Meet Us at the Barre: A Series of SAB Oneshots

mean stage mom

It's really hit me that I am my own mean stage mom
-Myself, one time

Ben silently prayed that the door didn't creak when he pushed it open. He was warm and comfortable in his hoodie and Adidas sweatpants, and he hoped his girlfriend was the same.

Ben had left Emmie to get some rest while he caught up on some of his school work and tutored some of the younger SAB students with their studies. It had been a long day, and Emmie was completely spent.

Yet when Ben opened the door, it didn't creak, but he was greeted by a different noise. Emmie sniffling. Crying.

Upon further inspection, Ben realized that Emmie was thrashing back and forth, bedsheets tangling around her legs as she moved more and more rapidly.

"Emmie? Em...Em?" Ben gently touched his girlfriend's shoulder, timidly shaking her shoulder.

Emmie's eyes snapped open, a small gasp coming from her parted lips. Tears continued to rush down her cheeks as she fell into the arms of her boyfriend.

"Hey, hey, hey, it was just a nightmare. It wasn't real. It wasn't real." Ben coaxed, rubbing Emmie's back as he gently rocked her back and forth, pulling her carefully into his lap.

"Ben, I'm scared!" Emmie sobbed, tucking her face into the crook of Ben's neck. She tried to take in the scent of Ben's signature cologne to calm her down, but it only partially worked.

"What's wrong? What's wrong? Take some breaths, My Love." Ben kissed Emmie's hair.

Emmie took a few breaths, really focusing on slowing her breaths and taking in the comfortable scent of her boyfriend's shirt.

Ben lifted Emmie's head off of his shoulder for a moment, taking a moment to switch his hoodie from his body to over Emmie's tank top. After Emmie got snuggled up, Ben lit the bedroom lamplight.

"Benny?" Emmie asked, her voice high pitched and soft. She pulled out a nickname that she only ever called Ben when she was joking around.

Ben watched as Emmie pinched around the thick fabric that hung off of her frail body. This made him frown, worried about what was going through his love's head.

"I'm too curvy to dance Copellia." Emmie stated, looking Benjamin in the eye as a few more tears fell.

"Curvy?" Ben's eyebrows raised. He placed both of his hand gently on either side of Emmie's waistline. "Em, what the hell do you mean? I can feel your ribs even now." He shook his head.

Emmie shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "I need to go workout or something. Relieve this stress. I'm so worried about casting, and it's gotta be about four thirty, right?" Emmie patted around for her reading glasses that she usually swapped for daily contacts.

"No." Ben grabbed Emmie's wrist gently. He kissed the skin on the wrist that he grabbed. "It's not even two forty yet. Working out isn't going to help. You need some restful rest." Ben broke a small smile.

Emmie sighed, pulling her hands and wrists deep into the oversized sleeves of the hoodie.

"I can get you some water. Or some tea. Decaf, chamomile." Ben nodded, trying to get Emmie to nod and follow along with him.

Emmie shook her head again. "I just want you to stay with me. I'm scared."

Ben smiled sheepishly. "I can do that. Of course."

Ben and Emmie snuggled back down onto the bed that they shared, Emmie returning to breathing in the lingering smell of Ben's cologne as she drifted into a more peaceful sleep.

"Don't beat yourself up like this anymore." Ben coaxed, running his fingers through Emmie's hair, though she was fast asleep already. Tears were dried to her cheeks as he kept whispering to her. "I love you so much. Please stop being your own mean stage mom."