Blaine opened the door of the studio, sneaking in. He closed the door behind him quietly, in order not to disturb the silence, which the room seemed to breathe. He put his things down in a corner and pulled out the pointe shoes, tape and padding. He took his time wrapping tape onto his fingers to prevent blisters, slipped on the padding and finally, put on his pointe shoes. He tied the black ribbons around his foot twice, tucking in the remains of the ribbon so that he wouldn't step on it during dancing. No one was at the studio yet, and people shouldn't be appearing until half an hour, and Blaine took that time to warm up and practice before his actual rehearsal.

He walked to the centre of the room. Looking at himself in the mirror to make sure his posture was correct, he lifted himself up on his toes, wobbling lightly. It was hard, but it was worth it. He put his legs into the fifth position and tried a changement – he hopped up and switched his legs from right in front to right in the back. Landing slightly off balance, he took a few steps to recover and shook his head at himself.

Concentrate Anderson, how else are you going to continue working with the ballerinas? You know how picky they are, he scolded himself. The voice in his head sounded much like Madame Colbert, his teacher. He walked over to the barre, placing his hand on top of it and attempting a few exercises. Starting from a retiré, he put his leg out and back into the starting position. Repeating that a few times with both legs, he put one of his legs on the barre, leaning to touch the toes, stretching. He got to his ankle, but not much past it.

You need to get rid of that belly fat that's covering your abdominals. It's in the way of your stretching.

Blaine shook his head once more to get rid of the voice. The truth was that Blaine didn't have much belly fat; he was just a built a bit bigger than most dancers. Plus he has only been training for four years, while most of the students in the school started when they were old enough to walk. After successfully completing his warm up, he walked to the centre of the room and put his hands into the fifth position, starting little passes to the side, almost a coupé jeté en tournant, but not quite. He let his body overtake his mind, not thinking about anything, he just danced. His movements were free, languid, but at the same time strong and collected. He danced around the room, taking freedom to do a couple of grand jetés, pirouettes. His landing from an entrechat was sloppy.

Keep your balance, Anderson!

He tried another pirouette, but stumbled. Gripping his hair with his hands, he walked over to the corner and pirouetted across the room. His next attempt was a fouetté rond de jambe en tournant, which consisted of him spinning on his right leg, while putting his left in and out while he spun. It didn't work, he stumbled on the second spin, landing awkwardly.

Who are you, a chicken on roller-skates?

Blaine felt his rage taking over. He suddenly felt hot, and to release it, he made a few brisk movements, quickly making up moves as he went. He felt his ankles start to hurt and walked over to the barre for a rest. Breathing in and out, he felt the rage leave, and a new feeling waved over him – disappointment. He was disappointed at himself for not being enough, not being perfect, not getting the moves as fast as the other dancers. He felt tears of shame collecting in the corners of his eyes. Looking up, to prevent them from escaping, he took a breath, closed his eyes and walked to the centre backwards, ready to start dancing once more. He slipped, feeling himself wall down, but never reaching the floor. Someone caught him, holding him by the base of the neck.

He opened his eyes. In front of him was a young man, probably his age with a dancer's completion, auburn hair and piercing blue eyes. He had an air of reassurance around him. Blaine had seen him before, sometimes, when he danced, but the man disappeared as suddenly as he appeared, and he never had the chance to talk to him. Blaine felt himself relax in his grip, forgetting everything that he thought of before, concentrating only on the power that was transferring from the man to his body.

The man let his head rest gently on the floor, leaving Blaine there, as he lightly pushed down Blaine's pelvis. He then reached out his hand to Blaine and the dancer grabbed it. Blaine was hauled up and spun, ending in the arms of his partner. He felt at home in them. He was quickly spun and hauled up, then back down, but this time on his hands. He was left to fall, then caught and spun on the man's back, then moved to the front, with the man between his legs and laid down gently. Still spinning, he sat and put his arms out, becoming a ragdoll, completely at the man's mercy. He pulled him upwards and Blaine crumbled into him, letting go of all his inhibitions. He felt the man's warm breath on his back, making him shudder. The man gently set Blaine down on his pointe, spinning him lightly out of his hold. Blaine grabbed his neck, not ready to let go quite yet.

The man let him fall, catching him halfway and pulling him back up. The movements became more urgent as Blaine threw his legs around the man's waist and the latter spun him, and then dropped him down, catching his arm and leg and spinning him once more, making him fly in a star shape. He set him down, spinning him once more. Blaine caught his breath and stood up, walking away from the man. Something in the air has changed – if before there was a pinch of sweetness and reassurance, that was now completely overtaken by need and urgency, for what Blaine didn't know.

He jumped down, turning and standing up, though not as gracefully as a ballet dancer should, but not caring about it in the slightest and saw the man dive towards him – he fell on his side, while the man jumped and rolled, standing up to see that Blaine was sprawled on the floor. He picked Blaine up gently, putting him back on his feet and later into a seating position. The man turned him around and sat down opposite. The air in the room was still, the desperation gone, but still lightly present. They placed each other's hands on their necks, staring into each other's eyes. They both leaned in slightly, but quickly pulled away as Blaine turned around and laid down near the man. The latter did the same, and they laid there for a while, gazing into each other's eyes.

Suddenly, Blaine rolled over, on top of the man. He in turn, took Blaine's sides and raised him up. Blaine felt as if he was flying. He was soaring, and nothing could bring him down. His worries were far away, he was at the man's mercy, he could fall any instant, but at the same time, he felt so grounded.

It was liberating. 

Blaine stepped down on the floor, starting to dance again. Pirouettes, jumps, arabesques, everything, all his energy was channeled into the moves. And he didn't mess up once. The man watched him, half in awe and half proud. He then stood up and they started a set of synchronized moves, which was the choreography Blaine was learning with his class. Neither messed up and when it was over, Blaine gratefully stepped closer to the man, doing the fish dive with him as a thank you.

Slightly worn out from the intensity of the dance, Blaine walked over to the barre and took a breath with his head bowed down. The man's hand never left his back. They shared a look and suddenly, Blaine heard a voice.

“Come on Blaine, we'll be late for class if we don't go now.”

Blaine's head suddenly whipped towards the sound. It was his classmate and friend Rachel Berry, a ballerina which was a diva, but not against socializing with male pointe dancers. She stood in the doorway, her leotard on and hair tucked away in a bun.

“I'm coming Rachel.”

She nodded and walked from the doorway. He turned his head towards the man.

He wasn't there.

Signing, Blaine took off his shoes and padding and tape, putting them all away into his bag and after glancing longingly at the place where he last saw the man, walked out of the room.

Modern, Blaine thought, I'm changing my major to modern.