genre: fluff, microscopic angst.
character/s: dancer jongin! au | reader.
You sip down the warm liquid from the cup, vanilla and coffee scent lingers in the air next to your face as you take it all in. The faint touches of sleep still weigh down your eyes, as you walk down the dingy hallway. The city is still in its waking hours.
You dispose the empty cup away and seep your face down into the warmth of your scarf around your neck. The cold stings your exposed skin. With each footstep, Â muffled noises- music nears you.
Itâs odd that the music had been emerging from the dance studio. Because thatâs where you were heading to, which on other days would be dead silent if it wasnât for you. Itâs strange, the unfamiliar presence in the room. You pause outside the glass door and peep inside. A slight push of your hand against the cold glass assures that itâs not locked. The warm air from inside the studio brushes against your face. You stand by the door frame. The tall man stands turned away from you in the middle of the room.
He shuts his eyes as he soaks in the beats of the music. Â A loose black T-shirt hung on his body. The long sleeves covered up his arms to the wrists and a pair of grey sweatpants hugged his thigh.
You remain soundless not desiring to make your presence known. His body glides into a series of moves harmonizing with the final cadences of the Prelude. Itâs impracticable to tear your eyes off of the stranger that was dancing in front of you.
You stand awestruck at his graceful, yet intense and angular movements. His smooth features mark sheer focus and passion. It is fascinating-his sharp leaps and fluid twirls. How could he make it so effortless?
Your throat dries up at his slow body-rolls and torturous hip-thrusts. When he ultimately stops, your cheeks are not cold anymore but instead, a heat has taken its place.
Panting, he turns to you. You freeze at his gaze.
âAre you going to stand there all day, or what?â Hints of a smile tugs at his lips. His words break your daze, you step inside. Â He walks to the corner wiping his face with the back of his palm, where a bottle of water and a backpack laze on the floor.
âThat wasâ,â you cross your arms and lean back on the mirrored wall as he bends down and picks up the bottle,â That was amazing! How did you learn to dance like that?â
âThanks. I train myself, with some help from friends.â
A silver chain escapes from underneath his t-shirt. Droplets of sweat cling on to the soft tuft of dark brown hair that lined his forehead.
The sound of steady breathing echoes in the room. He flops down against the wall and gulps down a few mouthfuls. A knowing smirk etches its way onto his lips. He is aware of how your eyes havenât faltered away from him all this time.