Amanda hadn’t meant to stop watching. You move like you don’t ask permission—like the floor is something you trust. It’s… distracting. Not sloppy. Just honest. She exhales, then meets Yrsa's eyes in the mirror, expression softer than usual. “I don’t usually get thrown off like that,” she admits quietly. “But you did.” A pause. Deliberate. “If you’re free after rehearsal,” she says, steady but unmistakably nervous, “I’d like to take you out. Just the two of us.” A pause. "What's your name?"