It’s raining again, and it’s Monday night in the midst of winter. You don’t dislike rain or winter or the night, as long as you’re inside. You look forward to Monday nights.

 

A year ago, your sister started ballet – like all little girls do - at this prestigious dance academy in the middle of Seoul. Prestigious because parents are happy to spend money on their precious youngest daughter, on the other hand, when you was little it was just the dance studio round the corner – nevertheless, you loved it. Until you lost interest, that is.

 

After school, being you, you have no club activities or part-time jobs (your parents wouldn’t let you anyway). So, the job (chore?) lands on no one else but you. Truth be told, you probably take care of her more than your parents do. She’s your little precious even though you wouldn’t admit. Hand in hand with a five year old, you hurdle through masses of crowd to that academy in Gangnam-gu. It was a chore, it was boring – but at least you finish some of your work.

 

Plus, there’s this cute dance assistant always at the counter, you always wonder when he practices because he’s always there – or if he dances at all. You would imagine that he’s a university student, like you, because of how he’s always burying his pretty face in work. When he lifts up, you try to catch a glimpse of that face and ends up blushing. He does the same stretch and you can almost tell that he dances, the gracefulness in the movements. Perhaps he does ballet, you hope he’ll teach your sister someday so you’ll have some excuse to start a conversation. Every time he catches you staring, you quicking slam your face on the table and pretend to work. His smiles, his movements, his body. His name is Kim Jongin.

 

And you love it.

 

“Unnie… Unnie?” your sister comes trotting into the room in her pink tutu. You smile and pass her the pink Frozen backpack (that you hate) that has been lying next to you for the past hour - used to catch up on your sleep (instead of working).

 

I mean, Frozen is blue. Not pink, at least make it purple?

 

“Hey, it’s cold outside. Keep warm, ‘kay?” you look down to see that her pink scarf isn’t around her neck.

 

“What did I just say…”, a sigh escapes you, “Where is it?”,  a second sigh.

 

Your sister looks up at you, “Don’t be angry. You’re moody again!” she cries.

 

“Right. Unnie’s sorry. I’ll (try) be nice. Where’s the scarf, sweet?” cough

 

“Urgh. Backpack.” Enough with the groaning

 

You kneel down to her height and spun her around, ping her bag and pulling out her hand-knitted-by-you scarf before reclosing the bag. You hastily wrap it around her neck before pulling it loose so she wouldn’t feel suffocated.

 

“Now, now. Keep warm.” You flash her a sugary smile before taking her hand into yours and walking off.

 

“You keep warm, too.” Neither of you say anything. “It’s okay, Unnie. I understand it’s your time of the month.”

 

If you had water, you would’ve spat it out (into her face) – but, you didn’t – because Jongin just walked into the room with a bunch of white baskets with pink wands in it.

 

So, he does do ballet. Bingo!

 

“That oppa taught me today.” She points at him.

 

A blush appears on your face and you hope it isn’t too noticeable.

 

“Yah! L-let’s go…” you tug her hand before pushing outside the glass doors.

 

Quietness embraces both of you. It was cold and snow is falling. You enjoy it, despite your nose turning red and runny. It feels pleasant and you feel yourself indulging into the night. You wish your curfew isn’t at 22:30. You wish you had no curfew at all. You would spend the dark hours swimming in the silence. The peaceful silence. Unlike your life. Loud and hectic. Chaotic and busy. Trapped and forced.

 

“Unnie. Let’s get ice-cream.” Damn it, gone.

 

“It’s mid winter, but whatever.”

 

♪

 

“You little… You’re older than her; it’s your job to take care of her. What’s this, you had ice-cream in winter and now she’s sick.” Your Father gestured at your sister. “What should we do with you? You’re so irresponsible. You’re like this – again.”

 

Your Father breathed down your neck every now and then, it’s the usual.

 

“Sorry, Father, Mother. I just thought it would be nice to treat her.” You are confident with everyone; anyone, except your parents.

 

“Dear, everybody makes mistakes. It’s okay.” She smiles at you. At least, she’s a little more understanding; “You just need to be more responsible and careful, that’s all. And no boys, okay? You’re too young and you have studies.”

 

Enough. You’re both the same…

 

“Yes, Mother. I’ll go to my room now… To study, of course.”

 

“Good night, Dear. You know, I just don’t want to see you all broken from those heartbreakers. It’s good to see you’re responsible about studies, though.” You hug her before moving on to your dad.

 

“Good night, Father.”

 

“Good night. I hope you’re trying hard, you know how important these exams are now tha-“

 

“That I’m in university. Yes, I will. So, Good night.” You say it in spite; “Father.”

 

He doesn’t even bother to say real good night…

 

You had finished studying a long time ago, before either of them came home at around 10pm. Sometimes neither would even bother coming home. They are one heck of a good parent.

 

At night, in your room, you often silently watch as your flowers dance in the gentle breeze through the open window. You love how they can be graceful but silent. They have needs but never complain. So you love them. It is cold but they needed some air, you’re willing to fight the cold for them. You hoped they wouldn’t die this winter, the flowers became harder to tend as autumn came. Last year it took away 3 lots of flowers. It made you sad to lose your preciouses.

 

You love your flowers and majoring in horticulture – the studies of flower – proves it all. When you were little you had thought that butterflies and flowers were the same, that flowers grew into butterflies. You kept a small flower inside your room hoping to see a butterfly, but all it did was withered. Your science class in year 2 broke your heart.

 

Sometimes, you would tell your sister a bedtime story. Like, about this little flower that dreamed to be a butterfly but everyone else thought it was an impossible dream. So, to prove the others wrong, it learned to fly. You would dance with her around the room, ‘teaching her to fly’.

 

Other times, you indulge yourself with the quietness you create, pleading for the night to last and the day to shorten but to flutter by to Thursdays and Mondays because you’ll listen to the ‘one and two and threes’ again, while you take a peek at Jongin from the waiting sofa.

 

It is never silent at the dance academy, but it’s quiet enough for you to enjoy the moments while it lasts. It’s better than nothing, you always tell yourself.

 

Ballet boy (as you’ve decided to call him now) is always a plus.

 

There are no birds to sing for you in the morning in winter. It feels lonely.

 

♪

 

 

Thursday, one of the few days you look forward to. Your sister is still sick and bed bound (orders from the almighty Mother) with a nurse at home. That meant you wouldn’t get to see Jongin but that also meant the door to your cage is open, temporarily. Your parents probably wouldn’t even notice that you were out when they come home – they most likely wouldn’t come home even.

 

“C’mon! We’re waiting!” Seomi shouted from downstairs. You are hastily changing into a dress for party. Being over 21 has its highs and lows – you’re now legal to go into clubs. Short skirts, 6-inch heels and drinks up seem to be okay for you guys now.

 

“Coming!” you take a final look at yourself in the mirror before pulling you skirt down a little. It’s uncomfortable but you have to cope. As each step you take, your white body-con dress rides up your thighs, and your shoulders feel bare. Half of the things in your wardrobe your parents don’t even know you owned. You plan on keeping it that way.

 

It took your two friends a week to persuade you to go out for once. The clubs are too noisy for your liking but they promised to bring you to a botany and get you a dozen of Saffrons.

 

“Man, must be nice being pretty.” Seomi whistles as you climb down the stairs.

 

“I would use the word y, actually.” Taeyoung eyes you from head to toe.

 

“Shut up, both of you. Let’s get going.” You turn to Seomi and smile at her; “You’re pretty, too. Love the heels, by the way.”

 

♪

 

Two glasses of alcohol in your system is nothing to you. You’ve been out in Gangnam-gu many times. You’ve even woken up with a hangover many times before on a couch with someone at some place. When your parents find out you’re not home, you just say you forgot to tell them you were at Seomi’s. Maybe that’s why they find you irresponsible.

 

You’ve never loved the clubs or the house parties you attend but it feels free and that is what you love. In fact, they are opposite of what you want. Clubs are loud but common. They’re in every corner of the streets of Seoul.

 

Silence is loud and rare. It’s never there. You think it is there but no. You can’t seem to ever find silent. But when somewhere, you find it, it’s so loud and looms over you. Then, it’s gone with the ticking of a clock or a drop of a pin. Gone.

 

You bottom your third glass of alcohol before deciding that you feel stuffy. It isn’t past midnight yet so you told them you promise to come back before 1am.

 

You feel the wind blow onto your bare shoulders, but you’re not cold at all, possibly because the alcohol in your system. You wander along the street, away from the blasting of the clubs on that street, to find another one and another. You end up on a familiar street, like the Thursday nights normally bring.

 

Realizing this, you laugh at yourself and sit down on the steps to cool off your head. No one would be at the academy at this time of the night. You knew the latest class finished at 10pm, it’s way past 10.

 

Inside you, you are boiling. Your blood feels like it’s going to steam you inside out – you’re all too familiar with it. However, with this flimsy dress and bare shoulders you are shivering. You know well enough to go inside the building. Even if the lights are out and technically you would be breaking in.

 

You slid a metal lid off on the floor and reach inside it, reaching for the door keys. One of the perks of being Jongin’s secret admirers is that he knows how to get stuff out of people and you’re always listening. You prefer to call it ‘overhearing’.

 

It’s dark inside but you are just able to make out the outlines of the furniture. You walk deeper into the place and heading for the bathroom near the dance studios. As you near it, you begin to make out more of the colors. A room is lit and you wonder.

 

You decide to take off the heels, just in case, and creep in closer. The glass door of the studio makes it easy to spot a male figure gracing round the room. Step and step your heart beats, just a little faster.

 

You sit down, awed and blushing right in the middle of the door – just to soon enough be noticed by the graceful dancer. He stopped and stared, racking his brain for that familiar face.

 

Kicked by the conscious, he clears his throat and takes out his earbuds. He walks over to you and kneels down in front of you with the glass between.

 

You look around nervous. Other’s would call your relationship with Jongin the ‘senpai-notice-me’ relationship. He finally notices.

 

 

Jongin manages to mouth “Who ar-“ when he realizes that the pretty face in front of him now is the one of his student’s sister. The one he’s caught looking at him multiple times and sleeping other times but never actually doing the work spread out in front of her but then when he looks again she’s finished. He wonders when she did them.

 

He opens the door before helping her get up. He looks at her and admits that she’s y, but he doesn’t like it. He preferred her natural straight hair to the curled one and the black jeans to her body-con dress – though he wouldn’t deny he enjoyed the view.

 

You realize you’re in front of the Kim Jongin and stumble backwards.

 

“I-I am so sorry I came in without permission.” You bowed multiple times. Your eyes closed, it isn’t a good impression and look at yourself. Breaking in, heels in hand and short skirt – you feel like a .

 

“I’ll leave right now. I’m so sorry.” You looked up to him, “Please don’t tell anyone. Please.” You plead and hope he’ll promise.

 

“As long as you promise that you won’t tell anyone about me either.” And your name slips off his tongue. He puts a finger on his lips and you feel like it’s inviting you to kiss him.

 

“You mean, you broke in, too?” You’re surprised. Isn’t he allowed here? “And you know my name?”

 

“Just like you know mine.” He grins.

 

That grin, damn it.

 

“Well, I got something out of the cleaning lady, you see.”

 

Oh. I see.

 

“And… I kind of overheard.” You smile sheepishly.

 

“You mean you eavesdropped.” He smirks a knowing one.

 

“I prefer overheard. Thank you very much.”

 

Jongin laughs a hearty laugh and smiles at you. “So… What are you doing here? In…” he trails off as he scans your body again, to spot your ridden up dress. He swallows and tears up to look at your face.

 

You feel shameful to wear this now and pulls the dress down. “W-well, I was at the club and… and I ended up walking here when I went for a breeze. I wasn’t thinking. It was cold so… Yeah.” You trail off, too. Uncomfortable you pull down your skirt some more and Jongin’s eyes nearly pop out of its sockets when the dress showed more cleavage than Jongin is okay with.

 

He quickly turns around and rummages through his bag. “Um, er… If you don’t mind, u-use this?” he hands you a hoodie. “I mean, I just used but it’s new so… Please.” His face is burning and he can feel it turning red.

 

You see his face red and come to reality that your dress is slightly too showy for a dancer like him, not a clubber.

 

“O-oh… Thank you.” You reach for the hoodie and put it on. His smell. You’ve always wondered what he smells like and it’s better than you imagined. It isn’t any expensive perfume (though you like Hermés’ perfumes) it is just like home laundry smell.

 

Once comfortable in the hoodie you bow at him again. “Thank you, Jongin-ssi.”

 

“You’re welcome but don’t worry about honorifics, we’re probably the same age. So, no need.”

 

“I’m probably younger. You’re working… Part-time.”

 

“Part-time.” He does the air speech bubble with both hands. “Been here since year 6 and working here since second year of high school.” He says like it’s a well-known fact.

 

“Wow. You… do ballet, right?” what if he doesn’t? That’s just embarrassing. “’Cause, like... I saw you just then.”

 

“Actually, not really. I do jazz but started off with ballet. So, I teach the little ones.” He pauses, “Sometimes.”

 

The image of Jongin holding a pink wand and trying to teach the little girls Thumbelina pops into your head. You find that way too cute. Little squeaks of giggles start spilling from you lips until you can no longer hide.

 

On the other side, Jongin realizes what you could be imagining, and starts blushing. “No, no! I don’t wear the tutus!” That just got you laughing harder, you hadn’t even thought of that.

 

“I wasn’t thinking. That.” You are panting by now while Jongin just blushes a deeper shade of red.

 

“Shuddup.”

 

Having enough laughing, you finally settle down as you sit down on the smooth floor, in which Jongin follows.

 

“I used to dance, ya know. Ballet, I loved it and I loved it even more when we did Thumbelina. I felt like a flower and flowers have been part of me since.” You lean back putting weight onto your hands.

 

“We’re doing Thumbelina in class.” He rolls his head in circles as if to stretch.

 

“I know.” A silence followed.

 

You don’t know how Jongin feels but right now, your heart is beating so fast. How he looks at you as he speaks and how you’re now allowed to make eye contact, it makes your heart flutter and you feel butterflies in your stomach.

 

It was Jongin who broke the silence.

 

“A little girl once told me ‘Butterflies are just flowers that learnt to fly.’” He smiles at you, looking straight at you.

 

You don’t understand if he meant something behind his childish smile.

 

“She said her sister taught her the dance and she taught me. She’s the smallest and youngest in class. She often gets left behind when they laugh and stuff or sometimes in the routines.” He gets up and reaches out and offers a hand to help you, which you more than gladly accept.

 

He makes his way to his backpack and starts stuffing everything inside. Seeing so, you started taking his hoodie off but he stops you, gesturing you to keep it on.

 

“No, wear it, it’s too cold.” You aren’t going to lie that it is cold and why not more of Jongin’s cozy smell.

 

“So yeah. Right. She remembers the butterfly dance, I call it, really well.” He lifts up both arms as if holding his partner and starts moving in the beats, the perfect beats. You see his steps, 1-and-2-and-3-and-4-and, his steps never faltered the beats.

 

In your cloudy state of mind, you lift up your arms, too, and start dancing – mixing up the 2-and-3-and’s – you come closer to him but never really touching. The butterflies in you start flying to the rhythm. Nothing is more perfect to you than the quietness between you both but yet so many feelings shouting. You want to profess to him the secret, all year you’ve been waiting and this is better than your dreams. 

 

“I was saying, this youngest girl, although she falls behind but she never stops smiling and trying and dancing. It’s like she’s really a butterfly.” Jongin’s voice is softer than a whisper, as if he felt guilty to be louder than this silence.

 

You thank him for that, but for once. You don’t mind sound over silence. So soothing to you, you melt into a pool of temptation.

 

“She’s your sister.” Yes, my sister. You hate your voice, how it does not sooth with silence well like Jongin’s.

 

Like a mother to a child, you’re with her day and night. She’s your precious. Now you hear your little bud is going to blossom and learn to fly like dancing like flying like dancing. And you hope her mentor would be this man in front of you that makes the butterflies in your stomach dance.

 

Jongin breaks into a smile and grab your hands, really bringing you to a dance. “Hey, can I walk you home?” He leans close to your ear, making you go redder than you already are.

 

You feel the hair on the back of you neck stand as his breath brushes against your skin. So, you just nod and produce a small “Um.”

 

“And you know... I do see you every Mondays and Thursdays… Either sleeping… or staring at me…” is it even possible to go redder than you are. “By the way, you’re cute when you sleep.” He doesn’t add the adorkable details he had notice over the past year.

 

“I’ve been wondering, though. When did you finish your work?” In which you respond with a quirky ‘idk’.

 

You pluck the courage to wrap your arms around him, you can smell his home washed hoodie still, that gave you cozy warmth. Leaning close to his ear, you whisper with a smile, “A-and you know…” You almost slip into giggles again.

 

“When I see you, you make the butterflies in my stomach dance.

I think, you might just be the heartbreaker my Mother warned me about.”

 

 

 

♪