Short chapter today. Myungsoo makes his appearance ^^ There's a couple of ppl I need to add to the character list - my connections dire tonight, so I'll do it in the next couple of days :/
Reminder of the TW for abuse and ual violence!

On Friday, a girl from the uni newsletter arrives in the theatre with a photographer in tow. The dance students are putting on their end of year shows in a fortnight. The two wander around talking to various people involved. Dongwoo pays them no heed. He’s in the one, feeling out his role.

With inspiration from Iberia, he’s creating a picaresque character for himself. Strong and flexible. Certainly a little racy. His headphones on, Dongwoo twists his body to the music. The things he’s learned at work inform how he moves. Also, just like at work, he absolutely wants there to be humour. His piece ends with a spin, a tumble and a controlled fall into a splits. Dongwoo lands a little hard. The impact causes his headphones to slip off and he hears someone laughing at him. (Well, that was the intended effect, so he figures he’s doing something right).

The photographer is pretty. Face like a manga character, eyes like deep pools. Dongwoo hadn’t noticed it so much when his eyes weren’t on him. Now his stomach’s tying itself in knots, the ripples of the photographer’s rich laughter drift through him. A giggle bursts out of Dongwoo’s guts.

After the photographer takes his picture, he drifts away. Dongwoo takes deep breaths until his heartbeat gets right again.

Tuesday rolls around in a flash. Dongwoo’s working the floor in killer boots and a pair of red spanky shorts – a present from Woohyun after Dongwoo made his first 50 manwon. His name is called. Eunji crooks a ring covered finger. Strutting over to the bar, he flashes her a smile.

“Messages for you,” she explains, tucking two squares of paper into his beaded collar, “One from Hyunah-unnie and one from Sera-unnie.”

Dongwoo nods in confusion. Assuring himself that it can’t be anything important (he’s 99% convinced that the events of last Tuesday were a strange hallucination), he doesn’t bother going into the back to read the messages.

Dongwoo-sshi, your special move is good. Again tonight, around 23:45. Don’t hold back!! – Moon. H

Dongwoo-sshi, be careful or I’ll hurt you <3 – Sera

Excitement is buzzing through him and he knows the time is soon. The johns love him. They’re yelling all kinds of encouragement. He gets height. He kicks and spins.

They’re yelling.

A crowd of men. Despicable and hateful shouts and laughter. The room is dark with a low ceiling. The dozen or so men are enough to make it feel stuffy. As the crowd jostles, Dongwoo is shoved through them to a makeshift stage. There are two women on the floor, badly beaten and stripped almost . An older man is standing above them with a belt in his hands. Two muscular younger men stand silently nearby.

“Who the is this ?” the older man spits. Having been shoved around by the hoard of onlookers so promptly, Dongwoo had no time to collect his costume. He’s standing before them in this g-string and body glitter. The onlookers eye him with a mix of wariness and anger. Dongwoo bites down his fear and glares back at them. He points a finger at the older gent with the belt. (It’s forming, that strength, ready to explode).

“I’m the Queen of Sheba,” he replies and, with a shout from the pit of his stomach, leaps on the man.

It’s chaos. Everyman in the room tries to attack. Dongwoo’s landing kicks that he only recognizes from kung-fu films and doing so with a strength that he hadn’t learned to control yet. At the same time, he’s sticking close to the poor girls. They’re huddling together, too injured to attempt to break through the melee. Dongwoo’s certain they’ve been trafficked into the country. Probably they tried to resist or tried to escape and this was their “punishment”. He can’t let any of these men spirit them away again. Especially those two muscular bouncers. They’re holding back, weighing Dongwoo up. Maybe they’re waiting until he tires. Dongwoo almost laughs as he breaks a man’s nose – tire? How could he tire? H feels like superman (except all underpants and no leggings). Although it feels as if the ‘dozen or so’ onlookers has multiplied. Even so, nothing will hold him back.

Of course, at his cockiest, a wave of nausea washes over him. He has to get back to his pole. He glances at it, thinking to resist for as long as possible, for the sake of the girls, the sickness and the tug at his guts telling to leave Is it double-vision or has another pole arrived? The pair standing proud and undisturbed in the vile room, ringed by battered bodies of erts. A glimmer in the air and a woman arrives – gold hot-pants, matching bikini top and long, wavy brown hair. (Dongwoo’s too busy trying to land a hit on the bouncers to admire her attire).

“Found you at last!” the woman calls. She dashes up in her kitten heels and lands a flying kick to one of the bouncers’ heads. “You have to go, right? Don’t worry. I’ll take it from here.”

She lightly pushes him towards the pole.

“K-Kyungri?” Dongwoo’s dazed. He’s sure it’s her. Kyungri worked at the club for a while before moving to another establishment in a different district.

“Go!” she yells, shoving him rather more firmly. Dongwoo hurries to his pole.

Stumbles to reach it and

It’s quiet.

Moonlight streams through the slightly open window. A ghostly caress – Dongwoo catches his breath. Soft snoring is the only sound. The net curtain flutters dismissively. Dongwoo frowns, full lips pouting at the Moon. He’s supposed to be in the club, finishing his routine.

As he’s learning, there must be a reason he’s been sent here.

‘Here’ is a spacious bedroom. There’s a wooden floor with a thick, patterned rug. Dongwoo unconsciously squeezes his toes in the fibres. The other parts of his outfit are lying innocently on the floor, the moonlight dancing on the sequins. Dongwoo snaps his g-string pensively.

There’s a wardrobe. There are shelves and a student’s desk, both exceptionally neat although stacked full of books and figurines. An old-fashioned camera sits alone of the windowsill. Almost half the floor space is occupied by a weighty bunk bed. The top bunk is only storing linen and childhood toys. Holding his breath, Dongwoo tiptoes over to spy who’s in the bottom bunk.

A familiar face. Dongwoo gasps. The boy whose gaze was like drowning. Dongwoo doesn’t know what to do. He can’t wake the photographer up. ’Hi! I realise I’m but for a thong and am occupying your bedroom, but I promise I’m not a weirdo and do you, perchance, need help?’ He hops on his toes, wringing his hands. He hadn’t felt so aware of his ness when he was pummelling those erts – he hadn’t felt aware of very much at all, actually. Now all he wants to do is go back to the club and finish his set as if everything were 100%, perfectly, implacably normal.

Shuffling footsteps beyond the door. There it is, the anxious fear in Dongwoo’s gut. The footsteps come closer. Heavy, arrhythmic.

The boy in bed is rousing from his sleep. His fingers curl in the sheets. A frown creases his forehead.

The footsteps are behind the door now. Dongwoo imagines hot breath, red eyes. He squirms in his place. The boy is opening his eyes. A hand lands on the door handle. Dongwoo grabs the wooden desk chair, bounds across the room, and uses it to block the door. When he turns around, back slumped against the door as if he’d just run a marathon, the boy is sitting up and staring at him.

“You…” he croaks. Dongwoo twiddles his thumbs, abashedly waiting for the boy’s sleep-addled brain to take in the situation. A hand rattles the door handle. The boy’s eyes go wide. In a heartbeat, he’s leapt out of bed, fished a set of keys from some clothes discarded on the floor, raced across the room and locked the door.

The rattling has got more aggressive coupled with frustrated banging. The boy crumples to the floor. Dongwoo sits beside him. The boy looks at him with a lop-sided little smile which doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I forgot to lock the door. Dumb, huh? I wonder why I did that.”

“Does… this often happen?” asks Dongwoo. The boy doesn’t answer. He’s glancing around, taking in Dongwoo’s (lack of) attire and the silver pole now firmly placed in the centre of his room. Dongwoo’s only staring at the boy. It’s hard not to. Everything about him draws Dongwoo in. His face in this aethereal light. His awful smile that makes Dongwoo’s heart hurt. Even his black pyjamas make him seem shadow-like, as if he might melt away the moment Dongwoo stops focusing.

“You’re – How are you here? What’s happening?” Fear creeps into his voice. His posture’s the same though – tired and calm, not a problem in the world. The banging has lessened to a scratching and scrabbling, as if the person would claw their way through the wood panels. Dongwoo scratches his head (then wipes the hair glitter off on his thighs).

“Well, that’s – that’s a little… Are you OK? I mean, really? Will you be OK tonight?” The spiders are in Dongwoo’s guts again. He has to get away.

The boy laughs. The sound makes Dongwoo’s bones jar. This kid hasn’t glanced at the door although they’re sitting right beside it and the stranger’s still trying to enter.

“I’m fine. She’ll go back to bed soon.”

Dongwoo swings onto his pole.

The scrabbling transforms to the sound of chattering

And music blasting through the speakers. Dongwoo finishes his show with a perfect back hook spin. Notes rain down on him. Fear and guilt course through his veins.