The moment I stepped inside, the scent of rosin, and faint traces of sweat wrapped around me like a long-lost memory.

It had been weeks since I had been in this space, since I had laced up my pointe shoes, since I had moved the way my body had been trained to for years. And now that I was finally back, my nerves crept up again, whispering all the worst-case scenarios.

What if I wasn't ready?

What if I had lost too much strength?

What if I didn't belong here anymore?

I adjusted my bag over my shoulder and made my way toward the changing room, my heart pounding against my ribs.

A few dancers were already here, stretching near the barres, warming up, chatting quietly amongst themselves. Some of them threw me quick smiles and nods, acknowledging my return but not making a big deal out of it.

That was a relief.

I slipped into the dressing room, pulling my practice attire from my bag—a soft, fitted black leotard and pale pink tights. Simple, classic, familiar.

I took a slow, steady breath.

I had worked hard for this.

I belonged here.

When I stepped back into the main studio, Mrs. Lawson was already there, adjusting the sound system.

Her sharp eyes flicked up to me the moment I walked in.

"Amber," she said, her voice as crisp as ever. "Good to have you back."

I swallowed, nodding. "Good to be back."

She studied me for a moment, then glanced down at my ankle. "Are you cleared to be here?"

I stood taller. "Yes. My doctor said I'm good to start training again."

Mrs. Lawson nodded once, but I knew her well enough to see the way her gaze lingered on me a little longer.

She wasn't just asking about my ankle.

She was asking if I was mentally ready for this.

I gave her a small, firm nod. I was.

She seemed to accept that because she clapped her hands together, calling everyone's attention.

"Alright, warm-up positions."

I made my way toward the barre, settling into my usual spot, my fingers resting lightly on the wood as I lifted into first position.

The music started, and for the first time in weeks, my body moved in sync with it.

At first, everything felt off.

My muscles were tight, my balance slightly shaky, my movements not as fluid as they used to be. But I pushed through, inhaling deeply, reminding myself that this was only the beginning.

I glanced at the mirror, watching myself move—not perfect, but getting there.

I could feel Mrs. Lawson's eyes on me, assessing, making mental notes.

But she didn't stop me.

She let me work.

Let me find my footing again.

By the time warm-ups ended, I was sweating, my breath coming a little heavier. My ankle ached, but not in a bad way—just in a way that reminded me I was using it again.

I stepped away from the barre, rolling my shoulders, trying to shake out the tension.

And then, my eyes flicked toward the door.

Bryan was still standing outside the glass window, arms crossed, watching me.

I exhaled, my pulse steadying.

I didn't need to guess what he was thinking.

His expression said it all.

You're doing fine. Keep going.

A small, almost invisible smile tugged at my lips.

I turned back toward the studio.

I could do this.

I was doing this.

Tuesday

The air in my dorm felt different now.

It wasn't the space itself—the same minimalist bedding, the same soft lighting, the same faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air.

It was us.

For so long, Bryan and I had been something undefined, hovering in this space between irritation and fascination, between bickering and stolen moments. Now, we weren't just two people forced to work on a project together.

Now, we were... together.

Officially.

And I could feel it in every glance, in every touch, in the way my stomach twisted when I remembered that he wasn't just some distraction anymore.

Bryan was mine.

And that should have been reassuring.

But it also terrified me.

I pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the current situation.

Which was Isabella practically bouncing in excitement as she grilled Bryan with questions.

I sighed, pressing a hand to my forehead. "Izzy—"

"Just one more!" she pleaded, turning back to Bryan. "Okay, serious question. What made you realize you liked her?"

Bryan smirked, leaning back against my desk. Completely unbothered. "You mean besides her charming attitude and endless patience?"

I glared.

Izzy snorted. "Yeah, okay, but like—seriously."

Bryan's smirk softened slightly, his eyes flickering toward me before he shrugged. "I don't know. I just did."

Izzy narrowed her eyes, clearly unsatisfied. "That's such a guy answer."

Bryan chuckled, crossing his arms. "Alright, fine. Maybe it was the way she tried so hard to act like she didn't care about me when it was obvious she did."

I let out a dramatic sigh. "God, I regret this already."

Bryan shot me a knowing smirk. "Too late now, Ballerina."

Izzy wiggled her eyebrows. "He calls you Ballerina? That's so—"

"Izzy!" I groaned, hiding my face in my hands. "Go do literally anything else."

She laughed, holding up her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll leave you two lovebirds alone."

She gathered her things, but before she left, she shot me a look I knew all too well—the 'we're going to talk about this later' look.

I sighed as the door clicked shut behind her.

Finally.

With Izzy gone, the room felt quieter.

I glanced over at Bryan, expecting him to make another smug remark about how Izzy was obsessed with our love story or whatever.

But he just smirked and said, "So, should we actually work on this project, or are we gonna spend the rest of the night talking about how obsessed you are with me?"

I grabbed a pillow from my bed and chucked it at his face.

We got to work after that.

And to my surprise, the tutoring session actually went really well.

Bryan was patient—something I hadn't expected, given that his usual demeanor was a mix of arrogance and sarcasm. He didn't make me feel stupid for struggling with Spanish, didn't get frustrated when I hesitated over words. He just helped me, offering quiet corrections, running through sentences with me until they felt natural.

Bit by bit, our project was taking shape.

It was slow progress, but it was progress.

And with Bryan, it didn't feel like a chore.

It felt easy.

It felt... comfortable.

By the time we finally took a break, my head was buzzing from all the new vocabulary, but I felt accomplished.

Bryan stretched, leaning back on my bed, one arm resting behind his head. "See? You're actually getting better."

I rolled my eyes. "I still suck."

He smirked, watching me from his spot on my bed. "Yeah, but you suck a little less."

I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head.

I meant to stay sitting at my desk. I really did.

But something about the way he was looking at me, the way his shirt had ridden up slightly as he stretched, the way his fingers tapped idly against my comforter like he was waiting for me to come closer—

I gave in.

I slid onto the bed next to him, shifting until I was lying on my side, facing him.

His gaze flickered over my face, his smirk softening into something else.

Something warmer.

"Come here," he murmured.

I hesitated.

Just for a second.

But then, I moved, letting him pull me into him, my body molding against his as his arms wrapped around me.

pull away. I didn't. Instead, I melted into him, my fingers sliding into his damp hair, my body pressing closer, chasing the warmth of him. He groaned softly, deepening the kiss, his hand sliding under my shirt, fingertips brushing the bare skin of my waist.

A shiver ran down my spine, not from the cold but from the way he touched me—like I was something fragile, something he wanted to take his time with. His knee nudged between my thighs, the pressure making heat curl in my stomach, my body instinctively reacting to him. I wanted him. I had wanted him for so long, had imagined what this moment would feel like, had thought about what it would be like to finally let go, to give myself to him completely.

But then, as his hand trailed lower, as his body shifted slightly above mine, the thought crept in—the next step, the one that I had been avoiding thinking about. It wasn't the touches, wasn't the way he made me feel when his fingers were inside me, wasn't even the way he kissed me like he needed me as much as I needed him. It was the idea of him being inside me, of taking that final step, of surrendering to something I wasn't sure I could handle.

My breath hitched, my muscles tensing before I could stop myself. Bryan immediately noticed. He stilled, his lips hovering over mine, his breathing unsteady. His hands didn't move away completely, but they stopped their slow, teasing strokes. He was waiting, reading me like he always did, his forehead resting against mine as he exhaled.

"Amber?" His voice was low, careful, full of something that made my chest tighten even more.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening in his hoodie, my thoughts racing too fast to control. I knew he could feel the shift in me, knew he could tell I was struggling, but I didn't know how to explain it. I wanted this. I wanted him. But I was afraid.

Bryan's thumb traced slow circles on my hip, grounding me. "Talk to me, preciosa."

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. "I... I want this," I whispered. "I really do."

Bryan was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching mine, his hand still steady against my skin. "Then tell me why you look like you're about to cry," he said softly.

My throat tightened. I hated that I was doing this, that I was letting fear creep into something that was supposed to feel good, supposed to be a moment I wanted. But my mind kept flashing back to that feeling—the fear of losing control, of being helpless, of not being able to stop something if it became too much.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to say it, forcing myself to trust him. "It's not you," I murmured. "It's me. It's just... the idea of it." My breath trembled as I forced myself to keep going. "When you touch me, when it's your fingers, I feel safe. But when I think about... about the next step..." I trailed off, my face burning, my voice almost breaking.

Bryan didn't move away. He didn't pull back in frustration or sigh in annoyance. He just stayed there, his body still close, his forehead still resting against mine. His fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns on my waist, as if giving me something to focus on other than the storm inside my head.

I forced myself to keep talking. "I know you have experience," I whispered. "I know you've been with other girls, and I don't want to—" My voice caught, but I pushed through it. "I don't want to disappoint you."

His entire body tensed.

"Amber," he said, his voice firm, sharp in a way that made my stomach drop. "Don't ever say that again."

I blinked up at him, startled by the sudden edge in his voice. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark, intense in a way I hadn't seen before.

"You could never disappoint me," he said, his voice quieter now but just as serious. "Not with this. Not with anything." His fingers slid up to cup my face, tilting my chin up so I had no choice but to look at him. "I don't give a damn what I've done before or who I've been with. None of that matters when it's you."

Tears burned behind my eyes, my chest tightening so much it almost hurt. "But I—"

"No." His thumb brushed over my cheek, softening slightly as his voice dropped lower. "I'm not with you because I expect something from you. I'm with you because I want to be, because I like being with you. If this takes time, if we never do it at all, I don't care." He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "I just care about you."

My throat felt thick, my eyes stinging, my hands shaking slightly as they rested against his chest. "I just don't want to be scared," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Bryan nodded, his fingers tracing lightly down my arm. "Then we go slow. Or we don't go anywhere at all until you're ready." His lips pressed softly, reverently against my forehead before he pulled back to meet my gaze again. "You're the one in control here, mi cielo. Not me."

The way he said it, the way he meant it, made something inside me crack. The fear didn't disappear entirely, but something warm and reassuring took its place, something that told me that this wasn't something I had to fight through alone.

I let out a slow, shaky breath, my hands sliding up to wrap around his neck as I buried my face into his shoulder. "Okay."

Bryan let out a quiet breath against my hair, his arms tightening around me, holding me close like I was something precious. "Okay," he murmured.

The moment stretched between us, his arms still holding me close, his breath warm against my skin. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, grounding me, reminding me that he wasn't leaving, that he wasn't going to push me past where I was ready to go.

But still, the words sat heavy in my chest, waiting to be said.

I swallowed hard, my fingers toying with the fabric of his hoodie as I forced myself to keep talking. "In Costa Rica... I asked you," I murmured. "That night at the restaurant, I told you I needed you." My face heated at the memory, at how desperate I had sounded, how badly I had wanted him in that moment.

Bryan's fingers traced slow, lazy circles against my hip, his voice low and patient. "Yeah. You did."

I hesitated, biting my lip before admitting, "I meant it. I still do." My voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "But when I think about it when we're not... you know, caught up in the moment, it scares me."

Bryan was quiet for a second, like he was processing my words, choosing his next ones carefully.

Then, he exhaled, pressing a soft kiss against my temple before pulling back just enough to look at me. "I get that," he said. "And it makes sense. It's a big step, Amber. It's not supposed to be something you just do because it's expected or because it's the next thing. It's supposed to be something you want completely."

I searched his face, my chest tightening at how effortlessly he understood.

"But I don't want to make you wait," I admitted, my voice shaky.

Bryan let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. "You think I give a damn about waiting?" His hands tightened on my waist, his dark eyes serious, unwavering. "I would wait forever if that's what you needed."

I took a slow breath, my fingers sliding up to tangle in his hair as I pressed my forehead against his. "Thank you," I whispered.

Bryan smirked slightly, his voice lower now, teasing but soft. "You don't have to thank me, Ballerina. I told you—I'm yours. No rush."

My chest ached, but this time, it wasn't from fear.

It was from something deeper, something real.

I smiled softly, brushing my lips against his. "Okay."

Bryan hummed, kissing me again—slow, steady, reassuring.