The Way She Moves Ch. 02

Lilia returned the next day. And the day after that.

Every afternoon, just as the sun began to dip and cast golden light across the studio's polished floor, she would slip through the doors with her sketchbook in hand and her heart fluttering like wings in her chest.

Celeste was always there -- already stretching or moving, as if her body couldn't sit still without music or momentum. And each day, she greeted Lilia the same way: a soft smirk, a tilt of her head, a look that said you came back for me.

Lilia wasn't sure when the air between them started to thicken. Maybe it had been thick from the start. But now, it felt charged -- with intense silence, with glances that lingered too long, with the unspoken truth that both of them were feeling something.

Celeste never posed, not really. She danced. She moved for herself, and for Lilia. And Lilia sketched feverishly, drinking in every motion, every shadow that curved across Celeste's skin. But more and more, her sketches were turning into something else -- not anatomy, not studies of form, but almost devotional. Her pages were filled with emotion expressed in charcoal and ink.

One evening, Lilia arrived to find the studio door already ajar. The light was dimmer, dusk spilling in through the high windows like honey. She stepped inside, expecting to hear music -- but the room was quiet.

Then she saw Celeste on the floor.

She was sitting up, leaning back on her hands, one ankle twisted beneath her, a wince of pain on her face. Her leotard clung to her body with a sheen of sweat. A water bottle had rolled across the floor.

"Celeste?" Lilia rushed forward, dropping her bag and crouching beside her.

"I'm fine," Celeste muttered, breathless. "Just landed wrong during a turn. Stupid mistake."

"Let me help," Lilia said, already reaching for her. Her hand grazed Celeste's bare arm -- warm, soft, trembling slightly.

"Help me to my room," Celeste said, her voice quieter now, almost vulnerable. "It's just across the quad."

Lilia helped her up, wrapping an arm gently around her waist, Celeste's weight leaning into her just enough to make Lilia's pulse pound. They moved slowly, carefully, across the empty campus. Neither of them said much, but both of them acutely felt the contact between their bodies.

Celeste's dorm was surprisingly minimal -- soft greys and ballet posters, worn slippers by the door, a faint scent of vanilla and old rosin in the air. Lilia helped her onto the bed, fluffing a pillow behind her.

"I can get going," Lilia offered, unsure.

"No," Celeste said quickly. Then softer: "Stay. Please."

Lilia hesitated only a moment before sinking onto the edge of the bed.

Celeste lay back, one knee drawn up, her hair a halo across the pillow. She studied Lilia with that same unreadable expression -- part curiosity, part hunger, part softness that hadn't been there before.

"You keep coming back," she said.

Lilia looked down, suddenly shy. "I wanted to."

"Why?"

Lilia's mouth opened, then closed. She thought about the first time she saw Celeste. The way her body moved, the way her voice sounded like velvet laced with steel. The way she made Lilia feel seen -- pierced -- and naked, even in the silence.

"Because... I like watching you," Lilia whispered. "I like drawing you. Being around you."

Celeste's lips curved into something deeper than a smile. "You're very honest."

"You scare me," Lilia added softly, and surprised herself by saying it.

Celeste sat up slowly, wincing as she adjusted her ankle. Then she reached out, her fingers brushing Lilia's cheek, then tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Good," she murmured. "I scare myself, too."

Lilia's breath hitched. Celeste's face was inches from hers now. Her touch lingered on Lilia's jaw.

"I think about you," Celeste said. "More than I should."

The silence between them pulsed like a heartbeat.

Then, carefully, Celeste leaned forward and kissed her.

It wasn't rough. It wasn't teasing. It was intentional. A slow, testing press of lips that melted quickly into something warmer, deeper. Lilia's eyes fluttered shut, her hands unsure of where to go, until they found Celeste's waist, fingers splaying against the firm line of her body.

When they pulled apart, they were both breathless.

"I've never kissed a girl before," Lilia said quietly.

Celeste traced a finger along Lilia's collarbone, sending shivers up her spine. "You did very well."

They lay back, bodies pressed close -- not in haste, not for lust, but for warmth. Lilia's head rested on Celeste's shoulder, and Celeste's fingers toyed absently with the hem of Lilia's shirt.

"I don't know what this means," Lilia said.

"I don't either," Celeste replied. "But I don't want you to leave."

Lilia looked up at her. "I don't want to."

Celeste kissed her again -- softer this time. And then they simply held each other, their breaths slowly syncing, hearts beating out a rhythm neither of them could ignore anymore.

That night, many touches and whispered truths occurred along with the slow, tender unraveling of boundaries. It was the first time Lilia dreamed of Celeste not just as a ballerina or a goddess... but as hers.