Chapter Text
Kunikuzushi couldn’t believe the nerve.
The nerve of her.
The sheer, steel balls of a woman who didn’t even have any, but it seemed her audacity was enough in their place, oh yes she had made it clear. Miss Anastasya Feodorovna Snezhnaya, his own coach who he’d sought out all by himself, paid her fees at his own accord because of course Mother Dearest wasn’t going to lift more than a fingertip to help his skating career. Not since Miss ‘Internationals’ little sister was clearly an eon above him in the priority list in her life, and the audacity of Rosalyne of all people to send him off with a bag filled with nothing but tutus and frilly legwarmers. She wasn’t even pretending to be helpful at this point, just jumped straight to mockery, as if it wasn’t humiliating enough to be forced to attend such a ridiculous course of lessons.
I mean, come on. Ballet, of all things.
One day she’d simply called him off the ice to ‘chat’ and the next she had him signed up for indefinite classes of frolicking about, wasting time.
It was the girliest sport of them all, if you could even call it a sport, but here Miss Anastasya, four time world champion and Olympic gold medallist was, forcing him to ‘take some time to learn some elegance’ as she had put it, because he was quote-unquote: ‘too aggressive of a skater.’
He spat out his long-overchewed gum onto the pavement as he slammed the taxi’s door shut, ‘accidentally’ leaving Rosalyne’s bag in the backseat and his own hands conveniently empty to shove into his pockets with a growl.
‘Too aggressive.’
I’ll show you aggressive, old hag. It’s called power for one. And power gets you points, namely, GOE points in the form of a flawless triple axel on the ice.
Kunikuzushi kicked at rock nearby.
Don’t need some flower-fucking-girl-sport to get me to win Nationals.
His trainers caught on the corner of the worn welcome mat outside the studio - its edges were frayed and unswept, and the paint had started to peel away at the doorframe in an unsightly manner.
He grimaced.
What a dump…
With another of the now countless sighs of the morning, he grit his teeth and pushed the door open. A rush of warm arm came to greet his face at once, that and the distant chatter of high-pitched voices echoing around a nearby room. Laughter, giggles and inaudible jokes that surely couldn’t be that amusing.
How annoying. He hated the place already.
The reception area was empty, with a vacant desk and a few faded armchairs over a tiny coffee table littered in discarded magazines. To the right was a crudely written sign on a wall with an arrow saying ‘CHANGING’ and another saying ‘TOILETS,’ then on the left, three identical looking windowed-doors leading to practise rooms with shiny wooden floors, the furthest of which seemed to be where the voices originated from. It was a small area, much quainter of a building than the grand ice-rinks he’d grown used to spending his days.
The boy bit his lip, half-wishing he’d kept that gum in his mouth as he took one last look at the shabby space, half-thinking the scent of old coffee and shabby taste in furniture would rub off on him if he didn’t move on quickly.
Kunikuzushi had already taken time out of the ‘day off’ his coach had scheduled for him to attend to just get there, and if he knew that women as well as he wished he didn’t, he was confident she would be the first to hear him skiving off from something she had personally arranged.
Still, that didn’t mean all was hopeless for him.
All he needed to do was find whatever instructor Anastasya had organised this with an do some gentle persuasion. Or if that didn’t work, perhaps his wallet could do the negotiating for him. He did come from a pretty rich family, as much as he despised them. They do say the right names open paths, or in this case, might close some.
Kunikuzushi let himself into the room where the voices were coming from, met by the gentle droning of a piano, rhythmic and slightly bouncy in pace, half-drowned out by the small crowd of girls in leotards and slippers chatting away as they stretched, some standing and reaching to their toes, some at the barre, giggling and others perched on the floor in extravagant, contortionist-like poses. They seemed to hardly notice his presence as he stood holding the door open with his arm, looking around for someone responsible looking to speak to.
One of the girls happened to catch his glare as she turned around, her smile twitching into a giggle as he narrowed his eyes further. She turned back to her friends to whisper something that sent them all into yet another fit of laughter.
Kunikuzushi’s face ignited into red. He tore his eyes away and taking a step backwards, suddenly quite ready to leave by his own accord, thank you very much.
Which he would have. If it were for the surprisingly strong grip that caught his shoulder.
He snapped his gaze to the hand. It was wrinkled and aged, but with elegant angles and carefully manicured nails that elongated their appearance.
The woman cleared her throat, raising an eyebrow at his scowl - her own expression mirroring his own, light blue hair tied neatly into a bun and silver-framed glasses perched upon her nose.
For someone so visibly aged, the toned muscle of her arms and shoulders showed him she was far from a frail old woman. By the tightness of her gaze, the boy hazarded a guess she wasn’t the type to be easily persuaded.
Just great.
“Hmph. So this is Ana’s ‘prodigy’?”
She gave him a look up and down, face pulling into something like indifference.
“You don’t look like much, young man,” the woman continued, leaning a little closer. With a small hum of displeasure, she took a step and began to circle him.
Sharp eyes dragged up and down his form like nails upon a chalkboard. Without warning, the old woman grasped his shoulder once more and yanked it backwards, correcting his posture in one swift motion.
Kunikuzushi stumbled in place, caught off guard by the sudden invasive act. He shot her a glare and opened his mouth to insult her, smoke practically pouring from his ears.
“You-”
“Yes, yes, I see what the issue is…” the woman muttered to herself.
The boy guffawed, a scoff bursting from his lips as he ripped himself from her hold. Firstly, she dared touch him without notice, secondly she interrupted him and now she was insulting him.
The. Nerve.
“‘Issue?’ Okay first of all, I don’t have issues, lady, what are y-”
“- Come with me, boy, let’s get you some proper footwear,” the woman said, grasping him by the wrist and ignoring him completely, “And it’s Madame Faruzan to you, you little rascal, none of this ‘lady’ business.”
Kuizusuhi spluttered out a cry of protest as he was dragged back outside by a surprisingly strong grip.
“You dare fucki-”
“Finish that word and I’ll have you scrapped from that skating team of yours, boy.”
For what felt like the third time in just a span of a few moments, he found himself stunned for words. He wasn’t sure if was more angry or more downright confused about the kind of threats this woman was willing to make.
“You- you can’t do that, lady!”
She whirled around at the speed of light with a scowl even deeper than his, shoving a pair of slippers into his lap. A finger jabbed in his face.
“‘Madame Faruzan.’”
He glared up at her.
She smiled, “And are you sure? Would you like to find out what I could say to my dearest Ana?”
The woman set her knuckles on her bony hips, voice taking a mocking tone.
“Oh, the boy is far too disrespectful for any sport at all, dear! Cursing, insulting the elderly, showing up past the scheduled time to meet a poor old woman who only desired to help him succeed, ungrateful and spoiled rotten,” the teacher listed off, watching as the boy’s face turned redder by the second.
“I know your type, boy. This is not the first time she’s sent the likes of you to my studio for some helpful correction, and I most certainly do not intend on failing her favour by teaching you free of charge, mind you. So you’d better keep your mouth shut, and work hard in my lessons because I take this studio very seriously - do you understand me?”
Kunikuzushi’s lips pressed together and held his stare.
She narrowed her eyes - he narrowed his, fingers digging into the shoes in his hands as the silence grew longer and longer until -
“Ow! What the-”
Pain erupted on his forehead as a finger flicked at its centre without notice and he ripped his eyes away, the victory going to the old hag as she smirked, pushing her spectacles up her nose with a ‘hmph!’
“Glad we can agree, then. Take your coat off and put these shoes on - they should be your size, if my eyes are as sharp as they seem,” Madame Faruzan prattled off, stalking back to the practise room, “And be quick! Or you’ll miss the warm up with the girls!”
For a long second, Kunikuzushi sat frozen upon the bench, a little shaken by the sheer audacity of this old hag.
Taken off the team?
He scoffed lightly - surely not.
A pebble of doubt dropped in his throat; he swallowed it down. Surely…
Kunikuzushi shivered, swearing he could feel the familiar icy gaze of his coach on his neck from all the way over at the rink.
He wasn’t sure how seriously to take these threats, but knowing that Anastasya herself had some kind of amicable relationship with this teacher hag…
With a groan of frustration, the boy tore off his puffer jacket and sneakers, slipping on the soft, black shoes without a shred of elegance.
This round, she won. This round.
To his surprise, they fit him perfectly, and the little drawstrings only needed a little bit of tightening; he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the ends so ended up shoving them into the toe section without care. Frankly, he couldn’t care less about what kind of attire was considered appropriate for ballet practise, so long as nobody put him in a tutu or god forbid a leotard. His regular plain warm-up shirt and black shorts would have to do.
From the changing room, he could make out that foul-woman’s voice as she announced something to the class in the room over and dragged himself to his feet with the reluctance of a cat dragged into a bathtub.
In the room from before, the girls had all stood from their stretches and arranged themselves spread out at the barre. Madame Faruzan circled them, counting along the positions as the delicate piano played from a CD player in the corner.
He stood, arms crossed in the doorway.
‘Now what?’
The woman’s eyes drew a line from his form to an empty space at the end of the barre without pausing her words and he gave her one final glare before placing himself where she instructed and looking at what the girl in front of him was doing.
“And up! Up! Relevé - now - plié!”
The red-haired dancer dipped her knees in a frog-like motion, arms in an oval that extended outwards with the dipping motion. Kunikuzushi eyed the way the others moved in unison, not bothering to try and hide the look of irritation on his face as his arms remained firmly as they were, crossed, legs still.
Across the room, the teacher’s eyes burned into his back. He looked over his shoulder to read the threat in her eyes and quickly put a hand on the barre like the rest of the students. The wood felt a little sticky beneath his palm; Kunikuzushi cringed.
Half-heartedly, he tried to copy the girl’s movements, body shifting into a feeble attempt at whatever position she was doing. The motion felt awkward, like a can opened trying to pry open the petals of a flower, all of balance and jagged.
A hand came down on his shoulder once more, pulling it down and backwards and another at his arm, lifting the elbow where it drooped in its extension. His brow twitched, biting his lip.
This is fucking stupid…
“Now again - to first, second, third, fourth -”
The piano droned on as the boy grew only more and more annoyed, his balance stumbled in the unfamiliarity of the shoe shape in some positions setting his body off-centre. His limbs felt stiff, despite some poses being similar to what he was used to on the ice and it didn’t help that everyone around him seemed to know exactly what they were doing with mocking elegance and ease (even if they were all just girls).
But other than that, it was little boring. The music was slow and dopey, and the feeble effort of swaying his arms became a bit monotonous in comparison to a toe-loop or a double axel on the ice.
It was dull, Kunikuzushi decided promptly.
Then, the studio door burst open.
“Super, super sorry I’m late, Madame Faruzan!” a youthful sounding voice rang out, half-hushed so as not to disturb the class too much.
Before the skater could even process what kind of voice it even was, there was a flash of brown, white and black and then, what slid in front on him on the barre was…a boy.
Well at first glace one might assume he wasn’t, but the attire made it very clear it was the opposite case. Though the stranger’s dark hair was long and curled, hastily being tied into a neat bun at the back of his head, the lean muscles aligning his tanned back and shoulders, biceps flexing in the motion, all displayed by the open window of his tank top were distinctly masculine. Instead of a leotard like the girls, he wore black footed tights and the same shoes as Kunikuzushi had been given, though his were much more worn out, slightly greyed at the ends where the material has thinned and frayed after countless hours of use.
Without hesitation, the boy’s posture became elegant and poised as the rest of the class and his arm lifted gracefully to the side in unison with the girls.
Kunikuzushi’s eyes followed the edge of his fingers as they moved position with practise ease, almost entranced until he looked up and realised the other boy had caught his gaze as he extended his other arm, bright green eyes glinting in the lights above.
Violet met verdant - the boy flashed him a friendly smile.
Quick as their eyes had met, the skater snapped his head away. He stared at the mirrored wall, brows pursed. Something about the intensity of a that green colour had him itching to blink the view away.
He shook off the feeling and tried to focus on Madam Faruzan’s words once more, though most of the french-warblings meant little to his brain and all of them muffled through the buzzing irritation still scratching at his mind.
His gaze drifted occasionally to the boy in front, his motions were smooth and controlled - elegant. Neck long and chin tilted just a little to open up his chest like the other dancers did.
The skater tore his eyes away from the stranger’s reflection once again.
‘Tch, what a girl.’ Kunikuzushi thought to himself.
They all bent down to stretch, legs straight as pins and reach down, fingertips touching the floor in bouncing falls, then in one motion towards the ground. For a practised skater such as Kunikuzushi, it was a walk in the park, until he saw in the corner of his eye how the boy beside him leaned down further - his palms pressed to the wooden floor, eyes closed and face content even as his arms bent a little to relax.
Kuzikuzushi bristled, trying to push his own palms down too, managing to brush them to the floor at the expense of some sharp tightness at the back of his calves. All the while beside him the boy simply smiled, seemingly oblivious as he gave one of the girls across the room a small wave.
Blood rushed to the skaters head, painting his cheeks a healthy pink as they moved to stand again, raising one leg first out the side. It which was a simple task.
Next, up just a few inches - still, an easy feat. Then up to a ninety-degree angle (this was where Kunikuzushi’s balance began to falter a little, his feet feeling awkward in those darn slippers once more). His lips twisted into a scowl as Madame Faruzan silently came around to lift his leg ever so slightly and push his beneath back inwards, finger lifting his chin. Their eyes met once more and the skater narrowed his gaze.
The woman smiled gleefully.
In front of him, the other boy raised his leg higher, so that the tip of his foot came above his shoulderline smoothly, following in suit of the rest of the class. The teacher’s eyes turned to him instead and she hummed, a much softer sound than any noise she’d made in the skater’s direction.
“Very good, Sethos. Lovely turnout too.”
Kunikuzushi’s brow twitched.
He ripped his own leg further up in retaliation, earning the smack of the old woman’s magazine upon his head.
“Ow!”
He stumbled in place and shot her an indignant glare.
“Shoulders, boy!” the woman said, voice clipped, “You are a swan, not a spider.”
When at last the ‘warm up’ came to an end, they moved onto practising some sort of pre-chorerographed dance that he had no clue about which was obnoxiously evident as he hovered awkwardly to the side of the room, watching as the others sprang into action at the start of the music.
Madame Faruzan’s sharp voice cut through on occasion, sometimes a correction, and rarely a compliment but none of the students seemed phased by her harsh tone.
“No, no, Layla, on the second beat of five, yes?” she said, stopping the music for a moment, “Thats’s one, jump, three, four - again.”
Kunikuzhi eyed the dancers lazily, gaze drifting between them, holding back from rolling them. It looked silly - all of them lined up in their pinks and whites, feet fluttering away in the air after jumping - what was the point of this at all? Pretending to be little duckling or god-forbid a fairy.
If Zandik even heard a slither of information about him attending just one of these classes, he’d never hear the end of ‘fag’ or ‘fruitcake’ again. Because thats who this kind of thing was for, stupid girls and those gays.
He puffed out air from his cheek as that boy who he’d already forgotten the name of, lifted one of the girls smoothly, hands sturdily in place. As the music swelled, he swirled her around and set her down - Kuzikuzushi eyed the lean muscles of his forearms and thighs as they tensed. For such a girlish activity, the boy looked to be using quite a bit of that strength. Surely he had acquired it doing other means, however, like baseball or basketball or something.
A stray curl bounced out from the bun at the back of the boy’s head, ignored as he leapt into the air, sliding to the floor into a bow of sorts.
Kunikuzshi scoffed.
‘Yeah right, he’s probably one of those types.’
And Anastasya thought he could learn something from this pointless activity?
What a joke.
The rest of the lesson dragged on like molasses dripping from a spoon, the small windows at the top edges of the room darkening as the autumnal afternoon settled in after the peak of sunshine at noon. Above, the yellowed lights warmed the space, something that contrasted deeply to the pristine white of the ice rink and bright modern bulbs overhead - it had the skater feeling a little sleepy. That and the agonisingly boring task of watching the students practise a few different dances that their teacher narrated with sharp corrections.
If all he was going to do was sit there, then what was the point at all?
“And you’ll be learning your role in these pieces in due time too, Raiden,” the woman had shot at him cooly, catching him mid-yawn.
After one final runthrough of a particularly energetic sequence, the lesson finally came to an end. The two-hour-long session felt more like five and Kunikuzushi was itching to get out as soon as possible, wanting to stretch his legs an get some real practise in at the gym.
He huffed, standing to his feet as the girls chatted among themselves filing out of the room with a farewell to the old woman stood waiting in the corner by the CD player. She gave some a smile, a rare choice of expression, evident by the lack of wrinkles at the edges of her eyes.
Kunikuzushi turned, half-hoping he would blend in with the other students when an thin, weathered finger curled in his direction, beckoning him back. The boy cursed inwardly, ready for another threatening lecture about his behaviour.
“What?” He spat.
Faruzan crossed her arms, setting her notepad on a ledge.
“I’ve made some notes about some corrections you need to make, as well as a few suggestions outside of lessons that I’d like you to take a look at before next week,” the woman said promptly, tearing off the top page and slapping it into his hand.
He scowled down at the writing, scanning over the words.
“‘Lie on the floor and’ - what? ‘Read ‘A Guide to Basic Ballet’’,’Listen to this music’ ‘Practise mindfulness’ - are you being serious? What’s this nonsense?”
What kind of rubbish was that?
Kunikuzushi thought that his coach may have drastically overestimated the abilities of her so called ‘trusted colleague.’
Like listening to come classical snobbery was going to make him a better skater.
To this, the old teacher merely raised her chin with an indignant sigh.
“I know exactly what your problem is, boy - you’re too rigid.”
Kunikuzushi let out a scoff, looking around the shabby room as disrespectfully as one could do so.
“You dance like your muscles are built of bricks and like your body is exactly as heavy. You put too much care into just doing and nothing into how you do. You fight against the body’s natural flow of motion while trying for perfection and overshoot your action, leading to failure.”
“‘Failure.’”
The boy’s jaw twitched.
“These are only the surface symptoms of your problem, boy. The fact that I could even deduce this after mere hours of meeting you is evident of the severity of it. I suspect also that not all of it lies on the surface as well; ballet and skating are just as much physical sports as they are a mental.”
Madame Faruzan sighed once more, gesturing half-heartedly with a loose wrist.
“Would you like me to guess which aspect of your skating that you score lowest on too?”
The boy glared at her silently for a long second, paper crinkling in his palm.
“...No,” he ground out.
A lump tugged at Kunikuzushi’s throat; he scolded himself internally at the weakness.
“Look, kid,” the older woman began, her voice taking a tired tone.
She took off her glasses and set them up on her head, their chain glinting in the yellow lights.
“I can teach you, and help you with these things, I’ve done it before with a few of Ana’s previous students like I said earlier, but you have to put in the effort too, do you understand?”
He looked to his feet, childishly. A finger picked on the stitching of his shirt at his hip.
“Maybe it’s a little hard for you to understand that woman’s intentions right now but if you don’t trust me, then trust her as your coach,” Madame Faruzan continued, “She only wants to see you improve, hm?”
Kunikuzushi’s eyes flicked up to meet her aged gaze, jaw twisting as he chew on his lip; he gave her the tiniest of nods, reluctant in all motion.
“...Okay, that is all I had to say, you can go collect your things. See you next week, kid.”
Without a word, the boy turned and walked away, huffing as something twisted in his chest. Trust her, huh?
He shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
…Whatever.
Pushing open the windowed door, his shoulder bumped into another as he tried to walk past.
“Oh! Sorry about that!” a voice said beside him.
The skater lowered his hand, locking eyes with that eerie shade of green for a split-second before tearing his gaze away, twisting past the other boy silently to collect his coat and shoes as fast as he could.
Weirdo.
-
Ignoring the chatter of girls in the cloakroom, he kept his head down, shoving those stupid slippers and that darned piece of paper into his pocket without care of it crumbling. His footsteps were hasty, shoes slapping over linoleum and then concrete as he burst from the studio doors with a huff.
It was darker now, and the sunset was particularly pathetic, hiding behind a barrage of grey clouds. A flickering streetlamp lit the road over the carpark in the unpleasantly warm air.
Kunikuzushi’s stomach growled and he shot it a look of betrayal, slipping out his phone and shooting a text to Pulcinella, his not-chauffer to pick him up.
After a few short moments, there came a thumbs up reaction to the message - one of the few graces of his life came in the form of the old man being always quick to reply. And if that had something to do with the fact that he had accidentally-totally-not-on-purpose set their dojo alight as a kid and made him come running to their house in a fit after Kunikuzushi had managed to get a hold of a phone and call him of all people, then that was none of his business now was it.
He clicked the button on the side of his phone and the screen went dark, ready to put it away once more but it lit up once more before he could.
Ding!
‘1 Unread Message from Raiden Ei’ the notification read.
Kunikuzushi’s body tensed on instinct, swiping up to see the preview.
What now, huh?
His shoulders drooped.
‘Staying over at hotel for your sister’s comp - use my card to order food.’
He ground his teeth together and shoved the device into his pocket.
Of fucking course.