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The curtain finally came down after a never-ending standing ovation. Gabin's entire body was vibrating with euphoria, but he couldn’t distinguish the emotions of the performance from those of the kiss.
The kiss.
Tobias had kissed him—boldly, without fear or hesitation—in front of an entire audience. He who was so reserved, so enigmatic usually. Gabin felt special at the thought. He hadn’t expected it, and yet, he was sure it had been coming. An emotional inevitability had settled between them these past few days, and neither of them could have escaped it.
He wished this moment would never end, to remain bathed in this light, this serenity. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, just before the costumer or Geneviève would call him backstage and break the magic.
"What are you thinking about, Tiny Dancer?"
Gabin was pulled from his reverie by a melodic voice. In the rush of adrenaline, he hadn’t noticed Tobias watching him with a questioning look.
"About everything. About nothing. About you."
"You don’t need to think about me—I’m right here."
Gabin smiled.
" Touché , Maverick, as always."
He loved Tobias’s spontaneity, his authenticity. Gabin thought he’d never met someone so pure.
A brief silence fell between them. What would happen now? The press would talk about it for sure, the administration too. Would the kiss cause problems? And the other dancers—they would surely be jealous. Let them be, Gabin thought. This was his professional and personal ascent, and no one could take it from him. No one. Still, a wave of anxiety began to rise in his chest. But it vanished the moment Tobias gently laid a hand on his shoulder, as if afraid that the hours of dancing had broken him.
"How about we celebrate? I think I owe you for changing the choreography at the last minute."
"Don’t ever apologize, Tobias. Especially not to me. It’s all good."
Tobias let out a sigh of relief. He appreciated Gabin’s clarity, his ability to say exactly what was needed to soothe him.
"So what do you say?"
"What exactly are we celebrating? Tomorrow’s headline: ‘A Triumphant Success for Choreographer Tobias Bell and His Prodigy Gabin Roux’?"
"Don’t jinx it—but yes, among other positive things. I mean, I found the kiss positive. Not that I was evaluating it in real time but—"
"Relax, Tobias. I really enjoyed the moment too. Truly."
To underline his point, Gabin kissed the hand on his shoulder tenderly.
"That’s better. I’d love to celebrate with you. So, is this a date, as you Americans say?"
Tobias rolled his eyes but confirmed.
"Alright, Mr. Duolingo, follow me—I know a nice spot."
"Look at you becoming a local. Alright, I’m following. Just don’t get us lost, I’m starving."
But as soon as he tried to walk, Gabin felt the old demons of his right ankle injury awaken. He couldn’t help but stumble. Tobias quickly turned to him.
"What was that?"
Gabin played dumb. The last thing he wanted was to be seen as weak.
"What was what?"
"I saw you stumble, Gabin—on that infamous ankle. Did you injure it during the dance?"
Gabin didn’t know what to say. No, he hadn’t reinjured it. But he had pushed his limits to make Tobias’s performance perfect. He had promised never to let him down again, after all.
"I’m fine, Tobias. Don’t worry. My feet are just a bit tired from the choreography. You really didn’t go easy on me with that final series of jumps."
Tobias didn’t smile. He was stone serious.
"Run three laps around the stage. Now."
"Are you changing careers to be a track coach? I swear you’ve still got years of choreographing brilliance ahead."
"I’m not joking, Gabin. If you’re not injured, prove it. The sooner we settle this, the sooner we eat."
Determined not to ruin the moment, Gabin got into position. Just three laps—get through that and move on.
Alas, just a few strides in, a sharp pain seized him, and he had to sit down. Resigned, he felt tears of frustration rise. He didn’t even notice Tobias kneeling beside him until a thumb gently wiped under his eyes.
"Gabin, look at me."
"I don’t want to."
"Why? Do I have a giant pimple in the middle of my face that’s scaring you? Because if that’s the case, I’ll be upset you didn’t tell me."
"No, it’s not that. You’re perfect. It’s just… I don’t want to be seen like this."
"Like what?"
"Vulnerable."
Tobias placed his hands on both sides of Gabin’s face, lifting it gently until their eyes met. He had looked at Gabin hundreds of times, but never had he looked so real.
"Oh, there’s my étoile . Thought I’d lost you."
Gabin couldn’t hold back a smile.
"I like when you smile. You look more like yourself. I don’t really know what you look like without it—still very handsome, obviously—but that smile is you.."
"You’re not so bad yourself."
Tobias pretended to be offended.
"Not so bad? I didn’t invest half my salary in your fancy French skincare for you to call me ‘not so bad.’ "
Gabin laughed genuinely.
"Like I said earlier—you’re perfect. Perfect in my eyes."
Tobias gently placed a hand under Gabin’s chin so he would keep eye contact.
"Tell me where it hurts."
Gabin hesitated, but encouraged by Tobias’s gaze, pointed to the sore area on his foot.
"Everywhere a bit, but mostly here."
He shivered as Tobias’s other hand applied light pressure to his ankle.
"Alright, change of plans. We’ll save the restaurant for another day. I promise."
"What are we doing then? Please don’t say we’re going to the ER at 11 p.m. with me in this skin tight outfit."
He clasped his hands in mock prayer.
"Nope. We’re going to your workplace."
Gabin was confused.
"Tobias, this is my workplace."
"Oh, you’re a dancer? I thought your full-time job was rat exterminator."
Gabin gave him an annoyed glare but understood that meant they were heading to his apartment. When he tried to stand, Tobias stopped him.
"Take it easy. I’ll grab your stuff from the dressing room. You’ll only get up when the taxi’s right in front of the Opera."
Gabin didn’t argue, surprised that someone cared this much about him. It was a strange new feeling—but one he welcomed like a hug.
Before Tobias left his sight, Gabin called out:
"How do you know which one’s my dressing room?"
Tobias frowned, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"The one that looks like it was organized by someone who needed therapy for OCD. Obviously."
"Very funny, Maverick."
"Word on the street."
Tobias headed for the room, but quickly turned back.
"You should stretch while your muscles are still warm—nothing crazy or fancy. Just some light stretches. You’ll thank me tomorrow."
And he disappeared.
A few minutes later, Tobias found Gabin lying on the now-empty stage, gently pulling one leg toward his chest. His eyes were closed, his face peaceful, free of earlier frustration. Tobias felt reassured.
"I don’t want to interrupt, but your stuff is ready and the taxi’s waiting outside. Let me help you up—and don’t argue, please."
Surprisingly, Gabin didn’t resist, his eyes wide open like a child in awe.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"It’s just… no one’s ever done something like this for me before."
Tobias smiled, recalling a conversation from a few weeks earlier.
"Well, I’m sure I will be doing it again."
He wrapped Gabin’s arm around his neck and helped him walk, at his own pace. Still, he couldn’t help but tease:
"If we get overcharged because of how slow you are, I’m docking it from your paycheck."
"I assume you can’t afford it after that tuxedo rental disaster."
"I’m adjusting to Parisian life—word is, you guys live on love and fresh air."
" Vivre d’amour et d’eau fraîche . To live on love and fresh water."
"That’s what I said."
They finally reached the taxi after a precarious descent. The grumpy old driver got out of his car.
" Enfin ! J’ai cru que j’allais passer la nuit ici ."
Tobias turned to Gabin.
"What did he say? That one wasn’t in my French class."
Gabin hesitated, not wanting to set Tobias off.
"He said he wishes he’d seen the show, but he had work. Let’s get in."
They sat in the back, rock music blaring from the radio.
Gabin noticed Tobias fidget.
"Something wrong?"
"Can you ask him to turn off the music? I don’t like this song."
"Of course."
Gabin politely made the request. The driver complied with a comment about American taste. Gabin looked over to see Tobias pulling out his ever-present headphones. Then, surprisingly, he rested his head on his shoulder.
"Thanks, Gabin."
And Tobias closed his eyes. Gabin longed to know his favorite songs, his playlist, what comforted him. But he let him rest. They would have time. All the time in the world. So he gently ran a hand through Tobias’s hair.
Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Tobias’s building. Gabin tipped the driver generously to avoid drama.
The unlikely pair took the elevator—walking wasn’t an option. As they rose, Gabin realized what was happening. He was going to Tobias’s place. For real this time. Butterflies stirred in his stomach at the thought of the unknown. He let the feeling wash over him, like he’d learned to do as a child before auditions.
"After you, Mr. Exterminator."
"I’m injured, remember? If another rat shows up, it’s your job."
Tobias gave a look of terror.
"Just kidding. You’re safe with me, I promise."
He took Tobias’ hand and they entered the apartment. It was tidier than last time.
"Did you clean up because you knew you’d bring me here tonight? What a gentleman—I’m flattered."
"Glad you’re feeling well enough to sass me."
Tobias guided him to the bathroom, then returned with Gabin’s change of clothes.
"Comfy stuff and you have your toothbrush, thankfully. Go shower—don’t take too long or I’m charging you for the water."
Before Gabin could reply, Tobias shut the door to let him unwind. No need to rush. They’d move at their own pace.
The hot water washed away the day’s tension. Time disappeared. But Tobias didn’t interrupt, despite his earlier comment.
Clean and changed, Gabin was drawn to the kitchen by the delicious smell and the clatter of pans. He found Tobias deeply focused on his phone and the stove.
"You’re cooking... for me?"
"I need to eat too. Okay, yes—it’s for us."
"Tobias Bell, culinary prodigy as well as genius choreographer. Let me see."
"It’s not ready yet."
"Still, I want to look."
"You’ve got another task first. Go sit on the couch—something’s waiting for you."
Gabin grumbled, true to form, but obeyed. A bag of frozen peas was on the cushion.
"Tobias, I think you left an ingredient out here."
"Not sure if you’re joking—that’s for your foot."
Gabin’s smirk confirmed it.
"Lie down, elevate your foot on a pillow, and place the peas on it. Please?"
Gabin gave him a sincere smile.
"Since you asked nicely."
He followed the instructions, watching Tobias mutter over unit conversions. The cold eased his pain. The domestic calm soothed his heart. Soon, Tobias set down his phone and walked over.
"Still don’t know what a gram is, but dinner’s almost ready. Feeling better?"
"The peas are working their magic. Thank you, Tobias—for everything."
Tears welled in Gabin’s eyes, but he kept them in. He had never felt so safe.
"Careful thanking me—what if I poisoned the food?"
"Like you’d risk losing your lead dancer. No way, Mr. Bell."
"True. The headlines would be too messy. Now, let’s check that dancer’s foot."
Gabin allowed Tobias to gently place his injured foot on his thigh. Most of the blood had washed away, but bruises remained.
"I cleaned the blood from your shower, in case you were wondering."
"I was hoping you would. Well, your ankle is swollen, and your foot’s battered, but nothing too serious, I think. I’ll rub in some arnica—avoiding the ankle."
"Tobias, you really don’t have to."
"Who’s the professional here?"
"Well, technically we b—"
A raised eyebrow shut him up.
"Fine. You are."
"Thought so. Now relax, and tell me if it hurts too much. That’s not the goal."
Gabin was surprised by how gentle Tobias’ massage was. He took his time, loosening each point of tension. Silence settled around them comfortably.
Still, Gabin couldn’t help but ask:
"When do you think I’ll be able to dance again?"
Tobias stopped, turning fully to face him.
"Gabin... your health comes first."
"I’m at the peak of my career. If I show weakness now, it’ll all be over before it truly starts."
Tobias looked him in the eye.
"First of all, you’re just getting started. And amazing things lie ahead—I promise. Second, you’re not any less brilliant because your body is signaling you. It just wants you to keep going—long-term. You know that, right?"
A sigh, then a quiet reply.
"Yes."
"Louder."
"Yes, Tobias."
"With conviction."
"Okay, I think I get it now."
"Better."
Gabin’s eyes wandered around the apartment, trying to think of something else. It wasn’t how he would’ve organized it, but he admired the controlled chaos—like Tobias was the only one who understood its logic. One detail caught his attention.
"I like your goldfish. He’s funny."
"Funny? What, does he tell you jokes? Because I’ve been trying to understand him for weeks."
"No, he just looks permanently confused. Kind of like you. So I like him, obviously."
"Hey, I’m not always confused."
Tobias punctuated that with a kiss on Gabin’s cheek.
"Especially not about you."
"I know, Tobias. Thank you for saying it."
"I think it’s the oregano."
"Huh?"
"Didn’t Geneviève tell you? I mixed up the fish food with my spice jars for weeks. Since he’s not dead, I decided he must be Mediterranean. Italian, maybe Greek. Must remind him of home."
Gabin couldn’t help but laugh at Tobias’s bewildered expression.
"And what’s the name of this Mediterranean fish, then?"
"Maverick. Felt appropriate."
"Or ‘The Fish.’ "
"Nope. Maverick. Reminds me of someone I’m particularly fond of."
"Matthieu?"
"Idiot."
The moment was cut off by an alarm on Tobias’s phone.
"Dinner’s ready! Don’t move, I’ll bring the coffee table to you."
He returned with an array of dishes.
"Is that..."
"Salmon, with sweet potatoes and broccoli. And a yogurt sauce—I heard you complain about dry lunches last week."
"Tobias, that’s too much. Salmon? Are they paying you in gold at the company?"
"I looked up ‘comfort food for grumpy but lovable injured dancers’—this came up. Hope you like it."
"I don’t like it..."
Tobias looked crestfallen, until Gabin finished:
"Because I’m speechless. I’m seriously impressed, Tobias."
"Then eat. You need the energy."
"Thank you. Bon appétit ."
They enjoyed a joyful dinner, full of stories from their lives. Tobias lamented all his New York habits he couldn’t maintain in Paris, and Gabin told the tale of how Geneviève had gotten him into the company.
After the meal, Gabin stood up to take the plates but was quickly stopped.
"If you think I’m letting you wash dishes tonight, think again."
"Let me help with something, Tobias."
"Let me think about it... Nope. Grab the tape from the cupboard to your right and wrap your foot. You know how to do it, right?"
"Yes, Mr. Bell."
"Good. I’ll be watching while I do the dishes."
Gabin remembered the technique from the dressing rooms at the opera: the figure-eight around the ankle, the anchor points, the space for the toes. He moved slowly but precisely, applying gentle pressure with each pass.
Tobias, back turned, still commented:
"If you mess it up, I’ll make you redo it under supervision."
"We’ll see if I pass your inspection."
When he finished, he wiggled his toes gently. The pain had lessened. He felt steadier—even if it was temporary.
When Tobias returned, he gave the bandaging a critical look.
"Not bad... I’m almost offended."
"You trained me well."
Tobias shrugged.
"I’m a brilliant teacher, what can I say."
"The best."
They exchanged a warm, knowing look, full of words yet to be spoken. But it was getting late, and they were both exhausted.
"Can you walk to the bedroom on your own?"
"I can sleep on the couch. I don’t want to mess up your routine."
"Gabin... your body needs proper rest. Follow me before I get mad."
Gabin nodded.
"I think I can make it ten meters."
"Impress me, Usain Bolt."
Gabin hobbled his way there. The bedroom was oddly empty, lacking personal touches. Tobias noticed his look.
"I like my bedroom to be a blank canvas. Keeps my mind free for creativity."
"I get it. Wait—is that..."
A scrap of fabric caught Gabin’s eye. Tobias blushed.
"One of your bandanas. You left it at rehearsal a few days ago. I meant to return it. You can take it back."
Gabin grasped his hands.
"No—you can keep it. I like that you have something of mine."
Tobias exhaled, clearly relieved.
"Thanks. I promise I won't do anything weird with it."
"I know, Tobias. It’s fine. Really. It’s yours now."
Tobias chuckled and followed with :
"I’m a bit picky about my bed. I only sleep on the right side. Will the left be okay for you?"
"Anything’s fine, as long as I’m with you."
"Cool."
They climbed into bed, each sticking to their side, backs turned, a little shy in the small space between them. Tobias turned off the light.
"Good night."
"Good night."
A few seconds later, a soft voice:
"Gabin, are you asleep?"
"It’s been 30 seconds, Tobias. What’s wrong?"
"Can I... can I hug you?"
The smile that lit up Gabin’s face could’ve brightened the whole room.
"I thought you’d never ask. Of course you can. Multiple hugs. Very encouraged."
They fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, safe and soothed. For the first time in years, Gabin didn’t have a single nightmare that night.
Tomorrow would bring a new world—full of doubts, change, and discovery. But for now, they rested. Together.