Chapter Text
4 Months Later
He slept about as calmly as an ocean in the middle of a hurricane, but that was to be expected. He never sleeps too well, always ping-ponging between insomnia and nightmares. He shakes off the dreams, and pulls his body out of bed – heavy and cold. He takes care of breakfast for himself and Salsa, attends his online class, and dresses to go to the studio.
He parks in the parking deck next to the studio and grabs his lunch box before exiting his car. When he approaches the building he chooses to take the back door in the alley so he can examine the trash cans. Not the cans themselves, but the creature that spends a fair amount of his time next to the cans.
“Here, kitty,” he calls. “I know you don’t like me, but I brought you food.” He waits for a moment but when the stray cat doesn’t appear, he decides to just leave the food for her to find later. He opens the can of wet food and shakes it into the bowl that he’d left here a month ago, and tries to avoid getting the fishy smelling juice on his hands. When he’s finished he discards the tin into the trash can next to the bowl and turns to leave. He’s immediately stopped in his tracks by a dirty looking, gray cat staring at him with unblinking, bright green eyes. The nameless cat hides half behind a trash can, always avoiding interactions with humans, but clearly staring at Minho now, waiting for his next move. He leans a bit to the right, happy to see the cat’s torso filled out more than it was a few months ago. The cat doesn’t move a muscle.
Minho slowly leans down into a crouch, not allowing his eyes to leave the cat’s for a second. He speaks to it, ever so softly, fearing scaring it off again, “Hi, I don’t want to hurt you. You can trust me.” He shuffles forward, about the length of his foot, but the cat immediately darts further behind the trash can, only its head peeking out as it stares at Minho fearfully. He frowns and slowly rises to his feet, shuffling away until his back is pressed to the alley wall opposite of the trash can where the cat has found refuge.
He raises his hands in a sign of peace he knows the cat can’t possibly understand and backs out of the alley in the direction he came from. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just hope you keep eating.” He knows he probably looks stupid, if anyone were around to watch him right now, but he can’t help the pained expression on his face over the distress he’s caused the cat. He feels around behind him until he touches the cold metal of the door handle leading to the back studio. He blindly reaches in his pocket and waves his keycard behind him until it passes over the scanner. It beeps, letting him know he’s been granted entry and with that he opens the door, slowly backing into it. When the door closes the cat is still staring at him, and Minho is still hoping that one day, this cat will trust him enough to let him touch her.
He turns from the door and walks down the hallway until he finds the main studio door. When he walks inside he’s immediately grabbed by Mina, one of the principal dancers, and corralled into a small circle of few other female dancers. There was a group of nine female dancers that had all attended the same dance academy as him for high school. Though most of them had attended in different years, they’d been inseparable for a near decade now. It really was them against the world, especially once Mina and Tzuyu were both named principal dancers. He gets along well enough with all of the dancers at the studio, but the girls are the only ones he regularly talks to, and though he especially likes the nine of them he’s grateful to find only five of them huddled together for warm-ups today – the more of them are around the more he fears for his eardrums.
“Lee Know! Hurry up and sit down,” Momo exclaims, her small face bright and excited.
He squats down into their circle. “Good morning, everyone. Do I even want to know?”
Dahyun giggles, tying up her long black hair as she stretches her feet, “You do! We’re placing bets on the next ballet.”
“Oh, you mean once this show is over. Uhh, what do you have so far?”
Nayeon frowns. “No way, cheater.” She takes a sip from her water bottle and continues, “I’ll give you a little help though because I’m so nice.” Tzuyu scoffs and Nayeon rolls her eyes, but ignores her otherwise. “Chan is choosing and it’ll be during Halloween.”
He blushes and immediately looks to the ground for assistance. He mumbles, “We’re in trouble then.”
“Don’t worry too much. He may love the sexy ballets, but he knows you’re shy these days. He won’t make you do anything too crazy and if he does I’ll beat him up,” Tzuyu says matter of factly, smiling comfortingly and placing a hand on Minho’s back, patting once.
Momo scoffs and says, “He’s not a baby.”
Dahyun sighs wistfully. “Everyone’s a baby compared to me. I’m getting too old for this job.”
Nayeon slams her shoulder against Dahyun’s causing her to topple over onto the floor. “Don’t start with me! You’re three years younger. If you’re old then what am I?”
Dahyun, still sprawled out on the ground, says, “And you had the audacity to say you’re nice, old woman!”
Nayeon mutters, “I’ll kill you.” Then she’s pouncing on top of Dahyun. They’re too busy smacking at each other and laughing to participate in the rest of the conversation.
“Childish,” Mina says, but there’s love in her eyes and a lilt to the corner of her mouth as she watches Nayeon forcefully pull at Dahyun’s bun. “Anyway, I think it’s going to be from a local choreographer, something sensual and modern. You know Chan’s tastes.”
Minho sighs. “Dracula.”
Tzuyu immediately bursts into a fit of giggles. “Oh my god, that’s so something he would choose! We’ll write it down.” Then Momo flips open her little, pink notebook and scrawls something down. He smiles to himself, delighted that she actually keeps lists of these sorts of things.
He unfurls from his squat and bids them goodbye. “If you’re taking bets for the fight, my money’s on Dahyun.” Dahyun squawks in glee from underneath Nayeon’s shirt, where she’d apparently been shoved in a poor attempt at suffocation.
“Wait! Wait!” He turns back at Tzuyu’s plea and watches as she skips up to him, a curious twinkle to her eyes. “You still hate Han?” she asks, hair mussed up around her pretty face.
He fights to keep a frown off his face. “I don’t hate him.”
She makes a pshh noise with her lips puckered out. “C’mon, don’t lie. Literally everyone knows you hate him. Even the teens!”
He can’t really blame her for being confused about his strange dynamic with Jisung, because it’s painfully obvious to anyone within seeing distance that Minho Lee cannot stand Jisung Han. If he’s being honest with himself, it isn’t entirely Jisung’s fault. He’d tried to strike up conversations with Minho and invite him to social outings during his first few weeks at the studio which had Minho quickly running for the figurative hills. He doesn’t like men, he doesn’t want to talk to them, he doesn’t want them near him unless they’re his family. Jisung had always been annoying, but easy enough to ignore. He isn’t sure exactly when Jisung made the transition from general pest into Minho’s worst nightmare, but it had happened at some point – serving as the catalyst where his feelings for Jisung transitioned from distant avoidance into pure contempt. Because no matter what he does Jisung Han simply refuses to leave him alone.
“I don’t hate him,” he says, shaking his head to bring himself to focus back on the conversation at hand. “I just don’t like him. Why are you asking though?”
“He was looking for you earlier,” Tzuyu says, then blows a strand of hair out of her eyes.
“Why?” he asks, voice a little louder and squeakier than he intended.
“I don’t know his business,” she says, lightly kicking Nayeon’s arm in an attempt to convince her to stop pinching Dahyun’s cheek. “What I do know is he’s been my friend for a long time and so have you, so I wish you two could be friends too.”
“I didn’t realize you knew him well.”
She smiles brightly. “Oh yeah, we go way back. He’s a little abrasive at times, but a good guy.”
He nods, fidgeting a little and glancing at his spot across the room. “I should go warm-up.”
“Oh yeah! It’s kinda late, but at least Chan’s in a good mood,” she says, checking the time on her phone.
Nayeon stops him, sprawled out and panting on the floor as she says, “By the way, we’re thinking about picking up lunch at that smoothie bar across the street, they have bagels now too. Just text me if you want anything.” Then she goes back to adjusting the shoe that Dahyun had nearly pulled off her foot in their tussle.
“I might, actually. Thanks!” He turns around and walks to the other side of the main studio.
As soon as he places his bag in his favorite spot under the far right barre, he’s waved down by Chan, the main dance instructor, expected to move into the status of director in under a decade. He’s a nice guy, thoughtful, and one of Minho’s oldest and closest friends. He assumes Chan is flagging him down to ask him to join the group for dinner and drinks, though Minho turns him down almost every time, preferring to stick to his schedule and smaller group of friends. Chan is nonetheless persistent in his attempts to get him to socialize.
Chan approaches him, smiling like always. “Hey, Lee Know. How were your classes? You had one today right? Sorry, I keep forgetting your schedule so often lately, but these summer classes are hard to keep track of,” Australian accent seeping out heavily in his bashful state. Minho has noticed over the years that Chan’s accent becomes most notable when he’s nervous, drunk, or angry – a detail he initially perceived as cute when they were younger, but notices less and less with the passage of time.
Minho pays his forgetfulness no mind, knowing he’s swamped preparing for their upcoming show. These days, he feels a bit distracted himself, so he can’t blame Chan for feeling the same.
“Oh, it’s just one class since it’s summer, and I’m still doing classes online so it’s not too bad,” Minho says.
“Is it busy right now?”
“Yeah, finals are coming up. I have a lot of reading to do later,” he grumbles, bumping his shoe against the floor sadly.
Chan grimaces. “Yikes. I don’t know how you do it.”
Minho smiles. “Sometimes I don’t either, it’s a lot of work, but I think it’ll be worth it, once I get my doctorate at least.”
Chan nods and asks, “How many more years do you have? It feels like you’ve been in school forever.” He laughs a little as he says it, but Minho knows he feels pained at the thought of ever having to take another academic class again.
He looks up in thought, trying to remember. “I have. I’m in my fourth year so I should be finished after the fall semester, fingers crossed.”
Chan smiles a little and says, “I’ll be rooting for you. I’ve always wanted to have a doctor friend. Then you can tell me why my knee clicks sometimes when I walk.”
Minho deadpans. “I’m a candidate for a doctorate in psychology.”
Chan laughs at that. “I know you are. I just like the face you make when people ask you why their arm cramps sometimes.”
Minho smiles and rolls his eyes a little. “You’re real funny. I’m going to warm-up.” He turns, starting to walk over to the barre.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something,” Chan says, stopping Minho in his tracks. His stomach turns over and his heart nearly stops.
He slowly turns back to face Chan. “Yes?”
Chan sighs before he starts, “Listen, we both know you’ve had a hard time lately with dancing…in certain ways. I don’t want to make you feel too pressured because you’re a student and you’re still a great dancer…but you don’t even look like you enjoy it anymore.”
“I do! I love dancing, I just…I have a hard time…letting myself feel while I dance, the way I used to, but I can still dance…” He feels almost breathless as he says it. Fearing that he won’t reveal enough, fearing he’ll reveal too much, fearing this is his last day with the company and he’ll never dance again because he’s too old, too stiff, and too fucked up.
Chan smiles sympathetically. “Lee Know, you’re a great dancer. You got a spot in this company didn’t you? I’ve never doubted that you’re an incredible dancer.” He pauses and looks down at the floor momentarily before he says, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I’m always here for you, whatever you need.”
Minho looks away, not wanting Chan to look in his eyes and see his soul on display. “I know you are.”
“How has therapy been going?” Chan asks, not requesting they make eye contact to continue the conversation. Minho is grateful.
“Good. It’s helped a lot. I just…need more time before I can dance the same again.”
Chan sighs. “It’s been a year, Lee Know. I don’t know if time is the only thing you need.”
Minho feels his face fall, but there’s nothing he can do to control it as he shakily says, “I’m fully aware of how much time has passed, Chan. I don’t know what else you want me to do. I’ve been in therapy. I’ve practiced ballet almost every single day. I can’t change-”
“This isn’t an attack,” Chan says, effectively cutting off Minho’s welling tears before they have the chance to fall. He sighs heavily and says, “I’m just saying that I notice and I care.”
Minho glances at Chan before looking away again. He nods his head in acknowledgement.
“Listen, I want you to practice with Han.”
Minho does look up at that. “What?”
“He’s a good dancer and I think you would work well together.”
Minho scrambles, “He’s- He barely even dances ballet.”
Chan smiles. “I’m happy to bring any talented dancer to the company. He does dance ballet though, he dances most things. He’s very- How should I put this? He’s very…free when he dances.”
Minho frowns. “And I’m not.” It’s not phrased as a question, but a statement.
Chan continues saying, “He could learn something from you too.”
Minho knows his face shows a twinge of curiosity but he can’t contain it when he asks, “Like what?”
Chan snorts and rocks on his heels a little. “A hundred things off the top of my head.”
“I don’t think he likes me very much, and you know I don’t like him either,” Minho says, sighing.
Chan laughs at that. “I’ve known him for a long time now. He likes most people. He’s just annoying sometimes.” Minho lets out a breath and nods in affirmation. “A month from now he might even be your best friend, you know how easy it is to form relationships through dance.”
Minho shakes his head a little, but doesn’t remark otherwise.
Chan pats his shoulder for a single second before retreating his hand. “I’ll leave you to it.” Then he’s smiling warmly at something past Minho’s shoulder.
“Huh?” Minho asks confusedly.
“You ready to get started, partner?” A new voice asks, a loud voice, with a confident lilt that Minho can’t stand.
He sighs gravely and turns around to face him, the man who he’s been avoiding for months, and the same one who refuses to leave him alone. “Jisung Han.”
Jisung bounces on his heels in apparent excitement at the acknowledgement alone. He’s wearing fitted shorts, a sleeveless top that shows off his lean muscles and a bright, cocky smile. His blonde hair is pushed back from his face by a stupid looking yellow sweatband and Minho rolls his eyes when he realizes it matches his even stupider looking shoes. He thinks they must have an insole because he’s a good bit taller than Minho now, which definitely isn’t normally the case.
Jisung leans forward as he greets. “Hi, Wall-e.”
Minho leans away, biting back, “Hi, Shortie.”
Jisung gasps dramatically. “Already calling me your shawty? Take me on a date first.” Minho groans and walks away to stretch on the barre. Jisung calls after him, “So no date?” Then salutes Chan and follows behind Minho.
Minho scoots far away from Jisung when he places himself right next to him to warm up. Jisung surprisingly allows him to, and without any comment. They stretch in relative silence and Minho is grateful to have a moment to himself.
After a while Jisung interrupts him. “Why don’t you run through the newest routine Chan gave you. I’m learning it too, but you have a head start on me for practicing it. I bet I can still beat you though.” His arms are folded cockily, but he’s giggling a little as he says it.
Minho asks with a plainly unimpressed expression, “What are you, five? Also why are you learning it? I thought it was a solo?” He had been so excited when Chan informed him he’d be dancing a solo for the upcoming performance, having been a corps dancer for years now, he was so thrilled for this rare chance to dance on his own. Had Chan changed his mind?
His leg is stretched perpendicular to the barre and his hands are on the floor so he has to look at Jisung from underneath his own leg, which might make him feel that Jisung had the higher ground if he hadn’t already changed into his ballet shoes and shrunk back to his usual size – about the same as Minho. Realistically, Minho knows he shouldn’t care how big Jisung is, but he’ll take whatever advantage he can get at this point – even if it is just one sweet, little inch.
Jisung shrugs. “Chan said he’s placing us as demi-soloists.”
Minho pulls his leg off the barre and stands in shock. There’s no way. Chan wouldn’t pair him with someone. “I’ll…have to talk to him to confirm that later.”
Jisung sighs and unfolds his arms. “Do whatever you want. Can you just do the dance so I can see it again?”
Minho nods, moving on default. He hasn’t danced with anyone in a year, only in the corps de ballet, which usually consists of twenty or so people. Would Chan really pair him with someone, just like that? He pushes his thoughts aside and tries to remember the music in his head. He counts under his breath as he begins the routine, attempting to look as elegant as possible as he dances, hyper aware of Jisung's eyes on him as he jumps and pirouettes.
After a few minutes he finishes and the second he does Jisung whistles and says, “Damn, you are the most technical dancer I have ever witnessed in my entire career.”
Minho furrows his brows in response. “Meaning…?”
Jisung smiles brightly and states, “You could do better.”
Minho has to take a deep calming breath because he’s a professional dancer at a major company. He’s an incredible dancer yet Jisung always speaks to him as if he’s shit on a stick. He shakes his head and walks back to the barre, refusing to acknowledge his comment beyond, “You do it then.”
Jisung puffs out his chest and walks to the spot Minho previously occupied in front of the mirror. “Fine. I will.”
Jisung doesn’t really take a position before starting, he sort of just jumps straight in. He leans and jumps and spins without regard and lands less than perfectly almost every time. Minho doesn’t know what word to choose to describe the way Jisung dances; free, sensual, untamed, he ultimately settles on honest. Jisung is so expressive, so feeling, and Minho is absolutely enamored by the movements. He’s usually annoyed by dancers who forget their foundation and the beauty of classical movement, but Jisung is just so breathtakingly honest about his own feelings while he dances, and Minho would be lying if he said it wasn’t worth staring at.
When he finishes, Minho is still watching him, wide-eyed, waiting for his next movement.
Jisung crosses his arms again and cocks his hip to the side. “What did you think, Robotboy? Other than the fact I don’t know all the moves yet.”
Minho stiffens. “Messy.” He turns away and continues stretching.
Jisung scoffs. “As if.”
They continue their practice together with Jisung placing obnoxious commentary whenever he sees fit and Minho trying his best to keep up. When they finally finish they pack up their things in silence and make their way outside together, rather begrudgingly if nothing else.
Jisung reaches the door first only to hold it open and fix Minho with an expectant look. Minho stands still for a moment, worried Jisung may try and slam his foot in it, but decides he’d rather not spend the energy questioning Jisung's motives any further. He slowly nods his head at Jisung and walks through the door apprehensively. He flinches back a little when Jisung moves his hand and it bumps his jacket, but otherwise he doesn’t move, and Minho is out the door before he can give it any further thought.
The sun is bright and blaring, so Minho squints his eyes and tries to adjust. Despite the warm rays there’s at least a little breeze prompting him to pull the sleeves of his thin cardigan down over his forearms. Jisung glances over, clearly humored Minho is wearing sleeves in summertime as he comments, “I like your long, black cardigan, dad. You headed to the bank after this?”
Minho glances over at Jisung with disdain painted on his face, pulling his book bag further up his shoulders. “Need me to drop you off at comic con on the way, kid?” Pointing between Jisung's bright, red graphic tee and Pokemon baseball cap as he asks.
Jisung smirks, “No, thanks. I have my own ride.”
Minho furrows his brow, but his confusion is quickly replaced by both anger and incredulity when Jisung walks over and straddles the motorcycle Minho had assumed some random person had parked outside of the studio.
He can’t contain his disbelief. “You have got to be kidding me, I thought it was just for pictures. You actually ride that thing?”
Jisung looks proud of himself as he asks, “Impressed?”
Minho barks out a laugh and says, “Not at all. It just makes you look like even more of an asshole. Try not to die on your way home.” He waves Jisung good-bye and heads towards his car.
Jisung yells after him. “Cars aren’t much better, Lee Know! You should fear death from being trapped in that metal box after it flips over way more than a motorcycle crash. You have no sense of style or swag, dumbass! So…ha!”
Minho ignores Jisung's scrambled attempt at a comeback and continues walking away, having no more energy for any further banter. Once he finds himself in the safety of his own car he calls Chan, who left about thirty minutes earlier. He picks up on the third ring, muttering out a greeting which Minho refuses to acknowledge.
“You said you wanted us to practice together. You didn’t say anything about a demi-solo.” Minho hears Chan’s staticy sigh through the phone, but presses on, “You should have at least told me.”
“I was trying to, but we were interrupted. I thought I could tell you after practice. I didn’t think he’d mention it immediately. I wasn’t trying to take your solo from you, but I thought about it and it made more sense to have you work as demi-soloists for this song. Tzuyu will be on stage too. It’s not nearly as…intimate as you’re thinking. You’re basically just dancing on opposite ends of the stage at the same time.”
Minho asks quietly, “Why do you even want us to work together? I’m sorry, Chan, but he’s awful. We argue every time we see each other. We’re complete opposites in everything. Any time I try to be cordial he purposely provokes me. I just…”
It’s quiet for a moment.
Chan finally responds, “I want you both to learn balance from each other. You’re different, but you can find common ground. I honestly think this will be good for you, for both of you.”
Minho runs his hand over his face in exasperation, but responds nonetheless. “Fine, you’re the instructor. I trust your judgment. It’s just one dance after all.” They exchange a few pleasantries after that, then hang up and Minho is left with his thoughts, wondering who is more blind to what he actually needs: Chan or himself