Pointe Shoes and Spider Webs

2. Cinderella

Peter tightens the straps from his backpack as he rushes out of the alleyway. He just took off his Spidey suit and pulls a face when he readjusts his pants while crossing the street. But hey, this is New York, nobody cares. His hands clutch a piece of paper that Madame Touha gave him. It has a list of all the things he needs to buy. Apparently, ballet classes have a dress code and he's going to need some tights that are not red and blue. The shop should be around the corner. Peter manoeuvres around a cyclist who's not paying attention and finds his way into the store.

It's not wide, but rather deep for a small store. One wall is completely covered in storage space, consisting of small compartments that are overflowing with hundreds of ballet shoes, varying from standard flats to shiny, untouched pointe shoes. The other wall has some simple changing rooms attached to it and the middle part of the store consists of clothing racks filled with different leotards and tutus in all the colors of the rainbow. There's a curtain separating the front and the back bit of the shop. They must have quite a bit of storage. 

Peter makes eye contact with a young girl leaving the store with her mom. She looks excited, maybe she bought something nice. Peter scoots to the side, so the mum and the kid can pass and leave the store. The kid looks up at him with a proud grin. He smiles back at her.

"Hi, can I help you?" Peter turns his head to be met with nothing.
"Um, yes?" he turns again, looking around the store but seeing no one. "Wait, where are you?"
"I'm under the count-" There's a loud thud, paired with some swear words Peter wouldn't even dare think about. An ash blonde appears from under the counter, rubbing the back of her head.
"Oh my god, are you okay?" he rushes towards her but she puts her other hand up.
"Yeah, yeah, shit, I'm fine. Sorry about that. Shouldn't swear. Fuck, that hurt." Peter can't help but chuckle, which makes the girl look up at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh!"
"Don't worry about it," she laughs it off. "You'd expect being a dancer would make me less of a klutz."
"I'd think so, yes."
"Opposite's true, man. The more you dance, the clumsier you become. Universe needs to keep the balance somehow, yaknow." He knows her. Somehow. Where has he seen her before? School? Maybe on the subway... 

"So, anyways." She puts her hands on her hips. "Can I help you with anything?"
"Oh, right!" Peter was here with a reason. He takes another look at the piece of paper in his hand and takes a deep breath. Why was this suddenly so embarrassing to him? "I'm starting ballet classes next week and I need something that works with the dress code."
"Cool! Which school are you gonna go to?" He stares at her blankly, shuffling the piece of paper in his hands. "All schools have slightly varying dress codes. I know most of the New York ballet schools' rules by heart at this point."
"Ah." Peter nods. "I'm gonna go to Madame Touha's."
"Dude," she grins. "Me too! I mean, I already go there, but like- well, you get me." She shakes her head as she stutters, turning around to make a break for the storage area in the back.
"Wait, don't you need my size?"
"In the world of dance wear, regular sizing is a concept that does not exist," she yells, her voice muffled by the curtain. She doesn't take long before she returns with a grey leotard, and black tights. She hands the pieces to him and points at the changing rooms. "Have at it, fam."
"Thanks!"

He rushes to get changed and looks at himself in the mirror of the changing room. The outfit is tight, nothing he's not used to, but he feels vulnerable somehow. Maybe it's because he's not wearing a mask.
"So, how's it going in there?" Peter's startled by the shop girl's words.
"Alright, I think?"
"Come on out, I want to see how it looks on you." Peter freezes. She wants to what now? Slowly he opens the curtain.
"I think the size is okay?" He shuffles back into the store awkwardly and does a little turn. 

The girl looks at him pensively, with her hand on her chin. Then, without warning, she walks up to him and starts shuffling the leotard around on his body. Her hands graze his shoulders, his collar bones, his sides, his biceps... Peter doesn't realize he's frozen in a T-pose. He can smell her. Is that... Is that pomegranate?  He decides to just stop breathing altogether, as taking in her scent is equally suffocating for some reason. She's so close.
"The tights are good. You were right to put them over the leotard, by the way," she chuckles. "Though the under-the-leotard-tights would've been quite the look for you." She starts walking towards the back again. "I do think you should probably go a size up for your leotard. You've got a lot of muscle on your arms and we don't want you to actually rip your leotard the first time you lift your arms." Peter frowns and looks at his arms. The leotard was actually quite tight around his biceps and his shoulders. He decided not to move too much until she returned.