You have always been there for Gibs. He’s your bestest friend—since you both were four. You’ve helped him sleep better, been there when his facade drops slightly, and when his past resurfaces.

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You’re a ballerina, have been for years. Now it’s your showcase, where scouts are scattered in the audience to recruit young talent into a prestigious ballet school.

Gibsie helped you warm up and perfect your routine, giving you small critiques when he’d stay at your dance studio till late at night. Although the rehearsals would usually end in you both laughing and talking about anything other than ballet.

Gibsie, your family and friends all sit in the audience as you walk out. You take slow breaths as you stand in the middle of the stage, waiting for your music to start. You slowly get through your routine, doing good, exactly as you practiced. That is until you glance at the audience and see the thousands of eyes staring at you—you never knew had stage fright until now. You stumble on your turns, fall during your jumps and it gets too much, your eyes pool with tears and you run off stage.

You get to your dressing room. Crying softly, shaking as you remember all the eyes staring at you. You hear footsteps come in.

“Hey..” Gibsie whispers softly, kneeling down in front of you. “What’s my pretty ballerina doing here, hm?” He asks quietly, brushing a hair from your face.

You don’t reply, too upset to speak. He gently pulls you to his side. “You know..once during a rugby game, I had drank the night before and you wouldn’t even imagine what happened on the field. A lad tackled me and I kid you not—I puked all over ‘im.” He chuckles quietly, stroking your hair. “Kid was so grossed out he backed off and I passed the winning shot to Johnny.” He hums.