Sipping on my cup of iced caramel macchiato to combat the May heat, I make my way down the bustling street. The streets are flooded with people enjoying this warm Saturday by shopping, dining, or simply enjoying the music drifting out of the storefronts. I admire all the beautiful posh boutiques, makeup stores, and restaurants that line the streets, so vastly contrasting with the small-town life I grew accustomed to in Gunsan. I’ve spent hours wandering the streets trying to learn the nooks and crannies of the city I now inhabit. I  stop at the end of a somewhat familiar street that I believe will take me back to the apartment and wait for the light to turn green.

My eyes wander to a poster taped on the lamp post with a white arrow pointing to the right. It leads to another white arrow poster on the adjacent lamp post pointing right and that points to yet another arrow but this one points up.

Now facing a store across the street, I look up and see a sign "Dream Street Dance Studio." All I can do is stare while a bitter taste coats my mouth. It's a dance studio. The building has two massive windows on the left and right with a door to the entrance in the middle allowing bystanders to look into the studio and watch the dancers practice like a display case in stores. Memories of my dance crew and studio back home flash through my mind, once scenes of laughter and joy until they’re severed by the image of my parents’ crushed car and the doctor saying “I’m sorry” on an endless loop.

I sharply turn my head to the side to tear my gaze away from the studio and bite my tongue so hard that a metallic taste fills my mouth. You better not start crying. 

I feel the people around me start walking signaling that the light has turned green, but I’m so disoriented and lost in my thoughts that I don’t even realize what direction my body is being swept in as the sea of people moves me across the street.

Before I realize it, the crowd drops me off right in front of the studio and I’m left peering into the windows at the dancers. On the left side of the door, there are four girls popping and locking. They’re definitely a crew with how they effortlessly synchronize their moves together. They're grinning and laughing as they execute difficult moves and the bystanders cheer them on.  I shake off the intense feeling of longing as I am reminded of the crew and friends I left behind. I didn’t even tell them I was leaving, I couldn't bear to see the tears in their eyes or in most cases pity. I turn my attention to the right side of the door where there are six, no seven boys. I can barely see them through the crowd of fangirls surrounding their window.

“Damn, Hoseok is so fine! I still can’t believe he’s dating that ugly cow over there,” one of the fangirls says pointing to the other window where the group of girls is practicing.

I don’t understand what these girls are going crazy over. The boys just looked like regular dancers to me. Truth be told, I was more impressed with the girl group. I turn to leave but freeze mid-step when a mass of screams erupt like Jay Park just arrived on the scene, I turn around just in time to see the boys have lifted up their shirts exposing their chiseled bodies as part of the “choreography.” Now that was something to scream about.

Trying not to drool from the gorgeous mass of abs before me, my eyes focus on a particular boy dressed