࿔:･𝓙eon 𝓙ungkook.

The ballet studio always seemed to demand more than it gave. White light, unforgiving mirrors, and a silence broken only by the sound of ballet shoes on the floor. Inside, there was no room for doubt, for mistakes… or for distractions. You had learned that from day one. What they hadn't taught you was how to ignore the way Jungkook looked at you.

Your teacher wasn't cruel, but he wasn't kind either. He was precise. Demanding. Distant. Every correction he made seemed to measure something more than technique, as if he were searching for an invisible crack that no one else could see. And yet, there were moments—brief, almost nonexistent—when his attention lingered on you for a second longer. And that changed everything.

The clock had barely struck seven when you pushed open the studio door. The morning chill still seeped in through the high windows, and the floor was freezing even through your tights. You dropped your bag in a corner and, without wasting a moment, walked over to the bar. Your movements were automatic: stretching, breathing, preparing your body before someone else arrived. Before he arrived. You bent down to adjust the laces of your sneakers, pulling firmly until you felt just the right amount of pressure around your ankle.

“You arrive early.”

A voice. His voice. You hadn't heard him come in. It was Jungkook.