9

Perfect Size

"Adeen, dva, tree," Ivan counted as he examined his students' ballet steps. He wouldn't be dancing today; all he could do was sit and hold the ice pack in place on his aching head.

"Nothing, nothing," he had said to one of his curious students. "I only fell down the stairs."

Although he was certainly frightened out of his socks by the new Yao that he saw, he couldn't help but feel sorry. Yao had apologized many times, and his words did seem heartfelt. After all, discovering oneself was not an easy task…

Stomp! "Punch with more spirit! More spirit!"

Ivan turned over to Yao's side of the room. It was as if a black cloud hovered over the kung fu class; all the students were simply petrified—some twitched an eyelid or two, while others simply trembled in place. One looked in Ivan's direction, the fear apparent in his eyes. Ivan just smiled weakly and waved. Nevertheless, once Yao said, "Go!" all their punches landed on the punching bags in perfect form and energy. Ivan almost clapped. At least he's a little more assertive now…

Yao, trying not to show his satisfaction, put his hands on his hips with a small "humph!" and walked slightly away from his class. He turned and smiled at Ivan, to which the latter promptly smiled back. "Uh…um." Yao worriedly patted the right side of his head.

Ivan readjusted his ice pack and cheerfully gave a thumbs-up. He tried not to wince in pain.

Yao sighed in relief and resumed his work. "Hey! What's with this limp wrist? And your foot is not pivoted to forty-five degrees! Forty-five degrees, I said!"

Ivan drummed his fingers along his left cheek. He stopped tending to the pain on his head—or his class, for that matter—and simply allowed himself to drown in the tender moonlight that was Yao. T-tender moonlight? he wondered. My poetry senses have perked. Though I must say, they're not very original. Ignoring all else around him, he allowed his gaze to follow the elegant movements of Yao's ponytail. It flew through the air whenever Yao kicked or punched, and then, it resettled slowly onto his shoulders once he stopped moving. It reminded Ivan of those Chinese dragons he had heard about in storybooks in his younger days—he'd always imagined them dancing through the skies in such fluid motions. He's…just beautiful, isn't he?

"Mr. Braginsky."

Shit. Ivan turned around to find his entire class crowded around him.

"Watcha doing?" one of his students asked.

"I think I know!" piped in Peter. He began singing an all-too-familiar song, his voice initially a whisper before increasing in volume.

"…Ivan and Yao sitting in a…"

"No, no!" Ivan said. He rushed to cover Peter's mouth, but the boy only sang louder.

"…tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

Yao paused in the middle of instructing a boy on kicking positions. He spun around.

Ivan had finally managed to tie his scarf around Peter's mouth, effectively muffling the boy's singing. "Ahaha, Yao-Yao, it's nothing! I was only, um…um…"

"Yao-Yao?" One of the girls in Ivan's class began giggling. "Haha, that's so cute, Mr. Braginsky!"

"Wah!" Ivan tried to extend his scarf over to the girl as well before he tripped over Peter's foot and fell quite miserably—he was tied up in his own scarf, face-flat on the floor. "Ow…" He knew it was over. Yao would never speak to him again, and their friendship would be dead. There would be no more eating from Mr. Water-Pipe, no hugging Cheburashka, and no more dumplings for breakfasts or wok-attacks.

But then, Ivan heard something. It was a small sound, but there was no mistaking it. Was that…a chuckle? He squirmed in his scarf until he was able to look over at Yao. The young man was trying hard to suppress his laughter with a hand. He immediately caught sight of Ivan, and he blushed.

Ivan smiled. This was definitely going to work out.

Class was over in nearly second; perhaps Ivan had not noticed time fly by, as he was being preoccupied trying to take a few glances every now and then at Yao and his dragon-like hair. Ivan's students continued to make their remarks, but in more hushed tones and quieted giggles. And this time, Ivan didn't really want to stop them either.

As all of the kids rushed to greet their parents, Ivan walked over onto Yao's side of the room. He immediately drank up the pleasant sight of Yao—who was hastily wiping sweat from his face and adjusting his disheveled hair—and waved amicably.

"It looks you've taken some of my advice, da?"

"Oh." Yao tucked an aluminum sword into his sack. "Why, yes, Ivan! I don't like being harsh, but…sometimes the old brutal Chinese way is the best!"

"You're making fun of your own race," Ivan said. He removed his scarf and gently wrapped it around Yao's neck.

"I, uh…" Yao blushed heavily as the scarf fit snugly about shoulders. "Yeah, don't we all do that at some point?" He chuckled hesitantly.

"Mr. Br'ginsky."

"GYAH!" Yao leapt and latched tightly onto one of Ivan's arms. As he tried to hide himself behind Ivan's tall form, the Russian man comfortingly ruffled his friend's hair.

"Don't worry, Yao-Yao." He smiled as he greeted the man before him. Yao's reaction was typical of anyone's first encounter with Peter's Swedish father—he was a rather intimidating figure, with a giant stature, unchanging cold blue eyes, and a squarish face to match his squarish glasses. "It's my student's parent, Berwald. No need to be afraid, hm?"

Yao, realizing his mistake, quickly let go of Ivan's arm and managed to squeak out a small "hi."

"Hello," Berwald said in the calmest voice, "nice t' meet y'."

Before Yao could say anything else, the smaller man next to Berwald piped in. "Ah, hello! You're the kung-fu teacher Peter was talking about, hm?" He held out his hand. "I'm Tino Vainomoinen, and this is my husband, Berwald Vainomoinen. We're Peter's parents."

"Oh." Yao returned the handshake. "I-I'm Yao Wang. I'm friends with Ivan—er, I mean Mr. Braginsky."

Ivan gazed admiringly at Yao. You know you don't have to be so formal.

Tino, as if caught by a trance, fixed his eyes on the pink scarf Yao was wearing. He then proceeded to whisper something to his husband, who suddenly lost his collected composure and began whispering, "No, T'no, no."

"You know something?" Tino said. He cocked his head to the side with a smile and raised a hand as if to avoid his husband's frantic gestures. "You're pretty small in size compared to Ivan. It reminds me of me and Berwald. Your sizes are perfect for hugging, you know?"

Berwald began adjusting his glasses almost hysterically. Yao turned red all over. Ivan was caught completely off-guard by Tino's comments and nearly lost his balance.

Yet, Ivan could not control his underlying delight. Although Berwald managed to shift the focus of the conversation to something having to do with Peter's performance, Ivan's mind still lingered elsewhere.