The End of The First Day of The First Month in My First Time in Korea

I have been practicing for three hours. Well, technically two and a half hours, because I spent a good half hour crying after falling for the millionth time as I try to perfect this stupid turn stupid Lee freaking stupid idiot Joon does. I’m sorry, I know that didn’t really make sense. I’m suffering from lack of everything.

Except for sweat, I have more than enough of that. When I walked into this room nine hours ago, it was cool, almost cold. I was in a long sleeve shirt with an undershirt, jeans, socks and Reeboks. Now, I’m in my sports bra, gym shorts I found in a cubby hole (they are clean, might I add) that are just long enough to tell me that probably belong to Joon or Cheondung (a fact I’m embarrassed to admit made me squeal, “I’m wearing MBLAQ’s clothes!”) and I’m barefoot. I know you’re not supposed to dance without shoes on, and trust me the balls of my feet are feeling the pain, but damn it’s hot!

I’ve been awake for thirteen hours. Nine have been spent in this disgusting room. It was cool when I walked in, now I hate it. Hate it. Despise it. I have got to find a way to get revenge on Sunbae.

Karma’s a , though, because just as I think that, it’s time for the turn. And when I do the turn, I fall. Again. I don’t even know how to describe this ing turn. It’s like, jumpspinlanddoaweirdtutmovemoonwalkbackwardspose. Okay, that’s not quite it, but that’s about right.

You know how reading that made you almost stop breathing because you imagined saying it? That’s how I feel.

I stop, ignoring that the song is continuing. And scream. Because I’m frustrated. And I’m in trouble with Sunbae when I haven’t even been in Korea for a full twenty-four hours. And I’m living with five y Asian guys. And I’m being trained to become a Korean Pop star. And I don’t speak Korean. And I can’t get this stupid turn.

I curl up on the floor, on the balls of my feet, eyes closed, forehead against knees. The song stops, thank God. And, even though it’s set to replay, it doesn’t come on again. What…?

I bolt up, and fall over, but I get to see who’s at the stereo, so it’s okay. Lee Joon: in a black tank top and sweatpants that grab at mid-calf. Staring down at me with a bottle of water in his hand.

Amazed, I stand quickly, bowing, “Annyeong.”

He tilts his head to the sit, and makes a motion with the delicious looking water in his hand. “Those are mine.”

He speaks fairly quickly, but it takes me a minute to catch what he says. His accent is thick, but his voice is deep and it sends a shiver down my spine. My very exposed spine. . Does he see me? I’m shirtless. . This is bad.

Oh. Wait. These are his. “Oh,” I squeak, looking down and ignoring the sports bra my eyes encounter first, and I absently grab at the silky material.

I bow, ninety degrees. “Mian haeyo.”

This is weird. The Korean guy speaking English while the American girl speaks Korean. Well. He holds out the bottle and walks over to the cubbies, pulling out a t-shirt and another pair of shirts.

“Let’s go,” he says, tossing those to me. I’m so stunned I haven’t even taken a drink from the water yet.

“But I’m not done,” I protest. The clothes are his, I know. Already, I can smell the cologne and boy-ish smell on them. Damn.

“Yes,” he says, voice demanding. “You are.”

For a second I think about protesting, but then I notice him noticing, ya know, me as I stand there. And I decide that it’s just better for me to put on the shirt first. Which I do. And, I have to say I’m a little happy to admit, it swallows me. Mostly, though, that’s because Joon’s very broad shouldered. Compared to me, at least.

I look down at the shorts, then up at him apprehensively. His eyes widen a bit as he gets why I’m awkwardly standing there. He points to the door, and then makes a motion at me, and then again to the door. I think he wants me to meet him outside when I finish changing. Okay. I nod.

He nods and then walks out, scratching the back of his head and mumbling in Korean. Mm, back muscles…

Quickly, I pull down the shorts I’m wearing, and pull on the ones he handed me. As I picked up the used clothing, though, something falls out of the pocket. A pocket I didn’t even know was there. It’s one of those pockets that are huge, and gaping, and only noticeable if you know it’s there. I hate those pockets, I mean what if—

I pull myself from my jumbled thoughts and pick up the scrap of paper. I open it to see something, a few lines, written in Hangeul. I wonder what it says.

I shoved it into my bra, deciding that if he left it in a pair of shorts, it isn’t that important to him. Then I walk out the room, feeling a sick satisfaction as I shut off the light and take comfort in knowing I have a few hours before I have to enter that room again.

Joon leans against the wall on the highest step, lost in thought. I look up at him, unmoving. He has really nice jawbones. He squints at me. “Okay?”

I nod, “Thank you.”

He makes a motion with his hands. I follow him up the stairs, and continue behind him as he begins walking. Up the stairs, out the hall, I can see outside through the glass front door. It’s almost dawn. He opens the door, holds it open for me. I nod my thanks again.

The air feels different here. I’m not sure if it’s in a good or bad way yet, just foreign. He shoves his hands in his pockets and begins walking. Well, at least I get to cool down my muscles. Less likely to cramp up that way.

I walk quietly behind him. He turns suddenly. “Tomorrow,” he says slowly. “I will teach you. Okay?”

I nod, smile. So maybe he doesn’t hate me. But why was he acting like that?

“Yes,” I confirm after a moment where he just keeps looking at me.

He turns again, keeps walking. And at his acts of kindness, the folded piece of paper weighs heavily on my heart.