The Dance of Grief

But thanks for your time

Then you can thank me for mine

And after that's said

Forget it

He twisted on the balls of his feet, legs extending into a pirouette, toes pointed, hands extended. He danced across the span of the room, his movements angry and stiff. His hands, thin delicate fingers crooked, slashed through the air, his head whipped back, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His black hair was wild, a mess and the glint in brown his eyes were feral. The harsh over lights glared down on him, encasing him in fire. The sounds of his feet thudding against the wooden floor rang throughout the room as he continued to twist, turn and contort his body into every shape he has ever known.

Don't be inane

There's no one to blame

No reason why

You should stay here

And lie to me

Every move made served to empty his mind. As long as Luhan danced, he could stop thinking. Empty his mind of the fact that there was no one waiting for him at the end of the day, to welcome him home after a tiring day of practice. To kiss him awake, to lull him to sleep.  

And so he danced, faster and sharper, spinning around the room, a blur against the mirror. Sweat matted his brow, his shirt was soaked, his feet throbbed and his muscles protested. The room was stifling, the heat pressing down on him. And still, he danced, his feet moving to a rhythm that had rang throughout his life.

Don't say anymore

Just walk out the door

I'll get along fine

You'll see

His body sagged in exhaustion, hitting the floor despite his mind’s protest. His muscles ached in a familiar way and his fingers inched towards his phone.

He felt the first sob wrack through his body. Luhan covered his eyes with his arm, sweaty hair pressed into his dark eyes. He breathed in, and sat up, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Gone was the ferocity that had burned through his veins. His frame was drenched in perspiration, his hair a bird’s nest atop his head, his eye bags had eye bags and his cheekbones was hollowed out and were more pronouncing than ever. His shirt stank of grief and stale sweat.

Luhan closed his red rimmed eyes and leant his head back. He was trembling, Luhan realized, and sobs shook his lanky frame even more. His fingers clenched the phone tightly, and he stared at it. The song in his Ipod tricked on, and his hand was trembling violently as he unlocked the screen.

As he hit the speed dial for the first number, he placed his hand over his mouth in an attempt to choke back sobs, and gave up trying to stop his tears when the voice mail played.

“Hello, this is Wu Yi Fan.And I am unable to reach my phone now. Please leave a message and Luhan will call you back. If Luhan is the reason I can't come to the phone, then you're about to interrupt important matters, so off.”

Tears streamed down his face as he flopped back on the face, an arm hiding the tears.

“FanFan… I miss you. Come back to me, please.”

If there was a word

But magic's absurd

I'd make one dream come true

He threw the phone across the room. It hit the small shelf, holding a picture of his lover. His dead lover. The frame fell and shattered against the floor. Along with it, rained the trophies that lined the rest of the shelf. Only the picture of him and his best friend remained steady on the shelf. He stared at the fallen trophies, at the shattered glass that littered the floor.

Luhan stumbled across the room, barely noticing the glass stabbing his feet as he picked up the photo of his lover and him. He sat amidst the strewn glass, and clutched the photo close to his chest. A lump had formed in his throat and he could barely breathe. He doubled over, his forehead touching the floor, as he sobbed.

His Ipod finished the song, the song his Yi Fan loved, the song Yi Fan had been listening to in his final moments, and began a new one.

He had run out of tears. His anger simmered in his veins. His mind was clouded with exhaustion. He danced, his best performance, his last performance, the song that he loved when he left him six feet under the ground.

Schooled on the city sidewalks

Coldness at every turn

Knew I had to find the exits

I never, ever would return

Scoffed at the prophet's omens

That said I would live to learn

Song: Sixto Rodriguez: Forget it

                                       Can’t get away