I’m so far away from home, and yet I still run into him. What enraging madness. Can I not just get to know Xiumin better in peace? What the muck is my ex, Sehun, doing here, and with Justin mother-mucking Bieber? Are they together now or what?

The entire club is dressed in plaid and cowboy hats. They are literally the exaggerated stereotype of a country bumpkin, yet still stare at Sehun, Bieber, and Baekhyun like they are dancing gods or something. Shouldn’t the locals be shouting homophobic obscenities at them?  Yes, Sehun and Bacon can get down, and sure Bieber has so much swag that all he has to do is shake his shoulders a bit and he looks cool as muck, but what are they compared to me? None of them can dance as well as I can. I’ll show them what it means to drop that y shizz on the dance floor. The only guy within a thousand-mile radius that can out dance me is Minseok, and he’s on my side.

I shake my tee by the shoulders like a gangsta and look at Min. He smiles, but there is no time for cute-ness. I am going to show Sehun exactly what he is missing out on by not wanting to be in a public relationship with me. As if possessed, I pull Xiu and kiss the heck out of him. He turns bright red and all the cowboys and girls glare at us, mostly in disgust because rural areas are notoriously homophobic. Much better—the world is behaving according to a certain, predictable order now.

As I tongue the adorable boy in front of me, I open my eyes and see Sehun is visibly shocked, not only at the sight of me here in the middle of nowhere, but also that I’m making out with Xiumin. I wonder if Bacon and him are in one of his infamous secret relationships.

The DJ is playing Bieber’s Beauty and a Beat, no doubt because the Canadian singer paid him to, and I point to the ceiling, signaling that I’m about to take over. The song gets to the instrumental dance part and I completely cut loose. Justin stops in his tracks, as he was about to perform the choreo to his own dance break, but is in awe that someone aside from him can dance so well. I honestly move even better than he does. Xiumin joins me and before we know it, we’re surrounded by a bunch of girls clapping and cheering us on. Out of the corner of my eye I see Chanyeol awkwardly standing by himself, and I see Bacon smiling and clapping along, and I see Sehun. My ex merely scowls, his lips getting tighter and tighter, as if he’s on a lemon.

I find myself on the ground, with my hip in searing pain. What happened? Some tall guy in tight jeans and cowboy boots shoved me. Though the fall hurt, I’m still completely aware of my surroundings. Xiumin gallantly tries to avenge me, but he gets punched in the stomach. The boy doubles over and his face scrunches up so much that I can’t help but worry about his pride. He looks like he’s about to cry. I push through the nagging of my bruised hip and swing at the man. I’m so shaken up by violence that my fist feels like it’s made out of foam when it comes in contact with the bully’s face. My awareness begins to get fogged up, to the point of not knowing where Xiumin is anymore. I’m scared and angry and frustrated and everything else. My vision goes black.

**

            I’ve no clue where I am, but I know that time has passed since my last memory. I feel like I drank a truckload and am now facing a monster hangover, except I can see—through large windows—that it’s still night time. No one ever wakes up from a drinking binge while it’s still dark out.

I’m lying on a strange bed and have a massive headache, but am luckily not nauseous. A groggy glance around shows scratched up hardwood floors, beige walls, and long white curtains. It’s really hot, but a black box fan sends a breeze my way. I have to find out if Minseok is okay.

I get up from the bed and realize I’m drenched in sweat. Looks like that fan was pretty useless. My gangster chains are on one of the dressers along with my hat, and my shoes are by the door. I put my high-tops on.

The house seems large. Upstairs where I woke up are three bedrooms and a bathroom, and as I quietly make my way down the staircase, I see a spacious living area and kitchen. Xiumin is sitting at a dark wooden dining table, blankly staring at the oven window. His hair is soaked in sweat from a persistent summer heat, but also from the warmth of the oven. The legs of his drop-crotch pants are scrunched up and his ballah chains are nowhere in sight.

He looks my way and his face comes alive. “Luhan, you’re okay.” The boy sounds relieved.

“Okay is subjective,” I say and rub my throbbing head. “What happened?”

Min gets up and brings me a cold water bottle from the beige retro fridge. The house is decorated with appliances from the 80s, but while the f