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#70 Dancing With The Stars

DANCING WITH THE STARS

Harry:

He wasn't the best at dancing; he was clumsy, and slow, and moved awkwardly, and he stumbled more than he actually danced.

And it made it hard to dance with him.

"Back straight," You advised him, "You need to do that part faster."

He nods, just once, before puckering his lips a little and furrowing his brow in concentration. He continues to dance, just for a moment, before you stop the music that had been playing.

He glances up, eyes unsure, as he watches you walk over to him. You gently grab his shoulders, and he dips his chin to look into your eyes.

"You need to focus, Harry." You whisper, looking up.

He doesn't respond; not even with a nod like he had before - and that made you worried. "Harry?" You ask softly, "Is everything okay?"

"Sorry," he manages to choke out, "But you're just so distracting."

And with that, he dips his head and grabs your face in his larger, warm hands, before softly pressing his lips to yours.

Liam:

You were so close to him for this dance routine, so much, in fact, that you could feel his breath fanning against your face. You could hear his heart almost, if you listened really hard for the thumping sound in his chest, and you were sure he could hear yours too - racing.

He did that to you though; he made it harder to come into the studio each day.

He made you anxious sometimes; when you'd look over at him and he'd flash that bright smile, and your heart would flutter and just for a moment - everything seemed alright, and all the stress of the competition would fade away.

It was after rehearsal when he approached you, flashing that superstar smile. He didn't really say anything; he just kind of walked up to you. You weren't sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn't for him to plant his lips on yours - just for a second or two - before pulling away, throwing a wink and handing you his number, inked messily on a slip of paper.

Zayn:

"I don't dance," he insisted, and you rolled your eyes at the all-too familiar line.

He could dance, and he knew it, he was just nervous was all. He didn't want to mess up, cost the competition, or make you lose. He'd said that same thing when the two of you were first paired up, too, insisting that you complain and ask for another partner.

"Malik, you better shut up before I make you." You hiss, annoyed by his lame excuse to get out of practice, grabbing your water bottle from your bag and taking a swig.

"But it's true; I can't dance, and I don't dance." He tells you, crossing his arms as he leans in the doorway."I don't dance," he insisted, and you rolled your eyes at the all-too familiar line.

He could dance, and he knew it, he was just nervous was all. He didn't want to mess up, cost the competition, or make you lose. He'd said that same thing when the two of you were first paired up, too, insisting that you complain and ask for another partner.

"Malik, you better shut up before I make you." You hiss, annoyed by his lame excuse to get out of practice, grabbing your water bottle from your bag and taking a swig.

"But it's true; I can't dance, and I don't dance." He tells you, crossing his arms as he leans in the doorway.

You sigh, screwing the cap back onto your bottle, before walking to stand before him.

"I know you can dance, Zayn, I've seen you do it before."

He's quiet for a moment, "I'm not so sure."

You don't say anything, because you've never really been good at comforting people or making them feel better. But, you knew that you had to do something; let him know what you really thought of him - even if you weren't sure it was the best move to make.

So, you did.

You kiss him, and let him know what you really feel for him. And, at first, he was a little shocked - after all, it wasn't every day that a pretty girl would turn around and kiss a stranger she didn't really know very well.

But, he kissed you back, so you figured it had been the right move.

"I told you I'd shut you up." You whisper, before pressing your lips to his again.

.

Louis:

He got annoying sometimes, when you were practicing and all he'd do was keep making lame puns and stupid jokes. He could never remember the choreography either; not even when he practiced for hours. He seemed to forget all the movements; the spins, and dips, and twirls.

Maybe it was because he felt it too; the tension between the two of you.

It was a tango this week; and it was intimate, just like all tangoes are.

His hand was wrapped around your hip; your hand in his.

"What do I do now?" he asks softly, now that he had assumed the position you had just taught him.

You manage to choke out an explanation, even if it was poorly-worded - after all, your head was somewhere else at that moment.

"Am I doing it right?" he questions, but you really aren't paying any attention to his dancing anymore - you're too distracted by the scent of his cologne, and the way he seems to glide across the floor so gracefully.

"Y/N?"

You look up, pulled from your thoughts by Louis' soft voice, only to be met with a sly smirk and playful eyes.

And, before you even know it, his lips are on yours.

Niall:

Niall got nervous on stage sometimes; which was a bit odd, considering he performed concerts and sang on them all the time. He just didn't want to stuff up; he didn't want to let you down.

"You'll be fine." You tell him, watching as he practices the choreography in the hallways, waiting to go on stage. He keeps messing himself up; worrying too much. He knew the choreography, but he was overthinking it now.

"But what if I'm not?" he asks, pausing his actions to glance at you with desperate eyes as he begins to pace.

"But you will be."

He shakes his head, "Look how many people are out there. What if I mess up? What if-"

"Niall." You interrupt, grabbing his hand softly in yours, making him stop pacing, "You'll be okay. You won't mess up. It's just the nerves; you'll be fine out there - you always are."

"Yeah." He seems to agree softly, nodding to himself, "I'll be fine. You can do this, Niall. Come on."

He begins to pace again, running his hands through his bleached hair, letting out a sigh as he continues to worry about the performance.

"Niall."

He turns around, and looks at you and you can tell he's stressed; worried. He looks tired; his eyes are dull and his face pale.

"You'll be okay." You promise him, pecking his lips as his cheeks grow bright red, "I know you will be."