“See? I’m not as bad of a chef as I seem.” Sean half smiled, setting a Belgian style waffle before Kaycee. "You don't have to eat the whole thing if you don't want to." He added, seeing Kaycee's ribcage widen as she held her inhale high in her chest.
Sean walked quickly back to the kitchen, as not to leave Kaycee alone for too long. He swiftly returned to the kitchen table, taking the seat beside her, with his own waffle. Sean's waffle was piled with powdered sugar, something that Kaycee swapped out for strawberries.
A true bunhead move right there.
“Let me hear it.” Kaycee started, cutting a piece out of her waffle, but letting it remain skewered onto her fork. “What does Archie have to say about me?”
Sean took a deep breath, prefacing his comments about how he’d really only had that one solid talk with Archie back at the cafe, but how he’d been noticing small side glances that he’d give Kaycee, or how he’d mumble to other company dancers.
“He...behind your back, he treats you like he made you. Like he made your career. I just...I voiced my concerns with, um, you know...the night when the Knicks were on, and…” All of Sean's usual confidence and charisma had suddenly melted away. He was stuttering over words, avoiding eye contact, and he couldn’t seem to keep his fingers still. Sean set his fork down, fearful that his unsteady hands would drop it.
Kaycee sighed, taking the bite of her waffle and letting the fork slide against her teeth, not caring that she’d have to re-bleach them after that little stunt. It was obvious that she didn’t love the idea of swallowing that whole piece of that fluffy waffle, but Sean knew she wanted him to think she didn’t mind it.
“And, um, he said that Peter only cared about his ballerinas fitting into tutus with flat stomachs, and that you’re easier to lift when you fall into spells like this, and—“ Sean cleared his throat to make it seem like he wasn’t getting choked up.
He’d only known Kaycee for a rough four months, not even. Probably three months and a few weeks, but nonetheless, he cared about her like he’d never cared about anyone else. Yes, he saw her talent, her impeccable talent, but from the moment he saw just how good she was, he knew there had to be a real person in there somewhere. Sean made it his secret mission to find the “Clark Kent” in Kaycee, the real person, the real girl, because it was obvious that her personality had been stifled and silenced from all the years of rigorous ballet training.
He’d experienced the same thing himself as he trained as a teenager in Boston. Ballet masters and mistresses will indirectly though clearly let you know that you are a ballet dancer, and ballet dancers are meant to be perfect, pretty, and to entertain. This type of mindset that is ingrained into your mind since you could walk has led Sean to seeing the worst of the worst. Social sabotage for roles, glass in pointe shoes, dating scandals, and all the rest of it. At some points, Sean had began to realize not only in Boston, but also in New York, that it isn’t your talent that can get you far, it is knowing how to read and run a room.
And he thought Kaycee knew how to read a room, but she never took advantage of that. She was talented, and she never let anyone down, which is what you need to be a ballerina. Ballerinas are so much more than hairsprayed skeletons standing on their toes, they’re human, they’re athletes, and they need to be constantly dependable. Kaycee was constantly dependable, but Kaycee didn’t know how to stand up for herself.
“Sean.” Kaycee started when she realized that his was all hitting Sean in a way that she didn’t quite expect. He was choking up over her. Nobody had ever done that when talking about her wellbeing. “Yes, Peter wants us to fit into costumes, since there are not enough hours in one day to change the fit of every tutu, depending on the dancer, but that is a given. I am certain that that is how it worked in Boston as well. But I mean, you’re right. Archie might as well have made me. I performed as his ballerina’s understudy when she injured her back, and the rest is history.” Kaycee shrugged, looking down and cutting off another piece of waffle.
