‘What do you mean you're not accepting my work?’ Yoongi grumbled as he stared into the dead, unfeeling eyes of his evil and cruel professor. At least, he seemed dead and unfeeling at that moment.
‘One would think that a Journalism major would be able to comprehend a sentence the first time it was said. I will not accept this poorly executed article, Mr. Min. I could find this text in a report from an eighth-grade procrastinator.’ The professor answered, not caring enough to lift his graying head off the papers he was so busily grading.
‘But you accepted everyone else's! I even went up to a ballet company owner. I did the proper research, I put the sources, I quoted correctly... I did everything by the protocol. Then why am I wrong?’ By the time he was finished talking, Yoongi was a raven-colored bombhead. His cheeks were reddened by the anger and embarrassment, his fists balled up, ready to break something--anything--other than his professor's face.
‘You didn't invest yourself in this work. May I remind you, Mr. Min, that this is no ordinary coverage you're doing. You’re in the Honors program, so act like it. This is mediocre compared to what I asked for, and I am being nice to your little paper. I could have a stuck-up company owner explain to me the story of ballet any day, why would I even want to read this?’ The professor pushed his glasses upwards, staring tiredly into the eyes of his angered student like one looks at a child when they can’t grasp something seemingly obvious. ‘You re-do this, I change your grade. Take it or leave it, Mr. Min, I get paid even if you fail.’
‘I don't even know what you want me to do. I spent a month working on this article--’ Yoongi began once again, unsure of what he was even going to say. His anger had settled down and made way for the emptying feeling of self-doubt. The aspiring journalist stared at the framed articles that decorated his professor's office, the black and white papers fitting almost too perfectly on the white walls. He was almost jealous of the hammered success.
"I'm giving you a chance. You're one of the few students I tolerate. Don't make me change that." His professor offered one last time, his voice falling down in severity.
Just like that, Yoongi ended up standing outside the Performance Arts building once again, hand clutching the corrugated paper that was his article; confused, frustrated and most importantly, unable to believe himself.
“Of course, you would do it, Min Yoongi. Accept a project without knowing what you're supposed to do just because you want to keep a goddamn high grade.”
Yoongi's inner monologue was interrupted when he heard two voices approaching, laughter resonating through the empty hallway of the building. He hid behind the corner, notepad in hand and ready to begin his mission impossible.
’Are you serious? They caught him dancing to the music of Giselle's solo?’ One of the voices, a female one, spoke; a mixture of disgust and curiosity making its way to Yoongi's ears.
’It's not the first time either. Last month someone saw him practicing Sugar Plum's part. That freak is just begging for attention, isn't he?’ Another voice answered, this time a male's.
Yoongi's eyebrows rose from their original position. He had only heard about this "freak" for a few seconds before the dancers began to talk about something different, but it was enough to spark up his attention. Maybe he wasn't an expert when it came to ballet, but he knew how important roles were for the dancers. A man who danced to the female part couldn't get too far, so why risk his career like that? What better way to begin exploring the world of ballet than finding an odd dancer who stood out from the crew?
Now, he only had to locate that one dancer; whom he only knew as "the freak".
Yoongi cursed himself once again for accepting the project once again and picked up his bag, ready to track down his target. He was sure that an easy interview with an outcast of the dancing industry was enough to land him a higher grade. Hopefully.
Hoseok glared at a particular mirror, his reflection returning the glare with the same intensity. He was beyond angry, and he didn't know if it was because of his own stupidity, the tears he was beginning to spill, or the fact that he was sure to get called out during the next practice session.
He couldn't help but blame himself. No one told him to dance that part of the ballet. He decided to do so on his own, and thus, he could only blame himself, which was part of the reason why he was glaring so passionately at the mirror.
Hoseok himself had always been an oddity in action. His facial expressions and general body structure weren't very common and had always earned him more than a few whispered insults. He was always the outsider, and he made sure to never talk to anyone unless he had to. He was strict to himself, even more than his teachers, and he liked it that way. He liked himself that way, and he always felt proud of himself.
But now, now he just felt like an imbecile. An imbecile with a romantic tutu hanging loosely around his hips: as if it wasn't embarrassing enough to be caught dancing the other gender's part, he had to be caught wearing the garment.
Hoseok didn't like saying he was a male. He didn't feel like one, mainly because he didn't know how it felt.
For Hoseok, the line between genders was blurry and ambiguous, and he settled himself in that ambiguity.
For ballet, he had to decide himself, and they only gave him one choice: male.
He had done so well hiding from the public eye, that his slip just infuriated him further. If only he hadn't gotten overconfident and had kept the door locked. If only he hadn't been so cocky, then maybe he wouldn't have gotten caught by the two shadiest people he had ever met. So he glared further into the mirror because he had no other way of getting rid of his anger.
Something that Min Yoongi didn't know yet: "the freak", Jung Hoseok, wasn't only an outcast; he was a flaming, hot mess, and Yoongi was about to get caught in more than one problem with him.
