Random One-Shot Collection (MxM) | Completed

His Dancer

He was never ostracized for his choices in clothing and he was always supported in his decision to dance. I met him in middle school, but I confessed my love for him in high school.

On the day of our first meeting, the studio owner was personally teaching him Spanish dancing. I was in awe of his clean, smooth movements. He was learning the female role and I wondered what it would be like to dance the male role with him.

Time quickly moved on for us.

I couldn't really keep up with his level of dancing because my left leg was crippled in a bullying incident. I know he felt bad, probably feeling worse when I quit dancing altogether. I did say he wasn't ostracized, but I didn't say that he wasn't being bullied. I did my best to help him and got injured because I wanted to keep him safe.

He had followed his dreams to become a professional, and I just paid the easy price because I did it out of love.

We started dating freshman year. We were both busy—him more so than me—but we always made sure to have at least one meal together. I attended every dance and contest in which he participated, so I was happy each time he waved me over to kiss my lips. It made me embarrassed, of course, but we were happy.

Graduation came and went with no issues, but at nineteen it was high-time for me to job hunt. I didn't want to attend college until I figured out what my dream job would be. That decision had saved a lot of time and money. He had agreed with me, too.

And every month or two, whenever he'd be on stage, I would be there for him. I watched off to the side since he'd claimed that having me closer to him just offstage made him feel more encouraged and much braver than he would have been otherwise.

As always, he wore the female role's clothing for Spanish dancing. The dresses were always tailored to his style of dark, rich colors contrasting with sharp tones of brighter hues. His lithe body and elegant frame made for a beautiful picture. The fan snapped out every four beats, his arms swung out, his hips sashayed, and his legs allowed him to dance.

His slender neck rose from beautifully feminine shoulders, and his jawline was a perfect medium between sharp and soft. He had grown out his dark hair over the years, so it was always in a bun for his dances. His hair accessories often glittered like jewels under the lights, but he wore the occasional flower for his more delicate dances.

Thinking about the past makes me smile. His laughter was something indescribable; a joyous sound that set my mind soaring and my heart pounding. There was something addicting about his smiles and mischievous grins because I found myself returning them with just that much more energy, even when I had little to none. His hickory-brown eyes glimmered and sparkled when he was overjoyed or pleased, sometimes when he was even feeling crazy in love. His eyes dulled whenever he felt lost in his passion for dance, feeling guilty for leaving me behind. I always made sure to tell him that I loved him and that I would support him even when no one else would bother.

We got married at twenty-three years of age. It was a simple wedding with our closest friends and family. I had been going to physical therapy for years, so I was able to dance the male role for him once again.

We were so happy together that the next five years passed with very little strife or conflict. Even though I was busy working a normal nine-to-five job wherever I was hired, I always made sure to pay attention to him at both home and on stage.

It's kind of funny, really, whenever he'd get jealous from girls hitting on me. He would make verbal claims that I was his and he was mine.

"He's my husband and I'm his dancer!" he'd often exclaim, shooing the women away from me.

I always blushed when he tugged me down and planted a kiss on my lips. Happiness played funny tricks on me, like the temporary anxiousness from having too much joy troubling me.

Something would happen, wouldn't it?

Something did happen.

It was one of our rare date nights, so we were walking down the street and enjoying the night's lights from the stores on either side of the street. He had begged me to take him to the ice cream parlor after dinner, so we started crossing the street when we were allowed. A truck barreled out of nowhere. I found out later that the driver was drunk.

He noticed before me only because my eyes were on him alone. His hand ripped from mine, then he stepped forward. I can still feel the heat and pressure of his hands shoving my chest backwards.

A bone-chilling, sickening crunch rang out and the roar of the truck ended in a horrible crash as it hit the signal pole. I couldn't breathe, but I forced myself up onto my hands and knees while ignoring the glass and blood making a mess of my jeans. All had stopped outside of my mind. My focus remained on him.

I rushed towards him in the intersection, his body having been flung over twenty feet away. I reached his side and for his hand, broken in so many places. His legs were twisted and bones had breached his skin.

I used to wonder if my tears stung his wounds. I hadn't wanted to hurt him more. When I asked why he'd saved me, he responded with a choked little laugh.

"Without you, I wouldn't have lasted so long in dance. Without you, I wouldn't be able to claim that I was yours and you were mine. Without you, I wouldn't have been able to say 'I'm his dancer and his husband.' And because of you, I learned what love is and why it should be treasured. Thank you, my love."

His voice had been choked and withered, blood dribbling from his lips as he spoke broken sentences, even though I begged him to stop. The ambulance's sirens blared in the background, but even I knew he wouldn't make it to the hospital. I said my goodbyes with heartfelt tears.

At the funeral, my final message was a simple one. But I'm afraid that, even ten years later, I cannot bear to say it without crying my heart out. He was my heart, my husband, and my beloved dancer.

I wonder how many of my previous account's followers remember this one-shot? It's kind of old. Not any less sad, though. I teared up reading it again while editing.

But don't worry, new readers. Not all of these one-shots are sad, I promise!

See you again next week! I'll be posting these random one-shots on random days for a surprise as thanks for 100k reads on Saved by Daddy. :3 I love you all very much! <3

- Alessa (Kelpie) xoxo

Started: 8/28/2023
Word count: 1218