I Don't Love You (And I Always Will)

Chapter Two

Song for this chapter is "Turn on Me" by the Shins :)

Harry felt a lot like he was switching high schools. Everyone at NYCB had known each other since they were teenagers, all attending SAB together for years. Sitting in Director Cowell's office, he couldn't stop fidgeting, just wanting to get into the studio and dance. That was the whole reason he was here after all, or at least that's what he was telling himself. The glass walls of Cowell's office left him feeling exposed, and Cowell's welcoming meeting wasn't helping Harry blend in. Like at all.

"Mr. Styles, we really just want to thank you for taking our offer. We really didn't expect it, and we think you're the fresh air New York City Ballet needs." Cowell smiled at him, looking a bit scared Harry might run for it as soon as he takes his eyes off him. It's quite possible that's exactly what will happen.

"It's really a pleasure Mr. Cowell, thank you for bringing me into the company, especially on such short notice." Harry replied, trying to keep his expression as calm and pleasant as he could. He was hoping it worked.

"Oh no! Please call me Simon," he rushed out, "and come to me if you have any issues. I know the company is tight knit, but they're much more welcoming than they seem. If I'm not available, find one of the other soloists if you have any questions, they know their way around."

"Sounds good." Harry responded, honestly just trying to get this over with as fast as possible. He came here to dance, not sit in an office that felt more like a glass cage than anything. Finally, Simon showed him out of the office, walking with him down the empty white halls.

"Okay, I'm going to give a bit of a welcome speech to the company, and when I call your name, you can come in and I'll introduce you!" Simon exclaimed. Harry started to protest, but Simon had already gone through the door to the studio. Shit. He understood that not many people transferred to the NYCB, but why did his arrival need to be some production? He wasn't even a principal dancer, and Simon was acting like he was the next Baryshnikov. Harry just wanted to blend in with this company as seamlessly as possible. Simon seems to make it his life mission to do the opposite. Speak of the devil, Harry heard Simon call out his name from inside the studio, snapping him out of his thoughts. Harry took one more deep breath and slowly opened the studio door, greeted by the sight of the entire City Ballet spread out on the floor. He might be used to performing to sold out opera houses but seeing this many eyes on him at one time was a bit unnerving.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure of introducing you to our new soloist for the season, Mr. Harry Styles! He's come all the way from the Royal Ballet so let's give him a warm welcome." Simon boomed out, eliciting a round of applause from the company. Harry gave a small wave, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Should he sit down? Did Simon expect him to say a few words? He's pretty sure if he spoke right now all that would come out is a small voice crack. That would clearly make a wonderful first impression.

"Thank you, Mr. Styles, why don't you join the rest of the company." Simon smiled at him. Well that answered Harry's question. Harry scanned the room quickly to find a place to sit. Everyone appeared to be in small groups of about three to six, so he just took an open spot near the side of the room. The last thing he wanted was to barge into some friend group uninvited. Making one friend this season would be great, but he didn't really know how to go about it. Harry had completely forgotten how he made friends before the Royal Ballet School. He'd moved there from Ohio when he was twelve to train on scholarship. He'd been with the Royal Ballet since he'd graduated the school at eighteen, and all his friends from the school had moved into the company with him. How did twelve-year-old him have the courage to talk to people? Looking at the groups of dancers, it seemed impossible. Maybe he could just compliment someone on their leotard, or their turns. Dancers couldn't resist flattery. Before he could scope out a possible target for his compliments, the dancers were applauding Cowell, signaling the end of his speech.