Chapter Text
Ten takes his place at the bar. His black leotard is tight around his thin but muscular body. His thighs are strong and round, his waist snatched, his breasts nearly flat. Black gaiters climb from his ankle till over the knee, to keep his legs warm. A long sleeve, dark bolero wraps around his upper body.
His eyes move nervously over the classroom. He notices two boys, one with chestnut hair and the other with pitch-black strands pulled back, whispering together and checking him out. Ten looks at his feet, clad in pearl pointe shoes, averting their gaze. He wonders what they see in him that makes them murmur to each other like that. Is it Ten’s figure? Is his snug bun falling apart? Is a lock out of place? Ten touches his head, checking for any irregularities on his gel updo.
“Good morning, everyone.”
The ballet master walks into the class.
The students reply, “Good morning, Professor.”
“Face the bar in first,” says Edytha Walker.
She’s a middle-aged poised woman, whose ginger hair is partly silver, responsible for their duo classes. Ten has already met her. She was in his evaluation to be admitted into the SM Ballet Theatre School. He remembers it crystal clear, being jet lagged after a 24-hour flight with one connection and having to dance in the toughest hurdle of his career. Still, Ten passed. Now he is here in New York, away from his family for the first time in his life. He knows no one. He understands English well but has an obvious accent.
Still, Ten’s will is iron.
He is ready to face all the challenges necessary to meet his goals. He wants to be the prima ballerina. He will be.
The students follow the teacher’s instructions, as she goes around the room slowly, watching every one of them. Ten keeps his head high, his hips closed, his legs turned out, his feet arched, his chest up, his arms curved. In the corner of his eye, he can see Edytha stop by his side.
“Tuck in your ribs,” she says.
Ten corrects his posture and keeps going, while she analyses him.
“Good.”
She resumes her walk.
After the class is over, Ten sits on the floor to take off his pointes. The student behind him taps his shoulder.
“Hey!” he smiles widely, crouching to be at Ten’s eye level. “I’m Mark Lee. What’s your name?”
“You can call me Ten. Exciting class, right?”
Ten unties his shoes and stores them in his bag. In the pause, Ten and Mark notice a group of students murmuring and looking over at them.
“Is it normal for Americans to stare that much?” asks Ten, puzzled.
Mark chuckles. “Only when they see fierce competition.” He eyes Ten up and down. “Prima material.”
“Me?” Ten checks, raising an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”
“Edytha complimented you,” says Mark. He’s regarding Ten with curiosity, but also kindness. “She never compliments anyone.”
“She doesn’t?”
Ten frowns, trying not to sound too eager. He pulls a big purple hoodie over his ballet clothes.
“Nope,” Mark snaps his lips. “It’s nice to meet you, Ten. If you need anything, let me know.”
Mark grabs his bag and leaves. Ten steals another glance at the ones that gawk at him so obviously. The same two men from the beginning of the class are amongst them. Ten gathers his things and leaves, paying them no mind. If they must gossip about him, let them. It won’t create a dent in his confidence and willpower.
***
“I’ve sorted you all into tiers, based on your skill and presence,” announces Edytha. “This is not set in stone. If you are at the bottom, you can rise. And don’t get comfortable at the top, or you might fall.”
Her eyes skim over the students. Ten watches, frozen like a stone. He tries to take deep breaths and keep calm.
“The higher your tier, higher are your chances for a big role at the summer ballet,” she says. “Besides that, I’ve already divided you into pairs. You better get along, because I won’t change it. If your partner falls tier, you fall too. So work together. Rely on each other.”
Edytha crosses her arms, standing in the middle of the room. “I’ve put the names and tiers on the bulletin board. You are dismissed.”
Everyone scurries out, but Ten stays behind. Mark keeps at his side. The two have traded numbers since they met last week and texted each other. They found out they both live in the company’s dorms, Ten in the women’s and Mark in the men’s, and the buildings are near. They went out for a coffee, and Ten was happy to meet someone so fun and kind—unlike the others in his class. He’s also happy Mark is gay, and Ten mostly presents as a girl, which means his new friend isn’t being nice just to get in Ten’s pants.
“Come on,” says Mark, offering his arm.
Ten smiles and takes it, and they stroll outside. There is a commotion in front of the bulletin board. People talk over each other, it’s chaotic. Mark pushes into the crowd and pulls Ten along with him, until they stand in front of the papers that will seal their fate. Ten looks for his name.
Mark gasps.
“What?” Ten asks, nervous.
He points to the top of a page that is above all others. Ten reads.
TIER S+
- Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul and Lee Taeyong
Ten covers his mouth as Mark pulls him into a side embrace.
“You’re at the top!”
Mark is tier A+ and his pair is a Kang Mina.
Ten feels all eyes on him. It’s suffocating.
“Let’s go,” he whispers to Mark.
They leave and stop at the coffee shop on the ground floor. They sit and Ten calms down, a hot americano in his hands.
“Congratulations!” says Mark, beaming.
“You too!” Ten smiles. “Who is Lee Taeyong?”
The sound of the bell at the entrance door rings and calls Ten’s attention. The boy with the black styled hair, wearing a gray attire, and his usual friend come into the café.
“That is Lee Taeyong,” says Mark. “The one with the gray hoodie. And the other is Jeong Jaehyun.”
The two men are chatting excitedly. Ten keeps his eyes on Taeyong until he notices Ten staring. Ten turns his face away. Well, he is paired with the guy that has been clearly talking about him, not even trying to be discreet.
“He looks like a jerk,” says Ten, plain and simple, sipping his beverage.
Mark giggles. “Just don’t sleep with him.”
“Trust me, sex is the last thing on my mind,” Ten huffs, rolling his eyes.
“He is a rumored playboy,” says Mark. “I think he seduced half of our class, only to drop them all like flies in the next morning.”
Ten gives Lee Taeyong another look. He is handsome, with his dark hair and fair skin. His face is like a sculpture, sharp jaw like Ten has never seen, and pink pouty lips. He has the perfect posture of a ballet dancer. According to the tier, he is the best out of all of them, along with Ten. He wonders if their chemistry will be good. It has to be. Ten needs to secure his spot at the top, and he is sure people are vying for it, hoping he’ll fall off his pointe shoes.
“He’s not getting into my pants,” says Ten, decisive. “But I need to get along with him. Give me a minute.”
Ten gets up and walks towards Taeyong and his friend Jaehyun.
“Hi. I’m Chittaphon.”
With a smirk, Taeyong eyes Ten up and down. “Or should I call you Ten?”
Ten exhibits no reaction. “I’m your pair.”
“I know,” says Taeyong, still ogling him.
“We need extra practice,” states Ten.
The line moves and Taeyong walks with it. Jaehyun hides his grin beside his hand.
“We do?” wonders Taeyong, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. I already practice alone three times a week, at nights. You should come along,” says Ten. It’s not an invitation.
Taeyong chuckles. This finally cracks Ten’s patience.
“Alright,” Taeyong concedes. “Where and when?”
“Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays at 7 pm. Room N127,” he informs.
“Fridays? Don’t you have something better to do?” asks Taeyong.
“No. And neither do you,” he says firmly. “I’m at the top and I plan on staying there. Don’t drag me down.”
Ten turns around and leaves.
“It was nice meeting you too!” he hears Taeyong exclaim, along with Jaehyun’s laugh.
Ten grabs his things and Mark understands. They get out of the coffee shop. Ten wraps a scarf around his neck.
“He is a jerk. I’m screwed.”
“Ten, don’t worry. Taeyong is ambitious about his dancing,” says Mark. “He wants the top spot as much as you.”
Ten exhales, still mostly worried.
“We’ll see.”
***
It’s Friday, 7:39pm. Ten stands alone in the classroom N127, in his perfect black uniform. He is already warmed up. Taeyong is late. This is a disaster. The scar on Ten’s knee stings. It always does when he is nervous or upset. His patience with Taeyong is running thin, because his pair clearly doesn’t take him seriously.
Ten tries to erase Taeyong’s smug smile from his memory with practice. He twirls around the room in a diagonal line, alternating chaînés and piqué turns. In his mind, the waltz from Act I of Swan Lake plays. He pushes himself to go faster and faster, as the song becomes grandiose, bursting into his ears.
The door makes a loud bang.
Ten slips and falls down on his right leg. The song ceases. He looks at Taeyong, standing at the entrance of the room, bag on his shoulder. He walks towards Ten and extends help to get him back up. Ten refuses, getting up on his own, and Taeyong pulls back his hand.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“You are late,” says Ten, not looking at him, massaging the knee he fell on.
“It’s okay. I’m warmed up,” says Taeyong, putting his backpack in a corner and dressing down to his practice clothes, tight black pants and shirt.
Finally, Ten turns to Taeyong, who stops right in front of him. He evaluates Taeyong’s build with a glance. Taeyong has the chiseled body of a dancer. But Ten isn’t convinced by appearances.
“Let me see if you are as good as they say.”
Taeyong grins. “They say I’m good?”
Ten ignores the question, giving him his back.
“Alice in Wonderland’s pas de deux by Christopher Wheeldon” says Ten, glaring through the mirror. “Can you dance it?”
“Yes,” says Taeyong, closing the distance between them, standing right behind Ten. He can almost feel the warmth of his body. “But how about we dance Manon? Act 1. Bedroom.”
“Fine.”
If Taeyong thinks they can dance the intimate choreography barely knowing each other, then Ten won’t back down from the challenge. Taeyong positions himself at the corner of the room while Ten grabs his phone and selects the music. It starts and Ten takes a couple of seconds before he steps into the dance.
Slowly, he approaches Taeyong, who joins his movements eagerly. Ten pulls away, only for Taeyong to go after him, playful. They take hands and each do an arabesque, leg raising back. Ten twirls into his arms, while Taeyong keeps his sturdy leg up. Close, he can feel the smell of whisky and oak coming from Taeyong. Ten pirouettes away and they flow around each other like currents.
He is soon aware Taeyong isn’t afraid to come with his face awfully close to his. And to be fair, that’s how the dance is done. But still, Ten wonders why he proposed such a romantic pas de deux. Based on what Mark said about him, it seems like an attempt at flirting. Taeyong’s big hands on Ten are firm and strong, holding him easily when it’s called for. He also is in character, staring into Ten’s eyes with intensity.
As the choreography demands, Ten lays on the floor and Taeyong runs his hands over the sides of his body. Ten gets a chill. Taeyong pulls Ten into an embrace. They play the couple, one that is in love. The hard part is coming. A lift. But Ten seems to fit perfectly over Taeyong’s shoulder, as he stands up and grabs Ten only with his left arm. Ten’s body is beautifully arched, almost taut. Taeyong’s embrace feels safe. He turns Ten into his embrace and they face each other again. Taeyong’s dark eyes are half-lidded, like perfect bedroom eyes, focused on the lover in his arms. He puts Ten down, who stands on his pointes. Ten has arms wrapped around Taeyong’s neck, while the latter holds him by the waist. Taeyong looks at Ten’s lips and leans in. This is the moment that couple is supposed to kiss passionately.
When their noses brush together, Ten pushes him away. The magic breaks.
“What?” asks Taeyong.
“I’m not kissing you,” says Ten, walking to his phone and turning off the music.
Taeyong chuckles, unbothered. “Alright. But we might have to. Eventually.”
Ten puts his hands on his waist, glaring at Taeyong.
“You aren’t half-bad,” says Ten, focusing back on what’s important.
“I know,” says Taeyong with a smirk.
Taeyong is so smug, it tilts Ten towards wrath. But the man in front of him is an excellent dancer and artist. He must admit that, at least.
“You’ve been drinking before practice?” asks Ten.
Taeyong rolls his eyes and walks away from Ten slowly, stretching his legs and feet.
“I just had one dose,” he defends himself. “Most of our classmates go to a bar nearby every Friday. Maybe you should join us sometime.”
Ten crosses his arms over his chest.
“Not a chance.”
“Why not?”
Taeyong glances at him, amused.
“We should practice in our spare time,” says Ten firmly. “Not go out drinking like teenagers.”
“Oh yeah?” Taeyong closes the distance between them. His eyes travel over Ten’s form.
“Will you stop looking at me like I’m your dinner?” says Ten.
Taeyong laughs.
“Am I?”
“Yes. It’s objectifying.”
“So you are gonna pretend you didn’t check me out when I got here?” asks Taeyong, eyebrow up. “Or in class?”
“I merely analyzed your posture,” says Ten.
“Is that what it’s called nowadays?”
“You are unbearable,” says Ten, shaking his head. “Just don’t stand in my way.”
“Your way into what? Being the prima?”
“Yes.”
Taeyong grabs Ten’s chin, who swats at his wrist, pushing the hand away.
“You are beautiful,” says Taeyong. “But you are conceited. You think I am watching you for how hot you are?”
Taeyong huffs.
“I’ll look at you as long as I want. I’ll look at you because that’s my job. I need to know your every move, your turns, your tells. I can’t lift you in my arms if I don’t know your body, how much you weight, your height.”
Ten’s face is feverish, and he’s trying hard not to show any emotions. He’s embarrassed and wants to storm out, away from Taeyong. Instead, Taeyong comes closer. Ten is stiff as a board and can feel Taeyong’s alcohol breath fan over his face.
“Instead of antagonizing and judging me, maybe you should get to know me first,” says Taeyong. “We are bound together after all. We need to trust each other.”
Taeyong turns his back to Ten and walks to his things.
“Where are you going?” asks Ten, voice shaking, closing his fists.
“Home. I’ll practice with you when you decide to give me a real chance to be your equal.”
Taeyong grabs his things and leaves. The door shuts loudly behind him. Ten wants to break something. He is so angry and ashamed.
Did he really judge Taeyong wrong?
***
“It was a disaster,” says Ten, carving his peanut butter jar with a spoon and shoving the crunchy cream in his mouth.
He and Mark are sitting in his living room. His roommates are out partying.
“He told me I’m conceited! That I judged him, that I am antagonizing him!” he says with a mouthful, pouting.
“Ten, I don’t really know Taeyong besides what the gossip says,” explains Mark. “But I’ve seen him dance. He is dedicated. He isn’t in the best tier by chance. He was the youngest Siegfried of our company last summer.”
“Hmmm. No. That’s Theodore Lee” corrects Ten. He watched the blond man dance on YouTube.
“Theodore Lee is his stage name. His name is Taeyong,” Marks explains gently.
Ten gasps at him. “Why didn’t you tell me that?!”
“Because I thought you knew! That you would cyber stalk him or something,” says Mark, his words turning into good-natured laughs. “He’s a big deal here at the company. But you are a big deal too, Ten. Don’t worry. You’ll make a badass prima. Maybe you can work together fine if you say sorry.”
“Sorry? UGH!” Ten vents. “I don’t wanna say sorry. I don’t wanna see his face ever again.”
“Oh, come on, Ten,” says Mark, smiling. He wraps one arm around his back, comforting. “I know you can do this.”
Ten rests his head on Mark’s shoulder.
“Just make sure to tell him you aren’t someone to be messed with,” Mark advises.
Ten sighs, another spoonful into his mouth. He knows he isn’t. The problem is Taeyong gets under his skin so easily, he doesn’t even understand why. Ten isn’t one to become so angry and irrational.
“I guess he’s right,” says Ten finally. “I was kinda bitchy. I don’t know. He just irritates me. And it’s like he does it on purpose.”
“Have you told him your gender identity?” asks Mark hesitantly. “Maybe that will make him understand you better.”
“I didn’t,” Ten pouts. “And I really don’t want to tell him that.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” says Ten, leaning his body into Mark’s embrace. “Thanks for listening to me.”
Mark pats Ten’s head.
“How about we watch some Netflix and forget about work for a minute? It’s Friday night. Let’s relax,” says Mark.
“Okay,” Ten smiles, happy to have found a friend in this weird, foreign country.
***
Next pair class is a disaster. Whatever worked on that Friday night, when Ten and Taeyong played lovers perfectly, seems to have dissolved into nothingness. They are out of sync on every move, and Ten can’t stand to be touched by him, making everything harder than it needs to be. He wants to run away and cry in anger, feeling like his chance to be prima is escaping between his fingers, and his move to America will be all for nothing.
“Stop,” says Edytha, and the music fades. She walks toward Ten. “Give me a pirouette without him.”
Taeyong steps aside. Ten prepares and turns, landing in perfect balance.
“Now, with him,” says the master.
Taeyong places his palms on Ten’s waist. He turns, but there is no momentum. It’s a mess. Ten lower his eyes as he feels Edytha examining him.
“Pay close attention,” she says to the class. “This is exactly what you shouldn’t be doing. You don’t have to like your partner, but you must trust them. Build intimacy and collaboration.”
She turns to Ten and Taeyong.
“I don’t wanna see this again. Work on it, or a better pair will take your place.”
***
“We need to talk,” says Ten to Taeyong, catching him before they go inside the classroom.
Jaehyun, who was with Taeyong, disappears.
“Yes?” says Taeyong, face neutral.
A group of company members pass by them, giggling. Ten thinks he is back at high school.
“I’m sorry,” Ten whispers.
“What?” asks Taeyong.
“You heard me,” says Ten between his teeth, shooting daggers with his eyes.
“You don’t look sorry.”
Ten takes a deep breath, squeezing the strap of his bag.
“We got off on the wrong foot,” he says. “But we need to make this work.”
Taeyong just stares at Ten blankly for a moment.
“Okay.”
“That’s it? You won’t give me a hard time?” says Ten, doubtful.
Taeyong moves towards Ten. Like always, he is not afraid to stand close.
“No,” he says. “If we want the principal parts, we need to ace this. Every day.”
Ten nods, feeling more comfortable with Taeyong’s level-headed response.
“Will you come practice with me?” asks Ten.
“Will you trust me?” Taeyong throws back.
Ten wasn’t expecting that. But he has no other choice. Taeyong is his pair. They either rise or fall together.
“Yes. I’ll trust you.”
***
“Come on,” says Taeyong. “We did it before!”
Ten is heaving. His feet are killing him, but he is used to it. Standing in front of each other, he and Taeyong are covered in sweat. That’s what he’s not used to. His partner’s begging eyes on him.
“I know.” Tens nods at him.
“I asked you to trust me, Ten,” says Taeyong.
“I know.” Ten closes his eyes.
“Our monthly evaluation is tomorrow,” he hears Taeyong say carefully.
How is Taeyong calm when they can’t do the lift?
Ten remembers the first time they danced Manon together and how surprisingly easy it was. But lately, after they started practicing together, it seems something is terribly off. Ten’s anxiety is getting in the way. It makes him tremble when Taeyong picks him up. Unsteady, his body won’t obey him, and they crumble.
“I’m sorry.”
Ten gives Taeyong his back. He can’t face him. He is going to fall apart. Something is clutching his chest tightly. He can feel himself start to tremble, and he’s terrified he might cry in front of Taeyong.
“Ten.”
Scorching palms land on his shoulders.
“Breathe,” whispers Taeyong.
Ten obeys the voice that fans at his ear.
“Relax.”
They take a breathe together, in sync.
Taeyong turns Ten around, who keeps his eyes shut, afraid. Taeyong’s hands slide up to cup his warm cheeks.
“Look at me.”
Ten obeys Taeyong’s soft calling. They are close. Ten can see his chocolate iris in its every detail. He realizes, for the first time, that Taeyong has a scar shaped like a rose near his right eye. It’s beautiful.
“Trust me,” whispers Taeyong.
Ten nods almost imperceptibly. Taeyong’s palms drag to Ten’s nape and twirl around his snug bun. He pulls it apart. Ten’s black hair cascades down his back. Taeyong’s fingers move to wrap tightly around his waist.
“Don’t take your eyes off me,” Taeyong asks in the softest voice.
Taeyong lifts him, firm and easy. Ten supports himself on Taeyong’s shoulders. He opens a split as Taeyong pushes him to towards the sky. Ten’s strands dance around him, gravity playing with them. With his right leg up, it feels like reaching the sky. Taeyong brings Ten back down slowly, their bodies molding on his way to the floor. Taeyong smiles.
“There you go,” he says. “You did it.”
Taeyong takes a step back, warmth escaping Ten, but he clasps their hands together.
“We should celebrate.”
“What?” asks Ten, confused. “But the evaluation...”
“Ten, we are exhausted,” says Taeyong. “And we made progress tonight.”
Taeyong takes Ten’s chin between his thumb and index.
“Follow me.”
After a short walk, Ten is sitting at a bar for the first time in his life. Taeyong just placed a beer in front of him. Ten looks at the drink.
“You don’t like beer?” asks Taeyong.
Ten chews his bottom lip, glancing at him.
“I never had one,” he answers shyly.
Taeyong chuckles and pulls the bottle to his side of the table.
“I can get you a Coke.”
Ten snatches the beer back and starts gulping at it. When he finishes, he puts his tongue out. Taeyong has his jaw dropped.
“Ugh. Disgusting.”
Taeyong bursts out laughing, and Ten laughs with him. When they stop, Taeyong reaches to push a rogue strand behind Ten’s ear. He blushes like a teenager. Ten takes a scrunchie from his wrist and ties it in a ponytail.
“You never leave your hair down,” Taeyong points out.
“I keep it long because it’s easier to make a perfect bun that way,” he explains. “But it can get in the way. Sometimes I wish I could cut it all off.”
“How short?”
“Hm. I don’t know. Here?” He points to his chin.
“It would look great like that,” says Taeyong.
“Also... Dye it blond.”
Taeyong lifts his eyebrows.
“Blond? Sexy,” he teases, making Ten laugh. “Like Monroe.”
“I’ll put her picture on my dream board,” Ten says.
“You have a dream board?” asks Taeyong, leaning towards Ten on his elbows.
“I... not really. Maybe an imaginary one.”
“And what is in it?”
Taeyong gazes into Ten, sounding genuinely interested. Ten peels off the label of his empty bottle.
“Dance at the Lincoln Center. As prima ballerina.”
“Well, you are in luck. Our company has a contract with them. If we ace our monthly evaluation tomorrow, we’ll be on our way there.”
Ten smiles and nods.
Taeyong finishes his beer in a couple gulps.
“Another?” asks Ten.
“How about I walk home instead? Wouldn’t want to get you drunk before our big day,” says Taeyong sweetly.
Ten hums, pursing his lips. “I think I’m already a bit drunk.”
“You lightweight. Come on.”
They get up and step into the cold street. Ten pulls his coat closer to his body. The dorms are nearby. They walk in comfortable silence, exhaustion finally hitting their bones. Taeyong takes Ten to the door of the building.
“There you go. Safe and sound,” he opens a smile.
“Thanks. Where do you live?”
“I have a flat nearby. I’ll call an Uber,” says Taeyong, waving his phone.
Ten watches him.
“It’ll be here in a minute. You don’t have to wait for it.”
“And leave you alone here? No way.”
Ten nudges Taeyong arm softly, and he chuckles. They look into each other’s eyes.
“Ten-“
A car pulls by the sidewalk.
“See you tomorrow. Goodnight,” says Taeyong, smiling.