Taekook Oneshots

Music Box

Pinch, pull and stretch the clay

"Ladies, you need to stretch out your backs! Don't let anything damage that perfect curve, or you'll end up looking like a squashed banana!" There's a moment of silence. "Jungkook, point those feet or get out of my studio!"
"Yes, teacher."

"The rhythm is syncopated, girls, do you not know what that means? You need to wait an extra second there- No! Not that long!"
"How do we-"

"Jungkook, are you practising your time steps?"
"Yes, teacher."
"Which ones?"
"Triple shuffles."
"Good, you need to speed up on those. The exercise in the exam is double that tempo."

"Jungkook! Arms!"
"Yes teacher."

Swipe away the dust, revealing what's true

"You're not a bad dancer, Kook," his best friend tells him as he sits in the studio after the other students have left. Jungkook just grunts, his ankle leaning against the wall and the other leg nearly horizontally opposite to it. "You're literally the most flexible guy I've ever met."

"But I'm miles behind you all, Lisa," he replies simply, bringing his legs together to fold himself over them, his index fingers forming loops with his thumbs around his big toes on each foot, arms crossed over to add to the stretch. "I can't get the arabesque right until I'm flexible enough."

"You haven't even tried in two months."
"Because last time I sprained my ankle, Lis. I need to make sure I'm good enough."
"You are. Just have a rest."

Mould me in your image, imperfectly conceived by voices less careful than you

They meet eyes for a moment, and then the stubborn older shakes his head. She sighs. "Don't blame me when you're so tired that you fall over in class. Think of how she'd treat you then, huh? She'd be even harder on you."
"I don't think that's possible."

He finds his way into the studio another night, watching the dancers on the screen and trying desperately to copy the moves, his body covered with a thin layer of sweat and his chest aching with fatigue, the countless repetitions making a dull pain crawl up his back, up his legs, every single limb beginning to throb with the quiet thud of his heartbeat, blood rushing in his ears, breath scraping its way out of his throat like a screech for help.

Ballerina in your music box, forever turning to the same tune
Rest your brittle bones, protect your paper skin

Lisa finds him there, passed out on the floor in a messy heap, maybe ten minutes later. His skin is damp, hot from activity, forehead feverish. It's a dangerous state to be in. And so she calls up their other friends, gets them to help her carry him onto the sofa in the foyer. The teacher tuts in disapproval, and she bites down the urge to flash the middle finger at the woman. It would simply make her harsher on Jungkook. Which isn't ideal in the slightest.

Jungkook is pale, stretched out on the thin memory foam cushions when another boy enters, an instrument case slung over his back. He's tall, his dark eyes partially hidden by bright red bangs, body thin and unassuming. The complete opposite of Jungkook's pale golden, solidly built frame.

The gears will tire and wind down soon

"Shit, is he okay?" the boy asks before he can control himself. One of the girls looks up, nods distractedly.
"He's fine, Tae. Don't worry. He just overworked himself again."
"Again? How many times has this happened?"
"Three times this month," Lisa mumbles reluctantly, placing a hand on Jungkook's forehead and wincing at the heat emanating from it. "This time I arrived late, it appears. He's got a fever."

Every day is different, though nothing's changed
They stare, but do they care about what you can't rearrange?

The boy who's just arrived is Kim Taehyung, a musician who uses the rooms nearby to practise the saxophone and the piano. Sometimes, when Jungkook wakes up in here, he can just about hear the sound of a calming piano piece drifting down the hallway, and it helps him to calm down and relax a little.