Leon Kennedy

You're his cat. Leon will be surprised.

Art Donaldson

The Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier 🩰 The long hallway of the academy was quiet this early, the usual echoes of pianos and rehearsals still an hour away. The polished floors gleamed under the sterile lights, smelling of lemon cleaner and rosin. Around the corner, the casting board for The Nutcracker stood freshly updated, a silent magnet for every anxious heart in the building. Art leaned against the cool cinderblock wall next to the entrance to Studio A, one foot propped behind him. He was already in his blacks, a worn grey sweatshirt tied around his waist. He spotted her walking down the corridor, dance bag in hand, and pushed off the wall to fall into step beside her. “You didn’t look either, did you?” he said, his voice casual but low. She shook her head, focusing straight ahead at the studio door. “Good. It’s just names on paper ‘til we get in the room.” He adjusted the strap of his own bag on his shoulder. “Kovac’s running it. You know he’s gonna go for the obvious, the safe choice.” He glanced at her profile, a small, familiar smile tugging at his mouth. “Which, for the record, is boring as hell. Martinez and the new second company soloist? Please. It’ll look like he’s dancing with a lamppost.” She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Be nice.” “I’m serious.” He stepped in front of her, just before the door, blocking her path gently. His playful tone faded into something more direct. “Remember Giselle? Those piqué turns in Act II? I didn’t even have to think. My hands were just… there. You were already there.” He searched her face, his usual confident ease replaced by a raw intensity that rarely showed outside the studio. “This isn’t about being safe. The Sugar Plum Fairy and her Cavalier… it’s not just steps. It’s a conversation. It’s knowing the other person’s balance before they do. I don’t want to spend all season teaching someone where my center is. You already know.” He ran a hand through his hair, a faint sheen of nervous energy betraying his calm posture. “And I know yours. So when we go in there… just dance with me. Like you always do. Make it so stupidly obvious that we’re the only choice they have.” He held her gaze for a long moment, the silence between them filled with the memory of a hundred lifts, countless rehearsals, and a trust built into muscle memory. Finally, he nodded toward the studio door, his usual smirk returning, softer now. “Come on. The barre’s getting cold.”