My Hot Dance Instructor | Minsung

4. It Was Just a Dream

Friday night rolled around faster than I would've liked. All week, I couldn't stop thinking about the dream I had. And the bigger problem was that it made me start to really question my feelings.

Sure, Minho was attractive. Really attractive. But he was my teacher and there was no way he would ever do something like what I dreamed. Yet somehow it made me feel a little disappointed knowing that.

Nonetheless, it was almost time for class and I had to try my best to keep my shit together.

When I arrived at the studio, I was surprised to see that Minho wasn't there yet. I checked my watch to make sure I was on time. I even double checked the date to make sure it was really Friday. Believe me. I've made that mistake before.

While I was beginning to mildly panic, a loud noise came roaring up next to my car. There he was, on his motorcycle dressed completely in black. It was as if he was part of the machine itself.

He climbed off and removed his helmet, revealing his messy, silver-dyed hair. He ran his fingers back through it, attempting to straighten it out. It was like a scene out of a drama and all I could do was watch, completely absorbed.

Suddenly he turned, looking through the window of my car. And there I was probably sitting with my mouth open, nearly drooling like a total perv.

He waved to me and I grabbed my stuff and got out. After I wiped the drool, of course. Kidding.

"Ah, sorry I'm a bit late tonight. One of my cats got out and I had to go after him." He looked me over and smiled. "Oh good, you ditched the sweatshirt like I asked."

He didn't ask. He told me not to wear it.

"I hope this will be better," I replied, rubbing my bare shoulder.

"It's still a bit loose, but a sleeveless t-shirt is fine for now. Let's go."

I followed as he walked up to the building and unlocked the door. We headed down the quiet hall—our echoing footsteps the only sound—and entered the practice room.

As usual, we did our warmups and then started with the first song. Despite my head being full of questionable thoughts, I somehow managed to get through the choreography without screwing up.

"That was excellent! Looks like these lessons are helping already." His smile was enthusiastic and quite sweet.

We jumped right into the next song, and though I managed to not fall on my face, I did struggle a bit. But, remembering Minho's instruction, I was able to make the adjustments myself and get through it on the next try.

"I'm very impressed," Minho complimented during our water break. "Of course, I am a great teacher."

He was so incredibly smug sometimes, but I couldn't argue that he had every right to be.

"You are," I agreed without looking at him.

"Oh. I was kinda joking, but thanks," he chuckled.

"It's true," I continued. "I was a total mess before working with you like this."

"Hey, give yourself some credit. You can focus better here and I think that was half your issue."

"That's probably true, but you're the one who gave me the opportunity to have this kind of focus. You knew what I needed to get better. That's what teachers do," I retorted with complete sincerity.

I looked at him and couldn't decipher his expression. His face was soft and his eyes wide. Those lips of his were parted as if he was waiting for words to escape, but he just stood there silently for more than a moment.