Parings: Dancer! Dior x Dancer! Charlie
W/c: 1,843
Summary: Dior falls in class and Charlie helps her.
'✵•.¸,✵°✵.｡.✰ ✰.｡.✵°✵,¸.•✵''✵•.¸,✵°✵.｡.✰ ✰.｡.✵°✵,¸.•✵'
DIOR'S ATTENTION WAS MOMENTARILY CAPTURED BY HER APPLE WATCH, which displayed the time as 10:41 pm. However, her focus quickly returned to her dancing, as she observed her reflection in the mirror alongside her fellow dancers. The coach stood nearby, offering both corrections and words of encouragement. This was just another Wednesday night for Dior, as well as for many others in the room. HUSTLE Dance Company, renowned for its excellence, was where the 17-year-old dedicated most of her time. And of course, her close friend Charlie Bushnell was always by her side. They had been dancing together on HUSTLE's senior competitive team for about a year now, and it came as no surprise that their strongest style was hip hop. It was a dynamic, powerful, and sophisticated form of dance that they both held dear.
Dior and Charlie absolutely loved attending late-night classes, especially when it came to Hip Hop. Those sessions were always the epitome of fun and served as the perfect way to wrap up their evenings. However, amidst all the enjoyment, they never forgot to put in their utmost effort. The dazzling lights emanating from the studio never failed to catch the eye of anyone passing by.
As the music coming from the loud speakers gradually diminished, the room filled with the sound of heavy breathing and the Coach's resounding applause, praising the remarkable improvement. Dior leaned against the mirror, her chest rising and falling, her curly brown locks clinging to her face. Charlie, looking just as disheveled, approached the teenager and extended his hand low. Without a moment's hesitation, Dior playfully slapped his hand, completing the high five as Charlie leaned against the mirror next to her.
Dior fought to conceal her pained countenance, a wince escaping her lips as she delicately shifted her weight to one side, raising her other foot ever so slightly from the ground, exposing the strain she endured.
Charlie's observant eyes caught this subtle movement, compelling him to inquire, "Are you alright?"
Locking eyes with Charlie, Dior detected the genuine concern reflected in his gaze. Swiftly, she lowered her foot and a radiant smile graced her features, "Yeah, no, um...I'm fine."
Charlie nodded, yet an unsettling feeling persisted, refusing to be vanquished.
Coach Atlas gave instructions to the group, saying, "Alright, everyone, let's practice the combo one more time in pairs." He then asked, "Who wants to go first?"
The room became quiet as the teenagers stared at him, their bodies motionless.
"Okay, um, everybody, raise your hand," Coach instructed, his eyes scanning the room. The teenagers obediently complied, their hand shooting up into the air. Coach Atlas's gaze darted around, searching for the perfect duo, until a mischievous smile crept across his face.
"Thank you, Dior and Charlie, for your generous volunteering," Coach declared, his voice filled with admiration. The room erupted into a symphony of laughter and cheers, as Dior and Charlie tried to conceal their grins, pretending to be annoyed. They received pats on the back and playful gestures from their friends as they made their way to the center of the room, their classmates forming a long line against the mirror, sitting.
The coach's voice echoed through the room as he posed the question, "Ready?" His phone firmly grasped in his hands, he awaited their response.
Charlie's gaze met Dior's, a silent understanding passing between them. With a nod from Dior, Charlie confidently raised his thumb in agreement.
