Chapter Text
Dancing is a language. With every twist and turn of your body, with every wave of your arms, with every twirl on your toes and with every jump, split, dive, and landing; you tell a story. Your limbs, a paintbrush. Your movements, your words. You speak, draw the words in the air and lay your emotions and unspoken sentences bare for the world to see.
It's all about your body, the fluidity, and the emotions you portray; with your expressions and body.
But not every dancer speaks this language.
To speak the language of dancing, is to be luminous .
To be luminous is to glow, to radiate, to be so full of raw talent and passion that you shine on the stage.
To be luminous is to be one with dancing.
At least, that is what Matthew has heard all his life.
From his first contemporary dance teacher when he was eight to his personal ballet coach when he was twelve to his dance teachers at the School Of Performing Arts in Seoul when he was fifteen and starting high school to now when he is seventeen and the director of the Seoul Opera is speaking to the senior ballet class of Seoul Ballet Academy.
It's their winter showcase in two months, tension high in the air as all the students of the senior grades try their best to prove themselves worthy of scoring a lead role in this year's ballet: The Nutcracker. The director of Seoul Opera House and their current principal dancer Jeon Insu, are here to give the students the obligatory motivational speech for the beginning of the season.
This isn't a surprise. It's tradition. It has always been tradition. Every year at the winter showcase, they pick students for the lead roles. Then, from those same lead roles, they pick the students for the Seoul Opera House ballet. This showcase is everything for the dancers who train at Seoul Ballet Academy. This will decide their future. This will either make it or break it.
At the winter showcase; they seal their fate for the next limited number of years left in their dance career. Being a dancer is akin to being a cherry blossom, beautiful but fleeting. Matthew tries to not think about it.
For this very reason, a dancer’s impermanence, and short career makes obtaining the roles in the ballet a very difficult task. They have to be the best of the best to get a role. And to top it off, they never hold auditions. The teachers watch you, the director stands in during classes, the principal dancer visits intermittently. They watch you for a month and then they decide.
Today that one month is over. Today, the director of the Seoul Opera House will be revealing the students who got roles at the ballet. He will choose the best dancers and to be recognized by him is an honor like no other. It’s basically a guarantee that you have succeeded as a dancer, at least to some extent.
"I hope that all of you will continue to grow as you have done in the past years and will bloom into luminous dancers," Jeon Insu says, smiling wide as he glances over the student body in front of him. The paper in his hands flutter and all eyes instinctively move to it as one.
"Don't let the role you get discourage you,” he continues, eyes sharp and assessing even through his smile. “But do let it motivate you to do better; be better the next time around, and," he pauses as he hands the paper over to one of their teachers who quickly takes it into her hands and rushes over to the bulletin board.
But this time no one looks away, eyes still zeroed on the ballet dancer standing in front of them. Insu continues then, "One day, i hope you will become one with dance itself."
Everyone claps at that and when their school principal nods at them in approval, all of them rush over to the bulletin board.
Matthew's stomach twists, palms sweaty as he slowly steps towards the bulletin board, ignoring all the other dancers, eyes solely fixed on the list printed in black and white. His heart beats loud and heavy in his ears.
There, it lies. His future in its fine print.
♪
When Matthew first stepped foot into the Seoul Ballet Academy two years ago, it felt like the beginning of his dream.
And to this day, it has not failed him. It certainly has been the steps that he took forward towards his dream.
Principal male ballet dancer, a proper ballerino, star dancer; danseur étoile.
At four years old, he had known that dancing was his destiny. When he watched his mom step around in her floaty dresses and pointé shoes, he followed, clumsy steps trying to keep up with his mother's movements. It was the start of his dream, the catalyst that brought him here.
Today, fourteen whole years of hard work later, at eighteen years old; he is the youngest ballet dancer in his group with a solo act.
He's not the main lead. no, but he's a lead dancer in the performance. The youngest dancer with a solo act.
And that, well, that has to be enough.
♪
"You would think that someone would be happier with the role they got," Jiwoong says as he plops down on Matthew’s couch, limbs strewn in a graceless manner as his eyes glaze over Matthew, who has pushed himself into a middle split.
Matthew hums, gaze focused on his laptop where a performance of The Nutcracker done by the Paris Opera is playing.
Jiwoong sighs softly, "Don't be that way, Matthew-ah. You still have time to get the main role. Besides, I think the snow king is sexier."
Jiwoong's words make Matthew chuckle a little as he pauses the video and raises his upper body off the floor to look at his friend. "You don't really think that he's sexy," he laughs. “And I'm not broody, hyung. I just want to make sure my performance is perfect, this," he points a finger at his face, turning the corners of his lips into a straight line and furrowing his brows, "this is my concentrating face."
"It's been one month," Jiwoong deadpans in return.
"And?"
"... it's been one month, Matthew ."
"Uh.... I know?"
Matthew winces a little as he stretches the kinks out of his feet, aching muscles straining as he pulls his thighs inward and then into a butterfly stretch. The burn is familiar, and almost comforting now.
"Don't stress yourself too much, Matthew. You know the key to success is consistency and moderation."Jiwoong huffs as he gets up to pace towards the open kitchen, rifling through the kitchen cupboards in search of the black coffee Matthew keeps in store.
Jiwoong doesn't continue his words and the room suddenly feels too quiet without the sound of their banter or Matthew’s ballet music. It occurs to Matthew that he should feel bad for disappointing his hyung. And really, he is. To a certain extent.
He's been slaving away at the studios to memorize his part and having constant one on ones with his teachers to make sure he's got all the details to a tee and it's bordering on unhealthy now. He knows. His body knows. His body keeps telling that to him. To stop, to take a break, to just chill out.
But he can't.
Because at the same time, a part of him knows how crucial this role is. It's a lead role, he's the youngest dancer in the ballet and the pressure feels too heavy for his shoulders. And yes, he feels bad for disappointing Jiwoong but he knows that he will be more upset if he doesn't do well at the first rehearsals that they will be having as a group this week.
Matthew can't afford to be anything less than his best.
"Hyung," Matthew says, and this time his voice is low, cautious and softer. Jiwoong hums. "It's just until the first rehearsal, hyung. Then I can take two days off and go visit mom, and come back to spend time with you. I promise."
The kettle whistles as the water boils and Jiwoong shuts it down, hard gaze fixed on Matthew. "This isn't a lie, is it?"
Matthew's immediate reaction is a pout, and belatedly he realizes he must look very childish. "You don't even trust me," he mumbles, tone accusing as he rises off the floor, muscles feeling more relaxed after his thorough stretching session. "I'm not a kid, you can have some trust in me, hyung."
Jiwoong scoffs, "You're seventeen, that's– practically a baby." He pours the boiling water over his own coffee strainer and into Matthew 's mug which holds a chamomile tea bag.
"So does that mean you're a grandpa?" Matthew cheeks, as he leans over the kitchen island to stick his face in Jiwoong's vision. Jiwoong, who scowls and throws a dish rag at Matthew's face.
Matthew squawks when the cold towel hits him square on his nose, but swiftly plucks it off and throws it at Jiwoong again—and Jiwoong, despite his 'i'm a full grown adult' agenda—throws it back at Matthew with a childish yell.
But this time, Matthew 's prepared for the attack, easily ducking away from the towel. It flies over his shoulder to land right in the middle of Matthew 's living room.
They both stare at it for a second, two, then Matthew pouts again.
"I am not picking that up. You can do it," he huffs.
Jiwoong sticks his tongue at him.
♪
The first rehearsals are nerve-wracking and Matthew can't stop the nervous jitter in his limbs, his muscles aching for movement as he stands in one corner of the huge practice room.
He's just finished his stretches and warm-up routine, yet there's still too much nervous energy contained within his body. He tries to not think about messing up and instead focuses on his breathing, but even that seems impossible. Within the murmurs that ring out in the room full of ballet dancers he feels quite simply; lonely.
Except for his friends, who haven't been selected for the performance, the only person he knows well enough is Jiwoong. But it's not like he can just walk up to the pianist in the room and start up a conversation.
After a few more minutes of futile attempts at calming himself down, Matthew decides to people-watch.
It's a habit he had developed when he first came to Seoul.
Then, he went to classes at SOPA and did ballet and studied at a normal highschool. When he was nervous about something, he got used to watching other people around him and how they behaved. Their little ticks, what they were doing, the tidbits of their life he saw in random actions or words. For some odd reason, this calmed his nerves down and distracted him from spiraling into anxiety.
So now, he sits back down and stretches himself low to the ground, eyes running over the people in the room.
It flits over all the seniors crammed into the room, the students playing the principal roles stand in a circle. It's where Matthew should probably be, but he's too shy to start up an actual conversation with the seniors who look so intimidating with their confident stances and intimidating gazes.
When Matthew's eyes fall upon the mess of black hair of one certain Sung Hanbin who has his head bent as he slowly converses with Hao, it is but inevitability and definitely not Matthew's personal desire to stare at the handsome boy.
Sung Hanbin. He’s everything.
If Matthew were to find a dancer in his school worthy of the title luminous, worthy of being called one with dance itself, then that would be Sung Hanbin.
One year Matthew's senior, he's an attractive teenager. With a dancer's lithe body– muscles in his body built to the perfect ratio—a face sculpted by the Gods themselves, and a scathing, scathing resting bitch face.
Currently, directed head-on at Matthew.
Hanbin's eyes are dark and endless. big and pretty, with long lashes befitting a girl. Matthew blinks and stares and stares. Hanbin's eyes are blank, void of emotion and feeling. Matthew wonders what it would feel like to plunge headfirst into those dark depths.
Hanbin raises one perfectly trimmed eyebrow at Matthew.
The action is enough to make Matthew flinch, he startles out of his reverie, looking away in a flash; his cheeks heat up, he can feel Hanbin's gaze on him but he is too embarrassed to glance at him again.
Matthew doesn't know what he was thinking, looking and admiring his rival's eyes and thinking they're pretty and wondering—
Matthew is an idiot.
It's not that Matthew considers Hanbin his rival. He knows he's no match for Hanbin, he has nothing to Hanbin’s luminescence. Matthew might be talented but his talent pales in front of Hanbin's. Matthew knows that he himself is quite a good dancer, but Hanbin’s better. It's just facts. And he's not mad about it. Why would he be? When Hanbin is up on the stage, he looks so startlingly beautiful, like the bright rays of sunshine peeking through the horizon. He leaves everyone breathless.
But there's a rumor, like there always is: Hanbin is ambitious, smart, full of pride. And this Hanbin; luminous and talented and beautiful and everything Matthew is and more and more and more—this Hanbin, he thinks of Matthew as his rival.
Everyone at school knows this.
As much as they know how talented Matthew and Hanbin are, they also know about the fact that they are not friends, not even acquaintances.
Matthew kind of hates it. Just a little.
Right now though, he feels embarrassed. He feels like he did when his mom caught him red-handed while stealing cookies from the cupboard at midnight.
Hanbin is a stranger, a rival perhaps. Matthew had just been boldly staring at his ‘rival’.
The shame burns like acid in his stomach. He closes his eyes, presses a hand to his lips, and groans into his fist, curling around himself on the floor.
Right then, the door to the practice room opens; the professor walks in with the prima ballerino and ballerina of the Seoul Opera ballet in tow. They take their seats in front of the room, looking intimidating enough that Matthew's embarrassment vanishes, nerves gripping him in its stead.
Their professor clears his throat.
“Center,” he says and every dancer in the room rushes to comply. Some students pull up their leg warmers, a few girls stick more pins to their already tight buns of hair and soft feet pad across the floor.
Finally, when everyone has arranged themselves in neat and orderly patterns at the barre, the professor clears his throat and starts to speak.
“Is everyone ready?"
"Yes, Monsieur." They chorus as one.
"Warm up and stretches?"
"Completed, Monsieur."
The professor gives them a glance of appreciation, a satisfied smile curling at his lips. He gives a small nod. "You will begin with the five basic positions and move forward." He claps his hands once and then settles back into his seat just as the principal ballet dancer stands up to leave his own seat.
Insu smiles, already walking along the barres, eyes sharp as he observes the dancers' postures. "If everyone is ready to go, we will start now."
Matthew takes a deep breath, lets the air out through his lips and centers himself.
And then, they dance.
♪
"Keep your back straighter, Jiwoo. Chin up!" Insu snips, fast steps following Jiwoo as she twirls on her pointe shoes. "Straighter!" he barks.
Jiwoo jolts and falters, coming to a halt with a stumble. She looks startled, embarrassed and then she falls into a deep bow, "I– I’m sorry, Insu-nim."
The room falls silent, the tittering of whispering dancers tapering off, the piano music fading away as Jiwoong pulls his fingers off the keys.
Jiwoo gulps. Insu closes his eyes, and blows out a breath through his lips, sighing loud and clear.
"Your posture," he says, opening his eyes to direct his full attention at the tiny female dancer standing in front of him, "is awful. "
Jiwoo bows again. "I'm sorry, Insu-nim."
Insu shakes his head, lips curling with disappointment. "You should be." He walks away from her, eyes taking in the other occupants in the room. "I warned every single one of you about your errors at the first rehearsal. Today's the last rehearsal of this season. Everyone, every single one of you, know better than to not work on your faults." He turns to Jiwoo again, standing alone in the middle of the room. "Sugar plum fairy," he says. Jiwoo looks up and Matthew feels his heart thud painfully hard in its cavity. Insu looks mad. "You will meet me after the rehearsal. We will go over your solo piece with Madame Colette. I expect better from you the next time we meet."
Jiwoo bows. "Thank you, Insu-nim," she says and hastily runs away to the corner of the practice room, where her friends immediately crowd around her. Insu ignores them as he surveys the rest of the room.
Then, Insu looks at Jiwoong.
"The Nutcracker Prince solo to the center," he says.
Matthew 's eyes immediately flicker over to Hanbin. He is standing in a corner of the room, shoulder leaning against Hao's, eyes blank and unfeeling as always. There's a split second where Hanbin's gaze falls—he looks tired; eye bags bruise purple and pale skin looking milky white under the sunlight streaming through the glass walls of the practice room—but just as it comes, it is gone. Hanbin bends down to adjust his shoes and pulls his headband tight over his head. He tugs his white v-cut t-shirt by its end. And then, he enters the dance floor.
When Hanbin settles into his starting position, Insu straightens himself, attention now shifted to its new target. Ready to scrutinize and pick apart any small error.
Hanbin looks calm—too calm to Matthew who gets nervous with a single glance thrown his way—when he stands; his body easily melding into the fifth position.
"En bas," Insu mutters and Hanbin's arms lower in response.
Then, Jiwoong's fingers press into the keys of his piano. One note, two, the beginning of the music is slow. A beat, two, and Hanbin breaks into his dance.
It's captivating; watching Hanbin dance is like watching magic happen in front of one's eyes. He does a pirouette, a tendu, battement tendu then jumps into a grand jeté. His lithe limbs moving fluidly through the steps, like a rose petal blowing through the wind, like a koi fish darting through the water. Glorious, beautiful, mesmerizing, impossible to look away from.
Matthew is in awe.
Everyone is.
When the music ceases to be and Hanbin comes to a pause, the room is silent for one mere second, one second and it erupts into cheers. There's clapping, lots of giggling from the female dancers who play lead roles and hollering from Hanbin's friends.
Insu nods, a big smile gracing his lips, all anger melting away into a look of pride. He pats Hanbin on his shoulder. "Excellent," he says. "Luminous."
Hanbin nods back, bowing at Insu, when he raises his head again, he breaks into a breathtaking smile. Laughter in the corners of his lips, strawberry on Matthew’s tongue.
Matthew’s next breath hitches in his throat.
Insu clears his throat. "Snow King solo piece, center."
Matthew startles out of his staring. All eyes in the room shift to him, half a dozen pairs of eyes tracking his movements as he bends down to adjust his leg warmers and bounds to the center of the dance floor.
Insu gives him a bright smile.
In the past month, Matthew has met Insu a handful of times for one on one practice. He has corrected Matthew's posture, taught him techniques to help put less strain on his limbs and admired his resilience in training. In the span of a month, they've grown into friends.
When Insu smiles, Matthew's shoulders lose some of the tension in it. He nods once, then falls into his starting position as the first notes of the piano fill the room.
He dances.
His limbs are loose from a full hour of stretching and constant practice has trained his body for the routine he performs. He pays attention to the techniques, the line of his limbs, and sees his cold gaze in the mirror; snow king with his icy gaze and cold aura.
He dances, and pays attention to his limbs and the count resonating in his head.
When the music comes to an end, he pauses with splendor.
The room breaks out into a round of applause.
Insu is looking at him with pride in his eyes. "That was excellent," he says.
Matthew bows quickly, grinning as he says, "Thank you, Insu-nim."
Insu nods again and Matthew runs off to his corner. He pulls at his leg warmers again, and slips down onto the floor to stretch his calves. His muscles burn, it's a familiar warmth; skin thrumming with a heat that has bloomed in his chest. Matthew loves dancing more than he loves anything else in the world. Dancing, no matter where or how, has always managed to make him happy. He continues to stretch his muscles, it takes a while for him to notice a gaze on him. The side of his face tingling in a weird sensation. When he looks up, his eyes meet Hanbin's.
Hanbin is looking at Matthew with his big brown eyes, gaze sharp and cold, the exact copy of the mask Matthew had worn to act as the snow king. A shiver travels down Matthew's spine. He blinks, but Hanbin doesn't look away from him. It is a little unnerving and thrilling at the same time, Matthew can feel a blush creeping up his neck at the gaze. He feels overheated; the eyes radiating some unspoken emotion that seems wild and feral, hidden behind closed gates.
Matthew aches to know what those eyes look like up close. Would they be the brown of tea or of coffee? Or his favorite milk chocolate? Or the brown of wet soil? Do they stain gold under the light of the sun?
Hanbin’s eyes paired with that gaze is too much for Matthew, so his gaze drops, inadvertently falling onto Hanbin's lips. It's a mere second, where Hanbin bites it and Matthew looks up again, meeting Hanbin's eyes. Matthew’s cheeks burn with heat.
"Matthew."
Matthew 's eyes break from Hanbin's, the trance disappearing as he turns his head to acknowledge Jiwoong who has crept up to his side.
Jiwoong furrows his brows, then turns his head in the direction Matthew was staring.
"Ah," Jiwoong says. "Hanbin." Then, "Do you like him?"
"What? !” Matthew balks, glaring daggers at Jiwoong. “No!"
Jiwoong hums, squinting his eyes at Matthew’s face. Matthew puts his best innocent face on and looks at Jiwoong. He makes sure to widen his eyes just the right amount, the exact way that helps him to convince Jiwoong to his whims.
Jiwoong hums again, looking anything but convinced. "...okay," he concedes. "Come on, I will take you home."
“Uh, home?” Matthew looks around, confused, to see the other dancers packing up quietly. Half the class is already empty and Insu is missing. “What?” he blinks.
“You're really hopeless,” Jiwoong sighs. “The class was dismissed while you were busy staring at pretty boy over there. Give me your bag and go change. I’ll be in the parking lot.” He opens his hand at Matthew , patiently waiting until he positions his dancing bag in it, then he turns around and walks out of the class.
Matthew huffs, making quick work of the laces in his timberlands and pulling on his leather jacket. When he stands up, he catches Hanbin looking away in a flash and Hao’s eyes on him. He looks Haoi in the eye and Haoi smiles, eyes curving and disappearing behind his cheeks. Matthew smiles back at him, bows and turns around quickly, walking out of the class.
When he steps out of the academy, it's to Jiwoong leaning against his bike, eyes surreptitiously flickering back and forth between a very prim and proper Jongwoo standing next to Insu. Jongwoo, their school’s physical therapist and also the fiancé of the prima ballerino of the Seoul Opera,
He steps next to him and Jiwoong startles, he turns his head to look at Matthew, then glances at the pair again before he pockets his phone and hands over one helmet with a huffed breath. “Here, fasten it properly."
Matthew laughs. "Have I ever not?"
Jiwoong blinks at Matthew, gaze incredulous before he deadpans, "Winter, 2017."
Matthew groans pitifully at the sour reminder. "Can you not remind me of that? It was just once and nothing even happened."
Matthew hadn't fastened his helmet tightly, confident that he wouldn’t need to. And when Jiwoong had pressed on the brake hard enough to jolt them on their seats, Matthew's helmet had gone flying. Needless to say, Jiwoong was not pleased about the incident. Two years later, and he still uses it as blackmail material against Matthew .
"Something could have,” Jiwoong snaps with no heat behind his words, fiercely protective in the way only he can be. “You gave me the scare of a lifetime so stop trying to play innocent. Fasten the helmet and get on, it's already late and you have to rest. "
“Okay, okay,” Matthew concedes with a pout and then they're moving in perfect tandem, Matthew’s hands finding their place on Jiwoong's shoulders.
Jiwoong revs the bike and they take off, leaving the school behind them as the sky fades from pink to purple.
♪
The day of the actual performance is much much anticlimactic.
Matthew goes through his daily routine, stretches more attentively than he would on a usual day, and takes his car to the opera.
The wings are one big cacophony. Dancers are running about, last-minute fittings are being done, stylists fret over minuscule details in the dancers' makeup, a few dancers are going through impromptu warm-up sessions and it's just so crowded that Matthew wants to turn around and bolt right back to his apartment
He doesn't do that, though.
His own stylist, huffs and puffs and circles him like a bee would circle a flower. She dusts his cheekbones with glitter, reapplies his lip tint when he accidentally licks at it with nerves, and pinches his arm when he almost rubs a hand across his face in frustration.
"Do not ruin my hard work," she jabs him in the arm with the tip of her brush pen as the professor comes in, hastily rushing the stylists out of the wings, "keep your hands to yourself. And, " she smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Go get it, Mashu!"
He passes a feeble smile in her way and closes his eyes, breathing in deeply through his nose and breathing out deeply, counting forwards and backwards, getting his nerves to calm down and trying to center himself to the best of his ability. Messing up today means that he will be messing up for life and Matthew would die of sheer mortification if that happens. With another deep breath, he opens his eyes.
That's when he sees Hanbin.
Hanbin looks radiant tonight. His tights hug his thighs perfectly, the long lines of his muscles pronounced and curved against the low lighting of the wings as he does a plie. His blazer is a deep red, gold detail giving it a regal edge.
And his face, the most radiant of it all.
There's gold dust around his lashes, glitter on his cheekbones, and pink on his lips. His hair is perfectly brushed, slicked back to expose his forehead.
And he's smirking, the corner of his lips curving up in a tenacious manner. Tantalizing and inviting, mocking and condescending; wrapped into a gaze that sears through Matthew like lightning parting through clouds.
Their gazes lock on each other, time doesn't slow, but it breaks and flits between them. Hot and cold. Hanbin’s gaze is almost challenging.
The professor charges in again, breaking their staring match with his loud voice; "All done?" he asks.
The dancers in the room scramble to bow at him, the floor is littered with hair pins, scraps of clothing, pointé shoes thrown in one corner, and lace littering the floor.
The professor nods and the dancers of the main score rush to get on the stage.
Matthew's heart thumps wildly, nerves gripping him in its tight chokehold. He breathes in, breathes out.
Someone taps him on his shoulder. Matthew startles, whipping around to face a smiling Hao dressed as Uncle Drosselmeyer.
"Hello, you are... Matthew ?" he asks.
Matthew nods, "... yes?" He's confused.
Hao’s eyes glint with an emotion Matthew cannot even attempt to figure out before he winks at Matthew and turns away, bounding towards Hanbin with a silent wave of his arm.
Matthew is left in utter confusion. At least the nerves have disappeared. "Um…" he blinks a few times, a confused gaze fixed on Hanbin and Hao. Hanbin looks annoyed at a laughing Hao, whispering furiously in his ear.
Matthew looks away just as the opening score of the ballet filters through to the wings. The music is tentative and soft, one of Matthew’s favorite ballet scores of all time.
He leans against the wall and pushes himself onto the floor with a middle split, listening and waiting for his own turn to come up.
Almost an hour later, Matthew stands in the corner of the wings; not so secretly watching Hanbin’s solo performance.
It is a gorgeous piece befitting a gorgeous dancer. The techniques and dance steps are notoriously hard, but look graceful and effortless unlike anything else. and Matthew can't help the fact that he wants to see it happen. He tries his best to block out Hao’s incessant giggling beside him, eyes focused hard on Hanbin's figure on the dance floor.
He doesn't have to try too hard to ignore Hao, for when Hanbin enters the last few steps of his solo piece, the world around Matthew fades into a blur.
Hanbin dances and dances and dances. Like every day, his steps are swift and strong. Like every day, his technique is flawless. Like every day, he is mesmerizing. Like every day, he is beautiful.
Like every day, Hanbin is luminous.
Matthew can't bear the thought of looking away even for a second, blinking feels like a crime and he wants to capture Hanbin and his beauty in this moment in his memory. It feels so much like a memory worth treasuring.
Matthew’s heart fills with an ache and his stomach fills with butterflies. Hanbin looks the most beautiful when he is dancing.
And then comes the final step. the grand jeté. Matthew finds himself holding his breath in anticipation. Hanbin spins, then jumps to leap across the stage. Limbs long and strong and lithe, he makes an attractive figure in the air.
Like every day, Hanbin is the most luminous of them all.
But, but—
But unlike every other day else, Hanbin doesn't land after his jump with splendor. Matthew faintly wonders if he’s dreaming, because—
Hanbin jumps, leaps through the air, one foot landing on the sleek wood of the stage at once and in the span of a mere second—too fast for anyone's eyes to see how—he crumples to the floor like a doll whose strings have been cut with a quick snap of scissors.
There's a thud as his body hits the ground. Matthew's heart leaps out of his chest and vanishes through the floorboards. The piano stops with a harsh clang of keys. The corps de ballet stumbles and comes to a halt.
Hao’s muted gasp startles Matthew so badly that his heart skips a beat.
There's one second of silence.
Then two.
Then three.
Hanbin does not rise from the floor and the opera erupts into chaos.