Summers are always spent on a family vacation at a resort owned by a family friend. It’s a sprawling place made up of many buildings imitating classic architecture while also providing the latest amenities. Situated up a mountain, the surrounding land is mostly forest with paths snaking among the trees for people to walk or ride. A short ways down is a clear, man-made lake with a boat house offering jet skis and motorless boats to rent.

There are regulars Yifan recognizes. Lots of middle aged men and women who find golf, gossip, and massages to be fun ways to pass the time.

Yifan only comes along now because his mother asks, although he’s not sure why. She disappears pretty quick and spends her time at the spa.

The staff are primarily young people about his age. Mr. Wu has not very subtly suggested Yifan get a job at the resort as well, and Yifan has not very subtly declined. Yes, it’s lovely, but the mood of the work environment is decidedly haughty, and he’s overheard some rather questionable orders given by the owner, his dad’s friend.

This year sounds no different. Yifan slept the afternoon they arrived, waking for dinner but meandering a little to see the advertised updates to the building hosting their dinners.

A wall separates the staff from guests, and the door stands open. The owner, a rat-like man with a thin mustache and too much product in his thinning hair, is instructing his staff as though addressing military troops.

“I’m relying on you all this year. Mingle with the guests, especially the sons and daughters. Make sure they enjoy themselves and spend big.” His emphasis on enjoy themselves is as innocuous as a brick to the face, but he reiterates himself more explicitly, to the extent a couple of the waitstaff blush.

Pausing his pacing, he shoves his finger against a boy’s forehead, scowling and berating him before laughing. Yifan scowls, too’ he’s never understood the superiority that comes with money or status. A bully’s still a bully.

Before he can tell himself to just leave well enough alone, he looks around the open doorway and calls to the human-shaped rodent with what he hopes is a passably genuine smile.

“Uncle!” The man whirls around, features morphing into a leering grin. He’s a hugger, unfortunately. Yifan bows with it. “I think my dad was looking for you in the dining hall.”

“Wonderful! It’s great you see you again, Yifan.” His breath could wilt a cactus. Distinctly onion. “I hope you enjoy yourself here.” The same emphasis sandwiches his words in meaning that’s hard to chew. Some people, like Yifan, are perfectly content loafing around by themselves when on vacation. “You lot, get to work.”

As they disperse, Yifan ambles to stand nearer the boy who had been the subject of the boss’s bullying. A couple other staff clap a hand on his shoulders, but they all leave.

The boy’s shoulders rise, head dipping between them, and Yifan thinks he’s crying, but they slowly straighten with an audible sigh. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, turning to walk away when he sees Yifan.

“S-Sorry. I didn’t mean to overhear…”

The boy grins crookedly. Turns out his pout is natural; there’s a dimple in his right cheek. “Don’t worry. The boss is always like that. Not only does he not like non-Chinese and assumes we don’t speak Mandarin, but he’s also allergic to anyone beneath the upper-middle class.”

“Yeah, I know… He’s my dad’s friend.” Somehow. His dad isn’t nearly so stuffy. “Don’t worry, though,” he adds. “I won’t say anything. The guy’s an ; there’s no pretending otherwise.”

“There’s really not. I’d say I’m paid to put up with it, but the money kinda .” He moves aside to let a young woman pass with a basket piled with cloth napkins. “Aren’t you Wu Yifan? The doctor’s son?”

“Yes.”

“Kim Jongin.” He offers a hand to shake. “I lead dance classes here and am also part of the entertainment team.” Jongin looks too young to be a teacher, to Yifan, but they leave the back room, and he walks with a confident grace and balance that inspire some confidence in his position. “Did you just arrive?”

“Yeah. We come every year. I don’t know where my siblings have gone—they usually ditch me, though.”

“Your whole family, then? That’s nice.”

Yifan shrugs. “I think it was fun when I was younger, but now…” He shrugs again.

“It’s no longer an adventure?” Jongin suggests, and that sounds about right. As a kid, Yifan loved being with his parents, because they were always so busy. Summer was the time set aside for everyone to be together. He’d quietly cheer his dad’s practice swings on the green and chatter on to his mom while she had whatever spa treatments. He and his siblings would run all over the grounds, playing and exploring and making fast friends with the other kids they only saw during their brief summer vacation.

Jongin peers around the corner, looking up and down the hall, before ambling through an open door to sit on the veranda. A breeze ruffles his hair; he lets is fall however it wants to settle.

“I don’t know how things were before—this is my first summer season—but I’m sure you’ll still find something fun to do.”

Yifan walks a couple steps down before sitting. “Any suggestions? I don’t golf and don’t mind being pampered now and then, but I’m not much of an outdoorsman.”

Propping his chin on a hand, Jongin thinks. “New pads were poured for tennis and basketball courts; they’re finished, now, and you can rent equipment.” Yifan does love basketball. It’s something he can do by himself, too. “A couple volleyball courts have been roughed out. I know an ornithologist is supposed to be arriving sometime soon and will host birdwatching tours. Our activities coordinator is doing some kind of scavenger hunt...” Yifan snorts, and Jongin smiles. “No dice, huh? There’s always my classes, if nothing else.”

“I am not much of a dancer. My mom tried to get me lessons, but it was kind of a disaster.”

“That’s alright; time’s change! I could teach you!” He looks back over the grounds, still smiling. Yifan thinks he’s found the greatest attraction of the resort.

Across the way, a golf cart is having difficulty staying on the path. The driver looks to be in his 80s and has probably had his license revoked but refuses the help of his harried caddy.

A pretty girl wearing a uniform top matching Jongin’s knocks on the doorframe. Jongin stands and brushes off the seat of his pants. “I gotta go. It was nice meeting you, Yifan.”

Yifan holds up a hand in a wave and stays sitting.

It’s nice on the veranda. The building stretches out in a perfectly straight line that abruptly stops and shoots off at perfect ninety degree angles, reaching out to join covered walkways leading to the suites and bath houses on one side and spas on the other side. From his seat, he can see the hills of the golf green and gray paved paths for carts and foot traffic.

Everything is surrounded by leafy and needled trees filled with singing birds he can’t identify. Somewhere are the courts Jongin mentioned; Yifan will have to explore a little to find them. Maybe he can collar his little brother and make him join.

His sister is already unavailable. He hears her gasping laughter before spotting her hanging onto someone’s arm, weak-kneed and teary from laughing too hard. She’d join him, if he asked, but he doesn’t want to be the annoying, tag-along little brother.

So he decides to just pick a direction and walk. Maybe he’ll find something interesting.

Predictably, he doesn’t, but it’s a nice day to be outside. The weather is predicted to stay clear and warm. Somewhat surprisingly, the basketball courts, although outside, have a high roof with lights mounted underneath. The tennis courts are completely open and have tall stadium lights. Who among the great majority of middle-aged tourists would want to play at night is a mystery, but it’s a nice option for Yifan. If his room shares a wall with someone who snores as loudly as last year’s neighbor, he may spend a fair bit of time shooting hoops.

Walking uphill, the horizon seems to cut off suddenly and fall into nothing. The lake is in a sort of valley or crater, so noise doesn’t carry to the resort itself. As well as boating and swimming, the area will host some outdoor concerts and activities.

Overall, it matches the resort. It’s pretty, but it’s not all that inspiring.

Yifan wonders when he became so disaffected and boring. Soon he’ll be sitting in a corner for hours with only a newspaper and cup of coffee for company.

With nothing better to do, and reasoning that the flight and brief drive were long enough to be exhausting, Yifan returns to the resort, drags a futon from the closet, and falls asleep in an afternoon sunbeam.

His mother sends his brother looking for him before dinner. She’s excited to try a new spa treatment and invites her children; only her daughter is interested, but she has booked her week with a couple boys she just met.

“What did you do all day, honey? Make any friends, yet?”

Rather than whine that he’s not five years old anymore, Yifan just shakes his head. “I looked around and took a nap.” He kicks his brother under the table for scoffing ”Boring.” “Where’s Ba?”

“He’s with the owner. You know they’re old friends.”

He sees even less of his dad on these family vacations than when they’re all at home.

A table of women titters happily as a boy joins them. It’s Jongin; he greets the women warmly and accepts a chair. He seems perfectly comfortable with their company and attention, and Yifan remembers the owner’s instructions for his employees to do whatever they can to keep customers happy and engaged and spending money.

Someone walks to the front of the room with a microphone and introduces herself as the activities coordinator. She’s way too perky to be real, Yifan thinks. “Thank you all for coming; I see some familiar faces. Some may remember me as the assistant coordinator. This year, I’ve been promoted! I’m looking forward to making this summer one to remember.” She waves her clipboard. “This is full of great activities, and I promise there’s something for everyone. To start things off, I’d like to announce our scavenger hunt!”

As he watches, a woman touches Jongin’s knee, and without missing a beat of the conversation, he takes her hand, keeps it in his as he laughs at something another woman says, and places it on the tabletop.

There’s a flare of something in Yifan’s gut—jealousy or anger, something hot, which is strange.

Maybe he imagines it, the hopeful part of him looking for something remotely meaningful, but Jongin’s expression seems to brighten when he catches Yifan’s eye. He tilts his head towards the doors and excuses himself.

Yifan follows immediately, ducking his head to appear less distracting and obvious as he ignores the speaker’s enthusiastic reveal of summer plans.

Jongin’s waiting outside and takes his elbow once Yifan’s out of the dining room, leading him into a smaller side room and out of the way of waitstaff carrying platters and pushing carts.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I...I don’t have any plans.” Yifan shrugs and shakes his head. His arm is getting warmer under Jongin’s hand, and he moves it to Yifan’s upper arm. “Why?” He tries to fight the goofy smile; he’s ticklish.

“Come to my studio tomorrow. You don’t have to join, but maybe something will inspire you.”

“Is this how you gain students?”

“Sometimes. My morning aerobics class is mostly women, anyway. I don’t think they even come for the benefits of exercise, for some reason.”

Yifan can imagine.

“Or you could start on that scavenger hunt. That could be fun.” Jongin chuckles at the face Yifan makes. It’s something to do, anyway. He’ll give pretty much anything a shot once. If he doesn’t enjoy himself or find something to inspire him, there’s the entire remainder of his stay to do whatever else he wants.

He’s taller than Jongin, he notices, but not by much. The dancer also gives off a lot of heat, but that could just be how needlessly close they are.

“I’ll be there,” he says.

Jongin laughs, flashing dimples, and squeezes Yifan’s arm.

He offers to walk Yifan back to his table, but Yifan spies his dad in the hall and says he’ll meet up tomorrow.

What is he really doing? Yifan has no idea, but he’s looking forward to seeing where it goes. Making friends hasn’t been as easy, as he’s gotten older, and not spending every day on a college campus surrounded by his age group makes it more difficult and exhausting. Regardless of his degree and personal passions, his parents manage to make it all sound like a waste of time. Something to do for fun when he’s young, but he’s got to grow up and do real work.

Maybe he will someday. But not today, and definitely not tomorrow.

When he goes to breakfast the next morning, a waiter brings him a message from Jongin. His class starts at nine. Yifan wears shorts and a T-shirt beneath a tracksuit; it seems appropriate enough for aerobics.

The dance studio is in a building with exercise rooms of equipment, locker rooms, and the spa. Everything is shiny hardwood flooring, recessed lighting, real potted plants, and an overall earthy, green approach to suggest relaxation and rejuvenation.

It’s lost on Yifan, who wonders if the massive window at the back of the studio is strategic or a critical flaw. Facing the mirrored wall, which is cut by a long barre, anyone walking outside can sit on the convenient benches and watch classes inside. There are rolled up shades, but with the morning sun on the opposite side of the building, the windows are open to let in natural light.

Looking like a posterboy for Jane Fonda workouts,Jongin shows up wearing opaque tights underneath legwarmers, shorts and a tucked tank top leaving very little to the imagination. He’s barefoot, scuffing his heel along the floor and greeting everyone warmly while inviting them all inside with kind smiles.

He was right about the class being mostly women. Any moment, Yifan expects his mom or sister to walk through the doors.

Thankfully, they don’t, and Jongin closes the doors after looking down the hall. He walks to the front of the room, asking everyone—which he states while looking right at Yifan—to form lines facing him with about an arm width apart from their neighbor.

After a brief introduction to what he says is a beginner’s course, Jongin turns around but watches the group in the large mirror. They start loosening their neck muscles by rolling their heads over their shoulders then rotate their arms in enlarging circles.

It’s easy until Jongin finishes counting their flat-backed stretches and tells the class to pull themselves down to their legs.

Jongin folds himself in half like a jack-knife. No effort. He casts a watchful eye from between his knees and throws a cheeky grin at Yifan, who isn’t the only one struggling with shows of flexibility but feels the most in the spotlight.

He does manage to nearly knock his head against the floor on the seventh count of swinging his arms between his legs.

Somewhere along the way, he strips off his light jacket and kicks his pants away. Even in shorts, he’s sweating and hot but actually feels pretty good.

Thankfully, they return to easier movements after walking their hands forward and bouncing on the balls of their feet. It looks absolutely ridiculous, but Yifan sneaks a couple looks up at the dancer and feels even more blood rush to his head. Jumping jacks helps him stabilize, and he manages to finish an entire routine of leg lifts, ankle rotations, and hip s.

Half an hour of cardio without leaving his spot, and he still feels as though he just ran four dozen lay ups.

He collapses on the provided mat and tries to catch his breath. The others form their packs to chat about the routine or their plans for the day. A water bottle nudges his shoulder, and he thanks Jongin.

“You did well,” Jongin remarks, returning to the front of the room. Empty, the walls and ceiling are cavernous and amplify their voices. “I’m impressed.”

“You think I was a total slug?” He guzzles the water and lies on the cool floor.

“No, but I didn’t think you’d actually try so hard.” Hooking his heel on the barre, he again folds himself effortlessly. “You’re an athlete, then?”

“Athletic, sure. I thought so, at least, until this workout knocked me flat on my back.”

“I’m still proud of you. Happy, too, that you even showed up.” He switches legs. “As a reward, I was thinking I’d take you someplace fun.”

“I don’t think I like your idea of ‘fun.’”

“Have a little faith. The lake is closed overnight, but the boathouse has been modified a little bit. Our younger staff has taken it over, and it’s too loud for the others, but the valley makes it so the noise doesn’t bother anyone else.” His smile could sell anything, but it’s genuine. “Think it over. It’s open every Tuesday and Friday night, so there’s time, and I always go, so I could take you.”

He’s right about the noise. Even as they’re walking up, Yifan can feel the thump of the bass and hear shouts of conversation that are ultimately drowned out by the music.

The entire interior of the building is open. A bar lines one wall opposite a DJ who mans their equipment on a balcony overhead, lording over the club with their beats. There’s just enough light to suggest snakes of cables in the rafters, but the floor is illuminated and alive with many bodies moving together and against one another in ways never before seen on the likes of MTV.

He knows the song that’s playing, but he has never imagined moving to it in the ways the people on the floor are. Their bodies are melded together as though trying to join. Chest-to-chest or, more frequently, groin-to-groin, couples move as one.

Yifan has never been interested in dancing. Goofing around and shuffle around to a beat, maybe; sing to himself when no one’s around, sure.

But going onto a crowded dance floor to be enclosed on all sides by hot, sweaty bodies has never been his idea of fun. At least on a basketball court, there’s room to run away.

He’s hip-checked and stumbles; the perpetrator is gone within moments. No one to blame or be angry at. Ships in the night. Jongin grabs him by the belt loops and somehow navigates the crowd backwards.

“I’m not much of a dancer.”

“What?” Jongin stands on his toes, holding Yifan’s shoulder for balance.

“I don’t dance!”

Jongin smiles. His response is lost under the music, but Yifan still understands.

Watch me.

Watching Jongin dance is a treat, but dancing with him is the whole meal. Yifan stumbles again when grabbed by the hips, but Jongin catches his shoulder and keeps him upright.

“This isn’t a place to be shy.” He raises his voice to be heard and leans close. “Just find the beat of the music and follow it. Watch me.” Jongin captures Yifan’s eyes and holds his gaze, gently pushing Yifan to mirror his movement.

He graduates fast, and Jongin hooks an arm over Yifan’s shoulders to pull them close.

As though their limbs are tied together, Yifan follows Jongin. When Jongin moves back, Yifan moves forward. Dipping, twisting, never straying more than a heartbeat away.

It should be impossible to move so close, but partners move together and ignore the other bodies, filling in the other’s space so there’s no distinction.

When they finally break and move towards the bar, Yifan’s head is foggy. He just follows Jongin by instinct.

The bartender is wearing a shimmery, sheer top and doesn’t look old enough to even drink, much less have a liquor license. He doesn’t need to be told and passes two sweating glasses of ice water, turning immediately to answer the phone. He walks behind a wall, phone cord pulling tight.

“Jongin!” The bartender waves to the dancer, who leans over the bar to talk. “Bad news; Soojung’s sick.”

“Sick with what?”

“You know how bad her cramps get. She can’t even leave her room; her sister called earlier and asked me to tell you.” He stuffs a towel into a wet glass and twists it around until he deems the glass dry enough. “I’m sorry, man.”

Jongin drops his head and swears. Yifan assumes he swears, anyway. He can only hear bits of what they say, but it doesn’t sound good.

“You okay?” The bartender eyes the hand Yifan has on Jongin’s arm. There are too many breakable glass bottles for him to feel at all brave, so Yifan tucks his hands in his pockets.

“Outside.” Pushing at Yifan, Jongin waves to the bartender and guides them outside. It’s not much quieter, but the fresh air is welcomed.

“What happened?”

“My partner’s sick. She pretty much stays in bed for nearly a week every month, and it’s fine, when there’s nothing scheduled, but we have a performance at a neighboring resort. If we don’t show up, we don’t get paid, and it’s good money that we really can’t afford to not get. She’s Korean, like me. Opportunities don’t come as easily…” Sighing, Jongin runs his hands through his hair, upsetting the style. “

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Laughing dryly, the dancer grins. “No offense, but while you’re handsome, you’d make an awkward-looking girl.” He looks somewhere distant, thinking. “I’ll think of something; thank you.” He fiddles with a button on his shirt, pushing it through its eyehole and removing it again. “You wanna go back inside? For not being a dancer, you follow direction well.”

“I’ve got a good teacher.” Someone he enjoys following, not that he’d say that.

Jongin smiles. “I’ll show you some more advanced techniques, next. If you think you can keep up.”

Yifan senses this will be a summer of welcome challenges.

a/n: Written for round one of November Rain Fest. (prompt no.NR074 Dirty Dancing AU where Kris is the sheltered rich kid who becomes infatuated with the summer resort’s dance teacher and the secret world he offers)

(Age changes is just Jongin being 19 and Yifan 23. Not super important.) I struggled with this. I love the prompt, but it just was not coming out right. orz

And you know how long it's been since I watched Dirty Dancing?

Neither do I, but it's been a while. Maybe I would've struggled less, if I'd rewatched it. I was working with the gist, because I didn't want a total copy. The setting is probably more 80s than 60s, more because 1960s China was kind of a mess with Mao's plans falling apart and trying to restructure the country and economy. I also prefer writing with the 80s in mind for some reason. I dunno.

Just imagine all the bold spandex, leg warmers, and head bands. Tiny men's shorts. High cut leotards and swim suits that elongate the leg but must've ridden up the crotch something awful.

Finally, there are a couple references to behind the scenes of Dirty Dancing. Fun facts.