As the days passed, Daehyun became something of a permanent fixture in the circus, around as regularly as Youngjae.

The rest of the entertainers take to him easily, used to new faces and new skills, and he quickly made friends among the ranks, including a young, lanky fire breather and one of the trapeze artists that he had watched on the first night.

Circus life was exactly what Daehyun had always imagined and hoped it would be. As an extrovert with too much time on his hands, the constant movement of the set up enraptured and fascinated him to no end. Every day brought a new set of outfits and a dazzling display of skills, complete with a comradery that he had always yearned for.

Mornings, he woke sore and content from the practice from the night before, spending a good portion of the rising sun in front of his mirror, flexing his newly building muscles. He had even given up his skin tight jeans and fashionable shirts in favour of sweats and loose tanks, as seemed to be the uniform of the circus performers.

Afternoons were used for dawdling in the mall with Youngjae, who has insisted that he needed a perfect snapback, and acting as a tour guide around the city for curious artists that wanted a deeper exploration of the city.

By evening, everyone was back at the tent, setting up equipment and practicing. Most of the time, he saw Himchan; always circulating between people, assisting in whatever was needed, talking to journalists and overseeing the construction of particularly complex stages. They had talked a handful of times, each filled with suggestive phrases and lingering looks, but never gotten to anything that would solidify Daehyun’s sneaking suspicion that Himchan was attracted to him, even the littlest bit.

Each day that passed added to the growing fear that sat in the pit of his stomach. The circus was bound to leave eventually, to new adventures and escapades, and he would be left in the boring city of Busan. Youngjae had seemed to sense his apprehension and given him a number of sources to contact him, including his phone number and kakao, but it only temporarily relieved the weight until he had realized that it was not only Youngjae that he would miss.

Himchan had a pull on him that he couldn’t deny. At first, he had summed it up to simple admiration and envy; the elder was everything that he had wanted to be. When he spoke, people listened and he carried himself with a confidence that was hard to miss. Daehyun had seen him, once, changing from his dress shirt to a tshirt. With black jeans hugging the sharp V of his hips, he could easily see the contrast of his milky white skin. Himchan’s body wasn’t overly muscular but toned, the lines of his abdominal muscles in high relief and his biceps flexing as he tossed his shirt to the side.

When he turned, exposing the smooth expanse of his back, Daehyun could see the tattoo that he had glimpsed at on the first time that they had met; a collection of strong lines, curving from his shoulder blades to the nape of his neck. It was a minimalistic design, without any fancy additions, but clearly resembled the shape of a phoenix. Himchan had turned, then, and met his eyes. The knowing grin that had spread over the elder’s mouth had blood rushing downward. Daehyun had relieve himself in the bathroom, hand clenched over his mouth and the image of the ringmaster smirking down at him fresh in his mind.

.   .   .

“Daehyun.”

By now, he had gotten used to the unexpected greetings and it was only the brush of fingertips against his side that had him jumping.

He turned to the sight of Himchan crouching behind him, a sandwich in one hand and a camera in the other.

“Hi, hyung.” He greeted, spreading his legs into a wide straddle and reaching over to wrap his fingers around the arch of his foot, stretching out his muscles for the days practice. Flex toes; point toes. Repeat.

“How have you been enjoying the circus?” Himchan sat down in the soft sand and he knew that it would be an important conversation; he never stayed for too long, always purposely striding from group to group like a general commanding his soldiers.

“I have,” a shift to his stomach, pushing his arms out straight until his back arched.

“I have a proposition for you.” That drew his attention quickly, twisting just the slightest to get the elder back into his sights, a single eyebrow quirked. A proposition sounded intriguing.

“Yes?”

“Youngjae is to perform this afternoon, as an opening show. I assume that he has taught you his routine?” Daehyun nodded, having been introduced and practiced with the other. “I was wondering if you would, perhaps, like to join him. You will be paid, of course. I assume thirty dollars for a five minute show will suffice?”

Daehyun gaped. Thirty dollars for five minutes. That was, by his quick calculation, six dollars a minute. Himchan seemed to mistake his hesitation and placed a hand on his shoulder, his own calm expression shifting to something concerned.

“You don’t have to agree, of course. I just know that you’ve been practicing every day here and you’re good, so you might as well get to experience what a performance is like. If you don’t want to, that’s fine. It is not for everyone.” The man made movement to go and Daehyun, unthinkingly, reached out to pull him back down.

“I want to.” He blurted, watching as the look of shock in Himchan’s eyes changed to amusement.

A hand clasped down on his shoulder, squeezing the round ball of muscle for a second before Himchan retreated, standing back up to survey the bustling tent with a sharp eye. “I’ve already taken the liberty of asking the seamstress to make you a costume.”

Daehyun’s eyes narrowed accusingly, “you already knew I would say yes.”

“Yes. You’re not a hard book to read, Daehyun.” The piercing gaze turned back to him, serious if it was not for the wry grin on his mouth. “Besides, who would turn down thirty dollars for five minutes?”

He was left with instructions to finish warming up and then report to the large changing room, located in a smaller tent connected to the performance one. Even when the elder disappears, called off by an emergency that had something to do with a faulty trapeze harness, he can still feel the light heat of fingers trailing over the back of his neck and the words ‘I’ll film you tonight’ whispered in his ear.

There was not enough time to deal with the heat gathering between his legs as his mind takes a dirty turn, so he forced the thought (and images) from his mind and hurried to the dressing tent.

It was bustling. Racks of glittery outfits and skimpy costumes littered the floor, creating a maze to navigate. Staff with tape measures around their necks and pins in their mouths buzzed around performers, pinning fabric here and there or perfecting the last touches. The side of the tent was lined with tables and mirrors, a plethora of makeup brushes and palettes of every colour scattered over every available space.

Youngjae was there, eyes wide open and squirming, with a very frustrated young woman brandishing an eyeliner pencil menacingly. Daehyun grinned. His friend had never liked physical contact, especially not with his face. The one time Daehyun had tried to brush an eyelash off of his cheek, he had gotten kicked for his efforts.

Before he could even attempt to help the struggling makeup artist, he was diverted to a small cubicle, a single article of clothing shoved into his hands before being unceremoniously shoved into the space. It was traditional for male aerialists to perform without shirts (unless they performed with hoops, which often abused the skin to ugly bruises and abrasions) and he was no exception. The piece was simple; plain black pants, elastic at the waistline to hug his hips, loose around the thighs and , to provide easy mobility, and tight just below his knees, which often bruised from complicated drops.

As he pulled off his clothing, he regarded himself in the small mirror crammed in the corner, dirty and dark. He had certainly bulked up, biceps round and stomach toned, and even his stance had changed. Daehyun saw the same sort of posture that the others seemed to naturally carry around with them – confidence, maybe, or perhaps an athletic assuredness. He even smirked at himself, flexing his muscles in front of the mirror, before he realized that he looked ridiculous and quickly exited the dim room.

Instantly, his clothes were snatched from his hands and he was ushered to a table, forced to sit as another woman slathered his body in some sort of cream that smelled like coconut and shimmered in the dull lighting. His eyes were lined dramatically, lips coated with the thinnest amount of lipstick because he had started protesting when she had attempted to add a second layer, cheeks and nose contoured quickly before he was shoved from the seat and told to make himself busy elsewhere; just not in the tent.

He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and was astounded at the results.

Daehyun looked different. Not in a way that was overly dramatic or strange, but in the short period of five minutes, the woman inside the tent had transformed him into a ier version of himself.

It filled him with another shot of confidence, admiring his muscles and his newly ified body, before he was shoved from the back.

Youngjae had undergone a similar change, blonde hair tousled from the normally perfectly in place strands, and the pants accentuated the broadness of his shoulders.

They observed each other for a second, familiarizing themselves with the metamorphosis until a stage director, gripping a clipboard in his hands, ordered them to stage.

The bleachers weren’t as packed as they were opening night, the novelty dying down as the days passed, but it was still reasonably full and an audience of even fifty would be a large crowd for him. Their silks, a deep, scarlet red to match the circuses colours, extended from the ceiling all the way down to the sand, ends trailing across the ground. They fluttered a little, given the fact that the tent flaps were still held open, but Daehyun knew from experience that there would be no cool wind. The searing spotlights that followed the performers would counteract whatever draft may filter into the tent.

Youngjae stood at his side, shifting nervously.

“Hey,” Daehyun attempted to crack a joke to lessen the tension, “if one of us is going to fall flat on their face, it’s going to be me.”

A new voice broke in, “let’s hope neither of you fall. That would be quite embarrassing on your behalf.”

Daehyun and Youngjae bowed as Himchan stepped in behind them, already dressed for the night’s performance in black, red and white. He cut a striking figure, as always, and Daehyun couldn’t ignore the way that the elders stage lingered on his exposed skin. Normally, he would be skittish and quick to cover his stomach with arms around himself, but he was still running on a high and confidently met Himchan’s eyes, a suggestive smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

Himchan’s responding smirk promised trouble.

The elder was pushing his way through the curtains before any more words could be exchanged, though, and he heard the introduction that he could now recite from heart. It wasn’t long, maybe a minute or two, before he can dimly hear their names being announced and the curtains are jerked back to reveal them to the audience, who had directed their curious eyes towards them.

Daehyun’s feet move. Not by conscious choice, but muscle memory. He crossed the space, sand soft between his feet, and he can feel Youngjae doing the same. They pause as the music starts and, synchronized, flourish into a bow. There is a smattering of applause, but it dies down as the song starts in earnest.

They perform₁. It was not perfect, nor are they expected to be, but Daehyun thought that they did reasonably well. Their movements are more or less in synch and he hits each of his rebound drops, catches every silk, hit every beat. It was a fast pace routine and required attitude, the type that didn’t come naturally to him, but it didn’t matter.

He only really came back to reality when his feet touched the ground again and the last strains of music faded.

Applause. Everywhere he turned, hot and sweaty and flushed from the exertion of the performance, people clapped for them. By his side, Youngjae swept into another low bow and he copied it, left arm bent to his waist, right extended out the side and back as he bent, arcing up when he straightened again in a formal gymnast salute.

The return to the dark tent was slightly disorientating. Hands patted at his back and a bottle of water pressed into his hand, which he guzzled down. The empty was replaced with a towel and he dabbed at his forehead and chest. When he pulled it back, the terry was shiny from the cream that had been applied.

He was sent to another room, further away from the main tent, to get changed back into his regular clothing. Daehyun was told that he could keep the pants (no one really wanted a sweaty pair) and so he simply brought his tshirt, walking around bare chested and revelling in the stares he got from the patrons visiting the circus, some of which eyed him in interest.

Perhaps he was running high on adrenaline and ego because when Himchan appeared in front of him, halfway through his congratulations, Daehyun pulled him straight into a kiss. It was hot and rushed with no sort of skill in it, but he didn’t really care and Himchan didn’t either.

“God, Daehyun.” The elder mumbled as he shoved him backwards, into the waiting changing room, “if I had known that you would have done this after performing, I would have made you go up way sooner.”

He laughed at that, fingers curled into the lapels of the males waist jacket, smearing the carefully applied gloss on his lips.

“So, did you film my performance?” He asked coquettishly, opening his mouth when Himchan bit his bottom lip so that he could slip his tongue between his teeth.

“Yeah. You were great. And you didn’t fall flat on your face.”

Daehyun’s fingers were beginning to wander downward as he was pressed against the flimsy tent pole, the entire structure shaking above them as they tussled for dominance, and the elder had to trap his hands before they slipped into his pants.

“I still have to perform, Daehyun. No time for a quickie.” He pouted at that, drawing back a little to look at him. Himchan’s top hat was skew, shirt crumpled and red colour smeared across his thin lips.

“Later?” The hopeful tone in his voice had Himchan laughing again, pinching his side affectionately as he rushed to fix his appearance.

“Later. And before I go, I have a question for you.” A pause while the elder stuffed the hem of his shirt back into his pants, “do you want to join the circus? I know that you don’t have any ties here and it pays well and I mean, you have friends now, and it isn’t that bad of a job.”

Daehyun was momentarily stunned. A permanent spot in the circus team; a chance to perform every day, to belong to a community, albeit a travelling one, to earn a fair amount of money. It was everything that he had wanted.

“Yes, of course. I’d love to. I- I can’t believe that you’re going to let me join.” Himchan stepped closer, looking at him with the stare of amusement that he had come to expect.

“You don’t believe that I’d let someone like you go, did you? I mean, talents, personality, looks…and now that he’s also willing to become my victim…” Fingers pinched at his side and he squirmed, blushing a little in the darkness of the tiny tent. When he looked up again, a gentle kiss was placed on his lips and Himchan smiled, genuine and sweet.

“Welcome to Cirque des etoiles, Daehyun.”

okay first i never actually realized there was a button to create a line- 

second, guess what it's unedited but i guess you guys have come to expect that ill look at it tomorrow oops

third i REALLY REALLY REALLY NEED A BETA TO HELP ME PLS if you're interested message me on twitter or tumblr or here whatever please ill pay you with friendship and ill edit your stories too if you want 

ps this is himchan's tattoo