Chapter Text
To get stronger before Night Swan attacked again, the Just Dance crew had decided to train with each other. A great idea in practice- but Jack Rose was used to a shared movement vocabulary and clear instruction. Mihaly, on the other hand? Dance came so effortlessly to them. They’d never had to spend long days crying with frustration over the simplest shifts of Flow the way Jack had as a child. And maybe that was why, even though their enthusiasm was adorable, nothing they taught made sense.
They swirled through their apartment building’s sun-bright studio, bopping through a loose, seemingly careless sequence of moves. “Yeah, so then you go… up, through, hold, whoosh, swoop, hit, hit AND ba-ba-ba!”
Jack Rose marked the section at half-speed. Still, he couldn’t figure out how it fit to the song. “What are the counts for it?”
Mihaly shrugged. “Oh, I don’t do eight-counts. I just let the dance come to me, you know?”
Their methods were so haphazard, and they didn’t even break down the choreography. He wanted to scream, but his experience shoving his feelings down helped him put on a smile. “And what about this step? Do my hands go here, or here?” He showed Mihaly the two different poses.
Mihaly looked like he’d asked them what color the sky was. “Why does that matter? It’s about channeling the energy. As long as it’s moving through you, as long as you understand why you’re dancing, whatever you’re moved to do is the right choice.”
What the fuck? That wasn’t how dancing worked. You couldn’t just do whatever. Clearly, Mihaly had a highly complex technique, and he was just missing something that would make it make sense. Something Mihaly expected him to understand. “Let’s try it with the music.”
“Okay!” Mihaly hit a button on their watch, cueing glitching yet melodic electronic rhythms from their boombox. “One and two and- let the days slip away-“
The combination started out slow, like a meditation. He could copy the patterns of power swirling over Mihaly’s bare arms. Then the beat dropped, and they glided across the floor, weightless on bare feet- and he missed the timing, taking a count for a move that wasn’t even a count at all. Disappointment closed in around him like freezing mist. He didn’t even try to keep up with the rest of the combination. Mihaly mouthed the song’s words, their silky pink hair swirling around them like pure light, but tears blurred the view.
He was a bad dancer.
He wasn’t perfect.
And anything less than perfect deserved punishment.
How else could an ugly duckling like him become a swan?
Mother’s frown. The disgusted curl of her lips. Her gaze like magenta lasers stinging his skin. You know what punishment I desire for you, my unworthy son. Suddenly he was seven years old and about to lose it as she sneered down from her throne. Had he been dancing with someone else? It didn’t matter. He needed to follow Mother’s will no matter what.
For Mihaly, dancing made everything else fall away. The power flooded their limbs, fizzing through their body, and nothing else mattered beyond the joy of it. Not even the awkwardness they’d felt sharing spirit-taught choreography with a pop star who’d been dancing professionally since he could walk.
Jack Rose- the Jack Rose- wanted to learn from them! They’d saved up for one of his concerts as a child and gotten so flustered they bolted from the signing line. But fighting and partying alongside him had changed things. He wasn’t just a pop star, he was a person. A person who struggled to tell stories about himself in group conversations, who downplayed his verse-wide achievements, who spooned sugar and cream into his coffee like someone was going to snatch it away from him.
And sometimes the graceful curve of his neck when he tilted his head or a glimpse of his abs when wiped his face on the hem of his tank top made Mihaly stop breathing for a moment. His cheekbones? Even more unfair in person.
The best part was, despite their worries about how to break down choreography they’d learned telepathically in a trance journey, Jack Rose seemed to understand everything they shared. He hadn’t asked for clarification once. That meant they were doing great, right?
“Rushing back, rushing back,” Mihaly sang, striking a finishing pose. The music faded, and they turned to their audience of one. “Does the way it fits with the music make more sense now? I don’t have much experience teaching choreography to anyone outside the shamanic tradition- well, any experience, really. If you need me to explain any of the moves-“
“I’m going outside for a smoke,” Jack said, gazing at some invisible faraway object. He pulled on his feather cloak with a disappointed sigh. Disappointed in Mihaly? In himself?
Mihaly clutched their earbuds, wound the cord between their fingers. “Um, do you want me to come with?”
“… No.” The same flat, almost robotic tone. His energy seemed greyer as well, though Mihaly resisted the urge to pry.
“Well, text me to buzz you in when you’re done. And if you ever want to quit smoking, I know a herbalist-” The door slammed behind him.
Mihaly moved through a sequence of stretches, waiting for Jack to come back. What if Night Swan had kidnapped him? Despite the defeat of her army, she was still out there, probably crafting her next evil scheme. How long did it take to smoke a cigarette? No, they were catastrophizing. They took a deep breath, allowing the Flow to weave and spiral through their body.
Still… checking on him wouldn’t hurt. And it wasn’t paranoid to queue up a song they could use the Flow to. Right? They slipped in an earbud and hurried down their building’s stairs.
Mihaly spotted Jack on the other side of the busy city street. Jack leaned on an apartment building’s concrete wall, staring through the passing crowds. Cigarette tucked him his mouth, he rolled up his sleeve. He took it out, flipped it- and pressed the burning tip into his wrist.
Power flared around him. Wrongness. Pink fire.
“Jack!” Mihaly screamed.
He dragged the burning cigarette down his wrist. Though he didn’t flinch, tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Flow, guide me,” Mihaly muttered, starting the music. They closed their eyes and sprinted into the street. Patterns flashed in emerald and aquamarine, and they followed, leaping, twisting. As cars honked and people shouted, the Flow showed them the path. Jack’s energy called to them, a void, a black hole drawing them irresistibly close. They opened their eyes and grabbed his wrist. “Jack Rose. You need to stop this.”
He looked right through them- no, at something in his mind.
“Jack,” they repeated. They pushed energy into him, splashing him with the Flow.
Quick and dirty, but it worked. He blinked as if seeing them for the first time. “I was bad,” he said haltingly.
Mihaly couldn’t stand watching him hurt himself. They plucked his cigarette from his grasp and ground it out under their sneaker. “What happened?”
A hand through his soft-looking scarlet hair, leaving it ruffled and untidy. “I saw my mother. She…” He shook his head, glancing at passerby. His expression pleaded with them: don’t make me cry in public.
Mihaly slipped their arm through his uninjured one, their bare skin touching. Warmth against warmth. “Let’s go inside.”
They crossed the street properly this time. At the crosswalk. At the light. The second the elevator doors closed behind them, Jack Rose shattered, crumpling in on himself. His face twisted with silent sobs.
“You’re all right, I’ve got you- oof!”
Jack collapsed into their arms. He clung to them so tightly he trembled, and they squeezed him back. He smelled like a garden’s worth of roses. Deep, rich, red.
“You’re okay,” they whispered, smoothing his feather-soft hair. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. I’m right here.”
Night Swan was defeated, stripped of her abilities. They’d seen it happen. So why was her power controlling Jack Rose?