Step with me. (Larry Stylinson fic)

Ch. 1 "Big boy small dreams"

The lights were dim and the room was silent. In the corner there was a boy.
Callused big hands caressing the cover of a book, changing the pages carefully, almost as if he was afraid to rip them. Thousands of dreams coming true, that's what he saw. Beautiful bodies and graceful moves captured in pictures that surely didn't make justice to the magical moments, but he wasn't complaining. It was okay, it was enough.
Harry had always been a little bit clumsy but ever since he turned nineteen and he stopped growing up he realized that he would never be somehow graceful. He didn't care, he wasn't frustrated. He actually liked his body a lot and in the bottom of his heart he always knew he didn't really want to dance. He just liked ballet a lot.
When his older sister, Gemma, at seven started on ballet lessons Harry would beg his mummy to take him to her classes. Seeing his enthusiasm, he was invited a few times to participate by the girls and the instructor, even his mother said that if he wanted to he could but it just wasn't his thing. Even after Gemma insisted that he could be like Billy Elliot (they liked the movie a lot), Harry just smiled and said "I just like when people dances!" .
After getting his english literature degree he didn't go after a job as a teacher. He actually just took a whole time shift in his job and went happily to live by himself.
In the middle of his uni experience his parents came to visit a friend in London, meaning the boy didn't have to go back to Cheshire that summer, so he just gladly accepted the job he was offered by his parent's friend in his shoe shop. It was just for the summer and he would be able to gain some money for the upcoming school year.
Selling shoes was easy, Harry was nice and charming. He held the shoes even more carefully than people's feet but you can't blame him, he had always loved shoes. Not in a creepy obsession way, in the way people like sweater or sunsets... That kind of liking. The liking that makes you feel warm and giddy by just looking at the stuff you like, like people who like furniture and goes to IKEA just because.
In the end of that summer was when he was offered another job. This time it wasn't about selling stuff, this time it was about making stuff.

London is a big city with all kinds of stored and workshops. In a corner of the center of the city there was a small yet successful and very important workshop.
You'll see, every shoe for a ballerina, every pointe shoe, is hand made very thoughtfully and that's what they made in that workshop.
"Diana's shoes" the sign above the door said and Harry couldn't be happier to be there. It was there where he could combine those two things that he liked the most and all while earning money for his new and hopefully bigger flat, the flat that he was planning to buy and not just to pay rent to someone.
Harry was young, yes, but in the moment Diana saw him handling shoes she knew he was the one she had been looking for since Harper, one of her workers, quit his job to move to Ireland with her fiancée. Harry was exactly what she had been looking for, young, passionate, talented hands. The way his eyes shined when she mentioned the word "Ballet" after approaching him let her knowing that he was perfect, and after a few more words Harry was agreeing to go to her workshop the following week.
That was that, really. Harry was a fast learner and eager to work. So, after a couple weeks, he was one of the bests Diana's shoes had ever had.
Every Pointe maker engraved a little mark on the bottom of the shoe, every mark was different just as every artisan and every shoe. Harry's mark was simple, just as himself. It was a little typewriter kind of "H" and just that.
His hands became rougher, calloused, but kept being gentle nevertheless. He didn't have his own apartment yet but when he realized he had enough money for a cheap one he though that he could pay rent for a few more months an buy a bigger one, so there he was working five days a week in his cosy workshop with old men who smiled at him as they all worked and whistled softly in unison songs that, after a while, Harry knew well too joining the harmony with a smile on his face and a new shoe in hand putting in it a little piece of his heart.
So in the end at the age of 23 Harry was the happiest he'd ever been with his small dreams slowly but surely coming true, working in a place he loved and he was talented at what he did, and most importantly, dedicating his life to two of the things he liked the most, besides tight jeans and boots, that is.

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