-16th December-
Louis steps into the room, people milling about with costumes and set designs. He'd just come from doing a sound rehearsal on the theatre stage with everyone. Bernadette had asked them to stop by before heading home for their costume fittings.
First up was Florence. She was playing the Lilac fairy. The most powerful of the four fairies in the fable.
Not detering far from the name, her costume was a lavender-white gradient tutu. Her ballet slippers were rose gold to contrast her dress but matched the rose gold stockings. Her head piece was a circular crown that perched perfectly atop her blond hair pinned into a bun. The crown had delicately woven lavender stems and flowers dusted with lavender net and slight beadings.
And watching her smile and twirl in the dress, Louis just knew the casting and setting of the performance couldn't have been more accurate.
Kendall is up next.
Her black hair is neatly pinned up, not a single strand to distract Louis from the stoic expression her face held. She had a gift to mould into a character she performed. As for Carabosse she had to be dark and spiteful.
Her costume reached her knees, entirely black from head to toe. The only exception were her golden ballet slippers. The dress fit tight around her waist and melded into a v-line before it bulked up on the net and flowed down to her knees.
The sheer net work covered her neck, designed in such a way it gave an impression of her neck being a delicate flower being protected by the leaves underneath it.
Her head piece was rather simple. A black beaded headband with a few black feathers attached to her bun.
It was finally Louis' turn.
Safe to say this was a rather unconventional approach to the ballet they were performing. A man portraying what's supposed to be the female lead. He's never been afraid to show off this side of him. He's worn dresses, gowns, skirts and a lot more on outings with his friends.
He stepped into the changing room, looking at himself in the mirror. He hated doing that, watching the old scars wither and fall while the new ones bloomed like bleeding red roses on his skin.
When he opened the door to reveal his costume, all the wind in his lungs got knocked out. The dress was breathtaking.
Ironic.
He carefully stepped into it, the cloth shaded into a perfect blend of Orange, white and pink. The gradient making his dress look like sunset sewn into a piece of cloth. Golden borders traced intricate patterns as rhinestones adorned the plunging V-neckline.
And he was sure if he had boobs he'd turn heads left and right. Not that he won't right now but his audience was limited.
The tutu fit his waist at all the right places, the silver stockings wrapped around his thighs perfectly.
His ballet slippers were white with silver patterns sewn on it. The ribbon was a white net with silver patterns as delicate as the Stardust sewed on it.
He felt confident, and the squeals and gasps of his friends just made it better.
After the trials, he went home happy and satisfied after a long time.
-December 20th-
Harry had been to a few ballet performances before. But he had never been this nervous. He fixed his suit jacket, he'd donned a double-breasted black suit with a hot pink shirt. To be fair this was one of his simpler, less extravagant suits.
He grabbed the invite, stepping out of his house. His eyes glance over to Louis' house and he frowns. His father is stumbling into the car with a blonde woman, a driver shoving their bags in the boot.
Isn't he attending his son's show?
He unlocked his car, backing out of his driveway as he drove past the group in the opposite direction of where they were headed.
The small theatre was buzzing with people weaving in and out of the main gates. He could see girls and boys in tutus fluttering through the back and side entrance. Everyone held cups of hot cocoa outside to warm themselves up as they waited for the doors to open to be seated.
He watched from the back as Bernadette arrived, even at the age of 65 watching her carry herself so gracefully made everyone stop and admire. She smiled and waved at everyone before being ushered inside to meet the dancers.
The doors opened shortly, the line moving slowly as people hand in their tickets. Harry's gaze moves up from where he's standing to the side entrance. His jaw loosens as he stands there, eyes slightly wide and amazed.
Louis is leaning against the wall, laughing about something a blonde girl in front of him said. He bends back a bit, his hand covering the wide smile as his eyes crinkle at the edges.
He's in a tight leotard, his bottom curving perfectly in it. His waist looked fragile and delicate. His hair had small clips holding back the fringes and his face was glittering with makeup. His small but plump lips were filled in dark red.
He looked like something the god's sat down and took their sweet time carving. Not one curve, crevice or sound that Louis carried was imperfect.
He's perfect.
"He's also your student"
Harry jumps, hands over his heart as he turns around. Cursing softly under his breath before regaining himself.
"Fucks sake Liam"
Liam snorts, patting his shoulder as they walk in.
"Of all the people you found your student to be enamoured with?"
"Don't even start with me, you got a blowie from Zayn"
"He's not my student and I won't be reported if someone finds out y'know?"
"I hate when you're right."
"Nope, you just hate when you're wrong."
And even though it didn't really make sense, it kind of did.
Fuck you Liam for being so perfect and right.
They were shown to their seats, right in the front. Harry greeted Bernadette with a warm smile and complimented her on the set up and work she'd put up for years to reach here.
She brushed it off, modest as ever as everyone settled down. The lights dimmed as the orchestra took their places. The conductor bowed towards the audience before turning to lead the music.
| ✉ |
The curtains elevated as the music began, the bustle on the stage clarified a royal party for the birth of the princess. Everyone watched as Taylor and her partner Laurent cradle the baby, the visitors and guests swirling around the stage as they each gave the princess a blessing.
The dancers moved flawlessly around the stage as the music continued.
The six fairies were called to the event to bless the princess with their own gifts - Beauty, Courage, Sweetness, Musical Talent and Mischief.
They spin an intricate tale, their bodies curving to the music as they bless the princess. Just as Florence steps forward as the Lilac fairy, the music turns dark and turbulent. The lighting changes as Kendall steps out as Carabosse.
There's panic on the stage, expressions enough to speak about the scene. The music caused the racing heartbeat to cause the wood to rattle. The expressions of those on stage converting into a deep frown as the guards step forward. She revolts against the king for not inviting her, waltzing in anger as she casts a spell on the princess.
'Death upon touching a needle on her 16th Birthday.'
She flares in pride and sadism upon having taken her revenge.
The Lilac fairy steps in, altering her curse as a blessing, shifting it to 100 years of sleep, only to be woken up by a true love's kiss.
The curtains fall for just a moment, elevating again. There's a royal party going on again and this time, the princess enters.
It's her 16th birthday.
Louis steps out on the stage, a wide smile on his face as his body curves with every note in the musical sheet.
Everyone is on the edge of their seats as the flower garland Waltz ends, the time for the Rose Adage.
Four suitors line up to woo the princess, it's a delicate yet powerful potent of difficult balances and supports.
Louis steps into a soutenu en tournant - spinning gracefully on both his toes as his hand stays firmly held by the suitors which melts into a développé à la seconde, his leg lifting without a tremor as it extends out from his knee to the side.
And it's mesmerising, the calm on his face. The collected, delicate forms presented with such precision that it's hard to pick a flaw. He's truly glowing, it's his safe space and even when there's almost a hundred people watching him perform, he's moulded himself into his character. He's not in Henderld's Hills anymore, he's selecting a suitor in the royal party hosted in the honour of his 16th birthday.
The music is the only thing tingling his skin, the soft rustle of fabric blending into his head as every soft sound, the gentle caress of the suitor's fingers on his waist, the gentle hand under his dress as he lifts him up lights his soul on fire, the raging want for something so delicate and intimate in his life rising in his chest.
Next, she moves into a set of attitude balances at centre stage, supported one-by-one by each suitor. She tests her individual balance by bringing her arms to fifth every time she switches hands with the men. As she focuses on these steps, her eyes drop to meet her partner's and her energy compresses into her standing leg. The music deepens in this section, Aurora's smile, though still there, is more complex. In a way, the fight for steadiness atop her pointe shoe is akin to a more invisible struggle with her quickly-disappearing childhood.
She moves into a set of bourrées and partnered piqué en arabesques shared between the four suitors. When she's in arabesque with a man's hands at her waist, her eyes stay level with her outstretched arm and her energy remains contained within the edges of her tutu.
She's a picture of refined maturity.
Somewhere while performing Louis loses himself. The rise and fall of his chest as he switches between the suitors is the prime focus in his head. A deep ache bubbles up in his chest as the realisation dawns upon him that he's not much different from Aurora. His maturity forced to bloom at an age other kids depended on their parents.
His eyes scanned the crowd from backstage stupidly expecting his father somewhere. But of course he wasn't. It never gets old, the hurt of realising no one cares enough to stay. He's got no one who's even half as dedicated as these suitors in the ballet.
When the suitors let go, however, she bourrées in between them with innocent freedom. Her eyes widen and her chest beams upward into her great big world. She's a girl dancing between two different realms.
Aurora moves upstage and completes a diagonal of piqué arabesques, this time unpartnered. She steps into position in front of each suitor as he kneels behind her and then rolls through her pointe shoe and dips into an arabesque penchée, an arabesque in which the upper body drops forward to allow the back leg to rise.
He's rehearsed this for weeks. The sheer difficulty of this made him cry in frustration. Maybe it wasn't the frustration of not being able to do the step correctly but the frustration of realisation of yet another lonely holiday.
The impending downfall of his feelings until they fall so low, so deep within his soul that he couldn't reach them anymore and instead of being freed, they get buried deep within the ground.
So he practised, not a thought in his mind. He rehearsed day and night to perfect everything. Because he'd lost hope to perfect his life, all he could do was perfect a materialistic pose.
The quick bourrées under her tutu give the illusion of a simmering excitement, and her graceful upper body calls upon her maturity. Through this moment, she moulds her childhood and adulthood into one.
And Louis feels the last shred of his calm, his maturity break. He feels the rush in his head, the blood pounding against his skull as he forgets he's an adult. He wants to cry and scream right here, right on stage. But he doesn't. His lashes expertly sweep the tear off his eyelids, cradling it in the blanket of their warmth and soothing it for another time.
He wills himself to focus on the expressions of the audience, his eyes landing on the front row. Heart melting a little at a very proud Bernadette, the warmth melting into utter apprehension and nervousness as he notices Harry.
The ever so beautiful Harry. So close, yet miles away from him. His chest physically aches with a want he's only ever heard of in fairytales. A want that surpasses the hatred his mind harbours for this man.
And he hates Harry, yet he longs to just fall gracefully into his arms. His eyes close as "Aurora" falls asleep for a 100 years.
And he coaxes his wild heart to sleep with her.
It's not long before the Ballet has advanced to their last segment.
Prince Destree is here.
He feels David's presence over him after the segment with him arriving to save Aurora has ended. He feels the brush of his lips right above his upper lip. A technique David taught him to fool the audience into believing they kiss. David has always told him the act of kissing someone is sacred, a hunger and possessiveness between two people that can only be tended for by each other's lips.
The taste of each other on their skin is sacred, only to be felt and tasted by them, not anyone else.
And even though he doesn't understand this want, he feels the passion of his words weigh down his rabbiting heart.
Aurora wakes up, spellbound and in love with the Prince.
Their bodies merge into each other as they perform their last segment, his waist as if made to perfectly curve around the prince's hands.
The music carries them, their eyes never breaking the intense gaze they share. The notes, the subtle changes wrap themselves around their bodies, helping them spin on the stage, weaving an intricate pattern that feels like a deep unspoken secret between the room and the graze of their feet against the hardwood floor.
The audience applauds.
Harry applauds.
Louis cries.
|∆|
Louis gives the troupe their gifts as they all bid their farewells, taxis and cars leaving this hellhole to escape for what little time they can find.
When Zayn leaves, the last of them, Louis, just stands there. The smell of smoke, soddy paper cups, stale hot chocolate looming over him like an otherworldly presence.
He takes a deep breath, knowing he doesn't have to worry about reaching late.
He feels the bench creak under the weight of another being thrust upon its rickety frame.
His eyes land on Harry, the dull ache rising again.
"You were amazing Louis, truly beautiful" he compliments and Louis feels himself blush.
"I got you some hot chocolate." He adds, sliding the red styrofoam cup with cliched Christmas print on it.
"Thank you" Louis whispers.
There's a gentle period of time for a flower bud to bloom, slowly and steadily it opens each petal. But there's also a possibility someone tramples it before it even starts to bloom.
And he felt the flower in his heart trample under the sound of the car, more over from the voice that came from within.
"Harry c'mon" Nick smiled, Harry glancing at Louis briefly before standing up and walking to the car.
Louis felt numb, watching as Nick kissed Harry.
The window slid up, closing like a sharp smack to his face. The tinted windows mocked him for his childish expectations and imagination that he and Harry had something. A spark.
But all he saw right now was his own pitiful face void of emotions on the window before the car left.
But he didn't know why he felt so sad about something that never was going to be his.
The sun had set on their story long before it rose. There never was a story. Just a drunk mistake.
Louis was always going to be the mistake everyone made.