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two

Greta always loved the irony of ballet. It was one giant contradiction – the fluttery costumes, the tutu's and flowing motions. Greta laughed when she thought about it, how ballet was one of the most grueling of sports but had to come across effortless. Her feet took a beating to the point of where they bled, her muscles cramping from straining for so long.

But she also loved the irony of fate. Greta thought she would never seen Michael again. He had grown up before her eyes. She figured he'd move away and make his own friends. But she hadn't expected him to still be in New York, rough around the edges and more of a puzzle than he was before.

Greta shook her head, trying to get Michael out of her thoughts. He had plagued her mind ever since he left her at her doorstep the day before. He had changed so much in the span of a year and she couldn't shake him from her mind. And even though his appearance changed so much, his eyes remained the same.

They were kind and bright. They were one of the things Greta always noticed about Michael when she came over. His brother had had dark brown eyes, almost black that she couldn't see where his iris ended and his pupil started.

When he was still alive, Mitchell and Michael were inseparable, and much alike. They were attached at the hip when Greta wasn't over and Mitchell wanted his alone time. Michael had looked up to him like any younger brother would. But now that Greta thought about it, Mitchell and Michael were nothing alike. Especially now with Michael's appearance and demeanor all but completely changed.

That, and Mitchell wasn't alive anymore.

She remembered the day she learned of his death. He was supposed to meet her at the movies. It was raining and dark outside, and she waited and waited for him to show up, but he never came. He had slid going around a turn and collided head on with a tree. He had died on impact, but that didn't keep Greta from blaming herself.

If it weren't for her, he'd still be alive.

Greta sucked in a breath, desperately trying to change her direction of thought. She hated thinking about Mitchell's death. She didn't want to replay the details over in her head even if she didn't witness them. But no matter how hard she tried; she couldn't get the look of Michael's green eyes at the funeral out of her mind.

They hadn't talked much at his funeral, there were no words that could make either of them feel better. She remembered how Michael held onto her when they hugged, his fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt as if she was the only thing keeping him grounded – alive.

She had whispered to him over and over again, "I'm sorry." But no matter how many times she said it, it didn't change anything.

And that was the last time they had talked. There were days that Michael popped into Greta's head out of the blue, wondering how he was doing or even what he was doing with his life. She couldn't believe he ended up living right across from her. But then again, he was almost completely unrecognizable now.

Greta bit her lip, feeling the pain bloom. It was the only thing that was pushing the thoughts out of her head. She grabbed her dance bag and slung it over her shoulder. It was nearly nine o'clock in the morning and class started soon. She'd have to rush if she wanted to be on time.

She dashed down the stairs, pushing open the door out small porch outside her apartment building. But before she could make it down the porch, she ran into someone, a small gasp escaping her lips.

Greta felt someone steady her, the feel of the hands familiar. She looked up to find Michael again, his warm green eyes already on her soft blue ones. "Better watch your step, " he greeted with a smile, letting his hands fall to his side when she regained her balance.

Greta found herself smiling, a warmness blossoming within her. He made her feel like she was home again – like time stood still when they were together. And then it snapped in within her that she realized she was going to be even more late now.

"Michael," Greta said, tucking her chin into her scarf. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I have to get to class."

Michael nodded, slipping his hands into jacket. He was wearing the same leather one as the day before, but the band shirt had been exchanged for a different one and that was clearly the only thing that changed about his outfit.

"I could walk you if you want," Michael offered. "So we don't have any more mishaps," he said, watching as Greta stepped down off the porch. Greta thought for a moment, but agreed.

She actually wouldn't mind getting to know Michael again now that he was practically a stranger. She knew the old him was still buried somewhere deep beneath his rough exterior. Michael smiled, stepping down off the porch to join her as they walked towards her school.

"So what were you originally coming to my apartment for?" Greta asked after a while. He was on her porch when she ran into him after all.

Michael's lips pulled into an easy smile as his eyes left his boots. "I was going to ask if you wanted to grab breakfast," he told her. His eyes met hers and she felt the blush rise to her cheeks.

"I can't do it today," she said, as if that weren't obvious already. Michael nodded, a small chuckle falling from his still red lips. "But I wouldn't mind getting something after class," she said, arching an eyebrow at him.

Greta could see her dance school in the distance. She checked her phone as Michael told her he'd be waiting for her the moment class let out. She was already over five minutes late. She knew her teacher wouldn't be happy, seeing as punctuality was one of the biggest things she preached.

Greta picked up her pace, Michael easily keeping up with her. "I'll see you afterwards, Greta," Michael said, his hands still stuffed in his pockets as he watched her walk away. She stopped in the doorway; looking back to the boy she used to know.

The black ends of his hair fell into his forehead in an almost boyish way, reminding her of the times when Mitchell was still around.

Greta smiled at him, waving slightly. And then she heard her name being called. She felt the dread wash over her. She looked through the glass panel on the door of her school, watching her teacher approach. She stepped away as Mrs. Dorothy grabbed the doorknob.

"Greta Holloway," she chided. "You are almost ten minutes late for warm-ups. Where have you been?" She asked, grabbing ahold of Greta's arm. Her eyes then drifted from Greta when she realized they weren't alone. Mrs. Dorothy's eyes settled on Michael's dark figure, her eyebrows shooting up in response. "Is everything okay here, Greta?" She asked, her manner changing almost immediately.

"Everything's fine, Mrs. Dorothy," Greta informed. She knew what her teacher was thinking – that Michael was harassing her or in the very least annoying her. "Michael's a friend."

And just like a lightning strike, Mrs. Dorothy dissolved back into the angry dance teacher. "Well I don't appreciate 'friends' making my dancers late for class," she sneered at Michael, making him blanch. "Please leave Greta alone." And then she turned to Greta. "Go get ready for barre."

Greta gave one last look to Michael, hoping that he'd still be there to get lunch after class. Mrs. Dorothy cleared her throat when Greta didn't move. She swallowed, nodding at her friend before she stepped into the school. Mrs. Dorothy followed behind dutifully.

"Greta," she called lowly to not disturb the other dancers that were already lacing up their pointe shoes and starting to warm up. Greta turned towards her teacher, waiting to hear what she had to say, though she already had an idea of what it was going to be about.

"I don't want you seeing that boy anymore if he's going to make you late," she said, leaning forward so only Greta could hear her. "He seems like trouble and I don't want him getting in the way of you and your dancing. Especially now that you're up for the lead," she clicked her tongue at her dancer before striding away to start class.

Greta took a deep breath, letting her eyes ease shut. She hated that Mrs. Dorothy wasn't even going to give Michael a chance because of his appearance. He hadn't even said one word to her, yet Mrs. Dorothy seemed to despise him. She let out the breath she had been holding and moved to get ready to join barre.

But as she pulled on her shoes, all she could think about was Michael. And Greta somehow knew, that wasn't going to change anytime soon.