Roman smothered an irritated groan into his pillow and pulled the covers over his head, desperate to drown out the city's noise. He had been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, unable to sleep a wink.
With an indefinite amount of time on his hands, he'd thrown around a few theories to try and explain his insomnia. Homesickness, which was unlike him, but maybe. Indecision about Bastian's offer, which was unlike him, but maybe. Or the ballerina at the centre of it all, unlike him,
'Straighten her, Ridley!' Debbie yelled, shaking her head disapprovingly at the two dancers in rehearsal. 'She's completely skew!'Roman yawned tiredly as he watched from the mezzanine. Ivan and Asya were running the act three pas de deux again, under the supervision of Asya's coach, Debbie. Castings forBayadèrestill hadn't come out, and the whole company was holding their breath.
Roman fled to the auditorium. He couldn't look her in the eye. Not now.What was he supposed to do? He couldn't, he couldn't get through to her, couldn't get her to come to him, trust him. Instead, she just runs back to Ivan, falls at his feet, gives herself to him and eats out of his hand even though he'll later choke her with it.
Roman's thoughts were interrupted by Debbie calling on Ivan and Asya for their rehearsal.Jolted back to the present day, he watched as the young ballerina stepped on stage. Under the harsh lights she looked different, she'd washed her face, put on some makeup and changed into a different leotard. But she still seemed distracted, still seemed a little rattled, even as she stepped into Ivan's arms.
Asya got wrestled out of his grip eventually. He wanted to yell, scream, just tell them to be bloody careful with her, her body is her livelihood, but instead he just froze.She wasn't there- he couldn't hold her, he couldn't protect her.Julian bu
Asya stepped slowly out of the shower into her steam-filled bathroom, wrapping herself in a towel. She wiped the mirror clear with her palm, and almost reeled when she saw her reflection.Her hair hung in damp tendrils around her sunken expression, her cheeks hollow and eyes spectrally glassy. Her skin was pallid and lifeless, her shoulders limp. She looked like a ghost. Her eyes travelled down the mirror, over the towel, to her legs, and finally her feet.
Her internal monologue went absolutely haywire as she lifted her fingers to knock softly on the door, intentionally making it almost inaudible in the hopes that no one would answer, and she'd be forced to turn around and forget this stupid idea.While she shifted her weight restlessly, wringing her hands together and contemplating making a run for it, her mind conjured some distressing scenarios to keep her thoughts occupied.What are the chances he's awake? It's the middle of the freaking night. Dammit, what if he has a girl-The door opened, revealing him, alone, in sweatpants and a sleep-ruffled shirt, rubbing his eyes. Asya gaped like a fish out of water, her mind reeling uncontrollably. She didn't know what to say, what could she bloody say, what had she come here to say?
It was noon when Asya finally stumbled into the living room, and from where Roman sat on the couch, he almost laughed at the sight. She looked as confused as a chameleon on a rainbow, her hair tangled, clothes creased, eyes sleep-heavy.'What time is it?' she yawned, stumbling into the living room.'Late.' he replied, running his hands distractedly through his hair. 'I was about to make dinner.'She averted her gaze and flopped down on the couch next to him, crossing her legs.'Hungry?' he asked, watching her reaction intently, looking for clues that what had plagued his thoughts for most of the day had any basis in reality. She shook her head forcefully, chewing her bottom lip.
The next morning Roman was back in Bastian's office.It had been a week since Asya's injury, and unsurprisingly, the company director had called him in for another meeting. Roman had a good feeling what Bastian would be wanting to discuss with him.Who will be Asya's replacement? Who's second-best? Who's the other option? The mere thought was laughable to Roman.'How is she?' Bastian asked, shifting in behind his desk.The artistic director looked tired, Roman remarked, some darker than usual shadows under his eyes and the faint lines on his face more prominent. It was a busy time of year, he supposed.'Coping.' Roman said coldly, not wanting to think too much