Jungkook was watching again. He knew he should not be, but who could blame him when Park Jimin was so damn entrancing. This man was music through and through, when he was dancing, his body was singing, and even though the small white buttons in his ears denied Jungkook the pleasure of listening to the same tune, he could still hear every note clearly. So, who could blame him for spending Thursday nights watching Park Jimin through the window on the studio door?

Jungkook himself was not from the contemporary arch, he was one of the hip hop/streetstyle department students. More beats, less violins. But every Thursday evening, Jungkook was regretting this choice a tiny bit. He knew that he could never express himself like Park Jimin, not as smooth like grass in the wind or a leave caught in the cataract. He was more on the side of danger and sex than elegance and beauty. Although, Park Jimin was no less sex in pants than any great streetstyler.

Park fell, graceful and planned, but Jungkook had been too caught up in his thoughts to see the difference from a real fall and the hand that had snapped forward to catch the fall, hit the glass with a loud thud. Fuck!

Not thinking twice, Jungkook turned on his heels and sprinted down the hallway and around the next corner. Chances were good that Park had not heard him through his air pods, but he would not risk being caught as a creepy stalker by the man of his dreams.

Five minutes later, he was freezing his fingers and ass off while speeding back home on his bike. One day, he promised himself, one day he would find the courage to ask Park Jimin out.

> the next day <

When Jimin's foot hit the floor harder than intended and he had to catch himself inelegantly, his patience ran out.

"I can't do this," he snapped at Mrs. Kim, gesturing at the idiot who had just dropped him for the n-th time in the last hour. "If he can't lift me, find someone who can."

The lady sighed but looked equally as displeased as Jimin felt. Naeum, the boy who had been his base, looked miserable. Jimin was almost sorry, but he could not deal with this any longer. This was already the fourth one who was failing him and the Christmas Dance was in a month. All the scouts of important dance schools would be there to watch, and he could not mess this up, not when he had made it so far.

"Leave us, boy," the lady told the misfortunate fellow and he hurried to grab his bag and slip out of the room. Jimin could swear he saw him crying and felt awful. "Don't you dare," the miss snapped him out of it. "If he is no good, he is no good. You can't take him out of pity."

"I know," Jimin murmured. Still, he felt awful. He should have said it nicer.

"So, is Taehyung recovering?" she wanted to know.

Taehyung was Jimin's base, the one and only who could lift him like it was nothing, make him fly on his big hands. And also the one who had snapped all the fucking ligaments on his right leg because he had fallen down the stairs completely drunk, that damn idiot.

"He won't make it in time," he told the lady through gritted teeth and took a sip from his bottle.

"Then what can I do?" she asked. "We don't have many male students who are good bases."

"For men. Who are good bases for a man," he finished her sentence. Of course, most of the male students could lift their female partners, but no one could lift a damn whole man. "Then ask the whole school," he pulled on the last string of hope. "Maybe ballet has some good ones, or... or, I don't know. At this point I would take a hip hopper if he could do it."

Mrs. Kim looked pained. "A hip hopper?" she asked like she was talking about shit on her boots. "Desperation is not a good enough reason to stoop that low."

Jimin's jaw clenched. Sometimes the ballerina showed not only through the lady's body but through her words as well. He hated her stigmata.

"Do it," he demanded. "If they're all no good, I won't take them, but it's worth a try."

She sighed, but Jimin knew that she was just as helpless as he was. They needed someone who could handle him, or the Christmas Dance would become a fiasco. For him and for her, reflecting badly on the school image. That, or he would not even get the chance to perform. How lousy would that be?

>><<

Hello there. I'm back with a sweet Jikook story for Christmas. Comment and vote to your heart's content.