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The chaos of rehearsals was nothing new for Ariana. She thrived in it, loved the hum of activity, the synchronized movements of a team working together to create something bigger than themselves. But on that particular day, something felt off.
Her hands trembled as she clutched her phone, scrolling aimlessly through texts and emails. Every little thing seemed to set her nerves on edge—an offhand comment from a producer, the way her voice cracked during warmups. She was drowning in her own head, overwhelmed by the weight of her own expectations.
And then there was Cynthia.
Ariana didn’t even realize her feet were moving until she was standing next to her. Cynthia was laughing at something one of the dancers had said, her energy bright and easy. It was like she carried the sun with her wherever she went.
Ariana hesitated for only a moment before reaching out, her hand brushing Cynthia’s forearm. The touch was light, barely noticeable, but Cynthia turned immediately, her smile softening when she saw the look on Ariana’s face.
“Hey,” she said gently. “You okay?”
Ariana nodded quickly, her eyes darting to the floor. “Yeah. I just… I don’t know.”
Cynthia tilted her head, studying her. She didn’t push for more, didn’t ask questions Ariana didn’t have the energy to answer. Instead, she reached out and covered Ariana’s hand with her own.
“Take a breath,” she said, her voice calm and steady.
Ariana did as she was told, and for the first time all day, she felt a little lighter.
—
It didn’t take long for Ariana to notice how often she sought out Cynthia’s touch. It was in the small moments—the times they sat next to each other during breaks and Ariana leaned into her side, or the way she’d grab Cynthia’s hand when they walked through crowds. She wasn’t even sure Cynthia noticed, but she never pulled away, never seemed to mind.
One night, after a particularly grueling day of rehearsals, they found themselves sitting on the floor of the studio, their backs against the mirrored wall. Everyone else had left, but Ariana had lingered, claiming she needed to go over choreography one more time. Cynthia had stayed too, not saying much, just keeping her company.
Ariana’s head found its way to Cynthia’s shoulder, her body leaning into hers as if drawn by some invisible force. Cynthia didn’t say a word, simply shifted slightly to make her more comfortable.
“You don’t have to stay,” Ariana murmured after a while, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Neither do you,” Cynthia replied.
Ariana smiled faintly. “Touché.”
They sat like that for a long time, the silence between them comfortable. Ariana didn’t need to say anything for Cynthia to understand what she needed.
—
Ariana’s bad days weren’t always predictable. Sometimes they came out of nowhere, blindsiding her when she least expected it. Other times, they built slowly, like a storm gathering on the horizon.
Cynthia could always tell when one was coming.
On one of those days, Ariana showed up at Cynthia’s apartment unannounced. She didn’t bother knocking, just let herself in with the spare key Cynthia had given her months ago.
Cynthia found her sitting on the couch, wrapped in one of her blankets, her knees pulled to her chest.
“Hey baby,” Cynthia said softly, her voice laced with concern. “What’s going on?”
Ariana shook her head, her eyes fixed on a spot on the floor.
Without a word, Cynthia crossed the room and sat down beside her. She didn’t ask questions or push for an explanation. Instead, she reached out and gently pulled Ariana into her arms.
Ariana clung to her like a lifeline, her face buried in Cynthia’s shoulder. She didn’t cry, but her breathing was uneven, her body tense.
Cynthia ran her fingers through Ariana’s hair, her touch slow and soothing. “I’m here,” she murmured. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”
Ariana didn’t respond, but her grip on Cynthia tightened, her body relaxing ever so slightly.
—
It wasn’t until months later that Ariana realized how much she depended on Cynthia’s touch. It wasn’t just about comfort or reassurance—it was something deeper, something she couldn’t quite put into words.
They were sitting in Cynthia’s kitchen, sipping tea and talking about everything and nothing. Ariana reached out absentmindedly, her hand brushing against Cynthia’s.
Cynthia smiled at her adoringly, tilting her head slightly. “You do that a lot, you know.”
“Do what?” Ariana asked, confused.
“Touch me,” Cynthia said, her tone light but her eyes curious. “Not that I mind. Just… you do it a lot.”
Ariana’s cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a loss for words.
Cynthia’s expression softened, and she reached out, covering Ariana’s hand with her own. “It’s okay, Ari. I don’t mind. I never have.”
Ariana looked down at their joined hands, her chest tightening. “I don’t know why I do it,” she admitted quietly. “I just… I feel better when you’re close.”
Cynthia’s thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Then keep doing it. If it helps, I’ll always be here.”