Chapter Text
Looking up, the half-moon covered Sicheng’s face in shadows, and the cold balled his fists. Sicheng blinked wetness from his eyes as though he was reading the sky for an answer. Breath escaped his parted lips in sharp waves, wordlessly.
“It’s okay, Winwin,” Taeil said, “I know.”
“Dong Sicheng!” An ecstatic voice rang across the cold auditorium. Sicheng alone sat on the stage, outstretched legs bundled in cream knit legwarmers to combat the November morning. The backstage filled with quiet bodies and steaming cups of coffee for the morning rehearsals, but Sicheng’s admirer seemed to prefer more abrupt beginnings.
“Ah, Nakamoto Yuta, why are you so noisy at six a.m.?” Sicheng stood up to grab Yuta’s hand, pulling him onto the stage from the front. Yuta’s wide smile defied the elasticity of human skin as he looked up at his friend.
“Don’t you know by now? Being loud helps stretch your muscles. Maybe that’s why you’re always so cranky, Sicheng.”
“Ah, whatever.” Sicheng waved his hand around. “Did you bring my shoes?”
“Shoes... Shoes... Dong Sicheng, mornings are better spent barefoot, no? I think we should all spend this rehearsal dancing without shoes.” Yuta’s voice got louder at the end of his sentence to resonate to the rest of the performers, some of who responded with whoops of agreement. Sicheng’s unwavering gaze threatened his classmate’s smile. “Okay, well, there might have been a slight problem with the shoes I borrowed. It turns out, you can’t make ballet shoes fit smaller feet no matter how much you... well... But we can get you new shoes!”
“Yuta!” Tonight, the first performance of the acting department’s experimental musical, now starring bare feet. The play relied heavily on modern dance to tell the story while still including what the director called, “singing intermissions.” An entire semester’s late nights and early mornings spent learning, practicing, preparing; but in a lapse of judgement, Sicheng had let his understudy, and friend of the last three year of college, Yuta borrow his shoes last night at the latter’s insistence. “I can’t just break in new shoes in,” he looks at his watch, “twelve hours!” But Yuta’s classic smile broke out against his friend’s misery, outstretching arms soon to be swatted away.
“Listen, I already spoke to the director for us. Turns out he thinks it’s a great idea for our daring lead to dance barefoot. Told me it’ll add to the essence of experiment he’s hoping this will have.”
“And the scouts that will be coming to the show? What will they think?”
“Sicheng, cheer up. Let this healing smile do his job! Once we start dancing you’ll forget all about it...” Sicheng sighed. A stage manager called five from a dark corner of the auditorium. The dancer pointed a lengthy index finger at Yuta and shook it few times before his arm dropped, as if the matter was some condensation easily wicked off.
“You owe me.”
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Subtle, heeled boots clack the same as ostentatious ones. Taeil thought about the meaning of this as his own (height-lending) shoes filled the hallway with concert. He gripped the cold handle to a practice room, expecting to find an empty piano ready for his lunchtime contemplations. He clicked his tongue wearily and shimmied his shoulders as an endearing hello to the person sitting in his seat, closing the door behind him.
“Taeyong,” Taeil elongated the name to make it sound as both a statement and an inquiry.
“Taeil, when will you admit you love me?” Taeyong playfully jumped out of the seat, walking toward his subject. His sparkly jacket shimmered as he moved, and some of the light flickered onto Taeil’s black sweater.
“I thought you were working on music theory today.” Again both statement and question.
“With a face this cute, how could I spend my time with only a book as an audience?” Taeyong clicked his tongue, mimicking his friend. Taeil walked past his sparkling junior and began to set down his bags. “Speaking of audiences, what do you think of being in one tonight? It’s a great way to start off the end of the semester, don’t you think? Didn’t you hear about the experimental play the department’s doing? Apparently they got a lot of funding, Taeil, and only the top students were accepted into roles. What do you say?”
“Really Taeyong? Plays are a little...”
“Top students, Taeil. You know what that means? The department's cutest and most talented girls, performing on a stage for two hours. Please, please, let’s go!”
“Oh, so that’s how it is.” Taeil sat down at the piano, and Taeyong knew he was losing his battle. “Then, go, if you want.”
“Taeil, my music man, my bro, you gotta come with me! I can’t go to something like this alooone!” Taeyong swung his arms around and stumbled back and forth as though the whining took all strength out of his limbs. It made Taeil turn away from the instrument to look Taeyong dead in the eyes.
“You just want me to pay for the tickets, don’t you.” Taeyong cleared his throat and suddenly stood up straight.
“Well, I mean, as my senior, you would probably, you know, the older one usually pays, it’s all the same you know, I mean, it would help—I mean, you don’t HAVE to, but, you—”
“Fine.” Taeil crossed his arms to watch Taeyong’s reaction. He didn’t emote much himself, so he always enjoyed Taeyong’s cute performances. The two were an unexpected duo, but similar schedules for their vocal courses and music theory classes brought them together until they were inseparable campus icons.
“Wait, really?”
“Well, I don’t have anything pressing to do, and my throat’s been feeling a little sore lately anyway. I could use the break before finals.” As Taeil spoke, his head wandered to and fro, the pros and cons of stealing an evening’s work rolling back and forth in his brain while his pink lips disconnectedly announced his decision.
“Wah, thank you! Gosh,” running a hand through his hair in one motion so that landed it on the piano next to Taeil, “what will I do when you graduate and leave me behind?”
“Start to carry your own wallet, maybe.” Taeyong’s breathless laugh resounded.
“Ah, Taeil, you wound me so.” Taeil stuck his tongue out at Taeyong, who reciprocated the gesture until Taeil began to play the piano without another comment. “Okay then. Hey Taeil! I loooove you!” Taeyong spun, his jacket flipping dramatically, to leave the room. Once the door clicked, Taeil stopped playing to sigh, looking blankly before him. Sure, boots clack the same regardless of their design. Maybe that was why Taeyong always led him into these unexpected situations.
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As snow began to fall outside like stars come onto earth, Sicheng bit his nails nervously backstage. Every once and awhile Yuta would try to grab those hands in an effort to protect them, but to no avail. Stray fabric from costumes, scripts, locks of unstyled hair, and sweating bodies flew back and forth through the air. Yuta remarked it was to compensate for Sicheng’s motionlessness, and that if he breathed a little everything would be fine.
“The weather is horrible, Yuta. What if no one comes?” Sicheng pouted up at Yuta from his spot on the floor. Yuta wanted to listen seriously, but in that moment his heart just melted. He smiled, remarking on the cuteness while reaching down to poke Sicheng’s cheek. Too anxious to register the touch, Sicheng held his question in his unrelenting gaze until Yuta sighed and sat down next to his friend. “I’m serious. What if everyone decides to stay in because it’s too cold? Or the scouts can’t get here because the roads are closed? Or—”
“I know I always tell you to open up, Sichengie, but I didn’t mean like this.” Yuta had mastered the art of faking a laugh to ease the mood, and utilized it accordingly. They went over the logistics of the event together, the heavy advertisement and the own buzz they overheard on campus, and of course, the delicious team meal they would be treated to afterwards regardless of attendance, until Sicheng’s nerves had calmed and Yuta could be at peace. A simple passerby couldn’t miss the glow from Yuta’s cheeks as he admired the companion beside him. Then, a stage manager hollered from the green room.
“Audience is entering! Backstage or green room! Be on standby!” Sicheng’s face wrinkled, he groaned, and his upper body collapsed onto his lower. He started to whine in a language Yuta couldn’t understand, to which Yuta had no choice but to simply drag him inch by inch to the green room until the show would start.
Taeil watched Taeyong spin in circles in a grassy, unroofed area, enamored by the snowflakes, while he stood in line for the show tickets. The box worker had to call next a few times before Taeil had realized and stepped forward, ears red. For a school production... one look at the total for two and Taeil understood why Taeyong brought him along.
“Ya! Taeyong.” Taeil flashed a pointedly fake smile and flopped a ticket toward his friend so that the paper whistled through its short descent in the air. “Your free fare awaits.” Taeyong’s eyebrows lowered sheepishly, but his lifting lips couldn’t hide his excitement. Behind them, the doors to the auditorium clicked open uniformly. Stragglers from all directions began to rush to the entrances, Taeyong included. “No need to rush, lest your taffeta gets wrinkled,” Taeil teased.
“I think the real joke here, is your reluctance to properly accessorize, Taeil,” Taeyong retorted, striding forward.
“I accessorize.”
“The color black is not an accessory.”
“... Hey, the seats are assigned, so we don’t need to rush in yet.” Taeil didn’t mind sitting for long periods of time, but being close to so many people often found him restless or irritable.
Taeyong stopped abruptly, and the loose silk bomber jacket he had changed into for the event billowed in the wake of its own wind. “But what if there’s a pre-show. Besides, I want to hear your approach to how harshly you’re going to criticize these singers. Sitting down. Inside. Out of the snow.” Taeil rolled his eyes, but his heels rolled forward.
“Well first off, whose decision was it to keep the acting and music departments completely separate? Those poor Broadway wannabes are practically being set up for disaster. Now, here’s what I would do...”
Hands from unseen actors took Dong Sicheng’s in theirs for the final bows, but Sicheng’s eyes darted back and forth across an audience blotted out by stage lights. What am I doing? He thought as they bowed to the left. Their arms swung back up high from momentum. It’s not as if they’ll wear a giant neon sign, scouting for companies, ask me anything. Even if I could see them from here, the bow to the right, what am I thinking of doing? Suddenly impress them with a hello? God... But even after the final bow to center, even as the lights turned off, and especially as the audience overheads warmed up to reintroduce color, Sicheng’s eyes circled in vulturous pattern searching for a sign of future.
“Wah, I wish I could keep clapping til my hands were bones!” Taeyong rambled to his quiet friend with post-show energy. “I don’t even mind that the girls who were written in weren’t that spectacular. The whole thing was just so creative, don’t you...” As he continued, Taeil had still not moved even a knuckle from the armrest of his seat, staring ever forward until the lights moved from the stage to the auditorium at large. The people around them began to shuffle up and out.
“I want to meet him.” Taeil stated, interrupting Taeyong without realizing.
“What? Who? You aren’t listening to me are you.” Taeyong slumped down in his seat to better cross his arms.
“I don’t know his name, the guy, the, dancer guy.” As if Taeyong would suddenly transform, Taeil snapped his head toward his friend. “Do they come out again?”
“Hmm, I don’t know, but I know one of the cast members. I can ask him to introduce you.” Taeil moved his head back to see Taeyong from a wider angle, incredulous.
“You know one of the cast, but asked me for a ticket?” The apples of Taeyong’s cheeks balled up into a smile so sweet, they could have been cotton candy. He reached out and pinched Taeil playfully.
“Aw, Taeil! I like it when you dote on me, how could I pass up such an opportunity? I’ll text him right now.”
Yuta ran into the green room, panting. Surprised at himself, he ran straight back out, knocked properly on the door, and then smoothly walked in as if Sicheng would be none the wiser. He nodded up as a hello, his friend gingerly wrapping an oversized scarf around his neck. Yuta looked Sicheng top to bottom as he regained breath. Upon reaching his feet, Yuta exclaimed. “Ow!” he said, empathetic.
Sicheng looked down at his toes and the balls of his feet, which were bruised, blistered, and on one toe, bleeding. The soles of his feet turned completely black from the residue of the stage.
“Next time, don’t look so pitiful when you ask me for something, so I can say no.” Sicheng instructed.
“Ha! Well, I think it turned out well.”
“What do you mean?” Yuta never said anything without meaning something else.
“Someone from your adoring audience is asking for you.” Yuta smirked, having caught his breath enough to lean coolly against the door frame. When he said this, however, Sicheng’s face lit up, his eyes suddenly wide. He threw down the beanie he was about to put on.
“Why didn’t you start with that?” Sicheng immediately got up and hobbled, wincing at every step, toward the audience seating from backstage.
Taeyong was explaining how he met Yuta From Philosophy while escorting his friend down the steps, closer to the stage. Taeil, without processing, silently nodded. Their shoes didn’t make a sound on the carpeted auditorium flooring, lending greater nuance to the feeling of walking on air that enveloped Taeil as the black stage curtain rippled from the middle to the edge, where four tan fingers curled around the fabric and slowly pulled.
It took some time for Sicheng to spot the black sweater against the black seating of the theater. He eventually found or rather felt the eyes pointed on him. They locked eyes for a few seconds. Sicheng tilted his head, curious at how neither of them looked away. The person next to the person, who was talking, finally looked over at the person, then at Sicheng, and then exclaimed.
“Ah, Dong Sicheng! Come on out!” Sicheng gripped the curtain tighter, mentally preparing a pleasant-sounding hello, before smoothly walking forward. For a few steps. Then he stopped about three feet from the end of the stage, looking anywhere but there. He cleared his throat, hoping Taeyong would say something, but for one unbearable second, no one in the triangle moved. “Hey, is Yuta coming out? Ah, I’ll just go back for him myself. Amazing performance, Sicheng,” Taeyong smacked Taeil’s back with one hand and pushed himself onto the stage with another, “Just phenomenal. Insure those feet!” Taeyong exited to backstage with a laugh and spin.
Contrary to his grace on stage, Taeil felt a soft smile returning when Sicheng awkwardly bent down, swung his feet and stumbled off the stage. He realized Sicheng was waiting for him to say something, the tall dancer biting the inside of his cheeks above Taeil.
“I’m sorry if I seem speechless. Your performance has left me.. well.. speechless.” Taeil groaned internally, bringing his right hand to the back of his neck to distract himself from the heat of his cheeks.
“Speechless in a good way, I hope.” Taeil blinked. He hadn’t expected the dancer’s voice to be so low. If velvet was a sound—god, stop! Focus! Taeil thoughts ran away from him.
“I’m Moon Taeil. I mean, yeah, just call me Taeil though.” The dancer stuck out his hand.
“Dong Sicheng. Thank you for coming.” Sicheng waited until Taeil gripped his hand, and placed his other hand on top for a firm, polite shake. While Sicheng felt his back straightening, confidence gaining, Taeil prayed that his knees wouldn’t give out in the middle of the theater.
“Of course, I really wasn’t expecting much, but you’ve really prepared a performance here that...,” Taeil paused to make sure he wouldn’t say anything stupid, “That I’ll be thinking about for a long time.”
“Oh, that’s great to hear.” Sicheng thought a humble approach might make him seem more appealing, so he continued, “Everyone here in the department put a lot of effort into this performance. We didn’t want to stick to same-old same-old, you know? Lots of innovation and teamwork by everyone.” Sicheng thought the lighting crew began set-up for tomorrow, because he saw a glint flash through Taeil’s eyes. Taeil simply nodded. They both jumped when Yuta’s laughter shot out, followed by Taeyong’s clapping. They too came out from backstage.
“Ah, Yuta, you’re so fun. Taeil, are you ready to get going?” Taeil looked from Taeyong to Sicheng, and for some reason, his heartbeat accelerated. Taeil gasped and suddenly reached for his wallet. He took out a small piece of cardstock.
“Do you have a pen?” He asked Sicheng, who asked Taeyong, who asked Yuta, who grabbed one from the prop box and threw it at Sicheng. Sicheng caught it midair and coolly flipped it around to hand it to Taeil. His lips parted softly for a smile.
“I’m writing down my number,” Taeil focused on the paper, unable to look into Sicheng’s eyes for what he wanted to say, “We should meet soon, once I’m able to articulate better. Maybe coffee?” Sicheng quickly took the paper from Taeil’s hand, that he didn’t realize he had lifted up.
“I’m free Monday at 10.” For the first time today, Dong Sicheng smiled. Taeil finally allowed himself a full smile to reciprocate.
“That sounds great.” Taeil choked on his last syllable from Taeyong jumping down from the stage and partly landing on Taeil’s back.
“Thanks for the show and break a leg tomorrow! We’re off!” Taeyong gave a short, strong wave before pushing Taeil out by the arm wrapped around him, with no chance for Taeil to look back.
Sicheng winced as the sensation of pain came flooding back, and sat down on the stage. Yuta sat down next to him and rested his head on Sicheng’s shoulder.
“I thought he would be older.” Sicheng said.
“What?”
“I thought the scout would be older.”
“Oh, is that what that was? How did it go?” Yuta looked relieved.
“We’re meeting on Monday. I think.”
“You think?” Sicheng shrugged. Yuta sighed and lifted his head up. He left to grab his things, and Sicheng stayed, thinking about ways to make time turn faster.