Chapter Text
“You’re staring again.”
Anxin blinks twice, and turns to see Sanghyeon drop into the seat next to him. “What?”
Sanghyeon nods towards the table where the dance team is sitting. “Staring. You know one of these days he’s actually going to notice.”
Anxin ignores him, returning his focus to his crush. “Does he look stressed to you? More than normal, I mean?”
Xinlong always looks a little stressed, except when he’s onstage. When he’s dancing he shines like a star, with a brilliant smile and an endless well of energy. The rest of the time he’s quiet and reserved- he rarely talks, rarely smiles, and generally looks…exhausted.
Today feels different. Anxin can’t put his finger on why, but Xinlong looks even more tired than usual, even less engaged in conversation. He’s been quietly observing Xinlong for months- he knows something is wrong.
“I dunno,” Sanghyeon says. “You could always ask.”
Anxin shoots him a look. “No way.”
“Or I could ask for you.”
“Don’t you dare,” Anxin hisses. It’s bad enough he has the crush in the first place. They’ve never even so much as said hi- if Xinlong finds out that Anxin’s been practically stalking him, that’d be it. End of the line. He might just die of embarrassment on the spot.
Sanghyeon rolls his eyes. “I can’t wait for the day you finally talk to him.”
“Who, Xinlong?” asks Leo, appearing behind his shoulder. “Yeah, that’s never gonna happen.” He grins at Anxin, who scowls back.
“I will,” he says. “Eventually.”
“Sure,” says Leo, barely even pretending to believe it.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Sanghyeon says.
Anxin pouts. “You’re both so mean to me.”
Xinlong would never be mean to him. He’s kind to everyone- a little distant maybe, but kind. Anxin glances over, biting his lip. That’s part of what has him worried. It seems like Xinlong’s always looking out for others, but is anyone taking care of him?
“Does he look stressed to you?” he asks again, this time directed at Leo. “He keeps checking his pulse, and he’s not really talking at all. Not even to Arno.”
Arno is the dance team captain, and Xinlong’s best friend. Anxin’s also never spoken to him.
“I wouldn’t know,” says Leo. “You could ask.”
“Hyung, come on,” Anxin grumbles, slumping in his seat. “What would I even say? “Hi, we’ve never spoken but I’ve been watching you like a creep and I’m worried you might be overworking yourself”?”
“Don’t say that,” says Leo.
“Please say that,” says Sanghyeon at the same time.
Anxin rolls his eyes. “You guys are no help.”
Leo shrugs apologetically, and Anxin turns his attention back to Xinlong. Most of the dance team is chattering away, but Xinlong- sat on the edge, like always- is quiet. He jiggles his leg gently under the table, glancing occasionally at his surroundings before looking back down at his hands. He just looks…stressed. That’s really the only word for it.
Maybe I could ask.
Anxin dismisses the thought the moment it appears. It’s a stupid idea.
As he’s watching, a pair of strangers pass by the other table. One of them- not watching where he’s going- bumps Xinlong’s arm, pushing him into Arno and stumbling a few steps. Xinlong turns, and while Anxin’s too far away to hear the words, he can read the apology on his lips.
Why are you apologizing? he thinks with a frown. That wasn’t your fault at all.
Xinlong is always like that. Apologizing for things he didn’t do, making himself small so as not to get in anyone’s way. He shouldn’t, though. He shouldn’t have to.
Like so many people, Anxin was first drawn to him by his dance but it’s Xinlong’s personality that he really fell in love with. He always comes off so composed, so careful. Aloof, Anxin’s heard it called, or pretentious- but those people don’t know what they’re talking about.
Xinlong’s been dancing his entire life. He could’ve made a whole career out of it- and kind of did, when he was younger. It’s that mini-celebrity status that has everyone reading him wrong, Anxin’s sure of it. Of course you’d expect the former child prodigy to have some sort of superiority complex- but Xinlong doesn’t. Despite his background, he works harder than anyone else and asks for nothing in return. He’s the most selfless, caring person Anxin can imagine.
Even if he never danced again, Xinlong would still be perfect.
“…Anxin. Earth to Anxin! Hyung, I think we lost him.”
“What do you want,” Anxin mumbles, refusing to take his eyes off of Xinlong.
“Are you seriously just going to keep watching him all day?” Sanghyeon asks. “Because if the answer is yes, I’m heading over there right now to put you out of your misery.”
“Absolutely not!” Anxin jerks his attention back to the table, where Sanghyeon meets his eyes, grins, and slowly starts to stand.
“Sanghyeon, don’t you dare,” Anxin hisses, grabbing at his arm. His friend, if Anxin can even call him that right now, dodges- and has the audacity to laugh. Anxin leaps after him, chasing him around the table to drag him back into his seat. “I’ll kill you- I swear, I’m gonna kill you-”
“Children, please,” Leo says, barely looking up from his phone. “You’re tearing this family apart.”
Anxin whirls on him, pointing an accusing finger at Sanghyeon. “Tell that to him! He’s trying to ruin my life!”
Sanghyeon laughs again, but finally sits back down. “You’re always so dramatic. Dad’s not gonna get mad at me, I’m his favorite.”
Anxin scoffs. “You wish.”
Leo rolls his eyes, but doesn’t hide his smile. “I promise I hate both of you equally.”
“Hyung- what do you mean you hate me?” Sanghyeon whines, giving Leo his saddest, wettest look.
“Gonna have to try harder than that, puppy,” Leo says with a grin. “That trick doesn’t work on me anymore.”
Sanghyeon’s jaw drops- he looks so offended that Anxin can’t help but laugh, throwing up a hand in front of his face. Serves him right.
“And you act like I’m mean to you,” Sanghyeon complains, opening a bag of chips.
“Cause you are,” says Anxin, grinning with hypocrisy. “This is just teasing.” He bumps Sanghyeon’s shoulder affectionately with his own, then checks the time. “Oh, I gotta go. See you guys later?”
“Only if you can tear your eyes off of Xinlong.” Sanghyeon brightens up, leaning in conspiratorially towards Leo. “Hey- you know what? If he’s leaving he can’t stop me from going over there.”
Anxin narrows his eyes, then snatches the chip bag out of Sanghyeon’s hands and darts away, popping one into his mouth.
“Hey, that’s mine!” Sanghyeon calls after him.
“Not anymore!” Anxin sings over his shoulder.
Maybe he shouldn’t be antagonizing his best friend when said best friend is actively threatening to expose Anxin to his crush, but he’s fairly confident Sanghyeon won’t actually do it. And Sanghyeon doesn’t bother to fight back, just pulls a different snack out of his bag. He’s definitely learned to expect Anxin stealing his food. Which he does do kind of a lot. It’s only fair- half the snacks Sanghyeon takes from their apartment are his, anyways.
If only talking to Xinlong were as easy as talking to his friends.
Anxin skips off towards the gym for basketball, casting one last wistful glance towards the dance team.
Eventually.
-
Basketball is fun. Anxin’s not really that competitive and neither is their team, but he likes the game and he likes his teammates. Today they’re just playing a practice game, since the season hasn’t started yet. The stakes are low, but right now his team is winning- in no small part due to Anxin. He’s certainly not the best player, but he is good.
Then Xinlong walks past the window and Anxin’s mind goes blank.
What is he doing here?
Xinlong should be at dance practice with the rest of the team. Every evening during the week, except Fridays and weekends- except when they have a show coming up, then it’s Fridays and Saturdays included. Xinlong never misses it.
But the studio’s on the other side of campus, so what is he doing outside the gym?
Could it have something to do with whatever was stressing him out earlier?
“Anxin!”
He’s pulled out of his thoughts just in time to watch the ball slam into his head. Anxin crumples to the ground as the coach blows the whistle and his teammates rush over.
“Shit, are you okay? I’m so sorry, I really thought you’d catch it.” Geonwoo crouches in front of him, holding up his hands like he wants to help, but isn’t sure how.
“S’fine,” Anxin mumbles, rubbing his head. Ow. Geonwoo throws hard.
“All right, back up- give him some space,” their coach says, making his way through the crowd of worried players. “Anxin- what happened?”
“Nothing, I just-” he shakes his head, but quickly stops as it makes the floor tilt. “I just got distracted. I’m fine.”
Coach frowns. “What’s the score right now?”
“Uh…” Anxin squints up at the scoreboard, and Coach sighs.
“Okay, you’re done for today.” He pulls Anxin to his feet and points to the nearest student- Geonwoo again. “Can you walk him over to the clinic? Could be a concussion.”
A concussion. Great.
It’s not a long walk and he does understand why he’s been given a babysitter, but Geonwoo won’t stop apologizing and by the time they get there it’s really starting to grate on him.
“It’s fine,” Anxin says for the third time as they approach the doors to the clinic. “Stop apologizing. Really, it’s not your fault.”
Geonwoo bites his lip, but finally stops. Anxin forces himself to smile past the pounding in his head. “Thanks for walking me. See you tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Geonwoo says. “I hope it’s not too bad. And- feel better soon. Sorry.” He cringes as the last word slips out, offering an apologetic smile. Anxin gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder, and heads inside.
-
The verdict is yes, it’s probably a concussion. A mild one, at least.
“Take it easy the next few days,” the doctor tells him. “No sports until your cleared, and come back in if your symptoms get worse. It’s a good idea to have someone check in on you tonight, just in case. You have a roommate, or a friend who could stay over?”
“A roommate,” Anxin says.
“Good. You can sleep normally, but have him check in occasionally tonight and tomorrow morning, just to make sure you’re doing okay.”
Great. Doctor-mandated harassment- Sanghyeon’s going to love that.
“Anything else?” he asks with a sigh. He kind of just wants to go home.
“Besides what we’ve already discussed?” The doctor thinks for a moment. “I don’t think so. It’s supposed to storm tonight; some people find the pressure changes to increase pain or nausea, but it’s not universal. Just take it easy and try to get some rest.”
Anxin thanks the doctor and leaves, shooting a text to Sanghyeon explaining the situation as he starts off towards home.
A storm, huh? Anxin’s never been a fan of the rain, until very recently. Unsurprisingly, it’s because of Xinlong.
Xinlong loves storms. That’s something of a secret- well, maybe not a real one, but as far as Anxin can tell he’s never talked about it publicly. The fact that he knows feels like something special- something personal. Something he knows about Xinlong that most people don’t.
It’s rare to see Xinlong smile when he’s not dancing. At least not in the same way. None of that manic glee seems to follow him off the stage, and while Anxin’s always believed that’s a sign of just how much he loves dance, he knows there’s people who see it as evidence the onstage joy is fake. But fuck those people- they have no idea what they’re talking about.
Anxin’s seen him smile, and it was absolutely beautiful. Two months ago, when campus was still mostly empty from summer break, he got caught in a downpour and was debating whether it was worth waiting out when he spotted Xinlong across the quad. Unlike Anxin, who was hiding from the rain, Xinlong was embracing it- arms wide, head tilted up as water poured into his eyes. It was just…beautiful. Like something out of a movie.
Even if Anxin weren’t half in love with him already, that sight would’ve changed everything.
Then a flash of lightning lit up the sky and Xinlong laughed, the wild grin on his face shining even brighter. And that’s the exact moment Anxin knew he was done for.
He’s never mentioned it to anyone, not even Leo. (He obviously couldn’t tell Sanghyeon, that’s just asking to be made fun of.) It was just a magical little moment, shared only with Xinlong. Even if Xinlong didn’t know he was there.
Ever since then, storms have felt…special. He still doesn’t like the rain, but as silly as it sounds, watching the sky makes him feel closer to Xinlong.
Hopefully the storm doesn’t make his symptoms worse. He wants it to be something happy- his day’s been going bad enough already.
-
Xinlong’s day isn’t going any better- not that he’d ever think to compare.
Apparently he’s failing one of his classes. Or, not failing, but underperforming. That’s how his advisor put it when he met with her that afternoon.
“It seems like you might be stretched a little thin,” she said. “I told you the overload was a risk- remember, your scholarship requires you to keep your GPA above a 3.0.”
Three point oh. That shouldn’t be that hard. It’s not like he can’t do it- the class he’s failing is early childhood psychology, and he is doing the work. Usually. Just not always on time. It’s not like he can drop the class either, not without risking the major. So he’ll deal with it- he always does.
“If you’re not willing to drop any of your classes,” she said with the tone of someone who thinks he really ought to do just that, “then you have to learn to prioritize. You’re an excellent dancer, but being gifted at one thing doesn’t mean the rest of your responsibilities will just handle themselves.”
I know that, he thought, but didn’t say aloud. Of course he knows. He’s been dancing his whole life- if being good at dance made everything easy, his whole life would’ve been easy. Instead dance only made it harder.
But the look his advisor gave him was not that of someone who’d understand, so he just nodded and thanked her for the advice.
The timing of the meeting meant missing the first half of dance practice, which only makes it worse. Xinlong usually tries to be there early, so it doesn’t cause a scene when he arrives, but-
“Look guys, our choreography genius is here,” one of his teammates announces as he walks through the door, and Xinlong forces a smile, pretending not to hear the insult underneath.
“Longlong!” Arno cheers- and at least from him, the joy is definitely real. “You’re just in time. We’re about to do a run- you want to watch through once before joining?”
Xinlong shrugs, and nods. He doubts they’ve added anything he couldn’t pick up on the fly, but people already think he’s arrogant and he doesn’t want to seem full of himself. He takes a seat at the front, stretching out his legs as Arno starts the music.
“Let me know if anything looks off,” Arno adds.
Xinlong nods again, cursing internally. Giving notes sucks- everyone always seems to take his advice in the worst way possible. But he does have the eyes for it, so it’s far from an uncommon ask.
Sure enough, Xinlong catalogs a dozen mistakes in the first ten seconds alone, though none of them really seem big enough to mention. The rest of the run is similar- but to be fair, the choreo is relatively new. A girl at the back stumbles over her feet halfway through the piece and shoots him a look that dares him to say something. Xinlong quickly averts his eyes.
It’s not like he would. She obviously knows she messed up, so calling her out in front of everyone would just be cruel.
Three long minutes pass, and the music finally comes to a stop.
“Thoughts?” Arno says, turning to him.
Xinlong shrugs. “Looked good to me.” It’s not a lie- the dance is still rough around the edges, but there’s plenty of time to iron it out. No major problems. Nothing worth fighting about.
“Wow, high praise,” someone mumbles.
Xinlong watches the tiniest flicker of annoyance dance across Arno’s face. He keeps his own carefully still.
“Great,” Arno says, and claps his hands. “Let’s take five then. Water break.”
Xinlong’s almost positive it was called for him. He still needs to finish stretching before he’ll be ready to join, and sure enough, the moment the group disperses Arno drops to the floor next to him.
“You good?” he asks under his breath, pretending to adjust his laces. “You seem a little off.”
Xinlong shrugs. “Fine.”
“Meeting go okay?”
He shrugs again. “Well enough. It’s fine.”
“You sure?” Arno fixes him with a look, the one that says you’re not as good an actor as you think, and Xinlong shakes his head, flashing another fake smile.
“Hao-ge, I’m fine. Really,” he lies. “I’m just tired.”
Arno snorts. “Maybe tonight, try sleeping for once.” He punches Xinlong lightly on the shoulder but thankfully leaves it at that.
Maybe, Xinlong thinks, leaning forward to stretch his lower back. But not likely. He’s got about forty pages of reading for tomorrow that he hasn’t started, plus a two-page reflection to write when he’s done. He’ll be lucky to be in bed by three.
The rest of practice goes…fine. He’s in his head, making careless mistakes, though fortunately none of them are big enough to be a problem. And no one says anything, aside from a teasing “hey superstar, you feeling alright?” when he turns the wrong way and nearly crashes into his neighbor.
Still. He feels guilty. Mistakes are a part of learning, he knows that, but he’s supposed to be better than this.
As usual, Xinlong stays after. He’s not always the first to arrive, but he is always the last to leave. The solo time helps him to decompress, to make sense of the world, to remind him that he does still love dancing.
Arno hovers at the door after everyone else has left. “You sure you’re okay?”
Xinlong smiles again, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It’s a real smile this time- it is nice that Arno cares. “Yeah,” he says. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“You know you don’t have to be,” Arno reminds him. “If things aren’t going well, or you wanna talk-”
“Hao-ge…” Xinlong sighs. “Thanks, but it’s really nothing. It’s just been a long day.”
Arno purses his lips. “If you say so,” he says, sounding skeptical. “Promise you’ll go to bed at a reasonable hour?”
“I’ll try my best.”
That’s at least enough to get Arno to leave, and Xinlong is finally alone. He exhales loudly, lying back and letting the silence sink into his skin before turning on the music and getting to work.
It used to be easier.
Dance is Xinlong’s first and greatest love. No matter how much he’s struggling, the opportunity to lose himself in the music and the movement never fails to fix what’s wrong, even if only briefly. He loves being a dancer. He loves to dance. He does.
So why is is so hard?
Expectation, that’s why. It’s not something to do for himself anymore; it’s a constant fight to prove that he deserves the attention. Never mind that he doesn’t want it. He’s He Xinlong- former child prodigy, dancer of a generation. Isn’t it a shame he’s choosing not to do it professionally? Isn’t he strange, to give up such a gift?
Maybe it’s burnout. Maybe he’s lazy. Maybe he’s ungrateful for the opportunities he’s been given, and thinks he can skate by forever off his childhood success. Everyone has an opinion, these days.
Maybe he’s just tired.
He stays at the studio later than he means to, which is a bad sign for his sleep prospects. He does briefly consider skipping the reading, but he’s already behind and his advisor’s words come back to haunt him.
You have to learn to prioritize, she’d said, and what she meant was stop prioritizing dance.
But he can’t. Dance is the one thing he has that makes him feel alive. He can juggle all of it- he has to.
The reading takes hours, and by the time he’s finished he’s not sure he understands more than half of it. Xinlong sighs, rubbing his temples. It’s nearly two am and he still has to write the reflection. Going to bed now would be giving up- what’s the point of staying up this late with nothing to show for it? He can do this.
He can do it.
Fortunately, he’s way too tired to care about writing well- words on the page is good enough. That makes it marginally faster, though he keeps having to course correct when his mind wanders off.
Around fifteen minutes later, a loud crash of thunder pulls him out of his thoughts. Right- it was supposed to storm tonight.
Xinlong pauses in his writing, looking out the window to watch the rain. He’s always loved thunderstorms, ever since he was little. Lightning especially. It’s just so…free.
A beautiful bolt of lightning streaks across the sky, followed by another crash of thunder, and a tired smile crawls its way onto Xinlong’s face.
It must be nice, he thinks, being a storm. No expectations, no pressure, just the endless freedom to dance through the sky, painting your patterns in the clouds. It’s a silly thought, but one he’s had before. One he’s sure he’ll have again.
Xinlong sighs, eyelids growing heavy. Why does no one else seem to struggle this much? Plenty of people do course overloads, plenty of people have extracurriculars. Sure, he’s got a few extra expectations from his history with dance, but it’s not like it’s anything unreasonable. Nothing he shouldn’t be able to manage.
The lightning strikes again.
Xinlong sets his glasses down on the desk, rubbing his eyes. His mind drifts back to earlier, before the meeting. His teammates, chattering away in conversation he’s never quite felt welcome to join. Laughing and joking- and not just his teammates, everyone. Like those kids across the quad, chasing each other around a table- one of them practically tackling the other as he cackled about something Xinlong was too far to hear. They were bright, loud, happy. Not a single thought towards someone judging them.
He sighs again, resting his head on his arms. One last thought wanders through his conscious mind before he’s falling into the depths of sleep:
I wish I could be that carefree.
-
At the same time, on the other side of campus, the same crash of thunder rattles the windows of Anxin’s dorm room and he jerks awake, groaning at the pain that swirls in his head.
Stupid concussion, he thinks. Stupid thunder. Stupid storm.
Storm.
Anxin’s eyes fly open just in time to see the next streak of lightning. He sighs- then quickly claps his hands over his ears to block out most of the thunder.
Xinlong loves storms. Is he watching this one right now?
He shouldn’t be. According to Anxin’s clock it’s past two am, and they have the same early class tomorrow. He really ought to be asleep.
Still, he might be awake. Anxin kind of hopes he is. The thought of both of them watching the storm together at the same time… it’s kind of romantic, isn’t it?
God, he’s so pathetic.
Anxin sighs, turning on his side to get more comfortable while keeping his eyes on the window. The memory of Xinlong’s manic grin as he lifted his face to the sky lingers in his head. It’s a different smile than the one he wears when he’s dancing- both seem genuine, but this one felt more…free.
Xinlong moves like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders- and what Anxin would give to share the burden. So far that storm is the only thing he’s seen lift even a fraction of it away.
Maybe I’ll talk to him tomorrow, he thinks. It’s probably just the concussion talking, but he at least pretends to let himself consider it. He could just…start a conversation, when stats is over. Small talk. How’s your day going? Did you see the storm last night? I think you’re really great- would you maybe wanna grab a coffee?
He won’t do it. He never does. It’s just a stupid after-midnight plan, born out of wishful thinking and a little bit of head trauma.
Lightning flashes, and Anxin sighs again. The pain from his abrupt wake-up is fading and he feels himself drifting off to the memory of Xinlong watching the storm.
In the exact same moment as Xinlong makes his wish, one final waking thought flickers through Anxin’s mind:
I wish I knew how to make him smile like that.
-
Thunder crashes. As it does, both boys’ eyes fall shut, their minds slipping off into slumber.
And outside, the storm rages on.
Outside, the storm listens.
-
Waking up hurts. Anxin could swear he remembers crawling into bed last night, but it seems he must’ve passed out on his desk instead. Which has now left him with the worst crick in his neck. He groans, blinking his eyes open- and frowns.
Everything is blurry.
He blinks again, waiting for his vision to clear.
It doesn’t.
Okay, he thinks. Don’t panic. Maybe it’s the concussion?
“Sanghyeon?” he calls, sitting up straight. Something about his voice sounds wrong- deeper than normal, even with his nerves pitching it up. He trails his hands along the edge of the desk, and one of them lands on an object that feels suspiciously like a pair of glasses.
He doesn’t wear glasses.
Nevertheless, that’s what they are. And to make things even more confusing, putting them on finally brings the world into focus. Anxin looks around with growing horror.
This isn’t his room.
Gone is the chipped white paint of his dorm room walls, plastered over with crooked posters and assorted sticky notes. Gone are the neat little shelves of folders and textbooks carefully arranged atop his dresser, and the basketball shaped lamp Sanghyeon gifted him as a joke. This room is dark and cluttered, all blacks and reds, with papers and piles of half-folded laundry scattered across every surface. He’s absolutely certain he’s never been here before in his life.
Please be the concussion.
“Sanghyeon?” he calls again- louder this time- and closes his eyes against the rising fear in his chest. Maybe Sanghyeon just didn’t hear him. Surely he’s about to come bursting in to tell Anxin he’s hallucinating.
No one answers.
Anxin swallows, squinting one eye open again. The same unfamiliar space stares back at him.
“Okay,” he says out loud. The voice still isn’t his, but it is familiar in a way he can’t quite place. “Okay. This is bad.”
He waits several seconds for something to refute him.
Nothing happens. Anxin nods, takes a deep breath, and stands. Another deep breath gets him over to the door. Hand on the doorknob, he hesitates- but there’s no sound from the other side to clue him in on what he might find, so he steels his nerves and gently pushes it open.
The sight that greets him is definitely not the suite he shares with Sanghyeon. That’s honestly probably a good thing, at this point. Everything changing is somehow less scary than if it were just his room. And his voice. And his eyesight. And…
Well, at least his head doesn’t hurt anymore.
He swallows again, stepping through the doorway. The apartment is small, and it doesn’t look like anyone else lives here- not that he lives here. He spots what must be a bathroom opposite where he’s standing and rushes in, turning on the sink and splashing cold water on his face.
Please be a dream, he thinks, trying to keep his breath steady. Please be some sort of horribly vivid dream.
Anxin looks up, meeting his eyes in the mirror, and his heart stops. The reflection that stares back at him- his reflection, apparently, from the way it’s now grabbing at its face with an expression of dawning horror- isn’t his.
It’s He Xinlong.