The four distraught boys walk out of I-Land with their heads hanging low. They trudge through a soggy path with Haneul at the front of the sorry pack. The boy closest to him is Sunoo, who drags his feet along with him, despair radiating from his usually bright person. Even with a crowded mind, Haneul knows rightly that the scowl marring Sunoo's face does not belong. So he tries to banish.
"Looks a bit like a prison, no?"
Sunoo doesn't laugh, not that Haneul expected his humdrum joke to garner much of a reaction, but the corners of his lips curl into that pretty smile and Haneul considers his efforts fruitful.
Quietly they all file into the Ground, reconciling with the members that had been initially voted out during the first stage. The Ground is not much: just a plain practice room with some chairs and tables hidden behind a floppy divider. Thinking back to the creaky windows and broken door handles of his home, Haneul thinks the Ground is alright. Nonetheless, he understands the miserable moans of the other boys. After they were shown I-Land, the Ground is unacceptable. Yet that did not seem enough for the creators of the show. As if to further spite them, they were also made to wear a dull black uniform — so they look more pitiful on TV when shown side-by-side with the I-Landers, Haneul guesses.
To no small extent, it infuriates him but Haneul begrudgingly bites his tongue. The boys are depressed enough as it is. A more productive use of his mental capacity would be figuring out a way to lighten up the dreary mood. He struggles to find a solution, and the boys mop around the room, taking turns to go to the bathroom and change into their black uniforms. It is only when the dingy little screen on the wall starts briefing them about the mission, that the boys perk up for the first time.
When they're given a whole page, and a single device with a recording of the choreography (without even the option to slow down the footage) to work from, the motivation that had begun to bubble simmers down. Haneul decides to step in at that moment – before the boys' spirit could plummet too low.
"I'm pretty good with choreography," He says. "Maybe I can learn it and teach it to you guys. I think that will be faster than taking turns with the IPad."
Confidence has never been something Haneul lacked, but he is especially prideful in his dancing ability. Perhaps it's his growth within the field (how he transformed from an awkward and clumsy kid to a kid with fluid and power-laden moves) or the diversity he is able to portray with dance (from popping, locking, breakdance, and, to an extent, ballet), but Haneul holds his dancing skills to high regards relative to his other assets. Thus, when he finds himself desperate to assist in this situation, choreography is what comes to mind.
Taking the device one boy politely hands him, Haneul plops down onto the ground and zeros his focus onto the footage. He becomes unaware of the boys that hover around him, leaning over his shoulder and sitting close to look at the video with him — or those who choose to peer at him instead.
Once the video comes to an end, Haneul allows his thoughts to diverge and develop. The dance looks simple enough. The only obstacle he suspects they might run into is the power some movement call for. Haneul files that concern to the back of his mind for later reference and replays the video, this time laying the device on his lap and imitating some of the hand movements as they come. After five or six replays, Haneul stands up and walks to the front of the room, gesturing for the others to follow him. When they're all standing behind him, Haneul starts demonstrating the dance. He knows he isn't the best teacher, but he hopes his endless patience, constant smile, and creative use of onomatopoeia make up for it. The boys don't complain, in fact they praise him heavily, so Haneul figures he is doing a good job.
When the Grounders seem somewhat comfortable with the overall structure of the dance (ie being able to clumsily execute the main points of the choreography — regardless of the little, but important, details), Haneul moves on to instructing each member individually. For some of the boys, he just offers a few remarks, afraid to offend them by judging them harshly when they hadn't requested it. For others, they ask for his criticisms so Haneul doesn't filter his words — but he does sugarcoat them somewhat, out of habit more than anything else.
"That's great!" Haneul exclaims, brandishing a tight smile and a thumbs up to Sunoo's expectant gaze. The boy watched him with wide eyes, a soft smile, and shuddering shoulders as he tries to catch his breath after showing him what little of the dance he had mastered. "It's just that you're supposed to stomp your right leg — not the left one. Also, when you raise your hand, your fingers should all be separated, and..."
For the first two, Sunoo takes the criticism well, his hair bouncing along with the erratic nodding of his head. Then, the more they start to pile up, the more his shoulders slump. Soon enough, he is stomping his foot like a child, and tugging on Haneul's arms. "It's so hard, Hyung!" He whines loudly, hitting his head against Haneul's hard arm.
Haneul chuckles, ruffling the younger boy's black hair. It has only been five hours since they walked into the Grounder together, but getting close to Sunoo had been devastatingly easy. Sunoo is the embodiment of sunshine (so much so that Haneul had spent nearly ten minutes racking his embarrassingly small English reservoir to recall the word, only so he could appoint it as Sunoo's official nickname). He did not shy away from physical touch and even scolded him when Haneul went out of his way to avoid touching him. They had met only hours ago, so Haneul assumed, justifiably he thinks, that the boy wouldn't be comfortable with him grabbing his arm, and legs to go through the choreography with him —especially when it seemed so unnecessary. But no, much to his surprise, Sunoo had insisted on it.
"You're doing so well, though," Haneul says, giving the boy's shoulder a quick squeeze.
Before Sunoo could complain further, which Haneul was sure he would because, even though he is literal sunshine, Sunoo is also a child. He throws cute little tantrums (which are only cute because they're filled with empty complaints that proceed persistence and hard work), whines constantly, and gets overly excited over the smallest things. He doesn't get to do any of that though, or at least Haneul does not get to witness it when Taki pulls him away from Sunoo and to another corner of the room.
Taki is nearly half of Haneul's height, and maybe that is why Haneul finds him so adorable. He certainly doesn't try to be cute, nor does he possess the cute mannerism that Sunoo boosts. Taki, instead, has a lovely sort of charm that comes with his young age. During their short time together, Haneul identifies Tak as a quiet kid prone to sudden outbursts and loud laughter. He tries to act serious, biting his lip in front of the mirror and furrowing his bows in what Haneul guesses is his version of the typical "sexy" look, but it always backfires and results in a roaring crowd of Grounders. He never seems embarrassed by it: he laughs along with them and so Haneul doesn't feel as bad for the ache in his stomach nor the tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.
Now he stands behind Taki, watching as he performs the routine. When the boy is done, Haneul howlers loudly and with genuine pride. Taki is one of the first to memorize the entire choreography and Haneul does not hesitate to tell him just that. He praises him graciously, lifting him off the ground and twirling him around as he does.
Taki guffaws hideously, throwing his hands back and enjoying the impromptu ride. Eventually, when the room starts to spin a little too fast to be fun, Haneul sets Taki down, ushering him away to practice some more and drifting off by himself to start memorizing the lyrics.
The paper, filled to the brim with compact lyrics, is intimidating even to him, so Haneul feels concerned for the non-Korean Grounders. Since no one approaches him, Haneul figures they are doing well and that his worry is unfounded. He slinks down near the corner of the room, holding the paper in his hand, and starts mumbling the words.
Not even fifteen minutes into his individual practice time, Haneul spits out the water he had been downing. Hanbin's "let's cut off our hands!" had garnered many reactions similar to his own. The boys tried to correct Hanbin's pronunciation, but they were laughing too hard for their efforts to be illegible. Seeing this, Haneul steps up (stifling his own laugher) and offers to help the boy one-on-one.
"So, I'll sing the line and you can repeat after me. Cool?" Hanbin nods hurriedly.
They begin joint vocal practice like that. Taki joins them somewhere along the line and Haneul finds himself surrounded by the entire foreigner line of the Ground. The boys are bright and determined — though they make sure to stop practice long enough to compliment his voice, thank him, and express their gratitude and luck for having a Hyung like him — much to Haneul's bashful joy.
By the end of the first day, all the Grounders have the basic structure of the dance down and even have the lyrics memorized, for the most part. Their performance is nowhere near polished, and that fact keeps Haneul anxiously and restlessly rolling in his bed. He only gets to sleep for four hours that night. He rises before the sun, and without much thought, Haneul washes his face, changes his clothes, and makes his way to the practice room.
By the time the other boys file into the Ground, Haneul's performance had reached a satisfactory level. His smile is bright and his voice loud but he thinks the darkness framing his eye is somewhat disconcerting to the other members.
Sunoo is the first person to come up to him. He ambles to him, wrapping his hands around his shoulders and slumping onto him. "Since when were you here?" He asks, nuzzling into his shoulders and ignoring Haneul's 'Get off. I'm so sweaty' comments.
"I got the choreography down, so what do you think about doing an hour dance practice and then half an hour for the lyrics and the vocals..." Haneul proposes, waddling to the side with Sunoo still attached to him. Choruses of agreement echoed through the room, and the boys lined up in front of the mirror, keenly watching Haneul and waiting on his instructions.
Three days later. Haneul's body, from teaching everyone and then practicing on his own, is unable to stand on its own and it lifelessly collapses on the ground. While laying there, with his limbs splayed out, he tries to rehearse the lyrics, but his brain throbs, and the words that manage to leave his lips are nothing but jumbled, murmured, gibberish. Too exhausted to even focus his mind, he lets his attention wander to where it pleases. It falls onto Sunghoon and Jay.
Haneul hadn't seen them since he was sent to the Ground. He hadn't even had the time or the spare mental resources to think of them. Now, unable to reel his thoughts, Haneul remembers their tendency to overwork. With Jay's overambitious personality, and Sunghoon's habit of taking on more than he can handle — the two created a volatile pair that, during their time as a trio, Haneul had barely been able to manage.
Haneul assumes Heesung (the boy Jake had been so astonished to see enter) would have taken on the position of leader, and the reasons the boy, from what little he knew of him, would be able to handle them. But, for some reason, his worry persists.
I just want to say that this story will be updated weekly, on Saturdays. I also want to ask what you think of it so far. Are you enjoying it? What are your thoughts? I'm eager to hear from the readers!
