𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 - TMR AU, Thomas

𝟢𝟣𝟣，𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐳𝐲

༺ ELEVEN ༻

There's a five foot ten, slim boy in front of me.

Dark blonde hair that's swept across his forehead, parted lips, and blue eyes that have bags under them.

I think Aris slept just as bad as me.

Yet, I smile, my excitement to dance still not fading as I shake his hand. "Hi! My name's Rosalind, but you can call me Rose."

His smile seems awkward, but nice enough. "Aris," he speaks with a quiet, soft voice.

I appreciate boys who don't always feel the need to attract unnecessary attention to them and their fake charming acts.

I don't mean Thomas. He deserves attention and his acts aren't fake or anything... I mentally groan at my words. If I really want to explain how I feel about the way Thomas attracts attention to people like guests at Mamma Mia, I might as well write a whole book.

"Nice to meet you, Aris," I say. To break the ice, I add, "You know Thomas too, right?"

Aris nods. "A friend."

My smile brightens. "Awesome. Well, I hope we're gonna rock this play."

His gaze softens. I watch his face get more comfortable while he nods. "I'm sure we will."

"Alright!" Janson claps in his hands after our greet. Beside him, there's another male who I guess is Aris' ballet teacher.

After a few moves we do to get used to each other, which all goes smoothly, Aris is told to lift me up as I do a split.

Fine. Will be fine, I assure myself, yet the fear is bawling up in my stomach. A few seconds later, I'm in the air, resting my hands on Aris's shoulders as he holds my hips so I can do the split.

It happens in a second. A grunt leaves his mouth before I'm back down again, and I think my face is betraying exactly how I feel about the fact he groaned.

"Twisted my ankle a week ago," he explains. "The doctor says it'll be healed tomorrow, but I sometimes got flashes of pain, especially when lifting weigh."

I wish I could believe him. I want to, but my mind won't allow me. It's saying that it's me. That I'm just too heavy to lift up.

I give Janson and the other teacher a hopeful look. Apparently, his name is Henry. "There's some needed adjustments," Janson calls, "but it was fine."

Panic swells. Gives me a feeling as if I need to cry. "What can I do better?"

Fine is not perfect.

"You know what it is." His words hit me like a knife, and the look on his face twists the sharp metal. "But you two will dance amazingly at the play."

I try not to shrink in my skin for the rest of the class, just like I attempt to be as lightweight as possible and hold my stomach in so no one will complain.

When at the end, after both of our teachers called for us, the questions flies off my lips in a whisper, "You have to give me tips. I can't seem to lose weight."

"Just eat healthy. Don't overwhelm it," Janson says, shrugging a bit. "I can see a difference already."

My face lits up. "Really?" But my smile fades three seconds later. "Eating healthy doesn't work. I've done it all week. Well, except for a few times."

"Physical activity," Janson recommends.

I straighten my back again. "I went jogging here. Do you think it helps?"