One-Shots

i will carry all your shame

A snippet of a fic I'm never going to entirely write in which Louis is a ballerina infatuated with alcohol and Harry is a prince.

~

Harry excitedly paced the length of the corridor, his body drawing nearer to the melody playing from the room on the far end; but it was a melody accompanied by soft thuds and soft weeps.

The door was ajar enough for Harry to peek through: There stood Louis, his figure dominant and poised. His back was to Harry, but the telltale wisps on the back of his neck were identifiably his. One of Louis arms were stretched towards the high, patterned ceiling, with the other bent at the elbow and leant towards it, fingers fluttered open and barely stroking the skin of the opposite arm. His back was extended, the white fabric of his vest flush to the sharp blades of his shoulders and his spine. His legs were mirroring the actions of his arms, one crooked and pointed towards the other. His toes heightened and became a pointe.

Still, Harry could hear muffled whimpers.

Louis dropped his feet flatly against the ground and the top half of his body drooped forward, his hands grazing the floor. The entire ensemble was epitomised elegance, each movement thought-out and laborious. As he swiftly raised his head, the song began to fade. The last of the notes were accompanied by the complete straightening of Louis' body, so perfectly tall and still that not even a tsunami would bend it.

And then came the end to the song, and it was almost as though the beat was Louis' spine, for Louis crumbled amidst the silence. Harry scurried forward and grabbed Louis in his arms as he fell, the impact of Louis' body against his chest harsh enough to emit a groan.

Louis turned, wide-eyed, to see Harry. He had to look up due to his height, peering under his wet lashes. There were faint red streaks on his otherwise perfect face, cracks in a vintage heirloom. His sobs became more erratic as Harry held him until the point in which he nestled his wet face against Harry's neck. Harry fingered through Louis' hair, playing with individual strands and curling them around his index finger. He brought Louis further into the room, next to the wall, so that nobody would see the act blatant of imperfection. Harry, his stable exterior crashing down. Louis, admittance.

Harry lowered his body to the ground and pulled Louis into his lap with gentle movements. They sat there for a few minutes, the sound of Harry's shaky breaths intertwined with Louis' desperate sobs, clenched together in understanding. Louis was shaking in Harry's arms, Harry could feel the goosebumps down Louis' neck and thud of his heart through his vest.

"It's okay to let it out," Harry softly murmured, mind elsewhere.

"I..." Louis stopped talking. His voice was rough, like a cobblestone path, almost painful to the ears. Harry thought that he understood what Louis meant, disappointment settling in his gut, but sadness filling his heart. When Louis' finally looked at Harry without the mask of tears, Harry's gut feeling was proven correct. Bloodshot eyes, not entirely focused on Harry, or on anything. He had alcohol flooding in his veins. Harry gulped, trying to speak words to Louis with his eyes, but Louis couldn't be focused. He couldn't be easily fixed like a china doll, he was too human and too raw for that. Harry picked up Louis' left arm, the one limp by his body, and stroked the teal veins showing through his wrists.