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I met him when we were only kids. 11 year olds.
As a young girl who had just moved from Japan with my grandmother and my brother to avoid my less than parental parents, I was mostly friendless, with dance as my only outlet since I was still learning the language. We went to the same dance studio, and one day, I was early for my contemporary dance class. That was the first time I saw him. His hair was a mess that stuck up in all directions, his clothes baggy. I didn't need to see him dance to tell he was a hip hop dancer, but when I did, I was shocked. The way he could pop and lock and break was something that I had only seen professionals do. The amount of precision in his movements was insane to me, especially since I hadn't previously had any hip hop experience, so I just assumed it was flailing around and looking tough or pissed off.
He redefined hip hop for me by smiling as he ran through the dance. He had a tendency to do that. Change my whole world with his beautiful smile. But I didn't know that then.
I watched him leave class, and instead of breezing right by me to the nearby water fountain, the joyful looking boy stopped, and bowed politely. "Hello! I'm Hoseok!" He grinned. I was taken aback by his outgoing attitude, and embarrassed because he had probably seen me gawking at him. He said a bunch of other stuff, too, but with my limited knowledge of the language, I was stumped after the first sentence.
"Um, I don't...speak Korean." I uttered out in my best Korean. My best was pretty god damn terrible. Hoseok smiled anyways. I fiddled with the strap of my leotard as his twinkling eyes surveyed my shy demeanor and blushing.
"Still. We. Can. Be. Friends. Now." He slowed his rapid speech down so I could understand. My young heart skipped a beat. A friend?
"Okay." I said, offering him a shy smile. Hoseok's radiant smile only widened.
"Name?" He asked. I was highly appreciative of him simplifying his words.
"Nozomi." I said.
"Wahhh." He said exaggeratedly, causing an nervous giggle to slip through my lips. "Cool name." He complimented me. 11 year old me's brain was experiencing a massive fart. "Cool name" didn't seem like much, but coming from Hoseok, the cheerful, amazing dancer, it was worth a million compliments.
"Kamsa...uh—kamsaham...ugh." I groaned in frustration. Hoseok found this particularly amusing.
"Nida." He finished for me. If I could have gotten any redder in the face, I would have.
"Kamsahamnida." I squeaked, and before he could open his mouth to speak, the teacher opened the studio door for my class. "Um, goodbye." I stammered, waving shyly. Hoseok waved like he was doing an intense set of jazz hands. I thought his hand might fall off.
"Bye, Nozomi!"
Hoseok and I would meet again frequently. I started having my grandmother drop me off early on the regular just to see him. He was a year older than me, and in the grade above me in school. He had big dreams, Jung Hoseok. He wanted to be a professional dancer. I always told him he could. He tried to teach me hip hop a few times. I felt ridiculous. Hoseok, on the other hand, could pull off contemporary. He made sure to remind me of this often.
