Work Text:
Kim Seungmin sits in the middle of an empty audience, feeling gentle music begin to swell and climax as one single dancer on stage moves his body in ebbing motions and creates the flowing notes himself with every breath he takes.
He moves like water. If Seungmin had to choose a specific body of water, he would certainly be stuck between a river and a waterfall, for the dancer somehow manages to capture the gentle flow of each movement yet hit every furthest stretch, every point, every detail, so sharply and perfectly that the only way Seungmin can describe it would be the way water hits a plunge pool after a long, long fall off the overhang.
Minho. Lee Minho, that is. He’s the lead dancer in the ballet production that Seungmin has been assigned to by his university professor. Seungmin himself isn’t dancing in it, heavens no - he’ll be filming it, and eventually turning it into a short film of sorts, focusing on movement and lighting within dance and theatre. Seungmin had thought it had been a good idea, until he had laid eyes on the lead dancer in his assigned class, and had instantly fallen for catlike eyes and a sweet, soft voice.
And that was before Seungmin had even seen him dancing.
He leaps with precision, and every single degree of spinning, circling, pirouetting, is carefully calculated; performed almost mathematically, but with an edge of grace that the sharp, rectangular topic of mathematics could never attempt to embody. He becomes the music - each sway of his body, each flick of the wrist and kick of an arched foot gives the illusion that Minho is the person controlling the swell of the music, and not the music itself giving him the foundations on which to move.
It’s hypnotic. Mesmerising. Fluid. Beautiful , in every single sense of the word. Seungmin is entranced.
Seungmin hasn’t even started filming him yet; he's simply staring in awe from the comfortable, red seats that line the rows of the theatre, and yet when Minho looks out into the empty audience, catches Seungmin’s eyes and the ghost of a smile flickers across his features as he spins away, Seungmin can’t help the matching grin that spreads across his own face.
“Lee, you broke character! Again, from the beginning,” Minho’s instructor barks, and Minho beams unabashedly at Seungmin before he returns to centre stage, taking a deep breath and reschooling his expression into the sombre shape of despair to match the theme as the music is rewound and played from the start once more.
“I wouldn’t flirt with the dancers whilst instructor Kim is here,” someone mutters, sliding into the seat next to Seungmin. The stranger smiles then, and Seungmin feels any irritation in his reverie being interrupted fade into the background as a freckled face practically bathes the room in sunshine.
“Hi, I’m Felix. I’m another dancer in Minho hyung’s class, but instructor Kim is the strictest of all instructors. Friendly word of advice: don’t even breathe in her direction when she’s working.”
“I’m Seungmin, it’s nice to meet you… I wasn’t flirting,” Seungmin mumbles, and Felix giggles, the sound as beautiful as the bubbles that fizz and pop in expensive glasses of champagne.
“Minho hyung can be flirty at times. I saw the way he smiled at you.”
“It was just a smile,” Seungmin tries to defend, and turns back to the stage. Felix watches with him as Minho goes back over the flowing choreography, this time without the music, and silently admires the flex of trained muscle that comes with every carefully constructed movement.
“Will you also be in this production?” Seungmin whispers to Felix, eyes glued to Minho, and only just manages to catch Felix nodding out of the corner of his eye.
“We’re both the main leads in this particular one,” Felix says, and Seungmin’s eyes widen.
“Oh? What’s the storyline you’ll be acting out?”
“We’re supposed to be love interests,” Felix makes a gagging noise, and Seungmin turns in his seat to laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, Minho continues to dance; the echo of bare feet on the stage serving as the only sound of performance for the time being.
“And you’re… not? Love interests?”
“ No ,” Felix snorts loudly, and instructor Kim glares at him icily. He holds up an apologetic hand. “He’s annoying. Besides, I have a boyfriend, but he’s in another dance class, which is kind of sad. I do ballet; he does contemporary and street. But it’s a huge honour to play the lead, and Minho hyung is incredible at his art. It’s almost as big an honour to be performing alongside him.”
“It is?”
“Hyung is the best of the best,” Felix gushes, and Seungmin ooh ’s in interest.
“I’m sure you must be very good too, to be playing the lead with him,” he says genuinely, and Felix blushes.
“Thank you. That’s not for me to decide though. I’ll let you judge for yourself.”
“Are you going to be practising here today?”
“I’ll be joining Minho hyung in a moment, when instructor Kim deems his solo performance good enough to pause for a while.” They wait in silence for a few more run-throughs of Minho’s dance, until his instructor finally nods curtly at him, and he jogs backstage for some water as Felix says goodbye to Seungmin and walks up the steps onto the platform himself.
Felix is indeed too modest for his own good: he moves with the same calculation as Minho; shares the same skills and glaringly obvious talent that the elder exudes, but there's just something about Minho that keeps Seungmin's attention absolutely captivated, no matter how he tries to give equal attention to both.
Perhaps he'll be able to explore that further during his time here.
***
“So, you’re here to film us dancing?” Minho says suddenly, pausing his quick sips of water to stare Seungmin down with a sharp eye. It's two days after Seungmin's first appearance in the theatre, and so far, he's managed to avoid Minho like the plague, feeling inferior and too afraid to mess up when talking to him. Today is his unlucky - or it may well be lucky - day, and Minho has finally managed to seek him out. Seungmin nods and shakes his tripod in response, attaching wheels to the bottom of it to make the glide easier when he’ll be following dancers around the stage.
“It’s for a project as part of my apprenticeship. I attend university two days a week, and they’ve assigned me over here, where I need to immerse film into ballet performances, and focus on movement and lighting to make a short film regarding it,” he explains, and Minho hums in response.
“And you’ve been assigned to my class specifically?”
“Yep.” Seungmin’s heart is racing, and he’s only said just over one sentence. He should leave, now, and quit whilst he’s ahead.
“So you’ll be filming me?”
“If you and your class consent, yes.”
“Hmm. I’ll give my consent heartily if such a beautiful camera man is going to be the one recording,” Minho comments, and Seungmin chokes, hitting his head on his tall tripod as he does so. Minho laughs loudly, and glides across the polished floor to pat him on the back helpfully. Firm fingertips burn through the fabric of Seungmin’s white shirt.
I should have quit whilst I was ahead.
“Cute.”
“Me choking on my own spit and giving myself a concussion is cute ?”
“Well, not that, but, well--” Minho gestures vaguely to Seungmin’s entire being, and Seungmin feels himself heat up in an all-consuming blush.
“Lee Minho!” instructor Kim screams from backstage, and Minho himself almost chokes.
“Shit,” he says, and all but runs away, not wanting to further anger his instructor and add to whichever reason had caused her fury this time. Seungmin watches him go, admiring how one could make panicked running look so elegant, like a perfectly skimmed stone over a calm lake at sunrise, before remembering the reason for his presence - and going back to fixing the wheels onto his tripod, before strapping his heavy camera to the top as well as making sure the accompanying light was working well too. It takes a while, so by the time he’s finished instructor Kim is back with Minho, and they wait (Minho with patience, and instructor Kim with an element of passive-aggression, of course) for Seungmin to look up at them and tell them that he’s ready to go.
“I am training my other class for now, so I’ll leave you to it,” instructor Kim says with a strict glare. “I expect progress and practise. No slacking.” And with that, she stalks away, leaving a blushing Seungmin and grinning Minho alone onstage once more.
“Well, I suppose we should get started then, shouldn’t we?” Minho practically purrs, and Seungmin nods wordlessly. Minho begins with showing Seungmin his routine, so that Seungmin has a general idea of where he should be and when, so as to not get in the way, and for once Seungmin is so focused on his actual job that he doesn’t have much time to admire the arch of Minho’s back, or the shapes his figure cuts as he moves from position to position. He fixates on location and movement, memorising the paths Minho makes in the stage, and plots where he’ll follow; where he’ll wait. And then it’s go time.
“This is just a practise film, it’s nothing official yet,” he explains as Minho gets into position for the second time, and Minho nods wordlessly, raising his arms above his head as he moves his feet into position, waiting for the timed music to restart. When it does, the filming and dancing goes perfectly for the first thirty seconds, with Seungmin keeping well out of Minho’s way as the ballet dancer performs to the best of his ability. Due to such perfect positioning, Seungmin feels able to dive in a little closer, or perhaps it’s the raw beauty of Minho’s movements that draws him in subconsciously, helplessly, until he’s so much closer to the dancer; can feel a slight breeze whenever he moves too quickly, doesn’t even need to zoom in on his face or body anymore --
Bang!
“Shit, ow, fuck,” Minho swears loudly, shaking his hand from where it had just flown into the camera. Seungmin gasps even louder.
“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, I got too close, I’m -- are you okay? I’m so sorry,” he babbles, unsure of what to do, and Minho looks away, closing his eyes for a moment as he tries in vain to shake the pain away. He flexes his fingers experimentally, and heaves a sigh of relief.
“It’s okay, I’m all good. Nothing’s broken,” he says, flexing his fingers in Seungmin’s direction for good measure, but Seungmin can see the angry red mark pulsing on the back of Minho’s hand, and winces, feeling like his insides are shrivelling up from mortification.
Minho must notice, because he grins then, and steps closer.
“Really, I’m fine. I’ve had much worse. Have you seen my legs?” he speaks lowly, like it’s some kind of well-kept and guarded secret, and lifts up the hem of his loose-fitting pants to show Seungmin the skin there, littered with painful-looking bruises ranging from purples to greens, with barely a spot of skin without one. Minho’s body is a blank canvas, and ballet has wielded the colourful paint palette to decorate him with its scars and marks of determination, blood sweat and tears. Seungmin gasps again. Minho laughs.
“Oh, if you think that’s bad, you should see my feet,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate on those. “Seriously, it’s fine. I can still move my hand, so we’re good! Next time, just… don’t come as close. I know I’m handsome, but zoom in with the camera instead, yeah?”
Seungmin blushes again, but decides to glare in response, making Minho laugh again before he walks back to the speakers to rewind the music.
“Let’s go again.”
***
The following week, Seungmin has had a lot more practise with weaving between dancers -- he’s progressed from one single dancer to being able to move between an entire production class at once -- and is finally allowed to film Minho and Felix’s class as they rehearse their production fully, as official as can be without their actual outfits and makeup. The strictest of rehearsals yet, as they have finally got the dances memorised and are now being held to only the highest standard, yet Minho is still finding ways to subtly flirt with Seungmin.
The music is tantalising, but the fixed gaze that Minho pins to Seungmin every time he pirouettes is even more so. Seungmin faintly remembers the words he had overheard Minho telling a group of kids in a beginner class that morning, you must pin your gaze to one fixed spot when pirouetting, so as to not get overly dizzy, but to be the spot -- or person , rather -- that Minho chooses to fixate upon sends Seungmin’s heart into a frenzy. Of course, he is the person holding the camera, but when Minho looks right into his eyes instead of the camera lens, Seungmin just hopes his blush isn’t too obvious beneath the luminescent stage lights. He redirects his gaze into the viewfinder of the camera, and wonders whether he’ll get reprimanded for admiring just one dancer in particular. How could he not?
Today, he moves through each row of dancers with his camera like his own choreographed dance; keeps good distances away and takes secret pride in not having bumped into anyone, or causing further injuries. In a way, it’s like he is a part of the production: although he does not possess the trained grace that these dancers have learned through years of relentless conditioning and discipline, he finds that his feet follow their own specific patterns through the masses, weaving and pivoting and dodging arms and legs and heads until it’s like he himself has been incorporated into the dance himself.
Instructor Kim gives him an approving dance when the dancers take a break, and Seungmin walks his tripod over to the back of the stage, where he unstraps his camera and sits down with it, flicking through his footage to make sure the lens is picking up the correct details.
The scent of orange zest, cinnamon and vanilla suddenly overwhelm him, and Lee Minho sits down beside him, gulping down water before he begins stretching.
“Great work today,” he compliments, and Seungmin keeps his eyes firmly on his camera, knowing full well how badly he’ll short circuit once he lays his gaze on a winded, dance-mussed Minho.
“Thank you, hyung. You too.”
“It’s like you’re part of the choreography itself now,” Minho carries on, and Seungmin feels as if his feathers have been ruffled at the surprise of Minho thinking along the exact same lines as himself.
“It’s a good thing you’ve not caused injuries to anybody else since mine last week,” Minho says casually, inspecting his nails, “I don’t want you hitting on anyone else.” Seungmin freezes - was that a fucking pun he just used to flirt with? - and then instructor Kim is calling everybody to start up from the top , and Minho giggles - he fucking giggles - and Seungmin has to hold back a whine as his hyung stands up and leaves him there on the floor, with a lap full of camera equipment and a heart full of hope.
***
The day of the dress rehearsals draws nearer much faster than Seungmin would have liked, as it means that today is his last day working with this class, and likely the last day that he’ll see Minho… unless they come to an agreement to stay in touch afterwards. As much as it feels like Minho could like him back, Seungmin feels heavy with the doubt that he’ll have the time to keep in touch with him afterwards -- with Minho’s days filled with practise and rehearsal and training, it seems near impossible to ever catch him out of the ballet studio and theatre.
But he does his best not to dwell on it. He has to remember that at the end of the day, he’s here to grow his portfolio for his university degree and apprenticeship. Nothing more.
He arrives early, much too early to begin filming, and so he busies himself with preparing his camera equipment as a flurry of exclamations, chatter and laughter hustle and bustle and settle around him like a fresh layer of snow. There are dancers everywhere, sitting in chairs and stretching and talking, and makeup artists and hair stylists help them change into costumes and get everybody styled and dolled up to perfection. Looking around, Seungmin honestly feels a little underdressed in his simple jeans and huge blue hoodie, but he’d rather be comfortable whilst filming anyway. He doesn’t feel that dancing is really his forte.
Now, he watches with rapt attention as Felix performs countless pirouettes, stopping in between them to stretch a little more; go over another couple of moves again. Seungmin mostly focuses on the dancer as a whole, admiring how Felix knows exactly how to balance himself to allow more than one turn at a time, not stumbling once and finishing perfectly. It looks complicated, more complicated than Seungmin would like to admit, and he almost wants to have a go himself.
“Lixie is getting really good at his pirouettes, hmm?” a soft voice says behind him, and Seungmin startles a little. Minho laughs quietly and moves to stand beside him, both observing with varying degrees of pride.
“I’ve been friends with Felix for years now. I remember when we both struggled to perform more than two pirouettes in a row,” Minho says lowly, as if it’s a secret, and who knows - perhaps it really is.
“You both make it look so effortless now,” Seungmin breathes, and Minho preens beside him.
“Thank you. It comes with years and years of practise.”
“I think it’s a lot more than just practise… it’s talent, and dedication,” Seungmin says, and turns to Minho as he says it -- and - oh --
Minho looks ethereal .
Charcoal smudges his eyelines and blends into a dusting sheen of holographic glitter, and his lips are slick with clear gloss that accentuate their plump, kissable shape. Seungmin’s breath gets caught in his throat as Minho grins, highlighted cheekbones lifting in amusement, and runs a hand through gelled, tousled hair.
“Do I look good, Seungminnie?” he asks innocently, and Seungmin finds it within him to glare. This bitch. He knows damn well that he does.
“You have something in your teeth,” he replies airily, and Minho’s eyes widen; his hands fly to his mouth.
“Where? Which one?”
Seungmin laughs, and Minho’s mild mortification fades from his face at once as he starts laughing too.
“You’re a little shit,” he says, and Seungmin shrugs. “Want me to teach you how to pirouette?”
“I doubt I can balance for that long, let alone pivot,” Seungmin replies, but allows Minho to take the camera from his hands, setting it on a nearby chair and taking Seungmin’s hands within his own.
“Put your weight on this leg, like this,” Minho says, no longer needing to raise his voice above a whisper to be heard. “And use your other to guide you as you spin.”
Seungmin uses Minho’s help to balance properly as he lets the dancer guide him into the correct positions; feels graceful, elegant, as he straightens his back and elongates his arms under Minho’s watchful eye, feeling his breath ghost across his skin as he physically guides Seungmin’s posture to where it needs to be. Each touch smoulders like electricity, and Seungmin is addicted.
“And then you spin,” Minho murmurs, and Seungmin does just that; performs one single 360 rotation that’s wobbly and not nearly fast enough, but the pride in Minho’s eyes when he finds himself facing the dancer again makes the mild shame of inexperience worth it all. He overbalances a little at the end of it, and stumbles in a way that sends him flying into Minho’s chest, and he almost groans at how cliche it feels but then Minho’s hands are gripping his waist, steadying him but neither of them are making any clear intentions of pulling away. Minho’s eyes are bright as they study Seungmin, gazing deep into his own, and as fond as the smile that tugs on his lips as Seungmin’s hands come to rest on his silk-clad chest, palms laying flat and fighting against bunching up in the fabric, creasing it.
“Kim Seungmin,” Minho whispers, their lips practically brushing with their proximity, and he’s about to say something else when the stage curtain is suddenly drawn, exposing their safe space to a room full of empty audience seats with a single flourish of red fabric, and everybody rushes from their pre-rehearsal stretches and conversation to get into position on the stage around them. Minho sighs heavily; Seungmin feels the harsh breathing fan across his face, and releases Seungmin reluctantly.
“Film us well, Kim Seungmin!” he says instead, and joins his fellow dancers, centre stage. Seungmin picks up his camera and tries to calm his racing heart.
***
It’s the big night: opening night, the first big performance to a paying audience, which means that technically, Seungmin’s job is already done. He was here to film for the dress rehearsal, which is all he needs, as he can’t be weaving in between dancers with his camera equipment and interrupting the audience experience, but he couldn’t miss another opportunity to see Minho.
Minho, who looks breathtaking.
The curtain is closed, and dancers are stretching and getting into position behind it; glitter and silk and feathers shine and glimmer beneath the white lights of the stage, and in amidst it all is Lee Minho, dipped in a pot of fairy dust and lilac shimmer and looking absolutely angelic.
Seungmin’s heart stops, restarts, and stutters as their eyes catch across the stage, and Minho instantly stops in his conversation with another dancer to beam at him, crescent-eyed and gummy-smiled. He gets up, and almost flutters over to Seungmin, his well-stretched limbs carrying him across the stage with almost inhuman lightness of foot, and Seungmin has to stop himself from reaching out to touch him; cup his face, hold his waist, anything . He wants to hold Minho so badly, but the dancer is untouchable, he’s on another level completely, and Seungmin is so, so gone.
“Kim Seungmin,” Minho says, and Seungmin wants to taste the honey of his voice. “I thought you were done filming here?”
He sounds pleased, too pleased. Seungmin does his best not to dwell on what that means.
“I am,” he swallows dryly. “I’m done filming. I wanted to -- to, observe the professional camera crew in how they operate from above, and stuff. Get a feel for really being in the field, from all angles.” It’s a far-fetched excuse and they both know it; the fact that the real observers are allowed up on the rigging that the cameramen film from glaring down on the two of them like the stage lights, burning Seungmin’s skin a bashful shade of pink.
“Oh?” Minho smiles, saccharine. “Then why aren’t you up there with them?”
Seungmin freezes. Minho steps forward, closer, their eyes locking, and Minho is just beginning to reach out when --
“Lee Minho! Finish stretching, and get into position, now, ” instructor Kim hisses, and the playful expression drops from Minho’s face, fire flashing through his eyes before he steps back, never taking his eyes off Seungmin, before he turns around gracefully and picks his way between the bodies of dancers to get to his place. Felix grins at Seungmin from where he waits for Minho, sending a little finger-wave in his direction, but Seungmin barely registers the gesture from where he drunkenly watches the perfect form of a silk-clad Minho run through his last stretches before he, too, folds himself up, sitting down in the centre of the stage and folding his torso over his outstretched legs to match the rest of the surrounding dancers. Seungmin just about manages to return the wave before he backs away.
Minho’s head shoots up from where it was resting against his thighs right as Seungmin is about to turn his back.
“ Stay ,” he mouths, eyes almost pleading, and the display of vulnerability, in a sense, is so out of character for him that Seungmin nods instantly, backing away to where he won’t be too much in the way of the backstage chaos, and listens as the music begins to start up, and the curtain is pulled up.
And Seungmin’s breath is completely, utterly, totally robbed from within him.
If he thought that Minho was beautiful whilst half of his attention was diverted with trying to film him successfully, this is nothing compared to seeing him completely in his element, no cameramen weaving in front of him for good angles: instead, he’s in front of a packed audience who watch with almost as bated breath as Seungmin does as he begins to move, at first by himself, before everybody else joins in, surrounding him in a flurry of hypnotic movements and swaying and light.
Minho is the music; he is the dance. He embodies the element of everything that is storytelling within the production and exudes it like the glow of the moon on a clear night. He is enthralling, and Seungmin couldn’t tear his gaze away if he tried, hypnotised by defined muscles aiding precision and trained legs moving impossibly quick feet that are bound by ribbon and wood. A body weathered and conditioned under such an unforgiving environment that it both awes Seungmin to speechlessness and also makes him yearn for it; long to take care of it and ease Minho’s pain after a long day of wearing himself out and performing, performing, performing.
All the hard work and endless effort that each dancer has put in over the past month has all accumulated to this night, and wow , Seungmin finds that he doesn’t even possess the words to describe its full, true beauty; not even able to hold a candle to it. It’s magical.
Minho glows beneath the harsh stage lights, his expressions perfect, his acting undeterred by the effort of matching each and every difficult move to the fast-paced music. Seungmin can feel every emotion conveyed through the dance; is awed by the way that ballet hardly needs words to tell a full story in its entirety, and when the first scene is over, and Minho glides offstage to be replaced by the next characters Seungmin discovers that his mouth had been hanging open the entire time.
“Close this; you’ll catch flies,” Minho whispers, tapping Seungmin’s lower jaw, and the younger snaps it closed sharpish. “How are you liking it?”
“You’re -- it’s incredible,” Seungmin replies, the awe evident in his voice, and he’s not sure how he would ever remove it even if he ended up wanting to.
“I’m glad,” Minho smiles, and takes Seungmin’s cold hands within his heated, dance-dampened fingers, cradles them to his chest. “I’m back onstage in a few minutes. Can I get a kiss for good luck?”
“Can you -- what.” Seungmin’s brain short circuits, and it feels like his entire body jerks upwards, although he knows physically he hasn’t moved an inch. Perhaps it was his soul leaving his body. Gloss-slicked lips curve into a beaming smile as Minho blinks rapidly at him, endeared. Seungmin tightens his fingers around Minho’s own.
“A good luck kiss? If you want to,” Minho blinks again, and all Seungmin can see are glittered eyelashes, unfairly long and insanely angelic.
He -- where ? Should Seungmin presume the best and go in for the lip lock? Or should he play it safe and go in for the cheek; the forehead; perhaps even the hand? His brain is in overdrive, not helped one jot by the adoring way Minho is still looking at him, and then --
“Oh - I’m back on,” Minho interrupts his racing thoughts, and before Seungmin can react, Minho presses a kiss to the back of Seungmin’s hand instead, squeezing their clasped hands together once more before dropping them altogether. “Wait for me, Seungminnie! Don’t take your eyes off me!”
And Seungmin doesn’t.
After their achingly short conversation Minho looks like fire ; his movements scorch the watchful eye and burn the hearts of the audience. Longing and passion ooze out of him like lava from an active volcano, and even the audience gasps along in unadulterated awe.
Minho is water; he is fire. He is the wind weaving through grassy meadows, he’s movement incarnate, and he’s breathtaking. Seungmin inhales, exhales, and immerses himself in the sight of it all.
The rest of the performance whizzes by in a blur, and Seungmin finds himself speechless as he notices and watches all the parts he’s only been able to film before: being a spectator opens up his mind to everything he hadn’t been able to focus on when his priority had been angles and lighting, and the plot and storytelling of the dance; the way every single dancer comes together to create such flowing events and meanings has Seungmin’s head bursting with ideas - ideas of writing, of art, of more dances, of painting and words and movement and praise and he’s not at all sure how he’d ever do this performance justice in any other way, but he’s determined to try.
The supporting dancers are the first offstage when everything is done, taking their own bows in rows of grace and elegance as the audience cheer and clap for them: they receive a complete standing ovation. Minho and Felix are the last to bow, and run back out onto the stage to an uproar of aggressive cheering, and Seungmin wouldn’t have been one jot surprised if the roof itself had caved in from the raucousness of it all. They both laugh and bow, once, twice, three times, before they, too disappear back behind the back wings of the stage, and then everybody rushes back onstage at once, a gaggle of fifty or so dancers all squeezed into one big group of immense beaming smiles and the relief of their hard work having paid off. When the cast finally leaves the stage for the final time, Seungmin is swamped with victorious dancers hooting and hollering in victory, and finds himself with two armfuls of his favourite dancers in particular, who laugh and cheer loudly in his ear, their chests heaving against his body.
“You did incredibly, hyungs,” he says to Minho and Felix, who had both leapt on him at once. “Really, really good. I can’t even find the words to describe how amazing you did… I’m speechless.”
“Thank you, Minnie,” Felix laughs, and ruffles Seungmin’s hair for good measure. “I’m going to go now -- my boyfriend, Hyunjin, is waiting for me just there. Come and meet him when you can!” and with that he leaves, practically flying across the space between himself and his boyfriend, who waits at the edge of the hubbub holding a bouquet of colourful flowers and the proudest smile Seungmin thinks he’s ever seen somebody wear. When he turns back to Minho, the elder is watching him with an unreadable smile on his face, but the softness of it takes away from the ominous element that mysteries always carry with them.
“Were we really that good, Minnie?” he asks quietly, and Seungmin wants to wipe away all of Minho’s insecurities as easily as one could wipe water from a duck's back.
“All of that and so, so much more,” Seungmin replies, and steps forward, determined to have this moment, with no interruptions. “Really, hyung.”
“Okay,” Minho says, and it sounds like he finally believes Seungmin. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Of course,” Seungmin replies, and then he finally leans forward and kisses Minho. Minho makes a soft sound of surprise in the back of his throat, but smiles into the kiss; steps closer and winds an arm around Seungmin’s waist to hold him close. They must look a right pair: a toned ballet dancer clad in silk and mesh, kissing a camera man wearing an oversized hoodie and glasses, but neither of them could care less when their senses are solely focused on each other.
When they pull away, Seungmin’s lips are glassy with the lipgloss Minho had transferred, and Minho’s powdered cheeks blaze a beautiful shade of red with heat beneath the carefully applied stage makeup.
“Well… that was certainly long overdue,” Minho comments with a small laugh, and Seungmin joins in his laughter heartily.
“Perhaps it was.”
“Perhaps after all this is over you’ll let me take you out on a date?” Minho asks, suddenly shy although they had been kissing just seconds ago, and Seungmin nods before he even has time to think about it.
“ Please ,” he says, and Minho laughs again. “But… how will it work? Being a dancer is… incredibly time-consuming; would things between us have the time to work out?”
“It certainly can, if we both want it enough,” Minho replies fondly. “Felix and Hyunjin are both dancers in different departments, yet look at them!” they both turn to the couple in question, who are talking animatedly across the room; Hyunjin doing most of the talking as Felix blushes and laughs. Seungmin expects Hyunjin is waxing poetic about Felix’s performance tonight. Good. He deserves every compliment. Seungmin turns back to Minho, who is already staring right back at him with a lifetime of promises in his eyes, and nods happily.
“Alright, then.”
“To our happily ever after,” Minho says, eyes gleaming, and pulls Seungmin in for another kiss.
(Seungmin scores top marks on his film project, and a few years later he finds himself professionally recording the ballet for viewers to watch at home. And if the camera just so happens to fixate on one particular dancer just a little more than the rest, then hey, who’s to question it?)