What, did the steroids inflate your ego, too? Your record is now a slate of complete travesty of who you are, because all you'll be known for is this incident; now you've completely tainted the Warblers and I am appalled that you think it warrants a faux pas.
Though, it's useless arguing with someone so stoic and unmoved--I, however, am not daunted. Just with Smythe, I will instill the proper ideals into you and make you learn from your mistakes.
Well, if it isn't Clarington. I was on the verge of forgiving Smythe, but that might have to take the backseat as I reprimand you first.
See, the chieftain of the substance abuse reign over the Warblers shouldn't be something to be proud of, Clarington. You should be ashamed of yourself and your actions; if nobody is going to instill some sense into you, then I will. You ruined the Warblers.
All right, Smythe. I have a proposition for you. Since the Warblers are performing at McKinley's prom, I've (oddly) decided that it would be a good idea to stop by and assist with the production, no matter how small.
I insist that I meet you in person--and, if it permits, sing at the event--because only I can judge whether you are worthy of being forgiven. Just remember: McKinley venue.
Well, I’m loan free thankfully between scholarships and my parents contributions, but I would like to have my own next egg. So you think I should do it?
Doesn't sound like a bad idea. If I must admit, you have the body to be a model, so you're truly apt for it. Just don't let it detract from your dancing experience.
Yeah. I don’t need the money right now, but it would be good to make some of my own. And a side career wouldn’t hurt. The ballet isn’t exactly the highest paying profession.
After dinner, they snap a picture of their new friendship. For Wes, it feels like something new; like he finally has a close confidant, once more. In the grand city--Chicago, here--he can still find community; he can still find friends.
TIME FRAME A calculated evening on a Saturday post the hours of work. The sun, within moments, will wilt into an explosion of vivid colors that stretch across the sky. Lovely.
LOCATION A niche of the city: Chicago’s Chinatown. Oriental stores and hole-in-the-wall mom-and-pops besot the consumer’s heart.
SYNOPSIS Wes and Mike have a dinner together.
While the sun shimmered down to a blood orange sky, Wes could still feel the complete warmth of home embracing his body. Despite the lull of the post-work schedule, with tired bodies swinging around the corners aching for a makeshift bowl of noodles—rice noodles and a plethora of verdure herbs—and saccharine pastries, the number of buzzing students came to a dwindle with the ticking of the hourglass.
All of this was consoling; in the midst of a daunting skyline, Wes had immersed himself in a community of culturally similar people to which he could integrate. A tongue of Mandarin—mixed with a touch of Cantonese for accessibility; words he picked up over the years—forged a conversation with an elder, and Wes couldn’t help but demonstrate his cordial nature. For a second, it was as if he was talking to yéye: saddled side to side on a grungy park bench with the unshaven bristles of wood, outside the town in a tiny park, making conversational natter about the weather and the mainland. The talking lasted for as long as he could remember.
His wallet stowed tame in the back of his pants, though that was hardly the concern. Wes had opted to dilute his lunch with less than the routine, if only to make sure that this dinner session would be quality. He had plans for the rendezvous to accommodate a lazy susan in tandem with platters that painted the spectrum of diversity the restaurant offered. Now it was just the waiting period.
While the wind could ethereally brush against his skin, a quiet tapping to enforce patience, Wes could only feel a swelling plume of excitement. He had plucked important information about Michael from his peers and colleagues; it was an interesting coincidence that the two were slowly converging. If it wasn’t the nature of being rival competitors now bounded to a single institute, then Wes would label it fate.
As if he were to give an accolade, Wes scanned the premises of the Chinatown for any notions of Michael. The motions of his limbs were already concretely ingrained in his mind: a firm handshake, appropriate for a casual first time meeting. Following the tête-à-tête with Blaine would be a feat, considering its high degree of success, but there was nothing to be compared.
Mike stepped off the bus and into the heart of Chicago’s Chinatown neighborhood. Taking that step off the bus and into the area bursting with Asian influence always felt a little like coming home. Not that Chinatown was anything like Lima; it wasn’t, not even remotely. But it did remind him of his home and of his family. Both his parents were even more focused on all things Asian than he was, particularly their Chinese heritage. Their feel of home would have fit in well with this neighborhood. Thus, it was natural how much he felt at home in this part of Chicago and he felt glad for that as the touch of home made the transition from Lima to the big city that much easier. With the constant reminders of home, the neighborhood was his refuge for those moments when the big city overwhelmed him; moments that thankfully were coming fewer and fewer as he came to love Chicago more than he could ever have loved Lima.
From the bus stop, Mike made his way down the street towards the restaurant that he and Wes had agreed upon. It was one of the few places that Mike had yet to try in his weekly sojourns to Chinatown, but one that he knew had excellent reviews. There was no doubt they would have an excellent and traditionally Chinese meal within.
Mike was looking forward to sharing a meal with the former Warbler councilman. While in the two years since, he had cause to dislike the more recent versions of the elite glee club, the Warblers under Wes Montgomery had been home for one of his friends and much needed haven for another. That alone gave Wes major points in Mike’s book. It would also be nice to get to know someone who understood what it was to be Asian-American in Ohio. It was something he had shared with Tina and dearly missed since their break up. Tae-hee was wonderful in that respect, but hailing from San Francisco, the other boy’s experiences and reference points just weren’t the same.
Mike saw Wes standing outside the restaurant as he rounded the corner to the bustling street the restaurant inhabited. The handsome boy stood out amongst the crowd, dignified in his bearing and readily drawing the eye. Mike closed the gap between them and offered his hand for a firm handshake. “Hi Wes. Thanks for meeting me for dinner. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better. Sorry if I kept you waiting.”
Easing his eyes off of his duty surveying the grounds for Michael, Wes bathed in the ephemeral world around him; he could never get enough of this haven. The essences intrigued him, a continual cycle as if he were invigorated once more by the pleasures of the humble yet bustling town. By the time his eyes refocused their lens, the numbers had dwindled considerably to the rise of dusk, as if the luminous pumpkin colors of the sky lured the bodies away. Despite that, Wes still felt community.
Just as he eased himself into a woman feeding a few pidgins with a modest handful of crumbs, Wes found himself caught off guard to Mike. As if it were a moment of tender weakness, in which his composure hadn’t fully sheathed hishuman side, Wes drew a formal smile and elevated his body to a crown, as if his spirits held him like a marionette. Minimizing the concave, depressed arc his body had slumped into the park bench, Wes found himself now pulled upward, as if the gravity had been the opaque sky.
Michael’s semblance was much different in person, Wes had noted. Noble, like a champion, yet most likely chipper and blithe. From the sculpture of his face, Wes let his eyes languidly dance from the other’s head to the extension of the other Asian’s hand. The call to press for a formal or casual outing now submerged Wes’s mind in conflict, though he would make a quick judgment call: casual.
Drawing a smile almost instantaneously, though slightly reserved in the typicalWes fashion, the Second-Year took to his feet and reciprocated the olive branch. It was the Montgomery thing to do, almost pressing for something more formal—his mind immediately thought through his formal filter—yet suppressed his normal urge at the start of conversation. The handshake wasgratifying, though seemingly different: it was as if he knew Michael and this was a rendezvous. For one particular reason or another, Wes’s smile flourished much harder than possible as he retracted his hand formally, etching a note to himself about how well connected he felt to Michael.
"Nice to meet you, Michael," he said, dignified. "You should know that it’s reciprocal and I’m honored to get to know you. You’re just on time." With a warm air, breaking the façade of something more regal—though upholding it to the largest degree—Wes directed Michael to the restaurant they had agreed upon. "Just a reminder: dinner is on me."
“That’s really nice of you, Wes. You didn’t have to offer to pay.” Mike smiled warmly at Wes. “But thank you.” Mike allowed Wes to escort him into the restaurant. The décor was distinctly Chinese as one would expect, but understated in a way that gave off an air of casual elegance. It was upscale enough to make Mike glad that he’d dressed nicely in a dress pants and a dark blue dress shirt, but not enough that he felt he needed close the last few buttons of the shirt and add a tie. All in all a nice place to meet a new friend.
A word with the hostess had them directed to a nice booth in the back of the busy restaurant. Mike poured over the menu and easily decided on green tea for his drink. The menu boasted many dishes that Mike favored and he had a hard time making a decision on what to order. With a smile, he looked up from the menu to ask Wes’s opinion, oddly certain that the older man’s opinion would prove decisive.
“They have quite the menu here, don’t you think?” Mike asked. “I’m going with the green tea service, but I just can’t decide what to order for the meal.” Mike gestured to the room around them. “Everything at the other tables looked and smelled wonderful when we walked in. I just want to have it all. What do you think looks best?”
Luckily, Michael didn’t have to choose; with the procedure for a lazy susan, the two could order platters that they liked and share their preferences. A planneddinner, most definitely, but it was subtle in its meaning. Though he was paying, Wes was more focused on the aspect of networking and made it known, through a more serene, tranquil stance, that Mike could order whatever he desired on the menu.
With the same mutuality, Wes followed the offer of the tea service—black tea was alluring, though he could have settled for a green tea variant—and mused over the menu, attention to the words easily flimsy and shoddy as he waited for Michael’s input. With the psychology diffusing in at Mike’s inquiry, Wes grinned as he nodded and directed a gesture towards the menu. “I think we should start with a platter of spring rolls, and a plate of chow fun for later wouldn’t hurt. Though, I’m currently flickering between something more substantial such as Sweet and Sour soup and Kung Pao chicken.”
Not wanting to dominate, as would the traditional Wes would, the guy tweaked his voice to assert Mike some input. “I’m thinking we’ll order a few dishes and we can try a lot of things, just like the normal lazy susan.”
Mike nodded. The sharing style of dinner was helping, but narrowing it down to a few dishes was just too hard. Mike decided to pick one at random and let Wes make the other choices. ”Put some General Tso’s on the list and you can pick the rest, Wes. I can’t decide, so I’ll trust your judgement. I’m sure it’s excellent. And as former Head of the Warbler council, I’m sure you’re used to taking charge.”
"I’m really liking having places like this to come to. Lima had Chinese restaurants but none of them on the level of quality that this place seems to have. It looks like it’s going to prove to be a good choice, don’t you think?" Mike smiled up at Wes. "Though even if it’s perfect, I’m sure making a new friend will be the true highlight of the evening."
Wanting to cede some of the control of dinner to Michael, Wes tried to suggest more options, though was content with the selection made in the end. While tempted to blush at the discussion of being a Head Warbler, Wes released a soft chuckle and flipped through the menu once more to solidify the selection that he was about to make.
"This place is very nice, and the YELP reviews seem to concur." Unable to suppress a pink highlight across his face, Wes shrugged though remained largely stoic. "You’re very kind, Michael."
Once the waiter rolled around, Wes recited the orders like a professional and returned back to the conversation.
The condition that ordering was over, and now Wes could move on to friendly nattering. He had already deducted much about Michael from the selection of dishes, though that could hardly scratch the vast possibility that Michael could present. “So, Michael,” Wes cleared his throat after a swift arrival of the tea came to the table, letting the boiling liquid scape his throat. “How goes your year at Joffrey? Making a ton of friends? Or shall we talk about high school days, first?”
Mike nodded at Wes’s choices. The selections were well made and Mike was glad he’d let Wes pick the menu. Clearly he had good taste. The waiter brought them their tea, so Mike set to watching Wes pouring them each a cup with a tiny squirt of lemon.
With the tea ready, Mike took a sip and smiled at Wes. ”It’s been an incredible year. I’ve always loved dancing, but dancing in Lima and dancing at Joffrey are like night and day. Joffrey has been just unspeakably amazing.” As he spoke, Mike’s gestures became animated as the love for dance gleamed in his eyes. ”I love every day, even on the days I’m ready to drop with exhaustion.”
The Chinese tradition of the eldest ‘round the table pouring the tea was almost an immediate role that Wes assumed; his hand gracefully lifted the kettle at least a foot in the air, letting the scalding liquid rest to the cups. Once it descended, Wes lifted his cup and took a modest sip, feeling the invigoration of liquid stream down his throat.
"Wow, Michael, I’m so glad you’re passionate about what you’re doing." While admittedly all possessed the love for dance, it was a vital aspect of why they were at the Joffrey.
"I know what you’re feeling. And it still hasn’t changed from my second year, trust me." With a raised eyebrow for a split second, Wes smiled as he took a sip of tea, then rejoined the conversation. "Every day is like a dream—and you have to remember that it’s real. It will go by quick. I mean, I’m about to graduate! But, as you immerse yourself and have that artistic ability to express yourself in the dance, then you’re golden."
Though he might have mused a bit too much, Wes eased back as he waited for the plates to arrive in conjunction with idle nattering about the school and their teachers. Within time, they did, and he insisted that Michael take his desired portions of food first. The conversation was easily diffused into the next topic: “Hey, I met up with Blaine the other day! Have you talked to your ol’ McKinley buddies recently?”
Mike was enjoying their discussion about ballet and school. Wes was an excellent conversationalist and his insights on the process of being a Joffrey student were invaluable. In fact, Mike rather found himself wishing that he had gotten to know Wes sooner. He would have liked to pick the boy’s brain earlier in the year.
"You talked with Blaine? How is he?" Mike asked. "I’ve kept in touch with everyone a bit. I’ve been back a few times to help with choreographing for the glee club. My choreography teacher really liked that idea and got me excused leave and some extra credit. So that was nice. How about you?"
Using the back ends of his chopsticks—the years of training, oh my—to pull a chuck of noodles onto his plate while ladling a healthy scoop of Sweet and Sour soup for both himself and Michael, Wes found the atmosphere and conversational dialogue completely in his favor of propelling their friendship to a height. In tandem with the familiar surroundings and prosperous feast of plates, a suitable biome for the two alike men, Wes allowed himself to drop the formal tense as he let himself ease into a friendship where it was no longer slanted. Connecting with Michael—he’d have to try Mike, sometime—was relatively smooth.
At the mention of Blaine, Wes had finished a thorough chew of some noodles and used a napkin to wipe his face clean like a slate of formality—though, he’d have to remember to drop it.
"Yeah," he replied, sipping his cup of tea once, rotating the lazy susan to reach for the kettle. "He’s doing really well—have you heard that he’s together with Kurt, once more? I couldn’t be more ecstatic. Aside from that, he’s focusing on his audition for NYADA, and I can only wish him the best of luck." Though he might have overestimated his use of words to natter about the others, Wes was content. “I presume you go back to McKinley every so often, then? That’s quite fascinating.”
It left an impression; Wes, so normally stoic and concrete, had never realized that his applications stretched much further than helping out as a volunteer coordinator for a dance club at the local university. But, he’d deal with that in an aside later: “I’m doing well, as always. I’m working with a few organizations at another university, so it’s exciting. Other than that, what you see is trulyme.”
Now still a bit intrigued by Michael’s social life—if Wes had truly broken the borders of using social connections—the Second Year decided to prod. “Make a good network of friends here at the Joffrey and in Chicago?”
The food was excellent and Mike’s chopsticks were a flurry of motion as he worked his way through the tantalizing array of tastes and textures. He was enjoying the dinner immensely and was glad to be getting to know Wes better.
"I had heard about that. I was really happy for them. I really hope they make it this time. They’re ah…a really cute couple most of the time," Mike said with a fond smile. Both Kurt and Blaine had grown on him during their time together in New Directions and he was happy to see his friends happy.
At the question about his friends in Chicago, Mike nodded. ”I get along really well with all the first year dancers. It’s a good bunch. The guys all go out dancing every weekend.” Mike smiled fondly as he continued, “There’s a big argument every week about whether to go to gay club or a straight club, but mostly that’s just an excuse for dance offs and whatever side wins, we have a lot of fun.”
"My best friend here in Chicago though is Lee Tae-hee. He’s the Korean-American dancer in the first year." Mike’s smile grew warmer as he talked about his friend. "We didn’t talk much at first, but then we hit it off on the dance floor one Friday in October." Mike blushed slightly with a far-away look in his eyes. "It was a little rocky at first, but he helped me through some stuff. We’ve been close ever since."
The mention of Blaine’s relationship spurred a flashback to Dalton; the moments where he could spot the sweet fondness between the two back at the institute. They had come so far—and, despite the claims that Wes had heard, he knew they were going further. Perhaps somewhat presumptuous, yes, but he had faith. “The other time,” Wes chimed in, “I’ll admit that they’re got that chemistry, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Listening carefully as if he were a fishermen, observing a quite, tame stream of information for something important to learn more about Michael, Wes continued to database his knowledge of his network associates, finding Mike incredibly enthralling. In a way, of course, that displayed that there was much of him to learn more about.
"Ah, that tradition. The classes are always tight knit in their relationships—I’m glad the tradition has kept strong." As the conversation furthered itself, Wes found more key information that had revealed a bit more; that Michael was a friendly guy that enjoyed the comfort of his friends. It was practically revealed in his description of Tae-Hee, though the evidence towards being a complete proponent of bromances was flimsy as it stood: it merely revealed that Michael was a good guy.
Through careful precision, Mike managed to pluck the words. “Rocky, huh? I’m glad you two are close. A nice, tight and platonic guy relationship, I’ve found, is healthy.
Mike ducked his head in an effort to hide his blush. He hadn’t exactly hidden his personal revelation here in Chicago, though he hadn’t advertised either. But other than his parents, whom had been shockingly open-minded, he hadn’t told anyone from back home yet. Wes wasn’t exactly from back home, but as Head of the Warblers during Kurt and Blaine’s membership, he was close enough. But maybe it was time and as a bridge between Chicago and home, Wes could be a good place to start.
Keeping his head down to avoid meeting Wes’s eyes, Mike murmurred, “Not exactly platonic.” There was almost a sense of relief as the words left his mouth which gave Mike the courage to continue. ”That night after dancing, stuff happened and I woke up at Tae-hee’s place the next morning and kinda freaked out a bit. But Tae-hee was great about it; he really helped me figure things out. That…that I’m bi.”
"So yeah, not platonic. We’re not boyfriends or anything. Just you know…" Mike trailed off blushing again.
Phlegmatic, as if this were routine—which person didn’t tell him of their sex life—Wes upheld the conversational gaze, not minding how awkward the situation could diffuse. Fingers cradling a steamy cup of tea, the wafting aroma and vapor only augmenting his serene, graceful persona, Wes took a moment to permit himself a swift session of rumination. Falling from a taut stance after placing a dish back onto the panel of ceramics, Wes slumped back into his chair—though not how many would perceive; his body was still composed like a gentleman—and smiled.
Maybe he was just that type, where everyone regarded him as a mentor or some figure, but Wes disintegrated the information to the precision of their roots. Order, order, order, the words captivated his mind, still longing for a caste of silence to file this new data.
The conversation had writhed from friendship to sexuality. Wes didn’t mind; if anything, it really wasn’t something he discussed from his own vista. But Michael was not the typical case. It seemed so casual to him all along, but the words delivered with a softer tone in tandem with a pause—that one beat. It had to be a confession. The gravity hadn’t registered seconds before, but a single quaff as though his cup was a ladle and everything had processed.
Wes didn’t know what to think. He had almost paralleled himself to Michael—perhaps more extroverted and structured in mentality—but now their nuances were seemingly becoming highlighted. Or not.
There was an almost indefinite ways to express a response, but the method Michael resorted to conveyed—“That’s great to know,” Wes declared, regarding the conversation as if it were first-hand and he had gone through this with many others. “I’m glad your sexuality is clarified for you, to a degree that only you can define.” Though seemingly awkward, Wes would permit Michael to continue in the route that he desired; partially, Wes had longed for questions about himself, now entering some sort of cycle about self-evaluation.
Michael had seemed so immaculately straight. Perhaps Wes was just terribly in his perception of sexuality—damn hegemmony—but the fluidity intrigued him. Wes could only think: what duality of this applies to me?
Mike was gratified by Wes’s rather formal, matter of fact, acceptance. He knew from Kurt and Blaine that the man wouldn’t have any issues about his sexuality, but still, it was reassuring and so much nicer to have concrete proof of acceptance.
"Thanks Wes. It’s was good coming to understand and accept it, even if it was a rocky start. And Chicago has been great for figuring things out and exploring. I’m pretty much out here. Not so much in Ohio, but that will come in time, I guess." Mike blushed once more. "And it’s been good having a friend like Tae-hee and being friends with the 1st year dancers. They’re a really good bunch…very accepting. It’s easy to fit right in."
Mike ducked his head and took a deep breath. It felt good to have said it all out loud to his new friend and he raised his head to smile at Wes. ”Thanks for listening to all that. It was nice actually talking about it to someone as accepting as you. Anyway, how about you? Have you made a good network of friends here? Kept up with people from Dalton?”
Michael seemed as though he had been purged of a deuce. Wes noted the conspicuous movements—that AP Psychology he took back at Dalton provedimmensely applicable—that scribed the other’s translation of the mind’s words to body gestures. Sponging the words, Wes had affirmed his conclusions about Michael.
Just as he did with Blaine, Wes set aside his chopsticks and perched a warm, consoling hand over Mike’s when the opportunity presented itself. “Hey,” he spoke, a clear undertone that he was clearly in reverence. “That took a lot to confess, did it not? It takes a lot to sustain two different fronts, especially in your sexuality. I’m glad you found it cathartic to confide in someone, Michael. Really, I’m honored.”
When the topic shifted to himself, Wes’s eyes immediately warded their vision:escape. The china, that the arguably authentic cuisine lay dormant on, had a marvelous quality, Wes had to confess. No, no, Wes wanted to exhibit some modesty, despite having previous sentiments about talking about himself. Clearly, any words would be trumped by Michael’s powerful response.
But, once Wes had regained the motive to talk about himself, a bolt of motivation strung through his veins and he could feel himself animate once more. His body picked up—as if it wasn’t already at some form of heigh, elbows once pointed like arrows to the table now suspending at his side—and his language… heightened. Though, Wes wanted to deny that; having established a connection with Mike beyond the scope of words, perhaps it was time to ease into something more casual—friend-like. It had seemed like eons since Wes had permit himself to feel this way. And, in doing so, he posed a daring question:
"Do you prefer Michael or Mike?"
Almost contemplating a shudder, Wes pressed to the answer. “My friends here are great. Well, I’ve taken time to volunteer at some of Chicago’s other universities and I’ve recently helped to choreograph some pieces for their dance teams. It’s a small aside project whenever I can, so I have the opportunity to network outside of the Joffrey. And Dalton—”
Realizing that he might have tangented—dumb: too many words, not casual enough—Wes smiled as he recalculated his calibrations. “Yeah, yeah! I even visited last week. Most of the Warblers are doing great. I’ve actually been talking with one of my ol’ friends. We’re thinking about sharing an apartment in New York once I’m done with the Joffrey.”
"I tend to go by Mike. I don’t mind when you call me Michael though," Mike said with a soft smile. Mike wasn’t sure why Wes’s tendency towards formality so amused him, but it did. Mostly he preferred to be called Mike, but here he was saying he didn’t mind Michael from Wes. And oddly enough he didn’t. It just seemed to fit.
Thinking of Wes’s formality made the shift to more informal talk seem obvious. Mike wondered if something was wrong, but when Wes pushed on, he tried to set the feeling aside.
"I’m glad things on your trip back went so well," Mike paused and considered Wes’s words about New York. "New York? So you’re not planning on joining the Ballet here then? I guess it will be good to meet up with your old friend though."
Try as he might, Mike found he couldn’t quite let go of the shift in Wes’s demeanor. ”Hey is everything okay? You changed the way you talked mid discussion. Less formal somehow.”
It seemed so formulaic, as if Michael—Mike—had found the chemical reaction and now there was a change. Something to that effect. As if he were caught red handed, Wes froze for a second, the chill rushing through his spine as he could feel his brain being the only unit he could move. But, when the tension eased and Wes finally found himself at rest, he smiled. It wasn’t so ritual and proper, but leveled to one of a companion.
The last time this surface transpired over his face—a wide grin, almost capricious and dumb, seemingly about to transition into a chuckle at the ridiculousness of the situation—was with David. His Warbler council-mate;best friend. Though the two were hardly alike—David, like Wes, accompanied the extroversion—but Wes had oddly felt more comfortable and less academicaround Mike.
Mike. Mike. Mike.
The new name ingrained into his head like a deep root, Wes shrugged and found himself reborn. “Oh, it’s nothing. Pardon me, Mike, I just—it’s a funny thing. Sort of hard to explain.” With a quirked eyebrow accompanied by a smile, Wes evaded the topic with another sip of tea. “Getting back on topic, I think I’ll stay with the Joffrey for a bit before I pursue a career in New York. Ballet doesn’t exactly warrant the best of paychecks, but it provides an amazing foundation for a lot of careers.”
Mike returned Wes’s smile and thought to himself that Wes had a nice smile, open and friendly. It served to increase the man’s already excellent looks. Wes seemed to have gotten more comfortable and relaxed as the night went on, at least to Mike’s eyes, and Mike figured that perhaps that was the cause for the shift in tone.
Mike found himself glad to hear that Wes was planning on staying at the Joffrey Ballet for at least a while post graduation from the training program. Though their acquaintance was short, Mike could already tell that they were going to be good friends and Mike would have hated to have distance come between them so early in the friendship that was sure to grow.
"Yeah, you have to be a headliner to make good money doing it, but you can make enough to get by, especially if you do something on the side," Mike said in agreement. "But there are so many future avenues that can be taken by a truly good dancer with Joffrey on their resume. I’m really glad to be here. And I’m glad to here that you’ll be sticking around. I’d hate make an lose a friend so quickly."
Though he had stooped to a casual level, Wes could feel their friendship strengthened; while formality was a huge, integral component of his semblance, it often was an obstacle. Having removed a—at times—crippling aspect of himself, in the regard of being himself, Wes opened up and permit himself the deviations: wider smiles, passing a few chuckles in-between their conversation, and being friendlier.
"Exactly!," Wes exclaimed at the notion of a ballet dancer’s pay. "My hope is that I can dabble in some Broadway or stage projects post Joffrey, once I have a cemented career and gain some experience."
The last line caught Wes off guard, almost realizing that he could have taken Mike and this dinner for granted if he was formal. Friends, friends, friends.
Reducing his smile to a fade to contemplate the oddity of the word, it quickly transpired once more when Wes realized the gravity. “But, yes. It would be terrible to lose a new friend,” he mused, quirking an eyebrow.
Mike returned Wes’s smile and thought to himself that Wes had a nice smile, open and friendly. It served to increase the man’s already excellent looks. Wes seemed to have gotten more comfortable and relaxed as the night went on, at least to Mike’s eyes, and Mike figured that perhaps that was the cause for the shift in tone.
Mike found himself glad to hear that Wes was planning on staying at the Joffrey Ballet for at least a while post graduation from the training program. Though their acquaintance was short, Mike could already tell that they were going to be good friends and Mike would have hated to have distance come between them so early in the friendship that was sure to grow.
"Yeah, you have to be a headliner to make good money doing it, but you can make enough to get by, especially if you do something on the side," Mike said in agreement. "But there are so many future avenues that can be taken by a truly good dancer with Joffrey on their resume. I’m really glad to be here. And I’m glad to here that you’ll be sticking around. I’d hate make an lose a friend so quickly."
Though he had stooped to a casual level, Wes could feel their friendship strengthened; while formality was a huge, integral component of his semblance, it often was an obstacle. Having removed a--at times--crippling aspect of himself, in the regard of being himself, Wes opened up and permit himself the deviations: wider smiles, passing a few chuckles in-between their conversation, and being friendlier.
"Exactly!," Wes exclaimed at the notion of a ballet dancer's pay. "My hope is that I can dabble in some Broadway or stage projects post Joffrey, once I have a cemented career and gain some experience."
The last line caught Wes off guard, almost realizing that he could have taken Mike and this dinner for granted if he was formal. Friends, friends, friends.
Reducing his smile to a fade to contemplate the oddity of the word, it quickly transpired once more when Wes realized the gravity. "But, yes. It would be terrible to lose a new friend," he mused, quirking an eyebrow.
"I tend to go by Mike. I don’t mind when you call me Michael though," Mike said with a soft smile. Mike wasn’t sure why Wes’s tendency towards formality so amused him, but it did. Mostly he preferred to be called Mike, but here he was saying he didn’t mind Michael from Wes. And oddly enough he didn’t. It just seemed to fit.
Thinking of Wes’s formality made the shift to more informal talk seem obvious. Mike wondered if something was wrong, but when Wes pushed on, he tried to set the feeling aside.
"I’m glad things on your trip back went so well," Mike paused and considered Wes’s words about New York. "New York? So you’re not planning on joining the Ballet here then? I guess it will be good to meet up with your old friend though."
Try as he might, Mike found he couldn’t quite let go of the shift in Wes’s demeanor. ”Hey is everything okay? You changed the way you talked mid discussion. Less formal somehow.”
It seemed so formulaic, as if Michael--Mike--had found the chemical reaction and now there was a change. Something to that effect. As if he were caught red handed, Wes froze for a second, the chill rushing through his spine as he could feel his brain being the only unit he could move. But, when the tension eased and Wes finally found himself at rest, he smiled. It wasn't so ritual and proper, but leveled to one of a companion.
The last time this surface transpired over his face--a wide grin, almost capricious and dumb, seemingly about to transition into a chuckle at the ridiculousness of the situation--was with David. His Warbler council-mate; best friend. Though the two were hardly alike--David, like Wes, accompanied the extroversion--but Wes had oddly felt more comfortable and less academic around Mike.
Mike. Mike. Mike.
The new name ingrained into his head like a deep root, Wes shrugged and found himself reborn. "Oh, it's nothing. Pardon me, Mike, I just--it's a funny thing. Sort of hard to explain." With a quirked eyebrow accompanied by a smile, Wes evaded the topic with another sip of tea. "Getting back on topic, I think I'll stay with the Joffrey for a bit before I pursue a career in New York. Ballet doesn't exactly warrant the best of paychecks, but it provides an amazing foundation for a lot of careers."
Mike was gratified by Wes’s rather formal, matter of fact, acceptance. He knew from Kurt and Blaine that the man wouldn’t have any issues about his sexuality, but still, it was reassuring and so much nicer to have concrete proof of acceptance.
"Thanks Wes. It’s was good coming to understand and accept it, even if it was a rocky start. And Chicago has been great for figuring things out and exploring. I’m pretty much out here. Not so much in Ohio, but that will come in time, I guess." Mike blushed once more. "And it’s been good having a friend like Tae-hee and being friends with the 1st year dancers. They’re a really good bunch…very accepting. It’s easy to fit right in."
Mike ducked his head and took a deep breath. It felt good to have said it all out loud to his new friend and he raised his head to smile at Wes. ”Thanks for listening to all that. It was nice actually talking about it to someone as accepting as you. Anyway, how about you? Have you made a good network of friends here? Kept up with people from Dalton?”
Michael seemed as though he had been purged of a deuce. Wes noted the conspicuous movements--that AP Psychology he took back at Dalton proved immensely applicable--that scribed the other's translation of the mind's words to body gestures. Sponging the words, Wes had affirmed his conclusions about Michael.
Just as he did with Blaine, Wes set aside his chopsticks and perched a warm, consoling hand over Mike's when the opportunity presented itself. "Hey," he spoke, a clear undertone that he was clearly in reverence. "That took a lot to confess, did it not? It takes a lot to sustain two different fronts, especially in your sexuality. I'm glad you found it cathartic to confide in someone, Michael. Really, I'm honored."
When the topic shifted to himself, Wes's eyes immediately warded their vision: escape. The china, that the arguably authentic cuisine lay dormant on, had a marvelous quality, Wes had to confess. No, no, Wes wanted to exhibit some modesty, despite having previous sentiments about talking about himself. Clearly, any words would be trumped by Michael's powerful response.
But, once Wes had regained the motive to talk about himself, a bolt of motivation strung through his veins and he could feel himself animate once more. His body picked up--as if it wasn't already at some form of heigh, elbows once pointed like arrows to the table now suspending at his side--and his language... heightened. Though, Wes wanted to deny that; having established a connection with Mike beyond the scope of words, perhaps it was time to ease into something more casual--friend-like. It had seemed like eons since Wes had permit himself to feel this way. And, in doing so, he posed a daring question:
"Do you prefer Michael or Mike?"
Almost contemplating a shudder, Wes pressed to the answer. "My friends here are great. Well, I've taken time to volunteer at some of Chicago's other universities and I've recently helped to choreograph some pieces for their dance teams. It's a small aside project whenever I can, so I have the opportunity to network outside of the Joffrey. And Dalton--"
Realizing that he might have tangented--dumb: too many words, not casual enough--Wes smiled as he recalculated his calibrations. "Yeah, yeah! I even visited last week. Most of the Warblers are doing great. I've actually been talking with one of my ol' friends. We're thinking about sharing an apartment in New York once I'm done with the Joffrey."
Mike ducked his head in an effort to hide his blush. He hadn’t exactly hidden his personal revelation here in Chicago, though he hadn’t advertised either. But other than his parents, whom had been shockingly open-minded, he hadn’t told anyone from back home yet. Wes wasn’t exactly from back home, but as Head of the Warblers during Kurt and Blaine’s membership, he was close enough. But maybe it was time and as a bridge between Chicago and home, Wes could be a good place to start.
Keeping his head down to avoid meeting Wes’s eyes, Mike murmurred, “Not exactly platonic.” There was almost a sense of relief as the words left his mouth which gave Mike the courage to continue. ”That night after dancing, stuff happened and I woke up at Tae-hee’s place the next morning and kinda freaked out a bit. But Tae-hee was great about it; he really helped me figure things out. That…that I’m bi.”
"So yeah, not platonic. We’re not boyfriends or anything. Just you know…" Mike trailed off blushing again.
Phlegmatic, as if this were routine--which person didn't tell him of their sex life--Wes upheld the conversational gaze, not minding how awkward the situation could diffuse. Fingers cradling a steamy cup of tea, the wafting aroma and vapor only augmenting his serene, graceful persona, Wes took a moment to permit himself a swift session of rumination. Falling from a taut stance after placing a dish back onto the panel of ceramics, Wes slumped back into his chair--though not how many would perceive; his body was still composed like a gentleman--and smiled.
Maybe he was just that type, where everyone regarded him as a mentor or some figure, but Wes disintegrated the information to the precision of their roots. Order, order, order, the words captivated his mind, still longing for a caste of silence to file this new data.
The conversation had writhed from friendship to sexuality. Wes didn't mind; if anything, it really wasn't something he discussed from his own vista. But Michael was not the typical case. It seemed so casual to him all along, but the words delivered with a softer tone in tandem with a pause--that one beat. It had to be a confession. The gravity hadn't registered seconds before, but a single quaff as though his cup was a ladle and everything had processed.
Wes didn't know what to think. He had almost paralleled himself to Michael--perhaps more extroverted and structured in mentality--but now their nuances were seemingly becoming highlighted. Or not.
There was an almost indefinite ways to express a response, but the method Michael resorted to conveyed--"That's great to know," Wes declared, regarding the conversation as if it were first-hand and he had gone through this with many others. "I'm glad your sexuality is clarified for you, to a degree that only you can define." Though seemingly awkward, Wes would permit Michael to continue in the route that he desired; partially, Wes had longed for questions about himself, now entering some sort of cycle about self-evaluation.
Michael had seemed so immaculately straight. Perhaps Wes was just terribly in his perception of sexuality--damn hegemmony--but the fluidity intrigued him. Wes could only think: what duality of this applies to me?
The food was excellent and Mike’s chopsticks were a flurry of motion as he worked his way through the tantalizing array of tastes and textures. He was enjoying the dinner immensely and was glad to be getting to know Wes better.
"I had heard about that. I was really happy for them. I really hope they make it this time. They’re ah…a really cute couple most of the time," Mike said with a fond smile. Both Kurt and Blaine had grown on him during their time together in New Directions and he was happy to see his friends happy.
At the question about his friends in Chicago, Mike nodded. ”I get along really well with all the first year dancers. It’s a good bunch. The guys all go out dancing every weekend.” Mike smiled fondly as he continued, “There’s a big argument every week about whether to go to gay club or a straight club, but mostly that’s just an excuse for dance offs and whatever side wins, we have a lot of fun.”
"My best friend here in Chicago though is Lee Tae-hee. He’s the Korean-American dancer in the first year." Mike’s smile grew warmer as he talked about his friend. "We didn’t talk much at first, but then we hit it off on the dance floor one Friday in October." Mike blushed slightly with a far-away look in his eyes. "It was a little rocky at first, but he helped me through some stuff. We’ve been close ever since."
The mention of Blaine's relationship spurred a flashback to Dalton; the moments where he could spot the sweet fondness between the two back at the institute. They had come so far--and, despite the claims that Wes had heard, he knew they were going further. Perhaps somewhat presumptuous, yes, but he had faith. "The other time," Wes chimed in, "I'll admit that they're got that chemistry, if that's what you're implying."
Listening carefully as if he were a fishermen, observing a quite, tame stream of information for something important to learn more about Michael, Wes continued to database his knowledge of his network associates, finding Mike incredibly enthralling. In a way, of course, that displayed that there was much of him to learn more about.
"Ah, that tradition. The classes are always tight knit in their relationships--I'm glad the tradition has kept strong." As the conversation furthered itself, Wes found more key information that had revealed a bit more; that Michael was a friendly guy that enjoyed the comfort of his friends. It was practically revealed in his description of Tae-Hee, though the evidence towards being a complete proponent of bromances was flimsy as it stood: it merely revealed that Michael was a good guy.
Through careful precision, Mike managed to pluck the words. "Rocky, huh? I'm glad you two are close. A nice, tight and platonic guy relationship, I've found, is healthy.
Mike was enjoying their discussion about ballet and school. Wes was an excellent conversationalist and his insights on the process of being a Joffrey student were invaluable. In fact, Mike rather found himself wishing that he had gotten to know Wes sooner. He would have liked to pick the boy’s brain earlier in the year.
"You talked with Blaine? How is he?" Mike asked. "I’ve kept in touch with everyone a bit. I’ve been back a few times to help with choreographing for the glee club. My choreography teacher really liked that idea and got me excused leave and some extra credit. So that was nice. How about you?"
Using the back ends of his chopsticks--the years of training, oh my--to pull a chuck of noodles onto his plate while ladling a healthy scoop of Sweet and Sour soup for both himself and Michael, Wes found the atmosphere and conversational dialogue completely in his favor of propelling their friendship to a height. In tandem with the familiar surroundings and prosperous feast of plates, a suitable biome for the two alike men, Wes allowed himself to drop the formal tense as he let himself ease into a friendship where it was no longer slanted. Connecting with Michael--he'd have to try Mike, sometime--was relatively smooth.
At the mention of Blaine, Wes had finished a thorough chew of some noodles and used a napkin to wipe his face clean like a slate of formality--though, he'd have to remember to drop it.
"Yeah," he replied, sipping his cup of tea once, rotating the lazy susan to reach for the kettle. "He's doing really well--have you heard that he's together with Kurt, once more? I couldn't be more ecstatic. Aside from that, he's focusing on his audition for NYADA, and I can only wish him the best of luck." Though he might have overestimated his use of words to natter about the others, Wes was content. "I presume you go back to McKinley every so often, then? That's quite fascinating."
It left an impression; Wes, so normally stoic and concrete, had never realized that his applications stretched much further than helping out as a volunteer coordinator for a dance club at the local university. But, he'd deal with that in an aside later: "I'm doing well, as always. I'm working with a few organizations at another university, so it's exciting. Other than that, what you see is truly me."
Now still a bit intrigued by Michael's social life--if Wes had truly broken the borders of using social connections--the Second Year decided to prod. "Make a good network of friends here at the Joffrey and in Chicago?"
Mike nodded at Wes’s choices. The selections were well made and Mike was glad he’d let Wes pick the menu. Clearly he had good taste. The waiter brought them their tea, so Mike set to watching Wes pouring them each a cup with a tiny squirt of lemon.
With the tea ready, Mike took a sip and smiled at Wes. ”It’s been an incredible year. I’ve always loved dancing, but dancing in Lima and dancing at Joffrey are like night and day. Joffrey has been just unspeakably amazing.” As he spoke, Mike’s gestures became animated as the love for dance gleamed in his eyes. ”I love every day, even on the days I’m ready to drop with exhaustion.”
The Chinese tradition of the eldest 'round the table pouring the tea was almost an immediate role that Wes assumed; his hand gracefully lifted the kettle at least a foot in the air, letting the scalding liquid rest to the cups. Once it descended, Wes lifted his cup and took a modest sip, feeling the invigoration of liquid stream down his throat.
"Wow, Michael, I'm so glad you're passionate about what you're doing." While admittedly all possessed the love for dance, it was a vital aspect of why they were at the Joffrey.
"I know what you're feeling. And it still hasn't changed from my second year, trust me." With a raised eyebrow for a split second, Wes smiled as he took a sip of tea, then rejoined the conversation. "Every day is like a dream--and you have to remember that it's real. It will go by quick. I mean, I'm about to graduate! But, as you immerse yourself and have that artistic ability to express yourself in the dance, then you're golden."
Though he might have mused a bit too much, Wes eased back as he waited for the plates to arrive in conjunction with idle nattering about the school and their teachers. Within time, they did, and he insisted that Michael take his desired portions of food first. The conversation was easily diffused into the next topic: "Hey, I met up with Blaine the other day! Have you talked to your ol' McKinley buddies recently?"
Mike nodded. The sharing style of dinner was helping, but narrowing it down to a few dishes was just too hard. Mike decided to pick one at random and let Wes make the other choices. ”Put some General Tso’s on the list and you can pick the rest, Wes. I can’t decide, so I’ll trust your judgement. I’m sure it’s excellent. And as former Head of the Warbler council, I’m sure you’re used to taking charge.”
"I’m really liking having places like this to come to. Lima had Chinese restaurants but none of them on the level of quality that this place seems to have. It looks like it’s going to prove to be a good choice, don’t you think?" Mike smiled up at Wes. "Though even if it’s perfect, I’m sure making a new friend will be the true highlight of the evening."
Wanting to cede some of the control of dinner to Michael, Wes tried to suggest more options, though was content with the selection made in the end. While tempted to blush at the discussion of being a Head Warbler, Wes released a soft chuckle and flipped through the menu once more to solidify the selection that he was about to make.
"This place is very nice, and the YELP reviews seem to concur." Unable to suppress a pink highlight across his face, Wes shrugged though remained largely stoic. "You're very kind, Michael."
Once the waiter rolled around, Wes recited the orders like a professional and returned back to the conversation.
The condition that ordering was over, and now Wes could move on to friendly nattering. He had already deducted much about Michael from the selection of dishes, though that could hardly scratch the vast possibility that Michael could present. "So, Michael," Wes cleared his throat after a swift arrival of the tea came to the table, letting the boiling liquid scape his throat. "How goes your year at Joffrey? Making a ton of friends? Or shall we talk about high school days, first?"
