Chapter Text
“He still likes you, y’know.”
Quite frankly, Liam had the worst timing in the entire fucking world. All the reminiscing about the past, his childhood, about Louis and his dance injury - all it’d done was distract Harry when he needed to focus the most. He’d stepped out knowing he’d win if he “did what he was trained to do” only to find that the second the music started playing, his mind blanked. He’d ran offstage, unable to hold back the tears as he shoved past Zayn (a smirking Zayn at that) and ran through the halls of the high school where the competition was held. He ran until he found Louis, sobs wracking his body, and the only thing he could think was of how he’d disappointed Ms. Abby, his mom, and himself. Harry felt like maybe he’d never be happy again. Louis said that was dramatic of him.
Needless to say he’d hid from Ms. Abby in the dressing room because he already knew what she’d tell him, what she’d been screaming at him ever since he’d come back from his two month doctor prescribed dance break. If Harry were to be honest, that time had been great, stress free and full of fun. But he couldn’t just stay away from dance, not really. So he’d eventually dragged himself away from his bed and his video games and into the Abby Lee Dance Company.
Only things weren’t like they’d been before he left.
There was no special treatment. He’d been bumped from front and center in the routines to left back, was no longer called on to demonstrate for other students, even his private solo time was cut down to an hour rather than two.
(Okay so maybe it’d make Harry look bad to admit but he liked being the favorite, liked the way his name was always on the tip of Abby’s tongue, almost like being Harry Styles automatically meant success.)
Things were weird. And part of the reason was because all of a sudden Zayn was all buddy buddy with their instructor, getting auditions to ballet companies in New York and even a role in a music video. He’d been given a ballet pas de deux with Perrie and in order to make room for it, Ms. Abby had taken away Harry’s solo.
So like - it sucked.
Of course it was punishment for daring to take time off, to even consider that maybe he wouldn’t always want to dance (which is ridiculous, but). Harry still didn’t like it. And if maybe he’d asked Ms. Abby if he could audition against Zayn to see who’d perform in the summer Nationals, essentially planting doubt in her head that Zayn could lead her team to victory by himself, then, well. It’s show business.
Only Zayn wasn’t supposed to find out that Harry was behind it.
They were called into the studio for group practice only then Gianna led Zayn to another room, apparently to learn a new solo. James did the same with Harry. Both boys got half an hour to learn the solo, except Harry already knew a bit of it, having learned it the week before his injury.
Abby barged into his room with Zayn at her side, and Harry fell out of his fouettes, causing himself to cringe.
“Bad technique, Harry, fix that up!” Abby screamed. Harry scrunched his nose up like a bunny in reply. Her face softened and she smiled.
Zayn stood next to Harry, giving him a small bump on his hip followed by a smile (one he so rarely sees directed at him, the kind with Zayn’s tongue pressed against his teeth), and Harry beamed. Part of him then felt guilty that he’d been hoping for so long to get his status as the favorite back, especially when Zayn worked so hard, struggled so much and was just as good as he was (not that he’d ever told him that..) because they were friends, despite it all. Zayn may have had Louis, and Liam had Niall and Danielle, but they all had each other, were five boys bound together by their unconditional love of dance, and maybe Niall was right when he said dance wasn’t the only thing that mattered.
Unfortunately during his epiphany, he’d failed to hear Ms. Abby tell Zayn that both of them were now competing against each other for a spot at Nationals.
And well - Zayn probably wasn’t too pleased, if the way he clenched his jaw and balled his fists up were any indication.
If life were fair, Zayn would have held a chance. Harry bobbled on most of his turns, dropped his arms one too many times, but he shook it off and poured his heart out into the dance, utilizing his plie every step of the way. He rushed through the dance, hurrying to complete every movement while not following any of them through, curls sticking to his forehead from overexertion as his body went through the motions. If were fair, then Zayn would’ve picked up the routine quickly, adjusted to the more difficult choreography of the dance which had so obviously been made for Harry to dance, would have nailed the switch leap and front aerials - steps so different from the usual ones found in his routines. His turns were perfect, nailing triples with turned out knees and high arches, but there was something just lacking in comparison to Harry or so Ms. Abby said.
Zayn stormed out of the room, tears stinging his eyes, head bowed as Abby yelled a trail of corrections at him.
Harry should have felt better, but seeing his friend so sad made him feel awful. (But not bad enough to have him give up his solo.)
Two days later, Louis told Ms. Abby that he’d given Zayn his spot. He got lectured for twenty five minutes, during which their teacher questioned whether or not Louis even had any talent, but he’d simply smiled at her when she was done, a firm, “Are you quite finished?” the only thing he said in response.
It was an act of friendship Harry never would have considered.
“Wanna come with me to get some food, Harry?” Louis nudged him, sticking his tongue out in an utterly ridiculous way that had Harry laughing for ages after the fact. He wanted to go, partly because he was starving, partly because he was kind of sick of the studio after five hours of straight dancing, but if he left there’d be hell to pay.
“Rain check? Just gotta get my solo down.”
Louis’ smile didn’t reach his eyes, but he hugged Harry goodbye and went on his way.
None of it mattered now, honestly, not when Harry sat on the floor backstage, awaiting the wrath of Abby Lee Miller and the smug knowing looks of Zayn Malik, and really what even was Liam talking about?
Harry looked up at his friend, confusion written all over his face.
“I don’t care, Liam.”
Liam withdrew at that, hurt showing in his eyes. Usually Harry would be the first to hug his friend but -
“You can tell him if he likes me to tell me himself, because I’m not really into playing these games. I like him too.”
And with that Harry got up and walked away, leaving a stunned and silent Liam behind.
***
Zayn won the entire competition and Harry was labelled a disgrace and failure. He went home with Louis and cried the whole night.
***
After Zayn had found out Harry tried to take away his dance, things with the group were weird. Louis sided with Harry, and Harry spent a lot of time thinking about what Liam said, and if Louis really did still like him. Niall chose no sides, often serving as a sort of mediator for when things between Liam and Louis got a little heated, both of them at each other’s throats over the whole thing.
During Harry’s absence at the company, Zayn had done nothing but smile and joke around, coming out of his shell in a way that he never had before, only to be thrown back into the shadows upon Harry’s return.
***
Louis and Zayn graduated high school that summer and Harry pretended not to care. Liam changed studios after Nationals, explaining to the entire company that he was focusing on his studies and competitive dancing was too much for him. Niall gave no explanation, just stopped showing up, ignored the boys phone calls and visits to his house.
Harry was sixteen years old, an award winning dancer, with no friends and a not quite fully healed foot.
He’d had a particularly difficult first day of homeschool when he opened his Facebook page to find two messages from Liam sent earlier that afternoon.
“You know I didn’t mean Louis, right? That day at Nationals?” Two minutes later. “I meant Zayn.”
And well - He hadn’t seen that coming.