en pointe

Lee Taeyeon x Kim Jongin ✩​​​​​​ Eating disorder ; Character death ✩ 1198 words
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One more. Just one more time.

She stretches her arm above her head, lets her finger reach towards the ceiling, the sky and gets ready to take a step forward. Her legs shake a little under her as she lets her body onto her toes and lifts her right leg into a 90 degree’s angle.

She holds her position and stares into the mirror in front of her. The reflection doesn’t portray just how skinny she is, even in her tight bodysuit. Her muscles are hurting yet she holds the arabesque in perfect position.

When her legs finally give up under her and she sinks to her feet she blinks as if awoken from a trance. The room is dark, the only light the moonlight reflected in the wall mirror and not a sound is heard.


“You’re doing it wrong, come on.”

He chuckles and fixes her position. His fingers are cold and soft and she sticks out her tongue as she breaks free of his hold and runs lightly across the room. Her soft skirt swirls around her skinny hips and he laughs out loud before he charges after her.

It’s a short play in the room on the blank wooden floor before he captures her and spins her around a couple of times.

“I can dance ballet, Jongin. I’m better than you,” she says and he presses a soft kiss on her lips.

“Show me,” he whispers and she breaks free of his hold to perform an entrechat across the floor. Her smile tells him everything he needs to know.


Her muscles are almost spasming when she performs a fouetté en tournant en dehors in front of the mirror, constantly spinning around and around. Her eyes are locked on the mirror and she meets her own gaze every time on and on. She doesn’t see anything.

In front of her is a woman, the reflection of who she used to be and who she was supposed to be - and everything she no longer is.

As she stops spinning, she plops on the floor, draws her knees against her chest and starts crying. She doesn’t feel the tears but she sees them running down her cheeks, ruining her spotless makeup and revealing the flaws, the imperfections that were always there.


“You don’t understand!” she screams at his back and he frowns at the wall. His vertebras are protruding dangerously as he turns around to look at her, gaze icy.

“What don’t I understand? That I need this? Be more reasonable, you want it too! To be the ballerina, to be the one to stand on stage and be there alone, be admired. Don’t tell me you’re not as driven as I am.”

She swallows the lump in and takes a step closer to him. He’s right. He’s always right. But she’s scared, she’s so scared. Instead of saying anything she wraps her arms around his slim waist and places her head on his chest. The silent apology hangs low in the air.


She stands in front of the mirror the next night. They all told her not to, to stop now, to do something new. To learn. She doesn’t want to do something new, she doesn’t want stop. She doesn’t want to learn.

She tips onto en pointe and just stands there, rests in the position as she lets her mind drift away to when she wasn’t alone in the practice room, when she wasn’t alone in front of the mirror. When she wasn’t alone in the moonlight.

She stretches her arms in front of her, inspects the thin skin as it stretches over muscles and bones and ends in slim, long fingers. She wants to do more than just stand in her en pointe, but she doesn’t have the energy to do more, only steps a little forward and a little backward again.


He runs towards her and she opens her arms, stretches them wide as they collide in a mess of sweaty bodies, tight clothes, and tutus and he laughs. She smiles at his happiness and presses her lips to his. It’s a short kiss but it feels like forever as they stand backstage, bodies one instead of two.

He breaks the kiss first, only to press his lips to hers again with a chuckle.

“You did it,” she whispers and he presses a kiss to her forehead and whispers back a ‘yeah’. He did it. His cheeks are a little hollow but in the darkness of backstage it’s almost impossible to see and she ignores it, forgets it as she whispers ‘you did it’ again.


It’s two in the morning as she unlocks the door and slides into the room once again, the wood familiar under her bare feet. She sinks to the floor to tie her pointe shoes and as she finally finds herself in front of the barre and the wall length mirror, she smiles.

It’s the first smile in months and it feels hollow, fake, wrong. It makes her guilty and she falls back into the soulless stare as she lifts her right leg onto the bar and stretches out her muscles.

She’s been dancing for hours yet here she is, dancing once again in the moonlight because only the moonlight provides the calm she needs.

She grabs the barre with her hands and leans forward until she’s in an arabesque penché and closes her eyes, enjoys the way her body works at her will, forcing it to hold the position for as long as possible.


She looks at the sleeping body in the bed and sighs. His hands are cold and his breathing is slow. She’s been crying, she doesn’t remember when she started and she doesn’t remember when there were no more tears to cry, but she knows there isn’t any more. He stirs and she wipes the dried tears on her cheeks.

“Jongin,” she says and he smiles a faint smile, even with his eyes closed. She squeezes his cold fingers, calmly lets her thumb trace his knuckles. “I love you.”


The moon is hidden behind clouds tonight, the air cold and the grass wet from dew. Her pointe shoes are dirty but she doesn’t care as she lifts herself up on her toes and finds her balance.

Her body is skinny, too small to carry her frame but fighting to do so anyway as she forces it through arabesques, entrechats, fouetté en tournant en dehors’ and as she leans down in an arabesque penché and her hands grab the cold, wet of the stone in front of her it almost feels as if he’s holding her. As if the warmth that left his body too soon is there, as if his smile is there to comfort her, to tell her it’s all okay.

But there is nothing there, the cold stone with cursive writings the only thing that greets her as she opens her eyes.

author's notes

This is still one of my favorite drabbles and I wish I could extend it, but it wouldn't be as beautiful.
Thanks for reading.