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Juhoon had always been told that grace came from control.
It was a statement he would always hear from his instructor. A form of mantra etched in every training session he's ever done.
“Control, Juhoon. You command the music, not the other way around,” she would say, a gentle hand placed on Juhoon’s shoulder.
It was, of course, a means to correct his posture; to regulate his stance; and to help him present himself with the utmost elegance, all while keeping his chin lifted just a little higher.
It was a practice so heavily engraved in his system that it had already been second nature to him.
And it was also why even now, as he walked through the frost-covered campus courtyard with his duffle bag slung over one shoulder, Juhoon held himself ever so carefully. Graceful, calculated, elegant. It was as if he was still surrounded by an invisible mirror, all while being kept watched by his mentor, every movement scrutinized into perfection.
Everything, like how he's always been taught, was controlled.
However…
The world around him didn’t seem to care about control.
And it rang true when a certain someone entered Juhoon’s life with a crash.
Quite literally.
It happened on the same day. A cool Sunday morning that smelled faintly of frost and roasted chestnuts, when Juhoon’s biggest concern had been whether the university’s dance studio would be too cold for his morning warm-ups. The path leading from the dorms to the performing arts center had been dusted with thin, treacherous ice, and he’d been tiptoeing across it, careful as a cat, clutching his duffel bag and quietly muttering reminders about keeping his posture straight even as he walked.
But then, in the span of about three seconds, all the grace he'd ever acquired all throughout his lifetime immediately abandoned him.
He felt it before he could even react. It was something big, radiating with warmth; and quite evidently fast. It quickly collided with him from the side catching him off guard and off balance. He then heard a shout–“watch out!”--and following that, his vision tilted.
The world around him spun. The sky and the earth switching places for a brief moment, as his sense of direction blurred. His tailbone hit the concrete first; the impact rattling through his spine, followed by the sickening crack of his wrist hitting the ground, as he instinctively tried to brace himself.
The pain that flared bright was immediate, and Juhoon felt his breath hitch, catching in his throat. “Ow…” he whimpered quietly, his other hand that managed to support his weight burned cold due to the contact with the frost-covered pavement.
“Oh my god! Oh shit, I’m so sorry!”
The voice came from somewhere above him. It sounded warm, a bit rough around the edges, but panicked in a way that made Juhoon blink through the shock. A tall figure then dropped to his knees beside him, grocery bags spilling around them like confetti. Apples rolled across the frozen walkway, a carton of milk wobbled dangerously near the curb and a bunch of other things splayed all over their proximity.
The guy didn’t seem to notice any of it, though.
He was all wide eyes and worry, hair sticking out from under a black beanie, a big puffer jacket puffing around him like armor. “I didn’t mean to–man, I wasn’t looking! I just–are you okay?” He asked, very clearly panicking and voice riddled with dread.
It took a bit of time for the man’s words to register to Juhoon. His head still overwhelmed by the constant barrage of pain he felt from his lower back and one of his wrists. When he tried to sit up, he immediately winced when the movement made his wrist pulse in protest. He pressed it protectively against his chest. “I…uh.” He bit the inside of his cheek, forehead scrunched in clear discomfort, when he felt another sharp pain shot up his back. “I think I might have landed wrong,” he managed to say, albeit softly.
The guy’s face instantly contorted with guilt. “Crap. I–crap!” he exclaimed. “That sounded bad. Are you…can you stand? Here, let me help you–”
Before Juhoon could say anything, the stranger’s large, calloused hands were under his arms, lifting him as if he weighed nothing. He was surprisingly gentle despite the urgency, steadying Juhoon until his boots found traction over the frozen concrete below. The height difference became painfully apparent when Juhoon looked up into eyes the color of honey and a face that would’ve been both aspiring and intimidating, if not for the raw panic written all over it.
“I’m fine,” the words fell almost instantly from Juhoon’s lips, forcing a small, polite smile that his ballet instructor would’ve been proud of. “You don’t have to–” But before he could finish his poor attempt at saving face and avoiding anymore unnecessary interaction, he was immediately cut off by the guy.
“--help you? Are you kidding? I literally body-slammed you like an idiot.” The guy’s tone was earnest and flustered all at once, his hands still hovering near Juhoon’s elbows like he thought Juhoon might collapse again any second.
Juhoon could only blink. “Body-slammed?” he repeated, voice barely audible.
“I mean–yeah? I guess?” He gestured erratically using one arm. “Like, you were there, and I was there, and physics just did its thing!” The guy then gestured vaguely, his cheeks flushing red beneath the morning chill.
Juhoon found himself only nodding slowly at the very…limited description, despite the throbbing in his tailbone. The stranger’s voice carried a bright energy; a little chaotic sure, maybe even a tad bit loud, but ultimately warm with passion. He reminded Juhoon of a golden retriever; energetic, endearing, and maybe probably a little too enthusiastic for his own good.
But the recognition hit him a beat later.
“Wait,” Juhoon said slowly, frowning. “You’re… Keonho, right?” he stated, finally realizing who the other person was.
The tall man froze mid-motion, one hand halfway from retrieving his phone from his pocket. “Uh… yeah? Have we met?”
For some reason Juhoon felt the temperature in his ears gradually rise. “No,” he admitted, a little sheepish at the fact he unintentionally admitted that he knew the other person. “But you’re on the university’s kickboxing team,” he supplied.
Everyone who went to their university knew who Keonho was. It was almost impossible not to. His reputation far encompassing the corners of each of the departments in their college; ultimately transcending borders. How the handsome sophomore from the engineering department had also made a name for himself for being the top kickboxing practitioner in their university's official team. And this was why it was to no one's surprise that even someone like Juhoon knew him; or at the very least, recognized him.
Keonho was taken aback for a brief moment. But it didn't last long as he grinned, rubbing the back of his neck in the process. “Guilty as charged.” He then let out a charming, boyish chuckle. Even now he still wasn't used to all the recognition, though it was somewhat getting better. “Let me guess, you’ve seen me yelling at someone in the gym.”
Juhoon tilted his head, contemplating whether it was a good idea to continue their unexpected conversation given his current predicament. He decided to just respond, thinking it would be quite unbecoming if he ignored him. “You could say that,” he said instead.
He didn’t add that his roommate, a music major who practically lived on social media, had once shown him a clip of Keonho sparring. The guy was of course shirtless, wild and perhaps even jarring. The discipline he put in maintaining his skills and physique was truly one for the books.
Juhoon's roommate had teased him on whether or not the guy was hot. Naturally, Juhoon felt scandalized, and so he tried to ignore the rather intrusive query. But with how persistent his roomie was, it didn't take long for his walls to crumble as he eventually settled with an answer that was deemed safe. And that the guy was “objecvively” attractive. The teasing that followed was a whole different story, though.
Now on the same video, Keonho was grinning. Eyes sharp, muscles tense and gleaming with sweat. Even as he took a direct hit from his opponent, he was still all teeth and vigor. Juhoon initially thought that it would probably put him in a coma, had it been him who received the blow. So the fact that Keonho only brushed it off as easily as he did was nothing short of terrifying. He had thought that this person, for lack of better words, was…rowdy. Exactly the kind of person who thought being brazenly chaotic was a personality trait.
And yet, here he was, eyes conveying his worry while somehow fussing over Juhoon like an overgrown puppy.
“What about you?” Keonho asked, as he finally retrieved his grocery bag when Juhoon could stand on his own. This once again caught the injured dancer off guard. “You look familiar too.”
Juhoon wasn't sure if he should supply him with an answer, as he hesitated. But the look of genuineness from the guy eventually made him acquiesce. “I’m in the ballet program,” he informed ever so softly, still clutching his injured arm over his chest.
Keonho’s eyes grew wide with realization. It was as if he connected the dots in his head as he then snapped his fingers. “Right! You’re the guy they always put front and center in those performance posters. My friend dragged me to your showcase last semester.”
Juhoon blinked. “Really?”
Keonho nodded, now grinning with pure enthusiasm. “Yeah. You were good! Like, scary good. And hella flexible too. My friend cried during one of the solos, which was awkward because I didn’t know what to do, so I just patted his head and offered him popcorn.”
Juhoon felt his mouth open and close like some kind of fish. He wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that. “Popcorn…at a ballet performance?” he opted to ask instead. It was rhetorical, of course.
“Hey, I didn’t know the etiquette!” Keonho laughed, loud and just unashamed, his whole body shaking with it. “Thought it was like a movie or something. I almost got kicked out by one of the ushers,” he added with another laugh.
The sounds that poured past his lips were vibrant and warm. Much like his entire personality.
Juhoon briefly thought of its association with summer since it weirdly reminded him of the season, but immediately shook the idea away as soon as it crossed his mind. He then slowly nodded his head once again. It was taking him a bit of time to fully absorb everything the other said. He wasn't sure how to process the fact that Keonho had actually seen him perform. Nor did it fully register to him that the guy actually liked his performance and even called him good. He didn't think it was something the other guy would find appealing.
He was in the middle of being deep in his own cute head when the pain caught up to him again; sharp, bright and utterly insistent. He flinched, pressing a hand over his lower spine. “Ah–o…okay, I see,” he chose to respond instead.
At the sight of his discomfort, Keonho’s expression sobered instantly. “Hey, does it really hurt? Where does it hurt? Your back? Your wrist?”
“My tailbone, mostly,” Juhoon answered truthfully, one eye squinting while his brows furrowed due to the pain. “And my wrist…um, I think it might be fractured,” he added slowly. Ever so calm and serene despite the strenuous situation.
Keonho’s eyes immediately widened in alarm. “Shit. Okay, okay. No panicking, we’ll get you to the clinic. There’s one near the campus gate, right?” he asked, voice laced with worry and urgency.
“It’s fine,” Juhoon started, but Keonho was already crouching to gather his scattered groceries, muttering to himself like a man on a mission. “You don’t have to–” but before he could finish his sentence, he was once again cut off.
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Keonho said, his voice, though warm, sounded firm. “I’m the one who knocked you down. It's only right that I help you out. You’re getting medical attention whether you like it or not.”
Juhoon blinked, startled by the sudden authoritative tone in the other’s voice.
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Keonho added with finality.
Juhoon blinked a couple more times. “You are very…determined,” he could only say in response.
Keonho merely shrugged like he's heard that very same description used on him for the nth time. “Yeah, my mom says it’s my worst quality.” He once again grinned before offering Juhoon his free arm. “Come on, before your tailbone files a complaint.”
Juhoon wanted to protest, to say that he was fine and that he could handle it all on his own. Somewhere at the back of his head, his pride didn't want him to be seen as someone so in need of help. He has always been taught to carry himself with both dignity and grace; and to always present himself with the utmost elegance that it trekked the line between reality and fiction. A child of complete and irrevocable perfection. The one who was raised to always be in control. Being put in a position where he's being viewed as helpless was something truly foreign to him.
But…as he looked over Keonho’s face, the guy’s expression conveying equal parts of both guilt and concern, it somehow managed to disarm him completely. How? He wished he knew. But somehow it happened. And so with that, he sighed, acceptance and resignation filling his system. And slowly, he slipped his uninjured hand through Keonho’s arm, and let himself be guided across the icy path.
–
The walk was slow, awkward, and filled with the kind of silence that begged to be filled.
“So…” Keonho began after a minute, glancing down at Juhoon. “Do ballet dancers just…I don't know, float everywhere? Or do you walk like normal humans sometimes?”
Juhoon blinked at him, one, twice, maybe even a third. “Float? I am walking right now, am I not?”
Keonho can't help but find that endearing, and so he smiled. “Yeah, but even your limping looks,” he once again gestured vaguely, “fancy? Is that the right term? If I fell like that, I’d be crawling and swearing my ancestors out.”
“I suppose years of posture drills have their use,” Juhoon murmured, voice soft but clear.
Keonho’s smile grew wider, as his eyes lightened up into crescents. “You’re seriously composed for someone who just got body-checked by a human avalanche.”
“I’ve been taught not to make scenes in public,” Juhoon replied, deadpan.
And Keonho laughed so hard he nearly slipped on the ice himself.
Juhoon felt a slight twitch at the corner of his lips; but being him, he chose to ignore it instead. The flutter in his stomach proved to be a little harder to ignore, though. He only dismissed it and thought it was probably just something he ate.
And by the time they reached the campus clinic, Juhoon’s cheeks were pink. Was it just from the cold? He thought so. But in reality it was because of something more.
During the entire time Keonho hovered over him like an anxious puppy, insisting on filling out the forms when Juhoon’s hand started trembling. And when the nurse asked if they were together, Keonho had stammered, “Uh…n-not together together–he just–well, I–”
Juhoon only took one glance at him before deciding to answer himself, “he’s my…rescuer.”
And somehow that acknowledgement, so simple and so concise, made Keonho grin like he’d just been bestowed upon knighthood by the king himself. “Yeah, I’m his rescuer,” he repeated. Maybe more to himself rather than anyone else.
After a few more minutes, the x-ray results came out and confirmed a small fracture in Juhoon’s wrist. Nothing major, but enough to earn him a cast and a prescription for painkillers. When he came back out, Keonho was waiting in the lobby, tapping his foot and holding two vending machine coffees.
“Doctor says you’re okay?”
“Mostly,” Juhoon said, taking the cup with his good hand. “No lasting damage.”
“Good. I was starting to think I’d have to quit kickboxing and dedicate my life to making it up to you.”
Juhoon raised an eyebrow. “You’re very dramatic,” he said with that ever so calm and articulate tone he always had.
“You’re talking to a man who once tried to break a concrete board for a bet. Drama’s in my blood.”
At that Juhoon was once again stumped, only being able to blink at him, which the other only returned with his ever so charming smile, before sipping his coffee. It was far from his liking; too watery and bitter, but the warmth spreading through his fingers made it worth it.
They walked together after that, Keonho carrying both of their bags despite Juhoon’s protests.
“So,” Keonho began, eyes flicking sideways, “you were on your way to the studio?”
Juhoon nodded. “I had a solo practice scheduled.”
“Even on a Sunday?”
“The competition season’s close. I can’t afford to fall behind.”
Keonho whistled. “You ballerinos are intense.”
Juhoon finally smiled, albeit wryly. “Says the man who punches people for sport.”
“That’s discipline, not aggression,” Keonho said, mock-offended. “We just…express emotion differently.”
“I guess so,” Juhoon responded, feigning thoughtfulness while nodding. “You express through punching, and I through pirouettes.”
Keonho couldn't even pretend to stop himself as he immediately laughed at the silly analogy; head throwing back, as the sound echoed down the walkway. “You’re funnier than I thought you’d be.”
Juhoon blinked. “What did you think I’d be?”
The question hung there for a second. Keonho’s grin faltered, guilt flashing across his face. “Honestly? I thought you’d be…kind of a snob.”
Juhoon tilted his head. “Because I’m in ballet?”
“Because you look like you belong in a perfume commercial,” Keonho admitted. “Perfect hair, perfect posture, like you live in a mansion where people whisper instead of talk.”
Juhoon stared at him.
And then, as if it was a once in a lifetime phenomenon, he laughed.
Like genuinely laughed.
Even when it was gentle and soft and still held poise, the happiness that radiated from it was enough to show how he truly felt. “You’re not the first person to assume that,” he pointed out with his own smile.
And if Keonho thought that it was probably the most beautiful sounding laugh he's heard his entire life, then he would have to keep it for himself, at least for now. “Guess I’m predictable,” he said sheepishly. “You probably thought I was a meathead too, huh?”
Juhoon hesitated. “...Maybe a little.”
Keonho chuckled. “Fair enough,” he replied, nodding.
They then exchanged shy smiles, the kind that seemed to linger for just a second too long. Something indescribable but also worth noting. It was during that moment that Keonho finally realized just how pretty Juhoon was, and that same realization only softened his features even more. Eyes twinkling as if reflecting the stars that shone from Juhoon’s very own.
When they finally reached the small café near campus, Juhoon hesitated, but Keonho, always a step ahead, had already opened the door for him. “Come on,” he said. “My treat. For…uh…breaking your bones and all.”
“I can pay for myself,” Juhoon protested weakly.
But stubborn, as always, Keonho was quick to interject. “Nope,” he said firmly. “Doctor’s orders. Okay, maybe not doctor’s, but moral conscience’s.”
Juhoon can't help but just nod along. Maybe he too has grown accustomed to the other’s fiery personality.
The café was warm, buzzing with low chatter and the scent of cinnamon. They found a corner booth, and Keonho immediately started telling stories of how he’d once broken his nose mid-fight but somehow finished the match anyway; how he accidentally adopted a stray cat because it followed him home from the gym; and how he used to think ballet was just “people spinning in fancy clothes” until he saw Juhoon perform.
Juhoon listened, quietly, intently but fascinated all in the same. Keonho talked with his whole body; hands flying, eyebrows dancing, words tumbling over each other like an excited puppy. It was impossible not to be drawn in.
And somewhere between the laughter and the shared sips of coffee, Juhoon realized how wrong he’d been. Keonho wasn’t a troublemaker, far from it actually. Sure he was bold with a big personality. But he was also a storm of warmth and sincerity, someone who wore his heart on his sleeve and didn’t know how to do anything halfway.
And perhaps there was something so magnetic about that. Of how opposite they were, but also how perfect the chemistry of their personalities were when brought together. And so Juhoon listened, even when the topics crossed over anything and nothing, he listened. Because somehow it put him at ease. Because somehow, he found himself immersed in whatever the other was happily sharing. And it made him happy as well.
–
Six weeks later, when Juhoon’s cast finally came off, Keonho was still around.
He’d shown up to Juhoon’s dorm almost every day; helping carry things, opening jars, bringing food from the cafeteria. He’d sat through long, boring rehearsals, pretending to understand ballet terms but cheering the loudest anyway.
And when Juhoon finally flexed his newly freed wrist, Keonho grinned like it was his own victory.
“Now that you’re all healed up,” he said, tugging Juhoon’s hand gently, “I owe you a proper coffee date.”
Juhoon blinked. “Wasn’t the last one a date?”
Keonho smirked. “Nah. That one was me trying to apologize. This one’s me trying to impress you.”
Juhoon’s cheeks warmed. “You don’t have to try so hard.”
“Too late,” Keonho said with a wink. “I’ve been trying since the day I nearly murdered your tailbone.”
Juhoon laughed, and when Keonho took his hand; carefully, reverently, he didn’t pull away. Rather, he gently intertwined their fingers, each movement as soft and delicate as the last, until the two of them were finally holding hands.
Keonho felt the thudding of his heart quickening. The redness of his ears palpable under the fluorescent light above. He bit the bottom of his lips as to stop whatever noise was dying to come out his mouth. Then he smiled.
And Juhoon, poised and regal in every way, returned the smile with his own, all while sharing the same emotions the other was feeling.
Outside, snow began to fall again; soft, effervescent and quiet, covering the path where their worlds had first collided.
It was cold, naturally so.
But the blooming warmth between them ultimately signalled a start of something both of them will undoubtedly cherish forever.
🐶🐢