"Alfred, mon ami, did you hear the news?" Francis exclaimed, seemingly popping out of nowhere and into the practically empty studio. Alfred jumped at the sound of his voice, gangly limbs shooting out as he fell off the side of the chair he had been half-perched on.

"Shit, Francis, a little warning next time?" Alfred sighed as he sat up, dusting off his black shorts. "I was trying to put on my shoes, dude." He gestured towards the one shoe currently on his left foot, the scuffed black leather setting neatly atop two worn silver plates, before suddenly realizing that the other had flown halfway across the room in his moment of distress.

"Ah yes, and it is necessary for you to lean completely out of your chair to do so?" He asked bemusedly, picking up the tap shoe that had landed by the door and carrying it over to the young dancer still sitting on the smooth wooden planks of the dance room. "This is not the point. What matters is the recent announcement made by Elizaveta."

This caught Alfred's attention, and he hurriedly stood up, completely forgetting about his second shoe. "Dude, what? There's been an announcement?" While Francis wasn't always the most reliable source, when it came to the Hédeváry School of Dance he took everything seriously. If he said there was big news, then it was absolutely something he had to know about.

Francis's eyes twinkled with mischievousness, and he crossed his arms. "What will you do for me in exchange for the information, mon cher?" This undoubtedly flirtatious statement was accompanied by a wink, just in case Alfred was oblivious enough to miss the sexual connotations.

Alfred rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as well, mimicking the young man in front of him. "Yeah, right, dude. You can't fool me. I know you've got the hots for my brother." Francis had been, for the lack of a better word, pining after Matthew since Alfred and his brother had joined the studio (not that Matthew had noticed – and they said that Alfred was the oblivious one).

Francis gasped, loudly and ostentatiously, placing one hand daintily over his heart. "I would never! Why do you assume I was referring to myself, mon ami?" Alfred raised one eyebrow, doubt written all over his expression, and Francis shrugged. "Alright, while I do admit I enjoy a good tryst, I would never even think to put myself in the path of true love!"

Alfred groaned and sat back down to lace up his other shoe, preparing himself for the long and oft-given speech. "Alfred, just ask him on one date. Take him to your beloved McDonalds, I don't care, just do something already! You're driving me insane!"

Alfred looked away, pretending to examine his taps for any dents as he sighed. "Look, Francis, we've been over this. I just can't, alright? It wouldn't work." Francis threw his hands up in the air, muttering angry French under his breath.

"And we have also been over this. I don't care how many times you deny it, Arthur likes you, much more than either of you are willing to admit!" Francis begged, hands held out in desperation.

And therein lied the problem. Of all the people in the dance studio, hell, of all the people in the world, Alfred found himself with a huge, overwhelming, and irrational crush on one Arthur Kirkland. While Alfred preferred the upbeat tempo and complicated foot work of tap dancing, Arthur was the perfect picture of a ballet dancer. Straight-laced, straight-backed, and classically graceful, he was an absolute dream to watch dance. Alfred used sneak in to the back of his practices just to watch him as he twirled about the room, almost like he was floating on air. It was, Alfred thought, one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever seen.

Arthur himself, however, was a little different. His personality seemed to be grumpy and hostile in general, regardless of who he was talking to. It certainly didn't help Alfred's case that he was a tap dancer, something he had heard the other man refer to many times as an 'uncooth and unrefined form of dance that wasn't fit to be included in the fine arts'. Then again, all of that might have been overlooked if it wasn't for Alfred himself.

Alfred knew he wasn't the most poetic of speakers, but it had been a new low when he had finally worked up the nerve to tell Arthur how much he admired his dancing and could only come up with "You dance like an old lady" (by which he of course meant someone who had been classically trained their whole life, not that he got that message across). From that day on, Arthur seemed to make it his personal mission to hate anything and everything that had to do with Alfred F. Jones, which made him the worst person in the world for Alfred to fall head-over-heels for.

And it was this same crush that Francis had deemed to be his soulmate approximately seven months prior. Alfred, hopeless romantic and idealist that he was, wanted so hard to believe that was true, but when a man only referred to you by either your last name or a host of British insults, it was time to give up the ghost. There was only so much he could do.

Francis sighed once more, sinking down into the chair next to Alfred. "Mon ami, you know as well as I that I have not been wrong about love yet. If you only listened, you would be so much happier. Both of you." He ran a hand through his blond locks before letting out a breath and turning towards Alfred with a smile. "But this is not what I came here for. I came here to tell you the news that Elizaveta has decided we are performing the grand pas de deux from the Nutcracker in our next recital!"

Alfred stared at him for a moment, face blank. "The what?" He asked, voice monotone.

Francis sighed over-dramatically, leaning back in the chair. "The pas de deux. The ultimate dance of love, where the ballerina performs nearly impossible feats because her partner is there to aid her. He holds and supports her, both gentle and strong. It truly is a dance that personifies love itself. Mon Dieu, my heart swells just thinking about it!"

Alfred rolled his eyes at his antics before turning towards Francis in confusion. "Wait, but that's ballet. What does this have to do with me?"

At this, Francis's face lit up with mischievousness once more. "Well you see, mon cher, there is only one dancer at this studio advanced enough to dance en pointe as rigorously as the pas de deux demands. Unfortunately," He continued with a grin that that said it most certainly was not unfortunate, "He is also the only male in the ballet program. So Elizaveta has to choose another dancer, someone with enough grace to perform the steps but also with enough strength to lift Arthur in the air."

Alfred looked at him as if he were crazy. "Sounds great, dude. Still not entirely sure what this has to do with me, but that's…" He waved his hands around as if to convey his bewilderment, "Nice?"

Francis glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a smug grin plain on his face. "Alfred, didn't you used to take ballet at your old studio, before you moved here?"

Alfred shrugged. "Well, yeah, I guess I did. I was pretty good at it too, but I figured I'd try something new when we moved…"His voice trailed off as he seemed to realize what Francis was getting at, "Wait. You can't seriously be suggesting that I should do it?"

Francis just kept staring at him with that look on his face. "Dude, no. I'm not gonna do the 'ultimate dance of love' or whatever with Arthur, okay? That's so not cool."

In response, Francis only hummed and looked away, smirking all the while. Alfred scrambled for words, trying to be as stern as possible. "I'm not kidding, bro! That seriously crosses a line! I'm not going to do it, and there's nothing you can say that can make me! I'm the hero, and heroes don't just give in when people say they have to do something!"

As he dug through his dance bag for his old ballet slippers, Alfred cursed Francis, Elizaveta, and then Francis again for good measure. It seemed that while Alfred was in tap class, Francis had volunteered him for the position, and Elizaveta suddenly decided that he was the only one for the job (although personally, he thought she seemed a little too excited about this development).

To be honest, Alfred was pretty nervous, not that he'd ever admit it. Having to spend two hours a week with a crush was rough, but when they also considered you to be their enemy it was downright impossible. He wasn't sure how he was going to make it through until the recital.

As he continued down this line of thought, the door to the room opened and in walked Arthur himself. Alfred wanted to mutter 'speak of the devil', but considering that he wasn't speaking it seemed like a bad idea, not to mention the fact that it would probably put him on worse grounds with the man than he already was. Instead, he opted to keep his mouth shut and continue searching through the bag until he found the black canvas shoes.

When he finished shoving the almost-too-small slippers onto his feet, he stood up, but was nearly knocked back down at the sight that awaited him. Somehow in the time it had taken him to simply find his shoes, Arthur had managed to put on and lace up his, and was already warming up at the barre. That fact wasn't what stopped him though. No, Alfred was stopped by the simple sight of Arthur. It had probably been close to a year since Alfred had been able to sneak in and watch him dance, and now even observing him warming up, body draped gracefully across the barre, took his breath away.

Alfred was so caught up in starting that he completely missed it when Arthur turned around and glared at him. "Well, are you going to warm up or just stand there like an idiot?"

Alfred could feel his face warm, but he ignored it in favor of crossing his arms and huffing a little, putting on a show of annoyance. "Look, it's not like I want to be here either, okay? We're gonna be stuck together for a while, so the least we can do is be civil."

Arthur let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "Please. The least you can do is be civil. I, however, have been stuck with not only a complete and utter imbecile for a dance partner, but one that doesn't even know how to do ballet! I think I have the right to be whatever I like towards you."

As Arthur turned back towards the barre, Alfred was completely prepared to resume their usual mutual glares and insults, but something stopped him. He reached out towards Arthur, grasping his arm and pulling him back towards the center of the room.

"What do you think you're-" Arthur began.

"Arthur, I'm fed up with this, okay? I'm sick and tired of us arguing all the time. And you know what? It doesn't matter if you like me or not, because for this dance you're sure as hell gonna have to act like you do, so you might as well give up this stupid attitude now!" Arthur simply stood there, a little taken aback. "I don't know what the hell I did to make you hate me so much, but you're gonna have to put it aside. At least until the recital is over, can you at least do that?"

The room was silent for a moment, Alfred feeling a little guilty as Arthur turned his head away, looking anywhere but at him. As he opened his mouth to apologize, however, there came a murmur from Arthur.

Alfred stared at him, eyebrows furrowed. "What was that?"

Arthur shuffled around, gaze now fixed on the line of chairs in the back of the room and a very faint blush on his cheeks. "I don't hate you."

Now it was Alfred's turn to be surprised, his own face flushing at the unexpected words. "Oh." He blurted out, "Well, you know, I don't hate you either. I mean, it probably seemed like I did just now because I was yelling at you and stuff but that was mostly just because I was frustrated but now I feel really bad that I did that and wow yeah sorry dude but yeah I don't hate you, I don't think I could ever hate you and-"

Alfred's rambling was cut off by an uncharacteristic laugh coming from the other man, and he stared at him with an emotion akin to amazement. "I suppose we could be civil, just until after the recital." He agreed.

Alfred beamed with excitement, his face lighting up like the Fourth of July. "Great! So we're friends!" He held out his hand towards Arthur, who promptly ignored it in favor of the barre.

"I most certainly did not say that."

The first practice was spent re-teaching Alfred what he had lost in the year and a half he'd been there. While he wasn't as used to the graceful motions anymore, Arthur having to correct his arm positioning many a time, there was no question that he was an adept dancer. Alfred's ego was inflated every time Arthur raised an eyebrow in admiration, or muttered "Good" or "Nice work" under his breath.

The second practice, however, was an awkward mess. Elizaveta had skipped the first practice just to allow them to go over technique while she 'did some other stuff' (judging by the look on her face, Alfred really didn't want to know), but since she was back it was time to start in on the choreography. Alfred had looked up a few videos of the dance online and was absolutely sure that he could perform the dance with ease.

That notion was dashed the moment he realized that he had to hold Arthur's hand. He mentally berated himself for not coming to that conclusion earlier, but the idea had really just not occurred to him. He didn't even have any time to prepare himself, seeing as they had to be holding hands before the music even started, standing side by side in fifth position.

Alfred steeled himself, telling himself that he was just dancing with a partner and not experiencing skin-on-skin contact with the guy that he dreamed about at night. He grasped Arthur's hand gently, hoping that he wouldn't notice the blush beginning to form on his face. Once he got used to the feeling of Arthur's hand in his own, soft and somehow comforting as they learned the beginning steps of the dance, he was sure he could conquer the rest of the dance, no problem. He didn't even flinch when Arthur laid his hand on his shoulder so that Alfred could spin him around like a music box dancer. Unfortunately, there was something he didn't take into account.

"Alfred F. Jones, we are 30 seconds into a 5 minute long dance, and if you don't get over here and put your hands on my hips I will personally castrate you." Arthur barked towards the corner where Alfred was taking an unusually long water break.

He put down his water bottle and swallowed, his suddenly dry mouth begging him to reverse he action. It wasn't that he didn't want to hold Arthur – who knew how many times he'd dreamed of even having the chance – but now that the opportunity had come, the thought of his hands on those slender hips seemed oddly intimidating.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming, geez." He breathed out, trying to remain as casual as possible as he stepped back up to the center of the room, mere inches from Arthur.

"Okay, Alfred," Began Elizaveta, "So as Arthur comes out of the attitude into the pirouette I need you to keep your hands around his waist – not too tight, make sure he can still spin – and hold a little stronger when he leans back towards the audience, give him the support that he needs."

At this point, Alfred was thoroughly embarrassed, his body pressed against Arthur's as he practiced the motions, Elizaveta giving him small tips along the way. He nearly cried in relief when the dance finally allowed them to separate, but then they had to repeat the same steps again and he inwardly sighed in misery.

The rest of the dance wasn't much better, in his opinion. Certainly, it was heavenly to touch his hands and waist and occasionally thighs, but the sheer awkwardness of the situation made it simultaneously the best and worst dance he had ever done. At the very least though, Francis was right. He really didn't have to do much except look graceful and hold Arthur.

Then again, he did get to spend time with Arthur. Granted, most of it was rigorous work, as dancing was wont to be, but there were still those moments, before and after class, where they just talked. Sometimes about dance, sometimes about life, and sometimes about nothing at all, and it was in those moments that Alfred thought that maybe his crush wasn't so much of a crush anymore.

The night of the recital, things were hectic for most everyone but Alfred and Arthur. Because of the importance of their duet, their other dances had been placed first in the show, and so they were left with nothing to do but sit in their costumes for nearly two hours. For Alfred that wasn't much of an issue, but Arthur kept fidgeting and moving around, trying to reach a comfortable position as Alfred watched on in badly-hidden laughter.

"Oh belt up, git." Arthur exclaimed, causing Alfred's small giggles to break out into full-blown laughter. "I know that I have the more traditionally feminine part, and heavens knows there aren't many men en pointe, but I just don't see why this was necessary!"

Arthur crossed his arms and huffed, causing Alfred to laugh even harder. He was dressed as a true ballerina, with a full tutu, beaded bodice, white tights, and red-painted lips, and it was one of the strangest sights he had ever seen. That wasn't to say that he looked bad – in fact, Alfred thought he was overwhelmingly beautiful like this, but he preferred to think on the oddity of a scowling ballerina rather than how stunning the man looked at that moment. This was a tactic of professionalism – if he thought about how beautiful Arthur was, then it was only a step or two until he was thinking about his recently-realized love for the man, and that would totally ruin his concentration.

Then suddenly, it was their call time and they were rushing down the hallway, shoes in hand. Everything seemed to pass in a blur as Arthur laced up his shoes and Alfred slid his on, making final adjustments to each other's hair and outfits before they were shoved out on stage.

The lights were dim as Alfred, for the final time, took Arthur's hand. He could feel a slight tremor running through the man, and gave him a small, reassuring smile before the lights went up. As the music started, their footfalls corresponding to the lull of the harp, he squeezed his hand and was surprised when Arthur pressed their fingers closer together in kind.

The emptiness of the stage should have been unsettling compared to his usual style of dance, but it wasn't. Instead of the loud crash of taps upon the floor, it was just him and Arthur, spinning and circling each other in what seemed to him as an air of magic. The lights, the music, everything seemed to caress them, and Alfred let himself get lost in the feeling.

That night, Alfred danced like he had never danced before. His entire body appeared to move in tandem with Arthur's, grace shining through his every step. It was something that he had to do, he had realized. This dance was something that Arthur had worked for, had poured his blood, sweat, and tears into, and Alfred simply couldn't let him down. He had to be the partner that Arthur deserved to dance with.

And as they danced, Arthur looked at him, every glance filled with pride, excitement, and – Alfred thought with a start – happiness. Arthur was happy, truly happy, dancing up on stage with him, and this only fueled Alfred's dancing, enticing him into pouring all his own happiness, exhilaration, and love into his every movement.

Then Arthur was jumping, and Alfred was lifting him into the air, pressing him close and holding him safe and secure in his arms as he spun him and dipped him towards the ground. The music swelled and seemed to burst with all the power and force and desperation of love, and Alfred suddenly understood why people liked classical music.

The applause immediately afterwards was immense, and they even received a standing ovation (though he knew it was all for Arthur – with the way he had danced, he deserved it). The curtains drew to a close and they breathed in the dark, a sort of quiet exhilaration surrounding them as they stared at each other. The roar of the crowd could still be heard, though more muffled than before, and in the relative quiet of the empty stage he could hear Arthur whisper, voice filled with wonder, "We did it."

Then Arthur's eyes locked with his, and a smile, the biggest he had ever seen on his face, broke out, and he repeated in a louder tone, "We did it!" In an instant, Arthur's hands were cupping his face and his lips were on his, Alfred barely having time to register the sudden kiss before he pulled back, a look of shock on his face. "I…have to go." He whispered before running off the stage, leaving Alfred to confusedly touch his fingers to his lips.

By the time Alfred realized what had happened, it was too late. He was sure that Arthur had gone back to the dressing room, but the previously empty hallway was now filled with dancers, parents, and various other well-wishers. Every time he tried to take a step, he was met with a compliment on his dancing, which he tried to receive politely without seeming like all he wanted to do at the moment was sprint down the hallway and run over anyone in his path (which, of course, was exactly what he wanted to do). By the time he made it to the dressing room, Arthur was gone, his outfit already hanging neatly on the rack. His car keys, however, Alfred noticed with interest, were still there. He must have left them by accident in his hurry, he rationalized, and in a sudden bout of deviousness he slipped them into his coat pocket before beginning to change his own clothes.

When Arthur finally returned to the dressing room in a panic, the hallways had long been clear and most of the doors locked. Alfred sat outside the door, head leaning against the wood, as Arthur rounded the corner and abruptly stopped. "Oh," he exhaled, "You're still here."

Alfred stood up, brushing off various sequins and glitter that had accumulated on his jeans from sitting on the floor. "We need to talk." He retorted, voice as commanding as he could make it.

"Yes, well," Arthur squirmed, trying to work his way out of the situation, "I've got a bit of an emergency right now so if you'd just excuse me…" He trailed off, attempting to move Alfred out from in front of the door without actually making physical contact, before Alfred pulled the keys out of his pocket.

Arthur's eyes widened in shock and fury as he reached out for his keys, "You took them-!"

"I found them." He was cut off by Alfred, who swiftly pocketed the keys again. "We need to talk." He repeated.

Arthur crossed his arms and upturned his nose in a fit of petulance. "What is there to talk about?" He questioned.

Alfred stared at him in disbelief. "You kissed me." He pointed out.

"Yes, and?" Arthur huffed, "It was an impulse in the excitement. If it wasn't you it would have been someone else, and it meant nothing. Now may I please have my keys?"

Alfred could almost feel his heart shatter in his chest. After all the excitement of that night, and then the kiss – well, he had assumed things. He had let himself get carried away with his hope, and forgot to remember that this was Arthur – Arthur Kirkland, whose favorite pastime was insulting him. Even so, he couldn't seem to utter out anything but, "It meant nothing?"

"Yes, absolutely nothing." Arthur affirmed, before seeming to realize something and turning back towards Alfred. "Did you…want it to mean something?"

Alfred scoffed in an effort to preserve what little pride he had left. "What? Dude, of course not. I just wanted to make sure that you didn't have the hots for me or something because that would have been weird." He let out an awkward laugh.

Arthur stared at him for a moment before declaring, "You're a terrible liar."

Alfred's shoulders slumped and he reached into his pocket for his keys, "You don't have to rub it in." he muttered before depositing them in Arthur's hand and turning to walk away.

Arthur seemed to struggle with something for a moment before shouting, "Alfred, wait!" When Alfred turned towards him, he licked his lips and proceeded to word vomit.

"Oh shit, I've really buggered this one up haven't I?" He groaned, "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but that was a lie."

Alfred stared at him in confusion, and Arthur flushed. "The kiss." He explained, "It didn't mean nothing. In fact, it probably meant something. Something like I've had the biggest crush on you since I noticed you sneaking in to watch me dance and then immediately panicked because I've never felt this strongly about someone before and then right when I'd decided to stop lying to both myself and you I go and muck it all up again by trying to convince you that I don't lo – feel very strongly about you."

At this point Alfred had returned back to the dressing room door, shit-eating grin on his face. "Well, what a coincidence. I've only had the biggest crush on you since I joined this studio. And, wouldn't you know it, I also feel very strongly about you." His grin widened even more, and might have been considering mocking if there wasn't so much blissful happiness in it, "In fact, you might even say that I love you, if you're into that sortof thing."

Arthur attempted to look indignant, but he couldn't help the smile from slipping onto his face as he stated, "You, Alfred F. Jones, are a prat." He turned away and began walking down the hall, stopping only briefly to call over his shoulder, "Heavens knows how I fell in love with you."

Alfred paused for a moment to fist pump in victory where Arthur couldn't see before running to catch up with him. And, as the man he loved looked up at him with a shy smile and gently tucked his hand into his, he silently thanked Tchaikovsky for composing something people could fall in love to.

Well that is the least likely thing to ever happen and I don't care. I just felt the sudden need to combine these dorks and my favorite dance ever and somehow that ended up as this.

The grand pas de deux from the Nutcracker is probably my favorite song too, so there's that. You can't listen to that piece and tell me it doesn't sound like love.

If anyones wondering about the dance I used for the choreography (because I can't choreograph for the life of me) here it is, without the spaces of course:

www . youtube watch?v=PRlIy1zNnyE

And I guess that's all I have to add for this one. Till next time, I suppose!

~Alix