Archive of Our Own ^beta

Renjun remembers the first time he stepped inside the ballet academy; he was six years old.

A group of mothers from the unorganized propaedeutic dance classes he used to attend at the local gym with his kindergarten friends found a professional ballet school nearby. Renjun, to follow his bestest friends back in the days, walked into a completely different environment, unaware it was going to be his second home for the next years of his life.

The first thing he remembers was the deep silence gobbling up the rooms. Crossing a first narrow corridor, where a nice old lady gave his mother papers for him to attend the free trial lesson, everything outside the different rooms with sliding thick glass doors of an opaque green was completely still. A vending machine, a few small couches and parquet everywhere in the slightly larger cube of space the waiting room was.

The practice rooms glass doors only allow shadows to be visible, following exercises and jumping with tense and arched insteps higher to the rhythm of a piano sequence before gravity forces you to come down.

Being quiet. As the propaedeutic class assistant of his very first teacher required the kids to be as they were changing into some not entirely appropriate clothes for class, everyone still had to adjust to the academy's rules. His first uniform was a short sleeved white leotard, black shorts and ballet shoes he had to dress up in complete silence or incredibly hushed whispers as he and his friends kept coming for the first month of class.

Renjun was one of the quieter kids, and here comes his first memory of Lee Donghyuck. The boys' changing room was surely smaller than the girls’, considering they were and still are smaller in number at the academy. Smaller rooms make it easier to find the object of chaos, and Donghyuck was sure one of the louder ones.

His teacher, Lisa, a woman always combing her hair up and wearing black character dance shoes, walked in the room to explain for the first time to the little dancers that silence was equal to discipline. And discipline was going to be their closest friend to aim for success, Renjun learned soon.

Lisa was extremely right, Renjun never forgot.

Showing up on time after school without losing time watching cartoons or playing at the park with the other kids he knew, impeccably wearing his dance uniform, listening to the teacher and the music without complaining. He remembers some girls coming with wobbly chignons, not enough bobby-pins giving in to long hair falling on their short spines.

Instead of making mothers adjust to the needed hairstyles, Lisa taught the girls since they were young how to do their own chignon. She taught them boys as well, Renjun sometimes did Yeri’s hair during recess in elementary school for practice.

Renjun remembers his friends slowly leaving after a few weeks, or to a later extent the next month. Their mothers complained the academy was an environment too serious for children, and it wouldn't stimulate their minds, with the result of only tiring them out. To less elaborated reasons, some just didn't want to dance anymore—kids do it often, changing minds and hobbies.

That’s how Chenle eventually started doing basketball, Jisung waited until he was the right age to take hip hop classes, and you can still catch Jaemin and Jeno in the contemporary dance rooms, two aces well known in the academy now they’re older. Mark became interested in music and sometimes he says one day he’ll write a contemporary piece for them. They hold onto it, more as a fond memory, Mark is miles away working these last few years; he won’t come back soon.

Professional ballet follows and requires standards—from how flexible you are, your insteps supposed to arch perfectly and naturally, physical characteristics that if you are born with, you're considered easily shapeable into a great dancer.

No one here wants to be just great. They all want more that will never be enough, powered by perfectionism never having you stop practicing, bending painfully until you don't feel your bones as yours anymore.

Completely given to a contorted passion to suffer in order to achieve; and when you're the one to achieve, who receives attention and is considered good in a war zone made of parquet and a pianist playing over and over again pieces for you to perform and memorize, people get out the worst of themselves to sabotage you.

Renjun already let go of it ages ago, he’s twenty one. Whenever he saw tragedy as a child it's now solely a fond memory, of days he secretly misses. When things were new and exciting, long before turning into routine. Six years old Donghyuck was jealous of him.

When he was only in the first year, Renjun received a solo part in the group choreography. Adding to that, Lisa would often ask the others to “Do it like Renjun,” during practice. And that was not sitting well with the small human ball of dressing room energy.

Donghyuck started to pick at what he believed were Renjun's flaws; his ears, for example, saying they were ugly and he looked like an elf—specifying not the pretty kind of elves. He would stress Renjun over and over with it. While they were in line to do jumps exercises, as soon as their mothers weren't there to hear.

Young and very insecure, Renjun wanted to quit to stop hearing any of it again, finding creative excuses to skip classes.

Starting to pretend he had very painful headaches or stomach aches when he had to go to the academy, his mother after a week noticed he was lying and something was off. Renjun remembers sitting on a bench at the park, yet not playing with the kids but sticking to his mother's side hiding in his stuffy winter scarf. Instead of admitting he was being made fun of he told her he wasn't good and he didn't like dancing anymore. Which was a big, big lie.

She convinced him back on the dance floor only saying Lisa would be sad to see him leave, the woman aware of how much he as a kid already loved dancing and being taught by Lisa how to do it well. He came back ignoring Donghyuck's mean comments, slowly growing the thick skin he has today. His mother confessed only years later what Lisa told her exactly the day she called and said Renjun wanted to quit dance.

Already in his first year, Lisa admitted Renjun was one of the best little dancers, if not her top youngest student. That's why she always gave him a space to shine, giving him freedom to dance and express his potential.

That was only the start; Renjun has been through very nasty comments. Ironically the biggest part came from his dance teachers through the years, which are the ones that if you don’t set your mind to endure them haunting your head, you end up quitting. Renjun grew confident through the years, and oh so talented. The innocent malice from young and envy seven years old Donghyuck was also only the start of their rivalry.

Their weapons? Impeccable discipline from both sides, never ending practice and a certain dedication to prove who really is the best male dancer at the academy. None of them give up to that title.

There aren't many male dancers, and for ballet they're the only ones that  competed in the same age category for years. It's easy to befriend the other boys if they're not competition, and he’s glad Jaemin never stopped dancing. Outside the green sliding doors of the dance studio, the two are—almost—inseparable.

Almost, because Jaemin has grown some romance he’s hiding in the academy walls. Renjun has narrowed his eyes quite often since he decided to come earlier today, bringing his books to study in an empty room and start stretching to be ready for bar exercises later.

In a center split position, he is stretching his spine forward, supporting his fingers flipping pages to highlight important phrases on his elbows. Jaemin is practicing a piece with Jeno, dancing together as if they are one with how close they are on and off stage. Renjun thinks a little too close, as music ends with Jeno bringing Jaemin down from a hold in what is a kind of artistic hug, noses brushing together and breathing closely in the other’s space.

Sure stroking Jeno’s cheek is not part of the routine. He rolls his eyes, just to hide his amusement really.

He's happy Jaemin has someone, and having a dancer as partner eases their relationship as next to you, there's a person who completely understands your whole life and the sacrifices you're willing to force on yourself. There are many of those.

They all gave up on what they commonly could have done in high school; drinking on Saturday nights illegally, sneaking out of the house to party, or be present to all the hangouts people like Mark and Chenle attended when they could. Renjun always repeated to himself it's discipline, and if he's honest the bigger part of him preferred dancing to any high school crush to befriend in the evenings.

Though it can't be just liking dancing more than partying. It's the endless adrenaline—of being on stage, barely seeing the audience but you know they're right there watching you and it's easy to trick them you're fighting gravity with all the steps and jumps light as feathers, when no one is truly aware of how many muscles working, pain, tears and injuries are behind those expressive smiles shaped with makeup to be seen far from a theatre velvety seat.

Hurting everywhere his body can ache, Renjun’s has been on the brink of crumbling often, never giving it proper rest. Despite that, when he dances he feels alive. He has a reason to continue, and it stands on pointing his feet and twisting them on the floor in endless fouettes until they bleed, if necessary.

The hurt and soreness is satisfying in itself, meaning he’s closer to achieving his goals, meaning he’s dancing well.

“Is it for the winter showcase?” Renjun looks up to the boys, Jaemin nodding with a hand on his chest and Jeno drinking water.

“We still need to practice a lot.”

“You do,” Renjun smiles, cheek in his palm. “It wasn't too bad though.”

Contemporary dance might not be the same as ballet but he can spot some movements to redefine and extend better from their rough first building of the choreography. He doesn't need to exactly point them out, Jaemin already knows himself sporting the unsatisfied expression he has, practicing a turn he missed before.

“How are things from the pointed shoes hellhole?”

Jeno teases, black hair sweeping back with sweat and his appealing smile stretching in all glory just by Renjun’s deep sigh. They love to point out how miserable it can be from Renjun’s side.

“We all know it's not the girls giving me a permanent headache.”

“Did you come here early to avoid him?” Jokes Jaemin, panting from rehearsing quickly the choreography, still catching bits of their conversation. Classic Na Jaemin behavior.

“No, I just like you guys better.” Renjun recollects his books, phone signaling he has to be in class in at least ten minutes. He takes his sweatshirt off and they already anticipate he’s leaving, squeezing Jeno’s arm and giving a mention of his head Jaemin’s way to say goodbye. “Keep up the good work guys, and don't smooch too much.”

“Oh shut up,” Jeno pushes him, making him cackle. “I bet you wanna kiss Donghyuck so badly.”

“I’d rather lick the rosin box over there instead.” He waves nonchalantly as Jaemin chuckles too, sliding the door closed.

--

About to leave after morning practice, he receives a call from Lisa. Renjun is a university student, enrolled part time to have a flexible schedule to follow his classes, dance scholarships and performances. Giving up his studies is tempting with the packed schedule he has. He practically lives at his dance school, going to the faculty only for exams or some mandatory classes he squeezes in his dancing career.

Luckily, his family believes in his talent and supports his passion—financially and emotionally. 

Albeit the future is unsure; he pushes his body to the limit, following positions that aren’t natural for a human body and yet they shape them forcefully to look like it is when they perform on stage. One of his goals would be getting a degree and having a second option, just in case his career as a dancer goes to shambles. His body and the way it moves is his work, Renjun has seen other options for people who get severely injured to the point where they can’t dance professionally anymore.

Lee Taeyong is a clear example of those who lose that career. He became a choreographer for the academy after recovering properly, and Renjun spent years admiring the man when he caught glimpses of his amazing skills from the practice rooms. Since he was seven, Lisa told him he could become exactly like Taeyong, if not better.

He hasn’t heard Lisa in a long time, except for the rare occasions they bump into each other with a smile and both too busy to talk anyway. It is surprising she's calling him.

She tells him she’s sick and in need of someone to show the movements to the kids so she can attend and stay at a safe distance. Someone must have told her he already is at the academy, and he’s so fond of the woman he can't let her down.

Accepting, he walks to the desk at the entrance with a water bottle in hand.

His plan was to greet the kids and let them know he's today's substitute, not finding dark blond locks dipped under the desk, rummaging through god knows what. Renjun crosses his arms, waiting for the boy to reach the surface again at an eye level. He gives him a pointed look as Donghyuck, already looking displeased, raises a heavy folder that thumps loudly on the desk.

Renjun rests his back to the furniture, smiling and greeting a few kids, finding Lisa who restrains from kissing his cheeks, saying he saved her life.

She’s about fifty years old, hair strands starting to turn grey from the roots contrasting to her dyed blonde color. She looks thin and elegant when she walks, like they all do.

Dancers—ballet dancers, you recognize them when they walk. Tricking others' eyes as a magic show does, fighting gravity with each step, impossible hearing thumping shoes. That’s the kind of walk you end up naturally adopting once you step into a ballet room for the first time.

You're told to forget how to walk and learn how to fly, science allowing or not.

From his peripheral vision he spots Donghyuck lifting in his hands a few photos to inspect them. Pictures from their last showcase in June, he’s most definitely writing down which ones he wants printed. They’re usually the last ones getting those, leaving space to the impatient parents of younger students who want that paper memory and Renjun can’t blame them, if he had a child he’d want that too.

“You look like shit here, don’t print picture 97” He flips the photo to show him.

“The kids are here,” Renjun gives him a dirty look, turning with a bright smile for a parent he’s seen often. Well, it would be impossible not to notice, the man is handsome. He looks quite young, dimples when he smiles kindly back, brown locks ruffled from the wind; he looks out of a magazine cover.

He’s holding his daughter’s hand, a little girl Renjun has to teach today walking in a messy chignon. Under her jacket Renjun spots the light pink stockings and the uniform skirt so he stops the girl, it won’t take long fixing it.

“Hey sweetie, do you mind if I do your hair?” He asks, trying his best not to sound harsh since he’s got told sometimes his answers are bitter. Truth is he doesn’t notice, except today he’s with kids and they easily get hurt, better be careful.

The incredibly attractive dad smiles apologetically as he looks at Renjun. “Sorry, it’s usually her mother doing it. This is my first time.”

“Ah, don’t worry, it could be worse.” Renjun leans on the counter, pushing Donghyuck’s head to the side pressing his open palm against his forehead. The other smacks his arm, making him smirk. Looking for the hairnet, he chooses a pink one where he can reach the box. And if that’s an occasion to annoy Donghyuck, he’ll take it. “This helps keep it together, especially if she has straight hair.”

Renjun does the little girl’s hair, quick with years of practice, the desk turning to a mess of bobby-pins he takes out momentarily. Soon it’s all done and neat, making his heart feel at peace.

Flaws of perfectionists.

“Thank you, um-”

“Renjun,” he smiles, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m only teaching the kids today and probably for next week. Lisa is sick.” Raising his shoulders, he looks at his daughter disappearing in her purple backpack to the changing rooms. “You can go check on her. There’s a lot of mothers, they look scary but I promise they don’t bite.”

“I’m Jaehyun. Thank you for the warning,” he chuckles with Renjun and winks, ambling to follow the small girl.

He doesn’t have the time to soak the nice interaction that a tangy, slightly nasal voice is back in action.

“I understand he’s a married dilf but Huang, if this is how you flirt your game is weak.”

“Go back at admiring my pictures,” he slides the photo the boy showed him before to the counter, smacking his lips at Donghyuck who closes the folder with a clear sound.

“I have practice, that’s why I’m here.” Donghyuck stands up, opening the zipper of his hoodie to reveal he is in fact dressed up to dance, walking ahead of him with the black puffy slippers that also serve as leg warmers they all use. Renjun’s are red. “I’ll take the role for the showcase, we already know.”

“You wish.” Renjun fakes a smile, and walks to slide inside the same old green doors.

Now, Renjun is quite comfortable with his sexuality to the point where no comments can hurt him, but it has been hard. When you’re a dancer, a ballet dancer specifically, you’re stereotyped by incredibly foolish minds that for an insecure person as Renjun was when he started looking more at boys instead of the girls he was surrounded by daily, crushes you.

Making you act like something you’re not, stressing to be what society deems manly, yet not really ending up considered as such because you dance in tight clothes, wear makeup and stockings, convinced it is feminine. Renjun thought about it for long before realizing even if he is, there’s nothing wrong with it.

Nothing to be ashamed, no reason for him to avoid romantically desiring another man.

Being a dancer makes you an athlete. You have strong bodies, and even stronger minds to endure the challenging pressure the dance world entails. They sacrifice the same as a professional football player, work as hard, and if dance isn’t a sport but an art it doesn’t mean he is any less of a man. Renjun doesn’t even care, not anymore, after overcoming a lot of internalized stereotypes threading in his brain with manufactured phrases coming from empty brains.

He’ll never admit he thinks it’s cute seeing Jeno all over Jaemin one day in the dressing room, whispering pretty words and soothing muscles that are for sure tense and sore, not minding the sweat between them. Jaemin’s eyes are half closed from the way he stares fondly at Jeno, blabbering something he’s probably not really listening to, looking like they’re about to kiss at any moment. They’re adorable, and Renjun wants that too for himself, and often he’s been afraid dating someone not belonging to his world will create misunderstandings.

It happens often to see couples at the dance studio, dance partners who realize they feel more than good chemistry as they work together, that’s usually how it happens. Renjun hasn’t found that same dance romance, had a few relationships he couldn’t give an effort to make them work for long because he simply does not have time. It’s sad, often complaining about it with Jaemin.

Seeing how happy he is with Jeno—whatever relationship they have, he feels like a mood breaker for bringing the conversation up, so he doesn’t anymore. It’s okay, Renjun thinks, shivering a little in the cool dressing room. He takes off his sweater, heading to practice on another uneventful day.

Renjun has a free hour before class, and he’s still bitter about Donghyuck dancing beautifully with his partner yesterday. He didn’t do as well, stumbling a few times a beat late and having trouble holding his ballerina for the routine. Considering to attend the gym more, he is worried for the recent lack of time he has to practice, catching up with uni work. If he lets go it immediately shows on his suffering performances.

Disappointed, he can’t really stand Donghyuck being better than him, sighing purposefully to let him know he’s not welcomed as he steps in the same room. Obviously the other doesn’t care, settling his water bottle and cardigan on the floor, hands on his hips and a rising a cocky eyebrow. Same look he likes to show him everyday since they were kids.

Donghyuck scoffs, plump darker lips resembling a heart shape, his round face welcoming even softer features despite the strong expressions and how sharp his eyes can get with a look, around the warm brown enclosed in the prettily elongated shape. Donghyuck is good looking, grew into a handsome man and he knows it himself, somehow unfair how such a soft face and voice can't deceive all the nasty coming out of his mouth.

It’s a contradictory curse to Renjun; he almost automatically shuts off his ears and brain whenever the other speaks.

“I knew you’d be here,” he says, walking closer where Renjun stands catching his breath. He’s waiting for the rest, for the salty outcome or something vaguely insulting. The boy is usually very creative. “Start from the top.”

“Huh?”

Renjun does it anyway. He starts the routine, Donghyuck counting and scolding him a few times because he is in fact late again, doing a double sequence of pas de bourree that shouldn’t be there, and for each mistake he asks him to start again, back on his loud eight counts.

“Why do you keep making mistakes?”

“I’ve been busy with uni. I’m a student, Lee,” Renjun sighs, turning fully towards the boy instead of locking eyes through the mirror. “I have to study, I have a life.”

“Dancing is your life. And you’re slacking,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, pointing his feet perfectly to the hard wooden. “You also held Yeri the wrong way. You block her movements if you keep your hands so high on the waist. You're supposed to accompany her through the routine, not squeeze the poor girl.”

“I’m aware I was shit yesterday.” Renjun keeps repeating the same steps, fifth position firm and growing frustrated even if this time it is slightly better, pretending to lift and guide Yeri around.

“I’ll show you.” Donghyuck grabs his arm to have him closer. The hold around his waist is gentle, almost nonexistent. “Do you know the ballerina’s part, don’t you?”

Renjun nods, of course he does. He has to know what she’s going to do, it’s like learning two choreographies at once in a pas de deux. You need to predict your partner's moves like they're your own. The dancers also need to have chemistry to work, and he’s lucky he and Yeri have been friends for long they're familiar with how they move.

They start dancing, and Donghyuck lifts him closer to his hips like he suggested, and from the other side’s perspective he can tell it is better. Renjun is of petite size, he’s thin and he builds lean muscles, unlike the other boys he sees that tend to slightly bulk up on their thighs and calves. Renjun is blessed apparently, a frame like his gives more the illusion of how feather like ballet moves are, when he is all but weak.

He can tell it’s probably harder for Donghyuck to lift him. He’s strong, and they go through the first half of the choreography, one last lift where Renjun does an arabesque and they stop, resting his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

They don’t move for a few seconds, both too concentrated catching their breaths. Donghyuck’s shoulders are firm, digits feeling the muscles under the soft fabric covering his body, tired knees knocking against his in a rough sliding of pale stockings. They kind of do not match with Donghyuck’s golden skin, usually glowing under stage lights. Renjun looks up from his lowered head, stepping away.

“Why are you helping me?”

“I like competition,” Donghyuck gives him a brief sly smile, wandering his eyes around the room before they settle on Renjun. “And it’s too easy if you suck.”

“Mh, I’ll take the compliment.” Renjun winks, stretching his back before picking up his bag to leave.

In Donghyuck’s language, to which he is particularly familiar, it means he’s good. Talented enough to be considered competition. They have always been the two top students, stealing each other’s opportunities with fair—or less fair—ways.

Renjun realizes they left the door wide open, well, Donghyuck did. It’s not an issue, there are a few parents who might have watched them curiously from the waiting room, so there was no music to disturb anyone else. Though there is a man around his same height, intense eyes seizing him as he exits the room. A body so lean and standing in that impeccable posture has Renjun immediately recognizing he is a dancer. They don't exchange a word; Renjun is not interested in engaging conversations. Walking to class, Donghyuck follows behind a couple minutes later.

Left leg on the bar, his spine stretching towards it, right arm accompanying the movement; that's Renjun's posture as the same man from earlier enters their room. He spots Maki, the pianist coming from Japan who still plays for them since he was a child, giving a quick glance at the man. Their teacher gestures to keep playing, and from the nervous look they have Renjun now regrets not sharing a word with the man earlier.

Who is he? Hopefully someone interesting, he thinks, these days have been boring.

Renjun turns around the bar into an arabesque position, arm extending in front of him before he bends his spine back and straighter, detaching the leg from the bar. He feels the slight usual burn of the tense muscles keeping the exercise steady. He ends the routine with his feet in fourth position, turning graciously towards his teacher because that’s how she likes it.

Turns out the man is a famous young choreographer from Bangkok city ballet, well known for his amazing pieces, coming all the way to their academy in hope to cast some good dancers as protagonists of his next shows in the city. There’s a collaboration going on with the academy, that will be beneficial for both.

The man—his name of art is Ten, will get more recognition and them, as students, will have another opportunity to perform under big names’ eyes when the show is going to happen.

Mindlessly, his eyes fall on Donghyuck, satisfied of finding the same glint meaning only one thing. The best one gets the role. The routine they were practicing for the next showcase is forgotten that moment, giving them an hour to learn a small piece of one part of Ten’s show, still on the creative process.

Paired up randomly, Renjun is pleased to find out he’s dancing with Julia. She joined their group later but a certainity is many good dancers admitted in their academy, and she’s one of those.

Confidently, Renjun accepts the challenge set so suddenly, as it is exactly what he needed to bring out some fire out of him.

There aren’t as many men in their class. Few girls get paired up together and they’re gladly surprised to find out most of the movements don't require the strength and handle of male dancers to lift ballerinas. The routine focuses on synchronization, through the music fitting a contemporary style in most parts, yet their movements are exactly belonging to ballet.

Renjun finds it interesting. They soon start performing in front of Ten, walking around the room to watch them meticulously from every angle. They dance in two groups a second time, so he can take a second look but he seems sure on who he wants. Renjun can tell from the less driven look to analyze them in his eyes the second time he watches them dancing.

So Renjun’s heart might be beating frantically, albeit his face doesn’t betray any insecurity, he knows that’s what professionals like to see. Stone cold faces unless they’re performing. That’s part of a formation that shaped him this way, albeit his eyes slightly widen when the man speaks.

“You,” he points at Donghyuck, who presses lips in his victory. Renjun has already given up even if the man steps right in front of him, lifting the corner of his mouth in what is supposed to be a smile. Ten honestly looks like he could burn him with a glance. “And you.”

Frowning, he is confused more than anyone else in the room. “Wait, is this your protagonists’ choice?”

“Might be... might change my whole plan for the show, actually. I want you two to perform again together what you just did with your partners,” Ten lingers closer to his ear, whispering. “I caught potential earlier.”

Renjun bites his bottom lip, walking closer to Donghyuck to dance, standing face to face. The other, surprised as he is, gives him an odd sense of relief. He’s not alone with this, they're both caught out of guard. He can spot some of the students giving him heavier looks already, tight angry fists hidden behind their long and thin legs, some grimacing.

He’s used to it. Renjun only has to briefly closes his eyes and dance when the music starts.

Perhaps it is the piece that's not specifically meant for two opposite genders' dynamics dancing to it, but it is incredibly easy moving with Donghyuck. They’re around the same height, there’s not an ashamed eye contact as they graze through movements. They’re falling into character and they’re here to impress the choreographer.

The piece kind of fits them, if he’s honest. It’s a synchronized chasing, where heads turn fast with pirouettes and high battement cross with their practiced elegance. Ten stares at them, deep eyes revealing a tatter of satisfaction as they’re waiting for an answer after finishing the piece.

“I made my choice.” Ten looks at their dance teacher; she smiles immediately at him. “Your names?”

“Renjun,” Donghyuck says, shaking his head the next second, still tiredly breathing. “He’s Renjun. I’m Donghyuck.”

“Good. Renjun, Donghyuck and everyone, I’m coming back in a few weeks to start.” Ten nods at them and turns to their teacher, busying her in what looks like a reserved conversation but the man doesn’t whisper at all in the quiet room.

They hear him saying he’s changing most of his initial plan for the production. Soon back to their daily routine, this time he has an internal satisfaction he’ll happily consume on his own.

Maybe he’ll tell Jaemin the good news.

If discipline means self control and stone cold faces bottling everything up to always be adequate, sometimes—most times, it means shutting their mouths.

With the news of them being casted as main characters for Ten’s production, the pressure on them is at a crazy level.

Jealousy, of people you consider friends hoping you’ll twist your ankle or get an injury to replace you and get the spotlight, their teachers particularly mean for the stress their students performing away entails on their image. You're not only representing your own talent, the entire academy’s reputation is performing with you and in its formation made of values, good old discipline and appearances. You need to be fit, charismatic, charming on and off stage. You are the equivalent of a living business card.

It’s another uneventful day of the week spent dancing, when one of their teachers seems particularly keen to pick on them. Renjun apparently is doing nothing right, corrected after everything he does—which in a way it’s good and better than being ignored and seeing no improvement at the end of the month. They’re here for a reason, and it’s ballet anyway.

Rarely someone is going to make you feel like you’re enough or you did something almost perfect. If you dance truly amazingly, they’ll tell you it was good but you can do better. Always pushing to the limit, flying closer to the moon.

Renjun spares himself to aggressively roll his eyes; their teacher is nervous and apparently a big admirer of Ten’s works. Impressive considering how young the thai man is, but their teacher is a simple professional working for a dancing school, not one of the big names. Their opinions are the ones that really matter, that will open doors for their future.

Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing he’s never heard in the past years or two days ago to a shorter extent. The man calls Donghyuck fat. Scolds that he needs to lose way weight for the show, says his stomach looks too soft. None of them is close to fat, they might all be too skinny for all that matters.

In a healthy habit that doesn’t belong to dance, Renjun often notices how bony he is, thankful for the muscles he has supporting his edgy sides. He often admired and envied Donghyuck’s body. It’s healthier than most, maintaining a lean built. The boy looks like he’s constantly being kissed by the sun, as if he is its secret lover.

Nothing none of them ever heard, yet today Renjun is less tolerating of it. His throat itches to say something back, to defend Donghyuck. Sure, who wouldn’t, it’s shitty to be quiet and listen. He sees hurt flashing through Donghyuck's eyes, and time feels endless before the class ends and Renjun can try to say a remotely comforting word.

Their teacher is stressed and going mad, they are aware, to the point he shames the bodies of his students who take care of themselves to be fit like their world demands, the same old one of parquet floors and consumed dance shoes bruising their feet.

Renjun hesitates, waiting with folded arms against his chest in the waiting rooms. Wearing jeans in his crossed legs, a beanie, and his scarf so thick he almost disappears in it. He catches everyone slowly leave, until he spots Donghyuck. He stands up, following him outside. This is weird, he never says anything nice to him and it's mutual, it doesn't offend them.

Albeit they’re going to work together, somehow Renjun feels like he should say something.

“Hey.”

Donghyuck turns towards him, sighing before Renjun can say anything else.

“If you’re here to tell me he’s a crazy asshole and I don’t need to lose weight, save it,” Donghyuck licks his reddened lips, humid air falling out of his mouth as it meets the freezing temperature. “I’ve neglected my diet recently. I need to get back on track, he’s right.”

“We’re here all day, I don’t think a few more carbs are going to kill you. Ten is fine with the way you look, that's what matters.” Renjun sighs, sauntering to his car, sure the other is going to cut the conversation soon.

“Not all of us have your body, Huang,” Donghyuck narrows his eyes, probably frustrated with his lack of reaction. Renjun knows him, as they never truly went well along but they’ve been in the same dance academy for fourteen years. “And congrats to us, I guess. Don’t make me look bad.”

“Then practice harder.” Renjun shakes his head, bringing out his car keys. “Night Lee.”

“Huang,” he does a small mention of his head to say goodbye, walking to his light blue scooter, the helmet strap loose in his hand.

They soon start working with Ten.

Somehow the severe practicing makes Renjun want to quit university, often staring at the study abandonment request he has on the online site of his faculty. As he’s doing right now, spacing out in the dressing rooms staring at the screen instead of getting ready as he always does, coming to the studio one hour earlier to stretch properly at his own time.

It’s his best way to avoid injuries or ending up with a strained muscle which is frankly a pain in the ass to recover from. They don’t give it time to recover, dancing on top of it until it becomes worse, growing familiar with the completely wrong habit.

Donghyuck finds him there, sitting on the floor and his back resting to the bench, phone cupped in his hands. He kicks his knee with a socked foot, and Renjun glances up to the boy only wearing boxers and fishing clothes out of his bag. Renjun pushes the tip of his tongue to the side of his cheek, slightly gaping and unbothered by the view.

“What?” Renjun asks as Donghyuck keeps staring, locking his phone.

“Are you gonna sweep the floor with your flat ass all evening or are we practicing for the show?”

Renjun scoffs at the loud mouth, getting up to take off his clothes. He takes a glimpse of Donghyuck who’s only got his stockings on.

“What about you? Are you trying to freeze to death or something?”

“Or something.” Donghyuck glances down at Renjun’s now bare chest, raising his eyebrows. 

Renjun harmlessly pushes him away by pressing on his stomach, and Donghyuck is impossibly warm. He hisses, and it’s most definitely for his freezing hands. Renjun is always dead cold, Jaemin often jokes he is secretly a vampire. In between amused and startled, Donghyuck finally diverts his gaze and dresses up.

When Donghyuck was younger, he boldly confessed he loves making Renjun mad.

They were around middle school age, with cracking voices and bodies changing. Donghyuck was truly insufferable, at his worst of teasing, so much Renjun had to step up his game.

Fairly, his rivalry with Lee Donghyuck helped him become good at practicing ready comebacks, without being afraid of giving a bold answer. They always push each other’s buttons, finding pleasure discovering a weak spot to exasperate the other with, and even if bothersome he knows there’s a mad part of them enjoying it. He’s sure it’s not only Renjun perceiving it.

A confirmation comes from Ten, pointing that out about them. He says it is their strong point, where they need to work on for the performance.

It’s a slightly provocative piece, about two ex lovers meeting again and all the nightmares coming after the memories haunting their past relationship. There are lighter pieces belonging to the good memories, and dramatic ones picturing the reasons why they broke up. They meet again in one last night of passion—or as Donghyuck calls it ruining the poetry behind it, they have a one night stand and a little walk of shame.

Provocative and has Renjun enthusiastic about Ten daring to stage a two men relationship to the public. It is exciting seeing something different happening within the traditional walls of ballet; it made his eyes glint when Ten shared the story they have to portray. He’s nervous, and totally unsure he is capable of credibly act out any vague hint of passion with Donghyuck.

For the sake of art—and dance—they’ll pretend.

Today, in the steamy studio, they’re trying the last piece of the play. They've been learning it before the other choreographies, and it is what they work on the most when they’re alone without the other dancers. It’s the defining moment of the show, the last scene giving closure to the turmoil their characters have. Ten wants it to be perfect, reasonably.

The freezing cold air he felt in the dressing rooms is rapidly replaced with overworked breathing. Ten encourages them to do more, sounding an ounce softer when he’s alone with them—for as much as a dance teacher can be soft, of course.

“You have to be bold,” He pushes Renjun closer to Donghyuck’s chest, fixes his arms supposed to latch around the boy’s neck as his spine bends back to the audience. “Hold him like you want him, Donghyuck.” Ten shares a solemn look with them, clapping his hands loudly and once in front of their faces. “From the top.”

The music is a dramatic violin solo accompanying their weary practicing. Renjun’s head feels dizzy as he moves, following steps in the tight eight counts and listening to Ten anticipating the movements they have to do, manically pointing out their mistakes—Renjun is making a lot of those.

Hot all over in weird rushes up his hurting spine, he latches his arm around Donghyuck’s neck like he’s supposed to in the part they talked about earlier. Albeit, unexpectedly, his spine collapses back losing the grip on him. He feels Donghyuck’s palms fast to slide and withstand his spine, bringing him down to the floor, calling his name a tad nervous.

“Hey, Renjun. Hey, no, don’t close your eyes,” Donghyuck’s hand glides behind his hair to let Renjun's head avoid the hard floor. The other one cups his cheek, slapping it mildly to let his eyes stay open. His voice sounds frightened and Ten strides close to them as well, feeling his forehead, sweaty and burning hot.

“Shit, I think he has a fever,” Ten swats his hand out, helping him to sit. “Renjun you’re burning.”

“It’s okay," he finally croaks out, trying to stand up. He’s too dizzy for that. “I have medicines in my bag, let’s not lose a day of practice because of me.”

Renjun’s back presses on the mirrored wall, mortified. His eyes are sad and he's miserable as he looks at Donghyuck doing his part alone with the music.

Hugged in two layers of clothes, red cheeks and burning eyes fighting to stay open, he waits for the pills to have an effect so he can at least follow the routine mentioning the movements next to the boy.

It’s a bunch of minutes later that he stands up again, stretching his creaking neck. He inches closer to Donghyuck and picks up from where he’s dancing, aware the other sends him a scolding glare. His legs tremble more than they should as he keeps going, bending one knee where Donghyuck under him lies on the floor, supposed to bring him down from a lift pulling him closer by his hips for the last part of the choreography.

Their faces are close, perhaps the closest he’s ever been to him. When the music fades he loses balance, crashing on Donghyuck’s chest with shut eyes. He slightly gasps feeling the boy’s arms around him to soothe his spine. His heartbeat throbs violently against his sore chest after dancing in his poor conditions.

“That’s enough, Renjun. Go home and rest, you’ll feel worse if you don’t.”

Renjun nods, a tired whine leaving his lips as Donghyuck’s hand scraping his nape feels extremely cold now, exhaling even colder air to his neck.

“You okay?” He asks.

“Yeah, sorry,” Renjun stands up, awkwardly looking everywhere else but Donghyuck. “I’m going home.”

“Are you sure you’re good enough to drive?”

“Since when do you care?”

“We’re partners, Renjun. I care. This is not about competition right now, we have to be together or it won’t work. I know it won’t with someone else.”

Renjun is flustered, empty the blinking he does Donghyuck's way.

He’s probably really sick and interpreting his words wrongly, or Donghyuck just said there’s not someone who can replace him and be better for the show. He manages a smile. If he puts his best will for it he can drive, and if he’s not dancing he has the minimum strength to concentrate on the road. And might be the fever he has when later, hopping in the car, he spots in the rearview mirror deeply blushed cheeks, thinking again of what Donghyuck said.

--

“So you’re best friends now?” Jeno asks, inhaling his lunch in the waiting room.

The container has just a salad and a sad wholemeal piece of bread. They’re all preparing for performances in the academy, he spares a comment about his diet. Renjun knows Jeno eats extremely healthy only when he's at the studio so he won't be bothered, he has more consistent meals than that. Still his body is great, and Jaemin often complains—in a conflicted mix of envy and genuine attraction for the boy—about it.

Renjun feels better, albeit he has to skip a weekly performance and he’s butthurt about it. At least he has the energy to prepare for Ten’s show after two days of lazing in bed with homemade meals. That’s why he’s ready and at the studio a lot earlier than usual, later lying with his stomach on the floor in an empty practice room, with his legs stretched in a split against the mirror as he catches up with Jeno, who happens to be there helping the secretary sewing a box of pointe shoes for the older girls getting their first pair.

Digging the idea, Renjun grabs a couple of those from the box himself and keeps up his painful stretching. Propping his elbows on the floor, he holds needle and thread in hand, eyes narrowing in concentration.

Donghyuck barges in the room, friendly and atypically lovely as he greets Jeno, then squatting down in front of Renjun.

“Help me stretch.”

“Sure.”

Donghyuck doesn’t even need to warm up, he’s flexible and probably already has done it on his own, leg easily bending down with his ankle touching the floor next to his head where he’s laying. Renjun brings it down, keeping firm with one knee the leg that has to stay pressed on the ground, the other extending to his face in a frontal split position.

Stupidly risking to get hurt, they used to stretch each other badly and painfully when they were younger and paired up together to workout; they don’t do it anymore nowadays. They learned how to stretch on their own before the lesson starts.

During the passing minutes, Renjun is expecting something tricky out of the boy's mouth since this is rarely occurring. Donghyuck simply asks him if he’s fine and ready to rehearse. Jaemin joins the room later, hearing from Jeno he needed help sewing the shoes.

Today they have an audience.

Hearing Jaemin whistling at some point, Donghyuck easily lifts Renjun for a jeté. They’re more energized. Donghyuck most definitely didn’t practice alone the past two days but they remember every step fairly well. Most definitely because they’re relaxed without Ten's pressuring stares, Renjun can also feel they’re acting a bit their roles, and this time he mildly shivers when Donghyuck holds him.

Crazy for feeling almost wanted, as if it is their last dance, the last moment to be touched by him before they depart, like the two ex lovers they’re acting to be. They share an intense look, a long one.

Beyond the music, his own breath itching from how sudden it is. He clears his throat and gets off Donghyuck when their friends are clapping enthusiastically, their faces impressed. Jaemin tilts his head towards the blond's direction with wiggling eyebrows. Renjun wants to kill him.

“What is this play about? Angsty gays being dramatic?”

“You could say,” Donghyuck laughs, elbowing Renjun. “Not so far from the truth.”

“Shut up for once.” Renjun scoffs as they all laugh, but he’s only trying to scroll off that weird twisting in his stomach.

--

They end their class with Ten late.

The dressing rooms are empty, there’s hardly anyone besides someone cleaning the classrooms and the secretary finishing up the pent up paperwork. The waiting room lights are off, an occasional turned light dimming the hallways where the floors are being swept clean and the pianos dusted off impeccably to the shiny black color.

Life feels slow. Renjun has sore and hurt seeping in his muscles, uncomfortably stirring as he takes off his clothes, Donghyuck doing the same at the other end of the bench.

Today's practice has been rough, and he feels ashamed for the way he kept chasing that sparkle as they danced. He found it again—Ten particularly excited and satisfied with them. He’s kinder than other choreographers, he even shares a good word when they do well; it’s refreshing, he can tell they’re both content despite their now dragged steps to avoid wincing in pain.

“Imagine if we don’t have clothes for the performance and we’re naked. Knowing Ten it’s possible, he never discussed costumes.” Donghyuck chuckles, in the most friendly tone he’s ever used on him. He doesn’t question it, Renjun goes along and laughs with him.

“Technically, we’re having sex or we’re victims of our nightmares in every scene. It wouldn’t be that absurd to be naked.”

Resting his back to the wall Donghyuck looks at him, pursuing his lips. “Wanna try and dance like this to know how it feels? You didn't get your shirt on yet.”

Gaping a second too long, Renjun huffs out a sheepish chuckle. He shrugs, fingers fumbling with the bag handles, nibbling unconsciously his lips.

“Um, sure.”

Ribs against ribs, nape creasing from his fingers curling there strongly. Donghyuck's hands slide through his spine, having him twitch in his hold, not used to the bare contact.

Hiding the musk of sweat, sticking skin, and bodies consumed against all human laws to stretch the way they do, Donghyuck smells of deodorant. And he probably smells the same as he gasps, bending his spine in Donghyuck’s hands like they’ve done hundreds of times by now, Donghyuck’s nose gently stroking the space of throat until he comes back up and looks at him.

They’re not rehearsing shit, he thinks, eagerly glancing down the boy’s plump lips. He looks back at Donghyuck, eyes glinting in the glowing dark of their dressing room. Someone turned the lights off, again.

“What, Lee? Were you about to kiss me?”

“You wish, Huang.”

Renjun opens his mouth to Donghyuck’s burning tongue, making a broken groan as he immediately answers, head fogged with whatever feeling this is. Good, extremely good he circles both arms around his neck, knee bending between Donghyuck’s legs. He doesn’t think twice, his mind and mouth don’t allow thinking, losing his frantic breath as he keeps looking for his lips; soft, sinking under his teeth.

Slightly tugging Donghyuck’s hair, they both gasp for air. Donghyuck’s eyes are blown, his soft lips caught with Renjun’s saliva. He does trace his tongue again on his bottom lip, asking for another kiss. A lingering press, not long enough to compensate to what he’s been harboring since that morning.

“Are we good?” He asks, voice airy and a bit gone.

“Are we? Shit, yeah, I think we are.” Donghyuck chuckles, threading fingers through Renjun's brown hair.

It’s quite awkward dressing up to leave the academy and saying goodbye. Renjun clings a finger on his lips as he’s been burned, sitting in the car and watching Donghyuck disappear on his scooter, the familiar sight now shaking him awake.

--

Ten can clearly tell there's something going on, he sees it in his fixed eyes on them the next day they're rehearsing and learning a segment of one of his character’s nightmares.

There are ballerinas, moving in circles around him for his solo part, pointing their shoes to the ground in a purposeful stronger sound, breaking the boundaries of ballet marking the whole show. Renjun confidently dances with the familiar movements he’s done for a lifetime, albeit the feeling is completely different. A different kind of art.

His feet lightly touch the floor, grazing it, 'running' from Donghyuck who follows him into the circle of dancers, arms intertwining in a sequence and losing the hold with a few turns, Donghyuck’s hands pretending to support his waist that slips away with the movements. He's not real, Renjun is a memory, one that haunts Donghyuck.

They’re both visibly tense, and somehow it fits the atmosphere of that one track they’re dancing to. Renjun holds his hand for the next step but music stops abruptly, detaching to stand and listen to Ten listing all they should improve. Soon, Ten calls for a break, asking everyone to leave the room but them.

Chin hooked under his knee, Ten looks extremely youthful for his age. It might be his small frame, appearing thinner wearing black. He wafts the fragrance of an expensive strong cologne that mixes weirdly with the marred air of the room.

“You guys should kiss, I think It’d help you,” Ten doesn’t back up from their abashed faces waiting for an explanation. The man looks unfazed, moving a hand in dismissal. “If it doesn’t make you uncomfortable, of course. I don’t mean you have to suck faces in front of me, that would be inappropriate. You can just play a little more if you want to, though.”

“Could you give us an example of what you mean by playing a little more?” Donghyuck grimaces, trying to understand rather than to express his displease. Renjun would scoff at him if it is for the latter, not when they were kissing almost completely naked yesterday.

“Act like ex lovers, people who have passion. You’re doing well, I’m not saying it is bad. Graze your lips, deepen your touches, fill the empty spaces the music gives you. Especially in the nightmares, you’re yearning the presence of your past love.”

They listen to Ten's advice, afraid to be judged at first, as their classmates are dancing with them.

Donghyuck rolls his head with a hand on Renjun’s chest, both delicately turning their profiles to the right where the audience will be. When his finger hooks and tugs Donghyuck's leotard to expose his chest a little, Renjun gets an inkling of what Ten means by playing with the other.

It starts making sense; he’s telling a story, and at the same time he’s finding that burning want at the tip of his fingers, at the end of his quick taquetè where he escapes from the thoughts of Donghyuck’s character. Except the real Renjun wants to be found, to be taken again by whichever Donghyuck wants the same.

Running out of the practice room upset, Renjun's body shivers with a jittery itch too strong to ignore.

He’s been hating Donghyuck his entire life. Okay, hate is one big word, but it still makes no sense his heart jumps in his throat when Donghyuck takes his wrist, face falling apologetically as their eyes meet.

“I’m sorry, Renjun.” 

He shakes his head, looking at some parents staring at them because they’re in the middle of the waiting room. Renjun pulls him somewhere private, as private another empty room with sliding doors anyone can open at any time is.

“I’m not,” Renjun lets their holding hands go, pressing his lips together. “Look, I don’t know what was it that we did yesterday but it was nice, okay? Let’s keep it nice and easy that way, please. Don't say sorry."

Renjun strokes his cheek, thumb stopping at the start of his lips; he has to swallow a thick lump down his throat to breathe. Donghyuck’s palm sneaks behind his back to push him closer, and he actually sighs as they kiss again. After thinking about it all night, shifting in his bed without piece to shut the feeling out.

Without letting go of him, his legs wrap around Donghyuck’s waist as the other lifts him in his arms to sit on the piano, settling between his legs. Renjun giggles as he slightly pants, when Donghyuck tries to thread his fingers under the leotard fabric to touch his body but everything it’s too tight and fitting because they’re dancers and their bodies need to show under the thin layers of clothes.

“This damn leotard,” he gives up, kissing his jaw securing a hand around his nape. 

Renjun keeps laughing, guilty of one aroused noise he leaves out of his mouth as the other keeps giving sloppy kisses through the line of his jaw. He slides his palms further on Donghyuck’s back until he grips at soft skin, moving him closer to reach for more contact, finding something nice that has them moan.

This is definitely their worst idea, wearing the tight clothes they have and getting turned on in a public place. Renjun has really only seen Donghyuck inside the academy walls his entire life, very occasionally outside for dance contests or scholarships they attended in another country. They didn’t go out together during those trips, both with their distinct groups of people.

It doesn’t matter, it can’t when Renjun is almost one with the piano's smooth black surface, pushing Donghyuck closer with his legs around him. He cranes his neck for another bite there, not noticing the doors that slide so silently open.

“Fuck, guys! These doors can’t be locked. I can’t believe my eyes.”

Hands firm by his sides Renjun closes his legs immediately, distancing Donghyuck out as he hears Jaemin’s low and amused voice. Renjun shoots up from the hold on Donghyuck’s waist and the strength of his own trained abdomen.

“What is this? This looks fun.” Smiling stupidly at them, Jaemin points a finger between them two.

“Not your business.” Renjun rolls his eyes, getting off the piano. “Think about asking Jeno out officially instead.”

“Mean,” Jaemin pouts, walking across the room looking for something they don’t care about because they’re already out of sight. 

--

Getting a tad out of hand, Renjun is swallowed by something bigger than him, something he hasn’t felt in long and not even close to this extent.

There’s not enough times they wait until everyone leaves the dressing room to kiss, hickeys blooming where they shouldn’t in matching places that have Ten twitching suspiciously an eyebrow their way one day at practice. The choreography's expressiveness is all over the place, Renjun feverish with something he can’t sweat out.

It sizzles there, in the kiss totally unplanned Renjun lingers on Donghyuck’s neck during one of their pas de deux, hands trying to uncover skin when no one is looking and the shivers, so many of those.

Turning crazy, one late evening after practice his frenzy emotions are not enough to be tamed the subtle way. That's how he ends up straddling Donghyuck in his car’s backseat, free to be noisy; it doesn’t matter if it’s freezing outside and inside the parked car if the other is mapping lips to his collarbones, taking his shirt off.

“We’re insane, are you aware?” Renjun pants, grinding down to their clothed bodies. They won’t do anything, that’s for sure, this is already maddening. It’s late, they’re in a car without obscured windows and everyone can walk in and see them.

“Does it matter? We’ve been fighting for years and this is what we come up with to cease it.”

“You’re right,” chuckling, Renjun has his hands fall under Donghyuck sweats, doing nothing more than palm his underwear, giving himself confirmation this is what they are now. “Too bad we can’t do more.”

His hip bones hurt, snapping often in ugly sounds as he did battemens earlier on the bar, enduring the soreness of his muscles until he's too spent, lazily rocking his hips against Donghyuck's, unable to better. Donghyuck seems okay with it, plainly gaping in his mouth and their sloppy making out. Renjun’s body hurts too much, as he weakly keeps up their dry pace, shutting his eyes in pain. All his muscles pull atrociously as he leaves a brief sob, pressing his mouth on Donghyuck’s cheek.

“Wanna go to mine? Can’t promise we'll do something, you’re hurting too much.”

Donghyuck sinks his digits in his inner thighs, trying to give him a small massage there, glancing down to their bodies. Renjun sighs and calms his sickening trembling, knocking gently their foreheads together and he nods, playing with the boy's hair.

“Are you sure? I'll just be a burden if you bring my sore ass home.”

“You can drive us to class tomorrow morning and also bring me back to my scooter.”

“Fine,” Renjun blushes, unsure why he gets shy, hands on top of Donghyuck’s ones soothing his tense hips. “If I drive, can you keep doing this thing to yours? It feels good.”

--

Blushing even more, Renjun wears one of Donghyuck’s shirts to sleep, nestling on the other’s bed.

Donghyuck lives alone in a small apartment that is warmer than the boy’s skin, to the extent he doesn't feel cold in a big short sleeved shirt and his underwear only, abandoned to a fit of quiet noises in appreciation at Donghyuck’s massaging skills.

Renjun's back pressed on Donghyuck's chest sitting between his legs, as Donghyuck uses an anti-inflammatory cream he says does miracles. Renjun closes his eyes, sometimes whines in pain at the pressing digits, but if there’s someone who can understand, that is Donghyuck. He finds it the best part of it; not having to explain why he doesn’t quit when dancing to their level hurts so much and brings his body to never ending ache. He doesn't hear the frequent suggestion he's heard in the past, the one sounding so foolish to them.

“If it is this bad, just stop”  

Instead, Donghyuck tells him they’ll do better tomorrow, they’re going to bring their names and Ten’s high with this production.

Renjun feels comforted, running a hand through the length of Donghyuck’s leg with gratitude, basking the astonishing silence between them and an odd affection he feels for him in that moment. Donghyuck truly is his dance partner, and he's going to protect them, truce to their past.

Waking up, his heavy eyes try to adjust to light, a few pained sounds escaping from his mouth first thing in the morning as he tries to shift to the other side of the bed, catching Donghyuck asleep. His soft features are even softer when his cheeks are puffed out in quiet snores, lashes hiding lively eyes. Renjun sinks in the blanket, taking a moment to memorize the view.

Morning is slow. Questionable, as. he can’t help but ask himself what does the previous night mean. Donghyuck was extremely kind to let him crash at his place, without asking anything in return.

Actually, he’s done so much for him in only one day Renjun feels oddly guilty drinking his tea, from his mug, sitting on the boy’s stool in his kitchen.

“Do you have a toothbrush? I really didn’t think this through.” Renjun laughs, voice hoarse and embarrassed. He feels an utter burden.

Donghyuck smiles, munching on a dietetic cookie. He has two of those in his plate, and Renjun wrinkles his nose at the sight. He doesn’t need to lose weight, their teacher is stupid. He stands up and asks to follow him, bringing out a few minutes later a new brush and clean towels for him, piling them on the sink by the white ceramic.

“All yours,” Donghyuck hesitates before holding his arm, gently brushing a thumb on his skin still soaking sleep. “Our first show is coming soon. We’ll probably finish later than usual like we did yesterday... you can stay here if you want to. My apartment is closer to the academy.”

“I can’t accept, come on,” Renjun sighs, gesturing between them. “What is this? We can’t even call it.”

“Would it be so bad if we name it? For our chemistry, for the show.”

Donghyuck’s eyes are sparkling. Hopeful, a kind of hope he sees only in children dripping naivety and optimism. It’s pretty, it sparkles dazzling in his eyes.

“Donghyuck, I do everything in my life for dance. If we’re willing to try, I want this for us, just us having something good together.” Renjun lifts the corner of his mouth in a smile, cheeks shaping to a nervous grin. “We both sacrificed our entire lives for dance, and we get each other.”

“Then let’s do it for us,” Donghyuck brings him closer by his hips, careful to not hurt the edgy bones. Renjun easily inches near, not a ounce of reluctance in him, wanting to be pressed against Donghyuck’s lovely warmth. “I know it’s sudden, if we think about how we were before we got paired in this project it makes the whole thing more absurd, but isn’t it good?”

“We got this amazing chance to realize we do match. I really like you Renjun, I’d like to see how it goes. No time running to find a proper answer and no hard feelings if it doesn’t work.”

Renjun smiles, closing his eyes briefly as he strokes their noses together, pulling out to look at him. 

“I think I like you a lot too, Hyuck. Do you like Hyuck?”

“You think?” Donghyuck smirks, biting his bottom lip, cheeks curving in a smile.

“I’m sure,” Renjun leans in, finding that practice room unexpected romance with the last person he could ever end up with.

Life is weird, is all he can think as he teases Donghyuck’s lower lip with his tongue looking for a languid morning kiss. One gladly reciprocated, hands as gentle as the way they dance falling and memorizing different patterns of skin.

All of his life Renjun has been doing everything for dance. Missing normal bits of life, feeling out of place for skipping what they're considered important steps of his youth, or being left behind with the usual timings kids or teens his age did things; first kisses, first cup of alcohol, taking his driver's license or even finishing university—Renjun has to quit, disappearing for six months to tour for Ten’s production.

After the first night, the show received a shocking amount of feedback and popularity, their audience anticipating the upcoming dates going sold out.

Ten’s jewels, as magazines and medias describe them him and Donghyuck.

Dancing every night together, never tired enough to consume two mutual passions happening on and off stage. The thrill of touching his real lover, moving as one to the music and holding hands behind the scenes after a performance. Falling on Donghyuck's chest with the very last part of the choreography and the whole show, kissing him senseless in the usual adrenaline rush once the curtains fall and everyone is clapping behind it.

The lavish velvety red of theaters Renjun adores being hemmed in it, whenever they take a sit in between rehearsals admiring the stage from a different point of view. Golden details and burning lights warming up the different daily stages they dance on, the slight inclination of the wood absorbing scrapes and ghosts of past performances.

Counting on a shoulder to sleep on during awfully long bus rides, sharing comfort and trust when things get rough, allowing themselves to be weak and emotional in their arms. Clinging to Donghyuck and facing the man each day turns into a blessing for Renjun, fortunate of the harboring love he meets in the heart shaped lips and safer hands tangled everywhere they go.

Crowds witnessing they have a special bond. Glowing more than any stage light pointed their way can, beaming details of lips stroking together during a performance, fingers chasing the other in the movements natural and mechanical their muscles know by heart.

Many are curious, wondering if their chemistry hides something real, that goes beyond their artistic timings and music, as the stage frames their dancing bodies. 

When interviewers ask him if he and Donghyuck are something more than dance partners he only shrugs, flashing a stupidly evasive smile. This is not for dance to know, albeit their roots settle in the parquet of their academy, where they always belong and are welcomed with open arms.

This is for them, for their hearts only to keep those secrets they share in the dark. In the hotel room of another city, bare of clothes and touching under his digits everything that hides behind a body that forgot how to walk and learned how to fly in order to follow their ambitious dreams.

Towards the end of the tour, Renjun—content of the sealing promise of walking back to the academy where this very chance presented to them—shares the biggest secret inflating so wide in his chest he can’t keep it for himself anymore.

He threads a hand under Donghyuck’s shirt to truly hold him in his arms, lips ghosting with a light press to his ear, smiling brightly at the pair of eyes drooping sweetly in his.

“The day my body is going to lose everyday more the fight to gravity, I don’t mind being grounded here if it’s with you.”