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It all starts thirty minutes into unpacking the boxes in the living room, when Gally decides he’s had enough. He’s bored out of his goddamn mind, and the only thing that can keep this mind-numbing chore at bay is to do what he loves most: dancing.
When he started searching for a new place some odd months ago, the first thing he included in the list of criteria to consider is a good dance studio in the area. Dancing is an integral part of his life, something he can’t imagine himself not doing. It’s a way of self-expression, an escape; for someone so often misunderstood like Gally, dancing is how he tells stories when nobody wants to hear.
He will have to get to unpacking sooner or later, but at least some fresh air and sweating out will do him good.
----------
The map on his phone screen has been static for a few hundred metres. It’s only then he realises that he hasn’t sorted out the issues with his connectivity, and he’s stuck in the middle of nowhere with no data and no point of reference. Asking around hasn’t proved useful as a dance studio location isn’t exactly common knowledge, so he relies on his terrible sense of direction and tries to follow the paths outlined on the offline map. After much frustration and confusion, it takes him to a three-storey building, the dance studio located on the top floor.
That’s strange, he doesn’t recall the website stating anything about this, but he trudges on anyway. Worst comes to worst, if he got it wrong, he can just walk out.
Or so he thinks.
There are many red flags that should’ve alerted Gally to the fact that this particular studio isn’t the one he’s been wanting to check out, like the huge posters of ‘The Nutcracker’ and ‘Swan Lake’ pasted on the walls of the lounge, or how the signage at the front explicitly says ‘Paige’s Ballet School’. But he has just moved halfway across the country all on his own to an unfamiliar town he knows nobody in, he’s tired, dead tired both mentally and physically, and there are just too many things running through his mind that every single clue fly over his head unnoticed.
He just wants to dance, for god’s sake, why must the world make that so hard for him?
The door opens with a small creak, making way for the music that has been contained inside to spill out. Though the song is something he has never heard before, Gally suspects nothing. The studio itself looks normal. Wooden sprung floor, full-length mirrors from one end to the other, glass windows on the side overlooking the busier parts of the town, notice boards taking up half of the back wall. There are bars mounted to the walls, which isn’t unusual for dance studios to install. One thing to note is that it’s spacious, so spacious that Gally misses the figure moving in the corner of the room, dancing to the soft melodious tune that fills the room.
The instant Gally does notice, however, he finds himself unable to look away.
Gally is hardly ever impressed by anything in his life. He’s been through some shit, things he wouldn’t even wish on his enemies. But right now, thirty feet in front of him, a man dances ballet and he is left silenced in awe.
Every step the man takes is perfectly in tempo with the music, riddled with elegance and grace. His figure bends and contorts into beautiful silhouettes, his jumps feathery light, spins flawlessly executed. At one point, he holds his hands up like he’s lifting someone, then snaps back in form and twirls across the floor in a smooth glide, moving so fast from one move to another Gally wonders if he even touches the ground. The rhythm picks up, perhaps reaching the climax of an act, and the man matches the pace, acting out the routine with ease.
Here’s the thing about this… stranger, he’s not just great technically, he portrays his emotions insanely well that even with zero knowledge on ballet, Gally feels like he understands the whole story. The desperation, the agony, the hope. Gally has never found classical dances to be fascinating -except for maybe waltz but he tried it once and almost broke a foot so he hates it now- but the way his jaw goes slack at this performance speaks otherwise.
(Or maybe it’s just this man that steals Gally’s breath away.)
Gally watches on quietly, entranced. It seems to go on forever, yet at the same time it doesn’t feel enough. He wants to watch more, see what else this man is capable of doing. Because Gally sure as hell can never pull that off.
His moment of stealth doesn’t last long, because the man suddenly stops after his third-in-a-row ‘spinning on one foot’ thingy, walks over to the stereo and switches it off. Gally would’ve known that the movement is called a pirouette if he had bothered studying other types of dancing, but he barely knows the theories and technicalities behind his own anyway.
The pin drop silence that follows is a jarring contrast to the classical tune enveloping them just seconds before. As the ballet dancer turns and starts walking towards him, Gally contemplates making the run for the door to escape the oncoming awkward conversation but ultimately decides against it. After all, he’s already spent the last ten, twenty minutes glued to one spot watching this man dance, what’s another few, right?
Said man stops a couple of steps away, crossing his arms.
Standing face to face, Gally can see that the man is, for one, is very attractive. There’s just something about his messy blond hair, downturned blue eyes and firm expression that grips Gally’s attention. Even with the black tank top and matching leggings, it’s obvious that he is lithe but well-built, nothing close to scrawny like Gally has always thought ballet dancers to be. He’s a couple of inches shorter than Gally, but he makes up for that with a sharp gaze. Gally would be lying if he says he’s not at least a tiny bit intimidated.
“Can I help you?” He asks, eyebrows rising slightly. Evidently, he’s not too happy to be interrupted, though in Gally’s defense, he didn’t do anything to disturb the man’s little practice session, he just stood there and, well, watched.
Gally clears his throat, wrecking his brain to come up with an explanation to make ‘I entered the wrong studio but your dance was so amazing that I had stopped to watch silently’ sound less creepy. But really, there’s no better way to put it than telling the truth. Everything else would’ve sounded like an excuse for intrusion.
“I’m new to this town,” Gally says, running a hand over the opposite arm, a habit of his when the nerves come. He doesn’t do it as often anymore, but it still resurfaces when he’s taken aback by the situation. “Was looking for the dance studio I wanted to sign up for. Clearly I ended up in the wrong place.”
The man nods slowly, apprehension ebbing away from his shoulders. “So, you’re a dancer too?” His eyes run over Gally’s frame, like he’s scanning for anything suspicious. He seems genuinely curious. Gally has no reason to lie.
“Yes. Not ballet, but… yeah, I dance.”
“Latin?”
Gally snorts, for a second an image of him doing the salsa crosses his mind. “As you can see, I don’t have the hips nor the spine for that,” he replies, gesturing at his bulky body, seeing the amusement flashing on the man’s face. “I do modern dance. Some people also call it contemporary, I personally think there’re slight differences between the two.”
Upon hearing that, the man’s expression brightens up, infinitely kinder than before. It’s like now that he has ascertained Gally isn’t a threat more than just a new guy getting lost in town, he’s more welcoming. Friendly, even. It’s been a while since someone showed that face to Gally. And as if he’s not already attractive before, that hint of a smile playing on his lips is making him look even more of a sight to behold. Gally is well aware that he doesn’t prefer one way or the other, he’s just never realised that a man could be this… captivating.
“Modern, huh? Interesting… I’d love to invite you in to share the space with me, but I’m not sure my instructor would like that. She’s particular about non-members entering her creative space, something about warding the bad energies away,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “She’s not here, but I still feel like she’s always watching, you know?”
“It’s okay, I get it.”
And Gally truly does. The old studio he was at, The Glade, had a guy who insisted that nobody eats lunch outside; everyone had to finish the buffet he prepared daily. How he’d found the time to cook so much, nobody knew, but he loved cooking so much they called him Frypan. While the food was tremendously delicious and cost-effective, it did get a bit boring eating only Frypan’s food, so the guys used to send the newest member of the crew to sneak takeouts into the studio. Some of the greenies got lucky, others were caught and suffered Frypan’s wrath. Even their ex-dance coach was a sicko who would set up obstacle courses outside the studio that the crew had to complete before they could enter the room. It would have been okay if not for the fact that that the activities were borderline deadly and he was taking notes on their performances for some fucked up experiment. They sacked the bastard after the third session to avoid casualties.
So yeah, Gally gets it, dancers have their own little quirks. He has his own too.
Lost in his musings, Gally falls silent, unaware that he’s been staring. The man takes this as a cue for him to introduce himself.
“I’m Ben, by the way.”
“Gally.” They shake hands. Something flickers in Ben’s eyes, a playful glint.
“Interesting name. Short for something? Galileo, like Galileo Galilei?” Ben jokes, traces of his previous intimidating vibes completely gone. He walks away to grab a towel and wipes down, then taking a sip out of his bottle. Gally doesn’t know why he keeps staring, but he does, and he just hopes to God that Ben doesn’t find it disturbing.
Returning to where Gally’s still standing, Ben offers a bottle to him too which he hesitantly accepts. The bottle is cold against his hand, a strangely pleasant sensation.
“I don’t know how you’d feel about this, but you’re actually 100% correct.”
Ben chokes on his water and starts coughing, a reaction Gally somewhat expected. “What? You’re kidding.”
Gally shrugs. “I wish. Bullied throughout my childhood for it.” That’s a whole can of worms he hopes not to open.
“Shit, sorry, man. That’s one cool name though. Very… unique.”
“It’s okay, you can say it’s weird, it doesn’t bug me anymore.” Gally says. Now Ben looks like he’s just killed someone’s cat, and Gally decides that he prefers a smiley Ben way more than a frowning Ben. He also kind of wants to hear him laugh again. “So…” He prompts.
“Hmm?”
“Is it just Ben or were your parents history buffs? Let me guess, Benjamin Franklin?”
Ben appears confused for a split second until it hits him. He breaks into laughter, throwing his head back and clutching his sides, hearty giggles so infectious it pulls Gally into a chuckle as well. That settles it; Gally likes this guy.
“It’s just Ben. Which is kind of sad when you think of it, I mean, three letters. B-E-N. Boring has more letters than that. At least Galileo meant they put some effort into thinking about it.”
“Or they could’ve been drunk off their asses and had an Astronomical documentary on. Which is more likely, really.”
Not that he’d know. He never knew his parents, never found out what happened to them. All his childhood he’d been passed around from one carer to another like an unwanted stray cat, not having a place to call home. The closest thing to a family that he’s ever had was his old crew back in The Glade, and even that went down the drain for reasons Gally much prefers to forget. He has put all of that in the past, moving away to get a fresh start, or at least try his very best to get anything resembling one.
“Just wondering,” Gally hesitates to ask, but it’s been lingering in his mind for a while. “Why are you practising alone? Don’t you usually have a partner to do those lifts with? The, uhhh… prima donna?”
“The same reason you’re looking for your new studio on a Sunday evening, I guess?” Ben beams knowingly. “Got troubles on your mind, dancing is the only thing that can take them away, something along that line?”
Ah. So he understands. Gally returns the smile, diverting his gaze towards the floor, abashed. “You got me there.”
For a moment, it’s quiet again, neither of them knowing what to say. Gally should have just bid his farewell right then and continued his search, but there’s a voice in his heart that doesn’t want whatever… this is, to end yet.
“You know, actually, I don’t have to be at the studio until tomorrow. Just wanted to orientate myself to the new place.“ Why did you say that? Gally mentally berates himself.
Ben on the other hand looks almost relieved that the other had spoken first. He grins, almost shyly, gesturing towards the benches on the side.
“Well then, if you don’t mind, I’ll continue with my practice?” He walks over to the stereo, presses a button and the music plays again, taking them back to the beginning. “You can stay for however long you want and leave whenever, it’s up to you.”
Funnily enough, Gally never left until Ben performed his final spin, caught in a spell.
“If I weren’t any wiser I’d have thought the whole ‘lost while looking for my studio’ thing was an excuse to watch a free ballet show,” Ben teases once he’s done, packing his bag and getting ready to close. Gally feels his face warm up, he’s not even guilty of that but it sure looked like it. “It’s getting late, though, you sure you don’t want to check out the place first?”
“Yeah, I’m already tired just looking at you,” Gally sighs mockingly, to which Ben responds with a friendly jab on the shoulder. Gally returns the favour, albeit stronger, almost knocking Ben off his feet. They share another laughter, the studio lighting up with joy. He has never felt this comfortable with someone, definitely not after knowing them for a day. It’s almost as if he’d known Ben for years. Maybe in another life. “I’ll leave earlier tomorrow. Thank you, Ben, for letting me stay.”
“No, thank you for keeping me company.”
They say their goodbyes and part ways, neither having the guts to hope for another encounter. Fate can’t be that kind, can it?
(Gally falls asleep that night dreaming of blond locks tangled between his finger, of sweet smiles and softly whispered names. He dreams of a neverending run, a horrified scream and a plead for life, please don’t do this please please please--
He dreams.
Maybe in another life
When he wakes up, he forgets.)
----------
“Hey, found your studio yet, big guy?”
Gally almost spits out the coffee he had in his mouth when he hears the familiar voice from across the table. He’s too engrossed in the new choreography video on his phone, not noticing the man slipping into the empty seat in front of him.
“Ben! What are you doing here?”
“Same question goes to you, Gally, what are you doing here?
“Choking on my coffee when you arrived. But before that I was having breakfast.”
“Consider it payback, Galileo,” Ben winks at him. Gally is sure that’s foul play. “This café makes the best pancakes, and that’s what I’m having today.” He waves the waiter over and orders buttermilk pancakes with vanilla ice-cream, which frankly sounds delightful.
Gally looks down at his not so stellar ham sandwich and makes a note to try the pancake out next time. “Is this your favourite place to hangout?” He asks.
Ben rest his head on one hand, curiously watching Gally sip on his coffee. “Depends, is it yours?”
Gally doesn’t know what to think of that. He brushes it off as one of Ben’s friendly banter. “It will be if that pancake’s any good.”
“I’ll make sure you get the biggest, sweetest bite of mine, then.” Ben flashes a smile again that warms up Gally’s heart. Honestly, is it normal to have your heart beat like this? Gally feels like he can drop dead anytime. “Anyway, you never answered me: Did you find your studio in the end?”
Oh. “Yes, I did, just in time before the first session. It’s on Westhaven Street.”
“No way, that’s two blocks away from my house!” Ben exclaims excitedly. “Maybe we’ll have more run-ins, huh?” Just in time, the waiter comes to deliver the pancakes, and Ben starts digging in, like an adorable puppy getting his treats. As promised, he cuts a piece and places it on Gally’s plate. Carefully, he takes a bite, relishing the burst of flavour that hits his tastebuds. Ben is right, the pancake is outstanding -the right amount of sweet and fluffy- but Gally isn’t sure if Ben’s presence has a role in that.
Because for some reason Gally doesn’t dare to name, everything seems better when Ben is around.
------------
The third time they run into each other, Gally has just started his part-time job at a bookstore near his flat. His manager, Alby, a stern no-nonsense guy puts him on front desk duty on his first day, claiming he’ll manage, much to his chagrin.
“You’ll be okay, Gally. Brenda and Teresa will help you out, they know their way around. They’ll guide you.”
Except halfway through the shift, Brenda and Teresa play a disappearing act and vanished into thin air. He figures out by himself five minutes later that the two girls have pissed off to the staff room and aren’t going to come out any time soon -Gally isn’t that obtuse, he has eyes, ears and rather good deduction skills. So, there he is, on his first day at work, fumbling and helplessly working the counter, attending customers’ enquiries despite knowing fuck all about anything. Thankfully, the girls emerge later, looking sheepish and apologetic, thanking Gally for running a one-man show.
Ten minutes to closing, someone walks in and rings the bell for assistance. Gally is at the stationeries section, trying and failing to arrange the new shipment of pens into the correct boxes. He ignores it, surely Brenda and Teresa are doing some actual work now, right?
Apparently not.
The bell rings again and Gally groans, reluctantly treading towards the counter. “Anything I can--”
“Gally!” Standing in front of him is none other than Ben. Ah, sweet Ben, his sunshine after the rain. “You work here?”
“Just starting today.”
“How has it been, good?”
Gally looks around to make sure they have no company before leaning in to whisper in Ben’s ear. “My co-workers have been making out in the back room the whole day. You can imagine what that’s like.” Ben giggles and shakes his head in sympathy. “Is there something you needed help with?”
“Yeah, I wanted to check if a photography book I ordered is back in stock... Here, this one.”
Gally’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and judging from Ben’s reaction, it surprised him too (it’s normal for Gally, his eyebrows tend to have that effect on people). “You’re into photography?”
“I dabble,” Ben replies, intriguing Gally. “So, do you have the book?”
Gally leaves the counter and leads Ben to the shelf where the exact title is on display, recently restocked. “You’re in luck, I’m such a fast learner I’ve memorised the shelves by heart.”
“You dance, of course you’re a fast learner!” They make their way back to the front of the shop, where Brenda and Teresa have magically reappeared and are now running the cash register.
“We’re closing soon, sir,” Brenda drawls lazily, and if Gally didn’t hate her before, he does now.
Ben hurriedly pays and shouts out “Thanks Gally, I’ll see you around!” before bolting out the door.
The weeks go by like this, them having random encounters every other day at the places they frequent. They most often bump into each other at the café, and every time, Gally learns something new about Ben, something that makes him even more endearing than he already is. Ben seems content with whatever Gally decides to open up about, even if he’s given away much more than he has received.
They fall into a comfortable routine, a routine neither had planned, but somehow works.
It’s almost ridiculous, how Ben’s practically the closest to a friend he has made in this new life he started, but they don’t have a way of contacting each other at will. Maybe one day, he’ll ask for his number. And maybe they’ll meet up like real friends, rather than just relying on fate bringing them together.
For now, this is enough.
(Though the days are pleasant, the nights aren’t. The dreams haven’t stopped.
In fact, they’re getting worse.
Now he sees a face, hears himself speak. Ben, I’m sorry.
But it all ends the same. He wakes up in tears, though not knowing why.
He forgets.
Maybe it’s for the best.)
-----------
“Seems like you’ve gotten your shit together, Gally, you’re doing way better than you were when you first joined,” Minho, a fellow dancer based at Westhaven, points out as Gally practises his sequence. Unlike Gally, Minho steers completely from the boundaries of traditionality, choosing the hiphop style instead, an increasingly popular street dance. He has seen Minho do his thing before, the whole b-boy ‘how did you not break your neck’ acts and he admits, the guy is damn good at it. It probably helps that his brothers are apparently famous b-boys in South Korea too; it runs in their blood.
“That’s an insult coming sfrom anyone else but a compliment coming from you, so I’ll take it.” Gally jibes.
Minho cackles in return, swinging an arm around him to bring him down to his height. He whispers scandalously. “You know, there’s usually a reason behind it whenever a dude improves this much in such a short time. One: They have a girl they fancy. Two: They have a girl they wanna impress. Both are practically the same thing. So, which one’s yours?”
“You’re wrong, it’s neither.” He says, leaving Minho to dramatically collapse onto the floor, screaming in fake agony. (I’m wrong? I’m wrong? I’ve never been wroooonnng!) Hey, he’s not lying, just not telling the full truth. Minho is wrong on both accounts. It’s not a girl. But he doesn’t need to know that.
----------
Despite their first meeting happening at a dance studio, Gally and Ben have never visited each other at their practices. Gally himself yearns to watch Ben dance but going to the ballet school again without asking for permission feels wrong. And he never offers Ben to come watch him because that will feel like a request, one Ben will feel obliged to fulfil (also because Minho would notice, and he’ll never let Gally live this shit down). Their interactions so far have been limited to things outside dancing, and maybe it should remain that way, at least until Gally is confident enough to show him his moves.
They’re on one of their casual run-ins again, at the park where Gally sometimes stop to take a breather after a jog. Ben is sitting under a huge tree with a camera in hand, trying out the tips he’s been reading from the book. When he spots Gally near the bench, he waves and beckons at him to come over.
He sits cross-legged on the grass next to Ben, their knees brushing lightly. Neither says a word.
A few feet away from them, a German shepherd bounded over towards her owner, happily playing catch. Ben aims his camera at the scene and starts taking photos, adjusting the settings and focus as he goes.
Another click. A deep breath. And then, he puts the camera down.
“Come to think of it, I’ve never seen you dance, Gally. The opportunity never came,” Ben says, turning to face him. “Do you have any performances coming up that I can attend?”
Finally. Gally can’t run from this anymore.
“With the old studio, yes, we’re supposed to enter a national competition in November. But under the current circumstances… no.” Gally pauses, weighing on whether or not he should say it. He can just cut the story off at this and leave Ben hanging, but Ben has opened up so much to him that it feels like daylight robbery to not return the favour. He glances at Ben, whose eyes are focused on him, intent on listening. Gally inhales. “I never told you why I moved.”
Ben nods and sits up straighter, aware that this is important.
“I quit the studio. Got in a misunderstanding, brawled with one of the crew members and they were on his side. One month before the competition.” Gally heaves out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “They wanted to kick me out, but I saved myself the humiliation and quit instead. I got the short end of the stick, as always.”
Ben looks absolutely crushed by this new piece of information, like it’s affected him just as much as it had hurt Gally. This is why he refrained from telling Ben about his past. The man is such an empath, he feels others’ pain as if it’s his own. That must not be good for him.
Instinctively, Ben places his hand on Gally’s in a comforting gesture, the warmth seeping through his skin. “Fuck, Gally, that’s terrible. I didn’t know.”
“Because I didn’t want you to. It was still a sore spot back then.” Gally shrugs, letting out a tight laugh. “It was my fault anyway. I’m a hothead, Thomas runs his mouth a lot; it’s bound to happen. We both apologised, but the damage’s done. I wasn’t in a good place afterwards… Lost my friends, my passion, creativity. Lately I’ve been working on something, though. Got my inspiration back.” He casually omits the part where or who exactly his newfound source of inspiration is. Minho’s obnoxious laughter rings in his ears.
Gally considers putting this off for another time, but he thinks there will not be another perfect chance like this.
“Do you want to come watch me at Westhaven next week, Monday night? The studio will be empty and I have the keys.” The offer sounded better in his head -coming out his mouth it sounds like he’s asking him on a date. He hopes Ben doesn’t notice.
“Really? You’re letting me?” Ben’s face cannot hide his excitement, eyes sparkling and wide grin gracing his lips. Gally’s stomach makes a turn.
“Yeah. In fact, you can come whenever. It’s not super strict, they let people in to watch sometimes. We don’t have a Miss Paige watching over us.”
Ben pouts a little at being teased for his fear of his dance instructor, an adorable expression he has never made before. Gally is suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer affection he has for Ben at the moment, a outpouring of emotions flooding through his veins so explosively he feels physically pained.
If he could kiss him right now, he would. But he can’t, so he doesn’t.
“I’ll be there! And you can drop by too, you know. It’s better when you’re around.” Ben says, oblivious to Gally’s internal suffering. “That reminds me, we have a show next week at the City Hall. I can get you a ticket. Do you think you’ll make it?” He takes Gally’s hand in his and gives a small squeeze.
Gally smiles fondly at the man in front of him and squeezes back. “I will.”
This is fine, isn’t it?
-----------
Monday night comes a tad too fast for Gally’s liking.
He waits in the studio, anxiously tapping his foot against the floor, wondering if Ben is going to come. Minho’s loud, noisy cuss-ridden song blasting through the stereo serves as a distraction for his nerves. When the door finally slams open, Gally looks up and is not prepared for what he sees.
Normally, Ben’s outfit consists of plain T-shirts and washed out grey yoga pants, which has its own charm. Tonight, he’s dressed in a well-fitted baby blue shirt that complements his eyes, with equally fitting black jeans. His usually messy blond hair is styled smartly, making Ben resemble a prince straight out of the Disney movies.
It is all too much for Gally, who already has the stress of nailing the choreography right. Still, he attempts to appear calm, lest he screw this up.
“Yo, that’s a catchy song, bro! Siiiiiick!” Ben yells comically, throwing his hands into the air.
Gally laughs; that’s still Ben alright. “You sound like Minho, our studio’s b-boy.”
“Hey, I may look delicate, but I can pull off a headstand.” Ben huffs in reply. He goes to sit on one of the many spectator chairs, a testament to what Gally said about the studio being more open to audience. Settled down, he smiles at Gally and nods. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Remember when Gally talked about the quirks dancers have? Well, this is his:
Before every performance, Gally will enter a headspace entirely different, reserved for his dancing. They call it his dance mode, when he filters everything else out and focuses on one thing and one thing only, the melody and the way it evokes the emotions out of him. He forgets where he is at, who he is with, sometimes he even forgets himself. Nothing matters except the dance, the message he tries to convey.
The grating song playing in the room comes to an abrupt halt. Gally takes his place center-stage, waits for the first note of his backing tune to start, and loses himself to the rhythm.
Modern dance is often seen as the antithesis of classical ballet; where ballet is more structured, modern allows freedom and limitless possibilities for the dancers to move in their own space and interpretations. Gally lets the music take control of his body, the beats dictates where he places his foot next. He forgets that Ben is there watching him, but he remembers that this dance is for him. The core soul of this piece is everything Ben makes him feel.
It is what it is. A love letter.
He collects his thoughts and emotions, translating them into leaps and turns that cohesively form a piece of art. The first lyrics of the song echoes in the room, and Gally recalls the time they first met, projecting his awe and attraction in a series of full body rotations, spinning across the floor just the way Ben made him feel: out of control.
Breathe in, breathe out,
Tell me all of your doubts,
And everybody bleeds this way,
Just the same
Gally’s every move complements the song impeccably, telling a narrative he needs Ben to hear. Then comes the part where he starts falling for him, hard and fast. He catches onto something, or rather someone, and desperately holds on, before letting go and collapsing onto the ground, like he’s confused, unsure.
We push and pull,
And I fall down sometimes,
I'm not letting go,
You hold the other line.
The song continues, but Gally remains unmoving on the floor. He doesn’t carry on dancing. It takes him a full minute to come back to himself, slowly standing up from the kneeling position he ended his dance in. He’s covered in sweat, panting for breath and tired beyond belief. It’s not perfect, but he feels… free. Accomplished.
He hears the sobs before he sees them. Ben is standing in front of him, shoulder shaking, hand covering half of his tear-stricken face.
Gally feels his heart shatter into pieces at the sight.
He rushes to Ben’s side, pulling him into a hug to shield him from whatever’s hurting him. “Jesus, Ben, are you crying? Is something wrong?” He asks, concern and panic rising in him, crawling up his throat. Why is he crying? Did I hurt him?
Ben grips his hands around Gally’s arms, fingers digging to his skin. He buries his face into the side of Gally’s neck, relishing in the assurance it provides. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me. It’s just…” He wills himself to calm down so he can string the words together. Once he does, he looks up at Gally. “The emotions you showed… I felt them. Overwhelmingly. And the end… why does it end on such a sad note? Hanging on despair, uncertainties?”
Gally wipes Ben’s tears away, hands cradling his face. “The dance I showed you… I haven’t worked out the end yet. But I’m getting there,” he pauses. “I hope it’ll have a happy ending.”
He smiles, and Ben returns it.
“I hope so too.”
------------
They leave not long after, as the traffic outside the building starts to die down and the town slowly goes to sleep.
Gally is walking Ben home when the most absurd idea pops up in his mind. It even sounds ridiculous in his head, but he voices it out anyway. “Listen, I know this is crazy but do you… wanna come over to my house tonight? My flat has a rooftop we can hang around at. The sky is clear today so I thought we might see some stars. You can try out taking photos up there.
I don’t want to part with you yet. I want to spend more time with you. Simple as that. But he can’t bring himself to say it.
Luckily for him, Ben buys the whole idea and agrees. They make a U-turn to catch the bus to Gally’s and half an hour later, they are both sitting on the rooftop of his flat, hands holding the bright orange, unappetising drinks Gally has made for them from scratch.
Ben takes a sip and gulps it down in one go, instantly horrified by the taste. “What the hell is this, Gally? Tastes like piss!”
Gally smirks, slurping out his own glass nonchalantly. “Secret recipe, but I promise it won’t kill you. I don’t dislike you that much.”
“Of course you don’t, you like me.” When Gally doesn’t say anything, Ben takes the opening to speak again. “Gally, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“What got you into modern dance?”
Gally mulls over the question. “Let’s see…modern is how I express myself. The only way I know.” He leans back in the chair, looking up at the night sky, taking in its beauty. The serenity. He wonders if any camera can ever capture all of this. “It’s because nobody ever believed in me. They said I won’t make it, not with how rough I am. Graceful and Gally don’t go together.”
“But your roughness adds to your performance, it’s what gives it life. It suits you! It’s unfair that they shunned you just for that.”
“Maybe. But my personality is what drives people away. They’re cautious around me, afraid, like I’m a time bomb. I’m just not people-friendly.”
“I’m not afraid of you. I’m always smiling when you’re around, see?” Ben turns to smile at Gally, all sweet and crinkly-eyed.
He knows Ben is messing about, but even so, Gally feels the now familiar wave of emotions washing over him, knocking the breath out of his lungs.
“You’re beautiful,” He says, breathless. Ben’s smile falls, his eyes widening in surprise. Gally immediately knows he’s fucked up. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—I—"
“No, no don’t apologise. I’m… I’m flattered. Hearing you say that makes me happy.” Ben halts. “I’m a guy doing ballet, made fun of my whole life, I’ve learnt to tune them out and brush it off. Who the fuck cares about other people, right? That’s what I tell myself every day, but in reality, it hurts. People’s words hurt me. You’re one of the few who’s been truly kind to me.” Ben finishes, cheeks coloured pink.
Gally reaches out for Ben’s hand and holds it in place, not wanting to let go.
“You deserve the world, Ben.”
Ben appears conflicted, like he has something to say but he doesn’t know if it’s right. He takes a look at their intertwined hands and suddenly courage takes over.
“Hey, Gally? Can I tell you a secret?” Gally nods. “I knew you thought this feels like a date.”
Gally feels a rush of embarrassment hitting him. “How did you—”
“Told you I can feel what others are feeling, remember? It doesn’t matter, my question is,” Ben moves closer, eyes locking onto Gally’s in a determined gaze. “Do you kiss on first dates?”
Gally gulps. “It depends. Do you?”
He doesn’t know who lunged forward first, perhaps they both did, but Gally quickly finds himself pressing fervently against Ben’s lips, one hand grabbing onto his collar and the other resting on the side of his face, trailing down along his jaw. He gasped into the kiss as Ben traces his fingers along Gally’s spine, coming up to rest in between his shoulder blades. Tongues begin tracing the seams of their lips, and once Ben sighs and melts into the kiss, Gally pushes for more, kissing him fiercer and with more passion. They have to part for air eventually, leaving both of them breathless and liquefied, a boneless mess against one another. The tips of their fingers are buzzing from the sparks, their minds hazily clouded with want.
Gally catches his breath, holding Ben’s face in his hands like he’s the most precious thing in the world. “I wish I could dance for you. With you, forever.”
“So why don’t you?” Ben beams and starts to stand up, pulling Gally along with him. “Dance with me.”
“No, I can’t…”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“What are we doing? Waltz?”
“If you want to. Or we can just move, let the music take us where it should.”
Gally lets himself be swept away by Ben’s spontaneity, and in that fragile bubble of time, the world revolves only around them. His hand comes to rest on Ben’s waist, Ben’s own on his back, and they move in tandem, a sway of motion under the moonlight. Wherever one leads, the other follows, two bodies sharing one thought, one rhythm.
He wants time to stop so he can live this out for eternity.
Ben rests his head on Gally’s chest, their heartbeats syncing. Gally whispers into the night, vulnerable, breaking the silence. He knows this can’t last forever. It’s too good to be true “You… you make me wish. For an us.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“It is. But that’s the problem, Ben. I never get what I wish for. I shouldn’t.”
Ben knows what’s coming and pleads, just as Gally begins to move away, taking a piece of his heart with him. “No...” He desperately reaches out for Gally’s hand. “Gally, please. Give us a chance.”
“I can’t do this. I’m sorry, Ben.” I’m not good enough. You deserve better. He doesn’t dare to look up, afraid of what he’ll see. “I’ll get you a ride home.”
-----------
A week passes by without any contact. Saying it’s the worst week of his life is an understatement.
Gally is sure this is the stupidest thing he has ever done, his biggest regret, yet he doesn’t know how to undo it. He doesn’t want to hurt Ben, but he knows he’s done that very thing he vows not to. He can’t erase from his memories the pain and disappointment written on Ben’s face as they said goodbye that night, possibly forever.
And it’s all because he’s too scared to be happy.
He comes home one day to a white envelope slipped under his door, no address whatsoever. Clearly it’s been delivered by hand, and there’s only person who knows where he lives. Afraid of its contents, he puts off opening it for a few hours until curiosity finally gets the better of him.
Inside is a ticket to the ballet show at the City Hall, the one he has promised Ben he will attend.
He almost crumples the ticket in his hand when he spots the scrawl across the back of it, in a handwriting unmistakably Ben’s.
You deserve happiness
Gally’s heart drops.
He thinks of all the times he’s spent wishing for happiness that he becomes lost when presented with the opportunity.
And he realises Ben is right.
He flips the ticket again and notes the timing. 8.30PM. Shit, only an hour to go.
Gally makes a run for it.
----------
He arrives at the entrance with 20 minutes to spare; never in his life has he run that hard before, but something just snaps in him that make his feet feel light, lightest they have ever been. Now that he’s here, though, he’s unsure of what to do.
Someone taps him on the shoulder before he can overthink again. It’s Ben.
Gally fights back the urge to cry.
“Here for a free ballet show, big guy?” Ben says, a sad smile on his face.
“I’ve got a ticket.” Gally reaches into his pocket, taking out a creased piece of paper. It looks battered, but the message is still there to be seen.
Silence hangs heavily in the air. Unspoken words.
“Why did you come?” Ben asks, voice on the verge of breaking. He’s frowning, looking close to tears himself. The bags under his eyes are still visible through the stage makeup and Gally feels horrible. He did this to him. He should’ve thought of the consequences of his actions.
Never again. Gally vows. I’ll never break his heart again.
“Someone said I deserve happiness, and I believe him.” Gally steps closer, asking for permission. This time Ben makes the move first, capturing him in a passionate kiss, pulling away only to whisper against his lips.
“And I believe in us.”
---------
“You didn’t tell me you can waltz,” Gally points out as they make their way out of the City Hall through the back exit, away from the crowds. Ben’s hand fits in his perfectly, like it’s meant to be.
“I grew up learning classical, of course I can waltz. I also play the piano. And the guitar,” Ben proudly claims. “I want to say violin too but I haven’t picked one up in years so we’ll leave that one aside.”
Gally stares at his lover incredulously. “Don’t tell me you speak French too?”
“Mmm, almost native, I’d say.”
“Well look at you Mr. Perfect. Are you going to serenade me?”
“Maybe. If you stick around long enough to let me,” Ben’s eyes say more than enough. Gally. Stay. Please don’t go.
“Well get ready then because I plan to stick around forever.” Gally grins, pulling Ben’s hand to plant a reassuring kiss on his knuckles. “By the way, I think I’ve figured it out.” At the questioning look he receives in reply, he clarifies. “The ending of the dance I showed you. Do you want to see?”
“Hmm… Only if you promise me that you won’t freak out if I cry. Because in case you haven’t noticed, that’s my thing.”
“I won’t, now that I know I’m not hurting you.”
Hand in hand, they run down the streets, sneaking into the studio once more, leaving laughter in their wake. The place is strangely quiet and empty considering it’s a Tuesday night and it’s usually full (Gally has started to suspect Minho has a part to play in this mysterious lack of dancers in the studio every night), but he doesn’t think too much of it. With the same precision as before Gally runs through the steps again, this time continuing all the way to the last chorus. He tries to convey his feelings, the finality of it all.
Look left look right,
To the moon in the night.
And everything under the stars is in your arms.
Cause there is a light, in your eyes
In your eyes.
He ends his dance with a soft hand on Ben’s neck, their foreheads touching gently. Gally opens his eyes and sees a tear trickling down Ben’s face. Wiping it off with his thumb, he smiles.
“I like this version the best,” Ben remarks. “You look happy.”
Gally presses a small kiss on his cheek. “That’s because I am.”
(He still dreams, but of the future.
He doesn’t wake up in tears.
He remembers.
In this life, we can be together.)
Fate can be kind after all.
---------
Later on, when they’re lying in a tangled mess of limbs and sheets, Ben says in a serious tone: “That reminds me, I don’t even have your number.”
Gally only laughs and peppers little kisses all over his face, sending Ben into a fit of giggles. “Isn’t it a bit too late for that?”