#then twenty ALSO wears a shirt. but his is under a regular hoodie that goes under a trench coat

[ghoul--doodle]

I couldn’t settle on one colour so this guy gets all of them

[jazzyhazzy]

Girls Like You - Chapter Twenty - Miracle Aligner

Miracle Aligner - The Last Shadow Puppets

So what’s the wish, he’ll make it come true Simple as a line out of a doo wop tune He’ll make the moves

“C’mere” I sniff, patting the bed next to me and doing my best to suppress the memory, but I just have such a vivid mental picture in my head, of Harry sitting in the bed behind me, my back against his front, his arms around me, my fingers gripping his legs as I was forced to push.

Blair’s P.O.V

Sleep evades him, I can feel his restlessness throughout the night as he tosses and turns only inches away from me. It keeps me up, not that sleep wasn’t evading me also. I want to touch him, and hold him, make him feel better in any way that I can, but I hesitate, unsure if he would let me or not.

I face him in the bed, watching him as he dozes, his mouth ajar and warm breaths tickling my skin. Harry looks so peaceful, I never want to wake him and have to see him so stressed out and distressed again. He’s been through more than enough in the past few years, it feels like we just can’t catch a break.

Sighing heavily, I peek over his shoulder at the clock on his bedside table, it tells me that it’s only 2:38am, and I slump back down into my pillow, wishing the 24 hour wait would be over already so we knew if any of us were eligible to donate some of our liver to save Anne’s life. 

I know how much Harry wants it to be him, after what Robin said to him yesterday, he interpreted it the only way he knew how to, and that meant that he now blamed himself entirely for all of this, when that isn’t the case at all. Anne would be so upset if she knew he thought that way. It even upsets me, but no matter what I tell him, he won’t listen or think any differently. None of this is his fault, he already has the weight of the world on his shoulders, he hates disappointing their fans as well. I know the interruption to the tour will be on his mind as well, he’ll feel bad for letting the boys down too, and their management. 

All I can do is be here for him, be a rock and offer my support because he needs me.

What feels like only moments later, but is actually hours later, Harry gently wakes me, shaking my shoulder lightly. I stretch my body out, and open one eye. Light is just starting to peek through the cracks in the curtains and Harry’s face is hovering over me. 

“What time is it?” I croak, my voice still raw from sleep, I wrangle my arms free from the bed sheets and wrap them around his frame, pulling him down on top of me with force that surprises him. His muscles release and he nuzzles into the crook of my neck, hiding there. 

He doesn’t answer my question, so I glance over at the clock again, it’s 6:30am. Early as all hell, but I know he is desperate to get back to his Mum. Harry will want to be there before she wakes up, but I want to keep him safe here for a while longer. 

I keep the silence, opting to tickle patterns across his back and sides, showing him that I’m here, rather than speaking the words. If he weren’t so anxious and worried, he may have fallen asleep on me, and I wouldn’t have complained, but alas, we both know that we need to get up and face the day, no matter what news it may bring us. 

A small peppering of kisses is left on my neck, his hair tickling the side of my face. “Thank you for being here” he whispers, lifting his head to lock eyes with me. I reach up a hand to pet a knuckle under his chin, “There’s nowhere I’d rather be” I assure him, lifting my chin up so he can kiss me. Once, twice, three times. I love you, he’s telling me.

We get showered and dressed, grabbing whatever is at the top of the bag that I packed for us both, I wear black leggings and steal one of Harry’s long sleeve plain grey tops, rolling up the sleeves and chucking on my white converse, the only pair of shoes I bought with me. Harry throws on some black gym shorts and a grey hoodie over his white t-shirt, with his trainers. 

I don’t bother with makeup, just throwing my hair up into a messy ponytail and leaving it at that, there are much more important things to care about currently. We meet Gemma in the lobby and she shakes her head, pointing to the front door.

Camera’s. Of course. 

They must have been tipped off, what shitty people would feel the need to do such a thing at a time like this. Why can’t they just respect our privacy for once instead of shoving a camera in someones face when they’re hurting. 

“Let’s just go. I don’t have time for this shit.” Harry growls, grabbing my hand and pushing the door open, I grab Gemma’s hand and we form a bit of a chain, Harry dragging us through before breaking into  a run to the entrance of the hospital, security already waiting at the doors to let us in. 

I know straight away that Harry won’t want to talk about it, or even mention it, so Gem and I just follow behind him as he storms the whole way to Anne’s room. Peeking his head around the corner to see if she’s awake, he’s disappointed when he sees her awake, already sitting up in bed, absent-mindedly doing a crossword while Robin snores quietly in the seat beside her. 

When we all enter the room she looks up and her face illuminates, though it’s not easy to reciprocate her happiness genuinely, given the situation. “Hello my loves” she greets us, her voice hoarse. “Hey mum” Harry tries his best to sound happy, but it doesn’t sound honest, he’s irritable and on edge.

The day is spent much like that, we all make small talk, and avoid talking about the thing that is on all of our minds. Will any of us be a match?

What happens if none of us are a match?

How much longer will we be able to bask in the warm presence of Anne?

Anne tries to talk to Harry about the tour, apologising for causing all of this drama, having read about it in the paper this morning. “Remind me to tell the nurses not to give you any papers or magazines” he grumbles, not even looking at the paper, just leaving his seat, and throwing it straight in the rubbish bin before leaving the room to go across the hall to the nurses station. 

“Don’t apologise, he just wants to be here with you” I comfort her, squeezing her hand and feeling an immense wave of guilt that she could die very soon, and I failed at giving her a grandchild before this happened. She nods, but she’s Harry is so much like his mother, she will sit on this feeling and feel guilty about it still. 

The boys want Harry to be here, I don’t need them to tell me that, I just know. They understand, their fans should understand, and he will bend over backwards to make it up to them. Of course he would rather be on tour, than have to be here with his sick mum. Of course he’d rather worry about sound checks and outfit changes than have to constantly think about about whether or not his Mum will be alive to see the sun come up tomorrow morning. 

***

It’s after dinner time when the doctors come to visit again, and the moment we’ve all been waiting for, for the past 24 hours is finally here at last. Why the hell does it take so long to get a result like this? Do they not know that someones life hangs in the balance?

My stomach rumbles in anticipation, none of us have touched any food, as a precautionary measure in case one of us is a match, we need to have not eaten before surgery. Although it has made all of us rather crabby, Harry in particular. I’m definitely feeling a bit of an attitude coming on.

“Anne, how are you feeling?” the Clooney doctor asks. Yeah, I’ve noticed. He’s a total silver fox. And his wee minion won’t stop staring at Harry with those adoring puppy dog eyes. I’m so cranky I just imagine head butting her. Which is totally un-ladylike but damn have some respect, thats my man and his mum is dying and she’s here, undressing him with her eyes. 

I clear my throat, and her gaze flickers to me, catching me watching her before she looks down at the floor. I turn my attention back to the doctor, my butt on the edge of my seat and my hand clasped mega tightly in Harry’s, his anticipation is palpable. 

“I’m sorry, but do you have the results?” Gemma butts in, interrupting routine questions. I can’t blame her to be honest, we’ve been patient enough, but we want to know. “Gem-” Anne goes to scold her for being rude, but she decides against it, sinking back into her pillows, exhausted and weak. 

Clooney doctor holds up Anne’s medical chart, flicking over a few pages to get to the information we’ve all been waiting for. “Ah yes, right here… let me see…” he ponders, his eyes scanning over the results, deciphering whether one of us can be the lifeline Anne so desperately needs, or if she will fade away before our eyes. There’s no question that whoever the match is - assuming there is one - will consent to the transplant surgery.

Everyone’s breathing is hitched in their throats, except for Anne, who’s breathing rattles in her chest. I feel like I’m watching a show like the X-factor, where the host just takes forever to announce the winner, and then goes straight to an ad break before even announcing. 

“It seems as though we have a match!” Clooney doctor announces, a triumphant smile on his face. His intern girl smiles warmly, and we all release the breaths we have been holding. Smiles all around, hands reaching to Anne, squeezing her hands, shoulders, kisses on her forehead. Harry watches the doctor carefully, “Who’s the match?” Anne asks, timidly. I can already tell that she doesn’t want it to be Harry. Feeling bad enough for taking him away from his tour, she would hate to have to keep him out of the game any longer, recovering from an organ donation. 

“Miss Waters, you are the only positive match, everyone else came up negative.” 

My breath gets trapped in my wind pipe once again, this seems like a regular occurrence, I just can’t seem to remember how to breathe today. 

Harry turns to me, gripping my hand, hard. “Blair-”

“How soon can we do it?” I cut him off, there is no time to waste.

“Wait-”

“I haven’t touched food in over 24 hours, only had water.” 

Clooney’s eyebrows raise, impressed by my prior preparation. “Well, there’s really no reason to wait, the sooner we can perform the transplant, the better.” He turns to his intern, “Book O.R 2 and make sure my favourite scrub nurse is available, admit Miss Waters and prep both her and Anne for surgery.” instructing, her, she wastes no time before darting off and fulfilling the instructions she is given.

Harry stands up, agitated. Lost. He looks at his Mum, and then to me, before storming out of the room without a single word. My heart drops a little in my chest, how can he be angry right now, when I can save Anne, when there’s now a fighting chance that she will pull through this. 

“I’ll go” Gemma says, kissing Anne on the temple and squeezing my hand in a thank you, before rushing out of the room after her distraught brother. Maybe he needs her more than me right now, and that’s absolutely fine, because I need to be admitted, and someone needs to feed Harry so he can snap out of this. 

Once Gemma is gone, I look up to see both Robin and Anne staring at me, wordlessly. I move to the seat Harry was in, right beside her and I grab a hold of her cool hand. “Don’t you even bother trying to talk me out of this young lady” I jokingly scold her, and she smiles, now hopeful. 

“I could never ask you to do something like this for me Blair, but thank you. Thank you. I love you, darling.” she whispers, petting my head soothingly as I rest it on the side of her bed, worried about Harry. 

This isn’t even something I need to think about, I wold give anything, do anything, be anything for the people I love, and this transplant is something I would do in a heartbeat, especially because it means saving a life. Not just any life either. I don’t consider the risks, or any complications, all I can think, is that I need to do this for Anne. Because a world without Anne is not a world I care to live in. 

“Don’t you let a drop of alcohol touch my healthy liver, do you hear me?” I wink at Anne, and she shakes her head in shame. “I’m so sorr-” I hear her begin to crumble and I won’t allow it. I need her to be strong as well, because if Harry see’s her crumble, he will crumble himself, and he’s already upset enough. “No apologies, okay? Just promise me” I demand, holding my pinky finger up to show her I’m not messing around with this particular pact.

She locks her finger with mine, and promises me, not another drop. 

Once I’m admitted, they leave a gown on my bed and close the curtains around me to give me some privacy. I’m not in the same room as Anne right now, but they’ve promised to put us together once we’re out of recovery.

I just got off the phone to my own mum, and she cried. A lot. Naturally, she’s worried sick, but I’ve given her Harry’s number so she can harass him for updates. She was more just proud of me than anything, proud that I would give up something like this for someone I love. But I don’t see it that way, I’m not giving anything up, my liver will be fine, I’m giving Harry’s mum another chance at life. I’m giving us the opportunity to have more time with an incredible woman in our lives. I feel guilty about putting my mum through the worry, but I had to tell her before, otherwise she would have flown over and killed me if I left it until after.

Sliding off my bed, I kick my shoes off, placing them under the seat next to my bed. I peel off my leggings, throwing them on the chair and shrugging out of Harry’s top that I’ve been wearing. I hold the gown up in front of me and look at it in disgust. God they are ugly gowns.

As I’m removing my bra and sliding the gown onto my arms, the curtains open a crack and I jump in fright, doing my best to cover myself up. “Only me” Harry murmurs, quietly, and I chuckle, turning my back to him and lifting up my hair. “Can you tie me up so I’m not flashing my bum to the whole hospital” I joke. He doesn’t smirk, or laugh or anything. He’s dead serious and I feel my mouth turn down in the corners. How can he be so sad? We have a way of saving Anne, he should be celebrating. I’m trying to be positive about this all, because the only other option is to start winding myself up about the operation. 

I sigh, growing irritated with him as I walk away and jump into my bed, pulling the covers up to my waist and fiddling with the bed controls so I’m sitting up instead of lying flat. “Can’t you just be happy, Harry? You should be jumping for joy” I point out, I’m saving his mothers life, and he’s too busy sulking about it. 

His head snaps up and he stares at me, “The last time I saw you in a hospital bed-” he doesn’t finish, just collapsing into the chair next to my bed and holding his head in his hands. The last time I was in a hospital bed, I was giving birth to our stillborn daughter. I suddenly feel so awful for being so hard on him, he’s been through so much, hospitals must provoke so many awful memories. We’ve been in here our fair share of times. 

“C’mere” I sniff, patting the bed next to me and doing my best to suppress the memory, but I just have such a vivid mental picture in my head, of Harry sitting in the bed behind me, my back against his front, his arms around me, my fingers gripping his legs as I was forced to push. 

Harry lifts himself out of the chair and sits on the edge of my bed, I pull him back so he’s leaning back beside me. I search his eyes, and all I can find is hurt and  fear, he’s scared for Anne, and now he’s scared for me as well. “M’sorry” he whispers, his face close to mine, our foreheads touching. “I know this isn’t easy, but think about what this means… Anne will live through this, she’ll get to meet Edgar and Frankie” I smile at the thought of my babies, Sav has been sending me pictures every time they do anything remotely cute. 

“And someday, she’ll be able to meet her grandkids.” I say, seriously. Harry moves his face back to better study my face. “We don’t have to think about that right now” he frowns, as if he doesn’t like the idea of it. As if it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He is simply afraid, I can see that. 

“What you’re doing for mum… are you… are you sure about this?” 

“Don’t be absurd Harry, I’m saving your mum’s life, there is not a single doubt in my mind that I am doing the right thing! How could you even ask me that?” I shake my head at him in disbelief. He wouldn’t hesitate to do the same thing if the situation were reversed. 

“I’m sorry… my head is everywhere.” he apologises, and I press a kiss to his forehead, rubbing his shoulder, “Shhh, baby it’s okay, everything is going to be fine, you’ll see”

We lay in bed talking for twenty minutes or so, before the nurses finally come in the prep me for my surgery and take me up to the Operating Room. Anne won’t be too far behind, but they actually have to harvest the liver from me before they can start on her. Harry sits patiently in the chair beside the bed until its time to take me up. He walks the whole way with me, and we stop outside the doors where he has to stay behind. 

He is an absolute mess, the wait is going to be agony for him, and I’m too worried about him to even think about my own nerves. This is just a routine procedure. Harry grabs my hand and holds it to the side of his face, I watch a tear escape his eye and run down his cheek, I feel the moisture on the back of my hand, imagining the salty taste of it. I need to be strong for him, show him that there is nothing to worry about. 

“Everything’s going to be fine! Go grab some lunch with Gem and Robin and I’ll be back before you know it” I smile up at him, thinking how every girl should get a man who loves her even when she’s got an operating gown on and a giant hair net with zero makeup. “Thank you… for this, for everything. I love you.” he whispers, leaning down to kiss me, once, twice, three times. 

“Love you more” I respond, as they start to wheel me away from him, “Impossible!” he calls out after me, and I smirk and shake my head at him. He waves slowly at me as I get further and further away, until I he disappears from sight. 

Suddenly I am all alone, and it dawns on me what I am about to do. I hadn’t given it any thought until now, agreeing to this was a no brainer, of course I would give anything to save Anne, but the thought of being put under and being cut open does terrify me a little. I worry about the pain, but I don’t ask any questions as they push me through into the operating room, I move from my bed onto the operating table, and it is firm and cold beneath me. 

I lie back and do my best to focus on my breathing, keeping it regular and calm. Clooney doctor appears over my head and I manage a nervous smile up at him. Hopefully he didn’t bring his intern in here with me, she might try to kill me to free up Harry. 

“Feeling fine?” he asks me, and I nod, not quite managing to find any words right now. I just want all of this to be over. I want to be with my pups and hold my god-daughter and laugh with my friends and have hot sex with the love of my life. I just need to get through this and then I can get on with all of that. 

“Alright, we’ll proceed. Blair, can you count back from ten for me please”

“Ten” I think about Gemma, her frantic call to me, where all of this began.

“Nine” The shock of finding out about Anne’s alcoholism. 

“Eight” Watching Harry’s face falter as he see’s his mum, dying.

“Seven” Holding Harry in bed as he wept, blaming himself for this mess.

“Six” Talking with Anne all day, laughing, crying, reminiscing.

“Five” Finding out I was the only eligible donor, and not giving it a second thought before agreeing. 

“Four” Finally telling Harry that I still want to have babies with him, sometime in the future. 

“Three” Only minutes ago, Harry kissing me once, twice, three times.

“Two” I forget the rest, everything falls away as I feel myself slipping under.

[babygirlgalitzine]

Dance Dance, We’re Falling Apart

Ao3 Link

It had been three weeks since Robert’s counsellor had suggested him to try a dance class. He had been going to his counselling sessions once a week for just over two months now, and she had suggested that he should go to the local dance class on a Saturday morning to help his mental health. She had given him a leaflet showing all the issues that dance would help: anxiety, depression, PTSD etc. That evening, Robert had read the leaflet in detail, and with a deep breath, he booked his place to start in a few weeks’ time.

Today was Saturday, and most importantly, Robert’s first dance class. To say he was nervous was an understatement; he had never done anything like this before and hoped that he didn’t bump into anyone who recognised him. Robert wasn’t quite sure what he had to wear, so he decided to put on his running shorts and an old baggy tee shirt with trainers that had probably never seen the light of day before.

Aaron had been going to his counsellor for six months, on advice from his family and friends. Except, he hadn’t really seen her. He felt like he didn’t need to go, and if he did, he was just giving in to all the problems people thought he had. He thought she was mad when she suggested for him to go to the local dance class but when he actually looked it up, he thought it seemed okay, just as long as it would sort him out.

He waited an entire week, talking himself out and back in to going to the class, nerves taking over his entire body. ‘How can this help anxiety?’ he thought, ‘It’s just making me more anxious.’  He decided to just suck it up and if he didn’t like it, he didn’t have to go again. After putting on his joggers and a lighter hoodie, he grabbed his keys and walked to his car.

Robert stood in the corner of the room, watching on as the class (filled with females) sorted themselves into positions. He felt as though he was the only new person there, so he just followed everyone else’s lead and began trying to look like he knew what he was doing. The door opened as Robert had almost ‘perfected’ his stance, making everyone turn to the back of the room and watch as the dark-haired man clambered in. “Sorry.” He had said in a gruff tone, before walking over to the corner where Robert was stood.

The teacher had talked them through the first couple of steps, throwing a few “chasse’” and “jeté’” into the mix, earning nods from what Robert had assumed to be the returning class members. Aaron leaned forward and tapped Robert on the shoulder, “Oi. Do you have any idea what she’s going on about?” He asked.

Robert smirked and said “Nope. You?”

Aaron’s face said it all. Of course he didn’t understand her. “I’m Aaron.” He announced, before nodding to the blonde man.

“Robert.” He had replied.

Suddenly, the entire class moved to the left, their legs carrying them delicately. The only people who hadn’t moved had been Aaron and Robert, who now stood there completely puzzled.

“Boys! You have to focus! Here, follow me. You lift your left leg up slightly and pop off your right leg to carry you.” The teacher demonstrated.

Robert and Aaron followed her, both of them landing heavily, causing a louder noise than when 20 others did it. They looked at each other, smiling tightly and lifting their brows up.

“Mm, you’ll get there I suppose.” She chastised.

“Great class today! I look forward to seeing you all at the same time next week.” The teacher announced as everyone was either picking up their bags or gulping masses of water. Robert and Aaron were sat on the floor next to each other, Robert’s hair flat against his forehead, sticking to him and Aaron breathing heavily, red in the face.

Neither of them wanted to admit it, but dancing had taken it out of them. Aaron was no stranger to the gym, but the mental side of dance had been as equally as exhausting as the physical attribution. His chest was heaving under the intense workout he had just done, holding some woman up over his head. Robert’s muscles ached having not done exercise on this scale for quite some time. His legs felt like jelly, as though they would give way from underneath him. The teacher had Robert working on stretching his limbs out more, making sure that his toes were pointed on every move.

Aaron stood up first, extending his arm to help lift Robert up. His arms were in agony, but that was okay. He had to admit that the class was actually alright. Obviously there was no miracle cure, but he seemed to have come out his shell just that little bit more. In the past, he would have never offered his hand to anybody, he would just keep them hidden in his pockets, but here he was, practically holding Roberts hand.

“I’ll see you next week?” Robert asked, almost shyly as he stood up fully. Aaron released his hand and just nodded before picking his bag up, trying not to wince at the weight, and walked out of the door.

Although the first class had helped Robert slightly, he knew that it wasn’t going to make him ‘right’ straight away; if ever. He came home exhausted and went straight into the shower to rid himself of the sweat. He thought he was fine, even when he was sat watching the early afternoon TV, but then Victoria came home with a box of Robert’s old things, including photographs. He cautiously opened the book, the bind of it cracking because of its age. The first photo caused him to shut it straight away. He couldn’t look at him, even after all these years. It had been fifteen years and the bruises Robert was physically scared with was still stuck with him mentally. He remembered every last detail; the innocent kiss from the farm hand, Jack walking in and dropping the rope he was holding, the shouting, Robert being dragged away by his collar, Jack striking Robert against his face repeatedly. Every time he was his dads face, he was that scared teenager again, remembering all the traumatic things that had happened in his short life. It had taken him fifteen years to admit that he is bisexual, all because he was scare that he would be beat up again, even after his dad had died. Robert’s bad mental health wasn’t just because of that, no. It also didn’t help that at the age of fourteen, he witnessed his mum being burnt to death. That would stick with him forever. He will never forget the feeling of wanting to run in to save her, but knowing it was too late. He’ll never forget finding out that it was his own brother who did it, who killed their mum.

Aaron led in bed when he got home, his upper body aching. He thought back to his first counselling session, his therapist asking him about his most traumatic ordeal. Aaron didn’t know what to say, it felt too personal even though he had already told a court full of people what his monster of a father did to him. He remembered being eight years old and crying in bed, not being able to move, his entire body paralyzed. He remembered it happening again, and again, until he was sixteen years old and managed to fight his way out of it and run away. He remembered just a few months back, having to open up about one of the worst times in his entire life in front of people he has never met before, waiting for them to make a decision about if he was telling the truth or not.  He remembered his therapist sitting in shock as Aaron talked her through what happened to him, and the shock on her face when he carried on. He talked about how Jackson died. How none of them could stop crying. How he regretted what he did, but knew that he couldn’t see Jackson carry on in the darkness he was in.

They both knew that it would take a lot for their mental health to be better than it had been for years, but they also knew they would never be a hundred percent perfect. After all, who is?

A week had passed since the first class, which meant that it was time for the second one. Robert and Aaron gravitated towards one another yet again, both laughing as they struggled to do even some of the most basic moves. Robert’s muscles ached after the first twenty minutes, the teacher making him do the moves he watched Aaron do last week. His legs felt like jelly, struggling to hold people up at first, but after a few more goes he found his position and could do it easily enough.

It was obvious that the girls admired the two boys in the class, batting their eyelashes at them as they did the ‘manly’ dance moves. At the break of the session, Robert watched on as Aaron was swarmed by girls, one of them actually touching his biceps. He chuckled at Aarons apparent uncomfortableness and walking over to rescue him. Robert seemed to have turned the charm on with Aaron, the girls noticing and walking away embarrassed.

“If only they knew they were barking up the wrong tree.” Aaron said before taking a sip of his water.

“Gay?” Robert asked.

Aaron rolled his eyes and said “Yeah. Not a problem is it?”

Robert’s cheeks flushed darker than they already were, “N-no! I’m bisexual myself!” He stuttered out.

That was the first time Robert had ever come out to someone who was practically a stranger. He didn’t even think before he said it. He knew this was a good thing, but now his nerves were kicking in.  Aaron just nodded in response just before the teacher announced that the session was now resumed.

Six weeks had passed and every Saturday morning, Robert and Aaron continued to go to their dance class. They had learnt different types of dance and both of them could feel themselves becoming mentally better, although they weren’t perfect. Alongside this, Aaron had seen his counsellor on a regular basis, finding it slightly easier to open up to her. He also didn’t realise it at the time, but he mentioned Robert to her more times than necessary, smiling when he did so.

As well as his mental health, Robert could also see his body changing due to the exercise he was doing. Granted, he didn’t have a six pack, but his arms were beginning to become more defined, his chest growing as his abdominals grew tighter. He was in the best shape he had been in for years.

This Saturday morning, the class started a new style of dance. Ballroom. Obviously, the most common thing for them to do would be to partner up with a female, but because they were both heavily outnumbered, they decided to partner up together. It was decided that Robert would lead Aaron, due to him being taller, so he put his right hand on Aaron’s back, while Aarons left hand was placed at the very top of Roberts arm. Their hands met, the second time that had touched like this. Roberts fingertips were ice cold, he had always had poor circulation. Robert left foot moved forward, Aaron’s right leg going back. Their knees bashed against one another because Aaron didn’t move his leg back quick enough, Robert narrowly missing stamping down onto his foot.

“Your backs need to be straighter,” The teacher instructed, “Robert, you need to step forward slower, you may be leading your partner but you aren’t swinging him about.”

They both smiled to each other at that and did the move again, following what they were taught to do. This time they managed it, and carried on, Robert carefully steeping forward, whilst Aaron moved back. They went around in a square shape, turning at every step. It took them a while to get into the swing of things, occasionally bumping along the way but they managed it in the end. The teacher told them to stop and carried on with the lesson, throwing in more complex steps. Aaron and Robert carried on practising with each other, taking this dance routine the most serious they have in all the weeks they had been going. Aaron could feel his back pulling from being completely straight, his neck getting stiff. Their hands had been held together tightly for so long that they were beginning to get clammy but neither of them really cared. It felt natural.

“Robert” Aaron practically whispered as they continued to dance. “Can I get your number?”

Robert’s face almost lit up, a smile creeping across his face. He nodded and their hands finally parted so he could get his phone out, both of them swapping numbers.

A few hours later, when Robert was sat outside his counsellors’ office, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text from Aaron saying “Date?” Robert smiled at his screen and responded, “Definitely”

They knew they both had a long way to go still, but with the help of counselling, dance and each other, they could definitely do it.