Archive of Our Own

When Daisuke opened the practice room door, he was expecting an empty room with a single piano in the corner, a little worn on the strings but all-in-all a sturdy instrument to practice on. He expected to blindly pat the wall with his hand in search of a light-switch to flick on while shielding his eyes as the room lit up in an off-white. He expected to close the door behind him, lock it, and sit down on the piano’s bench, his butt pressing into the springs. Daisuke did not expect to open the practice room door and come face-to-face with Haru Katou.

Haru Katou, who should have been off in a different country — Queensland if Daisuke remembered correctly — surrounded by fervorous fans and his overly caring manager, drinking in the limelight of popularity and success. Haru had left in the throes of ice and snow, only a couple of months before Daisuke had departed, his contract incomplete and nullified. The last time they had seen each other was in the dancer’s apartment, murmuring to each other in the warm dusk sun and nursing an irreversible injury — which was stupid, because obviously, it wasn’t an irreversible injury because Haru was right there, mere millimeters from Daisuke, slouching like always and wearing a blouson jacket that looked ridiculous — diluted dark green and oversized and messy. 

“Oh,” Haru said barely above a whisper. His eyes fixated on Daisuke’s, searching for something that was very well gone (not gone — just hidden, god damn you, Haru Katou). Amber orbs rose and dipped across Daisuke’s face, mapping an old trail only Haru had walked. He cleared his throat. “When did you get back?”

A sour thought tiptoed into Daisuke’s head; shouldn’t he be the one asking that question? There hadn’t been a buzz that usually attached itself to Haru, like last time. There wasn’t a slow warning from whispers on the street nor from the sports section in the newspaper. Not even a text from Saeki. It would have been nice to have a warning, something small and insignificant, instead of coming close to bashing his nose into the man on Daisuke’s first day back. Although, he shouldn’t be surprised. Haru had a way of flitting around like a ghost when he didn’t want to be seen. 

Daisuke took a step back, his heel exiting the room. They were too close; too soon. “Last night,” he responded.

A hum resonated from Haru’s chest as he looped his hands through his duffel bag on the linoleum floor. “Well,” he said, taking Daisuke's obvious stress in stride. “I’m on my way out and I’d hate to hold you up any longer.”

Daisuke could only nod and step aside, allowing Haru enough space to march out into the hallway. 

The taller turned to Daisuke on his way out, golden pools searching his face for another something. “It’s nice to see you again.” A pause. A half-smile. “Really.”

And then he was gone, leaving Daisuke alone with sweet memories and hopeful daydreams.

===

Work hard. Get good grades. Be an outstanding student. Grasp what you want. Never let go. 

It had been drilled into Daisuke’s head since day one. Piano lessons had started as an innocent curiosity. What did the keys feel like? What sound would come from each? It quickly festered into an obsessive avocation. 

Now? It was his job — his life. 

Working at the theatre was something Daisuke had never planned to hold out on. It was meant to be a temporary job used as an easy stepping-stone to greater things. Kamei had welcomed him with open arms and a cheerful smile — but from Daisuke’s very first day it had been implied that he was on his way somewhere else. Playing piano for an orchestra was not where he was meant to land, despite the pristine reputation of the opera house they played for. 

At the time, he probably would have taken anything, as long as the job wasn’t connected to his father — who, against Daisuke’s chagrin, was a well-respected conductor. Even before his interest in instruments and in particular the piano, Daisuke had rhythms and scales drilled into his head. Whether it was intentional or a slight mishap from his father patting his own thigh during dinner and humming do re mi fa so la ti do, was still up for debate. 

Life in the pit was dark. His back was always to the stage, unable to glimpse the magical glow of golden light and graceful bodies dipping to his music. 

He never gets to watch the shows that leave the audience star-struck and wide-eyed, never gets to see the display of art from their perspective. No matter how many reviews he read from critics, Daisuke would never understand the rage and rave they obsessively spat in the next day’s newspaper. 

Although he helped weave the magical blindfold for the audience with his melodic music, he did not reap the benefits as the dancers did. Which is why, when Saeki and Suzue barraged him with text messages mostly consisting of have you seen him? he could only reply with no.  

It was the question in everyone’s mouth. Have you seen him?  

Whispers and giggles morphed to unyielding blather by the end of the month. The new dancer was a hot topic, leaping from person to person, leaving everyone in awe. 

Haru Katou, the world-renowned ballet dancer, had a short-time contract in their opera house. It was just another in the long line of short-term contracts that carried him around the country. Stage to stage, auditorium to auditorium, opera house to opera house; until he landed here. Their opera house. The community around Daisuke took well to the knowledge of a celebrity in their midst — even if ‘taking it well’ meant blowing up his phone at an ungodly speed. Unfortunately, working near a celebrity was nothing as dazzling as the romance novels made it out to be. 

—

Daisuke pushed his way into the practice room with his shoulder. His hands were full, clutching onto different articles of music and one 3000-word hardcover textbook. His other textbook — this one only 1400 words — had been forgotten in his haste of wrapping up an early practice. 

He was in a joint-practice with one of the older dancers and would be playing piano on stage while she flitted around him the following week. It was a great honor. He would be playing solo, only his music aiding the dancer in her marked patterns. 

He steadied himself after pushing through the door, feet planted in a comfortable stance and let out a huff of air. The doors in the building were heavy for a reason — to conceal sound and to regulate the temperature. 

His legs tensed from the carefree stance. He wasn’t alone. 

A man, maybe the same age as Daisuke, laid on the floor, his chest pulled forward to the ground as his legs made a perfect 90 degrees with his torso. His arms stretched away from his body, fingers splayed out as if a delta running away from the sea. Earbuds rested in the crooks of his ears.

A small grunt came from the dancer as he stretched his arms farther away. It looked painful — sounded painful as a low whine exited his clenched teeth. The heels of his palms dug into the linoleum floor. 

Daisuke wouldn’t say he was entranced, but he certainly couldn’t stop staring. 

The door, although heavy, closed lightly behind Daisuke. Golden eyes snapped towards him through light-brown hair and thick eyelashes. The dancer pushed himself up into a sitting position, frowning at Daisuke. 

Suddenly he felt silly. Silly and ridiculous and small . The mess of papers in his arms seemed out of place under the golden eye of scrutiny. 

“I’m sorry,” the dancer spoke. His voice was a rough difference from his elegant form. Bangs fell in front of his eyes, dimming the feature. “Do you need this room?”

“I— no, I’m fine.” Daisuke flicked his head back and forth, scanning the room for his textbook. It wasn’t there.

He gave the dancer a tight smile and fled. 

Humorous eyes followed him out. 

Have you seen him?

It was dark— as it is backstage. Daisuke was covered in a blanket of diluted blues and greys as he skillfully wove his way through piles of props and leaning stage sets. He had walked this path many times before. 

He pushed open another side door leading into a dark hallway — this one lightly illuminated by a red bulb that stained his skin a candy-red — and followed the dull outline of a railing, making his way slowly up the short staircase. Dancers were known to lose their slippery tights and a hair-piece or two on the backstage steps. 

As Daisuke reached the top, he creaked open the staircase door as inconspicuous as he could and stepped onto the wooden boards of the main backstage. The dull red light that pooled at his feet was slowly chased away by the amber stage lights as the door automatically closed behind him. 

Haru Katou stood tall and firm at the center of the stage, arms stiff at his sides. It was a perfect posture to Daisuke’s untrained eye. In his black leotard, he blended into the curtains as if he belonged there, standing with purpose and poise. 

He wore a thin, elastic headband that pushed away his bangs. Perspiration shinned on his forehead. His chest heaved with each intake of the stale auditorium air, the only indication of fatigue.

The magic of stage lights was something Daisuke was not accustomed to and apparently would not be able to see today, as the auditorium’s seat lighting flooded every crevice of the stage. 

The director, who Daisuke had only seen on occasion despite working in the same building, leaned in close, mumbling something in Haru’s ear. She looked like any age-old stereotypical ballerina: tight wrinkles, tight posture, tight-lipped. She offers no guidance with her hands, only directing him with her words — still, Haru seemed to hang onto every last word, nodding. Her voice echoed through the auditorium for what felt like hours until she gestured with her arms in what could only be a go-ahead . 

Haru fluidly lifted himself onto his toes, brought his heels back down, and then moved into fifth position, his feet pointing in painfully opposite directions. Daisuke almost grimaced. Haru’s arms reached gracefully above his head. He took a breath. 

A clap of hands from the director, sudden and loud, echoed through the auditorium — and suddenly, Haru Katou took flight. 

“I think he was in Turkey a few months ago… July maybe?”

“Yes, he was! Did you see his pas seul performance? It was beautiful.”

“NO??” A spoon clinked harshly against a half-empty soup bowl. “I thought he did a pas de deux with Aergul Polat — which was breathtaking by the way, they complimented each other so well.” 

A hum in agreement. “He did. But the following night he did a short solo dance as a thank you, farewell . Isn’t he sweet? I think I watched it on NicoNico— hang on, I’ll find it.” 

Daisuke watched in amusement as his cousin and friend lost themselves — yet again — in a conversation about Haru Katou. Their lunch had been swiftly forgotten, the steam curling from the soups dissipated minutes before. 

Suzue was typing madly away at her phone, eyebrows furrowed together as she searched for the solo dance Saeki had so scandalously missed. Saeki leaned over her shoulder, eyes following Suzue’s manic fingers. 

Daisuke grabbed his glass of water and took a sip. His movement caught Saeki’s attention and she scooted her chair slightly away from Suzue and more towards him. Her eyes sparkled making Daisuke inwardly groaned.

“Have you seen him yet, Dai-chan? I know the opera is a big place, but it really can’t be that difficult to spot him.”

He took another sip of water. “Actually—”

Suzue’s head shot up. “You saw him?!”

Daisuke sighed. There was no way to get around them. “I saw him last week on stage.” He conveniently left out his first meeting with the dancer where only a few measly meters and his textbook separated them. 

“Dai-chan,” Saeki said in a manner meant for scolding children. “You were supposed to take a picture.”

“Last week?” Suzue stage whispered as if she were the dancer acting in front of an audience. “Why didn’t you mention anything?”

“It slipped my mind. Honestly, I don’t get what the fuss is all about. Neither of you knew of his existence until last month, and even before that neither of you showed an interest in ballet.”

Both girls pouted, caught by Daisuke in their ‘fanatic fan’ act.

“Well, the next time you see him, we demand more than just one picture,” Suzue said, sidestepping her cousin’s claim.

Saeki nodded in agreement.

But the next time Daisuke stumbled into the ballerino, he didn't ask for a photo. There was the smallest ping in the back of his head that made him feel a sense of disconnection from his surroundings. The glaring fact that something was very, very wrong did not go unnoticed. 

The dancer in front of him was curled up on the practice room floor, eyes blown wide from pain and something else Daisuke couldn’t place. He hunched into himself, holding an ankle. A dark stain seeped through his nude pointe shoes, and Daisuke can’t help but stare, his eyes just as wide as Haru’s. This couldn’t be the same person that he had watched the other day, lifting off the ground as if gravity couldn’t bother him. 

It was nothing unusual for dancers of this caliber — it seemed they could push through almost anything, push through untreated sprains and bleeding toes and pulled muscles as if they couldn’t feel anything at all. Somehow they still manage to look flawless under the spotlights, night after night — at least from what he’s heard.

Here however, hunched in on himself, Haru looked anything but flawless. Here, he is so far removed from the glittering presence everyone had painted him as — for just a moment — he looked like a human being, a soft, lonely human being looking for even the slightest attention. 

And because Daisuke is a kind person and prides himself on being above the lowly self-interested people surrounding him, he kneeled down next to the dancer and asked if there was anything he could do to help. 

“Can you at least look like you want to be here?” Kamei whined. “You’re scaring all the women away.”

“I don’t think it’s me who’s scaring them away,” he replied humorously. 

Kamei huffed, rolling his eyes and mumbling, “Yeah, yeah, you’re the desirable one. Mr. Hoity Toity, blah, blah, blah.” He snatched a champagne glass off of a passing tray and regarded it curiously. He brought it to his nose, sniffing. Daisuke held back a laugh. It was obvious Kamei had thought the beverage was wine. 

“It’s not poisoned.”

“Well, you can never be too careful.”

“Women don’t particularly enjoy the company of men who sniff their alcohol.”

Kamei stiffened at Daisuke’s comment and peaked over the rim of his glass, eyeing his surroundings. Women and men alike mingled back and forth across the decked-out hall. Fancy dresses worn to impress and slim-cut tuxedos to boast wealth danced around each other, many fit to colleagues and a number of important people. Kamei deflated when he saw a handful of scrutinizing eyes on him.

“Maybe they just don’t like musical men.”

“I doubt that’s the problem here,” Daisuke teased. 

“You’re right! I should be more assertive!”

“That is not what I said, how did you even–?”

“Thank you, my fine fellow,” Kamei interrupted. He hastily gave Daisuke the untouched glass of champagne, which only sloshed a little much to Daisuke’s relief, and smoothed out his suit. “I know you don’t like these events, but it’s free entertainment and alcohol, so try to have some fun and loosen up. I’ll be over there if you need me.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to a small group of women across the room. A bright, cheeky smile was thrown at Daisuke, and then his friend raced off to insert himself as noisily as possible into the ladies’ lives. 

Daisuke sighed and took a swig of the champagne. Alone again at a party he could use to project his finest assets to music investors and maybe snag a fancy new job. 

“Having fun?” A voice from behind asked.

“No.”

It took a few seconds for Daisuke to realize it was not Kamei asking for the umpteenth time about enjoying himself, but someone else. A little flustered at his reflexive answer, Daisuke tilted his head.

Haru laughed at him, a solid, jolly sound, as if what Daisuke had said was a cure-all. “Yeah, neither am I. But, I think it just got a tad better.”

Haru pushed his bangs back with the hand that wasn’t holding a small paper plate of sweets, smiling brightly. Daisuke regarded him with skepticism. It was unusual to find someone of such great esteem joking against their employers — especially in the dance world where one wrong step could be the end of your career.  

“I saw this amazing staircase when I came in, magnificent.”

“Do you need something?” Daisuke asked, averting his eyes, confused by the comment. Sure, he had helped Haru the previous week, but nothing much worth entitling him such a vibrant grin.

“No, not really. But the company from a handsome face wouldn’t hurt.”

Daisuke stiffened.

“It’s loud,” Haru offhandedly said. 

And, although the sound decimal was quite low, the guests murmuring among each other — Daisuke had to agree. The posh costumes and array of colors, mixed with the overwhelming sensation of being watched was deafening. Growing up with events on the weekends where he tailed his father around luxurious ballrooms should have eased him from the alienation he felt, but it only grew.

Daisuke left the party early, deciding that Kamei was more than capable of finding his way home after inevitably being kicked out by annoyed guests — he would deal with the flood of sob texts in the morning. Before he headed on his way towards the subway, Daisuke stopped just right to the entrance to check his phone. In an event such as that, phones weren’t allowed and viewed as rude. As he scrolled through a thread of texts from Saeki, Daisuke realized that he was still not completely alone, even outside in the too-cold, itching darkness.

Haru Katou stood out on the curb, phone in one hand — attempting to hail a taxi, most likely. The other hand was occupied with tugging on the knot of his bowtie, trying and failing to free his neck from the restricting fabric. Daisuke watched unamused. 

“Do you need help with that?” he asked, surprising both of them. Haru snapped his head towards Daisuke, obviously unaware of his presence. 

“That would be… nice.” A white puff of air showed his only hesitation. 

Daisuke nodded — more so to himself than to the dancer — and walked over to Haru, his feet sloshing through the half-melted snow on the sidewalk, dirtying his polished black dress-shoes. 

There was something thoughtful about Haru’s expression as he watched Daisuke’s hands reach up to his bowtie. Nimble fingers fumbled with the cloth — a mix of nerves and the harsh cold air that nipped at his now-stiff digits. Haru huffed out a breath above him, the warmth making Daisuke shiver inwards. He picked at the knot for seconds that stretched into hours, finally loosening the tie and sliding it apart. Daisuke stepped back, giving the dancer his personal space back. He could feel the slippery slush under his feet ooze out from beneath him. 

“You want to get out of here?” Haru asked, gesturing down the street, towards nowhere in particular. “The night is still young, or whatever. We could go somewhere else — show off our fancy get-ups.” 

“Hmm? You have another magnificent staircase to show me?” Daisuke teased, and Haru grumbled a soft Oi . 

“Unfortunately not — but the opera house set me up with a nice apartment. It has a skylight .” 

Daisuke felt a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Haru sounded like an excited child that had yet to lose awe in the world around them. “I guess that’s something.”

A taxi pulled up, finally, and the door swung open. Haru indicated his head towards the waiting car, just slightly — another shot in the dark. It must have been so easy for him, to gather up the courage and barrel ahead as if he had never gotten a no for an answer. And maybe he hadn’t, considering. 

“Come with me? Haru said, half a question, and Daisuke gave in without a thought. 

And it’s the loneliness that does it, probably. 

There’s something to the city that was overwhelming, with its bright lights and busy traffic that made it difficult to feel real, like your own body was right out of reach, teasing the tips of your fingers. It almost seemed impossible to handle alone. That’s why Haru acted the way he did — orbiting around Daisuke until the bright star was all Daisuke would see when he closed his eyes; strangely draping himself over Daisuke in an aggressive air of companionship.  

Although surrounded by family and friends, Daisuke understood. He was new to the city once too. And sometimes, when he’s decided to go off on his own after a hearty practice to explore the unknowns of the city, he would find himself pulling his coat tight to his body for mock comfort and pondering over the sinking of his gut — like a slow decrescendo ending on b. 

--

Haru, seemingly always frozen, wrapped himself in the duvet along with layers upon layers of blankets, and still shivered through the night. He always kept his distance in the beginning, giving Daisuke space to breathe and spread out, quickly peeling himself away after a soft goodnight and turning his back. He acted skittish — afraid of overstepping an unsaid boundary. Still, at some point during the night, Haru would always end up on Daisuke’s proclaimed side of the bed, burrowing his head into Daisuke’s shoulder blades or curling his legs around Daisuke’s. In the early breaths of the morning when Daisuke had spurs of restlessness, his fingers itching to weave a melody, most likely in treble clef and a key of c, he would have to carefully peel Haru off of his body and quietly slip out of the apartment. That was most mornings. 

But this morning proved to be different. There was a voice near his ear, the movement of a body shifting from foot to foot next to the side of the bed.

“I made coffee.”

“What?” Daisuke mumbled, still in the cloud of sleep he so desperately wanted to fall back into. His voice was muffled and wrong — his face half-pressed into the pillow.

“Coffee. I made some, if you want.”

It was Sunday. No practice for either of them and certainly nowhere Daisuke had to be instead. Despite his sleep-deprived brain, the odd hesitation in Haru’s voice was not lost on him. As if he were expecting rejection, a quick and impersonal no, I have to go . 

“Please,” Daisuke said instead.

By the time leaves started reappearing on the trees decorating the sidewalks, Daisuke had spent more time in Haru’s kitchen than he did in his own — spent more time curled up on Haru’s couch watching old detective shows than sleeping in his bed. His clothes were also migrating too, annoyingly. Daisuke would search his entire home for a specific hoodie or his violet tie, turning each room upside down, only to realize it was most likely at Haru’s in a hump of dirty clothes. 

He wasn’t going to dwell on the arrangement. They had both formed a comfortable lifestyle around each other — even if it was temporary. 

Whether it’s the opera house or the apartment, Haru would always be halfway out the door. It was only a matter of time before he was gone for good — finally exiting stage right. It was something both of them failed to have a conversation on, yet knew from the very start. 

Their time was limited. 

Spring brought the first petals of the cherry trees to the city — and along with it came the strange realization that Daisuke’s life was taking place in two separate worlds simultaneously, parallel to each other and rarely intersecting. There’s the one where Daisuke need only focus on the theatre, on his work, on Kamei’s boisterous noise, on his friend and cousin; and then there’s the one where Daisuke blushes and forgets his own name, where Haru ravenously flirts with him, where they sway to their own mingled tune in the sunlight of dawn that warms Haru’s cold kitchen floor. 

Daisuke liked the mornings when he awoke to the smell of coffee and Haru leaning over the kitchen counter in dark blue sweatpants. From the bed — which always had a hint of warmth from before Haru rose — Daisuke could watch the dancer sway to a song in his head, sometimes softly humming a rhythm as he waited for the coffee pot to chirp. 

But he enjoyed the times when he woke up to a tuft of toupe hair peeking out from a pile of blankets even more. The comforting warmth of Haru called him to burrow deeper into his pillow and let his conscious slink away again, allowing the morning to slip by. 

Daisuke bolted up from his position on the floor, startling a cry from Haru. His hunched over form shot up almost as quickly as Daisuke had, looking worryingly in his eyes.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Did you over-stretch?”

Daisuke had to hold back a laugh — it would be inappropriate to laugh in Haru’s face after his generous show of concern. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, but something will be wrong if Suzue doesn’t get a photo of you.”

“Suzue..? Your cousin wants a picture of me?” His voice sounded surprised as if he had forgotten how many people would die for even the smallest glimpse of him. Slowly, as his mind came out of practice-mode and into wow-I’m-actually-a-human-being-mode, Haru’s face lit up. He moved to take Daisuke’s phone, but Daisuke sidestepped the attack and left Haru grabbing at air. He pouted and took out his own phone, snapping a few pictures.

“..Something’s missing.”

Daisuke laughed. “Like what? It’s just a picture.”

Haru grinned up at him, and if it weren’t for that, Daisuke would have sidestepped Haru again, reading into his gleaming eyes for what was to come. The dancer pulled Daisuke down next to him, sprawling Daisuke in his lap, and quickly shot a photo. It was the closest thing to candid a selfie could get. Daisuke patted himself off and stood back up.

“Why are you so grumpy?” Haru remarked after his giggling had subsided.

“I’m not.”

“Oh yeah?” Haru waved his phone in the air. “This says otherwise.”

“Maybe you can’t read me as well as you thought you could.”

“How about giving me a crash course then.”

“Maybe I will,” Daisuke challenged. 

Haru’s arm bolted up towards Daisuke, latching onto his wrist and tugged him down — again. This time though, he was kneeling in front of Haru, looking down on the dancer as a dangerous glint in his eye sucked Daisuke in. He had never seen Haru from this angle, he had always tipped his head slightly upward to fully see the taller man. Daisuke felt a trill of titillation zip through his spine as Haru looked up at him . 

“Maybe,” Haru said. “You should.”

His handle on Daisuke’s wrist stayed firm, holding him in place as if Haru was afraid he’d bolt. He wouldn’t — couldn’t possibly pull away from those eyes, the atmosphere was far too delicate. Haru blinked, his light eyelashes fluttered for just a second, and slowly loosened his grip on Daisuke’s wrist, as if knowing exactly what he was thinking about. In turn, Daisuke leaned a bit close, a minuscule amount, really. He could feel his face heat up as Haru’s mouth dropped into a slight “o” shape. 

Daisuke’s phone buzzed and the moment was gone. Haru snapped his eyes back to his phone and distractedly asked for Suzue’s number so he could send the photos himself. Daisuke obliged. 

His fingers followed the flow of the music, muscle memory allowing him to close his eyes and drift off with the melody. The notes leapt a line every couple of measures, forcing Daisuke to move his hands nimbly across the keypad. As the end neared, he eased off the keys allowing a sweetly soft decrescendo on the diminished chord.  

“That was beautiful,” Haru murmured. He had rearranged himself on the bench so that his leg was pressed up against Daisuke’s. With the concentration on playing a perfect melody for Haru, Daisuke hadn’t noticed their proximity closing in. He closed the piano and turned to look at Haru — Haru who was still savoring the light flow of Daisuke’s notes, eyes closed and body swaying slightly. “It was really beautiful.”

“You’re really good at it.”

“Huh?”

“Piano. You’re good enough to be a soloist — so why aren’t you?”

Daisuke hummed as he pushed Haru farther down into his forward fold stretch. Haru reached his palms over his toes, grunting as he tugged at his body. Curiously, Daisuke crawled over to his hands, peaking at calloused toes.

“Don’t look,” Haru grunted out.

“Why? What are you hiding?” Daisuke teased.

“Nothing! Dancers have ugly feet and I don't want you to see.”

Daisuke chuckled and leaned back on his hands, observing the enigma of Haru Katou. He slowly dipped his head backward and whispered to the ceiling, “I guess I just haven’t had the chance yet.”

--

“Ugh! Don’t hug me when your hair is sopping wet!”

Haru struggled to free himself from Daisuke’s head burrowing itself into the middle of his back. He shrugged and wiggled, failing significantly. Daisuke laughed with joy as Haru whipped his body back and forth, taking Daisuke for a spinning ride as he hung onto the dancer’s arms. 

Daisuke tripped backwards when an impact near his knees knocked him off balance. He was unceremoniously thrown to the bed, bouncing up and then back down, laughing with his mouth wide open. Haru came toppling down after him, thrown off by the missing weight.

“You little— now my bed’s wet too!”

“Haru, my hair isn’t that wet.”

”It’s dripping everywhere!”

Daisuke stifled a laugh as Haru yanked him upward so he wasn’t laying on the bed. They sat parallel to each other.

Time stopped. The laughter from Daisuke hiccuped to a close as Haru held both Daisuke’s arms in his hands, steadying the previously rolling, laughing mess. 

Amber eyes locked with azure and all thoughts melted away. Daisuke peeked through his still wet hair that hung between his eyes and was suddenly entranced. Flecks of brown and olive circled Haru’s pupils giving such more dimension to the shining orbs, more than Daisuke thought possible. It was like falling into a vat of liquid brass. Trumpets , his brain supplied unhelpfully.

They were aggressive and senseful and just so — Haru . 

“You have really pretty eyes,” Haru breathed, shocking Daisuke out of his own stupor. The amber orbs he had been so drawn to, stared intently back at him, unyielding. It was too much. Daisuke flinched away from Haru, desperately trying to mask the blush that rose up his cheeks. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled. Between us, you’re the one with pretty eyes . 

“Oh, I think I do.”

Haru’s hand came up to Daisuke’s cheek, softly ushering Daisuke to face him. Something in Haru’s features made Daisuke stiffen. His eyes had changed from the aggressive intentive shimmer to a more diluted yellow carrying too much affection, his forehead wrinkles had smoothened out leaving lax eyebrows and a gentle look — too gentle. Around them, the muffled sounds of vehicles passing on the road below and the soft whirring of Haru’s refrigerator made it sound like they were in their own impenetrable bubble. When Haru lifted his hand from Daisuke’s cheek to brush aside his dark bangs, fingers sweeping across his still-pink face, Daisuke almost choked. 

He had never had such an intimate relationship as he did with Haru. Everything was new — from the backward hugs and feather-light touches to the amiable jabs and countless amounts of flirting. Even the soft press of lips upon his own. There, in Haru’s unmade bed under the skylight window and domestic ambiance, they shared another step to their relationship. 

“Your cousin is pretty,” Haru said offhandedly, almost too casually as he scrubbed at a plate with his sudsy hands. 

Daisuke paused at the comment. Yes, Suzue was pretty — probably above average in most men’s eyes if the catcalls and whistles had anything to say. When traveling in a group she was always the one singled out by sleazy men, and no matter how uncomfortable it made her feel and how protective Daisuke was, it would never stop. The occasional good-bean came along, blushing fervorously — most likely sent over by a bet — and asking for a piece of her time. Suzue would laugh and humor them. One of her longest relationships bloomed from such an event. But something in Haru’s tone, the tilt of his head, had Daisuke pondering if Suzue was ‘above average’ in Haru’s eyes. It almost sounded like a veiled jab, as if he were teasing Daisuke. 

Ever since they were young, Daisuke and Suzue had been told how similar they looked. Jet black hair, lightning blue eyes, stubby noses. Daisuke couldn’t see the resemblance until he was much older. Strangers and even family members thought they were siblings. 

He knew what Haru was trying to get at, so he played along, always humoring him. Even if it was embarrassing. “Am I pretty too?”

Haru stopped scrubbing his plate and gently let it float to the bottom of the sink. He grinned down at Daisuke, shining like a star. 

“The prettiest.”

And Daisuke already knew that nothing and no one would ever be as important to Haru as the work, as the stage, as the inspiration he oozed. Haru lived to be a dancer — he was born for it, it ran in his blood. Whatever it was, the affinity to ballet and his influence over fans powered Haru. He woke up every morning knowing he was going to drag himself home in ten hours with sore muscles and a crick in his ankle, but it was fine if he could inspire even one person. 

Sometimes, he thinks Haru would be completely lost without the constant input from fans and the push-and-pull of the director — afterall what would he do without his manager patting him on the back after practice telling him he did good and relaying strange statistics of the day that Daisuke couldn’t imagine comprehending, the outflow of support from around the globe sobbing about how charming and enthusiastic the dancer was and how they want to be ‘just like him’, and the constant handling from the director whispered in his ear instructing him how to bend and break his body on a specific day? 

Which is why, when Haru slowly started to pull away, giving cheap excuses for why Daisuke couldn’t enter the apartment and burying himself in practice, Daisuke wasn’t surprised. It only left an annoying itch at his nape. Everything was meant to turn out like this — from the first day, their course of impact and tail ends had already been mapped out. 

But that didn’t stop a sour taste from leaking into his mouth during the late hours of night when he would have been wrapped in a blanket that smelled purly of Haru with said man teasing him not to fall asleep on his lap. He paid no mind to the missing spot of heat as he laid in his own bed.

That was, until Haru came down from an awkward leap during practice and sprained his ankle. It was fine. Daisuke thought nothing of the rumors and whispers around the theatre. Haru was a ballerino, he was used to painful hiccups as he aimed for the top — Daisuke had found him pushing through a bleeding foot, for god's sake. Dancers faced bruises and sprains on a daily basis, bending and breaking their backs just to see how far they could go; there was no need to worry for Haru’s physical wellness. 

But the rumors only grew more concerning — as rumors do, so Daisuke blocked out the noise of Haru falling from grace.  

“They say his career is over!”

Daisuke huffed, pushing away the phone. “Aren’t those baseless rumors?”

Suzue glared at him. “What is your problem, Dai-shoukei? Aren’t you even a little concerned about your friend?”

It was impossible for Haru’s career to be over, he had been in the limelight for too long, his fans would be begging for his return. Because it was Haru — the shining light and unwavering warmth that deserved so much more than the world could offer.

He couldn’t be done. 

“We are barely friends.”

“You are so infuriating sometimes!” Her fingers flew across the screen of her phone, scrolling through thousands of articles within a matter of seconds. She thrusted her phone into his face for the second time, almost growling. “Will you please just read this? They aren’t baseless rumors if every news outlet is saying the same thing! His manager came out and said something this morning in response. Please?”

Daisuke took the phone from her shaking hands. He couldn’t comprehend what Suzue was so worked up about. Haru was nothing to her than a fan-fixation she would soon move on from and latch onto something else. Sure, she might have received a little more attention from him than a regular fan would, getting a few photos and even a compliment out of him, but the reason still stood that she should not be so invested. 

“–ignore him forever, you know.”

“What?”

Suzue rolled her eyes exasperated, obviously fed up with... whatever it was Daisuke was doing.  

The Asahi Shimbun

Kato Haru, the ballet dancer that has taken the world by storm, has canceled his performance for the Whinttenburg Opera House this morning after an unfortunate string of events.

After shattering his right knee and fracturing his dancing partner’s (Koyesamei Inchi) wrist during practice for the upcoming show, Haru Katou looks to be on a road to retirement. It isn’t unheard of, and actually quite normal for dancers to retire after a few years in their field — sometimes moving on to coach new blood. 

Daisuke’s stomach dropped. The source was irrefutable — The Asahi Shimbun was one of the most trustworthy news outlets there was. But it just couldn’t be true. This was Haru they were talking about.  

Daisuke climbed the steep staircase he had grown accustomed to over the past months, not even tripping once. He would have prided himself on that if it weren’t for the bile itching to be released. His footfalls echoed around the hallway like a haunted symphony. 

He came to Haru’s door, only pausing a second before knocking. At the thought of never receiving a key to the apartment, never letting himself in on his own, always following Haru’s lead, Daisuke finally tasted the bile — it was warm on his tongue and sour.

A soft click of the lock and then he was being ushered in by Haru — who, all except the very obvious steel wheelchair, looked completely the same. Considering it had only been a week and a half, Daisuke lightly scolded himself for thinking anything else. The apartment looked the same too. 

Haru rolled himself over to the small dining table and gestured for Daisuke to take a seat. Daisuke pulled out the chair and sat in it, familiarizing himself with the way the back hugged his shoulder blades. 

“Hi,” he said awkwardly.

“Hi, yourself,” Haru responded. It wasn’t grumbled or loaded, but instead shot at him with a quirk of the lips and a raised eyebrow. Haru wasn’t going to reprimand Daisuke for shutting him out — most likely because Haru had done the same. 

“Are you… okay?”

“Not really. But, I feel a tad better now.”

Daisuke’s nerves had slowly diminished, the wretched bile retreating back to his stomach — but at Haru’s comment, they completely disappeared. It was a reference to when they were still newly acquainted, just strangers that happened to work together and happened to hold a conversation at one of their place of employment's many parties.

"Can I get you anything..?"

Haru laughed at that. "No, I think Cho-san has things covered. Just sit and have a meal with me? I've missed you — and I know it's my fault that we haven't been together recently, but still."

"Still," Daisuke repeated, already forgiving the dancer. He would easily give Haru as many chances as humanly possible, as well as dine with him every night from then on. He was prepared to help nurse Haru back to the stage — where he belonged. 

But apparently, that was too much for Daisuke to hope for. Haru Katou was already gone.

If everything had worked out the way it should have gone — without the injuries, they still would have been separated. Haru Katou was a popular star and his life revolved around being tugged to every corner of the world. He wouldn’t have stayed for long anyway.

Star of the ballet world, Kato Haru, was spotted yesterday boarding a private jet bound for Oceania. 

New ballet prodigy? Find an exclusive interview with Aster Rejman inside!!

After questionable events leading up to the fractured wrist of Kato Haru's dance partner, Koyesamei Inchi finally speaks out.

His phone vibrated in the side pocket of his suit. He sighed, putting his sheet music to the side and opened his phone.

1 Messages

Haru

Daisuke sucked in a breath, almost succumbing to a coughing fit from the suddenness of it. 

His phone vibrated again.

3 Messages

Haru

Daisuke took a moment to accumulate enough courage and tapped his messaging app. A short snort left his nose as he viewed the first message.

Haru

> cho-san wants me to visit queensland

> for recovery. 

> they have a praised program for injured dancers he said would be ‘beneficial’ for me

Daisuke

> I think he wants to hide you

> they are saying terrible things about you

And that might not have been the best response. Something more caring like I’ll miss you or Recover soon :) would have worked perfectly fine — but Daisuke was still nursing the missing warmth and he couldn’t possibly send a text so delicate sounding. 

There was a pause in their conversation, if it even was that. Maybe that was the end. Daisuke sighed and turned back to the piano, leaving his phone on the messaging app — just in case.

He jostled a white key to get back in his practice mood but was soon distracted by a new message. 

Haru

> I’m sorry

Daisuke

>For..?

Daisuke’s screen lit up, displaying a photo of Haru taken a few months back. It was candid — him smiling down at his phone as he watched a fan’s video, his finger absentmindedly twirling his bangs together. Daisuke would probably have to change the image. It took a few more seconds of the phone vibrating for Daisuke to realize it was a call . From Haru. He hesitated, turning the idea of talking to Haru over in his head a few hundred times.

The phone screen switched back to the messaging app. He had lost his chance. A bubble of ellipsis popped up on Haru’s side of the chat — then disappeared. Daisuke let out a sufferable sigh, running his fingers over the piano keys. He had almost forgotten where he was. 

A voice message. Daisuke swallowed. It seemed he would get to hear Haru after all, but Haru would not hear him — always giving but never receiving. 

Daisuke pushed play and his heart almost leapt out of his chest when Haru’s soft voice came out of his phone. It was as quiet as a whisper but screamed all the same. 

“I hope we can start from the beginning again — the next time we meet.”

Daisuke swallowed. Hard. 

It sounded like the final note to their song: a goodbye, a plea, a leap of faith, a confession .

And of course, between the confusion and fury that raged on in Daisuke, a blush crawled up his neck and settled just below his eyelashes — because Haru just had that effect on him. Even when he was apologizing for something he could have easily avoided, saving Daisuke all of the confusion and hurt, Haru could easily flip the tables without even trying. And Daisuke would let him.

“That dancer you played for on stage, you remember her?”

Daisuke slowly nodded at Kamei as he cautiously blew on his mug of coffee, unaware of where the conversation was headed. It had been months since he had performed his solo. 

“Well, someone important was there that night and they’re showing a big interest in you — at least, that’s the talk of the town. You might get that proposal after all.”

He almost sighed with relief. Was his life finally getting back on track — had Haru merely been an obstacle to his goals? 

“He used to message me about you.”

“Who?”

“Haru.” She shifted in her seat, turning to get a better look at Daisuke. “He– he would ask me about your favorite things and your least favorite things — what would bother you and what would stun you.”

“Why couldn’t he just ask me?” Embarrassingly, his voice cracked.

“I think…” she drifted off, her eyes settling on something past Daisuke’s shoulder — a potted plant to make the airport look clean, a concrete column, or maybe nothing in particular. A sorrowful look oozed into her features. “I think he had been told so many times that he was a role model to all, that he felt he couldn’t let anyone down. Especially you. He wanted everything to be perfect — to have this warm, comfortable bubble for just you two. Asking you… would have ruined the effect.”

Daisuke almost laughed at the irony.

“I’ll miss you — Saeki too.”

“I’ll miss you more, and Saeki is surely bawling her eyes out at work as we speak. She fought tooth and nail to come see you off.”

“I’ll call her later.”

Daisuke gave his cousin an awkward side hug encasing the both of them between his bags, gave her a tiny smile, and walked towards his plane, hopeful for a new beginning.

8 Months Later -- Whittenburg Opera House

Daisuke stood on the sidewalk gazing up at the mast of the theatre, reminding himself to stay grounded. He was still suffering from jetlag, only having gotten off his plane late last night. Daisuke was there because he had been called back — not as the pianist for the orchestra, but as an accompaniment to a pas de seul. It was funny to think he was returning to his roots to play by himself, on stage, with a dancer relying solely on his tempo. 

Training to be a solo pianist was difficult — much more difficult than he had thought it to be. Although having some experience from a few solo shows he had managed to secure under his belt, nothing could have prepared him for the sudden burst of new knowledge. His conductor pointed out every last flaw and plowed them over and over again, smoothing out his rough patches. He felt like he finally knew what dancers on the stage had to go through — what Haru had to go through. He suffered through hand cramps and sprained fingers, wrist stumps and pulled tendons.

And after all that, here he stood, back at the beginning.