Ships Passing In The Night ｜Markhyuck (OT21 AU)

Chapter 36

The Performing Arts building looked exactly the same, he thought, right down to the huge, ancient-looking tree that sat in the centre of the front lawn, its gnarled, sprawling limbs blocking out most of the light from the sun to the path below. It had been explained to him--the last time he'd stopped by the building, on a campus tour just before the start of his freshman year--that the tree was protected by law, meaning that it couldn't be cut down even if the faculty wanted it gone. The tour guide had even looked out at the monstrous, hulking structure with wistful affection as she'd talked, but, to him, it had just looked like an eyesore. It still did.

As he entered the main atrium, slowly pushing open the heavy glass door with both hands, Yuta had to admit that the interior still presented an impressive tableau. He had, once upon a time, been awed by the shiny silver accents on the light fixtures and wall displays, and by the way the floor always seemed to gleam like it was freshly polished. It had looked expensive, imposing, and somewhere he would have gladly jumped at the chance to spend four years of his life. Things hadn't worked out that way, and it looked a little more tired than opulent to him now, but he could still appreciate it for the dream it had once presented for nineteen-year-old Nakamoto Yuta.

Glancing down at the crumpled slip of paper in his hands, Yuta scanned the neat, handwritten instructions until he found the line he was looking for. The studio he wanted was on the fifth floor, so he hurried over to the wall of elevators and tapped the call button twice. The note had been mysteriously dropped off for him at the Annex, two days after he'd discussed his dancing past with Ten at the Epsilon Eta Phi party, in a small, black envelope with just his first name on it.

Jungwoo had taken delivery of it, since Yuta had been in the lab, hard at work on his final research project, and then it had sat unopened on his desk for over a week. After he'd mustered the mental fortitude required to actually look inside the envelope, he'd grappled with what he was going to do about it for another few weeks, before he finally convinced himself that he had nothing to lose. He was only going to watch them, he reminded himself, as the light above one of the metal elevator doors dinged and it slid open smoothly. He would watch a practice, maybe hang out and get to know Ten a little bit afterwards, and then go home. He wouldn't be expected to dance today--or ever--if he wasn't ready.

When the elevator doors opened out onto the fifth floor, Yuta almost let them close again without disembarking. He didn't know why he was so nervous about something as easy as putting one foot in front of the other, but it took a few seconds before he was able to push up off the mirrored wall behind him and step out into the corridor. Once out, the lift dinged again, but Yuta ignored it in favour of examining the signage above his head.

Room 5F, the note had said; he didn't need to check it again. The signs told him it was on the other side of the building, so he set off in search of it, passing by several brightly lit practice rooms on his way. Each one teemed with life, or so it seemed, as Yuta allowed his gaze to linger for an extra few seconds on a group of girls executing quick, synchronised moves at the centre of a large room to his left. They didn't even notice him, as he paused to peer in through the glass panel in the door, focused as they were on each other and the mirrors set into the far wall. A bead of sweat fell from one of their brows as he watched, splashing the floorboards, but the girl didn't react, eyes fixed steadfastly on her reflection.

An odd swell of nostalgia and melancholy swept through Yuta, as he pulled his attention from their practice and continued on his way. It wasn't so long ago that he'd been like that, he recalled, his whole existence so wrapped up in dance that he would have happily spent hours on end perfecting moves until he could perform them in his sleep. He'd loved it so much that it hadn't even seemed like a hardship back then, enduring the late nights, the aching muscles and the inevitable avalanche of medical tape and ice packs. It had been worth it--at least until it all came to an abrupt end for him--and he wasn't too proud to admit that he still missed it like crazy.