#loys

[wtfgaylittlezooid]

How about Broncrow meeting a regular, normal crow? — 💎

Its been too long since ive drawn this fucker

[shunshin-no-naruko]

Loved the new chapter of LOYS the way everyone at the police station treats Naru is so adorable

Hiiii thank youuuu 🥹🩷🩷🩷 I'm happy you enjoyed the chapter! The moment with the police was so fun to write to me, I'm glad I got to share it hahaha!!

[1dfangirls35]

the language of your soul

An enemies to lovers ballet AU in five acts.

Masterlist // Let’s Talk About the Chapter

Banner: @booksncoffee​

Warnings: This story (and chapter) will contain language, mentions of emotional abuse from a parent and eating disorders. Please read at your own discretion.

act v

Author’s Note: After a very extended intermission (sorry guys), I have finally had an opportunity to finish the last chapter of loys. If you stuck around until this point, I really appreciate it and I hope that this conclusion meets your expectations! Enjoy :)

4 Weeks to Opening Night

As Giselle sits on the hard plastic chair in the support group circle, A part of her wishes Harry was next to her. It's a irrational thought, she knows. Harry isn't her boyfriend, or even her friend, but some part of her imagines what it might be like to have those green eyes looking at her in reassurance as she faces her demons.

Giselle tries to push his face out of her mind. It has been a week since she last saw him, looking at her from next to her hospital bed. Since her discharge she's been focused on herself, going to the intensive outpatient therapy for five days straight just as she was instructed. Putting in the work to combat her disorder head on. There'd been something freeing about leaving the dance world, even if only temporarily.

Giselle knows she should relish this while she can, because on Monday she'll find herself back in that studio, rehearsing. That's the real test. Can she overcome all the overwhelming pressure and still perform? Despite all that is going on in her life personally, is she strong enough to make it to opening night- now only three and a half weeks away?

The company has been lenient- although Giselle is not sure to what extent her mother's influence has played in their accommodations. They mandated Giselle follow her doctor's orders of one week of intensive outpatient therapy followed by regular support group attendance. Her return to rehearsal would be gradual. She would only do as much rehearsal as her body could handle. Whether or not Giselle would dance in Swan Lake was still up for debate, although her mother had reminded her incessantly that Gregory had assured her that as long as Giselle did the work- the role would still be hers. That didn't stop the company, however, from treating Teagan as the lead in Giselle's absence. At least that is what Caleb had relayed to her. But Giselle would be damned if she let Teagan dance the role after all she'd been through.

When the session is over, Giselle reaches into her purse to retrieve her phone. Two new text messages gleam from her screen. Her heart rate picks up, and she thinks that maybe this time it will be Harry checking in. But it's just Caleb- asking her to call him when she's done.

Caleb picks up on the first ring.

"Gi! How are you doing?" His voice is cheerful, maybe too cheerful for nine pm, but the sound of her best friend's voice still makes her smile.

"Better," Giselle says, because she isn't confident she could define herself as all good quite yet. "Just finished my last day of intensive outpatient."

"I'm proud of you Gi," Caleb pauses. "But god am I happy you are going to be back here on Monday. It's not the same without you."

"It's been weird not being there. But like not necessarily in a bad way?"

"Giselle Mason, are you for once in your life admitting that there are more places in the world than the dance studio?" Caleb feigns shock, which makes Giselle laugh out loud.

"Maybe." She taps her foot as she waits for the light at the crosswalk to turn. "How's Teagan?"

"Ummm..."

"Caleb, just tell me." The light changes, Giselle power walks across the street, bracing herself for Caleb's answer.

"I mean she's been doing surprisingly well. Harry and her seem to pair together well. Not as well as you but you know... not the chaos that I was hoping would ensue."

Giselle groans.

"Giselle, she's not going to take your role. You earned that."

Giselle stays quiet. Because she knows how easy it would be to for Teagan to swoop in and take her role.

"Speaking of the Brit, have you heard from him?"

"Harry?" Giselle asks, even though there is no other Brit Caleb could be talking about. "No, I haven't talked to him since the hospital. But I mean why would I? He's just my partner."

"Right," Caleb replies, but he sounds unconvinced.

Giselle stops walking. In front of her is the salsa studio that Harry took her to. She pauses, her mind flashing back to that first night when she and Harry really connected.

"Gi, are you still there?"

"Ya, ya. Sorry, just crossing the street."

"It's gonna be fine Gi. Don't stress Okay?"

"Okay," Giselle responds softly, but her mind is already racing with the stress of her return to the studio in less than 72 hours.

******************* Giselle spots him before he spots her, standing in the corner of the studio with his legs beating in and out in first position as he faces the wall.

The sight of him makes Giselle stop and pause, her heartbeat accelerating ever so slightly. She'd been thinking about this moment for awhile. Her mind flipping through the scenarios of how he might react after what happened- or almost happened- in the hospital.

As if he senses her staring, he looks over his shoulder, noticing Giselle standing there. His eyes flashing with an emotion she can't quite place.

"Giselle, welcome back." His tone is cool and even, like his greeting is a formality rather than a welcome to a friend. He turns his attention back to the wall before Giselle even has a chance to acknowledge he spoke.

Giselle doesn't know what she was expecting- for Harry to swoop her up in his arms? For him to tell her he'd missed her? Of course he wouldn't do any of that. But Giselle can't help but feel disappointed in his greeting.

She tries to push Harry out of her mind, finding her normal spot at the barre and sitting on the floor to put on her pointe shoes. The boxy end of the shoes feeling foreign against her toes, a reminder of just how quickly time had passed since she'd been gone from the studio. She would need to put all her energy back into the performance if she wanted any chance at dancing in Swan Lake. And if she was going to do that, she was going to have to forget all about Harry Styles.

******

Harry hadn't known how he would feel about Giselle returning until he'd seen her this morning, standing in front of him in her navy blue leotard and staring at him with those big blue-gray eyes.

If he was being honest, he'd done everything he could to keep her out of his mind since their conversation in the hospital. He didn't like the way thinking about her felt. He didn't like the way she seemed to make him pour out his secrets to her.

But when he had seen her, all those thoughts came flooding back. He had wanted to wrap his arms around her and ask how she was feeling. He had wanted to tell her that rehearsals hadn't been the same without her and that Teagan hadn't quite nailed down the final scene like Giselle had. But he couldn't say any of those things, because those things were dangerous. And with opening night less than four weeks away, there is no time for danger.

Harry's warming up his jumps when Giselle enters the studio. He avoids eye contact with her, but watches from the corner of his eye as she relevés softly at the bar. Neither one of them speaks.

He is grateful when Gregory enters to begin rehearsal, and even more grateful that their one-on-one practices are no longer necessary.

There's a tension between them as they dance, Harry's not sure Gregory notices but he knows Giselle does. Her body reacting differently to his touch then before- cautious, like she's not quite committing fully to the partnership.

Harry's not surprised when Gregory calls for the end of rehearsal much sooner than normal. He knows that Giselle is supposed to be easing into things, but he can see the concern cross her face when Gregory tells them to stop. This girl wouldn't stop rehearsing for anything.

Harry grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder, ready to head to his second rehearsal with Teagan when Giselle finally speaks- clearly tired of his silence.

"Why do you do this?" Giselle demanded, her hands placed firmly on her bony hips. Her face still looks thin, but the fire that had been missing from her body the last time Harry had seen her had been reignited.

"Do what?" Harry asks, even though he can read her body language like a book.

"This hot and cold. One day your my friend, the next day I'm the devil."

Harry tried to hide his smile. Because she's right. She is the devil to him.

Harry simply lets out a chuckle. "You're overthinking again," he taps Giselle on the head with one finger before walking towards the exit. He doesn't have to turn back to know that the scowl that will be on her face.

Harry wants to feel bad- he DOES feel bad, but he can't let Giselle know that. He can't let her see the crack she's made in his armor. The crack that made him think about her, worry about her, nearly every second since he last saw her. He doesn't need the distraction. She doesn't need the distraction. And Harry will do what he always does when he's scared of getting too attached- he'll avoid.

*****************

Three days later, Giselle is wandering through the building in search of an empty studio. She's still under strict limitations for her scheduled rehearsals, but that hasn't prevented her from sneaking in extra time to practice alone.

Harry has still been, for all intents and purposes, pretending that she doesn't exist. Giselle supposes she should be thankful, it makes it easy for her to focus on her dancing. But somehow, it seems to have the opposite effect, it takes everything in her power to focus on the dancing instead of the partner sharing the stage with her.

Giselle doesn't know what's gotten into her. She's never been this distracted before a performance before, and for what reason? A silly boy with emerald eyes that made her feel seen for all of five minutes? It was ridiculous.

As Giselle walks down the main hallway, she hears Harry's bellowing voice. His accent ringing in her ears like a sweet melody. But then she hears a different sound. A giggling, and it's not coming from Harry.

She rounds the corner, the studio door at the end of the hallway is wide open. Through the glass she spots Harry, and then a dark brown head of hair. Teagan. Every part of her brain is telling her to turn around and yet she lingers watching them.

Teagan's arm is draped around Harry's neck, her mouth wide open in obnoxious laughter. Harry's smiling too, the cheeky grin he does when he's trying to really attract attention. Their body language tells Giselle everything she needs to know about the two of them, she's seen the look in company class a few times since Harry arrived at the Royal. Harry wants to sleep with her.

Giselle turns away with a huff. How had she been so stupid? Of course Harry hadn't changed. Of course, there was nothing special between him and her. Of course, he would find Teagan beautiful. Of course, he was the same arrogant player that had crashed into her life ten weeks ago.

And for the first time she started to rehearse for this role, Giselle thinks she might truly understand how Odette feels when she finds her prince dancing the night away with Odile.

*************** 2 Weeks to Opening Night

Harry can tell something is up with Giselle.

He's been trying his best not to pay much attention to her. To focus on perfecting the choreography for the show and making sure that, regardless of who ends up being his partner, he can put on the performance of his life. But it's hard to ignore the body language she gives him during rehearsal. The avoidance of eye contact, the short replies, the glares he catches out of the corner of his eye when she thinks he's not looking. He knows that this is exactly what he wanted, this space between them, but somehow it doesn't make him feel any better. And the distance between them emotionally is beginning to impact their performance.

There's only a few more in studio rehearsals before they go to the theatre, and while Gregory hasn't said when he is going to announce whether or not Giselle or Teagan will be dancing the role of Odette, Harry suspects the announcement will come sooner or later.

Today, the three of them are rehearsing in front of the entire board. Harry's agent has reminded him to be on his best behavior.  Harry knows he will be, he's more concerned on whether or not he and Giselle will be able to put aside their feud and dance like he knows their capable of.

Teagan is in the studio when Harry arrives. She flashes him a flirtatious smile as he enters. Harry smiles back. He knows deep down, that Teagan is just his distraction from Giselle. But distraction or not, he enjoys the attention.

"Are you ready for today?" Harry asks, sliding off his sweatpants and making his way to the center of the floor.

"Of course, we are going to nail it," Teagan giggles, she comes up next to Harry and throws her arms around his neck. "Maybe we should celebrate tonight? If it goes well?" her mouth curves into a suggestive smirk.

Harry just smiles. He is never opposed to a little celebration. He watches as Teagan eyes his lips, then before he realizes what's happening, she leans in and brushes her lips against his. It's not unpleasant, but it doesn't ignite his body like it did with Giselle.

"For good luck," Teagan smiles as she pulls away.

Harry looks over his shoulder and notices that Giselle is standing in the doorway. He hopes she hasn't seen what just happened, but he's almost certain she did because the glare she's giving Teagan right now is cold enough to freeze a desert.

Before there's any chance for dramatics, Gregory enters the room with Giselle's mother and the rest of the board in toe, dressed to the nines in their business attire. Gregory announces them as if his dancers don't have any idea who they are and then they begin rehearsal.

Harry dances with Teagan first. It doesn't go poorly, but Harry knows that Teagan is nowhere near the technical perfectionist that Giselle is and it shows. The chemistry between the two of them today feels even more forced than usual.

After a brief break for Harry to rest and some of the other cast to run through pieces, Harry and Giselle begin their piece. The tension between them becomes obvious after the very first set of turns and Harry knows that, whether intentional or not, Giselle is holding back. It's not until Giselle nearly falls from a promenade that has come so easily for them time and time before, that Harry realizes just how much damage his little stunt with Teagan earlier has done.

When they finish, Giselle won't even look him in the eyes. He can guess what thoughts are running through her head now, and none of them are good.

He glances over at Giselle's mother, her black blazer-clad arms crossed over her chest, a look of distaste on her lips. He wishes in that moment he could shield Giselle for what he is sure is coming later, like he tried to in that hospital room weeks ago.

"Thank you for your work today," Gregory announces with a clap. "We hope to make our final casting decision in the next few days."

Harry lingers as the cast and board members begin to exit the studio and as he takes off his shoes and slips back into his sweatpants he can't help but watch as Natalia Korsakova approaches her daughter in the corner of the room.

"What was that Giselle?" she only half-whispers. "I have never seen you dance like that in your life! I know the hospitalization set you back, but honestly Giselle were you not even rehearsing?” Natalia taps her foot against the Marley floor in an irregular rhythm, as if she’s try to dispel some of her own anger into it. “Do you know how difficult it was to even get Gregory to consider you continuing in the role after what happened?"

Harry watches as Giselle's shoulders crouch forward in defeat, her eyes cast downward.

"When will you learn to earn the opportunities you are given for yourself? Honestly Giselle, sometimes I think you just expect me to fix everything for you!"

"Mom," Giselle begs, her  voice cracking.

"No excuses Giselle. Now let me go talk to Gregory, and fix this mess once again," Natalia clicks away before Giselle even gets a word in.

Harry stands. Although every part of his body wants to go over and comfort Giselle, he knows he can't do that. Instead, he grabs his bag and throws it over his shoulder, willing himself not to look back as he exits the studio.

************************

Giselle doesn't go to rehearsal the next day. She can't face it. The failure from yesterday's rehearsal. Her mother's disapproval once again. The way her brain has become so obsessed with a boy she's only kissed once that she couldn't even execute a routine she's spent months learning.

Giselle thinks that maybe, she isn't meant to dance anymore. Maybe it’s all too much. She'll never be a world-renowned ballerina like her mother or Harry.  She'll never win her mother's approval or pride. And so maybe it's better to let Teagan and her new beau perform next week instead of embarrassing herself and her mother.

Giselle doesn't know how much time passes as she lays on her couch in her tattered gray sweatpants staring at the ceiling. It feels like minutes and hours all at the same time. She tries briefly, to run through affirmations like she learned about in therapy, but the words sound stupid in her head, and so she stops all together.

There's a knock at Giselle's door. Giselle doesn't register it at first, her mind somewhere else. Then she hears it again, louder this time and with more urgency. She tries to ignore it, closing her eyes and willing whoever is out there- her mother probably- to go away. But they don't stop. They keep on knocking.

Giselle groans, then begrudgingly stands from her spot on the couch, moving towards the door and opening it with a click.

She doesn't know who she was expecting to be there. Caleb maybe? Her mother? Certainly not Harry, who is standing atop her black doormat in a dark gray t-shirt and joggers.

Seeing him in front of her brings back all the emotions of the past few days. The anger of finding him with Teagan. The humiliation of thinking that there could ever be something more between the two of them.

"What are you..." she begins, trying to shut the door in his face.

Harry's reflexes are quicker as he slides his foot into the door frame, blocking it from shutting.

"Can we talk? Please."

Giselle can't see his face now, but she can hear the begging in his voice. It's not a tone she's used to hearing leave his mouth.

"Why? So you can play me again?" Giselle snaps. "I saw you and Teagan, Harry."

"I know," Harry says softly.

There's silence for a moment, and Giselle can hear her own heartbeat inside her ear. Thump. Thump.

"Can I come in?"

Giselle sighs. She doesn't want to let him, to face him and fall into some stupid trance again. But she also wants to know why he came all this way. So she opens the door slowly and keeps her eyes fixed on the floor as Harry steps into her apartment and makes his way onto a chair in the corner of her living room.

"You weren't at rehearsal today," Harry states, as if Giselle wasn't aware of her own absence. "I have a feeling I'm to blame for that."

"Partly," Giselle says softly, taking a seat on the couch across from Harry and crossing her legs beneath her.

"It made me worried about you. I know you've been going through a lot."

Giselle can't help but let out a snort at this comment. "Going through a lot? Really Harry? I'm questioning my entire career right now, my mother basically told me I will never accomplish anything without her help, and my asshole of a partner, who for about five minutes made me think he was someone who finally understood me, ended up just being an asshole. So yes, Harry, I've got a lot going on right now!" The frustration that leaves Giselle's body has a somewhat comforting affect on her, as if the pent-up emotions from today have finally been released.

"You're right, I'm an asshole," Harry begins, twisting the silver ring that adorns his right index finger. "I guess this is the part where I say I had a sad excuse of a childhood and never learned to trust anybody. I walled myself off and told myself that if I didn't get close to someone I couldn't get hurt. They couldn't hurt me if I didn't care. And with you Giselle, well I started caring. So I did what I always do— I go and fuck it up."

Giselle looks at him, silent.

"What you saw with Teagan, that's my defense mechanism. It's nothing serious, because I can't ever do serious. I'm not cut out for that kind of real emotional relationship. Trust me Giselle, you don't want me. You don't want any part of this. I'm just an arrogant son of a bitch with a broken soul and commitment issues. I just needed you to see that. I'm no good for you, Giselle. I'm no good for anyone."

Giselle stays quiet. She doesn't recognize the man in front of her. Sure, she's seen glimpses of him: salsa dancing, in her hospital room. But never like this: raw and vulnerable and...honest?

It didn't justify his actions, not even close. And it didn't solve the fact that there was almost certainly no way that Gregory would choose her over Teagan after the rehearsal today. But deep in her soul, Giselle knows Harry is telling the truth.

"I'm sorry Giselle. Truly, I am. You should come back to rehearsals, if you want. Don't let my mistakes keep you from the role you've worked so hard for."

"I think I've done my part in ruining any chance of that role for myself," Giselle groans. "And honestly, I'm not even sure I want to do it anymore."

"Well for what it's worth," Harry says, standing from the couch. "I don't think there's anyone that would make a better Odette than you. And when we are on, Giselle, it's magic up on that stage. But don't do this for me. Don't do this for your mother. Don't do this for the company. This performance is for you. It is all for you."

He makes his way towards the door, opening it with a creak.

"Harry?" she says as he takes a step into the hallway. He turns, his eyes meeting hers. "Even broken souls are still beautiful."

One Week Until Opening Night

Giselle has one night to make a life changing decision.

Well, technically she's known she needed to make this decision for the past two days- ever since Gregory had called her and told her that if she showed up to dress rehearsal on Friday night the role of Odette was hers.

Her mother has been silent on the whole matter, and for this Giselle is thankful. Giselle is certain her mother just assumes that her daughter will want the role, and maybe she's right. Or maybe Giselle is ready to hang up her pointe shoes and start a new life. Two choices. Two life-defining choices.

Giselle talked to Caleb on the phone for hours yesterday about this. Her best friend was nothing but supportive of course, but also unable to shed any true clarity on the situation.

Giselle decides that maybe what she needs is a nice long stroll down the streets of New York. Maybe the fresh air will clear her mind.

Her walk takes her past the company, where she's spent more hours than she can count. Her home since before she could even walk. Some of her proudest moments have happened in that building. Standing on pointe for the first time, dancing her first solo, nailing her first pirouette. But that building has also been home to some of the lowest points in her life- times where she wished she could be anywhere but there.

As she continues through the neighborhood, she finds herself near a familiar building. There's loud, upbeat music coming from inside, and for reasons unknown to Giselle, she finds herself opening the door and climbing the stairs.

Salsa class is in full swing, and just like the time she came here with Harry, she is quickly motioned to join the group. Giselle sets down her bag and makes her way to the center of the floor, where she is whisked into a dance with a elderly man whose eyes crinkle as he smiles. He doesn’t say anything to her, just grabs her hand and places the other on her back and begins to dance.

Instantly, the music draws her in and her body finds its rhythm. And as Giselle twirls around the room with a stranger, adrenaline courses through her veins. The music gives her life and she thinks to herself, how awful a world would be if she wasn't able to dance, for this feeling is something you can’t experience any other way.

In that moment, Harry's words echo through her mind. This is for you. She dances because it makes her feel on top of the world. She dances because their is no feeling quite like letting music totally consume your body and dictate its movements. She dances because it makes her feel alive.

And then her decision is made.

***************

"You're here," Harry exclaims when he sees her, the next morning.

"I am," Giselle says. "I went to salsa class last night.”

Harry raises an eyebrow in a look that says ‘You did?’

“I understand now. I want to dance for me. I want to dance for the little girl that watched Swan Lake for the first time and imagined myself as the girl in the white tutu. And maybe I won’t make my mother proud or the company proud. But dancing Odette has been my dream for as long as I can remember, and I’m not going to let the pressure of someone else keep me from living my dream.”

"You're going to make that little girl proud," Harry says.

Giselle's heart warms at his comment, but she tries not to take it to heart. This could be the beginning of another seemingly endless cycle of hot and cold between the two of them, and they couldn't afford any cold during the performance.

She knows she has to say the unsaid, before it brings them back to square one all over again.

"Harry, you should know that it scares me too, this thing between us. No one has ever understood me quite like you do. Sometimes I feel like your looking right into my soul."

Harry doesn't say anything for a moment, but he looks at Giselle and the look says more than words can. He offers her his hand. "Let's go show Gregory the best Odette he's ever seen."

Opening Night

Giselle has never felt adrenaline quite like this. Under the bright lights, she feels as if she’s completely transformed into Odette. As the last scene reaches its climax, Giselle dances up the ramp to the platform where her character will leap to her death. As she lands on the soft blue mat backstage, she exhales. She’s done it. She’s given the performance of her life.

Harry leaps off the platform next, landing on the blue mat and scurrying to where she stands backstage.

He flashes her a cheeky grin, dimples forming on his cheeks.

"We did it," she exclaims, feeling a mixture of both relief and exhalation.

"No, Giselle, you did it. That performance was all you."

Their eyes meet for a moment as Harry takes a step forward, bringing his hand to cup Giselle's chin as he tilts her head up towards his. Then, ever so slowly he brings his lips down to meet hers.

He doesn't have to say a word, neither does Giselle, because even after he pulls away and they make their way to the downstage wing for their reverence hand in hand, they know what this means. Their souls have been speaking to each other all night, through every movement, in a language only the two of them can fully understand.

As Giselle takes her final bow, she looks towards the front row of the audience, spotting her mother in the audience, her hands beating in a soft clap. Her lips are still formed in a straight line, but Giselle's eyes meet hers and her mother gave her a small nod. And Giselle knows, even though she’ll never say it, that for the first time in her life she’s done something right in her mother’s eyes.

Taglist:

@tpwkhoney​ ,  @swtxel , @stylessugarhigh​ ,  @morethanamelodyy​ , @masumiyetimziyanoldu​ , @hhh33-3l

[kneipe]

ljubljana 2019

[sadloys]

“Yeah, that’s great and all Preston but get your fucking hands off me”

[aelixandra]

Dreaming On Your Feet: Chapter 11

Read on Ao3!

Summary: Aelin Galathynius is one of the newest company members of the Rifthold Ballet Theatre, and she is eager to make all of her dreams a reality. She has the talent, the ambition, the walls no one can get past, and the thick skin that no one can get under. Except for new principal dancer Rowan Whitethorn. He’s arrogant, talented, and infuriating - and they just might have more in common than they think.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Chapter 11: Giselle - Act I

Makeup done, costume and shoes on, hair sprayed just enough . . .

Aelin sat in her dressing room, pushing the last bobby pins into her hair and securing the small blue-flowered hairpiece to the sides of her bun. With them in place, she was finished.

She was ready.

She pulled her favorite pair of warmup boots over her pointe-shoed feet just as the stage manager’s voice came over the backstage PA system. “Fifteen minutes to places,” Amren said, “fifteen to places.”

Fifteen minutes until the overture.

Fifteen minutes until the Rifthold Opera House stage became hers.

Fifteen minutes until her life would surely change.

But how it would change . . . that was completely up to her.

Aelin stood from her chair and met her own gaze in the mirror.

She was strong.

She belonged here.

This night would be hers – and this performance would be for Sam.

She had been so selfish with his memory, she realized, chaining him to this world and to her own suffering. Sam deserved to be free.

So tonight, she would dance the way that Sam always believed she could.

And maybe, just maybe, she would be able to let him go.

Aelin picked up her pair of water bottles, one for each side of backstage, and gave her reflection a small smile.

“My name is Aelin Galathynius. And I will not be afraid.”

----------

Rowan knew he was nervous.

He had gotten to the theatre much earlier than usual, hoping it would help, but all it did was make the minutes until curtain tick by even slower.

He sat alone in his dressing room, putting the final touches on his stage makeup. This was a comfortable routine for him; the focus he had when doing his makeup made it impossible to think about anything else.

But now, his makeup was done, and Amren’s voice came over the speaker announcing that it was fifteen minutes to places.

And he was about to make his Rifthold debut with the role that had haunted him since Doranelle. Since that fateful subway accident.

Rowan closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths.

But for once, it wasn’t the newspaper headline that flashed behind his eyelids.

He saw a flash of turquoise, felt a soft touch on his forearm, heard a whisper of a warm laugh.

Rowan opened his eyes to find his reflection somehow seemed . . . stronger.

Because of Aelin.

What was it she had said?

Rowan’s lips twitched into a smile as he remembered.

“My name is Rowan Whitethorn,” he told his reflection. “And I will not be afraid.”

* * *

Rowan arrived on the stage to find Aelin already there. The curtain was closed, and the soft din of the arriving audience could be heard just beyond the plush red velvet. The onstage lighting was dim, but it was enough for him to practice a few things from Act I.

He watched Aelin execute a perfect series of double turns from her variation before he launched into a subdued version of one of his jumping sequences.

His heart rate had increased ever so slightly when he heard his name – and his stupid heart stuttered. Or maybe it was just the exertion. Definitely the exertion.

“Rowan!” He turned towards the source of the loud whisper to see Aelin motioning towards him.

“What is it?” he asked.

She gestured for him to turn around. “Here. A couple of your hooks came undone,” she explained, keeping her voice low. Rowan obliged and turned his back to her. There was a small tug as she reclasped the stray hooks and eyes, and he felt the slightest brush of her fingertips on the skin of his back.

“Done,” she whispered, and Rowan turned around to face her again. Her eyes scanned the front of his costume for anything amiss – while Rowan studied her for any signs of anxiousness. He didn’t see any until his gaze fell on the side of her neck, where he saw her pulse beating a tiny bit erratically.

So when Aelin lifted a hand to his chest to brush something away, Rowan set his own hand over hers, gently pressing her palm flat over his heart. Even in the dim light of the stage, he watched her turquoise eyes flare as she felt the nervous pulsing of his own blood.

He hoped she sensed what he didn’t want to say out loud.

You are not alone.

As if she read his thoughts, Aelin’s painted lips spread into a warm smile, a smile that unknotted any tension he was still holding on to.

“Places!” Amren hissed from the wings. “All dancers to places!”

Aelin’s turquoise eyes never left his. “Together, Buzzard.”

Rowan returned her smile. “Together, Fireheart.”

He pulled away from her slowly, and they made their way to the wings on opposite sides of the stage. Rowan waited as the overture began.

And as the stage lights came up in warm, sunny tones of gold, Rowan realized that he was ready.

He could dance this role.

And as the entrance music for Albrecht/Loys began, Rowan ran out onto the stage with a feeling that he hadn’t felt in two years.

Hope.

----------

Aelin laid limp on the floor with her eyes closed, her upper body being cradled by Viviane, the older woman playing the role of Berthe, Giselle’s mother.

The curtain closed, and Aelin opened her eyes.

Act I was over.

“Twenty minutes to places!” Amren called from the wings, sending the entire company onstage scurrying back to the dressing rooms to prepare for Act II.

She couldn’t remember anything.

She remembered stepping into the lights of the stage for the first time.

She vaguely remembered landing every jump and turn, and she barely remembered the applause after her variation.

But she remembered Rowan.

She remembered his eyes when he lifted her chin.

She remembered the playfulness in his expressions, a playfulness that was so unlike him that it had made her want to laugh.

She remembered seeing his face during her mad scene, so stricken with guilt and grief – but there was something else in his gaze as well. Something like . . . was it awe?

But the last thing she remembered . . .

She remembered, for the first time in two long years, feeling free.

Suddenly Viviane was offering Aelin a hand getting up. “That was brilliant, my dear,” she whispered in Aelin’s ear with a smile. Aelin nodded her thanks as she turned around to go back to her dressing room.

Rowan stood in the wings, his pine-green eyes burning even as the rest of his face remained inscrutable.

She could only imagine what she looked like. The end of Act I was the famous “mad scene,” in which Giselle goes mad and dies of a broken heart upon learning that her beloved Loys is Prince Albrecht – and is engaged to another woman. Aelin’s hair was down, pulled out of its bun at the start of that scene. A few pieces were stuck together simply from sweat, and her costume was slightly crinkled.

But gods . . .

She felt amazing.

She let her gaze linger on his for a moment before setting about the next task at hand. She headed in the direction of her dressing room, focusing on calming her breath.

Act II.

----------

For the first time in two years, Rowan had fun.

From the moment Aelin bumped into him, the moment he lifted her chin to meet his gaze and something ignited in her turquoise eyes, the last bits of his nervousnesss flew away. Every time she looked at him was a reminder that he wasn’t alone. And then her mad scene –

Gods.

Gods above, her mad scene.

Even in rehearsal, it hadn’t been what it had been tonight.

It had been nine minutes of the most raw, visceral dancing and acting he had ever seen.

He remembered what he had shouted at her that night in the studio.

“The best dancers deal with their problems. The best dancers use their pain.”

“You can’t call yourself an artist until you deal with whatever it is that makes regular ballet feel like a cage. I know it’s there.”

She had proved the him from a few months ago completely wrong with those nine minutes.

And there was still an entire act to go.

Rowan watched from the wings as Viviane helped Aelin up from the floor while the rest of the company scattered to prepare for Act II, and soon Aelin stood alone onstage. Suddenly, she turned to face him.

The stage lights were dim and blue, casting a glow around Aelin’s frame. Her gold hair was completely down out of its bun, a few stray pieces framing her face. Her chest rose and fell in short, labored breaths, but she looked . . . strong. He couldn’t quite make out the expression on her face, but he felt something pull taut between them. With the slightest of nods, Aelin turned to go to her dressing room.

Rowan ran a hand through his hair as he remembered that the hardest parts were still to come.

[wtfgaylittlezooid]

Them