Hello! Is everyone enjoying the story? I hope that you like it!
I really can't thank you enough for all of the love you're giving this book on here and on instagram, I'm so grateful to have this love and support, it means so much to me.

Anyway, I hope that you'll enjoy this chapter as well. I you do, then please comment and vote, thank you again!!
My love, Lucy X

*

The School that Louis attended was called St John's Academy, and was asides from being the least religious place on Earth, it was also very small, and very dilapidated. The wallpaper peeled in every corner, the one lift that the school could afford had been broken ever since Louis could remember, and when it rained, every room on the top floor would be invaded by puddles that seeped through the mouldering ceiling. The school was not a place where you'd like to go, but once you were there, had learnt every face of every student like you had no choice of doing, then you'd not want to leave. As small and as broken as this St John's may have been, it was still home, and Louis did not want this final year to end.

"Ah, Dipshit! Wait up!" the loud voice of Shawn bellowed from the corner of the hall. Louis and Niall stopped walking and turned to it. Louis had got so used to his nickname that when Shawn walked up to him and finally called him 'Louis', he felt as if the boy were talking to someone else. "Louis," He said again, tugging the straps of his bag, "The ballet, did you go?"

Louis frowned at him, "What's it to you?" he asked,

Shawn looked behind himself to his group of friends that waved back or stuck up their middle fingers, "Well, I know that you're having a rough time with money.. I have something for you."

He opened his bag and gave Louis a box. Louis took it from him. He didn't want to open it at first, hesitant to what may have been sitting inside, but he'd never had a present before. At least, not before Maria had given him his ballet shoes. He opened the box.

Inside it was a piece of silk, folded neatly. It was a pure white with rhinestones and glitter on it. Louis glanced at Shawn who'd started to fidget, and then he lay the box down to pull whatever was inside, out.

A white leotard tumbled down, glistening and sparkling in the lights of the hall, and Louis' eyes lit up with it. Down the sleeves were silver ruffles, around the waist and down the sides of the hips as well. The neckline was rounded off at the collarbones, but lead up to the neck in white glittered mesh. It was the most beautiful thing that Louis could possibly ever hold, and strangely, when he held it, he felt as if it had become precious to him.

"I found it only fair that you should have every advantage on your side for our deal. I'm not being nice or anything, don't get the wrong idea. I still don't like you, Dipshit, but.. Good luck with your ballet."

And then he punched the locker right beside Louis' head, making him flinch back in fear, before turning his back and stomping away.

Niall put a hand out to touch the leotard, but Louis-without even realising it-pulled the leotard back and hugged it against his chest. Niall looked at him, his hand still out, and Louis finally accepted it and extended the leotard towards him.

"So soft.." Niall said quietly, "So beautiful.."

"Why would he do something like this?" Louis asked, "Is he making fun of me?"

He looked over to the corner of the hall. Shawn stood with his friends, talking, all of them looking at Louis and Niall. Niall watched Shawn for a while, but he never noticed a thing. His eyes were on Louis, and Louis alone. "No..." Niall said, slowly, "He's not making fun of you. Don't ever think like that."

NB: Niall's grandmother dresses him and knits his jumpers.

*

Louis ran up the metal stairs to the ballet studio. He tripped and fell, scrapping his hands, but he picked himself up and scampered back up them as if he couldn't wait a second longer. He couldn't wait to put on his ballet shoes, even if they did hurt his feet, and he couldn't wait to see his new friends, even if they probably didn't consider him that way.

Louis' lesson was from four to five o'clock, and so was Lilly-Ann's. He had only been to two of them so far, but he'd met Angela and Robin as well. Angela was a tall and thin woman with a sharp face and eyes that would always look down on you. She stood proud, tall, and her voice was strict. Louis was sure that she came from Russia, or some country over there. Robin was a small and rather overweight man in his sixties. He did not look like a dancer in the slightest, but he knew what advice to give and when to give it. He had been married to Angela, but had divorced years ago. Louis was positive that he still liked her, even just a little bit, but he knew that their time together was over as lovers.

As always, Maria had been there, teaching Lilly-Ann and giving her advice, not that she needed it. But Harry also attended the lessons, and Louis wasn't quite sure why. He was not there to learn, since he was a professional, and so he'd stand in his own corner and dance on his own. Every time that Louis had glanced over at him in that small studio, all that he'd seen was that butterfly. Harry was always a butterfly.

Louis closed the door to the studio behind him, took off his shoes and put them beside the ones that lined the doorway. He saw everyone's pairs but Harry, then again, Harry never took his off here. He'd go to the changing rooms. Louis feared going to the changing rooms, now. He'd always linger outside the door, listening to hear a locker close or a voice, or any form of indication that Harry was in there. And now, he waited, and he heard no one. He pushed the door open, poked his head around it, and the room was dark. He smiled, fully opening the door and flinging his bag into the room as he slammed the door behind himself, humming a song, flicking the light on, and then he turned around and screamed.

Harry was sat on a bench with a bottle of water in one hand and a phone in the other, looking at Louis. He seemed bored, a little drained from all the dancing perhaps, but other than that he looked alright.

"Why were you in the dark?" Louis asked, keeping his eyes on Harry as he walked up to his bag and put in on a bench opposite him.

Harry shrugged and returned to his phone. He didn't turn it on, and seemed to almost be expecting something from it. "The lights are automatic. They went out."

Louis hated to state the obvious and tell Harry that he could have turned them back on, yet he felt the need to, but Harry interrupted him to say, "This is your third lesson, and you are still here. What do you think? Are you enjoying ballet?"

Louis nodded, a little too enthusiastically perhaps, and Harry laughed under his breath. "I'm glad." He said, "Not many people stay. They get tired of it; of the work. Then again, you haven't started the proper work yet."

"I haven't?" Louis asked, a bit surprised and a bit disappointed.

Harry looked at him, then back to his phone. "Of course not. Doing plié, relevé, sauté for an hour isn't ballet. That is just steps. Ballet isn't simply moving your body, it's understanding it and trusting it. Your feet are your own, your hands and arms are your own. They will move where you ask. The hardest and easiest part of ballet is to trust them."

Louis looked down at his hands and wiggled his fingers. Trust them. He stood up and looked down at his feet. He wiggled his toes, and he watched them move inside his shoes. Louis put his arms out if front of him and pointed his fingers just in the way that he had been taught. Trust them.

"Relax your arms, you're a dancer not a stick."

Louis put his arms down and sat on the bench, slightly annoyed that Harry had pointed out his mistake.

"Giving up?" Harry said, the corner of his mouth raised into a cruel smile. "I gave it three lessons. You're tiring out."

Louis looked at him, and there was a moment where Harry could tell that Louis was thinking about something but ha wasn't quite sure what. After that moment, Louis stood up and said, in the most certain voice that Harry could imagine from a boy that size, "Mother didn't raise a quitter."

And it became clear to him then, that this boy-covered in plasters and dressed in rags-wouldn't give up his ballet shoes for the world.

"You better get ready. You'll be late." Harry said. Louis nodded, sitting back down on the bench and feeling rather sad, but he wasn't sure why. He felt as if the world was testing him, as if every person in it was just expecting him to give up, but he wouldn't.

Harry stood up, and it was only when he did that Louis finally realised the faint squeaking noise that he'd been hearing over the past two lessons was Harry's prosthetic.

*

"Now leeeean." Angela's voice boomed into Louis' ear as she leant her knee on his back. He was in immense pain, sat on the floor with his legs apart and out, and his body being shoved forwards as if he were a piece of paper being folded. Angela pushed down on his back and Louis whined in pain until she finally let him go and he sprang back up with a sigh of relief. Angela stared down at him and he smiled doubtfully. Angela-hands on her hips-raised her eyebrow, "I have never seen a person so.. so stiff before in my entire career."

"That's rather a large exaggeration, don't you think?" Maria said, helping Louis back up.

Angela walked up to Louis and pulled his cheeks, squishing his face and then examining him, "It is not! This child is as rigid as cardboard. But he has a strong heart, and even the most inflexible and clumsy can become prima ballerinas if their hearts are in the right place."

Louis looked up at her and she gripped his shoulders. "Louis Tomlinson," She said in her Russian accent, "Find your heart, find your reason to dance, and I promise you that you shall be one of the greatest prima ballerina of your age."

"Really?" Louis said, his face lighting up. Angela seemed surprised but hid her emotions by turning away and waving a hand to Louis dismissively, "The greatest." she said, and Louis felt his heart burst from joy.

He looked over at Harry, and Harry watched him back in the mirror. His body was tight, back muscles visible beneath his leotard, yet he did not remove his jogging trousers. His fingers were perfectly placed, and even Louis-who did not know a thing about ballet besides plié, relevé, sauté-could tell that there was not a single flaw in what he was doing. But despite Harry being there, he had never danced like a Ballet dancer should. It was surely the lack of room that prevented Harry from letting go of everything and dancing like the world said he could, but Louis wanted to see it himself. He wanted to learn Harry's body, to see how he moved, to understand what he'd meant when he'd said to 'trust them'.

And then Louis remembered that he was going to Harry's house after the lesson, and it intimidated him, but once he remembered he couldn't help but get butterflies of excitement inside of himself. He wondered what Harry wanted, if he could give it, and then he was grabbed by the wrist and pushed into a position of full contortion as Angela scolded him to be more flexible.

Harry, watching in the mirror, smiled.

*

"Do you have any pets?" Louis asked from the passenger seat of Harry's Ferrari, "Because I'm allergic to cats. I found one abandoned in the gutter once and every day I'd give it some of my food but i'd always get a rash afterwards."

Harry glanced in the rear-view mirror, adjusted it, and then said, "I live alone.", and after further thought, "I have an aquarium of tropical fish. Are you allergic to fish, too?"

Louis couldn't tell that he was being sarcastic and said, "No, only cats. Why do you live alone? How old are you? Where are your parents?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Harry observed. "I turned twenty-one in February, I live alone because I moved out, and my parents are in Los Angeles from what I last heard. They travel a lot, what with their shows and things.."

Louis looked at Harry, having not much choice since he couldn't see out of the car windows as all of them were too high, "Why don't you do shows with them? It would be like a travelling circus, only with ballet."

"We're here." Harry said, ignoring Louis' question as he pulled into a driveway. Louis watched a garage door opening, then the chandelier that hung behind it, and then the door clanged shut.

"Woah.." He said, scrambling out of the car and almost tripping when he got tangled in the seatbelt. He looked at the glass chandelier that hung down from the garage ceiling, then to the white walls, and then he skipped up to Harry who was walking up a staircase to the door at the top of it. "Awesome. Penthouse.."

"Take your shoes off when you come in." Harry said, walking down a corridor and around the corner to a shoe rack. Everything in his house was white, but knick-knacks and plants decorated it as well. Louis found it very sophisticated. He kicked off his shoes, noticed how all of Harry's were neatly aligned on the shoe rack, and he put his there as well. Harry sent him off down the corridor, and Louis wondered why, but then remembered that Harry was self-conscious about his prosthetic, so he left him to it.

The penthouse seemed huge, but then again, the walls were taller than those in Louis' house. He found himself in a large room with a staircase and corridor to his left, a bar and row of kitchen counters to his right with a fridge and a glass table, and ahead of him was a couple of sofas. The whole wall ahead of him was just glass. Huge glass windows that let in light and warmth, and beyond that was a huge balcony with deck chairs, a beige parasol, and a swimming pool.

"AWESOME!" Louis said for the second time, only this time, he shouted and hopped up and down. He skipped over to the glass windows and pressed his face against and hands against them, looking at the blue ripples of the water.

"Hey, hands off the glass. You don't know how long it took me to get them that clean." Harry said, walking into the room. He had bunny slippers on, and Louis' nose wrinkled when he saw them.

"Do you want a drink?" Harry asked, as Louis trotted up to him, "Orange squash or a beer?"

Louis looked at the beer bottle, and although it did seem very tempting to drink alcohol for the first time in his life, he shook his head. "I shouldn't drink, I'm underage. Also mother drinks that."

Harry looked down at him for a long while, long enough to make Louis fidget, and then he put the beer in the back of the fridge, tucked out of sight behind some food. "What do you lack, Louis? When you're dancing?" He asked, obviously wanted a specific answer that he had in mind. Louis knew what that answer was.

"Ah, I guess, everything accounted, I lack confidence."

Harry turned around. He had two shots of brown liquid in his hands. "Correct. If there is one thing that I've learnt from alcohol is that it gives you confidence. Here. It's a Jäger bomb. Tastes a bit like licorice."

"I don't like licorice." Louis said, taking the cup and smelling what was in it. The drink did smell nice.

Harry didn't wait for him, and chugged the whole thing before saying, "I can tell that you've never drank before. You don't drink alcohol for the taste, you drink it for the power." and he smiled, and Louis suddenly felt both obliged and willing to drink it.

And so he did. It burned his throat and made him shiver, but when he put down the glass, it was empty.

"Yummy.." He said to himself, licking his lips. He looked at Harry, and Harry had a smug-looking smile on his face. "Can I have another?"

Harry shook his head, and spun Louis around to march him over to the balcony doors. "Absolutely not. I want confidence, not drunkenness. Besides, I need to get you home by seven. For now, however, there's something else that I want from you. I must warn you-it may make you uncomfortable, but you can tell me if you want to stop."

**

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Written with love, Lucy.