Limerence (Famous Young Things): Chapter 20

On Monday morning, I get to the studio just after 7; I’m the first one there. I check every dance studio, the men’s locker and shower room, the conditioning gym, and the health suite, but there’s no Felix. I run a couple miles on the treadmill until a few of the corps dancers start to float in, my eyes flicking to the door every time it opens, heart thumping with anticipation, only for it to drop again when it’s not who I want to see.

I’ve no idea how he’s going to react to seeing me. Okay, that’s not true, I have an idea; I have a suspicion that he’s going to be the same as he always is, but I’m prepared for that. I’ve got my own plan, my own idea about how to make that impossible. Because that wasn’t a one-time thing, it can’t have been, it was too good. He was too into it.

My confidence falters a little at this because Felix is obviously a person who loves sex. And he has plenty of options on where to get it as far as I can tell: Christian, Charlie, Rufus, and countless other guys I’m sure he has saved into his phone by their first names only.

Fuck, he doesn’t even have my number.

But I have something none of them have: his hate. This rivalry. This thing that glows between us whenever we dance in each other’s proximity. Charlie and he don’t have that, because he doesn’t see Charlie as his equal.

Also, if Friday night proves anything, it’s that Felix is turned on by the idea of the forbidden. It’s probably the main reason he’s been having an affair with his father’s friend for the last three years. It excites him too much to stop. I have another theory though, one closely linked to every other big smile and shallow front he puts on.

He’s afraid.

Afraid to care about anyone that way. Afraid to fall for anyone too hard. He chooses his lovers based purely on how unlikely it is that he’ll ever be able to have anything real with them. I’m sure he thinks that applies to me too. Ironic, really, since he’d likely have run the other way if he had any clue about how I feel about him. Which probably means, that for now at least, I need to make it abundantly clear I’m interested only in sex.

Empty, meaningless (haha), sex.

He can hate me all he wants. I’ll fuck him however he wants. Then, when his defences are low and he’s grown complacent, I’ll get him to fall in love with me.



I’m stretching, lost in this fantasy when he makes an appearance. Dressed in black Lycra shorts that barely cover his dick and a cropped grey T-shirt, his curls are pushed back from his face by a thin black band. His feet are bare but for flesh-coloured dance socks, and he carries a foam roller under his arm. Memories of tanned, golden skin, strong thighs, mouth open and panting, hit me like a tidal wave. Fuck, how do you feel this good?

I stifle a groan.

He passes me without so much as a glance and takes his position on the floor next to Charlie and Ava.

It gets worse when he begins stretching. It’s always an exercise in torture, but this time hits different. Having seen him naked with his hole stretched open and filled with me, that’s all I can see when he uses the roller to lower into the splits. I try to keep him out of my sightline but it’s as though my eyes have a mind all of their own.

There’s to be an announcement about the lead and the production at some point today. Niall said Benedict will call us each into his office, give feedback on our gala performance, brief us about the spring/summer production, and explain why we’ve been chosen—or not— for whatever role. It means there’s a thick veil of tension hanging over the class this morning as we move, distractedly, through Fen’s instructions. At Romasco, I would have heard something, been vaguely aware of what the SS show was likely to be. I don’t know if the reason I haven’t is because Benedict runs a tighter ship, or because I’m still very much an outsider here.

It’s just before lunch when the dance studio door opens and Ben strides through it, flanked by the costume director, Sara, the musical director, Marcus, and his secretary, Noah.

The class stops immediately, all eyes turning on the company director. Fen moves to take her place next to the other senior staff members.

“Sorry to interrupt. I won’t keep you long,” Ben begins. “Firstly, I want to thank you all for your exceptional work on Friday. It was a truly mesmerising show, and you make my job here very easy. It’s not hard to speak with our committee and donors after performances like you gave on Friday, so our funding and finances look very healthy for the next five years at least, thanks to you all.” There’s a polite applause after this, which I belatedly join in with. “It also makes it easy to convince them of my more hair-brained ideas. We all remember our modern-day La Sylphide, fondly, I’m sure.”

“So many kilts,” Sara says with an eye roll. Ben laughs good-naturedly as the class titter amongst themselves.

“And I am afraid we are once again going to be breaking the mould with our spring/summer production. It is an original.” There’s an audible gasp. When I glance around the class, it’s to see a mix of excited and anxious expressions, though more of the latter. “It takes the themes of love, fate, and devotion and sets them against the tragic backdrop of the Trojan War. It’s a story which has been told before, but never in ballet. It’s somewhat of a passion project of mine, and something Marcus and I have been working on for close to a decade.” He looks at his musical director with a tender expression and smiles. “We have named it ‘Song of The Iliad’ and it will centre around the much-rumoured love between Achilles and Patroclus.” Benedict settles his gaze on Felix and then me. “It will be the first queer ballet to be performed at any of the Big Five. A love story set to original music. But I expect, and hope, for this to be a bit of a cultural event. I have already secured renowned director, Julien Aubert, and of course our darling Fen, and I will be in charge of choreo. Sara and her team have already started work on the costume design.”

The class is utterly silent; shock and awe on the faces of almost everyone. Everyone except Felix. He looks excited.

“A gay ballet?” he asks.

Benedict smiles. “Yes, Felix. Very gay.”

Felix’s own smile lights up his entire face, purest delight shining in his forest-green eyes. But then, just as quickly, his expression falls as he appears to realise something, something I had already known was coming.

He looks at me, and then back at Benedict.

“You’re casting both Nico and I as leads?”

I try not to smile because it’s the first time he’s ever called me ‘Nico’ in front of the class. Always, it’s ‘Savini’. I wonder if anyone else noticed. Benedict looks at me, an almost gleeful smile on his face.

“Yes, I am. If you both could come forward, please.”

As we both walk toward the front, there’s a very conflicted look on Felix’s face, one I cannot read. Benedict comes forward and wraps an arm around each of us as he faces the class.

“I’d like you to meet your Achilles—he looks at Felix—and the greatest love of his life, Patroclus.” He looks at me.

The class erupts into a mix of laughter and cheers all underpinned by shock. When Felix meets my eyes, I see something like trepidation move over his before he looks away and whispers, very distinctly, “Fuck.”



We break for lunch after Benedict and the other directors leave the studio. I grab a salmon poke bowl from the salad counter and find my usual table in the corner. I’m reading on my phone when a presence drops down across from me.

I glance up, surprised to see Felix sat across from me. He’s wearing a hoodie now—black and oversized—grey sweatpants, and a delicious scowl on his face. He looks like sin.

“I suppose there’s no way I could convince you to tell him you’re not doing it,” he says.

Honestly, I’m sure there are a lot of things he, personally, could do to convince me, but I close my lips around the forkful of rice and stare at him while I chew. Distractedly, his eyes dip to my mouth briefly.

“And why would I do that?”

“You know why,” he says, glancing around like he’s afraid someone will see us together. “Because this is a fucking disaster.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it that.”

“No? What would you call it then?”

I grin. “Kismet? Fate? You know, people say Achilles and Patroclus were soulmates too.”

Some complex look moves over his face. “We’re not fucking soulmates!”

I put my hand over my chest. “Ouch.”

“You’re really fucking irritating, do you know that?” He looks around the cafeteria again.

“You look nice today.”

His head whips back around. He studies me through narrowed eyes.

“What are you doing?”

Smiling, I stab a piece of salmon. “Giving you a compliment.”

“Eh, well please don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s weird,” he says, like it’s obvious.

“I thought you liked being complimented? You did on Friday when you were being,” I lower my voice, “such a good boy for me.”

His lips part and I see his breath hitch. It’s surprising; I thought it would take a lot more to get to him.

“I told you, we’re never talking about that. Ever.”

“Yeah, I never agreed to that.”

“Tell him you’re not doing it,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Say please.”

“Fuck you.”

I exhale loudly. “Look, I’m not about to spoil a man’s decade-long dream of producing a queer ballet about Achilles and Patroclus. I’m not that kind of an asshole.”

“Oh, Savini, you’re all kinds of an asshole, I assure you.”

I grin, wolfishly. “Speaking of… I haven’t stopped thinking about yours. When will you let me inside it again?”

He doesn’t bite this time; he glares and stands. “I really hope you break your fucking ankle.” He storms off and I can’t help but stare longingly at his perfect ass as he goes.



If I were to break my ankle, Charlie de Vere would be playing Patroclus opposite Felix. That’s according to the cast list Benedict posts to the online noticeboard after lunch. Obviously I can’t allow that to happen since I’m pretty sure he’s (also) in love with Felix.

Ava is Briseis.

Jacob, a talented soloist from Chicago, is playing Hector.

Niall, Odysseus and Felix’s understudy.

Jonathan Bell, an ageing principal who had an injury a few years ago which effectively destroyed his career but who can still manage small roles, is playing Priam.

Jesse is given the role of Agamemnon.

Charlie is given Paris as well as my understudy.

There is some preliminary artwork and mood boards posted, too, which show Greek helmets, togas and spears, lots of blood, and sand. If he can pull this off, which I suspect he can, then it will be as he said, a cultural phenomenon. There was a book a few years back that I remember being wildly popular. We’d all been sent NDAs to sign as the official announcement about The London Ballet Company’s spring/summer show won’t be made until early February, and all in all, there’s a buzz of excitement around the production already. I’m unsure how the wider ballet world will react to a queer ballet. Some of the smaller companies have done productions before, but as Benedict said, none of the Big Five have ever deviated from the norm in any substantial way, so this will make headlines when it’s announced.

Not to mention he has Felix and I in lead roles.

I’m less excited about the headlines and more into the fact I get to dance with him in pas de deux. It’s more than I hoped for when I signed the LBC contract. For this, I get to rehearse with him one-on-one; hours and days and weeks in the rehearsal room together where I’m going to make it impossible for him to resist me. I could fucking kiss Benedict Wells for it. The less selfish part of myself is excited for him. Felix is the most famous gay ballerino in the world, and without a doubt, this is going to be the defining role of his career. I want him to shine, and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure he does. I’ll treat it like any other pas de deux. Elevate him where I can, help him excel at every opportunity, enhance the skills he already has, and take nothing away from him.

This is Felix’s moment and, unbelievably, I get to be right beside him for it.

And when this is over and the world finally sees him for what he is—the best—I can do what I’ve always been too fucking scared to do.

Stop.

Stop and breathe and fill my life with things that make me happy instead.

Fuck, if I can pull this off, one of those things will be him.

But first, I need to get him to fall in love with me, both onstage and off.