Page 42 of Teach Me to Fly

Has no one complimented his playing before?

“I didn’t realize you could play so well,” Lando adds, sounding almost cautious. “To be honest, I thought you quit after Mum left, but it sounds like you got even better on your own.”

Reign’s jaw ticks, and his posture shifts uncomfortably. I glance at Lando, who immediately looks like he regrets bringing up their mom.

Reign shrugs, brushing it off. “It helps clear my mind.”

I want to ask what it is he’s trying to clear his mind of, but we’re not close enough anymore for that level of honesty. I step further into the room, walking slowly toward the piano, letting my fingers graze the edge of it, glancing up to find Reign watching me a few steps away.

“What was the piece you were playing?” I ask. “It sounded so sad.”

He hesitates. “Something I’ve been working on.”

“You wrote that?” I immediately want to kick myself for sounding so impressed.

Reign nods, then shifts his focus, done with the conversation. “Are you both ready to rehearse?”

Lando claps his hands together and gives me a crooked smile. “Absolutely.”

We move toward the centre of the studio to begin a quick warm up. I look back at Reign, the song he played still echoing in my head, and I can’t help the overwhelming urge to hear more of the music he’s composed.

Lando stretches his arms out with a dramatic sigh, already playing it up like we’re about to go on stage atCovent Garden. It’s both hilarious and adorable how excited he is to be here.

“So,” he says, glancing between us, unserious, “am I being you or her?”

“You’re me,” Reign replies, rolling his eyes.

Lando gives a quick bow. “A tall order, but I’ll try.”

I stifle a giggle as I roll my shoulders and stretch my arms overhead, trying to push through the residual tension. I can still feel Reign watching, and my pulse quickens in response, my breath shallow as heat rises under my skin. I try to focus on Lando, who is doing a grand jeté across the studio and narrating it like an announcer at the Olympics.

“Ten out of ten! Gold medal for sheer theatrical chaos!”

I allow myself to laugh, and for a second, the heaviness lifts.

“Let’s start with an adage and then move into a lift,” Reign interrupts from his spot by the mirrored wall, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused by his brother's theatrics.

“You’re no fun,” Lando pouts as he steps toward me, already in character, but his eyes are kind.

I step into first position, my muscles still aching from yesterday, but it’s different this morning. There’s a buzz under my skin that I can’t shake, like something’s shifted ever since we made the decision to rewrite Swan Lake. This new version feels personal, like it was rewritten specifically for me and my own healing journey.

I exhale slowly as the music begins, letting myself fall into the rhythm. Lando’s hands are warm as he takes mine, his grip reassuring. We move through the opening sequence, our turns flowing more naturally than I expected. He’s not as technically sharp as Reign, but he listens with his body and gives me room to breathe.

It’s easier with Lando. Not easy—but easier. He doesn’t push too hard or press too close, he doesn’t make my skin prickle like it’s waiting for something to go wrong. With him, it feels like I have space. Like I’m allowed to take up space.

We’re halfway through the first lift when Reign cuts in. “Angle your wrists—no, softer.”

I try to adjust, watching myself in the mirror, but when he steps closer to demonstrate, reaching for my elbow, my body tenses and I flinch on instinct before I can stop myself.

His hand pauses mid-air, then slowly retracts. “I’ll talk you through it,” he says, voice gentler now. “Your right leg needs to sweep higher on the transition. Let’s start again from the arabesque.”

I watch him as he returns to leaning against the mirrored wall, arms crossed. His eyes are focused on mine as Lando and I try again, but this time when I move, I feel something spark to life in me; like a nerve waking up after too long asleep.

Lando’s hands find my waist again and when he lifts me, I rise steadier. My leg extends with more confidence, the lines of my body cutting clean through the air. I’m weightless, suspended in motion, and I want to believe I can stay there. I want to believe I can trust my body again.

“Better,” Reign murmurs, and the word coils around my spine, grounding me as much as the floor when I land again.

The music continues playing and we keep moving, step by step, through the old choreography, but it’s different now. Reign isn’t correcting every beat anymore. He’s watching and making mental notes, and when our eyes meet again, there’s heat there. He’s studying the way Imove, like he’s searching for something only he knows how to recognize, and it rattles me in the best way. We finish the run and land the final pose, my breath heavy and my heart louder than the music.

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