When the chorus finished, Bul ran to press pause on the video. “See? You’re already getting a hang of it!” he said, racing back to Kip’s side. 

Out of all the higher-ups, the most expecting gangster stereotype would be Eliu, while the least expecting would be Bul. He was the shortest for starters, whose glossy curled hair laid balancing on top of his head, and a Filipino baby—figuratively and literally—with very complex family relations. His mother remarried several times since she’s given birth to him, but despite that Bul is in contact with most of his extended family. His cousins are practically offspring of his contagious childish mannerisms, which while some would have believed he was annoying to be around after a while, he used this intentionally to lighten the mood. 

 “Thanks,” Kip whispered bashfully. “But it still doesn’t feel natural to do.”

Bul patted Kip’s forehead with a hand towel and tossed it back to the table where the laptop rested on. “What part are you struggling with? I’ll help make you the next best dancer!”

Junryu Kip, similar to Eliu, where everyone outside of the gang utters him by his last name with a vicious tongue. He’s always been reserved—a great listener, and really only himself around Kijuro. But if it wasn’t for Bul, his fiancé, he would never leave his bed. He’s a tattoo artist for The Prisms, something that he wasn’t able to accomplish until recently. Although he’s close to the leaders, his reputation in the gang is left to be desired and rumored to be a worthless higher-up. The majority of his bad reputation occurred when he was in high school. Now that it’s been years since, his broad, muscular figure, and deepcut facial features are normally enough to make people back off from him.  

“It’s the part when she makes all those hand gestures while she’s turning,” Kip said.

Bul nodded firmly, anchoring his hands to his hips. “That’s the hardest step, so that means you’re almost there! Watch me and then we’ll do it together, okay?” 

Kijuro’s finger glided across the polished wooden railing as he snuck his way downstairs, still watching the two. Bul coasted through each step with reduced speed, repeating the more quick movements over and over. “When she faces the left side, you’ll touch your face like this and then step outwards with your arms out like this,” he demonstrated verbally. “Lemme see you do it!”

“Okay, I think I understand.” 

“Ready? 1, 2… 3, 4…” Bul counted to the pacing of the chorus as Kip started from the top. He admired the amount of energy Kip exerted into the dance, but cut him off when he reached the end. “Wait wait!”

He brought Kip’s hands back to his face, lifting some of his fingers out from his fists. “Tighten your fingers some, like they’re claws,” he instructed in a hushed tone. His face hovered right beneath Kip’s, his words spilling out onto his neck. He didn’t pay attention to what he was telling him, yet sounded his voice as if he was following along.

“And when you spread your arms out, act like you’re about to give a giant bearhug!” Bul threw his arms back. “Like this. Bend your arms and bring them out real far!” 

“I’ll try that,” he said. He was still pressing his hands up to his cheeks, an uncontrollable warmth radiating from them.

Bul dropped his arms and stepped back again. “Now go.”

The counting began again as Bul tracked the beat with the tapping of his foot, and Kip regained his dance persona once he eyed himself in the mirror. The first half of the choreography no longer required him to think about his body movement, but he couldn't watch himself without his eyes darting elsewhere, caught off guard by the intimately sly gesture he had just received from Bul—now grouped with the unexpected appearance from Kijuro. When he switched to face his left, there he was, with an intrigued demeanor and folded arms.

“You two are adorable. This is what happens when you're home alone?”

Kip’s eyes widened at the voice. He stepped away from the mirror, now his hands that smothered his face providing shelter for the rising blood that easily pushed past his translucent skin. As he struggled to make an excuse, Bul chimed in.

“Jun’s teaching me how to dance! Did you know how good of a dancer he is?” 

Kijuro quirked an eyebrow, though his smile rested in place. “Oh? Why did it sound like you were teaching him, then?”

“Well—that’s because he doesn’t know this dance, but it’s a popular duet that’s been going around,” Bul prolonged, shooting Kip a glance accompanied with a slight nod. 

“I see. Glad to see you two still having fun when nobody’s around.”

More times than not, Bul often lied or gave ‘technical truths’ when he was asked about things—even in small matters. It never seemed to mind Kijuro, simply because that was who Bul was. His personality itself didn’t contain much truth. Not in the way that a phony was, or how a person would lie their way to avoid unfavorable situations in their eyes. It was unexplainable to Kijuro how trustworthy he considered Bul to be, perhaps because he never lied to jeopardize anybody he cared about or avoided responsibilities. In any case, the higher-ups had all been together long enough to collectively and discreetly figure out when he was telling a white lie.

“What about you, Key? I thought you and Ellie were dealing with an emergency!” 

Kijuro looked at Kip’s still unsettled face until he decided to approach him. “The rest is up to El. But I have my phone on me if anything happens,” he faltered, reaching up to Kip’s wrists as he spoke to pull them away. 

Kip tried to maintain eye contact. His face had calmed down over time, and now that he was pressing to stay concealed, the heat rushed over him again.

“You did great today.” Kijuro’s gentle demeanor was perceived to be personal to Kip now. “You should teach me when you’re more comfortable,” he said with affirmation.

Slowly, Kip’s wrists loosened in his grasp, meeting with Kijuro’s eyes. The two slitted circles that peered directly towards individuals and everyone at the same time. The eyes that many outside and equally inside the gang claimed were a prudent, cutthroat stare that read any intention, yet never exhibited a scorn or distaste in the other person. He was one of the few people to capture the good in those eyes. The bulging eye bags made Kijuro look youthful when he gave his memorable smiles. 

“Thank you…” Kip whispered.

“I’ll let you continue. It’s about time I make dinner, isn’t it?” He stepped away, combing his lengthy bangs to the side. “What should I make for dinner?”

“One of Ellie’s favorite foods. He’s gonna act like he isn’t hungry,” Bul predicted. By now he was leaning over his laptop with his chin resting between his knuckles, engaged in watching the video on repeat.

“You need to make a lot, too,” Kip added.

As if he had his own database of cuisines stored inside his brain, Kijuro came up with a solution in the matter of seconds. He casually nodded and headed towards their kitchen without exposing what he was planning. “Make sure to open the door when he comes!”