A Beautiful Life

Blame it on the Weatherman [B*WITCHED]

Sakura could no longer ignore his intense stare.

As she spoke through her choreography, describing her vision in detail and light demonstration, Tyler just stood there, arms folded across his chest with suspicious narrowed eyes. His head tilted, nodding slightly, and she tried to disregard it. But when she showed him a combination she planned on using in their routine, he continued to stand there and watch her with that weird look on his face.

He had walked into their jazz class that morning with a fresh buzz cut. She didn't even recognized him at first as she sat with spread legs, stretching forward between them. When he joined her in the stretch, she glanced at him before doing a double take. The frosted tips were no more, replaced by the dark brown fade of his natural hairline.

All she had to do was raise her brows in confusion before he grunted and spread his legs open in front of her in an identical stretch.

"Natalie called my mom, can you fucking believe it?"

He kept his joggers on, this class more lenient on their dress code as he slipped on a pair of jazz shoes, and Sakura carefully touched the top of his head, feeling the prickly buds of hair tickle her fingers.

"So, I said fuck it and just shaved it off. God, she is such a nosy bitch."

And when he looked at Sakura as she stood, giving her one good, squinted eye look, that was when his weird glares began. Throughout the whole class, and now, later in the afternoon, during their practice.

Sakura tried to figure it out. Was it her outfit? Could he see her underwear through her leggings? Were her nipples hard or something? She had performed some pretty good turns in her heels, much better than the previous week. And still he said nothing.

Until finally, she looked at him, standing a few inches taller, tightening the grip of her high ponytail before boldly declaring, "What?"

And then he said, "Are you just gonna keep acting like you don't have a giant hickey on your neck?"

She froze at his words, her palm shooting up to her exposed skin. She hadn't paid much attention to herself that morning, her reflection mundane as thoughts of the previous night danced in her head. And she failed to noticed what she could only imagine to be an ample dark bruise painted on her pale skin.

So, she said the only thing she could think of. "It's not a hickey."

"It's not a hickey?" he repeated. She nodded.

"Nope."

She purposely avoided his gaze, uncomfortably rubbing her neck as her eyes wandered the studio. The lights were horribly bright, a stark contrast to the smooth black of the floor. And she could hear the clicks of her stilettos against the ground, echoing in the awkward silence.

"So," Tyler began again, peering at her with a smirk. "Who gave it to you?"

He tried to look over her shoulder at the mark in question, but she concealed it with a heavy hand, a flush warming her cheeks. "I told you, it's not a hickey."

His hands planted at his hips. "Then what is it, hmm?"

She faltered. "It's the other obvious thing. Obviously."

There was a brief pause before he replied, "You got choked during sex?"

Sakura felt the expansion of her eyes, taking over her face. And there she dropped her palm, the bruise revealed once more in all its glory, shimmering violet under the studio lights. She sighed defeatedly.