pairings: Moose x Tala (OC)
summary: “Someone told Director Collins I’m competing in ’The Streets.’”
genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort
main masterlist series masterlist
𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗔'𝗦 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗔𝗗 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗗 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗔 𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠.
The kind that made her cheeks warm just remembering it. The night before, she and Moose had shared a moment—a real moment. It wasn't flashy or dramatic. Just quiet, honest, and a little 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤.
Now, as she stepped through the front doors of MSA, that memory still echoed in her chest like a secret song.
But her smile vanished the second she saw the crowd.
Students were huddled outside one of the rehearsal studios, murmuring, phones out, expressions tense. Tala picked up her pace, shouldering her way through until she reached the doorway.
The room looked like a 𝙬𝙖𝙧 𝙯𝙤𝙣𝙚.
Glass crunched under her sneakers as she stepped inside. The mirrors lining the wall were smashed, shards scattered across the floor. The overhead lights were shattered—some dangling from the ceiling like they'd been ripped down. Spray paint covered every surface in harsh, slanted letters. Furniture was overturned, broken. A deep red "X" covered the back wall.
And scrawled above it, in thick black strokes:
"𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗬 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗧𝗦."
She scanned the room and found him.
Moose stood near the far wall, shoulders hunched, hands in his jacket pockets, his face pale under the flickering light. He looked like he hadn't moved in a while. Like he was still processing it all.
Without thinking, Tala rushed over to him. "Moose, are you okay? Were you here when this happened?"
He turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers. There was a flicker of something in them—shock.
"I'm okay," he said softly patting her head.
Before she could press him, the door slammed open again.
Director Collins strode in, his steps echoing through the ruined studio. He stopped short, eyes widening as he took in the damage.
He moved slowly through the destruction, his jaw clenched.
Then, turning to the crowd outside the door, his voice rose: "Does anybody know who is responsible for this?"
The message on the wall said it all.
Collins followed their gazes. When he saw the words, his face darkened.
He turned back toward the students, voice sharp and final. "This school will not be associated with these competitions. Is that clear?"
Tala felt a chill go down her spine.
Collins' voice thundered now. "Any future involvement by our students in The Streets will lead to immediate 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝘂𝗹𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻."
She looked at Moose. He was already looking at her.
The fear between them didn't need to be spoken.
"And anyone with any information," Collins added, sweeping his gaze across them, "is expected to come forward."
Then he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
A tense silence hung in the air until one of the assistant instructors barked, "You heard him. Get this place cleaned up."
Slowly, students started to move—quiet, shaken, stepping over glass and splinters.
The lunch bell rang like an afterthought to the tension brewing all morning. The MSA crew had agreed to meet during the break in their usual rehearsal studio — not to dance, but to talk. To figure out what was going to happen to them, to The Streets, to everything they'd been building outside the school's walls.
Moose sat on one of the tables glancing at the door every few seconds. Fly paced. Kido leaned back in a chair with her arms crossed, while Fly and Monster murmured to each other.
But one seat stayed empty.
Instead of heading to the studio, Tala slipped through the quieter back corridors of MSA. Her feet moved on instinct, taking her somewhere she used to feel calm — the theatre.
Her chest still felt heavy from what she'd seen earlier. The studio trashed. Moose's face. Director Collins' words. Her mind spiraled with the same question over and over:
𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥？
She pushed the theatre door open, expecting the usual silence, the faint scent of sawdust and old velvet. She just wanted to move, start early on her solo, breathe a little.
Director Collins stood center stage, arms crossed, posture tense.
Tala froze. "Sir—I'm sorry. I didn't think anyone would be in here."
Collins didn't smile. Didn't blink. "No problem, Miss Gonzalez," he said coolly. "You're exactly the person I was looking for."
A chill crept up her spine. "Oh—umm. What can I help you with, sir?"
He walked slowly toward the edge of the stage, voice calm but tight. "A little birdie told me..." he leaned back against the platform, eyes sharp, "you're competing at 'The Streets.'"
Tala's heart stopped. "What?" she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her head shot up. The blood drained from her face.
"Is that true?" Collins asked, straightening up.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her lungs squeezed. Her throat closed. "I—I—" She stuttered, hands trembling by her sides. The walls felt like they were caving in. Her vision swam.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Collins let out a short, dry scoff. "You're a good kid, Miss Gonzalez," he said, pacing down the steps toward her. "Believe it or not, you're one of the top students here."
She looked up at him, desperate for mercy.
"That's why I'm not expelling you." He stopped in front of her. "But you're out of the school play."
The words hit like a slap to the chest.
"No," Tala whispered, her voice cracking. She turned after him as he walked away. "Please, you can't—this is all I have—please."
"I don't want to hear it, Miss Gonzalez," Collins snapped, already halfway to the door. "You're out."
The door swung shut with a hollow echo.
Tala stood there in the quiet, her chest shaking, the tears falling freely now. Her legs gave out, and she sank to the floor of the stage she once dreamed of owning. Her hands covered her face, sobs breaking loose, drowning out the silence.
The theatre had never felt...𝙨𝙤 𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙.
Moose was moving 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 now.
He'd checked every hallway between rehearsals, glanced through the glass panels of her classes—empty. No Tala. He tried the courtyard where she sometimes lingered after lunch, sitting with a sketchbook and earbuds in, legs curled beneath her. No one. Not even a trace.
He rushed to the side dance studio—the one with the warped mirror she never liked but always used when she needed to be alone. Nothing. It was like she'd vanished.
But Moose knew her better than that.
There was one last place.
He jogged down the back corridor and reached for the creaky theatre door. It groaned open slowly. The room was still. Empty.
But the stage lights were on.
"Tal?" Moose called, his voice echoing across the seats.
Suddenly, the lights flickered off. Then back on. Then off again.
He squinted upward, confused. His eyes landed on the sound booth tucked at the back of the theater, high above the seats. A figure sat slouched in the chair, a hand lazily playing with the lighting controls.
Moose let out a soft, relieved laugh. "Of course," he murmured.
He took the aisle steps two at a time and pushed open the narrow stairway door. It groaned open with a metallic creak. At the top, he eased into the small booth, grinning.
"Tal', I've been searching all over for you," he said, stepping inside, leaning casually against the edge of the control panel. "You didn't show up at the meeting, and I got worried."
She didn't even look at him—just kept fiddling with the light switch, her long hair falling over her face, hiding her completely.
"Listen—" Moose tried again, glancing down at the stage as the lights kept flickering off and on. "You're kinda making this look like a haunted house."
"Tal?" he said, now his voice softer. Concern rising.
He stepped closer and gently reached out, brushing her hair from her face.
What he saw made his breath 𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵.
Her eyes were bloodshot. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks. Mascara had streaked dark lines down to her jaw. She stared blankly ahead, not seeing him, not seeing anything.
"Tala," Moose whispered, crouching in front of her, his hands steadying her arms. "What happened?"
"Tal, talk to me." He took her hand, gently pulling it away from the controls. "Please."
Then, finally, she looked at him.
The moment their eyes met, she broke.
A sob tore out of her chest, and she collapsed forward. Moose didn't hesitate—he caught her, wrapping his arms around her trembling frame. She gripped his shirt like she was holding on for dear life, her whole body shaking with grief.
He held her tightly, whispering into her hair. "It's okay... I got you. I'm here."
Minutes passed in silence, only the sound of her crying filling the booth. When the sobs softened into quiet sniffles, he gently pulled her back just enough to see her face. He cupped her cheek, wiping away the tears still falling.
"What's going on?" he asked, voice quiet, searching her eyes.
"I'm off the play," Tala whispered, her voice breaking into a shaky, hollow smile.
"What?" Moose said, stunned. "Why? What happened?"
She rested her hand over his where it cradled her face, grounding herself. "Someone told Director Collins I'm competing in 'The Streets.'"
His face changed—confusion, anger, disbelief. "Who would do that?"
"I—" Her voice cracked again. "I don't know."
"Without this play, I'm 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴, Moose," she choked out. "It was everything. It was my ticket... my future. Without it, I go 𝗻𝗼𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲."
Her tears returned, threatening to overwhelm her again.
"Hey, hey." Moose pulled her back into his arms. "Don't say that."
He held her as she cried again, hands stroking her back gently. "We'll figure something out, okay? I promise. I'm with you no matter what."
She clung to him, barely holding herself together.
"I mean it, Tal. I don't care what Collins says. You're not alone in this."
He pressed a kiss into her hair.
And in that booth above the silent theatre, where dreams had just been broken, Tala let herself believe—for just a second—that maybe not everything was lost.
The MSA crew was 𝗻𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲.
After Director Collins' announcement, fear settled into everyone's bones. No one dared test the threat of expulsion. And so, one by one, they all quietly stepped back.
The crew's usual courtyard spot—wedged near the trashcans, where they'd once laughed so hard it drew stares—was now empty. Like it had never been theirs. Like they'd never existed.
They all still saw each other. In passing. In classes. On the street.
It was like they vanished.
The truth? They hadn't gone far. Most days, they drifted together through the ghost halls—those quiet back corridors of MSA where they'd first met. Some afternoons, they curled up in the sound booth above the theatre, safe and unseen.
Tala even met Camille—Moose's oldest friend. She didn't come by often, but when she did, she and Tala hit it off instantly, especially when it came to roasting Moose.
"So let me get this straight," Tala said, grinning. "You wore fingerless gloves in middle school. On purpose?"
Camille burst out laughing. "And he called them his '𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴'?"
Moose turned, eyes wide with faux offense. "They gave me grip!"
"No, they gave you audacity," Camille shot back.
Moose groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Why do I tell you people anything?"
"Because you love us," Camille and Tala said in unison, high-fiving immediately after.
"I regret ever introducing you two."
In those moments, Tala felt... okay again. Her world still had cracks. But Moose made it feel whole.
The sky was deep blue by the time Moose walked her home.
They took the long way, feet scuffing on cracked sidewalks, hands almost brushing. By the time they reached her front porch, the laughter had faded into a soft, comfortable silence.
Moose stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. "Well, I guess I should—"
"Want to stay for dinner?" Tala interrupted, hopeful.
Moose blinked. "Oh. Uh—I—really?"
Tala giggled at how flustered he was. "Come on," she grinned, grabbing his arm and tugging him toward the door. "You're not getting out of this."
The moment they stepped inside, she called out, "I'm home!"
A voice responded almost instantly. "Hey, sweetie."
Her dad stepped around the corner, dish towel over his shoulder.
"Hi, Dad." Tala leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. Then she motioned beside her. "Dad, this is Moose. Moose, my dad."
Moose quickly stepped forward, offering his hand. "Nice to meet you, sir."
Her dad shook it firmly. "So this is the Moose I've heard all about."
Tala's eyes went wide. "Daaad," she groaned.
"All right, all right. Dinner's almost ready. Go do... whatever teenagers do these days."
With a wave of his hand, he shooed them off.
Tala led Moose up the stairs with a casual "C'mon," glancing back only once to make sure he was following. He was — but his steps were a little slower, his eyes wide, taking in every unfamiliar detail.
"I can't believe I'm here," Moose muttered under his breath.
"What?" Tala asked, unlocking her bedroom door.
"Nothing—just," he looked around, "your house is nice. I wasn't ready to be pulled in like I belong here."
She chuckled, opening the door. "Well... you kinda do."
Moose blinked, trying to play it cool. "Oh. Right. Yeah. Totally."
She stepped into the room first. "Okay, don't judge. I didn't expect company."
Moose entered behind her, his hands in his jacket pockets like he wasn't sure where to put them. "This is way cleaner than my room. Mine looks like a sneaker tornado."
Tala laughed, sitting on the edge of her bed. "I believe that. You seem like the type to own twelve pairs and wear two."
"Hey," he said, smirking. "It's part of the style."
"You got a lot of style," she teased, "for a guy who got flustered over dinner."
Moose held up a hand. "In my defense, I didn't think I'd be meeting your 𝘥𝘢𝘥 today. I thought we were gonna vibe in the theatre, not... you know, 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳."
Tala smiled softly. "You handled it fine. He liked you."
"Yeah? He didn't threaten me or anything."
"He saved that for dessert," she deadpanned, making Moose chuckle.
He looked around her room—his gaze landing on a sketchpad on her desk. "You draw?"
"Sometimes," she said with a shy shrug. "Mostly for costumes. Or just stuff I dream up."
"That's cool. You got hidden talents, huh?"
Tala tilted her head. "I guess. You've got some too."
Moose raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Like... you're a way better dancer than you pretend to be. You hide behind all that goofy charm, but you're sharp. Smart."
He blinked, surprised. "No one's ever said that before."
"Well, I notice stuff," Tala said with a soft smile.
Moose rubbed the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor for a second. "You're making me blush, Gonzalez."
"You? A street dancer with a million fans on the sidewalk? Blushing?"
"Don't let the hair fool you. I'm soft," he said, giving her a playful wink.
There was a pause, but it wasn't awkward. Just comfortable.
Moose glanced back at her. "So what do you do when you're not acting, dancing or sketching?"
Tala leaned back on her hands. "Not much, honestly. I just hang out here. Sometimes I write. Watch old dance movies. Talk to the ceiling."
"The ceiling?" he grinned.
"Yeah. It's a good listener."
Moose nodded. "Well, I'm honored to be upgraded from ceiling to dinner guest."
Before Tala could answer, her dad called from downstairs. "Dinner's hot!"
Tala stood and offered him her hand. "C'mon, Mr. Sneaker Tornado. Let's eat."
Moose took her hand, letting her pull him up. "Lead the way, Miss Sketchbook."
The table was already set when Moose and Tala walked in. Tala's dad was setting down a bowl of roasted potatoes, and the smell of garlic and spices filled the air.
"Smells amazing," Moose said, sliding into the chair Tala motioned to.
"Glad you think so," her dad replied with a grin. "I had to bribe the oven with a prayer and a promise."
"So," Tala's dad said, taking a sip of his soda, "how'd you two meet?"
"In the hallway," Tala said, reaching for a spoonful of rice. "He was doing a pirouette and almost took my head off."
"I was not doing a pirouette—" Moose protested.
Her dad laughed. "You threatened her life with breakdancing. Impressive."
They all chuckled, and for a moment, the room felt easy—comfortable.
Then her dad nodded Moose's way. "Alright, now tell me. Moose? That your real name or did you lose a bet?"
Moose smiled sheepishly, lowering his fork. "No bet. It's a nickname... from when I was younger."
Her dad leaned in, clearly interested. "Let's hear it."
Moose rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I had this big, poofy hair that just kind of floated everywhere—especially when I ran. A few kids at school started calling me 'baby moose' because apparently, I looked like one trying to learn how to walk. It stuck."
Tala's dad let out a big laugh. "That's fantastic. Moose. I like it. Beats my high school nickname by a mile."
Tala groaned, already bracing herself. "Dad, don't—"
"I won't, I won't," he said, still laughing. "You've suffered enough."
He reached for the breadbasket and gave Moose a nod. "So, you go to MSA too?"
"Yes, sir. I'm in lighting design. Theater tech stuff, mostly."
"Lighting, huh? That's cool. You're the guy setting the mood without being in the spotlight."
"Exactly," Moose said. "I like creating moments, but I'm good staying behind the scenes."
"I... I'd like to think so," Moose said, scratching the back of his neck. "I've been doing it for a few years. Got a few shows under my belt."
"Hmm," Tala's dad nodded thoughtfully, then turned to his daughter. "And this is the friend you've been talking about nonstop for the past week?"
Tala dropped her fork with a clatter. "Daaaad—"
Moose's face went a little red, trying—and failing—not to smile.
Her dad grinned at both of them. "What? I'm just making conversation. I like to know who's hanging around my daughter."
"Do you interrogate all of her friends like this?" Moose asked with a laugh, trying to hide how nervous he still kind of was.
"She's never brought anyone home before," her dad said with a shrug. "So yeah. This is a rare opportunity."
Moose blinked, glancing at Tala, who quickly looked away and focused intently on her potatoes.
"I'm honored," Moose said softly.
There was a beat of silence, warm and comfortable.
Then Tala's dad added casually, "So, you dating my daughter or what?"
Tala nearly choked on her water.
Moose froze, eyes wide. "I—uh—I mean—uh—"
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" her dad laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "Look at your faces!"
Moose shook his head with a breathy laugh. "You almost gave me a heart attack."
"Good. Keeps you on your toes," her dad said, reaching for more bread. "I like you, Moose. You've got a decent head on your shoulders."
They continued to chat and eat, stories flowing around the table like a warm current. When the last bites were taken and forks rested on empty plates, Moose stood to help clean up.
"Nope," Tala's dad cut in. "You two go enjoy the evening. Guest room's clean if you want to stay."
Moose hesitated, looking at Tala, who was already looking at him with hopeful eyes.
"I'll text my parents," he said, pulling out his phone. "Thanks for dinner, Mr. Gonzalez."
Tala grabbed Moose's sleeve, tugging him toward the stairs before her dad could say anything else.
As they disappeared down the hallway, her dad just shook his head, smiling.
Back in Tala's room, Moose plopped down on her bed with a full stomach and a sleepy smile, rubbing his hands together. "Okay, that was officially the best meal I've had in weeks."
"I'll let my dad know he's been promoted to your personal chef," Tala said, kicking her door shut gently behind her.
Just then, Moose's phone buzzed. He checked it, then turned the screen toward her. "They said yes. I'm good to stay over."
Tala's face lit up like someone flipped a switch. "Yes!" she grinned, bouncing once on her toes. "Okay, wait right here!"
Before Moose could even answer, she had already sprinted out the door.
He blinked, still clutching his phone. "Okay... I guess I'm waiting here."
A minute later, she returned, slightly out of breath, holding a folded T-shirt and an oversized hoodie. "Here—my dad's stuff. Should fit... well, sort of."
He took them with a grateful smile. "Thanks. Hopefully I don't drown in them."
She chuckled and pointed down the hallway. "Bathroom's the same one you passed earlier—left side."
Moose gave her a salute and headed off to change. When he returned, Tala was already back on her bed, legs curled beneath her, scrolling through something on her phone. She looked up and stifled a laugh.
The clothes were definitely roomy. The T-shirt drooped slightly over one shoulder and the hoodie sleeves extended well past his hands. The sweatpants were cinched tight but still sagged a bit at the ankles.
"Oh my god," she said, covering her mouth, "you look like you shrunk in the wash."
"I feel like I did," Moose said, tugging the sleeves up. "I'm about one scarf away from starring in a holiday commercial."
Tala giggled, patting the space beside her. "Well, at least you're cozy."
He plopped down beside her, grinning. "I'm practically wrapped in a family heirloom."
They sat in an easy silence for a moment, the kind that didn't need filling. Outside her window, the quiet hum of the neighborhood at night filtered in—distant cars, a soft breeze.
Moose flopped onto the beanbag on the floor.
"So uh... what do you usually do after school? When you're not sneaking into sound booths."
Tala grinned. "Honestly? Mostly dance. Or just... lie on my bed with music blasting and pretend I'm in a music video."
Moose's eyes lit up. "Okay, that's kinda relatable. Do you ever do the fake interview thing too?"
Tala gasped. "You do that too?!"
He laughed. "Absolutely. Hairbrush mic and everything."
They shared a real smile then—unfiltered and genuine.
Later that night, back in her room, Moose sat on the edge of her bed, flipping through one of her old photo albums. He paused on a picture of Tala as a little girl, front teeth missing, proudly holding a small theatre trophy.
"You've been acting forever."
"I had to," she said from her desk chair, spinning slightly. "Acting was the only way to not disappear."
He looked up. "You're the last person who could disappear."
Tala stopped spinning. "You say that like it's easy."
"It's not," he admitted. "𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗶 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝙮𝙤𝙪. You don't have to fight to be noticed with me. I notice you even when you're not saying a word."
She swallowed, moved. "You always know the right thing to say."
"I just say what 𝙞 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡."
They locked eyes. The quiet in the room was suddenly loud with everything they weren't saying.
And then—suddenly—a song started playing from Moose's pocket. A romantic, slow tune with soft piano and a breathy voice singing about forever and first love.
Moose froze. "Oh my god."
Tala blinked. "𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘦"
He fumbled for his phone, cheeks pink. "I swear that wasn't planned. That's — Camille sent me a song. I didn't even press play!"
Tala just raised a brow, her smile teasing. "Sure."
But instead of turning it off, Moose hesitated... then looked at her.
Like he always did in these strange, perfect little moments, he reached out and gently took her hands in his.
"Come on," he said, standing and pulling her with him.
Tala laughed, a little unsure. "Moose—"
"It's 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙣𝙤𝙬," he said with a grin, holding her hands steady. "Don't ruin the streak."
So there they were, in the middle of her bedroom, slow dancing to a cheesy love song that neither of them had chosen. His hoodie sleeves kept slipping over his fingers. She kept accidentally stepping on his socks. It was awkward, clumsy, a little ridiculous.
Tala shook her head, smiling at him as they moved gently to the beat. "We must look so dumb right now."
What she didn't know—just outside her room, across the hallway—her father stood leaning quietly against the doorframe. The door had been left slightly ajar, and he hadn't meant to intrude. But now he couldn't look away.
There they were—his daughter and the strange boy with kind eyes and oversized clothes—dancing like the world didn't exist outside that room.
And for the first time in years, he saw Tala as someone who was no longer lonely. No longer hiding.
His chest ached in the best way.
He smiled softly to himself, then turned and walked away down the hall, whispering under his breath:
𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘥. 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵.
this is just a filler chapter (4k words for a filler chapter) until we go back to the ending of the movie.
still not sure whether to continue this until step up: all in or not. Probably will though but eh.
