Be bold . 

Soojin wakes with a start. In her pocket her alarm is ringing. The sound is atrocious, some mixture between the yowl of a cat and Styrofoam being pulled from a box. 

“Gugh,” the groan is a mixture of physical exhaustion and mental frustration. Palms rubbing away the weight in the lids of her eyes, Soojin rolled onto her side. On the coffee table, the key glows under the overhead light like a haunting reminder. “What are you looking at?” She grinds out at the object as she kicks her legs over the edge of the couch. 

Shuffling into the kitchen, she glances at the clock. It's ten past six. She has five minutes to make a cup of coffee, seven if she takes the stairs.

Thursday comes and goes.

On the coffee table the key sits, forgotten. There isn't excess time or energy, not to dedicate to 'being bold' or deciphering the hidden innuendo in Shuhua's words. Instead, Soojin dances and dances until, once again, she can't feel her toes. 

By Friday, all Soojin can eat, breathe and comprehend is the steps she needs to take, the way her body needs to move, and her position relative to those around her. 

"Alright, good job! I'll see everyone in a few hours. Soojin, I need to see you." 

The sea of bodies breaks, scattering like cockroaches.  

"Go ahead without me." Soojin waves off the unspoken question in Lisa’s eyes, "I'll see you tonight." 

Nodding, Lisa slings her bag over her shoulder, "Alright. Later!" 

With six hours to stage, the room clears quickly, "You wanted to see me?" Soojin asks curiously as she approaches the instructor and choreographer for the night's performance. 

"Ah, Soojin, I need a favour."

"A favour?" Soojin swallows the confusion in her tone, masking it with a confident curiosity, "What kind of favour?" 

"I need you to carve out the next two hours.” The instructor, a tall, willowy red-head woman trained in ballet with a pizzazz for the contemporary flare, scrolls through her phone. “Here,” She plainly states as she hands over the device.

“Lunch?” Soojin asks with furrowed brows. Continuing to read the email, her eyes nearly double in size, “No. Liz, I-”

“I know I said it was a favour,” snatching the phone back and tossing it into her bag, Liz sighs, “But it’s not really.” Arms crossed, she carries on in a tone that borders on mechanical, “Tom already agreed on your behalf. It’s just lunch, Soojin.”

There’s just lunch and then there’s lunch ordered by her employer at the request of Miyeon Cho.

As she stomps over to retrieve her bag, Soojin is sleep deprived and livid, "What the , Liz? I'm a dancer, not some rentable lunch date. Tell Tom to go himself."

Hands raised in surrender, Liz voices her two cents, "Looks, I'm not disagreeing with you. Tom won't tell me more than what's in the email, all I know is this goes beyond us being dancers." Her features pinch in frustration, but it's mixed with a degree of resignation, “Call it politics, call it strategy, but Tom's adamant. Just, do the lunch Soojin." 

“And Tom doesn’t care that we’re performing tonight for one of the year’s biggest charity events?” It’s said with a raised eyebrow and sarcastic tone, “I have my pre-performance rituals just like anyone else, Liz.”

There’s a snort masked by at the tail end of a cough, “PB&J sandwiches and slow dancing to sensual beats?” 

“What? And yoga’s any better?” Soojin fires back. Fingers flexing around the strap of her bag, Soojin deflates, “Can you just feed me poison and tell Tom I’m unavailable indefinitely?”

“Not happening.” The half smile her lips stretch towards is empathetic in nature, “Do the lunch, Soojin. I don’t know why Miyeon Cho wants to have lunch with you, but if you play your cards right, maybe she’ll hire us for the Summer Solstice Charity Ball too.” Taking in the time, Liz gave a cheesy thumbs up, "The vehicle’s waiting out front to take you.” 

With weighted steps, Soojin proceeds to the ground floor and out to the bustling New York sidewalk. The black SUV with out windows is hard to miss, as is the man who steps out from the passenger side in a navy blue suit so dark it almost looks black.

“Ms. Seo,” he greets with a subtle nod. Despite the noise of the city, his voice rings out clear like a cathedral bell. 

“Soojin-ah.” Miyeon’s voice is unmistakable. It’s sweet, coated in false innocence and the plastic façade of friendship. “Are you ready for lunch?” 

“If you think I’m getting in this car with you, you’re more of an idiot than I thought.” The scathing retort is instant, no waxing hellos or brown-nosed how are yous . Lingering outside the door held open by the man, Soojin scowls at the woman nestled inside the vehicle, “What do you want?”

With a constrained smile, Miyeon offers, “Just lunch, Soojin-ah.” 

“Bull,” stepping back, Soojin scoffs, “If you won’t tell me, I’ll take my chances with the repercussions.” Turning on her heels, she makes it three steps before Miyeon calls out. 

“Shuhua’s upset with me.” 

If Soojin feels anything, none of it shows. Pausing in her stride, she tosses over her shoulder, “That sounds like a you problem. Why don’t you just pay her five million dollars and be done with it.” The stab isn’t soft and it earns the wayward look of a few pedestrians in earshot. 

“I suppose I deserved that.” Miyeon accepts the insult as if it were a well timed joke. Though her features remain open and inviting, something wallows beneath the surface. “Soojin, please.”

Soojin takes a step away from the open car door. Then another. And another. Exhaling a sigh, her shoulders slump. While she doesn’t stomp, Soojin certainly does not return to the vehicle with any pep in her step. Her bag rolls across the seat and into Miyeon with a heavy thud. 

Miyeon doesn’t flinch. 

Hunkering into the leather seat with a huff, Soojin buckles herself in. It’s forceful and every bit enraged, “If you try to offer me any more money or some other form of bribe, I swear to God I’ll kick you out of your own car and into traffic. Bodyguard