light headed | boyxboy

cinco|5|cinq

dance was once a fun sport that i did. as of now it's just a distraction from a lingering headache.

i wander through london, red buses gleaming and black cabs polished. children play on the street and important people in suits glare angrily at their phones. the street is like a painting, with the golden autumn leaves and the blue-grey sky. the late morning sun peeks at me from behind a cloud and i pull my white sweater's sleeves over my hands to soak up sweat. i don't know where i'm going, but i have my phone in my pocket in case i get lost. from what i can see, in the far distance sits a ferris wheel, glimmering in the light.

i watch my feet as i walk, and find myself going through ballet positions in french. first position, second position, third position, fourth. straight back, delicate hands, long neck. fifth position. it's twenty minutes later and i've found myself in a beautifully spray painted alleyway. chassé through to fourth, lift, croisé and entrechat. i'm lost, not literally, but in the ballet. my new white vans splash a puddle and i pause in fifth position.

"you know, there's a dance studio about a block from here"

the voice startles me. a crisp, clear english accent, like the queen herself. except this voice is male. i turn around, arms still in fifth position. slowly, i drop them, staring at him.

the boy is tall, about my age and his hair is difficult to describe, like it would be liquid gold in the sunlight, but black when wet. it doesn't match his sparkling, almost translucent blue eyes, which gleam with curiosity under long lashes. he has a silver stud piercing in one ear and his skin is almost olive, which i would find it must be hard to achieve here. the boy's smile spreads, creasing at his eyes as he gazes at me. i falter.

"je desole", i apologise instinctively, anxiety bubbling and overflowing inside me. i regret the moment the words come out of my mouth. in my panic, i have apologised in french. the boy throws me a confused glance from the doorway in which he stands. i turn quickly and begin walking quickly, cursing myself.

as i jog away, the boy cries,

"je m'apelle miller!"

his name is miller.

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this is probably the longest chapter ever.
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