“Do you ever miss her?”

Jongin smiles, bittersweet. “Yeah.”

Sehun laughs. Empty.

“Is that even a question though?” Jongin remarks. There is a dreamy look on his face, eyes gazing into the distance. “It’s Soojung. How could I ever forget her?”

 

 

When Jongin thinks of Soojung, he thinks of rushing blood through his veins, the sound of Converse against wet concrete, and the smell of musty practice rooms. He thinks of the deafening sounds of the crowd and the booming music through the speakers – when in reality all he can hear is his ragged breathing and the pounding of his heart when his eyes connect with hers.

He thinks of late nights exchanging choreography tips, her skin against his – graceful yet unsure – he thinks of her fierce charisma on stage, her headstrong sweetness off of it, the way her eyes shone when her favorite song played on the radio. He thinks of almost kisses and words left unsaid. He thinks of lost chances and a girl who could’ve been his all (and still is).

He was young back then, and he was a dancer, desperate for the adrenaline rush – muscle control: tense, untense, tense, untense. It’s all about the angle and speed of execution, feeling the music and letting it move you.

Jongin lives and breathes dance.

(Maybe that was his first downfall.)

 

 

 

He first lays eyes on her at a region-wide competition. His team, The Apocalypse, are on standby on side stage.

“Coming up next, Code X!”

The crowd goes crazy. The reigning champions of the region: sick moves, impeccable synchronization, powerful stunts, ingenious creativity. No wonder.

The lights go on, silhouettes against the background. Sunset hues, shadows, pumping adrenaline, waiting for the punch line.

The beat drops. He loses his breath.

 

 

 

He doesn’t know what it really was. About her, he means. The girl front and center, from the rival team, the team that his own wanted to crush this year.

He asks Sehun about her before they go up on stage. Sehun raises an eyebrow. “Oh, her?” he smirks. “She’s Jung Soojung, one of the best dancers of the bunch, I’ll admit. Krystal. All the guys go crazy over her.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Why? You got a thing for her?” Sehun’s lips curl up into a knowing smile. “I hear she’s lethal. Femme fatale, headstrong, she does what she wants. The list of suitors with broken hearts – too long to name.”

Leave it to Sehun to know all the gossip in town. Jongin sees said girl rush off into the right stage wing, her dark hair flying out behind her. He purses his lips, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach.

“Enough swooning,” Sehun teases. “This is not a drill; we're here to trample on their team, not the Kentucky Fried Chickeners. Can't afford to get distracted. Let’s kill it!”

Jongin laughs a little. Ah, the Kentucky Fried Chickeners. (Even though they're the of all the jokes in the dance world, he does admit he's quite fond of their name.)

Sehun offers Jongin a fist to bump and Jongin complies. Focus, focus, he chastises himself.

All grows dark. He had forgotten how good it feels to be on stage.

His team ends up first place in the biggest upset in three years, but all Jongin can think about is the way her gaze connected with his at the ending trophy ceremony.

(Femme fatale? She seems innocent enough.)

 

 

 

He realizes now that one thing that was missing from Sehun’s little spiel was that although Soojung is not the type to wear the stereotypical dark red lipstick and layers of thick eyeliner coated with even more layers of deception and charm, she is dangerous all the same. Dangerous, because there’s something about the way she moves, her extensions, the way she hits the beat – fierce yet relaxed. There’s something about the way she laughs, how she throws her head back and is wide open, how any boy in their right mind would want to wake up every morning to her soothing voice and the scent of her hair.

Soojung is a drug that he could never get enough of. Maybe he could’ve stopped if they only crossed paths once.

He thinks now that fate has a cruel sense of humor.

 

 

 

One month later, it’s one of those nights when his mind is dry of ideas and every bone and fiber of his body is exhausted. Preparing for the university-wide exhibition showcase has been draining for him, especially since the task of choreography has been placed on him this time around.

He doesn’t say much when Sehun asks why he’s leaving the dorm and only grunts a “don’t stay up for me” on his way out. He leaves the college campus at midnight and finds himself stumbling into one of those cheap clubs in the dark alleys of the city.

It’s typical clubbing music, not really his thing, but the beat is quite something and he can feel the bass pounding in his ears. One drink, and he closes his eyes. Breathe in, breathe out.

He begins to see – sees floating figures in his mind, feels arcs of movement extending beyond his limbs, his fingers and toes itching to dance. Ah, this is the feeling.

Before he knows it, he is just one among the sea of strangers on the dance floor, strobe lights flickering above. He loses himself in the music just enough so that out of the corner of his eye, he sees a familiar figure making her way toward the floor.

The beat drops. He loses his breath.

 

 

 

She’s dangerously close, her harsh breathing on the nape of his neck. Shadows on her face, glistening lips close enough to –

“You’re a good dancer,” she remarks, looking straight into his eyes. He can’t tell if she’s being earnest or playful or both but he doesn’t care.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he murmurs as her hands make their way around his neck.

The lights are still flashing and they’re being pressed closer and closer together by the other people infringing on their personal space – and, frankly, Jongin doesn’t mind at all.

“Yes, well, I do dance. A bit."

He wonders if she remembers him from a month ago. Probably not.

“Mr. Apocalypse,” she continues, placing a finger to her lips when he opens his mouth in surprise.

“I –”

“Your name is Kim Jongin and you attend Hanyang University. I am Jung Soojung and I attend Sungkyunkwan University. We both major in performing arts. Nice to meet you.” She gives him a coy smile and he’s shell-shocked.

“How do you – ” 

"I have my sources,” she whispers. And she grins, her eyes curving into moon crescents. He thinks she looks nothing short of beautiful. “I had my eyes on you.”

(She definitely gets what she wants, he thinks to himself. He wonders if this is how it was supposed to go down or if he is just lucky to be chosen. Jongin doesn't care either way and happily obliges.

They exchange numbers before boarding taxis to their separate destinations.

He hopes it’s not the end.

It’s not.)

 

 

 

He receives a call out of the blue a few days later.

“Jongin?”

His heart starts pounding. “Yeah…Soojung?”

“I – I know we don’t know each other that well…” She sounds like she’s sniffling. He bites his lip in concern. “I just,” hiccup. “…need a place to get away, is all.” Her voice falters toward the end and it’s unexpected – the headstrong Jung Soojung losing her composure, in front of him, of all people.

Jongin’s not too good at this. “So, er, does that mean…?”

“I can’t stay at my university. I don’t know. I can get to Hanyang in a bit, where are you?” It all comes out slurred together and she’s hiccupping in between.

He looks across his room at Sehun playing computer games on his laptop, headphones on. He swallows. “Yeah, sure. Just call me when you’re near the main gate. I’ll meet you there.”

 

 

 

When he reaches the gate, she’s already there, dark wisps of hair blowing in the breeze. She’s wearing a thick hoodie, arms crossed for warmth.

“Soojung…” He peers into her pink-rimmed eyes, still coated with a film of tears. His heart drops to his stomach. “Let’s get you somewhere warmer,” he murmurs, hesitantly touching her shoulder.

They end up in his practice room, scratched floor and mirrors that need to be cleaned, but the heater’s on and the tears start subsiding. Sitting cross-legged next to her against the wall, he silently slides a roll of toilet paper in her direction, his ears growing slightly red. “Sorry, we don’t…exactly have tissues in here,” he says apologetically.

She lets out a forced laugh. “It’s okay. Thanks.” Pauses. “I’m okay, though.”

But Jongin knows she’s not okay, not in the least. He doesn’t know what to think. Sehun’s words ring in his ears, warnings of imminent heartbreak and rumors of an ice-cold charisma that can strike awe (and fear) in the hearts of all – and he looks at the girl in front of him, in all her vulnerability, and his stomach tightens. “What happened?” he ventures, staring at the floor.

“N-nothing much.” Her voice wavers.

Jongin nods, his eyebrows furrowing. Her wound is still too fresh, he realizes. “You know what I do when I’m sad?” he says instead.

She looks up at him now. The upper corner of her lips hints at a tiny knowing smile. Jongin does an exaggerated body roll. “I dance, of course.” He flashes a smile, noting the way her hand flies up to cover her gaping mouth as she laughs. Probably from second-hand embarrassment. He allows himself to chuckle a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll start, I guess.”

He gets up to plug his phone into the stereo. His mix titled “Funky” blasts through the speakers and Jongin starts dancing, one, two, three, four. His eyes are trained on her, and there’s something in her curious gaze that eggs him on. “Come on, Soojung, this is a fun song to dance to!”

She bites her lower lip in hesitation. “Well –” Jongin extends a hand in front of her face.

She laughs. “Okay.”

(And so they dance, and as he watches her in the mirror, losing herself in the motions, nose still a little red but a smile upon her lips, he can’t help but wonder if this is what it feels like to fall in love.)

 

 

Later, on her own accord, she tells him what happened. This time they are back at the practice room, her books strewn all over the floor, backpack abandoned in the corner. It’s like she fit her whole life into that one backpack. “Yeah, I may or may not have brought all my homework that I need to do tonight…” she admits sheepishly when Jongin returns from the restroom and takes in the mess.

He chuckles. “Well, if that’s what you need to do.” He shrugs, sitting down next to her.

She looks up from reading her book. “Jongin.”

"Hmm?”

“Do you ever wonder why I even called you last night?”

He nods slowly. “You didn’t seem ready to talk about it though.”

“My team member broke his ankle.”

Jongin raises an eyebrow.

“They all think it’s my fault. For not keeping formation or something.” Her eyes are drilling holes into the floor and he can tell that she’s trying to hold back tears again. He nervously slides the toilet paper roll in her direction.

“Maybe it was my fault, though,” she whispers now, shamelessly ripping some toilet paper off. “He had the biggest part in the set and the performance is in two days and everyone’s mad at me.”

He finds it hard to believe. But dancers can be douches, he knows. When all they see is the trophy shining in the distance and they’re blind to the hearts they are trampling on along the way.

“Jerks,” she mutters. Soojung looks away. Opens . Hesitates. “So yeah, thanks for everything. Sorry for the trouble. I didn’t know where else to go.” She falters near the end. She starts laughing to herself. “You probably hate me or something. I must be completely different from what you imagined.”

Different? Maybe. Any less worthy of love? Nope.

Jongin cautiously pats her hand. It’s cold. “No, no, I would never,” he whispers, and it shocks him the way he actually means it.

 

 

 

The next week is a blur of events: the end of an era (i’m quitting, she says, causing jongin to almost have a heart attack. not dancing, but my team, she clarifies. after the stupid showcase, it’s hasta la vista for me), choreography woes (speaking of showcases, what in the world am i going to do for mine? she laughs, shoving him playfully on the shoulder. i'll help you), late night practices that end up with them accidentally passing out in the practice room overnight (are you tired? he murmurs, flat on the ground, his hand mere centimeters away from hers. yeah, she admits. but i like this. a lot), and lazy afternoons chilling at cafés (ah, christmas songs, jongin drums his fingers on the table, smiling blissfully. you like them? she crinkles her nose. they’re too cheesy for me. jongin is about to speak up, but then she cuts in – wait, actually, you know who’s even more cheesy than christmas songs? he shrugs. you).

He doesn’t know how it happened – Soojung suddenly entering into his life and taking it by a storm. Somewhere in between studying at the park and noisy bus rides and arguing over their favorite ramen at the convenience store, he allows himself to imagine – imagine what it would be like if maybe this is how fate intended for it to be all along.

(One day, he shoves an audition flyer into her face, shifting on his feet uncomfortably.

“Couple dance competition,” she murmurs, gazing at him quizzically.

“So you can keep competing,” he mutters underneath his breath, ears burning.

She looks oddly touched, breaking out into a smile.

She’s the one who slides her hand into his first. “Okay.”)

 

 

 

He walks in after class to find Soojung already in the practice room in the midst of choreographing.

The beat drops. He loses his breath.

(He stands there, slack-jawed, for a good four minutes before making his presence known.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, and there’s this force – magnetic – that draws him nearer to her. It scares him, how little he can control himself, and he gulps.

She looks at him with an unreadable expression, the music still playing in the background.

“Dance with me,” he whispers, his fingers brushing against her waist. And their stares are locked as they move, in sync, fitting together like puzzle pieces: fluid, like they are meant to be.

He finds it the most exhilarating thing ever – dancing with Soojung.)

(He wants to dance with her for the rest of his life.)

 

 

 

The clock fast forwards, and the first competition comes up in no time. “We’re gonna kill it out there,” she whispers into his ear backstage. He can feel her warmth in the hazy darkness, the scent of strawberry lip gloss hitting him like a train.

“I don’t doubt it,” he murmurs.

The lights flash on momentarily, and he can see her smile. Everything goes dark again, and coldness returns to his side as she leaves to go on stage first, taking her position.

The lights go on again, revealing her silhouette against the sunset hue background. He has her every curve memorized, the exact outline of her nose against the backlights, the way she poses – confident, fiery, dynamic. Krystal.

His, if only for the four minutes they have on stage together.

He makes the most of it, closing the distance between them, fingers lingering just a little longer on the small of her back, moves more pronounced than usual, giving it his all. She mirrors his movements as they weave in and out of each other’s embrace, a graceful tangle of limbs. There’s that same look in her eyes again, the look he fell in love with – the fire in her orbs, her hair flying out behind her.

The song ends with hushed crooning and a light sprinkle of piano and strings, his breath entangled with hers, noses almost touching. Electricity in the air, arms wrapped in desperate embrace, moved to the point of tears. The lights dim, the crowd cheers, and they both let out relieved laughs, like a dream come true.

“Thank you so much,” Soojung whispers into his ear, hot air against his skin.

He shivers, then, grinning widely and reluctantly peeling himself away from her in the dark. His hand finds hers in the shadows.

He wouldn’t mind if these four minutes were his forever.

No, he would definitely not.

(They don’t end up placing in the competition, but she’s first place in his heart and he thinks that’s what matters.)

 

 

 

They are not the type to give up, however, and so they enter into a second competition with the same piece. We’re going to make it even better than before, they vow. Jongin imagines more nights of exhausting but joyful practices and hilarious mess-ups and her vibrant smile, but instead, one day he is greeted with the sight of a sobbing Soojung in the corner of the room with the toilet paper roll unraveled next to her and it’s oddly déjà vu.

“What’s wrong?” he rushes to her side.

She turns away, and he furrows his eyebrows, gingerly placing both his hands on her shoulders. “Soojung,” he says softly. “You can tell me, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out. He wrinkles his forehead, not understanding. “I’m sorry I let you down,” she whispers, eyes averting his. “You have so much more going for you. I’m holding you back.”

He carefully uses his thumb to tilt her chin up. “Look at me,” he breathes. “I don’t care about trophies. This was one competition out of many, and yet it was the most memorable, by far.” He’s searching her eyes now. “Because of you.”

The tension hangs in the musty air and this time she doesn’t look away. His gaze lowers down to her slightly parted lips, so tempting. The butterflies threaten to explode. He leans in. Their breaths mix together and just a bit more –

“No,” she lets out, suddenly clutching her chest and shaking her head. “We can’t do this.” Uncertainty flickers in her eyes and he wonders if he had gone too fast.

“Did I…do anything wrong?” he ventures.

She gets up abruptly, hastily wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“No, no, you didn’t,” she says. “I can’t do this anymore, I’m so sorry.”

She's tired of being strong, he knows. She's been so strong all her life and now she's reached her breaking point. “Soojung –”

“The only thing I’m good at is disappointing others and breaking people’s hearts!” she suddenly bursts out, self-loathe on her face.

“That’s not true –”

“And believe me, that’s the last thing I’d want to do to you,” she says softly, voice about to crack. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore.” And she rushes out without any more explanation.

(She doesn’t come back for the next eighty-six hours and it kills him inside – replaying her stricken look of apology and self-deprecation and regret over and over again like a broken film. No replies to his texts or calls. He even takes a bus ride to Sungkyunkwan in efforts to find her but she is nowhere to be seen.

He wonders if this is how it ends, as quickly as it began.)

 

 

 

He’s at their favorite café in town, listening to their song, reliving her touch against his. Closing his eyes, he hums along to the tune and gets lost in its intricate melodies.

“That song sounds familiar,” a voice sounds from behind him. It’s Soojung.

He blinks, breaking out into a relieved grin. “You’re here.”

It’s like a lead weight lifted off his shoulders.

Here to stay? His gaze implores.

Here to stay, her smiling eyes seem to say.

(That night, they forego the practice room, each plugging their earbuds in and sliding their phones in their pockets. A tangle of flesh, melody rushing through veins, and there’s a new air of desperation, a novel urgency to their movements. It starts raining, like a scene out of a movie: Converse shoes skidding against wet concrete, salty water on his tongue.

As the notes fade out, the rain starts pouring harder, and that’s when Jongin kisses her, grabbing her face gently with both hands.

She kisses back.

He reminds himself that this is not a dream.)

 

 

 

Jongin’s not lying when he says he doesn’t mind that they only placed 10^th in the second competition, just barely missing the mark for the second round.

(But he’s also not lying that he remembers the way she shook on stage, hands trembling and unsure, breath a bit more uneven than usual. He had tried being her strong anchor, gently guiding her course until the end.

“You were phenomenal,” he squeezes her hand afterward.

She only bites her lip in disapproval. “Yeah.”)

 

 

 

She promises him that she’ll do better. He tells her that she’s more than enough.

“Hey, Soojung.”

“Yeah?”

Jongin slides her his phone. “Got an email. We’re in for the second round! One of the pairs backed out last minute.” His eyes are bright with excitement.

“That’s awesome.” But her tone sounds distant, and she sighs, peering out the window.

Jongin’s heart starts racing. “We’re doing it…right?” He doesn’t want to push too hard.

She gives him a forced smile. He knows she's a perfectionist at heart and it's killing her not to make it to the end. “Of course. We have to.”

But he doesn’t miss the way she grits her teeth and clenches her jaw, and he doesn’t know what to think.

 

 

 

He’s on standby at the second round of competition and the emptiness next to him has never felt colder. He had planned to swing by her university to pick her up on the way but she had refused via phone call, saying that she’d make it there herself after she finishes what she has to do. That left a bad taste in his mouth, but Jongin is a hopeful one, and so he clings onto that last thread of maybe she’ll come and everything will be okay. But as the moment draws nearer, the pit in his stomach only deepens, and yet he doesn’t have the heart to cancel their appearance just yet.

He’s looking around urgently for her, yearning to catch a glimpse, when the stage director informs him that it’s time to perform. He gulps.

The lights go out. Sunset hues fill the background. There is no silhouette.

The beat drops. He loses his breath.

(But not in a good way.)

 

 

 

He blinks back tears as he clutches the steering wheel of the car he’d borrowed from one of his teammates. There’s a righteous anger boiling up within him, of broken promises, of sadness, of regret. He hurts because he knows she’s hurting, and he can’t understand why she couldn’t have just told him what was going on.

“Soojung,” he cries out, knocking loudly on her room door. “Can you please open the door? Please.”

The door haphazardly swings open, revealing a puffy-eyed Soojung with frazzled hair.

He has to blink a few times to get himself together. “I missed you,” he utters, stepping forward to envelope her in a hug.

She pushes him away before he can make contact. “Don’t act like that.” She shoots him an ice-cold glare.

Jongin inhales deeply, hurt. “I just wanted to check up on you…”

Silence.

“Why didn’t you show up?”

She makes a move to close the door, but Jongin blocks the entire doorway with his body. “Tell me, Soojung, so I can help you!” he exclaims. “You don’t have to lock everything up inside, you know.”

“That’s exactly it!” she explodes. “I don’t want any help. We’re hopeless. We’re too different. You care about those stupid competitions, I don’t. You dance because this is your dream, I dance for fun and I can stop whenever I want. I’m holding you back, Jongin.”

Her chest moves up and down with her heaving breaths. “I. Don’t. Care. About. Dancing. Anymore.” She says through clenched teeth.

“LIES!” he bursts out angrily. “Sure, winning is great and all, but in the end, all I want to do is dance – the results don’t have to matter. I want to dance because you inspire me. I see you dance so passionately and there’s fire in your eyes and you don’t care about the trophies – it makes you happy just to dance, and I love that. Dancing is your dream, we both know it. Dancing is our dream.”

“Jongin, no –”

“Please,” he pleads. “Let me just say this: most of all, I want to dance because I want to dance with you, Soojung.”

She freezes then, slightly agape. Her eyes start watering and he has the urge to wrap her up in a bear hug and convince the both of them that they’ll be alright. But he doesn’t.

It takes her a while to regain composure. “Jongin,” she begins slowly, shaking a little. “I’m not going through this again. I can’t bear to keep failing – letting you fail. It’s time you stop spending so much time with someone who isn’t able to give you what you deserve. This is over, we – whatever we were – are done, once and for all.” She says it with such an air of finality, but the hurt in her eyes still shows.

Ah, so this is how the fallout is, he begins to think to himself. “Do you really mean it? You’ve given up on dancing?” On us?

“Y-yes,” she forces out, and his heart implodes. “My application to study abroad just got through. I’m leaving in a week. I have other dreams to fulfill.”

But I don’t understand, he thinks. Dancing was your dream. As he stares in disbelief at Soojung, he can’t help but mourn for a dream lost in the shadows and a girl with no more confidence left. But it’s her choice, and although Jongin is hopeful, he is also realistic.

“Soojung,” he starts, before she shuts the door. “Can we…dance together one last time?” His voice is hoarse.

She swallows, the raging conflict swimming in her eyes. She looks at him like he is nothing and everything to her at the same time, and he can’t shake the memories of kisses in the dancing rain and her soft skin against his. He slowly slips his phone out of his pocket, sticking an earbud into his ear and holding the other out in thin air. “Can we?”

“Okay.” It comes out broken, reluctant, desperate.

And he gently puts the earbud in her ear and it’s their song, but this time they don’t do the regular choreography. This time is different because it’s the last. His arms wrap so naturally around her waist, holding her close and breathing in the scent of her hair. He wills time to stand still.

She’s visibly shaking again, and his strong hands rub her back in an attempt to calm the both of them down. He closes his eyes. Soojung. He blocks out Sehun’s words of long ago, warnings of inevitable heartbreak, but he doesn’t care. He holds her like his life depends on it, until her arms slacken and she pulls back. Regretful, determined, cracked.

He peers intently into her eyes and she breaks down right then and there. “I have to do this, I’m so sorry, Jongin,” she blubbers, melting to the ground while Jongin stands there in sad shock.

He nods like he understands but he actually doesn’t. But he knows that if there’s anything right to do in this heartbreaking situation, it is to try to understand. Because he loves her, he realizes. Because when you love someone, you’ll let her go even if it hurts. He reaches down to help her up, reveling in her warm hands in his. 

He doesn’t stop her when she walks toward her dorm door, her fingers slipping through his in the process. He doesn’t stop her when the door starts closing and her face slowly disappears – first the right side, and then the left. He doesn’t stop her even when she’s openly sobbing now and his heart is broken into a million little pieces.

He doesn’t stop her, because if dance has taught him anything, it has taught him that life is like the ebb and flow of the beat and melody: coming and going, in and out, entrances and exits.

There’s no stopping it; the music goes on.

So he does too.

(Or at least he tries.)

 

 

 

When she leaves, she changes her number and doesn’t check her email, and it’s like the beginning all over again – she is unreachable, put on a pedestal, silhouette against sunset hues. Funny how things always come full circle, he thinks to himself.

Theirs was a whirlwind romance: passionate, short-lived, like a fairy tale with its ending up in the air. People may ask if he ever regretted it – regrets loving her the way he did – and he says never. Because you can’t stop the beat from dropping, you can’t stop yourself from losing your breath – it just happens.

That’s what love is. It comes when you aren’t looking, when you’re chasing your own dream and someone else’s dream aligns with yours, even if it’s for a short while. It’s like two parallel lines that slowly make their way toward each other, and it’s at the intersection that the magic happens. But alas, the lines keep going, far after they have crossed.

 

 

 

 

author's note: thanks for reading! not my best work but i love dance and couldn't resist writing a kaistal au about it for nikka's birthday hehe. comments are appreciated :)