[ JUNG HOSEOK ]
Our bodies melded together, chests rising and falling in unity. His eyes poured into mine longingly, desperately, yet the distance between us remained unconquerable.
"Please, just take it off," came my broken whisper as my fingertip...
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I was drowning.
At least, that's what it felt like as the darkness surrounded me. I was immersed in a blind silence, unable to see or hear while the tension in the space continued to rise. I could sense every person in the blackened room collectively hold their breath, refusing to move in fear of being the first to break the stillness—but it shattered anyway.
A heavy, foreboding beat of a drum rang out across the room, echoing off the walls. Streaming above us was a beam of red light, illuminating the stage to reveal a young man who laid on the floor, unmoving. Wisps of grey fog crept in from the sides of the stage, reaching the man before curling its misty tendrils around his body as if it aimed to chain him down.
Then a few gentle notes from a piano played out, and the man's chest rose, his back curving off the floor as if someone was lifting him. He sat up before pausing in time with the music, then his head rolled to the side and faced the audience. His black hair fell away from his eyes, but the rest of his features hid beneath an ornate, crimson mask.
His gaze roamed over the crowd, and my heart skipped when his eyes latched onto mine. It was brief, but in that second he had me captivated entirely.
More drums started beating, progressively growing louder and faster, then new instruments joined in to add layers to the music. The dancer followed the tempo, jumping to his feet and falling right into a choreography that matched with the rhythm of the notes. The lines of his body were beautiful, each movement fluid. He was light on his feet, gliding across the stage, then when the music called for it, he allowed his steps to grow heavy.
The dancer masterfully used his body to tell a story, and my eyes followed him, savoring every detail as I tried to comprehend. The music became urgent, and his fast movements mirrored that, reaching out at nothingness as if he was searching for something. He spun and circled around the edges of the stage, creating a frantic desperation. At each corner, he would lean into a tilt and let himself nearly fall before diving into another set of pirouettes.
He's lost.
There was a shift as the music grew slower, sadder. The dancer slowed too, his shoulders sinking, posture worsening. He was weighed down by something—defeat. He lowered his head into his hands and curled in on himself.
Abruptly, the music was heightened, breaking away from the melancholy to transform into something demanding. The dancer fisted his hands and moved with intention, his presence bold as he stood tall. He exploded into new movements that displayed his strength and technicality. He became more measured, hitting each beat perfectly, leaping and tumbling with power.
As I considered the contrast in the second half of the dance, I could only conclude one thing. He'd made a choice and let something consume him, giving in to a new driving force—I just couldn't determine what it was. The obvious answer would have been anger, but beneath all the sharp choreography, somehow there was still a subtle emotion hidden there: fear.
