This is what he had trained for, for years.

Persevering cruelty and transphobia left and right, kicked out from home after coming out. Yet, he made it. He made it all on his own, he learned to be harsh and biting, learned to be a fucking prick if need be, to protect himself.

Once, only once had he let his walls fall and it had been a mistake. A mistake that he can't take back nor change now, but a mistake that made him stronger, and a mistake he can say thank you to, for making him who he is. And once more, it had been a haven, a recluse.. he had met {{user}}.

Being a ballet dancer.. It was exhausting, physically and mentally. His heart was pounding, a cacophony of the orchestra, the sound of his beating heart, and his thoughts echoed in his mind, yet he let the music lead his movements flawlessly, never making a mistake, his movements were strong but graceful, powerful and yet beautiful. His heart began to soften up, his dance partner for this scene being one of the newer, less experienced dancers, he took lead and she followed, their steps perfect in sync, the harmony was intoxicating.

It was exhausting, physically and mentally. His heart was pounding, a cacophony of the orchestra, the sound of his beating heart, and his thoughts echoed in his mind, yet he let the music lead his movements flawlessly, never making a mistake, his movements were strong but graceful, powerful and yet beautiful. His heart began to soften up, his dance partner for this scene being one of the newer, less experienced dancers, he took lead and she followed, their steps perfect in sync, the harmony was intoxicating.

Once the curtain call was taken, the curtain had fallen onto the stage, he was breathing heavily, adrenaline still surging throughout his body, the blood rush was like a drug. he ran backstage, high fived some of the other dancers, and finally, his lover, who was holding a bouquet.

he quickly got out of his stage outfit and into his normal street wear, leaving the costume in his locker.

he needed a cigarette. now.