• Music. Is. Mandatory. •

"Move, move, move! Get out of the way!"

Jumping to the side when two people steering a shopping cart with a guy sitting in it came rolling wildly down the hall, howling with laughter, Fiona nearly fell backwards and landed on the floor had it not been for her quick reflex to catch on to the sill of the door to the studio she was glaring inside.

Loud music started thumping, just as a bunch of people spread aside for the shopping cart that came rolling in with uncontrolled speed. Everyone did like Fiona and stared with open mouthes as the two controlling the cart suddenly braked and had the guy sitting inside flying out with his limbs bashing about.

And then—just as Fiona waited to see the inevitable crash and hear the bones on the poor guy break—he landed on his hands and knees in a pose, just as the beat dropped.

Everyone in the studio took a synchronized step back as the guy lifted his head in tact with the beat. That's when Fiona realized it was all choreographed.

They all jumped at the next beat, striking a similar pose to the guy in the center, who clearly had a flair for the dramatic. With soft, but wild chocolate brown hair, tan skin and a muscular built, fit for a dancer, he looked insanely good.

Everyone suddenly started doing a synchronized domino move where one started a move, then the next one copied it a fraction of a second later, then the next, and so on. The guy in the middle then stepped out and did a routine. He was fast, Fiona noted, watching him dance with a gaping mouth. His footwork was amazing. He twirled on the floor, did a headstand, a pose, then did a backflip, landed on his hands and struck another pose with his legs in the air.

Who the hell was this guy? Fiona wondered as she watched from the door.

Jumping back up again, the guy clapped his hands twice and then the rest of the crew begun dancing again, all of them jumping into the same pose as him. They danced out their routine, the guy in the middle appearing to be the crew leader, topping off everything they did with a move that was twice the more amazing.

The whole crew ended the routine off with doing a thing where the lead guy jumped up over a wall they had made with their bodies and landed on his feet, throwing his cap at the mirror with a grin. As the music snapped and ended, everyone broke out of formation and cheered and clapped. The guy at the front grinned as well and picked up his cap again, putting it back where it belonged. He bumped fists with a few of the guys and teased a couple of the girls with some booty-pinches. He then shifted his eyes to the door, still wearing his grin, and spotted Fiona.

She jumped as if having been stung, swung around and quickly headed on down the hall where she was supposed to be.

Watching them dance had been fun, but she could never in a million years do something like that, join a crew. They were so loud and extroverted. Not that that was a bad thing, it was just the exact opposite of what she was.

Looking down at her feet that were covered in her her warmup ballet slippers, she readjusted her tights that clung to her thin but muscular legs as she walked to the closed studio she had booked.

The DanceDec was a place that had dance studios for rent all year long, but over the last few months, the popularity had risen like crazy. Had it not been because Fiona had booked well ahead of time, she wouldn't have been able to dance this month. It would've ruined her.

Stepping inside studio 13, the one at the far end, located away from all the others, she closed the door and locked it, sliding the blindfolds down over the observation windows. She then dumped her duffle bag down by a chair that had a stereo on it and sat down on the floor, fishing out her phone. She plugged it in and hooked it up with some classical, soothing music. It started flowing through the speakers, calming her heartbeat down to normal again.

She then begun fishing out her rolling mat, her yoga mat and her stretch latex for warmups. She begun with her calfs, rolling them over the rolling mat, stretching out all her muscles. She then rolled her feet out, flexed her toes, then rolled again.

When her all muscles were stretched out properly, she moved to the barre and stepped into first position. She begun a simple warmup routine to get her body and muscles heated up and prepped for later.

Demi-plié, demi-plié, arabesque, grand battéman, back to first position. Switching to second position, she lifted to her toes, held her balance, then bent down to the floor so her fingertips touched the tip of her slipper. Then up again and do an exhale.

Warmups took almost half an hour which only gave her one hour to dance in. It wouldn't be long enough like always, but the money deposits along with the popularity had increased as well. An hour and a half was all she could afford.

Finally came the time where she switched her slippers out with pointe shoes.

As she rose to en pointe, she felt all the troubles that had weighed her shoulders down all week release. The noise from the hall faded out and all she heard was Beethoven's moonlight sonata play through the stereo. She begun moving across the floor, taking a step, rising to her toe, doing a simple arabesque. Her arms molded themselves to fit the music's sweet flow, gentle like a summer's breeze, but strong and supported as they should be.

She spun, twirled, chasséd across the floor, did a jump, then came to en pointe again and into fourth position, preparing for her fouettés.

But like always, instead of setting into the spin, she froze up. Her legs refused to move and instead her arms lowered and her heart sunk into her stomach. There it was. Right on cue.

As the tears pressed in the inner corners of her eyes, she held them back and tried to focus on her goal.

She could do this. She could do a fouetté. It wasn't a pirouette. She had to remind herself every time. Fouettés were harder, more dangerous, but still, they were just too close to pirouettes.

Stepping into fourth again, she took a deep breath and then another.

- And then she lifted to en pointe and spun.

And spun.

And spun.

She spun so fast, her spot on the wall started to blur. Her leg kicked out each time and caught more speed before it folded back in and allowed her to spin again. In the end, it was no longer her who was spinning, it was the world.

"Jeeeesus, you're making my head hurt," A humored voice suddenly broke through her spinning bubble.

Startled and horrified, Fiona lost her spot and her balance, tumbled out of control and out of course. Her mind was in a whirl; she couldn't sense where she was going, only knew that eventually she would hit the floor. And shatter.

But the floor never came. Instead a pair of arms caught her and tipped her over backwards, keeping one hand on her back, the other on her thigh, elevating her leg slightly.

Blinking up, the room still spinning, she looked into a pair of hazel-green eyes that shone down at her, a hint of amusement sparkling within them; It was the crew leader from before.

"Nailed it, baby," He smirked, his voice smooth and humored. "One more time from the top?"

• • •

That's a fouetté, in case you were wondering.
(I was. I thought that was a pirouette, but look at me learning)

If anyone were to look at my YouTube search history, they'd think I was gay. Or into dudes in tights.