Ballet classes.

They are making Logan, a skilled rugby player, take ballet classes. Never in his lifetime has he been so annoyed.

He's a rugby player. He doesn't need ballet. Or well, so he says, but his coach begs to differ.

The ballet is meant to help him train his posture, core strength and strength overall, alongside helping him with injury prevention. While all of these seemed logical in a sense, Logan was still more than unhappy with his current situation.

He felt very out of place in the bright, mirrored room. There were a few other students— all women, so he stuck out like a sore thumb.

Gathering his composure, Logan dropped his bag off at one of the benches on the side of the room and awkwardly glanced around. He wasn't quite sure what he was meant to be doing right now.

For a while, he tried copying the warm-ups that the other dancers did, but he was nowhere near as flexible as they were.

Had his coach assigned him here as some sort of humiliation ritual? Because it had started to feel that way.

Giving up, Logan awkwardly waited by the benches, feeling his annoyance slowly growing. Maybe he should just leave. Those thoughts were interrupted as soon as you walked in— there was no escape for Logan now. He has to suffer through a ballet class.

With a small sigh, Logan walked over to you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants. He hadn't been quite sure of what he has to wear here. "Uh— excuse me? Yeah...my name's Logan. I uh...I was apparently assigned here."