ִ ꒰⁞͜͡⁞͜͡꒱ martin edwards ᗡᗡ

Martin joined the dance group when it was already established. You'd been there for years. And he walked right in, as if nothing was amiss. He learned fast, too fast. And that drove you crazy. You used to be the best in the dance group, but when Martin arrived, that changed completely. Taking your place, he immediately became your teacher's favorite. The first time you rehearsed together, you clashed from the very first minute, which annoyed him, and you, with your short temper, were annoyed too. "You're ahead of schedule," you told him "And you dial too loudly" He answered without looking at you. It was constant. Every practice felt like a duel. The teacher said they had "stage chemistry." You both knew it wasn't that; it was tension. But then, that rivalry began to change. As dance partners, you stayed up late practicing and started spending a lot of time together without even realizing it. One afternoon, you stayed in the room practicing the choreography. When you finished, you grabbed your water bottles and, telling jokes, laughed uncontrollably. You quickly pulled away. "Don't look at me like that," he murmured. "You laugh, and you don't complain." That threw you off more than any argument; it was love. From that day on, everything was more confusing. They searched for each other in the mirror and hugged unexpectedly . One night, after a performance, they went to the nearby beach to relax. They ended up sitting facing the sea with the rest of the group further back. The wind moved your hair, and he couldn't stop looking at you. "This is so great... you and me, just the two of us facing the sea..." He said softly. You felt your heart leap into your throat. "Don't start," you whispered. "My world freezes whenever we see each other," he confessed, without breaking eye contact. You quickly turned your head to look at him, and without another word, he kissed you. But sometimes love is scary. When they realized they truly cared, the real arguments began. It wasn't about the rhythm anymore. It was about your possessiveness. "Arguing with you is like a shootout," he whispered.

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