The Right Words

Sal | She/her | 30s | foundtherightwords on AO3 Writing for Hellcheer and Joe Quinn's other characters Likes/Follows from the-quiet-chaos

[foundtherightwords]

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Hellcheer

Joseph Quinn's other characters

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[foundtherightwords]

All in the Dance - Chapter 18

Pairing: Hellcheer

Summary: As the rising star of a prestigious dance company, ballet is all that Chrissy Cunningham knows. A bad breakup with her fiancé and fellow dancer Jason Carver leaves her shaken, and with a big production of Swan Lake coming up, Chrissy turns, in desperation, to Eddie Munson, the company's newly hired pianist, for help. Is Eddie going to be Rothbart casting a spell over her, Prince Siegfried trying and failing to break her curse, or someone else altogether, someone who helps Chrissy become more confident and learn to love again?

Chapter warning: mentions of body shaming/eating disorder

Chapter word count: 3.7k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 18 (last chapter)

The next day, Chrissy skipped company class—the first time she'd done so in all twenty years of doing ballet—to see Eddie off at the airport. Their morning goodbye had taken longer than expected, and now it felt like they were reenacting Home Alone as they ran through O'Hare hand in hand, Eddie's guitar case bumping against his back. They were in such a rush that Chrissy almost forgot to hand him his other bag, which she was holding. She managed to remember at the last moment and gave it to him along with a quick peck on his lips.

"Call me when you get there, OK?" she said. Jeff, Gareth, and Doug were already at the gate, waving at Eddie to join them.

"I'll call you every day."

"Have a great trip. And break a leg at the showcase."

Eddie grinned. "I thought dancers weren't supposed to say break a leg," he said teasingly.

Chrissy rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn't help grinning back. "Stop being a smartass. Go!" With one last, lingering kiss, she pushed him toward the gate.

As she turned away, trying not to think about the train ride home or the long week ahead, she heard Eddie's voice behind her.

"Chrissy!"

She whirled around, thinking he'd forgotten something else. But no. Eddie was walking backward, his eyes seeking her amongst the crowd. Seeing her, he crossed his hands over his heart in the unmistakable mime for "love".

Chrissy's mouth fell open. Before she could recover enough to reply, a crowd of retirees, back from some winter cruise, blocked her view, and Eddie was swept up in the rush to board his flight and was gone before she could utter a word.

As she went to work that afternoon, Chrissy's mind and heart were still reeling back and forth between two states, ecstasy—Eddie loves me! He loves me!—and regret. He'd said he loved her. Yet when it mattered the most, she hadn't been able to say it back. She supposed she could call him once he landed and tell him then, but it wouldn't be the same. She would have to wait until he came back. A week had never felt so long.

As usual, she turned to dancing to distract herself. They were already rehearsing a new ballet for the spring season—Coppelia, something cheerful for once. Although she wasn't the lead, Chrissy had a pretty big solo, so she worked hard through the afternoon. But dancing seemed to have lost its magic. All she could think of was Eddie. Her strategy of attaching his memory to every place in the studio was working, but not in the way she'd intended. Instead of making her miss him less, it only made her miss him more. Robin was back behind the piano, and Chrissy couldn't wait until the break so she could come over and talk to Robin about Eddie. When she went to get some water, it reminded her of all the secret conversations they'd had around the water fountain. And her dressing room... well, it was safe to say she could never look at the moth-eaten couch in the corner the same way again.     

After rehearsal, she was on the couch with her head back and her legs on the wall to drain her feet when the door slammed open, and Katie, who shared the dressing room with her and was dancing the lead of Swanhilda in Coppelia, came bursting in. Katie's eyes and nose were red, and her chest was heaving with sobs.

"What's wrong?" Chrissy exclaimed, sitting up. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Katie answered, though her quivering lips said otherwise.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. Henry just yelled at me, that's all."

"Why?"

Katie slumped down on the floor next to Chrissy. "Because he claims that I've gained weight over Christmas break." Katie pinched her own stomach, though there was hardly anything there to be pinched. "It's not fair. I couldn't not eat Christmas dinner, you know? Not when my mom's spent so long cooking it. But I made sure to get only the white meat, and I didn't touch any of the stuffing or desserts. And I've been making up for it ever since..."

"Stop." Chrissy put a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with your body. You know Henry. He's probably just angry at something else and took it out on you."

"Yeah." Katie sighed. She started rifling through her bag. "Do you ever think this is all there is?" she asked after a while.

"All there is to what?"

"To life." Katie gestured vaguely at the drab little room. "We cry and bleed and starve and work ourselves to the bone, literally, and for what?"

Chrissy stared at her friend. "For our art, of course," she said. "For perfection. For—"

"That's just Henry talking," Katie interrupted with a wry smile. "Tell me you've never once thought about quitting and leaving all this behind."

"Never!" Chrissy said, appalled. "I'd miss it too much."

But even as she said it, she didn't feel much conviction. After all, wasn't her list an attempt to get away from ballet, at least for a while, and to convince herself that there was more to life than dance?

"Well, maybe not leave it altogether," Katie said. "But there are other ways. Remember Jane Hopper? She never got promoted from corps, but she became a choreographer, and now she has her own company."

"Not everyone has it in them to be a choreographer," Chrissy pointed out.

"No." Katie dug some snacks out of her bag and sat looking at them dispiritedly, as if trying to decide if she could power her way through the rest of rehearsal with just half a rice cake and some vitamin water. "I guess I'll just dance until my legs or my heart gives out, whichever happens first."

Katie's grim prediction for the future kept echoing in Chrissy's ears as she went home to the lonely apartment. Katie was right, of course. They could try to dance for as long as they could, but they might have to stop even before their legs gave out. They couldn't all be Margot Fonteyn, still dancing Juliet at forty years old with twenty-year-old Rudolf Nureyev as her Romeo. What would they do then, when they could no longer dance?

And then Chrissy's mind turned to the question of her own future—hers and Eddie's. Even if Eddie didn't have to move away from Chicago, the inescapable truth was that his music career would take him away from her a lot. What would she do then? Wander around like a sailor's wife waiting for her husband to return from the sea, feeling sorry for herself? Or would she do the unthinkable and give up her career to follow him?   

She thought of Jason, and her conscience pricked slightly—not quite from guilt, rather something more like self-reproach—as she wondered why she'd never felt tempted to do the same when Jason was preparing to leave. The answer came, quickly and easily—because she hadn't wanted to. And because she loved Eddie. She knew that now. She loved him, as she had never loved Jason. She loved Eddie's quick smile, how it lit up his face like the sun coming out from the clouds. She loved his eyes, how they turned a warm amber color when the light hit them just right. She loved his guffawing laugh. And most of all, she loved how he made her feel secure and wanted and loved, as Jason never had. She hadn't realized it at the time, but even on that first day on the roof, when Eddie pulled her back from the brink and held her in his arms, she had never felt safer.

As if on cue, her phone rang. It was Eddie. He'd texted her earlier to tell her they had landed, but he must have been waiting until she got home to call her.

"Hi sweetheart," he said when she picked up, and Chrissy could have wept at the familiar sound of his voice. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No, I'm just getting ready for bed. How's LA?"

"It's actually raining, can you believe it?" he said with a laugh. "We were supposed to go to some networking thing in the Hills, but it was cancelled because of flash floods, so we're stuck in our hotel room with nothing to do. Should've brought our dice, we could've played some D&D. We're going to the main office tomorrow though, so hopefully I can see more of the city then and tell you all about it. What about you? How was your day?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her tangled thoughts, hoping that he could help her unravel them. Please, tell me that you want me there with you, a plaintive voice said in the back of her mind. Give me an excuse to leave. At the same time, another voice spoke up, more sternly, Stop whining, girl. You belong here, he said so himself. Stay and do your job. He's going to come back. Damn her indecisive heart! Why was it so fucking hard figuring out what she wanted?

But she couldn't bother Eddie with this, not when he had other things to worry about. "It was fine," she said. "We started rehearsing Coppelia today. I'm dancing the Dawn variation."

"That's great." Eddie was quiet for a moment, and then he began slowly, "Listen, this morning, at the airport..."

"What about the airport?" Chrissy was surprised at how calm she sounded, never once giving away that she'd replayed that moment over and over again in her head.

Another moment of silence. "Nothing," eventually Eddie said. "I'll call you tomorrow, OK?"

"OK. Good night."

As she got into the bed that felt too big for her, Chrissy's eyes caught the photo on the night table—the tintype that she and Eddie had taken at the Winter Wonderland. She looked at their blurry smiles, and suddenly everything became clear to her, as if a spotlight had been shone on it. Her whole life, she had done what others told her to. Her mother, Henry, Jason. And even Eddie, too, in a way. But no more. Her mother and Jason were out of her life. She could not work under Henry forever. And Eddie, as much as she loved him, shouldn't have to think for her. She had to learn to make her own decisions. It was her own heart that was confused. She had to figure it out for herself.

***

Standing in the wings, Eddie watched the singer of some band from San Francisco called The Moth Men take a swan dive off the stage. Stage dive at an industry showcase? Fuck, that was brave. Compared to this, Corroded Coffin's performance would be positively sedated. Eddie had to remind himself that Metal Blade was looking for a variety of styles. They didn't need to all have Ozzy's level of showiness.

But that didn't stop the heavy thudding of his heart or dry the clammy, sticky sweat on his palms. The Hollywood Palladium was not a big venue, but it was still bigger than anything they had ever played at, and Eddie found himself transported back to his first piano recital at age nine, feeling ridiculously small and lost as he looked out over the crowd. He wished Chrissy were there with him. She would understand his nervousness, having been on stage herself. But she was two thousand miles away, and he wouldn't see her for another three days.

At the thought of Chrissy, something other than nervousness tugged at his heart. He'd been calling her every day since he arrived, taking care to call in the evening to not interfere with her class and rehearsal during the day, but she'd been strangely—well, not quite distant, more like distracted. There was none of the passion that he'd grown to know very well from her. Earlier that day, she had sent him a text wishing him luck at the showcase, and that, too, had seemed matter-of-fact, not unlike the ones Wayne and the rest of Hellfire had sent him.

And then there was the matter of his love declaration at the airport. He didn't know what had come over him at that moment. He only knew that he had missed his chance to tell her the previous night, and he had to do something, to let her know somehow. She hadn't replied. And when he tried bringing up over the phone later, she'd seemed to have no clue what he was talking about, so he'd chickened out. At the time, he'd thought perhaps she hadn't seen him, or he'd messed up the mime gesture. Now, a more hideous possibility arose—what if Chrissy didn't feel the same about him at all? What if she was unsure about the two of them, because he was going away? Was it because he hadn't asked her to accompany him to LA? He'd considered it, but after seeing her on stage, and especially after seeing her in the loft, seeing the way her face lit up as she watched the performance below, he couldn't do it. He'd meant it when he'd said she belonged to ballet. He knew he could never give her the same joy, the same satisfaction, and he vowed to never do anything so selfish as to make her choose between him and her art.

But oh, how he missed her! He missed her so much it hurt, like an empty void in the pit of his stomach, and it'd never felt more acute than in this moment. Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. It was almost 10 PM in Chicago. Her show should be over by now, so he could call her. But his call went straight to voicemail. He tried again, same thing. Eddie told himself not to feel disheartened by it. Perhaps her show went later than usual, or she'd forgotten to turn her phone back on, like he had.

With a sigh, he turned away, intending to go back to the dressing room—they had a dressing room!—but Jeff, Gareth, and Doug were just as nervous as he was, if not more, and spending time with them would only worsen his nerves. So, after a brief stop at the dressing room to tell them he was going out for a smoke, Eddie kept going down the hallway, toward the exit, where he knew there was a smoking area just outside the door.

The evening breeze was blessedly cool after the stale, closed air of the venue. Eddie reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, then thought better of it—he was trying to quit anyway, since Chrissy hated smoking—and took out a joint instead. That would help to calm his nerves.

He sparked up and took a deep, grateful drag. Behind him, the door opened, but he didn't look around. It might be one of his bandmates deciding to join him, or some stagehand on a smoke break. He didn't mind the company.

"You know it's also illegal to smoke weed outside in California, right?" said an all-too-familiar voice behind him.

Eddie spun around. Chrissy was standing by the stage door, her hair loose about her shoulders, a teasing smile on her lips and in her eyes.

The joint fell from his fingers. Was she truly here, or was she a mere figment of his imagination, conjured up by his intense longing for her?

"Chrissy?" he breathed, reaching for her. "Is it really you?"

She caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek. "Does this feel real to you?"

There was her skin, warm and smooth under his fingers, there was her hair brushing against the back of his hand, and there were her eyes, gazing at him with that familiar look, like Virginie in the painting. Everything else around him vanished. Pulling her to him, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, such a deep, hard kiss that their teeth were knocked together and Chrissy's shoulders were slammed against the wall.

"Ow," she mumbled against his lips.

"Sorry, sorry," Eddie said, rubbing her back. "You OK?"

"I'm fine." She laughed and kissed him again.

It was a while before Eddie felt he'd kissed her enough to fill the void within him. "I can't believe this," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"What, I can't surprise my boyfriend at his big showcase?" Chrissy asked in mock offense, but Eddie only heard the way she'd called him my boyfriend.

"No, I mean—how are you here? What about your show?"

"I asked Heather, my alternate, to cover for me," she said.

"You skipped your show for me?"

"Not just for you. Heather deserves a chance in the spotlight too." Eddie didn't care what Heather did or did not deserve. He kissed Chrissy once more, more gently this time, but no less deeply. "This is not just a pleasure trip, you know," Chrissy continued, when they eased away from each other. "I have some business in LA."

"Yeah?" He twirled his fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her face so he could kiss her yet again.

Chrissy's lips quirked with some secret. "You remember Jane Hopper, the choreographer I told you about? The one who did Salome?" He nodded. "Well, she has a company here in LA, and she just happens to be looking for a principal dancer."

She was saying it in the exact same way he'd told her about his meeting with Metal Blade, and Eddie now replied with the same word as well. "And...?"

"And I just met with her earlier today, to throw my hat in the ring," Chrissy said, excitement flushing her face. "It's not a done deal yet, but she said she'd love to have me."

"That's great!" He pulled her into his arms. "But—you're leaving Hawkins?"

"Who says anything about leaving Hawkins? I just want to keep my options open, in case you do move out here. Besides, I think it's time I branch out, try a different kind of ballet. Maybe even look into choreographing as well."

Could it be that she had found the answer to their future? And that it would be so simple, so certain? Looking into Chrissy's sparkling eyes, Eddie found that all his doubts had disappeared.

"Something for the list, then?" he said.

"Yes." She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed his fingers. "And here's something else for the list."

"What is it?"

"I love you too."

Eddie thought he'd misheard her. Had she just said—and "too"? "I love you too"? What did that mean?

Chrissy looked at him uncertainly, his own confusion reflected on her face. "You did tell me you love me, right?" she said. "At the airport? With the mime?" She placed her hands upon her heart, in a far more graceful version of his gesture.

Relief flooded Eddie's body. "Oh, thank God you got it!" he said. "I was afraid I'd messed it up!"

She laughed. "No, you did it just right. I was only waiting until I could tell you in person."

Her laugh was like magic, sending joy and hope coursing through Eddie. "Tell me again," he said.

"I love you," she whispered. He would have to record it, so when they were apart, he could listen to her sweet voice and gain strength from it, like it was a magical artefact from one of his D&D campaigns.

"I have something else for the list too," he said, suddenly feeling shy. "Would you mind—would you mind if I dedicate a song to you during our set? I wouldn't mention you by name or anything, but you'll know it when you hear it." Eddie had written it after he'd first seen Chrissy dance the Black Swan coda and had practiced it with the guys, but he hadn't put it on the demo they sent to Metal Blade, thinking it was something he kept for himself, never dreaming that one day he would get to shout his love for her to the world.

"You don't have to keep asking that again," Chrissy said. "I always love it when you play for me."

Behind them, the door opened again, and Jeff poked his head out. "Eddie, we're on in five," he said. "Oh, hi, Chrissy," he added, as if there was nothing strange at all about her presence. "Glad you made it."

Eddie reluctantly set Chrissy back down.

"What did Jeff mean by 'you made it'?" he asked, suspicious. "Did he know you were coming? And how did you get backstage anyway?"

"I might have called Jeff and asked him to rustle up a pass for me," Chrissy explained, holding up the backstage pass worn on a lanyard around her neck.

Eddie stared at her. "You mean the son of a bitch knew all this time and didn't say anything to me?!"

Chrissy looked sheepish. "I told him to keep it a secret."

"I'm going to have to punish his character in the campaign somehow."

"You really are incorrigible," Chrissy said, rolling her eyes.

"But you love me anyway."

"I do."

"And I love you."

"You've already told me."

"But I haven't said it. And I want to add this to my list too. The first time I say 'I love you' to Chrissy Cunningham."

Chrissy's smile widened, and Eddie thought he would never get tired of seeing that crooked tooth behind her lips.

The frontman of Corroded Coffin was a bit late on stage that night, but he led the band in such a performance that the bigwigs of Metal Blade couldn't help but be impressed. And when the band launched the next-to-last song in their set, a ballad called "Swan Song", they realized that they had something quite special on their hands, though they didn't quite know where that special feeling was coming from. If they had noticed how the frontman would often glance at the wings, where a young woman stood watching, her strawberry blonde hair bouncing to the music, and how he would return to the mic with renewed energy and passion, they would've understood. But they didn't, and so the secret was shared only by those two, like a dance that only they knew the steps.

THE END

And that's a wrap! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed coming along on this journey. See you again for more Hellcheer and other JQ characters!

[kwistowee]

STRANGER THINGS | 4.01

[hellcheeranniversaryweek]

I cannot express how excited I am to be able to announce that the sign ups for the first Hellcheer Baby Bang are OPEN! Sign up below - it's a short form, asking for some basic info. We'll try and send out confirmation emails as quickly as we can and you are free to start on your fics (if you haven't already!)

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We can't wait to see what collaborations and creations come out of this event! As always, you can reach us here if you have any questions!

[foundtherightwords]

All in the Dance - Chapter 17

Pairing: Hellcheer

Summary: As the rising star of a prestigious dance company, ballet is all that Chrissy Cunningham knows. A bad breakup with her fiancé and fellow dancer Jason Carver leaves her shaken, and with a big production of Swan Lake coming up, Chrissy turns, in desperation, to Eddie Munson, the company's newly hired pianist, for help. Is Eddie going to be Rothbart casting a spell over her, Prince Siegfried trying and failing to break her curse, or someone else altogether, someone who helps Chrissy become more confident and learn to love again?

Chapter warning: smut

Chapter word count: 5k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 17

Chrissy didn't remember how the rest of the show went. She only remembered soaring her way through it, feeling each movement, each beat of the music like a pulse that spread to the very tips of her fingers and toes. Perhaps her Odette was a bit too exuberant in the last act, when her heart was supposed to be breaking, but she couldn't help it. Her mind, heart, and body were still full of Eddie. Though she couldn't see him in the audience, she knew he was there—knew it from the pleasant tingling between her legs and on her lips, knew it from the way her heart sped up at the thought of him, and, at the end of Odile's coda, knew it from his distinctive voice cheering for her from the balcony, like he was at a rock concert. Jason heard it too and scowled, which made Chrissy grin to herself.

And then, almost before she knew it, she and Jason were taking their bows to thunderous applause. Seven curtain calls—two more than Giselle! Henry would be pleased—and then the conductor came onto the stage with the traditional bouquet of roses—pure white this time, dotted here and there with fluffy baby's breath, to go with her swan costume. Chrissy accepted it gracefully, and just as gracefully—no fumbling with the ribbon, no messing up the bouquet as she had in Paris—she pulled out a stem from the back of the bouquet and handed it to Jason. She would've preferred not to give him anything at all, but she knew such a blatant disregard of traditions would set tongues wagging again, and she didn't want to ruin the night. Instead, she had asked Joyce to slip a plastic rose into the bouquet, so she could tell Jason exactly what she thought of him. To others, it looked just like the rest of the bouquet, but from the way Jason frowned and rubbed the petals between his fingers, she knew he'd realized the truth. A fake flower for a fake partner. He glared at her, and she smiled back sweetly. Whatever he did, he couldn't hurt her now.

The real flower she saved for Eddie, who was waiting with Wayne and Dustin by the stage door when she came out of her dressing room. She only paused long enough to take a few selfies with some young fans and sign their programs and pointe shoes, before making her way to Eddie. He had flowers for her as well—not a bouquet, but a pot of fuchsia, their pink petals and crimson stamens shining like jewels in the cold, dark night. Trust Eddie to find fuchsias in bloom in the midst of winter. He must have put it in the van and gone to fetch it after the show. As the three of them crowded around her with congratulations and compliments, Chrissy pulled out a rose from her bouquet and gave it to Eddie.

"What's this?" he asked, smiling.   

"It's to thank you for being a good partner," she said.

Eddie's smile wavered. "Like the one you gave Jason?"

"That was a plastic flower, for appearance's sake. This one's for you."

Eddie's smile trembled again, though not with doubt this time, and he picked her up to give her a deep kiss, as if he hadn't thoroughly ravished her just a couple of hours ago. Behind them, Dustin made a gagging sound, but Eddie only yanked Dustin's baseball cap down over the boy's eyes and continued kissing her, and Chrissy was too happy to care.

"Wayne wants to treat us all to drinks to celebrate, do you want to go?" Eddie asked after he set her down. "Or do you want to go home?"

Chrissy beamed up at him. That was what made Eddie special. He was always attentive to her wants and needs, and never tried to make decisions for her, no matter how small. That was what made her lov—

She caught herself. Did she really love Eddie? Could she truly say that she loved someone after knowing him for only three months? After Jason, she was wary of making such a declaration so early. Besides, Eddie hadn't said he loved her either. Taking a deep breath, Chrissy banished those thoughts from her head. She would not worry about such things, not now.

"Home, please," she said. "It's not that I don't want to go for a drink with you guys," she added apologetically, turning to Wayne and Dustin, "but I have two more shows tomorrow, and—"

"It's OK, sweetheart, I understand," Wayne said, patting her arm. "We can celebrate any time. Go home and rest."

"Thank you for coming to the show."

"No, no, thank you for giving us such a wonderful performance," Wayne said. "I've always thought that ballet was boring, highfalutin stuff, but I really enjoyed it."

"Enjoyed it?" Dustin scoffed. "You were crying your eyes out during the last act."

"Damn true I was," Wayne said gruffly. "Can't remember the last time I cried at anything, let alone a ballet."

Chrissy couldn't imagine a higher praise than that. At least, she'd never had such praises from her own family. Her father, when he bothered to come at all, could only muster a vague "Good job, honey," while her mother always had some criticisms ready. Heart swelling with gratitude, she hugged both Wayne and Dustin and thanked them again, before heading home with Eddie.

They were getting ready for bed, with the roses in a vase and the pot of fuchsia on a windowsill where it could catch the most sun, when Chrissy remembered Eddie's job interview.

"How did your job interview go?" she asked, feeling a little guilty. Eddie had been so supportive of her, it was the least she could do to support him back. "Sorry, I completely forgot."

Eddie shrugged. "It went well."

"What's the job?"

"Oh, it's just this—thing."

Chrissy put down her hairbrush to look at him. "Why are you being weird?"

"I'm not being weird." Suddenly Eddie became very interested in his belt buckle.

"You're doing that thing with your nose, like when you have something diabolical planned for a campaign."

"Excuse me, I have an excellent poker face," Eddie said, affronted. "None of you has been able to guess the twist of Vecna coming back and controlling the demogorgons from the Abyss!"

"Because it was terrible—" Chrissy began, then she caught herself. Eddie was trying to change the subject. It might have been a long day, and she might be tired, but she refused to let him distract her. Crossing the room to Eddie, she grabbed his belt and pulled him to her.

"Look at me," she said. "What's this job that you don't want me to know about?"

Eddie lifted his eyes to hers. "Well, it wasn't exactly a job interview," he said. "It was a meeting. With Metal Blade."

The name rang a bell in her head. "The record company?" she asked. He nodded. "Was the meeting about a... record deal?" He nodded again. "And?" she prompted.

"And they really like our demo and wanted us to play for them at a showcase," Eddie said in a rush, as if he could no longer hold it in.

Chrissy's mild irritation disappeared, replaced by excitement. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "Does that mean they're going to sign you?"

"Looks like it."

"That's amazing!" Wrapping her arms around him, she gave him a squeeze and a kiss. "I always know you can do it!"

"I couldn't have done it without you," Eddie said, his eyes sparkling like stars in the dim light of their bedroom. "It was you who lit the fire under my butt and convinced me to take Corroded Coffin seriously."

"So all that time you guys were rehearsing—"

"It was for our demo, yeah."

A memory resurfaced in Chrissy's mind, an irritating memory of red lips, red nails, and a long black leather trench coat.     

"Did you meet with that A&R woman, the one we saw outside The Hideout?" she asked, letting Eddie go.

"Yeah, why?"

She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Nothing. Are you going to be working with her from now on?"

Eddie tilted his head at her, and then a grin slowly spread across his face, just like when she'd asked him about Robin. "Are you jealous?"

"I'm not!"

His grin remained. "Do you know how adorable you are when you get jealous?"

"Don't try to change the subject," Chrissy huffed. "I have pretty good reasons to be jealous. That woman was totally flirting with you when she gave you that card."

"Was she? I didn't notice."

"How could you not?! She was all over you."

Eddie's grin went from teasing to affectionate. "I guess I only had eyes for you," he said. His soft voice went straight to her heart and made Chrissy's irritation vanish completely. She let him draw her into his arms. "You have nothing to worry about, OK?" he said, kissing her. "Not from Ms. Warner, or any other woman."

"Maybe I need a bit more convincing," Chrissy whispered, smiling against his lips.

Eddie laughed. He picked her up and carried her to bed, shedding his clothes along the way.

"When's the showcase?" Chrissy asked later, as they lay snuggled in each other's arms, after she had been thoroughly convinced of Eddie's devotion—several times.

"Next Saturday," Eddie replied. "But we have to meet with the execs first, so we're flying out there a couple of days early."

"Out there? Out where?"

Eddie looked slightly uncomfortable. "Los Angeles," he said.

Chrissy's heart sank. She remembered Eddie had told her that Metal Blade's HQ was in Los Angeles, but it hadn't occurred to her that he would have to go there.

"I'm sorry I'm going to miss next week's shows," Eddie continued.

"Never mind that." She wasn't thinking about her own shows. "I'm sorry I'm going to miss your showcase."

"It's no big deal. You've been to our shows, this is just like that. Nothing special."

"But it is a big deal." She brushed his curls away so she could caress his cheek. "You were here for my big debut, and I want to be there for yours too."

"I don't mind, honestly." He kissed her palm and pressed her hand against his cheek for a moment. "There are going to be other shows in the future."

But something was still bothering Chrissy, and it wasn't just the fact that she was missing Corroded Coffin's first big show. Then, the next day, during company class, she heard Nancy give Jason a stern talking-to for his tardiness—he looked like he'd spent the night drinking—and suddenly Chrissy realized what it was.

What was happening with Eddie now was exactly what had happened with Jason. Her boyfriend was getting a big opportunity and leaving her.

Even though she was certain Eddie would not behave in the same way Jason had, Chrissy couldn't help feeling bitter at the irony of it all. She'd tried so hard to put the whole thing with Jason behind her, and now, just when she'd finally met someone nice and kind and apparently as crazy about her as she was about him, Fate dealt her the same hand.

"Eddie," she said later that evening, when they were in a diner, having a quick bite between the matinee and the evening show, "what happens after the showcase?"

"Hopefully, we're going to record an album, do some promotion, stuff like that. One of their biggest bands is going on tour later this year, and the plan is for us to open for them during the East Coast and Midwest legs, see how the crowd responds. If they like us, we're going to support them for the rest of the tour..."

"Will you have to move to LA?"

Eddie shrugged. "I don't think so."

"But what if you have to?"

The anxiety in her voice made him look up. After watching her for a moment, he crossed the booth to sit next to her.

"I won't," he said, pulling her into his arms. "Lots of bands are based in Chicago, and the company has an office here. Don't worry."

She nodded, slightly appeased, and dropped the matter at that. She didn't want to appear whiny or clingy, or worse, for Eddie to think she was guilt-tripping him. But the thought was still there in the back of her mind, like a thorn that refused to be dislodged, spreading its poison throughout her body. What if Eddie did have to move to LA after all? What if he decided that he wanted to? Would he ask her to follow him? Would she agree? What if he met someone while he was out there? That A&R woman—what was her name? Paige something?—was still circling him like a goddamn bird of prey, calling, texting him at all hours. Chrissy trusted that Eddie would never cheat on her, but how could she know for sure? Their relationship was so new, and their future was still up in the air. What if—what if—what if—those questions kept churning over and over in her thoughts, gnawing away at her. Only when she was dancing did she manage to escape them.

Normally, she would talk to Eddie to relieve her worries, but she couldn't now, not when Eddie himself was the source of worries. And Eddie had his own worries too. He didn't say anything, but she knew he was nervous about the showcase. He spent most days rehearsing with the guys and agonizing about what to pack, having never traveled outside of Chicago before. Chrissy did her best to help him, but she couldn't do much, distracted as she was. They were like two balls of nerves orbiting each other, pulling at each other, making each other spin faster and faster with no hope of slowing down.

Monday was Chrissy's day off. Eddie was supposed to fly to LA the next day, so they had dinner with Wayne and then turned in for an early night. Eddie finished packing, while Chrissy kept herself busy by sewing her pointe shoes. They talked about silly little things, her reminding him to pack sunscreen, him jokingly asking her what kind of touristy junk she wanted him to bring back from Hollywood. But there were other things, more important things that she wanted to say but couldn't find the words, more important things she wanted to see in his eyes, even if he didn't speak them.

At one point, Chrissy looked up just in time to see Eddie put the Dio shirt she'd given him for Christmas into his bag, almost reverently.

"You're taking that?" she asked, surprised.

"I'm going to wear it at the showcase, for good luck," Eddie explained.

"Really?"

"You don't think I should?" Eddie looked at the shirt again. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"It's OK for a show at The Hideout, but for a showcase at the Hollywood Palladium, you'd want to look your best, don't you?"

Eddie came to kneel in front of her, taking her hands in his. "I'm going to wear it, because it's your present," he said. "It'll make me feel like you're there with me."

Something in the way he said those words, in the way those beloved eyes looked into hers, went straight to her heart like the sweetest arrow, making her want to kiss him or sob into his chest and beg him not to leave her even for a second. But she did neither. Making up her mind, she put her needle down and rose to her feet.

"Come on," she said, pulling at Eddie's hand. "We're going out." She was done with all this moping around and feeling miserable.

Eddie scrambled to follow her. "Where?"

"To the theater."

"But it's your night off."

"I want to show you something."

There was no main show at the theater on weekdays, but there would be student recitals. Chrissy ushered Eddie in through the stage door. She did not stop at the theater's entrance with its noticeboard announcing a student performance of Balanchine's Jewels, but took him backstage, where all the riggings for the lights, curtains, and scenery were set up. From here, they could hear the lively score of Rubies, the second act of the ballet, coming in from the front of house. She found Sam, head of the fly crew, sitting at his desk, frowning over his lighting charts, running a hand through his sparse silvery hair. He looked up at the sound of them approaching, and a smile broke out on his friendly face.

"Hello to my favorite ballerina," he said. Sam had been working at Hawkins for longer than Chrissy was alive and was about the only person allowed to call her "ballerina". He nodded toward the stage. "Here to check out the next generation?" 

"Actually, can we go up to the loft?" Chrissy asked. Seeing Sam's doubtful eyes on Eddie, she quickly added, "Just for the last act."

Sam waved to the small door behind him. "Be careful, OK?" he said.

"We will. Thank you!"

Taking Eddie's hand, she led the way up the stairs, up, up, up, until they reached a tiny door. Faint applause indicated that Rubies had ended, and soon after, the score for Diamonds began.

"Where are you taking me?" Eddie whispered.

"Shh." Chrissy pushed open the door. Music spilled out, as if they were sitting right by the orchestra pit, and an extraordinary sight greeted them—a space as large as the theater itself, crisscrossed by a system of catwalks and thick with ropes and pulleys suspended from beams as far as the eye could see. It was like being in a very symmetrical and industrial forest.

"This," she said proudly, "is my favorite place in the theater."

Eddie's eyes widened as he took in the fly loft. Chrissy stepped through the door and onto a platform extending above the stage, which gave her a direct view of the dancers below. "When I first started coming to Hawkins as a student, I would spend all my breaks up here, watching the student matinees and the dress rehearsals..." She realized Eddie had not followed her to the catwalk. He was still standing by the door, hugging the frame. "What are you doing?" she said.

"I'm—uh, admiring the view."

"But you can't see anything from there!"

"I can see the flies from here. That's good enough for me."

She went back and tugged at his hand. "Come on. It's perfectly safe."

"Nah, I'm good over here," he said, holding fast to the door.

"Remember the Centennial Wheel? You did great up there."

"That was different. We were enclosed in the gondola. Here, we're all exposed. And the platforms aren't even solid!" Eddie stared at the wired surface of the catwalks, looking positively green.

Chrissy put her hand on his. "Do you trust me?" she asked. Eddie lifted his big, round eyes, looking strangely vulnerable in the murkiness of the corridor, to her face. Wordlessly, he nodded. "Then close your eyes and take my hand."

He complied, as trusting as a kid. Holding his hand in a firm but gentle grip, she guided him through the door and onto the platform. There, she rested his hands on the railing. "You can look now."

He opened his eyes slowly, his hands not releasing their white-knuckled grip on the railing. Then his gaze fell upon the stage under their feet, and his mouth dropped open. Chrissy smiled to herself. That bird's-eye view was the magic of the loft. It was the reason she loved this place more than anywhere else in the theater. When watched from the front, the performance was simply a tableau, an unfolding scene of people moving from left to right or back to front, pretty but conventional. From this height, the stage became a living map, and the dancers' movements were a kaleidoscope of shapes and lines. It was especially mesmerizing when the ballet included a large corps, like Diamonds.

They fell quiet, watching the performance below, though in truth, Chrissy was more focused on watching Eddie than the ballet. She did her best to commit to memory every little detail, the way his curls framed his handsome profile, the way his eyes reflected the lights, the way his plump lips parted in fascination as the corps fanned out in intricate, synchronized formations around the two principals, the way his fingers no longer gripped the railing but flitted over it as if he was playing along to the music. Sensing her gaze, Eddie turned to her, and her cheeks warmed as their eyes met. She thought she'd get used to his eyes by now, but somehow he still had the power to make her blush.

"When I was a kid, I used to come up here and pretend I was a puppet master," she said, turning away to hide her fluster. "I would memorize the choreography so I could make the dancers move where I wanted... What?" she asked, a tad defensively at Eddie's smile.

"Nothing. I love it when you talk ballet, that's all." He looked around the loft before returning his gaze to her. "You belong here," he said.

"I've never brought another person up here, you know. Not even Jason."

"Another one for the list then." Turning back to her, Eddie asked, "So why now? Why me?"

"Because I want to make new memories with you." She hadn't thought about it, but now, as she said it, she realized it was true. Almost everything they'd done together, all the items on her list, had been Eddie bringing her into his world. Now she wanted to bring him into her world, so when she walked the hallways, rehearsed in the studio, tried on the costumes, or performed on stage, she could feel his presence there with her. "Because I want every square inch of this place to remind me of you, so I wouldn't miss you so much even when you're not here."

Eddie's eyes sparkled again, not with the reflection of the stage lights this time, but with a light from inside, warm and full of affection. "If you keep talking like that," he said in a low rumble, like he didn't trust himself to keep his voice steady, "you're going to make it very difficult for me to leave."

"Oh no!" she said quickly. "That's not what I meant at all. It's just—we've had so little time together, and now we're going to have even less."

"I know, sweetheart, I know." Drawing her close, he kissed her hair, her temple, and her cheek, stopping at the corner of her lips. "But we still have tonight," he murmured against her skin. "So what are we going to do to make this place more memorable?"     

"I have no idea. What do you have in mind?"

A smile tugged at Eddie's lips as he brushed his little finger over the back of her hand suggestively. Chrissy widened her eyes in understanding. "Really?" she asked. "Here?" But even as she acted shocked, the insistent caress of his finger was making her pulse race.

"You don't want to?" Eddie said.

Her pulse was everywhere now—in her heart, in her ears, on the back of her hand where he was touching her, and between her legs. "I do. Always."

Eddie's smile turned naughty, sending a burst of liquid fire through her. "What's the problem then? Nobody's coming up here, right?"

"No, not in the middle of a show. Their controls are down there."

"So, what is it?"

"I mean—"

She looked around the loft with its forest of ropes and pulleys and its maze of catwalk, stacked with weights and sandbags to be added to the pulleys for balance when necessary. It certainly was not the most romantic of places.

"The way I see it, we've done it in the costume vault and your dressing room, and we almost did it in the studio, so why not here?" Eddie said. "Sure, it's not the most comfortable, but we never let that stop us, do we?"

Chrissy grinned. "You're incorrigible, you know that?" she said, leaning forward to kiss him.

He smiled into the kiss. "From what I remember, you were the instigator in two out of those three times. So between the two of us, who's the incorrigible one?"

A giggle escaped her, and Eddie covered her mouth with his to hush it up. With their lips still locked, he walked her toward the far wall, where he lifted her onto a waist-high pile of sandbags, so her back was against a supporting column.

"This is crazy," Chrissy whispered. This wasn't what she'd had in mind when she brought Eddie to the theater. She'd never even considered herself the kind of person who could be driven by wild lust into doing unhinged, uncomfortable things like having sex in the fly loft. Or the costume vault. Or her dressing room. But she had. And was. What did that say about her? About her and Eddie?

"You make me crazy," Eddie said.

She could say the same thing about him. But he was kissing her again, and everything that was not him—the rough sandbags underneath her, the freezing steel column at her back, the music and the stage below, even her confused thoughts—all fell away. There was nothing else but his eager mouth on her, and his impatient hands skimming over her body, reaching under her sweater dress. The feel of his steel rings on her inner thighs made her whimper, and she rolled her hips against him, desperate for some friction. When he finally touched the hot, damp lace between her legs, pulled it down and over her boots, and tossed it aside, it was all she could do not to moan out loud. She had to remind herself that they were barely fifty feet from the stage, and any of the dancers only had to look up to spy them.

"We have to be quiet," she panted.

"I make no guarantees," Eddie said with a soft laugh, pushing her dress up above her hips. Goosebumps pebbled her skin when the cold air hit her thighs, but they quickly disappeared when Eddie settled between her knees. Despite their less-than-ideal surroundings, despite the fact that they might get caught any moment, he seemed determined to take his sweet time, mapping her body with his hands and mouth just as he had their first night together, memorizing her by touch just as she had memorized him by sight a few minutes ago. Chrissy arched her back, twining her fingers into his curls to press him against her, closer, tighter, more.

Release came a moment later, stars bursting behind her eyelids like the sparkles on the diamond costumes of the dancers below. But it did not bring relief. Instead, fear seized her again, and she pulled Eddie back to her, locking her arms and legs around him, pressing her forehead against his shoulder, afraid he would disappear if she let go.  

"You will come back to me, will you?" she asked, her voice tinged with desperation.

"Of course I will!" he said, kissing his way up her breasts and neck, his lips hot through the wool of her sweater dress. "It's just a meeting and a show. I'll only be gone for a week."

"No, I mean—after that—"

He looked at her then. Seeing the fear in her eyes, his face softened. "I'm always here for you, OK?" he said, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek. "Yeah, we'll be on tour and stuff, but if you need me, I'm just a phone call away. And if we're on tour during your off-season, you can even join us."

Chrissy smiled as hope sparked in her heart once more. "Maybe I can be your backup dancer."

"Yeah. Like Alice Cooper and his wife."

"... Who?"

"Oh, sweetheart." Eddie chuckled. "There's so much I have to teach you about rock music."

Their lips found each other once more, and all talking ceased after that. As the music reached its finale, it seemed to accompany them on a dance of their own making, toward their own climax, and the cheers that followed were also for them, as they brought each other to the edge and back again. 

"See? How can I not come back to you, to this?" Eddie said in her ear, once the applause died down. Cupping her face in his palms, he looked into her eyes. "I lo—"

He never got to finish. From outside the door came Sam's voice, getting closer and closer, "Hey, you kids OK up here?"

Chrissy had never moved so fast in her life. While Eddie pulled up his jeans, she jumped down from the sandbags, smoothed her dress, and snatched her underwear, forgotten on the catwalk. It was too late to put them on, so she shoved them into Eddie's hand, just as Sam pushed open the door.

"Show's over," the old man said. He narrowed his eyes at them, and Chrissy did her best to lean against the column nonchalantly, as if she had just been showing Eddie around.

"Yep, we're leaving," she said, taking Eddie's hand to lead him out. Belatedly, she realized he was still holding her discarded underwear. Seeing her eyes widen in horror, Eddie looked down at the handful of lace and cotton in his hand and quickly stuffed it into his pocket. Chrissy could only hope that the loft was dim enough. "Thank you, Sam. Bye!" she said over her shoulder as she and Eddie booked it for the door, giggling as they went.

If Chrissy had wanted to make the night memorable for Eddie, then this certainly fitted the bill. They were still laughing about it when they got home and went to bed. It wasn't until she was falling asleep that Chrissy remembered what Eddie had been saying before Sam interrupted them. Had he tried to say he loved her? Should she ask? But Eddie was fast asleep, and he had an early flight the next day. No, it could wait. He would come back. She would ask him then.

Chapter 17

Here is Balanchine's Diamond in full. There are some overhead shots in it to give you an idea of the view from the loft.

Only one chapter left!!! Stay tuned!

[kagedtiger]

Why The Worst People You Know Love AI

Everyone who's ever worked even tangentially in a creative field has met an Idea Guy. They're fairly universally insufferable: the guy who comes up to you and unironically pitches, "I have a great idea for a [game/book/movie/painting/stuffed animal/whatever it is you make]." This is not a story about a great opus they are excited to embark upon, it is a suggestion for something *you* should do, which they are certain will make you rich and famous (and indebted to them for the favor of sharing this brilliant idea).

This man operates on a fundamental misconception about the nature of creative endeavors: that the Idea is what's important, and the act of implementation is a matter of grunt work; an unimportant trudge from start point to finish line. To him, the most valuable thing is not to make art, but to *have made* art.

The thing is, as any artist knows after making even a few simple works, the implementation *is* the art. Artistry, the artist's voice, is found in the cumulative effect of a thousand tiny decisions during the process of creation that communicate your point of view, your priorities, your vision. The way to become good at an art form (and indeed the only way to become good enough to recognize the difference between a good idea and a bad idea in the first place) is to gain experience with the nuances of the craft, the implementation of it. You must make these little decisions over and over until you understand the impact of each one and why you might make one choice over another.

To the Idea Guy, AI is a Promised Eden. It removes the "boring" and "unnecessary" implementation steps and takes you straight from your billion-dollar idea to the final product. Never mind that the AI is the one making all of those vital decisions for you; the Idea Guy does not have enough awareness of art to even understand that the final product doesn't match his initial vision, because he never had an initial vision in the first place: just an Idea.

People like this love AI because they fundamentally do not understand art. Ideas are cheap. Art is in the making.

[foundtherightwords]

Even in its most patronizing form – “Where do you get all those crazy ideas from?” – it is almost always asked seriously: the asker really wants to know.

The reason why it is unanswerable is, I think, that it involves at least two false notions, myths, about how fiction is written.

First myth: There is a secret to being a writer. If you can just learn the secret, you will instantly be a writer; and the secret might be where the ideas come from.

Second myth: Stories start from ideas; the origin of the story is an idea.

I will dispose of the first myth as quickly as possible. The “secret” is skill. If you haven’t learned how to do something, the people who have may seem to be magicians, possessors of mysterious secrets. In a fairly simple art, such as making pie crust, there are certain teachable “secrets” of method that lead almost infallibly to good results; but in any complex art, such as housekeeping, piano-playing, clothes-making, or story-writing, there are so many techniques, skills, choices of method, so many variables, so many “secrets”, some teachable and some not, that you can learn them only by methodical, repeated, long-continued practice – in other words, by work.

Who can blame the secret-seekers for hoping to find a shortcut and avoid all the work?

- Ursula K. Le Guin, Dancing at the Edge of the World: Thoughts on Words, Women, Places

[joesquinns]

JOSEPH QUINN as JOHNNY STORM in The Fantastic Four: First Steps

[foundtherightwords]

All in the Dance - Chapter 16

Pairing: Hellcheer

Summary: As the rising star of a prestigious dance company, ballet is all that Chrissy Cunningham knows. A bad breakup with her fiancé and fellow dancer Jason Carver leaves her shaken, and with a big production of Swan Lake coming up, Chrissy turns, in desperation, to Eddie Munson, the company's newly hired pianist, for help. Is Eddie going to be Rothbart casting a spell over her, Prince Siegfried trying and failing to break her curse, or someone else altogether, someone who helps Chrissy become more confident and learn to love again?

Chapter warning: Jason being Jason, smut

Chapter word count: 4.8k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 16

Chrissy stood by the stage door, rubbing her palms, not from the freezing air that kept wafting through the door every time someone walked in, but out of nervous habit. Eddie was late.

She hadn't seen him since that morning, when she kissed him goodbye and left for work—opening night or not, her workday still started with a 10 AM company class. Eddie had kissed her back and said he had a job interview right before the show, but he would try to be there in time to wish her luck. Now there were barely ten minutes left until curtain-up, and he was nowhere to be seen.

Chrissy pulled her robe closer and strained her neck to watch the plaza outside. Some theater goers caught sight of her and glanced at each other in surprise. No doubt they had recognized her from the huge posters hanging on either side of the entrance and were wondering what the Swan Queen was doing there, half-dressed, her makeup half-done. She paid them no attention. Where was Eddie? What kind of job had an interview on a Friday night anyway? She'd tried asking, but he had only shaken his head and said, using his usual excuse, "I don't want to jinx it." She understood the stress he was under. After leaving Hawkins Ballet, Eddie had been picking up some shifts here and there at Upside Down Board Games, courtesy of Kenny, but he wanted something more permanent, something related to music. And Chrissy didn't want to stress him out more, because now that her parents had cut her off, she also had to think, for the first time in her life, about saving up and supplementing her income during the off-season—by applying for a guest artist spot at another company, or perhaps even teaching. So she hadn't pressed him for an answer.

From the hallway behind her, Chrissy could hear the stage manager calling for places in five. With a sigh, she gave up her vigil and was about to head back to her dressing room, when she heard a voice behind her, "Chrissy!"

Spinning around, she saw Dustin and Wayne coming through the door. Eddie had told her that they were coming to the show. She had given Eddie the three comp tickets she usually got for her family, and since the other members of Corroded Coffin and the rest of their D&D group were all busy that night, Eddie had given the remaining two tickets to Wayne and Dustin. Chrissy had promised to get the others more tickets for any night they wanted to come, happy to do it because this was the first time she had friends outside of the company that she could invite to the show. As for himself, Eddie had insisted on taking the comp ticket for opening night only. For the rest of the run, he would buy tickets with his own money, to show his support.

"Are you planning on coming to every performance then?" Chrissy had asked.

"Of course I am."

"But it's a lot of money! Even the nosebleed section is forty-five dollars a ticket. That's over four hundred bucks for the remaining nine shows!"

"I don't mind," Eddie had replied. "My girlfriend's the principal dancer in the biggest ballet in the city. Of course I'm coming to every performance. It's worth it!"

The way he'd said my girlfriend had been so natural and matter-of-fact that Chrissy had forgotten everything else.

Now, Dustin ran to her. "Sorry we're late," he said, panting. "I had to finish something up for class, and then I had to pick Wayne up—"

"Where's Eddie?" Chrissy asked.

"He couldn't make it."

Chrissy's heart sank to the bottom of her pointe shoes. "What?!"

"He's still going to be here for the show," Dustin said quickly. "But his, um, the job interview ran later than he thought, so he can't be here to wish you good luck."

"He asked us to do it for him," Wayne chimed in. "So good luck, sweetheart! Or however you say it in ballet."

"We do say 'Good luck' too." Chrissy tried to muster up a smile and hide her disappointment.

"He also sent you this." Dustin gave her a little box.

Chrissy opened it. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a pair of delicate silver earrings in the shape of fuchsia flowers, with a note that said, in Eddie's messy handwriting, Good luck to my Tiny Cosmic Dancer. From your Piano Man.

Her smile was not forced now. She took out the earrings and put them on. Odile's costume did include a pair of dangling earrings, but no one would notice that she was wearing a different pair than the one Joyce provided. As for Odette, her ears would be hidden under the feather headpiece anyway.

"Thank you," Chrissy said to both Dustin and Wayne. "Enjoy the show, OK?"

With smiles and goodbye waves at her, they made their way into the theater, while Chrissy hurried back to her dressing room to finish her makeup.

And then, in almost no time at all, she was stepping out of the wings and onto the stage to the prologue music. There wasn't much for her to do during the prologue, where the choreography was pretty straightforward—the most complicated part was the transformation, whose success relied on the two dressers waiting in the wings. Once Billy-as-Rothbart lured Chrissy into his cavern, they would have about ten seconds to take off the wig that was hiding her bun and change her out of her princess dress into her Swan Queen costume, with its iconic tutu and tiara. Chrissy simply let them do their job, only checking the earrings to make sure they stayed in place while the dressers were putting the tutu on her. Once the applause had faded, she retreated to her dressing room to wait out the long, rather tedious Act One.

She couldn't sit still. The bare cinderblock walls of the dressing room seemed to be pressing in on her, making it hard to breathe. She checked her phone—no message from Eddie. She tried calling him—it went straight to voicemail. That, of course, didn't mean anything. He might have arrived at the theater already and simply turned his phone off. Just to have something to do, Chrissy went back to the wings, weaving her way through giggling corps members, and looked through the little peephole there, cut into the wall so antsy dancers could check on the audience while awaiting their entrance. But the audience appeared to her as one faceless mass, blurred by the darkness and her own nervousness. She touched one of the earrings under her headpiece, finding courage in it. He hadn't forgotten—the earrings and his message were proof of that. No, he was simply—tied up—somewhere. But where?!

She turned and almost collided with Jason, who had just finished his Act One variation. He looked at her without the usual hostility of the past few weeks. "Nervous?" he asked.

"No," she said shortly. She would not give him the satisfaction of crowing over her.

"Good. You'll be great out there, I'm sure."

With that, he returned to the stage, leaving Chrissy to narrow her eyes after him. Why was he suddenly nice to her? Had he finally seen the error of his ways, or was he scheming something?

Act One was wrapping up, and Chrissy tried to put Eddie's strange absence and Jason's suspicious behavior out of her mind. It was time for Act Two. This was her grand entrance, this was what all those long months of hard work and heartache had been leading up to. She had to focus. Touching the earrings one last time for good luck, she stepped into the spotlight.

But even as she danced her way past the corps, looking impeccable in their tutus, which were similar to hers except not as elaborately decorated, Chrissy could feel the old fears resurfacing. Everybody's eyes were on her—not just the audience's, but also the corps', and Jason's and Henry's from the wings—and their scrutiny made her want to crawl out of her skin. Only her professionalism kept her going through the movements that had become second nature to her after months of rehearsing. She knew her dancing was mechanical, passionless—and from the displeasure in his eyes, Henry knew it too. She could only hope that the audience didn't see it.

The call for intermission couldn't come soon enough.

Back in her dressing room, Chrissy reached for her phone, wanting to see if there was any message from Eddie, while at the same time shedding the white tutu to change into Odile's black one for Act Three. Before she could turn her phone on, the door behind her opened. Could it be—?

She whirled around, only to let out a sigh in disappointment. It wasn't Eddie. It was Jason.

"I'd appreciate it if you knock next time," she said coldly. She turned her back against him and continued undressing. There was no need to act shy or coy around Jason. He'd seen everything there was to see anyway—everything, except for what mattered the most.

"Can we talk?" Jason asked.

"I have nothing to say to you," said Chrissy.

"OK, can you just listen then?" Jason tugged at the front of his white velvet doublet, a nervous gesture that she'd never seen from him. "Look, I'm really sorry about—about everything that happened between us. I'm sorry you felt cast aside."

Chrissy had finished with her Black Swan costume. She started on her makeup, wondering why Jason's apology had such little effect on her, despite having waited to hear him say it for months. Perhaps because it wasn't much of an apology. It was "sorry you felt this way", not "sorry I did this to you." No taking accountability whatsoever. Typical of Jason. Or perhaps she no longer cared.

Jason waited, and when it became clear that Chrissy wasn't going to say anything, he continued, "I've talked to Monsieur Lefèvre about you. Well, actually, I've sent him a couple of videos of your rehearsals. I hope you don't mind."

His audacity made Chrissy drop her eyeliner. "When did you record me?" she said, affronted.

"It doesn't matter," Jason said, his own arrogance coming through again. Chrissy suspected this whole contrite act was just that—an act. But what was he getting at? "The point is, Lefèvre's impressed. He says they may be able to extend the offer to you."

Chrissy's heart jumped. An offer from Ballet de l'Opéra national de Paris? Thousands of ballet dancers dreamed of it and never touched it. And here she was, with an offer from the directeur de la danse himself? For a moment, she was back in that graceful, romantic old building, this time not as a mere visitor, but as a part of it. 

"Not as a full-time dancer just yet," Jason added quickly. "Perhaps as a guest artist, to start with. He thinks they have a good chance of drawing a younger audience to the theater with the two of us as the faces of their new season, you know, America's sweethearts..."

Sweetheart. That word, the term of endearment that Eddie always called her, broke the spell and brought Chrissy back to reality. She glanced at Jason in the mirror. He gave her what he clearly thought was a charming, seductive smile, but now that she'd seen through him, she saw that smile for what it really was—a mask used for manipulation, with nothing real beneath it. So he thought he could bribe her into taking him back, didn't he? Just so he could further his own career? That was all she ever was to him. A stepping stone, a tool for him to secure his position. He never cared about her. All he ever cared about was himself.

Well, she would set him right.

"No, thanks," she said, picking up her eyeliner again.

"Are you crazy?" Jason said, his mask cracking a little, showing the nastiness underneath. "Do you know how many dancers are scrambling to even get an audition with Lefèvre? He's breaking hundreds of years of traditions to give you a direct offer, and you turned him down?"

"I'm turning you down," Chrissy said, finally turning around to face him. "And you forget, there is no more 'us'. I'm with Eddie now."

Jason's face twisted in anger, but only for a second, before he carefully rearranged his features into something more pleasant. "Oh yeah, Eddie," he said dismissively. "Where is he? Don't tell me he can't be bothered to come here to support you on opening night. Did he even send you flowers?" 

Chrissy opened her mouth to retort, but the words didn't come. Jason had caught her. She had been asking herself those same questions.

Catching a glimpse of the fleeting doubt on her face, Jason smiled again. "You see, Chris, that's the trouble with dating someone outside of ballet," he said. "He'll never understand what you have to do, what you have to give up for greatness... unlike me." He took a step closer. "We made a wonderful team, haven't we? We can be that team again. If you give me another chance. Please."

Chrissy pushed his hand away. She would no longer waste her breath arguing with him. "Get out of my room, or I'll scream," she said, doing her best to keep her voice steady, though inside, she was already screaming.

Eddie, Eddie... Where are you?!

***

Eddie squirmed in his seat, fighting the urge to glance at his phone. He knew he was already too late to meet Chrissy by the stage door, but at this rate, he might not even make it to the theater in time for the prologue.

Not noticing Eddie's discomfort—or noticing it and choosing to ignore it—Ms. Warner took her time turning off the projector's screen before swiveling in her chair to face him and his bandmates, lacing her crimson-nailed fingers together. "Well, I think it's safe to say that my boss likes you guys," she said, smiling. "And if you perform at the showcase as well as you did on your demo, I'm sure the other execs would agree."

Jeff, Gareth, and Doug exchanged excited looks. Their future was so close they could practically taste it. Eddie shared their excitement, though his was considerably dampened by his worry about making it to Swan Lake on time.

"My office will be sending you your plane tickets within the next two days, and we'll finalize your travel plans then," Ms. Warner continued. "Any questions?"

Eddie glared at his bandmates, feeling like he had in school, when there would always be that one annoying kid who had a million questions right before the bell. Thankfully, the guys knew about the show, so they all shook their heads.

"Well, in that case," Ms. Warner said brightly, "see you in LA! Should be a nice change from this, right?" She gestured to the snow-covered city outside her window.

"We can't wait," Jeff said.

At last, at last, she got to her feet, and the guys followed suit. Eddie was ready to bolt, but Ms. Warner was not done with them yet. "Would you like to go out for a drink, to celebrate?" she asked, looking at him. Then, noticing the others' glances, she added, a tad reluctantly, "All of you. My treat."

"That sounds great, thank you, but I have somewhere I have to be like... now," Eddie said.

"Oh." Ms. Warner's red lips turned down in disappointment. "Maybe we'll save that drink for after the showcase. I can show you—I mean, you guys—the best spots in LA—"

"Greatthankyoubye!" Eddie grabbed her hand, gave it a quick shake, and, pushing his chair back, he ran out of the office at top speed.

"Tell Chrissy that we wish her good luck!" Gareth called after him.

The bumper-to-bumper traffic of a Friday night in downtown Chicago greeted Eddie as soon as he stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk. If he tried to maneuver his van into this, he would never get out. Luckily, the Metal Blade office and Hawkins' theater were both in the Loop. Bending his head against the icy wind, Eddie ran for it. He would get there far quicker on foot than in a car.

The prologue music had already begun by the time Eddie ran into the theater, huffing and puffing like a steam engine. Just in time. He hadn't missed the transformation. If it hadn't been for the prologue, he would've gladly skipped the entire Act One, but he didn't want to miss a single second of Chrissy on stage. Whispering his apologies to the ballet patrons, all dressed up to the nines for their night out on the town, he picked his way through the dim theater until he came upon his seat. 

"We thought you were a goner," Dustin said out of the corner of his mouth as Eddie plopped into the seat next to him.

"Me too, man," Eddie replied, still trying to catch his breath. "Me too."

A snooty-looking woman sitting in front spun around to glare at them in disapproval. Eddie mouthed "Sorry" to her before turning his attention back to the stage. Chrissy-as-Odette had just been lured into a cave by a mysterious gentleman. Seconds later, the gentleman reappeared at the mouth of the cave, revealing himself to be the evil wizard Rothbart, followed by Odette herself, now fully transformed into the Swan Queen. As she fluttered her fingers down her face in a gesture of despair—the mime for "crying", which Eddie still remembered from his lesson—a murmur of awe went around the audience, impressed by the transformation. Eddie beamed with pride, as if he himself was responsible for it. Chrissy had told him how it was done. Some companies projected an image of the transformed Odette on a screen, while others used doubles—one dancer to play the human Odette, and another to play her in swan form. Creel, being a stickler for detail, had insisted on a quick change instead, to make sure Chrissy appeared in both forms. Eddie was glad of that. If they had used a double, he would've been able to tell that it wasn't Chrissy, even from a distance, and it would've ruined the magic for him.

And the magic continued. Eddie thought he would hate Act One, because it was the one where Chrissy didn't appear. It was true he didn't relish watching Carver jump and twirl around the stage for half an hour, but he couldn't help being taken in by the movements, the costumes, the spectacle of it all. He thought he would hate the music too, having suffered through it during the rehearsals, but the musician in him loved it. It was completely different from a rock concert, and it was similar at the same time—it sent his blood pumping and made him feel like he could crank out a full album in the next hour or so. He could see now why Chrissy loved it so much, why she was willing to suffer so much just to be on that stage.

Then Act Two began, and he forgot everything else. He had seen Chrissy dance many, many times, but it was nothing compared to this—on stage, in full costume, with an orchestra backing her. This was where she belonged. As she flew and fluttered across the stage in her white tutu and sparkly tiara, she practically glowed. It was—and the DM in him railed at such a repetitive, unimaginative choice of description, but the artist in him knew there was no other word for it—magical.  

Yet something was not quite right. It was there in the set of Chrissy's shoulders, in the way she held her arms, in her eyes as she looked at the audience. The mesmerized audience only saw Odette, fragile, nervous, unsure if she could trust Prince Siegfried, but Eddie, who had seen her as a girl so anxious that she was unable to even set foot on the dance floor, who had seen her as Prom Queen, who had seen her as Salome, saw the difference. Chrissy wasn't acting nervous. She was nervous. But why?

She cast another look at the audience, her eyes roaming over them as if searching for someone. Was it him? Shit. He'd meant to send her a text once he arrived at the theater, but he'd kept his phone off since the meeting and forgotten to turn it back on. Now he pulled it out, and, hiding the eye-searingly bright screen under his jacket, turned it on. There were six missed calls from Chrissy, and several texts. Shit, shit, shit. No wonder she was so downcast. She thought he wasn't there.

As soon as the dancers had taken their bows and the curtains came down for the intermission, Eddie rose from his seat. He'd borrowed a Hawkins Ballet crew pass from Robin just in case, and now, putting it around his neck, he made his way backstage, through the familiar labyrinth of hallways that led to Chrissy's dressing room. Nobody stopped him. Nobody even glanced at him, too intent they were on whatever it was they were doing.

At the door of Chrissy's dressing room, he knocked. The door was opened, and Eddie's smile died on his lips. A bizarre scene appeared before him—Jason at the door, and behind Jason, Chrissy was sitting by her dressing table, her face murderous, her fingers gripping her makeup brush as if she was going to stab someone—Jason, or possibly himself, Eddie wasn't sure—with it.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie and Jason said at the same time.

Eddie would've laughed at the absurdity of it all, but at that moment, Chrissy's face brightened up like the spring sun after a long winter. "Eddie!" she exclaimed and ran to him, jumping up to wrap her arms around his neck.

"Sorry I'm late, sweetheart," he said, returning her embrace while still glaring at Jason. "And sorry I didn't call you earlier. My phone was off."

"That's OK," Chrissy said, burying her face in his chest. "You're here now, that's all that matters."

"Hey!" Jason interjected. "We were in the middle of a conversation here!"

Chrissy turned to glare at him. "No, we're done," she said and indicated the open door. "Leave. Now."

"You cannot be here," Jason said to Eddie. "Henry told you—"

"He doesn't own the building," Eddie scoffed. "But go ahead and squeal to him like the little rat that you are, Carver. See if I care."

Jason looked from Eddie to Chrissy, his face twisted into something ugly. "This"—he spat at Chrissy, while pointing at Eddie—"is all you're ever going to amount to. You two deserve each other." He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

"You OK?" Eddie asked, once Jason had gone. "What did he do?"

Chrissy let out a short laugh. "He told me the Paris Opera Ballet will offer me a guest artist spot because they want to market him and me as America's sweethearts," she said.

"Jesus." Eddie shook his head. "The guy doesn't know when to give up, does he?"

Chrissy sighed and put her head on his shoulder again. "And I still have nine more shows with him."

"Look," Eddie said, "forget about Jason. You were amazing out there. Just keep dancing like that, and you'll do great."

"I wasn't great. You must have seen how stiff I was during the variation—"

Eddie put his hand under her chin, raised her face to his, and gave her a soft kiss, cutting her off. "Dance like you danced Salome, then," he said.

Chrissy's eyebrows went up.

"Salome?" she said, her eyes sparkling with wicked intent as if she was reliving their adventure in the costume vault. "I think I need a reminder..."

Her suggestive grin was back, sending the familiar fire through his veins. How could he say no to her, when she looked at him like that?

"Do we have time?" he whispered, even though they were alone.

"Odile doesn't come on until twenty minutes into Act Three."

"Only twenty minutes?"

"Shut up and kiss me." She reached behind him and turned the deadbolt, locking them in. "But don't ruin my make-up."

The click of the deadbolt went through Eddie like electricity. "I'll do my best," he said. Leaning down, he kissed Chrissy's neck, placing his mouth snugly on the sensitive skin between her ear and her jaw, before biting gently on her earlobe, making her gasp. "Those earrings look great on you," he murmured.

"I love them," Chrissy said, tilting her head to give him better access to her throat. "Where did you find them?"

"You're not the only one with contacts to track down vintage pieces, you know," Eddie said, skimming his lips over her bare shoulder.

"Don't think you can just buy me something to apologize every time you mess up."

"OK. I'll apologize in another way then." He dipped his head lower to explore the tops of her perfect breasts, which peeped out from the neckline of her costume. Chrissy let out a small whimper of pleasure, but it turned into a sound of exasperation when Eddie kept lingering over her breasts.

"If you keep going at this pace, I'm going to miss Act Three," she said.

Eddie grinned. "Getting impatient, are we?" He spun her around and pressed his lips to the wisps of hair on the nape of her neck, trailing his mouth down her graceful, supple back, while his fingers worked at the hooks of her costume, undoing them. Chrissy gasped again as he slipped his hands under the bodice.

"You're getting quite good at taking off ballet clothes," she said.

Eddie smiled against the dip between her shoulder blades. "I've had a lot of practice."

His hands roamed over her waist, one reaching up for her breast, the other going down, past the waistband of her tights, past the curve of her hips and the smooth skin of her inner thighs, going lower, lower, until he found the slick, velvety warmth between her legs, and Chrissy's gasp turned into a needy whine, only for Eddie to pause and pull back.

"Too hard?" he asked, mistaking her sound of protest for complaint.

"Not hard enough," she growled.

Reaching a hand behind her, she pulled him close, anchoring herself to him while he stroked and strummed and caressed her. Eddie's glance strayed to the mirror on her dressing table. If there was something more gorgeous than the sight of Chrissy clinging to him and falling apart in his hand, then he didn't know it. The sounds she made, getting more and more urgent by the second, were more beautiful than any songs he'd ever played, and even though the grinding and rolling of her hips against him were driving him crazy, he would not, could not stop this for anything in the world.

Chrissy stopped it for him. Her whimpers became a breathless moan, and her whole body shuddered so hard that Eddie had to tighten his grip around her waist, afraid she would crumple to the floor.

A knock on the door jolted them both out of the spell. "Places in five, people," said a voice, the stage manager's, Eddie presumed.

"Be right there!" Chrissy panted.

Eddie let go of Chrissy's waist and did up the back of her costume, but she had a different idea. Whirling around, she seized the front of his jacket to pull him down to her, and crashed her mouth to his.

"The guy said—" He pointed helplessly to the door.

"I told you, Odile doesn't come on for another twenty minutes."

"I thought you didn't want to ruin your make-up."

"I don't care."

Covering his mouth with hers again, she walked him backward until his calves hit a couch in the corner of the room and he stumbled into it, pulling her into his lap. Somehow, between themselves and their frantic, desperate fumbling, they managed to get her tights off and unbuckled his jeans. Chrissy braced her hands on the back of the couch on either side of him, and Eddie's hands went to her back, holding her to him as they started moving together. The world suddenly seemed so small, small enough to fit inside this tiny dressing room, shrinking down the blooms of heat where their bodies touched and joined, shrinking down to her eyes, blazing blue as they looked into his, shrinking down to the breath they shared. In the theater above them, the overture of Act Three was starting, but down here, they were already reveling in all the movements of their own symphony, until the music itself was drowned out by their cries of ecstasy.

Chapter 17

[foundtherightwords]

Last line tag game

I was tagged by @writrsblock!

Rules: Post the last line you wrote, then tag as many people as there are words.

I'm not writing at the moment, but I'm in the middle of editing, and here's my last edited line:

"And if you want to find your son, you'll do well to keep me alive."

I don't think I have 15 people to tag, so anyone who sees this and wants to play along, feel free!

[joesquinns]

JOSEPH QUINN as MICHAEL in Hoard

[foundtherightwords]

All in the Dance - Chapter 15

Pairing: Hellcheer

Summary: As the rising star of a prestigious dance company, ballet is all that Chrissy Cunningham knows. A bad breakup with her fiancé and fellow dancer Jason Carver leaves her shaken, and with a big production of Swan Lake coming up, Chrissy turns, in desperation, to Eddie Munson, the company's newly hired pianist, for help. Is Eddie going to be Rothbart casting a spell over her, Prince Siegfried trying and failing to break her curse, or someone else altogether, someone who helps Chrissy become more confident and learn to love again?

Chapter warning: controlling behavior

Chapter word count: 4.6k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 15

Chrissy pushed open the door of her parents' house in Winnetka with a heavy heart. Already she was missing Eddie, even though she'd only said goodbye to him less than an hour ago, when he'd driven her to the train station. She wanted nothing more than to stay in the city and spend Christmas with him—their first Christmas together—but that would bring her mother's wrath down on both of them. And so Chrissy had reluctantly agreed to go home for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. She'd promised Eddie she would be back on the 26th, and then they would have almost a week together until the New Year, with no ballet or Henry or Jason to bother them. She would have to make up some excuse to explain her early departure to her mother. Maybe she could use the excuse that Henry needed them back early for more rehearsals before tech week. Henry's name would always convince her mom.

Shaking the snow from her coat and hat, she reached into her coat pocket and closed her fingers around the little box Eddie had given her before she boarded the train, finding comfort in it. It was his Christmas present to her. They had decided to exchange presents before she left, so it would feel like they were with each other for Christmas. Eddie had been rather apologetic when he'd given her the box, saying it was nothing special, but Chrissy was certain she was going to love it, just as she hoped he would love what she had given him.

As she stepped through the door, the house assaulted her senses with all things Christmas. Every available surface was hung and draped with wreaths and garlands of evergreen and holly, all of them dripping with tinsel and baubles. The spicy scent of Christmas candles permeated the air, like inside a department store during the Christmas rush. Voices and snatches of Christmas music were coming through the living room door, so Chrissy made her way toward it.

"Hi, I'm home!" she announced in as bright a voice as she could muster up. Then she took in the group of people sitting around the coffee table, and the shopping bag full of Christmas presents slipped from her hand and fell to the floor with a thud.

Her parents were sitting on the couch. Her younger brother, Ryan, was lounging on the floor, eyes glued to his phone. But on the armchair opposite her parents, and just now turning around to face her, was the one person she wasn't expecting to see, the last person she wanted to see—

Jason.

"Hello," he said with his usual smile, as if he were in the habit of dropping by every day. "Welcome home. How's the train ride?"

Ignoring him, Chrissy turned to her mother. "What is he doing here?" she asked.

"His folks are going on a cruise in the Caribbean. I felt terrible about poor Jason having to spend his last Christmas at home all on his own, so I invited him to stay with us," Laura explained matter-of-factly. Anyone who heard her would've thought that Jason was a little boy, no older than ten.

"Without telling me?!" Chrissy hissed.

"This is my house," Laura said, her lips thinning. "I can invite who I want."

For a moment, Chrissy stood stock still in the doorway, too stunned to even speak. Jason was looking at her apologetically, like he hadn't had any choice in the matter, but Chrissy never believed that for a second. They were in cahoots, Jason and her mom, always were. She turned to her father, whose attention was fixed on the TV, and then to her brother, who hadn't even looked up since she walked in. Typical. They were always too happy to let her bear the brunt of her mother's anger if it meant they would be left alone. She could see how the next two days were going to turn out—Jason would find excuses to get her on her own and try to wear her down with his sweet talk and declarations of love, and her mother would nag and bully Dad and Ryan into supporting her, so they could all force Chrissy to get back together with Jason.

She'd die before she let them gang up on her like that.

Bending down, Chrissy scooped all the presents back into the shopping bag—they didn't deserve those presents now—and secured the strap of the overnight tote on her shoulder. Then, without another word, she walked out.

The moment she opened the front door, a howling wind hit her, hurling icy flakes in her face, stinging, blinding. It had been snowing steadily since she left the train station, but now it had turned into a full-blown blizzard. Stubbornly, Chrissy leaned into the wind and stepped out of the door, but she barely made three steps down the driveway before the wind and the cold forced her back. Turning her back against the storm, she found Jason behind her, his arms spread in a reconciliatory gesture.

"Come on, Chris, don't do this to yourself," he said. "Let's join your family and have a calm and rational discussion about this."

Oh yeah, Chrissy had a very good idea what his "calm and rational discussion" would be. It would at best leave her angry and upset, and at worst make her doubt herself and think the whole thing with Eddie had been a mistake. But what choice did she have? She glanced at the swirling wall of white behind her. There was no way she could walk to the train station, and no Uber would pick her up in this kind of weather. She was stuck here as long as the storm lasted.

Reluctantly, she closed the door. A smug smile broke out over Jason's face. Ignoring it, Chrissy swept past him and climbed the stairs with the dignity of an exiled queen. At least she could enjoy Jason's stunned look as she slammed shut the door of her childhood bedroom.

The room was all pink and lace and frills—it had been decorated by her mom, and by the time Chrissy had grown up enough to care, she had moved away to the city, so it had been left as it was—but at least it provided her with a sanctuary. She locked the door behind her and leaned against it, suddenly exhausted.

Her phone rang with 'Tiny Dancer'. Eddie. God, how she missed him! Just seeing his name on her phone was enough to send a wave of longing through her and drive away the red haze of anger that Jason and her family had caused. She hit Accept with a trembling hand.

"Eddie?"

"Hey, did you get home OK?" he said. "I saw the storm warning so I want to make sure." She could've wept at the sound of his voice, so warm and reassuring. It was almost as good as having him here with her. Almost.  

"Yes, I'm home. The storm hit after I got off the train."

Eddie must have heard the held-back sobs in her voice, because he quickly asked, sounding worried, "Are you OK? What happened?"

"I'm OK. Nothing happened, just... My mom invited Jason to spend Christmas with us."

"What?!"

"I know." Chrissy sighed. She didn't want to whine to Eddie, but at the same time, it felt good to have someone she could vent to. "I would've left immediately if I could, but with this blizzard—"

"Stay where you are. I'll get there as soon as I can."

"What? No! You can't go out in this, Eddie, it's too dangero—"

But he had hung up.

Chrissy tried calling him back. He didn't pick up. She texted him, telling him not to worry about her and that she could take care of herself, though she knew it was hopeless at this point. Eddie had gotten it into his head that she was a damsel in distress, and he was determined to be her knight in shining armor, blizzard or no blizzard. She threw her phone on the bed, frustrated with both herself—why couldn't she have kept her mouth shut about Jason?!—and Eddie—why did he have to be so damned gallant? How could she live with herself if something happened to him? 

For the next couple of hours, Chrissy wore a groove into the carpet of her bedroom, pacing back and forth, her mind a vortex of half-formed thoughts, as turbulent and shapeless as the howling storm outside. She kept imagining horrible scenarios—Eddie crashing his van on the icy road, his curls sticky with blood, his big brown eyes staring, unseeing—and scaring herself so much that she had to start exercising to distract herself. A part of her was so worried about Eddie, it was like there was a wild animal gnawing at her insides, while another part wished he would arrive soon and get her out of there.

Around noon, Ryan was sent up to tell her lunch was ready. She screamed, "Go away!!!" and heard his footsteps scurrying back downstairs. She felt a little guilty about that—after all, Ryan was the only brother she had, and he had no fault in what happened. He could hardly go against their parents, not when he still lived at home. Then again, he could've given her a warning, at least.   

A while after that—she didn't know how long, for she had lost all sense of time—the storm abated. The wind slowed, and the snowfall was little more than a few flakes here and there, drifting lazily in the air like they were dancing in The Nutcracker. Hope surged within her again. If Eddie was sensible, he would wait out the storm somewhere. Winnetka was only a half an hour drive from the city on a good day, and even on a day like this, it shouldn't take more than forty-five minutes or an hour at the most. He could be here soon...

At that very moment, as if summoned by her thought, the screech of brakes, mingled with the blaring sound of heavy metal, was heard outside.

Chrissy rushed to her window. There was Eddie's van parked at the gate, and there was Eddie, all wrapped up against the cold, getting out.

Chrissy had never danced Romeo and Juliet, but leaning over her window, looking down at Eddie as he walked up to her parents' house in the snow, she could imagine how Juliet must feel, standing on her balcony, looking at Romeo down below. Picking up her bags, she unlocked her door and ran downstairs. Her dad was emerging from the living room, looking annoyed about having to answer the bell.

"Who on Earth would come at this time?" he mumbled.

"I got it, I got it!" Chrissy cried. She opened the door before her father even touched the handle, flew down the steps, and threw herself into Eddie's arms. 

It was a while before her trembling ceased. When it finally did, she jumped at Eddie, whacking him on the chest and shoulders.

"You—stupid—asshole!" she yelled, half crying, half laughing. "Don't scare me like that ever again! Do you have any idea how worried I've been?!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," said Eddie, his voice muffled by the scarf around his face, as he wrapped his arms around her again. "But I couldn't leave you here."

"I'm glad you're OK," Chrissy said, burying her face in his chest, taking comfort in his familiar scent. She longed to pull down his scarf and kiss him, just as she'd done with their first kiss, but she was aware her family and Jason were staring at them from the door. Eddie had already gone through enough to come here for her, she didn't want to get him into more trouble. Reluctantly, she let him go.  

"Ready?" Eddie asked.

"Yes."

Chrissy turned around to pick up the bags she'd left on the front steps. She was met with her mother's glare. Behind her mother was Jason, his eyes fixed on Eddie, full of hatred. No doubt he had recognized Eddie. Her father and Ryan crowded at the doorway, curious about the unfolding drama. Those looks made Chrissy pause momentarily.

"Who is that?" Laura snapped.

Chrissy hesitated. "My friend," she said eventually, lowering her voice so Eddie wouldn't hear. And if he did hear—well, she hoped he would understand she had to lie to protect him. "I'm going back to the city with him."

"You're not going anywhere!" her mother hissed. "It's the holidays. Your place is here, with your family."

"Fine," Chrissy said. She nodded toward Jason. "I'll stay, if he goes. He's not family."

"Don't be ridiculous," Laura said. "Jason's your fiancé, of course he's family!"

Chrissy stared at her mother, her mouth falling open. She didn't know whether her mom was delusional, or whether she was hoping that by continuing to act as if nothing had happened, she could gaslight Chrissy into taking Jason back. Chrissy only knew that there was no reasoning with her.

"Goodbye, mom." Bags in hand, she turned her back on them and walked toward Eddie.

"Christine Elizabeth Cunningham!" her mother shouted. "If you think you're too good to stay in this house, then you're out of that bungalow in the city too. You'll never see another dime from us!"

Chrissy didn't stop, didn't even turn around. Keeping her gaze on Eddie, holding on to his eyes for strength, she walked to the van. Eddie took the bags and opened the door for her, and she got in. She could feel her mother and Jason's eyes boring holes into the back of her head, but she didn't once look back as the van drove away.

Finally, as they reached the highway, Chrissy allowed herself to let out a long breath.

"I think this should go on the list too," she said with a shaky laugh.

"What? Not spending Christmas with your family?"

"Well, that too. But also standing up to my mom. Like, really standing up to her." She put her hand on Eddie's. "Thank you." She meant not just for picking her up, but for giving her the strength to leave as well.

Eddie gave her hand a squeeze and held it fast, like an anchor holding her to the Earth.

"Do you want to go to Wayne's, or do you want to go back to Logan Square?" he asked. Before she left, Eddie had told her that he would be spending Christmas with Wayne.

The thought of going back to Logan Square made Chrissy feel sick. "I'd love to go to Wayne's, if he's OK with it," she said.

"Of course he is! He'll love to have you." Eddie was quiet for a moment, contemplating something. Then he said, "Do you think your mom will actually kick you out of the bungalow?"

Chrissy shrugged. "She might." She was no longer in any illusion about where her mom stood. At the end of the day, Laura would always pick status and appearance over Chrissy's well-being.

"In that case, would you like to move in with me?" Eddie asked. "Robin's lease is up in January, so she's moving to Vickie's place, and she said I can have her apartment." Chrissy turned to him, astonished. He added, looking embarrassed, "I know it's small compared to your house in Logan Square, and there are no vegan cafés nearby. But we can have the bedroom, now that I'm a full renter. No more sofa beds." When Chrissy said nothing, he continued, "Or maybe it's too soon. I mean, I understand. We've only been together for a couple of weeks—"

"No, it's fine," she interrupted. "I'd love to move in with you." He smiled, looking so adorable in his relief that she longed to kiss him again, but she didn't want to distract him from the road. Picking up his hand, she pressed her lips to his knuckles and his palm.

They arrived at Wayne's just in time for dinner—deep-dish pizza again, though Wayne promised there would be a turkey for Christmas Day. Chrissy didn't realize how famished she was until then. She devoured her slice and even ate part of Eddie's, because he was too busy making faces over it. Afterward, they spent a cozy evening exchanging presents. Wayne told Chrissy that her being there was already a gift, but she insisted on giving him the scarf she'd meant to give her dad. Eddie's present for her turned out to be a set of D&D dice, deep black with sparkles all over them, like a star-strewn sky.

"They remind me of the dress you wore that night I first brought you here, remember?" Eddie said.

How could she forget? It had only been a few weeks ago, though it seemed much longer, because so much had happened.

"They're beautiful," she said, giving him a kiss.

Then it was Eddie's turn. He took out the T-shirt and stared at it. "A Dio shirt!" he exclaimed, as delighted as a little kid. "From their last show with Heaven and Hell! Holy shit! Where on Earth did you find it?"

"I have my contacts," Chrissy said with a wink. In truth, her "contact" was only Bev, who'd helped her track down the shirt after she found out they were one of Eddie's favorite bands. "I'm sorry the condition is not great."

"Are you kidding?" Eddie put the shirt on top of his sweater. "I'm never taking it off," he declared, much to Wayne and Chrissy's amusement.

It was one of the happiest Christmas Eves she'd ever had. There was still the Christmas dinner the next day, and a whole week of winter break with Eddie, and all the time with him after they moved in together... When she arrived at her parents' house and found Jason waiting there like a curse, Chrissy hadn't dreamed that the day would turn out so well.

That night, as they settled into bed at Eddie's place, it suddenly hit Chrissy that this might very well be the last time she'd seen and spoken to her mother. For some reason, she burst into tears at the thought—perhaps it was the contrast of how happy the evening at Wayne's had been, which made her mourn not what she'd lost, but what she could have had, what she'd never had.

Her sobs woke Eddie up. "What is it?" he asked, alarmed. "You OK?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said, sniffling. "I was just thinking of my mom, that's all."

"She'll come around."

Chrissy let out a mirthless laugh. "You don't know her." Her voice cracked. "Why can't she be happy for me? Nothing I do is ever good enough. Why?"

Eddie pulled her closer, cradling her against his chest. "I believe some people aren't meant to be parents," he said. "Look at my old man. I'm never going to see him again, and I'm OK with that." But his eyes were glistening in the dark, and Chrissy had the feeling he was trying to convince himself as much as her. "None of that is our fault. None of that is your fault."

Chrissy wrapped her arms around him, tightening her embrace, as if by doing so, she could squeeze all the sadness out of both of them. Gradually, the pressure around her throat eased up, and she fell asleep in the safety of Eddie's arms.

***

Laura made good on her threat to kick Chrissy out of the Logan Square bungalow. After the New Year, Chrissy got a letter from their family lawyer informing her that she had to vacate the premises by the end of the week. She tossed it in the trash, along with all the things she didn't want to keep, as she prepared to move in with Eddie. They had been helping Robin pack up her stuff, and now that Robin had moved out, it was time for Chrissy to bring her things to the Chinatown apartment. For once, Chrissy was glad she hadn't fully unpacked since moving out of Jason's place back in October.

Robin's wrist had healed, but she needed a few weeks of physical therapy to fully regain movement in her fingers, so Eddie continued his accompanist's duty at Hawkins Ballet. Chrissy was grateful for that. During tech week, she would be rehearsing on stage with the full orchestra for the entire day and couldn't see him, so it was nice knowing he was in the same building. Even though they saw each other at home every night, the thought of Eddie being close by always calmed and comforted her.

They were going through some tendus during the last company class before tech week began, when the doors of the studio burst open and in strode Henry, his face thunderous. That look could only mean trouble, but what kind? And who would be the victim?

Not even bothering to apologize to Nancy for the interruption, Henry looked toward the corner of the studio and barked, "You, there!"

The dancers standing in the corner looked at each other, panicking, not knowing which of them Henry was speaking to. Shaking his head impatiently, Henry pointed at the piano. "You! Accompanist!"

Chrissy's heart thudded painfully. What could Henry want with Eddie?

"The name's Munson," Eddie said, scowling.

"I don't care," Henry snapped. "Get up, and get out. You're fired."

Chrissy's blood drained out of her, leaving her cold and frozen to the spot. Fired? Why?

Eddie had the same question. "May I know why?" he asked.

"When I took over Hawkins Ballet, I pride myself on holding the company to a high standard of behavior," Henry said. "That goes for both my dancers and staff. And if one of them ever uses drugs or brings drugs into the studios, they're out."

Drugs? The other dancers murmured to each other, sounding both horrified and curious. Drinking anything more alcoholic than champagne was acceptable only during the galas and fundraisers, so drugs were completely out of the question—or one had to become very, very good at hiding such a habit. No one would be so foolish to play with fire like that. Out of the corner of her eye, Chrissy caught Jason looking smug as he watched the scene unfold. Panic rose within her. No, no, no... What had Jason found out about Eddie? Had he tattled to Henry?

"I don't do drugs," Eddie said.   

"No?" Henry crossed the room, approaching the piano like an avenging angel. "Do you deny going up to the roof to smoke marijuana? If I ask you to show me your bag right now, am I not going to find marijuana in it?"

The barre was freezing cold under Chrissy's sweaty palm. Jason must have seen them on the roof that first day somehow, because as far as she knew, Eddie hadn't been back there since, and although he still smoked now and then, he never did it around the studio.

"I don't have to show you shit!" Eddie said. "And you can drop the law and order act. Weed's not illegal."

Henry's lip curled up in contempt, as if he thought the legalization of weed had been a big mistake. "No, but it is illegal to smoke it in public or at a place without a license, which the studios don't have. Which makes your consumption of it here illegal. You see, Mr. Munson, I know the law too. I can have you arrested. This is a mere slap on the wrist."

Guilt pricked at Chrissy's conscience when she remembered how she'd once threatened Eddie with this very thing. She'd never dreamed that it would really happen.

Nancy reminded Henry that they were in the middle of class and needed an accompanist.

"I'll get you another!" Henry snapped, and Nancy backed down with her jaw set in an angry line. Henry turned back to Eddie. "Leave now. If you step one foot back inside my studios, I'll make sure you'll never play piano in this town again."

Eddie shrugged. "That's fine with me," he said, getting to his feet. "I can play other instruments."

Some soloists giggled at this, which earned them a face-melting glare from Henry.

Eddie gathered up his music sheets. He sought Chrissy's eyes, but she barely saw him, as all her attention was focused on Jason. Conniving, cowardly asshole! Jason was leaving for something far bigger and better, but it wasn't enough for him. It wasn't enough that he got her disowned by her parents, he had to go after Eddie as well. What she would do if she could only get her hands on him! Some of her murderous rage must be showing on her face, because Jason's arrogant look faded and he suddenly became very interested in his dancing slippers.

Eddie was already walking out the door.

"Eddie!" Chrissy called, running after him. "Wait!" He turned back as she caught up with him. "Eddie, it wasn't me, I swear. I never told anyone about the roof—" Even though it didn't matter, she felt like she had to explain herself. She couldn't stand it if Eddie thought she was to blame in any way.

"I know you didn't, sweetheart," Eddie said with a quick smile and a low voice. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

And, looking at his smile, Chrissy realized what she had to do, what she should have done on Christmas.

She got on pointe, took Eddie's face in her hands, and kissed him, hard.

It was like the first time she'd kissed him in the studio. For a second, Eddie was motionless, as if the kiss had been a magic spell rooting him to the spot, and it took him a while to gather himself and kiss her back, with one hand on the small of her back and the other in her hair, angling her face so their mouths fitted together better, every movement of his lips and tongue anticipating hers. Yet it was different too. Back then, she had been hesitant, full of nerves. Now she didn't care if the entire company could see them—no, scratch that, she did care, she cared a lot. She wanted them all to see her with Eddie and realize there was no getting between them.

When she finally let go and settled back into first position, Eddie looked over her shoulder and grinned.

"I'll see you at home, OK?" he said, not bothering to lower his voice this time.

"See you at home."

With one last peck on her lips, he walked away, his head held high. Chrissy turned around and faced the company, who was, to a person, staring at her, mouth agape. Smiling triumphantly, she returned to her spot at the barre.

A moment later, the accompanist, whom Henry had pulled out of the children's class, hurried in to pick up where they'd left off, and company class resumed. But something had changed. Chrissy could feel it from the top of her head to the very tips of her toes as she moved to the music. No, not something. Someone. She had changed. All the stares, all the whispers that she used to be scared of, now slid off her like water off a duck's back. Or perhaps a swan's back would be the more appropriate analogy in this case. Funny how this had all started when she made a deal with herself that day on the roof, vowing to become the best Swan Queen that Hawkins Ballet had ever seen. Now she could finally see it through. And she had Eddie to thank for it.    

Chapter 16

[foundtherightwords]

All in the Dance - Chapter 14

Pairing: Hellcheer

Summary: As the rising star of a prestigious dance company, ballet is all that Chrissy Cunningham knows. A bad breakup with her fiancé and fellow dancer Jason Carver leaves her shaken, and with a big production of Swan Lake coming up, Chrissy turns, in desperation, to Eddie Munson, the company's newly hired pianist, for help. Is Eddie going to be Rothbart casting a spell over her, Prince Siegfried trying and failing to break her curse, or someone else altogether, someone who helps Chrissy become more confident and learn to love again?

Chapter warning: semi-public sex

Chapter word count: 4.7k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapter 14

Eddie watched Chrissy over the top of the piano. He thought that by now, when he'd had a very good idea of what her body looked like under the leotard—not just what it looked like, but what it felt like and tasted like as well—it would no longer be torture for him to watch her dance, and he could enjoy company classes and rehearsals again. Ha! What a fool! No, now that he'd tasted the ambrosia, it was even worse. He couldn't watch her without wanting to pull her into his arms and ravish her. His only consolation was that every time the moves brought Chrissy turning in his direction, she would give him a smile that made his stomach flip pleasantly, no matter how many times he'd seen it. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough with Chrissy.

They had agreed to keep their relationship on the down low at work. Since they had been maintaining a safe distance anyway, nothing changed much, except they had to make sure not to arrive at the studios together or leave at the same time. The secrecy chafed at Eddie, who thought it was just like what Jason had forced Chrissy to do with their breakup, but he had to agree when Chrissy explained that she did not need more scrutiny, not so soon after the mess with Jason. They would have plenty of time for themselves once the show was underway, once Robin came back and Eddie left Hawkins Ballet, or once Jason had gone to Paris—whichever happened first. For now, they had to make do with clandestine looks across the studio and surreptitious touches as they passed each other in the hallway. Eddie had to admit, as annoying as the secrecy was, a part of him did enjoy the illicit thrill of it, but he enjoyed it more when the day was over, and they could retreat to the privacy of their homes—mostly Chrissy's place, as Eddie didn't want to risk a repetition of the awkward encounter with Robin.

Yet even at home, privacy was hard to come by. Just the other morning, they were in bed, and Eddie was trying to entice Chrissy into skipping company class, or at least the barre part of it, when they heard the front door of her bungalow open and slam shut.

"Chrissy?" a woman's voice called out. "Are you home?"

"Shit." Chrissy bolted up, clutching the duvet to her chest. "It's my mom!"

Eddie understood her panic. Having seen Chrissy's mom and heard all the horror stories about her, he would not want to meet Laura even dressed in his full battle gear, let alone naked in Chrissy's bed. "Should I hide under the bed?" he asked, only half joking.

"Yeah," Chrissy said distractedly, then hissed, "No! You're not going to fit. Go in there." She pointed to the bathroom before throwing on a dressing gown and going out to meet her mother. "Mom, what are you doing here so early?" she asked.

Though the bathroom was locked, the bedroom door was left ajar, and through it, Eddie could hear Laura's voice, full of disapproval. "Christmas shopping. Why aren't you getting ready for work?"

"I am," said Chrissy. "I was in the bathroom."

Something in Chrissy's face or manner must have made Laura suspicious, because the next thing Eddie heard was Chrissy's frightened voice saying, "Mom, what are you doing? Wait!" and Laura's footsteps stomping into the bedroom. He pressed his back against the bathroom door and tried not to breathe too loudly.

"Whose shirt is that?" Laura said.

Shit. He must have dropped it in his hurry to hide. And it was his Hellfire shirt too!

Out in the bedroom, Chrissy answered in a small voice, "Mine."

"Since when do you wear things like that?" Laura's tone was accusatory. "There's someone here, isn't there? Are you seeing someone else?"

"What do you mean, someone else?" Chrissy sounded annoyed. "I'm single. I can see whoever I please."

"How could you do this to Jason?"

"I'm not doing anything to Jason!" Chrissy's voice rose an octave. "We broke up. Please try to accept that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late for company class."

Eddie didn't hear what Laura said as Chrissy ushered her out the door. By the time he got dressed and deemed it safe enough to venture out of the bathroom, he found Chrissy sitting on the bed with her head in her hands. Hearing him, she looked up and gave him a pained smile.

"I'm sorry about that," she said.

"You don't have to apologize for your mom."

"I was going to invite you to Christmas and introduce you to my parents," she said with a sigh. "But I don't think I can put you through that now."

"I'll meet them whenever you're ready," He was beside her in an instant, rubbing her back in the way he knew would soothe her. "Anyway, it's a bad idea to meet the parents when we haven't even had our first official date yet," he added.

And if I never met them, that would be OK too, Eddie thought, though he didn't say it out loud. He didn't exactly relish the idea of having Laura as a mother-in-law. Then he caught himself. Mother-in-law?! What the hell was he thinking? He and Chrissy were barely dating, and here he was, planning their wedding already? But Chrissy was chuckling at his joke and leaning into him, her warm weight so familiar and welcoming even after just a week, and the idea of planning their wedding didn't seem so absurd after all.

That first date, though... Chrissy kept saying that she didn't need an "official" date, but Eddie insisted on having one, with all the clichés—a candlelit dinner that cost more than a week's worth of his salary, followed by drinks at a bar that put everything on the tab and barely anything in the glasses, and ending with a romantic stroll along the shore of Lake Michigan where they could enjoy runny noses and watery eyes in a blast of the Chicago winter air. When Chrissy, laughing, pointed out that she'd had plenty of dates like that, he reminded her, "Not with me," and she relented. But finding time for a date proved difficult. Between Chrissy's rehearsals, which were going later and later the closer they got to opening night, and Eddie's own rehearsals with Corroded Coffin, their free time rarely lined up. But at last, they had managed to find an evening when they were both free, and Eddie had made a reservation at a fancy restaurant in anticipation.

But it was not meant to be. That afternoon, Chrissy and Jason were struggling through their pas de deux when the rehearsal was interrupted by one of the stage managers, who ran to Creel and whispered urgently to him. Creel's brows came together in annoyance. He asked a few questions before dismissing the stage manager with a shake of his head.

"Chrissy!" he barked, making Chrissy jump. "You're dancing Dewdrop tonight."

Chrissy dropped out of her position, looking confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Katie's sprained her ankle, so Angela's replacing her as Sugarplum, and you're going to replace Angela as Dewdrop." Eddie realized the director was talking about The Nutcracker, which had been running for a couple of weeks now.

"But we're in the middle of rehearsal!" Chrissy protested.

"Do I have to remind you that Nutcracker is our biggest box office draw?" Creel said. "You may rehearse all these other ballets until your toes bleed, but the truth of the matter is that Nutcracker is what fills the seats. I don't care what you're working on, it's all hands on deck."

"Why don't you give it to Heather?" Chrissy said. "She's been hankering for a promotion."

"She's not good enough," said the director dismissively. "You, on the other hand, have been dancing that part since you were seventeen. And," he added, his eyes darkening like the sky before a storm, "if you can't dance it again for a couple of nights without forgetting Swan Lake, then perhaps you shouldn't dance either part. Go see Joyce about your costume after rehearsal." He turned away to signal the end of the conversation and nodded at Eddie to continue playing.

"Yes, sir," Chrissy said meekly, but not before shooting Eddie an apologetic look. There would be no date that night.

During a break, Chrissy came over on the pretext of grabbing her water bottle. The hallway was so crowded these days that they had to abandon their usual haunt of the water fountain, afraid they would draw some attention if they went there at the same time too often. Chrissy had taken to putting her bag near the piano so she could have an excuse to talk to Eddie without raising some eyebrows.

"I'm so sorry about our date," Chrissy said, bending over her bag like she was searching for her water bottle, even though it was right there. "Rain check?"

Eddie made a show of shuffling his music sheets. "Don't worry about it," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "The restaurant's not going anywhere."

"Maybe you can come backstage during the show and we can hang out for a while," Chrissy said, taking a sip of water. "Dewdrop doesn't come on until the second act."

"Won't people see us though?"

"Oh, yeah. I forgot." Chrissy's face fell.

Eddie couldn't stand seeing her so downcast. "How about I order some dinner and pick you up after the show?" he suggested. "We can have a date at home."

Chrissy brightened up. "That'll be great!" she exclaimed. She glanced at Jason, who was watching them with eyes narrowed suspiciously, and lowered her voice, "Meet me outside the stage door at ten thirty, OK?" She grabbed the edge of the piano, making it look like she was using it to stand up, while in truth, it was to brush her little finger against Eddie's hand. The brief caress sent a spark of thrill through him, just as their accidental touch had done in the days when they'd first known each other.

After rehearsal ended, Eddie called the restaurant to cancel the reservation—luckily, it was early enough that they didn't slap him with a fee. He then roamed around the hallways, not sure what to do with himself for the next five hours. He didn't resent Chrissy for not fighting the director's order—after all, Creel was her boss—but a selfish part of him wondered if this was how it was going to be once they started dating openly. Would they keep having to snatch precious moments to be together? Would Chrissy always have to put her work first?

But wouldn't you put your work first as well? a voice asked in the back of his mind. Guiltily, Eddie thought of the demo that he and the guys had recorded and sent off to Metal Blade. Ms. Warner had told him they shouldn't expect to hear anything back until after the New Year, but her tone had been encouraging. And if Metal Blade was interested, then what? A record deal, gigging, touring, all of which would take him away from Chrissy. He hadn't told her about the demo for fear of jinxing it, but now he realized that perhaps he kept it a secret for fear of hurting her as well. Jason had chosen his career over Chrissy. Eddie couldn't do the same to her.

With a sigh, Eddie turned and almost collided with a huge rack of white tutus, looking like giant dandelion clocks. The front wheel of the rack got twisted around and refused to budge. Eddie quickly bent down and turned the wheel the right way.

"Thank you so much." A petite, middle-aged woman poked her head out from behind the tutus. Her dark hair hung from her face in limp, exhausted strands, and sweat beaded her forehead, despite the cold in the hallway.

"You need a hand?" Eddie asked.

"Would you mind?" the woman said, relief washing over her face. "We just got these back from loan, but there's no one to store them. My team's busy setting up for tonight's show, and there are all the costumes for Swan Lake to prepare as well. We're seriously short-staffed."

"I don't mind," Eddie said. "I'm not doing anything anyway."

She extended a hand toward him. "I don't think we've met. I'm Joyce, the costume mistress."

He shook her hand. "Eddie. I'm—"

"Oh yes, you're stepping in for our Robin, aren't you?" Joyce said. "And doing a good job of it too, I've heard."

"I am. Thanks." Eddie wondered what else Joyce had heard. Of course, the costume mistress would be a well of gossip, since she had every dancer in the company through her door. Yet he liked Joyce, and not just because she'd complimented him. For all her frazzled state, there was a maternal warmth in her that he'd been missing all his life. Wayne did his best, but maternal he was not.

Following Joyce, Eddie pushed the rack of tutus through the labyrinthine hallways and into the costume vault. It was a dim, vast cellar deep in the bowels of the theater. Colorful fabrics, ribbons, and sequins covered every surface and spilled out of every corner, emanating a dusty but not unpleasant smell, like the smell of old books. There, Joyce directed him to stack the tutus on the tutu trees.

"Tutu trees?" Eddie repeated blankly.

"Those poles over there," Joyce said, pointing to the back.

It was, Eddie had to admit, a genius system of storage. The tutus were layered on wheeled poles so the stiff tulle skirts retained their shape, and it didn't take up as much space as using hangers. As Joyce went back to her worktable and continued her sewing, Eddie busied himself with stacking the tutus, happy to do something mindless but productive for once. Behind him, he heard the door open.

"Hi, Joyce!" Chrissy's voice rang out through the vault. Eddie's heart sped up, as if he hadn't parted from her mere minutes ago and hadn't had her panting and gasping under him just that morning.

"Hi, sweetie," Joyce replied. "Here for the Dewdrop costume? Henry told me. I put it back there for you. Sorry, my hands are kind of full here."

"That's all right. I can get it myself, thanks!"

Eddie lifted another tutu down from the rack and found himself face to face with Chrissy, who was clutching in her hands a pale blue costume with a short, sparkly skirt. Her eyes danced with delight when she saw him.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"Helping Joyce," he answered, also in a whisper.

With a glance behind her to make sure Joyce couldn't see them, Chrissy jumped at him, throwing her arms around his neck. Heedless of the tutus getting crushed behind his back, she pressed her mouth to his in a hungry kiss.

"I've wanted to do that all day," she said as they paused for breath.

Eddie grinned. "You're incorrigible," he teased, brushing his lips over her jaw before settling on the sensitive skin behind her ear.

"I am," she moaned. "And if you don't stop that, I'm afraid I'm going to have to—"

Eddie never found out what Chrissy intended to do with him, because just then, the door opened again.

"Hello, Henry," Joyce said. "Can I help you?"

Hand in hand, Eddie and Chrissy retreated deeper into the forest of tutu trees, like the Babes in the Wood hiding from evil.

"You've measured Chrissy for her costume, yes?" Creel's voice was brisk.

"She was just here to pick it up, actually. Does it need altering?"

"No. It's her Swan Queen costume that I want to talk to you about. I need you to take it in."

"Take it in?" Joyce sounded confused. "But I've tailored it to her measurements—"

"She needs to lengthen a bit," Creel explained. "If she sees the costume doesn't fit her right, it'll push her to work harder."

Next to him, Eddie could feel Chrissy stiffening. Whatever "lengthen" meant, it wasn't great. Clearly, Joyce felt the same, because there was reluctance in her reply, "I'll see what I can do."

The door slammed as Creel left. A moment later, they heard someone call for Joyce, and she bustled out as well, leaving the two of them alone in the vault.

Eddie turned to Chrissy. "What does he mean by 'lengthen'?" he asked.

A dark look crossed Chrissy's face. "It's ballet code for losing weight."

"He wants you to lose more weight? But you're already so—" Eddie stopped himself when he realized that kind of talk wouldn't be any help. "Why didn't he just tell you that?"

"Because he knows it won't work." She rubbed her hand against a hanger, digging the sharp edge into the flesh of her palm. "My mom used to do the same thing. When I started going through puberty, she would ask me if I wanted her to let out my clothes or suggest buying a special bra to keep my chest flat, so when I wanted a second helping of spaghetti or reached for another waffle, the shame would stop me. That worked. It still does."

Eddie was glad he hadn't had a chance to face Chrissy's mother the other day. He would have a few choice words for her. Now he drew Chrissy into his arms, running his lips over her hair. "For what it's worth, I think you're gorgeous. And always will be."

"Even if I don't look like I do now?" She nuzzled into his chest, sniffling.

"I don't care. As long as you're happy."

She lifted her face, and their lips found each other again, though this kiss was far gentler than the frantic devouring of each other a moment before. When they eased apart, Chrissy kept her face pressed into Eddie's shoulder.

"If only I could make Henry see that," she mumbled. "Or Jason."

"Who cares what they think anyway?"

"If I can't make Prince Siegfried fall in love with me as Odette, if I can't seduce him as Odile, then how am I going to convince the audience? I would fail. The show would fail."

Eddie thought about it for a moment. "Try seducing me," he said.

Chrissy raised her head and gaped at him. "What?"

"Pretend I'm Jason, or, if that's too distasteful for you, pretend I'm a member of the audience, and seduce me."

"Here? Now? What if Joyce comes back?"

"She won't see us back here."

Her lips quirked up in a smile that somehow was both shy and mischievous. "Haven't I seduced you enough this past week?" she said.

"So you can't do it again?" Eddie lifted an eyebrow in challenge.

Chrissy straightened up. "We'll see about that."

She looked around, chewing her bottom lip. Her eyes settled on something Eddie couldn't see, and her smile broadened, definitely more mischievous than shy now. Taking his hands, she walked him backward toward the far end, where the props were kept. Here, she pushed him down on a mattress, one of those used to break Odette's fall as she leapt to her death at the end of Swan Lake. Eddie wouldn't have picked such a grim place for a seduction scene, but Chrissy seemed to know what she was doing.

"Wait here," she whispered, lips grazing his ear, and disappeared into the magical cave of the costume vault.  

A moment later, she returned, having changed out of her dance clothes into a costume that enfolded her in layers of silky, slinky material, in shades of flaming red. The layers moved and rippled as she walked, showing tantalizing glimpses of her bare skin underneath. Eddie tried to appear nonchalant, though his blood was already rushing south.

"Do you know Salome?" Chrissy asked.

"The opera by Strauss?" he replied. "I didn't know there was a ballet."

"One of our choreographers, Jane Hopper, staged a ballet version of it a few years ago," Chrissy said. "I was the understudy on that. We only performed it once. I thought it was really cool, but Henry refused to do it again because he deemed it too risqué. He and Jane had a falling-out over that, and she left to start her own company in Los Angeles."

"I'm sorry, I thought you were going to seduce me, not give me a lesson on the history of Hawkins Ballet," Eddie said teasingly.

Chrissy looked a little flustered. "Brace yourself then, Herod," she said, and began to dance.

As Eddie sat back and watched her, he began to understand why Creel had refused to stage Salome again. There was no music, but Eddie didn't need music to see that this was nothing like Swan Lake. Chrissy's dancing had none of the precision and daintiness of classical ballet. It was uninhibited, exaggerated, feral even. The red folds of her costume flew up like tongues of flame, and she shed them, one layer at a time. Yet even as more and more of her body was revealed, Eddie found himself mesmerized not by the shape of her breasts or her thighs, but by her movements, which were becoming wilder and wilder as the veils came off. Though she never touched him, only whipping her veils across his torso and face, he could almost feel her body on him. While she undulated and writhed and thrashed across the floor, it was as if she was moving on top of him, her eyes glowing with blue sparks, the heat from her skin setting him on fire. His own skin felt too tight, and his breath quickened until he was panting along with her, even though he hadn't moved an inch.

And then it was over. Salome collapsed naked at Herod's feet, her red veils pooling around her like blood.

"Well," Eddie said, once he got his breath back, "I guess that—"

"Shhh." Chrissy sprang up from the floor and crawled toward him, trailing a veil behind her. She put a finger on his lips. "I'm not finished."

"But I thought—"

She replaced her finger with her mouth, cutting him off. Eddie fell back on the mattress, his question forgotten in his throat as Chrissy dropped a trail of kisses down his neck and lifted his sweater and shirt so she could continue kissing his chest and stomach. Who was this siren? Was this the same Chrissy whom he'd had to coax and encourage with a literal song and dance just so she would kiss him first? Now here she was, reducing him to a puddle, her mouth and her hands playing him as relentlessly as he played his guitar. If this was the prelude, then he couldn't wait to find out what the finale would be like.

And then she was on her knees between his legs, unbuckling his jeans and pulling them down. Eddie stared. Oh God—she wasn't going to—was she? Not here, surely, where anyone could walk in and discover them? But her wicked smile was pinning him in place, and he wouldn't stop her for anything in the world. As she pulled a veil over her head and lowered it to his lap, his mind went blank. The feel of her wasn't just in his imagination now. He could feel her everywhere—not just the warmth of her mouth on the most sensitive part of him, or her soft hands on his thighs, or the slight tug at the base of his spine, but also a tingling that sparked and spread all through his body, building, reaching all the way to his brain. He couldn't see what she was doing for the veil covering her head, but it only heightened the sensation.

Just when he thought the spark was going to explode, Chrissy lifted her head. Eddie groaned, protesting the loss of her warm mouth, but she quickly climbed on top of him. A gasp escaped him, only to be swallowed up by a deep, demanding kiss. Her lips tasted different, and the realization that this new taste came from him drove him wild. He dug his fingers into her back, unwilling to let her go, wanting to keep her locked to him for all eternity. God, how beautiful she was, with her hair falling out of its tight bun and tumbling over her shoulders in skeins of gold, her pink lips parted, blue eyes glazed with passion, her strong, graceful body quivering above him, her breathless whispers of his name like a song he'd never heard yet somehow knew deep in his heart. His hands moved from her back to her thighs, holding them tightly around his hips, and they moved together. He was no dancer, but here, with her, he found himself settling into a rhythm that was uniquely their own, choreographing a dance that brought them both to the climax. When it came, white hot and blindingly bright like the fireworks that burst over Lake Michigan every summer, they let it take over, dousing themselves in its liquid fire.

After what felt like a lifetime, or no time at all, Eddie finally came back to Earth. The sweat had cooled on his skin, but Chrissy's body was still draped over him, warm and comforting, driving back the chill of the vault, and he had no intention of stirring from the mattress.   

"This is going on the list, isn't it?" he asked. "Feels like it should."

Chrissy's mouth curved against his neck in a smile. "It is. And it's way better than a date at some boring old restaurant."

"I think we owe Joyce an apology though, desecrating her workplace like this..."

Chrissy's smile turned into a giggle that he felt deep in his chest. "Joyce wouldn't mind," she said, propping herself up on an elbow. "When I was a student, she would let me hang out here all the time." She cast her eyes around the vault. "I loved it. I still do. It's my second favorite place in the theater."

"What's the first?"

"That," she said, leaning over to kiss the tip of his nose, "is for another day." And then, much to his disappointment, she got to her feet, put her dance clothes back on, and gathered up Salome's costume. "I've got to go prepare for tonight's show. See you later, OK?"

"Maybe we can try more of this seduction thing at home," Eddie said with a grin.

A naughty glint came into Chrissy's eyes. "You think so? Is it working then?"

Was it working? His muscles were still wonderfully sore from keeping up with her. "If you dance the Swan Queen like you danced Salome just then," he said, "then I guarantee that everyone in the audience is going to fall in love with you."

Smiling, Chrissy bent down to give him a peck on the lips, which turned into a lingering kiss, which was only broken when they heard Joyce return. Chrissy ran to the door.

"Oh, hi, Chrissy," Joyce said, sounding startled. "Didn't know you were still here."

"You know me, I can never resist a visit to the old costume vault," Chrissy explained, before making a dash for it.

Eddie got his own clothes back on and quietly finished stacking the tutu trees. After an appropriate interval, he, too, made for the door.

"There you are, Eddie," Joyce said, looking up from her sewing. "I thought you were lost in the vault. The work wasn't too hard for you, was it?"

"Not at all," Eddie said. "I enjoyed it."

"Thank you so much. Don't be a stranger now, OK? Come back any time you want."

Did he detect a twinkle in Joyce's eyes? Did she guess what he and Chrissy had been up to? Had she stayed away on purpose? Eddie decided to play it safe and gave Joyce a grin and a silent wave goodbye.

Later, as he was picking up their dinner, Eddie realized he had more or less told Chrissy that he had fallen in love with her. Had she noticed? Should he bring it up? No, it was probably too soon. They had only been together for a week, and Chrissy didn't need more distractions. There would be plenty of time for that later.

Chapter 15

I wrote this chapter mostly because I wanted to mention a tutu tree in the story (isn't that the cutest thing ever?)

Here's a version of Salome's Dance of the Seven Veils from Richard Strauss's opera. I'm surprised there is no "official" ballet of Salome, though some companies do have their own versions of it (like this one by San Francisco Ballet). And yes, Salome is supposed to appear nude by the end of the dance.

[foundtherightwords]

✨⛔👀

(babes I'M on a sideblog too! ily💋 @writrsblock)

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it.

Oh man, why would you put me on the spot like this?! I'm terrible at receiving compliments, and having to give myself one?

But if you insist: I'm really good at finishing fics. That's what I'm proudest of in my writing - I've never given up on a fic.

⛔Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

Actually, I never start writing anything unless I know for sure I can finish it (see above). That said, there is this one idea for Enjolras that I keep trying to develop but it goes nowhere. I'm trying to write at least one fic for each of JQ characters if I can, and out of his "major" roles (not counting bit parts like Koner in GoT and PC Dixon in "Small Axe"), Enjolras is the only one I'm blanking on (Eric and Sam I do have ideas for, which I will get to eventually.)

👀Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

I'm working on my Fantastic Four historical/pirate AU, and after that, there will be another AU for Hellcheer, which should be pretty fun if I say so myself, but it's still in the very early stages of development so I'm not saying anything more 🤫

That was fun! Thank you so much for sending these. More emoji asks here if anybody feels like chatting!

[nottheweirdest]

Fanfic Writer Emoji Ask

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

🤡 What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

✍ Do you have a beta reader?

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

💋 First kiss fics. Love em or hate em?

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

🛠What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

🙋‍♀️ Do any irl people know you write fanfic?

🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

🍷 Do you drink and write?

🍆 Do you write the spicy stuffs? If so, what's your most popular nsfw fic?

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

💖 What made you start writing?

💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

💲 Would you ever open commissions?

🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories?

🏆 What's your most popular fic?

🎃 Do you write fics for certain holidays? Which is your favorite holiday inspired fic?

🎯 Have any of your readers accurately guessed major plot points? Care to share which?

🎨 How do you feel about fan art of your stories?

📈 How many fics do you have?

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

💞 Who's your comfort character?

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

😬 Which of your fics would you be most horrified for friends, family, or coworkers to stumble upon?

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

📚 Would you ever want to turn writing into a career?

⌛ How long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter?

🤯 What's a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

💥 How do you feel about criticism?

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

🥰 How do you feel about reader interaction? Are you open to receiving questions about your fics?

[mauricerudy]

[kwistowee]

[kwistowee]

JOSEPH QUINN as SAM | WARFARE (2025)

[foundtherightwords]

Author Appreciation Post

I was tagged by @towanda-is-writing to post 5 of my favorite fics out of the 35 that I've written!

Anyway, here goes...

The Minstrel, the Maiden, and the Knights of Hellfire (Hellcheer)

England, 1139: the civil war between King Stephen and Empress Maud looms large, threatening to tear the country in half. For Ed and his band of traveling minstrels, however, the more pressing matter is how to survive the upcoming winter, now that they were tossed out by their latest patron. When they stumble upon a naïve pageboy looking for warriors to escort the Lady Christiana to safe haven in Wales, Ed comes up with a daring plan - pose as knights, take the job, and collect the reward. After all, how hard can it be? What Ed doesn't count on is endless battles, treacherous roads, marauding bandits, Lady Christiana's pompous fiancé, and his own growing attraction to the fair maiden herself.

My medieval AU for Hellcheer, my longest fic to date (92k!), and one of my favorites to research (I love everything medieval, so I've read a bunch of books on it before I even started the fic.)

Fallen Empires (Emperor Geta x OFC)

Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

God, this one was stressful to write. I started it before the movie came out, back when it was reported that Joe was playing Caracalla and Barry Keoghan was playing Geta. Then Barry had to drop out, and the roles switched, so I had to come up with a whole alternate history to explain why Geta is still alive here. But all in all, I'm super happy with how the fic turned out!

As the Sun Will Rise (Grunauer x OFC)

After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.

Considering that Grunauer has about 2 minutes of screentime and 2 lines of dialogue in the movie, I'm stoked that I was able to get a 82k fic out of him! Plus the post WWII setting is fun to write.

The Hollow Heart (Hellcheer)

To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

My Gothic/Gilded Age AU for Hellcheer. I'm very pleased with the plot of this one, which is more complex than what I usually write, and I don't often write historical AUs set in the US either, so that was fun to research. Another thing I'm proud of: the fic titles and the chapter titles are all quotes from the poem "Christabel" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. The poem doesn't have anything to do with the fic, but it's a fun Easter egg I put in there for myself :))

Through the World's Far Ends (Leonard Bast x Helen Schlegel)

Several years after his ill-fated affair with Helen, Leonard enlists to fight in World War I, hoping it would put an end to his miserable life. However, when he runs into Helen again in the trenches of Passchendaele, Leonard discovers that life may still be worth living after all.

I prefer to write long/multi-chapter fics, but sometimes a solid one-shot is all you need, and this one, which gives poor Leonard (my favorite JQ character) the happy/hopeful ending he deserves, is just that.

Special mention (told you I can't choose): Love in the Mist (Hellcheer)

Christine Conyngham, a young debutante whose marital prospects are less than ideal, believes her happiness is secure when she falls in love with Joshua Craven, the handsome future Duke of Hauxwell. However, after her lack of a fortune prevents her and Joshua from marrying, Christine impulsively accepts the proposal of Edward Munson, the eccentric Baron Hurstfield, who is in need of a wife to obtain an inheritance. But with her heart still pining after Joshua, can Christine learn to love her husband and build a life with him?

My first ever Hellcheer fic and my first historical AU (Regency). Looking back, there are several things I would do differently (that's why I don't look back. As Edna Mode says, "It distracts from the now"), but it still has a special place in my heart.

Tagging @waterfallsilverberrywrites, @wheels-of-despair, @jo-harrington, @writrsblock, and anyone else who wants to play!