When the two of them meet, only in their dreams.
Every time, a different location.
Every night, a little more is learned.
Without knowing their true identities.
Park Jimin has much more to worry about rather than silly dreams. Bangtan's name has...
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6:42 am
l.c.y.
The practice room spins around me.
Halting to a stop, I breathe heavily, leaning my hands on my knees.
After arriving at the practice room, Yuri had convinced me to keep on repeating the choreography, insisting that was the way to improve. Once in a while she would point out a certain part in the dance and guide me through it.
But her way of guiding me through it was by just doing it and instructing me swiftly, with words spewing out of her mouth and moves that are just too quick to catch onto. It doesn't help that my brain is still half asleep.
"Chanyoung, catching your breath is easier when you stand up straight," Yuri calls out from the other side of the room, wiping her face with a towel. "Try placing both of your hands on top of your head,"
I nod weakly, obeying. Glancing over at the mirror, I finally get a good look at my exhausted lump of a body.
I look like an idiot
Strands of hair have broken out of the loose ponytail that I hastily tied up beforehand, sticking to the side of my face. Shiny liquid coats my skin, and I feel like I'm radiating off warmth. And to top it off, both of my hands are on my head, elbows sticking out in a weird position.
"So, ready to do it again?" Yuri questions, already stepping into position as if she knows I have no choice to deny her.
I gulp, nodding before lowering my hands, muscles still shaking as I step up next to her. I feel a rush of heat in my legs as blood rushes to the lower half of my body.
And the room starts to spin again.
Suddenly the ground seems a lot closer than it was before.
