Chapter Text
Lead
It didn’t make sense to him why they were here at all. Most especially, why he was here.
“Look, Kiyoharu,” Marisa-sensei said. “This is important.”
Tatara shifted uneasily in his seat. They were set up in the Hyodo studio in Tokyo. They could hear the sound of feet from the studio upstairs. Based on the rate of the footsteps, Tatara thought they must be doing a waltz. The part of his brain that Chi-chan called his “dance lizard brain” couldn’t stop tuning into it.
Chasse, he heard.
Kiyoharu yawned.
“Kiyoharu,” Marisa-sensei sighed then said. “You’re meeting up tonight.”
She handed him a piece of paper. Then turned to Tatara.
“Convince him.” She left.
“EH?” Tatara watched her close the door behind her. He wondered helplessly why he was still such a pushover after all these years.
He looked back and forth between the door and Kiyoharu. How many years had passed since they first met.
“Is this,” Tatara said. “Is this about the marriage thing?”
Kiyoharu looked at him.
“But—“ Tatara stopped and thought carefully about his next words. “I thought you said… she knew?”
Kiyoharu looked away. Then shrugged.
“Are you—going to go?” Tatara’s voice rose sharply.
“If I don’t marry, the inheritance passes to someone else.”
“In—“ Tatara sucked in a breath, almost choking on it. “Inheritance?!”
Kiyoharu nodded.
Tatara’s head became a mess. He knew that Kiyoharu’s life was different, vastly different from his. Kiyoharu grew up in a dance studio. He’d had teachers in different countries when they were in high school. But this was another level of different.
He knew that right now Marisa-sensei expected him to be convincing Kiyoharu to go. Kiyoharu, as far as he knew, had skipped every one of these dinners. Marisa-sensei, even Shizuku-san, had gotten involved more than once. It wasn’t the first time Tatara had heard about it. It was the first time they had gotten him involved.
And Tatara wasn’t from a world where people got married for inheritance. He thought that it was one of those old world traditions that had disappeared in modern day life. Even the Princesses of Japan got married for love. Marriage was already complicated. It didn’t need more stuff like inheritance thrown in the mix.
“I’ll go,” Kiyoharu said.
“Eh?” Tatara stared. “But—“
“I’ll go,” Kiyoharu interrupted. “If you do me a favor.”
Tatara stared. Kiyoharu looked right back at him, staring.
“A—a favor?”
“A favor.”
“From me?” Tatara pointed to himself.
Kiyoharu looked at him like he was stupid.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Tatara swallowed. “It’s not anything illegal, right?”
Kiyoharu shook his head.
“Or anything that will get in the way of dancing?”
He shook his head again.
“You know, I,” Tatara said. “I don’t think—I won’t try to convince you anyway, right?”
“I know,” Kiyoharu said.
“You really want this favor,” Tatara said.
Kiyoharu looked at him for a long time.
“I really want this favor.”
—
Kiyoharu mostly ignored it. Particularly when he was in school. It wasn’t helpful and if he danced long and hard enough, he was too exhausted to think about it. To dream about it. It was less difficult than people made it out to be.
Until Fujita Tatara, who for years was just Fujita. Fujita who tripped over himself while learning the basic step for the waltz the same step he knew since he was seven. Fujita who danced with Shizuku during that Mikasa Cup while he went out to give an actual performance. Fujita who found him in the bathroom stall, listening to the same bullshit he listened to from the dancers who looked down on him for his name, and got angry for him. Fujita who led without leading until he could lead. Fujita who set fire to Kiyoharu’s world until it was all ash.
Then it was difficult to ignore.
—
Tatara found out about it years earlier. They were in Hong Kong. Tatara didn’t remember the name, but it was one of those ritzy hotels with a pool and a lot of weird lobbies.
It was the first time he’d seen Shizuku-san and Kiyoharu since Amsterdam. Shizuku-san was beautiful as always. She brought him the omiyage they’d collected on their tour and gave him a small package to send to her husband. Then she asked him if he’d seen Kiyoharu yet, which was a subtle request to find him.
Over the years, Tatara has had a number of random run-ins with Kiyoharu all over the world. Chi-chan had once accused him of stalking. Then of having a weird dance instinct. Then she’d gotten more and more drunk and indecipherable. And it was true that he usually ended up finding Kiyoharu in whatever corner he’d tucked himself in. It was never on purpose. They just seemed to end up in the same place a lot.
That was no less true that night. He found Kiyoharu tucked in an armchair, legs bent so he could slide his toes in the cushion while leaning on the armrest. He looked so unlike Kiyoharu it took a moment to recognize him.
“Hyodo-kun?!”
Kiyoharu turned to look at him, his head lolling.
“Are you okay?” He rushed over.
Kiyoharu didn’t move, like he was waiting for the moment Tatara would realize—
“You’ve been drinking?!” Tatara looked scandalized. It made Kiyoharu laugh. Of course he was, he told Tatara. Or well, tried to.
“Huh?” He squinted at Kiyoharu. He sat down on the other armchair. “I can’t understand—you’re really drunk, aren’t you?”
In another situation, Tatara would probably be panicking. Kiyoharu was drunk. Very drunk, by the look of it.
“‘S just vodka,” Kiyoharu slurred.
Tatara sighed. “I didn’t know you liked vodka.”
“Don’t,” Kiyoharu shrugged helplessly. Then he brandished the half-empty bottle.
“‘S not str—steroy—“
“Strong?” Tatara’s eyebrows furrow together.
“Typical.”
“Stereotypical?”
Kiyoharu points excitedly, just past his head. “That.”
Tatara stopped talking for a moment. He looked instead at the circles under Kiyoharu’s eyes. The half-empty bottle of what was probably expensive vodka was tucked back in his side. His head was tilted against the backrest like he might be sleeping. And maybe he was, Kiyoharu could basically sleep anywhere.
“Hyodo-kun,” Tatara said softly. “Why are you drinking?”
No one said anything. Tatara sat back in the plush armchair and watched Kiyoharu slowly turn to look at him, twisting his head where it was still resting on the back of the chair.
“Amsterdam,” he finally said.
Tatara froze. He felt his body tense up like a full cramp. Without the intense pain.
“You realized, right?” He was still slurring, but something about his tone was just a tad hopeful.
Tatara shifted his weight on his knees. Kiyoharu dipped his chin until it settled on his knee. He didn’t look drunk, Tatara marvelled. Tatara knew he turned the color of a ripe tomato when he drank. Kiyoharu looked like he just woke up from a nap. It must be the Russian blood .
“You know,” Kiyoharu said again. “Right?”
Tatara swallowed. “You’re g—“
He could already hear Maria berating him in the back of his head. Tatara breathed and tried again. “You like men.”
Kiyoharu stared, long enough to make Tatara sweat. Then nodded once.
“I’m gay.”
The words seemed to fill up the space Tatara left open for him. He wondered how long Kiyoharu had wanted to say those words. He wondered how many people he had said them to. Tatara couldn’t help but be grateful to Maria. He wouldn’t know what to do otherwise.
“I support you no matter what, Hyodo-kun.” He said looked into his eyes.
Kiyoharu looked back at him for a long moment. Then laughed.
Tatara was baffled.
“Thanks,” he finally said. His eyes were sharp as razors.
—
There were always distractions that kept Kiyoharu afloat. Shizuku’s ability, their synchronicity. The mistakes he’d made. Argentinian tango. Viennese Waltz. Italy. Germany. Russia. There was always something. When Fujita came to set Kiyoharu alight again he should have been ready.
He should have been.
—
Tatara found out later that the dinner had been—polite. He found out from Shizuku-san when they’d met up for tea. It was one of those cute cafes that Tatara imagined Mako-chan would like a lot.
There were fairy lights and plants hanging everywhere. Tatara found the chairs to be really uncomfortable, but Shizuki-san looked comfortable and given how uncomfortable she usually was, Tatara would settle for shifting a bunch.
Shizuku-san cradled her fancy tea cup in her hand, the other rested on her bulging belly.
“How are you Shizuku-san?” Tatara tried not to stumble over her first name. It had been years since she got married and he still wasn’t used to it.
“Well,” she thought for a moment. “I’ve been better, I suppose.”
Tatara smiled.
“So, did you hear about Kiyoharu?”
Tatara sighed. “More of the marriage stuff?”
Shizuku-san looked disappointed. “You really don’t think he should do this, even if it’s for his future?”
Tatara had to bite so he didn’t share any secrets that weren’t his.
“I don’t think he should be forced to marry, no,” Tatara looked down at his own tea cup. “Marriage is—already hard. Complicating it more, it feels wrong.”
“That’s right,” Shizuku smiled gracefully. “Your family has a complicated relationship with marriage. That’s why you don’t want to get married, right?”
Tatara nodded and stared deeply into his tea.
“I can’t quite understand myself.” Tatara saw her smile and look at her own ring. “But Kiyoharu has always known that he would have to marry. And Marisa-sensei has always tried to pick partners that she thinks he would like.”
Tatara looked up at her and thought, have any of them had dicks, before he tucked that thought away.
“Ah,” Shizuku-san smiled like an angel at him. Tatara’s heart still skipped a beat. “You thought something mean just now, didn’t you?”
Tatara looked back at his tea. He forgot sometimes that Shizuku-san could read him. It got him in trouble a lot too.
She laughed at him. “Well, I guess you’ll be pleased to know that the dinner date ended early.”
“Why—I wouldn’t be happy,” Tatara said. “Was he—was he rude or something?”
Shizuku-san kept smiling. “It turns out Kiyoharu was perfectly polite.”
Tatara cocked his head. “Isn’t that… a good thing?”
Shizuku-san smiled. “Polite is not the same as interested.”
“Ah,” he said. “Does that mean… it’s over?”
Shizuku-san laughed. “I don’t think Marisa-sense will give up so easily.”
“Is it really that big a deal?” Tatara blurted out. “I mean marriage is—“
“Mm,” Shizuku-san agreed. “But, well, their family has always argued about this kind of stuff.”
“This kind of stuff?”
Shizuku-san looked a little hesitant. “I mean—“
Then she looked at Tatara. “Well, I guess you should know.”
Tatara blinked. Probably stupidly.
“You know that Marisa-sensei has Russian blood, right?”
“Ah, yes.” It was hard to forget.
“Well, to be honest, she married into the Hyodo family and they don’t love that Marisa-sensei isn’t Japanese.”
“But she is—“
Shizuku-san smiled sadly. “She’s part Russian. So for them, she’s not Japanese.”
Tatara just looked at her.
“So they have a lot of rules to make sure Kiyoharu doesn’t make the same decisions as his father.”
Tatara looked away. He had no idea the Hyodo family was so complicated. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like for his family to push him because they didn’t like where his partner was from. Or that they weren’t 100% Japanese.
“If Kiyoharu doesn’t follow those rules—well, worst case scenario they will disown him.”
“Dis—disown?!”
“Tatara,” Shizuku-san hissed. “Shh.”
“Sorry,” Tatara sucked in a breath. The more he learned about Kiyoharu’s life the more it made sense that he was closetted.
“I think Marisa-sensei is getting desperate since Kiyoharu is driving everyone away. She’ll probably start asking for help. Although—“
She looked at Tatara knowingly. He shrunk in his seat. “I’d heard you already helped.”
Tatara fidgetted. “I didn’t really…”
Shizuku-san sent him a meaningful look. “I hope you can keep helping him in the future.”
Tatara swallowed heavily.
—
Gaju was brought in to help. Supposedly.
Now, Gaju-kun was a good friend. He was always giving Tatara advice and they met up whenever they were in the same country. They still danced together and Gaju-kun always brought him something from wherever he’d traveled.
But Gaju-kun helping with any kind of romance was bound to be trouble.
The first time Tatara had heard about Gaju-kun’s help was when he’d gone to visit the Hyodo Dance Society. Gaju-kun was actually in Mexico with his new girlfriend. They were skydiving or something last Tatara had heard. But he had called Kiyoharu to expound on the merits of regular sex and, well mostly, his girlfriend. He also liked to send Tatara weirdly racy pictures of her chest and then tell him not to jerk off to her. Gaju-kun had a weird way of bragging.
This turned out to be his go-to way of “helping.” His most recent attempt had been to call Tatara, since Kiyoharu wasn’t picking up his phone, to get him to tell Kiyoharu all of the ways a man can “enjoy” his wife. It got bad enough that Tatara ended up calling Mako-can.
...who apparently needed an hour to complain about her brother’s new girlfriend.
“He’s even thinking about marrying her, Tatara-san!”
Tatara didn’t know much about this girl, just that Mako-chan hated her and how she looked in a swimsuit (curtesy of Gaju-kun). Admittedly, Gaju-kun went for curves more than anything else.
Mako-chan huffed.
“W-well I don’t know how strong that marriage will be…” Tatara said.
Mako-chan laughed. “That’s true. Onii-chan’s not very good at relationships, is he?”
Tatara agreed.
“Oh? Are you going to Chi-chan’s campaign? The one next weekend?”
“A-ah,” Tatara said. “I-I might have work actually.”
“Aww,” Mako-chan said. “I’ve been trying to convince Shizuku-chan to come with me to at least one, but she still has reservations.”
Tatara thought for a moment. He never got that feeling that Shizuku-san would be against it, but—
“I think she’s more of a traditionalist than she realizes.”
“Mm, that might be true.”
“What do you think, Tatara?”
He should have anticipated the question. He used to be Chi-chan’s partner after all.
“I think it’s a good idea,” he said after a moment. “But I would be a very different dancer if those rules were in effect when I started dancing.”
Mako-chan laughed. “I don’t know, Tatara-san. I still think you’re a marvelous leader.”
“Thank you, Mako-chan. But if women are allowed to lead and men can follow it will really change competitions, don’t you think?”
“Mm! It will be exciting to see where ballroom dancing goes!”
“It will.”
—
They were in an apartment in Tokyo. Tatara could tell since he knew apartments in Tokyo look different than other countries.
It was midday. The sun was shining so brightly through the windows. Kiyoharu stepped out onto the wooden floor without clothes. Tatara could see all of the muscles that make up the two time World Champion’s body.
“Hey, Fujita,” he said. Then started to lean back, as if in a hold. “Do you know what makes dancing so beautiful?”
He kept leaning back, farther and farther, a perfect smile on his face.
“Hyodo-kun! You’re going to fall!” He reached up.
Kiyoharu kept smiling, his back kept dipping lower and lower. “Aren’t you going to support me?”
Tatara woke up. His breathing all messed up. His body in a panic.
Why, he pressed a hand over his eye. Why do I keep having these dreams?
—
Kiyoharu was found out first by Hiyama. It was back when they were all paired up. He and Hiyama didn’t talk much. Kiyoharu liked it that way. But this time she came looking for him. And she found him just when Shizuku left. Kiyoharu had the feeling that if she had stayed, she wouldn’t have said anything.
“You know,” she started. “Tatara and I aren’t dating anymore.”
Kiyoharu snorted. The entire world of dance was aware of that given their very public breakup and subsequent abysmal dances. His mother was pissed.
She blushed. “W-well. I mean. It wouldn’t be a big deal if you, you know. Made a move.”
Kiyoharu looked at her.
“He—he’s pretty oblivious so—“ she flipped her hair over her shoulder. “If you don’t say anything he’ll never know.”
Yes Hiyama, he wanted to say. That was very much the point.
It didn’t take long for her to get tired of his stare and she huffed dramatically and left.
They both pretend it never happened.
—
Without competitions, without a partner, Tatara’s life became a mundane stretch of time broken up by his friends, work, and sleep. Tatara found a job at his local post office. He mostly sent off letters and told people with packages to go to the bigger post office down the street.
Tatara took the job partially for the money and partially because they don’t mind him taking off a couple of weeks at a time. It meant that a lot of young women also worked there. They liked to tell him how lovely his posture was and how they hoped their young daughters would find a “nice boy like him to marry someday.”
Kiyoharu found him there. How he knew where Tatara worked was a mystery. But then, he’d found Tatara’s house when they were teenagers, so it wasn’t completely surprising.
Kiyoharu was also very handsome despite his lack of social skills. Women, particularly mothers, tended to fuss over him with Kiyoharu blinked and stared out into the distance.
This is how Tatara found him when he got into work.
“Oh my! You’re so handsome,” Eri-san said while petting his very broad shoulder.
“Tatara-kun!” Shiori-san called out. “Your friend is here!”
“Hyodo-kun,” Tatara said. “You could have called.”
Kiyoharu just looked at him, like Tatara expected. Kiyoharu didn’t even call him when he had his number.
Tatara could see his coworkers watching the two of them with hawk eyes, so he pulled Kiyoharu out into the hallway.
“You could have called,” Tatara said again, exasperated.
Kiyoharu held up his phone. It looked totally diff—
“Is that a new—wait, no of course it is,” Tatara said. Then he took it and programmed his number in it. “What happened to the last one?”
“Sink.”
Tatara put his hands over his eyes. He couldn’t imagine going through phones like Kiyoharu did.
“What’s going on?”
“You haven’t danced in a while.”
Technically, Tatara danced the foxtrot at Ogasawara’s last night, but that’s not what Kiyoharu was talking about.
“I don’t have a partner,” Tatara reminded him.
“Come here,” Kiyoharu passed him a piece of paper, “at six.”
“I’ll be working until seven,” Tatara grumbled. Dance people always wanted others to match up to their schedule. “I can probably come after that.”
Kiyoharu made an exasperated, bored face that let Tatara know exactly how inconvenient it was for him.
You’re not paying my bills, Tatara thought stubbornly. Even though he would rather be spending time with Kiyoharu, than at work, it was the principle of it.
“Fine.” Kiyoharu turned away. “We’ll be working on your tango.”
Then he leaves.
My—my tango?
—
Kiyoharu hadn’t thought about what he wanted to do with that favor. Wanting something and know what to do with it were not the same thing after all.
One of the few benefits of Shizuka having children was that Hiyama was also separated from Tatara while she worked on her same sex couple campaign. Kiyoharu shared an opinion with his mother on this. It was the sort of mutation that wouldn’t take. The foundation, and many times the draw of ballroom dance was the opposite sex. Even if that wasn’t Kiyoharu’s experience. Even if there was a disproportionate number of homosexual dancers, it hadn’t changed ballroom dancing in all of these years. Hiyama’s small attempts wouldn’t break that foundation.
Instead of wasting that time dancing with middle aged women at Ogasawara, Tatara could be learning more about making his own variations with Kiyoharu. It was one of the reasons Tatara had such a hard time when he went pro.
He waited for Tatara to get off work. He watched him shadow dance a sad sack of a routine and remembered his mother’s metaphor about knives. She’d first told it to him when he had to go abroad to learn from one of his teachers for the first time. She’d asked him to take out a butter knife and she pulled out a steak knife. She showed him their dull edges.
“Kiyoharu,” she’d said. “Everyone has their own edge. It might be in dancing, in arts, in school, but everyone has one.”
She picked up the butter knife “There are some born with a dull edge. They don’t have much talent. If they don’t have much drive, they stay dull.”
She picked up the steak knife. “Some are born with a sharper edge. More expectation, more talent, maybe even some motivation.”
Kiyoharu ran his finger against the edge. He could feel the sharpness, but it didn’t cut him. “But all of that talent and drive means nothing if the knife isn’t sharpened.”
Then she picked up the butter knife again. “There will be some people who start later, have less. But they’ll work harder. They’ll get sharper.”
When Kiyoharu ran his finger against that edge, it cut.
“That’s why you’re going.”
Looking at Tatara now, Kiyoharu saw a butter knife, dulling in the waves of life hitting him.
“No,” Kiyoharu stepped up to him. “What is this?”
Tatara stumbled. “Um, a—a tango?”
Kiyoharu gave him a face he hoped appropriately conveyed this is terrible.
“Who are you shadow dancing this—with?” He did not say routine.
“Uh—um,” Tatara gaped at him. “Chi-chan?”
Kiyoharu’s face was deadpan. He’d learned when he was a child this was the least amount of effort to communicate.
Tatara stared back at him. This was the problem with people who knew him for a long time.
“Are the two of you still a pair?”
Tatara looked down. He looked hopeless in a way that Kiyoharu had never seen.
“On… paper, we are.”
Kiyoharu narrowed his eyes.
“I-I mean,” Tatara said. “It’s just—“
Kiyoharu could see his toes curling in his socks.
“I’m not,” Tatara gasped in air like Kiyoharu had been strangling him. “Like you, okay?!”
Kiyoharu almost stepped back, wrongfooted.
“I don’t have this disgustingly expensive apartment in Shibuya,” Tatara spat. “I’m not the one who grew up in a dance class like everyone else. I’m not—“
A steak knife, Kiyoharu’s brain thought automatically.
Tatara stopped. His face twisted in the kind of emotion Kiyoharu rarely saw outside of the ballroom. Unlike when he danced, Tatara was always holding back.
“You’re what?” Kiyoharu asked.
“I’m not a perfect lead,” Tatara whispered. He’d said it like it was some dark secret. For a long moment, Kiyoharu didn’t understand.
In all honesty, it had happened when Kiyoharu wasn’t paying attention. He had just split up with Liliana, who wanted a husband and a dance partner. She was originally from Canada but she spent quite a lot of time in America. He had won his second World Championship with her after being partnered for a year.
It was a tumultuous year. Particularly since she was his first partner after Shuzuku. The two of them hadn’t spoken since her husband had accused Kiyoharu of emotionally manipulating Shizuku. Sometime in that mess, Liliana had gone on TV and said that Kiyoharu was “the perfect lead.” Like a terrible rumor, that had gone around until it was paired with his name like a title. Hyodo Kiyoharu, two time World Champion, perfect lead.
Kiyoharu personally thought it was stupid, since perfect is different for everyone. Time had passed. People said it less. Perhaps it slipped the conscience of the dance world.
But there were some people who didn’t forget it. Tatara was apparently one of them. Kiyoharu’s chest ached.
“Why does that matter?” Kiyharu asked. Tatara jerked back.
“Why does it—“ Tatara said. “I mean—“
Kiyoharu watched Tatara stutter and tucked his sweating hands in his pockets. Perfect lead didn’t mean much to Kiyoharu. But it apparently meant a lot to Tatara. He didn’t—
“Do you think you’re not a good lead?” Kiyoharu blurted out.
“It’s not like you’ve been my partner before so you don’t know!” It came out of Tatara’s mouth so fast and viciously Kiyoharu rocked back onto his heels.
Tatara looked at his face, Kiyoharu could feel it was doing something unusual. He looked down and covered his mouth with his hand.
It’s infected, Kiyoharu thought. You’re wounded and it’s infected.
Tatara was hunched over, there were bags under his eyes. Kiyoharu took a deep breath; he watched Tatara look away.
Kiyoharu shifted his weight, and assumed the partner position.
“Well,” he said. Tatara looked up surprised. “Come and get me.”
—
Tatara’s brain was a mess. All of this felt like one of his terrible dreams. The big Shibuya apartment with a dance studio, dancing a tango for Kiyoharu’s careful eyes, yelling at Kiyoharu—
Kiyoharu holding perfect partner posture, waiting for Tatara to hold him.
Are you going to support me?
“Yes,” Tatara finally answered and he completed the hold.