Chapter Text
10 Reasons Not to Date a Ballet Dancer
by Tobias Bell (choreographer, professional, absolutely not overthinking this)
- I’m their boss. Technically. Artistically. And that comes with boundaries. I shape the work. I cast the roles. That power dynamic matters. What if they can’t handle that? What if they start disrupting rehearsals? What if I don’t cast them and they get angry — or worse, what if I do cast them and everyone assumes favoritism? I’ve worked too hard to be taken seriously. One misstep and it all crumbles.
- No casual anything. No one-offs. No friends-with-benefits. These are people I see every day. What if the date is awkward? What if they want more and I don’t? Or worse — what if I want more and they don’t? There’s no polite way to end it.
- Workplace romances are disasters. I’ve seen it. Everyone’s seen it. Take Gael and Quinn — constant fighting, tension in the studio, divided alliances. It only ended when Gael became a farmer and Quinn moved continents. (There were... other issues. Quinn was married. Still.) Lesson learned: it always gets messy.
- Dancers have big egos. They have to. Their job is to take up space, command a room, pull focus. Especially the men — fewer roles, more pressure. I respect it. I just don’t want to date it.
- Ballet is their whole world. Training. Rehearsal. Performance. Repeat. And I get it — it’s mine too. But if we’re both consumed by the same thing, where’s the balance? Who pulls you out when you start sinking? I need someone who reminds me there’s a world beyond the studio.
- Too much togetherness. Rehearsals, performances, post-show drinks, and then what — breakfast too? Relationships need space to breathe. I need space to breathe. Some people meet their partners at work, sure, but how often does that actually work out? Don’t people get sick of each other?
- The breakup would be unbearable. They always are. But imagine having to see them every day after. Ballet is my sanctuary — my clean lines, my structure, my control. I don’t want to ruin that. I did this once in uni — dated a guy in my building. After we broke up, I changed my schedule to avoid him I hated it. Eventually, I moved out entirely. I’m not doing that again.
- Gossip. The moment something happens, everyone knows. And dancers talk — in dressing rooms, in warm-up, in lifts. What if this hypothetical boyfriend tells people something embarrassing about me? Something I told him in confidence, in bed, in a moment of trust? And suddenly the entire company knows…I’d rather not have my pillow talk become rehearsal warm-up conversation.
- Social lines get blurry. Dancers are friends with other dancers. If I date one, I’ll have to socialize with the rest. And I’m supposed to be their boss, not their drinking buddy. I choreograph them, direct them, shape them. What happens when they stop seeing me as that?
- HR forms are the least sexy thing on earth. Seriously. Inter-office relationship disclosures. Power dynamic statements. Mutual consent acknowledgment. You practically have sign your life aways for HR just to hold hands in the break room. And even then, the risk is on me. One complaint — even unfounded — and it’s my reputation, my career, my name on the line.
So no, I’m not dating a ballet dancer.
Not Gabin. Not anyone.
Not even if they´ve gotten closer.
Not even if they understand me like no one else does.
Not even if I want to.
Especially if I want to.
….
….
….
But he is writing this list
This list that is supposed to make him not want to date a dancer — as he flies back home, as he prepares to break up with Kevin. Because the truth is, Tobias wants to kiss Gabin Roux. And Gabin isn’t just any dancer. He’s the lead. The star. The one Tobias built the entire piece around — and the one who keeps slipping under his skin, scene after scene, touch after touch
Tobias writes this list like it’s armor. But even he knows: it might not be enough.
Because the pull between them is too strong. Because the risk is enormous.
And maybe — just maybe — it could be worth it.
Risking it all.
Maybe.