Balance

Chapter 6

Louis did his best to ignore the boy's presence after Harry's sexually implicit words.  He was meant to be taking notes on the class, after all not engaging in invasive harassment from the criminal in the theater's custody.

Somehow, though, when he looked down at his notepad, it became apparent that Louis' ability to focus had been somewhat hindered by the smirking face of the teen.  Not only were several notes repeated unnecessarily, but his handwriting got progressively worse as he continued down the page.

Who could blame Louis, though?  Harry was gazing wordlessly at Louis, corners of his mouth tugged up in a smile which Louis was sure had won over many a girl's heart.  Or guys, Harry seemed to be into that as well.

"So, Louis, huh?" Harry prompted several minutes after Marius had resumed class.  Louis held in a groan, turning to address the boy.  Instead of meeting the probing green gaze, Louis stared intently at his own foot, cupped by large pale hands.

"Who told you?" he wondered aloud, not raising his gaze.

"Your boyfriend, of course.  Honestly, Lou, your memory is terrible," Harry joked.  Louis lifted his eyes to Harry's to shoot him an indignant glare.

"He's not my boyfriend.  So your memory seems to be the one in need of questioning," Louis shot back, folding his arms across his chest.  The younger boy didn't take offense, of course, chuckling under his breath.

"I'm sorry, Ballerina, but you mean to tell me that guys who can move like that," Harry gestured to the tour jetes the dancers were performing in unison, taut muscles and pointed toes, "aren't into cock?"  Louis blanched, eyes shooting wide open at Harry's lack of tact.  The dancer sputtered for an answer; however, he couldn't deny that some of the males dancing were, in fact, gay.  That didn't mean they all were.

"I'll have you know I've had plenty of girlfriends," Louis lied, trying to keep his voice low so as not to interrupt the dancers.  Harry seemed to pick up on the fib almost immediately, eyes sparkling with amusement.  He nodded in a wholly sarcastic fashion, never once letting his eyes drift from where he was holding Louis' gaze.

"Course you have, babe.  Whatever you say," Harry teased.  Louis let out a frustrated sigh, pulling his foot away from the troublemaker.  "Ah, ah," the boy tutted, catching Louis' escaping ankle.  "Marco over there wouldn't want you injuring yourself any more."

"Marius."

"Whatever."  Harry was beaming, dimples displayed proudly on his cheeks.  Try as he might, Louis couldn't bring himself to admit to not finding the expression at least a little adorable.  It was his young age, Louis reasoned; it definitely was not because he was just an attractive lad.

The two lapsed into silence, Louis watching the dancers and Harry watching Louis.  The thoughtful look on Harry's face that Louis could see out of his peripherals intrigued the dancer.  He vaguely wondered about what an adolescent accused of vandalism could possibly be thinking to look so pleasantly pensive.

"How old are you anyway?" Louis asked as the thought flickered through his mind.

Harry's face seemed to light up knowingly at the question.  "Why?  You interested, Ballerina?"

Louis frowned, letting his eyes scan over Harry's face for a brief moment.  "Don't call me that," he scolded, changing topics.

"What?  Isn't that what you are?  A ballerina?"  Harry's shrug was indifferent, ignorant.

"Unless you think I'm a woman—and don't answer that—then no.  Males are danseurs, or just male dancers works too."  Louis' tone read as someone explaining something impossibly simple to a small child.  Despite his care with his words, Harry's brow still furrowed, though given his next words it was not out of confusion..