Let's Tango

1 | A U R O R A

Hot water flows over my head and shoulders, loosening my spent muscles and calming my roaming mind. With my head tilted back in bliss, it pools in the hollows above my collar bones and streams down my long hair where it falls to the tub floor.

I breathe in a deep lungful of steamy air and close my eyes, just enjoying it for one last minute before needing to climb out.

There are few things better than a long shower after an exhausting day of dancing. Granted, I love it, but it's still tiring. And when I spend eight hours a day teaching various skills and routines to my studio's kids' classes, on top of a few hours worth of practice with my dance crew... well, my muscles are craving some relaxation.

I still wouldn't trade it for the world though.

The knob squeals as I turn off the water—the old pipes in this building constantly give me trouble—and I make quick work of wrapping a fluffy towel around myself with another twisted around my hair and up on my head like the world's plushest crown.

I'm sure to give my legs a nice coat of lotion and then reach for my deodorant. Note to self: buy more deodorant. Mine is pitifully empty, so I don't think twice before reaching for the Old Spice-labeled one instead.

I brace myself for the impact of cold air as I exit my en-suite bathroom. Sure enough, the blast is enough to cause goosebumps to rise on my arms and a scowl to form on my face.

My drab white-walled bedroom greets me in all its glory. I don't get much liberty to customize my two-bedroom apartment, but the rent is as cheap as it comes in this area (which is still way too much) and I split it with my roommate, Prisha, so I'm not really complaining in that respect. She's a better decorator than I am, so while the living area is pretty basic, her room looks like it came straight out of Pinterest. Mine, however, is just a mishmash of dressers with dance trophies and medals I've won littered all over, random pictures taped on the wall of old memories, and my ultra-comfy down comforter-covered bed.

It's not exactly what I envisioned when I decided to move further into the city by myself, but I'm closer to my dance studio here and it does afford me the freedom and independence I wanted; I have my own space (minus Prisha, but she's cool).

So if I want to eat ice cream for dinner, no one can stop me (even though I really shouldn't).

Or if I want to walk around in the nude, I will (poor Prisha's eyes).

And if I want to bring a lucky person back to my place every other night, I do just that (poor Prisha's ears).

It's probably not much by most people's scale, but it's mine. And in my humble opinion, fancy and expensive stuff doesn't always mean all that much. When I come home, I want it to feel like home.

When I gaze around my simple bedroom I see a place I fought and saved to get, stuffed full of years of memories, all of which feel very me.

Actually, I take that back. It's not the only thing I currently see. As I step across the threshold, my chill-induced frown is quickly replaced with raised brows as I spot a familiar figure sprawled across my bed as though he owns it.

Well... to be fair, he sleeps here almost as often as he does in his own bed, so maybe that's not too far from the truth.

I may have been remiss not to include my best friend in the equation as well. It's definitely not his apartment, but good luck telling him that. Sometimes I regret exchanging keys with him for the sole reason of these unexpected drop-ins. It's not like I don't do the same thing to him though, so touché, I suppose.