Dance Boiz

Victor, the Jazzersize Queen

Don't ask, I just think Victor would teach Jazzersize/Zumba classes because he has that loud, energetic voice and I think he'd be super comfortable with a group of wine moms in their 40s. Anyone who says otherwise can fight me.
Also idk where the setting for this is? Definitely not Japan or Russia bc I've never been there and it'd be wildly inaccurate if I tried. So probably the Midwest region of the US? just bc I live there and I've never been anywhere else, just please bear with me lol.

Victors POV

L

ooking at my watch I know I'm going to be late; that damned train had to leave .4 seconds earlier than usual, just so I could miss it. I have to keep a level head though, last time I went to class angry (for the same reason mind you) miss Ivanov was so upset with my tone, she gave me a firm talking-to after class as if I were one of her kids.

Yes, I have to look on the bright side of this. At least now I'll already be warmed up from this impromptu sprinting when I get there. And the 30+ year old wives who make up just about the whole of my classes really enjoy it when I'm shiny from sweat (apparently when I sweat it's a lot more attractive than when their husbands do just because I'm younger and more fit than them (aka "eye candy")).

When I finally reach the studio, my first class is already there warming up and gossiping about this or that. I walk in with my bag and half empty water bottle, trying to catch my breath when everyone erupts in greeting at the sight of me.

"There you are!"
"Wow, did you run here? How impressive"
"Happy you showed up for us, I was getting ready to teach the class myself --haha"

"Yes, yes, I'm here, nothing to worry about," I chuckle, dropping my bag at the front and putting on my small, 80s looking microphone head set so the room can hear me. "Now, how many of you were sore from that new combo we did last week?" I turn on upbeat music just as I hear my class laugh and groan in unison. "Well, good, because we're doing it again this week!" I laugh. "Now let's get to it!"

***

My last class done, I start packing up when I'm stopped by a younger woman in her early 20s who came with her aunt, both of them new to my class. She was pretty good but obviously a beginner.

"Um, Victor? I just wanted to thank you for the wonderful class and ask when the next one will be? Er, the next one that you would be teaching, that is," she breathes out. I didn't expect her to be this shy after watching her follow along so confidently. But then again, she is trying to flirt so maybe she's just nervous about that.

I smile and stand up fully to look her in the eye as I tell her I always teach Tuesdays and Thursdays and classes aren't fixed so she could come twice in the week or only once; but most people like to get to know other people in their class, so they stick to once a week.

She looks away slightly and mumbles out something along the lines of "Well I'd rather just get to know you" before turning back to fully face me and smile. She thanks me one last time and heads out with her aunt, both giggling.

I shake my head and smile. I'd be lying if I said this didn't happen often. I like to think that my energy and patience coupled with my interesting combinations are the reason why people come to my classes but I know that at least a quarter of the people are only here to flirt with me. I don't mind the attention, but it becomes a bit of a nuisance at some point.

I try to finish putting everything in the correct order before the next class comes in. I haven't been late to leave the studio in a long time but my tardiness in getting here earlier pushed back my classes by five minutes and now I'm scrambling to get out of the way as soon as possible so as not to knock the last set of classes off schedule.

I heard about a month ago that the class after me had been changed from late night adult ballet to pole dancing. Quite a change in direction, if you ask me but there's no denying that both are pretty hard to master.

One of my regulars, Mrs.Katsuki told me about the change because her son is the instructor. She always talks about him, as do the other moms with their children, but she makes him out to be a sweet, shy kid who's had trouble socializing from day one - not the type you'd see instructing a pole dancing class if you ask me.

I've always meant to stay back and maybe get to know him, but something always pushes me out the door as soon as my classes are over. Nevertheless, it seems like I might be meeting him today, seeing as I can't seem to find my water bottle quick enough to get out before the next few students start walking in.

I find my water bottle out by the drinking fountain where I must have left it and start to leave just as a whirlwind of black hair and olive skin comes rushing through the door, bumping into me and knocking us both down on the ground.

"So sorry, I was trying to get in for my class, the train left early so I ran, and it takes a while to set up so I didn't want to be late but here I am-" he glances at the clock, panting, "five minutes behind schedule." He blabbers too fast for me to keep up with the rest, as he tries to gather his equipment that spilled out of his bag. I reach to help but he seems too anxious to notice my hand reaching for the rag he snatched up before I had the chance.

"I had the same problem with the train earlier today. They must have a secret agenda to plot the downfall of dance teachers." He seemed to relax a bit more at my joke and I hold out my hand to help him up.

"Thank you," he says as he takes it, "so you're the teacher before me then? Zumba, right? My mother is in your 4 o'clock Thursday class I think." He still hasn't actually looked at me but I can't seem to take my eyes off of him. His charcoal hair hangs just over his eyes so I can't see them, but every once in a while, he turns and they seem to sparkle for me. He's wearing grey sweat pants with two black stripes down either side and a blue loose t-shirt cut to show off his abdomen and collar bones under a grey hoodie to match the sweat pants. His skin is a light olive and, from the touch of his hand, very soft. Actually, all of him looks soft, his muscles are defined but he still has that very cuddly look to him, the fabric of his track suit looks like cotton and his quiet, still rushed voice is almost comforting to listen to.

He looks up at me expectantly but I've forgotten the question now that I can actually see his eyes. They're a dark silver, maybe even bronze or copper... They keep changing every time I blink.

I avert my gaze only when I realize his entire face was blushing red and staring right back at me, almost as taken with how I look as I am with him. I clear my throat and think back to what he asked me.

"Yeah- uh yes, she always talks about you in class, I can't seem to get her to focus sometimes," I nervously chuckle out, my voice higher than what it normally is.

"O-oh, well she talks about you and your class plenty so I think she focuses well enough... Your name is Victor, then?" His voice seemed to be higher as well and the blush on his face was still just as red as when it arrived.

"Yes, and you must be -"

"Yuuri! Are we going to have to set up ourselves? Why are you so late?" Someone calls from the classroom, cutting me off. We both jump and move to go our separate ways.

"Well, I-I have to go, what days do you teach?" he asks.

"Tuesday's and Thursday's one to six, and you?" I rush out, dying to know if he teaches after me both days or if it's only Thursdays.

"I'm here-"

"Yuuuuri! Hurry up!" The student calls out again, popping his head outside the door and grabbing Yuuri to pull him inside. It was my friend Chris; he never told me he switched from his old studio to this one.

He caught sight of me and smiled. "Oh, hey, Jazzersize Queen, care to join us?"

"No thanks, I was just heading out. I'll catch you later," I nod at Chris as he drags Yuuri inside, his eyes still on me, meeting mine for a brief moment before he disappears behind the sliding door.

I think the train should leave early more often.