Dancing In The Dark

Show: IN THE DARK - Show (OPEN/EXTENDED)

Class: Pas De Deux

(Left)

Horse name: SMR Kravi Dolg

Rider Name: Rua G. Macbeth

Rider Age: 45 y/o

(Right)

Horse name: Paper Wings

Rider Name: Elijah Knight

Rider Age: 54 y/o

(Characters belong to @Dozymare )

Music: Everywhere - Fleetwood Mac

Announcement: XXXX

Literature: 1341 Words

Been over a month since the last piece of these 2 men together, so it was time to draw them again.

And once again I got to collab with the amazing @Dozymare on this! <3 Always such a pleasure to work together with her <3

Dozy did the sketch, background, flats of her characters and some final detailing, while I did the mockup, lineart, shading and flats of my characters.

Also go and give Dozy's entry some love <3

Story:

The hush of waves drifted lazily through the open windows of Elijah’s apartment, threading itself through the slow warmth of a late Mallorcan morning. It smelled faintly of salt and sunwarmed stone. Somewhere down the coast, a gull cried once, sharply, and then the world softened again.

Rua stood barefoot in the kitchen, dressed in old lounge trousers and a faded t-shirt, a towel still draped around his neck. His hair was damp, curls darkened and flattened from the shower, and a few stray drops trailed down the curve of his neck. He nursed a mug of black coffee, holding it with both hands like he wasn’t quite ready to let the heat go. It was a plain white thing with a chip near the rim, and Rua’s thumb kept finding the rough edge without meaning to. He liked mornings like this. Nothing was rushing him forward. No fixed shape to the day. Just quiet, the smell of coffee, and the distant tap of keys from the other room.

That tap quickened, paused, then resumed in perfect rhythm. Not the frantic jabbing of someone annoyed with their inbox, but the precise, practised kind, like a pianist who knew exactly what sound each stroke would produce. 

Rua padded barefoot toward the sound. He paused at the doorway, rapped once on the frame, but didn’t wait for an answer. Elijah was there, hunched forward at his desk, his glasses slipping low on his nose. The lamp cast a circle of amber light across his face. In one hand, he held his pipe—not lit, just loosely gripped between his fingers, resting against his lip occasionally like a placeholder for a thought he hadn’t quite caught yet.

“You composing a sonata in there, or is this one of your billion emails?” Rua asked, voice still rough with sleep.

Elijah looked up from his laptop, expression calm but amused. He wore a pale linen shirt rolled to the elbows, and his reading glasses perched low. “Depends on how you feel about contract negotiation,” he said, voice carrying a soft thread of sleepiness. “Very avant-garde.”

Rua leaned on the frame, then stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “Just so we’re clear—this was supposed to be a holiday. A holiday, Elijah.”

Elijah didn’t seem remotely apologetic. “It is. I’m merely refining the edges. Clearing the inbox before the inbox clears me.”

“You know, most people relax with a book. Or wine. Or sleep.”

“I did those things. Last night. And for the record, you fell asleep first.”

Rua snorted. “Because someone made me taste-test half a dozen kinds of whiskey. I’m lucky I didn’t dream I was trapped in a barrel.”

Elijah tilted his head just enough to glance up over the rim of his glasses. There was a smile in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable. “You liked it.”

Rua rolled his eyes and flopped into the second chair, stretching his legs out. “I did. But I’m still blaming you for this.”

Elijah hummed, setting the laptop aside. For the first time that morning, he gave Rua his full attention. His hair, always perfectly kept until the sea breeze got hold of it, was already curling at the edges. 

“Nerves?”

Rua looked away briefly, then shrugged. “Not really. Just... jittery.”

“You’re always jittery.”

“That’s slander.”

“It’s an observable fact.” Elijah rested his forearms on his knees, leaning slightly forward. “You’ve got that look you get when you’re going over the routine in your head, but pretending you’re not.”

Rua shifted in his seat, tapping his fingernail against the ceramic mug. The silence stretched, neither of them needing to fill it, but the weight of the day ahead pressed down all the same. Somewhere in another part of the apartment, the sea breeze fluttered the sheer curtains.

“You’re not nervous at all?” Rua asked finally, voice low.

Elijah didn’t answer immediately. He brought the pipe back to his mouth, thoughtful, eyes flicking to the window and the distant gleam of water.

“Worry doesn’t help,” he said at last. “We’ve done all we can to prepare for this.”

“You sure?”

Elijah met his gaze, steady and sure. “Yes. I trust us.”

For a moment, Rua could only stare back at him, the steadiness of those words grounding something inside him he hadn’t realised was loose.

“You’re a strange one,” Rua said, voice roughened by something he didn’t bother trying to name.

Elijah smiled, slow and easy. “You’re not exactly ordinary yourself.”

Their eyes held again, the room going still around them, the moment stretching thin and sweet like warm toffee between careful hands. Rua never knew what to say when it turned like this between them—when the air thickened and the right thing to do felt dangerously close to stepping off a ledge.

Eventually, he cleared his throat and stood, swinging the towel from around his neck onto the back of the chair. “We should get ready. The horses won’t wait.”

Elijah only watched him, the pipe balanced lazily between his fingers, his smile lingering long after Rua had turned away.

~*~

The backstage area buzzed low with nerves and clipped conversations, but Rua and Elijah stood a little apart from it all. Warmed up and ready, they leaned casually against the white fence that bordered Cala Formentor’s beach arena, the night cold and sharp against their sun-touched skin. Spring or not, the Mediterranean air didn’t keep its warmth after dark.

Rua shifted the reins in his gloved hands, glancing sideways at Dolg. The stallion stood still, save for the occasional flick of an ear, his body painted with curling strokes of UV paint that caught and bent the faint starlight, making him look like something pulled from myth.

Beside him, Elijah scrolled idly through his phone, the soft glow lighting the sharp planes of his face. When he looked up briefly, Rua caught the gleam in his rich brown eyes—the left flickering with that flash of blue. Rua smiled faintly, then looked away before he could be caught staring.

The loudspeaker crackled, calling their number. Rua’s pulse quickened. He squeezed his legs gently, feeling Dolg coil and ready himself. Elijah met his gaze and tilted his head slightly—a silent ‘Ready?’ Rua, not much for showy signals, nodded once.

Together, they nudged their stallions toward the gate.

The arena was nothing but dark sand and the breathless stretch of black sea beyond. The only illumination came from the moon above and the faint shimmer of the paint on the horses’ bodies. Beyond the fence, the crowd waited in murmuring hushes.

The opening chords of Fleetwood Mac’s "Everywhere" drifted over the beach, playful and unhurried. Without a word exchanged, they moved forward.

“Can you hear me calling out your name? You know that I'm falling and I don't know what to say...”

Rua focused on Dolg’s breathing, the rhythm of his strides, and the familiar tension and release of their training. But he allowed himself one glance across the arena—and there was Elijah, already in perfect step with Paper Wings, his presence calm, almost regal, his eyes catching the silver of the moon.

Rua swallowed and looked away before the sight could undo him.

“Oh, I... I wanna be with you everywhere...”

They passed each other in a mirrored arc, horses ghosting past in a sweep of silver and black, paint streaks blazing bright against the dark. Rua caught Elijah’s eye mid-pass—and there it was again: that steady, sure look, the corner of his mouth curled just slightly, just enough.

Rua almost missed his next mark.

He pressed Dolg into a collected canter, feeling the stallion’s strength respond, and pushed himself back into focus. The music soared, the movements tightening, synchronising without thought. Their finale came too quickly: a tight, spiralling pattern, a mirrored halt, heads high and muscles taut.

The music faded.

For a beat, neither of them moved. Just the sound of the waves, and the faint rustle of restless horses.

And Elijah, lifting his hand briefly in silent salute, his smile hidden but not lost in the dark.