BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Hoya groans and sits up, slapping the off button on his alarm clock. He sits up in bed with his eyes closed for a couple minutes, elbows on his knees and hands folded tight between them, before standing. He’s quiet so that he doesn’t wake anyone else, not even his roommate Sungjong, although part of him wishes that he’d get up too.

He slowly shuts the bedroom door behind him and slips on his shoes. He’s about to leave when he hears a hoarse whisper behind him.

“Hoya?”

He turns around and sees Dongwoo’s disheveled head peering out of his bedroom.

“Oh, sorry Dongwoo, did I wake you up?”

“No, not really.” Transparent, as always. “What are you doing this early?”

“Going to practice.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

Dongwoo’s face is blank for a couple seconds.

“Hold up a sec, I’ll come too.”

“You know you could sleep for another hour instead,” Hoya manages to say halfheartedly.

Dongwoo laughs a little, that clear clattering laugh. “Nah, gimme a few minutes.”

It’s silent except for the squeaks of their sneakers against the practice room floor. There is no conversation, no contradictions, only the reflection of two bodies moving in unspoken perfect synchronization.

Not quite perfect, though.  Even within the same steps there’s something intrinsically different in their movement that has taken years to shape and can never quite be erased.

Hoya stops and walks to the water cooler in the back of the room. Over the rim of his paper cup, he watches Dongwoo freestyle. Hoya knows that he himself is the best dancer in Infinite. He’s been told that countless times by the fans, by the company, and he sees it himself when they practice. Sometimes, though, when he watches Dongwoo improvise, he can’t help but envy Dongwoo’s effortless flow, the way he easily blends different styles and never seems to be in a rush. Hoya can improvise, in fact, he can dance to any song, but when he does so he’s reaching into a bag of tricks he’s learned over his entire dance career, a bag with finite contents. Hoya knows that Dongwoo must be doing the same, but somehow it’s less apparent. It looks more like he’s reaching, not into a bag, but into an internal stream. His feet float along it, carried by some private current.

Hoya throws out the now empty paper cup but continues watching Dongwoo as he approaches the mirror again. He tries to imitate his style, gliding his feet over the floorboards and letting his hands rest loosely at his sides. The harder Hoya tries, though, the more awkward it looks. He stops.

 Dongwoo glances over to Hoya with a cocked eyebrow as he continues dancing. “What’s up?”

“Ah, nothing. Your flow looks really good today.”

Dongwoo laughs, a little sheepishly, and is footwork carries him over to his iPod, slowing. 

“Honestly, Hoya, I wish I could dance with the strength that you do.” Still smiling, he taps a button “Be Mine” begins.

“Let’s go!” he says brightly, and Hoya’s already dancing to his part, watching himself in the mirror and seeing his own sharp angles and powerful poses. His dancing is perfect, it has a style that knows where it’s going and hits its target every time.

But he can’t get Dongwoo’s dance out of his head.