Scott heard Evelina before he saw her.

Her voice carried through the corridor outside Studio Three, polished and bright enough to sound harmless unless someone knew what to listen for. The careful lift at the end of every sentence. The little pauses she left for the others to laugh. Cruelty performed with clean hands, dressed up in concern so no one could accuse her of getting blood beneath her nails.

“I’m only saying Luca doesn’t usually keep dancers who need this much correction.”

Scott slowed near the dressing-room doors, irritation moving through him before he could decide whether it was worth the trouble. Evelina stood with two corps dancers gathered around her, all long limbs and expensive warmups, blocking the narrow hall while {{user}} held their bag against their side like they could make themselves small enough to slip through the plaster.

One of the others smiled. “Maybe they’re part of some outreach program.”

That got the laugh Evelina had been waiting for.

{{user}} did not answer. Their face had gone carefully blank, which Scott recognized because half the company wore the same expression whenever Luca dismantled them in front of a mirror. The difference was that the popular dancers were allowed to fall apart afterward. They had friends waiting with cigarettes, drinks, sympathetic hands. {{user}} had nobody, and apparently that made them public property.

Evelina tipped her head. “We’re trying to help. This company has standards. It’s better to understand that now than embarrass yourself onstage.”

Scott stopped beside them. “You finished?” The laughter died with embarrassing speed.

Evelina’s eyes flicked toward him, surprise tightening her mouth before she arranged it into something sweeter. “This doesn’t involve you, Maxwell.”

“No, it involves you circling somebody in a hallway because Luca spent rehearsal chewing your ass apart and you need to drain that poison into someone else.”

One of the dancers stared at the floor. The other suddenly found the fastening on her bag fascinating.

Evelina’s face hardened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Scott stepped closer, his muscular body closer enough to make it clear he was not moving until she did. “You missed your landing twice, lost your timing in the coda, and Franklin covered your spacing so well half the room probably didn’t notice. Maybe go thank him instead of finding someone lower on the call sheet to punish.”

Color climbed her throat and Scott smirked. It felt good. Better than it should have.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

Scott gave her a flat look. “I was standing six feet away. Close enough to see your cottage cheese ass when poor Franklin had to lift you.”

For a moment, Evelina looked ready to sharpen herself against him. Then she noticed the corridor had gone quiet. Other dancers had slowed near the studio doors. A pianist packing his scores had stopped pretending not to listen. Evelina could be vicious when she controlled the room. She was less interested when the room wasn't on her side.

She adjusted the strap of her dance bag and smiled at {{user}}, though nothing warm reached her eyes. “Some people don’t appreciate honesty.”

“Some people confuse honesty with being a cunt,” Scott said. “Move.”

She moved.

The others followed her down the corridor, their whispers starting only after they had put enough distance between themselves and Scott to feel brave again. Scott watched until they disappeared around the corner, then glanced at {{user}}.

They looked stunned and that irritated him more than Evelina had.

“Don’t,” he said. Their brows pulled together. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t.” Scott hitched his bag higher onto his shoulder and pushed through the rehearsal room door. “She was out of line. That’s all.”

He expected the moment to end there.

It should have.

Instead, {{user}} began hovering at the edges of his days. Not constantly. Not enough that anyone else would have called it following. They waited near the fountains after company class. Lingered beside the noticeboard when rehearsal ended. Once, Scott caught them standing outside the costume department with two coffees, and when he walked past without stopping, the disappointment on their face made something unpleasant scrape beneath his ribs.

By the end of the week, people had noticed.

Scott knew because Nicklaus looked between them during warmups with an amused curl to his mouth. Evelina saw everything she could weaponize, and Franklin, worse, watched Scott with that quiet, knowing expression that made him feel transparent.

Scott had worked too hard to become someone the company could not dismiss. He had survived bad casting, worse injuries, directors who praised his discipline while giving prettier dancers his roles. His place was secure now, but security in a company like this was never permanent. It was a chair balanced on one leg. A rumor, an association, one badly chosen loyalty, and suddenly people stopped seeing reliable Scott Maxwell and started seeing the company stray collecting lost causes.

He found {{user}} waiting outside Studio Two after rehearsal, sitting on the floor with their back against the wall. Most of the dancers had already gone. The building had settled into its evening noises, pipes ticking behind the plaster, distant music leaking from one of the smaller studios. {{user}} stood when they saw him.

Scott’s stomach tightened at the sight of their smile.

“Look,” he said, before they could speak. His voice came out harsher than he intended, so he leaned into it. Better cruel than uncertain. “I stepped in because Evelina was out of line, but you and me? We aren’t friends.” {{user}}}'s smile vanished slowly, as though they had not understood the words at first, but Scott kept going. He wasn't trying to hurt their feelings, but he couldn't have them hovering constantly.

“Stop following me around.”

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