Work Text:
Standing in front of a mirror, Harry inspects himself before it’s time to head onstage.
Starting with his head. His hair. His hair is a funny length right now. Toeing the line between too long and too short. He needs a cut. Or does he? He ponders for a moment. It’s a nice length to hold up with a clip the way he likes, but when it’s not being held up it tickles his neck and gets in his eyes. Hm. Maybe he should just let it go and wait for it to reach that nice short/long length he’s worn it at before. But for now, it’s this. And that’s okay. That’s good. Harry likes this. He likes how it frames his face when his hairspray lets go from his habit of twirling it. He smiles. His hair is good.
Next he looks into his own eyes. He likes his eyes- always has. Seafoam green. Sometimes with a blue tint depending on what colors he is wearing. His eyelashes long and soft, give his face a delicate edge. A lovely look for a lovely boy. He smiles. That catches his attention. His lips. Soft pink and plump. This lip color he’s been using lately has brought him so much joy. Makes him feel just a little bit prettier. Not to say he wasn’t pretty before. He was. He’s come to appreciate his own beauty in all forms. All natural, and slightly enhanced by makeup. He never really allowed himself to look at himself that way. But recently he has. And he likes it.
His eyes shift to the scruff framing his mouth. His soft stubble. The shadow of a mustache and a beard. He grins. It took him years to be able to grow his facial hair out more than just a few scraggly hairs here and there. He takes pride in it. He notices the contrast between his scruff and his lipstick. A blend. Masculine meets feminine. Or maybe it’s feminine meets masculine. He doesn’t quite know. What he does know is that he likes it. It’s him. Harry. Hairy Harry.
He moves down his body to look at his neck. His shoulders. His chest. He loves the way these tight patterned ringer tees frame his body. Shows off his broad shoulders, and enhances his chest. His boobs, he giggles to himself. He’s put a lot of extra time into working out. It’s been altering his body in ways he likes. He likes the broadness and the fullness it gives him. Curvy, almost. He sees how his necklace fits right between the cleavage of his pecs, his tits. A cross necklace. With a charm of a penis in a banana peel. Like a good little Christian boy. He smirks. Up next he studies his torso. His strong narrow torso with defined abs behind a soft exterior of a tummy. He used to be insecure about this part of him. Now he wears it proudly, his tight tees highlighting the definition. The difference between the broadness and the slimness. His eyes glance down to his ass. He swivels his body to see the plump behind he’s sporting in these tight patterned pants. Another new development. Squats have done wonders for his once tragically flat booty. Now he appreciates how it bubbles out from his body. Soft and cushiony. Curvy, again. Broad shoulders, slim and strong waist, big bum.
Up next are his legs. His feet. These patterned and leather pants he has chosen for tour have given the illusion of long long legs. Or is it an illusion? He’s gotten more flexible, leading him to start kicking those long legs as high as he can. He can’t help it. The music courses through his veins and blood, drawing his legs up to the highest they can go. Also thanks to ditching the boots in favor of sneakers. A tough decision, but his calves have been much appreciative for the new comfort.
He loves this. This body he occupies. No. His body. His. No one else’s. His own. He has made the body he was given into his own. ‘Feeling good in my skin’ has never ever felt so true.
He hears a camera’s shutter from behind him. He looks over his shoulder. Anthony is lowering his camera. He shrugs. “I can’t help it.” “I see you like this and can’t help capturing the moment.” Harry smiles and blushes. He used to get extremely embarrassed if someone caught him examining and dissecting himself. But now. He no longer feels that embarrassment. He just feels love. For himself. For the people in his life. For those who helped him feel this way about himself.
He joins the rest of the band, about to head on stage for yet another sold-out show. The band. His band. This group of wonderful, creative people who love music just as much as he does. Who match his energy and pour their souls into the instruments and vocals. He’s so grateful for them. They huddle. He looks in the eyes of every member of the band. An unsaid proclamation of love and support radiates to and from every person.
His shows are so special. A sea of pride flags and people dressed in their finest outfits. A whole arena of people to celebrate love and music. All brought together by one person. And that person could not be more grateful for the environment he has been given. Little do these people know how much their love has helped him. And while Harry is here thinking this, nearly everyone in the audience waiting in eager anticipation is thinking the exact same thing.
He stretches. Touches his toes. Takes a deep breath, and steps onto the stage. And then he is Free.