He looks like he might close the space between us. He looks like he wants to.
My brain supplies a dozen sane exits. My body refuses every one.
He looks as if he might kiss me.
So I do something- exactly the kind of crazy I'm proud of but later I reg...
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There's nothing quite like waking up the morning after a disastrous night out, only to be greeted by sore calves, a pounding head, and the horrifying memory of Xavier Hayes giving you unsolicited fashion advice.
I might never wear black again. Might be kidding.
I crack one eye open. Soft sunlight spills through my curtains, the kind that should make mornings feel peaceful. My apartment smells faintly like the vanilla candle, my blanket is warm, and for half a second, everything is... calm.
And then my brain replays his words like a cursed soundtrack.
"Maybe you should try something that doesn't scream for attention."
Why? Why did I have to run into him? Again. In a place where I was supposed to be casually spying on Sophie and Kai.
I finally moved myself out of bed after hitting snooze three times and staring at the ceiling. My legs ache, my shoulders are stiff, and I'm pretty sure my soul is still recovering from the chaos of last night.
I avoid looking at myself in the mirror, as I know I'd probably cry over how ridiculous I look right now.
But ballet doesn't care about your poor life choices. Ballet waits for no girl.
By 9:39AM, I am in an oversized tee and jeans, with my leotard tucked inside. I pin my hair into a bun. By the time I get to the studio, it's buzzing with that pre-rehearsal chaos—people stretching, whispering, tying ribbons, and fighting over who stole whose spot by the mirror.
Madame Dubois is already there, elegant and terrifying as ever, tapping her clipboard like it personally offended her.
"Places!" she calls out.
I drop my bag, tug on my pointe shoes, and find Clara in the corner attempting to stretch and yawn at the same time.
"You alive?" I whisper, sliding down next to her.
"Barely. My soul's still in that club," she whispers back. "Specifically near the bar."
The thing was, last night, Sophie did see us. Kai was right beside her, his arm was casually draped around her waist. He gave us a look as if the paparazzi flashing around them wasn't enough.
I was fangirling so hard.
And right on cue like she'd rehearsed it, Clara jumped in and said we were here for Logan.
"You deserve that for dragging me into that mess." I scoff.
She grins and shrugs. "Worth it."
"Showcase is in a Week! I don't want any mistakes or any collapsing and slipping." she said, moving her head, and meeting each and every one of our gazes. Then her gaze drops at Sophie. She narrows her eyes at her.
