Laces // L.S short story

Indigo, Burgandy, And Brown.

All he wanted was to be independent.

All he wanted was freedom.

All he wanted was greatness.

All he needed was love.

-

The interviewer smiled, making Harry want to roll his eyes. The woman practically yelled 'fake bitch'. "So, Harry." she paused to face the camera, "How does it feel to be the world's biggest and best dancer?"

Harry almost scoffed, was she serious? A second ago she was almost scowling every time his name was mentioned. "Good."

"Just." She looked back at him, "Good? Why not spectacular?"

He just wanted this to be over, really. He didn't like this woman, or her cameras, or her fancy Coach purse she bragged about. "Because, Fame isn't something a famous person would consider spectacular." He said it, plain and simple.

She nodded, but she obviously wasn't pleased with his response. Harry wondered what would happen if he walked out then and there. "So, next question." She looked at her small cards. "How did it feel to be in foster care most of your life?"

Harry's eyes turned ice cold. It was his turn to scowl. "Id rather not talk about it."

It was clear that he wasn't in the mood-but the woman needed her gossip. "Surely you coul-"

Harry interupted, "I'd rather not talk about it." He said, tone rough.

The woman looked a little intimidated, "O-okay."

So the show had to go on, like it always does.

++

Harry stretched; getting ready for his next performance, but the actual performance wasn't for a few days. He was a dancer,of course, but he dances ballet. An intricate art; a style of dance that was very tedious and can be very painful at times.

Harry sat down on the hardwood floor, bending his leg to loosen it up. He was wearing casual practicing attire; some really tight black tights and a shirt. The shirt was optional, but Harry didn't like his body, so he covered up. Right then, his choreographer/trainer came into the room, ready to tach him some new moves. She was very serious, "Stand up." She commanded.

Harry immediately got up, standing as straight and still as he can be. The trainer -Elizabeth- began ordering moves, making Harry bend into positions. She inspected him as he stood on his toes, arms stretched, in a basic position. She frowned disapprovingly, "Your getting fat again." She stared at him, "Lose at least five by Friday-Friday was only three days away.-

Harry nodded, keeping the position. His body felt sore, he wanted to rest.

He wanted to taste sweets; he hadn't had any for years. He wanted to not practice for at least three hours everyday. He wanted to wake up without sore muscles. He wanted many things.

But the show had to go on.

++

Niall began to dig into his food, demolishing the meal in record time. Harry was hungry too, but at the same time, he wasn't. He was getting fat again.

Niall was his childhood friend; Niall kept him mostly together. He was his comedian when he needed a laugh; or his rock when he felt like he was drifting away. Niall thought he knew what ballet does to a person, but he doesn't know the half of it.He doesn't know about the intense practice sessions that went on for hours. He doesn't know what the dancers do to look so small and fragile. He doesn't even know a little bit, but he likes to think he does.

"Aren't you gumma heat mae?" Niall spoke with his mouth filled with food; it was a bad habit he needed to break.

"Not hungry." Harry smiled a little, it was fake of course, but he had to do it. For Niall. For himself. For getting fat again.

The show had to go on.

- -

Louis has a habit of talking a lot; and trying to make friends with everyone he meets. He doesn't think anything of it, but sometimes other people do.

"So yesterday I was feeding my dog and-" Louis was speaking happily, smiling.

He was interrupted by his friend Liam. "Louis. Shut up." Liam said it; he was fed up. He knows Louis couldn't help it, he knows he doesn't mean to be annoying, he knows Louis is just trying to be nice.

"Oh." Louis replied, sinking in his seat, trying to ignore the soft pang in his chest. He couldn't help it.

- -

"Louis." His mother set down the cup of tea, looking at her son who was sitting directly across from her. They were sitting in a small little shop, having a bit of 'bonding time'.

"Yes mum?" He replied, Looking at his mum, sipping his tea, enjoying the warmth of the liquid.

"Do you ever think you talk too much?" She said, his mum wasn't the nicest when it came to confrontation.

"No." He wanted to disappear, he wanted to control his awful habit of taking too much or too loud.

"You should." She drank her tea, acting like nothing had ever happened.

"Oh."

He couldn't help it.

- -