Balance

Chapter 8

"You okay, Ballerina?" Harry's voice seemed distant as it echoed through Louis' mind.  He vaguely wondered when the skater had become so far away; last he checked the boy was right next to him.  "Eh, you don't look so good."

At that, Louis frowned.  He had looked fine when he left the flat.  His eyes flickered closed as he tried to focus on the disjointed background sounds of Marius giving out details of the show while also shutting out Harry's unintended insult.

Louis felt his shoulders jostled and suddenly Harry's arm was around him.  The dancer blinked curiously, thoroughly disoriented.  A soft black haze framed his sight as he took in the skater's form in confusion.  He focused his attention on the white of Harry's slow smile, blackness slowly receding.  "You with me now, Lou?"

"What?" mumbled Louis, vision continuing to sharpen as he stared blankly at Harry.

The other boy chuckled softly.  "I thought you blacked out.  You looked kind of pale.  Everyone's leaving now, though."

The dancer looked around and, sure enough, his peers were slowly getting to their feet.  The studio was filled with excited voices discussing the prospects for La Sylphide and Madame Dominika and Marius were nowhere to be seen. 

Cliques of friends had drifted to corners of the mirrored room, speaking animatedly with sweeping looks around the room at the other dancers—the competition.

Many pointed gazes landed on Louis, tucked under the toned arm of the skater boy.  Eyes narrowed and judgments were passed, though Louis paid them no mind.  Harry moved his arm so it was under Louis', helping the dancer get to his feet.  Upright, Louis cricked his neck to one side and smiled as it let out a satistfying pop.

Harry winced sympathetically, though he never moved away from Louis' side.  The arm still supporting Louis felt warm to the dancer and he wondered vaguely why Harry hadn't retracted it.  He tipped his head to look over at Harry, thinking perhaps the boy had somehow forgotten about his arm around the ballet dancer.

To Louis' surprise, Harry hadn't forgotten.  He was gazing back at Louis with something like concern painted on his youthful features.  Louis blinked slowly, a confused frown tugging down his lips.

"Do you have some place you should be?  Cleaning or something?" Louis asked, surprised at how soft and intimate his voice was.  Well, he supposed, he just didn't want the other dancers to hear him conversing with their resident criminal.  One side of Harry's mouth quirked up in a crooked grin.

He half shrugged, hand squeezing at Louis' ribcage for reasons the older lad couldn't deduce.  "It can wait," responded Harry.

"For what?" Louis blanched.  His eyes flickered to look for the clock he knew to be on the wall behind Harry's head.  The dancer had to go a little on tiptoe to read the time.  He heard Harry chuckle in response.

"Well, as I feel wholly responsible for your injury, I should at least see you to your next location," nodded the boy.  Louis refocused on Harry, seeing his eyes slowly rake over the dancer's streamlined form until they rested on his ankle.  "However, it seems to be holding up a bit better, yeah?"

Louis tried to ignore the way his cheeks enflamed at Harry's obviously appreciatory once over and nodded disjointedly.  "Like I said, it should be better by Sunday."

"Sure hope so, Twinkle Toes."  Harry's eyes were glittering with mischief.  Louis was having none of it.

"Not you too," he groaned, returning to flat feet and taking a few steps so Harry's arm around him fell away.  Harry laughed loudly, his nose crinkling up in a way that seemed almost kittenish to Louis.