1.

Sweat drips down his face from his brow, it covers him a sheen that glistens under the dim lighting in the dance studio. He watches himself, intense eyes piercing his form as he moves in the mirror. Judging, criticizing, mocking. He keeps pushing himself even though his muscles ache from the exertion and his body is on the verge of collapsing. One goal in his mind as he moves: to be better than him.

In a single, swift movement, he stands on one leg that tenses beneath him and he can feel it in every part of his body as he stretches. Almost simultaneously, he brings up his other leg and extends it straight behind him, pointing his toes in line. He can feel the tremor in his supporting leg as he forces himself to bring his arms into the correct positions; one straight behind and the other stretching ahead of him, reaching for something that is unattainable. Something that slips through his grasp. The nearly perfect arabesque.

That is when he falters, having pushed himself too far for his body to take anymore and he crumples in on himself, landing with a harsh thud on the wood flooring of the studio. The sound reverberates against the walls and echoes around him, reminding him of his shameful fall. His palms press on the ground and he makes himself sit up and stare into his reflection. He looks at the failure of his dancing, a panting mess in the mirror before him. He forces himself to look at the fault of his incapability. He will not accept this as failure, oh no. He lets the sight ingrain itself into his mind so that he will drive deeper next time. He soaks in the mistakes and notes them before he picks himself back up onto his unsteady feet. He will do it again.

And again.

And again.

Until he knows for certain that he has mastered the move above Zhang Yixing.

❦❦❦

Yixing doesn’t know how long he’s been watching him for. Everyone is long gone home after a quick, warm shower and a few lazy goodbyes. The chattering of his colleagues had been completely lost on him since he’d run back to the practice room to grab his forgotten water bottle, easily distracted by the dancer still working hard in the studio. He’s standing in the waiting room with his arms folded across his chest and his bag dropping from his shoulder as he looks through the two-way mirror - the one that had been installed for parents waiting on their children in their half hour lessons during the weekday evenings and weekend mornings.

He knows he should have gone by now, but the way the younger man moves his body is rough, yet attractive in a way Yixing adores. And he can’t help but think that it would be so much more alluring if he would just let himself go and stop focusing so hard on how to maneuver his body in the precise manner. He almost wants to enter the room and show him how to lose himself in the dance. How to let his body be free and enjoy the motions he makes, but he knows better than that.

He know he shouldn’t be staring at him like this - he might catch him. But he can’t help himself. He admires the dedication and the practice of the skill. He knows why that young dancer forces himself to do this, and it’s almost endearing, in a way, to him that he is intimidated by Yixing’s ability. However, he finds himself worried for the younger’s wellbeing and safety more often than not and he would do anything for him to stop and just relax.

The sickly thud that reaches his ears startles him from his reverie and he feels his heart break at the sight of the dancer in a heap on the ground. He itches to enter the room and wrap his arms around the younger's handsome frame and tell him that it's alright and that he can try again some other time. He wants to whisper in his ear that he doesn't need to work so hard and that he's flawless. Because he is flawless.

There is no flaw to Kim Jongin’s form in Yixing’s mind - he’s perfect in his own way.

❦❦❦

Every move that he makes is refined and accurate. The swift glide of his feet on the ground, the gentle swish of his arms through the air, the pleasant expression on his face as he performs a fouetté en tournant en dehors. He makes it all look so easy. The feather-light touch of his feet on the ground after he executes a flawless brisé and the dimpled smile on his face as if it hadn't cause him any strain could take your breath away. And it's so very beautiful. Everything he does is beautiful, because it's Zhang Yixing.

And Kim Jongin hates him for it.

“You’re staring at him again,” Sehun whispers harshly in Jongin’s ear.

Jongin rolls his eyes and folds his arms across his chest in annoyance, “I am analyzing,” he says, eyes trained on the way Yixing moves his body, “Right there,” he nods, “He missed a beat.”

Sehun doesn’t care, “I think you pay too much attention to him.”

“Know thine enemy, Sehun,” Jongin says simply before noting another, very slight flaw in Yixing’s fluid movements.

“Enemy,” Sehun snorts, “You’re being a child, Jongin.”

Jongin doesn’t tell his friend to shut up, he just ignores the younger and hopes that he can take a hint. Sehun does and even has the decency to grumble as he walks away to slump himself against a wall with a few other ballerinos and ballerinas. That doesn’t even phase Jongin. He’s in a trance-like state, one thing on his mind as he watches with fierce eyes, follows every dip and curve on Yixing’s body as he bends and bows with each new turn and step of the choreo. The one thing on his mind is how to make the senior dancer break under pressure, to make him snap and lose everything he’s worked for thus far so that Jongin can take his place.

“Alright,” Boa claps her hands together to get the attention of the dancers, “Let’s call it a day. You’ve all worked hard, you deserve a rest.”

Yixing turns to look over his shoulder, still propped up on one leg in a rond de jambe en dehors as he notices the way Jongin is staring at him. He blinks several times and lets his left leg down so that he’s in first position - a demi-pilé. Jongin is still watching and he can see that through the reflection of the mirror. He looks concentrated and angry and it would be intimidating to Yixing if he didn’t know that the younger was just trying to follow his form.

For a brief moment, their gazes meet in the mirror and Yixing can feel the heat rising in his face as his cheeks burn. Jongin visibly swallows, but his stare doesn’t waver.

“I’d like to speak with you, Jongin.” Boa says and it almost startles Yixing as much as it does Jongin who scrambles off the wall to join the ballet mistress.

He bows as he reaches her, “You wanted to see me?”

Boa raises her brows, “My office.” she nods in the direction of the small room off the side of the studio and Jongin’s heart nearly does a grand jeté out of his throat.

He sits himself in one of the plush chairs on the other side of Boa’s desk as she gestures for him to do so. He takes one long look at the plaque on her desk, ‘Ballet Mistress Kwon Boa’ and the title is almost as terrifying to Jongin as the expression on her face. He knows that the woman is relatively harmless, but he also knows that she has a bit of a temper, especially when it comes to her practice. He can’t decide if this is one of those times where he’s being given praise or punishment.

“I noticed you signed up for the lead male’s position in Swan Lake.” she states it as if it’s the most interesting fact in the world, “I was just curious if you think that you’re truly ready for something like this.”

Jongin nods, perhaps too eagerly, “I am.”

“The enthusiasm is there, I know that.” Boa smiles and it’s one of those that Jongin recognizes, because she’s smiled at him like this before when she tries to let him down easily without breaking him, “I am just worried that your ability has not yet met the requirements for this task.”

“I’ve been practicing,” Jongin insists, because he’s not ready to go down without a fight for this.

“I know,” Boa says and sighs, “You’ve been spending a lot of days after class working and that’s the level of dedication I love to see in my dancers, but I think it would be best to give this one to Yixing.”

Yixing. How Jongin hated to hear that name.

“If you think it’s for the best-”

“I’m glad you understand,” Boa interrupts with a sweet smile, “Maybe next time, Jongin.”

He wants to scoff at those words, because she said that last time too. And the time before. It’s a never ending cycle of working hard only to lose his hours of practice to Yixing who doesn’t seem to require it, because he’s already good enough. And he doesn’t think it’s fair, because he’s the one who has been trying and using up the hours of his own personal time to work towards one goal - to be the lead for once in his life. Somehow, Yixing seems to the the only thing stopping him, because he’s given the script as understudy every single time. He’s jealous, he knows that. And he hates it.

Jongin doesn’t stay after work to practice that day - he’s too upset. He meets with the others in the shower room and they all greet him with sleepy smiles and vague waves of their hands. Yixing doesn’t look at him, probably doesn’t even know he’s entered the room with his back to the door as he searches for something in his locker. Jongin doesn’t know why he cares, but he wants to be the center of attention. He wants Yixing to acknowledge him as a better dancer.

He lets the warm water of the shower rinse down over his body, he’s the last one in the showers, except for one other dancer. He can barely hear them moving around in the locker room - their movements are slow and their feet scuffs over the tiles of the locker room. He sighs as the tension built up in his muscles dissolves in the steam of the stall and it’s calming to let everything swirl down the drain.

When he finally slips out of the stall, a towel wrapped dangerously low and loose around his hips, he’s surprised to see Yixing staring at him like a deer caught in headlights. Yixing’s face immediately reddens and he bows several times in apology as he runs out the door of the locker room. The door closes very slowly and lets in a rush of cool air that makes Jongin shiver.

❦❦❦

When Yixing heard Boa call Jongin into her office, he already knew the reason. She had spoken to him that very morning to tell him that he would receive the lead part in their next show, Swan Lake. He feels nervous at the words he might hear shouted at him in the locker room or, worse, during a practice for something that is entirely out of his control. He has the part that Jongin wants. The part that Jongin had been working towards since he discovered that Yixing would be the lead in The Nutcracker. Every time, Yixing has always managed to take the positions that Jongin had craved without even meaning to and he feels awful about it.

It’s when Jongin enters the locker room that he feels truly terrible. He can see the look of absolute dejection engraved on his face - eyes downcast, frown evident and shoulders unusually slumped - in the reflection of his locker mirror. He straightens then and heads to the showers to avoid conflict while everyone else is in the room. That last time that had happened, he recalls, no one could bring themselves to talk to either of them for nearly a month.

After his shower, he realizes that everyone has already left and he lazily scuffs his feet against the ground as he walks towards his locker. There’s the distant sound of one shower still running, the water hitting against the tiles echoing in the room. He gulps, because he knows who it is. He considers waiting to talk to him, he feels the need to apologize for taking his position yet again. While lost in his thoughts, rehearsing in his head what he wants to say, he doesn’t notice that Jongin has already stopped the running of the water and swung open the shower stall door.

It takes a second or two for Yixing to realize that Jongin is staring at him half-curious and half-confused. It takes a whole second more for him to notice that Jongin is also standing in front of him with nothing, but a towel slipping from his hips and it makes all the heat in Yixing’s body run south when he lets his eyes follow the way the water drips down the younger’s defined abs and slips past the soft fabric. His body tenses and he feels like he’s been caught marveling at the wonders of Jongin’s beautiful, tanned skin.

Everything after that point is automatic. He bows several times and mumbles a million apologies a second under his breath - he’s not even sure that Jongin can hear him. He rushes out of the room so fast, he almost stumbles over his own two feet as he reaches the hallway. Echoes of his quick footsteps follow him as he manages to make it outside in one piece, his heart pounding hard in his ears. His face is flushed and the heat he’s feeling is a contrast to the wintry weather as his hot breath forms a mist in front of his face. He takes a moment to lean against the door of the studio to try and settle himself, but he can’t seem to get Jongin out of his mind.

Here lays the problem of the two ballerinos: they dance on the center stage of each other’s hearts for very different reasons.

Kim Jongin obsessed with outdoing his senior in pure envy and Zhang Yixing consumed with thoughts of the younger's passion.

Chapter one! I'm not sure if I'm doing this whole KaiXing thing correctly or this whole ballet thing either tbh lol, but we'll see how it turns out ^-^ Thank you for reading! xo