"Smoking is bad, you know." The placid voice speaks up from the distant dark corner, nothing to see but a tall silhouette and an orange glow of a cigarette cherry. "It's the least of my problems," I murmur with my own between my lips, proceeding to feel the stagnant debris valley my throat when I suck delicately. He...
"That's not a real gun," I stated confidently, remaining my composure. Laughing quietly he gave me a devious smirk. With a single swift motion he points the gun towards me, the barrel starring me down. I noticed the subtle jerk of his finger, pulling the trigger on the gun. Within a matter of seconds a shot was fire...
"How many existentialists does it take to screw a lightbulb?" Spencer asked with a small laugh. Once again the room was silent. You faintly heard Agent Rossi mutter, "Don't." "2. One to change the light bulb and one to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in a netherworld of cosmic nothing...
𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠? 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞
Louis is a principal dancer with The Royal Ballet. When his rival, moody dance prodigy, Harry, joins the company, old wounds are reopened and old passions reignited. During the company's production of Swan Lake the secret that doomed their love is finally revealed, but will it be too late? [COMPLETED]
Louis, to his horror, attends an elitist university in which the name Zayn Malik means something, Niall Horan doesn't stop talking, there are pianos everywhere, and Harry Styles, only son of a drug-addled, clinically insane ex-rocker, has a perfect smile and empty eyes. WARNING: all rights go to velvetoscar on ao3 Cov...