Red vs. Black

Chapter 10

Three weeks into living together, Niall brought it to Liam's attention that being called hardworking isn't always a good thing. They were meant to go out somewhere, a pub most likely, but Liam cancelled right as Niall gathered by the door citing his need to revise as the reason why. Before being left to his own devices, he was given a stern warning: "The motto 'work hard, play hard' isn't one you can claim to live by if you leave out the 'play hard' part". At the time, Liam had dismissed the token of advice, chalking it up to Niall not understanding how crucial it was for Liam to do well at university and justify the hell he put himself through keeping up side jobs to stay afloat in London's black ocean. Not everyone was lucky enough to be paid to gain real world experience through a salaried internship. But a month later, when Liam was so exhausted from his twenty hour days that he slept through one of his morning lectures, he decided to finally practice what he preached and take life a little slower. Or, at least, as slow as his wallet would allow.

Nowadays, his life's a lot less hectic, really only a push and pull between doing what he could to keep London's streets safe, and accomplishing as much as humanly possible in his position at the centre.

No more police station's have caught fire since Sunday night, and just as much as that's a win for society, it's a win for Liam too. He couldn't be any more grateful for the breathing room it's granted him to focus on that night's childrens talent show that the centre's hosting.

The week's consisted of nonstop coordinating with their partner youth organization around the corner, along with food vendors and small businesses that were willing to donate decorations and props to create a makeshift "stage" for the kids to perform on. Taking Wednesday off wasn't even an option, not when he was still expected to run his normal classes and activities for the young adults who this building is technically meant to serve first. To say Liam's exhausted would be a gross understatement; in any case, the show must go on.

Hands on hips, he takes in the upstairs gym space from just inside the doorway, finally allowing himself to feel prideful at what he's accomplished. Against the back wall there are collapsable tables full to the brim with various foods, all hot in some capacity except for the salads. In front of them, a sea of foldable chairs for parents and guardians to watch the show that's due to start in thirty minutes. Before he turns to go check on the talent, he examines the table he set up near the room's entrance, making sure that the info pamphlets about local services that pertain to the demographic in attendance aren't scarce.

In the rooms that are normally used for interview practice or study areas down the hallway, children chat nervously to one another. Some practice their routines, while others have abandoned their equipment altogether and have forgotten that they're tucked away from the adults in their lives for a reason, not simply to have fun with their mates. Liam doesn't really blame that group; if he were in their shoes, he'd do the same. In fact, when he was forced to attend his local community centre's after school club with his sisters, Liam looked at the necessity as a way to meet other kids who were like him - living below the poverty line and looking for a place where they weren't ridiculed for not being able to afford new school uniforms every year. And even though almost all the children Liam made friends with were required by their parents to attend the government funded handout as a way to ensure their children stayed far away from becoming a statistic in their crime ridden neighborhood, Liam remembers feeling grateful that each day after the school bell rang, he had a judgement free zone waiting for him with snacks that weren't from ASDA's discount aisle. They're fond memories for him to think back on, and hopefully, the environment that he's created here will be conducive to memory making for this generation of kids born into shite circumstances.

"Oh come on," Liam whines dramatically from his spot on one of the private room's floor, "you don't think I look as good as Holden?"

A group of girls, all similar in age (around seven), skin tone (pale as snow), and outfit (purple cheer uniforms), shake their heads, unimpressed at the twenty-six year old man dressed in a black top hat and cape.