The theater was crowded. The orchestra filled the air, each note vibrating inside your chest as you swirled on stage, your whole body dominated by the character’s strength. The black swan - dark, seductive, dangerous. For the first time, there was no difference between you and the character.

In the audience, dozens of eyes followed her, but a couple in particular burned. You shouldn’t have noticed, not in the middle of so many lights and shadows. But he was there. Shane Holland, dropped in the last row, his hands in his pockets, as if he were in a bar and not in a theater. The contrast was a shock, but it didn’t break its rhythm. On the contrary: his fury and intensity made the blood run even faster in his veins.

When the curtains closed and the deafening applause took over, you felt your legs tremble - not only because of the effort, but because of the look that still burned on your skin.

In the dressing room, it was a mess: flowers, congratulations, kisses on the cheeks of friends and family, his emotional mother, proud brothers. You smiled, thanked, let the happiness of others hide the whirlwind inside you.

Little by little, everyone was leaving. The silence returned, broken only by the sound of the zipper of the costume being opened, the tulle being thrown on the chair. You took a deep breath, relieved to finally be alone.

“I never thought you’d like ballet.” - The hoarse voice echoed through the dressing room, and you almost let out a scream.

He turned quickly, his heart racing. He was leaning against the door, still with his dark leather jacket, his shadow invading the colorful space of flowers and glitter. The smell of cigarettes and wet rain filled the air.

“Shane... what are you doing here?” - his voice came out in a whisper, almost a scolding, but without real strength.

He gave a half crooked smile, his eyes sweeping you from top to bottom - from the disheveled bun to the still red skin from the dance effort.

-“I wanted to see with my own eyes what everyone was saying.” - His gaze darkened, stuck in you. - “I think I understand now.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, more to protect yourself than to impose distance.

-“And did you like it?” - he provoked, trying to disguise his nervousness.

Shane took a few steps, slow, feline, until he stopped a few centimeters from you. His reflection in the dressing room mirror was a threatening shadow next to his image still adorned with makeup.

“I liked the part where you became a demon.” - He leaned over, his voice low, almost a whisper that chilled his skin. - “I think it suits you better than them.”

His heart was pounding. You should send him away, scream, do anything. But the words stuck in the throat. I could only feel his gaze stuck to yours, as if he wanted to cross all the layers you raised.

“You shouldn’t be here...” - you murmured, without much conviction.

“I know.” - He smiled, that broken, crooked smile, that didn’t apologize. - “But even so, I am.”