Non-AU. 438 words.
It's so easy to see why you wanna get with me,
The feeling I give makes you wanna dance with me
I sing my music to bring you to me
I hope I can make an impression on you
He tilts his cap to the side and then places his hand back on her waist. She smiles at him and he returns a weary one back. She doesn’t understand.
This isn’t something a good Christian boy would do. Standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor with his hands on a girl’s waist and music blasting through the speakers at maximum volume. It makes him fidget and feel out of place amidst the (awkwardly) swaying club goers even though he knows he’s got the moves to knock everyone dead.
Dancing in clubs just isn’t his thing.
“What’s wrong, oppa?” Chaerin’s voice is a whisper in his his ear, amused and sultry (even though he doesn’t want to admit that; it’s wrong and inappropriate), lifting her head from his shoulder.
“I, uhh…” he’s not good with telling lies, whether they be white, black or green. Youngbae looks around and tries to find Jiyong or Seunghyun in the crowd. Maybe catch their eye and telepathically ask them to leave the premises with them. Somehow. He’s unable to find either of them (damn them, probably ran off to a dark corner somewhere) so he decides to man up and smiles at Chaerin.
“I’m okay,” he tries and then after a thought, adds, “This… music just… isn’t my thing.” There. It isn’t a complete lie and he feels a tiny bit better.
Until Chaerin slips her arms down from around his neck and frowns. “Oh,” she says and then looks thoughtful for a moment, “Hang on then.” And disappears before Youngbae can protest, leaving him feeling even more awkward.
The lights dim a bit more and the song changes to a familiar Usher number and when Chaerin comes back, she’s grinning at him and it makes Youngbae’s heart skip a couple of beats and swallow the sudden lump in his throat.
“Is this better, oppa?” she doesn’t press herself close to him or wrap her arms around his neck again (he feels strangely disappointed by that) but stands a little further and starts dancing. Sharp jerks of her hips and controlled waves of her body and it makes him tap his feet to the beat. The urge to dance striking him.
He waits until the chorus starts and joins her. Pressing his chest against her back and doesn’t feel weird about it as they move, steps different but perfectly synchronized at the same time. His heartbeat speeds up every time their eyes meet and he tells himself that it’s the exertion of his body, the music making him dance, but she smiles and he doesn’t bother lying to himself anymore.