Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 45

Greetings! And apologies for not updating last weekend, but oof, I was swamped, man. The good news: this chapter is REAL long. As always, please share your thoughts and feelings, star, and share Calore Dance Academy with your RQ-loving friends!

A shoutout to my new and amazing editor, @maraudersreject  ! You are loved and appreciated already! 

Enjoy the MareCal banter and bonding. ;) 

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Along with the usual exit signs, the scarlet upholstery of one-thousand theatre seats glimmers dully in the auditorium.

I managed to find the industrial panel of light switches and turn on a row of stage lights. Looking at it now, most of the theatre is entirely dark, and the stage is thrown into more shadows than normal, but I hardly came to dance. I've settled myself on the lip of the stage, my hands braced against its steady, unfailing wood. My legs dangle over the edge, kicking against the dropoff every so often.

It's just past eight. Technically, Cal and I should be getting into our lesson. This is the time when we've finished with our questions and gotten to work on lifts, but it's not like any of that's happening tonight.

I came here to think. Last night, when I was in the throes of guilt and tears and could barely blink, I thought of the Academy's stage, of all things. I thought of its shadows and lights, and I saw a different, less deafening sort of darkness.

I came here to remind myself of it, to remember that not all darkness is bad. It's working. I've been here for over an hour, and I've gotten used to the dark. My eyes bounce from one spot in the theatre to another, finding nothing especially threatening about the black swaths. I think of dancing on this stage during my audition and dancing with Cal to the music from his Bluetooth speaker. Though we're never really on count with anything. I kind of hate that.

And yet I have Cal's Epic Playlist humming in my ears through the AirPods that Shade bought me. When I finally looked at it, I rolled my eyes, realizing that it's nearly five-hundred songs long and lasts for thirty hours. He has everything from seventies rock to nineties R&B to today's dance-pop loaded up on it, mixed with some perfect songs for contemporary dancing. It's entirely unorganized, with Cal adding new songs here and there in no particular order. I kind of hate that, too.

But I need something to hear while I gaze around the auditorium, and the playlist that Cal sent me on Wednesday was the only thing that I could think of. And this, I realize, I don't entirely hate.

He has a good taste in music. The songs go along well with staring into the theatre's expanse, but they never carry the same beat or tone. They'll all different, and they keep me guessing what comes next. It's something easy to get lost in.

And because of that, I barely notice the click of stage wing door behind me.

A couple of footsteps, and then a pause, right, where I imagine, the wing curtains give way to open space. Right where I imagine he can see me.

For his sake, so that he doesn't have to worry about surprising me or making me jump, I turn my head over my shoulder.

Cal no longer wears a tuxedo, having changed back into his usual workout pants and an ordinary long-sleeved tee. His black hair still sports slick gel, and he stands near the wing, towering over me. I see something withdrawn in his face. He looks tired, but it isn't the sort of exhaustion that sleep can cure.

I came here for quiet, for peace, not expecting for him to show up at all.

There's a caution to his step as he pads across the stage. He remembers the events of yesterday—and early today—just as well as I. He knows that last night broke me, even if I seem all fine and numb now. He knows that the elevator was only a limbo between one floor of reality and another, and that things only got worse from there.