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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

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Raise the Barre (Ch. 2)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+ (Eventual Smut)

Genre: Enemies to Lovers / Dance Academy!AU

Word Count: 6,436

Summary: You and Park Jimin have been rivals for as long as you’ve known one another; ever since he tripped you in the front row of your first dance convention. When you graduate from high school and enter Russet Ballet Academy, you tell yourself you’re leaving all past quarrels behind. The main problem with this though, is that your past seems determined not to leave you alone.

Worse still, the obstacles you face while out in the real world might prove more challenging than anything your enemy has to offer.

After the initial shock of your partner wore off, you decided spending the semester partnered with Park Jimin was, indeed, the dark sentence it appeared to be at first glance.

Jimin wasn’t happy with the situation either; that much became clear when Mr. Vlad said your name and Jimin instantly stiffened. You’d turned slowly to face him, your mind going fuzzy as you met his blank gaze.

The first two weeks of the semester had been spent wondering if this was some kind of cruel, cosmic joke. Maybe you’d been a terrible person in a past life and this was your bitter reward. If so, Jimin must have pissed someone off too, since he seemed equally perturbed by your new relationship.

Waiting in line at the water fountain, you checked the time once again and exhaled. Ballet began in five minutes and Miss Britt employed the same lateness tolerance policy as Mr. Vlad. Really, it was a blanket expectation by all the teachers at Russet. If you arrived after the door shut, you weren’t allowed in – and god forbid you missed a step the next week during barre. Motivated to avoid this, you’d arrived fifteen minutes early every day since classes started – it was hardest for 8:00 AM ballet, but that couldn’t be helped.

Once your water bottle was full, you screwed on the cap and hustled into the room with three minutes to spare. Miss Britt stood at the front beside the live pianist. She insisted on using one for all her classes, saying it was good practice for when you’d dance with an orchestra.

Arms crossed, she surveyed each student when they entered, and you hastened to stand beside Noelle at the bar. Placing your water bottle on the floor, you began to roll your neck and warm up your feet.

From across the room, you heard Jimin laugh and looked up on reflex – only to find him standing next to Sabrina.

Uncertain, you froze. You hadn’t made it a habit to follow Jimin’s movements, or even to learn more about him since your arrival at Russet. You saw him in class and occasionally on the weekends but had made it a point to keep your friend groups separate. As a result, you really had no idea what Jimin had been up to in his private time.

It seemed the answer to your question was: cozying up to the enemy. Since that first night in Grace Hall, Sabrina had proven herself to be as unpleasant as you’d feared. You’d mostly tried to steer clear of her path, but again, this was hard to achieve in a class of eighty students.

While you watched, Jimin laughed again and Sabrina smiled. She looked almost pleasant and in response to this, your eyes narrowed.

Objectively, you didn’t want Jimin as your dance partner, but he’d been assigned to you. It’d be incredibly embarrassing if he asked to switch midway through the semester. Everyone would know it was because of you and you’d have no other options when the New Year rolled around.

Faculty clarified the partner situation by the end of the first week. Apparently, only your first ballet partner at Russet was assigned. This was done on purpose, in order to get you used to working with new people, but you’d be allowed to choose your own partner starting January 1st. This was the only reason you hadn’t immediately marched to the front office and demanded a change. Clearly, this was a test of partnership. Jimin might be the devil himself, but he hadn’t asked to switch partners and you’d be damned if you gave in before he did.

On the opposite side of the room, Jimin smiled and you scowled, wondering what Sabrina could possibly have to say that he found so hilarious. In the two weeks you’d known her, Sabrina had yet to utter a joke in your presence. Suspicion clouded your judgement, since it was no secret amongst the class that Sabrina’s ballet partner wasn’t as talented as she was.

The idea that she might be after Jimin entered your mind while you watched. While you didn’t want to be Jimin’s partner, you also didn’t want Sabrina to be Jimin’s partner.

You were shaken from this thought by Miss Britt clapping her hands.

“Pliés, ladies and gentlemen!”

Miss Britt led ballet class on Tuesdays; right now, she stood at the front of the room while she waited for everyone to echo her movements.

“From first,” she said, adopting the same position. “Little breath on the intro, and – demi plié one, two. Demi plié three, up four. Grand plié five, port de bras six –up seven, eight. Rise to relevé on two! Hold three, four. Grand plié five, up six, tendu to second. Repeat!”

You followed her with half-movements, attempting to mimic her delicate port de bras. The grand plié was fast, which was tricky – you’d need to control your center as you rose from the ground.

“Start on the right,” said Miss Britt, turning around. “Skip third. I want to see you sweating by the end, everyone! Pliés should be as much effort as battements! If I don’t see sweat, we’ll do center barre again next week.”

A ripple of panic went through the class.

Center barre was a time-honored ballet tradition, loathed by all. It involved doing warm-ups in the center of the room instead of at the barre. This required additional strength and concentration; enough to cripple even the most stoic of ballerinas.

As the pianist started, the entire class inhaled and fell into motion. Hips square, core engaged, heels down, head tilted up and to the side. You let each breath you took flow through your body, mirroring the stance Miss Britt had shown.

True to her demand, your muscles were already warm by the end of the first side. Miss Britt made her rounds at the edge of the classroom, stopping occasionally to dole out corrections.

“Your back is arched, Irene!” she called. “There, that’s better. Louis, move through the motion. Save your ballistic stretching for jazz class. Good, good.”

“She’s coming,” Noelle whispered beneath her breath.

Hiding a smile, you ducked your head. Miss Britt was close – you could see her in the corner of your eye as she turned the corner, heading down your row with an eagle’s eye.

Dropping into the final plié, you struggled to keep your hips square while you rose from the ground. Miss Britt stopped alongside you, examining you for a moment before she began to walk forward.

“Heels forward,” she said, correcting your stance. “Imagine everything rotates from the hips. Push down through the ground and out! All motion is powered by the glutes. Yes… better,” she said, begrudgingly moving on.

A bead of sweat rolled down your neck and dropped into your leotard. You knew her praise hadn’t been as genuine for you as it had been for others. Noelle glanced your way from the corner of her eye, but you continued to stare straight ahead. Miss Britt was nearby, and you didn’t want to give her another reason to scold.

As the music came to a close, Miss Britt stopped at the front and began the tendu combination. You were soaked with sweat before rond de jambes ended, only the massive amounts of hair spray and gel you had used holding your bun in place.

Barre lasted over an hour, which was longer than usual. As you and Noelle dragged your barre to the side at the end, you felt your grip slipping on the silvery metal. Trying to stay hydrated, you drank half your water bottle on the side of the room.

The water break didn’t last long – soon you were gathered in the center of the room for adagio. Miss Britt was the kind of teacher who used both hands and feet to relay the combination. You stood on the sidelines and watched; a bit dizzy from how much you’d sweated already. More water before class would’ve been a good thing.

The one positive about the adagio was it was a solo, not a pas de deux. You had ballet partnering classes throughout the week, of course, but oftentimes your normal ballet teachers assigned partner work as well.

This was why Jimin stood beside you, hovering nearby in case he was needed.

Casting a withering glance at him in the mirror, you assumed fifth position and firmly squared your shoulders. Behind you and to the left, Jimin rolled his eyes.

Jaw clenched, you decided to ignore him.

Sabrina stood on the opposite side of the room, paired with Paulo Goncalves, a talented ballet dancer – just not as talented as she was. Before you could look away, she turned her head in your direction. You winced, ready to move but then realized she wasn’t looking at you.

She stared at Jimin. Sabrina looked at him in much the same way mothers examined produce in the grocery store, taking in every angle to determine if it was valuable.

You stiffened when you saw this, unsure what to do. Sabrina’s gaze moved to you before you could blink and when she saw you, she smiled.

It wasn’t a nice gesture.

This was disarming enough that when the music began, your mind went completely blank. The rest of the class started, raising their arms overhead and you could only stare, lips parting in horror. All steps of the combination had flown from your mind.

“Développé devant,” Jimin whispered behind you.

Instantly, the steps returned to your memory. Snapping to attention, you raised both arms overhead. As you caught up to the class, you extended your right leg in the air.

Miss Britt turned in your direction, luckily not noticing your momentary confusion and when she moved on to Brian, you exhaled in relief. As the combination continued, a question mark formed in your mind, and you chanced a subtle glance sideways at Jimin.

A vague sense of confusion settled over you. Jimin had helped you, which seemed extremely out of character for a demon from the depths of Hades.

When you glanced his way though, Jimin didn’t seem to notice anything was off. He looked almost peaceful as he moved through the combination, executing the steps with perfect timing. The sight of this made your blood boil, since the combination was difficult, and he had the audacity to make it look so fucking easy.

Each line of his body radiated grace and control; he truly was remarkable, it made you nauseous to watch. The lightest twitch of his pinky was purposeful, his body held perfectly still as he stepped into arabesque.

You lost sight of him when you penchéd, catching Jimin again in the mirror when you rose. Logically, you knew he was also working hard, but it didn’t show at all. You, on the other hand, were working and looked like you were.

When the combination ended, Jimin breathed easily, barely winded, while you felt as though you’d just run a marathon.

“Y/N!”

Head whipping up, you met Miss Britt’s gaze at the front of the room. For a moment, you panicked and wondered if she’d seen your lapse after all. If there was one thing not tolerated at Russet, it was failing to pay attention.

She looked at you for a moment, as though searching for what to say and then simply said, “Square your hips in arabesque.”

You sagged slightly in relief. “I will,” you promised, but she’d already moved on.

“Irene, less port de bras. Any more flapping and you’ll fly away. Paulo – you’re lagging on your transitions. Stay on the beat. Now,” she said, turning around. “Find your partner. The next adagio is paired.”

Jimin walked forward and came to a stop beside you. You stiffened at his proximity, uncertain what to say.

He’d helped you – Park Jimin had helped and you couldn’t fathom why. For the entirety of your teenage years, Jimin had been your worst enemy; it only stood to reason the trend would continue at Russet. When he glanced at you in the mirror, you found the silence unbearable.

“Thanks,” you said at last.

Jimin turned to face you, surprised. “What for?”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to face him as well. “You know what.”

“I do.” Maddeningly, he smiled. “But I want to hear you say it.”

“Well,” you said through gritted teeth. “We all have things we want but can’t have.”

Jimin was about to respond when you noticed Miss Britt starting the combination at the front. She had one of the students from senior class helping, an incredibly talented dancer named Seokjin. Seokjin was ridiculously beautiful and equally shy. This didn’t stop half the freshman class – girls and boys – from harboring a fat crush on him.

Holding out his palm, Jimin waited until you placed your hand in his. Pulling you close, his other hand went to your waist while Miss Britt began the combination.

“Start in fifth,” she said with Seokjin behind her. “Ladies – relevé one! Hold two. Both plié three, up four. Ladies – right leg to passé and extend seven, eight. Relevé one! Hold two, hold three, four. Bring leg to attitude efface – seven, eight.”

Already, you found yourself sweating and you were only marking the steps. So far, the adagio placed heavy emphasis on the female partner, with the male only offering support. This was frustrating, since male partnering was difficult, but in a different way than for women. Men needed exceptional strength and balance to support their partner, but oftentimes it was the woman executing the more technical steps.

After front attitude, you extended your leg, pliéd and Jimin lifted you up. This required great coordination and timing – both his hands on your waist, he hoisted you into the air. Miss Britt stopped the music at this point to give you a minute to practice.

Not that this helped. While in high school, you’d done minimal partner dancing. Your studio hadn’t had any male dancers in your level; the partnering you had done was mostly female, which was a different expectation than traditional ballet.

The lift was hard and even two weeks into classes, you and Jimin still hadn’t mastered it. You kept smacking Jimin’s chin with your head when you leapt from the ground. This time was no exception – you heard the crack when it happened, a sharp pain radiating from the base of your skull. Jimin swiftly let go, dropping you on your feet.

“Ouch!” he yelped, stumbling backwards.

“Sorry!” you said, whirling around. “Are you alright?”

Jimin rubbed his jaw. “Yeah,” he grumbled. “I’m fine. Let’s just… try it again.”

You nodded and maneuvered dutifully into position, his hands returning to the same spot on your waist. After a deep inhale, you pliéd and jumped – and Jimin immediately dropped you, your feet hitting the floor.

“What was that?” you demanded as you spun around.

Jimin’s eyes widened. “Why are you asking me? You’re the one whose weight was pitched forward!”

“It was not!” Despite this, you frowned. It was possible Jimin was correct on this one. “Let’s just… do it again.”

Jaw clenched, Jimin returned to position and you tried it again. This time was passable; no one smacked anyone’s chin when they jumped and you landed on the right count, but it still felt somehow off. You were working too hard; when you glanced at Noelle and her partner, Eamon, their lift looked so effortless. Such mastery escaped you, slipping through your grasp no matter how often you practiced.

At the next water break, you immediately left Jimin’s side. Going as far away from him as you could, you drank eagerly from your bottle and relished in the silence.

Someone coughed from behind you.

Turning around, your expression instantly soured when you found Sabrina inches away. She had nary a hair out of place and for a moment, you wondered what’d happen if you messed up her bun. You got the feeling Sabrina was used to being in control.

Before you could speak, she took a small sip of water. Her gaze searched the room and landed on Jimin, who was saying something to Seokjin with a laugh.

“He’s talented,” she remarked.

Ignoring this, you drank from your own water bottle. “If you say so.”

Her gaze returned to yours, lips curled in a smile. “I do say so. You know it’s true, too. Jimin is talented, which makes me think you’re the reason you two can’t get that lift.”

Stiffening somewhat, you slowly bent to place your water bottle down on the floor. As you rose, you took a step forward and lifted your chin.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” you told her.

Sabrina’s lip twitched. “Oh. Touchy.”

“You should leave. Isn’t your partner looking for you?”

“Hm, not sure. He might not be my partner for long.”

Unthinkingly, you stiffened. “What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said.” Sabrina examined the nails on one hand. “It’s a pity Jimin has to be partnered with you when he could have the best dancer in the class. I plan on letting him know I’m available, if he ever wants to switch.”

“Are you seriously–”

“Miss Y/L/N!”

Both of you shut up, your heads snapping sideways and Sabrina immediately took a step backwards. Miss Britt stood before you, but how long she’d been there, you didn’t know. Desperately, you hoped she hadn’t heard the entire conversation.

Sabrina immediately turned away; Miss Britt let her go, which didn’t bode well for you. You’d been holding out hope this had something to do with your conversation, but this didn’t seem to be the case. Miss Britt watched Sabrina leave before she turned to you.

“I’d like to speak after class, if that’s alright,” she said, her voice low.

She didn’t sound angry, which made it even worse. Anger was a fickle emotion; it came easily and left easily. The calmness was worse, since it sounded like Miss Britt had something serious to say.

“Sure,” you said, managing to nod. “I’ll stay.”

She nodded and turned away, walking to the front while you stared at her back. After a moment, you shook yourself free and moved towards the center. A dull roar pounded your thoughts. Thousands of worries pressed from every side, each one more worrisome and insistent than the last.

This was it – you were finished. Russet was kicking you out. Somehow, you’d been sent an acceptance letter in the mail, but it was a mistake and you were being sent home.

When you returned to the center, you dully stood by Jimin’s side. He glanced at you curiously, sensing something was wrong.

“Are you –”

“Let’s just dance,” you said, moving to fifth position.

Jimin wisely let it go, stepping behind you to place his hands on your waist. The pianist began to play and you started the combination but the entire time you danced, your mind was somewhere else. You couldn’t help but think about what Miss Britt might have to say, each possibility you considered being worse than the last.

Things went smoothly for the rest of the class, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Everyone else picked up on steps easier than you did; Sabrina was right about that. Jimin was a talented dancer and he had experience with partnering.

He wasn’t the problem here – you were.

Jimin was quiet for the duration of class, which was unusual. You wondered if he was annoyed by your incompetence and again, your mind flashed to Sabrina’s words. She wanted Jimin as her partner. This made you feel a bit desperate because as much as you didn’t like Jimin, it would be humiliating for him to switch on you mid-semester.

If you were in Jimin’s shoes though, you would consider it. Sabrina had flawless technique, was beloved by the teachers and would only help his star to rise. They also seemed to get along well together, unlike you and Jimin, who were constantly at odds.

Realizing this, your stomach sank. Yes – if you were Jimin, you would consider switching partners.

When the hour hand on the clock finally met the twelve, you hastily gave your applause and bolted towards your dance bag. You lingered here, waiting for class to clear out, but you couldn’t stand being next to Jimin for one second longer. Thanking him had been humiliating enough for one day.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Jimin hesitate before he walked out. The rest of the class began to pack up, chatting with one another while they left the classroom. Miss Britt stood at the front with the accompanist, likely going over music for the next class.

Noelle also paused before leaving, but you told her to go and said you’d catch up with them later. You waited until most of the class had left and then you took a deep breath and walked to the front.

“Miss Britt?” you said, coming to a stop.

She faced you with a smile. “Ah, Y/N! Good, good. Let’s talk. You can go,” she said, dismissing the pianist.

Once she had left the room, Miss Britt again turned to you.

Your stomach twisted in knots. Now that you stood here, the worst kinds of scenarios ran through your mind. Miss Britt would kick you out of Russet; you would have to enroll in second semester at a local college. You’d have to return to your hometown with your tail tucked between your legs and all your dreams of a dance career would be ruined.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted before she could speak. “I didn’t mean to argue with Sabrina in the middle of class like that. It was unprofessional and I promise it won’t happen again.”

Miss Britt blinked. “Well, that’s good,” she said slowly. “But that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“It… wasn’t?”

A small part of you had been holding out hope that this was it. That you would get a mild talking-to and be on your way soon.

Miss Britt was known as a strict, but fair teacher. When she wasn’t yelling corrections at students across the floor, she came across as laid-back. There was a reason Mr. Vlad was the terror of freshman students and not her. Although Miss Britt was demanding, she tended to offer dancers advice as opposed to cutting them off right away.

“Talking in class is one thing,” she said with a stern look. “I don’t need to tell you how prestigious this institution is. I’m sure other teachers have emphasized that point enough. You’re only throwing away your own time and money by not taking this seriously.”

Your stomach sank, since you did take this seriously and hated the idea that Miss Britt might think you didn’t. It didn’t seem like the right time to interrupt though, so you let her finish.

“More than that,” she said. “I wanted to talk to you about your progress.”

“My… progress?”

“I understand you were a competitive studio dancer before this, Y/N?”

Warily, you nodded. “I was.”

“I thought so.” Gently, she smiled. “I remember your audition tape – impressive, I must say. Your solo was exquisite, and your performance quality was one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

Hearing this, your heart began to swell with pride. Perhaps this wasn’t the terrible conversation you’d been expecting after all.

“But your ballet technique is behind the other students.”

Like a balloon popped, your chest swiftly deflated.

Miss Britt continued. “I see this often in competitive dancers, even if you did ballet in addition to other styles. People who trained as ballerinas before Russet usually have a more solid grasp of the fundamentals. People like Sabrina.”

“Ah,” you said, careful to keep your voice neutral.

“I know Miss Ernst isn’t always the easiest person to get along with,” Miss Britt said. “But she trained at our prep school before she entered the Academy. It might be helpful for you to ask her for some pointers.”

“Right.”

“Or even your partner, Jimin,” she offered, noticing your hesitance. “He’s a studio dancer too, but he trained more extensively in ballet. I don’t know if you know this, but he won the Grand Prix two years ago.”

The Grand Prix was a national ballet competition – no, not a ballet competition. It was the ballet competition. You knew that Jimin had competed and won the Classical Ballet solo category. You hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time, since you hadn’t been there, but Jimin’s smugness the month after remained burned in your mind.

“I may have heard something about that,” you said at last.

“Or someone outside of those two.” Miss Britt gave you a small smile. “I do offer solo sessions, but I’m unfortunately all booked for the semester.”

“That’s alright,” you said faintly. “I appreciate the offer.”

“Of course.” After a moment, her gaze became scrutinizing. “I don’t want you to feel discouraged by this, Y/N. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to have this conversation with a freshman, and it won’t be the last.”

You nodded and hesitated. She may have intended her speech to be comforting, but you couldn’t stop the vague sense of panic which spread through your limbs. The next words out of your mouth left before you could stop them.

“But how many of those students were given an offer to the Company?”

Miss Britt paused, and you glumly realized the truth. Not many.

The Company was what this was all about, of course. Russet Ballet Company was known not only for impeccable traditional ballet, but for their recent expansion into jazz and contemporary. Only fifteen offers to the Company were given to the graduating seniors at the end of four years.

Heart sinking, you realized this meant you were at the bottom. Perhaps not in every dance style; as Miss Britt had noted, your performance quality was exceptional and you were a strong contemporary dancer, but freshman year focused on ballet.

If you couldn’t last the first year at Russet, there wouldn’t be any opportunities later for you to prove yourself.

“Alright,” you whispered. “Thank you.”

Miss Britt straightened. “Find someone to train with,” she said. “Ask your classmates for help. I wouldn’t have this conversation if I didn’t believe you could do it, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you said, trying hard not to cry.

Seeming to realize you had enough to consider, Miss Britt nodded and stepped back to rearrange her sheet music.

“I’ll see you in class next week, then,” she said with a note of finality.

Sensing the conversation was over, you nodded and turned to walk across the room. Fingers tightening on the straps of your bag, you stared straight ahead and focused on something else. Something – anything but the terrifying idea of your dreams crumbling around you.

Coming to a stop at the water fountain again, you filled up your bottle and focused on breathing. Most of your sweat had dried, loose strands of hair sticking to the back of your neck. You screwed the cap on your water bottle, shoving this in your bag to head towards the stairs.

You were so lost in thought, you didn’t hear the sound of your name being called until you’d nearly reached the end of the hall.

“Y/N – wait!”

Stopping short, you paused to glance over your shoulder. To your surprise, Jimin was hurrying towards you down the length of the hall. He was dressed in black sweats and a jacket, his hair still slightly mussed from the class you’d just left.

Coming to a stop before you, Jimin cracked a smile. “Damn, Y/N. You walk fast.”

“What do you want, Jimin?”

His smile disappeared. Straightening, Jimin’s fingers played absently with the strings of his hoodie. Some of his usual haughtiness reentered his gaze.

“Why do you always assume I want something?”

“Because I know you,” you said. “That’s how we work. You say something asshole-ish, I respond with something rude and we both move on. So, come on. Out with it.”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “I – wow, Y/N.”

You waited a beat.

“Was that it?” Dully, you arched a brow. “Not your best insult, Park. Anyways, if that’s all you have to say, I have to go.”

“What is your problem?” Jimin said, wonderingly when you turned to leave.

Halting your step mid-stride, you stared at the wall for a moment before you turned around. Stalking towards him, a part of you knew that deep down Jimin didn’t deserve this, but it’d been such a long day and you were just so tired. The suggestion to ask Jimin for help was the final straw.

“My problem?” you said, coming to a stop before him. “My problem is having you for a partner.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed. “Hey. It’s not my fault you messed up in class today, Y/N.”

“Of course not,” you snapped. “It’s never your fault. Perfect Jimin, beloved by every teacher and student.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means!” Realizing how loud you were being, you lowered your voice. “You’re a guy, Jimin. It’s easier for you.”

His jaw dropped a little. “Are you… are you being serious, Y/N?”

“Oh, come on,” you said, giving a bitter laugh. “Are you honestly going to say you’ve never noticed? It’s easier for guy dancers. All the teachers love you because you’re a novelty. You can do the exact same thing as a girl dancer, but everyone looks at you because oo, a boy! Even your fucking center of gravity is higher than women! You have an advantage in dance, and it sucks.”

Jimin’s face had gone slightly sallow while you spoke.

“Some advantage,” he sputtered. “I never felt advantaged when I was strapping myself into a dancer’s belt before class.”

“Oh, how sad. Your penis is uncomfortable.”

“I – let’s stop talking about my dick,” Jimin muttered, his cheeks turning red. “There’s an equal number of girls here as guys, Y/N. I’m not any sort of novelty compared to you, so why don’t you let the past go? Who cares who won between us during high school?”

“Let the past go?” you repeated. “That’s a lot coming from you. You’re the one who suggested our bet in the first place.”

“Whoa, hey.” Jimin frowned. “You’re the one bringing that up now, not me.”

“I’m just bringing it up to prove a point.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I even tried to collect on my winnings.”

Still facing him, you scowled. “You didn’t win.”

“Technically,” Jimin said, holding up a finger. “We said the first person to get three trophies. I got three.”

“Three trophies at competitions we both competed in,” you shot back. “I didn’t compete in the last one, so you didn’t win!”

“A technicality.”

“See!” you said, in clear disbelief. “You’re still harping on this and then you turn around and tell me to ‘let the past go.’”

Jimin’s smile disappeared. “Listen, Y/N. If I had an advantage in high school, it’s gone now. There’s an equal number of girls as guys here at Russet and I’m working just as hard as you.”

“Wrong,” you said. “I have to work twice as hard to get the same result.”

“That’s just not true!”

“It is! That’s the only reason you won against me as often as you did in high school.”

“Hey,” Jimin snapped, finally sounding annoyed. “Fuck, Y/N – are you being serious right now?”

“I don’t know,” you exhaled, tearing your gaze away.

Taking a deep breath, you stared at the staircase and willed yourself not to cry. The two of you were being so loud, you seriously hoped Miss Britt hadn’t heard. It would be just your luck to get in a fight with both Jimin and Sabrina on the same day.

Everything hurt. The words from Sabrina and Miss Britt continued to run through your mind and the last thing you wanted was for Park Jimin to see you cry.

“I just – have to go, Jimin,” you managed to say. “I’ll see you later.”

Pushing past him, you avoided eye contact and left him standing alone at the top of the stairs. Jimin didn’t respond, but you heard his ragged exhale behind you as you left.

Shoving open the door to outside, you pulled a sweater from your bag and wrapped this around you. Blinking in the sunlight, you took another deep breath and began to walk down the street.

Jimin wasn’t the main reason you wanted to cry, though he was a part of it. Years of tension, resentment and competition had finally led you to explode – but beneath that, there ran a current of confusion.

Jimin had been waiting for you out in the hall.

Every explanation to this that you thought of sounded ridiculous, since Jimin hadn’t seemed mad or angry when he’d first called your name. An inkling of regret swirled through you and, somewhat uncomfortably, you wondered if you’d misjudged him.

Maybe you really were the only one holding onto this dumb rivalry. It’s just that Park Jimin could be so infuriating without even trying.

He had to know men had the advantage in dance – they always did. It was obvious each time you turned on the TV and watched any dance reality show. Women needed twice the stage presence, athleticism and musicality just to get on the same stage as a guy who taught himself to pop and lock in his basement.

It was even more infuriating because objectively, Jimin was better than you and – rationally – you knew you should ask him for help. This was the logical thing to do, but you couldn’t bring yourself to dismiss your pride. Asking Jimin for help would be like admitting he was better and you absolutely refused to inflate his ego.

A few steps from Grace Hall, your phone dinged in your pocket and when you pulled it out, you saw Finn’s name on the screen. Rather than be elated by this, your heart sank a little. You two had made tentative plans to hang out but right now, the idea of seeing other people made you a bit nauseous.

Finn: hey, babe! Want to grab dinner tonight? My roommate is crashing at his family’s house this weekend, so we’d have the place to ourselves ;) [11:22 AM]

Your thumb hovered over the keys for a moment, wanting to say yes but Miss Britt’s words from earlier lingered in your mind. You were behind your fellow classmates. You needed a teacher, you needed a tutor and at the very least, you needed more practice.

Slowly, you typed out a response.

Y/N: Last minute practice was scheduled for tonight ☹ rain check for tomorrow? [11:23 AM]

Finn responded fast, somewhat disappointed but agreeing to your abrupt change of plans. You didn’t respond, shoving your phone in your bag to walk up the steps of your dorm.

You had lied to Finn. There wasn’t practice tonight, but you knew he wouldn’t agree with your assessment of the situation. Finn didn’t understand your world of dance, which wasn’t his fault. It also wasn’t his fault that his girlfriend had chosen such an intense career path which left little free time. Finn was a normal college student and understandably, he wanted to spend time with his girlfriend.

Once in your dorm room, you tossed your bag on the floor and slowly exhaled. Noelle wasn’t there, so you stood in the center and tightly closed your eyes. You allowed the silence wash over you, taking several deep breaths and when you finally opened your eyes, you felt a bit calmer.

The day consisted of lunch and two more classes – variations and pointe – but at the end of it all, you returned to your room and changed from your clothes. Tugging sweats and a t-shirt on over your body, you placed your leotard in your laundry and left the room.

Danley Hall was a short walk away; you’d heard from upperclassman that studio space was available on a first come, first serve basis. It got crowded at the end of the semester, when people were practicing for showcases, but it was fairly empty when you arrived at 7:30 PM.

Climbing the steps to the fourth floor, you let yourself into the first empty room you found. Setting your bag on the ground, you waited a moment before facing the mirrors.

The practice room smelled like wood, rosin and whatever cleaner they used on the glass. Outside the room the sun had begun to set, casting misshapen shadows over the floor. Plugging your phone into the speakers, you stepped from your shoes and slowly walked to the center.

As the first notes of music left the speakers, you closed your eyes and inhaled. For the first time all day, some of the tension drained from your body.

With wood beneath your feet, dust motes in the air and a familiar song on the stereo, you finally felt at home. Stretching both arms overhead, you rose on your toes and hung there a moment. When the music changed, you dropped to a lunge and let yourself be pulled by the music, your body one step ahead of your thinking.

Miss Britt was right; you weren’t a ballerina. You had no idea if you ever would be, but this was something known, this was something you were good at and something you loved. This was a moment where you came alive.

The longer you danced, the more frustrated your movement became. So much emotions swirled beneath the surface, frustration chasing each step as you danced across the floor. You tried to stay ahead of it, tried to dance beyond its reach but the emotions caught up in the end, dragging you down and swallowing you whole.

When the song ended, you found yourself breathing raggedly in front of the mirror. Staring at your own reflection, you felt your heart sink. It wouldn’t matter how much you loved this if you didn’t even make it through the first year.

After another moment, you turned and walked towards your phone. Switching the song to a classical one, you took a deep breath and went to stand at the barre.

As the first notes began, you rolled your neck and waited to count yourself in. While you couldn’t bring yourself to ask Jimin for help, that didn’t mean you couldn’t take matters into your own hands. You’d seek out other teachers, you’d find other students and you’d do this barre twice as often until you began to improve.

Opening your eyes, you began grand pliés.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading 😊 New chapters of Raise the Barre will be posted weekly; dates are listed on the series Master List. Requests for updates will be deleted.

RAISE THE BARRE MASTERLIST

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