Chapter Text
Is it possible to fall in love with a character you create? With a dancer that doesn’t exist, except for in your imagination?
Seokjin has raised and nurtured J-Hope, from when he was only three characters on a piece of lined paper, to a man outlined by the lines of black print in a book. He know J-Hope isn’t real. He’ll never be. But he still holds an unexplainable amount of love for the man he has created.
He sees the cover in the windows of bookstores as he walks by. It’s only of J-Hope cradling a blue butterfly in cupped hands, but he thinks, if those fingers were real, he’d kiss them every day.
He finds himself reading fanfictions of his own book. Of J-Hope dancing in the wind, of J-Hope waking up with the sweetest smiles and endearing bed hair. Of J-Hope feathering kisses on a reader’s face, and Seokjin imagine’s those long fingers stroking over his cheeks, just like in the stories. He knows he’s too far gone, that he probably has problems, but he can’t seem to bring himself to care.
Seokjin is incredibly tired. He’s been arguing against making his book into a movie, but even his closest friend, Namjoon, thinks he should go forward with it. So he gives up, but not without a fight. He sits in on auditions for J-Hope’s part every single day. Boys, after men, after boys trickle in and flood out. Seokjin can’t find the long limbs and tapered fingers he’s been looking for. Hell if he’s gonna let someone ruin his image of J-Hope, might as well make him beautiful.
He’s not expecting much, especially at the end of the first week of auditions. Seokjin nurses his steaming coffee, curling his shoulders in against the cold as he pulls open the door of the studio and walks in. He gives a cursory glance over the people that have gathered, and sighs, because not one of them seems to fit the role of a certain smiling dancer.
Bang Sihyuk, the director of the movie, greets him with a tired a smile. Seokjin knows it’s probably because of his incredible pickiness. But he can’t bring himself to care, especially when it’s J-Hope at stake. But as the auditions wind down, and Seokjin’s eyes droop, he thinks to himself that he might just have to settle for less. But then the last participant comes in.
“Hi! My name’s Jung Hoseok. I’ll be auditioning for the part of,” He pauses to shoot a blinding smile. “J-Hope!” And perhaps it’s the buzzing energy Hoseok has around him, but Seokjin is paying attention.
“Cue music.” Sihyuk waves a hand, and the music starts out slow. Hoseok raises his slim arms, fingers splaying in the air. Seokjin’s eyes widen, because he swears those fingers are exactly like the ones printed onto his book’s cover.
He’s captivated. Hoseok dances contemporary through the first few phrases of the music, embracing it. And then the electronic seeps in, and Seokjin thinks this is the first time he’s seen such a fluid popping and locking performance. And he’s seen a lot. Hoseok’s legs buckle, and he slams back down onto the ground just as the music ends on a showy last beat. He rises up carefully, back arching, neck exposed, and his head droops forward to look at the ground, performance unfinished. It’s all but silent in the room except for the slow clap claps coming from Seokjin.
Hoseok is J-Hope. The dancer outlined by the black lines of letters, made of paper, is brought to life. Seokjin sees Hoseok every day for more than year, and he feels a little guilty for betraying J-Hope, but he thinks he’s in love with Hoseok’s fingers, with his lazy smiles walking onto set early in the morning with two steaming cups of coffee; He always brings one for Seokjin. Hoseok gives Seokjin the pleasure of seeing sleepy eyed grins, ruffled hair, and long limbs and tapered fingers. He’s J-Hope, but he’s also Hoseok. Hoseok, the dancer who dances through screens and music and love.
So it’s possible to love lines of text. It’s possible to love the dancer he created, Seokjin knows, but it’s easier to fall in love with the dancer he finds.