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He asked his mother once, long ago, what the mark of a good dancer was.
“Patience,” she’d said, “precision, form, grace. There are dozens of things that make a dancer good, Daichi, but–” She’d leaned in close, that rare smile curling in the corners of her mouth, “the right partner can make a good dancer spectacular.”
Daichi hasn’t forgotten the moment since, not once. It was emblazoned on his mind like a neon sign, flashing into awareness during every frustrating lesson, every argument with his dance partners, every lost competition. Even when he’d drifted away from the ballroom in high school, went to college, moved from home, he never forgot that moment. It sort of held up in any life situation, really; it just took a little bending to make it fit into Daichi’s professional life. But Daichi’s good at bending: bending rules, bending decisions, and especially bending to the wants of his mother.
Which is why, for the last two years, Daichi’s found himself standing tall next to her nearly every Wednesday evening as she began to teach a brand new group of unsuspecting individuals the rigors of ballroom dancing.
He doesn’t mind too much. Working all day, having dinner with his parents, and then helping his mother teach three or four hours’ worth of lessons makes Thursday mornings kind of rough, but he appreciates the chance to keep his skills sharp, now that he’s approaching 30 and no longer so desperate to shake off his mother’s reputation. And there’s something to be said for the joy of learning, of getting to see the students’ faces light up when they master a step.
At 6 o’clock on the dot, his mother unclasps her hands and settles into what Daichi refers to as sensei mode.
“Good evening, everyone. It is a delight to see so many young faces here eager to learn the beauty of ballroom dance. I won’t bore you with too many words, as we have a lot to cover in the next six weeks, but I’ll take the time to go over a few preliminary points. We’ll cover three dances in our classes, and by the time our six weeks is up, I’m confident you will have mastered the basic steps I am going to teach you.
“My son, Daichi, assists me. He’s been dancing since he could walk, and is quite an accomplished dancer. I don’t say that just because he’s my son.”
At this praise, Daichi rolls his eyes, catching a few of the charmed smiles on the faces of the students to match his mother’s.
“I see quite a few pairs in the room; for those of you without a partner, I ask that you pair up with someone. Daichi and I will be available to dance but we won’t be able to spend much time dancing with you. All right class, shall we start with waltz? Daichi, the music.”
“Now, waltz has some of the simplest steps in all of the ballroom dances, but it’s an extraordinarily beautiful dance once your body learns the moves.”
She reaches out for Daichi and he meets her frame in the middle of the dance floor. His mother wouldn’t have made it so far in her professional dance career if she didn’t enjoy the opportunity to perform, and her classes are no exception. She likes to take a moment to dazzle her class, not only to show off a little, but to give the students something to work towards. She wants flashy, so Daichi delivers. It’s nothing particularly complicated, just a waltz composed of drifting boxes, a couple of turns thrown in before he spins her to a bowing stop in front of the line of their students, but the practice beaten into both of their bodies makes it sensational. A few of the girls burst into applause and the whole class is overtaken in a bubble of enthusiastic energy.
Daichi has to rush over to pause the music as his mother wrangles the class back to attention.
“We’ll start with the box step,” his mother says. “Gentlemen, on this side please. Ladies, I’ll instruct you in a moment.”
Daichi stands to the side, watching as his mother directs the leaders through a basic box step. There seems to be a varying measure of experience in the class, from absolute beginners to those with a bit more experience. Daichi watches one of the students bend at the knees, drag the tip of his toe against the floor and pull his body into a refined lead, switching his body weight effortlessly and keeping his eyes solidly on Daichi’s mother. He’s not so jolting and unsure like most of the others, and Daichi recognizes the shape of those shoes. They’re the same brand of sneakers Daichi’s worn through two or three times as he practiced and practiced and practiced under his mother’s tutelage.
Someone with experience, then. Daichi smiles to himself and shifts his attention to the other students.
Class passes as usual; his mother instructs her students patiently through waltz basics, with and without partners. Daichi runs the music and steps in when his mother beckons, offering bits of advice and instruction to some of the students. By the time their hour is up, the students have a firm grasp on a box step and an underarm turn, and there are quite a few pleased smiles around the room.
“Daichi has handouts for you,” his mother says as the students begin to filter over to the chairs at one end of the ballroom. “This is a simple chart of the steps we’re going to cover and descriptions of each of the dances we’ll learn: waltz, tango, and cha-cha. Please take a moment to review it before our class next week.”
The students all file out with bright, beaming smiles for Daichi. He gets a cheeky grin from the student with the ballroom sneakers when Daichi hands him a sheet of paper, something that startles a quiet chuckle out of Daichi.
His mother sweeps up beside him as the last students file out of the ballroom, hand on his shoulder and pleased smile tucked into the corners of her mouth.
“Well done, Daichi,” she says, “I’ll be able to hand over the classes to you in no time.”
“Mom,” Daichi says, same indulgent smile on his face, “there’s no way I’m as good a teacher as you are.”
“Don’t doubt yourself, Daichi. You’re a natural at this. I’m grateful everyday that you’ve agreed to help me with these classes.”
“Mom, come on, don’t turn into a sap.”
“I’m not a sap, just admiring my son’s talents.”
He doesn’t have the chance to retort, as the next class begins to file in. His mother drifts away with that smile on her face, settling back into sensei mode and commanding the attention of her students. Daichi shakes his head and joins her.
Damn these stairs.
Damn one of the few ballroom studios in the area being on the third floor of a dumpy old building, forcing Daichi to run up the daunting stairwell on the rare occasions he’s late. He works out five days a week, dances for a few hours every week, too, but these damn stairs get the best of him every time.
When he finally drags his wheezing body up the last step, he kicks off his work shoes and jams his feet into his dance shoes. Not the most efficient action given that he has to actually lace them up, but whatever.
He slips into class as his mother begins to review last week’s lesson. She spares him a glance as he slides into place next to her but continues, unperturbed. Daichi takes a moment to look around at the faces in the room; everyone appears to be present, except for the exceptionally pretty girl from last week, the one that was dancing with–
“Sugawara-san,” his mother says. She arches an eyebrow at Daichi, and he realizes after a beat that the class will begin with a practice of the box step and underarm turn. He scrambles to start the music, only catching snippets of his mother’s conversation over the buzz of the class.
“I do hope she recovers soon. I’m happy to dance with you this week, you were doing quite well last week.”
“Actually, I’d like to follow.”
Daichi blinks once, twice. Presses ‘play.’ Looks up.
His mother is in conversation with the cheeky, experienced dancer from last week, looking rather stunned by his declaration. “Ah, well, that’s certainly fine,” she says with more finesse than her face shows. “Daichi. Will you dance the lead with Sugawara-san this week? His partner is sick, and he’d like to follow.”
Cheeky guy, this Sugawara, grins eagerly at Daichi, brimming with that same self-confident energy as last week.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Daichi says. He’s surprised, but it’s not like he can’t handle a lead. “We’ll start with review, shall we, Sugawara?”
“Just Suga is fine,” he says. He rolls his shoulders as Daichi spreads his arms, mirroring Daichi’s actions and accepting Daichi’s left hand. In all the instances that Daichi’s worked with beginners, the frame is usually a struggle to adjust to. Newbies are stiff, unsure of how to position their bodies efficiently, how to relax their shoulders, but Suga steps gracefully into Daichi’s hold, chest high, neck elongated, shoulders relaxed. Daichi can feel the press of Suga’s thumb and two fingers press warmly against his shoulder, a light touch that’s neither hesitant nor unyielding.
Daichi’s danced with other men a few times, in instances when partners were short, or one time when his close friend wanted to learn to follow, but Suga’s starting off as something exceptional. Daichi leads them through a few boxes, an underarm turn, and a few more boxes. He begins to drift a little, taking them on a gentle moving waltz around the other couples, and Suga doesn’t seem to bat an eye. He keeps his head stretched elegantly to Daichi’s right, his frame a perfect compliment to Daichi’s hold, and he doesn’t lose his footing once.
“You’ve done this before,” Daichi says as the music winds to an end. Suga smiles at him and shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.
“Once or twice,” he answers.
Daichi’s mother takes to the center of the room, praising her students and beginning to explain their next step. Daichi shifts in place next to Suga, who pays rapt attention to Daichi’s mother as she explains progressive steps, how to get the waltz actually moving across the dance floor, like he and Suga were just doing. When she calls for the gentlemen to line up behind her for their demonstration, Daichi dutifully joins their ranks. He can do every step and every variation of any step there is for the waltz in his sleep, but he’ll play along like a good sport. Plus, his mother likes to take the opportunity to draw the attention of her classes to her son, so if he tucks himself away with the beginners, she’s more likely to leave him alone.
Daichi does take the chance to assist a couple of the leaders in their footwork when he notices their confused faces, but otherwise waits for his mother to call for the couples to practice together. Suga slips quickly to Daichi’s front, smile teasing his mouth, accepting Daichi’s hand and leaning gracefully to his left. The music starts, and Daichi lets the beat wash over him for a moment, finding that rhythm in the depths of the song, allowing his feet to skim forward and take Suga on a spin around the floor.
“Once or twice, my ass,” Daichi murmurs as Suga follows him in near perfection. Suga’s gaze slides over to Daichi, but he doesn’t move his head. His seemingly ever-present smile quirks up at the corners.
“I started off following,” Suga tells him, “in the first ballroom class I ever took. There was an overabundance of leaders, so I volunteered to follow.”
“And how long ago was that?”
Suga gives a half-hearted shrug with one shoulder. Daichi feels the press of Suga’s hand on his shoulder a little more firmly. “Oh, a few years ago. I’ve been dancing on and off since then.”
“I can tell,” Daichi says. He shifts his weight and leads them through a progressive twinkle, which gets Suga’s smirk cracking into a bright smile. “I think you’re below your level here, Suga.”
“It’s just for fun. A few of my friends wanted to take the class but they didn’t want to go alone.”
“Noble,” Daichi says, teasing, “but now I know your secret, and now I’m going to see exactly what ‘once or twice’ means to you.”
Daichi’s danced with dozens of partners over the years, partners that pushed him to his limits, that matched his expertise or even excelled it, but the thrill he gets in leading Suga across the floor is unmatched. He stumbles a few times, but he keeps up, sometimes gripping Daichi’s shoulder for dear life, always smiling. He’s delighted by every turn, twist, and spin that Daichi leads him through, and Daichi finds himself helplessly charmed by Suga’s energy.
By the time Daichi realizes that they’re in class, his mother’s class, he’s led them both around the floor so many times they’re both panting, and his mother is stopping the music to dismiss her class.
“We’ll see you next week, everyone,” she calls out, “thank you. Wonderful work today.”
She glances at Daichi from the corner of her eye, one eyebrow raised, to which he sheepishly averts his gaze, pretending to take great interest in the students that are leaving. Suga departs with a smile and a wave; Daichi mirrors him. His mother seems quietly curious as to what she just witnessed unfolding in her class today, but the other students begin to enter the ballroom, distracting both her and Daichi back to teaching.
“Tango. It’s powerful, it’s sexy, it’s flashy. It’s not a difficult dance to learn, but mastering the steps and adding the right flair is what makes it tricky to perform. It’s one of my favorite dances, but most of the students I teach prefer to focus their energies on other dances. It’s a shame, because tango is one of the best ballroom dances to learn in order to really capture the essence of partnership. Tango is as much about each individual dancer as it is about the dance itself.
Leaders, if you’d line up behind me, we’ll go over the basic step.”
Daichi takes his place among the leaders, keeping an eye on the dancers as they follow his mother in their first few tentative steps of tango. His gaze keeps wandering over to Suga, bunched in one corner of the room with the followers, waiting for their instructions. Suga’s partner was out sick again, and Daichi had willfully tamped down the bubble of excitement that rose in him at the prospect of dancing with Suga again. His excitement has nothing to do with the tango. Nothing.
“My followers, behind me please. Your steps are the same as your leaders, but just the opposite. Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow. Back on your right, back on your left, back on your right for a quick step. Left foot goes to the left side for another quick step, and your right foot joins your left for the final slow. Let’s do it together, please.
Back on your right, back on your left, back on your right. Left foot to the side, right foot joins. Very good. Once more from the top. Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow. Yes, perfect. Excellent work, followers. Let’s try it with a partner.”
Daichi doesn’t particularly notice the way he jumps forward at the call for partners. Suga meets him halfway across the room, and Daichi gets a firm grip on his hand as he selects their spot in the line of dance.
“How much tango have you done?” he asks.
“Not enough,” Suga says. Even as the words leave Suga’s mouth, he’s settling into an advanced frame, hand to the back of Daichi’s shoulder, stomach brushing Daichi’s shirt, legs nearly straddling Daichi’s own. The closeness teases a little smirk out of Daichi. He sinks his hand a little lower on Suga’s back and puts more bend in his knees.
He lets Suga linger poised on the edge of motion for a few beats as the music kicks in. Daichi can nearly feel the energy roiling off of Suga’s body, and he can certainly feel every slight twitch when Suga’s mind clashes with his body in anticipation of moving. After a few more seconds of torture, Daichi begins.
Daichi had a partner once who described tango as a prowl across the dance floor, and her description has never left his mind, because that’s exactly what it is. In stark contrast to the other smooth dances, tango is about power. It’s a sexually-charged dance, with its intimate hold, bodies pressed tightly together, long, lunging, elegant steps. There’s no romance in a tango, only the battle of two strong wills fighting against each other in a dance around the floor.
Daichi tests the waters with Suga; the smile has dropped from his face, a careful frown across his forehead as he concentrates on the steps Daichi leads him through. Suga falters a few times and struggles to recover in time, but Daichi pulls him along with a firm frame and over-emphasized steps.
He tries a corté, but Suga lurches instead of looking elegantly over his shoulder. “Did you step in a pothole?” he asks in amusement. Suga breaks his form to look at Daichi in confusion and amusement. “Your body,” Daichi explains, “doesn’t go any lower than this in a corté, right?”
“Okay…”
“So when I step back,” Daichi demonstrates, “you step forward. Keep your weight split between both legs. Good. Now, stay level. Stay level!” Daichi dares to put a hand to the back of Suga’s neck, keeping his head in place as Suga bursts into laughter. “Stay right here. Now feel me; feel the way I turn my body, and let your body react to that.”
Suga shakes out his laughter as Daichi drops frame and repositions himself. He steps forward as Suga steps back, taking them through a few basics to slip back into rhythm. He sets up the corté again, and to his delight, Suga executes it beautifully.
“Perfect,” Daichi praises. He tries it again, and Suga delivers.
“It feels different,” Suga says, “like my hips are moving differently.”
“They’re moving correctly, that’s what you’re feeling. You want every step of tango to be a fight against me. Hesitate in your steps, like I’m pulling you along.”
Suga gives him a Look, one that Daichi finds himself unsure of how to interpret, but he definitely feels the results. There’s more resistance from Suga, more push against Daichi’s body, more equal participation. Suga’s head and shoulders snap beautifully when Daichi pulls them into a promenade, and he’s a bit lost in his own admiration before he realizes how close they’ve grown.
“That was very good, everyone,” his mother calls. Daichi drops frame and takes quite a large step away from Suga, chuckling breathlessly in an attempt to hide his nerves. Suga blinks a few times, but is distracted by Daichi’s mother as class winds to an end.
Daichi wipes his sweaty palms on his pants as he tries to breathe out the furious pounding of his frantic heart. The students begin to file out of the ballroom, and Daichi makes an effort to bid them all goodnight. All too soon Suga drifts into his sight, a nervous little smile looking all too lost on his mouth.
“Thank you for the dance,” Suga says quietly.
Daichi barely salvages his manners in time to bid Suga goodnight. “You were an excellent partner. It was my pleasure. Take care.”
Suga waves, bows slightly to Daichi's mother, and skips out of the ballroom. Daichi doesn't realize that he's actually sweating until the next class arrives.
Later, after Daichi stumbles home around 10, he does something he hasn't in a long time. The kitchen has the smoothest floors in his apartment, so he sets up shop in there, dance shoes back on, phone as loud as he can get away with before his neighbors complain. Dancing with Suga has rekindled a passion within him, and for the next two hours, Daichi brushes up on every dance step he can think of. By midnight, his shirt is soaked and sweat beads down his neck. A quick shower later and Daichi finds himself falling into bed, drifting into easy sleep and tumbling, twirling dreams.
The following Wednesday, Daichi scoots out of work a bit early, snags flowers for his mother, and shows up on his parents’ doorstep before 5pm.
“Daichi!” his mother says when she opens the door, “what are you doing here so early?”
“I left work early,” Daichi answers. “These are for you.”
The flowers, after much of his mother’s quiet appreciation, go into a vase in the center of the table. Daichi tries to pester his mother into letting him help her with dinner, but she kicks him out of the kitchen, so he has a beer with his father, pokes around the garden, and promises to come over some free weekend to patch up the roof on the shed in the backyard.
Dinner is, of course, delicious, made all the more tasty by Daichi’s own elation. He woke up earlier than usual that morning, but found himself overflowing with energy. He doesn’t exactly want to admit that he’s excited for dance class, but, he’s excited for dance class.
His dad good-naturedly takes on the dishes so Daichi can walk his mother to the studio. She’s lucky to have nabbed a suitable building so close to home; it makes it much easier for her to schedule private lessons for students with rigorous schedules. Daichi generally tends to enjoy the short walk to the studio as a warm up and the chance to clear his head from work stress in order to really focus on teaching, but tonight he’s keyed up, to the point where his mother notices.
“What’s the matter with you? she says, straight to the point as always.
“Nothing,” Daichi says quickly and a bit too loudly on the quiet street. “I slept good, I guess.”
“You slept good? And that’s the reason you haven't been able to sit still since you arrived at the house this evening?”
Daichi shrugs and doesn’t answer; his mother gives up in her staring after a few moments. Daichi, after all, learned his stubbornness from the best teacher, and if he truly doesn’t want to discuss something from her, she won’t wheedle it out of him.
He does take note to slow down, though.
They still have a few minutes before the students are due to arrive, so Daichi takes his time sweeping the floor, adjusting the heat, dusting the shelves. His mother keeps an eagle-eye on the studio, but the preliminary care that she and Daichi both put into its cleanliness before classes begin has become a sort of ritual by now, a reflective period to truly harness their energies towards dance.
Soon enough, the first couple trickles in, followed by another one, two, three students. The rising buzz of conversation within the ballroom only increase Daichi’s restlessness, until Suga walks through the door.
With the pretty girl from the first week of class.
All that energy that carried Daichi through the day turns stone cold at the bottom of his stomach. Suga smiles when he notices Daichi, and Daichi smiles back, taking a deep breath and letting out the strange sensation of disappointment that threatens to weigh him down.
“Welcome, everyone,” his mother calls out once the last of the students trickle through the door. “Let’s warm up with a short waltz to keep those steps fresh, and then spend time on our tango again.”
Daichi forgets about starting the music until his mother sends him a Look, proving just how out of it his mind had floated. But once he starts a waltz track, he forces the fluff and clouds out of his brain and focuses on the couples dancing hesitantly around the floor. For only two classes on waltz, the couples look pretty good. There’s hardly any fumbling or missed steps, and when they do tangle their feet, they just start over again. Daichi offers some encouragement to the couples who seem to be lagging behind and some critique to the couples who seem to have a firm grasp on the steps. By the time his mother turns the music off, Daichi’s coaxed two couples into adding more of the broad sweep of waltz into their steps.
“Let’s review our tango from last week,” his mother calls out. She holds out her hand, and Daichi takes three broad steps across the floor to join her. “Everyone watch Daichi and I for a moment. Leaders, you’re stepping forward on your left foot, then your right, your left. Right foot goes out to the side and your left foot closes the step. Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow. Let’s try that together.”
Going so slow and exaggerating his steps feels painfully stagnant to Daichi, but his mother has an iron grip on his frame, keeping him slow and steady so the rest of the class can follow along with them. “Again.” Dance through cement. “Let’s try again.” Careful. Enunciated.
“Very good, class. Let’s practice with music for a few minutes.”
There’s a certain way Daichi can just tune out when it comes to dance, letting his body take over when his mind is absent. It was a great trick for competitions.
He starts music for a tango and paces around the room in conjunction with his mother, and his mind just sort of floats off. He assists the couples that need it, but the class kind of drifts by without Daich completely tethered to it.
Sooner than he even realizes, class is over and the students are leaving. Suga catches his eye with a curious look on his face, but there are other students coming in, and Daichi allows himself to be pulled along with the distraction.
“No partner this week, Sugawara-san?”
Daichi turns his head slightly, interest piqued in the conversation he’s overhearing.
“Ah, no. She has too much going on at work.”
“That’s too bad. But you’ll probably get to dance with Daichi-san again, won’t you? I bet that’s fun. He’s so good.”
Daichi doesn’t get to hear the rest; it’s swallowed up in the buzz of other conversations among the students in the ballroom. He finds the waltz music he was looking for and preps it for the waltz practice his mother will inevitably call for as soon as the clock hits 6.
“Let’s practice our waltz steps, everyone, and then tango.”
Right on time.
Daichi squares his shoulders and presses ‘play’ on the stereo. He turns around and seeks out Suga among the students, offering him a cordial hand and a cordial, if restrained, smile. Suga dips his head slightly and meets Daichi’s stiff frame.
Daichi leads a modest waltz, slow and sweeping around the dance floor. He keeps his eyes carefully forward, paying extra attention to navigating the floor. Nothing spectacular, but smoothly executed, appropriate for a beginner’s level class.
His mother nods her approval at the class and starts a tango. Daichi’s never danced an emotionless dance in his life, but during competitions he developed this trick of detaching himself from his nerves and letting his body do the work. He employs the same trick now, willing himself to overcome the swell of disappointment that still lingers from watching Suga dance with his pretty partner last week. The tango is executed perfectly, but it’s somehow even more subdued than the waltz.
A touch of a frown passes over Suga’s forehead when the music ends, but it’s soon replaced by his rapt attention as his mother launches into the basics of cha-cha.
“Cha-cha is the only rhythm dance we’ll be covering in our last two classes, but it’s certainly one of the most energetic. The key to cha-cha is taking small steps, so you’ll have to switch your minds away from the sweeping steps of waltz and the lunging steps of tango. When Daichi was competing, he won several awards for cha-cha, so it’s a favorite in our family.”
Daichi can feel his ears going hot, but his mother is shameless, only smiling beatifically in his direction.
“And now that I’ve embarrassed my son, maybe he’ll show off a little for you all and demonstrate some of the choreography he and I came up with over the years.”
Daichi’s a little stiff, mechanical, as he takes his time selecting a track. His mother betrays no hint of shame or sorrow for putting him in the spotlight like she did; she’s only too willing to make sure everyone is aware of her son’s accomplishments. But, as stubborn and shameless as his mother is, Daichi can’t begrudge her. After all, he learned from the best.
Well, if it’s a show she wants, then that’s what she’ll get.
Daichi barely waits until his mother has joined his frame before he starts moving them. Cha-cha is fast-paced, and his mother wasn’t exaggerating. Daichi had gone through several dance partners over the years, won and lost hundreds of competitions, but he rarely lost when he was challenged with cha-cha, perhaps because the dance was one of his favorites. He loves the energy to it, the potential for complicated footwork, the chance for a leader and a follower to show off at the same time.
That’s what he pours into the cha-cha with his mother. He lets those feelings of happiness flood over him like when he was a teenager, just figuring out a new step and executing it perfectly, his mother there every step of the way to encourage him, to keep his chin up when he was down.
By the time the song ends, and Daichi spins his mother out like a top, he can feel sweat beginning to prickle along the hollow dip of his spine, and his mother is heaving in breath after breath, trying to compose herself in front of the class. No need; as soon as they finish, the students burst into applause and cheers, each one of them grinning at the display they just witnessed. Daichi can’t help but grin back, even as his mother clutches his arm in order to steady herself.
“We won’t,” his mother says between deep breaths, “get that technical. Cha-cha basics are simple but easy to dress up, as you just saw. Let’s start with the leader’s steps. Behind me, please.”
Daichi lines up with the other obedient leaders, his heart still hammering in his chest. He hasn’t danced like that in years, and now that he has, the flood gates are starting to creak open. He’s itching to do more than a basic over and over with the other leaders, his pulse thrumming in his eardrums, his sour mood from the past couple of weeks slowly beginning to lift.
He can even bear to look at Suga as Suga joins in with the other followers and reviews the basic steps of cha-cha, that heavy pit of disappointment in Daichi’s stomach beginning to dissipate.
“Alright, class,” his mother calls, “let’s give it a try with a partner. Leaders, follow my count. Break step onto your left, weight back on your right, cha-cha-cha, break step, back on your right, weight back on your left foot, cha-cha-cha, break step left.”
They go through the steps a few more times; the ballroom is filled with the sound of feet stomping on the floor until his mother deems the class ready to set the steps to music.
“I’m going to start the music,” his mother says, “and I’m going to ask each couple to try to find the beat on their own. If anyone needs assistance, I’ll make my way around the room and see how everyone is doing.”
The punchy, heavy beat of a cha-cha track starts up. Maybe Daichi’s affinity for the dance came from childhood, similar music crowding the memories of his mother’s family home. Maybe the energy, the breathless pounding of his heart is what draws him. Whatever it is, Daichi draws Suga to his frame as his head bobs along to the beat, excitement beginning to bubble up within him.
“How much cha-cha do you know?” Daichi asks. Suga smiles a smile that tells Daichi all he needs to know.
They start off modestly enough, following the beat with simple basics. Then he adds in a few side basics, a crossover break, a progressive basic. Suga keeps up with all of the moves Daichi throws at him with that same, dizzying smile on his face. When Daichi leads him into a tight turn and pulls Suga close, all of a sudden, Suga is very apparently in his space. Daichi can feel the puff of breath against the side of his neck as Suga breathes hard in his quest to keep up with Daichi’s movements, can feel the damp press of Suga’s shirt under his palm.
The song winds down to its end. Daichi sends Suga out on a back spot turn as they both come to a stop. Suga looks at him with wide eyes, his chest heaving and his cheeks starting to turn pink with exertion. There’s no teasing smile, no muttered comment under his breath, just his big brown eyes and Daichi’s heart hammering between his ribs.
“Looking good, everyone,” Daichi’s mother calls. “Now, let’s try adding a simple turn to your basics.”
Daichi shakes his head to clear the butterflies that his mind has turned into. He drops Suga’s hand and shakes out his shoulders, falling into place with the other leaders.
“Let’s practice our waltz, and then tango. We’ll warm up our cha-cha after that.”
Daichi takes a subtle look around the ballroom, but Suga isn’t anywhere to be seen. His pretty partner isn’t here, either, and Daichi’s mother didn’t inform him of any absences. So, Daichi stands around, playing songs when his mother calls for them, offers tips and improvements to the dancers, and tries not to visibly sulk. Daichi was looking forward to the sixth week of the beginner’s dance class a little too eagerly ever since last week. He felt like he finally conquered whatever weird disappointment had settled in when he danced with Suga again (even if that woke up an entirely new batch of feelings) and now Suga’s either running late or not coming.
Class drifts by with Daichi’s mind half-present; before he knows it, the class is departing.
Daichi shakes himself out of his fog. His mother’s surrounded by a handful of couples, so Daichi takes the opportunity to run outside for a breath of fresh air.
The ballroom gets warm throughout the course of lessons, even with the crisp chill of autumn in the air. Daichi shivers when he steps outside in his street shoes, but the cool air does wonders for his head. There are a few people walking along the sidewalks, either going to or from dinner, or leaving work for the day, but one of them, bundled up on a bench just a few store fronts down, looks familiar. Daichi squints in the dim evening light, positive he recognizes that dusty blond hair.
“Suga?” he calls. The figure looks at him abruptly, and now Daichi’s sure.
“What are you doing here, Suga?” Daichi asks, walking towards the bench as Suga scrambles to stand. “I didn’t see you in class.”
“Ah, I’ve caught a cold,” and Daichi can tell when Suga talks; there’s a heaviness to his voice, something thick and cloying caught in the back of his throat.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Daichi says, “but what are you doing here? You should be resting if you’re sick.”
“I watched your videos,” Suga blurts out. It hangs in the air between them, echoing down the darkening sidewalk. Daichi’s mouth clicks closed, unsure of this strange turn the conversation has taken. “Your competition videos, I mean,” Suga clarifies. “I happened to find them on YouTube, and I watched a few of them.”
“Ah, heh, pretty sure my mom’s the one behind those landing online. I’m a little embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
There’s a heartbeat shared between them, Daichi holding his breath as Suga holds his gaze. Daichi’s dealt with his share of compliments and earnest praise over the years, but this feels poignantly different, like it’s coming from a completely different frame of mind.
“Um. Thanks.”
“Sorry, that’s– I’m sorry. That’s super awkward, oh my god. I’ve taken so many cold meds in the past few days.”
“Suga, you didn’t drive here, did you? I’m a little concerned–”
“Do you have a partner?”
Daichi blinks, then blinks again. Suga buries his face in his hands.
“Like...a dance partner?” Daichi asks slowly.
“I’m trying to ask you out,” Suga says, muffled in his hands. “I don’t even know if you like guys, god. I’m sorry, honestly, these cold meds are doing a number on me.”
“Wait, are you serious?” Daichi asks in disbelief.
“Yes, I’m on cold medicine and antibiotics–”
“No, I mean. You’re asking me out?”
Suga lifts his face from his hands, something unsure painted across his features. Daichi feels something hot bloom across his face.
“Is that why you came out here?”
Suga nods.
“But– but– what about that girl you were dancing with at the first class?”
“What about her?” Suga asks.
“Is she...not your...partner?”
“No,” comes Suga’s emphatic reply, followed by a sniffle. “She’s been a friend of mine for a long time and agreed to come to class with me to check it out. Wasn’t really for her, though.”
Daichi stands there while Suga squirms from left to right, not really meeting his gaze. He sniffles again and breathes out a puff of cold air.
“Look,” Suga says, breaking the silence, “just forget I asked. I’m embarrassed, you’re embarrassed. I’ll just go. Sorry I missed the last class.”
Suga turns to leave, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. This motion away is what stirs Daichi into motion, this unwillingness to watch Suga walk away, not when there’s a chance to get to know him better.
“I don’t,” Daichi says. Suga stops and looks over his shoulder. Daichi wrinkles his nose at his own vagueness. “I don’t have a partner. In dance, or, ah, life.” Daichi clears his throat.
“Do you want to get a drink or something?” Daichi asks. Suga finally cracks a smile, and then promptly launches into a coughing fit. Daichi steps forward and puts a hesitant hand on his shoulder.
“Maybe when you’re feeling well,” Daichi says. Suga nods his head and wipes his watering eyes. When they exchange phone numbers and Suga assures Daichi that he’ll call when he’s feeling better, Daichi watches Suga go, walking down the sidewalk towards the bus stop. He takes another look at his phone when it buzzes in his hand, a text from Suga that makes him smile. The smile soon drops when he catches the time, but as he’s running up the stairs back to the ballroom, he feels like he’s walking on air, elated in a way he hasn’t been in years.