Chapter Text
Louis pushed into the low lit room. It was so dark in here that he could barely see where he was going. His shoes threatened to become permanently stuck to the floor with every step he took and the air smelled of old beer and cigarette smoke. This was not the kind of place anyone would expect to see Louis Tomlinson. That’s probably why he came here as often as he did. He’d been coming more frequently in the last few months than he had in years but at some point this place had begun to feel like home. A dive bar off a side street had somehow come to hold more meaning than his own L.A pad. Funny how he felt more himself in the dark than he did in the unforgiving sun. He could hide here. Why hiding meant home, was something Louis didn’t want to think about. It was something he couldn’t think about.
Louis walked up to the battered bar and took a seat on a creaking stool. The bar top was scratched and there were bottle caps stuck under a thick layer of clear lacquer. Ollie’s father had built this little dive with his own hands, crafted the bar himself. Louis guessed that was the reason Ollie wouldn’t dream of replacing or updating it. Perhaps that was why everything was just as his father had left it no matter how run down or tired the whole thing looked.
It didn’t matter. There was beer, lots of it, and good whiskey and scotch. Most importantly, the people who came through here didn’t care who or what you were. Honestly, this was the reason Louis loved this place the most. No one looked, no one asked questions, no one wanted anything.
Louis knew tomorrow would be hell but he would deal with that when it came. All he wanted tonight was a pretty face to lose himself in and just enough whisky to make it seem like a good idea. It had been so long since he’d been with someone … anyone. He felt he deserved at least that after the past few days. What was supposed to be his downtime was turning into a circus and Louis had no desire to be the clown in the ring. It may have been in his job description in some perverse way but he was nothing if not the rebellious sort. He’d conformed enough and for now he was tired of it all.
Louis ordered a whiskey, neat, the most expensive one they had. Ollie was working the bar tonight just like he did most nights. It was as if he couldn’t trust anyone else to do it right. Louis was grateful for that, Ollie was a sort of friend, a constant. He’d known him ever since he’d moved to L.A, before Ollie’s dad had died. Then, Ollie was the scrawny red head out of place in the L.A. heat. Now, he was as pale as he could possibly be but he fit in here, melding behind the bar as if the universe itself had mandated it to be so.
He poured the drink and pushed it wordlessly towards Louis. Conversation was never really their thing. Never had been. Louis was fine with that. He wasn’t in the mood to bare his soul anyway. The amber liquid of the whiskey swirled heavy but instead of drinking it, Louis twirled the murky glass around and around with his fingertips gripping the rim. He stared into the alcohol feeling a sudden tiredness settling over his bones. The darkness of the room wasn’t helping in the least and his lids felt heavy.
Louis blinked and shook his head to clear it. He turned a bit to take in the room to see who else had wandered in here tonight. There was the usual type, men hunched over beers, whisky and scotch. There was a woman with blue hair selecting tunes at the juke box in the corner and past the kegs stacked on the floor Louis could see an intense, quite frankly, homoerotic game of pool taking place in the side room.
Louis snorted as he took in the two men concentrating more on each other than the game, using their cues as poorly disguised props as they licked their lips and stared each other down. His amusement quickly turned into a sigh and he finally took a taste of his drink. He felt the burn of the alcohol and immediately needed another.
He continued to scan the room. He wanted something, someone. He’d told himself a long time ago that he wouldn’t do this anymore and he hadn’t. However, making an exception tonight wouldn’t hurt. He just wanted the feel of a man’s hands on his hips, pressing against his spine, against the column of his throat. He wanted the heat and the brush of stubble against sensitive skin. That really wasn’t too much to ask and he knew that he was okay here. Okay to be himself, at least to be some part of himself.
So far, there wasn’t anyone here that could do that for him, that would look at him the way those two men were looking at each other over the pool table. Louis finished his scan of the room and was just about to turn back to stare at the bottle caps stuck in place, when he saw him.
Sitting in a booth at the furthest end of the room, alone, turning a bottle of beer around in his large, large, hands, was one of the most stunning men Louis had ever seen. Only his profile was on display but that was enough for Louis to draw his conclusions. His jawline was razor sharp and pronounced as if he was clenching his teeth. His hair was long, full and curled at the ends where it fell just past his shoulder. Louis couldn’t really tell the colour but it was dark and Louis wanted his hands in it right away.
The man’s gaze was downcast, contemplating the beer in front of him. Louis was forced to take another drink when he ran a finger down the sweating neck of the bottle he was holding. It was as if he’d done it in slow motion and when he used that same hand to tuck his hair more firmly behind his ear, Louis gave up all pretence and stared openly.
It was as if there was a spotlight on this guy. There was no way Louis should’ve been able to see him as well as he was, not in this room where lighting was an afterthought. Louis could see him perfectly. It was as if he was sitting outside in the late afternoon sun rather than in a shitty bar in the middle of the night. He glowed and Louis was the moth. Louis wanted him. He wanted those large hands on his body, pushing him up against the sinks in the bathroom, slinking underneath his shirt and teasing his nipples. He wanted those hands pushing into his jeans, turning him around and pinning his front to a stall door.
He wanted to do dirty things, reckless things, all the things with those hands. His pulse raced as arousal began to pool in his groin. He groaned to himself. Clearly it had been too long. Whoever this guy was, he was a person who probably had someone waiting for him, a person who Louis probably couldn’t trust anyway.
He was just about to force himself to look away when the guy flexed the muscles in his arm, making a fist on the table top. Louis saw that there were tattoos. Dark ink swirled its way up his arm, snaking under the sleeve of his shirt. Louis couldn’t make them out but if he was turned on before, he was hopeless now.
The man shifted as if he could feel himself being watched and Louis didn’t even have the decency to feel ashamed. The attraction was twisting in his gut and he hadn’t even gotten a proper look at the man’s face yet. He shifted more, lifting his head and turning it in Louis’ direction before lowering it again and sticking his tongue out to take a sip of his beer.
That small action - it was barely even noticeable this far away - jolted Louis so badly, he almost fell from his barstool. There was something so incredibly familiar about it. Louis’s breathing picked up again, this time for a different reason than it had just a moment ago. He stared harder. The guy took another sip of his beer, his tongue peeking out just a little before his mouth connected with the bottle.
He was oblivious to Louis’ presence as he continued to drink his beer but Louis was in crisis. There was a boy he used to tease mercilessly about that very habit. Always peeking his tongue out before any food made it to his mouth. Every time, without fail. Louis had seen it hundreds of times. He knew that face. The last time he’d seen it, it had been a lot younger, rounder, but it was still the same. Louis knew that curly hair back when it had been a halo of rich brown around his head.
Harry.
Louis’ heart stopped for one insurmountable second before starting up again at a frankly dangerous pace. He wanted to turn and run even though no one was chasing him. No one was even looking at him. He felt his face heat in embarrassment. He felt it travel all the way down to his chest on its way to his toes. His whole body was aflame for the wrong reasons.
“What the fuck’s the matter with you?”
Louis ignored Ollie's question. He was good at that. He slid off his stool with the intention of going home, getting in bed under the covers and staying there until he was nothing but bones.
He paced a little in front of the bar, no doubt looking deranged to Ollie and anyone else. He felt like he needed ten very, very cold showers. Harry, or as Louis used to call him, his little brother from another mother. What was Harry even doing here? Why was he sitting in this shitty place at this hour, by himself, sipping on beer and looking at nothing? Of all the things that could happen, how could this be one of them? Louis had to leave, he had to go before Harry saw him. Harry would probably be able to see every dirty thought that had been parading through Louis’ mind on full volume. Oh god, he’d had impure thoughts about Harry. Gemma’s little brother.
Louis wanted to pull at his hair, to duck under the bar, to be as dramatic about it as he wanted to be. But no. He had to calm down. This wasn’t that big of a deal. Come on. He was an adult and Harry was an adult too. They weren’t kids anymore, hanging around their houses in England bored out of their minds. It was fine, it just couldn’t happen again.
Also, he couldn’t just see Harry and leave. They’d lost contact years ago but he hadn’t forgotten him and he’d never forgive himself if he just walked out and didn’t say a word. Louis swallowed down the rest of his drink in one gulp needing the fortitude the alcohol afforded. He asked Ollie for another, gripped the bar top and steadied his breathing. This was fine. This was completely fine.
*** *** ***
Everything was shit and running away wasn’t helping. His phone was off, he hadn’t checked his emails in days, Harry was determined not to see another person he knew for as long as he could.
“Harry you’re better than this. Harry he’s not good enough for you. If you keep this up you’ll lose everything.”
“Harry don’t be like this you bastard. We’re better together. You can’t do this on your own.”
“He’s a piece of shit Harry. He’s dragging you down with him.”
“You always let your family tell you what to do. Don’t you love me Harry? If you loved me you wouldn’t tell me to leave.”
Everyone’s words and advice and caution and admonitions had converged in his mind into a solid wall of noise. He’d been banging his head against it for months. He was bloody and bruised and no closer to being free. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This isn’t what he’d dreamed of when he signed his recording contract. He was going to sing and it didn’t matter if it was to millions or thousands or hundreds, it only mattered that he was able to get up on a stage and share a little bit of his soul with those willing to listen. He was supposed to be happy, to be fulfilled. He wasn’t supposed to be so pulled apart that he could barely breathe.
“Have you started writing for the new album?”
“Why aren’t you writing?”
“We need something new, something fresh. We need the second album. This is going to be the one. This will be the one to take you from critical success to mainstream. You’ll break America, everyone will love you.”
“Harry time’s running out, either you give us something or we have to move on.”
So far, the only thing Harry seemed capable of breaking was himself and as for love, he wrote about it, sang about it but it eluded him. Always. He’d been reaching for it, grasping since he was a teenager. He fancied himself to have found it once in the face of the most beautiful boy with the most beautiful blue eyes but right now in this dark bar, his mind was telling him it had only been youthful folly.
Some years ago he’d thought himself very grown up when he’d reached out for love and reeled Nick in. He’d been playing small but regular gigs at a string of pubs back in London, making enough to split the rent on a not too shabby flat with his musician friend Ed.
Harry met Nick at his favourite pub. The decor was kitschy, the patrons were always in a good mood and it paid the most too. Nick had just started as a bartender there. It was actually his first night and the way he looked at Harry was the way Harry had been longing for. At least that’s what he thought at the time.
They’d ran around London stamping their names on every part of it, being wild and spontaneous and all the things Harry thought he wanted. It was volatile. It was sharp and bitter like vinegar and Nick told him that was how it was supposed to be, that was how love was supposed to feel. Harry didn’t know if he believed that but Nick told him that he was too much of an idealist, hung up on a boyhood crush that hadn’t been any realer than his hope to make it in the music business.
That stung him. He felt the welt it left behind even now. The people you love, the people who love you, should be the ones who believe in you always. But he’d made it, in a way. He was getting there. He got the record deal with the coolest indie label in the city. He did get to record an album and tour the UK and hear his music on the radio, hear himself sing about the kind of love he believed in. The kind that didn’t sting, that didn’t feel bitter, that didn’t cut his skin. The kind that had a glow around it even when you couldn’t grasp it, even when it stayed permanently out of reach.
Music critics loved it. They said Harry Styles made them believe in love again because he sung about it with an authenticity that someone in their early twenties just should not possess. Harry wanted to tell them, that’s what happens when you fall in love at thirteen, when you’ve had years to spin it around in your mind, turn it inside out and examine it from every angle. It’s the result of hiding in your room when your big sister brought her best friend by because you couldn’t look him in the eye without turning an embarrassing shade of red. They said that Harry Styles sang about love like it was elusive. That’s because for him it was.
Maybe Nick could feel that and that’s why he treated Harry the way he did. Maybe the cheating and the drugs and the drinking and yelling were somehow his punishment for not loving Nick like he loved the boy in his songs.
Harry turned his beer around and around in his hands as he rejected that thought the same way he’d had to so many times in the past few months. Nick had been an arsehole before Harry met him. Harry had forgiven him so many times, even when he snuck away and cheated on Harry with the people who had come to see him sing on his tour. Nick always made it seem like it was Harry’s fault. If he’d been more of what Nick needed than it wouldn’t happen in the first place.
Nick always said he was older than Harry so he knew these things. Harry believed him some of the time but not anymore. Louis was older than Harry too and he would’ve never. Harry made a fist on the tabletop. Even now he still thought that way, every now and then he would compare people to someone he hadn’t spoken to in ten years. He needed to stop doing that. Nick was a piece of shit and Louis was better than him but still, he needed to stop doing that.
What he needed to do was finish his beer, go back to his hotel room and try his best to come up with something for his second album. If he couldn’t, he was going to lose everything he’d worked so hard for.
There was movement on the edges of his vision. He looked over and saw someone pacing back and forth over by the bar. He was quite small in stature with a presence that was bigger than everyone else in the room combined. Harry took another sip of his beer as he watched him. Back and forth with quick, elegant steps. He was so light on his feet it was like there were little springs in his Vans. Harry looked him up and down, once, twice, then choked on his beer.
Oh god, Louis Tomlinson was pacing back and forth at the same bar he was in, clearly having some kind of existential crisis. Harry sputtered, trying not to choke to death because it would be just like him to do something that embarrassing with Louis present. Louis was facing away, his back turned but Harry recognised him anyway. Harry could probably identify Louis by his eyelashes if he needed to.
It was really him. Louis. After all this time. After ten years. Harry felt his eyes prickle, filling up. The tears blurred his vision of Louis and he blinked them rapidly, willing them away. He put a hand to his forehead not sure what to do.
Louis was … he was the same size he’d been when he left their small town to move to America to act in a television series. He hadn’t grown an inch, Harry was taller than him now, bigger. When he’d imagined holding Louis is his arms he’d always supposed they would be the same height, but no, he could fold Louis into his body and Louis’ head would probably rest on his shoulder. He saw in his mind how it would be, correctly for the first time and he wanted to feel it so badly he could taste it on his tongue. Louis was right there. So close.
Harry’s hands started to shake. Just before he came here, he’d been watching one of Louis’ movies bundled up in the hotel room’s duvet. He’d brought his collection of Louis’ films with him from London, the only damn thing he’d taken time to check before he’d left his flat. He hadn’t brought enough pants but he’d brought Louis’ movies.
Louis Tomlinson. Oh, he was coming over. Harry’s palms started to sweat profusely as if he was still the kid stealing glances of Louis, almost too shy to even wave a hello. Only no, he wasn’t that kid anymore.
Before he even registered what he was doing, he stood up and barrelled into Louis’ arms. He should be embarrassed and he would be in a few minutes but for right now hugging Louis was the only thing in the world that mattered. Louis’ arms came up around him after a slight hesitation and Harry realised that this was only the second time in his life that he’d gotten a hug from Louis Tomlinson. The first time had been a goodbye and a promise to keep in touch. That hadn’t happened. Harry had been sad about that, had even cried about it a few times but he’d never been mad. He’d never really expected anything different. After all he’d hardly done anything to make a lasting impression.
“Louis!”
“Harry.”
They smiled awkwardly for a moment before Harry invited him to sit with him. They sat quietly looking at each other, incredulous smiles on their faces.
“This is unexpected,” Louis said gesturing with his hands towards Harry.
“Beyond unexpected,” Harry agreed.
He took to picking at the label on his beer bottle. Since arriving in L.A. he’d entertained the idea of trying to find Louis, maybe calling Gemma and seeing if she still had a contact even though he knew they hadn’t spoken in years. He’d even imagined just randomly running into Louis on the street somewhere and what that reunion would be like. But now it was actually happening. Louis was right in front of him and he was at a loss for words.
Louis cleared his throat, fidgeting a bit in his seat. Harry looked at him. He looked like an overcharged battery with no outlet. He couldn’t keep still and Harry wondered if he was nervous too. Why would he be?
“What have you been up to Harry?”
“I’ve been singing,” He said proudly.
Louis raised his eyebrows in a quick gesture that Harry had seen countless times. A slow smile spread across his face until the whole thing seemed lit from within. Harry had no choice but to echo it, feeling a sense of pride that Louis seemed so genuinely pleased.
“That’s amazing. You were so good when we were kids.”
Harry thanked him with a blush to his cheeks.
“I’m still acting,” Louis said then, almost as an afterthought, as if he was throwing out a piece of information that Harry may or may not be interested in. Louis really had no idea.
“Oh I know,” Harry said with enthusiasm, gripping his beer with both hands and leaning forward. “I’ve seen all your stuff, you’re one of my favourites, the way you command the screen is incredible. Blue Hydrangea is one of the most beautiful pieces of work I’ve ever seen and you, you were mesmerising.”
Louis seemed a bit taken aback. He clearly hadn’t expected Harry to be familiar with his work, at least not to this degree. Harry was inwardly kicking himself for sounding like an idiot and going off like that when he really hadn’t intended to.
“Wow … thanks Harry. I had no idea you-- it means a lot.”
Harry went back to picking on the bottle label and slumped back in his seat. He didn’t want to make Louis uncomfortable. He didn’t know what he wanted but he was pretty sure it was to stay here forever. He had the unpleasant feeling that as soon as he walked through those doors he would never see Louis again.
“Give me your phone.”
Harry looked up and saw Louis studying him with an intensity that made him flush. “Sorry?”
“Your phone Hazza, I want to make sure you have my number so we don’t lose each other again.”
Hazza. Harry fumbled with his too tight jean pockets, trying to get at his phone as quickly as he could while still maintaining some illusion of composure. He hadn’t heard that nickname since he was fifteen. Louis was the only one who called him that. Harry wanted to reach across the table and hug him again because with just that one nickname Louis made Harry feel better than he had in weeks. Instead, he handed Louis his phone with trembling fingers which Louis didn’t seem to notice.
Louis rang his own phone with Harry’s then handed it back, admonishing Harry to give him an interesting contact name and a personalised ringtone and promising he would do the same. They chatted a bit after that, easing into a comfort they hadn’t had even when they were at school together. Harry was always too nervous to really engage Louis and Louis at least in Harry’s estimation was too busy and important to pay Harry too much mind. When Louis excused himself to the bathroom, Harry had to admit he was a little relieved. He would use the time Louis was gone to calm his nerves.
Louis looked at himself in the smudged mirror above the sinks. The reflection looking back at him seemed a little lighter than he’d felt when he’d arrived earlier. He definitely no longer felt tired. There were little zips of energy running through him. He laughed to himself as he washed his hands, admitting that he hadn’t wanted to get up from the booth and leave his conversation with Harry even for the time it would take to relieve himself.
He thought of how beautiful Harry was and how he’d wanted him so badly. He still did, but that really wasn’t important anymore. There was a slight something in Harry’s eyes when they’d first sat down. It disappeared quickly after, but it had been in that bear of a hug he’d gotten from Harry too. Harry seemed a little bit lost.
As Louis dried his hands, he thought of the day he and Gemma had become friends. It had been miserably chilly and wet and students were rushing about the school yard, everyone too grumpy and cold. He’d been waiting for his friends when he saw the little Year Seven boy, his curly hair damp with rain, huddled under an awning. Louis ran over to him and offered him his jumper, asking his name. Harry refused him more than a few times before giving in and pulling the warm garment over his head. Louis missed it right away. He hated being cold but honestly it was worth it to see the smile on Harry’s face.
Later that morning he was approached by Gemma, a fellow Year Nine who’d recently moved to Doncaster. She was carrying a jumper in her hands in their navy blue school colours. She beamed at him like he was the best thing she’d ever seen and explained to him that they were friends now because he’d been so nice to her little brother. She then gave him Harry’s jumper that she’d brought with her when she realised that he’d forgotten his at home. Apparently he’d refused to switch so Louis could wear Harry’s if he wanted. He did want. He didn’t think too much about the fact that Harry’s clothes fit him just fine even though Harry was two years younger. Even after countless visits to Harry’s house over the next four years to see Gemma he’d never given the jumper back and Harry hadn’t either.
The memory lingered as he slid back into the booth opposite Harry. It was something he was pretty sure he’d forgotten, not having thought about it in years, but with Harry here now it felt so recent and with it he felt that same protective tug he’d felt then.
“So, why are you in this bar of all places?”
As soon as he asked the question, Louis could see the wheels begin to turn in Harry’s head. It was that moment when he would decide how much to say, how much to give. The socially expected thing would be for Harry to give him a noncommittal answer, something light, but Louis could see there were heavy things going on and he tried his best to silently show Harry that he could unload it all if he wanted to.
Louis clearly did something right because Harry did unload. They got another round of drinks as Harry told him about his career, about his music and his label and being openly bisexual. Harry told him about Nick who Louis hated from the moment Harry said his name. How someone could even consider treating Harry that way was something that Louis couldn’t comprehend. He told Louis how that relationship had soured him on London, his favourite city and how he couldn’t stay in his flat and how he’d lost his words and was blocked, not able to write for his second album.
“This has never happened to me before. If I don’t write they’ll … I don’t even know…”
Harry was twisting a beer label around in his hands, the paper, wet with condensation, turning to pulp under his fingers. “I’m worried all the time and I miss the city but I … I ran here and it’s not doing what I thought it would.”
Harry seemed to be dealing with the aftermath of a shitty relationship and the pressure of sophomore success. That had to be immense. From the sounds of it there were a lot of people expecting a lot of things from him and he was just about to his limit with all of it.
Louis had a sense of what that was like. The more successful he was in his career, the more pressure there was to stay relevant, to choose projects not just because he was interested in them but because they would give him the most exposure or the right exposure. It could get tiring. However, He didn’t have anyone dragging him down like Nick had been doing to Harry and he could only imagine what that must have been like. To do all that he’d done with that kind of weight around him was impressive and Louis told him as much.
They stayed tucked away in their booth until closing time, talking and drinking, Louis making Harry laugh as much as he could which thankfully wasn’t too difficult a task. By the time they parted, Harry had a little light in his eyes, even if they were dropping, and his smile was bright the way it should always be. Louis told Harry he would get his words back and Harry looked at him in a soft way that made Louis’ insides twist into themselves.
He left Harry with a promise to call and spend more time together. Burying himself under the covers alone that night, Louis’ bed seemed simultaneously warmer and colder than it ever had.
*** *** ***
It was early. Too early for this shit. It would always be too early for this shit. The sun was already blinding, Louis hadn’t had his tea and people were yelling at him. Currently, it was his publicist’s turn. The words unprofessional, rude, and inconsiderate were blurring in his brain making a soup of a very undesirable consistency.
He’d known this would happen and well, he couldn’t really be mad, they were right. It was unprofessional and rude and damn well inconsiderate to ditch your girlfriend right in the middle of a romantic dinner date. Although the unprofessional bit was only relevant because the relationship wasn’t the most traditional, in that it only existed in the media. Louis sighed for the hundredth time since he’d been woken up.
“Did you not agree to this? Am I missing something?” His publicist Ryan, asked.
“Nope you’ve got it.” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. Great, a headache was on the way.
“The paps were waiting, that’s time and money for no shot.”
“They got arrival pics at least, that’s something.”
“You think this is funny?”
“Not even a little?”
“How do you think Mariella feels? What about her?”
Mariella, Mari, his ‘girlfriend’. Louis wasn’t sure how she felt. Guilt forced its way through his defences as he thought about her sitting in the restaurant alone.
“I’ve got to go Ryan.”
“You need to do better Louis. It’s been four years, this is a good situation for you, don’t fuck it up.”
Louis disconnected the call without responding. Last night was the anniversary dinner celebrating four years of relationship bliss, all well documented by the paparazzi incase anyone in the general public had forgotten.
Louis wandered out to his balcony. He should probably call Mari and apologise. It’s just that last night had been one night too many. He’d walked up to the entrance of the restaurant holding her hand, light bulbs flashing and blinding the both of them, and he’d wanted to scream. For the first time he’d wanted to break their cameras and flip the tables and just yell. That would’ve made for another kind of story though so he’d grit his teeth as much as he could and smiled his media smile but he couldn’t make it all the way through. He’d ditched her, left her alone. He couldn’t make himself feel too badly because if he hadn’t then he wouldn’t have seen Harry and now that he had, he couldn’t imagine missing that opportunity.
He leaned on the railings as his phone buzzed again. This time Mari’s publicist had some choice words for him. Then it was his agent and then her agent and her manager and then his manager and then Louis seriously considered dropping his iphone into the brush below and disappearing forever.
He turned and slid down the glass barrier until he was sitting on the tiles. They still held a bit of chill from the night and he pressed his hands to the cool porcelain stone. Pulling his phone out, he dialled Mari’s number and waited.
“Louis you fucking bastard!” Mari yelled at him too but she couldn’t hold it for long and quickly dissolved into laughter.
“Mari, I’m sorry about last night.”
She sobered when she heard the serious tone of his voice. “Oh Lou please, has the world ended? Has the apocalypse begun because you didn’t finish dinner? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Mari be serious,” Louis laughed a little, the first since he’d woken up and for that he was grateful.
“Okay, okay I’m totally serious. This is me being serious. Ready? Fuck them. I can only imagine people have been yelling at you and I know you hate mornings so the combination must’ve been extra awful.”
Louis leaned his head back against the glass.
“As charming as my personality is, I’m not surprised you bailed. It can get tiring can’t it?” She asked this with a quietness that made Louis close his eyes to absorb it.
“Yea it can.”
“You’ve got downtime, a few months without any commitments. Take advantage of that and just go somewhere, get away from all of this, get away from me.”
“Mari no, don’t say that. I love you, you know I do.”
“Yes. I am also sick of you.” She laughed again and Louis joined her.
“We’ve got appearances to make though, quite a few actually.”
“We should’ve never signed a contract and made this whole thing official but it’s almost up anyway remember? Negotiations are soon. You can’t see me but know I’m rolling my eyes at the very idea.”
Louis laughed again. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we both be brats, though for you it’s much more of a natural occurrence--”
“Whatever.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, we both be brats and act difficult, like we’re rebelling until we get the new contracts in place and get the terms we want or what the fuck ever.”
Louis sat up opening his eyes. He perked up more than he had yet, feeling like he could see some sort of light up ahead with the words Mari were saying to him.
“So last night was a good thing really,” she said. “Now I retaliate and get bitchy and we both refuse to cooperate. Meanwhile you just go somewhere, sleep all day and watch loads of bad tv. At least that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Mari, I really do love you,” Louis said with feeling.
“Yea, yea I love you too.” Louis could practically see her feigning interest in her nails and rolling her eyes.
After ending the call with Mari, Louis paced the length of his balcony as he came up with what he would say. After a few minutes of rehearsal he called the necessary people and put on what he thought was an oscar worthy performance. He had to say some harsh things about Mari and he would’ve felt bad if he wasn’t completely sure she was ripping him to shreds herself with the kind of relish that only she could muster. He almost broke a few times and laughed but he held it together, practically twirling through his house as he made sure he came across as petty and dramatic as he could.
Louis was thrumming with energy. He bounced around his space wondering what he should do next, wondering where he should go. The feeling of lightness that had begun to settle over him last night continued to envelop him and he felt a bit like anything was possible. He loved that.
He was perusing the leftovers in his fridge when a thought started to form in his mind. He initially brushed it away, but over reheated chinese it only solidified. He was having a beer on his balcony when he finally gave in and picked up his phone.
*** *** ***
Harry curled up further under the covers and put a pillow over his face. Two muffled screams later and some of the tension had dissipated. He moved the pillow away and glanced at his open journal sitting on the nightstand, the unlined pages blank. He put the pillow back in place and screamed some more.
He’d been at this activity for at least an hour by now; look at blank page, scream, repeat. Sometimes he switched it up by picking up his pen and twirling it around his fingers but that particular bit had been cut out when he’d thrown the pen against the wall in frustration. The other side of the room was way too far to traverse at the moment.
The morning had been spent answering calls and texts to his parents and his sister Gemma, being yelled at for having his phone off and leaving the country without saying. He apologised and assured them all that he was okay and then had dedicated his day to getting some writing done. Cue afternoon and utter failure.
Harry tried to hold on to the bit of light last night had unexpectedly brought. In the bar with Louis he’d felt a whisper of something, the ghost of inspiration clutching at him but in the harsh daylight it was gone.
He rolled onto his stomach and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t even eaten yet. His stomach was grumbling and he considered reaching for the room service menu. Maybe he should go for a walk, get out of his stuffy room and find something to eat on the way. It might invigorate him.
He sat up and patted the bed around him, rifling through the rumpled sheets for his phone. His fingers had been itching to text Louis all day but he was trying to be his best, chilled self. Harry didn’t want to annoy Louis or bore him until he decided to disappear for another ten years.
When the first texts and calls had come in this morning, Harry briefly entertained the idea that some of them would be from Louis. He knew better and was proven right but still, a guy could dream.
He couldn’t find his phone and almost gave up until it started to buzz from somewhere in the room. Harry whipped his head around, desperate to locate it as he heard the first notes of Louis’ personalised ringtone.
“No, no no no …”
Harry hopped off the rumpled bed, got his foot tangled in the sheet hanging off the corner and fell hard. The buzzing and music stopped. Harry closed his eyes.
“No …”
He’d landed sideways, parallel to the bed with his foot twisted in an odd way. Thankfully, his feet were always twisted in an odd way according to his sister and there seemed to be no damage done. It wasn’t his fault he was clumsy.
He opened his eyes and came face to face with his phone, the black rectangle encased in pastel pink, mocking him from its place under the bed. Harry groaned. The phone started to buzz again, Louis’ tone spilling from the tiny speakers. Harry quickly reached an arm out and grabbed it. He answered it from his position on the floor.
“Hey-- hi-- hey,” Harry scrunched his face in utter disgust with himself.
“Hi Haz,” Louis said.
He sounded excited. Harry scrambled up from the floor, almost falling over again in his haste.
“What’s up?” Harry rolled his eyes at himself and sat crossed legged in the middle of his bed.
Fifteen minutes after Louis ended the call, Harry still hadn’t moved. Apparently he was going back to London tomorrow. Specifically, he was going back to London and Louis was going with him. They were going to stay together in Harry’s flat for a couple of months. Together. At the same time.
Initially Harry had instinctively balked at going back so soon. He’d just left. He’d come out here to write, going back felt like a failure. He rattled all this off in between too small breaths because what he really wanted to say was that he couldn’t believe Louis really wanted to do that, to spend that much time with him. He was feeling way too nervous and decided to do that thing where he acted like he didn’t want something that he very much did want.
Louis of course didn’t know that was happening and therefore, set about trying to convince him with various arguments and in the process said some things Harry really needed to hear.
“You said yourself L.A. wasn’t doing what you needed.”
No one should ruin the things and the places you love. If you’re up for it, lets make some new memories, good ones.”
Harry held on to those words. Louis was right and the thought of spending that much time with him was so incredibly tantalising. Harry felt like he was in a daze even before Louis was done speaking but one thing kept him from losing himself completely in the fantasy. Louis’ girlfriend.
It was a reminder that no matter how close he and Louis may become or how much time they spent together, friendship was all that was on offer and all that ever would be. He had to keep himself in check or else he was going to get hurt and he didn’t think he could do that again. He knew he couldn’t have Louis but he didn’t really want to have it spelled out for him in big straight letters.
Harry couldn’t help but wonder about Mariella. She was a model, tall with wicked curves and she and Louis were in the media often enough for Harry to notice, even though he told himself he wasn’t paying attention. When it came to Louis, he always paid attention. If Louis had the downtime he told Harry he did, then why wouldn’t he want to spend it with his, quite frankly, gorgeous girlfriend? Why would he want to lay low in London with the annoying little brother of his childhood friend? Harry didn’t want to ask but he wanted to ask. It was an annoying contradiction and he couldn’t help himself.
Louis had gone silent for a couple beats too long. To Harry it felt like time stopped for those seconds. Eventually he learned that Louis and Mari - as Louis called her - were having a rough patch and had decided to take a bit of a break from each other.
Harry guessed that’s why Louis wanted to get away and he could relate in a way. He’d acquiesced easily after that, seeing it as the perfect way to be a good friend rather than just overly eager to have Louis to himself.
Now he was sitting and letting it all sink in. This was actually happening, he wasn’t dreaming. He had to make sure he hadn’t gotten stuck in some weird movie. This was L.A. after all. He couldn’t help but feel like the universe was playing some elaborate trick on him. He would wake up tomorrow, go to LAX and there would be no plane and no Louis and he’d realise that nothing had changed, everything was still as stagnant as the air in his hotel room.
Harry spied his suitcase lying open in the corner of the room, most of his clothes still in it as if it knew that he didn’t really belong here. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he hopped up with more enthusiasm than he’d had all day and packed up the few things that were scattered about. He decided he would go to the airport tomorrow anyway, just in case this was all actually real.