THE AIR IS CRISP. But not too cold, just enough to wake her up. She can hear the city somewhere in the distance, but here --wherever here is-- it’s quieter. Calmer. She doesn’t know where they’re going, exactly. Andy’s kept that close to his chest all day.
"What is it with you and secrets?" she teases. She's excited. It's been a moment since anyone's taken her out on a right proper date. They walk a little further. Yelena lets the silence settle between them. Not awkward -- just quiet. Comfortable in a way that’s still new to her. A little strange. But good.
Then -- he forces her to come to a halt and asks her to close her eyes... much like a trust fall, she has issues with letting go. The uncertainty clouds her vision, but he's absolutely adorable and she cannot help but give in. The expression in his voice when he says he won't let anything happen to her -- sincere, careful. She exhales, long and slow, then shuts her eyes.
He takes her hand. His fingers are warm, steady, callused --not unscarred, not unfamiliar with pain --and she lets him guide her. He does indeed guide her, a step where, a warning for a dip in pavement there... She listens to his footsteps, the crunch of gravel under their shoes. -- The sound hits her first. Not gunfire. Not yelling. But laughter, music, the layered sound of excited chatter and strings warming up in the distance. Lights flood across her face in gold and pink and champagne tones, she can barely make out with squinted gaze.
She's instructed to open, and she takes her time.
The theater glows in front of her. Grand, historic, alive. The marquee is lit like a crown, letters spelling out a bold title: "GISELLE – One Night Only", and below it, Featuring: Anastasia Sokolova as Giselle.
One of her old friends -- a mentor of sorts.
Crowds gather at the entrance in coats and gowns, champagne glasses clinking, someone laughing just behind her. The scent of perfume and cold night air and velvet carpets all hit her at once.
He holds up two glossy tickets -- front orchestra.
Yelena’s jaw tightens, just barely. "Andy…" but her eyes give her away, dewy and ecstatic. He did good...very good.
They're escorted inside, to their seats soon after entry, greeted by warm lighting, golden trim, rows of crimson velvet. The air buzzes with energy -- people speaking to each other in various languages, programs rustling, a string of laughter echoing off the dome ceiling.
Yelena’s shoulders stay high for a minute -- a tension that doesn’t quite fade. But Andy keeps her close without crowding her. When they find their seats, dead center, just a few rows back from the orchestra pit, she lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. As the lights begin to dim, she leans over, her voice low.
"She used to sneak me past security,” Yelena explains. “When we were kids. We’d sit in the rigging and watch through the curtains. I learned everything from her." This is important, special.
...He did very, very good.
