THE SECRETS WE KEEP.

- ONE MAN DOWN.

DIANNES POV:
In the preliminary Strictly meetings, the producers explaining series plans and presenting their ideas while introducing any new pros to the show, there was this slim chance of a new dance style being offered to us pros - one that provides almost full immunity from the strict restraints set forth by judges to induce a harder fight, that provides us with an opportunity for experimentation into modern choreography, that provides us the chance to gently thread our partners outside of their cosy comfort zone - this was labelled the couples choice option. There was no words to describe the elation sensation spreading throughout my heart, into the inner crevices that were near impossible to react, from the happiness of this offering to Joe and I on this occasion. It was an entirely different style to any other dances in this competition; it was not the typical elegance of a Waltz, or the swift flicks and kicks of a Jive, the comprised movements were up to ourselves. Our reasoning behind the picking of Street Commercial was assignable to its unique nature to either of us - Joe, the man of social media that was last picked for any form of sports team, and Dianne, the professional dancer accustomed to the hover corté of a Quickstep and the volta's of a Samba.
Our decided theme was to do with basketballs and the sport itself, meaning a lot of prop work was involved placing us at an even higher risk of failure. Those initial hours in the training room comprised of the learning of the routine while behind the scenes, the cogs in my head were turning at the sheer amount of things that could go wrong in these risky couple of minutes. So far, our biggest issue encountered was getting the balls to bounce at exactly the same time, for the second the touch between two contributing factors was snapped and hit the ground, laws of gravity was depriving us of the pride and satisfaction in ourselves for managing to remain in sync. From the moment we started moving, it was clear from the sweat droplets trickling along the side of Joe's face that this was the most physical activity he had done in so long but the continual grinning was taciturn notification of his love towards it.

Exploring the training room before me, a mostly empty space apart from those measly few benches and basketballs rolling across the floorboards, my eyes landed on a stretched-out Joe, his lanky form sprawled out across the sofa while his finger flicked occasionally on his screen to advance to the next interesting post. Whenever the sun adjusted it's position in our sky, beams highlighted the purple bags hauled underneath his eyes and the light sheen of sweat shining over his body. My bottom lip was clutched in the grasp of it's upper as I watched him fidget on spot, beginning to perform a ritual which was almost meant to antagonise me. His hand raised to his face to brush those pesky sweaty strands sticking to his forehead out of the way. Beneath his tight tee, another aspect of his being seemingly meant to antagonise me further, his biceps flexed with each bodily movement. Once his brushing of hair was complete, my gaze shifted along his long neck and landed on his sharp jawline, a place I wished for my lips to pepper kisses along - not in the sexual manner as a neck kiss is proclaimed to entice but rather in the sweet domestic way of portraying my love for him in another sense. My eyes flitted up in the direction of his lips once his bicep flexed out for the corner of my eye, his bottle of water enclosed by his lips to allow the liquid to trickle through his clasped tight throat. It was the moment that suggestive thought of wishing to become this bottle, for his soft plump lips would envelop mine in a kiss, surged through my brain at full force that this custom must reach its ending. "Joseph come on! We need to train!" I bellowed across the hall at him, suppressing all of these aroused emotions by performing my usual teacher stance of hands on hips and furrowed brows in a pretend annoyance.

I ushered him over to the middle of the dance floor and into our starting positions, his sluggish frame hoisting onto the strength of his two legs, the listless movements uncovering his wish to be forever curled into that unusually comfortable pose. "I'm so proud of you.." I mumbled out through my clasped shut lips, pinching his cheeks inbetween my fingers tips paralleling the behaviour of my grandmother to my siblings and I in our youth, which enriched the crimson colouring on both his cheeks, in the embarrassed demeanour rather than the flushed way, but apart from this there was no form of a reaction from him. Observing his dander across the floor into his own starting pose, pushing out deep exhales of carbon dioxide while not inhaling those gusts of oxygen, there was something severely off about Joe's attitude. It wasn't as though he was unbothered by the dance, his expression once the music begins is pure joy that cannot be matched with words. However our usual bantering was lost on this occasion, this body appearing full of life was in fact consumed by a dreary lethargic inner persona. It could be put down to the excessive number of runs we've gone through today, perhaps it deteriorated his energy so badly that there was nothing remaining for social interactions; but this is Strictly Come Dancing in its blueprint, continual hardwork and late hours in order to reach the top, these multiple runs are a necessary aspect to ensure that the public's hearts are won over by our dancing skills.