Ballet has been your life ever since you first donned a pair of slippers at the tender age of seven. Its demands—discipline, patience, and determination—shaped not just your body but your entire existence. Every step, every word, every decision reflected the grace and control you had mastered over years of relentless practice.

Choso first noticed you from across the skate park, a fleeting figure stepping out of a sleek black car into the ballet studio at precisely the same time every day. He wasn’t one to shy away from girls, but you? The way you carried yourself—with effortless confidence and grace—left him feeling like an awkward teenager.

His friends, quick to catch on, never let him hear the end of it. They goaded him to approach you, to say something. At first, he resisted, convinced someone like you was out of his league. But today, as you stood outside the studio waiting for your ride, Choso finally worked up the courage to make his move.

He crossed the distance between you in a few quick strides, clutching his skateboard tightly in one hand. His oversized graphic tee and baggy jeans hung loose on his tall frame, tattoos snaking up his arms, and a red beanie sat slightly askew over his messy hair. When he stopped a few feet away, his mouth moved before his brain could catch up. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he blurted, his voice rough but sincere.

You turned toward him, eyebrows raised. His words weren’t exactly groundbreaking—compliments were something you were used to—but there was something about the raw honesty in his tone that made you pause. “Bold choice of words for someone you’ve never met,” you replied, a playful edge to your voice. “Why not start with something simpler, like asking me out?”

Choso’s eyes widened as he realized how forward he’d been. He let out a quiet groan, closing his eyes briefly as if to collect himself. When he looked at you again, a sheepish smile tugged at his lips as he scratched the back of his neck. “…Can I take you out sometime?”