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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Today is the day. This isn't a huge showcase, but yes it is an important one.
Madame Dubois had informed in the studio the day before, but I didn't go. She didn't mind if I came or not for rehearsals cause during our two week break I went to practice.
For peace.
She had asked Clara to inform it to me.
I have my bag ready- leotard, tutu, extra pair of clothes, hair pins, stockings and everything ready. Xavier kept on insisting that he'd drop me, and watch the show.
I didn't expect him to agree. Not really. I'd thrown the invite out half as a joke. The Xavier I met few weeks ago would've scoffed at the idea of sitting through a two-hour dance program.
But that's not the Xavier who's here now.
"Swan, we need to leave." his voice calls out from the living room, low and unhurried.
Swan.
I grab my ballet bag and sling it over my shoulder, the familiar weight grounding me. Then I head out of the room, heart thudding in a rhythm that has nothing to do with the performance and everything to do with the man waiting outside it.
Xavier.
He's standing near the door, checking his watch like he's been ready for hours. Which he probably has. He's always so... composed. Effortlessly in control. The opposite of what's happening in my chest.
He is wearing a deep, navy button-up rolled at the sleeves, fitting snug across his shoulders and arms—just loose enough to be casual, but clean enough to look intentional. The top two buttons are undone. His dark jeans are low-slung and sharp, and his hair is slightly tousled, like he ran a hand through it five times before I walked in.
He glances up the second I appear, eyes tracking me—slow and precise. His gaze lingers for a beat too long on the bag slung over my shoulder, then drifts up to my face.
"You ready?" he asks, voice low.
I nod.
He steps forward, wordlessly takes the ballet bag from me with one hand like it's nothing, and opens the front door with the other.
──────🥊👑∘◦ ✧ ◦∘🩰 🦢──────
We sit in his car. The door clicks shut beside me, and I hug my bag to my lap like it's going to shield me from everything swirling in my chest.
My stomach's already doing pirouettes.
"There was no need to drop me, Xavier." I say, glancing at him. I try to sound casual, but even I can hear the edge in my voice. "The performance won't start for another hour. I just have to be there early to get ready."
He doesn't look at me right away.
Just starts the car, smooth and unbothered, eyes focused on the road. Like my words don't even register as an argument.
