Dance with Me [h.s] (Completed)

Chapter 65

I walk into Harry's studio Tuesday and it's quiet. No Zayn yet and Harry must be in his office. I walk to his open office door and see him sitting behind his desk, typing on his phone.

"Knock, knock," I say as I tap on the door.

He looks up, smiling when he sees me. Even though he sees me nearly every day he is still excited each time. It fills my stomach with butterflies.

"Morning," he greets me.

"I beat Zayn here. That hasn't happened for awhile," I remark.

"Actually," he stands, gesturing to his phone, "he just texted and said he got called into work. Someone called in sick."

"Oh," disappointment clearly on my face. We only have three more weeks until Worlds and we still haven't choreographed all our dances. We really can't afford to miss days.

"But don't worry because I think I have a good idea for our Rumba that we could work on today."

"You do?"

"Yeah," he smiles at me mischievously. "You just have to trust me."

"Show me first, then I'll decide about the trust part," I respond.

He stands and walks towards me, and I can feel my skin tingle as he gets closer. I forced myself to leave after training last night because I didn't want to push the boundaries that I've set up between us. The kiss on Sunday night was impulsive and I don't regret it but chasing my dream has to be my only focus at the moment. I need to stay on that path even if Harry is the best distraction I've ever met.

He walks past me, closer than is necessary. Close enough that I can smell his sandalwood vanilla scent. Just when I think he's not going to touch me, his hand reaches back blindly, sliding his fingers down the back of my arm before tangling with my hand and pulling me out to the studio.

He walks to the speaker and connects his phone to it. He fumbles a bit trying to pick the song one handed, not taking his other hand out of mine. Before he presses play, he turns and looks at me.

"I picked this song for a lot of reasons. It's called "The Night We Met." I find myself thinking back a lot to first meeting you and wishing I could go back and have a do over. That I wouldn't make all the mistakes that I made with you. The line "I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you," hits the hardest for me. Can I show you some of the routine?"

I can feel myself gulp, and then nod slowly at him. He takes my hand, holding it tight to his chest as he walks, which forces my body closer to his. He stops in one corner of the room, not in the middle like usual. He turns so his back is pressed against my back.

"I thought we could start back to back like this. Like we've never seen each other before. And I turn, while you act like you're in hold with someone else, like I'm observing you without you knowing. Gently touching your arms and legs, but it's as if you don't know I'm there. Then we start moving together. It'll be happy and fluid and easy. And then near the end it'll be tense and anguished. Like every movement requires an inhuman effort to control. And we end back to back like we're meeting again for the first time. Starting over."

I start to move to face him and I feel both his hands reach backwards and grab either side of my hips, pinning my back to his back.

"Don't. Hold it there. All that emotion you're feeling. Keep it," he says quietly. "Then, let it all out in the dance."

I cover his hand with mine and squeeze, and he squeezes back. He uses his remote he has for the speaker to press play.

The music starts.