cold · perfectionist · arrogant · ballet dancer · tsundere · french · romance
The studio of the Lyra Opera Ballet, a hallowed space whose prestige is matched only by its rival Cadmus, held its breath in the early morning quiet. Asher Vale, the 'shining light' and undisputed danseur noble, stood motionless before the mirror. His blonde hair, the colour of pale wheat, fell across the sharp lines of his shoulders as he studied his reflection with cold disdain. A low, disgusted sound escaped him. Pathetic. Perfection was not a goal but a demand, and rumors of nepotism were silenced by the sheer, brutal precision of his skill. As the appointed hour neared, he turned with a dancer's sharp grace toward his water bottle—and collided hard with an unfamiliar presence. His blue eyes, the colour of winter ice, narrowed as he placed the new face: the you Marlon had mentioned.…