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4dtk · 3 years ago

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pas de deux — gojo satoru

pas de deux [pa•de•de] (french, literally “step of two”), a dance duet.

summary: striving to become a principal dancer, you’re unaware of the curious blue eyes from across the studio, only knowing of his reputation from rumours. when you have to shadow your seniors to learn a principal role and meet the infamous gojo satoru, what happens then?

word count: 11k lmfao

genre: a bit of angst, mostly fluff

a/n: gojo brainrot done. sorry this took so long lol i’m not used to writing long fics but i’m glad i did bc this is acts also as a place for me to dump my passion of ballet aha :”)

playlist here! most of them are classical pieces and a bit of ballet class music, i hope you don’t mind uwu. personally, i’d recommend watching (before or after the fic doesn’t matter hahah) the crazy talented marianela nuñez and vadim muntagirov in the pas de deux that i reference a lot in this fic. they’re my absolute favourite! (´･ᴗ･ ` )

tags: @fiona782

it was unconventional to see a ballerino don white hair during rehearsals, let alone in a company; the familiar head of white whizzes through the studio like an angel of the night, with graceful moves and powerful jumps to match those of a faerie's seamless manoeuvers through her flowers.

that was only expected out of a principal anyway.

gojo satoru, a principal dancer of the six eyes theatre. they were part of the three prominent companies that carried the ballet world and industry. behind all the glimmer and glitz lay hours of endless rehearsals and worn-out pointe shoes, as well as smiles behind kitri's fans or even the emotional miming from giselle.

he was untouchable, a leading face that carried the ballets he starred in with immense skill and an aura admired by everyone. anyone lucky to score a pas de deux with him would be torn between a world of conflict. those soft eyes that looked down at you with love were solely meant to portray siegfried's ardour for odette and nothing else.

you sigh, eyeing the confident man giving his all in the company class, no doubt hyping himself up for tonight's last show. you couldn't fall behind, either, knowing your performance was monitored way more now that you were considered amongst the directors to be promoted to principal.

"next group, pay attention, loves!" the teacher for the morning caught your attention, letting the chattering group in front head out first before the next group of dancers took their turn.

dancing was all you could remember, taking up most of your life even when you were a kid. through competitions and gruelling schedules, you managed to land in the six eyes theatre. sure, it wasn't as popular as the zen'in company or the kamo national ballet but, it still held up a wicked reputation, partially thanks to gojo satoru.

your feet naturally hail your command, placing it behind the other in a curtsey to thank the instructor for the morning class as you stretch your feet in some simple pointe repertoire.

"nervous about your posting, (y/n)?" nobara asks, rolling the arch of her feet back and forth with a tennis ball.

you shrugged, "in a way, yeah. i'm getting observed on mainly every move that i make."

the smile your best friend gives you calms you down, at least. megumi chipped in, "hey, you'll become one of the best principals around, i know it."

"yeah! and we'll go to your shows, no matter wha... oh, right, we're first soloists," itadori trails off.

you laugh, settling down to wipe the sweat from your brow. however, there's an uncharacteristic silence when you start to remove your pointe shoes.

"what if i do become principal? i'll miss you guys like hell." you mutter, rubbing off the skin peeling from your toes. removing the tape and toepads, you sigh again even after nobara lands a hand on your arm.

"stop sighing, you idiot, the company's small. sure, you'll have extended rehearsals, and i will now have to deal with yuji's noisy ass, but i doubt we're going to be separated like oil and water."

you roll your eyes, chuckling a little through glossy eyes, "true. it's just that we've always been together, through the competitions where we met and going up the ranks. hell, i wouldn't even imagine all of us becoming first soloists when we entered six eyes."

megumi raises an eyebrow, "are you underestimating us?"

putting your fingers together, you offer a sheepish smile, "just a little."

"and now you're going to become a principal, (y/n). we all know you put yourself to crazy standards that you always reach, maybe even higher than that. you're going to kill it as a principal, i'm sure."

thankful to nobara for the little speech, you pat her arm gently, easing into a stretch to prevent any tensing up later in an afternoon class.

"(y/n), they're coming over, look sharp," itadori notifies you, turning to the barre to do his own stretching as your friends busy themselves with their phones.

you take another curtsey at your instructor, along with the director of six eyes, masamichi yaga.

why... was he here now?

"(y/n), love, we'll need to talk to you about something. would you mind coming to the office later on? just before the company's afternoon class at 2 would be good."

you were at a loss for words.

was i already raised to principal? no... they wouldn't promote someone who's only danced her first soloist role a couple of times. were they going to remove me for consideration? maybe they found a better dancer to monitor?

"it's nothing terrible, (y/n), i promise." with a smile, masamichi walks away, not before patting your shoulder for reassurance.

the next few hours go by in a flash: eating lunch, lazing around in the studio, filming some tiktoks and then getting ready for another class took up most of your time that you didn't get to ponder over the office visit.

so you were definitely surprised to see gojo satoru himself, a shit-eating grin on his face once he hears you enter. he lays back on both arms to welcome the first soloist, you.

you curtseyed again to ms ieiri and masamichi. before you got to gojo, however, he held a hand up before standing up himself to bow. you let out a small smile as the familiar step led you to curtsey on the other foot.

it left a weird feeling in your bones to greet a principal dancer, but you two weren't all that close, anyway. plus, curtseying was basic courtesy in the company, where actions spoke louder than a "good morning" or a "thank you".

"nice to see you, (y/n). miss nitta, as you know," masamichi gestured to your teacher and then to the white-haired man, whose beauty never fails to amaze you, as cliche as it sounds, "and gojo satoru."

"nice to finally talk to you, miss (y/n)," he nods his head, wearing an attractive smile that had you sucking in a breath. you could only manage a smile at the moment, brought back to reality when masamichi's firm voice resonates in the office.

"you've done a tremendous job these past few months, love. we've been watching your roles this season, hopping from one position to the other with no problem at all. i'm sure you were informed that you were being considered to be principal..." you leaned forward in anticipation, "...although you'd have to let your skill shine through more before we promote you to principal any time soon."

bummer, but it's nothing you can't handle.

"we do have something to ask of you, however. your potential is clearly set in the right place, and your talent and determination are not lost. we want you to shadow and learn the repertoire of shoko ieiri and gojo satoru while they rehearse for the next season's premiere."

nevermind, it might actually be something you can't handle.

"me?"

masamichi only lets out a knowing smile. "are you up for the challenge, (y/n)? you'll get to learn and watch how principals rehearse, act and mime out the story in the hands of ballet masters and mistresses like kiyotaka ijichi and mei mei and even tengen hoshi."

your fingers dug into your thigh at the well-known names, always seeing them in the corridors but never knew how they taught or conducted rehearsals. this was your chance.

"of course, director masamichi. i'd be honoured to observe and shadow the company's principal dancers, let alone miss shoko ieiri and mr gojo satoru here. their chemistry onstage is honestly unmatched!"

okay, shut up, (y/n). you're laying your fangirling thoughts on the actual director of six eyes theatre. a simple yes would've sufficed.

"great! you start tomorrow. skip the afternoon class and come straight to the studio on the ground floor. we'll be expecting you."

you couldn't help the grin that appears on your face this time, passing a bow to everyone in the room before curtseying and almost exclaiming a "thank you!"

once you're out of the professional eye, you have a little celebratory dance outside the office, immediately fishing out your phone to text the trio.

"a...ah! gojo senpai!" you take a step back in instinct, the tall principal looming over you with nothing but an intimidating air around him.

however, nothing screams intimidating on his face, as he shoots you a polite smile and a hand to get introductions out of the way.

all you can think about is his large hand enveloping yours while he tells you his name. you're stuck in a trance, locked on his eyes cut off by the black of his sunglasses.

how would those hands feel on my hips when he's lifting me? or maybe we'd engage in a kiss in romeo and juliet...? are we doing r&j for the next season's shows?

fuck.

"uh- yes, nice to meet you too, senpai! i-"

"call me gojo, (y/n)."

you're at a loss for words, the man knowing he's left you speechless with the way he's smirking off into the other direction. you manage to get the prodigy out of your head, willing yourself to get to the company class as soon as possible. since your distraction was gone and the air cleared of any tension, you were able to hear the voices in the office.

"are you sure about this, nitta? we can't have any more dancers off their game just because they were enamoured with satoru to the point of confessing their love to him. every time we get first soloists and principals to pair with him, something always comes up."

"i'm sure, director. (y/n)'s mettle and focus on her roles are strong, and her skills are off the charts. if anything happens, we'll just pair her with another principal, like kento or something." masamichi sounded unconvinced, grunting as their footsteps increased in volume.

company class! company class!

you slipped into the studio just in time to avoid nitta and masamichi, carrying your things as you looked for the trio.

"(y/n)!" yuji catches your attention, although a little too loudly for your liking. you were left to greet the other dancers on the way to their corner, dumping your bag with much more exasperation than you expected.

"what's wrong?" megumi asks, doing some plies at the bar to warm up his feet and muscles.

"i think i should text y'all instead. let's wait for after the show tonight."

you get three nods from the trio in reply, dropping into some simple stretches as the next instructor takes over. at least gojo wasn't here...

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

the applause was deafening as you take your bow, thanking the audiences from the balcony and stalls as you gestured to your pas de deux partner, megumi. putting your hand in front of your heart was a big thing to do, giving thanks to one of your best friends and partners for a fun pair such as bluebird and princess florine.

as you walked back to join the other dancers, the principal roles were taking their bows with no doubt roars and cheers from the audience from yet another electrifying performance from the golden pair as princess aurora and prince florimund: gojo and ieiri.

as ieiri led the conductor on stage, he was the last to thank the audience, bringing the heart of the ballet to life with the score of tchaikovsky's sleeping beauty.

with one last bow, the curtain closes, leaving you to let loose from the rigid position you were used to.

"we're done!" you laugh, hugging megumi as nobara and itadori squeeze their way through the many dancers on stage. the two convey their compliments, prompting you to nudge the two on their puss-in-boots and white cat roles. the two then freeze up, staring at something that was approaching from behind.

"miss (y/n)-" gojo bows, interrupted by ieiri as she crashes into you with a hug.

"oh man, (y/n) you were great out there!" you grin, embracing her as tight as she did.

"thank you, senpai," you were practically beaming, thankful she still remembered you after being promoted to principal years ago. it was hard to communicate and talk when she had so much going on, a natural dancer who rose up the ranks fast with her hard work.

ieiri formed herself up into a refined dancer that you wouldn't think she was the young girl at your studio trying on pointe shoes for the first time years ago when you were a kid.

that was if you didn't know her personally, of course.

"here, first position, just like that!" the curious girl interacted with the kids outside a smaller studio, teaching them the various positions that at least a grade two or three class would use.

she picked up pointe work fast, obviously guided by the mentors at the school with nights of rehearsal and decision making whether she wanted to pursue this professionally.

"oh shush, you, you don't have to call me senpai, see you tomorrow (y/n)!"

ieiri bids you goodbye, no doubt to talk to the choreographers and director. gojo follow suit shortly after your exchange, not before taking your hand to plant a kiss on it.

you retract almost immediately after his lips descend on your skin, the area hot from the lighting, your sweat and your feelings.

nobara tsked, "what's his deal?" you let out a shaky sigh and shrug, hooking an arm around megumi's as you went around to mingle with the dancers.

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

[nobara is typing...]

you're to shadow gojo-senpai and shoko-senpai?! no way???!?!1/!?!?

[itadori is typing...]

no way, that's so cool!

what was he like? was he in the office that day?

[(y/n) is typing...]

yeah, he was. not gonna lie, a bit cocky... kinda overheard that partners throw themselves at him sometimes too, which makes it a bit troublesome, lol.

and yes, kugisaki i'll need to observe them starting tomorrow. i cant come for the company class :(

[megumi is typing...]

Then what about Shoko-senpai?

you shake your head even though no one could see you, the forgotten tv series playing in the background while you text your friends instead.

[(y/n) is typing...]

she's too good for him, i think. they're long time friends too, but i'm not sure if any feelings blossomed since then tho

[nobara is typing...]

you don't like him, do you? i know you dont like guys that are full of themselves, altho that man rlly is that attractive .......

[itadori is typing...]

LMAOO whos the smitten one now

nobara sends a vibe check sticker, the one with both hands outstretched with a threatening stare into the screen.

[nobara is typing...]

i'll kill you tomorrow, yuji itadori.

[itadori is typing...]

you'd have to reach my height first, loser

[nobara is typing...]

you- UFGGHKHH

i'll kick your shins, thats what!!!!!!

you roll your eyes as the two of them get into another friendly banter, leaving the group chat to blow up in messages as you switch off the neglected tv.

there's a silence that feels almost too foreign, contrasting to the fact that you enjoyed silences daily. it felt criminal, almost, to be in such a quiet space with no one to fill in the gaps.

you look to your black and white poster for some clarity, the young boy standing at 16 with a softness in his eyes and a lengthened extension that conveyed his love of ballet to you.

you never knew who was the boy, getting a poster shoved into your hands in a hurry when you and your mom bought tickets to the local ballet competition. you never questioned the poster, nor had you caught the boy in the midst of his variation either, settling for a theory that his performance had already passed the day before.

"how do you think it's going to go down tomorrow?" you mumble to no one in particular, tossing and turning in your sheets that didn't quell your worries no matter how much you thrashed.

the dreamless slumber welcomes you into its arms almost immediately, although the morning after was the opposite.

"shit, shit, shit," was your mantra, jumping from place to place in your small apartment to get the things you needed for class. you manage to catch the bus in time, heading straight to the studio with no cup of tea in your hand as usual.

"(y/n)!" nobara grins, seeing you stumble through the door just as everyone finishes their individual warmups. the instructor greets everyone, eager to get into the class as soon as possible.

the thought of the rehearsal shook you up more than you thought it would, leaving you to let out nervous breaths that got worse by the time that class ended.

ieiri didn't miss the way you'd wipe your hands on your tights in worry, going over the steps more than you usually would. you had a killer memory, but it seemed that today that that ability had melted away at the sight of gojo.

"wish me luck, guys," you muttered, hurriedly packing up your things before heading off yourself. the trio only could give you a small smile, knowing you had wanted time to yourself to calm your nerves.

you had always done this for the many shows you starred in: the music and positions mimicking a recording. it was as clear as day when it replayed in your head, the different orchestral parts and the dynamic changes you apply to your steps to give the best performance, for performing your best was all that mattered. the trio understood instantly, always sending you off on your memory replay with an encouraging smile.

well, almost, for you didn't even know what the rehearsal entailed or what piece they would be dancing to.

"hi," your voice appeared meek in the big studio, the only three people there slowly getting warmed up to each other. your feet carried you into a curtsey.

"ah, mei mei-sensei! miss shoko and mr gojo," you acknowledged their presence, placing your things down right where you stood.

"let's begin then, shall we? for this is a gala event, the pas de deux couple will only be performing the entree and the adagio parts. there might be the possibility you two would have to rehearse your individual variations and the coda. still, the organisers haven't gotten back to us on the duration we'll be on stage for. with the switching in and out of the different repertoire, this year should align with don quixote. before we start, i wish that everyone is honest with each other; that way, we can learn from different views."

don quixote?! you hold in your excitement at the revelation, thinking back to the fiery portrayals of kitri and lively spanish music to pair with it. your excitement was on cloud nine while by fifteen minutes, your feet and body were seemingly screaming at you to take a break.

to say it was tiring was an understatement, at the very least. you were to only shadow ieiri's parts, and the absence of a male partner proved challenging when you were the first soloist mirroring a principal and her partner.

"(y/n) should try too, of course! come, come," mei mei beckons you over from where you went over the steps, fingers fidgeting with the waistband of the sheer skirt you'd just bought a few days ago.

"i trust that you are familiar with the wedding PDD, (y/n)?" mei mei asks.

you nod eagerly, not missing the way ieiri beams at your enthusiasm.

"good. we'll just try this part on your own. remember to keep yourself lifted and trust your partner," mei mei eyes you while gojo was already getting comfortable with a hand on your back, "would you like to try it without the music first?"

you nod cautiously. you take note of the way it burns like fire, the contact of his skin on yours. oh god, you wished you had wiped the sweat from it, although the other didn't seem to mind it due to the many partners he's worked with before.

with a quick glance, you snuck a look at the tall dancer, never much prepared for the striking blue of his eyes. however, this time, the cheeky gojo appeared to be kept under wraps, bringing forth a more solemn and nervous exterior. he did seem different and quiet, even catching the attention of mei mei-sensei and ieiri herself. they opted not to say anything.

nevertheless, the two of you narrate the lifts and steps, mixing in the counts with the french vocabulary that stuck with you throughout the years. you were surprised at how much leeway gojo had provided you, allowing you to move freely while bringing you back effortlessly for the couple work.

a smile formed on your face at the flow of your steps as the music plays seamlessly in your mind with how much you've watched different renditions of the wedding pas de deux.

"with the music now, my dears."

ieiri shoots you a thumbs-up, noticeably more tired than you, as she massages the bottom of her feet with calculated force.

the piano starts as the pas de deux passes by smoothly with minimal mishaps, save for some off balances here and there. as always, your hand tingles when it comes in contact with the principal's, willing the quick heartbeats away by thinking of his cocky smirk the other day. with the easy beginning completed, the lifts were now appearing more often.

"hold your body up during the fish dive (y/n), hold your back and position!" gojo stumbles a bit at your mistake, but for the second time around, you manage to get it, coming up from the tricky step into a beautiful arabesque.

a hasty nod, and you're off, pulling away from gojo a tad bit quicker than how you wanted to initiate it. he's taken by surprise at your change of personality, wondering where the flustered soloist had gone to previously. with the same corrections directed at you, mei mei gives you a "good job" before bringing ieiri back in.

"we'll cap you two's pas de deux at that point before the turns. ieiri, you ready to get back into it?" she hesitantly nods, albeit more relaxed than the earlier exchange.

the music starts again, and this time, you manage to gape at the couple's artistry, weaving over and under to fit the delicate notes of minkus' score. with the many turns and tour en l'airs, it now came to the difficult part of the pas de deux: where the woman will wind their hand around the man's single finger, engaging in two turns connected only by that single contact point.

they complete it easily, leaving ieiri to then balance en pointe with one leg suspended in the air. the two repeat it again with no problem, except for the fatigue seeping through their faces at a few moments in time.

as the music reaches its climax, so does the movements with increasing pirouettes and lifts. their chests heave with exhaustion, but their smiles showed that they were satisfied with the run.

it was hard to believe that gojo and ieiri only started to rehearsed this a few weeks ago, especially since these were leading roles with a reasonably complex pas de deux to pair with. nothing seemed to faze them as they received the feedback from mei mei, nor did they have trouble correcting the lift that had gone wrong earlier or the balance that ieiri fell out of.

so this was what it meant to be a principal.

"(y/n)! any feedback that you'd like to give to the two?"

"h..huh, me? i'm not sure if it'd be helpful to-"

"nonsense, hit us, (y/n). rehearsals are always a place for feedback," ieiri grins, taking your hand to bring you closer to the three of them.

"well, i think... i'll comment on the repeated melody where you'll go from the turns into the attitude balance is where it's a bit difficult. since gojo-senpai is tall, he might've put his hand a little too high. i mean, of course, lifting up is ideal, but ieiri-senpai might have some trouble balancing because of that."

they wordlessly try it out without the music, noting how gojo places his hand at a lower height for ieiri. it might've felt foreign, but it looked a tad bit better to you, with a better centre of gravity and stability.

"yeah! like that!" a smile dons your face, "does it feel better, senpai?"

"tons," gojo simply states, almost too eagerly as blue eyes uncharacteristically boring into yours. opposed to the quick glances he always gave you along the corridor or within classes, this one was a strange, longing one. ieiri's voice snaps you out of the spell, almost not wanting to leave his stare.

"way better, thank you (y/n)," she pats your arm before turning to the sound of mei mei's voice.

"alright, beautiful legs and extensions, but we still have a lot to work on, as well as getting (y/n) accustomed to more pas de deux and principal work. would you like to stay on (y/n)?"

you admired your own determination, but sometimes it was better to take a break. having just attempted the coda, you could already feel blisters forming due to your prolonged use of pointe shoes. with a breath, you let gojo complete his pirouettes, restraining the sigh coming from your lips at the perfect revolutions and momentum he had going.

a little more, and you were close to catching a breath, finishing off a quadruple pirouette and tour en l'air with gojo's help. with a slight stumble, you let out a startled laugh before taking your last step with a knee to the floor. with palm outstretched, the piano does a trill before ending off on a chord.

out of the corner of your eye, you spot gojo smiling down at you, a beam that doesn't come often with how much confidence he carries around the company.

ieiri applauds first, followed by mei mei's impressed smile.

"you execute your fouettes well, (y/n)," you bow your head in thanks, brought up unconsciously with gojo's hand as it stays linked in yours.

"thank you, mei mei-sensei. i'm just glad to have tried it out; the don Q coda is one of my favourites," you gush, "the costumes, the music is just everything."

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

"to dance with your partner is one thing, but the connection is another. translate the story of the elation of kitri - her father finally gives his blessing for their wedding, and she's excited to the moon. basilio is marrying the girl of his dreams. know what and who you're dancing for." mei mei speaks over the music easily, giving pointers they go over the steps like always.

"i know it's just an empty stage. there's no set, no scene to show the joy all around the cast, but you still are dancing as kitri and basilio," mei mei says after, "let's try again with (y/n)."

rehearsals carried on like this, day after day. some days longer than the other, and on others, you were paired with another first soloist. however, he wasn't tasked with shadowing the couple every day, so the pas de deux was left to you to master.

as you wipe your sweat, ieiri waves her towel in front of you, "wanna have lunch with us?"

"i don't want to intrude-"

"it's gojo's treat," ieiri whispers, "plus he doesn't treat people often."

"is he okay with me coming alo-" she pulls on you, leaving you no choice but to pack your things hurriedly.

"(y/n)'s coming, yea?" ieiri mumbles quickly, hooking her arm around yours in a hassle as you try to keep your things from falling out of your bag.

"i'd like that." gojo says to no one, finally catching up to you two after switching off the studio lights.

"whaaaat, you're leaving so fast?" you pout, eyeing ieiri's neat tray of finished food as gojo lets her pass through in the booth.

"i'm sorry you have to stay here with this dumbass (y/n), but i have a date with the orthopaedic today," ieiri groans.

"like an actual date?" gojo jokes.

"no," she rolls her eyes, "my muscles are acting up a little lately. plus, my arch hurts more often than it usually does. it's best to just check it out, i guess. but yeah, an actual date would be nice, too."

you shrug, "eh, hard to come by when you're a busy ballet dancer in a company. bye, senpai!" you and gojo wave to her as she leaves the diner, now coming to terms with the fact that you were alone with the charming dancer, as much as you hated to admit it.

with his perfect hair and long eyelashes and the enchanting smirk he always seems to wear. not to mention the sheer strength in his leaps in contrast to the delicate grip on your waist-

"thinking about me, love? of course you are."

"what? no!" you stiffen, the blush on your cheeks immediately giving away your thoughts.

"for the record, i've thought of you, too," gojo drops a bomb, leaning over the table to plant a gentle kiss upon your cheek before leaving the booth in a hurry.

you were thankful that he was gone, at least and thankful for the empty diner, leaving you to melt in a puddle of confusion and warmth.

just like the first rehearsal, your cheeks feel hot, as does your body. the place where his lips touched seemed to burn a hole through, your gaping mouth failing to close even after a minute of staring into nothing.

fishing out your phone was the first thing your mind sought out from the endless thoughts in your head.

nobara, nobara, nobara... gotta find her contact..!

[nobara is typing...]

he WHAT???!??@

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

"ieiri-senpai, what's a pas de deux to you?" you mumble after rehearsals one day, picking at the tape stuck in between your toes.

"it would have to be what mei mei said, definitely. she still says the same exact thing till today: dance and connection are two different things. and it can't go to the point where two different stories are being told by the male and female dancer. you'll need to go into pas de deux work with a mindset that you come in a pair. every correction and every emotion needs to be felt by both parties for it to reach the audiences."

"what about you?" the question catches you by surprise, resorting to humming as you think of the answer.

"it's something along the lines of your answer and mei mei-sensei's definition. you'd have to be on the same wavelength as your partner. every extension that appears or a gentle port de bras is meant to show the character's personality. you'd also have to think of the context of the ballet, i guess," you stop yourself, looking at gojo as he finishes a tour en l'air en passe. three revolutions and you realise that a. you're staring and b. you were talking way too much.

"sorry! i'm rambling again," you splutter, going back to your original task of taking out the tape from your toes.

ieiri giggles, "no, no! ramble all you want. i love listening to my juniors talk about how much they love ballet."

"sleeping beauty, just like the show a week ago, is set in the royal court, so it's hard to show aurora's personality. she's a little playful and young, although it's hard to slip that in when the wedding pas de deux for that is so grand. and then you'll compare it to the black swan in swan lake, where it's also in a royal court, but odile's the one deceiving siegfried, so there's an opportunity to include some side-eyeing in it. i personally love zenaida's version," you trailed off, "i mean, of course, there's also-"

"then what about odette?" gojo shouts across the studio, with his hands on his hips. the white of his hair matched the pureness of odette's tutu, something you always wished to wear and dance and master when you got accepted into six eyes theatre.

"don't mind him-"

your words take precedence without effort, "with the white swan, odette has to show the struggle of her spell with the frantic miming that she has to do. 'i'm the queen of the swans, rothbart the bastard turned me into a swan' and so on and so forth. because she's a swan, she has to imitate the gentle way that swans move, along with the technical challenges of the pas de deux. she's very soft and fragile, and the violin makes it all the better in showing the shyness and fear in odette."

two pairs of eyes stare at you curiously as the male's smirk leaves you to break into a nervous laugh as you fidget with your fingers.

"sorry, i'm talking a lot. too much. do carry on with your jumps," a small apologetic smile appears on your face, failing to note gojo's hesitation to move from his spot and his interest in the way you can talk endlessly about the art.

gojo's smirk merges into a smile even when he accomplishes the many pirouettes demanded of him. he'd want to hear it from your lips next time when you're wrapped up in each other.

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

"don't you think he's a little bit too confident for his own good?" nobara whispers to you. with rehearsals off for a few days, you were able to see your best friends again, munching up the calories lost from the afternoon class.

"yeah... for all we know, he might be stumbling around in rehearsals and picking up girls," megumi muttered.

you rolled your eyes, "he's... not like that, guys. he is confident in class and seems a bit cocky, but that's because he really does live up to his name."

"we might not know much, either. (y/n) has been in rehearsals with the guy. he's probably more focused when there are lesser people in the room," yuji chats through his food, gaining disgusted looks from the three of you when lettuce and chicken litter the table.

"well... don't go falling for the guy, yeah? i've beaten up too many exes in the past," megumi tsked, devouring the salad bowl in front of him.

"yeah, but i didn't ask you to, plus you'd do it anyway. didn't even have to ask," you grin, leaning back in your chair triumphantly.

"if i beat up gojo-senpai, i'll probably get jailed."

you and yuji stifle a laugh at his comment, but nobara doesn't seem impressed with the joke, instead focused more on you and your reactions.

you weren't actually developing feelings... right?

the memory and kiss linger in your mind like a stubborn stain, not forgetting the intense stare nobara had given you before you said goodbye to the three. a vibration from your phone snaps you out of the daze, opening your chat group to answer your friends.

[nobara is typing...]

how was rehearsal today?!???! we jsut finished class

also it's been so long since we saw u :(

[(y/n) is typing...]

so good as always is that even a question luv xx

theyre both so talented as individuals as they r in a pdd... it was rlly insightful too!

gojo-senpai kept staring at me today for some reason tho. he felt different today, a little more reserved and whatnot

[megumi is typing...]

Maybe he felt intimidated by your skill lol

"i'll take my leave first, (y/n)! i've got an errand to run. mei mei's accompanying me," ieiri grins, bringing you into a sweat-filled hug. she's used to soaked leotards, even if the grimace on your end doesn't go unnoticed by the principal.

she lets out a chuckle, "you'll get used to mixed sweat and whatnot, (y/n). see ya!"

curtseying comes easy, bidding goodbye to the principal and the ballet mistress.

you were ready to go back to the conversation on your phone, although a call of your name distracted you from the conversation.

"yes...? gojo?" you mumbled, the last name feeling foreign on your lips without the honorific at the back. you put your phone away as the studio immediately diminishes in size, seemingly putting the two of you in a tight space with nowhere to go. it certainly felt like it, with the wordless prompt of his hand.

"try the pas de deux with me," gojo proposes, pulling up a piano rendition of the score on spotify. it wasn't hard to spot the mischievous sparkle in his eye, along with the attractive grin plastered on his face.

the studio appeared calmer now that ieiri and mei mei had left, yet the conflict in your mind was loud and unwelcomed. it felt like a battle between the angel and the devil, and you were sure the devil was nobara herself, screeching at you to remind you of the shit-ton amount of conceitedness he had.

"are we allowed to? don't other people need to use the studio?" you mumble, standing up with the help of gojo nevertheless.

you're playing right into his hand, yet you took it anyway.

he waves a hand, "it's fine; you do know the pas de deux, don't you? we didn't go over it together much, but i'm sure the past rehearsals served you well."

the beginning was refined, having done it earlier with mei mei's help. it was mostly the only thing the two of you went over when mei mei was around, leaving the more complicated parts to ieiri. the fish dive comes naturally this time, imagining the glowing lights and the striking wedding tutu that kitri sports in the third act.

there are howls of laughter at the many mishaps after that. knowing you hadn't rehearsed any of it with your partner, nor with the music before, it was only fair that accidents were to happen.

"no, no, if you let me go, i will kill you- ah! gojo!" you threaten, but it's lost in your mouth as he spins you way too many times, letting a loud shriek escape your mouth.

from a failed pirouette to a fish dive where he almost dropped you (he didn't), the laughter spilling from yours and his lips weren't common in a company class with everyone trying to dance their best.

"hey, hey, lay off the hair!" gojo quips, catching your off-balanced pirouette with a secure hand on the waist. you went along with the music, anyway, giving your exaggerated interpretation of kitri just as the music builds up. that earns a laugh from him, skillfully guiding you through even with the light banter in the room

"here it comes," he mutters to you, feeling the support of gojo's hands on yours as he pushes you off the complete the double attitude turn before hearing a loud ‘thwap!’.

"fuck, sorry! oh my god," you apologise, retracting your leg almost immediately after the collision.

"ah, shit," gojo exclaims, rubbing the side of his thigh as he brings you down gently. there's a frown on his face as you take a peek at the place you hit, the only thoughts running through your head being the articles or scandals you might be caught in.

(y/n) attempting to harm six eyes theatre's golden principal dancer? (y/n)'s downfall full of jealousy? (y/n) and the infamous gojo caught in a fight?

a giggle gets you out of the trenches, hands revealed like a finished magician's act.

"i was kidding; that didn't hurt one bit," gojo jokes, hands naturally reaching forward to place them on your hips, "loosen up a bit, (y/n)."

"i am loose!" your mouth falls into a straight line, "shit that sounded bad, didn't it?" bursting into laughter, your head falls onto his shoulder as your hand reaches up to grasp at his forearm before recovering from the unexpected joke.

as the pas de deux fades off into nothing, only your breaths could be heard in the large studio, blending with the cold air of the air-conditioning and the hot breaths coming from your mouths. strings play softly from the phone, but all you can hear is the echo of the familiar melody as if it was being played in an auditorium.

gojo gives you a gentle smile that you reciprocate, stuck in that annoying hypnotisation of his blue eyes and the same soft look he gives you whenever you aren't looking.

you were looking now, though, and you'd like it even better if time stood still for you to savour this moment.

"would you like to go on a date with me (y/n)?"

there it was, the million-dollar question. it wasn't like you imagined this every night before you slept or whether he'd perform a flashy proposal to ask you out.

but even then, you thought back to the smirks he directed at every other dancer, you thought back to the conversation in masamichi's office, you thought back to nobara's advice.

"surely you're not thinking of getting wooed by gojo satoru, are you? it's dangerous, (y/n), i'm sure you know that."

"fuck, i know! but then he kisses my cheek that one time and everything feels right again. he jokes with me in rehearsals and nudges me when mei mei-sensei compliments me. he treats me to lunch and looks at me with so much passion i almost want to believe it. these past weeks of rehearsals have taught me well in dance, but i'm sure it's making my love life miserable with how much he looks at me and then goes back to flirting with the other dancers."

"i'm sorry, i can't, gojo."

you make haste with the way you're scurrying out of the studio, breaking into a jog to make sure he doesn't catch after you.

you should've said yes, right? with how much he's been building up the courage these past few weeks, careful not to let ieiri spot his sneaky glances. even the kiss on your cheek left his heart pumping long after he's left the diner.

all that to leave him in the dust.

gojo lays in bed that day, eyes fully open as he struggles to get some rest, unaware of the similar turmoil you were going through. the dancer managed to sleep after innumerable amounts of overthinking, departing from consciousness with thoughts of you, just like he always has.

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

there weren't any tears involved on your end, save for some of the glossy looks you've given your black and white poster as you played with your pillowcase in anxiety.

you dreaded the next rehearsal, knowing you had to face gojo sooner or later, especially with how you reacted to his question.

"mei mei-sensei, gojo," his name was muttered instead, embarrassed with the way you rushed out of the studio the previous day. mei mei looks between the two of you, clapping her hands together to get your attention.

"ieiri pulled a nerve around her arch, which was why we've been going to the orthopaedic more often. it's a minor injury, and she's resting right now, so we'll have to work with the two of you first. we'll stop at where we always do but feel free to continue if you feel comfortable."

great. it had to be on a day where i couldn't possibly face gojo.

he says nothing at that, both you and the pianist unsure of whether you were to continue.

gojo was still in his a game, hitting every leap and lifting you without much struggle. you, not so much, as the words you said to him replayed in your head like a broken record.

you fell off your balances, you couldn't portray kitri well, you felt the weight of your body get heavier with each repeated thought of the day before. hell, even your practice tutu felt heavy.

he sighs again for the umpteenth time as the music stops, the two of you receiving the same criticism from the previous run. mei mei tries her best to be polite, although you can tell she's losing her patience as well.

"(y/n)? what's gotten into you? i understand every dancer has their bad days, but today appears terrible with the silent treatment you two are giving each other."

you swallow at the question, taking a shaky breath before opening your mouth. you look to gojo for help, but his eyes evade yours by looking at the floor with arms crossed. his head whips toward you with your following words.

"he asked me... on a date. i rejected him, rushed out the studio," you mutter, tracing the fabric of the tutu hanging on your hips.

"you asked her out on a date?" mei mei states in disbelief, looking at the ballerino with a face full of perplexity.

"yeah, i did, and i would do it again," the last whisper is lost to you, unable to hear because of the distance between you and him.

"wh- why? what's wrong with that?" you ask mei mei-sensei, yet again being pulled in by the sky blue of his eyes before looking to the ballet mistress.

"mei mei-"

"gojo never asks anyone out. ever. i'm sure you're the first one."

you can see gojo deflate at that at the corner of your eye, shoulders sagging forward in defeat while mei mei takes the chance to leave for you to sort things out.

"what...?" was the only thing you could muster, eyes following your instructor as she exits the space.

"you two are dismissed for now. talk to him about it and resolve your problem," she waves a hand at you, the tension growing by the second as she's entirely out of the studio.

"gojo?" you ask cautiously, stepping up to him to pull him from the position he was in.

"you believe the rumours, the articles, don't you?" he says, completely unrelated to the situation at hand. the look he gives you was something you couldn't figure out, snatching his arm out of your grip as he puts some distance between the two of you.

"you think i'm some cocky bitch who's just strutting around the company, free to do my own thing?" the other says it in a quiet tone, but it didn't make it less menacing than if he were to shout it.

"do you think i enjoy the way the female dancers throw themselves at me when i'm trying to focus on my mistakes and corrections? you think i enjoy the annoying ass articles written about me?"

with each question, gojo doesn't fail to intimidate you, taking a step each time until you're cornered against the barre. those questions are left unanswered as gojo's eyes bore into yours, losing its usual spark when he glances at you during the pas de deux or when he's laughing at a joke you made over lunch.

"do you think i enjoy being talked about every. single. time?! when i'm passing in the corridors, in masamichi's office, in the company classes, among the little trio you have going on. when i asked you out, it was because i genuinely felt that i could connect to you: with no wrong assumptions or bad impressions," gojo runs a hand through his sweaty hair, the frustrated emotions he felt seeping through into his speech.

"...everything felt so fake to me while getting to know you were the only real thing i could cherish when i get to hold you during the pas de deux, or when my lips landed on your cheek. it was the only real thing that brought on your blush that i imagine your lips on mine way too much."

you chose to ignore the way your heart flutters at the confession, staring up at him with apparent conflict on your face.

"then why can't you just ignore them? i'd expect someone like you to not give a shit about what people think," you whisper.

"you got to know the wrong gojo, then. just like right now, i can't face what others have to murmur around about me."

"right now...?" you caught onto his words fast, your eyes immediately spotting the curious faces of both your friends and a few other dancers fighting for a spot to watch you two through the studio door's glass.

"c'mon, pack up, let's not talk here," gojo states. within seconds, the two of you were out the door with your hand clasped in his. you were quick on your feet to leave the premises, naturally following gojo's lead to an unknown building.

letting go of his hand, you explore the space, taking note of every tiny little thing that made the apartment his own.

"sorry for the mess. i live alone and hardly clean the apartment." the nervousness from the studio stayed, the other opting to remain at the doorway in worry. the silence in the apartment grows, your eyes now trained to the floor as gojo suddenly speaks up.

"i couldn't ignore them, (y/n). their expectations disguised as gossip and rumours allowed me to perform properly. i was afraid of disappointment, of getting ridiculed if i were to make mistakes on stage. any slip-up was seen by the company's sponsors, critics, everyone. their eyes were always on me, and i could never let myself get eaten up by the articles."

"the industry is filled with competition and talent. anyone can replace anyone at any given time; you'd have to have a mind of steel to not get affected by every little thing!"

his eyes meet the back of your head, the fatigue leaking through the lines of his eyes and face. as you turn around, you meet his exhausted ones, and, step by step, you approach the man.

"i can't say i have that mind of steel that i mentioned. i hardly come close to it, (y/n). i'm happy with the company, i'm content with my place, and i'm terribly in love with ballet, but... i'm so tired, really."

your expression of unsaid pity was all you could offer, bringing gojo into a hug as he wrapped his arms around you. the way he relaxed told you of the safe space you provided, while his tight, squeezing arms showed he hasn't embraced in a long time.

a minute or two passes, relishing in the now comfortable silence as the other collects himself.

"i'm laying everything on you, fuck, i'm sorry."

you shake your head into his chest, "don't apologise, you idiot. i should be the one saying sorry for rushing off like that," pulling away, you were heartbroken to see the shine of his tears waiting to cascade down his cheeks.

"i'm sorry i ran off. i was afraid, for a different reason. my rational side always protects my heart, knowing i've had bad experiences with friends and connections. if i couldn't sustain a friendship, who was i to jump into a relationship?" you hand trails to his nape to mindlessly play with the hair there as a form of habit with your own hair.

"it was brave of you, putting yourself out so vulnerably when i only looked at the surface of what you were. i'm sure it felt like those weeks of getting to know each other meant something to you, and i threw it away in fear that you'd leave me after a few months."

"so please don't apologise, i'm sorry i ever made you feel like shit because i didn't know about the weight on your shoulders."

a smile graces your face, the hand on his nape going back to his cheek.

"and stop crying; it doesn't make your eyes look good," you whisper, wiping the tears before they fall as gojo lets out a chuckle.

"you think my eyes look good?"

you roll your eyes, "god, who wouldn't? it's like looking at the sky and the ocean all at the same time. and when you stare at me? i always have trouble looking away from you because of how striking they are."

"are they now?" distracted from the emotional vomit earlier, he grins at your description of him. you're lucky to have your hands on his cheeks just so you can feel the effect you have on him every time you offer a compliment.

"are you done complimenting me?"

"i've only commented on your eyes, though. would you like me to continue?"

"i think you should kiss me first."

you're taken aback by gojo's boldness, a surprised expression appearing at the question. the way he looks at you beats the gazes through the mirror as he warms up and the look of interest over his bowl of miso soup. it beats the glances at you during the company classes and the short, fleeting glimpses as you move together during the pas de deux. it beats every single one that your head descends back into his chest, shy at the look of adoration he was giving you.

"can i really?" you whisper in his shirt, refusing to look up even when he pulls away from your embarrassment.

as his arms unwind themselves from your middle, he crouches down to reach your eye and bring you back from a world of uneasy firsts.

"is it your first?"

this was when gojo satoru was at his rawest, with his hands cupped around your cheeks in the slowly darkening apartment as he prepares himself to kiss you.

"it is."

gojo says nothing after that, the moment of silence feeling like forever before his lips meet yours. the sunset coming in from his windows hits at the right time, because then you'd be able to point at it and describe the colours you feel when his mouth moves against yours. you'd be able to sense your heart pumping and blood flowing more clearly than when you've just finished a demanding combination of steps when he encircles his arms around you to bring you closer.

without choreographed steps, nothing feels more fitting than a kiss full of passion that isn't in a pas de deux. ironically, it was the ones you enjoyed more, more than the kisses in romeo & juliet or in manon.

oxygen becomes scarce, then, prompting you to break away from gojo just as your heart fills up with joy, way more than you can fathom.

you crash your lips into his again, now catching him off-guard. he melts into it with no problem, a laugh spilling from his lips at your eagerness.

"i like you a lot, tons, (y/n). i don't say this often, but i like you."

"it's too early to say it's love, right? because i think i like you too, a lot, tons."

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

you agreed to keep it under wraps for now, with you planning to leave half n' hour later to avoid suspicion. the dancer sacrificed his Z's so you could catch them instead, although you continued to lay awake in his bed watching the white-haired man get ready.

"are you sure the floor wasn't uncomfortable? you could've just used your own bed, y'know."

he only shakes his head, "'s okay. my back was acting up, anyway. it was basically free therapy."

you laugh at that, now sitting up fully to admire gojo's physique. with how affectionate and sweet he is behind closed doors, you swore that he was a different man. he shoots you a finger gun and a wink, knowing the way he's got you wrapped around his finger.

"see you later," gojo whispers, landing a peck on you before taking off on his own. it wasn't long before you had to get up, taking in the room and its decorative spaces. he has ballet posters and photos of his friends; he even had a diffuser.

a yawn takes over you as your hands land on the shirt on you.

fuck, you didn't have anything clean to wear. gojo had provided you with a shirt and pants from his wardrobe yesterday, rejecting his briefs with a laugh. with no bra, you decided to just use a spare leotard you keep in your bag, settling for the clothes gojo had lent you the day before.

the theatre felt different when you entered, heading straight for the studio to avoid any more prying eyes from the younger dancers.

"hey," you say, rubbing at your eyes to the trio warming up their feet.

nobara gasps, grasping at your hand immediately to pull you down onto the floor.

"are you good?" she mumbles, staring at your face for any signs of hurt or crying.

"do i need to beat him up?" megumi challenges, flexing his bicep as a joke, "i've been working out more."

"i'll go tell him off for you, (y/n)!" yuji grins, preparing to quite literally stand up to head over to the other corner of the room.

"no! i mean, yes, i'm good. please don't beat him up, and... sit down, yuji." you sigh.

"nothing... happened, guys. i know what it looked like in the studio yesterday but there wasn't any catfights or physical fights," you pause, looking at megumi, your hands instinctively going to the pouch where you kept your shoes, "we figured out our problem and solved it, that's all."

"so why are you wearing his shirt, then?" nobara shoots without hesitation, causing you to halt your movements for a bit. beside you, you can hear yuji choking on his water.

"i... we.. uhm," you trail off, trying to find the right words to fill in the gaps of your explanation. your eyes flit around the room before landing on gojo's, finding that his were already fixed on you.

"uh... yeah... we cleared up our differences and talked a bit," you mutter, lips breaking into a smile before you break eye contact with him. the trio stay dumbfounded at your word vomit, witnessing the exchange with the principal dancer with puzzlement.

"oh my god, did you guys fuck?" nobara whispers.

"what? no!" you laugh, whacking her shoulder as you stood up to loosen up your feet, preparing for the class conducted by masamichi himself today.

"i'll explain everything when i get back home, okay?" you say to the three of them, stuck in a side hug with nobara as her arm stay loosely wrapped around your waist.

they can only offer you their nods, bidding you goodbye with a slight wave.

as you enter the same rehearsal studio, there's only a single lone dancer in it, stretching over in a middle split as he scrolls on his phone mindlessly.

"hey," you call out to gojo, setting your bag of things down while you run up to him. he stands up instantly, pulling you into an embrace that shocks you with the sheer force of it.

"did you already miss me? that's fast."

he mumbles into your hair, "mhmm... shut up, please."

you laugh at that, recovering from the hug despite the other's protests.

"c'mon, i need to warm up, plus we're supposed to keep this a secret, right?"

gojo whines but lets you go anyway, but not before he plants a kiss on your hand as he lets you do your own thing. the next set of footsteps catch you in surprise, eyes widening at her presence when you run up to her in excitement.

"ieiri-senpai! are you feeling better?" you ask, peeking around at her feet, where she limped on earlier.

"yes, i am, (y/n)," she pats your head and realises your choice of clothing. you noticed her smirk, but before you could counter her question, she beats you to it, "and... i've seen that the dumbass finally made a move."

there's no denying the blush that makes its way onto your cheeks, seemingly oblivious to the stares from everyone when in reality, they were curious to know of what happened the day before.

"yeah, i guess he did," you sigh dreamily, giving off your feelings as ieiri could only smile at your situation.

mei mei enters the room with authority, making you perk up at her words as she walks to the centre of the barre with purpose.

"i trust that you've solved everything, yes? because you two have been quite the talk around the studio," mei mei states, braiding her hair into a side braid as ieiri takes a seat.

"i took her hand to get away from the crowd, sensei. if anything, i should be blamed for engaging in contact that might've given off the assumption that we were dating," gojo steps up.

"but you are dating, aren't you?" mei mei grins, putting on her shoes.

"i..." you tried to speak, but gojo interrupts you before then.

"only if she'll have me, then yes, we are."

you fight back a smile, stepping forward to catch his hand in yours. he's shaking, not at all the confident gojo satoru that you've become so accustomed to.

"yes," your single affirmation holds so much weight, looking up at him with as much joy as he did with you in the morning.

"okay, good! i've gone through enough of gojo staring at you from across the room. let's continue," mei mei casually says, "i'm sure (y/n) has heard the news, yes?"

she's quick to pull you out of your thoughts of gojo looking at you during rehearsals with the question of the news that left you texting the trio at 1am.

[nitta-sensei is typing...]

(y/n)? do you have a minute to spare?

[(y/n) is typing...]

yes sensei?

what seems to be the...

you're cut off by the abrupt phone call as gojo brushes his teeth, speaking to you, though incoherently, through the foam and lather in his mouth.

"yes, nitta-sensei? what is it?"

"i'm sorry for conveying this news over the phone, and i was too excited to wait until the next day. you might or might not like it, but... you're to replace ieiri in the gala event for now." by now, gojo had stopped brushing due to your lack in reply.

he peeks his head out of the bathroom as nitta continues, "she has to heed her orthopaedic's advice and take a break for now, but since you've been shadowing the two for a good amount of time, masamichi thinks its best you take up the role of the female part."

your jaw stays dropped even after nitta says her goodbyes, the phone lit up due to your shock.

"(y/n)? what happened?"

"i'm going to be dancing with you, gojo," you say quietly, "i'm dancing the pas de deux with you!"

you bow your head in acknowledgement, "yes, i have."

ieiri sees the hesitation since now the original dancer was seated in front of you. she shoots you a double thumbs-up as motivation while mei mei briefs you on the gala like she did with the couple at the start.

it's short, and within the next moment, you're already flying through the sky with gojo's help. the steps start to become more apparent and distinct to you, letting the pianist lead the way as the lifts and pair work merge together like a seamless thread.

mei mei is firm in her teaching, knowing your weaknesses and strengths by heart with the past rehearsals that she's done. stopping the two of you before letting ieiri take over was routine, but for now, ieiri contributes with her wisdom from the chair instead.

the rehearsal progresses slowly, opting instead to complete it bit by bit as the weeks turn into days and the days turn into hours. you had to take extra care of your feet, icing them and making sure your blisters don't distract you as rehearsals extend longer to ensure your best performance.

when you had your own commitments, your best friends had theirs, fulfilling principal or first soloist roles just for the gala. there was hardly any time for you to see the trio, but you made up with late facetime calls and online dinners with them.

even with the distance in the company class, gojo never fails to make it up to you with kisses under the moonlight as you watch video after video on don quixote, although taking a specific liking to the pairing of nuñez and muntagirov.

・．━━━━━━━━━━．・

"you ready?" gojo lets out a nervous breath, already hearing the chatter of the gala attendees behind the curtains. beside you, other dancers are warming up for their own parts. some were doing a solo while others were doing a pas de deux like you were, but nonetheless, everyone gathered here was to share the love for ballet.

"hell no, i'm shaking," you laugh, playing with the elastic that was to go over your middle finger. a beautiful, white tutu was tailored just for you with minor tweaks from ieiri's tutu while they were in the midst of completing it. to honour and perform the role of kitri gave you immense joy and excitement, even though you were jittery at the responsibility passed on to you.

"how are you doing?" nobara asks, making you jump at the sudden voice. she lets out a giggle, "sorry."

"i'm... very nervous. is that even a question?" you ask her, holding onto her exposed shoulder a little too tightly. she dons a breathtaking, flowy costume with puffy sleeves and intricate detail. at the same time, yuji was suited up as nobara's partner in a pair of yellow tights, completing the couple look in the comedy-filled la fille mal gardée.

"oi, hot pants, come here! my partner's here finally after taming his hair," nobara jokes, pulling yuji over. they lean into each other's sides naturally, posing with peace signs and big smiles that they were asked to convey to the audience.

"good luck out there," megumi catches your attention, awkward as can be, as he pulls you in for a hug. his pas de deux partner is smiling at you beside him, taking your hand in hers.

"your rehearsals with gojo-senpai are incredible, (y/n)-senpai! all the best for your performance later," she bows, clearly relieved at saying the things she wanted to say.

"all the best for your le corsaire, too," you grin, waving them off excitedly before joining your basilio at the hip.

"you'll do great out there, trust me," gojo places a peck on your temple, holding you close by the waist as you warm up together. there's shared laughter between the two of you, exchanging jokes to calm your nerves and keep your mind moving. with the rush hour backstage, it was imminent that the show was starting soon, the many dancers continuing their warmup without trouble.

only you seemed to be on edge, performing as the first couple of the night for a role you've always loved and adored while watching from the balcony of auditoriums.

"i will. we will." you nod, hands twined with the other's as the curtains make their way up.

"breathe. we'll nail this like we always do," gojo kisses your linked hands, staring down at you with those same eyes you fell in love with. a smile replaced what you couldn't say out loud, bumping your head into his chest as an affectionate gesture, "let's go."

among the cheers and blinding lights, you could only focus on gojo's hand on the small of your back as he led you out. with practised steps, nothing could faze you except, maybe, his dazzling smile and the gentle eyes he has on you for the whole pas de deux.

living the life of an innkeeper's daughter was what you had to portray. while your 'father' was hesitant at first, he's finally given you the blessing to marry your lover, basilio. the glimmering tutu and effortless partnership was only half the job done, and for the radiant smile you had on at the moment, you hoped at least ieiri and mei mei would be proud of the story you were telling together with gojo.

the feeling from rehearsals is amplified on stage, with the orchestra's power and the costumes, providing you with a feeling like no other. and as gojo approaches with a flawless tour en l'air, you realise that with how much work you put in behind the scenes, the result always pays off.

as gojo has his hands on your waist, twirling you around like nothing in a quadruple pirouette, you realise that every step was made possible with the help of ieiri and mei mei and your best friends and lastly, gojo satoru.

the golden, treasured prodigy which you somehow managed to develop feelings for. the talented principal who whines when you won't refuse to give him affection and the once-cocky individual who softens just at the sight of you.

and as the music reaches the end, you want nothing more than to stay in this pas de deux with gojo satoru, in a dance of two.

you end off on an incredible note, chest heaving from the demanding technicalities of the pas de deux. nevertheless, your brain shuts out the thunderous applause, with some imparting you with their standing ovations and others who decided to scream 'bravo!' at the stage.

gojo offers a grin, bringing you close with a hand as you thank the audience with endless curtseys. bowing to your partner was next, thanking him for the interminable rehearsals and that hectic day of emotion from the studio right up to his home.

you almost practically run backstage with the adrenaline flowing through your body, the next act already on stage for the gala.

"oh my god, oh my god!" you whisper-shout in pure glee, hugging gojo close the moment you were out of view of the audience.

"you did it."

"we did it," you reassure, pulling from the embrace to smile up at him. you could feel the dancers' eyes around you, not knowing whether they should look to you or to look away.

his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, "'s okay, let them look. i don't mind it when i'm with you."

"just to confirm, we... shouldn't kiss, right?" you mumble, but you inch closer to his lips anyway.

"no... i don't think we should," gojo grins, indulging you in the very kiss you've waited for, knowing that right now, it wasn't the stage lights, nor was it the general heat after completing a difficult pas de deux.

it's as if the world gave you rose-tinted glasses, because that was all you could recognise now as gojo pulls you from backstage with your hand tightly locked onto his. he wasn't the six eyes theatre's prized principal, he was just gojo as you run past the many costumes being hung with the click-clacking of your pointe shoes.

you could compare it, almost, to running across a field with a billowing dress behind you, but alas, you were satisfied with being his kitri. for when she and basilio have a life of marriage ahead of them, you and gojo satoru have nothing but longing glances and shared laughter over your stumbling slip-ups in the studio as you tackle one act after the next.

the pas de deux was a connection and a story, and the both of you were just starting out yours.

255 notes · View notes

jeogiyall · 4 years ago

Text

Two To Tango; C.SN

❥𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟷𝟾.𝟺𝑘

❥𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕤𝕥 (𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗑𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇), 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝘴𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖺 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀; 𝕚𝕕𝕠𝕝𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕖, 𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑚𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠 (𝙖𝙧𝙞’𝙨 𝙛𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚!)

❥𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝗌𝖺𝗇 𝕩 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳! 𝗒/𝗇 (ʏ/ɴ ɪs ɪɴ ᴀ ɢɪʀʟ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ)

❥𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨: 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 (𝗐𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍!); 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝗈𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅/𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕪 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗂'𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝐩𝐠𝟷𝟹 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾- 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝐧𝗼𝐭 𝐬𝗺𝐮𝐭!!

❥𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾! 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗂 𝖽𝗈 ☺︎☻ -𝕒𝕣𝕚

“What do you think, Y/N?”

You had never seen choreo anything like this before.

Which was a fairly bold statement on your part, seeing as you'd had plenty of exposure to all kinds of dances. Being the lead dancer of your group, you'd trained in almost every category out there during your years in the academy, mastering each technique and style one by one.

But sensual?

You'd never been trained to dance to sensual choreography.

This was likely the reason you appeared so floored when Mimi, your company's head of collaborative marketing (and your personal manager) shared her latest idea with you, something about a duet dance with another idol; she said that bringing such a foreign concept into a collaboration stage would give your group the increase of attention that you so desperately needed.

You couldn't disagree with her logic. It was much harder than it seemed for a group to stay afloat in the idol industry.

"Y/N," Mimi was explaining to you, "I know I speak on behalf of the entire company when I tell you that you are the most talented dancer to walk through these doors. If anyone can pull off this stage, it's you."

You felt your cheeks flush from the professional compliment, but you were still trying to wrap your mind around the brief choreography video you'd just been shown.

You absolutely loved to dance; you always have, ever since you were old enough to walk.

From ballet classes when you were four years old to jazz and tap in your tweens, then modern hip hop and interpretive in your adolescent years, and then from a dance major onwards to learning choreography with your group after debuting a year ago- you were always dancing. It was a piece of your life that held so much meaning, so much joy, that you don't think you'd ever be able to live without it.

So maybe this is why you decide to ditch your initial disbelief at the proposal, your mind opening up a little to the idea. After all, the worst thing that could happen would be a failed stage, and you're sure that the company wouldn't have too much trouble sweeping things under the rug if that happened. How bad could it be, right?

You eventually give in to Mimi's attempts at persuading you, your face breaking out into a grin. You're sure that if you say yes, you'll wonder for the next two weeks who your partner will be from the group you're collaborating with; but you also know that it'll kill you inside to say no.

You nod firmly once Mimi asks you again if you're okay with this. You've made up your mind that you definitely are; you push off any lingering doubts about the sensual stage, and the feelings left behind are ones of excitement and anticipation.

Mimi is visibly pleased, and her happiness is infectious as she claps her hands together joyfully. "It's settled then! I'll let the team from KQ know that both parties are in agreement." She announces with a broad smile.

When you leave the conference room, you feel butterflies in your stomach instead of dread, and a sudden eagerness arises at the prospect of learning a brand-new type of dance.

You can't wait to see what will happen in two weeks.

Day One- 8:53 A.M

You step into your new joint studio building two weeks later, a bright smile on your face and your first-day jitters pushed to the back of your mind.

You're beyond curious to see which member of Ateez you'll be paired with for the collaboration; you secretly hoped it would be Song Mingi, as he was alluring to you both through dance and through his abnormally deep voice. (Okay, so maybe you had a bias already. There was surely no harm in that though, right?)

Mimi was now urging you to make your way up the three flights of stairs as fast as possible, having ditched the building's elevator in favor of a quicker route. There had been a mixup at your company that morning with transportation, which made you more than twenty minutes late- you were supposed to arrive at 8:30.

You could only pray that the hired choreographer wouldn't hold it against you, and that they'd still give you time to properly warm up.

Your nerves are starting to resurface when you push open the doors to your practice room. Both of the occupants have their backs to you, bending over a stereo system along the wall without a mirror. Your manager bids you a hasty goodbye and exits the same way you just came, and you're struggling to catch your breath, standing in the middle of the room gripping the strap of your dance bag for dear life.

The choreographer leaves the stereo to greet you, giving you a warm smile as he introduces himself.

You've looked forward to meeting your instructor for a while now, and you bow to the man respectfully while doing your best to repress the childish glee bubbling up within you, not wanting to seem unprofessional.

Your thoughts are so consumed with greeting the choreographer that you fail to notice the other figure in the room turning to face you.

"Hello, Y/N, it's a pleasure to finally meet you!" The choreographer says. "My name is Jung Deojun, and I look forward to working with you for this stage." You set your bag down and grab an elastic for your hair, still focused on Deojun. "The pleasure is all mine," you respond, "I truly admire your work."

Jung Deojun is happy to hear the compliment, and you're opening your mouth to ask him about his most popular moves when you finally, finally come face-to-face with your new partner.

To say he was handsome would be the understatement of the year.

While you obviously hadn't been paired with who you'd hoped for, (Mingi, the tall rapper) you weren't upset in the slightest. The dancer was standing to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, and the sight was enough to make you want to wipe your hand along your chin just to check if you were drooling.

Any words you'd been preparing to say died on the tip of your tongue as you surveyed your partner. Tall, lean, and stupidly gorgeous, he radiated an aura of confidence and striking intensity that both scared you and intrigued you. His shirt dipped low enough to make your heart skip a beat, and it looked too good on him for him to be standing there in the studio.

His eyes were dark and seemed to pierce straight into your soul- though you had to wonder just how well he was able to see you from behind his long black hair.

He was, without question, the most beautiful man you'd ever seen. But why the hell did he look so pissed?

You gulp down your wave of apprehension and stick out your hand towards him, waiting for him to take it (seeing as that would be the polite thing to do).

"Hello, I'm Y/N of Star Entertainment." You manage to stumble through your self-introduction despite his less than encouraging reaction. He makes no move to shake your outstretched hand, so you awkwardly pull it back and continue talking, "I look forward to dancing with y-"

"You're late."

You hope you don't look as much like a fish as you feel; his monotonous interruption has your mouth opening and closing repeatedly as you try to remember what you'd been about to say.

"I'm sorry," you eventually gather your thoughts long enough to respond. "There was a mixup with transportation from my company, and my manager ended up having to take me herself-"

"I don't care what happened, just don't be late again. It's rude." The guy cuts you off again, visibly impatient. You hold back a scoff at his words; he's definitely one to be talking about rude.

"The name's Choi San." He adds, but he sounds almost bored, as if he'd rather be anywhere else but with you at this very moment.

You don't deem any answer necessary. You hardly trust yourself not to make a jab back at him, but can you be blamed?

You're more than a little peeved that your partner, the man you've been wanting to meet for two very long weeks, seems to have a giant stick up his ass; but you reason out that it's got something to do with the first-day nerves you're sure must be racing through him, too.

At least, that's what you tell yourself as you begin warming up, walking away from the entrance and hoping to escape the rising tension.

Meanwhile San is cursing every dance god out there for sticking him with you. Not because he despises dancing with other people or because he doesn't want to dance with you- but because he's the exact opposite.

He loves dancing with his entire being, and he expected his new partner to love it just as much as he did.

So it was fairly annoying for him to arrive thirty minutes early that morning, excited and eager to get to dancing, and then have to wait nearly another half an hour after the first day was scheduled to begin just for you to get there.

That being said, San almost regrets snapping at you- it wasn't your fault you weren't on time.

But when he catches a glimpse of your pinched, offended expression through the mirror while you take your sweet time warming up, the idea of apologizing immediately flees his head.

He couldn't believe how many prissy dancers there were in the kpop industry- and he was certain that you would just be one more he'd have to work with.

So far, things were not off to a very promising start.

Day Four- 10:15 A.M

"Guys, I think you need to take a quick break." Jung Deojun says as he presses pause on the stereo.

You're more than happy to do so, jumping out of San's grasp so quickly you're concerned you may have pulled a muscle. San has no complaints about the break either; he springs away from you as if you have a contagious disease, and he's intent on not catching whatever disease that may be.

The first day hadn't gone nearly as well as you'd hoped it would. After the initial shock and irritation upon meeting him, you gave San as little attention as you could, and he did the same to you.

Or he tried to do the same.

You both seemed to have forgotten the key concept of the entire dance: sensuality.

And although it was only the first day, the cold and tense atmosphere between the two of you did nothing but increase throughout your time together in the studio- a factor that didn't settle well with your choreographer when you were meant to be dancing as if you were madly in love.

By the end of the second day, you were positive you and San were only ever meant to be enemies. It was like every move he made was done specifically to annoy you, and you had to admit that if that was the case, then it was working like a charm.

The way he spoke to you- when he bothered to speak at all- was so insensitive and cocky that you wanted to clock him in the face. He never cheered you on when you got another step down; all he'd said to you during the past forty-eight hours was backhanded comments on the technique you should have, or how you should move to accommodate him better.

This wasn't how dance was supposed to be.

Two people were supposed to move in sync, in the same fluid motion when they danced together; but with him, it was all give and no take.

Of course, it didn't help that you went rigid as a board every time he so much as shifted towards you.

He wanted to get along with you at first, he really did. But you were making it so difficult to be friendly when you made zero effort to put any feeling into the dance moves that required him to touch you, that any hope he had of being your friend went flying out of the window.

He'd been ready to quit right then and there during your third day in the studio, when you outright refused to let him do the first truly sensual move of the choreography about forty seconds in. San would barely even be able to graze your sides with his fingertips before you jumped away, giving him a steely look that made him all the more eager to push your buttons.

He reasoned that if you were going to be such a priss about things, then there was no danger in him getting you all riled up while you practiced.

And as if you weren't already stressed out by his antics, you were also highly aware of the pressure that was on you guys to learn the dance by the end of the month- you had only five weeks to completely master the choreography for the collaboration stage and for the performance video.

You wished the song wasn't so long- there were six and a half total minutes of choreography, and you'd only gone through about two minutes of it all.

To make things worse, the steps you'd learned so far didn't look good by any means. Jung Deojun knew it would most likely take another week or two just to get to the halfway point, at the rate things were going now.

You knew that the clock was ticking; this morning marked your fourth day at the studio.

Deojun's goal was for you and San to get a feel for each move you learned as you learned it, which was why it had taken so long to memorize such a small chunk of the song.

His philosophy was that people can learn two ways: they can learn it all and perfect it later, or they can learn it all perfectly the first time with a little more effort. (It was very clear which way of learning you and your partner were going through based on how many times you'd pressed 'restart' on the stereo.)

You made sure you arrived on time each morning after that first day, not wanting another reason for San to pick on you. Currently, the two of you were tackling the first moderately sized snippet of the song, the buildup to the chorus. You'd been at it for around two hours today, and you didn't seem to be making any real progress.

There's a move where you and San need to glide across the floor and into each other's personal space, and he's supposed to trail his hands slowly up along your sides to cradle your head. Your step is to push San away from you and then grab him by the collar to bring him right back until you were practically breathing the same air; and while the pushing away part was the easiest thing you'd learned so far, tugging him towards you again was proving to be difficult to do without scowling.

That same scowl threatens to appear after another hour of practice when San tosses you a Snickers bar from his bag, and you look down at it accusingly without picking it up from the floor.

"This isn't exactly part of my company's diet regulations, San." You huff, knowing you'd like nothing more than to eat the candy bar right this very second but remembering you can't eat anything if it isn't on your meal plan.

San just raises an eyebrow and motions for you to pick it up anyways. "I thought you'd want it. I mean, you're not you when you're hungry, so maybe if you had a Snickers bar then you'd be more fun to work with."

You don't bother hiding your lethal expression from him.

"Choi San," you hiss, "I swear once we finish doing this dance I'm actually going to strangle you."

Your choreographer chooses to break up the conversation at this moment, not hearing the whispered reply of 'kinky' that makes your blood boil.

"Alright you two, that's enough," Jung Deojun cuts in. "You don't seem to be comfortable with each other yet, so why don't we all sit down and take some time to eat lunch? You've worked hard anyways, so you deserve to rest." He offers.

While the idea of actually sitting down to eat your salad, instead of inhaling it between sessions, sounds incredibly tempting, you know you'll be too busy fuming to really enjoy a lunch break.

You kick the Snickers bar back towards San and put on a bright smile for Deojun.

"No, thank you, I'd rather get back to practicing. We've got a long way to go." You give your partner another nasty look with your last statement, implying that he's most of the problem.

This implication doesn't go unnoticed by him, and he actually has the nerve to wink at you. To wink- as if he isn't the legitimate most infuriating human being on the planet. You ball your hands into fists to refrain from pulling at your hair in frustration.

San watches on in dry amusement; he never saw it coming, but he's quickly discovered that he loves to get a rise out of you. He chalks it up to the simple fact that you interact the most with him when you're angry.

Sensing the tension in the room, Deojun shakes his head and insists on taking a real break for lunch. He doesn't miss the exchange of killer glares between you and San, and it brings a frown to his face as you begin to argue with your partner over the offending Snickers bar.

Jung Deojun has taught many choreographies in his time as a dancer. He's quite honestly lost track of the number of pairs he's worked with who had no chemistry together, or the countless dancer duos who simply didn't warm up to the other person.

He has also seen his fair share of enemies on the dance floor- the exes, the competitors, and even one couple who broke up in the middle of a rehearsal.

And yet, despite all of this, he has never seen anyone who fights quite as passionately as you and San.

But rather than getting annoyed at your nearly constant bickering, he finds himself feeling curious about it; he wants to know why your animosity towards each other seems to run so deep when you'd only met three days ago.

And frankly, he wants to see just how thin the line is between love and hate.

Your instructor sighs loudly once your voice raises in volume, wanting to roll his eyes at the childish feud taking place over a piece of candy- though it seems the argument has gotten to the point of being ridiculously useless, and Deojun is sure that one of you is bound to give it up in the next few seconds.

Your accusations of San being a total jerk continue to fall on deaf ears as he quickly proves the choreographer correct, checking out of the argument altogether by pulling his phone out and playing on it.

San's rude behavior makes you want to stomp your foot angrily like a petulant toddler, but you don't.

You instead go silent, biting your lip and getting yourself together because you are a mature and professional dancer- unlike someone- and you're already very embarrassed that Deojun has seen how worked up you get over your partner.

So in an attempt to save face, you take a deep breath, count to ten, and walk to the mini refrigerator in the corner of the studio to grab your lunch.

Deojun seems relieved that the Snickers spat is over, and immediately invites you into a less irritating conversation as you take a seat on the floor beside him.

"So, Y/N, what do you do for fun besides dance?" He asks you. You have to think for a moment about that.

What do you do when you're not rehearsing or promoting?

"Well, I spend most of my time dancing, but I guess I like to hang out with my group between promotions." You eventually come up with an answer.

"What do you do with your friends when you're hanging out?" Your instructor prompts. You shrug and finish eating the forkful of salad before you reply, "We normally go out to the city together to walk around, listening to live music and visiting cute cafés or restaurants."

San nearly snorts at how typical your response is until you add as an afterthought, "But we never have time for those things anymore."

Jung Deojun asks you "why not?" and you tell him, "We practice nearly sixteen hours a day together, and when we aren't in our studio, we're in our dorms perfecting every dance movement or every song for our company. We can't afford to slip up with so much at stake, so we just kind of... I don't know, stopped going out."

San acts like he isn't listening; but in reality he's paying close attention to your words, and he tells himself it's only because he needs more ammunition to use in order to tease you later.

You continue to elaborate on your struggles as an idol to Deojun, and it feels good to be able to talk about the pressure being put on your shoulders with someone other than your managers.

"When I first started training to become an idol, I was always content to just dance for the sake of dancing. I wasn't used to the expectation that I had to be better than someone else; I honestly never thought the competition would happen off of the stage. It caught me off guard when I realized I'd have to fight for every chance to do what I love, and even after making it into an agency and debuting in a group, we're still always fighting to be on top, to be the best."

"And to me dance was never about being the best. It's about expressing something you feel, something so deep words can't explain it well enough." You shrug, and you miss the fond smile of your instructor as he remembers the days where he was in your shoes.

San lost interest in his phone a while ago; instead he now holds his lunchbag in his hands.

And when you turn your head to steal a glance at him, you find that he's giving you the first non-irritating look you've seen on his face since the day you met.

Well then.

You certainly hadn't expected to see that reaction- nor had San intended for you to catch it.

If he's being honest with himself, he never really thought he'd connect with you, especially after the disastrous first day together. But your words resonate deeply within him, to a point where he thinks that maybe, you might not be quite as uptight as you appear.

He finds himself hoping that that's the case; hoping that there's more to you than just a prissy lead dancer who refuses to loosen up.

It makes your stomach twist to see him look at you with anything other than annoyance or spite. If you didn't know any better, you would say that it almost seems like he's... impressed? Like he might not hate your guts after all?

But you'd be stupid to forget how intently you despised each other just a few minutes ago, how you bickered over that candy bar; and the sudden change in his demeanor has left your head spinning.

Whatever it is, you're not sure why it affects you as much as it does, so you ignore it and keep talking to Deojun so that you don't have to engage with San until you're done eating.

To make things even more confusing, once your lunch break is over and you begin to go through the choreo again, he isn't throwing his usual insults and criticisms your way like he had done every afternoon for the past week.

You're not sure what to make of the unspoken truce- and you're not sure why it unnerves you as much as it does. But San is acting totally opposite of how he's been acting so far, and it lasts through the remainder of your fourth day.

He doesn't even bother to give you a half-assed "you're too stiff" the way he normally would.

You have to force yourself not to think about how easily the routine flows when you aren't arguing; and you can't help but wonder whether this random, unofficial friendship will last- and if it does, then what changed?

But when the fourth day ends and you walk into the studio the following morning, he's back to wearing his cocky little smirk and teases you for the Starbucks frappuccino in your hand, telling you that it's fake coffee and reminding you of how against your meal plan the drink is.

You nearly cringe at yourself for thinking things would ever change between the two of you in such a short amount of time. But, if you're really being upfront, you can't pretend as though you don't look forward to pushing his buttons each day, getting immense satisfaction from knowing you get on his nerves just as much as he gets on yours.

Jung Deojun, on the other hand, is simply looking forward to the day you guys get through learning the steps so that he can sit back and watch the sparks flying through his studio.

Day Twelve- 4:55 P.M

Deojun is out using the restroom down the hallway at the end of your twelfth day, and it's just you and your partner standing together in the mirror while he's gone. You're intentionally avoiding San's piercing gaze as you stretch out your sore limbs, choosing to move towards the stereo so you can play the music one more time before the end of today's session.

He had been driving you crazy throughout this entire past week. It was the usual stuff at first: pointless arguing, name-calling, bickering, and insults flung at each other for no good reason.

And then, something shifted.

On the sixth day of choreo, you waltzed through the studio doors with a bright smile and your hair down out of your ponytail, looking a bit windblown. You'd woken up late that day but you were still determined not to be late to practice, so you didn't have time to put your hair up or grab your coffee.

It was the day when San noticed just how hard it had become for him to take his eyes off of you; but how could he not stare when you come twirling into the room like you've been dancing with the wind and looking as if you've just been kissed by the sun?

You'd caught him staring more times than you could count on that sixth day, and while it unnerved you a little, you couldn't deny the pleasurable rush you got from knowing he was looking.

But it did make things a little more tense when you had your pointless arguments; you weren't sure how to curse him out when he looked at you with that strange glint in his eye- the glint that made you question if you even really hated him in the first place.

The tension only skyrocketed after that. By the tenth day, the pressure between you and San was so strong that it was bound to explode any time now. A new side of your (already strained) relationship had developed- in addition to his irritating habits and your stinging insults, you now shared burning glances, soft touches, and the feeling of wanting just a little bit more.

The change wasn't entirely unwelcome, much to your dismay. You hadn't expected him to affect you the way that he did; but when you find that your skin sears instead of crawls when his hand brushes against you, you know that you can no longer ignore the magnetic pull between your bodies, the one you're secretly begging yourself to cave into each time he holds you close during the dance.

But just because you aren't able to ignore the pull towards San doesn't mean that you won't try.

You keep your back to him as you approach the equipment; but you can hear his footsteps right behind you when you walk to the other side of the studio, and you have a hunch that he won't go away without bothering you.

San follows you until you reach the sound system and you huff in annoyance before you turn around to face him.

"Shouldn't you be stretching right now, Fireboy?" You ask tiredly, hoping he'll get the point and stop closing in on your personal space.

You didn't intend to call him that- you've referred to him as Fireboy in your mind for a while now, the title fitting his disposition perfectly; one minute he was smoky as embers, and the next he was blazing with heat. Like an unpredictable wildfire.

He shakes his head and answers ironically, "Nope, I'm already all cooled down for the day, Miss Priss."

You go back to the stereo, thinking that the discussion is through, and you practically jump three feet in the air when he spins you around again, the hand gripping your waist not making you nearly as mad as you'd wanted it to.

You can't move backwards at all with the stereo poking into your spine, but you've got nowhere to run once San places his free hand on the wall next to you, successfully trapping you. You wish the action pissed you off enough to push him away- but your hands fall weakly against his chest, and the sudden contact makes your pulse race.

"San, what the hell are you doing?" You ask him, exasperation evident in your voice.

San flashes his stupid smirk and leans closer to your body, making your cheeks flush at the proximity. "I thought maybe we should try to get rid of some of the tension Deojun keeps talking about, since it's interfering with the dance. Don't you agree, Y/N?"

You sneer at him and shove his chest harder.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You reply sharply, "The dance is perfectly fine San, you're being ridiculous. We aren't even done learning the choreo yet, so have some patience." San's smirk only grows, along with your annoyance.

You eye him distastefully and give him a once-over before looking to the doorway, continuing to insult him despite the way his sleeveless shirt makes your heart flutter. "But something tells me that patience isn't really in your vocabulary, is it?"

And just like that, you find yourself holding back a noise of surprise when his hand grips your chin like a silken vice, forcing you to keep your gaze trained on him. You're helpless to his strong hold and the feeling of his body heat radiating against your skin is messing with your head, further supporting your idea that this man is a scorching ball of fire; even his touch is hot enough to burn.

You fight off a shudder when he refuses to break eye contact. The cocky grin is gone, replaced with some foreign expression that you don't think you want to put a label on just yet.

He dips his head down next to your ear. His next words, mixed with the way his hair tickles your face, manage to send sparks through your veins as he murmurs, "You know, princess, I wasn't expecting you to be so damn bratty."

You have to remind yourself that the sentence is, in fact, offensive- and that you should be getting mad at him for it right about now.

Thankfully that part always comes easy to you.

"Oh, so I'm the brat?" You retort sarcastically. You poke a finger into his chest and question him further, "I'm the bratty one for showing up late one time and getting shit about it from you before you even told me your name?"

San's grip tightens as you speak, but you're so focused on chewing him out that you hardly even register it.

"Please enlighten me as to how I'm the brat when it's always you who has a problem with something." At this point you've forgotten that you're only venting about him to distract yourself from his touch, and now you're just plain pissed off.

"Honestly, I thought you were at least a little bit brighter than this, Fireboy. Anyone with a brain would be able to tell that the only brat here is you, but you're so set on being 'holier-than-thou' every second of the day that you don't even bother to see it. You're such a child." Your words are positively scathing.

San has had enough of your sassy remarks and cuts your rant short, "Oh come on Y/N, you don't seriously believe I'm the only one to blame. You're not as innocent as you try to appear, Miss Priss; don't think I've forgotten the names you call me when you think Deojun isn't listening. You're as much at fault here as I am. As a matter of fact, I'd go as far as to say that the 'childish' one is you."

"And this is coming from the one who called me 'more useless than an appendix' not even twenty minutes ago, right?" You scoff.

He rolls his eyes at your quotation of his most recent insult and says, "Cut the crap and just admit it already."

But between the compromising position, the bite in his voice, and the sheer irritation coursing through your body, you're getting sick and tired of your partner's little mind games.

"What do you mean?" You ask, "Admit what? What're you playing at?"

"Admit that you're no different than any other self-absorbed, uptight lead dancer I've worked with, and you only hate me because you wanted to be paired with another idol." He answers, every syllable causing you to see red. "You're just a classic prissy princess who won't cooperate when you don't get your way, and you're refusing to do the dance right because I'm not the one you wanted to dance with. It's stereotypical lead dancer behavior, and you know it."

Oh.

Oh hell no.

Did he really just call you self-absorbed and prissy?

If you weren't already mad enough, then now you're practically seething. San knows purely by the look on your face that he's fucked up, that he's taken things a little too far- but both of you are too wound up right now for him to try and make amends.

It's all he can do to stay impassive when you shove his hand away from your chin and grab fistfuls of his shirt, roughly bringing him down to your level.

"Choi fucking San," You curse, "you take that back this minute, you piece of shit."

His eyes drop to your mouth- a mistake that has enough meaning to turn the tables in your favor in an instant.

It's a mistake, one simple mistake. Just one small moment of indulgence as he memorizes the curve of your lips; yet all sanity immediately vanishes from his mind at the sudden urge he has to kiss you senseless, to shut you up in the most romantic way possible.

He's fighting the urge so hard that he doesn't even think about the next four words out of his mouth- Mistake Number 2.

"And if I don't?"

Your knuckles are turning white from the grip on his collar; you come to the realization that maybe your heart is beating a bit too fast for someone who's arguing with a mere dance partner.

You end up making Mistake Number Three- you don't release your hold on his shirt, and you don't push him away when his head drifts closer down to yours.

Three strikes and you're out.

"Then I'm walking out of this room and never dancing with you again." You pray your voice sounds at least half as spiteful as it did at the beginning of all this, but you aren't sure.

San finally tears his gaze away from your lips and is back to giving you a blazing glare. Part of him hopes you can see the passion and desire burning behind his expression so that you'll understand he doesn't really mean it when he snaps, "Fine with me, princess."

It's the same part of him that secretly thrives off of the electric tension and the lingering hands; the side of him that wants to hold you just a little longer when the music stops.

He really hopes he isn't going crazy when he thinks he sees that side in you, too.

"Fine," You snap back halfheartedly as the fight goes out of you all at once, "have it your way."

You both know your words are empty.

Unlike San, you have been intentionally unaware of how your body reacts to your partner, constantly choosing to ignore the tugging in your gut when you go through the choreo with him.

You always did your best to diffuse the tension that crackles between you two every time you dance; but the more choreography you learn, the harder it is to keep acting as though you aren't drawn to San like a moth to a flame.

You can whine and argue and call him names all day (you already do). But under the loathsome looks and sharp words, you can't deny the underlying attraction you feel to him.

You try with all your might to remind yourself of how insufferable he can be, but it's no use; the anger drains out of you the second you notice how close San still is to you. Your hands are still attached to his shirt, his face is an inch from yours, and his arms are on either side of you, with the stereo still poking into your spine.

Even the thick atmosphere around the room seems to be holding its breath as you both stay put in this position, wondering who would make the first move.

You think you should probably get going; after all, you've just given him the dance ultimatum. Shouldn't you be hightailing it out of the studio and never looking back...

...but you never get to finish that thought.

Because the second that the thought crosses your mind, San is reaching up to take your face in his hand, his heated touch softer than you would've ever guessed it to be.

His fingers skim your cheek delicately, with all the grace of a musician playing his instrument; your eyes begin to flutter closed in expectation for what is about to happen, and you unknowingly lean into the palm of his hand, not putting up a fight.

But you wouldn't dare fight against what's surely happening now- not after having the image of it plague your nights for weeks on end.

He's closer than he's ever been. He doesn't stop; he comes closer, and closer, and closer...

And then, your rotten luck seems to remember it's purpose in your life.

Jumping back in to ruin the moment, it causes your elbow to bump against the stereo and the music comes on at top volume, shattering your eardrums. It's all that the moment needed to come to a screeching halt before disappearing completely.

You wince at the sudden noise and release your grasp on San's shirt, pushing him away from you to tend to the sound system. You quickly turn the music off and put a hand over your racing heart.

San feels like he's rooted in his place, and he can't erase the image in his head of what was about to happen.

He can't shake the way you so easily leaned into his touch; the way he knew he was definitely going to kiss you, and how you were definitely going to let him. He nearly shouts when you break contact to shut the stereo up, leaving him high and dry, waiting for a fire that is no longer burning.

The clock on the wall snaps both of you back into reality, chiming to signal the end of your twelfth day- and for the first time since all of this began, you're reluctant to leave the studio.

What now?

You give San an uneasy look, an awkward smile tugging at your lips. "I, um, I guess I'll be going now." You tell him.

You're expecting him to shoo you off, to comment about how you insisted you weren't coming back once you left today; but he can't bring himself to tease you when he's still feeling so vulnerable.

The idea of insulting you is suddenly unappealing when he realizes that he would much rather be kissing you.

"Yeah, me too." He replies simply; and that's all there is to it. There's no more bickering, no more teasing or conversation once he bids you goodbye.

You stumble over your words like a runner over a hurdle. "See you tomorrow, Fireboy."

You're the first to leave the room, grabbing your bag and making a beeline for the exit. You have no idea what just went down, but you have a sneaking suspicion that things will be much, much different by this time tomorrow.

Meanwhile San is still glued to where he stood next to the stereo, cursing himself for letting you leave without doing what he's wanted to do since the day you argued over the Snickers.

Day Sixteen- 8:35 AM

On the morning of your thirteenth day of practice, Jung Deojun thinks the world must've flipped on its axis in the middle of the night.

It's the only scenario he can come up with to explain why you and San no longer act like you want to slit each other's throats when you walk into the building together, the tension pulsing between you and him having shifted without any notice or warning.

He doesn't expect the truce to last long; but you prove him wrong when three days pass in relative peace, and when you and your partner enter the studio on the sixteenth day, Deojun knows something must have happened.

However, the choreographer thinks it would be too unprofessional to pry, so he decides to pretend that his pupils have been friends all along.

"Good morning you two, did you sleep well?" Deojun greets you both with a wary grin. You nod wordlessly, and he says, "I hope so, because we're finishing up the last few moves of the choreo today. I grabbed some extra waters and snacks to carry us through, but I've informed your managers that we might stay late at the studio tonight. Are you guys opposed to that at all?"

He intentionally leaves out the fact that your manager, Mimi, had chewed him out about working you too hard for almost an hour over the phone when he asked.

You and San share an apprehensive look, but you shake your heads anyways, knowing you'd both rather stay late and finish the choreography as soon as possible.

"Great. Let's get started."

By the time you walk through the very last step of the dance, the clock on the wall reads 7:15 in the evening.

It was the longest day you'd had; though it seemed to you as if the hours passed at lightning speed- and you were pretty confident you knew why.

It was because you'd finally stopped holding yourself back when you danced, and neither you nor San could get enough of the new passion that was rapidly igniting at each little motion. It was like a dam had been broken; all you'd needed to open those gates was a push, just one hard shove in the right direction, for everything to fall into place.

You simply hadn't expected the shove to push yourself into San's waiting arms.

If your choreographer noticed the ease with which you and he now practiced the sensual movements, he didn't say anything about it; but you were both aware that sparks were blazing to life with every dip and sway- but neither of you wanted to be the first to put out the fire.

Rather, you found yourselves doing all you could to keep fanning the flames; it especially helped that you no longer needed to yell at each other in order to communicate. You'd been finding much more civil ways to talk since your twelfth day of dancing.

You and San reluctantly move away from each other once the dance is done and the music stops, spinning to face your instructor as he packs up. You refrain from coughing to cover up the way your insides feel like they're turning to mush.

"Awesome job guys!" Deojun claps and walks over to the stereo, a proud smile on his face. "That's it for the choreography, so if you two are ready to leave for the night then you're fine to do so. I'm finished for today, but if either of you stay longer, make sure you lock up after you're done."

You nod and gesture towards the door. "I'm starving, so I'm gonna leave, too." You look at San with a smile that is no longer lethal, and your gaze shines with something other than anger and irritation- a sweet combination that's almost too much for him to handle. "You coming?"

San licks his lips and shrugs, eyes trained on you. "Sure, but I can stay back and lock up while I grab my things, so I'll meet you out front."

You sling your bag over your shoulder and follow Deojun out of the studio, willing your brain to quit focusing on how flustered San's stare makes you.

You stop by the restroom to change out of your dance gear into a pair of light jeans and a loose shirt, trading out your dance shoes for comfy slip-ons, and you hope that the dazzled look on your face disappears soon when you head out.

You never imagined that the same guy who's been driving you insane for two weeks would ever cause you to blush; but here you were, hands pressed to your cheeks in an attempt to chase away the pink flush before you step outside, the image of your almost-kiss playing on repeat in the back of your mind like it usually did these days.

You weren't sure how it happened, but somewhere along the line, you realized that you never really hated San.

You reacted to his insults and his accusations, sure, but a part of you knew that the words were always empty; and even with as many times as you'd said it since meeting him, you honestly didn't hate San.

You just hated that you hadn't kissed him yet.

Jung Deojun has already left the building when you hear the entry door open and close, San approaching where you're standing alone outside of the studio and preoccupied with taking down your ponytail. The hand you were running through your hair halts when you feel his palm hover over your lower back, and his mere presence is enough to give you chills.

You gulp and drop your arm, spinning around.

The breath is practically knocked out of San when you turn to face him. He registers that the hand he's placed on your back now serves to pull you closer, but that's the last thing on his mind when he notices how your head cranes up to look him in the eyes, your almost hopeful expression being the cutest thing he's ever seen as your mouth forms a slight smile.

He's decided that he definitely prefers this look on you over the pissed-off ones he used to earn himself.

"Hey," He says simply, "you ready to go eat?"

You raise an eyebrow. "We're eating together? What about our managers, don't we both have places to be?"

San subconsciously guides your body closer to his, and you force yourself to ignore how droolworthy he looks in his skinny jeans and the black long-sleeved shirt he's tucked into them, keeping your eyes trained on anything that isn't the thick belt around his waist.

The outfit only does more to affirm how San is practically the e-boy of your dreams, posing a stark contrast to your light clothes and soft cardigan; your pulse quickens just from seeing the chain he's looped through his jeans. He looks dark and dangerous, and you love it.

The thought of grabbing that chain to close the gap between you is too tempting to entertain- so you banish it immediately.

"I contacted my company and they said we're free to do whatever we want until ten, as long as we stay out of trouble." San eventually responds to your question.

Your smile widens at the information, and you don't even feel yourself leaning into his arms, peering up at him happily. "In that case, I'm good to go wherever, because Mimi is always trying to get us out to eat more. As long as I get some food I don't really care what we eat." You say.

San so desperately wants to tighten his arms around you when you melt into his hold; but he isn't sure how well you'll respond if you aren't aware of what you're doing now, so he settles for keeping both of his hands placed on your hips, pushing away his desire to trace his fingers over the sliver of skin exposed by your shirt.

"Mimi is your personal manager, right?" San asks to keep up conversation.

"Yeah, but she's more like a friend than a manager," You tell him with a fond look in your eye, "she's always had my back, ever since day one. We're really close."

San has to supress a sigh at how irresistably cute you are; he doesn't know what to do with himself, aside from trying not to melt into putty at your touch. This is a far cry from the rigid stance you normally have around him, and he can't believe how much things have changed in the last four days.

If this had been happening a week ago, you would've laughed in San's face at the offer to go eat together, and he would go back to his dorm at KQ and tell his seven friends about how insufferable you'd been that day.

But now?

Now you're voluntarily spending time with him outside of the studio, and he's wondering why you guys didn't do this sooner.

"I'm feeling partial to pizza, how about you?" He suggests.

You nod quickly at the idea, "That sounds great, but I haven't had pizza in so long; we'll have to Google directions."

"I know a good place down the street, about two blocks away. It's close enough that we can walk from here." San offers. He points to your left, towards the downtown area, and you hoist your bag higher up on your shoulder.

"Then by all means, lead the way." You tease.

You don't exactly hold hands as the two of you walk towards the closest pizza place side-by-side; but you're not at all the sworn enemies you'd been at this time four days ago.

And by the end of the night, you go to bed with a full stomach and a voice in your head that says, maybe Choi San isn't as bad as you thought he was.

Day 19 - 7:50 PM

"Oh my god, you're kidding!" You hide your laughs behind your hand, elbows resting on the table.

Deojun shakes his head rapidly, affirming the truth to the wild story he's been sharing with you and San over your meal at the diner three doors down from the studio (which your other managers barely even agreed to let you go to after taking one look at the menu; thankfully, Mimi was able to convince them that you deserved a treat).

"No, I'm serious! They walked into the studio in full clown suits and told me they were ready to dance!"

You snort so hard you're afraid your milkshake might go up your nose. You couldn't believe all of the crazy stuff he'd seen as a mentor, and some of the things his students had done while dancing were amusing enough to bring tears to your eyes. But the day had been long enough- and exhausting enough- that maybe you were just feeling giddy out of tiredness.

San is currently clutching his sides and shaking with laughter across from you in the booth, and he doesn't seem to be too far from tears himself. "Then it's no wonder we seem so normal to you after you taught a group like that. That one couple makes mine and Y/N's silly fights look mature, don't you think?"

Deojun waggles his eyebrows suggestively, making you laugh even harder. "I wouldn't exactly say normal. You two were about as difficult as any other students I've ever had when you first started. I'm actually kind of surprised we're all sitting pleasantly here right now, given the circumstances up until recently..." He trails off, the playful expression slipping from his face when the three of you realize what's being implied.

It was so strange to think that you'd gone from hating your partner's guts a couple of days ago to where you were now, eating dinner together with Deojun after a long day of rehearsal.

You and San had definitely become friends at this point, much to your relief; but the passion with which you danced together always left you wondering if there was something more.

After all, friends don't dance like that- even if your managers instructed you to act like lovers.

"I know you'll need to get back to your managers soon or else Mimi might bite my head off, so I'll go on up and get our bill." Deojun announces, pulling you from your train of thought as the choreographer nudges you urgently, gesturing for you to move so he can get out of the booth.

You let him out and slide back in when he leaves for the front counter, an uncalled-for nervous rush zipping down your body when you catch San's eye.

The dancer stares you down from across the table and twirls his tongue around the straw in his milkshake, immediately taking note of the way your eyes follow his movement. He chooses not to tease you about it but smirks nonetheless, fully aware of the effect he has on you.

You stay silent; and despite the newfound friendship that has made talking much less difficult for the both of you, you can't form a coherent sentence to save your life when he looks at you like you're a ten-thousand-piece puzzle that he can't wait to solve. You know you won't last long under his intense gaze before you start blushing.

The air in the booth is practically humming with tension- it seems to do that quite often when he's in the same room as you.

"You know, I'm kind of with Deojun on what he said. I never thought we'd end up here." He admits suddenly.

You look up, wondering if he's talking about eating here at the diner or if he's talking about something else entirely. You think it's the former, but your heart flutters at the subtle double meaning.

"Me neither." You respond softly, wrapping your hands around your cold glass. Your milkshake is now nothing but a puddle of leftover whipped cream at the bottom of the cup, but your lack of words makes you wish you hadn't finished it quite so fast.

He leans forward to put his weight on his elbows, coming closer across the table, and the inexplicable gleam in his eye is back; with the intimacy of it all, you feel as though he's about to let you in on a big secret.

You gulp nervously.

"After the first week with you, I expected to just go through the motions and then move on," San says in a voice so low it's nearly a murmur, "but you proved me wrong. As a matter of fact, you proved me wrong about a lot of things when it comes to you, and this is probably the first time I've ever been glad I wasn't right."

You're taken aback by his words, and it's a little too vague for you to understand.

You hope your voice doesn't sound as wobbly to him as it does to you when you ask him, "What things were you wrong about?"

He shrugs, taking another long sip of his shake, before he regards you with a stare so intense it seems to almost pin you to your seat.

"You're not the selfish prissy princess I thought you were." He eventually says.

Your eyes narrow at this, your suspicions about his confession rising even though he's not insulted you at all since the twelfth day in the studio.

San sees the way your guard goes up and laughs, shaking his hair out of his face. "Relax Y/N, there's no need to go on the defensive." He reassures you, "I'm just saying that I assumed too much about you when we met, and I should've said sorry sooner for not giving you a chance to show me that you were different."

You feel the tips of your ears burn at the unexpected apology.

You want to tear your gaze away from him so you can stare intently at your shoes; but some invisible force is keeping it glued on him, where there's a softness you've not yet seen glimmering in his eyes.

You know that you should say something in return, that you need to accept his apology and keep the conversation going- but your thoughts are spinning and racing and wild; and they're so full of him that you're afraid of what you'd say if you opened your mouth.

You never really let yourself cave into the way he makes you feel before. After all, you were way too annoyed by him in the beginning for you to register the other feelings he stirred up inside you.

But now that you've given up on trying to hate San, the ache to know him, to really know him- his touch, his kiss, his smile and his story- is almost overwhelming.

"Alrighty, everything's paid for." Your choreographer chooses that exact moment to arrive back at the booth, effectively slicing through the thick tension. "You're both free to go, and I'll see you tomorrow bright and early!"

You and San follow him out of the booth without any more discussion, but neither of you need to speak to know that another shift has occurred between you.

He can tell you sense the rising pressure when you leave that night, walking you to where your company's car is waiting.

San is quick to open the door for you like a gentleman; but when he raises the back of your hand to his lips in a move that would normally be just as gentlemanly, the depth of his expression when he makes eye contact is more than enough to put fire in your veins.

The encounter makes you wish you were bold enough to do more than just curl your fingers loosely around his hand.

You give yourself away with the breathy tone of your voice as you tell him good night, for once letting the tingling sensation on your hand have some meaning, and his lips pull into a soft grin at the sight of your pink cheeks.

As you close your door and the car pulls away from where San stands, your heart starts pounding in anticipation of seeing him tomorrow.

You wonder if you'll finally have the courage to show him the effect he's had on you.

Day 22 - 8:15 PM

The days continue to fly by in a whirlwind of teasing touches and sensual stares, until only three more remain before the night of the collaboration stage.

You read the time on your phone as you pull off your dance shoes, the screen showing that it was currently 8:15 in the evening.

Earlier today, you and San had shot the official performance video for the song, a three-minute-long clip that you hope had captured all of your hard work and effort. It had been done in a newer section of the studio building, on a floor you'd not been to before; but you were sufficiently elated at the gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the walls of the dance room, and the lighting they provided was perfect for the video.

But despite the pretty setup, you felt like the dressing rooms in the back were somewhat... lacking. It was too small, poorly separated, and alarmingly unsupervised- the perfect recipe for disaster.

You see San's shadow moving around behind the flimsy screen that divides the empty room, and you rush to change out of the costume into normal clothes. You shimmy your jeans up quickly and tug your favorite sweater on over your head, hurrying because you know that if you can see him, then he can probably see you, too.

You try not to yank on your hair as you pull it out of its elaborate bun. Running a hand through it, you suppress a snort when you're met with a crunchy, knotty mess; between the uppity stylist and the mega-hold hairspray, your hair is practically standing up on its own, the strands feeling more like hay than hair.

You grab your brush and get to work, carefully detangling the knots and working from the bottom upwards. Mimi wouldn't be too pleased if you gave yourself split ends.

"Is it safe for me to come in?" San's voice startles you, and you jump with the hairbrush still in your hand, catching violently on a clump of stubborn hairspray. You yelp at the pain in your scalp and shoot him a burning look, but your anger is more directed towards your brush than at your partner.

San raises his eyebrows and clicks his tongue, his footsteps sure as he approaches you. "Here, let me help you." He offers. You don't think twice before handing him the hairbrush and sitting on the cosmetics table, your cheeks flaming as you whisper a thank you.

You don't expect him to be very gentle, but you're surprised at the feather-light touch when he begins to work out the remaining knots, and it sends pleasant sensations to your scalp that make your eyelids slide shut.

He moves your hair to the side and combs through the crown of your head. You almost shudder when you realize you can feel every time he exhales, warm breath fanning over the back of your neck. You don't even notice the way you crane your head slightly back, your spine pressed against his chest, the proximity keeping your cheeks stained pink.

But oh, does San notice.

He also notices another reaction that you've failed to see- your reflection in the mirror across the room.

His grip tightens on the handle of the brush at your blissful expression, eyes closed and lips subconsciously pouted. San nearly wishes you'd stayed in your bland dance clothes, because with the way your jeans hug your hips and the tantalizing dip of your sweater's neckline, he's struggling to keep his cool.

As a matter of fact, nothing in the room was cool anymore- his hands, your face, and the atmosphere surrounding you both had all become maddeningly hot.

Your eyes flutter open when San stops moving.

"San, I can take care of the rest, you don't have to do this for me-" You begin to say, but your words abandon you when San puts the brush down and trails a finger in lazy circles on your neck. You do shudder this time, unable to conceal the way your body responds to him; and it brings a smirk to San's lips as he watches your defenses start to chip away.

He's determined to finish what you'd both started- and he doesn't plan on leaving this room until he's felt your mouth on his and his hands on your skin.

"But I want to, princess." He says smoothly, the hidden meaning of the word want driving you nuts, while the pet name makes your heart leap like it always does.

You brace your palms on the surface of the table, hoping for some sort of stability because God knows your mind is far from it.

You summon up all the courage you have and finally, finally ask the question that's been tossed around in your head for the last two or three weeks.

"Is that... is that all you want?"

You're surprised at the strength of your own voice- though now that you've said it, you want to curl into a ball and hide away forever.

San knows exactly what you mean. He knows you're not talking about hair or dancing, and he knows the answer he would give you if he were man enough not to twirl around the truth.

He knows he wants to be yours; what he doesn't know, however, is how much you'd be willing to risk to be his.

But he'll be damned if he lets anything stop him from finding out.

"I think you know by now what I want." He tests the waters hesitantly, afraid you may take it the wrong way. Because although he can't deny his attraction to you physically, San is drawn to you more by your fire and your passion than he is by your body.

You can sense it, the uncharacteristic doubt and uncertainty in his words, and it puts a lump in your throat when you realize how vulnerable you both are at this point.

You swallow hard. "I do." It's simple, short, and barely above a whisper, but it's out there now; you've placed the ball back in his court, so it's up to him to make the shot.

You never were much good at basketball, anyways.

San rounds the table to stand in front of you, eyes searing with that familiar intensity that always leaves your knees weak, and his arms reach out on either side of where you sit to balance his weight on the table. He hovers over you- but he's just far away enough to keep himself from touching you.

His voice is gruff when he speaks next. "You've known for a while now that we aren't just partners." It's self explanatory, and you don't interrupt when he tilts his head to give you a sweltering gaze. "And you're not too good at hiding how you feel, so I know it's probably a safe bet to say you feel exactly the same as I do."

His black hair falls into his face, and your hand itches to brush it away; so you let it. You're slow to comb through it and you raise yourself up a little to get closer to him as you rake through the dark strands, letting them twist and twirl around your fingers. "And what is it that you think I'm feeling right now?" You ask, meeting his stare straight on.

San flashes his killer smirk. "Attraction." He says confidently. He wedges his way into your personal space, his hands now resting on either of your thighs with his body between your legs. "Desire, maybe." He continues with a squeeze.

You know where this is heading- and you don't plan on stopping it anytime soon. Hell, you want it to go full steam ahead, because you've been waiting for this for four weeks too long.

San laces his fingers through yours and leans in to place a teasing kiss on your cheek, close to your ear. "Y/N, tell me something." He murmurs lowly, "Do you want this, too? Because if you still hate me as much as you did four weeks ago, I'll stop right now and walk out of the room."

You spring to life at his offer, throwing one arm around his neck and successfully trapping him into his position. Your faces are only a few inches apart now, the air between you radiating with electricity; you wrap your other arm around his shoulders and eliminate almost all of the space.

You have no idea where this bravery is coming from, but hey, you're not complaining.

"Don't you dare walk out on this." You say darkly, the words stealing away the last of San's sanity. "We're in too deep now, so if you're gonna kiss me, you better kiss me like you mean it." You threaten.

It's all the encouragement he needs to bring your lips to his- and the result is more incredible than anything either of you had imagined.

You don't melt together the way that you've heard others describe themselves doing. No, you and San are too passionate, too full of sparks- this kiss isn't melting.

It's blazing.

There's no uncertainty or gentle hesitancy in it; not even a little bit. From the moment his mouth is on yours, you kiss with an unmatched fervor and passion, feeling more like an explosion than like fireworks.

You're fighting fire with fire, and nothing has ever felt so good before.

You push and pull and meet right back in the middle in an exchange of powerful sparks, the kiss seeming to last for hours as you both fight to outdo the other in true 'fake enemies' fashion. San's fingers are digging into your hips and your hands are tugging on his shirt for some semblance of balance; everything is on fire, and yet everything is positively and passionately perfect.

You sigh against his lips in sheer bliss, your legs hooking themselves around his torso and bringing him impossibly closer. His fingertips skim across the hem of your sweater before slipping under it, and you nearly moan when he runs them up and down the curve of your back.

You've never felt this connected to a person before; almost as if from the moment you met, an invisible thread was strung between you and San, winding tighter and tighter over time until you were much too entangled to stop this.

You didn't ever want to stop this, anyways.

This kiss, this moment, and the last few whirlwind weeks with this man who's made of sweetness and pure sin- it all seems to be stitched together to create an emotion so strong that it rolls off of both of you in waves; an earth shattering romance that must be written in the stars themselves.

San mentally sends a thousand thanks to those lucky stars as he ends the kiss, regretfully pulling back to see what a mess he's made out of you.

He isn't disappointed either; your puffy pink lips and pretty glazed eyes make his already-tight pants feel three sizes too small, and he has to refrain from diving right back in for another soul-searing kiss.

He does his best to contain himself and leans his forehead against yours in a move he's cringed at every time it happens in the movies, though he finds it to be a lot less cliché with you.

In the aftermath of your passionate makeout, your eyes are gazing headlong into his own, and San swears he's never seen a more beautiful sight than this. He feels close, so close; his hands are pressed securely on the small of your back, though you sure as hell aren't thinking about that.

You're too busy thinking about how you finally have a name for that special look he's been giving you.

Adoration.

Sure, it's obviously mixed with a dash of unbridled lust and a bucketload of his signature sizzling attraction, but the adoring expression on his face says it all. Whether or not anyone knew things would happen this way, San has always adored you; you and your fiery temper, sweet smile, and ridiculous, incredible passion.

You feel yourself going shy again as he continues to stare at you, your blush already as deep as it can get, and you have half a mind to bury your face in his chest to escape the knowledge that your moment is beginning to fade away.

You don't want anything about the moment to fade, ever.

"Y/N," San's voice is soothing as he softly traces shapes into the skin beneath your sweater, "I hope you haven't changed your mind about wanting me to walk out."

You smile sheepishly, shaking your head. "No, nothing's changed." You manage to murmur around the tightness in your chest. It's not a bad tightness though; it's just the coil of raw emotion that's settling into your heart at the pure vulnerability of the last ten minutes.

"So does that mean we're still going to just keep doing what we've been doing this whole time?" He asks, tilting his head, "Or can I finally call you mine?"

Your lungs stutter briefly at his question, the word "mine" sounding so perfect to you when it falls from his mouth.

You don't answer immediately despite your inner self screaming at you to say yes. You have plenty of realistic things to consider, and anyone with a brain would say no in your position; but all of it is overshadowed by what you feel for San.

Both of your contracts, your fames and fanbases, and even your careers as idols are on the line, but you know with every beat of your heart that you'd risk all of that for this boy.

You'd risk anything to be his, you're sure of it.

"Yes." You agree quietly. "But only if it means that you're mine, too."

The smirk is back, and it turns the butterflies in your stomach into fucking pterodactyls at how effortlessly he can do that. It should be illegal for someone to switch the way San does, going from being a swoonworthy sweetheart to looking like a sexual fantasy on legs in the blink of an eye.

"I thought that was a given, babe." His tone has returned to its usual cockiness, but instead of getting on your nerves, now it just sounds plain hot. He gives you a mischievous wink as he says, "After all, it takes two to tango."

You don't bother hiding your laugh while you slide off of the cosmetics table; and you're still laughing at him when you walk out of the unsupervised dressing rooms hand in hand, feeling like it was meant to be this way all along.

In the back of your mind, you wonder if a mere twenty-three days is too soon to call it love.

You don't think so.

Day of Collaboration Stage - 4:30 PM

You hadn't seen San all day.

Today was the end of your promotions, and in three short hours, you'd be dancing together on a stage in front of the whole world, doing the moves you'd spent more time rehearsing than you'd spent sleeping throughout the last month.

You were on edge, to say the very least.

Currently, you were sitting in your designated room at the site of the event, staying as still as possible while being attacked with makeup brushes from all angles.

You would normally have a conversation with the group of people pampering you; but the desire to see San was making it hard to focus on talking about the weather or finding out the latest gossip.

You and San had shared three more kisses since the other night. Two of them were in the studio during rehearsal when Deojun left the room, and the third had been in the doorway of the building last night, when you and he had said goodbye after your final practice.

Your body was aching to see him. It wasn't that you just wanted to kiss him again (though you won't object to a kiss either); but you longed for some reassurance, for the steadiness you felt from a hug or even just the simple look he gave you that made all of the doubts and worries disappear in its wake.

"Mimi," You call to your most trusted manager, "has anyone heard from KQ since lunch?"

Your team giggles at your request, and Mimi gives you a fond smile as she shakes her head. "No dear, I'm sorry. We'll be sure to tell you as soon as they contact us though."

You nod quickly and try to relax a little bit, willing your hands to loosen their grip on the arms of your chair. If your stylists can sense how jittery you are, they don't let on; they continue to chatter mindlessly as they get you ready for tonight's much-anticipated performance.

On the other end of the building, San is only one brain cell away from calling your company and asking them if he can finish getting ready with you- because the seven lively boys crowded around in his room are becoming very, very distracting.

"Mingi, for the last time, please don't mess with my costume." The dancer chides his tall friend, who ducks his head and mumbles an apology.

The redheaded leader, Hongjoong, is trying to help San keep peace in the chaos that began when Yunho decided to twerk in the hallway- but reigning in the band of childish idols proves to be a challenge when his best friend Wooyoung steals his phone and tries to guess his password so he can text you, the mystery girl.

"Sannie!" Wooyoung pouts, "Won't you at least give me a little hint? I promise I won't text her anything too embarrassing."

Before he can answer, the oldest boy, Seonghwa, snatches the phone from Wooyoung and hands it back to its owner. "Woo, don't be a burden. Let San finish getting ready." He scolds. Wooyoung sighs dramatically and skips over to the lone couch in the dressing room to bother its occupants, Yeosang and Jongho; San's arguably more level-headed friends.

San's manager pays no mind to the loud group wreaking havoc and continues with prep, swiping on the finishing touches to the stage makeup and doing a final fluff of his hair.

The manager steps back to survey her work and smiles, already gathering up her things and packing away the tools. "You're all set San, try to keep your hands away from your face and hair. Good luck tonight." She says, promptly retreating from the noisy group and closing the door behind her.

The moment the manager leaves, Kim Hongjoong is standing behind San's chair and crossing his arms, staring him down in the mirror. The question leaves his mouth before anyone can stop him.

"San," His tone is demanding, "no more vague answers. I wanna know straight up if you're into this girl or not, and don't you dare try to beat around the bush."

San gulps heavily, not expecting to get drilled about you so soon today. He should've known better though- after all, he's always been horrible at keeping secrets from his team.

He takes a deep breath before finally confessing to his leader, "Yes, I'm into her. More than I've ever been into anyone." He admits, still trying not to make it obvious how deep his feeling for you run.

But he can't help the foolish grin that crosses his face as he continues to say, "She dances with more passion than any girl I've ever worked with, and you should see the way she looks at me when she doesn't think I'll notice. You'd never pick on me again if you danced with her like I do."

He shuts his mouth before any more mushy words can make it past his lips; but the damage is already done. Choi San has completely blown his cover, letting everyone know exactly how often you've been on his mind- or rather, his heart.

Wooyoung and Mingi both stop what they're doing at the outburst and stare at San, jaws dropping. Park Seonghwa seems frozen in his seat, Yunho and Jongho's heads both snap up at the same time, and even cool, unbothered Yeosang turns off his phone and raises one eyebrow.

"Somebody's majorly fuckin' whipped." Yunho mutters under his breath. Seonghwa only halfheartedly nudges him for the comment, and San feels his ears burn from the intense scrutiny of his seven best friends, all eyes turned to him.

It's too late to backtrack now.

"Shut up, Yunho." San whines, shoulders slumping with defeat. Wooyoung's triumphant smirk goes unnoticed in the mirror as San exposes his humongous crush on you, not even trying to deny it anymore, and Mingi sighs loudly knowing he'll have to cough up $15 to Wooyoung once the night is over.

"So it's true then?" Seonghwa voices what everyone must be thinking, "You and the mystery girl? Are you... are you dating her?" His voice lowers on the word dating, and Hongjoong holds his breath, suddenly not quite as playful as he was before.

He knows Choi San is a wonderful person, and that the last thing he'd ever do would be something that intentionally hurts the group. But he also knows that the boy tends to let his heart run away with his passion; and if he's in a secret relationship behind their backs, then there's more at stake than just the dating ban contract.

Thankfully, San's eyes widen and he shakes his head side-to-side. "No, I'm not! It's not like that! I swear, we really aren't together. I'd never hide something like that from you guys." He states honestly.

It's not a lie, either. Despite the kisses and touches that he's shared with you lately, and the heated confrontation after the dress rehearsals, he truly isn't in any official relationship at the moment.

But that doesn't mean he has no desire to be in one with you.

He knows what's at risk, of course he does; but even so, he knows that once the dust settles and the cameras are no longer pointed at him, he wants to be by your side long after the collaboration is finished.

He wants to be yours just as badly as you want to be his. And tonight, he's determined to prove it.

Yeosang sees the confidence flickering in San's expression and nods his head, hiding a small smile of pride. "Go get her, San. We'll all be rooting for you."

And with those words of encouragement, San is dashing out of the room like a man on a mission- a mission to see you.

It takes an hour of discreet texting while you're being pampered to death for San to come up with a valid excuse to see you.

You eventually agree that he'll interrupt your prep to do one more walkthrough of your ending scene; but you both know that it's just an excuse to have a little more time together before the stage, and that knowledge makes you giggle like a schoolgirl when San messages you.

Fireboy: wish me luck getting past ur managers !!

Your grip relaxes on your chair when you finally hear a knock at your door. Mimi shoots right up to answer it, and her polite smile grows mischievous when she sees who's on the other side.

"Hello there, Mr. Choi," Mimi greets, "how can I help you?"

San blinks and clears his throat. "I, uh, I'm here to go over a few steps with Y/N." He doesn't sound overly convincing, and you hide a chuckle with the palm of your hand. "Just to make sure we've got everything right before the performance, you know?"

Your lead manager shares a look with the other girls on your prep team, opens the door wider, and beckons for everyone else to leave.

"We'll give you some space to rehearse. Come find me if you need anything, Mr. Choi." Mimi tells him with that same smirk painted on her face as she practically tugs San the rest of the way into the room. They all go at once, leaving you sitting alone in your snazzy chair when they close the door behind them.

You glance at him with a shy smile, peering beneath your newly mascara-coated lashes at the handsome sight in front of you.

San is styled in a costume very similar to the one he wore for the performance video- black pants, a red harness belt, and a billowy long-sleeved white shirt with three buttons undone at the top. It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping; though you don't really need to worry about it since San is having no problem openly staring at your legs.

But you can't blame him for looking, because you think your legs are a hundred percent worth staring at in the pretty red swing dress that you'll be wearing tonight.

"My eyes are up here, buddy." You snap your fingers playfully, and he meets your gaze with a boyish grin.

"Sorry, Y/N." He's not sorry in the slightest.

You push yourself up from your chair and cross the floor to where he stands, his back resting against your dressing room door. "What do you really need?" You ask him, stopping when he's an arm's length away.

He doesn't hesitate to pull you the rest of the way into his embrace and loops his arms around your middle, all but sweeping you off of your feet.

"This." He says, tone leaving no room for debate.

He kisses you swiftly, not even giving you a moment to breathe before his lips are on yours and he's softly tracing patterns on the fabric of your shirt. It's a sweet kiss; slow and languid, as if you have all the time in the world, but still heavy with meaning and want.

"San," You mumble, "I don't really think-"

"I'm not gonna ruin your hair, Miss Priss." He instantly answers your halfhearted concern and is back to kissing you, tongue sliding hastily along your bottom lip. It's enough to give you just a taste of what you want; but you remember that your entire prep team is probably listening outside of your room, and you have more to worry about than a messed up hairdo.

You move away to save your makeup- an action that ends up taking every ounce of your willpower to do- and press a lingering peck to his cheek. "You're cute, San. Was that all you came here to do though?"

He stops an embarrassing blush from rising onto his cheeks and clears his throat again, face turning serious.

"I actually did come to talk to you about something," He admits, taking your hands in his. "I wanted to check in with you to see how you're feeling about tonight's stage. Are there any fears of crowds or cameras that I should know about?"

Your smile droops slightly and his grip tightens, his hands warm on yours and giving you the courage to voice your concerns.

"I, um..." You manage to get out, "I've never performed a dance like this before and... well, I'm really nervous and worried. I don't know if I'll be able to pull it off well enough."

You purse your lips as you add, "And as ironic as it is to say this, even though I'm a dancer, I've never been too fond of big audiences."

"Y/N," San whispers softly, "Don't think about the crowds tonight. If we're gonna do this, then I'll need to you keep your eyes on mine, baby. Don't look away from me while we're dancing, okay?"

Your hands cling onto his the way your heart clings onto his words, hoping that they might chase away your nerves.

"I'll try." You tell him plainly. It's the truth- you don't know if you'll be able to ignore the countless eyes watching you or the cameras that will capture every move; but you're going to try. If not for yourself, then at least for him.

His face breaks into a gorgeous smile, making your heart flutter with something other than nervous panic. "Good." He says with finality, giving you one more intoxicating kiss while he makes sure he hasn't messed up your hair. "We're gonna do great, Y/N. I can feel it."

You hear your team gossiping and giggling out in the hallway, making you shake your head. He winks playfully at you and blows you a kiss before backing away.

"See you out there, Miss Priss." He teases when he opens the door. The nickname makes the edges of your lips turn upwards, and you smile against your will.

You roll your eyes but catch the kiss nonetheless. "Famous last words, Fireboy." You say as you shoo him off, and Mimi swoops back into the room, steering you back to your chair to sit you down. You're not able to summon enough words to describe your encounter when your prep crew asks; though you think the dreamy look on your face says it all.

You still aren't totally sure if you can pull the performance off tonight.

But you know that if your handsome partner is half as talented on stage as he is in rehearsals, then there's no reason for you to worry.

"Y/N, are you ready to go?" Mimi asks, "We need to meet up with KQ in the next twenty seconds if you want to be backstage on time."

You nod against your better judgment, allowing her to take your arm and gently guide you out of your dressing room and down the corridor. Your heartbeat is drumming a quick rhythm in your ears, your mind buzzing with last-minute what if's and oh no's.

Your heeled shoes alert the group of stagehands that's already begun to gather behind the sound booth to your presence, all heads turned towards you; and almost as if he could hear your internal doubts, Choi San sends you a thumbs up and winks, causing you to laugh.

"Are you ready to knock about three hundred socks off?" He asks as soon as you're in range, walking up to you. He unashamedly loops an arm around you, not seeming to care if the pose is a little too close for coworkers.

"It depends; are you ready to become the country's ultimate bias for the next month?" You tease back. He laughs playfully pokes your side before letting you go.

"Absolutely." He says without hesitating. You roll your eyes, mouth opening to crack another joke, but the stagehands start calling out directions before you can think of a good one.

It's almost showtime.

The realization is jolting, and scares the ever-living shit out of you more than any spider could.

Your heart immediately plummets to your stomach and your nerves return with full force. You all of a sudden don't feel quite as confident in your heels as you did, your ankles threatening to wobble and give away your weakness.

But as always, San swoops in to rescue your thoughts before you get too lost in them; strong fingers lace together with your trembling ones when he raises an eyebrow as if to say, get it together, y/n.

"Oh no you don't, princess. You don't get to chicken out on me now. We can't have you collapsing on stage, can we?" He taunts. You give him a familiar glare in return.

The simple question is enough to get your blood rushing as you recall all the times he's said things like that to you and meant it, all of the heated- yet pointless- fights you'd had during your first few weeks together. You remember how annoying he used to be with you; though looking back on it now, you suppose he was just doing it on purpose.

There was certainly blame to share for the childish spats you had during those twelve maddening days where you couldn't decide if you were enemies or lovers. But you think that, if given the chance, you wouldn't actually want to go back and redo it- you don't want it any other way.

You always secretly kind of liked the tension you had together.

A smile is pulling at your lips when the stage lights dim and the velvet curtain begins to rustle, San's hand still fully engulfing yours. He notices your change in demeanor and squeezes lightly, your attention turning to him and his stupidly handsome face.

"What's that look for?" He presses.

You shrug and squeeze his hand back, "Just thinking about how much I used to hate you, that's all."

You expect San's mouth to fall open in shock, for him to whine and say something like "you're not very nice!", but instead you get a dark chuckle and a meaningful stare.

"Come on, baby. You never really hated me, did you?"

You pretend to think about it, ignoring the burning blush on your cheeks. "I guess not," You sigh wistfully, "but I definitely couldn't stand you when we were starting out. You used to get on my nerves like no tomorrow, Fireboy."

The sounds from the crowd in the arena are floating backstage, but you don't even register the noise as you relive your memories with San.

He nods his head, "It's been an interesting few weeks with you too, Y/N. I don't know how I missed what was really there for so long; I must've been such an ass to you. At least now we're making up for lost time..." He trails off with a suggestive smile, detaching his hand from yours when a manager pops up out of the blue.

You nearly curse- because now you really want to make up for lost time and kiss him until you're breathless- but the manager grabs both you and your partner by the arm and drags you to stand over two red x's in the middle of the stage, and you sense the panic rising up in spite of your handsome distraction.

"Two minutes until your cue, you two. Are you both fully prepared?" The manager interrupts to check on you, and your mind boggles as soon as you hear how much time is left.

Two minutes?

How could there only be two minutes left? And weren't you kissing San in your dressing room just a moment ago? It feels like the seconds are flying by, the hours and minutes blending together in your nervous haze.

San's eyes dart to you and his tongue comes out to sweep over his lower lip; something you'd find desperately attractive if not for your frantic inner dialogue. "Yes, thank you." He bows slightly and the manager scurries off, allowing San one more moment to have you all to himself.

He can detect every ounce of anxiety in your eyes when they meet his, and he cups your face in his palms, the sweet gesture not allowing you to duck away from him.

"Y/N, what did we talk about earlier?" He prompts you with a tone that's uncharacteristically soft. Your lips form an adorable pout when you try to find an answer, testing San's ability to resist you.

"Umm... we talked about not getting nervous?" You attempt. He shakes his head, placing a single chaste kiss on your lips while no one can see you.

"No, not quite. I told you that when you get nervous, you'll need to focus on me. Right?" He tilts your chin up with one finger, "Didn't I say to keep your eyes on me when we dance?"

You're taken aback by the authoritative edge to his voice, but whatever the cause for it is... it works.

You blink and respond, "Yes. I will, San, I'll try."

He breaks into a grin that sends butterflies to your tummy for an entirely different reason. "That's all there is to it, then. Any time you aren't confident, just look straight at me and I'll take the lead."

You aren't sure why the phrase is so comforting, but you're nodding your head anyways, reassured just enough to keep your anxious doubts at bay.

"Okay." You whisper.

And before you have time to fully process what's happening, the directors and operators are flying to their booths around the two of you and the curtains rustle one last time, the din of the workers backstage going completely quiet when the lights go out and San takes you into his arms.

"Cue!" You hear Mimi say from the wings, along with what sounds like "Knock 'em dead, Y/N!"

You feel like your nerves are going to get the best of you when the curtain starts to lift, positive that they'll overtake your body and freeze your limbs solid.

But they never do, and you know exactly why.

It's because when the spotlight lands on you and San, you're already in position, and his eyes are staring confidently back into your own.

Almost like he's daring you to break away.

"Game on, Fireboy." You say under your breath.

The beginning notes float through the speakers, and the spotlight flares to life, trained on you and your partner as the music fills your bodies.

One, two, three... concentrate. You hear Jung Deojun's voice in your head when you spring upwards, officially beginning your dance. Feel the heartbeat of the music like it's your own.

Your hands grasp at San's shirt, your legs carrying out each move with perfect poise, and you're absolutely, 100% sure that every member of this audience can blatantly see the desire that burns in his eyes as he spins you into your mark.

A spark of pure confidence makes its way into your system, giving your arms the strength to wrap around your partner and let go of his collar, and the complete trust you have in him is the only thing that makes the next move remotely possible.

Your mind flashes back briefly to day thirteen, when you'd first successfully done the lift. You'd jumped into San's waiting arms with more trust than anyone would've guessed you had for him, surprising even yourself.

You remember how hot his hands had been on your sides when he picked you up gracefully, how flustered his touch had made you back then- but you also remember how proud you'd been of finally letting go and giving him the reins.

You feel just as proud now as you were then when he lifts you; you're weightless, flying like a fiery phoenix in the air with San twirling you around, and you can almost hear the collective gasp when he lays you down, sinking effortlessly into the one move that's always turned your mind into putty.

It's the move that took you two entire days of rehearsal to conquer, and holy fuck was it worth it.

San's got a shit-eating smirk on his face as he controls his hips while balancing above you, doing that roll with his lower body while keeping his legs in the air, and you get so lost in his burning stare that you almost forget to do the floor work you've practiced so often.

"You're doing so well for me, Y/N." He whispers for just you to hear, the words hot against the skin of your neck, and your eyes fall shut momentarily at the sensation.

Then he rolls up in one fluid motion while tugging you with him, and you surge straight into the next step: something Deojun had described as taking a classic foxtrot and adding a pinch of 'spice' to it. It'd be scandalous if it wasn't choreographed.

You sway to the pulsing rhythm as you glide across the stage hand-in-hand, and the dazzling lights are no match for the fire that's crackling to life between you and him. You never expected the flames to make it to the stage- but you're glad it did, because right now, it's helping you to dance with more passion than you were even sure you possessed.

His arms circle your torso sensually and you rock together like starstruck lovers, one hand trailing a path down the side of your face; and the longer you dance, the less aware you are of the eyes watching your performance.

"How's it going, princess?" He murmurs hotly, doing a flawless tango with your body pressed firmly against his.

You rake one nail across the exposed skin from his shirt, making a mark just below his collarbone, and a feeling of satisfaction bubbles in your chest when he tightens his arms around you.

"Pretty damn good, if I do say so myself." You don't know where this courage is coming from, but you shoot him a teasing smile anyways, "What about you, Fireboy?"

He runs the palm of his hand all the way from the base of your spine to the back of your neck and bends you beneath his touch, your red lips parting when he moves into a perfect dip.

Your arm is slung around his shoulder, and it takes a lot of self-restraint for you not to kiss him senseless when he raises an eyebrow and responds, "It couldn't get any fucking better than this, baby."

San has always known exactly what words to say to set you ablaze.

There's a simmering fire in his touch as he pulls you out of the dip and the tempo quickens, leading you into what you can't believe is already the last chorus of the song.

Have you really been dancing for almost six minutes now?

"Are you ready for the finale?" You ask lowly, unable to hear if he says anything once you're sent spiraling across the floor.

But when you meet back up like lovers who can't bear to be apart, he leans in to tell you cockily, "I was born ready, Y/N." You suppress an eye roll at the statement, your heart fluttering nonetheless as he puts his hands on your hips and swings in step with you.

San's hands grip you tightly as he pulls you against him, your mouths hovering tantalizingly close together when he guides your arm up to skim the curve of his neck. The sensual music drifts through the arena in time with your movements, each step flowing smoothly and each touch driving you wild as you perform your finale with your hearts on your sleeves.

You've never felt this before Choi San; you've never experienced such an intense desire for someone the way you're desperate for every brush of his skin against yours.

You slide slowly out of his arms and make your way down, down his body and to the floor, taking your sweet time walking your fingers down his chest as you sink to your knees on stage; the sight of you in such a compromising stance earns you an earful of traumatized murmurs from the crowd, but you pay them no mind.

Nothing else matters when San's knees hit the stage floor three beats later, hands tangling in your hair and pulling you close enough to give the cameraman a run for his money.

All that matters in that instant is San- his touch, his gaze, and the dance that feels like it was made just for you and him.

"That... was amazing." You comment breathlessly, careful not to give any wandering eyes a chance to read your lips. He nods and says nothing, letting his fiery eyes do all the talking for the both of you.

The moment feels incredibly intimate as the music fades out, and you're breathing the same air as your partner, only separated by an inch at the most; you want nothing more than to grab him by his too-damn-sexy shirt and make out until your lips are swollen.

But you can't do that, because you're still somehow on stage with him, crouching in a sensual pose in front of hundreds of people.

The last notes float away and you're immediately met with deafening cheers, roses and carnations already beginning to litter the platform. You're shocked by how much your performance seemed to affect the audience; but it makes you smile wide, your cheeks aching when a group of girls start chanting your name, and you feel like you're on cloud nine.

The MC's voice booms over the speakers as the crowd whistles and yells, "What an incredible performance from Choi San of Ateez and Y/N of Indigo! Let's have another round of applause for the stars of tonight's show, everyone!"

The clapping continues, following you and San off of the stage and back behind the wings as you're rushed into a hug from Mimi. She shakes your shoulders wildly, eyes shining with what looks like happy tears; she congratulates you over and over, all but crushing your lungs with her excited hug.

"You did it Y/N!" She squeals, "We're all so proud of you, honey!"

When you turn to face San, a group of boys approaching the wings from behind him catches your eye, looking more like a blur than a band. One blonde boy in particular zips ahead of the others and catapults himself into San, arms latching onto him like a leech.

"Woo, what the hell?" Your unsuspecting partner exclaims, hugging him back nonetheless.

"You fuckin' killed it, man!" The blonde screams. The rest of the group engulfs San into a huddle and say the same thing, not paying any attention to the manager trying to remind them that idols shouldn't curse.

You recognize the seven rowdy men to be San's group, Ateez; you watch on with a fond smile as they praise his performance, slapping him on the back and ruffling his hair.

He fights his way out of their embrace and rolls his eyes, brushing himself off as if he didn't enjoy their congratulations.

The blonde boy notices you standing to the side and a sly grin crosses his face, head tilting to the side.

"And who might this beautiful lady be, Sannie?" He questions mischievously. You feel yourself blush beneath his curious stare, fiddling with the material of your dress, but San walks over to you in a few short strides and wastes no time in using two fingers to lift your chin upwards.

"This is Y/N," He says with a voice that reminds you of spiced cider, "the one I've been telling you guys about."

Your eyes widen. "You never said you talked about me..." You trail off at the flicker of want in his expression, mind blanking out.

He smirks back at you like he knows something you don't. "You never asked, princess."

You don't feel the seven pairs of clueless eyes on you when San brings your face closer to his; you don't even bother to remember that Mimi is still right behind you, nor do you care that the collaboration team is probably just around the corner.

All you can feel is San- his presence overpowering your senses and blocking out anything that isn't him.

"Choi San," You murmur dangerously, "if you don't kiss me right now, I think I might go insane."

He ignores the chorus of annoying ooh's from his friends and rests his other hand on the small of your back, tethering you to him. Your eyelids start to lower in expectation, hands finding their way into his hair; and you can feel his smirk long before your lips even touch.

"That won't be necessary, darling." He mutters as you finally, finally collide, every nerve ending on fire as he kisses you like a man starved. Wooyoung's wolf whistle falls on deaf ears as you kiss with more meaning than any romance movie couple you've seen on screen; your lips clash and melt and push and pull with a spark that only true dancers possess, the world around you disappearing instantly.

Even Mimi, your dedicated manager, has nothing to say to you when you eventually break apart, San's heated gaze keeping you trapped in his arms, and he can tell you've got tunnel vision too when your eyes never leave his.

Your heart thumps rapidly in your chest- but the pace is steady and sure, as if you've been kissing this man in front of your superiors all of your life. You're utterly entranced by the look of love and adoration that dances- pun intended- in his dark eyes; and in the split second it takes to realize the weight behind this kiss, you decide that you want this to last forever.

You're ready to be his.

"Y/N," San says softly, "I know we've got a lot to talk about if we want to make this work... but I can't walk away from you tonight without asking you one thing."

You raise an eyebrow, "What would that be?"

He traces your jawline with the tip of his finger, leaving sparks in its wake.

"Miss Priss," He says teasingly, the nickname stirring up your insides, "will you officially be mine?"

You reach up to press a swift, firm kiss to his lips, sealing your decision better than words ever could. You pull away with a grin that matches his own, and he thinks he's died and gone to heaven when you answer him, "I thought you'd never ask."

The seven boys watching the ordeal clap obnoxiously, cheering just as loud as the audience had been a few minutes ago, and San pulls you in to rest his forehead on your own.

"After all, you said it best yourself, Fireboy," You meet his stare confidently, "it takes two to tango."

And after twenty-five days of wanting and waiting, playing this game of cat and mouse- you finally get what you've truly desired since the moment you met Choi San.

You get to call him yours.

the end.

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themadhatterofficial · 4 years ago

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Eyes, Bodies, and Potions

The Golden Trio was always meant to take down Voldemort.

Perhaps, if things happened a bit differently, if the pieces managed to link together in another way...

(Dark Golden Trio AU)

********************

Harry Potter only knew violence growing up.

The young boy hidden away in the cupboard under the stairs would sit in fear and anticipation as heavy footsteps pounded above and rattled the dust onto his tiny bed. He had a single mirror in his cupboard that Aunt Petunia had given him as a Christmas present after his uncle had slammed his head into it hard enough to cause cracks to run through it like an overzealous spiderweb.

No matter how many times he tried to avoid it, Harry always ended up watching himself in the dingy glass. In anything remotely reflective, really.

Everywhere Harry went, people commented on his eyes. On how pretty they were, how they made him look respectable, how much they stood out against the darkness of his skin and the heavy bangs that resembled a rat's nest at the best of times.

It had jump started Harry's obsession.

Everywhere he went, Harry would stare at eyes. Brown ones, blue ones, grey ones, green ones, and every mix you could think of. He liked the emotions that ran through them, how they told stories that faces and bodies would never reveal.

He could see the happiness when a couple held hands.

He could see the fear when a man gripped his girlfriend's arm a little too tight.

He could see the joy in a father's eyes when his baby snuggled further into his neck.

The fear was nice sometimes. When it was someone who deserved it. Like when Dudley's friend Henry punched Harry hard enough to take out his baby tooth and split his lip. Harry had launched forward and kept hitting and hitting and hitting until Henry was crying too hard to make noise and he was covered in reds and blues that never blossomed on Harry's deep skin.

(Henry's eyes were grey. They were scared. It was nice.)

(Henry's parents also moved their whole family far away from the neighborhood the very next week. Harry chalked it up to coincidence.)

Harry liked the happiness a lot more than the sad or scared ones. He liked sitting in the little park far from the Dursleys' and letting the long cuffs of his torn hand-me-downs scrape below the swing, watching the happy families laugh and jump and run around with one another without caring about anything else.

For as long as Harry could remember, he had wanted that. He longed for it. He would sit in his tiny cupboard on the last night of July and beg and plead whoever was up there for someone to find him. At first, Harry wished for someone to take him away. Now, Harry would be content with someone approaching him to just talk. It was a far-fetched dream, something he only dared to dream of in the quiet darkness when he pretended that his parents weren't worthless drunks who cared for the bottle more than their son. That he had a mother that took the time to tame his bird's nest of a head and read to him at night, that he had a father who taught him how to play chess and cook breakfast for his mum in bed, and maybe even an uncle that bought him secret ice creams that ruined his dinner and taught him how to talk to pretty girls at school and maybe even a sister who laughed too loud and grinned too wide and let him wrap her up in soft blankets when she was too cold to ask for it.

But for now, Harry would settle for their eyes.

********************

Ron Weasley, in Ron Weasley's opinion, was not very special.

He was the sixth child of seven in his impoverished family. He got hand-me-down everything, and was expected to do as well as his brothers, if not better. It was nothing special if he could do this, because Percy could too, and if he could do that, well, Bill already had years before.

Sometimes Ron wished he was an only child, if only for the attention he would have.

(He never wanted his siblings dead, Merlin no. He loved them all and wished them the best, even if he was a bit jealous of them.)

Perhaps this was why he was often seen hanging on Harry or Hermione's arm, spending every bit of his free time with the first things that were his, and only his.

They weren't things, and Ron knew this. He knew that they were people, and he knew that they were their own people. He never claimed them aloud, and especially didn't hint at it to Harry. He was already treated like a Thing by his muggles. They locked him away and took him out when he was of use. Ron wanted to be with him all the time, even when he didn't listen and remained as stubborn as an ass.

But they were still Ron's. He didn't like when Fred or George or Ginny would try to covet Harry's attention, or tease Hermione until all the blood rushed up to darken her cheeks to a deep blue. She would hide behind her massive hair that curled around her wildly in a way that she wasn't.

Later, Hermione would shyly admit that she'd never felt wanted, and that she quite liked the way Harry and Ron so openly expressed their need for her. Harry would say the same.

Ron Weasley liked watching people.

He saw everything he needed to from a distance, even if he wanted to get closer. He liked watching quidditch especially, how their bodies moved so gracefully and held no hesitation in their gestures. (This did not extend to his brothers and sister. He actually didn't like watching them in particular, even if he could never pry his eyes away from Harry twisting and turning and reaching as far as he could.)

Every quidditch match was exciting. Ron would emulate certain things, ever since he could remember. Bill's easy-going swagger. Charlie's big hand movements. Percy's chin tilt he did when he was trying to make a point, or the seamless weaving and bobbing Fred and George had mastered together. He'd mostly out grown it before Ginny came along, but sometimes he even ran his hand through his hair like she did. His dad did it, and it was a small thing the three of them shared, and Ron coveted it.

The most ingrained thing about Ron was probably his tactile nature. His mum was the same way. They were probably the most expressive, always ready to give out a hug and kiss on the cheek or just to hold someone.

This came in handy later in life.

Hermione likes to stand on her toes.

It's a small thing that he's sure she isn't really aware of. She'd mentioned offhandedly that her parents had forced her to do ballet when Ron mentioned it, and it became more and more clear. When she stretched she pointed her toes perfectly, and when she turned to speak she'd often spin around on the tips of her feet. It was endearing, especially even when she went on her long winded tangents about anything and everything.

When she talked, her smile lit up the room and her hands flitted about excitedly. When she saw something that caught her eye, Hermione would stretch out her neck and raise her eyebrows high into her uneven bangs.

Hermione was also very awkward. She hid behind her big kinky curls, which Ron soon learned were in that weird frizzy stage because of repeated failed attempts at straightening it. (He quite liked her hair just the way it was, but Hermione didn't, which was disappointing.) Ron would shake his head and teasingly pull on one of her coils so it bounced tightly. She would flush, and when they first met she absolutely despised it. It wasn't until they'd known each other for so long that she would allow him to do so. He was the only one other than Harry that was allowed. Soon after she began to grow comfortable with his casual touches.

So when she would awkwardly put her hand forward to shake Ron's, he would push it away in order to wrap her up tightly in his arms. She'd tense at first before hugging back tentatively, then tightly, as if she never wanted him to let her go.

Harry tugs at his sleeves when he gets nervous.

He does it a lot, actually. When they ride up, he pulls the cuffs down to grip in his palms.

When adults speak to him, he squeezes himself inward to make himself smaller. When they raise their voices, his head drops down ever so slightly, as if it's an instinct he's trying to fight. When they get too close, his body twitches away as if it has a mind of its own.

Ron soon noticed that Harry couldn't handle yelling. Ron and Hermione began to fight about Merlin-knows-what one night by the lake. It wasn't until Ron's voice was slightly hoarse and he paused to take a breath that he remembered that Harry was still there. He was sitting on the damp grass, completely still with his hands muffling his ears and his head tucked between his knees.

Ron always warns Harry before reaching to him. Always asks if its okay. It's soon obvious to Ron that no one has truly hugged Harry, and does so whenever he has the chance. And Harry absolutely clings onto Ron, which is really nice. No one's really done that. His siblings weren't always the touchy-type and his parents were always too busy with this or that to dedicate so much time to the Least Favorite.

(Ron knew that they loved him. He never doubted that. But he was nothing if not a realist.)

But Ron's favorite thing was when Harry would jump on him. Harry never talked much unless one prompted him endlessly, and it was even rarer for him to initiate a conversation or reach out for anyone or anything. So when Harry would get so excited he tackle-hugged Ron into the grass or the floor of the common room, and Hermione would burst into giggles beside them, he'd feel his heart burst open for these two people that truly appreciated him.

Watching people fall was pretty fascinating.

Their bodies would turn and prepare for the inevitable, bracing in fear before the impact came.

They showed something real, in those moments. The shock, the resignation, pure, unadulterated fear that overtook their entire bodies dominated Ron's attention when it happened. And when the fear happened, he saw who they were. How one handles the fear, the harsh reality ready to break their nose it, shows who they truly are.

When Hermione fell into the Devil's Snare, and Ron and Harry were stuck in the stage of fear, he could see Hermione's brain turn over. He saw the way she went straight from the fear to the calm determination of someone who was not ready for the end. He could see the clear fuck you on her face before she sunk below the vines.

When Harry's broom began to shake and throw him off in a violent rage, Ron saw the fear. He saw the clear fear outline every bone of his body before his grip tightened and his body swung upwards. He could see the resignation, and he could see the acceptance of what would happen. But that wasn't standing out as much as the look that overtook his entire face. He could hear it from the stands, the way he was telling himself - not without a fight.

Ron quite liked the fear. He liked seeing them panic and squirm. He liked knowing who they were, if only for a moment.

When he punched Goyle in the face, he saw it. When he beat him over and over in the empty corridor, Ron knew. He didn't have that fight in him, the way his best friends do. He was pitiful, really. Ron felt no sympathy afterwards, merely watched as the larger boy scrambled away bloody and terrified.

And later, when Ron let Harry bandage his knuckles in a way that no eleven year old should be able to do with such ease, he watched the blood swirl down the drain with morbid fascination.

His knuckles were swollen and bruised, and Harry was endlessly careful with them.

Goyle had gotten a good punch in, and Hermione's hand flitted around his cheek worriedly for a good two minutes before calming down.

And the next day, when Goyle's bruises were yellow with some kind of accelerated healing potion, Ron was quite disappointed that the colors had left so quickly. He felt put-out, robbed even, of the satisfaction he'd wanted. That he'd earned.

But when their eyes met, and Goyle flinched to look down with shameful fear, Ron decided that he could settle for that.

********************

Hermione Granger had always been a smart girl. It was something she had always prided herself in. Top of her class, always on time, always perfect.

Her parents had made sure of that. The Grangers would not permit their only child to fail. They refused to have a fuck up for a daughter. It would disgrace them beyond belief, leaving the family humiliated and shame-faced for all of the world to see.

Hermione Granger was used to the low expectations. She had long since grown accustomed to people looking down on her. From her buck teeth, to dark skin, to her frizzy hair, not many expected much from her.

They were proper people, the Grangers. Practical and no-nonsense types that expected their child to achieve a level of success that they were never able to reach.

So it was quite a shock when one day a severe-looking woman appeared on their doorstep in a tall pointy hat and bright green bathrobe that smelled faintly of cat treats.

Hermione had had an inkling about the magic. Strange occurrences, things that logic simply could not explain.

"It snowed once," she had murmured under her breath.

The three adults stopped their snapping, which had been quickly escalating into a fully-blown argument, to look towards the girl.

"What was that?" the professor had sniped quickly.

Hermione looked towards her parents, their lips pressed together tensely as they stared down their daughter through narrowed eyes.

"It snowed," Hermione'd said a bit more clearly. "When... when I read Narnia." She barely kept from flinching when her mother's fist clenched at the mention of one of those horrid fairy tales, but Hermione looked down and twisted her lips from side to side.

"Why is that?" the woman had asked a touch less harshly.

"In the story the kids went through a wardrobe and found a place where it snowed all year round. I just wanted to visit somewhere... somewhere different. Like..."

When Hermione made no effort to finish the professor made the effort to kneel before her to match their heights.

And slowly, the professor's lips began to pull up ever so slightly into an encouraging (and slightly conspiratorial) smile. "Somewhere magical?"

"Yes," Hermione had breathed out emphatically, nodding her head so vigorously that the beads in her weighty braids clanked together loudly enough to echo around the silent room.

"Well, I think that I may be able to make that happen."

To be entirely truthful, Hermione didn't much like school.

She loved learning. She had always loved learning. It was her favorite thing in the whole world. But the pressure, both from the school and her family, made Hermione want to tear her hair out until there was nothing left. Her parents were terrible about it. They monitored her grades as closely as humanly possible. And it was't enough to just do good, or great, or perfect. She had to be better than everyone in anything and everything she did.

Hermione had done ballet when she was little. It wan't her favorite thing in the world, but it had been fun.

But she wasn't The Best.

So her parents made her quit.

Harry and Ron were different than most.

They were her friends. Her real friends. Most people sneered at her in class when her hand always shot up and she jumped at the chance to answer every question she could and fight to be the first one to demonstrate how much better she was than them. (There had been a period of time where Hermione had stopped doing so. Her parents found out. She began raising her hand again.)

Her boys sometimes did that. When Hermione got overexcited and cut off the teacher Harry would sometimes hide his face with his hand or Ron would groan and roll his eyes. But the second someone else said something to her, they would jump at the chance to defend her and take no prisoners.

The three of them were family. A real family. Not like at home where dinner was tense and silent while Hermione's father picked apart every single sentence of her school progress reports, or when Harry would talk about his relatives in quivering whispers before quickly changing the subject before they could ask about his over-sized clothing and the gruesome pattern of raised skin on his arms.

Hermione laughed more with them in her first year at Hogwarts than she ever had in her entire existence. While Harry had a strange kind of gasping laugh that she could hardly distinguish between joy or pain, Ron's was full-bodied and bright. But they were both amazing. They sounded happy. Safe. Kind of like home.

She had never been so happy in her life.

Hermione loved magic.

It had a strange set of rules to it. Strange. Different. But soon enough, Hermione understood it.

Her favorite was potions. There was a definitive way to it, logic that was always followed. Hermione could follow a method and it would be perfect. Action and reaction. That was all it was. Action and reaction. Action and reaction.

(Snape was obviously terrible. He made her face burn and tears spring to her eyes. But she couldn't stop raising her hand or jumping in to answer questions. She just couldn't. If it got back to her parents it would be a thousand times worse than anything Snape could ever do to her.)

But outside of the classroom, Hermione fell in love with the method of potion-making. It was soothing and gentle and welcoming and just so perfect for her. Outside of the dankness of the dungeons and the harsh bearing of Severus Snape's beady black eyes, Hermione Granger sat in the sunlight of the second floor girls' lavatory and created masterpieces. She used her tools to create art. From potions of brilliant greens to velvety purples to bright blues so clear that she could see the bottom of the cauldron through. It was stunningly beautiful. And it took her breath away.

But she wasn't The Best.

(not yet, at least)

It was early on a Saturday morning.

The sun streamed through the tall window of the second floor girls' lavatory and landed on Hermione and her cauldron at the perfect angle. It was a potion recipe that Harry had found in the restricted section and given to her. (Normally, Hermione would never condone breaking rules. At school, no less. But this was a Special Circumstance.) It caused the consumer's heart to beat so fast that the blood couldn't make it through the arteries quickly enough, causing them them to clog and trigger a heart attack.

Hermione hadn't planned on actually giving it to anyone. It would be disgustingly terrible. To cause someone's death...

But then, the colors were so pretty. Swirling pinks and purples moving like waves crashing upon the sand, splashing against the sides of the cauldron of their own accord. Her eyes traced their movements, transfixed into a deep state of pure calm.

She didn't even notice when some of it had splashed up over the lip of the cauldron. It landed on the tiles with a decisive plink that echoed in the silence.

Hermione hadn't seen the rat until it was too late. She watched in horror as the small rodent moved towards the spilled potion, sniffing at it before licking hesitantly.

Before she could yell for it to stop, the rat began to convulse on the dirty floor. Hermione could do nothing but watch as the poor thing's body shook violently, squealing pathetically and rolling around in excruciating pain.

And then the blood.

There was so much in its tiny body. It was actually quite shocking. Spilling from everywhere from its eyes to its mouth to its ears. It was a horror scene - party of one.

Hermione wanted it to stop. She wanted to save the little rat. It was cruel and unkind and unfair and...

Disgustingly beautiful.

The vividness of its blood threw her off. It was smooth and thick, running through the grooves of the tiles in gentle rivulets akin to that of the rivers that carved through the Forest of Dean.

It was very different to see this kind of pain tearing its course through something. It felt almost satisfying to watch. Like she was seeing her own pain manifest itself within a tiny conductor, forcing everything inside of her inside of it.

And it was Hermione that was doing it. Hermione's potion. Her own knowledge and power transferring into another living breathing thing, wreaking its havoc as it went.

Action and reaction.

Sometimes Hermione would watch others in school with the same lens that she had watched that rat. She would bore holes through the side of Pansy Parkinson's head or clench her hands to avoid tilting the entirety of her scalding potion down the back of Professor Snape's robes during class.

(She would fantasize about it. Sometimes Hermione felt like a monster for doing so, but then she would look at Ron when he dug his fingertips into the desk and glare at Draco Malfoy with a barely concealed type of rage that she Knew meant that they were the same.)

(Harry was a little different. He didn't always have that kind of rage inside of him. But he would watch when Ron would fight others, untamed and wild in every aspect. And it would glimmer behind the vibrant green of his irises that Hermione had yet to recreate with one of her potions.)

Hermione wanted to do it. She wanted to drip just the littlest bit of her art onto their wrists. Just a drop. She wanted to watch their skin shrivel and burn, eaten away by the nature of her poison. She wanted to hear them scream. She wanted them to feel what she feels, if only for a bit. She wanted to paint with their blood, tracing sigils of old into her skin and practicing the kind of magic that would have her mother fainting on the front lawn and her father puking into the ugly orange tulips tracing the stark white walls of her pretty little muggle home.

But for now, she'd have to settle for the rats haunting the bathroom floor.

#Harry Potter #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #black hermione granger #INDIAN HARRY POTTER #dark au #dark golden trio #golden trio #not v happy #and ive brought you mur #thank you #mur-dur!#JUDAS

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pl-panda · 4 years ago

Text

To marry a Vigilante: Part 1

MASTERLIST || First || Previous || Next

Disclaimer: Masterlist

------

When they finally pulled apart, Marinette needed a moment for her brain to restart. She was sure she would melt right then and there. At the same time, she wanted to jump and scream from sheer ecstasy. It was all she ever wanted and now she had it.

Damian stared at her empty expression.

“I think you broke her.” Plagg suddenly zoomed out of her pocket, followed by Tikki who tried (and failed) to catch him.

This was enough for Mari to finally start thinking coherently. “Um… Yeah… I… Maybe…” Or mostly coherently at least.

“Habibti. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.” Damian guided her. Slowly, Mari returned to her senses.

“Thank you… I think I might have kinda lost my breath there.” She gave him an apologetic smile.

“Nothing happened. Now I think I need to leave or my brothers will get some stupid idea and I will have to practice my skill with a sword.” Damian deadpanned.

“Since I know I can’t stop you, please at least don’t kill them until I get to know them better?”

“I can try, but no promises.” He turned to leave, but she grabbed his hand.

“Oh! Wait!” She fumbled through her pocket for a moment before pulling out a small box. Plagg immediately was pulled inside it (much to Tikki’s amusement). “Damian Wayne. As Guardian of the Miraculous, I give you the miraculous of the Black Cat, which gives you the power of destruction. I trust you to protect it and use it to help others.”

Damian was stunned only for a short moment and definitely didn’t move his mouth like a fish. Definitely. “I accept that honor and thank you for your trust.”

“There is no one I would trust more than you with this. If not for your and your family’s help, I would’ve never caught Hawkmoth or the Cat.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re brilliant and it was only a matter of time.”

“Time I might’ve not had. Chat was working with Hawkmoth. Who knows when I would’ve fallen into a trap…”

“It’s all over now, Habibti.” He grabbed her hand. “Everything is going to be better now.” When she smiled he let go and opened the box. Plagg appeared in a flash.

“For the record, I hate these boxes.”

“Stop complaining. If you stayed there it wouldn’t have been so bad.” Tikki scolded him.

Marinette giggled at the interaction of the two little gods. Damian just shook his head and donned the ring.

“Can I see how you’ll look?” She asked before her smile took a more grin-like look. “I want to see if you’ll have a cute cat-ears.”

“Maybe when you are in Gotham.” He scoffed. “Thank you, angel. It’s the best Christmas gift you could’ve given me. Your trust means more than gold to me.”

“But Christmas is still a long way away…” Mari tried to dismiss him, but seeing his expression she doubled back. He looked almost scared. Almost, since Damian Wayne did not get scared.

“Angel… Christmas Eve is tomorrow. That’s why your class is leaving on Monday. You are all going to be attending the Wayne New Year Gala next Friday.”

“But… But… Wouldn’t there be decorations in stores? And Santa Clauses on the street? Or at least…”

“There were. Mostly Miraculous themed though. I can’t believe you didn’t notice.” He said with a bit too much amusement slipping into his voice.

“Kwami! Kwami! Kwami!” She started to pace. “I completely forgot! How could I have forgotten Christmas!?” She was close to collapsing. Damian was quickly by her, holding her wrists together to not accidentally get slapped by her flailing arms.

“Habibti. There is nothing to worry about. You already gave everyone the greatest gift possible by ridding them of that terrorist. I admit I regret that we will not be able to spend our first Christmas together as a family, but the last several months were the best of my life already. You don’t need to give me anything more.”

“But… But…” She was at the edge of crying.

“Marinette. Don’t worry. I have an idea.” Tikki reassured her Chosen. “Go tell your parents to pack everything.”

“But… Maman and I must be here at six on Monday” She tried to argue.

“You will be. Kaalki owes me a favor.” The kwami dismissed her.

“But… But I can’t just abuse the miraculous.”

“Marinette. All Kwami love you. They would be happy to help you if the need arose.” Tikki nuzzled into her cheek. Mari finally relented.

“Fine… But I’m buying her three boxes of sugar cubes,” she said with conviction.

The two kwami giggled and Damian cracked a smile.

--------------------

Adrien cursed loudly. He barely managed to escape those damn heroes. And to think that his Lady marries some American ragtag instead of him? That’s how she repaid him for his loyalty? For all of his sacrifices? That was just a travesty.

But it didn’t matter in the end. She didn’t deserve to be Ladybug anyway and now finally, the world could be free from her. Of course, heroes could try to save her. They could even succeed. But he made a point. He severed all the ties with that cursed bitch. Now he could focus on his true soulmate: Marinette. She was the real Ladybug. She was loyal, honest, brave, kind, selfless, beautiful. They’re made for each other. In a perfect world, they would be with one another if he was not blinded by the imposter. She had a crush on him in the past, but he ruined it. Now he had to work trice as hard to get her to join him.

“Don’t worry mother. We will have our family again.” He said, looking at the stasis chamber.

----------------------

When Marinette and her parents exited the portal in Wayne Manor, they were greeted by Alfred the Butler and Alfred the Cat.

“Ah. Young Madame Marinette, Madame Cheng, Master Dupain. It is my pleasure to welcome you. I was told you would be arriving through… extraordinary means.” He greeted them.

“We’re sorry for all the trouble we’re causing you on such short notice.” Marinette immediately started to apologize.

“You are no trouble at all. Definitely not compared to the usual Christmas mess.” He dismissed her apology. She wanted to protest, but the cat jumped onto her and she instinctively grabbed him and hugged.

“I see Alfred the Cat likes you, Angel.” Damian’s voice came from behind. Immediately, Marinette whirled around, only to stare into a pair of green eyes.

“Damian!” She wanted to hug him, but the cat was a bit in the way. Instead, she just leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. They both smiled.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Sabine spoke. “Is Cassandra home? I would like to meet my niece. We spoke several times over the phone, but meeting in person is…”

“She is in the gym, practicing ballet,” Alfred informed her.

“Thank you. Tom, be a kind husband, and carry my things to our room. And don’t forget the bag.” She patted Tom’s cheek before leaving.

“Come, Habibti. I will show you the garden.” Damian grabbed her waiting hand.

“Take my bags too, dad? Thanks!” Mari shouted without looking back before she, Damian, and the cat left the room, leaving Tom with half the house packed into bags.

“Why do women carry so much with them…?” He sighed.

“It’s a mystery of the world that we, mere mortals, will never know, Sir,” Alfred answered in his usual tone.

---------

“Cassandra?” Sabine asked, leaning through the doors leading to the gym. The mats that would usually cover the ground were all rolled in the corner to make space. A large mirror covered the entire right wall. A lone girl in a white ballet outfit danced to Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker ballet music.

The girl did not answer or break her dance, but Sabine noted that her gaze shifted toward doors in the mirror. It was just a short moment to assess the threat without breaking concentration on whatever one did. It was the same as she often did. It was an instinct learned through years of training. David Cain better stayed in that cell or else.

When the song ended, Cass turned the music off and walked closer to Sabine until they were standing about a foot apart.

“You’re a great dancer.” The woman started. Cass only nodded in response.

“Practice.” She said. There was more awkward silence where the two measured each other.

“I’m sorry sweetie. For what happened to you. If I knew, I would’ve searched for you and gave you a proper home.” A tear appeared in Sabine’s eye. When they spoke through video, it was mostly about meaningless things to get used to one another or neutral subjects. Now, in person, Sabine wanted to get all regret off her heart.

“No… fault.” The girl answered. “All… good.”

“Can I… Hug you?” Sabine asked, fully aware that not everyone liked physical contact.

“Hug?” Cass asked. To this day, only Dick or Tim wanted to give her hugs and it was rare. “Okay?” She more asked than agreed, but her aunt responded by slowly pulling the girl to her heart.

“I’m still sorry. If I see my sister, she is gonna get her ear screamed off.” She assured the girl. “How could she… You’re such a sweet girl.”

Cassandra Cain smiled. She liked being hugged by that woman. And the image of her mother cowering before her older sister was too funny.

-------------

“Damian!” Marinette shouted as he dragged her through the garden. It was much colder in Gotham than in Paris. And it was still only late morning here while she left Paris in the afternoon. She was a bit tired.

“I want to show you something, Angel. Come on! Before my brothers find us and drag me into their ‘Christmas spirit’ stuff.” He groaned at the thought.

“Christmas is important!” She argued.

“Definitely when you are here.” He answered easily. It was lucky he was too focused on the road to look back because she blushed… hard.

They walked through the forest that was on the manor grounds until they entered a small clearing. In the center, there was a stone garden gazebo with the fire burning in the center. It definitely gave heat, but little smoke dispersed in the air before it could alert anyone to that location. There were several stone benches inside.

“I found it during one of my… escape attempts when I was younger.” He admitted. “Now I use it as a retreat from my brothers. The herb mixture I use as fuel gives no smoke.”

“Why bring me here?” She asked.

“I just thought that we should enjoy the peace before the hurricane that my brothers become washes over us.”

Mari giggled. “I met your brothers.”

“No. You saw them. I had to live with them for the last five years. They are crazy.”

“It can’t be that bad… right?”

“Last year Todd set the Christmas Tree on fire.” He deadpanned.

“Okay, that might’ve been an accident.” She tried to argue.

“Four years ago Grayson decided to show his acrobatic skill to put a star on the top of the tree. He ended up crashing it on us and the dinner table.”

“It… happens?” She said, but with less conviction.

“Two years ago, Drake decided to surprise Brown and bought her a life-sized statue of them made out of chocolate.”

“It doesn’t sound that bad…”

“Except that insomniac idiot accidentally ordered it made out of chocolate ice cream!”

“Oh…” Marinette didn’t have an answer for that.

“So as I said, they can be a bit much.”

“Don’t worry. I still think it could be worse. My Nona once gave my parents a motorbike with two sidecars as a Christmas gift.”

“Tt. That sounds normal.”

“Except one of them was made as a crib for me. I was one at the time.”

Damian cracked a smile.

“I still think you will thank me for showing you this place.”

“May I remind you that you will all be stuck with my mom for the better part of the exchange. She will keep them in check.” Mari huffed.

“I don’t doubt that.” He pulled his phone and showed her a photo of Sabine standing over Talia. The next one was of unconscious Talia with Tom standing over her with the broken chair.

Mari giggled and she would later swear that Damian laughed a bit. Not that anyone saw them. Well, no human. Alfred the Cat could hardly testify.

------

Masterlist // Next

#arranged marriage AU #Damian Wayne #Damian al Ghul #marinette x damian #maridami #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #guardian!marinette #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #maribat au #miraculous lb #tiger miraculous #miraculous sabine

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fairykimseok · 4 years ago

Text

Drowsy nights and the white wolf

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Original Character (Kaitlyn)

Summary: Being an avenger is one thing, being an Avenger with Bucky Barnes is another. A little story of how Kaitlyn met Bucky

Gender: would say fluff with a little action, oneshot

Warnings: a mention of blood

This is written with the intention of being Bucky x reader but I just had to name the character. Time wise it is set along the events of TFATWS

Disclaimer: Marvel owns Avengers, The Falcon and The Winter Soldier and all its characters

Before I tell you my story maybe I need to introduce myself. My name is Kaitlyn, I am short of special as my mom liked to say and…I might be an Avenger.

All started in the battle of New York, I was in one of the buildings Loki had taken over, with my mom and a few other people. I don’t really remember what happened, I only know Loki had touched me with his Scepter. I woke up the following day at the hospital, the building we were in had collapsed killing everyone but me. I was 16 back then and that was when I first met Natasha. She was the one who had pulled me out of that building and she kept visiting me in the hospital, she sort of became my family when everyone was gone. Short after when my powers started showing up, powers that were the legacy of Loki and the infinity stone, our sessions started. She would train me in hand in hand combat and I would try to master my powers.

She wanted me to go to the avengers’ compound and I had visited a few times, I had a room next to Wanda whom I had met on a few occasions. But that was when the Civil War between the Avengers started, and Nat went hiding. We would still meet sometimes with Cap and occasionally Sam.

And then the snap happened, and I blipped and when I came back, she was gone. My only family was gone. I called Sam as soon as I found out. He told me I could still join the team just as Nat wanted, that they had a new building as the old one was destroyed.

And that is where I am right now, in the new Avengers compound with whom is left here. Mostly me, Rodney, and Banner. Sam comes and goes, Dr. Strange, Clint, and Scot has stopped by sometimes and they frequently video call with others that are far away.

It is sort of lonely here, but I try to focus on my training. It is not easy being the only one with my kind of powers. Dr. Strange has helped me some with that and Banner had run some tests on me to see how they could progress. I get my “military” training with Rodney and when Clint is here, I get the “spy” training.

Oh right, my powers. Well you could say I have a thing with ice. Provided that there is water around I can create ice in whatever form I want and use it accordingly. I am still very sloppy and most of the time it is only a thin layer, but I am getting better.

It was a typical day, I woke up, got breakfast in the shared kitchen, visited Banner in his lab and went to the gym for my training. One of the first things Nat had told me was that I need to be agile, to be able to move fast even in the most difficult situations, so my morning routine had a variety of ballet, yoga or pilates.

“Looking good”, I heard someone at the door. As I turned, I realized it was no other than Sam.

“Hey Sam, what’s up? It’s been a while”, I said, going to my bug to drink some water.

“Thought I would stop by to see how you all here are and also to drop a friend who I think would help you a lot with your training”, he said.

As on cue Rodney entered the room with one more man, he looked around the room before his eyes landed on me. I knew who he was of course, who doesn’t.

“Bucky this is Kaitlyn, Kaitlyn this is Bucky. Don’t worry he is not dangerous just very old”, Sam joked which led to him getting a punch in the arm.

“Nice to me you”, Bucky said with a slight nod of his head.

“Nice to meet you too”, I managed to say in a stake of a mild shock. No, I wasn’t scared of him, I never had been. Cap had told me enough of his stories with bucky back in their days to know that this man is not dangerous even if he had been brainwashed most of his life.

“Bucky can help you with close up combat. If you are going to learn, better learn from the best.”, Sam offered. “We gonna let you at it and come back later with Rods. You gonna be ok old man?”, he asked before leaving, closing the door behind them.

Bucky only eye rolled as he properly entered the room. He unzipped his jacket leaving it at the bench, his vibranium arm echoing in the empty room. “Alright, let’s see what you got. Try to hit me” he said positioning himself in the middle of the room.

“Hit you?”, I asked confused, approaching him.

“Kick me, punch me, hit me. Whatever”, he shrugged.

Whatever, I thought. How? How do you hit the winter soldier? I took a few more steps, going closer all while I was thinking which could be the best approach, how could I attack him. At first, I just tried to punch as naïve as it looked. Of course, he just stopped my hand midair with his. I tried more complex moves, some of those Nat used to do, wrapping my legs around his neck and trying to elbow him on the head, I found myself pinned to the nearest wall his metal arm in my neck. His grip tight. He got flustered for a moment and for a moment there I really saw the assassin he used to be. He loosened his grip and let me down, mumbling an apology.

“How old are you again?”, I asked out of breath.

“Physical or mental age? Actual or birth wise? Kinda difficult question to ask”, he said with a faint of smile but maybe it was my imagination because it lasted for too short.

“Current?”, I offered.

“Something around the early 30s. Or 106, who counts?” he shrugged. “Again”

We went on and on, each time finding me in a helpless situation. I was pretty sure Ι was covered with bruises in every place possible.

I don’t even know how many times we had done the same thing when I got the idea that hey, I got powers. I let him tackle me into a headlock and when he was about to loosen his hold, I touched the metal arm, ice spreading all over it. I took the mere seconds it took him to realize what was going on as a chance to elbow him in the ribs and punch his jaw. He took a step back and smiled not even fazed by my hits.

“Good, but next time count on your strength and not your powers yet”, he said.

“Do you even feel anything?”, I asked defeated, nothing seemed to hurt him.

“It takes a lot more to make me feel anything”, he grinned. “And ice is not one of them”

“I left you here to learn from him and you go and freeze my man?”, Sam exclaimed entering in the room.

“I am fine”, Bucky said waving his metal arm twice before the ice broke and fell on the floor.

“Once a popsicle always a popsicle,” Sam joked earning a death stare from the older man. “How did it go?”, he asked looking at me

“No broken bones, so I guess good”, I shrugged.

“We have a long way ahead of us”, Bucky said getting dressed. “I am out”, he nodded before disappearing.

“So how was it really?”, Sam asked again, examining me.

“I think I barely touched him. My whole body is sore, and my pride is wounded.”

Sam laughed. “That’s why I brought him here to you. The people we are going up against out there are not easy, they will try to kill you without a second thought. You can always use your powers, but you told Nat you wanted to be like her. If you still up for the close combat, he will be here from now on. You may train with him whenever you want. If not, you are still free to stay here and train on your powers.”

I looked at him with realization. Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough. I was feeling so lost without her. “No, I want to try”, I promised with determination.

“Good. Now go, get ready we will all get dinner together before I leave”, Sam left too, and I was left alone in the room.

I sighed heavily, trying to get up I felt the pain running through my body. I was going to be so sore tomorrow.

-----------------------

Days were passing by and I hadn’t seen him anywhere which on one hand was good because I don’t think I had improved since our first encounter and on the other it made me wonder where the heck he might be? It is not like the compound is huge for me to lose him. I reasoned that he could be on a mission with Sam and that is why I hadn’t seen him, after all Rodney wasn’t here either.

Apart from the hours of training I did through the day, I had started running some laps in the late hours. It is when the humidity in the air is the highest here, so it makes me feel more at ease with my powers. I was running again today, just a few laps around the compound, when I stopped at a clean spot.

I breathed in the humid air allowing my body to absorb as much water as it could from the atmosphere. I tried to catch my breath as I heard a bike running down the entrance of the compound towards the building. For a moment, I was perplexed as who it could be before I realized it was him, returning from somewhere. He headed to the garage. I didn’t even know he had a bike, but I decided to return at my task no point on focusing on him.

I closed my eyes again, opened my arms in an L shape and tried to focus, focus on my surroundings, on the water in the air. I took a deep breath as I tried to expand the cold emanating from me. I tried to crystalize as many water particles as I could around me, turning the humid air into a frozen one.

And I tried to expand it as much as I could. That’s when I felt it, the other presence close to me, in between all the cold a warmer figure. I turned at once defensively, ice-like awls flying towards the direction of the intruder only to stop a few centimeters away.

“I am sorry”, I said as I made them disappear. “I didn’t know it was you”, my body relaxing a bit.

He stared at me unfazed, as if he wasn’t even scared, I had almost pierced him throughout his body. He stared at me dead in the eyes and I couldn’t really understand what his look meant. It was like he was studying me. “It’s late, you should better go in,” he said before turning and heading back to the building.

“How long have you been standing here?”, I yelled at his retreating figure.

“Enough,” he yelled back without even turning.

I followed him with my eyes until he disappeared behind the doors. I took another deep breath as I headed back myself. There was something about this man, so mysterious, so distant yet I felt being drawn to him.

--------------------

Wednesdays are usually gun days, I would do the training with Clint, trying different guns and basically learning how about anything could be a weapon if you use it correctly. Hell, one day Clint decided I had to try the bow, but it went terribly. In my defense my eyesight sucks so how was I supposed to do well?

Clint hadn’t been here for a while, so I went to the training room alone, picked a gun, set the target, wore the protective gear, and started shooting. Surprisingly I wasn’t that bad at shooting, I give myself credit, even though I still lack on technique and consistency.

I was halfway through when I felt eyes on me again. I turned to face the room and sure enough I saw him leaning on the door frame. “Not bad,” he commented as I removed the protective headphones.

“Thanks”, I said feeling self-aware, I don’t know why I was getting so nervous around him.

“Need to relax your shoulders a bit” he continued as he walked to pick a gun and went to a nearby booth. “You are going to dislocate it otherwise”.

I nodded as I watched him go, he didn’t miss one, switching between hands and meters away from the target. I was impressed but don’t tell him.

“So, guns are your thing”, I said as he stopped.

“I wouldn’t say I have a thing, just too many years of experience, but if I had a thing, I guess it would be knives”, he said thoughtfully.

“Show me”, I challenged without even thinking.

He gave me a funny look as he picked one, moved back to the booth and while still looking at me threw the knife head on to the target. He didn’t even blink.

He shrugged and I think I saw a hint of smugness there. “Practice makes perfect”, he said as he turned to leave the room. “Keep on practicing”.

��Good to see you too”, I mumbled to the empty room. Cause it was good to see him, wasn’t it? I did want to see him. I had found myself almost searching for him in the days that he was nowhere to be found. I had seen photos of him in the news and back in those years he did seem dangerous but now, with the haircut and his general stance he seemed more like the Bucky Cap was describing in his stories albeit still very distant. Would I entertain myself with the thought that he was hot? I mean, the beard, the toned muscles, the mystery, the eyes, oh those eyes. Nah, I shouldn’t think of that.

“Focus”, I murmured to myself as I started shooting again.

-------------------

I was back in the gym where we first met, doing my flexibility exercises as he entered the room. He walked straight to me, his eyes never leaving mine. I got up from the floor I was sitting. I was so drawn to him; I couldn’t take my eyes of him. We were too close now, bodies almost touching. He looked down on me and I felt my body shiver. He brought his hand to my cheek and caress it, and I melted to the touch. I raised mine to touch his hand as I followed the muscles all the away till his shoulder and then his face. He used his metal arm to guide me closer to him by my waist. And then he started leaning, our breaths coming as one, lips almost touching…

I woke up with a start, my heart racing a like an f1 car in Q3. I was sweating. “It was just a dream”, I said as I tried to catch my breath. “A very vivid one”.

I looked at the clock on the night stand it was still 3 in the morning, but my glass was empty. I got up, sighing, intending to go get some water from the kitchen. As I left my room, I heard some soft, almost incoherent, music coming from the end of the corridor. I walked towards it, recognized the tune as something from the 30s or 40s maybe, I turned at the end of the corridor and there was faint light coming from a crick of the door of the room in the right.

I wondered who could be up this late at night and I picked in the room. It was luminated by a small lamp on the desk. A pickup next to it and a few records stacked in the bookshelf behind. He then moved into my line of vision. Drink at hand, shirtless, only his bottom pajamas on. I gulped at the sight of his bare torso, not a good combination with the dream I just had. I noticed the scars on his body and those where the metal was fusing with his torso.

He was sipping his drink, occasionally humming to the tune. This must have been the most human I had ever seen him and then it hit me that this is a very private moment for someone like him, with the kind of life he had, and I was intruding. I turned to go to the kitchen as I originally intended, unbeknownst to me at the time that he had noticed my presence.

-------------------

“Your favoritism is showing”, Sam commented as he followed Bucky’s look.

It was one of those days that we had visitors in the compound. I was just outside the building on the front yard, with Hope and in the middle of the very tiring martial arts session.

Bucky was leaning of the living room windows that had just the perfect view of the front where me and Hope were.

“I don’t get what you mean,” Bucky said to Sam, his eyes still on us.

Sam laughed. “Come on don’t play dumb. It is not so subtle when you mention her while on missions neither how you look at her when she doesn’t.”

“How do I look at her?”, Bucky asked finally turning to look at Sam.

“Well, intently the least. There is some longing, some what if in there”, Sam explained.

“You know it’s true,” Rodney added coming into the room.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Bucky exclaimed finally leaving his spot from the window and sitting on the couch. Anyone could see he was started to get annoyed.

“You know if Steve was here, he would tell you to go for it”, Sam pointed.

Bucky glared at him before hissing “I hate you both”.

Sam laughed loudly.

-----------------

I had just finished my session with Hope when Sam approached us.

“How you doing ladies?” he chirped.

“Good”, Hope beamed, “It went pretty good”.

“That’s always great to hear”, Sam approved and they both smiled at me making me blush.

“I am gonna head back in”, Hope said, “Is Scot here yet?”

“Yeah he just came with Cassie. You all gonna stay here for lunch?” he wondered.

“Sure thing”, she nodded before heading in.

“So how is it going with you? How it’s going with my boy Bucky?” Sam asked shifting his attention back to me.

“Uuhm, good, I guess. We haven’t talked much but he has offered a few advices here and there which helped me for sure. I was pretty sure he hated me at the beginning”, I laughed.

“I am telling you he hates everyone, but I think it might be far from true in your case”, Sam winked. “But anyway, keep up the good work and who knows you might come with us in a mission soon.”

I looked at him perplexed but didn’t comment on it.

Later during lunch, I tried to pay more attention to Bucky and it did seem that he wasn’t so comfortable in a room full of people but I did notice that there were times he was looking at me for no reason.

-------------------

True to his words, Sam did invite me to a mission about a month after he said so. They were happy with my progress which gave me the confidence I needed to try more. There were still a lot I needed to learn, and they thought that if I was part of a simple mission it would also give me the experience of handling difficult situations.

I had a fitting with Banner who provided me with a suit, he had coordinated with Shuri for this. It was a black one with blue details, small lines in the shoulders, abdomen, and wrists. My palms and fingers were free so that I would be able to use my powers easily and of course it had parts of vibranium protecting the vital organs of my torso. The part I liked the most was the neck as there was extra fabric which I could use to cover my face up till my nose. I braided my hair in a French style, took the gun and in ear com that Sam had left for me and I was ready to go.

“Nervous?”, I heard Bucky asking me as he joined me at the front yard. We were waiting for Sam to come with the Quinjet and get us. He was also dressed in his suit, with an one-sleeved jacket, leaving his metal arm exposed.

“More than I would like to admit”, I replied.

“It will be fine, we got you”, he assured me.

Up in the Quinjet, I spend most of my time in awe with how it was. I had never been into one and I was marveled.

“So, the mission is to get to the convoy and get the asset out. The asset is a scientist. We plan on ambushing them based on the route they are supposed to follow. I will stop them, and we attack. Bucky and I will take care of the guards and all you need to do is take the guy and go away of the rest of us”, Sam started explaining the plan, showing a map on the screen. “If everything goes according to plan, we will be there way earlier to map the area. Clear?”

“Hmm, how are we going to go there? I wouldn’t assume there is a place to land there”, I pondered.

“Parachutes”, Sam simply offered, studying the map. “We plan on landing around here. And as soon as we get the asset, we have this place here as an exit point. Just a few km away.”

“For us, he would be flying”, Bucky accused him.

“Not wanting to be that person, but I have never used a parachute”, my stress levels were increasing by the second. Not only I was in charge of another person making it out alive, but I had to jump of a plane, not to mention my fear of heights. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Don’t worry we will jump together”, Bucky offered which unknowingly to me earned a playful wiggle of eyebrows and a look of approval from Sam. Bucky on the other hand only glared at him.

When it was almost time for us to jump, we started getting ready. Sam left first, flying to the place to make sure we didn’t have any company. It was the first time I had seen him with Cap’s shield, and it was not as weird as I expected it to be.

“You ready?” I heard him ask.

“As ready as I can be”, I smiled nervously.

“Look it is your first time and it is reasonable to be nervous. But it won’t help you down there. You are ready just believe in yourself. We will be there, and we won’t let anything to happen to you. Ok?” he comforted me giving me a pat on the back. And there was something there in his eyes, a bit of worry, of determination, I couldn’t really tell but I believed him.

“Ok”, I said with confidence. “So how do we jump?”

“Well, since you have no experience, we will do this together. Here tie this in your belt and around your waist and clip it to my belt”, he proceeded with wearing the parachute and fixing the ties and held as together. This was the closest we had been since the first day that we trained together. I had made the mistake of looking up at him as he checked the equipment. We don’t have that much of height difference which has as a result my eyes to be at the same level with his lips. Which was a great distraction for my nervousness. “You can put your hand here to be steadier”, he said as he guided my hand to get in between the ties of the parachute at the front of his chest. “And the other should probably go behind my back”, he suggested.

“Ok”, I said as I did what he proposed. I did feel steady like this, but it was super close. I could smell his cologne from this distance.

He took a step behind and an agent opened the airplane door for us. “Want to count to 3?”, he asked, wrapping his hand around my waist holding me closed.

I did make the mistake to look at him in the eyes which created a new kind of tension, but I nodded. “One..Two….AAAAAAhh”, I screamed as the jerk jumped of the plane without a notice. I hid my face in the crook of his neck as we were falling, letting him take care of the rest. The one instruction they had given me was to stay as still as I could so that he could guide as without problems.

And somehow miraculously I felt my feet touching the ground and him starting to untie as from the parachute. “See we made it”, he remarked with a rare smile.

I let a loud breath. “I can’t believe we did. Now what?”

“Sam you copy? We are moving to the meet up point”, he talked to his in-ear com as he gestured me to follow.

“Copy”, I heard Sam replying.

We walked carefully to the place we were supposed to ambush them. Sam informed us that he could see the convoy coming. The asset being in the 3rd of the 4 cars.

We had positioned ourselves as we saw the cars turning towards our direction. As they were passing by us, Sam shoot the first one causing a collision and the rest came to a stop. “Go go go”, I heard him over the radio.

Sam was already flying towards our direction eliminating as many guards as he could. A lot more people than I expected came out of the vehicles. I saw Bucky running easily taking out the first 3-4 guards that came out of the last car as stealthy as possible. Sam threw him the shield and with a jump Bucky swiftly caught it and landed on top of the Jeep that was supposed to have the asset, starting to shoot.

I run behind him going to the other side of the car where I could see an man trying to hide. With the guards of the car gone I was able to take him “Follow me”, I shouted taking him by the shoulder and leading him to the forest in the direction of the exit point.

But as I turned to go that way, I saw another vehicle coming to us, probably a backup. They were driving fast directly at us. “We got company!”, I yelled in the com getting the others attention. I tried to shoot at the driver, but the windshield was bullet proof.

Sam flew past by and shoot at the tyres. Even though the van crashed to the side a bunch of guards came out and started shooting at us. “Kaitlyn, go!” Bucky yelled moving past me.

I took the asset and started running in the forest unfortunately though a few guards saw us and started following. The first bullet flew right past me and I stopped abruptly. “Get behind me”, I demanded as I tried to shield him. I created an ice shield as thick as I could to shield us both. The guards kept shooting as I tried to take steps backwards. I drew my gun and tried to shoot back getting one of them on the leg. My shield had started thinning as bullets kept coming to our direction. One passed through and I felt like it hit me, but I didn’t have the time to think of this.

I looked up on the trees to see how heavy they were with snow and I got an idea. I lifted my hand and closed my fist as the snow fell heavy on the guard. I lowered my shield to see if the danger had passed and thankfully there was no one else. Sam flew next to me and Bucky came behind running. “We are clear”, Sam confirmed. I looked back at the man hiding behind me, he wasn’t hurt which was the point so that meant I had done a good job.

We took him to the exit point where the Quinjet was waiting. I sat down at a sit to catch my breath. I had never used my powers for so long and I felt drained now the adrenaline levels were falling.

“You are bleeding”, Bucky exclaimed as he run towards me, kneeling in front of me and taking my arm in his. There was a hole in my suit, and there was a scratch on my upper arm I hadn’t even notice. There was some blood there, but it had mostly dried. “How did this happen?” he asked.

“Hmm, I am not sure I didn’t really feel it, but I think there was a bullet that passed the shield I had made”, I flinched into the touch.

“We need to clean this”, he answered with worry as he went to take the medical kit. He kneeled again and cleaned my wound, patching it.

“Thank you”, I whispered as he sat next to me. I took in his state, eyes closed, sweat dripping from his temple. There was something raw in him like this yet so beautiful.

“Good work Kaitlyn”, Sam patted me in the back. “We are proud of you”.

“Thanks Sam”, I smiled.

We left the asset to a safe place where some agency they didn’t care to tell me, would take him and put him into some kind of protection. We flew back to the compound.

“Are you staying?” I asked Sam.

“No, I got something to do. See you guys in a few days”, he waved before flying away.

I turned to look at Bucky “Come, let’s get in”, he responded.

I followed him in, each going to our respective rooms. I took a bath washing away the blood and tiredness. It was long into the am hours and I couldn’t get myself to sleep after all this. I headed back to the living room, gazing out at the night sky. A few stars visible.

“Here, I made you this”, Bucky said, and I jumped in shock.

“I didn’t hear you coming”, I faltered taking the mug he offered. It had some hot tea.

Bucky grinned. “It’s linden and chamomile. Will help soothing your nerves”.

“Thank you”, I smiled bringing the mug to my lips.

We stayed silently for a few moments, sipping our drinks, and looking out as night shifted.

“I am sorry I didn’t protect you”, he started.

I turned to look at him “Bucky, I- there is no need to be sorry. I…I didn’t expect you to. You had to fight so many people and protect yourself. I was just clumsy, and you were there the whole time. Hell, we jumped of a plane and walked out alive,” I laughed to show him that I was just fine.

“Still I told you that I wouldn’t let you get hurt and you did”, he countered meeting my eyes. There was dare I say hurt in there.

I took a step closer, taking his hand to mine, which took him by surprise, his eye fixating there for a moment. “Don’t worry, I am really fine. I am glad we are all ok”, I said squeezing his hand lightly.

He cleared his throat as he removed his hand. “It’s time for some sleep. Good night”, he said.

“Goodnight Bucky,” I responded as he turned to leave, and turned my attention back outside.

“Kaitlyn?”

“Yeah?”

“You can call me Buck”, he encouraged and with a small smile he left.

I was left standing there with my mouth open, not knowing what to do. Ι bit my lips not knowing how to handle the new emotion of excitement I was feeling for no apparent reason. I went to my room and slept a peaceful sleep.

----------------

There had been a month since our mission, I was still training daily, each day feeling more confident with my skills and powers.

Sam and Bucky were in another mission for almost a month now, we didn’t really have news of them. Last time we had checked they were in Prague. Ι was worried, I didn’t want to admit it to anyone else but I was listening to the news everyday wondering if they would be mentioned.

“Hey Bruce”, I greeted as I entered the lab. “How is it going?”

“Hey kiddo”, he greeted back, leaving whatever weird thing he was working on.

I walked around the lab indifferently, “Any news from the guys in the field?”

“I spoke with Sam yesterday, they somehow ended in Madripoor. I personally haven’t been there, but I hear it is an interesting place. They met Sharon in the way”.

“Who is Sharon?”, I perked up.

“Oh, you probably haven’t met her. I only met her once briefly a few years ago. She was a friend of Steve’s and an old agent of Shield”, he explained.

“I see”, I said thoughtful, for some reason the idea of a woman travelling with them in troublesome situations didn’t make me feel very at ease. I mean if she was a friend of Steve’s, was she also a friend of Bucky’s?

I tried to shake away any unwelcome thoughts that came to my mind.

“Thank you, Bruce. Want to try the new blasters?”, I asked trying to channel my energy to something else.

--------------------

It was a Saturday evening; it was raining, and it was relatively cold. I was in my room, listening to some music and absentmindedly looking out the window. My tea still warm in the mug.

I heard a knock on the door that shook me out of my trance. “Yes”.

“Hey”, I barely saw a head behind the semi closed door. “May I come in?”

“Please, come”, I smiled to the familiar face. “When did you return?”

He got in closing the door behind him. “Half an hour ago probably. I just wanted to check up on you”, Bucky said scratching the back of his neck.

“I am good”, I offered going closer, my eyes try to take all his features. “Is this a bruise? Were you hurt?” I tried to reach with my hand right below his eye where I could see some shades of purple and yellow, but he stopped me midair.

“Yeah but it is nothing. Don’t worry. I ‘ve been worse”, he gently lowered my hand not completely leaving it though as our fingertips were still touching.

“That doesn’t really make me feel better about it. Neither should you. You shouldn’t get hurt”, I shook my head in disagreement.

He snorted. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry”, he smiled and for moment I think – I THINK – my legs turned to jelly. A bit my bottom lip and his eyes darted there directly.

I opened my mouth to say something, but words weren’t really there.

“It’s late”, he said. “I ‘ll see you tomorrow”. He opened the door and left with a last smile.

---------------

A few days had passed, we had shared some training sessions. I had run into him in the kitchen a few times in the morning where I would go to make breakfast and he would usually drink coffee with Rodney before they both left for a meeting they did with the rest of the team that was spread around the world.

Sam stopped by occasionally and they could train together or go on a mission together. I was worried why they hadn’t asked me to go with them again. I had been to a few simple ones with Rodney but never again with Bucky and Sam.

That day, it was late at night and I had just come back from my evening run. I took a shower and after drying up I endeavored to the kitchen to find something to munch on. He was sitting at the living room, the only light coming from the full moon outside. Soft music was playing and he appeared to be playing with a knife. He was throwing it in the air and catching it again and again.

At first, I thought whether I should approach him or not, maybe he needed some alone time. I went to the kitchen and got some almonds and water. I thought that maybe he would hear the noise and either come or leave if he wanted to be alone. When I was done eating, I gave a look to the living room to see if he was still there.

Naturally my eyes went straight to the couch that I had left him but found nothing. Only then I noticed that he had moved to the windows and he was looking at me. I jumped “You scared me”, I muttered.

“What are you doing up at 3 in the morning?” he asked.

“Right back at you? I was just about to go to sleep”, I retorted getting away from the shadows of the kitchen and closer to the windows. The moon light was accentuating his features. He had a week-old beard and was wearing a simple black t-shirt and pj pants.

“Tried the sleep, didn’t work. Came here to relax”, he explained while still looking at me intently.

“Do you want me to make you something? A tea? Some milk?” I offered.

He moved from the windows and met me halfway. “No, I am fine”, he murmured. He brushed a few stray hairs with his hand and put them behind my ear. His eyes never leaving mine. “Didn’t really tell me why you were still up”.

“I – I came back from running and wanted to eat something before I go to sleep”, I could feel his breath merging with mine, and I was feeling so lost.

He brought his metal arm to my waist and with his other arm he caressed my cheek. Ι couldn’t but lean into the touch, momentarily closing my eyes.

He started leaning towards me when a noise came from down the corridor. Someone had opened their door and was making their way to us. He immediately broke contact, gave me one last look, and left. “Sup Banner?” heard him saying somewhere away from my line of vision. I was just left there, frozen, not knowing what to do and utterly confused.

“What are you doing in the dark kid?”, Bruce asked, and I almost jumped.

“Ah you know, night cravings. Going to sleep. Goodnight Bruce”, I faked a yawn and practically run to my room.

------------

The next day I intentionally went for breakfast later than usually. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him yet neither did I know what to do if we met.

Of course, with the good luck I always have, I almost fell on him as I turned to enter the kitchen. He caught me as to not fall murmured an apology and left which as I saw from the kitchen, he rode his bike and left the compound whatsoever.

I spend the whole day in the training room unleashing all my nerves using my powers. At some point Bruce had to come to tell me to stop because the temperature in the compound had decreased by 10 degrees and apart from the room I was using, crystals had form in two rooms radius.

I apologized and we spend the rest of the afternoon trying to unfreeze the rooms and increase the temperature. Thankfully the compound has top notch systems.

I ate a quick dinner right after and locked myself in my room.

I was laying in my bed, cocooning with my blankets, watching a movie when I heard a knock on my door. I looked at the clock, it was almost midnight. “Who is it?”, I questioned.

“Bucky”, he cleaned his throat, the nervousness in his voice evident.

For a moment I pondered if I should really go and open or not but my curiosity and well the eagerness got the best of me. I got up and unlocked the door, opening it enough to see him. “Can I come in?”, he wondered, anxiously giving looks to the rest of the rooms in case anyone showed up. I just moved aside for him to get in without saying anything, wasn’t sure what to say either.

I moved to go and sit back on my bed and he followed but hesitated to sit, he only did when I gestured him to. He cleaned his throat again. “This isn’t easy for me”, he started and I then felt bad, because I was giving him the silent treatment but I was failing to understand that for a person like him, that had been through so many horrible things it surely wasn’t something easy. I relaxed a bit and gave him a reassuring look as to proceed.

He fidgeted a little more before he tried again. “Firstly, I need to apologize for how I left yesterday, I just panicked. You know it is funny because Steve had told me that I had my way with the ladies back in our time but all this”, he gestured between us, “is fairly new to the current me. And I pretty much have no idea what to say or do”.

“Well, thank you for apologizing”, I smiled and took his hand in mine to show him that everything was ok, and he could feel more comfortable. He clenched back which I took as a good step. “You can always start by telling me what you feel, if you want”.

“You would think that it is easy”, he snorted, yet he intertwined our fingers. “I just feel better when I see you and when I am with you. And I feel excited every time we meet. And I feel eager for the next time”.

“Well if it helps, I feel the same”, I mumbled.

His shoulders seemed to relax a bit to the sound of my words.

I lifted my arm and tried to turn his face gently to look at me or else he would make holes to the floor from how intently he was looking at it. I smiled and he grinned.

“So…”, I started.

“So, we could maybe try and spend some time together one of these days…”, he trailed off.

“Well, it is not like I have something to do now… we could always start with watching a movie?”, I questioned.

“Yeah I would like that”, he smiled.

We picked a movie and sat on the bed, at first apart but as the movie was progressing, in between laughs and comments, we came closer and ended up cuddling. I am not sure when but at some point, I fell asleep in his arms.

“Sshh, go back to sleep”, he whispered as he was trying to get up and leave the bed, my hand instinctively holding him in place.

“Don’t go”, I mumbled, eyes still close.

“I can’t stay here, and you are asleep”, he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

I opened my eyes, as awake I could be “Stay”

He looked me again, eyes full of adoration. I could see he was thinking of it. I sat up, and gently pulled him close to me so that he could sit back again in the bed. “Stay”, I repeated.

“Ok”, he said “I will”.

He moved to remove his sweater and close the lights and came back to the bed. I moved enough to make him space and he got under the blanket, the mattress moving under the extra weight. I looked down at him and a feeling of completion, of happiness filled me. I couldn’t believe that those blue eyes were staring back at me.

For a moment I wasn’t sure if I should do it, if I was overstepping but my eagerness took a hold of me. I leaned in, placing my hand above his heart, feeling it moving fast. He looked at me inviting, his hand moving to my cheek, guiding me closer. I stopped just centimeters away, our lips almost touching, to give him one last look, as if I was asking for the final permission. He closed the gaped and I felt the softest lips against mine.

After a moment we parted and he caressed my cheek. “Sleep now.”

I laughed at him but obeyed, getting back in position, my head on his chest as he wrapped his arm around me. And just like this we fell asleep.

--------------

After this night, Bucky was a totally different person. He was constantly smiling to me, hugging me with every chance he got, kissing me when he thought no one was looking. And in the compound, he was totally different, he would help me clean around, sing while he was doing chores.

Sure, there were also some bad days when he would wake up in his sleep screaming from the nightmares and I had to hold him in my arms and remind him that everything was in the past. That no one was here to hurt him and even if they tried, they would have to go through me first. After a while he would usually calm down, we would lay down again, he would put his head on my chest, and I would caress his hair. He, then, would fall asleep and I would let him sleep as late as he could even if he would be grumpy about it afterwards.

But everything felt so dreamy. And I would trade everything in the world for a smile of his.

#bucky barnes #Sebastian #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x original female character #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky fic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader

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a-dumb-simp · 4 years ago

Text

How the obey me brothers + Arcana would react to a dancer gn mc

> The Arcana + Obey me

Regular and competition hc

This is purely self indulgent because I dance lmao <3

> I matched up different styles to different people based on what they would be most interested in!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

^ this is so long and I’m sorry but I’m on mobile so I can’t put a read more :( I love u <3

Ballet

Lucifer

He found out you did Ballet when he looked through your profile for the exchange program

He was interested but waited until you wanted to tell him to ask anything

He loves to watch you stretch and if you convince him well enough he might join you some nights and morning

It's part of your guys routine

His brothers must never know

You convinced him to finally do a partner dance with you

Him in a Ballet leotard and black legginging

His brothers are going insane but his glares still give them chills

Makes a room for you guys to practice with mirrors and ballet bars set up

Will spin you and then dip you

Kisses in the middle of dances all the time

Becomes a lot more flexible and doesn't know what to do with it

You teach him all the French Ballet terms and sometimes use it as inside jokes cause no one else can understand ”dance talk”

Cuddles in between fun practices :))

He's soft for you

Asra

He knew you did ballet before the incident

Afterwards he helps teach you again

Has to teach himself the moves and terminology first so now he gets to dance with you

Loves teaching you small bits of French when you learn to talk again so it's easier to understand ballet

Once you remember the both of you go to masquerades and do partner dances in the ballroom

Nadia loves watching the both of :)

You try to teach Muriel and it goes awful but Asra finds it adorable

He teaches you slowly and you learn to be a dancer again thanks to him <3

Contemporary

Belphie

He was napping the first time he heard you jumping around

He looked up curiously to find you practising a sequence

Almost asked you what you were doing but instead went back to sleep

Woke up again and saw you in a butterfly jump

You heard him rustling around and got excited!!

You can finally show him what you had choreographed!!

He watched you do a routine with a sleepy smile

Afterwards he'll applaud and let you curtsy towards him

Acts like he's throwing roses to you (plz pretend you caught one in your mouth)

He loves watching you dance

It's soothing to him honestly and if he's ever in a bad mood he’ll ask you to dance for him

Muriel

He found out through Asra that you liked to dance

He found you one day in the garden outside the hut practising grande jetes

You looked like a little fairy jumping around the in the forest

He honestly fell in love again

He sat down with Inanna and watched you for a good hour

Loves seeing your face light up when you finally nail doing your firebird

Will walk up to you and and tell you how beautiful you looked dancing

Scared you a bit!

He's v sorry :(

You just looked so focused he doesn't want to interrupt you!

Hip-hop

Mammon

Found you practising moves after school

You were playing music in your headphones and couldn't hear a damn thing

He just watched you for a bit until he felt the need to cause mischief >:)

He grabbed your waist as you were about to do a move and your hips went back towards his

-0-

He's a blush mess now and so are you, you compose yourself better than him tho

He didn't realise what you were dancing to at first so he begs you to play the music without headphones

As soon as it starts playing he can't take his eyes off you

He has little hearts shining in his eyes and is a blush mess but at the same time proud of you

Please teach him some moves

This man can sway and shake his hips-

Show him how to dance in different styles

wacking would be just favourite, the mix of pop with a subtle sway is perfect

Both of you doing duets

Please recreate dirty dancing scenes with him, he’ll die happy

Lucio

He's in the ballroom when he sees you

You and Portia we're just messing around and she found out you had danced before you came to Vesuvia and she immediately asked you to teach her

His heels made so much damn noise there was no way you couldn't hear him

Portia took her leave after blushing and left him staring at you

Deciding to be a bit bold you continued the combo

Leaning down to the floor and dragging your hands up your body slowly while continuing eye contact

He's a blushing mess

He may seem like a dominate tall leader but. You make him especially weak

He's begging to learn how to strut

You pull out his pairs of highest heels and go walking through the castle

He's surprisingly good at it, maybe a bit too good

His balance isn't the best but his confidence makes up for it

If he falls he's taking you down with him though so watch out

Tap

Leviathan

He found a video of anime characters dancing to song and saw someone recreate it with tap shoes

He found it so cool and shoved his phone toward you to show you

You quietly goggles and said you would be right back

He was a bit disappointed you didn't have a reaction to the video but he let it go for now

When you came back he looked up and saw the same style of shoes in your hands

He jumped up and yelled that you had to learn the dance!!

Oh you will, but he's using your spare pair of shoes to do it too

He's of course on board, dancing and anime with you!! of course he loves it

The other brothers not so much, the constant noise forced you guys to learn it outside

Levi was clumsy and not forceful enough to truly make sounds but he had the right spirit

You're both giggling and out of breath when he gets the idea to upload the video

Mammon and Belphie are both already making fun of you guys in the morning

Portia

She was so excited to come home and see you with a tap board laid down and playing a metronome

You were so distracted you didn't see her looking at you with stars in your eyes

She closed the door and you still didn't look over

She finally had to walk over and grab your hand

You were so concentrated as you were mastering doing a switching pullback without moving

You completely fell

You forgot to tape the bottoms of your shoes and slipped when she tapped you

She quickly pulled you up and made you sit on the couch

She's apologizing but you assure her she's fine, she's just mumbling about how powerful and focused you looked

She loves seeing you so passionate about something <3

Pointe

Satan

Satan had read about traditional French and Russian ballets at some point probably has seen a recreation of a Christmas classic dance at some point

So when he was in your room reading and saw your first pair of shoes tied up he asked about them

You showed him how they bent and about how the shank was dead but they were your first pair and it was sentimental so you kept them

He went with you to get fitted for a new pair and even paid for them just to see you dance

As soon as you got home he asked you to show him some basics

He had seen enough dances to know how to twirl you and you let him

He held you and you taught him how to do partner work

It becomes a regular thing

The brothers find you guys in the living room one day, him in a leotard and tights and you in a leo and a pancake skirt

They all watched as he completed a lift with you

Please convince him to try pointe

He learns fast so pre-pointe isn't really and issue and he has good balance

You eventually both learn multiple traditional combinations and show off

He's so glad he asked about your old pair of shoes

Nadia

She found out you did some sort of balance-related sport as soon as she saw how you carried yourself

She knows from having to learn how to walk elegantly and from dance lessons how the two are related

She just flat out asked you

You told her you did pointe and for once you didn't have to explain it to someone using the term ”toe-shoes”

She took ballroom lessons as a child and then went on the learn some other styles as well

She never did try pointe but she knew what it was

She took you to get handcrafted and fitted Russian pointes

You showed her different moves in French and she taught you the same terminology in Russian (she knew both)

It was fun honestly, she could relate more than anyone to learning

She taught you styles of dance she learned and in return you put on shows in pointe shoes just for her

She loves watching the control you had over your body and the concentrated faces you made

Jazz/Mucial Theatre

Asmodeus

This man lives for drama

As soon as you told him you did musical theatre dances he was in love all over again

He loves helping you come up with ideas for dances

He will ABSOLUTELY do a duet with you

You have to perform in front of the brothers

Diavolo has you both be entertainment for his parties

He's so enthusiastic about this

Please let him do dramas with you

He can't act for shit but it's still so funny

There's really no dancing happening more just over exaggerated falling into each others arms

Julian

We already know he's been in plays and acted in theatres

So that night he had acted as himself when he accidently fell onto stage you told him you danced

He's already dragging you to dance on the tables at the bar

Everyone drunk and clapping for you and you get free drinks for the entertainment

He's also making you come to be in theatre with him

Please indulge him in this

Your both getting ”made fun of” by Asra but he truly finds you both adorable

You put on shows for Nadia and the staff and Portia is crying by the end of it

Julian completely falling into your arms and taking you down with him

This man forgets his height

Demands to be the damsel in distress

Please be his knight in shining armour

Acro/Lifts

Beel

This man-

Get him to lift you please

He’s absolutely strong enough to lift you over his head

Dirty dancing lifts that Mammon can’t do lmao

He loves watching you stretch before and he starts stretching with you too

You guys work out together to build strength

He uses you as a weight honestly

You both scare the other demons in the gym

(Mostly him but like seeing a tiny human being able to keep up with a demon is also a bit terrifying)

Protein shakes together!

The other boys will come down to the kitchen to see you both in workout gear and happily talking and wonder how the hell you're both this excited in the morning

He loves watching you concentrate and enjoying it with you when you finally land a move

The first time you successfully did your arial he was so proud

The first time you fell doing a trick he was so worried

He learns to spot you from then on

Please lift him, he loves it

FAUST <3

She’s so excited!!!

Her human can do tricks

Likes wrapping around you while u stretch

STRECTHES WITH YOU

She sits in blanket forts and watches you

Sits on your head while your balancing

Emotional support <3

She loves you so much

💘💖💗💘💞💖💓💝💕💖💓💘

#asmodeus obey me #lucifer obey me #obey me #obey me beelzebub #obey me leviathan #obey me mammon #obey me!#satan obey me #the arcana #the arcane game #the arcane julian #the arcana asra #the arcana nadia #the arcana lucio #the arcana muriel #the arcana portia #fictif #nyx hydra

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1dfangirls35 · 4 years ago

Text

The Language of Your Soul

An enemies to lovers ballet AU in five acts.

Masterlist

Banner: @booksncoffee

Warnings: This story (and chapter) will contain language, mentions of emotional abuse from a parent and eating disorders. Please read at your own discretion.

Act III

Six Weeks To Opening Night

Giselle is beginning to feel the toll of playing Odette. Physically, in the form of sore shoulders and a nagging ankle pain. Mentally, in the overwhelming pressure that she would never master the two personalities of Odette and Odile.

Her biweekly extra rehearsals with Harry had become routine. She no longer had to tell her uncooperative partner what time to show up. He was always there, not always enthusiastically, but present.

Their extra rehearsals have helped. Mistress Ivanova stays for rehearsals. Their partnering isn't perfect-but it's less foreign. And Mistress Ivanova has found a new flaw to focus on- the emotion in Giselle's dancing.

Sometimes, Giselle stays late into the evening, standing in front of the mirror and practicing her expressions. Finding out the best way to demonstrate the pain that her character is feeling. It doesn't seem to help. Hours and upon hours of practice don't seem to give Mistress Ivanova, Anna or Viktor the 'emotion' they so desperately seek from her.

But nevertheless she tries again. Today, she stands in front of the shining glass before her rehearsal with Harry. Staring into the icy blue of her own eyes in an effort to show some sort of feeling. It wasn't that she lacked emotion- she felt plenty.

Harry notices Giselle's slim figure as he enters the studio. She's standing in front of the mirror again- making faces. But even in her acting practice, she looks concentrated and focused.

Harry is slowly beginning to learn more about Giselle-not by the words she speaks, but through her actions. The hesitation in her voice when her mother is mentioned. The way she groans whenever she messes up a piece of choreography. That she is always the first one in the studio and the last one to leave.

Harry supposes he has revealed things about himself too. Suddenly showing up to rehearsals for one, likely revealed to Giselle that he did indeed care about his career- contrary to what folks at the Royal Ballet might tell you. He'd stopped making his rounds through the company members, fearful of a second Eliza event pushing him onto thinner ice then he already was here at ABT.

"Don't know if concentrated is the emotion Mistress Ivanova wants from Odette," Harry says as he enters the studio, causing Giselle to jerk away from the mirror. He notices the faintest pink rise in her cheeks.

She doesn't say anything as he removes his sweatpants and slips on his black ballet shoes, making his way to the center of the floor.

"Well, what are we rehearsing today?"

"Act II Pas de Deux- again," Giselle says with a sigh.

Harry doesn't protest, instead he makes his way to upstage left for his entrance. He lets the music take over his movements, telling the story of a Prince crossing paths with a beautiful girl in the woods. But as he dances, his hands firm on Giselle's waist as she pirouettes, penchés and promenades around him, he feels how disjointed her movements are. While her movements were near perfect technically, her face stayed firm and concentrated. She was doing everything right except for the most important part of a ballet- the storytelling.

"Stop," Harry shouts, dropping his arms from Giselle's waist and throwing them up to his head as the music continued in the background. "You make this seem like torture."

Giselle stares at him, her expression a mix of shock and annoyance.

"Torture?" Giselle repeats, sounding offended. "And why is dancing with me torture?"

She crosses her arms in front of her black leotard, fighting her own tongue to keep more insulting words at bay. Here she thought she and Harry were finally developing a partnership and now he was making comments like he had two weeks before. It was an endless cycle.

"You're so focused, Giselle. And technically speaking, your movements are beautiful. But..."

"But what?" Giselle spits, although she's sure she already knows what Harry is going to say. He isn't the first person that has critiqued her on this. And she's sure he won't be the last.

"You aren't feeling the movement. The character. You don't look like Odette when you're dancing. You look like an excellent ballerina who is trying to execute the choreography perfectly."

Giselle doesn't say anything in response. Mostly, because she doesn't know what to say. She knows her dancing is lacking the emotion. And yet, she can't get her mind to stray from concentrating on the next movement, on the technique. One thought of anything but commanding her body to execute a perfect pirouette and her movement failed.

"When's the last time you danced because you loved it? When's the last time you just danced?" Harry asks, his green eyes losing their sharpness for only a moment.

Giselle laughs aloud. Just dancing? She hadn't done that since her earliest childhood. "I don't think that's even part of a professionals vocabulary,"

"Well then you're doing it all wrong."

"Well let's do it again then," Giselle says rolling her eyes. She hated this hot and cold act Harry had on. One day she thought maybe she could tolerate him, the next minute he converted back to asshole she'd first been introduced to.

"No," Harry says suddenly.

"What do you mean no?" Giselle asks, bringing her hands to rest against her slender hips. The confused look on her face only makes Harry smile.

"We are going to do something different for rehearsal today. C'mon."

"What are you doing?" Giselle asks as Harry reaches for his sweatpants, pulling them over his tights before zipping up his hoodie.

"I'm getting ready to go. Think it's a little cold to be walking outside in a pair of tights."

"So you're just leaving now?"

"WE are leaving," he gestures between the two of them.

Giselle stares at him.

"Oh c'mon Giselle it will help. I promise. Just trust me." Harry offers out his hand, waiting for Giselle to take it. She looks at him, and he watches her blue eyes flicker in thought.

"Fine," she sighs, ignoring Harry's outstretched and reaching for her sweatpants on the side of the studio. "But if this doesn't help, you owe me another rehearsal."

Harry chuckles softly. "Believe me Giselle. I'm not going to owe you a thing."

When they exit the studio- the crisp March air bites at Giselle's cheeks, it's only slightly warmer than it has been. Reminding her that although spring is around the corner, winter still has its grasp on the world.

"Can you at least tell me where we are going?" Giselle asks, wrapping her jacket around her tighter, trying to keep pace with Harry's long strides against the New York City pavement.

Harry looks back at her, a grin on his face. "You'll find out in about five minutes. Walk faster- we don't want to be late."

Late for what? Giselle thinks, but she keeps her questions to herself knowing that Harry wouldn't humor her anyway.

Five minutes later they arrive at a red brick building a few blocks from ABT. It doesn't look like anything in particular, and Giselle still doesn't quite understand what's going on.

"Come on," Harry says, opening the heavy black door and gesturing up the staircase. Giselle can hear the faint beat of music making its way down the stairs. But it's not the slow, smooth, classical music she is used to- this rhythm is much faster and more energetic.

Following Harry's lead, Giselle slowly makes her way towards the music. When she reaches the top of the stairs she's surprised to see the black marley floor of a dance studio, but instead of the room being filled with pink tights and black leotards, it's filled with people of all ages dancing around the room and laughing.

"What is this?" Giselle asks, looking towards Harry for an explanation.

"It's salsa class," he says, as if the answer is obvious.

"Salsa?" Giselle asks again, still trying to figure out how this was going to help their Swan Lake performance.

"Did I stutter?" Harry says and Giselle rolls her eyes. "Let's go."

"You know how to salsa?" Giselle asks as they enter the room, setting her jacket on the floor as Harry pulls off his sweatshirt.

"Don't you?"

Giselle shakes her head.

"Well you're going to learn today," Harry says, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the dance floor before she has a moment to protest.

Giselle feels like she's in a foreign place as couples dance around them. The women swaying their hips to the music in fluid movements, their partners twirling them from their fingertips. Each pair that spins past them has smiles plastered to their face, not a single person looking as if they are thinking through each count in their head.

"Tell me again how this is going to improve our pas de deux?" Giselle asks as she watches Harry begin to move his feet side to side.

Harry groans. "Because it will. So are you going to learn or are you gonna just stand there for the next hour?"

"Fine." Giselle sighs, looking straight into Harry's eyes. "Teach me then." She meets Harry in the center of the dance floor.

"Okay. Well first, take this hand and set it on my shoulder," Harry reaches for Giselle's left palm, bringing it to rest on his right shoulder as his palm holds firmly in the center of her back. His hand feels warm against the exposed skin of her lower back. "And the other one..." he murmurs as he grabs Giselle's left hand in his own bringing it to the sides of their bodies.

"Now," he begins, his eyes meeting Giselle's. "The steps are simple. Back, replace, together. Front, replace, together. Back, replace, together. Front, replace, together." Giselle follows Harry's movements as he leads, slowly beginning to understand the cadence of the movement.

Harry counts aloud for the two of them as Giselle commits the movements to memory. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6."

It doesn't take long for Giselle to get the hang of it. She'd tackled much more complicated choreography in a matter of minutes.

"And now," Harry says softly into Giselle's ear- softer than Giselle knew was possible. "We just dance."

At first their movements are calculated- Giselle focusing on the steps, careful not to step on Harry's toes. But as time goes on, her body takes over. The music takes over. And she's just dancing- with Harry's hand firm on the small of her back.

Giselle realizes she'd forgotten what it felt like to simply let the music seep into your soul, to allow your body to move with rhythm, without thinking. It's refreshing. Freeing. Harry and Giselle dance around the room, their bodies moving closer, their movements merging into one. Harry swings Giselle out and she spins back in, laughing. Her gaze lands on Harry's and she's surprised to see a smile across his face. A real smile- not one coming from sarcasm.

Somehow this 'rehearsal' had been exactly what she needed.

As they exit the studio, the cool air feeling refreshing against their sweaty bodies, Giselle speaks. "So how long have you been salsa dancing for?"

Harry shrugs, pushing a stray curl back from his forehead. "A few weeks."

"A few weeks?" Giselle repeats, confused by Harry's answer.

"Found this place one day when I was exploring the area. Seemed like a good way to clear my head and it gave me something to do instead of sitting in my apartment." Harry surprises himself with his answer, he wasn't usually someone who shared aspects of his personal life.

Giselle doesn't say anything, instead walking slowly shoulder to shoulder with Harry along the pavement.

"Well, do I owe you a rehearsal?" Harry questions, even though he already knows the answer.

"Surprisingly, no..." Giselle says. "But..." she begins, glancing at Harry with a teasing smile. "You owe me one tomorrow."

"Okay," Harry replies with a smile and Giselle notices for the first time a pair of dimples on his cheeks.

A few feet ahead, the inside of a dance studio catches Giselle's eyes. A floor to ceiling glass windows giving an intimate view of the dancers from the street. Harry looks on as Giselle stops and watches, her eyes transfixed on the much younger ballerinas. Harry would guess them to be 13 or 14. Young enough to be relaxed but old enough to have control of their movements.

"You can tell so much about a person by the way they dance," Harry muses. His eyes darting from dancer to dancer. "Movements tell you more about a person then their words ever will. The touch of a hand, the smile of a stranger, the way a man in love can't keep his eyes off of his partner from across the room. Dance is all that in one- but bigger, bolder. It's one thing to be told what you are supposed to feel. But to see it, to watch a story be told in front of your eyes with only your own experiences to interpret it. That's the magic."

Giselle breaks her gaze from the dancers and meets Harry's green eyes. "Then tell me something. About how they dance."

"This one in the pink skirt," Harry points, "She's relatively new. She's still trying to learn the technique. Notice how her movements are still a little loose and unrefined. And that one, in the far corner. She doesn't want to be here. Look how weak her movements are. Look how she doesn't even react to the corrections the teacher is giving."

"And well, see that one," he says, pointing to a tall red head in the center of the room. That one is a younger form of Giselle Mason. See how her movements are strong, tense, almost as if she's thinking too hard. That tells me she's a try hard, a perfectionist. She's good, but she thinks she can always be better, so she never loses her focus."

"But that one," this time Giselle's eyes follow Harry's hand to a short, dark-haired girl in a maroon leotard. "That one's the one that loves to dance. She's not the best or the most graceful. She's even got the steps wrong half the time. But look at her face, look at the way her body simply moves. It's almost like you can hear the music just by watching her."

Giselle studies the girl carefully, watching her bronzed arms moving delicately. She can't see the girls facial expressions from this far, but she imagines they would match her movements. She compares this girl to Harry's declared young Giselle, and for the first time she finally understands the criticizing of her movements. With such focus something is lost. It's not something tangible, it's not the technique or the fluidity. But there's something about the girl who just seems to be dancing, the one that is the most carefree, that draws Giselle's eyes back to her again and again. It is in the imperfections that the dancer is truly the most beautiful. The most perfect.

"What about you Harry Styles? What does your dancing tell me about you?" Giselle asks, her eyes studying Harry's sharp side profile as he studies the class.

"You tell me," he answers his eyes not moving from the window.

Giselle thinks for a moment. Harry was a phenomenal dancer to watch, and she wasn't the only one who thought so. It was obvious why he had been dubbed one of the greatest ballet dancers of the present. She remembered a YouTube video she'd watched of him performing in Romeo and Juliet years ago, before she had any idea their paths would cross. There was something about that way he danced, she remembered that made her feel something. Like he was releasing his own own emotions upon the audience through his motions.

"I think your dancing tells me that underneath that hard, prideful exterior, you are just as vulnerable as the rest of us. Because you can't portray emotion so well if you have none can you?"

Harry stiffens. Because she's close. And no one has ever come that close to understanding the pieces that make up his soul before. The pieces he so desperately tries to hide.

He looks at her, her eyes flickering over his for just one vulnerable second before he turns away from the window. "I'm hungry," he states, changing the subject before this girl finds out more then he wants to share. "Let's stop and get a chocolate shake on the way back. I know a great place."

Giselle looked at Harry like he was crazy. She thought he was, suggesting something as calorie filled as ice cream before they continued their rehearsal.

"I shouldn't..." Giselle argues. She knew how tempting that chocolate shake would be. It would go down smooth. Rich and creamy and tasting like heaven. But it wouldn't seem so delicious on the way back up. Or when she had to make up for the calories with extra workouts the rest of the week. Her stomach churns at the image.

"Believe me, this shake is worth the extra calories. And besides, you've earned it. I've never see you dance like that before."

Giselle wonders if that was supposed to be a compliment. Harry doesn't seem to be taking no as an answer on the chocolate shake, so she follows begrudgingly, telling herself that she didn't have to drink more than a few sips. Harry would never know.

Harry was right about the shakes. As they re-enter the American Ballet Theatre building, Giselle has devoured more than a few sips out of the large paper cup, and she silently curses herself for the lack of self-control. She tosses the remaining half in the trash can outside of the studio before she can be tempted any further.

"You aren't going home?" Harry asks as he picks up his bag from the floor where he left it earlier, slinging the thin black strap over his shoulder.

"Home? We've barely rehearsed," Giselle says incredulously. "You may be good to leave but I've got to work for at least a few more hours."

Harry wonders if Giselle had understood anything from their excursion today. For a moment, he'd thought she'd seen it. That she didn't have to try so hard. That she could more gracious to herself. She was dancing just fine. Better than fine even. But he decides now is not the time to argue with her.

"Well, I'm gonna head home for the night. I'll see you tomorrow?" He leans against the doorframe of the studio entrance instantly wondering why he'd phrased his statement into a question.

"See you tomorrow," Giselle says, pulling off her jacket and reaching for the pointe shoes laid next to her bag.

Harry smiles again, and turns away from the door, Giselle watching him as he leaves.

"Wait, Harry!" she calls, rushing to the hall with one pointe shoe on and the other in her hand. "Thank you for tonight. It helped."

Harry shrugs. "Of course." And Giselle watches as he retreats down the hall.

Giselle returns to the studio, tying up her other pointe shoe. She stares at herself in the mirror, the outline of her body reminding her of the chocolate shake that now sat in her stomach. Any pleasure that she had gotten from the creamy ice cream had now turned into disgust. She couldn't rehearse like this. So she makes her way to the bathroom.

Harry realizes once he's down to the street that he's left his phone in the studio. He must have left it near the speaker when he was using it to play their rehearsal music. He lets out a sigh, adjusts his bag on his shoulder and makes his way back up the three flights of stairs to the studio.

He doesn't see Giselle in the studio when he steps back inside, grabbing his phone from where it lay near the speaker just as he suspected. Her stuff is still here though, a black duffle bag in a pile near the corner of the room. He thinks for a moment about calling out to her, wondering where she went off to, but he stops himself. It wasn't as if one salsa class and a chocolate shake had made them friends.

As he walks back towards the staircase, he hears noise from behind the closed bathroom door. He recognizes the sound immediately, a noise he'd heard many times during his years as a ballet dancer, most often from Alice.

The thought of his former partner makes his heart ache, even after all these years. He tries to push her golden blonde hair and green eyes out of his mind, but he can't. The image of the fragile girl he had once been in love with burned in his mind.

Harry considers knocking on the door, making sure Giselle is alright, but he knows from his previous experiences that this would likely not yield any results. She wasn't alright, clearly. But Harry doubted that there was much he could say at this point that would make her feel like she was. So instead he turns back down the stairs and towards his apartment.

Alice's face remains in his mind the rest of the evening.

Harry had met Alice at the age of twelve, when they were still young and impressionable and would stop at nothing to achieve their dreams of becoming principal dancers at the Royal Ballet.

Alice was his first partner. She was the person that taught Harry the importance of trust, the sacrifices a male dancer made to make sure his ballerina looked effortless and that relationships between partners rarely ended well.

But Harry and Alice were young and energetic and they spent hours together working to be the best in their class. It didn't take much, they were both naturally-gifted dancers. But even when they were the best, they didn't stop.

By the time they were thirteen, they were best friends. Harry knew everything about Alice. From her favorite purple leotard, to her favorite ballerina and even her favorite movie (although they didn't have much time for movies at the Royal Ballet School). Alice knew everything about Harry too. About his past and his love for dance and the fact that he absolutely despised adagio for no reason in particular.

By the time they were fifteen, friendship had blossomed into love. Or what they thought of love at that young age. The kind of young, innocent love where nothing was complicated and every moment spent together was the best thing to ever happen to them. They dreamed of dancing together for years, becoming principals at the Royal and working til they retried, then living out their lives teaching the next generation of dancers at the Royal Ballet School. Because they were best friends and they were partners and they knew everything about each other and that was what was supposed to happen right?

But Harry didn't know everything about Alice. He hadn't noticed how as she began to transform from the girl he met at twelve into a young woman she'd begun to loathe her body. He hadn't noticed the way she'd skipped meals or ran a few miles every evening after rehearsals. He hadn't noticed that every time she was corrected about the tone of her arms or the tightening of her core that she'd take it to mean her body wasn't thin enough or she wasn't following the right diet.

Until one day he did. When found her perched over the trashcan after they'd been out for pizza with some of the other students. She blamed it on a stomach bug and said it was nothing. But then he'd heard that noise a second time. And then a third and a fourth and a fifth. Until one day, he came to anticipate the sound of Alice purging whatever meals she was forced to eat.

He confronted her about it one day. Told her that he was concerned about her. That maybe she should talk to someone, the school had people for that sort of thing after all. He told her she was more than thin enough, too thin nearly- but she didn't hear a word he was saying. Instead she was angry at him, for not understanding and even more, he suspected, for never being criticized for his own ballet body.

It tore them apart as a couple. It tore them apart as partners. And one day that trust that Alice and Harry had built so high was broken when she fell from a lift. The fall wasn't far, and for most of people would have only yielded a bruise or two. But Alice's body was fragile and osteoporotic and when she fell she broke her wrist, her bone's as fragile as an 80-year-old woman's from lack of nutrition.

That's when everyone else noticed Alice's struggles. Her parents become distraught, pulling her out of the school and sending her to an inpatient center for individuals with body dysmorphia. Harry thought that when she was done with treatment, she'd come back to the school and they'd be partners again. Their dreams of becoming principal dancers still attainable. But Alice didn't come back, and when Harry visited her one cool day in October, he realized he didn't recognize the girl staring back at him. The ballet world had destroyed her self-image, her self-confidence and worst of all, her love of dance. She could never look at ballet the same way again or Harry.

For a long time, Harry was angry. Angry at himself for not recognizing what Alice was going through sooner. Angry at their ballet mistresses and directors for saying things that made Alice think she didn't measure up, that her body was something different from what it was. Angry at the ballet world for the culture that obsessed with thinness and lightness and pushed dancers to their breaking points. But most of all he was angry that even when he became a principal, it wouldn't be him and Alice dancing out that stage for the rest of their career, like they'd dreamed when they were just kids.

Harry supposed this is why even to this day he didn't trust the ballet world- all the stuff that happens beyond the stage. He was a dancer for one purpose- because he loved the art form. Not because he loved the school or the culture or the people in it. He loved to dance and only to dance. What happened to Alice had proved to him that if you give too much to anything but the stage- everything can be taken from you.

He pushes the thoughts of Alice aside and makes a mental note to be nicer to Giselle. He wouldn't be the reason another person lost dance. Because if Giselle was anything like Harry, dance was the only thing she had.

**********************************************

Giselle notices that Harry is awfully cheery the next day. He slides in next to her on the bar during company class, saying good morning in a tone that causes even Caleb to raise his eyebrow. He compliments her after she rehearses her Act II solo and gives her nothing but praise all through rehearsal with Viktor and Mistress Ivanova.

Giselle grows suspicious. This is not the Harry Styles she knows. This is not even the Harry Styles she had seen salsa dancing. This Harry was cheeky and flattering and...flirty? She'd seen Harry like this before, and usually it was when he was chatting it up with some corps de ballet member he wanted to bring back to his place.

Did Harry think that salsa dancing meant she wanted to sleep with him? Did he think she was just another member of the company that he could 'escape' with? Giselle rolls her eyes at the thought. Had Harry Styles learned nothing about her?

Giselle isn't going to stand for this nonsense. Opening night is six weeks away and there is far too much at stake to play one of Harry's games. She decides if he says anything that isn't sarcastic or rude to her tonight at their rehearsal, she is going to call him out on it. Harry couldn't fool her, not even with those gorgeous green eyes of his.

"Ready for rehearsal?" Harry asks as he enters the rehearsal studio that night. Giselle is already wiping the sweat from her brow after running through the Odile solo three times and so she simply nods.

"Mistress Ivanova seemed really impressed with our Act II pas de deux today," Harry says as he pulls off the grey hoodie he's wearing, the bottom of his toned abs showing as the black tank top he wears underneath pulls up with it. "You were really channeling Odette today, Giselle. Just beautiful dancing."

And there it was. The compliment instead of the sarcastic comment.

"Why are you doing this?" Giselle snaps.

Harry looks at her, his eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because I want to be nice?" Harry replies, trying to figure out just what was the problem with being nice towards Giselle. Would she rather he be an asshole?

"What you whisk me off to salsa dance and then think that you are going to seduce me? Because I'm not going to fall for your act Harry, I know who you are."

Giselle's face is stern and Harry feels at a loss. He didn't know she would react like this just to him trying to be cordial. He wasn't trying to seduce her, Giselle is beautiful, it wasn't that he couldn't see her that way. But something was different with Giselle, something Harry couldn't put his finger on. The last thing he wanted to do was sleep with her and jeopardize their partnership on the stage.

"It's not that Giselle. It's just..." he pauses. Should he say something? There was no other explanation for his niceties. He had to tell her the truth. "The other night, after we salsa-ed, I forgot my phone and had to come back to the studio and I thought I heard you.."

Giselle stops him before he can finish. She knows what he is going to say and she doesn't want to hear it aloud. She feels her face flushing and her hands begin to tremble. She can't do this. She can't talk about this. So she panics.

"You didn't hear shit Harry," she spits, storming to the edge of the room and grabbing her duffle bag. She doesn't even bother to pull on sweatpants or take off her pointe shoes before making her way to the door.

"Where are you going Giselle?" Harry shouts after her as she walks towards the door.

"I'm leaving!" she shouts back. "Mistress Ivanova said she loved our rehearsal today didn't she? No need to force you to practice!" And then she runs down the stairs, leaving Harry standing the hallway.

Harry Styles knows her secret, and she's never felt more exposed.

Taglist:

@tpwkhoney , @swtxel , @stylessugarhigh , @morethanamelodyy , @masumiyetimziyanoldu , @hhh33-3l

#an update finally!#loys #writingby1dfangirls35 #hs #harry au #harry styles #ballet au #harry fanfiction #1dff #enemies to lovers #harry fanfic

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