Jikook Oneshots 2

Ice

Jimin glided across the ice, the sound of the crowd barely audible to him. He's much too focused on his routine. Not that he needed to be—he knew it like the back of his hand. But mistakes were not an option for him, not in front of all those people. So he blocked everything out except his relationship with the ice.

He inhaled deeply as he sped up, turning sharply and gracefully. Jimin loved how he could play with gravity, how his body slanted towards the ice without his feet slipping from under him. It was glorious.

Jimin knew he was loved by many, and he also knew why. He's broken records for being the fastest, jumping the highest—most anything you can think of, really. And he looks beautiful doing it.

His hair was clean cut and blonde, skin incredibly pale. He spent basically all his time in the rink, so the sun was not something he saw often—he was too dedicated. Time in the sun was time not practicing. He couldn't have that.

His clothes were skin tight—black pants and a light blue top, decorated with glitter and sparkles. His makeup was a dark blue around his eyes. He loved wearing makeup like this. It made him feel pretty.

Out of nowhere, he jumped into a triple axle. He could hear the people's screams—it was almost as if he were flying through the air. He of course lands it flawlessly. In his entire public career, he had never messed up this jump, and this time was no different. He fought back a smile as he continued his routine.

He ended it flawlessly, only now allowing himself to hear the roaring cheers for him and only him. He smiled with a bow. This wasn't even a show. He opened up his private rink on Saturdays for the public, and they paid just to watch him practice for a couple hours.

Sometimes he wishes others would come during the week. He wouldn't be angry if someone walked in—he's a friendly person. His ice rink is always unlocked after all. If all they wanted to do was watch, he wouldn't mind. Just one or two people.

But his rink isn't flashy, it doesn't attract people. So no one comes. Most days he just sees his manager, Seokjin—and many days not even he's there.

He says thank you to everyone, and skates off, leaving to go to his dressing room.

He sits on his couch, taking off his skates. As he sits back up, he suddenly gets a wave of weakness, the high of the praise coming down. 

"Ah damn it," He holds his head in his hand.

He stands up, looking in the mirror. His eyes were cloudy. He opened his mouth. And there they were—the sharp teeth. He sighed. 

He was hungry. He hasn't been hungry in a long time. Jimin silently cursed at himself for forgetting. He must've lost track of how many days went by.

He crouched down next to his mini-fridge, opening it up. Empty. 

"Damn it. I gotta call the blood bank." He had a good friend there—Namjoon. He made sure Jimin got the blood no question.

He looked into the mirror again, so glad they've changed in the last 200 years so he could see himself. Cameras are the same way—it's how he was able to become a celebrity, to be among people in general.

He scoffs. "I'm not gonna be able to leave until like 3am, aren't I? What a great day to look like a vampire."

*

Jimin walks into the front entrance of the rink. It was 5:30am on a Tuesday morning, and he was ready to start practicing. He walks to his dressing room, and gets ready for the day.

He put on his navy blue tracksuit, then his skates. He wasn't wearing any makeup, his hair wasn't up, but he still thought he looked okay—he still felt good about himself. He was aware of all his fans when it came to his looks. They boosted his ego, but he just wasn't interested.