Classical

Winters bite

Giselle opened the doors to the ballet school she'd been attending for over a month; by now the winter had set in and its large design made it severely cold. She shivered and shrugged her mink fur coat around her, she could hear fires crackling in the distance. Wherever they were, she would find them eventually. She walked up the stairs briskly, her feet making little noise as she did so. She turned at the first landing and began the ascent.

"Gi-" A voice began.

"Oh dear God!" Giselle startled, clasping a hand to her mouth to keep her cries muffled. 

"Hold on I've got you," The owner of the voice reached a gloved hand out to catch her as her balance was lost and she tilted backward. 

She was pulled into a tight grip against a warm chest. She looked up and saw the unruly brown hair belonging to Rome. He dropped her grip to her wrists, making sure she was steady. 

"I'm really sorry," he put a hand behind his neck, a bashful smile on his freckled face. 

She had a closer look at his features. Dark brown hair that was wild; a diamond-shaped face, thin lips, a nose with an upturned slightly bulbous tip. A scattering of freckles, and two deep brown eyes. She had never seen the detailing in his eyes so clearly; rather than patterned lines in his eyes, he had bands that curved around the eyes. They looked like sand dunes Giselle had seen in photos. Rising and falling. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, then it occurred to Giselle she was staring and hadn't said anything. She snapped her eyes back to attention and smiled back up at him. 

"Please, there is not a need to apologise; I must thank you in fact, for helping me hold my balance," she replied. 

Rome laughed slightly as he brought his hands from his sides to his chest, wrapping his coat tighter around his lean figure. Giselle noted the fabric of the coat. It was cotton and the inside was lined with Rayon. If she could have, Giselle would have hidden her coat from him. It wasn't that she felt he would steal it, and not that she pitied him. Rather she felt embarrassed to be wearing such a luxury when others could not be so fortunate. Her whole life she was around people who told her not to be ashamed of having luxuries, but she felt ashamed. Rome noted her eyes on his coat and turned away, his fists tightened slightly and his shoulders hunched. 

"My family wasn't well off," he explained perhaps too sharply, not meeting her gaze. 

"Is there anything I could get for you?" Giselle asked, grabbing his hand before he could walk away. 

Rome turned back to her, shrugging her hand off. He didn't want to upset her, but he didn't want her pity for being poor. He looked up at her greenish eyes. They looked back with curiosity and compassion. He shook his head and turned to the stairs. Giselle followed him and caught pace easily. As they walked to the studio she spoke again, breaking the tension between them. 

"Forgive me if I offended you, I did not wish to," she looked up at him.

"I don't want your pity, what good does pity do except make folks less fortunate more miserable?" he replied, he knew his words were harsh, but he was true to his core. 

Rome did not want nor need her pity, he had lived a comfortable life for many years. Yes, hours were long, and yes he was exhausted when it came time to rest, but he did not have luxuries like she did. It did not distress him, he did not need such a thing. Pity was useless to him, and he certainly did not need a rich person's pity.  He did not understand why it angered him as much as it did, he had become desensitized over time to how the upper class treated his kind, but something about Giselle being the one to ask, that angered him.

"Yes I pity you, but not for your money," 

"Then what do you Pity?" 

"I pity your anger, your ashamed behavior, your self-image. You feel as though I see you as inferior. You feel as though I pity you for your lack of luxuries. I do not pity you in such a way. I am angered that you think I would do so," she stopped in her tracks and faced him. 

"I do not want your pity, you are aristocratic, you will always see yourself as superior," Rome shot back, now standing over her. 

"In all aspects that matter, I regard you my equal. You hold values and morals the same as I or anyone else would. You do not need my pity, not in any form, but I do not want you to feel as though you cannot reach me if something troubles you," she argued.

"So you regard everyone as your equal?" he asked her. 

"They are all people are they not? As long as they are human, they are my equal," she replied, her tone relaxed.

"Then I guess you are different from aristocrats, I have met none like you," he replied. 

"I am sorry to have offended you, but it was not meant to do such, I just don't want to see you suffer when you don't need to,"

"Suffer?" he raised an eyebrow.

"The winter bite is harsh Rome, and your gloves and coat will only do so much," 

"Ah, well I am sorry for my misinterpretation, but I will be fine," he replied. 

With that they silently walked to the studio, the doors slightly ajar from Rome leaving it and the wind slinking around the hallways.