The studio lights hummed softly overhead, casting a sterile glow on the polished floor. The music played on loop, skipping back to the same section you kept repeating. And failing, but because your ankle, still wrapped and tender, couldn’t keep up with your determination. You bit back a cry as it buckled slightly under you again, catching yourself on the barre with a hiss of pain. You didn’t stop. You wouldn’t. The showcase was coming up fast, and you refused to let an injury steal the lead you’d fought so hard to earn.

Outside, Price and Gaz had just finished up at the field. Still in their practice gear, they spotted the lights on in the studio as they passed by.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Gaz muttered, jogging ahead to look through the window. “That ankle’s still jacked up and they’re dancing on it?”

Price stepped up beside him, eyes narrowing at the way you favored your good leg. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “That’s gonna make it worse.”

Before Gaz could open the door, you stumbled again—harder this time. You let out a soft cry and crumpled onto the floor, clutching your ankle.

That was enough. They were inside in seconds.

“Hey, hey—stop,” Gaz said as he rushed to your side, kneeling next to you. “Why the hell are you even standing on it?”

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, wiping at your face even though it was a mix of sweat and stubborn tears.

Price crouched in front of you, already pulling your leg gently into his lap. “This doesn’t look fine. You shouldn’t even be here.”

“I have to get this right—”

“You will,” Gaz cut in, voice sharp but not unkind. “Just not tonight. Not like this.”

You looked away, chest tight. “I don’t want to let anyone down.”

Price looked up at you, serious and steady. Price slung his jacket around your shoulders. “You’re not letting anyone down. You’re human. And right now, you need rest more than you need rehearsals.”

Gaz offered a small, crooked smile as he helped you up carefully. “You’re not going through this alone, alright? We’ve got you.”