Matilda's Imagines

The Other Stage

The training schedule had been lighter than usual, with most of the squad given the weekend off. Macca, Lani, and Mini found themselves wandering downtown, coffee cups in hand and no real plan—just soaking up the rare sunshine and the even rarer free time.

"Hey, there's something going on over at the convention centre," Lani said, nodding toward a building with balloons tied to the entrance and music pulsing from inside.

Macca squinted at a sign on the door. "National Youth Dance Championships," she read aloud. "Huh. That's random."

Mini tilted her head. "Why not? We've got time. Let's go see some talent."

And so they did—fully expecting to see impressive flips, dramatic ballet, and glittery costumes. What they did not expect was to see their Y/n.

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It was Lani who spotted her first. "Wait. Is that...?"

"No freaking way," Macca whispered, leaning forward in her seat. "That's Y/n."

Mini's eyes widened as they took in the figure on stage.

There she was—Y/n. Their Y/n. Hair slicked into a high ponytail, eyeliner sharp, posture straight. Her usual oversized hoodie and trackpants had been replaced by a sleek black costume with mesh sleeves and shimmering detail. Her face was set, focused—not the bubbly, ADHD whirlwind they were used to.

The music started: a haunting, cinematic score. And then she moved.

Fluid. Fierce. Controlled.

She didn't just dance—she told a story. Every sharp spin and grounded drop held emotion. Pain. Strength. Resilience. Her eyes flashed with something deep and raw, and the crowd fell completely silent.

Mini felt her breath catch in her throat. She knew that emotion. She'd seen that pain behind Y/n's jokes and distracted giggles. But here, it was a performance—and a release.

The music built to a crescendo. Y/n leapt—full tilt—and landed gracefully in a split before finishing in a slow, rising motion, arms open like she was reclaiming space she was once told she didn't deserve.

When the music faded, there was a beat of silence. Then the crowd erupted.

Mini, Macca, and Lani were on their feet.

"Oh my god," Macca said, wiping her eyes. "She didn't even tell us."

"She's incredible," Lani whispered, stunned. "That's our kid."

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After the awards ceremony—where Y/n won first place in the contemporary division and was offered a scholarship to a prestigious dance program—the three women waited by the side exit, not wanting to overwhelm her backstage.

When Y/n finally emerged, trophy in hand and bag slung over her shoulder, she jumped in surprise.

"M-Mini?! Macca?! Lani?! What are you—how did you—?"

"We didn't know you were a freaking superstar, that's how," Macca grinned, pulling her into a tight hug.

Mini was next, steady hands on Y/n's cheeks as she looked her in the eyes. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Y/n shrugged, suddenly shy. "It's just something I've always done. Since I was a kid. Before soccer. It helps... calm the noise, I guess. The chaos."

Lani gently bumped her shoulder. "You danced like a warrior out there. Not just calm, Y/n—powerful."

Y/n looked down at the trophy, her voice small. "I didn't think it mattered."

"It matters to us," Mini said. "You matter. Every part of you."

Y/n bit her lip, eyes glassy. "You're not mad?"

Macca scoffed. "Mad? Mate, I nearly cried and spilled coffee on myself at the same time. That's how proud I am."

Y/n giggled, hugging her again. "Thanks, guys."

Mini pulled her into a group hug, arms wrapping tight around their youngest. "You don't have to hide any part of yourself from us. Not your pain. Not your joy. Not your talent."

"You're stuck with us," Lani added. "All of us."

Y/n didn't say anything at first—just stood there, wrapped in their embrace, finally feeling what she'd chased her whole life:

Seen.

Safe.

Loved.

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