𝗕𝘂𝘀 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗽. 🚏 sunki

🥁 creation - 𝘊𝘏. 04

"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Riki's morning routine was as effortless as his laid-back persona. He stretched lazily in bed, his hair a mess, blinking against the sunlight filtering through his apartment's thin curtains. His phone buzzed on the nightstand with the usual flood of notifications: classmates planning study groups, friends asking about the weekend, and one that caught his eye—a family group chat update from his mom in Japan. The photo was of his older sister's graduation ceremony, her smile wide as she held her diploma.

Riki stared at the photo for a moment, a bittersweet pang hitting him. He hated missing moments like these, but Seoul kept him busy. Between university and teaching dance classes, time flew. Besides, this city's hum had become his second home—a place where creativity pulsed in the air, driving him forward.

Rolling out of bed, Riki splashed his face with cold water before pulling on a casual outfit: black fleece string wide pants, light grey knitted half zip up collar sweater, a white undershirt, and to top it, off he added some jewelry to compliment his outfit. A silver safety pin necklace and a couple silver rings. (I can provide a visual of his outfit if y'all want it!) He slung his black crossbody (which was decorated with a couple small black keychains) over his shoulder, then paused to glance at the tiny bonsai plant perched on his windowsill. It was a gift from his younger sister, her way of reminding him of home.

"Still alive," he murmured with a grin, tapping the pot lightly before heading out the door.

The streets of Seoul greeted him with their usual vibrancy. Students hurried to class, cafes buzzed with early-morning regulars, and street vendors prepared for the day. Riki loved the rhythm of it all—the way the city seemed to dance to its own beat.

At Decelis University, his first lecture on music production flew by in a blur of beats and technical discussions about mixing tracks. His professor's words were fascinating, but Riki's mind wandered to his own project: a track blending traditional Japanese instruments with modern electronic sounds. He could almost hear the melody in his head, a seamless fusion of his roots and his present life in Seoul.

And then, unexpectedly, his thoughts drifted to Sunoo.

The fashion student had been on his mind more often than he expected. There was something about the way Sunoo's brows furrowed when he was focused or how his sketches reflected a quiet passion. He wasn't just creative—he was alive in a way that intrigued Riki.

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎

By mid-afternoon, Riki was in his element at the dance studio. The spacious room buzzed with energy as his students warmed up, their chatter mixing with the bass-heavy track playing through the speakers.

"Alright, everyone!" Riki called out, clapping his hands. "Today's focus is rhythm and musicality. Listen to the beats, feel the flow—don't overthink it."

He led the group through a routine, breaking down each move with precision. His body moved effortlessly, each step hitting the beat perfectly. Teaching always reminded him of why he loved dance. It wasn't just about the steps—it was about expression, connection, and freedom.

Between demonstrations, Riki caught himself smiling, thinking back to Sunoo's hesitant yet determined attempts at dancing the night before. He'd looked so awkward at first, but by the end, he'd caught on, and Riki could tell he'd enjoyed himself.

As the session wrapped up, Riki checked his phone. A message from his younger sister lit up the screen: a video of her trying out a dance move he'd taught her during his last trip home.

Her enthusiasm—and her clumsy attempt—made him laugh out loud. "You'll get there, kid," he muttered, shaking his head affectionately.

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎

Later that day, as Riki crossed the campus toward the cafeteria, he spotted a familiar figure. Sunoo was walking with his head down, absorbed in his phone, his expression serious.

Riki's mischievous grin appeared almost instinctively. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, "Yo, umbrella hog!"

Sunoo jolted, startled, but when he looked up and saw Riki, a smile tugged at his lips. "You're still calling me that?"

"Of course. Gotta remind you who saved you from the rain," Riki teased, falling into step beside him. "So, been busy designing dance-inspired outfits yet?"

Sunoo's laugh was soft but genuine. "Actually, yes. I was just working on some ideas."

"Good. Can't wait to see them," Riki said, his tone sincere. Sunoo's creativity fascinated him in a way he couldn't quite explain.

They grabbed food and found a table together. Riki noticed Sunoo relax as they talked, his nervous energy giving way to a more open enthusiasm.

As the conversation flowed, Riki found himself opening up about his own project—his attempt to blend traditional and modern sounds. To his surprise, Sunoo listened intently, asking thoughtful questions. Most people didn't ask about his music projects, and his friends rarely saw this side of him. But with Sunoo, he didn't feel the need to hold back. It felt... nice. Sunoo made him feel at ease, as if they were already friends despite barely knowing each other.

By the time they left the cafeteria, Riki felt lighter. Walking beside Sunoo, he found himself suggesting, "Hey, I was planning to work on some new dance moves for my class later. Wanna come and... observe again?"

Sunoo hesitated, glancing at him with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. "Just observing, right?"

Riki chuckled. "Of course."

But as they headed toward the studio, Riki couldn't help but wonder if he could coax Sunoo into stepping onto the dance floor again. There was something about Sunoo's quiet determination that made him want to see more.

And, maybe, Sunoo was starting to inspire him as much as he inspired Sunoo.