“I’m not your best friend.” There’s no bitterness or jealousy in Lu Han’s tone, that Jongin can discern, but there is a question.
“No, you’re not,” Jongin says, and he presses his lips together for a moment, trying to gather words. “You’re my best something, though.”
"Your best something, huh?” Lu Han muses. “I’ll take that.”
Most people assumed Kim Jongin saw dancing as an art. As if dancing was as frivolous as an oil painting hanging in an art museum meant to be stared at but never touched and never lived. But assuming that this was so for this Kim Jongin boy would be a mistake, Yixing mused. Because for Jongin, dancing was not an art; it was his entire being. Other dancers (good dancers; great dancers, even) let the music move them. But Jongin? When Jongin danced, he was the music.
Happy Birthday Lu Han
Happy Birthday, Kim Jonghyun~
Happy Birthday, Kim Minseok~
kstewfuckyeah