“I was thinking it looked real polished.”

Dan grins back, then takes the floor back from her, the two of them swapping off. Dan’s movement vocabulary in ballet is more limited than Elle’s, because his younger siblings were learning at the same time he was and that meant his mother taught him fewer and less complicated maneuvers. He doesn’t jump much, and his arms stay in first or fourth by habit.

But he’s a very charismatic dancer, and soon he relaxes the structure of ballet while keeping the grace, incorporating some of the looseness he’s picked up dancing as an adult. His face is always in it, and his timing is precise enough that it’s like one could hear the rhythm just by watching him.

He’s happy doing this. He doesn’t forget everything he tries to put out of mind all day, each day, but it feels further off when he’s dancing, like he’s watching it from a distance instead of pressed up against it. It’s like alcohol that way.

He runs out of breath quicker than he’d like, on account of the way he’s fucked up his lungs. He takes a breather.

“When was the last time you danced without working towards a goal?”