A big thank all of you readers for taking the time to read this story, even if I still think I don't have nearly the experience with dancing to write this...
Their choreographer Ludwig drilled them harder than Arthur's instructor in his university years, and Arthur had been a member of one of the most competitive workshops around at the time. The air conditioning had failed too, taking his tolerance with it as his hair grew damp, then wet, then plastered to his face. It probably needed a trim soon, Arthur thought as he blew a limp looking strand away from his eyes. The strand bobbed in a rather lackluster manner before settling comfortably back in the same position.
Despite looking absolutely unaffected by the heat, Alfred's performance looked worse off than the rest of them as his moves grew sloppier and sloppier as they progressed –distraction, and Arthur couldn't help but be just a little irritated at how lackadaisical Alfred acted. Ludwig let the backup dancers have their short respite as he made Alfred repeat a sequence fifteen times over; much to Arthur's disgust, Alfred seemed as sprightly as a spring lamb or whatever the hell had the nerve to look as energetic –and as blissfully unaware of the atmosphere.
If the dancers summoned the last of their energy to flee the studio for the locker room when finally released for the day, nobody made any mention of it. Through coincidence, Alfred happened to have placed his stuff right next to Arthur, and so it happened that as Alfred took off his shirt, Arthur had straightened up from rummaging around for his thermos full of cold water. Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice –or care- if his gaze lingered just a little longer than normal on Alfred's stomach, Alfred preoccupied with freeing his arms and head from his shirt. Arthur averted his gaze slowly and then nearly forgot all about when he pressed his refreshingly cold thermos against his neck.
Alfred of course chose to converse with him again, and Arthur couldn't help but wonder later if Alfred perhaps did have what seemed to be a common American affliction of being strangely enamoured with the sound of "British accents," even if Americans didn't seem to have the same fondness for British English itself.
Nonetheless, Alfred proved to be entertaining enough, not because he was particularly well-spoken in the manner Arthur typically found most attractive, but because Alfred had an infectious cheer Arthur saw no point in resisting. Unlike what some people seemed to think of him, he didn't enjoy a state of constant annoyance with the world. And if Arthur didn't mind Alfred's company for the most part, so it made sense not to alienate him.
The realization came easily: yes, he did trust Alfred, enough to agree to let the man drive him back after he narrowly missed the bus. Arthur felt that the paparazzi could find far juicier gossip in L.A. than that of Alfred doing his duty as the disgustingly kind person he seemed to be, but he felt as if he needed to put up some resistance, offer Alfred a way out because he was Arthur Kirkland and he did not trust blondes with blue eyes and pouty smiles.
There was a minor embarrassment when Alfred brought up the fact that Arthur had been ready to walk out half naked, but Arthur planned on putting that far, far behind him. (Beyond wondering what Alfred would look like half naked; equality and all that bull, since Arthur had embarrassed himself like that it only made sense that Alfred would have to do it too. Although it seemed a pathetic excuse even to a drunken man, so the thought derailed as Arthur berated himself.)
Of course, as Arthur slid into the back seat, he found that he couldn't really muster the surprise needed; offering to drive him home seemed well within the reach of reality, at least with Alfred. Honestly, part of Arthur even entertained the brief idea of Alfred stopping the car to help a kitten out of a tree along the way, to top off the entire night.
As for Alfred's car itself, it was old enough to have lost its new car smell, but new enough as an eco-friendly hybrid. Somehow, Arthur expected Alfred's car to look...bigger. Flashier, perhaps. A Batman logo air freshener hung from the rear view mirror next to a pair of tacky purple fuzzy dice, and Arthur could say honestly that it seemed to fit Alfred's personality, as did the magazine announcing the most recent scientific discoveries on the seat next to him and the half-empty water bottle rolling around by his feet.
The banter and teasing conversation that started up had no real bite to it, and Arthur found himself smiling in the semi-darkness of Alfred's car. Perhaps the two of them had yet to be friends, but it certainly felt comfortable enough for Arthur not to mind the idea. Mind, most of it had to do with the fact that Lukas was typically as quiet as Arthur could be, which didn't make for longer conversations.
No kittens, paparazzi, or any other interruption happened, to Arthur's relief.
He had Alfred drop him off about five minutes away from Yao's house and set off, but turned around as Alfred started up the car just to see him struggle to turn in the narrow street. Arthur flinched instinctively. Perhaps this wasn't the most convenient place...Arthur couldn't help but feel slightly guilty. After watching until Alfred's car disappeared, Arthur resumed walking.
Even if streetlights and other light pollution both kept the night from growing too dark and kept the stars from shining as bright as they could, the cool air felt marvellous on his skin. His bag bumped against his legs as he walked, and his entire body felt tired in the way that guaranteed restful sleep. The neighborhood seemed rather peaceful, blissfully free of drunken disturbances or other loud noises.
A young woman opened the door to Yao's house just as he turned on that street; she exchanged a few strained words in what Arthur presumed wasn't English with the person still inside and walked over to the car parked in the driveway.
She left as quickly as she could while still technically within the parameters of the speed limit, based on the looks of it. Arthur couldn't help but stand stunned as the car sped past him, before blinking once in confusion. Perhaps it was better to wait a while before he went to ring the doorbell, so it would seem as if he hadn't witnessed the event.
Yao had a visible slump in his posture when he opened the door. "Hello, Arthur. Was it easy to find your way back?" He greeted wearily. "Dinner's ready."
"I tried to memorize the street names before I got here." He thanked the man for dinner and toed his shoes off at the door, placing them on the stand as he padded after his host.
He decided not to comment on the dishes in the sink, assuming that they belonged to the young woman who had left in a huff.
Dinner seemed to be take-out from a restaurant, if the easily recognizable white boxes full of rice meant anything. It didn't really matter; Yao had agreed to lodge Arthur for free while he shot the video, so he couldn't really complain. If Arthur had to draw the line, it would be at fast food. A mouthful of stir-fried vegetables later, Arthur deemed the meal suitably delicious and began filling his bowl.
"It seems like the video will take a little longer than I initially anticipated..." Arthur said sheepishly as he speared a leafy green vegetable on his fork. A week or longer, maybe even a month based on Alfred's productivity rate.
"It's fine," Yao waved it aside with a lazy gesture of his hand. "I might charge you though," he said, but it sounded like a joking statement. "Or not. But you will pay for your own food."
"Of course," Arthur said, feeling mildly affronted even though he knew it wasn't a jab at his ability to get by. He had a career that paid the bills and paid well, no matter people's misconceptions.
Yao shrugged and scooped some rice into his mouth with his chopsticks. It was a bizarre thing to be envious of, but Arthur's experience with the damn things was limited to the embarrassing experience of fumbling with them when Kiku took him to a Japanese restaurant for the first time. "It's good that we've sorted this out now, though."
"Quite."
Yao seemed the kind of person to be slightly wary of strangers, and it wasn't in Arthur's nature to be especially forward and talkative, but at least they had some common ground beyond a mutual disdain for coffee. Dinner remained a quiet affair punctuated only by small talk that went nowhere, but at least Arthur knew that Yao worked for a publishing firm.
It also appeared that neither of them liked to stay up for too long, as soon after dinner Yao stood and headed for the corridor to his bedroom, Arthur following soon after.
"Cross stitch?" Arthur asked as he stopped to examine what he had assumed was a picture of the Great Wall. He hadn't noticed it the previous night, too tired to properly appreciate his surroundings.
"Yes. It took several months." Yao replied, stopped in front of the door to his room.
Arthur turned to face him, suitably impressed. "It's amazing."
"You can have it if you want," Yao offered, although he didn't seem particularly enthusiastic about the idea.
Arthur backpedaled immediately. "Oh no, I couldn't. It's good to see someone who can appreciate the craft though."
Yao smiled. "It is. Goodnight, Arthur."
"Goodnight."
A pleasant shower later and Arthur crawled into bed, glad that the off-scent of the sheets had faded somewhat under the smell of shampoo and conditioner.
Waking up to his second morning in Los Angeles felt much better when Arthur knew he didn't have to hurry to catch the bus, even if the time of his waking hadn't change. His strange dream about clocks and the color blue abruptly halted. Arthur stumbled out of bed and dutifully went to fetch pen and paper, adding the details he could still remember to the growing list of ideas for stories he had tucked away for a quiet day.
A quick investigation confirmed that Yao had already rushed off to a day at work. A note stuck to the kitchen table apologized for the rush but proclaimed that Arthur had free reign over breakfast; the tea was in the pantry, so Arthur could help himself. A key to the house sat neatly on top of the note, so Arthur pocketed the thing and set about making breakfast.
The toaster had an unfamiliar setting –it looked too damn intricate for a bloody toaster- so the toast came out slightly crispier than Arthur would have preferred, but at least Arthur knew that he had an idea of where not to turn the dial. A quick check in the fridge told him that Yao didn't have milk or cream, but the pantry had a well-stocked collection of teas.
Arthur spent a good five minutes simply poking around and picking up boxes of tea wishing he could read the labels –and he couldn't claim to be familiar with Chinese tea either- but finally settled on a green tea. An angry sizzling noise reminded him of the eggs he had left in the pan, which Arthur hurriedly scraped out of the pan and into a bowl. Hopefully, Yao had some steel wool lying around the kitchen to scrub pots with. Arthur would have to ask later.
A quick check of his phone confirmed that Arthur had more than enough time to enjoy his breakfast at a leisurely pace, so Arthur took the time to sip at his tea the way he couldn't the day before. It had a strong, slightly bitter taste, with traces of something he could only describe as vaguely nutty in flavor. The aftertaste went down almost sweet; Arthur would even chance calling it fragrant.
Stomach suitably full, Arthur selected new clothes from his suitcase and packed his gym bag. Another glance at his phone revealed more time to kill, so Arthur went ahead and did the dishes. Yao's kitchen seemed woefully lacking in steel wool and Arthur gave up on cleaning the pan within ten minutes, but at least his plate and utensils had been cleaned and laid out to dry.
He arrived at the studio a good hour earlier despite having walked part of the way, but the security at the front let him in without a fuss. Arthur deposited his bag in the same compartment he had occupied the previous day and poked his head into the studio. Much to his relief, the studio no longer seemed as muggy and hot. So the management of this place wasn't entirely incompetent. Arthur nodded once in satisfaction and sat down in the corner with his new book, content to get some reading done in a quiet place.
"Folktales, huh?" Arthur registered the voice in some part of his brain, but the exact meaning of those words fell flat, as did any attempts to communicate beyond a grunt of acknowledgement. He looked up anyway, and found himself looking up at Alfred's face.
"Hey, Arthur!" The artist chirped, straightening from where he had apparently bent down to look at Arthur's book cover. Which admittedly had a very eye-catching cover. "Looks like you're even earlier than me!"
Arthur peered at him suspiciously. "There are at least thirty minutes left before the session is supposed to start, Alfred." Although seeing as he was there as well, it didn't really make sense to accuse Alfred of anything beyond disturbing his reading time.
Alfred shrugged. "Yeah? Well, I don't think Ludwig can get on my case for that," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "He actually had to come and get me because I got the time wrong again last time and chewed me out because of it, that hardass."
Arthur scowled. "Consider finding some way to manage your time better then."
Alfred blew out a huff of breath and pouted. "You're probably right... The hero needs to get there on time; the villains certainly won't wait for him!"
It was really for the better that Arthur was already well-acquainted with Alfred's obvious fascination with superheroes, for he just rolled his eyes (already jaded) instead of feeling genuinely irritated by the comparison and the narcissism/hero complex it implied . "You'd never know with the way so many books and movies are structured," he lamented.
Alfred laughed. "Man, you could probably get into the critic business. You'd be that one person everyone quotes when bashing on stuff."
"I hope not," Arthur sniffed. "I'd like to think I have more dignity than that."
"Yeah yeah yeah," Alfred said. "Remember, I was with you in the car yesterday. I'm not sure but I think angry ranting about the music industry isn't what I'd call classy." Upon seeing Arthur's scowl, Alfred held up his hands and hastily added: "But hey, you probably made it sound a lot better than I could! Everybody would quote you because you'd be totally awesome about it and say something other people wouldn't have thought of."
It was an entirely human response to feel flattered and somewhat bashful at such praise. "Don't count yourself out so fast, Alfred. You're not bad as a songwriter." Alfred looked delighted. Arthur was not blind to the responding flutter in his chest at that look, and hastily added a "but there are probably better!"
Alfred shrugged; Arthur supposed one couldn't get anywhere in the industry without being able to take a little criticism, although as a backup dancer viewers rarely cared what he did as long as he did his part. "Yeah, I don't think I'm nearly good enough to call myself the best -not yet, anyways."
"Your confidence is inspiring," Arthur said dryly, but Alfred beamed anyway.
Seeing as he didn't trust Alfred to leave him to the quiet environment Arthur preferred while reading, he got up and joined Alfred in stretching. Alfred for his part was more than eager to chatter about various subjects while they warmed up, with Arthur replying only sparingly. Alfred didn't seem to mind too much, if his smile was anything to go by. The person who managed to extract the source of Alfred's boundless energy would be a rich, rich bastard.
Soon enough, people began to trickle in to the studio and Alfred wandered off to talk to other people. Arthur decided to enjoy the respite while it lasted. Eventually someone decided that warming up needed musical accompaniment and so the relative quiet was broken by loud music and people singing along, Alfred doing so shamelessly and loudly to one of his own songs while encouraged by some of the dancers.
He sounded just as good live as he did in the studio, perhaps even better as he reinterpreted the emphasis and the way words flowed to suit his tastes. Arthur couldn't tell if Alfred had forgotten his own lyrics when he ended up singing an entirely different second verse or if was just Alfred being spontaneous. It could have been worse, he thought.
Ludwig came in exactly at the time he had told everyone to arrive at, although Arthur couldn't say that the news came as a shock. If it shocked Ludwig to see Alfred already there and busy stretching, it didn't show on his stoic face.
Alfred on the other hand responded with a good deal of melodrama when Ludwig gave the stragglers five minutes before he started, with his eyes stretched comically –to the point of being almost disturbing- wide.
("I think aliens must've abducted Ludwig," he whispered frantically to Arthur as they settled into neat rows and columns when class officially started. Arthur rolled his eyes and scoffed.)
"Now that we've gone over the steps, most of you are probably wondering what the hell that's all about, yeah?" Alfred's comment managed to wring a few snorts and laughs. "I'll let Luddy explain that to you."
Ludwig grimaced. "As per Alfred's suggestion, the video is space themed."
"Space cowboy themed," Alfred added, looking all too pleased with himself.
"Space cowboy themed," Ludwig amended. "Most of the effects will be achieved through CGI in regards to the scenes requiring an outer space background, but other scenes are to be filmed around the Los Angeles area. We will begin filming today."
In the same way that children could never seem to shut their mouths when a teacher began talking, so did the babble of dancers whispering excitedly with each other start. Alfred whooped excitedly and immediately began chatting with the dancer next to him about how the alien designs came from a fan's artwork and did he know that NASA had totally confirmed the possibility of alien life in their solar system –Arthur didn't even need to pay any special attention to his conversation, Alfred was just the kind of person to talk loudly enough to let the entire room hear when excited.
Ludwig eventually barked out an order to shut up and practice and the noise died down, although a few brave and foolhardy dancers kept whispering to each other all the way up until the point where talking required more effort and air than most were willing to give as Ludwig ordered them all through yet another repeat of a step until he seemed satisfied. Arthur would respect his meticulous attention to detail and quality later, perhaps after a shower and a cup of camomile.
Deadlines could motivate like few other factors could; anybody could attest to that matter. Arthur found it amusing that some of the dancers seemed to have finally realized that yes, they would indeed perform in front of a camera for the viewing pleasure of the masses, and that they really ought to put some actual effort into their steps. Ludwig contributed plenty, calling out people by name to correct them on their form while Alfred played the good guy and called out reassurances.
And yes, Arthur was counting the number of compliments Alfred paid him, although admitting the fact to himself and then admitting the fact aloud would forever stay separated by different worlds. So perhaps he did have an insignificant, miniscule infatuation with Alfred and his irritating charm; he could enjoy it while it lasted and then move on. Simple enough.
Ludwig stopped earlier than usual, probably out of pity for the people who hadn't decided on making hours-long sessions of nothing but dance their career. Given the word, people staggered to get water or even sprawled out on the hardwood floor, forming little groups as they chatted. Arthur could admit to neglecting to drink his water if it hadn't been steeped with tea first, but the idea of passing out seemed well within reach and so he found himself in the locker room with more sweaty people than he would have preferred.
"Hey! I wanted to tell you how awesome you were at the dance off yesterday but I never got a chance to." Arthur turned around and smiled politely at the woman with hair the same bright red as the cherry flavoured sweets his cousin Peter had an inexplicable fondness for.
"Thank you," he said. "Your hair looks wonderful."
She smiled and tugged at her hair. "Thank you! It's kinda limp and droopy right now though so you're missing out on its full majestic glory. You're not from here, are ya?"
He still struggled with pinpointing exact accents but he figured the woman probably could say the same, based on her probably-Southern accent.
"I'm actually from New York," Arthur said. This only held true for the past few years, but eventually one had to get fed up with being the curious outsider.
The mindless chatter continued for a little longer, before Alfred poked his head into the locker room with his phone in hand.
"This may sound a little awkward but I was wondering if anyone minded if I shot a few videos of you guys dancing, just a little behind the scenes kind of thing?" The look Alfred shot was in equal parts pleading and playful. "You can think of it as a little rehearsal before we get to the actual video. I'll be outside so just come if you wanna join, okay?"
Arthur followed. If anyone were to ask, it was because he preferred his chances with Alfred rather than Ludwig.
A small group had assembled around Alfred, who bounced on his feet in impatience. "Is that everyone? Gather 'round everyone and get in position, we're gonna start filming soon!" He pressed at his phone and smiled down at the little screen. "So I promised I'd shoot a clip yesterday and I woke up this morning to a crap ton of new messages. Holy shit guys, I feel so loved. Anyways, the super-awesome backup crew has been practicing really hard and we're sharing it with you. Everybody say hello!"
Arthur couldn't help but find the entire thing amusing as he waved, smirking at the camera. Alfred laughed and cheered too. "I'd clap but I'm scared I'd drop this thing," he joked. "Someone get the music, pretty please!"
The music started. Some of the dancers started a beat or two too late, but Arthur let it pass without much anxiety; the little clip didn't seem to carry the same weight, not with the relaxed atmosphere Alfred had set with his little spiel.
"You come join us too," a dancer encouraged when Alfred started up an enthusiastic commentary when the music came to a pause.
"I'll film," Arthur offered. The need to find a graceful exit seemed critical, what with the embarrassing smile spreading across his face. He had seen enough videos and photos of himself to know that he looked more or less equally pleasant smiling or scowling, less so without a controlled smile. Alfred sputtered a protest but in the end it was Arthur with the phone in his hands, holding it steady as Alfred took his place in front of the dancers.
Alfred would win no awards for graceful dancing in the near future, but he put his effort and energy into his performance –Arthur found it exasperating that he apparently couldn't muster the same effort for rehearsal. And there lay Alfred's charm, Arthur noted with a critic's eye. Alfred's posture held promise, and one couldn't help but let their attention be captured by it.
Unlike Arthur, Alfred seemed made to smile, and with Alfred's attention directed at the camera it seemed as if he was smiling at Arthur. It was potent, that look. It would help Alfred win millions, maybe. Arthur couldn't say he found the idea preposterous.
He pressed the small red button to pause the video and handed it back to Alfred. The phone was just big enough for their hands to miss each other by a sliver. Arthur withdrew only once Alfred made to right the phone in his hand.
"So that was it," Alfred said again to the phone. "Thanks, everyone for watching, and a big thank you for my awesome backup!"
The filming session ended early when one of the dancers sprained an ankle. It couldn't be called much of a stretch when people claimed that backup dancing was something of an underappreciated career as far as entertainment went, but their importance made itself known in manners such as the strange empty space in their formation.
Ludwig looked all too resigned when he dismissed the dancers; if they hadn't already had the weekend off Arthur suspected they would have stopped for at least a day to find a replacement. As it was, Arthur found himself with extra time on his hands, at a time when most people were still at work.
He loitered longer than he really needed to when changing, even if the thin layer of sweat that seemed to cling everywhere began to make itself a nuisance. Slowly, people began to trickle out of the locker room.
"Got anywhere to go after this?" Alfred asked. He had his voice lowered, even if there were only a few people left around to hear what they had to say.
"Not particularly," Arthur replied, Alfred's behavior prompting him to lower his voice as well. "Why?"
"I was kind of wondering if you wanted to get something to eat?"
Arthur shrugged. "How many people are coming?" Alfred seemed the kind of person to invite his dancers out to eat sometimes, but there were all of three other people and most of them seemed ready to leave. Unless...
"Just us." Alfred seemed noticeably more embarrassed.
"As in a date?" Arthur said incredulously, semi-conscious of how stupid the conversation must have seemed.
"If you want it to be," Alfred said as he squirmed. The matching blush he sported made one of Arthur's own bloom across his face. Oh. Oh.
"I'm disgusting!" He found himself sputtering, and he almost agreed. And he had at one point dreamed of majoring in English... "As in, I need to take a shower, it's embarrassing having to go outside like this on a date," Arthur corrected. "I promise I'll think about it though," he had to add when Alfred rapidly deflated.
"That's alright. You're probably feeling pretty gross all sweaty like that, right?" Alfred laughed as if to dispel the strange atmosphere that had formed around them. "Can I test my luck and ask if I can at least drive you home?"
"You may," Arthur replied, and felt as disappointed as Alfred looked. As they got into Alfred's car he dug his nails into his palms and reminded himself that he could turn the entire thing around, should he say the word...
Alfred stopped on a street that was slightly wider than the street from the previous night. "Bye, Arthur!" he chirped. "Call me later?"
"Give me your hand," Arthur replied. He silently thanked Alfred for giving him the opportunity and fished for a pen until Alfred managed to procure him one from his car. Alfred squirmed as Arthur wrote his number as neatly as he could given the surface he had to write on. Alfred's hand was warm under his as he held his hand steady, and Arthur enjoyed how the warmth seemed to spread from their limited point of contact.
Alfred returned the favor as Arthur did his best to hold still. Perhaps one or both of them lingered and hesitated, but in the end Alfred pulled away and Arthur continued walking.
Arthur found his gaze attracted to the numbers scrawled on his hand in bold blue glitter pen as he opened the door. He closed the door behind him and toed his shoes off, depositing them on the rack. Besides his shoes, the only other pair on the rack was Yao's pair of house slippers.
His phone rang. By habit, Arthur checked the screen and found himself disappointed to see his manager's number displayed.
"What do you want, Chelles? You have other clients, don't you?"
"Hey, that's no way to talk to your manager," she admonished. Arthur heard her cluck her tongue disapprovingly and he rolled his eyes. "And why does everything have to be about business? Speaking of business, why so angry? Did I really pick such a terrible job for you?"
"If this isn't about business then I don't see why I can't," Arthur grumbled, falling into the habit of snipping at the young woman. "And no, you did well this time."
"Good, good! So I wanted to discuss prospects after this. It seems only fair, since you're my absolutely favorite Artie-kins and I feel bad for springing this gig on ya." Chelles paused to let Arthur make his typical sarcastic comment. When none came, she continued. "Wow, no argument today? Anyways, apparently Alfred's considering his first tour of the states soon, so you might get a rig there. But that's just rumors, in the mean time..."
When the call finally ended, Arthur found himself almost completely booked for the foreseeable future, one of the many reasons he disliked contact with Chelles.
He showered and sat down to his computer. Normally, Arthur preferred having a cup of tea when he wrote, but he had no idea whether or not Yao tolerated people bringing food into his carpeted rooms. His evening was highly productive, even if he spent a good hour wondering where the two main characters would go for their meeting, which led to a brief brainstorming session of his own ideal date. Arthur allowed himself a brief self-pity session before he went back to work, and it was all but forgotten as he came down for dinner.
The phone sitting innocently on his nightstand still managed to be a thought on his mind as Arthur drifted off to sleep.
I can't tell who I'm most disgusted with this chapter, ha.