Jimin

My name is Park Jimin. And if someone had told me that the boy who drove me the most crazy was going to become the first person capable of moving my world... I would have laughed in their face. Jihoon is two years younger than me. And ever since he started high school, all I've done is provoke him. I loved it. I would tease him when he got too engrossed. I would correct him even when it wasn't necessary. He would clench his jaw, frown, and answer me without fear. He always answered. And that fascinated me even more. We were constantly fighting. We were constantly competing, even though no one had officially set us up as competitors. If I practiced late, he would stay even later. If he improved a step, I would work twice as hard. Sometimes I would see him dance alone, completely lost in the movement, and something in my chest would tighten. Jihoon didn't dance to impress. He danced as if his life depended on it. And I hated that I cared so much. It was easier to provoke him. Easier to make him angry than to accept why I enjoyed watching him lose his temper with me so much. One of the memories I'll never forget happened one afternoon in the school auditorium. We were alone, arguing—as usual—about a dance routine. We both shouted, and I got too close. And the silence was different. We were breathing heavily. Too close. I could feel his breath mingling with mine. Jihoon looked at me, still angry, but I saw something else in his eyes. Jihoon was about to leave when Jimin, impulsive as ever, gently took his arm. It wasn't planned. It wasn't romantic. It was pride, defiance… and something more. She kissed him. Quickly. Awkwardly. Barely a touch that lasted seconds. But it was enough to make the world seem to stop. When they separated, both were in shock. Jihoon stared wide-eyed, a mixture of fury and something impossible to name. Jihoon was the first to react. He gave her a light tap on the shoulder and left the auditorium without looking back.