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. ♬ ݁˖,‧₊˚✧🪩✧˚₊‧
After queuing up the song on the speakers and adjusting the volume, Jimin walks back to his place in the centre of the modest dance studio when the bass begins to thump. Jimin addresses their reflections with polite hands clasped together at his chest and a warm smile radiating sincere encouragement.
‘Alright, are we ready, ladies? We’re going to start slowly with the music.’
Jimin looks down at his feet, checking his posture—an unconscious habit that had been hardwired into him since he was eleven years old and that he had yet to break away from. Shaking himself out of his reverie, Jimin limbers up and smiles when he can hear the three women behind him doing the same, albeit grumbling idle chatter about aches, pains and rival salon owners.
‘That’s it, ladies, thank you; make sure you’re all properly stretched and warmed up—no innuendoes, please, Yeongja-ssi.’
Jimin rocks his head to the rhythm of the song, feeling himself let slip a little into his dancer’s headspace as he pats his hips and thighs down, waking up his muscles. Falling deeper into the music, the honey-haired man can’t help mouthing along to the lyrics of the pre-chorus as he waits for the drop.
‘Ready? And! One, two, three, four, back; six, seven, eight—for-ward; two, three, turn; back, six, seven, eight!’
‘Oh, Instructor Bak, you’re really into the class today!’ Migyeong remarks cheerily as she emulates his enthusiasm and executes the dance steps with a more relaxed disposition.
Myeongsuk leans over to Migyeong’s ear and (very loudly) whispers, ‘I bet it’s ‘cause that husband of his put some of Teach’s advice into practice last night and stretched him out, if you know what I mean…’
Jimin feels his face blush, and he clears his throat sternly to call for their attention. ‘No outside chatter during the class, please, Migyeong-nim.’ Giggling among themselves, Myeongsuk and Migyeong elbow each other like schoolgirls revelling in the flustering of their beautiful dance instructor.
‘That husband of yours would do right by you to take one of your classes, Teach, maybe a private one,’ Yeongja boasts, feet moving dexterously in time with the song.
‘Hard and fast is nice, but it’s no fun if your husband doesn’t know how to go slow. Us older ladies, we know what we’re talking about, after all—HEY!’ The sprightly woman claps to the rhythm with fervour, wiggling her hips after three steps to add a personal flair.
After laughing behind the back of his elegantly folded hand at her infectious zeal, Jimin shrugged to himself and decided to let loose, matching the energy of his students as he too wiggled his hips comically. Their class was almost ending, and it had been quite a lengthy one to start with, as the next two weeks of classes would be cancelled because Jimin was flying out with his husband in two days, so it really wouldn’t hurt if the group were a little lax with their class.
‘Goodness, Teach, is that what you kids call shaking some tush nowadays? I thought you were all hip and did that “twerking” business. Now that is shaking some good tush.’
Jimin smiles softly, reminiscently. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t go to many of those kinds of parties when I was younger, Yeonga-ssi; not if I wanted to take my art seriously.’
Tutting, Yeongja shakes her head in disappointment while her feet move to the accompanying steps without thinking. ‘Boy, they sure did a number on you at that school of yours, didn’t they? An academy like that shouldn’t be allowed to operate, in my opinion.’
Jimin’s smile jumps minutely, its mirth slowly receding into the dark corners of the (former) classical dancer’s dimmed expression. ‘Yes, well…’
Sensing his shadowing disposition, Myeongsuk and Migyeong hurriedly mouthed chiding words at their friend, flapping their hands at Yeongja so that she would change the subject and lighten the mood again before it sunk further. ‘But enough of that! Here, Mr Jeon, let these three old ladies show you how one properly shakes their tush around here. You’ve been away from home for far too long.’ Jimin yelps in surprise, and bubbly giggles tumble from his lips when Yeongja directly turns into Jimin’s line, almost knocking them over.
The older woman takes hold of his hips, manoeuvring them to the same exaggerated degree that her hips were moving at.
‘I—Yeongja-ssi!’
‘Be careful with Teach’s leg, Eonni!!’ Migyeong gasps, with fretting brows downturned in the middle of her forehead. She and Myeongsuk are quick to crowd the beautiful young man and join in too, taking their instructor by each of his hands—handling him much gentler than Yeongja did—and continuing their dance steps, mindful of the leg in question.
‘You gotta loosen up, Mr Instructor! We’re not senile just yet; plus, you’ve got hips like I’ve never seen before. You better move ‘em!’ Jimin’s laughs are infectious and unstoppable as his hips jut to and fro with lent assistance from Yeongja.
‘That’s it, Mr Instructor!’ Myeongsuk cheers, slowly flourishing her arms to the chorus as though she were dancing to pansori.
⋆⭒˚𖠋𖠋𖠋*.⋆
‘Your daughter ran away again, ma’am?’ Jimin yells from inside of the storage cupboard as he retrieves his scarf and shoulder bag—it was a small nook more than anything, so only Jimin’s upper body was in the cupboard while he folded himself over the broken air conditioning that needed to be replaced just so that he could inch his fingers towards his belongings and almost do his thigh in if he wasn’t being cautious and it got pinned by the large rugs that stood rolled up and exceedingly heavy for sheets of old tarp.
Until then the young man employed the gratuitous use of large fans that belonged to Yeongja’s salon, though she kept the fans here in Jimin’s studio because her husband had ordered a line of them in bulk. It was currently the reason why Yeongja had not been speaking with him.
‘That child does nothing but rebel these days—when your little ones get to that age, you’ll know what I mean, Instructor Bak.’
The studio was definitely a quaint space to be improved upon, more of a storage room than a beauty parlour (which is what the studio actually was), but Bak Jimin’s class was a small one, and he wasn’t teaching the women of the Seo district for monetary gain. The athlete was very fortunate to have been as skilled as he was in classical and contemporary dance, for it took him all over and out of the country on occasion, with more than enough coin in his pocket to concern himself with.
Jimin merely wanted to be of use somewhere, to do something with himself, now that the circles he used to dance in are forever closed off to him. Despite Jimin being a top player in reshaping it into the industry it had become today.
The thirty-year-old would eventually have the last laugh, though, when upon the breaking of the news that was his retirement from Migam (the academy he had represented as principal dancer since he was seventeen), several alumni of Migam, his previous dance schools and even avid young dancers who couldn’t afford the fancy training but still considered Bak Jimin as their muse marched on Migam and petitioned the board to give Jimin his flowers. The petitions were signed by thousands at a time, rallying to call for proper respect to be paid towards somebody who had done so much for the future students of Migam as well as dancers who are steadily making their way up in the now all-encompassing and prospective industry.
Jimin, of course, was overwhelmed with gratitude and positively moved to tears when the first few phone calls came until, for the first time since he had left at the age of just twenty-five, he found himself in Migam’s corridors again, a year later. Though it was different now because Jimin wasn’t consumed by end-of-the-world dread or the darkest and most self-deprecating thoughts. Jimin walked those halls with his head up rather than low in-between his shoulders.
There was no longer the version of Jimin that didn’t allow himself even the safety of his fantasies to envision a kind of life in which he and dance are two separate entities. That Jimin had burnt bright and burnt fast until he plummeted and landed in the arms of his bettered self, who in turn landed in the arms of his love if ever he plummeted.
That was one stand-out difference about the day Jimin returned to his alma mater; he returned with something to show for it, someone who stood as living proof that the former dancer did in fact have something other than the craft he broke himself trying to hone. Jimin had his husband, who was his partner at the time.
Jimin and Jeongguk had first noticed each other in Busan, by fate or accident or whichever one had made it so that Jeongguk’s chosen subject to film for a study on mise-en-scène he was painstakingly putting together for his media project happened to be the vacant table that, courtesy of a yellow-haired beauty with “the saddest eyes Jeongguk had ever seen”, sat at it awkwardly at first because the bulky frame starting at his left hip and ending just below his knee made sitting down a struggle.
The young film student could immediately recognise it as a brace because Jeongguk was also studying sports medicine in case film was too ambitious of a career choice and didn’t result in anything. Also, because one of his seniors, the clumsiest one, had recently sprained his ankle, his boot happened to be of the same make as Jimin’s brace.
While they didn’t interact with each other then, fate would play her gentle hand again and make them meet at the beach on a wintry Saturday morning just as the sun was beginning to crest. They both seemed to have the same idea of watching the day break through the cold azure of the sky. With quiet being Jimin’s solace and Jeongguk’s fortitude, conversation was easier, as it was just the two of them and the waves softly lapping at the shore.
Words Jeon Jeongguk never thought were all that important because he spoke with his lens, with his brushes, and with his charcoals. Jimin was the same; he spoke with his body, with his emotion. Until he couldn’t anymore, and suddenly the older man found himself baring his soul to Jeongguk, as though they had known each other all their lives.
That day multiplied and became several more just like it, enjoying the silence and the words unsaid within them. Before long they had been married six years, living at home together in a city that still felt so foreign to them because of how much time they spent away from it.
Jimin would go on to meet the women of the Seo district one arduously long summer afternoon after seeing Jeongguk off at the airport and beginning the countdown for his return in three weeks. He was flying out to Jeju Island to direct his latest project.
Yeongja, Migyeong and Myeongsuk were only too glad to welcome their new customer, likely the first in a long time, and wheedled the elegantly speaking, fashionably dressed man into a free service after revealing to Jimin that they had heard about him, the boy from Nam who made it out into Seoul and the world at a young age.
While they didn’t ask for autographs or endorsements, as they weren’t interested in that kind of stuff, they offered to always reserve a seat for him in their parlour, no expenses paid, so long as the beautiful man taught them how to move like him.
A peculiar ask, because Jimin was in no position to teach anyone; he hadn’t looked back once after the awards and dedications (as incredibly honoured as he was to accept them). But all three of the women were wonderful conversationalists, and the fans in Yeongja’s salon were a godsend in the volcanic heat of the mid-July swells, which is where Jimin would rather be than melt himself into the floor of his home.
So the young man agreed, and soon he found himself in the shoebox parlour on the old commercial strips in Seo every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
🍊🌿
A knock on the door breaks them out of their conversation, and the tinny bell above the jamb rings serenely when it is pushed open by an inked hand bejewelled with glistening sterling—it was all the women needed to see before a cacophony of delighted gasps echoes in the evening lull of the homey dance studio.
‘Jeongguk-ssi!!’ ‘Jeongguk-nim!’
‘Oh my goodness, Director Jeon!’
Yeongja, Migyeong and Myeongsuk had completely forgotten about their instructor and were flocking like lionesses to a well-cut, marbled and muscly hunk of meat while their honorary lioness stood back and watched, laughing behind his right hand while his left hand pulled the strap of his bag onto his shoulder.
Jeongguk had arrived straight from his premiere, impeccably dressed in a black and white, sharp-angled rider jacket tailored to fit over his muscles that ended cropped at his belly button over a simple white shirt of stretched cotton that was tucked into his dark jeans, loose and well-worn around his sculpted thighs. A thick heavy-duty belt showcased the young man’s trim waist, whose silver buckle clanked against the fastenings at the bottom of Jeongguk’s jacket.
The artist’s wrists and fingers were adorned in glinting sterling, ringing music whenever they interacted with other objects. Setting his eyes on his husband from the short distance between them, Jeongguk beams sweetly and raises his palm to wave at Jimin. Jimin waves back gracefully before he holds one finger up and points to his illuminated phone screen. Jeongguk nods in recognition, and Jimin turns around to answer the phone call, leaving Jeongguk to indulge in some conversation with the cheery older women.
‘I hope I haven’t cut your class short, ladies.’ Jeongguk ducks his head to ruffle the jet-black waves on his head, bracelets clinking again against the buckles and zips on his jacket sleeve. ‘It sounded like you were having a lot of fun.’
‘Nonsense, we were already finished and waiting for you; took you long enough.’ Yeongja answers strongly. Jeongguk laughs heartily as he excuses himself with a charming smile. ‘I apologise for the wait; entering a room full of gorgeous young ladies such as yourself is something I haven’t done in a while, so I was a little nervous to tell you the truth.’
‘Gosh, Mr Jeon, you’re so lovely!’ Migyeong holds her rosy cheeks in her hands, nearly as red as her top, and touches her chin to her chest to hide her blushing face like she was an adolescent again. ‘No wonder Teach always goes pink when we talk about you.’
The young man’s smile morphs into a mischievous grin with glinting eyes that light up after hearing the nugget of information that he would definitely hold over his husband’s head for the foreseeable future. After some brief minutes of catching up between the young buck and the three lionesses, Myeongsuk clears her throat and nervously asks for the group’s attention.
‘Ah, Director Jeon, actually I… I have something for you.’ Myeongsuk produces for Jeongguk a modest but prettily presented basket of fragrant tangerines, shielded by cellophane for protection and sealed with a luxuriously red ribbon.
Gesturing in Jimin’s direction with a shy hand Myeongsuk amends her statement, ‘For both of you, if you don’t mind.’
‘I grew these myself, Jeongguk-nim.’ The soft-spoken woman timidly offers the towering man her gift, sheepish in that he might find it insignificant. ‘I know being as successful as you are, this may seem worthless in comparison to what you can afford—’
‘Gosh, ajumeonim—’ Jeongguk shakes his head in rejection of the suggestion as he politely interrupts with a voice bleeding humility. ‘I bet you that these tangerines are sweeter than anything they sell in the shops these days because you yourself tended to them and made them grow so beautifully like this.’
Jeongguk accepts the basket graciously with two hands and a generous bow before he transfers the basket to one hand in order to hold her palm with his own, squeezing it once. ‘Thank you very much for these; I will enjoy them deliciously.’
The young man then kisses the back of Myeongsuk’s hand when she clamps her mouth hard to stop her lips from trembling. Jeongguk rubs her knuckles with his thumb in comfort.
Yeongja brings up the mood, despite feeling moved. ‘Save some of those words for your pretty husband back there, fella; between him and the tangerines he’s what you should be enjoying the most—’
‘If you don’t, we will!!’
Jeongguk’s ears go pink as he laughs in surprise but nods in agreement nonetheless. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’