Chapter Text
Rose Adagio
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
arriére: [french. adj.] backwards.
Despondency holds her in thrall.
A suffocating grip transforms every clink of a champagne glass into a translucent shard of hatred. These jagged pieces chip harshly at Lumine’s self-esteem, leaving cuts in their wake as her golden eyes fasten on the crowd.
They laugh. They drink. Merriment she cannot touch.
The annual spring gala heralds the start of an exciting performance season. It is when all the wealthy benefactors of the prestigious Zapolyarny Ballet Company gather to drink and flirt with the company’s rising young talent.
Every year, the ballet dancers of Zapolyarny are expected to attend the gala. They are told to wear saccharine smiles and dress up in their finest. There is no shortage of diamonds, silks, and veneers polished between rosy lips while the dancers pretend the underlying tension, the competitiveness between them, does not run rampant in their veins.
Beneath the glittering lights of a grand chandelier, congratulations are given, glasses are raised in cheer, for those members of the company who have won titular roles for the upcoming season.
Upon Lumine’s bitter tongue, the sweet flavor of expensive Chardonnay tastes like acid. The rim of the glass flute is pressed to her lips as the morose blonde tips it back with a swift jerk. She doesn’t care about the shocked stare of the waiter who waits nearby, polished tray in hand, for Lumine to place the drained glass back on its surface.
She’d failed. Again.
Once more, in yet another season, Lumine is tasked to play the understudy.
Lumine ignores the look in the waiter’s eyes. Something akin to pity, she suspects, though she doesn’t linger long enough to dwell on it. Another flute is snatched up between her hands and the blonde wanders away, meandering through the well-dressed attendees of tonight’s gala.
Honey-gold eyes lift upwards, taking in the familiar sight of the resplendent chandelier glittering high above in the ceiling. This year, like every year, the gala was hosted by the wealthy Tartaglia family. A multi-generational family of talented ballet dancers who, even years after their retirement, continued to openly support Zapolyarny as its most generous benefactors.
It may be thought of as an unfair patronage, if only the great flow of money didn’t coincide with the family’s undeniable talent. Lumine is certain that the middle son of the Tartaglia family would have been accepted into Zapolyarny with or without his family’s privilege. Unfortunately, he's just that good.
He’s also an ass.
“I’d go easy on those,” a smooth voice whispers in her ear, “or risk embarrassing yourself in front of all these rich bastards.”
When did he sidle up next to her? Lumine’s thoughts are muddled after her second (third?) glass of wine. Childe’s arm slides around her waist, steadying the swaying girl as she tilts her head back to regard him. He's tall and unbearably handsome, as always.
Even more so, considering he’d dressed up for the gala like the rest of them. Tousled ginger hair was neatly pinned back. Blue eyes as opaque as the ocean depths peer thoughtfully down at Lumine, as if he could delve headfirst into her idle imaginings.
She raises the third (fourth?) glass to her lips and sips. “I’m not worried. Dain is very forgiving.”
The hand on her hip tightens its grip for the briefest instant. Then Lumine feels a loss of warmth as Childe withdraws his arm. He, too, carries a wine glass but his is already empty.
He places it upon the tray of a passing waiter and sneers, “I’d almost forgotten about your… loyal patron.”
“Mm. His money is ill-spent as it is,” Lumine retorts, the sadness of her smile dulling the natural sunshine of her eyes. “Another let down, right, Childe? Not that you’d know what that feels like.” She forces a laugh that feels like bile searing into her throat. “It’s another lead for you. Congratulations, as always.”
“You think I don’t deserve it?”
Childe lowers his head down to inspect her face carefully. The scent of his cologne is nice, Lumine thinks. Expensive and elusive, just like he is.
“I think money goes a long way, Childe. Maybe not for you, but I can’t think of a single person who’s been able to break through that impenetrable wall you two have made.”
Her gaze deliberately shifts to the star of the gala: the leggy blonde who, once more, had captivated the director and the producers to win the lead role. Not just one role but two out of the three main shows this year. Lumine wouldn’t put it past Rosalyne to snatch up all three if company regulations had allowed it.
“This’ll be what…” Lumine drawls, her lips pursed as she mulls it over, “...the fifth show you’ve done together? Really, you two are just meant to be at this point.”
“Bitter doesn’t look good on you, Viatrix. You can’t win a role at the company with just talent. You, of all people, would know that.”
Oh, yes, she’d know. All those extra rehearsals. Coming into the company an hour early every morning before training and not leaving until the dinner hour had come and gone. What good was improving her craft when there was nothing to show for it beyond tattered pointe shoes and bruised limbs? Talent got her nowhere but as an understudy for all these years.
The truth only worsens Lumine’s mood. She throws back what dregs of wine are left in the flute and tosses the empty glass into a nearby plant plot. Petty satisfaction flares up in her chest knowing that this was his family's house. It would be the Tartaglia servants’ mess to clean up.
At her rebellious move, amusement ripples across Childe’s handsome face.
She lifts her hand to rub light, soothing circles against her temple. “You don’t even bother denying it.”
“Well, I am the best dancer in this company.”
A long-suffering look is her response. Oh, how she longs to deny it. If only to kick him down off that well-warranted pedestal.
“The problem, Viatrix, is that all you have is skill,” Childe continues, sliding his hands into his pockets casually. His eyes lock on hers, sending a chill down her spine. “And you know what? So does everyone else in this company. Skill isn’t enough to land a leading role. You need more than that. Influence. Support.”
“I don’t need your advice, Childe,” Lumine snaps. “It’s been two years since I joined the company and it’s always been the same result. It’ll only ever be the same. I can’t practice any harder than I already do. I can’t get more sponsors than I already have!” Frustration underpins her voice as Lumine turns on her heel. Forcing all these false smiles and simpering for donors’ attention— it was absolutely suffocating.
He follows her, a shadow on her heels. “Go away, Childe!” she demands impatiently. “Go and celebrate your well-deserved victory with her like always.”
Childe’s footsteps falter. Reluctantly, he comes to a halt behind her retreating form. “Relying on Dain alone won’t help you,” he bites out.
Taken aback, Lumine pauses to look back at him over her shoulder. Unmistakable irritation brews behind Childe's eyes. The smile she levels back at him is entirely devoid of kindness.
“What do you have against my benefactor? Despite my failings, he believes in me wholeheartedly. While others, who know I work my ass off, ” Lumine emphasizes, her gaze narrowing at the other, “speak to me as if hard work isn’t and shouldn’t be good enough! It shouldn’t be like that, Childe!”
It’s always like this between them, always. Harsh breaths punch out of her chest as Lumine glares at him. Anger roars its ugly head inside her. Since the day she’d joined the Zapolyarny, she and Childe had never seen eye to eye on this.
To Lumine, it is merit that deserves to be rewarded. The person who works the hardest, who undeniably is the best for the role, should get it.
Childe’s pragmatism, however, always refuses to concede. To him: it isn’t about skill but about who could also bring in the financial donors. The one who is the most beautiful and the most charismatic. Even if they aren’t as technically perfect as another, if a dancer shines the brightest of all, it is they who earn the shot at stardom they crave.
Golden eyes burn with contempt.
Childe inhales, then exhales a slow, frustrated breath. “I’m—” he begins.
He is interrupted by the disruptive sound of a metal spoon tapping loudly against glass. The sound echoes in the ballroom, snatching up each and every attendee’s attention.
“I would request everyone’s attention at this time,” a gruff voice calls aloud.
The director of the Zapolyarny Ballet Company steps forward. The man they all respect, and fear, appears as elegant as ever in his pressed, designer suit. Tall and imposing, Pierro ensnares everyone’s attention in an instant as his powerful gaze sweeps over the amassed crowd.
“Patrons of the arts, I would like to introduce you to the glorious stars of our upcoming season. May the glory of their talent and beauty onstage bring our Zapolyarny the highest regard in all of Snezhnaya.”
Piercing eyes look first to Rosalyne, who smiles beautifully at his recognition and saunters her way through the gathered attendees. The silk of her red dress hugs every curve of her figure to perfection. Endless praises sing to her in sweet crooning as she comes to stand beside Pierro on the small stage.
“That’s your cue, I believe,” Lumine mutters to Childe.
His gaze flickers over her taut face. Lumine is careful to keep her features carefully blank— a composure she’s well aware annoys him. Irritation tightens his mouth into a thin white line.
A faint thrill suffuses her as Childe scoffs under his breath. It is a momentary break in the dancer’s charming façade that Lumine alone could witness.
“Please applaud for our Rosalyne and our Tartaglia!” Pierro’s voice booms out. “Two previous years of outstanding success and here we are, a new shining year to come.”
Lumine stays silent as Childe leaves her side. Long legs gain ground quickly in the crowd as the dancer sheds his momentary annoyance and assumes the pleasant guise he is known for. Childe smiles and waves his hand amiably as he answers the patrons’ yelled praises with gratitude.
The same old song, another year, just like the one before.
Already bored with the display, Lumine folds her arms beneath her bosom and glances around, mildly hopeful that a waiter with a fresh, full tray of glasses is attending close by.
“Lumine, you are as elusive as ever in these gatherings,” a quiet voice says.
Lumine wears a welcoming smile on her lips as she turns to the newcomer: a tall and familiar male who effortlessly steps into place beside her. A handsome man with hair as golden as her own, Dainsleif returns her smile stoically.
Lumine isn’t offended. Calm is simply Dain’s way. As childhood friends, she’d long grown accustomed to his peculiar manner.
“Can you blame me? As soon as I walk through the door, I want to get out of here,” she jokes.
He offers her another glass full of champagne. Without hesitation, and grateful for his thoughtfulness, Lumine reaches over and encloses her fingers around the stem. Their hands graze for a single instant and Lumine enjoys the warmth of his skin against hers. It comforts her.
Truth be told, Dain ticked all the boxes that would shove him firmly into the ‘eligible bachelor’ category. He is wealthy, attractive, and shows Lumine endless attentiveness that would flatter any young lady, especially a family friend.
So why, Lumine wonders not for the first time, could she not persuade her heart to skip a beat faster for him?
“I know the role was not what you wanted, Lumine,” he tells her in a soothing voice that calms her wayward thoughts. “I do not blame you for being disappointed.”
Ah, compassion. The single thing Childe lacked whenever he spoke to her. As if it was Lumine who hadn’t tried hard enough during her audition. Who danced her heart out, only for the ballet dancer to end up in exactly the same position as before.
“Are you disappointed in me?” she asks Dain. She brings the flute to her lips, only to realize she doesn’t feel like drinking anymore.
Dain’s hand rests upon her arm, warm and reassuring. “You speak as if being the understudy to Rosalyne is not worthy of respect on its own.”
“Being regulated to the shadows and continually mocked for wishing the lead would trip up and break her ankle? Even if I've never desired that, Dain, it is a constant source of annoyance.”
Gold eyes drift to where Childe and Rosalyne hold court in front of the enchanted attendees. Pretty words slip from their lips: enthusiastic promises spoken of a wonderful season to come.
Blue eyes abruptly meet hers.
A sudden thrill flares up hotly in her chest. Childe’s glance sweeps downwards, his sharp gaze missing nothing of the way Dain’s hand rests in support on her arm. With a sullen look on his face, he turns away.
Lumine hates the way guilt tears at her insides. What did she have to feel guilty about?
It is nothing short of hypocritical for Childe to dislike who Dain was to her. Every dancer had at least one personal benefactor. Sometimes dozens if they prove to be a favorite amongst the investors at the gala. Even Childe has to preen and impress the wealthy women who croon over him now, their aged hands brushing flirtatiously over his well-formed chest and arms.
Lumine swallows. “Is it truly my fault, Dain, for wanting something I can’t have?”
Midnight eyes shift to her delicate profile. Sadness softens Lumine’s features. How vulnerable she appears like this, so low in spirits even amidst a celebratory gathering.
He answers in a soft voice. “I find that one’s ambition can be the most effective motivator in accomplishing a difficult goal.”
“Even if one’s skill is the same level as the rest of the playing field?” she asks wryly.
Dain clears his throat. “Why do I feel like we are not talking specifically about ballet?”
An answering smile unfurls on her lips. “Are we not?”
Lumine can’t tear her gaze away from Childe and Rosalyne. The pair link arms naturally as they greet the patrons one by one. What a splendid pair they appear together.
Unsurprising, really, considering how personally close they once were.
Since starting at the company, Lumine didn’t think a single week had passed where Childe’s name hadn’t been linked to one woman or another. It was a popular gossip topic: commonly whispered among the dancers about who would get to be his newest fling for the week. But never, not once that Lumine could recall, had he dated someone seriously since Rosalyne.
Lumine had been brand new to Zapolyarny then, a ballet student fresh out of university and excited to work for the famous Snezhnayan dance company. She knew of the talented Tartaglia family, had heard of their handsome middle son who had taken the ballet world by storm since he was a youth. Now, in his early twenties, he was even more coveted by adoring fans, benefactors, and lovers alike.
The moment Lumine had seen him walking into the first day’s early morning workshop, his white shirt and black leggings hugging every bit of his lean, muscular frame, she’d understood.
Tousled ginger hair fell over his forehead but did not conceal the prettiest blue eyes she’d ever seen. The way he’d smiled at Kaeya beside him, all charm and warmth as the latter cracked a joke, had sent Lumine’s heart pounding like crazy.
Then, when they’d locked eyes the first time, Childe’s eyes had widened in a way that caused Lumine’s breath to catch. She’d looked away quickly then, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at being caught staring so mindlessly at him.
If only, the present Lumine thinks wistfully, If only it had ended there.
It had been Mona who first told her about Childe’s tumultuous love life back then. A hushed whisper uttered in Lumine’s ear as the blonde tried to calm her racing pulse and focus on her first full day of being a professional ballerina. She’d turned her back to the blue-eyed dancer and began her warm-up stretches.
Still, every now and then, Lumine couldn’t resist glancing furtively at the mirror. Only to catch the reflection of Childe that kept looking back at her. Every time he caught her in the act, his lips tipped up in amusement.
(“That’s Tartaglia,” Mona had said. “He and Rosalyne have been a thing for ages but, last I heard, he got dumped for some other guy. Poor thing.”)
Heartbroken Tartaglia. Admittedly, there had been merit to the rumors.
While he had been focused in their classes— a consummate professional worthy of the title as he demonstrated flawless technique— sometimes, when Lumine looked closely, she could see the weariness of his tense features. The way his shuttered gaze would sometimes linger on Rosalyne as she was called to the front to show off her own level of expertise.
As he was the idol of the male members of the company, Rosalyne was at the top of the class for girls. Every instructor cooed over her, praising her figure, her effortless movements. Embedded deeply beyond her layers of envy and resentment, Lumine did actually respect her as a dancer.
Over time, Lumine’s crush on Tartaglia faded. Oh, just looking at him was enough to make her heart skip a beat, or seeing his smile might weaken her in the knees, but it hadn’t been long before the gap between them grew increasingly wider.
Even if Lumine might have once thought Childe may have been interested in her, such hopes dwindled with every new girl he was rumored to be seen with. If he liked her, wouldn’t he say something to her? And yet, he would always avoid Lumine while seeking out another rebound.
That’s what the other girls would whisper anyway. Maybe the hookups were true or maybe they weren’t.
After two months, Lumine realized her futile crush on him was getting in the way of her personal improvement. Thoughts that lingered on Childe during training were replaced with the inner desire to be better than anyone else there. She wanted to be as good as Rosalyne was. To someday hear the praise of the instructors and the choreographers saying her name and calling her to the front.
It wasn’t until the end of the first year, after months of endless practice and studying, that Lumine finally acquired the recognition she craved. She was confidently considered by all to be the best technique-aspected dancer in the company. Even better than Rosalyne herself.
Unfortunately, Lumine also came to realize that being the best did not matter here. Not when Rosalyne’s grip over the Zapolyarny, the beautiful dancer so beloved by its wealthy benefactors and its director, mattered so much more. Despite her superior skills, Lumine discovered she would never be able to shine on stage as the lead role. Not unless Rosalyne did twist her ankle, which (sadly) had never happened.
Lumine also discovered being second pick came with unintentional consequences.
Namely, one Childe. His continual acquisition of the male leading roles forced Lumine into his proximity time and time again.
As Rosalyne’s understudy, it was expected that she not only rehearse the leading lady’s part, but also do so with the leading man on occasion. Theoretically, switching partners from time to time was done to build chemistry. Forcing the two together would encourage them to grow comfortable with each other, in the rare chance that Lumine replacing Rosalyne might one day be necessary.
It was just unlucky that Lumine had never truly felt comfortable with Childe since the day she’d met him.
How could she, when the heated touch of his hands on her waist and her hips would be burned into her memory for hours afterwards? Lumine was so hyper aware of him. Her embarrassment led her to make constant, clumsy mistakes. All the skill she wanted to show off? It was gone the moment those blue eyes raked over her.
The respect she’d craved so badly from Childe not only as a crush, but also as a professional, had slipped through her grasp right from the start.
“You’re too stiff,” had been his favorite criticism. It was dangerous to lose focus when they performed such complicated routines; not balancing correctly when he lifted her could result in an injury. Lumine’s collection of bumps and bruises grew whenever she got caught up in the way his fingers curved naturally into the dip of her waist.
“You've gotta relax, Viatrix, or I’ll drop you.” was a constant reminder, to the point where Childe’s instep would be in danger of being struck by her foot whenever he dared voice it.
Time and time again they were forced together. For better and for worse.
Her idealistic crush on him began to ebb away with every frustrated sigh and bit-off insult uttered from Childe’s mouth at her. Ultimately, it was a good thing.
When Lumine forgot to think about him in an affectionate light, it became easier to concentrate on performing the intricate choreography. When Lumine let her thoughts be consumed with positioning her feet correctly, or maintaining her core balance, instead of how his muscles flexed so attractively as he cradled her in his arms, she improved. The respect for one another’s skills had, albeit reluctantly, grown over time.
It was just a shame that the same couldn’t be said for their working relationship. The friction only escalated with every leading role Lumine lost to Rosalyne, and when it became second nature to associate her time with Childe as being the understudy and not the principal dancer. Every time his hands curled around her waist, Lumine was reminded once more that she’d yet again not been deemed good enough at the auditions.
Only Kaeya truly understood her plight. Childe’s best friend found himself in the same position as Lumine over the years. Dubbed Childe’s permanent understudy as she was Rosalyne’s.
As a result, Kaeya had become Lumine’s primary dance partner for most of the time. When he was not rehearsing with Rosalyne, it would be his hands that Lumine would rely upon to guide her. It was his strength to lean on, and the humor of his crass jokes that would lighten her mood during exhausting days. Kaeya had wormed his way into her life as easily as Mona did. They’d become good friends Lumine could depend on for anything.
“If you keep glaring at them like that, you might just warrant those ‘vicious understudy’ rumors, love.”
Her reverie over the past broken, Lumine scoffs, her cheeks flaming at being so blatantly called out. The elegant figure of Kaeya saunters towards her, and as he exchanges a polite greeting to Dain beside her, Lumine raises the glass to her lips and drinks. Her desire to drink until unconscious renewed, this time, the alcohol did go down and burn her throat pleasantly along the way.
“Can’t people find other things to talk about for once?” she grumbles.
“Chin up, sweetheart,” Kaeya purrs, amused. “If we’re not talked about then we’d be irrelevant, which is objectively worse.”
“Ever the positive one, my precious Kae,” Lumine croons at him. Her lips tip up into a sweet smile. She slides her arm through Dain’s free one and leans against the taller man. “Even after all these years you know exactly what to say.”
“The sarcasm is lovely as always, Lumi. Really brings out your best side.”
Dain glances between them, staying silent as he drinks from his own glass. The graceful motion attracts Kaeya’s attention, who couldn’t help but slide the blond male a covert look of interest.
“Did you come to steal me away then?” Lumine asks. Her admiring stare sweeps over how handsome her partner looks in his crisp suit and neatly braided hair. “I’m not really feeling up to schmoozing with the rich folk tonight.”
“Just with him then?”
“Yes,” Lumine responds cheerfully as she hugs Dain’s arm tightly. “Dain puts up with my moodiness the best.”
Lumine’s attachment to her sole benefactor was rooted in their long-term friendship; ever since their childhood, Dain had financially supported her dreams in the arts as much as he sponsored her brother’s pursuit of music. The trio had been together for as long as they could remember. If Lumine was especially protective of their friendship, that was no one’s business but her own. Others could misunderstand if they wanted to.
“I know you’re disappointed, sunlight,” Kaeya tells her in a lowered voice. Concern blooms bright in his compassionate eyes and it’s hard for Lumine to look at. “As am I. But, you and I have run this circle many times and tonight will be no exception. You can’t hide forever in the corner like this.”
“Who is hiding? I’ve been vying for the spotlight now for ages.” Lumine’s voice is tinged with sadness and frustration. A heady mix that neither Dain nor Kaeya are oblivious to. “Look where that’s gotten me and you.”
“I know, love. Yet, our duty still calls.”
A tanned hand is outstretched to her; Kaeya’s palm held out and seeking the companionship of hers. Lumine inwardly sighs.
She tilts her head up and offers Dain a sincere, apologetic look. “Do you mind if I call you tomorrow? Unless you’ll be with Ae.”
Dain leans in and presses a reassuring kiss to her forehead. “I’d planned to see your brother at his rehearsal in the morning but, if you need me, I can change the plans.”
“And have him kill me?” Lumine retorts, wincing at the thought, “No thanks.”
For the first time that night, Dain smiles at her. It is so rare a sight that Lumine’s lips part in abject surprise. Kaeya, too, stiffens in shock at the incredible beauty of such an expression.
“Call whenever, Lumine,” Dain says politely. “I’ll answer.”
She nods, stepping back from Dain and reaching out to rest her hand in Kaeya’s. The latter pulls her close and tucks her arm around his own, the gesture as natural to the two of them as a smile or a hug.
There is an indescribable intimacy ever-present between dance partners. A result from trusting one to always catch the other. To seek the fall knowing the other waited for them on the other side. It connected their souls in a way very few would understand.
“Ready to charm these folk out of their inherited money, sunlight?” Kaeya murmurs. His handsome mouth curves into a pleasant smile.
Lumine paints the same faux expression on her own face as her partner navigates them through the crush of the attendees. Drinks are aplenty here, she notices. Smiles are too bright and words of greeting are slurred on the tongues of the wealthy.
“As ready as ever.”
“You do look lovely, by the way,” Kaeya remarks off-hand.
He brings her to an elderly couple Lumine recognizes as long-term benefactors of the company. Mister and his Missus Kaluzny. They had attended every single show put on by the Zapolyarny for over twelve years and tonight, they looked eager to put yet another season in their time card.
As Kaeya took over the conversation with charming ease, Lumine smooths her hand over her deep blue dress. A pretty floor-length gown that bore a color strikingly similar to the shade of Childe’s eyes.
“Miss Viatrix, whenever will we see you up on stage, my dear? For Pierro to keep you out of the light is horridly selfish of him.” Mister Kaluzny leans in so close that Lumine can smell the fire-water on his potent breath. It takes every bit of her acting training not to wince at the elderly man’s uncomfortable proximity.
“Darling, you must understand,” his wife chides him, her tittering so loud that it attracts the momentary attention of those nearby. “Rosalyne shines so brightly that it is impossible to think anyone could replace her. When she eventually retires, it will be a sad, sad day for the Zapolyarny. None will ever compare to her.”
Inwardly, Lumine grits her teeth. Outwardly, a polite smile is dredged up from the deepest depths of her boiling irritation.
Do not piss off the investors. She could hear Kaeya’s warning in her head. His grip tightens subtly around her hand.
“Your wife is right, sir,” Lumine replies sweetly. “When the director believes I am ready, I will be sure to meet your expectations of excellence there on the stage.”
“Of course you will, my beauty!” Kaluzny answers enthusiastically. Lumine can count every pristine white tooth in his mouth that must have cost hundreds to replace the ones decayed by age and alcohol. “To you and Alberich, our precious stars of the night!”
The night. How fitting, when they would be overshadowed by those favored by the day.
Lumine’s painful smile widens. “To us.”
The amount of alcohol imbibed by the dancers during the gala the evening before means nothing to the instructors. This was Snezhnaya, where alcohol is second only to water as a source of life. Hangovers are no obstacle in the pursuit of perfection.
Ballets are to be performed with fevers, with sickness, even with injuries, if they must be. Every dancer in the ensemble is expected in the studio by eleven on the dot the next morning and Lumine is no exception. With a headache pounding between her eyes and her features pale with exhaustion, she looks just as haggard as the others in the room.
Everyone keeps their voice levels low as they grumble to one another. A single loud noise will send them spiraling into the worst of the hangover. Lumine rubs at her temples as Mona rests her head on the blonde’s shoulder. As Lumine sits back against the tall mirror that encompasses an entire wall of the studio, she finds salvation in the coldness of the glass against her back. It brings clarity to her aching head.
“Rise and shine, my darlings! If I see a single one of you slacking, missing a step, or otherwise blinking incorrectly, you’ll be out of here quicker than you even think the first letter of my name.”
Arlecchino's tart voice is greeted by an instant chorus of groans. The tall woman sweeps into the studio with an unmistakable grace that had earned her respect as the pas de deux instructor at the Zapolyarny. She claps her hands once, loudly, and everyone reluctantly gets to their feet.
“Partner up, lovelies. We haven’t got all day now.”
“What do you think would happen if we did get stuck with her all day?” Kaeya muses, lifting a sardonic eyebrow as he approaches Lumine. Attired in the white v-neck shirt and black tights the men typically wore to class, he appears to her as attractive as ever. Not for the first time, Lumine admires the lean strength of her partner as he extended his arms outward in a languid stretch.
Yet another one Lumine wished could make her heart flutter like he did.
Unbidden, she glances over her shoulder. Childe had stood up when Arlecchino called and Lumine absently found herself admiring his long-legged grace as he went to Rosalyne’s side. The dark circles under his eyes betrays the same fatigue Lumine felt weighing down her footsteps. And from the way his eyes had dulled to an emotionless navy, it seemed to her as if his thoughts were a million miles away.
An uneasy feeling hovers at the edge of her mind.
“She’d be the first one to break down the door in five minutes or less,” Lumine jokes under her breath, keeping the volume of her voice low so that Arlecchino wouldn’t overhear.
Kaeya shoots her an amused look. “True, though she’d probably call out the slowest for not aiding the escape attempt.”
“You four, up front,” Arlecchino calls out with an irritable snap of her fingers. Her piercing look ensnares Lumine and Kaeya, as well as Rosalyne and Childe, into this demand. They all stepped forward without complaint, far too used to this focused attention. “Did the wine taste so good you’ve all forgotten why you’re here?”
She looks to Columbina, her companion and the company’s resident rehearsal pianist. Slender, feminine fingers rested delicately atop the piano’s keys. The familiar strains of a classical song drifted through the studio.
“Into position,” Arlecchino snaps.
Instinct guides Lumine’s footsteps. She, like Rosalyne, like the other girls in this pas de deux class, allow the music to flow through them. The twinkling notes of the piano inspire their elegant movements as they extend their arms and lift up en pointe onto their toes. Years of instruction, honed to professional perfection, produces a refined image of excellence.
Kaeya’s palms steady Lumine’s turn, his warm hands guiding the spin of her waist until she dips her torso forward.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Lumine freezes in shock. A similar jolt of shock vibrates through Kaeya, who looks up, as startled as her. Her eyes widen at the sight of Rosalyne placing both of her hands on Childe’s chest to shove him away.
“You almost dropped me!” Rosalyne hisses loudly. “Are you insane?”
“Is it the pole’s problem when the fishing line gets tangled?” Childe snaps back, his tone as bitter cold as ice.
“It’s like your head is in another universe! You’re not even focused at all!”
For a flicker of an instant, Childe’s blue eyes slip past Rosalyne to meet Lumine’s own. Her breathing abruptly quickens.
He folds his arms over his chest and levels a glare at Rosalyne. “Maybe it’s that I’m tired of having to compensate for you.”
“You ass.”
As soon as Rosalyne takes a threatening step forward, her fists clenched by her sides, Lumine feels herself moving forward by sheer instinct. Kaeya tries to stop Lumine with a touch to her wrist but she ignores it.
“While I’m sure this spat is absolutely riveting to you two,” Lumine interrupts, “the rest of us don’t actually care about your personal problems. Why don’t you two take it outside so the rest of us can continue being professional?”
Rosalyne’s glare pierces right through her. “You think you’re so high and mighty, don’t you, Viatrix?” A mean smile curves on her glossy lips. “You don’t really have room to talk when the only thing you’re professional at is being my replacement.”
“Replacing you is easy enough if this,” she replies, gesturing to Rosalyne with an idle wave of her hand, “is considered the standard to reach.”
“Then why don’t you try? Go ahead,” Rosalyne urges spitefully. “At least if you get dropped, no one will care.”
Lumine sucks in a sharp breath of unexpected hurt as Rosalyne turns and shoots Childe a haughty look. “Feel free to entertain the second choice, Ajax. Then again, you and her have a lot in common, don’t you? It should be easy enough.”
No one else utters a word as Rosalyne saunters out of the studio. Not until the door slams shut and the room erupts into a swell of gossiping, eager whispers. Arlecchino crosses her arms over her chest and sighs in annoyance.
“She’s so lucky that her looks get her this far,” she gripes aloud. Columbina offers her a sympathetic smile.
“Shall I go bring her back?” Columbina asks. “We’re supposed to start teaching the choreography after warm-ups.”
“No, Miss Priss needs a harsher wake-up to reality,” Arlecchino mutters angrily. “I’ll be right back.”
She claps her hands loudly, once, to signal she wanted the class’s attention. “Save the gossiping for outside these walls. You are all too used to this business to make a big deal out of every disagreement.” Sharp eyes turn on Childe. “Rosalyne has a point, Tartaglia. Focus up or you will be the one out of a role.”
The smile he gives her lacks humor. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Arlecchino shakes her head in disapproval. “Columbina, take over the class, will you? I’ll return in a bit once Her Highness calms down.”
A soft little hum, ethereal in note, greets the announcement. The rest of the dancers watch, murmuring excitedly behind their hands, as Arlecchino strides towards the door. She cuts through the group like a blade through water, the ballet dancers looking fearful as they step back in deference to her passage.
When the door closes firmly for the second time, everyone in the room lets out a collective breath of relief.
Lumine glances at Kaeya wordlessly. Her partner offers her a half-hearted smile tinged with amusement. “Go on, love. Don’t let her words get to you.”
If Rosalyne’s acerbic comments could shred her self-esteem that easily, Lumine would have left the Zapolyarny many months ago. Their world is sustained on competition. Its lifeblood is the friction that scratches violently against egos as one dancer is pit against another.
To succeed in this life, one has to endure any and all slights to their confidence. The instructors, along with Rosalyne, are merciless in their criticism.
Lumine’s gaze settles on Childe, who stares back at her with an unreadable expression.
What could have driven the two to verbal blows this early in the morning? Unsurprisingly, the pride of these two principal dancers often clashed, especially when the rest of the company was well-aware of their volatile personal history. Rosalyne and Childe often fought, and argued, but no one could deny how their intensity off the stage translated to a powerful chemistry on it.
Lumine envies that the most.
“I won’t drop you,” Childe says in an overly eager rush, as if to stave off any hesitation Lumine might harbor in the aftermath.
The blonde tilts her head, her look contemplative as she assesses him.
“Why would I think that?”
Lumine goes to him and faces forward, her arms lifting upwards in the practiced steps of their habitual training. “I’m not sure what you and Rosalyne are pissed off about this time,” she murmurs, her voice pitched low enough for only him to hear. “The couple spat is getting pretty old by now.”
As she turns slowly, her balance controlled by the calculated twist of her leg, she feels Childe’s palms slide into place around her waist. As ever, the heat of his skin caresses her beneath the thin fabric of her black leotard. Her attraction to him flares briefly, before it is ruthlessly suppressed by her will alone.
“We haven’t been a couple for some time, Viatrix,” he replies quietly. “Everyone knows that, don’t they?”
There is a faint trace of bitterness in his words that Lumine picks up on. He had been hurt over what happened. It was an open secret that every dancer learned of the moment they came to work at this company. Considering how often Rosalyne and Childe were paired together, it's an old gossip topic that never ceases to be entertaining. Except to those directly involved in it.
The instructions given out by Columbina at the front of the room are heard as if from a great distance. They are to practice shoulder-sitting next between their partners. It's an exercise that requires perfect timing and balance. She regards Childe silently, who returns it with an expectant look.
“If you break it,” she says idly, indicating herself, “you buy it.”
An amused smile touches his lips. “Alright.”
He extends his right arm outwards, bracing himself as Lumine did. She gets into the first position, infusing grace into her every footstep as she counts every step forward. One, and two— there is a slight twist of her body as Lumine pushes herself off the ground. She trusts in Childe’s strength as he slides his hand beneath her knee and helps to propel her upward. She turns her body just so, supported by his grip on her waist as she’s lifted up and onto his broad shoulder.
“How much is your trust worth, I wonder?” he murmurs under his breath.
The undercurrent of seriousness in those words piques Lumine’s curiosity. “For being a second choice, it’s a top tier rate,” she teases.
Childe’s grip on her unconsciously tightens. “Don’t say that.”
He lowers her back onto the ground and Lumine gingerly lands on her feet. Childe’s still bent half-way over and Lumine can’t help herself from brushing away several loose ginger strands from his forehead. Azure eyes widen in visible surprise.
“You’re not a second choice either,” Lumine whispers to him, unable to hide the subtle anger behind her words. “No one thinks that of you.”
Childe may not have dated anyone seriously since Rosalyne but it hadn’t meant he’d gone completely without attention. Some girls didn’t mind being his company for the night, or the week, being content enough to hang on the ballet dancer’s arm as he entertained them with charming smiles and laughs. Others enjoyed the aura of coolness he exuded. It was clear that Childe would never allow anyone to get close to him again on a personal level. Save for Kaeya, of course.
Lumine had felt her chances to be noticed seriously by Childe dwindling with every passing day. That had been yet another reason to shelve this hopeless crush of hers. She refused to get involved in his soul-searching. She refused to be one of his many faceless dates.
She did not want to get more attached to him beyond the necessity of a workplace connection.
So, Lumine had tried to move on.
With Albedo first. Her brother’s friend who was polite, if not too reserved, about expressing his emotions to her. After a month of being unsure whether he even actually liked her in that way, Lumine had called it quits. It had been amicable between them. Even now, she shared greetings with him whenever he came over to visit with Aether.
There had been Kazuha, too. A brief venture into the casual side of relationships, where being together didn’t mean anything beyond shared kisses and talking about Lumine’s future. He hadn’t known what he’d wanted to do after university beyond traveling and Lumine’s goals were set in stone. Another short-lived romance that left her with no regrets.
As kind as her partners had been, they never felt like enough. The sweetness of their words caused Lumine to long for the acidic bite of Childe admonishing her for another missed jump.
She liked the way he sought perfection so ruthlessly. How he threw himself into a performance as if through movement alone could he express the fury simmering just below the surface. None shined so brightly onstage more than Childe. His handsome features and long limbs captivated one’s attention as he danced through the performances, showing them all the heartfelt push and pull of falling in and out of love. Childe’s aura was passionate and dark. He was sin itself wrapped in the guise of an elusive beauty.
It's only tempered for training, where excelling at the combinations was meant to hone their technique.
When Lumine extends her arm upwards, she feels the firm push of Childe’s hand as he exerts force in return, expertly balancing her as she spins gracefully en pointe.
The best partner of a ballerina is one who masters subtlety. As Lumine would be the one the audience watched, her partner would be there to keep her centered, his hand upon her waist acting as a guide to keep her on her toes. No one should truly notice the partner’s contribution. Not the way Childe’s palm steadies her through the spin, nor the way his fingers curl around hers to support her above.
But Lumine notices. She always notices.
As the music comes to an end by Columbina’s hand, Lumine settles down on the soles of her feet. Childe releases his hold on her hand but the fingers resting upon her hip linger for several moments longer.
Lumine tilts her head back. No matter how many quips are exchanged between them, or how many criticisms are uttered, no matter how many soft words of comfort, or how many sly suggestions slip through quarreling lips during their rehearsals, there is always that something that robs Lumine of speech whenever Childe looks at her so intently like this.
“Viatrix.” His voice is husky, deeper than usual as he whispers to her.
Lumine ruthlessly squelches the thrill of excitement she feels at being spoken to this way and pastes a too-bright smile on her lips. “If you’re going to say ‘thanks for not kicking me this time,’ you’re absolutely welcome.”
Childe laughs. His hand slips free from her waist and Lumine doesn’t admit how she already laments its loss. “It does feel good not being bruised for once,” he says, rubbing at his nape as he smiles at her.
“I can fix that if you miss it.”
“Not today,” he replies. Her heart skips a traitorous beat as the smile reaches his eyes and turns the dull blue of his eyes into a vibrant sapphire. “This side of you is… too nice not to want longer.”
Lumine glances away in a sudden bout of shyness. “Yes, same. Less nagging from you is always welcome.”
“I nag because I care.”
“No, you just like tormenting me.”
“A lil bit of that, too.”
She can’t help the sincere smile that blooms on her face. Lumine reaches up and pushes Childe lightly on the arm. “Thanks for not dropping me, I suppose.”
Childe grins at that. His low voice sends pleasant shivers down her spine as he murmurs, “We make good partners, don’t we, Lumine?”
It’s the first time he’s ever spoken her name. Lumine’s eyes widen, her features tensing in genuine shock as the door to the studio swings open with a loud bang.
She jolts in surprise, as does everyone else. They all look up to see Arlecchino leading the way, her lips thinned into a frown as she approaches. Behind her, a pouting Rosalyne adjusts the tight bun of her hair and ensures not a strand of the blonde tresses are out of place.
“Just on the dance floor,” Lumine whispers to Childe under her breath. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself.”
When Rosalyne comes to retake her position beside Childe, Lumine accepts it as her silent cue to leave. She takes a step back, only to pause in place when she senses sudden movement beside her.
Childe’s fingers brush lightly against her wrist. Lumine’s surprised gaze shoots up to him but Childe says nothing, his handsome face kept turned away as his features draw taut with an indecipherable emotion.
Lumine’s fingers curl deeply into her palm. She continues moving until she’s retreated to Kaeya’s side, who greets her with a small, knowing smile.
“Hope you all had your fun with Columbina. She’s far nicer than I’ll ever be when it comes to you incompetent lot,” Arlecchino tells them as she plants her hands on her hips. “Now that our prima ballerina has seen fit to grace us with her presence once more, let’s continue, shall we?”
“Sure, so long as the princess has her shit together now,” Childe drawls. Several of the other male dancers chuckle at that. Rosalyne’s pretty face twists into a scowl as she outstretches her hand.
“Look who’s talking, asshole. Consider yourself lucky you even get to be in my presence.”
He rolls his eyes, the tension as high as ever as he reluctantly takes her hand. “I’m positively overjoyed,” he replies with sarcasm. “Blessed by the gods since birth to have to correct every single one of your mistakes.”
It is truly a shame that the ensemble had long grown used to such an uncomfortable atmosphere. None of the other dancers flinch as Arlecchino orders them to partner up for the next routine. They ignore the principal dancers’ bickering as they stand by their pas de deux partners.
Try though as she might, Lumine still can’t prevent herself from glancing over occasionally to Childe. That’s why it startles her when, the moment she slides her hand into Kaeya’s, a dark flare of jealousy burns hotly within Childe’s eyes.
Lumine abruptly looks away. She prays that what she'd seen was merely a trick of the light. For Lumine could not acknowledge that the resentment she felt whenever Childe placed his hands around Rosalyne’s waist might actually be mutual.