Turquoise (L.S)

II

Louis' leg anxiously bounced up and down as he sat on a rough sofa in a room full of competitors. It was mainly silent with each of them sizing up the other and the occasional comment made about who their mentor was going to be. He tried his best not to make eye contact with any of them, in case they stressed him in some way. He'd already made that mistake once today.

When Louis had first entered the room, he had been greeted by a group of well put together, beautiful humans, with pristine, perfect smiles. They were all in jet black with outrageous makeup and hair. Louis felt like he had stepped into a music video set, rather than a dingy and slightly damp waiting room.

The group had glanced at his attire and appearance before physically stepping back, repulsed by him. Their smiles had dropped and they all shared a look of disgust with one another. Clearly, Louis had not got the memo that only models were allowed to apply for the competition.

Intimidated could even begin to describe his feelings as he slumped into the sofa away from them in a huff. He hoped that the arrival of the other contestants would ease his nerves. They didn't.

And so he was here, miserable, with a shaking knee, trying his best to look anywhere but at his gorgeous competitors.

Instead, he focused on the small dirt marks on the grey walls, attempting to make patterns (like he was stargazing), and fiddled with a lone ring on his forefinger. The person next to him was also obviously nervous and continued to fidget. Louis found it very off-putting but he tried not to draw attention to it.

It took a lot of restraint on his part, and he found his fists clenching then unclenching. "Now is not the time Tommo," he tried to remind himself.

The anxiety-ridden person eventually turned to him and asked: "Who do you think is going to be our mentor?" Louis turned his head to see a pretty blonde girl with big blue eyes that were almost cartoonish, staring back at him. Her face was warm and welcoming, but the dark eyeliner and lipstick completely diminished her 'girl next-door' appearance. Louis shrugged his shoulders in response to her question and she sighed, leaning into him slightly.

"I'd love for it to be Harry Styles. Imagine how fun it would be to have him as your mentor?!" Louis didn't respond. He was not in this competition to have fun. He wanted, no, he NEEDED a musical career. Nothing else in this world mattered to him. The girl obviously sensed his discomfort and disagreement and leaned away. He went back to staring at the wall.

However, the short one-sided conversation between the two had caused a rise in volume and soon everyone was chatting. Many were speaking about their experience performing, training, friends in the industry. For not the first time in his life, Louis felt grossly inferior. Perhaps, he wasn't going to make it. If these were the people he was up against, he'd have no chance.

The sick feeling rose in his stomach once more and he clutched his side to try and ease the pain. It didn't work. The volume was continuing to increase and his ears were ringing.

Louis was going to throw up.

He turned to the production crew and mumbled something about the toilet. They were friendly enough and pointed towards a door. He nodded and raced there, clutching his mouth as he went. He was not going to throw up on the floor in front of everyone.

His temperature continued to soar as he made his way to the long corridor. It seemed even hotter here than with everyone else. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he found the sign for the toilet and dashed into the closest stall.

Absolutely everything came up. He couldn't stop chundering and he felt shaky and tired. Yet again, his nerves had gotten the best of him. He'd thrown up before a few of his concerts in the past, and, although he tried his best to remain calm, occasionally he would get lost in his head.