Through the Fire (a Les Twins fanfic)

Chapter 15: Haze

The twins' first week in New York City went by in a haze of rehearsals from sunup to sundown and partying with the other dancers at different clubs all night long.  The few precious moments of sleep they managed to steal in between were barely enough.

They were running on pure adrenaline as their bodies adjusted to the daily exhaustion of dancing 24/7 and the rush made Larry extra hyper.

During rehearsal breaks he roamed the building singing, getting into mischief, and stuffing himself with sugary snacks and sodas.  But it had the opposite effect on Laurent.

He thought he'd found a quiet corner to curl up in and catch a few zzzz's when he was startled awake by a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey...wake up!"

"What's going on?"  Laurent immediately looked around expecting Larry, but found one of the other dancers standing beside him instead.  He rubbed his hands over his face and yawned sleepily.  "I thought we were on break."

"We are, but you don't want to fall asleep around here.  Trust me."

"Ummm.  Okay.  Whatever." He gave her a skeptical look and snuggled his head back up against his jacket which he had rolled into a makeshift pillow.  Within a few minutes his heavy eyelids shut again and he had returned to dreamland.

The next time he woke up half the crew was gathered around him roaring with laughter.

Laurent sat up and scanned the faces for Larry, but he wasn't there.  "What's so funny?"

For some reason that made them howl even louder.

One of the lead dancers Ashley busily punched something into her phone while some of the other girls hopped excitedly around her.  Laurent stood up and she elbowed him in the arm as she swept past.

"See you back in practice, rookie."

The group of girls exploded into laughter again and pranced off leaving him standing there clueless.  All except one.

Laurent turned to her more confused than ever about what had just happened.

"I tried to tell you...never fall asleep around this bunch."  She smiled sympathetically, reached into her bag, and handed him her compact mirror.

"Oh my God. Really?"  Laurent grimaced examining the crudely drawn French curly cue mustache scrawled above his top lip in what appeared to be permanent black marker.

"You're lucky.   At least they didn't write any words across your forehead."

"They did this to you, too?"

"Umhmm. Twice."  She nodded and held out her hand.  "I'm Cinnamon by the way."

Laurent shook it and focused in on her for a second.  She was a pecan-tan minx with dark, auburn-streaked hair and a slender waist sitting on top of amazingly wide hips and thunder thighs.

He thought he remembered her getting lots of attention dancing on top of a couch at the club the night before.  Suddenly the lights in the building flashed signaling rehearsals would resume in ten minutes and an expression of panic crossed his face.

"Don't worry.  It's not that bad."  She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the restrooms. "Nothing a little soap and water won't fix."

In the bathroom Laurent rubbed his upper lip vigorously with a soapy paper towel then checked his reflection in the mirror.

"Wait a minute. You missed a spot."  Cinnamon wet another paper towel and cupped his chin in one acrylic fingernail-adorned hand while she wiped off the last black mark from the corner of his mouth.  "There. That should do it."