No Tenia Nada Que Aportar Asi Que Copie Y Pegue Lo Primero Que Encontre, Sorry

It's early Thursday morning when Luhan's flight lands in Seoul. He's in a daze as he finds his way into a taxi with a tiny Chinese-Korean dictionary clutched tightly in his hands (SM Entertainment, please) and travels down the highway built between tall buildings covered by the morning fog.

Luhan arrives at SM an hour later and looks up at the grand building towering in front of him, feelingmore inferior than ever. He makes his way inside and is greeted by strings of Korean coming from left and right, in different tones and pitches and all of sudden, the Korean he thought he had mastered back in China completely deserts him and fuck, now he's feeling even more inferior if that's even possible.

He walks up to the receptionist and after a few minutes of broken Korean and a lot ofhand motions, Luhan finally receives instructions on where he's supposed to go. But, what he actually wants to do is get on the next flight straight back home – his Korean isn't up to par, he can't even sing nor dance that good now that he really thinks about it so he's probably just wasting his time here and he doesn't even like Korean food. He wants to go back to Beijing – back to his friends, backto memorizing Jay Chou raps that are in Chinese and back to the scallion pancakes his mom makes that he likes so much. That's what Luhan wants to do, but instead, he just stands a little taller and walks with a little more confidence towards the practice room.

The first day of practice is a complete blur. Luhan is thrust into practice group A and just his luck, this group only contains Koreantrainees, but Luhan takes a deep breath and puts on a brave face anyway because music is a universal language, he thinks, as he stretches in front of the mirror in preparation for dance practice.




The day comes to an end at around nine at night and Luhan collapses onto the floor along with the other trainees, sweat soaking through their t-shirts. Just then, the door to the practice roomopens and a staff members beckons Luhan over and hands him a piece of paper with his housing information on it.

"Is that your housing stuff?" a voice to his right asks when he sits back down on the floor.

"Yeah, I think so," Luhan replies slowly.

"Let me see," the boy extends his hands and Luhan hands the paper over since he's too tired to comprehend Korean at this point.

"You're in mydorm. You're lucky because we're right down the street unlike some trainees who have to take the bus to practice everyday because their dorm is further away. You're in Jongin-hyung's room." The boy points to the corner of the room at a tall boy with tousled brown hair leaning against the wall. The boy gives a quick wave.

Luhan blinks a few times and tries to process what is being said to him –he catches my dorm, lucky and Jongin-hyung's room, which seems like a good combination of words so he smiles back sincerely and says, "great, thank you."

"You're not Korean, are you?" the boy asks.

Luhan shakes his head. "I'm Chinese. I'm from China. Well, obviously. Beijing," he rambles on nervously, but quickly stops when he realizes he's probably making a fool out of himself.

The boylaughs. "I'll try to not talk so fast next time. I know I talk really fast. People always tell me that. Hey, if you ever need help with your Korean, I can help you. Maybe you can teach me Chinese, yeah? I've always wanted to learn. Seems like a fun language to learn."

Luhan opens his mouth to reply, but can't really find the right words because he's slightly taken back by the boy's friendlinessso he just closes his mouth and smiles.

"Sorry," the boy says sheepishly. "I was talking really fast again, wasn't I?"

Luhan quickly shakes his head. "No no, don't apologize. It's fine. I have to pick up Korean somehow, right?"

"I'm Sehun, by the way."

"Sehun," Luhan repeats, letting the name sink in. "I'm Luhan."

"Sehun-hyung," he insists mischievously as the corners of his mouth...