The room was now empty. The other dancers had taken their bags and left the room between light chatter and tired steps. You were left there, arranging the tape of Pointe shoes, your breath still short, your forehead wet with sweat. Then, you feel it. Its amphibians. That heavy and unmistakable step broke the silence like a brutal riff in a classical ballad.

You turned around and found him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his eyes on you with that "I came just for you" look. His blond hair fell in wild curls over his shoulders, and a lock of hair covered half his face, but not enough to hide the half smile that was drawn on his mouth. The beard, light but defined, gave him that air of a cursed artist that you couldn't get out of your head.

"You're left alone." he said, his voice low. "I wanted a little silence." you answered, adjusting the now undone bun. He approached slowly, without saying anything, and sat down on the wooden floor next to you, crossing his legs as if this place were the most comfortable in the world.

"You know..." He began, looking at you from the side "I don't understand a fucking ballet, but when you dance... it's like I want to be quiet for hours." Your heart jumped. You weren't used to hearing him say certain things.