parasite.
ACT I, 2 of tbd.
content contains. profanity, gif from @/hockeyboi
💌mail from ricky! slow start, but it gets better, i promise. this is also probably rough because i just wanted to push this out…
EARLY DECEMBER • WEDNESDAY
it's 5:00 AM.
just like any other day, connor is up and in the shower.
it took him 5 seconds to wake up from his alarm, 10 minutes to shower, and 5 to get dressed. it's 5:20 AM by the time he's making himself breakfast, and he's in the car at 5:33 on the dot, ready to drive to practice.
practice starts at 6, gets done by 8, and he's back in the shower rinsing himself off from the sweat and grime he accumulated over the last two hours.
everyday, every morning was like this.
simple, but productive. repetitive, but good.
connor liked the routine. he liked the structure and the control that came with it. rarely did anything ever fall different from the early morning hours unless it was by choice.
but somehow, this morning was different.
everything went as normal. he got up early, got to practice on time, and flourished on the ice like always. it was all right. all accurate. everything followed the habit, but it just felt wrong.
his mind was more vocal than usual.
once that first 5 AM alarm rang, it was like he was set in a trance. the only thing he thought about was what there was to do next. never off track, never thoughts over what dinner was going to be or how his friends back home were doing. just the now.
today, however, was foggy.
he was still in the now, it was just hard to stay there.
it was a strange feeling. one he was unfamiliar with. sure, he had off days, but never like this. never days where he felt like an imposter in his own body.
he felt tired, tense, frustrated, anxious--all while with no reason to be. this was just another day of practice but his body seemed to be taking it as if he were a child on the first day of school.
he didn't understand.
and didn't try to.
this was just another acclimation thing, he decided, just like his sudden reserved nature. it was just his body adjusting.
"you got anything going on after practice?"
connor glances up to frank who is fresh out of the shower, toweling his hair. he looks back down to his phone, filing through emails. he was already dressed, hair still damp but pulled out of his face from the cap he had on.
"uh... no," he says it mindlessly.
ever since the theatre, connor didn't feel as uneasy about frank and the rest of the team as he initially had. it was as if something in him had finally decided there was no point in dodging their inquiries anymore. they were teammates after all and you could only work so well together without knowing one another.
"breakfast?"
connor looks back up at him, slightly arching a brow, "after all the conditioning we just did?" he's slightly amused.
"well-we don't have to do breakfast. coffee, maybe?"
this makes connor smile a bit more, entertained by the way frank was tripping over his words as if trying not to offend him. there was a clear effort he was putting in with him that made connor almost feel bad for how cold shoulder he had been.
"sure," he finally puts his phone down, taking a stand to pack up the rest of his stuff. "I'm not exactly familiar with the city yet. got any ideas?"
frank grins, clearly thrilled at this sudden switch in attitude, "plenty of 'em."
°•
the coffee shop frank leads connor to is about a half hour across the city from the rink. connor feels himself become progressively on edge the more the minutes racked up, finding it strange they were traveling about halfway across the city.
although, this would be typical travel time for boston traffic, it was still early. the city was just waking up and therefore the streets were still tame.
he decides to keep his mouth shut.
“why’d you move to boston?”
frank wastes no time the moment they take a seat from ordering. the question makes connor feel strangely defensive, like he was being interrogated and frank had no business knowing.
frank can see the hesitation. it’s obvious. connor’s eyes flick down to the table, shifting on his seat in adjustment of his posture. what he thinks is subtle, isn’t--not when he looks as if he’s been winded.
but again, he’s not sure why.
he’s not even sure how to answer the question.
“needed something different i think,” he drops his hand on the table before allowing himself to look back up at frank. “i was in chicago for… three years. i was ready for a new routine. but i don’t really know.”
frank nods slowly, understanding this was a lot for connor to give up. as much as it was unusual for a new recruit to be as guarded as connor was, he could respect it.
he’d rather have this than a teammate who didn’t know how to shut his mouth.
but still, he can’t help himself, “so no crazy ex girlfriends you’re running away from?”
connor scoffs, shaking his head, “is that common?”
“more than you would think,” frank allows for a laugh. “i’m kidding. i think this will be the change you’ve been looking for.”
“i’m hoping,” connor rubs his hand around his jaw.
it was too soon to tell.
connor’s name is suddenly called. he nods to frank before pushing up and out of his chair toward the counter. the women gives him a short smile before sliding the drink across the counter.
“can i get you anything else-hey, long time no see dancer girl,” she cuts herself off, as well as her interaction with connor, looking past him. he follows her line of sight to behind him, where you stand.
“hey,” you exhale, nodding, but keeping yourself planted at least two feet behind connor, hands shoved into your coat.
he does a double take. however, you barely even look at him as he lays eyes on you up and down before finally looking back to the barista.
why did he know you? where did your face come from?
he moves along with his drink back to his seat, but his eyes hardly move from you.
“what’s up?” frank catches onto his staring, following his line of sight to where you now stand, chatting with the barista with your arms crossed around your chest.
“i don’t know,” he bites on the corner of his lip, still watching you. “i can’t tell where i know this girl from.”
connor can feel something in his chest warm up from something swarming at the core of it. he’s not sure what causes it, but for some reason, you’re at the center of this sensation of pins and needles all over his skin.
frank takes a better look at you, tipping his head to the side, “huh.”
silence follows.
connor lets it go, eyes going back to in front of him where he pulls out his phone with a sigh.
whatever, he thinks, but frank keeps his eyes on you.
“maybe you recognize her from the dance the other night," he nods, connor's attention going right back to where you stand to the side now, your hands shoved into your coat. you're dozed off, but connor hardly pays attention to that. his eyes, rather, take notice to the lettered stitching on the right breast of your coat.
boston ballet.
it hits him all at once. all the feelings from friday night swelling right back into the core of chest and stomach--an undeniable force suddenly pulling him tighter to you.
°•
it's 5:00 AM.
you have a hard time sleeping lately, especially after friday and saturday's shows.
your eyes are set on your ceiling, counting the popcorn, memorizing the yellow stains from water damage, waiting for something to jump out of it. anything to put you to sleep or fill your mind.
neither were likely. you had been at this for the past hour and the only thing that filled you was anxiousness from the exhaustion you felt, but also the lack of to be enough to put you to sleep.
you sigh, rolling on your side to peer at your bedside clock, red flaring--
5:03 AM.
fuck.
you had rehearsal in two hours.
not nearly enough time to fall asleep and wake up energized, but too much time to just lay in bed doing what you had been doing since 4 AM.
you shift your body upward, wincing at the way your muscles strain upon the new position you were sat up in. you were starting to pay for the two rehearsals a day being led by a psycho chorophile that loved seeing you all struggle.
your feet press into the wooden floors of your bedroom, sending the sensors in your feet haywire upon the coldness that seeps into them. you wiggle your toes before giving yourself one full push to stand, bending your knees, thickly inhaling, while catching your balance.
you blink away the tiredness that still pulls on your lids the best you can before heading to the shower.
it's 5:40 AM by the time you're out and dressed.
it was still dark and any attempt you had made to wash the sleep from your eyes in the shower was a fail. the stars that shone in your large living room window posed a trance on you as you came to a stop, lost in your head over what to do.
you shake this from yourself. there was no time to be lost. no point in it. you had priorities. all enough to direct you where you needed to be.
it took about thirty minutes to get to the theatre from your apartment all the way across town. so you left at 6:15 AM.
the whole way you rode in silence.
the theatre is always bustling when you arrived. dancers were spread all around the backstage stretching and talking, but slightly quiet as you pass. you walked like there was no time to waste, so the silence and stares are short lived.
"morning, puck," devin, your dance partner greeted as you stride onto the stage, tossing your bag along the curtains. you looked feverish, in a rush, on edge, and immediately it offsets him.
"morning," you barely mumble it. barely say it for him to hear.
“how’ve you been feeling?”
like he’s testing the waters with you.
“fine,” you barely think about his question, ruffling through your bag while simultaneously pulling the layers of clothes off your body to your leotard. you finally pull your shoes out, putting them on like clock work.
he looks at you hesitantly while you have him completely drowned out, “there’s a couple of things I want to work on, if you don’t care. I think I could be landing things better with more practice.”
you only hum, focusing on your shaking hands that lace around the ribbon of your dance flats. you’re trying not to think too hard. trying to focus on the task at hand.
you don’t understand this feeling. the feeling of something clawing in the shell of your chest, clawing at tissue and blood to tear through you. you don’t understand it but you pass it off as nerves. anticipation of the worse to come.
“I was hoping you’d share some of your thoughts-“
it was devin’s first year in boston. as brilliant of a dancer he was, he was still fresh to the scene. he was high in anxiety, always walking on eggshells around you and the more experienced dancers—especially now that he struck a lead role.
you didn’t mind him. sympathized with him, really, but a majority of the time you couldn’t find time to do that. not now with everyone wanting your head, and your body suddenly being in constant fight or flight mode.
“cast,” there are claps that run over devins words he made seem like he had to have been building the courage up to ask for weeks. danny stands center front stage, watching you all now. “come together.”
everyone’s quick to listen, ushering into the shape of a crescent that was centered around danny. he stayed still and silent, eyeing everyone for effect of intimidation. at least that’s what you thought.
“i want to do something different today,” his hands are now clasped in front of himself. “instead of our usual roles, i want us all to rehearse as someone else.”
you narrow your brows, finally joining the rest in the half formed circle. he was up to something, and just by the way he looked at you suddenly, you knew it couldn’t be anything good.
“everyone line up.”
they don’t even question it. your peers are quick to fall in around you, not even giving you the choice to consider or rebel against his wishes.
he gives everyone a long look, one with a deep smirk curved into his lips as if satisfied by the compliance. he nods then, beginning to call off different roles to each dancer to the right of you where the line begins. the majority being odette or odile, and immediately you catch on.
this had to be some trick to humiliate you.
"sit out," he says finally once he gets to you. it took him a moment, his finger raised and pointed, hovering right above your chest.
you stare at him for a while, holding his eyes, even as he continues to make it back down the line. your tongue presses harshly into your cheek, side eyeing him till you take a few steps back.
it was like auditions all over again.
devin was kept as the prince. one by one, all the girls are ran through the lakeside dance and you just had to stand there and watch.
you were posed between the lining of curtains, anxiously, arms crossed, biting on your thumb nail. they watch you—the girls waiting their turn--also anxious, but some also amused.
those some of girls were nasty. they were just waiting for a moment like this to happen—like you deserved it. whether it was out of jealousy or pure spite.
you do your best to ignore them despite the progressiveness of something building up in your chest from both their staring and the premise of this moment. hatred, anger, frustration, embarrassment--you couldn't choose one, as if they were so well blended together, they all started to feel the same.
your eyes settle on danny. he sits front row in the seats of the theater, eyes settled leisurely on the dance that takes place in front of him. it was as if he was taking this seriously, as if this was anything but a tactic to get into your head.
he doesn’t ever say anything. only watches. only speaks to say “next” and the name of the dancer.
they're in the middle of the fourth dancer when it finally gets too much for you.
you drop your arms, striding across stage interfering with immersement of the scene. they stop--mid lift, devin brings down the girl he held back to the base of the stage. they stare at you, astounded, following you all the way to the edge of the stage where you kneel to face danny off.
“why are you doing this?”
he looks at you for awhile, draining you of any confidence you had interrupting the scene, then finally looking to the side, calling “stop.”
the classical music of the lakeside scene stops, really sobering you up from the complete silence that shakes the theatre. he shares one last look with you before shifting himself up and out of the chair, rounding back onto the stage.
"everyone," he stands center of the floor now while you still line the ledge of the stage still. "come."
everyone files back onto the boards, slowly, hesitantly like they could all feel the wrath that was about to come.
"our second session of performances start in two days,” he’s loud. “we are supposed to be the best nationally. that’s why i’m here—i was promised the best.”
he’s branching out more than he usually did. danny was strange, his way of encouragement and instruction was insulting and being malicious—but it was typically only toward you.
you were the only one susceptible to his pressure as it seemed you were his outlet for his frustration, but now, right now, it was the whole cast.
“and it’s hard when your own swan doesn’t cut it.”
you exhale, a half scoff in disdain and a thought at the ridiculousness of his words.
and this seemed to dig at him more when he hears it.
he flips around to face you, "did you see yourself preform this weekend?"
his voice ricochets through you, and suddenly he is right in your face, chest rising up and down noticeably, but breath being well under control.
you don't look at him, eyes immediately up and over his shoulder when he’s in your face, your cheek being turned to the side like a reflex.
he’s actually waiting for you to respond.
“I guess not,” you try to keep your composure. speaking anything that wouldn’t fault or make you seem weak.
"you guess not," he mocks you, laughing--hollering really for dramatics. "you guess right."
his eyes make a shift, no longer intensified over you, but rather now content over the matter of you giving in.
"you're stale,” he walks away, a smirk mounting up his face but you don’t see it. “there was absolutely nothing special about your performance this past weekend. you’re supposed to be great. the best part of boston. but as far as i’m concerned i could put damn near anybody on this stage and they could do just as well, if not better.”
you know he’s lying. he’s trying to get under your skin even more, and it was working. you felt all of it wringing up and around your spine, tugging and tugging, causing a pain that could bring you to your knees.
you were embarrassed. angry. frustrated. it was all hatred.
“everyone, we’re starting act two,” he’s finally done. “back to your usual parts. i think we’ve learned enough today.”
the tightness finally breaks and everyone shifts off the stage as fast as they can, save for the swans and devin that made up the scene of no. 10.
you feel your shoulders slump, sighing and shifting right off the stage like everyone else.
"you okay?" devin takes a step in front of you before you can fully disappear, hand hesitantly coming to hold your bicep.
the hold is kind, but it still catches you off guard. you take a moment to look down at his hand before finding his eyes, "fine" swallow, “i just need a fucking drink."
