She was a dancer. That was how she described herself to people, and it was true. Dancing was her everything. She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t dance. Even before the classes and the hours of professional training, music had always moved her. Literally. It took control of her body, forced her limbs to obey the beats and harmonies within every song she heard.
She loved to dance, had never loved anything half or even a quarter as much, and it wasn’t bragging when she said she could dance to anything. She had won competitions in jazz, ballet, tap, lyrical, modern and contemporary. If there was music and movement involved, it just came naturally to her.

She had a scholarship to one of the best dance schools in the world. She had worked for years, through bloody feet, bunions, broken toes, muscle strains, sprain ankles and ice baths to get where she was. The top was in sight, her final year and the lead role in Swan Lake, the chance to be spotted by a company, the chance to dance as a way of living.

She had been late for rehearsal, really late, because she had been day dreaming while reading a book. She had started running, her bag slung over one shoulder, her Pointe shoes in one hand and her book still grasped in the other. The floor was wet. She didn’t see. She slipped. She fell.

When she woke up she was in hospital, her parents and brothers around her. There was a doctor who had spoken too fast, in words she didn’t understand and her mother had started crying. When he had left she had looked to her parents for answers.
She had fallen, that much she knew, but she had landed badly, in an awkward position, had torn almost every ligament in her left knee. They had to perform surgery, the doctors had said it was lucky she had been knocked unconscious or the pain would have been excruciating. It would take 6 months to a year to heal. She waited for the important part, the only part that mattered, if she would still be able to dance. She would, her parents had assured her, as the doctors had assured them. But it would be difficult, harder than before, and she may reach the same level as before.
The explanation was given through choked back tears and swollen throats. Her father had been gently her hair and her mother holding her hand tightly, as if trying to stabilise her. She felt the tears rolling down her cheeks before she even realised she was crying and the only thought in her head, echoing and bouncing around her brain was, what would she do now.

10 Months Later.

She was late for school, although she couldn’t figure out how. She had woken up on time, had dropped her younger brother off at his school gates early, but somehow, between there and her she was late.
She attended regular school now, with normal lessons. She had tried to go back to her school when the doctors had given her the all clear to start dancing again, she had been okay in the basics and warm ups. It was when she tried to attend her advance classes that she realised how limited her injury had made her. Her lines were sloppy, her passé flawed, and her extension limited. She had kept it up for a few months, desperately trying to attain what had once been hers. Willing her body to respond the way it used to. Had exhausted herself night and day, trying and failing to attain perfection. Until her parents had taken her back to the doctors and physiotherapists and she had had to accept the fact that she couldn’t be a dancer anymore. After that she didn’t see the point of attending her school anymore, though she could have.

She had been at her new school for 3 months now and still she didn’t really know anyone. She felt like a ghost in the hallways and it was her fault really, she felt so lost now. Losing the ability to dance was like amnesia for her, she just couldn’t remember who she was meant to be anymore.
She was dragging her feet from class to class, each lesson blurring into one, counting the minutes until she could go home, to the basement studio her parents had convinced her to keep, and dance.

She had been kept behind by her class teacher, to discuss her lateness, and now she was late to pick up her brother. She was rushing down the stairs when she heard it, or did she feel it first. It was hard to tell, but there it was, the unmistakeable sound of music, filling the air. She was drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.
It was coming from the room she had drama in and she moved to the door, peering through the glass. Inside was a boy she didn’t recognise, moving in a way she had never seen before. It was graceful, but hard at the same time, fluid but sharp. It was breathtaking and she caught herself smiling as she watched him, her face practically merging with the glass in her attempt to get a better view of him. The song ended and he disappeared from her view entirely, when he reappeared he was standing right on the other side of the door looking back at her through the glass.

“What are you doing?” his voice was as beautiful as his dancing. She was so entranced that she didn’t realise she had fallen, until she looked up to see him standing over her, his face a mix of confusion and worry,
When she took the hand he offered to help her up,  she felt a jolt, and her heart started beating again.

“Be careful. And stop watching people through windows.” He smiled at her before he looked at his watch and muttered a goodbye.
5 minutes later she was still standing there, her hand over her heart and parted in the unuttered goodbye. It was her phone ringing which woke her up from her daze again.

“Noona. Where are you?” the sound of her brother’s voice came down the phone.
“Aigoo.  Jinsu-ah, I had detention. I’m on my way now. Mianhae.”

It had been 2 weeks since that and she hadn’t seen him since. She would sometimes purposefully hang around the room that she had seen him in whenever she had a free period or during her lunch break, in hopes of catching a glimpse of him. However in the last two weeks she had had no luck, nothing. It because she didn’t know his name, or what grade he was in much less what class. So, due to her lack of personal information, she continued her futile stake out of the drama classroom.
It was after one of her now regular stake outs, that she saw him. He was sitting on the bottom step as she came down the stairs, headphones on, his head bobbing to the rhythm and his feet tapping in time to the unheard beat. She froze when she saw him, he heart started beating at a near inhuman pace and was suddenly drier than the Sahara.

When she stood beside him he looked up at her, his eyes flicked up on her in surprise, smiling slightly he slid his headphones off and stood up.
“What did I tell you about stalking?” His eyes twinkled as he and she felt her cheeks heat up slightly from the simple acknowledgement he had given her.
“What are you still doing here so late?” he asked her as he grabbed his backpack off the stairs and slung it over his shoulder.
“Umm, nothing really.” She whispered, surprised that she had finally gotten her vocal cords to work again.
“What are you still doing here?” She queried back, partly out of curiosity and partly because she was afraid that he was getting ready to walk away.
“Waiting for you of course!”He smiled at her and she was sure she had misheard him; that her brain had slipped into fantasy mid conversation. She found herself blinking idiotically as he looked at her, his eyelashes fluttering over his chocolate eyes.
“Sorry?” she asked, her confusion soaking the question.
“I’m waiting for you, have been for the past 2 weeks. A guy could think you were avoiding him.” This time he gave her arm a playful poke and she swore that a jolt of electricity ran from his body into hers.
“Why?” she inwardly rolled her eyes at her moronic and monosyllabic queries, but he seemed amused by them, as she watched a smile play across his face.
“I don’t know really. I couldn’t stop myself.”  He seemed to muse at the answer he had given before turning to her again and smiling.
“Lee Kikwang…that’s my name.” He announced, before grabbing her hand in an awkward handshake.

Soon she was no longer surprised to see Kikwang sitting at the base of the stairs, headphones on and feet tapping, waiting for her to appear. He no longer balked when he insisted on walking her home, or froze when he called her every night, to wish her sweet dreams.
Soon her weekends were more fun, Kikwang would take her out, or if they had to babysit for their younger siblings they would amass at one house. At school he made her eat lunch with him, even though he was a year above her, and his friends had accepted her as if she had always been there.
She found out that he danced every day, and was part of a dance team outside of school. She would follow him sometimes, and sit and watch him dance. It captivated her, the way he moved; the fluidity and grace his body possessed made her jaw drop. After practice he would throw his arm around her and she would scrunch her nose up in distaste at the sweaty arm and he would laugh, a laugh that made her body warm and her heart vibrate.
 He said he was a street dancer; he had never trained, had never attended a “dance class” but was simply moved b y music and was obliged to follow a beat wherever it led him. The way he spoke about music, about dancing reflected exactly the way she felt, although she had never voiced that fact.
It was 7 months into whatever their relationship was, that she let slip that she used to dance. She hadn’t meant to tell him. But they had been stretched out on his bedroom floor while his cat roamed around them when he asked her why she had transferred to his school.
“What’s the matter Kiki? Trying to get rid of me?” She had tried to joke it away, the way she always did when the question reared its ugly head. Usually it worked, and she could distract him, but this time he simply rolled unto his side and looked into her eyes.
“Don’t joke. Tell me.” She hated when he looked at her like that, his eyes wide and sparkling, and those lashes fluttering away.
“I couldn’t attend my school anymore.” She had answered shortly, hoping to end the conversation before it really got started. But she knew that wasn’t going to work, Kikwang could be like a dog with a bone. He was not going to let her go so easily.
“Okay. But why, exactly.”
So she had just told him everything and he had listened. She had waited for the pity that she usually saw when she told anyone about losing her ability to dance. Instead he had just blinked at her and rolled back onto her back before her grabbed her hand which was by her side and whispered to her.
“Should I fix you?”

And that was how she found herself, every day after school, in her home studio with Kikwang. Music pumping through the air and her body desperately trying to recall the grace and elegance it had once knew. It was frustrating; all the things she knew she could do seemed so out of her reach now. The way he wanted her to move was foreign to her. She had never made a wild movement in her life, her dancing had always been about controlled chaos, but all he wanted was for her to let go. She was never sure exactly what it was he wanted her to let go of. But that was what he always whispered in her ear when they were huddled on the floor, his arms around her and the tears rolling down her face.
 It had been weeks and Kikwang was just as frustrated as she was and voiced his frustrations one day.
“What are you doing?” He was looking up towards the ceiling, as if calling down the aid of God himself.
“I DON’T GET IT!” She was tired, and he had been pushing her for the best part of the afternoon. She wanted to stop, and just forget about fixing herself; she would rather stay broken if it was going to stay like this.
“What’s to get? It’s dancing; I’ve seen you do it.” She rolled her eyes at his words silently wishing she had never shown him the home videos from her numerous recitals over the years.
“This Isn’t Dancing!” She flopped down on the floor as she felt the corners of her eyes stinging. Seriously she hated herself for always breaking down in front of him. She rubbed her eyes in anger and irritation before she looked up at him. Those sparkling eyes were looking back at her, and he slowly crouched down, bringing himself to her level.
“Why are you so resistant? What are you afraid of?” His hands were tracing over her cheeks, erasing the tears which were treacherously tracing a path there. She looked into his eyes, and wished she could lie to him. The truth was going to make her sound like a coward and a little princess.
“What if I’m not as great as I used to be?” She wasn’t sure what she expected when she said it, but she hadn’t expected him to laugh. But he had laughed and placed both hands on her cheeks allowing his gaze to really sear into her.
“You don’t have to be great; you don’t even have to be good. You just have to enjoy it” Then he had kissed her, a simple kiss that she hadn’t been aware she was waiting for. A mere parting of lips and a sigh and it was over. But it calmed her heart and stilled her tears.

After that day she had looked forward to those afternoons locked in her home studio with Kikwang. She slowly began to understand what he had meant as she finally let go of all the fear she had been holding on to since her accident. She re-learnt how to just enjoy the music coursing through her veins. She slowly felt as every rhythm merged with her heartbeat and allowed her to be carried away, her feet following steps she didn’t know she knew. But perhaps the best part of rediscovering her desire to dance wan the way Kikwang looked at her when she did. He wanted to fix her, and he had, by helping her to realise that she had never been broken.

She was a dancer. That was how she described herself to people, and it was true. Dancing was her everything. Because when she danced it was for him. His body was her stage, his eyes her spotlight and his lips were the steps she took.

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Soooooo in case you didn't know. I love Gikwang. I think he seems like the sweetest thing ever. 
I'm supposed to be uploading a chapter for "When Somebody Loves Me", but I hated the chapter I had written and I have decided to rewrite. In the meantime enjoy...whatever this is. My fingers took control again, I couldn't stop them.

Saranghae ^ ^