Spin My Way into Your Heart (Min Yoongi X Park Jimin)

Spin My Way into Your Heart

Paris, 1932

October

“And that’s the last of them!” Kim Taehyung declares jubilantly, lining a silver trunk with the rest of the boxes lying in a heap on the ground of their newly rented studio apartment. The sunlight filtering in through the open windows illuminates the barely furnished space, fiery spots dancing across the peeling wallpapers and threadbare couch, a blend of shadows and light which accentuate the figure of the young man to whom Taehyung directs his statement.

Park Jimin smiles, not looking up from where he is busy setting up their beds, two separate wooden do-it-yourself structures which look like they might crumble the minute a gust of air blows in through the parted curtains. But neither Jimin nor Taehyung seem to mind. The fact that they have managed to even find an inhabitable dwelling in Paris during the roaring 30’s is an incredible accomplishment.

Jimin’s hair, stray strands of silver peeking through the black, glints in the light as he finally turns to his best friend. “I should be done with this in a bit. So far, we have a couch, two beds, a decent kitchenette and curtains to keep out the sun. I think we’ll survive, my friend.”

Taehyung nods with a sense of vigour and victory, strawberry blond hair framing his handsome face. Lifting himself from the floor where he had been tussling with their luggage, he stretches his arms and dusts off the dirt collected on his beige pants. “Now, all we have to do is make sure that Hoseok holds up his end of the bargain.”

A thoughtful look crosses Jimin’s face as he plops onto the bed, recalling Taehyung’s acquaintance who is the reason they have emigrated to Paris. Jung Hoseok is a choreographer for the dazzling Ballet Russes, a company which has been thriving ever since its inception over almost two decades ago. Though the initial founder, Sergei Diaghilev, had passed away a few years back, the establishment, which boasts some of the most creative minds in the fields of music, art and dance, had lost none of its elegance and vivacity. If anything, the Ballet Russes is in its prime; the new impresario apparently being quite adept at managing the legacy he has inherited.

But the reason Jimin and Taehyung have travelled over a thousand miles to a country foreign and unfamiliar is imbued with darker, more melancholic nuances. Every time he closes his eyes, Jimin can visualize the humiliating treatment meted out to him at his previous company in South Korea. When they had realized the nature of his sexual orientation, they had begun to alienate and ostracize him, going as far as curtailing all freedom he had as a dancer to make his life a living hell.

Jimin had quickly discovered what it meant to be gay in a country which brooked no tolerance for homosexuality. Or any sexuality which challenged and threatened the existing conventions and norms.

The dancer had tried to rise above it, but when Taehyung began noticing the hollow eyes and sunken cheeks, no longer hearing the tinkling laughter which so defined his best friend, the artist had decided to take matters into his own hands.

Paris was, as Hoseok had constantly assured them, not as stringent as their home country, and that Jimin would be fine, would even flourish, in the city of art and culture. And love.

Needless to say, the dancer had been enticed by the prospect of reclaiming his identity in the city of lights, of fuelling his passion by drawing from its life and energy, its scent and streets awash with celebrations and festivities and exhilarations which kindled imaginations and creativity.