A.N: this started because an Anon sent me the idea on tumblr. It was too cute to pass up.
When Halldór had asked to join a dance group, Erik had been a little surprised to say the least. But beyond that supportive.
He was glad his son was more interested in dance than violent sports that would likely just end in broken bones (unlike his nephew who seemed to favour speed and pain).
After a little research he decided an open day at a dance centre was the best bet, that way Halldór could try several types of dance and pick the one he liked the best.
Erik had to smile as Halldór bounced up and down in excitement as they waited in the grand hall.
He glanced over the various posters.
Tango, tap dance, ballroom, street dance, ballet, and a bunch of other dances he figured were possibly aimed more at adults.
"Any idea what you want to try first?" Erik asked and Halldór nodded eagerly.
"Ballet," he whispered.
"Ballet?" Erik was surprised, but went along with it. "Well then, let's find the teacher for that shall we?"
Halldór nodded again, holding onto his father's hand tightly.
The door to where ballet was being taught was clearly marked, and as they peered inside Erik figured Halldór would probably like it.
The majority of kids there were girls, most of them in white or pink leotards, but Erik spotted two little boys at the very end of the room.
"Looks like you're not the only boy here," Erik smiled and crouched down to Halldór's level.
"Who don't you go in and say hi?"
"No." Halldór whispered and his his face in the crook of Erik's neck, too shy to venture in alone.
"Come on, they all look very friendly," Erik patted his son's hair, hoping he'd feel more brave after talking to the other children.
"Oh, is this a potential new recruit?" A soft voice spoke and Erik looked up towards the speaker.
"Ah yes, hello," Erik stood up, Halldór now clinging firmly to his neck and refusing to let go.
However, as he stood up to his full height he realised just how petite the other adult was.
"My name is Erik, and this is my son Halldór. He really wanted to try ballet," Erik explained as he tried to pry Halldór off himself.
"Oh that's wonderful. I'm Cécile, I run most of the ballet classes here, including this pre-ballet class for 4 to 7 year old kids," the woman held out her hand for Erik to shake.
"Pleased to meet you," Erik shook her hand and offered a half smile in her direction.
"Hear that little man?" Erik whispered to Halldór, "This lovely lady is the one who can teach you how to dance. Say hi."
"Hi..." Halldór whispered softly to Cécile before promptly hiding his face in his father's shirt once more.
"He's a little shy around strangers... sadly got that from me," Erik sighed.
"Don't worry, most children start off like that," Cécile smiled, "Why don't you both come in and sit and watch first and then Halldór can come join when he feels like it?"
"Sounds good to me, what do you think Halldór?" Erik asked softly.
Halldór nodded eagerly, but refused to be put back down on the floor. Erik rolled his eyes and motioned for Cécile to show the way.
She moved elegantly and Erik wasn't sure who was more exited to see people dance – himself or his son.
He sat cross-legged against one wall with Halldór in his lap.
Cécile smiled at them before making the kids line up against the mirrored wall with a long metal bar attached to it.
"Sure you don't want to go warm up with them?" Erik whispered as Cécile instructed the children to limber and warm up properly.
Halldór shook his head.
However, it didn't take long for his little feet to get restless, and with a few words of encouragement from his father, Halldór ran across the room.
"Oh how wonderful," Cécile cooed, "Class, this is Halldór, he might be joining our group, so be nice to him."
The whole class replied with a loud 'yes', which made Halldór jump. However, he had no time to run back to his father before the other kids swarmed around him to introduce himself.
Erik watched him carefully, prepared to run over and rescue his little boy if it all became too much for him.
Much to his delight, Halldór seemed fine with all the attention.
He didn't speak much, but he had yet to run back to Erik, so that was all in all a good sign.
"All right class," Cécile clapped her hands twice, "Back to your positions."
The kids mumbled but dispersed, one little girl offered her hand to Halldór and helped him line up to the wall with the rest.
Erik chuckled softly to himself as he watched Halldór struggle a little to gain his balance on one leg, but he was proud none the less.
Cécile started the music and went through each exercise over and over again.
She moved back and forth down the line of children, helping them regain balance or pointing out where to place their weight most effectively.
Erik watched it all with a slight smile, giving Halldór the thumbs-up each time his son glanced over to him to ensure his father was still there.
However, Erik realised there was little to worry over and he smiled to himself at the sight of Halldór's intense look of concentration.
By the end of the session Halldór was ecstatic, jumping up and down excitedly and waving his hands around as he spoke to his new friends.
Erik recognised the tale as the story about trolls he usually told his son at night, and he felt a great sense of pride swell within him.
"He's got quite the potential," Cécile told him with a smile as she handed him more information about the classes. "You'll need to buy some equipment if he wants to continue, but I think he liked it."
"Yes," Erik nodded, "I think so too, thank you for your patience," he added with a nod.
"It's no bother," Cécile smiled warmly up at him, "They're all usually very well behaved so one more child is just nice."
"Next time he might not need me here," Erik chuckled.
"Plenty children like their parents here for the first few times, so don't worry if you have to sit in next time, I don't mind."
"Thank you," Erik gave a polite nod.
"See you next time," Cécile smiled as Halldór ran over to Erik, excitedly telling his father about what he had learnt and who the other children were.
"Yes..." Erik mustered a smile in return before his attention was back to his son, eagerly listening to his stories even if he had witnessed every exercise and dance-based game Halldór had done.
Three days later they both returned, this time Halldór had all the appropriate gear he needed.
He had insisted on the black leotard, but in terms of shoes he refused to even try on anything else but the pink ones.
Erik hadn't even tried to argue. He was far to busy dotting over his son who was trying to do do pirouettes across the floor.
"Nice choice of shoes," Cécile smiled and held her own foot out towards Halldór's. "We match," she added with a laugh.
"Yes," Halldór nodded shyly and hid behind Erik's legs.
"He wanted them because they looked like yours," Erik confirmed and ruffled his sons hair.
"I am going to be shy today," Halldór whispered to his father, although Cécile heard him loud and clear too.
"That's fine," Erik whispered back, "I'm not going yet."
Cécile smiled as she watched Erik comb Halldór's hair with his fingers with such love and devotion she almost felt like she was imposing on their moment simply by being in the same room.
However, it seemed to do the trick, because Halldór had little problems running over to his new friends once Erik had given his a little pep talk.
Cécile shook her head. Some people were just lucky.
She didn't mind that Halldór brought his dad with him.
The boy wasn't good with new faces, and even people he had spoken to just a few days ago had to be re-evaluated before he trusted them enough to talk.
"Is he always this shy?" Cécile asked during their mid-training break.
"Yes, takes a good year for him to truly trust someone, hence why I've given up on babysitters..." Erik shrugged.
"Must be hard for your and your partner," Cécile sighed.
"No, just hard for me," Erik chuckled.
"Oh?" Cécile's love for gossip made her perk up, as rude as it might be.
"Divorced," Erik said bluntly and held his hand up to show there were no rings, "Nothing else, we just didn't work together as anything more than friends."
"Oh, I'm sorry,"
"Don't be. She's happy, I'm happy and Halldór is happy. There's no issues with anything really."
"Still... being a single father must be tough,"
"Nah, no harder than a single mother," Erik laughed softly, "I work from home anyway, so it's more than manageable."
"Ah I see," Cécile smiled, "Still, admirable."
"Thank you, but it's nothing short of what I should do."
"Just take the damned compliment," Cécile laughed.
"Fine," Erik smirked, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she replied with a smile of her own.
They watched the children run around the room, screams of delight as some of them engaged in a game of tag while some others where playing by the mirrors, making faces and laughing happily at one another's expressions.
"May I ask what it is you do for a living?" Cécile inquired after a while.
"I'm an illustrator," Erik replied, "Anything from small booklets for official companies to full pages for children's books."
"Oh, that explains Halldór's stories then," Cécile laughed softly.
"Yes, I think he's my biggest fan."
"Rightly so," she nodded.
Cécile watched the children play for a minute before clapping her hands and restoring order once more.
"Right, positions please," she said and lined up, "Time to do one more exercise before I let you home."
Erik took a seat on the floor, momentarily tearing his eyes of the little dancers and their instructor to sketch a few figures in his little sketchbook.
Cécile was the most interesting to draw, but he refrained from spending too much time studying her movement just in case it came of as wrong.
Halldór came tumbling over to him at the end of the class, crawling into his lap and peering into his sketchbook.
"Oi, move little man or I can't get up," Erik frowned and blew air at the back of Halldór's head.
"I wanna see what you drew," Halldór said and grabbed the sketchbook from Erik's hands.
"You can see when we get home and you've had a bath," Erik replied sternly, "We can't sit here all day."
"Well you can but then you have to help me clean," Cécile said from across the room and winked at Erik, who promptly went a few shades of pink and ducked his head down to avoid her spotting it.
"We could do that," Erik smiled and lifted Halldór off him, placing him back down on the floor before standing up and dusting his trousers off.
"What do you need help with?"
"Oh," Cécile was to embarrassed now to admit it had been a joke, "You could sweep the floor so it's ready for the next class, but only if it's not too much bother..."
"Where do you keep the broom?" Erik smiled.
"Out to the corridor and down to your left, second door on the right is where all cleaning supplies are kept," Cécile pointed.
Erik nodded and left the room, and Cécile realised she was now alone with Halldór.
The little boy was humming to himself as he flipped through the pages of his father's sketchbook, lost in his own little world of an imaginative five year old.
Cécile watched him flip through, captivated by the amount of life the lines held.
"Wow," she said, realising too late she had spoken out loud.
"Dad makes pretty art," Halldor said and held the book up for her to look at, "Look, he made a princess!"
Cécile took he sketchbook with great care and studied the drawing.
Her cheeks flushed red as she realised the 'princess' in question was a ballerina and held an uncanny resemblance to herself. From the shape of her glasses to the length of her plait.
"It's very nice," she said softly and handed the book back.
"Dad draws really good dragons and trolls too," Halldór said, shyness long forgotten as he showed off his father's artwork.
Cécile wasn't sure what made her more happy, the pride on Erik's face over his son's dancing or the look of pride and admiration Halldór held for his father.
'How dare they be so cute?' she thought to herself.
"This the one?" Erik interrupted her thoughts as he returned with a broom.
"Ah, yes, Thank you," Cécile smiled, finding the situation a little strange.
Although it was nice.
Halldór placed the book into his father's bag and ran across the floor, eager to help Erik clean.
Cécile watched them sweep the dance floor, Erik doing a very neat job while simultaneously praising Halldór for helping – although Cécile wasn't really sure sitting on the broom counted as helping.
"There," he said once the whole surface was as good as dust and dirt free, "All done I think. Does it look okay?"
"Yes, thank you very much," Cécile thanked him in earnest, "And thank you too Halldór," she bent down a little to praise the little boy, who for once smiled very sweetly up at her with no hesitation.
"I'd love to stay and help more, but this little man needs his dinner and a bath," Erik apologised.
"No, no, that's fine. I'll see you both on Friday."
"Yes," Erik said, "Unless this brave dancer dares to go alone."
"Of course I do," Halldór stuck his tongue out at his father, but Erik just laughed and ruffled his hair.
"Good, good," Cécile laughed.
She was almost glad when they both left, relieved to have a few minutes to herself to sort out her thoughts.
Honestly, she was a grown woman, there was no need to feel such silly things as butterflies in her stomach.
Erik was divorced and a father.
Cécile had no intentions of ruining the adorable family relationship the two of them had.
Yet, she couldn't help but feel a little jealous over the love the two of them had for one another.
A picture perfect relationship really, and Cécile really wished she could have something like it too.
There wasn't much time to ponder the thought, she had other classes to teach before she could go home.
Dance and music were perfect to lose yourself in, all attention of the rhythm and her own body.
By the time all her students were home and the rooms were clean and locked up, Cécile was tired and ready for a hot bath and a nice meal.
Take out in front of the TV didn't really appeal to her, nor did cooking anything complicated, so in the end Cécile settled for left over lasagne.
Her feet were aching but it was all worth it.
The children's faces when they mastered a new move, or how much joy dance brought to their faces never stopped making her smile.
Each class was important, and she wouldn't trade her job away for anything else right now.
However; it was almost unfair how cute Erik and Halldór were.
Cécile pressed a pillow to her face and tried to stop thinking about both of them.
It was like watching a painfully cheesy and family friendly movie she decided.
But god damn it, she couldn't look away.
What was worse; she found herself looking forward to Friday more so than she looked forward to the weekend.
How pathetic," she muttered to herself.
Halldór attended two more sessions with Erik in tow, each time his father was nothing short of pleasant if not a little quiet.
After that Cécile only saw Erik when he dropped off and picked Halldór back up after the lessons.
She found herself making excuses of some sorts to talk to him.
"Halldór did really well today," or "Halldór has gotten a lot better."
Little comments that she noticed made Erik almost beam with pride.
However, her triumphant moment was when she approached the both of them at the end of Friday's session.
"Ever heard of Per Gynt?" She asked.
"Ah yes. I'm familiar with the story," Erik nodded.
"And the ballet dance that goes with it?" she added.
"Eh, no..."
"Look it up," Cécile smiled warmly, "It has trolls," she winked at Halldór, giggling softly as she saw his face light up.
The following Tuesday Halldór came skipping into the room, humming a tune Cécile recognised almost far too well.
"In the hall of the mountain king?" she asked Erik as he stepped inside the dance hall with Halldór's bag of gear.
"Yes. He's demanded it be on repeat all weekend..."
"Oh, I'm sorry,"
"Nah," Erik shrugged, "Don't be. I rather like the music."
"Oh that's good. I was worried I'd have to buy you dinner to make up for it," she laughed, but promptly stopped when she noticed Erik was blushing.
"Uh, no need," he replied hurriedly.
This was honestly too much for her poor heart to handle.
"You're ridiculously cute," she giggled and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.
"Well Halldór had to get that too from someone," Erik laughed a little nervously, avoiding her gaze for a moment.
"Seems you gave him a lot of things,"
"Part from love of dancing. I was never that good at it myself," Erik shrugged, "But I'm glad he's enjoying himself. If it makes him happy then it's worth it."
"He could go far if he wanted to," Cécile praised. Halldór was a bright little boy, and once everyone got past the initial shyness he was talkative and energetic.
"That would be something," Erik chuckled, "I'd love to see him be able to move as gracefully as you."
"Why thank you," Cécile felt a little blush spread across her cheeks. Maybe she should ask him out for a drink.
"You're creative in other ways,"
"Suppose so. Drawing is at least something to take pride in."
"You're good," Cécile added, "Halldór showed me a lot of the ones in your little sketchbook," although she didn't mention seeing the sketch of herself.
"Heh," Erik let out an amused sigh, "Yeah. It keeps me occupied. I prefer to people-watch than actively interact with everyone around me, and with a drawing pad I can interact slowly at my own pace. Draw what I like and what I find interesting."
"So whenever inspiration strikes?"
"Yes," Erik nodded, "It can happen anywhere and any time, and artist is always prepared," he patted the pockets in his jacket and gave her a small smile.
"I'm not even going to ask how many pens and pencils you carry," she laughed.
"I don't know myself..." Erik said as he patted himself down somewhat, "At least ten, maybe more,"
"Goodness, where are you when I need you at the bank or something?"
"Probably at home slumped over my desk with a cup of coffee," Erik smiled slyly.
"Pft, I don't doubt that for some reason," Cécile tried to hide her smile behind her hand.
"Anyway, let me not keep you or your students up and more, I'll come pick my little troll up later,"
"Don't worry," Cécile smiled warmly at him, "I'll make sure he's not turned to stone by the time you come back."
"Oh don't worry about that. At least if he's stone I can get him to bed a lot easier," Erik winked at her before waving goodbye to his son.
Cécile sighed softly once he'd left.
She was crushing on him badly, and the severity of the damned butterflies was beginning to dawn on her.
With a deep breath she made up her mind; she would ask him to join her for dinner or a drink.