Sterek Stories - A Collection - II

Swinging into your life - Part two

Boyd finds him at dinner, sitting down next to him at the rickety table. He brings a waft of fresh body wash with him. "Had to hit the showers again?" Derek asks, making space for his friend by pushing his own stuff to the side.

The large man nods. "Dropped by the Rock & Roll workshop. Got into a little competition with that Stilinski boy."

Derek smirks. "You let him rile you up?" Boyd is usually stoic to a fault, never letting the stress of a competition get to him. It takes a lot for him to lose his composure.

"Nah, it was all in good fun. His enthusiasm rubs off on you, I guess," Boyd explains, digging into his food with gusto. "We did air tricks. He might look scrawny, but don't let that fool you."

"I could've told you that." Derek elbows his friend in the impressive arm. "You don't necessarily need to have these big guns to be strong."

Boyd elbows him right back. "Then why do you have 'm?"

They talk some more about their day and their experiences up until now. Derek is pleasantly surprised by this year's edition of DanceFest LA, although that's more because of him than the set up of the event. Other years he dropped by for a quick visit, often not having the time to stay for the full day because it interfered with his stringent training schedule. Stepping back from salsa dancing at world class level was a hard decision, but it's days like this that make him feel like it was the right call.

He'd lost sight of the things that mattered most to him, lost the true joy that dancing can bring somewhere along his way to the top. Sure, he enjoyed their successes and Salsa dancing will always have a place in his heart; they wouldn't have gone up for a second world championship if they didn't want to give it their all. But Derek has changed over the years, has come to realise that although he has the greatest admiration and respect for what his mother and older sister do, it's not the life for him. He's no longer willing to abuse his body to reach the ultimate goal, to put everything aside - friends, studies, family - to be able to focus on one single thing.

He's happy that Braeden agreed to step down with him, for now at least. He thinks she'll want to return next year and there are already some willing partners lining up for her. Their time together - professionally - has come almost to an end, but that's okay. Peter has already mentioned some interesting opportunities for him under the flag of Alpha Swing and even hinted at some tv work. Derek is certain he can keep himself entertained in the near future.

"Next up for leader is..." Peter sticks his hand in the large glass bowl and fishes for a new piece of paper. "Derek!"

The audience applauds wildly, cheering him on, as do the dancers next to him. There's a comfortable, loose vibe to this day, a stark contrast to the tension of competition days. It took him a while to get used to it, to let go of the pressure he usually feels on days where he has to dance in front of an audience. He doesn't have stage fright, far from it. It's more that striving to be the best is something that is ingrained in his core; a characteristic instilled in him by his mom, the Prima Ballerina. It's what got him to the World Championships, twice. It's what helped him push past pain and other obstacles. He's grateful for that, even though he knows that his steely resolve doesn't always come across that well in social situations. When he's focused, he has a very low tolerance for bullshit. Problem is his definition of bullshit is kinda all-encompassing in situations like that, as Braeden has pointed out more than once. Luckily she doesn't put up with his bullshit, so she often keeps him from yelling at the unfortunate soul that catches his ire for disturbing his focus.

He pushes himself up from his chair and lets his zip up hoodie fall from his shoulders, revealing his black tank top. He doesn't mean to make a show from it, but the crowd wolf whistles anyway. The cocky smirk makes his way to his face more out of habit than conscious thought. It's more often a mask than anything.