Dance Lesson

When Simoun was studying, reading, or just sitting and thinking anywhere alone, he turned on the radio.

He didn't know why. He just found it easier to process information when something was playing in the background. It could be classical music, pop, or even heavy metal - as long as there was music somewhere, he could concentrate.

This curious habit came with its perks. On the one hand, he could avoid the distractive silence. On the other, if the tune was upbeat enough, Kristof could stroll in dancing.

There was no ceremony to it: he crossed the living room, where Simoun liked to study, using dance steps, moving his entire body to the rhythm of whatever pop tune was playing. If Kristof happened to already be seated inside the living room, and Simoun suddenly switched over to a pop station, he would start snapping his fingers, tapping his feet or dancing in place.

Simoun could almost swear he wasn't doing it on purpose.

It was fun watching Kristof behave like that. Like a doll that came to life onstage as soon as the music piped in. Even if he was built large, he was lean and his limbs were light. Simoun didn't think he knew anyone with as much control over his body than Kristof did, though he knew there must be better dancers out there...

Simoun had heard that other people hated having their concentration broken by their companions, but he couldn't imagine anyone getting annoyed by Kristof when he was in this pseudo-trance state.

One lazy Sunday afternoon, Simoun was studying in the living room, as usual, lounging on the large couch surrounded by books and papers. Kristof had just come back from overtime at his part-time job. Jennifer Lopez was playing, and Kristof sidestepped in, clapping his hands and moving in time with the beat.

Simoun, smiling, let him go at it for a while. "I hear senior prom is coming up," he casually greeted.

Still in the "zone," Kristof made a vague sound of assent.

"Are you going?"

"No," quickly and nonchalantly. Kristof threw down the duffel bag that contained his work clothes, rhythm unbroken.

"Why not?"

"No girl."

Simoun chuckled. "Don't tell me you were rejected! Last time I heard, some of them were even stalking you."

"No asking, no girl!" Kristof replied flippantly, as if he was ready for this question.

"That's too bad. It'll be your first prom here, won't it?"

"Hmm. Prom is just dance." Kristof shrugged. "In my country, we have dances all time. School dance, holiday dance, birthday dance, wedding dance... dance is not new." He started snapping his fingers in the air, instead of clapping.

"But it's your senior prom," Simoun felt like insisting. "It only comes once in a lifetime! You wouldn't want to tell your children that you missed it, right?"

Kristof seemed to need to stand still so he could better understand the question. He slowed to a stop and looked at Simoun, studying him intently.

"You go to prom before?"

Simoun didn't know why he couldn't answer it right away. Or why the question bothered him. It never used to, before.

"No," Simoun replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was in the hospital. Something went wrong with my leg. They had to operate again."

Perhaps Kristof sensed his unhappiness. It wasn't a subject that wanted discussion, anyway. Ignoring the rest of J.Lo's wailing, he stopped dancing altogether, sat on the sofa opposite Simoun and started taking off his shoes.

"So you say this school dance... it is important?"

Simoun tilted his head. "Any high schooler can tell you that it is, but..."

"To you?"

Simoun smiled. He was no longer a schoolboy, and he didn't mean to sound like one, but he couldn't help it, here. "Well Kristof, if my leg hadn't gone bad, it would've been my first dance."

The accident that cost him his right leg happened when he was 11 years old, in his first year of high school. The doctors wanted him to stop school for at least a year to rest, but he didn't want to. There were so many things to look forward to, so many things he was rushing toward.

Kristof watched Simoun's face. Simoun cautiously looked away, turned back to the book he was reading. There was no need to bring up bad memories, it was a perfectly fine Sunday afternoon. Besides, Kristof must be tired out from work...

"Well," he suddenly announced, standing and stretching his arms out in front of him, cracking his knuckles. "Always time for first time!" He picked up his shoes again and put them on, under Simoun's puzzled gaze.

"What do you mean?" he asked, rather stupidly. Kristof answered with a brilliant grin.

"I not go to prom, you not go to prom... but I dance, all my life." He stomped his second shoed foot on the floor, and made a grandiose gesture with a few flicks of his wrist. "You say this school dance is important, and you need dance, first time. So we dance!"

Simoun blinked. "What - now?"

Kristof stood up stiffly and slowly bent from the waist in a gallant bow - horrifying Simoun completely.

"I'm not dancing with another boy." That should not sound vehement. "It would be...awkward."

"Awkward...?" He seemed seriously puzzled.

"It won't look good."

"Not look good? How if you close your eyes?"

Simoun chuckled. "No, I don't mean that. You look good. I mean - " He caught himself and coughed. "That won't make a difference. It'll still be two boys, it's not..." But it looked like a huge language barrier was taking effect. Simoun recoiled from the playful grin on his face. "...I tell you, Kristof, it's not worth it."

"Not worth it! Dance always worth it!"

Not having experienced dancing before, Simoun doubted that very, very much. He gestured to his right leg. "See this? The best I could do with this is stand straight up. I'm going to trip over something or bump against something or fall."

"Trust me." There was finality in his voice. "I will not let you trip or bump or fall."

He was already taking Simoun by the hands and pulling him up to a sitting position. There was no room or time for struggle; the look in Kristof's eyes made that clear.

"Trust me," he said again, smiling.

It was impossible this wasn't planned.

"...I look ridiculous."

Kristof waved his hand in front of Simoun's face. "How you can tell?" he challenged. He had been sure when he put on the blindfold that it was tight enough to keep any light from coming in.

Kristof had set Simoun's crutch to one side. The smaller boy kept himself upright by holding on to Kristof's arms, whatever part of them he could grasp. It wasn't easy. Thankfully Vincent's obscenely clean, disturbingly empty room - which Kristof had resourcefully turned into their private dance studio, just by bringing in Simoun's pocket radio - was too small to permit too many trip-ups and embarrassing missteps.

It took Kristof two techno tunes and one candy pop song before he accepted that Simoun will forever refuse to even try to get into the rhythm. Exasperation had started to show on his face.

Simoun had begun to think this exercise was bordering on cruel - though not for him. For the big kid.

He feebly insisted, "Really, Kristof, this is not necessary..."

"Oh you say," the taller boy sniffed, with a touch of genuine resentment. "Only way make you dance with other boy. Now quick, pretend I am a girl."

"A very big girl," Simoun said drily, "who is like a boy." Large rough hands were on his waist. Simoun knew the basics of dancing even before the lessons began, of course, and he was quite sure Kristof wasn't assuming the feminine position.

Not that he could complain.

"You don't like, I remove cloth from face and you lead," Kristof said, a trifle haughtily. Simoun had to chuckle.

"No, no, sorry," he assured his friend, "this is okay."

He didn't mean to be difficult... but he couldn't imagine how Kristof could expect results. Most of the "lesson" consisted of him being amused at how seriously Kristof was taking this. Perhaps it was the dance teacher in the older boy, but he really wanted to teach a crippled kid about rhythm. He went on and on about how it could be achieved even without using his feet, about how everyone has an inner "pace" they need to tap before they can even begin to understand dancing...

Sometimes he shifted to his native language and didn't bother to translate; that was how Simoun knew he was getting impatient.

And when all the cards have been laid out, he got it into his head to give force a shot. He plainly grabbed Simoun's crutch and threw it on the unused bed. Then he got the genius idea to bring out a blindfold so Simoun would stop feeling ridiculous.

Kristof hated that word... "ridiculous." He wasn't used to it. And he thought it sounded stupid.

Oddly enough, Simoun found that this desperado tactic worked. Being blindfolded robbed him of any sense of awkwardness, after the first several seconds. Then the challenge became purely being aware of Kristof's movements, responding quickly so neither of them would lose balance.

"There. New song now." Kristof laid one hand on the small of Simoun's back and pulled him closer. "Ready?"

A melody Simoun didn't recognize came on the radio. He took one step to the right. Simoun stepped to his left in response. Then Kristof shifted his weight to his left. And quickly took his hand from Simoun's waist and held his right arm, to steady him.

Simoun no longer felt awkward, but he did feel weird. All his senses were heightened, he was keenly aware of Kristof's movements - of how cautious Kristof was being. It seemed, somehow, that Kristof was sensitive to Simoun as well.

He wondered if Kristof's eyes were closed...

Also, at times his weak right leg would give, and Kristof would pull him closer. There was no real opportunity to move away, it was only ever closer and closer. Soon his frail body was pressed up against Kristof's, so he could catch the other boy's scent.

Simoun had no idea how he would smell like to other people. He never really thought about it. He suddenly noticed, however, that Kristof smelled distinctly of... boy. Strong like the earth and like the sea, and over all that is an overwhelming scent of sunlight. Like a good day outdoors.

He was reminded of his soccer days, when as a child he could run and jump and wrestle with the other boys without a care in the world. He was reminded of the times he was able to swim. It made him feel like laughing.

"What?" Kristof asked.

"Nothing," he said. He shook his head, willed the nostalgia away.

"In my country," Kristof said without prompting, "there are many girl..." He smiled sheepishly and corrected himself, "Many girls... who like to dance. My friend's school... school for dance... always many girls."

"Not many boys?"

"Oh... hmm. Boys, they have different things." His hand left Simoun's right arm briefly as he made a nonchalant gesture. "Boys only come when girls come, girls they like. Sometimes Jared and me, we teach them. That is why this, this is not strange."

Boys teaching boys how to slow dance? Simoun had always thought Kristof's little out-of-the-way town was cool, but not that cool. Anyway, Simoun suspected that many of the girls actually came for Kristof and/or his friend Jared, not for the dance lessons.

"There. You see? You are doing it, you know..."

Doing what? Simoun started to ask. Then he realized he was no longer even thinking about his steps. He was moving liquidly along with Kristof.

He was dancing. Albeit very slowly, in a pace that was twice as long as the one prescribed by the song currently playing.

Who cares?

Simoun let out a victorious laugh. Even if he knew it wasn't dancing, not technically. And even if he knew Kristof's movements had a lot to do with it being effortless on his part. Kristof bore his weight when he had to lean on his right leg. Kristof's hands and arms kept him from falling.

"So here, your first dance. Important enough?" Kristof asked.

Simoun laughed again.

He heard - felt - Kristof breathe a small sigh over his hair. The obvious reason was relief, because finally the brat gave in and let him lead. But it did not feel like relief... if Simoun could only see his face he would know what it is.

But he didn't feel like taking off the blindfold just yet. The song had not yet ended. And Simoun was determined to make good use of the background music and learn everything he could, while he could.

He learned that dancing - or at least the feeling of it - was something he would like to experience with his eyes open, next time.

*

Author's Note: This fic was inspired by ZK's artwork of Kristof and Simoun - which, in my head, is clearly what comes after this fic XD This story is therefore dedicated to her, with much gratitude and love.

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