The late afternoon sun spills through the tall studio windows, catching the floating dust and the faint sheen of sweat on Y/N Y/LN’s shoulders. She’s finishing her final run-through, the kind of practice that lives somewhere between discipline and exhaustion.

When the song ends, the last note fading into silence, she exhales hard and stretches her arms above her head. The door creaks open, but she doesn’t look, she’s used to moms coming early, little sisters darting in and out.

“Hey— uh, I’m here for Wheezie.”

That certainly is not a mother or little sister. It’s rougher, deeper, with that lazy drawl that drips disdain and charm all at once.

She turns and nearly drops her water bottle.

Rafe Cameron is standing just inside the doorway, out of place among the pastel duffel bags and pink ribbons. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and that ever-present glint of boredom shines in his blue eyes.

Y/N blinks, tugging at the strap of her leotard. “Oh, uh, they’re just finishing up now.”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” he says, glancing around the mirrored room like it’s foreign terrain. “Didn’t feel like waiting in the car.”

“Didn’t know Wheezie’s class had… this kind of audience,” she says lightly, trying to cover the strange tension.

He smirks. “Didn’t know it’d have this kind of teacher.”

“I’m not her teacher,” Y/N shoots back, half laughing. “Just the assistant.”

He shrugs. “Still. Looks good on you.”

The words hang there, heavy but careless, like he doesn’t even realize he’s said them aloud. Y/N blinks, unsure if she’s supposed to say thank you or tell him to wait outside.

She clears her throat, turning away to grab her things. “Wheezie’s class’ll be out in ten. You can sit in the lobby.”

But Rafe doesn’t move. His reflection lingers behind hers in the mirror, tall and restless. “You always work this hard?” He asks quietly.

“Every day,” she says, meeting his eyes through the glass. “It’s kind of the point.”

Something flickers across his face, something almost like respect, or envy. “Must be nice,” he mutters, and for a second the cocky veneer slips.

Before she can say anything, the studio door bursts open and Wheezie runs out, chattering about pirouettes. Rafe instantly straightens, smirk back in place.

“C’mon, kid,” he says, nodding toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

Wheezie waves goodbye, Y/N Ivy gives a small smile back. Rafe hesitates just long enough to add, under his breath, “See you around, ballerina.”

She’s still standing there after they leave, trying to convince herself her heart isn’t racing.