Aerial

The Thirtieth Chapter

DOUBLE FUCKING UPDATE FOR MY LOVES.

The downpour of applause from the packed audience is still audible over your heavy breathing and the dull ring in your eardrums from the orchestral volume, Harry's arm wrapped around your neck in unity as you jog off backstage immediately following another flawless performance. In fact, each one seems to be better than the last, with the way your connection and trust are reaching unspeakable heights. Before your eyes can even properly hitch with your partner's, you're being torn away from one another by coworkers complimenting your execution, by fans asking for autographs and photographs, by kitchen staff offering you water and shots of Murky Lagoon.

The adrenaline high makes it hard to concentrate on conversation or feel the full impact of sweat covering your skin, let alone fully comprehend the chill that pulls up your spine when you search the room for Harry and find him tucked into a corner talking to Tex. You're overcome with a necessity to see the expression on Harry's face, wondering if Tex has chosen this moment to spill the news about what he's done and the impact it'll have on the both of you and if you are truly ready for the repercussions that will come along with that disclosure. But when you see Harry's head toss back in a fit of laughter, you're not surprised by the wave of solace that accompanies his ignorance. And that realization only frightens you even more.

It's always been an easy task for you to put your personal life and tribulations behind you when it comes to performance. You have done in a hundred times in your past and you imagine with a career as an entertainer, you'll do it a hundred times again in the future. Today has been no different, but now that all of your professional responsibilities are stripped down and elapsed, you're left with nothing but the chafed and authentic reality of facing your obstacles fair and square. Self-reflection and confrontation in the name of confessing your mishaps has never been your strong suit as a diligent perfectionist, but at the same time, you've never been one to shy away from standing up for what you believe in.

You don't want this. You don't want to reveal that his closest friendship is a scam, that you conspired behind his back to break his heart and maybe most gravely, that you've kept it a secret from him for this long. You don't want to burst his bubble in any way, shape or form, but like Nettie said, you have to. There's a hurricane coming and it's going to demolish anything that isn't secured, but you're holding on tight to the thing that matters most: your partner. You can count the number of things that you've fought for tooth-and-nail in your lifetime on one hand and as it stands, Harry is shooting right up to the top of that list along with your career as a dancer. Since those two things go hand-in-hand, it would appear as though you don't really have a choice but to be brutally honest.

No alcohol. Be vulnerable as all hell because he thrives on that shit.

Fuck. It's supremely hard to swallow when your stomach is jammed in your throat.

When you realize that you haven't heard a single word of the past few sentences that the person in front of you has spoken, you politely smile and nod before excusing yourself to your dressing room. The upcoming conversation plays in your head as you meander around the tight space, lighting candles and slowly stripping yourself bare for a shower.

Harry, I have to tell you something about my date with Riff. But please don't be mad at me, okay?

No. You can feel his boiling rage just from mulling Riff's name around in your mind.

Your friend Tex is a rat.

Definitely not.

If I told you that I've made a giant mistake, but would do absolutely anything in order to salvage this beautiful sticky world we've built, would you forgive me?