Today, however, he felt stuck. He’d barely seen Grace in the past few weeks, both of them having been busy with work. Though he’d managed to catch up with Wilhelm for an hour on Saturday, the two had been like passing ships in the night, and Morgan had been fighting a migraine so severe that they’d simply sat in silence together before parting ways. Not that either of them minded, but he was tired and overwhelmed and he missed his friend. The last two weeks of his life had been spent mulling over a number that was meant to take place at the climax of this new show, between two lovers that had been separated through the years. He’d pored over the choreography for Backstage Romance, hoping to find inspiration before ultimately deeming it too sultry. He even thought he might like to pay homage to Gene Kelly in An American in Paris, looking back fondly on the sheer romanticism in how he and Leslie Caron moved in time with one another. What he wanted was something that somehow landed perfectly in the middle, depicting the love and angst and sheer passion of two people that had been apart for a long time, yet still found obstacles in their way. 

Sufficed to say, he’d gotten nowhere and was starting to lose his grip on reality. 

Ultimately, Morgan knew there was one person who could help him. As much as he often revelled in seeking Wilhelm’s help with his more difficult numbers, he knew there was only one woman for the job. He couldn’t ascertain whether or not Eliza was still dancing anymore, but hers was a gift that you didn’t lose, and the two of them had always had great chemistry as dancers. Nobody could match his rhythm quite like she did, and he was certain she’d be able to draw some inspiration from him. 

As he knocked on the door to her apartment, he braced himself. There was a nagging voice in the back of his mind that told him this was inappropriate somehow, and that he shouldn’t be disturbing Eliza on her day off. He’d raced down to a local bakery when the idea had sprung to mind, and now he was waiting on her doorstep with a box of what he hoped was still her favourite pastries, as well as her coffee order exactly to her tastes, rather than Grace’s. 

When the door swung open and revealed her pretty, apple-cheeked face, Morgan plastered on his widest, most charming smile for her. 

“Before you say anythin’, yes I absolutely am tryin’ to butter you up with treats,” he laughed, hoping to break the ice.