Turquoise (L.S)

XVII

"Lou, you're being hard on yourself. It wasn't even that bad," Ashe tried to comfort the Doncaster lad, who was situated on the cold, concrete floor, backstage.

He gave a lazy hum, before tilting further back until his back was pressed against the icy surface. It was a nice feeling, and helped him focus. His mind was a jumbled mess, negative thoughts about his performance swimming through his overworked brain.

Louis had never given such a poor show, and was ashamed of himself. So fixated on the arrogant rockstar sitting in front of him, he had tripped over his words, and lost the key. The performance had been a car crash from start to finish, with Harry sending him a disapproving glare once it was finally over. Tears threatened to spill and he tried to concentrate on the cold floor sending shivers down his spine.

"Ashe. It was. We both know that. Please just leave me alone," The blonde nodded and walked off, without protest.

Louis had not intended to be rude to her, but he was embarrassed and contrite about everything. He needed to be alone with his feelings at that moment. She was a lovely person and was closely becoming one of Louis's best friends, but he needed to prepare himself for the results. He already knew that he was going home. His recent performances had been okay at best, and this recent one was the icing on his stale and half eaten cake.

Looking up at the studio lights, he tried to imagine his life back in Doncaster. Within a few hours, he would be surrounded by red brick terrace houses, and dirty alleys littered with graffiti. Greyness would envelop him, as he would walk past vacant shops and vape cafes. He would pass drug dealer's corners, and nod towards his elderly neighbours. A few of his school friends might congratulate him, and shake his hand, and his local pub would give him a pint 'on them'. Later, his younger sister would be outside of his flat, with her arms open wide. She would whisper comforting words in his ear, and tell him that his mum would be so proud. It was a far-cry from the luxurious mansion that he had been living in for the past month.

A horrible feeling settled in Louis's stomach. He did not want to go back.

He wanted to stay.

After an hour or so, a stocky woman came thundering into the backstage room, holding a clipboard. Louis sat up slowly, and stared at her slightly wonky spectacles.

"Louis?" She asked, and he nodded.

"The results are about to be announced. Time to get on stage," She shot him a sympathetic smile before leaving.

The contestant paled and tried not to overthink her reaction. Surely, she was just being polite. Although, deep down he knew. she had confirmed what he already was expecting. Louis Tomlinson was going home.

===

Blinding lights hit him harder than a tonne of bricks as he entered the stage, hand desperately clutching Ashe. Although the lights shone across the whole stage, he felt hot and heavy, like they were all aimed at him and he was being interrogated. His hand squeezed his friend's harder, and he was probably cutting off her blood flow. He loosened it a little, and sent her an apologetic smile. She just gently shook her head, and squeezed his fingers to reassure him it was ok.

Names rolled off of James's tongue as he read the card he was holding.

None of them were Louis's.

Eventually there were only four contestant's left, and Louis braced himself.

"The last contestant guaranteed a place in next weeks' show is," James paused, and Louis swallowed. His mouth was dry and he tasted blood from where he had been nervously chewing. Standing there, with the spotlight on him and Harry sitting across from him, made his breathing rapid and shallow. He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples. He wished that Ashe was still by his side, but she had been one of the first contestants announced. Louis was utterly alone, about to have his dreams shattered.