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listen to "You're The Last Thing On My Mind" by Aaron Wright
The dance studio was quiet. Classes had ended, and the owner of my old studio had left me the key under the doormat in front of the glass front door. There was only one person present inside the place where I had spent the majority of my childhood, and that was me. Normally, this place was full of life, bursting with emotion and music and physical activity. But, normally, I would have Hoseok to come visit our home studio in Gwangju with me. This wasn't a normal situation at all.
I didn't like the quiet. It gave my thoughts freedom to be as loud as they wanted. And right about now, they were screaming. Their volume escalated tenfold when I saw it. The water fountain. The place where I would meet Hoseok almost every day. The place where we first spoke, where he treated me just like he always would even though I couldn't understand ninety percent of what he was saying. Looking at it hurt. The memories hurt. I pushed them down deep into the pit of my stomach. You've got this, Nozomi, I tried to reassure myself, to keep myself from panicking.
I entered the studio. They had painted the walls a light shade of blue, and the stereo was different, but this was still the same studio Hoseok and I grew up in on the daily. The same studio where we practiced for hours on end, where he taught me to hip hop and I gave him Ballet 101. Where he let me ugly cry into his chest when Yoongi broke up with me. Where he convinced me to audition for JYP with him. Where I first saw him. Him and his beautiful smile.
Tears stung the backs of my eyes. No, no, I'm not going to cry today. I promised Yoongi I wouldn't. I promised Hoseok I wouldn't. I wiped at both eyes with my sleeve and walked to the stereo system. I plugged my phone into the speaker and began to play the song I had picked out.
The reason why I was here was to dance it out. Just like Hoseok always said and did. He always took any and all of his emotions and put them into his art, and that was one of the things I loved about him. I slipped off my sneakers and coat and tossed them to the side of the room, leaving me in leggings, socks, and a t-shirt. Looking at myself in the mirror, I almost didn't know what to do with myself. It had been so long since I danced in this studio. It had been so long since I danced at all.
But once the man's soothing voice sunk into my skin and seeped into my bones, once I shit my eyes and let the piano paint pictures on the blank canvas in my brain, I began to move. A languid extension of my leg, a sharp break in the knee and contraction of the arms and stomach on the downbeat. A cautious step, and a slow, winding turn down to the floor. A slow roll up through each vertebrae in my back to stand. Growing in confidence, I let the music control me like a puppet as my body went on autopilot. The emotion in the singer's voice hurt; it matched too closely to how I felt.
Two months ago, Hoseok and I stood in this very room. Together. Dancing and smiling and laughing. Loving. And now, here I was. Alone. Dancing and crying and feeling just so unbelievably lost. Missing him, and still loving him more than words can describe. If I convinced myself enough, if I let myself find comfort in the familiarity of the atmosphere I was in, I could picture him, dancing right along with me. I could practically see his smile shining through the dark like the moon and the sun and stars all wrapped up in one.
Soon, I was just moving, not thinking about what I was doing, just feeling the music and going. I didn't care about looking good or creating a good performance. My eyes were shut the whole time. I wasn't concerned about any of the things dancers were trained to think about. No. I was dancing all of this unbearable loneliness and pain and yearning out.
I kept going, even after the music stopped, because I wasn't done yet. It wasn't out of me yet. I didn't know if I ever would be done. It felt like a neverending stream of emotion that seeped from the depths of my soul, that drained me from the core.
Finally, I stood still. My chest contracted and expanded with each heavy breath I took. A sheen of sweat stuck to my skin. Strands of hair had slipped out of my pony tail and were glued to the nape of my neck and my forehead with perspiration. My heart was a jackhammer in my chest. I wasn't done, no. It wasn't out yet. But part of me didn't want to let it go. Part of me didn't want to let the last parts of me that Hoseok affected go, so I held on for dear life last-minute.
A sharp clap sounded from behind me.
I gasped and opened my eyes, whirling around in fear, but calmed down when I saw who the clapping came from.
"You scared the shit out of me, Jimin. How long have you been standing there?" I asked, even more breathless than before as the two of us met in the middle. His arms wrapped around me and squeezed despite my sweaty state. Jimin's hugs were some of my favorite hugs. Despite being a little ball of muscle and strength, he had such a soft way of embracing you that made you just want to melt into him and stay there for a long, long time. The dark haired boy laughed softly at how startled I was.
"For a couple minutes. That was beautiful, Nozomi noona. Really." He said, his gentle voice soothing to me. I sighed and pulled back, only to see he had tears in his light brown eyes. I offered him a sad smile as seeing the happy person Jimin was begin to cry brought tears to my own eyes. I cupped his cheeks in my hands as we both laughed at how fucked up the situation was.
"Shit, we're not gonna cry, okay? Hobi wouldn't want us to cry." I said softly. He sighed and shook out his limbs, running his hands through his black hair. He sighed and shrugged off his jacket and his shoes, leaving him in sweats and a t-shirt.
"Okay, okay. I'm okay. I'm good. I haven't done contemporary in a really long time, but I'm alright." He said, smiling small at me. I sighed and smiled as he stretched a little.
