Ienzo slipped through the apartment door, and nearly bumped into Even.

"Honestly boy, I called you four times. Four. I refuse to believe you didn't notice all of them. I did not raise you lacking the common courtesy to respond to a simple call when you know you are late and that I have no idea where..."

Tuning out Even's endless griping and making the occasional apologetic noise had become second nature a long time ago. He should have picked up the call, though. Maybe not the first, but the second, or the third...

"So how did it go?"

Whatever apology he had been about to murmur caught in his throat, and he spluttered a weak "w...what?"

"The audition."

"How did you..?"

"You were late, so I called Saïx at the office. I can't believe he just sprung that on you, who does he think he is... Well?"

Ienzo looked away.

"It was fine."

"Just fine?"

"...I need to practice," he muttered, brushing past Even and ignoring the peevish call after him.

"You didn't bolt the door, boy!"

... ...\-\\|¨... ...

Elastic (measure, cut). Ribbon (the same). Lighter, flame to the ends (unpleasant whiff of gas and fire and melting fibres each time). Sew.

On the one hand it was a ritual, meditative, relaxing. Ienzo chewed on his lip as he worked.

On the other, it let him take his frustration out on something. Penknife, diagonal scores on the soles (not too many). Tug on the shanks (loosen). Heel on the toe box (just the right amount of pressure, careful).

He pulled them on and flexed his feet experimentally. Stood, scuffed his feet on the bare wood floor. Élevé, demi-pointe, en pointe. Again. Swapped the shoes to opposite feet and repeated the process. Considered, then made a small mark on the inside of each shoe. Another, a line bisecting the sole at the arch.

Heel end to the floor, press the whole shoe into an L-shape (bend at the mark, don't break).

The shoes still made a loud, ugly clunk as they hit the wood. He bashed one hard against the floor a few times.

"Ienzo, must you do that now?" Even's voice pierced through from his own bedroom-cum-study.

"I need them," Ienzo muttered to the practice mirror.

"What was that? Speak up!"

"I'll need them tomorrow!"

"Can you not... finish in the morning, or something? I am trying to work."

Ienzo put the shoes aside carefully, letting his fingertips brush over the fresh satin. So strange that there was something you had to break before it could be perfect.

Someone laughed. From outside the apartment, no doubt coming home late and perhaps a little drunk. It wasn't unusual. Ienzo shook his head and fetched an older pair of pointe shoes. Fully broken in, almost worn out really. Too soft. Still, he needed to get as much practice as he could.

He wanted this role. It was a strange realisation. It might be unorthodox, but there was no reason he shouldn't, no reason he couldn't. He didn't care what the others would say (and they would say things, tension and rivalry and harsh judgement poorly hidden behind dressing room banter). If he could just show Xemnas what he could do...

And if he did get the role, he would be partnering with Marluxia. That would be...

Practice. The Black Swan coda. Thirty-two fouettés en tournant, that was the ideal. First performed by Pierina Legnani in Cinderella (Imperial Mariinsky Theatre, St. Petersburg, 1983). Wild spins, contrasted against the White Swan's tortured attitudes and arabesques.

He took a few deep, steadying breaths, and started to spin. The move was a complicated one, and to perform so many chained together, so fast... fondu, relevé, spot, developpé, retiré, fondu, relevé, spot, developpé, retiré, developpé, retiré, fondu, relevé, spot, developpé, retiré, fondu, relevé, spot...

He could do better than this. Better than he had at the audition. He knew that. If that idiot hadn't barged in...

There was a dull fleshy crunch as he rose en pointe, and lightning shot up his leg. He cried out, stumbled (again, again), and grabbed at his foot on instinct. Angry wet heat was spreading against his toes. Probably not as bad as it felt, he told himself. With shock and sweat and painful throbbing the illusion of blood could be powerful.

"Ienzo?"

"I'm fine!" He called back hurriedly, sitting down and stripping off shoe and toe pad. He smelled rust. The toenail of his big toe had split, vertical, right down the centre, and was weakly oozing red.

... ...\-\\|¨... ...

Ienzo yanked his foot back with a hiss, gaining a sharp look from Even. He had been dragged into the bathroom as soon as he was checked on, and was now sat dejectedly on the toilet seat as his father dabbed his toe with antiseptic.

"I can do this myself," he murmured as Even finished swabbing. Even just snorted and turned away.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," he muttered into the cupboard as he scrabbled around for the gauze. "Getting too worked up..."

"You're the one who always tells me that if I'm going to do something, I should do it right," Ienzo groused.

"And this is 'doing it right', is it? Hold still."

The statement was punctuated with a metallic snip. Even dressed the wound in a brusque, businesslike fashion.

"And now, you're going to bed. It's late and you need to rest that foot. And no staying up all night reading! I'll be checking."

... ...\-\\|¨... ...

The door to Xemnas' office was jet black, monolithic. Better quality than most of the backstage fittings. Ienzo waited opposite, staring at his own dim reflection in the polished surface and running over and over what he might say to the director when he arrived. He couldn't seem too desperate, but if he didn't make his case...

He turned a little too eagerly as he heard heavy, measured footsteps approaching.

"Do you have a minute?"

Xemnas didn't reply, but he paused at the door, and waved Ienzo in.

The office was styled in gloss black, crisp white, sharp lines. Lacking all colour, or even the softening intermediate of grey. Stray papers scattered on the surfaces. There was something faintly intimidating about the place, and Ienzo's precarious piling of courage started to wobble.

"If now isn't a good time I could..."

"Now is perfect," Xemnas interrupted, taking a seat in the high-backed white leather office chair. He regarded Ienzo coolly.

"I just wanted to tell you that I practised the coda last night, and I finished it."

The words came out in a rush, and he tried to convince himself that it wasn't much of a lie. He could do it. He knew he could. Just because he had been interrupted... he would have started again, got it right, injury or no...

Xemnas' expression didn't even flicker.

"Your inadequacy is not in your technique."

The pronouncement left Ienzo speechless. If not technique, then what? He was dedicated, reliable, he had never once turned up late, so it couldn't be that. Had one of the ballerinas complained about his partnering? Was it how he looked? It wasn't as if he could help that...

"I have already chosen Edym." Xemnas continued, standing again and crossing the short space to the exit. "So..." He opened the door and held it there expectantly. Ienzo ducked behind his hair.

"I'm sorry, I'll..."

The door was closed firmly in his face as he tried leave.

"Is that all?"

Ienzo looked up at Xemnas in bemusement. Xemnas studied him, then slowly shook his head.

"I see. You are not going to fight for it."

That look. Superior. Disappointed, but unsurprised. Pitying.

"You must have believed it was possible to change my mind. Otherwise, why are you here?"

"I... came to ask for the part..."

Pathetic. He sounded pathetic. He needed to say something, do something, work out what Xemnas wanted...

"Really. In truth, I do not see it. The White Swan, yes. But the Black Swan? That is illusion, enchantment, deception. Pulled by the darkness, molding it and molded by it, reveling in every moment. But you... you obsess over every move, every note, every fact of every historic performance... but you give nothing of yourself. All that discipline... for what?"

Ienzo looked down, away.

"I just want to be perfect," he muttered. Xemnas chuckled, low and cheerless.

"Perfection is not only about control. It is also about letting go. Transcendence."

Ienzo swallowed hard, eyes still on the floor. If that what the director demanded...

"I think I c..."

Xemnas grabbed him firmly by the chin and forced his head back, face up. Ienzo barely had time to register the flash of gold before Xemnas swept down and his attention was on something else entirely.

It was the polar opposite of a fairytale. Forceful, fierce, filthy. The discomfort and bitter taste made him want to pull back, but the hand on his chin slid around to roughly press against the back of his head, fingers raking through his hair. He could feel the blood pumping through his lips, an ugly sort of throbbing that had more in common with injury than passion.

He was kissing back, awkwardly trying to keep up with the desperate tangle of lips and teeth.

Something wet and rough and slimy pressed insistently against his mouth, and he started. Xemnas jerked away almost simultaneously, releasing his bruising grip on the back of Ienzo's head as he did so. He raised his fingers to his lip, briefly looking almost... confused.

"You bit me."

Xemnas' face and tone had gone utterly blank. For a moment so did Ienzo's mind. Had he... had he really just...?

"I'm sorry!"

He backed away, one step, then another, then turned and bolted out of the room.

He told himself that he imagined the deep, amused hum behind him.

... ...\-\\|¨... ...

Nothing was making sense. Nothing seemed quite real. His breathing was too loud and the chatter of the other dancers in the hallway was muffled and distant. His skin tingled. He had taken a drink of water from one of the fountains, trying to wash away what had just happened, but the taste, the feeling remained.

He'd bitten Xemnas. They'd kissed and he'd bitten him. This had to be a dream. A nightmare. If it was a nightmare he could wake up and this would never have happened and he could carry on as normal. If it wasn't he had no idea what he'd do. Apologise? Try to forget this had ever happened? Plead with the director not to fire him?

He was going to get fired. Or simply get dumped with all the worst roles from now on until he quit on his own. There was no way Xemnas would work with him after this. He'd ruined his chance at the role, he'd ruined his future with the company, he'd ruined his entire career, he'd ruined everything.

Xemnas had kissed him. Did that mean he was... interested? But... Xemnas had Marluxia. Why would he even look at some like him?

Someone spoke to him as they passed by.

"Hey, it's up!"

Ienzo blinked, and reality came back in a rush of sound and sensation. There was... not a commotion exactly, but the noise around him pointed to a converging motion of people. Casting was up already?

There was no point in looking. That would only make it real. Maybe he could pretend things were all right for a little while longer...

"Aaaaah, I thought I was a shoe-in!"

That was unmistakably Edym. Why was he complaining..?

"Never mind, Ed." Lea. "Hey, at least this one doesn't make you look like a girl. And weren't you moaning about all the pointe work already?"

This... didn't make sense. Xemnas had cast Edym in the White Swan role. He had said so. He wasn't the sort to lie, or joke about these things.

A good number of dancers, male and female, were jostling around the board trying to catch a look at the cast sheet. Lea had positioned himself by the wall to the side, one arm resting along the top of the noticeboard. He grinned at Ienzo as he approached.

"Hey, lead role! Congratulations."

"Yeah, well done, and stuff," Edym added listlessly, not looking him in the eye.

Reality was falling away again. He moved forward, too dazed to pay much notice to how several members of the crowd moved aside to let him through.

There it was. His name, at the top of the list, under the heading White Swan/Black Swan.

That wasn't the only thing that couldn't be right. Marluxia's name was nowhere to be found. He looked again. And again. The same result. His name under the White Swan role. Lea's under Von Rothbart. Edym's under Benno. Under Prince Siegfried was printed:

AELEUS MOLCHANOV