A/N: It's come to my attention that my author's notes are very spoiler-y. I will try to control myself!

Two weeks. Every day for two weeks I waited for him on those steps and Harry never showed. No explanation. No apology. Nothing.

Every day I texted:

I'm waiting for you.

I'm here.

I'm not leaving.

I wasn't going to make the same mistake I made when we were in school. I wasn't going to let him push me away. I wasn't going to give up on him.

I dragged myself into the studio on a cool, grey Tuesday morning, the coffee in my hands burning the pads of my fingers. I was exhausted after a long night of waiting for Harry, who was once again a no show.

I was working alone with Alex that morning. It was the only thing I had to look forward to. All of my friends were ignoring me. Even Niall, who had agreed to implement Harry's notes, was still a bit cagey, and I didn't need to hear another "I told you so" about my problems with Harry.

Alex had me begin with some barre exercises: demi-plié, plié, slow tendu, fast tendu, slow dégagé, fast dégagé, before moving onto grand rond de jambe en l'air. Standing on my right leg, I slowly unfurled my left and circled it around me. Alex caught my ankle and lifted my leg a touch higher.

"You're muscles are tense. Are you injured?"

Only my heart.

"No," I answered. "Just a little stiff."

He massaged my quadriceps with his strong hands before circling my leg behind me and massaging my hamstrings, the heel of his hand working deep into the muscle tissue.

"Better?"

"Much."

He let go and watched me with his arms crossed. He pushed his rimless glasses up the bridge of his nose and had me move onto my solo in Act One, the one Harry had choreographed. I'd done it so many times now it was perfect, but the accomplishment was bittersweet.

"Beautiful, Louis!" he gushed.

It was Harry's ideas that were beautiful, his mind. The mind I loved that didn't love me back.

When I was done, Alex handed me a towel and a bottle of water. His hand lingered on mine. He could sense from my heavy performance that I had a lot on my mind.

"How are things between you and Harry?"

"Not good."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

In addition to coaching me in the studio, Alex had been coaching me in my love life. I was shy opening up to him at first but he was eager to help and I valued his opinion. He cared about both me and Harry and wanted us to be happy. So, piece-by-piece, I told him everything about our relationship: the fights, the intervention, the sex and the silence.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong!"

Alex put an arm around me. "He's the one that's wrong if he can't see how special you are."

Our rehearsal was technically over but Alex sent away the soloist that was scheduled to rehearse right after me. With the flick of his wrist the rest of the world disappeared. All of our rehearsals were like this. We would work for a bit and then talk for hours. Alex was a really good listener. I could tell him practically anything.

"Do you think he's moved onto someone better looking?"

"Better looking than you? Not possible."

"I probably scared him off. I told him I loved him after two nights together! He didn't say it back..."

Alex tsked. "Harry's always been very cold."

"I just wish he would talk to me," I huffed, clutching the towel around my neck.

"I'd put in a good word for you, Louis, but he doesn't talk to me either."

Alex sat on the ground with his back against the mirror, a knee casually drawn up to his chest. I stretched out on my side in front of him.

"Harry should be kinder to you. You're a legend!"

He laughed. "I'm hardly a legend anymore. I haven't danced in ages. I'm surprised you even remember my performances."

I bolted upright. "I remember every single one. Even the ones I didn't see in person I've watched a million times online. I still watch them once in a while for inspiration. Ondine at The Paris Opera Ballet in 2004. Oh my god. Your Palemon changed my life!"

"You remember that?"

I could picture it in vivid detail, his prefect lines slicing the air like a knife.

"Yes, of course! It was the first time you danced with Julie Kent. It was historic!"

He leaned in and whispered, "She was a nightmare. You didn't hear it from me."

"Worse than Gigi?"

"Maybe not that bad."

I was cackling.

"I would do anything to watch you dance again... Can't you dance for me now?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Louis, I doubt I could manage a pirouette at my age."

I pressed my hands together. "Please, please, please, please."

His expression softened and he stood up. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He rolled up his sleeves and kicked off his patent leather shoes. "I'm not sure I can move in this outfit."

"I have an extra pair of tights!"

"Don't push it, Tomlinson."

He began dancing a short piece from Ondine. His movement was limited by his slacks and button-down but I could still see what I loved about his dancing all those years ago. The way he attacked each pose like he was in a duel. His dancing was violent, lively and exciting.

I jumped up and clapped when he was finished. He bowed, out of breath.

"I think I'm having a heart attack."

"You were amazing, Sir—I mean, Alex."

"I think I'll leave the dancing to you from now on."

I handed him my water bottle and he kissed the top of my head.

Alex and I left the studio arm-in-arm, continuing our chat. We rounded the corner and ran right into Gigi and her punishingly tight ponytail. She narrowed her eyes and bulldozed her way past us. Alex and I took one look at each other and burst out laughing.

We parted ways at the end of the corridor. Alex waved and left me for his private session with Harry. I headed into studio A to rehearse Act Two with Joni and the rest of the cast. This was not the fun laid-back atmosphere of my rehearsal with Alex. The mood in the room was muted. Dancers spoke in hushed tones and when I approached them they avoided eye contact.

Something had happened.

Immediately my mind went to Harry. His knee. Was he hurt?

I asked Zayn. He had a crowd around him and seemed to be fielding questions.

"What's happened?"

He surveyed me, his dark eyes swimming with sorrow. "What do you think?"

The cluster of dancers broke apart. I begged them to tell me what had happened but they all scurried to their barre exercises and refused to answer.

I wasn't going to stick around and try to coax it out of them. If something was wrong with Harry, I needed to know now.

I left the studio and ran to Liam's office. He knew everything about every dancer in the company and if something had happened to Harry he wouldn't keep it from me. We may not have been getting along but Liam treated the whole company like family. If one of us was in trouble that trumped any argument.

His office looked completely different. It looked bigger. The mounds of paperwork on his desk were gone as were the plaques and trophies on his bookcase. The walls were naked. Dark shadows marked where posters and papers had hung, the paint around them sun-bleached.

There was a large brown banker's box in the corner filled to the brim with books and picture frames, the green leaves of his office plant peeking out the top. His cane and tweed jacket sat slumped on his chair.

Liam entered the room behind me with no greeting.

I knew now what had happened, I just had no idea what to say. I swallowed. "You're leaving?"

"I was fired."

This couldn't be happening. Not to Liam. My chest twisted with guilt. Saying I was sorry didn't even begin to cover it. Apologizing would almost be an insult to the blow he had suffered.

"Liam, what can I do?"

"Nothing. I don't want anything from you." He fumbled around with a few small items of memorabilia: ticket stubs, a stack of old programmes, a signed ballet slipper. He tucked these items—with the care Liam showed all precious things—into his box. Then he placed the lid on top.

"I'm here for you," I said.

"I don't want your friendship."

He took another look around the room, touched his old desk and touched the wall, saying a silent goodbye. Then he threw his modest brown jacket over his arm and picked up his cane and box.

"Here, let me help you to your car at least."

Liam shrugged me off. He ambled out the door where Zayn was waiting to help him. Zayn took the box, affording Liam at least a bit of dignity as he walked away from the truest home he had ever known.

I watched as he staggered down the corridor with his head down. Liam had now lost everything: the ability to dance for the Royal Ballet Company and now the honor of working for the company. The worst part was that I couldn't even be there for him. My presence made it worse. He saw me as the cause of his misfortune and he was right.

I didn't understand what went wrong with my plan. I was positive that if Harry spoke to Kenneth he could save Liam's job. I had to find Harry and find out exactly what was said.

Harry was in studio B pacing while Alex sat on a foldout chair, fingers steepled, waiting for him to perform. Harry had dark circles beneath his eyes and his curly hair hung limply on his fair shoulders. He adjusted the brace on his knee. His knee was bothering him, I could tell from the loathing in his eyes. He only ever looked at one person that way: himself.

He was paler, thinner than he was just a few weeks before. His technique was perfect but I could tell that these physical feats came from the darkest part of him. He was in agony dancing for his old mentor. Ever since Alex' arrival Harry had been in freefall. It made no sense. Harry didn't have anything to prove. He was the greatest living dancer. His vision for the production was being implemented. There were no battles left to fight, so why was he still fighting?

He hated being interrupted but this was too important. I apologized to Alex and led Harry into the corridor.

"What did you say to Kenneth about Liam?"

"What?" he replied, disoriented, leaning against the cool, stone wall for support. "What do you mean?"

"You did talk to Kenneth about Liam, right?" I asked slowly.

Harry didn't respond but his silence spoke volumes.

"You promised! You promised me you would talk to Kenneth if I helped you with Niall and the orchestra and your vision!"

Harry was listless, his hollow green eyes staring right through me. "I—I forgot."

"You forgot! Jesus fucking Christ, Harry, this is Liam's career, his life! How could you forget something like that?"

Harry dragged his hands down his gaunt face like it was the mask of a man he was trying to tear off.

"I don't know! I haven't slept in days! I can't think straight!"

"You think about your own career just fine!"

I had a flashback to our fight at RBS. Harry hadn't changed. Liam, Zayn, Gigi, they were all right. Harry was as selfish now as he was then. I was an idiot for thinking he was capable of caring about me or anyone else.

"I'm so sorry, Louis," he said.

"That's not good enough!"

I stormed off and left him standing there torn between me and the studio. If he cared, he would follow me. He wouldn't just say he was sorry, he would show me he was sorry. He would fight for me. But the only footsteps I heard were my own.

In spite of everything, my words to myself that morning kept beating like a drum: Don't give up on him, don't let him push you away. But how I could I stick by someone who was so thoughtless, so selfish and cruel?

One cigarette, I thought, just one. I sat on the Opera House steps and had six smokes, not waiting exactly but fulfilling the ritual of waiting. This is what I did. I waited for Harry to care about me, just like I waited for him to disappoint me. A relationship with Harry would be a lifetime of waiting. A cycle of highs and crushing lows.

I was about to give up and leave when I sensed someone crouch down behind me. My entire being swelled with hope. I felt the warmth of two strong arms wrap around my shoulders. I tilted my head.

It was Alex.

"I heard about Liam," he said.

"It's my fault."

His arms tightened around me. "Non, mon chéri! You mustn't blame yourself."

"I never should have sided with Harry. I should have been loyal to Liam." I threw down my cigarette and crushed it under my heel.

At that moment, Alex's town car pulled up to the curb. He stood and looked down at me, the lamplight illuminating his silver hair like a halo.

"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?" he asked, motioning to the car.

I was blindsided by the question. Me, have dinner with Alexander Beauchamp?

"Really?"

"You've had such a hard day. You shouldn't be alone. Let me treat you."

I looked down at my joggers and touched my matted hair. "Sir, I would love to but I'm not dressed properly."

"We can stop by your place on the way." He fingers skated over the thin fabric of my t-shirt, tracing my collarbone. "I want you in your finest suit."

Alex extended his hand and I took it graciously. It was then that I realized that unlike Harry, Alex was a true friend, someone who would be there for me when I needed him most.

He guided me down the steps to the black car and held the door for me.

As I was climbing into the backseat, Harry appeared at the top of the Opera House steps. His face fell when he saw that I was leaving with Alex.

He was too late. I was done waiting for him.

A/N: I hope you've noticed some parallels between this story and Swan Lake. I wanted to structure it in a similar way. I see this part being thematically linked to the black swan/Siegfried pas de deux in Act Three, the scene where Odile seduces Siegfried while Odette watches.

Just a reminder, Louis is an adult in his early twenties here. This is not the same situation he and Harry were in at fifteen (though, I did want it to echo that moment).