A year and a half later, Park Minhyuk returned, this time alone, and this time also sporting dark pink hair.

Was he some kind of gangster?

Seonghoon had imagined, idly, looking up Park Minhyuk the dancer, but outside of answering customer and business emails, he and the internet didn’t get along well.

Besides, he’d been pretty sure he’d never see Park Minhyuk again.

Yet here the boy was — a man now, definitely finished with high school, his features sharper and stronger, the sweetness of adolescence gone from his face, his shoulders broader.

“You need a new pair of dancing shoes?” Seonghoon asked when Minhyuk placed a familiar shoe box on the desk.

Minhyuk nodded. “You remember.”

“It was an odd request you made, but an enjoyable project. Made from the old pair?”

“Yes, please. Half up front, same as last time?”

Seonghoon nodded, and once again Minhyuk counted out money from a ridiculous stack of bills. He stood still, patient, not fidgeting or poking at his phone, while Seonghoon wrote up another job estimate and logged it in his job ledger. He showed it to Minhyuk, who nodded.

“Two weeks, same as last time,” Seonghoon said, after Minhyuk handed him the stack of carefully counted-out bills.

“Thank you, sir.” Minhyuk bowed and left the shop.

Seonghoon eased open the shoe box, and there they were, the original worn-out pair. How long had Minhyuk had this original pair? And just how hard had he been dancing, that he already needed a new pair?

Two weeks later, when Minhyuk came to pick up the shoes, he was accompanied by his same tall friend from last time, though this time his friend had pale blue hair. Seonghoon kept his misgivings about unnaturally-colored hair to himself. All growing up, the only men who’d bleached and dyed their hair odd colors had been gangsters. Now kids seemed to dye and color themselves willy-nilly. Bitna would never have had such outlandish hair colors. It wasn’t done, for a proper ballerina.

Two weeks later, when Minhyuk returned for the shoes, he did some more ballet moves to test them, and Seonghoon wondered if Bitna would have liked having pink hair, maybe to match her shoes.

Seonghoon didn’t expect to see Minhyuk after that.

And he didn’t.

Until three and a half years later.

At first he didn’t recognize the man with the sharp cheekbones and laser-intense gaze and platinum blond hair who swept into his shop and came to stand at the desk. And then he bowed, and when he straightened up and said hello, Seonghoon recognized his voice.

“Hello. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Park Minhyuk. I’m in need of a new pair of dance shoes, if you still make custom shoes.” He pushed the old battered shoe box across the desk.

“Two weeks, same as always,” Seonghoon said. “It’s good to see you again. I thought you’d given up dancing.”

“I thought I had for a while too,” Minhyuk said softly.

“I’m glad you’re still dancing — and not just because you’re bringing me business.” Seonghoon still had a copy of the old work order tucked into the back of his ledger, that he transferred to every new ledger, just in case. While he wrote it up, he said, “Your friend didn’t come with you this time?”

“Ah, no. He’s — not with us anymore.”

Minhyuk’s voice was steady, but Seonghoon lifted his head sharply anyway.

“I’m very sorry,” he said.

Minhyuk just inclined his head politely.

Seonghoon finished writing up the order and showed Minhyuk the estimate. While Minhyuk was counting out cash, Seonghoon glanced over his shoulder at the lonely pink pointe shoes. He’d have given anything to see their owner dance one more time.

Minhyuk handed over the cash. “Two weeks?”

“Two weeks.”

Minhyuk bowed one last time, then strode out of the shop.

Seonghoon watched him go, then opened the shoe box and peered inside at the familiar tattered and crumbling shoes. For the first time, he noticed a message, almost illegible, scribbled on the inside of the box.
Happy Birthday, my Minhyukie! Let’s dance together forever, okay? Always cheering for you! Your Bin-hyung.

Seonghoon took the shoes out of the box and closed it, and he set to work. He hoped the shoes he made helped Minhyuk dance for a long time.

*

Minhyuk was still pale blond when he came to pick up the shoes. He paid in cash, and he bowed respectfully, and he tucked the box with the new shoes into his backpack. He hugged the old box with the old shoes to his chest as he left, his gaze hollow but the set of his jaw determined.

Seonghoon watched him go and wished him well, then resumed work. He had a lot to get done before he closed the shop for the holiday. For the first time in a long time he’d be spending both Christmas and New Year’s in Jinju with his sister and her family instead of being by himself.

His sister had a couple of teenage daughters who’d been much younger than Bitna the last time he’d seen them but were now about the same age she’d been before the accident.

While Seongja and her older daughter Naeun were in the kitchen baking the traditional Christmas strawberry cake, Seonghoon was sitting on the sofa in the den half-playing a game of baduk against himself while her younger daughter Haeun sat in front of the TV doing homework and also watching some kind of musical documentary about a K-pop group she was into.

“Haven’t you ever heard of Astro?” she asked.

“I mostly listen to trot,” he said patiently.

“Have you ever heard of Cha Eunwoo?”

Seonghoon considered. “Name’s familiar. Is he a soccer player on a foreign team?”

“Uncle,” Haeun protested. “He’s only the most popular and handsome actor in Korea, and one of the best-looking idols. His idol group his Astro.”

“Unless he sings trot,” Seonghoon began.

Haeun straightened up. “He actually does! In this concert. One of his teammates won on a trot show, but he’s doing his military service now, so for this concert Eunwoo did a cover of his song.” She pointed to the screen. “There he is! That’s Cha Eunwoo!”

Seonghoon blinked at the television, confused.

There were five young men on the screen at the moment.

“Which one is he?”

“Uncle, Cha Eunwoo’s face is on the label of your soju bottle.” Haeun pointed.

Seonghoon looked at the green bottle on the side table that he’d been sipping from all evening. Indeed, a smooth-faced young man was on the label. “Oh. Is that who that is? I usually focus on what’s inside the bottle.”

Haeun rolled her eyes. “Uncle, don’t you care about anything fun?”

“I care about shoes. Shoes are fun,” Seonghoon said.

Haeun just shook her head and got back to her homework.

Seonghoon resumed his game.

And then he heard a familiar voice.

He lifted his head sharply, and — stared.

At Park Minhyuk.

Who was on the television screen, showing off a pair of shoes, the shoes Seonghoon had made, talking about how they were his favorite but had been discontinued, so he’d had new ones made, because good shoes were important and helped him dance well.

Seonghoon cleared his throat. “Who’s that?”

Haeun said, without looking up, “That’s not Cha Eunwoo. That’s Rocky.” Then she twisted around. “His real name is Park Minhyuk. He’s from Jinju. There are several popular idols from Jinju now, like Seonghwa and San from Ateez.”

Seonghoon said, faintly, “He has a bit of an accent still.”

Haeun nodded and turned back to the screen, humming happily. “He’s such an amazing dancer. Just watch and see. You’ll be super impressed. He studied ballet when he was little, and tap dance too.” She added, almost to herself, “Cousin Bitna liked him a lot.”

Seonghoon leaned forward and watched Minhyuk perform, watched him dance. He was no authority on what made a good or bad idol performance, or really even good or bad dancing beyond what was pleasing to the eye, despite Bitna’s best efforts in trying to educate him about good dancing.

Still, Minhyuk was a pleasure to watch, all clean lines and smooth turns, light on his feet, making everything effortless even though Seonghoon well knew from the state of Minhyuk’s shoes and their replacement rate that he danced hard. On top of dancing well, Minhyuk had a lovely singing voice, strong and clear, with good range.

Haeun said, “Rocky isn’t actually in Astro anymore. He left the group. And then one of them passed away. Rocky had his solo debut last month, though. He’s making music again. We’re all really glad to see him doing well and doing what he loves, even if he’s not with the team anymore.”

She spoke of him with such fondness, as if he were a family friend, even though she’d probably never met him in real life.

Seonghoon said, “Losing someone is hard. I’m glad he’s healing.”

Haeun cast Seonghoon a sympathetic look, and she even climbed up on the sofa to sit beside him.

“You want to see which song was Cousin Bitna’s favorite?”

Bitna had never talked to Seonghoon much about her favorite celebrities, sharing with her mother instead.
Seonghoon supposed he could share this with her now.

Haeun used the remote to open up the menu to navigate to another section of the DVD. “This is always their concert encore. It’s called Call Out.”

*

The next time Park Minhyuk came into the shoe shop, he had dark hair, and a taller figure was trailing along behind him. Something about the shape of the taller boy’s face was familiar.

“Hyung, what is this place?”

“It’s a shoe shop,” Minhyuk said patiently.

“Why are we in a shoe shop?” He had faint traces of a southern accent too.

“To get the best dancing shoes ever.”

When Minhyuk and the other boy stood side-by-side at the desk, Seonghoon could see that they were brothers.

“Welcome back,” Seonghoon said. “Do you need a new pair of dancing shoes already?”

Minhyuk said, “Can you make a pair for my younger brother?”

Seonghoon nodded. “Yes I can. You brought the old pair?”

Minhyuk reached into his bag for a familiar battered shoe box. It was taped around the edges now. “Always. Two weeks?”

“Two weeks.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m always glad to make good dancing shoes for a fine dancer.” Seonghoon glanced over his shoulder at the pointe shoes, then smiled at Minhyuk.

He had new shoes to focus on, but the old shoes would never be forgotten.