𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐙

𝟎𝟑

CHAPTER THREE.
【 第三 】
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[ PAST ]

"He's here for you," Ailee nudged Y/n. "The wealthy patron. Throw away your cigarette and eat some gum."

"Felix, you mean?"

"Quick, quick," Ailee rushed him, frowning. "God, at least make yourself look like the image he has of you, Y/n. You know all these crazy sponsors—they will stop donating money the minute you fail their expectations."

Y/n gave a frustrated sigh. "I know."

Felix was certainly the wealthiest sponsor he had so far—but Y/n had a lot of experiences—and trouble—pertaining to his donors. Most of them were either divorced women, or old men. They were the people who had painted some angelic picture of him—the people who had expected Y/n to gracefully allow them to do whatever they wanted to him, and to obey their commands. Filthy pedophiles.

"So wipe that look off your face. The director nearly kicked you out when you punched Mr Louis on the nose. We had to pay for his hospital fees, and it took another bout of money to keep your reputation pristine."

"He deserved it," Y/n murmured, chucking the lighter to a corner. "He kept trying to touch me in places that certainly weren't appropriate. Are you saying I should be letting all these nobodies walk over me?"

"They aren't nobodies," Ailee said idly, "most are business owners. Millionaires. You could have had a real good life if you went along with them."

"They are sick perverts," Y/n said lightly, "they would abandon the minute they found someone newer, younger. And unfortunately, I am not about to ditch the job I love for this. Do you know how much I sacrificed for this?"

It had taken him so long to leave his house. He had been raised by his aunt and his step-uncle—whose gaze always lingered a little too long on him. Y/n had gotten along well with his cousin, before he had left for university. And that had been five years back. Y/n had auditioned and had gotten into one of the most prestigious ballet companies. He was free.

"Well, don't keep him waiting. He's around your age, so that's not too bad." Ailee knew herself of Y/n L/n's talent—his debut performance had been etched into her mind. There had been the soul-stirring expressions he managed to hold, the beauty of his flawless turns, the way his body seemed to twist—

No matter how he acted, the director wouldn't be able to kick him out. Y/n was often soft spoken, but when it came to annoying patrons, he would be rather sharp tongued—almost vulgar—to the point it almost seemed jarring that such insults could come from what seemed like a delicate man. He looked clean, but Ailee learned later that he had an almost fervent addiction to smoking. ("I smoked too much in university—" Y/n had explained, "—when I was stressed. And I tend to be stressed really often. So there you have it.")