When your life entangles with Jeon Jungkook's (the shallow fucker you can't stand with every fiber of your being) through a series of unfortunate events, you think that destiny has a rotten sense of humor. But, as time passes, you come to grips with...
Hello! I usually don't post author notes but I've to clarify a little thing: I started posting this story in "big chapters" on Tumblr at first, only to post it on Wattpad much later, splitting them into smaller parts. The first part of this 6th chapter is the last scene of the last chapter published on Tumblr (so, in case you already read it there, you can skip it and go ahead with the other one). In case you followed this story only here, instead, then this is completely new and I hope you'll enjoy it :)
The huge note is at the end of the chapter, if you want to understand why it took me months to go back to this story 💔
Goods read ❤
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"You did amazingly, (Y/N)!" Jimin exclaims at the end of your last lesson, flashing you an enthusiastic smile. "I'm sure you'll be great at the audition!" He pulls his blondish hair back, revealing his forehead sprinkled with droplets of sweat.
Crouched down beside your bag, you take a long sip of water. "You think?" You ask, a line now appearing between your knitted brows. "I still feel like a broomstick most of the time." A sheepish smile etches itself on your face as you tampon your scarlet neck with a towel.
You stand up, feeling all the muscles in your thighs flexing. You curl your patched toes, scrunching your nose for the burning sensation now spreading along your tingling legs at the mere contact of the skin with the insoles. The days and nights spent training assiduously start weighing upon every inch of your body, especially because you didn't give yourself a break even when you were at home; and yet, you don't feel exhausted or discouraged: every single muscle tensing up at the tiniest movement and every achy limb reminds you all the effort it took you to learn how to dance a mambo without resembling a 'washing machine' .
"I'm serious! You made great strides!" He holds your skeptic stare, nodding. "For just a month of training, you exceeded our expectations!"
You exhale a giggle. "Our?"
He stretches his lips in a thin line when he seems to register his own words, scratching the back of his crimson ear. "Ahm... we thought you'd give up a long time ago, since you don't like dancing. Which is a pity, you know? You're very good at it. With a proper training, I guess you'd reach extraordinary results," he says, with a reassuring tone that still doesn't convince you –especially for that "our" that still whirls in your mind like an annoying fly. In fact, when you raise your eyebrows to emphasize your discomfort, he lets out a small, nervous chuckle. He hesitates, sparing you a wary glance through his lashes. "Jungkook bet you'd give in after a week."
A muscle twitches your jaw for the admission just tumbled off his mouth. You should be overwhelmed by the rage for the simple fact that, once again, Jeon Jungkook proves to be the quintessential idiot; and yet, the sense of guilt and embarrassment you feel toward him is too thick to be swiped away with a grunt and a shrug –it's so viscous to overcome the rage that should fog your lucidity in this precise moment...
