not with you. When the lift came, he didn't wait. He just took it. Your stomach dropped mid-air, and you landed harder than you should've. "Is this a joke?"

Another guy, another lift, but this time it just felt wrong. Maybe it looked all right from the outside, given the hopeful looks of the professors. But you shook your head again as soon as the music died down, and collapsed against the handrail on the walls. Your own hope started to fail you, doubts getting louder in your head again, "Next."

The next guy came after you had a few breaths. He looked familiar again, and not just from class. You've seen Song Mingi standing on the sides with displeasure on his face the whole time, eyebrows drawing together every time you dragged someone down. You wonder how he feels to have to compete as Ikhyun's replacement.

But he stepped in, music started, and he followed your lead. Hands exactly where they supposed to be at the lift, stable and controlled.

"…again."

He wasn't perfect either; his touch lacked that familiarity and trust, but that's something you can work on.

What you didn't notice was how everyone stopped for a second. Nobody moved, not the professors, not the boys in the back. And not even him.

Then he nodded when he realised you were on mark already. This time, the move came easier. Not perfect again - far from it - but something clicked. His grip adjusted faster, still following you but taking less time. Your timing met his halfway, instead of dragging behind. Not forced or shaky, and not wrong either.

Your breath hitched, but you didn't falter. Going further with the choreography, pushing, testing him and yourself. He followed, no hesitation, not getting ahead of himself.

The music faded out, silence hitting you harder than the ones before. You stepped away first, looking at the professors again, because you didn't trust yourself to look at him.

Mr Lee's expression was different from before. Arms still crossed, and so were his brows. But he was leaning forward with interest, calculating sharply with his eyes. Mrs Lee watched you more softly, smiling wider than she was before.

"Next." Her smile dropped immediately.

The next few dancers came one by one. One too unsure, too slow, too much thinking, the other not thinking enough. Your voice was harsher with them, "Stop." poor guy's face drained. You knew the next is going to be the last.

But when his arm slipped on your waist mid-air, everything broke. "That's enough." The words slipped out before anyone could stop them. Your chest was falling with rapid breaths, fingers slightly trembling as you took a seat right in front of the professors. The exhaustion caught up with you, but not from the dancing, no. From the trying.

Your gaze flickered across the room, taking in everyone's pained expressions. Until it stopped on him, still standing where you left him. Your eyes snapped away first.

"Alright," Mr Lee's hands clapped together, "You're done for today." Shoulders drooped, long sighs left, and they left eventually. Their packing was loud, but not as chaotic when they came in. But the contrast was still felt when you were alone with the professors again.

"Take the evening," Mrs Lee's voice was the first to break the silence. "Think about it."

You barely heard her over the thoughts. Her eyes lingered on your crumpled-up form. Almost as if she were ready to answer all your doubts. But then she smiled again, "But you already know."

You nodded, even though your mind was anything but settled. Your body, however- has already decided.

You didn't sleep much that night, because every time your eyes closed, you saw the same thing. Lift, almost fall. Lift, fall. Then him - stable, flexible, and adjusting to you. And it repeated every time sleep was about to pull you down.

You went to the studio before classes. The first rays of the rising sun painted the sky yellow behind the building. But he was already there with his little group, stretching, laughing, causing havoc before a normal person would be even up.

You watched him through the glass doors for longer than you'd like to admit. Dancing through a variation on his own, slower than the variation demanded. But it felt refreshing rather than uncomfortable. Emotional.

You took a deep breath before you strutted into the studio, like you owned the place. You didn't bother yourself with the audience, went straight to him, stepping in front of him as he regulated his breaths.

"So you're free for Varna, right?"

His eyebrows drew together, and he took a step back. He took a towel from the handrail, slightly patting it over his forehead. "Am I?" his head tilted.

Your eyes closed to hold back an eyeroll, and with a deep breath, you continued. "You're the only one who didn't make me want to walk out yesterday." The confession felt bitter in the back of your mouth. Especially because you knew Yeosang was here too. His eyes searched yours with caution, snapping from left to right. Not like he would find anything.

When you realised he won't bother with a reply, you spoke up again. Tone lighter than before, losing the attitude. "If we do this, we do it right." Your fingers fiddled with the strap of your bag, and his eyes snapped to the motion. "Just tell me if you even want to do it."

He stared at you for another long minute before he replied, "I don't exactly half-ass things." you could see his jaw tighten, tongue poking his cheek. His gaze was scrutinising, mean. He looked away for a second, dissecting something else rather than you. "So you're… serious."

You scoffed, which made him look back at you, "I don't have time not to be."

His eyebrows twitched, but so did his lips, "Then yeah, we're doing this." You nodded at his response, then left. You won't have to come back here until ballet anyway.

San and Yunho's chests let out a breath they didn't know they were holding, their eyes rounded out. "Fuck, she's intense," San says, trying to make the tense air disappear with humour.

"And a bitch." Wooyoung adds, clearly not pleased by your attitude.

Yeosang hits his arm, "You never felt what she is going through," he tries to reason, but it falls on deaf ears.

"But I am sure, if I were to, my approach would be very different."

—

La Bayadère ("The Temple Dancer") is a classic 19th-century Russian ballet choreographed by Marius Petipa with music by Ludwig Minkus, premiering in 1877. It tells a tragic story of love, betrayal, and vengeance set in India, involving the temple dancer Nikiya, warrior Solor, and princess Gamzatti

—

Your schedule became crammed after that. Practices earlier than when most were awake, staying later than the sun was up. Between classes - everywhere, your timetables aligned.

The texts exchanged were brief between you, calculated and always to the point.

You
I'm free after next lesson

Song Mingi
i am alr here

When you finally joined him, his hand found your waist again. Firmer than before, and definitely not hesitant. But he didn't take the lead; he just waited. You almost missed the cue.

With Ikhyun, you never had to think. Your body would've moved before you even realised. His grip already guiding you into place, every shift anticipated before it happened.

But now - you were a fraction late. He didn't even make a mistake, but he stopped too. His touch a ghost on your skin as he said, "Again," quietly. But he didn't look annoyed or mad, no matter how hard you searched for a reaction.

You swallowed and nodded, already stepping back. Your fingers curled into his shoulder, more deliberate. Checking the placement twice rather than failing once more. Music started again, the count muted in your head. One- two.

You stepped and felt it. The transfer of weight, the slight delay in his response. His hands adjusted, not you, but his grip. It threw you off. Frustration pulled your eyebrow together again, failing to hold back the snarl on your lips.

Your turn faltered, coming a breath too early. His grip tightened, just enough to steady you, but he didn't force you back as Ikhyun would have.

He let it be wrong. Let it be off.

Making you spiral, because you knew you were the one to mess it up, yet it somehow still felt as if it was his fault.

Your feet hit the floor too hard - letting you know exactly where you messed up. You pulled back then, ready to lash out, to reset- to apologise. But he didn't stop. You watched him for a second, resuming the choreography as if nothing had happened. "Keep going." The words were low, between his controlled breaths.

For the first time in years, you had to think. Not just move, with your body guiding you, as if it were carved into it. But listen to the music, to the count, to him. And to yourself.

You joined back on the next count, a little slower intentionally. Falling into rhythm with him. Waiting - just half a second - to feel where his balance would lead him, before settling into yours. Meeting you in the middle. It wasn't clean or perfect. No, it wasn't anywhere near. But you finally felt - knew - where he would be.

Another lift came, this time you didn't rush it. You let the momentum build while paying attention to everything. Felt the axis of your body instead of assuming it would be there. When you landed, his grip steadied you. Not because you made a mistake he needed to correct, but because you chose the timing together.

Maybe this was something you needed. Because no one learned from someone doing it right instead of them. They learned from patience and guidance. From being forced to be great. Because he had nothing to lose if he didn't correct you.

And fuck, it made you mad.

Mr Lee was keeping an eye on you, without disturbing the scene. But when you finally stopped between sets, you saw the low smile curling at his lips. Only making your ambition burn harder, wilder.

With every practice, something simmered deep within you. An unexplainable feeling that kept you up at night. Thinking about all the times you let Ikhyun correct you, instead of pushing to do better himself.

The next day, you were dancing in the back of the room while the others were doing something orchestrated by Mr Lee. You didn't want to be loud, because your newfound audience would hear everything, in the panting silence that settled over the classroom. But it was clear that Mingi didn't share those agendas.

"Stop."

You blinked at him, still breathing unevenly. 

His hands dropped from your waist, discarding the contact as if it burned. "You anticipate too much," he ran a hand through his hair. "You already move before I even finish the last step."

A scoff left your lips, "Because if I don't, the lift doesn't happen."

His jaw tightened at your tone, unshaken by the eyes on you. "Or maybe it happens differently."

"Different doesn't win Varna."

"Yeah, neither does not knowing basic counts." The words hung sharply between you. Brows pulling together in another reason now.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath and started again with a mocking smile on your lips, "Then explain on which count am I supposed to be even near you?"

He stepped back into position, jaw tight as he looked at you. This became an everyday thing between you. Mocking, doubting. The snarls on your lips were default as soon as you stepped within the vicinity of one another.

—

Ballet positions are the foundation of classical dance, focusing on turnout from the hips, posture, and grace. The five basic foot positions, numbered one through five, involve rotating legs and hands.

—

"I hate when people's default expressions are like dying swans," You muttered under your breath as a first-year passed by, clearly shaken from practice. Dahyun snorted at your comment, while Jiwoo suppressed a giggle.

Mingi wasn't even trying to listen; he just heard it as he walked past you with Yunho and Wooyoung. His steps halted, eyes flicking toward you with disappointment. It sat wrong in his chest, "Pretty sure yours isn't any better," he huffed. Not even sure if he meant you to hear it.

Your eyes narrowed on him, "At least I don't look like that all the time."

Mingi's expression didn't change. Which somehow made it worse than if it had. "Funny," he muttered, voice flat, "Could've sworn you did."

Wooyoung's eyes widened as he let out a little "shit-" under his breath, while elbowing Yunho lightly. After that, the whole hallway went quiet. Waiting for your rebuttal or surrender. But you never knew when to stop, did you?

"Maybe it's just because I see you," you shrugged, continuing your walk towards your class.

At practice that day, he was snappier. His moves were cold and rushed, antsier than usual. It reflected on his performance more than you would like. His hands on your waist weren't as firm as they were the day before, having lost that precise anchor point just above the flare of your hip.

"Okay, stop," you snapped, already on your way to turn the music off. "What's up with you today?"

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, lightly tugging at the roots to stay present. "Nothing," his voice was dull, almost empty. Then he began walking toward you, taking your phone and resuming the music. "Let's move on."

He went back to the middle of the empty studio, already standing in fourth position. His muscles were on display with his arms elegantly in the air, and your eyes lingered a second too long. With a shake of your head, you settled near him in your starting pose too, feeling the music guide you.

You felt free. Dancing, moving to the sound, finally acclimatised to his moves and style. You felt better than you had a few weeks ago, finally feeling as if you had your grounding back. Your jumps were synchronised better, more aware of each other- until today it seems.

His moves were delayed. It was barely noticeable, but you felt it. Especially when he wasn't where he was supposed to be when the lift came, he was a few centimetres more to the left than usual, throwing off your count and rhythm as you had to get closer to him. But still, his hands weren't stable around you.

He stumbled - or rather his hands did - resulting in you slipping from his grasp and having a hard time catching your balance. He grunted, arms still around your waist as you stood closer to him than usual. Your chests pushed against each other with swallowed air. Your hand rested on his shoulder as you stared into his eyes.

His fingers flexed against your side, eyebrows still drawn together, as he stared back. Breaths short and loud when the music stops. You felt your heart beat uncontrollably, faster than usual, faster than it does after an average dance.

The thought of that made you snap out of whatever tiredness-induced daze you were in and pull back from him. "Your timing was off," you said quickly. Gaze averted to the barre on the wall - anything but him.

He took a deep breath, eyes still on your distancing frame. "Yeah," his tone felt defeated. "We should just stop here today." You hummed back in response, hands already working on the ribbon of your shoes. But before you even finished with one, the door slammed shut behind Mingi.

You prepared yourself for his attitude the next day. Whatever snarky reply he may throw your way, what will either of you mess up that day. But today wasn't anything like that. The practice went well, without any insults or huffs. He even stayed longer after, asking about how it would be better for you in supported turns, and even about other classes.

It was almost worse this way, with no snapping, no tension thick enough to choke on. Just small corrections, short nods, and movements that almost worked. You didn't trust this - or him, for that matter.

The next day, you were on the side of the studio, Mr Lee's voice boomed through the open space with instructions to the others. You were practising turns with Mingi, his hands warm on your waist, but never staying there long enough for you to enjoy the feel of it.

You felt the eyes Mr Lee set on you, his gaze basically burned against your nape. Whenever you stopped a turn, you looked at him and saw a specific glint in his eye, which never meant anything good for you. He felt ready to turn your life upside down again.

"Switch partners," His voice made you freeze, snapping your head in his direction. He was still looking at you, which meant that the instruction was meant for you.

"I'm sorry, what?" you barely choked out. Even Mingi's hands stayed on your waist in shock.

"Yunho, Jiwoo, come here."

Oh no.

Now the two of them stood in front of you and Mingi. The other two students were just as shocked. "You do the same thing now but with other partners." He explained, and Mingi's thumb caressed your waist softly, and you fucking hoped that movement was done unconsciously. "Get to it, we don't have all day."

Yunho stood in front of you with a little flush on his cheeks and fidgeting fingers. "So uh-" his voice cracked, "-partnered turns, right?" you nodded in response, the saliva burning and staying lodged in your throat as you tried to swallow, weight shifting from one leg to the other.

His hands were bigger than Mingi's, more slender; when you finally feel comfortable with Mingi,Mr. Lee had to make it difficult again. Despite the initial awkwardness, Yunho's hands were firm around your waist as you turned. Your jaw felt tight, calves burning in an addictive way that made you fall in love with the sport at first. There wasn't anything to mess up in turn like this. But it still didn't feel right.

Maybe the professor heard that thought form in your head with the way his eyes still shone. "Okay, now both of you try the actual dance." All four of you froze again. What was the point of this? Mr Lee's hands crossed in front of him, watching you with careful eyes. "Same combination," He immediately started the music, leaving no room for argument.

You stepped back hesitantly, the music barely made it through the loud pounding of your heart. You saw the way Yunho forced his body to move into position, eyes meeting yours for a second before you had to move.

Your body was screaming at you just like the first time you danced with Mingi. He wasn't there to meet you in the middle again; you had to correct yourself. Maybe that unspoken familiarity formed with Mingi, too. Yunho wasn't a bad dancer; he was always where he needed to be. Hands exactly how they are supposed to be, almost textbook perfect.

But your body was hesitating again before every move, not knowing where to go.

"Again." Mr Lee's voice cut through the violins.

You swallowed again, forced to think about your next move and focused on the count, alignment. You panicked as the lift came, faltering for a second. But Yunho was fast to catch up, adjusting quickly. But it wasn't smooth; you could feel his effort in it.

"Good," Mr Lee said. Your head whipped to him with force, eyebrows drawn together to the point where it hurt. Good? This was good? You never once before heard him say anything was "good" before. Especially not to a move that was mediocre at best. Your chest felt tight- too tight.

Mingi and Jiwoo were watching, their chests heaving as they struggled to catch their breath, their faces holding pained expressions. You wish you could've seen how they danced. Did Jiwoo stand exactly where she was supposed to? Or did Mingi also have to adjust? Did she also hesitate?

You felt a sharp pain in your head. Eyes snapping from Mingi to Jiwoo with haste that made your stomach churn. Air was getting harder to force into your lungs with each passing minute. You weren't staying late tonight, no matter what. You needed to get out of there fast.

It might have been a coincidence or pure luck, but Mr Lee was saying his usual closing monologue. You were out of there as soon as possible. Not even noticing you basically ran home until you were in your room with your back against the door.

Your feet still hurt, but you barely feel them over the pain in your head and stomach. Next second, you were hiccupping with choked tears escaping. Why did you even think you could do this without Ikhyun? How come you never noticed the imperfection of your moves before? Have they always been there, carved deep into you? Maybe that's just who you were.

It was selfish of you, like Mingi said. You should've dropped the idea of Varna that morning you read the texts - maybe earlier, when you applied first with smiles on your face with Ikhyun. How come nobody ever told you this? Maybe you weren't the dancer you thought you were. The thought didn't settle. It scratched at the inside of your skull, repeating, reshaping, getting uglier each time.

You didn't sleep much. Or maybe you did - it didn't feel like it. Every time you closed your eyes, you were back in the studio, half a count too late.

The next day, you were waiting for him in the studio, already warming up, stretching, staring in the mirror with someone so hollow and zombie-like staring back. The warming up you were doing was more muscle memory than thought-through. The door behind you opened with force, but you didn't have it in you to look who it was. Too distracted by the still screaming thoughts.

"You're early." He was stunned, dropping his bag down in his usual spot.

You hummed back in response, staring out of your head without anything to actually look at. You could feel him looking at you longer than usual. As if he was waiting for something - a comment, a jab, anything that sounded like you. But you didn't give it to him.

Your hamstrings stretched as you lay your weight on your leg. The barre creaked as he leaned on it, breaking the silence that settled over the room. The studio has an eerie feeling to it in the morning, with the cold air that travels through the windows and makes goosebumps break out on your skin.

Soon you felt you had to dance; however, you didn't feel ready, yesterday was still too recent in your mind. You reached for your bag, taking the new pointe shoes out, you had already somewhat prepared for today.

"New shoes?" Mingi's eyes were nearing his hairline, and you nodded. He knew from being your classmates for three years now that you didn't change shoes often; you actually dreaded changing them. "How come?"

"The last ones are…" ruined, to say prettily. You didn't notice your feet hurt yesterday because you ran home in them, forgetting to actually take them off in the overwhelming haste. It's a shame, though, you just replaced them not too long ago. "-They had the ribbons sewn in all wrong." The words died down in your throat, feeling bitter in your mouth.

Something unreadable passed in his eyes, and his head cocked to the side. He was looking at you, taking in your half-dead appearance; something unreadable passed in his eyes. He cocked his head, tracking your half-dead appearance with a scrutiny that made you wonder if he’d seen you bolt out of the studio the day before with your pointes still tied to your feet.

"Alright," he clapped his hands together, and saw you flinch subtly at the loud sound - fuck, it's worse than he thought. "Where did we leave it off?"

You were totally out of it as you danced. You were focused, yes, but he saw that you were too focused on certain things. Like the distance between you before the lift, or the placement of your hands on his shoulder. He even saw the little snarl on your lips as you were half a count behind. He let it be; everyone had bad days - maybe you had more than the average person did - but you weren't even friends for him to ask about it.

More like… beneficial partners? No, he didn't benefit from this in any way.

You didn't even say goodbye when you left. Didn't think much of it either, just that it didn't matter. After all it was just practice. But it wasn't just anything.

He was still standing in front of the mirror, repeating some steps and pirouettes that didn't seem good enough for him, and you just… left.

—

For a ballet dancer, shoes are as essential as a pencil is to an artist. Each dancer has their own preferences, methods for using, breaking them in, and customising them. They sew in the ribbons, make the boxes harder if needed; they use everyday items, like Super glue, markers, nail polish - whatever you can imagine, as mundane as possible. They are the most delicate aspect for a ballet dancer because a good pair of shoes provides a solid foundation. But what happens if there's nothing to ground you?

—

Today was one of those days when you had a few free hours before Mingi finished and needed to meet you at the studio. You needed calmness, some quiet in those hours. You needed to be alone.

Some classical music was playing in your headphones as you sat on your bed and looked around the bedroom. Eyes drifted across the shelves. Trophies, medals, and old shoes you kept for- just because. No books you've chosen, no hobbies, no mess. Just a clean room, nothing but ballet. Because what were you without ballet?

The thoughts hadn't quieted one bit, even when you stood in front of the mirror, Mingi's arms around you. Nor did they in the next few weeks. You became softer, no snapping remarks or anything to give him. No words for him, actually, you barely talked.

Considering all of your setbacks, you were doing amazing - both of you. But despite the progress you'd made together, there was still that lack of trust, that undeniable bond only years of being partners could forge, and that hell of a tension was suffocating. Because his hands felt electric on you. Every touch lingered longer, and you found yourself resenting the moments they actually stopped.

You correct more steps and moves for yourself, so he doesn't have to do it for you. So you don't have to feel the humiliation of not knowing a basic step - but also, you don't want him to think less of you. You're the supposed best in this school so act like it. You want- no you need Mingi to believe you are a good, the best partner.

So fake it 'til you make it, right?

But you weren't sure anymore if you were getting better - or just better at pretending.

Mingi took a breather after you'd done the whole dance twice. His eyes never left your figure as he crashed down in front of the barre, taking a few sips of water. You still stood there - dancing and practicing one particular turn that you couldn't get on point with yourself with.

"One, two- ugh, fuck." You mumbled under your breath, the bitter taste of dissatisfaction settling deep in your throat. The studio only gave comfort to you and him in these late hours. Your eyes snapped to his sprawled-out figure as he watched you with piercing eyes. He was biting the inside of his cheek, something unreadable passing in his eyes.

When he finally stood beside you again, his chest was not heaving as hard as it had been before. He was staring in the mirror, hands never finding their place on your waist, the music was already past your queue. Your eyebrows etched together as you looked at him, "…What?" you snapped, more snappy than you wanted to.

Your eyes followed his gaze to your feet, where they were shifting the weight from one leg to another. Your eyes lifted back to find him staring at you. "Are you nervous?" His hands tensed awkwardly beside his body.

"No- what- why would you think that?" There was a bite to your words, nose scrunching in distaste and confusion.

"You're shifting."

"Yeah, and?" He didn't mean to leave the silence that long.

"Every time before a lift - left to right - and you don't even notice it." His hands motioned animatedly with his words, punctuating this habit deeper with every word. Making your stomach drop, because now that he said it, you noticed it.

Heel to toe, heel to toe. Preparing, bracing yourself.

You heard it as criticism first. Not concern, and not quite an observation - just another thing you were doing wrong and he had to point out. "'m just adjusting-" Your jaw tightened before you even finished the sentence. As if you said it confidently enough, maybe it would become true.

"No," he shook his head, "you just don't trust the timing." You just don't trust yourself. The studio felt hotter, smaller. Louder, even though the music had already stopped - and so did your shifting.

"I-I know the timing, I have been dancing for years." Your words are still sharp. Wonder who you are trying to convince, him or yourself.

"Yeah," he ran a hand through his hair as his jaw tensed. "You have."

His words didn't feel like validation, it felt like anything but that. "Then what's your point?" you pressed, already knowing you wouldn't like the outcome, legs already moving your weight - but you stopped it mid movement.

"You're not dancing what's supposed to happen," he breathed out, voice lower than before and softer, "But what you think will go wrong."

The more he spoke, the less oxygen you had in your lungs, and it was crushing your chest - snapping something, so suddenly you even forget there was an option to breathe. Because he wasn't wrong, and that made it even worse.

"I'm not-" Your voice cracked, and you hated how weak you sounded. "I'm just trying not to mess it up."

"I know." He responded, too sincere, too soft.

You turned away from him, hands going to your hair, your temples - anywhere but him. Your weight shifted again without meaning to. Heel. Toe. Heel-

"Stop,"

You froze, one leg on point, the other flat on the ground. "All I'm trying to say is, you don't even realise you're doing it." Your throat felt tight, heartbeat loud in your ears, almost louder than his reassuring, soft-spoken words. "I just told you," he continued, still as patient as ever, something he wasn't usually with you, "and you still did it again."

Your vision blurred before you even registered the tears. The tears came all at once - sharp, sudden, impossible to stop. You turned away immediately, wiping at your face as if it offended you, as if crying itself was the failure. "Fuck," you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. "This is stupid."

You hated that he saw this. Hated the fact that it was him, of all people, standing here while you fell apart. For a second, you almost told him to drop it. To leave it alone, to leave you alone. He didn't move closer, didn't try to comfort you with touch. But he was there, eyebrows drawn together, hands still tensed next to him. "You're relearning," he said after a moment.

You let out a bitter laugh. "Feels more like unlearning everything."

"Yeah," he shrugged lightly, though his eyes didn't leave you, "that's usually how it works." He sighed, flexing his fingers a little before speaking up again, "You relied on him," he stated matter-of-factly, but not unkindly, "That's not a bad thing." Your chest tightened at the mention, nails biting into the skin of your palm. "But now you can't, so you notice everything you didn't have to before."

He finally let silence settle over the studio again, but now it wasn't suffocating, just still. It lets the thoughts consume you. "I hate it," you admitted, eyes on the floor, not daring to look even in his direction.

"You're better like this."

"What?" Your head snapped up, and your expression soured quickly because it didn't feel like a compliment. It felt like being stripped down to something unfinished and told to be grateful for it.

"You hesitate," He said, gesturing slightly, "you overthink, you mess up the count-"

"Wow, thanks-"

"But you know why now." That was quick to shut you up. Words got stuck in your throat as you watched him, teary-eyed. He tilted his head slightly, smile low, playful on his lips as he asked, "Again?"

You nodded, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands with haste. Quickly shaking off your legs and hands, cracking your neck left to right. "Yeah," you gulped down the tears that didn't have the place to escape now. You didn't feel ready - but you stepped in anyway. 

It didn't click all at once.

Some days, you catch yourself. Some days you didn't, and some days, you didn't even try.

But then also… You moved with more ease; the tension didn't fully leave your shoulders or moves, but you caught yourself more frequently in the bad habit. If you hadn't, Mingi tilted his head with a pointed gaze on your feet, one eyebrow cocked, making you chuckle every time. Less panic, and fewer moments where your body locked up completely.

You stayed longer one day. The professor was about to leave, too, but he sat down beside you.

"How is it going?" Mr Lee asked, with an unreadable expression on his face.

The words were stuck in your throat. Because, how was it actually going? Mingi made you doubt every step, relearn the basics. Make you want to join first-year classes again to learn everything from the start. Slowly making you realise what you had with Ikhyun wasn't perfect.

You were just lost in the haze of this whirlwind around you, which stopped you from questioning your knowledge and precision. Because if it got you golds, then there wasn't anything to evolve. You reached the top. There is nowhere to develop further.

"Well," you tried to say, but it sounded more like a question. "It's different." His eyes were on your forearm, where you started unconsciously rubbing it with your hand. Legs ready to place your weight from one to the other, but you stopped the motion. "He- he's making me question everything I've stood by before."

He nodded, directing you to continue and pushing you to make this realisation by yourself.

"With Ikhyun, everyone was sold on our connection and- and chemistry, not our skills." His head tilted disapprovingly, "I'm not saying we didn't dance well - I mean, I am - but we could've danced worse and still have gotten podium." you stammered.

"We lacked awareness of our imperfections." Your voice was low, barely above a whisper. "We- we trusted each other too much that we lost the meaning, the art in ballet."

Mr Lee smiled widely as he looked at you, proud of your realisation, before his expression dropped back to that similar stoic one. His hand ran through his silver hair before he stood up and nodded. "Alright." He took a glance around the room, nodding one to your left, before he left.

You haven't even registered that Mingi still sat in the otherwise empty studio with you. But you stayed where you were - by the barre, stretching a little longer than necessary, retying ribbons that didn't need fixing… thoughts storming in your head.

You didn't want to leave first. Didn't want to think about the walk to your car, the suffocating, different quiet that waited there. The one in here felt comforting, like an embrace.

Mingi was doing the same thing in his own way. Not stretching - just… taking his time. Folding his towel, unfolding it again. Taking another sip of water, he clearly didn't need. Breaking the silence occasionally.

Eventually, you stood, slinging the strap over your shoulder with more force than necessary, already heading for the door before your thoughts could catch up. Mingi held the door open for you. When did he even stand up? A small smile grazed his features as he looked at you, motioning for you to go first.

Your synchronised steps were loud against the tiled floor of the hallway. Echoing through the empty, cold space. He was a breath behind you, not too close - but not too far behind either. The moon was already up in the dark sky outside. Mingi opened the door with his shoulder, and you immediately felt the absence of your jacket.

Your steps slowed for half a second - barely noticeable - but he caught it anyway. You saw it in the way his gaze flickered to your arms, then away again. He didn't comment, just adjusted his pace to match yours.

The parking lot was quieter than usual. A few scattered cars, dim lights casting long shadows across the pavement. Your keys clinked in your hands as you walked towards your car. He was still walking with you, silently. Most people would've peeled off by now. Said something, left, made it obvious.

Something he has been doing lately - this silent support. But you couldn't put a start to this, you didn't feel it, and lately you just began to expect it. If it was for a lift or a conversation with the professor, he was there like a pillar - quiet, unmoving. But his presence was enough for you to be aware of everything, and it somehow grounded you. It was strange - how nothing felt fixed, but something felt… quieter.

You reached your car, slowing as you fumbled with the keys a little more than necessary. Your fingers felt clumsy all of a sudden, as if they didn't quite belong to you. You looked over your shoulder when the car finally opened with a low flash of lights. "…Do you need something?"

He pursed his lips, head shaking in response. His hands were in the pocket of his hoodie, his lips pulled into a half smile, "Can't I accompany you to your car?" his smile was full now, teeth on display. "It's dark outside." He motioned around animatedly, "Someone could've kidnapped you."

The sound of your chuckle felt foreign, "Such a gentleman, Song," he shrugged, rolling his eyes playfully.

He was still standing beside your car when your fingers hovered over the start button. He didn't look at you when he said it, "Text me when you get home." The words came out so casually that it took you a few seconds to register them.

"What?"

"So I know you didn't crash."

"Aaah," Your smile widened, nodding at him as you blew out a breath. "I will, then." You barely believed the words as you said them. Mingi was already turning away, walking towards his car.

You didn't drive off immediately. Through the windshield, you could still see him - walking away, hands still shoved into his hoodie pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold, but he didn't look back.

Before you could think better of it, your hands reached for your phone, opening the chat with Mingi.

You
got home

You stared at the way his car's headlights lit up the almost empty parking lot. Your lips pressed together, put your phone down, then drove out.

Your phone buzzed ten minutes later, at a red light. But you withstood the desire to look at it until you were already in the driveway.

Mingi
liar

You stared at the screen longer than you should've, and a breathless chuckle came out. And you noticed how your cheeks hurt from smiling all the way home.

You
Okay, I am for real home now.

Mingi
didn't crash?

You
Nope
We still have to practice tmr

Mingi
:(
thought i could get away w it

You
Damn you hate me so much?

Mingi
you know it

You stared at the messages, with your bag on your shoulder, keys in hand, but still sitting behind the wheel. The screen went dark with a click as you got out. But another message chimed from it when you were kicking your shoes off.

Mingi
goodnight y/n

You
Goodnight Mingi

—

Ballerinas wear specialised ballet costumes - particularly tutus - to facilitate unrestricted movement, showcase technical musculature, and enhance storytelling. These costumes, ranging from classical stiff tutus to flowing skirts, evolved to make movement look effortless, highlight precise lines, and transport audiences into the performance's world. Because ballet isn't just about dancing well - it's about making it look effortless. And sometimes, if you wear it long enough, you start to believe it.

—

Last night, when you went to sleep, you didn't think the house next door would pick that day to throw the biggest party in the neighbourhood. So when you woke up to the sound of your mother's voice instead of the alarm, you already knew the day would be unbearable.

You were awake - technically - but nothing about it felt real. Your mom noticed the second you stumbled into the kitchen, twenty minutes later than you were supposed to be out the door. She didn't even comment. Just grabbed her keys and jerked her head toward the door.

Those thirty minutes spent slipping in and out of consciousness in the car did more damage than help. Your head knocked lightly against the window every few minutes. You felt like a zombie, and probably looked like one too - if your mom's chuckle was anything to go by.

The classes blurred together; your notes were gibberish, words slanting into each other like they didn't want to exist either. Next class was practice, and by now you were sure you wouldn't survive it.

It was honestly a miracle that you could tie the ribbons of your shoes- they were all crooked, and pointing in every direction, but they were on you at least, weren't they? Mingi was trying to suppress a smile when you walked towards him or dragged yourself there rather.

"Rough day?" You didn't need to look at him to see the way he was smiling now. You just groaned in his direction, standing in front of him, ready to dance. But even standing felt wrong - like your weight wouldn't settle properly. This was a new low, even for you.

The rest of the class passed by with Mingi laughing. You even got a half smile from Mr Lee. You weren't there enough however, to notice the anxious shifting of your legs, but you would thank Mingi the next day that he didn't point it out.

At the end of class, Mingi stood tall above you as you fought off your pointe shoes and wrestled them into your bag. He opened the doors for you because he was pretty sure you would've walked into them if he didn't do so.

The next surprise was not finding your car in its usual place. The realisation hit slowly, then all at once. "Shit," you groaned, stopping mid-step. Mingi froze beside you. His head snapped toward you. "What?" past you, to the space where your car should've been. You didn't even bother explaining. Just dragged a hand over your face and reached for your phone, already pulling up your mom's contact.

He resumed walking, just like that. Your head snapped up, watching his back as he moved ahead like nothing happened. Fucking asshole. You couldn't suppress the sigh that came from you as you pressed the phone to your ear- "You coming?"

Your head jerked up again. He was already a few steps ahead, looking over his shoulder at you, brows slightly raised like this was obvious. He reached out to his passenger door, opening it before he walked to the driver's side to sit in.

You blinked at him, still halfway stuck between dialling your mom and processing the fact that your car wasn't there. "…With you?" you asked, slower than usual.

He raised an eyebrow as the car's headlights lit up, "No, I just like asking questions."

You huffed, rolling your eyes as you shoved your phone back into your bag. "You're insufferable."

"Get in." There was no room to argue. Not with your brain lagging two steps behind everything. Not with the cold creeping under your thin clothes. His car was already hot. The leather seats felt like heaven against your skin, already making your eyes droopy, combined with the heat. Your head tipped back against the headrest, eyes closing just for a second…

"Hey," You felt the light tap on your thigh. Your eyes fluttered open, and he was closer than you expected. His whole body was turned towards you, with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the middle console, hovering just above your legs without actually touching them. Your eyes rested on his hand, how you still felt where he had touched it a few seconds ago. As if staring at it will make it come back. "y/n, seatbelt."

He huffed out a breath that sounded awfully like a laugh, and watched you as you fumbled with it. After a few seconds, he reached over, "I got it." his hand brushed yours as he clicked it into place. Hand settling into that same spot it had been in before. Not quite touching but still there.

His gaze flickered up - not to your eyes at first, but your face. Your mouth. Then finally, your eyes. "Are you always this useless when you're tired?" he asked, voice quieter than before.

You let out a soft scoff, but it came out weaker than you meant it to. "Shut up." For a second, you sat there, both of you too close to one another. Eyes on each other's faces, with the low hum of the car mixing with your heartbeat in your ears. But then he pulled back, clearing his throat, eyes on the mirror as he started reversing out.

"Don't fall asleep," he muttered, "'m not carrying you inside."

You swallowed, forcing your gaze out the window, even though your reflection stared right back at you. "Wouldn't dream of it," you mumbled back through pursed lips.

The drive already felt too steady, too quiet, because both of you were too aware of the distance between you. You were fidgeting with your hands in your lap, looking around, but not daring to glance in his direction.

Because if you would, it would all feel real somehow.

Your eyes remained locked on the outside scenery for the time being - or until your eyes stayed shut for longer than what could be considered a blink, and half a second longer every time, until the combination of warmth from the vents and the slow music on the radio basically screamed for you to close your eyes.

And you totally could, right? You wouldn't fall asleep, but with your eyes closed, you wouldn't have to worry about where to look.

When you next opened your eyes, for a second, you didn't move. There was a dull panic in your chest. That disoriented, floating feeling of not knowing where you were or how much time had passed.

It took you a few seconds to register where you were. Still in Mingi's car with him sitting completely relaxed behind the wheel - thighs spread wide enough to graze the gear shift, one hand resting on the windowsill while his knuckles pressed against his lips. Is pouting his default? He was lazily scrolling on his phone as you watched him.

Your eyes slid to the dashboard eleven-fifty pm. Oh my god. Did he seriously let you sleep in his car for hours? As you were wiggling in your seat, he looked at you, rolling his shoulders as he said, "Good morning, princess."

Your cheeks heated with the nickname before you could even register that he meant it in a derogatory way. "Did you let me sleep in your car for three consecutive hours?" You semi-yelled, as much as you could after waking up.

He looked at you deadpan, "I told you I wouldn't carry you in," he said as if it were obvious.

"And your solution to that was driving up to-" you looked outside the window, was just a random parking lot? "-to wherever the fuck we are, instead of waking me up?- because that is what a normal person would do, by the way."

"Whoa, hold your horses, sleeping beauty, do you always get feisty after you wake up?" His hands came up in front of him protectively, and a small smile tugged at his lips. "And by the way, did you finally get enough sleep? Maybe not, but we're one step closer, and also by the way, did you know you talk in your sleep? Because you do, and it's fucking creepy." He was mocking you now. That fucki-

You scoffed while closing your eyes, trying to bite back any remark with little to no success. "You're unbelievable."

"So are you." You let out a loud groan at that, but your cheeks were still warm. Even though he turned the heating off, but not the radio, it still played random songs you fell asleep to.

You really hoped you didn't actually talk in your sleep. Who could know what things unconscious you aired, as if it were Mingi's business.

You couldn't help but wonder, this is the same man who acted like an ass with you randomly, and also who let you sleep in his car. The same guy who challenged your every word, but also helped you when something was wrong, and he was the person whose touch you didn't want to leave your body. Well, that is a discovery, and even thinking it felt wrong.

"So uh," he put his phone down with a little thud on the middle console, "You hungry?"

"Mingi, it's almost midnight."

He raised an eyebrow, "And?" his lips pursed, "Does the absence of the sun in the sky take away your appetite or?" Why does his sassiness have to be funny? You licked your lips as you collected your composure, but you smiled anyway.

"Alright, what you got on your mind?"

Turns out, it wasn't just a random parking lot; it was next to a seven eleven. The store run was fast; you were back with your desired items in the comfort of his car in a few minutes. And as you munched on your samgak kimbap, you tried not to think about the way his body pressed against yours between the aisles, and the ease with which he pressed his card to the reader when you tried to pay.

He even had the biggest smile on after, that smug bastard.

He was looking out the window and drinking his banana milk when he suddenly asked, "What do you think is the most elite flavour?" and it was safe to say you were shocked, so much so that you choked on your food.

"What are you even talking about?" Your laugh was loud in the car, body almost folding in half with the intensity.

His eyes were shaped into half crescents with his big smile, "What? I'm serious."

You needed a few minutes to be able to talk without bursting out laughing again, "Of what? In general?" He hummed a yes back. You pretended to ponder the question with your finger on your mouth, which he rolled his eyes at. "For sweets, I think vanilla, for savoury, I'd say… I don't know cheese?"

His features twisted into visible disgust. "You're so weird."

"You asked me for my opinion!"

"Yeah, and it's fucking disgusting!"

You scoffed, scrunching up the wrapper of your food in your hand, "Okay, then what do you think is the best flavour?"

"Mint choco, and tofu."

"Tofu doesn't even have a taste! And mint chocolate is like the worst of them all!"

"You just can't believe my opinion is superior to yours." He shrugged.

One day, after the competition, you were going to strangle this man with your bare hands. You didn't reply to his last comment; you were sure neither of you would like it. So you just let the quiet take place, and ate your remaining food in silence.

Until you had a thought, "What the hell did you even do until I was asleep?"

He had a spoonful of pudding in his hand when you looked at him. "I drove around for a while," He said as if it was the most normal thing in the world, "Then I parked here and scrolled on my phone."

You nodded faux-amusedly, "Tough."

"I mean, what would you do if I fell asleep in your car?" Well, now that's a real question.

"First of all-" You pointed one finger up, just as he mocked those words in a high pitch, "I can't think of a scenario which would result with you in my car. Second of all, I would wake you up?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. That is the obvious answer, sorry for wanting to be a good person," He waved you off with an eyeroll. His eyes will literally roll out of his head at this rate.

The time after was cut short after a message from your mom. But this turned into a habit - not the part where we were horribly exhausted, and fell asleep in his car, but the driving around and talking one. It wasn't immediate, although. The first few times felt accidental. As if neither of you wanted to acknowledge that it was becoming a thing. As if it would stop, or break if either of you pointed it out.

He always had a random question he would ask you and make you laugh until your stomach hurt - the Mingi special of the day, if you may. It felt good, domestic even. You still bantered; you did it a lot. But you finally smiled at the end instead of letting it ruin your day.

And seeing you together didn't seem strange to the students at the school either. Everyone got used to it, so much so that even the paper that wrote Ikhyun's article got word of it.

The fallen prodigy and the replacement prince

So unique. They even had a picture of you with him coming out of the studio attached. Sometimes journalists go off the rails. But you didn't think it was worth your attention, nor did you mention it to Mingi.

Mingi
did you see this?
link attached

You
Yeah, but I didn't read it

Mingi
"While Ikhyun might have left abruptly, his 'for life' companion seemed to find a replacement quite fast."
who are these people

You
Exactly why I didn't read it lol

Mingi
🙄

Texts became regular too, and not just the "where are you" or "I am ready to start if you come" but more ordinary ones too. As much as you can call this ordinary.

Mingi
you still like ur things vanilla flavoured or did you grow up?

You
Do you still like choco mint flavoured things, or did you develop tasting buds?

Mingi
this was a yes or no question btw

You
Yes, I do.

So it was safe to say, the picking spread to a form that could be read again.

You didn't notice it at first - or you just choose to ignore it deep down - the way your shoulders relaxed more, the way your replies came faster or the way you didn't dread practice as much, almost as if you were looking forward to it.

…But the girls noticed did, via you smiling an odd amount at your screen. "What'chu smiling about?" Dahyun leaned over your shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of said thing. But you were fast to lock it and place the phone next to your tray.

"Nothing special."

But Jiwoo's eyes were on the other culprit across the cafeteria - also smiling at his phone, which made you feel this weird thing in your stomach. Her eyes locked on Dahyun's and explained all of it with a slight nod in his direction, with a knowing smile on her face.

"Yeah, or no one…" Jiwoo said, and you hit her arm lightly.

"Stop," You dragged the letters out as your cheeks heated, "It is nothing." But then your phone lit up with a notification.

Mingi
wanna dip?

Your hand hovered over the screen, just so you could close it if any prying eyes found it. "But I gotta go practice, now," One of your legs was already off the bench, bag in your hands as you stood. The girls watched as Mingi also stood from his table, and Jiwoo found his eyes colliding with Yunho's just as he shook his head slightly.

A smile pulled on her lips as she muttered, "Unbelievable," to Dahyun.

In front of the mirror, his hands already found your waist, after warm up - just as always. With that practised ease that crept in over the last week. You felt as if you had the lead back over your dancing more every day. That certain ground that got ripped out, you started rebuilding it - but now not in pretend, in faux perfection, but in a real way that still left you specifics to perfect, but you now knew what to improve. And you wanted to be better.

With this newfound mentality, practices also became harder in one way.

You weren't only hyper aware of what you needed to do better at, but also his touches. Those lingering touches, and when your breathing was synchronised, after the music ended - especially when you were way too close to each other, with his warm hand wrapped around your torso.

Today was no different. Every touch felt energised; they lit you up as you danced. And as the music ended, he was close again, too close. So much so that if you even lifted your head just a little bit, your lips would touch.

As you saw his eyes look down to your lips, you knew he was thinking the same thing. You felt it too, because his hold got tighter on your waist. You felt his every exhale on your cheeks, the way it fluttered when you leaned just a breath closer. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, with that rush that couldn't quite be named but was always present with him.

But then the music started again, breaking the moment - although neither of you moved for a second too long, a second when it could no longer be denied. The "what ifs" started in your head, loud and overpowering every previous thought, but not loud enough to make your ears skip his voice.

"Again," His voice was raspy, deep, and also quieter than before. And you just danced, from the outside, everything looked the same, but both of you felt the change.

And after you buckled your seatbelt in his car, you mumbled quickly, "Can't stay out today." you didn't even throw your bag to the rear seats, but let it rest in your lap. "I got- something at home."

He didn't question it, no usual banter about the way you stuttered or how you clearly just made that really bad excuse up. He just replied with an "Alright," and dropped you off at home.

—

Spotting is a crucial ballet technique used during turns to prevent dizziness and maintain balance by focusing on a single point. The dancer isolates the head from the body - holding their gaze as long as possible before snapping it back into place with each rotation. It keeps everything controlled and predictable. But that only works if you know where to look. Because the moment your focus slips, even for a second, the world doesn't just blur - it spins.

—

You groaned into your pillow as you rolled to your stomach. Your phone rested next to you, with one specific contact, that was your lifeline for years - your anchor. But as time moved on, so did your relationship. But now everything felt weird, new.

You wanted to talk about it because if you needed to think about it in the comfort of your room alone, you would cry. Fuck it.

That familiar screen lit up as you pressed the call button, and it didn't even take him five seconds to respond. "Hello?"

"Hi, Ikhyun, how are you?" When did talking to your best friend get this hard?

"I'm… managing," He chuckled at the other end. You could see his half smile in front of you. "What's up? Why'd you call?"

"Just wanted to talk," your voice was muffled from your hand, your face rested on. "We haven't talked in a while, Hyun."

He hummed before asking, "How is uni?"

The words were on the tip of your tongue, "You know, same old." But instead you said, "Tiring," after a little pause. "We practice every day, more than before. We… We even started hanging out after."

"y/nnie, that's good," His tone was higher in a way it always got when he was happy. "I'm glad you guys get well."

You snorted when he said that, "Yeah, maybe a little bit too well."

"What do you mean?" He chuckled, but his tone felt more serious.

You hesitated a bit, or rather gathered your thoughts. "It's just- different, you know?" He didn't reply, just let you finish. But how were you even supposed to explain this? The way your chest tightened, the way your thoughts wouldn't sit still or the way everything felt louder around Mingi. "Practice goes… Well. But then the minute the music ends, I don't know how to act."

He hummed, his eyebrows probably gathered at your words as he tried to piece them together, "You'll get used to it." His words felt easy, "It's just the new partner, it takes time to adjust." His chuckle made your hold tighten around your phone, "You're probably just overthinking it."

You turned to your back, phone abandoned on the pillow next to you. Overthinking. Yeah, it was possible, and would explain a lot of things. But this time it doesn't feel like it. It felt- feels real. "Hm, yeah, probably." You hummed, but your phone buzzing snapped you out.

Mingi
so
is that thing over now?

Your eyebrows furrowed. You murmured a small "What?" under your breath, but Ikhyun caught it.

"What did you say?"

"Nothin'."

You
Why?
Desperate to talk to me?

Mingi
how come every time i ask you a question you reply with one back?

A snort left your lips.

"y/n?" Ikhyun's voice pulled you back. "You still there?"

"Yeah," You responded quickly, clicking back into the call, and letting your phone drop back.

"You always get into your head like this," His tone was higher again, smile evidently on his face. "Especially about things that'll fix themselves."

You let out a quiet hum because normally, he would be right. As he always was - but this was maybe something else. Maybe you didn't say it right - or maybe… There just wasn't a way to say it."Yeah, I'm probably just tired." You said instead, voice lower now.

"Get some rest y/nnie," His voice softened. "Don't overwork yourself."

A smile pulled at your lips, even though he couldn't see it. "Hey Hyun?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He chuckled as he responded with delight, "Always." The call ended with a soft tap of your finger. The chat with Mingi lit up your screen again.

You
Don't you like it?

Mingi
fuck off man

You
It's finished tho
Why?

Mingi
i have that drink that's horrible but you seem to like
and i refuse to carry it with me anymore

You
And what you're trying to say is?

Mingi
be outside in 10

Your fingers hovered over the screen, as you reread the messages - because this was new, and you didn't know if it meant good. You should've lied, thought of another excuse - you already did today, what else was there to lose?

But you grabbed your jacket anyway and waited for him outside. When he arrived, you slid into the passenger seat, immediately noticing two drinks sitting in the middle console. "Wow," he glanced at you briefly, before looking ahead, "No attitude today? Should I be worried?"

You shut the door a little harder than necessary, "Just give it a minute."

"Ah," He smiled satisfiedly, "There she is." You rolled your eyes at him, but it didn't have the same energy as usual. Neither of you spoke, just let this awkward silence settle over the car.

You heard him gulp before he started driving. He reached to the middle, shoving a drink your way, "Almost threw it out by the way," as you took it, his fingers brushed yours for a split second. Not as if it mattered.

"So dramatic," You muttered, unwrapping the straw so that you had something to do.

"You're the one who likes it," He shrugged, and for a second, your heart stopped. Are we still talking about the drinks? He might have seen the way you froze when he glanced at you. "That says more about you than it does about me."

A quiet huff left your lips as you took a sip, leaning back into the seat. The silence settled again, but heavier. You watched the scenery change outside the car, but it did faster than you were used to. Your eyes snapped to the speed indicator over a hundred kilometres per hour already.

"Are we late somewhere?" Your tone was chipped. He didn't really drive when you sat in his car, but when he did, he never went above the limit.

"No? Why?" He glanced at you, then his eyes dropped to your hands holding the edge of your seat to the point your knuckles turned white. You saw how his foot pushed the gas pedal harder. He had a smirk on his lips.

"Then why are we going way above legal?" He reached for his drink, and your jaw dropped for a second. "Just give me that." You snatched it out of his hands to open and place the straw in for him, then pushed it in front of his lips.

His eyes dropped down to it for a second, hands reaching for it before you swatted them away. He looked at you, smile still wide. Hands back on the wheel, "If you're gonna princess me for driving this fast, I might have to do it more."

You closed your eyes for half a second and took a deep breath, then said, "Look at the road, Mingi, not me and just drink." He chuckled but did as you told.

After you put the bottle back in the middle console, he spoke up, "So," he started, voice a little lower now, "what was so important?"

You stopped yourself before your eyes could widen. Right… that.

But it was as if you almost considered telling him. Maybe you should have, just 'Don't you remember?' But you didn't say it. It wouldn't even make sense because he is thinking about a family emergency or something along those lines- not you spiralling in your bed.

"Nothing," You said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. "Just uh, family stuff." How pretty is the scenery. But when you looked back, he was already looking at you.

"You're a terrible liar." He said simply, and your stomach dropped. You probably looked like a deer in headlights - but you surely felt as one.

"I wasn't lying."

"Right," He pulled out the syllables, but didn't press further.

He drove for a little after that. The speed indicator didn't go lower; maybe it even went a little higher. But you didn't dare actually to turn your head to look at it. The silence just felt too suffocating, and you both knew he caught you.

You reached another town - or another part of town - either way, you were way past the usual streets and familiar roads. He cleared his throat before he spoke, "So did you eat at this family function?" the words were mocking, almost harsh.

You shook your head - you didn't trust your voice right now.

His grip was tight on the leather of the wheel, turning toward the drive-through of the fast-food restaurant you didn't notice was right next to you. He got you both some fries and an ice cream - per your request.

The plastic spoon's clatter filled the car. You sat with your feet crossed under you, and your back resting against the door, turned towards him as usual. His body faced you also, but not fully.

He finished his ice cream first, but he didn't ask any random questions while he ate. In fact, he didn't even look up from his cup. His eyebrows were furrowed - deep in thought. You let the uncomfortable silence take hold of your lungs; it burned. It didn't burn as much as the idea of opening your mouth and saying something you didn't actually want to.

He might have noticed it - the ideas daring to tear you apart, or maybe the stiffness behind your movements. So he spoke up first - or at least tried to. Multiple times. He took a deep breath, opening his mouth as if he would say something, but hesitated and surrendered to the quiet in the last second.

When he finally seemed to put the thought together - or rather gather the bravery for it. He spoke up, "Do you always run?" What? The word landed wrong - too small for how tight your chest felt.

"What do you mean?"

"When something happens, your first instinct is to fly, run."

The questions made your tongue feel dry, and the car now felt ten times colder. You just stared at him wide-eyed, heartbeat loud in your ears. Because how could you respond to this?

He watched you for another second before he realised you wouldn't say anything. "Or is it just with me?"

"I don't- I- I just." You wanted to reply quickly, and maybe that was your fall. Exactly why the words came out ragged, mirroring the exact chaos in your brain without even finishing a sentence. You tried to piece a defence together, but his eyebrows lifted in quiet challenge, and the words fell apart in your throat before they could mean anything. His eyes stayed on you for a second too long - searching, waiting - as if he was giving you a chance to say it properly, to defend yourself. But you didn't. - His eyebrows dropped right back with a huff and a shake of his head.

"We have an long schedule tomorrow," His hands hovered over the wheel, "I'm gonna take you home." you saw as his jaw tightened, maybe with unsaid words, or just with the tension. But then his hand was already on the start button, not even waiting for your interval. But he knew you wouldn't say anything other than a murmured goodbye in your front yard.

The drive back felt slower, longer. Maybe it was because he was now driving within the speed limit. But something other than that, too. That unexplainable thing that lifted, but neither of you knew where to place it anymore.

The next morning, you didn't want to get out of bed, let alone get to practice. Thursdays were always the longest because you had a few normal classes, then ballet for three hours. After that, you could run to biology, and back to the studio after classes for another three hours minimum - or as much as your body lets you.

Mingi didn't call you out on anything. He didn't talk much during the first practice. Just a little, "Again," or groans came from his direction - towards you at least. He talked to Yunho, Yeosang, San, and Wooyoung with a wide smile on his face. He even made jokes that cost you expensive minutes of practising. Not like that could bother him at the moment.

The second he came back behind you, his smile gradually fell. His attention was there as always, maybe a little more than usual. But just so he could get his touches as short-lived as possible. They were precise, so you couldn't complain, but it hurt. The combination of these interactions made you more exhausted than a common practice would. And that biology class was just the cherry on top.

You tried pushing through the last hours, with more or less success.

You lost count more than once. Not because you didn’t know it - but because every time he stepped close, your focus slipped half a second too late. With the studio empty other than him and you, his focus felt suffocating.

You could hear his eyes roll as he murmured the "Again," behind you - it was sharper this time, closer. You turned, eyes closing a second too long to keep the words in that kept threatening to escape your mouth. But his hold on your waist tightened, "Wait-" his voice was hurried, "From here." his hand moved you back to your position. "Just this turn."

Suddenly, it felt as if someone had sucked all the air out of the classroom. There certainly wasn't enough in your lungs. Your eyes met in the mirror, and you signalled for the turn. He lifted you high. Your muscles strained in the posture, but you need to hold it- definitely not think about the warmth of his hands. Focus.

When he put you down, it was easy, soft. His hands stayed on your waist until he was sure you were stable. The two of you were too close now. The distance seemed like nothing with you now facing him. You looked up at him, his mouth open as he breathed heavily through it. When your gaze reached his eyes, he was already looking at you.

If you craned your neck even a fraction of an centimetre, your lips would touch. You could finally see if he was thinking about the warmth of your skin instead of the combination you were supposed to be executing. If he, too, felt how perfectly you fit in his hands.

But if he doesn't? What if he pulls away and looks at you as if you were crazy?

Maybe then he wouldn't be this close still. You could count his eyelashes. You can clearly see his moles - one on the side of his face, the other under his left eye. His hands were still on you, fingers flexing around you as if he were also contemplating, calculating his chances.

You should just let it happen. Consequences be damned.

Both of you leaned in. Your hands rested on his shoulders, and his pulled you closer, until you felt his lips brush yours. It was electric, just as every other touch you shared in the past few weeks - pulling, addicting.

But also, it was soft. Or at least soft until both of you got pulled into the rhythm. Finding that same accord, just like the one you find when the music starts.

Then it burned. The awareness pushed you away from him. Your hands slipped from his shoulders first, like touching him for another second would make this irreversible. But his stayed on your waist a moment longer - not tight anymore, just there, as if he also didn't quite know how to let go.

Everything felt wrong, too loud, too wide. You could hear the way the lights above clicked as the wind rattled the trees. You became too aware of everything to the point you felt raw.

His hands eventually dropped, and he cleared his throat, "Once more." It took you a few seconds to realise what he meant. But as he stood in position waiting for you, it clicked.

Your heart was loud enough to throw you off count, every time after it. Your breaths were shaky as you stood next to him, following the moves you should be doing, but your mind was elsewhere. His gaze seemed far away, too - both of you moved on muscle memory rather than actual thoughtfulness.

Your mind - minds apparently - revolved around where you touched, and where it lingered too long again. But neither of you looked anywhere near the other's eyes, which would mean something more than what you were ready for.

The practice got cut short. When you brought up going because you were tired, he easily shot you the idea of leaving without a second thought.

His car's engine echoed loudly in the otherwise empty parking lot. The tyres screeched as he drove out. He didn't wave to you, better off he didn't even look at you after you muttered out your excuse, "My mom's picking me up, we gotta go to grandma's." Your words were low, the same kind he already knew you used when you lied, but this time, he didn't argue. Maybe distance would be the best for both of you right now.

You still noticed how his jaw tightened when he gave you one nod.

The next day, it was as if the world tipped on its axis. Or maybe different people attended the school in your skin. An out-of-body experience, yet you did it all. You chose for it to be this way - or at least the silence after it.

He sat with his friends at lunch, just as usual. Laughed with his head thrown back, in that "I know people pay too much attention to me" way. It pissed you off to the point you texted him for it.

You
I'm pretty sure nothing Yunho could say is THAT funny

Mingi
i'm pretty sure the food isn't as bad as your scowl
also i can feel the way your stare is burning my head
can you stop pls im gonna have a bald spot

Dahyun and Jiwoo didn't even say anything about your furious typing. They just shared a look they usually had a lot of.

You
You already have one, that's what I'm staring at

Mingi
that's cruel princess
myb i should just call u cruella

You
You done?

Mingi
don't act so tough i can see ur smile

You
Then maybe you can also see that I'm waiting for you to finish so we can practice

Mingi
practice?
thought u were avoiding me again

You watched him shove his phone into his pocket before standing from the table. Yunho said something that made Wooyoung grin, but Mingi only shook his head once before walking toward you.

Every step closer made your chest tighten harder. As much as you wanted to play it off, the banter didn't have its usual easy rhythm. It felt charged - a thin wire stretched tight between you, making it impossible to tell where the joking ended, and the truth began, especially when he said, "You're distracting today."

"Then stop looking at me," You said in a sing-song voice without missing a beat.

He scoffed as he massaged his arms for a second, "Maybe stop giving me reasons to."

You couldn't think of a reason today for why he shouldn't bring you home. Not as if he believed yesterday's one. So when you sat beside him on the passenger seat, you felt like you could explode any minute.

Frustrated with him not calling you out on your bullshit yesterday. So you did what you did best. "You're in a weird mood today."

His finger tapped once against the wheel before responding, "Am I?"

You hummed back, "Mhm," your eyes on the phone in your hand, "You usually talk more."

"You usually lie less." There it is.

Your fingers tightened around the phone, "Oh my god, you're still hung up on that?"

"Well, you are making excuses to avoid me," He glanced at you briefly.

"I am not avoiding you."

"Right, so that's why you have something with your family every time something happens."

You scoffed, "What do you want me to do, Mingi?"

"I don't know, maybe act like kissing me didn't ruin your life?"

"You're acting like it meant nothing to you either."

You saw his reflection in your window, the way he was looking at you in that suffocating silence that somehow is always present in this car. Your eyes instead, focused on the University, through the glass. The lights were still bright in some classrooms.

His hand snapping to your jaw caught you entirely off guard - but not half as much as his mouth slamming down on yours. It was rougher than the day before, his jaw still tight with an unyielding frustration that effectively drowned out every unsaid word between you.

His eyes were dark when he pulled away. Something sharp flickered behind his eyes - frustration, disbelief, maybe something worse. "You really think that?" His voice came out quieter this time. Both of your chests rose unevenly yet somehow in sync, finding the same length even in distress. "You keep talking like I don't want this," he muttered.

Your lips still brushed when you answered, "Then stop acting like you don't care."

His laugh came out sharp, mocking. "You're unbelievable."

"You kissed me."

"Yeah," his fingers tightened against your jaw again, "because you wouldn't shut up."

You were the one to close the distance this time. Craving the plush of his lips on yours, moving with such fervour. He kissed just as he talked, with a bite and not afraid to hurt. His tongue moved against your lips, fingers tightening around your jaw.

The kiss felt messy in a way ballet never allowed you to be. No measured movements, no counts. Just heat and frustration moving to the surface in a way it didn't need words.

Your hands slipped into his hair without thinking - as if it was second nature - tugging hard enough for a low sound to leave his mouth. One that you let consume you.

"See?" he muttered against your lips, his breath hot and slick against your skin. "You keep acting like you’re scared of me…" He caught your lower lip between his teeth, and a high, breathless echo of his own sound escaped your throat.

"Because you don't give me a second to think," you shot back, though the words dissolved the second his mouth found yours again. He leaned closer over the middle console, one hand braced beside your thigh now, the other still holding your jaw as if he thought you would disappear if he let go.

The windows had started fogging slightly. The air felt too warm, too small. And suddenly you became painfully aware of everything again. The parking lot outside, your dance bag and cardigan abandoned in the backseat - the fact that tomorrow you would still have to stand in front of the mirror together and pretend this wasn't happening. You pulled back first this time, breaths shaky. "This is a bad idea," you whispered.

His eyes searched yours for a second before he laughed quietly in a tired, disbelieving way, "Yeah," he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek once. "Probably."

But rational thoughts never really stopped you, did they?

His mouth curled as he looked in your eyes, that sparkled - sparkled with need, with the inevitable outcome that both of you knew that you won't sober up enough in any scenario to stop.

Your hand found his that rested beside you, and slid it to your thighs and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. You saw as his tongue smoothed over his teeth, but he didn't move his hand. He tried to read your eyes, to see if you felt the same way he did.

Because maybe this is what you needed, to let the tension form into something physical, to a language both of you understood.

When one of your eyebrows lifted challengingly, that's when something broke inside him and freed a part that was raw with need. His hands slid under your legs, and he easily lifted you over to his lap, mouth already on yours the second your thighs touched his.

The movement knocked the breath from your lungs. One of your hands caught against his shoulder to steady yourself, the other still tangled in his hair as he kissed you as if he had been holding himself back for weeks and finally got permission to stop trying.

His grip tightened instinctively beneath your thighs, pulling you closer until there was barely any space left between you. "You drive me fucking insane," he muttered against your lips, words roughened by the way he was breathing. He looked just as wrecked as you felt.

His hair is messy from your hands, and his lips swollen. Eyes dark every time they flicked down to your mouth, then dragged back up again, as if he couldn't decide where he wanted to look most.

And the worst part was how natural this felt.

As if all those nights in the car, all those lingering touches during practice, every argument, every stupid text, and every almost-moment had been leading here the entire time.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie as another kiss stole the rest of your thoughts away. Slower this time, more deliberate. Because now both of you finally understood what the other was asking for.

You felt every part of him as he kissed you. His thick, muscled thigh tensing under you, the feel of it dizzying, enough to make you feel as if you were underwater. He bit your lower lip again, pulling another embarrassingly loud sound from you.

His hand on your waist moved with a new purpose - to map out in a way he hadn't before. Because, yes, he had touched you before, but not in this hungry, all-consuming way. He hadn't let himself feel your silky skin under his palms. He only knew the calculated points he was supposed to hold you, so he wouldn't hurt you. But he had enough of it.

His hand traveled to the strap of your leotard, tracking the line of the elastic before smoothing over your collarbone, a hot, breathy kiss following the exact trail of his fingers. But he didn't push it further until your hand enveloped his, guiding him past that studied precision.

You lead his hand, moved without a second thought - straight to the strap, letting his fingers push it down the slope of your shoulder, in a feather-light touch. Your eyes were drawn to his face - his gaze that followed your bodysuit, basking in every new inch of skin that was bared to him.

Your chest rose with wild breaths, even as your breasts were exposed to the foggy air of the car, nipples pebbled. His hands glided from the curve of your chest down your waist, finally resting at your lower back, pulling you in to another kiss.

You moaned into his mouth at the feeling of his rough finger tips on your upper body. He moved with boldness to see which points made you squirm in his hands, which made you let out those delicious sounds he hungrily swallowed down. But never quite touching where you wanted him most.

You felt vulnerable. He was still fully clothed under you, while you had your camisole bunched at your hips; only your tights and wrap skirt remained.

The fog on the windows thickened around you, shutting the rest of the world out. But not enough to stop you from noticing the messages on your phone go off. There were a lot, blowing up your little bubble with him.

His lips hadn't stopped moving against yours, moving with haste, all teeth and tongue, as if he wasn't going to waste a moment now that he had his hands on you. His hand moved from your waist to reach for your phone, which you'd left on the passenger seat.

"Mind if I?" He motioned to it, and you couldn't stop the needy sound that escaped you.

"Jus' do it," your voice was muffled against his jaw as you kissed your way down, leaving little bites and marks all over his neck and collar bones. You didn't miss the way his breath hitched at that particular spot above his collarbones.

His hand's warmth moved down to your buttocks, kneading the flesh of them over your tights. It was feverish, the car was hot with your sighs and moans. He pulled you closer to him, seating you directly above the tent of his pants, both of you moaning from just the mere touch.

His sounds were all-consuming, addicting - you needed to hear them more. So you rolled your hips against his slowly with a wicked smile on your lips, appearing as soon as a dark and gravely tone left his mouth. His hands tightened against your flesh, leaving you with marks of this night for days to come.

You felt soaked; soaked in a way your panties became one with the fabric of your leotard, clinging to your swollen labia - the grinding only making matters worse; until you were certain the heat of you would burn right through the heavy denim of his jeans, leaving a ruinous, undeniable mark of exactly what he was doing to you

His eyes were dark, absorbing mysteriously, demanding everything you had left, daring you to let go of the last shred of your control. Let him do as he pleases, you're just there to feel; to feel the textured leather of the steering wheel pressing hard against your shoulder blades as he crowded you into it, his mouth finally taking total possession of your skin.

The breath that escapes his open mouth that hovers over your nipples sends shivers down your spine, making you arch your back - pushing your chest towards his face. His eyes are following every reaction, pulled- thrilled by them. He craves those pretty sounds, responses. You feel the warmth and wetness before you see it. Your head throws back with the contact, and you can feel him smiling smugly against your skin where he is lapping at your nipple.

He doesn't fully pull back before giving the other bud the same treatment, and you can't help the whine and immediate response of your hands reaching for his head to pull him back. "Where did those snarky replies get lost, hm, Princess?" His tone was raspy, dripping with that familiar, mocking arrogance. A fierce heat rushed to your cheeks as you tried to stare him down, but with your fingers tangled helplessly in his hair, it probably looked like nothing more than a plea.

You were reduced to a puddle in his strong hands, which were now moving down to your inner thighs. Drawing slow, barely there lines along your muscles, always getting closer and closer to the aching centre of you, but retreating to draw another sweet, caressing line on your upper legs. "Fucking- stop teasing me," you whined, eyebrows pulling together in frustration.

"Why?" He rasped, low. "You have another family gathering to attend?" Your eyes shut at his taunting tone, but then his finger finally found your throbbing clit, circling it with careful precision. "Gotta get to it then, huh?" A wicked smile wide on his face, "Wouldn't want you to be late."

The words had barely left his mouth before you felt the sudden, tight pull of nylon against your skin, followed instantly by the sharp, unmistakable sound of delicate fabric ripping. A breathless gasp left your mouth at the feeling. Your eyes snapped to his in your confused state.

"Sorry, Princess," He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, the words said in one quick breath against your mouth. "I'll buy you a new pair," Another kiss. "Someone's just really impatient." That smug motherf-

You didn't have time to finish the thought, because his fingers pushed your leotard and panties aside in one rough movement. His fingers then dipped into your wetness, spreading it to your clit, still teasing you. Testing your limits - and what little patience you had left - to a degree you hadn't known you were capable of enduring. Lewd noises paired with your moans fill the car as he toys with you.

When he finally pushed two fingers inside you, it felt like way more. Already too overwhelming after being denied pleasure for too long, from having the control ripped from your hands with a few sweet words whispered in your ears. Yet he still worked you open at a maddening pace, the heel of his palm rubbing against your bud lusciously.

The volume rise in your moans was enough to tell him he found your spot. You squirmed wildly in his lap, chasing the bliss until a hand on your hips anchored you with a rasped whisper, "Stop moving, baby," he drew circles with his thumb, "You wouldn't want me to stop, right?" You shook your head frantically, whining at him with your lips trapped between your teeth. "Then be a good girl and stay still for me."

The rough pads of his fingers gave you extra pleasure, that undeniable high coming closer and closer - so close you felt it on your tongue. Until his hands left your frame entirely. Right on the brink of ecstasy.

His name left your lips in a loud sob and sniffle. Tears you hadn't registered yet ran down your wet cheeks. And when you looked at him, you didn't see anything but that smug smile that seemed stuck on his face now. He didn't say anything before moving down to work on the metal zipper of his jeans.

His hips lifted, pushing down his jeans and underwear in one solid motion, shifting you in the process too. Your eyes locked onto the V-line of his lower abdomen, paired with a happy trail running down the middle. You felt his gaze on you, piercing, searching for a reaction. A reaction he caught instantly, mapping the way your breath completely hitched in your throat.

Your eyes rounded as his hard cock slapped against his stomach, angrily red, the head slick with precum that caught the low light of the car. The sound of his chuckle broke you out of your trance, raising your gaze to meet his.

His eyes were hooded, head thrown back against the seat. Pumping his shaft in slow, unhurried movements as he looked at you. His head tilted to the side, "Gonna sit on it, pretty girl?" he purred, still moving his hand in a deliberate pace, but tugged your frame closer. "Work for what you've been begging for, hm?" He looked so full of himself, you could feel it roll off from him in waves - yet you didn't have it in you to deny a single word.

You nodded in a barely there motion. Lifting yourself over his cock, you felt his hand guide you down. But it left the moment the head was inside you. You move slowly, slow enough for him to grab onto your hips and still you on top of him with only the head in. Reminding you in the most painful way that he was still the one in charge. You wailed and moved in his hold, trying to get some friction - anything. Because just a little movement would be enough to unravel you.

"Mingi," You cried out, high-pitched, grabbing at his shoulders, even going as far as sinking your nails into his flesh. But he only moaned at the feeling with his head thrown back. "Please."

"Can't understand you, pretty."

This man will be the end of you. The only man who could rip your awareness so far out of reach that you were reduced to begging. Begging for anything he would give you. "Please, Min-" You gritted out through your teeth, "Stop- already." your words were ragged with your breaths, chest heaving wildly.

These moments stretched into what felt like years. Braced against his solid frame, you had been forced to taste that agonising stretch without ever getting what you needed. His hold finally softened around your torso, letting you sink on him. The strain was everything. A heavy burning feeling in your sensitive nerves. your eyes rolling back in your head with every single centimetre.

He watched your face contort with overwhelming pleasure, adapting to his size with a long moan. You looked ethereal, lit from the low lights of the dashboard, hair all messed up and sticky against your temples. He let you find your own rhythm - let you work for your own pleasure in his sick, selfish yet so pleasurable way.

But he supported you, hands helping your thighs work, moving the weight of them - letting you get lost in the feeling. You didn't need much for that all-consuming whiteness to appear behind your closed eyelids, moving faster to reach your peak.

His moans increased in volume too; he whispered some sweet nothings in your ears, you were too gone to understand. Crushed beyond repair. You felt his cock twitch inside you just as you tightened around him, following you into the bliss, filling you up - painting your insides white.

You collapsed against his chest, which rose with heavy breaths. His arms holding you tight against him, caressing your sweat-tainted skin softly. "Everything's alright, Pretty?" You nodded against him, painfully unaware of your spot in the university's parking lot - fully blissed out and content in his arms.

—

Arabesque
/ˌærəˈbesk/

noun

A position in ballet where the dancer balances on one leg while extending the other behind them, creating a line meant to appear effortless and endless. It looks weightless from the outside - suspended, almost perfect. But no matter how beautiful it seems, a dancer can only hold it for so long before gravity reminds them where they belong.

—

Everything was sore. Every limb of your body felt strained in the way it usually did after hours of practising - nothing unusual in that - but rather in the fact that you woke up against a very firm chest.

"You really need to stop passing out in my car, Princess." He chuckled, low, chest shaking under your cheek. You just snuggled closer to the warmth, your face buried in the crook of his neck. The windows were still completely fogged over, sealing the two of you away from the chilly outside air. It had only been a few hours since you both had collapsed into each other, your bodies still tangled together on the reclined driver's seat. His heavy arms were wrapped securely around your waist, holding you in his lap as if it were the only place you belonged.

For a few blissful seconds, you just breathed him in. But the lingering thought of the time, or perhaps just the sheer habit of checking your phone, made you pull back slightly. Your phone was lying face down on the passenger seat, screen dark, silenced long before things had gotten messy.

With a soft groan, you shifted on his lap, stretching your back to reach over the centre console. Mingi didn't let you go; his grip merely loosened enough for you to lean over, his chin resting lazily on your bare shoulder as his eyes blinked open, watching you with quiet, relaxed fondness.

You flipped the phone over and unlocked the screen. The sudden glare illuminated the cramped car, revealing frantic texts from Dahyun and Jiwoo just sent over two hours ago.

Jiwoo
oh my god, tell me you're awake

Dahyun
link attached
someone leaked the unedited video from the bar

Jiwoo
the audio is completely clear
look at the background
watch Mingi

Your breath hitched. Your thumb trembled as you clicked the link in the message, making sure the volume was set to a low so the sound wouldn't echo off the glass.

The video was shaky, filmed just a little further from where they stood - the exact night the scandal had broken and Ikhyun’s career had vanished. But unlike the blurry, chaotic clips that had circulated for months, this audio was crisp. You could clearly hear the mocking, arrogant voices of the male group members at a nearby table.

"...thought she was the untouchable prodigy, turns out she’s just a pass-around for the department..."

A sickening wave of ice flooded your veins at the sound of Kangmin. But before the familiar humiliation could completely swallow you, a figure slammed into the frame, completely shattering the table's glass drinks.

It was Mingi. He looked visibly tipsy, his posture loose but terrifying as he kicked a chair out of his way, stepping directly into the space of three guys. His recorded voice snarled through the phone speaker, deep, raw, and completely unhinged. "Say that again. Say her name again and see if you walk out of here on your own two feet."

You watched in absolute shock as Yunho, San, and Wooyoung desperately grabbed the fabric of Mingi’s hoodie, trying to haul him back. Mingi had thrown the first punch. He had started the entire thing. And it was only when the brawl escalated into total, violent chaos that Ikhyun had thrown himself into the conflict to protect the guy who was fighting for you - ultimately taking the fall that should have belonged to Mingi.

The phone nearly slipped from your fingers.

Every single muscle in your body snapped tight. Your spine straightened instantly, your thighs tensing against his lap as you went entirely, terrifyingly rigid.

Mingi felt the exact second your body locked up. The lazy, comfortable warmth radiating off him vanished in an instant. His arms tightened around your waist, his hooded eyes sharpening as he stared at the side of your face, his brow furrowing at the sudden, absolute terror rolling off you.

"Hey," his voice was raspy, the casual afterglow completely dropping from his tone. He nudged your shoulder with his chin, trying to peer into your face. "What's up? What's wrong?"

You couldn't answer. Your jaw felt completely wired shut, your eyes wide and pinned to the glowing screen where the pixelated, chaotic brawl was still playing out in a loop.

Sensing the absolute lockdown gripping your frame, Mingi’s gaze shifted from your face down to the phone clutched in your trembling fingers. He leaned in closer, his broad chest pressing flush against your back as he looked over your shoulder, his eyes tracking the video.

The phone speaker whispered out the muffled, violent audio again.

"...Say her name again and see if you walk out of here on your own two feet."

The exact second his own recorded voice cut through the quiet of the car, Mingi froze. The heavy, warm breaths he had been exhaling against your neck completely stopped. Every single muscle in his frame went just as rigid as yours, his arms locking around your waist - not out of affection this time, but out of a sudden, defensive reflex.

The screen flickered, showing Ikhyun throwing himself into the fray to drag Mingi out of the line of fire, the camera panning wildly as the table shattered.

Silence fell over the car. A thick, suffocating silence that made the fogged-up windows feel like a prison.

You slowly turned your head, your neck straining from the sheer tension of the movement, until your eyes met his.

The fondness that had been in Mingi's eyes just moments ago was entirely gone. His expression had turned completely blank, his hooded eyes dark and unreadable. But the sharp, furious pulse beating against his jawline betrayed him. He didn't look away from your stare. He didn't even blink.

"You started it," Your voice came out as a ghost of a whisper, barely a breath against the cold air of the car. "It wasn't Ikhyun. It was you."