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The Sugar Plum variation music finished with a flourish, and Xie Lian doubled over in the wings, gasping for breath. The other dancers around him scattered to give him space.
It was the last dress rehearsal in the theater before opening night, and the entire company was feeling the stress. The saying among dancers and other theater people, bad dress rehearsal, good show was feeling particularly pertinent in the moment.
Xie Lian's feet throbbed in his shoes, his back ached, and all he really wanted to do at the moment was lie down on the floor, but the Sugar Plum pas de deux hadn't even begun.
Xie Lian peered across the stage towards the other wing, where his cavalier was nodding at him encouragingly. He managed a sheepish smile back before shaking himself off and stepping back onto stage.
The pas music was grand and sweeping, and the orchestra played the score with grace and beauty. Xie Lian let the sound of the violins move through his body as he went through the choreography. He'd been working on this pas de deux for months, but with each rehearsal, he tried to push himself further.
Over the speakers, Jun Wu, the artistic director's voice came, slightly garbled by the quality of the microphone. “Extend your front arm, Xie Lian."
Xie Lian took the correction, reaching, then pushed up into a pirouette, guided by Feng Xin’s hands on his waist. When he stopped turning, gently lifting one leg into arabesque, he paused, catching sight of the very edge of the orchestra pit.
There was a man standing there, with black hair that glinted as it reflected the stage lights. His whole body radiated focus, as he played the violin balanced in between his neck and shoulder with pristine technique.
There was a grace to his movements that was almost like a ballet dancer, but the sight was swept away from Xie Lian as he moved into the next part of the choreography, running to the back of the stage for a turning diagonal.
Later in the dance, Xie Lian caught another glimpse of him at the top of a partnered saut de chat, peeking down at the orchestra pit in his peripheral vision again.
This time, Xie Lian found another gaze meeting his.
As the pas finished, Xie Lian reached for Feng Xin’s hand, both of them sweaty and breathless, as they bowed to the imaginary audience. Xie Lian sunk into a curtsy, and found the violinist staring back at him, framed by the empty theater.
Who was that?
-
Stepping out of the theater and into the brisk winter air, Xie Lian pulled his jacket tighter around himself. The subway stop was a couple minutes from the theater, but it felt more like hours when it was this cold out.
His whole body ached from the intense rehearsal, but he also knew that the second he got home, he could lie in bed for as long as he wanted. Or, at least, until tomorrow morning, when he'd need to be in the theater bright and early to prepare for the evening’s show.
Xie Lian hurried down the subway steps, boots tapping out a perfect rhythm on the concrete. The warmth of the underground station enveloped him as he stepped inside, and so did the stench. Xie Lian pulled his scarf tighter.
He pulled his subway pass out of his pocket, stepping up to the turnstile and swiping it. The machine beeped back in complaint. Invalid fare .
Xie Lian frowned, trying again. Behind him, someone was impatiently tapping their foot, waiting for him to either move along or get out of the way. Xie Lian tried one more time. The tapping grew louder.
Xie Lian turned around, looking for a place to buy a new card, but instead found himself face to face with—
“It’s you!” he exclaimed, upon seeing the man. Between the violin case carried in one arm, the all black clothes, and high ponytail, there was no doubt that it was the violinist from earlier that evening.
The violinist raised an eyebrow. “Your subway pass isn’t working.”
“I know.”
The violinist glanced around, rolling his eyes. “Come on. There’s a broken gate near the back, you can get in free without anyone noticing.”
Xie Lian let the violinist drag him off through the packed subway station, until they found a gate tucked into the back corner that was, indeed, broken. “Hey, what’s your name?”
“Mu Qing,” the violinist said matter-of-factly.
“I’m—”
“Xie Lian,” Mu Qing said. “I know.”
“You do?”
“It’s hard not to,” Mu Qing said. “You’re the principal dancer. Everyone in the theater knows who you are.”
Xie Lian smiled apologetically. “But you’re… the first violinist, right?” He didn't totally understand orchestra hierarchies, not since he quit cello in high school to make more room for dance. “First… chair?”
“Concertmaster,” Mu Qing said.
Xie Lian wasn't fully sure what that entailed, but from the pride in Mu Qing’s voice, he could tell it was an important position.
“Do you know where to get on the T line? I don't usually take it."
"That's the train I take home," Xie Lian said. “Come on, I'll take you there." Xie Lian waved Mu Qing over, leading him through one of the station's yellowy tunnels, and down the stairs to the train platform.
Xie Lian offered Mu Qing a smile as the speeding train slowed to a stop in front of them, and they stepped through the car’s doors. Thankfully, the car wasn't terribly crowded, and they were able to snag a pair of seats by the window.
They were silent for a minute. Xie Lian wasn't really sure what to say. Small talk was never a strength of his. “Why are you on this train today?”
“Visiting my mother,” Mu Qing said. Something about the way he said the words made it clear he didn’t want to elaborate. Xie Lian understood the feeling.
“You’re an amazing violinist, by the way. I saw you playing during rehearsal—totally unreal.”
“If anyone’s unreal, it’s Sugar Plum,” Mu Qing said.
“I wouldn’t know,” Xie Lian said, smiling up at the subway straps hanging above. “I've never had a sugared plum in my life."
"I think it's not technically a plum, even," Mu Qing said. “I looked it up once. Some king had them at his wedding feast?"
“The Nutcracker is such a weird ballet," Xie Lian agreed.
"I was wondering whether someone was going to point that out," Mu Qing said. He frowned. “Ballet is weird in general. What’s that thing dancers all say to each other before the show starts?”
“Merde.” Xie Lian’s smile widened, and he added, “It means shit in French.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
Mu Qing glanced out the windows of the subway as it rocketed along the tracks, turning dimly lit tunnels into a blur. “My stop is next.” His smile was tight. “See you tomorrow. I’ll, uh, stop by the dressing rooms before the show. If you want.”
“I’d like that.” Xie Lian smiled back. “See you!”
As the subway car shakily slowed, Mu Qing slung his violin case over his shoulder. The doors chimed, then slid open. Mu Qing glanced back over at his shoulder, at Xie Lian. He smiled, and it seemed less carefully controlled this time. “Merde.”
The doors closed, and Xie Lian pulled his dance bag closer into his chest, trying to figure out the reason for the warmth in his cheeks.
-
The energy in the dressing room was warm and bright. Around Xie Lian, the other principal dancers of the company sat at their tables, dusting sparkly eye shadow onto their faces, warming up their bodies, going over their dances in the little space they had.
Xie Lian sat in his chair in front of his mirror, carefully hair spraying his bun until there was not a single hair out of place. On the mirror, he had little photos taped up: photo strips of him and Feng Xin, and one of Jun Wu’s old-school headshots. Xie Lian had found it in a thrift store one day, and got it signed when he joined the company. His pointe shoes rested on the table beside him, and his Sugar Plum tutu was hanging from the back of the chair.
He flexed and pointed his feet inside his slippers, articulating through each joint, trying to retain some of the heat from warm-up class as he got his face ready for stage.
Xie Lian blew out a breath, meeting his own gaze in the mirror as he reached for his stage lipstick—extra bright, to make his lips pop on stage. It was a sweet pink that matched the ornaments on the Sugar tutu.
Speaking of that, Xie Lian looked back at it, then around the room. Most of the dancers were already dressed, if not wearing cover-ups and coats over their costumes to preserve some heat in the dry air of the theater.
He quickly stepped out of his chair and tugged the tutu up over his legs, sliding his arms into the thin straps and pulling the bodice up. He admired it briefly in the mirror, before sitting back down.
There was a knock on the door, and all nine principals in the room glanced over. It was Shi Qingxuan—playing the role of the Dewdrop Fairy in this show—who ran over to get it. She poked her head outside as the rest of them looked on, exchanging a few words with the person on the other side of the door.
Then, Shi Qingxuan turned back to the dressing room, smiling in that playful way of hers, and winked at Xie Lian. “Someone’s here for you,” she said, singsong. In the seat beside Xie Lian, Ling Wen’s eyebrows shot up several inches, skeptical.
Xie Lian tried to stop the corners of his mouth from tilting up into a smile. He was halfway to the door when Shi Qingxuan pulled it open. There was Mu Qing, laden with a bouquet of flowers, a violin, and some seriously flushed cheeks.
Mu Qing glanced around the room, clearly not sure what to do, with the entire Land of Sweets staring back at him, but Xie Lian grinned and waved. Mu Qing’s eyes scanned the room quickly, then he walked over.
Xie Lian stood up from his chair. “You came!”
“I said I would,” Mu Qing replied, pushing the flowers he was carrying into Xie Lian’s arms.
In Xie Lian's peripheral vision, Ling Wen and Shi Qingxuan exchanged a glance.
"Thank you," Xie Lian said. He awkwardly placed them down on the dressing room table. As he did, he noticed the last missing piece of his costume. His transformation into the Sugar Plum Fairy would not be complete without his crown.
The Sugar Plum tiara was one of the heavier headpieces in the Nutcracker, enough that he had to make sure to practice his turns while wearing it before his performance. It was also hell to pin on by himself.
Xie Lian lifted the tiara from the counter, turning back to Mu Qing. “Could you help me put this in?"
Mu Qing glanced at it, then nodded. “Looks heavy. How do you dance with that in?"
“It's not too bad," Xie Lian said, pressing the crown into Mu Qing's hands as he sat down at the table. Mu Qing moved behind him. Xie Lian handed him a tin of bobby pins.
Mu Qing placed the headpiece on top of Xie Lian's head, the cold of the metal and the warmth of his fingers sending a rush down Xie Lian's spine. Mu Qing got to work on the pins like he'd done this before.
“Did you ever dance?" Xie Lian asked conversationally, watching Mu Qing in the mirror.
“A little bit, when I was younger."
His hands gave him away, though. Mu Qing was too dexterous with the bobby pins to not have experience with this before.
“Did you stop because of the violin?"
“Yes, actually."
“It's really impressive," Xie Lian said. “The violin. I guess having ballet training helps with the posture and coordination, and all that."
“A bit," Mu Qing said. He slid the last bobby pin in, lifting his hands to indicate he was finished with the crown. “Shake your head around, make sure it's secure."
Xie Lian grinned, tilting his head side to side. “You totally danced before. You sound exactly like my mother."
“Of course you were raised by a dance mom,” Mu Qing said, rolling his eyes. “It all makes sense now."
“So you agree, you do sound like someone's mother."
Mu Qing shook his head in an amused way, and Xie Lian tilted his head back slightly to look at him—just him, not through the mirror. Mu Qing's hands traced the applique details on the back of Xie Lian's tutu, the warmth of his touch soaking through the layers of satin down to Xie Lian's skin. “This is beautiful."
“Our costume mistress is talented," Xie Lian agreed.
“I mean, yes," Mu Qing said. “But you wear it well. It looks good on you." The words were tight in his mouth, taut like a violin string.
“Thank you," Xie Lian said.
Mu Qing glanced up at the clock on the opposite wall. “I really should go soon."
“We could meet after the performance," Xie Lian offered. “If you're up to it."
“Lets—let's do that," Mu Qing said. “Can you meet me in the lobby around ten?"
“Perfect," Xie Lian said.
Mu Qing adjusted the cuffs of his sleek black button-up shirt. “I'll see you then?"
“See you," Xie Lian agreed.
As Mu Qing's hands touched the knob of the dressing room door, he turned back to Xie Lian. “Merde."
Xie Lian smiled. “You too. I'll look for you on stage."
Mu Qing nodded back, the corners of his mouth curving up just the slightest as he did. For Xie Lian, it was more than enough. Then, Mu Qing slipped out the door.
From the next dressing room table over, Shi Qingxuan snickered. “He likes you."
“Don't be immature," Ling Wen said, mouth flattening into a thin line as she adjusted the ribbons on her pointe shoes. “He loves him."
Xie Lian's mouth dropped into an O shape as he glanced back at his face in the mirror for reassurance. He loves him.
-
Xie Lian ducked past the crowd of dancers streaming out of the back hallways of the theater, and into the lobby. It was gilded, dark, and empty, since the audience had already filed out, the magic of the Nutcracker spilling out the theater's doors into the night air.
Even the ushers had gone home for the night, so Xie Lian had no difficulty spotting Mu Qing across the lobby from him, his black orchestra uniform standing out against golden walls and heavy red carpeting. He had his violin case slung over one shoulder, and a long wool coat that Xie Lian hadn't seen him wearing earlier.
Xie Lian waved. “Great job tonight!"
“You too," Mu Qing said, walking over to meet him halfway through the lobby.
Xie Lian fidgeted with the straps of his dance bag. “So… Do you want to go to dinner, or something?"
Mu Qing nodded. “Sure."
“ Or ," Xie Lian said, noting the ache in his feet, his full face of stage makeup, and slick-back bun plastered down with hairspray. “You could come to my apartment. We can get takeout and watch a dumb movie?"
“That one," Mu Qing said, more enthusiastic than Xie Lian had seen him about literally anything else.
“Let's go!" With his free hand, Xie Lian reached out. Mu Qing switched his violin case to his other shoulder to take it. His gloved fingers slotted in between Xie Lian's easily, like they were always meant to be there.
Together, they stepped past the doors of the theater, into the cold winter night. On their walk to the subway station, Xie Lian watched Mu Qing's face, his breath steaming in the air, cheeks flushed from the cold. Xie Lian felt his heart rise in his chest slightly, the same way it did at the end of a performance, when the whole audience got on their feet, applauding.
But this was better than any standing ovation, because Mu Qing wasn't here for the Sugar Plum Fairy, or for pointed feet and high legs and powerful jumps. As the two of them ducked into the shelter of the empty subway station, Mu Qing led Xie Lian through the broken turnstile again, saying, “We really need to get you a pass that works."
The train came almost instantly, which really never happened for Xie Lian. The two of them stepped into the car, found a set of empty seats, and sat down together.
As the train rocketed along the tracks, Xie Lian gingerly leaned his head onto Mu Qing's shoulder. It just felt right .