Solo Trip

A/N:This was a request from the lovely @pzb2006​ who asked for an imagine about a girl names Paris who was in Italy while Harry was shooting for his Golden music video and he wanted her number.

Thank you so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!!

Warnings:None

Word Count: 3,874

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Paris was never a particularly adventurous girl, she always wished to be and fantasized about a life of excitement and travel, but she was sure she would be doomed to boredom for the rest of her life. Nothing exciting ever happened to her. It was like she lived her life like the movie Groundhog Day, the same day repeating over and over and over. She was sick of it. And it was on her eleventh straight day of eating the same, boring old cereal for breakfast when she decided she needed a change.

Immediately, she began to do research. At first, she was thinking of something more local; maybe a trip to the city, or the beach. Then she started to broaden her search. Maybe something on the opposite coast. That could be exciting. But, then she paused. If she was going to go on an adventure, she wanted to make it big. She decided to explore the idea of another country. There were so many to choose from. Africa always sounded interesting Then there was Greece; she’s wanted to go there since she was little and watched Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. And, of course, there was Paris, the city of which she was named after. The City of Light.

But only one country stood out to her. Italy. She found herself constantly circling back to Italy, imagining herself strolling along the Amalfi coast and having lunch, alone, in the park. Meeting some mysterious and handsome Italian boy in the shops along the cobblestone. Relaxing alone along the shoreline, watching the sunset. It sounded like a dream. And finally, she booked a flight for her week-long vacation.

Paris spent the first day exploring the ruins of Pompeii and getting warped into the history of the city. She spent the second day at the beaches of Sorrento, letting the sun kiss her skin and the calming water rinse her of her worries. On the third day, she woke up energized, excited for her full day ahead. Paris enjoyed waking up knowing there was no set-schedule, nowhere she had to be at a certain time. She could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

In the morning, she took a stroll from her Airbnb to a little coffee shop down the street, deciding to have her little pastry and coffee outside on the patio, again, letting the warmth of the sunshine on her face. She stayed there for an hour, watching the locals walk by, smiling and laughing at each other. Everyone here seemed to be full of life and love; they all seemed genuinely happy. And, at this moment, so was she.

After breakfast, she decided to walk around some more. She visited shop after shop, never buying anything, but making mental notes on shops she wanted to return to before leaving to grab a few souvenirs. Finally, she ended up in a quaint, local grocery shop. Paris had every intention of just grabbing a few things to make back at her Airbnb, but when she saw the picnic basket, her plans changed. She wanted to have a picnic at the park across the street from where she was staying. It was the whole reason she booked it in the first place. It was large and spacious with beautiful cyprus and fruit trees scattered about, overlooking the ocean. And from what she could tell, hardly anyone ever went there. It sounded heavenly.

She went about the grocery store picking up way too much food for one person. How could she not? Everything looked so much better in Italy. Strawberries, a sandwich, pastries, soft pretzels, cookies, and two bottles of water. There was no way she’d be able to eat everything, but she’d sure give it her best shot. But first, she needed to stop by her place. Although it was warm, she thought it would be a good idea to grab a light sweater, just in case. Besides, there was a book in her luggage that she fancied a read, and this would be the perfect opportunity.

Her stomach grumbled when she finally got through the door of her lodgings. ****** Better make this quick, she thought, ******* I’m starving. She set everything down on the dining room table as she hurriedly rummaged through her belongings for a sweater and her book. She upturned everything, unsure of where they were when she remembered leaving them both out on the balcony the night before. As soon as she grabbed it, she flung her sweater over her shoulder, palmed the book, and shoved a pair of sunglasses on top of her head before rushing in, grabbing the picnic basket full of food, and heading out the door.

Paris fast-walked down the cobblestone hill, hiking the sweater that was slipping down her one shoulder while trying to carry the heavy basket and book with both hands as her sunglasses wobbled further down her head, practically sitting on her forehead, now. There was a crowd of mostly girls lining the road at the end of the street, all looking in one direction. ***** Maybe there’s a parade, she thought to herself as she neared, closer.

There was no time to stop and watch, the basket was getting heavier and she was certain she would burst if she didn’t get food in her soon. As she reached the crowd of girls, she noticed a red convertible mustang drive past with people hanging out the back and sides of it. The girls began to scream and jump up and down. Paris tried to look over the heads of the girls, but couldn’t see anyone else coming and figured it was a good opportunity to cross the road.

She squeezed through the crowd but was grabbed at and bumped by the girls, making her sunglasses fall lopsided over her face, tripping off of the curb and sending her book and picnic basket crashing to the ground, her food, which was thankfully wrapped, spread across the road. Hurriedly, she bent down, pushing her sunglasses back and attempting to collect all of her things as gasps, screams, and incoherent Italian babbling sounded behind her, not wanting to be in the way of the parade when it eventually made its way to her when a shadow blocked the sun from her eyes and a large, veiny hand held out her book.

“Are you alright?” she heard a deep, soft voice speak in clear English.

Paris tilted her head up and squinted, freezing for a moment as the condensation from her cold bottle of water trickled down her hand and onto the pavement. Suddenly the line of giddy girls made sense. It wasn’t a parade, it was Harry Styles. Quickly, Paris got to her feet, grabbing the red bound book from his grasp as she tucked hair behind her ear.

“I’m so sorry, I thought it was a parade. My sunglasses fell off my head and I couldn’t see and I tripped off the sidewalk, I’ll probably have to throw out my cookie,” Paris trailed until she heard Harry chuckled and put a warm hand on her shoulder which made her stop. She hadn’t realized until then that he was panting and a little sweaty, but his curls were still perfectly intact.

“No worries,” he reassured her, “Let me help.”

He bent down with her to collect her things as girls just stood back, giggling, and taking pictures. Harry did his best to entertain them, saying hello and responding quickly to things they shouted out like ‘how are you?’ and ‘I love you’ all while carefully placing her sweets and food back in her picnic basket.

When they had gotten the last soft pretzel in, Harry took hold of the basket and stood up, “I’ve got it,” he offered, giving her a nod that made her know that it was okay for her to follow him.

He waved goodbye to the girls that stood off to the side of the road and slowly walked down the middle of the street where, just yards away, that red mustang was idling with several men and a camera strapped to the back of it waited. He held a hand up with his finger waving to signal that he just needed a minute as he helped her cross the street.

“There’s a lot of food on this. Is it just you?” he asked.

Paris blushed, shoving her glasses back on top of her head, “Yeah. My eyes are bigger than my stomach.”

He chuckled again, stepping up on the curb, “You’re not from around here?”

She shook her head, “No, I’m from the states. Just needed to get away for a bit, so I took a solo trip. It’s my first time here.”

His eyebrows raised, pursing his lips in intrigue, “I took a solo trip once. Probably one of the best vacations I’ve ever been on.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to feel that way,” she bit her lip to hide her smile, looking down at her feet. Her butterflies were going berserk, trying to figure out if this was real, or not.

Harry smiled, looking down at her as they slowly walked down the sidewalk, side by side. She was quite beautiful, with soft skin and a bright smile, and her eyes reflected the light in a way that reminded him of stained glass. He nudged her a little, joking, “Don’t look down. That’s how you tripped in the first place.”

She let out a breathy laugh, looking up at him, “I think I’m just inherently clumsy.”

He grinned, keeping his eyes on her as they walked before he realized that he probably shouldn’t stare and looked straight ahead, asking, “So where are you headed with all this food?”

She nodded her head and pointed a little further ahead at the path that led into the park, “Just in there. Was going to find a tree to sit under for some shade and have some lunch.”

“Ah. Lunch and a view,” he noticed the sea waves crashing into the coast just below the cliffs, “Sounds wonderful,” he stopped as they reached the path, looking down at the basket with food, “Well, save me a pastry. In case I see you again,” he handed the basket over to her.

She giggled, taking it from him and heaving it into the crook of her arm, “Thanks. Sorry again. Have fun doing…..whatever it is you’re doing,” she motioned to the mustang.

He laughed, walking backward and waving, “I’ll try. Bye, it was nice meeting you!”

With a tight-lipped grin, she nodded, watched for a second longer, and turned to make her way down the path. But with the loud, echoing sound of his voice, she heard him yell, “Wait! What’s your name?”

She turned, laughing, and shouting, “Paris!”

“Paris,” she barely heard him repeat as his smile widened toothily and he shouted back, “See you later, Paris! Don’t forget! I want that pastry!” And with one last wave, he took off down the street, running as his puffy white top flowed and rippled behind him.”

A few girls ran up to her right after he left and asked her what he said, but there wasn’t much to tell. When they realized she didn’t have much information, they all stuck around for about an hour longer, waiting, in hopes that he’d come back. And as she ate her lunch, even she found herself looking around for any signs of him. After a while, she realized he probably wasn’t going to be back and attempted to read her book, but it was next to impossible to focus on any of the words after that.

The girls eventually left and Paris was one of the few people left in the area, leaning against the tree, picking at the strawberries beside her, book unread and open on her lap as she stared out at the ocean. She could hear a little dog barking in the distance, birds tweeting as they swirled in the air, the rustling of leaves as the ocean air blew through them, and the soft sounds of waves crashing against the shore. She had never been so relaxed before in her life.

She must have zoned out and been there for hours because by the time she came-to and something was trying to get her attention, it looked as though the sun would be starting to set shortly. Her name was being called, echoing somewhere behind her. She straightened up, hearing the ruffling of feet against the grass and twigs, turning, only to see Harry Styles making his way over in a hoodie, shades, and carrying a lump of fabric.

He smiled when they made eye contact, and as they approached, he held up the lump of blue and white fabric in his hands. “Blanket. Noticed you didn’t have one earlier and didn’t trust it to not be muddy.”

Paris smiled, standing up and moving out of the way so that he could lay the blanket out. And with a shake, he spread it out evenly on the first try.

“Was hoping you’d still be here,” Harry admitted, sitting down on one side of the blanket with a grunt, “I was afraid I wouldn’t make it in time.”

Paris blushed, reaching into the picnic basket and pulling out the now-cold pastry, “Couldn’t leave you hangin’.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, taking hold of the pastry and ripping a piece off, handing it to her before taking a bite. Moaning, he muttered, “These are my favorite pastries here. Still good, even if it’s been sitting out for hours.”

She smiled, staring at him in wonder. How was this happening? Why was this happening? She relaxed her shoulders, leaning back against the tree with her legs stretched in front of her, shoes off as they had been for hours now, looking down at both of their feet with the sea landscape before them.

“So, why are ***** you here?” Paris asked, turning to him, “I mean, clearly you’re not here on a solo vacation.”

He smiled, taking the last bite of his pastry and swallowing it down, “I’m shooting a music video.”

Paris nodded, trying to hold back a smile, and reaching for the spare bottle of water to offer him, “Makes sense. All the cameras, and the unnecessary running down the street in puffy white shirts.”

Harry chuckled, taking hold of the water, “Well, why are ***** you here? You said you needed to get away? What from?”

Paris shrugged, letting her head fall back on the tree and picking at the strawberries again, “It was just getting boring. I was living the same day on repeat for months, it seems. The same boring desk job, the same boring town, with the same boring people. I just needed to get out of there for a little before I went stir-crazy.”

Harry nodded, understandingly, “I’ve been on the go for so long that it’s almost impossible to stay still for too long. Sometimes it’s nice to sit and do nothing somewhere **** else. Somewhere that’s not home.”

Paris twisted her head in his direction to see he was sitting just like her, their shoulders touching. They didn’t say anything, but their eyes seemed to share the same understanding. It was so easy to be caught up in day-to-day life; doing what you’re told and switching to autopilot just to get through it. But it was times like these that made you sit back and just enjoy life for what it is and what it could be; beautiful.

Harry watched as a soft, closed smile stretched across Paris’ face and he felt his stomach start to do flips. This was new to him. He had never been so forward before. Sure, he’s gone back to places in hopes to get a girl’s number. But he’s never felt this inclined to stay and talk. Heck, they could sit there in silence, for all he cared. But something about her seemed to make his stress vanish.

He suddenly didn’t have to worry about waking up at the ass crack of dawn to continue shooting, he didn’t have to worry about the twelve-or-so people back at the rental who was probably waiting for him to get back or the dozens of emails he needed to respond to. He didn’t need to worry about the multiple contracts that still needed his revision and approval, and the legal battles he was in the middle of, and he didn’t have to worry about being seen by fans. Who cared? They weren’t important. This was. Sitting on a blanket, underneath a bug-infested tree, watching the sunset over the sea with a stranger.

They chatted for an hour about life and goals. Harry was a dreamer, and so was she. There were many things they wanted to do or accomplish, some much bigger than others. But, it seemed as though there was always something getting in the way. Paris wanted to get out of her small town and travel more. She couldn’t do it often; finances and lack of time off from work made it difficult, but if this trip taught her anything, it was that she needed to take time for herself.

Harry, on the other hand, wanted to do so much more with his time in the way of helping out any way he can. Wanting to volunteer to help out on trips to third-world countries and set up his own charities to help those less fortunate. Paris wasn’t exactly surprised by all of this, but still found it refreshing to hear his passion for it. It truly was something so heartwarming.

“How much longer are you here for, Paris?” he asked, digging into the container of strawberries that Paris had set between them.

Paris set the leafy bit of her strawberry on the container’s lid while she swallowed her food and muttered, “Three more days,” clearing her throat and turning her head to his she frowned, “Not nearly long enough.”

He nodded, solemnly, “It’s never long enough here. Funny, though. I leave in three days.”

“Yeah? What are you doing for the rest of your trip?”

“Well, I’ve got to finish shooting this music video, but I’ve got nothing planned tomorrow night. If you’re not busy, maybe I can treat you to dinner? As a, uh, thank you for saving me your pastry?”

Paris looked down at her feet, smiling shyly, before looking up, trying not to seem too enthusiastic as she nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear, “Yeah, sure. That’d be nice.”

He nodded, smiling himself, “Great. Do you, uh,” he cleared his throat, “have your phone on you?”

Paris perked up, feeling around her pockets and rummaging through the picnic basket before closing her eyes and sighing, “I left it in my room.”

He smirked, furrowing his eyebrows, “You’ve gone hours not realizing you didn’t have your phone?”

She shrugged, laughing, “I’ve been distracted by the sea.”

He chuckled, shaking his head and pulling his phone out of his pocket, glancing to see the dozens of missed texts and calls he had received since getting here. He groaned, mumbling under his breath as he scrolled through his apps until he reached his contacts, “I should probably get going soon. Do you know your number?” he asked, handing it over to her.

Paris took hold of his phone, the latest and greatest, not a scratch on it. And as she began to input her information into it, her mind raced. She was holding Harry Styles’ phone. She was holding his phone because he wanted her number. He wanted her number so that he could call or text her. He wanted to call or text her so that he could take her out to dinner tomorrow. Harry Styles was taking her on a date tomorrow. Was it a date? Or was it just a casual dinner? What was running through his mind right now? Did he like her? He must, why else would he take her out to dinner? Did he think she was cute? Would he try to kiss her tomorrow? Would she see him again after that?

She handed his phone back and he grinned, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Should we take a picture? Capture this moment? It’s golden hour in Italy. Seems fitting for the occasion.”

Paris grinned, nodding, “Yeah, sure.”

The two shuffled about on his blanket so that their back was towards the ocean, huddling in close. Harry pressed his shoulder to her back and bent his head down so close to hers that their cheeks were touching. She could smell his shampoo and musky cologne, she could feel the warmth from his body on hers. They smiled as he positioned the phone in front of them and double-tapped the camera button, taking two pictures.

“One more. A silly one,” he said.

She giggled, sticking her tongue out and scrunching her nose while Harry puffed up his cheeks and pursed his lips, clicking the button once more. He brought the phone down and turned to her, grinning.

“Thanks for letting me join you on this picnic,” he grinned.

She nodded, getting to her knees before standing up, Harry following suit, “Yeah, of course. Thanks for bringing the blanket.”

Harry chuckled, helping her pack her things back into the picnic basket while she folded the blanket nicely for him. He carried the basket while she hugged the blanket as they slowly strolled back towards the front of the park. The little dog was gone, now, and the only people in sight were an older couple on a park bench too far away to see clearly.

“I’m parked just over here,” Harry motioned to the left, “Can I give you a ride back?”

They stopped walking as they reached the entrance and Paris turned to him, shaking her head, “Oh, no, that’s alright. I can walk. I’m only two blocks that way,” she pointed to the right, grinning.

He nodded, not saying a word as they stood there for a moment. Finally, he held her basket up for her. She smiled, taking hold and swapping him with his blanket, “See you tomorrow?” he verified.

Paris let out a breathy laugh as she confirmed, “See you tomorrow.”

Harry smiled wider, outstretching an arm and giving her a tight, warm, side-hug before pulling away and walking backward, waving, “Bye, Paris.”

She grinned, waving back before she began her trek back to her Airbnb. She turned back to look only once to see Harry, who had been just sitting in his car for a couple of minutes, start up his car and drive off in the opposite direction. Paris twirled and giggled on her walk back, the smile never leaving her face.

When she finally got back to her lodgings, she dropped everything on the dining room table, racing to her room to find her phone, wanting to see if Harry had texted her at all. And, to her astonishment, she had one missed text from an unknown number, opening it to see one picture of her and Harry Styles smiling, and a second picture of them making goofy faces, with a text underneath that read ‘Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. Love, H.’.

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Taglist:

@odetostep@mylittleangel9403@thurhomish@fallingfordolans@gwenlovesharrystyles,@harryswinterberries,@gucciboots,@golden-grande, @mylittleangel9403​
@korlynn-grace @ilovedogs1989 @aalessandrabarboni

@f4llingfairy

this pics is everything.

(this is an edit, credit to whoever owns this pics)

the language of your soul

An enemies to lovers ballet AU in five acts.

Masterlist//Let’s Talk About the Chapter

Banner:@booksncoffee​

Warnings: This story (and chapter) will contain language, mentions of emotional abuse from a parent and eating disorders. Please read at your own discretion.

act v

Author’s Note: After a very extended intermission (sorry guys), I have finally had an opportunity to finish the last chapter of loys. If you stuck around until this point, I really appreciate it and I hope that this conclusion meets your expectations! Enjoy :)

4 Weeks to Opening Night

As Giselle sits on the hard plastic chair in the support group circle, A part of her wishes Harry was next to her. It’s a irrational thought, she knows. Harry isn’t her boyfriend, or even her friend, but some part of her imagines what it might be like to have those green eyes looking at her in reassurance as she faces her demons.

Giselle tries to push his face out of her mind. It has been a week since she last saw him, looking at her from next to her hospital bed. Since her discharge she’s been focused on herself, going to the intensive outpatient therapy for five days straight just as she was instructed. Putting in the work to combat her disorder head on. There’d been something freeing about leaving the dance world, even if only temporarily.

Giselle knows she should relish this while she can, because on Monday she’ll find herself back in that studio, rehearsing. That’s the real test. Can she overcome all the overwhelming pressure and still perform? Despite all that is going on in her life personally, is she strong enough to make it to opening night- now only three and a half weeks away?

The company has been lenient- although Giselle is not sure to what extent her mother’s influence has played in their accommodations. They mandated Giselle follow her doctor’s orders of one week of intensive outpatient therapy followed by regular support group attendance. Her return to rehearsal would be gradual. She would only do as much rehearsal as her body could handle. Whether or not Giselle would dance in Swan Lake was still up for debate, although her mother had reminded her incessantly that Gregory had assured her that as long as Giselle did the work- the role would still be hers. That didn’t stop the company, however, from treating Teagan as the lead in Giselle’s absence. At least that is what Caleb had relayed to her. But Giselle would be damned if she let Teagan dance the role after all she’d been through.

When the session is over, Giselle reaches into her purse to retrieve her phone. Two new text messages gleam from her screen. Her heart rate picks up, and she thinks that maybe this time it will be Harry checking in. But it’s just Caleb- asking her to call him when she’s done.

Caleb picks up on the first ring.

“Gi! How are you doing?” His voice is cheerful, maybe too cheerful for nine pm, but the sound of her best friend’s voice still makes her smile.

“Better,” Giselle says, because she isn’t confident she could define herself as all good quite yet. “Just finished my last day of intensive outpatient.”

“I’m proud of you Gi,” Caleb pauses. “But god am I happy you are going to be back here on Monday. It’s not the same without you.”

“It’s been weird not being there. But like not necessarily in a bad way?”

“Giselle Mason, are you for once in your life admitting that there are more places in the world than the dance studio?” Caleb feigns shock, which makes Giselle laugh out loud.

“Maybe.” She taps her foot as she waits for the light at the crosswalk to turn. “How’s Teagan?”

“Ummm…”

“Caleb, just tell me.” The light changes, Giselle power walks across the street, bracing herself for Caleb’s answer.

“I mean she’s been doing surprisingly well. Harry and her seem to pair together well. Not as well as you but you know… not the chaos that I was hoping would ensue.”

Giselle groans.

“Giselle, she’s not going to take your role. You earned that.”

Giselle stays quiet. Because she knows how easy it would be to for Teagan to swoop in and take her role.

“Speaking of the Brit, have you heard from him?”

“Harry?” Giselle asks, even though there is no other Brit Caleb could be talking about. “No, I haven’t talked to him since the hospital. But I mean why would I? He’s just my partner.”

“Right,” Caleb replies, but he sounds unconvinced.

Giselle stops walking. In front of her is the salsa studio that Harry took her to. She pauses, her mind flashing back to that first night when she and Harry really connected.

“Gi, are you still there?”

“Ya, ya. Sorry, just crossing the street.”

“It’s gonna be fine Gi. Don’t stress Okay?”

“Okay,” Giselle responds softly, but her mind is already racing with the stress of her return to the studio in less than 72 hours.

*******************
Giselle spots him before he spots her, standing in the corner of the studio with his legs beating in and out in first position as he faces the wall.

The sight of him makes Giselle stop and pause, her heartbeat accelerating ever so slightly. She’d been thinking about this moment for awhile. Her mind flipping through the scenarios of how he might react after what happened- or almost happened- in the hospital.

As if he senses her staring, he looks over his shoulder, noticing Giselle standing there. His eyes flashing with an emotion she can’t quite place.

“Giselle, welcome back.” His tone is cool and even, like his greeting is a formality rather than a welcome to a friend. He turns his attention back to the wall before Giselle even has a chance to acknowledge he spoke.

Giselle doesn’t know what she was expecting- for Harry to swoop her up in his arms? For him to tell her he’d missed her? Of course he wouldn’t do any of that. But Giselle can’t help but feel disappointed in his greeting.

She tries to push Harry out of her mind, finding her normal spot at the barre and sitting on the floor to put on her pointe shoes. The boxy end of the shoes feeling foreign against her toes, a reminder of just how quickly time had passed since she’d been gone from the studio. She would need to put all her energy back into the performance if she wanted any chance at dancing in Swan Lake. And if she was going to do that, she was going to have to forget all about Harry Styles.

******

Harry hadn’t known how he would feel about Giselle returning until he’d seen her this morning, standing in front of him in her navy blue leotard and staring at him with those big blue-gray eyes.

If he was being honest, he’d done everything he could to keep her out of his mind since their conversation in the hospital. He didn’t like the way thinking about her felt. He didn’t like the way she seemed to make him pour out his secrets to her.

But when he had seen her, all those thoughts came flooding back. He had wanted to wrap his arms around her and ask how she was feeling. He had wanted to tell her that rehearsals hadn’t been the same without her and that Teagan hadn’t quite nailed down the final scene like Giselle had. But he couldn’t say any of those things, because those things were dangerous. And with opening night less than four weeks away, there is no time for danger.

Harry’s warming up his jumps when Giselle enters the studio. He avoids eye contact with her, but watches from the corner of his eye as she relevés softly at the bar. Neither one of them speaks.

He is grateful when Gregory enters to begin rehearsal, and even more grateful that their one-on-one practices are no longer necessary.

There’s a tension between them as they dance, Harry’s not sure Gregory notices but he knows Giselle does. Her body reacting differently to his touch then before- cautious, like she’s not quite committing fully to the partnership.

Harry’s not surprised when Gregory calls for the end of rehearsal much sooner than normal. He knows that Giselle is supposed to be easing into things, but he can see the concern cross her face when Gregory tells them to stop. This girl wouldn’t stop rehearsing for anything.

Harry grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder, ready to head to his second rehearsal with Teagan when Giselle finally speaks- clearly tired of his silence.

“Why do you do this?” Giselle demanded, her hands placed firmly on her bony hips. Her face still looks thin, but the fire that had been missing from her body the last time Harry had seen her had been reignited.

“Do what?” Harry asks, even though he can read her body language like a book.

“This hot and cold. One day your my friend, the next day I’m the devil.”

Harry tried to hide his smile. Because she’s right. She is the devil to him.

Harry simply lets out a chuckle. “You’re overthinking again,” he taps Giselle on the head with one finger before walking towards the exit. He doesn’t have to turn back to know that the scowl that will be on her face.

Harry wants to feel bad- he DOES feel bad, but he can’t let Giselle know that. He can’t let her see the crack she’s made in his armor. The crack that made him think about her, worry about her, nearly every second since he last saw her. He doesn’t need the distraction. She doesn’t need the distraction. And Harry will do what he always does when he’s scared of getting too attached- he’ll avoid.

*****************

Three days later, Giselle is wandering through the building in search of an empty studio. She’s still under strict limitations for her scheduled rehearsals, but that hasn’t prevented her from sneaking in extra time to practice alone.

Harry has still been, for all intents and purposes, pretending that she doesn’t exist. Giselle supposes she should be thankful, it makes it easy for her to focus on her dancing. But somehow, it seems to have the opposite effect, it takes everything in her power to focus on the dancing instead of the partner sharing the stage with her.

Giselle doesn’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s never been this distracted before a performance before, and for what reason? A silly boy with emerald eyes that made her feel seen for all of five minutes? It was ridiculous.

As Giselle walks down the main hallway, she hears Harry’s bellowing voice. His accent ringing in her ears like a sweet melody. But then she hears a different sound. A giggling, and it’s not coming from Harry.

She rounds the corner, the studio door at the end of the hallway is wide open. Through the glass she spots Harry, and then a dark brown head of hair. Teagan. Every part of her brain is telling her to turn around and yet she lingers watching them.

Teagan’s arm is draped around Harry’s neck, her mouth wide open in obnoxious laughter. Harry’s smiling too, the cheeky grin he does when he’s trying to really attract attention. Their body language tells Giselle everything she needs to know about the two of them, she’s seen the look in company class a few times since Harry arrived at the Royal. Harry wants to sleep with her.

Giselle turns away with a huff. How had she been so stupid? Of course Harry hadn’t changed. Of course, there was nothing special between him and her. Of course, he would find Teagan beautiful. Of course, he was the same arrogant player that had crashed into her life ten weeks ago.

And for the first time she started to rehearse for this role, Giselle thinks she might truly understand how Odette feels when she finds her prince dancing the night away with Odile.

***************
2 Weeks to Opening Night

Harry can tell something is up with Giselle.

He’s been trying his best not to pay much attention to her. To focus on perfecting the choreography for the show and making sure that, regardless of who ends up being his partner, he can put on the performance of his life. But it’s hard to ignore the body language she gives him during rehearsal. The avoidance of eye contact, the short replies, the glares he catches out of the corner of his eye when she thinks he’s not looking. He knows that this is exactly what he wanted, this space between them, but somehow it doesn’t make him feel any better. And the distance between them emotionally is beginning to impact their performance.

There’s only a few more in studio rehearsals before they go to the theatre, and while Gregory hasn’t said when he is going to announce whether or not Giselle or Teagan will be dancing the role of Odette, Harry suspects the announcement will come sooner or later.

Today, the three of them are rehearsing in front of the entire board. Harry’s agent has reminded him to be on his best behavior.  Harry knows he will be, he’s more concerned on whether or not he and Giselle will be able to put aside their feud and dance like he knows their capable of.

Teagan is in the studio when Harry arrives. She flashes him a flirtatious smile as he enters. Harry smiles back. He knows deep down, that Teagan is just his distraction from Giselle. But distraction or not, he enjoys the attention.

“Are you ready for today?” Harry asks, sliding off his sweatpants and making his way to the center of the floor.

“Of course, we are going to nail it,” Teagan giggles, she comes up next to Harry and throws her arms around his neck. “Maybe we should celebrate tonight? If it goes well?” her mouth curves into a suggestive smirk.

Harry just smiles. He is never opposed to a little celebration. He watches as Teagan eyes his lips, then before he realizes what’s happening, she leans in and brushes her lips against his. It’s not unpleasant, but it doesn’t ignite his body like it did with Giselle.

“For good luck,” Teagan smiles as she pulls away.

Harry looks over his shoulder and notices that Giselle is standing in the doorway. He hopes she hasn’t seen what just happened, but he’s almost certain she did because the glare she’s giving Teagan right now is cold enough to freeze a desert.

Before there’s any chance for dramatics, Gregory enters the room with Giselle’s mother and the rest of the board in toe, dressed to the nines in their business attire. Gregory announces them as if his dancers don’t have any idea who they are and then they begin rehearsal.

Harry dances with Teagan first. It doesn’t go poorly, but Harry knows that Teagan is nowhere near the technical perfectionist that Giselle is and it shows. The chemistry between the two of them today feels even more forced than usual.

After a brief break for Harry to rest and some of the other cast to run through pieces, Harry and Giselle begin their piece. The tension between them becomes obvious after the very first set of turns and Harry knows that, whether intentional or not, Giselle is holding back. It’s not until Giselle nearly falls from a promenade that has come so easily for them time and time before, that Harry realizes just how much damage his little stunt with Teagan earlier has done.

When they finish, Giselle won’t even look him in the eyes. He can guess what thoughts are running through her head now, and none of them are good.

He glances over at Giselle’s mother, her black blazer-clad arms crossed over her chest, a look of distaste on her lips. He wishes in that moment he could shield Giselle for what he is sure is coming later, like he tried to in that hospital room weeks ago.

“Thank you for your work today,” Gregory announces with a clap. “We hope to make our final casting decision in the next few days.”

Harry lingers as the cast and board members begin to exit the studio and as he takes off his shoes and slips back into his sweatpants he can’t help but watch as Natalia Korsakova approaches her daughter in the corner of the room.

“What was that Giselle?” she only half-whispers. “I have never seen you dance like that in your life! I know the hospitalization set you back, but honestly Giselle were you not even rehearsing?” Natalia taps her foot against the Marley floor in an irregular rhythm, as if she’s try to dispel some of her own anger into it. “Do you know how difficult it was to even get Gregory to consider you continuing in the role after what happened?”

Harry watches as Giselle’s shoulders crouch forward in defeat, her eyes cast downward.

“When will you learn to earn the opportunities you are given for yourself? Honestly Giselle, sometimes I think you just expect me to fix everything for you!”

“Mom,” Giselle begs, her  voice cracking.

“No excuses Giselle. Now let me go talk to Gregory, and fix this mess once again,” Natalia clicks away before Giselle even gets a word in.

Harry stands. Although every part of his body wants to go over and comfort Giselle, he knows he can’t do that. Instead, he grabs his bag and throws it over his shoulder, willing himself not to look back as he exits the studio.

************************

Giselle doesn’t go to rehearsal the next day. She can’t face it. The failure from yesterday’s rehearsal. Her mother’s disapproval once again. The way her brain has become so obsessed with a boy she’s only kissed once that she couldn’t even execute a routine she’s spent months learning.

Giselle thinks that maybe, she isn’t meant to dance anymore. Maybe it’s all too much. She’ll never be a world-renowned ballerina like her mother or Harry.  She’ll never win her mother’s approval or pride. And so maybe it’s better to let Teagan and her new beau perform next week instead of embarrassing herself and her mother.

Giselle doesn’t know how much time passes as she lays on her couch in her tattered gray sweatpants staring at the ceiling. It feels like minutes and hours all at the same time. She tries briefly, to run through affirmations like she learned about in therapy, but the words sound stupid in her head, and so she stops all together.

There’s a knock at Giselle’s door. Giselle doesn’t register it at first, her mind somewhere else. Then she hears it again, louder this time and with more urgency. She tries to ignore it, closing her eyes and willing whoever is out there- her mother probably- to go away. But they don’t stop. They keep on knocking.

Giselle groans, then begrudgingly stands from her spot on the couch, moving towards the door and opening it with a click.

She doesn’t know who she was expecting to be there. Caleb maybe? Her mother? Certainly not Harry, who is standing atop her black doormat in a dark gray t-shirt and joggers.

Seeing him in front of her brings back all the emotions of the past few days. The anger of finding him with Teagan. The humiliation of thinking that there could ever be something more between the two of them.

“What are you…” she begins, trying to shut the door in his face.

Harry’s reflexes are quicker as he slides his foot into the door frame, blocking it from shutting.

“Can we talk? Please.”

Giselle can’t see his face now, but she can hear the begging in his voice. It’s not a tone she’s used to hearing leave his mouth.

“Why? So you can play me again?” Giselle snaps. “I saw you and Teagan, Harry.”

“I know,” Harry says softly.

There’s silence for a moment, and Giselle can hear her own heartbeat inside her ear. Thump. Thump.

“Can I come in?”

Giselle sighs. She doesn’t want to let him, to face him and fall into some stupid trance again. But she also wants to know why he came all this way. So she opens the door slowly and keeps her eyes fixed on the floor as Harry steps into her apartment and makes his way onto a chair in the corner of her living room.

“You weren’t at rehearsal today,” Harry states, as if Giselle wasn’t aware of her own absence. “I have a feeling I’m to blame for that.”

“Partly,” Giselle says softly, taking a seat on the couch across from Harry and crossing her legs beneath her.

“It made me worried about you. I know you’ve been going through a lot.”

Giselle can’t help but let out a snort at this comment. “Going through a lot? Really Harry? I’m questioning my entire career right now, my mother basically told me I will never accomplish anything without her help, and my asshole of a partner, who for about five minutes made me think he was someone who finally understood me, ended up just being an asshole. So yes, Harry, I’ve got a lot going on right now!” The frustration that leaves Giselle’s body has a somewhat comforting affect on her, as if the pent-up emotions from today have finally been released.

“You’re right, I’m an asshole,” Harry begins, twisting the silver ring that adorns his right index finger. “I guess this is the part where I say I had a sad excuse of a childhood and never learned to trust anybody. I walled myself off and told myself that if I didn’t get close to someone I couldn’t get hurt. They couldn’t hurt me if I didn’t care. And with you Giselle, well I started caring. So I did what I always do— I go and fuck it up.”

Giselle looks at him, silent.

“What you saw with Teagan, that’s my defense mechanism. It’s nothing serious, because I can’t ever do serious. I’m not cut out for that kind of real emotional relationship. Trust me Giselle, you don’t want me. You don’t want any part of this. I’m just an arrogant son of a bitch with a broken soul and commitment issues. I just needed you to see that. I’m no good for you, Giselle. I’m no good for anyone.”

Giselle stays quiet. She doesn’t recognize the man in front of her. Sure, she’s seen glimpses of him: salsa dancing, in her hospital room. But never like this: raw and vulnerable and…honest?

It didn’t justify his actions, not even close. And it didn’t solve the fact that there was almost certainly no way that Gregory would choose her over Teagan after the rehearsal today. But deep in her soul, Giselle knows Harry is telling the truth.

“I’m sorry Giselle. Truly, I am. You should come back to rehearsals, if you want. Don’t let my mistakes keep you from the role you’ve worked so hard for.”

“I think I’ve done my part in ruining any chance of that role for myself,” Giselle groans. “And honestly, I’m not even sure I want to do it anymore.”

“Well for what it’s worth,” Harry says, standing from the couch. “I don’t think there’s anyone that would make a better Odette than you. And when we are on, Giselle, it’s magic up on that stage. But don’t do this for me. Don’t do this for your mother. Don’t do this for the company. This performance is for you. It is all for you.”

He makes his way towards the door, opening it with a creak.

“Harry?” she says as he takes a step into the hallway. He turns, his eyes meeting hers. “Even broken souls are still beautiful.”

One Week Until Opening Night

Giselle has one night to make a life changing decision.

Well, technically she’s known she needed to make this decision for the past two days- ever since Gregory had called her and told her that if she showed up to dress rehearsal on Friday night the role of Odette was hers.

Her mother has been silent on the whole matter, and for this Giselle is thankful. Giselle is certain her mother just assumes that her daughter will want the role, and maybe she’s right. Or maybe Giselle is ready to hang up her pointe shoes and start a new life. Two choices. Two life-defining choices.

Giselle talked to Caleb on the phone for hours yesterday about this. Her best friend was nothing but supportive of course, but also unable to shed any true clarity on the situation.

Giselle decides that maybe what she needs is a nice long stroll down the streets of New York. Maybe the fresh air will clear her mind.

Her walk takes her past the company, where she’s spent more hours than she can count. Her home since before she could even walk. Some of her proudest moments have happened in that building. Standing on pointe for the first time, dancing her first solo, nailing her first pirouette. But that building has also been home to some of the lowest points in her life- times where she wished she could be anywhere but there.

As she continues through the neighborhood, she finds herself near a familiar building. There’s loud, upbeat music coming from inside, and for reasons unknown to Giselle, she finds herself opening the door and climbing the stairs.

Salsa class is in full swing, and just like the time she came here with Harry, she is quickly motioned to join the group. Giselle sets down her bag and makes her way to the center of the floor, where she is whisked into a dance with a elderly man whose eyes crinkle as he smiles. He doesn’t say anything to her, just grabs her hand and places the other on her back and begins to dance.

Instantly, the music draws her in and her body finds its rhythm. And as Giselle twirls around the room with a stranger, adrenaline courses through her veins. The music gives her life and she thinks to herself, how awful a world would be if she wasn’t able to dance, for this feeling is something you can’t experience any other way.

In that moment, Harry’s words echo through her mind. This is for you. She dances because it makes her feel on top of the world. She dances because their is no feeling quite like letting music totally consume your body and dictate its movements. She dances because it makes her feel alive.

And then her decision is made.

***************

“You’re here,” Harry exclaims when he sees her, the next morning.

“I am,” Giselle says. “I went to salsa class last night.”

Harry raises an eyebrow in a look that says ‘You did?’

“I understand now. I want to dance for me. I want to dance for the little girl that watched Swan Lake for the first time and imagined myself as the girl in the white tutu. And maybe I won’t make my mother proud or the company proud. But dancing Odette has been my dream for as long as I can remember, and I’m not going to let the pressure of someone else keep me from living my dream.”

"You’re going to make that little girl proud,” Harry says.

Giselle’s heart warms at his comment, but she tries not to take it to heart. This could be the beginning of another seemingly endless cycle of hot and cold between the two of them, and they couldn’t afford any cold during the performance.

She knows she has to say the unsaid, before it brings them back to square one all over again.

“Harry, you should know that it scares me too, this thing between us. No one has ever understood me quite like you do. Sometimes I feel like your looking right into my soul.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment, but he looks at Giselle and the look says more than words can. He offers her his hand. “Let’s go show Gregory the best Odette he’s ever seen.”

Opening Night

Giselle has never felt adrenaline quite like this. Under the bright lights, she feels as if she’s completely transformed into Odette. As the last scene reaches its climax, Giselle dances up the ramp to the platform where her character will leap to her death. As she lands on the soft blue mat backstage, she exhales. She’s done it. She’s given the performance of her life.

Harry leaps off the platform next, landing on the blue mat and scurrying to where she stands backstage.

He flashes her a cheeky grin, dimples forming on his cheeks.

“We did it,” she exclaims, feeling a mixture of both relief and exhalation.

“No, Giselle, you did it. That performance was all you.”

Their eyes meet for a moment as Harry takes a step forward, bringing his hand to cup Giselle’s chin as he tilts her head up towards his. Then, ever so slowly he brings his lips down to meet hers.

He doesn’t have to say a word, neither does Giselle, because even after he pulls away and they make their way to the downstage wing for their reverence hand in hand, they know what this means. Their souls have been speaking to each other all night, through every movement, in a language only the two of them can fully understand.

As Giselle takes her final bow, she looks towards the front row of the audience, spotting her mother in the audience, her hands beating in a soft clap. Her lips are still formed in a straight line, but Giselle’s eyes meet hers and her mother gave her a small nod. And Giselle knows, even though she’ll never say it, that for the first time in her life she’s done something right in her mother’s eyes.

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