Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What did you do to my choreographer?!”

“Well, bonjour to you too, Jack.” Geneviève answered the phone call.

“Yes, hello, bonjour, how are you?” Jack responded dryly, “What did you do to my choreographer? He’s been back in the studio for all of two minutes and he’s already being weird. Well, weirder than normal.”

Geneviève let out a breath. “Ah, so it’s been happening to you too.”

Jack leant forward in his chair. “What do you mean? You know what’s happening?”

“Yes,” Geneviève replied, “He’s pining.”

“Pining?” Jack muttered, thoroughly confused. Tobias was not the type to pine. “Pining over what? I wasn’t aware he even knew how to pine.”

“As much as you and the rest of the world may believe otherwise, Tobias is actually capable of having feelings other than indifference and exasperation, you know?” Geneviève defended. Over his time in Paris, she had clearly come to feel fond of the choreographer, however frustrating and problem-inducing his methods of creation could be. “Anyway, he left his muse behind in Paris and I assume that’s why he’s acting, as you put it, ‘weirder than normal’. But no need to worry, I’ve solved both our problems.”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, even more lost than before. “His muse- wait, what do you mean you’ve solved both our problems? Last time you said that to me, not two seconds later did the devil incarnate walk through my office doors and start waffling evil British nonsense!”

As if on cue, the doors to Jack’s office swung open and a man swooped into the room, arms open as if ready to receive applause for his dramatic entrance. (Jack would vehemently deny that he nearly threw the phone at the stranger out of fear).

“And here I am!”

Chapter Text

Rehearsals for some big important group number were underway, and once more Gabin was stood at the back of the studio, pretending to hold a wine jug. Honestly, what was it with ballets and their wine holders? Surely they could come up with more interesting characters for the background dancers. With the amount of free-time holding this one pose gave him, Gabin had managed to come up with a backstory for his wine holder.

Arnaud – as he had dubbed himself – did not start out as a wine holder. No, he had grown up on a turnip farm in Languedoc and had dreams of becoming a famous pianist. Once he had saved up enough, he moved to the capital at 17 to pursue his dreams, but very quickly he ran out of money and he had to get a job making bread for some Earl or another.

One day, the Earl’s handsome son snuck down into the kitchen where Arnaud had been kneading dough. Upon looking at him, the Earl’s son took a liking to Arnaud and the two struck up an intimate bond. After hearing of his pianist dreams, the Earl’s son invited Arnaud to serve wine at one of the Earl’s functions so he could watch a visiting pianist from Italy. Arnaud snapped up the offer, spending the evening pouring wine and admiring the way the pianist tickled the ivories. At the end of the evening, the Earl’s son pulled Arnaud to the side, kissed him on the cheek, and promised he would help him pursue his dreams, so long as he continued to pour the wine at the Earl’s events. Arnaud accepted.

And so, it went: the Earl threw a party, the Earl’s son would whisk many a rich girl around the dancefloor, and Arnaud would stand in the background, only being acknowledged when someone’s glass became empty.

It soon became clear to Arnaud that the Earl’s son had no intentions of helping Arnaud realise his dreams, but by now, Arnaud was stuck. He could not afford to leave this job; no one would hire him after leaving the Earl’s household, he would be seen as a disgrace. And Arnaud knew that the Earl’s son knew this, had manipulated Arnaud with his charm into accepting the job. So now, Arnaud stood at the back of this party, in a perfectly artful position that made sure his presence didn’t offend the eye of the patrons, but in his mind, he was plotting his revenge…

Gabin hadn’t quite gotten round to how the revenge would take place, but he’s sure he’ll have it all mapped out by the end of the next rehearsal.

He let out a sigh. As entertaining as it was to daydream about Arnaud taking down the Earl’s son (handily played by Matthieu), Gabin knew his talents could be put to better use. He had proven it, to himself, to the other dancers, to the administration, to the entire world. To Tobias.

Gabin let out another sigh. A few heads turned to him. He missed Tobias. The man had swept into his life, complaining about floors and statues and toothpaste, and Gabin had been instantly taken. No one else wanted to work with him, but Gabin knew he was special, would create magic on the stage. And he was right. Well, bar that one mishap with Off Rhythm… but he maintains that the audience were wrong. That dance was just a peek into the wonders that Tobias could craft. And craft he did.

Not only that, but Tobias truly saw Gabin. With one look, the choreographer surmised Gabin’s strengths and weaved them into a ballet. To show him off. It was all Gabin had ever wanted. He sighed once again.

If Tobias were still here, Gabin wouldn’t be stood here, growing stiff from holding an imaginary wine jug while the other dancers ran and re-ran the number. God, he was going to need to waste time warming-up again once this was done. Tobias would never have left him idle for so long. Even if he wasn’t the focus of the dance - which was very rare - the choreographer would have him running a section in the corner until he was ready for Gabin again. He didn’t need dancers to stand around as reference for staging, he knew where everyone should and would be, picturing it all in his brilliant mind.

Not that Tobias would have any dancer stood around on stage purely for aesthetics. No, every dancer had a purpose in his pieces. If you were on the stage, you were moving. Tobias’ creations were so marvellous they didn’t need to be propped up with trivial background extras. His choreography enraptured the audience, forcing them to watch the meticulously crafted lines, allowing them no opportunity to look away and be distracted by an Arnaud or an Henri or an Agathe. It would be an insult to look away from Tobias’ creation.

But alas, Tobias had been shipped back to New York to finish his contract. And Gabin had been left behind to finish his own contract. They had agreed that they would discuss the topic of one of them moving closer to renewal time, assuming neither of them were cut from their companies before then. Gabin felt this was a big step forward for himself: acknowledging that they will talk about it but postponing the talk for a more appropriate time, rather than him impulsively quitting Le Ballet National and moving to New York to be with Tobias. Not that he doesn’t desperately wish to do that with every passing second he has to hold his arm out at the back of the stage. Clearly no one would miss him.

Another sigh.

“What is the matter Gabin? Is holding an invisible wine jug too hard for you?” Matthieu’s voice cut Gabin out of his thoughts.

“No, it is not. It is just that I have to stand here, wasting my talents while I suffer through your attempt at dancing.” Gabin shot back.

Matthieu scoffed. “Of course. You are given one lead role and suddenly background work is beneath you. Do not kid yourself. We all know you slept your way into that role.” Gasps echoed around the room. Gabin’s fists curled at his sides. How dare the principal imply Tobias would be shallow enough to be bribed with sex. Anyone cast in Tobias’ ballets were cast because they deserved it, they were special. Gabin knew that now, even if he had struggled with it in the early days of The Swap.

“Matthieu.” One of the dancers nearby tried to step in.

Gabin stepped forward. “I am sorry Matthieu, but weren’t you the one who could not handle Tobias’ honesty about your inability to hit a downbeat when you very briefly stood in for me while I was unavailable. You ran crying to Geneviève like a five-year old whose ice cream had fallen on the floor. It is clear you are just jealous he did not want to work with you.”

A wave of titters spread through the surrounding crowd. Matthieu pulled back and lifted his head haughtily. “I was doing both of you a favour by gracing that piece with my skills. Plus, you had been arrested!”

“Meh.” Gabin shrugged. “Still managed to make it to the stage as the lead. And the audience loved me, but funnily enough everyone here seems to forget that.”

“Please, the audience were begging to get away from your sickled feet.”

“My feet have never sickled a day in my life. Yours however… well…” Gabin trailed off, looking down his nose at the feet in question.

“How dare you suggest my feet sickle! These feet are the feet of an étoile!”

“Mmmm, keep telling yourself that. You should have a conversation with your knees while you are at it. They are the real problem here.” Gabin told Matthieu. Before the étoile could respond, the choreographer called for him to return to his starting position, chiding him for holding everyone up. Gabin pulled a taunting face at Matthieu before the dancer turned around and stormed away.

Gabin deflated sightly, adjusting his feet to resume his wine holder position. The other dancers around Gabin stared at him judgementally.

“What?” he asked, looking around at them all. “You all know I am right. We can all see how bent his extensions look.”

The other dancers just rolled their eyes at him before returning their gazes to the choreographer. Honestly, these people had no eye for detail. Tobias would understand.

Sigh.

Chapter Text

"And here I am!" the newcomer announced in a thick French accent. 

“Ah, just on time!” Geneviève said faintly from the other end of the line.

The man who had just entered dropped the duffle bag hanging off his shoulder to the ground with a thud before moving further into the room, uncaring that it was now blocking the entrance. He crossed the room in three long strides before dropping into one of the chairs on the other side of Jack’s desk and artfully arranging his limbs in a relaxed pose.

Raising the phone back to his ear, Jack spoke from the side of his mouth. “You know who this is?”

“That’s Tobias’ muse.” Geneviève stated plainly, as if it would answer every question Jack had. It did not.

“Seriously? Him? He’s Tobias’ muse?” Jack questioned, taking in the pompous nature of the man in front of him.

Tobias’ supposed muse puffed his chest out, a devilish grin crossing his face. “He called me that?” he asked, with an attempt at nonchalance.

“No!” came from the other end of the phone. “You can’t just say that to his face! It’ll go to his head and make him even more insufferable!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?! I didn’t even know he existed until he burst into my office with the elegance of a brass band on an ice rink?!” Jack hissed back.

Tobias’ muse made an offended noise, hand flying to his chest in outrage. “You know I speak perfectly good English!” before switching to French to say, “Geneviève, you did not mention the New York Director was so clueless yet so bitchy!”

An exasperated sigh echoed down the line before Geneviève responded in kind. “Gabin, am I or am I not doing you a favour here? Play nice with the poor confused man so that he lets you stay.”

“Um, you guys know I speak French, right.” Jack said in a half-hearted mirror of the French man’s earlier protest.

“Lets me stay? I thought you said they were begging for me to come dance for them?!” Tobias’s muse, presumably called Gabin, responded in outrage, ignoring Jack and pointing his finger at the phone as if Geneviève were able to see.

Jack turned his head sharply towards the phone, before deciding to put it on speakerphone so he could get up to pace. “We’ve been begging, have we?”

“I may have told a teeny tiny fib,” Geneviève responded, once again ignoring Jack. “It’s just…” she trailed off for a second, sounding hesitant to say her next words. “You’ve been a menace and I really needed you to leave!”

Gabin gasped. “I have been no such thing! Did Matthieu say something to you? Because if he did then you should ignore it because Matthieu lies out of his ass when he is threatened by a rising star, which I am.” Jack raised his eyebrows at that. He still wasn’t quite sure who this man was so it was very unlikely he was a ‘rising star’, as he put it. “He is so obsessed with me that he is losing focus and sickling his feet,” Gabin continued, “a-and his knees are all knobbly, which is ridiculously unattractive for an étoile, and he keeps shaking his head to get that ridiculous mane of his out of his eyes, so unprofessional. Has the man ever seen a bottle of hairspray before, I mean honestly-“

“Jesus.” Jack muttered under his breath.

“Gabin!” Geneviève interjected. “This is exactly why you needed to go! Ever since Tobias left you’ve been huffing,” Gabin opened his mouth to protest but Geneviève continued over the top of him, raising her voice as if she knew he was about to argue back, “and puffing, you’ve been moping and when you aren’t doing either of those things you’re critiquing the other dancers incessantly over things that only you seem to take issue with!”

“I am sorry that Tobias opened my eyes to a whole new world of technique and since he left I have been relegated once more to wine holder number 4, giving me the perfect vantage point to see all the imperfections of these supposedly perfect ballerinas!” Gabin hissed.

Slowly, Jack was coming to the conclusion that the man in front of him may be slightly mad, because it was clear to him that he had spent too much time with Tobias to have picked up his nitpicking habits, and anyone able to tolerate the choreographer long enough for that to happen must be as insane as Tobias himself.

Tuning back in, Jack heard Geneviève fire back, “You shouldn’t be focusing on that, you should be focusing on your own technique! You’re restless and if I didn’t sort it out the entire company was threatening to strike again until I fired you, and neither of us wants that for you. So, I sent you to New York - admittedly under the guise of them wanting you in their company - so you wouldn’t find out just how much your peers had come to resent you!”

Gabin looked stunned. Jack just stared at him, waiting for a reaction. His head was spinning from trying to follow the conversation both mentally and physically, his head turning between the two voices like he was watching an intense game of tennis. All of a sudden, his brain caught up.

“Hold on. You sent me this dancer, who’s not even a principal by the way, ah no!” Jack turned to Gabin, pointing a finger to stop yet another protest, “You sent me this dancer because he’s causing trouble in Paris and you just expect me to put him in my company? And you didn’t tell me?!”

“Because I knew you would say no. And also, if we recall the beginning of this conversation, this is the solution to his and Tobias’ behavioural issues.”

Gabin lifted his head at that. “Hang on, Tobias’ behavioural issues?” he repeated, looking offended on Tobias’ behalf.

“Yes.” Jack huffed, “Lord knows what’s going on with him.”

“I know what!” Geneviève cried. “It’s because he misses you, Gabin, and you’ve made it very, very clear you miss him too! So go find him and kiss and make up or do whatever weird and wonderful thing it is you two do to bond so that this charade of transatlantic pining can finally end and our supposedly venerable ballet companies can return to some semblance of normal!”

Jack turned expectantly to Gabin. The man looked as if he was coming to the same realisation as Jack was. Geneviève had gone completely over both of their heads, putting them in a situation neither of them could get out of now that they were in it. But she had done it out of the goodness of her heart, to make sure that Tobias and Gabin could create together. And also stop them terrorising their respective companies.

“Well?” Jack asked the dancer. “He’s currently scheduled to be in the main rehearsal room. Two floors down, first door on the left, big room with windows and mirrors and one very grumpy choreographer. Go on.” He emphasised this with a shooing motion towards the door.

“Yes, please, go!” Geneviève added from the phone.

Gabin looked between Jack and the phone, a smile growing on his face, much more genuine than the one he gave earlier. He snatched his bag up from where he had abandoned it before, dashing out the office.

“Thank you, Jack.” He said, then loudly added, “Merci, Geneviève!” And with that, he left, hopefully to find Tobias and do whatever it is he needed to do to fix the choreographer.

“So,” Jack started, turning round to pick the phone up again, sitting back down now that the stress had passed, “when you say kiss and make up, do you mean literally or…?” he trailed off questioningly.

“Seriously Jack?! Their first kiss was onstage in front of a full house plus another 7 million or so people online after Tobias blew up his original piece and decided to start over, on opening night! It was all over the internet! They trended for like a month!”

“What?! When was this?! How did I miss this?!” Jack leant forward in surprise.

“Back in December. Actually, it was the week Nicholas was in hospital and the night you, uh, yeah…” Geneviève finished, clearly recalling Jack’s offer to Cheyenne and their subsequent falling out. They tended to avoid the topic as they both still felt a little bitter about what happened.

“Ah, yeah, that uh- must be why.” Jack said, haltingly, scratching his head. “Anyway, tell me more about this dancer you’ve foisted on me in an effort to maintain peace and balance at Le Ballet National and the Metropolitan Ballet.”

“Gabin Roux. He’s a good kid really. Been waiting for his moment in the sun for a long time, and Tobias came along and pulled back the clouds. Since then, he’s been dubbed ‘one to watch’ by a couple French critics. He’s a bit impatient and puts up this mask of self-importance to protect himself. He’s received a lot of flak from the other dancers; this isn’t just an isolated incident. Um, he has a habit of just barging in when he wants something-“

And as if he had been listening in to the conversation from wherever he had run off to, Gabin crashed through the doors, this time out of breath.

“He’s not here!”

Chapter Text

“Hang on Geneviève.” Jack said quietly, before turning to the doors. “Who’s not here?”

“What do you mean who? Are all Americans this slow on the uptake? Tobias, the man we were just talking about two minutes ago. He is not here.” Gabin forced out as if talking to a toddler, eyes wide and imploring, his chest heaving.

“Are you sure you went to the right room? He should be there.”

“Of course I went to the right room. Two floors down, first door on the left, big room with windows and mirrors but no grumpy choreographer just a bunch of very annoyed dancers who were not receptive to my entrance or my questions about where Tobias is. They practically ran me out the room with the daggers coming out their eyes!”

Jack raised his eyebrows in shock. That didn’t sound like his dancers. Sure, they could be a bit bitchy sometimes, and they had their cliques, but they had never been rude to newcomers. “Did they really run you out of there?” he asked.

Gabin pulled a face, “They may not remember it that way. But still! They clearly knew who I was when I introduced myself but they were not happy to see me at all! Just scoffed and went ‘Oh, he's Gabin. Please, come demonstrate this one section of the dance that we are not doing right but apparently you can nail.’” Gabin imitated, looking down his nose and curling his lip. “I did not realise I was being sent here to give a masterclass but I happily obliged. Apparently, they saw no difference between what I was doing and what they were doing, which is ridiculous. Anyway, I asked about Tobias but they just got even more unhappy and would not tell me where he was. They told me to come ask you. So here I am, asking you.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Geneviève asked from the phone.

“Tobias is missing Geneviève!” Gabin cried in French before dramatically slumping onto Jack’s couch, bringing his feet up onto the cream pillows. Jack winced at the sight.

“…maybe he’s… sick?” Jack raised hesitantly. Both Geneviève and Gabin scoffed at him.

“Tobias doesn’t take sick days.” Gabin said plainly.

“And even if he did” Geneviève continued, “you would know about it because he would have called it in.”

“Would he though?” Jack questioned. The long silence from the other two spoke volumes. “Maybe we could go check on him, just in case he is sick. And if he’s not at his apartment then… maybe he got lost. It’s been a year since he was in the city, it’s very possible he just forgot the way to the theatre.” He suggested. Gabin’s head slowly raised to look at Jack over the top of the couch. He did not look impressed. Equally, Geneviève’s continued silence sounded very judgemental. Jack deflated before reinflating as another idea hit him. “We track him!”

“Is that even legal? That does not seem legal. I am not sure how I feel about you illegally tracking my boyfriend. Did you put a chip in him like he was a dog? Has he had that this entire time?! My god, that’s sick!” Gabin swung himself off the couch in a manner betraying his dancer’s nature. Jack was too distracted admiring the graceful move to realise Gabin was now stalking towards him, almost squaring up for a fight.

“Ah, no, no, we would- we would never do that!” Jack chuckled nervously, quickly moving to put the desk between himself and an advancing Gabin. “We track his phone. He willingly and consensually gave us his passwords after his first month with us when he kept ending up in completely different boroughs of the city. We once had to recover him from Coney Island.” He let out another chuckle at the memory. Tobias had been silently observing the chaos of the boardwalk, headphones on, while clutching a stick of candyfloss close. His unflippant demeanour and concerned glances at the screaming children running around him had made for an amusing sight when juxtaposed with the bright colours of the stalls and laughter of tourists.

However, Gabin didn’t seem to appreciate the hilarity, taking another threatening step forwards. Jack panicked, lunging to once more put the phone on speaker.

“A-and Geneviève had to track him when he first arrived in Paris! Isn’t that right, Geneviève!” he said pointedly.

“Uh, yes, yes, I did in fact do that. He was in line at a boulangerie. Didn’t know that of course. Just said that ‘the line was the point’. I had to bribe the fifteen children in front of him so he could go in and we could get him to the National.” Geneviève recalled.

Gabin considered this. “That does sound like something he would say.” He acquiesced. Jack waited with baited breath. “Ok, fine. I give you my permission to track his phone. Just this once though!”

Jack nodded, thinking to himself that this will definitely not be the last time he has to track Tobias. While he set about finding Tobias’ location Geneviève and Gabin continued conversing in French in the background.

He rifled through his desk to find the sticky note with Tobias' passwords, pulling out his cell to find the choreographer's location. “Here we go.” Jack muttered when it loaded, before pausing when he saw where Tobias’ phone was pinging from. He sucked in a breath. “… Geneviève,” Jack started quietly, “you may want to send a car to the airport. Like, right now.”

“Why, we’re not expect- oh. Oh, please don’t say what I think you’re about to say. He could not have been that stupid.”

Gabin looked between Jack and the phone in confusion. “What is going on? You know where he is, non? Let’s go get him!” he gestured wildly.

Jack let out a tortured sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gabin… Tobias is in Paris.”

Chapter Text

The dance was a disaster.

Sure, the dancers were technically performing the steps Tobias had told them to, but they just weren’t getting it. Something was missing.

Tobias could kid himself into thinking what was wrong was a section of choreography that just didn’t match the overall vibe of the piece, but that would be a waste of brainpower that he really needed to fix the travesty he was watching unfold. He knew what was missing. It was back in Paris, walking around Le Ballet National with a bandana tied tightly around its head.

Inspiration had struck Tobias on the plane back to New York, forcing him out of his seat to twirl and jump down the cramped aisle of the private jet he had been granted access to with Mishi, whose parents refused to have her travel on a commercial flight for whatever reason. They weren’t too pleased when they found out Tobias was hitching a ride back with her, but apparently Cheyenne refused to have them travel on separate flights, something about a waste of jet fuel. So, the Minister for Culture had reluctantly allowed him on board. He had never been on a private jet before, but he appreciated the quiet and space he was afforded. The lack of general public was a bonus and made it a lot easier for him to run through phrases. He even managed to encourage Mishi to try out some movements so he could see what they looked like from an outside perspective.

By the time they landed, Tobias had most of the piece mapped out and was ready to get into the studio with a full cast. He didn’t bother dropping his bags back at his apartment, marching straight into the Metropolitan and putting up a notice calling the cast of his new ballet to rehearsals.

Oddly enough, he waited for over an hour and no one appeared. Exasperated with the lack of punctuality, he had made his way to Jack’s office and demanded to know where his dancers were. Jack had seemed shocked to see him there, spinning in an ungainly manner from the table he had been hunched over.

After they re-established the fact that Tobias was, in fact, back and waiting to create, Marie, whose presence Tobias had initially missed, had explained that they had expected him to have taken the rest of the day to ‘make himself at home’ and make sure he was ‘well-rested’ before coming in the next day, which made no sense. Tobias had lived in the same apartment since he had started at the Metropolitan Ballet Theatre, he knew what it looked like, where everything was and the optimal way to move around. Why he would need to reacquaint himself was beyond him. Thankfully, Jack seemed to understand this and called the dancers he had requested to rehearsal.

That was three weeks ago, and Tobias was starting to wonder if he should have bothered chasing the dancers down in the first place with the way things were going. Josie had clearly injured her ankle at some point during his Paris residency, and it showed any time she went up on relevé. He had switched Alex’s partner five times and he still wasn’t managing to lift them on time. And don’t even get him started on his lead! Cody was supposed to be a principal dancer and yet he was all over the place, encroaching on the other dancers’ space, kicking below 90 degrees, and lacking the attack that Ga- that Tobias envisioned his lead having. Instead of a sharp arm line, Cody threw out a limp elbow. Rather than being grounded, Cody swanned about the stage as if dancing on a cloud. In place of a pow, Cody sloshed. He was too… nice.

Tobias knew Cody wasn’t supposed to lead this ballet. But what choice did he have? His lead was currently across the Atlantic Ocean, probably being brilliant in some other up-and-coming choreographer’s ballet. So, he tried to work with what he had, he really did. But after yet another hour of staring at the wafty mess his punchy ballet had become he just couldn’t take it anymore.

The end of the run saw Tobias slipping his headphones round his neck, marching up to Cody and saying, “Do you understand the laws of gravity?”

Cody just stared at him in bemusement. “Uhhh, thank you?” Of course he had taken it as a compliment. It was not.

“No,” Tobias explained, “that wasn’t a compliment. I’m genuinely asking. Because you’re supposed to be dancing from the ground up, but you seem to be unable to keep your feet on the on the floor! Gabin would know what I mean. How are you supposed to convey the emotion if you’re spending your time with your head in the clouds. And why,” he turned to the room, “does Alex have the opposite problem to you? You can’t get your partner off the ground! Did you ever go to a partnering class? Because I sure can’t tell! Also, accents. This piece is full of them. And yet none of you are hitting them. If only Gabin were here, then you would all know what an accent is. It’s sharp, it’s pow, it’s punched. Where’s your punch, people?! You could do with going a round in the ring with Gabin, you’d be in for a real shock.”

“Who the hell is Gabin, and why does he keep banging on about him?” he heard one of the ballerinas murmur in the background.

“Who the hell is Gabin?” he repeated. “Who the hell is Gabin?! Gabin is the man who is supposed to lead this dance. But he’s not here so I’m stuck with you lot. Which is fine, I guess, you just need to put in the work to get it ready to go to the stage. A lot of work. You need to be running this dance all day every day for the next two weeks. I refuse for a third piece to go out wrong under my name. So, get rid of your waft, learn to throw a punch, and seriously work on your timing. Let’s try the developpé run run star lift thing again.” And with that Tobias pulled his headphones back on.

The dancers trudged back to their positions, muttering under their breath. Tobias took no notice of it; he was too focused on trying to save this car crash. Hesitantly Alex stepped forward.

“Could we try changing the timing? Maybe if we lifted a beat earlier it would be easier to get into the star lift?” he suggested hopefully.

“And then I wouldn’t have to float the next jump so much!” Cody piped up.

Tobias breathed in sharply, bringing his hands up to his mouth. “It wouldn’t make it easier. Just do it how it is. It’s possible.”

Cody’s shoulders slumped in defeat, but apparently Alex was in the mood to be difficult. “Can’t we just try it though?” he pushed.

Tobias stared at him. It wouldn’t make it easier, he didn’t know how else to convey that to the dancers. He knew it was possible, he had seen Gabin do it with his own eyes. He couldn’t take the pushback any longer. So, he turned and walked right out the studio.

Behind him, he heard someone say faintly, “Is- is he coming back?”

Normally, he would take an hour or so to just escape the judgement and neediness of the dancers, map out what he needed to and work out a way to express it to the group. But this time, he had no desire to go back and continue devising a piece that was ultimately going to be performed wrong by the wrong person.

No. It just wouldn’t do.

So, he went home. Packed a bag. Got a taxi to the airport and booked the first flight to Paris. If his lead couldn’t be here, then Tobias needed to go to his lead.

Chapter Text

Geneviève really did not need to be dealing with this today. The Minister for Culture had been breathing down her neck, once again implying that her job was soon to meet its impending doom if she didn’t manage to turn things around. The dancers were still in the mood to revolt over Gabin’s behaviour, even though he had left the country around 11 hours ago. And to top it off, the director of the new opera wanted a human-sized fishtank onstage so that the ‘aquatic origins of the lead soprano would be believable’. This was the opera he was talking about, nothing is believable. So, a runaway choreographer was something she could really do without. But alas, Tobias had taken it upon himself to traverse the globe once more without telling anyone. And it was now her job to track him down.

The car she had sent to the airport had reportedly been unable to find the choreographer, and any time she sent them to an updated location the man had clearly moved on. How he could walk faster than a car could drive was beyond her, but she was putting it down to the delay between Jack refreshing the location in New York, relaying it to her in Paris, her passing on the information to the driver and the driver battling through the Parisian traffic.

“He’s not here Madame.” The driver once again updated her. He sounded completely done with the situation. Geneviève could sympathise.

“Damn it! How does he move so quickly?!” Jack exclaimed from down the phone.

“He’s a dancer.” Gabin answered matter-of-factly. “He knows how to step out. Plus, he’s gay.” Geneviève struggled to respond to that, before deciding to quit while she was ahead.

“Ok,” she sighed. “Why don’t you just come back. It’s clear we’re never going to catch up with him, and you’ve already wasted enough fuel that we’ll have to write a cheque to some environmental charity as a gesture of goodwill. He’ll turn up eventually.”

The driver gave an affirmative and hung up. When Tobias did grace them with his presence she was going to give him a piece of her mind. He could be so infuriating when he had his mind set on a goal. Granted, that goal was usually choreography oriented, and he was contained in a studio somewhere. Though there was that one time he broke containment, in a reverse of the current situation… but even then, he ended up at the Metropolitan Ballet Theatre, choreographing. This time, there was no telling why he had left the country so impulsively - though Geneviève had her guesses – and that made him even more of a wildcard than before.

Suddenly, a ruckus started up from outside her office. She muted the phone call, just in case she was about to be fired. She didn’t need an audience for that.

“Ah! Non! You can’t go in there, she’s on a very important-” the door burst open, “phone call.” Lucien’s protests trailed off.

Lo and behold, the man that they had all been looking for was stood there, suitcase in one hand, rock in another.

“Where is he?” Tobias punched out.

“Hello to you too, Tobias. We’ve been looking for you.” Geneviève said in response.

Tobias pulled a face at that. “What are you, a bond villain? Are you planning to go into acting, because you really need to work on it if you are. Stop trying to distract me! Where is Gabin? I looked in all the studios and he wasn’t in class, so I went to his apartment, which is so far away, really you should start paying your dancers better because that travel time alone is criminal. But I got there and he didn’t answer. I knocked, I shouted, I knocked again and then one of his neighbours came out and started threatening me in French. I’m not sure exactly what he said but I’m fairly certain it had the words ‘hair’, ‘axe’, ‘face’ and ‘river’ in it, and I don’t care to put that riddle together. So, I came back here because maybe he was late or had gone out for lunch or something, though he’s never done that before. But again, he wasn’t here and everyone seemed to not care where he was when I asked. So, where is he? I need him for my ballet.”

Geneviève was lost for words. She could only think of one thing to say: “Why do you have a rock?”

Tobias sighed as if it should be obvious as to why he was just carrying a rock around France’s most prestigious ballet company. “I have the rock because Gabin always carries a rock. I thought he was joking when he said he needed it where he lived, but then the neighbour thing happened and I realised he wasn’t joking so I picked up the first one I saw. Again, the rock really isn’t the point. Where is-“

“Gabin. Yes, I think we all know you’re looking for him.” Geneviève interjected.

“So why won’t you tell me?” Tobias questioned.

“Because- you know what, it doesn’t matter. Tobias, Gabin is in New York.”

“What? No he isn’t.”

“Yes,” Geneviève stated. “He is. I sent him there myself.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Tobias protested. “I was there just last night. I would know if he was there.”

“That’s because he wasn’t there yet. You left about three hours before he did. Your planes probably passed each other in the sky.” Geneviève took the phone off mute now that she was sure the interruption was not her getting fired. She needed to prove to Tobias that Gabin was where she said he was, and she had a feeling Gabin had been trying to talk to Tobias without knowing the phone was on mute. That made for an entertaining thought; Gabin desperately trying to get Tobias’ attention and Jack just suffering at his overenthusiasm.

“I thought that phrase was about ships?” Gabin muttered, finally released from phone jail.

“No- well, yes, the phrase is ‘two ships passing in the night’, which I guess you and Tobias were, but I meant that your planes literally flew passed each other.” She explained. Tobias perked up when he realised Gabin was on the phone.

“Gabin! Why are you in New York? You’re supposed to be here!” Tobias raised his voice unnecessarily to be heard.

“And you are supposed to be here.” Gabin responded. “Geneviève traded me! I’m going to finish my contract here, with you!”

“She did not ‘trade’ you.” Jack interrupted. “She foisted you on me, without telling me.”

“Traded, foisted, whatever. I’m here, Tobias isn’t.”

“He’s right.” Geneviève said, coming to the same conclusion as the rest. “The whole point of me sending Gabin to New York was so that he and Tobias could be together, not apart. But someone,” she stared pointedly at Tobias, “decided to have the same idea at the exact same time. And now they’ve effectively traded places. So, Jack…”

“No! You wanted them to be together; you can have them together!”

“Oh, come on! You didn’t want to let go of Tobias in the first place, wanted to ‘put a pin in him’, but now you’re happy for him to come here?!” cried Geneviève.

“Tobias isn’t a pin cushion!” Gabin protested loudly. Geneviève heard the screech of a chair being pushed back sharply. She could only assume Jack was trying to put distance between himself and the offended French dancer.

“I never said he was! And anyway, I never asked for this ballerina who clearly has anger issues! You can have him back! You’ve already given me enough defective dancers.”

“Pfft, they weren’t defective, they just had a couple… character faults. Everyone has those. Gabin’s just happens to be the odd inability to control his anger.”

“You’re really not selling him very well to me here.” was Jack’s response.

Geneviève ran a hand through her hair in frustration. This problem was supposed to have been solved when she put Gabin on a plane at 6 am this morning. She was supposed to be getting a pat on the back from the rest of the company. Jack was supposed to have called and told her how she was a genius for sending him new talent that also came with the added bonus of being a Tobias-whisperer.

“Well, I don’t want Tobias back! No offence.” She turned to the choreographer who had just been standing there aimlessly while this argument unfolded. He barely acknowledged her. “He’s a brilliant choreographer, and he eventually did wonders for our ticket sales, but the deal was for a year and I don’t think my dancers are able to put up with him in a more permanent position. He’s welcome to guest whenever he likes though.” She added, just as an attempt to not entirely run him off.

“That’s- that’s fair, I guess. But you don’t think my dancers feel the same way? I’ve had a revolving door of complaints since he came back. Initially, I thought they had just forgotten how… individual his creating methods were, but then I saw it for myself and I realised that wasn’t it.” Jack served back. Before he could carry on, Gabin cut in.

“Either of you would be lucky to have Tobias as resident choreographer!” 

“And we’re not disputing that Gabin.” Geneviève said, in attempt to calm the dancer down. “It’s why I sent you to New York, so that both you and Tobias could get back to creating art without the added attitude.”

“Well, we’ll need a little bit of attitude. We are in the ballet after all.” Gabin muttered jokingly. Everyone else groaned.

“Getting back to the matter at hand,” Jack quickly redirected after an awkward pause, “it would be easier, and safer, for me to send your dancer back to you.” Geneviève could see the merit in that. When Tobias travelled, it always caused someone (usually her) a headache or two. Case and point, this afternoon.

“I mean, you’re not wrong. Lord knows how you managed to get here by yourself.” She turned questioningly to Tobias.

“Ok, you’re all acting as if I’ve never been introduced to the concept of air travel before. Like its hard? You go to the airport, buy a ticket, go to the gate and get on the plane. Easy.” Tobias stated.

“Yes, but Tobias,” Jack started as if talking to a child. “You have no concept of direction. You get turned around at the end of the street, so you’ll understand why we’re hesitant to put you in a situation where you could very easily walk onto the wrong plane and end up in, I don’t know, Morocco!” Geneviève would bet the entire contents of her purse Jack was flailing his arms around right now. She hung her head. Both she and Jack were making great points as to why they shouldn’t keep the crazed artist in front of them that couldn’t be argued against, but they were no closer to reaching a conclusion.

She looked up consideringly at Tobias, who looked a little startled to be under such intense scrutiny. After a moment she took pity on him and turned back to the phone. Why was this so difficult?

“We could send them both to a different company… that way we’d both be even and they would be someone else’s problem.” She suggested, though she secretly didn’t want that to happen. To give away direct access to Tobias’ eccentric choreography and Gabin’s unique flair would be madness. No matter how difficult the pair could be, both together and apart, there was no doubt that they were assets to their respective companies, even if many people often overlooked or criticised them, herself included.

“No. Tobias shouldn’t have to get used to another new environment. What if they don’t have his toothpaste? Non, I’ll come back to Paris.” Gabin said definitively.

“But then I’ll still be without my toothpaste. I should go back to New York.” Tobias countered.

“I’ll bulk buy a year’s worth of your toothpaste and bring it back with me.” Gabin offered. “From the vibes I got, none of the dancers here appreciate you, and you deserve to be somewhere you’re appreciated Tobias. Paris appreciates you.”

She wouldn’t say it aloud, but Geneviève found it sweet how much of a romantic Gabin could be. Why that side of him came out for Tobias of all people, she’ll never understand, but it was comforting to know someone was bringing out that softer side.

“Wherever I go people are going to have a problem with me, Gabin. Plus, I’ve still got that unfinished piece in New York.” Tobias said sincerely.

“Also,” Geneviève added, “my dancers will actually revolt this time if you come back here within the next six months Gabin. I can’t have that happen. The Minister for Culture has been looking for a reason to fire me and a picket line of ballet dancers protesting your presence would be the perfect opportunity. How could I run a company if I can’t even make my dancers play nice?” Just the thought of it made Geneviève panic. She would not let a company-wide hissy fit be her downfall.

“Seriously?! They’re ballerinas, they should be able to handle a bit of criticism. They can be such sissies sometimes.” Gabin said.

“They really can.” Geneviève muttered to herself, though judging by Tobias’ slightly raised eyebrows and the silence coming from the phone, that hadn’t been as private as she wanted it to be. “That doesn’t leave this phone call.” she threatened.

“We could flip a coin?” Jack raised. It was a stupid idea, but was starting to look more and more appealing.

“So now we’re just going to put our futures down to something as trivial as fate?! Absolutely not!” Tobias protested. He looked like he was on the verge of performing his disappearing act. Geneviève subtly sent a text to Lucien telling him to barricade the door to the office in an effort to slow Tobias down in the event he did decide to just walk out.

“Non! Screw this!” Gabin exclaimed. There was the sound of a chair toppling over.

“Where are you going?!” Jack cried out. Geneviève could only hear a muffled response.

“Do not let him leave Jack!” she demanded.

“I’m trying my best here!” was the response she got. The sound of doors opening followed by a scream came down the line. Both she and Tobias winced at the pitch.

“Ah! Putain!”

“You scream like a girl.” That displeased tone could only belong to Cheyenne. Great.

Chapter Text

“You nearly gave me a heart attack!” Gabin cried in French, bringing his hand up to his chest for added emphasis. He really had not been expecting Cheyenne Toussaint of all people to be stood right on the other side of the door when he had flung it open to leave. He may have let out a cry of shock, but it was not as high pitched as she was making it out to be.

A scoff. “Not my fault you have the balls of a baby deer.” Cheyenne responded in kind.

“I do not!” Gabin huffed indignantly.

“Really? That is not what I heard, baby Bambi.” Cheyenne taunted.

“Wha- I was not- how did you hear about that?!” Gabin spluttered. Cheyenne was not the type of person to care about things happening to others if it did not directly affect her. She didn’t tend to care about others, period. So, it was very interesting that she had heard about his arrest, even more interesting that she knew what was in the official police statement he gave to keep his job.

“I make it my business to know things.” Cheyenne said with an unnerving calm, tilting her head.

Trying not to squirm, Gabin fell back on his tried-and-true method of deflection. “Ah, just admit it. You missed me and wanted to keep an eye on me. I get it, I am very missable.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why would I miss you? You have not even crossed my mind once since I last saw you. How was that production, by the way? The one where you were a… farmer?” She asked with an air of disinterest.

“Wine holder.” Gabin corrected through his teeth. She knew he was playing a wine holder (his third of the season). She had heard his entire spiel bemoaning the fact. She was deliberately getting it wrong just to spite him. Gabin narrowed his eyes. “Very boring, but my presence on stage really brought the number together.”

“I am sure.” Cheyenne hummed, stepping around him into the office. He turned and chased after her.

“It is true! Someone said so in a review. Some very respected critic said, and I quote, ‘This retelling of Romeo and Juliet did not stand out in any way. The dancers danced the choreography; the costumes looked like they were supposed to; Romeo and Juliet still died; it did what it was meant to do. The one stand-out star of this production came in the unexpected form of one Gabin Roux, who’s vivid portrayal of wine holder really drew the eye and captured the audience. This dancer is going places, and this reviewer hopes he will land his breakout role very soon.’” Gabin dramatized.

Cheyenne hummed dismissively. “So why are you here, instead of back in Paris ‘breaking out’? Or had your muscles atrophied so much from holding that wine they decided to send you away?”

“Fuck the whole way off.”

“It is not a stretch. I think I recall one reviewer calling your lead debut ‘a disaster’.” She mused, raising an eyebrow.

“Keep your voice down!” Gabin hissed, stepping closer to her. “I only just managed to persuade Tobias to delete that recording from his phone before he left, I do not need you reminding him of it!”

“And is this Tobias in the room with us?” Cheyenne questioned, making a big deal about looking around the room overdramatically.

“Yes! He is on the phone!” Gabin said, gesturing sharply at the object.

“Oh.” She didn’t seem particularly worried about this.

“Don’t worry Gabin,” Geneviève piped up from the phone in English. “Tobias checked out once you and Cheyenne started bickering in French. He’s currently curled up in the corner with his headphones on. I doubt he could follow your conversation even if he was listening.” She added.

“I heard ‘disaster’!” Tobias called faintly.

“Merde!” Gabin cursed.

“Of course, he knows that word in French.” Jack muttered, head falling to meet his hand.

Cheyenne’s face had taken on a sour expression when she realised Geneviève was on the phone. “Geneviève.” She greeted.

“Cheyenne.” Geneviève replied. They greeted each other with the tone that the self-important upper class use when they have to interact with someone they dislike but can’t outwardly show disdain to so as to maintain a semblance of dignity. Gabin really wanted to know why that was. “I haven’t heard from you since- since Whatever This Is.” She faltered.

“Yes, what is this?” Cheyenne deflected.

“No. Whatever This Is was the name of the piece that was being performed when we last spoke.” Geneviève tried to redirect.

“I do not recall any performance… there was a bunch of dancers lazing about the stage while the lunatic choreographer tried to get his lead to do something useful…" Cheyenne mused.

Gabin’s head shot towards Cheyenne. “Hey!” he cried in outrage, “That is me you’re talking about!”

“Huh, figures.”

“You were there?!”

 “I was not there; I was just passing through.”

“But you were in the theatre, you saw us on stage. That means you were there.” Gabin clarified in bemusement.

“No, I just needed to talk to Geneviève. If I was there, I would have bought a ticket and sat in a seat.” Gabin could only gape. Where Cheyenne got her logic from, he did not know. He could only let the matter of whether Cheyenne was ‘there’ or not drop. “I did see the piece though. It was brilliant. Could have done without the kissing at the end though, little bit too dramatic.”

“Excusez-moi!” Gabin once again cried.

At the same time, Tobias chimed in with a sincere, “Thank you!”

“Tobias!” Gabin scolded.

“What?! She complimented the piece! You should be thanking her too!”

Cheyenne turned expectantly to Gabin.

“She called the ending dramatic. She called us dramatic!” Gabin said, trying to get Tobias to see why he was so outraged.

“Well, we were a little dramatic. Making out in front of that many people? I honestly don’t know what came over me.” Tobias responded.

“And you are dramatic!” Geneviève cut in, obviously done with the whole situation. “That’s why we’re in this predicament, as I keep saying! Now can we please get back to what we’re going to do with the two of you?!”

“Yes, what a good idea Geneviève.” Jack said, sounding very relieved to change the subject. “Ok, new angle. One of us is going to lose a member of the company, and one of us is going to gain someone. Do either of us have someone we could trade to balance things out?” Jack suggested. Clearly his morning coffee had kicked in between now and his coin-flipping idea.

“That’s not actually half-bad…” Geneviève trailed off.

“I’m not just a pretty face.” Jack said proudly, a smug expression on his face.

“Yes, you are.” Cheyenne shot back. The smug expression slid away to be replaced with annoyance. The tension between those two was palpable, and Gabin's interest was piqued.

Jack sighed, looking at his watch. “Look, I have a meeting to get to, so how about we take some time to think it over, come up with potential candidates and then reconvene tomorrow?” Regardless of the meeting, the end of the working day was approaching in Paris and Gabin knew that Geneviève had a tendency to work hours past the time she should really go home. While he’ll maintain he did not cause this problem, he didn’t want her to be more put out than she should be purely so they could continue debating where he and Tobias will end up. It wasn’t a pressing matter, however much he wished it could be. Jack looked to him as if trying to gauge his level of approval. Gabin nodded.

“Ok,” Geneviève acquiesced. “I guess that makes sense. Make sure your one doesn’t run off though, I’m going to have enough trouble trying to make this one stay put for the night.”

Gabin didn’t particularly like being referred to as if he and Tobias were hamsters with a penchant for escaping their cages, though he could see the merit to the image.

“Don’t worry, I’ll have Cheyenne babysit him.” Jack said.

“Non!”

“I am not a baby!”

Both French dancers cried indignantly at that.

Jack ignored them, exchanging a brief goodbye with Geneviève before hanging up the phone and turning his full attention to the pair. “I wasn’t lying about that meeting. You,” he pointed at Gabin. “You want to dance here? Go learn Tobias’ piece, show us what you’re made of. Maybe help the others so that when he gets back, he won’t have as much to complain about. Apparently, he trusts your input. And you,” he turned to Cheyenne. “Stay on him. I don’t want him leaving the building until I get back. Now, play nice, both of you.” And with a long-suffering sigh, he got up and left the office.

The two dancers side-eyed each other appraisingly.

“Come on then baby.” Cheyenne said mockingly in French.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Chapter Text

Geneviève turned around from the phone, call now ended. Rolling her chair to face Tobias on the couch, she took in a breath. “Right, seems like you’re spending the night here.” She told Tobias.

Tobias huffed. “Seems I am.” Thank goodness he actually packed his toiletries this time.

“Obviously, we gave your apartment away when you left, seeing as we didn’t expect you to be back. Normally, I would put you up in a hotel, but I don’t trust you not to run off in the middle of the night. So, that leaves you with me.” Geneviève said.

“With you?” Tobias questioned haltingly.

“Yes. You can stay in my guest room.” Geneviève confirmed.

While he didn’t like the idea of sharing a space with someone, especially when that someone was basically kind of his boss, the thought of being in a hotel was worse. The rooms just felt much less private than an actual apartment, plus people were coming and going at all hours with no regards for their neighbours. So, staying with Geneviève would have to do. It was only one night, after all.

“Fine.” He acquiesced.

The woman looked at him expectantly for another moment before nodding to herself and looking at her desk. What else she wanted him to say, he had no clue.

“Right,” Geneviève started again. “Well, company rehearsals should be letting out in a couple minutes but I now seemingly have to go through all my files and compile a list of candidates Jack might potentially take on so we’re going to be here for a while. You’re welcome to stay in here with me or I can have Raphaël accompany you to a studio if you like?”

“I can find my own way to the studio, thanks.” Tobias replied.

“No. You go with Raphaël or you stay here. You heard me, I don’t trust you.”

Tobias deflated. He wasn’t a child; he didn’t need to be supervised. He was exhausted. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours now, had subjected himself to the cramped overstimulation of air travel and then run all over the city for the better part of 3 hours. The thought of catching another overnight to New York made him feel physically ill. He needed to recharge, and the best way he knew how was by shutting himself in a studio, raising the volume on his headphones, and losing himself in movement. But he could see any argument or attempt to explain this to Geneviève would be futile, so he gave in, allowing her to call whoever this Raphaël was in.

A harassed looking man came in, exchanging some harried words in French with Geneviève before reluctantly turning to Tobias and huffing out, “Come on then, man who clearly doesn’t remember me.”

Tobias just furrowed his brows. If they had met before then this man must not have made a lasting impression. Following him through the winding hallways of Le Ballet National, Tobias found himself somewhat thankful he had the chaperone, as he was reminded of how easy it was to get lost in this building.

They ended up back at his old studio, the one with the red piano and the statue that watched over rehearsals. Tobias lingered in the doorway, taking it in. Nothing about the room had changed in his near month away, and yet it felt completely different. Maybe it was because he no longer worked here. Maybe it was because a new varnish had been used on the floor. Or maybe it was because the man he had made so many memories with in this very room was not in the country.

Thinking of Gabin spurred Tobias further into the room. Just hearing the dancer’s voice had alleviated the creative funk he had been in yesterday, and he had managed to map out some potential phrases that he could use to finish the piece in New York. He wanted to get a feel for how they flowed, but he felt the weight of eyes on him. Turning to Raphaël, he said, “Do you mind?”

The man looked flabbergasted. “Do I mind?” He echoed in a sarcastic tone.

“Yes,” Tobias replied. “Do you mind. I need to map this out before I forget it and your staring is really off-putting. Could you, like, turn and face the wall, or something?” He suggested.

Raphaël stared at him for another incredulous beat. Then he huffed out a breath and left the room, muttering under his breath the entire way.

The weight lifted and Tobias felt he could breathe easier. He was finally alone. Well, as alone as he could be with that statue staring at him, but he had grown to appreciate it's judgemental gaze over his time here. It's steady presence offered the gentlest of pressures that he found encouraged his craft on days when inspiration was running low. Now, coupling that with the fresh sound of Gabin that lingered in his mind, Tobias felt rejuvenated creatively.

Moving to the centre of the floor, he pulled his headphones on and cued up the track he had been working with back at the Metropolitan, navigating to a slower section about a third of the way through. Tobias knew he had a penchant to create experimental numbers that flowed with a subtle energy that would build before bursting out from the dancers in a meticulously crafted sequence or flurry of steps, but this new piece had taken on a more traditional look and feel. His strengths arguably lay with the unexpected, but this slow section needed to feel like an adagio exercise that would be given in class. Cody’s light and airy way of dancing didn’t work for this, and had been hindering Tobias’ attempts to set anything and feel remotely happy with it. He had changed the steps for this section at least once each rehearsal. But now, now he could create!

He conjured the image of Gabin in this studio, setting sun casting him in an orange glow, sharpening his lines in shadow. He saw the exertion indicative of a hard day’s work, cheeks red, curls out of place, shirt clinging to his torso. Yet, no matter how tired he was, the dancer continued to run through a particularly challenging combination from an earlier class, tweaking certain things like the angle of an arm or the placement of his weight in an effort to perfect the movements. The determination shining in his eyes is what drove Tobias to start moving.

Starting with a port de bras, Tobias let his weight transfer through fourth to lift into a simple arabesque, holding for a beat. He drew the leg into retiré passé, before letting it developpé out to the front, tilting his head back. Following up with a tombé pas de bourrée, he joined his feet in fifth, turning all the way round to face lower stage right before melting through a chassé out onto a fondu, leg extended behind him and arms raised in third arabesque.

Yes. That was it.

He rewound the music to pick up from the beginning of the section, trying out different corrections on different attempts. Did he want the passé to be sharp and then slowly extend out, or did he want it to flow through the position without stopping? Should there be a breath before he lowered into his chassé? How high should the extensions be?

He was aiming for this to look like the dancer was one with the ground, something contradictory in ballet, with choreography often aiming for the dancer to appear as if they disobeyed the laws of gravity. But adagio was where the ground came into play. Tobias had always loved it, loved finding the connection between the floor and his feet, working out exactly where his weight should be to maintain the perfect balance. Slowing down allowed for the dancer to focus on proper technique, and once they unlocked that they could allow their performance to really shine through and elevate the movements, rather than hiding behind quick, unfinished lines and a beaming smile. It could become the most freeing section of a dance if one let it. And Gabin did.

During another polishing run he felt the weight of eyes return to him. He looked over his shoulder towards the door to see Geneviève leant up against the frame, watching him.

“I didn’t realise you could dance so well.” She said.

Tobias furrowed his brow, arms dropping to his sides. “Of course I can. How can I expect my dancers to perform my choreography if I don’t know how it feels?” He asked, pulling his headphones around his neck.

Geneviève’s face scrunched contemplatively. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just that I’ve met some choreographers in my time that only really have a grasp of how moves should link together but leave the technique down to the performers.”

Ugh. Tobias knew exactly the choreographers she was talking about. They were an insult to their craft if you asked him. While he wasn’t the most demonstrative, Tobias knew an understanding of how movements linked together was fundamental to choreographing. Those that used their words and hands to explain their work just screamed laziness to him. Plus, sometimes it was just easier to show someone what he was asking for rather than attempt to find a way of explaining it that would get across. Dancers often struggled to understand his verbalisations, so he made sure to keep on top of his own technique in these sessions so he could best show what he wanted.

“Did you need something?” He asked, eager to get back to fixing the details of this section.

“I was just about to head out.” Geneviève gestured over her shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”

He would have preferred to stay until he had this fully straightened out, but his body was starting to protest, so he gathered his things silently and made his way over to the door.

“Right,” Geneviève said, closing the door behind them. “I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting guests, so we’ll have to pick up dinner on the way. Is there anything you would prefer?” She turned to him expectantly.

“Is that hole-in-the-wall Italian still open? The one opposite that weird shoe shop that does the really creamy carbonara?” He’d often frequented the shop back when he lived here, their dishes very similar to his favourite Italian restaurant back in New York. Their sauces were smooth, no unexpected chunks in them, and they didn’t tend to mix too many flavours together.

“I’m not sure I know the place you’re talking about, but if you know the way I’m happy to try it out.” Geneviève responded.

By this point, they had navigated to the front entrance of Le Ballet National, so, in lieu of answering, Tobias nodded, slipping his headphones on and setting off in the right direction.

Behind him, he heard the muffled sounds of heels clicking to catch up.

Chapter Text

Silence echoed around the rehearsal room when Gabin returned with Cheyenne in tow.

“Is something wrong with them?” he asked in French out the side of his mouth. The group were just staring blankly at the pair. It was kind of scary, though he would never admit it.

“I think they may just be like this. It is what they did when I first started here.” Cheyenne responded.

Sucking in a breath, Gabin nodded, steeling himself to walk further in to the room. Approaching the group, he swapped to English to say, “Hello again. It seems that Tobias is in Paris.” The group turned to each other and started murmuring. “But do not worry, I am here to help you out with your choreography. You are welcome.”

“And you’re a choreographer?” Someone asked from the back of the group.

“Ah, non. I am a dancer, just like you.” He gestured to his changed attire, a long-sleeve shirt, tights and his ballet shoes, topped with his leather jacket.

“But you’re going to help out with the choreography?” Someone else piped up. Gabin turned to look at Cheyenne in bemusement, but she seemed to be enjoying the line of questioning directed at him. Figures.

“Yes, I am. Tobias asked me to help out.” He responded.

“Really.” A third person chimed in suspiciously. “Tobias Bell asked you for help?”

Gabin sighed. He knew Tobias had a reputation for refusing suggestions, but over the past year he had really been opening up to outside input. Granted, he only ever really accepted it from Gabin, but it was still a big step forward for the choreographer.

“No. He did not ask me for my help. He asked me to help you. Something about being too light on your feet? And struggling with a lift?” Tobias had texted him some brief notes after the phone call, asking-without-asking Gabin to try and fix his choreography.

The dancers in front of him pulled varying faces of displeasure and chastisement. It was very amusing.

“I suppose he asked Cheyenne to help out then too?”

“Really, more questions?” Gabin muttered to himself in French.

“No. I am just here to make sure the baby doesn’t escape.” Cheyenne responded.

Gabin turned to her indignantly. “Seriously? You had to put it like that? I am trying to make a good impression here!” He hissed in their native language.

“You weren’t doing a very good job.” She deadpanned back.

“I was doing a brilliant job! I was charming them.”

“I would not call that charming. More like peacocking.”

He puffed his chest at that. “I was not peacocking!” Cheyenne looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow. Gabin deflated with as much dignity as he could. “Fuck you.” He muttered, just to save face.

Cheyenne just hummed smugly.

Plastering a smile to his face, Gabin turned back to the dancers, once more addressing them in English. “So, how about you show me what we are working with?”

The dancers all looked at each other questioningly, before they reluctantly dragged themselves to their opening positions.

The music started, as did the dancers. Gabin could instantly recognise Tobias’ choreographic flair in the sequence, but it just wasn’t landing right. He saw what Tobias meant about it being too light. If he had to put a word to it, Gabin would say it was too 'American'. The lead was trying to show himself off, pandering to the non-existent audience with how open he was, rather than showing off the technique.

The group split off into partners and Gabin roved a critical eye over them, quickly spotting the male struggling to lift his ballerina. His feet were too close together, only slightly, but Gabin could imagine the extra strain that was putting on the dancer’s back and shoulders.

The music slowed down and the dancers fumbled their way through an adage that Gabin understood as being a placeholder until Tobias could come up with something that fit better.

Picking back up the pace, the dancers finished with a flurry of flicks and twirls. They hit their final poses, panting heavily. As one, their eyes all turned towards where Gabin and Cheyenne had sat down to watch, seeking approval perhaps. Gabin shared a concerned glance with Cheyenne. While she wasn’t the easiest person to read, Gabin could see she shared his thoughts. They had their work cut out.

Rising slowly, Gabin drew in a breath, deciding where to start first. “Ok, the choreography is… there, which is a great start!” The group’s shoulders slumped.

“You are being too nice to them.” Cheyenne called to him. Gabin ignored her.

“How about one of you teach me the choreography and we can go from there. Who is the lead?” He asked.

“Larry.” Cheyenne called predatorily.

The group parted to reveal Larry crouched on the floor by his water, looking very put on the spot. He rose and made his way towards Gabin.

“You are Larry?” Gabin asked.

“Yes.” Larry affirmed, gathering confidence.

Gabin hummed. “You look more like a Cody. Anyway, let us start.” He pulled his leather jacket off and threw it blindly towards where he had been sitting, quietly hoping that it would hit Cheyenne in the face. He gestured Larry forwards and took up position behind him, ready to follow along.

“Shouldn’t you warm up?” Larry asked hesitantly. Gabin was really getting sick of the people questioning him.

“I am already warm. I just ran around this building twice. So, please.” Once more, he gestured to Larry.

Larry shrugged, muttering a soft, “Suit yourself.”

Ever so slowly, Larry walked Gabin through the routine.

Once he felt confident in the steps, Gabin let Larry run off to a corner while he started refining his movements, making sure to keep Tobias’ notes in mind: stay grounded, perfect the technique.

Gabin hadn’t realised how much he had missed Tobias’ choreography. Tobias? Sure, everyone and their mother knew he missed the choreographer, but there was just something about the way Tobias linked steps together to create a sequence highlighting a dancer’s skillset that Gabin had longed for.

Now that he was actually dancing it, Gabin could tell Tobias had choreographed this for him, which only made him miss the choreographer more. Between their hectic schedules and the time difference they had found very little time to talk to each other over the past couple of weeks, and when they managed to find the time, neither of them was interested in lamenting how much they missed each other. Tobias had said it would be pointless when there was nothing they could do about the matter, so why not spend the small time they had on the phone focusing on the positives rather than the negatives, to which Gabin had agreed. It hadn’t stopped him lamenting to others about it, but he needed to let it out somewhere. All that said, his insecurities had got the better of him at times, making him think he was the only one feeling the strain of long-distance, but knowing Tobias was still choreographing for Gabin, even if he wasn’t there to dance it, proved to Gabin that Tobias had been missing him just as much.

Spinning out of a jump, Gabin tried to pass into the next step fluidly, but something didn’t feel quite right. He stopped, frowning. Thinking maybe it was just his lack of focus, he tried the jump again, putting more thought into the landing. Again, it didn’t quite work. Looking down, Gabin wondered whether he should bother trying to smooth it out. Tobias had given him permission to tweak the routine after all… but what to do instead?

Deciding to start simple, Gabin did less rotations of the jump, hoping for a more stable landing. Nope. Maybe turning in the opposite direction? Nope. Landing on one foot, leaving the other free to move quicker? Nope. Landing on the other foot? Nope. Shifting his weight? Nope.

So, it wasn’t the jump.

Unsure of where to go from there, Gabin decided listening to the music might help. He could get a feel for the mood of the section and would have a better understanding of the counts. Maybe there was an accent or drawn-out note he could take advantage of.

Walking over to where he had left his phone, Gabin noticed Cheyenne watching him intensely.

“What?” He asked her, sharply. He wasn’t in the mood for criticism.

“That transition is wrong.” She said plainly. As if he already didn’t know.

“I know, I am trying to fix it.” He pointed out.

“Did you try shifting your weight?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“How about less rotations?”

“Yes.”

“Did you-”

“Yes!” Gabin cut her off. “I did. It is not the jump that is the problem, it is the bit after. But I am not a choreographer so I need a bit more time to work it out.” He said, frustrated with himself. Tobias made this look so easy. It was a lot harder to start meddling with a piece that wasn’t complete and you had just learnt. Gabin was determined to find a way though.

“Ok,” Cheyenne acquiesced, clearly sensing his frustration and deciding to take pity on him. “Maybe a level change might help?”

Gabin looked at her, considering the suggestion. “Maybe… jump or slide?” He fired back.

“Slide.” She said.

Nodding, he got up, returning to the area he had been practicing in, Cheyenne following behind this time. The other dancers, who had previously been chattering amongst themselves while stretching or getting water, watched the pair. One of them spoke up.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Changing the choreography?”

Gabin looked over, confused. Why wouldn't it be a good idea? The dancer must have read this on his face, because they continued.

“It’s just- Tobias is very particular about his choreography. He doesn’t take suggestions. I don’t think he’d react well if he came back to find out you had just re-choreographed his entire piece.”

“That’s an understatement.” Someone else scoffed under their breath.

“Firstly,” Gabin started. “I am not re-choreographing the entire piece, just this one transition... and maybe the turn section towards the beginning, but I’m starting here. Secondly, Tobias gave me his permission, like I told you earlier.” He turned to Cheyenne, muttering in French, “It’s no wonder this piece is a mess, with how badly these people listen.” She just smirked. “So,” he turned back to the group. “If you are done questioning my every move?” He raised his eyebrows pointedly. They just rolled their eyes and resumed their annoyed muttering. Honestly!

Getting into position, Gabin jumped, landed, and slid out into the following pose. It felt better, but still not perfect. Tobias would want perfect.

“It is definitely better.” Cheyenne voiced his thoughts aloud.

Gabin hummed.

His next attempt saw him chassé backwards instead of forwards, but he overbalanced, nearly falling on his backside. While he flailed his arms in an attempt to stay upright, he heard snorts coming from the corner. He maturely ignored them.

Finally stable, he chanced a glance at Cheyenne, who was looking at him with amusement. “Yeah, yeah.” He muttered.

“Maybe it is not the getting into the pose, but the pose itself?” Cheyenne mused. “The angle is wrong for your front foot.”

“Which means my legs are twisting while I am-”

“Trying to stay square to the front.” Cheyenne finished. “So, change the angle.”

“Or, change the stance?” Cheyenne looked at him curiously. “My back leg is being left behind so I can transfer back onto it on the contraction, but that is forcing me to twist my hips one way then the other too quickly-”

“Throwing off your balance.”

“And making for one ugly movement.”

“You need to be in a small fourth rather than this lunge.”

“Exactly! Jerk, place place?”

“Jerk, place place.” Cheyenne agreed.

 They both nodded decisively and Gabin prepared himself. Jerk, place place. He took a deep breath and jumped.

Chapter Text

Geneviève’s apartment was small but nice for Paris, though it was very cluttered, with stacks of paperwork and shoes filling every corner and surface available. She adored it.

Bustling in through the door, Geneviève kicked her shoes off and set to clearing a path to the dining table, hoping against hope that Tobias wouldn’t be put off by the mess. When she had visited him after his self-imposed isolation following Off Rhythm’s less-than generous reception, she had noted how sparse his own apartment was. At the time, she put it down to the temporary nature of the situation, believing he had left all the important things at his place in New York and only brought the bare essentials with him, as was the case with his toiletries. But there had been the scribbles on random materials that weren’t meant to be drawn on scattered around, and all the different lights, so now  she second-guessed herself, thinking that maybe he lived a minimalist lifestyle. That was very chic in America, wasn’t it? God, he probably thought she was a slob.

Finding the rising urge to apologise, Geneviève said, “I’m sorry for the mess. As I said, I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors.”

“Why are you apologising?” Tobias asked plainly.

“Because,” Geneviève started hesitantly. “I invited you here, as my guest, and the place is an absolute state. It’s not the way you welcome someone in.”

Tobias just stared at her. “Oh.”

“Oh? That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, I’ve been in worse places.”

Geneviève was taken aback. “You have?”

“I’m from New York.” Tobias stated, as if that was all the explanation he needed to give. And to be fair, it was. “Also, I’ve seen how you keep your desk, so I expected your apartment would be much the same.

Geneviève paused, considering this, before nodding. She went to the kitchen to find some plates and cutlery for them to eat with. 

Upon returning she found Tobias had placed the containers of food along the middle of the table and had sat in the chair facing the room, headphones on. Clearly dinner was to be a silent affair, which didn’t fuss Geneviève after the day she had. Negotiating over the phone took a lot out of her and her voice could use a rest.

The food was delicious. While Tobias had got his Carbonara, Geneviève had opted for a Bolognese. Tobias was right, the sauce was simple but rich, without overpowering the rest of the dish. How she hadn’t heard of this place before, she didn’t know. Geneviève made it a habit to go to smaller restaurants as often as possible, disliking the stifling atmosphere and tiny portions of the 5-star restaurants she often had to take business meetings in. She would take a hearty, home-cooked meal over the overpriced, overcooked portions of air any day, especially when the company expected nothing of her.

They quickly finished their dinner and cleared the table. Geneviève offered Tobias use of the bathroom, mainly as a way to ensure he was in a locked room while she got the spare bedroom in order. It helped that both rooms shared a wall too. Like she had said before, she wasn’t taking any chances.

Unfortunately, as with any single person with a multi-bedroom apartment, the spare bedroom had become a second storage room. She had to move multiple boxes off the bed and stack them in the window, throwing up a cloud of dust as she went, prompting a violent sneezing fit. Damn it. There was no way Tobias would survive the night in here. Even if he didn’t complain about the air quality and enclosed himself in the room, there was no telling whether he had seasonal allergies that could be triggered. There was also the chance that with each inhale his lungs would fill up with dust until he suffocated in his sleep. That wouldn't do. Gabin would devote himself to making her life a living hell if she let Tobias die under her watch.

She didn’t have the time or effort to hoover so Geneviève decided that Tobias could have her room and she would put up with a night on the couch instead. She had expected to be staying awake for a while anyway with the files she had brought home, so this way she could at least get comfy while she worked.

Geneviève used the spare time she now had to change out of her work clothes and make a nest in the living room, setting the files up on the coffee table. Soon she heard the click of the lock announce Tobias’ departure from the bathroom, and he padded into the room with his bag in tow.

“Where can I put my things?” He asked her.

“Just down the hall in the master bedroom. I changed the sheets and left the lamp on by the bed. I hope it’s ok for you.”

Tobias frowned. “Your spare room is the master bedroom? Is that some sort of French social custom?”

“No, it’s not.” Geneviève responded, confused.

“Then why am I in the master bedroom?” He pushed.

“Because the spare bedroom looks like the inside of a vacuum cleaner with the amount of dust it has acquired and anyone who slept in it would suffocate to death in their sleep by inhaling all of that. So I’m going to sleep on the couch and you can sleep in my bed.”

“But that’s your bed. I can’t sleep in your bed.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s rude, even I know that.”

“Tobias, you wouldn’t fit on my couch, and it would be rude of me to ask you to sleep on it instead of the very nice comfy mattress down the hall. I’m going to be staying up late working anyway, so this way I won’t disturb you when I do go to sleep.”

“No. I won’t take it. I’ll just lay awake all night feeling guilty.” And with that he left his suitcase, crossed over to the couch and flopped in the nest beside Geneviève.

She sighed. “One of us going to sleep in that bed and I’ve decided it’s going to be you.”

“Not if you fall asleep first.” Tobias mumbled petulantly.

Geneviève sharply looked at the man next to her. “Really? You want to do this the hard way?”

“Yes.” Tobias said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Fine! Have it your way! But just know, I will stay awake longer than you.” And with that final warning, Geneviève picked up the first file in front of her, pulling her legs under herself and getting comfortable. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

Rehearsals were over, and Gabin felt like he and Cheyenne had made good headway with Tobias’ piece. He turned to the ballerina as they walked to the locker rooms. “You know, when you are not being deliberately obtuse, you actually have some good ideas.” He told her.

She frowned at him. “What is this?”

“What do you mean, ‘what is this’? I am complimenting you.”

“Why?”

“Because it is a nice thing to do.” Gabin huffed out.

“But I know I have good ideas. I am the greatest ballet dancer in the world.” Cheyenne responded.

“Yes, of course, how could I forget?” Gabin said sarcastically.

“Probably too busy daydreaming in the background to remember.”

“I was being sarcastic!” Gabin dragged out. “And I was trying to be nice. You do not insult someone when they are nice to you, you compliment them back.”

“Ah, so you are trying to inflate your own ego, I see. Typical ballet dancer, always looking for the next adoring fan.” Cheyenne mused.

Gabin stopped in the middle of the hallway. “Non! I already know I am great. I was just recognising that we work well together. Would it be too much to ask that you recognise it too?”

Cheyenne assessed him. “Yes.” And then she turned and pushed through the door to the girl’s changing room, leaving Gabin in the hallway with a pair of young ballerinas who had clearly heard the whole exchanged with how they were muttering excitedly with their heads bent togethers, thumbs typing frantically on their phones. Gabin considered approaching them to make them see how cool he actually was, but decided to cut his losses and go change himself.

Moving into the locker room, he found a quiet corner to place his bag and change. The other occupants of the room glanced at him curiously, making him feel out of place. When Geneviève had told him she was sending him to New York, Gabin had been so excited. A chance to start over, get away from the dismissal of the French ballerinas, prove himself as worthy of a place in such an esteemed company. But maybe it was to be the same here.

He had tried too hard to fit in at Le Ballet National, and when he realised he wasn’t, he tried even harder, which was the wrong thing to do. It only made the other dancers look down on him further. Sure, some of them were kind, but they didn’t go out of their way to truly get to know him, thinking they already did. And then Tobias arrived, and someone finally took the time to get to know the real Gabin. And Gabin finally felt comfortable in himself.

He thought being sent to New York would allow him to rediscover that sense of comfort - especially with Tobias at his side - and that this would finally lead to him making true friends. But after a day of everyone questioning him and his presence, Gabin was starting to feel that wasn't meant to be; he should just keep to himself and focus on dancing well. But what was the point of progressing his dancing if no one made the effort to really see him?

Sighing to himself, Gabin packed his dance clothes into his bag, zipping it up and leaving the room, the unnerving weight of the stares following him until the door was firmly closed behind him. As he headed towards the entrance of the Metropolitan, Gabin wondered where he should go now. He just assumed that he would be staying with Tobias, so hadn’t arranged any accommodation. While he’s sure Tobias wouldn’t mind him sleeping in his apartment without him, Gabin didn’t actually have his address, or a key, so that was ruled out. He could get a hotel, but Gabin knew any room would be well outside his price range. This was New York after all. He prepared himself for a night of roaming the streets. At best, he could probably find a café that stays open well into the night to take refuge in.

With that decided, Gabin started walking without a destination in mind. He had always enjoyed exploring the city back home. When he was younger and had time to spare between ballet class and the bus home, Gabin would pick a direction and walk, memorising the streets he took. While he walked, he would take in the architecture of Paris: the cobbles merging with tarmac; the old, faded wooden signs next to new, shiny plastic ones; the cramped buildings spilling out to wide roads.

Gabin would people watch too. Looking through windows, following pedestrians with his eyes, watching tourists sat outside. Others that enjoyed people-watching liked to make up stories for each stranger they passed. Gabin loved to analyse the way they moved. This old lady hunched over and had to move carefully in case she overbalanced and fell. That child bounced on the balls of their feet with every step they took. That businessman swung his arms in wide, stiff arcs as if he were a robot trying to bat away flies. By doing this, Gabin’s understanding of how each joint worked grew, and he applied it to his dancing, learning how to shift his weight minutely to hold a balance, using his feet to put more power into his petit allegro, relaxing his elbows to soften his lines. It was fascinating.

In New York, people moved different. They were all rushing, mechanising their movements. Instead of their natural walking habits, the pedestrians were rules by stiffness, their muscles clenched in an effort to keep up with the flow of foot traffic. It made Gabin appreciate the bustling from back home. People still moved urgently, but with less intensity.

Someone bumped into Gabin’s shoulder, shouting at him to ‘watch where he’s going!’, as if they weren’t the one at fault. Looking up, Gabin saw a sign for the airport. Had he really walked 6 miles without noticing?

A thought popped into his head. Clearly no one wanted him here in New York, and even though Geneviève said it would cause problems if he returned, he knew she would do anything to allow him to continue dancing at Le National if he wanted to. And Tobias was in Paris…

He was going to catch the next flight back home.

Decision made, Gabin picked up his pace, pulling his phone out to check flights. There was one leaving in two hours. Perfect.

Encouraged by his plan, Gabin made it to the airport in record time, turning the corner and seeing the glass doors for departures. Stepping through those doors would put him one step closer to his happiness.

Someone grabbed his arm and spun him round violently. “Where do you think you are going?” rang out in French. Gabin panicked. What had he done wrong now?

Looking down at the hand, he followed the arm all the way up to the shoulder, catching sight of familiar red hair. Sighing, his eyes rose to meet Cheyenne’s glare.

“Were you following me?” He accused her. “Because that’s really creepy if you were.”

“Jack told me to keep an eye on you.” She responded.

“So you followed me to the airport? Are you obsessed with me?”

“No. I am stopping you from making the situation worse.”

“Come on!” Gabin appealed. “You love making a bad situation worse. It is, like, your whole thing!” Cheyenne’s fingers dug into his arm further. “Ow! Watch the jacket! It is my favourite! It does not need Cheyenne-shaped finger holes in it!”

“Are you sure? I think it would make it look better.” She mused. She started pulling him away from the doors to the airport. Gabin dug his feet into the ground, trying to stay still, but she was deceptively strong. But then again, she was a ballerina, he should know better than to underestimate her strength.

“Stop being childish.” She scolded. “You are coming with me.”

“Where?” Gabin asked.

“My hotel room.”

“You wish to bed me?” Gabin gasped in a mock-scandalised voice. He had given up on the plane as soon as he saw Cheyenne had caught him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be annoying about it. “But Madame, I am in a committed relationship! And I am a homosexual!” He raised his voice throughout, attracting stares ranging from amused to disgusted from surrounding travellers.

Cheyenne turned to face him sharply. “I know you have nowhere to sleep and I know you cannot be trusted to find somewhere alone as you will just find it in Paris. I gave you a chance, but you threw it away, so now you come to my hotel room.” Clearly finished talking to him as if he were a misbehaving child, she turned around and continued walking back toward the city.

Gabin considered make a run for the airport for all of three seconds before Cheyenne just stopped ominously. Throwing his head back with a groan, Gabin jogged to catch up with her. This was going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

The next day saw Geneviève video-calling Jack bright and early. When the call connected Tobias could see Jack, Cheyenne and Gabin sat around the end of a table, the latter of the two both wearing shades and nursing very large coffees.

“Wow, you two look like you had a rough night.” Geneviève commented, rubbing her neck.

“Do not even ask.” Gabin grunted out.

“The same could be said for you two.” Jack pointed out.

In their stalemate over who took the bed, Tobias and Geneviève had both stubbornly stayed sat on the couch in an effort to be the last awake. Initially, they had sat in silence, Tobias with his headphones on and Geneviève with her head in her paperwork, but soon the tension became unbearable and Geneviève had put the TV on. It didn’t stay on long before the angry garbled French of the late-night reality show became grating and the pair turned to card games. One game turned to ten before they abandoned the deck and just started sharing random things with each other like teenage girls at a slumber party. Sometime between ‘what’s your least favourite ballet and why?’ and ‘where would you send Crispin Shamblee as punishment for his crimes?’ they both lost the battle with unconsciousness. They woke up in incredible contortions on the sofa, tangled in the blankets that had made up their nest. Needless to say, they had pulled up an hour-long yoga session on the TV in an effort to stretch the pain away but they were both suffering from kinked necks and pinched nerves.

“Yes, well, I was up very late trying to look at replacement dancers for you. Have you got any suggestions you’d like to bring to the table, since we all know how you like to lead negotiations?” Geneviève sniped.

Tobias saw Jack purse his lips, flipping open the notebook in front of him and fiddling with his pen. “I am choosing to ignore that comment as a gesture of good faith considering your general condition at the moment. But I do in fact have some options for you. First name I’d like you to consider would be Layla Tran. She’s in our corps but has potential for promotion next season.”

Geneviève had a docket full of headshots from the Metropolitan Ballet. Swiping through the pages, she found Layla’s photo, taking it in. Tobias recognised her from some of the larger performances he had seen. From what he remembered, her lines were clean and she had a good performance face, but she was still unsure in herself. A ballerina needs to have confidence or else the audience won’t believe the story they are telling. They prance around pretending to be swans every year for gods-sake, you need confidence to pull that off.

Geneviève looked to Tobias.

“What?” He asked, concerned he had done something wrong and not realised it, despite having sat in silence since they got here.

She widened her eyes slightly, pushing her chin forwards, as if that would make it any clearer what she was after.

“What?!” He asked again.

“Tobias, she wants you to give your opinion on Layla.” Gabin said from the computer. Tobias looked to the screen.

“Well, then why didn’t she say so?” He asked.

“She tried to show you with her face.” Gabin replied.

“How am I supposed to know what someone wants from their face?” Tobias questioned again. “I’m not a mind reader.”

“Tobias,” Geneviève interjected. “What do you think of Layla? Is she good?”

“Not really.” Tobias said shortly.

Geneviève watched him expectantly for a second, before realising that was all he was going to offer. She turned back to the computer. “No.” Jack threw his hands in the air. “My turn. François Morriere. He’s been in the corps here for eight years and shown no signs of chasing promotion.”

Tobias watched the trio’s reactions carefully. Cheyenne and Gabin both wrinkled their noses. Trying to put a face to the name, Tobias scrolled through his memories of the dancers he had met at Le Ballet National. With the reactions of the two dancers guiding him, he guessed Geneviève was talking about the lanky ginger that had a habit of placing his entire mouth over the water fountains in the corridors and refused to bring a towel to rehearsals, trailing sweat behind him wherever he went.

Clearly, Jack had also been watching the French dancers for their reactions, muttering to Cheyenne low enough that Tobias and Geneviève couldn’t hear him before pulling a similar face and shaking his head. “No, absolutely not.”

Geneviève whispered a quiet, “damn it” to herself.

“Next, I offer Wilford Davis. He’s only recently joined us as soloist, but I don’t think he’s gelling very well with the rest of the company.”

Once again, Geneviève flicked through her headshots, landing on the man he thought had been called Alex, and looked to Tobias. Now knowing this meant she wanted his input, he considered his answer.

“He’s in my ballet currently, so no.”

“He could stay until it’s been performed and then come here?” She suggested.

“You don’t want him. He can’t lift his ballerinas properly.” Tobias said.

“Oh!” Gabin piped up. “Is he the one with the brown curls lifting the short girl with the piercing? We solved that problem. His feet were too close together.”

“Of course they were!” Tobias realised, rolling his eyes at himself for noticing. Then again, he didn’t lift ballerinas every day, so maybe he just needed the perspective of someone who did. “I guess you could take him if you wanted then, but he’d need to retake partnering class.”

Geneviève nodded. “We’ll put a pin in him then.”

“Very clever.” Jack responded drily. This must be some sort of inside joke.

Geneviève volleyed another name at Jack (“John Smith.” “That’s not even a real name!” “It is!”), but Tobias had already lost interest, instead taking in Gabin’s pixellated form on the screen. He looked tired, and not just because of whatever had happened with him and Cheyenne last night. No, he looked like he had been tired for a long time. The spark that Tobias sought out when he himself was feeling low had dimmed ever so slightly. Tobias had thought that by avoiding talk of how much he missed the dancer he was doing them both a favour, but perhaps he was wrong. Gabin may have reached a limit and kept it to himself thinking that Tobias wouldn’t take well to any deviation from their original plan, the selfless man, but Tobias too had reached a limit – evidenced by his impulsive transatlantic trip – and he would have listened to Gabin if he had voiced his struggle.

He swore Gabin met his gaze through the computer screen, and they fell into a world of their own, not even communicating, just existing in each other’s eyes.

“Tobias.”

“Tobias?”

“Tobias!” Fingers snapped in front of his eyes.

“What?!” Tobias blinked, averting his gaze from Gabin, moving it to Geneviève. She didn’t looked too pleased.

“I was asking you whether you would want to stay in Paris or go back to New York? We’ve both got a good candidate to swap depending on where you and Gabin stay.” She explained.

“Oh. I don’t know. I mean, I never wanted to come to Paris in the first place, but it made my work so much better. But all my things are in New York, and my piece. Then again change can be good, even if I hate it. But surely I should apply what I’ve learnt in my old environment... Honestly, as long as Gabin is there I don’t care.” he decided finally. It was too big a decision for him to make, with too much to consider. He could be going back and forth on it for months if they let him. No, it was much easier to pass it on to the others.

Neither Jack or Geneviève seemed enthused with his response.

“Right,” Jack huffed out. “That was very helpful, thank you Tobias.”

“You’re welcome.” He responded, not quite sure how he helped.

“No- it- never mind. I guess that leaves us to ask you Gabin. Where would you like to be?”

Tobias returned his gaze to Gabin, expecting the dancer to have a firm decision ready. Instead, he saw indecision and almost a little fear in the dancer’s eyes.

“I… I don’t know either.” Everyone bar Tobias and Gabin sighed in frustration. If Tobias had to bet on it (which was a dangerously stupid habit if you asked him but whatever) he would have thought Gabin would be set on moving to New York to build an international reputation and gain new insight into the ballet world. After all, their initial days of working together had included a lot of Gabin asking questions about the Metropolitan Ballet and New York as well as lamenting the fact that he wasn’t picked to go. Then again, having gotten to know the man as well as he had, Tobias knew that Gabin loved Paris and would be loathe to permanently leave it behind. Even though the city had never been kind to him, it was where he grew up, where he discovered ballet, where he realised his dreams. That would be hard for him to leave behind. Maybe that was what was holding him back.

“Gabin should come to New York.” Cheyenne said decisively. Gabin turned to her in shock.

“Umm-” came from Geneviève.

“He is needed here. The dancers have become complacent. They need to see what hard work really looks like.” Cheyenne leant back in her chair, crossing her arms in the picture of defiance.

Jack’s eyebrows had slowly risen as she spoke, eyes widening in shock. He looked to be considering her words, face slowly relaxing into something much more natural. “She’s right. They have been getting too comfortable. There’s been a drop in sales since the end of The Swap, and while Cheyenne sells tickets, a guesting star from Paris, a viral sensation, would really help us regain that momentum. Plus, Tobias has his piece here, and we all know he wouldn’t be able to leave it behind.”

Geneviève had initially looked as stunned as Jack, but had also seemed to come to the same conclusions. “Ok then. If I’m giving you Gabin until the end of his contract, I want Liam.”

“Deal.” Jack said. “I want him on the next flight out. He’s got a piece to finish and a new lead to put in.” He pointed to Tobias as he spoke.

Geneviève nodded, and once more they said their goodbyes before hanging up.

Tobias pulled out his phone, texting Gabin to see if he needed him to bring anything with him, like clothes or a lifetime supply of croissants from his favourite bakery.

Madly typing away at her keyboard, Geneviève muttered, “It looks like the next flight is in three hours. Is that going to be ok for you?”

“Of course.” Tobias said. “I just have to stop off somewhere first.”

Chapter Text

The flight from Paris to New York took 9 hours. Tobias’ flight left in 2 hours. That meant he would be back in America in 11 hours, if everything went to plan. Gabin had waited three weeks and another two days to see his boyfriend, he could wait 11 hours more, really.

Jack had left him and Cheyenne in the conference room they had used for the video call, something about contracts and flights and directionally challenged choreographers coming out his mouth as he went. So, here he sat, once more under Cheyenne’s supervision, not that he thought he needed it anymore. Tobias was coming to him, would be here in 10 hours and 59 minutes.

He didn’t realise he had been shaking his leg until Cheyenne slapped it.

“Stop it. He is coming. You can relax.” She said.

Gabin made a concerted effort to stop the jiggling, but his nervous energy had to go somewhere, so he subconsciously started chewing on his fingernails. Cheyenne made a disgusted noise and grabbed his hand, using it to pull him up and out the conference room.

Gabin tripped down the stairs behind Cheyenne, her grip and pace making it hard for him to get his feet under himself. Clattering down two flights, she eventually drew to a stop outside the men’s changing room, opening the door and shoving Gabin in with a parting, “Get changed.”

The door slammed close behind him. Gabin stared at it in shock for a second, before slowly turning around to find a gaggle of dancers in varying states of undress staring too.

“Ballerinas, am I right?” Gabin joked nervously. They all just turned back to what they were doing before. Right.  

Changing quickly to avoid facing Cheyenne’s wrath further, Gabin left the room in a sleeveless unitard with warm-up trousers over the top, hair half pulled-back. Whatever she had in store for him, Cheyenne would not go easy on him.

Finding the ballerina in the same rehearsal room as yesterday, dressed in her own leotard and trousers, casual braid flung over one shoulder, Gabin wandered in and started his warm-up routine. Once finished, he turned to Cheyenne.

“What are we doing?” He asked.

In lieu of verbally replying, Cheyenne just walked over to a tablet connected to the speakers and tapped on the screen. The first chords of the music rang through the room, sharp and fiery. Gabin instantly recognised the instrumental. It was a pas de deux that Tobias had choreographed when he was younger called The Fury. The pas was his breakout piece. He had given the male and female dancers an equal amount of choreography, rather than making the female the highlight, and the number was nearly all jumps and turns. It required a tremendous amount of strength, stamina, and control to pull off, so much so that it had only been performed by one other pair since the original duo put it on stage. One brutal section of jumps and pirouettes all taking off and landing on the same leg had become a challenge that younger dancers tried on social media, even crossing over into the non-dancer algorithm. He had spent many hours scrolling through the videos, laughing good-naturedly at the ballet students’ attempts and getting unfairly riled up at the non-dancers.

Gabin had been obsessed with the dance since he first saw it, using it as inspiration to push his technique further and to actually audition for Le Ballet National, holding an image of himself successfully performing The Fury onstage as an étoile one day in the front of his mind. He had never tried to do it, partly because he knew no one would go near it with him, but also because he was scared of failing and tainting the choreography. The piece was sacred to him; he had it memorised down to every sixteenth of a beat. Even before he knew Tobias had choreographed it (Gabin hadn’t been interested in knowing choreographers back then, only their choreography), Gabin had known the piece was special, had rewritten his entire outlook on ballet.

The day he found out it was Tobias that had choreographed The Fury he struggled (failed) to contain himself. Tobias had just casually started telling a story about his time choreographing it, mentioning a sequence that Gabin had fallen asleep marking in his head on multiple occasions. Gabin had stopped Tobias, mind racing, and clarified he was talking about the same pas Gabin had idolised for years. When Tobias had confirmed so, Gabin stood up so abruptly he had a momentary headrush. Tobias had just stared at him in concern, before asking if he needed to go to the hospital. Apparently, he was going purple in the face from the excitement of this revelation.

Needless to say, Gabin never found out how the story ended as he promptly fell into a major freak out where he expelled every thought and compliment about the piece he had ever had at Tobias. Two minutes in, a shellshocked Tobias had slipped his headphones on and stopped listening. Gabin didn’t care. He would continue to shout his love for the choreographer and his masterpiece all the way home, ignoring the odd looks and shouts to be quiet thrown his way. He didn’t stop talking for three hours. Despite running out of things to say, Gabin was still pent up with the extra adoration this discovery had created for Tobias, so he took the man to bed and showed his appreciation a whole different way.

Zoning back in, Gabin realised he had been staring into space and rapidly growing red in the face while the music continued playing.

Cheyenne hummed, a smirk growing on her face. “I thought so.”

“What?”

“Nothing. You know the piece, yes?”

Gabin gaped at her. “Know the piece? Of course I know the piece! Everyone and their pet rabbit knows this piece! My boyfriend choreographed this piece!” He exclaimed. A few dancers stuck their heads over the railing of the viewing balcony to see what the commotion was about, but quickly moved on once they spied Cheyenne.

“Good. Then let’s start.” Cheyenne responded in a much calmer tone, moving into the centre of the room.

“Start? Ah, no, I cannot dance this.” Gabin said nervously, taking a step back. He wasn’t good enough to even attempt this, let alone with the Cheyenne Toussaint. He didn’t deserve to. It would leave a stain on the choreography he was sure Tobias would see. No, he couldn’t.

“Why not?” Cheyenne questioned, hands on her hips.

“Because.” Gabin argued weakly.

“‘Because’ is not good enough. Come on.” And she took a threatening step.

“Non.” He pleaded.

“Are you afraid the choreography will bite you?” Cheyenne mocked.

“Do not make fun of me. I will not dance this. Never. It is too special.”

Cheyenne considered this. Slowly, her stance softened and she walked over to Gabin. “You are afraid. But not of the choreography. You are afraid of messing up your lover’s work. Or, no, you are afraid of messing up something bigger than I can understand, a dream you have had since you were a child that only grew with time, and then with your love for the man who created such a piece. But how can you love something without showing your love in every way you can. Yes, it will be tough. Yes, you will struggle. Yes, you will fail. But working through the hard times will eventually lead to mastery. Master the piece and you will be able to embody your love in a way you never will if you do not try.”

Gabin was floored. Cheyenne was known for being emotionless, angry, vapid. She didn’t care about how others felt, only how she thought the world should be. She would argue with someone until the sun went down and came up again just to prove a point, no matter how trivial. She shouldn’t be stood here, offering Gabin a way to release his nervous energy, encouraging him to take another step towards his dream. And yet…

Taking a steeling breath, he nodded once, hesitantly crossing the room, assuming the opening position. Cheyenne followed, placing herself beside him, hand on his shoulder. The power that thrummed through her was intoxicating, spreading into his shoulder from her hand and burning its way through his body. He slowly felt the dread that had filled him melt away into excitement. He was about to attempt the most infamous pas de deux in history, with the most infamous ballerina of his generation, and he was going to crush it.

“That longing you have felt these weeks?” Cheyenne murmured. “Channel it into this.”

Finding the feeling in his gut, Gabin grabbed hold of it tightly and sprang into the first move.

Chapter Text

 Standing by baggage claim, Jack scanned the crowd of travellers for Tobias. His flight had landed twenty minutes ago, and the assigned luggage carousel had been churning out suitcases for the last five, yet there was no sign of the choreographer.

He looked down at his phone to triple check the flight details Geneviève had sent him. He was here at the right time, so maybe Tobias had been waylaid. Jack hoped that was the case because he really did not have the energy to go chasing the choreographer down again, in an airport of all places.

A notable increase in noise announced the arrival of a large group of travellers, all of whom started making their way over to the carousel and picking up their luggage. Expecting the choreographer to be avoiding the pack, Jack once again scanned the area, focusing on the edges of the room. He found Tobias skirting his way around an elderly couple with a stacked trolley of cases and moved to intercept him.

Grabbing Tobias by the arm to slow him down, Jack announced himself. “Tobias.”

Startling, the choreographer looked up from the floor to the hand on his arm, before raising his gaze to meet Jack’s. His brow furrowed and he slipped his headphones round his neck.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“I’m here to pick you up.” Jack answered.

Tobias pulled a face. “Why?”

“Because you can’t be trusted to make it back to the Metropolitan by yourself.”

“Geneviève said a similar thing. You do know I can get places by myself, right? I’ve worked at the Metropolitan for years now, it would actually be concerning if I couldn’t find my way there. Have I got dementia?”

“What?” Jack questioned, confused as to where that came from. “No, you don’t have dementia… I don’t think. I hope not. Have you been having symptoms of dementia?”

“How would I know? Isn’t the whole point of dementia that you forget things? Surely, if I had it I wouldn’t be the one to know first.” Tobias argued.

Jack could see reason in that. “Well, I haven’t noticed any warning signs, other than this little jolly to Europe, but that can easily be explained... Why do you think you have dementia?"

"Because you think I can't remember how to get back to the theatre, basically implying I have some sort of memory problem." 

"I don't think that you have a memory problem, you just have a priority problem. So, I’m going to say you don’t have dementia and suggest that we get into the car that’s waiting for us outside. I have someone very excited to see you waiting at the theatre.”

At the mere allusion to Gabin Tobias perked up, bouncing towards the exit. “Why would you slow me down with this whole charade then? Come on.”

“I didn’t-” Jack started, before sighing in defeat, following after Tobias.

The car ride to the theatre was as torturously slow as would be expected from New York, despite being late in the evening. Tobias had claimed the left-most seat in the back, cracking the window slightly, headphones back on his ears. Jack didn’t bother trying to talk with him further, choosing to use the time to try and clear his ever-growing inbox of emails. A torturous task for a torturous drive.

The Shamblee (forever The Fish in Jack’s heart) was lit up, a few people dressed smartly milling around outside. There was a show happening this evening, and they must have arrived at intermission. Not that it mattered, as Jack led Tobias away from the crowd and around the back to the entrance for the rehearsal rooms. Marie had messaged to confirm that Cheyenne and Gabin were still locked in the main rehearsal space they had been occupying for the past 10 hours now. What they had been up to, Jack had no clue, having been busy trying to do actually do his job of running the company. Apparently, they had only left the room once, hopefully to get lunch, before returning to chase off whoever had dared to try and take over the room while they were gone. While messing with the rehearsal schedule would normally annoy Jack, knowing that the two most impulsive ballet dancers he had ever met were sequestered away in a secure, surveilled location was worth it today.

Arriving on the correct floor, they were met with the echoing tones of a song rarely heard on ballet studios. It took him a minute to place, but Jack soon realised he was hearing the accompaniment for The Fury, Tobias’ own creation. This was what the pair had been working on all day?

Darting a nervous glance at Tobias, Jack saw him slowly pulling his headphones off completely, clearly coming to the same realisation. The expression on his face was unreadable, but that was par for the course with the choreographer. Jack could only hope that he wasn’t about to run off again.

“He’s in there?” Tobias asked quietly.

“Has been all day.” 

Tobias blinked, before moving to the double doors and slowly pulling them open, the melody booming into the corridor. Jack entered the room after him.

What he saw could only be described as a masterpiece. Jack had seen The Fury before, had seen it in various stages of composition seeing as Tobias created it during his first year here. He was always astounded by the complexity of the routine, though its difficulty meant it had been years since it had been performed. Because of this, Jack had forgotten the passion that needed to be channelled through the movements. Or maybe, this passion was new, because the connection he saw between the dancers and the steps was on a level he had never had the pleasure of experiencing in any production of any ballet.

Cheyenne was a whirlwind, braid whipping around her head in time with her turns, limbs flying sharply. Her predatory manner suited the dance so perfectly that Jack was surprised she had never lobbied to perform the piece before. Then again, The Fury required a specific synergy between its dancers, and Cheyenne was so incredibly picky about who she danced with that it was unlikely she had ever found anyone who would meet the standards of both her and the dance. Until, apparently, Gabin.

Shifting his focus to the male dancer, Jack found himself captivated. Gabin was a powerhouse. There was no sign of him struggling to keep up with Cheyenne. This was the first time Jack was seeing him dance, and Jack was blown away. When Geneviève had spoken about Gabin, he had got the impression that he was talented but still in need of further refinement before he could begin taking on larger roles. Clearly, he, and everyone at Le Ballet National, had it wrong. Gabin didn’t need refinement. The rough edge to his diamond should never be filed smooth - it was a unique asset. His passion shone through his movement, fuelling his jumps, a sissonne fermé striking out to a double cabriole running into a grand jeté en tournant in quick succession. He didn’t hesitate between one move and the next, throwing himself through the choreography with no fear.

Jack was enamoured. He chanced a look at Tobias, trying to garner his reaction. The choreographer was very averse to dancers choosing to try his pieces without his input, so to attempt The Fury without prior negotiation could be blasphemous in his eyes.

Yet, upon seeing his face, Jack got the impression that this was the opposite of blasphemy to Tobias. In fact, he looked like he was witnessing God himself dance for him, awe covering his features. Perhaps Geneviève had been onto something…

Looking back to the duo, Jack watched with baited breath as they came together for the final lift. With ease, Gabin threw Cheyenne into the air, so high it looked like she was flying. Catching her solidly, he spun one direction while manipulating Cheyenne around his shoulders the other way. She came to a stop on his right shoulder, both hands in the air, a testament to the stability of Gabin’s partnering. Gabin grabbed her right leg, counteracting her bodyweight as she stood on his hip and leant back, twisting herself into the final position, their silhouettes combining to look like molten glass that had spurted up from the ground and solidified into this miraculous contortion.

The music ended.

The duo held their position, panting for a moment. Slowly, Cheyenne leant back towards Gabin and in one swift movement he let her down to the floor gently. They held eye contact for an intense second, communicating their pride at completing the dance. Then Gabin’s gaze flicked over Cheyenne’s shoulder and landed on the two men that had entered the room, the pride on his face dropping, eyes drawing wide into a look of almost panic. In a near whisper, he let out one word.

“Tobias…”

Chapter Text

Tobias’ boyfriend was amazing. He knew this, obviously. He wouldn’t be Tobias’ boyfriend if he wasn’t. But every time Tobias thought Gabin was done surprising him with how amazing he was, Gabin went and did something even more amazing. However, nothing would ever come close to this moment: Gabin performing Tobias’ most infamous creation - a number that was feared among the ballet community - alongside Cheyenne Toussaint and nailing it.

Even when he had originally choreographed it, Tobias had always felt the performance was missing something, but even the perfectionist in him recognised that the number was as perfect as it was going to get and moved on from the nameless thing that was absent, choosing to instead push the entire performance out of his head in an effort to go crazy thinking about it - a habit he kept up all the way until Whatever This Is. Turns out it was just waiting for the right people to perform the dance. And who knew it would be these two?

Gabin had embodied everything The Fury was meant to be, Cheyenne’s presence only aiding the fervour of the dance, pushing it over the edge of perfection. They flew across the space with a passionate precision that had never, ever, been brought to life before.

By the time the music finished and the pair were panting from exertion, Tobias was breathless.

Gabin met his gaze from across the room and something that looked like panic flashed in his eyes. Why was he afraid? He had just fearlessly conquered a behemoth of a dance. He should be ecstatic.

“Tobias…” Gabin breathed out.

Tobias took a second to consider how to word everything flying around his brain. In the end, all he could come up with was, “You’re amazing.”

Gabin balked. “What?”

“You’re amazing.” Tobias asserted. At Gabin’s continued stunned silence, Tobias strode across the room so they could be face to face.

“You. Are. Amazing.” He was incapable of saying anything else, his thoughts so overwhelming. He could only hope that Gabin would catch even a hint of what he was trying to say with those three words.

Face clearing, Gabin started to look more hopeful than worried.

“You really think so?” He asked shyly.

“You’re amazing.” Was all Tobias could respond with. It was starting to get a little embarrassing.

Gabin smiled, a small bashful thing.

“Merci, Tobias.” Then he flung himself into Tobias’ arms.

Tobias wound his arms around Gabin’s back, taking no heed of the sweat drenching the dancer. He had missed Gabin too much to care, inhaling the scent of the man, squeezing even harder just to convince himself they were actually back together.

“God, I missed you.” Gabin mumbled into Tobias’ shoulder.

“Missed you too.” Tobias mumbled in reply. Pulling back slightly, he took in Gabin’s flushed appearance, memorising every single detail of this perfectly imperfect man. He was so lucky. “Give me your hand.” He demanded, sliding his own arm down to grab Gabin’s hand. He stepped back slightly to give himself more room to manoeuvre the ring in his pocket onto Gabin’s finger. A perfect fit.

Looking down curiously, Gabin flexed his fingers, ring catching the light beautifully. His breath caught, head shooting back up so he could look at Tobias, shock on his face.

“Tobias?”

“Yes.” It wasn't a question.

“That is my line.”

“So, you’re saying yes?”

“You have not asked me anything.”

“Of course I have. Or have you become selectively blind to flashy jewellery all of a sudden?” Tobias shot back at him.

“Ah, I see. Well, in that case, yes.”

“Yes?” Tobias asked, just to be sure.

“Yes!” Gabin confirmed, a beaming smile covering his face. Bless the man for understanding him. Tobias had been so overcome by the need to propose and call Gabin his for eternity that he was incapable of actually asking the question, relying instead on their tried-and-true method of communication to indirectly ask. Gabin pulled Tobias in for a kiss, and if the verbal confirmation hadn’t been enough, Gabin certainly managed to convey his answer through the love he poured into the action.

“Yes?” Jack echoed from the doorway. Tobias pulled back. He had honestly forgotten they weren’t alone in the room, a worrying habit he seemed to be developing when it came to Gabin. If he wasn’t careful, he would have to ban himself from watching Gabin dance at all, just in case someone collapsed in the corner and needed medical attention but Tobias was too enamoured by his fiancé (fiancé!) to help.

“They are engaged.” Cheyenne explained.

“You got all that from ‘yes’?” Jack asked incredulously.

“You did not?” Cheyenne shot back.

“No, I-”

“Just let them enjoy the moment. It is not every day you can witness true love like this.” Cheyenne interrupted.

True love.

That’s what this was.

If, on the first day of The Swap, you had lined up everyone at Le Ballet National and asked Tobias to point out the dancer he would fall madly in love with over the course of a year, Tobias would have scoffed and told whoever was asking to go away. If pushed further though, Gabin would have been nowhere near the top of the list. While he was definitely attractive, there was no way they should fit together. Gabin was outspoken and proud, both qualities that Tobias disliked in a person. Tobias was weird, his quirks throwing off the most avid pursuers, and Gabin should have been deterred by them, yet he wasn’t. In fact, he was more endeared by them than anything. And Tobias had quickly grown to know that his initial assessment of Gabin had only scraped the surface of what the man had to offer, was just a front he put up to hide a host of insecurities and a soft underbelly. They shouldn’t work together, and yet, they do.

A small smile pulled at Tobias’ mouth. He was engaged to the most beautiful man on the planet. A man who had just flawlessly performed Tobias’ most challenging routine.

“I didn’t know you could dance The Fury.” He stated, a question hidden amongst his words.

“I did not know I could either, not until today. I was too scared to try. Cheyenne pushed me.” Gabin replied self-consciously.

“You basically learnt it in a day?”

“Well, I knew the routine by heart, but yes, this is the first time I have physically attempted it.”

Tobias had no words. That was his first attempt? Tobias could only imagine what it could be after polishing… He had to pull Gabin in for another kiss.

Breaking apart a moment later, he breathed out another, “Amazing.” He thought he was past that, but apparently his fiancé’s brilliance came with vocabulary-limiting powers.

“You have said.” Gabin said with a smirk.

Tobias tilted his head, an unimpressed look falling over his face. Gabin’s grin only grew.

“When did you even get a ring?” 

“Before I came back. When I was running around Paris looking for you, I passed this small jewellers tucked away about halfway between your apartment and the National. I saw that ring in the window and just thought of you. Then earlier, when we were on the call and I said I didn’t care where I was, as long as you were with me, I realised just how much I meant it. And I had been feeling bad for leaving you behind and not letting you talk about it, and when Geneviève told me about why she sent you here I knew that it had actually been hurting you. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, and I know I will, I can’t help it. But I can stop you from feeling abandoned again. And it comes with the added bonus of official documentation telling you so. And I will know that there will always be someone in my corner, even if that corner ends up being in a different country for a few weeks. So, I got her to take me back there before my flight, and I bought the ring.”

Gabin looked like his whole world had been turned upside down. His continued silence started to worry Tobias. Maybe the adrenaline from the dance was wearing off and he actually didn’t want to get married to Tobias. It would make sense. 

“I can take it back if you don’t want it?” He asked hesitantly, hoping that Gabin would say no.

“Non! It is mine! I am yours! You cannot take that back now!” Gabin cried passionately.

“Yours.” Tobias echoed.

“Yours.” Gabin affirmed. How right that sounded…

“Okay,” Jack dragged out. “As sickening as this is, it is getting very late and some of us would like to go home, and others would like to come in to clean the room so they too can go home,” at this he motioned to where a cleaner was stood half-in half-out the door. “So, I suggest you take this little reunion/proposal back to your place and come back tomorrow ready for contract negotiations and choreography cleaning!” He emphasised his point by not-so-subtly gesturing for them to leave.

Leaving sounded like a good idea. Leaving meant privacy and privacy meant reconnecting. Tobias would be able to show his full admiration of the man who had just thrown his all at a dance Tobias had created and made it even better than it already had been. He would be able to map the course of his love onto Gabin's body. He would be able to tell him just how much he had missed him without having to find the words. They could celebrate their engagement the proper way, not the way that involved judgemental ballet people hovering over them.

Tobias turned to Gabin, gauging his thoughts on the matter. He tilted his head in question.

“Lead the way, Maverick.”