A/N: This is H&L's first conversation in the "present." It does not go well.

LOUIS / PRESENT

Our first rehearsal didn't start until seven but I got to the studio at five. I wanted to warm up and practice for at least two hours before Harry got there.

I tore off my sweatshirt and joggers. The studio was empty and hot so I decided to dance in my boxers. They were purple with a giant gold crown on the bum. My mum bought them for me when I landed the part of Prince Siegfried. Cheeky.

I went to the stereo. There were a stack of CDs but I took my chances with the one already inside. Cascada. Why not? I warmed up at the barre. Then I moved onto the floor to practice turns and jumps. I got a little sidetracked by the catchy pop songs and freestyled for a while, grinding and winding against the barre, before refocusing. I didn't overdo it so I would still be fresh for rehearsal. I'd be damned if I was going to let Styles show me up!

Around quarter to seven I got dressed. Dancers began to sleepily wander into the studio, the women yawning while taping up fresh injuries and lacing up their point shoes, Zayn and the other men in the company lying on the vinyl flooring, stretching out their hamstrings.

We would be meeting the choreographer for the first time. It was an informal rehearsal. He planned to introduce himself and his vision, and give a little talk about his working style and what we might expect in the weeks and months ahead. We were also blocking the first act. Even though we wouldn't be learning very much chorography, this first rehearsal was important. Everyone would be there, including Kenneth, the ballet's Artistic Director.

Niall and Liam came in with two giant cups of coffee and took their seats on the foldout chairs at the back of the studio. Then Gigi and Eleanor came in next and plopped down next to me on the floor. Gigi would be playing the white swan, Odette, while Eleanor would play the black swan, Odil. I had been dancing with both of them since I was eleven. We had a keen sense of each other's strengths and weaknesses and worked well together. They didn't feel like colleagues, more like sisters. And like my real sisters, they also drove me completely nuts.

Harry was late again. I hoped this wasn't going to be a pattern with him. Kenneth stepped up to the front of the room with a clipboard ready to introduce the Swiss choreographer, Maurice Charrat.

I raised my hand. "Wait, we're missing one of the principal dancers. Harry Styles isn't here yet."

Kenneth scratched his pale beard. "Harry won't be in attendance today. He's rehearsing alone in Studio B."

"What? This rehearsal is for the whole company," I said, reiterating what was stated in bold text in the email blast Liam sent out weeks earlier.

Kenneth cleared his throat and continued his introduction. I knew he wanted me to drop the subject but I couldn't. Who ever heard of a principal dancer missing the first day of rehearsal? What would Maurice think of us?

After the introductions, Gigi, El and I formed a little circle and whispered to each other.

"Who does Harry think he is?" I hissed.

Gigi shrugged. "Maybe he has an injury?"

"He could be embroiled in some kind of scandal," Eleanor suggested. "Why else would he want to leave the Bolshoi? They treat ballet dancers like royalty in Moscow!"

"Fuck the Bolshoi," I snapped. "Why would we ever want him back? He's a turncoat! How do we know he's not a bloody spy? I have half a mind to contact MI6 about this."

"Oh come off it, Louis," Gigi said, pressing a stray bobby pin into her bun. "He's probably the greatest living dancer. I don't care why he's here. Ticket sales have tripled since he joined the company."

Eleanor nodded. "That's why Kenneth lets him have his way. He's a cash cow."

"Have you two gone mad? Harry is not the greatest living dancer!"

Eleanor pulled out a copy of Vanity Fair from her bag. "Name another dancer who's made the cover of a major magazine in the past fifty years."

Why hadn't I seen this? It was a glossy black and white cover shot by Annie Leibovitz. Harry was on his back, long dark hair pooling by his cheek, his half-lidded gaze boring into the lens, his moist lips parted. The headline read "Ballet's Dark Prince: Can Harry Styles Bring Dance Back?"

He looked like an oversexed rockstar. And bring dance back from what? Dance never left! To add insult to injury, everyone who saw this would probably think Harry was playing Prince Siegfried, not me.

"Why did you bring this here?" I asked Eleanor, shaking the magazine in her face.

She snatched it back. "Hey! Don't bend it! I was hoping he could sign it for me."

I looked to Gigi imploringly, "This is Harry we're talking about. Harry Styles."

"He's not the kid from RBS who couldn't do an arabesque lift. He's at the top of his profession. That comes with special privileges, like being on magazine covers and rehearsing alone."

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

We had a short break before we began blocking Act One. I snuck past Liam in the doorway and stormed down the corridor to Studio B.

I took a peek through the door's small window and there was Harry, shirtless in black tights, his hair tied up in a messy bun. His right knee was wrapped in an elastic brace and he was pacing the studio like a tiger. He had long, lean muscles, and tattoos on his chest and arms, like me. I was surprised. Part of me was expecting his body to look as it had when we were in school, soft and unmarked, frozen in time.

I entered the studio without knocking.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" I yelled, launching my attack. "The entire company is in Studio A, even Kenneth, and Niall the Music Director. Do you think your time is more valuable than theirs? I assure you it's not. Never in my life have I heard of a dancer behaving this way! Not Baryshnikov, not Nureyev, not Godunov. No one. Who do you think you are?"

Harry swiveled around. He took out his earbuds and turned off the iPod on his hip. "Sorry, did you say something?"

Ugh! "I don't know how they do things in Moscow but here in London when all dancers are asked to attend rehearsal that means all dancers attend rehearsal."

Panting, Harry leaned against the barre and crossed one long leg over the other. "I work better alone."

"This isn't a one man show."

"This is my process."

"You're a dancer, you don't have a process! You do as you're told! What if we all decided to rehearse alone? Should everyone in the company just do whatever they want whenever they want?"

He stepped toward me, toweling off. "I'm not like other dancers."

"You think you're better than they are?"

"Yes."

I wanted to slap him.

"You're not. I don't know who put that idea in your head."

"You did, Louis. You always told me I was your favorite dancer, remember?" he said, so innocently that I saw a glimpse of the shy boy in Madame Lesauvage's class.

"That's not what I meant by that comment and you know it."

His full lips formed a tiny smirk. "What did you mean then?"

I got flustered. "I—I was just being friendly."

He stepped closer, eyebrow arched, edging me back to the door with the expanse of his glistening chest and broad shoulders. "Very friendly." He hooked his sweaty towel around my neck.

If he was trying to fuck with me it was working. I was fully under the spell of his beauty. He was beautiful when he was younger, but now he knew how to use it.

"I have to get back to rehearsal," I stammered, "because that's what members of a company do. They rehearse. Together."

"Bye."

I couldn't let him have the last word. "Don't come crawling back to me when the whole company hates you!"

"I don't need to be liked, least of all by you," he sneered.

"What is your fucking problem? You should be grateful I'm even talking to you after what you did to me!"

Harry turned angrily. "Don't do me any favors."

It was a mistake coming in here. The only thing more toxic than hating someone, was hating someone you used to love. I had poison running through my veins. I couldn't look at Harry's face without thinking of that day. Me on my knees crying and him staring at me with complete indifference. The way he was staring at me now.

Why then did I feel a pang of tenderness toward him? Why did I look at the brace on his knee and worry? Why was I holding his sweaty towel like it was the finest silk?

"You know, Harry, I would have forgiven you back then if you'd apologized." Then I paused, summoning my courage. "I'd forgive you now if you apologized."

He took the towel from my hands, his fingertips gently grazing my palms. My heart lifted. In that moment he could be on a million magazine covers and dance every part in Swan Lake. I didn't care. I would forgive him if he asked me to. He just had to say the word and I'd go back to being exactly as we were: best friends, twin souls, first loves.

He leaned in until his cheek was next to mine and I could feel his breath on my ear. "I'll never apologize, because I'm not sorry."

Just like that I was sixteen again, blindsided and gutted. I stumbled backward into the door.

Harry put his earbuds in but took them out again as I was leaving.

"Oh, Louis, before I forget--your entrechat seis needs work. You're not getting enough height."

I balled my hands into fists. "What the fuck do you know about my entrechat seis?"

"I was watching you warm up this morning. Nice boxers by the way. And Cascada... Wow. I had no idea you were so passionate about Euro dance music." He winked cruelly.

My cheeks were burning. "You've been in the studio since five?"

"I got here at four."

Harry leapt up and demonstrated the entrechat seis flawlessly.

A/N: Are you curious about what Harry did to Louis? I hope so. I will say it has nothing to do with cheating (for once!)

I know "present" Harry is a pill. There are some feisty chapters ahead. But he'll soften up eventually. Again, this isn't a dark Harry fic. I wouldn't do that to you!