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Once upon a time there was a boy. Bit rough, living on the streets will do that to you. Plus the job, well... not made for attachments, put it that way.

There was an interlude. It happened in Rio, mostly, a thing that could have become a thing. But then the source of it went away; the final away, the shove you in a coffin away, that kind.

So he retreated. Physically, to his shitty little flat. Mentally, to his shitty little mind. Economically even, to his (more look don't touch than before, admittedly) shitty little job. The barriers that had started to break down went straight back up again. Days in the gym, in the studio, rehearsing, learning. Nights online, repeating the same things he'd said a million times before, showing the same things he'd shown a thousand, eyes dead, going through the motions.

And then he'd party, when he got the chance. But still, always, a little distant. It was safe there in the shadows, just another dancer, nod and laugh, and they don't bother you too much. On the verges of other people's lives, not catching too much attention, escaping even when you make it out to parties.

But then, something began to change. Someone was noticing him. And they kept meeting, accidentally on purpose. And those crowds began to disperse, and he could have sworn they were never even there. It was just them. And those warm eyes, teasing but gentle. Making him want to get closer, ever closer, and never leave his side again.

He couldn't really put a timeline on it. But at some point the crowds really weren't there any more. It really was just them. And it kept being so, and he'd never felt so comfortable in his own skin, or next to someone else's in his whole life. It felt like belonging. An exchange of souls. There was definitely a name for that...