It wasn't where he'd originally seen himself in ten years.

Along the way somewhere he'd hoped to see some improvement, but with bow legs and near-sighted vision, there were a multitude of reasons Kang DaeSung had never become the best ballerino. For the duration of the holiday season, he'd been part of a company performing the customary 'Nutcracker' and his part, after being in the business for almost a decade, was that of an Arabian Dancer.

Not 'The', but one of several who shared his spotlight in the minute scene he had within the second act. DaeSung had continued his training, never any question before that this was what he was meant to do, but, lately, that assurance had waned. Every evening, after the final curtain in which he was meant to appear for the adulation of the lead dancers and nobody else, DaeSung had found himself sat at the bar of the closest night club. Sometimes he was clean faced and in his street clothes, other times he might still be in make-up or even half his costume underneath a bomber jacket if he snuck out before the curtain call and during intermission.

At the beginning of his career DaeSung hadn't drunk at all, by the five year mark he was only imbibing himself modestly, but now...he was drinking more than he ever had before and there was little question as to why.

Somewhere, his sugarplum visions of making the lead had stopped meaning as much. He'd abandoned the exercises and gimmicks meant to straighten his legs and figured it would be okay to make himself a name without the perfect body. Who cared that he was getting older in an industry that valued limber and youthful frames, that his hips were a little stiffer and that his work-out routine made him top the scales at a hundred and seven pounds of lean muscle, far larger than his contemporaries and enough to make a difference in his supposed to be graceful movement?

DaeSung was sick of it. Sick of the competitive nature, the restrictive dieting, the hours upon hours of perfecting his routine only to be betrayed by his body and helter-skelter centre of balance. If he could quit it all he would.

“Gin over ice.” It was below freezing outside but the bar made itself warm with the buzz of people and open fire. DaeSung only hoped he wouldn't have to hear any talk of how amazing the performance had been until he could drown it all out with heavy spirits.

“Brandy Alexander, please.” The tone of the man who had sidled up besides him was deep, a lilt of femininity to the low request that DaeSung could understand when he saw who had spoke it. He was probably a homoual.

DaeSung couldn't help that he associated the orientation with stereotypical actions since the only few he knew were the catty type from various troupes, not that he had any problems if he was. This man was dainty in a way, not in the way he was built but in the movements of his eyes and his posture. He wore a well tailored suit, a fur-trimmed coat over his arm and his hair styled within an inch of perfection.

“...feeling festive?”

He didn't know why he'd spoken up, he might have well just as easily stayed silent and waited for the other man to leave but DaeSung was already into his second glass and it lubricated the mind easier down to the lips.

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” He was rich, the exact type who was here because he'd just been to the ballet and DaeSung could feel it, “I-it's the nutmeg that makes it so much more like Christmas I think.”

It was his own fault he was being put into the position, the man was all on his own so a voice from a friendly stranger had been welcomed and he'd taken the high-backed seat next to DaeSung's.

“...Just came from the show?”

“Do you mean the ballet?” DaeSung nodded as the bartender returned with the stranger's drink, all softly colored and with a complimentary candy cane rested on the rim. It was the kind of cheer he had trouble accepting in his usual post performance mood, “I like that they do that here...” Even though he was saying it pleased him the other man removed the treat with the utmost care before placing it into the ashtray, “Did you go tonight?” It brought a smile to his face, a genuine smile though not without a hint of cruelly acquired induction. He'd been there tonight, and he had gone every night for the past two months. The only thing now in question was whether or not he would be going tomorrow...

“The second act was incredible, really magnificent, better than usual.” He spoke like a fanatic, legs crossed in the exact way DaeSung could expect as he took gentle sips from his decadent drink and fluttered his lengthy eyelashes in the low visibility of the atmospherically lighted room. How often did he attend in order to have come to this conclusion?, “I was in the box tonight, I think it gives you a much better view than in the pit, don't you think?” DaeSung had never had the pleasure, through all his training and practice he hadn't once considered watching what others had to offer and it was only just now dawning on him that perhaps this was where he could be lacking, “I could easily see my favorite part from so high up. Did you need to order another drink?”

It was a wonder he could stomach the lustre in which the stranger painted his profession, after the rut he'd gotten himself into, but DaeSung had managed another two or three glasses as he listened to the near prose of his experiences.

“The sets are just gorgeous, and so much more elaborate than last year.”

“How many times did you go then?” He hadn't been interrupting all too frequently, content to simply allow him his time but favored enough when he would stop and answer his gentle queries.

“...Once. I-I didn't like too much of what I saw last year...but this year something's kept me coming back.”

It was the lead, the Nutcracker Prince, it just had to be. DaeSung had picked him right out of the gate, this man was flaming, but of course he would have had his eye caught by their premier danseur.

“I always liked coffee so it feels somehow so apt.” Had he continued to talk? DaeSung hadn't noticed, perhaps a little too over-indulged for his own good but from the shy grin on the man's face across from him perhaps he had said something important.

“Coffee?”

“In the dance, the Arabian dance...I-I thought you were marvelous tonight.”

What had he missed in between this drink and the last? Wasn't this man meant to be attracted to the best? Attracted to perfection in all its forms and not to some clumsy ballet corps member who danced with a hangover.

“...Excuse me?”

“I didn't recognize you at first, I feel so foolish but it is you, isn't it? Kang DaeSung, you play the dancer on the left, well, my left.” He wasn't as drunk as normal but still he'd been struck dumb. Why would someone like this want to gush over him?

“I'm sorry, I-I've made you uncomfortable, I'll leave-”

“No, no, I...I-I guess I'm just not used to fans is all.” He wanted to take it in stride, to grin wildly and accept the praise but it just wasn't possible.

“So I did pick the right name, I-I tried the other two already and I was afraid I was going to have to resort to the fourth.”

“Tried?” What was he talking about?

“The stage doorman, oh, he's so sick of me already but he finally told me where you might be tonight and here you are.” It seemed he wasn't just basing his ramblings on a casual enthusiast's recognition, he was really hooked, “...I hope you don't mind.”

“Well...no, I-”

“Oh, let me pay for your drinks, here.” From starting off so demure he was fast traveling into the territory of a nervous date, was that what he thought this was?, “Please put these on my tab and I'll cut you a cheque at the end of the week. Choi SeungHyun.” DaeSung had heard that name before, a spark of sobriety going through his mind as he caught up with himself and turned to catch at the taller man's arm.

“You're Choi SeungHyun the critic?”

“...I shouldn't give myself away like that, should I?...” DaeSung couldn't believe it, he wasn't even a soloist, “I try not to say anything inflammatory but some people might still be sensitive if I don't speak about their technique favorably.”
“Have you written about me?” At some point once his tolerance for alcohol had strengthened DaeSung had given up on being subtle when he spoke. He hadn't heard any praise from his peers, not that they wouldn't more likely try to trip him up if he was given just one iota of flattery in the media.

“...I wouldn't know what to say...”

If he truly liked him so much as to come back every night, then why was he at such a loss for words?

“I-I don't want you to think I haven't tried, it's just...”

“...Yes?” His picture didn't even appear in the program, he could have been an apprentice for all the good his years of hard work had done and now, on the brink of finally having it pay off, what could possibly have been the cause of any delay?

“...I wanted to keep you all to myself.”

He should have wanted for another drink, he should have been disheveled at losing such prestige as to be gushed about in a local arts column but he wasn't. Instead, DaeSung felt himself smiling to the inference of what had just been admitted. This SeungHyun liked him, he wasn't in a major role, not even supporting, and still he'd managed to catch his eye, to keep him intrigued enough to ache for more, DaeSung didn't know that it would thrill him so much just to be wanted.

“I know dancers like to be praised-”

“I'm not a dancer anymore.”

It was as if the decision had been made for him. Just the excitement in SeungHyun's words as he'd spoken of watching the stage instead of being on it, he knew what it was he'd been lacking, what it was he'd sacrificed all these years and it wasn't the lead position.

“O-oh, has something happened?”

“Yes.” Bringing his hand up, DaeSung moved to hold onto the timid fingers that now cradled the half finished cocktail, “...I think I'd like to see things from a different perspective from now on.” He could see, even with his vision, the blush that crept down from his ears and up from his neck, yes, he'd pegged him perfectly. If only it had been so easy to do so with himself.

“...does that mean that I can't get a backstage pass?”