The First Dance Lesson from My First Idol Crush During the First Month of My First Time in Korea 

“Aniyo!”He bursts, for what seems like the millionth time in the past two hours. The walk was quiet, my mind too preoccupied to notice much about the beautiful Korean walking beside me. The second we walked into the studio, though, he made sure of two things:

I hear him and treat him like the senior he is to me.

The American in me protests loudly. But the stubborn part of me that wants to excel in this place shuts her up quickly.

Though at this point, I’m not really sure I want to shut her up. Maybe if he knew how insane I’m going he would change his teaching tactics. Every time I mess up, he teaches me the steps again, slowest, slower, slow, full speed without music. And I swear, I don’t understand what’s wrong. And it’s starting to aggravate me.

At the sound of his reprimand, I stop, square my shoulders and face the front again. Breathe.

It’s really hot and I haven’t had anything to drink in about five hours. Everything hurts, I’m so exhausted, and I’m really, honestly about to cry. But I told him something, and he’s holding up to it; I just have to deal with it.

“Don’t go easy on me,” I’d stuttered out in Korean the second we left our dorm, unsure of the words on my lips in front of someone other than Cheondung.

He’d stared down in a narrowed expression, lighting every part of my body on fire under his scrutiny. Finally, after a moment, he shrugs, begins walking, and quietly says, “Araso.”

So I expected the no water thing. I expected the slight agitation on his face. I didn’t expect two hours on the same part or my muscles to hate me. I didn’t expect to feel so weak and useless. Why am I even doing this…?

I hear him sigh, and I know he must’ve been talking while I was in my self-pity. Immediately, I give him a ninety degree bow from where he stands, leaned back against the mirror and staring at me with an unreadable expression.“Mian hayeo.”

Frustrated, he pushes away from the mirror and stalks towards me. I freeze, afraid of the determined look in his eyes.

“Don’t resist,” he growls in Korean as he walks past me, and then behind me. And as I look in the mirror, I imagine for a minute that we are together.

He would rest his head on my shoulder, smile sweetly and slip his arms around my waist. In the mirror we would look perfect beside one another, sweaty and gross but adoring one another in every way.

Instead, he cradles my body, aligning every part of us together. He slides his feet between mine, separating them to a sufficient distance, keeping them there. This position makes our knees almost align, making it easy for him to control whether they bend or not. His arms slide over mine, starting from my shoulder to my hands, where he interlocks our fingers, making it possible for him to control all the movements of my limbs and appendages.

“Hana,”he says, sliding our bodies into the first position. I stare at us in the mirror, mesmerized. My right knee bent, my left leg slid further out, toe pointing, hands in basic posing forms. His face stares intently at mine in the mirror. I swallow loudly. I can feel every part of him, hands, abs, muscular thighs flexing and supporting my smaller ones.

“Dul,” quietly into my ear, as his mouth is right near my ear. His breath is hot, sending goosebumps all over my body, which I notice he too notices, and even smiles at. Now he’s brought the right knee down, though mine isn’t touching the ground because he’s so much taller than me. Open arms, make a circle with your torso from left to right, bending as far back as possible. This is horribly awkward, our bodies pressed so close together.

But because we are so close, I can feel how calm his muscles are. How the movements, though especially difficult in this position, flow evenly into one another.

“Nes,”he says, seeing as three is the middle of the torso-circle, four is the end of said circle, hands reaching back, cradling the back of the head. I feel his biceps flex, breath hitch just a tad as my head rests against his shoulder.

“Daseos.”Left leg does a semi-circle back, bringing the right knee back up and the right arm in an L shape, forearm resting against my stomach, the left arm doing the same thing on my back.

“Yeoseos.”I say when he doesn’t fast enough, though his movements don’t jerk or pause, but simply slide into the next pose, semi-standing, though sort of crouched with the left leg still sort of stretched out behind the right, arms spread, hands wide.

I know what happens next, and I wonder how he plans on pulling this off. And as though he can sense my anxiousness, he spits out the number quickly, “Ilgob!”And then pushes us off in the jump that leads into the first verse.

But instead of jumping with me, he lets me go, and I realize just how much I should and will now adore the past two hours of practice. Because my arms and legs flailed in the jerky movements that were meant to happen in the dance, and I land on my feet. Knees bent towards the right, arms in the first tut position, head tossed back. Holy crap.

“I did it!” I squeal, spin around and jump and when I see Joon standing there smiling awkwardly at me, I attack him, squeezing him so hard I’m sure he lost all circulation for a moment. His hands stay in the air, but I know he doesn’t mind the contact. I mean, hell, who would after what we just did?

Still too excited to care about much else, I squeal again, and jump, wrapping my legs around his torso, and my arms around his shoulders, loud and happy and so thankful to this frustrating Idol.

“Gamsahabnida!”I repeat about twelve times, noting that at about the forth his arms grip at my thighs, keeping me in place and allowing me this small victory.

Finally, I pry away from him, smiling brightly and bowing slightly. He smiles down at me, but then suddenly becomes serious. Then in Korean, “Now on your own.”

I nod, smile brightly, “Mullon, Oppa!”