𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐬 by rvults
your fingers drum against your thighs, your right leg bouncing up and down rapidly as you listen to the sound of the clapping coming from the audience less than 50 feet away from you. you glance down at your outfit, a black and gold leotard inspired by midori ito's in 1988.
your eyes trail up to the mirror on the wall in front of you, and you stared at yourself in the reflection. your hair was perfectly styled, your outfit professionally designed and tailored for you, and there is not a single flaw to be found on your makeup look.
you look good, but you feel as if you're about to puke all over the floor any second now.
a small knock on your dressing room door followed by a quick "choi eunha, you're up next!" caused you to shoot to your feet and flatten your outfit with your hands.
one final look in the mirror and a deep breath before you're hurrying out of the room, making your way to the large metal door separating you from the ice rink.
once you step out, there will be hundreds of eyes on you. thousands if you count the people watching through a screen. the five specific pairs of eyes sitting behind the judges' panel, five people that decide whether your years of nonstop hard work have been worth it.
and yet, with the countless judging stares that will be watching your every move, there was only one person in the room that you cared to impress the most. only one person that you felt you had something to prove to. the one person who you couldn't stand being in the same room with just five months ago. the person who taught you how to fall in love with your passion again: park jimin.