#beginningscollab

The ocean waves clamour nearby as you stare down at the skateboard and concrete pavement beneath your sneakers in frustration.

The weight of your helmet and the wrist guards are blatant in your every movement. Sure, it’s a little embarrassing at your age, but it’d be best to rather be safe than sorry.

Thankfully, they’ve been coming in handy during the times you almost fell and slipped off of your boyfriend’s skateboard. It may have been his idea to try to learn, but you weren’t opposed to it, thinking it’d be easy.

They say things are easier said than done, and now you’re forced to admit skateboarding definitely falls under that list.

“Yes, you can,” Yangyang softly says. Beside you, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, causing you to peer into his gleaming eyes and bright smile.

Despite the recentness of your relationship, your boyfriend’s patience and encouragement feels like routine, like he’s been by your side for your entire life. His words don’t fall on deaf ears; you parrot his smile and muster a small nod, albeit glancing away shyly.

“Just think about all the times you’ve watched me skate past the library and copy what I did.”

Petulantly, you stick your tongue out. “It wasn’t that often.”

Disbelief reflects back at you in the form of an eyebrow raise.

“Really?”

“Really!”

Around mid-September, in the most modern, glass-structured library on campus, you found a studying area that was perfect for you.

Main floor, nearby the entrance doors for an easy exit when class was about to roll around. A high stool chair that was cushioned comfortably for endless hours of equal parts studying and procrastination. Plugs and desk space galore.

Above all, it was perfect because you had the picturesque view of the boy who always skated every other day around 11:50am towards his next class across the wide stoned boulevard in front of the library.

You noticed him the first few times when you initially sat upstairs. Even from afar and above, your interest was piqued over how coolly he skated past all the students. There were only so many students who biked to their next class, and even less who skateboarded.

And after you decided to sit downstairs for once to finally steal a closer glimpse of him, you were completely smitten upon capturing his handsome features.

Thus, your heart constantly raced in anticipation when 11:50am hit, as students scattered all across campus during this transition period. 

With a thumb tucked in his pocket and headphones over his ears to boot, the mystery skater boy often slid past around 11:55am, making your mind wonder where his former class was and where he was going. Was he in Engineering? Arts? Business?

The latter option didn’t seem likely since his style didn’t echo the stereotypical look of the faculty. Dark coloured hoodies and sweaters, bomber jackets, and skinny jeans were his usual choice of fashion, alongside the occasional baseball cap. And on the days he wore his cap backwards, he was truly in his skater element.

No matter, you always swooned with your chin perched atop your fist or resting inside your palm as he passed by. The brief sighting of him easily became the highlight of your day.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t try to look for him in your classes, but to no avail. You had to live with the fact that you’d only get to know him in passing as he skated on by the library.

When the mere hoodies and sweaters were exchanged for heavier, thicker jackets and coats, he still continued to traverse across campus via his unsurprising mode of transportation. You especially admired his dedication on the days filled with rain and wind, wishing there was some way for you to ease his trips to his next class.

All throughout the couple of months, he was consistent in attending that one class.

Except one day.

It was a Friday, about a week or two near finals season. The weather was quite chilly now, but snow wouldn’t be an issue until after winter break and well into the next semester, so there wasn’t any reason for him to not use his skateboard still.

Maybe he was sick at home, you thought. Pouting, you tried not to dwell over the stranger because that’s all what he was. 

Someone you didn’t know, someone you only watched from afar. Someone that filled your daydreams, pondering what he’d be like and what’d you two could talk about... but nevertheless a stranger.

Oddly enough, about an hour past noon, someone dragged you out of your thoughts momentarily as they unusually sat nearby your spot. 

The unspoken library etiquette was to sit as far away from others for more personal space, especially in the area where you frequented. You tried your best to ignore the shuffling of the person placing their laptop and books onto the elongated wall-length table, feigning laser-focus on your notes.  

But a few moments later, you heard a whisper coming from their direction.

“Is this your favourite spot in the library?”

“Hm?” you hummed, dragging your headphones down to your shoulders as you swivelled towards the seated stranger. Air seized in your lungs and your eyebrows shot up.

The gorgeous skater boy glowed with rosy cheeks from the cold air outside, paired with his stunning smile. You realized this was the first time you’ve ever seen him smile—preciously, by the way, with his teeth on full display—and your heart stirred like crazy.

A beat stretched out. Your jaw hung in shock and you blinked blankly. Guess you solved the mystery as to where he was today.

He beamed more intensely at your awe struck and continued to whisper, “I always see you sitting here when I get to my next class.”

“Uhm,” your jaw snapped up, prior to your dry gulp. “What?”

“Yeah,” his deep chuckling tickled your ear. God, of course a smooth voice matched a face like that. “you stare out the window so cutely whenever I pass by the library.”

A record scratched, then you rewound the moment in your head. Not only did he knew you existed but...

Did he just called you cute?

Catching on with awareness over his own words, the skater boy pouted to one side. His cheek jutted out adorably and red seemed to crawl over them, progressing over to the tips of his ears too.

Light giggling from both parties filled the space, with you tucking your hair behind your ear and him tugging on the ends of his sweater paws.

“So, are you skipping class?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

“Yeah,” he replied, gesturing towards his busy study set-up ahead of him. It was a similar scene to yours—notes layered and layered upon each other, a laptop which displayed more notes, and a few textbooks were open too. “When you need to skip a class to study for another class...”

You nodded sympathetically, pointing a finger to your organized mess to imply the same. “Finals season.”

He nodded as well in unity and you two exchanged another round of smiles.

“I’m Yangyang.”

With that, introductions were made and bits of information were shared. Your hunch was right—he was in Engineering, but he also had some elective labs that were being held in the Science side of campus. Made sense why he had to navigate across campus from one end to the other.

Before the conversation began to get carried away, he issued a small apology. “Sorry, I really shouldn’t be interrupting your studying. I’ll leave you be.”

Admittedly, it caught you off guard. You wanted to pipe up about how he wasn’t interrupting, that you wanted to dive into getting to know him more. You’ve seen him practically almost every day for the last couple of months and you didn’t want to let this chance slip through your fingers.   

Yet, at the same time, you begrudgingly knew he was right. You had to study for your upcoming in-class final, so you held your thoughts back and unwillingly turned back to your responsibility at hand. 

It was difficult to study with skater boy being in the same vicinity as you—practically an arm’s length away from you—but you eventually tampered down your jitters and honed your attention.

Hours passed. Neither of you really shifted much besides the casual stretching or the much needed break to the bathroom.

Darkness loomed in the winter sky and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him writing, which he hadn’t done during the time he’d been there.

And then, after an ear-piercing slow rip of paper that echoed in the library, he slid that piece of paper in your direction with one simple question that ignited the spark for the beginning of you and him—

I know we just met, but do you want to go out sometime?

“’Cause if I recall...” Yangyang continues, breaking you away from your bout of reminiscing. He absentmindedly tucks away some loose strands of hair sticking out of your helmet. “You watched me at least since the beginning of last semester—”

“Nu-uh,” you cut in, lying in a childish tone.

“Yuh-huh,” he rebuttals.

Under the warm afternoon sunlight, you two begin to have a staring contest, squinting and playfully seething at one another. When your boyfriend squints harder with a ruffle of his nose, you follow suit. Eventually, you give in with a sigh.

“Okay, fine. Even if I did watch you a lot, it doesn’t mean I can just absorb your skateboarding skills through memory.”

Cockiness fades over his joking exterior as he flashes you a shit-eating grin. “It’s cause you were too busy focusing on my handsome face.”

Becoming second nature for you by now as he’s often like this, you roll your eyes and lightly punch him in the arm, but... he isn’t wrong.

And from your lack of an articulate response, Yangyang knows he’s right.

Sparing you from injuring your pride further, he swings the conversation back to what you were doing here in the first place. 

A hand of his steadies you by the bottom of your back. “Balancing feels weird, I know, but you’ll get the hang of it. Let’s try again.”

Releasing a lengthy exhale, your head bounces fervently in hopes that false confidence and your boyfriend’s support can morph into a successful skateboard run.

The careful push he gives you is ample enough to have you ride down the street by yourself. Your body wavers side by side and you fear that you’ll teeter to a stop like all the other times, but somehow, your foot swipes across the pavement, carrying you further down the street.

It’s not fast by any means, but as you persistently execute it, you gain traction and see yourself finally riding without any issues.  

“Yangyang, I got it. I got it!” you shriek as you quickly glance back towards him.

He radiates in response and gets lost in you, equally proud that you finally found your balance and basking in how stunning you look as you coast down the beach side street.

However, his trance breaks when he sees you’re about to hit the edge of a street curb.

“Babe, watch ou—”

The scene happens fast. You’re suddenly laying on a patchy part of the grass, with the skateboard by your feet. Yangyang bolts to you, hunching down as he daintily tugs you to sit upward.

“You okay?” he pants nervously.

At first, you nod without a thought since the helmet and wrist guards have saved you from any potential major injuries. 

However, your boyfriend’s eyes widen when out of nowhere, you draw in air between clenched teeth. Your butt feels as if it’s on fire, since it was actually the body part that mostly broke your fall.  

He suggests to sit here for a while to let the pain dissipate, reassuring you’ll be fine from his own past experiences. 

As you rest awkwardly beside him on the grass, placing weight on your hip rather than your rear end, he aids you in ridding of your safety gear. Once they’re off, he kisses your hand tenderly.

“Maybe we should leave the skateboarding to me, for now,” he mumbles softly into your skin, leaving another kiss upon your hand.

You mope in agreement. “Maybe so...”

Caressed in his arms, you link eyes with him. Your eyes flutter to a close while he delicately eases you into him by the back of your neck.

The intense pressing of his lips against yours feels heavenly, almost entirely sedating your mild pain. He kisses you deeper, disregarding everyone and everything in proximity. You reciprocate it all back eagerly, cupping his cheek and gripping onto his strong frame as you do so.

Peeling away breathlessly, you tip your forehead against his. “Should we go back to the library and have me watch you longingly from our old spot?”

Yangyang hurriedly shakes his head.

“Nope. Never again,” he replies, his thumb stroking your cheek. “If you’re watching me skateboard, you’ll be doing it by my side from now on, beautiful.”

As the scorching rays of the summer sun beat down onto the school field, Jisung brought his blazer further over his head to shield him from the sun’s glare, squinting his eyes to try and watch the dance performance he had up on his phone, his limbs subconsciously moving along to the music playing in his headphones, imitating the moves he saw on screen without even realising he was doing so.

He was, in fact, so caught up in following along with the dancer’s moves, that he didn’t notice the soccer ball flying towards him at a hundred miles per hour—well, at least, not until it hit him right in the face—but even then, Jisung’s only priority was retrieving the headphone that had fallen out of his ear, crouching down on the grass and feeling around for the petite thing.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry about that! You were sitting in the shade and– and I didn’t see you under your blazer, and I just, I didn’t think it was gonna hit you… that hard, are you okay?”

Jisung’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice, he wasn't expecting to hear such worry, much less was he expecting to be met with such a concerned gaze and a smile more dazzling than the soft haze of sunlight that was glowing around you that somewhat resembled a halo—which wouldn’t surprise Jisung considering you looked like the embodiment of an angel.

It had taken a few seconds for him to realise he had been too busy admiring you that he had yet to respond, nor had he taken the hand you held out to him.

“Oh, um, yeah, I-I’m fine! Don’t worry about it, it didn’t even hurt that much anyways,” Jisung gushed, his cheeks flushing a bright shade of coral when your eyes met as you helped him up.

“Gosh, your cheek is getting so red too, I really hope it doesn’t leave a mark, again, I’m so sorry, uh...?” You trailed off, tilting your head and letting go of the boy’s hand to shield your eyes from the blazing sun.

“Jisung, Park Jisung.” He brought his empty hand back to scratch his nape, a shy smile creeping up onto his face and his eyes curving into pretty little crescents, “and like I said, it’s all good... oh I– uh, I didn’t catch your name either.”

“Y/N, Y/N L/N,” you imitated Jisung’s previous response, grinning at him and in return, earning a quiet giggle from him, before picking up your ball and running back towards your friends.

“I guess that ball wasn’t the only thing that hit you today, Sung. Pretty sure you just got hit by Cupid’s arrow,” Jisung’s best friend, Chenle, who had been quietly observing the whole scene from his spot under the shade of a tree, teased, nudging his blushing friend.

CLASS NO. 1

The loudest thing in your ears as you enter the front room of the dance studio is the click of heels against the floor. The front room is a tiny 6x6 foot room toward the entrance of the studio, and past the door is the large open space where you’ll be doing the worst: dancing. Glancing down at your worn sneakers, a pair of Converse which were once white (now gray), you frown.

Damn, you curse. We were supposed to wear heels?

“Yes, (Name), that’s like, the first rule of a ballroom dancing class,” you hear your best friend’s voice inside your ear. You hadn’t realized you had said your thoughts aloud. 

“Well,” you say with the phone pressed to your cheek, a defensive tone slipping into your voice. “I wouldn’t know.” 

“Clearly,” snickers Jeno back at you over the phone. 

“Who knows, maybe you’ll attract someone who’ll actually want to dance with you, in those shoes. I mean, who signs up for a partner dance class without a partner?”

“Me,” you quip back immediately, placing your bag down on one of the benches. Okay, perhaps it did sound ridiculous but, you had signed up banking on the hope that someone else would be just as partnerless as you. “Just why does my aunt want all her bridesmaids and their dates to dance in the reception? Now I have to learn how to dance and find a date. She’s asking too much of me!” You take a seat and lean down to tighten your laces. “Seriously, Jen, why can’t you just skip the conference and be my date?”

Jeno sighs over the line. “We’ve already been over this, the conference invitation came before the wedding announcement so, I have to keep my commitments—”

“I know, I know, but every time we talk about it it just seems more and more like you want your best friend to suffer,” you pout, looping the shoelace into the bunny ear. 

“I’m sure you’ll find someone to go to the wedding with.” 

“We’ll see. Anyways,” you say, glancing at the clock on the wall. Five minutes to class, but you can already tell some people are warming up inside by the sound of footsteps on the floor in the adjacent room. You rise to your feet and make your way to the entrance of the studio. “I gotta go. I’ll text you later.”

“Don’t trip over your own feet,” teases Jeno.

As you push open the door, you mumble, “Yeah, yea—Woah!”

Within moments, you’re no longer on two feet. Instead, you’ve tripped over a loose shoelace—how did you manage to miss that?—and you’re freefalling toward the ground. You close your eyes to prepare for impact, fully ready to meet the ground, but you never do. 

Instead, there’s a very secure pair of arms holding you, one on your shoulders and another supporting your waist. Your eyes are closed tightly, and you’re pretty sure you heard your phone hit the floor just a few seconds ago. 

Oh god, you just literally tripped over your own feet. Damn you, Jeno Lee. 

You have to open your eyes and face all the people in the room staring at you, and worst of all, the unlucky soul who caught you. 

But you don’t want to. 

Okay. Okay, just do it. Just open your eyes and apologize. 

Light seeps into your eyes as you force your eyes open, and find yourself looking directly into the eyes of your savior. Soft brown fringe falls over chestnut shaded eyes, amusement dancing in the dark orbs as they gaze down at you. The arms around you feel secure, as though they were strong and, honestly, quite used to carrying such weight.

And his lips, they’re spread into a soft smile which reflects such glee that, if you hadn’t been in this predicament, you’d have wanted to feel the joy too.

He speaks, voice alight with mirth:

 “I don’t think falling over is the right way to start a dance class.”

God, even his voice is nice. 

Gently, the beguiling stranger stands you up straight, and you find balance on your own two feet again. Heat rises to your cheeks, and you can feel your chagrin grow at all the eyes on you. But he doesn’t seem to care, still smiling at you brightly. His arms unlock from around your waist, and the security is gone. “That was quite an entrance,” he comments, a small chortle leaving him. Your face grows warmer; why is he emphasizing on your mistake? He reaches a hand out, as though to shake yours, but you immediately duck down to retie your shoelaces—god, that was so embarrassing! You should have known better than to try and take a dance class. You danced like you had two left feet, after all.

Your fingers work slowly, hoping that he’ll get the hint and walk away. But before that can happen, a stern voice calls out from the front of the room. “Taro! Come back here, let’s start.”

“Coming.”

In seconds, the boy is gone from your side and has instead taken a spot at the front near the mirror. The owner of the voice now speaks, the boy standing next to him.

“Welcome everybody to Ballroom 101. This course will teach you and your partner, hopefully, how to successfully get the basics of ballroom dancing in only seven classes. Today, we’re just gonna be focusing on the history of ballroom dancing and the basics.”

You rise back to your feet and breathe a small sigh of relief. Now, everyone’s attention has been averted to the instructor. “Now, ballroom dancing is said to originate back from the 16th century—oh wait, I’m Taeyong, your instructor, and this is Taro, my assistant.”

He’s the teaching assistant?

CLASS NO. 2

Today’s the day, the day you’ve dreaded all week: today you start actually dancing. 

The worst part? You still haven’t found a partner, and it seems that there’s no one else in the class going solo. “Alright, everyone, grab your partner and spread out on the floor. I’ll start teaching the first basic step of the waltz,” instructs Taeyong. You sigh. Maybe signing up for a partner dance class without a partner was a bad idea in hindsight.

You’re standing alone partnerless in the corner when he notices you. “You, in the back. You don’t have a partner?” Shamefully, you shake your head no. “That’s fine, Taro, go be her partner.” 

And then he does, the chocolate haired boy from last week (who you had, thankfully, not fallen into this time) jogs over to your side and offers you yet another bright smile. 

“Everyone get into beginning position.” 

So easily, the boy places his hand out and, with a tilt of his head to ask permission, places his hand on your hip. Gingerly, you put your hand in his. He’s so close, but he doesn’t seem to mind; he must be used to this, as a dancer. 

You’re only half-listening to Taeyong as he teaches the first basic step of the waltz, when he speaks. “You’re wearing heels today.”

In fact, you are. If there was one thing you took away from last week’s class, it was that shoelaces were a no. However, you didn’t know that he had noticed your shoes last week. Cautiously, you nod. “I am.” Slowly, surely, he starts to lead the two of you in whatever step Taeyong taught, as though his mind didn’t even need to process it. Though you stumble at first, you try to follow. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, a sad laugh leaving you. “I’m a horrible dancer.” 

He shakes his head, shrugging though he wears a friendly smile. “Don’t apologize. I mean, that’s what everyone’s here for, right? To learn how to dan—mmph!”

Oh shit, you stepped on his toe. “I’m sorry!” You instantly exclaim, frowning. “Oh my god, I told you. I swear, I have two left feet.”

Strangely, he doesn’t look angry or in pain. He only laughs, adorable dark eyes crinkling into crescents before you. “You do?”

“No, but I dance like it,” you sigh.

Another laugh erupts from him. You weren’t… trying to make a joke.

“You’re really funny, you know that?” No, you didn’t. You were still struggling to follow along with this dance step, feet stumbling. You didn’t really have space in your mind to make jokes. 

But for some reason, the sound of his laughter and knowing that you caused it, helped you maintain your balance. You give him a small smile. Maybe this class won’t be so bad, after all.

CLASS NO. 3

“So your name’s Taro?” You ask in a low voice at the back of the room as Taeyong speaks at the front.

“Mhmm.”

“Like the root? The bubble tea flavor?” 

He giggles. “No, not like the root, silly. My name’s Shotaro. Taro for short.”

You really like his laugh. You’ve heard it a lot, though you haven’t tried so hard to amuse him, you wonder if he likes laughing at your words as much as you like listening to him laugh. “And what’s yours?”

“(Name),” you tell him softly. 

“Do you at least like taro bubble tea?”

You chuckle, but try to keep it quiet so as to not disturb the instructor. “It may or may not be one of my favorites… Do you ballroom dance a lot?”

Stupid question. Of course he ballroom dances a lot, he’s the teaching assistant! He only nods, as though your question wasn’t blatantly obvious. “Yeah, but I do a lot of other styles too. I mostly only do ballroom because I get paid,” he says playfully. 

“Oh,” he adds. “And because I get to dance with you.”

CLASS NO. 4

“Okay, everyone. Today we’re learning our first basic routine. Very exciting, very exciting,” chants Taeyong from the mirror. “You’ll be working on perfecting this routine for the next few classes, then perform it on the last day to show your mastery. You know the drill, get with your guy or gal. I’ll start teaching you the first few steps.”

As per usual, you and Shotaro take space near the back. It’s very disappointing of you to conversate so much, but you like talking to him more than you like dancing. “Hey,” says Shotaro while he holds his hand out for you as always. 

“Hmm?”

“Will you stick around for a bit after class?”

You place your hand into his, and it’s comfortable. You’ve grown slightly more confident in your ability not to trip over your own feet since advancing in your classes, though you’re still not completely sure you won’t fall over at the wedding. For now though, at least you know Shotaro will always catch you. “Sure,” you agree with a nod. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” he says, getting into position as Taeyong starts to teach. “Just wanna show you something.”

As thirty minutes pass and Taeyong dedicates time to teaching the choreography to a basic beginner routine, you try your best to focus. The wedding is getting closer, after all. When you come to a move you have trouble with, Shotaro helps you graciously. Maybe the key is a great partner, after all.

“Alright, great work everyone. Let’s try it to music now.” 

A button is pressed on the speaker and for the first time, the gentle sound of music fills the dance studio with a soft tune. 

Take my hand, take a breath. Pull me close, and take one step.

Wait, you realize. 

Keep your eyes locked on mine. And let the music be your guide.

You know this song.

“Really? High School Musical?” You question, holding back a laugh. It’s ‘Can I Have This Dance’ from the classic Disney series. 

“High School Music 3: Senior Year, actually,” corrects Shotaro pointedly. “Put some respect on the name.”

This time, you actually release your laugh. “I just didn’t think a class like this would use Disney music.” 

“Why not? It’s a classic. And besides, have you seen a better produced ballroom dance scene in modern day film?” It seems like he’s very committed to the pride of High School Musical, and you can’t help but find it amusing. “That’s one of my favorite dance scenes in a movie, period.” 

“Alright, Taro. I’m sorry for offending Zac Efron,” you say as you prepare to begin the routine. “I won’t do it again.” 

“Zac Efron forgives you.” 

Thankfully, the sound of the music masks your rather loud snort.

When class ends, Shotaro gestures you into the back room and though you’re unsure if you’re allowed back there where it’s employees only, you follow him. From the mini fridge in the back of Taeyong’s office, he pulls out a taro bubble tea, and you feel a little more than grateful for your partnership with this boy who’s sweeter than milk tea itself.

CLASS NO. 5

Today Taeyong has left you to yourselves, allowing everyone to work on the routine as they’d wish, to practice the choreography before it’s to be performed at the last class. Unexpectedly, you and Shotaro have had little trouble with the dance. You’re no longer stepping on his feet, thankfully.

“So I never got to ask you,” Shotaro speaks up suddenly as you’re both grabbing water on the sidelines. “Why did you take this class if you didn’t have a partner?” 

“Oh,” you start. “My aunt asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. I have to perform a dance at the reception with my date, and… you’ve seen me dance, so. Yikes.” 

He nods in understanding, though falling quiet for a second. You’re about to ask what’s on his mind when he asks, “So you don’t have a date for the wedding?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, you said you have to perform a dance with your date. And seeing as you came to this class without a partner…”

“Oh… Well, yeah. I’m working on it.” Not really. The wedding date is approaching closer; it’s in less than a month! And though you should be working harder on finding someone to take with you (who hopefully can already dance), it’s been at the back of your mind. 

From beside you, water bottle in his hand, Shotaro hums in thought. 

CLASS NO. 6 

It’s your second to last class when Shotaro suddenly asks: 

“How’s the date search?” 

You blink. “... It’s going fine, I guess.” You hadn’t thought he’d be interested to know. 

“So you found a date?”

Another pause from you before you sigh. “Okay, okay, so I don’t have a date yet. So what? I’m thinking maybe I’ll just ask my aunt to sit out.”

“But then your time and money for this class would have been wasted?” 

You think about the things you’ve done and learned in this class. You think about backstage bubble tea, Zac Efron, and how you rewatched all the High School Musical movies just to see that coveted scene he liked so much. “No,” you shake your head. “I don’t think it was a waste at all.”

‘Can I Have This Dance’ plays in the background as he asks, “Are you sad the class’ll be ending soon?”

Honestly… yes. You’d miss seeing his face and feeling the secure comfort of his hold, and cracking jokes, and his laugh. “Maybe a little bit. Why? Are you gonna miss hanging out with me for two hours every week?” You joke. 

His voice is quiet and serious, unlike the Shotaro you’ve grown accustomed to, when he says, “Maybe more than a little bit for me.”

CLASS NO. 7

You don’t know why class got pushed back two hours from it’s normal time, but you feel like you’re late when you walk into the front room of the dance studio at three o’clock instead of your normal one o’clock. The classic HSM song is playing through the walls as you take off your sneakers and slip on your heels, and something tells you you’re really, really late.

When you push open the door, you’re met with a surprise.

No, you don’t trip over air and freefall into the arms of another charming stranger, but it’s something else. Everyone is already here, and they’re all staring at you once again. 

But it’s different this time: the usually plain dance studio is decorated with clusters of beautiful white balloons near the ceiling, and the usual lamp that sprays an unsightly yellow light across the room has been replaced by hundreds of tiny fairy lights. White paper hearts line the floor like confetti. You’ve never seen the dance studio, a place you’ve dreaded since the beginning of time, to be capable of looking so elegant.

The music starts from the beginning.

Take my hand, take a breath. Pull me close, and take one step.

In the weeks of taking this class, you’ve learned the lyrics to this song by heart. 

Won’t you promise me, that you’ll never forget To keep dancing wherever we go next.

As the chorus approaches, everyone gathers to their partners and begins to dance. The clicks of heels against the floor is perfectly synchronized to every beat, and for a moment you feel proud. 

It’s like catching lightning, the chances of finding someone like you. It’s one in a million, the chances of feeling the way we do. And with every step together, we just keep on getting better. So can I have this dance?

You know the routine of course, you’ve learned and practiced it yourself. Yet, it’s different. 

Whereas you had all been practicing for weeks in your solitary spaces, sometimes running into each other when someone stepped out of their bubble, the other pairs are moving. They weave in and out of each other like a comfortable formation, and that’s when you realize that this is more than a simple routine: this has been designed perfectly and intricately. 

It’s beautiful, and you never could have seen dancing to be such an… enchanting art that could leave you speechless in this way. 

No mountain’s too high and no ocean’s too wide. Cause together or not, our dance won’t stop.

As the song nears its end, you find Shotaro. He’s not dancing, but standing off to the side watching just as proudly as you are. In a white suit he stands, looking suited and formal but his brown hair still falls over his eyes comfortably. But, is he behind all this? And why hadn’t you been in on it?

Let it rain, let it pour. What we have is worth fighting for. You know I believe That we were meant to be, yeah.

He meets your eyes with a smile, and your heart warms.

The song ends, the gentle lilted tune fading out from the speakers and he approaches you with that charming smile that you had admired the second you looked up from his arms. “Hi,” is the first thing he says.

You laugh in amazement, and while looking over the fabric of his suit, you respond. “Hi… this is pretty fancy for a dance class.”

This draws a laugh from him, and he nods. “Yeah, well, I was hoping to wear it to a wedding. You know,” he starts, and you look up at him with the stars in your eyes, holding on to every word. “I didn’t think that someone who quite literally fell into my arms on the first day of a dance class would become my favorite person I’ve ever danced with. I think if life literally throws something at you, then it’s meant to be, you know?”

Yeah, you know. Because since meeting him, it’s begun to feel like every trip and fall was just taking you a step closer to him. 

“I don’t want to stop seeing you after this class ends. I like talking to you, dancing with you, I like the crinkle in your nose when you laugh, and I don’t want that to end.”

“So,” he says, stepping back and holding out his hand to you. Though it’s not the first time, you feel electric when you place your hand in his. “Will you be my date to your aunt’s wedding?”

This brings a laugh to your lips. “You’re asking me to my own aunt’s wedding?”

“Okay, maybe it’s a little unorthodox, but so is falling into the arms of a stranger you’ve never met before.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you dismiss with a roll of your eyes. “Stop bringing it up.”

Now, he wears a mischievous smile. “Only if you say yes.”

“Yes,” you declare. “Of course I’ll go to the wedding with you.”

You’d thought that you’ve seen the brightest of Shotaro’s smiles yet, whether shared over boba or behind quiet jokes at the back of the studio, but you were wrong. The grin he wears now shines, like the glimmer of the fairy lights behind him. “You’re amazing,” he muses. 

Playfully, you shrug. “I know.” 

“Prove it.”

“How?” 

He holds a hand out, a familiar gesture. “We still have a routine to do,” he says, nudging his head in Taeyong’s direction. He’s right, you still have to prove your mastery of this class. “So…” 

That was until later that day when your class was situated on the carpet where your teacher was reading a story about farm animals. You were sitting cross-legged next to one of your friends in the second row on the carpet so you would be able to pay close attention to the story — it was your favourite part of the day after all. But when your teacher finished her story there was still a few minutes left before the last bell rang for the day, so instead of sitting in the front of the class she returned to her desk.

“Grade 2s, please turn around to face me,” your teacher told you. “You can talk to the person next to you while we wait for the end of day announcements, but remember, there are other classes around so keep it as quiet as possible.”

You and your classmates all turned to your left meaning you were now sitting in front of your friend and were now sitting next to the person who sat behind — someone you hadn’t met before. You recognised him as he was in your line of sight from where you sat on the other side of the classroom, but you never got to speak to him until this moment.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you smile as you introduce yourself to the boy, extending your hand in greeting.

“Hi,” he smiled brightly at you, shaking your hand with his own. “My name is Chittaphon.”

“Chitta… Chit… Chitta…” you trail on quietly, not quite remembering how he had said his name, a warmth spreading on your cheeks as you tried to repeat his name.

But by the giggle he produced, it seemed he didn’t mind that you were finding it difficult to say his name. “Don’t worry, most grown ups don’t even know how to say my name.”

“So, what do they call you?” you asked him, resting your elbows on your knees.

“Everyone calls me Ten,” he explained. “You’re actually one of the first people to try to say my name before asking for my nickname.”

“How do you say it again?” you ask him, and his once neutral face changes to a bright one.

“Yeah, it’s—” but as soon as he’s about to repeat his name, the bell rings, meaning it was time to go home. So, your teacher dismisses you all after you greeted each other and you go into the passage to collect your schoolbag and towards the exit, but you feel a hand on your shoulder. You look to your left and see Ten walking with you to where the parents pick-up their children after school.

“It’s Chittaphon,” he reminds you, and he begins to giggle when you try to say his name, interrupting you. “How about I teach you how to say my name tomorrow? Before school starts? I’ll write it down for you and everything.”

“Oh, okay,” you smile, walking away from him as you saw your mom exit her car. “My mom is here; I should get going. Bye, Ten!”

“Bye, (Y/N)! Nice to meet you!” he exclaimed, waving at you as you ran towards your mom.

“Hello, sweetie,” your mom greets you, bending down to give you a welcoming hug before she opens the backdoor for you. “Who was that boy you were talking to you?”

“My new friend, Ten!”

The first encounter with him was rather ominous. You had been working on a project during the late hours of the night, struggling to figure out how to word vomit the last three pages of your essay. It was autumn, where the evenings come quicker and the orange leaves scatter the campus like artwork. It was also one of the hardest seasons to adjust during school, where assignments seem absolutely endless before the winter holidays.

It was just you there in the corridors, your table being messy from all your notes and empty cups of coffee. You had been alone for hours, or so you had thought. Throughout all your concentration, the sound of falling books broke you from your blinding screen. Slowly, you turned around to examine the empty library, not a single human in sight. 

When you had settled back in your seat, an object rolled and hit the leg of your table. A can of coffee with a post it note patiently waited for you to pick it up. 

Goodluck Nakamoto

It was unclear if the message was addressed to Nakamoto or if it was signed by him. Nonetheless, you placed it on your desk and hoped the owner would stop by to retrieve it soon. If not, it was going to be your source of good luck for the night. And it did, whoever it belonged to never showed up that night to reclaim it. 

However, that name stuck around for longer than you were aware. Although you didn’t give the mysterious coffee another thought, it wasn’t the last time you’d hear that name. Coffee became a big part of your mid-years in college, to the point where you’d get up early just to get your regular dose of delicious caffeine. 

It was slightly odd; there were two coffee shops you bounced between depending on your mood that specific day. One was on campus and usually much more crowded with impatient college students and a louder buzz. The other was a short walk away around a quiet corner, with much more trendy decor and comfortable seating to bask in your main character coffee shop moments. 

Both shops you have accidentally grabbed someone else’s drink, but both times you never realized until after you finished and tossed the cup. The name written Nakamoto or initials Y.N scribbled on the side in permanent black ink didn’t ever phase you. 

Though you have never questioned the name, you did always seem to see a young man waiting for coffee around the same time as you or wandering the halls in the library. His silver hair was eye-catchingly significant, he wasn’t ever hard to miss. You’d recognize those striking locks anywhere, right?

Wrong. A night out on Halloween was enough proof that you weren’t able to pinpoint the silver hair boy from anywhere. Whichever one of your friends believed that a masquerade party was a fantastic idea was clearly too drunk to care at the end of it all. You don’t meet strangers faceless and you weren’t going to find your love at first sight here.

It was a rough night; while your friends paraded around the crowded living room with large amounts of alcohol swishing in their stomachs, you found a place away from the center crowd chaos. However, this made you vulnerable as you stood alone with no friends, no one else by your side. Oddly enough, you being alone seemed like an invitation for unwanted strangers to come with bad intentions. 

Your friends were nowhere to be found, lost in a heavy crowd of masked individuals. You really thought you were screwed as a hunky man approached with a wicked smile on his face. He asked you if you wanted company --- you didn’t. He asked if you wanted a drink --- you didn’t. You wished for him to leave you alone --- he didn’t. 

All until someone came to your rescue. A brown-haired boy with a full face mask and piercings that lined his ears swooped in front of you, creating a barrier between you and the unwanted stranger. 

“Is this man bothering you?” The sudden boy questioned, his eyes were fierce and friendly all at the same time. His mask stood out amongst all the generic ones, the black dazzling gems lined along the outer perimeter and the decorative black ink drew dancing swirls in the white space. 

Your small nod confirmed your uneasiness, the boy to the rescue sized up the other man. “It’s funny how you think you have a chance with someone as beautiful as her.” His shift in attitude felt so natural, as his sharp eyes turned threatening and the tone in his voice lowered several octaves.

“And who the hell are you?” 

The strange hero stands with his chest puffed out, though he may be an average height. His aura colored him in the strongest colors and a feeling that was secure, confident, safe. His fingers found yours in the heat of the moment, index finger wrapped around your own and then completely. Your hands held each other in the darkness, the energy that surged through your veins was electrifying. Incredibly enthralling. 

It’s as if his hand was made to fit your own. Nonetheless, you blinked down at your intertwined hands and wondered why it felt so beautiful to be holding this random stranger’s hand. 

“Not important. What is important is the fact that she is my girlfriend, and we’d both like for you to leave us the fuck alone.” His words were so polite, yet scary all at once. You can’t fathom ever knowing a person with such an ambiance.

Girlfriend. The way the word rolled from his lips shocked you, how was it so easy? 

Without another word or protest, the bulky man walked off with eyes rolled to the ceiling. The brown haired boy turned to face you, hand dropped from yours immediately. You were brought back to reality as you stared back at the masked man. You couldn’t see it, but something inside of you knew that he was smiling back at you. And you didn’t know it yet, but it was the most beautiful smile shining back at you. 

“Thank you.” These two words were not enough to display how sincere you felt for his help.

“No need for that. Let me introduce myself.” He cleared his throat, “I’m--”

“Hey!” Another stranger interrupted, a hand placed on the boy’s shoulder. “We were looking all over for you. Come on, we’re going to head to another party. Too many creeps.” 

He laughed, “tell me about it. Stay safe out here.” He patted your shoulder and just like that, the masked boy walked out of your life without an identity. 

But you dreamed about that masked boy for the rest of your days. You dreamed about him so much that he suddenly felt so familiar to you and your biggest regret was not stopping him for a name.

Yuta never thought twice about the disappearances of his coffees, mistaken orders happen more often than not. Passing strangers come and go through people’s lives until they are no longer strangers. And, if he didn’t pay close enough attention, he probably wouldn’t have even thought twice about how there was a familiar face around him. 

However, he couldn’t ignore your presence. It’s something about how you enter the room, the coffee shop bell rings at the sound of an entrance and despite all the times he doesn't look up, the one time he does, you enter through the glass door. Every time. 

Or how he’d walk in different aisles of the library, and there you are sitting at a table on the same side. 

The night of the masquerade party, he swore, holding that stranger’s hand felt like something unreal. In his head, he even wondered what the chances were that it was you. Although this man was never one to believe in soulmates, the mysterious occurrences did have him questioning the thought of it. 

“I don’t understand, you are such a catch. Nakamoto Yuta, the soccer star.” His friend lightly elbows him in the ribs. They pass the ball between their legs across the large green field. If there was one place on campus where Yuta could be found, it would be this place. His serenity.

“Just because you got into a relationship, doesn’t give you the right to start discussing mine.” Yuta chuckles, kicking the ball into the net goal with his strength.

“It has me just wondering. Dude, you’re actually cool and good looking.” His friend huffs, catching his breath from running around.

“I haven’t met anyone that I want to potentially get into something with.” Yuta falls to the ground, the sky above him and the sun shining so bright. The clouds float gently, such a nice day today. 

“You know what, my girlfriend has a friend that I think you’d get along with.” His friend joins by his side on the grass, “I only met her once, but she seems nice.” 

“What else is she like?” Slightly intrigued, Yuta props up on his elbows.

“It’s hard to explain, but it could be some potential soulmate shit.” They both burst into laughter, completely clueless at the implications of that sentence. “I can set you two up.” 

“I mean, it’s not the worst idea.” Yuta jokes, but his friend is already dialing his girlfriend’s number. She picks up almost immediately, cooing with a cringey nickname before abruptly stopping upon hearing Yuta’s company.

“Do you remember the friend that you wanted to set up with Yuta?” Yuta narrows his eyes at his friend, this was already premeditated. 

His friend looks sheepishly at him, rubbing the back of his neck out of habit. “Do you think we’d get along well?” Yuta asks into the receiver, picking at the grass. 

“More than well.” His girlfriend replies. And before he knows it, Yuta hears a whole ear full about his potential soulmate. Under the beating afternoon sun, on the fresh cut grass, Yuta lays under the blue skies listening to every attribute about a person he has yet to know and daydreaming scenarios of what could be. 

Yuta knows everything about you --- from your height down to what your comfort shoes are, from what makes you smile to what makes you cry. Given that your friend overshares well more than even needed, Yuta genuinely believes that you sound perfect. It’s almost too good to be true, how well you two would get along. He juggles with the fact that his friend could be overexaggerating or compensating, Yuta doesn’t even have a face or name to connect who you are. 

And it seems rather rash… to be in love with someone you’ve never actually met. 

If only you didn’t stay up all night trying to help your friend study for her math exam, you wouldn’t be running across the large soccer field to make it to your class on time. Sleeping over may not have been the worst mistake, if anything, her apartment is right around campus. However, the quickest way to the East side of lecture halls is through the massive grassy soccer field. 

Having to take a completely different route than usual, you’re unsure of which diverging path onto campus ground is the best way. The grass is freshly cut, the smell pinching at your nose from the fresh morning dew. There are only a few individuals out on the field, but surely they are watching you and possibly thinking how crazy you look running across the giant course. 

Your bag strap is slipping from your shoulders, and you can barely hold onto your books in your arms. The thought of whether your bag is zipped all the way doesn’t even cross your mind, as you’re out of breath from the urgency.

Yuta enjoys practicing his kicks early in the morning, usually the field is less crowded and there is not much distraction that takes place. The air is nice and cool, morning dew wets his cleats slightly. He drops his bag on the bench, rolling the ball in his hands as he steps onto the grass.

It’s empty for the most part, all he sees is a person running for their life with books slipping from their hands. He doesn’t pay them much mind, knowing that they’re probably trying to make it to their morning class. They are far enough where he can’t be bothered.

He sets the ball on the ground, stretching out his limbs before the rigorous exercise. Suddenly, a voice calls out. “Hey!” Yuta stops to look around.

“Do you know which path leads straight to the social science lecture hall?” You’re panting at this point, but there is no time for you to stop and be shy about asking for directions. You’re still running as fast as you can, but you hope the random boy answers before you pass him too far.

Yuta stares quizzically at your moving figure, barely able to make out anything besides your clothing. “The right one, continue straight through the stop sign and make a left. It should be the front doors.” He yells back, knowing that he takes that route practically every afternoon after his morning kicks. 

“Thank you!” You wave back with your free arm, picking up the pace toward the right side of the opening. But you don’t notice the sudden object that falls from your jacket pocket, landing in the midst of the grass. 

Yuta notes the quick drop of color, “you dropped something!” however, your body moves farther and farther away, growing smaller in the horizon. He takes the initiative to hurry over to grab it, he can just catch up to you and return it. 

As he makes it to the spot, it causes him to blink twice. A coffee can lays in the grass with a post it note stuck right over the label. 

Goodluck Nakamoto

Picking it up, the paper is very tattered at this point and wrinkled up that it barely sticks on the metal. Nonetheless, Yuta recognizes the handwriting and reading his surname causes inexplicable slight panic in his system. Although the coffee is a whole different can, the scribbling of his name is original and familiar. He isn’t fully able to comprehend how a random stranger has the note that his best friend wrote to him before leaving for college.

He holds onto it, unsure if he should return it to the stranger that dropped it as it was originally his. Dropping it into his own bag, he is beyond puzzled by the thought that the lost coffee can and note managed to find its way back to him.

You’re rummaging your bag after finally settling in the back of the lecture hall. Lucky for you, your friend saved you a spot so you didn’t have to fight someone to move their possessions off of a seat.

“Are you free for dinner tomorrow? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Your friend whispers, but you’re lost at the bottom of your bag.

“Fuck,” you curse softly. Your hands push items around to see if it may have been there. “I dropped my coffee.”

“Just get a new one.” Your friend rolls her eyes, not understanding the massive defeat in your face when you place your bag on the floor next to your chair. “I’m sure they sell the one you like at the vendors.”

“I can get a new coffee, I’m upset because it had my lucky note on it.” Your shoulders slump forward, already awaiting the complete dread of misfortune coming your way.

“You mean that crumpled up thing you have in your pocket all the time? Who is it even from?”

You wave off your friend, “not important. It just found me on the night I was dying over a half-assed paper that I thought I was going to completely fail, but… I passed it.. With full marks and excellent feedback. Then, I forgot about the note in my bag and found it again stuck onto one of my notebooks as I took it out for a midterm exam.” 

“Don’t say it.” Your friend blinks at you with utter confusion.

“I passed with the highest score in the class.” The reaction from your friend is priceless, but also underwhelming.

“Okay, but how does that piece of paper have magical properties like that?” 

You shrug, not being one to really question how the universe works its own magic in everyone’s lives. “It’s just a good luck charm, now I lost it. I’m going to literally be so unlucky for the rest of my life.”

“Well, I’ll get you something and have it blessed by me.” Your friend pats your back lovingly to comfort you, even though losing that wrinkly post it note brings more devastation than expected. “I want to introduce you to someone and maybe he’ll make you feel more luck than that charm did.”

“Hold on, what? You’re setting me up on a date?” You’re taken aback by the change in conversation.

“I think you two would really get along.” Her wide smile makes your stomach churn. You have been single for the majority of your life for the reason that no one lives up to your standards for a partner. It’s actually not the first time you’ve been on dates set up by friends, but a lot of them don’t seem to know you enough to find someone you’d like.

“Are you sure?” Hesitation in your face and tone of voice does not phase your friend.

She nods, “I already know he’s the one for you.”

There is some faith in her, you have known her since the summer before college. However, you’re not so keen about how attentive she is to others as she is sometimes absent minded. A part of you believes that she is trying to set you up because she recently entered a new relationship herself, hoping to share the joy and happiness with her good friend.

“I’ll do it just for you, but I’m not expecting anything out of it.” Slumping back into your seat, you realized that half of the lecture slides have already zoomed past. Now, you have no clue what the professor is even talking about.

“Trust me.” She holds your arm, giving it a light squeeze. Although you’re still a bit reluctant, it couldn’t hurt to meet someone new. Now that you longer have your good luck charm, you hope that the date won’t go disastrous. 

Yuta stands before you, speechless and mouth slightly open.

You stand before the silver haired boy, noting the new brown color in his locks and trying to register this encounter.

Your friend made sure you were not going to miss this dinner date, pushing you out the door early. There was no face or name to look for. She gave you no direction as to whom it may be, looking for a complete stranger among crowds of others. 

When Yuta asked his friend for a name, a picture of who he should be looking for, he refused. Instead, he gave him the most generic and vague response. “You’ll know the moment you lay eyes on her.” It only caused him to groan and rush out the door, hoping that the ridiculous statement held some truth to it.

Nonetheless, you both noticed each other immediately. Yuta stood outside of the restaurant in a loose silky top and hands shoved into his jean pockets. You walked toward him in the same colors you ran out in the day before.

There was no denying that you both could feel the tension in the air. He couldn’t place it, it was not awkward. It was a heavy familiarity, like you two have met before. 

You could feel it in your gut, in the deepest part of your memory. This is not the first time you two have met. It’s almost as if these encounters scattered throughout your life up until this one moment --- where you two finally meet face to face.

Yuta can barely make out any words. The concept of soulmates does not seem too bizarre now. “I heard a lot about you.” You both are not acknowledging the fact that you have seen each other before, have wondered about one another, and have wanted to meet again. 

“Please don’t believe anything my friend told you.” Already, you’re afraid of all the nonsense she could have said to this very attractive stranger. Could it be just coincidences?

“So you’re not a beautiful potential soulmate?” Yuta chuckles a bit, your eyes growing wide at the confession. “I’m Yuta.” He extends his hand to shake.

You introduce yourself, following his handshake with a firm grip. But the moment your hands connected, it felt too familiar for you not to recognize. It fits perfectly, an energy surges through both of your veins and triggers a memory. The boy from the masquerade party.

However, you two do not notice the brief pause in conversation and the lingering grips on each other’s hands. All commotion around you two seem to come to a halt and you’re existing in each others’ presence. Yuta drops his hand first, rubbing the back of his neck out of nervousness and confusion. “Random question,..”

Blinking up at him, his eyes gleam with a sparkling shine under the yellow fluorescent lights. Your heart is in your throat at what he could ask, confused beyond any mind to process what is happening.

“Do you believe in fate?” 

You gasp slightly at the question. Something inside your soul bursts with excitement, not entirely grasping this feeling that fills your heart. 

But there is something you both could make out in the mess of emotions that present themselves, 

PARTICIPANTS —

☼ TAEIL : @neonun-au​​

☼ JOHNNY : @sehunniepotwrites​​

☼ TAEYONG : @tyonfs​​

☼ YUTA : @notnctu - joyce/author doie

☼ KUN : @2enjun​

☼ DOYOUNG : @slightlymore​​

☼ TEN : @hyuckles-chuckles​​

☼ JAEHYUN : @puppywritings​​

☼ WINWIN : @bumblebeenct​​

☼ JUNGWOO : @kaepop-trash​​​

☼ LUCAS : @notnctu - author xuxi

☼ MARK : @dreamcities​​​

☼ XIAOJUN : @neocitybynight​

☼ HENDERY : @solarune​​

☼ RENJUN : @prettyjaems​​

☼ JENO : @sly-merlin​​

☼ HAECHAN : @jenosslut​​​

☼ JAEMIN : @jisungiest​​

☼ YANGYANG : @nctsworld​​

☼ SHOTARO : @byunbaekby​​

☼ SUNGCHAN : @doiedreams​​

☼ CHENLE : @hotdogct​​​