Chapter Text
The club pulsed with life, bass reverberating through walls and floor, drenched in crimson and scarlet lights that skittered across the room in bold, intoxicating streaks. As the night edged towards Scarlet and Crimson’s sets, the lights would sharpen, the atmosphere crackling with electricity—they were among the club’s undeniable favorites. The air hung heavy with perfume, sweat, and alcohol; signs of a familiar anticipation, thick enough to taste.
Their sets usually followed one another on the nights when they both performed, Scarlet first, then Crimson. A choreography bathed in red light; the shade of lust itself. Both red eyed performers were no doubt, the crowd’s favourites. While Crimson carried more substance in his thighs and hips, Scarlet’s frame offered a different allure—sleek lines, long lean legs, and a poised precision that showed with every movement on stage.
Back in the changing room, Delta and Shu were finishing their preparations, moving with the practiced rhythm they’d honed over countless nights. Tonight, they would both be draped in black leather. Their outfits, raunchy but controlled, precise yet daring—were the kind their manager knew would drive the patrons wild and send their wallets flying open.
Scarlet slid a final strap of his garment over his shoulder. The leather hugged his chest perfectly, fishnet panels teasing glimpses of pale skin. Sleeves of the same mesh traced the length of his arms, and daring cuts along his sides left just enough to tempt the imagination. High-heeled boots wrapped around his long, sleek legs with garter belts accentuating the lean strength of his thighs. His mask, sharp and alluring, framed his eyes, and held the deep his scarlet gaze smoldering with quiet command.
Crimson adjusted his bodysuit, leather clinging like a second skin. The wide cut of his suit revealed the smooth expanse of his back and the curve of his hips, elegant and enticing. He smirked, imagining the crowd’s reaction: cheers, whistles, bills raining down—especially when he bent at just the right angle over the stage. Black lace peeked out from the edges of his outfit, tracing the curve where his hips met his thighs. His mask mirrored Scarlet’s, framing crimson eyes that burned—unyielding, sharp and fiery.
Outside, the night waited; hungry, electric, ready to bend to their rhythm. Inside, in the quiet of their shared dressing room, the two dancers moved with practiced ease, adjusting their straps, gloves, and masks, their eyes meeting across the space. The air was filled with anticipation—thick with a silent tension, a charge only they could feel and share, shaped by the bond they’d built in all their nights together on this stage.
“I’m up first,” Scarlet said, smirking. “Enjoy the shadows while I devour all the light.”
Shu rolled his eyes, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed him.
“Knock yourself out, Scarlet.” He replied softly, tone low and amused.
As Scarlet strutted onto the stage, he was bathed in a deep, seductive red, his heart pulsing in rhythm with the music. He moved to the center, feeling the bass sink into his chest, letting the beat guide the sway of his hips. Every movement was deliberate and teasing—his fingers toying with the straps that traced every line of his body. Loud whistles rose from the crowd, bills already pouring in, and a pleased, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. Gripping the pole with ease, he launched into his signature aerial spin. The move was technical, but he made it look effortless. His thighs flexed with precise control—each arch and lean drawing attention to the toned, powerful shape of his lower body. With every twist and sway, he drew the audience’s gaze exactly where he wanted it.
As he worked through his set, scanning the crowd, he moved with the rhythm. Familiar patrons stared like starving wolves, wallets out, drinks in hand. Scarlet smirked as he grabbed the pole once more, arched backward, and let his hips lead, rolling his body with controlled seduction, accentuating his silhouette as bills rained down.
Licking his lips, he grinned. Ha. Suckers.
Then—suddenly, a sharp gasp cut through the usual din. Delta snapped his head toward the sound, eyes narrowing. Loud reactions weren’t unusual, but this one… it carried a heat, a familiar sound that made his skin prickle.
He forced himself to keep moving, shrugging it off and continued his spins, the arching, the teasing sway of his hips. The regulars watched with hungry eyes, hands hovering but never touching; the club’s strict protocols made sure of that. And yet they remained completely enthralled. Licking his lips again, Delta let the arch of his back and the flex of his legs do the talking.
He moved through the next few minutes of his routine with effortless ease—until he saw him.
Valt. Not in his usual corner seat, blending in with the regulars. No—he was in the group section, the space reserved for people who came in pairs or more. But it wasn’t Valt that stopped Delta cold—he already survived that scare once. Delta froze mid-motion, a chill skimming down his spine.
Because Valt wasn’t alone. Someone sat beside him.
And that someone…
was Dante.
Dante, fucking, Koryu.
The Dragon Blader's gaze met his with an intensity that made him immediately look away. Delta’s chest tightened, heart hammering against his ribs.
His body almost betrayed him, but mid-aerial—twisting and swinging with the precision carved from countless nights on stage—he caught himself and turned his back to the crowd. His movements slipped into autopilot: legs flexing, hips rotating, arching into the pole like he owned it. Inside, though, his world spun out of control. When Dante’s eyes found his again, he stumbled—a tiny slip he covered by sinking into the splits and rolling forward, presenting to the crowd. Bouncing subtly, he kept his back turned, letting the sway of his hips hide the sharp pinch of panic stabbing at his chest.
Why the fuck is Dante here?
Why is he here with Valt? Oh god. Valt. Shit—Shu’s gonna—
But more importantly—
WHY THE FUCK IS DANTE HERE???
More whistles and cheers filled the club as Delta forced himself upright, careful to avoid turning toward the source of his turmoil. Valt hadn’t once glanced his way, thankfully, but Dante’s gaze pierced right through Delta despite the scarlet dancer not facing him. What had once been his escape—his craft, his control—now felt raw and exposed with him watching. Every flex, every arch, every beat of the music threatened to betray the panic twisting inside him.
He couldn’t handle it. Not like this.
The club had multiple stages that linked together like loose rings, all feeding toward the central platform; the main spotlight, where Scarlet usually performed and where most seats faced. But now, he needed distance from that center—from him. His gaze snapped to a dancer stationed at the far end of the connected stages (conveniently the spot farthest from where Dante and Valt sat).
With a practiced sway, he slipped into action, sashaying as he made his way toward the opposite end of the stage. When he arrived, the dancer there looked up, confused, while the scarlet performer leaned in to whisper—still making it all look like part of the choreography.
“Hey, switch places with me. Now.”
The other dancer blinked. “Huh? Scarlet?! Wha—?”
“Just—fucking do it.” Delta’s smirk tugged harder at his lips, but his scarlet eyes had sharpened to steel.
“But I’m fine here—”
Upon seeing the other about to protest, Scarlet pulled him in close, guiding them into a movement that blended seamlessly into the routine. Whistles arose from the crowd once more, but a ripple of murmurs spread, curious and confused at the center stage being void of a dancer.
Delta’s voice dropped to a low, urgent hiss. “Hurry up. Switch with me. Now.”
The other dancer’s eyes flicked nervously over the crowd before settling back on him. A brief pause, then a resigned sigh.
“Fine.” He stepped aside, allowing Scarlet to slip into his spot.
Scarlet continued to dance, every movement fluid and sensual, as if nothing had changed. But inside, his chest hammered against his ribs. He’d bought himself a little space; just far enough from the source of his panic.
Relief flickered through him—but it was short lived.
Because of course. Of course Dante fucking Koryu got up from his seat and sauntered over, sliding into a spot situated dangerously close to Scarlet’s new stage position. Valt, however, remained seated, offering the dragon blader a calm, approving nod—though Delta didn’t see it; all his focus was on Dante.
Oh god. Oh my fucking god. WHY THE FUCK DID HE MOVE?
Delta froze mid-spin for a heartbeat, then forced himself to keep moving, facing away from the crowd. Every sway, every roll of his hips was sharper, more exaggerated than usual, as if he could smother the panic in pure performance.
I know I’m a fucking great performer, but…this feels suspicious.
He leaned down, back to the crowd, hips bouncing with the music, hiding the panic he couldn’t stop from rising. His chest felt tight, his heart hammering against his ribs, every breath shallow and quick.
First Valt shows up—now Dante? Do they know!?! Oh my fucking god—
Hundred-dollar bills began to flutter toward the stage, and Delta knew, without a doubt, that a good chunk came from Dante’s hand, judging the trajectory.
Ah right, he must be loaded.
A twinge of bitterment sank through him. Dante had always been more successful than he was in beyblading—a near mirror of the poster child, Valt Aoi, with that same bright, magnetic cheerfulness, the fans, the attention, the spotlight that always seemed to find them both. Dante hadn’t reached Valt’s level, sure, but Delta knew he still made good money. And judging by the way those hundred-dollar bills flew from the dragon blader’s hand… there was no denying it.
Dante is at a strip club throwing money at Scarlet—me. But does he know it’s actually me?
A chill ripped through him so hard his next step almost faltered, but he recovered, masking the shudder with practiced grace.
Man. Fuck my life.
Still, Scarlet forced himself to keep moving, each arch, sway, and lean precise, calibrated to the audience’s gaze. But he felt every flicker of Dante’s attention; hungry eyes, lips slightly parted, wallet generously open—and it sent shivers crawling down the scarlet dancer’s spine. Panic gnawed at him, a silent battle of fight-or-flight raging in his veins.
If he were wiser, he’d stop. Walk off. Hide. But the money, the stage, the crowd…stripping was his pride, he had to keep going. And so he did, rolling his hips, swinging around the pole, leaning into the air, all while desperately trying to ignore the way Dante’s gaze devoured him.
A flicker of a thought cut through the chaos in his mind: how the hell had Shu managed to power through his routine when Valt showed up?
His respect for the Crimson dancer surged, lasting just a second longer than his own panic before it overtook him again.
As he dropped low to match the incoming beat shift, a low, throaty groan cut through the crowd—sharp and sudden: “Fuck… yeah, babe.”
Heat flared through Delta from his chest to thighs, in a mix of dread and desire. Dante’s reaction was impossible to miss—he knew that voice far too well.
Delta faltered.
…Shit.
Then louder in his mind—
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Delta’s eyes flicked toward the man despite himself—and he froze. Dante’s gaze was dark, locked on him, hungry and unrelenting. The groan had come right as Delta dipped at the perfect angle, hips swaying and back arching, every curve on full display.
A flush started to creep up Delta’s neck and chest. Seeing the sharp intake of Dante’s breath—the unmistakable bulge pressing against his pants—made something coil tight and low inside him. Delta truly was becoming scarlet like his stage name. He also felt his own arousal building, each movement on stage suddenly more urgent, more electric, as if the world had narrowed to just the two of them, even in the middle of the crowd.
This was dangerous territory. It took everything he had not to look at Dante, who just had to sit smack in the middle of his new sightline.
Finally, for what felt like an eternity, the music drew to a close. Sweat slicked and muscles quivering, Delta executed his final arch and spin, the crowd erupting into cheers. Without a backward glance, he dipped off the stage as fast as he could, lungs burning, pulse hammering—and still, Dante’s eyes seemed to burn through him, tracing every line of his body, savouring every moment before the scarlet dancer made his escape.
“Why the fuck—oh my god. Oh my god, I can’t believe I just did that.”
Scarlet burst into the changing room, words tumbling out in a panicked stammer.
Shu, who had been casually blowing on his nails after adding a few final details, snapped his gaze upward. His relaxed look vanished instantly, replaced by concern as his friend practically stormed past him and flopped onto the couch. Delta grabbed a pillow and screamed into it.
Feeling his mother bull instincts take over, Shu rose from his chair, walking cautiously toward the scarlet dancer, his heels clicking softly across the floor.
“Hey… Delta?” He said gently. “What happened? Did…”
He hesitated, lowering his voice.
“Did your routine not go well?”
He treaded carefully—Delta was a perfectionist, and if he’d messed up even once, Shu knew it would destroy him.
Delta looked up, traces of makeup smeared against the pillow, mascara running and lipstick smudged. Shu sat on the edge of the couch, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles along the side of Delta’s legs.
“Of course I didn’t mess up my routine,” Delta muttered. “I’m a perfectionist, Shu. You know this by now.”
Shu rolled his eyes fondly, a small smile tugging at his lips, still his eyes shone with concern.
“Okay, that’s good to hear,” He replied gently. “So what’s got you all shaken up?”
The scarlet dancer drew in a shaky breath, shoulders loosening just a fraction.
“…Dante was there.”
Shu’s hand froze mid-motion, eyes widening.
“Dante Koryu? ”
“Yes. Who else?!” Delta hissed, sitting up in a panic. “Oh my god—why the fuck is Dante here!?” The words tumbled out too fast to control.
“Shu, I don’t even know how you managed to keep your composure when you first saw Valt—because that shit is hard, oh my god, I almost stumbled through my routine so many times—”
He clutched the pillow tighter.
“I even switched places with another dancer on the side stage and that motherfucker CHANGED SEATS and sat right in the center of my line of sight—I swear I’m dying right here and now—”
“Delta.”
Shu’s voice slid in gently, soft but steady.
Delta didn’t hear him.
“—and he kept THROWING MONEY at me, like full-on hundred-dollar bills, and I’m supposed to just pretend my entire childhood crush isn’t STARING INTO MY SOUL—”
“Delta,” Shu repeated, a little firmer, his hand returning to those slow, grounding circles on Delta’s leg. “Breathe.”
Delta sucked in a breath at last, trembling.
Shu leaned closer, his tone velvet-soft.
“Hey. Take deep breaths for me, okay? You’re safe. You’re here.”
He brushed a smear of glitter off Delta’s cheek with practiced ease.
“I know you’re spiraling,” Shu murmured. “But you’re okay. You made it through the routine. You didn’t fall. You didn’t mess up.”
His thumb traced another gentle circle.
“Come here,” Shu said, pulling him into a firm hug. Delta melted into it instantly. “Breathe with me.”
It took a few minutes before Delta finally settled, his breathing slowing, his racing heartbeat gradually falling in sync with Shu’s steady presence.
Shu’s thoughts, meanwhile, were anything but calm as he felt a creeping dread sink through him.
Valt showing up in New York was wild enough—he’d tried to write it off as the ex-champion blowing money on vacations and nightlife. But now, Dante too? And apparently chasing after Scarlet?
The coincidence stacked too neatly. Too strangely.
Shu would’ve dug into that spiral—if Delta’s mental state weren’t more important in this moment.
He kept his hand resting gently on Delta’s thigh, grounding, quiet. He’s done this before; it wasn’t the first time they had to help each other through a spiral.
When Delta’s breaths finally evened out, his shoulders loosened and the room steadied around them.
That was when a sharp knock on the open doorway made both of them jolt.
“Crimson! You’re supposed to be up now—the music’s starting!”
Lindia poked her head inside, then froze the moment she realized she’d walked in on something raw and private.
“Oh—sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” She cleared her throat, slipping right back into professional mode. “I can buy you a minute, but center stage needs you, Crimson.”
Her eyes flicked to Delta, noting his demeanor. “Also, Scarlet, I need to speak with you… Are you alright?”
Instantly, Delta snapped into a false composure. Shu felt the shift immediately. The scarlet dancer’s spine straightened, shoulders pulled tight, and every trace of vulnerability vanished beneath a practiced mask. He wiped hastily at his smudged makeup, though it betrayed him all the same.
Shu leaned closer, voice soft.
“Delta… are you okay?”
Delta didn’t look at him. His walls had already mounted up; a feeling Shu knew all too well.
“I’m fine.” He muttered, brushing Shu’s hand off gently—too gently. “She’s probably here to ask about what happened on stage.”
Shu’s fingers hovered for a beat, then lowered.
He knew better.
He was like Delta in moments like this—push now, and Delta would explode or collapse.
So instead, Shu exhaled, stood, and softened his voice without losing the command in it.
“Alright. Stay here. I’ll handle my set.”
He waited until Delta’s eyes flicked up to meet his gaze.
“When I’m done… we can talk, if you’re ready.” Shu murmured, voice low and steady.
Delta nodded—barely, distractedly—but he nodded. That was good enough.
Shu brushed his knuckles against Delta’s knee once, a grounding touch, then walked past Lindia with a polite nod as he left to perform his routine.
When he was gone, Delta sat up straighter and sighed.
“I’m sorry…” He muttered. “About earlier on stage. I forced another dancer to switch with me.”
“Don’t worry, Scarlet. You’re not in trouble.” Lindia softened, fully stepping inside. Her eyes flicked briefly over his smudged makeup, but she didn’t comment. She knew better than to pry.
“I was confused about the sudden stage swap, but you handled it well. And actually…”
She clasped her clipboard. “That’s not what I’m here for.”
Delta blinked, thrown off.
“…Then what is it?”
“You’ve been requested for the night; bought out. If you’re up for it, that is—I know you didn’t mark renting yourself out on your contract.”
The unspoken ‘there’s no pressure if you say no’ hung between them, obvious in her careful tone.
He knew exactly what she meant.
“The offer’s from a new client,” Lindia said, grinning. “Dropped a generous fifty thousand for your services—if you’re willing.”
Delta’s heart rate spiked.
“First Crimson lands a wealthy patron, and now you too!” She continued, her tone genuinely pleased, “I’m not shocked. You’re one of the club favorites.”
Delta swallowed. Hard.
“…Who?”
Lindia checked her notes, then looked up brightly.
“Ah—name's Dante. Dante Koryu.”
All he could hear was the ringing in his ears. Déjà vu washed over him: running into your childhood, lifelong crush at the strip club you performed at, only for them to throw down absurd amounts of money just to fuck you—without knowing it was actually you? Insane. Something straight out of a soap opera.
Except said soap opera was happening to him right now.
Just like it had with Crimson.
Life really was copy-pasting the exact same cursed script it had handed Shu.
Oh god—Shu. Wait, I didn’t tell him that Valt’s in the crowd!
Delta had been so caught up in his own turmoil that it slipped his mind. He reasoned that Shu would most likely be fine—it’s not the first time the crimson dancer performed when the ex-world champion was there—but still. Guilt nipped at him, small and sharp.
However, the thought of Dante dropping fifty thousand dollars for him—Scarlet, overshadowed everything else.
Suddenly, he understood.
He understood why Shu had made the choices he did—why he’d said yes not once, but twice, when this exact situation had happened to him. Why saying no felt impossible when the universe dangled something you’d wanted for years right in front of you, wrapped in the perfect guise of your stage identity, where the client would be none the wiser.
And Delta realized, with a quiet horror, that just like Shu…he was just as careless with his own heart.
Because he was considering this. Seriously considering it.
“Um… Scarlet? You good? You can decline, you know.” Lindia’s voice cut gently through the fog of his thoughts, concern threading through.
Delta looked up, holding her gaze as if it might hold the answer.
But it didn’t.
This was a decision no one could make for him.
The silence stretched—one beat, two, three—his heart still pounding, thoughts still tangled and buzzing beneath his ribs.
And then, he made the choice.
With a breath tight in his chest but his voice steady, he said:
“…What the hell. Sure.”
Shu slipped offstage with the last notes of the music still humming through his body. Sweat clung to his skin, breath steadying as he pushed past the curtain. His mind raced with who he’d seen—and who he hadn’t.
His set had gone as well as it could, all things considered. But when he’d scanned the crowd, searching out the dragon blader Delta had had a full panic episode over, he didn’t find Dante.
Instead, his gaze had collided with someone else.
Valt.
Shu’s stomach had dropped.
Now, his own turmoil was staring back at him from across the room. Their eyes met for barely half a second before he tore his gaze away—but the shock hit him all the same.
Ah. Shit. Here we go again.
A little warning would’ve been nice, Delta.
Could’ve told me Valt was also here—
But he didn’t blame him; Delta had been too far gone earlier to think straight.
Shu had powered through the routine—he’d done this twice before. Dancing while Valt watched was hell, but possible. Throughout his set, his mind kept drifting back to Delta, hoping he was curled somewhere in their dressing room recovering.
But every time Shu’s gaze flicked toward Valt’s seat in the group section, his mind blanked. For a moment he forgot everything—Delta, the stage, even himself.
By the time the final beat hit and the lights dimmed, he still hadn’t spotted Dante anywhere in the crowd. All he could feel was Valt’s attention pressing against him, sharp and impossible to ignore.
Shu exhaled and quickly slipped backstage.
The hallways were alive with activity; dancers drifted between rooms, heading on and off the stage, some chattering happily as they waited for their turn, the distant bass throbbed like a heartbeat behind the walls. His steps carried him toward their shared dressing room, a small smile forming at the thought of fussing over Delta—mothering someone else was always easier than handling his own disasters.
But when he pushed open the door, the room was empty.
No Delta wrapped up in a blanket burrito on the couch (a scene Shu had walked in before, though under very different circumstances).
No Delta scrubbing makeup off with violent determination.
No Delta curled up pretending he wasn’t falling apart.
Shu’s brows knit. Then he saw it—a scrap of paper propped crookedly against the vanity mirror.
The handwriting was rushed, but still somehow even. Typical. Delta was ever the perfectionist.
Making bad decisions tonight.
Got brought out. Yes, by him.
Sorry Mom.
I’ll see you tomorrow at the meet-up.
You can yell at me then.
(50 fucking K, Shu)
Shu stared. Then read the last line again.
“Oh my fucking god.”
He exhaled a half-laugh, half-groan filled with mostly dread.
“Fifty thousand!? Valt didn’t even drop that much the first time. Dante, what the hell.” He muttered in exasperation.
He read the note again, and his dread sank deeper.
Delta had dug himself into this hole—like Shu had, twice—and Shu couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
“Unbelievable.” He muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
He could practically feel the “like mother like son” jokes waiting to be typed out by the author of this fic.
A humorless huff escaped him. His chest tightened. Delta was probably already being escorted to his session, and Shu didn’t know what emotion to feel first—worry? fear? resignation?
He certainly couldn’t chase after him.
Maybe they were related somehow—maybe some lab had taken Shu’s DNA, cloned all his best traits and worst impulses, and produced a tiny, stubborn dancer with killer eyeliner skills and the self-preservation instincts of a hopelessly lovesick fool.
He didn’t get even three seconds to fully process that thought, before Lindia appeared at the doorway, knocking lightly before stepping inside.
“Oh—Crimson, perfect. I was looking for you. Lovely performance, by the way.” She glanced around the empty room, eyes falling to his hands. “Scarlet’s already been brought out. I assume he left you that note?”
“Yeah…” Shu placed it back on the vanity with a sigh. “Was he… okay? He looked fine, right?”
“Seemed perfectly fine to me!” Lindia replied earnestly. “I asked him multiple times if he wanted to decline. He was pretty determined. If I asked again, he might’ve snapped at me.” She laughed nervously.
“I see…”
Shu didn’t buy that for a second. He knew Delta. Knew that boy could mask a meltdown under a determined smile and the guise of ‘I’m fine’. He was a mirror to Shu, after all. But he’d have to wait until tomorrow to deal with him. They were meeting up with Fubuki and Lain anyway; the thought brought the smallest drop of peace to his swirling thoughts. Tomorrow afternoon, Shu would get his chance to talk to Delta—or more accurately, conduct a full emotional wellness check.
Lindia’s expression lifted. “Looks like tonight’s a lucky night for both of my top dancers!”
Shu raised a brow. “…Why do you say that?”
She flipped her clipboard with a flourish.
“Well, your client submitted another invoice request.”
Shu froze. The air turned cold in his lungs.
Valt. Again.
“And this time,” Lindia continued, delighted, “He added special requests. Said there’s no limit to how much he’s willing to pay for them—so the price is up to you, Crimson!”
The familiar internal war rose instantly.
The rational part of him whispering: Don’t do this again…
The exhausted part collided, murmuring: You already slipped twice into his bed. What’s one more?
And God help him… slipping felt dangerously easy.
“So? If you’re up for it, I’ll go over the details of the request. Then you can decide if you want to go through with it,” Lindia said, watching him with quiet patience.
Shu let out a slow breath, resignation softening the lines of his face.
“…Yeah.” He murmured. “I’ll do it. I don’t really care about the price."
He couldn't believe he was doing this again.
"What are the details of the request?”