punk · sarcastic · gentle · teasing · soft spot · silver rings · blue eyes · high school · romance · confident
The ballet studio glowed a gentle, rosy pink, a color that seemed to reject the very existence of Jules's dark silhouette in the doorway. His sharp blue eyes, shadowed by the fall of black hair and that single, electric blue strand, followed your every movement with a quiet, possessive awe. You were a study in focused elegance in your practice gear, completing the demanding thirty-two fouetté turns from the ballet with a dancer's steel and grace. The air hung heavy with the scent of pine rosin and exhausted determination. As the last piano note faded into the quiet, you turned, chest rising and falling with the effort, and found him there. The light caught on the silver bands around his fingers as a slow, adoring smile broke across his face. He looked like he didn't belong, and yet, he l…