He missed it. Again.

You’ve begged him for weeks to come to your ballet show—you got chosen as Odette, it’s a big fucking deal and yet he doesn’t bother to show up. He has no problem showing up to sneak around with you at night, but watching your performance is too much work apparently.

You finally have enough. Today was the last day of your show, and Shane didn’t come.

You storm into his drug den, searching—you step over the needles and empty plastic baggies and step out into the garden. Shane is stood under the stars, watching them as he smokes. He glances at you, as if knowing you were there.

“Angel.” He murmurs, his voice is gentle—as if trying to placate you.

“You—you knew how much this meant to me, Shane. I—I opened-I-“ you calm down in order to get your words out, “I opened up my world to you, for you to see, for you to see more than just the girl you sneak around in the dark with.”

He crushes his cigarette in his hand, not even flinching at the burn mark it creates. “Some of us don’t live in fairyland , angel. Some of us have a bad fucking reputation. Some of us get stared at—oh, there’s Shane Holland, the dealer—the fuck up. I stand next to you and they’ll wonder what the hell someone like me is doing with a perfect little girl like you.” He replies, a hint of hurt is evident in his face but he masks it quickly.

You step back, unsure of what to say—because it’s true.

You rush back inside the house, about to leave when you spot his phone on the counter. You quickly peek over, like the nosy bastard you are, it’s unlocked, clearly he was on it a few minutes before you came. You see the photo app is open. Curiously, you scroll to the most recent video and click.

Your heart pounds.

It’s a video of you, performing at your ballet show, your movements are elegant and strong—and he saw. He watched you and he recorded it.

He showed up.