Archive of Our Own

♫ So please just fall in love with me, this Christmas

There’s nothing else that we will need, this Christmas

Won’t be wrapped under a tree

I want something that lasts forever

So kiss me on this cold December night… ♫

❄ week one ❄

They meet on a Friday night outside of Seven Seasons Dance Innovations, the upper level studio Seonghwa works at.

It’s snowing heavily outside, the sky pitch black at 9PM, and Seonghwa already has the key in the lock of the front door when a very attractive man, with chattering teeth and covered in snow, stumbles up to him and shouts, “wait!”

Seonghwa’s hand pauses on turning the key in the lock and gives the man a once over.

He’s slightly shorter than Seonghwa, and the soft brown hair that sticks out from underneath his tuque is plastered to his forehead and temples with sweat and melted snow. His pointed, pixie-like nose is red from the harsh winter winds and his exposed ears don several piercings from his lobes to his cartilages. His jacket looks thin, like a windbreaker more so than a winter coat for the infamous North American season, and he appears to be out of breath as if he ran all the way here.

“Wait… Please,” the man says again as he leans one hand on the wall beside him for support and the other rests on his knee. He’s a bit hunched over, panting, as he tries to compose himself. Then he says exactly what Seonghwa had predicted, “I ran here. And wiped out, like, twice.”

To prove his point, the man straightens up and first shows off the two wet patches on his knees and then he turns around to show off the darkened spot on the bum of his jeans.

Seonghwa can’t help the titter that slips past his lips at the poor sight of the man’s damp pants. When the man gives him a wide-eyed stare, cheeks flushed in what Seonghwa can only assume is embarrassment, the dancer swallows the rest of his giggle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh at you. You’re just so—” The raven haired man squints at the man and his mind unhelpfully echoes his earlier thought: the stranger is handsome. Incredibly so. “— Honest,” Seonghwa finishes instead.

“They say honesty is a virtue,” the man says jokingly. “And I’m a very virtuous man.”

“Those are hard to come by nowadays,” Seonghwa muses and then checks the time on his watch. It’s a quarter past nine, and he has to be up early to open the studio again tomorrow. Saturdays are their busiest days, and Seonghwa prefers to be alert and well-rested for it. “Tell me, Mr…?”

“Hongjoong Kim,” the brunette supplies and extends his hand out to Seonghwa. He nearly trips in his haste to walk up to the taller man and he embarrassedly rights himself as Seonghwa slots his hand into his.

“You’re Korean,” Seonghwa states and Hongjoong nods. The shorter man’s hand is ice cold and a little bit smaller than Seonghwa’s, but his grip is firm and strong as he squeezes Seonghwa’s fingers in his palm.

“Second generation, I was born here,” Hongjoong further elaborates. “My parents are from Gyeonggi. I can speak it, but you don’t want to see me write anything. My hangul is so bad you may as well call it garbage on a page.”

That has Seonghwa chuckling and Hongjoong unconsciously squeezes his fingers again. The motion has Seonghwa realizing how close they’re standing. When did they get so close?

The dancer tries to get the conversation back on track by slipping his hand out of Hongjoong’s, “tell me, Mr. Kim, what are you doing here? On a Friday night after closing?”

“Call me Hongjoong, please,” the man corrects sheepishly as he glances at his own wristwatch. “I just got off work at my second job and I’m sorry to be bothering you… But I’m looking for private dance lessons.”

Seonghwa blinks at him and takes in Hongjoong’s appearance. He never would have guessed this stranger would be looking for dance lessons. “Oh? What kind of dance are you hoping to learn? Are you a beginner? Do you have any prior dance experience?”

Hongjoong’s lips press into a thin line and his brows furrow in thought. “Shit, I, uh… I was hoping to get lessons in any style you recommend. Mainly, I’d like to be a little more… Coordinated. And learn the dance lingo.”

Seonghwa nods, “alright. But you know that every style has a different vocabulary, right?”

Hongjoong frowns, “what do you mean? Isn’t it all the same?”

“It can overlap, yes. But it will mean something different. A pirouette is a turn, but in jazz it’s usually in a parallel passé. In ballet, it’d be a turned out passé. It also depends on the direction you’re going in, en dehors or en dedans? And turn doesn’t have to be a pirouette, it could be a piqué. Or a chaîné,” Seonghwa explains and watches as Hongjoong’s eyes glaze over in confusion. “If you’re interested in ballroom dance, that’s another realm and unfortunately, we don't teach those styles here.”

“My wife is— was a ballerina,” Hongjoong blurts and Seonghwa’s eyes widen in shock. “So I’d be open to jazz or ballet private lessons. I hear they’re the most similar.”

The stranger looks young, no older than Seonghwa himself at twenty-four-years-old. While getting married out of college is a norm for most, Seonghwa did not see a ring on Hongjoong’s left hand.

“This holiday season, I thought I’d surprise her,” Hongjoong mumbles and he looks ashamed rather than excited to be revealing this. Seonghwa doesn’t know what to make of this information as Hongjoong is no more than a stranger on his workplace doorstep. “Lately, we’ve been— nevermind. Can I schedule a lesson with you, Mr…?”

Hongjoong’s eyes dip from Seonghwa’s face to his chest and then his gaze drops to Seonghwa’s feet before it comes back up to meet his eye. That red flush is still prominent on his cheeks, and has been for the entirety of this conversation, but his expression remains determined as he looks at Seonghwa.

“Seonghwa,” the dancer says slowly and Hongjoong’s flushed face brightens.

“You’re Korean as well? Seong… Hwa.” Hongjoong’s index finger writes something in the air in front of himself, “holy fire!”

Seonghwa giggles and can’t help but correct him; his pointer finger mimics the hangul in the air, “to become a star.”

Hongjoong stares at him in awe as he repeats, “to become a star… It’s fitting.”

Seonghwa doesn’t know what Hongjoong means by that as they’ve only just met a few minutes ago.

A weird yet congenial silence washes over them. 

Seonghwa clears his throat and, once again, tries to get this conversation back to its original point. “Well, Hongjoong… I’m free for private lessons during the day from noon on Monday to Wednesday, and then Friday. We’re closed on Thursdays and Sundays and regular classes run on the weekdays from 4PM to about 9PM, and we do not accept external rentals or lessons on Saturdays as that is our busiest day of operation.”

Hongjoong seems to be working out that schedule in his head. He looks cute like this; the corners of his mouth are downturned and his expression is pinched in concentration. “I can’t come during the day, I’m working my full-time… Do you have any availability in the evenings? Preferably on Fridays?”

Seonghwa shakes his head, “no, sorry. I teach from 4PM to 9PM. And we close at 9PM.”

Hongjoong visibly deflates at this and sighs. “I see…” His shoulders sag and Seonghwa’s gaze is drawn to his fingers where the lack of a wedding band is on his left hand. He claims to be doing this to impress his wife, a feat only the most loving husbands would do, yet he doesn’t wear his wedding ring. Hongjoong shoves both of his hands into his pants pockets. “That’s okay. Thanks for your time, Seonghwa. It was nice to meet you.”

The brunette adjusts the tuque on his head to pull the hat over his ears and turns on his heel.

Seonghwa sees that giant wet patch on his bottom and a giggle escapes before he can stop himself.

Hongjoong straightens up in alarm at hearing Seonghwa laugh and twists his torso to look at his butt. “My ass normally looks better than this. And drier.”

Seonghwa slips his key out of the lock and pushes the handle of the door to open it. “Come in. Your pants will dry when you do chaînés.”

“Really?” Hongjoong perks up as he watches Seonghwa step into the studio and turns on the lobby lights. Seonghwa beckons him in and the brunette is eager to follow. “That’s the pirouette, right?”

“No,” Seonghwa says and closes the door behind Hongjoong to lock it. He takes off his knit, white scarf and shrugs off his coat to hang up in the small closet by the door. “It’s a type of turn, though. A pirouette is different.”

“Yes, on Christian Dior and on some kind of decadence,” Hongjoong tries as he unzips his jacket.

“En dehors and en dedans,” Seonghwa snorts and Hongjoong mouths the words after him. The dancer takes Hongjoong’s jacket to hang in the closet as well and then motions to shorter man’s wet sneakers. He does a double take when he sees the brunette’s footwear, but he refrains from commenting as he doesn’t want to come off as judgemental. “Um… I hope you’re wearing socks. No outdoor shoes are allowed on the vinyl floors.”

Hongjoong bends down to unlace his sneakers and he slips them off to line them neatly on the shoe rack. His socks are a little damp and mismatched: his left is a plain, navy blue with black polka dots and his right is a bright yellow with cartoon bananas on them.

When he notices Seonghwa staring, Hongjoong says coolly, “sock trolls are real, you know. And they live at my local laundromat. My private investigator says it’s their headquarters and I’m their number one victim.”

“By private investigator, do you mean you?”

“Maybe.”

Seonghwa stifles a laugh by turning his back to Hongjoong to lead him towards one of the three studios: the smallest one all the way down the hall.

Seven Seasons Dance Innovations is mediocre in size and in the upper unit atop a convenience store: since they’re located on the upper level, beautiful sunlight will stream in through the windows during the day, but being on the upper floor means it gets extra hot in the summers and extra cold in the winters. They have three studios, two of which have vinyl and Marley flooring for ballet dance, and the last one is sprung wooden flooring to accommodate acrobatics and tap dancing.

It’s a small business, owned by Seonghwa’s old dance teacher, who reached out to him when he finished his college degree for help in teaching and running the business.

The third and last floor of the building on top of the dance school unit has a living complex with about six residents, where Seonghwa lives in one of the apartment units. Before Hongjoong approached him, he was on his way to pick up a quick dinner at the convenience store below before heading home upstairs.

“Find a spot on the barre,” Seonghwa instructs and gestures to the horizontal, wooden bars fixed to the non-mirrored walls of the studio. “Left hand on the barre, feet together in parallel, looking ahead and not at the floor, be as tall as you can be.”

Hongjoong does as told and rests his left hand on the wood, back impossibly straight and legs glued together. With this overexaggerated posture, his chest sticks out and Seonghwa can see his pectoral muscles pushed against the front fabric of his grey sweater.

Seonghwa swallows before placing his hand on Hongjoong’s sternum to lightly push down, signalling the man to relax a bit. “Don’t be so tense. Good posture doesn’t mean rigid. You need to be lifted, not stiff.”

Hongjoong relaxes slightly. But his spine and hips are still misaligned with his muscles tensing and the barre under his palm is locked in a death grip.

Seonghwa keeps his palm on Hongjoong’s chest and steps closer to him so he’s now positioned behind the shorter man. He uses his free hand to place at the base of Hongjoong’s spine to gently tap at where his lower back meets his buttocks. “Relax your pelvis more, your butt shouldn’t be hiked up. Hips square and facing the front, tuck your tailbone in, yes, and roll your shoulders back to elongate your neck.”

The dancer trails his hand on Hongjoong’s back up to his neck and the tips of his fingers ghost over the column of his throat. Since it’s only them in the quiet of the studio and Seonghwa didn’t put on any music on the stereo, the raven haired man hears Hongjoong’s breath hitch at the ghostly touch.

Seonghwa’s fingers briefly brush the tufts of brown hair peeking out from under Hongjoong’s tuque at the base of his neck. He retracts his hands, from both Hongjoong’s neck and chest, and moves from behind the brunette to in front of him at the barre. Seonghwa knows he’s blushing from the proximity, but he refuses to acknowledge it as he wants to remain professional.

The dancer places his hand on Hongjoong’s left one that’s clutching the barre in a claw-like manner. Seonghwa can feel the vein protruding on the back of the shorter man’s hand and can’t help but notice that he was right; there’s no ring on Hongjoong’s fourth finger. “Ease your grip on the barre, it’s not going anywhere.”

Hongjoong chuckles nervously and does as told. “You’re just throwing me into the deep end, aren’t you?”

Seonghwa smiles, “throwing you into the deep end would be me asking you to do this.” The raven haired man shuffles two paces back and away from Hongjoong so that he can kick his left leg up. His heel rests on the barre as his leg extends straight out in between him and Hongjoong.

Hongjoong gapes at him, cheeks still pink as his eyes follow the long line of Seonghwa’s leg to the man himself.

Seonghwa points to his foot and then his knee, explaining as he goes, “foot must be pointed and your ankle must be strong and in line with your shin. Wing it out slightly to prevent a sickled foot, and stretch the backs of your knees but don’t strain your thighs. Notice how my hips are still square? Don’t let your working leg throw off your alignment in devant, derrière, and à la seconde.”

Hongjoong blinks at him, eyes still glancing at Seonghwa’s leg. “Sorry, in English for an uneducated person with two left feet, like me?”

“Nevermind, I’m getting ahead of myself, sorry.” Seonghwa removes his leg from the barre. “I just wanted to check your posture. Now, as mentioned, jazz dance uses a lot of ballet vocabulary, so a lot of the terms I’ll be using are similar.”

Hongjoong is still facing him with his left hand on the barre and his feet pressed together. Seonghwa taps his left leg, the one closest to the barre, and says, “this is your supporting leg, the one you stand on, and your other is your working leg, the one doing the movement. Are you following?”

“Yeah.”

Seonghwa drops down to the floor on his knees to sit on his heels. A look of panic washes over Hongjoong’s pretty features at the motion and he even unconsciously shuffles backwards from Seonghwa.

The dancer gives Hongjoong a puzzled look as he folds his hands in his lap. “I’m going to talk you through some more vocabulary.”

“R-Right,” Hongjoong stutters. He doesn’t make any move to go back towards Seonghwa and so the dancer has to crawl forward a bit to reach the other man. This only seems to make Hongjoong more nervous. “Uh, you’re close, heh…”

Seonghwa tries not to read into that and pats the top of Hongjoong’s right, banana-socked foot. “Extend your foot out.”

Hongjoong does as told and his foot shoots out in front of him. Seonghwa grabs it to push down on the man’s toes to curl them while his other hand cups Hongjoong’s ankle to keep it straight. The tip of the brunette’s big toe remains on the floor. “This is a tendu. Devant means ‘in front’. Tendu devant. If your toe comes off the ground, it becomes a glissade.” Seonghwa lifts Hongjoong’s foot so it hovers an inch off the vinyl floor.

“Glissade devant,” Hongjoong says and Seonghwa nods.

“Derrière is behind, or to the back, and à la seconde is to the side.” Seonghwa releases Hongjoong’s foot. “So a tendu derrière is?”

Hongjoong pauses to contemplate it.

“Remember which is your working leg.”

The brunette uses his right leg to stick it out behind him, foot pointed as best as he can. His hips are square and he’s not sickling, but his turn out is something left to be desired. Seonghwa can work with this though, as Hongjoong is remembering most of his previous advice and corrections.

“Good boy,” Seonghwa says out of habit from teaching the little ones and rocks forward to stand up. He brushes off the little bit of dust sticking to his knees and when he lifts his gaze to look at Hongjoong, the man has his chin ducked to his chest and he bodily pivots away from Seonghwa. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong answers and finally turns to stare at the dancer. His face has been a slight shade of red this entire time, to which Seonghwa assumed was from the cold and maybe now is from exertion. “Continue, please.”

“I think we’ve covered the basics here. Posture, alignment, tendus, glissades, and directions,” Seonghwa lists on his fingers and motions for Hongjoong to follow him to the center of the studio in front of the mirror. “Do you know what a pas de bourrée is?”

“Yes, pass the butter!” Hongjoong exclaims and shows Seonghwa what he means. The brunette steps behind with his right foot, “pass.” Then out to the side with his left, “the.” He finishes the move by stomping his right foot in front, “butter.”

“Ah,” Seonghwa presses his lips together to suppress his laugh. He’ll have to remember that one for his little dancers as he’s always looking for creative ways to get the four-year-olds to memorize the names of the steps. “Did you come up with that?”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong admits abashedly but then confidently asks, “do you want to see my char siu as well?”

“Char siu?” Seonghwa repeats in disbelief. “Like, Chinese barbecue pork?”

Hongjoong slides his right foot out, then his left foot comes behind his right, and then he clumsily hops into the air and lands on both feet. To end the move, his right foot slides out again, but his socked foot slips on the vinyl and he’s sent crashing to the floor in an almost-split.

Seonghwa has to cover his mouth to hide his amused grin, but Hongjoong looks at him knowingly since the dancer’s eyebrows are knitted together as he tries not to burst out into laughter.

“I think you mean a chassé.” Seonghwa offers Hongjoong both of his hands to help him up. The shorter man accepts and Seonghwa pulls him to his feet again.

Maybe Seonghwa used too much strength or overestimated his pull, because Hongjoong shoots up and stumbles into him. The brunette’s arm winds around Seonghwa’s waist to steady himself while the dancer’s hands push against Hongjoong’s chest so the entirety of their fronts don’t end up pressed together.

His pectoral muscles are as firm as they look underneath his sweater and Seonghwa’s mind screams at him to refrain from groping. This close, he observes that Hongjoong has long eyelashes as they flutter prettily when looking up at him.

“Not bad, huh?” Hongjoong says cheekily, perfect teeth on display as he beams at Seonghwa. His arm remains around Seonghwa’s midriff.

“Not bad,” Seonghwa affirms and uses his hands to gently push Hongjoong away. His skin is heated with uncomfortable desire and he’d like to keep this relationship professional. Hongjoong is heterosexual and married, for God’s sake. “Let’s work on some across-the-floor steps.”

Seonghwa continues to teach Hongjoong basic steps and vocabulary. He gets so in the zone that by the time Hongjoong asks if they can take a water break, the dancer realizes it’s almost 11PM.

“I have to go,” Seonghwa says abruptly as Hongjoong is attempting to connect a chassé step into a jeté. A jeté is way too advanced for his flexibility and coordination, so he ends up jumping with no split and almost twists his ankle on the landing. “I’m sorry, but it’s getting late and I have to be up early to open.”

“Don’t apologize!” Hongjoong is quick to gain his composure from his attempt at a leap and rushes to the door of the studio. “Thank you for helping me! How do I pay you?”

Seonghwa checks his watch and bites his lip. To invoice Hongjoong, he’d have to boot up the studio’s computer, wait for the system to load, take his payment on the machine terminal, and input the proof of payment to reconcile it with the invoice… Too much work for a Friday night when Seonghwa’s trying to hop into a scalding hot bath as soon as possible. Or get something to eat, which is what he was trying to do before Hongjoong stopped him.

Hongjoong pulls his wallet out from his back pocket, a chunky thing with far too many receipt papers sticking out of it. “I have cash if that’s easier for you.”

Seonghwa grimaces at the sounds of the receipts crumpling as the man rummages around for his bills. “That’s alright, Hongjoong, I would be happy to offer this session to you… Complimentary.”

Hongjoong frowns, “no way. We just spent over an hour here. I have to pay you.” When Seonghwa opens his mouth to refuse again, Hongjoong blurts, “at least let me buy you dinner? Have you eaten yet? You said you teach until 9PM, so you didn’t have a break, right?”

That has Seonghwa’s mouth snapping shut. Hongjoong, a stranger, recalled Seonghwa’s schedule within almost two hours of meeting him for the first time. Something all of his ex-boyfriends failed to do, or failed to care to do.

“It’s because you work irregular hours,” one of his exes had griped. “How am I supposed to keep track?” Seonghwa had bitterly replied that his work hours had been the same for the past two years.

And there isn’t anything romantic about Hongjoong’s offer, especially since the man is married. He’s just a kind soul, something Seonghwa begrudgingly acknowledges that, like being virtuous, is hard to come by. The dancer shakes his head, “Hongjoong. I’m giving you a free private lesson. Most would take it and run away. Actually, I encourage you to run away.”

For the first time tonight, Seonghwa is the one to make Hongjoong laugh boisterously. His laugh is high pitched and he uses his whole body; his eyes crinkle, his cute nose scrunches, and he bends over to slap a hand on his knee. Seonghwa doesn’t think he’s that funny. 

“I’m not gonna run away! Or do I have to remind you about what happened to me the last time I ran?” Hongjoong turns around to stick his ass out slightly. The wet patch that was on his jeans is relatively dry, but there’s still a lingering white outline that frames his butt due to the salt that was probably on the floor. When he’s finished showing off his assets, Hongjoong’s eyes widen slightly, he tilts his chin down, and his bottom lip juts out into a little pout as he looks up at Seonghwa. “Let me buy you dinner. Please?”

Seonghwa’s heart beats so wildly against his chest one would think he just danced a full three minute routine. He can’t help it when his eyes flicker to Hongjoong’s pink yet chapped lips. To distract himself, the raven haired man swivels on his heel to exit the studio. “Hongjoong…”

“If you’re feeling guilty about the cost of the meal…” Hongjoong falls into step with Seonghwa as they make their way back to the lobby. “We can just go to the convenience store below. I’ll buy you a cup noodle, which is like, two dollars, so you’ll have nothing to feel guilty about!”

Seonghwa opens up the closet and takes both his and Hongjoong’s coats off of the hangers. Hongjoong takes his to shrug on and Seonghwa slips on his coat and loops his scarf around his neck when he murmurs shyly, “I love cup noodles.”

Hongjoong grins at him as they step out of the studio and Seonghwa inserts his keys to lock up. “I love cup noodles, too! My blood might be eighty percent sodium.”

The dancer chuckles as he twists his keys and yanks on the handle to ensure the door is properly locked. “That’s not a brag. I hope you go to the doctor annually.”

“Nope! It’s probably better that way. After you,” Hongjoong gestures to the stairs and Seonghwa descends first.

“So what do you do for work? You mentioned you have a full-time job and a second job?” Seonghwa inquires conversationally as they head into the convenience store.

“Yeah, I work a boring warehouse job during the day, Monday to Friday. I move car batteries onto skids and handle the delivery schedules to the companies that need them,” Hongjoong answers. That would explain his solid chest and muscled arms. “And then I work part-time at a bar not too far from here.”

Little bells jingle atop the door when Seonghwa and Hongjoong enter Choi’s Convenience.

It’s a family owned business, operates 24h except on the major holidays, and is decently sized, but they recently renovated as profits were up within the last few years. It now has a little cafe corner where the owner’s son, San Choi, alternates with his older sister in manning the store and working as baristas. Seonghwa is close to the two siblings as they are neighbours in the complex upstairs.

“Which bar?” Seonghwa asks and shivers when he feels the heat wash over him, warming him up from the very brief time they spent outside from the dance studio’s staircase to the store. “Lemon Drop?”

“That’s the one!” Hongjoong says. “I’m a bartender. They let me perform on Music Nights when they don’t have anyone scheduled, or I can get up on the stage if there’s down time. I like that job.”

“You’re a musician too,” Seonghwa says as they walk down the instant noodle and dried goods aisle. 

“Singing and the guitar. I’ve been writing and recording my own songs, but nobody will take my demo tape.”

“A starving artist then,” Seonghwa teases.

Hongjoong chuckles and swipes a Nongshim Shin Ramyun cup off the shelf, “who said I’m starving? I told you, I love cup noodles.”

Seonghwa regards the ramyun in Hongjoong’s hand and playfully muses, “hm. I don’t believe anybody loves cup noodles more than me. I’m a connoisseur. Is that really your choice?”

The musician suddenly looks worried. He looks down at the red, paper cup of instant noodles in his hand and makes a face at it. “Er, yes? Well, I don’t know… Huh.” Hongjoong flips the cup around and pretends to study the nutritional value. “Over five hundred calories, sixteen grams of fat, three grams of sugars and fiber, and… Ah! My favourite, an absurd amount of sodium. I think I have to go with this one.”

Seonghwa purses his lips in fake consideration as he scans the shelves of instant noodle packages and cups. He’s mostly memorized this entire aisle as he visits the convenience store so often. “That’s interesting.”

His words seem to affect Hongjoong because the brunette lifts his arm to place the cup back on the shelf. When Hongjoong turns to him, hands now void of instant noodles, Seonghwa bites his bottom lip to fight the smile threatening the corners of his mouth.

Hongjoong gives him a troubled look, “what would you pick then, Mr. Connoisseur? Are you basing this on mouth feel? Noodle bounce? Soup flavour?”

Seonghwa feigns deep contemplation before taking the exact same Nongshim Shin Ramyun cup Hongjoong just put back. “This one.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong exclaims and light-heartedly shoves at Seonghwa’s shoulder. “You made me feel like I was choosing wrong!”

“There’s no such thing as a ‘wrong choice’ when it comes to noodles,” Seonghwa laughs and swats at the musician, whose hand is now trying to grab the cup noodle from Seonghwa. “How snobby do you think I am? About instant noodles?”

“That one’s mine,” Hongjoong declares. One of his hands circles around Seonghwa’s wrist so that he can pin it to the raven haired man’s side while his other reaches for the noodles.

Seonghwa’s heartbeat spikes, feeling the strong grip of Hongjoong’s hand. The musician has crowded into his personal space and his hard chest presses into Seonghwa’s arm as Hongjoong attempts to snatch the cup noodle from him.

He can feel the heat of his cheeks that are probably tinged pink and as Hongjoong continues to move closer to him, Seonghwa knows he has to put a stop to this. Whatever this is.

Seonghwa does something diabolical. He raises his arm, the one holding the noodle cup, high into the air and the realization dawns on Hongjoong immediately.

The musician’s expression flattens as he stops struggling against Seonghwa, the cup noodle way out of his reach as he’s about two inches shorter than the dancer. “I’ve never been so hurt in my life, Seonghwa. What the fuck.”

Despite his thundering heart, he can’t help it: Seonghwa laughs so hard he snorts and the beginnings of tears well in the corners of his eyes. “I’m— Oh my G-God…” Seonghwa tries to get a full sentence out but he’s riddled with giggles. He even stumbles into the shelving unit with how much he’s laughing, “I-I’m… Haha, I’m so s-sorry.”

When his laughter subsides and he straightens up, he finds Hongjoong staring at him intently. The brunette is rooted in place, no longer attempting to grab the noodles, and that red flush he had since the studio is more prominent on his cheekbones.

Seonghwa clears his throat and composes himself. He holds out the noodles to Hongjoong while he takes another one off the shelf for himself.

It’s a bit awkward now and Seonghwa attributes this to the fact that they’re still strangers even if they’ve managed comfortable banter. 

“Did you want anything else? A drink?” Seonghwa breaks the silence and Hongjoong snaps out of it, blinking owlishly at the taller man.

“No, I’m good. Let me pay.”

Before they head to the register, Seonghwa hesitates. He then takes another ramyun off the shelf and Hongjoong gives the extra cup a puzzled look but doesn’t comment on it.

They walk up to the cash register where San happily greets Seonghwa. He’s a handsome young man with a kind smile and an even kinder heart. He's only a year younger than Seonghwa, and has taken over a lot of the responsibilities in running the business from his father, who expressed the desire for him to inherit the store. San will drop in to the studio from time to time to take an adult hip hop or contemporary class.

“Hi, Sannie,” Seonghwa says as San takes the three cup noodles from Hongjoong. “This is—” The dancer almost says ‘my friend’, but catches himself. “Hongjoong. We just finished a private lesson.”

“Really?” San glances between Seonghwa and Hongjoong mischievously, “what dance style are you learning, Hongjoong?”

“Jazz and ballet, I think,” the musician responds. “In just one session, I’m now the master of ‘pass the butter’.”

“Pas de bourrée,” Seonghwa corrects so that San understands.

San laughs, “oh, like the grapevine. In hip hop.”

“Grapevine?” Hongjoong looks at Seonghwa in question.

“Almost. Pas de bourrée is a three step sequence. Grapevine is four.”

Hongjoong stares at him in awe while the register beeps beside him when San scans the two noodles.

“Are you sure you don’t want more of these? Is this enough for both of you?”

Seonghwa and Hongjoong assure San that they’re fine with the three cups. Hongjoong pays in cash given that the total is under ten dollars and then Seonghwa takes his noodles and moves to exit the store as he waves to San.

“Wait,” Hongjoong says and he trails after the dancer outside. 

It’s still snowing, though not as heavily and the wind isn’t harsh at all. The white flurries almost float in the air and Seonghwa crosses the lapels of his coat, one over the other, to prevent his clothes from getting wet.

“Did you drive here?” Seonghwa glances around the empty street and his gaze lingers on the curb, where three cars are parked spaciously. Hongjoong did say he came from Lemon Drop, but the bar is only one block south from Seven Seasons Dance Innovations and Seonghwa knows it, like the studio, doesn’t have a parking lot. “Or do you live close by?”

Hongjoong doesn’t answer either of those questions and instead, to Seonghwa’s shock, holds up the cup noodle. “I was hoping we would eat together.”

“Oh,” Seonghwa breathes, and what else is he supposed to say to that?

Some snow lands on Hongjoong’s long eyelashes. When he blinks, it’s like the flurries create a magical glow around his brown eyes. 

He’s beautiful.

Seonghwa swallows and places his extra ramyun cup into Hongjoong’s free hand. 

The musician raises an eyebrow at it.

Seonghwa says softly over his wildly beating heart, “I thought you might want an extra one. To eat with your wife.”

At the mention of his wife, Hongjoong’s jaw clenches and his expression is crestfallen, eyes now fixed on the cup noodles in his hands. His shoulders noticeably sag and Seonghwa doesn’t understand this negative reaction as Hongjoong was talking about how he wanted to impress his wife with the dance lessons earlier.

“You’re out so late, it’s nearly midnight. She must be worried about you,” Seonghwa states. In what he hopes is an encouraging tone, he adds, “I know I would be.”

Hongjoong gaze snaps up to him. Something unreadable flashes across his features but Seonghwa isn’t able to decipher it because it’s gone as quick as it came. “Thanks, Seonghwa. I guess I’ll head home then. But…”

Seonghwa hums in acknowledgement and waits to let the brunette finish.

“Could we schedule another lesson?” Hongjoong asks hopefully. “I’d love to see you— dance. Learn dance with you again. Learn through you. From you… By you? What are the words I’m looking for?”

Seonghwa giggles. Hongjoong is so effortlessly funny and seems to say all of his thoughts out loud, which is quite endearing. “You’re a songwriter. Shouldn’t you know?”

“Adverbs and prepositions are hard,” Hongjoong jests. “And if you can think of any word that rhymes with ‘angst’, I would love to know. I’ve been stuck on that one for a while.”

“I’m just a dancer, sorry,” Seonghwa smiles and Hongjoong grins at him. The raven haired man glances back at the convenience store doors where, beside it, is the entrance to the dance studio. And beside that is the upper level complex door.

When Seonghwa looks back at Hongjoong, the musician is staring at him expectantly.

The dancer yields, “meet me here again, next Friday, same time: at 9PM.”

Hongjoong’s face lights up like Seonghwa just gifted him a million dollars for the holidays. “Done! But I’m paying you. Or I’ll have to grand basement kick you.”

It takes Seonghwa ten seconds to figure that one out. “Do you mean grand battement? You’re not flexible enough for that.”

“Not yet, o’ great teacher, but that’s where you come in.” Hongjoong exaggeratedly bows to Seonghwa and he’s so ridiculous and charming that it has Seonghwa sighing. The brunette starts to walk in the opposite direction, where the bus stop is at the intersection, as he waves to the dancer. “Until next week, Seonghwa! I can’t wait!”

Seonghwa watches Hongjoong skip down the sidewalk. The musician nearly slips but makes sure to right himself and throws a cheeky thumbs up to the raven haired man before continuing like nothing happened.

Seonghwa shakes his head fondly and he can’t help but mutter under his breath, cheeks aflame, “I can’t wait either…”

❄ week two ❄

As agreed, Seonghwa keeps the door to the studio unlocked for Hongjoong on the following Friday.

It’s a quarter past 9PM, and Seonghwa chastises himself for not booting up the system to process payment from Hongjoong last week. Not because he regrets giving the musician a free lesson, but now Seonghwa has no contact information to call Hongjoong to ask if he’s still coming.

The dancer contemplates putting on his coat and walking down to Lemon Drop to see if the musician has been caught up in his shift. Or maybe he didn’t go to work today at all? 

Seonghwa peers out the window and sees that it’s blizzarding outside with the few cars parked on the curb completely buried in snow. He hopes the brunette is alright and not caught up in a weather related accident…

That thought has him standing up in alarm. He scurries over to get his scarf and coat from the closet, locks up the studio, and trudges through the snow to Lemon Drop.

The bar doesn’t close until midnight and, from the handful of times that Seonghwa’s visited to get a quick bite before teaching, he knows the crowd thins out around 9PM. The atmosphere gets mellower after that, with patrons who are only there to have a drink or two after dinner.

Seonghwa likes Lemon Drop over Golden Hour, another bar along the block, because Lemon Drop has live Music Nights and is not as rowdy as most bars.

He enters and as expected, it’s near to empty. All of the chairs are tucked in neatly into the tables, the floor seems to have been mopped already as there’s a caution sign propped up, and two bartenders, neither of whom are Hongjoong, are wiping down the taps and cleaning the bar glasses.

Despite the emptiness of the establishment, a smooth, somber voice echoes through the speaker system clearly, accompanied by an acoustic guitar.

Seonghwa walks in further and sees Hongjoong on the small, half circle stage that’s on the opposite side of the bar counter. He’s sitting on a stool with one microphone positioned in front of his mouth and another positioned in front of the body of his instrument.

His voice is lovely and comforting, wrapping Seonghwa in a warm blanket of solace. His ears tingle and his chest warms with a pleasant feeling as he watches Hongjoong perform to no one but the employees of Lemon Drop.

Seonghwa closes his eyes as Hongjoong sings. Hongjoong has amazing control over his chest voice and Seonghwa feels like the brunette’s sung lyrics are touching him physically.

After another few seconds of listening, Seonghwa checks his watch and decides that, if Hongjoong is too preoccupied with this, they should call off the lesson and the dancer can hop into a hot bath.

The raven haired man steps out from behind the host stand and approaches the stage. When he gets close enough for the two stage lights to illuminate his presence, Hongjoong’s eyes widen.

“Oh fuck!” Hongjoong exclaims mid song and stands so abruptly that his teeth knock into the microphone and his guitar pushes the second mic completely off the stage, nearly whacking Seonghwa in the face on its descent.

The dancer catches the microphone by the stand before it can crash into the floor and then looks up at Hongjoong amusedly.

Mouth still positioned in front of the microphone, Hongjoong apologizes, “shit, Seonghwa. I’m so sorry! What time is it?”

“Half past nine,” Seonghwa answers. “I thought maybe you didn’t make it into work.”

“No! Foot traffic has been slow because of the snow, so Gord let me get on stage after we finished cleaning up… I didn’t forget! I would never forget you,” that last part seems to have slipped out of his mouth by accident as Hongjoong’s face turns bright pink. “I-I mean, I didn’t forget, I just lost track of time. Fuck, I’m so sorry!”

Seonghwa tries not to smile, “it’s okay. It’s not like I live far or anything. I was just—” The dancer pauses. He says slowly, “worried. I thought maybe you were dead in the snow or something.”

Hongjoong stares down at the dancer and the corners of his mouth are upturned slightly. This smile looks a bit goofy, like a kitten or a squirrel, but it’s all that much more endearing to Seonghwa. Then, after a few seconds of nothing said, Hongjoong seems to come out of his trance and reveals, “I wouldn’t die in the snow. I’m planning to go out the way I deserve.”

Seonghwa makes a face at him, “death by sodium? You know, you should really get your cholesterol checked—”

“Oh my God, no!” Hongjoong laughs. “When I sell out concerts and stadiums, I’m gonna crowd surf and let my fans crush or smother me to death with their love for the music. It’ll be so awesome.”

Seonghwa doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry at such a bizarre fantasy of death.

“Or old age, I guess,” Hongjoong adds sheepishly. “I’ll probably get distracted by a dog, accidentally walk off my porch, break a hip, be too broke to afford surgery, and then die a lonely, sad, old man.”

“That’s… Really depressing. And specific,” Seonghwa grimaces. He tries to be more cheerful and says, “you won’t be lonely! Your wife will probably laugh at your fall and then call an ambulance for you. It’d be a funny story.”

Like last week, at the mention of his wife, Hongjoong’s expression sours. Not wanting to further upset the musician, Seonghwa quickly changes the subject, “will you give me free tickets?”

Hongjoong, features still twisted unpleasantly, blinks at the dancer. "Huh?”

Seonghwa giggles, “to your sold out concerts and stadiums. I assume it’ll be a nightmare to get tickets once you become a big name… I gave you a free lesson last week, so maybe in the future… You can give me a ticket.”

Hongjoong’s mood seems to instantly brighten. “Yeah? You wanna come?”

Seonghwa flushes and looks up at Hongjoong through his eyelashes timidly, “I was, um, listening. You have an amazing voice and you’re very talented.”

Hongjoong audibly gulps and the sound is picked up on the microphone. “T-Thanks, Seonghwa. You, uh— er, your words mean a lot to me.”

The two stare at each other, both blushing in embarrassment.

From the bar, a voice shouts, “can the black haired cutie speak into the microphone he’s holding, too? We can’t hear his side of the flirting!”

Both mens’ heads whip around to look at the bar.

Behind the counter are the same two employees Seonghwa slipped past on his way in: one is a tall, good looking man polishing a beer glass. Beside him is an equally attractive, shorter man with his hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his shouts.

“Dude, you suck at flirting, by the way!” The shorter bartender yells. “Tell the cutie he has nice legs! And an adorable butt!”

The taller bartender drops the polishing cloth in his hand to also cup around his mouth, “don’t tell him that! Just tell him he has nice eyes!”

The shorter bartender boldly demands, “does he smell as nice as he looks? Tell us!”

Hongjoong glares at his colleagues, his face a deeper shade of red, and says one last thing into the mic, “shut up!” The musician pushes the mic stand away from him to generate enough room for him to hop off the stage.

Seonghwa chuckles nervously, “I didn’t realize you were speaking into the mic this whole time.”

“Me either. They could’ve said something earlier. Fuckers,” Hongjoong ducks under his guitar strap and rests the instrument on the stage. He beckons for Seonghwa to follow him up to the bar and shuffles around to stand on the other side of the counter with his two colleagues. “Do you want a drink?”

“No, thank you,” Seonghwa declines and the two men glower at Hongjoong nonchalantly pouring a glass of water.

“Are you gonna introduce us?” The shorter bartender asks Hongjoong.

When Hongjoong rolls his eyes and places the water in front of Seonghwa, the taller bartender moves to stand in front of the dancer, hand held out in front of him. His smile is friendly and he towers over Seonghwa up close. “Hi, I’m Soobin.”

Seonghwa shakes his hand, “I’m Seonghwa. I work at Seven Seasons Dance Innovations, down the street.”

“And I’m Wooyoung, a Sagittarius.” The shorter bartender shoves Soobin out of the way to take Seonghwa’s extended hand into his. There’s a rose tattoo on his inner forearm and a piercing through his right eyebrow. “You look like an air sign, because you must be from the heavens. An angel, I swear! I happen to be very compatible with air signs, and I love it when they’re taller, makes it fun when you seem ‘em fold—”

Hongjoong, filling up another glass of water at the bar sink, lifts the fountain gun to spray Wooyoung with the stream of water.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Wooyoung screams and leaps away from Seonghwa.

“Don’t flirt with my—” Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrow briefly, “my dance teacher.”

“You? Dance?” Soobin gives Hongjoong a once over. “I thought you had two left feet.”

“That’s what I’m working on,” Hongjoong responds.

The water may have put some distance between them, but Wooyoung still stares dreamily at Seonghwa. “How can you possibly get anything done with a teacher that looks like this? You’re gorgeous.”

Seonghwa feels his entire body heat up at the compliment, “thank you, Wooyoung.”

“Can you teach me, too?” Wooyoung asks smugly. “I have great stamina so we could schedule more than an hour.”

“Don’t be sleazy,” Hongjoong sets his half filled glass in the sink and bolts out from behind the bar to the back rooms. He comes back out wearing his jacket, jogs over to where Seonghwa is standing on the other side of the bar counter, and wraps an arm around the dancer’s waist to guide him towards the exit. Before they leave, Hongjoong barks at his colleagues, “tell Gord I clocked out. Let’s go, Seonghwa.”

“Oh? Okay—” Seonghwa begins to say but Hongjoong is already pushing him out the door. He tries to yell back at the two bartenders, “it was nice to meet you—”

And then they’re outside on the sidewalk, ankle deep in the snow as the ploughs work hard to clear what they can.

“You forgot your guitar,” Seonghwa points out as Hongjoong zips up his more-so-a-windbreaker-than-a-jacket with shaky hands. 

“I usually leave it there so I don’t have to carry it on the bus with me,”

“You should get a thicker coat, that can’t be very warm.”

“It’s fine, this thing has been keeping me going through every winter since I was eighteen.” Hongjoong finally gets the zipper to align so he can close his jacket. 

Seonghwa frowns, “and how old are you now?”

“Twenty-four,” Hongjoong beams at him and pulls out his tuque from his jacket pocket to shove onto his head. In contrast to his positive demeanour, he’s rubbing his hands together, bouncing from foot to foot to keep moving, and his teeth chatter comedically. 

He’s cold.

“We're the same age then,” Seonghwa notes as he unwraps his scarf from around himself and grips the two ends of the accessory in either hand. He then tosses the scarf over Hongjoong’s head and ties the fabric snugly around the brunette’s neck, hands working quickly amidst the cold.

Hongjoong stares at him dumbly but Seonghwa is satisfied with his decision when he sees that the musician is not shivering as violently anymore.

The raven haired man pats Hongjoong’s shoulders disapprovingly before putting his hands back into his coat pockets. “You need to buy a new coat, Hongjoong. You’re going to get sick. At this rate, you might actually die in the snow before you get to live out your fan suffocation death fantasy.”

As Seonghwa speaks, Hongjoong seems to be distracted by the scarf. He’s ceased jumping from foot to foot, and he just stands there, unmoving. His head is craned down slightly so his nose disappears under the scarf and only the top half of his face is visible, his dainty eyelashes fluttering as he blinks at the sidewalk.

“There are some holiday sales at the department store around the corner,” Seonghwa suggests, assuming Hongjoong is taking in what he’s saying. Like this, he feels a bit like a mother scolding her child on the importance of taking care of their health. “You could find a nice coat suitable for winter at a good price there, and it doesn’t close until 10:30PM, I think, so you could go now—”

“Okay, then let’s go,” Hongjoong’s head lifts and he steps towards Seonghwa. He reaches out in what looks like an attempt to grab Seonghwa’s arm but then he dips his hand to gently place it on the dancer’s lower back.

Seonghwa can barely feel his touch through his coat but he does feel it when Hongjoong nudges him in the direction of said department store.

“What? Now?” Seonghwa asks as Hongjoong moves his hands from his back to the dancer’s shoulders, steering him ahead as the musician remains behind. “What are you doing?”

“You have snow boots,” Hongjoong says simply. “I don’t. So you’re gonna have to make a pathway for me.”

“Are you serious?” Seonghwa lets the brunette push him along the sidewalk for a few more paces before he looks back at Hongjoong to see the shorter man carefully stepping in Seonghwa’s footprints in the snow. “Okay, you’re buying boots too, then.”

“Only if the coat is under twenty dollars.”

“I said a ‘sale’, Hongjoong, not a ‘steal’.”

“Ha-ha.”

Seonghwa’s been to this department store a lot since it’s convenient for him to walk down the block and get anything he needs. It carries make up, clothing, appliances, accessories, jewellery, and home decor. He’s purchased a few accent pieces and holiday decorations for the studio from here.

“Welcome!” A familiar employee, a young man with friendly eyes and broad shoulders named Jongho greets them at the door. He looks excited to see Seonghwa. “Oh, hi, Seonghwa. You’re here late, don’t you open early tomorrow?”

Hongjoong looks at Seonghwa guiltily. 

“Hi Jongho,” Seonghwa says and wiggles his fingers at Hongjoong to try to signal to him that it’s no big deal. “This is Hongjoong, Hongjoong this is Jongho.”

The two men politely nod to each other.

“We won’t be long, we know you’re closing soon,” Seonghwa says. “Do you have any sales on outerwear?”

“Yeah,” Jongho plucks a printed flier from the stack on the cash counter that’s a few paces away from him. He gives one to Seonghwa and one to Hongjoong. “Fifteen percent off winter coats, twenty off of boots, and a buy-one-get-one-half-price deal on sweaters. But you’d get a better deal after Christmas. And an even better deal in the new year.”

“Hongjoong can’t wait that long,” Seonghwa pinches the fabric of Hongjoong’s jacket sleeve in between his fingers in disbelief, “tell me I’m not going crazy and this is a windbreaker.”

Jongho regards Hongjoong’s jacket and chuckles ruefully. “That’s unmistakably a windbreaker… Are you aware it’s winter? You need a down and insulated coat.” As if to emphasize his point both he and Seonghwa turn their heads to the glass doors of the entrance to watch the blizzard outside. “At least you’re wearing a scarf?”

“It’s mine,” Seonghwa sighs and gives Jongho a wave. “I’ll find you before we leave.”

“Feel free to take your time. I’m doing inventory and the displays tonight until midnight, so I can just let you out when you’re done.”

“Thanks, Jongho.”

Seonghwa leads Hongjoong towards the men’s section for outerwear.

“You seem to know everyone on the block,” Hongjoong comments. “Choi’s Convenience, this place…”

“I actually live in the complex above the dance school’s unit,” Seonghwa hums. “So I’m very familiar with everyone around. I know Gord from Lemon Drop, but I’ve never met Wooyoung or Soobin.”

“They only work the night shifts, like me,” Hongjoong explains. “I would recommend you steer clear of those two. Nothing good will come of befriending them. They’re weird and always get up to no good—”

Seonghwa giggles, “I don’t believe you, Wooyoung called me gorgeous. And I happen to like shorter men with tattoos.” 

Hongjoong’s walk slows as he gapes at Seonghwa. 

The dancer internally panics and remembers that, despite their weird, instant connection to each other, he and Hongjoong are technically still strangers. And he just casually outed himself. To a stranger. “I’m sorry, that just slipped out, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable if you… Um, I can leave—”

“No! No, don’t apologize, I’m sorry,” Hongjoong says and loosens the scarf around his neck. The brunette scrubs a hand over his flushed face. “It’s cool, I’m— Uh, I’m bi… Bisexual.”

“Ah,” Seonghwa lets out a sigh of relief and he points further down the store. “Men’s outerwear is over there.”

He and Hongjoong continue when they pass through the kitchen appliance section.

“Oh, shit! I’ve always wanted one of these blenders,” Hongjoong exclaims and stops in front of a display of coffee machines and blenders.

The appliances don’t look too luxurious, but they’re shiny and the many functions and buttons on it make it look somewhat fancy. The coffee machine has a ceramic mug beside it to complete its display while the blender has fake plastic vegetables inside to show how many ingredients can fit.

Hongjoong immediately pushes the power button on the blender and the machine whirs to life, making a horrible noise akin to the sound of a fork in the garbage disposal. The two men watch, horrified, as the blender ruins all the plastic vegetables.

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa squeals and smacks the appliance to turn it off. “It’s plugged in!”

Hongjoong ducks his head in the scarf in shame, “oops.”

Seonghwa peers underneath the display table and reaches out to unplug the blender and the coffee machine from the outlets. “That is so dangerous, why would they plug them in? What if someone had their hand in there? Should I go tell Jongho?”

As Seonghwa contemplates telling his friend about the hazardous display, Hongjoong stares at him in confusion.

“I’ll just let him know when we leave, I unplugged it anyway…” Seonghwa concludes to himself and when he notices the brunette staring, he tilts his head in question. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh, you aren’t…” Hongjoong clears his throat. He looks a bit… Anxious? “You aren’t mad at me?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad at you?”

Hongjoong glances at the blender with the ruined fake vegetables forlornly. “Because that was a stupid thing to do.”

Seonghwa frowns at Hongjoong’s melancholic expression. “You didn’t know it was plugged in.”

“I should’ve known… Or I probably shouldn’t have touched it,” Hongjoong’s shoulders droop with unease. 

Alarm bells ring in the back of Seonghwa’s mind in concern: Hongjoong’s reaction to his ‘mistake’ is… Unsettling. Like a man who is already prepared for the consequence of his so-called stupidity, and the dancer can’t help but wonder if that’s a common occurrence for the musician.

“This model isn’t good. Did you hear that awful noise it made? It’ll probably break within a few weeks,” Seonghwa says to change the topic and reassure Hongjoong. “It’s a good thing you turned it on to test it or you would’ve wasted your money.”

Hongjoong’s worry evaporates and he gives Seonghwa a lopsided smile, “the colour wouldn’t match my kitchen anyway.”

“There you go!” Seonghwa warmly smiles back and they leave the kitchen appliance section.

They walk past the linens and bedding section and when they finally enter the men’s outerwear, Hongjoong suddenly says, “I have tattoos.”

Seonghwa turns to look at the brunette at the random confession, “pardon me?”

They’re stopped in front of a rack of puffy, nylon winter coats as Hongjoong unzips his own jacket to be able to try some of the store items on.

“I have two tattoos,” Hongjoong further elaborates and removes Seonghwa’s scarf from around his neck to give back to the taller man. Then he takes off his tuque to shove into the pocket of his jacket before peeling off the clothing to hang it on a random rack nearby. “There’s one on my bicep,” Hongjoong continues and, now free of his jacket, rolls up his sleeve to show off his right, inner arm.

Bold and stylish lettering of ‘No1LikeMe’ is inked into the brunette’s bicep. Seonghwa marvels at the intricacy of the design, but is also distracted by Hongjoong’s muscles flexing as he shows off the tattoo. 

Seonghwa swallows thickly.

“And there’s one on my leg,” Hongjoong hikes up his wet pant leg and swivels his foot inwards to show Seonghwa the back of his calf where there’s a spider web framing the word ‘Faith’. “I was a pretty rebellious teenager. Got them both done after I turned eighteen so I didn’t have to ask my parents to sign the consent and liability waivers.”

“Quite the bad boy, aren’t you, Mr. Kim?” Seongwha teases.

“No, I’m very wholesome. I love my mother dearly,” Hongjoong says and then he backtracks. “Unless you like bad boys. Then… One time, I didn’t pay my phone bill. And when they called me? Straight to voicemail.”

He looks so smug about it that Seonghwa has to turn around to hide his laughter into a coat. He disguises the action by plucking said coat off the rack and, when he fights the smile off his lips, he pivots back around to press it to Hongjoong’s chest. “Such a bad boy. I bet you disputed the penalty fee when that charge came through.”

“You bet I did,” Hongjoong says proudly and takes the coat from Seonghwa to slip it on. It’s a long, snow white puffer coat that extends past the pelvis and is a size too large for the brunette’s frame. He’s drowning in the fabric and looks a lot like an adorable, giant marshmallow. “How do I look?”

“Like I need to roast you over a fire,” Seonghwa answers honestly. “Or like the Michelin Man.”

“The tire guy?” Hongjoong chuckles and he shrugs the puffer off to be able to pick out another coat. He puts on a beige parka next and Seonghwa nods in approval.

“That one looks nice and really warm.”

Hongjoong lifts his arm to read the price tag and contemplates it. “Alright. That’s an option. But I’ve had my eye on a different one…” The brunette takes off the parka and temporarily hangs it on a different rack so he can revisit later. 

Seonghwa chases after Hongjoong when he shuffles deeper into the coat section. He finds him putting on a tastefully checkered, grey, Armani trench coat that fits snug against his body when he buttons the front. The musician runs a hand through his hat head hair to fluff it up a bit and grabs and shoves on a pair of rectangular, purple tinted sunglasses from the small displays atop the coat racks. “What about this?”

To complete the look, the musician strikes a pose.

Something flutters in Seonghwa’s stomach as he looks at the musician; Hongjoong is so comical and carefree (and attractive, but Seonghwa tries not to let that adjective slip into his thoughts), and he could honestly be a model as well with his facial features and bone structure.

When Seonghwa doesn’t answer right away, Hongjoong tilts his chin down to lower the sunglasses to the tip of his nose and winks at the raven haired man. “Are you stunned into silence by my exceptional and obviously famous presence? Don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll definitely give you an autograph.”

Despite his erratic heartbeat in response to the pet name ‘darling’, Seonghwa plays into Hongjoong’s roleplay and takes a wool grey trench coat off the rack beside him. He quickly ties the belt around the waist of the coat, drapes his own scarf over his head like a makeshift bonnet, and then grabs a pair of tortoise patterned cat-eye sunglasses to shove onto his nose bridge.

The dancer fans himself with his hand, “oh my God, Hongjoong Kim! I’m your number one fan! Please sign my baby!”

Hongjoong giggles and pretends to cradle a baby in one arm and hold a pen in the other. “Of course, anything for my number one fan. Who should I make it out to?”

Seonghwa almost says his own name, but what’s the fun in that? They’re already roleplaying. “Star,” slips out of the raven haired man’s mouth. He realizes how that name sounds and jokes, “I’m an exotic dancer.”

Hongjoong regards Seonghwa and his eyes rake down the taller man’s torso and lingers on his lower body. The tips of his ears go red and he grins at Seonghwa flirtatiously, “you have the legs for it. Probably the sexiest legs I’ve ever seen, Star.”

Seonghwa flushes, even though he knows Hongjoong is only playing a character, and tightens his scarf so it hides most of his cheeks. He flips the topic onto Hongjoong. “I heard you’re a dancer yourself.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widen, “me?”

“Yes, you. Didn’t you take dance lessons when you were twenty-four?”

Realization dawns on Hongjoong and he says coolly, “oh, yeah. I had an amazing teacher; he was welcoming, kind, understanding, compassionate, gorge— er, you wanna see my pirouette on Christian Dior—”

“En dehors,” Seonghwa whispers.

“Pirouette en dehors?” Hongjoong corrects.

Seonghwa nods and the musician paces backwards to create room in between them, and also to find an open spot clear of racks.

He gets into the preparation: his left foot is in front of his right in fourth position and his knees stick out awkwardly. It’s as if he isn’t sure whether or not to turn out or stay parallel. He bends his knees anyway and his eyebrows pinch together in concentration as he tries to recall which way to turn.

“Remember to use your arms for the rotation,” Seonghwa murmurs, “if your right foot is in front, it’s your supporting leg… Your left, the working one, will come up to retiré. Turn towards your working leg.”

Hongjoong calculates it in his head and then pushes off with his left leg before it comes up to connect his left foot to his right knee in retiré. He turns in the correct direction and has a strong supporting leg for only having had one dance lesson; except his foot is sickled, his turn out is all wrong, and his arms flail unhelpfully.

On the landing, the brunette’s working foot gets caught on his supporting one and he trips into the coat rack next to him. He yelps in surprise and tries to stay upright by grabbing the rack, but his hand just swipes at the coats and he takes down the merchandise when he falls until he’s a pile of parkas on the floor in front of Seonghwa.

Hongjoong’s hand becomes visible first, followed by his head when he lifts the parka covering him and he grins sheepishly at the dancer, “looks like I fell for my number one fan.”

Seonghwa, despite his best efforts to keep it in, bursts into laughter and bends down to uncover the brunette from the parka mess. Hongjoong looks so cute like this, blinking owlishly up at Seonghwa with the many furry hoods of the coats framing his pink cheeks. The dancer reaches out to help him up, “you’re so lame, Hongjoong Kim.”

Both men clean up the mess, rehang all of the parkas, take off the Armani and trench coats respectively, and put back the sunglasses. Then the two make their way back to where the beige parka is hanging for Hongjoong to purchase.

“Do you want to try on snow boots?” Seonghwa asks.

“Nah, that’s next year’s problem.”

“If you still have toes by then,” Seonghwa giggles as he checks his watch. “It’s getting late… I know Jongho offered until midnight, but I think the last bus is before that?”

Hongjoong grabs the beige parka and frowns. “Uh, yeah. Something like that.”

Seonghwa tries not to dwell on the weird shift in mood and leads him towards the cash register, where Jongho is writing on a clipboard.

Hongjoong pays for the parka, which Seonghwa forces him to wear out of the store, and the two thank Jongho profusely when the department store employee unlocks the door for them to leave.

Most of the snow has been shovelled off the sidewalk so Seonghwa feels a little bit better about Hongjoong not purchasing snow boots. But it’s still freezing cold and blizzarding, with the flurries whipping at Seonghwa’s face in the wind.

“Confirming next week?” Hongjoong, now donning the beige parka, says to Seonghwa with hopeful eyes. It’s unzipped but he already looks warmer. “I know we didn’t dance at all for today’s session, but I’ll make sure I’m at the studio at 9PM next Friday.”

Seonghwa snorts, “how will you make sure?”

Hongjoong grins, “how could I forget my number one fan?”

“You forgot today.”

“Okay, fair.” Hongjoong steps closer to the dancer as he shoves his hands into his new coat pockets. “What if you gave me something to remember?”

“If I gave you something…” Seonghwa contemplates it, “like what?”

Hongjoong’s eyes flit down to the scarf around his neck.

Seonghwa’s hands come up to each end of the accessory unconsciously, “really? This?”

“It’ll serve as a reminder to return it to you.”

That does make sense… Seonghwa takes the scarf off and holds it out to the brunette.

Hongjoong shakes his head and steps even closer to Seonghwa so they’re only two inches apart, making no move to remove his hands from his pockets. He lifts his head up to elongate his neck and smiles cheekily at the dancer.

The raven haired man sighs but there’s a smile on his lips. He loops the scarf around Hongjoong’s nape for the second time tonight, though this time, his hands linger on the ends of the accessory.

Seonghwa gazes down at the shorter man while Hongjoong blinks up at him.

The department store’s outdoor speaker crackles with upbeat Christmas music, not yet turned off with Jongho still inside. The snow accumulates atop both of their heads as the two men continue to stare at each other and Seonghwa’s hands still clutch the ends of his own scarf around Hongjoong’s neck.

Hongjoong cheeks are pink with what Seonghwa assumes is the cold winds lashing at his face and the dancer doesn’t miss the way the brunette’s eyes flicker to his lips.

Seonghwa licks them self consciously, his own cheeks heated, and he unknowingly pulls the ends of the scarf towards himself. Hongjoong shuffles closer to him and the two inch gap becomes mere centimeters.

The moment their chests touch, Seonghwa’s eyes almost close on instinct. But then Hongjoong’s warm breath fanning over his lips has Seonghwa realizing how intimate this pose is and how it seems like they’re about to kiss.

… Hongjoong is a married man.

The fact strikes Seonghwa like lightning.

Seonghwa immediately lets go of his scarf and jumps away from Hongjoong so fast that he’s the one that nearly eats snow when his foot slides on the wet pavement. 

The dancer rights himself and his heart pounds so hard against his ribcage it travels to his brain where it jumbles any coherent thought Seonghwa may have had. His entire body burns in humiliation at the romantic connotation of what just transpired.

Because, if Seonghwa knew Hongjoong was single, he would’ve kissed him.

“Get home safely,” Seonghwa mutters to break the silence and now there’s more than a foot of space in between them. “I’ll, um, see you next week. 9PM. Don’t forget.” The dancer doesn’t wait for Hongjoong’s response before he turns around and not-so-subtly bolts around the corner towards Seven Seasons, heartbeat borderline turbulent the entire way home.

❄ week three ❄

Hongjoong arrives at Seven Seasons Dance Innovations fifteen minutes early. Seonghwa only knows this because, while teaching his advanced students a petit allegro sequence for the last class of the evening, he hears giggling behind him.

“Entrechat six into assemblé and we repeat in croisé— are you listening to me?” Seonghwa demands and turns around to address his class of eight.

Most of the dancers hide their giggles behind their hands, but one of Seonghwa’s more outspoken students, Julia, points to the observation window.

“Sorry, Mr. Park, but there’s a guy watching…”

Another student and his only boy in the class, Yeosang, pipes up, “is that your boyfriend?”

The rest of the dancers ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ and they gaze at Seonghwa with their big eyes; an even split of curiosity and playfulness. 

Seonghwa’s head snaps to the observation window and sees Hongjoong’s familiar grey tuque. When they make eye contact, the musician waves enthusiastically at him.

“Oh my God, he totally likes you, Mr. Park!” Julia squeals.

“He’s giving you heart eyes,” Yeosang snickers.

With the teasing, his students begin to whisper amongst themselves.

“They would make such a cute couple.”

“He looks shorter than Mr. Park though, doesn’t he?”

“I told you we should’ve hung that mistletoe in the lobby—”

“They’re going on a date after!”

“It is a Friday night…”

It all ends with another chorus of jestful ‘oohs’ as the eight teenaged dancers grin knowingly at Seonghwa.

Seonghwa’s burning cheeks don’t help and he flaps a hand at Hongjoong with a hard glare, signalling ‘go away’.

Hongjoong’s expression morphs into confusion and he points to himself. Seonghwa nods and flaps his hand again in a sweeping motion, like he’s trying to say ‘shoo’.

The musician points to the left, to which Seonghwa assumes he’s gesturing to the lobby. The raven haired man nods in exasperation meaning yes, please go to the lobby. Hongjoong gives him another puzzled look before he disappears from the observation window. 

Seonghwa sighs in relief, but this relief is short-lived when Hongjoong opens the door to the studio.

Apparently, the brunette wasn’t pointing to the lobby, he was pointing to the studio door and he thought Seonghwa was beckoning him to come in.

“Hey, everybody!” Hongjoong boisterously greets the dancers to Seonghwa’s mortification and the students’ amusement. “Er, hey dancers! Ballerinas and ballerinos. Is it better to say ‘bonjour’ instead of hey?”

All the students snicker behind their hands, eyes flitting between an open-mouthed Seonghwa and a bashful Hongjoong, both men’s faces red with embarrassment for different reasons.

“I’m Hongjoong, and your lovely teacher is also my teacher,” Hongjoong continues to say. “He made my char siu a lot better, though I’m sure it’s not as good as yours with all your talent and years of training—”

“Char siu? Like Chinese barbecue pork?” Yeosang says in bewilderment, the same reaction Seonghwa had two weeks ago.

“He means chassé,” Seonghwa supplies but his students are already moving on.

“Are you guys dating?” Julia asks and the other students look at the musician expectantly.

“What’s your favourite thing about him?” Another shouts.

“Tell us how you met!”

“What are you getting him for Christmas?”

“Are you in love?!”

After that one, Seonghwa rushes up to Hongjoong to turn the shorter man around and push him towards the door. “Okay, let’s calm down. Hongjoong is leaving. And waiting. In. The. Lobby.”

“Oooooh,” Hongjoong laughs awkwardly when Seonghwa points to the waiting area, the pieces seeming to connect after the fact. “Gotcha. It was nice to meet you all! Or should I say, enchanté—”

Seonghwa pushes Hongjoong gently out of the studio.

“Bye Mr. Hongjoong~” The dancers all sing in unison.

When Seonghwa closes the door behind the musician and turns around, eight pairs of eyes blink mischievously at him.

“Not a word,” Seonghwa warns, yet his students look like they want to gossip further. The raven haired man shuts it down, “if you don’t show me clean and concise entrechat six beats, I will keep you here until they’re to my standards. I know your parents won’t mind.”

They take the threat seriously and the rest of the class goes by without any other disruptions.

Seonghwa sees some of his students wave to Hongjoong in the lobby on their way out, while Julia and Yeosang stop to speak with the musician. The dancer picks up on the tail end of their conversation when he enters the waiting room to lock up after the students and retrieve Hongjoong for their private lesson.

“And he really likes strawberry flavoured things,” Julia says in a hushed tone. “Milk, chocolates, mochi, cake…”

“And anything miniature,” Yeosang adds, “bonus if it’s a Lego collectible.”

Julia snaps her fingers like Yeosang just reminded her of something. “Oh! He loves Star Wars.”

Yeosang nods, “he’s a huge nerd. Good thing he has you now, Mr. Hongjoong. Now he won’t turn into a lonely cat lady.”

“Yeah, we really thought he’d be single forever—”

“What are we talking about?” Seonghwa inquires in an overtly saccharine tone from behind the two teenagers and Hongjoong, who’s writing something on his forearm with a blue pen.

“Nothing!” Julia and Yeosang look like two children with their hands caught in the cookie jar while Hongjoong swiftly lowers his sleeve over the pen markings and looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “Bye Mr. Park! Good luck, Mr. Hongjoong!” The two teenagers quickly shuffle out of the studio, leaving Seonghwa and Hongjoong in the lobby.

“What were you talking about?” Seonghwa repeats as he locks the studio’s door behind Julia and Yeosang.

“Nothing,” Hongjoong parrots back Julia and Yeosang’s response. Seonghwa finds it suspicious that the brunette doesn’t take off his sweater with his new parka to hang up in the closet. “I’m ready to dance, o’ great teacher.”

They go into the furthest studio again and Seonghwa refreshes Hongjoong’s memory with barre work. Despite it being two weeks since the musician last danced (as last week was a bust), Hongjoong remembers most of the dance terminology - even if he continues to refer to them in his own way.

“Your socks are matching today,” Seonghwa comments as he corrects Hongjoong’s foot position in devant. “Have the sock trolls taken mercy on you?”

Hongjoong’s eyes twinkle as he looks down at the dancer, “I guess they’re in the holiday spirit.”

They finish up at the barre and head into the center of the studio to move on to flexibility and technique.

“We should stretch more,” Seonghwa suggests and plops down on the floor to sit in butterfly position. He motions for Hongjoong to copy him.

Hongjoong sits across from Seonghwa and puts the bottoms of his feet together. His hips seem to be naturally flexible as his knees hover over only four inches off the ground; Seonghwa had expected them to be higher. The raven haired man instructs Hongjoong to reach forward with his hands while the musician cries out in pain when his nose almost touches his feet.

“Good,” Seonghwa says and lightly pushes down on Hongjoong’s knees to try to get them closer to the floor. “Hold it, you can do it.”

“I can see why your dancers are so good,” Hongjoong says, head down, in a strained voice, “you work them hard, huh?”

Seonghwa chuckles, “you think this is hard?” Then the dancer moves to his knees and shuffles from in front of Hongjoong to behind him. From here, he splays his hands on Hongjoong’s knees, shifts all his weight into it so his front is almost pressed to the shorter man’s back, and pushes down harder.

Hongjoong squeaks in surprise and his feet shoot out in front of him, which causes Seonghwa to fall forward, faceplanting into the nape of Hongjoong’s neck. His lips briefly make contact with Hongjoong’s skin before he rolls to the side and the two look at each other in alarm, both flushed red.

Hongjoong cups the back of his neck while Seonghwa’s hands instinctually fly to his mouth.

They stare at each other for a few seconds before Hongjoong stutters out honestly, “s-sorry, that, uh… T-That— er, that hurt.”

Seonghwa removes his hands from his mouth to mumble an apology before moving to sit in front of the brunette again. He can’t make eye contact, but he continues to instruct, “this is fine. Let’s reach forward to touch our toes. Don’t let your knees bend or it defeats the purpose of the stretch. Point your toes, ankles together.”

The musician does as told.

After moving on to a straddle stretch, both sides of lunges, and a quick cobra stretch for their backs, Seonghwa heads to one end of the studio and gestures for Hongjoong to follow him for across-the-floor exercises.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Hongjoong says as he rolls his shoulders. “What about partner work? It’s called… Pass the deuce, I think.”

Seonghwa swallows his giggle, “pas de deux.”

“Yes! That’s it. What’d I say?”

“Something excrement related.”

“Oh God, that’s probably my worst one yet.” Hongjoong shakes his head, “anyways… Could we twirl together? Sorry, pirouette together. Or any dancing together of the sort?”

“We could,” Seonghwa ponders. 

It makes sense that he would inquire about partner work: Hongjoong initially approached him for lessons to impress his wife. The thought of the brunette’s spouse has Seonghwa’s stomach tingling unpleasantly.

A lump begins to form in his throat and, contrary to how Hongjoong’s made his chest feel warm for the past two weeks, there’s an icicle that lodges itself in the raven haired man’s heart.

What was he thinking anyway? He and Hongjoong are strangers and have a professional relationship. Maybe they could be friends after this…?

Seonghwa forces his brain to get back to the lesson at hand and works out the logistics of partner work with the musician in his head. The dancer is taller than him, but Hongjoong’s upper body strength probably surpasses his. It would make the most sense if Seonghwa took on the female role of Hongjoong’s wife so that the brunette could lead her when the married couple dance together.

The icicle drives itself further into Seonghwa’s chest.

A hand on his waist has Seonghwa’s head snapping to Hongjoong, whose arm winds around his lower back.

“What are you doing?” Seonghwa yelps as Hongjoong steps close and in front of him, their chests almost touching.

Hongjoong takes Seonghwa’s left hand into his right and lifts it so it’s shoulder level. “Partnering you.”

Seonghwa looks down at the sliver of space between them, the heat of the musician’s hand like a scalding hot iron on his abdomen even through the fabric of his shirt.

“Hongjoong, this is for ballroom dance,” Seonghwa mutters lowly.

“It can be applied to ballet, too, right?” Hongjoong raises their connected hands and spins underneath it; his left leg comes up to his right into retiré and he makes sure to land in (an awful) third position, left heel in front of his right. “See? I just did a pirouette en dedans with your help.”

Seonghwa is more impressed with his accurate vocabulary. “That was good.”

Hongjoong beams at him.

“The way you said it, not the pirouette itself,” Seonghwa clarifies jokingly as he watches Hongjoong’s face fall. “I’m just kidding. Both were good.”

“It better be good,” Hongjoong grins, “otherwise I’ll have to take it up with my teacher and tell him he needs to rework his curriculum—”

Seonghwa accidentally steps on the shorter man’s foot. “Maybe his student needs to listen better.”

“I’m an amazing listener!” Hongjoong protests.

“Listening and retention are two different things,” Seonghwa states and, while still holding Hongjoong’s left hand, he executes a chaîné turn out and away from the musician. Their arms extend out to create a straight line.

Hongjoong stares at him, dumbfounded, when Seonghwa repeats the step in reverse to twirl inwards. As Seonghwa spins in, the brunette’s arm wraps completely around the dancer’s waist again, but now Seonghwa’s back is pressed to Hongjoong’s front.

Their pelvises don’t touch but Seonghwa can feel Hongjoong’s warm breath on the nape of his neck and his hand squeezes Seonghwa’s while his other one comes up the dancer’s hip.

“What was that turn called?” Seonghwa whispers.

The raven haired man can't see Hongjoong’s face with the musician behind him and Hongjoong doesn't respond. The only semblance of an answer that Seonghwa gets is Hongjoong’s thumb digging into his hip bone.

Then the point of Hongjoong’s cute nose bumps into the base of the dancer’s neck and Seonghwa swears he hears the brunette inhale.

Seonghwa whirls around in Hongjoong’s hold so that they’re face-to-face, but now he doesn’t know if this position is worse as he gazes down into the musician’s hooded eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Did you hear me?” Seonghwa rasps out, not sure why he’s feeling short of breath. “Are you listening?”

“I’m an amazing listener!” Hongjoong pouts and Seonghwa almost sees the faint outline of sagging puppy ears atop his mop of brown hair. Then his pout turns into concentration as his eyebrows pull together. 

Seonghwa zeroes in on the pink of Hongjoong’s bottom lip, so full and begging to be bitten. He’s adorable, infuriatingly so, even as he looks at Seonghwa so smugly when he shrieks in triumph, “you did a chaîné! I almost said Chanel, but I didn’t! Ha!”

The dancer’s lips press together to try to keep from laughing.

God, how can he not kiss Hongjoong?

The shorter man regards his expression. “You look like you’re trying not to make fun of me right now… Which means I’m wrong. Fuck, I didn’t say something offensive in French, did I?” The musician glances around the studio like there would be other people to hear their conversation.

Seonghwa inhales to calm himself down from all the inappropriate thoughts he’s having about the musician. “No, you were right. It was a chaîné turn.”

“Yes!” He whoops and Seonghwa changes the topic so he doesn’t do anything stupid.

“Tell me about your wife.” Seonghwa knows the mood will shift, it always does when Hongjoong’s wife is mentioned. And she’s always brought up by the dancer and never by the musician, save for the first time when they met. “How did you two meet?”

Hongjoong sighs and his shoulders slump forward in sadness when Seonghwa takes his hand out of his and peels the brunette off of him. “We’re high school sweethearts.”

Seonghwa shuffles behind Hongjoong and turns him, the two facing the mirrors now. The dancer places his hands lightly on the brunette’s deltoids to correct his posture. Seonghwa asks, “did you marry young?”

Hongjoong’s gaze is downcast, “yes… Before I even turned eighteen.”

“Eighteen,” Seonghwa mumbles as he trails his hands down Hongjoong’s back as a means to tell him to relax; this subject has Hongjoong tenser than usual. He tries to lighten the conversation, “ah, when you bought your beloved windbreaker. Arms up in second position, please.”

“My windbreaker,” Hongjoong perks up at the mention of his jacket and he looks fonder recalling the memory of his old outerwear than of his wife. He raises his arms out straight from his sides and Seonghwa begins to correct his stance.

“Relax your shoulders more and rotate them back. Your elbows shouldn’t be so droopy,” Seonghwa touches the brunette’s elbows and Hongjoong lifts them. “What was your wife like in high school?”

“Loud,” tumbles out of Hongjoong’s mouth and he stares, wide eyed, at Seonghwa through the mirror. “L-Luminous. She was… Luminous. She lit up every room she walked into.”

“She sounds bright and kind,” Seonghwa says politely and corrects Hongjoong’s fingers, his own dancing across the musician’s knuckles, almost taunting the bare wedding ring finger.

“She was. She was friends with everybody. Everybody liked her. We bonded over our mutual love for music, because she played the piano and I played the guitar. We only started dating at the beginning of our senior year…”

As Hongjoong speaks, Seonghwa moves back behind the brunette and commands, “show me second position.”

Hongjoong’s feet slide hip width apart and then he cocks a sassy eyebrow at Seonghwa through the mirror, “turned out or parallel, darlin’? You didn’t specify.”

The taller man huffs at the same pet name from last week and hides behind Hongjoong’s frame so the musician can’t see him in the mirror. “T-Turned out! Ballet second.”

Hongjoong’s toes point outwards at a forty five degree angle.

“Focus on straightening the backs of your knees and pulling up. Tensing your thighs doesn’t make the leg line straight,” Seonghwa says. “Go on with your story…”

“We tied the knot with a courthouse ceremony just before our high school graduation because we had a pregnancy scare. Her parents were very traditional and so they had us married.”

Seonghwa freezes and blurts the first thing that crosses his mind, “you have a child?”

“No,” Hongjoong says woefully. “She— we. We lost the baby.”

Seonghwa blinks at Hongjoong through the mirror in horror. He lifts a hand to the brunette’s arm in a comforting gesture, “Hongjoong. I’m— I’m so sorry…”

The musician shrugs though his shoulders look weighted, and Seonghwa wonders if it’s because he’s been holding his arms up. “It’s okay. It wasn’t a miscarriage… She made her decision.”

Seonghwa’s hands freeze on Hongjoong’s arms. “O-Oh…”

“I wasn’t part of that decision,” Hongjoong grumbles. “I would’ve supported her, of course… I just wish she had told me because…” Seonghwa doesn’t pry or prompt him but Hongjoong answers his next unspoken question anyway, “she was scared I was going to tell her parents about what she did. I would never do that to her. So we had to stay together to put on a front. I got a job right out of high school to support her and the child I thought we were going to have, but we still…”

Seonghwa taps on Hongjoong’s arms, “you can relax.”

The musician’s hands fall to his sides and he brings his feet back into parallel as he stares at the floor. “We drifted apart and argued more than we talked. We got married too young so she started to resent me for her stolen youth and for ruining her dance career with the pregnancy scare.”

“Hongjoong, that’s not entirely your fault,” Seonghwa says firmly. “And you’re here now… For her.”

“A few months ago, she started a new job after a rough patch of unemployment. She was so excited to work and get out of our cramped apartment, and she treated me… Differently.” Judging by the hint of tenderness in his expression, Seonghwa gauges that it was a good kind of different. “At the beginning of the month, I thought I could salvage the marriage with something she used to love: dance. But we’ve since reverted back to our norm… Yelling and screaming. Blaming.”

The dancer shuffles from behind Hongjoong to in front of him, wanting to provide the brunette some comfort as he opens up to him. Standing in front, Seonghwa can see Hongjoong’s eyes are lined with unshed tears.

Hongjoong pulls his sweater sleeve over his hand to wipe at his eyes, “I know I was young— I still am. But I've been working two jobs since high school while trying to grow up and learn, put my dream career on hold, and spent all my free time with her… I don’t know where I went wrong I— I just… I just wanted to be— I want to be a good husband.” He says the last part so defeatedly that Seonghwa’s hands come up on instinct.

There’s an uncomfortable weight in the pit of Seonghwa’s stomach as both of his hands cup the underside of Hongjoong’s jaw to lightly lift the musician’s face. The apprehension is probably his body telling his brain not to touch the man at all.

The tears haven’t fallen as Hongjoong wiped at his eyes earlier, but they’re still rimmed red and watery. He looks up at Seonghwa so brokenly, as if asking Seonghwa for the answer as to why all these perceived failures have come upon him, and the dancer’s heart jolts painfully.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa murmurs sincerely as he stares down into the musician’s sorrowful eyes, round with misery. The dancer swipes a thumb under Hongjoong’s eye to catch a tear that clings to his lashline and says softly in Korean, “Hongjoong-ah, you did— you’re doing well. You’re doing so well. Everything will be fine.”

It happens fast, but Seonghwa is able to catch it.

In a split second, Hongjoong’s watery eyes flicker to Seonghwa’s lips before he surges forward. Their chests press together where Seonghwa can feel Hongjoong’s rapidly beating heart and their noses bump when Hongjoong reaches one hand up to cup the back of Seonghwa’s head.

Their lips are a breath width’s away from brushing, so close that Seonghwa’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth with anticipation of what Hongjoong’s lips will feel like on his. But before they touch, Seonghwa fists a hand in the collar of Hongjoong’s sweater to yank him back.

Hongjoong stumbles a bit at the force of the tug and the two men now stand a foot apart. The brunette snaps out of his daze and he looks at Seonghwa with red cheeks, mortified, as he starts to splutter, “o-oh my God, Seonghwa, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me! I shouldn't have— but I… Holy shit, I’m— I mean, I—”

Seonghwa’s heartbeat is ringing in his ears and he thinks it’s also pulsing inside his head. That weight in his stomach has grown in size uncomfortably, and the dancer just shakes his head to mask his unease. “It’s okay, nothing— nothing actually happened. But we should stop here, it’s getting late.”

Hongjoong nods and follows the raven haired man to the door of the studio. “Seonghwa, I’m really sorry, I—”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Seonghwa interrupts and they both speed walk towards the lobby. They put on their coats and change into their outdoor shoes quickly, and as Seonghwa locks the studio’s door, he remarks, “next week will be our last class. And then the studio is closed for winter break and the holidays.”

“Oh, right,” Hongjoong pulls on his tuque, tugging it down so aggressively that it covers his eyebrows and pushes his hair down to create a curtain over his eyes.

They both hurriedly descend the stairs, everything rushed and awkward, and once they’re outside Seonghwa immediately turns to the next door of the building that leads to the upper complex units. He needs to soak in a bath and hopes the hot water will erase the phantom touches of Hongjoong off his body. And calm his poor heart.

Seonghwa is about to rush in through the door and when he turns around to say a final goodbye to Hongjoong, he finds the brunette holding out his white scarf.

“I’m supposed to return this to you,” Hongjoong says.

“You keep it for now, you have to bus,” the dancer reassures him and the musician looks like he wants to say more.

The brunette doesn’t look convinced. “Seonghwa, about what happened…” 

“Stay warm and get home safe, okay?” Seonghwa softly says what he usually says and Hongjoong bites his lip. When the shorter man opens his mouth, Seonghwa gives him a wave. “I’ll see you next week. Good night, Hongjoong.”

And he cowardly disappears behind the door and dashes up the stairs.

❄ week four ❄

For the last week of December before Christmas and the holiday break, Seonghwa’s students bring sweets and treats to class to celebrate.

Seonghwa still conducts a class, though he shortens it so they can all spend the last few minutes of class sharing their plans for the holidays, eating pastries, and drinking hot chocolate that Seonghwa made in the studio’s kitchen.

After they clean up all their cups and napkins, Seonghwa takes a photo with his students and lets them go home early. He waits with them in the lobby as they leave or get picked up.

Yeosang’s older step-brother, Mingi Song, steps into the lobby when he arrives to pick up Yeosang, the last of the bunch to leave. “Hey, Mr. Park.” The taller man is only two years younger than Seonghwa but insists on referring to the dancer the same way his step-brother does.

“Hi, Mingi,” Seonghwa greets as Mingi waits for Yeosang to put on his jacket and pack the rest of his dancewear into his duffle bag. 

The young dancer frowns at his step-brother, “I forgot to get the stuff from my locker… I can’t leave it here over the holidays.”

“Hurry, the car’s still running,” Mingi urges and Yeosang flies down the hallway towards the changing rooms.

To Seonghwa’s knowledge, Mingi recently got an internship at a music company in his last year of his degree. So the raven haired man makes conversation while they wait for Yeosang, “how has work been treating you?”

“Alright, it’s a little stressful,” Mingi shrugs. “I’m so down to learn, don’t get me wrong, but I feel like they overestimate how much we can do as interns… Now it sounds like I’m complaining.”

“That only means they believe in you and know what you’re capable of,” Seonghwa says warmly. “What company is it again, Mingi?”

“KQ Entertainment,” Mingi says. “I’m interning in their talent acquisition department.”

Seonghwa tilts his head in interest at this, a certain brunette musician flashing across his mind. “Are you scouting for talent right now?”

Mingi nods, “yeah! But we’re looking for main music talent, not dance. Sorry, Mr. Park. I can submit your headshot and reel to our performance department, they’re always looking for backup dancers!”

Seonghwa waves his hands frantically in front of him. “No! I wasn’t asking for me. But… If I gave you a demo tape… Could you give it to your boss? Would they listen to it?”

“Yeah!” Mingi perks up and looks at Seonghwa eagerly. “Do you have someone in mind? If they’re really good, my boss will probably take them in. And then I’d get a lot of praise. Who are you thinking of, Mr. Park?”

“There’s someone that I—” Seonghwa’s eyebrows furrow. He thinks over what he was about to finish that sentence with. Someone that he likes…? It’s inappropriate, but it’s the truth, and love feels like too strong of a noun. “— That I care about. He’s a musician and he hasn’t had any luck submitting his songs anywhere.”

“Great, do you have his demo tape right now?”

“Um, no…”

Yeosang darts back into the lobby and holds up his full duffle bag. “Done! Let’s go.”

“You can email it to me,” Mingi offers. “Is my email on file? Or is it only my step-mom’s?”

“Just Ms. Kang’s—”

“Here!” Mingi grabs a pen from the reception desk and flips one of the brochures over to scribble his email address onto the glossy paper. Seonghwa bites his tongue to keep from commenting on how he could’ve given the younger man scrap paper instead of writing on a perfectly good brochure. Mingi slides the paper over to Seonghwa, “email me his demo! If the files are too big to email… I wrote down the address of the company if he wants to pay us a visit.”

Seonghwa accepts the brochure and tries to make out the younger man’s scribbles on it. “Thank you, Mingi.”

“Bye, Mr. Park! Happy holidays!” Both Yeosang and Mingi wave to Seonghwa before leaving the studio. 

As the studio door slowly closes behind the two brothers, Seonghwa hears Yeosang’s voice echo in the stairwell, “did you know that Mr. Park has a boyfriend now?”

“No way! Is he as hot as Mr. Park?”

“Gross, Mingi, that’s my dance dad!”

“So? I was thinking about asking him out—”

“Ew! If you ask Mr. Park out I’m gonna tell your dad that you’re the one who—”

Seonghwa shakes his head in amusement as their voices fade away down the steps. He checks the clock on the reception desk, anticipating Hongjoong’s arrival.

8:56PM. Their last session.

The dancer turns on the studio’s clunky computer to input Mingi’s email into Yeosang’s file for safekeeping. He also figures now would be the best time to finally process Hongjoong’s information into the system… For payment purposes and if the brunette decides to continue with lessons in the new year.

Not because he has to ask for Hongjoong’s contact information to do so.

Once he’s finished saving Mingi’s email to Yeosang’s file, Seonghwa begins to create a new client profile.

The front door swings open as Seonghwa sets up the private lessons in the system to invoice Hongjoong. He doesn’t look away from the computer as he calls out, “you can head into the studio first, I’m setting you up in the system.”

Instead of Hongjoong’s voice answering him, a woman clears her throat and demands, “are you Seonghwa?”

The dancer’s neck cracks with how fast he looks up.

Standing at the door is a beautiful woman: she’s slender and of average height, with short and dyed pink hair. She has big eyes, a button nose, and her round cheeks are rosy from the cold outside. She’s bundled in a puffy, nylon pink jacket that matches her hair and as she gets closer to the reception desk, Seonghwa can see she has a nose and lip piercing.

Seonghwa stands from the desk and his hand shoots out towards her. “Yes, I’m Seonghwa…”

The woman regards his hand with a tight lipped expression before taking it into hers. They shake once and then she retracts her hand swiftly as if Seonghwa’s hand is dirty to touch. 

They stare at each other for a moment with her scrutinizing his appearance and Seonghwa avoiding eye contact.

“You know who I am,” she declares, breaking the silence.

“But I don’t know your name,” Seonghwa admits. When Hongjoong finally spoke of her, he always used past tense and never referred to her by name.

She chuckles, void of any humour, and shakes her head. “Of course… It doesn’t matter, it’s not like my new friends or colleagues know his name either. So we’re both shitty people.”

Seonghwa doesn’t respond to that.

“You don’t need to know my name,” she states and briefly scans the lobby; she takes in the trophies, certificates, and framed pictures that decorate it. “You’re a dancer.”

“I am.”

“He has a type in that sense, huh?” She jokes but it falls flat due to her bitter tone and the fact that Seonghwa is not her friend. She sighs and reaches into her coat pockets to slam a USB flash drive onto the desk in front of the raven haired man. “I wanted to meet the person who inspired this.” Then, beside the USB, she places a manila envelope. “And tell them to give my soon-to-be-ex-husband this.”

Seonghwa’s eyes drop to the address on the front of the envelope. 

It’s a law firm. 

The words come out before Seonghwa can even think them over, “you can’t divorce him.”

Hongjoong’s wife’s gaze hardens into a cold glare and her nostrils flare in anger. “You’re not really telling me what to do, are you? You don’t know me. You don’t know our relationship.”

“He’s trying,” Seonghwa continues anyway, feeling his own anger bubble in his chest. “He only came to me because he wanted to take dance lessons to impress you.”

She looks taken aback by this. Her eyebrows soften in realization and there’s a brief flash of affection before she scoffs, “impress me? Or mock me? Mock what I could’ve had, what I should’ve had—”

“He’s not like that,” Seonghwa interrupts. Hongjoong’s words last week describing his wife’s resentment float into the dancer’s brain, and he’s not sure why he feels the need to defend him. “He cares about you. He loves you.”

“Loved,” she corrects. “We’re not the same eighteen-year-olds in high school. And we never will be. I’ve—” She pauses and Seonghwa can see she’s getting emotional as she sniffles and squeezes her eyes shut to will away the tears. “I’ve hurt him in ways I cannot take back. I’ve grown to hate him in ways no hard-working husband deserves. And this is not healthy for either of us. I’ve saved enough now to finally proceed with the divorce.”

Seonghwa watches dumbly as she places the little USB flash drive on top of the manila envelope and pushes it towards him. He blurts, “give him a chance this holiday… Please.”

The woman blinks at him in surprise. She shakes her head and pushes both items further towards Seonghwa with finality. “No.”

“He’ll be devastated.”

Hongjoong’s wife examines Seonghwa. Her demeanour shifts from vexation to wistful. She gives Seonghwa a once over, a twice over, and then her eyes flit to the USB. She stares at the flash drive for a few more seconds before settling back on Seonghwa with a subdued smile. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. I can see why he likes you.”

Panic rises and jumps into Seonghwa’s throat as he feels the ghostly touch of Hongjoong’s breath fanning over his lips: the almost-kiss last week. He scrambles around the desk to stand in front of the pink haired woman and clarifies, “we’re not— there’s nothing between us. I swear! Because you’re married, nothing happened—” Flashes of them inside Lemon Drop and the convenience and department stores over the past month cross Seonghwa’s mind. 

Why does he feel guilty?

The woman holds up a hand to cut Seonghwa off. “Whatever you are… It’s fine. We’re technically separated. We haven’t been together for a while, intimately, emotionally… Or physically on both our parts. I’m pretty sure we work ourselves into the ground so we don’t have to see each other,” she mumbles. “Look, you’re nice. Nicer than I thought. I made you out to be this big, bad villain in my head, but I think that was me projecting because… I’m the one who hurt him.” She sniffles, eyes becoming glassy.

Seonghwa knows she and Hongjoong are both both in pain. He reaches out to her but stops himself, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. “Mrs. Kim—”

She winces, “please don’t call me that.”

“Then… What’s your name?”

She blinks in surprise. She’s about to repeat what she said earlier, “you don’t need to know—”

“Please,” Seonghwa presses his lips together as he looks down at her, eyes round with sincerity. He’s not a couples counselor by any means, but if he could mend these two broken hearts during the holidays… “And you, Miss?”

Hongjoong’s wife’s reaction is not as hostile. She just looks tired, like a woman aged beyond twenty-four-years-old, having to bear the weight of past decisions she so heavily regrets.

Seonghwa offers her his hand, palm up, and places his other hand over his heart. He tucks his right foot behind his left ankle in a cou-de-pied derrière to mimic a curtsey and then pliés in fourth position to bow down. 

The woman lets out a hushed and amused giggle. 

After a while when nothing happens, Seonghwa’s about to get up when he feels the faint touch of the woman’s cold fingertips grazing his. The dancer lifts his head to look at her and she’s mirroring his pose, left foot perfectly winged out in her snow boot behind her right ankle as she playfully rises to relevé on her supporting leg using Seonghwa as support.

The raven haired man straightens up and entertains her by slowly spinning her around while she’s on relevé. There’s a hint of a smile on her lips as Seonghwa does so.

“What about an attitude? Or arabesque?”

She hesitates and Seonghwa is about to retract his suggestion when she whispers, “my attitude is nicer.”

Seonghwa gives her an encouraging smile and offers his other hand as well. “I’ll be the judge of that. Leg up, please. Knee high and no sickles or I’ll chop off your foot.”

“You sound exactly like my old ballet teacher,” she says and this time, the woman laughs jovially. She transfers her weight fully onto her supporting leg so she’s now holding both of Seonghwa’s hands as she raises her left leg into the air behind her, bent at the knee.

“Wonderful,” Seonghwa murmurs as he continues to spin her around in this new position. She’s like a music box ballerina with how steady she is on her supporting leg, even in snow boots. Seonghwa can tell she was an enchanting ballerina when she was younger as her legs still carry the tone and definition and how her face lit up with glee.

The woman takes one of her hands out of Seonghwa’s to raise it up to fifth position. Seonghwa turns her the last forty five degrees before he boldly shuffles behind her to place both hands on her waist. She gets the hint and lifts her other arm in the air to complete the fifth position while her working leg in attitude transitions to a retiré, the point of her toe touching her supporting knee.

Seonghwa spins her in this new position one last time before stepping away from her to bow again.

The pink haired woman grins at him, so youthful and lovely, and true to Hongjoong’s words, she’s luminous. But it slowly fades when she glances at the manila envelope on the desk beside her, a reminder of why she’s here in the first place.

“Aurora,” she says suddenly.

“Pardon me?”

“My name,” she mutters. “It’s Aurora.” Then she turns on her heel, “I have to go.”

“Wait!” Seonghwa lunges forward to stop her, but is careful not to touch her. He swipes the manila envelope off of the desk, jostling the USB, and holds it out to her. “You have to be the one to give this to Hongjoong.”

Her expression sours. “No, I can’t…”

“Aurora,” Seonghwa pleads. “I know you two harbour a lot of resentment towards each other. But there were some good times and great memories, right? You’ve gone through so many milestones together, shared a young love that was fun and exciting, and made… Decisions…” He trails off as he enters the danger zone.

Hongjoong had confided in him about this and Seonghwa feels uneasy discussing such a sensitive topic. It’s not his place.

Hurt flashes in Aurora’s eyes, “he told you.”

Seonghwa’s head hangs with shame. “Yes. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but it’s not your fault—”

Aurora tenses and Seonghwa panics, seeing her cold demeanour start to creep back up in her beautiful features. “I don’t want your sympathy. It was a long time ago, and that’s between me and my hus— soon-to-be-ex-husband. Goodbye, Seonghwa.”

She turns to leave again but now Seongwha catches her arm, though gently. He fights the tears pricking the backs of his eyeballs as he stares at her haggard expression. “Aurora, I’m sorry... But you two— he loves you. Maybe you didn’t tell him the first time because you were scared, but he'll understand. If you don’t tell him this time…”

The rest of the sentence gets stuck in his throat. He doesn’t want to say it: You’ll regret it. It’s too harsh and Seonghwa is helpless as he’s only the third party.

… A stranger.

Aurora studies Seonghwa. Then her eyes flicker to the manila envelope clutched in his hand.

Seonghwa’s mouth stays closed in fear of saying more things he’s not supposed to, but he hopes he’s making some sort of convincing expression. His hand lowers from her arm but the one holding the envelope remains out.

Finally, the woman plucks the envelope out of Seonghwa’s grip. “Alright. He has until midnight tonight. I’ve packed up most of my things, so I’ll be gone before sunrise.”

“I— Tha—” Seonghwa bites his inner cheek to prevent himself from thanking her. For what? “You’re… You’re a good person, Aurora. Please remember that. And— everything will be fine. You’ll be fine.”

Aurora inhales deeply and her glassy eyes give Seonghwa one last sad look. “I’m— I have to go.” She grabs the handle of the door but pauses. She throws a quick glance back at the USB still on the reception desk, “give that a listen, will you? And please take care of him… He deserves to be happy.” And then she exits as quickly as she came in, her footsteps rapid as they echo on the steps.

The dancer stares at the door and Aurora’s pink hair eventually disappears from his view as she flees onto the street. 

After a few seconds to collect his thoughts and wipe at his eyes, Seonghwa turns around and sees the flash drive. The studio lobby is suddenly too quiet.

Seonghwa walks up to the desk, snatches up the USB, and flips it over his hands. He contemplates plugging it into the computer tower to see what’s on it. Aurora had said to give it a listen - is it an audio file? A song? Seonghwa fiddles with the cap of the flash drive and plucks it off of the device.

He’s about to stick it into the USB port of the computer when the studio’s door swings open for the third time tonight. Upon catching a glimpse of that familiar grey tuque, Seonghwa stuffs the USB into the reception desk drawer.

“Hey, sorry I’m late! Wooyoung, Soobin, and I got into this mini food fight cause we were bored…” Hongjoong explains as he stomps the snow off of his sneakers onto the black mat by the door. When he reaches for the zipper of his parka, Seonghwa rushes up to him to lay his hands over the musician’s cold ones. “Uh, hello to you too?”

“The lesson is cancelled,” Seonghwa says and rezips Hongjoong’s jacket back up to his chin. His breath hitches when he sees that Hongjoong has the dancer’s white scarf snug around his neck, but he ignores whatever mixed feelings are jumping around in his chest to push the brunette towards the door. “You need to go home. Immediately.”

“What? Why?” Hongjoong resists against Seonghwa, trying to prevent the taller man from pushing him out of the door he just came in from. “Seonghwa, what’s going on?”

“It’s important.”

“What’s important?”

Seonghwa tries to be honest yet tactful. “It’s your wife.”

Hongjoong goes rigid in his hold. “What about my wife.” It doesn’t come out as a question.

“She was here earlier—” Hongjoong makes a strangled noise, so Seonghwa finishes, “she needs you at home.”

“She never needs me,” Hongjoong spits and as Seonghwa ushers him out of the door, the musician digs his heels into the ground. When Seonghwa can’t push him anymore, Hongjoong whirls around and presses the taller man into the closed studio door. “What did she say to you?”

“Hongjoong, please.” Seonghwa feels a little overwhelmed after his encounter with Aurora that it’s hard to keep the tears at bay, the droplets blurring his vision. “Please just go home.”

The brunette’s eyebrows are pinched together in anger as he pins Seonghwa to the door. He analyzes Seonghwa’s desperate and woeful expression and his eyes follow the single tear that runs down the taller man’s cheek.

Finally, Hongjoong shuffles back and away from Seonghwa, hands raised in weak surrender. “I’m sorry, Seonghwa… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, it’s just that I—”

“It’s okay,” Seonghwa sniffles and aggressively rubs at his eyes. He’s not the one that should be so emotional right now. It’s not about him. He composes himself and approaches Hongjoong to tie the scarf tighter around the musician’s neck. “Get home safely.”

Hongjoong grips the backs of Seonghwa’s hands in his before the dancer can pull away after adjusting the scarf. He swallows thickly, squeezes Seonghwa’s hands, exhales, and says, “I need to tell you something. I need to be honest, for once in my life, instead of letting others tell me how to feel… Seonghwa, I think I’m in lo—”

“Don’t,” Seonghwa says sharply. “Don’t.” He flips his hands in Hongjoong’s so his rest daintily atop the brunette’s calloused palms.

Hongjoong looks up at him, frustrated at being interrupted, but Seonghwa cannot let him utter the rest of that sentence until he speaks with his wife.

The raven haired man beams as best he can over his teary eyes and his pathetically beating, melancholic heart, “it was a pleasure to meet and teach you, Hongjoong Kim. Good night, and good luck.”

Hongjoong stares at him. He gulps, but doesn’t say anything. Then, after a few more seconds of staring, he raises Seonghwa’s hands up and cranes his head down to press a light kiss to the back of the dancer’s hands.

His lips are chapped yet warm and the moment they make contact with Seonghwa’s skin, it’s like the musician has set him alight. A spark of electricity shoots up Seonghwa’s arm, the butterflies let loose in his stomach, and the base of his spine tingles.

It’s all over in the next second when Hongjoong pulls away.

Though Hongjoong’s hands were cold in his, somehow Seonghwa’s feels colder the moment the musician turns around and descends the steps. The white scarf billows behind him and then he’s just a fever dream as Seonghwa breaks down crying in the stairwell.

❄ eve of christmas eve ❄

Seonghwa stares at the building in front of him, on top of a 7/11 convenience store. He’s not sure if he’s at the right place as he looks down at the brochure with Mingi’s handwritten address, so he stops a random passerby to confirm.

The passerby nods and points to another sign on the building. This sign is bolder, with blocky black lettering reading ‘KQ Entertainment’ and Seonghwa feels embarrassed for having missed it. “Yep, that’s the one. Not sure if they’re open though, you do know it’s Christmas in two days, right?”

Seonghwa thanks the passerby sheepishly and trots up to the front entrance. He rings the buzzer.

It’s around 11AM so he hopes at least one employee is at work today. Or maybe the passerby is right, and they’re already closed for the holidays? The studio is already closed, so why wouldn’t an entertainment company be?

Seonghwa rings the buzzer one last time and decides that if no one answers within the next thirty seconds, he’ll leave.

“Hello?” A voice crackles through the intercom, startling the dancer.

“Hello? Hi! How are you?”

“Er, I’m good, thanks… And you?”

“I’m great!” Seonghwa cringes at his own eagerness. “Thank you for asking. Um, my name is Seonghwa and I’m friends with Mingi Song. He’s an intern in your talent acquisition department?”

The intercom voice laughs. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

Seonghwa flushes pink and is thankful the intercom doesn’t have a camera. “O-Oh, um, telling you, I guess.”

The voice further teases, “you guess or you know?”

Seonghwa huffs, “I know.”

“I’m just kidding. What can I do for you, Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa reaches into his pocket and pulls out a USB flash drive. He holds it up but then remembers there’s no camera for the person to see. “Mingi mentioned you were scouting artists. Hongjoong— this musician is very talented… I have his demo tape. Could you give it a listen? And give him a chance?”

The person on the other side doesn’t respond right away. 

Mingi mentioned that Seonghwa could’ve sent this to his email, but, despite Aurora’s words, Seonghwa couldn’t bring himself to listen to the audio files at all. After his last goodbye with Hongjoong, his poor heart couldn’t take listening to his voice again. Instead, Seonghwa opened up the USB to see the files labelled as songs and decided to drop the whole thing off at the entertainment company.

“I’ll buzz you up. We’re on the eighth floor, I’ll meet you at the elevator. Beware of the tree.”

There’s a loud beep and Seonghwa yanks on the door to pull it open. He’s not sure what the man meant by ‘beware of the tree’, but he gets it when he takes the elevator to the eighth floor and a giant Christmas tree almost pokes his eye out.

A tall, handsome man with cropped brown hair steps in front of Seonghwa just in time to put the tree upright. “Sorry about that, this tree is kinda old. The elevator props it up.”

Seonghwa eyes the wobbly tree in alarm, “that’s a hazard.”

“We like to call it a ‘Ho Ho Hazard’!” The man raises one arm in the air and whoops out loud.

Seonghwa blinks at him.

The man lowers his hand to extend to Seonghwa in greeting, “you must be Seonghwa from outside. I’m Yunho, from inside. I’m a full-time choreographer and part-time receptionist here at KQ Entertainment.”

Seonghwa shakes the man’s hand and follows him towards the lobby of the company. Yunho shows him around the entirety of the floor, explaining that all of the offices, paperwork, and conceptualization happens on this floor, while the dance and recording studios are located on the ground floor of the building.

There are framed posters of different artists plastered to the walls of the hallway, varying from solo singers to groups, dancers and dance troupes, and even entertainment hosts. A few employees are working in their offices, but otherwise the company appears to be in holiday mode with hot chocolate laid out on the lobby table and everyone in a good mood.

“We’re closed tomorrow and come back on the 26th, so it’s a good thing you came today,” Yunho says and leads him towards a large office in the corner of the floor. The brass label on the front of the door reads ‘Kyuwook Kim, CEO’ and Seonghwa opens his mouth to protest. 

He wanted to drop the USB off to the talent acquisition department, not directly to the CEO—

Yunho knocks and it’s followed by a, “come in!”

“Hey, Kyuwook,” Yunho greets and steps to the side for Seonghwa to be seen. “This is Seonghwa.”

A man no older than his forties, with slicked back hair and frameless glasses, pauses writing and looks up from his desk at Seonghwa. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Seonghwa. Are you here to audition? So close to Christmas?” Kyuwook regards the dancer: his eyes scan the raven haired man from head to toe and he studies his face. “You could be a model, is that the area of entertainment you’re looking for?”

“N-No thank you, sir,” Seonghwa nervously utters. He’s never been in front of a CEO before. Sure he works closely with his boss at the studio, but she’s a personal friend and his old dance teacher, and Seven Seasons Dance Innovations is hardly a multi-million dollar enterprise. “I’m friends with Mingi Song, an intern here. He said I could drop off a demo tape.”

“Interesting,” Kyuwook places his pen down and stands from his desk to approach Seonghwa. “And the artist’s details?”

Seonghwa gives the CEO the white USB. “His name is Hongjoong Kim. Korean-American. He can speak the language, play guitar, sing, and he composes and writes his own songs. He’s twenty-four-years-old, has brown eyes and brown hair, very attractive, about 5’8 I think,” Seonghwa lifts his hand up to his eyes to describe Hongjoong’s height and then abashedly lowers it. “Sorry, do you need that kind of information?”

Both Kyuwook and Yunho laugh heartily.

“That is helpful, but if we like his work then we’ll be asking him for a headshot anyway,” Kyuwook says and grins at Seonghwa. “I meant his contact details: home address, email, and phone number. Are they on this USB as well?”

Seonghwa frowns. Well, shit. 

He never got around to completing Hongjoong’s profile in the system, never invoiced Hongjoong for the lessons, and hasn’t been in touch with him since last week. How is KQ Entertainment supposed to contact Hongjoong when even Seonghwa can’t?!

The dancer mumbles this realization to the two men, “um, the funny thing is... I don’t… I don’t have that information.”

Kyuwook (rightfully) gives him a bewildered look. “You… I’m sorry, Seonghwa, you said you don’t have that information?”

Seonghwa grimaces, “I don’t. I know where he works, though! Can I give you the phone number and address to the bar that he works at?”

“The bar?”

This whole encounter is going up in flames right before his eyes if Seonghwa isn’t able to persuade him. The raven haired man strides up to Kyuwook’s desk and points to his pen. “May I?”

“Uh, sure.”

Seonghwa takes the pen and a post-it note from the CEO’s desk. He scribbles the name ‘Lemon Drop’ and its address and phone number onto the tiny paper. He rips it off the pad and scurries back over to Kyuwook to paste it on the little USB stick. “He works at Lemon Drop, near downtown Center Street. He also has a full-time job during the day, but I’m unsure of that address… If you like his work, please reach out to Lemon Drop and they can direct you to him.”

Kyuwook fiddles with the flash drive in his hands. “Listen, Seonghwa. I can respect the hussle, and this Hongjoong Kim guy sounds very hard working—”

Seonghwa does not want this to lead to a rejection and interrupts, “he has an amazing work ethic and is committed to music! He was juggling private dance lessons on top of his two jobs, so he doesn’t have two left feet anymore and has great time management.” Seonghwa pushes away the memory of the second week where Hongjoong lost track of time and missed their lesson completely. “He’s funny and charming, kind and selfless, and he deserves the world—” The dancer mentally berates himself, “he deserves a chance. Please?”

Kyuwook stares at Seonghwa with an unreadable expression. It’s Yunho who nudges the CEO in the elbow, “dude, there’s no harm in giving it a listen…”

Kyuwook tries to discreetly mumble to the choreographer, “don’t call me dude, I’m your boss…”

Yunho doesn’t seem to care and nudges Kyuwook again, “okay, dad, let the team give it a listen. If he’s as amazing as Seonghwa claims he is, why not just contact the bar he works at?”

“There are protocols, Yunho. Forms need to be filled. Liability waivers need to be signed. A screening process needs to take place before I even listen to this, and we don’t even know this guy’s phone number?”

“We’ll deal with all that crap later. C’mon, it’s Christmas!” Yunho gives the CEO dramatic jazz hands. 

Seonghwa gives the CEO his best round, pleading eyes and even juts out his bottom lip for good measure.

Kyuwook glances between the two men and sighs. He holds up the USB with Lemon Drop’s sticky note on it. “Fine. Seonghwa, thank you for this. We’ll be in touch with Mr. Hongjoong Kim if there’s anything on here that we like.”

“Oh my God, thank you! Thank you!” Seonghwa cheers and claps his hands together in glee. Yunho turns to him and raises both his hands in the air and the dancer gives the choreographer a double high five. “Thank you so much, Kyuwook! Sorry, Mr. Kyuwook. Sir… Mr. CEO sir, Mr. Kim CEO… Thank you! Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and thank you so much!”

Yunho pulls the office door open and gestures for Seonghwa to go first. The dancer awkwardly gives the CEO a curtsy, realizes what he’s doing, and scrambles out of the office.

“I’ll escort you out!” Yunho calls out to Seonghwa in the hallway.

Kyuwook sighs as he makes his way back to his computer, “and Yunho?”

The choreographer hums in acknowledgment.

“Don’t call me dad either.”

“Okay, bro, you got it!” Yunho gives the CEO finger guns before closing the door behind him.

Yunho catches up to Seonghwa in the hallway to help navigate him back to the elevators. “I think that went well.”

“You think so?” Seonghwa asks.

“If it didn’t, he would’ve given the USB back to you right away.”

The two men shuffle up to the elevator. Before Seonghwa presses the ‘down’ button, he smiles at Yunho. “Thank you for helping me.”

Yunho gives Seonghwa a two finger salute. “Hey, it’s the season of giving. If your mysterious boyfriend is as good as you say, I think Kyuwook’ll get him to sing at our New Year’s Eve Ball to test the waters for his performance quality.”

Seonghwa blushes as he jams the ‘down’ button. “He’s uh, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Whoa! Now that’s crazy. You said he was about this high?” Yunho raises his hand a little bit below his chin to replicate Hongjoong’s height. “I could take him in a fight. You want me to bully a date out of him? I haven’t been in a bar fight in a while—”

Seonghwa giggles, “that’s okay, thanks, Yunho… It’s complicated.”

The elevator ‘dings!’ to signal its arrival before the doors slide open and Seonghwa steps inside.

The choreographer pouts at the dancer when Seonghwa presses the ‘ground floor’ button.

“Complicated? I smell gossip! How could you do this to me, Seonghwa, I thought we had a companion connection—”

The elevator doors close and Seonghwa hopes for the best this Christmas.

❄ christmas ❄

After a long day of visiting his parents, older brother, and other cousins, Seonghwa arrives home around 8PM and takes a long, hot bath that’s way overdue.

The dancer then snuggles up in his pajamas with a fluffy blanket on the couch, channel surfing until he finds a good Christmas movie playing. There’s a tub of cream puffs on his coffee table, which is right beside an entire 6-inch strawberry shortcake, that’s beside a box of a dozen chocolate covered strawberries, and next to that is two Shin Ramyun cups.

Seonghwa loves ending his Christmas like this, and this year, he really needs it.

The raven haired man shoves two cream puffs into his mouth and he nearly chokes on them when a knock sounds on his door.

He’s not expecting anyone; he already saw his family, exchanged gifts with San and Jongho, and he’s not seeing the rest of his friends until after new years.

The person is probably a stranger and he waits to see if the person will leave.

Instead of another knock, soft guitar notes filter through Seonghwa’s door. It’s muffled because it’s on the other side, but then it’s followed by a voice.

“These days I get such thoughts sometimes. 

That maybe I've been doing pretty well, and the proof of that is you.”

It’s a lovely and comforting voice, wrapping Seonghwa in a warm blanket of solace. That familiar tingle in his ears and warmth in his chest transports Seonghwa back in front of the half circle stage at Lemon Drop.

When he yanks his door open, nothing could prepare him for the sight of Hongjoong shivering and plucking at his guitar.

“Thank you for being on my side, because I can walk with you.

Thank you for being on my side, we can lean on each other in this tough world.

Even if there's a typhoon, even if the rain is heavy and the wind rises.

You and me, you and me, it will always be us.”

The musician finishes the song and lets go of the guitar, the instrument hanging from his neck by its strap. He unzips his parka to his mid-chest to reach into it to pull out a white envelope. 

“Thank God this is your unit,” Hongjoong sighs. “I can’t believe you’re all the way at the end. I had a very unpleasant conversation with an older lady in the first unit who tried to light me on fire with hair spray and a lighter, and then the man next to her was your friend from the convenience store, San, but I think I misheard him when he pointed to your unit, so I almost fought an angry cat with my guitar in the unit next to his— anyways…”

Seonghwa stares at the musician with a cream puff bulging out of each of his cheeks, his heartbeat skyrocketing to abnormal levels.

Hongjoong is as attractive and endearing as always, with his new parka, guitar, grey tuque, flushed cheeks, stupid sneakers, and Seonghwa’s white scarf wrapped around his neck.

“Merry Christmas, Seonghwa! Did you like the song?” Hongjoong holds out the envelope and Seonghwa suddenly has a weird sense of deja vu of last week when Aurora tried to give him the manila envelope of her and Hongjoong’s divorce.

“Um, the song was lovely,” Seonghwa mumbles around his mouthful of cream puffs and forces himself to chew quickly to swallow. 

“I wrote it for you,” Hongjoong confesses.

Seonghwa is stunned. “What?”

Hongjoong urges him to take the envelope.

The dancer doesn’t accept the envelope and instead asks, “are you okay?”

“Me?” Hongjoong pats his body. “I think so? Is there something wrong?”

Seonghwa gives him a baffled look, “Hongjoong.”

“Yes?”

Seonghwa’s gaze hardens. “Hongjoong…”

The brunette blinks at him. “Yeah?”

Seonghwa steps out of his doorframe to peek outside and finds no one lingering in the corridor, but the temperature has dropped in the evening with flurries dancing around in the night air. The raven haired man steps back into his apartment and gestures for Hongjoong to come in.

Once the door is closed and Hongjoong sets his guitar against the wall, Seonghwa fully takes in Hongjoong’s appearance.

He looks so… Normal. Exactly how Seonghwa met him at the beginning of the month. Actually, he looks… Happy.

Seonghwa vocalizes this, “you look happy.”

“I am happy, it’s Christmas,” the shorter man responds cheekily. “The most wonderful time of the year.”

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says seriously. “Last week—”

“Was last week,” Hongjoong finishes for him. His joyful mood comes down to a more neutral tone, though he’s still smiling crookedly at the dancer. “About four months from now… I’ll officially be a once-divorced, twenty-four-year-old, up-and-coming musician.” He holds the envelope back up to Seonghwa.

“I’m sorry,” Seonghwa says for lack of anything better to say. “I know you loved her.”

“Loved,” Hongjoong repeats. “You don’t have to apologize, it was mutual... It’s time to close that chapter, move on, and start anew. Here.”

Seonghwa finally takes the envelope from Hongjoong and carefully tears it open.

Inside, there’s a few hundred dollar bills and a single show ticket. Seonghwa pulls out the money first, “what is this for?”

“The dance lessons,” Hongjoong replies. “I never paid you for them.”

“This is way too much. How much did you think a single private lesson was?”

“Like, a hundred dollars?”

“It’s half that! And we didn’t even dance for two weeks, take it back—”

“Nuh uh!”

Seonghwa tries to shove the money into Hongjoong’s hands, but the brunette swats at him. The dancer attempts to stuff it into the musician’s parka pockets, but Hongjoong bodily dodges him and soon they’re just laughing and lightly slapping at each other’s arms.

It’s reminiscent of their antics in the past month and, now so glaringly obvious to Seonghwa, very flirtatious.

Since Hongjoong has no intention of taking back the money, Seonghwa tucks it back into the envelope to pull out the show ticket.

The ticket is rectangular, light blue, and decorated prettily with snowflakes and gold embossed words: “‘KQ Entertainment invites you to the annual New Year’s Eve Ball, featuring our newly signed artist, Hongjoong Kim’—” Seonghwa almost drops the ticket when Hongjoong’s hand comes up under his chin.

“I promised I’d send you a ticket to my show,” the shorter man murmurs as he crowds into Seonghwa’s space and he raises his other hand to rest on the raven haired man’s hip. He looks up at him to ask, “is this okay?”

Seonghwa’s heart beats erratically and his hands become clammy. He sets the envelope and its contents down on the small console table by his door so he can place his hands on Hongjoong’s shoulders. “Yes.”

Hongjoong sighs in content and leans forward with his head tilted slightly down. Seonghwa copies him and leans his forehead against the brunette’s.

“I know you gave my songs to KQ Entertainment. They mentioned you when they called Lemon Drop yesterday,” Hongjoong says into the sliver of space between them. “Everything happened so fast; after speaking with Kyuwook he wanted me to come to the company as soon as possible, even though the company was closed. So Wooyoung covered for me.”

“That’s incredible, Hongjoong. Congratulations.”

Hongjoong smiles, “thanks, it’s surreal. I can’t believe I’m a signed artist. Ever since I met you, for the first time in my life I— I feel confident. Like I know what I’m doing, what I want, and what direction I need to go in…”

They make eye contact in this hold and Hongjoong slides his hands from the dancer’s hips to around his waist. It brings them closer: their chests mold together and Hongjoong slots a leg in between Seonghwa’s thighs as he angles his head up.

“Like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, guiding me to that happy ending,” Hongjoong whispers.

Seonghwa’s heart might jeté out of his chest and perform every pirouette and turn in the entire dance vocabulary. Hongjoong wrote him a song. Hongjoong found him on Christmas.

Hongjoong is here, and Hongjoong’s eyes are hooded with desire, long eyelashes pretty against his flushed cheeks as he gradually closes that sliver of space.

“Star light,” Hongjoong breathes before he presses his lips to Seonghwa’s.

Everything falls into place, like Seonghwa’s been teetering on the edge of a storm and Hongjoong took his hand to guide him to safety, circling him with his warmth.

Seonghwa’s hands move from his shoulders to his hair, cupping the back of the musician’s neck. Hongjoong tightens his hold on the dancer to bring him impossibly closer, and their lips slot together like they’re anticipating each other’s movement, destined to be on the same wavelength.

When they pull apart, Seonghwa is embarrassed to admit that he’s slightly dizzy. Hongjoong is in no better state as he keeps Seonghwa glued to him and the brunette shamelessly says, “don’t move, I can’t feel my knees. Also, I’ve wanted to tell you this since you gave me your scarf, but you smell phenomenal.”

Seonghwa giggles, “thanks, I guess. Do you want to join me for Christmas?”

“I would love to.”

When they both recover (and after Hongjoong steals a few more kisses), Seonghwa takes his parka to hang on the back of the door and guides the shorter man to sit with him on the couch in front of the television.

Hongjoong’s eyes bulge as he examines the food on the coffee table. He points to the two Shin Ramyuns and says smugly, “were you expecting me to come? You already prepared me a noodle.”

Seonghwa slides both cups towards himself. “These are both mine. You’re going to have to go down to Choi’s Convenience to get yourself one.”

“But they’re closed,” Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. He’s so ridiculously cute. “And I wrote you a song.”

“Hm, you’re right. I’ll share,” Seonghwa offers. “If you show me a perfect échappé, relevé, and emboîté sequence.”

Hongjoong blinks at him. Then he puts his fists on his hips and frowns at the dancer, “did you just swear at me in French?”

Seonghwa laughs so hard he starts snorting and Hongjoong lunges forward to tickle him.

They end up wrestling on the couch for a bit, which then turns into kissing, and then Seonghwa demands that they eat the noodles before they get soggy.

They clink their cup noodles together.

“Merry Christmas, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa cheers.

“Merry Christmas, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong leans over to kiss him on the nose. “And here’s to many more. You really warm up my cold December nights.”