Chapter Text
Light bled through the dark. He couldn’t see any faces in the crowd, the crowd of people who yearned to be taken into a new land, a trail to mystic dreams and enchantment. The prince was sitting in the corner, posture relaxed, the white light that seemed so small becoming a tinge of blue. He took in a deep breath as a shiver zigzagged up his spine. His skin was plastered in goosebumps, yet all he saw were feathers. They were white, innocent, pure. He began to make his way onstage, his feet moving with grace yet deadly accuracy. He hated this prince. He wanted to slice his throat and watch as his blood stained his bare chest as they danced. That could never be. The director placed him here for a reason, no matter how sinister. He bathed in the blue light, his legs moving on their own, his arms becoming wings as his body twisted and turned to the music. The violins hummed. The flutes hooted. The horns bellowed. This sounded far better than the rehearsal tracks, but he mustn’t get distracted. Ballerinos don’t get distracted. He was not a man, no, he was a swan. A beautiful swan of dreams and desire. His naked chest, sculpted to that of a Greek hero, bent and swung as he danced under the prince’s watchful eye. He was a temptress, a beauty that no man could simply lay their eyes on if they so desired. He embraced the gazes upon him, mind guiding him through his dance as the prince watched on. He thought that being the swan in this production was more important, more breathtaking. He was better than that son of a bitch who resembled a ferret that sat on the edge of the stage in mock amusement. He smirked, eyes glued to the false wonder in the eyes of this pathetic man who dared challenge him at auditions. I am better than you, and I always will be. They weren’t words of mockery, more like self-assurance.
He became the swan, the pinnacle of splendor. His face contorted, eyes telling the story of a swan who had fallen in love, the embodiment of yearning for what could never be. This was his moment. A grand jeté was no problem for him. He could do a pirouette without thinking twice, but then again, everybody else in the company could as well. They could do everything that he was doing right now, he was sure of it. If he messed up this night, he might as well kiss the role of the swan goodbye. No, he mustn’t cease now. He gave up too much for this. His feet ached, but he dulled the pain with a smile. He swerved his body to the right, quick yet elegant. He felt his neck get longer in his mind, his body adorned in angel white feathers. He was a swan. He flapped his wings as the prince ran to his side and began to join him in his dance. His eyes lingered on the prince for just a while longer, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of bile climb his throat. This dickwad was going to try and replace him. He felt his jumps get a bit higher, his arms outstretching themselves a bit more. He grit his teeth and forced a smile, the feathers sewn into his pants fluttering as he whirled about the stage, taking the hand of the prince and pulling him close to his chest. He was used to being held, the empty air behind him weighing a heavy feeling of sorrow over his shoulders. He didn’t have time to ponder over that. He began to lift this prince in the air. He could drop him right then and there, but he didn’t. No, the show must go on. When their dancing slowed, the prince was back on the floor, looking him in the eyes. There was nothing in his own eyes, just a murky blue puddle of misery.
He leaned his face in closer. They could feel each other’s breath, lungs heaving as they recovered from the serene and enamored number they had just done. Their lips were so close together, yet he still felt sick. He never wanted to lay his lips on another man, or feel the heart pump blood to even the smallest of the body’s crevices as he holds them in his arms. He was done with intimacy. The prince smiled and kissed him on the cheek. He stiffened. That wasn’t in the production. That wasn’t supposed to happen at all. The audience watched in anticipation, wondering what was to happen next, lips parted. He forced a smile and leaned forward, kissing his foolish prince on the cheek before he began to glide backward, his arms swirling around him as he exited off the stage, the lights dimming once more. He could hear the applause from the wings, and he began to smile. The shivering stopped, and he just stood behind the curtains, listening to the clapping and whistles as he stretched, getting ready for his next appearance in the dance. He was the swan today, but in two days, he would be the prince while that idiotic danseur who shouldn’t even be a ballerino will be the swan. He could only imagine what that buffoon would look like onstage trying to do what he so obviously cannot perfect. He would most likely hop about onstage, doing the chicken dance in the shameful blue light. He let out a small chuckle. It’s what that little bastard deserves.
At the finale of the show, he had appeared once more while this prince lay in the giant prop bed, diagnosed with madness. He caressed his face and refused the urge to punch him for kissing him on the cheek earlier. The other swans had surrounded them, bodies thrashing about in animalistic manners, trying to attack the prince who was spasming on the stage. In response, he only danced, driving them away from the prince. With each crescendo, he soared. With each ritardando, he slowed. He was living in the moment, in the reality that he had worked hard to bask in. His cries would tremble in the dusty morning air in the studio as Helios soared across the sky in His chariot. His feet would ache, his nerves feeling dead in his limbs as they were stretched like a rubber band. Of course, that rubber band was going to snap at some point, but at this moment he could care less. He had been forced onto the bed by the other swans, the prince’s arms outstretched to him desperately as the swans plucked at his feathered pants and skin, He just closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before he was carried offstage. He stretched once more, taking in a deep breath, the prince’s understudy running behind him as they hid underneath a glass pane designed to look like a window when the lights began to dim. The prince onstage was most likely wailing by now as the queen rushes to her now-deceased son’s side. Of course, in this version, the queen never loved him in the first place and only mourned when he was lost from the heartbreak of a mere swan’s death.
“Are you ready, Tomioka?” The understudy was brimming with energy and electricity, in his eyes the burning flames of ambition and adoration for his craft. Tomioka Giyuu looked into his eyes, lingering on those emotions that had once been vibrant within his own heart in his youth. He couldn’t help but feel his stomach sink in pity. He only mustered a nod as he picked up the boy bridal style.
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Make sure to look extra dead, got it?” He got a nod as they now appeared in the window, the boy’s arms draped around his shoulder and head lolled to the side, Giyuu looking directly at the audience in a ghostly vision. The prince and swan have reunited even in death, and the stage went black.
The applause was deafening, but Giyuu embraced the deafness, his eardrums ringing and making his blood bounce with anticipation. He put the boy down as he quickly emerged onto the stage, unable to hold back his smile as the audience gave him a standing ovation. This was what he sacrificed everything for. He was in the blinding spotlight, the applause catering to his every insecurity, his every moment filled with bloodied feet or glassy eyes. He kissed his hand and gestured to the crowd before he bowed, clapping and laughing along with them. He turned to the left side of the stage, the prince running beside him as he took his bow. Giyuu’s jaw clenched as he watched, still unable to stop clapping. If he did, that would be a clear sign that he was watching in disdain, and swans were supposed to be pure. They were supposed to be mesmerizing. They weren’t supposed to have blackened souls. Giyuu and the prince continued the waves of applause as the rest of the cast came out. They then all gestured to the technicians hiding in the wings and the orchestra in the pit who rigorously played the outro theme. As the curtains were drawn, they waved to the hysteric crowd before hiding behind a veil of rich red fabric. As soon as they were fully immersed, everyone began to hug each other, clapping and cheering. Their opening night had been a success. Nobody was sure how Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake would be taken in Japan, but, with the sold-out shows, they had been successful. Some danseurs were already wondering if others would want to go drinking to celebrate. Giyuu had refused, his muscles beginning to ache. His stomach grumbled a bit, but he shoved it to the side as he began to walk. The prince trailed behind him, slipping a hand around Giyuu’s thin waist.
“You seem hungry, Tomioka. Would you wanna go out to eat?” Giyuu knew that there was more underneath that sentence than what was let on. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gone out to eat with a cast member and end up with a hangover in their bed by dawn. Those headaches were the worst, like two bowling balls clattering about in his cranial cavity. He continued walking, ignoring the pursuit of the prince.
“I’m fine.” The prince only chuckled, ducking under moving stage props and weaving his way through the sea of dancers who were still jumping up and down now that the curtains have closed.
“Are you sure? You seem mighty lonely.”
“I’m not lonely.” His voice trembled a bit, faltering, yet he prayed the prince was too dense to pick up on that. He arrived at his dressing room, trying to turn the knob and open the door. The prince placed his hand on top of Giyuu’s, their eyes meeting. His breathing hitched, his throat going dry as the prince leaned in closer, his smile not fading, it was almost eerie.
“That’s right, my bad. Your husband is probably waiting outside in the stage door for you with the biggest bouquet of roses you’ve ever seen! Is he taking you out somewhere? Surely, he knows that this meant more than everything else to you.” The man had stabbed him repeatedly in the chest and now was rubbing salt in his wounds vigorously, not stopping until each part of his body was thrashing about in agony. He never spoke about what happened. He couldn’t bring himself to. He shouldn’t be alone in his glory. The two of them should be shimmering like gold in the aurora borealis of city lights. Instead, Tomioka Giyuu was alone. His grip tightened on the doorknob and twisted it, pushing the prince away from him.
“I don’t have a husband anymore. I’m divorced.” Before any response could be formulated, Giyuu shut the door and slid down onto the floor, taking in a deep breath. His dressing room was filled with picture frames flipped down. He couldn’t stand looking at the memories, the highlights of his life that filled it with color and awe. Now, he was nothing more than an empty husk. He looked in the mirror. His cheekbones seemed sharper than they were last time. If it weren’t for the makeup on his face, embellishing his lips and eyes, the red rims of his teary eyes would be exposed, and the dark circles that stained his porcelain face would stand out more. He looked at his dresser that was now vacant. Sanemi would leave him flowers every show he attended. Now, there was nothing. Hot tears only massacred his makeup, and his heart filled with an agony unable to put into words.