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The Day After, Another Bad Wednesday

Seonghwa hates his Wednesdays.

He has this History of Dance Performance class, the final of a series of three courses he's had to take throughout the years, and it's a boring three hour lecture.

No electronic devices allowed.

The professor is some old man with greying hair who has been at the university for far too long, and was a touring dancer before that. 

He makes jokes that aren't funny (Seonghwa usually laughs anyway just to make him feel better), and brings up his glory days at least once a class.

To make matters worse, it's at nine a.m., and right after it finishes he has to rush to his shift at the library.

After that he crosses over to the studio for his ballet technique class with the strictest instructor he has, Park Jiyoung.

She's sweet and caring, really, but once she gets in teaching mode she's harsh and calculating— the definition of tsundere.

She's one of the Ballet major's underclassmen instructors, so she goes a bit easier on the Contemporary kids, but she's still a force to be reckoned with.

And at six thirty on the worst day of Seonghwa's week, it's a lot to take sometimes.

Today is one of those times.

His legs are trembling.

He can distinctly remember the last thing he ate, a hard boiled egg the previous day during his shift that he could barely keep down.

She makes them hold positions for ten minutes, and each one is pure torture.

He's hoping it's not too visible, the shaking, his lack of strength, but she calls him out a few times along with some other names.

He's not usually one to be called out, and his cheeks blush in shame.

At break he goes to sit down and almost collapses, puts his back against the mirror and slides down instead.

His head is swimming, and closing his eyes only seems to make it worse.

When he opens them again, Jiyoung is crouching in front of him.

"Park Seonghwa. Are you okay? You usually do better than this." Her feet are flat on the floor as she crouches in front of him with her arms resting on her knees.

Some hairs have come loose from her bun, framing her concerned face, brows furrowed.

"S-sorry, I'll work harder," he manages, panting heavily.

She looks at him, eyes flicking between his.

"Yah, drop the bullshit, Seonghwa-yah." She taps his knee with the back of her hand, the jerk of her head encouraging him to talk.

He's known her four years now, and he's one of her best students— Contemporary or not— and her observant nature means she knows him just a little too well.

"S-sorry. I'll be okay. I just need a minute." He says.

Doesn't know what else to say.

"Kid, you're white as a sheet." She rolls her eyes.

"Your hands are shaking. You can't do well in class if you're like this."