Iridescent, a Resplendent FanFiction (Multi-Shot)

Two

Erart's Perspective

Erart's heart was pounding and sweat dripped down from his temples. He had "Never Enough" from The Greatest Showman blaring through the speakers in his flat as he practiced a sequence of turn en pointe. He had been over this portion of the routine at least fifteen times now, and his feet ached. He had been through several long hours of practice, but his skills were still not where he needed them to be. He was determined to keep up with the demands of being a dancer so he put himself through the training. But he was fucking distracted. Erart's head was filled with thoughts of the handsome prince. Harold had successfully protruded his way into Erart's thought and left him completely and utterly infatuated. Had his head been in the music and the movement, he wouldn't have kept fucking up these turns.

Erart heaved out a sigh and stopped the music once again. He needed to focus on practicing, not on when the prince would contact hi. Harold said he wanted to do lunch or something again. But Erart had neglected to either ask for Harold's number or offer up his own. But he had to let bygones be bygones. Woe was him, but that still didn't change the fact that he needed to practice.

He snatched up his water and drank about half of it before plopping down on his sofa for a short rest. He was tired. His hair was matted to his forehead. That was something else he needed to take care of. Erart palmed the coffee table for a pin and when he found one, he used it to pin back a chunk of his bangs. It was his bum day. As much as he prided himself on his appearance, today was a bum day. He had no intention of leaving his house. It was blizzarding outside anyway.

Erart stood back up after a moment's rest, shooking out his arms and legs, and restarted the song. This time, his head was in the music. His body flowed with the tempo of the music, following the simple routine he had set up for himself. There was a certain mindset he entered when he could actually concentrate. His body moved so fluidly, so delicately, so naturally. When it came to the turns at the end of the song, Erart was sure he'd finally nail it. But as fate would fucking have it, just as those last three came along, his doorbell blared through the flat like an angry buzzer, startling him. When the last "for me" tinkled out of the speakers, Erart was falling to the floor in a heap as opposed to slowing his turns until he ended gracefully in a bow. Erart groaned in frustration and once again stopped the music on his phone. If only the bell had waited. Thirty. More. Fucking. Seconds. Who would come to visit him anyway? It was Sunday. He never did anything on Sundays because usually, he had a performance. Today's had been canceled because of the hoards of snow outside. One glance out his window showed him nothing but a winter wonderland.

The doorbell buzzed again, and Erart groaned, picking himself up off of the floor. He didn't bother taking off his pointe shoes and just waddled his way down the stairs, nursing the bruise h could already feel on his hip. When he swung open the door, Erart was fully prepared to tell off anyone standing there, but the words died on his lips.

"Harold?" he asked, his brows raised in surprise.

The prince stood before him on his from stoop, covered in snow. He was bunkered down in what seemed to be a down coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, but he also seemed frozen to the core, what with his fancy leather shoes and dress pants.

"Erart, h-hi. Sorry to barge in on y-you like this, but can I come in?" Harold asked, his words stuttered from his chattering teeth.

"Yes, of course," Erart stammered, stepping aside to allow Harold entrance to the building.

Erart didn't intend on leaving him the shitty foyer of the building, so he led him up the flight of stairs to his flat. When he opened the door, he mentally cursed himself for the state of his living room. His sofa and coffee table were pushed off against a wall to clear the space in the center of the room. This had served as Erart's practice space for the afternoon. He was sure his neighbors were over his thumping around, but Erart didn't care. He practiced at home once in a blue moon. They could deal with it. Erart just wished he had chosen a different day to practice. He couldn't be watching Christmas movies or something that left his flat put-together.