Sequins and Somersaults: A Conan Gray Fic

Turtle Toes

The so called "Conan" fellow stares down at me, a solid five inches taller than I am. Just to be sure, I pull a tape measure from the inside of my leotard, dropping it to the floor. Yep, 5 inches.

"Wait," "Conan" says, "You carry a tape measure with you too??" He reaches into his leotard and pulls out a tape measure that matches his leotard. My eyes begin to water, and I'm not sure if it is allergies, tears, or the smell of BO radiating from Conan, but in this moment it really doesn't matter. My chest is tight with emotion as I stare up at him, completely forgetting about my father's presence until he speaks.

"Well, uh, I think I'm gonna go get a seat." My father backs away slowly, eyes darting back and forth between Conan and I. It takes everything in me not to turn to him and ask, "Do you feel it? The love?"

"We should probably start now," Conan says, sweat glistening off his temples (probably from the epic back flips).

"Yeah, totally. What about the rest of the class?" I ask.

"Oh, well, you're actually my only student. It's more of a one-on-one thing, which is fine since I kind of prefer that." His eyes dart wildly throughout the building, landing on each of the other instructors nervously.

Before I realize what is happening, Conan picks me up and throws me onto one of the mats five feet away (I measured midair). I scream and land with a thump. My hair falls all over my face, completely ripped from the hairband during my flight. I breathe heavily, wiping at my face.

"Rule one of karate," Conan says. "Never turn your back on your enemy."

"But-I-" I stammer out, shocked. "This is gymnastics? And I was facing you?"

He curses under his breath. "Don't back talk, I'm the instructor. I think I know what I'm doing. Now give me twenty turtle toes."

Turtle toes? I think to myself. I watch him calmly walk over to a balance beam and hurl himself over it. I hear him land with a loud bang, obviously missing the mat on the other side. That's kinda hot.

I turn back and wave to my dad, giving him a thumbs up to let him know that everything is going well. When I look back to the balance beam, Conan is gone. Instead of lying on the ground where he was two seconds ago, he is now forty feet in the air on one of the ropes that is attached to the ceiling.

"Let's go, slow-poke. You're taking too long." He stares down at me, holding himself up by nothing but his toes.

That's really hot. I think to myself, walking over to the bottom of the rope. I grab on and begin pulling myself up. Conan glares down at me for a solid two seconds (I used my stopwatch), before reaching into his leotard and pulling something out. He pulls out a shoe and aims at my head, counting down from three before chucking it directly at my face. I fall from the rope and land on the ground, staring up the white, boring ceilings.

"Use the other rope, stupid."

He called me stupid! I begin to sweat. That's...sorta hot.

I continue lying on the ground, trying to collect my strength. I hear rustling up above, and I look up to see Conan pull another shoe from the leg of his leotard. I scream, but make no attempt to move. You can't run from love, baby. I remind myself.

He points the shoe down at me, saying, "I'm going to aim for your stomach, hold still." He throws it, only to have it land fifty feet away, next to my dad on the bleachers. "My bad," He shrugs. "I'm not great at aiming."

I blink hard, rubbing my eyes to ward off a headache. The ground shakes for a split second, and my first thought is "Earthquake!", but when I open my eyes, Conan is just standing at the bottom of his rope.

"Time for the next exercise."

Okay, I wrote this with my bff, so it is very chaotic. Idk what "turtle toes" are. Neither does she. Bon appetit