Nightfall ✓

Pirouette

0 3

P i r o u e t t e

[FRN]: a series of multiple turns.

THE LAST DAY of his treatment was bittersweet for Clo. Alec Daichi had gone from being an obstacle to a best friend she never had. There never had been an opportunity for her to make friends in the world she lived in. She was home schooled and the people in ballet – they were too competitive for Clo to even trust them with her hair ribbon.

She danced in her makeshift ballet studio until the sun was setting. Perhaps it was selfish of her to be a little bit happy, knowing Amara wanted him to get better for her own benefit. But the thought of losing him after spending so much time together made her heart ache more than the thought of Amara exploiting him.

Alec Daichi was going to live.

And Clo was okay with anything that came her way as long as he was breathing. She was okay with Amara cutting ties with her because she loathed the idea of Clo being close with her pet. She was okay with facing the wrath of her Madame for missing so many weeks of ballet because Amara didn't bother to give her a call. She was even okay with not being allowed to say goodbye to her friend one last time. As long as Amara took care of Alec, she was going to be okay.

By the time she went back to her room, she was too tired to even think about dinner. It was a wonder she was able to stand up in the shower.

"I was waiting for you."

Clo turned around, startled.

"Alec? What are you doing here?" Even as she asked this, she closed the door swiftly behind her and locked it as an extra measure.

Amara's guards would no doubt be able to break it in two seconds flat but it seemed to calm the boy who sat on her bed, her patchwork quilt thrown over his lap. His eyes were hooded, hair messy from pulling at them. Instead of their usual paleness, a faint pink hue coated his defined cheekbones.

There was a strange emotion within his eyes that worried her as she went over to the bed. He took her hand and pulled her on the bed so they were lying side by side. This was the norm. Alec did not like to talk about Amara with her – he rather she told him stories about ballet, herself and anything she could possibly think about. The way he looked at her – like she hung the moon... it made her feel like the best storyteller in the world. He seemed to cling onto every word she said, eyes fixated on her and no one else, pinky intertwined with hers as if they were making a lifelong promise.

Ergo, on days Amara was too busy with Varjot, Alec snuck out of the room to sleep next to her and fell asleep listening to her nightly rambles.

"She's not going to be happy if–"

"Please," he whispered, "please, Clo."

Let's never talk about her.

"Okay," she promised, clutching his warm hand in hers. "Okay."

I won't talk about her.

"Ég elska þig," he murmured, turning around so he could wrap his arms around her. "Ég mun alltaf elska þig."

She squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip so she wouldn't ask him about what language that was, where he came from – anything more than that he was here and she had to save him on orders.

On the day they meet again, he'll tell her on his own accord. He'll tell her when the pain becomes a dull throb and his present becomes distant past. That's when she'll allow him to share his story.