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A/N: One of my other boys makes a sort of cameo in here, and I'm lit about it. Also, stripping??? So, if that's not something you're about, probs just stop reading now lolol

Beckett wakes up early, even though it's his day off work. He yawns, arms flexing under his shirt, smacks his lips. The light from the window is barely yellow, still tinted by streetlights. He's groggy, disoriented. He grabs for his phone to check the time, and ends up looking at his text messages instead.

From: Oren

Hey I kno its last minute but do u want to come see me dance tmrrw?

Beckett cocks his head to the side, thinking, immersed. He hadn't known that Oren is a dancer. Beckett starts to call, before realizing that it's still too early. He lays back on his pillow, googles Oren's name.

His personal Instagram pops up, and Beckett clicks. He's resisted so far, but they've been on a proper date now. Surely, it wouldn't be creepy to take a quick look.

Oren's Instagram is made of mainly two things: himself, and food, both aesthetically framed and filtered. Beckett scrolls slowly, clicking each picture. One of the more recent photos is of Beckett at the aquarium, from behind. The caption: "Blue looks so good on him." Beckett likes it before he can stop himself, keeps scrolling.

Some photos seem to be promos; Oren in loose t-shirts, or no shirt, wearing shorts, usually in some sort of sensually athletic pose. "Come see me dance," they read, some with an address attached. Beckett spends too much time lingering on these ones, the ones of Oren showing more skin than Beckett ever really imagined touching. Beckett allows himself to linger on this thought, this imaginary shadow of intimacy.

He lays back on his bed, phone still in his hand, trying to convince himself that this isn't incredibly pervy of him. They're talking; they've been on dates; they've woken up together, had breakfast together; they've kissed, in rain. Surely, it's okay of him to want Oren in a more physical sense.

Beckett keeps looking, scrolls so far back that Oren's face is more babyish, jaw rounder, hair longer, shaggier. His smile when he laughs still seems the same, though

He sends a message back, typing, deleting, re-wording.

To: Oren

Yes. Send details. I look forward to it.


"Shit, he actually said yes."

Oren sits cross-legged in a dance rehearsal room, in a circle with other stretching boys, sipping from his water bottle.

Lyle leans over his shoulder, reads Oren's texts. "Ooh, nice, nice. You said he's usually pretty guarded, but he says he's looking forward to it." He grins, and it takes up most of his face. "You gettin' dick tonight."

"Shut up." Oren copy-pastes the time and location from his clipboard, sends it away. He hides his face in his hands, rubbing at it, before peeking hesitantly up at Lyle. "He doesn't know."

Lyle pouts. "Doesn't know what, exactly?" He stretches, near a full split, trying to get the rest of the way there. Oren fluffs his hair, drinks water, stalls for time. "Oren, honey, he doesn't know what?"

Oren blurts, "He doesn't know I strip," too loudly into the chatty room. The statement almost gets swallowed up in other noise, but not quite. The other boys look up, vultures for gossip. Lyle shoos them back to their own conversations with a playful eye roll and a wave of the hand.

Quieter now, Lyle picks back up where he left off. "Holy shit, you didn't tell him? Why?" He's immediately in older sister mode, rubbing Oren's back in circles.

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