agon
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There was no black tulle, no pink toe shoes, no opiate swans, but Allen saw this scene in balletic terms all the same. Link made his entry, stage left, effortlessly sharp and polished in his dark suit jacket. The sharp angles of his coat and brows, with the muted colours of his attire, were the perfect expression of balletic line.
Kanda entered, stage right. His black hair was yanked up into a high ponytail, his eyes were hard with intent; he was beautifully, brutally slapdash with his torn-up jeans, his big gray sweater, his loose white shirt. His knuckles were rough, scraped-up.
Allen wondered, Am I choosing them, or am I simply succumbing to them?
In the ancient ballet studios of Montreal, three very different dancers are assigned to the same gala program.
Series
- Part 1 of agon
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“What's going on here, exactly?” He asked. He looked down, fiddling with the zipper of his day-old jeans. “I'm just — I'm just confused.”
Kanda was quiet for several long seconds. Allen heard the sound of the dresser door thudding shut.“We had sex.”
“Sex,” Allen repeated. The word echoed through him, too heavy. He reached for his socks, pulling them slowly over his cold feet. “Okay. Is that all?”.
A prince, a raven, a swan, and an old mistake made right. Or; Allen wakes up.
Series
- Part 2 of agon