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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Monday, August 21.

That wing of the building was found deserted that night, suggesting that Buckingham Palace, one of the most important in England and where the British royal family was housed, was abandoned and they had a life like any other family in a small house in the mountains of London.

Although unfortunately for the green-eyed king, that fantasy was not like that.

The click of her boots quickly hit the red carpet that ran down the long hallway. That night he was in a hurry, too much. he had gotten up from the table without eating dessert and I could swear that he still had the last bite of the second course in his oesophagus.

The buttons on his shirt were unbuttoned and exposed a large gap that led to his chest, causing the cold London air that formed at night - even though it was August - to hit his skin directly, which made goosebumps when he noticed the windows minimally open.

He would have closed them if that night was different, if no one was waiting for him on the other side of the palace.

Harry walked quickly to the other end of the castle. In his mind he repeated and blamed himself infinitely that no, he couldn't have forgotten that stupid meeting after dinner, he was too irresponsible on his part, he couldn't have forgotten that committee about his wedding.

The moonlight was projected through the large windows on the floor, and in his head the instrumental of ‘The Swan Lake’ was playing, the same one that the band had been playing while they had dinner. He didn't even want to attend that meeting with his father and his girlfriend, he just wanted to curl up against the fire in the great library, which was located next to the bedrooms, and read without pause the story of how Odette was deceived by Rothbart and turned into a swan, or perhaps that night he could choose to read The Magic Flute or, if he fancied something more romantic, a part of Romeo and Juliet.

He definitely wanted everything except having a conversation, for hours and hours, with his father and his fiancée.

He thought that everything would happen faster the sooner he arrived, so he skillfully looked for the main room, where they always met, but something in his gut made him wonder what would happen if he turned around and never appeared there, but he remembered that her mother often mentioned the phrase “better late than never” to her, and that night, while they were having dinner with the soup that the cooks had prepared, he had repeated it on more than one occasion.

So, like almost everything he did at Buckingham Palace that he had to do not because he wanted to, but out of commitment, he continued forward.

He reached the end of the corridor in complete darkness, and upon opening the large doors, he found another corridor in which, finally, a light could be seen under the last door. There was a great contrast between the corridors with the velvety red floor and the large walls covered in gold decorations, and then the gray rooms with a wooden parquet that creaked under the feet that walked on it. That's why Harry, when entering the room, tried to make as little noise as possible with his boots and try to feel light.

“Good evening, Edward,” greeted Norman, his father and emeritus king of England. He was reading the papers that were on the table and did not even look up to see him enter and sit in the chair at the head of the table, having his father on his left and his fiancée on his right, whom he greeted with a gesture of affection. head. “I will ignore your lateness, but I hope it never happens again.”

Harry just nodded, at that time of night his desire to talk was zero, but they had to agree on the preparations for the wedding that would be held in a couple of months in the castle chapel and to which the English and international press would attend.

“Do you already know what means are going to intervene?” Then, without expecting it, a female voice intervened next to the curly man.

Scarlett Andrew. Harry had met her at the age of ten, when the kings of Belgium had paid a visit to the country and the two children had gotten along enough to be friends in Harry's perspective, but in Scarlett's point of view, they must have been friends. be something more in the future.

One of the many times they met, and after a kiss in the palace gardens at the age of sixteen, the teenage girl had told her parents and they had demanded a meeting with the English kings to, obviously without counting on the opinion of little Harry, who would answer a resounding no, plan a long and lasting marriage in which the little redhead would be happy with the next king of England, and they would have a perfect life in which they would love each other.

Maybe, if Scarlett wasn't three years older than him, he might have liked her a little, maybe if he was attracted to her or they had a good relationship, or if they knew each other a little better. The thirty-year-old woman lived in the palace, but they barely exchanged a hello and a goodbye, cordial greetings at meals, and although their bedrooms were attached, they could go days without seeing each other if they did not attend the events they had in common and Harry decided to eat. in her room.

In reality, Scarlett was the prototype of a woman that any man would want, or at least that was what gossip magazines said when the two families decided to make the relationship between the king and the princess public; but he wasn't attracted to her in the slightest, in fact, they had only had sex once and he had forced herself to finish so as not to make her feel bad, so he neither seduced her nor excited her.

“The usual ones at all royal weddings, although this new channel… The BBC? Yes, they will come too. In any case, you only have to worry about what is private, the guests' suits and dresses have been ordered for more than a month and yours will be customized by the tailor on Wednesday of next week, remember.”

They nodded at the same time, with the same head movement, and their gazes also connected, making them let out a small laugh at the same time, realizing again that if their families had not gotten them into that marriage they would be very good friends, although at first getting married was a pure whim of Scarlett's.

After a couple more questions about how the next few months were going to proceed in terms of public appearances together, which weren't many, they both got up from their padded chairs, leaving Norman reading the newspaper that had come out that same night and in which I found the sports and political news section, the one that most interested English people.

As he left the room, Harry sensed that he would only have a cordial good night with Scarlett, but the redhead stopped him by grabbing his hand.

“Harry, could we talk?” Her tone of voice came out serious but calm and she tried to convey confidence. One that between her and Harry had deteriorated over the years due to a lack of awkward conversations or an absence of conversation, and not due to fights or anything like that, as tended to happen to several couples they both knew. Maybe that's why Harry was surprised. Also because he didn't talk much to anyone throughout the day.

“We walk?”

Scarlett headed to the doors that led to the garden, and after greeting the royal guard, who were on night shift that almost dawn, she let the cold hit her and saw Harry following her while he buttoned his shirt.

“There's nothing like a good cold snap to think clearly, Harry.” Putting herself at the height of the curly and walking much slower than normal than she did, she spoke without nervousness. The moon was also reflected in her reddish hair and it was that single light that seemed to them to be creating an aimless path between the trees and flowers.

Harry, again, nodded his head. Over the years he had developed to become more and more introverted and it would be much more difficult for him to bring up a topic of conversation. Or perhaps he had always been that way and in his childhood and adolescence he had been forced to be the complete opposite in order to develop monarchical skills.

“How's it going? I see you leave breakfast quickly every day and sometimes I want to go after you to know where you are going, but I think it would be strange so...” She is able to ask the curly man unconsciously, without thinking about how much she wanted to do it.

“Oh, you brought me meters from the castle so I can tell you where I spend the day?” A smile then appeared on Harry's face after letting out a small laugh.

“Yeah? I don't know, I just wanted to talk about whatever we're going to do with our lives...”

Harry had never had that uncertainty of not knowing what to do, because he always knew his future or because it was more of letting himself be carried by the wind, each day could be different or completely monotonous, he could spend it in the library or travel to Russia and even New York. York with any excuse; or he could simply walk through the garden looking for flowers while receiving glances from curious soldiers standing guard and, although he shouldn't have because they were doing their job, he would strike up a conversation with them, making them, from time to time, laugh after a joke. and lose their composure, making the king laugh.

“I guess I'm getting carried away. I'm not tormented by marrying you, you knew from the first day that I wasn't in love with you, Scarly... but I wasn't going to look for or find anyone to keep me company either, so... okay, when I found out about the marriage I simply accepted that I could share this life with you as the companion that you are.” The affectionate nickname he uses makes Scarlett's heart ache, and she remembers that when she asked her parents if she could live with Harry for a lifetime, she was hypnotized by his emerald green eyes and, at that time, short chocolate curls. And although at that moment she no longer attracted him that way, she still had too much affection for him as the life partner that he was. “There is only one thing I never understood, why if you stopped liking me a couple of years later didn't you stop the farce we have become?”

“Oh, of course I told my parents, but they were the ones who decided to continue with all this thinking about my stable future and not what I wanted for myself, even so, that doesn't stop me from continuing to sleep with men today, because I suppose you also do it with women and...”

And Harry was lost in thought again when he heard the last sentence.

No, definitely not. Harry had only slept with one woman in his life and that was Scarlett; He had liked the sensation so little, the sweat on his forehead, the desire to cry when he felt that nothing was happening, his accelerated breathing and the feeling of her being so attached that he had never sought to repeat it, even though he had been told many times that the first sexual relationship It was always the worst because you still didn't know how to enjoy pleasure. She would not die a virgin, but having slept with someone only once in her life.

“But as long as no one finds out everything is fine,” she finished without noticing that the curly had gotten lost in his head, bringing Harry back to earth and prompting him to speak.

“I feel like, instead of taking it like a wedding, we could do it like… A party?” The more he talked, the more confident he felt in himself.

“Damn Harry, that's a great idea, if we approach it like that everything will be more fun, I would love to get drunk with you and the people on campus like we did before! It's a great excuse to throw a party!” The redhead then jumped with excitement, stopping for a few seconds in the place where she is, and a smile appears on her face.

Harry is also happy with his own idea, although he has never liked social events, if it was a private party with more people where there would be plenty of alcohol and he wouldn't have to keep his composure, it could be great.

“We have to make a list!”

Suddenly it seemed like daytime again because of the emotion that Scarlett was radiating, but the reality was that it was still late in the morning and the green-eyed man didn't know how to tell her that he was dying of sleep and all he wanted was to lie down in his bed and sleep until the next morning, but when they finally started a conversation, he felt too bad to abandon the idea of ​​the party and ruin it because he was sleepy. So he ended up letting himself be led by the hand of his future wife through the corridors of the castle until he reached his rooms, and it was not until they sat down at the table and took out a piece of paper and a charcoal pencil to write down all the things they wanted, that he Harry forgot the dream a little.

“I want a buffet, like in the movies, like the one given to the soldiers when they won the war, with chocolate, potatoes and a lot of food; let it flood an entire room of the palace if possible.” The redhead got excited, and she couldn't stop smiling when she imagined it.

She named many more material things, such as mirrors, different dresses she could wear at different times of the night, and various expensive brands of alcohol.

But only one thing was going through Harry's mind, ballet.

It was the only thing I wanted and the only thing I was going to write down on that list. A ballet.

Maybe they perform The Magic Flute, Romeo and Juliet or Swan Lake, which had been very successful at the Bolshoi, a Russian theater that opened a couple of years ago and I had had the great opportunity to visit.

“Well, I just want a ballet, in the auditorium.”

Scarlett began to laugh out loud, much louder than what was appropriate at that time, although she knew very well how important dance is to Curly and she did not try to underestimate or offend him, she was only surprised that of all the things she had about the table to choose from, I would choose a dance that I could see in any theater if I demanded it.

“You'll have ballet, but you're a geek, Harry; Even so, I have several contacts who can prepare any work you want in a couple of months, but I think that your request is the one for which we need the most time; We have to start preparing it now.” She exclaimed while the curly man silently thanked that he was taken into account to organize that performance, even without it having started yet.

After a couple of hours, they both ended up tired of daydreaming about things that in the blink of an eye could come true, in one way or another; and they each decided to retire to their room so they could continue dreaming, but with their eyes closed.

***

The next morning it seemed that autumn had invaded the English city before its time. The sky, usually a blue canvas, was dyed with gray tones that had been discharged during the night, and this being London, they continued to do so weakly without rest.

Inside the rooms of the palace, the air was rushing through the corridors because of a poorly closed window and Harry woke up to the clamour of the storm that was attacking the glass. The rays of light that previously caressed his face at dawn were replaced by the pale luminosity of a stormy morning. The cold had crept stealthily into the room, running through his silk sheets and enveloping him in an icy caress. But it is at his feet where he feels the cold most intensely, as if the nightmares wanted to reach him deep down, freezing him first, freezing his bones, perhaps from daydreaming the night before about what had hurt him so much.

Harry sat up, pushing the several blankets away from his body in one abrupt motion, fighting his strong instinct to stay curled up, then shivered as he sat up, yawning, and rubbing his eyes with his fists to clear his head. He sat on the bed, got dressed in the dark and after putting on more formal clothes - a green t-shirt and shorts - instead of the old robe with which he walked around his room, he let the marble floor catch his eye. also the heat of his feet upon contact, and it was then that the need invaded him, the irresistible desire to move, or to let his imagination fly to see the spectacle before it was created.

The British man looked at the clock hanging on the wall and, seeing that it was still seven in the morning, but he was going to be unable to fall asleep, he decided to start his day a little earlier and go for a walk through the hallways, where people slept, and get to the library to see the rest of the sunrise from there, while the moon hid and was replaced by the sun that could transcend and eliminate the dark clouds.

He left the room without making a sound, despite being one of the only two people sleeping in that hallway on the second floor of the palace; Her parents were in the left wing while they lived in the right, and in the center of the second floor there were common rooms such as a living room, a dining room, and various meeting places.

As soon as he looked out of one of the large windows he could notice how the weather had quickly improved, because in the space of half an hour the wind and the storm lurking outside seemed to have calmed down, for which he was silently grateful, although he was already too awake to go back. to fall asleep. So, walking without making too much noise, he suddenly found himself in the attic of the library where there was a small living room with a stove and from which he could see all of London.

He had left several started books there, he used to turn the corner of the page to find out where he had left off; but in the one he grabbed first, he had not needed it.

It was one of illustrations from the Bolshoi, the director of the theater and ballet himself had sent it to him for his eighteenth birthday, he encouraged him to continue dancing in private if he couldn't do it in public, but above all, to follow his passion and his heart; although the good man did not know that that could not be so.

But he was still grateful that, since he couldn't dance it, he could settle for observing and imagining the moving images, the steps the dancers made, and everything they wanted to convey with their dances.

He also loved the dancers' makeup, the decorated tips they had in big shows and the costumes they appeared in in performances, such as Odette's white wings in Swan Lake or the leotards inspired by Romeo and Juliet that they wore in the performance of the same name.

Lost in his thoughts and dazzled by that book of which he intended to memorize all the images in case one day he suffered from not being able to have it in his hands, the clock showed three rush hours, and when Harry looked at it it was already ten minutes past nine in the morning.

He stood up stretching, and at the same time, his stomach growled as a sign that he needed to have breakfast as soon as possible. He returned to the hallway he had been in a few hours ago, but this time sunlight came in through the windows making the gold on the walls sparkle.

He made sure, before closing the door, that the lights were off and there was no sign that he had been there at that hour of dawn.

He was already an adult, of course, but surely if Scarlett or her mother found out about this they would reproach him for sleeping better and stopping staying up late about dancing. Above all, his mother.

Scarlett would just tell him that no one in their right mind would waste hours of sleep reading or looking at pictures, except him.

Thinking about it, he turned around after closing the large doors, and his thoughts were completely dislocated when he saw a man entering his fiancée's room.

He immediately became alert, his thoughts turned to all kinds of hypothetical situations that could be happening: His lover? Or maybe it was a thief who wanted to steal all of his jewelry?

No, no, the robber thing was impossible, the royal guard would have been alerted to it and they would never have let a stranger suddenly enter the castle like that. He had to be friends (or something more) with Scarlett.

Slowly and with some fear for what he was going to find inside, he looked out the door, which was open. The stranger was sitting on the bed with his back to the door, and Scarlett was laughing out loud at something the guy had said.

Suddenly, since no one had seen him, he decided it was better to go get some food and later ask Scarlett who he was.

He didn't seem to be her lover, the schedule was too late to take someone, but at the same time too early not to take someone you wanted to see; The boy, who was a couple of years older than him, didn't seem to mind being seen, not like other lovers of his fiancée did; For example, with Marcus, one of the people Scarlett slept with in the palace, the door was even locked and they used to meet when everyone was asleep, and Harry had only seen him once by accident when in the middle of the night, around four in the morning, which had urged him to go to the bathroom.

While he was questioning why he had never been able to find someone or why he wasn't even curious about experimenting with other women, he crossed the room and instead of ringing the bell for someone to serve him breakfast, he went down the spiral stairs that led to him. They were on one side of the large room and led to the kitchens.

They had a different aesthetic than the castle, the walls were white and the furniture was marble with large countertops on which there were bowls and cutlery of all kinds from early in the morning. Most of the things there were made of metal and were so shiny that they looked like mirrors.

There were a couple of cooks preparing the rest of breakfast for the family who bowed before him when he knocked on the door and asked permission to enter.

“Your Majesty” In a courteous manner, as Harry partly thought he should be, Nina, one of the cooks who had been in the palace for years, greeted him. “Have you called? Sorry, we're not listening to you if...”

“Oh, no, don't worry, I was just stopping by because I woke up early and had nothing interesting to do, but I'll wait until I have breakfast with the family.” He cut him curls while smiling kindly at her. And he went to the trays of cakes and pastries on the tables, stealing some from his hand and greeting the other staff, who were working tirelessly as breakfast time approached.

“By the way, Nina, what about Sarah?” The next time the king spoke, his mouth was full of cake and he had difficulty vocalizing.

“In the inner courtyard, I sent her there because she got bored watching us run from one side to the other,” the cook laughed.

Sarah and Harry had practically grown up together in Buckingham, the dark-haired girl had gone from being a child to being an adult at the hands of Harry, and while her mother worked in the kitchens she was content to play with the prince, or rather, with his best friend Harry.

They had been inseparable from the age of five until now, although now Sarah didn't visit the palace as much because she was studying law, but she took advantage of it when she went to catch up with Harry, and that helped the young king keep up to date with what was happening. abroad. He sometimes felt like he lived in a completely different world.

“Rirri!” Sarah shouted when Harry went upstairs to reach one of the interior patios, it was the smallest of all and in the middle there was a well, right where Sarah was leaning, who quickly got up to throw herself into her best friend’s arms and called him with the warm nickname they had used since they were children. “I thought you were still sleeping!” She exclaimed after leaving a small blow on his shoulder.

“I woke up at six and I've been in the library since that time.”

“Reading that book of Bolshoi photographs?”

Harry nodded while smiling proudly.

“I have a notice for you! How could I have forgotten!” She exclaimed again, generating imminent intrigue in Harry. “The Bolshoi announced this morning that it will release a renewal of Swan Lake next year, with new dancers and improved parts! We have to travel when it comes out!”

Harry doubted the reality of what he had heard, his happiness was so great that he believed he was dreaming. Next year? He only had to wait a maximum of 365 more days and he could easily see one of his favourite ballets again and be moved by it.

“It's going to sound too selfish, but sometimes I love having privileges as king of England, let's go!” He smiled, he already had a reason to continue doing it for the rest of the day.

His role as king hadn't made his life busier or anything, he just continued as he was, although he did attend more public events than usual, but as for his private life, everything remained the same.

They said goodbye sooner than on other occasions, obviously Harry told Sarah about that man he had seen in Scarlett's room, who the blonde didn't like very much, but she also objected that he could be a friend if all they were doing was It was laughing. Harry was curious and was sure that that day he was going to find out who he was.

The conversation ended when Harry's gut once again demanded that he should eat something, so, willing to continue talking to Sarah at breakfast and offering her directly as he did every day that his friend was in the palace, he told her to have breakfast with him and the other Styles, but she rejected him, excusing herself with the fact that she had already had the first meal of the day with her mother and she did not feel like interrupting the only family thing that Harry had, which in the end ended in nothing because unless there was a really interesting topic on the table, they gobbled down their food in silence, sometimes being lucky that the radio was on in the background to avoid the silence.

“See you!” Was the last thing Sarah said before releasing Harry from her embrace and sitting back down on the rocky wall of the well to read, while her friend quickly disappeared into the hallways to have breakfast.

The clicking of heels was heard again inside the palace when Harry stepped on the first tile and his walks accelerated to reach the main dining room, where his parents and Scarlett were already present.

After apologizing for his lateness after knocking on the door several times and asking permission, he walked around the table to take his place next to his fiancée. Breakfast was already served, but no one had started yet.

As he passed by the redhead to get to her seat, she grabbed his hand and, pretending to give him a kiss on the cheek as a greeting, whispered in his ear.

“The ballet problem is now solved.” She smiled, and then yes, she kissed the curly man on the cheekbone, making his lips curve and he raise his head, sighing with happiness.

Breakfast passes calmly and, unlike other times in which he remained silent, he puts several topics of conversation on the table, including saying rather casually that he wants a ballet performance at his wedding and Scarlett finally agrees. like their parents who accept the idea without question because they have always liked art.

“You will have a beautiful wedding, children,” added Anne the former queen, before ending the conversation.

“It will be talked about all over the world, and people all over Europe are very happy because they finally hope that when they turn on the radio and television they are broadcasting something other than the consequences of the war.” Her father said after finishing breakfast. “I'll be in the office if any of the three of you need anything.”

When Norman left the room, Anne whispered under her breath that she didn't understand why her husband continued working even though he was retired; At that time, he was writing letters to the Prime Minister, who was faltering in his position, in which he wished him the best in the future and did not understand how someone who had carried the entire weight of the great war on his back could be replaced. as soon.

“I'm going to leave too, I have to go out to do some shopping in London and a meeting with the woman who organizes the chapel flowers,” Scarlett announced. The redhead got up from her chair and, followed by Harry, they both disappeared through the door, leaving Anne to finish her coffee in silence.

It wasn't until they were halfway down the hallway, and Scarlett was about to turn towards her room, that Harry stopped her to ask questions and satisfy her doubts.

“How could you close my ballet in one night?” the king questioned curiously.

“I have friends, or maybe they are just acquaintances... but the answer is that it is not even remotely finished, I just think I have it, I have to negotiate a little more with it.” Responded the woman as she stops to talk calmly with Harry.

“Is it trustworthy?”

“He is the best instructor in England, he directs part of the Royal Academy and I am honestly surprised that you still don't know who he is. Haven't you seen him this morning? He told me before that he did see you, in the inner courtyard.”

“In the inner courtyard? I only saw Sarah, in fact, we were talking and no one came over there...”

“Maybe he saw you through a window while he was leaving... Surely in a week or so you will be able to meet him, according to what he told me, tomorrow he has a trip to Kyiv to advise the new director of Swan Lake at the Bolshoi, I understand that they are rehearsing in Kyiv instead of Moscow, and he won't be able to return to London for a few days, which, by the way, did you know about the renewal?”

“I get excited thinking about it, Sarah told me this morning, apparently, just when the news was in all the newspapers, that your friend knows in advance, wow, that might earn me a vote of confidence in him. Thanks for calling him.” He thanked. “Well, I... I was thinking of going back to the library, but I just remembered that I had in my diary that I have to call Winston to tell me if they are going to call the Peak District in the north of the country a national park...”

They both said goodbye and Harry continued his day, hoping to have some free time to return to the library and get lost in his books.

Chapter Text

The next morning it seemed that autumn had invaded the English city before its time. The sky, usually a blue canvas, was dyed with gray tones that had been discharged during the night, and this being London, they continued to do so weakly without rest.

Inside the rooms of the palace, the air was rushing through the corridors because of a poorly closed window and Harry woke up to the clamour of the storm that was attacking the glass. The rays of light that previously caressed his face at dawn were replaced by the pale luminosity of a stormy morning. The cold had crept stealthily into the room, running through his silk sheets and enveloping him in an icy caress. But it is at his feet where he feels the cold most intensely, as if the nightmares wanted to reach him deep down, freezing him first, freezing his bones, perhaps from daydreaming the night before about what had hurt him so much.

Harry sat up, pushing the several blankets away from his body in one abrupt motion, fighting his strong instinct to stay curled up, then shivered as he sat up, yawning, and rubbing his eyes with his fists to clear his head. He sat on the bed, got dressed in the dark and after putting on more formal clothes - a green t-shirt and shorts - instead of the old robe with which he walked around his room, he let the marble floor catch his eye. also the heat of his feet upon contact, and it was then that the need invaded him, the irresistible desire to move, or to let his imagination fly to see the spectacle before it was created.

The British man looked at the clock hanging on the wall and, seeing that it was still seven in the morning, but he was going to be unable to fall asleep, he decided to start his day a little earlier and go for a walk through the hallways, where people slept, and get to the library to see the rest of the sunrise from there, while the moon hid and was replaced by the sun that could transcend and eliminate the dark clouds.

He left the room without making a sound, despite being one of the only two people sleeping in that hallway on the second floor of the palace; Her parents were in the left wing while they lived in the right, and in the center of the second floor there were common rooms such as a living room, a dining room, and various meeting places.

As soon as he looked out of one of the large windows he could notice how the weather had quickly improved, because in the space of half an hour the wind and the storm lurking outside seemed to have calmed down, for which he was silently grateful, although he was already too awake to go back. to fall asleep. So, walking without making too much noise, he suddenly found himself in the attic of the library where there was a small living room with a stove and from which he could see all of London.

He had left several started books there, he used to turn the corner of the page to find out where he had left off; but in the one he grabbed first, he had not needed it.

It was one of illustrations from the Bolshoi, the director of the theater and ballet himself had sent it to him for his eighteenth birthday, he encouraged him to continue dancing in private if he couldn't do it in public, but above all, to follow his passion and his heart; although the good man did not know that that could not be so.

But he was still grateful that, since he couldn't dance it, he could settle for observing and imagining the moving images, the steps the dancers made, and everything they wanted to convey with their dances.

He also loved the dancers' makeup, the decorated tips they had in big shows and the costumes they appeared in in performances, such as Odette's white wings in Swan Lake or the leotards inspired by Romeo and Juliet that they wore in the performance of the same name.

Lost in his thoughts and dazzled by that book of which he intended to memorize all the images in case one day he suffered from not being able to have it in his hands, the clock showed three rush hours, and when Harry looked at it it was already ten minutes past nine in the morning.

He stood up stretching, and at the same time, his stomach growled as a sign that he needed to have breakfast as soon as possible. He returned to the hallway he had been in a few hours ago, but this time sunlight came in through the windows making the gold on the walls sparkle.

He made sure, before closing the door, that the lights were off and there was no sign that he had been there at that hour of dawn.

He was already an adult, of course, but surely if Scarlett or her mother found out about this they would reproach him for sleeping better and stopping staying up late about dancing. Above all, his mother.

Scarlett would just tell him that no one in their right mind would waste hours of sleep reading or looking at pictures, except him.

Thinking about it, he turned around after closing the large doors, and his thoughts were completely dislocated when he saw a man entering his fiancée's room.

He immediately became alert, his thoughts turned to all kinds of hypothetical situations that could be happening: His lover? Or maybe it was a thief who wanted to steal all of his jewelry?

No, no, the robber thing was impossible, the royal guard would have been alerted to it and they would never have let a stranger suddenly enter the castle like that. He had to be friends (or something more) with Scarlett.

Slowly and with some fear for what he was going to find inside, he looked out the door, which was open. The stranger was sitting on the bed with his back to the door, and Scarlett was laughing out loud at something the guy had said.

Suddenly, since no one had seen him, he decided it was better to go get some food and later ask Scarlett who he was.

He didn't seem to be her lover, the schedule was too late to take someone, but at the same time too early not to take someone you wanted to see; The boy, who was a couple of years older than him, didn't seem to mind being seen, not like other lovers of his fiancée did; For example, with Marcus, one of the people Scarlett slept with in the palace, the door was even locked and they used to meet when everyone was asleep, and Harry had only seen him once by accident when in the middle of the night, around four in the morning, which had urged him to go to the bathroom.

While he was questioning why he had never been able to find someone or why he wasn't even curious about experimenting with other women, he crossed the room and instead of ringing the bell for someone to serve him breakfast, he went down the spiral stairs that led to him. They were on one side of the large room and led to the kitchens.

They had a different aesthetic than the castle, the walls were white and the furniture was marble with large countertops on which there were bowls and cutlery of all kinds from early in the morning. Most of the things there were made of metal and were so shiny that they looked like mirrors.

There were a couple of cooks preparing the rest of breakfast for the family who bowed before him when he knocked on the door and asked permission to enter.

“Your Majesty” In a courteous manner, as Harry partly thought he should be, Nina, one of the cooks who had been in the palace for years, greeted him. “Have you called? Sorry, we're not listening to you if...”

“Oh, no, don't worry, I was just stopping by because I woke up early and had nothing interesting to do, but I'll wait until I have breakfast with the family.” He cut him curls while smiling kindly at her. And he went to the trays of cakes and pastries on the tables, stealing some from his hand and greeting the other staff, who were working tirelessly as breakfast time approached.

“By the way, Nina, what about Sarah?” The next time the king spoke, his mouth was full of cake and he had difficulty vocalizing.

“In the inner courtyard, I sent her there because she got bored watching us run from one side to the other,” the cook laughed.

Sarah and Harry had practically grown up together in Buckingham, the dark-haired girl had gone from being a child to being an adult at the hands of Harry, and while her mother worked in the kitchens she was content to play with the prince, or rather, with his best friend Harry.

They had been inseparable from the age of five until now, although now Sarah didn't visit the palace as much because she was studying law, but she took advantage of it when she went to catch up with Harry, and that helped the young king keep up to date with what was happening. abroad. He sometimes felt like he lived in a completely different world.

“Rirri!” Sarah shouted when Harry went upstairs to reach one of the interior patios, it was the smallest of all and in the middle there was a well, right where Sarah was leaning, who quickly got up to throw herself into her best friend’s arms and called him with the warm nickname they had used since they were children. “I thought you were still sleeping!” She exclaimed after leaving a small blow on his shoulder.

“I woke up at six and I've been in the library since that time.”

“Reading that book of Bolshoi photographs?”

Harry nodded while smiling proudly.

“I have a notice for you! How could I have forgotten!” She exclaimed again, generating imminent intrigue in Harry. “The Bolshoi announced this morning that it will release a renewal of Swan Lake next year, with new dancers and improved parts! We have to travel when it comes out!”

Harry doubted the reality of what he had heard, his happiness was so great that he believed he was dreaming. Next year? He only had to wait a maximum of 365 more days and he could easily see one of his favourite ballets again and be moved by it.

“It's going to sound too selfish, but sometimes I love having privileges as king of England, let's go!” He smiled, he already had a reason to continue doing it for the rest of the day.

His role as king hadn't made his life busier or anything, he just continued as he was, although he did attend more public events than usual, but as for his private life, everything remained the same.

They said goodbye sooner than on other occasions, obviously Harry told Sarah about that man he had seen in Scarlett's room, who the blonde didn't like very much, but she also objected that he could be a friend if all they were doing was It was laughing. Harry was curious and was sure that that day he was going to find out who he was.

The conversation ended when Harry's gut once again demanded that he should eat something, so, willing to continue talking to Sarah at breakfast and offering her directly as he did every day that his friend was in the palace, he told her to have breakfast with him and the other Styles, but she rejected him, excusing herself with the fact that she had already had the first meal of the day with her mother and she did not feel like interrupting the only family thing that Harry had, which in the end ended in nothing because unless there was a really interesting topic on the table, they gobbled down their food in silence, sometimes being lucky that the radio was on in the background to avoid the silence.

“See you!” Was the last thing Sarah said before releasing Harry from her embrace and sitting back down on the rocky wall of the well to read, while her friend quickly disappeared into the hallways to have breakfast.

The clicking of heels was heard again inside the palace when Harry stepped on the first tile and his walks accelerated to reach the main dining room, where his parents and Scarlett were already present.

After apologizing for his lateness after knocking on the door several times and asking permission, he walked around the table to take his place next to his fiancée. Breakfast was already served, but no one had started yet.

As he passed by the redhead to get to her seat, she grabbed his hand and, pretending to give him a kiss on the cheek as a greeting, whispered in his ear.

“The ballet problem is now solved.” She smiled, and then yes, she kissed the curly man on the cheekbone, making his lips curve and he raise his head, sighing with happiness.

Breakfast passes calmly and, unlike other times in which he remained silent, he puts several topics of conversation on the table, including saying rather casually that he wants a ballet performance at his wedding and Scarlett finally agrees. like their parents who accept the idea without question because they have always liked art.

“You will have a beautiful wedding, children,” added Anne the former queen, before ending the conversation.

“It will be talked about all over the world, and people all over Europe are very happy because they finally hope that when they turn on the radio and television they are broadcasting something other than the consequences of the war.” Her father said after finishing breakfast. “I'll be in the office if any of the three of you need anything.”

When Norman left the room, Anne whispered under her breath that she didn't understand why her husband continued working even though he was retired; At that time, he was writing letters to the Prime Minister, who was faltering in his position, in which he wished him the best in the future and did not understand how someone who had carried the entire weight of the great war on his back could be replaced. as soon.

“I'm going to leave too, I have to go out to do some shopping in London and a meeting with the woman who organizes the chapel flowers,” Scarlett announced. The redhead got up from her chair and, followed by Harry, they both disappeared through the door, leaving Anne to finish her coffee in silence.

It wasn't until they were halfway down the hallway, and Scarlett was about to turn towards her room, that Harry stopped her to ask questions and satisfy her doubts.

“How could you close my ballet in one night?” the king questioned curiously.

“I have friends, or maybe they are just acquaintances... but the answer is that it is not even remotely finished, I just think I have it, I have to negotiate a little more with it.” Responded the woman as she stops to talk calmly with Harry.

“Is it trustworthy?”

“He is the best instructor in England, he directs part of the Royal Academy and I am honestly surprised that you still don't know who he is. Haven't you seen him this morning? He told me before that he did see you, in the inner courtyard.”

“In the inner courtyard? I only saw Sarah, in fact, we were talking and no one came over there...”

“Maybe he saw you through a window while he was leaving... Surely in a week or so you will be able to meet him, according to what he told me, tomorrow he has a trip to Kyiv to advise the new director of Swan Lake at the Bolshoi, I understand that they are rehearsing in Kyiv instead of Moscow, and he won't be able to return to London for a few days, which, by the way, did you know about the renewal?”

“I get excited thinking about it, Sarah told me this morning, apparently, just when the news was in all the newspapers, that your friend knows in advance, wow, that might earn me a vote of confidence in him. Thanks for calling him.” He thanked. “Well, I... I was thinking of going back to the library, but I just remembered that I had in my diary that I have to call Winston to tell me if they are going to call the Peak District in the north of the country a national park...”

They both said goodbye and Harry continued his day, hoping to have some free time to return to the library and get lost in his books.

****

DAYS LATER.

The hours of Wednesday passed without highlighting, under the laziness of the sun, which did not appear after the consecutive stormy nights that had devastated the city of London, and adding to this the cold of early September and the rains that had seemed to decide to return. to London.

A smell of food coming from the kitchen filled his room, and Harry, not wanting to get out of bed to solve his royal tasks, was somewhat hungry.

Without thinking twice, he raised his torso and head that were still stuck to the bed, and immediately realized that the intense smell was not coming from the kitchen window, just below his, but from his nightstand, in the one where there was a coffee and a note.

When he looked around the room to see if anyone else was there, he found no one, but he did see himself reflected in the mirror; He was dishevelled, devastated, with red eyes and as if he had had a cold for days and had danced in the rain. And he had been unwell in bed for days, not because of illness but because of the different nightmares that he had been having the past nights.

Because it was early September and that meant remembering new beginnings, beginnings that Harry had once experienced, though every day, he wished he hadn't.

That's why he hasn't left his room in more than seventy-two hours, so that no one would notice that suddenly all his days had become intertwined, introducing him into an overwhelming and suffocating loop. That he forced himself every day to remember everything that had made him happy, because he was afraid that his brain would end up erasing them and in the end his mind would play tricks on him by thinking that everything had always been sad and could turn back into what a day had been.

He closed the door to his room with a bolt, even though he knew that no one was going to enter without knocking, and he stayed in his underwear, also considering several times the idea of ​​​​getting into the shower of that marble bathroom that also included a large bathtub, with the hope of being able to think about what has happened those last few days, since if the questions still did not leave his mind, he was going to end up bursting into tears before undertaking his tasks and the last thing he wanted was to leave there that morning in pain. head.

In the end, between decisions, he decided to get into the shower. Sweat invaded him. And then maybe, if he wasn't interrupted by anyone who would ask for him after not seeing him for two days, he could walk through the gardens away from the fences where the crowd leaned on to browse.

The stream of ice water hit the marble wall as he turned on the tap to take a shower unconsciously while he continued to think about what he should do and how he had to justify not having gotten out of bed for those couple of days. The drops splashed on the bare skin of his leg, the temperature was rising and the mist began to cover the entire bathroom, but he was not yet ready for the practically burning water to run down his body. He needed to feel the cold of the floor on his feet and the current of air that entered from the room through the open bathroom door, drying the sweat from his body resulting from all the stimuli of the night, that body that had never been admired or touched. , if he excepted him.

Finally, after minutes in which his head had gone blank and he had stopped thinking for a moment, millions of questions flooded him at the same time as the water from the shower:

Why was this happening? Why so much monotony and, at the same time, so much pain?

People thought he had the power, but if he didn't even have authority over himself, how could he have authority over others? How was he going to be able to speak the truth if he had always scared her?

Why the hell had he included a ballet in his wedding when it was what had hurt him the most?

Could I change it now? Was he going to come to Scarlett's room and explain to her, without ever having done so, every reason he had for withdrawing from everything, to get his wish of seeing the ballet, which was also going to be produced exclusively for him, by one of the best country instructors?

He could do it, yes. But his ego and stubbornness surpassed that fear that had invaded him with memories and nightmares; He couldn't leave what he loved, but at the same time it hurt him.

And now soaked and completely submerged in the shower, his mind continued to linger and made him feel more and more sinking. Blaming those questions he so wishes he had answers to.

Suddenly, in that nebula in which he found himself, he remembered the breakfast on his table, and he thought that if he didn't want it to get cold, he had better get out now, so he wrapped himself in the bathrobe that he had hanging on the screen and shivering, he leaves the bathroom, approaching the door to remove the latch, thinking “just in case something happens…” while lying wet on the bed, and he thinks that he should change those sheets because they are full of nightmares.

"Oh, you're awake." A couple of minutes later, his mother appeared in the door, making Harry jump.

Anne didn't usually go into Harry's room much, only when she sensed that her son was unwell, and she definitely didn't know why, but that day she needed to talk.

“You slept every time I looked out and I didn't want to wake you up. Are you sick?” She asked.

“Nightmares, I haven't slept well for nights and I already warned that I would sleep during the day, but yes... I'm considerably better, I haven't had any more since yesterday,” Harry confessed, noticing his hoarse voice after speaking for the first time in a couple of days. “I didn't want to tell you either, I don't know, I wasn't going to get into your bed like a little child because of some stupid dreams.”

“You know you can tell me whatever you want, do you want to talk about them?”

“No, I think I can digest it on my own... I'm going to have breakfast and go for a walk before seeing what I have on my agenda and organizing all the things I haven't done these days.”

His mother nodded, and after leaving a kiss on his forehead she left the room because she felt that his son needed space, even though in reality it was what he required the least.

Because as soon as his mother left him and opened the door, when her hand was placed on his bare thighs to sit up to drink the coffee, his hands are there again, he can feel it and then he turns pale and his breathing quickens making him have to spit. through tears the first sip of coffee.

Maybe the nightmares were also going to haunt him even when he didn't sleep or tried to blank his mind.

For this reason, he does not eat breakfast after the first bad experience and puts the tray away; and he points out with one of the pens he has on his desk that he must remember later to let someone know so that someone can pick up breakfast and clean his sheets.

The tray stays where he had initially found it, on the nightstand, and so does the note that accompanied that breakfast, something poor for him since it was only based on coffee and toast.

That note that mentioned him in a specific place, but that, since he never read it, he was never able to go.

Ignoring it, he decided to dress up a little more than usual, he entered his dressing room and put on his tank top, a blue shirt that matches his navy-colored jacket and, in turn, his pants of the same color as the jacket. He had to pretend that he is in perfect condition, although, like every beginning of September, this is not the case.

He put on his sunglasses so that the first rays of light he would see in days would not affect him, and he closed the door to his room, finally breathing another air.

Before heading to the royal gardens, which had been built by a family ancestor in the 19th century, he was faced with an interruption.

“Arnold!” The curly man shouted from the other side of the hallway so that the man would realize his position.

Lord Arnold Parker was around forty years old, and had been performing the job of being the Lord Chamberlain of the kings for twenty years. He supervised the actions of the royal house, was the channel between the monarch and the house of lords, organized public events and maintained the royal chivalries.

“Oh, a pleasure to meet you, your majesty. Was her confinement due to something important?” He greeted him somewhat seriously while bowing.

As the years went by, Harry had become accustomed to the formal treatment that people had for him in his own “house,” which really wasn't even that formal because all the time, except in the early morning, people were coming and going, sometimes He didn't know him, but they kept bowing before him and greeting him as if he were god or something similar.

He recognized that his father had had that mentality that people should greet him and bow to him, and it didn't bother the emeritus at all, but the green-eyed man got tense every time it happened and didn't know what to respond, maybe it was because he had grown up with Sarah and deep down she had taught him the values ​​he needed as a person and had been with him, unlike his parents who had spent much of his childhood and that of his sister traveling abroad trying to discover why or even how. stop the great conflict that was coming upon them in the years after their birth.

“Don't worry, it was just a few bad nights and I preferred to rest during the day, you know what they say, it's better to give your all when you work than to be ineffective,” Harry smiled.

“Indeed, yes; Do you need something?” The man twice the king's age asked again.

“At the moment I just need you to change the sheets on my bed and clean up the coffee I spilled this morning, and also the breakfast tray; I got up a little clumsy, tell them I'm sorry to bother you. By the way, do you know if Scarlett wanted to know anything about me these days?”

The older man nods to the first order given by Harry, and answers the Englishman's second question.

“Oh yes, the lady asked me about you yesterday, I told her that you would be resting, but she didn't tell me why she was looking for you, she just said that for something important,” He responded, stepping aside next to Harry to let a group of people pass. women who would surely go to collect something from the castle. “The new cleaners,” he said cheekily. “They don't even know where the air blows, as soon as I finish talking to you I'll go tell them that this is, as you should know, a private area for you and your fiancée... They're like chickens, all in a pack in search of disaster, they go into places they can't and...”

Suddenly, noticing that he was talking a lot, he fell silent.

“Well Arnold, if you see her can you tell her to look for me? I appreciate it, and also for telling those women that this hallway is not a passageway.”

Afterwards, Harry said goodbye by raising his hand and his butler continued on the opposite path to him, who went down the wide stairs to face the large garden.

He felt a wave of hot wind, it was normal, it was early September and the weather was just as changeable as his mood.

He thought about many things as he walked, and his mind felt cluttered again, just as it had in the shower a little over half an hour ago; He wondered if Sarah had asked her mother about him, or why his father hadn't even cared about what was happening to him, and hadn't come into the room for a couple of days. If he disappeared, would people only worry about him? because he was the king? What line separated Harry the person from Harry the king?

Did it exist? Had he made it clear? Maybe he didn't even know it.

He sat on the only bench that was crossed by a radiant ray of sunlight, and there, I still think of him as the person he was, although people very much liked to attribute him the sole role of king, and frame him as just that.

Of course he was, but it was only a part of his person, it was not everything; he was also a son and, if he had really been in love with Scarlett, he might have ventured to have said husband.

He sighed, inhaled and exhaled the air that was accompanied by the perfumed smell of the flowers that decorated the place; If he had done it the day before in the situation he found himself in, locked in the room and suffering from extreme anxiety, he would have thought he would drown.

He would have breathed as if he wanted to disappear into one of the impulses that his lungs gave to catch air and that came and went.

But not; he didn't want that anymore. They were really just relapses, but he did not want to die as had happened to her years before, like when he had looked in the mirror, desperate. Harry had spent just over a year wanting to disappear from the world, but that change in life, feeling responsible and thinking that he was now a role model for millions of people who praised the British monarchy, had also made him change his thoughts. and objectives, now, he just wanted to stabilize himself, stop thinking about the event, act as if it never existed as everyone had told him he should do from the beginning, ignore it.

He watched for a moment, before getting up and walking a little further, away from the castle and towards the fountain, as the clouds continued to move.

Everything was moving forward, even though he had spent days on pause.

He continued with his goal, got up from the bench and reached the large fountain that had in its center a large statue of the first royal family, and how every time he needed to put his feet back on the ground, he wet his face with the ice water that refreshed him from the heat that was beginning to be felt, he had always thought that water cleansed and stabilized his thoughts, and without a doubt, that day he needed it more than ever after the constant nightmares he had had during the past nights.

It had been a long time since he had stopped fearing those nightmares, he had felt anger for not being able to control them and now he was in a stand-by process where anxiety invaded him due to thousands of horrible feelings. He hated that he kept getting into his thoughts from time to time, because when boredom overcame him. He also used to wonder, or outright assume, that maybe after leaving him and abandoning him, he had found someone else. Yes, Harry was sure he would have.

But in reality, I would never know. So as soon as those unanswered questions were about to appear, Harry assigned himself any stupid task that required a minimum of concentration. Like organizing the books in the small library for the tenth time, talking to anyone who was in the main building, or at night and even at the beginning of the day, walking through the gardens like he was doing that time.

He couldn't see London from there, but when the final Second War had come to an end he could only dream about how his people would be living the post-war period and on most occasions he felt selfish by putting himself and his problems behind. on top of the poor people begging in the streets.

I couldn't see London, but the neighborhoods that were attached to the castle, it wasn't night, but the streetlights were still on, they shone so brightly that they looked like gold. And he thought that it had been months since he had left his fortress, because the only thing he did to communicate with people was write letters or call on the phone.

Maybe to stop those recurring nightmares at that time of year, I just needed a break, a vacation or something like that. Talk to someone new even.

Talk, talk, talk...

A voice is heard in the distance, it has a thick northern accent and Harry turns in the direction it comes from, he can't see very well from a distance, but he can see a man with the same hairstyle as the one he had. Scarlett, for whom remember that I never asked... greets the guards at the door and enters the palace without being guided...

Would he go see his fiancée?

Harry then remembers that Scarlett is looking for him too, and no, it can't be, he hasn't read that note that was next to her breakfast either... Could it be something important? Anything about their schedules?

He turns around and walks the path he took outside, this time without paying so much attention to the details around him, he only notices that the lights outside the fence have gone out. He hopes to be able to stop that guy who has entered the palace and find out who he is.

He walked quickly and the clicking of his boots was heard again in the palace like the beat of a classical work. He went up the stairs imagining the worst, that note in the trash and torn to pieces.

He burst into his own room and there were only two women there, one of those who were cleaning, who when they bowed their heads to the floor when they saw him, it seemed like they were going to kiss his feet.

“Have you seen a note? A piece of paper on the breakfast tray?” He asked.

“We didn't see anything, Your Majesty, we are the ones in bed, they came to clean the tray a while ago.”

Harry curses silently, and leaves without saying goodbye or thanking him. Then he thinks that this will echo throughout the castle and he regrets it, but so what? He was in his house; he shouldn't always be perfect in his...

“Harry! Harry, here!”

He hadn't even noticed the dining room door was open, until Scarlett casually yelled his name over and over again.

And she is there, sitting on the sofas in the large dining room, but not alone.

"Damn, I've been trying to find you all morning and since I couldn't find you, I thought you would continue sleeping like the previous days and... well the thing is, I sent you breakfast and a note to your room, but... then we talked," she finished when he realized that his guest had risen after her and they were not alone.

And suddenly, as if all the thoughts that were cluttering her head burst inside her; He was completely paralyzed.

“Harry, this is…”

“Louis Tomlinson, according to rumors the best choreographer and instructor at the Royal Academy in London, but I only think that it is pure talent, effort, and that they have never given me anything on a golden platter. I would also say that it is a pleasure, but not knowing him I cannot give an opinion as the whole town usually does, and it is ugly to let oneself be carried away by rumors; I will be in charge of directing the performance at his wedding that will take place in a couple of months, Your Majesty.” He responded somewhat dryly and bitingly, in Harry's opinion, as he shook his hand.

After the first contact, the green-eyed man thought that he didn't like the ironic tone with which he addressed him one bit, but he ended up responding with "delighted" and the three sat down in the armchairs so that Louis could start talking of how and when rehearsals would begin.

Definitely, both were looking for the fact that time had made them strangers.

****

Louis Tomlinson remained, after almost an hour, speaking in front of him. He only kept silent to keep silent and pause his voice, to think about what he was going to say, although sometimes ideas occurred to him at the moment that he just blurted out. And during that time Harry had been amazed as his mind plotted and imagined the ideas that Tomlinson threw into the air and let go, about what steps to do or follow in the ballet.

First he told them about Swan Lake and how it was the first play he directed, in addition to his other works. He explained to Scarlett, because she barely looked Harry in the eye, how if they wanted something less complex but still beautiful they should opt for the ballet “The Spring Ball” that had been premiered on the brink of the war and It had caused a scandal in France, because without having seen it before, the people said that it was not going to broadcast because they did not have a story to tell, but everyone who spoke ended up leaving the theater shocked.

While Louis' ocean gaze was directed at Scarlett's dark one, Harry got lost in her blue eyes and her lips that moved up and down without stopping, he found himself enthralled with her words, as if those books that he read without stopping were would have transformed into a person.

A person who had brown and somewhat disheveled hair, his beard was short similar to that of the king and his thin waist was visible in the tight black shirt he had put on that day. He had a perfect dancer's body, all features of him were balanced so that he could perform with ease.

Although later Harry discovered that he no longer did it publicly.

Plus thousands of other things.

Chapter Text

LOUIS. London. Royal Academy building.

He thought enough time had passed to determine whether he had a fever when he felt the mercury thermometer dig into his armpit, so tightly was he clutching it with his arm.

He had decided to lie down on the sofa and wait, as he had always done, waiting for someone or something.

He had also cursed millions of times when his body had been shaken by thousands of chills and shivered from the cold that only his body felt because of the 40 degrees on the thermometer, and he realized that even his body temperature was higher than the 25 degrees outside, even though it was already the end of August.

He thanked himself that on the day he had moved to London, in the midst of the post-war period, he had bothered to look for a pharmacy with supplies and buy some basic medicines and a small thermometer that he would use in the worst case scenario.

And the worst case scenario was this.

He had several important performances with a youth and senior group for which he still had to choreograph the Pas de Deux and the final act. They were revamping Giselle, and he had insisted on telling the dancers that they had to introduce new steps to impress the audience. So Louis spent some (or most) of his nights sleeping on the cold floor of one of the Royal House studios in central London.

In fact, he had been doing so for a couple of days in a row, so he could continue working there as soon as he woke up, and he would have continued doing so if it weren't for Niall, the musical director and his best friend in the profession, who had found him and sent him home after realizing the risks of illness from the cold that sleeping there entailed, even with a sleeping bag and several blankets.

“If I see you here again at six in the morning, or even spending the night, I'll drag you home and explain to Zayn how crazy you are,” his Irish friend had warned him, in a not very happy tone, when he turned on the studio lights.

Louis had laughed in his face, but within minutes karma had kicked in, making him reconsider and finally realize that maybe he did feel a little sick, so he reluctantly grabbed his bag and, despite Niall's objections, paid a taxi driver to take him to his apartment.

Now, every muscle in his body felt heavy, and the slightest effort made his lungs race, his mind collapse, and ignite as if an explosion of gasoline and fire were happening inside it.

He moaned and complained, knowing it would do no good, that no one would hear him because he was alone. But since he never got sick, everything hurt a little more than it did for others when he was bedridden.

He knew that at least he would have to get up and put on some thicker pajamas instead of walking around the house in his underwear, where the heat was not exactly abundant, even though his body was.

When he finally got up from the sofa, climbed the stairs, and went to his room, he glanced quickly at the mirror in the upstairs hallway and saw his reflection; he was much thinner, the bones of his hips were clearly visible, as were his ribs, which looked like muscle, but in reality were not.

He had to start eating more and not base his diet on just three meals a day, one of which was a simple coffee and another a piece of fruit, or in the worst case, not even that. What had happened years ago could not happen again.

Niall and Zayn, who were not only his coworkers and boss but also his friends, had filled his refrigerator with Tupperware containers of food that he had either prepared at home or purchased from the only store that sold freshly made food on the same street as the Royal Academy. Now, thanks to their insistence that he eat five meals a day, the dancer's fridge was full of fish, pasta, rice, bread, soup... and food that he would probably have to freeze so it wouldn't rot at the back of that somewhat outdated refrigerator.

Between feverish delirium and thoughts that were far from reality, Louis collapsed on the bed, thinking that he should go back downstairs in case someone knocked on the door, because Niall usually went to the studio at that time every day and might decide to drop by his house.

He quickly went back downstairs, despite the pain in his side that was starting to increase, and grabbed a couple of painkillers that would be useful at some point during the day.

But just as he was about to lie back down on the sofa, the phone rang.

“Lou?” asked a female voice.

“Lotts? Has something happened?”

Charlotte Tomlinson, his beloved younger sister, who, instead of moving to London with him for a better life, had decided to stay with her partner in Doncaster, the family's hometown, and build a life there. The Tomlinsons were a large family, but Louis had always felt that Lottie was the only one who called and was the happiest about his achievements in the ballet company.

"Shouldn't it be the other way around who asks? Yes, Louis, everything is great here; Niall called me, the last time he saw you you looked terrible and he didn't know whether to come and visit you or not. Are you sick? Do you know everything you need to take to get better? Don't be stubborn, Louis. Call a doctor if you have a high fever. Don't make me tell Niall to come over or something. I can tell Austin to go if you really need a good doctor... You know he has a lot of knowledge from the war, so if you don't want to pay for one, he'll be there in a couple of hours...

Louis hated that controlling aspect of his sister, but he didn't say it out loud because he was the same, and maybe even more so.

As for Austin, he was his sister's husband. They had been married for a couple of years, and the dancer had had to travel to Manchester for the wedding, where, in his opinion, he had performed a beautiful ballet solo. To be honest, he had always felt a certain amount of envy or resentment towards him, he didn't know what it was, only that it stirred up negative feelings that shouldn't be there, and if he expressed them out loud, everyone would say he was selfish.

Selfish because his feelings were perhaps jealousy of wanting to spend more time with his sister, or resentment at seeing him happy with a structured family when Louis, unlike him, had none of that.

Although deep down Louis assumed that what he felt was normal, you don't suddenly trust a man your sister has just met and with whom she already has plans to start a family.

“If Lotts could hear me...” the dancer thought from time to time whenever he saw Austin and talked to him. Charlotte didn't usually hold a grudge against anyone, she just repeated over and over again that if you held a grudge, it was difficult to express it to the person and you would end up feeling bad anyway. So it was better to let go of that feeling.

Louis decided that if he didn't want to get into trouble with Lottie, it would be best to take his temperature and call a doctor in London. His dizziness was constant now, and the fact that he had been congested and had a headache all morning didn't help. So he would accept that a stranger would come to his house with his emergency kit and give him a quick checkup by placing that cold, metallic object on his chest to listen to the inside of his guts (literally).

****

“Can you breathe in and out a couple more times, Louis?” said the elderly man who had introduced himself as Dr. Berwin to the blue-eyed boy.

He had been at the house for fifteen minutes, and it had taken Louis a great deal of effort to get up and open the door in such poor condition.

He listened to Berwin and breathed a couple more times while thinking about how much money that useless checkup would cost him. His face showed concern, but his words came out of his mouth as if everything was fine with me.

“Do you smoke? Or at least did you? Do you still do it?”

“Yes, I smoke, my least healthy habit as a dancer...” He nodded, unsurprised, and asked him how many he consumed a day.

“Maybe half a pack, three cigarettes at least... it depends on how I feel. If I'm calm, half a pack, and when I'm nervous, one or two at most...” He was ashamed of his words when he said them out loud, because he had never realized how much it could harm him.

He shrugged; he had always known it was bad, but he needed to relax before performances or premieres... His addiction to tobacco had increased when he had started premiering really important works, such as Swan Lake last year or, a couple of months ago, The Magic Flute.

“I'm going to prescribe you some cough syrup, try not to smoke today or you'll get worse than you already are. If your fever goes up, call me. The only thing we can do is go to the hospital if it doesn't go down with painkillers,” he finished with a serious tone, perhaps to induce some fear. “I'm not sending you away because I trust that you'll go to bed and take everything I'm going to write down here, following the necessary guidelines. No smoking, no alcoholic beverages; just rest, drink plenty of water, and take everything in your own time.”

But that was the one thing he didn't have.

He nodded again and thanked him, somewhat embarrassed. The blue-eyed boy had never liked being sick, especially when he was supposed to travel to Russia in a couple of days to attend a rehearsal of Swan Lake. It could be the most important event of his life, and because of his fault…

He nodded again and thanked him, somewhat embarrassed. The blue-eyed boy had never liked getting sick, especially when he was supposed to travel to Russia in a couple of days to attend a rehearsal of Swan Lake. It could be the most important event of his life, and because of his stubbornness, he might now have to stay home.

He went back upstairs and, after spending some time in bed—he never knew if it was six hours or fifteen minutes—the doorbell rang again.

He groaned, complained, and coughed as he sat up in bed. He looked like he had been dancing for three days straight in sleet in the middle of the North Pole.

But holding onto the wall, he walked to the door and when he opened it, he found Niall with two bags in his hand.

“I was going to say ‘I told you so’ when you opened the door, but I'll spare you because you look kind of pathetic with that cold or whatever it is you have on your face.” Niall was at his door, with a half-smile that distracted Louis and didn't stop him from entering the apartment. “Unbelievable, I guess I don't come here as much as I used to. Did you move the furniture around, or is it just messier than before?”

Louis was irritated. He was sick and didn't need to get angry over his friend's comments. Yes, his house might be messy because he didn't spend much time there, but his friend had no right to comment on it.

“Please spare me your shitty comments. What the hell are you here for?” he asked, annoyed.

“To bring you this. Your sister called me and said you needed more medicine.”

“No, I definitely don't need more medicine. I'll die of an overdose if I take any more.”

Niall ignored Louis's response and left the paper bag on the wooden kitchen table, which matched the parquet flooring.

“Has Zayn been here yet? He'd like how you've decorated the house, with all the ballet pictures and stuff... Uh, was this piano already here, or did you buy it?”

The house, which was a fifteen-minute walk from the Royal Academy, wasn't entirely his; the company had given it to him when he started teaching at the academy, although Louis suspected that it wasn't just for that reason, but because Zayn had become a good friend over time and, deep down, the house was his.

While Niall flitted around the house before finally sitting down at the black piano and starting to play, Louis thought he would collapse at any moment from how weak he felt.

It took the blond a few minutes to realize that his friend was still feeling unwell, so after warning him that he should go to bed, he stood in the doorway.

“I'll call you later!” he shouted to Louis as he made his way up the stairs to his room to go to bed.

“I'll be asleep!” he replied.

Niall nodded, pleased with his friend's response, who seemed to have realized that if he wanted to look better for the trip he had in a couple of days, he needed to rest. Louis heard the door close as he tried to curl up under the covers again.

And he thought that the next time he would have human contact would be at the airport when he headed to Moscow to see the Bolshoi for the tenth time in his life.

He had been invited to choreograph and give instructions to the new choreographer for the revival of Swan Lake, although he never understood why they hadn't chosen him directly. But anyway, he accepted that they wanted to give new choreographers a chance, so it didn't hurt him.

Apparently, what was going to impress about the performance were the grand costumes, the swans' wings with synthetic feathers, and the beautiful outfits that even the secondary dancers would have to wear.

Louis had already seen ballets with grand sets, and he had even had the opportunity to teach when they presented Sleeping Beauty at the Royal Opera last spring, in which the tiaras on the dancers' heads, the jewels on their dresses, and the grand backdrop made of materials Louis didn't recognize had impressed him when he saw where his dancers were going to perform.

But without a doubt, although all of that impressed him, his most important ballet had been Giselle. Perhaps because he had spent months revamping it, inventing new steps and a way to thrill the audience; or perhaps because, after many legal disputes, he had been allowed to present it at the Salle Le Peletier, where it had premiered in 1841.

It could also have been because it was winter and snowing outside, giving the theater a cozy feel where one could take refuge and enjoy oneself; it was January 19, and according to several people who worked in astrology in England, the third Monday in January was considered the saddest day of the year. 

They called it Blue Monday. And although Louis had never believed in astrology, which some people still thought was witchcraft, if he looked at it from a scientific point of view, perhaps it could be due to a set of variables that influenced people's routines. In just two weeks of Christmas vacation, they had already adapted to doing nothing during the holidays, which in turn affected their mood. returning to the routine, realizing that there would be no more breaks for months...

It may have been the saddest day of the year for many people, but definitely not for Louis.

Because he had fulfilled his dream, the first two rows of the stalls were filled with great choreographers and other important people from the world of ballet, people from the Soviet Union, England, and even France itself.

It was at that ballet, at his event, that he met the director of the Bolshoi and also the director of the Paris Opera, at the party that the Royal Academy of England had organized after the ballet, which lasted almost two hours. Both had asked him if he had put it all together himself, and although he tried to give credit to the rest of the team and avoid taking responsibility, he finally said yes.

Beuchamp, from Paris, and Pokrovski, from Moscow, flattered him and told their assistants to write down the phone number of “Mr. Tomlinson” (he didn't entirely like being addressed that way), So after giving it to them and, once again, being bombarded with millions of questions about how long he had been planning the performance or how the auditions to choose the dance troupe had gone, someone he doesn't remember took him out for some official photos with the principal dancers, the soloists, and then a family photo with the supporting cast.

It was the best day of his life, and the last thing he remembered was arriving at his hotel soaked in snow, taking off his suit, and feeling like a normal person again, finally free of pressure. He took off all his clothes and got into bed smiling, thinking that this was definitely the beginning of everything.

And it was, because a couple of weeks ago he had received a call from Pokrovski asking him, almost begging him, to interrupt his personal commitments to spend half a month, two weeks, in an apartment in Kiev, going from there to the Opera studios to help Borne, the new novice choreographer, choreograph Swan Lake.

Louis smiled, buried under the sheets.

“I have to get better, I have to get better, I have to get better,” he thought, again, several times.

He couldn't miss the precious opportunity to travel to Kiev, but above all, the opportunity to see if he could find Benjamin there, his favorite dancer since he was a child.

Benjamin Raynal had started his career as a dancer because he was from the nobility and had always enjoyed going to recitals. He had quickly risen through the ranks until, in 1912 at the age of eighteen, he became director of the Paris ballet. After achieving many more successes as a dancer and director, and even instructing members of the monarchy, he retired in 1944 before the end of World War II. But they said he still hung around the most important academies in the world in his spare time.

Most of the paintings in his house were of him. Louis had never praised a dancer so much, perhaps because he saw himself reflected in him. Both careers had been interrupted by war, in Raynal's case the first and in the blue-eyed man's case the second.

He snapped out of his thoughts and stopped thinking about him when his body temperature began to rise and his headache increased again.

“Shit, the fever,” he complained aloud.

If he wanted to sleep peacefully, he needed a bath, because he wasn't going to take any more medicine; he had taken more than three packets to lower his fever in a couple of hours, and a quarter must be insane.

So he got up and went to the bathroom, turned on the water, and sat on the edge of the bathtub to undress. An impulse made him want to look in the mirror, but he had always had a rule that he shouldn't have mirrors in the bathroom, so he wouldn't see himself naked, so he had even moved the one above the sink to the living room as soon as he moved in.

Without waiting for the water to get hot, because that wasn't what he needed, he slid into the bathtub and felt relieved after coming into contact with the cold water.

He didn't think about anything, and his hand slid across his torso as he rubbed himself with the bar of soap that someone had once given him and was about to use up.

When his body was covered in the soap, which smelled of lavender, he was able to submerge his head in the water.

A classical melody played in his head. He didn't know which one it was, but it was a piano piece he had heard recently, perhaps a continuation of what Niall had been playing earlier in the living room. But it calmed him.

A calm that was cut short too soon, even though the sound was muffled.

He was lost in the silence and his thoughts, and when the landline phone in his room, adjacent to the bathroom, rang, he didn't even hear it under the water.

So lost in the silence, the kind that makes heads bow to the ground in reverence, which in some cases had been for him, that it could be heard before a beginning, and also at an end. 

He lifted his head out of the bathtub, feeling a little less dazed and realizing that his fever seemed to have gone down, but at the same time annoyed that someone had decided to interrupt his moment of tranquility.

He got out, shaking himself off and putting on his bathrobe. On other occasions, it wouldn't have even crossed his mind to grab it, but with the trip to Kiev two days away, they could call to tell him about some unforeseen event, to tell him it was canceled, or to inform him of some other situation.

Although he couldn't believe it, fuck, it was almost two in the morning already. The doctor had stopped by around seven and Niall at dinnertime, and Louis just wanted to rest.

Suddenly his anger turned to nervousness. And he walked quickly to the bedroom.

“Yes?” he asked, grabbing the phone from the nightstand and sitting on the bed.

There was a confused silence on the other end of the line, but only for a few seconds.

“Louis Tomlinson?” a female voice called out. It was unfamiliar, and the disappointment, or relief, he felt when he realized who it was almost made him hang up. But he nodded anyway.

“I'm Scarlett, from... the royal family, you know, we used to be friends, I think,” the redhead on the other end of the phone hesitated.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Louis had many objections, but he decided to keep quiet and find out why the hell she was calling at this hour.

They hadn't spoken in years!

“So... sorry for calling at this hour, but could we meet up? I need a small favor,” she confessed directly.

“Damn it, can't you tell me over the phone?” Louis complained.

Silence returned to the line for a few seconds, and all that could be heard was Scarlett sighing wearily.

“A ballet... a ballet for Harry, that's what I need. And I want you to direct it,” Scarlett confessed.

This time it was Louis who, between expletives, moved the phone away from his ear to whisper them while clenching his fists in anger.

"It's going to cost you, honey. I can't stand the little prince for long.

“We can finalize the budget when we meet, but it can cover all the scenery and the royal dance troupe. Obviously, apart from the salary.”

That made Louis smile. Not only would the monarchy cover all his expenses, but he would also receive a decent salary. He could put on a really interesting ballet, and besides, ignoring the king wouldn't be that difficult.

“I want something that will solve my life. Forever.”

Scarlett sighed again, as if Louis' words and demands weighed heavily on her. She quickly understood that favors had been overshadowed by time.

But she wanted the best. And Louis was the best.

“So what do you say, can you come by at nine?” she asked after another silence.

“Damn it, you know I hate that bunch of idiots, and you call me...” The dancer laughed bitterly, somewhat offended. It was going to take him a while to get used to that bad taste in his mouth. “But it's okay, I'll accept because I don't want to snub an old friend.” If it had been any other time of day, he would have refused or resorted to asking Scarlett, his friend from ballet school in Ireland who had ended up engaged to the King of England, to beg him a little more. 

But he was too tired for that.

Well, after hanging up, a smile appeared on his face as he thought about having to deal with the innocent Harry Styles. Had he really asked for a ballet? The magazines said the young man was a big fan, but enough to include it in his wedding?

It would probably be a stupid half-hour performance for which he would be paid millions, because obviously the guy had no idea, and the lessons he had received as a child (which had revolutionized England) had been on a whim, because he had given it up after two years.

So, as if that call had improved his whole life, Louis slept that night without pain and with a smile on his lips, thinking about how much fun he was going to have, which was a lot to think about given the misfortunes that also surrounded the situation.

Chapter Text

King Harry Styles and his future wife, Scarlett Andrew of Belgium, are finalizing the details of their upcoming wedding, which will take place in November.

King Harry Edward Styles, who was crowned and received the baton from his father, Norman Styles, on February 1, when His Majesty also turned 24, is finalizing the last details at the palace for one of the most crowded weddings in England, but which, to everyone's surprise, will remain private.

According to our anonymous sources inside the palace, the Duchess of Belgium and the English king have a very good relationship, but they sleep in separate rooms. Perhaps they are waiting for marriage? 

Fortunately, as sleeping together is not the only thing that matters, we are also told that they have all their meals together, with the emeritus king and queen, which confirms that there is a good relationship between daughter-in-law and son-in-law.

Harry and Scarlett met at the age of fourteen, three years before the outbreak of the war that would separate their paths. They would meet again at the Scottish palace of Balmoral, where they took refuge with their mothers during the hardest years.

Amidst the pain, a love was born that still endures, and now, after a process of coming to terms with their relationship, they have decided to take it one step further and get engaged.

As for the details of the proposal, all we know is that it was in the palace gardens where Harry knelt down and asked Scarlett to marry him.

Fans of the couple are eager to know what comes next after the wedding. Perhaps a child? A private property on the coast to spend summers together? Or maybe Scarlett will take her husband to her homeland to introduce him (again) to her brother, the king of Belgium?

We know that Olav Andrew, the next king of Belgium, already met Styles in the past, as the two had a very good relationship when they lived together in the palace in Scotland. Has this relationship continued to the present day, as it has with Scarlett? Will Olav and the Andrew family approve of this final union?

To conclude, according to the royal family and external palace services, who have communicated exclusively with the magazine to share this information, we are told that Harry and Scarlett would swap the carriage ride through London for a private and unique ballet performance for attendees in the palace's grand theater, which is currently in disuse. Styles received private lessons, and occasionally group lessons, for a year and a half from the sixth director of the Paris Opera, but these ended with the outbreak of war. 

Will the king dance to delight the audience or will he simply watch as a spectator?

Stay tuned to our magazine for more royal news!

Chapter Text

HARRY

It was nine in the morning and Harry was lying on the couch, reading that stupid magazine, while Scarlett, who was sitting next to him, had just spit her coffee out through her nose, unable to stop laughing.

As the redhead continued to laugh, Harry read the last paragraph without pausing.

They hadn't even agreed on anything with Louis, and the gossip press was already hot on their heels trying to figure out what direction their "marriage" was going to take.

Swan Lake was a beautiful ballet, but Harry needed something a little more unconventional—a ballet that wasn't at its peak popularity but still held meaning, especially because of the staging.

They had a huge budget, and the king felt he could spend whatever he wanted to make it look like a dance film rather than a traditional ballet, because of the quality and realism the scenery and costumes would convey.

"I don't understand why they're mentioning my brother when I haven't seen him in years," Scarlett said, finishing her laughter before speaking. "Do you remember how angry he was when he found out I was going to be Queen of England? Fuck, his head nearly exploded."

Harry remembered it. How could he not?

It was the only time the king expressed gratitude for taking self-defense lessons at age ten, just in case he ever needed them. Olav's fist nearly grazed his cheek as he ducked and barely avoided getting hit.

Harry had to keep his composure and not laugh, but if it had been anyone else, he would have.

In fact, Scarlett did laugh, and that caused the King of Belgium to stop speaking to his sister and, as if her words had done him harm, to wish them both the worst English reign possible.

"Are you still not talking to him?" Harry asked curiously. He didn't like to interfere too much in Scarlett's life unless she needed him to.

"No, and I don't intend to either. He's a conceited egotist," she defended herself, offended, as if Harry had insinuated that they were back on speaking terms.

Olav Andrew was the polar opposite of his sister. In Harry's opinion, he was a blond boy, as tall as he was conceited, who, in addition to having a clear belief that women were far inferior to men (perhaps influenced by the fact that, even though he was the youngest, he would be the one to rule Belgium over his sister), had been indulged by his parents in every desire and would throw tantrums like a little boy when he didn't get what he wanted.

Harry had lived with him in Scotland during the German bombing raids on England, and it was undoubtedly through him that he had learned to blank out his mind and just nod when Olav couldn't stop talking about trivial things.

After leaving Balmoral Castle, they had no further relationship until a couple of years later, when the Styles family agreed with the Andrews to marry Harry and Scarlett, and Olav found out days later.

When they met after the news broke, the Belgian had tried to hit Harry, and the rest was history.

"By the way, I didn't even remember that you took ballet classes. It's scary how much they know—I'm sure they have a room with all kinds of documents about you, Harry," Scarlett laughed as the king tensed on the couch while the redhead watched him from the carpet.

"Mhm..." he nodded. "Family obligations, I guess."

"Have you thought about going back to classes? Louis could help you."

"Louis? Scarly, with all due respect, he's your friend, but that guy hates me!" he said, bursting into laughter.

"Oh come on, Harry, you're being dramatic."

"He didn't look me in the eye during the entire conversation and introduced himself in a very rude manner!"

"Okay, yes, he may be somewhat anti-monarchist based on the argument that the monarchy doesn't do anything, but it's not something personal against you, so you don't have to take it the wrong way."

"Of course it is. Didn't you see the way he looked at me? Horrible. He only agreed because he wanted to see you. I'm sure he likes you," Harry finished, laughing as he said the last sentence.

"Ugh, of course not, he's not my type at all. What do you have against a boy-girl friendship?" Scarlett chided, her tone more joking than angry.

"Nothing! But why else would he accept it?"

"Let's just say he owed me favors from the past..."

"How do you know him?" Harry asked, as Scarlett lay down on the gray rug that covered part of the floor.

"We went to ballet classes together in Ireland before the war. He stood out from everyone else, and I'm sure he's still amazing..."

"And the favor he owes you from the past? Did you two hook up?"

"Have you never been told it's wrong to pry into other people's business, Your Majesty?" Scarlett mocked again, evading the topic as she stood up.

"Promise to tell me someday!"

But as soon as Harry called out to her, she was already walking out the door, drowning out the curly-haired boy's sentence by speaking louder.

"Tomorrow at twelve, here to see Louis again!"

Harry ran his hands over his face, cursing why the hell he had thought of commissioning a ballet and hiring that idiot Louis Tomlinson to direct it.

The hall clock struck twelve with its bell chimes, indicating that the blue-eyed dancer was not yet in the room at the agreed time.

"Great, plus rude and arrogant, he's also unpunctual," Harry whispered through gritted teeth.

And while he was complaining about the dancer, as he had been doing since he met him, Louis walked quickly through the corridors outside the palace trying to find the entrance.

He had barely been to Buckingham, as Scarlett had moved into her new home a couple of months earlier and their relationship had been nothing but cordial at the time.

It was true that he was going to be late, but in his defense he could say that he had spent the entire night planning how many dancers each act would have, which ballet they would perform, the budget for the staging... He had to have it ready for that day without fail, so he could show it to Scarlett and that spoiled brat Styles.

Luckily for him, he found the entrance sooner rather than later, and as soon as he got his bearings, he was able to run to the dining room where they had met the other times.

The door was closed, so he took the opportunity to stop behind it, catch his breath, and then knock a couple of times. He heard a male voice telling him he could come in, causing him to turn the handle and enter.

"Good morning, sorry for being late, sir," Louis apologized, still somewhat breathless.

"You know what my father always says, Tomlinson? That punctuality is the most important thing. What if this had been on the wedding day?" Harry began to rebuke, taking advantage of his prominent position.

The king managed to calm down and stopped his words because under the table he felt Scarlett squeeze his knee, followed by a poorly whispered "Harry" from between her lips.

"I've been preparing things to show you today," he addressed Scarlett informally, and once again, focused solely on her. "Swan Lake, if you want a grand setting, might be your best option, but if you want something more ephemeral, The Rite of Spring would be much better."

"Oh no, no, nothing like that..." he looked at his fiancée before continuing, not wanting to be too rude. "We've decided that the piece to be performed will be Sleeping Beauty. I've also decided that it will be the same as the one from 1892—it will only last eighty-five minutes, with a fifteen-minute intermission between the two acts that comprise it," Harry dictated while pointing to one of the books lying on the table, showing an image of the first public performance of Sleeping Beauty. "You only have to modify some of the main choreographies—no mouse costumes or strange dolls, only props and clothing, but none of the absurdities that have been seen at the Bolshoi lately. I know you have a great fondness for Russian theater; I would let you surprise us, but since this is an event that's going to be televised worldwide, I will supervise every step you take, Mr. Tomlinson."

When Harry finishes, a few seconds pass before Louis analyzes everything the British man has said, but Scarlett's voice interrupts his thoughts.

"We'll supervise, Harry. I'm sure Louis has understood everything very well," the redhead says, emphasizing his name while setting aside formalities. "So I assume that, as director of the new version of Sleeping Beauty for the palace, you can leave and start preparing it right now. Your team will be the current one from the Royal Academy in London. We understand that Director Malik is already aware of this... but you could cheer him up by telling him yourself, Louis," she smiled warmly while Harry stood by her side, much more serious. "We have complete confidence in you. The Royal studios will be fully reserved to host this ballet and we're sure it will be worth it."

"Oh, yeah, sure. No need for all that formality, really. I'm just Louis," he finished the conversation, and as he walked out the door, he could hear Harry's faint chuckle.

He didn't give it any importance, and as soon as he went down the stairs he ran to 42 Floral Street.

LOUIS

It seemed like they had read each other's minds, because his friend was waiting for him at the studio door, nervous.

Zayn Malik had been considered the calmest and most peaceful person in the world, until that day, when he lost his composure due to nerves and danced until he was exhausted. They had met as children when Louis had moved from Doncaster to London at just ten years old and had decided to continue his ballet studies at the Royal Academy. The problem was that he was on scholarship. And no one looked kindly on scholarship students, except those who were also scholarship students, like Zayn. Louis had a memory of a boy shorter than him, and a couple of years younger, coming up to him during practice, shaking his hand and introducing himself. From then on, they had been inseparable friends and had grown up together, until Louis was offered a position as a principal dancer at the Bolshoi and Zayn stayed in London climbing the administrative ladder. Phyllis Bedells, the founder, passed the baton to him just after the war, emphasizing in her speech that "a shy, sturdy scholarship boy could be, deep down, delicate and superior to those who strutted because they had more money or connections."

"You kept telling yourself you were going to the palace to visit Scarlett!" Zayn exclaimed when he saw his friend rush through the door.

"I've known for a couple of days!" he defended himself.

"He's the damn King of England!"

"And a fucking arrogant one! We'll kill each other before we even start if he ever sets foot in this studio, although I doubt it. This place is too plebeian and common for his feet to step on," he laughed ironically and mockingly.

He knew he didn't know Harry well enough to say he hated him. But he did.

"Oh Louis, he's a person at heart; he can't be that bad."

"He is. We can't change the choreography! Or the costumes! It's Sleeping Beauty! What's next? Eliminate the Fairy's solo?"

"Of course not. I'd say he doesn't know what he's doing, but did you read the papers? They say he danced with Raynal because he chose him as a student."

"Chose him as a student? Bah, nonsense. That was only because of money and the monarchy's influence at that time—they can hire whoever they want whenever they want. Damn selfish people! They don't know what it's like to earn anything through effort!" Louis continued complaining while Zayn led him to his office to open a bottle of liquor. At that time in the morning, on a Saturday, they were sure that no one would pass by there.

They had already had a few drinks, and Louis had stopped complaining when the alcohol had started to rise to his head, which added something else to his repertoire:

"You know what else is happening? That pathetic Styles is going to be like a fucking fly bothering me. Haven't you seen it? What if he wants a ballet exactly the way he wants it? Because... why the hell doesn't he choreograph it himself? He has money, everything we all want..."

"Shut up or I'll tell Scarlett everything, you bore... you're going to get so obsessed with the little prince..." Zayn laughs as he tries to do a pirouette in the middle of the spacious, parquet-floored office.

No, definitely not.

Louis was going to do his job and then leave. He wasn't even going to interfere in Harry's life, even if their paths crossed again.

Because yes, with more certainty than doubt, Louis could affirm that Harry didn't remember him at all, but the blue-eyed man did know of the king's existence, although in reality, like the entire English population.

The former prince had attended a ballet school in Ireland, more for money than for talent like his, where rumors of his early relationship with Scarlett had actually begun, saying they had become much closer than just friends; and thanks to this, the news, and then Scarlett herself, Louis knew for sure years before the wedding that it was there that he managed to win her heart.

Leaving aside the fact that he had managed to win the redhead's heart, he had always been somewhat envious of him, like all his acquaintances, because, although Styles had only been there for a week, he was lucky enough to be able to take private lessons in the afternoons, almost late at night when the studios were empty, with the great and prestigious Benjamin Raynal.

It was rumored that the expert dancer wasn't even paid for teaching, although other people said that Harry was there because, although he didn't like ballet, his sister Gemma Styles had turned down the classes and the royal family didn't want to miss the opportunity for their children to be immersed in a culture as important as dance, which had also become popular in monarchies such as Russia or republics such as France.

Louis ended up keeping his complaints about "the little prince" to himself, but in return, he drank a lot of beers, more than he could handle; and Zayn, with much anguish, carried him upstairs to the small apartment above the studio.

HARRY

Suddenly, with no memory of how he'd gotten there, Harry found himself in the main dining room, at the head of the table, breakfast served, and he realized he was completely alone. Was it too early? Or perhaps too late?

He didn't even have time to raise the coffee cup to his lips when someone entered without knocking, and as the king turned to greet whoever entered, the cup fell to the floor and his body lurched forward.

His vision blurred just as he realized who it was, for he had seen him before, only now he stood before him with older features and a darker gaze. He didn't speak, but conveyed everything through gestures, as if seeking to generate more pain and strike, once again, at Harry's heart.

And in the end, before waking up, he could only stifle a scream filled with despair as he saw Louis, the dancer, watching everything with distress from the corner, his body sliding down the wall.

Luckily, the alarm clock rang, far away in the room, and Harry had a hard time hearing it and opening his eyes, while he felt like he was drowning and his pulse pounded deep inside him.

He'd had that dream before, and it felt the same as before. But Louis? He'd never appeared there before—he didn't even remember him before.

How was he going to look him in the eye now?

"I know it's stupid, but when I... dream about someone, I feel like that person can sense that I've dreamed about them? It's too silly, I know," the curly-haired boy laughed as he apologized to Sarah.

It was an April afternoon that same year when, as usual, they were talking in the inner courtyard of the palace. He didn't quite remember why he had said it, but his friend had responded by making fun of him.

"Fuck," she was surprised, "well, if you ever have a wet dream about someone, you're going to want to go underground, man," she ended up laughing, making Harry laugh too.

"Oh no please, I think I'll die if that happens."

After the memory brought a small smile to his face in bed, he got up and, after dressing and washing, headed to the dining room.

He was surprised to find himself alone at breakfast, and even shuddered at the thought that what had happened that night might be a prophetic dream, so when one of the maids who served his food arrived with breakfast, he asked her without shame and even with some fear.

"Do you know where my mother is, Charlotte?"

"Oh, yes, Your Highness, she left early this morning, said she was going to Brighton because she needed to clear her head..."

"Mhm... Okay, and Scarlett? We were supposed to meet yesterday at breakfast to go for a walk in the gardens, and you haven't seen her, so... Has anyone seen her?"

"She also left this morning in her mother's car. They decided to spend this weekend alone, or something like that was mentioned. Even so, she emphasized that you should go out into the garden to clear your head, sir."

He found it strange that Scarlett had invited him knowing she wouldn't be there, but he thought it might have been a last-minute plan or something.

A couple of years ago he would have been surprised by this, but Anne's trips to her residence in Brighton were already common in the palace. The king did not know if anyone else knew the reason, but his mother had explained to Harry that she needed to feel like someone normal and put her feet on the ground with some rest, which felt more and more necessary as the years passed and old age continually tightened its grip.

The green-eyed man used to constantly wonder if he would need it too, or on the contrary, would find another refuge in the not-so-distant future.

He thought about calling her to tell her his concerns about both Louis and that strange dream he'd had, but if Anne needed reassurance, Harry would be more than willing to give it to her.

It was a Tuesday, and nothing was planned. It was rather boring weeks at the palace. Perhaps that was one more reason why Anne and Scarlett had taken advantage of the opportunity to head to the coast, in addition to enjoying the last few weeks of summer.

A summer dominated by storms, which seemed to offer a respite at the beginning of the season's end, though it wouldn't last long, as by mid-September, autumn was about to hit the entire northern world, leaving a time when blooming flowers lost their leaves and life grew melancholy. Why did all beauty have to end?

When the king stepped into the garden and glimpsed it, already somewhat dry with the yellowing leaves and the grass that could crunch under his feet if he stepped on it carefully, he came to the conclusion that there should be no endings if they didn't bring something better than beginnings.

Unfortunately, in Harry's life, they never seemed to. Whenever there were beginnings, there was always a disastrous ending—like when he quit ballet and the war came, or the time he forced himself to feel attracted to Scarlett, which ended in an arranged marriage.

He felt he needed stability to find an ending that aligned with what he truly desired, which was freedom; but for that, he first needed a certain peace of mind, which he didn't seem to have:

Ballet school, something he was truly passionate about, collapsed with the Second World War and Germany's intention to destroy England. Later, when the great catastrophe was over, Harry's family had decided to crown him king due to the bad reputation Robin Styles had gained during the conflict, and this had led him to a much faster education than other monarchs received, but he hadn't been able to process it properly. And now, when he thought he would finally be able to rest for four months after adapting to his schedule, the Belgian and British royal families met to unite their successors in soul and flesh, in order to gain more power.

Perhaps for that reason and others that Harry was still unable to explain with words—trapped in the cage of his darkest demons—he knew he had lost the stability he had been seeking for months, even years, in every sense: mentally, physically, in his schedule, in his passions and in what guided him to live.

While his mind lived a monotonous life in that palace in the center of London, following his schedule, and exhibiting himself at public events as head of state, sometimes accompanied and other times alone, his heart—or whatever it was that compelled him to feel adrenaline every time something changed inside him—made him feel that he needed something more, an alteration in his life, a turn, not as big as a war or something that would change the way the world worked, but a spark that would bring him back to reality, to his life, if he could call that caged freedom "life."

He never knew when he had become so deprived of that freedom, but there was something that wouldn't let him breathe, something that, ever since his dream had turned into a nightmare, had been squeezing his throat every time he wanted to speak.

It was true that the nightmare, as Harry liked to call it, had given rise to an enormous channel of reflection and communication with himself because, from then on, in the bunker, he had allowed himself to discover himself; but, above all, and he preferred not to hide it, they were negative things: magic and illusion had transformed into nightmares and pain that day after day turned his stomach.

"Maybe if I did it again, that fear would be reflected in the wild dances and compositions that had once made me open up, but now fell into a bottomless, nameless pit; for fear of revealing too much of myself," he thought, when the grass finally crunched beneath his feet, after too much waiting on the cement stairs.

His fear, which was like that of a mother losing her child.

Like being mugged at night in a dark alley.

Like losing yourself.

Although perhaps the latter had already happened repeatedly to the one who hid under the name of "King of England" but deep down, was "just Harry."

And now, in a glass cage where everyone could see him and he thought he was hiding under a pseudonym, he tried to leave behind all that fear, pain, and combination of bitter feelings, and rediscover that person who was under the crown...

"Where the fuck is Scarlett, fuck?" Harry heard someone shouting not far away. "Hey, you, Harry, do you know where Scarlett is?"

Louis Tomlinson, who had strode up to the King's part of the garden, stood in front of him and, without so much as a "hello," demanded the whereabouts of his fiancée.

Did that man have no manners?

"Could you greet me and ask if you're bothering me?"

"Oh yes, Your Majesty, I can also kiss your fucking feet; seriously, where is Scarlett? I need to talk to her. We were supposed to meet today, and they told me she's gone."

"That's right, she's gone," Harry replied somewhat mockingly. Was it karma? It definitely was.

But only for Louis?

"Shit, I was supposed to meet her too." He made the mistake of letting his thoughts slip out loud, and Louis responded with a small laugh.

That redhead had set them up, which is why she was so insistent that he go to the garden.

"Shouldn't you be preparing Sleeping Beauty instead of meeting my fiancée?" Harry asked when Louis decided to sit on the nearest wooden bench, excusing himself with the fact that his legs were getting tired. "Besides, you're a dancer. Do your legs really get tired?"

"Shouldn't you be doing whatever it is kings do? Stop butting into my business if you're not going to help, Styles."

As Harry observed Louis, who, as he'd seen him before, was dressed in a blue tracksuit jacket and jeans, one of the maids who normally worked around the kitchen and didn't usually handle the mail, arrived with a letter in her hand.

"Your fiancée gave me this letter for you, sir," she greeted, and immediately bowed in farewell.

Somewhat flushed, Harry looked back at Louis as the sound of his laughter reached his ears.

"What are you laughing at? See, that's politeness, Tomlinson."

He looked away again from the dancer who was still laughing loudly from the bench, and he couldn't understand how someone who had never accomplished anything and only because of his birth could wield so much power.

For a moment, he ignored Louis's presence, reading the letter with his attention focused on it; it bore Scarlett's seal and didn't even have a return address or anything formal.

"Good morning, Harry. I'm so sorry I had to leave suddenly, but I needed some peace and quiet to stop thinking about the months ahead. I met Louis yesterday for a drink and a more informal chat about what he has planned, you know, as friends. But I won't be able to make it, and I thought it would be nice if you could go. You know, because you've always liked to create a much more personal boss-worker relationship. Besides, it's clear you two don't get along, and that could change today. He's stupid, I know, but deep down, he's a very good person who will understand you just as I do. Remember, he needs to get to know you to capture your essence in the work and for everyone to see something of you. Don't kill him. Love you both, Scarly. XXX"

He read aloud, prompting a response from the dancer as soon as he finished.

"Women, they're only good for sleeping with and then they give you an unbearable headache," Louis said dismissively.

"What? No, no, that's not right. Scarlett is much more than just sex, not even... It doesn't matter. Look, would you like some coffee, some tea?" Harry's attitude suddenly changed. He invited him, trying to be polite and remembering his fiancée's words in the letter, which were constantly repeated in the redhead's voice in the king's head.

"No! Of course not. Are you doing this because she told you to? Or is she forcing you? You know what? You're right, I'll go do my job right now, and you won't see me until the wedding day, and you can tell Scarlett to stop this nonsense, because honestly the last thing I want to do is talk to someone who's so... presumptuous and influenced by someone else. Why don't you want to change anything about the damn ballet?"

"Oh, is this about the ballet? I want to leave it as it is—go to the fucking Bolshoi if you want to change things! Always such a show-off!"

"But there's no point in hiring me if you're not going to change anything—tell the dancers you have to learn it on their own!"

"It's my wedding! You can quit!"

Louis left again without saying goodbye. Harry eventually left, thinking about the dream again, about how Louis could have appeared when the dancer couldn't even stand him.

Although he hated him too. And at the same time, he didn't want to conceive of letting him go. Because every time he saw him, he felt something connected them, and what he hoped was to reveal it to the blue-eyed man.

Besides, Louis didn't know it, but Harry just wanted to make sure everything was perfect, even though it seemed like leaving it static wouldn't achieve that. The king only thought about whether everything was going to turn out well. He wanted to worry about the ballet, of course, which is why he preferred to leave it as it was and not make any changes that could go wrong. Perhaps it was insecurities instilled in him since the day he, according to him, had lost everything and had started to fall. Or perhaps he had been hurtling towards the void all his life, and that day the speed increased.

And although all people fall to the bottom of the ocean while drowning and struggle to return to the surface, he felt that his situation was different, that he could not get his head out of the water and there was an invisible thread constantly pulling him down to the bottom (and it was not precisely the one from the legend, which was red).

Because being something he couldn't expose to society, and not even to the people he loved, he felt that everything invisible was more difficult.

Because no one could see it, and so, imperceptibly, was that internal battle Harry was experiencing, from which water still remained in his lungs; and perhaps, not seeing it hurt more, which was why he needed to impact that on others.

Chapter Text

All about Louis Tomlinson, the choreographer of the new ballet that will premiere at the event of the year: The Wedding of King Harry I.

Louis William Tomlinson was born in Doncaster, a small town in northern England where, at first glance, there wasn't much opportunity to advance; and to make matters worse, with the First World War looming.

At first, the dancer lived his childhood like any normal child from a small town. He would spend his afternoons on the football field, attend school in the mornings, and at lunchtime would return home for a bowl of porridge or some fruit, as his family was not among the wealthiest in the city.

He grew up with five sisters, who were born year after year after him, in a small apartment in the town center, and perhaps that is why he found solace in dance.

He began dancing alongside his closest sister in age, Charlotte Tomlinson, but continued solo at age ten when he enrolled, with the little money he had saved, at the Doncaster Ballet School, which only accepted girls but clearly made an exception for him.

And a very good one, because in a matter of four years, his evolution was so remarkable that comparing the sixteen-year-old Louis with his ten-year-old self, they bore no resemblance.

Although he had shown commendable progress, it wasn't truly recognized until June 6, 1936, the day when, after one of his pas de deux performances, he was told that Benjamin Raynal was backstage—the man in charge at that time of the Parisian Opera and Ballet, who was establishing a new academy for both beginner and advanced dancers, and was looking for his first students to grant scholarships so they could enter that September.

And by fate, or through the effort that sixteen-year-old Louis displayed that June afternoon during his audition —performing with more joy than anyone else and executing multiple turns— his teacher called him to a room where Benjamin was waiting, and he was awarded a scholarship without his mother having to spend a single penny.

Once at the academy, trained in London by the preeminent dancer of the time, Ninette de Valois, or Miss Stannus as her students called her, he was welcomed with open arms and evolved much more quickly and skillfully, starring that same Christmas in works such as The Nutcracker, Swan Lake as Siegfried, and Romeo and Juliet.

He became versatile and outstanding; his young age attracted the attention of major companies, but it wasn't until December 1938, when he had just turned eighteen, that he decided to leave the Irish academy for reasons that remain private and that the dancer revealed he would never confess, and signed with one of the world's largest companies: The Bolshoi, in Moscow.

Although the tension of the Second World War was already palpable in those parts of Europe, Tomlinson was only interested in ballet, and as he had never shared any political ideologies and no one knew whether he supported the Nazis or the Allies, when the war broke out he had no problems and continued dancing regardless of who might be watching.

Until his twenties in 1940, when he ended his time there a year before the breaking of the non-aggression pact between Germany and the USSR, and returned to England on a private plane with time to spare, showing an intelligence that few achieve—escaping a war from which he had been protected in the theater, but which had finally erupted.

He took refuge again in his childhood home, and was reborn five years later, in 1945, when he was inaugurated as the official choreographer of the Royal Academy in London, having arrived there immediately after the war ended.

And now, from that same institution, he directs an event as important as King Styles' wedding.

Chapter Text

But it feels like a cage
Where I've gotten stuck

LOUIS. Tuesday, September 1st.

The wind howled and snuck in through the cracks in the window of the large dance studio where Louis was resting. He'd been there for over seven hours, and before collapsing in the middle of the night, he decided to rest. So he opened the sleeping bag he usually kept in a corner and didn't last long, dozing in it, because he soon felt the cold on his feet and woke up again.

It wasn't yet the season for storms, much less for excessively cold weather in England. In fact, autumn was just around the corner, and by early September, the cold breeze was only gentle in the northeast of the country, and at night. Perhaps the weather was moving forward to prepare the island for the cold and sub-zero temperatures they would have to endure that year, because if the summer, with temperatures above 35 degrees Celsius (98 degrees Fahrenheit), hadn't been normal—it was the hottest they'd experienced to date—winter was going to be even more surreal.

It was about to dawn and Louis, even though he had rested for less than half an hour, decided to go out onto the small balcony of the studio, wrapped in a small jacket, trying not to leave his legs visible, only covered by his tight tights that allowed him to stretch and make wide movements.

He went outside and watched as the building was already receiving some rays of twilight. He had always liked that place to sit and simply think. It reminded him of that time before the war when he had visited New York to attend the renovation of American buildings. “The Dying Swan” with the American Ballet company , and most of the buildings in Central Park were identical, made of brick and with symmetrical windows.

Over time, the facade had worn down and even had some war bullets on the walls, although the interior was still as beautiful as it had been before the great catastrophe struck. It had a large dome-like ceiling painted as if it were a great work of the Italian Renaissance, and instead of walls there were mirrors, except for the large window that overlooked the street.

Louis found it incredible how, in the end, he had returned to the place where it all began.

He perfectly remembered the day he returned home from Russia.

In 1939, not many years had passed since the country's revolution, and tensions still existed in Russia, but Louis quickly adapted and limited himself to dancing without getting involved in political ideologies or anything that might put him in conflict on the street. He enjoyed great prestige at the Bolshoi, and over the course of a couple of months, many people began to come just to see him, the British star.

But suddenly, poverty increased, and art took a backseat as television and newspaper reports of the Soviet Union planning a pact with Nazi Germany grew increasingly prevalent, and street riots grew increasingly prevalent. But politically, nothing happened, and Louis continued dancing daily, noticing more and more how the public went there to escape. Fortunately, it was never completely empty; not even when, on September 1, Hitler, by invading Poland, indirectly declared a conflict with the Allies, which broke out two days later.

Although in the USSR everything remained the same, because the Nazis focused more on the eastern region than the western, and finally the news that there was a war became something normalized in the country, until 1941.

For some reason, by November 1940, the country's television stations, newspapers, and media outlets had begun, once again, to report on the war situation in greater depth, rather than simply passing it off as just another event.

Some media outlets even claimed that Hitler was going to break the non-aggression pact he had signed with Stalin years earlier, and Louis listened intently as he decided what to do.

In the end, thinking things through, using the excuse that the Christmas season was just around the corner, and also with a kind of intuition that kept him awake at night, he took the first flight to England without telling anyone, right on his 20th birthday. 

When he announced that he had returned to his home country and would not be back until the summer season, everyone at the Bolshoi and even his colleagues with whom he occasionally went out, who were actually competitors, responded as if he were crazy.

It was England that was at war with Germany! It had walked into the lion's den!

“The Soviet Union is the safest place to be right now, Louis. The Germans will never come here after the pact the government made. England is full of spies and soldiers who kill British people, and you could be one of those deaths! Besides, what about your future as a dancer? What will you be doing in England for so long?” Nicolai, another of the principal dancers, had told him during their last phone call.

Louis hadn't been able to answer most of the questions he'd asked, but he had a strange feeling that something was going to happen, and he had no intention of leaving the house.

And finally, on June 28th of the following year, after Louis had followed all the news and earned some money by giving dance lessons to girls and boys in the Doncaster neighborhood where he had lived since childhood, albeit without making his presence known (because he was afraid of being drafted to the front), Germany broke the pact and invaded the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Although he felt that, by being with his family every day, he had never left and that the war had never broken out because, in reality, the north of England was being rarely attacked by the dictatorial forces.

And days later, he could have called the Bolshoi to say, "I told you so," but instead he only asked how things were there. The second time he tried to make a call, four months after the first, no one picked up. And in the end, although everyone initially thought that no one in their right mind would return to a country at war, it was Louis who emerged unscathed.

Tan unharmedthat years after his last call to Russia, in which, in addition to worrying, he hinted that he wasn't going to return, England announced on all radio and television channels that the Second World War was over, that Adolf Hitler had committed suicide, and Mussolini had been executed by the partisans. So, as if he were a fizzy drink that had been shaken unopened, he only managed to contain himself until October 1941, when he decided to take a train back to a destroyed London, with many more people than should have been begging on the streets, but with an easy solution thanks to the United States; and the country wasn't the only one with a fixed destiny, because he did too.

He arrived at the station and was so impatient that he ran to number 46 Floral Street, right in front of the Royal Opera. Zayn opened the door for him as if he'd never left and hugged him in shock, and the rest was history.

The first few months people thought it was luck and envy ate at them inside, but the blue-eyed boy continued his life alone, going from studio to apartment and from apartment to ballet studio, where more and more people were passing by, and it was back to how it was when they both studied there.

It didn't even take them more than two nights to start reviving the English ballet, albeit with the help of an aging Phyllis Bedells, who scoured London putting up posters while Louis and Zayn fixed up the studio and were grateful that the German bombing raids on London for more than 20 nights hadn't damaged the building in general. And although at first no one came to the door or the phone, and everything indicated that it would die like so many things that had in the post-war period, Louis's intuition told him it wasn't going to be like that, it couldn't be.

Thank God it worked. All the business plans, the advertising, the painting of that parquet studio as a place of peace and tranquility where you could explore the history of the dance world and feel free paid off, and people started arriving at the end of November, some signing up and others demanding that Sleeping Beauty be premiered at the theater, because it was already the season.

Now, just a couple of years later, and finding themselves in an improved situation, summer had ended, and it was autumn that was pouring in through every opening in that studio, where the third founder was located. The large window had finally opened wide due to the strong draft. Although the blast of icy air that flooded the room at five in the morning didn't make him get out of bed, but did make him cover his entire body and submerge himself between the sheets unconsciously, the smell of car fumes that entered at the same time reminded him that if he didn't close that window, he'd wake up later on with a cold because of the wind, and besides, the air freshener by the door wouldn't do any good. Mainly, though, it was all because he didn't want to get sick.

As a rule, even though summer vacation was over, it didn't mean the work had stopped; in fact, it was always with the start of the school year that they had the most work and paperwork to fill out, even though they were open all year; and Louis had learned during those two years that the year began in September, not January.

Now, on the balcony as the cars started moving and he thought again that the cold could be the chronicle of a death foretold, although without knowing when or where it might happen, he felt a strange feeling that something would break his schemes that forced him to get up from the chair, let the needle touch the plastic of the vinyl, and allow himself to release that lump in his throat by rocking to the sound of a Haydn melody that, deliberately chosen, reminded him of dawn.

Days later he understood that, even if dawn broke, the darkness and bad omens never completely disappeared.

****

HARRY. 

Harry didn't know how to feel about being the one to oversee the ballet rehearsals, avoiding and putting aside his obsession with making sure everything was perfect.

"Well, Harry, I'm sorry, but I can't supervise everything," Scarlett had raised her voice as she burst into the library. "The centerpieces, what color the guests are going to wear, the food, and..."

Her words were cut short when she saw her fiancé lying on one of the tables in the place with several books open both on the floor and on his lap.

"Look at you, you're not even... Do you remember what you had to do?"

"The menu?" he asked, not wanting an answer. "I told Arnold to do it. Honestly, I don't care what we eat."

"You can't ask someone else to make your menu, but what about the excitement of including your favorite foods, desserts, and centerpieces?"

"You know perfectly well that I'm not getting married for pleasure, even though I love you very much...

And perhaps those words were the chronicle of a death foretold for Harry, because Scarlett exploded against him in a more cutting way than she could have.

"I know you don't love me, and as much as it hurts, I'm trying to accept us as friends or whatever. All I ask is that you have a little responsibility and behave like an adult with obligations he doesn't like for once in your life, Edward. Do you think I would have gone along with all this charade if I'd known what you're really like?" Each time, the redhead's words became more hurtful, and her tone rose. "How absent you are from your daily life, this obsession with ballet. Fuck, look at you! You don't even worry about the country's event of the year, and it's your own wedding. How much time do you spend in your office attending to matters of state? An hour a day? You meet with Attlee every Wednesday in Downing Street and other times here, and what the hell are you doing? You nod as he tells you how the nation is doing, like the good prime minister and responsible person that he is, doing his job?"

Harry tried to respond, but she continued attacking with her words, throwing knives at a wall that was slowly breaking from within, as if there were already cracks that had been generated from inside.

"No, I'm not going to let you interrupt me today. There are 43 days left until we're married, and even though you don't love me, I feel like I'm the only one making the effort; so either you do your part, or... I'll go back to Belgium. I don't need anything you give me here."

"And you think you can leave so easily? Without being headlined in every newspaper in the world? You care too much about me to leave. And besides, you're the first woman to know that in relationships, there's the lover and the beloved, and you, fortunately or unfortunately, are the one who drags herself along, and meanwhile, I don't feel anything for anyone."

"Oh, are you trying to scare me, Styles? The good guys aren't that good, and the bad guys aren't that bad. I know as much about you as you do about me, and if you don't let me go, I could destroy you from the inside out. You hide behind all the speeches, the romantic ballet, and you think you're an expert on it, when in reality you're a wretch who knows nothing of its essence. So many years behind closed doors. Do you think I don't know about your panic attacks, the madness you hide behind your four walls and conceal from the world? You don't feel anything for anyone, but it's because you're a coward. You were afraid to refuse all this spectacle back then, and you're afraid now to show who you really are. Why have you been spending how long? All your life trying to be Odette to find your Siegfried? And you hide behind someone reserved to, in the end, hide what you feel toward those dancers who dare to be themselves and are imprisoned and murdered, while you suffer in this gilded cage, running away from yourself and from what you truly feel for them. Or do you think I don't know why you scream 'Benjamin' at night? Are they nightmares from not being able to get out? Is that it, Harry?" He suddenly fell silent, quite briefly, as if waiting for reflection, but not a response from the curly-haired man. "Do you plan to live your whole life trapped?"

And Harry, with tears in his eyes and being watched from below by Scarlett with an angry look that had been etched deep in his heart, saw her leaving.

"Let's get to work, right now," she finished as she turned and left, closing the library door with a soft bang.

But the green-eyed man didn't dare cry there; it was such an insecure place that if any palace staff were to enter, the news that the King of England was sad, sick, or depressed would spread through the streets of London in a matter of hours.

So, almost holding his breath to keep the tears from coming out, he walked briskly out of the room and into his own bedroom.

Once there, he opened the door ajar and, with red eyes and somewhat blurred vision, the shirt he was wearing slid down his shoulders on the way from the bed to the sink, and once in the bathroom, with the faucet of the large bathtub running, his shorts and underwear followed the same path to the floor.

That's when he allowed himself to cry, perhaps so no one would see him or for the simple fact that, if the tears were lost in the hot water of the bath, he could think when he got out that he had never shed them and that he was a happy person.

Someone happy, who, in his head, would still be just as sick.

Although he didn't remember much of Scarlett's speech, because he had been in shock for much of it and his memories had caused him to stop listening, he knew what had hurt him the most.

He not only wanted to be Odette, but wanted to find a Siegfried. Or perhaps, just someone who loved him enough to defend him from the Rothbart who had haunted him in life and now haunted him in his dreams.

He could still glimpse his face and was terrified of how he was creeping into his memories, so to avoid him he dove into the bathtub, which was overflowing with both water and foam, and spilled onto the floor.

Luckily, he was lost in silence, rather than in his own thoughts, and the knocks on his outer door, which echoed over and over again, went unnoticed by the curly-haired boy at first.

Because he was so lost in the silence, the kind that bows heads to the ground, generating reverence, countless times for him; that is heard before a beginning, and at the end of something, and that is lost when it is most needed. Because it is exactly what he needs at that moment, and he loses it when he hears the third knock.

"Yes!?" He yells, sticking his head out and shaking his wet curls.

"Harry? It's Louis. I... I ran into Scarlett and she told me to come over so I could accompany you to rehearsals and talk to you about it. Can I come in or...? It doesn't matter, I'll stay out, I don't want to bother you, really."

Shit, surely Scarlett would have told Louis about their argument, or so he thought—he had never seen him so wary of him.

"Oh, and good morning," he shouted before waiting for a reply, realizing he hadn't been polite enough.

Harry felt comforted, still in the bath, and a faint smile curved his lips making him blush without knowing why.

"Good morning," he laughed. "You can come in and wait in the room, actually. If they see you in the hallway, they'll kick you out because they'll think you're snooping," the curly-haired man told him, wiping away the remaining tears from his eyes.

Silence soon fell over the room, and although Louis had entered, the bathroom door was ajar, giving Harry almost complete privacy, and he could hear him playing with the water and repeatedly submerging himself.

"The dancers are already in the studio warming up, or so I hope; we'll start with the prologue according to the original script Scarlett gave me and... I don't know, I came because I'd like you to join me, I mean, if you have time and all that."

"Don't you trust yourself?" he asked suddenly, noticing the insecurity in the choreographer's voice.

"Oh, of course I do, but it's the most important presentation of my career and..."

"Wait, your biggest performance is at a wedding? Didn't you fill the Bolshoi a couple of times?"

"Well, I didn't even think you'd know that... but it was actually a joint effort with more people from Russia, and here it's just me and Niall and Zayn trying to help me, but... deep down it's all my responsibility."

"In all sincerity, Louis," after saying this and before confessing, the water drained from the tub because Harry stood up to get out, and then he spoke. "I don't think you should put up so many barriers. I can assure you that this won't be the most important performance of your life or your career."

He heard Louis whisper, "You're so sure," as he wrapped the towel around himself, then stepped out to stand face to face with him, his neat black suit and disheveled hair before looking down and smiling, as an excuse to hide his tears, or at least what was left of his red eyes and swollen face.

"Is everything okay?" He stammered without looking closely. "Sorry..."

"Calm down, I got soap in my eye. I'm fine. Could you turn around? Is it fancy enough to wear a suit, or can I just wear a shirt?"

"Shirt is fine. I'm actually overdressed since it's my first day, but tomorrow I'll go back to pants and comfortable t-shirts."

"You'll be back looking sloppy, you mean," Harry joked, though there was no laughter in the room, and Louis sat down with his back to him on the bed, first asking for permission.

The blue-eyed boy, without much confidence in Harry's kind words and how he was behaving, when suddenly they weren't face to face and the intimidation wasn't so much, asked as if they had trusted each other for a lifetime.

"Why are you suddenly so nice? You let me in here, and now we're talking normally? I don't know. I mean, I was so rude last time, so I don't know why you're treating me like this today."

Harry shrugged, and although he immediately thought that this didn't give Louis any answers, the dancer could see him reflected in the mirror in front of him, which he stopped looking at when the white towel slid down the curly-haired boy's slim hips.

"Well, I guess people have bad days, and the last time we saw each other was one of them. Besides, I'm not being nice, I'm just trying not to get yelled at. How long would you have waited outside? More than half an hour? Do you think a guard wouldn't have thrown you out by now?"

But before Louis could respond that that was certainly quite rude and had been said in a horrible tone, Harry continued speaking.

"Okay, I'm ready. Is that appropriate or maybe too informal?"

The dancer did a quick spin and scanned the king from top to bottom. The open shirt revealed much of his chest and closed at his navel. It didn't last long, though, because when he asked for advice, Louis gave his opinion truthfully.

"I think you should fasten a couple more buttons." Harry's hands went to them as Louis was finishing speaking and in the end, only a couple remained loose, leaving a minimum of his chest visible. "Perfect. Now come on, I should have been supervising the warm-up for half an hour."

"I'll call a car, but yes, we're going."

"A car when we can get there in five minutes walking across Green Park?"

"Frankly, and without wanting to be an egomaniac, Louis, I don't know what would happen if I walked across that public park, but I'm sure that being the King of England who makes the fewest public appearances per year, nothing positive would happen."

"Well, we'll go by car then," Louis sighed, despite not being used to that kind of luxury.

After locking their room, as it wasn't a cleaning day, Harry and Louis walked side by side until they reached the castle's entrance hall, and there, they asked the only staff member they could find who would silently bow to Harry to call one of the chauffeurs who, throughout the year, took any member of the family wherever they needed to go.

"Good morning, James," the king greeted the driver.

"Where should I take you, sir?" replied the elderly gentleman who had opened the doors for both Harry and Louis and was settling into his seat.

"42 Floral Street, past Trafalgar Square."

Despite Louis's impatience and the clarity of his words, the driver waited for a quick confirmation from Harry.

"Yes, there."

The journey lasted just over 10 minutes, which were soon filled with silence between Louis and Harry, and the music from the driver's cassette, which neither of the two young men recognized, but which wasn't noise in the air.

"Wouldn't you like to walk around London sometime? I mean, like a normal person. I'd be jealous of all the people going to see Big Ben, or just grabbing a bite to eat at a pub because they want to relax and enjoy the last days of summer with their friends," Louis said, breaking the silence five minutes later as they approached their destination, but a traffic light stopped them.

"Envy? Me? None. I can do the same thing as them, but in my garden, or if I want to see people, I can go to the balcony, or call my friend." He replied with an air of superiority.

"Okay, I get it, you can't be jealous of something you haven't experienced."

Harry didn't even respond, and although that must have made Louis see that he didn't feel like talking, the dancer continued with his questions, taking advantage of the moment.

"And if you've never been to a pub, how did you meet Scarlett?"

"Haven't you read it in the newspapers?" he ended, tired.

"Do you think I read that shit? Come on, they're gossip magazines!"

"It's not a topic I want to talk about, so if you're that curious, you can read it somewhere."

With those last words and cutting off all eye contact with Louis to get him to shut up once and for all, he looked out the window, observing his city and how people were running from one place to another on that weekday morning.

Maybe it was because it was a weekday, and there was so much traffic; or maybe it was just because the world was forcing Harry to endure Louis's questions and not lose his temper.

"We've arrived."

And while Harry waited for the door to be opened, Louis got out on his own.

"Are you going to stay and watch or...?"

"I'll stay," Harry interrupted his sentence.

Harry fell in behind him, and Louis was the first to enter the building's lobby, which had a small reception area. A bell rang above their heads as they entered, and seconds later, a dark-haired boy with a shaved head and a few tattoos—something unusual and only seen on former inmates—came out through the corridor leading to the dance halls.

"Hey, Louis," he greeted him, raising his hand without noticing Harry's presence.

"Scarlett sent Harry, Zayn." Suddenly, a pair of long curls that fell over his shoulders appeared next to Louis, and the headmaster smiled kindly. "So, Zayn, this is Harry, and Harry, this is Zayn, the one who makes sure the Royal Academy stays afloat."

"It's a real pleasure that you've hired us to direct Sleeping Beauty for such an important event as your wedding, sir. We're grateful and we know how important it is." Zayn's tone turned polite, something Louis had never seen before, and he let out a small laugh.

"Fuck, Zayn, you should get on your knees and kiss his feet," the blue-eyed man teased, having complete confidence in Harry for a second. Although it seemed he was wrong.

"It's called respect, something you've never had, Tomlinson." Suddenly his expression was serious, rigid, and even imposing on the older man.

And after a silence in which Louis tried to find an answer, one he didn't find, the tension between them broke.

"Okay, I'll show you the studio, and then we can head to rehearsals." Zayn was always there, and this time when things could have turned for the worse was no exception. The dark-haired man abruptly changed the subject, returning to what was truly important that morning.

Harry responded with "I'd be delighted" and Louis said goodbye, excusing himself by saying he had to lead the warm-up of the group that would perform the prologue.

Zayn guided the king through the building, telling him, as an aside, that while Louis lived on the third floor, he lived on the fourth; and that the ground floor, as well as the first and second levels, were simply dance studios with parquet floors, surrounded by mirrors and a few offices where Louis, Niall, and Zayn, especially the latter two, spent their time when they weren't teaching.

After the brief tour of the building, they headed to the first-floor hall, one of the most spacious, where Louis had six couples repeat the same step over and over again; while another group, sitting in the corner without disturbing anyone, opened their mouths in surprise at seeing the king walk toward the hall.

Everyone stood up to greet him, and although at first the focus remained on those still dancing, when the first dancer Louis was trying to coordinate noticed Harry coming through the door, everyone else followed their partner's lead and, in awe, perhaps because King Styles was too beautiful in person or because he was simply watching them, the dancing stopped.

"Sir, these are the antagonists of Sleeping Beauty," Louis greeted Harry, not treating him with the same confidence he had a few hours ago, something that surprised the curly-haired boy after having given him that brusque response.

Damn, it seemed like he never stopped trying to find that confidence.

"I'm delighted to meet you. I'm the one who should respect you, organizing this in less than a month is a challenge that I'm sure you'll rise to." He told them before shaking hands with them one by one.

Louis held back his laughter by gritting his teeth, and then invited Harry to sit on the benches in the room so he could watch the rehearsal from the door without disturbing anyone.

Instead, he seemed to prefer the floor and settled down next to Louis, sitting with his back to the mirror and his shoulders resting against it.

"Well, let's continue with the prologue. As I mentioned before the interruption, Aurora's birth is being celebrated in King Florestan's castle, and at this christening are the six fairies of the kingdom, each bearing a gift, supposedly virtues that will complement Aurora; then after the solo of the kings, who, if I'm not mistaken, are John and Lara." His gaze left the paper and went to two dancers who were now sitting in front of him, and they nodded several times. "Now we can go back to practicing the entrance of the fairies with their partners, if you don't mind." And his gaze raised again to go to the mixed group of twelve people who continued in the other corner, still entranced looking at the king, who couldn't take his eyes off Louis's reflection in the mirror.

Following the choreographer's instructions, the corner group stood up gracefully, and when Louis put the music on the record player, they began to be lifted by their partners over and over again, completely captivating Harry.

"Flor, honey, you need to run a little faster," he instructed delicately without pausing the dance. "So Ginger's partner doesn't hit you when he lifts her leg."

A couple more bars, and the music and the couples' dance stopped, causing Harry to quickly lose focus on Louis again as he paused the music.

"I want to thank you again, once more, for learning the steps on your own by watching all the material I left you; you're here because of the dedication you've put into everything, thanks again. Everyone, drink some water and we can move on to the six-step and your solos that, if you confirm that you know them back to front, we can practice them like this, see what you're doing wrong, and fix it. Okay, let's get started."

Louis doesn't even sit down, and stops the music again when the Blue Fairy, or so Harry reads what Louis has written down in his notebook, pauses her dance when the choreographer himself stops her without even counting to three.

"Let's start over. You start from the right and position yourself directly in front of me, and when you rise to leave..." The girl moved until she was on her toes, and Louis took her arm, staying close to her and performing the required movement with her, but not before asking permission. "You pass it from the top of your head to the tips of your fingers on your other hand. Then you walk diagonally, and remember that everything you do with your left foot is on your toes. We can continue."

Louis sat back down when the "blue fairy" finished her first round, and was reassured by how the second dancer didn't make a single mistake. He ignored Harry's presence, but when he looked at him, he felt the young man constantly focusing on his movements and judging him every second.

It wasn't until the fourth repetition of the solos and the pas de six that the choreographer stopped feeling the curly-haired boy's gaze on him, and saw him grow silently emotional, as if he were a small child, and without realizing it, he saw the tears that threatened to come out of his eyes.

Harry hadn't seen live ballet in so long that something ran through his body, and as if the music were a shiver, as soon as it started playing for the fourth and last time his skin prickled, bile rose up his throat leaving a bitter taste, as if his body wanted to tell him that if it ended, his happiness and absorption would too.

And suddenly, with just a couple of bars left to go, he hated himself and the feeling of happiness ended prematurely.

He hated that he hadn't been able to reach what the people in front of him could. He could never be like them, and he was filled with envy, a feeling that undoubtedly far outweighed his admiration for the dance troupe, and for Louis.

Why had fate wanted them to dance at such an important event, and not him? Couldn't he have been born into some other family, some other place where, in one way or another, he would have been able not just to try but to continue, to evolve?

"Lunch break, and I want everyone back by two!" Louis's voice entered Harry's right ear, breaking into his thoughts and making him jump.

The dance group quickly left the room, most of them sweating from the effort and complaining about how much their feet hurt, although not before saying goodbye to Harry who was still on the floor and, although it was not very professional of him, he was trying to assimilate everything he had seen but, above all, what he had felt.

"You may as well go, sir," he tried to say politely, but was mocked as he inserted the last word.

"I actually thought about some changes, for the remaining rehearsals and the music."

"Oh, okay, I'll let Zayn know and we can talk about it," he replied casually, not giving any thought to sitting back down so he could be at Harry's eye level.

"Aren't you convinced without even knowing what I'm trying to do?" Harry attacked him shamelessly.

"You know what, Your Majesty, I'm rather methodical; and I don't appreciate people who speak to me one way one morning and then another completely different way that same day."

"I don't believe that just because we talked at the palace, you suddenly think we're friends, Tomlinson?" He laughed, throwing his head back.

Louis could have sworn he heard his heart break, even though it was only his ballet pointe shoes creaking on the floor. But as he left Harry behind, who demanded he meet with Zayn and Niall as soon as possible to discuss his notes, and as he walked down the building's corridor towards his friend's office, without looking at Harry's selfish face anymore, now with his mask back on, hiding the real man who was crying inside his body, Louis noticed that something in his heart was fragmenting, destroying from that moment on all traces of the tiny relationship that he thought could one day grow between them.

****

The renovation of Swan Lake at the Russian Theatre is moving forward at a rapid pace. Will it premiere before the start of the new year?

Attention, ballet lovers! The long-awaited revival of Tchaikovsky's masterpiece could be coming to Royal theaters sooner than expected.

The first public news we received about this highly anticipated revival was its leadership appointments: Matthew Bourne as principal director, assisted by Louis Tomlinson as deputy director. Furthermore, rumors circulating in theatrical circles suggest that Benjamin Raynal—yes, the legend of English and French ballet—could be present at both rehearsals and production meetings to support those in charge.

As a new development, it's a pleasure to announce that the choreography will be based on Petipa-Ivanov's original, and the female dance corps will be replaced by men. The production hopes to shed light on male dance, which currently remains in the shadows. Bourne promises to transport us to a dark, modern world, but still doesn't answer the audience's most eagerly awaited question: Will Prince Siegfried also fall in love with a man, thus breaking all the norms of traditional ballet and marking a defining moment?

Although, in reality, the most important question isn't that, but rather the work the ballet's deputy director has ahead of him: Will he be able to simultaneously direct Sleeping Beauty for King Styles' wedding and the most important Royal premiere?

****

LOUIS. Monday, September 4. 11:00 PM

It had been a difficult day, after Harry's demands and how he had acted as if no trust had been built between them.

With the pointe shoes that the dancer had forgotten, he looked for his best friend all over the building, until he saw Zayn in the lobby finishing up a conversation with one of the girls. After asking him, he knew that Niall was probably up on the roof practicing some guitar and would soon go up to talk about how his day had gone. In fact, he found him walking back and forth with guitar in hand, trying to play a riff that, despite his complaints, just wouldn't seem to be coming out.

It didn't take long for him to reach him and make him sit down, giving up his efforts.

"Niall," he said, placing a rooftop folding chair in front of the blond's. "Do you have a moment?"

"This morning you told me to listen to Harry and try to include some guitar in the piece," he replied, narrowing his eyes ironically as he looked at the instrument, which he had left in the corner.

"You can do it tomorrow. I'm sure he won't mind. And if you don't get it right, I'll tell him." That was all he said, ending the subject and removing his hand from his friend's shoulder.

"I want to talk to you about something important, or so I think, honestly. I will explode if I don't tell it."

Before he could even begin to speak, the door to the rooftop opened again and Zayn walked through it with several beers in hand, indicating to Louis to quickly get him a chair.

"Did you arrive at the right time?" he asked them to find out if he had interrupted the conversation between the two.

"Oh, yes, actually, you can know that too. It's okay to have more than one opinion."

Niall, impatient as he took a sip of his beer, whispered a "go" for Louis to tell them what he kept inside.

"What do you think is wrong with Harry?" he asked, once they were both comfortable and relaxed enough with their beers started to talk about it.

"The king?" Zayn suddenly frowned. They'd been together all morning and part of the afternoon, but he clearly hadn't noticed anything.

The director of the academy had taken a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and was lighting one with his tired gaze melted into the sunset and the horizon, which showed the sun hiding between the buildings of the city. On the other hand, Niall had his eyes wide open trying to find out more about what Louis was trying to communicate to them.

"Yes." Louis's lips twitched. "I've spoken to him, and I agree, not enough to know him because I discussed the topics before rehearsals with Scarlett, but... Didn't you see him when we were practicing the main waltz in the first act? It's as if he were dead in life."

"To be honest, he seems to be in some sort of pretty murky depression, or if not that, something like that; or maybe they were just memories." Zayn continued smoking, but he seemed to have less trouble imagining Harry than Niall did.

Neither of his two friends were actually the least bit concerned, they were just giving their opinion because they'd been asked and Louis seemed to be, but they didn't care at all what happened to Harry, to tell the truth.

After all, they weren't there to befriend Harry, they were here for work, and Zayn made sure to make that clear.

"Anyway," he began, cigarette in his mouth, barely able to speak. "We're here because he made us want to, and we're doing it because he pays us a fortune and it's convenient for us to be here. Do you know how much fame we're going to get from this? They called me yesterday from Russia because news of the Royal Ballet had reached them there before the English newspapers, and they spent half an hour congratulating me. There's no doubt we'll have business after the winter break all over the world, and thanks to Harry, no doubt. But despite that, and if we want to continue maintaining a working relationship that provides us with contacts, any problems he might have shouldn't affect us at all, and especially you, Louis. Anyway, you already have your own."

But even after hearing Zayn's words, Harry still aroused a certain curiosity in him.

Or maybe it was simply what generated the morbid curiosity and the desire to know why a boy who seemed to have everything in life seemed so unhappy.

"You know, a lot of people have passed through that studio over the years, from wealthy businessmen to dancers who are successful around the world, and none of those people are completely happy with their lives, generally speaking. Not even I am." He wandered back to himself, his gaze fixed once again on the sunset, of which only twilight truly remained.

"But... I've never seen anyone like that. Like Harry, I mean. Of course, I've also met people who have everything, but he literally has everything. I don't know if I'm making myself clear…"

"Depressed people exist everywhere, Louis. Sometimes where you least expect it, and deep down, that's the reality. You can always find something wrong with anything. There are kings who have ended up much worse than Harry, I don't know why you're surprised," Zayn answered naturally. "You knew the world you were getting into from the moment you signed the contract. You already knew Scarlett and had spoken on the phone a few times while she told you how strange it was to live in the palace and have everything done for her, again, by another dissatisfied person." Zayn whispered the last words about Scarlett, but Louis heard them just the same. "What did you expect from Harry? What did you expect? What would he do?" he said in a tone that was somewhere between contempt and mockery. "Go hunting every day, maybe sailing in Brighton, or partying in Las Vegas?"

Louis objected, shaking his head and frowning, as if the only thing that surprised him at that moment was his friend's ruthless response.

"No," he adopted an annoyed tone. "I know the kind of world we live in, Zayn. But those of us in it are still human. Everyone thinks depression is a price to pay for being where we are, like only the elite have to suffer in silence, and then everyone else sees it as normal, a consequence that comes with fame and being in the public eye. I'm the first one who suffered from it, and I know perfectly well that after this, I'll go through it again. But no one will help me, because no one ever does. Am I supposed to pretend I don't see anything?"

Zayn looked at him with more seriousness than he'd ever seen from him before, and Niall seemed to be thinking about his words.

"You're supposed to be selfish," he emphasized. "Right now, he's got it all, but a week ago, Mr. Styles wanted—and I quote him—to exclude sets and extravagant costumes. You can't depend on someone who changes like the weather, and you can't afford to stop watching your own back to watch someone else's. He's the first one to make that clear to you, and you're the one telling us. Or weren't you saying a few days ago how damn arrogant he was?" Zayn sighed, and after a longer drag on a cigarette that was burning between his fingers, just like the light, he continued in an exasperated tone. "And I'm not saying it's right, or that it's ethical or moral, but if you don't want to sink yourself, don't try to help someone you don't know if they'll ever get back on their feet."

Louis couldn't help but slowly shake his head, disagreeing and starting to get a little angry.

"I didn't know you thought that way."

"Actually, I think as someone who knows you pretty well, Zayn means you empathize too much," Niall said, trying to be sympathetic. "And you already have problems, Louis. I don't think you need Harry's, and don't blame me too if I don't want to see you like him just because you're trying to help him more than you can. Besides, he's rich, he can talk to a doctor or whoever he wants whenever he wants."

"Hey, I'm not saying I want to carry his problems, I don't even need him to tell me about them," he argued, feeling a faint helplessness at not being able to show them the same Harry he'd seen in the room while he was bathing, and not the monarch. "But maybe he doesn't need to tell them either, maybe all he needs is someone to reach out selflessly, or just to reach out. Do you really think he has any friends?"

"Life isn't that easy, Louis. Whatever happens to him is none of your business and..." Louis interrupted Zayn almost aggressively.

"What if I were him?" he then questioned harshly, leaving his friend completely silent, his gaze lost in thought. "Imagine how it must feel to see how people realize you're sinking, but they prefer to turn their backs on you with the excuse that everyone has problems, or worse, that you're important enough and have enough money to manage on your own. And what if he doesn't know how to ask for help?" Louis felt more and more like getting up from his chair, because he knew he was right, and that he had left them both speechless. "I'm not saying I want to save him from his demons, damn it, this isn't a fucking novel." He let out a deeply ironic laugh. "But it doesn't hurt anyone to show someone a nice gesture from time to time, right?"

A heavy sigh escaped Zayn's mouth. Niall was increasingly captivated by Louis's words.

"Do whatever you want, Tomlinson, but don't come crying to me afterwards, because I've warned you." Zayn concluded, getting up from the chair and folding it away to go rest.

Although it wasn't until they were halfway up the stairs with empty bottles in hand that the conversation truly ended.

"Honestly, if you stop and think about it like you did, Louis, if it's just a nice gesture and you're careful not to dive headlong into his problems, it doesn't sound so bad. Besides, doesn't he remind you of that guy you were with at the Irish academy? Remember when we first met!" Niall exclaimed happily, having drunk a second bottle of beer.

And suddenly, Louis's legs shook so much and his hands sweated so much that the beer bottles fell and shattered, rolling down the stairs as he trembled, clutching the banister, as frozen as his memories.

Chapter Text

The renovation of Swan Lake at the Russian Theatre advances by leaps and bounds. Will it be able to premiere before the new year begins?

Attention ballet lovers! Because the long-awaited renovation of Tchaikovsky's old production could arrive at Russian theatres earlier than expected.

The first public news we had of this highly anticipated renovation were those in charge: Matthew Bourne as principal director, who will have the help of Louis Tomlinson as assistant director. Furthermore, the rumors running through Soviet lands are that Benjamin Raynal, yes, the legend of English and French ballet, could stop by both rehearsals and general meetings to support those in charge.

As of today, as a novelty, it is a pleasure to announce that the choreography will be based on Petipa-Ivanov's, and the female corps de ballet will be replaced by men as what the production expects is to give transparency to male dance, which is currently still overshadowed. Bourne promises to transport us to a dark and modern world, but still doesn't answer the audience's most anticipated question: Will Prince Siegfried also fall in love with a man, thus breaking with all the norms of current society and marking a before and after?

Although in reality, the most important question is not that one, but rather all the work that lies ahead for the ballet's assistant director. Will he be able to direct both Sleeping Beauty at King Styles's wedding and Russia's most important premiere at the same time?

Chapter Text

Louis. Monday, September 4th. 11:04 PM

It had been a difficult day, after Harry's demands and how he had acted as if no trust had been generated between them.

With the pointe shoes that the ballerina had forgotten still in his hands, he searched for his best friend throughout the building, until he saw Zayn in the lobby finishing talking to one of the girls and after asking him, he knew that Niall would probably be on the rooftop practicing some things with the guitar and would come up right away to talk about how the day had gone. Indeed, he found him walking from one side to another with guitar in hand, trying to work out a riff that from his complaints didn't seem to be coming out.

It didn't take long to reach him and make him sit down, giving up his efforts.

"Niall," he said, placing one of the rooftop's folding chairs in front of the blond's. "Do you have a moment?"

"This morning you told me to listen to Harry and try to put some guitar in the work," he responded, narrowing his eyes ironically while looking at the instrument, which he had left in the corner.

"You can do it tomorrow, I'm sure he won't mind, and if it doesn't work out I'll mention it to him." That was all he said, ending the subject and moving his hand away from his friend's shoulder.

"I want to talk to you about something important, or so I think, honestly I'll explode if I don't tell it."

Before he could start talking, the rooftop door opened again and Zayn crossed through it with several beers in hand, indicating to Louis to quickly get him a chair.

"Did I arrive at the right moment?" he asked them to know if he was interrupting the conversation between the two.

"Oh, yes, actually, you can know too. It's good to have more than one opinion."

Niall, impatient while taking a sip of his beer, whispered a "go on" for Louis to tell what he was keeping.

"What do you think is wrong with Harry?" he asked then, once they were comfortable enough sitting and relaxed with the beers started to talk about the subject.

"The king?" Zayn suddenly frowned, they had both been together all morning and part of the afternoon, but he was clearly surprised.

The academy director had taken a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and was lighting one with his tired gaze melted into the sunset and the horizon, which showed the sun hiding among the city buildings, on the other hand, Niall had his eyes wide open trying to learn more about what Louis was trying to communicate to them.

"Yes." Louis's lips pursed. "I've talked to him, and I agree that not enough to know him because I've discussed the topics prior to rehearsals with Scarly, but... Didn't you see him when we were practicing the main waltz of the first act? It's like he's dead in life."

"To be honest, he seems to be immersed in some kind of pretty murky depression, or if it's not that, something like that; or maybe they were just memories," Zayn continued smoking, but apparently it was easier for him to imagine Harry than Niall.

Neither of his two friends was, in reality, the least bit worried, they only gave their opinion because they had been asked and Louis did seem to be, but they didn't care at all what was happening to Harry, to tell the truth.

After all, they weren't there to become friends with Harry, they were here for work; and Zayn made sure to make that clear.

"Anyway," he began to speak with the cigarette in his mouth without fully articulating. "We're here because he imposed it on us, and we're doing it because he's paying us a fortune and it's convenient for us to be here. Do you know the fame we're going to have after this? They called me yesterday from Russia because the news of the royal ballet had reached them before the English newspapers and they spent half an hour congratulating me, without a doubt we'll have business after the winter holidays all over the world, and thanks to Harry without a doubt. But despite that, and if we want to continue maintaining a working relationship that provides us with contacts, the problems he might have shouldn't affect us at all, and especially you Louis, anyway, you already have your own."

But, even so, even having heard Zayn's words, Harry awakened a certain curiosity in him.

Or perhaps it was simply what morbid fascination and the desire to know why a boy who seemed to have everything in life looked so unhappy generated in him.

"You know? Many people have passed through that studio over the years, from rich businessmen to dancers who triumph around the world and none of those people are completely happy with their lives, in general. Not even I am." He wandered into himself, fixing his gaze again on the sunset, of which truly only twilight remained.

"But... I had never seen anyone like that. Like Harry, I mean. Of course I've also known people who have everything, but he literally has everything. I don't know if I'm explaining myself..."

"Depressed people exist everywhere, Louis. Sometimes where you least expect it, and deep down, that's reality. Something bad can always be made out of everything. There are kings who have ended up much worse than Harry, I don't know what surprises you," Zayn responded naturally. "You knew the world you were getting into from the first moment you signed the contract, you already knew Scarlett and had talked a few times on the phone while she told you how strange it was to live in the palace and have everything done for her by someone else, again, another dissatisfied person." Zayn whispered the last words about Scarlett, but Louis heard them anyway. "What did you expect from Harry? What did you expect him to do?" he said with a tone between contempt and mockery. "Go hunting every day, maybe sailing in Brighton or partying in Las Vegas?"

Louis opposed, shaking his head and frowning, as if the only thing surprising him at that moment was his friend's ruthless response.

"No," he adopted an annoyed tone. "I know the kind of world we live in, Zayn. But those of us in it are still people. Everyone thinks depression is a price to pay for being where we are, as if people in the high elites have to suffer it in silence and then, the rest of the people see it as something normal, a consequence that comes hand in hand with fame and being in the public eye; I'm the first one who suffered it at the time and I know perfectly well that after this I'll go through it again. But no one will help me, because no one does, ever. Am I supposed to act like I don't see anything?"

Zayn looked at him more seriously than he had ever seen him before, and Niall seemed to be thinking about his words.

"You're supposed to be selfish." He emphasized. "Right now you have everything on his part, but a week ago, Mr. Styles wanted, and I quote his words verbatim, not to include sets or extravagant costumes; you can't depend on someone who changes like the weather, and you also can't afford to stop covering your back to take care of someone else's. He's the first one making that clear to you, and you're the same one telling us; or didn't you say a few days ago how damn arrogant he was?" Zayn sighed and after a longer drag on a cigarette that was being consumed between his fingers, like the light, he continued speaking with an exasperated tone. "And I'm not saying it's right, or that it's ethical and moral, but if you don't want to sink yourself, don't try to help someone you don't know if they'll ever come back to the surface."

Louis couldn't help but slowly shake his head, disagreeing and starting to get somewhat angry.

"I didn't know you thought that way."

"Actually, I think that as someone who knows you quite well, Zayn means that you empathize too much," he told him trying to have compassion. "And you already have problems, Louis. I don't think you need Harry's, and don't blame me either if I don't want to see you like him just for trying to help him more than is within your capabilities. Besides, he's rich, he can talk to some doctor or whoever he wants whenever he wishes."

"Hey, I'm not saying I want to carry his problems, I don't even need him to tell me about them," he argued, feeling a weak helplessness at not being able to show them the same Harry he had seen in the room while bathing, and not the monarch. "But maybe he doesn't need to tell them either, maybe all he needs is for someone to lend him a hand selflessly, or simply lend him a hand. Do you really think he has friends?"

"Life isn't that easy, Louis. Whatever is happening to him doesn't concern you at all and..." Louis interrupted Zayn almost aggressively.

"What if I were him?" he then questioned harshly, leaving his friend completely silent, with a lost gaze. "Imagine what it must feel like to see how people realize you're sinking, but prefer to turn their face away with the excuse that everyone has problems, or worse yet, with the excuse that you're important enough and have the necessary amount of money to manage it alone. And what happens if he doesn't know how to ask for help?" Louis increasingly wanted to get up from the chair, because he knew he was right, and that he had left them both speechless. "I'm not saying I want to save him from his demons, fuck, this isn't a fucking novel." He let out a deeply ironic laugh. "But it doesn't hurt anyone to have a nice gesture with another person from time to time, or am I wrong?"

A heavy sigh came from Zayn's mouth. Niall was increasingly captivated by Louis's words.

"Do what you want, Tomlinson, but don't come crying later, because I've warned you well enough." Zayn ended the conversation, getting up from the chair and folding it to leave to rest.

Although it wasn't until they were in the middle of the stairs with the empty bottles in hand, that the conversation truly ended.

"Actually if you stop to think about it the way you have, Louis, if it's just a nice gesture and you keep very present not to dive headfirst into his problems, it doesn't sound so bad. Besides, doesn't this guy remind you of the boy you were with at the academy in Ireland? Remember, when we met!" Niall exclaimed with joy and having drunk a second bottle of beer.

And suddenly, Louis's legs trembled so much and his hands sweated so much, that the beer bottles fell and shattered rolling down the stairs while he trembled gripping the railing, as frozen as his memories.

Harry. PAST. Monday, 10:05 AM. 1938.

"So you're going to Ireland, huh," a fifteen-year-old Sarah had asked him, while they played in the castle's inner courtyard.

"Yes! Isn't it great? I'll fulfill my dream of learning to dance well and I won't have to hide in the library to do it anymore, I'm grateful to have told mom." Harry commented with joy.

The young prince had always liked dance, it was that passion that was lost in the past and he didn't really know in what year or month it had all started, although he supposed it was when his mother and his sister, who was a big ballet fan, had taken him to see Swan Lake, during their trip to Paris, while his father met with the former French president.

They had sat in one of the upper boxes and his eyes went directly to the ballerina who came out on stage, and who produced a strange tickle in his belly, from nerves and excitement.

So, two years later, when Gemma rejected her invitation to the campus that the Bolshoi had opened in Ireland, because the young woman realized she much preferred watching dance than doing it herself; Harry presented himself with some embarrassment to his mother and confessed that, in order not to lose the spot (although really for his own pleasure) he would be delighted to attend for his sister and receive classes from the best dancers in the world.

But really, for them to include Harry in the school being a man, not everything was rosy.

Because Norman Styles had never had to talk so much, except that day, when he realized that that prestigious dance school didn't care if he was the king, a politician or a beggar and scholarships were given either through connections (and Gemma had met several famous dancers through her interest in culture) or through talent, something the prince lacked having never practiced. Furthermore, he had never used so many good words to mention Harry. The seven-year-old boy, at that time, didn't remember so many compliments and good qualifiers from his father, who constantly demanded that he should be a man and avoid his childhood phase and if possible, also the adolescent one. So when the king at that time, finished talking to Abrams, the school director; Harry wished that it would never end, because if it had started with his father almost praising him and explaining to someone outside the family all the good things he did during the day, words that undoubtedly filled the little one with comfort and pride in himself, that shouldn't end worse.

So on the first day he showed up at the campus, completely alone because he demanded that no one accompany him since he wanted to be someone normal, and although at first he regretted it, with all the embarrassment in the world he arrived at reception. He thought he should leave there being a better person, apart from a dancer.

"Hello." Harry leaned over the counter, with his suitcase on his shoulder.

"Good morning, are you one of the new students?" Right in front, there was a woman who wouldn't reach 50 but already had gray hair, and kindly received all the people who approached her. "Tell me your name, please." She asked him politely.

"Edward Styles, Harry," he admitted with some embarrassment, when the lady suddenly recognized him.

"Oh, Your Highness, forgive me for not recognizing you, one reaches an age where one neither sees nor hears well and..."

"N-no it's nothing," his voice trembled and suddenly, his face turned a reddish color from nerves and the feeling of being recognized when pronouncing his name.

"Accompany me, if you're so kind, I'll take you to your room in the residence which is barely three minutes walking; and at a quarter to eleven you must be in the studios on the second floor to meet your classmates."

Harry accompanied her for a few seconds, and they went outside through the same door through which the curly-haired man had entered minutes before.

"This seems quite big, but in reality it's not confusing; tomorrow you'll get your bearings better."

Harry trusted her words, and she handed him a key when they stood at the door of a different building.

"This is your room, you're alone for security reasons, but if you want we can find a roommate."

"Thank you very much, Mrs..."

"You can call me Marg, dear; I'll be at reception if you need me."

Harry said goodbye thanking Marg, and went up the stairs that led him to the second floor, where room 228 was.

Once there, upon opening the door he only found a small closet, a somewhat elevated bed and a desk at its foot. Seeing the little space, he supposed those would be the ones they would give to students who stayed in the place for a week or less time than others.

He opened the suitcase on the floor, after throwing himself several times on the bed to check its hardness, and saw how he had just enough for a week. The short-sleeved pajamas because it was June, some tights and tank tops that his mother had ordered bought, and then some shirt or other with its corresponding shorts.

He thought that, even though it was early, he should change to be prepared, so closing the curtains of his balcony well, which faced an outdoor garden, so no one would see him, he undressed down to his underwear and put on some tights with a tank top and his sneakers.

At ten-thirty, after wetting his face in the small bathroom of the room and gathering his curls that were somewhat longer than normal with a clip in the upper part of his hair as if making a bun, he left the room with nothing more than his water bottle, a small piece of fruit and his spare socks. It was easy for him to get his bearings, and he retraced his steps until he reached reception again where he greeted Mags, and remembering her words went up to the studios on the second floor looking for number four.

At first glance he could assure that all the boys and girls who were there were older than him, and apparently, because they had arrived the previous weekend or something like that, they already had their groups formed.

They were distributed throughout the room, so Harry limited himself to waiting on one of the benches by the door, and to discreetly observing the young people who laughed and talked about how nervous they were to receive classes from such an important dancer, someone Harry didn't know.

Suddenly, before the prince was consumed by nerves and brought his fingers to his mouth to bite his nails, silence invaded the room and a tall man with hair between blond and brown, entered through the door with an upright posture and wearing a suit.

"Good morning to all, gentlemen and ladies." He announced with his deep and elevated voice. As soon as he pronounced those words, everyone gathered in a circle around him, and he closed the door. Harry imitated the rest of the people. "My name is Benjamin, but for you I am Mr. Raynal; during this week we will learn the technique of ballet, and although you suffer, cry and reach a point of desperation that all expert dancers like me have reached at some point, I want you to know that you must channel those feelings toward dance. Let's begin with some stretches, we don't want injuries on the first day, everyone on the floor."

The circle opened more so that all the students could fit sitting with their legs stretched, and while Mr. Raynal gave orders from above, standing and correcting the students with his hands, they stretched the leg area, but also the arms and back. Harry only felt satisfaction, because it wasn't until one of the last movements, when Mr. Raynal called his attention.

"Your name, sir?" he asked reaching him with large strides.

"Styles, Harry," he said his last name before his first name. Unlike Mags, Raynal didn't even flinch upon hearing the last name.

"Well, Mr. Styles, you must give everything you can with your hand to touch your back, and even push the elbow with your other hand." He indicated, directing his hands to the prince's elbow and back. "One minute like this, and you'll be fine."

Then, everyone moved to the barres.

"Today we will practice both the first position, and since there are five boys and five girls, you will pair up to practice lifts and at the same time examine your strength." He analyzed the entire class with his gaze before starting.

Harry was so excited that as soon as he leaned on the barre, he remembered that his ability to socialize was nil, but he was grateful that they were even and he would get to pair up with whichever girl was left over.

"Camille, with Styles," Mr. Raynal mentioned to him, perhaps because the girl also had little experience and was new.

Although Harry, discovered in the second that she wasn't.

While the blonde girl positioned herself beside him imitating the first position that Raynal was representing, the curly-haired man noticed how her feet were placed perfectly, she stood on tiptoe on her pointes and then, fell with subtlety as if she were a...

"Last year I performed in Swan Lake, but they put me in this class because what is technique I have horribly," she laughed almost in a whisper, pretending that only Harry would hear her. "You've already heard it, but well, I'm Camille Rowe; the two girls I was with before are Bella and Gi, daughters of a big businessman from California, they're staying here for three weeks and they're the ones I've liked best so far."

Harry stared at them, and although it was true that he wasn't attracted to them, they were the most beautiful people he had ever seen, they looked like they came out of some teenage clothing magazine and they couldn't be more than one or two years older than the prince.

"I'm Harry, and well, I don't know anyone."

"I already know who you are; actually because Raynal said your last name before, if you're worried about fame you'll pass minimally unnoticed because as much as you're the prince and there's been talk of your arrival, not many people can put a face to you."

"Oh, good to know," he was glad, while speaking in a whisper and paying attention to the instructions of the dancer who in front of them ordered them to be quiet before Camille could start another sentence.

Once back to class, Camille and he followed Raynal's steps, on how the curly-haired man should place his points to perform a relevé, without his ankles separating and keeping them straight.

But when Harry finally managed to raise his leg, just as both Camille and all his classmates were doing, the lunch bell rang and everyone left through the door saying goodbye to Mr. Raynal, and Harry accompanied Camille to the hallway.

"Don't you want to come eat with my friends?" She asked suddenly, ignoring the class and Harry's opinion.

"Oh, no, I'm fine like this; I'll go take a quick shower at my building and eat something in my room. Then I have to unpack my suitcases and..."

Embarrassment invaded little Harry, and he declined the invitation making excuses, trying not to look bad.

"Okay, there are no more classes until tomorrow so we'll be in the game room if you want to stop by, Harry," she invited him again, with a farewell tone.

Definitely, when the prince was left alone in the hallway, he realized he should have accepted.

Fifteen minutes had passed since Camille had left and Harry was still alone in the hallway, searching in his large bag for the key to his room, where the hell had he put it?

He was starting to get frustrated when, inside the classroom where he had been and which now had the door closed because Mr. Raynal had stayed alone, it opened again. He no longer wore his suit jacket, but a somewhat unbuttoned and wet shirt with small drops falling from his hair. Harry stared at him as he closed it.

"Oh, good afternoon, Harry. Do you need something?" he asked with a severe and formal tone, but not demanding, as he had heard him speak in class.

Before arriving at the campus, the prince had read several times interviews that had been done with him in different countries of the world, how they described him as a stiff man who seemed to be sixty years old, instead of forty-two, because of his wisdom and how formal he was.

"No sir, I was looking for the keys to my room." He responded trying not to let his voice tremble from the imposing presence that Raynal gave off.

"Maybe they fell inside, I'll open it for you so you can look for them, I don't mind waiting a bit longer, I have a meeting at the beginning of the week with Director Abrams and it's not a bother to arrive late, they're really boring."

Fréderic Abrams had been the campus director since it had opened its doors a year earlier. Most teachers were permanent, but Raynal being so important in the ballet world and recognized for visiting companies around the world, would only be there in July. The teacher had consolidated his career when his mother had enrolled him at ten years old in ballet classes in France, where they lived at that time, although he was English, and years later, being a prodigy of dance, he had been given one position after another until climbing to that of director of the Ballet de l'Opéra de Paris. At twenty-eight, he was a great dancer and appeared in all possible premieres of different ballets around the world. If he wasn't there, neither was the talent. Although that Harry had not discovered until a week before leaving for Ireland, when they had told him who his teacher was going to be and it sounded like Chinese to him; but any other young person would have been excited, and he, not having culture, didn't.

As soon as the class was open, Harry entered quickly kneeling on the cold floor, and looked for his keys where he had left his bag hours before.

"You know what, Harry? I was surprised when they told me you were going to come instead of your sister; as a prince, the media had never said your passions, or what you truly loved."

Harry tensed again when Mr. Raynal spoke to him, leaning from the doorframe and following him with his gaze.

"Uh-huh, my mother was also surprised."

"I'm sure she loves you very much, I mean, ballet in men isn't that widespread, and instead of asking you questions she enrolled you." He remained silent, as if he were reflecting while looking at him with a smile. "I see talent in you, desire to learn... It's really incredible. If you need help, you can ask me for it even when you leave. Will you leave on Sunday?"

Harry nodded, maybe he was being rude for not responding much, but he needed to find the keys, so he felt the ground under the bench once more, looking for them, and a metallic sound rang at the end of the bench, indicating they were there.

"Fuck, finally," he spoke incorrectly, celebrating having them in his hands. "Thank you sir, and considering what you've told me, I'll leave on Sunday and I hope to continue evolving thanks to you. It's an honor actually, I don't know if I'll be able to dance when I return to the palace." He confessed his fears.

"Just in case, you should squeeze out all the time you have here; and please, you can address me informally outside of class." He let out a small laugh. He didn't remember ever seeing him smile. "You make me feel old, Harold."

Harry, perhaps from pressure, also let out a small laugh, and then apologized. Wasn't that what adults did?

"Ah, and you should go eat before they close the cafeteria on you. See you tomorrow, and you know, if you need anything don't hesitate to call me. You remind me a lot of myself, little one."

"Okay, sir- Raynal." But Harry corrected his words, calling him by his last name and trying to address him informally. "See you tomorrow."

"Rest, I'm sure tomorrow you'll macerate your talent much more."

And he did, without knowing he would never be able to do it peacefully again.

That same afternoon, when he had eaten only a piece of fruit accompanied by the solitude of his room, and was reading "Behind Closed Doors" a book published the previous year that he really wanted to read, he received a call from his mother at the phone booths available in the residence.

"Harry, darling, you have a call." He received Marg's voice thanks to the room's intercom, as soon as he arrived from the cafeteria.

His surprise was genuine, he didn't expect his mother to call him so early in the week; although he supposed it would be pure nostalgia and he was pleased to speak with her.

Since most people were in the game room or still eating, the booth area was quiet and when Harry arrived only a couple of people occupied it.

He returned the call to the number the receptionist had named, and suddenly his mother sounded on the other end of the line.

"Harry?" she asked not very sure, thinking she had made a mistake.

As soon as she heard the curly-haired man's voice in response to her question, only words of love came from her, so many, that three of the five minutes they had allowed for daily calls, were her telling him how much she missed him.

"It's okay, mom; yes, I'm eating; yes, I'm also sleeping well," Harry responded dismissively when Anne started to become overly protective. "Yes, if I don't feel well I'll call to tell you... Okay, okay; I love you, a kiss, goodbye."

Upon hanging up the call, he almost slammed the phone against the wall. Why hadn't there been news from his father or his sister? Why not a single question about how ballet classes were?

He hadn't even let him talk about that day's food, or if he had made friends.

"Fuck! Were all mothers like this? Or was his family in general special?" Harry thought with his curly and disheveled hair, while frowning and remembering the phone conversation with his mother and his body leaning on the wall to rest his shoulder.

Just at that moment, he was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a voice laughing in one of the nearby booths.

"Phobs, pass me to mom come on, yes, there's only a minute left, pass her to me for God's sake," laughed a boy somewhat older than him, with brown hair and bright eyes, who was trying to finish his own family call. Harry, attentive and forgetting his frustration, listened carefully as he said goodbye and claimed that no matter how much he wanted to return to Doncaster, he would stay at that camp for his entire life. The boy's lips on the phone curved into a smile as he hung up and turned his head toward the only other person who had finished their call.

Feeling the tension in the air, their eyes met, colliding like two magnetic forces. It was an instant, a moment in which their two worlds collided in silence.

The older one was the first to break the silence, with a shyness that prevented him from moving from his booth toward Harry.

"Are you okay?" he asked with a soft voice.

Harry looked up at him, he could even feel his heart, or at least his pulse in his neck beating like it had never done before, surprised by the unexpected question. He didn't expect someone to care about his well-being at that moment. And he also didn't expect to be able to respond.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," the curly-haired man responded quickly, although the tension in his shoulders revealed the lie. The blue-eyed boy frowned, detecting the falseness in Harry's response. He knew something was wrong, even if the curly-haired one wasn't willing to admit it.

While observing Harry, he couldn't help but feel a strange connection. There was something in the way his eyes reflected the inner storm of the one with whom he had only exchanged a couple of words, something that impelled him to want to know more, to understand him better. Despite being strangers at that moment, there was a minimum of empathy in the eyes of the boy from Donny, a desire to provide support.

"I'm Louis." And as time slowly advanced, he made a decision. "If you ever want to talk about what's bothering you, I'm here, room 474," he invited with confidence, offering a hint of hope to Harry.

"I... I'm Ed, thanks." He limited himself to nodding slightly, surprised by the blue-eyed man's offer and slightly changing what he was called, to his second name, remembering how Camille had told him he would be recognized by what he was called, but not by his physical features.

His words were simple but sincere, loaded with a kindness the prince didn't expect to find.

Although he was reluctant to open up at that moment, something in Louis's kindness intrigued him, made him feel understood in some way. As the two boys separated, their gazes met once more, a silent promise that perhaps, at some point, the walls they had built could begin to crumble.

Chapter Text

Halley's Comet

Appears more than I do

But you're all it takes for me to break a promise

I'm a fool for falling for you

LOUIS. PRESENT. September 5th. 3:41 AM.

"(...) Halley's Comet is only visible on Earth every 75 years. It's considered one of the brightest in the universe, or at least, in the solar system. According to experts, statistically, this comet can be seen by humans twice in their lifetime (...)"

The television echoed in the background while Louis cursed himself again and again for not having remembered Harry earlier, (and oh shit, he was also very angry), but at one in the morning, now alone in the living room because he had insisted on sending Zayn and Niall to their homes to reflect alone no matter how bad he felt and would need help even to stand up, there was nothing he could do anymore.

Suddenly he looked at the clock and it was three in the morning. He had lost track of time when his mind and memories had taken a leading role in his night, along with the various cigarettes consumed halfway or almost completely that lay extinguished on the coffee table.

The apartment reeked of smoke, some herb or other, but not at all of alcohol, which remained in the cupboard and he didn't feel like wasting in a moment of weakness like that. Nicotine was still running through his veins -to a lesser extent now- and although his body was forcing him to stop, because he had gotten dizzy and found himself outside himself a couple of times in a short time, he wasn't in the mood to do it. He thought about everything and nothing, rarely had conscious thoughts that didn't vanish within a minute; until he felt truly conscious, as if all the substances had disappeared from his body, thanks to that program on the television that was on in the background thanks to Niall and was still broadcasting on BBC Television Service.

It was one of the only television channels, when he was somewhat more awake he amused himself following the news, documentaries or films they announced, especially on nights when from so much dancing he ended up exhausted and thought he might be able to keep his attention on the television and make the day last a little longer than he already did.

But this time it wasn't news about the rest of the world or some stupid movie that was playing, but something much more interesting and that at that hour would be, for any other person, a perfect program to sleep; a documentary about Halley's Comet.

"Since then, comets stopped being bearers of bad omens and became celestial bodies whose appearances could be predicted in a scientific way."

This made him remember the day Zayn received him after returning from Doncaster after the great war, and with open arms as always while they sat in one of the academy's empty rooms, he told him about everything he had done in the year they had been separated, and the dark-haired man joked about whether he had fallen in love at some point. Realizing that in the end, it wasn't so much of a joke and Louis needed someone to open up to after so much bearing the weight he carried on his shoulders.

"Do you think it's wrong to do it with someone... like you?" the blue-eyed man asked him, at the time, with shyness.

"Like you?" Zayn felt disoriented for a few moments while Louis's cheeks blushed, between anger and sorrow, and he nodded lying down on the parquet. "Oh..."

Silence invaded the room for five minutes, and while uncertainty caused cramps throughout Louis's body, Zayn tried to find the right words trying to be as empathetic as possible with his best friend.

"Some people see it as wrong for men to dance, but for example us, we can't help but do it... it's like, as if it were part of our DNA... Because it's our talent and we just... can't reject it or live without it; so, even though there are people who see it as wrong we keep dancing without hurting anyone and... And for example Niall, who doesn't like to dance, I simply respect him and he's my friend for many more things, for being who he is and..." He paused his words observing how Louis paid him complete attention lying on the floor and with wide open eyes. "That you feel this way, it's just a part of you... But you have many more that, make you who you are?"

"I just looked at him, and I understood it was him... It's not like other times when I've only noticed someone because I was afraid of being alone, quite the opposite, with him I felt I wasn't afraid of anything." He confessed, letting out everything he felt. "It was before the conflict, but I'm not lying when I say I've thought about him every day... Since he left."

Zayn had hugged him and together, on the cold floor of the studio that was barely taking flight, they fell asleep in silence while Louis shed the occasional tear and felt he had been able to come up for air, from the sea in which he had been drowning for years.

Years later he was submerging again, because he had convinced himself that that boy wasn't going to return to his arms suddenly and nothing was going to change. And, if everything were 99 percent advanced instead of one percent as it was, it could become reality.

But what should he do? He could flee and wish that the past wouldn't remain in impure memories or that the curly-haired man had decided to forget everything voluntarily, he could escape from that apartment and go to Paris or New York, although the memory of Harry would end up chasing him there.

No matter how much love he still felt for him, no matter how many nights he remembered pushing him against the wall at the camp while they shared a last kiss; he still couldn't decide over the years, he still didn't know if he should love him openly, turn his back and flee or even continue evading the memories from his mind.

So many decisions for a single body, a single mind.

"Like love and destined souls, Halley's Comet can be seen by people twice in their lifetime"

He read on the tiny television screen without knowing the context of the sentence, but which undoubtedly was engraved in his mind, before trying to get up, clinging to the thought that it was too late for Harry's memory to continue weighing so much, and tired of conceiving about it.

He was still dizzy, and when he stood up, he swayed and hit his knee on the coffee table and it suddenly seemed stupid to flee like a coward instead of with the intelligence with which he had done it from Russia when Germany invaded it.

Photos of the comet continued to play on the television while standing in the living room he even considered the idea of showing up at the palace right then; it was so bright, it called so much attention and people wrote inspiring wonders that had to do with art, that after that early morning Louis thought that when it passed by Earth again, he would see it somewhere with Harry by his side.

After imagining himself next to him on a spring night, with many more years and in some lost place, the end of the program brought him back to earth, and he had the strength to move from the living room to the bed. And finally the mixture of tobacco and substances he had consumed that day allied to make him finally fall asleep.

But the next morning everything cost him much more, getting up from that uncomfortable mattress at seven-thirty in the morning, the back pain, having nothing in the fridge that he really wanted... And also, guessing why he had that note from Zayn under the door, a system they certainly didn't usually use.

"What time did you go to bed? It's six in the morning and I'm writing this because, I haven't gone to the Bolshoi, but I can teach the classes for the first act of Sleeping Beauty if you feel bad, ah, and receive the king who told me he would also stop by today. Z."

He silently thanked Zayn for warning him about Harry's attendance, because thanks to that his response turned more toward a "YES. PLEASE" in capitals and very large, rather than "No way."

When the headache knocked on his door, his back immediately slid down it and he realized that the most sensible thing was to let Zayn teach the class, even if he looked ridiculous in front of Harry.

In pajamas and with house slippers, which he had put on in the middle of the night when he had gotten up uncomfortable, he left the door ajar, and went up the stairs to ring Zayn's doorbell.

"Good morning, are you better? You don't look very well." He told him when he opened the door with his bare torso and a weak smile.

"Mhm." Louis limited himself to neither confirming nor denying how he felt. Making Zayn frown without being able to intervene. "I thought maybe you could... teach today's class, and tell Harry not to come."

"Oh, did you reflect on what we talked about yesterday? Do I have before me Louis Tomlinson giving me the reason? Are you sure you don't have a fever?"

"I'm not in the mood for jokes, it's just that I don't feel like seeing him today, with his demands, especially; he's capable of coming up to my house to look for me to teach the class and tell me I have no professionalism or commitment." He yawned afterward.

"Well, they say he's arrogant, but I don't think that much, Louis." Zayn laughed at the blue-eyed man's exaggeration. "Go to your apartment to rest, do you want to take some food?" Louis shook his head, smiling and wanting to close his eyes to sleep. "Okay, rest, I'll see what I can do with Harry; anyway, I'll tell him you're not feeling well if he asks."

He said goodbye with a half-second hug and was grateful that Zayn hadn't asked questions, he knew better than anyone, that Louis when he was ready would talk, and the best way for him to do so was without pressure.

"Ah and Louis, if you need to talk about what the hell happened yesterday, you can look for me, whenever and wherever."

And the blue-eyed man had to turn his head because he was already determined to get to his bed going down the stairs, but he saw a worried Zayn in the hallway, with the same penetrating and trusting look with which he always looked at him; after responding "I know," with a smile, he disappeared down the stairs and reached his bed where a deep sleep welcomed him.

Louis found himself trapped in a vast and sumptuous room, bathed in an ethereal light that seemed to distill mystery and reflected the glimmers of the bright walls full of jewels. In the center of the room, the air thickened with the indecipherable figure of a man in black, whose burning gaze pierced Louis like sharp daggers.

His eyes, fixed on the shadowy man, filled with helplessness as he watched how his steps approached the door, sharing his darkness with the room and leaving darkness in each footstep, a shadow that threatened to envelop Harry's fate, when he crossed the door of the great dining room. Words got stuck in his throat, as he struggled to move, to intervene, to save the man whose heart he silently shared.

Terror coiled around his mind like a swarm that wouldn't stop buzzing, paralyzing his muscles and his thoughts. He wanted to scream, he wanted to run toward Harry and snatch him from the repulsive memory, but his body seemed fused with the marble floor, unable to obey his will.

In a crescendo of desperation, his silent scream materialized in the air, in reality, filling the room with a noise of anguish.

His heart was racing and in his throat, his breathing was accelerated and rivers of sweat ran down his forehead when he sat up to turn on the light and defeat the darkness in materiality.

Suddenly, and even feeling ashamed for having suffered so much in dreams, Zayn like an echo of his own fear, appeared knocking on his door.

"Louis!" He shouted, making the blue-eyed man feel helpless for not being able to move any muscle of his body. "Are you okay? Open up for me, please. Louis!"

They were making a racket in the building, and although the choreographer thought they were alone because it was time for the dancers to go eat, reality was very uncertain.

Because as if the echo of the scream had resonated in the walls and shaken the entire building from the foundations to the rooftop, Harry, despite his distance in the rehearsal room on the floor below, emerged from the stairs almost running to see what was happening, like a ray of light in the storm. Footsteps echoed as he approached, and his imposing figure positioned itself next to Zayn who kept knocking on the door, without response.

"Don't you have any key?" Harry asked with serenity, after the director explained that he wasn't getting a response and had heard him scream. "Move aside, I'll break it down."

With determination, and together with a crash that seemed to shake the foundations of the state of paralysis by fear in which Louis found himself, Harry knocked down the weak wooden door and let Zayn pass before him quickly and with his eyes reflecting the same anxiety that tormented Louis.

Without words, Zayn reached his bedroom where, with the light on, his best friend trembled in bed as if he hadn't been able to get out of the trance for not having someone to tie him back to reality.

"I'm here now Tommo, everything's fine, okay?"

Without words, Zayn extended his hand toward Louis, and in that gesture, the invisible barrier that kept him immobilized yielded to the force of his help. Louis felt his touch like a warm gale, a bond that cut the bonds of fear and helplessness. And they fought against the dark tide that threatened to devour them.

The nightmare dissipated like fog at dawn, leaving Louis panting in reality, with his heart galloping like the runaway steed of an ancient tale. He looked around, relief flooding his senses as he realized he had returned to wakefulness, to the safety of his room in the dimness. Beside him, Zayn also exhaled, his eyes full of shared concern.

In the distance, Harry's voice resonated, like an echo of the same determination that had crossed the veil of his nightmare. Despite the cracks in their relationship, in those dark moments generated by memories, he was also there. Watching from the door with some envy at not having someone on whose shoulder to lean, or who would break down doors for him. And although apparently Louis hadn't yet realized his presence, he noticed and even got scared when he spoke.

"You should breathe, you're going to drown." He said without even articulating a "Hello."

He could see the blue-eyed man's lips move, vocalizing a "Fuck," and although Harry didn't know it, his words added to the memories of the previous night, made his heart and breath go crazy.

"It's easy, you just have to breathe in some air, you hold the air for a while and then expel it." And immediately, he was the first to do it, trying to get Louis to at least follow his example and with each word he had pronounced he got closer to him, considering how their last conversation had ended, but unable to evade that he was hurt.

The second time the king breathed, Zayn had moved away from his embrace and sat next to him on the bed, Harry was getting closer and closer and placing his hand on his back did it again; this time being accompanied by the deep breaths of a Louis whose pulse continued to tremble, although it might have been due to Harry's simple presence.

"Think... that there's nothing worrying you at this moment. There's nothing that can hurt you."

However, there was, and it was the same one who was helping him heal.

"Yes, you." Louis tried to affirm out loud, but the words wouldn't come out.

"Are you better?" After a couple of minutes it was Zayn who spoke breaking the silence.

"Mhm." From Louis's lips only came a sound that sounded more like affirmation than denial. "I think I need to have some water and go back to bed..."

"Harry, could you bring a glass?" As a question, but with more of an obligation tone, Zayn indicated to Harry where the kitchen was also eliminating the intonation he had acquired with him of respect. But there was no room for it when his best friend seemed to be in shock, or something like that.

Suddenly Zayn felt obligated to know what kind of demons Louis was facing, not because he was nosy but for his health, for fear that something worse would happen to him.

So while Harry headed in search of the kitchen, Zayn got up with quick and giant steps to leave the door ajar and without any shame, which seemed to vanish from his body or be superseded by fear, asked.

"I need to know what the hell is happening to you, Lou." Fear and insecurity of generating pressure on Louis were projected in his voice. "Before it's too late, you end up worse or what do I know; what happened yesterday in the living room wasn't normal, you almost fell down the stairs from how much your legs were shaking! And I don't believe you're sick, you haven't taken any pill and we know how hypochondriac you are, you would have worried more."

"Harry, that's what's happening."

"He's just your boss, you'll get rid of him in two months and you won't see him again. He's the one who hired the ballet, and you, who organizes it. That's it, I don't know why you're thinking so much about... whatever is happening to him; he's Scarlett's fiancé and you're just her friend."

"It's not just that Zayn, if you could understand that..."

"I would understand if you explained it to me, what's happening to you?"

Louis suddenly fell silent, still hearing the water running in the kitchen while Harry filled a glass.

"He and I... I already knew Harry." His body was overcome by a calming sensation from one moment to the next. He had known his short and lush curls, his green eyes full of hope and the feelings that stirred inside him, as if they were butterflies. "The nightmare was about him, someone was trying to attack him and... What if it happens, or happened? I was so little time with him at sixteen, while he lied to me, that I decided to block it or something strange, until Scarlett called me and since I owed her a favor... I accepted, and I feel stupid remembering it now and damaging my work. I'm sorry I..." He felt he was going to sob at any moment when the first tear ran down his cheek.

"What?" With his mouth open and eyes wide, Zayn approached him again, and wrapped him in his arms before he fell apart. "Why did Harry lie to you?"

But Zayn left the question halfway, because the door creaking as it opened interrupted his words, just as the king had done in Louis's life.

"The water."

His voice sounded deep, as if he were puzzled by the words of both friends, but pretended he hadn't heard anything, Louis even because of his daze swore he heard it echo and Harry, showing anger in his eyes and his hands, but not manifesting it in any other way, squeezed the glass from the door, with his gaze fixed on Louis.

Had he heard something?

Chapter Text

HARRY. PAST. Monday, 8:07 PM

Harry and Louis's paths met sooner than expected, five hours after their first encounter.

In the sky, all that remained of the sun were its reflections, which generated a dark twilight and invited the campus people to retreat to their rooms after dinner.

And although Harry was heading that way, the rest of the students didn't seem to be.

"Okay Taylor, I'm going to the bathroom and we can stop by Steve's room to see if they have alcohol."

Harry listened attentively to the voice coming from outside the bathrooms; with his dinner on his lap and locked in one of the cubicles, every minute that passed he realized it had been a horrible decision to say no to Camille, and to close himself off to all the afternoon's plans, just to try to learn the position they had practiced in the first class, or really because of an embarrassment that invaded him when it came to making friends.

So, at that moment, sitting on the toilet seat, Harry took a last bite of the apple that he then threw into the trash can. It didn't smell as bad as he thought it would, and although he felt somewhat ridiculous, as long as no one saw him everything would be fine. The voice from outside seemed to have entered silently, only to wash their hands and he remained silent in case they decided to go into a bathroom.

Unfortunately, it was an idea that as soon as he thought it was ruined when that someone who had already closed the faucet, didn't leave, and looking for a toilet opened his door.

"Shit, the lock," he thought helplessly. He didn't know whether to be grateful it was a familiar face or not.

"Oops." The curly-haired man exclaimed embarrassedly, blushing.

"Ed? Oh hello, are you... eating in the bathroom?" Louis called him, but by the name Harry had introduced himself with. Shit, a relationship based on lies could never end well.

The curly-haired man lowered his head as a consequence of embarrassment. Louis sounded puzzled. They were simple acquaintances, but the blue-eyed man could instantly deduce he was someone new, and that explained why he was there.

Louis had been the first to do it when he arrived at the campus a few months ago after leaving the Royal Academy. Then in the next day's class he brought out his extroverted side, met Taylor and luckily never had to repeat that disgusting thing again.

"I'm not very good at meeting people, okay?"

"Oh, I wasn't either, I was the first to sit here to eat." He said as he moved away from the door and invited him to come out with him. "I was going to go with my friend Taylor to a party, if you want you can come."

A party? He had never been to one. Only to galas with his parents where people drank wine, cava or champagne, with people in suits who were thirty years older than him. Besides, he doubted that, if all the attendees focused on their friends and alcohol, they could recognize him in any way.

"Okay, I'll go with you." Harry, or rather Ed, grabbed Louis's hand when he extended it to help him stand up, and the two while smiling walked toward the outside.

They made a stop at the mirror, because Harry discovered that Louis was a maniac with his straight hair and had to be fixing it all the time.

"How old are you, by the way?" Louis asked before leaving the bathrooms. "I mean, I wouldn't want to be taking a ten-year-old kid to a party." He concluded while laughing.

"Fourteen, actually."

"Only fourteen? Holy shit, you look... I don't know, maybe between fifteen and sixteen. Oh, we're four years apart, you could be my little brother."

"You're eighteen?" Harry almost shouted, when they first saw each other, they both seemed the same age.

"Yes, almost, but I think we seem the same because they think I'm younger, it's not my fault I still have a baby face."

Their gazes connected through the mirror, and Harry could swear they both blushed at the same time, but they cut the connection by each focusing on their appearance.

When they finally left after a couple of minutes fixing themselves up, a blonde girl was watching them from the corner, the same one Louis had addressed before his chance encounter with Harry.

Taylor was waiting leaning on one of the wooden walls of the bathrooms, while pressing her jacket against her body because the wind had hit her several times during the at least five minutes she had been waiting.

"Fuck, about time." She exclaimed without noticing Harry's presence.

"Hey, calm down, it was only five minutes; besides I ran into Ed, we met earlier in the phone room and I invited him to come with us. Ed, this is Taylor."

The blonde girl seemed to be a few years older than him, probably between sixteen and eighteen; she had almost white hair, but what stood out most was her thinness, but at the same time how in shape she was, and brown eyes.

The three set off, walking quickly toward the building where, as Louis told him later, only boys stayed.

"Only boys stay in this building, girls are in the one next door."

Harry paid attention to the signs above both main doors.

"The first day I arrived here was when the place opened, so I had the honor," he began to speak with irony, because that day Louis only wanted to dance. "Of knowing that those building names are because 'Vertueux House' in the case of the boys refers to the word virtuous in French, as well as being a term used to describe someone who possesses exceptional skills and outstanding abilities in such an artistic discipline as ballet. And 'Étoile House' in the girls' building means 'star' also in the language, and being a new era of renaissance and expansion of dance's popularity, many ballerinas are considered that way, because they shine with their own light."

At that moment, Harry's mind decided to sink him for minutes, he was no ballet virtuoso, he wasn't going to dedicate himself to it. And he was far from being a star.

He was nobody. He was the future King of England, but had anyone ever asked him who he really wanted to be? If he told Louis, would he see him as Harry and continue to be interested in knowing him or would he have a respect that he only deserved by dynasty and inheritance?

"Do you remember which room she told you, Tay?" Louis asked, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

"In the lounge of our building, second floor if I remember correctly; come on, we have to go fast before any adult sees us." She responded, quickening her pace, and thus that of the group following her.

When they finally reached the spacious lounge, without knowing how it was full of lights and music, Harry mentioned that his room was in that same hallway.

"I could stop by sometime, I'm on the floor above and it's a drag to go down so many stairs every morning."

Louis responded looking at him while smiling. Harry blushed instantly.

Right away Taylor, evading the atmosphere, knocked on the door and a boy who seemed the same age as Louis, but blond and green-eyed, opened for them with a glass in his hand.

"Hey, come in, come in." He dragged the words in his mouth, showing the effects of alcohol on his body.

Without asking about who Harry was, he returned to his group of friends while the three observed the party and took care of closing the door.

The music wasn't very loud, in case any adult passed by, but it was loud enough that you had to get close to another person's ear for them to hear you. So, when Taylor and Louis decided to reach the snack table where there were also glasses with strange mixtures, Harry approached Louis.

"Are you going to drink something?" he asked, trying not to show his nerves. He had never tried anything like that, what would happen if it didn't sit well with him? Would Louis be there to help him?

"Louis, I'm going to say hi to Camille." Taylor shouted without needing to get close like Harry had done, who trembled upon hearing his classmate's name. Shit, she knew who he really was.

Was he really going to lose his first friends so soon?

"Cam!" Taylor exclaimed when Harry followed her to her, at the other end of the spacious room.

"Hey, Taylor," Camille wore a black dress that highlighted her entire body, actually, most people were dressed up; as if that were something important, even though it was just a party to celebrate the beginning of the week. The two blondes approached and after giving each other two kisses on the cheeks and a hug, they separated to start maintaining a conversation.

"This is Ed, he's new, Lou's friend." She introduced him, taking a drink from her glass while Harry tried to speak the second Taylor finished.

"Ed?"

"Yes, from the north of England, Holmes Chapel." His lie inflated a bit more. But that was true! His mother had lived there before marrying his father at Buckingham.

"Uh-huh, so, well, what brings you here? And Louis?" Camille asked while receiving a narrowed look, as if judging, but at the same time evading the subject. Harry knew he was going to receive many questions the next day.

"At the drinks table, he's seeing what to get."

"God, he's going to get drunk, again? I don't want him to approach me like... an idiot."

"Oh, it won't be that bad." Suddenly Harry spoke with a smile, as if all the confidence he had shared with Camille that morning remained between them both.

"It is, believe me it is."

But surprisingly, that night Louis didn't even approach the blonde girl.

LOUIS. PAST. Monday, 11:14 PM

He didn't know how many drinks he had already, only that the last wine had tasted like little, compared to the gin he drank earlier.

He also didn't know how much time had passed since Taylor and Ed had separated from him, or how long he had been at the bar.

"Louis!" It wasn't Taylor worried, as she called him most nights, but Ed. He distinguished his blurry figure reaching him, he was wearing a wool vest that he didn't know how it didn't make him hot in the middle of summer, and a short-sleeved white shirt that stood out. "You should... stop drinking now. You're staggering, look at yourself."

Louis smiled tenderly while blushing. It seemed such a nice gesture to him that someone who didn't know him at all, would stop him like that.

"Don't you drink?" the blue-eyed man asked, being more conscious in mind than in body, because he could speak perfectly.

"No... I... whatever, no, I don't drink."

"Come on, what's up, little one. I hope you know that to create great bonds you have to have uncomfortable conversations."

"It's nothing, really." But Harry could feel his legs tremble for no reason when from Louis's mouth came out "little one" instead of his fake name.

"Oh, don't tell me you've never drunk before."

He had figured him out in the blink of an eye, although considering his age and that he didn't have many friends, it really wasn't that hard to guess. But Harry nodded his head agreeing with him while his cheeks blushed from the summer heat, or from having Louis laughing at him telling him it was okay.

"I'm not going to pressure you, but if you want to do it I'll be here, in case of what do I know. Ah, and also to give you a combination that doesn't taste like cologne." Louis couldn't stop laughing weakly and sincerely.

"Okay, I trust you."

And besides the trust toward Louis, there was also the fact that if it wasn't at that moment when would it be? A night alone at the palace?

Louis tried one glass, and detecting a bad taste, brought another to his lips that seemed sweeter. As if he were looking for Harry's taste among them.

Finally he chose that one, because it was sweet like him.

"Drink this one, it's sweet and you get hooked sooner."

Louis attentively followed Harry's reaction, and the curly-haired man took a long drink, downing the glass in one gulp, which left him smiling.

"It's delicious. I think I'll have another."

"Okay, but don't overdo it." And Louis managed to reach another glass with the same taste. "I was going to go smoke on the terrace, will you come with me?"

The curly-haired man looked among the crowd for Taylor and Camille, with whom he had had a lively conversation for at least two hours about ballet and millions of other things the three had in common, but not seeing them among the people who were arriving little by little and flooding the room, he agreed.

They climbed the short spiral stairs that led to it, and crossed an emergency exit. It was a small place where there were only a couple of couples talking animatedly, and that half an hour after the two boys entered, began to kiss generating an uncomfortable atmosphere between both.

"Who's teaching you? Maybe we'll coincide tomorrow with Miss Sherman, I think they were going to put groups of novices together." Louis revived the conversation, once sitting on a balcony curb.

"Oh, I don't remember his name; I didn't talk to anyone in class either so..." He lied, and felt his stomach twist; he would end up in hell for it.

"It usually happens. But can you describe the teacher to me? Maybe I can help you."

"Uh, no, he was a young man and that's it, I don't remember more." He did it again. He lied to Louis for the second time in an interval of sixty seconds. Raynal wasn't young but a man over forty-two who had marked wrinkles on his forehead and some gray hair in his hair and beard.

Luckily, Louis didn't ask any more questions.

"What brought you to study here? Will you stay for a long time?" Louis asked lighting his second cigarette of the night. Harry was curious about where they got them from, because he had been told the list of rules as soon as he arrived and that was completely forbidden.

For a moment he thought he would need one, Louis's questions invaded him and he wasn't ready to lie so vilely to someone he already considered his friend.

"A scholarship, actually, my sister didn't want it and I begged my mother if I could have it; I don't know how she let me. I know male ballet is expanding much more, but... my parents don't admit it's my dream."

"Wow, you must be really good for them to have given you a scholarship, will you dance for me someday?" Louis suddenly smiled, as if a light bulb had turned on with an idea he shouted disturbing the two couples on the terrace who also shared their cigarettes. "Or maybe we can dance together!"

"Actually I don't consider myself that good..." And it was true because he wasn't, just a beginner trying to learn. "Anyway, in the future it's impossible for me to, you know, be someone in this dance world."

"That's what I said, and suddenly, a year here; and the ones I have left."

"Are you sure you have more time here left?" He suddenly corrected his question. "I mean, don't you expect anything more from the future? Being someone in the ballet world?"

"It's that, actually, we're nobody, even though we think we are." Louis said while smoking a cigarette and coughing because of the smoke. "I mean, now we think All Of Me by Louis Armstrong is a banger, but, who will remember him in two hundred years?"

"I am someone," Harry whispered so weakly, it seemed he was only thinking it.

"And well, if you're king of a country or what do I know, something like that that stays in history books, that's imposed, maybe you can be who they tell you; but not who you want to be, so, deep down, you're nobody talking about yourself." Louis responded, as if he had read the curly-haired man's thoughts. And Harry really got scared, and his heart raced. But luckily it didn't lead to anything more.

"That's sad, Lou." He used an affectionate nickname without realizing it, because it came out automatically. "I think you'll always be someone in the lives of people who love you, and they'll be the ones who will be proud of your achievements. Don't you aspire to something more if you know your mother will be proud?"

"Okay, since it seems you just want me to agree with you, yes I do." Louis finally affirmed, while hiding a laugh between his closed lips. "I would love to end up in Russia, at the Bolshoi; I know right now it's impossible, but in a few years... who knows, but I would love to move to Moscow or even Petrograd." He confessed, with all the sincerity in the world and putting out the cigarette against the floor.

"I know you'll make it."

And with those last words, with Harry leaning on his shoulder without any shame, the walls around Louis's heart began to yield, as if he finally had a friend to trust.

It was true he had Taylor, but with Edward the conversation had turned intimate and not at all uncomfortable, as if the sunlight had penetrated his dark corners, eliminating his feelings of insecurity. In his eyes that night he realized he had found a safe refuge, a place where his thoughts and emotions could flow without fear of being judged. It was as if each smile, each knowing look, wove an invisible bridge between two souls that had been seeking connection. Although that curly-haired boy was still incapable of speaking, of telling his dreams or secrets.

"I think we're going to be very good friends, Edward."

And they would have been, but everything came to light too soon.

HARRY. PAST. Tuesday 12:24 AM

Being leaned on Louis's shoulder lasted too short for what Harry would have liked.

While they watched the stars and the icy wind froze their bones, the blue-eyed man was the first to stand up, without so much alcohol in his system, and help the curly-haired man to stand up to leave the party. Tomorrow was Tuesday, and if at nine in the morning they showed up like this in class, both Raynal and Louis's teacher would scold them both.

"I hope to see you tomorrow, Ed; and don't you dare go eat in the bathroom, come to our table or I'll run to look for you. And in case you escape from me, how about meeting at seven after dinner in my room? After tonight I feel I can't go a day without seeing you."

"Okay." Harry nodded, and before leaving by separate paths, each to their room, he introduced himself into the space between Louis's shoulder and chin, welcoming him in his arms, showing him the connection he had felt during that night.

"Rest, little one."

"You too Lou, rest."

And although Harry didn't know it, Louis's heart raced at the same time as his. When they broke the hug, both their eyes were glassy (either from tiredness, or from emotion), and the two went their separate ways, as soon as they reached their beds they threw themselves on their mattresses with ear-to-ear smiles. Because there was a special bond they hadn't felt with anyone.

And while Louis felt sparks and that part of his heart that night had stayed with the curly-haired man; Harry got lost in his oceanic eyes and knew the pain it would cause him to say goodbye or worse yet, for his lies to be discovered, it would be horrible; he had never fallen from so high, he had never felt so much vertigo.

Harry fell asleep thinking about Louis, but woke up on Tuesday to the sun's rays entering his window remembering that he had barely four days left there and with Raynal's words in his head, he decided to get up half an hour earlier than normal.

He took a quick shower and left still with wet hair from the room, dressed in his tight tights and a t-shirt that was a bit big on him, carrying a bag with his shoes, ballet pointes and some water on his shoulder.

Calmly and walking through a garden that was half empty, he arrived at the studio at eight-thirty, and to his surprise it was already open. He thought Raynal arrived there at nine, but the man was stretching his long legs on the barre, and demonstrating a flexibility that Harry didn't know.

Although the door was open, he knocked twice before entering.

"Harry! Good morning." Confused and with his leg still on the barre, Raynal looked at the time on his Rolex, which gleamed on his wrist and showed what could be achieved with effort and dedication. "There's half an hour left, is something wrong?"

"I wanted to practice, I thought there would be no one, sir. If it's a bother I... can leave and come back in thirty minutes."

"No way! I appreciate your dedication, Your Highness. And more knowing you stayed up late yesterday, I suppose you were at the party, am I wrong?"

Shit, Louis had told him that no teacher knew about those parties, apparently he was wrong.

"Oh, yes sir. I went with a friend, actually..."

"Don't worry, I won't say anything, I was walking through the inner courtyard because I had guard duty and I saw a lot of commotion on the balcony and in the second floor lounge. It's normal, you're young. I was the first to do it in my years, and I would still go out if..." He lowered his leg from the barre finally, finishing his stretches and opened up to Harry. "If these teachers weren't so strict and bitter. Although I hope this stays between you and me, little one. Do you need help stretching?"

Harry shook his head and sat on the floor before bringing his legs together to do a butterfly and stretch his quadriceps.

Mr. Raynal lit a cigarette and opened one of the classroom windows, so the smoke would leave before in a quick five minutes which would be when the rest of the students would start arriving, the smell would come out.

"Do you smoke?"

"No, sir."

"I started because of the stress of competitions, and it's really horrible; one doesn't resist the same anymore."

"Do you still dance?" Harry became intrigued.

"Oh, of course I do. Before and after classes. It's a way of... feeling better about myself. You could stay if you want, some afternoon."

"Today I was going out, they invited me to eat; but maybe tomorrow?" Harry stopped his words for a second and then continued. A private show by Ben Raynal? Shit, every student would pay for it and he was standing him up to go eat. He corrected himself instantly that he was wrong, when the teacher turned around with a grimace of disappointment. "Ah, but the meal can wait, actually. Or maybe I could tell them to come? I don't know, anyway, yes, I would love to see you dance sir."

Suddenly, upon finishing the cigarette and before closing the window, Mr. Raynal turned toward him so slightly it seemed like a dance and addressed Harry.

"Do you really know what they would pay to see me? It's a unique experience, and I'm offering it to you alone, little one." His arm stretched to his jaw, until his thumb grazed it and caressed it in a movement with agility and speed, as if it had been a touch of a small gust of icy air. "Your friends won't be able to come, I'm sorry."

Harry felt disappointed at first, but understood it later because anyway he wasn't someone normal either, and although he hadn't crossed paths with many people, as soon as someone recognized him, he would stop being Ed or Harry to be "the prince."

"Okay."

Those were his last words, because a group of students entered the classroom and Raynal became as reserved as always, limiting himself to being the reserved teacher as always. Harry felt privileged to know him actually, maybe his dream of being a dancer also continued if they had hit it off so well!

His partner was Camille again, and this time because he was less nervous or was more awake, his body loosened up and he felt fragile, fast, capable of imitating all the movements that Raynal represented from the back of the class while controlling the record player to play music or remove it when he had to explain.

They danced their first Pas de deux, a simple one that the teacher had created so they would be able to learn it, and everyone did really well, but Harry could swear that Raynal's eyes were on him, something that made him feel proud. He was being admired by one of the world's greatest dancers.

"That's all for today's class, gentlemen." He addressed everyone with a formal tone while students left the classroom. The clock's hands marked two in the afternoon, and the students were already hungry. "Harry, wait a second."

Camille, who was beside him ready to lead him to the table with Louis and talk about why the hell his name was Ed now, forgot all those thoughts and was surprised, opening her mouth.

"I'll tell you tomorrow, or maybe this afternoon, but tell Lou I can't go eat." Harry whispered to her, so only she could hear him. "Thanks."

"Is she your friend?" Mr. Raynal sat on one of the benches against the wall, seeing how Camille closed the door and left quickly.

"Yes." He responded somewhat dryly.

"How lucky! I never had friends in ballet schools, actually. Everyone sought competition. In fact, it's something many lack, that feeling of wanting to finish with everyone else, win, seek a victory."

"I seek to have fun, not be better than others; I don't think my parents will let me compete."

"If it happens, the feeling will be born from your heart, little one. I'm sure."

Having said that and without stretching, because he had already warmed up during class, they exchanged places and Harry was the one who observed for at least an hour from the bench Raynal dance different solos, like Swan Lake, Giselle or Don Quixote. Others, he commented that he was the one who had created them and together with a musical director had put instrumental to them.

"It's something incredible, that besides dancing he knows how to create and compose."

"I know, I knew I wanted to dedicate myself completely to this when I composed my first solo."

"Do you think I could also compose something?"

"You could try, yes."

And the music began to play again, Raynal gave a couple of pirouettes on himself, after an Allégro he performed a Ballonné Pas, rising in the air as if he were a bird leaving the lake.

Harry couldn't help but blush and applaud when he finished what would be the last dance because the clock had marked five-thirty, although at no time did it seem so much time had passed. And Raynal felt flattered, as if that were all he needed to prolong his happiness.

"Would you like to come eat at my apartment? It's late and surely in the kitchen they'll tell you they don't serve anything anymore. I've been the culprit for you skipping the meal so, I owe you one."

Harry accepted gladly, he hadn't realized how hungry he was until that moment and his desire increased when he realized he would leave there and not eat alone reheated cafeteria things. Although when he was getting in the car, he remembered his mother had told him not to talk to strangers, and he ignored her.

HARRY. PAST. Tuesday 4:42 PM

He had missed fish and chips and a cup of tea after eating so much, that he repeated at least twice of each thing.

"I love cooking English things, it transports me home. My mother also taught me some French cooking and I usually do it sometimes." Raynal confessed, when the curly-haired man pushed his completely empty plate away. "It's an honor that you like it."

Harry had so many questions for him after observing, without it being noticeable, his large apartment.

"It was very good, you cook well." Again another compliment that entered the choreographer's heart. After a brief silence, in which conversation topics had run out for the time they had been together, Harry spoke again. "I have some questions, but are they indiscreet perhaps?"

"I've been asked many throughout my life, I don't think these are the most."

"Mhm, okay." Harry nodded, thinking about what to say first. "Do you live alone? I mean, ballet... has it occupied your entire life?"

"That yes, will you allow me to ask you something?"

Harry accepted, his shyness had disappeared and he wasn't going to allow it to return when he was in such a comfortable environment. Besides, he was in his house and one of the world's most admired dancers had fed him, he couldn't be disrespectful, make that trust be lost by saying no.

"Ballet clearly trapped my life at fourteen, but that doesn't mean I haven't had room to make friends or even... fall in love. But right now I'm alone, and it's no problem for me, I'm happy. I have people who love me, and admire me, maybe like... you." He kept a reflective silence, and continued speaking. "Do you have someone?"

Harry didn't suspect at the time, but if he had seen it from outside, he would have gone home even walking. Why did he need to know if he had someone?

"No, I'm not very good talking to people." He admitted with total sincerity, frowning and thinking about whether he had ever fallen in love. "I've also never felt... in love, how are you supposed to feel, actually?"

Raynal smiled surprised, as if he had been waiting for that question at some point, but not so soon.

"You feel attracted, with nerves in your stomach. Like a performance with the other person where there's only desire and a shared ecstasy. Something you have to try, until you find that perfect person."

"And if you don't, or can't be with her?"

"Well, you keep feeling that passion with others, but not the same. And it can also be him, in fact, since before Christ Plato already said in one of his works that human beings were before made up of two, either women, two men, or of the opposite sex; although now it's so repressed. Without culture, political leaders hardly govern and establish laws already abolished in the past, how are you going to stop homosexuals! Or even discriminate against them! If it was already defended in the past, it's not something that can be condemned now... But I don't have a voice or vote either, so one has to be oneself and endure uneducated people who create a regression in the world."

There were no more questions because Harry yawned. Although he was satisfied with the dancer's explanation, without him being a fan of philosophy at all and minimally of politics.

"Are you sleepy? You can lie down in my room, I'll take you to campus later."

"It usually happens to me after eating, but if it's a bother I just... can leave now, seriously."

"No way, rest here, I'm sure my bed is more comfortable than those bunk beds in the rooms. Why do you think I didn't agree to stay in the teachers' building? Oh, I would have ended up with a broken back."

Harry nodded. Again, how could he refuse?

He was led by Raynal to his room, where there was only a double bed with white sheets and some landscape paintings next to a closed brown wardrobe, which matched the ceiling and the window and door frames.

"Rest, little one, you can sleep as long as you want."

And after leaving the door ajar, the veteran dancer left his room leaving Harry to take off his shoes and lie down on his bed. And although at first he couldn't concentrate because of the smell that invaded him, that of a masculine cologne but much more potent, soon his eyes closed and grateful that when he woke up his back wouldn't hurt, he fell asleep.

Upon waking, very disoriented because he didn't know where he was, Harry decided to get up, put on his shoes and observed again the room that had the door open, and the late afternoon light was hitting his eyes.

In the background, piano music was playing that he didn't know where it came from, and undecided he headed toward the kitchen because it was the only place in Raynal's house he had visited.

"Harry! Did you sleep well?" As he crossed the hallway, the master's voice surprised him. "More than two hours have passed, I thought you would stay asleep all night and I would have to sleep with you there." He laughed getting up from the armchair, showing his stretched and slender figure.

"I slept very well. Thank you." He thanked, still sleepy.

Although he had truly woken up feeling as if he was forgetting something, as if he had to do something and didn't...

"Do you want me to take you to campus?" Raynal interrupted his thoughts. "It's almost dinner time, and I arranged to meet with Professor Green because we have to watch the dining hall."

"Okay, sir." It was impossible for Harry not to nod. But he was still forgetting something.

He didn't give it much thought and after getting his bag, he followed Raynal to his black Mercedes, really beautiful and one of the most expensive of those years.

They drove in silence to the campus that was no more than ten minutes by road and once there Benjamin addressed Harry with a small smile.

"It's been a great afternoon, little one. I would love for us to repeat someday, and be able to teach you to dance. Frankly, you're not at the level of any of your classmates, but above. You have hope, talent and a connection with me that I haven't seen in anyone else."

"It would be an honor." His voice almost broke, he had never received so many compliments for his passion. "See you tomorrow, sir."

"I think you can already call me Benjamin."

And while the adult's dark eyes pierced the child's greenish ones, he caressed his curls letting him go at last. Although not for long.

Harry remembered what he had forgotten when he reached his room door, or a little before, mainly because he saw Louis sitting with his back to it, bored. And waiting for him.

"Louis?" he asked, feeling bad.

"Oh, you finally deign to appear, Ed." His voice sounded annoyed. "We had arranged at eight, before dinner. Didn't you remember?"

"I... was busy. I've been... in the studios until now. I ate an apple and was coming to shower. I'm sorry for forgetting, Louis." He confessed, lying again. His heart squeezed every time he did it, and he felt he was breaking that connection.

"It's okay... I understand." And Louis extended his hand, hugging him just when he extended it, unable to restrain himself. "I missed you today, at lunch." He whispered in his hair while they both smiled.

Harry could notice how his stomach was churning, how he felt that desire that Benjamin had told him hours before. Or so he thought. He was ninety-nine percent sure that was it.

"Shall we go in? You can wait for me while I shower and then we'll go to dinner." Harry broke the hug, and also his thoughts toward what he felt.

"Okay."

Once inside, Louis lay on the top bunk, while Harry on the bottom unpacked his bag, left his ballet shoes in a corner, looked for his clothes and definitely decided he

had to take a quick shower.

He went into the bathroom with a towel and his clothes to change inside, and turned on the shower, waiting for the water to come out hot. Louis was whistling a song he didn't recognize outside and while he wet his feet a little; he was thinking about whether he should undress or wait for hot water to come out, but he turned to the first idea noticing a gust of air coming from under the door, making him freeze because of the sweat.

He would have showered at Benjamin's house, but before asking him, after thinking about it millions of times, it ended up seeming discourteous to him.

Luckily, the water that soon came out warm, made him warm up from one second to another, and once under the shower head he began to think.

What the hell was Louis doing to him? He meditated, in a whisper talking to himself.

When hours ago he had talked with Benjamin about falling in love, something that he would have undoubtedly liked to talk about with his parents before, but hadn't been able to (because they were too busy), only Louis's eyes appeared in his mind, when closing his; and his body only stirred when remembering him. Everything vibrated when thinking about him, and more so having him in front of him.

But no. That couldn't be.

First, because he wasn't sick, Louis was a boy, and he was one too. He didn't want to die for what he felt.

Also, secondly, Louis thought that he, Harry, was Ed, a boy from Holmes Chapel who lived with his mother; and if... they fell in love, or at least if it was mutual, Harry would be discovered.

All the endings were apocalyptic. In all of them he would end up really badly.

But what Louis produced in him couldn't be compared to anything, with any sensation. Except when the music played and he could feel free dancing.

"Are you done yet?" As soon as he closed the faucet and became frozen, Tomlinson shouted from outside, producing a shiver in Harry.

"Right away, I'm going to dry off and get dressed." He responded. Would Louis also feel everything that happened to him? "I'm stupid." He whispered, only he hearing himself. Of course Louis wouldn't feel any of that, he was someone normal, he liked women! And he did too! They had to appeal to him, he didn't want to be... broken.

While he dried off, and tried to forget everything Louis produced in him, he combed his hair back, put on a beige summer shirt along with darker brown short jeans, and left the bathroom as if all those thoughts had never existed.

LOUIS. PAST. Tuesday 9:45 PM

Louis had never been afraid of anything. As children, his sister slept with a small candle lit in the room, because she was afraid of the dark; his mother upon seeing a spider would run away frightened and call whoever was beside her to help her; but he hadn't suffered those small fears, and always thought they were even somewhat stupid.

Until he arrived at the ballet camp and discovered, that he as a person, also had them.

After spending a year there, and with the arrival of a certain curly-haired man to whom he had become attached in not even twenty-four hours, it was he who suffered that anguish, feeling more dead than alive, discouraged and not knowing what his next move would be.

"Louis! I'm back with dessert." He heard his name in the distance several times.

Someone was calling him shouting, and their steps were approaching taking him more and more out of his thoughts. Although his friend had been very insistent on not having dinner in the dining hall and doing it in the room, and he had agreed without questions, that had only increased his nerves about what he had to tell.

How could just two words that expressed truth and sincerity cause that anguished sensation in his body? Shit, he didn't even go to bed trembling on nights when he knew he had a competition, or some critic would judge him from behind the door during dance classes to sign him to their company the next day, nor when an exam he didn't have time to review thoroughly approached, or something similar.

While he thinks about how he will face it, because the doors that lead to the curly-haired man's balcony are opening and Louis can't flee from his acts much more, he thinks about how it started.

First, how his feelings for Ed (or for any boy) increased: the knowing looks during the previous night that while the green-eyed man thought were of friendship, generated in Louis a bubble of hope that swelled more and more with the touches, the blushes and the "little one" he threw out, received as a response by some reddened cheeks on Ed's part sometimes also accompanied by a "you too" that he ignored so as not to go crazy.

Actually, he never knew when he started to see him differently. Or maybe it was since he wanted to help him in that phone booth. However it was, he knew that love had always scared him; because of the speeches of hate and violence from his parents at the table every time "inverts" came out on television, although actually it increased in the ballet dressing rooms and with most of his friends who the moment they talked about their feelings or anything that excited him in the slightest, were already mocking him and insinuating how gay he was. Some even telling him that if people found out they would kill him, and those were the ones they were taking to concentration camps in Germany.

When had he been indoctrinated to cry in his house when night fell and not be able to lean on the shoulder of any of his companions to do it?

Everything was about timing, and in the end, one he didn't have. Maybe if he had been born in the future, he alone could... be free? Or at least, accept himself.

"Here you are, take it, they're serving ice cream today." Ed smiled at him, while he continued with his lost gaze, about to cry. "Are you okay?" he asked innocently, with a tone of concern.

He didn't want to do it, but in an involuntary head movement he nodded minimally. He knew what the curly-haired man would give him in response, and it was a "no."

But, even so, Ed without asking a single why, threw himself toward him to help him in his arms, as if he were drowning on a shipwrecked boat and suddenly, a piece of the boat itself would help him climb up to get air.

"I don't know what's wrong with you, but if you're going to cry, you must breathe. You have to calm down. Or let it all out."

Louis opted for the first option, he refused to confess his feelings, suffocated.

But his curls drowned him, his half-open shirt gives way to his perfume and he feels trapped, although not in the way he wants, because he would prefer to be trapped between his lips; however, thanks to him breathing beside him, Louis can finally do it. He can make it so that, after a couple of tears, which remained in his eyes, his breathing is controlled; and he clings to the courage he has left not to suffer, and think that love is not bad.

"I'm sorry, I'm an idiot, I shouldn't even be here, I..."

"Why?" he asked innocently.

"I love you, I... I've fallen in love with you, little one."

The words came out choked from the deepest part of his being, almost whispered, he forgot for a moment that on that balcony quite a few more people than they thought could see them, although most would be at the party that, he repeated, was in the building's lounge one more night. His back straightened against the wall, he felt a weight leave him, as if what he had pronounced had weighed fifteen tons, or a thousand.

"I'm not an invert or I'm sick." He kept silent and looked for a pack of tobacco in his pockets that he didn't find. "I just feel, experience and perceive. And... I feel very comfortable with you, like I haven't with anyone. Besides, you're gorgeous and..." He finally felt in the inner pocket of his jacket the cigarette pack, and took one out quickly keeping silent, and concentrating to light it.

"Don't light a cigarette now, please." Harry had been processing the information, his voice came out broken and pleading. As if he was going to throw him out of there.

"He's going to do it. He's going to throw me out. He's someone normal, and you're an asshole." Louis thought.

"I... don't want your mouth to taste like smoke if..." He armed himself with courage, it would last as long as it lasted, whatever happened, Harry for the first time had feelings, and could be free outside the palace. No one would find out, everything would stay on that balcony and they would spend the rest of the week together, like good boyfriend-friends they would be, maybe even when he returned to the palace, Ed would respond to Louis's letters and they would create code words to say "I love you." "If I want to try to kiss you, Lou." He finished the sentence while his hands trembled on his legs.

The curly-haired man lowered his head not to have his gaze fixed, although after seconds, he felt Louis's hand under his chin lifting it, making him fix again on his eyes that transported him to the sea, and with all the shyness in the world, it was the older one who did it.

He kissed him.

He kissed him breaking all limits, although there were still limits to break, all the secrets that Harry had left to tell and that someday, maybe a night like that would be discovered, although you never knew when.

While they kissed, the curly-haired man's mind accumulated thousands of memories, which he wished never to have seen, because that little prince, the one who ran through the palace and who had snuck into the green-eyed man's mind during those seconds the kiss lasted, could never have imagined that scene.

How obscene, kissing a man, grabbing his short hair and noticing his tight pants. He was sure anyone would have said.

In the end they separated and Louis noticed the sadness that his eyes reflected, drawing a smile from him leaving a kiss on his cheek before a hug, and finally, an "I love you."

"I love you, I love you, I love you, and I would tell you a thousand more times." Louis whispered in his ear, before leading him to bed to rest. "With you I'm not afraid."

And although Louis as soon as he saw himself had promised he would go to his room to rest, he fell asleep hours later with Harry in his arms, when finally his lips seemed to be satisfied.

Chapter Text

Requiem: A composition sung with the liturgical text of the Mass for the Dead, or part of it.

How dare you? And how could you?
Will you only feel bad when they find out?
If you could take it all back... Would you?
Try not to abuse your power.
I know we don't choose to change.
You may not want to lose your power.
But having it is so strange.

HARRY. PAST. Wednesday, 8:00.

The alarm clock on the nightstand went off at eight in the morning on Wednesday, because the previous afternoon without knowing anything about what would happen that night, he thought about going back to the studio at eight-thirty.

"Ahg, why do you have the alarm so early?" Louis complained half asleep, covering his face with the pillow.

His arm wrapped around Harry, pressing against his body and generating a warmth between them that, once again, made the curly-haired boy feel butterflies in his stomach.

"It's really hard for me to get up..." He yawned in the middle of the sentence, unable to help it. Both the yawn and the deception.

Clearly, once again it was another lie. His plan was to go find Mr. Raynal so he could show him some new solo or tell him about his achievements.

As he remembered it, he felt grateful, now not only did that famous choreographer admire him for his courage and desire to discover ballet, but Louis did too.

That camp had given him more people who loved him than the palace had in his entire life.

Louis left a soft kiss on his cheek before getting up and announcing he had to go to his room to change because he didn't have ballet tights there. He also offered that they could go to class together at quarter to eight, and Harry accepted delightedly, with an unconscious smile on his face.

He would drop Louis off first, and would have no problem getting to his class five minutes early.

Unlike his class, the blue-eyed boy's was on the fifth floor of the main building, it was enormous, when they approached the door people kept coming in and Louis told him there were at least twenty-five students, which is why they were in the school's largest hall.

Harry avoided the questions the blue-eyed boy asked him about where his class was, what it was like or how many students were in it, telling him whispered "I love yous" or making him blush with any nonsense. They had to be discreet, but the empty hallway invited them to even break the tension by bringing their lips together.

But that kiss never happened, because they couldn't risk that much and Harry turned around before Louis could realize, excusing himself by saying he was late; and it was true because there were only three minutes left until nine o'clock, when his class would begin.

He ran down the stairs as soon as he said goodbye, suddenly his problem was something very different from not being able to kiss Louis. Benjamin would get angry if he arrived late, before he closed the door!

What if he no longer believed he was a diligent student for not showing up that morning? What if he no longer trusted him to talk about things unrelated to ballet? Who would Harry lean on now?

He would be alone, even with Louis, he couldn't talk to him about the things that really worried him, as much as he loved him.

Luckily or unfortunately, he arrived at his class just as the door was closing.

"Styles! Come on, in. Did you oversleep?" The professor joked, calling him by his last name and establishing that they were in a professional environment, in which they should be treated as such.

"I'm sorry, sir." Harry apologized, entering with his head down through the door.

Raynal indicated that punctuality and discipline were very important points in art in general, and after telling him to put on his shoes to start class, he accompanied him to the benches somewhat set apart in the corner of the classroom, breaking his rule of starting classes on the hour and letting a few minutes pass so his students could continue talking, and he could address Harry without being observed.

"I hope it doesn't happen again, I hate unpunctuality." He sounded harsh, dry; his orders were similar to those he gave while they were in class and his hardened and imposing voice prevented Harry from responding without trembling. "Besides, thinking you would arrive earlier, I had planned to ask if you would stay after class again today."

"I would be delighted, sir." He bit his lower lip as he felt every muscle in his body tense. Fortunately, Raynal asked no more questions, and with a smile that lit up his face, he began the class in the blink of an eye.

When class ended, right at lunchtime at two in the afternoon, after a morning similar to the previous day and even with the same interactions with Camille, Harry realized he wasn't the last one to leave.

"Ed? Really?"

The studio was open, but apparently Benjamin must have gone to the bathroom or somewhere else, because planted in the middle of the room with no intention of leaving was only Camille.

"You were the first to tell me that people recognize me by name!"

"And Louis thinks you're his friend! What will happen when he finds out who you really are? Oh, and he loves Professor Raynal, he's his idol, his room is full of posters of him and before he leaves he'll ask him for thousands of autographs, he's going to die when he finds out you're one of his students."

Harry might not have known that information, but so what! He would never find out, he would continue being Ed, and on Sunday, when he had to leave, he would tell him that sending letters to Holmes Chapel is very difficult.

By the time he realized he was the heir to the country's throne, years would pass and no one would believe him when he told them they had kissed and fallen in love.

"How can you be so twisted! Such a bad person!"

Harry's heart shrank for an instant, his stomach turned and his eyes filled with tears. Damn! No one had ever called him that.

"I swear I love him, he's my friend." He spoke and clarified just in case.

"And he'll find out about your lies, though not from me. Have a great time with your fucking private classes with Professor Raynal, or whatever the hell you do, liar."

From her last sentence, Harry deduced that perhaps it had all been an attack of jealousy for having recognition that no one else had, so he calmed down despite his stomach still being upset, and he promised himself that as far as he was concerned, Louis wouldn't find out anything.

"Well, it seems someone is jealous." Suddenly Benjamin walked through the door just as Camille was leaving, and whispered it to Harry when the professor received no greeting from her. "Don't worry, she's envious and that will serve her for competitions, if she ever makes it to any. Every day I value having chosen you more, little one, I see the fury in your eyes right now."

"It bothers me that she hates me for being better than her, clearly I am."

"That's what envy is about. It's always directed at the best, and I can assure you that you are."

Benjamin put his legs on the barre, just like the day before, and performed similar stretches that, as he explained to Harry, he had already internalized through discipline.

Ballet was that, he told him afterwards while performing a jump in the air that ended with him on the floor almost sitting, discipline, passion and endurance. Always doing the same routine, without moving a hair and being careful. Harry hoped to be able to achieve that someday, and if perhaps something rubbed off on him from watching him dance, he would do it as many times as necessary.

They didn't talk during the two hours that Raynal performed several solos, and repeated things from the day before, though he also ventured into experimentation. Harry observed attentively, and for only a few minutes, while the fifth symphony and opus sixty-seven played, which Ludwig van Beethoven had written almost a century and a half ago, which conveyed a deep uncertainty and also as the melody progressed, generated ups and downs, as if he would have to fight against unknown forces, but without knowing in that first movement what he was facing, generating urgency and suspense.

Suddenly, remembering that the symphony meant that because one of his classical music teachers at the palace had explained it to him as a curiosity, Harry thought for seconds about Louis, whether he would be looking for him, missing him or on the contrary hadn't even thought about him.

And the truth was, the blue-eyed boy was looking for him all over the building, but never found him.

Remembering the night before, or perhaps because of the nerves the mysterious song produced in him, vomit reached his throat and his stomach turned even more, although without losing his composure or looking away, he managed to appear as if nothing was happening.

Luckily, as soon as the clock struck four, Raynal stopped the music at the beginning of the second movement.

He liked being with him, of course he did, but he was also feeling really bad, pain took over his stomach from one second to the next and he was close to doubling over in pain.

"I'm getting hungry. How about we go eat now?" He suggested somewhat sweaty, because it was hotter inside than other afternoons and Harry had felt immeasurable passion and joy.

"Alright, see you tomorrow, sir." But while the curly-haired boy intended to say goodbye, and even stood up from the floor, an expression of curiosity and bewilderment appeared on the adult dancer's face.

"Oh, I thought you'd come to my house and I made Bouillabaisse, a French stew with fresh fish" Harry licked his lips, he needed to eat something now. "You know? I like having company and even more so if it's someone who hopes to learn something from me, we can continue practicing there." His lips curved into a small smile, and warmth rose to Harry's cheeks as he nodded and said it seemed fine to him.

"Actually I'm feeling a bit sick, my stomach hurts and..."

"All the more reason! You won't be alone in your room, something could happen and who would you call?" Although for a moment the dancer's words transmitted excessive distress to Harry, he admitted it was true. Because Louis loved Ed, not Harry. And he had no other friends there. Who was he going to call?

Besides, they had had a really good time the previous afternoon, and although he didn't usually go alone to other people's houses, Mr. Raynal had welcomed him as if he were his son.

"Don't you want to go get anything from your room? Change your clothes, maybe?" Benjamin suggested, when he closed the studio door.

Harry thought about it for an instant, and decided no. First because of the fear of running into Louis, like the night before. What if he was waiting at his door? If he showed up there with Mr. Raynal, all his cover would go to shit and he would look like a liar. Oh, and if what Camille had told him was true, about Louis's admiration for the dancer, that could get really crazy.

So, the next second, he denied needing anything.

Everything followed the course it had followed the day before. His black Mercedes with the smell of cologne and air freshener, the large building where he lived and the stories about France he told him while heating the fish in the oven.

After eating, and this time with conversation topics still pending, Benjamin addressed Harry seriously. Throughout the day he had been somewhat dry, his voice had come out almost choked from his throat as if he didn't want to maintain a conversation with the little dancer, and although the gears turned better when he invited him to eat, there was still something uncomfortable in the atmosphere.

Maybe he was boring him? Was he too young to give conversation to an adult like him, experienced and with millions of stories to tell?

Luckily for Harry, very soon Benjamin decided to break, on his part, the layer of discomfort that had been created after eating and generating an unpleasant silence.

"I would love to teach you how to perform 32 perfect fouettés en tournant, before you leave on Sunday."

Harry learned later, when he saw Raynal do it in the spacious dining room, that it consisted of 32 turns on himself, raising his pointes.

"Come on, get up and imitate my steps."

Harry got up from the armchair where he was sitting, and again, the melody of Beethoven's "ta-ra-ra-ra" began to play in his head.

With great care, without knowing how, he performed only three turns on himself, getting dizzy the instant he stopped.

"Good, little one. That's quite progress. It's all a matter of practice and technique."

After those words from Raynal, he doesn't remember how much time passed trying, but he only stopped when the professor indicated he would show him how to introduce the turns into the dance, so he could imitate him.

Benjamin approached his record player, took a vinyl from the cabinet, which stored them all against the wall, and the melody began. And although it wasn't a ballet one, it could clearly be danced the same way.

Mozart's requiem sounded through the speakers, filling all the space; and Harry remembered that at the palace he had also learned something about that melody.

The composer had written it before dying, as if they were his last breaths that had endured through time. When he heard its story, Harry began to identify with him and had memorized his life, and when Raynal paused the song to address the little one, he took the opportunity to speak.

"I've always liked this song." He began commenting, sitting in the chair that was in the corner of the large living room. "Mozart was always an adult instead of a child, and although I would have liked to be one in ballet, I had to be at the palace. The last thing he composed in the work were the first eight bars, and it signifies the pain he felt when his father wrote to him that he was a disappointment, and all the tragedy that surrounded his life, even though they thought he was happy." Benjamin focused all his attention on him, placing his hand on his shoulder, and dedicating an understanding smile. Surely he too would have had to learn early to be an adult to become director of the Paris Opera at only eighteen. "You can notice the accompanying sighs so much, the pulse and the silences; the minutes of tranquility without the sighs, as if someone had stopped crying at the funeral for which the work was composed, and then the voices return increased, expressing cries, pain and sighs again."

"You're so smart..."

Harry felt he would faint as soon as that adjective came from Benjamin's lips, and thanks to it, he had the strength to dance again to the rhythm of La Lacrimosa.

And so, without being anything of classical dance, Harry's first real dance was Mozart's requiem, perhaps, shaking hands with the future.

Again he had that double bed in front of him, they had danced for two hours and at six in the afternoon he began to yawn, and like the day before, Benjamin partially closed the door staying outside and Harry took off his shirt because, with the window open, the heat had increased and he couldn't see a fan anywhere.

Although to his misfortune, and unexpectedly, he woke up in the middle of his nap because he noticed the other side of the bed sinking.

Then a hand on his back. And from there, that would be his last peaceful sleep, a sleep he would have appreciated more if he had known it would be the last, and that like Mozart's requiem and the whispers that composed the song, he felt had been alerting him all that time.

"I didn't want to wake you, little one, but I have a problem, so big that..." He yawned as the curly-haired boy had done hours ago. "It exhausts me, it tires me." He victimized himself. Knowing the curly-haired boy would worry, and he was still drowsy in bed. Maybe he was waking him up to kick him out? To tell him he couldn't drive him to campus? No, it was nothing like that. He sensed it. "I've always had it, can you get an idea of what it is?"

"No..." he hesitated whether to treat him as Benjamin or as "sir," that seemed like a serious conversation, even though they were in his bedroom. "No, sir."

From his bed lying on his side so as not to see his face, uncovered by the duvet and with his bare torso, he could feel his fingers on his back reach his shoulders and continue caressing him, although it wasn't until he turned around ending up almost on the edge of the mattress, that he noticed Raynal's shaved neck with some razor cuts, his nose that seemed much more pointed and his eyes, in that darkness where only the light from the door entered, which also seemed much blacker.

"Do you remember we talked about competitiveness yesterday?" Harry nodded, and the dancer after smiling at him and bothering him with his breath on his face, pulled back while still lying on the mattress, watching with an imposing gaze that turned the child's stomach lying on his bed trying to cover his torso with his hands. "I am, as can be deduced. I'm so much so, that I like people to know what's mine."

Silence flooded the room, this had to be a nightmare. It had to be.

"And in all honesty, I thought you were. That you were mine."

Suddenly that seemed even more like a dream. And everything Raynal said next, starred in his nightmares. Starting with the hand that lunged at his torso without permission, without consent.

"I still am, I still belong to your class, don't I?" he asked innocently, drawing a bitter laugh from between the man's lips.

"Oh of course you still are, prince. But I'm referring to..." Instead of laughing again, he stretched a smile between his lips. "Love. Why did you lie?"

Harry paled instantly as he fought against his tears. What if the whole school knew he had kissed Louis? If the rumor had reached him while he slept and he had woken him up to throw him out? Because he was sick? Was he saying it for that reason?

"You're in love with that boy, aren't you?"

Harry hadn't been afraid until that moment, words that caused a fire inside him and then made everything burn, that made him shiver for Louis. And how in less than twenty-four hours, they had been ambushed.

He had never been afraid of a madman's laugh, in fact, he was much more afraid of people who lied or laughed little; like Benjamin, who remained silent increasingly closer. But he did fear his secrets being discovered, his demons.

At that moment, the same one who had brought them to light was abusing his power, while the curly-haired boy stopped seeing him as a hero.

"Come on darling, there's no point in lying. I know." As his words came out, his hand went to his chin, just as Louis had done the night before. "What's the name of the one you were with yesterday on the balcony?"

"Were you following me?" He accused him, daring to speak. He couldn't keep quiet, adults never did and he couldn't behave like a child at that moment.

"Oh, those are really serious accusations, Harry. I was just passing by. Besides, you have nothing to worry about." He didn't believe him, but he wasn't going to argue anymore and preferred to focus on the hand he placed on his shoulder, and their eyes were at the same height, thus forcing them to look at each other. "I'm like you. And there are so many people, you'd be surprised. I can teach you, little one."

And with the hand that wasn't on his shoulder, he lifted his gaze again making their gazes connect and not get lost again.

"You're my special student, Harry. And they don't just learn ballet, but about life." His hand, suddenly wrinkled and realizing that man was more than thirty years older than him, traveled down his untrained chest, felt his abs and stopped there. "Since it's the first time, I'll close the door." But darkness only meant more suffering, or so the popular legends and children's stories said; the boogeyman his mother told him about always appeared at night. Even so, Harry kept quiet and Raynal moved away from his body to fully close the door.

There was no possible escape, that older man was a thousand times stronger than him and he was in a city he didn't know, at least half an hour walking from campus.

"Take them off. Off." He indicated his pants this time.

Why had he taken off his shirt? Why had he agreed to go instead of staying with Louis? Oh, Louis, why had they kissed? Why did love have to be hidden? Why couldn't it be the blue-eyed boy who was in the room, with him?

"You don't know who I am." He threatened him, again as he had seen his father and several politicians do, also as a last resort, refusing at the same time to do it.

"Oh, of course I know, little prince; but I also know you don't want everyone to know what you are, what we are." Once again, he only smiled.

How dare he abuse his power?

Abruptly Harry felt trapped, as if a snake was choking him, as if the more force he made, the more the dancer would crush against him.

The prince, who had so much power in the palace, felt like a fool with his body pressed under the mattress, completely defenseless and allowing them to invade the only intimate thing he had; he felt he was special, that man had made him feel as if he were for being Harry the dancer, and not for being a hereditary position. But at that moment, however, that angel he had trusted became the devil himself, lost his attractiveness and believed himself owner of Harry's body, his pleasure, his first times.

"You're doing great, little one" was the last thing he whispered in his ear, and which repeated in his head like a scratched record player.

But he wasn't a child, he wasn't little, he would never be with him; he was an object, or at least he was until he fainted on the same bed that for months, would star in his nightmares, while always playing, the last movement of Mozart's requiem, indicating he was dead, but alive.

HARRY. PRESENT. September 5th. 3:54 PM

"Why did Harry lie to you?"

The king listened attentively behind the door, his emotions had shrunk seeing Louis tremble from his nightmares, as he had done at some blurry point in his life. And he couldn't help but intervene, perhaps because he didn't want to know the answer to the question or wanted to protect him from the memories.

"The water."

The room suddenly fell into complete silence. Surely Zayn and Louis would wonder how much of the conversation the green-eyed man had heard, and fearfully awaited something more than two words.

"Thank you." Louis's voice trembled when addressing him, perhaps that's why Harry gathered courage to start something he would leave unfinished.

"I have to go, I hope you get better and the rehearsal goes well this afternoon."

Zayn insisted on accompanying him to the door because he had to close the studio, and in a moment, when the director left the room and wasn't many steps ahead, Harry's head peeked through the door when Louis had lain back down.

"And Lou, I asked you for forgiveness for lying to you."

Suddenly they were two children again, Harry with open wounds covered by clothes, while the choreographer thought it wasn't time to die yet because of the nickname the king had given him.

"Lou". There were names that pronounced by exclusive people sounded better, with clarity; and that nickname from Harry's lips was a clear example.

Although, even so, hearing what Harry had heard, it wasn't time to talk things through with him. They had a performance to finish and the past surrounding them would only hinder that worldwide act!

So both would wait a little longer, the blue-eyed one feeling like a fool for loving him, and the curly-haired one believing himself reckless for helping.

LOUIS. PRESENT. Monday, September 11th. 9:35 AM

While interactions between Louis and Harry didn't increase significantly in the days following the Royal Highness overhearing much of the conversation behind the door and having left the blue-eyed man frozen with his words, also because due to this Harry began to avoid as much as possible being alone with Louis and even addressing him during group conversations, their encounters stopped being so tense with Monday's arrival.

While Harry had spent from Wednesday to Sunday between his room, the library and the dance studio, suffering while wallowing in memories of his past that Louis had opened and with dark circles reaching his cheekbones; the blue-eyed man recovered quickly and, unlike the green-eyed one, and ignoring his memories, looked ahead with his head held high focusing on the work he had to finish in a couple of weeks.

The classes in the studio, which Harry began attending on Thursday when he had apparently overcome the tension with Louis alone, began to have a somewhat more relaxed atmosphere, as the rest of the group (or at least Zayn and Liam) also began to notice that between the two there was an open issue that neither of them intended to close.

Of course, the new dancers (who were increasingly more because the cast kept growing to perform rehearsals of the three acts, and finally on Friday one together) knew nothing about Louis and Harry's past relationship, beyond that they were the choreographer and the head of the ballet - as well as king of the country -, but, and although they weren't especially brilliant, the tension between them generated morbid curiosity and a desire to know the tragic story behind that discomfort with which they treated each other. Although it would never be known, because they were usually discreet during class hours and when the four of them were alone the tension invaded the atmosphere, but no one asked.

Zayn had deduced that Louis felt something for Harry, but hadn't been able to identify exactly what the latter's problem was, because he always behaved ambiguously and very closed off with everyone, but especially with the choreographer. He rarely let loose or shed his appearance as a proud and serious man who needed everything to be perfect for his wedding day, and who didn't allow anyone to be wiser than him.

However, it also disconcerted them that, at times, he would sit watching Louis's movements in particular through the mirror, and see him get emotional as he did when the second act of Sleeping Beauty began in which Aurora awakened, which demonstrated a sensitivity that didn't seem to have a place within him.

Even so, that emotion vanished as soon as the music stopped playing and Louis burst in with his voice, not allowing a silence that seemed like hell for the blue-eyed man.

The days after Harry overheard part of the conversation actually, were all noise, not a silence in which the king could ask about what they were talking about when he interrupted to bring the glass of water, and not even a question about whether the dancer was already in good condition.

But in reality, Harry couldn't help but be hurt and stirred inside by that situation of disinterest toward him, although putting himself in Louis's shoes he could empathize that perhaps he was still disoriented about the last words they had exchanged alone. Although the blue-eyed man also didn't believe the king wanted to maintain any kind of interaction with him after hearing everything they had talked about behind his back.

In fact, Louis noticed that Harry avoided at all costs being alone with him, to clarify or seriously talk about things and the discomfort surrounding them. Or at least, until that Monday, when all the dancer's thoughts ceased.

Curiously, and although Louis had been countless times in London's Royal Opera House, a place where the country's most important works were danced and sung and in which he had participated both on stage and directing what happened underneath, that time the power it radiated surprised him, much more than other times. As if it harbored something magical, the peak of his career.

He arrived at nine-thirty, in the different backstage rooms pieces of scenery and costumes were already prepared. He had the pleasure of being able to walk calmly for only ten minutes, because, although both the dancers and Zayn arrived at ten o'clock sharp, a curly mane that Tomlinson knew very well crossed the doors leading to the orchestra seats, while placing marks on the floor about where each dancer should come out from.

He didn't see him as his back was turned, but the king had set aside shirts to dress in a tight khaki green sweater that marked his muscles, along with tight white pants. Even so, the sound of the doors gave him away.

"Rehearsals start at ten o'clock sharp, can you wait outside while I prepare everything, please?" He addressed him when he heard the door close, thinking it was a dancer.

Deliberately, Harry instead of speaking cleared his throat, making Louis surprised and automatically turn around unable to contain himself.

"I didn't know what time you started rehearsing, but I'm leaving now."

Louis frowned. He firmly believed in the saying that you catch a liar sooner than a lame person, and Harry by definition, was one.

He himself had been in charge of sending a letter to the Royal Household expressly for Harry, with the schedules. Last Saturday they informed him he had received it.

"We sent you a letter. Well, I did." The dancer let out a bitter laugh. "With the schedules."

He ended up clarifying, because Harry remained with arms crossed and with a confused expression next to the door. Not knowing whether to leave or stay there interrupting Louis.

"Anyway, I was leaving, I forgot something at my house."

Without saying anything more, with Louis ready to leave through where Harry had entered, he went down the stairs and when he was almost at his majesty's height, after the blue-eyed man scanned him with his gaze before leaving, he felt the king's hand weakly grabbing his shirt at the waist making him stop.

Harry felt upon touching him how his scent of cigarette and vanilla perfume filled his nostrils, confused his senses and tempted him both to punch him and to plant a kiss on him, not knowing what to do first.

"Is it always going to be like this?"

Despite Louis having his back turned, stopped by Harry's hand now grabbing the former's shirt with a bit more force, the blue-eyed man didn't want to meet Harry's greenish gaze because he knew it would stir up the ghosts of his past.

So, he limited himself to nodding and adding a weakly whispered "yes."

Suddenly the roles had changed and while Harry had left behind his role as eccentric man who remembered every detail of how their distancing in Ireland had occurred, the dancer adopted, or at least in that theater, a serious and rigid position very different from what he really was.

"Louis..." He called him with a broken voice and without raising his tone much. "Couldn't we talk outside of here at some point? Before we finish rehearsals?"

The aforementioned didn't respond instantly, and waited for the hand of the one who had named him to release its grip.

"There's nothing to talk about, that you were listening to private conversations the other day isn't my business. And I don't take back my words."

That struck Harry down, like a glass of cold water that had to break over him whether he liked it or not and that soaked his bones making him shudder. He didn't believe that man who had even granted him the clash of their lips once, now denied him the word.

"Is that what you think? Do you feel I'm upset because I heard whatever you said about me in that conversation with Zayn?"

He heard the dancer inhale deeply, before casting a glance over his shoulder toward Harry and letting the latter continue speaking harshly.

"No, I'm angry because you're running away, both from me and from the past relationship surrounding us, and that's why I've started doing it too; I feel like my presence makes you uncomfortable and if you need me to apologize to you again I will. A thousand times more, I'm sorry Louis." He kept silent, and although the last named still didn't accept the apology, Harry continued speaking, this time defending his person. "But my feelings don't subside because I try to change them, they don't become disfigured every time you try to move them."

Louis instantly recognized the last sentence. Pride and Prejudice. They had always had that book in common and their banal conversations, years ago, in their adolescence, used to tend to talk about the story.

"And my temper could be defined as suspicious, for once I lose my esteem for someone, it's lost forever." The blue-eyed man finished the dialogue sentence.

Instantly, Louis remembered that, in that scene from Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth conversed about first impressions, and while the man admitted he never changed his opinion about them - somewhat reminiscent of the choreographer -, the girl defended that Darcy was lying, and that couldn't be so and it was only a defect he had.

"Besides, why do you attack my affection? If your defect is hating everyone." Tomlinson concluded.

"Oh, the implacable resentment, which you also share like me, is indeed a flaw in character. Yours undoubtedly is to deliberately misinterpret each person, and not believe in second chances. Because I certainly don't hate everyone."

Louis considered the conversation concluded at that point. He had nothing more to exchange with that arrogant man who besides interrupting him, wanted to get his way!

"I have nothing more to talk about with you, or should I say with you, your majesty." He responded, as if wanting to dig the finger even more into the wound. "I'm the choreographer of your ballet, and one of the main bosses. You hired both my service and Zayn's and Niall's, and all three of us are offering it to you. Everything I've talked about you from today on is buried in the past and I'm sure you must have more important things to attend to."

His words sounded disheartening, and with coldness they struck Harry's heart, making his face fall apart and unable to contradict anything more.

Despite the apparent calm Harry demonstrated during the rest of the day, while watching the dancers do their work from the orchestra seats and Louis direct it, in reality, his inside was upset every time the choreographer opened his mouth and it wasn't to address him and accept his apology.

And perhaps because of the conflicting feelings he had had that morning, because he didn't want to repeat the same conversation with Louis or because he was hungry; he left the theater five minutes before rehearsals ended.

"We're done for today! Thank you again, guys." Louis directed his gaze toward Zayn, who was observing the desert in the audience, and when their gazes connected the dark-haired man dedicated a confused smile to him. Harry had never left before a rehearsal, why had he that day?

And although he wasn't the only one who needed explanations, the trio waited for the theater to empty so they could talk calmly and celebrating the triumph of the first day, which, despite the king's tiny circumstance, provided them with considerable joy.

"Has something happened between you two that we don't know about?"

Zayn is the only one who dares to ask, after Louis comes out of the bathroom changed in jeans instead of ballet tights. Perhaps, he was trying to restart the conversation they had left half-finished in the blue-eyed man's room a week ago.

"Uh, no, not at all." He denied quickly, raising Zayn's suspicions even more, who frowned, but could have said "you don't even believe that yourself," and it would have meant the same. "Okay, maybe... Ahg it's something too private to tell, I mean..."

Before continuing to speak he took air, breathed deeply as if his words had gotten stuck somewhere in his throat and he had to get them out by expelling his breath.

"It doesn't just involve me, but him too. And I'd like to tell it, but I don't know how without... without breaking our promise."

Niall, who was completely on the sidelines of the situation since he hadn't witnessed last Tuesday's tension, let confusion hit his face, frowning while wrinkling his nose, completely perplexed.

"Wow, wait a minute, you and Harry...? When?"

"A long time ago, and it's not like we ended exactly well, so the less we mention it the better."

He doesn't remember how he said that without crying, without his voice even breaking; but Zayn and Niall accepted it without protest, accepting that, one more day, he didn't want to talk about the subject.

The atmosphere became dense after those words, and although Niall wanted to ask more questions - his curiosity was eating him alive - he understood that Louis needed space and time to process whatever had happened between him and the king.

"Should we go celebrate anyway?" Zayn suggested, trying to lighten the mood. "The first day went well, despite... everything."

Louis nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. He was thinking about Harry, about those green eyes that had looked at him with such intensity that morning, about the hand that had grabbed his shirt preventing him from leaving, about the Pride and Prejudice quotes they had exchanged as if they were seventeen again.

"Yeah, let's go." He finally said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Meanwhile, Harry had locked himself in his room at the palace, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. The conversation with Louis kept repeating in his mind like a broken record.

"There's nothing to talk about."

Those words had hurt more than he wanted to admit. Because yes, there was something to talk about. There was so much to talk about that Harry didn't even know where to start.

He could start with Ireland, with how his world had collapsed when he had to leave. He could talk about the years of silence, about the letters he never sent, about the nights he woke up screaming because in his dreams he was still in that bed, in that house, with those hands on his body.

He could tell him that seeing him again had been like opening a wound that had never properly healed. That every time Louis looked at him, Harry saw the boy he had fallen in love with at fifteen, but also the man who now looked at him with resentment and distrust.

But how could he explain all that without revealing what had really happened? How could he make Louis understand that his lies hadn't been to hurt him, but to protect what little innocence he had left?

A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Your Majesty?" It was Marcus, his private secretary. "The Prime Minister is waiting for you in the study. The meeting about the wedding was scheduled for four o'clock."

Harry looked at the clock. It was already four fifteen.

"I'll be right there." He responded, standing up and adjusting his clothes.

He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than usual, and his face looked paler than normal. But he didn't have time to worry about his appearance. He had a country to govern, a wedding to plan, and a past he had to keep buried.

At least for now.

LOUIS. PRESENT. Monday, September 11th. 11:47 PM

Louis couldn't sleep. He had gone out with Zayn and Niall, they had drunk a couple of beers, talked about the choreography, about how well things were going. But his mind kept returning to Harry.

To his face when he had told him there was nothing to talk about. To the way his voice had broken when he had quoted Pride and Prejudice. To the desperation in his eyes when he had grabbed his shirt.

"Fuck." Louis muttered, turning over in bed for the tenth time.

He got up and went to the kitchen of his small apartment. He poured himself a glass of water and sat at the table, staring at nothing in particular.

The truth was that Louis had lied. There was something to talk about. There were many things to talk about.

Like why Harry had disappeared from his life without explanation. Like why, when they saw each other again after so many years, the king had looked at him as if he were seeing a ghost. Like what that conversation with Zayn that Harry had overheard had really been about.

Louis closed his eyes and let the memory flood him.

LOUIS. PAST. Wednesday. 8:30 PM

"Have you seen Ed?" Louis asked Camille, who was leaving the studio with an angry expression on her face.

"No, and I don't care." She responded dryly, walking past him without another glance.

Louis frowned. Camille and Ed didn't seem to get along, but he had never seen her so upset.

He continued searching. He looked in the dining hall, in the common rooms, even dared to knock on some doors on the floor where the students slept. Nothing.

It was as if Ed had vanished.

At eight at night, desperate, Louis decided to go back to his room. Maybe Ed was sick and had gone to bed early. Maybe he would see him tomorrow and everything would be fine.

But something inside him told him that wasn't the case.

He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the previous night. About the kiss they had shared on the balcony. About how Ed's lips had felt against his. About the way his heart had raced when the curly-haired boy had looked at him with those green eyes full of something Louis couldn't quite identify.

Love, perhaps. Or fear. Or both.

"Where are you, Ed?" He whispered to the empty room.

He didn't get an answer that night. Nor the next. Nor the one after that.

LOUIS. PAST. Sunday. 11:00 AM

"Attention all students." The director's voice echoed through the speakers. "We regret to inform you that student Edward Brown has had to leave the camp early due to a family emergency. We wish him well and hope to see him again in the future."

Louis felt as if the ground had opened beneath his feet.

Ed had left. Without saying goodbye. Without explanation.

He ran to Ed's room, but it was already empty. The bed was made, the closet was empty, there was no trace that anyone had lived there.

"No, no, no..." Louis muttered, searching desperately for something, anything, that Ed might have left behind.

But there was nothing.

He sat on the empty bed, feeling tears begin to run down his cheeks.

"Why?" He whispered. "Why did you leave me?"

He didn't understand. Everything had been going so well. They had kissed, they had confessed their feelings, they had been happy.

And now Ed was gone, and Louis was alone again.

LOUIS. PRESENT. Monday, September 11th. 12:03 AM

Louis opened his eyes, feeling tears on his cheeks.

He had cried that day. He had cried many days after that. He had cried every time he remembered Ed, every time he wondered what had happened, every time he thought he saw a curly-haired boy on the street and his heart leapt with hope.

Until one day, years later, he saw Ed's photo in a newspaper.

But he wasn't Ed. He was Harry. Prince Harry. Crown Prince of the United Kingdom.

And Louis had understood everything. Or at least, he thought he had understood everything.

Ed had lied to him. He had used a false name, had pretended to be someone he wasn't, had played with his feelings.

Or at least, that's what Louis had convinced himself to believe. Because believing that was easier than accepting the alternative.

That maybe Ed - Harry - had had reasons to lie. That maybe something had happened that had forced him to leave. That maybe, just maybe, Harry had suffered as much as Louis.

But Louis had buried those doubts deep inside. He had decided that Harry was just another spoiled prince who had gotten bored with his toy and had discarded it.

Until now.

Until he saw the desperation in Harry's eyes when he asked if they could talk. Until he heard him quote Pride and Prejudice, their book, the story they had discussed for hours during that week at camp.

"Damn it, Harry." Louis whispered to the darkness of his kitchen. "What the hell happened to you?"

But he already knew he wouldn't get an answer. Because he had made it very clear that morning that he didn't want to talk.

And Harry, being who he was, had respected that.

Even though both of them knew that silence would only make things worse.

HARRY. PRESENT. Tuesday, September 12th. 7:00 AM

Harry woke up with a start, his body covered in sweat, his heart racing.

The nightmare again. Always the same one.

The bed. The hands. The voice whispering "you're doing great, little one."

He got up quickly and went to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and got under the cold water, trying to wash away the feeling of those hands on his skin.

It had been years. Years since that afternoon in Benjamin Raynal's house. Years since his life had changed forever.

But the nightmares never went away. And now, with Louis back in his life, they were worse than ever.

Because Louis reminded him of a time when he had been happy. When he had been innocent. When he had still believed that the world could be a good place.

Before Benjamin Raynal had destroyed all that.

Harry closed his eyes under the water, remembering.

HARRY. PAST. Wednesday. 11:00 PM

Harry woke up in the dark. His body hurt. Everything hurt.

He was still in Benjamin's bed, but the man was no longer there.

Slowly, painfully, Harry got up. His clothes were on the floor. He put them on with trembling hands.

He had to get out. He had to leave that house.

He walked to the door, opened it carefully. The hallway was dark and silent.

He went down the stairs, trying not to make noise. His legs barely held him up.

When he reached the front door, he heard Benjamin's voice from the kitchen.

"Leaving so soon, little prince?"

Harry froze.

"I... I have to go back to campus." His voice came out broken, barely a whisper.

"Of course." Benjamin appeared in the doorway, holding a cup of tea. He looked so normal, so calm, as if nothing had happened. "But remember, Harry. What happened here stays between us. If you tell anyone..." He paused, smiling. "Well, I'm sure you don't want everyone to know what you really are. What we are."

Harry felt bile rise in his throat.

"I won't say anything." He promised, because what else could he do?

"Good boy." Benjamin approached and kissed his forehead, as if he were a father saying goodnight to his son. "See you tomorrow at class."

Harry fled. He ran out of the house, down the street, not stopping until he reached campus.

When he finally arrived at his room, he locked the door, got into the shower, and cried until he had no tears left.

HARRY. PAST. Thursday. 8:30 AM

Harry didn't go to class.

He couldn't. He couldn't face Benjamin. He couldn't face Louis. He couldn't face anyone.

He stayed in his room all day, ignoring the knocks on his door, ignoring Louis's calls.

At night, someone slipped a note under his door.

"Ed, are you okay? I'm worried about you. Please talk to me. - Louis"

Harry read the note and cried again.

He wanted to talk to Louis. He wanted to tell him everything. He wanted Louis to hold him and tell him everything would be okay.

But he couldn't. Because if he told Louis, everyone would find out. And if everyone found out, his parents would find out. And if his parents found out...

Harry didn't want to think about what would happen.

HARRY. PAST. Friday. 9:00 AM

The director called Harry to his office.

"Your Highness." He said, and Harry's heart stopped. The director knew. "I've received a call from the palace. There's been a family emergency. You must return home immediately."

Harry wanted to laugh. There was no family emergency. His mother had simply realized he wasn't okay and had made up an excuse to get him out of there.

"I understand." Harry said.

"Mr. Raynal asked me to give you this." The director handed him an envelope.

Harry took it with trembling hands. Inside was a note.

"It was a pleasure having you as a student, Prince Harry. I hope to see you again someday. Remember, our secret is safe with me. - B.R."

Harry tore up the note and threw it in the trash.

HARRY. PAST. Sunday. 10:00 AM

Louis knocked on Ed's door one last time.

"Ed, please. At least say goodbye."

But there was no answer. Because Harry had already left. Had left at dawn, before anyone could see him, before he had to face Louis and explain why he was leaving.

In the car on the way back to London, Harry watched the Irish countryside disappear through the window.

He had left behind more than just a summer camp. He had left behind his first love. His innocence. His trust in adults.

He had left behind Harry the boy, and had become Harry the Prince.

A prince who would never dance again. A prince who would never trust again. A prince who would carry his secret to the grave.

Or at least, that's what he thought then.

HARRY. PRESENT. Tuesday, September 12th. 7:30 AM

Harry got out of the shower and looked at himself in the mirror.

The scars weren't visible. They never had been. Benjamin had been careful about that.

But they were there. In his mind. In his heart. In every nightmare that woke him up screaming.

He had thought that time would heal them. That forgetting would make them disappear.

But seeing Louis again had reopened them all.

Harry dried himself and got dressed. He had another meeting at the opera house today. Another day of pretending everything was fine.

Another day of seeing Louis and pretending his heart didn't break every time the blue-eyed man refused to look at him.

But he would survive. He always did.

That's what princes did, after all. They survived.

Even when they wanted to die.

Chapter Text

The guest list for the wedding of the year is already flying from mouth to mouth, and from airport to airport, along with their invitations. All the information you're looking for, inside the magazine today.

Although Scarlett Andrew (who will be named Scarlett Styles in a month, adopting her future husband's surname) is in Belgium, her native country where she is an infanta, to celebrate her mother's birthday and her brother's upcoming coronation following the abdication of King Leopold II, we're sure she's aware of the commotion sweeping the streets of England this month.

And many nobles, and even villagers, are hoping to find the exclusive invitations to the wedding of the country's king and future queen in their mailboxes.

Although months ago television channels focused solely on the Korean War, which involved our participation due to the Labour Prime Minister, Clement Attlee, news of the royal wedding has reached American newspapers, as if it were a tiny bit of peace amidst the disaster that plagues and surrounds the world day after day.

It is true that at first, the wedding was overshadowed by negative opinions, as the British expressed great disapproval of Harry and Scarlett's union with the announcement on July 5 of this year. In Belgium, rumors circulated that the future queen's father was on the German side, or at least sharing sympathies when he managed to take command of the Belgian army. This did not please the English, who had developed anti-German sentiment as a result of the war, and many Britons preferred Harry to marry the Duchess of Ireland, Camille Jones. Although the meeting between the two never happened, rumors from people who had known them as children before the war said they got along so badly they couldn't stand each other, and with all due respect to Styles, his parents didn't choose her as a candidate.

Returning to the attendees, as revealed by The Times, the wedding of the year will definitely feature guests such as the famous founder of the ballet company in the United States, George Balanchine; actresses Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn (who we trust will be discreet, lest Her Majesty leave the bride at the altar); and other celebrities and government officials.

Outside Buckingham Palace, where a greeting will be given on the balcony at 4 p.m. by the royal family and the bride's family, more than 100 people are already waiting.

28 days until the event of the year!

Chapter Text

Belgium, Laeken Palace.

Every time Scarlett Andrew visited her family in Belgium, she asked her friends in the area if she could visit them or wrote to them worrying about whether they were well. Sending letters cost less when you were in the country or even in the region.

Although it was true that she had no problem with any acquaintance writing to her from wherever necessary, for whatever happened.

A few months ago she immediately knew that her friend Sophie was expecting a child and had moved with her husband from Brussels to Perwez, a small municipality where they were looking for tranquility during the pregnancy; and she also knew that Oliver was still involved in his plans as a spy and she learned before anyone else that Leopold, the father of the future queen of England, would be released from his incapacitation as king after being in a Nazi prison, and was watching over his father who was an abdicated king.

That was one of the main reasons why Scarlett was home, to celebrate her father's release and, in addition, her brother's birthday.

"Fuck! I can't believe you're getting married."

At his newly turned thirty years old, in an intimate celebration at dinner time in which only the four members of the Belgian family participated in the palace hall, her older brother Olav had not yet conceived marriage, and perhaps that's why it surprised him that his sister would do so in less than a month.

"Olav! That mouth" His mother scolded him, before he could continue speaking.

"And on top of that with the fucking king of England." The Belgian prince ignored his mother's words, just as when she had told him he had to cut his hair, and each time his almost white hair from how blond it was, grew longer, reaching his shoulders.

"I remember how annoying you were when I would visit you during the war about how much you loved him." His father, who rarely exchanged anything more than monosyllables due to his reserved character, made Olav burst into laughter, again.

"Oh, that's a lie." The redhead exclaimed while laughing.

"True!" Her brother responded, with his mouth full and without manners. He had never felt so much like family.

"It's true, and you as men didn't have to put up with anything, but every night when I went to give her a kiss before bed she told me everything that the wonderful Harry had done and everything they had talked about." After swallowing her last piece of cake, her mother burst into the conversation.

"Mom, you have to go against them, not against me." Scarlett shouted again, faking her anger and crossing her arms while pouting.

That was the familiarity she missed in England. That was the familiarity she lacked and didn't find in a Harry who hid and Scarlett had stopped looking for after years of trying.

"Remember that at eleven they'll bring the letters they didn't deliver this morning, we'll go for a walk." After at least twenty minutes in which the conversation was fading, the mother of the two siblings ended it.

And thinking about the letters again, Scarlett realized she had actually known more by word of mouth than thanks to a piece of paper.

For example, about Louis, about whom rumors were circulating that he was expanding throughout London with the Royal Ballet Academy and although they begged him from the Bolshoi to return, he refused.

But they were only rumors. Really? Why would the British man give up the Bolshoi? Her acquaintance, more than friend because they had lost contact when he had left for Russia, was crazy if that was true.

Besides, Scarlett knew he hated business, surely whoever told her had spoken with Louis when he was too drunk to stand.

The redhead deduced he still had that lost look and smoked a pack of cigarettes a day, because of God knows what, and, in addition, that had also been what led him to leave the Irish academy where they met and go to Moscow where he had met many important people. And from the little Harry had told her after announcing, more than five years ago, that he didn't know him, although everyone knew very well they were friends, it confirmed her suspicions that the prince at that time also had something to do with the events and decisions Louis had made in his life, and in one way or another had hurt her friend's feelings.

Although Scarlett had always stayed out of that strange relationship between two of her acquaintances, she knew Louis was hopelessly full of hatred toward Harry, and the green-eyed man, although it would take him centuries to admit it, also kept things inside that no one would ever know.

And she was surprised by the letter that arrived while, unfortunately, she was far from London, from Louis, and from Harry and lying on the sofa.

"Next week rehearsals will begin at the ballet theater, my mother will control the menu and the guest list is ready; I'm sending it to you because I'm not going to read them all, darling.

-Harry. XXX"

Scarlett let out a laugh reading the message. The scolding from five days ago had worked! He must have gone by the Royal Academy rehearsals and had to run into Louis whether he liked it or not!

For a moment she wished she was in London, missing home for so long, only to want to go back now... who would have thought.

"What are you laughing so much about?" Hours after dinner had passed, and while her parents took their nightly walk through the gardens, she had been left alone with Olav in the living room, both lying on the sofa with nothing to do but read the mail they had that day.

"Harry, he wrote to me."

"Uh-huh."

A silence invaded the room, Scarlett felt Olav had something to say, but he wasn't speaking.

"If you have something to say, say it or be quiet forever." She joked, inciting her brother, when a few minutes had passed since his dry response.

"Well, swear you won't get angry." They joined their pinkies. "Do you really love him?"

That question left the redhead bewildered. This wouldn't leave here, would it?

"I can't answer that, because even I don't know; I know he doesn't love me from the start, he's never fallen in love with me and maybe that has slowly made me lose all interest... But there's still something, but no, it's not love."

"Uh, what is there?" he asked curiously, opening his eyes wide and focusing on what his sister was saying.

"On my part, a great desire to know what he's hiding. I always saw something strange and I feel I'm closer to... discovering it? I don't know, maybe he doesn't even know himself completely."

But in reality, Scarlett Andrew had known for a long time what was happening to Harry, and he knew she knew, as she had shouted at him angrily a few days ago.

He liked men. And if she had to answer when she had realized, she could answer that, in one way or another, she always knew.

HARRY. PRESENT. Monday, September 11th. 1:18 PM

In a contrived way, after that morning when Louis had refused to apologize to him and had established boundaries that the king had been unable to establish, he realized that their relationship was based on taking one step forward and three steps back, all the time.

Zayn had told him they would use the theater for one more hour after rehearsals ended to celebrate the first day, while the choreographer spoke with the dancers at a distance, and clearly, he was more than invited to join the three friends. Although it was impossible for Harry to get involved in that festive atmosphere, and he left the place even minutes before the cast; but not because parties made him uncomfortable or because he disliked Zayn or even Niall, the Irishman he barely knew, but because he was unable to maintain any kind of contact with Louis and didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

So he left through the same door he had entered that morning before sowing chaos, and left in the same car to the palace.

"Your Majesty, they're serving lunch in the dining room." One of the maids indicated to him in a kind way, as soon as he arrived at the main door, to which he thanked with a smile.

But he wouldn't eat with his family or with Scarlett that morning either. He had gone days without sitting at the table, because he couldn't stand the feeling that clung to his insides when he saw his fiancée's wavy hair and remembered she knew everything he was hiding, or at least part of it. So the encounters between the couple in the hallways, stairs and at bedtime, began to be somewhat more frequent than fortunately didn't transcend to the general public, and the king's parents didn't dare ask what had generated that drastic change in their relationship.

It was also true that, although they didn't perceive it, each one did everything possible to cope with the situation. While Scarlett slept some nights outside the palace, Harry escaped on nocturnal walks thus fleeing from his nighttime nightmares.

However, the worst were the lunches and dinners. After Harry decided to announce he would eat at the ballet studio with Louis, when the ghosts of the past had not yet made an appearance, his parents had thought it was fine, but Scarlett, despite the good relationship with the emeritus kings, had been seen upset. And subsequently, after the increased frivolity in the relationship between Louis and Harry, the latter limited himself to grabbing his plate from the kitchen and ingesting it in his room accompanied by solitude, without anyone knowing he was there so they couldn't claim his presence at the main table.

Although something interrupts his plans that afternoon, when he plans to walk quickly with his food tray in his hands from the kitchen to his bedroom.

"Rirri!" He was crossing the square hallways that surrounded the interior courtyard where Sarah was normally found, sitting on one of the corner benches reading, when he realized it was she who was shouting at him, both because of the nickname and because of the subtlety and confidence.

She didn't speak again when the curly-haired man approached her with giant steps, she didn't even ask him how he was, because obviously she expected Harry to be the first to give details about something. About why she hadn't seen him in days, what he had been doing and, above all, who he had been with.

"And... Should I believe you?" Perplexed, she stood up from the bench closing her book and began to walk in circles around him, while laughing incredulously. "I haven't seen you for almost a week, not even a letter, a message that could tell me you were okay... Oh, come on! Who the hell did you sleep with!" Although she raised her tone, she didn't shout loud enough for anyone to hear and yet Harry shushed her.

"Shut up crazy, I swear, I didn't sleep with anyone."

"Oh, I know... you went to the bar. The fun ones? You know..."

A "fun bar" or, similarly, a gay bar. "Road to the Hell" had opened that same year, a few streets beyond the palace and although Harry had never dared to set foot in it, out of shame or fear of being killed, Sarah knew people who frequented there at night, and, in addition, very famous people who usually gave large amounts of money so they wouldn't reveal their identity.

"I told you if you pay Steve more than five hundred pounds, you'll be safe without problem. And I'm sure you can do it and fix that face with one of those there." In a low voice, and while the words came out almost whispered from Sarah's mouth, Harry's cheeks blushed completely. He would never have the confidence to kiss a man! He was attracted to them, of course, but he was held back by the fear that they could hurt him.

"Well, the question is, where were you?"

"At the ballet studios, feeling out the terrain and seeing how things were going... you know I'm very controlling and more so if I want this to go well." He admitted, praying Sarah wouldn't realize who was directing the rehearsals.

Although the dark-haired girl didn't take long, because, apart from being the only person in the world who knew what had happened in the past despite not having met Louis in person, she did continue to follow the dancer's trail. And just as months ago she had found out that Tomlinson would fly to the Bolshoi to be one of the assistant directors of the renovation of Swan Lake, now she knew very well he was as choreographer at the Royal Academy.

"OH GOD." Even with cheeks reddened by blush, Sarah's face paled after her shout. And Harry, feeling they were calling so much attention even when there was no one in the courtyard, felt a vertigo that, from one second to the next, made him take his friend's hand and introduce her into the building to give her the explanations she deserved, as his lifelong confidante.

HARRY. PAST. Thursday, 7:28 AM

The scene kept repeating in his head, the wall clock marked six in the morning in front of the bed and he kept hearing the rattle: tick-tock, tick-tock, why had he done it?, tick-tock...

Besides, to his misfortune, which had already been much, Raynal's arm surrounded him making him feel dirty and useless, an object to use and throw away.

But he couldn't start crying, he had to be strong, hold back the tears and get out of there however he could. Think about his family, about how much he liked ballet, even about Louis. Oh, where would his true love be?

Again the questions riddled his head, which hurt so much from the headache he had gotten even before falling asleep. Why had he undressed? Why hadn't he pushed him off? Why hadn't he run far away? He didn't know, but he only wished to go home.

The hunger he had from not having dinner made him feel empty, or perhaps it was his feelings and emotions of happiness that had disappeared forever, because the nightmare, as he would call it from that moment on, had taken away much of his appetite and had left both him and his monster so tired, that the only thing he wanted was to sleep.

Again, he repeated to himself that he couldn't, the only thing he had to do, although he wasn't in condition, was to move his arm away risking what was left of his life and pray he wouldn't wake up.

It disgusted him so much to touch him that, with his socks, which were next to his side of the bed, and hadn't ended up set aside when the monster had forcibly removed his clothes, he put one of them on his hand and moved away the arm that surrounded him, without trying to move much.

He got up silently and looking toward the door managed to reach it, closing it in complete silence; the most important thing he had learned from that night, and had saved him, was that Raynal was a deep sleeper.

So deep that it even gave him time to find his shirt and pants, and put them on to cover himself because, as disgusting as they were, he was more afraid of being found without anything on again.

His life had gone from being an overcoming film to a thriller from one moment to another. What would happen if the monster got up from the bed and didn't find him there? How would he endure the classes of the next few days? Who could he trust to tell what had happened to him? He was the prince of England! People would say no one could ever hurt him.

But it wasn't true.

He decided to stop thinking, leave his mind blank and dissociate as he had never done before. Wait sitting on the sofa for his only salvation, and at the same time his devil, to get up and take him back to campus.

So, in the dark corner of his mind, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions in heartbreaking chaos, suddenly stopped.

He looked at himself in the mirror in the hallway, just leaving the bedroom, in which hours before he had looked at his curls to see if they were messy after dancing, but with an abysmal difference, that now he struggled to find an exit from the storm that roared both inside and outside him.

He went down the wooden stairs trembling, from how much his lower body hurt and also because of the fear that one would creak under his feet, thus waking Raynal. When he fell to the floor, after the last step, he noticed how his mind was disconnecting from his brain just enough not to remember, but to give him the necessary adrenaline to survive.

He moaned with each step he took, he sobbed, his legs trembled and his memories, like distorted shadows, merged and separated, leaving in their wake an overwhelming sense of disorientation. Although tears didn't flow, as if he had lost the ability to feel.

As if it had vanished from his DNA.

Each thought about what to do at that point, while in silence he looked at himself in the mirror that was also in front of the sofa, seemed to throw him in opposite directions, dragging him among the broken fragments of his reality. He believed he should be quick and get out of there, get lost in the city and try to find the way to campus, but as soon as he remembered why he was fleeing, the nightmares trapped him and the line he used to draw between past, present and future vanished, leaving only a mirage of what once was. As he struggled to maintain his grip on the present, he felt how cracks formed in his will, threatening to drag him toward a spiral of total disconnection.

The need to flee, to escape from the abyss that opened before him, grew with each heartbeat. But while his mind struggled to stay afloat, his body seemed to be anchored in a place where time and space intertwined in a confusing tangle.

He closed his eyes in an attempt to block the discordant voices that resonated in his head, but each escape attempt only seemed to intensify the pain surrounding him.

He walked to the kitchen and there tried to find a spark of clarity, a pinch of serenity in the midst of chaos, because he had seen some sleeping pills on the table as soon as he arrived, and he looked for them even rummaging through the cutlery drawer; but his efforts were like leaves dragged by an autumn wind.

He was trapped in a desperate dance, trying to weave the broken threads of his mind into a coherent whole once again, seeking the light that would guide him through the darkness.

A force, like a hurricane that would take him back home.

But in the end, from thinking so much about strength, his body lost the battle against his mind and he fell asleep on the sofa.

He was awakened by the smell of coffee, cigarettes and his nightmare's cologne that flooded the entire downstairs.

His heart accelerated, as if it were a bomb about to explode. As if his subconscious thought that the sooner he got out of there, the better it would go for him.

It didn't take too long to stand up, he would never lie down in his presence again for fear he would pounce on him, like helpless prey.

As expected, there was no good morning, not even a greeting. He didn't expect breakfast or anything like that either; just to get in his car when he left.

"We'll go earlier today." He indicated with a hoarse and deep voice, the first time he addressed him. Maybe he was embarrassed, although the curly-haired boy didn't believe it.

The clock marked seven-thirty, he confirmed it was earlier.

Benjamin didn't add anything about not responding, Harry supposed he expected it. His leg wouldn't stop shaking while he listened to him rattling around upstairs, probably getting dressed and grooming himself, something he hadn't even had the opportunity to do and therefore was still covered in sweat.

The car ride was the longest of his life, he choked in the back seat and bent down so much so that his nightmare wouldn't see him through the rearview mirror, that his back hurt, although it was a lesser evil.

"Harry." Benjamin parked the car in the teachers' parking lot, and the curly-haired boy understood they had arrived at that hour so they wouldn't be seen arriving together, because that place was still deserted. And when he thought threats would come from his mouth, he added something unexpected. "Put on your hood, and go shower, I want you in class, little one."

He didn't want anyone to ever call him that again. He wanted to erase that nickname from his mouth, and if possible also his name so he would never call him again.

"Little one"

Insignificant. Useless. As if he were nobody.

And while making sure Raynal couldn't see him, when he had already moved away from the car, he ran to his room as if the man were chasing him.

And he didn't appear in the hall at nine o'clock sharp.

The third Monday of January is considered the saddest day of the year. They call it Blue Monday. Perhaps because of a set of variables that influence people's routine who in barely two weeks have already adapted to doing nothing during Christmas vacation, and in turn also affects their emotional state; returning to routine, realizing there won't be vacations for months, and a long etcetera of concepts that take time to assimilate, but must be accepted. Therefore, it's the most tenuous, gray and deranged Monday of the calendar.

The cold climate in the northern hemisphere, low motivation, inability to react and, again, a long list of concepts that depress people, makes us fall ourselves to the bottom of the well.

But that Friday wasn't Monday.

Nor was it winter, nor January; but a July that hit Ireland with temperatures of thirty degrees. And Harry shouldn't be so sad, but in his ballet classes with his classmates learning everything he once wanted and moving his body to the rhythm of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake.

But the melody had been replaced by the sound of a scream of sadness, tears against the carpet, and sounds of desperation the previous morning, which unfortunately or fortunately continued, thus allowing the crying to come out so as not to die of grief, as a stork does when it must migrate south not to die of cold, Harry fell into a hole of frightening torment, because unlike birds, he couldn't flee until Sunday, or perhaps he didn't want to either.

And although sadness dragged him on the ground and he had been unable to get out of bed in twenty-four hours, at some point during the day, Harry decided that, just when he was ninety-nine percent sure that Raynal wouldn't be at the school, because the clock marked the late ten at night, it was a good time to get under the shower stream to camouflage his tears, which kept flowing from his eyes.

It had been more than twenty-four hours since he had disconnected from the world; no radio, no response to the knocks on the door, no response to Louis's voice that morning, nothing that could communicate him with the outside world and make someone external see his sadness and how his body was representing it (with pimples, swollen eyes and greasy hair). So, in permanent confinement until the madness stopped and everything, or rather his own life returned to normal, he was alone with himself, trying to forget Raynal's touch.

Although he had already showered the day before, as soon as he arrived wrapped in his khaki green hoodie, with teary eyes and disgusted with himself that made him unable to look at himself in the mirror, he decided there was still some trace of his nightmare's perfume on him, and he had to remedy it.

Or perhaps he was going crazy and the smell of "Acqua di Parma," Raynal's perfume, had stuck in his nostrils.

But despite that: that morning he got up like any other, ignoring what had happened, ready to get under the water for a couple of hours and scrub until his smell disappeared from his skin, but without thinking clearly until the bathtub was overflowing with water.

And at first the whole night began very normal, the clock marked ten and he felt he had woken up from a nap, forgetting dinner time in the dining room, however it was true there was something strange about all that normality; because although Harry had washed his face, started to undress, and turned on the bathtub faucet without the purpose of bothering the neighbors, who at quarter to eleven would wish to sleep in their beds without anything disturbing their minds; there was something that made him think that day wasn't going to end like all the others.

And just as had been happening to him for years, that Harry had woken up in the middle of the night disturbed by childhood nightmares trying to flee from his planned life at the palace, or sweating wrapped in fever that dissipated at the beginning of the day for no reason; that day, at eleven on July twenty-second, the hair on his arms stood up, the glass he accidentally left resting on the counter was thrown into the void hitting the floor and shattering into pieces, probably bigger than the ones Harry had inside him; and only these two signs accompanied by the shriek that a person - or an animal - had given outside, were necessary to make the British boy see that something wasn't right.

And there, right at the moment when a chill ran through him from head to toe, he merely wanted to return, making the memories invade him.

Return to the place from which, ironically, he had always wanted to fly away.

Home.

Although they had moved from Windsor Palace to Buckingham last January, and he had an unreal fear that made him afraid the new place wouldn't feel as much like home as the first, he realized his home would always be wherever both his mother and his sister were. Because he always had arms to fly to after a nightmare, to console him from fever or with simplicity, hope and confidence tell him firmly that everything was going to be okay.

In what he had been away from his family in Ireland, Harry never, and he could swear it, had expressed a feeling of longing or nostalgia toward the palace or his family; but there, right at the moment he felt he was losing everything, himself, he missed the infinity and simultaneous emptiness of being home, probably, because blinded by how horrible the days at campus had been, he didn't remember even half of the things of what life "at home" was like.

Or perhaps because the great marginalization, the little trust there was - especially with his father - and the pain that had surrounded his childhood, had made him forget everything except some specific moments in which today he had been able to reconsider he had been really happy. However false that was.

Because ultimately, had Harry known happiness? Or did he simply adapt to the fact that the future was a little better than the past that had surrounded him?

Deep down, how do you know if you're really happy?

Perhaps happiness was defined by a small smile; or the brightness in the eyes, in the gazes.

A brightness, which, at those moments in the prince's gaze, was not reflected. Because panic and terror dominated him as soon as a couple of knocks sounded louder than normal on the door. Thus breaking his permanent disconnection.

A brightness in the eyes that no matter how much you try to imitate, is never the same as the first time.

And that was lost in him when pain ran ahead of the light.

"Harry Styles?" A voice he didn't know shouted his name, but it sounded muffled while he got into the bathtub to pretend he didn't exist. "Are you there?"

He kept quiet for seconds, it was an adult man he was sure of that. Maybe Louis had told some older student he didn't know where he was? That his friend Ed had disappeared and wasn't opening his room door for him?

Oh, for a moment he didn't care, as long as it wasn't Raynal things would be "okay," more or less.

"Your Highness, please, open the door."

After that sentence that Harry also ignored, the mysterious man addressed him by more nicknames, begging him to come out willingly.

"Majesty," "Prince," "Harry," "Styles" and a long etcetera that he didn't even bother to listen to while he rinsed his hair and was grateful that gentleman had distracted him from his nightmares at least for a second.

"You should know, sir, that I am Abrams; or Frederick, the director of this campus. Your lack of attendance at classes with Mr. Raynal has been reported. And if you don't want to come out of your room, your home will be called so they can come get you, but I must check if you're in good condition."

For a moment Harry thought of several options.

First what would happen if he gave no response, would they break down the door with some kind of battering ram? Would they call his mother and the king and queen of England would show up right there, being on the cover everywhere in the world, the laughingstock of the country and having on top of that the biggest punishment of the centuries?

As a second option maybe he could use the excuse that he was very sick and didn't want to go out because of the risk of infecting someone, but as soon as they sent a doctor and saw that wasn't the case the lie would fall apart and he would have to tell the truth.

And, lastly, if he went out and met with the director to tell him what had happened at Raynal's apartment to Mr. Abrams... his decision was uncertain. What if everything went wrong and he told him he didn't believe him, and that tomorrow despite being Saturday he would make up for all the lost time? Or perhaps on the contrary he would believe him, would fire Raynal and allow him to return home.

In the end he opted for the last option; if he didn't open for him, Mr. Abrams would return sooner or later and one way or another; and if he lied everything would be even worse than it already was.

"Oh, I'm... bathing, sir." But instantly he got up from the bathtub, dried himself quickly with a towel smaller than his body and put on a shirt and shorts that, from not eating and having lost weight quickly in a couple of days, were falling off his waist.

In a matter of seconds Frederick Abrams's gaze scanned him, from head to toe and from shoulder to shoulder, making sure he was unharmed.

"Harry, are you okay?" Without a good morning and with an annoyed tone for having had to wait,

"I've had a headache since yesterday at dawn, but I'm better after bathing, sir."

"I'm glad, I was already thinking I'd have to talk to their majesties because you weren't opening the door, oh, that would have been a very unfortunate event for the school." A laugh of discomfort escaped him, as if he had suddenly realized who the child in front of him really was.

"Ah, no..." The absence of noise soon invaded the space. "Do you wish anything else, sir?"

He kept observing the child for a few seconds, as if he actually wanted to remember something he didn't remember.

"Oh yes, Professor Raynal is waiting for you downstairs, in the studio; he mentioned that maybe you wanted to make up for what was lost. Come on! I'll accompany you." He tried to encourage him, and Harry supposed it was because his knees trembled and he saw his face pale.

But suddenly the courage he had had an hour before to get out of bed, took hold of Harry again, as if the feeling had started in his head, thanks to his thoughts and confidence in that older white-haired man who was now before him, and although he barely knew him, he knew he had greater power than Benjamin, and would have ended up at his feet making him move and give an affirmative response to accept another class with Benjamin.

And while Mr. Abrams waited for him, he grabbed one of his ribbons with which he tied up his curls, and left his room with the key and ballet pointes in his hand.

"Dance will revive you, you'll see." It was the man who initiated the conversation, while they went down the stairs.

"Were you also a dancer?" Although Harry wasn't in the mood to talk and the question came from the boy with indifference, in a moment of courage where he felt like a person who was outside his body, he dared to initiate a banal conversation with the director.

"I was! More than twenty years ago, but... yes, technically. I had a ligament injury in my knee while preparing Don Quixote in 1894, for the Paris Opera; and since I had already acquired important positions in direction I remained working there, until last year when I decided to create this camp so that, in the north, both boys and girls could enjoy what had trapped me at thirty."

From that moment, Harry saw that Frederick was a good person; because the excitement in his eyes was still the same as that of many children who stepped into the school.

"That's really beautiful." He admitted, with a small smile between his lips.

"It is, it is; but that doesn't mean I haven't worked eh; going through the first world war and the great depression was, and I admit it's being something really fucked up, pardon the word. When we thought everything was okay! That yes was a disaster, for me of course, I had to create clandestine academies because France, where I lived at that time was being attacked constantly by Germany and Austria-Hungary.

Finally, and thank God we along with the English and Russians were stronger and managed to beat them, but who knows where I would be...

Have you heard everything being talked about now? Germany wants to get revenge and they've brought to power a certain Adam... or something like that, who wants to dominate the world with the white race; bah, nonsense really. What people want right now is tranquility and to regain composure, no more wars... Even so, I'm going to keep my eye on those guys, they say they're the ones making Jews and homosexuals disappear to kill them or I don't know what, but how are they going to kill so many people at once! It doesn't make sense, it really doesn't..."

But Harry disconnected and Mr. Abrams's words were lost in the air when he perceived Raynal's smell much closer and stronger.

In the blink of an eye, without the little one realizing, he was already at the door of the studio that, wide open and providing him a future, was waiting for him.

And suddenly, he remembered the pain, as if his skin burned under his hoodie and pants in every place where Benjamin had put part of his being. And he regretted it. He had walked into the wolf's mouth, believing he was a superhero, when in reality he was still Harry, his little one. A useless person.

"Little one! I'm glad you're here." Benjamin's voice ran through him from shoulders to the tips of his feet, produced a shiver and then he admitted silently that he had lost the courage that had brought him there along the way. "Thank you Director Abrams, I was truly worried."

"Liar, you're a liar" Harry thought instantly.

But he only smiled at him.

"I think you can leave now, director, I don't want to abuse your time anymore."

Oh, was the asshole Raynal trying to kick out the person who had given him the job there?

"I was planning to stay to see how the future king of England dances." His gaze directed kindly to the little one. "You know Harry, so I can brag."

"I insist, you can come tomorrow and..." He lowered his head and leaned his body on the barre in front of the door, and looked at his watch. "Harry and I will only be half an hour, to teach him the basics."

Finally, the director, after much insistence from Benjamin that made them lose at least five minutes, decided to leave to rest, and promised to stop by the next day.

Harry no longer felt anything by the time he left through the door and Raynal closed it behind him, locking it.

"You've behaved really badly, little one."

He didn't know why, but an "I'm sorry, sir" came from between his lips.

"I didn't hear you, can you repeat it?" He mocked. Of course he had heard.

"I'm sorry, sir." That time his voice projected louder, trembling and realizing that that night, he would not only touch him until making him feel his body wasn't his, but would also humiliate him as much as he could. Because Harry had done it before, hadn't he? He had made him look ridiculous by not attending his classes and lying to him.

"To my office, now, come on let's go." He didn't even give him time to process his words, but the older man was already demanding much more than he could handle.

The office was lined with dark wood, probably trying to give a warm and welcoming sensation but when Raynal also closed that door, Harry only felt the cold his body radiated.

The dancer passed him to sit in his leather-upholstered chair that was behind a large table, of the same wood as the walls. On the other hand, he didn't allow Harry to sit, and when he did it was so he would sit between his legs.

At the end of the night, when the clock struck 12, he felt like Cinderella being able to leave from there, although he didn't have a beautiful dress and what little magic he had left, had been taken from him.

But as soon as he got to his room he realized he hadn't gone to Raynal's office because he had had a push of courage, but because that man was the only one who understood and knew what was going through his head. He had walked into the wolf's mouth, but because the predator was the only one who understood him.

HARRY. PRESENT. Monday, September 11th. 2:26 PM

The king's room door closed, leaving behind it a more than surprised Sarah still, and a Harry who believed he was going to get a weight off his chest.

"You must talk to him Harry!" Sarah's tone went from anger to obligation, and before sitting on the bed, she walked through the room trying to control her nerves. "Tell him you don't want anything professional and you hope to fix things!"

"I have no right to it, Sarah. I lost it at the precise moment I met him, that's something that throws defeat in your face, that there's something in your life that isn't right. It tells you there, in defeat, losing people."

And instantly Sarah went back to the past thinking about the nightmares that had pursued Harry, who now remained rigid in front of her and camouflaged his feelings. And she was almost sure that, if Louis had known everything that had happened, he would never have abandoned him.

"But it's there, in defeat, where a person is defined, a man; some don't have the character to face it." And the dark-haired girl thought of Harry automatically, because, following his own past words, he had never dared to admit what he felt to Louis, and years ago when returning from camp he cried for not having told him he loved him. "Other men swallow, some rebel, but they do it without dignity; and others can't help but destroy everything to be able to have another life."

Destroy Harry's life, as Raynal had done, to feel a forbidden pleasure and honestly, the curly-haired man didn't know with what other objective he had continued doing it. On the other hand, the prince at that time had only swallowed, wishing he would leave, wishing to forget his lips, and that scene they had staged both in that apartment he would never forget and in the dance studios, which only demonstrated violence.

"I swear to you, what I have left I'm going to squeeze every second, until the last drop. That's why now, I want to be with him, even if it's observing his movements from afar, noticing those details I never could."

And despite Sarah always having known that, her best friend had always wished to kiss Louis again like the first time, she didn't know his feelings were still so strong. On the other hand, before she could interrupt and bring up very indirectly the subject of whether he was still in love with the dancer (in addition to why he had agreed that it would be he who would direct him, why he hadn't told her before, and why in the royal highness's mind there no longer seemed to be room for more future plans than that ballet that had driven him crazy day and night), Harry lost his gaze through the window and a couple of tears slid from his eyes down his cheekbones, until falling from his sharp chin, while he cursed in a whisper all the past that bound him and he still felt Sarah's gaze fixed on him, and on that madness that the king gave off, and that without a doubt was at its maximum splendor.

And although Sarah wasn't one of those who were usually afraid, since she had been raised more in middle class despite living in the palace. That frightened her. Because Harry seemed to be crazy.

"Why did he hurt me so much?" Harry's voice came out broken and cracked from between his lips, and Sarah upon hearing it knelt before him, because he had sat on the floor, and sheltered him in her arms as she had done years ago, knowing very well they were no longer talking about Tomlinson.

"It wasn't your fault Harry." And along with more words of comfort, she tried to get the king to stop crying.

But Harry knew something in him had changed, as if his feelings had intensified upon seeing Louis and he suddenly was twelve years old again.

Mainly because the question of whether it was better to be crazy or dead had returned to stalk his mind, and that's why they had been the first tears.

While madness was a feeling of complete lack of control, a deprivation of judgment and reason; it was still something that plagued him with happiness, because he was also crazy about ballet and culture, and it inserted him in his own world, took him to that place where nothing could go wrong.

And hadn't Lewis Carroll, years ago, in Alice in Wonderland said that the best people were mad, crazy or lunatic? Wasn't Harry a good person, blinded by love and not being able to share his life with someone who was no longer by his side, and that he himself had been in charge of throwing out of it?

And, ultimately, death was a point of no return, the real end. Thinking about it, Harry had never liked endings (although the previous months had been full of them, that something happens doesn't mean it should be liked), endings shouldn't exist if they don't bring something better than beginnings. And definitely the end of death for Harry, as he had already planned during the war, didn't bring something better than a beginning such as a birth or a "return to life" after trying to learn to live with that which torments you.

But there was something else that tormented him now. The reality that he had Louis so close and yet so far. That every day he saw him at the theater, directing the dancers with that passion that had made him fall in love years ago, but he couldn't approach him, couldn't talk to him, couldn't tell him the truth.

Because the truth was a monster bigger than the one that had abused him. The truth was that Harry had loved Louis from the first moment he saw him, and he still loved him now, and would probably love him forever.

But he had no right to that love. Not after everything that had happened. Not after all the lies.

"Sarah..." He whispered, his voice still broken. "What if he never forgives me?"

"Then at least you'll have tried." She responded, stroking his curly hair. "And that's more than you've done all these years."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling the weight of those words. Maybe Sarah was right. Maybe it was time to stop running. To stop hiding.

Maybe it was time to tell Louis the truth.

Even if it destroyed him.

LOUIS. PRESENT. Monday, September 11th. 10:47 PM

Louis couldn't sleep again. It was becoming a habit.

He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Harry. Always Harry.

About the way he had looked at him that morning. About the desperation in his voice when he had asked if they could talk. About the Pride and Prejudice quotes they had exchanged.

"My feelings don't subside because I try to change them."

Those words kept echoing in his head. Because they were true for him too.

Louis had tried. God knows he had tried. He had tried to hate Harry, to forget him, to convince himself that what they had had was nothing more than a teenage crush.

But he couldn't.

Because every time he saw Harry, every time those green eyes looked at him, Louis felt fifteen again. Felt that flutter in his stomach. Felt that overwhelming desire to run to him and kiss him until neither of them could breathe.

But he couldn't do that either.

Because Harry was getting married. Because Harry was the king. Because Harry had lied to him.

Or had he?

Louis sat up in bed, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

The truth was, he didn't know what had really happened that summer in Ireland. He had assumed Harry had lied, had played with him, had left without caring.

But what if there was more to the story? What if something had happened that had forced Harry to leave?

What if Harry had suffered too?

Louis shook his head. No. He couldn't allow himself to think like that. He couldn't allow himself to feel sorry for Harry.

Because if he did, if he allowed himself to see Harry as a victim instead of as the villain he had created in his mind, then all the walls he had built would crumble.

And Louis couldn't afford that. Not now. Not when he was so close to achieving everything he had dreamed of.

But a small voice in the back of his mind whispered: "At what cost?"

HARRY. PRESENT. Tuesday, September 12th. 8:00 AM

Harry woke up with a decision made.

He was going to talk to Louis. Today. No matter what.

He couldn't keep living like this, with this weight on his chest, with these words he had never said stuck in his throat.

He got dressed carefully, choosing a simple white shirt and black pants. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw a man he barely recognized.

When had he become this? This broken, scared man who hid from the truth?

"No more." He whispered to his reflection. "No more running."

He left the palace before anyone could stop him, before he could change his mind. He took his car and drove to the Royal Opera House, where he knew Louis would be preparing for rehearsal.

His hands trembled on the steering wheel. His heart beat so hard he thought it might burst from his chest.

But he kept driving.

When he arrived at the theater, it was still early. Only a few people were there. He walked through the empty corridors, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

He knew where Louis would be. In the main studio, warming up before the others arrived.

Harry stopped in front of the door, his hand on the handle. He could hear music playing inside. Could imagine Louis dancing, lost in the movement.

He took a deep breath.

And opened the door.

Louis was in the center of the studio, mid-pirouette, when he saw Harry. He stopped abruptly, almost losing his balance.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They just stared at each other across the empty studio.

"Harry." Louis finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to talk." Harry responded, his voice firmer than he felt. "And this time, you're going to listen to me."

Louis opened his mouth to protest, but something in Harry's eyes stopped him.

"Please." Harry added, and there was so much desperation in that single word that Louis found himself nodding.

"Okay." Louis said quietly. "I'm listening."

Harry closed the door behind him and walked to the center of the studio, stopping a few feet from Louis.

"I need to tell you something." He began, his voice trembling slightly. "Something I should have told you fifteen years ago. Something I should have told you the day we saw each other again. Something I should have told you every single day since then."

Louis waited, his heart pounding.

"The reason I left Ireland..." Harry continued, his eyes filling with tears. "It wasn't because I didn't care about you. It wasn't because I was bored or because it was all a game to me."

He paused, struggling to find the words.

"I left because..." His voice broke. "Because something happened. Something terrible. And I didn't know how to tell you. I didn't know how to tell anyone."

Louis felt his chest tighten. "What happened, Harry?"

Harry looked at him, and in his eyes Louis saw a pain so deep, so profound, that it took his breath away.

"Benjamin Raynal." Harry whispered. "He... he hurt me, Louis. He hurt me in ways I still can't fully talk about. And I was so scared, and so ashamed, and I thought... I thought if I told you, you would see me differently. You would see me as broken. As dirty. As less than."

The tears were falling freely now, streaming down Harry's face.

"So I left. I ran away. And I've been running ever since. But I'm tired, Louis. I'm so tired of running. I'm tired of lying. I'm tired of pretending I don't still..."

He stopped, swallowing hard.

"That I don't still love you." He finished in a whisper. "Because I do. I've loved you since we were fifteen years old, and I've never stopped. And I know I have no right to tell you this. I know you probably hate me. I know I'm getting married and this is all wrong and complicated and impossible. But I needed you to know. I needed you to know that none of it was your fault. That you didn't do anything wrong. That everything I felt for you was real."

Harry took a shaky breath. "That's all. That's what I came to say. And now... now I'll leave you alone. I promise I won't bother you anymore. But I needed you to know the truth. Even if it changes nothing."

He turned to leave, but before he could take a step, Louis's voice stopped him.

"Harry, wait."

Harry turned back, and was surprised to see tears in Louis's eyes too.

"Did he..." Louis couldn't finish the sentence, but Harry understood.

Harry nodded, unable to speak.

Louis's face crumpled. "Oh God, Harry. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

And then Louis was crossing the space between them, pulling Harry into his arms, holding him as Harry finally, finally broke down completely.

They sank to the floor together, Louis holding Harry as he sobbed, fifteen years of pain and fear and shame finally pouring out.

"I'm sorry." Louis whispered over and over, stroking Harry's curls. "I'm so sorry. I should have known. I should have looked for you. I should have..."

"You couldn't have known." Harry choked out. "I didn't tell you. I didn't tell anyone."

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped around each other on the studio floor, two broken men trying to piece each other back together.

When Harry's sobs finally subsided, Louis pulled back just enough to look at his face.

"I don't hate you." Louis said softly. "I never hated you. I was hurt, and angry, but I never hated you."

Harry looked at him with red, swollen eyes. "You should."

"No." Louis said firmly. "No, I shouldn't. None of what happened was your fault, Harry. Do you hear me? None of it."

Harry closed his eyes, fresh tears streaming down his face.

"And for what it's worth," Louis continued, his voice barely audible, "I never stopped loving you either."

Harry's eyes flew open. "What?"

Louis smiled sadly. "I tried. God knows I tried. But I couldn't. Every time I danced, I thought of you. Every time I choreographed a piece, I imagined you dancing it. You've been with me every day for fifteen years, even when I thought I hated you."

"Louis..." Harry whispered.

"I know it's complicated." Louis said. "I know you're getting married. I know there's about a thousand reasons why this is impossible. But you asked me if we could talk. So let's talk. Let's figure this out. Together."

Harry looked at him, and for the first time in fifteen years, he felt something he thought he'd lost forever.

Hope.

"Together." He repeated softly.

Louis nodded, taking Harry's hand in his.

"Together."

And there, in the empty studio where it had all begun, two broken souls finally started to heal.

Chapter Text

Louis Tomlinson prepares the theatre to rehearse the three acts of Sleeping Beauty in a row next Friday.

Yes, it's true, although time has been tight for him, choreographer and dancer Louis William Tomlinson has shown he can handle everything, because, ladies and gentlemen, Sleeping Beauty is finished.

"Both he and the dancers have done a spectacular job," begins Zayn Malik, director of the Royal Academy. "Louis has always been brilliant, together with Niall they have known how to perfectly handle all the adversities that His Majesty put before us."

When our reporter asks him if King Harry is strict, and for that reason says his last words, he retracts embarrassed of himself.

But we understand the king, we all have our quirks and besides, how could you not have them at a royal wedding!

From The Mail we remind you that we will broadcast all the details here, in our newspaper-daily. Have a good day.

Harry Styles does the costume fitting for his wedding: Today the dress code will be sent out, and we talk about possible guests.

The dress code at royal weddings has never been something to worry about, until the fifties arrived and the King of England was informed that his life would be the first televised by the BBC, as well as a leap of hope in the world.

So, both the future Queen Scarlett and Styles have not wanted any loose ends, they have even indicated how and what color each guest should wear. For now, we know it here, but something tells us that men will dress in their typical black suit -no browns or grays that stand out, because the only one who can stand out that day is His Majesty- and women will be able to wear either a dress or skirt, but yes, without a hint of white that could distinguish them from Her Highness.

As for the guests, a couple more are revealed to us, Elvis Presley along with his friend musician Billie Halley, in addition to actor James Dean who will reunite with his friend Marilyn Monroe at Westminster Abbey.

Louis and the wardrobe, everything that the ballet instills, the story of how he came up with it and a short interview.

The Daily Mail has, not just one exclusive, but several. Because first, we have gotten an interview with Louis Tomlinson!

The choreographer hadn't granted them since he moved to London in '49, because as he told us before starting, he didn't see it as important because he had nothing to tell.

We leave you below everything you want to know: What is King Styles like in person? Did they get along well from the start? Has it been easy to direct something with so much pressure?

Q: Good morning, Mr. Tomlinson, how are you? Have the rehearsals already been finalized?

A: Honestly, I'm exhausted, we haven't finished yet because the next three days of next week we have to try on costumes, sets and other technical things.

Q: There are several questions that the public is anxiously waiting for, shall I begin.

He nods his head at us, without saying a word, the brown turtleneck sweater makes his blue eyes shine more than normal and under them is proof of tiredness.

Q: What is King Styles like in private? Have you had the opportunity to meet him?

Tomlinson thinks for more than two long minutes about his answer. Does that silence hide something?

A: He's someone pleasant, it's true we didn't talk much because I was focused on my work and he tried to supervise me on the days he attended, but... yes, someone pleasant.

Q: So he has attended the Royal Academy studios?

A: Yes, yes, he has done it a couple of times or three during the past week. He really likes watching dance and didn't want this ballet to be an unknown to him.

Q: I understand you met thanks to the king's wife, do you maintain a relationship?

A: With Scarlett? No, actually it was just a small favor from the past; I don't know if I could come to consider her a friend, but yes, she's also a very good person just like Harry. I met her at the Royal Academy when she danced with the great Benjamin and I was just a student, but our relationship wore away over the years.

Q: Oh, Benjamin Raynal, do you know where his whereabouts are now? You're a big fan aren't you? You should know there are rumors he might appear at the wedding, he was Styles's teacher some years ago.

A: Don't mention him twice, I think I'll faint if I see him watching our Sleeping Beauty performance. And indeed, I've admired him for years, but I have no idea where he is.

Q: Lastly, perhaps you don't wish to comment on this, but we know that some citizens are dissatisfied with the wedding because being so expensive it spends a lot of the country's taxes, which is the last thing needed in these post-war times... What do you think about it?

A: I don't think Harry and Scarlett are thinking about themselves, but about the joy it will be for the people and the world to hear something more on the radio than fatal news...

Q: We appreciate your opinion and wish you luck with the ballet staging next Saturday, October seventeenth.

A: Thank you very much.

And with a tired smile, Tomlinson left his chair before our reporter to go home.

THE INTERVIEW OF THE YEAR IS HERE: Harry Styles for Daily Mail.

Today, like many other media outlets, we have had the pleasure of attending the Royal Palace for a unique event: The meeting with King Harry Styles who before ceasing to be single, and by order of Buckingham as well, has had the kindness to receive us.

He receives us already seated and taking a sip of his glass of water, in the room that usually receives journalists and is occupied by green sofas similar to each other facing one another. They take away our cameras before entering, we are scanned by a metal detector and security abounds in the room.

Styles is dressed in a completely black suit, not very out of the ordinary from what we always see him in.

Q: Good morning Your Majesty. The first thing we should ask you I think is, how are you?

A: Well, excited to receive so many people here today.

Q: Nervous about so much expectation from the media and the English people?

A: The question is, who wouldn't be, right? I've always tried to stay on the sidelines because I like to keep my private life as the word defines it, but there are moments when you have to well, sacrifice yourself, perhaps?

He jokes trying to find a word, and the serious gesture of his face becomes a smile, but only for seconds.

Q: First we wanted to ask you about marriage, does it grieve you to stop being a single man who can sleep with whatever women he wants?

A: Well, actually my life hasn't been as full of suitors as it's painted in gossip magazines either, there's a distorted vision of me that I hope will change by having Scarlett by my side as my wife.

Q: Do you mean you think you'll no longer be linked with anyone else?

A: Yes, I think so.

Q: As information, members of your same house have been labeled as unfaithful and other roles, despite being in marriage. Your father, for example.

A: I trust I won't follow his path.

Q: Well, changing the subject, can you tell us something about the marriage proposal?

A: Oh, it was truly special, I think I'll remember it all my life. It was a few months ago, I took her to dinner at a part of the gardens by the lake and I knelt before her. I was clear she would accept, there has always been a connection between us.

Q: That's truly beautiful, Your Majesty. And the plans for the special day? It's said on the streets that the ballet was your idea instead of Scarlett's.

A: It was, but thanks to my fiancée the magic arose, she knew Mr. Tomlinson from the past and was able to contact him to perform the ballet.

Q: So you two didn't know each other?

And suddenly something puzzles us, the king smiles and for the first time his smile endures.

A: No, we didn't. But he's someone talented.

Q: And where does that fondness for ballet come from?

A: As a child my mother took me with my sister to Paris, to see different works, I especially remember Swan Lake with tenderness, I was impacted by both the music and their garments and... I could spend hours talking about it, forgive me.

We make a small intervention, to tell those who don't know His Majesty, that he had the opportunity to attend Mr. Frederick Abrams's dance camp in Ireland, in '38, before the war. There he took classes with very great dancers and important executives; and although he doesn't talk about it now, it's said that it's because he remembers the experience with much emotion.

Q: Oh, Paris. Then you must have been pleased to know the guests at your engagement, right?

He frowned at us, a spontaneous and sublime reaction.

A: No, excuse me. The list reached me when Scarlett was away and I sent it to her directly.

Q: An exclusive for Your Majesty? We certainly didn't expect that. Well, it's about the fact that in the list filtered out a few hours ago, appears none other than the name of Frederick Abrams, along with that of Benjamin Raynal. Do you know that Tomlinson is a great public admirer of the latter?

A: Eh? I think that list must be a false leak, I'm very sorry. I had no idea about Tomlinson, but yes, he's the typical determined public that can follow a man like him.

Q: We're running out of time, thank you for receiving us, Your Majesty.

He doesn't respond to our farewell, he just makes a gesture with his head and the last thing we see of him before leaving is that he gets up and communicates that he won't have more interviews that morning, and hopes to reschedule them for that afternoon.

King Styles does not show up to the interviews scheduled for today Sunday. Is he in trouble or is it simple laziness?

When yesterday at eleven in the morning, our reporter interviewed His Majesty the king, we didn't know by far that that would be his first and last interview of the day.

Today we wake up with huge headlines in newspapers like The Sun, which both in England and in the United States and other parts of the world complain about Styles's lack of responsibility.

But, why has he abandoned everything suddenly? Although yes, he's still in London because the flag continues raised at half-mast.

Palace sources give us different answers, and although Buckingham has not yet commented on such irresponsibility, here we leave you a list with more than first-hand information.

The first thing that reaches us, and what we believe least since yesterday he affirmed to our newspaper that he felt better than ever, is that he has contracted a high fever that keeps him in bed in the wing of the palace where no one can enter, and is private except for high officials and the royal family.

The second source tells us that he prefers not to risk the questions that the media might ask, and he reflected on our first interview and decided to cut before starting another.

Lastly, our most reliable anonymous source, tells us that King Styles not only felt uncomfortable at our interview, but decided that time was running out on him, and he had to prepare the palace to receive the wedding guests; that is, he had more important things to do than attend to his people.

What do you think? Perhaps it could be another reason we don't know about? Although he flatly denied it yesterday, could it perhaps be a lover who has stolen his heart?

Chapter Text

LOUIS. PRESENT. Friday, September 22nd.

He knew something had happened.

He wasn't sure what, but he went up the stairs faster than normal to get to Zayn's apartment and have breakfast with him as had become routine on Fridays. But as soon as he opened the door with his set of keys, Zayn hadn't even heated up their corresponding toast and cups of coffee and was fully concentrated on something on the table that Louis, from the doorframe, couldn't see.

He soon realized they were newspapers, which his friend normally settled for reading at the bar, but had never reached the point of seeing him with so many around him.

Puzzled, innocently he decided to reach Zayn who was at the dining table; and consequently the idea that, like every Friday, they had arranged to have breakfast together without expecting any more news, vanished when their gazes connected without yet exchanging a word.

And just by staring at the table, after breaking eye contact, he realized why Zayn hadn't spoken. He also wanted to die.

"King Harry Styles takes flight, but in the palace, or from all his responsibilities?"

"Buckingham declares at eight o'clock in the morning that the flag will continue raised at half-mast, at least until it's indicated that His Majesty has not left the city to grant him security."

"London fills with security. King Styles, in danger weeks before his wedding?"

Suddenly Louis's heart was pierced, he lacked air and leaned on the table to not fall flat on the floor.

"Louis!" Luckily, he immediately felt Zayn's hand on his back helping him sit down.

"Z, I... I'm to blame." He wasn't crying, but his voice trembled as if he were. "At the theatre, god... I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about the conversation we left unfinished. At the theatre..."

"Lou, wait a moment, stop." He stopped for a moment, for his friend's sake. "I need to get my bearings."

"Harry and I met in Ireland. He was the reason I went to the Bolshoi, he lied to me telling me he was someone he wasn't... and..." He felt tears accumulate in his eyes, but continued speaking quickly. "It was him I talked to you about when I came out a few years ago... it's always been him.

And it hurts me because he always does the same damage to me, he left on Monday from the theatre because I told him I had lost my stigma, that I hated everyone, when he told me his feelings were the same as when we were kids..."

Zayn felt overwhelmed, although much less than his friend was feeling. And suddenly, as if a puzzle were solved in his head having had all the pieces for a while, he could only hug Louis and let him feel his hand on his back, his embrace that saved and that company, which fortunately had always been there.

HARRY. PAST.

A few years ago now, when he was about to turn ten, his mother stopped coming to his room to tell him a story before sleeping, and unfortunately, Harry never knew that night would be the last.

Days later, at breakfast time and while complaining about it, his father interrupted the discussion in which, besides telling him he was too old for that kind of invented stories, he revealed the harsh truth that things tended to end without saying goodbye, and he should get used to it because that wasn't going to be the last or only time it would happen to him.

So that morning while his father's words repeated in his head, realizing that long before arriving at the Ireland campus he had already stopped being a child, he managed to remember perfectly the story his mother had told him that last night. And everything inside him stirred, because it clearly spoke of him.

"Once upon a time there was a man who lived in a glass tower in the middle of a square, everyone could sit on a bench, observe what he did and criticize him for it. But deep down, the man knew that those people who looked at him from outside couldn't really understand his acts, or why he was there, or the different strange things in his rooms; because everything was in his head, and in his heart.

» One day he decided to walk through the alcoves his apartment had, he didn't usually leave his room because he liked looking out the window to observe what the people who walked freely on the street did, he spent his days imagining where they would go, drawing their faces or writing imaginary stories about them.

But that morning, he suddenly got bored, and why not investigate his house?, he thought. So he went down some stairs that he didn't know where they led him, and came upon very different rooms: in one there were golden things; in another, paintings with some dust and antique furniture; but the one that caught his attention most was one that was only occupied by a wooden wardrobe in the very center of the room.

He opened its doors, there was nothing inside and for a moment he thought about leaving, because there was nothing more interesting in that room. But suddenly, he noticed a box on top of the tall wardrobe. His curiosity increased and after a couple of jumps and pushes, he managed to get the box within his reach and could grab it without breaking whatever was inside.

On the lid was only written in pencil, and quite worn:

'Memories you've forgotten.'

And upon opening it, there were only several small specks of dust.

That man had no memories, he had spent half his life locked in that tower watching others create their own and he had wasted time, because, besides, the people he had known before locking himself there, had also disappeared from his life.

Luckily, after that morning he found the exit from that tower, with much effort yes, and managed to find the people he had lost. When he returned to the tower with them after finding them, the box was still there, but weighed much more because inside it were forgotten memories, which he had created throughout his journey."

If Harry had to make a list of things that occupied his mind, Louis would be at the very end, in a drawer gathering dust.

Saturday morning had passed the same as the day before, except that this time he had listened to Benjamin, because when they had said goodbye already in the early morning, he had told him not to bother coming to the last class of the week, and to attend after lunch, or even later at tea time.

He was grateful to be able to sleep, although waking up commonly with his own screams and getting used to nightmares every time he lay down. But he really got scared when he woke up, and not because of one of his screams.

"Ed!"

He wasn't only shouting, but pounding on the door with all his strength as if at any moment it was going to come down.

"I'm skipping classes to be here come on! I haven't seen you in days!"

As if he had been awake for hours, his whole body trembled. He should be in class! He could use that excuse and pretend he didn't hear Louis, take the sleeping pills he had grabbed from Benjamin's house and go back to sleep as if he weren't behind the door.

But something in his heart told him he couldn't lie to Louis, not again. Shit, he wanted to create memories with him.

He was in love. He only needed to know more things about the dancer, like what he liked to do, what his favorite food was or small details that would be engraved in his mind, and maybe that morning was the moment.

Someone could finally know him as Harry and not as His Majesty.

Although, what if Louis was using him like Benjamin had done? What if he did know who he was?

But no, he would have uncovered the lie if he knew... he just had to trust, one more time.

"Don't you want me to kiss you?"

From the bed, Louis pouted while Harry, or Ed in that situation, covered himself with the older man's sweatshirt.

"I already told you, I'm sick, I don't want you to catch it." Harry coughed falsely, he was convinced he would end up believing it himself if he continued like this.

As soon as Louis entered he had given him a small peck almost at the corner of his lips, which Harry had managed to overcome with some retching and rejection of physical contact.

He didn't want it, his body repelled anyone who tried to approach him, as if it only accepted the one who had done him so much damage and feared everyone else.

"Do you think we'll be in contact when you leave tomorrow? I can come visit you in Holmes Chapel and give you all the kisses I'm not giving you here because of your stubbornness that I'd catch it." Then, he let out a somewhat shy laugh. Did he love Ed that much?

Harry nodded. Staying only with the first part of what Louis had said.

Tomorrow. Finally, in twenty-four hours he would leave there.

Obviously not because of Louis, he would miss him for his entire life and would cry for him as soon as he arrived at the palace, if he had any tears left, of course.

"Louis." He had thrown himself on the sofa in front of the bed, he wasn't even prepared to curl up next to the older man, despite knowing it was a safe environment.

"Tell me, prince."

Harry's heart suddenly raced, he knew.

Oh.

His cheeks suddenly blushed and Louis noticed it instantly.

"Prince because you have curly hair, green eyes and... I don't know, you seem taken from a fairy tale."

Louis felt the need to explain himself. He had noticed Harry's instant nervousness and respecting his space he explained. Respecting his space. Harry thought later.

But at that moment he could only laugh nervously and remember what he was going to say.

"Ah, right, well." He stuttered before continuing. "I... I wanted to say that... I love you."

"I love you, but we won't be able to be together"

"I love you, but this isn't right"

"I love you, but I'm lying to you"

He loved him, but there were so many things that weren't right. He loved him and although the connection between them was unquestionable, there was always a but; although he didn't say it at that moment.

"Oh." Harry could swear he had never seen Louis blush so fast except for the night they had kissed. "I love you too. I feel... a connection with you that I haven't felt with anyone, darling."

The nickname. Harry thought he would die in that room, and cursed not having done so. It would have solved all his problems.

Maybe that was what gave him strength to get up from the small sofa and walk toward him to sleep being trapped in his arms.

Before falling asleep, when Harry's eyes were already half-closed, Louis remembered something he hadn't told the curly-haired man.

"Love?"

Harry limited himself to responding with a sound.

"Can you believe who I've been seeing all these days when I leave the dining hall?" Harry didn't even respond, tiredness and being able to rest without screaming and without nightmares trapped him, but he was still somewhat conscious. "Benjamin Raynal! The former director of the Paris Opera. I've admired him forever and... tomorrow I'll be brave and tell him how much I love him. He's someone perfect."

Then, he fell asleep, and maybe he didn't give it the necessary importance because that conversation seemed to have already become part of his dreams.

(explicit content, without descriptions)

Someone knocked on the door again at seven o'clock in the evening.

Thank heaven, it was Harry who got up because Louis was still asleep beside him, he had a deep sleep and the curly-haired man was grateful when he could flee from the bed quickly so the knocking would cease.

When he opened he only felt anguish, his heart rose to his throat and he could feel his pulse in his head pumping constantly.

"Sir?" he whispered more than surprised, without even saying hello.

"Sir?" the man who was behind the door repeated in a higher tone. "I already told you that in private you'll call me Benjamin, little one."

And before his hand could reach to caress his cheek, Harry was already turning his face away and taking a step back.

Oh shit, was the only thing he thought instantly, Louis was on the other side of the door. He could wake up at any moment and see Benjamin there and...

"I came to remind you that you should have been in my office half an hour ago, and I hate unpunctuality, darling."

But Harry felt his ears were going to explode and he wasn't even paying enough attention to Raynal, who was talking too loud to have someone sleeping inside.

"If you didn't want to see me anymore you could have written to me, at least... You know how much I appreciate you, Harry." This time, advancing one more step and almost entering the room, his cold fingertips did brush the curly-haired man's cheekbones.

"Come on, okay, I'll go." And removing the hand from his cheek, Harry tried to push him toward the hallway.

"Don't you want to show me your room, since I'm here?"

He's crazy.

He'll push me inside and see Louis and he'll hurt me much more, he'll hurt us both.

But no. He couldn't let Benjamin hurt Louis.

He admired him and danced for him. He couldn't let him hurt him and destroy his life forever too. Harry could overcome it because he didn't even know Benjamin before arriving there, but for Louis that man was everything.

"No!" The curly-haired man could only shout without remembering Louis and only feeling helplessness because in a failed attempt to hold him in the hallway, and with a weak push, Benjamin managed to take a few steps inside the room and have a general vision, until his gaze stopped on the bed.

"You didn't tell me before you had company." This time it was Raynal who whispered while his face paled and his entire body paralyzed.

As if he feared other students, or only that that young man had heard something. He would have put his foot in it all the way if he had touched Harry in any way and that other boy who, still clinging to the pillow and not noticing anything because he was still in a deep sleep, had found out everything.

"What's his name? Is he your boyfriend? Oh, I'm sure he is, do you like to cheat on me? I told you I didn't like having to share you."

"No!" He denied everything without specifying. He would never give Louis's name, never put him in danger.

"Come on! I want to know who I'm sharing with. I'll wake him up if it's neces-"

Faced with Benjamin's insistence and shouting, Harry only thought one thing.

"No, please. I'll do whatever you want, I promise, but let's go."

And Harry never regretted saying those words or letting Benjamin use him again.

Because, although that time it wasn't the curly-haired man who had gone to the dancer, he had ended up agreeing to save Louis.

And while Benjamin's office door closed behind him giving way to the worst afternoon of his life, Harry only prayed that the blue-eyed man would continue sleeping in his bed and not notice his absence that would last a couple of hours.

It took him longer than he thought to put on his pants when the clock struck eight-thirty.

His thighs stung because of the scratches and the words "I do this so you remember you're mine" repeated in his head non-stop. Like a scratched CD had installed itself in his brain. Including the pauses they had made of indefinite time, in which Raynal had dedicated himself to sitting in his chair, praising Harry and drawing his features. Although the curly-haired man didn't know this and had only silently been grateful that not everything was suffering and pain, but also pause.

He finally found himself at his room door and opened delicately, in case Louis was still there, and although he had spent a large part of the hours with Benjamin praying he wasn't, the light under the door soon indicated to him that the blue-eyed man was still there.

"Ed!" When he opened, Louis was still somewhat sleepy in bed, but had the strength to shout his non-name and break Harry a little more.

On the other hand, he acted as if he didn't hear him or had some urgency and quickly, trying not to let him see the tears that still slid down his face, he went into the bathroom closing the door completely.

"I had to pee." He also shouted, now from the cubicle.

But in reality, he slid down his pants and after taking them off trying not to cry more from the pain. Luckily they weren't deep scratches, but that didn't take away the damage and stinging, and while looking through the cabinets for some type of bandage or alcohol so they would heal sooner, there were two knocks on the door that accelerated his heart.

"Everything okay?" Louis asked immediately after.

Harry thought about responding no, but the door opened leaving in the dancer's sight his bruised legs.

"Blood! You're bleeding Ed!"

He asked him to calm down while trying to find a believable lie and when he stopped shouting he could finally speak.

"I fell, I went for a walk on the path by the forest and... A bramble, yes."

"Get on my back, I'll take you to the infirmary and they'll know what to do there."

But he couldn't go to the infirmary, they would ask him his real name there and all the lie would collapse; besides no one would believe that had happened to him with a bramble, because they were human traces deeper.

"No! No, I'm afraid of doctors, I'll bandage it and when I get home tomorrow... my mother will know what to do."

Even so, Louis kept insisting while Harry refused, but he gave in to the curly-haired man.

"I don't think there are bandages here, and if you insist so much on not going to the infirmary..."

Next, Louis took off his shirt and easily tearing its neck and making a couple more strips, wrapped Harry's leg.

And when he grabbed him in his arms to take him to bed, he broke and started crying still clinging to his neck.

Why couldn't Louis know that Harry wasn't good for him?

That he was going to lose him and should know it sooner rather than later?

The night from Saturday to Sunday and in Louis's arms, Harry dreamed about the last story his mother had told him before sleeping, and woke up thinking about how things left without warning.

Hours later, after some lazy hours in bed that happened quickly and made Harry forget everything, Louis announced he had arranged to eat with Taylor and he was welcome to join, but he clearly refused.

And as if it were fate, just when Louis left, wearing one of Harry's shirts because his was still tied around his thigh, someone knocked on the door.

"Mags! What a surprise to see you."

"I bring you a letter from Mr. Abrams, darling. It seems it's something special, enjoy it."

Harry was surprised, and Mags left quickly and with an ear-to-ear smile for having had some kind of conversation again with the one who would be the future King of England. Right away, he headed to his desk and there he dared to open it.

"Dear Royal Highness, Harry Edward Styles:

It is an honor and a sadness at the same time to announce the end of your classes, from me as well as the center's teachers and students, we hope your stay has been to your liking.

Both Professor Benjamin Raynal and I, appreciate the opportunity you have given us to know you more personally.

Although this letter is not only of gratitude, but to indicate that before you depart to London today at eight in the evening, from four until seven-thirty a farewell party with performances that have been prepared in secret will be held in the main hall, and both students and teachers will attend. I beg you to dress as formally as possible and thus attend your party punctually, Your Highness.

With sincerity and respect, the school director Frederick Abrams."

His hands trembled as he left the letter on the desk. A party in less than two hours?

If that were an event at the palace he wouldn't have cared, he wouldn't have even flinched... But there?

There were so many problems surrounding him, starting with Raynal and how he could humiliate him, and ending with Louis who...

"Ed!" His door was knocked insistently again, and this time it was Louis who was behind it. "They've thrown him a fucking party!"

His tone wasn't pleasant as usual, but angry or at least somewhat annoyed.

As soon as he opened, he could see his furrowed brow and his crooked smile.

"Eh?" He opted to play dumb, and as if he knew nothing asked innocently.

"The Prince of England has been here all week! He's received private classes from Mr. Raynal and he's an idiot at ballet." He threw himself on Harry's bed, still angry and letting out everything that crossed his mind.

"You don't even know him, maybe he's a good boy..."

"No! I know he's not, he's just a selfish person who's been given everything. I would have already punched him more than twice if I knew how the hell he is... he has no friends."

Louis's sincere statements made Harry tremble even more. He definitely shouldn't find out who he was, it would make him angrier, and Louis could even beat him to death!

His knees trembled so much, that he had to sit in his desk chair to not fall to the floor.

He had to do whatever it took to distract Louis, so, with some embarrassment and feeling something in his stomach that could be both regret and excitement at throwing himself like that after so long, he joined their lips letting the blue-eyed man carry whatever rhythm he wanted.

"And this distraction?" He let out a small laugh noticing his hot cheeks.

"I love you, I already told you, I'm leaving tonight and there's no better way to say goodbye than that dance right? Stop thinking about that guy."

"Jealous, curls?"

Harry nodded, even if it was a lie, what he had most was fear!

Finally, five minutes before the party would start in the main building and after a couple more kisses that had distracted them, Louis announced he would go get dressed and would think about whether to stop by that stupid party, but whatever it was, he hoped to see Ed in a suit that night and take it off him before he left, although that would never happen.

It was raining and his suit had been completely ruined upon arriving at the main hall. When he opened the doors, all the murmurs were silenced and Harry for the first time in his life realized who he really was.

"Prince Styles, of England."

Mr. Abrams pronounced his last name and then the hall exploded with applause and screams that pierced Harry's ears, and from the impression they produced he could do nothing more than smile at those present and wait for them to interrupt.

When they did and people stopped focusing minimally on him, he scanned the place with his gaze finding in a corner and with a glass of red wine in hand Benjamin, wrapped in the same suit with which unfortunately he had met him.

Definitely, that night he wouldn't have a single drink with him, but being the only one he knew he could cling to until they introduced him to someone. Indeed, that was the first thing offered to him.

"Oh, Harry, a drink?"

The curly-haired man shook his head, Raynal seemed, in public, someone much more formal and sane than in private.

"I want to introduce you to Miss Jane, she teaches upper courses and is a great prodigy of English ballet."

He dared to give her two kisses on her made-up cheeks, she seemed to be around thirty years old, somewhat younger than Raynal, and looked at the older man with admiration.

"How good that you were able to have Ben as a teacher, he's a great dancer and teaches admirably well. I wish I had him for longer at school as a permanent teacher, few like you pass through."

"Oh Jane, you're going to make me blush." He drank from his glass again to then address Harry. "He's also been a great student, the most obedient. That's why I decided to dedicate my private afternoon time to him."

And he toasted with that blonde woman, believing everything that had come out of his mouth as if it had really happened, while Harry held back the urge to let out that Benjamin was a complete liar.

It didn't take long to flee from there, because as soon as Raynal went for another drink and to light a cigarette, it was the exact moment when he saw Louis and Taylor cross the door and decided to go to the bathroom to freshen up and lock himself in one of the toilets.

Although when at least twenty minutes had passed, Louis entered laughing and he couldn't help but think that maybe, that would be his only opportunity to be with him. And his love, won over fear, although not by much.

"Fuck! Why do I always find you in a bathroom?" With a beer in hand, Louis couldn't stop cackling. And that seemed like the perfect excuse to Harry.

"And why are you so drunk?" He also let out a laugh, but more uncomfortable and forced, to appear to Louis that everything was fine. "Let's go to my room come on, we'll come back when it passes, this is a place with important people."

Louis hissed for a few minutes, but in the end, concluded that all the time he could spend with Ed cuddled would be time well spent, maybe the curly-haired man didn't like parties.

So, hand in hand so as not to get lost among the people, they advanced across the dance floor with a Louis who staggered and kept taking sips of his beer still to the brim. And everything was going well, until fate decided that liars didn't last long.

"Uh, sorry!" Louis's beer now stained a burgundy suit that seemed quite expensive, as well as part of the floor. But, on the other hand, all eyes were focused on a Harry who seemed embarrassed by his friend's attitude.

"You are going to regret this, Mr..."

"Tomlinson, Louis Tomlinson." As if the alcohol had vanished from his body, he was able to respond and stiffen from one second to another. "Is this a bad time to tell you how much I admire you?"

Benjamin Raynal didn't respond instantly. His face had reddened from the wine he had drunk as well as from the anger he felt while cleaning his suit jacket and pants with napkins.

"It is, Tomlinson. But I won't remember this only because..." he stopped his words, and with a smile, knowing perfectly well what he was doing, his gaze directed itself to the curly-haired man who stuck to Louis's shoulder was observing and alert to everything. "You're an intimate friend of Harry's, right?"

"We have to go." Before Louis could respond that he didn't know any such Harry, the green-eyed man with a serious and more nervous tone than ever, got ahead of him as if it were a race. "Right now."

He was so anxious that he even felt the music stop and could swear all the people in the room disappeared, to be left alone both of them with Raynal.

"Wait a moment! I'm talking, Ed." He shouted when Harry started pulling on his suit to get him out of there. "Why is everyone looking at you?" He managed to ask with a nervous laugh, unlike Harry who couldn't get the words out.

His head was going a mile a minute, like a car at maximum speed. His heart was racing, he lacked air and couldn't emit any sound while he only felt cold sweat running down his forehead. He had to get him away from Benjamin.

"No one is looking at me! You're drunk, let's go."

But when Louis decided to move, Benjamin who hadn't missed a single detail of the conversation decided to interrupt.

"Ed?" Benjamin repeated it in a mocking tone, laughing shamelessly. Humiliating one of the thousand more times he had done to the curly-haired man. "Have you lied to your friend, Harry?"

"Harry? You're... Harry?"

"The heir to the throne of England, yes; who did you think this whole party was for?"

And although first times are never usually pleasant, the first time the curly-haired man saw someone break in front of his eyes because of him, see how the smile was erased from his face, his eyes filled with tears and he left almost stumbling over his own feet from the place, Harry could swear he had never felt so bad.

"Don't touch me!" When the curly-haired man's hand approached his shoulder to apologize in a whisper without calling too much attention to what they were already doing, Louis moved away and shouted bumping into some more people. "I thought that..." And noticing how his voice broke, he could only be quiet forever, because Harry deserved to never hear his voice again.

Honestly, he thought Louis would hit him, that he would lunge at him and they would make a show of it and Benjamin would enjoy both their pain, but the blue-eyed man simply ran and fled just as Harry had always done.

Because all that had started and ended like this: Fleeing from fear, and from the truth.

You must be insecure, you must be so unhappy

And I know in my heart hurt people hurt people

And we both drew blood, but, man, those cuts were never equal

And I try to be tough, but I wanna scream

How could anybody do the things you did so easily?

And I say I don't care, I say that I'm fine

But you know I can't let it go

It takes strength to forgive, but I don't feel strong

HARRY. PRESENT. Friday, September 22nd.

He still had nightmares every week about that Sunday in July. About how that man had taken everything he loved and crushed it between his fingers and surely didn't even remember the damage he had caused anymore.

But, even so, no matter how much it hurt him, Harry kept clinging to it, because it was the only memory he had of Louis being himself, or maybe, being in love with him.

Even so, he kept hearing Benjamin's voice every time he thought he wasn't enough, he tried to be strong but every time someone reminded him of that stage of his life he wanted to scream.

Who would do the things he did so easily? Who could give him back that strength he lost to at least forgive Louis for not even asking him for explanations that night when they had separated in Ireland?

Harry had spent years having arguments against Raynal in his head, winning against him and creating scenarios about what he really should have done. In the shower, in the car, looking at himself in the mirror, in the dance studios while they represented how Aurora and the prince defeated Maleficent and he allowed himself to get excited.

But they were only that: imaginations. He fantasized about the moment when he would be a little sorry or even tried to understand why he did it. Was he too unhappy and insecure?

Harry shouldn't have learned at such an early age that hurt people hurt others, and then he had hurt Louis because he was hurt! To make matters worse. But, even so, those wounds were never equal to those Benjamin had generated in Harry.

He had built him to see him fall, and now, after years, was he coming back for more? Or just to remind him he could never flee from what he had become?

"Today Tomlinson was more of an asshole than normal, did you notice?"

"With some alcohol at the after party it'll pass."

The people leaving the studio commented on the rehearsals, and Harry, wrapped in a black coat and with a hat that only made him attract attention for his tall figure, listened to the people who passed by his side and went in the opposite direction.

He didn't know what he was going to talk to Louis about, but he was really overwhelmed.

After days locked in his room, with a fever he knew came from pure nerves about seeing Benjamin face to face again, he decided he had to start untying loose ends in his life, dropping nets to avoid problems. And the first, without a doubt, was Louis, and whatever they felt for each other whether it was love or hate.

But as soon as he crossed the studio and unbuttoned his coat, something happened that he didn't expect.

The first thing he looked for when entering the studio where he knew Louis normally changed after finishing, were his eyes; and he found him leaning on the barre getting rid of his ballet pointes to change them for sports shoes, but he didn't manage to connect with his gaze.

He was crestfallen with a furrowed brow, and he remembered what he had heard from those girls outside who commented how rude Tomlinson had been that day. Besides, in the atmosphere you could notice the enmity that Louis gave off, as if Harry felt he didn't want to be bothered by anyone, which made the king feel, apart from insecure because he didn't even know why he was there, somewhat uncomfortable.

To be honest he didn't expect to explain to Louis that he was there to fix their relationship, or at least to let go of one of the biggest problems of his life, he just wanted to hear him talk about what he felt and whether the curly-haired man could be included in his life again.

Upon seeing him, the blue-eyed man's expression wasn't one of kindness, much less empathy, or any feeling that encompassed "happiness"; it was surprise, doubt, venturing toward the worst.

Fuck, for one day he didn't want to be bothered by anyone and hoped to get drunk alone at the bar of "Twilight Tequila," where the end of rehearsals would be celebrated.

Without even saying hello, he leaned as much as he could on the wall, waiting for him to follow him to close and listen to whatever he had to say, but the curly-haired man remained at the door. Did someone who had disappeared suddenly and only thought about himself, deserve respect? In Louis's mind, of course not.

A few seconds passed until Harry also entered the studio closing the door. The dancer could perceive how he entered trying to be as cautious as possible and analyzing every detail of the place; the couple of beer bottles in his office wide open, the disorder also in his office, the cold air entering through the wide open windows and the gramophone with a song playing in the background that finished seconds later.

So silence encompassed them again while Louis moved stuck to the wall, and grabbed a glass of alcohol the curly-haired man hadn't seen at his feet.

Harry needed silence before organizing his words, and remembered how he had calmed down a few years ago when he had found himself in the same situation of giving explanations to Louis.

Only that, unlike that night, a few years ago the older man had abandoned the room wrapped in rage, not wanting to hear a word, something Harry now prayed wouldn't repeat.

As slowly as possible, he chose his words before speaking and realized that until he didn't start explaining why he was there, Louis wasn't going to do it either. While observing him continue drinking from that glass that lost its content in the dancer's body, he focused on the background music and allowed that single noise to occupy the only seconds of calm they had before the storm.

A melody that took him to a sunset, to a sunset if he closed his eyes; to know, that he would always have someone with their hand on his back, whatever happened, even though deep down it was a lie, because Harry had spent years without having anyone.

Despite the pain the song caused him, he kept focusing on it. Until Louis's impatient gaze for him to speak contacted with the king's green eyes and he decided it was time to speak, to praise him first for not

having thrown him out and having finished the ballet. But at the same time, to endure certain jabs about how cowardly he had been in his life.

Because the anger the dancer had felt toward Harry, the disappointment and all those feelings of rage that trapped him the day he left, still hadn't disappeared. And this was the moment to bring them out. To tell him he was a coward, a selfish person who loved to see people suffer and show him the damage he had caused.

"Look, frankly, I don't give a shit what you came for, the truth is that, finally, you came."

Louis advanced toward Harry. But he felt helplessness seeing he wasn't capable of whispering to him he was a coward.

"You always run, you hide and come out when the storm passes as if you hadn't hurt other people." He continued while his eyes filled with tears and part of the pain and anger he felt escaped through his mouth by verbalizing it. "Don't play innocent, the victim with me because..."

He understood that, feeling such relief, it was time to let out everything he thought; to tell him it was his specialty to have no feelings and leave behind the people he loved, to tell him he had spent his life losing both people and experiences and had done nothing.

"You were left completely alone, you lost the prestige of the people you loved and you did nothing, son of a bitch, because you never had feelings for them, you never had feelings for me." He insulted him harshly before becoming completely enraged, throwing the glass against the wall, and insulting him in an unintelligible way, since it was so much pain he felt that his words didn't come out right.

"I want to talk to you!" Harry confessed shouting trying to stop Louis and also lowering his gaze, as if his presence there made no sense. "Well, I want you to talk to me, to tell me... who I am, or who I was for you, Louis. And I run because I'm afraid! I don't have confidence, I don't know who I am!"

"Now? We've spent more than a month together and you're asking me now!" Louis shouted through his teeth from the other side of the room.

As if he had forgotten everything he had cried on Zayn's shoulder that morning for not knowing where Harry was, rage ran through his entire body.

"I had a wedding to prepare! Duty always comes before the personal and you know that better than anyone. Did you expect me to focus on you first when you acted like we didn't know each other the first time we saw each other? What did you want me to do? Come here to tell you I was very sorry for the thousandth time? I've repeated it to you several times this month!"

"For starters, shut up!" Louis suddenly exclaimed with a deep voice. "I want you to be quiet because every time you talk it's to worry me or to say stupid things..."

Slowly, he approached the doorframe where the king was leaning and stood in front of him to fix his eyes on him with agitated breathing. In those very dark bottomless oceans, which caused thalassophobia, Harry distinguished a rage that filled his body with fear, one that had been accumulating there for years. He didn't remember ever seeing Louis so angry and, much less with him, so he immediately kept silent, waiting for what could happen next.

And something happened that he certainly didn't expect, because in the midst of that rage and resentment, as had always happened, there remained a tiny gram of love that had sustained everything from the beginning: How Harry watched Louis through the mirror, the dancer's desire to know what tormented the king... A love that had made them meet again.

Everything was reflected in a kiss, a clash in the midst of their rage and resentment, their lips met in something passionate and ardent that remained between both of them and just like helplessness had been unable to disappear with the passing of years. And although it lasted less than they thought, because Harry's hands pushed Louis away when they only wanted to grab him more to never lose him, with blushed cheeks and at first without words it was the older one who broke the silence and the connection with Harry's emerald-colored eyes.

"How the hell do I... I hat...!" The king was the one who whispered first, still disoriented, but his words were lost when Tomlinson spoke louder.

"Your actions don't just harm me, but your entire stupid event and my dance corps." Louis said with a somewhat calmer voice and agitated breathing. Even so, Harry couldn't understand why the dancer cared more about that secondary ballet, than about all their past.

"I don't care about the ballet. Although if I could dance with you..."

And, then, something happened that Harry wouldn't have seen coming in a million years. After raising his right arm to mid-height, Louis slapped him on the cheek with such force that it drew a tear from the king's right eye. In the mind of the one hit, all his thoughts and claims to the dancer stopped sounding, for only a roar of confusion to start sounding that thundered in his ears, that wouldn't let him think, and his eyes began to fill with tears. The silence in the room was overwhelming.

With tears falling down his cheeks, not knowing very well if from pain, surprise or pure rage, Harry raised his gaze toward Louis, whose face seemed to have become an unknown mask, and swallowed. He didn't want to speak. If he said any word, his voice was going to betray him and he was going to look like a coward in front of the man who hated him at that moment more than in his entire life.

"You don't even know how to dance ballet, you haven't done it in years! Go home, Styles!" Louis raised his tone. "You'll never dance, not with me or with anyone."

Slowly, as if it cost him his very life, Harry stepped back a few steps, with tears in his eyes he wasn't looking for that night; and when their gazes crossed for the last time that day, Harry saw in the depths of that man's pupils who still made his heart race, that the disappointment he carried wasn't only accumulated that week, but for years.

Immediately after, Harry left there, and Louis saw him go as if it weren't he who was inside his own body, but watching him from a distance.

He didn't recognize himself; suddenly, he didn't know what he was doing there. But, somehow, the question Harry had asked him about what he meant to him stayed engraved on his forehead repeating itself over and over again, even when he was on his way to the place where they were celebrating the end-of-rehearsals party.

Would Harry ever forgive him for not worshiping royalty?

Chapter Text

LOUIS. PRESENT. Tuesday, September 26th. 12:35 PM

"How did rehearsals go the other day?"

Niall along with Zayn had burst into Louis's house at ten in the morning, four days after rehearsals had ended and they were seeing each other for the first time during their vacation period.

Louis took a couple of sips of his hot chocolate before thinking about the answer to the question, and giving Zayn and Niall time to sit at the table.

"It was good, I think, we ended up having fun" was all he said, shrugging his shoulders. His hands ran over his face, and Zayn could only give him a look that in words would have said: "I know there's something you're not telling us."

"Well, the dancers left somewhat angry, they said around there that you weren't fully concentrated." Louis frowned, feeling like a fifteen-year-old teenager being lectured for not doing his homework properly. "Besides, you have horrible dark circles, why don't you rest if we've already finished?"

"Yeah, I know" he sighed, running a hand over his face as he remembered his shitty face in the mirror's reflection that same morning. "I was angry that day after the talk we had..."

"Hey! What talk? Why do I miss everything!" Niall complained, but Louis kept talking without wanting to be interrupted.

"I suppose something affected the dancers... And, as if that weren't enough, Harry showed up at the studio when we finished."

"He wasn't dead!?" The blond exclaimed again, so much so that the dancer had to stop his words.

"Well, luckily or unfortunately, no... We talked for a while and well, more like argued. He came here demanding answers, why this, why that... He looked like he'd come out of a cave, and he also asked me to dance with him, me! After everything he did to me!" Louis was getting upset, and Zayn noticing placed a hand on his knee.

"And what else? Did he also come to tell you about the demons tormenting him? About why he looked like he came out of Big Foot's cave?" Niall used a tone that oscillated between seriousness and mockery, supporting his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand.

Zayn kept watching in silence, as if trying to assimilate all the information.

Louis couldn't help but roll his eyes, shaking his head.

"Of course not" he responded obviously. "I didn't even invite him, my plan was to leave quickly for the party, but he interrupted me."

"You've done your act of charity, then. Do you feel better about yourself? You know nothing's wrong with him and it's pure resentment toward you for whatever happened to you in the past. Or in simpler words, he hates that you're succeeding in ballet because he loves it and he can't."

"You're an idiot." he responded, swinging one of his legs to give his friend a light kick in the side. "Why do you take everything as a joke? He didn't even tell me about whatever is happening to him..."

"I'm not taking it as a joke" Niall clicked his tongue. "But I want to know to what extent you're taking it seriously."

"We've talked about this before and I'm not going to have this conversation with you again. It's not resentment, it's not... There's something else that's not about me." Louis replied, grabbing his cup to leave it in the sink.

Silence flooded the room, but Zayn's relaxed voice broke it in a moment.

"If it wasn't about anything, what did you do and why are you so angry with him?"

"Nothing! Nothing happened I... He just came looking for attention, he..." Suddenly he blushed remembering Harry's lips on his, and his forehead slammed against the table from shyness.

Zayn sighed, but still didn't seem to give up, Louis was being stupidly confusing.

"Louis if you have something to tell us... don't feel embarrassed damn it, we're your best friends, we know you are, and if you feel something for Harry... that's it okay, we'll respect it. It won't leave here."

And suddenly in a burst of courage that ran through Louis from head to toe and left embarrassment in the background, he got up from his chair to disappear into his bathroom, but not before explaining himself.

"He kissed me, the fucking king of England kissed me again and now I have to live with that on my conscience."

And verbalizing it made it seem more real. Never better said.

Niall Horan was a sweetheart, but he stopped being one when he felt someone was threatening the physical or mental integrity of the people he loved. No one could touch his people without going through Niall first.

"I can't believe that son of a bitch confused you like that" he shouted through the bathroom door, where Louis had locked himself to let out the tears that had appeared when thinking he had had the privilege of touching Harry's mouth twice, once knowing him and once without doing so.

Louis, however, protected anyone he managed to empathize with, regardless of whether they were a friend or a simple acquaintance.

And Louis had empathized with Harry, or with Ed, or whoever had shown up in Ireland. A lot. Because they lived in the same world and because they had managed to understand each other too well. Because they felt like flying, but didn't do it out of fear.

Despite leaving many words in the air that night, they had allowed themselves to tell each other that it wasn't over. That Louis needed to apologize in addition to time to answer the curly-haired man's question.

But the fact that his eyes remained sad regardless of whether he was laughing, or even after a kiss, still disturbed him.

And a feeling of fear - or perhaps uncertainty - had been established in his stomach since he had seen Harry leave, because he felt something was wrong, but didn't know what.

"You must go look for him at the palace, tell him what you feel, whatever you felt when you kissed him."

"You don't know if he feels the same." His voice sounded broken and passed through the bathroom door with difficulty, barely audible.

"I'm sure he does, he wanted you in Ireland! And the heart doesn't forget, if he lied to you about his name it was to protect you and because he wanted to keep you when he left, I'm sure."

"He'll be at the palace kissing Scarlett, I'm just a simple experiment... He came to bother me because he hates me, and he lied to me because..."

"He doesn't hate you! I'll drag you before him if necessary, but you must talk things through. He wouldn't have fallen in love with you in Ireland if he didn't..." He stopped to breathe, as if his words and thoughts had gotten stuck in his throat. "I've seen how he looks at you, during rehearsals, while you talk; like with an admiration I don't know where it comes from, but, I'd never seen anyone watch you like that. And I don't care if he's a man, if he's the king of the country or whoever. You deserve to clarify your feelings."

Louis seemed to have stopped sobbing behind the door when Zayn finished speaking. His lips curved into a smile, no matter how much fear he still had.

"And what do I answer to the question?" In an attack of sincerity, he confessed to his friends everything he hadn't said about the conversation, about how Harry had demanded to know who he was, or who he had been to him. What Ireland had meant in their lives.

And he also told them how he hadn't known how to respond, but because those days of butterflies in his stomach had meant everything to Louis.

"Tell him, tell him it's been everything to you. We live too little to lose the love of our life, Louis. And I know you're sure Harry is yours."

Although Louis had decided he would go talk to Harry, he was so tired that he first needed to sleep and sort out his ideas in some way other than drinking coffee, so when Zayn and Niall left his apartment wishing him the best of luck and reminding him how much they loved him, he sought refuge in his blankets and fell asleep in barely seconds.

He woke up disoriented and when the clock already marked ten he decided that night he wouldn't sleep, and that it was time to talk to Harry.

Afterwards, whatever the result of their conversation, he would go to Doncaster to spend the weeks before the wedding with his family, whom he already missed more than normal. He used to receive daily calls from his mother in which she talked more than he did, and clearly the woman as soon as she found out he would work with the king of the country only wanted to know if that reserved man treated her little one well. Louis always repeated that he didn't have much contact with him, but he seemed kind.

It was a lie obviously, he had always loved his mother very much, but the subject of maybe being in love with a man didn't enter his plans to discuss with her, perhaps because Louis was afraid of losing his family, having them turn their backs on him, as he had heard in many night bars from other boys' mouths.

He took a deep breath still sitting on the edge of the bed. It was the moment, "now or never" he repeated mentally several times. He dressed in silence, without humming any song and concentrating on looking as neat as possible. Before leaving he wrapped himself in a black jacket, very similar to the one he had seen Harry wearing last time.

He didn't have a car, so his only option was to walk until he reached the main gate and convince some guard that he was truly Louis Tomlinson and although no one had invited him, he had to enter the palace yes or yes to talk to his majesty.

He reached the corner and passed some bars where people were drinking their last drinks and had a vagabond appearance, probably similar to what Louis had before getting ready, and although he thought he should have one alone to endure the bad time that awaited him, he decided not that night.

He crossed Trafalgar Square quickly and with some fear because of the news that had come out that robberies had increased in the area, but luckily no one stopped him, and already in St. James Park gardens he could slow down and catch his breath before facing what was coming and try to calm his nerves.

He had to find someone to speak to him when he arrived at the palace gates, which were closed and only frequented at those hours by some tourists and two royal guards, who caused him rejection and turned their faces when they heard him asking.

He walked around the area seeing if over time he got some kind of response from those suited men, but it didn't work.

He soon understood that, if you didn't have an invitation, no one opened the doors for you.

He stopped exhausted when he had been going around for a little over an hour, with great luck he had avoided being run over a couple of times by some distracted car, or having a bicycle throw him to the ground in The Green Park.

He had in front of him a phone booth, in which he spent the only cash he had in his pocket, and dialed Scarlett's number praying it was that one.

"Hello?" The redhead answered without revealing her identity. But Louis knew her voice so well that he could quickly identify it.

"Scarlett? I'm outside the palace, it's Louis and... and I need to come in to talk to Harry."

"Louis? What the hell are you doing here at this hour?" In a scolding tone, Scarlett sounded more tired than normal. "Well if you've already told me, and... It's going to seem funny, but I'm also trying to talk to him."

"He's not at the palace?"

"He is, but he won't open his bedroom door for us. Not even for his mother... we're thinking of calling someone from the royal guard to break down the door."

"What do you mean he won't open!"

Suddenly nerves invaded Louis, as if an animal instinct had awakened in him and he felt the need to protect him from the world.

What if something had happened to him and he could never answer his question, now that he believed he had found an answer?

"Tell them to let me in, please. I'll go see what's wrong with him."

"Alright."

When he hung up he understood that Zayn wasn't the only one who knew what was happening, but that Scarlett had known about the relationship between Harry and Louis since the latter had asked the redhead to tell him about the prince of England because they had met in her classes with Raynal, after Harry left Ireland.

While remembering those times that seemed distant, but were actually closer than Louis believed, he advanced decisively to the palace gates, but again, no one seemed to recognize him.

"Tomlinson? Louis Tomlinson?" He heard his name through the bars, and when he focused his gaze to see further inside, his heart stopped for an instant and the reason he was there clouded in his head.

He smiled seeing the man who kept watching him from inside the palace, with a cigarette between his fingers, a black hat and a gray jacket that camouflaged his thin and tall figure.

Louis knew that at some point he would meet him again, but the last thing he expected that night was to find Raynal, one of his favorite dancers and with whom he had had - and was going - to have the pleasure of working there, at the core of his problem.

"Sir?" His voice didn't tremble, but his knees did. As he approached him through the fence to indicate to the guards to open, Raynal kept giving off that imposing energy.

The door opened and the dancer, with worn features and more wrinkles on his forehead than the last time they had coincided, opened his arms to receive Louis in a warm embrace.

"What are you doing around here at this hour, boy?"

"Could ask the same?" He suddenly laughed, while watching the large iron gates close behind him. "I'm coming to see him, Harry."

"You won't succeed tonight, I've been here for a day and he hasn't left his room even to greet me. Me!" He was indignant, and Louis felt some anger toward Harry. He had the best dancer in the world in his house and didn't even receive him! "I thought he appreciated me more... Today I had dinner with his parents, in the end they're going to be the only ones who value me in that palace, very different from their ungrateful son."

"It's unacceptable..." And then he yawned, even having spent the whole afternoon sleeping.

His happiness didn't remove his exhaustion. He had eaten hours ago and the anxiety he felt about being meters from Harry and not seeing him wasn't making him feel well either, because he felt somewhat angry and disappointed.

It had been almost a year since he'd seen Benjamin and it was true he was enjoying their conversation because he would never stop admiring how the words that came from his mouth were made to capture anyone's attention, but Harry, at that moment was still more important.

"Changing the subject, do you know what could be happening to Harry?" Again he noticed the choice of his words. The reflective silence and noticing how Benjamin knew Louis was disconnecting from the story he was telling him about what he had done that last year.

"No." He responded curtly, trying to find a way for the veteran dancer's cigarette to be consumed sooner between his fingers. He couldn't enter if he wasn't accompanied. "Can't we go in now?"

Benjamin laughed at the insistence and how rude Louis's words had come out, but he stepped on the cigarette with his shoes and agreed.

Their steps could be heard echoing through the hallway, they seemed to be the only inhabitants of the palace because in the distance not a single sound could be heard.

"I was thinking... Umh..., to talk to him in private, so you can go rest perhaps."

"Oh, don't do it for my rest, no; I'll accompany you to his door."

So with a remarkable distance they walked through the wide hallways for at least five minutes in which Louis made it clear to Raynal that he wasn't in the mood to talk that night, and only hoped to see the curly-haired man.

Soon, Louis found the same door he had encountered the day he had found him bathing, but this time it was tightly closed, and apparently Scarlett had given up and would wait until the next day to talk to her fiancé.

He was about to start whispering through the door when he realized Benjamin was still there, probably waiting for a goodbye.

"Ah, alright, I'll leave." Luckily, and without words, he understood the look Louis gave him with some harshness. "Would you like to go out to eat tomorrow? You know, to talk about the renovation of Swan Lake and update me on what happens with him..." With his gaze fixed between Louis and the door, and accepting as a response a quick nod from the blue-eyed man, he was satisfied and the dancer was alone in front of the door in barely seconds.

"Harold, uh, it's Louis..."

"What the hell was he doing talking to a door? Surely Harry would just be asleep inside and he was making a fool of himself out there..." He thought, but the nerves in his stomach didn't disappear.

"I didn't want to bother, but I found the answer to your question... and well, that's all. And if you open the door for me, maybe I can explain it better?" After not getting a response in a couple of seconds, Louis's anxiety grew in his chest. "I want to know if you're okay, I won't leave until... I feel like all this is my fault. Sorry, okay?"

And when the word "Sorry" was still being pronounced by Louis, the lock sounded a couple of times and the door opened minimally letting Louis enter.

"Close it again, please." Harry sounded insecure, like a small child, but his voice on the other hand was deep and broken. Louis saved himself the question of whether he was okay, because clearly he wasn't.

As soon as he had opened the door he had moved to the corner of the room next to the bed, and was smoothing out the wrinkles of the bedspread that was perfectly placed, as if he had just made it even though it was bedtime.

Then, he sat on it in full darkness, while Louis kept watching the curly-haired man with his back against the door.

Suddenly, Louis remembered something his mother always told him when he was a child.

"You made your bed, now lie in it."

Or, put another way: "You made a decision, now you must accept its consequences."

"Whoever makes bad decisions must be prepared to suffer the consequences, or so I think. It's hard when you can only blame yourself and you tend to cover your head with the sheets to flee from those fears that pursue you, but since the bed is already made... You can't run away." Harry spoke with a hoarse voice, and received silence as a response.

"I know, my mother told me when I was little. But I always thought you can unmake it, break down those problems, ask for forgiveness or accept what's coming, find the best way to digest it." Like the curly-haired man's voice, Louis spoke calmly trying to approach the mattress to establish some kind of physical contact he was unable to avoid, but without scaring him. He wanted anything but for him to feel he had gone there to invade his space. "And I think I owe you an apology, Harry. I've treated you really badly these weeks and... I don't know what went through my head when they told me you wanted me to direct your ballet, rage and pain possessed me completely, I thought you had no right to demand anything."

"And I didn't! I was also an asshole, you're the one who deserves my forgiveness, and I'll ask you for it a billion times if necessary."

"Let me speak." With a more serious tone, making him shut up and managing to sit on the sofa in front of the bed, Louis continued. "I should have accepted your apologies from the beginning. And I should have talked about what happened at camp before starting to rehearse, I've also done things wrong and the first was closing myself off completely."

And seconds later it was Harry who closed the space between their bodies throwing himself into his arms, with his eyes shedding tears and knowing that, although their bodies were pressed together the wound between them was still open and would heal little by little.

Louis calmed him down when he started sobbing minimally on his shoulder, wetting his jacket and making the dancer put his hands on his neck anchoring him to reality.

Harry was opening all his wounds while crying bleeding out on the edge of the bed, and still without uttering a word, he was making the curly-haired man understand that he knew the pain he had accumulated inside himself, and that he wasn't alone.

"I'm here, calm down, I'm not letting you go."

Then, Louis grabbed Harry's face with both hands to separate him a bit from himself so they could look each other in the eyes. The curly-haired man's chest still shook with uneven spasms, but he tried to keep his gaze fixed on Louis's face to show him he was strong, that he could handle it.

"I'm sorry for hitting you" the dancer then whispered sincerely.

"I deserved it. I had the balls to tell you I wanted to dance with you after telling you I hated you, and you were already overloaded by I don't know what."

"For not knowing where you were."

Oh. Suddenly Harry felt as if his heart was being squeezed.

"I was here, all the time. And although everyone knocked on the door telling me who they were and if I could please open for them, I only waited for it to be you. Because I know you would protect me, no matter how much you hated me."

And Louis would have asked protect him from what, but seeing him on the verge of tears, he decided to keep quiet and think that from that moment on they were friends, and there would be plenty of time.

"Can you stay to sleep? I'll say in the morning you arrived early. I don't want you to leave alone."

"Alright. The sofa is surely more comfortable than it looks."

But Harry immediately made him understand he wanted him there, in his bed. That they were going to unmake it that early morning, but together.

Because he wanted to overcome his fears with Louis and that was his first way of saying it, he wanted to amend the mistakes of the past, correct them.

And so that was the first night the curly-haired man didn't have nightmares, and although Louis didn't sleep he memorized all the uncontrollable gestures he made while sleeping.

When Harry woke up around nine in the morning, Louis was protecting him with his arm while hugging him, and ignoring how close their faces were, a smile curved on the curly-haired man's lips as soon as he woke up. His curls occupied all of the dancer's face, their legs were entangled and their lips dangerously close.

"Harry, good morning." Louis, still half asleep in a whisper and ruffling his hair. "Wake up little one."

Harry opened his eyes slowly, and before retracting and apologizing he put his head between Louis's shoulder and chin stretching.

"Uh, sorry." Without sitting up, he separated his body - and curls - from Louis's, somewhat embarrassed without remembering his dreams, which had probably been nice.

"Don't worry, have I already told you how good long hair looks on you?"

"You're going to have to start telling me all those things you haven't commented on yet." Harry blushed while laughing again and resting his head on Louis's shoulder to hide his blush. "I can't believe you slept in a suit."

"You fell asleep before I could think about it, groundhog."

"Hey! It's been a while since I slept that well. I think I even dreamed."

"You must have beautiful dreams. If you already live like in a fairytale..."

When Louis was thinking of asking him how much he usually slept the nights he wasn't there, his guts rumbled in a guttural way and triggered a fit of laughter from Harry. Thank God, also obviating Harry's answer of having to confess to Louis that his dreams weren't pleasant at all.

"Want to go get breakfast?"

"They bring it to me, well, my friend Sarah. My mother keeps insisting I go out, even if I don't feel like it."

"Hasn't she even asked you why you're like this?"

"She came and told me I could skip a couple of days of my royal obligations, that they'd say I'm sick and... I don't know what other lies. But not one question."

"Well if you need to tell someone, I'm literally right here, you don't have to come looking for me angrily calling attention so I'll ask you."

"I thought you'd take less time to come looking for me, actually."

"I thought you didn't even want to see me after hitting you. Sorry, again."

"Stop apologizing, silly. I already told you apology accepted."

Harry finished speaking letting out a nervous laugh, although their skins were no longer in contact, their breaths could be felt and they were still wrapped in a silence that had become both comfortable and giving way to something more.

Their faces were millimeters apart when the door sounded and they separated in a second, somewhat embarrassed.

Louis got up without warning, Harry buried his face in the pillow to calm his thoughts, and opened the door without asking who it was.

"Harry!"

A dark-haired girl with light eyes was in front of Louis, who was holding the tray on which there were a couple of pancakes, some fruit and a coffee. With her mouth open, she seemed to have been amazed to see the blue-eyed man.

"You... Louis? Harry?"

Immediately, and letting himself be carried away by the more than confusing situation, Louis moved his body to one side so the nameless girl could see her friend in bed, with a wide smile.

"I, um, I'll leave you, sorry for interrupting." Her soft voice trembled, and although in a couple of looks they seemed to have said everything to each other, she closed the door addressing only her friend. "But you're not getting out of giving me explanations later Rirri!"

When the discomfort seems to leave the room, the curly-haired man covers his entire face with the duvet and apparently prefers it before giving answers.

"Sarah, my best friend. And an expert in... embarrassing me or doing it herself."

"She seemed nice, although if she hadn't gotten sooo nervous..."

"Agh, I'm sure she thinks we slept together and she's made up a thousand stories in her head right now, and..." Suddenly the green-eyed man started laughing nervously while his cheeks blushed once more. "I'm so sorry."

"For thinking we had sex? Oh, not at all." Louis's cheeks also suddenly reddened. "I'm sure it wouldn't be as bad as she imagines." He whispered the last part, but could swear Harry heard it.

"Ah and one more thing! Do you want a coffee Louis!?" Sarah's much less nervous voice was heard behind the door, and he accepted delightedly.

there are forgotten but unforgettable kisses

I know that here the 'I love yous' were according to the moment, but the most sincere ones arose slowly and the only thing that prompted running away was the fear we have of giving a new beginning

tell me who you suffer for I'll tell you who you are,

until life separates us sick with love in all its forms the same disease different symptoms

it was cold dying in your summers

looking for the traces we left trying not to see them so we don't remember who we are

how about we call each other and heal ourselves in hiding I love you like I've never hated anyone I hate you like I've never loved anyone in my life

HARRY. PRESENT. September 27th. 1:24 PM

Harry retained, at least for half an hour, part of the anger he felt toward Louis for not having informed him that he would go out to eat and wouldn't spend the whole morning with him, and wouldn't support him at the table when his mother would accuse him of being a scoundrel for getting into bed instead of receiving the guests who had arrived at the palace two weeks before the wedding, to tour London and share small moments with Harry and Scarlett.

After Louis left, he got in the shower and after spending half an hour under the water he decided to leave. He had faced Louis and come out winning talking about the problem with him! Why couldn't something similar happen with his parents?

"Son?"

He arrived at the living room, his knees were trembling and he was dressed informally in an oversized burgundy sweater, which made his body indistinguishable under it, and black pants.

He didn't dare return his mother's greeting, but silently thanked that she was alone in the dining room at that moment, the conversation would be much less uncomfortable that way.

"I got overwhelmed." He sighed deeply, then continued speaking under his mother's attentive gaze, who had set aside her tea to focus on her son. "That's why... I locked myself in again. I hate people meddling in my life and when I heard that Benjamin and more people would come earlier I felt like my tranquility was ruined."

Anne didn't speak immediately, she was choosing what to say. Harry prayed she didn't know he was lying, because it was only Benjamin's presence that bothered him.

"Oh darling, I understand you, but you must accept that they're privileges you must let go of sooner or later. Privacy around our lives is something that interests people. The newspapers have been revolutionary since you supposedly disappeared from the public eye."

"But... it's only been three days."

He couldn't stand his mother's pitying look on him anymore, but he couldn't run away anymore.

"Try to accept it, okay?" Then, she caressed his cheekbone as if they really had some kind of mother-son bond, and continued speaking. "Because speaking of press, you have to talk to your father so he can reorganize the interviews you left half-finished and have them take the official photos for The Mail. I think he planned to do it today. There are ten days until the wedding and they need to give the final details."

That very day? This had to be a joke.

Had he known he would be forced to take photos "in love" with Scarlett that day and cover how they met and the king proposed to the future queen, he would never have let himself be seen there and would have kept Louis in his room forever. He blamed himself for not having done it while thinking that if he had known he would have insisted on having a longer mother-son conversation or at least one in which he would take him seriously. He also didn't understand why his mother had told him without even asking how he was. Perhaps she was more nervous than Harry himself about the couple's statements, because she knew they didn't love each other, but it wasn't necessary to tell him so suddenly that, from above, they had demanded that his public life (or rather what the royal household wanted to show) be exposed in magazines and internet portals.

It had been too long since he was exposed with any woman, and although in some way they had always paired him with Scarlett, there was a time as prince, when Harry had been quite a womanizer.

But why did it cause so much curiosity? He had always thought.

He was just another person who spent the week at his workplace, which he sometimes did from home, reading government and country economy reports, and other times went to inaugurate events or visit Moncloa for political matters. Obviously he also went grocery shopping at that Hampstead supermarket where he made sure there wouldn't be anyone, or only people who had already gotten used to seeing him there, because it was a too rich area, and when he was tired and needed anything he asked one of the people who served his parents and whom he preferred not to abuse.

He abandoned his thoughts and sadness because of his mother who cleared her throat, while leaving the empty tea cup on her table and following Harry's lost gaze that had been fixed on the wall.

"You have to go sooner rather than later, so they can schedule everything for this afternoon." She informed him without an ounce of feeling, getting up to leave him alone again.

Harry limited himself to whispering an "Alright," and when, although his desire was null he thought that the sooner he finished, the better it would be; he might even have time to go see Louis at his apartment and join the meal he had with Zayn.

So he grabbed that as motivation, and reached his father's office from where an opera melody was coming out, which he recognized instantly as it was one of his father's favorites. "The Funeral Sonata" by Chopin, surely playing on the vinyl player he kept in his office as his greatest treasure. And although he didn't have too many good moments with that song - adding also that one, which wasn't either -, he knew his father did and especially liked to play it before nerves attacked him. He heard his voice through the door, humming it in a faint whisper, as if afraid to spoil it by making his voice noticeable above, and Harry decided to burst in.

Since he had destroyed his childhood by not believing him, he wouldn't mind interrupting him in his favorite work, would he?

He didn't even knock on the door, he entered so suddenly that when he already had one foot in the room a minute passed in silence, listening to the sound of the record player while his father seemed to wait for the melody to finish to speak.

At that moment, he decided to respect his decision and advance slowly toward the chair to sit in it, and he limited himself to listening and paying attention to all the instruments. First only the low notes of a piano sounded that marked a somber rhythm and prepared the listener to hear the rest of the work, as it highlighted a slow rhythm, like the beginnings of life, although twenty seconds later, it is broken by the cheerful melody of the high notes between half notes and quarter notes give a less melancholic time to the theme, generating a contrast with the solemnity of the beginning.

The third movement already ten minutes later that pass in silence and even make Harry forget why he's there, shows both Chopin's mourning and sadness and the curly-haired man can feel his father's gaze fixed on him with disappointment, and it produces restlessness not knowing why.

He suddenly remembered that the person who was now looking at him even with superiority, had explained to him during the war the historical context of the song.

"Chopin composed this work in 1837, more than a hundred years ago, when he was living in Paris. Poland was his native country, but it was under Russian occupation and he decided to go into exile in France. Many of the people who analyzed his music write today that this sonata can be seen as an expression of his pain and nostalgia for his homeland or as a response to political oppression in Poland."

Then suddenly, while the piano kept playing in the background and the song went in decrescendo, Harry thought that perhaps Chopin wasn't afraid of exile. But what about him? Should he consider that he was going to leave someday to be happy, or ignore it until he felt he hadn't taken enough advantage of his life and thus feel indebted to his past?

Empathizing with the composer and when the last notes sounded, he could only think that he had already seen this movie before, and he hadn't liked the ending. Because fame had consumed Chopin and although he had triumphed in Europe, exile had only meant a headache for him; one that Harry didn't want to live fleeing from the palace.

But he loved Louis, as much as the composer loved Poland's freedom in the nineteenth century.

He noticed he had thought too much, when a tear ran from his cheekbone to his chin, and fell on his pants; was he really going to allow himself to cry over that?

"I didn't know Chopin moved you so much." His father curved a smile between his lips suddenly, as if seeing through the curly-haired man's eyes a part of himself and being too proud. "It happens to me too."

But he decided to ignore his words, everything he had felt and how his heart had burned, to talk about what he was truly there for.

"I haven't seen you in three or four days, am I right?"

"You are, father."

Respect and impotence reached his throat, so much that he could only nod, but not argue.

"Illness? Fear? Perhaps just your stupidity as a spoiled brat in this golden palace?"

He accepted being called stupid to his face, but he had so little strength to contradict him that he nodded again, and decided to get to the point.

"I'm here to reschedule the interviews and photographs, not to talk about something you haven't been interested in for years, so if you're so kind we can do it now or I'll send Arnold to do it for me."

"Oh, that old butler... This afternoon at five, after tea, I expect you and Scarlett in the throne room. I have nothing more to say, in case you don't show up, don't think it'll be me who talks to the media, but you when you deign to appear son."

"I'll attend."

And he got up from there, accelerating his pace upon leaving the room to look for a car to take him to Floral Street, with one of the only people he could trust.

Shit, it was almost two. Louis had informed him before leaving that he had an appointment at one-thirty and didn't know where he would go, but he hoped that the unpunctuality Zayn usually had would give him luck and let him catch them still in the building.

So without thinking again about the sonata and almost forcing his car driver to go faster than allowed, he felt nerves consuming him inside when he went down in strides to the entrance and called both Louis's and Zayn's numbers.

And it was the latter's voice that answered him.

"Zayn? It's Harry, can you let me in?"

"Uh, yes?" He responded somewhat stunned, as if he wasn't expecting him there, as if Louis hadn't informed him of everything that had happened the night before.

But at that moment Harry didn't think, he climbed the stairs as fast as possible to Louis's floor and getting no response, he continued them to Zayn's apartment where he found his door wide open and the dark-haired man waiting at the entrance.

He didn't have to speak, because soon, thanks to Louis's best friend's expression, he knew the latter wasn't there.

"You don't know where he is?"

Zayn shook his head knowing perfectly well the king was referring to Louis. He no longer treated him formally, nor called him your majesty. As if the relationship between them had evolved. Perhaps that's why Harry dared to ask something more instead of leaving.

"Are you busy?"

The director shook his head again.

"Are you going to come in or will you stay there standing all afternoon?" Finally joking and making Harry relax, he moved away from the door so he could enter, and after sitting at the kitchen table (a very similar one to Louis's) he gladly accepted a beer.

It was half an hour later, when they had only conversed about ballet and clarified some banal curiosities Zayn had regarding the Royal Household, that the latter opened the balcony door, going out into the fresh air and feeling a bit more punished by that. He put his hand in his pocket and took out his pack of cigarettes, offering one to Harry who instantly refused. He put one between his lips and looked at the curly-haired man again, who was taking his last sip of his second beer and trying to convince himself that would be the last. The tip of his cigarette was already full of ash after a couple of drags and both his lips and his attention seemed to get lost in inhaling and exhaling the smoke. He seemed nervous and perhaps Louis was right when he told Harry in one of the rehearsals that Zayn was someone difficult to understand, but deep down, someone also very sensitive. Harry got up and thought that maybe the director didn't like the late September cold getting into his house so he went out and they simply stayed on the balcony watching the people passing below.

That made Harry curse the silences again, "Fuck! Was this the day to be quiet forever?"

But despite his thoughts they didn't speak, not when Zayn devoured his first cigarette and Harry slowly yawned swallowing part of the smoke and producing a minimal coughing fit that made his companion laugh. The brown-haired man lit another. He looked at the city lights and slowly exhaled his first drag.

"Everything's shit, you know? Starting with the world in general and then focusing on each person. Each person's life, whoever you are, is fucking garbage."

Oh, Louis was right. There was something about the intimacy of sharing polluted air with "a stranger" after a couple of beers that made talking easier. Apparently that also applied to the king of England.

"Ah." Harry only exclaimed.

"I'm not saying it to you for being who you are, I just thought it could be misunderstood... I'm not saying you can change anything..." He inhaled his cigarette hard and continued. "But for example you have all these people. Fucking stupid people who hate you or love you to gigantic extremes, or want to kiss your ass or assassinate you, you know? But on the other hand they don't know what you go through in private, the shit you endure day after day because in the photos they sometimes take of you you're smiling and just because of that... they think everything's fine, and it makes no sense that no one looks for the background to it, and at first I was the first who didn't understand it in you, but now that I know you..." He stopped, to stop talking about Harry, thinking it might be uncomfortable. "It's like dancing; I go out on stage, give my best smiling and exposing myself, showing how weak I am and the greatest truth is that my feet hurt from rehearsing so much for weeks and I just want to rest; and you probably now think you thought I was tough because of how I look at you or how I talk to you sometimes, but you've realized I'm nothing of all that, I hope."

He thought about interrupting him, telling him he understood if he hated him because he had caused Louis a confusion no one deserved, but, however, he let Zayn continue, because maybe he didn't even know about it and Louis preferred to have kept what he felt for him to himself.

But the answer seemed to fall on him like a jug of ice water.

"And then you see your best friends fall in love and you think maybe you don't have feelings, but then you realize you do; and you show them first of all, being afraid they'll get hurt."

He ran his hand through his hair, messing it up more and still looking like a cigarette ad, even though he was no longer smoking. With courage, he extended his hand and took one more from the pack. He took another long drag. When his voice returned, it was loaded with emotion, with pain.

"It's like... you're just there. You'd do anything for him, you put your hand on his back and console him when he cries, but you don't know how to tell him it'll only hurt him. And you see as if God were punishing him over and over for being who he is, for showing himself and being open. As if your best friend simply couldn't see what hurts him so much, what pains him so much, and that very thing blinds him time after time. And on top of that when you tell him, he'd tell you: 'Ha, ha, the person I love isn't like that, he's good, he has demons tormenting him and I'll manage to find out what they are to cure him'" Zayn exhaled the cold air again and gave the smoke back to Harry, who shook his head. He shrugged and hollowed his cheeks while taking another drag of tobacco and tar. "I don't even believe in God, honestly I only think the universe or whatever is screwing him because... I wish at some point he'd realize he deserves something better. And you might think I'm a bad friend for stopping him from being with who he loves, but I'm only advising him, I'm only... a mess because of that. I don't want anyone to hurt him. Besides, it makes me angry because he just sits there, you know? On our roof with his beer and repeats to me over and over that he'll manage it, because he's a stubborn idiot who never gives up. And on top of that he laughs at my sarcasm! At criticizing his dear love! I'm so fucking angry with him and his stupid nonsense he always talks with and his damn words, they're too fast, you know? As if he forgot to breathe and goes on and on with his damn words repeating that he loves him but at the same time it hurts him! Let him go if it hurts you so much!" He sighed and confessed. "I hate it. But he's in love and I don't know what to do to protect his heart before it gets broken again."

Oh, shit. Was Zayn talking about Louis?

Maybe, about Louis and him? That made him pale, but the dark-haired man didn't notice because his gaze was still lost on London's horizon.

"And can't you understand that if he loves him it's for a reason? I don't know..." Harry's voice trembled at first. "We can't be perfect at everything, we have to fall and get up, let them break our hearts and fix them. Besides, what does it matter! Who the hell have we learned to live from? Why do we consider ourselves better people for doing some things and not others? I mean... who has dictated it? Of course I understand the rules for living in society, of course it's inhumane to rob a bank, murder someone, but what about good things? Things that benefit me? Who has said I can't abdicate, I can't dance ballet or... or I can't fall in love with a man."

Harry could see how Zayn was surprised, his hand with the cigarette between his fingers slid slowly from bewilderment and his mouth opened expelling the smoke, but deep down and trying to be discreet, showing astonishment.

"So you... Oh shit, sorry, uh, forgive me, no no, sorry, fuck." And a series of insults came from Zayn's lips without giving Harry a chance to speak.

"Calm down." The curly-haired man raised his hands in a peace sign, as if he were wanting to tell Zayn through gestures that he had said it because he wanted to, not because he felt pressured or anything like that. "But if this doesn't leave here..."

And then, the conversation stayed there. No clarification, no question, just Zayn pushing his cigarette butt against the ground to put it out even though it was half-finished and ready to offer Harry another plan that would lead them to forget the conversation. Although the curly-haired man's words had opened a big door to rhetorical questions.

LOUIS. PRESENT. September 27th. 4:14 PM

The Ritz hotel had exquisite food, but it was also really strict with dress code, and Louis didn't like having to be controlling his movements second by second and minute by minute.

As he had commented very hastily with Benjamin the day before, he had shown up at the hotel at one in the afternoon to eat a three-course menu that the veteran dancer, surprisingly, had offered to pay for two.

"So... Tell me, how are you organizing the ballet for his majesty?" He swallowed the piece of stew that had gotten stuck in his throat, but Benjamin after almost an hour that had seemed short to them talking about the renovation they both had in hand in Russia of Swan Lake, started being less curt.

"His fiancée called me, you know, we met in Ireland years ago at the academy promoted by the Royal Opera of Paris."

"Oh, right, right. I already said you sounded familiar, did we ever cross paths?"

"I doubt it, sir, you only taught children of important people; I went with Miss Jane." Both Louis and Benjamin knew they were lying, but everything continued like that. As if two liars understood each other without words.

"Stop calling me sir, Louis. I know I have my" He suddenly laughed at his own comment. "Benjamin for you, or even Ben."

The blue-eyed man lowered his head somewhat embarrassed when the dancer addressed him in a serious tone and hoarse voice, but then nodded admitting it and curving a smile between his lips he decided to quickly evade the Ireland topic, because he didn't know how much longer he could stand the lie.

Of course they had met before. He had been the one who had told him about Harry and who he really was, Benjamin had been the trigger for that lie that now lay buried, but not forgotten.

"Well, the thing is I accepted gladly, I thought it would be a great way to boost dance in London and England. It'll give the academy both fame and money."

"Business mind, I like it, Louis, I like it... I know you've already finished rehearsals and I l-o-v-e the surprise factor, but have you made any changes?"

"Ha-" He cut himself off mid-word. No, he couldn't call him 'Harry' at a public meal. He was still the king of England and in front of other people he had to remember to call him as such. "The king demanded some, you know, he's quite... conceptual and different. He provided us with both costumes and sets and I think it's the best work in terms of production I've done so far."

"Until the Swans renovation with Bourne comes, it'll surprise you, I have to say he's putting together something spectacular. When all this circus of the royal wedding is over we could go see it together and you'll only have to put your art of teaching dancers so your talents work."

And at that moment, when his greatest childhood idol - and current, although he wouldn't show it - asked him to go to Russia together, he thought he would faint, he didn't even know what to answer.

"Louis?" He even had to emphasize, given the silence.

"Oh, yes yes, I'd be delighted, sir."

"Maybe Harry could come if he wanted..."

"Harry? Ah... I have no idea, I... don't know his schedule."

"I take the liberty of calling him that because we have a truly special relationship, that he let me continue with dance classes even after leaving school generated an unforgettable bond between us; but don't say it around, I don't want envy to eat away at anyone, he's undoubtedly one of my most special students."

But it was too late. Because resentment had already invaded Louis from head to toe, making him believe even that he should never have shown up at the palace the night before.

Louis arrived at his house at five, luckily, ten minutes after Harry left the building.

He was truly angry; maybe it was more jealousy than anger or something that had to do centrally with Harry, but he couldn't stand that Benjamin had dedicated words to him like "my best student," "my boy" and a long etcetera that crowded in his mind wanting to be eliminated.

In reality, Louis had always managed to handle jealousy well, he had learned to do it, especially, at the Bolshoi when the first times they gave him a secondary role instead of protagonist.

But without knowing why Benjamin's words made him feel in a very different way, as if someone he really admired was creating a feeling of discredit in him.

So he preferred to isolate himself that day from Harry, just so his feelings of jealousy wouldn't interfere with whatever they were creating.

Although the retreat didn't last long, because an hour later Zayn knocked on his door with three dry knocks.

"How was the meal?" With a lit cigarette in his hand, he passed the entrance without asking.

And Louis responded quickly and without going into details that everything was fine, but Benjamin's obsession with Harry remained as tireless as always, or even more, because he had even led him to decline the older choreographer's offer to have a couple of drinks or coffee at a bar near the Ritz.

"Oh, actually, he was here. You should maybe go see him, he seemed worried when I told him you weren't here; he also stayed a while and we talked."

The blue-eyed man looked at his friend over his shoulder, and felt his breathing cut off, realizing Zayn had said everything he shouldn't have.

Chapter Text

HARRY. PRESENT. September 27th. 5:00 PM

On afternoons like that it was almost impossible to remember that he was, like everyone, a human with his errors and imperfections. Something that really didn't matter much in the grand scheme of things, of the world. On afternoons like that it was difficult not to feel everything so intensely squared in the middle of his chest. The weight of the world pressed on his sternum and he didn't feel like a single person at all, but rather felt like there were several.

All surrounding his chair, asking and throwing flashes while he sat only smiling.

As if Harry didn't exist, and only King Styles did.

The Harry who grew up between Scotland because of the war and the enormous palace gardens, the one who studied piano until his fingers hurt, the one who had continued suffering without wanting to let go of his dream, because he felt he would lose it forever.

The teenager from the campus and the stolen kisses on balconies, the boy who kept secrets and who on a day like that, was still trying to find his way within himself.

"Your Majesty, reposition the crown, please." A photographer, whom he hasn't seen in his life, gets his attention to be able to do his job well, and reminds him of something another of his colleagues warned him about as soon as they started. "The crown always well positioned or it won't be worth anything" he should remember.

And after placing it upright again on his curls, complaining in a low voice that it weighed more than it seemed, he also noticed a weight on his shoulder.

"For God's sake let's finish this quickly, I can't stand being on my feet."

Scarlett, at that moment more Styles than Andrew, because there were few days left until the engagement, leaned on his side sighing, but remaining with an automatic smile.

Although Harry should feel sorry, because the redhead had returned from Belgium only for that session and to continue organizing the almost closed things of their engagement, he felt nothing. Maybe rejection. Because in public she was always by his side, they talked to other people and she was continually included with him, as if they were one when in private they only exchanged formal greetings.

Besides, having her close meant, in one way or another, fear; a sensation of drowning in his throat and bad nerves in his stomach that he couldn't control after the conversation in which she had confessed weeks ago that she knew everything. Although in reality, she didn't know anything, but rather believed she knew everything.*

(* "I only know that I know nothing. This man, on one hand, thinks he knows something, while he doesn't know. On the other hand, I, who also don't know, think." Socrates before his final trial denouncing the line between wisdom and ignorance, that absolute truth doesn't exist and the will to learn.)

At some point in the summer of '47, the year in which the war showed harshly but realistically its consequences on the population and it was safe to return to the palace and give the monarchy the importance and title that had been in the background, while he was on a lost deck chair in the garden with a book on his bare chest, he had decided that Scarlett deserved to live her life and not stick to it like a limpet, no matter how much they were boyfriend and girlfriend and no matter how much they should attract the attention of the English people so they would "forget" the massacre of '45. She didn't deserve to wait for Harry to decide what to do with his life; so at lunchtime he mentioned it to her in private, and she confessed that since the king didn't give her the pleasure she needed, she had been looking for it in others in secret for years.

After that moment he didn't conceive that anyone would crawl for him, no more kisses from her, and there was a kind of acceptance by both parties that they could live without each other, and the coldness that had always existed between them opened into a great abyss and showed them reality in the following months.

He didn't let his parents follow them to school, hospital and a long etcetera of ceremonies that needed representation from the future kings of the nation.

"When do these photos finally come out?" His voice sounded hoarse, he had been hours without talking to anyone except short and formal greetings.

"Next week in The Daily Mail, sir. On the cover, of course."

Harry nodded his head, while combing and completely destroying the defined curls that one of the session's hairdressers had achieved with care and some nerves.

Although he was completely flooded by the session and it wasn't his favorite pastime, he missed seeing his hair fall over his shoulders and feeling good on the outside, and had decided that that was the afternoon when feelings weren't the best, it was perfect to look brilliant, with defined curls making it longer than normal and, thank heaven, with some color on his cheeks that he had stolen while no one was looking, or if they did, they pretended to be blind.

Besides, as for wardrobe, he had always been impressed by the royal robes that closed seemed between capes and dresses, and underneath they had placed a simple suit (and not the one that was filled with ornaments and a blue sash) because the magazine, apparently, didn't want to risk much in terms of wardrobe and dazzle on the wedding day with both Scarlett's suit and his, and had settled like that.

So that afternoon, without knowing what (or maybe it was a 'who') was in the air, he felt like himself.

It struck six when a new face leaned on the doorframe, and although Harry was looking at the flashes that asked him for various smiles and then serious faces, he felt watched from one second to another and a sensation of calm settled in his stomach.

"It's a private session, sir. You'll be able to wait for His Majesty in the meeting room, I'll take you there." Although it's increasingly difficult for him to attend to the photographers, he remains in his position hearing Arnold address whoever had just entered.

"Is he... Harry's friend?" And the mentioned one moved his head when he heard that from Scarlett, who immediately took care of suffocating misunderstandings. "Your Majesty, we'll finish right away" he hears a cameraman who also seems tired plead. "You can let him go to his room, Arnold."

"But..." Realizing his tone, the elder butler reduces it. "No one can remain in the king's room alone, miss. Except for his family, of course, you know that."

"He can. One exception doesn't hurt anyone."

And Arnold ended up nodding reluctantly, giving a very superficial look at the man who had gotten lost through the hallways, far from Harry's gaze.

When Harry was able to leave behind the journalists, photographers, but especially his father and Scarlett to take refuge in his room, he did it almost running through the hallways, at an accelerated pace, hoping that whoever was waiting for him would still wait.

"Uh."

He didn't even have the door fully open when Louis's voice came from inside. As if he had to be quiet forever when Harry closed the door behind him.

Oh.

Oh.

"You're a shelf snoop."

Louis then stopped reading the different titles of the vinyls and books the curly-haired man had on a small shelf, in front of his bed and next to the vanity.

"Hey! I had nothing more interesting to do and was looking for something to read."

His fantasies of finding something were interrupted when Harry advanced until he positioned himself beside him and leaned softly on his shoulder.

"You stink of tobacco, and on top of that you must have lain on the bed..."

"I won't deny it, but I was nervous before entering. I was afraid someone would stop me because I had no professional excuse to be here."

"I heard you talking to Arnold, lucky that Scarly was there, he would have thrown you out on the street if it weren't for her. I think he thinks everyone wants to hurt me, or something like that."

"Could I say I understand? I mean, you have an important institutional position and there are many people who hate you, and his duty partly is also to protect you."

"But he calls everyone's attention." He huffed, while rolling his eyes. "He tells people not to turn their backs on me, that I must be the first to start the conversation, the person who comes to see me must wear appropriate clothing. And for example you're my friend! I understand he does it with politicians and important people because it's true I deserve respect, but..."

As if he had heard them, the butler crossed through the door with a very subtle knock that made Harry turn around, while Louis returned to his task of snooping on the shelf.

"Sir." He greeted Harry, ignoring Louis at first, as if he didn't occupy the room. "I told him to leave, but... You know it's rude to turn your back on His Majesty, Mr...?"

"Tomlinson. But I'm sure His Majesty doesn't mind. Right, Harry?"

"Oh, Arnold, Louis is my friend."

"Forgive my ignorance, pleased to meet you Mr. Tomlinson." And they both shook hands with the same weakness.

"You may withdraw, I would like to share time alone whenever Louis comes here; without interruptions." Harry clarified with a smile.

"Very well sir, I'll clarify it to the rest of the staff. Have a good afternoon and notify the driver if you need to move."

And the words seemed to be taken by the butler upon leaving the room, until Louis started laughing.

"So your friend?"

Harry's cheeks immediately blushed shuffling thousands of options for where that question was going. Did he mean they were something more? Or not? Had he said something wrong?

"Yes, I suppose? I mean, um... What do you mean?"

"That no matter how much you've cried on my shoulder, gotten angry with me or complained about me, we don't know each other. I don't know, I thought I was a coworker. Or something like that."

Before the curly-haired man could think that coworkers didn't kiss like they had done and also didn't blush when being close, Louis finally found something on the shelf.

"The Wizard of Oz soundtrack? For the gramophone? Wow."

"Sarah gave it to me, because we saw the movie together and 'Over the Rainbow' touches my heart."

"Can I..." he asked, plugging in the device as soon as he saw Harry nod his head.

In a matter of seconds, the original song and the violins that began it flooded the room with a somewhat damaged but typical sound of the device. And while Louis watched the gramophone work, Harry looked at him sideways with too much desire to dance to the music.

So, in an act of bravery, but still knowing that Louis should be the one to take the first step because it had been the curly-haired man who had disrespected him years ago, he passed his hand over his waist and rested his head on his shoulder, hoping the blue-eyed man would guess what he wanted.

But everything remained like that.

Maybe because that was the moment when Louis understood that music could save his life, could help him understand Harry and discover why it was his favorite song. When he only focused on the lyrics of that song and its acoustic instrumental.

Although that work that turned into a ballad wasn't his style, since he usually played classical music, which he used to listen to imagine ballets and even organize new acts in already known titles, Dorothy's song sounded really good. And it made him feel butterflies in his stomach.

Maybe because he felt the song, somehow, belonged to both of them. As if it belonged to them.

Because the lyrics spoke of finding a place where to be happy, a place to live that was far from evil where only positive emotions and feelings inhabit, where one could be oneself. And if Harry wanted that? A place where he could show himself as 'just Harry'?

Louis felt a lump in his throat upon realizing Harry was humming it, or singing almost whispering. "Birds fly over the rainbow; why then can't I?"

And the dancer remembered one of the only deep conversations he had had with the curly-haired man at the campus.

"I wish I were a bluebird, I could fly wherever I wanted, behind the rainbow or..."

And then Louis joked about whether he was caged and said some other teenage stupidity. But because at that moment he didn't understand it.

At that instant it seemed magical to the older one how the little one was described in the song, how it was what Harry desired. While, later, when it advanced, he began to lament not being able to dream, not being able to find that place where problems disappeared and he only hoped to be himself, not an "angel" or special and unattainable person; he just wanted to be Harry.

And to end without surprises, he never found that place, being desolate and completely broken.

In the exact second when the last note sounded, when the gramophone's needle traveled the last centimeter of the disc and the last chord resonated. Harry's voice also did.

"Do you have a place over the rainbow?"

Louis remembered that he did have one.

"Portland. A small house on the coast that I bought for little money right after the war. The island was left half in ruins and..."

"Isn't that where the D-Day naval base and the Royal Naval Air Station are?"

"Uh yes, not in my area but further north. I'm situated by the lighthouse."

"It must be beautiful..."

"I bought it for its proximity to the sea, it's so close that if I open the window I see the waves, I hear the sound of them hitting against the rocks and I think I never feel as much peace as when I'm there."

Harry imagined himself leaning out the window of a fictional kitchen while breathing deeply to smell the salt. Louis, settled for seeing him smile.

"We could go, someday you know... Now you're so busy that anyone catches you."

"Louis, I'm always going to have time to fix whatever we're creating, and I want it to be clear to you because you're someone... important?"

Had Harry just let out something corny instead of blushing and being quiet?

"This is new." Louis thought.

Hours passed while the sun was hiding, and at sunset it had caused them to no longer occupy the room but one of the garden benches.

"Do you like watching the sunset?"

"Yes, who doesn't?"

"I don't know? Vampires, for example." He joked. "If a ray of sun hits them, they die."

It caused Harry to laugh, but he continued speaking with a smile between his lips.

"They're all so different, as if they showed you there's nothing the same in the day no matter how monotonous it is."

"I think that function is already performed by the people who are by your side."

Harry spoke again, while his gaze directed itself to Louis's closed eyes and his face illuminated by orange tones. As if he were addressing the dancer and not the sunset.

As if he were wanting to tell him that what's important isn't whether the sun rose or hid, but that he came out.

But like sunsets, everything beautiful ended, and suddenly footsteps were heard in the distance.

"Your Majesty." After a small bow, the butler addressed Harry while Louis had opened his eyes to see his friend stand up. "There's an urgency, private." The last word was directed specifically at Louis.

And Harry, together with the suited older man, who distrusted Louis, moved a few meters away from the dancer.

"Winston Churchill wants to see you, an urgent meeting scheduled for tomorrow at ten; also with Mr. Raynal."

From Louis's point of view, who was observing them both attentively, but trying to be discreet, Harry paled so much and his expression turned so serious it seemed he was going to faint.

"Okay, summon them at that time in the meeting room."

"If I have no other option..." He also thought.

Because Harry could decline Winston's proposal without any shame. But never the Prime Minister.

That seemed like an ambush by the dancer!

"Ah, and Arnold, have they told you why they want to meet?" He caught the butler's attention before he withdrew.

"Relations with the Soviet Union."

Harry limited himself to nodding his head. What was Benjamin doing there? Wasn't it a political matter?

"Everything okay?" Louis invited Harry again to sit beside him.

"Well, let's say I have to meet with people that... I don't really get."

"But you're the King of England, those people will respect you, at least."

"Not entirely. I'm only going because the Prime Minister will attend, and he gets in a really bad mood if I don't comply. More than my parents."

"He doesn't have a friendly face, I mean I've always seen him on television, in photos or things like that, but I don't know."

"Deep down he is, he's known me since I was little and I think he has some affection for me, although whenever he calls me it's to demand things from me."

"I suppose they're matters of duty. But don't worry, how long can you be with him, two hours, or three?"

Oh.

Oh. Louis was thinking he was talking about Winston.

"No... I'm not talking about the Prime Minister, actually." Harry sounded worried and his gaze was again lost on the horizon. "Benjamin will also be there."

He didn't think the first time they were going to talk about the subject would be there. But life is coincidences and unexpected things and that was undoubtedly one.

"I'm not saying I dislike him but his presence is..."

"Shocking" he wanted to say.

"It's like he's obsessed with you." Without catching the worry in Harry's voice, Louis let out a small laugh at the end of the sentence to break the cloud of discomfort that was being created between them.

"Yes! Something like that."

"I went out to eat with him today, and he wouldn't stop talking about you. About what a good student you were and... I didn't want to tell you because I thought you got along great, but, fuck, what a relief."

And the king felt like vomiting, as if the knot created in his throat every time he heard his name tightened more and he had to expel the little food he had in his stomach. It disgusted him that his name came out from between Benjamin's lips, saying so many good words that in private had always become, in the past, disrespect, humiliation and pain.

But what hurt him most was not knowing what he had done to deserve all that, and whether something would change when he saw him again, or on the contrary the same shivers from childhood would run through him. The uncertainty.

He was afraid to see him, unease and even need. Fear of hearing his voice, and distress that there would be some contact that would go beyond words.

"Everything will be fine."

Maybe Louis's voice was all he needed to truly believe it. And also for him to stay.

Harry recovered quickly from the sadness that had gripped his heart. Actually, it hadn't been serious, and half an hour later when the sun had already set, he only needed Louis to remain by his side that night too. However, the embarrassment to ask him took a bit longer to pass: not in vain he had ruined an afternoon and a magical sunset, and had probably worried the dancer.

Louis, for his part, quickly understood he could tear that fear from Harry's body, and for a moment his head remembered the conversation with Zayn and how he would now laugh in his face saying he was achieving it; that is, little by little.

"I'm going to the bathroom while you go for dinner, okay?"

Already in the room, when Harry hadn't even invited him to stay that night, Louis allowed himself to feel at home. So he closed the bathroom door behind him leaving a thoughtful Harry who looked at himself in his vanity mirror, while removing the blush they had put on him hours ago for the photo session, and upon leaving he found a very different scene.

Tears ran down the curly-haired man's face, his cheeks were red and the towel stained with blush was pressing his nose openings.

"I'm bleeding." Sobbing, he realized when Louis came out of the bathroom and could see his terrified look. "I don't like it, I..." And he hiccupped again between tears.

Suddenly he needed Louis to tell him a thousand and one more times that everything was going to be okay. And so it was.

And at the same time he wanted to tell him why he was afraid of being left behind, because he didn't recognize himself when he faced himself in the mirror on nights like that, or how he remembered the wounds he had made because of him that never stopped bleeding. Like his nose.

He wanted to shout to him how Benjamin had grabbed his foot when he had tried to take flight and had told him he wasn't going to let him continue without him if he didn't want him. And from there his voice repeated in his head as if he were a tired angel trying to fly. But his voice wouldn't come out.

"Stand up, let's go to the bathroom, sweetheart."

Harry felt an emptiness at stomach level and in his head, the same as if a thick fog curtain had taken over all the territories of his body and was expanding like a black hole inside him. But the worst was the lack of air, which made him think his lungs were going to stop at any moment. Because he couldn't breathe with the towel, which covered his nose so it wouldn't stain.

And so, while the panic and anxiety attack was dominating Harry hopelessly, he made more and more efforts to breathe. The last thing he felt before sitting on the toilet and closing his eyes tightly so Louis would clean his bloodied skin was an emptiness in his nose, and how that area was warm from the flow.

"It's almost not coming out anymore, it was something occasional, calm down." The older one calmed him, placing an icy towel on his neck, to cool his body. "It's cold, you're clean now."

Five minutes later, the blood and Harry's heart had returned to pump adequately through the correct paths. And it was he himself who removed the plug and discarded it in the trash still sitting, realizing his hand was still holding Louis's who waited standing for him to improve, with lost thoughts and without exchanging a word.

"To bed, I'll go for some food."

When Harry made the attempt to stand up, afraid to break their intertwined fingers, Louis wrapped it around his body. And the older one began to walk to the doorframe, where he was going to tell him he could let go now, but he realized something. The curly-haired man was crying on his shoulder again, for the first time inconsolably in his arms. His face was hidden on his shoulder, but he could feel the dampness of his tears wetting his shirt, and hear his heart beating strongly, hitting his chest. But without a doubt the worst were his hands on his back, still wet because Louis had also taken care of cleaning them with the towel, that clung to him as if he were a lifeboat, while he sobbed again and whispered several 'thank yous'.

Although all in silence. Trying not to attract much attention.

Because Harry had always been like that, Louis thought. He always cried in silence, suffered discreetly and tried to be as discreet as possible. That's why he had lied to them as children, because everyone treated him as someone superior, someone who was God's will; and he, was just a child.

"Harold." He called him, letting him fall on the bed and lying down beside him. "Harry, calm down. Listen to me, it's just a bad day, a bad week even. Everything's going to be okay."

"Sometimes I wish I could find my place over the rainbow." His voice still sounded broken, while curling up on Louis's shoulder. "Or that someone would share theirs with me."

"We'll go." The older one didn't know how they were going to do it, but they would. "Tomorrow we'll go to Portland, notify whoever you need to notify and I'll come for you, darling. Everything's going to be okay."

And he repeated the last sentence over and over, until he fell asleep and followed the last thing the curly-haired man had said somewhat consciously, to stay until he fell asleep.

Fifty-one years older than Harry, Winston Churchill had offered from day one to advise him "from a lifetime of experience," and although they normally met at number ten Downing Street, that day Harry decided to summon the minister at the palace.

Royal protocol was easier than it was painted, and although Winston had it more than learned, Raynal needed to be reminded once more while Harry calmed his nerves before the door opened. He was the one who had the power there! He had summoned them in his home for something!

Although maybe he regretted not having had enough courage to communicate to Winston that he didn't feel comfortable enough to also chat with Benjamin.

Maybe fear had paralyzed him from completely losing his temper because of the nervousness that seized his body when he remembered he wasn't going to talk alone with the Prime Minister, but also with the person with whom he had nightmares every night. And who was going to be sitting in that armchair in front when he entered the office.

Not having talked had tormented him during the little time he had been awake.

Maybe behind that indecision about why he was there, because they were supposed to talk to him about how the country should improve relations with the USSR, and Benjamin would only be there to bother (although also because he got along very well with members of the country's government), there was that loss of basic trust that he had neglected when he had hurt him so much.

Maybe if he had left ballet training when he stabbed him in the back the first time, offering him things that in the end weren't, everything would have gone better and at that moment he wouldn't be behind the door being prey to so much fear.

Because, fuck, when he met him he was the heir to the English throne, he could have lived without dancing for the rest of his life. But the moment he gave himself, he loved it.

And their relationship had continued even months after finishing the week because his parents had insisted that, if he was such a good dancer, he should learn more. And Harry instead of refusing, continued, like a fucking anchor that grabs the ground and doesn't let go.

He was leaving all the resistance he had in that fucking place, he never stopped running, he couldn't stop, if he did, it was all over. If at any moment in that meeting he fell in front of him, or noticed any weakness, Benjamin would attack him again as the weak prey he was.

It was still five to ten in the morning when the smell of Winston's cigar invaded the entire hallway, crossing under the door, and letting Harry know they were already there, as well as flooding his mind with paranoid situations that could happen that autumn morning.

But nothing was wrong, really. He wasn't going to be alone, there would be maids bringing them tea, something to eat and he could always flee by making a sign that was classified among the staff as "the king is in danger." And besides "everything would be fine," because Harry had fallen asleep listening to Louis's voice last night and at that instant he kept repeating that phrase, over and over, until he believed it.

And supposedly they would go to Portland that same afternoon? Maybe for a day, or however many; but Louis would help him escape and for the moment all the palace people he had mentioned it to had thought it was fine, because apparently "He looked very stressed about the wedding and needed to rest."

He took a brief breath before hearing a subtle knock on the door and for a second he imagined himself with Louis running without limits on the beach. But as expected, everything stopped.

Winston Churchill used to greet both Harry and his parents if the occasion arose with a handshake and a hug. And so he did without any shame and quickly when after the bow at the door, Harry smiled at him and not at Benjamin, whom he hadn't noticed yet because of his clouded vision; and the minister's large figure, covering the tall but skinny dancer.

This was his territory, no one could hurt him; he repeated to himself while squeezing the Prime Minister's hand.

When he deigned to look, Benjamin Raynal was behind him not expecting a similar greeting, ten years older since the last time he had seen him and fewer gray hairs than Harry imagined, just as tall and stiff and with one of his black suits stuck to his body, as if it were a funeral. His smile was warm to others, but sinister to the king, and curved his mouth as if he didn't remember anything from the past, as if it had been left behind.

After all, Raynal considered him responsible for what had happened years ago, right?

"Sir, good morning." He addressed him in a mocking tone that only Harry seemed to catch, then bowing his head.

As if he wanted to shout through non-verbal communication that he wasn't comfortable, Harry returned the greeting without much enthusiasm. Without a handshake. Only with a head tilt.

The king realized late that his feet weren't inclined toward him, he hadn't smiled at him either, and through his mind passed one of the protocol classes he attended as a child with his sister Gemma in which they had taught them those things. But what did it matter, he could blame memory.

"I've come to propose you attend the premiere of Swan Lake next December." It was the Prime Minister who started the conversation, although Harry only caught his last words because he was trying not to let his hands tremble.

"Did you come here to invite me to a ballet?"

Harry let out a laugh, which, although it intended to relax the atmosphere only added more tension to it.

"It's in Moscow." And Harry's smile was quickly wiped from his lips. "You should travel and it would only be a couple of days there. Protected at all times and only as a representative figure to take the communists down a peg. The American president, Truman, hopes there will be reconciliation between the blocs, at least culturally. The bloc believes we can stop war instances by showing them we tolerate them to a minimal extent. And having helped us liberate France and Germany in the war, Europe is in a kind of debt to the Americans."

"Good God, what you're proposing is truly crazy, they're going to brand us as capitalist spies and we won't be able to..."

"I don't think you should worry about that, the ballet is organized by Messrs. Tomlinson and Bourne; English capitalists whom Moscow respects because they danced and gave fame to the Bolshoi. Then Mr. Raynal has taken care of speaking with several friends from Russia who reside in England, who have assured him that foreigners have no problem traveling there, if they're not spies." He let out a somewhat choked laugh and Benjamin squirmed beside him, as if he were uncomfortable not being included in the conversation.

"They're still communists, I..."

"If you'll permit me, Your Majesty." Suddenly Raynal interrupted him, and Harry could see Winston's eyes widen. One of the most important royal rules was that no one interrupted the king. "You would travel with Tomlinson and Bourne, and return to London with them after the premiere."

Shit! He knew very well where to attack.

"Do you think you can face the proposal then?" Benjamin's voice, who insisted after a reflective silence, wasn't warm, nor did it make him feel familiarity, much less did it transmit security to accept the agreement.

If it had been Winston who had brought that sudden proposal, surely the millions of doubts that were passing through his mind at those moments wouldn't have existed.

Even so, he limited himself to nodding feeling somewhat stupid because at the same time something inside him told him he shouldn't accept it.

He also feels stupid because insecurity invades him, something that shouldn't be like that because he had been in this for years now.

Accepting and rejecting.

Wanting and not wanting at the same time.

The uncomfortable silence that invaded the room was more annoying even than any noise of high decibels. Thoughts about how the world seemed like it was going to get better and suddenly another war came, and now if they weren't careful they could step on an old mine that would explode just like the two previous ones, bother him as much as the smoke from Winston's cigar.

"I'd like to think about it again. I'll summon Mr. Churchill to communicate my decision as soon as I have it; you can tell Truman my decision can wait, because having Tomlinson and Bourne's representation, I don't think it's a problem." He broke the silence with an almost hoarse voice despite having been talking for almost more than half an hour when Raynal places in front of him some papers that include how it will be done, with schedules, residence and other things he needs to know before traveling.

Even so, Benjamin seemed to expect an affirmative answer, but someone knocked on the door and made Arnold enter interrupting the conversation.

"Your Majesty, the Queen Mother, wants to see Mr. Raynal alone for a moment, if you permit them."

Harry nodded, with a smile Benjamin hadn't seen during his entire stay in the room.

The former teacher got up from the armchair and the king could hear his mother's cheerful voice receiving the dancer, being glad to see him again and thanking him once more for the classes Harry had received years ago.

When silence invaded the room he even managed to hear and see the silhouettes of his mother and his former teacher through the blurry glass windows.

She approached and gave him two kisses on the cheeks as a greeting, while he shook her hand hearing her words of gratitude saying how much she admired all the projects Benjamin had carried out over the years, and how she hadn't missed a single one.

Harry's attention was completely seized by what was outside the office instead of what was inside.

But the door soon closed again to give privacy to Winston and the king, or maybe just to keep Harry's attention inside the room.

"You're yourself again." He joked. "I thought you'd get a contracture from being so straight and with such a crooked smile."

Harry allowed himself to laugh too, he had to get out all the tension he had inside and although that didn't mean Benjamin wasn't going to return, if he received him relaxed and with a bit more authority, it would be better.

"I must confess this man makes me tenser than anything else, he's not to my liking." He confessed, referring to Raynal.

"You don't say, if you had told me before we would have met alone; I thought you'd be pleased to participate." He apologized, also putting out his cigar against the ashtray.

Two birds killed with one stone by Harry. Only a third remained.

"Yes, we'll finish quickly anyway; I have an organized trip that very few palace people know about; but the flag at half-mast will be lowered today at noon when I leave for Portland."

"Good God, why so far?"

"A friend has a house there and wanted to show it to me, plus the tension of these days and the tiredness... I thought it would be good for me. Do you see it well?"

"Me? Of course, sir. I didn't see you very Catholic, so it'll be good for you, it'll be good for you."

"If they need anything anyway, they can call the number I'll give them; or consult with my parents if it's something truly urgent..."

Actually, Harry hoped no one would bother him the days he would spend in Portland with Louis. They wanted it to be just the two of them.

"If you have nothing more to talk about, you may withdraw."

"Thank you Your Majesty, enjoy."

Everything was closer than far from becoming reality.

The car engine started as soon as Harry put a foot in it, and Louis was already inside.

One of the family's chauffeurs would drive them the five hours that the trip from London to the Portland coast lasted, and although Louis had found out just upon arriving at the palace to leave, he hadn't seemed very convinced, Harry had ended up persuading him. At that moment he couldn't stop noticing his gaze fixed on all his movements, how the curly-haired man settled in the seat, thanked the driver and then smiled at him; and Harry seeing his friend was attentive only wanted to ask him about any nonsense to hear his voice.

Maybe he could ask him what his favorite color was? Or his food? He thought smiling and stroking his curls from nerves.

All those ideas vanished from his mind when he remembered that maybe he had already told him when they were teenagers and his cheeks reddened remembering their lips had already joined on more than one occasion.

"I wish I could kiss you for my whole life, Lou." He remembered what he had told him, but because it had been a small lie. They weren't even going to see each other again after that week and he had had the balls to get his hopes up and make him believe they would be together, in secret, but forever.

"And have you notified anyone?" finally it was Louis who started talking, ignoring the driver's presence who seemed to be thinking about his own things and who was very clear he couldn't share the information he heard on those long trips. Even so, the dancer was also afraid it was a question he wanted to avoid, that he felt he was getting too involved in his life. But to his surprise, first he nodded and clearing his throat, dry after being silent for at least half an hour of the journey, he addressed the blue-eyed man.

"My parents and Winston, in case they thought it appropriate more than anything and so they would notify to lower the flag; I told them I was leaving for three days to the south, but if it's too much I can rectify it." He spoke so timidly that if they hadn't been in complete silence he wouldn't have even heard it. "I don't know if running away like this was right either, but I felt so much that I needed a change of scenery and... to renew myself."

Suddenly Louis seemed like some kind of miracle. As if he had pulled him out of his darkness.

And Harry, at last was opening up and, although it was superficially, he was telling Louis what had led him to make that decision. And the older one knew he was closer than ever to knowing why he felt so much fear at night.

Without a doubt, what he had for sure, was that whatever was happening to Harry was something deeper than a crisis because he liked men or didn't love Scarlett.

The rest of the way they drove in silence, normally Louis found it easy to start a conversation, except that time. Maybe because he had no idea what was going through Harry's head; he was sitting looking out the window and, sometimes, he closed his eyes making Louis doubt whether he was asleep or not.

When Harry woke up again, it was because the air from the lowered front windows was blowing in a stream toward his face. The landscape had completely changed and they were going along the coast, they were crossing at great speed very close to the sea and they were the only vehicle on the road.

Louis was speaking with a marked accent and was laughing quite a bit, something that produced in Harry a feeling of overwhelm in his stomach. Jealousy?

"Good afternoon again, in the end you are going to have descendants of kings, but of Aurora from Sleeping Beauty. Now I understand why you wanted the ballet about her at your wedding!" It drew a cheerful laugh from Harry. Had he slept that much? "I'm also pleased to inform you that in little less than two hours we'll be at my house" He said while the curly-haired man kept laughing and seeing him also resolve in his seat, imitating a radio announcer.

"I also have to tell you that while you slept peacefully in your seat, Rick had to stop to go to the bathroom and when he came back I took advantage of the restaurant next door to buy some food so we wouldn't die of hunger. Everything's in the bag placed at your feet, I was going to ask if you wanted something, but I didn't want to wake you so I intuited that maybe you'd like tea and something sweet."

At that moment Harry tried to remember when someone who didn't know him at all had cared so much about him, and not about him as monarch or source of gossip; but he didn't find one that wasn't with his family, with Sarah or even with Winston.

At first he overlooked that Louis had bought food, and listened attentively with a smile to meet someone new, how his driver, Rick, was also from Yorkshire specifically from a town near Doncaster, but now lived in the palace workers' area with his family.

He interrupted him politely when after the two long naps he had taken throughout the trip, and without eating between any of them, the curly-haired man's body claimed some food.

"Thanks for the food." His voice sounded hoarse at first, it might be the fault of thinking that everyone focused on him for being who he was instead of how he was, except for him who made him feel normal. But all of Louis's attention at that moment was focused on his driver, and not on him.

He felt, suddenly, overwhelmed and nostalgic, wanting to cry, but having to hide it by clenching his jaw. If he pronounced one more word he would cry, he was sure.

"I hope we didn't wake you by talking, I was going to fall asleep if I didn't find something to entertain me and I think Rick was on the same path."

Harry then realized that, the further south they went, the later it got dark. His wristwatch marked six and while in London the sun hid at that same hour in a winter schedule like that, in that area closer to the equator the sun could only be seen much higher.

"You can eat the two muffins left in the bag, I've had enough. And you can also drink the coffee, although I don't think you're sleepy because you've been sleeping most of the trip."

"I'm not sleepy, it's more tiredness."

After that sentence the car became silent again and he was grateful that the conversation between Louis and Rick revived and they started talking about the music they liked.

"I love American rock. I think it's what I listen to most. It's not very well known, but I trust that someday it'll go far." Rick started the conversation.

"I usually listen to classical music, especially, I go to the theater to see the London symphony several times a year because working at the Royal Academy it's practically free for me, although I hadn't gone until this year, not even when I was little. Even so, there are many bands I haven't been able to see, the one from Russia they say is great but the way things are now... In thirty-nine I danced with them making the music, but from nerves I couldn't observe even a bit how they played... a shame."

"We could go to some if the opportunity arises in the time that..." He kept silent suddenly and Louis looked at Rick through the rearview mirror looking away from the road. "Are you always in London? I mean, I was going to propose that if they release dates and I can afford it we could go see something, but I don't even know if you usually live in the capital."

"Oh yes, I live right above the Royal studios."

Harry seemed to pay attention to the conversation just at that moment, when he also felt that strange pressure in his stomach again.

"Actually I don't think Louis can attend to you. He's going to Russia in a month to premiere his renovation of Swan Lake."

Louis, like Rick, seemed satisfied with that explanation. And Harry understood that confused, inverted or sick people like him, didn't always dress extravagantly with necklaces or flowers as they were painted in movies or the rest of people imagined them.

Louis, on the other hand, thought about when he had told him about his renovation in Russia, and didn't remember having told him the nights they had shared together. It drew a smile from him instantly.

Harry didn't say it out loud, but they were so far from home it hurt. But not from missing it, but because it healed all wounds and he knew that at some point it would end. Then, the curly-haired man realized again that he was the only one who was far away and felt that pain, because according to Louis they were already less than ten minutes from his house and the lighthouse could be seen in the distance, showing behind it a great beach and cliffs that made him fall in love instantly.

"We're as far from home as we could be eh." He affirmed, as if he had read his mind.

But no.

No; because Louis was at home, in his place beyond the rainbow; and Harry was still lost, but at least he had found a place to find himself.

Chapter Text

LOUIS. PRESENT. September 28th. 7:07 PM

Still without entering the house that could be seen in the distance, and with only two bags hanging from their arms, both Harry and Louis said goodbye to Rick from a dirt parking lot.

From there, there was a path made with wooden boards, as if it were a beach walk or something like that, along which according to Louis they had to walk at least ten minutes to arrive. He didn't lie when he told him that refuge was secluded.

Not much time passed until they reached the lighthouse, and between ten and twenty miles away in the distance, and finally, Louis's small house. The latter didn't bother to point out any of the views, didn't indicate how beautiful the sea was nor talk to him about the coves that were about a twenty-minute walk away because he hoped Harry would have time to discover it himself.

With the black roof, white frames and walls the same color as the sand, it generated a somewhat strange contrast, but at the same time perfect and that screamed "refuge, do not enter."

Louis even opened a small fence that made him feel even safer, while realizing that the grass on the path grew quickly and he should cut it as soon as he had a moment.

Besides, the sea was right behind and Harry prayed for a moment that his room's window would face it, he could already imagine himself opening the window at night, letting the cold but salty air flood his room.

Although perhaps that only had one bad thing, and that was his curls. Because when he went to Brighton as a child with his mother, his hair would frizz and he even cried when his sister made fun of him while telling him he looked like he had stuck his fingers in the socket.

"We're here." The older one announced unnecessarily.

Louis then searched for the keys in his pocket, and Harry was received by an entrance decorated with a small piece of furniture, stairs at the back and a door he assumed led to the kitchen and living room, which he later confirmed by going through it.

"Shit, I should change these flowers." He spoke, observing the already withered tulips that were intended to decorate the entrance. "You can shower upstairs, your room is the one with the window facing the sea and the bathroom is at the end of the hallway. Actually, there are three rooms so you can choose whichever you want."

"Oh, alright, thank you very much." Harry was amazed that Louis had chosen one especially for him. Thinking of him.

Years ago the one at the end of the hallway next to the bathroom was his mother's, the one in between was his because it only had one bed and the one on the other side of the corridor was his sisters', because of the bunk beds.

And although Louis initially insisted on fixing the tulips, he went up the stairs shortly after Harry.

"The bed linen is in the closet." He caught his attention as soon as he saw him sitting on the bed, and approached the closet to take it out and also show him where he could store his clothes.

And from the moment he placed the sheets and blankets on his bed, because Louis insisted that the cold was noticeable there because of the humidity, Harry strangely felt Louis's house as a home too.

He didn't feel like the intruder he thought he would feel like. Maybe he even felt more like home than the palace, he thought. But Louis didn't know him, didn't know what kind of trauma he was running from and that shouldn't feel like home; not at that moment.

Even so, he felt good, and decided to accept at least the smell of the strange sheets and blankets, the hardness of the bed and more quickly, but not much because at some point he would have to let it go, he would get used to the smell and sound of the sea.

Besides, that was undoubtedly much better than living with Benjamin at the palace for at least one more week, he was thus saving himself three days or however many without chills, without nightmares and gaining excursions with Louis, creating new moments that would make them bury the kisses and love and everything else they had created at the time.

Louis left Harry in his room to let him get comfortable right away, and from there it had taken them at least half an hour to organize each one's bedroom, which were small and facing each other, but they were taking it calmly.

Luckily the older one had anticipated the situation, and in one of his bags he carried food that he took charge of storing in the fridge while listening to the shower water running.

"Dinner's ready!" He dared to shout at him from downstairs, while hoping Harry would accept the steaks with some sauce he had brought there from London, because he didn't feel like cooking and limited himself to heating them up. "Pre-heated ste..."

Stupidly, his breath caught when down the stairs came Harry very different from the one he knew at the palace, because instead of a suit or vest (and in the less dressed-up cases, clothes that still also seemed elegant) he was wearing a basic white t-shirt with plaid pajama pants he had never seen on him; and his hair was gathered in a damp bun he probably always did to define his curls.

"What's wrong?" Harry smiled brilliantly. As if he belonged there. As if his place was in that house lost on the coast. As if he were destined to help with the lighthouse and guide ships instead of running the country.

But it wasn't his life. Only part of Louis's, because if he stopped to think about it, not all of it either. Because Louis lived as a choreographer between London and Moscow, not in that coastal house either.

Even so, Louis had admitted to him during the trip that he used to spend quite a few summers or vacation times there, so in one way or another it was his place. But not Harry's, Harry shouldn't be there.

But he was.

And not even his parents knew the exact point where he was. How the hell had they allowed him to leave? He thought for a second.

Also surely the flag had disappeared from Buckingham's roof and everyone had echoed that Harry had left. But where? They would be wondering.

For a moment, he thought about how that would have repercussions. Everyone had told him he could leave calmly, but...

"What's worrying you now?" Sitting on the sofa, Louis waited calmly and patiently for dinner, while he remained stunned standing looking out the window. "Come on, that's your face when you don't want to say out loud 'I'mgoingtofuckingcry' because you made it yesterday."

"What? Oh, oh nothing." He tried to evade the subject. "Better we focus on your stew, okay? No problems in your home."

His brain stopped. He couldn't leave there if something happened, and as they had always told him he shouldn't worry about things he couldn't control, from that moment on only Portland and that small beach area existed. And Louis.

"Is it okay if we eat at this mini table? Maybe if you're not comfortable we can move to the kitchen one? And do you eat meat? I hope so because..."

"Yes, everything's fine."

"Sit down, I can turn on the radio, want me to?" Louis asked again, breaking Harry's moment of smiling and feeling somewhat more at home, trying to find the necessary words to communicate to Louis what he felt.

"No, doing a total disconnection would be fine?" He asked somewhat fearfully. Why? That was Louis, his Louis; of course he was going to accept and if he didn't he would give him convincing reasons about why he didn't accept.

"Of course. I hope you like it, I'm not the best cook, but I try."

Over the years Harry had dined on different continents and the palace kitchens were much better than any prestigious restaurant in England. But no meal had ever tasted this good before. The meat was cooked perfectly and the sauce tasted perfectly of tomato and some other vegetable.

Something that wouldn't have happened if he remained at Buckingham.

He probably would have dined alone in his room or with his parents talking about the meeting with Winston, something he felt like doing very little.

But he wasn't in London! He was there, and he should enjoy the moment. Ask Louis about what things he usually did and what they could do together. And he also had to learn to express his feelings.

"Hmm, Louis..." The named one pays attention, still chewing one of his last pieces of chicken. "I wanted to thank you, for this."

Louis only smiled in response, something that gave Harry the cue to keep talking.

"And also tell you something, like what... Do you think it'll bother people? That I left the palace. The flag is lowered when the king isn't there and I suppose it's been lowered and..."

"And I think you should worry less about what people think. Worry more about the things you haven't done because of their opinions and do it now. I don't know, surely there's something, starting with ballet and ending with something you like now?"

Oh, had Louis just mentioned his past with dance? He thought, falling apart.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Harry quickly shook his head and both the color and smile returned to occupy his face.

"Maybe I can start by washing the dishes, you can go rest."

"I wasn't referring to that with fulfilling your dreams, but if you insist..." Louis laughed, leaving his empty plate on the table and stretching on the sofa, reaching to brush Harry's shoulder when he collected his arms. "If you want to walk tomorrow I'm informing you now that this area, up to the lighthouse, is free of people. It gets cool in the mornings and I'll get up late so..."

"You're telling me to get lost if I get tired of hearing you snore, I see."

"Hey! Do what you want, I'm just saying that at night I promise to open the wine I bought, but today I'm dead on my feet." Louis kept talking and got up from the cream-colored sofa before Harry. "Rest, prince."

And approaching his forehead, he dared to leave a small kiss on his forehead.

Because he had taken his own speech about fears and moving forward seriously. Having faith in the future.

HARRY. PRESENT. September 29th. 8:12 AM

It's usually said that the best things happen without thinking about them.

Those improvised plans that arrive just in life when they have to happen.

That feeling that is also something improvised. The vertigo of daring to jump in a second, the pain of that wound that has just opened, the shiver that causes that foreign breath on the nape whispering a spontaneous 'I love you' that has come out of their mouth without even being thought, are all feelings that burn and mark to then bring calm.

Like the forehead kiss from the night before, Harry thought still in bed, without hunger and hearing the waves, thinking about what Louis would be doing on the other side of the hallway, although he had a clear answer.

They were all feelings that happened without thinking; because you don't know when you're going to jump, nor when you're going to open that wound, nor at what moment of the day that person is going to whisper love for only you to hear.

And although Harry loved to think things through and believe that (almost) everything was a matter of logic and calculation in dance, a matter of planning for everything to come out the right way; certain times, when he stopped to meditate; a part of his subconscious made him believe that, ultimately, dance was linked to luck, to hope, to love and to inspiration.

Like all the acts that would happen from that day on with Louis.

And also, what would happen later, when he would premiere Sleeping Beauty and say that 'I do', words that were starting to scare him so much.

Because not in a thousand lives would it have occurred to him to get married in such an extravagant way as that, if someone had given him a choice he would have chosen to do it on a beach like that one, with limited benches and guests... and with someone who wore a suit like him, if that wasn't venturing too much.

Although luckily he had the ballet, which was certainly true saved him from something. If it hadn't been because he had Louis by his side, who made him fly, lift his feet off the ground, and believe that everything if they followed a well-planned process, was going to be a unique moment in which they should only put maximum hope and excitement; and all that they only imagined, could become reality; he would never have dreamed so high and would have settled for the same parade as always and other normal traditional events.

But until it was time to put that feeling of happiness and certainty in the ballet, Harry had to apply it to his relationship with his friend, forget about work and focus on Louis.

And for the moment, that plan was an absolute chimera that was taking shape, from the forehead kiss until three days from now, or maybe a little more.

At eight-thirty in the morning Harry got tired of staying at home, having outside a large private horizon to explore. He dressed and wrapped himself in a jacket to receive the wind with warmth when he opened the door and sitting on the sand, very close to where the sea was breaking, he realized he couldn't be better.

And it was all thanks to Louis.

But at the same time, that feeling that everything would end at some point, and sooner rather than later, generated a pain in his stomach.

Because his driver, the same one who was flirting with Louis, would come back to pick them up and Benjamin would still be at his palace, lurking trying to deliver the low blow he had lacked years ago to leave him K.O.

And although it was something Harry had assumed, he was afraid of the uncertainty of not having a when.

He had also accepted that he would never forget the touches of his hands, of his now wrinkled fingers and his black hair that had become somewhat grayer with time. He also couldn't explain how he felt nothing the first time he saw him after so long, how he had maintained his composure as if it were a battle to remain with it, but at the same time had tried to destabilize him in a subtle way, something that fortunately hadn't gone unnoticed by Churchill's eyes.

When he felt he was going to start crying and immersing himself in memories that definitely weren't going to lead him anywhere good, he got up from the sand hiding his head in the collar of his jacket to protect himself from the wind and kept walking, obeying the directions that would take him to the lighthouse and actually, in search of some cliffs to watch the sun rise.

According to the relief, one could walk from one to the other if it weren't for the enormous chasm of a couple of kilometers that forced one to go around them to reach the last one, the one most pushed into the sea.

On it, he reached the end of solid ground and sat down, letting his feet hang over the sea; he looked to the sides and several miles away there was a lighthouse, and much further down the hill, was Louis's house, both white with gray roofs. On the map he had taken from the entrance a tower was also indicated that as a consequence of the bombings had ended in ruins and there was little more to see in that territory that seemed deserted, and that no matter how close it was to civilization, no one had visited over the years. Because many rumors were running about those territories where so many people had died, as the Normandy Landing had created false legends.

But thanks to that, now he was going to be able to enjoy being himself, and no rumor or curse could get him out of there until Louis decided to leave. He definitely had to be there. Because that was everything he was looking for, another love, another way of life, even if it was for a tiny time.

Suddenly Harry wondered what would happen if he never returned. If when his driver returned he hid and disappeared forever. He knew it wasn't going to happen, but he couldn't not imagine it. If he did it he would probably defend himself by saying he had abandoned everything and before stepping foot in the golden prison again, he would die dragged by the currents.

Soon, when the cold chilled his bones, Harry decided to move to see if there was anything else in the surroundings. So he started his investigation of the rest of the hills, feeling free for the first time.

He had a hard time remembering if he had ever been completely alone in any place other than his room or the library, but the excitement of exploring alone, gave him indications that he hadn't.

The sand of the small cove he reached after going down the hill was white and as he entered, he could see in the distance several ships that would head to the port to bring American merchandise.

There were no nearby roads and the noise of any engine couldn't be heard either, only dirt paths and in the distance in the opposite direction he had traveled, as vegetation abounded what looked like a forest was being created. The only buildings that were in good condition were those on the coast, the lighthouse that automatically illuminated and Louis's small somewhat worn house. In the rest, very dispersed and even so quite far away, there were incurable scars from the war.

Maybe it was there when Harry definitely realized that wasn't a refuge, but a stay for people like him, wounded who needed to heal.

Because he was sure Louis also needed to close the scars of the past they had generated together and that's why he had agreed to take him there.

He was tired of so much walking, but so desperate, that he felt he would cry again as soon as he thought about how damaged Louis was. He left the cove and returned to the cliff, but this time to the one closest to the house, where only the sea could be heard and the waves dancing while the sun rose. He sat on a rock, crumbling little by little realizing he had lost his life, because he had entrusted it to a person who wasn't what they seemed. And he felt useless.

Stupid because when as a child his mother always read him once and a thousand times the fable of the wolf in sheep's clothing, he when feeling free had done crazy things without thinking about it once, without thinking that everyone in the world wasn't good like in the stories of princes and princesses.

Besides, perhaps the pain and trauma made freedom, not having limits and not using reason increased because no one saw him, he didn't have anyone to call him, nor did anyone worry about how he was... And now that he only had Louis, he had to amend the mistakes of the past.

Really if he stopped to think, he also had death, because she always went behind, like a shadow.

He started crying, there where no one saw him he let out all those tears he hadn't dared to shed face to face with Louis, those he hadn't let out when he had Benjamin in front of him, or when he understood he had fled from him in addition to the palace.

Because he would never have left like that on a normal day, monotony was a way of life he had gotten very used to. But not to loneliness.

What would happen if Louis remembered everything again and abandoned him? What if he trusted him and then out of revenge for the past hurt him?

He had always known himself well regarding his fears, and without a doubt he feared loneliness more than darkness. And he truly came to the conclusion that he was so alone, that he deserved to be dead.

So the curly-haired man took off his shoes, but with his clothes still on and on top of the rock where he had been sitting, he stood up and thought before throwing himself into the rough sea.

He wanted to feel the water, feel pure, notice how the waves cleaned him and eliminated all the remains of impurities and bad acts he had committed throughout his life. Clean having fallen in love with a man he couldn't love. Because, although it wasn't his fault and the heart went on its own, guilt invaded him feeling he could have stopped upon noticing Louis didn't feel the same. And also, he wanted to clean the wounds, the blows and the traces of his nightmare, which seemed to burn his skin after seeing him again.

His body suddenly swayed between the waves. He submerged and emerged every time one surpassed him and tranquility invaded him when the sea cradled him. He held on as long as possible submerged, he even held his breath; he wanted to feel fear of death, and forget the one he had of love so in the future he could fall in love if when he died there he reincarnated in another life. Because he had always read that if reincarnation existed and you were very afraid of what had killed you in your other life, you kept fearing it until you overcame it, and Harry refused to fear love and be reluctant to fall in love.

But he waited for the fright and anguish, and they didn't come. He didn't feel the danger. And just when he wanted the moment to arrive, a wave pushed him and his clothes got stained with white sand. He had gotten stranded in the cove.

It was a sign.

He wasn't crazy. He had suffered all the damage and it would never be cleaned from his body, only with death.

But nature wanted him there.

That was his place, or at least until he found a home, or dared to overcome his fear.

LOUIS. PRESENT. September 29th. 11:11 AM

The whole kitchen gave off a strong smell of coffee when Harry crossed the door, completely soaked.

"Is it raining? Are you okay?" Louis asked quickly and his voice gave off concern more than anything, a feeling that increased when Harry, instead of speaking, threw himself to hug him.

"I am, thanks again, for bringing me." And when he separated from his body, leaving him also somewhat wet, he focused on the food without giving more explanations. "I had breakfast around eight, but I wouldn't mind having something with you."

The forehead kiss from the night before was still spinning in his memories like a butterfly flying from flower to flower. Harry knew he shouldn't give it importance, that it hadn't even been a premeditated kiss as such, but a mere touch generated by wanting to give him protection, but he wasn't able to voluntarily ignore the sensations it had produced throughout his body and soul.

How could he live day after day drowning in the torrent of love that overwhelmed him? Why didn't the intensity of the feeling decrease as the weeks, months, years passed? Until when, how far was he willing to love non-reciprocally Louis?

And he knew the answer was "until death" even before having finished asking himself the question. Because even when he had thrown himself into the sea he had thought of him. Louis had been his last sentence.

Patiently trying not to show the color of his cheeks, Harry took off his wet layers of clothing remaining only in underwear and with a t-shirt long enough that reached his knees, sitting in a corner of the sofa where small rays of sun were shining and feeling his body a bit lighter. That made Louis lift his gaze from the pan where he was heating a couple of toasts and turn it toward him.

"What happened then?"

"A stupid bath. I put my feet in, then a wave came and..." Harry reassured him hoping he would sit down.

"You should take a shower and come back quickly" The dancer asked him with a strange brightness in his eyes, as if he had a flash of poorly disguised excitement at the bottom of his pupils. "I can tell you about the Swan Lake renovation when you are."

So Harry got ready at the speed of light not to make Louis wait, because his soul fed on those moments of shared excitement that managed to make the rest of the world stay in the background.

When Harry finally reappeared in the kitchen, Louis was waiting for him there already seated, feigning dignity and relaxation, but for anyone who knew him as well as Harry, it was evident his smiling expression had an air of poorly disguised impatience.

"Start, start." the curly-haired man demanded when he reached his height unable to also avoid a smile, with his long hair wrapped in a towel coiled on his head and his body in a blanket.

"We want it to be men who do the interpretation instead of women. It's not a social issue but... of movements. Matthew called me a few months ago, around the beginning of summer, and told me about the idea of how masculine ballet needed more projection, but not to hide the feminine but to show other qualities. He told me he imagined the swans being evoked by men, because the original cast of women evokes above all a fragility, a delicate beauty; but doesn't show the strength they also have."

"Currently all companies are based on the second version, on Petipa and Ivanov's..."

"And what we want is, in addition to reimagining it, keep in our performance some element of both that second performance and the first, that is, if we find the sources. He also told me he had thought of all this identity change for people who precisely don't find it, based on popular culture or things that have been happening over these years aside from war conflicts... Besides, Prince Siegfried has a repressed sexuality that..."

"Tchaikovsky had it too." The curly-haired man suddenly cut in, while his eyes shone with excitement. "And if in this era very few people tolerate it, fifty years ago..."

"Even less." Louis concluded sighing and fixing on Harry's lost gaze on his notebook, where he had written in outline form everything that involved the renovation. "We also base ourselves on King Ludwig II of Bavaria, because they called him the swan king for his obsession with them, and they thought he was crazy for his extravagance."

"So what you're doing is weaving and imagining a similar story, but giving other dimensions to the main characters... With primitive appearance perhaps?"

"Yes, they'll go with their torsos bare, with makeup as such... Although this is handled by the production and wardrobe people."

"And the roles of Odette and Odile?"

"They become human and strange. The white swan according to Matthew will be a product of the prince's imagination, and then Odile represented with evil, would be the strange."

"And so the plot isn't the same, right?" Harry frowned, not understanding at first what Louis was telling him.

"No, but we have to maintain the surprise factor, don't you think?"

And Louis left the table, announcing he would shower and then they could go walk on the beach.

Already under the water he thought it was true the project still lacked punctuation regarding how to create a story - to narrate it -, but neither of them thought it was too important an issue at the moment. Louis had suggested on a couple of occasions that, for those considerations, Bourne, who was an expert in imagining and narrating through dance, should find an inspiration situation that would light his bulb, although the blue-eyed man could always think of something too.

And he found that story, sooner than he thought.

They had climbed the lighthouse.

It was Louis who proposed it.

And Harry responded excitedly. Would the sea look different from so high up?

After more than a hundred steps he confirmed yes. The lighter colors were noticeable in the shallow areas, and a marked dark blue on the horizon and where there was abyss.

"Do you like it?" Louis asked still breathless.

"Beautiful."

And he didn't dare clarify if he was referring to the views or Louis's eyes, which turned a special color similar to crystalline waters.

They sat on the floor and Louis told him about many things, starting with how that little house had been the first big thing he had bought with his savings, and always ending in funny anecdotes that had happened to him at the Bolshoi.

Harry thought for a moment that Louis's life was as if it were separated by a fine line, as if his reality began from his coexistence in Moscow at eighteen, and forgot everything he had behind him: the Ireland school, having met Harry before, even his childhood of which he related small details, which, in most cases, were to justify present actions.

He had to take the step at some point, Louis knew it.

He could have thrown himself at the lighthouse while they talked about their separate pasts, or when they were returning home and Harry insisted on stopping to contemplate the sea for a second.

But there was like a kind of barrier stopping him. As if someone whispered in his ear every time he imagined his lips on his "He's the king of England" and "How do you know he's comfortable? He lied to you"

Really his position didn't worry him, but the closed circuit, the golden cage he lived in. If his family didn't even accept relationships outside the monarchy, why would he? And adding even more hook to the matter, why with a man?

So, he could only hope fate would bring them together. A fortuitous collision, or that Harry himself would do it.

Anyway, he could swear he still remembered the taste of his lips, as if the skin's memory hadn't been erased in those eleven years that had passed. Or maybe, it was that as he had read in a poetry collection once, that 'there were forgotten but unforgettable kisses'.

"Louis?" Harry laughed beside him, again sitting on the sofa, thinking about what more they could do that afternoon after eating.

"What? Ah. Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"I was asking you about what you usually do when you come here. Because I understand you can't dance and..."

"I take walks, excursions; and I usually frequent the town a lot, but I understand that with you here..."

He didn't want Harry to feel he was a problem, but in terms of doing things, he undoubtedly was.

"Oh..."

"But, maybe I could go shopping and have an afternoon of tea and cookies here?"

Harry liked the idea, because he smiled instantly.

"I'll take charge of heating the tea."

"I'll be back in half an hour, sweetheart."

And the intentional nickname Louis placed on Harry, made the little one's insides stir once more.

That the king of England had cooked on few occasions was something obvious. His hands stained with flour gave him away, how hard it was for him to use the scale and he was quite clumsy when opening the oven. At least, he had put the tea to heat, and it was ready for when Louis arrived home loaded with a couple of bags.

Now the blue-eyed man had his hands full of dough, and was shaping the cookies keeping Harry away from them, because he was capable of the paste sticking to his hands, or something chaotic of the same style.

Even so, seeing him in the corner of the counter watching so attentively made him want to give him a second chance.

"Try it, come on. But be careful with the ones I've already made." He warned him.

Harry dedicated a smile, and dared again to put his hands in the dough, creating a somewhat disproportionate cookie.

"It's sticking to my hands! It's impossible!"

"I'm doing it, darling. I don't think it's impossible if I..."

Harry thought he was short-circuiting again when Louis called him by another affectionate nickname. So he laughed nervously and lowered his head toward the cookies to disguise the heat in his cheeks.

"Flour, the trick is..." Louis distinguished the package on the other side of the kitchen and grabbed it, bringing it closer to the curly-haired man. "Careful, if something falls..."

And suddenly, Harry had in his hands more quantity of condiment than he thought. Something that led to thinking that shaking his palms to get rid of it was a very good option.

Although it wasn't so much when he completely stained Louis.

"You're a... You did it on purpose! You're going to get it."

Louis returned it, running his hands through Harry's curly hair, his face and reaching his black t-shirt that stuck the flour much better than the dancer's white apron.

After that it was the little one who let out a deafening scream, before running out of the kitchen toward the living room.

But once there, he realized the revenge wouldn't be just flour, because Louis was walking in a moment toward him with his hands soaked in melted chocolate, with which they had already decorated the cookies, that had remained at the bottom of the bowl.

"Louis! I'm going to get you!"

But Harry spoke too late, soon he fell backwards onto one of the armchairs and Louis's hands full of chocolate traveled from his pants to his face, also staining his hands.

Suddenly the king noticed how the air was lacking. How he couldn't flee under Louis's body, his heart was starting to race.

And apparently the dancer noticed it, because, although he didn't stop leaving his chocolate marks all over the curly-haired man's uncovered skin, he frowned.

Harry tried to repel the blue-eyed man by licking his hands, and he wasn't wrong because he managed to get him to get up from his lap and thus free himself from the imprisonment Louis had him in.

And not only free himself, but turn him around, leaving the older one underneath.

"Apologize to me. Come on, darling."

"The cookies, let's put them in the oven, come on."

But the pressure of Harry's hips on Louis's didn't stop. And the blue-eyed man saw in his eyes a look he didn't recognize.

"First my apologies."

"S-sorry."

He didn't want his voice to tremble, but his last breath did so upon being aware of the situation, of how the mockery had completely disappeared from the atmosphere and Harry had turned serious.

HARRY. PRESENT. September 30th. 7:51 AM

That night, after the cookies and tea, tiredness invaded them barely at eight o'clock, after washing up, so they didn't open the wine either.

After going to bed so early, the next day they seemed to wake up almost at the same time, because when Harry left his room half disheveled, Louis was coming out of the bathroom.

"Good morning." The curly-haired man yawned, trying to comb his hair.

He didn't remember what he had dreamed the night before, so that made him have a smile on his face from first thing in the morning. Louis's smell generated a strangely pleasant security.

"I'll prepare a couple of coffees." He informed him before the curly-haired man went into the bathroom.

Quickly Harry cleaned up, hoping it wouldn't get cold, and when he went down the stairs he discovered the Italian coffee maker was still boiling.

"Serve yourself. How was the night?" Louis had good humor in the mornings, and while serving himself from the coffee maker, he had a freshly started cigarette between his fingers.

"Good, good. Who would say it's our penultimate day..."

"Strangely familiar" he wanted to shout at him. But out of shame he didn't.

"Or, better said, our second. We have to think being optimistic."

Louis got up from the table again just when Harry sat down, to reach the cookies he had stored in one of the drawers and in the end they had better flavor than expected. Even so, it wasn't necessary to remember yesterday afternoon, the curly-haired man thought. Not because he had had a bad time, because he had had fun getting covered in flour, but because perhaps he had made Louis uncomfortable with his grotesque tone when demanding he apologize.

"They're delicious, better than I thought given the preparation." Louis tried to find a thread to pull to start a conversation. But he soon gave up. "Okay, I see you're a man of few words at breakfast."

"What?" He had been staring at his lips while talking, and how meanwhile he was chewing a cookie that still had traces left in his corners. "Oh, it's hard for me to wake up, sorry. Any plans for today?"

"You're the guest, so if you propose something..."

"I want to try swimming in the open sea, do some laps and tire myself out for a while. If you want us to go together..."

"Perfect! I know a cove with little waves ten minutes walking. Although I have to warn you that at this time of year the water is freezing, well,

if we go around ten there'll be no problem because the sun will heat up soon. I'll lend you one of my swimsuits."

"Great."

That day Harry discovered that Louis was a man who liked to observe the sea more than try it. While he went into the water, the blue-eyed man limited himself to walking along the shore trying to get used to the temperature of between ten and fifteen degrees of the sea, and Harry had already done at least five strokes when he saw Louis take off his shirt and pants to finally go in.

At that moment, he preferred not to focus too much on having him a few meters away almost naked, and Louis felt the same thinking that if it weren't for the cold water, he would have heated up right away.

Louis only spent in the water little more than twenty minutes, while Harry enjoyed a full hour and a half, and if it weren't because his arms hurt and his lips were turning purple he would have stayed longer in the water.

They dried off little on the way home, wrapped in their towels and suffering every time the wind hit them in the face, causing them chills.

"Home, sweet and warm home." Harry exclaimed upon arriving at the entrance of the small house, trembling and wishing to get under the boiling water tap to return to his normal temperature and get the salt off his body.

Louis's heart was squeezed hearing him, he was pleased that he already considered, having been there only one day,

But it was true that the baking afternoon and the naps from the day before, had been homey enough not to call that little house "home."

"Take off your clothes at the entrance, I refuse to mop all the water you'll leave on the way to the bathroom, Harold."

His words were innocent at first, but he regretted it as soon as he observed Harry only in a swimsuit in front of him. Because the cold of the sea wasn't there to regulate him that time.

And although at the moment he knew how to control himself, once in the shower, where Harry's soap smells remained, it lasted longer than expected, but made him eliminate from his body a tension he had been carrying for a while.

In theory Harry would only enter Louis's room to return the turquoise blue swimsuit he had lent him, but he got distracted looking at the photos on the walls, the different books and vinyls he had on the shelf next to the bed. A bed that at some point seemed more comfortable than his, and the tiredness accumulated from swimming along with the comfort, made him fall asleep without thinking that wasn't his bedroom.

And that's how Louis found him, ten minutes later, when he returned from his calming shower that had eliminated his tension. Which suddenly, it was as if it had been useless.

He noticed Harry's whole body relaxed, so at peace it was a shame to wake him. So turning his back on him and grabbing his pajamas from the closet, he went back to the bathroom to change and he'd see what he'd do later.

When he put on his pajamas - which were actually a basic t-shirt and sweatpants - and was preparing to rest, he noticed his bed occupied again. Harry lay dressed on the mattress with his arms under his head, this tilted to one side and his mouth open. There wasn't a hint of tension in his features. Even the wrinkle that always appeared on his brow when he was awake, due to the tension and concentration he was subjected to, had disappeared.

For a few brief moments, Louis observed him from above and noticed how a smile involuntarily appeared on his lips contemplating the curly-haired man in that state of peace. As a general rule, it was difficult to see him so relaxed, so serene. Very carefully not to wake him, Louis crouched beside him and took off his shoes. Then, realizing he hadn't dressed in a basic t-shirt but in a pastel pink shirt, he unbuttoned several buttons so they wouldn't make him uncomfortable during sleep. And, finally, after hesitating for a few moments, he also brought his fingers to his curls and moved them away from his face so they wouldn't get in his mouth.

There was something about the vulnerability of the moment that made Louis's heart race while he still had his fingertips on his friend's cheekbones. Slowly, as if moved by an unconscious impulse, the blue-eyed man moved his hands from there and placed them on both sides of Harry's shoulders. Little by little, he slid them down, until the shirt fabric ended and he came into contact with his hip bones.

Suddenly, Harry moved involuntarily letting out a kind of nasal snore, causing Louis to shake his head to come to his senses and slowly remove his hands from the curly-haired man's body.

Without stopping to think more about it - because, obviously, there was nothing more to think about -, Louis covered Harry with the blankets, stood up, went around the bed and lay down on the mattress beside him, ready to let the curly-haired man's breathing cradle him to sleep.

A couple of hours later, Harry drowsily opened his eyes, completely disoriented. He didn't remember having said he would go to sleep and, however, he was lying on a mattress and covered up to the top with sheets and blankets. He looked around trying to focus his vision and realized that no matter how similar it was to his room in Louis's house, that wasn't his, so that bed could only be Louis's.

Indeed, when he turned his head to his left and extended his hand, he noticed the warmth of a body that had recently left there.

Still half asleep, he noticed that someone who could only be Louis had unbuttoned his shirt. For an instant the curly-haired man remembered Louis's hands with marked veins and imagined those fingers, not only carrying out tasks like conducting the beats in his rehearsals, but also many others that usually sneaked into his mind when his defenses were low: Louis unbuttoning his pants with painful slowness, Louis undressing him with a lustful smile on his lips, caressing his burning skin with his elegant hands...

However, when Harry began to notice how the heat rose through his chest, he tried to succumb to those thoughts and left the room now wide awake, but with the heat still in his veins, missing the coldness of the sea almost as much as Louis.

Chapter Text

HARRY. PRESENT. September 30th. 7:29 PM

The night's twilight fell on the coast by the time Harry woke from his nap. Louis, on the other hand, spent much of the afternoon embraced with him and another part smoking a pack of cigarettes on the bench that was on one of the sides of the house facing the beach, somewhat overwhelmed.

He had decided to give Harry his own space when he thought he had already abused his company too much. He got up from that bed and went outside in an attempt to clear his head.

When his boy had started tossing more in his arms, as if a nightmare trapped him again, he whispered reassuring words without trying to wake him and left a couple of kisses on his temple and cheekbones while on his side, hugging him from behind. And leaving him alone for not being able to do anything more, worry invaded him making half a pack of Marlboro disappear between his lips toward his lungs.

Why the hell did he have so many nightmares? What hurt him so much that he was unable to heal it?

His judgments suddenly silenced in his head, or went to the background, because Harry with his bare back and only wearing underwear, vulnerable as he had never seen him before, crossed the door in complete silence and positioned himself next to Louis, but standing, with his gaze fixed on the sea that was illuminated by the moon and was only a few meters away.

"Did you rest?"

Harry nodded his head at the question. Louis knew he was lying, but didn't refute him.

His serious expression and furrowed brow, as if he had a headache, also betrayed him to the blue-eyed man.

"I'm going in." His first words came out hoarse and he ran his hands over his face before advancing toward the water.

"In your underwear?"

"What's wrong?"

Harry looked at him, thinking of adding "my shirt didn't unbutton itself before, I'm sure you don't mind" but remained serious, and Louis felt his cheeks redden while immediately shaking his head.

He ended up getting rid of his pants, staying in boxers, and walked very clumsily on the sand, jumping to the shore to check if the cold water helped him at all as well as the darkness and extreme cold; but the water was freezing because it was already autumn and the rains had cooled the liquid, and that only managed to irritate him more and he ended up putting in up to his abdomen, to end up sitting on one of the nearest rocks, which allowed him to observe Louis from the side.

While pretending to ignore him, the curly-haired man felt his fixed gaze traveling all over his sunken body, as if he wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come out from inside him.

"What the hell is going on?" Harry asked him, fed up and trying not to sound too rude because of his headache after getting up, or perhaps caused by the nightmares he had had about Raynal undressing him.

Harry lowered his gaze to the water surrounding his legs, while trying to find an answer to why he had had that horrible dream, but stopped when he realized he couldn't stand anymore the way Louis was looking at his body, the way he had hugged him before falling asleep and all those words he had whispered to calm his nightmare and that he thought he hadn't heard, and, to make matters worse, then Louis ignored him or acted like nothing had happened.

It was happening, again, and Harry had gotten tired of convincing himself otherwise, of ignoring and denying that this wouldn't happen again; or thinking it was the dancer who should take the first step because he had offended him in the past.

Louis didn't respond instantly to the green-eyed man's question, in fact, after a few minutes he ignored it and decided to start another topic of conversation.

"Have they ever told you you're very handsome?"

Suddenly, he forgot how to stay in the water and thought thank God he was sitting holding onto the stones; because if not, he would have sunk and drowned.

"And that honesty?" Louis smiled when he saw Harry laugh nervously. Finally! A real smile, never better said.

"I don't know, I saw you and... you don't snore either! It's like you're a perfect being?"

Oh, Harry was about to faint and break his neck, if he didn't stop saying everything he liked about him and everything he did well he wouldn't be able to control himself anymore.

But he couldn't ruin everything they had advanced in their friendship relationship because Louis was flirting?

"Shut up, Tomlinson." He rolled his eyes and made Louis laugh even more. "I promise you, you get on my nerves."

As if he were protecting himself from something, or was afraid to love, Harry defended himself.

"It's not my fault!" Louis let out another laugh, and when Harry felt he was going to explode into more than a smile, he slid down the rocks (which made some scratches on him), introduced his whole body, even his still dry head in the water, remembering the cold and cursing almost shouting. "My God, you're crazy." He figured him out instantly. Louis knew perfectly well Harry was going to laugh and that's why he had submerged himself in the small hole that filled on high tide days like that one.

"You're never to blame for anything!" He sighed. "I take back what I said. I hated you before and I still hate you now."

Lie. Louis not only liked him, but he produced all kinds of attraction in him, much more than a woman.

Besides, he loved him because they harmonized well regardless of his mood. Whether he was sad, happy, angry, ignoring him, or even on the verge of suicide. The two of them together was everything that was right in the world. And he had always had his hand on his back despite the distance of the previous weeks. The feeling that if he had a nightmare at night he could flee from his bed at the palace and get into Louis's, had accompanied him every day since he had seen him for the first time in Scarlett's room, laughing with her, which had in fact produced terrible jealousy in him.

"Okay, then I'm going to stop bothering you with my presence. And look, I was thinking of getting in, but... if you insist I leave..."

Louis tried to get up from the bench, with all his desire to annoy his friend with all the tranquility in the world, but it remained an attempt when Harry took advantage of the moment to advance through the sand and throw with his hands a large amount of water that reached the bench, splashing Louis and freezing his bones.

"I'll be sick tomorrow, faggot!" He shouted very ironically.

But actually Louis instead of getting angry realized that deserved revenge that, literally as the saying goes, was served cold. So he prepared himself even being dressed and taking advantage of Harry's distraction, grabbed him in his arms and dragged them both to one of the deeper areas taking advantage of the little waves, and ignored his resistance also realizing the dancer had much more strength than the little one, splashing him completely.

When he emerged, a few meters from Harry -and his defined body- with his wet shirt stuck to his chest, the curly-haired man was submerged up to his shoulders and showed a smile satisfied enough that, this time, it was Louis who bit his lip indignant.

"God I can't believe you're also laughing... This is freezing! How did you get in?"

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes before responding. But before the words came out of his mouth Louis leaned on his shoulders trying to drown him, and when he came out half disheveled and with his curls quite full of sand, he finally spoke very angry.

"Look, you're not the only one whose patience is at the limit right now, I swear..."

But instead of being quiet, as Harry indicated, the blue-eyed man continued talking.

"Do you swear you realized you're stupid for getting in? Do you regret having splashed me?"

"Oh, I regret many things, but having made you throw yourself here isn't one of them, Tomlinson."

Harry huffed again, being quiet more than letting out what he had to say.

"What do you regret then?"

"A thousand things..."

"But you don't get it" he thought, but didn't say it.

Harry frowned again, and Louis thought again he had fucked everything up, this was supposed to be a joking conversation, wasn't it?

"Fuck Louis, you don't realize eh, really you don't."

And before Harry could submerge again to try to calm down, or at least remember who he was, Louis's hand settled on his cheek putting his head more in the space than his feet on the ground.

In the middle of the night's penumbra, under a sky splattered with stars, their gazes met, in the way they should have always done. Louis smiled shyly while Harry's greenish eyes showed contained passion.

The curly-haired man could notice his hands, trembling from anticipation, both on his cheek and on his waist, producing a tickle. The world seemed to vanish around them, leaving them alone in their own universe. Every millimeter of distance that separated their lips became an eternity.

And then, finally, and thanks to the step forward Harry took, their salty lips brushed in a rough and short way, as if it were the first. Time stopped in that instant, and all that mattered was the magical connection between their lips.

One, that didn't last long, because even having the king's hand on his back, the dancer retreated a few centimeters to assimilate what had happened.

"I regret this, not having stayed with you Lou."

And at the same time Louis's heart stirred in his chest from the nickname the curly-haired man dared to use, he threw himself at his lips again, like a wave growing in strength and power, while the waves rocked them toward the open sea but still standing. Finally, their hearts beat in unison, like a symphony of two souls that had met in the middle of the night.

Finally, when they separated, their eyes still shone with the light of that unique connection. The kiss had been a journey, from initial sweetness to burning passion, seeking that magical feeling that only the connection they both had could bring.

"I also wanted this for a long time."

"To fill your hair with sand?"

Louis laughed at Harry's small joke, but already on the shore he made sure not a particle remained in his curls bothering; and he promised himself he would do so with everything, even if they didn't become anything.

"'You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.'"

Lying on the bed, after a long session of kisses and massages that had made them lose track of time, they decided to read the book Louis always carried in his suitcase, and now the dialogues -with their corresponding voices- of Pride and Prejudice came out almost without thinking from Harry's mouth. After reading a couple more paragraphs, they reached both their favorite part.

"'You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled' said Darcy. 'I knew enough of your disposition to be certain, that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.'"

When he stopped to swallow and breathe, Louis left a kiss on his crown; they were one leaning on the other on the bed's backrest, Harry on Louis, and the latter could also read perfectly.

"'The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: "Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner." Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me; though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.

» 'I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way.'

'I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me.'

'Oh! Do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it.'"

And then Louis finished, somewhat exhausted, because it seemed an actual conversation had taken place not fictional from the novel, but from their own life.

"You also did it Harry, you created hopes in me that now I've been able to confirm."

And the named one, closing the book and throwing it on the nightstand turned over his body ending up on top of the older man. Like two teenagers who needed to be in contact, that the touch between hands, the softness of their fingertips on any part of their bodies was the only guarantee they were alive. Because both were sure that from that day on there would be nothing better than being together. And even being separated, they would be next to each other sharing things like music, harmony and the hope of seeing each other again; as well as a home to return to, which apart from that house was one or the other, wherever they were.

Even having confessed all the love they felt, at ten at night under the moon and sitting in camping chairs while having dinner by the sea, Harry could feel the butterflies prevail in his stomach when he thought they would disappear.

"I'm in love with you." He said out loud finally, instead of to himself. Louis bit his lower lip upon hearing it, as if he were going to die of love. "And I don't care what happens, I want to live in the present for once in my life, neither tied to the past nor pending the future."

Instead of kissing him over and over, Louis responded by putting out the cigarette against the ground.

"Even so, you should know we can't affirm, yet, a forever. You'll want not to think about it... but I'm afraid to get my hopes up about the future."

"But I can promise you that 'forever,' that I won't let you go and that we'll tear the goodbyes from the calendar, that I'm sure there will be. That I don't want to think about the passage of time doesn't mean I'm not aware of it, of the wedding and the work I'll have. I don't want it to be with you, but trusting you and by your side. By your side organizing the ballet, advising you and helping you in everything I can, that people know us like that and calling us friends seems much more beautiful to me than insulting each other if at some point someone knows something more about our relationship." Upon finishing, he settled on Louis's shoulder and caressed his nape.

And they remained in silence holding hands. Because they liked being like that, together and quiet. As if intimacy suddenly invaded them, respecting each other's thoughts and enjoying the breaths and beats of their hearts. That maybe beat at the same time, intertwined.

"I've thought that I'm not falling in love with you, then; but that I'm doing it with you. We're learning to love each other at the same time. And from today I don't care about the constancy or the rhythm everything takes, even if I die of jealousy seeing you with Scarlett or we can't see each other like this in public, I don't care as long as in private I feel that emotion, and you do the same. I don't care if our love doesn't depend on the times we say I love you, if when I look into your eyes I feel something. Like it's summer..."

And Harry could only nod with a small moan, before closing his eyes and falling asleep on his shoulder.

Anne Styles didn't drive unless it was an emergency. As sovereign of the country she had her drivers, servants and butlers who during the day did everything for her and even opened the curtains for her in the mornings. She slept in separate beds with her husband, in separate bedrooms and their lives practically, also were. Not for nothing but because the palace seemed too big to feel it wasn't occupied entirely.

Maybe it was always for that, the space, that Harry felt an eternal distance over the years.

His trust had diminished after the return to Ireland, and while both she and his father settled for not asking for explanations, asking Harry too much and saying that academy had made him a responsible adult; the curly-haired man cried every night in his bed biting the sheets to not make noise, as if he were a child.

And although little by little, with each visit from Benjamin, the tears seemed to run out; the pain and supposed maturity his parents saw in his gaze was still there.

But it was true he couldn't blame them.

Now surprisingly Harry was in a white upholstered car next to his mother, who had the wheel while he in the passenger seat, endured the high speeds on the road in poor condition.

Everything surrounding them was vegetation, and there wasn't a sound in the environment, because Anne didn't speak, and he apparently had his lips, also, sealed.

And just when he started to feel anxiety for not being able to open his mouth, his mother started crying, at first they were silent tears and then uncontrolled crying accompanied by phrases like: "I don't understand why you've done this," "We'll go to Holmes Chapel and you'll flee from England," "You're a disappointment to the family"; and the words that stuck most with Harry, were that she knew everything.

Her screams suddenly ceased, when the rain started falling on the windshield and when Harry felt like opening the door and throwing himself onto the road, a hit on the car's rear part startled him.

It had been a car, a black Mercedes in which he swore he had gotten in sometime, and that overtook them quickly.

But it didn't continue forward, but rather stopped in parallel, obstructing the passage to the car Anne was driving.

After several honks for it to move, a blurry and dark figure came out for Harry, who grabbed a child by the neck and forced him to get in the back while kicking and not crying. But before he could see the outcome and how that man noticed the curly-haired man, Anne managed to pass him on the left side without following traffic rules, and a few moments later they had it behind them again.

"Everything is always your fault!" Anne who had already lost her temper when they had obstructed her passage, shouted furiously. "Now I'm going to have to detour and..."

And she gave a sudden turn without more explanations, to an exit that led to a dirt road through which they passed with millions of bumps, breaking branches and part of the vehicle's windows.

But she had to brake abruptly when she found herself facing a lake, in which there was also a small wedding altar? and a sign indicating that "fear had won"

Suddenly Anne whispered a "shit," as if they shouldn't be there, and while in the distance the black Mercedes could be heard arriving at full speed, but Harry could only fix his gaze on the person at the altar, who even against the light, reminded him of Louis, although much more skeletal and disheveled, waiting, expectant.

But no, it couldn't be.

Wasn't he sleeping beside him? What was he doing there suddenly?

Everything didn't matter when the child's crying he had seen on the road increased, much closer to him, like drilling his ears. But when he opened the car door and upon stepping on the ground, he felt he was falling into the void and stopped hearing.

Harry woke up in the middle of the night, feeling pressed by Louis's arms and with agitated breathing becoming increasingly faster, his heart in his throat and feeling millions of blows in his head over and over. An indescribable and inhuman pain, he thought upon suffering it.

Pain that, although he thought had just arrived hand in hand with the nightmare, had been accumulating for years and was going to end up killing him that night. It was going to finish sinking him.

But luckily he had his rope next to him, who he knew would lift him like an anchor. And although he didn't want to wake him, because of the bed's movement he quickly opened his eyes.

"Harry? What's wrong?" He asked still sleepy.

It happened that he had been falling little by little for years, since he left him, but definitely a current had pushed him today to the bottom of the abyss.

Because he had been the child in the car, trapped unable to escape; and at the same time he was himself from his dream, also at full speed being observed and unable to give Louis explanations because of fear.

He was sweating, despite it being autumn, probably from the distress he felt. His face had gotten soaked by tears and when he became aware of the situation he also began to feel cold and shudder.

He tried to sit up and, groping, looked for the light switch, but unable to find it, everything became a bit smaller.

Something Louis quickly solved when seeing how he hid under the blankets, without occasion to turn on the light bulb, he did it himself with his cheek and seeing himself a bit more awake tried to maintain contact.

He cursed in a low voice and suddenly felt he was drugged again in his small apartment.

He was drowning, and his heart was still out of control, hitting fast and non-stop inside him.

Had he really managed to live in that false happiness for so long and so easily? Or was his pain irrelevant and he was magnifying it?

Maybe yes, because sadness is one of the most powerful weapons that exist, that forces you to cut ties, to feel insecure and even want to die. But if you mask it a little and only observe the good things that happen to you it's not so bad, although behind it is the harsh reality.

But had Harry ever asked himself if he wanted to die submerged in sadness?

While anxiety continued possessing him, making his heart lose its rhythm, his mind being hit millions of times, thus causing unbearable head pain, he realized yes.

But he had never dared because, after all, ingenious fear makes us protect ourselves even from ourselves. And he preferred to look for an exit obsessing over dance, governing and falsely falling in love with Scarlett, rather than perish.

"Talk to me, please." Louis's voice sounded nervous, trying to rescue Harry from his thoughts.

"I can't breathe." He stuttered. "I'm drowning."

"We're going to breathe, okay? On three..."

And Louis counted, inspiring and exhaling then; and Harry did the identical.

It took him more than ten minutes to calm down and stop his tears, increasingly attached to his boy and ending up stuck to his chest, which also heaved.

"Very good, you're so brave, darling." And he peeled away from him little by little, to go get a couple of glasses of water to the kitchen, assuming they should talk about it before it fell into oblivion and leaving a kiss on his temple before leaving for minutes.

When he was back, besides with the water with a towel to make sure Harry didn't get up from bed and refresh him, he decided to speak.

"Do you want to talk to me about what happened? A nightmare?"

And Harry nodded with a moan, hiding his face in the pillow while lying face down seemed to refuse to speak.

"If you don't get it out you won't be calm, darling. Come on..."

"To sleep" he seemed to speak against the pillow, although Louis didn't understand him.

"Do you remember what you told me before we went to bed? That you would trust me and we'd be next to each other, come on Harry."

But he still didn't react.

"Let me be here. I was there when you bled the other day at the palace and I've been here tonight when you opened up to tell me what you felt. Don't you really trust me?"

Harry breathed deeply, positioning himself in fetal position and hating himself. It wasn't that he didn't trust Louis, but that he didn't want to bother him with his nightmares, or worse yet: that he wouldn't believe him.

"Of course I trust you." He responded, sitting up in bed to have his hips in front of him. Although instantly, Louis knelt to grab his hands and transmit a quality and peace the curly-haired man seemed not to find.

"And why don't you tell me what's happening to you?"

"Because nothing happened. Just a stupid dream." And he tried to smile, but his lips didn't curve.

"Harry, I don't care if it's something stupid." And their gazes connected, both full of tears, crystalline. "Deep down I just want to help you, get to know you again, and that's why I want to know your fears and insecurities, to also help you overcome them. I already know I met the Harry from Ireland, but..."

"But he no longer exists." In a harsh way and with darkness in his eyes, Harry finished the sentence. Making it completely clear.

And at the same time he spoke, he made such an instantaneous brusque movement, as if it were a program learned by his body as a defense, breaking all physical contact again throwing himself back on the bed and getting off Louis's warm hands that tried to caress his cheekbones.

That's when he saw how his blue eyes turned dark too, prey to panic and uncertainty, because suddenly he was also lost.

"Hey, calm down. I... I'm not going to hurt you." It broke his heart having to clarify it and he forced himself to step back, leaving Harry his space.

"Don't come near, please."

"But don't leave either" he was dying to shout at him.

And with all the fake hatred he could get out of his heart, which was more modesty than anger toward Louis (of which he had none), he raised his head and looked at him harshly. Louis had the right to be happy and enduring nights like that, of nightmares and involuntary turns, he wasn't going to be. After having ended the afternoon so well... There was Harry again, breaking everything.

Luckily Louis didn't believe him, he knew very well when Harry lied and recognized that wasn't one of them, but what he was trying to express was a "not so close but not so far" that he didn't know how to describe, and luckily he understood well.

"We can sleep in the living room. Neither so close, nor so far. I won't go anywhere, but I also won't..." He hadn't even finished when Harry got up, with his fake anger by hand and realizing how Louis had ignored his words.

Once already on the sofa, having seen Harry go down the stairs trembling and blinking trying to push away his tears, he ran his hands through his hair and forced himself to calm down for not having gotten an answer. He knew someday he would find it, and would strive every day to make Harry happy in whatever way and fighting against land and sky.

"You know it's not because of you, right?" Once already curled up on the sofa, because he had left the curly-haired man the longer one -for height reasons-, he heard Harry's voice in the darkness.

"I know." He lied, because he didn't know anything. "Rest, little one."

And although Harry's heart didn't stop, he placed his hand on his chest feeling the pain of a past he wanted to shout at him was made of stories, but that didn't repeat themselves.

LOUIS. PRESENT. October 1st. 9:41 AM

Louis was optimistic, but not so much as to avoid sinking every time he remembered that was his last day at home.

There was definitely nothing good about returning to London: The routine, the palace, all the people surrounding Harry, his obligations as a teacher at the Royal, although it was his vacation weeks, the wedding, Harry's unresolved problems, the ballet performance...

In conclusion, they were going to have zero privacy and too many things to do, so, no time either.

But well, it was time to take advantage of the present.

So Louis after grooming himself, returned to the kitchen to observe Harry sleeping peacefully and relaxed, as he would like to see him always.

While watching him curled up he remembered he had mentioned how much he loved toast with butter and quickly trying not to let the curly-haired man wake up until everything was ready and on the table, he prepared a breakfast he knew would make them start the day on the right foot, even if it was only going to stay in bed, enjoy their silences, finish the book or walk lightly on the beach.

When the entire living room was flooded with the sweet smell of butter, Harry began to open his eyes, carried at the same time by the noise of plates and glasses Louis was placing on the table.

Even so, believing -and being right- that it was indeed a surprise he didn't want to ruin it, he closed his eyes as soon as he opened them and allowed Louis to wake him with little kisses on his face, making the butterflies revitalize in his stomach.

"Get up, darling, I have a surprise." He spoke with a certain tone of mystery, which he knew was null when Harry burst into laughter and opened his eyes, making Louis blush who was still half thrown over him. "You're a horrible liar!"

"Sorry!" He apologized while still laughing. "You make a lot of noise with the pans."

And after leaving a fleeting kiss on his lips and a subtle I love you, he helped Harry get up from the sofa still sleepy and with half-closed eyes.

"Could I braid your hair someday?"

"Now? I don't know, I'll go for the brush."

They were still at the kitchen table, after a long list of Harry's compliments toward the toast soaked in butter and Louis's good cooking.

Harry returned in barely minutes, with several hair ties and the only brush he carried in his suitcase.

"How is it you know how to braid? I don't think you learned by yourself... Unless you had long hair during your stage in Russia and haven't deigned to show me photos." Harry laughed imagining it, while Louis combed from the roots to his ends and moistened it. "If that were true I'd be leaving here when you finish, I warn you."

"Oh, no, no; you can be calm. My mother wasn't home much so it was I who combed my sisters... Sooner or later you get the practice, and although it comes out better or worse it's never forgotten."

"Do you still go to Doncaster?"

"Less and less, work and life accumulate in London and... I was going the first weeks of September before the twins returned to classes, but well, at Christmas I hope to be able to go if some stupid king doesn't interfere and makes me work more than necessary."

Harry remembered a sister of Louis's, to whom he shouted on the phone the day they met...

"Uh, twins?"

"Mhm, I'm the oldest of five siblings: Phobs, Lottie, Daisy and the little ones I wanted to accompany to school Ernst and Doris, they're four years old and my mother has been able to pay for their school, and although she says it was thanks to the money I sent... I know she worked extra hours."

"And she's dedicated to..."

"Ceramics workshop and cleans in some Donny shops. Now less, I'm glad to feel useful and make her spend more time with the kids."

"I... argh I don't want it to sound needy, but..." Harry thought about his words again. "Could I help if you need anything? Sorry, it sounded stupid, I shouldn't have said it."

"No, no. It's not bad to offer, and of course, I'll mention it to her."

Harry still seemed to have a thousand doubts.

"Does she know you... are? He spoke slowly, as if that were his first thought on the subject in a long time, which it was.

"Oh, no, no, no, no." Harry made a face, he didn't want to make him uncomfortable, but in one way or another Louis didn't seem to be and continued speaking. "I would tell her, she's not closed at all, but the way things are... I prefer a relationship with her rather than losing her forever, I'd hate myself if it happened. I love her so much that sometimes it's better to hide than to tell; besides, it's not like my whole life revolves around it. And if you and I get to something more at some point, I'd introduce you as one of my best friends, oh if that's okay with you."

Had Louis just insinuated what he just insinuated? That the two of them would be together forever?

Oh, Harry could definitely die with that, he could die next to Louis, rather; but clearly, Scarlett, the crown and his family, wouldn't.

"I... mhm, I don't even know myself. I don't know who I am, if I'm also attracted to women or only you..."

"And I think you have to be free at all times, I mean, if you fall in love, you fall in love. It doesn't matter who it is. Although in my opinion I prefer men one hundred percent over women."

"Are there more people like that? Do you know more then?"

"Well, maybe several people, yes. But obviously they hide."

"Winston told me police pressure had reduced, at least in London, but most of those arrested at night were homosexuals and he also commented we should... eradicate them? I almost threw up on his shoes. The fucking world war has already killed enough people to continue doing, and I know it was only a stupid hypothesis or even a joke, but... but it broke me." Harry sounded indignant, angry and full of helplessness inside.

He wondered why he couldn't help people like him, being the King of England and he was the same or even more caged than everyone else!

And likewise he also couldn't arrive at the palace that night and convene parliament to beg that violence toward homosexuals decrease. Because rumors would start, and someone would reach the conclusion that Louis Tomlinson, one of the king's best friends and who also did a feminine sport, had eaten away at his head introducing his feminine ideology.

"I'm sorry I can't do anything, I'm truly sorry. For you and for everyone."

"It's okay, darling, someday everything will change and... someday. For the moment we're here and we'll continue being together, remember yesterday's conversation? Forever. Ah and braids done."

An hour later, his curls were tied in several root braids and a bun on top of his head. Leaving a kiss on his forehead, finally looking him in the eyes, Louis could also clean a tear that grazed his cheekbone and never slid down his chin.

"I love you, Louis; whatever happens I always will, okay?" The curly-haired man made clear to him, after observing his gesture of distress.

"The only thing I want is not to waste time again, I don't want to waste moments."

But he knew Harry would always wait for him, that he knew this would be forever and they wouldn't lose a second dreaming they danced when they could actually do it.

Buckingham could already be seen in the distance, completely illuminated, although it only harbored darkness. Louis suddenly found the road that on the way there had terrified him to start, now saddened him to finish. Harry had fallen asleep, but not leaning on his shoulder but against the cold window, and a jacket covered their intertwined hands on the middle seat while the driver, who wasn't Rick but someone they didn't know and had respected their silences, hummed an unrecognizable song.

Harry upon seeing him arrive had silently thanked him for not being the suspicious driver, but had felt imposing when to treat him he did it with "you," "Your Majesty" and "sir," instead of calling him by his first name as Louis had been doing for days.

"Hey, we're arriving, Harry." He stuttered on the last word, almost about to let out a "darling." Subtly caressing his shoulder, the king woke up little by little with an increasingly serious grimace between his lips, realizing that was ending.

Once parked in front of the door, because Louis had clarified he didn't mind walking and saying goodbye to Harry at the palace door, with a bit more privacy, came the moment for a farewell they hoped wouldn't last long.

"So... what comes now?"

"Tomorrow they'll give me my weekly schedule so... I have things to prepare until Saturday. You know... the event of the year as the magazines say."

Louis's gaze saddened from one second to another, and Harry also made a grimace of displeasure.

"Lou, it's only going to be public darling, not... really. I know we should have talked about this in Portland. I love you forever, remember?"

Besides, I'm excited about the ballet premiere, because you're going to show off to the world and after performing at my wedding you'll have thousands of offers.

The blue-eyed man only moaned looking at the ground. He didn't deserve Harry to see him bad at any moment, but less at that one. It was Harry who would marry a person he didn't love!

"I love you, and no one else."

"Everyone will talk about how in love you are while..."

"While they'll also talk about our choice in the performance. No royal house has ever had something like that. There are many weddings, but ballets like yours, like yours all, there are none."

"Thanks, I suppose. See you tomorrow?"

"Of course, even if it's for tea. I'll call you in the morning."

And before turning around and each turning to their corresponding homes, remembering they were more than different, Louis was the first to launch into a hug and whispered "I love you" in his ear.

"Me more, and I'll miss you tonight."

"Have beautiful dreams."

"I wish with you."

But as he supposed because of the return to the palace, it wasn't so.

Chapter Text

HARRY. PRESENT. October 2nd. 9:00 AM

Harry hated the cold.

Something discrepant because in the palace, whatever the season, he had frozen floors because of the stone that composed them.

In his early years, very young, and very unaccustomed to that environment after moving from Clarence House to Buckingham, where they had an apartment despite the entire property belonging to his family, he hated anyone who wasn't his mother waking him up in the morning and stepping on the floor barefoot without remembering the eternal cold that was going to run through him from top to bottom to start the day well.

He hated the tepid shower water that didn't come out as hot as he liked. He also detested the gusts of wind that snuck through poorly closed windows and doors with small holes; but everything was so big, that it seemed impossible to control.

"Good morning Your Majesty, your mother requests you in the dining room for breakfast."

That was strange, because rarely did one of his parents' employees come to wake him up, unless there was something important.

From one moment to another, still sleepy and rubbing his eyes, he remembered that would be his last week less out of the spotlight than normal, after the wedding he would be in full public eye in the entire world and would be left without any privacy. As had happened to his parents after marrying; everything had been dramas after putting on the rings, so many that they ended up sleeping in separate beds and leading parallel lives losing love, and although Scarlett and he had been like that from the first minute, he feared because that bubble -both privacy and secrets, which, in silence, he maintained with his fiancée- would burst and splash Louis.

But no matter how afraid it made him, he wouldn't let that happen.

He entered his dressing room with half-closed eyes, and put on a tank top undershirt along with suit pants. He didn't want to get dirty, and had plenty of time to change after breakfast and even when he was already in his office reviewing what he should do that day.

But as soon as he crossed the living room doors he knew that had been a grave mistake. He should always be prepared, and on that occasion he hadn't been.

"Harry darling, oh, I thought they told you to get dressed." He rubbed his eyes without seeing clearly, while his mother spoke to him from the table.

When after a yawn he focused on what was in front of his nose, sitting at the table were practically Scarlett's closest family, along with Benjamin and his parents who at the other end observed him with half smiles, not very satisfied.

"I... I didn't know, forgive me."

"It's your house, you're entirely within your rights boy. Come on sit down, we were waiting for you." Raynal laughed from the other side, and everyone seemed to agree with him.

That infuriated Harry, maybe because he just wanted to contradict him and that's why he spent the entire breakfast thinking it wasn't normal for him to be in such an informal manner, while the others wore suits and shirts.

"So His Majesty was your student in Ireland, right? Mr. Raynal?" Scarlett's mother spoke with her soft tone of voice, kindly.

The Belgian kings, Jessa and Felipe, resembled Olav and Scarlett so little they didn't seem from the same family, because while the older ones were blonde and in the father's case his hair was already covered with gray hair, and besides they were somewhat chubby in the face and neck areas; Scarlett and Olav stood out for their hair between brown and reddish and their extreme thinness that emphasized their features.

"You can call me Harry." The curly-haired man interrupted, before Benjamin could respond, trying to ignore the tears threatening to come out of his eyes.

"Yes, indeed. I still remember it... If it were up to me I'd repeat it a thousand more times. Wouldn't you, Harry?" Raynal dedicated him a forced and malicious smile. As if that were his first low blow before leaving him K.O. And warning him that many more would precede, because he never had to leave him.

And the king felt such nausea that he had to remove the coffee cup from his lips while drinking, just in case. But he could only breathe deeply and continue calmly.

"I feel it's better to leave the past behind, as it is."

Suddenly, as if a cloud of discomfort had invaded the table, no one had anything more to say.

"Well, it's the first time we've seen Harry in three days. Who had you gone on a trip with and where, love?" With a tone of curiosity and more for her than for the others to find out, Scarlett asked twisting her head and minimally furrowing her brow.

"With a friend to the coast, near Bournemouth." He lied, he wasn't going to give Scarlett what she was looking for: neither names, nor real location.

"And are you nervous about the engagement?" The next time someone asked, thank heaven without focusing on Harry's adventures, was Felipe, Scarlett's father.

"Not at all. We're already really close and we love each other very much, plus living together already it won't be a radical change at all."

"Will you spend the wedding night here?"

"At Sandringham House. It's already announced and they'll arrive there the same night on Saturday."

"What do you mean at Sandringham?" Harry put his hands on the table, showing how angry he was. That wasn't the deal they had reached a month ago. "We said it would be here, in the royal suite at the Ritz."

"Then we thought the streets are going to be collapsed by people, journalists can always access the hotel and..."

"And that doesn't change anything! Why didn't anyone tell me?" Harry raised his tone almost losing his manners, but he was so angry he could even shout.

He had planned to spend his wedding night with Louis. He was his true partner! Although they hadn't talked about anything, but... He should be with him!

"Harry darling, calm down, we can solve it somehow." Scarlett tried to calm him, putting her hand on his arm. "I'm sure."

Her words, incredibly as it seems, made him feel safe and at the same time, with some fear. She definitely knew.

"Harry?"

Louis had called the number that, in Portland, the curly-haired man had given him, and after receiving a response from a rather unfriendly lady who told him he would soon speak with the King of England, he breathed deeply and asked with fear.

"Tell me, handsome."

And even knowing his heart was going to flip upon hearing his voice, after hearing those words from Harry, he didn't think so much.

"What time are we meeting?" He asked after a few minutes recalculating, letting out a nervous laugh as soon as he finished.

And then Harry reviewed the schedule he had on his office desk and someone had left there that morning:

From ten, until twelve, he should read the documents from that day's red box, as well as those he hadn't been able to see during his stay in Portland; from twelve to one they had to choose centerpieces for the wedding and finalize the menu details, and then until three he would eat, again, with Scarlett's family and had to organize the meeting he would have with Winston on Wednesday, like every week. Also to finish the afternoon he had to try on his wedding suit and receive several guests arriving at the palace that night.

And after dinner at nine, he could rest.

"Harold?" He called him on the other end of the line.

"Hmm, would nine be late? I'm busy the rest of the day... Can you sleep with me, maybe?"

"It's always a good time if I'm going to be with you. See you tonight, sweetie."

And Harry's stomach flipped, just as Louis's had done earlier.

Even being king of a country, a supposed god for many and someone who did nothing wrong for others; the truth is Harry kept biting his nails from nerves, making noises with his nose when he felt his snot falling and many times opened his legs too much. Obviously, not in public, but in the palace.

Unfortunately, an area that at those moments was full of important people and much closer to his parents and Scarlett, than to him.

Although luckily for him, the clock soon struck nine-thirty and most of the guests at the table had finished their plates; he could even make a sign of discomfort without anyone except his parents seeing it, but every time Benjamin addressed him and he thought about fleeing with the help of his guards and butlers, he remembered that was only for emergencies.

Oh, but that definitely was one.

Raynal wouldn't stop watching him from the adjoining side of the table, with an arrogant smile; or maybe, it was just his perception.

However it was, the most important thing was that Louis must have been waiting for him for more than fifteen minutes, in his room, completely alone...

It was, suddenly, as if he couldn't live without him. As if he needed him like air to breathe or like water to not dehydrate.

"Your Majesty, an urgency has arisen, we need your advice in private." One of the guards who, positioned at the doors, had made eye contact and noticed at the same time the backward head gesture Harry usually made to indicate he wasn't well, whispered to him quickly.

"Excuse me, I must withdraw today. It's been a pleasure and I hope your stay at the palace is good." With a serious expression between his lips, which indicated everything but pity, but at least made it seem so.

That's why, his smile quickly returned to his lips when he crossed the door alone and in a couple of strides reached his room door, discovering he didn't have to open it with a key that time, because it was half ajar given that someone had just entered.

Once he was the one who crossed the door, he closed it with a latch from inside -for all the consequences having Louis there could bring- and felt as if his entire body melted upon seeing him shirtless, halfway through putting on his pajamas.

Louis, although he no longer danced as much as in the past, was still someone truly in shape, with marked back muscles if he stretched and defined arms that betrayed he exercised on his own in the hours he didn't work.

"Hi Lou..." Mid-sentence, his breathing cut off upon feeling his smile on him. "You." Somewhat shamelessly he looked Louis up and down, from his head to his feet.

Suddenly he thought it wasn't the first time he saw him with his bare torso, but it was the first time he saw him like this. With the dim light of his nightstand lamp and with his pajama shirt half on, after a day when his head had thought only about him and how his lips felt on his.

"How was your day?" Louis, unlike the curly-haired man, forced himself to move forward. Ask Harry something to get him out of the jam with the word "you."

"Oh, uh, good. Busy." He responded, as if he had erased from his mind the uncomfortable morning moment of having Benjamin by his side, which would have undoubtedly made him define his day as "bad," "horrible" or even "creepy."

Luckily Louis quickly changed the subject.

"Are you changing too? Or do you plan to sleep in a suit like last time?"

Oh, that definitely sounded like a pretty hungry I-need-to-see-you-naked.

Very needy.

The problem was Harry was not much, but excessively insecure.

"I'll change in the bathroom and... lie down on the left side."

And so he did, leaving Louis with his thoughts believing he had been too direct and remembering how the first time he set foot in his room he had -unintentionally- a generous shot of his backside through the mirror. That made him blush, and when Harry came out of the bathroom already changed in his purplish silk pajamas, he ran into him still sitting on the bed and observing the mirror.

But he didn't say a word and remembered he still hadn't kissed Louis, and stealthily bending his knees to be at his height he wrapped himself in his body with hunger and violence, with so much eagerness he made Louis breathe heavily.

Grabbing his hips, his neck and especially enjoying his caresses on his nape, they devoured each other's lips falling on the mattress and causing Harry to laugh -too loudly for the thin walls separating his room from the hallway- and that was contagious to Louis.

"Great, you just cut off the steamy moment." Harry panted trying to catch his breath.

"Sorry, I suddenly remembered..." He breathed deeply, allowing himself to get lost in the curly-haired man's irises, like a ship lost in the bluish-green sea that his eyes undoubtedly were, looking at him with sparkling pupils, as if they were suddenly full of passion. "How much I love you."

Harry upon hearing those words come out with such sincerity from Louis's lips confirmed he had never felt anything like that, and that phrase was undoubtedly gunpowder, it was a big bang that exploded inside Harry and caused constellations in his heart, as if a part of his entrails from that moment on, was going to remain with Louis forever.

And without urgency, the curly-haired man returned to seek his lips, kissing his mouth and corners softly; realizing that life wasn't lived day by day but in slow moments full of pleasure like that one.

Of course, it was a pleasure that had its consequences that were quickly noticed in their bodies: their dilated pupils, Harry softly kissing Louis's lips, heat, sweat on their foreheads, throbbing members wanting to pierce the fabric of their pants and shivers every time they felt the fingertips on each other's skin.

But the curly-haired man remembered he wasn't ready when the blue-eyed man's index and middle fingers traveled the bones of his hips under his pajamas that innocently intended to continue what Harry had started. Because suddenly it wasn't Louis's fingers who grabbed him, touched him and made him feel; suddenly it wasn't his lips that kissed his cheeks and they were even less so when in an ingenuous act he tried to position himself above the curly-haired man to try to proceed.

"You were and would be my first."

The words were suddenly his great ally, and even being able to observe the excitement in their complexions, Harry rolled to the right side of the bed escaping from Louis's hands, or fleeing from his memories.

"First of what?" He asked stupidly.

"Man. My first boy." He repeated approaching a bit closer to Louis's body. "Obviously not now but... In Ireland."

"Although everything got fucked up days later" he failed to say.

It was really sad that, out of fear, Harry had had the courage to speak openly and for the first time with Louis about their first encounter.

"Oh, I thought you... Wanted to forget it. Because I never opened up when you came to apologize and..."

"Forget it? I thought you were the one who wanted to let it go. I thought you still remembered the damage I did to you and... I just wanted to protect myself, and I was selfish for it."

"Now I understand."

"Me too that it hurt you so much."

Louis had been regretting it for years.

Blaming himself for not having kissed Harry's lips more times, for not having known his body to remember it when he was no longer by his side. And the pain had pursued him for years.

"So I was your first kiss?"

Harry nodded quickly.

"That's why I was so nervous, but I was very attracted to you even being a boy and I understood those things couldn't be avoided, so I just accepted it and we kissed."

"And after? What about Scarlett?"

"Oh, just a friend, although the first months together we slept together once because she thought there was some connection." He was disgusted remembering it. "It was horrible, without a doubt. But I've had sex with other people on other occasions and... well, everything has been awful."

"I'm sorry." And Louis curved his lips in a sad grimace. "You shouldn't have done anything you didn't want to, because that's not love, it's not passion. It's obligation and bad treatment that... I hope if it ever happens between us it's better. Because I would still be your first man, right?"

And the curly-haired man nodded not very convinced, hardening his gaze again and weakly furrowing his brow.

Yes, of course Louis would be his first. Yes by choice.

"Did you try it with any woman?" Harry asked to evade another topic again.

No, he wasn't going to allow himself to fall there that night. He had spent too much time and space shared with Raynal to sacrifice moments when he wasn't present.

But what if he needed it?, What if he needed to trust someone more than Sarah to know his story, for one more unique person to encourage him to tell it, to tell him everything would be fine and he should tell the world?

"Before you arrived at the academy, with Camille. It didn't work."

A comfortable silence invaded the room again, their bodies had relaxed and their hands were intertwined. Even so, between Louis's lips there was still an uncertain trapped question, and although Harry didn't know it, in his heart a fear of responding.

"And was there any other man? I understand it's secret, but..."

As if his heart rose to his throat, dry and hoarse from one moment to another, Harry closed his eyes tightly and remembered that after Ireland, he would never lie to Louis again.

"But yes."

"Oh, oh; it's okay. Did you do like... hum, everything with him? Because before you mentioned you had more relationships than with Scarlett and..."

"I did quite a few things, you know..." He responded quickly, that's definitely not the point he wanted to reach that night.

"Like nothing you wouldn't dare do with me?"

Then silence presses Louis until leaving him breathless, cutting his breathing and feeling true fear of the answer. Because he's asking Harry indirectly if he would sleep with him, without fear.

"With you... it would be better."

With him he wouldn't be obligated, with him he wouldn't be afraid, with him everything wouldn't be better, but it would be different.

Harry was sure. He wasn't afraid of Louis but of his own thoughts.

"I'm sorry I can't give it to you now." The curly-haired man concluded, while the blue-eyed man curled up beside him.

Someday he would be truly brave. And if Louis knew it, he would tell him he already was for facing him in person.

LOUIS. PRESENT. October 3rd. 5:40 PM

The next morning he was awakened by knocks on Harry's door, shouting that breakfast was being served in the dining room and he should come out as quickly as possible. So Louis waited sitting while he dressed in the bathroom and groomed himself, and left minutes after him to go home, politely declining the invitation.

"I really won't stay, I have to make sure everything is prepared for Saturday and Zayn has to supervise too so... Have a great time at breakfast, and whatever you have to do today."

"Oh, it's super fun to read all morning and attend to people with complaints." He rolled his eyes and, despite that, Louis gave him encouragement to be patient.

They ended up saying goodbye inside the room with a couple of kisses on the lips, showing the affection they couldn't give each other until the next night.

When Louis crossed the door, Zayn was, like most times, in his living room pacing and with too many more papers than he could manage on the table.

"Finally!" The dark-haired man shouted, as if he were about to panic. "Must I remind you the ballet is in a couple of days? We have to see how we do the exits at the royal theatre, stitch up the small loose threads that remain and..."

"And there's no need to stress about anything! It's more than under control."

"You fucking Harry doesn't mean it's under control! He'll be the king, but we must impress the rest of the audience, people from other countries..."

"I'm not screwing him! We're just getting to know each other, good God..."

Zayn seemed to calm down with the answer. As if that were the only thing he was looking for.

A calm that infuriated Louis.

"Did you just calm down because I told you I'm not sleeping with him? Oh, you seem like a kid, please..."

"Actually no, Louis, I'm not calm at all." His steps didn't stop, and while walking through the living room his fists closed marking his veins exaggeratedly from the rage he contained. "I'm not and I don't spend nights calmly, because I know someday you might not come home if they catch you in bed with him having sex or even making out; clearly who they'll put behind bars for being a faggot and if you're careless for harassment will be you and not him."

"Do you think he wouldn't defend me!? Please, you're talking without knowing how we handle ourselves, how we do things and..."

"Tell me, how much do you know about him? What do you know that nobody knows?; Has he talked to you yet about the demons that torment him? I've been thinking about it since you went to the coast and I can't take it anymore, really I can't... Both Niall and I are afraid!"

"And he's the man with whom I could have the most security! We're getting to know each other again, trying again and amending past mistakes, you can't have an opinion on it when you don't kno..."

"Now I'm the one who doesn't know you! Oh right, aren't I the one who endured you hours and hours on the phone wanting to flee from Ireland to the Bolshoi, but without knowing how to turn your back, only because a mysterious boy with curls and green eyes had truly broken your heart? Don't come at me with bullshit!"

"Are you jealous? Oh heavens..."

"Of course not! I just want you not to get hurt! Understand it once and for all."

"He won't! Second chances exist and he's changed, we just have to keep getting to know each other and..."

"And? What will happen after the wedding? And when you have to go to Russia? Think about your future! Won't it hurt you to see him with another?"

"He's fucking gay, he confessed it to you! He had that trust with you, Zayn, and you're betraying him like this!"

"Well if you trust him so much you can take care of tying up the ballet's loose ends by yourself along with Harry! Thanks for being irresponsible and getting so infatuated with him!"

By the time they met again, that same afternoon, the two held a cigarette between their fingers, but while Zayn laughed with Niall, Louis had his gaze set on the twilight.

Again, ninety-six hours before the big day, as they called it, he had found himself on the rooftop again. By chance, of course.

"I can keep telling yo..." The dark-haired man stopped his words upon seeing him, with his lost gaze and as if he were in a thousand other places, except there.

"Louis!" And with agility, without being aware of the situation, Niall was already preparing to approach the choreographer and squeeze him in his arms. "Fuck you look horrible, do you want to talk?"

"Actually it's a thing between Z and me, but..." And then Louis looked at him, with compassion as if seeking him to forgive his life, although he only had to excuse his shouts.

Zayn then experienced enormous guilt for the judgments he had placed on Louis prey to panic and nerves.

"Do you suffer that much? Because of him, I mean."

Louis cleared his throat, thinking the dark-haired man would start with his speech of 'the damage Harry generated' and nodded slowly, while passing the back of his hand over his eyes to eliminate the tears that hadn't come out of his eyes after hearing the question...

"Sorry for shouting at you, you didn't deserve it; my thoughts shouldn't intervene between you when I don't even know the Harry you know."

Then, Zayn approaching him, with Niall observing from afar, put his hand on his shoulder and that gesture had an almost curative effect on Louis's worried heart, who all he needed at those moments was to feel accompanied by someone who wouldn't judge him, who wouldn't analyze him, who wouldn't despise him.

"It's Harry, isn't it?" The Irishman interrupted the moment and, when his friend didn't respond, kept talking. "You should tell him what worries you, he'll understand you're jealous."

"Jealousy," he thought for an instant he had never given a name to that bitter sensation that attacked his stomach when he imagined the wedding, the kiss and the looks between Harry and Scarlett.

"Zayn." After his silent reflection, he got his friend's attention with a thread of voice while extending his hand. "I'm sorry too, I should have limited myself to work, but I haven't been able to ignore my feelings, that's why now I have to accept what I'm into. If I'm responsible to accept I love him, I'm also responsible to accept the consequences that brings. I accept your apologies, if you admit mine."

"You don't have to apologize. I know you're suffering." Malik ended up shaking his hand, as a sign of peace.

"It's not an excuse, friend, but thank you. I'm very sorry about all this, really."

"It's okay, I know he loves you the same. I saw it in his eyes when he talked about you once."

"Oh..."

"I say again you should talk about it with him, sincerely you know? Maybe he even feels the same, and has the same fear as you." Niall repeated himself.

Louis nodded again and exclaimed quietly.

"Of course, take advantage tonight." Zayn also invited him to do it.

After retrieving from the small table the two beers he had gotten after dinner, Louis opened them, sat down again on the folding chair, finally with Zayn and Niall, and handed them out. Softly, they clinked the glass bottles and looked at each other for a few seconds before bringing them to their lips.

"For you and for Harry. For love, for everything you deserve." Zayn toasted putting a hand on Louis's knee. "For trust."

And, immediately after, the group took a drink from their respective beers, willing to spend a quiet night in good company before hell broke loose under their feet in a few days.

Harry connected again with Louis's gaze having a deja vu regarding the previous night, because again he was lying face up on his bed, waiting for him to talk about the day.

And just as he had told him that same morning, the day hadn't been interesting or anything like that; papers to read about interior and exterior reports, letters from people to respond to and irrelevant matters as well as some other American newspaper praising his engagement.

"And you, anything interesting, darling?" He asked brushing his long curls in front of his vanity, after talking.

"Oh, just a very interesting call." There was no point telling him about the argument with Zayn, because it was already fixed and would only worry the boy about their relationship. "Can I untangle your hair?" He interrupted himself, prolonging the intrigue.

Harry nodded quickly, wanting to know the outcome of the story.

"And so you received a call from..."

Louis stretched his curls over and over, undoing knots.

"Oh, do you remember my friend Taylor?"

"Hmm, Taylor, Taylor..." He thought for minimal seconds.

"Swift?"

And Louis let out a laugh, because Harry clearly paled invaded by clear memories.

HARRY. PAST.

When he left Louis's room, he didn't see her approach the door.

Only when she was less than a meter away could he perceive her silent steps on the carpet.

Even so, she had her back turned making sure she closed well, and Harry had a view of the blonde girl he had never had. Because even from afar her anger could be appreciated, her tension in her hands and her pursed lips.

In the penumbra, her profile was outlined with the backlight of the window at the end of the hallway and the half-blown lights that flickered at those late hours of the night created a play of lights and shadows.

Even so, he was startled when he had her close.

"Fuck!" She exclaimed, and as she turned, her hand went to his face. Thus receiving the violence Louis hadn't been able to face. "You're an asshole! And now you come to ask how he is, right?!"

"I-I just wanted to give him this letter. I'm leaving in five minutes. I never wanted to hurt him, Taylor, trul..."

"Camille already told me you weren't who you said you were! And I told her it was nonsense! You're a kid Harry Styles, even if you're the future King of England! I hope no one else ever trusts you, and if you meet Louis again I'll make sure to keep him away!"

And Harry's heart broke into pieces, because Taylor knew better than anyone how broken Louis was.

Because of him.

It always was.

Because Harry was useless. With an established future, how he should behave and what he should do every day; everything dictated, until his death.

He was someone "Small"

Insignificant. Fruitless. As if he were nobody when it came to expressing how he felt, or what hurt him.

LOUIS. PRESENT. October 3rd. 9:40 PM

"Don't worry, she doesn't hate you."

Harry felt a shiver, even so. It was impossible to forget the damage he had caused Louis, of course she hated him. Besides, being an American she didn't have to love the king of a country that wasn't hers.

"Oh, you say that now... But, well, what's up with her and the call?"

"Well, she was the one who called, silly. News flies and a large part of her country already knows I'm the one organizing your ballet. She got a bit pissed for not telling her and then we thought... Maybe she could come?"

While Louis thought about the support it would be to have the blonde and former friend at the wedding, Harry only tried to think about his physical integrity as a person.

She was going to kill him, he still thought.

"Oh, oh... w-well, if it makes you happy."

"You wouldn't have to pay for her plane, she's having her moment on Broadway and..."

"No, no; if she's invited, she's invited in good form. A flight arriving as soon as possible and a room at the Ritz." He thought, that way he would amend past mistakes, right?

Instantly, Louis seemed to figure him out, as if their minds were connected he said it out loud.

"Ah, faggot, what you want is for her to forgive you." And he burst out laughing exaggeratedly.

It was that as if they were connected. They thought at the same time.

"Don't worry." Louis repeated again. "She's somewhat up to date."

And Harry smiled finding Louis's gaze through the mirror. Did he love him so much as to talk about him positively?

Already in bed, wrapped by the large and heavy blankets being increasingly aware of the cold in the palace, they maintained the last conversation of the night almost in a whisper.

"Tomorrow I have a meeting with Winston."

"The one every Wednesday right? Come on, you have nothing to worry about."

"I'm afraid he'll ask me about the engagement, and not being able to tell him I love you."

Louis sighed tiredly.

"What did we agree on the beach?" He asked, drawing out the syllables with weariness.

"That the important thing was for both of us to know it..." He sighed, releasing the little air he had in his lungs and wasn't releasing because of the knot he felt in his throat, from nerves.

"And if he asks you, anyway, you can tell him the truth. That you're not the first nor the last to marry without loving each other and only from pressure."

"Yeah, but sometimes... damn, I'd like to do it with you, and I'm stupid, I have no right to speak when it's going to be you who observes it from outside while I..."

"Hey, of course you do darling, your feelings are just as valid as mine. We both feel similar deep down and we just have to learn to manage it and love each other like this."

"Will you hug me until I fall asleep?"

"And when you fall asleep too, Harold."

And they closed their eyes almost at the same time, while Harry felt Louis's hands wrapping around his waist and calmed down, praying not to have nightmares or scream that night upon feeling his brain play a trick on him, thinking Louis was someone else.

HARRY. PRESENT. October 4th. 10:54 AM

"Are you staying for lunch, sir?" Even without getting up, King Styles had taken a walk with the British minister about all the matters currently concerning the country.

They had mainly emphasized how, while Harry enjoyed himself on the coast, United Nations Security Council Resolution 87 had been given in which several countries agreed to investigate all situations suspicious of generating a world danger, and the United States had voted against to Churchill's surprise.

"Don't bother, I have to visit the American embassy and if not, I won't make it." He announced, getting up and causing Harry to do the same.

"Oh, well, uh... I wanted to talk to you about the engagement. We'll see each other there next time right?"

"As long as there are cigars and wine, I'll be there." Although he joked, Harry remembered in his head the previous night's conversation. "I'm joking, don't put on that serious face, boy. I have to attend, of course. Are you handling it well? Anything that worries you?"

"I don't really love Scarlett" crossed his mind to mention.

"I'm not particularly excited, you know? Being the center of attention, marrying someone I don't..."

"Most monarchs are married to people they don't get along with, and even presidents... if you knew what one finds out over a couple of coffees. You'll find someone else even being with her, if that's what worries you."

"The worst is I feel I've already found them, and..." He didn't seem to notice the masculine article, as if that were a generalization.

"And marriage is a union for the public, not for what you feel for..."

Churchill, who expected to hear the name of the person Harry loved, didn't get an answer; and as soon as they notified him his car was at the door he left there frowning, being able to finish that conversation someday with whom he considered his son.

LOUIS. PRESENT. October 4th. 4:40 PM

Louis rarely stepped on the lower floors of the Royal, where the studios were, but that day he had felt like dancing so much he ended up with foot pain, and with cramped muscles. Besides, every time the music stopped to give him a break, his head flooded with thoughts about what the hell he could give -or do- for Harry as a wedding gift.

But he didn't even know if they could spend the night together!

He just wanted to ask Harry, the first time he saw him; which luckily was soon: because the curly-haired man ​​appears at his apartment just when Louis comes out of the shower after dancing all morning and already has warm food on the table.

After asking him what the heck he was doing there, Harry narrated excitedly how he had talked to Winston about him, indirectly of course, and how he couldn't wait to tell him about it.

"I can't believe he responded like that, so well." Louis reflected. "Did it give you security, right?"

"Yes." But it had also provided him uncertainty, what if the minister spoke in total confidence about that conversation to someone else? Like had happened with Benjamin?

Because it had been Winston Churchill himself who had pushed him to tell his parents, after returning from Ireland, the same one who had assured him nothing would happen and they would put that asshole in jail, but in the end...

For the first time he regretted having a kind of calendar in his head, that made him remember the days he had suffered, but years ago.

The wedding was scheduled for July 20th. Two weeks after the marriage proposal was shown in the newspapers and went around the world. At least, they had granted him fifteen days off after five complete months touring Europe, after his sumptuous coronation -one of the first after the war-, before a flight to London to witness his brilliant wedding, followed by several days of secret honeymoon on American tropical islands, filled of course with convenient paparazzi to capture the headlines before they returned to work again on the nation's private matters.

But at that moment, Harry almost in tears refused. Because the third or fourth week of July was, since his fourteen years, the worst of his life. Memories invaded him, he suffered from high fevers and coincidentally his parents associated it with the stress that would come in September.

In the end what was said was true; out of sight, out of mind.

His memory of dates had never bothered him as much as at this moment. But it happened that now, it was real.

"Are you okay, Harry?"

The way his name came out from Louis's lips, that Yorkshire shining through him, settled him. It brought him back to his apartment, to loving him; and not to July of the 30s, nor to a cold mattress.

"Mhm, yes. Yes. I am." Because he's there.

"Since you took so long to respond..." Louis's voice was soft, inviting Harry to trust him to talk, but not demanding.

Harry then wanted to surrender, suddenly desperately wanted to tell Louis everything, but the words stopped in his throat, creating a knot. How could he tell Louis, of all the people this situation could have happened with, "everything takes me back to the pain he caused me"?

What was he supposed to respond when Louis asked "Him? Who?"?

"I'm sad we can't go out for a walk, I'd love to take you to all the beautiful and secret places I know." He says instead. "Go out in public."

And then, he gave a long sigh letting himself fall on the living room armchair that creaked at his fall.

Louis nodded, still standing and understandingly.

"We could do it, if that's what you want; there are few people on the street, it's Thursday and it looks like it's going to rain because the sky is dark... so you can put on some of my black clothes, get a hat and scarf, and if you want... This isn't the time of year when there are crowds in the parks around here."

"The south area, crossing the Thames will be more crowded, but... well, I had saved this as a surprise for you, after the wedding, but I can also tell you now. I know of a closed park, but it's two hours walking and..."

"Great, let's go. I can take Zayn's car for a second. Where exactly?"

"Oh, Hampstead."

Louis shuddered seeing Harry blush. That... sounded like a date. The kind of date Harry would want, if he were allowed to choose: shared with Louis at the end of the world, without paparazzi in sight, having tea in a park, drawing or reading in tranquility.

"Does it sound good to you? It's not necessary we do it. You can change your mind at any time, if we're going and you want to turn back, tell me and I will. You know that, right?"

"Yes." Louis always gives him the option. "I know." It was easier than he expected to give him a smile, and to have one back from Louis even more. "It will be good for me, I'm sure."

He truly recognizes he's safe when, already changed, he looks at himself in the mirror: between the hair inside the hat tied in a bun and his whole body covered by loose clothes that make his figure not stand out. There's not a trace left of Harry Edward Styles, the King of England. Anyway, he'll keep his scarf, also black, covering his mouth and sunglasses on at all times in public, darkening his face. No danger lurks him.

But still lying on the armchair, he slid further into it feeling the weak heating of the apartment, half dozing for a while until he's surprised when Louis leans on his legs.

"Why are you frowning?" The dancer asked, having a perfect view of the curly-haired man's chin and jaw. "We can cancel everything, Harry, it's never too late, we can stay here and have something hot..."

"No." Harry interrupted. "I want to go. I wasn't... it's not about this afternoon's plan. It's just... my sister."

Sitting up again, Louis raised his eyebrows.

"Your sister?"

"She made a radical change in herself, so they wouldn't recognize her and study at a boarding school... like her friends, she said."

Louis took a deep breath. "What's wrong with that?"

"It shouldn't sound like this. It seems like I'm a bad brother, but... It's too much. Too... too far. She was like my other half and just when I needed her most... she left. Your family should be comforting, like... like a lullaby, like a refuge." His cheeks heated with embarrassment. "I mean- I seem ungrateful, sorry."

"No, continue. I know what you mean. Express yourself. Keep going, babe."

"Just..." When Gemma was home, the attention was divided in two and Harry could feel more like a child and freer. And when she left, which also coincided with his return from boarding school in Ireland, it put Harry in an unbearable loop.

They shouted at him so firmly, not believing what had happened, that it seemed they were laughing at him. And for the first time Gemma wasn't in her room to hug him or even defend him.

"She was free, and I got angry because I couldn't be." He murmured, half hoping Louis wouldn't hear him over the buzzing that actually belonged to his thoughts. "And on top of that her stupid boyfriend, Jack, is going to be my best man... and I was thinking maybe you could be. Instead of him."

"Well, you still have life ahead to fix it." Louis apparently had it clear what had to be done. "And about the wedding... Harold you know perfectly well I..."

"Don't want to see me with another, I know; but it's to support me for..."

"I have to think a bit about myself, even if it's selfish. Sorry, but I won't be able to. If I break down right there will you be the one to answer the journalists why I did it?"

"Okay... I'm sorry." He apologized for making Louis's tone harden.

"Me more. Sorry for not being able to."

After a long sigh, he decided to resume the half-finished conversation. To give it another direction at last.

"I'll talk to my sister, yes, after the wedding. And I'll talk to her about you and I'll introduce you and... she'll still understand me, as she always has."

Louis's breath stopped then, his smile gradually faded into something much softer.

"Yes." He said after assimilating the sentence. "Yes, that would be perfect. I'd love to meet her, Harold."

Harry had rarely traveled, being conscious or paying attention to the landscape, the road to Hampstead, or to the north, but that time he stayed glued to the window while Louis drove following the directions. He dared to start humming something from a Canadian band that sounded at times on the radio and let his mind wander while Louis drove slowly and with increasing proximity to the destination.

He felt safe in the car.

There were no weddings with unwanted women.

Nothing about surrendering his soul.

Nor compromising his very essence.

That day he was a gay man heading north, to a lost corner few people knew, with another gay man. He for the first time in his life could be open, free. Even being wrapped in a black raincoat, with his hair up and a dark hat and scarf, he felt brighter and more brilliant than ever. He felt comfortable, beautiful and fully himself.

That day was a celebration of his freedom more than a march toward his perdition that would take place in a couple of days.

In what should have been Harry's wedding preparation afternoon, he had the best day of his life more than 2 and a half miles from the palace. Louis took control of the car, since he had experience driving on muddy terrain that according to him, reminded him of northern England, and opened the windows, which let Harry stop with the breeze and delight in the panoramic view of the stone ruins in the distance, and the smell of nature from the rain falling weakly.

In the midst of all the fun, it was easy to forget the charged atmosphere that same afternoon at home, or even the meeting with Winston.

He could identify in both, find his personality, even if very deep down. But somehow in Louis's car he doesn't feel a knot in his throat, doesn't feel trapped between the life he's been living and the life he wants to live. He has no idea what he'll do when it's time to end the day, when night falls and he has to return to his golden cage.

Although he doesn't have to return.

It was then, putting his hand out the window allowing himself to feel the rain while Louis reduced speed, the first time he allowed himself to fully accept the possibility.

He could hide, not in the ruins but in some lost town further north. Disappear forever.

Maybe Louis's family in Doncaster, with the little he knew of them, would accept him.

He imagines thus a life like the one Louis has created, living with freedom and integrity. Still hidden, always doing what he wanted: imagining ballets and making them reality, embodying his dreams.

He could not appear at his ceremony.

He didn't have to return.

Why should he do something he didn't want to?

Louis passed an arm around his shoulder, warm and cheerful.

Didn't he leave him once already, without wanting to? Why does he have to go through a bump he doesn't want, nor look forward to, nor want; again?

If they had always told him he should know history to not stumble twice with the same stone, couldn't that be applied to his personal life too?

"Come on, let's walk before it rains harder." Louis breathed deeply then, observing the green landscape and taking Harry out of his reverie.

They had sat on a bench as soon as they got out of the car, with tired legs from the car ride.

After more than ten minutes sitting, observing nature, and after that taking a small five-minute walk to the pergola's surroundings, Harry could affirm he no longer felt the rain. Even with his wet raincoat weighing more than normal, he limited himself to enjoying the moment, the smiles and Louis's red nose from the cold, being able to hold his hand seeing no one passed by.

"The rain has a vague secret of tenderness

something of resigned and kind sleepiness, 

a humble music awakens with it that makes the landscape's sleeping soul vibrate.

The terrible nostalgia of a lost life, 

the fatal feeling of being born late, 

or the restless illusion of an impossible tomorrow with the near restlessness of flesh color."

Louis then whispered, when they reached the dome the raindrops slid down the glass, and from one moment to another, they no longer got wet.

"My mother read it to me every time it rained, she read it in a book on the last trip she made to Spain, before things got worse there."

"Oh, it's beautiful. Have you been?"

"No, only in Russia, and in Germany last year for a couple of days."

"I was going to go to Madrid, but the political situation was horrible, almost like now, and my parents said in the end no... But they say there's a lot of art, and brilliant poets."

"And those who will remain locked up... Or dead." With that premise from Louis, he seems to end the conversation and give way to internal reflection; which makes the dancer ask again.

"Do you think many people die in England? I mean, for expressing themselves and wanting to be free..."

"Well, emphasizing we're not in a civil war, dictatorship or something like that... much less than there, for sure."

"And doesn't it give you chills? Thinking someone like you, like us, if... Sorry it was supposed to be something nice and, and it's a doubt that's been chasing me for a while; what would happen if someone discovered me, or even you."

"I'll protect you, always Louis. Being by my side I'll never allow you to step on anything that can hurt you. You'll never have blood on your forehead or lead in your entrails. I swear."

"You can't promise I'll flee from death."

"But I can certainly have that, if I made you flee from pain once, I'll do it a second time."

And after the curly-haired man's words, Louis's expression turned from a weak smile to a serious grimace.

"What do you mean once Harry?"

And to avoid the question, he threw himself at his lips without thinking about his surroundings, but being invaded by the memory of Ireland and that gray room.

When they separated, still blushing, they averted their gazes because embarrassment flooded them, as if this were a first kiss; which in one way or another it was in public.

But that embarrassment lasts little, which becomes fear and shock.

"Excuse me, you left your jacket on the bench."

The affable voice that sounded behind them, made Harry startle and squeeze against Louis's body, as if his small figure could hide him, before turning to look at the young girl who well bundled up too, extended the jacket the dancer had forgotten. In an instant, Harry pigeonholed the young woman. She was between eighteen and twenty-five years old, if she knew about him, she would know little; but he was wrong.

His blood solidified, turned to ice and broke inside him.

"Jane, come on, we're going to be late home." Suddenly there's someone else they hadn't noticed.

A girl her same age, with a long-sleeved blue dress, matching scarf and hat, carries several gossip magazines in her hand in which appear photos of Scarlett with her wedding dress, him dressed in his suit and he perfectly recognizes that the ones she has under her arm, are from that interview where they told him Benjamin frequented the palace. They know him.

Those girls will surely attend the wedding, will wait in the street and will see how Harry kisses someone he doesn't love.

Because they know him. They know he has green eyes, long curly hair, and loves his girlfriend Scarlett.

"Oh, thank you very much." Louis responded, somewhat cut off probably thinking they saw them kiss, also feeling anguish he knows he shares with Harry.

Harry, who as the girls' gaze focused on them, couldn't help but force the grip on Louis's shirt, which he was wrinkling more and more. He then forced himself to let go, but was trembling and Louis was, in the midst of so much nature, his only shelter.

But even so he released the shirt, and on the contrary intertwined his fingers with Louis's, with the hand he wasn't holding his jacket with. Something fatal without a doubt. He, Harry Styles King of England, wasn't at the palace but two hours from where he should be, holding a man's hand after giving him a kiss, while the two girls who knew him looked at him and they simply...

"You're a beautiful couple, by the way. We are too." Jane confessed, with her face illuminated by a smile. "Are you from Hampstead?"

"From central London." Louis dared to respond with pride. As if they really were a couple. "We came to spend time."

"Enjoying rainy afternoons? They're the best to come around here."

"Without a doubt, wonderful weather."

Harry remained in the background, and Louis gave him a hand squeeze, indicating he wasn't alone and absolutely no one was focusing on him.

"We have one photo left, do you want it? As a memory."

The curly-haired man immediately perceived, hanging from her friend's neck, an instant camera from more than ten years ago.

"Yes." He launched to respond. Or he tried. His voice broke right away. Sooner than he thought hysteria made its way through his formerly frozen blood and he could only smile. He had said words, they definitely knew he was there. He couldn't flee. So he stealthily came out from behind Louis. "We would appreciate it."

"Yes?" It was Louis who, ignoring the girls, addressed Harry. But he cut him off.

It was his turn to calm him, his hand stopped intertwining with the dancer's to pass it around his waist and rest his head on his shoulder, despite being taller. He also smiled so hard his face muscles hurt.

"Thank you so much." He responded to the girl who took the photo, and now was concentrated on shaking it over and over so it would show quickly. "It's perfect."

"The best photographer in London. She should cover this Saturday's royal wedding, she'd be better than any other. Ally is without a doubt perfect." The smile that occupied Harry's face didn't fade, despite everything, and he was glad how the girl confirmed her partner was the best. "Well, we're leaving because it's getting dark. Have a wonderful end of day."

Harry remained smiling even when she left. As if he couldn't stop, just as if his jaw had frozen.

"Harold? Everything okay?"

"I've never been so much."

He kept trembling, still grabbing Louis by the waist and with the polaroid in his other hand, as a consequence of adrenaline, relief and having fled unscathed from that situation.

And with such a beautiful memory. With that photo where Louis comes out blushing beside him.

Besides, they didn't recognize him.

That means he was safe, and to externalize his happiness he settles for squeezing Louis tighter against him.

"I love you, thank you for bringing me here, Lou. It couldn't be better. You've made this afternoon an incredible one for me."

"I'm glad, but it wouldn't have been possible if you hadn't discovered this place for me. Is that why you wanted the photo?"

He wanted the photo as a trophy, proof that he himself existed, without darkness or anything like that. He needed something to remind him that once he was free and himself, with Louis; and people saw him like that and everything was fine.

And from how happy he was he wasn't recognized. The world didn't end either from kissing him.

He could have spent hours and hours posing that day, actually. It wasn't the same as doing it alone or with Scarlett: on a dark background, with extravagant suits and a not very exaggerated smile.

His hat was even badly positioned, showing on the sides of his face, two of his shorter curly locks, because his forehead had started to sweat and his face was completely exposed... and she didn't recognize him.

They had looked him straight in the face and ended up turning their backs on him, believing he was a gay man who lived in central London and was on an excursion with his boyfriend.

They didn't recognize him and would see him get married on giant screens the day after tomorrow.

LOUIS. PRESENT. October 5th. 9:38 PM

Again at the dance studio, piano music came out of the record player, but Louis was already leaving his pointes hanging on the rack and about to turn off the lights.

"Louis?"

"Fuck, what a scare." The blue-eyed man startled seeing Zayn at the door, just when he was about to leave.

"Nervous?"

"Quite a bit, about the wedding and about Taylor, who arrives this morning."

"How exciting to finally meet her. You're not going to the palace today?"

"His rehearsal was going to run too long, yesterday he told me if we went without knowing he had important things to do and... I hope no one dares to yell at him for wanting to get some air."

"I suppose he has authority, just trust."

Silence suddenly invaded them, as if Zayn had millions of questions, but couldn't formulate any.

"Isn't there anything you want to ask me?"

"I didn't quite know if with Harry you're back to being friends or not." He clarified shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, I'd say now we're something more." Louis implied. "What! It's true!"

"No, no, I believe you. It's just strange."

Because after an uncertain beginning, in which the dark-haired man questioned everything; it was unusual he accepted it so well and even helped.

Raising an eyebrow in a sign of disbelief, again, Louis sketched a small smile.

"I have nothing against Harry, or your happiness. You deserve to be happy and, if this is what you want, it'll be time to serve as help and not a problem, I say."

After smiling weakly, Louis got a bit more serious.

"I'm a bit scared, you know? I need this to go well for once in my life. For us. I'd like him to have total trust in me."

"Although you think it revolves around many people..." He intervened, observing Louis with certain sadness in his eyes. "It only depends on you. And if someone finds out I know they'll try to separate you, but don't let anything or anyone do it. Never. Not even me." His voice trembled on the last sentence. And Louis decided to talk to him excitedly about his excursion the day before.

"It was beautiful, some girls took a photo of us, they didn't recognize him and assumed we were... together."

"That's beautiful, I'm happy for you."

Louis laughed again, as if he couldn't believe Zayn could be saying that after everything.

It would be a good day, when they would premiere Sleeping Beauty; and a better night, which he wished to spend with Harry. One way or another.

Chapter Text

WEDDING. LONDON. 8:45 AM. HARRY.

Everyone had always told Harry that time flew. To make the most of his childhood because in no time he would turn twelve and his adolescence would begin, then to be free -in his fair measure- and discover himself, from twenty onwards everything was phrases of "well, nothing, one year older."

But, although he had never followed popular customs nor believed what people told him, because undoubtedly since his sixteenth year his life had been hell embodied in reality, that day had arrived too soon.

But in reality, what did that symbolize?, and according to whom: because from the newspapers' and government's point of view the wedding was a tiny ray of light that slipped through the layer of darkness surrounding the world; and, according to his parents and Scarlett's family, a display of true love between children who had had instant chemistry and had evolved hand in hand -and only for that reason did he feel connection with Scarlett in some way-.

But what about him? Had he gotten engaged out of love? Perhaps he could affirm that yes. Because he loved his fiancée with a rational, familial love and one way or another he could endure with her the rest of his life.

But wasn't his true love Louis? Did different types of love exist then, ranging from minimum affection to the purest passion?

Thinking about it, in bed while stretching, it had been hard for Harry to feel loved. Or accept it.

Because of course Louis loved him and they had fallen in love with each other, each at their own pace and at a certain moment; but he hadn't been able to admit to himself that was real until they shared time on the coast. And what hurt him most was the passage of time.

While the sun's rays blinded him he wondered over and over what would have happened if the words and confessions had come out of their mouths earlier; or if the only thing that drove them to run away, which was the fear they had of giving their relationship a new beginning, hadn't been there...

Would they have fallen in love earlier? Would they have lost less time, or spent more getting to know each other again? Maybe it would have taken them the same to reach that turning point where they found themselves full of calm and peace? Or no, Louis was only calm and peace.

Ultimately, falling in love was a succession of complex acts and although all situations tend to be different there is always a dizzying and danger-filled point that leads to peace and tranquility with the other person. And that had been the trip, the nightmares, the sharing, the kisses and their present.

That calm before the storm.

Or the one after - if he considered the nightmares and misunderstandings on the beach a storm -.

As if a gale in the ocean suddenly passed and there was tranquility, the fog in the morning and the walk in the afternoon. A connection of gazes, touches, cheeks with their natural blush and lips as if painted, but, in reality, red from kisses. Pride, sadness and shared anger. All together and complementary at the same time, something that cannot live without the other. Like Harry who couldn't live without Louis.

Like a sea that erodes the rock and a sailor who looks at it and realizes the waves exist for that, in addition to many other things. Because Harry besides loving Louis had many more functions to fulfill, although that was one of his main objectives.

Like the mist that remains over the salt water and seeks to never leave and only hopes to hit many more times against the stone to stay there. Or perhaps, it's just a form of the sea. And the mist only wants the water, but doesn't love it like fishermen do, who cannot live without it. Or even the clouds, that need it to form and then return to their form.

But he was sure Louis needed him for everything. And vice versa, of course.

"Your Majesty?" Someone called behind the door, breaking his smile and returning him to the day it would be. "You must be dressed and at the door in fifteen minutes."

It was then when with his feet on the floor, he saw his suit on a hanger in front of him: he would wear the British Navy dress uniform. Because he had always loved the sea and its buttons on the side. Besides, the blue sash that would cross him that day for being king -almost the tone of Louis's eyes- combined wonderfully, never better said.

He looked at the clock then and realized he barely had ten minutes left, and although they would dress him at Westminster, he had to get dressed and be presentable faster than normal.

"Scarlett will enter through the west door and you'll already be at the altar by then..."

While his father spoke to him, locked between the car windows that drove them to the abbey, Harry was eclipsed by the great operation that had been deployed in the city.

"What time will we go to the Royal Ballet?" He asked evading Norman's instructions, irritating him.

"Behave! It's incredible that on your wedding day you only care about that stupid performance... We'll go when it's time, like everything. And then we'll have dinner at Buckingham."

"Scarlett isn't the love of my life, I've told you many times and you only..."

"Don't come now saying we forced you to do this! Benjamin was right, you lack discipline!"

"Oh come on, that man doesn't know me, he's a real asshole! He hurt me!"

"Harry, this attitude right now isn't appropriate..." His mother intervened, seeing how Norman was about to lose his nerves. "And don't bring up that subject again, not now."

"We haven't had a moment the three of us alone for years! When did you want me to bring it up? It was as if you stopped being my parents when I ascended the throne!"

"Not now!" His mother repeated, at her wit's end, and put an end to the discussion.

Just as her words cut off, Norman wasn't able to mutter anything because the driver announced their arrival at the church; and still overwhelmed, they faced the cameras, journalists' shouts and people who loved them, without knowing who they really were.

WEDDING. LONDON. 6:05 PM. LOUIS.

Objectively he should have felt those jealousies as soon as he saw Scarlett and Harry for the first time, after years, holding hands. While they pretended not to know each other.

The very moment he realized Harry wouldn't deign to acknowledge him, much less stir up the ashes of the past. Surely out of fear they would reignite.

But back then he considered it was too soon to face the king of England and blow up the whole bubble of shit they had around them, and he should limit himself to that job proposal that would change not only his life - one way or another, for better or worse -, but also that of his colleagues and cast.

Even so, he considered his reaction should have been different when Zayn and Niall had made him remember that Harry was none other than that boy he had met and who had broken his heart, in very short summary.

It should have been different, and not vomit on his house carpet several times, with anxiety in his throat.

It was as if he had suddenly forgotten it, as if his memories had been blocked by and to be able to work; and suddenly, everything exploded.

And surprisingly, what he felt that night a month ago; was what he felt that dawn too.

In his heart he suddenly felt a pain, which he knew would become much stronger throughout the day; as if they were tearing it out in strips.

But until then, until he felt that pain, jealousy and burning - unable to avoid it -, he would limit himself to throwing it down the toilet, trying to undo the knot in his throat; or pretending he had nothing left in his stomach for when he would face a love that was a lie, but seemed too real.

"Fuck! Are you okay? You look dead..." The Royal's directors and organizers had agreed to have breakfast at a bar near Westminster that, luckily, with the wedding and people right at the door, wasn't closed. "Have the nerves betrayed you?"

Niall crossed the door almost shouting with excitement, with Zayn behind him and being observed by the crowd that packed the bar and also envied the reserved floor the three friends had on the upper part.

"Oh, no, unfortunately that the love of your life is going to marry someone else is..."

But he couldn't continue because upon standing up, with his tight suit and afraid it would tear, Zayn squeezed him in his arms with energy. And for once he said something he wasn't wrong about.

"It is, consequently, the best day of our career, let's enjoy it. A drink?"

That was much more than Harry. It was the takeoff, the starting point - or where to pick up speed -; it was another of the reasons he had accepted Scarlett's proposal. They wouldn't only reach Ireland or Europe, but the whole world: they would be inspiration, the light in the middle of the cultural crisis plaguing the world.

Soon the white wine arrived at their table.

"Let's toast, to Sleeping Beauty, to us and to royalty, although it costs me to say it... to Harry. To your love, Tommo. Let's toast because everything will be fine." And with a smile between their lips they clinked their glasses, as if it were a before and after.

"I fully trust Elizabeth and Roger, from the beginning I knew they were the ideal dancers because they know how to control nerves like no one else and I know in private they've prepared personally for it. So there's nothing that worries me about the cast." Louis began to talk about the work once they sat down.

Nothing about his dancers worried him. But the pain in his stomach was there.

"Harry loves you, I don't think you're the one who should be afraid. Clearly if something goes wrong it'll be my fault or even Zayn's..." Niall proposed, still remembering the king's anger during rehearsals and the things he said weren't right.

"Harold isn't going to get angry with anyone, don't be dramatic."

"Oh, 'Harold'" The dark-haired man let out accompanied by a laugh.

Unable to avoid it, Louis turned red when all the blood in his body rushed to his neck and cheeks quickly.

"Shut up, you're really..."

At the dancer's fluster, Zayn grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him toward himself to mess up his hair affectionately with a couple of small punches on the shoulder affectionately.

"Don't come to us now with shyness, what a spiel you've given us these months..."

"Nothing more has happened between us, eh, after a couple of kisses..." Louis tried to dodge him by crossing his arms, as if that way he could protect himself from answering his friends' questions. Finally, he shrugged. "I refused to be his best man or whatever it's called to whoever accompanies him. We haven't talked much since then..."

Letting out a laugh that sounded more like a howl, Zayn gave him two pats on the back to encourage him at that news and Louis couldn't help but feel grateful and embarrassed at the same time by his friend's reaction.

"He'll be nervous, damn. He wants you there because you're important."

"Yeah right, and I don't want to see how he kisses someone else, gosh!"

"You can always go to the bathroom at that moment, so he'll have an excuse to look for you and talk to you when the farce ends. Besides, think that the sooner it arrives, the sooner we can work. Phew, you're going to make him fall even more in love."

"And about tonight?" Niall then interrupted, who had stayed on the sidelines of the conversation and advice to his friend. "We haven't talked about it more and, do I really have to go look for him?"

Instantly, all the blood rose to Louis's face, making him blush remembering everything he had imagined for after dinner.

ROYAL WEDDING. London's collapse. ·published at: 9:02·

Early in the morning, the structured metropolitan police at the London stables of Buckingham Palace's cavalry prepared the several hundred horses and riders with all their ceremonial attire that will accompany the 11 carriages. Currently, thanks to those horses three royal processions are being carried out to Westminster Abbey from Buckingham Palace, where Scarlett Andrew has spent the night - that is, in separate rooms with her fiancé King Harry Edward Styles -.

By the time the sun has risen, tons of sand have been spread for the horses along the two-mile procession route through the city's historic heart. The route is already bordered, and in execution, by hundreds of police, who will be joined by 2,228 officers and men from the British armed forces. At nine in the morning, in full beginning, it's already calculated that the place is occupied by tens of thousands of spectators who have arrived early, and even many of whom have camped for several days.

The Belgian princess will be traveling - while you read this publication - the last stretch of the route, from Trafalgar Square to Strand, Fleet Street and Ludgate Hill to the cathedral that rises over the city center, observing the colorful decorations that merchants have placed. The royal carriages have already passed palaces, government buildings, Nelson's Column, which rises above Trafalgar Square, pubs, shops, theaters, hotels, courts and law offices, newspaper offices and several churches designed by Christopher Wren, St. Paul's architect.

From then on, the elaborate pomp and ceremony of the world's most anticipated wedding in this half century will be carried out with military precision after weeks of feverish but closely coordinated preparations by a cast of thousands at an estimated cost of more than one million dollars. The King's Lord Chamberlain, Arnold Parker has been the official event manager, but King Styles and Princess Scarlett, along with the queen and retired king, have been personally involved in many details, from wedding invitations and selection of bridesmaids and pages, the wedding format and events, to the design and ingredients of the more than 200-pound wedding cake.

And speaking of events, King Styles has made personal and sentimental emphasis on the Sleeping Beauty ballet, which will be performed for more than 200 people at London's royal theater and will be private; according to various sources guests must be there after lunch, missing tea time, because at four o'clock sharp the music will begin to play by the Royal orchestra.

With the wedding day declared a national holiday, central London will be reserved exclusively for the royal celebration. All traffic except public transport will be prohibited. Much of the rest of the city and country is expected to fall silent as Britons watch hours of spectacle on television before going out, if weather permits, for a jubilant afternoon and evening of neighborhood street parties and hotel dances.

The parties will begin to increase in minutes with the sound of music and bells as the crowd increases along the procession route and the first guests arrive at the cathedral. The queen's household guards' bands will play on the route and the 12 large bells in St. Paul's northwest tower will ring for half an hour to give the call to the 11 am service. A bank clerk, a train engineer, a wholesale fruit market worker and a doctor are among the cathedral's bell ringers, who will ring the bells for another half hour after the service and then ring a prodigious peal of changes for nearly four hours in the afternoon to celebrate the wedding.

After the abbey doors have already opened at 9 am, the cathedral organists play music by different English composers while the public is led to their seats.

Yesterday this newspaper was fortunate to be able to speak with the assistant to the Archbishop of Canterbury, Reverend Robert, who said they were impressed by the seriousness with which the royal couple approached the rehearsal ceremony the previous morning and how much they participated in its planning. Robert also told journalists that his conversations with Harry and Scarlett were not limited to the service. "We talked about the reasons for marriage," he said. "That children should be raised in the fear of the Lord and that in marriage a new family is created."

Among the guests at the ceremony are relatives of the bride and groom, which include much of Europe's royalty and Britain's nobility, and their personal friends.

The queen emeritus for her part, could also invite the rest of Europe's royal families, all ambassadors accredited to the Court of St. James, the governors general and heads of government of nearby countries.

After most of the congregation has been seated at 10 am, the most distinguished guests, including heads of state and members of foreign royal families, will arrive at the cathedral in caravans. They will be followed by the "young members" of the royal family, and then the crowned heads of Europe from Buckingham Palace, all of whom are related to the British royal family, either through William of Orange, 17th century monarch of Great Britain and Holland, or Queen Victoria and her nine children. Without the kings of Spain, they will include the kings and queens of Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, Norway and Sweden, the princes and princesses of Monaco and Liechtenstein, and the grand dukes of Luxembourg.

The last caravan of carriages, from Clarence House, the queen mother's residence near Buckingham Palace, will take the bridesmaids and pages to the cathedral.

The five bridesmaids are Lady Sarah Jones, 27, best friend of King Styles; Jane Gaselee, 10, daughter of Miss Andrew's horse racing trainer, and Clementin, 5, who represents the Belgian children who attended the visit to the private nursery in Antwerp where Scarlett gave a talk and raised funds after the war.

The two pages accompanying King Styles are Lord Nicholas Windsor, 11, and second relative of Princess Scarlett; and Norman Hellt, 5, son of his sister, Infanta Gemma. Although at first it was rumored that the groom would also be assisted by his great friend Louis William Tomlinson, one of the heads of the ballet that guests will attend this afternoon, the rumor has been fading and their relationship will be kept private.

In exactly one hour, at 10:02 am, Queen Anne and other members of the royal family will leave Buckingham Palace in eight horse-drawn carriages, accompanied by mounted troops of the royal cavalry, for a 20-minute journey through the crowd that will cheer them to the cathedral.

King Harry will depart in another procession eight minutes later in the gold-inlaid carriage used for ceremonial occasions. Pulled by four gray horses with their manes decorated in silver, it will also take the newlywed couple to Buckingham Palace, unless rainy weather forces them into a faster car, to avoid the cold.

Finally, the glass carriage that has taken all British royal brides to their weddings since its construction 70 years ago will take Lady Scarlett and her father, Philip Andrew, from Buckingham Palace to the abbey. After the procession to the cathedral, the bride and her father will climb the 24 imposing granite steps to Westminster's main door. It will be one of the most photogenic moments of the ceremony with the first full view of Scarlett's dress and train, until now hidden and secret.

update . ·10:30·

The bride's entrance to the cathedral is announced by a fanfare of trumpeters who will surround the "whispering gallery" around the interior of the dome, high above the small platform built for the ceremony in the center of the cathedral. Their families will sit on each side of the platform when the bride and groom present themselves before the Archbishop of Canterbury for the wedding service already famous for the couple's elimination of the bride's promise to "obey" when making their marriage vows.

The archbishop has said that the decision to abandon this vow was made very quickly during his conversation about the service with Charles and Diana and that he told them, the usual clerics' joke: "It's bad to start marriage with a lie." He told journalists that many couples now omit this vow which, according to him, was a vestige of the Middle Ages, when a wife promised "to be beautiful and plump in bed and at the table."

While the world watches on television and the crowds in the streets outside the cathedral listen to the loudspeakers broadcasting the service, the bride and groom become husband and wife when Harry places the Welsh Gold wedding ring on the fourth finger of her left hand, and declares: "With this ring I marry you; with my body I honor you; and all my worldly goods I share with you."

Chapter Text

WEDDING. LONDON. 10:41 AM. LOUIS.

"With this ring I marry you; with my body I honor you; and all my worldly goods I share with you."

Harry's voice pierces his insides, so suddenly it makes it hurt even more.

But even so he knew they would always have their souls.

The soul, which was something immaterial, indestructible and that lived forever. They loved each other with it, and not with the body as Harry pronounced to Scarlett.

Despite that, his heart hurt and his crystalline eyes turned to the floor during much of the ceremony, making him not realize how the curly-haired man's gaze followed him worried with constancy.

Harry's plan wasn't for Louis to be sad! He wanted the blue-eyed man to feel he was marrying him!

Something that didn't seem to work, because before the kiss and with the excuse that before eleven he had to present himself at the theater to finalize details, he left discreetly from the cathedral through the back door.

Anyway, as soon as it ended Harry would leave back to Buckingham, and who knows when they would meet.

WEDDING. LONDON. 11:25 AM. HARRY.

After the queen, dressed in a very light blue (that matched Harry's sash), and the rest of the royal family sat down, the attention in the cathedral focused on the curly-haired man's entrance.

His hands were still trembling when he entered the cathedral, and he dedicated to Louis a smile that sitting in the front rows he was able to greet him with his hand without crying. That was the only time he smiled, sincerely, while walking down the long red-carpeted aisle. Standing in his place under the cathedral's dome, he chatted and joked with Olav, Scarlett's brother and his sister Gemma's husband, who were his two companions; also, although delicately being unable to ignore the argument in the car, with his father, sitting nearby, more controlling the atmosphere as if he were a military man, than allowing himself to feel.

Then, it was strong applause from the crowd in the street and the fanfare of trumpets reverberating inside that announced Scarlett's arrival. Her fairytale wedding dress of white English silk, with a fitted bodice, full skirt and romantic ruffles around the neck and elbows could be seen in full detail when she came out of the glass carriage, with the 25-foot train behind her. The silk was new, the lace covering it was old, the diamond tiara holding the veil had been borrowed from her family and a bow sewn at the waist of her blue dress, fulfilling the conditions of the old English tradition later emulated in the United States. Another display of good luck was also sewn on the dress, a horseshoe studded with diamonds.

And other grooms would have cried, but Harry didn't feel even a tiny butterfly in his stomach.

His heart was racing and not because of the redhead, but because of how Louis's gaze was getting lost inward, in his thoughts. And he understood his love's anger, the annoyance, and especially the pain of the previous days.

And for a moment he only wanted to amend them, come down from the altar and...

"Princess Scarlett Andrew, of Belgium." Someone's voice presenting before him resonated in his ears, breaking his thoughts.

When the girl arrived at Harry's side at the foot of the platform where the ceremony was going to take place, they exchanged words of reassurance.

"Calm down." And she tried, in a kind of approach, to caress the back of Harry's hand, although he withdrew it instantly without being very careless.

During the rest of the service, they frequently looked at each other, smiled and talked. But both nervously stumbled over parts of their vows: ones that instead of being made looking at each other's faces, by Harry's decision were made observing the audience - observing Louis -; it may be that, due to the impressive number of people, or due to little preparation Scarlett skipped Harry's middle name (Edward) and he seemed to forget the earthly part of his promise to share all his material resources with her.

Because in his heart the curly-haired man knew those material goods should be Louis's, his true love's. Although it didn't matter deep down, because material things can be extinguished quickly; but he preferred not to pronounce it.

"Here is the stuff of which fairy tales are made: the king and queen on their wedding day." The Archbishop of Canterbury declared, at the beginning of his sermon, capturing the mood of the moment. Making Harry again divert his gaze from Louis's restless look. "Those who are married live happily ever after the wedding day if they persevere in the real adventure, which is the royal task of creating each other and creating a more loving world. This must be especially true in the case of this marriage, on which many hopes are placed."

After these words were said, the couple followed the archbishop to the high altar at the back of the cathedral to pray, while Scarlett's pompous dress swayed and she watched her pronounced neckline, and Harry dedicated a direct but discreet look to Louis without focusing on the imperfections of the red carpet that almost made him trip.

"I ask that the king and queen of England be given the courage to face the responsibilities of their life of service to this kingdom; and when, as all people must face times of difficulty and trials, give them the wisdom and strength to emerge victoriously." The archbishop read, and shortly after the choral group sang the hymn chosen for the wedding, Land of Hope and Glory for two minutes, which seemed eternal to Harry and Scarlett enjoyed with the excitement of a little girl because she loved the song, and then leaving the curly-haired man in the background, she could speak.

"I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above, entire, entire and perfect, in the service of my love."

Harry remembered while speaking, that early that same day, the redhead's father had told journalists that his family, which for generations had been wealthy, with titles and closely associated with Britain's rulers, had a very good relationship with the Styles, and he had thought he was a liar because they only dealt with his parents and almost never with him. "Throughout the centuries it has fought for king and country." He had said proudly with a smile from ear to ear, and continued: "Scarlett will promise to help her country for the rest of her life. She will follow the tradition of her ancestors and will love his majesty better and more than anyone."

And he prayed Louis would never hear that radio interview.

Although when he launched to look at him again, before the kiss desired by everyone except the two men, the blue-eyed man no longer occupied his seat.

"I'll leave before the hymn, and before you kiss." He had warned him one of the past nights.

So, he also missed how the aura of patriotism and national renewal that had surrounded the wedding and its anticipation in recent days, reached its strongest point during the ceremony with the especially enthusiastic singing of the national anthem, "God Save the Queen," while Queen Anne stood up from her seat, witnessing with a smile between her lips, as soon as the hymn ended, a clash between Harry and Scarlett's lips.

He felt nothing - nothing nice, because yes pain and disgust in his fair measure -. And to her it seemed like too little.

Because it was a minimal touch holding hands, without saliva or connection, barely five seconds.

Although it wasn't the time that mattered because two seconds like his first kiss with Louis, had been enough for a storm to occur in his stomach.

Outside the cathedral, while the curly-haired man blushed from memories of his other kisses and silently celebrated among smiles that what followed that was seeing Louis again, the fervor only grew when together with Scarlett who was already wearing the veil removed from her face, they emerged arm in arm from Westminster to return to the palace in an open carriage. They, and the queen who followed them in another open carriage with his father and those of the now new queen of England, were applauded more vigorously than ever along the route.

Emotions and noise level increased even more when large crowds that filled the center and royal parks in front of Buckingham Palace responded to the ritual appearances of the bride and groom, the young bridesmaids and attendants, and their families on the castle's balcony. The pleas chanted by the crowd caused additional appearances of King Norman and Queen Anne, who will turn 54 next year, the first in March and the last in August, followed again by Harry and Scarlett, who caused a stir when they didn't kiss a second time, creating an interstellar space between them.

Because once on the balcony they weren't holding arms, there were no caresses or looks. Harry had promised his boy he would only do what was strict and necessary, and he complied strictly.

While they prepared for lunch, changing clothes each in their room, and Harry's heart accelerated more and more to see and touch Louis in a suit that fit him like a glove, or so he had observed from afar; the crowds continued surrounding the palace and lined up more solidly on the streets of the royal couple's afternoon procession route, which would arrive directly at the Royal Academy where they would enjoy Sleeping Beauty.

BALLET. LONDON. 1:15 PM. LOUIS.

What Was He Made For?

The curtain was already set, and behind it hid the subtle set they had created for that afternoon.

Until then that large red cloth would cover it entirely; because it was a secret that would be revealed in its moment. It would be free and his dancers would demonstrate to the audience how Aurora revived and was freed.

Would he be someday? He wondered as he left the stage behind and locked the doors after turning off the lights.

Had he been made to live hidden?

To love Harry in silence?

What had he been created for besides creating and capturing what he felt in dance? Could he at some point show it openly?

The Royal had faced on various occasions, more than ten, new ballets, blank pages and unforeseen events that Zayn already counted on.

The public crowded at the theater doors, both to see the arrival of the king and queen and other guests, and to be able to hear the London symphony orchestra from outside, and Louis was anxious.

Obviously, each one had their way of handling nerves; Niall seemed like coffee calmed him instead of altering and waking him up, Zayn shouted more than ever and set aside his calm personality, and Louis stretched and warmed up as much as possible in case at some point one of his dance corps forgot something and he had to intervene helping.

All this, while smoking in his dressing room.

Where Harry found him.

"Hey, you can't see the groom before the wedding! Not the choreographer before the performance either!"

Harry seemed stunned, he was only in the doorframe when Louis shouted at him.

"Oh." He worried. He had attended very few times a ballet where he knew someone.

"I'm joking, darling. Of course you can come in."

Closing the door, Harry was grateful to get rid of curious eyes that had followed him almost trembling at his presence throughout the hallway.

"We start in fifteen minutes so..."

"I didn't want to bother, I just-"

And he cut his sentence instead of wasting more time, thus launching straight to his lips that stood out with a delicate shine that one of the girls in the cast must have put on him.

"Very shiny your mouth, by the way."

Louis smiled, giving way to Harry's next question.

"Are you free tonight?"

"I have a party, with the dancers and the orchestra; you know, this is a big event, not every day the court presents itself here, your majesty."

Harry snorted, as if he wanted to pinch his mouth to shut him up and stop teasing. But after giving him a small peck leaving a bite on his lip and getting up to return to his dressing room, another soft knock was heard at the door.

Harry opened it. Benjamin was stretched out in front of the door, with the same suit and tie he had worn to the wedding, and with an expression of surprise on his face finding the curly-haired man there.

"Oh, excuse me, am I interrupting something?" He exclaimed in passing; but Harry distrusting more than anything, was sure the man knew he was there. "I came to congratulate Louis, wish him luck before the show."

Harry took the flowers Benjamin brought to decorate the dressing room, but that would end up in the trash as soon as he turned around, and Louis thanked him with an admiration the curly-haired man had never seen in him.

"Thank you so much, sir."

"Oh, Louis please, sir? I already told you that in private you'll call me Benjamin."

Louis responded laughing, and invited him for a quick drink. On the other hand, the older one refused and took a quick look at the dressing room, repeating how much he missed performing at London's theater; while Harry watched them from the corner.

Benjamin seemed completely happy for that day, for being living together the three of them at that moment in that closed room. As if he could feel the anguish Harry felt in his throat.

A Harry who didn't take his eyes off him for a second. Or at least, until Zayn burst into the room, just when over the megaphone they announced what the dark-haired man was proclaiming: "May the dancers and teachers take their places in less than two minutes, please." Louis needed to lock the door, and give Harry one last kiss.

"He better leave. He won't want to miss the beginning, will he?"

And Benjamin left the dressing room, caressing Harry's arm as he left causing him a gag he could hide, and whispering a "see you later, little one" that only he could hear; because Zayn was busy helping Louis put on his shoes.

As soon as he left, Zayn also reached the door, and instead, Harry turned around, bent down and kissed me.

"It's your moment, everything's going to be great, enjoy it."

Upon leaving, together with Zayn, he also dedicated a smile to him.

"Good luck to you too, Mr. Malik."

And among princes, princesses and evil beings, who chatted and warmed up behind the stage, he disappeared to his seat in the royal box, where Scarlett was waiting for him and received him, strangely, with a sincere smile; while Louis got lost and wished luck fist-bumping with several of his dancers.

Unable to believe he had created much of that.

That day's audience was quieter, if compared to other opening audiences. Clearly, they expected it; they were politicians and celebrities who weren't going to lose their composure, just like that, although deep down the three hoped they would, because the room was packed. The dancers, with equal desire to perform as nerves, talked about all the famous names among the crowd; but Louis only cared about Harry.

The lights went out. The orchestra began to play in the theater pit and Zayn wore a headset through which he indicated to the dancers the exact moment they went on stage.

Louis stopped beside him, and walked with him, while placing all the dancers in their positions. The first scene was the celebration of Princess Aurora's birth, with the kings receiving gifts from the people and giving way to the most important scene of the prologue: the fairies' appearance.

In a corner, while Louis indicated the exit to those who alternated their roles on stage, he saw Harry and got emotional, because, although due to the darkness and distance he couldn't see his face, he knew he was already crying.

He had tried to replicate on stage everything the curly-haired man told him: pompous dresses full of pearls and ornaments, measured movements, and also a sober background but that at the same time transmitted something.

Just when the fairies came out on stage, to do their corresponding pas de deux and also show off separately, Louis grabbed the pamphlet that had been given to all the guests so they would have context before seeing the work, in which the fairies were also defined:

The first gave her the gift of purity, so she could be herself and grow honest and carrying truth as her banner.

The second and third gave her vitality, the energy to live, to demonstrate dynamism in the face of adversity.

The fourth and fifth granted her generosity, so she could see everything she could give to her kingdom without being asked; and also eloquence so she could speak fluently, properly and effectively to convince whoever listened to her.

Finally, the sixth gave her energy and wisdom, to become both strong and intelligent.

He then thought that Harry was also a king. Had they also given him those characteristics at some point?

He smiled, remembering he would have to ask him when it ended. As a joke, obviously.

Suddenly, searching in the trunk of things he had to talk to Harry about, he remembered what he had told him at The Hill Garden: about how he had already saved him once.

Like the prince to Aurora?

"Louis! Quick, Lana comes out in three and one of the dress ornaments fell off, come help."

Iana was a Russian dancer who, due to her height, played Carabosse - the evil fairy -, had already performed Tchaikovsky ballets several times, so she knew how to capture the essence of his compositions in whatever way on stage.

In less than two minutes, just so time wouldn't squeeze them, the black skirt with train was placed back in its place and somewhat more gathered so the Russian girl wouldn't step on it when jumping.

After that, after the prologue, everything went well. Everything fit in its place, ballet was an art of order and that afternoon evening everything seemed to be where it should be. Each dancer was in himself, having a good time and enjoying what they did; as if it were one more rehearsal. Aurora's entrance, the purple fairy and the prince were the most acclaimed; and Carabosse's the one that generated the most silence and uncertainty. Louis's favorite scene, and the one he enjoyed closest to the curtain that night, was when Aurora grabbed the needle and fell fainted, but not before showing off in a solo in which the people looked at her, but no one did anything.

He also remembered that Harry had told him it was his second favorite, but hadn't explained why. And when he had asked him, he had silenced him with a bitter kiss.

At the end of the first act when the fairies dance delicately and protect the princess in the castle surrounded by brambles, and canceling the curse, but in a hundred years, if the princess finds true love.

Then they left, and the curtain was drawn, giving way to an orchestra interlude and opening again to show one of the forest clearings, in which, with his companions, Prince Désiré appears, who is discouraged about marrying someone he doesn't love. They try to cheer him up with various dances that from afar achieve their purpose, but that go in rhythm and produced in the audience a visual joy. It's when he's alone, the moment when the bright red and orange changed to a cool green and blue that indicates danger in the enchanted forest, in addition to thus symbolizing his unhappiness.

The Lilac Fairy returned in the second act demonstrating wonderful technique. Dancing with slow movements that let each pose be seen for a few seconds. A thousand fairies then appeared, guiding the prince to Aurora. But once she made her presence, without moving and lying on a bed that had cost them millions of hours to perfect so it would be comfortable and inclined, so the audience could see the princess; some dancers also presented themselves who dressed in black symbolized evil fairies, Carabosse's vassals, who seconds after her servants stopped Prince Désiré, appeared in an unbridled way and radiating strength. And thus faced in a fight against the young man.

The prince gave long effortless strides across the stage, so fast and smooth his feet seemed to float on the floor. He spun around Carabosse, one, two and up to ten times. While the purple fairy watched from the corner to make her new appearance and protect him, the shadows and Carabosse seeing her left while the fairy gave turn after turn, as if instead of synchronizing with the music, it was the melody that was depending on her: like the whole work. Despite the shadows' disappearance, the atmosphere remained black and the rhythm in the music increased even more.

Harry knew what was coming, and Louis that it was his favorite scene. So he tried to glimpse his face from afar, but no matter how much he squinted he didn't succeed, a tear quickly slid down his cheek: for what he had achieved and for the strange connection with Harry's feelings. He knew he was crying.

Suddenly the music sounded more hopeful, the set revealed the brambles hanging from the ceiling, lowering a bit, and finally it happened.

The prince kissed the princess making her wake up, and inviting her to a delicate Pas de Deux in which they ended up together forever.

And while Harry thought it was the end and stood up to applaud when the curtain closed; Louis had been lost since the kiss.

BALLET. LONDON. 2:47 PM. HARRY.

Harry had never seen Louis dance.

Not in Ireland, not in the Royal studios, not at his house, not at the palace, not on the beach.

And suddenly, when he was already standing to applaud the end of the work, a hopeful music began to play, and he was simply there.

He couldn't even focus his vision well at first because of the tears. He was standing and sat down from the shock.

Louis, still stopped on stage, held his breath and put a hand on his heart.

He had majestic wings, they were attached to his dark blue shirt with transparencies and golden touches through straps, which were held up by his pants. The feathers were straight and long, they exceeded his head and it seemed that at some point he was really going to fly away with the purple fairy, who accompanied him. When he extended his arms, they separated, and when he brought them together they were placed back perfectly on his back.

All the company's dancers had crowded in the corners without being seen on stage to see him, and very few of them seemed to know that ending in the work. Some were crying, others with smiles for the beauty Louis always transmitted when dancing. Niall had stopped supervising the orchestra to hug Zayn just below the stage and let him rest his head on his shoulder, out of pride.

And Harry remained petrified in his seat, even when Louis flew, and when falling to the ground after the jump performed several fouettés - pirouettes - on himself.

The same ones he had seen at Benjamin's apartment a long time ago.

But contrary to what he thought, because of the shock he felt he didn't shed a single tear.

He had already suffered too much that day.

As if to remind him, that anguish and pain, the music increased again and the purple fairy disappeared.

And Louis seemed to go crazy with himself, jumping, bending and rolling on the floor.

He ended up stopping, right in the middle of the stage, and stopping the music in turn.

Not only had Aurora revived from Carabosse's curse, but also the court's inhabitants, the animals and the birds.

Even Louis, like a blue bird, who actually only wanted to fly toward Harry.

And the theater became a mess of applause, cheers and shouts. But Harry tried to shout and couldn't, as if Louis had stolen his voice and kept it in his wings. And was going to fly away with it.

Even so, he knew he would always remember them that way, even when the sun hid and the music stopped playing.

Because he loved Louis, even without being able to shout. Although he could only cry and applaud standing from his seat once all the dance corps came out and bowed before the audience.

He was clear that afternoon he would break his heart in two to save a part of Louis. If with that he could be with him forever.

BALLET. LONDON. 3:07 PM. LOUIS.

The public's warmth vanished as soon as they left their seats, and Louis immediately found himself alone on stage, because the dancers were also beginning to leave for the party.

But he was still tied there, with his blue wings and his legs hanging.

Also, as if they were connected, Harry knew he was there.

"Lou." With a broken voice he burst in without the dancer expecting it. Harry still had tears in his eyes and they seemed to sting, but Louis remained exhausted, trying to calm his breathing.

Seeing him like that he could only throw himself to hug him, as if the dance had taken everything good in him leaving him tired, the hug relaxed him and he could feel again.

He looked like a fallen angel, instead of a discouraged bird.

As if sorrow didn't revive what time had destroyed, and he only wanted to cry and break his wings, he separated from Harry still with tears.

"I was dancing, and suddenly I didn't feel like a bird... but l-like an angel. I've thought about the love I have to give you, about so many dreams to fulfill with you, forgetting what we once were that..." And with his voice trembling, he sobbed again.

"Don't cry, Lou. We'll be together forever, you know. Don't punish yourself, don't blame yourself... enjoy what you've done, darling. You've been wonderful, you're perfect, I'm so proud of you."

And making sure there was no one else in the orchestra seats or around them, he left several pecks on his mouth, showing him he loved him and being able to taste again that sweet flavor the lip gloss left him.

"Harry." he called him, stopping his kisses. "Dance with me. Dance the solo of the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Prince."

"Only if you answer me why you decided to be the bluebird, and not Désiré. You could have stood out! There were millions of ballet critics in the audience who would have praised you!"

"I didn't have my princess! It wouldn't have made sense if it wasn't you I was waking up!"

And the curly-haired man threw himself at his lips again, because if not he would cry.

Finally, dancing, without music and with the same connection they had always had.

Louis was the prince, remaining in the background and visually breaking because of his wings. Harry was the fairy, full of fears embodied in his eyes.

It was his first time dancing after years! And tears began to sprout and run down his cheeks in the first pirouette, feeling Louis's hand on his back. The vertigo was still there, demonstrating that with love sometimes it wasn't enough, but it did make him forget.

Suddenly they seemed to be children again, who were back in their bedroom, crazy about each other, turning and jumping, spending the best moment of their lives.

Having hearts full of illusions with each other. Feeling love between their chests and wings and unable to forget the traces they had left on each other.

Melting after long five minutes in a hug instead of a kiss. Skin with skin.

Always being for each other, while Harry caressed his wings, Louis combed his curls.

****

The Sleeping Beauty - Full Length Ballet by Staatsballett Berlin - Deutsche Oper Berlin

(The minutes of the play described in the novel are respectively: the first scene of the kings' ball at 1:29; Louis's favorite scene where Aurora faints at 45:00; the fairies dance and protect the castle at 50:00, then the orchestral interlude and the prince saves Aurora at 1:29:30, and Louis's supposed performance does not appear in the video, but I can imagine it when this track plays: https://open.spotify.com/intl-es/track/6zC3ZBAzXkyRKUVp3QlWo4?si=4bb0984232414b39, which although it is a dance for four, I think it is beautiful performed by one and it sounds hopeful (the light that Louis wants to transmit to Harry)

Chapter Text

HARRY. PRESENT. October 8th. 8:38 PM

The moment on stage vanished much sooner than he wanted. Immediately, someone he didn't recognize entered calling him indicating his car was at the door and Scarlett was also waiting for him, somewhat tired.

He separated from Louis's body and said goodbye with a weak kiss on his cheek that seemed like too little; and like at all palace parties, now he was set apart in one of the corners, too exhausted to talk to anyone.

He had between his lips his second glass of a sex on the beach, because he had given Zayn the vodka dew, which had seemed too acidic to him. Although two hours had passed, people were already drunk.

"Darling, let's dance, come on." Scarlett reached him dodging the people on the dance floor, and grabbed his arm while Harry refused and was disgusted by the nickname that had come from her mouth.

She tried to kiss him, and he then blamed the alcohol because he didn't feel like arguing.

He needed to get out of there. As soon as possible. He thought.

He wanted to let them dance and flee himself. Leave with Louis.

He didn't want to go to his wedding night, he didn't want to endure the redhead wanting to sleep with him in Sandringham, in Clarence House, or wherever they were going.

And apparently heaven heard him, because just when Scarlett disappeared, someone brushed his back.

"Harry?" A blonde woman asked, with red lipstick and a dress that seemed made with diamonds. "I'm Taylor, pleased to meet you."

And ignoring Harry's shock she launched to give him two kisses on the cheeks, leaving some red lipstick on them.

"Y-you..." His voice trembled, he was paralyzed to see her there. "Louis's friend? The one from Ireland?"

"Of course, who else? As if that jerk had thousands of friends." She laughed and made fun of Louis, as if she had had more than one drink and it was something common. "Well, the thing is I have to take you somewhere."

"Uh, I... I don't think I can leave, you know? I have to go tonight to Sandringham with Scarlett for- to spend three days there and-" He said not very convinced, before Taylor cut him off somewhat irritated.

"But let's see, do you want to go? No right?, well that's it. Decided."

"Let's see, but go where."

"Mhm, you'll find out." She stammered, it was the only time she did. "Tell Scarlett and let's go, Niall is waiting for us outside with the car and you should see the traffic."

"O-okay, alright." He stammered, drinking the glass in one gulp and

He looked for her among the public, leaving Taylor in the same place where they had met and promising he would return there when he finished.

"Finally you agree to dance with me! What embarrassment, I was already thinking my husband wouldn't..."

"Scarlett, listen to me a moment, please."

The champagne left him dazed, but unlike the redhead, he could speak with quality.

"I'm leaving, I won't go to Sandringham, tell whoever you have to tell, but I can't go." He announced her, instantly generating her face to turn as red as her hair.

"What! You bastard! Think that you and I..." And almost shouting while the curly-haired man walked away, he heard thousands of insults from a drunk Scarlett who, although she didn't know what she was saying, would remember perfectly the moment when she chose someone who didn't love her and insisted on marrying.

LOUIS. PRESENT. October 8th. 9:05 PM

Louis had his head resting on the pillow, but his eyes were wide open, and between his lips curved a smile when he heard a vehicle brake at his door. He looked out the window and saw Harry - wrapped in his large black raincoat, the same one he had shown up there with on the day of the argument, and also of their first kiss - getting out of the car and greeting Niall, who left quickly. He brought a flower in his hand. He rang the doorbell minutes later, and Louis opened for him making sure everything was prepared so he wouldn't have to organize anything else that night.

Standing, frozen in the middle of the hallway, Harry observed warm lights flickering in the gap of the bathroom door. When he tilted his head to see the interior of Louis's extensive apartment, what was left of his broken heart and the lump in his throat that had lasted throughout the long day recomposed itself.

For hours with so much fear of hurting him, and in the end it had been himself who with so much fear had been hurt.

The flickering came from the candles and candelabras that decorated the interior of a bathroom not yet visible to his eyes and its entrance, giving the atmosphere a warm dim light that meant home.

There were two glasses of wine on the small living room table, along with some desserts even knowing they had stuffed themselves at lunch.

He jumped when Louis suddenly cleared his throat, clearing his throat before speaking. The veins and tendons on the back of his hand were tense where he held the door, invaded by nerves. He wasn't even looking at Harry, his cheeks were flushed and in his head he repeated over and over that this must go well, Harry must like it; he's had a horrible day and if this makes him feel worse...

"Lou?"

"Oh, oh."

"Can I come in?"

"Of course, sure." He nodded repeatedly.

Already with his feet inside and the door closed, he didn't forget to launch at his lips to break the sudden discomfort, and stuck to his mouth like a limpet, willing not to leave any corner unexplored that night. His body, which pressed Louis's more and more strongly against the door, began to react as it never had before with any other man. Undoubtedly, he already had several previous experiences of sexual arousal caused by Louis, both in his adolescence and at that moment, but it had never happened to him so passionately and directly, so, he was determined not to let it pass that night. But it didn't last long.

"I... prepared a bath. As you said you liked, I-" Between sighs and gasps, Louis had a clear plan in his head.

Harry had never undressed with anyone ever. And although trust was abundant with Louis, fear remained in his throat, and he seemed to notice it on his face.

"We don't have to do it, I wanted it to be as cozy and beautiful as possible, but we can sleep, watch a movie or shower separately."

Harry tilted his head in a quick movement. He wanted to, his heart desired it.

"No, let's go. Let's go, the water will get cold."

The bathroom seemed a reflection of Louis's sobriety and elegance, cream colored and soft: with foam decorated with some beige-colored petals from the flowers in the living room vase and with water overflowing, that would spill out when they got in.

"Can you not look? Sorry, I'm-"

"Of course, of course." Without letting the curly-haired man finish, he lowered his gaze to the floor and turned his back. It was already a giant step to reach such a point of intimacy as bathing together. And if Harry didn't want more, he had to respect it.

When he lifted his gaze from the floor, Harry's clothes were on the floor and he was on the side of the bathtub facing the door; with water on the floor that had wet the rugs and with his eyes closed, waiting for Louis and smelling the aromatic candles that gave a dim and warm light to the room.

"I love the smell of vanilla, it's so you, Lou."

He remained with his eyes closed, and opened them once the dancer was already in the water and stayed observing the part of the torso he could see.

Truly, they had already seen each other's semi-naked bodies in the sea, weeks ago, but at that moment, in the bathroom camouflaged among the foam and shadows, Harry seemed like someone different to Louis. The darkness of the room had made his limbs seem softer and his flesh flexible like the fine unbuttoned silk shirts he wore.

It helped, one way or another, the music from the record player that came from the living room, because, although there were no words, there weren't silences either because of the background melody.

There was no shyness between them, only desire and a longing that couldn't stay on the sidelines. He wanted to touch each other. When Louis extended his hand to caress his cheekbone, Harry gave him a sharp look, and his breathing accelerated from one moment to another.

As if that connection had been broken, Louis could no longer know what the curly-haired man was thinking with nothing more than looking at him.

Perhaps for that reason, he began to play around shamelessly. Throwing his head back leaving his contracted neck in view, humming the song that was playing and wetting his lips from time to time.

"Do you want me to wash your hair?"

That forced Harry to turn around, and sit between Louis's legs. Although he accepted delightedly and didn't seem to complain when he started massaging his head with his coconut shampoo.

Harry tried not to smile, but Louis finally could see his lopsided smile and he completely rested his back on his chest, thus receiving a weak shoulder massage, and as a response a couple of moans or deep breaths that seemed to embarrass the curly-haired man.

Although like everything, he thought, he fucked it up too soon. Just at the moment when he lowered his hand through his abdomen and caressed his thighs, causing in Harry a reaction contrary to what he was looking for, that he would move away.

"Sorry, I don't know what I was thinking."

"Calm down, it's my thing, I've never been like this with anyone and..."

Turning around and unintentionally, he sat straddling Louis, stopping his words because of the water noise and seeing how their waists were hidden by the amount of foam that reached almost to their shoulders.

Heat rose through the curly-haired man's body quickly, almost as it had through Louis's, and he realized his member no longer just touched the water but also made contact with the blue-eyed man's.

A Louis who, while Harry thought about whether that was right or wrong, started grinding against him while putting his tongue inside his mouth and making him forget his internal debates.

"You're a work of art." And Louis looked at him with the greatest admiration he could, but didn't avoid making Harry stumble with his insecurities.

What if he did it wrong? If he got overwhelmed? He couldn't have control over Louis in such a small space, he needed to be able to observe all the actions that occurred and...

"Uh, I'm getting sleepy from the heat in here." He laughed, resting his forehead against Louis's shoulder. "I'm going to rinse my hair and get out. Is there something to eat?"

Louis only nodded his head, still with flushed cheeks and reddish chest, not knowing if it was from embarrassment, from the heat of the water or from how Harry had writhed on him. Ignoring the arousal their bodies radiated.

"Alright, I can get out first, so I'll bring you some clothes."

With shorts and a tank top, which fit Louis just right and squeezed Harry; the curly-haired man overcame, forgetting it, the bathtub event, and with his hair almost dry he was sitting at Louis's wide kitchen table, waiting for him to sit beside him to start the small chocolate cake he had bought on the corner.

"I have another gift, so you remember this day as a happy one instead of... as if..." He was left speechless because he didn't want to describe feelings that weren't his.

"As if a martyrdom were starting. Uh-huh." His gaze had become dark, and although Louis had associated it with the fall of deep night, the reality was that Benjamin's wounds had started hurting again.

It was as if on his back the scratches had revived, the blows on his cheeks... At least he was grateful for not having crossed paths with the older man that day, both had been more in demand than they thought.

Suddenly he only wanted something to make him forget. And Louis seemed to understand it, because he always understood.

Except that since he didn't know the whole story, he made a monumental mistake.

"Sometimes I regret so much the time we lost in Ireland..." He sighed, looking into Harry's green eyes. "I also owe you an apology Harold, I was stupid for not listening to you. For not understanding at the moment your reasons for lying, for hiding."

"Lou, I-" In less than a second he started crying. He loved Louis, but not remembering his time at the ballet campus. No matter how much it had been part of his story. "I'd appreciate leaving Ireland behind I'm sorry, it makes me get emotional." He cried, with broken breath.

"Oh love, I didn't want... Sorry, forgive me." And again he caressed his cheeks cleaning his tears, causing him a weak smile. "Forgotten, I swear."

After a silence, in which he watched Harry dry his face with a napkin and smile again, he put his hand in his pocket.

"I love you." He said after removing the paper from his face. "Never ever leave me, even if I do something wrong."

And when Louis responded that he never would, like on the beach, they felt they were returning to the same point as always: a promise they couldn't keep.

Nothing bound them in life. No matter how united their souls were. Harry thought, although he didn't say it.

At that moment he felt that connection again, Louis seemed to have anticipated the thought.

"So, the surprise was... since we can't get married, and-I wanted... " Nerves took over his voice, creating a silence and making him have to order his thoughts. "I wanted to tell you that I would marry you, even with paper rings, Harry."

And the curly-haired man cried again, that time with joy, when Louis put on his bare ring finger the custom-made paper in the shape of a heart.

"Marriage is nothing more than a promise, darling. And you've only promised your body so... I can still corrupt your soul."

"You're shameless Tomlinson, you haven't even asked me to officially be your boyfriend... and now you-" But he couldn't count, because tears obstructed his words again.

"We've wasted too much time to go with formalities, haven't we?"

"But all this time..."

"We've been destined, whatever bird it was, wherever it would fly, it would always do it toward you; whoever you were, and whatever way it is."

When the curly-haired man didn't respond, Louis seemed to know instantly what he was thinking. What was the point, if they couldn't shout it to the world. Besides that it wasn't legal to get married twice in one day, and that was more than informal.

"And of course you can get married twice on the same day, if that's what worries you. Fuck the parish rules."

"But you haven't even asked me. Do you think that's also wasting time? Let's get married right now, but do it right, please."

Louis took a breath and stood up, taking the paper ring from Harry's hand, who was suddenly surprised by the importance of the moment and the dancer's seriousness. He didn't think he was going to take it seriously.

"Harry Edward Styles, will you marry me tonight?" He asked, kneeling on the floor and positioning himself next to the curly-haired man's chair.

And all the seriousness they had generated, like a bubble around them, broke when the little one started laughing, and nodding through tears with his head, kissed him over and over trying to place his paper ring on his ring finger.

"I love you, of course I want to, Lou."

Surprisingly, after two glasses of gin, they were still each silently organizing their vows. Because they didn't want to forget anything, although Harry knew from the first moment he could have said it without thinking, his heart told him what he felt for Louis. They had reached the agreement that they didn't need anyone's approval, no witnesses, nothing of what they had seen that morning at the abbey.

They finished almost simultaneously capturing them on a small paper, and then they held hands on the table.

"I think you should start, you were the one who kissed me first, on the balcony." And he smiled at him.

"Alright. I can do it."

He took a breath. He looked at Harry, who had shed all the darkness. A Harry he had always loved, who had been there for him and to whom he had promised eternal love. And surprisingly he had never seen him so beautiful.

"Harry, I've been in love with you since 1936, since you asked me if I was okay and for the first time I felt someone external to my family cared about me sincerely. I always knew we would see each other again, that between us there was a different connection and although at times I doubted it, I've always been clear about one thing, all this time. That I've never stopped loving you, nor will I stop doing so, even if I die someday. Because I love, want and desire you with my soul; and it never dies. If it weren't you, whoever you were, I would have found you somewhere and I would have always fallen in love with you, Harry Styles, in any world we would have been made for each other; and for luck or misfortune we have to live in this one, but whatever way it is, I will never stop loving you."

Harry was smiling so much it seemed he was going to cry. But he didn't, and maintained composure when starting his. Although not before closing his eyes to process the words the dancer had said to him.

He would never stop loving him. Whatever happened.

"Perhaps in another era, in another year or even in another world, all the people, that I love and that I don't, could know that I love you. That I love Louis Tomlinson. This light, this devouring fire; this gray landscape surrounding me; this pain for a single idea; this anguish of sky, world and hour; this blood cry that decorates; this weight of the sea that hits me; everything is a love garland, where without sleep, I dream your presence among the ruins of my sunken chest. And although I seek the summit of prudence, your heart gives me a free path. Free path to love you, and to free myself from thoughts myself. Because I won't have many things clear about myself, but if I have something it's that I love you, and if I have to apologize to someone it's always to you, for chaining you to the unipersonal destiny that, to me, and only to me, I have to live. Perhaps for that reason, I knew from the first moment I loved you, because I hoped to protect you and I had never desired it so much with anyone. And I want to keep doing it, I want to keep protecting you, desiring you, and above all loving you and discovering you. I want to live chained to my worldly chains, but also, to your soul forever, Louis."

And the older one had to hold his breath, releasing the air seconds later unable to avoid a tear sprouting from him.

"Harry, do you accept me, Louis, as husband? And thus promise to be faithful to me in joys and sorrows, in health and sickness, and, to love and respect me all the days of your life?"

He smiled somewhat blushed.

"Yes, I do." He took a long breath, which also served to look Louis in the eyes and squeeze his hand harder. "And you, Louis, do you accept me as husband? In health, in sickness and loving me faithfully throughout our life?"

"Yes, I do. And I thus give you this ring as a symbol of my eternal love." He suddenly stopped. "Repeat it."

"Thus I give you this ring as a symbol of eternal love. With this ring I marry you." He remembered from that morning, and Louis limited himself to repeating it.

They introduced at the same time, the ring on their fingers reciprocally. Louis to Harry and Harry to Louis; carefully not to tear the paper or deform the heart.

"Can I kiss the groom, then?"

And Louis nodded, joining the curly-haired man's lips with his while placing a hand on his cheek and caressing it with his ring finger, the one with the ring.

They had moved from the table to the sofa, and from the sofa to the bed. In a matter of half an hour.

Already lying down, fear quickly took over Harry while he felt he was controlling the situation. Why simply, suddenly, didn't he feel like himself?

"Damn twenty-five; you're twenty-five, not sixteen years old, Harry." He muttered to himself in the mirror. "You can control the situation, you're strong. And Louis trusts you."

Having said that, he left the bathroom quickly, still in shorts and trying to gain self-confidence he couldn't find.

Louis curved his lips in a smile seeing him come out, getting up from the corner of the bed and getting a little closer to Harry's body.

Louis had reached in giant steps to be close to him. Very close.

He lowered his gaze to Harry's lips and raised them again to look at him back.

"I've been waiting for this for years, love." Louis whispered, too sincere because of the alcohol that luckily didn't make them lose their senses or consciousness yet.

Harry was going to laugh because of nervousness when the older one's lips placed on top of his. Changing the laughter for a gasp against Louis's corners.

He passed his arms around Louis's neck, who with his free hand caused Harry millions of chills on his bare back.

He wasn't surprised, until Harry was sitting on his lap and started moving his hips on him, similarly to in the bathtub, but this time grabbing Louis's hands and not allowing his gasps to take over him.

"I was definitely waiting for it too."

As if everything were controlled, already thought out. Something already lived, or imagined.

"Kiss me." Harry demanded with a hoarse voice. And Louis complied, sitting up and leaning on the headboard. His hands caressed the curly-haired man's thighs until reaching the edge of his pants; and suddenly stopped on purpose.

In Harry's eyes, Louis perceived certain hesitation, as if he feared hurting him, but the curly-haired man trapped his arms above his head immediately and stuck his lips again to his husband's. Little by little, taking advantage that his hands were free, and the blue-eyed man had quickly understood he shouldn't touch Harry, he was lowering his underwear, and began to run with his fingers Louis's sides, his pectorals and his abdomen, generating tickles with the small hairs that adorned his chest. It wasn't the first time he touched Louis, far from it, he had caressed no more no less great part of his skin in the northern seas on the island of Portland weeks ago, but he had never stopped to analyze him from the sexual point of view.

Unlike Louis, who had allowed himself to imagine without fear or shame that he would discover him several times before.

"Do I stop?" He pronounced unintentionally when he wanted to slide Louis's underwear down and thought perhaps it made him uncomfortable that he was wearing pants when Louis was already naked.

He received a moan as a response, and as if all his senses lit up at once, a lustful smile was drawn on his face while his hips started grinding against Louis's thighs.

"I want to taste you, I need to taste you."

"To remember you on my lips forever" Louis failed to say between gasps, while Harry was in charge of kissing his chest. He had learned quickly that that night it would be the curly-haired man who would dominate the terrain, but he couldn't stand anymore with his arms above his head without being able to touch, without being able to feel him.

The curly-haired man laid Louis under him with agility while kissing his chest, ignoring his pleas and raising his lips again once he reached his navel. He brought his hands to Louis's pants that were already halfway between his thighs and knees, but suddenly it seemed like too much effort to have to undress him.

"You take them off. Off." He indicated to his pants.

And Louis somewhat confused, with Harry momentarily getting up from his legs, threw them to some remote place in the room, and then the curly-haired man repeated the same with his.

"I always thought you were more into being dominated than..."

Harry opened his mouth and threw his neck back from the friction of Louis's penis against his over the boxers.

"You were wrong." And he allowed Louis to rest his head completely on the pillow, kissing him while following the movements moving against him. "Fuck me, but I'll be on top."

Louis bit, as an affirmative response - because he also didn't see another viable option - Harry's lower lip, who laid him back down and directed his hand until reaching his crotch, caressing it from above.

Harry separated from his lips, raising his head and with accelerated breathing when Louis put his hand inside his underwear, to seek to enter Harry first.

"Oh, that's wrong, sweetheart. Really wrong. Who said you could touch?"

He didn't know why, but a "sorry" came from between Louis's lips. Harry imposed in bed and on him, much more than in any position.

"I didn't hear you, can you repeat it?" He mocked with a small smile. Of course he had heard.

"I'm sorry." That time Louis's voice projected louder, and Harry kissed and bit his mouth again.

But the real frenzy started when reaching the hand with which the dancer had touched himself, Harry brought it to his mouth salivating a couple of fingers, and while kissing Louis's neck he introduced them in his rough interior, accelerating his rhythm as he adapted.

Smiling, Louis cupped Harry's jaw.

"You can move yourself too. You don't have to hold back anymore." The curly-haired man indicated, contradicting his previous interaction.

Louis is suddenly satisfied to be able to rub his cock against Harry's ass, and in turn the sound the curly-haired man makes when he starts moving under him, sounded a lot like relief and happiness.

Harry moaned in Louis's mouth when he introduced the third finger. His back arched and he could only stick closer to Louis's body, who kissed his neck and accelerated the movements of his hand.

"More. Come on. More." Harry moaned, almost demanding and brushing his nose with Louis's jaw. He looked at him, his sweaty forehead, his hair in the middle, red lips and accelerated breathing... And he still hadn't given him anything.

The blue-eyed man suddenly raised a free hand, moving Harry's hair away with his hands, and gathering it behind his ears.

Harry smiled, kissing him while positioning himself over his cock and taking Louis's fingers out of his interior, which little by little slowed down and rubbed on his thighs, caressing the cold and pale skin under his fingertips until reaching his ass.

"Are you sure?" Louis whispered, seeing Harry look at his penis already wrapped in a condom. He nodded, lifting his legs and positioning himself on top. "Ride me. You decide." He whispered.

Harry smiled, as if Louis had read his mind and insecurities, while one hand placed on the dancer's shoulder and the other at the base of his cock, aligning it and introducing himself slowly. He brought a hand to his neck, kissing him and pushing himself down at the same time.

"Mhm, fuck." He moaned, or complained, in pain once half was inside, resting his forehead on Louis's shoulder, who didn't stop leaving kisses on his cheeks and caressing Harry's ass.

He started slow and easy, barely moving his cock inside. Even so, even the smallest movements replaced the not so welcome sensations of not being able to touch each other, with something much more pleasurable.

The thrusts were almost delicate, Louis's hips barely moved, but each thrust still felt as if it dragged closer and closer to Harry's prostate, and curiosity thus became unbearable. Lowering his hands, Louis slid his fingers down Harry's chest to feel the warmth of his naked skin.

Harry fell silent hitting his mouth against his, causing a silent moan that echoed somewhere in his throat.

The way slowly, but surely increased the rhythm of his hips, each time pulling a little more and pushing back harder, has Louis's head spinning with unprecedented pleasure, not knowing what had changed in Harry.

Is it because of him, that gave him security? He thought.

A Harry who had imagined that moment millions of times, having Louis between his thighs whatever way. It couldn't be much better than that.

Harry lost coordination of the kiss when Louis's cock hit his sweet spot. His lips wobbled to let moans come out in heaps, and Harry took the opportunity to lick his mouth deeply. Swirl his tongue around Louis once and for all and travel it entirely.

Then, when he felt satiated, he squeezed his hair and grabbing his face hard, also because of the pressure his cock was exerting on his hole, he kissed him more weakly with silent gasps and heavy breaths in between. He took air when separating and, again, grabbing the base of his cock, reintroduced himself to the bottom.

Harry held the air between his lips, and released it accompanied by a long moan that gave Louis goosebumps, but didn't give him strength to bring his free hand to Harry's penis and start masturbating him, because he didn't want to have to apologize again.

Harry's walls molded after a couple of thrusts, with Louis starting to move again when Harry pushed against him. He entered and exited slowly.

"It's so good, Louis; so good for me..." Harry whispered in his ear, interlacing their hands while starting to push himself hard and fast.

The curly-haired man's eyes rolled back as Louis bit his neck, going up from time to time to his lips to his mouth to silence the moans he let out when he hit his prostate.

Pleasure absolutely destroyed Louis. His back rose from the bed intensely, his head shook on the pillow that was wet from his own sweat. The temptation to drop his hand to wrap his fingers around his penis was inevitable.

It was as if the orgasm was accumulating inside him in a slow and killing way. Generally, it accumulated somewhere deep in the lower part of his belly, but what was growing inside him had somehow attracted his whole body.

He barely heard Harry's voice through his pre-orgasm fog.

"You're so fucking hot. So good for me."

The more he praised him, the easier thrusting became despite the tiredness. Besides, he could see how destroyed Harry was from being with him, fucking him, and how excited he was just seeing him. As if the curly-haired man could come just by observing Louis's sweat and his circular movements.

He felt he was going to cry, but not from frustration, but from pure pleasure.

"You're so good." The dancer gasped while grabbing Harry's arms hard, in an attempt at impulse, and clinging to him. "I'm close, I'm-"

"I want to feel you when you come thanks to me. Because you owe it to me, don't you, darling?" He cut him off while speaking, and Louis dedicated a smile to him interrupted by his gasps, wrapping his arm around Harry's waist and pushing himself hard and fast.

He only needed a couple of deep thrusts to lose himself. The orgasm spread through his bones fiercely and quickly; as if it had sprouted from his interior after cooking slowly.

His body trembled with it, being able to feel Harry's interior with greater clarity, blaming hypersensitivity.

The curly-haired man moved when his fingertips dug into his skin, hard enough to leave bruises; and he removed them abruptly from his skin, as if he didn't want anyone's marks that night.

Harry stopped his hips. Surprised, Louis could feel his hole throbbing, as if he was also close.

Hole that tightened against Louis's cock suddenly, and feeling he was going to arrive, he released Louis's body to grab himself, hold his chest and not fade away. As if he were going to disappear.

"You're going to hurt yourself." Louis whispered, on the verge of getting excited again still inside the curly-haired man, seeing him scratch his own arms and neck, while his chest rose and fell with the same speed as Louis's hip movements.

He put his tongue in Harry's open mouth to avoid a moan while coming, suddenly the curly-haired man's arms returned to the older one's chest to free him from strips of semen coming out of his penis and staining both one's hands and the other's chest. He immediately weakened his movements and fell on Louis's neck with a small smile drawn on his face.

He came out of him and rolling the condom in a knot, the dancer reached the bathroom, while the curly-haired man could still feel the semen threads running inside him, dripping and feeling too empty.

Again, he was empty and alone, although Louis was meters away in the bathroom.

The distance with his thoughts was extensive, infinite.

The corner of Harry's mouth curved downward.

What had he done? Why had he felt so good, but at the same time as if he had left his own being?

"I'm fine." He said, curled up in a ball on the bed, before Louis asked him why he was crying. A Louis who was on the sidelines of the situation, getting dressed again in the bathroom, and got scared hearing Harry's voice in the middle of so much silence.

"What's wrong, darling?" He asked worried, seeing him tremble minimally from the bathroom door.

"Nothing. I'm fine here."

"Why?" He asked him again, frowning.

"Just because." He began to say, and glanced at the clock, which indicated the minutes passing and the time they were wasting together. "Have you already dressed?"

Louis's heart accelerated at the question, confused and lying down beside him. He can't make fun of him, on other occasions he would have told him that unlike him he knew how cold it was in his own house and didn't even want to be an ice cube, but at that moment? How could he do it when Harry looks so serious about it, so sad?

"Falling because of adrenaline I suppose, right?"

"Of course not." Harry thought of responding.

Louis didn't know if he was angry, sad or tired; but he did know that hugs made serotonin and dopamine release, calming and relaxing people.

So he hugged him. With his winter pajamas, he joined his naked body and his back; but before he could pass his hands to interlace them on his abdomen, Harry was already jumping from the bed.

"Don't touch me! N-no, please..."

As if Louis's clothes burned him, or he had already felt that before, tears slid down his cheeks again.

"Sorry, I don't know what-, I'm so irritable that-, I don't recognize myself Lou." Through tears, he verbalized his thoughts and could see in Louis an expression of confusion just when he sat on the edge of the mattress.

"I-it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. I love you, remember? I can help you get dressed if that's what you want, and hug you afterward or not. Do you want me to leave? I will."
An adorable blush rose up Harry's cheeks as he shook his head.

"The first one, please." He almost begged.

He looked completely embarrassed, and that made Louis feel as if his heart was being squeezed. He thought he couldn't feel more in love than he already was, more eager to help his husband than he already felt.

Harry sat up a little to kiss Louis, long and grateful, once he found himself dressed in one of the winter pajamas that the blue-eyed man kept in his closet, and although the sleeves were too short, it would do for that night, and it made Louis's head go blank, not knowing what to say.

Already in bed, he cradled the back of Harry's head to keep him close, savoring the taste of his kiss until they were both breathless and the curly-haired one was forced to pull away. He pressed his forehead against Louis's, apologizing again in silence.

Before the dancer could continue kissing and calming his breathing, which was still racing, he said: "I'm sorry for being like this." He sighed.

"Harry..."

"I mean my whole self in general, being so lost in my own insecurities that sometimes I can't see your point of view, feeling like I have to be in control and then in life, when I let go, I'm just someone who gets pushed around. I'm sorry for being insensitive tonight, and I'm sorry that you have to be tied to me, unable to say you love me and having to put up with everything that surrounds me, but shouldn't surround you."

Louis shook his head, cradling Harry's face between both hands.

"It doesn't bother me, I just want you to trust me enough to tell me when you're feeling bad, without fear. Your demons are mine now too; if they break your soul, they'll break mine too because we're bound by it."

Harry let himself fall onto his chest, with his head in the crook of Louis's neck. Louis hugged him tightly, offered him the peace he obviously craved, kissing his forehead. The clock indicated, with a beep, one-thirty in the morning, and Louis began to feel sleepy.

"Aren't you tired?" He asked, as his eyes were closing.

But the truth was that he was still lost in his thoughts, the curly-haired one heard Louis's words as if he were in a cloud, and only nodded, closing his eyes and whispering "I love you."

"Rest, I'm so happy I married you..."

And Louis fell asleep, with his fingers intertwined with Harry's, right on the hands that wore their paper rings.

Chapter Text

LOUIS. PRESENT. October 11th. 08:05

Regression to the mean is a technical term that reveals the phenomenon by which things tend to equalize from extremes; if a variable is extreme in its first measurement, it will tend to link to its second probe. As if everything always balanced out.

Simply put: no matter how bad things get or how good they are; they'll always return to the middle.

To how it once was.

And that day everything seemed to return, to have its regression to the mean.

Perhaps because of that formula, while they slept embraced skin to skin, in an equal way that both had become accustomed to, the doorbell rang insistently. When only the day before Taylor had stopped by to say goodbye, and Zayn along with Niall in case the couple needed anything.

"If you don't open the damn door I'll knock it down, Tomlinson!" A female voice shouted on the other side, after nearly burning out the doorbell.

This was followed by banging and kicking. Which finally made Louis open his eyes and go out bare-chested to answer, angry at being woken up and yawning.

Upon opening it without even looking through the peephole, he found himself face to face with the same person his husband had married. And her red hair was immaculately styled, but just as red as her face.

"Where's Harry?" She shouted, pushing Louis aside to burst into his house, and go through all the rooms to find him.

"It's my house!"

"And he's the king of this country! Do you know what I'm having to put up with? Thousands of questions because nobody knows where he is, when he was supposedly supposed to return to the palace today at seven-thirty for his damn meeting. I look like his babysitter—!"

But her words stopped. Despite the commotion, Harry remained naked and dozing, about to wake up, in bed. And Scarlett found herself face to face with his uncovered body because when Louis left the mattress, he had left him uncovered down to his thighs.

This made her look away quickly, and with a sharp turn she looked at Louis.

"Come on, w-wake him up. I'll wait in the living room." Her voice trembled, as if reality had given her a blow to the forehead that she would never forget. As soon as she left down the hallway toward the living room, the dancer took the opportunity to enter the room and partially close the door.

He couldn't help but leave several kisses on his face, on his cheek, his forehead and his hair.

"Mhm... Good morning Lou." Oblivious to everything, with half-closed eyes he hugged him and pulled him onto the bed, forcing him to lie down beside him.

"Sweetheart, it's not the time, she... —He stopped himself. Was it really going to end so soon? —Scarlett came, you have to meet at the palace with Mr. Winston and apparently you're running late and...

And Harry didn't want to leave. He saw it in his panic-filled eyes as soon as he opened them, in how quickly he changed clothes and in how he apologized millions of times to Louis for having attracted Scarlett to his own house.

"No, no, don't tell me to calm down because... What if it had been someone else!? T-they would know everything Lou, I wanted to protect you and I only lasted two days and—"

"She's not going to tell anyone anything! We have to think positive, and you have to leave right away, face what's waiting for you and... I'm sure she's not a bad person."

"You don't know that!" He was so angry he couldn't cry.

The adrenaline had returned to his body in the worst possible way, but before leaving through the door, Louis melted together with the curly-haired one in a hug that eliminated much of the intensity.

"Calm down, my love. Everything returns to its middle ground, remember? It's going to be okay, and if not, you can always call me or come back."

"I'll tell you everything as soon as it's over."

He left a kiss on his forehead, and watching from afar as they didn't address a single word to each other, Scarlett and Harry left his apartment.

HARRY. PRESENT. October 11th. 09:00

Why on earth did he feel like he was dying? Why did he want to speak but couldn't make any sound?

His eyes, hours ago full of vitality, were opaque, reflecting the internal chaos consuming him. Each beat of his heart seemed to resonate in sync with the shadows dancing in his mind, along with the words he couldn't pronounce.

That he loved him.

"It's not normal, you're so incompetent! What have we done to raise you like this, to deserve this martyrdom." His parents' screams in the middle of one of the meeting rooms, covered in gold but that had never given him a feeling of home, already sounded monotonous until Winston intervened.

"Anne, I don't think the boy deserves those words, for God's sake..." He never expected that defense from the minister, that he would act so politically and apparently, from his point of view, justly. "We've always known they didn't love each other, and what does it matter who he was with if..."

"It does matter! And this is also a family matter, he should have left as soon as he arrived."

"And I have the right to intervene then, because I love him like my own son and it's not fair to him all the knives falling on him, and the few words he speaks."

"Spending your wedding night with someone else... Do you love her so much as to put your reputation at risk? If anyone finds out you weren't in Sandringham... rumors will run and if you don't tell us who you've spent these days with, they'll find out before we do."

"The press won't do anything! First because they don't even know the boy hasn't spent the vacation where he should have, and second because they'd eat a lawsuit for not having the authority to publish it. If we're going to be honest, let's all be honest."

Silence invaded the room, Anne and Norman seemed to have calmed down, but they radiated an external anger that truly frightened Harry.

"You've always said that doing nothing is often the best course of action; like what happened in the war, or when they said you had lovers and you wanted to protect Gemma and me and that's why we stayed together."

Nothing was heard after Harry spoke, as if he had something more to say.

"Or like in Ireland. What do you intend to do now? Mom, are you going to do something now!? For better or worse the crown has fallen on my head; and I not only carry it but all the previous problems that don't disappear from being a king or someone with a made life."

"The crown is a symbol of permanence. It's something you are, not what you do. We always lose a natural part of our being for it, for the country. Everyone in this family has made sacrifices because it's not a choice. It's a duty. You've married a woman who fulfills the same obligations as yours, to see if some of it rubs off on you, of course." His father joked with this last phrase, mocking Harry and causing a sting in his chest. "And about the image, it's fundamental. The monarchy is built on public perception. Who would support us if not the people!"

"We've always controlled your actions, son. But someday we won't be here and you'll truly suffer the power of your people, for better or worse. You have to keep the majority happy, and if they like you loving Scarlett, you'll have to give it to them; whether you like it or not."

"I don't care about the people! And I may be wrong but this time I'm serious! Why would they want a king who lies to them? Or one who suffers. Besides, if I'm the one in charge, why do you have to be the ones dictating the rules to me? I'm not a child anymore! I haven't been one since I was little and you know perfectly well that the Harry I was got lost in Ireland!"

"Always bringing up that topic to bother us! You're grounded Edward!" Norman shouted again without shame in Winston's presence, who seemed to have stayed on the sidelines, looking at the floor sitting in his armchair, tired of an argument that, in a loop, went nowhere.

"I'm an adult!"

"And you're still under this roof, being immature apparently. To your chamber and we'll establish measures so you don't commit the foolishness of looking bad before the public image." He continued after the curly-haired one's interruption.

"In the end what you need to realize is for us to impose a heavy hand and shouting, I'm so disappointed dear..."

Those last words from his mother stuck in his heart, and without having the option to flee to Louis's embrace, he agreed to retire to his room, returning to suffer a dark period of nightmares.

Until the letter arrived.

"I just want to know if you're okay, I—" Unable to take refuge in his arms, Louis sounded on the other end of the phone barely five minutes later, demanding to show up at the palace.

"If you come it'll be worse, I feel like they'll know it's you, why would you come visit me now? You have no excuse, Lou."

And he stopped short, hearing two knocks on his door because someone was calling.

"Who!?" He asked, moving the phone away from his mouth so as not to deafen Louis.

"I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye and with a bad taste in my mouth, sir." Winston crossed, with a cigar that indicated more nerves than anything else, part of the door, before making sure he could close it and had Harry's trust to invade such a private space. "Besides, if you want to tell me something, we can talk... You don't need to move to your office."

"Oh, give me a second." And while the minister looked at his shoes with his head down, Harry brought the phone back to his mouth and sat up in bed, sitting on the edge. "Something unexpected just came up, sunshine. I'll call you later, take care."

Without giving Louis a chance to respond, and also not noticing the nickname that came out of his mouth as if it were something everyday—although he had been using it all weekend—he hung up.

Then he invited the man who was still standing, watching him, to sit on one of the sofas that occupied the chamber, and as soon as he sank from his weight, he began to speak.

"You can treat me as Harry, only here of course. And I must also say that if you come here to defend my family, you can be leaving already."

The minister shook his head.

"It's okay, Harry. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything in front of your parents, of course I understand both positions, but you're young, free to a fair extent and you've been an adult for years, even if they think you're not."

"Why do you think they think I'm not?"

"From so much that happens, and unfortunately, it's simple to know. As a child they've spent so little time with you that they think you're still the one they only knew at specific moments. But that's the work that gets into the home. I still remember your father calling me at three in the morning on a Saturday..."

"And you were the one who insisted I not live in Clarence House. So this conversation is somewhat hypocritical on your part."

"Your parents were the ones who asked me to, at no point do I have to care where you are or aren't. And I know this is one less card in their favor, but you must be united. The monarchy breaks as soon as one part of its structure crumbles and if you're not..."

"We haven't been for years, sir, and not letting me love who I want has only been one small load of gunpowder more that will explode at some point, but I shouldn't be the one to stop it by reducing my freedoms and desires. Because I already kept quiet once, and I won't make the same mistake again."

I won't stop being with Louis, not for them. He thought.

He had already left him behind once in Ireland, he had already kept quiet enough about how badly Benjamin had treated him in the past and continued to do so in the present. Was it even wrong to say he was expecting that bomb? That he wished something external would make it explode because he couldn't take it anymore?

"What mistake did you make, Harry?"

"Not loving who truly does. It's as if I've suddenly found my light, as if he were everything and..."

And the door rang again, but not to ask if it could burst in but to be opened directly with a creak and with someone who entered it quickly, without knowing who frequented it.

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry."

And Winston Churchill may have known right at that moment, when Harry's green eyes made contact with Louis's blue ones and his smile and light was the same as when he talked about the person he had found and declared his soulmate, when he realized everything. Although he would keep quiet forever.

Chapter Text

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋

Edgar Allan Poe had written, more than a hundred years ago now, the tale of how in a kingdom ravaged by the "Red Death," a deadly plague, Prince Prospero took refuge with his court in a fortified abbey to escape the disease. Inside, they celebrated extravagant parties to evade the suffering outside. At one of these festivities, a masked figure dressed in a macabre manner revealed his true identity as the personification of the Red Death. Despite the prince's efforts to stop him, the personification ended up reaching everyone, making it evident that no one can escape their destiny.

And although it was just a story, one of those Harry's mother read to him at night, no one ever warned him it could come true.

A couple of years ago, Benjamin Raynal had directed one of what would be his last ballets: the Masquerade, inspired by the great Danish opera.

Without much international success outside Europe, he had managed to fill theaters and make it a unique experience. The people in the front rows, because they were the ones who could most appreciate the details, described it as astonishing and uncertain, because not seeing the dancers' facial expressions, it was incredible to feel the same thing just by watching their bodies and movements.

The English royal family had been invited, and the only one who stayed home was the, at that time, Prince Styles, who with personal matters that required him in England (strangely only him), did not attend.

So perhaps it was because of missing it, or to do something as a farewell: but Benjamin was organizing that night, just when it had been two years since the ballet's premiere, a masquerade ball in the event halls of the Ritz. And clearly, "his little Harry" (as he had put it in the invitation) was summoned and had no option to escape.

It had been a red invitation, delivered to him by one of his mail carriers just after seeing Winston Churchill leave the chamber, and without even asking, as apparently it was something urgent.

The correspondence read as follows:

"To my esteemed King of England:

It is an honor for me to invite you to my masquerade ball this coming Friday in the central hall of the Ritz Hotel. Based on the famous work by Edgar Allan Poe, we commemorate my creation, my ballet; and it also serves me as a farewell to you.

Feel free to come accompanied or not, but always, with your mask.

Eternally at your disposal, little Harry.

—B.R."

He had shuddered entirely upon reading the nicknames, the initials and the word "Party"; although he had calmed down for one single reason: masks. Covered faces, and with something in his hair, an updo or something like that, he wouldn't look like himself.

And besides, Louis had also been invited.

Luckily, he could go unnoticed, because Sarah had found him somewhere a white mask, with sparkles of the same color, but with black feathers; in addition to a white suit that decorated in the same style, also had feathers on its back.

"Like Odette" He thought as soon as he put it on and saw that it fit him like a glove.

He also thought he could decorate his hair in a braid, adorned with more feathers both black and white. And upon doing it he could only think of Louis's reaction, because of how much he loved his hair pulled back.

Would he melt with love? Would he fill him with kisses?

The dancer's reaction was not similar to Harry's thoughts, because they were already at the Ritz in the middle of a hubbub of people praising the king and expressing out loud how handsome he was.

All the comments suddenly stopped and he heard—only in his head—a deathly silence when he saw him, and he had to hide his blush. Because if he was wearing an immaculate white, Louis wore a similar suit, but in black; as if he were Von Rothbart or Odile, and he Odette or Siegfried.

Moreover, the suit fit him so neat and impeccable that, just as Van Roberth was an evil sorcerer, Louis had become a killer of Harry's judgment. He wouldn't be able to stop thinking about taking him to bed for what remained of the night!

Perhaps if they continued side by side, with that connection, moreover, it was because both had found their place. It was because the great question of the why of human existence had finally made sense, after years of desperation to find an answer, which was now simple and straightforward. At last they had both found the person who answered the phrase "it is desperately beautiful to grow old hand in hand with someone."

Which had as justification the time they had spent sharing something special, the hugs, the caresses, the happiness upon seeing themselves swimming in the North Sea, the nights that became dawns, even the screams of desperation, the pain. Everything they shared together. Everything gave meaning to their lives, to their two worlds that had become one, like their hearts.

Harry could feel, even meters away, the complicity, sincerity, but above all the love. A love that was going to save them from the storm, from the bad.

Because if that night upon seeing themselves matched, where one was darkness and the other, light; Harry realized that he had been in love for a while; and Louis also became aware of how much he had shared with the curly-haired one, and the fact of, at some point in his life, having to distance himself from him terrified him.

And so, they had stopped frightening each other away, to approach. They stopped being the opposite poles of the magnet, which repelled when one tried to approach; to be the similar ones and unable to slide from each other's body.

"Your Majesty." When they finally approached, with a torturous slowness, Louis brought the back of Harry's hand to his lips and still dazed by the connection of their garments, left a kiss on it.

That the people around them dedicated glances, in Louis's view out of envy—because clearly many people wished to have the confidence they had: which was such that he could kiss his hand—made Harry blush again, unable to avoid the feeling of nerves in his stomach.

Which was obviously there because of Louis's daring.

But he had to ignore them and be moderate.

Louis took a quick look around Harry, greeting Sarah who immediately got lost among the people, and Gemma with a smile, who announced she would go get a drink. Then, when they left, he gave Harry his full attention again.

He wanted to hug him, but he wasn't going to do it. Probably no one was paying attention to them; the guests were too busy with their own affairs after looking at Harry enough.

"Mr. Tomlinson, delighted to find you again." And the curly-haired one returned the smile, still with red cheeks.

"A drink?"

"With you as many as you wish." He returned to formalities, seeing how that made his boy nervous.

And they walked together, in silence, toward the bar. Enjoying the—not so accidental—collision between their hands.

"Two Martinis, please." Louis faced the bartender, so Harry wouldn't have to face the nerves or exaggerated smiles.

"You look very handsome," Louis told him, advancing a step toward Harry to make the conversation as private as possible.

"And you're very high," Harry raised both eyebrows. A stupid laugh got stuck in Louis's throat.

"Is it that noticeable?"

Harry shrugged simply.

"It must be that I pay too much attention to you," he told him, inevitably drawing a smile from him. "I just hope you don't do anything that leaves us in efficiency, because of your blindness, I mean." Louis wasn't very sure if that was a reproach or a joke, but he laughed again anyway.

"Yeah, well," he muttered, pressing his lips into a thin line. "The truth is it's been a rather curious unforeseen event."

Because before that, on the balcony that the Ritz hall had for smokers, he had run into Benjamin who had offered him something more than a cigarette and they had consumed it in silence. How was he going to say no, if he couldn't even get the words out from the impression it still caused him?

But instead of explaining it to him, he changed the subject focusing on the curly-haired one.

"What's your plan tonight, sweetheart?" Because of the force of the music in that area, they could use it as an excuse to speak in each other's ears and use affectionate nicknames as if they were in privacy.

"I'll take a few turns around here, and then they'll come looking for me to take me back to the palace. You know, they're strict about me not escaping. Do you already have your suitcase packed for Moscow?"

Louis would leave in a week and a half, and Harry would go in December—a week before Christmas and the dancer's birthday. Then, they would return together to London after the Lake premiere.

"There's a week left! Almost two, there's plenty of time."

"Then you'll cry to me saying you don't have time, or you need things." The curly-haired one laughed.

Although he was joking, the pain of being separated generated a feeling of anguish in his stomach.

∴∴∴∴∴∴

Harry had been mulling over that at some point Louis had to leave since he hadn't seen him all that day and thought he was going crazy.

Louis hadn't appeared at the palace in twenty-four hours, and spent the day at home and rehearsing his choreography for Swan Lake in his dance studios, because he really didn't feel like seeing anyone and wanted Harry to feel in need of him the night of the party, in addition to surprising him with his costume.

So he decided not to leave his side at the entire party. Until the curly-haired one had to be claimed by duty, he went to greet people Louis didn't know and told him he'd better wait for him at the bar.

But he didn't return.

Not because those people detained him for a long time, because they released him in barely fifteen minutes; but because just as he passed by the bathroom door his anguish and nausea, which had been hovering around his stomach all night, increased.

Perhaps it was because of the alcohol, or a chronicle of a death foretold; but he deposited all the wine he had consumed in one of the toilets while the music played outside distantly and he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

Upon leaving, he was grateful for the cold water from the sinks and not finding anyone.

Until he reached the door.

"Oh, Harry! What a thrill to finally find you. I've been asking about you for at least half an hour."

"I didn't know you were looking for me." said Harry, as he smiled with annoyance seeing how the older man blocked the door.

There was no person in the world capable of making someone uncomfortable for years and continuing with it, consciously or unconsciously, besides Benjamin Raynal himself.

The host of the costume party, who wore a black suit as if going to a funeral, co-owner of the world's largest ballet company and who would auction much of the English production of Swan Lake in Moscow, and expert in manipulation, others' pain and psychopathy.

"I won't take much of your time, don't worry," Raynal replied with indifference, leaning his weight on the handle of the open door. "I came to ask you if you mind accompanying me for a second, I have to give you your wedding gift. Or do you think I would leave here without giving you anything?"

"Yes, it's not necessary." He answered, trying to move him aside, but without him yielding. A gift for him?

Benjamin looked at him expectantly for a more concrete answer.

He suddenly remembered the talk with his parents. About the image, looking good and... that man was influential, and a very good friend of Norman's.

"Alright, but make it quick." He clicked his tongue, annoyed.

More time wanting to flee, less with Louis.

Raynal nodded, running a hand through his brown hair in which some gray hairs were visible.

He followed him without being interrupted by anyone and quickly to one of the rooms adjacent to the great hall, it was composed of beige tones, extravagant armchairs similar to those in the palace and Benjamin had several bags on the table.

Harry didn't even sit down, and remained by the half-closed door. The anxiety the man continued to cause him was overwhelming, and how the tears were already accumulated in his eyes.

"Here it is!" He exclaimed upon finding a rectangular package, quite thin.

Anguish invaded Harry again. Oh, he would vomit right there.

On the velvet carpet worth millions of pounds.

But for some strange reason he held on, grabbing his glass with a trembling hand.

He didn't put it down and simply opened the package wrapped in red paper with only one hand, pressing it against his chest.

It was a notebook.

Garnet red. Like the color of the blow.

Harry knew it was going to come, but there?

∴∴∴∴∴∴

For Harry love was red. But a living, remarkable and bright one.

Not garnet.

Not scarlet.

That had always been the color of blood.

Bright red was the color of the lipsticks he stole, of the pen with which he had written his wedding vows—Louis's...

Scarlet was the rust, the bruises, the wine stains.

It was garnet and not red.

Like the notebook, which even with attached sheets glued because it was already finished, overflowed with drawings.

Of naked bodies with marks.

Wounded bodies.

That caused in Harry an open scar, a shiver and throbbing feelings that burned him inside.

Although he could be soft, but not weak. Tremble from his scars before breaking again from them.

Although that time he couldn't avoid it.

Because the curly-haired one had also read once that the worst thing about words or gestures was not when they sank like darts into the skin, but their poisoned tips. When the fever began. When the wounds opened that quickly festered. The infection that passes to the blood and infects the heart, making it squeeze.

Because Harry might not know himself entirely.

He had doubts about himself, his identity, how or who he felt.

But that body was his.

That was him with open scars, and like the cover of the notepad, they always were and will continue to be scarlet.

∴∴∴∴∴∴

As if screams couldn't come out of his mouth, and with the crystal glass still in his hand—trembling—Harry could only lunge toward Benjamin.

And garnet was the blood that gushed from the dancer's shoulder, tearing his suit, opening a physical and not mental wound. The kind he seemed not to have.

But instead of responding, Ben then approached him, and told him:

"I've always had you in my memory, little one."

Then he kissed him.

Masking Harry in scarlet red, and barely brushing his lips.

Because quickly the curly-haired one not only pushed him away to try to hit him again, without caring about anything anymore; but it was Ben himself, who raised his hand to smash his crystal glass on his little one's head.

And when he fell to the floor next to the notebook, the red didn't matter.

In the end, it was all blood and not love.

LOUIS

Half an hour without Harry was enough time for Louis to abandon the bar to go search for him.

Asking about him, he got no response.

And calling from door to door, even reaching Benjamin Raynal's chamber, he continued waiting for a response that didn't come.

But something told him he was in there. Where else? No one had seen him leave! And his sister and Sarah were still wandering around there.

"Harry." He mentioned from the other side. "Are you in there?"

There was no response, but Louis called again. As if the connection between them was stronger than ever.

As if the light on under the door gave him hints of something.

"Harold," He raised his tone of voice, but didn't know if in vain. "I'm waiting for you."

After a third attempt he decided to press his ear to the door, and began to feel distressed when he faintly heard moans or whimpers—that he was sure were Harry's—sounding inside the room at an almost imperceptible volume from outside, but he didn't respond.

So he called again stamping his fist on the door, but the sound remained at the same tone.

"Harry!"

Nothing. Not a response, not a single noise more to indicate he was inside. As if he had run out of air.

His pulse began to accelerate progressively, Louis's mind was unable not to imagine the worst.

He had to find Benjamin, or whoever would open the door for him.

He wasn't crazy.

The response the owner of the room gave him, when he found him after running through the entire great hall, made him more distressed.

"He's in my room, yes." He told him, with complete calm and without being aware of Louis's anguish. "He was feeling unwell, he was pale, so I offered him to rest in my room."

"And why the hell didn't you let me know?" He shouted and didn't even bother to apologize.

"Why would I do that?" Raynal replied, realizing that if he continued with the questions he could coax out of Louis the information he had been waiting for years. "You're being rude, Louis."

But the blue-eyed one didn't fall for it. The important thing was Harry.

"He won't open the damn door for me, I need the key." he responded, lowering his tone of voice so no one in the lobby would hear the conversation, even though at that moment he wanted to scream. "Right now."

And without knowing how, perhaps believing Harry was already dead, or that he hated him too much to kill him so quickly—making him suffer so little—Ben agreed to hand Louis the key and follow him.

∴∴∴∴∴∴

Seeing who you consider the love of your life prostrate in a bed is hard.

Perhaps this pain increases if, at least you, have just discovered something you had no clue about.

Like a pain that had always been there generating distance and had made Louis feel he was suddenly without him.

In the middle of the night only beeps were heard, and occasionally, the dancer's agitated breathing upon seeing how something altered on the tiny screen that indicated the Briton's vital constants. There were moments when he alone left him wounded, but life was much lonelier, and perhaps after discovering that week that he suffered from an illness and intense pain, he remained by his side.

And Harry because of that pain had hurt himself. And Louis was at no time capable of seeing it.

Everything was signs like Harry's trembling in his hands, the constant headache, coughing and being unable to stop the multiple daily nosebleeds...

He hadn't realized until seeing him on the floor, with his crown bloodied. And Louis wasn't there, he couldn't prevent him from being hit with the glass, from not wanting to end his life.

Did he hate his golden cage? How much did he desire Louis?

Oh, what if he had done it for him?

The sirens sounded, Harry wanted to continue playing at two lives as if he were an English spy in Germany or Russia and his illness punished him while he begged it every night to please go away, to leave him alone, for this to end.

To at least let go of his hands because he was just a "boy" with bare feet who was still learning to live and to fall in love with life and art. Art in the form of love, of truly loving, or even of person. Because Louis was not an art, but he also wanted to discover him and know more about him. Although they had been together for years, all of them shaping a relationship of ups and downs, this couldn't end like this. For a simple thought that love couldn't save.

And while these were overwhelming and dark, believing he was going to die in that hospital without being able to squeeze out his passion; Louis's were incredulous and innocent. Like a child's.

Because he couldn't explain how just a few days ago he had Harry's hand on his back and his hug that saved him, but at that moment instead it was he who should act as the emitter of love, security and hope; because the older one was still under the effects of painkillers without much desire to wake up.

Why wouldn't he have shown him his love before? He thought on nights he dedicated to accompanying him.

Why wouldn't he have asked him what he was doing when he threw the stone at his roof, but then hid his hand when it was Louis who wanted to show him some love?

Why hadn't Harry told him anything about that strange illness that according to doctors he suffered from, because of how much he wanted to embrace death?

Perhaps he had been dressed in shame and had fallen in love with the beauty of living wrong.

Louis observed him then, he had known many different people throughout his life, but none like him. No one had had such a psychoanalyst complex, he didn't fear his life, he was brilliant and elegant, he didn't beg for caresses, and also unfortunately he didn't need the love Louis gave him every day either.

He only looked straight ahead, without focusing on the distant past.

And although the blue-eyed one liked the curly-haired one very much, he had felt disappointed and deceived, because he had stolen his days, had hidden and lost himself in his own being until becoming a soulless stranger who fled from everything that meant sharing his feelings.

Like when he fled from Ireland to the Bolshoi, thinking that way he would escape the memory. Incredulous!

"I was in love with him... And besides he was unwell."

These were surely the phrases that resonated most in his mind. In the 30s when they met for the first time, and on that dark night at St. James Hospital.

Always blaming himself every time he thought about leaving him in that state.

Definitely his mind was a jungle with millions of vines that wound around each other, if he stopped to think about why he continued beside Harry and didn't decide to leave. Perhaps it was because he always ended up losing himself every time he separated from him, and as a consequence of that he continued accumulating life, fleeing from time and from goodbyes.

He was afraid they would end up being two halves and not one as his instinct told him, of leaving and not being able to return because one day a long time ago they had told him that what left didn't return, that it left forever, that it hurt to see how it went; and if something was absent, the time, life and soul you had shared in that period with that person also did. But, anyway, what use was it to think about the future?

So, for the moment, before his thoughts trapped him in that hospital room in the dimness and that was only illuminated by the silver light, he decided to leave his mind blank and believe they should talk about all the doubts that arose for both of them when Harry woke up and, in better condition, everything would go back to how it was before.

Chapter Text

H.M. Harry, admitted to King Edward VII's Hospital. published at: 00:42.
(HM = His Majesty)

Just as everything began in England, perhaps it was also destined to end here.

In the last century, it was Queen Victoria who transmitted hemophilia to her son Leopold. A disease that affects blood coagulation. Thus, the Duke of Albany died from a minor fall at thirty years old, bleeding out completely.

And although it seemed to vanish from the dynasty after annihilating half of European monarchy, the misfortune in the blood continued there—never better said.

According to statements from Buckingham, this early morning His Majesty the King was found in one of the rooms adjacent to the hall of the Ritz hotel, where dancer Benjamin Raynal was celebrating a ball. He left there on a stretcher, with his head bloodied—according to witnesses who were waiting for Styles outside.

His parents, Anne and Norman Styles, have paused their trip to the United States to return as soon as possible.

Will they know the loose ends that remain for us to tie up?

England's heart has accelerated, and so has the one who must inherit the crown if everything goes wrong.

Because James Styles, son of His Majesty's sister and a teenager of barely 16 years old, is already on his way to London.

Chapter Text

You could still be
What you want to be
What you said you were
When you met me

The next morning it was the sun coming through the window that woke Louis. The second he opened his eyes, he was already cursing having slept in an armchair bed that creaked every time he made the slightest movement, and also the fact that Harry wasn't waking up. Had he died?

No, he couldn't die, not yet.

Hours later, when Gemma had stopped by worried and Sarah had announced that he would have to leave as soon as Anne and Norman arrived, the king began to open his eyes.

And the dancer upon seeing him was moved in silence. He didn't shout, nor say anything. He just froze for seconds, grabbed his hand and felt the greatest emotion he had ever felt.

And although for Louis everything was light, darkness still lurked around Harry.

Reality hit him all at once. As soon as he became aware of where he was, of being blinded by the white of the room and the light entering it, of noticing the catheter connected to his chest and a couple of IVs in his arm, as soon as he noticed the weight of his legs and his entire body—as if he hadn't moved for days—and also the caress that Louis's thumb was making on the back of his hand, he understood that in the end the noise had been able to overpower him.

Noise that could have been fought, but he was so afraid that he collapsed, and made that roar defeat him. Noise that had now dragged not only him, but also a Louis who, shocked, had a smile from ear to ear.

And that couldn't be like that, he couldn't drag him along with him and with his pain, suffering and everything he had harbored in Ben's room; not Louis, not anyone.

"I thought that— I wouldn't believe you'd wake up so soon." Was the first thing the Briton said after releasing his hand and noticing it was Harry who was seeking physical contact, trying to reconnect with his fingers. "What happened to you? The door was closed and you..."

Really Louis was just testing whether Harry would tell him the truth, or on the contrary would make excuses and flee from his problems.

"Why?" The curly-haired one asked before answering, finding it infinitely difficult to start speaking.

"Why, what?"

"Because you're still here, by my side."

Louis would have answered that it was because he loved him. Because he wanted him, because he was his other half, his soulmate; because he would never let him leave the world, not until they danced creating a fire and made time stop around them just to focus on them. On what they were. On what they had become over the years.

"Do you really think I can let you go?"

That answer convinced Harry.

So, he convinced himself it was true, and before overthinking it he preferred to close his eyes and explain his pain out loud when the dancer took the floor again simply to ask if he knew about his illness.

That could mark a before and after.

Harry affirmed at the question, he didn't want to express himself more, but he knew that at some point he would have to. Among his principles was not lying to Louis. Both had sworn years ago to tell each other the truth and trust each other as soon as they began to develop their new relationship.

"I'm sorry, I should have told you before."

"Is that why you bleed so much from your nose? How long have you been like this? Is it something genetic? Does it at least have a cure?"

This time it was silence that responded.

"My God, Harry, and if I had hurt you at any moment..." And he let go of his hand.

If he kept talking his voice would end up breaking. And Louis would know that, after a long time, he would want to cry. He didn't like at all feeling this insecure and helpless. Barely able to move or control his own body.

"Calm down, you know I love you and everything will be okay," The dancer continued trying to ignore the period of time he had lived deceived. Perhaps he was too good. "We'll be back to how we were before in no time, when you heal and beat whatever shit you have inside."

But how did he know all that? The curly-haired one questioned himself before saying it out loud.

"And how do you know I want to save myself? How do you know I wouldn't have preferred to have left?"

And he couldn't continue, because Sarah's voice alerting that he had to leave before his parents arrived took them out of the conversation.

Or perhaps the truth was that he wasn't ready to face that. He wasn't going to accept that Harry could—or wanted to—die in years or even weeks. He wasn't going to accept that his husband wished to be dead.

Harry quickly came to the idea that everyone thought that had been a suicide.

He had closed the door to Benjamin's room with the excuse of resting, had hit his head with the glass being aware of his null ability to clot blood well, and collapsed falling moribund.

Louis, his parents, Sarah, Gemma...

Again, Benjamin had come out unscathed. And the curly-haired one without knowing why was incapable of verbalizing that the story was wrongly told.

Time went on, and while in the dancer's head—who had moved to his house to get some clothes and shower, and at night do Sarah's supposed shift—the fact that Harry had never confessed something as important as an illness that would end up killing him and leaving him without energy didn't enter; the curly-haired one, after the sudden exit of the blue-eyed one from the room and the complete solitude he had found himself facing closed his eyes to try not to think, and it was really impossible.

He had read once that before asking others for forgiveness you had to ask yourself. But that was complicated because first, he had never done it before, and, second, because truly all the mistakes he had made had been toward Louis.

Perhaps because he was the only person he truly loved.

He had projected his frustration onto him and fear had blinded him from telling him the things that terrified him.

He had felt so vulnerable that he had locked himself up with his secrets and now because of it his heart hurt so much and he was asking himself for forgiveness.

So, after accepting that it had been a mistake to hide so many things from him—among them his illness, which in the end wasn't the most relevant—he moved on to thinking about the mistakes he had made over so many years.

He had stolen everything from Louis. But he still felt alone. Perhaps they both felt alone at times, despite the company, because they weren't completely free and the dancer was really in love and that put him in a cage.

Louis wanted to speak to him slowly, wanted to be a moment for the curly-haired one; but really from wanting so much, in the end it happened that between love and forgiveness time ran and Harry was terrified by the fact of thinking he was in love with a man.

Moreover, the king not only hurt from being in love and not being able to shout it for fear of harming, but he also hurt from the noise, when they fell silent, or read all the murders and imprisonments of people like him, so, apart from the physical, he ended up hurting himself mentally.

In fact, what Harry had feared most was happening. That someone would stay.

That someone would look him in the eyes and decide to remain by his side forever, but not in a romantic way but in any other way. One in which sexual pleasure and things like that didn't matter, but simply peace and admiration. He feared someone would stay forever because it sounded incredibly old. Because "Forevers" were those words that never end. They seemed so long, that fear also took hold of him thinking that in all that period they could betray or abandon him.

Perhaps that's why he had made Louis swear that if something happened they would be side by side supporting each other, perhaps he had just found himself the answer to the question he had asked him hours ago about 'Why he was still by his side'. Because both had promised weeks ago that if something happened, they would take them both, and although it truly only went in a professional sense, and it was if something happened in the ballet performance; both had become so involved in each other's life that it was now impossible not to apply that promise in all areas.

But what now? Had the promise been broken after the lie? Really, how did they know when promises break if the breaking of it wasn't agreed upon with the other person?

While Harry thought that oath had indeed been broken, Louis didn't even remember it when among tears camouflaged by the rain he walked through the streets of London, already embraced by night toward the hospital.

The dancer kept remembering the entire conversation he had had with Harry.

"And how do you know I want to save myself? I would have preferred to have left"

That phrase had its part of truth. And he didn't regret having said it and having made Louis cry as soon as he said it. What good would it do him to live like a thousand more years, if he ran the risk of falling in love and dying restless from leaving the dancer alone?

What good did it do him to live if the only thing that stalked his thoughts were the scratches, blows and nightmares that Raynal generated in him?

A feeling of guilt filled him with remorse upon realizing what Louis had told him once, one night when nightmares attacked him like many others.

"I can't understand you if you don't tell me what's happening to you, and we deserve to be happy, without nightmares for once, don't we?" because Louis still wanted to live.

And while he thought about how he really wished to die; Louis came back in.

"Let the world end" He thought upon seeing how he greeted dejectedly upon entering and noticing in him signs of true exhaustion.

When would he let him go?

"I needed to air out, I went for a walk." As an answer to a question that Andrés hadn't formulated but was going to ask if he didn't speak. "How are you feeling? Have your parents been here all day?"

"Better." He answered contradicting his words instantly letting out a moan when trying to sit up.

"Don't make sudden movements, you'll hurt yourself and, besides, even though you've slept your body is still tired."

And Harry could only smile at those words. But no, he didn't want to and couldn't fall in love, at any moment he was going to die.

That thing they said about time healing? It was a lie, or at least for him; because he didn't have time to heal. But neither to leave Louis and forget him.

He could only act tough and remain keeping his secrets, like the coward he was.

Because, in Harry's feelings, the fear he had did win over courage.

And well, while one wanted everything to end, the other extended his hand and told him without words that he wanted to be his refuge.

"Let me help you"

Harry decided the best thing was to sleep in the morning, while his parents frequented the room and cried lamenting his actions; and stay awake at nights, embraced by a confused Louis who didn't know what to talk about.

And honestly, he didn't know who was better.

He had nightmares, and they had to sedate him at specific moments for them to stop. He hadn't seen Benjamin again, but somehow the man was still there.

In the bandage on his head, in the dried blood on his crown.

He wanted to scream that he hadn't wanted to kill himself. That it had been Benjamin, who had always hurt him.

But would anyone believe him?

"Have you talked to your parents yet?"

The second night after the accident, as everyone had started calling it, including Louis, it was he who asked him about what he did in the mornings.

"Not a word. They were angry... And now they cry?"

"They just want to know why you did it, like me... Aren't you happy?"

"I'll have you thrown out if you keep asking those things, Lou."

"I understand you don't talk to them, or to Sarah, or to your sister... But to me? I just want to know how you are, what led you to such desperation. I don't want to lose you again, and this time forever."

"And I just want to calm the pain, the nightmares..."

At the end of the day, he considered his entire life had been a suicide.

He hadn't called anyone when Benjamin abused him the first, the second or the times he did it.

At that moment, he didn't do it after the blow either.

Maybe he did want to leave.

But it was as if Louis tied him to earth.

And, even so, he kept lying.

Without confessing that this had already happened to him. Because Benjamin had already caused him that same damage, although unknowingly.

FLASHBACK. MASQUERADE BALL,

"Let's toast, to us, throughout time."

But the king's gaze was still fixed on the notebook. "Wh-when...?", he stammered.

It was his body. He could recognize himself! His chest, his abdomen... distorted. As if seen through Benjamin's eyes.

But, then, before he could react, the professor raised the crystal glass above his head and struck him a blow on the cheekbone that made him bleed profusely, and with trembling hands, throw the notebook to the floor.

And he didn't stop.

It was noticeable in every movement of the man that he had a contained rage that he needed to get out somehow. A secret that shouldn't come to light. And if to do that he had to kill the King of England, he would.

Tension gushed from Benjamin's body as if it were a poisonous spring. However, in a matter of seconds, with Harry's arms trying to cover himself or defend himself caused him to stop fighting.

If you hate someone a lot: a slow and felt death is better than blows and little suffering.

So he only provided him a dry blow to the Adam's apple, cutting off part of his breathing, and causing him to fall to the carpet.

That was it.

That was the last blow.

He was going to die.

But Harry was alive and needed something to cheer himself up. Although there wasn't much.

"I know! I'll bring you some newspapers so you can distract yourself for a while, some book or something like that."

Tired, because it had been an exhausting day with blood transfusions so he could recover his natural color and not be ghost white, Harry opened one of the nightstand drawers and handed him a small key, which opened all the dressers in his room, including the one where the newspapers that accumulated and some of his most precious books were kept.

Without thinking about what he could find.

Just tired and blinded by nightmares, he had stopped being himself some time ago.

Louis arrived at the palace, and Gemma, who hadn't dared to leave yet for Scotland or wherever she studied, delightedly opened the door for him late at night.

If Harry didn't recover, James -her son- would have to stay in London to begin training as future monarch.

Because when a king dies, a king is appointed.

She indicated that Harry used to keep magazines, letters and newspapers that he truly loved and considered important in the last drawer of his furniture, and upon opening it the blue-eyed one realized that thing was about to explode.

He didn't rummage because they were private things, but he even thought he saw his wedding vows, and his heart squeezed.

Why had Harry suddenly stopped being himself?

When he grabbed the newspapers that indicated a date close to that October eighteenth, he spread them on the bed to see if they contained anything explicit that could give the curly-haired one a headache, and before doing so he visualized on his shelf an edition of "Pride and Prejudice".

He would read it to him! And draw a smile from him.

But upon taking it from the shelf, a letter fell from it that wasn't even in an envelope, and was signed not by Harry, but by Ed.

And it said:

'Dear Louis,

It's difficult for me to find the right words to express what I feel at this moment. The circumstances that have surrounded us have been complicated and full of misunderstandings, and I'm afraid my actions have caused more damage than I ever imagined. I want you to know that I don't write this with the intention of excusing myself, but rather to sincerely explain my perspective and, above all, to ask for your forgiveness.

From the moment I met you, I knew you were someone special. Your free spirit and your joy were contagious, and you captivated me in a way I had never experienced before. However, it's also true that from the beginning I hid part of my true identity, and that's why I want to start by giving you my apologies, just as I did with my heart from the first day I saw you. I had no intention of deceiving you, but circumstances lead you to do things you don't want.

I didn't want you to recognize my identity for fear that this would change the way we related. I feared the royal label would create barriers between us, and I wanted our connection to be based on authenticity and not on preconceived expectations. However, now I see that my attempt to protect our connection only caused confusion and pain.

Moreover, I deeply regret the confusion about my limited time with you.

I had never felt such pain as that week, and it was you and only you who provided me a weak ray of light in the middle of the storm. Although they weren't enough.

Your words infuriate me, and your gestures even more. But I'm no one to judge you if you don't know the truth.

By letter I can only confess that I haven't learned anything about ballet, nor as whoever caught me says, about life. I can't justify his actions, but I want you to know I never wanted to leave you.

My affection for you hasn't diminished. On the contrary, every day that passes, I realize how much I value our connection and how much I regret the pain I've caused you. Louis, I know I broke your heart and I'm sorry with all my being.

But they've also broken my body on the outside, and I don't know if on the inside too. I don't know if I still have my heart alive!

Although words may seem insufficient, I want you to know that, although I don't know if I can love, I'm willing to do everything possible to amend my mistake and demonstrate that my feelings are genuine. Valuing you is a privilege I don't take lightly, and I'll do everything possible to earn your trust and, hopefully, your heart once more.

I hope you can find in yourself the understanding and mercy I so need at this moment. I'm willing to face the consequences of my actions and learn from them to be a better person.

With deep regret and hope,

Harry Edward Styles.'

He was unable to wake him. He saw him sleeping, curled up in the bed sheets and couldn't do more than give him a careful kiss on the forehead, losing count of how many he had given him that day.

But what Harry had told him that morning didn't erase from his mind, he kept mulling over it more than could be healthy, and his distraught brain made him reach a very painful conclusion.

What they had wasn't mutual.

Louis was always there for Harry, he had never failed him and doubted he would ever do so, but Harry wasn't there for Louis.

He never had been.

No matter how many letters he had written for the blue-eyed one, fear always stopped his feet.

Harry was in his world, stuck in his problems which he believed were the center of the damn universe, and only now was he realizing that the problem was him.

He wasn't making Louis happy, and that morning he saw it clearer than ever.

He gave him problems, worries and shit, but he didn't give him happiness, no matter how much Louis swore otherwise.

He couldn't even stay by his side one damn night without feeling that the fucking need to die, cry or his memories were stronger than him. And it was ironic because in Louis the need to cry at that moment had begun to grow after realizing that the same nightmares and pain were going to take away the only beautiful thing he had left in life.

But he had to wake Harry before the pain from that letter consumed him too.

They had to talk before it was too late, no matter where they were.

So he left a kiss on his forehead and sat in one of the reclining armchairs where he slept next to his bed. Harry opened his eyes, but didn't look at him. He had spent days only obeying orders, like the first days they had lived together, or begging for caresses. Under no circumstances did he talk to his family, and the former kings didn't talk to Louis either.

Gemma had told Winston Churchill about what happened, but Harry promised the prime minister, when his parents weren't there and his sister let him use the phone, that he would return to work as soon as possible.

He finished talking and without asking Louis how he was, because he hadn't allowed him to say a word, he felt something strange in the atmosphere.

And although he saw Louis take the Jane Austen edition from his bag, he didn't catch on to anything.

"I know."

He looked at him then, with a weak smile, for the first time since he woke up.

"What?"

"Not everything. But I know part of what happened to you. And I want you to tell me the rest."

His green gaze fluttered around the room without committing, blinking rapidly. And then he laughed nervously again.

They weren't pretty nerves, but anguish ones.

"I wanted to end all this, I don't like this supposed privilege of reigning. I tried to kill myself, Louis, because I got so overwhelmed at the party surrounded by people I didn't know, that I hit myself on the head aware of the blood I would lose suffering from thrombastenia. I was selfish, I didn't think of anyone, and although I'd rather be dead, I'm still here."

But Louis wasn't referring to that.

"No. I know what happened to you in Ireland. Why you left, why that good relationship with Benjamin, and why you hurt me so much."

He tried to maintain a calm appearance, although his chest was pounding.

"Nothing happened! No one hurt me! What are you talking about?" Without wanting to, he raised his tone giving himself away.

Something broke inside him, he was lying again.

Pure and unfiltered anger gushed out. Accompanied by sadness, and tears that made him shrink.

"No one did anything to me!"

And Louis received him in the hollow between his shoulder and neck while he squeezed him so tight it seemed he was going to die.

As if not to vanish.

Because Harry only thought he deserved to die, although he didn't really want to.

"I felt my world had stopped spinning and I was the only one who knew."

The clock struck four when Harry began to open all his wounds to Louis, while he cried as if he were bleeding out on the edge of the bed. He explained how he believed he would die if their paths separated again, but at some points he believed they were cold freezing their summers.

That he loved him like he had never hated any person, he hated him like he had never loved anyone in his life.

"You may not believe me, hate me or be disgusted by me. But please, help me, it's as if the walls are crumbling and many times I feel like giving up, I feel like nothing is strong enough. As if no one would believe me. The pleasant days at the palace I remember them so distant that..." He sobbed, and Louis's heart broke. "That they seem like a dream."

"Harry, I believe you. And we must find whatever he has of you, of your body, because it's yours; and it will never fall into anyone's hands. I'll find it and we'll do something against Benjamin, I'll kill him if necessary. Everything will be okay, darling."

And Harry decided to trust Louis too.

Even if things turned for the worse.

****

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson, Are they more than friends? Are there photos that prove otherwise?

Today the Daily Mail editorial office cancels the vast majority of its articles quickly in the early hours of the morning.

The first person to open the editorial office every day is Paul Grand, one of the intern editors. This early morning, around five when he was opening to start up the editorial teams, he trips over something strange at the door that came through the mailbox slot. It's not a letter, but a thin package with strange photos, and a garnet notebook.

Photos from a '48 polaroid camera, exactly like the one Norman Styles gave his son at his wedding.

Although you may think we're speaking from ignorance, we're not, because in the snapshots you first see bodies, intertwined hands, and then a man cooking, on a sofa and with a guitar in his hands with a wide smile who turns out to be, none other than the man of the moment, Louis Tomlinson.

Finally, we're surprised when we open the notebook, we skip over the drawings of naked bodies, and the end is occupied by photos stuck with adhesive tape of both Styles and Tomlinson together, you know, crossing the line of being something more than friends.

Sharing lip touches, hugs in a small kitchen or in underwear in a large bed.

What does the Royal Household think about this? Was his admission a distraction so his real illness wouldn't come to light?

****

HARRY.

For his luck, or his misfortune, the news came out at the same time the king left the hospital.

So, upon returning to Buckingham, with Louis holding his arm in case he fainted, or rather in case as soon as he was out of his sight someone decided to imprison him in the London dungeon, Harry was surprised and even felt relief at the news.

"Your parents are leaving for Clarence House." Arnold spoke while pulling out suitcases and luggage by the ton through the main door. "They can't stand the stress surrounding you and the palace anymore, sir."

"Well, I..."

"They say they won't make any more decisions for you, and you must fix this alone. If you wish to arrange a meeting they'll accept it delightedly. But nothing more."

"A meeting? Oh, that's fine, but I'd like to speak with Winston Churchill first. And with Scarlett."

"Both in the same one?"

"If you can kill two birds with one stone, why not?"

"I knew it! I knew you were with him!" And the redhead looked at Louis. "That you were attracted to men, that— I knew everything!"

She couldn't stop screaming, as if that were an achievement.

"That's enough." Churchill, more eager to flee than to stay, gave a knock on the table. "Did you bring me here because you want my opinion? For me to tell you what you should do?"

"You can say whatever you want. Your opinion."

"I'd like to know the whole story before I can express myself, Your Majesty."

That he didn't call him Harry was chilling. As if he were no longer his godfather. As if something repelled him about his person.

As if there was only left to discover the end of the Iceberg and all the people present in the room knew it.

There was still a loose end. An anchor that tied them to earth regarding making future decisions.

And although he felt a strange tension in the atmosphere, as if he needed it like breathing and shedding some tears, Harry began to speak.

"Benjamin Raynal was the one who hurt me, the one who tried to kill me in the Ritz room and the one who already took part of my being in Ireland. I haven't told anyone, my parents didn't believe me and I've only learned to live with it. Drowned, because I've been like this my whole life. I didn't disappear due to illness, but due to struggles against the delusions the situation caused me. And unfortunately I can live with it, and I can express it to the people I love and who expect something from me out loud."

And silence invaded the room, leaving a Scarlett who no longer hid her expression of surprise and panic with furrowed brow and half-open mouth; and the minister with somewhat accelerated breathing given the discomfort of the situation.

But Harry broke it with the best of feelings.

"But there's something I couldn't live with, and it's without Louis. I don't conceive life without him."

"If it's as you say, which I firmly believe, my humble and sincere opinion is that you should abdicate. No impact lasts more than 48 hours, because people are usually avid for the next scandal; but for your misfortune one way or another the world will continue to be attentive to you. And this doesn't benefit the monarchy, or the government. And now that I can comment on it out loud, it doesn't benefit Louis or his future projects either."

They were holding hands under the table, and Harry felt a caress on his wrist.

For some reason with Louis by his side that didn't hurt.

As if the idea of leaving had lived in his head since he was fourteen years old.

"Then you must do it. Leave. Give your position to Pol no matter how much it hurts him; he's been aware for days."

And Harry's eyes watered.

"I'll think about it tonight and talk to my sister. At the latest, after traveling to Russia to see Louis's ballet I'll disappear if the decision is affirmative. And you..." And after speaking he looked at Louis.

"I'll go wherever you go, sunshine. My life has been tied to yours since the moment I met you."

And he controlled himself before leaving a kiss on his forehead. Because it wasn't the occasion.

But really, it wasn't what Louis had said that he wanted to say.

In reality, what Harry wanted to answer him was: "And you should leave now, let them separate us. The ballet won't be successful surrounded by so much scandal"

But he kept it for when they had a more private moment.

"I'll take care of talking to her myself. You two take care of yourselves, and Louis, if I don't see you again, I wish you all the luck in the world with Swan Lake."

The next day, Gemma learned the whole truth and from Oxford had no other option, because she had spent almost half her life ignoring her little brother, and for his happiness, accepted the passing of the baton as if that were a relay race and Harry had been the most tired runner of all.

Letter from Gemma to Harry.

For some reason when you went to Ireland I also felt like leaving. I immersed myself in culture and simply followed its course, of literature, languages and art.

Like a river, I followed it without pause and without noticing what I left behind I only focused on professional achievements, like entering university or getting such good grades. Besides, Dad and Mom were proud, and that gave me an extra point of confidence.

I was one of the first women who stood out at the English university and for the first time it had nothing to do with my last name!

I suddenly forgot to live, that there was someone else behind me and who was affected by my decision to leave you the crown, Harry.

I don't have much more to say, but I think of you often and not in a million years would I imagine everything Winston has told me. It still seems like a terrifying dream to read the letter.

You know? As a child I loved protecting you, saying I would kill anyone who hurt you; but now that I haven't been able to protect you, I feel indebted to you.

Therefore I accept without resentment that my son, James, accepts your abdication if at any time it's necessary for you, and I thus renounce my university studies; returning to my life at Buckingham and now, with my second family.

I love you, Harry. Just as I wish you to be happy, with whoever and wherever. It seems you've lived an entire life, and I'd love to support you if it's not too late.

Protecting you, from now on and for the end of our lives.

I'll always be indebted to you. We'll look from up there, for a way so no one has to go through what you did. And if you're not the one to face it, I along with my family will do it delightedly. Because they share with me the love I have for you.

Forever by your side,

Signed; Gemma Styles.

HARRY. PRESENT. 15:28

"Sweetheart..." For every word, for every nickname Louis gave him, Harry cried much more.

The curly-haired one face down on the bed and half-drowning with the pillow and sobs, found no comfort in Louis's caresses on his back and in how he told him in whispers that everything would be okay.

Because at least, he had expressed the problem.

But that in private hurt much more than in public, as if the armor that protected him had broken, as if he were naked facing the sea feeling the cold.

"The photographs, the notebook and whatever they delivered to that shitty newspaper will come to the palace this afternoon. That part is already solved. It'll all be yours, Harry."

"And who tells you there aren't more... h-he carries me in his memories and—" A retch ran through his throat, as had been happening to him much of the afternoon.

But nothing came out from his stomach's mouth.

Just as Louis's words didn't.

"You can report him!"

"I could affirm... th-that the entire British people hate me right now, who would believe me?"

"You're the only one who has your own truth. And I believe you, your sister does. The prime minister does too."

"You know me... You have no judgments about me."

"And no one will have an opinion about who you are. Only about what happened. Maybe you can do it anonymously! Or find someone else!"

"I'm incapable..." And he blew inward the snot he had in his nose, letting out a moan afterward.

"I can do it myself! I would do it for you, Harry. You're... You're my husband, you're the most important thing in my life and you've seen I'm completely willing to leave it for you. Because I love you."

And Harry turned his face away from the pillow, revealing his red eyes, and his swollen lips and nose. Hiding quickly in Louis's neck who was sitting against the headboard of the bed.

"I love you too, even if I'm not capable of showing it. But..."

Louis cut him off before he could apologize.

"No I'm sorrys, of course you show me you love me and I can see it every day that passes. We're going to go step by step, and we'll solve this whole swarm."

They could handle everything, but not everything at once.

And it was true, because fifteen minutes after Harry fell asleep, someone Louis didn't know handed him almost with the door half-closed so as not to intrude much in the king's private affairs, a cardboard box with a paper stuck on it that read:

"Royal Content. London Police and Royal Guard. Belonging to: H.M. The King"

And although it was only a small step, it was already something.

LOUIS. PRESENT. 23:41

Louis was capable of understanding, perhaps too precisely, Harry's irascibility.

The screams, how he cried just by looking at him and the pain he felt.

Perhaps that was committing body and soul, as they had done in his apartment a few weeks ago. It was feeling what the other felt, but more to help than to induce problems.

"You have to go! I'm leaving you! Come on! Out!"

After sleeping for hours, what he hadn't slept in the hospital and what nerves had caused him; Harry had gotten up with fear trapping him. With a silence that stunned, and a gaze lost on the wall.

And then, he became more irascible than ever.

"Calm down, sweetheart. I'm not going to do it, I wouldn't dare leave you alone."

"Liar! You know you should go!"

Louis sighed at the false accusation. He couldn't do anything else.

"How about you try to rest a little more? You still have dark circles."

"Oh, and who will control the shit around me if not. Soon they'll come for you, they'll want to kill you just like me. You have to leave me!"

"I don't think more will happen to be alert for, love. And you still have terrible dark circles, so I think it's time to go to sleep, again."

Someone would hurt Louis.

He had to leave him. He had to leave him...

Now not only Benjamin was against them, but the whole world.

They were two people of the same sex loving each other! That was wrong!

"I think you should go to Russia now. Not leave me publicly, but demonstrate some kind of separation. If they see us together again..."

"No one will see us."

"You don't know that, you don't even know how those photos got to the newspaper."

"We'll find out."

"You know we won't." Harry sighed. "If you don't abandon me, I'll have to do it."

"Harry... You don't know what you're saying. You're tired, distraught..."

"I'm asking you to leave."

He raised his head and looked at him with all the fake hatred he could draw from himself. It wasn't even directed at him, but the older one didn't need to know that. He had the right to be happy: to premiere his ballet in Russia without being surrounded by so much media shit. And Harry had finally understood. After having danced for him, after having gotten married and having been somewhat aware even at that moment. This would overwhelm Louis sooner or later, and Harry didn't want to break Louis. He still had light in his eyes, hope.

So, if he broke him it was for his husband's good. Unknown, after pronouncing his first thought. And they had never been married! It was illegal!

"But what the hell are you saying?"

He trembled and blinked in an attempt to push the tears away from his eyes. He had never seen the curly-haired one sound so serious, not even in the fight at the Royal Academy studios. He wasn't shouting, but he sounded really serious.

Louis ran his hands through his hair, his face and his eyes. He forced himself to calm down. They wouldn't get anywhere with both of them so nervous.

"I just want you to let me take care of you!"

"Get out!"

"Let me take care of you!"

"Security!" And he began to call out to some guards who didn't take long to arrive. "Escort him to the door."

He tried to look calmer, but he was still disheveled, with his pajamas half-unbuttoned because he had felt suffocated at some point in his sleep.

But by the time the royal guard arrived and Harry indicated they should take him away with all the gentleness in the world, he felt totally unhinged.

Louis should have gone to Russia a couple of days ago.

Two weeks before the premiere.

So, as his mother always told him: "Better late than never."

FROM HIS MAJESTY KING HARRY TO ALL THE ENGLISH PEOPLE.

Dear people,

Today, I write to you from the depths of my heart, with a deep sense of responsibility and humility. In recent times, I have been the subject of many comments and gossip that have disturbed the peace and harmony of our territory. Both inside and outside the nation.

I want to acknowledge that my actions, although never with the intention of causing harm, have generated a series of unfortunate events that have affected the image and the trust you have in me as your king. I am aware that, as a leader, my conduct must be impeccable and exemplary, and I sincerely regret having failed in this obligation.

We have always been strong and prosperous thanks to unity and mutual support among all of us. Now, more than ever, it is crucial that we remain united and face these difficult times with dignity and respect. I ask for your understanding and patience while we work together to restore the trust and stability that have always been our strength.

I deeply appreciate your continued support and loyalty. I commit to learning from my mistakes and to striving to be the leader you deserve. Let us move forward, building a bright future for our coming generations.

And also, I swear to end, in one way or another, everything that harmed me and has caused the destabilization of the entire nation.

With all my appreciation and respect,

Harry.

Chapter Text

I can write the saddest verses tonight.

To think I don't have her. To feel I've lost her.

Love is so short, and forgetting is so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,

my soul is not content with having lost her.

One day before his trip to Russia, and two weeks after everything, the only thing Harry knew was that Louis, at some point, had taken a direct flight to Moscow to begin directing or supervising the rehearsals of Swan Lake along with Matthew Bourne.

In fact, he had found out about the striking security that had surrounded them as soon as they set foot in Russia, because of possible anti-capitalist attacks against them; and how worried the world was. If something happened, the Cold War would begin to turn hot and there would be military intervention.

Perhaps, because of the danger, Harry had bothered to say that any call from abroad should reach him, whatever time it was, because deep down there existed in him a horrible worry drilling into his head every second, making him believe that his worst fears had come true and that Louis had ended up confined in some concentration camp, or at least, in a Moscow cell.

But he couldn't call him, he wouldn't allow himself to distract him in the most important week of his career. Surely, he would be thinking about everything except him and their reunion.

Above all, it was the silence that kept him awake, but the worry didn't last too long.

That afternoon Harry harbored the hope of hearing his phone ring and it being a call from Louis, but instead, he received something else.

He was about to go out to dinner with his family at a restaurant in central London, including Gemma's family, to formalize the abdication once and for all and give arguments without being refuted, since his parents had agreed not to interrupt him; when the intercom in the living room rang, indicating that a package had arrived. His sister took care of receiving a couple of mail carriers who rarely passed by there if it wasn't Saturday, allowing them passage upon seeing them pushing a metal cart on which they carried an enormous cardboard box, apparently heavy.

"What have you bought now?" Gemma questioned once the mail carriers said goodbye after leaving the box on the floor of the main living room.

"Nothing," Harry raised his eyebrows as if he had heard a joke.

So the owner of the mysterious package broke the seals with certain eagerness, discovering two other white boxes inside along with some black letters in the middle that formed the name of an expensive clothing brand.

"DIOR" The most expensive brand of the moment, so much so that the spring-summer collection had been presented to Harry alone a month after his coronation, in February of that same year, by Christian Dior himself.

He opened the box with such care that anyone would swear what was inside was his own heart, but there was only an enormous black cover that held a complete suit, folded and perfectly placed under a white envelope with the same inscription of the brand.

He took the envelope under his sister's curious eyes, which looked at him leaning against the door frame. Inside was a personalized card.

"So you can cry (with happiness) in style. Always yours, -L.T.".

If it had been up to him, he would have printed seven hundred copies of that note and would have attended the awards with his body papered with them, because honestly, he preferred to show off Louis before a brand suit.

He proceeded to unwrap the suit and for the first time in his life stopped doubting him and his disastrous taste when choosing clothes.

It consisted of a grayish-blue jacket that matched identical pants and a white shirt.

He then opened the smaller box, finding another white envelope and opening it almost desperately.

"To be honest, I saw you looking at the suit in a magazine. Once, in your room. You can always return it if you don't like it"

Under the envelope were some rather simple black loafers, but Harry swore he had never smiled for so long in his life. In a small box, under the loafers, was however the most special thing: A brooch and a tie with the swan theme; and personalized cufflinks in which the letters "H" and "L" merged, but which at first glance formed something abstract.

"And you told me you threw him out screaming?"

His sister's mocking question made him lift his eyes from the note. He sketched a melancholy smile toward her.

"I don't deserve him, he's a true angel." he shrugged.

His sister let out a giggle, apparently amazed by the answer. She didn't fully accept it, but having promised to be his support after the incident at the Ritz, she had to be there. And Harry had told her everything because if he felt anything, it was trust.

"I've never seen you so smitten with someone. No matter how much you say you hate him."

Yeah, well. The truth was Harry had never seen himself so smitten with someone either.

Upon landing, Moscow was covered in snow, and Harry, wrapped in his black raincoat and with a hat, feared falling at some point on his way from the plane to the car that would take him to his hotel.

A different hotel and very far from the city, which had been announced to the media. So he wouldn't be bothered or threatened.

So, he supposed the English embassy had also stated another whereabouts for Louis and Matthew.

And for Benjamin.

If the man showed up.

Actually, he had been so busy those weeks preparing his plan in complete secrecy, that he hadn't had time to think about the trip either.

Nor that he would run into Benjamin, no matter how much his bodyguards tried to avoid it and keep him away from him, as they had been explicit orders from Winston Churchill.

But he had had hours on the plane to process it, luckily.

He was also grateful that the people protecting them were English, at least him and Louis. He had demanded it from the royal house and his orders had become reality, and he had also taken the time to get to know each of the military personnel who would accompany him, for closer trust. Finally, he had given them hints of his plans there: solve things with Louis and return home, and he emphasized that every time he was with the blue-eyed one they should be outside the room or the place where they were and not enter unless either of them demanded it.

In addition to the fact that everything they heard would remain in complete confidence.

Upon arriving at the hotel, obviously, he didn't see Louis. Being that the day of the show, he would have spent the day at the theater since early.

His hair stood on end and he got goosebumps remembering he would step, no less, than the Bolshoi. That theater he had seen in photographs and about which people spoke so well.

He was so eager to arrive that, although there was still an hour left to leave, he put on his suit, that grayish-green one Louis had given him—he didn't quite know when—and waited sitting in the armchair looking at the clock and, occasionally, through the small window.

Louis was trembling with nerves, equally or even more than at the royal palace when premiering 'Sleeping Beauty'.

He was afraid. Anguished. His stomach churning.

He was exposing himself publicly. Not only himself, but also Harry.

Remembering him caused pain, and generated bleeding in that wound that stung every time he remembered his name.

He didn't hate him, of course not. He never could. In those weeks without speaking Louis had come to consider whether that was permanent, similar to what happened in Ireland, or temporary. Whether Harry would address him once in Moscow or they wouldn't exchange a word.

Above all, he thought about whether the ballet would produce something in him. Whether they were still united in body and soul.

Although seeing it represented in rehearsals, and seeing himself dancing again as a protagonist had been truly exciting, the night of the premiere already with the suit on and after the question session with the media about how it had been created, he realized that emotions intensified, perhaps because the people who had lived that story from outside, were finally going to observe their version live. Or simply because he, Harry, the other protagonist of that story, was going to be watching it from the upper front, in the most important box in the theater.

Another reason for re-imagining that ballet in that way, with a male corps de ballet, was the fact that Louis wanted to give Harry back the pride and responsibility he felt when the curly-haired one repeated to him—in the recent past—that he wanted to see him dance more often.

Although months had passed, he couldn't help thinking at least once a day that Harry had put all the love and affection in the world into spending hours and hours insisting on it, and now he was going to see it embodied.

Louis gets up when they knock on his dressing room door, and spends minutes standing, his legs tremble and nerves are breaking that peace he had been able to maintain all day.

Terror, fear, lack of control, nervousness. Words and feelings not so different that were starting to stalk him as soon as he sees his half-gray and brown hair and his thin figure enter the place where everyone is and without looking at anyone he heads to the opposite pole where he was as if trying to avoid his gaze full of hatred.

He hadn't had time, or desire, to think that he would also be there.

Benjamin Raynal seemed to have as a banner, or engraved on his forehead, a sign that expressed in capital letters the following:

"Everything I can screw up and annoy, I will undoubtedly do"

Louis looked at him a couple of times discreetly alternating his gaze between Matthew, who suddenly appeared by his side and tried to calm him.

"Ah, you should change right now, are you wearing makeup?" He observed his face up close, and the director himself answered himself. "Uh-huh, come on, I'll kick everyone out of this gathering someone has created to devour all the catering in your dressing room and you'll change flying."

"But..." Matthew was so fast that Louis almost didn't have time to interact.

"The principal dancer must prepare, leave the room please, gentlemen and ladies, Leave!" People were leaving after the great shout. "And go to your seats!"

Before the young director, who had something of a crush on Louis for his black hair and brown eyes, in addition to his energy at only 25 years old; left the room, the dancer grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"Do you know if he's out there?" He asked.

And Matthew quickly knew who he was referring to. Although the relationship between director and dancer hadn't been very close during the year they had spent creating the work, the young man had known small brushstrokes of the relationship between Harry and Louis; and according to his intuition, not everything remained in a simple friendship.

"You can't see the audience before the show, dear..." He sighed, shaking his head. "But I do know he's in the city, so, he has to be."

Bourne left the room shrugging and with a smile on his lips.

Louis had given him the idea for the ballet, and he felt proud to have captured the story so well.

"Through a corps de ballet formed by men, the aggressive and muscular nature of these animals is shown. Thanks to the original music by P. I. Tchaikovsky, Bourne tells us the story of a prince who feels trapped in royal protocols and seduces us with a magnificent flock of swans embodied by men.

Starting from historical references, either ancient or contemporary, another dimension is woven for the main characters: the roles of Odette and Odile are replaced by 'the swan' and 'the stranger'. The first is a product of human imagination; while the stranger is someone seductive and cynical who suddenly enters a royal ball, and takes advantage of other people.

Then there's the prince, Sigrid, who takes refuge in fantasy (as in the original story) to not face reality because during his life he hasn't been surrounded by love, and doesn't fit into the prince role either.

In the end, the ballet is a work of reflection on identity, to break the chains, stop feeling trapped and ask yourself: 'Who are you really?', or, better said, who do you want to be."

The lights dimmed, and Harry couldn't stop remembering the program and what was read in it.

He already knew about the stranger, the swan and the human; Louis had told him in Portland.

But he didn't know there would be a prince, locked in a golden cage.

His heart was racing, he felt it in his throat when the theater fell into complete silence, and everything was about to begin.

Oh, he loved him. He loved Louis, that he had decided to talk about them like this.

He loved him. More than his own life, he could even venture.

But his thoughts quickly turned off, at the same time as the lights.

Everything fell silent again and the curtain opened showing a bed, in it the prince, and when the lighting turned bluish, above the headboard the white swan appeared and began to move slowly, but strongly, until it disappeared and Sigrid woke up.

With precise and controlled ballet movements, he expressed his internal anguish. His face was marked by sadness and loneliness, his steps were firm but loaded with an invisible weight that seemed to sink him more with each movement.

And he took it personally. Although, still, he didn't start crying.

No matter how much tears accumulated in his eye sockets.

The Queen, elegantly dressed, entered the scene accompanied by a retinue of courtiers. She showed a distant and haughty figure, with a cold look that barely rested on her son.

And although at first Harry was reminded more of his father than his understanding mother, when she rested on her son everything changed.

The Prince, anxious for a gesture of affection, approached her with tentative steps, his body reflected the desperation for her approval. That feeling the king had also shared. The Queen is distant, and coordinates with the courtiers maintaining distances with her son, with the Prince, who trapped in this oppressive environment, tries to keep up, but his movements are clumsy, reflecting his internal struggle and his inability to fit into that restrictive world.

As the dance progresses, Tchaikovsky's music intensifies, underlining the Prince's emotional tension. His turns and jumps are increasingly desperate, as if trying to free himself from the invisible chains that bind him. At one point he stops, exhausted. His breathing is heavy, and his gaze is lost in the void, reflecting the immense sadness that overwhelms him.

But everything seems alien to him. As if no one supposed what was happening inside him except the audience.

Or even, not even the audience, but only Harry.

The scene culminated with the Prince collapsing on the floor, dejected by the pressure of his royal duties and social expectations. He was left alone, and the sadness was accentuated.

Finally he accedes to exhaustion, and as the curly-haired one had done a thousand nights, he sleeps to be able to dream. From there arises a mystical lake illuminated by a silver light.

In this dreamlike landscape, the water's surface is so calm it seems like a mirror, reflecting a starry sky. Suddenly, a figure emerges gently from the lake. It's a majestic White Swan.

Harry's swan.

The prince's swan.

Louis.

He has an imposing presence. With his bare torso he proclaims an entrance full of grace and power. And when seen by the prince, his eyes remain fixed on him.

Harry understood it more than ever, and although Louis hadn't taken a single step, he began to cry.

He had been the first in everything—before the ballet prince—: the first to be mesmerized watching Louis, the first to admire his beauty, the first to fall.

He had been the one who unable to contain himself had kissed him, enraged, months ago! And that's why the turning point between them occurred!

There's a palpable attraction, an instant connection that transcends words. The Swan, with his chest erect and wings extended, moved toward the Prince in a delicate arabesque, his body projecting a sensation of protection and strength.

He approaches timidly, his movements initially clumsy, reflecting his insecurity and amazement.

Like when they kissed for the first time on the balcony, and Harry had never kissed anyone!

But as Tchaikovsky's music envelops the scene, their steps synchronize with the Swan's, finding a common rhythm. Together, they embark on a pas de deux that is both an emotional dialogue and a dance. The Prince's lifts are secure, his turns and jumps full of renewed vitality, inspired by the Swan's presence. He guides him with elegant and secure movements. He becomes the beacon of hope and liberation that the Prince so yearns for.

The climax of the dream comes when the Swan, with a final and majestic arabesque, rises above the stage, his wings extended in a final act of liberation. The Prince, moved to tears, reaches toward him, wishing this moment of love and freedom would never end. But like every dream, reality slowly begins to infiltrate.

The music diminishes and the lights dim, returning the Prince to his world of oppression. The lake and the Swan fade, leaving the Prince alone once more, but now with a spark of hope in his heart.

And tears both in his eyes, and in Harry's.

And also, in the swan's. In Louis's.

Louis took five deep breaths before wiping the drops of sweat from his forehead. And the tears from his eyes.

He hadn't planned to break down so soon.

But the theater was imposing, Jackov's dance, his partner who played the prince, gave him chills at how much he reminded him of Harry, and for the first time in a long time he felt he couldn't take it anymore.

Everything had changed so much that year... He wasn't, by any means, the same Louis who was choreographer at the Royal Academy, but neither the one who had received in the bathtub and half-sick the call from Scarlett Andrew asking him, almost begging him, to help her with "a small favor".

Which in the end had grown.

The butterfly effect said that, the flapping of one, could cause a great tornado on the other side of the world.

And who knows if it was that call from Scarlett, or the one he made to his mother in the phone booth on the Ireland campus, right where he met Harry, that was that flapping that caused the situation they found themselves in at that moment.

"Okay, I'll touch up your makeup, is that okay?" An assistant positioned herself face to face, and lifted his head to paint his eyes black, which had become less intense from the sweat.

"How long until I'm on?" He launched to ask, to keep clear control of the times.

"Five minutes, time is running." She responded, leaving quickly and somewhat stressed, walking fast.

On the theater stage, a royal ballroom was shown, in which pas de deux were intertwined. Isolating the prince, who performed a series of pirouettes and sautés with palpable melancholy. Until suddenly, the atmosphere changed. A magnetic and dark figure burst onto the scene: the Black Swan.

Louis remembered that, in the first draft, he was the one who interpreted it, but when he found out what happened with Benjamin he decided he couldn't do it.

He couldn't be good and evil.

He loved Harry, he didn't want to hurt him.

The Black Swan moved with seductive confidence, using his arabesques to approach and envelop the guests in his aura of mystery and danger.

He unleashed in the prince a whirlwind of emotions, making his elegant technique crumble into clumsy and chaotic steps.

The audience could feel the tension between them.

But Harry, also felt the anguish in his own flesh. That was the dark part of the story. The one that would never be shown to the public except in that ballet.

Finally, Sigrid, emotionally defeated, collapsed while watching the Black Swan retire with a triumphant smile. The music diminished its intensity, and the Prince was left alone in the center of the stage, his fragile and broken figure symbolizing the peak of his despair.

Dejected and lonely, just as Harry had been at some point.

First in Ireland and in the loneliness of his shower or on Raynal's sofa. Then, in the dimness of his room.

In the final act, the curtain rose to reveal the stage of a mysterious and somber lake, bathed in dim light that accentuated the atmosphere of desolation. The Prince appeared on stage, his fragile and desperate figure stood out against the darkness. His movements were erratic, driven by palpable anguish as he desperately searched for the White Swan, yearning for the comfort only he could offer.

Harry had ruined the sleeves of his suit, soaked with tears. Also his nails, bitten from nerves. And his eyes were red because he felt he could no longer cry anymore.

He was the prince.

Louis was, literally, the white swan.

And Raynal was the strange, the black swan.

Tchaikovsky's music reached a dramatic crescendo, enveloping the audience in growing tension. Suddenly, a series of swans emerged from the shadows, their precise and synchronized movements suggesting an imminent threat. These swans, with their white feathers, but with a dark aura, represented the Prince's internal demons, the fears and doubts that had pursued him all his life.

All the "why did I do that, or this other thing" that had pursued Harry, from Raynal's dark room to how the dark Portland sea had received him, in which he came to die and revive on the shore.

Each step of the prince seemed like a struggle against an invisible force, an internal battle between hope and despair. The audience held its breath, trapped in the intensity of the moment.

Oh, if they knew they were witnessing the very King of England months ago...

And then, in the midst of chaos, the White Swan appeared.

Louis's entrance was majestic and serene, a beacon of light in Harry's, or the prince's, emotional storm. He had supernatural grace, he was a refuge, a promise of peace and love.

Which had transformed into paper rings, and one of them was in the inner pocket of the feathered pants Louis wore, while the other did so in Harry's suit jacket.

The Prince, upon seeing him, filled with renewed hope and ran toward him, his movements became more secure, more determined.

However, reality and fantasy began to intertwine dangerously. The other swans, the Prince's internal demons, didn't stop. They continued their attack, surrounding the Prince and the White Swan, creating a circle of conflict and confusion.

Harry and Louis, the prince and the swan, tried to find each other; their hands almost touched, their gazes full of longing and pain. But external forces, represented by the threatening swans, and the Prince's internal conflicts, cruelly interposed between them.

Louis held his breath.

All the dancers in the company had crowded backstage to watch him. Some were moved, others shaken. Zayn and Niall were hugging.

It was the end of an era. The exposition of a story through metaphors coming to its end.

Louis took long strides effortlessly across the stage, so fast and smooth his feet seemed to float above the ground. They had placed wings on him with which he could flap wildly around him. It didn't seem as if he were dancing to the rhythm of the music, but that the music moved through him.

Suddenly, Harry knew what was coming and more than one tear slid down his cheek. Louis rose high in the air and spread his great black wings.

He was flying. He was his angel.

Louis was an angel, he was his. And he had almost lost him more than once.

The entire theater jumped to its feet, there was thunderous applause, but the curly-haired one continued in his seat, half-sniffling.

The music intensified when Sigrid also began to do fouettés.

32. Maybe less. But in the end, like the ones he had learned with Benjamin.

And while he was turning, the white swan and the black one fought. The turns and jumps were suddenly blows and kicks. Louis's wings broke. The stranger broke them.

The music increased again and Harry swore he saw Louis gasp tired.

The black swan tilted his head and drew an expression of pain on his face when, despite Louis's wounds on his wings, he was cornered.

He was dead.

But the white swan also faded with pain, having lost his wings during the battle.

Just as Louis had lost Harry at various moments.

The curtain fell softly, leaving the audience in shocking silence, moved by the tragic beauty of the scene. The Prince's struggle, his desperate search for love and freedom, and his tragic separation from the White Swan, resonated deeply, leaving an indelible impression on the hearts of all present.

And Harry exploded in tears as he stood to applaud.

Upon entering the backstage and being welcomed by the silence of his dressing room, after a couple of glasses of champagne and several bouquets of flowers, he felt dazed. He put on a t-shirt and although he was wearing the feathered pants, he collapsed in one of the armchairs.

He thought the nerves would calm down, but for some reason they were still there, at the bottom of his stomach.

After fifteen minutes of seeing him shocked in the box, the eagerness of both, but especially Harry's, to see him and clarify things was becoming increasingly greater and his whole body trembled imagining the possible outcomes that situation could have that early morning.

Neither wished that to be a semicolon that would force them to meet more times or leave things unclear.

So Harry knocked on the door, leaving his security outside the room.

He had flushed cheeks, eyes from having cried, moistened lips... Hair pulled back in a small low bun, letting small strands fall on the sides of his face.

He greeted with a small nod, and Louis quickly got up from his seat.

"Did you like it?" He asked, ignoring the greeting.

Harry's eyes filled with tears again.

He had never known anyone as brave as Louis, he thought no one would tell his story, if it wasn't himself.

"S-sorry, I'm emotional." Harry responded stuttering, and Louis wasn't able to repress the urge to hug him.

So he threw himself into his arms, comforting the little one with caresses on his back. And right away, shedding some tears himself too.

"Don't cry, please. I did it for us. For you, Harry."

Upon separating, Harry dedicated a half-shy smile to him, and a nasal laugh as he wiped his cheeks of tears.

"I had no other way to remember you." He admitted through sobs. It broke him to see Harry cry, and on top of that, the moment of having danced had already been overwhelmingly emotional in itself. "So, I captured you in my favorite thing in the world. I didn't want to forget you, neither the current Harry nor the one from Ireland. I would repeat a thousand times all your versions, I would love you a thousand times in whatever way. And if I can't do it, at least I'll have this ballet to see how we could have been in another universe. Who knows, maybe in some you would have been my prince inside the stage, and not just outside."

"I don't know what to say, Lou. I... I'm sorry for throwing you out like that. You're my angel, you're my swan. I don't want to end up like in the ballet, I want you always by my side."

And quickly he searched in the inner pocket of his jacket for the paper ring he had brought from London.

"As we promised each other. Our souls are supposed to ascend together to heaven, whatever happens, right?"

"Harold..."

Louis ran a hand through his hair, trying to avoid tears, and putting his hand in his pants pocket he took out his.

"I couldn't not carry you on me today. Whatever will happen between us will happen."

"I never wanted to leave you like that. I was afraid. I've made important decisions these weeks and... oh..."

And Harry cried again.

He had left the throne. Well, he would.

It shouldn't make him sad, but partly it did. Although it caused him more happiness to be able to be with Louis.

"We'll have time to catch up, my life. A drink? From what I understand, we're in the same hotel and we'll have our own party there. With few people, of course."

"I'll have to touch myself up a bit, but of course."

"Uh, you know what I need?"

Harry frowned. Was Louis one of those who needed everything in his dressing room after a performance as protagonist? And, was he really going to ask him?

"A kiss."

And the little one went from crying to soft laughter, as he slowly approached the older one with the intention of joining their lips.

Although the dancer found it short.

"There'll be plenty of time for more tonight, love."

Harry looked much better after washing his face and combing his hair at his hotel; and before leaving for the hall where the reception was being held, he stalked Louis throwing himself next to him on the bed.

"I'm not used to this. My whole body hurts." The dancer complained, stretching his legs and moaning from the notable soreness.

"What a drama queen."

"By the way, the suit looks good on you. I thought I had canceled the order."

"Canceled?" Harry was surprised.

"Uh-huh, it was programmed since October, when we came back from Portland. When we fought I thought about canceling it, but I drank a little too much the first night here; with Matthew, and apparently I didn't."

"Better, it was what pushed me to come. I was about to not do it."

"Why?"

"Fear that you'd hate me, I suppose."

"I would have hated you if you hadn't come. Premiering a ballet dedicated to someone, without that person being present... bad, truly bad."

Harry left a kiss on his crown.

Now he had a ballet.

A real one. And it was only his.

The hostel's rooftop, obviously not very luxurious to go unnoticed, was reserved that night.

Although in reality, at the party there were only the 4 main members of the cast, Louis, Harry and Matthew. And the vast majority were already more drunk than they had ever been, without being very aware of the others and dancing to the rhythm of the music that was playing through the speakers.

They had bottles of alcohol to serve themselves, and security had gone to rest about half an hour ago.

So when Louis went out to smoke a cigarette, and Harry after him because they had been stuck together all night; they realized they were also drunker than sober; and started laughing under the sleet falling on them but that didn't prevent Louis from lighting his cigarette.

Clearly the little sanity he had left, was evaded when the curly-haired one put no impediment at the moment Louis collected one of the sleet drops that had fallen on his neck and walked it along the edge of his shirt, confusing it with the rest of the drops until reaching his collarbone where he drew circles with his thumb without taking his eyes off Harry's closed eyes and his head, tilted against the cold brick wall.

He then bit his lip, and Louis interrupted him deciding that either it was he who tasted his corners or not even Harry himself could do it. And there was nothing wrong with allowing it because both knew their true limits, but that wasn't what he needed at that moment and feigning a security he, in reality, didn't feel, he brought his hand to his pants where he found no belt to interrupt his inquiries.

For a few seconds they held each other's gaze in the dimness. Harry could swear the blue-eyed one seemed surprised by his daring, but what Louis was actually thinking—apart from mourning his boy's short curls—considered he had one of the most desired men on the planet, wet from head to toe, with dilated pupils and his hand caressing his hip bones waiting for some movement; making him feel desired.

He pushed him a little more against the wall because of his thoughts, just enough to be able to press one of his legs to his large soaked jacket and get rid of it to the floor, still remembering they were in the middle of a rooftop that didn't have to be traveled, but it was always better to prevent than...

And Louis got distracted when Harry eagerly attacked his lips, which had pressed on the curly-haired one's before getting lost in his bad thoughts.

The green-eyed one didn't recognize himself when he sought to get closer to try to rub against his leg.

"Fuck, it's been a long, long time since..." It's the only thing he could manage to say, with a broken voice and between silent gasps, before a guttural moan came out of his throat when Louis decided to open his pants zipper.

"I'd so much like to ride you right now, have a bed and..."

He unbuttoned his pants button, making a metal sound that seemed impossible to hear with the noise of the rain surrounding them, but that in their ears sounded thunderous.

"I'm going to come just with your words, I've missed you so much."

Again, Harry blamed time for that madness, although it was only a few months apart, and that in reality there weren't that many. Because he didn't even remember how many days had passed since the last time, or if it was just an excuse to admit he couldn't think clearly at that moment when he had gone beyond the limits of his first two buttons on his shirt and was fighting with the third and the leather to reach his abdomen, in addition to his own clothes.

Harry, leaving fabrics aside, moved his hands from the dancer's butt to his front area and placed his right hand on his crotch, starting to grope it over his underwear.

"Fuck," He moaned. First for noticing the pressure his husband was exerting on the tip of his penis, in addition to the friction generated by himself pushing toward his hand; and then for frustration at Harry's small shirt buttons.

The latter then shook his head, seeing Louis's almost lost battle against them, more to himself than to him, and found no resistance when they shot off and got lost down the drain.

Their bodies sought accommodation, for a few moments, until finding the perfect position. Harry allowed with tranquility and soft gasps for Louis to kiss his chest and curse his haircut over and over while the curly-haired one heated up even more the icy atmosphere and the snow didn't stop falling on them, and even so Louis let himself be done to.

"I want... Lou, I want to taste you, it's been so long since..."

He looked up at the sky that was crumbling over their heads and thought that just as he was excited by the movement and sound of the bathwater when discovering himself for the first time, he could also get used to that precipitated water, to how cold Louis's hands felt on his body that warmed with a couple of touches and his almost frozen lips on his.

"It turns me on so much that your hands are cold and the contrast when you touch me, it gives me a thousand chills." He communicated to him.

"You're sick. I'm going to come just with what comes out of your damn mouth, Harold."

"And that's only if I've talked... imagine what I can do with it, love." He murmured in his ear while taking his hands out of his underwear fabric, causing him emptiness.

Louis hadn't noticed his touches when he saw him caress and feel that area shamelessly. But the moment they separated from him and didn't squeeze the tip of his cock, he perfectly remembered their touch and size.

He was grateful for the night and the rain that hid them. Although Louis was clear they were going to leave there with pneumonia because the Russian winter was harsh, and more so for going with shirts unbuttoned no matter how hot they were.

Louis moaned again when Harry's hand placed itself back on his crotch, caressing subtly while he lifted Louis's shirt with his free hand and kissed around his navel.

Louis's stomach contracted from the sensation and he held his breath, understanding why Harry was so excited by that temperature contrast.

The blue-eyed one tilted his head back when he felt Harry's hand at the base of his penis while leaving him caresses and finished taking it out of his underwear that was already at knee height.

Soon, it was also the curly-haired one who placed himself at that same height and on them.

"You're the only one who can put on his knees, or in any position, the king of a country. Who would say it... Consider yourself fortunate."

"We know that whoever you were, you'd do anything for me darling."

That last nickname, as if it were a trigger, drove Harry crazy. The phrase was true, he would do whatever with or for him always.

Shamelessly he stuck out his tongue, caressing the tip of his penis with it. Switching roles, it was Louis who turned to lean both his head and his back on the back wall while he strongly grabbed his short curls, despite Harry still being tasting small parts.

The curly-haired one ended up bringing his free hand across Louis's chest, and stretching his arm as much as possible to reach his beard and leave caresses, lowering in seconds to his waist to push him toward his mouth.

Louis straightened up and lowering his gaze toward Harry, he contemplated his penis disappear through his reddish and slippery mouth.

"Oh, you're doing it perfect." He let him know, making him increase his speed and his movements be equally rectilinear, but harder. The dancer then directed one of his hands to his nape, his thumb and index finger, each on one side without applying the necessary pressure to choke him, touched Harry's Adam's apple and the rest of his fingers caressed his scalp. Pushing and helping the sway of the curly-haired one's head while looking at him, preventing his gaze from not detaching from Harry at any moment.

He abandoned his neck to focus on his hair and from the frustration of having been able to enjoy only once having a large handful of his curls between his knuckles, he pulled harder than normal consciously, drawing a moan from the curly-haired one's mouth and causing him to lean with his free hand again behind his head, pushing himself toward Harry's mouth.

"Ahg, fuuuckk." He moaned with pleasure from the action.

Upon separating and reintroducing himself, he did it again in a delicate way including between his lips only the tip that was already spilling warm fluids mixed with his saliva, and caused Louis to bring his other hand to Harry's lower lip while he gasped and caused him chills from the breaths.

He caressed Harry's lower lip with his index and middle finger, pushing it slightly down, the curly-haired one opened his mouth more obediently while raising his gaze toward Louis's eyes, being his perdition and pushing his penis toward his mouth.

"Lou." Harry moaned, bringing his hand to his own crotch. "I-I can't..." So he ended up unbuttoning the first button and lowering the zipper of his own pants, introducing his hand and taking out his penis to masturbate while his toes contracted at the first touch.

Louis then separated as he could from him, with the difficulty of the little space between him and the wall, making Harry throw himself back and end up sitting on his knees with Louis in front of him.

"I want you to come without touching yourself, please, can you do that for me, sweetheart?"

The curly-haired one nodded quickly, as if he couldn't take it anymore, he had to continue the work he had left halfway. Or for the dancer himself to continue it.

"Destroy my mouth Lou." Harry moaned, moving his hand faster one last time over his glans and straightening his back.

Louis brought his penis with semen already coming out of it to Harry's mouth, only brushing with his lips, the curly-haired one upon feeling it opened it and exposed his tongue to taste Louis.

It was suddenly as if the humidity from the rain and his own confused each other.

Suddenly there were too many stimuli attacking his senses. The thunder and his muffled moans. Louis with force and hardness hitting against Harry's deep throat. The sweat, the smell of sex and their colognes. The skins sliding and rubbing. And the taste of blood that flooded Louis's mouth when he bit too hard not to scream.

Because the morbidity of the situation also drove those stimuli, even though they were on a private patio they were still outdoors, in danger.

Louis then leaned one hand on the wall and the other on Harry's jaw, raising his head and slowly introducing his penis through Harry's mouth; that is, after having positioned him with his back to the wall so the dancer could propel himself better.

Harry let out a moan while squeezing his own hands behind his back, without caressing himself and feeling the pain of his erection.

"Ah, i-it hurts." He complained, but his laments weren't heard.

Louis leaned his arm on the wall, guiding his penis inside Harry's mouth toward one of his cheeks, to also introduce his thumb and index finger into it.

"Oh holy shit, fuck."

He began to thrust more roughly, his penis disappeared more with each thrust he gave. Harry's lips and corner were red from the heat flooding his face and the curls occupying his forehead bothered him until Louis pushed them away forcefully.

It was there, while with one hand he masturbated in his mouth and with the other he caressed his hair, his ears and his nape; when Harry moaned loud, coming on the floor without touching himself and Louis moaned while throwing his head back and bringing both hands to the brick wall, using it as support while he pushed himself forward.

His hips suddenly tired, Harry's mouth couldn't stay open anymore and daydreaming took hold of them every second that passed. As if they were going to fall asleep.

But they couldn't, they had been fantasizing about that for months and it had to end—and continue in bed if they felt like it afterward.

Harry brought his hands to Louis's butt, pushing deeper and the dancer was surprised, while gasping louder at the curly-haired one's daring.

A daring that continued forward, because Harry despite still exerting pressure, turned his attention to his fingertips that were getting closer and closer to his anus, caressing Louis's ring with his index finger.

A Louis who tensed more and more from the touch and became faster and faster with his thrusts while Harry only opened his mouth more and massaged his butt, sinking his index and ring finger into the dancer's entrance repeatedly.

Louis looked down, seeing Harry looking at him while completely sucking his penis and his mouth was stretched by the width of his cock.

"I could die here and now." He whispered, so low it was eclipsed by the noise that Harry's saliva-covered fingers generated when entering and exiting.

It was when Harry walked his fingers from his balls to his entrance again that Louis's legs began to fail.

That made the curly-haired one place his arm under his buttocks so he'd have support if his legs failed him.

In seconds Louis arrived with a moan that came from the depths of his throat, when Harry provided both a final deep throat and three fingers introduced in his entrance. Even so, trying to gradually overcome the spasms, he kept Harry's mouth on his penis trying not to spill anything while continuing to moan and swallow at the same time.

"Harold, god." Louis murmured, releasing Harry's hair and pushing his body back, Harry took care of putting his boxers back on and pulling up his pants, leaving him a kiss on his collarbones and staying in front of him. "I love you, I love you so much that..."

And after a tender kiss on the lips, Harry separated to leave him a delicate one on Louis's nose, moving away and putting his own member in his pants.

Without knowing for certain how they had gotten to bed the night before, they found themselves having breakfast before leaving for the plane that would take them back to London.

"So... The news from London..." He didn't finish the question, as he introduced a piece of the muffin he had dipped in the coffee first.

"Oh, I'm going... to abdicate."

Louis felt the piece of bun return through his throat until almost expelling it through his nose.

"And nothing is going to change my decision." He said it so fast he didn't even enunciate.

Louis stared at him exalted.

Would he abandon the royal house forever?

"Not because I love you more than the monarchy. But because it defends values that don't represent me, and I feel I can no longer change them. They need someone who isn't so worn out."

"And that someone is..."

"James."

Louis turned his head, and frowned even more.

"My sister's son. He's 16, but she... has offered to rule until he comes of age."

"She accepted? I mean... without clauses, something in return..."

"That I'd help her do it right. But from the shadows, from wherever I go with you. If you agree to me going with you."

"Did you just say very directly that you want us to move in together?" Louis asked with his hands on the table, intertwined.

"If you don't mind... either in Portland or wherever..." Harry responded with an affectionate smile, and shrugged. He supposed those weren't the time or place to talk about such an important topic, so he decided not to insist more in case it made Louis uncomfortable, whose cheeks had turned slightly colored.

"Of course I want you to live with me. I don't conceive life any other way. We'll renovate the Portland house, we'll be fine there. With the earnings from Swan Lake's tour... I suppose I can help Zayn in another way than being there, or even spread ballet through more places in England."

"It will be a pleasure, then," the little one corroborated standing up to hug him. "It's my safe place."

"I heard you say those had been the most beautiful days of your life. You want to know the truth? They were mine too. And I'd love to be able to create new memories there with you."

His last words were drowned by Harry's mouth, who had stopped dead to give him a kiss on the lips that left him mute.

"It's the place where I've felt most loved ever. And I trust us more than ever. When you really adore someone as fully and desperately as I believe you and I do, you endure anything."

Once more, Louis marveled at the amount of affection his chest could come to harbor for that incomparable man he was fortunate enough to call love, husband. In the dimness of the room, he leaned in again and, with closed eyes, kissed Harry again, to try to show him without words how much he valued each of his occurrences and thoughts.

That life with Harry sounded really good.

As for the crown, it was supposed to win, but they didn't know that love always came above everything.

And they also didn't know that what was kept in silence was what lasted the most, both in pain and in love.

❧ THE END. ☙