Lee Minho - Minsung 16

Minho had stopped dancing a long time ago. Not because he didn't like it, but because life had become heavy, practical, and silent. Every time he thought about going back to it, something inside him told him it was too late.
Han knew it. Not because Minho had told him, but because he saw it in the way he looked at the studio mirrors, in the way he followed the music with his fingers, even when he swore he didn't care anymore.
It still hurts you not to do it. He told her one day, without reproach.
Minho denied it, but he didn't convince anyone.
Han didn't dance. He never had. Even so, he understood what it meant to love something and then let it go out of fear. That's why he didn't insist all at once. He only started playing music when they were alone. Keeping the beat with his voice. Saying "try it," as if it wasn't such a big deal.

At first, Minho stood up. He took one step. Then another. It wasn't perfect, but it was real.
Han watched him from the side, counting in a low voice, awkwardly correcting postures, smiling every time Minho got frustrated and tried again.
"You don't have to do it right, " he told her. "Just do it."
When they finished, Minho was agitated, tired… and alive.
For the first time in a long time, he didn't dance alone.

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