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After a long day of rehearsals at the MBT Gabin bounces into their New York apartment. He is still full of energy and adrenaline. His usual boisterous "Tobias! I'm home!" echoes through the space. He shrugs off his dance bag, nearly decapitating a strategically placed and meticulously dusted porcelain ballerina that Tobias has bought from a Parisian antique shop during the swap season.
"Gabin!" Tobias voice, usually a calm, measured tone, holds a slight edge. He emerges from the desk in his study area, which is a haven of organized chaos filled with sketches, musical scores, and precisely arranged pencils. "Must you always announce your arrival with the force of a small hurricane?"
Gabin grins, unfazed. "It's called enthusiasm, mon amour! And speaking of enthusiasm, guess what?"
Tobias raises a skeptical eyebrow. His gaze flickers to the precariously wobbling ballerina. "I shudder to imagine."
"I invited Larry over for dinner!" Gabin announces, beaming.
Tobias blinks. Larry? The name didn't immediately compute within his carefully curated mental database. "Larry...?"
"Larry from the MBT! You know, the one with the ridiculously flexible hamstrings and the even more ridiculous collection of vintage leg warmers?" Gabin clarifies, already rummaging through the fridge. "He's really cool, Tobias. We bonded over our mutual hatred of pliés and our shared love of spicy tuna rolls."
Tobias's expression remains unchanged. It’s a mask of polite neutrality for a churning sea of internal calculations. Tobias thrives on routine and predictability. Unscheduled social interactions are… well, let's just say that they aren't his favorite pas de deux.
"Dinner," Tobias repeats. The word sounds slightly foreign on his tongue. "Tonight?"
"Yep! I told him around seven. I thought we could order pizza. Larry's a big fan of pepperoni, apparently." Gabin pulls out a container of leftover pasta, already digging in with great appetite.
A subtle shift occurrs in Tobias's demeanor. His shoulders tense and his eyes narrow slightly. "Pepperoni," he says, almost to himself. "A rather… pedestrian choice."
Gabin, oblivious to the brewing storm, continues to eat his pasta. "Hey, don't knock it 'til you try it! Besides, it's about the company, not the cuisine."
The evening arrives with the punctuality that Tobias usually reserves for ballet rehearsals. Larry arrives precisely at 7:00 PM. With a cheerful grin he handles over a bottle of wine and a box of gourmet chocolates - which, to Tobias's surprise, are actually quite good.
The initial conversation is stilted. Tobias is quiet and offers only monosyllabic responses to Larry's attempts at conversation. Gabin senses awkwardness. He tries to bridge the gap with some anecdotes from the ballet world in Paris, punctuated by his signature booming laughter.
As the evening progresses, however, a subtle shift occurs. Larry, charmed by Gabin's infectious energy and surprisingly insightful comments on Tobias's choreography, begins to relax. He and Gabin fall into an easy going discussion about dance techniques and gossip about other dancers, They even try to teach Tobias a few basic hip-hop moves - a spectacle that ends with Tobias nearly tripping over the coffee table and Gabin collapsing in a fit of laughter.
It is during one of these moments of shared laughter that Tobias's carefully constructed facade finally cracks. He watches Gabin. His face is flushed with amusement. His hand rests lightly on Larry's arm. A wave of something unexpected washes over Tobias. It’s not just discomfort or social awkwardness. It’s… jealousy.
Tobias clears his throat. The sound is sharp and abrupt. "Gabin," he says, his voice unusually firm. "Would you mind helping me with something in the study?"
Gabin looks surprised. "Now? But Larry's here…"
"It's… urgent," Tobias insists. His eyes are fixed on Gabin.
Gabin senses the undercurrent of tension and reluctantly excuses himself. "Be right back, Larry!”
As soon as they are in the study, Tobias turns to Gabin. His expression is a mixture of frustration and something akin to… hurt?
"What is that all about?" Gabin asks kind of bewildered.
Tobias paces the room, hands clasped behind his back. "I simply… I don't understand why you felt the need to invite him here. To our home."
"He's a friend, Tobias! What's the big deal?"
"The big deal is that… that you are laughing with him. Touching him. You haven't looked at me like that in days!" The words tumble out, raw and unfiltered.
Gabin stares at him, dumbfounded. "Are you… jealous?"
Tobias stops pacing and looks away. "Don't be ridiculous."
"No, seriously! Are you jealous of Larry?" Gabin couldn't help but grin. The idea of the usually composed and logical Tobias being consumed by jealousy is almost… endearing.
Tobias remains silent.
Gabin steps closer. He gently takes Tobias's hand. "Tobias, look at me. I love you. Larry's just a friend. A really flexible friend with a questionable taste in leg warmers."
Tobias finally meets his gaze. His eyes are filled with a vulnerability that Gabin rarely saw before. "I know," he says softly. "It's just… sometimes I worry. I worry that I'm not… enough. That I'm too… difficult."
Gabin squeezes his hand. "You're perfect, Top Gun. Perfectly quirky. Perfectly brilliant. And perfectly mine." He leans in and kisses Tobias. Slow and tender.
When they finally break apart, Tobias's expression has softened. "Perhaps," he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "perhaps I was being a bit… possessive."
"Just a little," Gabin teases. "Now, let's go back out there and show Larry who you really belong to."
They return to the living room, hand in hand. Larry looks up with a curious expression.
Tobias clears his throat. "Larry," he says, his voice regaining its usual composure. "I apologize if I seemed… distracted earlier. I was simply… contemplating the optimal angle for a fouetté turn."
Larry blinks. "Okay," he says, clearly not buying it.
Tobias then does something completely unexpected. He wraps his arm around Gabin’s waist and pulls him close. "Gabin," he says, his voice loud enough for Larry to hear, "is the most talented, the most passionate, and the most infuriatingly disorganized dancer I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. And he is mine."
Gabin is completely taken aback and bursts out laughing. Larry, after a moment of stunned silence, joins in.
The rest of the evening passes much more smoothly. Tobias is still a little awkward. But he makes a genuine effort to engage with Larry, even asking him about his leg warmer collection. Gabin basks in the glow of Tobias's newfound possessiveness. He couldn't help but liking it.
As Larry leaves, he turns to Gabin with a knowing smile. "You've got a good one there, Gabin," he says, nodding towards Tobias. "Hold onto him."
Gabin grins. "Trust me, I plan to."
Back inside, Gabin turns to Tobias, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "So," he says, "are you going to be jealous of all my friends now?"
Tobias considers this for a moment. "Only the ones with exceptionally flexible hamstrings," he replies with a hint of mischief in his eyes. "And questionable taste in leg warmers."
Gabin laughs and pulls Tobias into a tight embrace. "I love you, you crazy genius."
"I love you too, my beautiful hurricane," Tobias replies and buries this face in Gabin's hair.