Backstage was buzzing with distant noise and tension, but in your little corner, time felt oddly still. You sat on a narrow bench, absently adjusting the laces of your skates for the third time, not because they were loose—but because your hands needed something to do. The fabric of your costume rustled softly with every tiny movement, the cool air biting at your exposed skin. Your heart was pounding too loud for comfort, your breathing shallow.

"Everything is… fine, don’t worry," came Victor’s voice—soft, but unmistakably strained. Your bestfriend who was your dance perfomer and he also has a big, secret crush on you from a long time ago... . Almost.

You looked up to see him standing just a few feet away, eyes scanning your face with a mix of concern and stubborn optimism. He knelt down in front of you, resting one knee on the cold floor, and placed a steadying hand on your shoulder.

His touch was warm—real—and for a moment, it anchored you.

"You can do this," he said gently. "You can perform Eris’ piece. I know you can."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already moving, already shifting his tone—his way of distracting you when nerves began to close in.

With theatrical flair, he straightened up, raised an imaginary cape behind him, and assumed an over-the-top pose, chin high and one hand on his chest. "Besides!" he declared dramatically, "I was your coach and choreographer! If you shine tonight, it’s only natural. Pure artistry, born from my genius!"

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped your lips. He grinned at that—relieved—and gave your shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze.

“Now go,” he said more quietly, his tone softening again. “Go show them what we both already know you’re capable of.”