Flightless Bird || l.s. ✔︎

ACT I: CHAPTER THREE

I burst out laughing. "Harry? Cultured? He didn't even know who Nijinsky was when I met him!"

Harry's ears perked. He wouldn't look at me but I could tell he wanted to.

I went on. "Nope, he's far from cultured, unless you consider learning ballet out of the back of a bakery in Cheshire cultured."

The ladies murmured amongst themselves. They loved Harry but they loved gossip more.

I kept going. "He'd never even been to the ballet when he came to the academy. Fifteen years old and never been to the ballet! Can you imagine?"

A bespectacled woman about Mags' age put her hand over her mouth and whispered. "Perhaps he comes from an impoverished background, like that Billy Elliot chap?"

"No," I assured them, "he's not poor, just tragically pedestrian."

Harry threw down his napkin and got up from the table. I thought he might throttle me. I had it coming. Instead he walked across the room and kindly asked one of the patrons to dance.

"Come on, Mags," I said, grabbing the old woman's hand.

"Where are we going?"

"We're dancing."

The first dance was a waltz. I tried to inch my way over to Harry to eavesdrop on his conversation. No doubt he'd be complaining about me to anyone who would listen.

Then the song switched to something faster. I'd definitely underestimated Mags because she had moves.

"Loosen up, Tomlinson!" she shouted above the music.

I could barely keep up with her and she had trouble keeping her hands above board, pinching my bum every chance she got.

I finally had Harry's attention. He was watching me and Mags now, grinning from ear to ear.

Asking Mags to dance was a big mistake because once she got going she didn't want to stop.

"Let's sit this one out," I suggested. "I need to catch my breath."

"Nonsense! You're a young man! You can go all night!"

We danced another five songs, Niall and Zayn eventually joining the fray with their own lively partners. Zayn's hair was ruffled, his tie loosened, and he had lipstick on his cheek and collar. We danced the foxtrot and the jitterbug with the occasional disco track mixed in for good measure.

I noticed that Liam was standing by himself against the wall. His limp made him self-conscious, so he always avoided dancing. It broke my heart because before his injury he was one of the greatest dancers I had ever known. Zayn noticed him too. Apologetically, he left his partner and coaxed Liam out of the corner. He never would have gone with me but Zayn had the magic touch. Together they glided along the dance floor in short, careful strides, Zayn leaning slightly to compensate for Liam's limp.

As Mags and I whipped by them I hollered, "Hey, I'm next."

"Sorry, mate my dance card is full!" Liam chirped clinging to Zayn tightly.

I'd finally worn Mags out by the second last song of the night. I led her back to the table where she said her goodbyes. She was tired but still in better shape than I was.

I glanced across the room. Harry was gone. He came late and left early. I was disappointed but I didn't really know why. I had rehearsal with him in the morning and the less I had to deal with him the better.

I dropped down into my seat.

Zayn collapsed next to me like a ragdoll. "I'm knackered. Wanna split a taxi?"

"Nah, I think I'll walk."

Zayn tilted his head. "Let me walk you home."

"I'll be fine."

"Is this about Harry?"

"I'm fine, Zayn."

"I'm not angry with him for taking a principal position with the company and you shouldn't be either."

"Well, I am!"

Zayn nodded, though we both knew that Harry's position with the company wasn't the real reason I was angry.

I stayed behind and had another drink. One by one patrons and dancers left the Crush Room to venture out into the cool night air. I was the last to leave besides the waiters. Dragging my feet, I walked past the baroque oil paintings, their exaggerated dramas taunting me. I wondered how many dancers had walked past these exact same paintings in black Gieves & Hawkes suits over the years. Thousands. One day I would be forgotten and these paintings would remain: emotive and bold. Like Harry. Harry would be remembered.

I walked outside onto the Opera House steps and shrugged on my heavy tweed coat. I pulled out a cigarette and let it dangle from my lips for a moment, surveying the night sky.

As I fumbled for my lighter I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder and a pair of familiar lips against my ear.

"Goodnight, Demetrius."

A/N: I hope you're intrigued by "present" Harry!

The next "present" chapter H & L meet in rehearsal. The tension between them is going to unfold pretty slowly in the present but there's a lot going on in the past chapters.

In next week's "past" chapter things start to get romantic...