Like Real People Do [🗸]

07. swans

The dancers are swans and they pull you in, undoubtedly.

I constantly find myself hovering at the sidelines, peering over to catch a glimpse of Elliot Wu who I suppose is my friend now. At least, we reside somewhere between acquaintances and friends. 

When you're constantly bumping into someone and uttering quiet observances in the dimness of parties, it's worth considering that there's more than acquaintanceship there. Rayne let me off my shift early because they'd decided that they wanted to "close things up" and that there was nothing else they needed to go over with me today. 

Rayne put up a convincing front, but I can guarantee it likely had more to do with Esther swinging their feet on one of the stools in Ink Addicts with an empty cart of Thai and a wide, uncontrolled Esther grin. 

I don't ask them what they are because some things don't need to be asked. Some things are undefined, too, hovering between two lines and unable to completely cross over one. Friend vs. acquaintance, friend vs. partner. It's strange how people's connections shift between lines. 

Elliot isn't stretching at the barre at the moment, but practicing some sort of routine as his peers observe and the professor jots down notes on a clipboard. She smiles once he's done, the type of tight smile that is faint, but present nonetheless. 

He places his hands on his hips and glances over her shoulder, his hair falling in front of his face as she gives him some sort of feedback. He nods, pushing his hair out of his eyes, sweat plastering his tank to his back. 

Elliot is a different person in dance. He's not careless Elliot with giggles escaping his lips — he's all focus. Sturdy, stocky Elliot with focus imprinted in his mind and eyebrows furrowed. He's all about his art, taken over by it. 

I like computer science, but Elliot he loves dance. In fact, he's consumed by it and it's so clear to anyone watching that this is his thing, this is what he was meant to do. Shit, I don't know if I've ever felt that way about anything. 

Elliot is gone when my focus returns. I glance about the room. The professor is still where she was, this time giving feedback to another dancer who is panting but nodding profusely as the professor taps her clipboard. 

My eyes have lost track of Elliot. 

"You weren't lying when you said you were here a lot."

A familiar grin appears at my right. Elliot has an eyebrow raised and he leans against the back wall of the Performance Hall where I'd been hovering, taking a swig out of his water bottle. I watch as he pours some into his hands and wipes his face with it.  

I swallow. "Well," I say. "It is pretty cool to see you do your shit." 

Elliot laughs. "I can tell," he cocks his head to the side. "Your thing?"

"Drawings," I examine his arm. The sparrow's long gone. My eyes flick back up to his. "The tattoo thing. I apprentice for Rayne now."

"They told me!" Elliot says. He touches my foot with his. "You deserve it. Bet you make some kickass designs."