Losing the Light [h.s.]

06

"Come on, Harry. You can do this," Marlee nods. He had suggested that they get up early and go out to the rink to practice a few of his routines today. He said he wanted to see if he still remembered. Because he was afraid the flight had taken it all out of him.

He sighs heavily. "I can't. Is there still time to change this part?"

"What do you mean?" she asks nonchalantly, not realizing the serious tone of his voice. She turns in a quick circle to face him, barely catching herself from falling forward into him. Harry catches her arm at the elbow, wobbling just the tiniest bit.

"This is why you should have skates on." He looks down at the sneakers on her feet. "As I was saying: I just can't seem to figure out how to do the last part. I always feel off-balance before the jump comes, and then I can't make it."

A slight crease forms between Marlee's brows. "But you had it perfect that one time--"

"One time, Mars. I don't know if I can actually do it when the time comes." He puts his hands inside his coat-pockets, skating backwards, towards the exit. "We can just revise it, yeah? Put something easier there instead."

"I thought you liked to be challenged," Marlee mutters. Her eyes flit to the entrance of the rink where Matthew has just appeared. His expression falters slightly when he sees Marlee. Typical.

"Harry." Matthew sounds annoyed. "I've been looking for you all morning. What are you doing?"

Harry skates back over to where Marlee is, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We were practicing," he says. Marlee looks down at the ground, letting her feet drag a little as Harry pulls her toward him. She smiles smugly at Matt as if to ask, 'Do you have a problem with this?' No wonder he doesn't like her.

Matthew glares at Marlee, turning his focus back to his student. "It's a good thing you're here, Harry. I'm ready for practice, and now it seems that you are too. Thanks for warming him up, Marlee."

Harry positions himself in front of her, as if to restrain her from doing anything to Matthew. Marlee tries to push him away, but Harry only pushes back harder.

He raises his eyebrows at her. "Remember, we all hate him. Not just you. I have absolutely no idea why my parents hired him anyway," he says lowly, rolling his eyes.

"We haven't practiced in two days." Matthew snaps his fingers loudly. "Time to focus."

Harry widens his eyes at Marlee. "Wow," he mouths.

Working with his trainer always consisted of yelling--mostly at Harry--and very low levels of happiness. Harry usually had fun skating, but when he was with Matthew, the joys of skating were usually not part of it. He knows that Matt is there for a reason. He's helped him in so many different ways, and Harry wouldn't be in Russia at this moment if it weren't for him. 

-

When Harry comes through the door of their hotel room Marlee asks, "How was practice?" She sets down the book she was reading to wait for his answer. She sits in the center of her bed with her legs crossed, her book next to her.

"It was okay," Harry says, kicking off his shoes and dropping his coat on the floor. He flops onto Marlee's bed next to her, face down, letting his head drop onto her pillow. She puts a hand on his tattooed arm and Harry rolls onto his back.

"What time is dinner?" she asks, motioning for him to sit up.

He shrugs, letting her comb through his hair and start to weave the strands together. "What are you doing?" he asks after a moment of silence.

"Playing," she replies.

After a few minutes of fiddling, Marlee's fingers have dutch-braided Harry's hair on both sides of his head, leaving the top portion that wouldn't fit loose. Harry goes to the bathroom mirror to admire her handiwork, and says, "We've got to do something with this, though," pointing to the loose piece of hair. An idea springs to the front of his mind, and he bunches the hair into a bun and secures it with the elastic band Marlee gave him. "Perfect," he laughs, flashing his cheery smile.

"You're not wearing that to dinner, right?" Marlee asks, concerned.

He shrugs. "I might. It depends. Does it look okay?"

Marlee laughs. She leans back on her bed, shaking her head. "You can't be serious."

"But I am," Harry groans. "I think it's my new favorite style."

"That's what you said about the space buns, Harry," Marlee laughs, picking her book back up. "And look at what happened with them."