𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓

Coach Atlas, with a stern expression, offered his advice, "Don't sell."

Charlie acknowledged the coach's words with a nod, then turned to Dior, questioning, "Did you hear that?"

Dior, her voice barely audible, whispered, "Shut up." A mischievous smile danced upon her lips. Charlie couldn't help but chuckle, momentarily breaking the tension in the room. With renewed determination, he settled himself once more.

Within mere seconds, the symphony of melodies erupted, enveloping the room in its enchanting embrace. As the music reverberated through the air, the two young souls surrendered to its captivating allure. Every step they took, every twist and turn, seamlessly synchronized with the pulsating rhythm. It was an undeniable truth, evident to all who witnessed, that Dior and Charlie reigned supreme as the unrivaled masters of Hop Hop. Dior exuded a kaleidoscope of emotions, her body language speaking volumes, an essential element in the art of dance. And Charlie, oh Charlie, possessed an unparalleled precision, a resolute strength, a lightning-quick agility that set him apart, illuminating the very essence of dance.

As the combo neared its conclusion, Dior and Charlie executed a daring maneuver, propelling themselves forward and shifting their weight onto their ankles. With an immense surge of power, Dior leapt, but a feeble whimper escaped her lips as she crumbled to the ground. Her body crashed down, devoid of her left leg to soften the impact.

Charlie's eyes widened in shock. Hastily, he rushed towards Dior, joining the others who had gathered around the injured girl. Kneeling beside her, he gently brushed aside some of her cascading curls, his voice filled with genuine concern. "Are you okay?"

Dior locked eyes with him, her gaze filled with a mixture of pain and vulnerability. Her once vibrant brown eyes now glistened with unshed tears. She remained silent, her focus shifting back to her throbbing ankle, her hands tightly clutching it.

"Step aside, everyone," Coach Atlas commanded, his authoritative voice cutting through the tension. The classmates obediently created a path for him, allowing him to approach Dior. As he reached her, the pathway closed behind him, enclosing them in a cocoon of concern. Charlie stood nearby, his heart pounding in his chest, consumed by worry.

"What happened?" Coach Atlas inquired, his voice laced with genuine concern.

"It...it just gave out. It hurts," Dior murmured, her voice trembling and filled with pain. Charlie's heart twisted with empathy.

"Alright, would you like to go the locker rooms to get it checked out?" Coach Atlas suggested, offering a solution. Dior nodded in agreement.

"Do you want someone to go with you?" he asked, his voice gentle and reassuring.

Dior nodded once again, her voice barely audible as she whispered, "Charmander."

Coach Atlas let out a sigh, his lips curling into a tender smile. Charlie couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, his amusement evident.

"Enough standing around, Bushnell. Lend her a hand," Coach commanded, his gesture urging Charlie to take action. Without a moment's hesitation, Charlie reached out his arms, his fingers wiggling ever so slightly. Dior grasped his hands, and with utmost care, Charlie pulled her up, her weight shifting to her right foot while her left remained supported.

"Can I carry you?" Charlie inquired, his voice filled with tenderness, as he delicately clasped Dior's hands.

Dior responded with a gentle nod, granting her consent. With her approval, Charlie tenderly encircled his arms around Dior's slender legs, effortlessly lifting her up. Dior's arm found solace upon Charlie's shoulder, while the other rested gracefully upon her abdomen. Assisted by a loyal friend, the door swung open, allowing Charlie to carry Dior out of Studio B.

With unwavering determination, Charlie strode down the bustling hallway, paying no heed to the curious glances and inquisitive whispers directed their way. Finally arriving at their destination, Charlie leaned against the door, exerting his strength to make it yield. Thankfully, the room was vacant, a stroke of luck. As the door closed behind them, Charlie gently laid Dior down upon the luxurious upholstered bench.

Dior extended her left leg, stretching it out in front of her with a sense of vulnerability. Meanwhile, she cradled her right leg protectively against her chest, as if shielding it from the world. Sensing her distress, Charlie gracefully settled himself in front of her wounded foot, his presence offering solace and support.

"Can I take a look?" Charlie's voice resonated with concern, his hands delicately caressing her pristine shoe, as if treating it with utmost care.

Dior's shoulders slumped, her gaze fixated on her injured ankle.

Charlie let out a low sigh, deftly removing her shoe. Placing it beside him, he then grasped the edges of her Nike sock. With a gentle tug, he unveiled Dior's bare foot. A faint blush of rosy red adorned her entire foot, but his attention was drawn to her swollen and crimson ankle.

Tenderly, Charlie caressed the delicate skin, carefully maneuvering her foot to gain a better view. Dior observed him intently, her eyes tracing his concerned expressions. Unbeknownst to her, tears welled up once more, silently betraying her pain.

Charlie's eyes locked with Dior's as he prepared to speak his mind. In that intense moment, he observed Dior eyes fluttering rapidly, desperately trying to hold back the torrent of emotions.

With a gentle tone, Charlie offered reassurance, "It looks like it really hurts. It's okay to cry, Dior."

To his surprise, Dior remained silent, unable to conjure her usual quick-witted response. Deep down, she knew Charlie spoke the truth, and it seemed he always did when it came to her. As if snapping her back to reality, Charlie rose from his seat, his movements a stark reminder of the present.

Dior's eyes widened with confusion as she observed him, her voice filled with bewilderment, "What are you doing?"

Charlie strode towards the icy pack freezer, chillingly stationed in the aid section of the locker rooms.

"I thought we should ice your ankle for a bit, or at least until you can see a doctor, you know?" Charlie declared, unveiling a deep blue ice pack from the cool container. With a swift motion, he sealed it shut and returned to Dior's side, resuming his seat. With utmost precision, he delicately positioned the pack on her ankle, exerting a gentle pressure.

"You think it's, like, so bad that I gotta go to the hospital?" Dior inquired, her voice filled with concern.

Charlie's smile softened, his eyes reflecting a mixture of affection and worry. "All I'm saying is you should've said something about your ankle hurting earlier."

Dior shook her head gently, her determination evident. "Hell no, I'm a champ. I push through things"

Charlie nodded, his voice filled with admiration. "Yeah, I definitely get it. That's one of the things I love about you, but, like, your safety is way more important."

Dior playfully rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "I guess..."

A chuckle escaped Charlie's mouth as Dior let out a sigh.

"Thank you...for everything," Dior expressed, her gaze locking with Charlie's warm brown eyes.

Charlie's response was swift and sincere. "It's no problem," he replied, a gentle smile gracing his lips. Dior reciprocated the gesture, extending her arms towards him. Without hesitation, Charlie leaned in and enveloped her in a warm embrace, his arms encircling her waist as hers found their place around his neck. They remained intertwined like that for a while, a simple yet profound gesture that held great significance.