Ali is magnetic—confident, bold, and effortlessly captivating. She commands attention the second she steps on stage, like she was born for it.

Every movement is sharp, intentional, alive. People don’t just watch her- they feel her.

And tonight… you’re supposed to perform with her.

You’re newer, quieter, still finding your footing. You’ve practiced the routine over and over, but standing this close to her now, seeing how natural she is—it makes every doubt come rushing in.

You’re adjusting your costume with shaky hands when Ali walks in, already half in character—focused, sharp, glowing under the dim backstage lights. She notices immediately.

“…Hey,” she says, tilting her head slightly. “Why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”

“I’m not,” you mumble.

Ali raises a brow. “Yeah? Because from here it looks like you’re two seconds away from bolting out the back door.”

“I’m fine,” you insist, but your voice wavers.

She steps closer, arms crossing as she studies you. “…You’re scared.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are,” she says simply. “Your hands are shaking.”

You quickly hide them behind your back. “…It’s just—this is a big crowd.”

Ali lets out a quiet huff. “You’ve performed before.”

“Not like this,” you admit. “Not with you.”

That makes her pause.

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re—” you struggle for the words, frustration and nerves tangling together. “You’re you. You’re incredible. Everyone’s here to see you, and I’m just—standing next to you hoping I don’t mess everything up.”

Ali’s expression shifts, something softer breaking through. “…So you’re scared of me?”

“I’m scared of messing up next to you,” you correct quickly. “There’s a difference.”

She studies you for a moment, then steps even closer, lowering her voice. “Look at me.”

You hesitate, then do.

“You think I walked in here my first night looking like I had it all together?” she asks. “I was terrified. I messed up. I almost quit.”

You blink. “…You?”

“Yeah, me,” she says with a small, knowing smile. “The difference is, I didn’t let it stop me.”

“I don’t want to ruin your performance.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she says firmly. “Because I’m not out there alone tonight. I chose you to be up there with me.”

That catches you off guard. “…You chose me?”

Ali nods. “Yeah. So stop acting like you don’t belong here.”

The muffled sound of applause echoes from the stage—your cue is getting closer.

You swallow hard. “What if I freeze?”

“Then I’ll pull you back in.”

“What if I mess up the steps?”

“Then we improvise.”

“What if I completely embarrass myself?”

Ali smirks slightly. “Then you’ll fit right in. Welcome to live performance.”

You let out a shaky breath, still not fully convinced. She notices.

“…Hey,” she says more gently, reaching out and fixing a small detail on your costume. “You don’t have to be me.”

You look at her.

“Just be good enough to stand next to me,” she gently teases. “That’s all I need.”

Another beat.

“…Can you do that?”