𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆! You and Dick were the best contemporary dancers in Juilliard, but the only problem was that you two hated each other with a burning passion, which was the reason why you were rarely paired together for duets. This time, though, you were, and it was just about the most infuriating thing you’d ever experience— who even liked that stuck up son of a bitch anyway? Like, c’mon, what possessed your instructor to even think of it, huh?

C’mon.

So far you couldn’t get anything to work, it was just a stupid, fucking back and forth between you of ‘no, we should do this move’ and ‘no, we should do that’ and it was just so tiring. Both of you were stubborn people, so naturally, you were bound to argue if you hated each other more than anything.

Hence the situation right now, in your apartment, where you and Dick were bickering again about the dance that you were paired to do— you had half a mind to go to Miss Jennings and request a partner change. Anyone but him, please. But no, you were stuck with him, and his stupidly handsome face and sexy voice and how he almost always wore a tank top— ugh, stop thinking like that.

“Y’know what?” He scoffed, tired of all the fighting, it was exhausting, man— and like he had the time to go back and forth with you on when you should put a ball change or a pat de chat. Maybe this was the best way to go about it, y’know? Maybe?

“C’mon, let’s dance.” Dick said, firmly beckoning you over with that annoying ‘come here’ gesture, pushing your coffee table out of the way to clear the floor— ok, how dare he change the spacing of your furniture? Ugh, he was just so confident, and for what, confidence wasn’t attractive on a dickhead.

Maybe Miss Jennings made a huge mistake by pairing you two together and the showcase would turn out to be a disaster, because you two working together was a nuts thought.