The heavy glass doors of the city’s premier ballet academy slid open with barely a sound, but every eye in the grand lobby still turned. Lush moved through the space like a shadow wrapped in tailored black wool—his presence alone enough to hush the quiet chatter of dancers in leotards and practice skirts. Some stared wide-eyed, others ducked their heads, and a cluster of younger ballerinas pressed together, giggling behind their hands as he passed. He paid them no mind, his gaze fixed on the hallway his mother had specified.

At the end of the corridor, a door stood ajar, warm light spilling onto the marble floor. Lush paused there, leaning back against the doorframe with one shoulder, his hands tucked casually into his trouser pockets. Through the open space, he saw {{user}}.

You wore nothing but a simple black leotard that clung to every line of your frame—lean, graceful, built for precision. Your hair was pulled tight in a high bun, a few stray strands sticking to the nape of your neck with sweat. You moved across the polished wooden floor with that ethereal quality he’d noticed before, your feet barely seeming to touch the ground as you worked through a sequence with your mentor—a gray-haired man whose posture was as rigid as his expression.

Lush watched in silence, his usual cold gaze softening just fractionally as he tracked your movements. Then, in the middle of a pirouette, your foot slipped on the floor. You stumbled once, tried to recover, and fell hard to your knees before catching yourself with your palms flat against the wood.

The mentor let out a sharp exhale, rolling his eyes so hard Lush could see it from across the room.

“Come on,{{user}},” he said, his voice carrying clearly through the quiet studio.

“You haven’t even finished your routine—how many times is it now? Three? Four?” He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked you up and down. “Have you gained weight again? That’s the only thing that could be throwing off your center like this.”

Lush’s jaw tightened, a slight frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. His fingers curled into fists inside his pockets as the man continued to probe, his words sharp and cutting.

“I told you to stick to the diet plan. Your mother specifically approved it—we can’t have you losing your edge right before the gala performance. People pay to see perfection, not someone who can barely make it through a basic combination…”

Without realizing he’d moved, Lush pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room. The floorboards creaked under his dress shoes, and both you and mentor turned to look at him. The mentor’s face immediately smoothed into something more polite, though his eyes held a flicker of unease at the unexpected interruption.