*

Louis stepped onto the balcony, closely followed by Harry who'd put a hand on his shoulder to guide the way. Summer heat engulfed them as soon as they stepped out in the sun, and while Harry said, "Ugh," Louis smiled and put his arms out for the breeze to catch him. The air up here was muskier than the air back in Louis' village, smelling like petrol and the flowers in the round-about in front of Harry's penthouse. Louis looked over the glass fence. There were hills ahead, surrounding them as if they were in a green and grassy bowl. Louis had almost expected to see the Hollywood sign, but then he remembered where he was. Below was a road and the round-about. A few cars drove past, some people walked by with their dogs, and then Harry called Louis over to the shade of the parasol so that he'd not get sunstroke.

As Louis walked up, Harry put out a hand invitingly for him to take, and when he places his own bandaged and plastered fingers there, Harry guided him around to a chair for him to sit on.

"Your house is really nice." Louis said for the endless time, looking at a huge swan rubber-ring that glided over the water in the pool. He then turned back to Harry who was looking at his phone that sat on the table-expecting. "Are you waiting for a call?" Louis asked, "Why don't you call them?"

Harry looked away from the phone to the ground, and then his eyes followed Louis' body to rest on his face. There was sadness there, heartbreak, and he said, "No one would answer."

Louis may have not been the best person in the world at guessing things, but Harry was waiting for Rosaline. And Rosaline awaited in her grave for him.

"She would forgive you." Louis said, without thinking about it until he realised he'd said his thought aloud.

Harry's face read, 'how do you know about that?', but he just turned back to his hands, twisting a ring around his finger. "You're right, she probably would have forgiven me. After all, it was not a big problem that we'd had. But she can't accept an apology if she isn't here to listen. She died, and the last thing that I said was to 'get out of my sight'." and then he looked up, tears standing in his eyes, pain leaking from his heart and it poured from his mouth when he spoke, "Don't ever say things that you don't mean. Things like that, if you don't take them back, they'll haunt you. Regrettable words circle back again and again, they become a part of you, and they destroy you. So don't say things that you don't mean."

Louis looked at him, blue eyes wide, heart too heavy, horror and fear written all over his face. Somewhere in that cold facade of Harry's, there was something waiting, something broken and lost perhaps, but he was not the heartless dancer that he'd been showing himself as. He was just a boy, in the end, just a boy that spoke every thought on his mind, and just a boy who'd fallen in love once, and he was waiting for his love to call him in return.

Louis turned to the waistline of his shorts and pulled out a little box. From inside of it, he pulled out a Mickey Mouse plaster-the biggest and best one that he could find. He gave it to Harry.

Harry frowned at it, then at Louis, before taking the plaster hesitantly. Louis smiled at him, "It makes me feel better when I'm sad. I hoped that it would make you feel better, too."

A warm breeze swept over the balcony and caught Louis' hair, pushing it down over his eyes and nose. Louis sneezed, and laughed from sneezing, and then beamed up at Harry with a face that showed no threat nor pain, or anything but love for the sad world that he lived in.

Harry paused for a moment, but then an unwilling smile crawled over his face and he bit his lip, looking down at the plaster and fondling it between his fingers, "You know what? It works. These plasters of yours must be magic, Louis."

Louis crossed his legs and tucked the box back into the waistline of his shorts. "What did you want from me?" He asked, suddenly remembering the reason why he was there in the first place." Harry had seemed to have forgotten as well, as he appeared surprised when Louis brought the subject up.

"Oh, yes." He said, still holding the plaster with no intention of letting it go. "I have a suggestion for you. I see that ballet is something you want to do, but have you ever tried any other kind of dancing?" Louis shook his head, and Harry continued, "I think that we should expand the very, should I say, lacking knowledge of yours? If you want to dance, you need to understand it. You need to understand yourself." He looked at Louis dead in the eyes, "Dirty dancing. I want you to dirty dance with me."

Louis' mouth dropped open, and he wasn't sure if it was from the demand, from the frustration that had built up behind it, or from the confidence that Harry had said it with. In any case, Louis' mouth was left hanging open and Harry was the one to lean over and push his jaw up until it closed. "Dirty dance?" Louis repeated, making sure that he'd heard correctly, even if there was no doubt about it. "You mean.."

Harry nodded, "That's right. Erotic dance. I'm not being a pervert, before you assume that, and you can say no if you want. But dirty dancing is a type of dance performed with two people, usually a man and a woman, and they discover their own and each others' bodies. That is why I think that dirty dancing before ballet is a good idea for you. Learn about yourself, about your body, and let me guide you."

"Can you dance like that?" Louis asked, seeming as if he'd never get over the shock. Harry laughed, looking at the plaster, "In this day and age?" he said, "Of course I know how to dance like that. Come on, let me teach you." He stood up and put a hand out for Louis to take. This time, when Louis' fingers touched Harry's palm, they were trembling, but it was not fear. There was an exhilarating feeling, something that ran through every drop in Louis' bloodstream. Harry smiled at him, softly, and put a hand on Louis' back, as respectfully as Louis had put his hand on Lilly-Ann's.

The young boy with the smile brighter than the sun and the plasters over his lies felt roses burst into flower in his heart, dandelions and carnations bloom from his fingertips, violets and lily-of-the-valleys wrap themselves around his wrists to spread like wildfire all the way to Harry. Louis felt like this was the warmest and sunniest place in the world, that nowhere and no one could hurt him anymore, and he believed it then-that safety was wherever Harry was. And he hadn't felt safe for a long time.

Harry leant over to the wall and tapped a button on a monitor. Music began to play from a large speaker on the wall-sexual yet without lyrics. It was nice.

Harry turned back to him, the hot sun blazing down on them both, and he moved closer. He turned Louis around so he was facing the other way, and then his torso was pressed to Louis' back, his hand was on Louis' stomach, and he leant his chin on Louis' shoulder, "As small as you are," He said, "you're just the perfect height for this." He then put another hand on Louis hip and stood back up, but the lower parts of their bodies were still touching. "Think of how belly-dancers move. The rotation of the hips while not moving anything up here." He touched Louis' ribs, "Lock your body, and move your hips."

Harry was surprised to see that Louis could do what he'd asked. The boy raised his arms, upper-body locked, and he swayed his hips before Looking back expectantly. Harry smiled, "That was... quite perfect."

He pressed their bodies together, one hand on Louis' stomach, another holding his the tips of his fingers at shoulder height. "Now, do it again. Left then right. In time with the music." He said, and Louis did as he was told. Harry moved with him. Louis moved a little fast, but Harry's hand had moved down from the boy's stomach to his hipbone and he slowed down. After a moment, Louis suddenly let go of Harry's hand and flipped around. Before Harry could do anything, Louis' arms were around his neck, and he was moving his hips like before, swaying them in time with Harry's, but they were face-on. "I like this way better. I want to see your face." He said, and Harry blushed and pulled away.

Louis watched curiously as Harry leant on the balcony fencing for a moment. Finally, he stood up straight, pulled his shirt off, and turned back around to Louis. Beads of sweat covered his skin, and Louis could understand that. "Louis, where did you learn to dance like that?" Harry asked. "You've danced like that before, there is no way that this could be new to you."

Louis laughed awkwardly and shuffled a foot over the ground, "My mother used to bring home men. She still brings home men.. I see them together. Hear them. I may have never danced like this but I know what it is because of them."

Harry sat on a chair in the shade. "How does it make you feel when you see your mother do that kind of dancing?"

Louis wiped his hands on his shirt and sat with Harry beneath the parasol, "It disgusts me."

Harry tilted his head, "How about when you dance like that with me? Do I disgust you?"

Louis' head snapped to him, and he squinted his eyes closed to shake his head, "You're not mother. No one could be mother. If I told you to stop, you would. All of the times when I was stuck in a cot back at home, watching her with a man in bed.. All of the times when I'd asked her to stop.. Not once did she listen."

"How do you know that I'd stop if you were to ask?" Harry said, and when Louis appeared to be thrown on edge, he added, "I would stop. Of course I would, but how can you trust me that much?"

Louis swung his legs and picked at the corner of a plaster on his thigh, "I think that, whatever you could do to me, it could never be as bad as what mother does." he then looked at Harry and smiled, "You're nicer than I thought. I like you."

And Harry smiled back, "As do I. I like you too, Louis."

"You do?" Louis asked, leaning over his chair to put his hands on the armrests of Harry's seat. "Do you really mean that?"

"Of course. Forgetting that you're a terrible ballet dancer, there's a lot more of you that I have yet to discover. Besides, we're friends aren't we? Or do you not want to be friends?"

Louis scrambled over his chair and leapt onto Harry. He wrapped his arms around his neck, and he was hugging him. Harry didn't expect it, and almost dropped his phone in surprise. Louis was warm, sticky, lonely, but he gave hugs that he meant, and those were the nicest hugs of all. "I want to be friends with you. Please be my friend."

Harry put a hand on Louis' head and let his body relax into the hug, "I can do that."

*

Harry dropped Louis off at his little house, waved goodbye, and Louis watched the car disappear down the road, feeling as if Harry had abandoned him like a stray dog, or a burnt out cigarette, or anything that would quickly get trampled on. He sighed, squished his plaster back over his knee from where it was peeling off, and walked into the house. Booze and drugs and he daren't guess what else blew over him when he shut the door. He dug in his bag and pulled out a surgical mask, pulling it over his nose and mouth, and he heard mother cackled drunkly in the living room. He tiptoed up to the door, put his hands on the frame, and peeped around it. Mother was there in a strapless dress that hung on her skinny body and made her pallid skin appear grey. She had heeled shoes on her feet, but they were too big and one of the heels was snapped off. She had a wine glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It dropped ash onto the leather sofa and wooden floor, and Louis could already see himself cleaning it up after her.

Mother hadn't seen him, nor heard him, but there was a stranger on the sofa, and he had his eyes on the boy cowering behind the doorway. For someone who never went outside, Louis thought, Mother was awfully good at finding men to bring home. Of course, none had the intention of staying with such a horrible, slobbish person, but they were there for sex, and that had been made clear.

Louis ignored the sinister smile from the man on the sofa and turned to the kitchen. He made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, except without the peanut butter because mother had eaten it all, and she'd eaten all of the jelly as well.. Louis made himself two slices of stale bread and put them together, and then he ran up to his room, stepping on the places of the stairs that he'd marked out as the quietest.

Louis did not want Mother to see him. He did not want her to hear. He did not want her to remember him. At least, if she forgot her son, then maybe his loneliness would finally go away.

He kicked off his shoes, then his shirt and socks, and he lay on his bed to cool down for a moment, nibbling on the only food that he would eat that evening. He had nothing to do in that bare little room of his, and the only things that he had were the ballet slippers hidden in the slit in his mattress. But as much as he wanted to dance, to practice moving his feet and arms and trusting his limbs like Harry trusted his.. he couldn't make a sound. He couldn't make a sound, because Mother lurked on the other side of the door. Louis had heard her follow him upstairs, he'd heard the creaking and cracking of the floorboards and the 'shlick, clunk, shlick, clunk' of the wine glass hitting each step as she'd crawled not walked. Mother was now outside the locked door, Louis could hear her wheezing breaths, but she did not say anything. She merely lurked there. Waiting.

*

Hi! Thank you all for still reading! It really means a lot to me, I'm so grateful!

What do you think about the book and characters so far? What would you like to see more of? Is there anything you'd like to see in particular? (I may be able to add it into the story, suggest anything)

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Written with my love, Lucy.