Work Text:
Soft light dances on the patio tiles, the warmth from the room leaking out of the brightly lit windows. Through the slightly foggy glass panes of the conservatory, a vast number of round tables could be seen, flickering under the soft candle light from the garland of flowers at the centre of each table. Wax drips slowly down onto the delicate baby blue carnations, surrounded in greenery - this blue and green theme continuing throughout the room, from the pearlescent balloons hovering above on the ceiling, to the soft chiffon ties on the back of every gold gilt seat. The soft hum of chatter fills the room with a more comforting feel, eyes glistening with joy and excitement under the vintage glass bulbs hanging down from the ceiling.
It was the definition of a Pinterest wedding – and sat at the heart of it all, still giddy with happiness, were the two newlyweds. Long brown curls tumbled down onto one’s shoulders, masking part of his face as he leant down to whisper in the shorter of the twos ear, drawing out the crinkles around the sterling blue eyes and a smile that warmed the room. The same blue eyes followed his now husband as he retreated back, eyebrows raised as he replied, the jest in their conversation clear in their body language. Their hands, laying on the crisp white table cloth, were interlocked, silver wedding bands glinting in the light. Simple, plain with only a hint of detail – blue and green stones that scattered patterns across the soft, tanned skin of their hands as the light hit them. Stones that perfectly matched one another’s eye colour. It was a simple, personal detail, but it made them so much more effective.
A voice over the microphone boomed around the room, breaking up the loved-up nature of the couple, and triggering a hush to the gentle buzz across the room. Only a few moments passed before the taller man rose, extending a hand to his respective partner before leading him away from the table. Before the caramel haired lad had taken two paces, he felt himself being scooped up, bridal style in his partners’ arms, much to the delight of the guests who emitted cheers, drowning out his protests. It wasn’t until they reached the centre of the dance floor he felt himself set to rights. After a half-hearted punch, they began to dance – their first dance as a married couple.
Soft, gentle melodies mingled with the hushed voices in the air, as lean, muscular bodies stepped closer to each other, slotting together perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle. Lacing his arms around the taller lad’s neck, blue eyed boy rested his head on his chest, hearing the steady heartbeat and feeling comfort wash over him when he felt the other lad rest his chin on top of his hair. Swaying softly in the pale light, the couple allowed the music to engulf them, bringing back the memories that started it all…
Three years ago…
The golf ball plummeted back down into the grip of tanned fingers. Louis studied it carefully, eyes darting over the surface, before tossing it back into the air, exhaling softly. The Script blaring from his speakers, he rolled over, eyes gliding past the poster of a shirtless Brendon Urie to land on the certificate proclaiming him the third year scholarship student of the Liberum Saltare School of Dance.
The most renowned dance school in the country.
A painful reminder of how hard he should be working right now, instead of resting.
But with his new roommate due to arrive at any time minute, he figured he had an excuse for now.
The room had remained a perfect freeze frame of how it had been the day George, Louis previous roommate, had left six weeks ago. One side remained un-lived in, desk bare, wardrobe empty, bed turned down, cold and un-slept in. As if in direct contrast, Louis side – textbooks stacked high on the desk, which had become a dumping ground for any and every piece of miscellaneous paper found in the room, wardrobe overflowing with t-shirts, shorts, dance tights that spilled onto the floor. Posters camouflaged the peeling, off white paint that smothered the walls, and empty protein bar wrappers overflowed from the trash can under the desk.
Louis heaved himself off the bed, kicking the clothes slightly further back into his closet and attempting to compact the wrappers down, a very half-hearted attempt at cleaning the room before Harry arrived. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he sighed, reaching out to grab a comb, but before he had a chance to fix his rats nest of hair, the knock Louis had been anticipating arrived.
Harry. That was all Louis had to play with, a name that had been rattling round his head for the entire summer. No age, no personality, no face. All boiling down to today, September forth.
Harry had always been one to appreciate beauty. He saw it all around him, no matter where it may be – from the typical, plain delicacy of a flower petal, gently dancing in a warm, summer breeze, to something less typical – the glint of sunlight as it filtered through dirty paint water, illuminating the various colourful pigments. It was one thing he had always had an eye for – which is perhaps why he was short on breath when the peeling, grubby door of room thirteen was opened to reveal, what had to be, in his top ten list of the most stunning things of all time.
Harsh, jagged, muscular lines – sharp jaw, high cheek bones, piercing blue eyes that held a multitude of emotions in each sharp shade of colour – contrasted so deeply with the soft, gentle curves – wide hips that lead in to muscular thighs, fringe flopping lazily over his forehead, the caramel complimenting his skin tone impeccably. His short stature was easily overlooked in face of biceps that peaked out from underneath the white sleeves of his t-shirt, and calves that were taught and lean in a way that could only have been formed from years and years of dancing. It shouldn’t work – this sharp, soft being was a walking juxtaposition, an oxymoron on legs – but it did, it worked so, so well. Harry was already so absorbed, he almost missed it when those pretty pink lips begun to speak.
“Ah, first years are on the second floor, just go back down the stairs and through the door on your left.”
Harry glanced down at the crumpled sheet in his hands, confirming that he had indeed got the right room number.
“No, no I’m Harry? You must be Louis right, it’s lovely to meet you…” Harry stepped past the shorter boy, taking in the clutter of the left side of the room before planting his case on the bed, dumping a box of miscellaneous goods on the desk. Louis turned back towards him shutting the door with a soft click, confusion written in the slope of his eyebrows and slight narrowing of his eyes.
“Right…How old did you say you were?”
“I didn’t, but I’m eighteen. I got moved up two years – they said it was due to raw talent, but honestly, I think it’s just my old teacher, she was pretty amazing. I progressed fast.”
He watched as the smaller boy nodded, confusion still written on his face. Danny O’Donoghue’s voice broke the silence that had fallen between the pair, Louis eyes fixated on the floor and lip trapped between his teeth, as Harry made a move to start unpacking. As the song progressed to the chorus, Louis seemingly snapped back to reality, reaching out to the speakers to hit the off button.
“Oh, you don’t have to, I actually really like The Script so.”
Louis looked in surprise at Harry, smiling slightly.
“You have good taste.” Harry smirked, shrugging before gesturing to the posters on the wall.
“I also approve of the wall art. Brendon Urie’s pretty fit to be honest.” The surprises kept coming, Louis thought to himself. Not many straight guys describe other guys as pretty fit. So did that mean….
“You, uh, into dudes like that?”
The bluntness of the question evidently surprised Harry. He turned slowly, still holding a folded t-shirt in his hands, to face Louis, one eyebrow quirked.
“Is that a problem for you?”
Louis practically tripped over his own tongue in the haste in which he tried to speak.
“No! No, of course it’s not a problem, it’s fine, completely fine.”
He watched as Harry’s face dissolved into a wide grin.
“It’s not contagious, I swear. You aren’t going to “catch the gay” from me.”
“I know. I said its fine, it’s not a problem.”
Harry grinned, turning back to his pile of stuff.
“Class starts tomorrow right?”
Louis only hummed in response, Harry turning back to see the lads eyebrows drawn together in thought.
“Something wrong?”
Swallowing deeply, Louis grabbed his dance bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he reached for the door knob. He glanced up to meet the concern brewing in Harry’s green eyes, face framed by soft, gentle curls. There was no denying it - the lad was cute, even Louis could see that, and whilst he emitted some kind of warm, trusting aura, Louis was not ready to open up to a near enough stranger, not yet. Not now.
“I need to go practice - you probably need to get on with un-packing anyway.”
Harry’s farewell was muffled by the already closing door, Louis half way to the stair well before he glanced back.
Over the passing days, only a few nods and friendly small talk was exchanged between the pair. They lived around each other - Louis was always gone when Harry awoke in the mornings, and rarely was there in the evenings. He seemed to use the room as more of a pitstop than an actual living space. Harry tried not to take it personally - assuming the scholarship certificate hung on the cream walls was to blame for the boy’s crazy work ethic.
It was the subtle things that allowed each to build up impressions of the other - the photos that were littered through Harry’s belongings of him smiling with two women - whom Louis could only assume to be the mother and sister he’d heard Harry talk on the phone to. He couldn’t lie, it triggered a poisonous stab of jealousy over how cheerful they looked in the photos - how perfect Harry’s life seemed. As hard as he tried to push these feelings away, they, annoyingly, remained.
But as normally happens when living in such close proximity to a potential love interest who happens to be unfairly attractive, feelings began to form.
Harry was in ballet class when he first developed what he would call a serious, unquestionable crush. Sure – Louis deep blue eyes and rugged caramel hair had been enough to trigger something – but seeing him dance, properly, for the first time, was when Harry knew he was done for. The soft, unbroken lines of Louis body masked the strong muscles that powered him across the floor, his face that so often seemed troubled, tired and weary from overwork, instead at ease, the storm in his eyes calmed to a peaceful blue ocean. Every movement, each step executed just so, a sense of ease to the motion, fluidity that was un-replicated even by water. It was impossible to drag your eyes away from him, and as Harry’s followed Louis movements up to the mirrored wall at the front of the studio, he noticed Liam’s smug smile plastered on his face. He turned to his best friend, who was slouched lazily against the barre, warming up.
“What?”
Liam nodded pointedly towards Louis, who was now moving round to the back of the studio, water bottle poised at his lips whilst listening intently to the corrections he was given.
“That’s what. How long have you had your eye on him?”
Harry huffed, crossing his arms defensively on his chest.
“I am not that obvious.”
“How else do you think I found out? I’m sorry, mate, but if subtle was what you’re going for, it is not working.”
Harry turned his gaze back to where Louis stood, engaged in deep conversation with another third year.
“You know how I feel about beautiful things Liam. It’s undeniable he’s pretty fricken’ attractive.”
“I’m not disputing that. He’s the most talented third year in the school, and happens to be your room mate. Which makes him-“
“Totally out of reach for the likes of me?”
Liam shot his friend a withering look, before snapping to attention as their instructor called their names, signalling their turn to go across the floor.
“I was going to say perfect.”
Louis was completely absorbed in his textbook when he heard the soft click of the door. He turned his head, greeting on the tip of his tongue before being snatched away by the sight in front of him. Harry stood, long hair damp from the shower, in the doorway of their room, the white towel wrapped round his hips falling to just above the knee. But it revealed enough. Toned muscles chiselled in the pale skin of his stomach were bedazzled by a few droplets of water that remained, Louis’ eyes following the prominent v-lines down to the hem of the fluffy towel. Smooth calf muscles were taught as Harry moved into the room; damp skin glistening, illuminated by the warm light coming from the desk lamp Harry flicked into life. Louis eyes raked back up Harry’s bodies to his eyes, which stared prettily out from under his long, dark eyelashes, bold eyebrows raised in greeting.
“Hey.”
Louis attempted desperately to pick his jaw up of the floor, swallowing deeply as his brain scrambled for a reply.
“S’up.”
Mental face palm. You idiot, Louis.
Harry chuckled, Louis mentally cursing as those bloody eyebrows quirked into their usual, cheeky formation.
“Didn’t figure you’d be in, you’re normally out.”
“Yeah, y’know.” Louis patted his textbooks “Studying.”
“Aha. Well, I won’t bother you, I was heading to bed anyways.”
“Need me to shut the light off?”
“Nope you're good. Night Louis.”
“Night.”
Louis tried desperately to regain focus on his Physics textbook, ignoring the rustling of Harry settling into bed behind him. But to no avail - before, he’d regarded Harry as a sort of cute, young, excitable puppy, whom happened to share a room with him. He needed to reassess his evaluation. Cause now, Harry was far more than just a slightly adorable eighteen year old with a pretty amazing smile and a glowing personality to match. He was a crush.
Louis did not have time for crushes. It was not part of his schedule, and drifting from his schedule was the perfect way to loose his scholarship and end up homeless. Something he did not intend to happen.
But as he lay in bed, the sound of Harry’s soft breathing playing his heartstrings like a harp, he had to admit he was beginning to fall. And fall pretty hard, at that.
“Hey, I just needed to grab - Lou, you alright?”
Harry nearly missed the hunched figure that was Louis in his haste to get his maths textbook, but slowed to stop when he caught sight of the boy’s head held in his hands, tufts of caramel sticking up through the gabs in his fingers which where fisted in his hair. He watched as Louis raised his head, slightly puffy eyes turning to meet Harry’s.
“Oh, yeah. I’m great. Y’know, its only, what, a month or so until the opening competition of the season, and not only do I have absolutely nothing in the way of choreography, but my duet partner just broke his arm. So I’m fucking fantastic.”
Harry hesitated, replacing his textbook on the desk, figuring maths could wait. He moved closer to the older lad, cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder. Louis sighed, allowing his forehead to rest on one of his hands, eyes closing with his exhale.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. None of this is your fault.”
Harry shrugged, collapsing onto Louis bed.
“It’s okay, I understand. You wouldn’t have said it if you weren’t so stressed.”
“I guess.”
Harry took in the sadness in Louis voice, heart lurching at how small and lost he sounded.
“Right. What can we do to this fix this then.”
Louis glanced to Harry, smiling weakly.
“It’s fine, I’ll come up with something, I hope-“
“I said we, not you. I am more than willing to help.”
Louis chuckled, smiling at Harry.
“Unless you know an entire routine of choreography, and someone willing to learn it in a month, then-“
“I’ll do it.”
“You’ll do what?”
“The duet. I’ll do it. And I can attempt to help with the routine, although I can’t promise I’ll be much good at it.”
“Have you ever competed before?”
Harry smiled, mocking reproachfulness.
“No. But everyone’s got to start somewhere.”
Louis looked uneasy, at which Harry tried not to take offence.
“Look. At this point, what other choice do you have. You said yourself - trying to find another replacement at this stage would be next to impossible. Here you have a blank canvas, an eager volunteer who is more than willing to be tutored by the best dancer in the school-“
“I wouldn’t go that far-“
“You wouldn’t have got the scholarship if you weren’t. Look - we can do this. You can do this.”
Registering the lingering doubt in Louis eyes, Harry grabbed his hand, locking their pinky fingers.
“What are you doing?”
“Do you trust me?”
“What?”
“I said do you trust me?”
Breathing deeply, Louis looked into Harry’s eyes, eyes that danced with hope and optimism, eyes that were glued to his own, pulling him in like windows to his soul. Louis could feel his heart wrestling with his mind on this one, conscience desperately searching for an answer.
“Yes.”
Maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk for the smile that spread wide across Harry’s face.
“I promise to spend every hour of free time I have working with you until the routine is as perfect as you want it to be, if you promise to give me a chance. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Harry rose from the bed, once again scooping the discarded textbook into his arms, reaching for the doorknob, before glancing back at Louis, whose once sullen face was now replaced with a small, soft smile, a smile that Harry automatically filed into his memories favourite things about Louis folder.
“Have a little faith Lou. It’ll be okay.”
Louis watched Harry’s tall, lanky form leave the room, staring at the crumbling white paint of the door long after it had closed behind him. He’d just let his heart rule his head. This was either going to be the best decision he ever made, or the downfall of everything.
Great.
The music drifting out of studio three gave away Louis’ location to Harry, who upon reading the hastily scribbled post it note stuck to their door had followed his instruction to meet him that night to practice. Gently pushing open the door, he watched Louis, eyes completely shut as he blocked certain movements to the phrases of the music. Even these rough movements seemed so controlled, Louis black long sleeved top and shorts adding to his perfect silhouette that moved with such precision, a puppet to the music.
“Doesn’t look like you’ve got nothing.”
The sound of Harrys voice halted Louis movements.
“Well, y’know. It’s just ideas.”
The smile rang in Louis voice as he turned to face Harry, taking in the biceps that were made seemingly more prominent in his grey tank top. But as attractive as Harry was, it was his eyes, always his eyes, that stole the show. Cheerful, innocent, just stunning, a green that remained unparalleled by any other colour. A green that was fast becoming Louis favourite colour.
Harry chuckled, dropping his bag at the side of the studio.
“Looks pretty good for just ideas.”
“Thanks.” Harry watched the pretty pink flush appear on Louis cheeks, along with a smile that was sweet with just the right touch of shyness to make an unexpected warmth rush through Harry’s body. He forced himself to look away, focusing on his shoes.
“So, what’s the deal then. Basic idea?”
Louis cleared his throat, turning the music down slightly.
“The song’s called ‘All About Us’. It’s by an artist called He Is We, and feature’s Owl City, one of my favourite singers. It’s quite gentle, but does have a good beat, so I was thinking contemporary, maybe?”
Harry hummed in approval, listening to the lyrics as Louis continued.
“As for the topic - the criteria was to choreograph a piece related to something important to you, to which I chose the recent legalisation of gay marriage. To me, the song fits perfectly - it seems to be about a couple’s first dance as a couple, and also is mostly, if not all, in a major key; it’s happy, optimistic, celebratory.”
Louis searched for a reaction in Harry’s irritatingly neutral face.
“What do you think?”
Those piercing eyes were back on Louis’ again; he felt them reading through his thoughts, trying to make sense of something.
“Why is the legalisation of gay marriage important to you?”
“Cause I’m - gay?”
The quizzical look that filled Harry’s eyes did not match Louis’ expectations.
“You seriously did not know?”
“You’re reaction when I came out to you…”
Louis sighed, moving to pat Harrys shoulder.
“If you thought I was homophobic, you are about as far from the truth as you can get, evidently. I’m sorry if that’s what I gave off - let’s just say it hasn’t always been something I’ve been made to feel proud of. Leave it at that, yeah?”
The grin was back on Harry’s face - a grin that made Louis feel exactly as Harry did towards himself, although unbeknownst to him. The way his lips lifted upward. The way his dimples crinkled. The way his teeth were perfectly aligned. The warm glow his happiness gives. His smile is a ray of sunshine, a ray of sunshine that filtered inside Louis and practically melted his insides.
“Let’s get going then - or we will be here all night,”
At twenty-one, Louis was not inexperienced with relationships. There'd been a few - from questioning crushes at fourteen to more recent, more ‘adult’ experiences that whilst confirmed Louis homosexuality, had not lasted long. Perhaps it was due to the unbreakable barricades Louis imprisoned himself behind - or perhaps because he had never met the right person. He’d spent years yearning for the storybook, hollywood portrayal of love, only to be left with a bigger void in his chest when every relationship failed to meet his expectations.
But there, in that studio that night, as he danced with Harry, he began to catch glimpses of that love. It was as if two souls were joining to form one, connected through the shared medium of music. He’d performed with many people, but never had it been like this - never had the movements been so instinctual, so synchronised even in the early stages. Every pulsation of music that rippled through his soul seemingly had the same effect on Harry, as they moved as one body. It may have been sloppy, it certainly wasn’t perfect - but it was the most alive Louis had ever felt when dancing, had felt ever in fact.
Harry was in awe himself. Dancing was something he’d always loved, enjoyed - but he had never seen anyone as creatively gifted as Louis. Each step he came up with fitted with the music so beautifully, as if he were knitting the two together in such away that they became one, fluid piece of what could only be described as magic. And Louis was magic - the way he made Harry feel as if even his most feeble of contributions were valuable; he made everything feel so special, so right. He was unbelievable. He was so desperately out of reach.
They worked for hours, until finally, they were interrupted by the cleaners, insistent on them leaving so they could do their ‘ruddy job’ as they’d so eloquently put it.
“That was brilliant.” Louis said as he placed the water bottle to his lips, chest heaving and fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead. Harry scoffed.
“I think you mean you were brilliant. Me, not so much.”
“Oh shut up,” Louis spoke, nudging Harry in the ribs as they made their way up the stairs to where the rooms were situated, “You’re technique could use a little work, but you have really good musicality - your performance aspect hides any minor errors.”
“I guess - technique has always been my weak point though.”
An idea dawned on Louis.
“I could help. I can tutor you.”
Harry glanced at him, shaking his head.
“You’re gonna be busy enough with this on top of everything else. You don’t need to-“
“I know I don’t need to, but I want to. You’re spending your time on me, at least allow me to give you something back.”
“We already made a deal - I’m more than happy to do this.”
“Consider it payment, then, if it makes you feel better!”
“I don’t want-“
“Do you trust me?”
Louis chuckled at the withering look Harry gave him.
“You did not just use my words against me…”
“Oh, but you know that I did.”
Some may say they sounded like an old married couple already. And as would be expected, after a little bit of nagging, Louis got his way.
(A/N: Okay so I am aware that Gay Marriage was officially legalised in the UK in July of 2013, but did not in fact come into effect until March of 2014, with the first same sex marriage happening in the same month, but for the sake of plot, the first marriage happened in September 2013, deal? We’re rewriting history for the sake of fanfiction.)
Harry’s mind was in a different place than his grungy English classroom the next morning - a place that may or may not have included him, Louis, and an unspecified amount of alone time. Unfortunately, as all good daydreams are, his vision was burst by the sharp sting of reality.
“Disgusting fags. Makes me sick, it does.”
Desperately hoping they weren’t talking about what Harry thought, he turned, looking round for the source. It didn’t take him long to locate the group of boys crowded around a newspaper article proclaiming the first same sex marriage had occurred the previous day. Instead of the swell of pride he should have felt about equality finally being achieved, he felt anger begin to surge through his body, bubbling in his stomach like an angry volcano.
“Don’t say that.”
He rose from his chair, reaching over to snatch the paper away, but a hand slammed down on top of it to prevent his attempts.
“Why not? It is disgusting - two men getting married is just not natural.”
“To some people it’s the most natural thing in the world!”
The boy stood, stepping closer to Harry until he could feel his hot breath on his face.
“What, like you? Are you a little faggot, Styles?”
Harry bit his lip, looking down at his scruffy converse. It was this action that caused him to miss the hit as it was swung - the sharp tap to the side of his head that jerked his neck sideways.
“You’re sickening, y’know that, fag? Everything about you is-“
“What did you just say?”
Liam's voice cut clear across the room, but by this point the damage had been done. Pushing past the bystanders, Harry rushed from the room, the sting of tears pricking at the back of his eyes. Gaze fixed firmly to the floor, avoiding the watchful stares from the current of students flowing through the corridors. It was his determination to focus on the ground that lead to his collision with the last person he wanted to see right now. Louis.
“Harry?”
Louis grabbed him by his shoulders, tilting his chin up and noticing the sheen across Harry’s eyes. Harry stumbled for words, desperate to remain composed, but already he could feel the hot, angry tears dripping down his cheeks. Feeling his heart jolt, Louis looked around, before guiding Harry away from the crowded corridor, opening the door of a nearby store cupboard. Pulling the younger boy into a hug, he felt Harry break down in his arms, shoulders shaking with each heavy sob. They stayed, frozen like that, for minutes, until Harry’s sniffling slowed to a soft snuffle. Assuming his composure had been regained, Louis began to probe the issue.
“What happened?”
“This guy - he was saying all this homophobic shit, calling me a fag and-“
Louis sighed, seemingly in relief, before pushing Harry at arms length.
“Thank god that’s it.”
It was predominantly confusion, and part anger that flashed in Harry’s eyes now.
“What do you mean? How are you relieved about that?”
“You have to ignore them, Harry. The world is full of bigoted, ignorant people, crappy people who are going to say bullshit. But that’s exactly what it is - bullshit. You can’t let it get to you like this. You can’t let them win.”
“I’m not! But it’s hard y’know…”
Louis snorted slightly.
“You mean you’ve never faced bullying for being gay, AND a dancer before?”
“No.”
It was Louis turn to be confused by normalcy in Harry’s voice. Looking into Harry’s eyes now, he saw a naivety - a naivety he had perhaps labelled too quickly as innocence. A naivety he could see now to be a lack of knowledge rather than a lack of experience.
“Where I come from, that doesn't exist. You’re encouraged to be who you are - if a boy wanted to dance, who cared? So what if he was gay? It’s his life. It is what it is.”
Harry’s voice was soft, as his eyes stared right back into Louis’, reading desperately, trying to decipher the layers of heavily encrypted code that was Louis mind. Terrified, petrified the walls were crumbling, Louis shook himself, eyes turning hard again.
“Not everyone had that.”
“I guess not.”
Louis broke the connection at last, glancing down at his watch.
“You need to get back to class - as do I for that matter. If it really matters to you, I can report the douchebag-“
“No, it’s okay, I’ll do it.”
For the first time in knowing each other, there was a tension, something that was being left unsaid. Both were seeing something they had never seen in the other before - whereas for Louis, it was over-sensitivity, for Harry, it was cowardice on Louis’ part. Louis was afraid. Of what, who knew. But it was written all over him.
“Right. Well, I’ll see you later, Harry.”
He only hummed in response, watching Louis leave, head bowed and shoulders sagged. He watched, really watched, the way Louis moved. Slow, tenuous movements, as if the weight of the world fell only on his shoulders. So far removed from what he’d seen before - when Louis danced, he looked lost in his own world. No, lost wasn’t the right word - he was in his own world, and he belonged there. But here, in the real world, was not the same person - and Harry loathed himself for not noticing it before.
The tension remained when Louis entered the room that evening. Harry sat at his desk, where he’d been for hours, rolling a pencil over and over, up and down the scarred wood table top. For the first time, no greeting was exchanged - just a stiff silence as Louis hurried to change into his workout gear, heading off to the gym as he always did at this time. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry observed him. The sandy fringe couldn’t hide the dark rings that plagued Louis eyes, and the sharpness of his cheekbones that whilst were stunningly gorgeous, contributed to the overall run down, weary look of his face. Louis looked tired, over-worked.
“Why don’t you just stay here tonight? You don’t need to work out everyday…”
Louis tied his laces more aggressively, focusing hard on his nimble fingers, refusing to make eye contact.
“I have to work out. If you don’t, you get weak.”
“Yes, but not everyday. Please Lou, you look so tired.”
“I need to stay strong to keep dancing well.”
"You need to rest-"
"You just don't get it, do you?!"
He was looking at Harry now, and any compassion in his eyes was long gone. Instead, anger burned in its place, spitting and sparking and hissing, and ready to erupt.
"Not everyone got lucky, okay? Not everyone got things handed to them. I had to work, for years, for the chance of coming here. I still have to work hard to stay. If I don't, I lose everything. You don't understand that kind of pressure. You’re too naive."
His words stung more than Harry could have imagined, the venom in them branded onto his mind with a red hot poker. He watched as Louis rose, the resentment radiating of him in hot waves.
"Lou-"
"Not everyone had a storybook childhood, where they were able, allowed, to be themselves without fear.You are so privileged you don’t even know it. Things may have been all sunshine and rainbows for you-"
"That's not true."
"Oh sure. Like it was anything but."
"You know nothing about-"
"You? Too right I don't. Y'know, I genuinely liked you. I thought you were so sweet, and kind, and amazing. But you’re just as ignorant as the rest of them. You know nothing about how the real world works."
Breathless. As though the oxygen had been knocked out of him. Harry could feel his insides quivering, trembling, ready to disintegrate from the unfairness of it all. His stomach clenching, his eyes pricking, he tried, desperately to remain calm. Blocking Louis path to the door, Harry stood before him, desperately clinging to the hope that maybe, maybe, he could turn this around.
"You don't mean any of this."
"Oh don't I?" Louis spat back.
"No. You’re just being defensive cause you're scared. And you don't have to be."
Harry reached out to touch Louis shoulder, but the older boy recoiled.
"Do not touch me."
Pushing past Harry, Louis grabbed the door handle, slamming it behind him, pausing only long enough the hear Harry emit a chocked, oxygen starved sob. He was only five paces down the corridor before he punched the wall beside him. It was mere seconds later he was cursing under his breath, cradling his hand and feeling the dangerous itch at the back of his eyes, the lump that rose in his throat suffocating, starving his body of air. He broke into a jog, running, until he reached the isolated stairwell. Only then did he allow himself to break down.
Harry didn't deserve even half of what he had said. Louis knew that, and he felt like crap for it. All he'd done was have a decent life. What kind of heartless creature could blame him for that?
Moonlight streamed through the semicircle window, casting delicate patterns over the smooth wood floor. The studio was silent bar the snuffles of the lone boy who sat in solitude, squarely in the centre of the room, legs drawn to his chest and mop of curls buried in his knees.
Harry had never learned to cry with style, silently, the pearl-shaped tears rolling down his cheeks from wide luminous eyes, as seen in all the classic rom-com films, leaving no smears or streaks. He wished he had; but instead, he was left with puffy, red eyes, a blotchy nose, and tear tracks that gave away everything to even the most oblivious of people.
“My parents were Evangelical Christians. Even if they had approved of the dancing, which they didn’t, it was drilled into me from a young age how vile, disgusting and downright wrong it was to be gay.”
Harry lifted his head, turning it to the direction of the croaky voice. Hovering in the studio door, Louis stood half in shadow. The contrast of light and dark only made his face seem more beautiful, which was completely unfair given the circumstances. Stepping towards Harry, he continued.
“I was fourteen when I realised that not only was dancing all I wanted to do with my life, but also that I was one of the homosexuals my family spoke so poorly of. I stuck it out for three years, but I was going bat-shit crazy being cooped up with people who shove their bullcrap down your throat every second of every day. I started spending more time at my dance studio; which led to me getting better, much better, until my teacher wanted me to audition for a place here. She knew as well as I did that my parents wouldn’t want to let me go, let alone pay the fees - so she set me up for a scholarship audition.”
The floorboards creaked as Louis sank down next to Harry, who was now listening intently.
“I got the place. The same day I was due to leave, I decided to come out to my parents. My stuff would be all packed, I’d be about to jump on a train from Doncaster to London - even if they disowned me, it wouldn’t matter cause I was eighteen, they couldn’t touch me.”
Louis paused, drawing breath and trying desperately to keep the unwanted tears at bay.
“They took it about as well as you’d expect. Step-dad took a swing at me - that’s how I got this.”
In the moonlight, the faint, pale line was stark on Louis cheek, marring his otherwise perfectly smooth skin. Harry reached out, touching it gently. He felt sick.
“It wasn’t him I cared about. But my mum - she didn’t even try to stop him. Just hurried my sisters upstairs. She just stood there, watching me as I left. I haven’t heard anything for three years. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my sisters.
I am cynical about the world, about the people who populate it. I’ve experienced first hand the kind of poisonous ignorance that rips families apart - but it’s also shown me that you can’t argue with these people. People who are that close-minded, that deep-rooted in their own beliefs - they won’t change. They can’t change. It hurts, but they can’t.
I shouldn’t have said the things I did to you. It was beyond shitty of me, and you were completely undeserving of it. It’s not your fault you had a normal, happy childhood. And it’s certainly not your fault for being right about me - I am scared. I’m terrified of losing this, of losing my dream - cause it is all I have left. I sacrificed so much for it - it has to work out. But you figured that out - and it threw me, cause people don’t usually question it. So I am sorry, Harry.”
Louis gaze was fixed firmly on his hands, which lay in his lap. He didn’t notice Harry begin to speak.
“My dad left before I was born.”
As Louis processed the words, his head snapped up immediately, to meet Harry’s dull, sad eyes. Guilt began to crawl up from the pit of his stomach, clawing its way into his chest.
“It was just me, my mum, and Gemma, my sister. The three musketeers, sticking by each others side. It was fine, I wasn’t deprived - but we were always struggling to make ends meet somehow. I can afford to come here because of the inheritance we got when my grandma passed away - she always wanted me to follow my dreams. But y’know, there was always this nagging at the back of my head - why would you leave a child you didn’t even get to know. How could you hate something so much, without even meeting them. That’s why mum and Gem made sure to always be so, supportive of whatever it was I wanted to do - they knew I always had this awful niggle of the simple fact that my dad didn't want me.”
Harry’s voice was choked up now, the tears beginning to chase down his face again. The sight caused Louis’ own eyes to mist over, reaching out to brush away the droplets as the rolled down Harry’s flushed cheeks.
“Not quite the perfect childhood you thought.”
That was the end of the remaining composure Louis had retained. Pulling the younger boy into a crushing hug, he rested his head on his shoulder, feeling Harry’s curls brushing against his ear.
“I am so, so unbelievably sorry.”
Any lingering resentment vanished in that hug. The connection was back, stronger than ever, and Louis could feel it, pulsing between them. They had bared their souls completely for the other to see, put themselves at the others mercy - they had shared things that mere weeks ago, they never dreamed they would be telling. And Louis felt free - the spine crushing weight he had carried around with him for all these years drifting away like a balloon in the wind. In that moment - he began to feel the shrapnel in his heart dislodge.
From that night, the dynamic between the two began to change. Not the dry, curt tension that they had felt before - not even tension at all, more of a static, magnetic force that pulled them together, like electricity. Powerful, irresistible, unstoppable force. From darting glances shot across the studio to subtle brushes of the hand in the corridors - their attempts to grow closer, to be near one another, where obvious.
The night of Harry’s first ballet lesson with Louis arrived. Harry was more anxious than he should have been - whilst there was nothing more he wanted than to spend two hours alone with Louis - there was also nothing he dreaded more than spending two hours alone with Louis. His feelings had never faded, only intensified with time, and whilst he desperately, stupidly hoped they weren’t one sided, he couldn’t be sure. In his school-girl like crush, all the signs he’d been interpreting as mirrored affection on Louis part could fine well be innocent actions that were purely platonic. It was like walking a tightrope, or the narrow edge of a blade, and all the while, Harry was trembling, scared to ruin their bond of carefully constructed trust.
Louis was already in the studio when he arrived - the studio that had become their studio, the place which had seen them at their best, and at their worst. Soft, calm melodies floated round the room as they warmed up. As hard as he tried, Harry could not shake the tension he felt, the tension that held an iron grip on every muscle in his body. He could feel his feelings getting wound up tighter and tighter, like a coil, or a spring. It was getting harder and harder to resist every time he looked at Louis - the pale, delicate pink that dusted his cheek bones, subtle lips that looked so full and soft and downright kissable.
It wasn’t hard to notice Harry was distracted. The stiffness in his body was evident from his dancing, which whilst normally was all beautiful, soft rounded edges, was now unsure at best.
“Relax, Harry.” Louis said softly, moving behind the younger boy to massage his shoulders slightly, opening them up more, “Your lines are broken, they aren’t smooth.”
“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, pausing to shake out his long limbs before returning to his arabesque position. He tried so hard not to focus on Louis fingertips ghosting over his hips, rolling them back into a more open position, the gentle touch that conjured goosebumps across the surface of his skin as it skimmed over his leg, turning it out more. He really did try. But he could feel the spring winding tighter, and tighter, the clench in his chest becoming nearly unbearable. For the second time that evening, he faltered, coming out of the arabesque and turning to face Louis.
Confusion was painted in the blue of Louis eyes, Harry’s lust blown pupils drinking from them as though they were water from a mountain spring. He bit his lip, gaze flitting from those eyes down to those pretty pink lips, and back up again. The spring snapped.
“Stop me if this is not what you want.” Harry breathed before crashing his lips onto Louis, eyes flickering shut. Louis felt his breath snatched from his lungs, surprise winding him before his brain caught up to what was happening. His eyelashes fluttered down across his cheeks as he felt Harry’s warmth begin to leak into him. The kiss was hungry, urgent, volatile - as if sparks of electricity were flowing round a finally complete circuit. Louis could feel the current passing through every nerve ending in his body, the solid, cold wood barre that was pressing into his back the only thing keeping his mind grounded. Harry’s hands were cradling his cheeks, thumbs rubbing the underside of his jawline in attempt the deepen the kiss - and Louis was putty under those fingertips, fully complying to Harry’s wishes, allowing him to take complete control. He felt his own hand reaching up to tangle in Harry’s curls, pulling his body impossibly closer.
It was a perfect moment, one that was totally unique, for them, and them only. But as with all good things, they must come to an end, and the sudden jolt of their noses nudging provided this opportunity. Still, they remained close, foreheads pressed together and breathing heavily into each other. Harry moved his hands from Louis face, one coming to rest splayed on his chest, feeling the racing heartbeat pulse through his fingertips, before looking up through hooded eyelids to meet Louis stare.
“You didn’t stop me.”
“I didn’t want to.”
The statement was so assured, so blunt, that even Harry couldn't question is validity. Instead, exhaling a sigh of relief, he allowed his head to drop forward to rest in the crook of Louis neck, arms lacing around the older boys middle.
“I’m meant to be teaching you ballet.”
“Screw the ballet” Harry chuckled, breath tickling the sensitive skin of Louis neck. His breath hitched in his throat as he muttered softly,
“I’d much rather screw you, to be honest.”
Harry froze, smirk creeping across his face.
“Is that a suggestion or a promise?”
Louis moved away from the younger lad, lifting Harry’s chin until those twinkling eyes met his own.
“Why don’t you try it and see?”
The next few weeks were tainted with a feeling of falling - falling deeper into the whirlpool that was their feelings for the other. With every gentle caress, every chaste kiss, Louis could feel his heart being slowly patched back together, stitches so fine it was almost impossible to tell they were there. The magnitude of his feelings were almost scary - the velocity at which the changes to his life were occurring overwhelming. But somehow, with Harry by his side, it wasn’t as daunting as it could have been. He wasn’t scared of the changes - he embraced them wholeheartedly. After much persuasion, he toned down his rigorous work schedule to spend more time with Harry, whom had already created plans for their new room with a double bed after suffering through a morning of dance class with cramp from sharing one single.
Things were moving fast in their relationship, along with their lives. The competition mere days away, they were spending increasing amounts of time in the studio - however, how much work was actually achieved between the frequent make out sessions and stolen kisses was debatable. In spite of this, even Louis couldn't deny the duet was shaping up to be pretty spectacular, if he did say so himself - although he tried to argue that it was Harry’s touch that made it so. Elegant, flowing movements used the music as a springboard as they combined to form one beautiful piece of art, with such meaning, such life attached to it.
But it was Louis and Harry dancing it that really created an atmosphere that was untouchable. Their dependance on the other was crystal clear, each gesture complementing the other in a way that just worked. It was this chemistry, this electric bond between them, that made the choreography alive.
“So, um, Mum and Gemma are coming up tomorrow.”
Louis looked up at Harry from where he was sorting through the box of CD’s, trying to find a blank one to rip the song onto. They were sat on their dorm room, only the desk lamp on, washing a subtle, warm glow over the room. Harry was nibbling at the skin around his finger, something he only did when he was nervous.
“Really? The competition isn’t til’ Friday though.”
“Yeah, they wanted to come up and stay in London for a couple of days, before we go back to Cheshire.”
The stab Louis felt in his gut was a painful reminder of the fact that they only had three days before Harry departed for home, and Louis was left to the solitary confines of the school once again. If it had been lonely before, God alone knew what it was going to be like now he actually had something to miss.
Louis hummed, turning back to the seemingly endless pile of CD’s he was listlessly flicking through. He tried, albeit failed, to keep the jealousy at bay, focusing on maintaining small talk.
“I think they wanted to take me out to dinner.”
“Ah, cool, going somewhere fancy?”
“I’m not actually sure, actually, I was going to ask-“
“Yeah, you should ask them, you need to make reservations, and some of the restaurants are actually kind of dodgy - you don’t want to know how I know that, just-“
“Can you be quiet for five seconds?”
Louis looked up, retort ready, before noticing the smile in Harry’s eyes.
“I am trying, Chatterbox, to ask you if you would like to join us?”
The stunned reaction on Louis face made Harry chuckle as he watched millions of thoughts darting across the surface of Louis’ eyes.
“Before you even attempt to protest - I already asked mum, who said it was more than okay, and she and Gem have made reservations for the four of us somewhere - I don't know where - so yeah. You’re coming, basically.”
During Harry’s speech, the stunned silence had turned to a very anxious look on Louis face.
“What’s wrong?”
“They aren’t going to like me.”
“What are you talking about?! Of course they are going to like you, how couldn’t they, you’re -“
“But what if they don’t?”
Taking Louis by the shoulders, Harry guided the boy up into a hug, before releasing him, holding him at arms length.
“Louis William Tomlinson - you are by far, the most talented, kind, strong, amazing and beautiful person I have ever had the privilege of knowing. You have managed to convince me of the fact that relationships can in fact be happy and content. And I have never met someone as passionate and dedicated to their dreams as you. You are a remarkable human being, which is the reason you are my wonderful boyfriend - and it will, trust me, be next to impossible for my family not to see that.”
Seeing hints lingering uncertainty in Louis expression, Harry pulled him closer, angling his chin up before softly pressing his lips to Louis, instantly feeling the boy respond to his touch. The kiss was short and sweet, but reassuring - everything Louis needed it to be. When Harry pulled away, pressing one final kiss to Louis cheek, he looked to the older lad hopefully. Sigh.
“Okay.”
It was near impossible for Louis to sleep that night - not only was the competition playing on his mind, first introductions to the family of the boy he might well lov- like - were only fuelling the pressure he felt. But with each trace of Harry’s thumb over his hip, he felt his eyes drifting closed, his mind unwinding and slowing down, until all he could focus on was the steady heartbeat he felt from where Harry was pressed close to his back.
“Would you like to stop fiddling with your tie - I already told you it’s straight, and besides that, they are going to think you’re more weird than you actually are if you keep acting all jittery.”
“Hey!” Louis dragged his attention away from the skinny, deep red tie that ran directly down the centre of his torso to punch Harry’s arm. It wasn't fair - he felt so plain next to the younger boy who’s blazer hung effortlessly well off his lanky frame, tailoring to his body in such an enticing manner Louis would have been struggling to restrain himself had nerves not been wracking his body. Harry merely chuckled, resting a grounding arm around Louis waist, pulling him closer until his breath tickled Louis neck.
“I think you look-“
“Harry!”
They broke apart, barely having the chance to turn before Harry was tackled into a vigorous hug in a blur of dark brown-y-blonde hair. Glancing past the embrace of mumbled greetings, Louis caught sight of another women, glinting eyes and a smile fixed on her face so similar to Harry’s it left no question that this must be Anne. She drew to a stop, glancing at her children before turning to Louis.
“You must be Louis.”
Attempting to wipe the sweat from his palms and swallowing heavily, Louis began to instigate a handshake, but instead found himself being pulled into a bone-crushingly tight hug.
“We’ve heard so much about you - so much talent! I can’t wait to see the performance on Friday - it’s all Harry talks about, he just can’t shut up about you, and - “
“Mum?” Harry interjected, smiling at the nerves that were visibly draining from Louis face. “Breathe. And also let Louis breathe - he’s going purple.”
In actual fact, it was a rose pink that littered Louis cheeks, but nonetheless, a genuine, heartfelt smile was present as he thanked Anne, before turning to the tall girl, who bared an almost scary resemblance to Harry.
“Harry, when did you get good taste?” Gemma said, eyes scanning over Louis, triggering a laugh from everyone and deepening the colour of his already flushed cheeks.
“Hands off Gem - he’s mine.” Harry said, tone light as he weaved an arm round Louis shoulders, staking his claim.
“Shall we head in then?”
Following Gemma and Anne through the restaurant door, Harry pulled Louis closer into his side, squeezing his arm reassuringly.
“Told you they’d love you.”
The zestful tone littered the conversation throughout the evening - with Gemma and Louis bonding exceptionally quickly due to their shared love of teasing Harry. When the laughter from one particular childhood incident including Harry, a bucket, and an angry mother goose near a pond died down, the conversation turned.
“So Louis, do you have anything nice planned for the half term.”
A slightly awkward silence fell between Louis and Harry, who only seconds ago had been giggling. Louis cleared his throat.
“Well, I’ll probably just spend sometime in the studio - and studying, of course, it’s never too early to start revising so.”
Gemma sneered her nose up, reaching for her wine glass.
“You’re going to work during the break? Really?”
“Considering I’m at school, there isn't much else to do…”
Gemma looked at him, stunned, over the rim of her glass.
“You aren’t going home?”
“Got no home to go to.”
Louis was so focused on the napkin he was plucking at anxiously in his lap he missed the looks being bounced across the table between the family.
“Yes you have.”
The sound of Anne’s warm voice drew Louis sad eyes back up to hers, seeing the warm glow present in them.
“You would be more than welcome to stay with us should you want to.”
Louis gaze travelled round the table, resting on each face in turn before landing on Harry - Harry, whose warmth and acceptance was now multiplied trifold. He turned back to Anne, feeling the familiar knot of tears forming at the back of his throat
“Thank you. Thank you so, so much.”
“You might as well have been her second son, thats how much she loved you.”
Lounging on the bed later that night, moonlight casting shadows over the crisp white sheets and illuminating the pale skin of bodies intertwined, Louis shifted slightly, turning so he could see Harry, face even more stunning in the pearlescent glow.
“Well that would suck - cause then I couldn't do this.” Harry felt Louis lips graze the stubble on the underside of his jawline, before planting a kiss on the rather sensitive patch of skin right below his ear. Eyes fluttering shut, Harry hummed in agreement.
“That’s true, I guess.”
They lay in silence for a few seconds more, only the soft buzz of traffic and the gentle sigh of their exhales cutting through the still air.
“You were about to say something before you were interrupted by Gemma.”
Harry smirked, opening his eyes just enough to see Louis quizzical stare.
“Fuckable.”
‘Excuse me?!”
“You looked fuckable, to answer your question.”
Perhaps it was the genuine happiness that Louis felt for the first time in forever at the prospect of having a home to go to, and getting to spend all his time with Harry, that kept him remarkably chilled out over the next twenty four hours. The same, however, could not be said of Harry.
The dress rehearsal was, to put it bluntly, a shambles. Movements that had once been fluid were now clunky and heavy - gaps were appearing in Harry’s memory where the choreography once was, and he was falling apart more and more with each mistake. After their fifth restart, Louis pulled him to one side.
“What’s wrong?” he asked gently, concerned by the panic he could see brewing in the forest green on Harry’s eyes, which were now misting over with tears.
“I don’t know - I just want it to be perfect for you cause you’ve worked so hard and you deserve it, and I've never done this before and there’s going to be so many people watching me fail -“
“And pause for breath,” Louis pressed a finger to Harrys trembling lips, indicating for him to stay quiet.
“You are going to be brilliant - I would not have chosen you and kept working with you if I didn’t honestly, in my heart of hearts believe that. And even if you do screw up - this is your first competition. No one expects perfection. To be honest, whether we come first, or last - I don’t care. Cause this dance is, has become, about so much more than just a stupid little competition number. It is all about us - this song has literally been there, from the beginning, all the way through to now. It is the soundtrack of us - and that means more to me than any first place will, cause I love you, Harry., and - shit.”
Harry noticed the panic that had fled from his eyes now enter Louis at the realisation of his slip, but before the apology could even leave his lips, his mouth was captured in a kiss- a kiss laden with emotion, attempting to convey the mutual status of Louis words. Suddenly growing aware of the fact they were not alone, the sound technician coughing subtly, they broke apart, Harry’s response hanging on his slightly bruised, just kissed lips.
“I love you too.”
Harry was still, unfortunately, a mess the next morning, watching Louis as he wordlessly packed their costumes of deep blue t-shirts and black leggings into a garment bag. The taxi ride there was almost eerily silent, filled with unspoken wishes of good luck as Harry stared apprehensively out of the window, watching the raindrops roll down the icy glass pane. He tried desperately to focus on the light weight of Louis hand resting on his knee, seeking comfort from even this small gesture.
The backstage of a competition is also not the most ideal place to calm nerves. Crying children, sweaty dancers, stressed stage directors - finding a moment of peace is impossible. It wasn’t until Harry and Louis reached side stage, hand linked together, that they properly stopped and looked at each other. Louis placed one last kiss on Harry’s lips, their foreheads remaining together for a brief moment.
“You’re going to be fine.”
And then, act number thirteen was being called, and they were walking out onto stage, pitch black engulfing them, taking their beginning places.
When you first perform on stage, nothing can prepare you for the rush of adrenaline that surges through your veins, taking control over every limb in your body and pushing you to limits you thought were far beyond your capabilities. Everything comes down to the few moments of silence you have to yourself while the lights are still down, and the audience anticipate the first hum of the music - the seconds of complete stillness in which your mind empties and muscle memory takes over.
And, in this case, the bond that can only be formed between two of a kind - two souls that are so perfectly matched that they can instinctually help and support the other without having to even communicate.
Wordlessly, Harry and Louis danced, reading the dialect of the others body as though it was their native language. The room could have been burning around them, and still they would only have had eyes for the other, melodies tying them together in an unbreakable bond. Harry’s nerves were barely detectable - only once did he let the facade fall, as he stumbled out of a double turn halfway through the second chorus. After a brief heart-stopping moment, he began to dance again, more determination and power in his movements than before - Louis feeling a smile tug on his lips at how amazingly wonderful his boyfriend was.
Three minutes and twenty six seconds where over all to quickly. Harry and Louis exited the stage, pausing only for mere seconds before crushing each other in a hug, chests moving heavily together and the eruption of cheers from the crowd still ringing in their ears.
“Third place goes to……act fifteen, Chandelier!”
They applauded as a couple rose from their place, accepting their trophy. Louis looked across at Harry to find his eyes already on his face, the same hopefulness Louis could feel rising in his chest radiated back to him through the glimmer in Harry’s eyes.
“And in second place, with only one mark off drawing with first…”
Harry closed his eyes, praying, hoping…
“Act thirteen, All About Us!”
Second. Expecting to see bitterness, regret, disappointment, Harry looked to Louis, features already morphing into an expression of apology - but he was surprised to see real, genuine joy in Louis smile. He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, feeling a sharp nudge to his back. Louis nodded toward the trophy in the announcers hands.
“You get it - you more than deserve it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pft - of course!”
The trophy was cold and smooth against Harry’s hands as he turned back to see Louis hand extended towards him, eyebrows asking the unspoken question. Grinning, Harry laced his fingers into Louis, heart swelling at how perfectly they fitted together, before feeling them be raised high above his head, the audience whopping before him.
Louis had never felt so complete in his life. So - his parents didn’t accept him. But here he was, doing what he loved, with the most perfect human being to have ever existed, in front of people who didn’t care whether he was gay, straight - whatever. He was gay. And that was more than okay.
As they were leaving via stage door, arms cradling each other loosely, Louis felt a sharp grasp clench on his arm. Turning, confused, it took him a few seconds to place the face of the supposed stranger who had grabbed him, before he tore away his arm, any joy draining from his calm eyes that were fast becoming stormy, ice cold and piercing. Feeling the sudden jerk, Harry turned too, catching sight of the dark haired, desperate looking women whom Louis was regarding with an expression that could only be described as disgust.
“Louis…Please, just hear me out, before you say anything…”
“You think you deserve any of my time?”
None of this was aiding the confusion Harry felt, as he went to interrupt.
“Sorry, who-“
“Three years, mum. Three years, and you haven't called, texted, even written, to your supposed son!”
Jigsaw pieces finally falling into place, Harry recognised Louis features at last in the women standing before him - the crinkles around the eyes, the tanned complexion. A cold, hard hatred tensed his entire body, but he moved to protect Louis, placing his hands on the older boys shoulders. The anger was practically radiating off Louis; Harry could feel him trembling beneath his finger tips as he squeezed slightly, making the boy aware of his presence. Jay looked down at her shoes, desperation clear in her pleading eyes.
“I know - it was awful of me, and I cannot even begin to apologise for what I did. I wouldn't blame you if you never forgave me -“
“Good, because at this rate, that is the outcome-“
“But I never wanted you to leave. I didn’t want to let him do what he did to you - but the girls were so young, and I was worried that he would become volatile enough to turn on them to.”
Louis looked into the eyes of his mother - the women he had seen hurry his sisters upstairs all those years ago, one last fleeting glance serving as a goodbye. He understood her point. But, as much as he hated it, he still felt the pain, fresh and raw as a salty wound, whenever he played that moment over again in his head.
“Nothing excuses what you did.”
“I know Louis - I am going to punish myself eternally for my actions the day. but please, just - I have changed. I am not with him anymore - i accept your way of life, if that’s who you are-“
“It is.”
“Then that’s okay. Just please - can’t you even give me a chance?”
Louis bit his lip, studying his mum intently before turning to Harry. He had finally found someone who could fill the void ripped from his chest three years prior. He was happy, content, peaceful - but surely that was all the more reason to forgive her?
He turned back to his mum, picking up on something in her eyes he had missed for a very, very long time. Love.
He slipped his arm back round Harry’s waist, turning to make a move away.
‘It’s going to take me some time. But I’m going to give you a chance. Call me, okay?”
Three years later, and Louis could now see that same glowing look of love in his mothers shining eyes from the dance floor, his chin resting on Harry’s shoulder. His sisters, their bridesmaids, were also seated at the side of the dance floor, and has they moved to the music, Louis caught a glimpse of Anne and Gemma, each with equally proud and happy looks on their faces.
They’d come so far in such a short space of time - not only had familial bonds been remade, but Louis was finally following his dreams, pursuing a rather successful career in the Royal Ballet, as their lead male dancer. Harry was still at Liberum Saltare School of Dance - but as a teacher now, not a student, after deciding he really didn't want to leave. Both had achieved almost everything they’d ever dreamed of, with another moment being ticked off today in the form of their marriage - the kind of marriage that they knew would not fade over time, for it was clear for all to see, that they were the living proof of soul mates.
Louis felt himself being spun around, laughing at his husband, before finding himself falling backwards, supported by Harrys strong arms as he french dipped him, whoops echoing from their wedding guests. Laughing blue clashed with sparkling green. And as Louis felt Harry’s velvety smooth lips on his own, he finally felt whole again.