L.JOE’S POV:

Not bragging about anything. But I’m now a pretty good dancer. Not just in my opinion, but my group’s as well. Plus my mum. And my dance teacher. And our manager.

Plus, you could say that practice really does help get things perfect, and I practiced. A lot.

Was it worth it? Yeah, I would say so. However, apparently my improvement was that drastic that I was able to ‘mentor’ a new trainee, who lacked in one thing.

Just one thing.

Dancing.

She was that close to being a triple threat.

I could tell she was going to be a good singer, her voice was always at the right pitch and I reckon she could give any solo artist a run for their money anytime.

And she was smart, even getting accepted into Korean Kent Foreign School before she even moved here. I guess studying abroad really has its benefits.

Initially I was shy, not really talking to anyone of the female gender except for my mum and other relatives, especially seeing as I only had an older brother. At first I thought that I would take care of her as a dongsaeng- just like Infinite’s ‘Your My Oppa.’ But what happens when your relationship picks up its own pace, which only made you want to get to higher level as well - plus no rejections of course, which was all I could only hope for anyway.

Sitting in the practice room, I thought back to when we first met;

MY POV:

Yeah, I knew I lacked in one thing. As a matter of fact, I was pretty much un-co with anything that involved moving my arms or legs or body.

I guess it really wasn’t in my genes. Or not.

Maybe it’s just a trait in the female side of my family, one that skipped a million generations.

I guess I could consider a career in just being a singer, or a back-up vocalist or a radio DJ instead, as it involves just about no motor skills co-ordination whatsoever. Sounds pretty promising right?

These thoughts flew through my mind, minutes before I was to meet the person that was going to improve my skills.

Dancing skills to be precise.

Although my mum pretty much forced me to speak Korean whenever I was with family, apparently my instructor could speak English, as he too had studied abroad.

That’s a good thing right? No language barriers, and we won’t have to improvise or learn sign language.

Wondering if he would have an American, English, Aussie or Konglish accent, the door to the practice room suddenly opened, creaking loudly. Footsteps soon followed and I was met with a pretty young looking guy, who couldn’t have been much older than myself, or maybe even the same age.

Looking down at what he was wearing exactly, I was met with a dark blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up, revealing his skinny looking arms. Moving down, I saw a pair of black skinny jeans matched with a pair of blue vollies. Where did the no runners and jeans rule go?

I guess I had to let him go, and looking back up to his face, I realised he was dressed pretty casually but formal-ish. Summing it up, he was pretty good looking.

Oh my, he’s probably going to think I’m some sort of weirdo.

I’ve been looking at him, without saying anything for a while now.

Opening my mouth slightly to introduce myself, I was interrupted by a deep male voice.