Counterbalance

by Aidan Wayne

  Bao frowned thoughtfully. “I think . . . when my parents came to see one of my performances. They had to travel a long way to come see me, but they did. And they were so proud of me.” He rolled his bottle of water back and forth between his hands. “They told me how happy they were to see me, that I looked so strong. And of course I wasn’t that good, but I thought about that, bringing happiness to people with what I could do. I liked that feeling. So I wanted to be better, for the people who watched me. I started to think about that feeling only when I practiced. It was nicer to think about that, instead of hurting.”

  “I’m glad you got that.” John kept himself from reaching across the table to touch Bao’s hand with his own, but only just. “Liking what you do is definitely better than hurting over it.” He knew that from his own experiences.

  “Oh yes.” Bao smiled. “Much better. And also, it helped me to start learning so much more.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bao ducked his head. “I, ah, did not try very hard in my studies when I was angry. For example, my English was very bad! But once I decided that I had a good opportunity, that made me want to work harder and be the best I could be. So I studied. I became best student,” he told John, beaming.

  John had to chuckle. “It shows. Your English is great.”

  Bao reddened. “Oh no, I am not very good yet.” But he looked pleased. “I am trying to improve by watching a lot of movies and television now that I’m in Canada. And by speaking to people, of course,” he added shyly, glancing over at John.

  “Hey, I’m happy to help. I like talking to you.” He did, and that was a perfectly innocent thing to admit.

  “Good! I’m glad that it is not a bother.”

  Besides, it made sense that Bao talked to John to improve his English. Maybe he’d mention that to Anastasia next time she brought Bao up.

  John was moving mats around when Bao padded over to him. He was taking a breather from practicing what might be the start of his solo hand-balancing routine, and John had . . . definitely not been staring at him for the better part of an hour to know that.

  “Hey.” John nodded. Bao smiled at him. He was panting slightly, skin glistening with sweat, and John was in so much trouble.

  “Hello,” Bao breathed, sans the exclamation mark for once. He must be really tired. “How are you doing?”

  John lifted a shoulder, lips quirking up despite himself. “’Bout the same as I was since you last asked this morning. How about you? You’ve been working hard out there.”

  “Did you watch?” Bao asked, sounding excited. Which made sense; Bao was a performer, so probably he didn’t mind being looked at during practice. “What do you think of it so far?”

  “It’s lookin’ real good,” John said honestly. He’d had to tear his eyes away a couple of times, for fear of someone else catching him out. Bao was beautiful to watch normally, but moving in a routine . . .

  John could admit to himself that maybe he had it bad. But that didn’t mean he had to burden Bao with it.

  “Could I help?” Bao asked, holding out a hand toward the mat. John could see that his hand was shaking.

  “Nah.” He smiled a little to take the sting out of it. Even if his smile was less than comforting to most. “If the boss works out that you guys can move the mats yourselves, I’ll be out of a job. Thanks, though. I’ve only got this last one to set up.”

  “Are you free after you are done with this?”

  “Yup. Till they need me again.”

  “I am on break right now!” And there were the exclamation marks again. Bao’s eyes had gone a little wide though, talking that fast. John hoped he was feeling okay. “May I spend it with you?”

  John shrugged, trying for casual. “Sure, if you want.”

  “I do!”

  “Okay. Uh, did you want to maybe get something from the cafeteria? You look kind of beat.”

  Bao laughed, running a hand through his sweaty hair. And that really should not have been that endearing. “I am very tired! But it is good, hard work. You are allowed to leave, though? I do not want to get you in trouble.”

  “Nah, I can kind of come and go on the more basic practice days, since the equipment is mostly set up. I was gonna maybe duck into my office and let Matt hold down the fort unless someone buzzed me. So I can go with you to get a smoothie or something. If, uh, if you want.”

  Bao beamed at him, his whole face lighting up. “I would like that very much.”

  Lord, John was in so much trouble.

  The thing about having performers from so many different parts of the world was that they often used English to speak with each other, since it was usually their common language. Bao was off to the side with Maha (from India) and Nikki (Russia), and John couldn’t help overhearing their conversation from where he was busy putting all the aerial apparatuses away.

  “I spend so much time to learn English and half this country speaks French,” Nikki was saying, sounding disgusted.

  “It’s not so bad,” Maha said. “At least no one refuses to speak English if you ask them to. That happened to me all the time when I was touring in actual France.”

  “No one has spoken French to me yet,” Bao said. He sounded almost disappointed.

  “So walk up to anyone around here and ask them to French at you,” Nikki said, crossing her arms.

  Bao nodded thoughtfully, and turned toward John. “John! Do you speak French?”

  John held up his hands. “I know like three words and that my accent is atrocious.”

  Bao frowned. “Your accent is very nice.”

  John snorted. “Southern drawl doesn’t translate so well to French.” He actually knew more Russian, because of Anastasia. He almost said as much, but Constantine chose that moment to announce the end of break and call the cast back over.

  “Ask Constantine to yell at you in French,” Nikki suggested, as they walked over. John didn’t catch Bao’s reply.

  “Bao? Is, uh, is something wrong?”

  John had debated approaching Bao when the acrobat hadn’t said hello to him that morning. And first he figured his good luck had simply run out and that Bao had decided to move on with his affections.

  But watching him during practice, Bao seemed tired. Worn. In a way John had never seen him before. Bao had always had a smile and a bounce in his step, up until today. It was frankly disconcerting to see him upset.

  At first Bao didn’t even notice him, just kept on staring into space, not even frowning but blank, and John really wanted to make whatever was wrong better, if he could. “Bao? Are you okay?”

  Bao blinked rapidly and then shook his head, looking up. “Oh. Hello. I’m sorry. I was thinking.”

  “I could see that.” John nodded to the spot next to Bao. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Oh! Yes, yes, of course.”

  John eased down next to him, and Bao grew quiet again, fingers curling around each other.

  “What’re you thinkin’ about?” John asked, after a minute of uneasy silence. “If I can ask.”

  Bao smiled, and it seemed so forced John felt his heart clench a little. What was wrong? “My family,” he said. “Today is my mother’s sixtieth birthday. It’s a very important birthday. In China, even when I was away on training, I was always able to call to talk to her. I called my family often. I can do it less now, since they work very hard and the time difference is very big.” He sighed and frowned at the ground. “I miss them.”

  John got that. He missed his family too, still. Even with what had happened and the fact that it’d been years—

  He still missed his mom and dad, once in a while.

  He ended up going with, “I’m sorry. I know that’s hard.” And then, “Are you going to be able to talk to her today? Wish her happy birthday?”

  Bao nodded, and for a moment he seemed somewhat brighter. “I called last night, to wish her a happy birthday in the morning, and then I got up early this morning so I could call them when it was not s
o late.” Which would explain why Bao looked so tired.

  “Bet she liked that,” John said quietly. “Getting to talk to you twice on her birthday. Sounds like a nice present.”

  Bao laughed, even though it sounded a little wet. “She told me I should not worry so much about her and take care of myself. But she seemed happy to talk to me.”

  “She sounds like a smart lady.”

  “She is! Very smart.”

  “So you gonna take her advice?”

  “What?”

  John knocked against Bao’s shoulder with his own. “To take care of yourself.”

  “Oh. I . . . yes. I will. I try to.”

  “Good.”

  Bao shifted over to lean against him, and John kept himself stock-still, feeling Bao breathe, until Constantine clapped his hands.

  “All right, people! Water break’s over! Back on the floor!”

  Bao smoothly leaped to his feet, and John followed, slightly less gracefully.

  “Hey, Bao?”

  Bao turned, and John couldn’t think of anything to say. “I bet they miss you just as much,” he said, after a long moment. “That . . . matters for something.”

  Bao’s expression was soft, the ghost of his bright smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you, John. For talking with me.”

  John shrugged, wishing he could say more, help more. “Anytime.”

  The next day, Bao was his usual, cheerful self.

  “Good morning, John!”

  “Mornin’.” John hesitated before asking, “Did you speak to your parents again last night?”

  Bao’s eyes widened, but then so did his smile. “Yes! Since it was a special time. It was morning for them when I called, and we could not talk very long, but it was very nice to speak to them three times so close together.”

  “They doing okay?”

  “Yes. Yes, I think so.”

  John smiled. “Good. I’m glad.”

  Bao rocked back on his heels, and he was positively beaming. “Thank you for asking.”

  Anastasia strong-armed John into going out for their regular “it’s been two months and no one’s died or gotten fired yet” celebration on the new show. Of course, he’d agreed thinking that it’d just be the group of riggers. But Anastasia had told Badru, her latest beau, and he’d spread the word to the other performers.

  Which meant John found himself sitting awkwardly at a giant table made of two smaller ones pushed together, surrounded by music and drinking coworkers chattering in languages he didn’t understand. Including but not limited to the cast members who still shied away whenever he looked at them.

  On the plus side, Bao was there, but he was bouncing all over the place as usual, coming over to talk at John for a few minutes before going off to another group. Which was fine, and John had Matt and Anastasia to talk to, though the former was busy flirting with a trapezist from Russia, and the latter was busy with her boyfriend.

  Mostly John had his drink to keep him busy, and probably had had one too many by the time Bao came by again, surrounded by several of his fellow acrobats.

  “John!” Bao sounded even more excitable than he normally did, and that had to be the drinks and the atmosphere. “I found you!”

  “Sure did.” John waved to the rest of the group, and a few of them even waved or nodded back. “What’s up now?”

  “Drinking games!” Bao said, before turning to a tiny, tiny woman and rattling something off in Chinese to her. He turned back to John. “You are invited! We play for more drinks, as well as . . . as . . .” He struggled to find the word, then brightened. “As well as challenges. If we lose, we get a challenge.”

  “Okay.” Why not? What did John have to lose? “I’m in.”

  “Good! Come over back to our table.” He grabbed John’s arm, and John let himself be tugged along.

  It was strange to be seated at the table of acrobats, where he couldn’t understand half of what they said to each other. Some of them also looked at him a little longer than necessary, but they were all in good moods, with drinks inside of them, which made them more amenable. Besides, after two months, most of them were at least used to him.

  They played a game of Flick, each taking turns flicking at the little metal tab on a can, trying not to be the one to knock it off. On the second time around the table, Bao lost.

  Grinning, he turned to John. “You are on my left! Do I drink, or do you give me challenge?” He hadn’t even bothered pouring a shot, obviously hoping for a challenge.

  John couldn’t help it—it’d been another month of Bao and his smiles and enthusiasm and casual touches, and he blurted, “Wanna give me a kiss, then?” just tipsy enough to be willing to say it, let it be a joke. Predictably the group dissolved into giggles, some of them shrieking and pulling away from him.

  It didn’t hurt.

  But then, “Yes, I will!” Bao sat up, a dopey grin on his face. He was out of his seat and crawling into John’s lap in the next moment. John, in his shock, leaned back, tried to play it off.

  “Bao, that’s— You don’t really—”

  Bao’s face fell, looking crestfallen. “You do not want me to?”

  “Uh . . .” Some of the others were cheering them on, a few of the girls nudging each other and calling to Bao in Chinese. Bao threw them a dirty look and replied before turning back to John.

  “I said they are jealous,” he said, smiling at him, winding his arms around John’s neck. Then, as John was trying to think of an answer to that, Bao leaned in and pressed his lips to John’s in a surprisingly gentle kiss for how smashed Bao had to be.

  After, Bao didn’t even get out of John’s lap. Just twisted around to return to the game from his new seat. Did a lot of twisting and moving and excited bouncing. If John didn’t know better, he’d swear Bao was doing it on purpose.

  Bao turned to look back at him, smile wide. They were almost nose to nose. “John, you are red! Are you alright? Too much drink?”

  “I—I was just thinking maybe I should head out soon,” John managed to choke out. While he could still walk.

  Bao’s eyes widened. “Now? Alone?” His words were kinda slurring. It was really, really cute.

  “Uh, not really any other way to leave, Bao.”

  The tiny woman from before, Shen Ting, laughed and shouted something at Bao in Chinese, and Bao turned to her to spout something quickly back. John was just glad the attention was off him. Then Bao moved back around.

  “I will come too,” he said as earnestly as a drunk could. “We go back together!”

  “Bao, it’s fine, you don’t have to leave. You’re enjoyin’ yourself.”

  Bao shook his head. “No.” All stubbornness. “I go back with you.”

  John couldn’t bring himself to remind Bao that he didn’t live in the dorms with the performers. Instead he sighed and gave in. Probably it wasn’t a bad idea to escort Bao home anyway.

  “All right, fine, you twisted my arm. Let’s get you home.”

  Bao just beamed at him.

  John figured that the best thing to do was to take Bao home first. They took a cab back, and he planned on using the bus system to get to his own apartment from the dorms.

  Bao was giggly and clingy on the cab ride home, and continued to be so as John escorted him up to his apartment. He wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t dig out his own keys, but John ended up having to be the one to fit them into the lock.

  “Come in!” Bao said, one hand flicking on the light and the other grabbing John’s wrist and pulling him into the apartment. He smiled up at John from inside the tiny entryway. “Thank you for being with me.”

  “No problem,” John said honestly. “Happy to help. But I should get going back to my own place.”

  Bao’s face fell. “You did not want to stay?”

  John blanched. “What?”

  “Stay.” Bao tugged on John’s wrist again. He hadn’t let go, and his thumb was running over the mottled scars there. “Stay here, with me.�
�

  John suppressed a shiver. He was too drunk for this. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” was all he managed to say.

  Bao frowned. “It is the best idea! Unless . . . you do not want to?”

  John was honest-to-god torn. Of course he wanted to. But they were both drunk, and John was . . . well, this kinda thing didn’t happen to him. He really didn’t want Bao to hate him in the morning either.

  Bao’s expression cleared the longer John hesitated. “Okay, yes,” he said, voice decisive. “You want to, you stay. Come, let’s go to bed.”

  John put up a token resistance as Bao started leading him toward the bedroom. “Bao, wait, I—”

  “Just to sleep,” Bao said, sounding so reasonable. “Just sleep this time. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but please?”

  “Okay.” John swallowed, resolve broken. He wanted— “Okay.”

  John woke up with an awful taste in his mouth, and his arms completely full of sprawled acrobat. Bao had tangled them up so thoroughly while they slept that John wasn’t even sure how to start extricating himself. One of Bao’s legs had wormed its way between John’s own, and even though they’d both crashed in their clothes, that was . . . not the best position. He needed to get up. He needed to get up now.

  It was the weekend though, which meant that Bao didn’t actually have to wake up early and start a rigorous training regimen, so John was loathe to disturb him. And anyway, he didn’t think he wanted to be there when Bao woke up and realized what had happened. John had learned pretty clearly that he was not a surprise people liked waking up to. Even when they were expecting it.

  Bao was strong in his sleepy clinginess, but eventually John managed to get free. Then he hunted for his shoes and was tugging them on just as Bao rolled over.

  John froze, feeling like he was doing something wrong, a walk of shame even when nothing too shameful had happened. They’d just slept, for Chrissakes. But when Bao made a noise and opened his eyes, shielding his face from the light slanting in from the windows, John still felt all kinds of in trouble.