In The Ring Of Love

10. Patch up

There's nothing quite like waking up the morning after a disastrous night out, only to be greeted by sore calves, a pounding head, and the horrifying memory of Xavier Hayes giving you unsolicited fashion advice.

I might never wear black again. Might be kidding.

I crack one eye open. Soft sunlight spills through my curtains, the kind that should make mornings feel peaceful. My apartment smells faintly like the vanilla candle, my blanket is warm, and for half a second, everything is... calm.

And then my brain replays his words like a cursed soundtrack.

"Maybe you should try something that doesn't scream for attention."

Why? Why did I have to run into him? Again. In a place where I was supposed to be casually spying on Sophie and Kai.

I finally moved myself out of bed after hitting snooze three times and staring at the ceiling. My legs ache, my shoulders are stiff, and I'm pretty sure my soul is still recovering from the chaos of last night.

I avoid looking at myself in the mirror, as I know I'd probably cry over how ridiculous I look right now.

But ballet doesn't care about your poor life choices. Ballet waits for no girl.

By 9:39AM, I am in an oversized tee and jeans, with my leotard tucked inside. I pin my hair into a bun. By the time I get to the studio, it's buzzing with that pre-rehearsal chaos—people stretching, whispering, tying ribbons, and fighting over who stole whose spot by the mirror.

Madame Dubois is already there, elegant and terrifying as ever, tapping her clipboard like it personally offended her.

"Places!" she calls out.

I drop my bag, tug on my pointe shoes, and find Clara in the corner attempting to stretch and yawn at the same time.

"You alive?" I whisper, sliding down next to her.

"Barely. My soul's still in that club," she whispers back. "Specifically near the bar."

The thing was, last night, Sophie did see us. Kai was right beside her, his arm was casually draped around her waist. He gave us a look as if the paparazzi flashing around them wasn't enough.

I was fangirling so hard.

And right on cue like she'd rehearsed it, Clara jumped in and said we were here for Logan.

"You deserve that for dragging me into that mess." I scoff.

She grins and shrugs. "Worth it."

"Showcase is in a Week! I don't want any mistakes or any collapsing and slipping." she said, moving her head, and meeting each and every one of our gazes. Then her gaze drops at Sophie. She narrows her eyes at her.

Clara and I instantly side-eye each other. Because we knew this was coming. We saw her sneak out. Well even tried to spy on her–

"Where were you at the last rehearsal?" Madame Dubois asks, voice deceptively calm. "Your name was on the register. Your entry was there. But I didn't see you afterwards."

Busted. Oh and well she might have been a little busy with her boyfriend.

Sophie freezes for half a beat too long. Her lips part. A thousand excuses must be running through her head, "I... wasn't feeling well," Sophie finally says, smoothing down her leotard like it'll help sell the lie. "I left early. I didn't want to disrupt the group."

Madame Dubois raises one very skeptical brow. "Hmm. I see."

She turns sharply, claps her hands, and says, "Places! We begin from the top. And Sophie? Don't dare vanish again."

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After practice, I walked back home, barely able to keep my eyes open. My body was screaming for rest, but there was a small scratch on my knee that had been burning for a while now. I decided to take a quick shower, eat macaroni, and hope it'd go away. But of course, that didn't happen.

I glanced down and winced at the scratch. It wasn't big, but it stung like a paper cut. And when I checked my band-aid stash, I realised I was out.

I was in my PJs, well for me PJs were my old clothes, despite my parents being CEOs of huge fashion brands in Paris, I didn't prefer spending money.

I never really cared for the latest trends or spending a fortune on things that would only end up in a drawer.

I was more about comfort and practicality, especially when it came to my downtime.

So, my old oversized tee, paired with shorts, socks and flip flops were all I needed. Plus, it wasn't like I was going to run into anyone important on a late-night pharmacy run, right?

The cool night air hit my face as I crossed the street, my feet slapping against the pavement. The quiet streets of the city felt peaceful at this hour, the hum of traffic and the distant sound of sirens the only noise.

The pharmacy was a few minute walk from my place, perfect for quick late-night runs. I opened the door, the bell above it jingling.

I grabbed a basket and started down the aisle for band-aids, minding my own business. That's when I noticed someone else in the aisle. Someone who was definitely not supposed to be here at this hour.

Why is he here at this hour? At 10 PM? He doesn't even live nearby.

Xavier Hayes. There he was, holding a packet of protein bars, looking utterly out of place in his athletic gear— black joggers, sneakers, a hoodie that seemed a bit too serious for a late-night pharmacy run.

I am so gonna make him regret for what he did yesterday. More like what he said yesterday.

I walked to him, pretending as if I was going through band-aids, then I cleared my throat, catching his attention, "Ah, lovely meeting you here, Hayes. What are you doing here?"

"Can't you see?" He just scoffed, and continued going through medicines.

Thank god, at least he didn't mention about it, yet.

"I can very well see what you are doing, but my question was what are you doing here." I emphasize the word here. "You literally live far away, I mean definitely not nearby, then why?" I ask, and of course before he could respond I question, again– "Stalking me, Hayes?"

"Firstly, Yeah. I don't live nearby." he answered, his grey eyes meet mine. "Also, politely and respectfully, I wouldn't want to stalk someone like you." He shrugs.

Someone like me?

Before I could retort back, he answered my question. "I am here because this pharmacy is the nearest to the orphanage." He continued, grabbing a box of tablets off the shelf., "I'm here because the medical supplies are low. And Noah he's sick. I'm just grabbing what they need."

"Wait.. Noah's sick?" I ask, my voice comes out softer than expected. "Can we go see him?"

He pauses, staring at me, "It's late," he says, shaking his head. "You should go back home."

"But I'm not asking to stay the night and babysit. Just to check in." I cross my arms. "Besides, it's not like I can sleep knowing he's unwell."

He studies me for a long moment, jaw ticking, clearly debating whether to say no and walk off like he usually does. "Fine," he mutters eventually, nodding. "Grab whatever you want and let's go."

I grab a box of band-aids and we head to the counter. Just as I'm about to pull out my wallet, Xavier steps up to the counter, putting his card down before I can even think about paying for my own stuff.

"Hey! I was going to pay–"

"I've got it." His tone is quiet, but firm.

I freeze for a second, watching him swipe his card. My mouth opens and closes as I'm hit with the realization that he's paying for my band-aid, of all things. It's so... random, but somehow... thoughtful?

I decided not to make a big deal out of it. After all, it's not like I need to explain myself.

But then, as he finishes paying and we're heading out the door, I glance at him and say, "Thanks, but you didn't need to pay for it."

He just shrugs, his usual smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, well... you're welcome."

As we step out into the night, the street is quiet and cool, I notice his gaze drop to my leg.

"You just bought a band-aid?" he asks, brows furrowed. "That's it?"

I glance down at the little scratch on my knee, now visible under the streetlight. It stings slightly, but it's not that bad. "Yeah? What else would I need?"

He stops walking, stares at me for a beat too long, then suddenly turns around and heads right back inside.

"Wait—what are you doing?" I call out, confused.

"We can't have your gracefulknee catch an infection, can we?" he mutters without turning back.

I stood there like an idiot for a minute, watching him walk back with a tube of antiseptic in his hand. He walks up to me, eyes scanning the sidewalk until he finds a little bench nearby.

"Sit." he says, already kneeling in front of it.

"What? Wait, what are you doing?" I ask, eyes wide, suddenly very aware that is the Ring Lord is crouched on the pavement in front of me.

He uncaps the antiseptic with one hand. "You didn't clean it. Could get infected."

"I was going to clean it at home!"

"Yeah, you were. But unfortunately you are tagging along with me to the orphanage." He glances up at me, his voice gruff. "So sit."

I do. Mostly because I'm too stunned not to. And then—dear god—he gently touches my knee and dabs the antiseptic on the cut. It stings, but I'm too focused on the fact that Xavier freaking Hayes is doing this.

Not saying a word.

Not smirking.

Just... focused.

He peels open the band-aid with care, sticks it on, and pats it once. "There."

"Uhm.. Thanks?" i say, but not before adding, "Didn't take you the type to take care of injured ballerinas."

"Just get in the car, ballerina." My breath hitched, when he said that.

The way he says it is final, but something about the way he looks at me keeps me quiet. I don't know whether I'm grateful or just a little bit uncomfortable with how well he's taking charge of the situation.

The car ride is mostly quiet.

Not the awkward kind, though—just... calm. The city lights pass us by in a blur, and I'm suddenly aware of how oversized my t-shirt is and how ridiculous my flip-flops sound every time I move my foot.

I shift slightly in my seat and glance over at Xavier. One hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually near the gear shift. His jaw's tight. Focused. But he's not tense.

"You always do this?" I ask, finally breaking the silence. "Pick up medical supplies in the middle of the night for your mom's orphanage?"

He shrugs without looking at me. "When I'm free."

"Isn't that like rare?" I ask.

His lips twitch—just barely. "She doesn't ask. I offer."

I didn't respond immediately. I don't know what to say to that. "You're not as terrifying as people say," I mutter, turning to look out the window.

He glances at me briefly. "That's disappointing."

I roll my eyes, "Guess I'll have to reassess."

We reach the orphanage and he parks the car, before I can unbuckle my seatbelt, he's already out and grabbing the bags from the trunk.

"I can help," I offer, hurrying after him. "I got it." His tone leaves no room for debate.

I trail behind him, adjusting my shirt and wondering why my heart's beating a little faster. It's just me visiting the orphanage with him.

I have visited this place so many times. Why does it feel overwhelming and different?

Oh well, because I have never really been here in my PJs and that too at night.

"Also, have you considered the offer I made during the workshop?" I ask, trying to sound casual as we walk through the orphanage gates. "You know... about us both working once a week with the kids? To get them off their iPads?"

We're walking side by side now, the gravel crunching softly beneath our feet. The lights inside the building cast a warm glow out the windows, and somewhere in the distance, I can hear faint laughter.

He doesn't answer right away, then he says, "I thought you were joking."

"Does it look like I am joking? I just wanted-" I scoff, crossing my arms. "You know what, you ridiculous person- Just- ugh. I'll do it alone."

"Sounds better." he says as we enter the orphanage.

Seriously?

"I can't believe you," I mutter, still hugging the stupid box of band-aids to my chest. "You act like I offered to stab you, not volunteer to help children learn things other than Angry Birds and candy-matching games."

Inside, the warm air of the orphanage greets us, filled with the faint scent of soup and old books and a quiet hum of nighttime. A few kids are still awake, lounging in the living area, but it's mostly calm.

I try not to glare at Xavier as I follow him down the hallway.

He glances at me sideways, utterly unfazed. "That offer came with a side of lectures from a certain ballerina and cleaning up ribbons and hoops, and I certainly don't help--"

I knew for a fact about what he was going to say so I cut him off, "And your attitude comes with a side of annoyance?" i didn't know what to say-

Before he could respond back– "Ah, Amara" Ms. Whitaker's warm voice cuts through the quiet hallway as she appears from one of the nearby rooms, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "What are you doing here this late, darling?"

Before I can answer, Xavier, still holding the massive bags of supplies, nods at her. "She insisted."

I glare at him. "I'm here for Noah. Not you."

Ms. Whitaker chuckles, stepping forward to give me a soft hug. She smells like roses. Comforting. She moved her head a little away, meeting my gaze.

"Well, I'm glad to see you anyway. Noah was asking for you—and God knows Xavier could use the company of someone who speaks more than three words per minute."

Xavier muttered something under his breath and walks off toward the storage room with the bags.

"I second that." I say with a small smile, watching him walk away.

Ms. Whitaker eyes my outfit—oversized tee, shorts, and the infamous socks-with-flip-flops combo. "You came dressed for battle, I see."

"Battle with a small scratch," I say, lifting my knee slightly. "And I may or may not have guilted your son into buying me antiseptic."

She laughs, shaking her head. "If that boy's buying medicine for someone else, he must like you more than he lets on."

I blink, caught off guard. "Oh no—he definitely doesn't."

"Mmm." Her smile is all-knowing. "Well, come on then. Noah's in bed but still awake. He'll be so happy to see you."

She leads me down the hallway, and I quietly follow, my fingers picking at the flap of the band-aid box still clutched in my hand. The walls are painted in warm pastels, little paper stars and scribbled crayon drawings pinned on boards. Everything feels gentle here.

We stop at a door painted blue, with Noah's Den written in crooked, colorful letters.

Ms. Whitaker taps gently before peeking in. "Noah, sweetie? You have a visitor."

I hear a little rustle, followed by a tired but excited, "Amie?"

My heart tugs a bit. I step in slowly, and there he is- wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, propped up on a pillow with a stuffed dinosaur by his side.

"Hey, my superstar." I say softly, smiling as I sit on the edge of his bed. "Heard you weren't feeling too great."

He nods with a small pout. "My tummy's being mean." He groans, clutching his stomach. "It's aching... but I think it's getting better. Ms. Whitaker made me soup."

"Right, the soup. It always helps." I say, before taking the thermometer. "I just need to check your temperature and make sure you're not running a fever."

Noah nods enthusiastically, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I love when you come to visit. You always bring fun stuff."

"Fun stuff, huh?" I laugh softly as I check his temperature.

Ms. Whitaker stands back, watching with a fond expression, while Xavier lingers by the door, arms crossed, eyes trained on the room.

I finish checking his temperature and give Ms. Whitaker a quick glance. "No fever. But you'll need to rest, okay?"

Noah nods solemnly. "I'll rest... I promise." Then he adds, with a mischievous grin, "But can you bring me more of those cookies next time?"

I laugh and ruffle his hair. "You get some sleep, and I'll bring you cookies tomorrow." I place a soft kiss on his forehead, "Take rest hmm?"

He nods again and I wave.

As I turn to leave Xavier steps forward, his expression unreadable. "I'll walk you out."

I nod, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and discomfort. Xavier's presence has always been like that—intense, but now... it's different somehow.

As we walk back down the hallway, Ms. Whitaker's voice calls out after us. "Thank you for coming, Amara. And Xavier..." Her voice softens as she looks at him. "You will drop her back home, won't you?"

I don't look back, but I hear his voice "I'm not babysitting, Mom." I can't help but grin.

He pulls out his keys without waiting for another word, already walking to his car. I blink, standing there for a second like an idiot before trailing after him.

"I can walk by myself, its just a.. Seven minute walk?" I mutter, hugging myself as we step out into the chilly night air.

Considering how he didn't want to drop me off the day of the workshop, I decided not to annoy him and just walk back home–

"That's bullshit, its late, you don't have your car and my mom told me to drop you off." He says, "So just get in the car."

I decided not to make a big deal out of this and climb into the passenger seat, buckling in as he starts the engine.

"So..." I start, eyes flicking to his side profile. "That means you don't hate me?"

He throws me a glance. "Did I ever say I don't?"

"No-" I just say, "But you seemed pretty different today– like helping me out and then not bringing up about what happened yesterday-"

"Next time you stare at my legs, try not to make it so obvious."

"you might want to consider a different look next time. That dress? Too... obvious."

"Shit," I blurt, immediately regretting it. I stare out the window, pretending like I didn't just bring it up.

"Yesterday?" he asks, clearly not letting it slide. "You mean when I called you out for dressing like you wanted attention?"

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. "Oh my god, please don't say it like that."

"I wasn't trying to be mean," he says finally, voice quieter than usual. "But you were being loud."

I whip my head around. "I was not being loud."

"You told me not to stare at your legs. Out loud. In a club." He doesn't look at me, but his voice softens just a notch. "You didn't deserve it."

That makes me pause. "What?"

He exhales through his nose. "What I said. Last night. I was... irritated."

I turn my head to look at him, but he keeps his eyes on the road. That was the closest thing to an apology I've ever heard from him.

I wanted to ask why he was irritated– but then I realised that this man is always irritated about something or the other. So I didn't push further.

"Wait—was that you actually admitting fault?" I ask, overly dramatic, hand clutching my heart.

"Don't make me regret it," he scoffs, "You live nearby?"

I nod slowly, "A few blocks ahead, take a right. You'll see a building with way too many fairy lights."

"Of course," he mutters. "You would live in the glowing one."

I glance at him. "Is that your subtle way of calling me obnoxious?"

He doesn't deny it.

Typical.

We fall into a comfortable silence for a moment, the kind that's rare between us. No banter. No bickering. Just the low hum of the engine and the occasional flick of the indicator.

I sneak a peek at him—his jaw's a little less tight now. His grip on the wheel was more relaxed.

"You're still thinking about Noah, aren't you?" I ask softly.

He exhales, eyes still on the road. "Yeah."

"I'll come by tomorrow, for the cookies." I say, to which he just hummed. "I told Noah that I'd bake cookies for him."

He hums in response, quiet but not dismissive. "You did promise him."

A small smile tugs at my lips. "And I never break a promise, especially if someone calls me a star."

That earns me a subtle twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth, but he doesn't say anything. The rest of the ride is quiet—comfortable in a weird way. Like we're both thinking things we're not quite ready to say out loud.

A minute later, he pulls up in front of my apartment.

The engine idles. I glance at him, fingers curling around the door handle. "Thank you," I murmur, nodding down at my knee. "For earlier."

His gaze flickers to me, unreadable. "Take care of it. You don't want it getting worse."

"No lecture?" I tease softly, already stepping out.

"Consider this a free pass." He says, to which I chuckle and then I close the door.

"Goodnight, Xavier." I say, as I turn around half expecting him not to respond, but to my utter surprise he responds back with a soft, "Night, ballerina."

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Dear Diary,

19th July, 2024.

Today was... a whirlwind. Again. Why is it never just a normal day?

Rehearsal was brutal. Madame Dubois was in full drill-sergeant mode, eyes blazing and words sharper than a blade. "Showcase is in a week! I don't want any collapsing or slipping!" she shouted, right before she called out on Sophie.

Madame asked Sophie where she disappeared during the last rehearsal. Sophie looked like a deer caught in headlights. Busted.

After practice, I walked back home, showered, ate macaroni, and then noticed the damn scratch on my knee. No band-aids in sight. Of course. So I decided to walk to the pharmacy.

And guess who I saw?

Xavier.

I straight up asked him why he was there. Since he lives far, he never told me that but its obvious.—and he told me it was the closest pharmacy to the orphanage. He was helping his mom restock supplies because Noah is sick.

Noah. My soccer champ. He's down with a tummy ache. I asked if we could go see him, and Xavier, in his classic way, told me it was too late. But I somehow convinced him.

We paid for our stuff—well, he paid for my band-aids.

Then—AND THIS IS THE WILDEST PART—he saw my scratch and literally went back inside, bought antiseptic, got on his knees, and patched it up himself. I nearly passed out. He didn't even insult me once during the process.

Afterwards, we drove to the orphanage. Talked. Bickered. I asked if he remembered my offer to help with the kids, and he thought I was joking. Rude. But whatever.

Ms. Whitaker was so sweet, and Noah? Oh, he looked so happy when he saw me. Even asked about cookies, and of course, I promised I'd bake cookies and stop by tomorrow.

Anyways, I shall sleep now.

-Amara 3

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