A/N: This is pretty much just shitty self-indulgence.
My boyfriend is a ballet dancer.
We meet back in the dance academy, quite coincidentally to be honest, as we practice different styles. I prefer the freedom of the likes of hip-hop and jazz while he would rather stick to more a traditional flavor such ballet and occasionally, ballroom.
We kept bumping into each other, and the small talk turned into jokes, which turned into banter, which turned into flirting, and before we knew it we were going in our first date.
It's been almost three years since that, and I still remember the sweet awkwardness of it like it was yesterday.
The world gets to see him on the stage every night, telling a story with his body, swirling around on his slippers, receiving praises and awards. I get to see him here every morning, in our room, waking up with sore feet.
He didn't say anything, of course, he never does. He simply woke up with a smile and kissed me awake until my lips were bruised. He brushed my hair out of my face and told me good morning. He said me he loved me and asked what I wanted for breakfast. But the way his face would twitch and the painful callouses, bruised toenails, and blisters speak for themselves. I know they hurt, and he knows I know. What I don't know is why he insists on playing pretend.
Gently I sit up and crawl toward the bedside table, grabbing his feet moisturizer which he never touches unless I tell him to. Supposedly, "he forgets". He looks at me and weakly protests, even though I do this on an almost daily basis. I don't mind. He takes such good care of me, it's only fair if I do the same.
Holding a big white blob of moisturizer in my hand I wiggle my way over to his feet. He sighs, I stick my tongue out.
"That's way too much, kiwi," He informs me, and I shrug. He's referring to the bird, by the way, not the fruit. A few months after we started dating he started calling me bird names, I guess that's his definition of a cutesy nickname. I don't mind, sometimes I'd rather be called "kiwi" than "sweetie" if it's coming from his lovable ass.
"If you took care of your own feet you could put just the amount of moisturizer you want. But since it's me who does it, not you, you'll just have to suck it up," I say as I start massaging his feet and he sighs dramatically.
"You're horrible," John decides, and I lean forward to kiss his knee.
"You know you love me,"
"I don't, I'm just in it for the foot massages," He says and I hit his leg playfully.
"You're the worse," I say, but I don't mean it. Neither of us means it.
"I thought you already knew that," John says with a shrug. I was about to reply with something snarky as always, but his eyes suddenly flutter close and his mouth stretches into a smile as he sighs contently, completely changing his demeanor. "You're too good for me," He says before I can speak. "I don't know what I did to deserve you,"
I smile back at him. "I ask myself the same question each day. I love you,"
He blinks a single eye open and responds. "I love you too. Now hurry up there, because I'm gonna make you the tastiest breakfast ever today,"
I laugh and wink at him. "A man after my own heart,"
It's a joke, of course. John Laurens already has my heart.
