Chapter Text
Rayla didn’t find the barista cute. Swear to god. Unfortunately, Maia would not listen to her.
“Just go up and order a scone!” She said, slapping her hand. “Whatever, just go and do it!”
“It’s a lot easier for the barista to give ya his number than trying to give the barista yours.” She said, burying her face in her elbow crook. Maybe she thought he was attractive. A little.
“You’ve wasted a whole entire fifteen minutes denying that you want his number. He thinks you’re cute.”
“He doesn’t!” She said.
“He keeps on looking over here.”
“Probably because we’re both wearing sweats over leotards, have sweaty gross makeup, and mad tight buns.”
“We have to head back over to the stage in ten. Go buy a scone, now.”
“Please shut up.”
Maia huffed, and got up.
“What are ya doin?” Rayla hissed.
“Giving the man a tip.”
Rayla glared at her friend as she chatted with the boy. He laughed about something.
“You should’ve done something.” She said as they walked around the corner back to the venue.
“We have one more performance and then we go back to the studio for six months.” Rayla said. “And I don’t come into this neck of the woods that often.”
“Your loss.”
He wasn’t even that cute.
Five hours later, it was snowing outside. Rayla was behind the venue, bawling. She wasn’t really sure about what- no friends, no future, being an orphan, exhaustion via the fact that she’d been up since four that morning. No one else was out in the back. Her warm-up booties weren’t quite warm enough, and there was a hole in her tights, and she could feel the cold there worse than anywhere else. The sodium light protruding from the brick wall made everything a hazy orange, including her breath.
“Are you okay?” Someone asked from behind her. She whipped around, pressing her hands into her eyes to hide the fact that she’d been crying inconsolably for about 5 minutes. The cute barista from earlier was standing with a trash bag in one hand and a phone in the other.
“Yeah.” She said, so soft it was really just a breath. “Yeah,” She said louder. “I’m fine, sorry. Just needed a breath.”
“You don’t mean a smoke do you? I hear a lot of ballerinas smoke to keep their weight low.” He walked slowly to the dumpster about five metres from Rayla and tossed the trash bag in.
“If they do, they’re stupid.” Rayla said.
“Your hair is different.” He noted. “It was in a bun earlier.”
“Oh, I brush it out for my last two dances.” She said.
“I’m Callum.” He said, holding out a hand for her to shake.
“Rayla.” She said, taking it. “Ye... ye remember me from this afternoon?”
“Yeah,” he said. “The dancer girls. You stood out a little.”
“People say that about Maia a lot,” Rayla said.
“No, you stood out.” He said. They both paused. “Sorry.” He said.
“Sorry.” She replied.
“Was it a good performance?” He asked.
“I think so.” She said. “I’m kinda relieved. It was stressful.”
“Did you get any flowers?” He asked.
Rayla laughed. “None other than the fake ones on me costume.”
“Wait here.” He said, turning around and going back into the store. Rayla was a little stunned, seeing as it wasn’t something that was supposed to happen to her.
Callum returned with a bouquet of flowers- the kind that you get at the grocery store, pre-arranged, and matching the season. They were sorta wilted and some were missing a few petals, and they were still held together by the thick blue rubber band.
“I’m supposed to throw them out,” he said, “but you should have some flowers. Because it was a good performance.”
Tears were welling up again. The kindness of this semi-attractive stranger should not have been enough to make her break down.
“Did I say something wrong?” He asked, panicked.
“No.” Rayla said, holding onto the flowers tightly. “I’ve just been awake for too long. I promise I’m not usually like this.”
“Do you want me to bring out a hot chocolate? On the house.”
“Aren’t ya closing?” She asked.
“Yeah.” He said. “Unless Soren emptied the thermos already, which we always do last, there should be enough for you to have a cup.”
“Why are ye doing this?”
“Because you look cold and miserable.” She was. “And you need a friend.” She did. “And I’ve been there. Life is rough. I’m not gonna make any assumptions, but hot chocolately milk is usually a good thing, for just a little bit. And seeing as you had a mocha latte, I know you’re not allergic to anything in it.”
“Ya remember me order?”
Callum blushed, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah.” He said. “I’ll go get your hot chocolate that you didn’t ask for and probably don’t want.”
Rayla didn’t know if he ever came back, though, because Ethari called her to go home. He had her dance bag over his shoulder, and she looked back once before joining him.
“Someone got ye flowers?” He asked. “A boyfriend? Girlfriend?”
“Just a friend.” She said, looking at a limp, dark red flower. “Just... a bit of luck.”
“That bit of luck won’t do well for much longer in water.” He said. “I’ll break out the fruit dehydrator, and we can keep ‘em for longer, sound good?”
“Sounds good.” She said, climbing into the passenger seat of the car. She leaned the seat all the way back and closed her eyes. “Will you carry me inside, like when I was little?” She asked him.
“No,” Ethari said. “Yer too big now.” He started to talk about the performance, things that went well, the girl whose ribbon came untied, but Rayla didn’t listen. She fell asleep instead.