Hyunjin Hwang. Ballet dancer. Or should it be said, the ballet dancer.

When hard work combines with born talent, it creates something otherworldly unique. Something, that takes your breath away, one kind of an experience. When air becomes unnecessary, and your soul unwillingly follows along to move accordingly.

He was that kind of a dancer. Every move told a story everlasting: hands wrote poems, elegant and sophisticated; legs stamped the prose, rich and descriptive. Watching him dance, everyone felt possessed for a second. Like a voice whispered in your head, telling the tale his body spoke through practiced stances.

The spotlight blinded Hyunjin for a second, stealing breath. There, a pause for an inhale. A spin so delicately slow it was tentatively torturous. Tension coiled in each muscle, flexing to caress the air with fingertips. For audience, it was a first time. For Hyunjin? Everything became trivially harsh. A job, that drank out every ounce of the inspiration left.

The curtains closed at final note, abrupt swing of cold on sweat-slick skin. He looked at the crimson red fabric, panting through heaving chest. Up and down, calming down the burn that caught up in veins pumping with adrenaline.

They say that Australian ballet dancer is here, arrived to Seoul yesterday. Hyunjin hummed in acknowledgement of the rumors, leaving to change.

The air was crispy cold once Hyunjin left the opera building, stepping outside only for his breath to mist. “Fuck—“ he cursed, shivering, as fished through the pockets for his pack of cigarettes. Only after he tugged one in between plump lips, Hwang sighed in a wave of relief. Nicotine pumped through his system like dopamine, much needed. As exhausting as everything was…

Hyunjin lifted his head up at the footsteps, crinkling eyes to notice the approaching figure. “So, you must the Australian ballet dancer everyone brags about?” He hummed, smirking around the cigarette. “Yep. Stand out compared to everyone.”