#swan lake au?

[mothmanavenue]

take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die, i don’t belong, and my beloved neither do you

[rhapeseuhans]

A friend and I watched different versions of the Swan Lake, so this was born 🥰

[tangledinink]

Donnie is okay!!!!!! He’s safe!!! Now they just need to bring him home and help him recover from whatever magical residue stuff lingers. Please say he’s gonna remember everything when he wakes up!

(P.S. where is Odette? And Odile? Surely they don’t just disappear?)

odile was made to hunt odette, and no other reason. the magick that created her dictated that so long as odette still lived, so must she.

now, it's time for both of them to rest.

credit to @dryad-druid for inspiration for odile's black swan/ballerina form.

[ swanatello ] [ prev episode ] [ next episode ]

(the next 20+ pages are already up on patreon!)

[gh0stbeeee]

Thinking about ballet dancer Light.

Preteen Light choosing a sport and taking up ballet because he's always loved the grace, the power, and the emotion in the way the dancers move, because maybe this could be a momentary freedom for him, from the pointless competition that is his life.

Light being asked hundreds of times if he's sure, if he wants this, if this will distract him, if he can work hard enough to catch up to the other kids that have been doing this for years.

Light walking into a ballet class for the first time, one of the few boys, and leaving at the end ashamed at how clumsy he was in comparison.

Light working himself to the bone to catch up, for the first time determined to finish his homework as fast as he could because he found something he wants to really do, staying for hours at the little studio every day and leaving with screaming muscles and blisters on his feet.

Barely able to feel the pain in comparison to this burning passion he felt for the first time.

Quickly catching the attention of the teachers, they tell him if he keeps at it he will have a very promising future ahead of him.

He never tells Soichiro this might be more than just an extracurricular for university.

His first recital goes spectacularly, even though he was only a supporting role, he caught the eye of a recruiter from a prestigious ballet company who told his mother they would keep an eye on him, as his future was bound to be successful (his father was too busy to come.)

The drive home his silent, his face rubbed raw from removing the stage makeup in the bathroom before leaving, when Sachiko says she can talk with his father, if this is what he really wants to do.

Light smiles, saying he'll think about it more before they commit in the future.

The girls start learning on pointe, and Light is intrigued. His instructor says the boys can learn as well, and it would make them better dancers for it.

Light and one other boy agree.

It's an extra layer of work, the stiff shoes feel somehow too much and too little as he stands in a pair for his first fitting, alone as he hadn't told his parents.

But he feels a warm flutter in his chest when he sees himself in the mirror, on his toes like Odette in Swan Lake, his first ballet.

He takes to it even faster than when he'd started. Even when the basic lessons ended, he continued to dance on pointe in his own time. He learns the girls' lead choreography alongside the boys, who were mostly supports for the lead ballerina.

He adds his own twists on it, every movement he makes sharp yet graceful, makes it look effortless yet full of power.

His instructor is amazed, watches as he dances better than the girl who got the lead.

"It's such a shame," she says slightly regretfully, "if you were a girl, I think you would've had a real chance at being made a prima ballerina. That being said, at this rate, if you get picked up by a professional company, I'm sure you'd make premier danseur in no time." She laughs as she says it, a kind joke to highlight his incredible skills and potential, and Light laughs too.

When Light is fifteen, his school is putting on a production of Swan Lake.

And for a brief moment, his heart is over the moon, it has always been a dream of his to dance the ballet. It sinks immediately the next moment, when they call only for girls to audition for Odette and Odile.

He still puts his name in to audition for Prince Siegfried, he learns the choreography, but he can't stop himself from putting his pointe shoes back on and dancing Odettes parts when he is alone. Male point dancers were only used as a joke in classical ballet, he had no hope for the part, but for a while, he dreamed.

He danced Odette, and he danced Odile's Variation, twirled with more grace than a human should have, and he felt like he was flying.

It was after he'd perfected Prince Siegfried's parts to know, and danced Odette's death as his last run for the night, that as his fluttering wings stilled for the last time, he felt trapped again.

The audition was in a day. If he got the part, he was nearly guaranteed a spot in the nationally top company. And he would dance as a man was expected, and he would never dance on pointe on a stage.

He packed away his pointe shoes for the last time.

The next morning, the day before the auditions, he handed them his resignation from the school. He would never forget the despair on their faces when they looked into his eyes and saw that his passion had died. (He'd murdered it in cold blood.)

"Good." His father had said. "A healthy phase, but it was time to get serious about school. You made the right choice."

Light just smiled blankly. His mother pretended not to notice the tear stains on his face when she brought him some apples that night.

(It wasn't until midnight eyes, raven hair, and a chain that he danced again, twirling gleefully to hide the blood stains on his feathers as he showed the detective his old passion.)

[vivi-designs]

At the ballet from the chorus line! Duchess and Justine!!

[starlightwayfinder]

the royalty 👑

[starlightdelrey]

𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

f1 mafia au

arthur leclerc x norris!reader (code name odette)

synopsis: yn norris was born into a life of calculated violence. every decision she made faced consequences, and now, at eighteen years old, she's one of the most protected people on the planet. her symbol, the swan, is seen as a trademark of safety (one she uses almost exclusively on the women in the mob). although her family isn't friends with the other affiliated families, they aren't enemies - and when somebody begins planning an assassination on her, they're forced to become terse allies to keep the ecosystem of their partnerships safe.

cw: guns and violence, swearing, death, animal death, character death, problematic characters (they're all mob bosses like), age gap relationship, alcohol, more to come

a/n - very excited for this one!! comment, dm or ask to be added to a taglist, and definitely give requests on specific scenarios you'd like to see!

table of contents:

soundtrack

teaser

[circenatomy]

GUYS GUYS HEAR ME OUT

Odette as Scylla and Odile as Circe

[kittysquire]

*Aira making swanlake noises* 🦢

So um I can’t stop drawing this… 🧍 So uhhhh yeah, hope you’re into this stuff

[smolbus]

Stede was playing a role, but it was very much to his advantage that it was one where he was supposed to be enamoured with Ed, because Stede didn’t think he could keep that expression off his face if he tried. And honestly, at this point, he wasn’t even trying.

Flight of Faith chapter 12

[v-albion]

Dance under the Moonlight

Head empty no thoughts only Swannie @tangledinink

Song used: Swan Lake Suite, Op 20: Scene: Enchanted Lake

[luxmoogle]

Swan Lake AU concepts for Odile!Vanitas

[missterious-figure]

I found another random au I forgot about! (I'm searching through my pictures to see if I have anymore after finding the cowboy one)

However, I kinda remember this one! I think the premise was Sun and Moon were two brother rulers that reign over a lake far up in the mountains. Y/n comes there seeking refuge after their pond was destroyed.

Both Sun and Moon can transform between a koi and swan form. If one is a swan, the other has to be a koi.  If not, it could destroy the balance of the lake or the day/night cycle.

They don't have to, but choose to have a time based schedule: when it's day time Sun is in his swan form and Moon is in his koi form. At night Moon rises up with the stars(fireflies) as his swan form and Sun sinks below the surface as a koi.

They seem to be deities or demi-gods. They can grant certain wishes, depending on context and how powerful the wish is.

I remember being inspired by a video were there was a bunch of koi following a black swan, and originally, I was going to have Moon be the Black Swan King and Sun be the Golden Koi King.

[tangledinink]

so we saw one of swanatello's good days . . . how do the bad days go? :eyes: don't mind me i feed on angst~

Swanatello is Guardian of The Lake and is extremely territorial and protective. The brothers have to take turns and visit him one at a time-- if they approach as a group, Swanatello will quickly grow defensive and view them as a threat. They've learned by now that if he's not able to recognize them, the best thing to do is back off and try again tomorrow.

... Mostly learned, anyway.

(The next time Leo's able to visit properly, Donnie will worriedly ask him what happened to his wrist.)

[lettuce-shoes]

Sometimes late at night, he'll dance by himself, to music no one can hear. He doesn't always know whats wrong, but he knows something is missing. ___ Sooooooo. I've Really been enjoying @tangledinink 's Swantello AU And this came to me earlier this week but I was only able to reach my tablet maybe 4 hours ago? So I churned this bad boy out! Quite happy with it! even if it isnt perfect Edit: SO IM AN IDIOT AND ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE OG POST!! TO ATONE FOR MY SINS I HAVE ADDED THE FLATS AND THE SKETCH

IM SO SORRY FOR THE DOUBLE PING

[idkanymark]

[ A Swan's First Love]

renjun x f!reader | ballet core | renjun x f!ballerina

INTRO: Being a ballerina has always been your dream, but lately, the pressures and struggles have made you question everything. They say a ballerina dies twice: the first is when they stop dancing, and it’s the most painful of all. As doubt clouds your passion, your dance partner, Renjun, becomes your unexpected anchor. Through his quiet support, he helps you rediscover your love for ballet—and perhaps sparks something even deeper. With him, you begin to believe that love, whether for dance or another, doesn’t have to break you.

wc. Around 6k

warnings. ed mentioned

Lowkey inspired by: Black Swan by BTS

--------

The ballet studio echoed with the rhythmic slap of feet against polished wood, each sound a reminder of your failure. The faint scent of floor polish lingered in the air, mingling with the bitterness of sweat and the suffocating tension that hung heavy in the room. You stood in the center, chest tight, your breath shallow, your body aching from the relentless demands of the art form.

“Again!” Madame Kim’s voice cracked through the space like a whip, sharp and unforgiving.

You flinched.

“You’re too stiff” the instructor barked, her tone brimming with disdain. “The grace, the fluidity—where is it, Y/N? You’re dancing like a machine, not a swan. If you can’t find it within yourself, you might as well leave.”

A flush of heat rushed to your cheeks. Embarrassment warred with frustration, knotting your insides. You wanted to say something—anything—to defend yourself, but your tongue felt heavy. Words didn’t come. Instead, your gaze dropped to your reflection in the floor-length mirrors lining the studio.

There you were: a dancer whose movements were stiff and disconnected, a far cry from the effortless beauty expected of her. Ballet had once been your sanctuary, your identity, but now it felt like a prison. Every failed pirouette, every misstep, every sharp critique chipped away at the joy you once felt, leaving behind an empty shell of what you used to be.

The arch of your pointe shoes caught your eye—a picture of perfection, the embodiment of all you were supposed to be. Yet the polished elegance of the satin mocked you. It reminded you of the dancer you used to be: hopeful, graceful, unyielding in her passion. That version of yourself felt like a stranger now.

Madame Kim’s voice rang out again, dragging you away from your thoughts. “Again. Do it again. And this time, try to remember what it means to be a swan.”

The words were like salt in an open wound. A swan? You couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be free, let alone graceful. There was no lightness in your limbs, no fluidity in your movements. Every tendu, every plié, every leap felt like a battle against your own body.

Your classmates shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting toward you and then away, as if you humiliation might be contagious.

You swallowed hard and forced your body into motion once more. You extended your arms, raised your chin, and tried to channel the image of a swan gliding across a lake. But instead of feeling weightless, you felt heavy.

Instead of beauty, there was only strain.

Your feet moved, your arms curved, but the magic wasn’t there. It hadn’t been for weeks.

You caught Renjun’s gaze from across the room. He stood near the barre, his posture perfect, his every movement precise and full of life. His expression was unreadable, but you imagined the judgment in his eyes, the pity. You hated the idea that he—or anyone—might see you like this.

That they might see you as you see yourself

“Stop!” Madame Kim’s voice sliced through the air, the music halting abruptly. “That’s enough for today, Y/N”

You chest heaved as you fought to hold back tears. You nodded curtly, your throat too tight to speak, and retreated to the corner of the studio.

The others resumed their practice, but you could only sit, your hands trembling as they rested on your lap. You stared at your reflection once more, wondering how you had lost so much of yourself —and if you would ever find it again.

The studio was empty now, save for the faint creaks of the wooden floor as you paced back and forth. The mirrors reflected a ghostly version of yourself—disheveled hair, reddened cheeks, and shoulders slumped under the weight of your failures. You stopped in the center of the room, you fingers brushing against the soft fabric of your practice skirt.

 Your body ached in protest, muscles tight and unforgiving after hours of repetition. You closed your eyes, willing to find solace in the quiet, but the silence felt oppressive. The faint hum of the overhead lights buzzed in your ears, and the scent of floor polish clung to you like an unwelcome reminder of where you were.

You sank to the floor, your legs stretched out before your toes instinctively pointing—a habit so ingrained it felt like second nature. Your gaze drifted to your worn pointe shoes. The once-pristine satin was scuffed and stained, the ribbons frayed from countless rehearsals. You reached for one, turning it over in your hands. The shoe felt foreign now, like it belonged to someone else.

When had ballet stopped feeling like home?

You leaned your head back against the mirrored wall, staring at the ceiling. Memories flooded your mind—of your first dance class, of the thrill of landing your first solo, of the applause that once filled you with pride. But those moments felt so far away now, like fragments of a life you could barely remember.

You thoughts spiraled, each one darker than the last. Maybe the voices in your head were saying the truth. Maybe you aren’t meant for this anymore. The idea of quitting made your stomach churn, but wasn’t it worse to keep going like this? To keep fighting for something that no longer felt like yours?

You hugged your knees to your chest, resting your forehead against them.

Don’t cry

Don’t cry

Don’t cry

You don't have the right to cry

The sound of the door creaking open startled you, there he was, Renjun was standing in the doorway, his bag slung over one shoulder.

 “You’re still here” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You turned away, pretending to adjust you shoe. “Couldn’t leave just yet”

Renjun stepped inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the studio, stopping a few feet away from you. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, simply looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“You okay?” he asked.

You hesitated, unsure why he cared. You weren’t close—just partners in the dance.

“I’m fine” you lied

Renjun crouched down to your level, his head tilting slightly as he studied you “You don’t look fine.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the gentle concern in his tone. It wasn’t pity—it was something else.

Understanding, maybe.

“It’s just been a rough day” you admitted finally.

Renjun nodded, leaning against the wall, , his gaze never leaving you “I get that. It happens to everyone. Even me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You? I doubt that.”

He smiled faintly. “You’d be surprised”

-----

A week after the disastrous rehearsal, you walked into the studio, your stomach already knotted with dread. You were late, not much but enough to feel the sting of Madame Kim’s disapproving glare.

 “Ah, Y/N. How kind of you to join us” she said with a raised eyebrow. “Since you’ve graced us with your presence, let’s see if you’ve managed to redeem yourself. Renjun, step forward. You’ll work on the duet section together.”

 The words sent a chill down your spine. You weren’t ready—not for the duet, not for the scrutiny. And definitely not for Renjun.

“Now?I haven’t warmed up yet and…”

“Yes, now” Madame Kim’s tone left no room for argument. She clapped her hands sharply. “I want to see chemistry, emotion—something real”

Renjun, who had been warming up near the barre, straightened and nodded. He walked toward you with the quiet confidence that seemed to come so naturally to him. You avoided his gaze as you moved to the center of the studio, your heart hammering in your chest.

The music began, the opening strains of the dance filling the air. You counted the beats in your head, body moving mechanically into position. You extended your arms, tried to hold the curve of your back, but nothing about it felt right.

Renjun stepped closer, offering his hand for the lift. You hesitated for a fraction too long, and the timing was thrown off. The lift barely happened—your feet left the floor for only a second before you dropped back down, off-balance.

“Stop, stop, stop!” Madame Kim barked, clapping her hands sharply. The music cut out. “Y/N, what are you doing? The audience will not tolerate hesitation. You need to trust your partner.”

Humiliated, that’s how you felt

You glanced at Renjun, expecting frustration or impatience, but his expression remained unreadable.

“Again” Madame Kim ordered.

The second attempt wasn’t much better. Neither was the third. Madame Kim’s sighs of exasperation grew louder with each failure until she finally waved her hand dismissively. “That’s enough. Fix this mess on your own time” she snapped. “We can’t waste the company’s rehearsal on this nonsense.”

As she turned her attention to the rest of the group, you wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor.

What if she replace you with someone else? That can't happen. You need to keep the role and perform.

"You're overthinking it" Renjun said softly, breaking the tense silence.

You blinked, surprised by his calm tone. “Excuse me?”

“The lift” he said, his voice still quiet but firm. “You’re trying too hard to control it. You need to trust me. Let go a little.”

You folded your arms defensively. “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have Madame Kim breathing down your neck every second.”

Renjun tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You think she doesn’t criticize me?”

You hesitated, frustration ebbing slightly. “You don’t look like you struggle.”

His lips curved into a faint smile. “That’s because you only see the finished product, not the hours I spend fixing my mistakes. I let you see what I want you to see Y/N”

He gestured toward the door of the studio. “Come on. Let’s try again without her watching.”

 Reluctantly, you followed him into an empty studio.

“Before we try the lift again, let’s do something else” Renjun said

“Something else?” You frowned. “We’re supposed to be rehearsing the choreography”

“And we will” he said. “But first, we need to loosen up.”

To your surprise, Renjun pulled out his phone and scrolled through it for a moment before a pop song started playing from the small speaker. The upbeat rhythm was a stark contrast to the dramatic elegance of ballet.

You stared at him. “You’re kidding”

“Not at all.” Renjun set his phone on the floor and stepped back. “Sometimes, you need to stop thinking so much and just move. No choreography. No rules. Just dance.”

You hesitated, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Come on” he said, his voice light but insistent. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Against your better judgment, You gave in. Your steps awkward and hesitant at first but as the music swelled, something shifted. The freedom of moving without structure, without fear of judgment, felt exhilarating. You glanced at Renjun and saw him smiling—not the polite, distant smile he usually wore, but something warm and genuine.

By the time the song ended, you both were laughing.

“See?” Renjun said, slightly out of breath. “You’re not a machine. You just forgot how to feel the music.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “That’s not going to help with the duet.”

“Maybe not directly,” he admitted, “but it’s a start. Let’s try the lift again.”

And he was right.

When you returned to the center of the room, something had changed. The tension in your body was gone, replaced by a quiet confidence. As Renjun extended his hand, you took it without hesitation. This time, the lift was seamless, their movements fluid and synchronized.

When they landed, your chest swelled with relief and something close to pride.

Renjun grinned. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance in the gesture. “Okay, fine. Maybe you have a point.”

You practiced for another hour, each lift and turn becoming smoother, more natural. By the end of the session, you realised it wasn’t just an improvement but maybe the beginning of enjoying dancing again.

----

It started with quiet conversations after rehearsals. At first, the exchanges were brief—small acknowledgments of your work together or comments about the routine. But as the weeks passed, the silences grew less daunting, and the words came easier.

One evening, after an especially grueling practice, you and Renjun sat on the floor of the empty studio, your backs against the mirrored wall. Your bodies were sore, breaths uneven, but there was a quiet comfort in sharing the space.

“Do you ever feel like you’re fighting against your own body?” you asked, voice soft but carrying the weight of exhaustion.

Renjun glanced at you, surprised by the vulnerability tone. “All the time” he admitted. “People think dancers are perfect machines, but we’re not. Half the time, I feel like my body’s betraying me.”

You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Right? Like... it doesn’t matter how much I train or how carefully I eat. I always feel like I’m falling short.”

Renjun hesitated, then asked gently “Carefully?”

You nodded, your gaze fixed on your knees. “You know. Counting calories, avoiding carbs. Madame Kim’s made comments before about... you know.”

Renjun’s expression darkened slightly. “Yeah, I’ve heard those comments.” His jaw tightened as he looked at the floor. “They expect us to look like swans on stage but don’t care if it’s breaking us to stay that way.”

You turned to him, your chest tightening at the empathy in his voice. “Do you ever... struggle with it?”

Renjun leaned his head back against the mirror, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah. Especially when I first started training seriously. I’d skip meals, push myself too hard. There was one time I nearly passed out in rehearsal. That’s when I realized it wasn’t sustainable, and I decided to change companies. Coming here, to Dream Ballet Academy, was the best choice I made.”

She frowned, guilt washing over her. “Renjun...”

He gave you a small, wry smile. “It’s better now. I’ve learned to listen to my body more, to stop when I need to. But it’s still hard. The pressure never really goes away.”

You nodded, your throat tight. “I get that. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth it. If all this... pain is worth it for a few minutes on stage.”

Renjun turned to face you, his gaze steady. “It is” he said firmly. “But only if you’re doing it for you. Not for Madame Kim, or the audience, or anyone else. Just you.”

His words struck something deep and for the first time in a long while, you felt a flicker of clarity.

“I’m sorry for what I said back then” you whispered. “I do know that you struggle... I just—”

“I know” Renjun interrupted softly. “I saw myself in you that day.”

----

Things began to shift after that night. Rehearsals were better. Renjun had a way of grounding you, reminding you to breathe when you became too caught up in your head.

But the road was far from smooth.

During a run-through of the duet, your foot slipped during a turn. You stumbled, the familiar sharp pull of gravity twisting your ankle as you fell. Pain shot through your leg, sharp and immediate.

Renjun was at your side in an instant. “Are you okay?”

You winced, shaking your head. “I... I think I twisted it.”

Madame Kim appeared, her expression stern but tinged with concern. “That’s enough for today. Renjun, help her to the bench.”

Renjun wrapped an arm around your shoulders, supporting you as you limped to the side of the studio. Once you were seated, he crouched in front of you, carefully unlacing your shoe.

“This might hurt” he warned before pressing his fingers gently around the swelling.

You hissed, biting her lip. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

Renjun glanced up, his expression serious. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

Your defenses faltered at the softness in his voice. “It’s just... I can’t afford to mess this up. If I don’t get this right, Madame Kim will replace me. And if I’m not dancing, then what’s the point?”

Renjun shook his head, his hand still resting on your ankle. “The point is taking care of yourself. You can’t dance if you’re hurt.”

Tears prickled your eyes, but you blinked them away. “I just feel like... no matter what I do, it’s never enough. I’m never enough.”

Renjun reached out, his hand resting lightly on yours. “You’re more than enough, Y/N. You’re stronger than you think.”

You looked at him, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, the world outside the studio faded away, leaving only the warmth of his gaze and the quiet reassurance in his touch.

That evening, after Renjun left, you sat alone in the studio, your ankle wrapped and elevated. Your reflection stared back at you—worn and tired but resolute.

You stood slowly, favoring your uninjured foot, and moved to the center of the room. Ignoring the pain, you lifted your arms into fifth position, feeling the music in your mind, and started the sequence again.

It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t for Madame Kim. This time, it was for yourself.

And for the first time in awhile, it felt enough.

-----

Your friendship with Renjun deepened after that night. It wasn’t just about rehearsals anymore; it was about the time you spent together outside the studio. He introduced you to his favorite coffee shop, a cozy little place tucked away on a quiet street, where the scent of roasted beans filled the air. You sat there for hours, talking about everything and nothing.

You shared stories from your childhood—how you first fell in love with ballet, how you always danced around the house in your socks until your mother enrolled you in lessons. You spoke of struggles you’d never voiced aloud before, the pressures, the doubts, the fear that came with constantly trying to be perfect.

Renjun listened with a quiet attentiveness, as though every word you spoke mattered. And for the first time in a long while, you felt seen—truly seen—not by the audience who watched you perform, but by someone who understood the depth of what it meant to live this life.

One afternoon, as you walked together through the park, the sun warming your skin, Renjun nudged you playfully. “Do you ever stop thinking about ballet?”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Not really,” you said with a sigh. “It’s hard to, when it feels like my entire life revolves around it.”

He stopped walking, turning to face you with a contemplative look. “Maybe that’s the problem” he said softly.

You furrowed your brows, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He met your gaze, his expression thoughtful yet kind. “Ballet is important, sure. But it’s not everything. You’re more than just a dancer, Y/N. And if you forget that, you’ll lose the part of yourself that makes you… well, you.”

His words hung in the air, the weight of them settling in your chest. You didn’t respond right away, the thought swirling in your mind as you walked in silence for a while longer. Renjun didn’t push you to speak, just stayed at your side, letting the quiet moments stretch between you.

That night, as you lay in bed, his words echoed in your mind: You’re more than just a dancer. You weren’t sure if you truly believed it yet, but for the first time, you felt a small flicker of hope that maybe he was right.

Over the next few weeks, the change was subtle at first. You found yourself laughing more—truly laughing—not just in the studio but outside of it too. You let yourself enjoy small moments without guilt. You went to the park and sat under the trees, watching the world go by instead of obsessing over the next rehearsal. You let your shoulders drop, the constant tension beginning to ease.

Renjun was there through it all—steady, kind, and unwavering. Every time you felt like slipping back into old habits, he was there to remind you that it was okay to take a step back. He never pushed you, just offered a hand when you needed it.

One evening, after another grueling practice, the two of you sat together on the studio floor, your muscles sore but your heart lighter than it had been in ages. The room was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioning and the distant sounds of traffic outside. You turned to Renjun, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the physical exhaustion you felt.

“You know,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence, “you’re kind of amazing”

Renjun raised an eyebrow, a playful smile curling at his lips. “Kind of?”

You nudged him lightly, your smile growing. “Okay, maybe more than kind of”

For a moment, the air between you shifted. The playful banter faded into something deeper, something unspoken. His gaze softened, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

Renjun didn’t look away. Instead, he leaned in just slightly, his voice lowering to a whisper. “You’re pretty amazing too”

Your heart started beating faster, the space between you feeling charged with something new, something that neither of you had dared to name yet. You stayed there for a moment, close but not quite touching, the weight of the words hanging between you.

It wasn’t a sudden shift, but rather a slow, careful building of trust, of understanding. Renjun’s words, his presence, were a steadying force in your life, one you hadn’t known you needed until now.

And as you sat there, with your heart racing and your thoughts tangled, you realized that, for the first time in a long while, you were exactly where you needed to be.

-----

The night of the Swan Lake premiere arrived, and the air was thick with anticipation.

Backstage, you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your costume, your heart racing. The usual anxiety clawed at your insides, but there was a strange calmness too. Renjun’s reassuring presence was like a steady hand on your back, guiding you through the storm of self-doubt.

“You got this” Renjun whispered, his voice calm but filled with an intensity that made you believe it. “We’ve practiced this. Just feel it. Let go.”

His words, simple as they were, wrapped around you like a protective shield. You nodded, taking a deep breath. For once, you weren’t alone in this.

When the curtain rose and the music began, you felt the magic of the moment. As you moved across the stage, your bodies syncing in perfect harmony, you felt a connection with Renjun that went beyond just the dance. It was as though every move you made was fueled by something deeper than mere technique—it was raw, real, and unspoken. You weren’t just performing; you were telling a story, your emotions intertwined in every step and lift.

The audience was silent, captivated by the beauty and intensity of your performance. Each lift, each spin was executed with flawless precision, but it was the emotion behind your movements that truly took the audience’s breath away. When you reached the final pose, suspended in mid-air for a fleeting moment, everything seemed to freeze. You held your breath, feeling the rush of the performance course through you.

As the music ended and the applause erupted, Renjun subtly squeezed your hand in a silent promise—a reminder that this was just the beginning. The moment you shared felt like something more than just a performance. It was a mutual understanding, a connection that neither of you had expected, but both had hoped for.

Later that evening, after the last of the applause had faded and the theater emptied out, you and Renjun found yourselves standing outside the stage door. The cool night air brushed against your skin, and for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing and the quiet hum of the city around them.

You turned to Renjun, your heart still racing—not from nerves, but from something deeper, something that had been building for a while. There was no crowd, no expectations, just the two of them, alone in the night.

Renjun looked at you, his eyes soft, but there was a weight to his gaze. “Y/N, I’ve been meaning to say something.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “What’s that?”

He hesitated, then took a small step closer. “I’ve watched you go through so much. The pressure, the struggle, the pain… but you’re still here, still fighting. I admire that. And somewhere along the way, I’ve… I’ve started to feel something more than admiration.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You weren’t sure what you’d expected, but it wasn’t this. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up at him, his words settling in your chest like a warm ache.

“I…” you took a breath, your words stumbling out. “I feel the same way, Renjun. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, you became… more than just a partner. You became someone I care about. A lot.”

Renjun’s face softened, a small smile playing on his lips. He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels that.”

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. His hand lingered by your face, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation. When he found none, he leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Your lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, the kind that carried all the unspoken words you didn’t know how to say.

It was brief but perfect.

Renjun smiled at you, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”

You laughed softly, your cheeks warm. “You’re not so bad yourself”

He stepped back slightly, his hand slipping down to take yours, fingers interlocking effortlessly. It was a simple gesture, but it felt like everything you have been through had led to this. You squeezed his hand back, a quiet promise of your own.

Together, you walked into the night, side by side. The world felt different now. Not because the performance was over, but because you were no longer just two dancers on the same stage—you were two people who had found something in each other, something real, something worth holding on to.

As you walked, You couldn’t help but think about the future. Whatever came next, you knew you wouldn’t face it alone. Not anymore.

After a while, Renjun broke the silence, glancing at you with a teasing smile. “You’re unusually quiet. What are you thinking about?”

You smiled shyly, your fingers tightening slightly around his. “I was just thinking… You’re my first love, Renjun.”

Renjun stopped walking, looking at you in surprise before breaking into a laugh. “Don’t be a liar.”

“What?” You said, half laughing, half indignant. “It’s true! I’ve never dated anyone before.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Your first love was ballet, Y/N.”

You blinked, about to argue, but his gentle smile stopped you. And as the words sank in, you realized he was right. Ballet had always been your first love—the thing that consumed your thoughts, your time, your heart. But now, there was something—or someone—else who shared that space.

And in that moment, as you continued walking hand in hand, you knew that this new chapter of your life was one you were ready to embrace.