Work Text:
1 2 3 4. . .5 6 7 8. . .1 2 3 4. . .5 6 7 8. . .
He keeps the count in his head, as the violins crescendo from their sweet pianissimo. Eventually newer strings are added, and his movements broaden. Tight muscles are seen beneath glistening olive skin, as he carefully stretches his arm out to the ceiling as the soloist begins their part; his hand is wide open like a blooming flower. With careful precision, he plants his right foot in a beautiful turn out and lifts his left up behind him, arabesque. Holding the position from the long E to Eb, his muscles groan and his frame shaking as he slowly releases his leg from the difficult position. Instead of placing it down quickly, he bends at his knees and brings his left leg forward, with his right still straightening. His muscles groan again causing him to teeter on his right leg.
He remembers the scolding he received from his teacher for not holding his upcoming relevé long enough, so he pushes to it on the next beat. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7- he loses his balance and without a Barre to catch him, he topples to the floor with a loud thud; the music continues on with it's soothing, elongated notes.
Loud footsteps can be heard from outside of his sanctuary. The afternoon sun radiates off of the freshly polished surface of the wood gleaming on his struggling frame, as he gets up from the cool floor with some difficulty; his muscles screaming at him, but he needs to finish his solo. The boy quickly returns to his relevé on his right foot while placing his hands in first position, as if testing his balance instead of completing the full move.
The door bursts open to reveal a red faced man. His nostrils flared in anger and he bounds over to the young ballerino. "What are you doing?! You're supposed to be practicing not horsing around, Jongin!!!"
There's a swift slap to his face, which leaves a prominent hand mark. He grabs the younger by the skin tight material bringing him closer to feel the anger from the mere whisper of his words. The violins crescendo causing Jongin's heart to race in fear. He hopes it isn't another punishment. "You want to be the best, yes? Well, you have to practice if you want to be the best! Damn it, Jongin!"
He sternly orders. "You will repeat your new piece until midnight. No supper since you have failed to complete even one of your tasks for the day."
"Y-yes, father," he stutters back and quickly runs over to his phonograph to restart the song over. His muscles cry, but he wants to make his parents proud. He begins in first position and starts slowly eases himself from each movement with precise grace. A grunt of approval and his father slams the door behind him. Quitting would be sweet release.
After his rough practice, he exits his room wearing his sweaty leotard and ballet flats. A fluffy towel under his arm and some extra clothes, as he tiptoes out of his room to the small bathtub upstairs in the attic. Passing by the multiple closets containing past performances and worn out shoes, Jongin makes his way up the steps. A snore can be heard from just below, and he remembers to be extra careful wishing to not wake his father.
Removing his ballet flats and leotard, he steps into the frigid water. Shivers run up his spine like scuttling spiders fresh from their nest. His spine touches the back of the tub, and he sinks into the water holding his breath. Envisioning perfect pirouettes and pointed toes. Once his lungs start burning for new oxygen, he sits back up right taking in slow breaths to calm his erratic heart. The candle on the small table flickers pleasantly, as a soft draft comes in through the hole in the roof. A half-moon gleams onto the water's surface causing the ballerino to cup the water in his hands. Bringing it up to his face, the clear liquid makes contact with hot skin instantly cooling it.
Relief washes through his body, as he continues to soak in the water. His muscles tighten in the water, and he makes a mental note to stretch after leaving the bath. Taking his sponge from the side table, he places it in the tub letting it drink up the cool liquid.
He scrubs his thin arms first. Relishing the sweet feeling of being cleaned. The soft particles of the sponge rubbing off dried sweat and old skin. Jongin lowers the sponge lower onto his chest, the indents of his sternum can be seen even in the dim lighting. He smiles and continues to scrub himself clean until his skin is a light pink.
The candlelight flickers, and he steps out of the tub with a fluffy towel hanging on his bony waist. Water droplets fall onto his drying skin, crystallizing the skin for a split second before rolling off onto the musty wooden floor or to his fluffy towel. A few steps to his clothing, and he unravels his towel to rub at his hair. Draping the towel over his head, he puts on his undergarments on with ease and then his pajama pants. Jongin traipses over to the window; the towel still on his damp head and shirtless. Shutting it carefully, he watches the outside with longing in his dark brown eyes. The towel falls from his head, and he decides to cover his adolescent upper body. He hums the tune of his piece until he's woken up for practice the next day.
Today, he doesn't mess up. In return, he's rewarded a tight lipped smile from his father and full portions to make up for his lack of dinner last night and the night before that.
Laying back on his cushy bed, he flips to his side watching the sky. Curtains billow at the faint breeze, and he breathes in the soothing night air. Soon, he'll have to shut his window in the coming weeks. A few horses clop outside, as their masters cart around late night stragglers. In the distance, Jongin can pick up a lone violin and its quiet soliloquy. It lulls him to sleep with the faint caress of the wind.
Another impossible set, another day filled with failure and red marks over his lean body. He grimaces at himself while removing the sticky black leotard. Muscles crying out for some rest and his legs are dotted purple from all the accidents on the floor. Jongin slips on loose fitting sleep wear without washing up. He's sticky, but he's so tired he doesn't particularly care. Hopping onto the bed without so much as a creak, Jongin lays there staring at the ceiling a grimace on his face, as the pain in stomach stabs through him from the lack of dinner. Some obscure muscle aches, and he has the urge to do some deep stretching, but his body refuses to leave the comfort of the cushy mattress.
A breath in, and a breath out; he's out like a candle's flame.
A Year Later
Jongin stands in front of his father waiting for his punishment. That day, his father wished to watch him practice, so he sat in the corner while Jongin perfects his technique. Eventually, whilst doing a pirouette, Jongin toppled over onto the floor receiving bright red marks across the side of his body. Quickly, he looked up from the polished wood and saw furrowed eyebrows with a curled lip. The soles of his shoes clacked onto the floor and he pulls Jongin up. The tight grip becoming steel around his twig-like arm. "You will work on your pirouettes until the sunsets. You may only take a break when you practice your jumps," his father instructs and leaves. At least he didn't hit Jongin.
By his 10th set, Jongin is too worn out and the sun is still high in the sky. He practices his jumps in between each full pirouette; it takes up time and he doesn't wish the world to spin a lot. The door opens and Jongin watches, as he jumps from first. A tray is slid out from the opening and the scents waft around the room. His stomach growls, and he desperately wants to eat. The small bowl of porridge, sliver of red meat, and a bowl of mixed fruits on the side tempt him, but he knows better. His father notorious for these awful tests. If he stops, his father will know. He can't. Jongin can't. His father will hear that he's stopped. His father will know. While spotting between his turns, his mind is clouded with thoughts of the lukewarm porridge, a body, and sweet fruits filling his stomach up. "I can help you with that."
A melodic voice offers appearing from behind the black billowing curtains. Pale skin, twinkling eyes, and ravishing, red lips as if they were bitten. The record scratches, and Jongin rushes to fix it before doing his set of jumps. "Wh-who are you?"
"Someone who can help," he laughs sauntering closer to Jongin. His hands on his hips. A smirk sits on thin lips as if taunting and jeering at the younger. He's dressed in the standard black leotard which clings to his skinny, yet curvy (almost feminine) figure. "Go ahead and eat. I'll do this for you."
He winks and Jongin notices the dark makeup on the latter's lids and the mischievous glint in his eyes. "How d-did you get in?"
The song begins and he starts to practice his jumps. "You called didn't you? You've been calling me for a long time.”
"W-wha-"
"Eat," he commands with a playful grin showcasing snow white teeth and sharp canines. He's beautiful. His form is even more gorgeous. It's effortless and graceful; he must've been practicing since he started walking. His movements light as a feather and as playful as a pup, but there was something, something unnatural about him. Jongin nods in a slight daze and rushes to his tray of food.
The latter smiles, as he nourishes himself whilst watching him practice. "Pirouettes, yes?" He nods while biting off small chunks off of the meat. "Ravenous, can't even respond my question without stuffing his face." Jongin's cheeks turn a pleasant shade of pink, as he chews his food thoroughly. The latter carefully gets into position and pirouettes in place spotting his reflection in the mirror.
Perfect.
"How are you so-" Baekhyun pauses for a beat before spinning once again.
"I practice long and hard," he whispers back. A cocky grin appears on his face; Jongin can't tell if he's lying or being smug. He retreats back into his shell, as he picks at the few grapes in the rammican. Plopping a grape in his mouth, he watches the latter as they move onto jumps once again. Black hair lazily falling over his dark eyes and a pink tongue peeking out from behind thin lips. His face delicate and light compared to Jongin's own strong jaw and olive tone. "Like what you see?"
He chokes while swallowing and the other laughs. "W-what?"
"Nothing, nothing! Be sure to finish those strawberries. I hear they're in season," he offers a cute smile before returning his attention back to the mirror. The latter continues his jumps without a thought in the world his breathing easy and controlled.
"How did you get inside?"
"I thought we went over this-" the record scratches and Jongin gets up to fix it. "I got it. Don't worry your pretty little head, Jongin." He flits over to the record and places the cartridge on the outer edge of the record to restart the music.
"How do you know my name?"
"I know everything, silly pup," he bops Jongin on the nose and languidly makes it back to the center of attention.
"Who are you?"
They sigh and get into position to pirouette. "Baekhyun."
"Baekhyun. . ." he commits the name to memory while tasting the tiny strawberries.
"Glad you enjoy them," Baekhyun responds easily. "Are you almost done?"
"Yes, thank you," he says as he gets up from the cold floor.
Baekhyun rests for four beats and gives Jongin a pointed look. He shifts his lined eyes between the unfinished bowl of fruit and the latter's questioning eyes. "Finish." He continues the jumps.
Jongin sits back down and plops the last couple blueberries and raspberries in his mouth. Standing up once again, he prances back to his spot in the center, as Baekhyun lands from his last jump. "Thank you, Baekhyun."
A melodious laugh and his eyes turn into crescents. Baekhyun moves from the center to the side line by the empty tray. "No problem. Just call me when you need me, I'll be sure to help." A devilish grin appears on his face, and Jongin smiles at him through the mirror as he gets into position for his first set of jumps, not wanting to throw up his lunch.
He goes to bed that night with a light heart and a person stuck in his thoughts. Baekhyun. Lean, nimble limbs, and a bright life saving smile. Something enticing, powerful, and dark radiates from him, but an irreplaceable sweet fragility to his face. He looked no older than 20, but the way he commanded his muscles screams otherwise. Jongin still wonders how he got inside.
The next time they meet, Jongin is practicing on the barre. Dipping into a grand plié, Baekhyun places a hand on the small of his back and another on his stomach to straighten the spine. “Keep your back straight as a plank of wood.”
Breaking his concentration, he falls flat on the floor despite the other being there to hold him up. Baekhyun holds a hand over his mouth to mask the mocking grin and outstretches his other hand to the young dancer on the floor. “Did I startle you?”
“J-just a little bit,” Jongin huffs grabbing the older’s pale hand. It’s as soft as satin and cold like ice. He’s surprised he didn't feel it through the thin material of his leotard. “How do you keep entering? We’re on the second floor and the window is locked today!”
Baekhyun places a thin finger on Jongin’s full lips. “Sh. Don't ask stupid questions I've already answered.” He removes his hand and moves to the other side of the barre stripping off his clothes to reveal black, skin tight material and his thin frame. “Anyways, what are you working on today? I’ll join along.”
“Just plain barre exercises with deep stretching after the first three sets,” he recites. “And then practice my solo till dark.”
“Exciting,” Baekhyun drawls in first position and his hands in starting position. The music starts up to a slow song. Jongin can envision the pianist’s hands gliding over the ivory keys like a swan through the water. Twinkling trills down the scale, and both of their hands are wrapped around the stable barre. Simple tendus forward, then to the side, then to the back closing in fifth each time. Baekhyun in perfect sync with Jongin despite not knowing what was next. Jongin is surprised. It’s as if Baekhyun knew exactly what he was thinking as they repeat their tendus forward, to the side, and back. A swift glance to the other and Baekhyun is grinning again his brown eyes piercing with...something along the lines of mockery or pride. He wasn’t sure which as he faces forward again.
“Jongin keep your shoulders down.”
“Keep your hips straight.”
“Watch your hips.”
“Keep your heels on the floor, Jongin.”
“Your hand needs to be kept in your peripheral vision.”
Comments bounced around like a bouncy ball as the two continue the task given. Jongin makes sure to keep all the corrections in mind as he strives to be something as close to a dancer as Baekhyun. He hopes it’s possible once he hears another comment.
“Watch your hips,” Baekhyun commands as he removes his hand from the barre and strides to the other side where the younger is.
“Here.” Placing his hands securely on Jongin’s waist, he turns them forward more, while the other continues his rand de jambe. The ballerino is now hyper aware of the latter’s presence, as he tries to continue his set without another mistake.
“Your arm,” Baekhyun whispers into his ear, as his hand trails up Jongin’s to fix the position. Cheeks turn bright red and he’s looking down to the floor embarrassed. “What’s wrong?”
“N-n-nothing,” he squeaks back. Baekhyun places his head in crook of Jongin’s neck and drops his arms to the younger’s waist hugging him tightly. He continues his rand de jambe with slight shakiness trying to support himself as well as the dead weight on his shoulder.
“You’re so shaky...” he mumbles and the light breaths out send shivers down his spine. “Are you sure you’re fine? I can do it for you,” Baekhyun coos softly his lips barely grazing Jongin’s earlobe. It was almost painful in the way it happened. “Your father won’t know the difference.”
“I’m f-fine, Baekhyun. I need to do this,” he stutters in response. The weight is lifted and Jongin misses the warmth.
“Suit yourself,” Baekhyun clicks his tongue and sits on the side. Jongin continues his practice eyeing the other.
Jongin sits in his bathtub while humming. His eyes wander around the barren attic without much to do; for the time being, he wants to soak in the lukewarm water. He waves his hand around as if conducting the pit orchestra in his mind. His other hand cues the other instruments and calls them to play louder or softer depending on his mood. The wind whistles through adding to the flutes’ sweet solo. “Maestro.”
Jongin jumps out of his skin and embarrassment ravages his body, as he curls into himself and lowers his head to hide the blush. Baekhyun giggles and lays a hand on his damp shoulder. “I'm sorry if I startled you.”
“It’s no p-problem,” he whispers slowly unfurling himself. Baekhyun removes his hand and walks around to the small window in front of the tub.
“How are you this fine evening? I see you’re bathing,” he eyes the exposed half of his body. Jongin blushes again and he’s thankful he wanted a bubble bath tonight.
“I’m fine. A bit sore, but that’s nothing new,” he responds grabbing the sponge on the side table. Lightly scrubbing thin arms, his muscles shift underneath taut skin. Baekhyun is caught staring.
“I see,” he turns his back to the window watching the few still out at this time of night. “Would you like me to play for you?”
“Play what?”
“The violin of course,” he turns around and a grin appears on his face as a violin is pulled from the shadows of the attic. A glossy, well-kept instrument in perfect condition.
“My fath-”
“I’ll play softly then,” Baekhyun whispers as he also pulls the bow out from the dark. Resting his chin, he places his fingers calmly onto the strings. He then twirls his bow around till his fingers rest in the right position, and his posture straight and confident. Jongin tenses praying that Baekhyun keeps his word. The first note is played.
It sounded as if someone, or something, is wishing to escape from a deep and dark place. Baekhyun closes his eyes relishing the sound of the strings, as the song seems to soar. Jongin watches the violinist feeling the song as well. His limbs itching to posse and pirouette across the attic floor, or just move. Standing up from the tub, he wraps the towel around his waist letting the droplets fall from his hair to his chest in mini waterfalls. He steps out of the tub onto the small rug at the base making sure to dry his feet in case he slips. The song repeats, but this time it seems even sadder. Jongin shuffles over to his clothes glancing behind to the soloist. Baekhyun’s eyes are firmly shut while something glittery falls. The song is familiar and soothing. Shrugging his shoulders, he removes his towel to dry his hair and the rest of his body while sparkling eyes eavesdrop with no hesitation.
“I have a dance for you, if you would like to learn it,” Baekhyun tiptoes from the shadows while wisps of smoke seem to follow him like a makeshift cape that dissipates with every step to the center. His signature grin on his lips as his hand rests on his waist.
“Sure,” Jongin smiles falling behind the latter and facing the mirror. Baekhyun enjoys the feeling of being in control. He counts slow and careful, as he dances to the unheard music while the younger follows with little to no difficulty. Balancé to a posse which then leads to a chaucé around the space ended with another posse in place. The latter stopped counting, as his movements grow quicker. Jongin grins at the beautiful simplicity only to be knocked around once Baekhyun’s quick footwork sets in. Lost, he tries his hardest to keep up. “B-baek-”
“Ah, sorry. I got a bit carried away, huh?” he laughs rubbing the back of his neck lowering his leg from an attitude devant.
“What music is this dance to?”
“Something I made recently,” he laughs bending over to stretch his hamstrings a bit more before stretching his arms out. Jongin follows suit loving the feeling. “Nothing too fancy.”
“Do you have the record on you?”
“I’ll bring it tomorrow,” his eyes sparkle with joy. “Hopefully you’ll enjoy my composition.”
“I’m sure I will,” Jongin responds with a small smile on his full lips.
“Let’s get started shall we?”
Peeking through the flowing curtains, he makes sure the other is still sleeping. Labored breaths fill the air in uneven intervals, while a shift in position leaves the bed creaking. His eyes glow with an indecipherable emotion as he approaches the slumbering other. Tendrils of the curtain float behind him along with the see through black veil that is attached to his collar. He carefully steps on the wood floor making sure to miss the areas that creak the most. Biting his lower lip, he looms over the sleeping figure with his cape falling gracefully behind him. They flip over and face him.
An oval shaped face with plush lips and rosy cheeks. Her lips parted ever so slightly in slumber, as her wavy hair frames her small face. Beads of sweat roll own and her bangs stick to her forehead like glue. Melodies fly through the air like fireflies. Sad, pitiful songs ones that need to be put out of their misery. Upon closer inspection, he notices the thick dark rings that frame her eyes and the gauntness of her sallow cheeks. His eyes blank as he leans over and captures her chapped lips.
The melodies stop.
Jongin hears a familiar violin play in the distance, as he falls asleep to the remorseful song.
Baekhyun doesn't appear that day, and Jongin isn’t sure if he’s glad or sad that the other is missing. “At least I get to focus. . .” he mumbles while stretching his arms gently as his legs are criss crossed. The piano plays soft trills in the background; he extends his legs forward pointing his toes. He folds over and hugs his legs slowly relishing the relaxing feeling. Spreading his legs, he reaches over to the center feeling slight tightness going down the length of his left leg, but within a few seconds it dissipates into bliss. He leans over to his right reaching an arm to hold his toes while lifting the other over the top of his head stretching the length of his left side thoroughly. After a few seconds, he switches sides and repeats the action. Footsteps sound from outside the door, Jongin spreads out across the floor on his stomach getting ready to perform a few push-ups trying not to think about the noise by paying more attention to the elongated notes of the piano and violin duet.
The door creaks open, and he’s holding his breath slightly as he dips down for his first set. Chromatically, the violin inches higher and higher in pitch. His father rounds his trembling figure to the wooden chair by the record player. Jongin can feel a pair of eyes burning holes onto his thin frame He continues with his push-ups making sure his form is impeccable. The wood creaks underneath the older man’s weight and Jongin finishes his first set. Sitting on his heels, he stretches his arms forward on the floor pressing his upper body down feeling his tense muscles relax and lengthen. After a few counts, he gets back up into push-up position and he’s on his next set.
His trembling arms struggle to finish his fifth and final set. His father clicks his tongue, as he stands from the chair and places his foot in the middle of Jongin’s back. He dips back down almost immediately, but his father growls in response. Jongin’s arms shake not only with fatigue, but with terror as he tries to push his weight as well as his father’s weight up. Taking quick breaths, he slowly raises himself, but his muscles refuse to cooperate. The pressure in the middle of his back seems to intensify and he cries out quietly. From the corner of his eye, the curtain billows with the nipping winter breeze. A thin figure stands barely seen behind the curtain with a mischievous grin on his thin lips. “You can do it,” they whisper and Jongin feels himself strengthen from the sweet encouragement. Rising for his last push-up, his father’s eyes widen in response. Promptly and without a sound, he removes his foot and calmly stomps over to the door without an assignment for Jongin to do for the day. He sits up and looks toward the billowing curtains. The figure is gone.
Jongin spends an hour on the barre before stretching and thinking of his missing friend.
“Hey, you okay? You seem a bit winded today,” Baekhyun places a hand onto Jongin’s back rubbing circles to comfort him. Breathing heavy with fatigue, as he holds onto the barre with one arm while the other holding onto his knees for support. The violin playing with a sort of childlike mirth.
“I have a performance later today. . .But something’s wrong,” he replies in between breaths. Baekhyun furrows his eyebrows listening for something past the violin’s cute solo. He brings his lithe hand to Jongin’s forehead feeling the extreme warmth.
“Ah, a fever,” he deduces and pulls his palm away leading the weak other to the wooden chair by the record player.
“I can’t perform. . .!”
“No, you can,” Baekhyun jumping to the center skipping around the room matching beat.
“B-but how?” Jongin stutters sinking into the chair. He starts rubbing his arms for warmth despite his flaming temperature. Baekhyun giggles and skips over. “Do you trust me?”
“Huh?”
“Do you trust me?” he holds his hand out. For some reason, a dark aura wraps around Baekhyun’s slim hand like silk. Jongin’s head is probably messing with him.
“Yes, I d-do.”
“Then take my hand, Jongin, and I will make sure you will have the best performance of your life,” something spreads through Baekhyun’s glinting eyes; a chill runs up Jongin’s spine as he reaches his hand out. The dark cloud seems to have spread to the rest of Baekhyun’s body enveloping him in a cloak of dark smoke. They lock eyes, and their hands meet. A faint sear of pain on the back of Jongin’s shoulder.
Baekhyun giggles, as he rushes to the center of the room to continue Jongin’s warm-up for him. The younger dozes off on the chair; his lips curved into a sleepy smile.
Jongin coughs a few times before going getting on stage. His hair styled to perfection and his makeup heavy. He readjusts sleeves of his vibrant costume while walking into the wings of the stage. His eyes curve into crescents even though he can only hear the chatter of the grand audience through the curtains. A violent shiver runs through his body, as he goes to sit down on one of the fold out chairs laid out for him and the rest of his company. It’s a bit crowded, people flitting in and out of the wings and backstage, as well as the buzz of the company’s first performance this season. Jongin lifts a hand up to his forehead feeling the warmth. He sighs and stands up from his seat to find Baekhyun. “I wonder where he is. . .”
In the dressing room, older ballerinos are finishing up their makeup as well as putting on their costumes. Some give Jongin a small smile, as he passes by and he returns it with a wave and a curve of his thick lips. It smells of hairspray, makeup and a few air fresheners. The mirror lights hurt his eyes and bring an unpleasant heat to the compact area. He walks over to where the costumes hang; their striking colors like blaring sirens. Jongin lowers himself to the ground criss crossing his legs, and he can feel a familiar pain in his shoulder flaring. All of a sudden, Baekhyun appears holding the shoulder that flares slightly beneath his skin. “How much time till you go on?”
“Not long now,” Jongin whispers in return; he’s starting to feel dizzy. “I’m in the opening scene. . .”
“I see. . .” Baekhyun bends over and helps bring the younger to his feet, “If you want to sleep that’s fine. Just let me bring you somewhere more comfortable.”
He nods, as he stands up, with the help of Baekhyun, and the other leads him to the empty practice room around the corner. “Relax, Jongin. You’re going to be fine, I promise,” Baekhyun whispers into Jongin’s ear, as he gently sets him upright against the wall. He sits beside the dozing other laying his head down on his cushy lap. The pain flares intensely from the wound(?) on Jongin’s shoulder, but he’s too drowsy to react beside the small groan that escapes his painted lips. “Relax.” Baekhyun trails a hand up and down the length of Jongin’s thin arm; the noisy fabric rustles beneath the tender touch like branches bowing against the breeze. Slowly, he drifts off to sleep with warm whispers from Baekhyun’s thin, yet comforting, voice.
Jongin awakes on stage mid-pirouette. His body is moving precisely and perfectly without the drowsiness of his waking up mind. The movements aren't his. He can't feel his muscles contorting with each position and twirl; Jongin can only watch. Light, playful movements with just the right amount of childlike innocence but refined as a ballet master. His body but not his movements.
The crowd cheers like thunder after his solo, and he prances off the stage once the lights dim. A tall boy stands waiting with arms open and ready to receive his small frame in a grand hug. Eyes gleaming with pride and a giant grin plastered on his face. His body jumps into the taller’s embrace with ease, but Jongin can't feel the warmth of the precious hug; he wants to cry. “You did so well! Great job, Jongin!”
The body giggles. “Thank you! I couldn't have done it without your support, Chanyeol!”
Both of them part, but hold hands endearingly. The taller’s cheeks flush violently underneath the dim lighting of the wings. They hug again. “I’ll see you after the show, okay? I have a few more scenes to go.”
“Sure, good luck,” he squeezes the hands in goodbye and the body flits off to the dressing room.
“You’re awake,” the body whispers, as they open the door to the empty room. It’s bright; that’s the extent of what Jongin can experience in this weird state of consciousness. “I didn’t expect you to rise until after the solo.”
The corner of his lips turn upward, as they face the mirror. That isn’t his expression. It’s mature and. . .“Do you think you’re well enough to perform in your following scenes?” No. Jongin coughs wearily.
“Then go back to sleep, unless you prefer to watch,” it giggles and reapplies lipstick and carefully dabs at its damp forehead. “I’ll return your body to you once this is over.”
Another smile is plastered on its(his?) lips both comforting and ominous. Baekhyun? The smile stretched into a devilish grin before the body leaves the dressing room to wait in the wings.
Jongin exhales quietly, as he stretches out. The tingling feeling still in his legs even though the performance ended over three days ago. He hasn't seen Baekhyun since. Hell, he doesn't want to see Baekhyun’s face. A chill runs up his spine remembering the demonic grin on his own lips. The dark, twinkling mischief that ran through his chocolate brown eyes. It frightens him. Baekhyun frightens him.
The mere thought of hanging out with a demon, or the Devil himself, scared Jongin more than words can explain. Each breath and move he makes, the alluring, seductive eyes appear beneath his eyelids taunting him to succumb to his ways. Jongin was in no way religious, but he always knew to shy away from things deemed satanic and demonic in fear of the many bad conspiracies he has heard. The fear of deals, marks, and possession, all of which Jongin feels he has encountered whilst being with Baekhyun. Marks. He frantically gets off of the polished wooden floor and runs to the mirror. Jongin pulls down the neck of his leotard and turns around to reveal an intricate mark the size of a mouse on his shoulder. With a shaking hand, he feels the burning, hot skin; it feels like a wax seal. Flowing black ink creates detailed marks across his skin; it’s beautiful, but it’s not something to be proud of.
Jongin pulls up his leotard to hide the demonic mark; his blood is ice.
Baekhyun watches from the shadows of the attic. Jongin sits in the bathtub; the cold water swirls around him, as he roughly scrubs at the mark on his shoulder. Tears stream down his face, (or is that water from his damp hair?), and his teeth clenched tightly. After a few minutes, Jongin stops and lays back into tub letting the porcelain and water cool the burning. His hands like fists while he clutches the sponge. Baekhyun can hear the sobs racking through the younger’s body while his body shakes.
The water is tinted pink.
“Jongin!” his father yells, as he collapses to the ground for the umpteenth time that day. “What is wrong with you?!” “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he quickly gets back into his push-up position and retries his second set of ten. Jongin stares at the wood floor his eyes water, as the rough scrubbing from the past week is starting burn. The leotard is touching the raw skin. Footsteps quickly make their way closer to Jongin’s struggling form. The older male pushes the younger down onto the floor again with his heeled boot. “Up!”
“Hnnng,” he grunts, as he pushes against the weight of himself and his father.
“I said get up!” he picks up his foot and pushes it down onto his shaky form. Jongin clenches his teeth and wills his tired body to lift himself up. The next time his father lifts up his boot, he drives it into Jongin’s shoulder causing him to scream in pain. His face on the cool wooden floor as fire burns his shoulder. It’s throbbing and he can feel some stickiness. Footsteps stumble away into the hallway, and Jongin can hear a small, “I’m sorry.” Tears fall from his face and pool around him. He doesn't move from that spot until late at night when he goes to the bathtub to scrub himself of the mark. Baekhyun watches with indecipherable eyes. He disappears into the shadows with dim red eyes.
A somber, childish tune plays, as Baekhyun approaches the crib. His black cape trailing after him as an extension of his being. The child squirming around with watering eyes, but no sound escapes from their open mouth. A shift in the mood as the song turns into a sweet lullaby. (Baekhyun overpowers the minor tones with sweet hums of bright days filled to the brim with grins and rosy cheeks of laughter.) Humming to the child, he slowly picks the small human from its tight swaddle of cloth. It’s glistening eyes reaching out to touch Baekhyun’s pale, serene face. He stops his sweet song to coo at the child. “Sweet, sweet child. . .” It silently coos back happily as it touches his smooth face with its chubby hands. Bright, sparkling eyes a blessing to all that see it. “Go to sleep young one. . .I’ll make sure your slumber is peaceful and kind while on your journey.” He caresses the child’s face with a cool finger before humming once again his song of joy and love. An old tune he used to sing so much in his own youth. The baby’s movements slowly halt, and he traverses back to the crib. Setting the child down, he presses his fingers to his lips and places the kiss on the sleeping child wishing it an easy trip home. He’s reminded of Jongin. Baekhyun disappears into the night and places the child’s song of suffering to the sleeping world on his violin. A lonely boy dances along with tears in his eyes.
Jongin is at the Barre. He watches his figure in the mirror, as he continues his Rond de Jambe a terre. His eyes travel from his pointed toes to the hidden mark. A chill runs up his spine and he looks forward to the window with the black curtains. “Missed me?” Baekhyun whispers into the shell of his ear, as he presses his cool hands onto Jongin’s hips to keep them square. The hands travel down the curve to his standing leg which is carefully straightened. “Don't be lazy with your leg, Jongin. You should know better.”
“Baekhy-” his hands travel back up to Jongin’s shoulders.
“Keep these down. Look straight ahead and focus on your body,” he mumbles pressing a soft kiss to the clothed mark. “Do you want to get better or not?”
Another shiver scuttles through his body like ants. “Well, listen carefully and you will. I promise.”
“I shouldn't be making promises with the de-”
“The Devil?” he laughs darkly before leaving Jongin’s side. “I was wondering when you were going to find out.”
“Baekhyun-” he turns to face the short male.
“Are you afraid of me?”
A pause. “No.”
“Why do your eyes say otherwise?” Baekhyun’s lips turn into a smirk, but his eyes. . .they’re so. . .sad. Jongin doesn't know how to respond. “You are afraid.”
“Why did you meet me?” Baekhyun turns his back to the ballerino and takes a few steps away.
“Little human thinks he's special because the Devil appeared,” he chuckles to himself.
“Baekhyun, tell me-”
“You called. As I have said when we first met, you called me.”
“I don't understand.”
“You have called me every time you wished to di-”
“T-th-that's not true. . .I've n-never-”
“But you have.”
“Then why haven't you granted me my wish?”
Baekhyun’s grin falters. The music stops.
“I don’t want to.”
Jongin curls into the scratchy linens that stretch over his lumpy mattress, as a solo violin plays. It’s mournful tune broadcast over the city like a looming gray cloud. He listens to the song feeling a pain in his chest. Bringing the blanket closer to his body, Jongin closes his eyes and just listens.