Chapter Text
Louis has the vague sensation of being in a car. His stomach is lurching at an alarming rate. He is maybe mumbling things, but maybe not. The flashing lights and pounding vibrations of the club have been replaced by nauseating movement and darkness, punctuated by bright white lights streaking past. Time is speeding up.
And then it is cold, and quiet and not for the first time that night Louis feels a firm unfamiliar hand around his waist. He sees his door. Yes this is his doorstep. He’s almost sure of it. The door is opening. A familiar face swims before him.
Louis’ stomach clenches, and he feels a tell-tale tug at the back of his throat, and then he’s spewing his guts out, literally spewing them everywhere, and he feels like he might explode, and also a bit like he wants to curl up and die. He thinks he probably will.
“Oops” is all he hears before he blacks out.
***
The next morning, Louis is woken up to Niall crashing pots and pans around the kitchen, unfortunately situated next to his bedroom. He knows it's Niall, because the crashing is accompanied by the whistling of an Irish folk tune. Leave it to Niall to be a walking cliché.
Louis groans and rolls over, willing the world to stop spinning and his head to stop throbbing. The light pouring through his window is offensively bright and he squeezes his eyes tight shut again, hoping for darkness.
And then it comes rushing back. In one massive stomach churning moment, he remembers it all. The breath of the bearded man, the weight of his huge sweaty body against Louis’, pressing him in, suffocating him. It had almost happened again.
He feels sick. He flings his duvet off the bed and lies there, shivering. He vaguely remembers coming back home last night. Maybe. At least, he thinks he can just about recall hearing Eleanor’s worried voice and a less familiar male voice, muttering in hushed tones as he was drifting off to sleep in his drunken stupor. Maybe Eleanor had had Max round last night.
Eventually, reluctantly, he drags himself out of bed. He goes into the kitchen, now mercifully free of Niall and his crashing, in search of tea to soothe his very unhappy stomach. Just as he is filling up the kettle, Eleanor wanders in, looking fresh and ready for the day in a way which Louis does not appreciate one bit.
“Morning Lou, how’s the head?”
“Shhhh” Louis whispers, “indoor voices please.” He is absolutely not in the mood for a conversation but, from the look on Eleanor’s face, he figures they are about to have one.
“Sooo… you had an interesting night last night.” Eleanor leans against the counter, one hand on her hip, expression flitting between disapproval and concern. “I don’t suppose you recall much of it?”
Louis scowls. He remembers the first part perfectly. He remembers dragging himself out to meet Zayn at Ed’s gig, in an attempt to socialize like a normal human being, the advice of his friends, and Dr Corden, in the back of his mind. He remembers trying and failing miserably to convince himself that he would arrive home at a reasonable hour and in a reasonable state of soberness. He remembers the panic he felt at being in a crowded pub with its sea of unfamiliar faces, and he remembers thinking it was a good idea to down pint after pint in an attempt to quell said panic…
“Do you want to know about my night?” Eleanor asks.
Louis says nothing. She ploughs on.
“Well it was going just dandy thank you very much. Finished my essay, skyped with Max, got a nice early night, just lovely really… until about two in the morning when I was woken up by some random guy, calling from your phone, to tell me that you are basically passed-out-off-your-tits-shit-faced… he didn’t say it quite like that but I got the gist,” – Louis grimaces – “and that he needs our address so that he can get you home.”
What the hell? This wasn’t beardy creep was it? Surely not. Oh god. Louis can hardly remember anything of how he got home.
“I assumed he meant he was going to just put you in a cab and send it on its way. I had no idea he would show up on our doorstep with you!”
Louis vaguely remembers something about the doorstep. And something about throwing up.
And something about curls…?
Oh.
“So anyway,” Eleanor continues, “I open the door to see this random guy I don’t know, holding you up, and you, by the way, looked incredibly green and unattractive,” Louis makes a sort of pleading face at her, “and then next thing I know you’re vomming all over the doorstep, and also on his shoes which… poor bloke, that’s the thanks he receives for bringing you home safely and making sure you’re not in a gutter somewhere…”
Louis sighs as the kettle boils and he sets about making two cups of tea. He doesn’t want to get into this conversation with Eleanor again. They’ve had it a lot recently, in various forms. He knows she’s worried about him, can see it written across her face right now. Thankfully she doesn’t push it.
“This all kind of rings a bell,” Louis says after a moment. “I definitely remember throwing up.” He grimaces at the thought. He really really needs to clean his teeth. His mouth feels fuzzy. His breath must reek to high heaven.
“And I’m pretty sure I remember the guy. Fairly tall, curly, brunette right?”
Eleanor nods, and looks as if she might say something, but Louis ploughs ahead, feeling the need to explain himself.
“I was with Zayn and his housemate Ed you see. Well, Ed was playing at The Duke’s Head, and we all had a few too many - you know what Zayn’s like - but I do actually remember most of the night.” Louis’ not sure who he’s trying to convince, Eleanor or himself. “It was pretty standard pints with the lads really. Honest. It’s just the last part that is a teeny tiny bit blurry. But I definitely remember curls…”
“Hang on. Does that mean Zayn left you when you were in that state?” she asks sharply. “Surely he would’ve put you in a taxi himself…”
“No, god no, he would never leave me if I were that wasted. I just, sort of… ended up staying for a couple more drinks after they had gone.”
“At The Duke’s Head?” Eleanor looks dubious.
“Mmm, well that closes at midnight so…” Louis shrugs. Suddenly he doesn’t think this whole explaining himself thing was such a good idea. How exactly is he supposed to explain to El, or to anyone for that matter, that he has recently taken to drinking on his own far more than any of his friends are aware?
Eleanor wants to ask; Louis can see she’s itching to. But instead she takes a sip of her tea, brow furrowed.
“He was really fit as well wasn’t he?” Louis groans, after a few moments.
It’s all coming back to him now. He had gone to that horrible club near The Duke’s Head, SoYoHo or something horrendous, and then there was this gross bearded guy, and Louis must have fallen over or something because then there was this curly haired guy, this seriously beautiful, curly guy leaning over him, helping him up.
A faint smell of urinals permeates his memory. Was he on a toilet floor at one point? God. Louis really hates himself sometimes.
“Huh?” Eleanor asks, looking confused and shaking Louis out of his hellish trip down memory lane.
“The curly guy. I seem to remember him being fit.” Louis tries to shrug it off, already exhausted by the conversation. And it’s not even midday! He can’t bear to think about what an embarrassing state he must have been in. At least he’ll never have to see the guy again.
“Oh yeah. He was,” Eleanor nods her agreement, although her brow is still creased with concern. Louis wants to smooth it out. Make light of this whole situation.
“I really embarrassed myself royally, didn’t I?” He tries for a laugh. It’s almost convincing.
“Very much so. Right royal twat you,” she teases fondly, before her expression softens and she tilts her head, giving Louis a knowing look. “But babe, you need to be careful, I worry about you, we all do. I…”
“Don’t say it.” Louis interrupts her forcefully. No way. He is too hungover for this, and he doesn’t need to hear it right now. At all. How his friends all pity him and how he causes them nothing but worry these days.
An edge of tension flares momentarily between the two of them. Louis sips at his tea.
“Well, look on the bright side,” he says a few seconds later, going for a light-hearted tone, “I can safely promise that I will never return to that godforsaken place ever again. If only to avoid the shame of having to face fit curly man.” He takes another sip of his tea and feels it slide down his throat in soothing waves. “As much as I would love to thank him for being my knight in shining armour and all that, I don’t think I would be able to stomach the crippling humiliation of talking to someone who has witnessed me in that state and then had to endure the beauteous sight of me throwing up all over his…”
Eleanor raises her eyebrows, glancing over Louis’ shoulder, just as Louis hears a small cough behind him.
“Erm…hiii” says a tentative voice. It’s sleep-roughened but even so, Louis is pretty sure it doesn’t belong to Liam or Niall.
Stomach steadily sinking, Louis turns around to see a very tall, very beautiful, and very shirtless boy standing in his doorway. A mop of brown curls falls almost to his shoulders, and his wide green eyes are darting nervously between Louis and Eleanor, as if unsure whether he is welcome to step foot into their little kitchen-kingdom.
Louis just gawps at him. Seriously universe, as if last night wasn’t enough? What on earth is this guy doing here? Why is he in Louis’ kitchen and not far away like he is supposed to be?
And…oh god, he has tattoos. Curly has actual tattoos littered across his chest and stomach and all down one arm. This is so not OK.
Louis is staring, and now Curly is staring back, and oh god Louis should say something, should thank him for last night – what is he doing here? - offer him some tea maybe – seriously, universe, why is he here? - and then swiftly usher him out of the house and away from Louis’ life so that Louis can go back to being miserable and cynical about everyone he meets, and can curl up in a ball far away from men who have butterfly tattoos on their stomachs and…
“Erm, hi Harry. Would you like some tea?” Eleanor. Thank god for Eleanor.
“Actually that would be great if there’s one going,” says Curly, who is apparently called Harry, as he takes a small step into the room.
“Did you sleep alright? I know that sofa isn’t the comfiest thing in the world,” she continues, making up a cup of tea for the boy who definitely should not be here.
“You know, it was actually not that bad. Far as sofas go it was surprisingly comfy.” Harry smiles winningly at Eleanor before glancing at Louis, a note of anxiety in his gaze.
Louis is still staring. He is aware that he is staring but that doesn’t mean he can change the fact. Apparently this is what he does now. He stares at curly Harry people.
“How are you feeling this morning Louis?” Oh god, curly Harry person is talking to Louis. He knows his name and everything. Louis did not sign up for this. “M’pretty impressed you’re awake already to be honest!” Harry grins at him, but it’s cheeky rather than mocking.
“Uh… I, er…” Oh wow. Louis’ eloquence knows no bounds.
Harry raises his eyebrows.
“Oh he’s seen worse days, let me tell you,” says Eleanor, before pinching Louis firmly in the side. “Now stop being rude and offer your guest some breakfast!”
Seriously, Louis is still staring.
This staring thing is becoming a problem. Maybe he should see someone about it. Maybe he should bring it up with Dr Corden at their next session. He can feel his cheeks flushing under the collective gaze of Eleanor and Curly Harry, and if the floor could just go ahead and swallow him right about now that would be fab.
“Er…I’m just…I have to…bathroom” Louis just about manages to stutter before he bangs his mug down, cringing at the noise, and pushes past Harry, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away from the kitchen and the shame.
In the bathroom, Louis splashes water on his face and stares at his own reflection. He looks a mess. He has bags under his eyes, and stubble on his chin, which he can’t be bothered to attend to. He groans.
As he brushes his teeth, with far more aggression than is necessary, he considers his current situation. He could hide out in the bathroom forever, or at least until this Harry guy leaves, but considering Eleanor evidently invited him to stay over last night who knows when that will be. Maybe he’ll stay here forever, and Louis will just have to live in this bathroom, and if people want to piss they can bloody well go to the café across the road.
Louis decides he needs to calm down. Six months ago he would have just laughed this off. Old Louis would have made some witty self-deprecating remark, before flirting outrageously with Harry. No, scrap that. Old Louis would never have got himself into this position. Old Louis would have come home from the pub when Zayn and Ed did, or would have persuaded them to join him at the club, instead of going there alone, like a drunken weirdo. New Louis is a drunken weirdo.
New Louis locks himself in his own bathroom. New Louis is aware that Harry, being stupidly gorgeous, is by default out of Louis’ league. Old Louis would have been blithely unaware of this and would have most likely made out with Harry instead of throwing up on him.
New Louis loathes himself.
***
Well this is awkward.
Harry has never seen someone react to his presence with such abject terror. He knows he doesn’t look his best first thing in the morning, but the way Louis had been staring at him, you’d have thought he had some rare and tropical disease.
So now Harry finds himself sat on the sofa he slept on last night, making small talk with Eleanor over toast, neither of them commenting on the fact that Louis has been upstairs for over half an hour.
Harry really should just leave. He knows he should, and quite frankly, although Eleanor is being very polite, she must be thinking the same thing. He almost hadn’t stayed last night, when she had offered, but it was late, and the tubes were closed and a taxi back to his at that time of night would have cost a small fortune. But more than that, something about what Louis had said in the taxi had stuck with Harry. The way Louis had clung to Harry so desperately, and how he had kept mumbling about how he didn’t want it – whatever it was – to happen again. At points he had seemed terrified, and then he would stare up at Harry, with wide, wet, electric blue eyes, and look somehow ashamed. Harry had held him closer then, confused by this poor boy who obviously was not OK. He had been struck by an overwhelming urge to help him, no matter what it took, because something in him was sickeningly familiar to Harry.
From the moment he had noticed Louis, stumbling slightly, being led away from the bar and into the toilets by that letch Giles, who Harry himself has had to ward off on more than one occasion, he couldn’t help but be worried about the poor boy. Eventually concern had won out over decorum, and thank god it had, because when Harry walked into those toilets, and saw Louis being pressed up against the wall, panic written plain on his face, he had had to use all his mental strength to restrain himself from punching Giles in the face. He would have done as well, if he hadn’t rushed to catch Louis as he fell to the cold, wet floor.
So Harry is still here now, worrying desperately about a man he met less than twelve hours ago.
It’s just gone midday when Louis appears in the living room, hair wet from the shower, sweat pants slung low over his slender hips and a sheepish look on his face. He is gorgeous, Harry thinks, before shaking off the thought. Louis seems as though he can’t quite bring himself to look Harry in the eye as he flops down next to Eleanor on the opposite sofa, but his mumbled “thanks for last night mate” doesn’t go unnoticed.
Harry sends him a small smile, desperate not to scare him off again. He really wants to tell Louis there is no need to be embarrassed but doesn’t know how. He settles for,
“So, m’I gonna have to look out for you every time you’re in SoYoHo then?”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth he regrets them. Louis winces slightly, looking down at his lap. Harry internally kicks himself. Of all the things, why did he have to say that? After a few seconds, in which Harry half expects Louis to run off to the bathroom again, he answers.
“Nope,” he shakes his head, eyes downcast. “Don’t think I’m going to go back there for a while. Pretty sure they wouldn’t let me in even if I tried.”
“Oh, I don’t know. They let in all sorts there!” Harry teases softly, trying to lighten the mood. “And I can’t imagine they’d ever turn away a cute guy like you.”
Shit. Harry is flirting. Awfully. He’s not supposed to be flirting. He’s here because he’s worried about the guy, not because he fancies him. Another internal kick.
Louis bites his lip, a tiny frown ghosting across his face, and doesn’t say anything.
Ok, definitely no more flirting.
After a moment’s pause, which just borders on this side of uncomfortable, Eleanor turns her attention back to Harry.
“So you were saying you’re studying photography, Harry?” she says, voice artificially breezy. Harry doesn’t miss her worried glance towards Louis.
“Er, not actually studying anymore. I mean I did study it, kind of, for a bit. But yeah... now I just, like, work. And take photographs whenever I can,” he adds as an afterthought.
“Ah cool, so… you didn’t go to uni or anything then?”
“Nope, didn’t really see the point to be honest, considering how much money it is and I would have just done photography anyways. Might as well just take pictures. This way I only have to pay for my camera.” Harry shrugs. It’s his standard response. University hadn't exactly been an option for him at the time, but it's impossible to explain to people so instead he talks about money. Money is something other people can relate to.
“Fair enough” says Eleanor lightly, “so what do you work in?”
“A bakery.” Harry grins at the surprise on her face. “That’s right. I’m a baker by day, and a photographer by night. Haunter of shitty Soho clubs by later at night.”
“That’s quite the CV,” Louis mumbles under his breath, the smallest hint of an almost-smirk just about visible. Harry’s surprise at Louis’ words is accompanied by a warm curl in his stomach.
“I like to think so,” he says, smiling softly. Louis nods the tiniest amount, just acknowledging Harry’s response, then goes back to staring at his fingernails, slumped against Eleanor’s side. Harry is maybe a bit mesmerised by him.
Just at that moment, the front door slams and heavy, erratic footsteps are heard on the stairs before a too loud, too cheery voice calls out,
“Alright crazy mofos? What’s the craic?!”
Harry wasn’t aware people actually said that in real life.
“Oh for god’s sake Niall! Indoor voices, please,” Louis whines, bringing his hands up to massage his temples. It’s stupidly endearing.
Before Harry has any chance to register what is happening, he finds that he has an unfamiliar face up in his own, all wide toothy grin, and bleach blonde hair.
“Alright mate, I’m Niall Horan, but you can call me Niall. If you buy me a pint you can call me Nialler, but not until then.” Niall sticks his hand out and Harry shakes it, shooting a bemused look to Eleanor who is obviously quite entertained by this turn of events.
“Harry. Harry Styles. You can call me Hazza but only after you’ve bought me two pints and dinner.” Two can play at this game, Harry thinks.
“I like him” says Niall, clapping Harry’s hand before dropping it and sitting at the other end of the sofa. “So whose lay is he then? Surely not yours Eleanor, or I’ll be having to have some serious words with Max.” She casually flips him off, pulling out her phone.
“I’m nobody’s lay?” Harry says quickly, keen not to have Louis look anymore embarrassed than he already does. “I just ended up kipping here last night, and I’m now in the process of overstaying my welcome. That’s all. I swear,” he adds for good measure.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry notices Louis’ shoulders visibly relax. Harry reckons how he ended up here is Louis’ story to tell, not his. Niall slaps him on the thigh.
“Well mate, that calls for a pint I’d say.”
“Does it?” Harry cannot quite see how exactly what he just said calls for a pint.
“Indeed it does. You’re here. I’m here. The Tommo is here. El’s here and not cheating on her boyfriend” – counting on his fingers as though checking off a list - “it’s a Sunday, it’s October, I got laid last night. All good reasons for a pint.”
Harry laughs. Niall’s energy is pretty infectious. And the Tommo? Interesting.
“Actually I’m not here,” Eleanor says, as she stands and slips her phone into her pocket. “Max just text. He’s done with studying so I’m gonna go round his.”
Niall is unperturbed.
“Ah well, more for us lads then innit! What do you say fellas?” Louis just grunts, and Harry gives a sort of non-committal shrug, unsure how welcome his presence really is. Niall seems to take this as a resounding yes! and claps his hands with a booming “fantastic!” as he makes his way out of the room towards the kitchen.
Eleanor is also leaving the room, and just as she’s grabbing her coat from the banister outside the living room door, Harry gets up to talk to her.
“Back in a minute” he says to Louis, who just gives a tiny nod and looks relieved to not have to be in a room alone with Harry. Harry tries not to be offended.
“Hey, Eleanor,” Harry runs down the stairs and catches her just as she’s opening the front door. She pauses looking at him expectantly. “I just wanted to say, thanks again for letting me stay here last night.”
That’s kind of it really. He doesn’t know what else to say. He wants to ask her about Louis. Ask if he’ll be OK, but he’s not sure he’s allowed to do that.
“Oh no Harry, thank you! Seriously, like I said last night, I’m so grateful to you for bringing him home safe. And I know he is too even if he doesn’t look it.” Harry shakes his head, as if to say it’s nothing really. “And I know you said no before, but are you sure I can’t reimburse you for the taxi? It can’t have been cheap coming all the way from Soho.”
“No really, I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s the least I can do.” Harry’s not sure why he’s saying that. He’s hardly made of money, and it would be perfectly reasonable to accept Eleanor’s offer. But for some reason he doesn’t. For a sick second he wonders if he wants Louis to be beholden to him. But he quickly shakes off the thought. No, he simply doesn’t want to accept payment for his help. Which is what it would feel like, because at the time he hadn’t even thought about how much money it would cost him, hadn’t even registered the exact fare, had just handed over a twenty and then stuffed the handful of change back into his wallet. His only thoughts had been about Louis.
Eleanor is still standing in the doorway, looking doubtful, so Harry nods reassuringly at her.
“Honestly. It’s really not a big deal. I’m just glad he’s safe.”
Eleanor looks as if she might say something for a second, but then thinks better of it. Instead she says,
“It is a big deal. You’re a very sweet guy if you don’t see that.”
Harry is slightly taken aback, and for a moment doesn’t know what to say. Luckily Eleanor continues,
“I better get going Harry, but it was lovely to meet you. Hopefully see you around yeah?”
“Yeah, you too.” He smiles at her as she turns away, closing the door behind her.
Back upstairs in the living room, Harry finds Niall, beer already in hand, TV on, splayed out next to Louis, who is looking a little more relaxed. He even sends the faintest hint of a tight-lipped smile Harry’s way, as Harry flops back down on what he is quickly coming to think of as his sofa.
Harry really should leave. He needs to shower, and he has work tomorrow, and also, he reminds himself, he doesn’t actually know any of these people.
Niall wordlessly passes Harry a beer from the pack by his feet, and all thoughts of leaving disappear. Maybe he’ll just stay a little longer.
***
Four hours later and Harry still hasn’t left. They had ended up watching the footie, and the three of them are now happily discussing the finer points of the match, all unanimously agreeing that Chelsea suck. Well its sort of the three of them discussing it. Louis is only really discussing it with Niall but he does laugh at Harry’s jokes occasionally, and during the game Harry had caught Louis staring at him a couple of times, which had made Harry smile. He really doesn’t know why.
Soon the conversation shifts to people Harry doesn’t know. But he doesn’t find it rude. It’s endearing actually, how closely connected Louis and Niall’s lives seem to be. Harry learns that Niall supports Derby and is studying Music Tech at university and that he and Louis met both playing for the football team. It sounds like they share a lot of the same friends and Harry wonders what that must be like. He reckons it’s probably really nice. They mention a guy called Liam a lot, and another guy, called Zac, or Zayn maybe? The names just kind of wash over him, as he finds himself enjoying their presence more and more, sitting back and letting Niall’s cheerful Irish lilt entertain him, with Louis throwing in the odd quip or witty remark.
Harry is pleasantly surprised to discover that Louis is actually quite funny. His sarcastic commentary on the football has Harry in stitches on more than one occasion, and Harry reckons he can detect a hint of satisfaction on Louis’ face whenever he makes him laugh. He seems more at ease now, here, with Niall. Although Harry can still see a hint of that look, which had been so sad and so scared in Louis’ eyes last night, and he finds himself wishing he were on the other sofa, with Niall and Louis, and that he could curl in between them, and wrap his arms around Louis’ shoulders, and promise him that he’s going to be OK.
Ok, wow. Harry definitely should leave soon. It’s nearly five. He says as much, and Louis suddenly sits up sharply, grabbing his phone to check the time.
“Oh shit,” he mutters, “I have to be at work at five. Damn, I totally lost track of time.” He glares at his phone some more, as though it were to blame for his predicament, and then raises an eyebrow pointedly at Harry. “Thanks for pointing that out. You’re really rather useful you know.”
Harry beams. Louis might as well have just told him he’s won the prize for Best Human Being Ever, the way that he feels a warm, happy glow spreading in his chest.
Louis starts faffing around, gathering up his keys from the sideboard and rushing to his room to get his shoes. Niall looks at Harry.
“One more pint mate?”
“I really should get going actually myself. It’s kind of far back to mine and I need to get ready for work tomorrow and stuff.” He actually needs to update his Tumblr but that sounds weird so he doesn’t say it. “It’s been great hanging out with you guys though. Thanks so much for your hospitality.”
“Not at all. You’ve been a pleasure mate. Should do this again sometime. You’re on Facebook right?” Niall says cheerily, his attention already turning back to the TV, a fresh beer in his hand.
“Er… I’m not actually.”
“What?” Niall looks thoroughly confused, as though this is an entirely new concept to him. “Ok well, you know where we live,” he shrugs.
Harry nods and smiles, grateful for the genuine enthusiasm in Niall’s voice, even though he figures they’re probably not likely to meet again any time soon.
Just as he is standing to leave, Louis appears in the doorway.
“Right Nialler, I’m off. Try not to burn the house down or anything in my absence.”
“I’ll try but I can’t make any promises,” says Niall, expression sombre, eyes fixed firmly on the TV. Louis rolls his eyes, and then glances at Harry, eyebrows knitting into a question as he sees Harry slipping his shoes back on.
“Are you off as well then? Finally had enough of us?” Louis seems to cringe slightly at his own words.
Harry sends him a reassuring smile.
“Haha, something like that. Nah, I’ve just got stuff to do. Should be getting back really.”
Louis nods. So this is awkward.
They both turn at the same time to walk down the stairs, Louis leading the way through the pokey hallway which passes for the entire ground floor of the house, save for a small cloakroom toilet.
Harry can’t bear the silence between them.
“So where do you work?” he asks.
“Just at the cinema down the road,” Louis replies dully, opening the door. “I’m an usher and sometimes they even let me work on the tills. It’s pretty challenging stuff. I was head-hunted actually.” His tone is so serious, that it takes a second for Harry to realise that he is joking. When he does, he guffaws loudly and Louis sort of half-smiles back at him.
“Do you mean the Regal Picture Palace on Swan Road? I’ve never been there but I hear it’s nice.”
That sounded like a line. Shit, Harry definitely didn’t mean it to sound like a line.
Louis hesitates, as if he might say something. But then he just shrugs.
“It’s alright. Would be better if they paid their staff a decent living wage, but that’s life innit.”
They are standing outside on the step now. The same step that Louis threw up on last night, and that Harry helped Eleanor clean up. The Regal is in one direction, the underground station is in the other.
Harry has so much he wants to say but he has no idea how to say it.
“Well bye then,” Louis says, not quite meeting Harry’s eye. “And thanks again for last night, I really owe you one.”
“Not at all,” Harry smiles down at the boy in front of him, who suddenly looks painfully small and sad. In that moment, Harry would give anything to make him not sad anymore. Instead he says, “I really enjoyed hanging out this afternoon, and tell Niall thanks for the beer.”
Louis snorts.
“Yeah…those were my beers. Niall just seems to claim anything that is in the fridge as his own.”
“Oh…right,” says Harry awkwardly. He can’t tell if Louis is annoyed or just teasing. “Well then I guess, thanks for the beer.”
“You’re welcome.” Louis smiles all too briefly, and then his face twists slightly as he says, “I really had best be going. I don’t fancy being yelled at today of all days. Don’t think my head could take it.”
“Of course” Harry nods. He wants to ask for a number or something…anything…
“See you around yeah?” says Louis, expression unreadable, before taking a step back.
“Sure,” says Harry. He hopes his voice doesn’t betray him. If he could just…
“And thanks again for last night.” Louis voice is small, and his eyes don’t quite meet Harry’s.
“No problem, anytime!” Harry’s brain is racing a mile a minute. Maybe if he…
“Bye Harry,” says Louis.
“Bye Louis,” Harry nods, and with that Louis is turning away, walking down the path and onto the street, hands shoved into his pockets.
Harry tries to ignore the heaviness in his stomach and begins walking down the path too. Before he has time to consider what he is doing, he stops, takes out his phone and snaps a picture of the house.
Louis is a good way down the street at this point. From this distance Harry wouldn’t be able to tell it was him, except for the dark grey beanie on his head. Turning away and heading towards the tube is much more effort than it should be.
That evening, back home in his own little flat, Harry updates his Tumblr. He adds a picture he took yesterday evening, before he met Louis, of a bouncer in Soho, and another of the Saturday night crowds on Shaftesbury Avenue. And then another. A picture of Louis’ house. 25 Rowntree Avenue. He figures it’s not creepy because Louis will never see it, and the door number is partially hidden, so it really just looks like one of his usual artsy photos of architecture.
Underneath the photo he types out a caption: The home of the blue-eyed boy.