Young amp Beautiful

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/838537.Rating:MatureArchive Warning: No Archive Warnings ApplyCategory:M/MFandom:One Direction (Band)Relationship: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam PayneCharacter:Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles, Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne,OC - CharacterAdditional Tags: AUStats: Published: 2014-05-27 Chapters: 34/34 Words: 227417SummaryYoung & Beautifulby VelvetoscarLouis, to his horror, attends an elitist university in which the name Zayn Malik meanssomething, Niall Horan doesn't stop talking, there are pianos everywhere, and HarryStyles, only son of a drug-addled, clinically insane ex-rocker, has a perfect smile andempty eyes.NotesAlright, so, this has been in the back of my mind for forever, and now I’m actually writingit. It was loosely based off of Brideshead Revisited (initially), but then it got a mind of itsown, and now it’s basically just a ridiculous story that I want to have fun with. All theplaces are made up for the convenience of the story. I’ve changed [most] names of theboys’ families because I sort of, um, drag their names through the mud and didn’t want toassociate these characters with the real people. IN NO WAY does this story reflect on thereal individuals it’s based on.This is probably going to be insane. Apologies in advance! ;)(For writing and highly charged emotions, tumblr = mizzwilde)This is a prologue of sorts.

PrologueThe room is far too elaborately furnished, smells of polish, and nearly fucking glows in theafternoon light. It’s essentially an advert for a home and gardening network. It’s gorgeous, sure,with its honey wood floors and cream colored walls, picturesque windows peppering every roomand the plushest and most ornate furniture (in the style of Baroque, for the love of god) clusteredin the most artful patterns.It’s luxurious and posh. And Louis abso-fucking-lutely detests it.Not because it isn’t nice—he's not an idiot—but because of what it is. What it means. Here he is,having maintained a perfectly tediously normal and economically responsible life without hisfather’s money (thank-you-very-much) and now, as per the agreement struck between mother andfather dearest in that nasty bit of divorce some years past, the latter had taken to insist that Louisattend the most awkwardly prestigious university England has to offer.No pressure, of course.Still better yet, father dearest didn’t even spring for a single; he insisted upon forcing Louis intoone of the overly-compensating deluxe suites. The ones that require a flatmate.So.Not only is Louis being forced to enter a school completely out of his realm of expertise (becausehe was quite the social butterfly in the natural world, had a knack for making too many friends, ifanything), he’s now contractually obligated to share HIS space with some pretentious twat whoshits money and plays a pretty game of thinly veiled superiority. (No, he hasn’t met said flatmateyet, and no, he doesn’t need to in order to form judgment.) Louis has never been equipped tohandle these situations with much grace. His mother always said his fiery tongue would be hisdownfall, were he not able to keep it in check. And “keeping it in check” is just something Louisdoes not do.With a plonk that seems at odds with the fine setting, Louis drops his armful of bags and bits,sighing dramatically as he surveys his surroundings. Feeling a bit poetic (this is, after all, theopening scene to his tragedy) he sashays to the window, peering out at the ancient buildingsentwined with ivy, settled in the vibrant green grass before him. His room sits on the ground, heonce again notes with distaste. His windows are incredibly low set, providing easy entry for anyentitled shit-faced intruder to hop in without any difficulty whatsoever. One could, quite literally,just throw a leg over and they’d be inside his flat.Which is just excellent.Not that Louis possesses anything these little Midas-es would want. (Excluding impeccable style,grace, and a full personality. Not to mention morals and a solid work-ethic.) (Well. Mostly solid.)“Oh my god,” comes the stunned voice from the door, and Louis turns to see his mum gaping attheir surroundings, eyes scrambling to take it all in.“I know. It’s a bit much, innit?” Louis remarks offhandedly, hands in pockets.“It’s…it’s something,” she breathes in a low tone, and Louis doesn’t miss the bitterness that liesjust below the surface. “Your father certainly has a knack for the most ‘showy’ of choices.” Pause.“When it involves public perception.”

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “Yes, Charles does, doesn’t he?” he replies delicately, placing specialemphasis on the name.He’s never been particularly comfortable with the term ‘father.’With one last unimpressed glance out the window, he sighs and saunters forward. “C’mon, then.Let’s just get it all in here.”His mum nods, still gaping with narrowed eyes, before following him out the door.*His mum left after they’d hauled box after box into Louis’ new abode, the murky cardboardcontrasting against gilt picture frames and varnished ebony that had absolutely no place in a 21 stcentury suite at school.Seriously--why the fuck was everything gold? It’s Uni, not Versailles.“I’ll see you soon?” his mother asked before she exited, voice teetering on the brink of frailty.Louis nodded, doing his best to resist rolling his eyes in pained exaggeration. He was a goodperson, he really was—opened doors for little old ladies and all that—but his mother had apenchant for weakness and self-indulgent distractions, something he, nor his sisters, could everreally afford.“’Course, mum. I’ll be back before you know it. One morning you’ll just wake up and there I’llbe, sitting at the table and demanding brekkie.”“Or I could visit you?” she uttered with childish hope.“Mum,” Louis sighed, lacing his words with feigned patience, “I’ll let you know. The term hasn’teven started. All right?”She nodded, sad eyes gazing into his, imploring.Right. Time to go.Without transition, Louis wrapped impatient arms around his mother. “Thank you again foreverything. Goodbye. Love you.” He pressed a stiff kiss to her cheek. “Tell the girls I’ll missthem, but only sometimes. Ban them from my room. And keep an eye out, all right? Don’t forgetabout them.”She nodded, eyes still sad. “I won’t. Goodbye, Boo. I’ll miss you, my darling.”“Best get going! Time is money!” was his response, sung in an overly chipper tone.He watched her leave for only a moment before turning to the task at hand, mind still settled in thesuitcases that littered the shining floors.So now, Louis is alone, faced with duct-taped boxes, showy walls that mock him and his nondesignershoes, no flatmate (yet), and a very real sense of drowning.“Well,” he mumbles, sniffing as he surveys his luxurious surroundings with hopelessness, “Isuppose this is where it all begins.”

IChapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesThe impression Louis had gotten from the letter [he’d barely skimmed over] regarding his housingwas that his flatmate was to arrive on the same day as him.Is this an exciting prospect? No.However, does he want to get it over with so he can officially hate the fucker? Yes.So Louis waits.He waits long enough, foot tapping against polished floor, that his stomach growls and his eyescross, and his fingers scratch at the fabric of his jeans. Because Louis is fucking impatient and hehates rich people—where the hell is this bastard?Decidedly uneasy, he decides to spend the time unpacking—something he rarely ever does.Usually upon his return from any holiday or extended absence, his suitcases sit in the room,stuffed with rumpled clothes and dirty socks, remaining untouched for weeks, sometimes months.It’s not until Louis will wake up one morning and wonder “Where did that one shirt go…?” thatthey will un-camouflage themselves from piles of track pants and disarray, before becomingactively unpacked.It’s a problem of Louis’—always procrastinating, always forgetting.But he unpacks now—does a marvelous fucking job of it, hanging shirts on actual hangers andfolding trousers in neat little stacks—and once his room is sufficiently set up (barring the fact thatit’s far too sparse for Louis’ liking; but it is, after all, only his first day here), he takes to the otherrooms of the suite. He stays far away from the kitchen because that is one place that he has neverunderstood.There really isn’t much to be done with the place.Louis’ lack of personal belongings, combined with the overwhelming abundance of ornate trashthat clutters the rooms, leaves for little creativity or wiggle room. However, he does manage tosafely stow away all the semi-disturbing paintings of what appears to be bestiality (he doesn’t givea fuck if there’s a Greek myth about Zeus shape-shifting—a bird fucking a girl is still a birdfucking a girl) and soon, the stuffy atmosphere begins to take a slightly more home-esque feel to it.Perhaps there is hope yet.*It’s been three solid hours (and four missed phone calls from his mum which Louis refuses to caterto, thanks) since Louis' arrival and every single ratty, cardboard box has been unpacked andunceremoniously dumped outside.This is what success feels like.And loneliness.Because, even though he’s already decided that his soon-to-be flatmate is the bane of his

existence, Louis can’t help but notice that he isn’t arriving. And it’s nearing evening. Whichmeans he may not arrive. Which means…Louis spends the night alone. Bored. Without friends ordistractions. And how the hell is he supposed to cope with that when he feels like beingentertained?Not checking the time because that would insinuate he cares, he resolutely decides that he willleave the flat. He will leave, he will explore, and he will have dinner at a quaint café so that he cansend Stan artsy pictures of himself sipping tea in the sunset in order to make him jealous for nothaving come along with him. Because goddammit, somebody better be jealous of him when he’sfeeling this shitty.Grabbing keys and scarf, Louis exits stage right and, avoiding the increasingly dense clusters ofrich-bitch drones scattered about the grounds, he ducks out of the gates and sneaks off down thecobbled street.All the while decidedly not wondering about the whereabouts of his flatmate.*He’s certainly not over-thinking anything. He’s not.It’s just that that age-old question keeps popping back up, settling in his bones and gnawing at hisbrain: "Do I take this incredible opportunity given by Charles and build a future for myself andmy family? Or do I shit all over it, smear it on the walls, and waste the fuck out of every lastpound?"Like he said—the age-old question.And while it claws at the back of his mind—and he really probably should address the situation atsome point in the near future because term is starting in three days—Louis actively forces his mindto remain blank and neutral, instead focusing on the tea at his lips. Somehow it manages to sloshout the sides and spills on his trousers because of course, but he disregards it, instead absorbing thequaintness of the café that’s located surprisingly far from the school, farther than he realized uponfirst walking here; he regrets not wearing better shoes.But the quaintness can only last for so long and after checking his Facebook for the seventh and ahalf time in seven consecutive minutes, and two failed attempts at people-watching (where are allthe fit men in this town?), Louis leaves with nothing to show but a cat-shaped tea stain on histhigh and a bored scowl .He’d originally planned to walk home directly, content to just listen to his iPod, separate from theworld and the tragic circumstances that plague him—no, he’s not being dramatic—but boredomseemed to have gotten the best of him because before he can fully comprehend the situation…He’s taking vintage-tinted selfies on the road outside the parameters of his school.And while, yes, some of the purpose for these photos is to brag to Stan, there is also a slow,creeping fondness blooming in the root of Louis’ stomach as he observes the quietly busy streetwith its ornate lampposts and flower baskets, the tall, ancient walls of the university standingboldly all around him, bathed in amber light.Maybe this place isn’t so bad, with its smells of coffee, blossoms, and warm bread. It’s certainly agood backdrop for pictures.Not that he’s admitting anything.

Amidst a posed smile that even he admits is a bit sassy, the steady, low thrum of the town issuddenly interrupted by the put-put of an ancient engine, rattling into life as it steadily increases involume. Perhaps a picturesque little antique vehicle is trudging along, a wee old man at the wheel,cap atop his head whilst he smokes a pipe? It would certainly fit in with his surroundings. Howcharming.But then suddenly the put-put is at full blast, and the screech of tires is not far behind.Instinctively fearing for his life, Louis immediately hops back onto the curb, twirling around just intime to see the source of the chaos as it speeds past.It’s an old, cream tinted vehicle, much like the one Louis’d imagined—probably from around thethirties or forties, which is a feat in itself—and it’s absolutely stunning from what Louis [briefly]sees; it’s open, convertible style, and the white leather of the seats glints in the sun.But its occupants, which are most certainly not old men (there are three), claim the inside lavishly,two figures in pastel suits sprawled together in the front, hands barely on the wheel, and the thirdin back, perched atop the seats rather than in them. The dark, curly head of the precariously-satbloke tips back in delight as they speed further out of sight, raising what appears to be a bottle ofactual fucking champagne in the air, and the sound of cackling laughter follows the trilby-clad trioas the vehicle wildly rounds the corner, disappearing from view.The stillness left in their wake is almost louder than they themselves.Louis just stands there at a complete loss for words, phone in hand, the sassy selfie still plasteredacross his screen.Because what the fuck?Did that really just happen? Three kids adorned in salmon and cream fucking suits just whippedby in a perfectly restored vintage fucking car, practically falling out of it and laughing as if they’venot a care in the world? All while thrusting a bottle of champagne in the air?What the actual fuck?Of course this falling-over-itself-to-kiss-its-own-arse school manages to be the most painfullystereotypical portrait of indulgence and gluttony. Of course its inhabitants are swarms of spoiledbrats, clad in tailored suits and handmade shoes, lacking any sense of decorum or subtlety.Of. Fucking. Course.And here he had thought he was growing to like the place.With bitterness and disdain held perfectly intact, Louis pockets his phone and makes his wayhome, resolutely ignoring any pang of loneliness at the prospect of returning to an empty flat.(Not that he wants a flatmate.)(Especially after that street spectacle. If that’s what these students are like, he wants none of it.)(In no way did that look fun.)(Not one way.)(Twats.)

*The next day, Louis awakens with a new-found sense of self.Because yes—he spent the night completely alone, without a soul to share a word, and he loved it.He actually really loved it.How had he ever felt so lonely before? Being alone was incredible. Louis’ music blasted from thespeakers tucked in the corners of the crown-molded ceilings, Louis danced in the space provided(as obnoxiously as he saw fit—he was a drama student, after all), Louis’ things were scattered onthe floor in their precise positions, and Louis shut the windows from the chaos of the outsidewithout a second thought or worry, baying at the moon until the wee hours of morning.He could flip the obnoxiously sized flat-screen on and blast it at full volume AND walk aroundnaked.It was fan-fucking-tastic.And so Louis awakens with the promise of the day on the tips of his fingertips as they push backthe covers of his bed, brushes his teeth with the joy of solitude, and scratches his bum as he staresforlornly at an empty fridge for as long as he damn well pleases. Because he can.Eventually he settles himself down in one of the plush, velvet chairs that feels like something outof Harry Potter, tea in hand, and makes to plan his day.It will be Louis Time. A day to himself, to cater to his own needs and not pretend to put someoneelse before him. With his mum (who he still hasn’t called back; hello, 7 missed calls, oops) at arefreshing distance away and no sisters to pull him in five different directions, Louis is a free bird,and it’s high time this bird flew.With plans swirling and tea warm in his belly, Louis opens every window, uncaring to theconstant stream of passerby that can easily peer into his little sanctuary (and when did this go froma hell pit to a sanctuary exactly? Because he’s still not sure why he’s even here, still doesn’t knowhow to attend dinners with professors or wear gowns for examinations) and instead sucks in thefresh, summer air with renewed vigor.A day for himself. A day without a flatmate. Hell, every day could be a day without a flatmate ifhe doesn’t end up arriving.“But wouldn’t that be a godsend,” Louis mutters to the warm silence, taking one last, meaningfulsip of tea.So, naturally, it’s then that his flatmate arrives.Chapter End Notes:)

IIChapter SummaryThe boys slowly begin getting introduced. (yay!)Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesHe’s fucking Irish.Irish. And loud. And brash, enthusiastic, wealthier than the seven seas, and very, very Irish.Is that robust little accent going to get old? Probably. Because Louis never claimed to be anythingbut judgmental, and the volume that this rosy-cheeked ball of energy procures is horrendous,borderline criminal.“I’m Niall, Niall Horan,” he booms immediately upon entry, clapping a strong hand in Louis’own. Swarms of men enter the flat, carrying suitcase after suitcase after neatly packed boxes.Because, apparently, new flatmate has brought a department store with him. “Nice to meet you,mate. I suppose we’ll be seeing each other quite a bit from here on out,” he continues seamlesslywith a tone Louis can only describe as jolly—much to his horror.The boy’s face is set in apermanent grin, always seemingly on the verge of laughter, and haloed in golden hair. Thebrightness of his celestial blue eyes is almost endearing, matching his enthusiasm perfectly.But Louis really doesn’t care because he’s already decided that he hates this loud, overwhelmingperson who has completely destroyed Louis Time and stepped on his wings. Quite a bit.(Not to mention his style is atrocious. He practically has an army of servants and yet he chooses towear a Ninja Turtles t-shirt? Nothing clashes more with Guilty by Gucci.)“Well. Not necessarily,” Louis replies without ceremony, withdrawing his hand almostimmediately upon contact, folding it into his crossed arms. He stands tall, keeping level eyes.Louis is very good at keeping level eyes.Niall (which is an ugly name, Louis decides) tilts his head, puzzled, eyes clear of any insult, handsresting on his hips in dominant casualty. “How do you mean?”Louis sniffs breezily, sidling away. “No matter. I’ll just leave you to your unpacking. I’m going tofetch some lunch.” He makes for his wallet and is just about there, when a pasty hand settles onhis arm.Splendid.“Can I help you?” Louis bites, not even bothering to filter his distaste while meeting the easy blueeyes before him.But Niall, apparently unaware of how to interpret behavioral cues, merely grins and replies with,“I’ll have my assistant unpack”—assistant??—“and I’ll join you. It’s on me.”Louis crosses his arms once more. “That’s sweet of you. Really, love. But I can pay for myself,

thanks.”“Of course you can! Doesn’t change that I’m offering. Come on, I think the driver’s still outside.Thank mates,” the boy adds, casually sliding notes into the men’s hands as they bring in the last ofNiall’s belongings.The driver’s still outside? Louis is definitely not going to be able to handle this world.“As much as I love a good chauffeur, I prefer walking. So—““Excellent! I could use the fresh air after being stuck in that fuckin’ car all day. I can’t stand allthat sitting. It’s so goddamn boring.”And before Louis knows quite what’s happening, he’s being ushered down the street and talked atvivaciously, almost abrasively enthusiastically. (Is there such a thing? Louis would have said nofive minutes ago.)No. Louis is definitely not going to be able to handle this at all.*Niall Horan doesn’t stop talking for two days.His voice carries through the suite, filling in the spaces and settling in the floorboards, and Louiscan’t imagine how he ever felt lonely because what is lonely when there’s Niall Horan?He barely has time to brush his teeth in silence, always finding himself answering some ridiculousquestion called to him from the other room or, worse yet, finding himself singing along towhatever ditty Niall’s concocted on the piano or guitar. Because now Louis’ life consists of ablonde, brash Irish lad, clad in pricey track pants and preppy sweaters, oozing money out of hisevery pore as he serenades Louis with chaos and leaves him whiskey chasers in the morning,weed at night.And though he’s not his friend (nope, because Louis could never become friends with such anover-privileged cog in the machine), he’s willing to put money on the possibility that he knowseverything there is to know about this usually-drunk, sometimes-stoned, gleaming ray of laughingsunshine who plays classical piano at the break of dawn and clumsily plucks out guitar solos in thedarkest hours of night, sleek electronics surrounding him, consuming piles of food at every turn.That first lunch they’d went to was a learning experience in itself.They’d only been there for twenty-five twinkling minutes (Niall insisted on some snobbish barwhere they served you bowls of water, crisp napkins, and simpering smiles when Louis justwanted some chips, maybe a bit of chicken?) and Louis already knew where Niall was born, whathis father’s occupation was—a big time music producer, actually, which Louis begrudgingly findsintriguing—why his parents divorced and when, how Niall came about the decision to attendschool here as opposed to Ireland, what his four favorite cheeses are (cheddar, brie, gouda, andcamembert) and his favorite brand of whiskey (Macallan). He also offered Louis a cigar threetimes, because apparently he’s forty-five years old.Now, Louis’ never been a quiet person. He’s never been one to sit in the back and observe, unlessin a foul mood. But even his own rambunctiousness is absolutely shadowed by Niall’s, who, he isquite sure, could befriend a broomstick.It’s horrifying, it’s annoying, and it’s….strangely fascinating.

In a “You can stop now.” kind of way.As their afternoon continued, every other word from Niall was “fuck” or “cunt,” there was asteady flow of drinks, and story after story of seemingly exaggerated situations were told, whichNiall managed to downplay in his offhanded, laissez-faire manner, continually back-and-forthingbetween surveying the menu, bouncing his leg as he listened to Louis’ answers, drumming hisfingers on his thighs, and laughing at...well…basically everything.It was a loud laugh.It cut through the crystal decanters and swirled the liquor, making everything brighter and, just,more.It was fucking exhausting.“But what else can you expect when you attend an awards show, you know? Bunch of fat catcunts eying your every move and whispering their shite to the big boys. I’ll tell you right now,” hecontinued, plucking the cigar out of his mouth as he leaned forward, wisps of dirty blonde stickingto the light sheen of sweat on his creamy forehead, “when I get into the business, I’m not going toplay their games. I’ll tell you like it is. I’m not dickin' around—life’s too short for that. And I don’trespect dishonesty or cowardice.”Physically, Niall Horan’s the spitting image of the sky.Yet, under the ambient lighting of the luxurious restaurant on that first afternoon, with smokepouring out of his nostrils and gleaming across the band of his Rolex, Niall’s presence possessed astrength Louis hadn’t initially felt; he was the spitting image of a pleased little dragon sitting on hismountains of gold, fiery breath curling around his smile as he licked at razor-sharp talons.It was almost impressive.“Those are big words, man. You seem quite…sure of yourself,” Louis settled for in response,quirking an eyebrow.Niall just shrugged, stubbed out his cigar, and set clear eyes on him. “Why not be?” he repliedsimply, smile grand.And Louis couldn’t find an answer.He’d wanted to leave it there, bar any forms of further conversation (because yes, Louis haddecided to hate this person, baby face or no) but his pesky curiosity got the better of him, as iscustom, and so he found himself asking instead:“So what are you studying to be, then?”“Producer. Like my father,” was the immediate reply.“A fan of music, then?”“Love it. Can’t get enough of it.” A swig of whiskey. The ice tinkled against the glass.Louis nodded slowly, watching. “How charming. Seems you’re on the right path then, boy-o.”He nodded, smirking slightly. “Of course. And what about you?”“Little ol’ me?” Louis teased, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his arms. He sighed,

inging a hand to his artfully disheveled hair. “Oh, I don’t know. Drama, I suppose.”“Acting?”“I’ll let you know. Until then, I request no questions, please,” Louis sniffed, taking a sip of hiswhiskey sour (which was shit, by the way—he hasn’t let Niall order his drinks for him since) ashe felt Niall’s eyes observing him.“You artsy types are…something else.”His voice was amused rather than irate.“Dramatic?” Louis supplied, grin impish.“Very dramatic. Now let’s eat. I’m fuckin' starving and want to get back before the piano comes.”Louis stared.“Before the piano comes? Are you being funny? You’re bringing a fucking piano? To our flat?”“Don’t worry, it’ll fit. We measured.”Louis almost pressed the matter because, honestly, he thought size was the issue? But instead, helet it go, unfolding the napkin onto his lap and muttering, “A piano. Honestly? Didn’t realize I wasliving with the queen.”Niall grinned, shot back an, “I could say the same.”And Louis, lips pursed, concluded with a “Rude.”Then the server arrived, Niall ordered enough food for the kitchen staff, and, after an intense innerbattle between Louis and his inner pride (he will not have rich strangers taking care of him as if hewere a charity case, no sir-ee), he ordered the exact same for Louis. Much to his mortification.(“Are you saying I’m fat? Why the fuck would I be able to eat that much?” *shrug* “I can eat thatmuch.” “That’s a bloody lie, nobody can eat that much.”)(Note: Niall was not, in fact, lying. Niall can eat that much. He even finished Louis’.)It was an intense meet and greet, one that left Louis more weary than anything, but as Niall pouredthe drinks and laughed at all of Louis’ jokes, he felt that, maybe, he’d dealt with worse.That is, until the piano came.*When they returned to their flat—and looking back on it, Louis kicks himself for not contestingthe whole thing—Niall immediately made a few inquiring calls as to the whereabouts of saidpiano while Louis made a beeline for his room. Because sweet solitude was the only thing onLouis’ mind after that whirlwind luncheon from almost-hell.It was just as he was humming his favorite Disney song and staring at the tall cream, moldedceiling of his room in a blissful zone (he really needed to start purchasing some decorations) thatLouis heard the unmistakable chaos of a fucking piano being brought through the fucking door.Careful to stay away from the debacle (but unable to resist from peering at the moving men’sbums through the crack of his door) Louis burrowed within the layers of blanket on his bed,hiding from his reality as any sane man would.Eventually the clangs and the bangs died down, as did Niall’s joyously barked orders which were

Eventually the clangs and the bangs died down, as did Niall’s joyously barked orders which werepeppered with laughter and loudly-clapped handshakes (Is there anybody he doesn’t get alongwith? His joviality is disturbing) and Louis almost began to lull himself into a sense of normalcy,when the tinkling thunder of keys began reigning down on his peaceful solitude.And that’s how Louis’ room no longer became a safe haven away from Niall Horan’s existence.It was the exasperation of the situation that prompted Louis to stand before Niall—who was noweffortlessly playing a faintly familiar piece that was both bold and gorgeous. In that moment, Louismarveled, just a bit, at the boy before him as he explained to Louis how simple the piano was,how freely it came to the fingers. All the while dressed in an oversized tank top and graysweatpants, flatbill on backwards. Classy.“It’s obviously not that easy to play, otherwise everyone would be at it,” Louis reasoned, andhe might have rolled his eyes. With gusto.“It really is. ‘S just not as fun as guitar.”And Louis distinctly remembers thinking, ‘Oh, great. He plays guitar, too. Fucking excellent.’“I can teach you if you like?” Niall continued, eying Louis eying him.Louis scoffed at the time, causing Niall to smile and follow up with a conclusive, “I’ll teach you.”He wanted to complain but he didn’t, instead watched Niall’s hands flit across the keys.“They make you learn shit like this,” he explained as Louis stared, arms folded, refusing to beimpressed. “Your parents and that. It’s all part of the show.”“Good breeding,” Louis muttered with light disdain.“Aye, good breeding,” Niall laughed, eyes never leaving the instrument before him. “I bestedBeethoven before secondary school.”“Of course you did. You’re a show off.” And Louis mildly wondered if the boy would take insult,but Niall merely laughed.“It’s easy, I’m telling you.”And so Louis watched him (and he now realizes it’s the only time Niall is ever silent—when heplays an instrument) before suddenly asking, “Why did you stop?” And exactly when Louisstarted to care about Niall Horan’s life, he doesn’t know.A shrug accompanied an “I liked guitar better.” And that was that.After awhile, Niall was back to singing some unidentified 80’s song as he rummaged throughkitchen cabinets and lamented the lack of groceries.So Louis had tried to get away.“I’m going for a walk,” he said smoothly, slipping into his shoes and itching to hear his ownthoughts again.“I’ll go with you!”And fuck.“Actually—shit—I just remembered I need to e-mail some mates back home“--e-mail still exists,

ight?—“so I think I’ll just stay back after all.”With a shrug, Niall made some parting pleasantries before dismissing himself anyway. Which isone good thing about the lad—he has a strong mind and he does what he wants, accompanied byothers or not. (But that’s the only good thing.)Louis was so grateful for the unexpected peace that he almost actually kissed the floors. All right.He might have actually done it, shame be gone.But, as the time passed, instead of soaking up the much-needed Louis Time as was planned…hefound himself to be bored. Very bored.It was with horror that Louis began suspecting that, within the few short hours he had knownNiall Horan, he had almost begun to enjoy the lad’s conversation. He was, after all, a peopleperson, Irish socialites or not.But this socialite was an over-indulged child with a penchant for cigars, golf, beer and whiskey,and guitar. Oh, and piano. Let’s not forget that piano. And it was that damn piano that so intriguedLouis. That led him to sit down almost cautiously on the bench in the still apartment and pluck thekeys with a tentative curiosity that is normally quite foreign to Louis Tomlinson.It was when Louis was just beginning to feel comfortable with that intimidating ebony beast thatNiall happened to return.“You’re playing!” he announced happily upon entry, toeing off his shoes and clomping towardLouis, who shot out off the bench like a spring.“I’m not. I fell onto it. Obviously.” Louis scowled for good measure.But Niall brushed the sentence aside, taking a seat at the bench, cologne and sweat invadingLouis’ firm bubble of personal space. “Sit down. I’ll teach you.”Instinctively, Louis wanted to protest. But as he once again heard the flicker of colored notes fillthe space of their elaborately overcompensating flat, Louis took his seat beside Niall, and reasonedthat he could always deny this incident later.And that was how Niall gave Louis his first piano lesson. Sort of.After a lot of repetition, gibberish, and flustered mistakes, Louis huffed with a, “This is so muchharder than it looks,” and pushed himself away from the keys, crossing his arms in stubbornprotest.“Not really,” Niall replied with all the ease of one who’s been trained since birth.Louis glared. “Well of course you’d say that! You’ve been playing since you were a fetus.”“I’m fairly certain there was no piano in my mother’s womb.”“Oh? You didn’t have one delivered?”Niall burst into laughter.And since that very first day of getting-to-know-you’s and sensory overloads, it’s been acontinuous trial of Louis’ patience vs. Niall’s vivacity.And two straight days of Niall Horan’s voice.

So, naturally, Louis isn’t thrilled to be woken up again this morning for the second day in a rowby pretty little tinkling notes jutting merrily through a room that possesses far too much darkness tobe called “morning.”“You play wonderfully,” Louis fake-grins with sharp teeth, hair mussed, as he stands in hispajamas, voice gravelly from too-little sleep, glaring down at an oblivious Irishman.“Thanks, mate!” Niall beams as his fingers dance along the keys, his frame adorned in a fuckingbathrobe. Where does this boy shop?“Have you quite finished?”“Not quite yet—one more movement!”And is he fucking serious?The boy’s eyes gleam, clearly unfazed; or, perhaps, merely uncomprehending the gravity ofLouis’ agitation. Which is not something Louis takes to lightly. He immediately presses his handsdown upon Niall’s, stilling them, locking his gaze within his own.“Niall. Mate. Stop. Playing. The. Piano.” Louis waits until a flicker of understanding brightensinto life behind the lit eyes before him.It dawns. “Oh.” And he takes his hands away.Nodding with finality and feeling very much in love with the sound of silence, Louis straightensand turns to leave, eagerly awaiting a reunion with his plush bed and mountain of blankets.Until:“Do you want to get breakfast?”Louis breathes a long, suffering sigh. “Niall—““We’ll walk, since the sun’s out.”“I’m not walking this early, I’m exhausted! First you wake me up with that screeching hunk ofdriftwood, and NOW you’re—““My treat!”“…”“Well?”“Where do you propose?” Louis sniffs, refusing to relent just yet as he stands with his armsfolded, gaze firmly averted in obvious displeasure.“That café on the corner. The one you saw last night—with the glitter balls.”“Those weren’t glitter balls. They were mood lighting.”“Glitter balls. So, how about it?”Louis inspects Niall’s face, eyes narrowed. Sleep tugs at his eyelids. And yet…“… I can get whatever I want?”

“Of course!”“I’ll be ready in ten,” Louis sing-songs.Because pride be damned, if these rich kids are going to throw away their money, they might aswell throw it away on him.*The day continues as the past two have: Louis attempts to drown out his surroundings with everyconceivable distraction available (phone, iPod, TV, sleep) but every single time he’s found a pieceof Louis Time, there’s a knock at his door, a jarring burst of laughter, an invitation to play FIFA,or an electric guitar sizzling through the calm air.This is just not going to work.“Wanna smoke, mate?” Niall suddenly calls, just as Louis is debating the contrasting appeals ofgold curtains versus purple.Louis grits his teeth.“Must you call for me every ten minutes? You really are a child, aren’t you?”“Is that a yes?”Fuck it all to hell.Exasperated, Louis considers the offer momentarily (he could use a good smoke right now) beforeit suddenly dawns on him:Term starts tomorrow.Tomorrow!And he hasn’t even assembled his notebooks! Not that he’s ever done that in his life.But this is a proper school and he’s got to have his head on straight this round. He’s weighed thepros and cons of his situation, and as much as he wants to piss his father’s money away, he has anobligation to his sisters and his mum—especially his sisters—not to fuck it all up. And though hemay not know just what the fuck he wants to do with all of this, and though that just might terrifyhim, he’s going to do this right.He needs to prepare for school.“Niall!” he suddenly shouts, determination flowing in his veins. He steps into their living roomwith finality, and Niall looks up from the couch, mouth stuffed with crisps and a little baggy in hislap, surrounded by laptops. “We’re going to prepare for school tomorrow. Pack your things, we’regoing to a teashop!”*Why the hell did Louis invite Niall?While Louis has been organizing his folders and notebooks and checking his school e-mailsstudiously, Niall has been staring at the screen of his iPhone 5, occasionally stuffing a not-funnypicture in Louis’ face that he’d found on Tumblr.

Murder is eminent.“Get me a beverage will you, Louis?” Niall asks absentmindedly, flicking through his phone.Louis’ eyes narrow. “I’m not your monkey. Get it yourself.”“Aw, please mate?” he begs, now looking up, his hair messy and sticking out at all ends fromunderneath his flatbill. “I don’t know what to order at these places.”Louis sighs with the air of great suffering. “Well, son, you can either get tea. Or coffee.”“I don’t like either.”“What? What do you mean you don’t like either?”“Just what I said. Do they have gelato?”“Gelato? What the hell? No, they don’t have gelato! Where exactly do you think we’re at?”“Well, get me something to eat then. I’m fuckin’ starving.”“You literally just ate!”“I can’t help it!”And Louis is this close to cracking that goddamn iPhone over that pineapple’s head but, as theyare in public, he settles for a deep breath and a focusing of the self instead.“Just because you have the ability to purchase a small island, it does not mean I’m going to caterto you. It’s people like you that suck the life force out of our society. And it’s people like me thatneed to stand up and—““I’ll fetch next round. Get yourself everything you want, and get me something to eat as well.”Only because his stomach is grumbling and he has too much of a headache to continue, doesLouis begrudgingly agree.But only after: “What’s the magic word, Ireland?”“Please,” and the word is curled into a smirk.“So what, then? You want a water? A biscuit? Scone? Flatbread? A sense of decency?”“Yes to everything but the decency. Buy it all.” Pause. “Please.”Louis stares. “So you literally want anything?”“Everything.”“Everything. You literally want everything?”“I trust your judgment,” Niall concludes, and he’s back to staring at his phone, laptop untouchedbefore him, a clear signal of being done with the conversation.Well then.If that’s the way this is going to go.

With a smug bounce to his step, Louis marches up to the barista.“Hello, love. I’ll take everything in the case.”The girl stares. “Excuse me?”“The lot—everything that you’ve got, I want. Every last crumb.” He pulls out Niall’s credit card.“Don’t worry. I tip generously.”So when Louis finally returns to their table, several baristas in tow carrying tray upon tray of everybaked treat this teashop has ever owned, he is fully expecting to be received with a tempertantrum. Or at least a filthy glare.But what does he get?“Oh, mate! This is awesome! Oh, this is brilliant!” the boy laughs loudly, and almost every face inthe room stares on in mild curiosity. Niall claps a hand onto Louis’ back, briefly knocking thewind out of him. “You’re a good man, Tommo!”“What did you call me?” Louis wheezes, and glares as he collects himself before sitting down.Niall nods his thanks to the baristas—winking at several, and Louis isn’t oblivious to that Irishcharm—before staring at the plethora of food before him like a kid in a candy shop. Which isn’ttoo far off from the reality.“You’re supposed to be angry with me. I spent a lot of money on that,” Louis says pointedly,because fuck. Does this guy ever get mad?“I can afford it,” Niall shrugs, before offering a scone to Louis.He glares a full minute at the aforementioned item before finally sighing with defeat and grabbingit, picking it to pieces before popping a chunk into his mouth.“Of course you can,” he mumbles as he chews, and Niall beams back at him.*They’ve only been at the tea shop for a total of two hours, but already Niall’s eaten most of thebaked goods and Louis is clawing at his hair with boredom.“Ready to go?” Niall asks for the fifth time, amusement written clear across his face.“No! I’m preparing for my studies,” Louis sniffs, and returns to pretending to read his e-mail. It’sfrom a professor, it’s a standard greeting, it really shouldn’t be difficult to get through…but hehasn’t gotten past: ‘Greetings, prospective students!’Fuck.He’s just about to demand that Niall get him another tea, when suddenly the door to the teashopopens, and the distinct scent of wealth and tailored suits comes wafting through the humming air.His view is blocked, but Louis’ interest is immediately sparked, a fedora and an assortment ofcream colored suits barely visible through a gaggle of Topshop girls. The image of an antique car,three laughing men, and a bottle of champagne comes to mind. Louis knows, without any solidreason to believe so, that it’s them.

The room is fairly cluttered, posh kids scattered everywhere and mulling about, and as Louiscranes his neck to spot the newcomers, he manages to almost fall out of his chair.“Oi!” Niall exclaims, immediately reaching out to steady him.“Sorry,” Louis says hastily, eyes still trained on the lookout as he brushes Niall’s hands away.Where did the newcomers go? “Did you see who’s just come in?”Niall blinks, looks out at the crowd with watchful eyes. “No. Why?”“No reason.”But Louis continues to stare, finally finding the source of his search. They have their backs to him(of course) and they’re sitting down, but Louis can already spot the hierarchy at hand. The fedoracladone, caramel skin and slick black hair barely peeking out from beneath, sits in the middle,surrounded by doting minions. (Sad.) On his left is a smooth looking boy—Louis catches a briefglance of his profile, all mild features and sweet cream skin—who laughs politely, never leavingthe fedora boy’s side. The rest all blur into one mass of eccentricity and elitism.Well, well, well. Looks like this school’s got its very own “Mean Girls.”“I hate rich people,” Louis finds himself muttering vehemently.“I like you, too,” Niall immediately responds, and when he looks up, he’s grinning. “C’mon then,Louis. Let’s get back. I want to watch the game.”“Yeah. Yeah, all right,” Louis agrees, and as he stands up and begins collecting his things, thedoor opens again, another waft of ‘pretentious rich boy’ wafting through the air.He tells himself not to look—because then it seems he cares—but he can’t help but sneak a glanceas he follows Niall out the back door.It’s another boy, very tall, dressed in a mint green suit (Does anybody own jeans around here?Fucking seriously), but, once again, there are too many people in passing that block Louis fromgetting a good look.The last thing he sees before he slips out the door is the tall, slender frame of the mint green boy,bending down to press a sweeping kiss to the fedora.Then the door shuts, and Louis forgets the scene entirely.Chapter End NotesThis is far too fun to write. It's just fun. Is it going to turn into a hot mess? Probably.Because, even though I've planned this out, I have a tendency to write ridiculousthings. So we'll see what happens...Any questions, holla at the tumblr: mizzwilde

IIIChapter SummaryAnd now Zayn appears. :)Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesThe first time Louis hears the name “Zayn Malik,” he’s sat outside his first lecture hall, studiouslyignoring another missed call from his mum and Niall’s fervent texts demanding the whereaboutsof his guitar. (He may or may not have hidden it after he’d been woken up at the crack of dawn bya fevered rendition of a Poison solo, amp at full blast—what did that little leprechaun expect?)Eyes glued to his phone—and why is he even on Facebook? His newsfeed only leaves himirritated—he uses every ounce of mental strength he possesses to ignore the yipping girls to theright of him, resplendent in bland personalities and Chanel. They’re essentially bedazzled hyenas.It’s just as Louis masters the art of selective hearing that two more girls suddenly join the pack,slamming the door shut as they scuttle into the building, giggling and bumping into each other asthey frantically seek their friends, Prada bags flying.Which is excellent.“OH MY GOD,” the girl with lanky white-blonde hair exclaims, grabbing her chest, and Louissuccessfully manages not to scoff, instead focusing on a picture of his cousin’s dog chasing its tail.Something he would rather be doing right now.The sharp cheekboned brunette next to her shushes her with a giddy giggle. “Hush! What if hehears you?”For one terrifying moment, Louis thinks they’re talking about him. But then—“He’s not gonna hear, he’s probably on the other side of the school grounds by now!”Thank the baby Jesus.“Who’s ‘he’? What are you talking about?” Hyena Number One asks, clutching her iPhone inFrench-manicured claws.“Zayn Malik!”And then a series of screeches ensues. Louis is sure that, somewhere, a dog is howling. Maybe thedog in the picture.“NO!”“We’re not even joking!”“Oh my god! He’s so fit!”

“He’s even better up close!”Up close? Who the hell is this guy? Louis’ never heard of him. Even so, he’s now flickingthrough his newsfeed with all the ferocity of one who is very clearly eavesdropping. Oh well.“Oh my god, did he say anything?”“No…”“I don’t think he talks to people.”“He talks to the boys.”(The boys?)“Well, obviously.”“But I didn’t know he went here!”“Well, his dad’s the bloody Chancellor, what do you expect?”Oh, well that’s interesting. Fuck.“It’s only his first year.”“Does he live here?”“Yeah, he’s got rooms in the tower.”“I thought those were for dons?”“Not when Zayn Malik’s a student.”Damn.Now Louis really is curious.So, in an act of comforting rebellion, he makes a solid promise to himself NOT to ask about ZaynMalik, and obediently waits for his lecture.**“Who’s Zayn Malik?” Louis asks as soon as he’s entered his flat.(All right, so he caved, but he’s heard the damn name all day and he’s never claimed not to benosy.)Niall glances up from the couch, a plate of cheeses in his lap and a cigar in his teeth--and is hewatching Spongebob?“You never heard of Zayn Malik?” he asks, genuinely surprised, and scratches himself through histrack pants as he pops a chunk of cheese into his smoking mouth.Note to self: money does not buy class.“No, I’ve not bloody heard of him. I’m not in your little socialite, fascist club. I’m with thepeople,” Louis sasses with a roll of the eyes, and sheds himself of his shoulder bag (that possesses

far too many assignments, Jesus Christ—what is this place?) before toeing off his shoes.“Well, his father’s the Chancellor.”“So I’ve heard.” Louis takes a seat next to Niall on the couch, plucks the cigar out from betweenhis fingers, and takes a drag. Then almost chokes to death.“Easy there, sport,” Niall laughs, delighted as he claps his back, and makes no move to reclaim thecigar as Louis tries again, eyes watering. “Yeah, his father’s the Chancellor, and you know howthat goes, so he’s the wealthiest fuckin’ guy I know—definitely the wealthiest goddamn blokehere—and his mother is Mira fuckin’ Wills.”Louis coughs up a fountain of smoke and possibly his lung.“Mira Wills? The actress??” And he doesn’t know why he’s quite so shocked considering Niall’sown prestigious lineage (the other day he offered to show Louis his family castle, for Christ’ssake) but all the same, Louis stares, dumbfounded, and mentally envisions every movie he’s everseen with the lady in question and all the times he's insisted, through a face full of tears, that “Thatwoman better win every fucking award this country has to offer because she can act!”He may be a slight fan.“Are you fucking serious?” Louis splutters, and Niall laughs, grand and loud, before offeringLouis cheese as he flicks hair out of his eyes.“It’s not that big of a deal, mate. Besides, he doesn’t live with her for the most part. Stays with hisfather.”“They’re divorced?”“Oh yeah,” Niall says with a low whistle. “It was quite the scandal, ya know. You’re notsupposed to do that shite in this world. The fact that he married her at all was a bit of acontroversy.”“’This world?’” Louis mocks, but Niall just shrugs and hops off the couch, going straight to thefridge. The white of his Ralph Lauren polo almost shines in the soft afternoon light, prisms fromthe chandeliers painting his back. Because yes—they have chandeliers. Louis will never get usedto any part of this life.“It’s frowned upon. It’s fuckin’ stupid, yeah, but it’s still frowned upon. For his father’s status,he’s expected to have a wholesome family and all that shite. Marrying an actress, who has nofamily connections at that, is a bit of a smack in the face. So you can imagine the reaction whenthey split.”“Dear lord. I feel like I’m in The Princess Diaries.” Louis looks sharply up at Niall. “He’s not aprincess, right?”Another barking laugh escapes Niall as he pours himself a glass of whiskey. “Not technically. Buthe’s wealthy, fuckin’ powerful, a big name on the scene, and he throws a damn good party. Bitquiet, though. Never actually spoken to him before.”“Why doesn’t he live with him mum?” Louis inquires, and he really doesn’t want to be thisintrigued, but fuck it—this is juicy, juicy information. And it’s far more entertaining than readingchapters 1-5 on "The History of the Stage.”“He did for awhile, back when she was married to Des Styles. Then they got divorced and since

the media had a field day, his father took him in. He’s a cunt though, that Khan Malik. I’ve heardnothing but bad things. Makes a good Chancellor though—from a business perspective.” And hedowns the glass of whiskey in one go.So. Zayn Malik is rich and powerful and the son of a cold-hearted billionaire with royalconnections. His mother is the best actress of modern cinema. So there’s that.There’s also Niall Horan with his Armani shoes and limitless supply of cigars and whiskey andfamily castle and mum who’d come from old money and prestige and father who owns recordcompanies and produces for the biggest names in music.And then there’s Louis. With his self-indulgent, depressed mum who spends her days looking inthe mirror with sad eyes and disappears for days at a time, a dirtbag father who made it big as aruthless lawyer for the wealthy, and five sisters who are being raised to support themselves.He doesn’t really know how to think about the situation, but it leaves a dirty taste in his mouth andmakes him break eye contact.“I’m going to go read,” he says, and he can feel the scowl on his face and the change in his voice,but he doesn’t explain it, and Niall doesn’t ask.“All right. I’m going to check out the boat-house. Do a bit of rowing. I’ll leave you dinner?” Andhe means money, which only serves to make Louis’ scowl deepen that much more.“Nah, I’m all right. Probably just have a bit of tea and toast. ‘M not very hungry.”“Right, then. See you in a bit, mate.”And while Louis stares at his elaborate surroundings, Niall slides on his shoes unthinkingly,humming “Heart Shaped Box.” Dangerously close to spitting out something rude and unnecessary(“Your existence is clashing with mine and I’m going to have to ask you to finish”) He stalks tohis room, closes the door a bit sharper than he means to, and studies his reflection in the tall, giltmirror next to his closet.“Where the fuck am I?” he mumbles to himself and the words carry, almost echoing against thetall ceilings and archways. But Louis doesn’t want to hear them again, so he sighs and collapseson his bed, just as the door to their flat shuts, leaving only Louis and his very bitter thoughts.**Niall left him dinner, anyway.Well. “Dinner.”It’s actually just a half-drunk bottle of whiskey, some pricey chocolates, and a croissant. There’s ascribbled note next to it, which only says, “Tea’s shit. Have this instead,” and though Louis reallywants to hate every person at this goddamn school, he’s beginning to wonder if it’s actuallyimpossible to hate Niall Horan.**When Niall finally returns, he smells of grass, sweat, and cologne. Really good cologne. Like itwas made by elves or extracted from a unicorn--that kind of good.“What is that?” Louis asks, taking Niall’s arm and shamelessly sniffing his wrist. “This cologne isincredible. Is this new, then?”

“I just got it. It’s from a perfumery in France. Good, isn’t it?” he explains offhandedly, extractinghis arm from Louis’ grip and stripping himself of his polo as he flicks on his music.“What perfumery?”“I never remember the name. You can have it though. Here.” And Niall tosses a little gold bottleto Louis, who only just manages to catch it.He stares. “What do you mean, I can have it? Are you being funny? Because we’ve alreadyagreed that doesn’t work for you.”“I meant just what I said. It’s yours, Tommo.” Niall pokes through little piles of clothes on thefloor, searching for a clean shirt as he meanders through the room half-naked, completelyoblivious to Louis’ glare at the nickname.“I’m not taking it. I don’t like gifts.”“Bollocks. Yes you do.”“Well, I don’t anymore. I’m not taking it.”“Take it. I can get it any time I want.”“Oh, right. I’m sure. What, does your father own it?” And Louis says it with mockery, but Niallresponds with:“No, my aunt does.”And of fucking course.“Oh. Your aunt owns it. Naturally,” Louis says, exasperated. “I don’t know why I’m surprisedanymore. Do you own a country, as well? Anybody in the family purchase the moon?”“Not yet. Now take the goddamn bottle, ya cunt.”“Fine. But I’m not saying ‘thank you!’ You forced this gift on me,” Louis says haughtily, andbrings the bottle to his room.He hears the cackle of Niall’s laughter in response.He allows himself a small smile as he places the cologne on his dresser, next to his various hairproducts and lotions. “Why aren’t you the big name around here, Horan?” he calls. “Who wantsto talk about Zayn Malik when there’s Niall Horan?”“I’m talked about enough, mate. Now come here and smoke with me. I want to win FIFA.”Louis grins, but makes no protest as he enters the living room. “Win? Your confidence astoundsme, young one.”Niall’s grin is wild and free as he hands him the controller. “It’s what I’m made of!”“But we really need to start studying, though,” Louis reminds, settling back in the plush suede.“Tomorrow,” Niall assures, picking up his bowl and the bag next to it.“Tomorrow,” Louis agrees, and snaps a pic on his phone to send to Stan, with the caption “My

life is better than yours !!!” before pocketing it and forgetting the rest of the world.**The first time Louis sees Zayn Malik, he’s late for his lecture.He’s at the tea shop, frantically relaying his order (Yorkshire, half-milk, no sugar) and practicallythrowing notes at the barista—because he absolutely needs to hurry because he cannot be lateagain but, fuck, he needs caffeine—and is so emotionally taxed that he barely notices the presencebehind him and the whispers surrounding it.It’s only after he’s checked the clock for the third time in three seconds and his order is safelybeing made that he hears a passing greeting of, “Malik! Hey mate,” and the clap of a handshake.And suddenly every ounce of intrigue within Louis awakens, despite layers of exhaustion fromanother restless sleep--he’s going to smash that piano, and he’s going to make Niall watch.Because as much as he’s heard about Zayn Malik (which is a lot, by the way—every day there’ssome story or squealed praise in regards to him, in class and out) he now feels as if he knows thebloke, and, if he’s being honest with himself, he really wants to know if it is who he quietlysuspects it is.Because he clearly pictures those pastel suits, the rumble of an antique car, that smell of wealth,and goddammit, Louis is enticed.So, with all the nonchalance of a cat (they’re nonchalant, right?) Louis turns around, and his eyesconnect with a fedora, shampoo-commercial raven hair, and irritatingly flawless caramel skin. Andeyelashes. And perfectly shaped brown, maybe hazel, eyes. And cheekbones.And fuck.Fuck.That’s it. Zayn Malik is not real. Zayn Malik is a hologram.But yes, Zayn Malik is exactly who Louis suspected he was, now resplendent in a periwinklesweater and cream trousers, tailored perfectly to his very pristine physique. Though, instead ofbeing with “the boys” as he had been each time Louis’ seen him, he is on his own now, not achampagne bottle or minion in sight.With his mouth actually agape, Louis stares at the boy before him, whose eyes are calm andunblinking, staring at the barista with an unwavering intent that appears more bored than intense.And then a hand is thrust over the counter, nearly knocking Louis over, and there is a not-Yorkshire-tea in the barista’s hand.“Mr. Malik,” the girls says immediately, and the aforementioned boy takes the drink without aword, sending a slight, careful nod of acknowledgment her way, before sidling off.What the hell?“Wait. Wait a fucking minute. I was here first!” Louis screeches (he’ll deny it later), affronted, butthe barista looks just as shocked.“But that was Zayn—““I know who that bloody was, but why on earth did he get his drink before me? He didn’t even

order anything!!”The girl is looking at him with genuine confusion now, bereft of speech.Louis knows a losing battle when he sees one.“Sod it. Just make my drink, please. I’m already late as it is, what’s a few minutes more,” hegrowls, and with a still-confused look in her eye, she finally begins his drink.“Incredible,” he sighs to himself, shaking his head.Because yeah, Louis can understand why others would be intimidated by the rich, with their silentdemands and outrageous expectations—he didn’t even blink when he was just handed a drink,without words or payment of any sort—and yes, there is a slight, indescribable quality to ZaynMalik that is mysterious and powerful and very, very slick. Where Niall is a dragon, with fire inhis belly and scales and bright eyes and glistening claws, Zayn Malik is a snake, coiled lazily inthe sun and ready to strike if provoked, all silken skin and piercing eyes.And yeah, maybe he’s beautiful, really fucking beautiful, but he took what Louis should havegotten and he’s entitled and a wanker and, yep, Louis hates everybody.So he texts Niall.‘I hate this school and everybody in it. Death to rich people.’A second later, his screen lights up.‘Can’t die. Am immortal. Want to bunk off and get high under a tree?’And Louis really wants to say no.'Which tree?'But he says that instead.Because he’s had a bad day already and he can just e-mail his professors his assignments. Noharm done. Besides, it’s the first week of term—that never counts, right?Right.So, after finally getting his tea, he turns on his heel and smiles at the thought of an afternoon off.Chapter End NotesIf I could spend the rest of my life writing about pretty boys in bands, I would be ahappy, happy clam.By the by--Zayn's song [for this fic yo] is officially "Hot One" by Shudder to Think.Really. That's exactly what inspired me.Also, while we're on topic, this whole story is inspired by Lana del Rey's "Youngand Beautiful." Now, if you haven't heard THAT, then you are missing out, folks.That's the reason I started writing this hot mess.

IVChapter SummaryLouis' life gets a little bit worse.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesNiall is ruining Louis’ life.Because every single night this week, they’ve promised to go to the library and study diligently.And every single night this week, they’ve gone out on the town and gotten pissed.Louis really needs to slow his roll.“I can’t go out again. I can’t. I almost died in lecture today. Do you want me to die, you selfishass? Do you? Because I am not exaggerating—I am on the brink of passing to the other side.”“You are so dramatic.”“I’m not! I’m expressing a reality!”Niall laughs as he opens the boxes of takeaway that have just been delivered while he sits at thepiano (he can never eat at the table like a decent human being), his ever-present glass of whiskeysat on the top, his laptop open to some audio program that looks alarmingly like a heart monitor.“Reality or no, it’s Friday. You know you’re not going to study—you haven’t once since we’vebeen here,” he says simply, popping chips into his mouth and dabbing at the excess grease on hislips with a silken napkin. He stares at Louis expectantly—who is glaring in response—as hechews, soft blonde hair giving him a very false sense of innocence as he sits atop the stool in a t-shirt with a giant mushroom printed on it and sweatpants. His Rolex—completely at odds with hiscasual attire—catches in the light every now and then, a gentle reminder that this boy holds theworld at his feet.Louis jabs at a chip with his fork (he’s not in the mood for dirty fingers), fails, then throws it clearacross the room at Niall’s forehead.“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO PERSUADE ME, YOU MANIPULATIVE SWINE. FRIDAYOR NOT, I AM SPENDING THE EVENING AS A PROPER STUDENT. YOUR WORDSHAVE NO EFFECT,” he thunders, voice bursting through the room, and Niall jumps, catchingthe chip as it bounces off of his face.Niall stares at the chip, then back at Louis, grin set. “My mate’s just told me of a place that has anall male staff. Says they’re fit as fuck and serve free drinks if you catch their eye. I’d be willing tocheck it out. Afterwards we can have Nelson”—Niall’s chauffeur (yeah)—“drive us around whilewe sing Justin Bieber until we’re sober. Have Rory”—Niall’s assistant (yeah)—“pick us up somecakes again. But I’m not having that shite wine this time—it tasted like candy wee.”This boy is ruining Louis’ life.

He stares as Niall begins plucking at the piano keys.He really, really wants to say yes. Sexy men serving him free drinks all night? Singing JustinBieber in a chauffeured car as they hang out of the sunroof? Eating beautiful and delicious cakesall night?Fuck.He hates the rich. He does. This is all shallow. He hates this. Hates it. Hate, hate, hate.“Of course I want to come, you utter knob!” Louis bursts, slamming fists on the table. “But Ican’t! I have to study, Niall. Stop teasing me,” he whines, and with a disparaging moan, he sinkshis head onto the table.The twinkle of Chopin lightens the room.“Next time then, yeah?” Niall says, completely unfazed.“Yeah,” Louis groans, face smashed into varnished cherry wood. He really hates his life.They stay like that for awhile, Louis facedown on the dining room table, chips scattered about,and Niall merrily floating his fingers up and down the keys as he half-watches the TV from acrossthe room.And then the music abruptly stops.“Want to go golfing?” Niall suddenly asks hopping off the stool.Louis lifts his head—a chip stuck to his cheek—and sees the boy standing before him, hands inpockets, expectant.Where was the transition in that?“I would rather peel my own skin off with a stick,” Louis replies immediately, deadpan.“Suit yourself!” Niall shrugs, then shoots down the remaining whiskey and bounces to his room.“I fucking love golf!” he shouts.Louis merely rolls his eyes before reconnecting his face with the surface before him.It’s when he hears the shuffling of shoes and the unlocking of the door that his head shoots upagain.“Where are you going?” he demands, staring at Niall, who is now wearing a gray polo and whitetrousers, a cap atop his head. And are those loafers?“Golfing.”“What? But it’s half past seven! The sun’ll go down soon—where the hell will you go??”“I’ll manage,” he says simply, and is just about to exit when Louis pushes himself into a standingposition.“What about me?!”“I already invited you.”

“But I hate golf!”“Exactly.”They stare at each other.“I don’t see the problem…” Niall says, genuinely confused, hand on the door, oblivious to anycares in the world.Where did this creature come from? What is wrong with privileged people?“Well. Fine, then,” Louis sniffs, “Go stick a ball in a hole.” He pauses, considering the sentence.“Lord knows I wish I could,” he mumbles under his breath.“I’ll see you in a bit, mate. And then we’ll go out, yeah?”But before Louis can protest, the door slams.“I REALLY DISLIKE YOU AS A PERSON,” Louis shouts after him, just for good measure,but he’s met with silence.And so now Louis is all alone.Why does he have to have the worst flatmate in the history of everything?**Two hours later, Niall is back, and Louis has managed to open his textbooks and find theappropriate pages but has done nothing more, having been distracted by the home and gardeningnetwork.“What are you watching?” Niall asks with clear disdain, wrinkling his nose as the two gentlemanon screen describe the various uses of curtains.“I’m having Louis Time. Hush. Did you know that putting curtains up along a bare wallimmediately provides a room with texture, style, and space? It also is an aid in sound-proofing aflat. What say you, Nialler?”“I say no. I’ll probably just end up knocking them down every five minutes.”“You have a point there,” Louis grumbles, and flicks off the TV.“So we’re going out, yeah?” Niall prods, hands on hips and a big grin on his face.“Nope. No. No, really, I can’t. I’m way behind, I’ve got a million things I need to start, and thisweekend is completely dedicated to Louis. It’s Louis Ti—““Louis Time, I know,” Niall says with a roll of the eyes, but his grin doesn’t waver. “I’ll have youreconsidering that as soon as you hear what I have to say, though.” He winks.And Louis is successfully intrigued. “Oh?”Niall nods. “Guess where I just got invited to go?”Louis grins and climbs atop the couch, resting his chin along the backrest and facing Niall eagerly.“Where??”

“A party hosted by Zayn Malik.” Niall’s grin is absolutely wicked.“Who invited you?”“Some bloke I just met while I was golfing.”“Naturally.”“Naturally,” Niall agrees, and he begins stripping himself of his clothes, making his way to hisroom. “So you have to go now.”Louis considers this. He genuinely does.On the one hand, it’s Friday night, he’s got no immediate obligations, and he’s just been given theopportunity to experience one of the greatest parties known to man, renowned by Uni studentsnationwide.On the other, if he keeps this shit up, he’s going to fail all of his classes and end up living in acardboard box in the back of a Tesco.“No,” he says suddenly and firmly, standing up. “Absolutely not. I made a promise to myself andI am going to keep it.”Niall steps out of his room, jaw dropped, a gray jumper half-on, exposing the cream planes of hischest. “You’re joking.”“I’m not. I refuse to go.” With that, Louis crosses his arms and sits in the nearest chair, faceaverted away with steely determination.“Lou,” Niall says, and it’s with such seriousness that Louis actually starts, “You don’t understand,mate. This is going to be incredible. You think I can show you a good time? You think my drinkstaste good, my weed’s good quality? My friends are crazy? That’s nothing. This is the richestbloke I’ve ever met. Can you just imagine what a party of his is going to be like?”Louis really wants to stick Niall’s head in a toilet.“I will smash your guitar if you keep tempting me with your devil words. I’m not even joking. Iwill do it.”“You wouldn’t.”“I’m getting up.”“All right!” Niall exclaims, hands up in defeat. “But don’t blame me when I come home tonightand tell you I’ve had the best fuckin’ night of me life. You brought this upon yourself becauseyou’re being a cunt!”“You will not sway me.”With one last shake of the head, Niall returns to his room, fitting his arms through the jumper.“You’re crazy, Tommo.”And, only because he knows Niall can’t hear him, Louis mumbles an agreement, glaring at histextbooks.**

Niall left in a grand rush.He was dressed to the nines in a crisp gray jumper, black slacks, signature Rolex, and a cigar thatwas already half-smoked. His hair was artfully disheveled (Louis did it for him) and he waswearing his best cologne. He looked rosy-cheeked and fun and his breath smelt of liquor, but in anoddly pleasant way that made Louis think of laughter and soft lighting.Louis brushed off his shoulders and made him do a twirl before he deemed him presentable.“All right then, you’re ready, son. Have fun tonight. Ring me when you’re pissed, yeah? Give meupdates,” he said, and put on his best fake-cheer.Niall promised, and then his phone began buzzing.“They’re here,” he explained, and in a mad rush no two minutes later, their flat was suddenlyfilled with piles of loud, shiny men with bottles of beer and vodka; loud cheers where beingthrown everywhere and laughter was bursting at the seams.Louis stared at the zoo before him, feeling distinctly under dressed in his trackpants and Doors t-shirt. He hadn’t even washed his hair today.“You comin’, mate?” a smiley boy with auburn hair asked him, but Louis shook his head.“Nah. Studying,” he explained, and the auburn boy’s smile faltered.“Studying?”“Yeah.”“... Right.”And then he left.Louis glared at his retreating figure. He always found auburn hair to be hideous.“All right, all right!” Louis suddenly shouted as the ruckus began becoming a bit too much, “Allright, mates. Come on, then. You’ve got a party waiting for you!” He began ushering the drunkenmass out the door, waving his arms wildly and feeling a new-found respect towards sheepdogs.Just as the peace slowly began to reign again, Niall caught him by the elbow.“You sure you don’t want to come?” he checked, one last time. He looked bright and pink andexpensive.Louis nodded. “I’m sure. Give ‘em hell, Nialler!”He smiled in response, clapped a hand on Louis’ back, then bounced back into the fray, chantingsome indefinable gibberish.That was four hours ago.Since then, Louis has made tea, attempted to make his bed (he stopped because he realized howcompletely pointless that is), read two chapters of his homework, poked through Niall’s room (andfound nothing—that boy has no secrets), and has danced around the flat to every song on his“Boredddd” playlist. Which he just made.Now, Louis is once again attempting to study.

But, of fucking course, the chaos from outside is becoming a deafening roar as students celebratethe first weekend at school.And he wants to shut his windows—those damn windows that practically lie on the ground,exposing him to all the drunken idiots scrambling by—but it’s hot and he likes the breeze, and ifhe just turns his music up that bit more…He's gotten four texts from Niall so far.The first one was a picture of himself, surrounded by an actual castle built from neon, glowingshots, their saturated light soaking into his shaded skin, with the caption, “Wish you were here,mate!” underneath.The second one was a picture of a girl in a giraffe costume wearing a tiara and holding a bottle ofabsinthe. The caption underneath this one read: “She’s fucking crazy !!!! Absinthe !!!”The third one was simply text. It said, “I have seen the fourth dimension.”And the last one merely said, “Butterbeer.”So he seems like he’s having a good time.Which is well and good and all for Niall, but Louis’ been staring at the same page for fourteenminutes now, resolutely ignoring the line of windows on the other side of the room, and tappinghis pen against a blank notebook page. It’s safe to say that Louis is not having a good time.But he needs to study. He needs to. He’s at this incredible school and he’s been given a chance,and he needs to succeed. He’s very aware of the fact that this school certainly would provide anexcellent stepping stone towards bigger and better things. Maybe he doesn’t exactly know what hewants to do, but the options are open. Perhaps he’d find himself living as a highly respected anddashingly handsome drama professor at some American university? Or perhaps he would light upthe stage every night, spouting grand lines and throwing exaggerated gestures out to an audiencethat craved his presence and screamed his name?No matter what Louis becomes, there’s one thing that’s certain—he needs to take advantage of theopportunity before him. Even if he isn’t quite sure how. Or where to start. Or what any of this willactually lead to. Or what he wants it to lead to.Fuck.It’s just as Louis is totally fed up by his own thoughts and the on-goings of outside—he’s seentoo many drunken passerby and neither music nor focusing nor TV can drown the hubbub out—that Louis decides, breeze be damned, to close, lock, and cover his living room windows andpretend he’s in the middle of the desert.He goes to the window with a surly expression, lamenting the time wasted after having read thesame sentence at least seven minutes, and is just about to shut the window, hands placed on thewood, when a young man comes stumbling directly up to the window, impeccable suit glowingunder a moonlit sky, the stench of smoke and alcohol permeating the air.Louis blinks once, twice, three times as he stares at the young man before him.It’s Zayn Malik.He’s glassy eyed and slack jawed and he’s looking up at Louis with something like inquisitive

wonder, a light sheen of sweat coating his face, loosening chunks of his pristine hair. He looksseemingly innocent—so much unlike the snake Louis had seen that first time he’d lain eyes onhim.Louis is completely taken aback, seemingly frozen.They stare at each other, Louis’ hand poised near the window latch, Zayn loose limbed, armshanging at his sides, blinking lazily with those incredible, endless eyelashes. It’s just as Zaynbegins a soft smile, which Louis is instantly endeared by, that he suddenly grips the sides ofLouis’ windowsill, and for one moment Louis actually thinks he may be climbing in to keep himcompany for the rest of the night, so he can sit quietly and smile at him like he hung the moon.But instead, he throws his head over the windowsill and vomits all over Louis’ slipper-clad feet.There’s a horrifying, stunned silence.Louis is still as stone, hasn’t looked down, and only one sentence flits through his mind: I’ve justbeen puked on by Zayn Malik.Zayn lifts his head, his eyes now red and watery, full of apology and child-like sorrow. Louis istorn between shutting the window on the boy’s head, inviting him in, or just running away toclean his fucking feet off.It is a truly catastrophic moment. Because what the actual fuck??But then suddenly, the good-natured looking boy he remembers from the teashop is at Zayn’s sidealmost instantly, eyes set in proper humility, light brown hair cropped cleanly, his featuressmoothed into apology. He places a supportive arm around Zayn’s shoulder, his other handclasping Zayn’s bicep with gentle firmness, and as he holds a now staggering Zayn who is, quiteobviously, too drunk to even function, the boy stands there and says in a very polite, crisp voice:“My sincerest apologies, sir. You know how it goes. He’s not usually likes this, I assure you.”Louis just stares, in shock—did he just call him sir??—very much aware of the vomit that hasbegun seeping into the fabric of his slippers, and just nods dumbly, mouth totally agape and sensesnumb and stunned.“It’s—fine,” he says, mostly through shock, and the boy immediately smiles, relieved.He offers one last apologetic nod before ushering a nearly catatonic, dazed Zayn Malik away,disappearing just as quickly as they appeared.And Louis just stares.Because what the fuck??He stares for about ten minutes before he finally screeches, flings his slippers off, and runs to thebathroom to bathe [repeatedly], stripping his clothes along the way and trying very hard not tothink about his feet or the smell that has stained the air and will potentially never leave.Fuck.This.School.

**After Louis is nice and scrubbed and his feet have been soaking in bleach water, he emerges fromthe bathroom pink-cheeked and clad in the coziest clothes he possesses in hopes to cushion theemotional trauma. Because Louis Tomlinson has been vomited on, and how does one move onfrom that experience? Part of him dies inside if he gets a bit of wee on himself—vomit’s in its owncategory entirely.Thoughts back-and-forthing between “I hate Zayn fucking Malik” and “I am finding my innerpeace,” Louis crawls in to bed, brings his textbooks with him, puts on the calming sounds ofnature on his iPod, lights his candles, and shuts every curtain and door in the flat. He’s neveropening the windows again.Eventually, Louis achieves his inner peace, feeling snuggly and cozy as he does his homework,swaddled in blankets. He’s just beginning to wonder where Niall is when he begins drifting tosleep, book propped open, angry, revengeful doodles of Zayn Malik drawn into the margins.Because how had Louis thought he looked fucking innocent? The boy’s a puking machine.It feels as if he’s only just shut his eyes when he is suddenly awoken by the sound of a doorslamming, accompanied by a slew of laughter and shouted farewells coupled with some insidejokes.Groaning with all the misery that is his life, Louis lifts his head off of the book, paper crusted tohis face, thoroughly dazed and confused.“Louis! Mate!” Niall’s voice calls through the void.And no, Louis is not feeling sociable. All he can manage to process right now is that his light isstill on and needs to be shut off if he’s going to fall back asleep—which he most certainly is goingto do.So Louis sits up, limbs groggy, rubbing his eyes, about to shut the light off, when he suddenlyhears:“What the fucking cunt is this pile of shite??”And then Louis remembers.He clears his throat, sleep-voice already set in. “You’re not looking at a pile of vomit by chance,are you?”Without another word Niall comes into the room, eyes dilated, hair far more mussed than Louishad styled it to be, clothes hanging off of him in sweaty droops.“What the—are you all right, mate? Are you ill?”Louis groans, sinking his head as he rubs his hands over his face. He cannot comprehend thissituation right now, doesn't even want to touch on the topic of Zayn Malik and his regurgitation.“Nope. How was the party, then?”And luckily, Niall has the attention span of a goldfish.“It was fuckin’ incredible! It was at some hotel, there was this huge room, and it was the craziestthing I’ve ever been at! I mean, I knew they said it was good, but I was not expecting that,” helaughs, leaning against the door frame with a dazed expression. He considers for a moment. “But,

it’s funny though. Malik was nowhere to be seen. Bloke hosted a party and he wasn’t even there!”With that, he sits down on Louis’ bed and stretches out, all rosy cheeks and glazed skin as he puthis hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling with a contented grin, coming down from anadrenaline rush.Louis peers over at him with an eyebrow raised. “Oh, I’m aware. Zayn Malik was most definitelynot at your party.”“Why do you say that?” Niall asks, craning his head.“Well, he was here, don’t you know. He was scrambling around the school grounds, finding openwindows of poor, innocent, studying students who were keeping to themselves, and puking intothem.” And Louis gives Niall a pointed look.Niall blinks for a moment before it clicks.And then he shoots up in bed, bursting into manic cackling, disbelief written clear across his facelike a caricature.“That—in there—your fucking slippers—that’s because of Zayn Malik? He puked on yourslippers? Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking serious?” For some reason, Niall thinksthis is the funniest thing to ever happen ever, so he proceeds to die of laughter on Louis’ bed,clutching his stomach like a child, giggling and gasping while Louis stares at him, very muchunimpressed, eyes narrowed, his hair sticking to his cheeks.Rude little bastard.“Laugh it up, laugh it up. Very funny,” he says, tone unamused. “You’re going to clean it up,though. I’m not touching it. I’ve had enough puke on me for a lifetime.”Niall, amidst his cackles of laughter and gasps, assures Louis, “I’ll have my assistant clean it up inthe morning.”Rory?Louis feels quietly grateful but also very guilty. It’s an odd feeling. “Well, I’ll have to send him afruit basket or something,” he mumbles, flicking the light off before returning to the bed. He clickson his bedside lamp. “Should I leave him a card? Money…?”But Niall is busy laughing.They spend the rest of the night lying side by side, Niall occasionally bursting into fits of laughterat the thought of Zayn Malik being sick on Louis and Louis efficiently changing the subject everytime by asking more questions about Niall’s night. (“But how many shots did you have?” “Snoganyone?” “But how was the absinthe?” “You can’t have really been the only Irishman there.”)Eventually, as the moon sits low in the sky and the flat fills with a peaceful calm, Niall beginsdrifting off mid-story, mouth hanging open, and mutters one last, “I still can’t believe Zayn Malikpuked on your fucking feet,” before giggling himself to sleep.And, as horrified as Louis is by his night (because who else would this happen to, honestly) heallows himself a small, amused smile as he closes his eyes as well.**Louis awakens in the morning to find that Niall has gone. In place of where the boy should be

there’s a note on the bed with a pair of clean slippers (probably Niall’s own that he’s not wornonce) that says, “Keep these away from Zayn Malik” with a large, sloppy smiley face drawnunderneath, a scribbled pile of sick drawn in the corner.Louis can clearly picture Niall making the note in his mind, that large, shit-eating grin taking uphalf his face, so he crumples up the paper with a roll of the eyes and tosses it in the bin across theroom. He then slides out of bed thinking that he is very, very grateful for three things this morning:1. He actually studied last night.2. It’s Saturday so he has the day off.3. He had not woken up to the sound of piano.Today is going to be a good day.He yawns, stretching his limbs like a cat, and begins roaming around the house, feeling prim andbeautiful and full of rest. And very sated. He goes to the kitchen immediately in hopes that therewill miraculously be piles of fresh food waiting for him, but instead sees what Niall left him: acold slab of bacon and a bag of weed.He scoffs at it, grabs some juice and nibbles on a croissant as he sits by the window (which is nowshut) (firmly). He looks to where his slippers had been when he’d last thrown them and takes inthe now flawless sheen of the floor, polished and scrubbed, back to its immaculate luster. Hereally needs to write a card for Rory. Or write him in his will. Louis feels very, very grateful.Suddenly his phone vibrates.Niall.‘U up?’‘Yeah.’‘I’m having breakfast at Fleet’s. Join me. They’ve got endless bacon.’Louis doesn’t need to be told twice. He puts on the closest presentable clothes he can find, wrapsa scarf around his neck, and exits the building with the thought of bacon, tea, and toast on hismind, all thoughts of Zayn Malik and vomit far, far away.**Upon their return, Rory is back in the apartment, holding Louis’ slippers. But that’s really the lastthing Louis could give a fuck about right now in this room.Because as soon as Niall and Louis stepped through the door, they were met with—possibly—themost unexpected sight either of them could have imaged.Their flat is filled—abso-fucking-lutely filled, top to bottom, no surface spared—with flowers.Flowers.Every kind of flower in every kind of color, bushels and bundles everywhere. It’s essentially ahothouse, or maybe the Versailles gardens, and it’s really bewildering—even Niall is speechless,and Louis is almost tempted to film this phenomenon—and breathtakingly beautiful, yellow rosesglowing in the light, lilies lying docile and rich, violets covering the piano, and hydrangeas sittingin neat vases along the lines of the floor.

As Louis and Niall stare, still silhouetted in the door with jaws dropped on the floor, their eyessimultaneously spot an exaggeratedly large cream card sitting on the mantle of the fireplace.In large, fine writing, it states:“My apologies for last night.Please join me for luncheon.My rooms.Zayn Malik”Now stood before it, Niall and Louis read it aloud as one before both sets of eyes slide to Rorywho is still standing with the shoes, looking slightly bewildered.“Were you here…?” Louis starts, unable to form anything more coherent than that, but Rory’seyes immediately snap to him, at full attention.“Aye. Young gentleman came this morning, accompanied by a few others. Had all these speciallydelivered—said that he hoped they’d take away from any odor he may have caused. Somethinglike that. Said to call upon him at any hour, said his rooms were up in the tower—the very top—and that he looks forward to your meeting,” Rory relates spotlessly, face businesslike as heshuffles from one suede foot to the next.Louis stares, dumbfounded. Then looks immediately over to Niall.“You’re coming with me.”Niall’s hands shoot up in defense. “Nah, mate. This is your mess. You gotta deal with it. Besides,I’m hungover as fuck. I need to sleep. And I need to smoke.”Louis just looks helplessly at him, adopting his most endearing set of puppy eyes. “But what am Igoing to do??”“Just go. You’ll figure it out.”Apparently Niall is immune to puppy eyes.So Louis prepares to go to luncheon while Niall locks himself in his room and fills their flat withthe sounds of Tchaikovsky and Bach (hangover music? The Irish are strange).After a full twenty minutes of panic and confusion over what to wear--something Louis usuallyhas no trouble with, but he’s uncomfortable and angry and curious and nervous and, fuck, how doyou dress when you’re attending an apology luncheon hosted by someone who’s been sick onyou but you’ve never actually spoken to?--Louis begins surrendering to his inner panic.Because where the fuck is he going? What the fuck is he doing? Why the fuck is he going? Whothe fuck is he seeing? And when the fuck did he start caring what these people through of him?Really, he should just wear a sweatsuit and slide on those same slippers that Zayn Malik haspreviously soiled. That’s what he should do.But instead—and what have the times come to?—Louis bangs on Niall’s door.“Oi!” he calls, “I need your help.”

No response, the music still drifting out of the room.“NIALLER. I. NEED. HELP,” he yells, banging louder.At this, he hears a grumble and some shuffling before the door creaks open.“That doesn’t make sense,” Niall sighs, eyes red-rimmed.“Yes it does. I need your help.”“Fuck’s sake. Why me? You usually beg me not to help. Or just plain refuse it.”“Today’s different. I need your advice. What should I wear?”“Are you joking?”“…No?”“You can’t dress yourself? You’re a grown fuckin’ man!”“But your clothes are better than mine!” Louis whines, and Niall’s frown lessens.“Oh. You want to borrow something?”“No!” Louis immediately barks. He pauses. “Maybe.” His arms cross and Niall’s eyebrows raise.“Yes, fine, all right, I need to borrow something. But not because I want to!” Louis adds, jabbinghis finger in Niall’s face.Niall grabs the aforementioned finger and shoves it away gently. “Sure, sure, I know the drill.Now get in here, then. You should’ve just said so. Take what you like.”And so the world ends when Louis asks Niall for fashion advice.But, finally, he’s dressed to perfection (black knit jumper with his crisp, white color poking outand gray, form-fitting slacks, complimented by sleek black shoes that catch the light just so) andhe stands before Niall, ready for judgment.“Well?”And maybe Louis cares what he looks like just a bit because he was charmed by the flowers andthe card and the apology, and maybe he’s a little excited for this proper introduction, so he awaitsNiall’s assessment with hope, glancing down at himself once more.“Swell, mate,” Niall assures, and adjusts his collar as he brushes fake dirt off of his shoulders. “Allready to go, Cinderella. Give ‘em hell!” And with one last smack on the bum—“Hey!” Louisscreeches with a glare—Niall waves a farewell and dissolves back into his room.So, with one last intake of breath, Louis opens the door and leaves.Chapter End NotesAaaand now the shit's going to hit the fan. But yay, right??

VChapter SummaryEnter Harry Styles.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesLouis has been climbing the steps of the tower, one by one, for what feels like forever. With eachdrag of the foot, his stomach sinks lower because what is he doing? Why is he even going? Theonly experiences Louis has had with this bloke was when he: A) Unjustly took what should havebeen Louis’ beverage at the teashop, and B) Emptied the contents of his stomach on him.And when he looks at it like that, the idea of him even considering coming here seems ridiculous.But here he is, dressed in his finest (or rather, Niall’s finest) and he’s finally reached the top,nerves jangling, fists shoved in his pockets. He’s met with an arched, old oak door stood ajar,sunlight streaming out in soft rays.And fuck. Does he knock? Call out? It’s so much easier with Niall where he can just bang on thedoor and screech his name until he’s noticed. He’s not used to dealing with real people.Feeling very unsure of everything in life, Louis places his hands against the cold wood and peersinside.Before him is the most elaborate, ridiculously luxurious room he’s ever seen. It’s simultaneouslyancient and contemporary (which is something Louis would have never been able to grasppreviously, but somehow it works) and it’s sleek, chic, and fucking posh. It puts his own flat toshame which is something Louis has a hard time stomaching, to be honest.Large, beautiful paintings of charcoal gray images splashed with violets, crimsons, and emeraldsscatter the room, some on the walls and some resting on the floor, stacked one upon the other,waiting to be hung. Bookshelves stuffed with countless books line the walls, their sleek, leatherspines glinting under the ambient shades of crystal lighting, and peppered on the walls are whatappear to be first edition comic books, protected by thick glass as they hang, their worn pagessitting quietly. There are shiny sound systems and large clear glass windows and ebony throwrugs and crystal decanters and music stands and—is that a fucking piano? Seriously? Are these arequirement for the rich?And amidst the lavishness of its surroundings, there rests a giant, narrow, rectangular woodentable filled with full cutlery and baskets overflowing with fruits, cheeses, wine bottles, and eggs.And in the middle, pouring wine into each glass, is the boy from last night with his thick eyebrowsand calm features. In the corner, just beyond, is vomit-boy himself, reclined in a suede chair thatlooks crafted for a god, smoking a cigarette languidly.Louis just stands there awkwardly, totally inside of the room, his hosts totally not noticing.Completely unaware of what to do, he just knocks on the door without ceremony, despite alreadyhaving entered, and hopes for the best.

As one, they both look up.While the boy with the short cropped hair smiles beatifically, Zayn Malik merely glances up andtilts his head to the side, only the barest smile touching the corner of his lips.“I told you he’d come, Liam,” is all he says.“Excellent!” Liam(?) exclaims, raising the half-empty wine bottle in celebration. “I didn’t thinkyou would!”Louis clears his throat, very aware that neither know his name despite him now knowing both oftheirs. Should he introduce himself?“Well, how could I not?” he settles for instead, a charming smile on his face. “It would have beenrude not to, what with all of those lovely flowers you sent. Thanks, lads. You right chased the sickaway.”Liam laughs, politely and cleanly.Zayn smirks, stubbing out his cigarette, and stands up.“Liked them, did you?”“Of course,” Louis says immediately, still not having moved from his spot at the door.“Once again,” Liam begins, setting the now empty wine bottle down and facing Louis, “we justwant to say a massive apology for the whole thing. Nothing like that has ever happened before,and we’re both so incredibly sorry about it.”Louis nods, eyes instinctively sliding to Zayn.“My apologies,” Zayn mutters, and his voice is soft like the night and seems to possess all thesmoke that had just been filling his lungs. He walks towards Louis, hands in pockets, shouldersrelaxed, but his eyes rest on Liam. He is the embodiment of cool and calm.If Louis was easily intimidated, he would be making his escape. Lucky for him, he is completelyunfazed. Mostly.“Oh, but where are my manners?” Liam suddenly exclaims, clapping his hands together. Zaynregards him with a subtle fondness that Louis stashes away in his brain as he tries to suss out thedynamic at hand. “I’m Liam. And, as I’m sure you know, this is Zayn.”Louis nods, extracting his hands reluctantly from his pockets as Liam makes to shake one.“Louis Tomlinson,” he responds with a nod, and Liam’s face lights up.“That’s a good name, isn’t it? ‘Tomlinson’… Is your family in law?” he asks, still gripping Louis.“My dad is, yeah,” and Louis leaves it at that, extracting his hand.He is not going to discuss Charles. And he is not going to play the game of 'Ooh, what does yourfather do? How much money does your family have?'“Nice set up you’ve got here.” Louis effortlessly changes the subject, nodding at Zayn who is stillwatching Liam. “I thought mine was over the top. Guess I was wrong.”“Over the top?” Liam asks quizzically, and Zayn’s eyes finally settle back on Louis.

Damn, he is strikingly beautiful.“Well, yeah. Student housing doesn’t usually come with a piano, does it? Nor…any of this,” hesays, gesturing toward the pristine novels and antique music stands.“You don’t like it?” Zayn asks, and his voice is so soft and gentle that it’s almost cutting, startlingLouis as they lock eyes.“Not much. Do you?”Liam blinks his surprise, and Louis wonders if Zayn Malik is used to being addressed like anormal human being. Or if he’s just petted and kissed all the livelong day.Zayn shrugs. “It’s all right, I guess. Can’t complain, can I?”“No, you really can’t. Bad manners ‘n that. So. When’s lunch?” And Louis takes the first seat hesees, on the right hand side at the head of the table.At that, Liam and Zayn exchange a glance, but it appears amused, and neither protests the action,instead both sitting down as well, Zayn at the head, and Liam to his left.“Can we get you anything?” Liam asks politely as he offers another cigarette to Zayn with thekind of practiced ease one only sees within a married couple of many years.Glancing between the two and their synchronized touches, Louis can’t help but ask, “Whoserooms are these, again?” causing Liam to laugh.“They’re Zayn’s. And mine, essentially. I’ve got my own, but I’m never there. I stay here for themost part.”“Why?”Zayn glances at Louis, another small smile threatening to reveal itself.“I’m with Zayn,” Liam replies simply, and Louis can respect the straightforwardness of thestatement. “Where are your rooms?”Louis gives him a look. “Are you seriously asking me that? I can walk you back to the window ifyou like. Reenact the scene,” he says, and can’t quite keep the wry edge of his voice out as helooks over to Zayn.But Zayn only smirks and says through a curtain of smoke, “You should have seen your face lastnight, mate.”“I’m surprised you remember! I could’ve been a garden gnome for all you’dve known. You wereutterly pissed.”And that sparks a burst of surprised laughter from Liam. He almost immediately places his fingersover his lips, as if in a silent apology, but his eyes are still creased with delight as he stares acrossat Louis.“You’re very outspoken,” he says, but it’s with glee rather than disdain, so Louis lifts his glass ofwine, pops an eyebrow, and replies:“It’s the best shade on me,” and takes a drink.

Giggling slightly, eyes planted on Louis, Liam mirrors the gesture, and Zayn full out grins.“So then,” Louis says, licking his lips as he sets down the glass, “Are there going to be others atthis luncheon?” He motions towards the spread of empty seats.Like clockwork, the low rumble of voices begins drifting into the room, the click of heals againstwooden steps echoing.“Yeah,” Zayn replies unnecessarily, and his face is so flawlessly amused, staring openly at Louislike he’s a comedy sketch with his cigarette dangling between two fingers, that Louis almostwants to burst into laughter.Because who are these people? And what are they made of?Zayn is obviously made from smoke, wine, hair product, and the faded pages of a novel.Liam is made of Hermes, polite conversation, teeth, and crystal.Louis is probably made of bad breath, a short temper, and all the bacon he ate this morning.At that moment, boys begin to pile into the room.A slew of greetings are made, hands are shook, nods are exchanged, drinks poured, and eggs andcheeses plucked from the baskets. The guests all look generally the same—male, beautiful, cleancut,suited in summer colors, and smelling of the best oils and aftershaves the modern world has tooffer—and as they seat themselves, they each look to Louis but make no inquiry, too polite toquestion his presence, and treat him with all the quiet respect of one who assumes they’ve metbefore. One boy in particular, all ginger hair and sweet smiles (Edward, was it?) makes Louis feelat ease, laughing at all his jokes and topping off his wine regularly.The other boys are enjoyable as well, and Louis slowly begins differentiating between them all;Matthew is a bit neurotic and blonde, George is aggressive and sporty, Philip is pretentious and atotal hipster, and Lyle is the living embodiment of every Disney villain ever.But Louis finds himself charmed.Eventually, after having heard Liam referring to him as “Louis” enough times, the boys begin tocatch on, and vice versa. And Louis can almost say he’s enjoying himself.“Lads, lads,” he suddenly announces to the table, and the chatter and chuckles die down aseveryone looks to him. “I feel it’s only appropriate to make a toast, yes?” There are a few scatterednods and even more bemused smiles. “Yes. So here’s to fucking up the first week of school, and,of course, to Zayn Malik and his incredible ineptitude at holding down his liquor.”There’s a brief and stunned silence as all eyes flick to Zayn, and yes, Louis is absolutely sure nowthat nobody insults or takes the piss out of this boy. Actually, from what Louis has observed, theydon’t interact with Zayn much at all. He just sits there, laughing at the odd joke, observing oneand all on his throne, but he seems content out of the spotlight, enjoying the company of Liam andhis cigarettes.He also just looks bored as fuck.So, without apology, Louis turns to grin at Zayn who is openly grinning back, lounging in hissteep-backed wooden chair, limbs outstretched.“Here, here,” Zayn smiles, raising his own glass. “And, of course, to our new friend Louis

Tomlinson.”Liam beams. “To Louis!”As the men chorus his name as one, Louis rolls his eyes, makes an offhanded joke, and reallywants to think that all of this is so shallow and so petty…but he finds himself secretly very pleasedinstead.It’s just as they’ve all taken one collective gulp of wine—and this is the best wine Louis’ ever had,dear lord—when the door suddenly opens once more.And it’s another beautiful boy.Louis really shouldn’t be surprised at this rate since this school is seemingly (miraculously)inhabited only by those whom the gods love.This one is wearing a light gray suit, almost a timberwolf, with a salmon bow tie and a champagnecolored scarf. His hair is one shiny, styled mess of chocolate mousse curls atop a china doll face,smoky green eyes set in ivory skin—ivory skin that contrasts alarmingly with poison red lips thatare so perfectly shaped, Louis questions their authenticity.The boys fall into a surprised silence, every pair of eyes fixing on the newcomer, includingZayn’s, as the entire room lights up. Everyone immediately pays attention to the boy, apparentlydelighted to see him.And Louis can tell that this boy’s aware of it, can see it in the slow blink of his eyes and thefocused calm of his movements, but he barely acknowledges the room. Without even a glance intheir direction, the stranger begins unfurling the creamy satin scarf from around his neck,bejeweled fingers slowly picking at the intricate weave.Eyes set on the task at hand, the boy says in a long, musically monotonous drawl:“Hello, my little blossoms.”His tone is smug and smirking, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing and what he’s saying.These boys are his—they’re beautiful, and they’re his collection.And Louis is immediately rubbed the wrong way.Because this boy, this clean, curly, brightly dressed, bow tied intruder who doesn’t even have thedecency to make a proper greeting, still hasn’t acknowledged anyone, instead immediately goinginto his excuse for his lateness.“I was detained in a meeting with a very…accommodating professor.” He says it with suchsmugness, his alarmingly red, picturesque lips leering.It only serves to discomfort Louis further.He averts his eyes away from those lips, those wrong lips that are posed so perfectly, like they’repainted on a doll, void of any real emotion or life. Instead, Louis just focuses on the steadymovements of the boy as he picks at the complex knot of his cream satin scarf, his eyes stillfocused on himself as he talks in a low swooping voice.“I told her I was going to be late and everything! Unfortunately, I was wearing my very fetchinghat today—the beige one that I got when we went to Ibiza—so I can’t say I blame the poor thing.Just another spectator to life’s proudest illustration.” And his voice is so lilting and utterly

mocking, the beginnings of a crooked half-smile forming, that Louis wonders if he can takehimself seriously. Or if anybody in the room can.But apparently they can, as they are all now chuckling their amusement, heartily agreeing in lowtones.What the actual fuck?The nameless boy with the mocking smile immediately saunters towards an empty wine glassthat’s sitting on the windowsill, abandoned. Smile still present, he pours himself a generousportion of Pinot Meunier. Amidst the continued silence, he takes a swig, still without properlyacknowledging the room, his back facing them.And yet every single eye is still on him.Including Louis’, who is glaring in distaste.The boy knows the attention he’s receiving, seems to feel the control but doesn’t care. WhereZayn sits at the head of the table as the proclaimed leader but enjoys the solitude of sitting back inthe shadows, this boy seems content in flaunting his self-appointed leadership, adoring thespotlight without really giving anything to his followers. It’s a role that he appears to relish andtake the most ease with. Which officially makes him a first class wanker.Louis watches, his eyes flitting between the group of men staring almost expectantly and the boyholding the stares and doing absolutely nothing with them.Zayn peers over his wall of smoke, watching Harry’s movements, but says nothing.Finally, at last, Harry acknowledges his host, perhaps feeling his smoky eyes on him, and turnsaround with a mischievous, delighted sort of smirk as he sets down his empty glass, immediatelystriding up to Zayn. He strokes his cheek with long, slender fingers that look the texture of pearls,and plucks the cigarette from between Zayn’s lips, bringing it to his own mouth as he breathes agreeting before pressing his lips serenely to Zayn’s.Louis watches this interaction, this acknowledgment, glancing over to Liam (who expresses nodiscomfort or offense) before looking back to Zayn who appears wholly unaffected by the eventsat hand, amused if anything, staring back at the boy intently.“Harry,” Zayn mutters in greeting.“Harold. Harold Styles,” he reminds, and Louis makes an immediate mental note to never call thisboy “Harold.” Or do anything else that he requests. Harry just sort of smiles and puffs on thecigarette, the smoke intertwining with his thick clusters of curls.The boys begin to shout their greetings.“Good to see you, mate!”“Glad you could come!”“We didn’t think you’d make it.”“Thought it was odd you weren’t here, to be honest.”Harry just nods in response, grinning—is that a fucking cherubic dimple?—and shaking a fewhands, all without moving from his place at Zayn’s side, hand resting on his shoulder.

After a few more mumbled words to Zayn, Harry walks over to Liam and smooths his hand overhis short brown hair before bringing it to the back of Liam’s head. He presses another kiss toLiam, this one with an exaggerated, silly “MWUAH!” at the end, the smoke of the cigarette stillcurling into the air as it dwindles down to his fingers, pressed at the back of Liam’s head.Louis watches all of this while thinking two things:1. He wishes Niall was here to see this.2. What the fuck is wrong with this bloke?Because as Louis watches this seemingly harmless exchange, he is irreparably alarmed by theemptiness that sits within the boy’s eyes as he looks over these people like they’re his toys,something like dead affection reverberating off of him. Because something is just so wrong aboutHarry, and he can only feel disturbed by the creamy green eyes that hold nothing and the overlyperfect mouth that expresses nothing and the frigidity of his overall demeanor, despite his languidmovements.And it’s that dimple, that childlike dimple, accompanied by the faux innocence and seeminglysweet charm and effortless, engaging demeanor which contrasts with something that Louis can’tquite place. But something is off about this boy, something is very, very wrong.It leaves Louis very unsettled.Harry turns around slowly after he disengages himself from Liam, walks back, and moves towhere Louis is sitting. He pauses, more thoughtful and amused as he observes Louis—perhaps forthe first time—his eyes raking up and down his body. It’s less sensual than it is assessing, and withthat unnerving, false, crooked half-smile, he says, “Hello, blue eyes,” and ends the sentence in ablatant smirk. Which, to the outside world, is probably endearing, but to Louis is absolutelypredatory and disgusting and makes him feel cheap, like he’s being bought with dirty money at aseedy club.Harry tucks the end of his sentence in the cigarette, taking a deep pull, and blows the smoke outover Louis’ face, all the while keeping unblinking eye contact.And Louis feels really fucking cheap and really fucking shitty. And really fucking unimpressed.He doesn’t respond, just instead keeps silent and returns the boy's stare with narrowed eyes.As Harry waits, his expression turns amused and, appearing largely unaffected by all, justcontinues to stare. Continues to smoke.Then Zayn mutters, “This is Louis. He’s new. I like him.”Though he’ll never admit it, Louis’ stomach smiles at the accolade, but his face doesn’t betrayhim, his cold blue eyes still narrowed into slits as he stares down Harry.“Oh, a new toy?” Harry inquires with enchantment, and he’s openly flirting, but Louis sees it asevil, asshole shittery.So Louis says, “I’m nobody’s toy, thanks,” and takes a sip of wine.Liam watches the display with wide eyes before glancing at Zayn who watches with somethingakin to intrigue.But Harry is merely amused, unfazed as he shrugs, hand resting on the back of Louis’ chair. Withsmooth movements, he leans into him, stubbing out his cigarette and says in his velvety baritone,“That’s lovely, but you’re in my chair, darling.” His smirk grows. “I’d be happy to share,

however.”Louis grips the armrests for restraint. Because it would be rude to punch Harry in the face,especially at a luncheon where he’s the guest of honor.So, keeping his cool and flicking a bit of hair out of his eyes, he paints the fakest grin imaginableonto his face and replies with, “I’m not one to share, Curly.”Harry’s eyes momentarily darken. “It’s Harold.”“I heard you the first time.”Instantly, Harry removes himself.“I don’t think he’s going to move,” Zayn says mildly, glancing up at Harry who is holding Louis’stare.And up close, in person, those eyes are even more terrifying. Where there should be emotion,soul, and intimacy, there instead lies a wall, cold and dark, barricading the boy from the rest of theworld. And Louis can’t look away.There’s a flicker of something more real—just for a moment—in the boy’s stare, but then it’sgone, suddenly and without warning, replaced with nonchalance.Harry shrugs. “All right. I don’t mind standing. I'm not fussy.”And it’s such a fucking lie that the room murmurs with laughter.“He’s good, this Louis,” Edward says to Harry, smiling sweetly. “Funny.”“Oh, you’re funny, then?” Harry says with fake delight, and Louis folds his arms.“Massively. Could you top me off?” Louis asks Edward, motioning to the wine.“I’ll do it,” Harry interrupts immediately, waggling his eyebrows, and Liam giggles. The traitor.“I don’t think you could manage, to be quite honest,” Louis sing-songs without looking Harry’sway, and Zayn actually laughs.Harry doesn’t reply immediately, instead selecting a cigar and clipping off the end.“I can see why you like him, Zayn, darling," he says eventually, delicately. "He’s very pretty.And so small.”Louis momentarily sees red (he hates being called short, abso-fucking-lutely hates it) and looksover to Harry, glaring.“There’s no need to talk about me as if I’m not in the room, Curly.”“Harold.”“Who?”Harry grins, pleased as he brings the cigar to his lips. “You’re quite small. My, my.” He clicks histongue. “Are you standing, then? Or—wait, you’re sitting down, actually, aren’t you?”And it’s such a small tease, and he knows that Harry’s only saying it to get a rise out of him, but

fuck, Louis has always been a victim to his temper, so he shoots up out of his chair.“Would you like some cheese?” he asks forcefully, and fuck—where did that come from? He mayor may not be flustered.He supposes he should feel lucky, seeing as how that could’ve gone much worse, but Harry’s grinwidens, revealing a fine, pretty set of teeth that are absolutely predatory and surface-deep.“You’re such an accommodating host, Louis Tomlinson.” It’s spoken with such exaggeratedreverence that Louis nearly lunges.“Your hair’s ugly,” Louis spits suddenly, and shit—he’s just reverted to childhood rage now,hasn’t he?But apparently it was the right thing to say because the boys behind him gasp and Harry’s grinfalters.And there it is again, that flicker of indefinable something. But then, once more, it’s gone, theboredom back in place. And then he looks to Zayn.“Have you gone rowing recently? Michael keeps asking to go but I can’t quite bring myself tocare.”Just like that, Harry’s attention has been placed elsewhere.And while Louis is thankful—because he honestly might kill this bloke—it disgusts him evenmore. Because it only proves to show that Harry was playing with Louis like a mouse, decidedlyworking his charm on him with as little effort as he needed to in order to win himself anotherminion, only giving up when it became too trying of a task.The rest of the luncheon is spent with Harry leaning over Louis’ chair, intermittently preening ashe engages in fickle discussion with Zayn and Liam, and focusing on Louis, staring at himintently, deeply, and unnervingly. But not with any genuine interest; rather, it’s revolves around abored desire to prove something.So Louis ignores him completely.Instead, he has as much fun as he can while engaging with the others, cracking jokes, taking thepiss, and shouting exclamations as Liam stares across the table with delight, a faint glint ofmischief in his eyes. Zayn is just as amused (in his own way), fingers wresting against his temple,leaned back in his chair in the most luxurious manner possible. He’s the spitting image of a king,and Louis decides that, if they end up being mates, he’s going to buy this boy a crown.And, all the while, Harry stares at Louis. And Louis makes ridiculous jokes and ignores the boy inreturn.Eventually, the boys begin to depart. Edward has music lessons, Philip has a meeting, Lyle’sbored, and George wants to see his girlfriend, and they slowly leave, one by one.Pretty soon it’s just Louis, Zayn, Liam, and Harry (and Harry’s still standing beside Louis’ chairbecause he’s a stubborn fucker like that, keeps staring in amusement at a very irate Louis) andLouis decides that now is the perfect time to make his leave as well.He gets up, smoothing over his shirt as he ignores Harry’s eyes, and goes to bid farewell to hishost (who is now smoking by the window with Liam) because he genuinely did enjoy thecompany of the boys that weren’t empty shells of human beings. (Ahem.)

“Well, thanks again, mate. I had an incredible time, really. Best lunch I’ve ever had!” Louis saysamiably, nodding his respect.Zayn’s lips quirk upward in response while Liam grabs Louis’ phone from his hand and types inhis number.“You’ll text us whenever you’ve a moment, of course?” Liam suggests, tapping his numbers ontothe screen. “And I’ve got your number as well now. So we can make plans.” He smiles wide,eyes happy and creased, as he hands Louis back his phone.“Oh, yeah, for sure. Just let me know when you’re hanging about next. I’d be happy to join.”Zayn , who is standing next to Liam, arm wrapped delicately around his waist, is staring pastLouis' shoulder. Louis’ just about to turn and find the source of his lidded stare when suddenlyZayn says:“Harry, you were just about to walk Louis out, weren’t you?”And what did he just say?Harry, grinning devilishly, immediately replies, “Of course.”Louis suppresses the urge to smack Zayn across the room as it fills with unspoken tension.“I can find my way on my own,” Louis says with weight in each word, giving Zayn a pointedlook.But he just shrugs and Liam looks to him. "Harry's got good navigation. Just in case." And Louisdoesn't miss the impishness in Zayn's tone.Because, fuck, is he trying to force them together?Hell no.“And good conversation,” Harry adds, reapplying his scarf as he strides toward Louis. “I’m verynice,” he says, but his inflection suggests anything but that, a posed smile in place.He thinks he’s so fucking charming.Louis stares, unimpressed. “Somehow I doubt that.”“Shall we?” Harry seamlessly asks without a beat, offering his arm.And maybe it’s because Liam and Zayn are staring expectantly, or maybe it’s because he doesn’thave the energy to turn this into a thing, but Louis, with a heaving sigh and roll of the eyes, takesHarry’s arm.**They’re finally outside and Harry has successfully managed to sound like an even bigger wanker.He’s talked about himself, his impeccable grades, his yearning for companionship, how nobodyunderstands him (and his acting skills are shit, by the way, so he's not fooling anybody) and he’seven gone as far as to compared Louis’ eyes to a summer sky.It’s cold, empty flattery, and though Harry probably feels that he’s successfully charming another

conquest, Louis is keeping his vomit at bay.“I want to show you the gardens,” Harry suddenly says, stopping and turning to Louis. “It’s myfavorite spot in the world. You must come—they’ll inspire you, even in sleep.”Even in sleep? What the fuck is he even talking about?“I’m not really interested in gardens, but good effort,” Louis growls, removing his arm and takinga step back.Harry stares, and Louis thinks he may be slightly taken aback--which would be the first realemotion he’s seen on him. “But surely you’re just curious?”“Not really, thanks. If I wanted to look at some flowers I’d do a Google search. I’m not really thatfussed about it, to be honest.” With that, Louis shrugs and begins walking ahead of Harry, prayingto the sweet baby Jesus that he won’t be followed.“I’ll walk you back,” Harry calls, unsure, and thank fuck—he hasn’t actually tried to catch up.“I can’t find one reason why that would be necessary, Curly.”“Harold,” is the instinctive reply, and Harry is staring after him, mildly annoyed; Louis canpractically feel him giving up on the project that is Louis Tomlinson. Because, nope, Louis is not agame and even if he was, he couldn’t be won. “I’ve only offered to be polite. Haven’t you anymanners, Louis Tomlinson?”Louis pauses, reluctantly turning back to face Harry who is exactly where he left him.“I don’t need manners. I mean what I say and I say what I mean. I don’t fuss about appearing acertain way. Funny, living that way, isn’t it?” And without another word or look, Louis turns onhis heel and walks away.“Goodbye...?” he hears Harry call, almost inquisitively.But Louis ignores him.And Louis is so angry.He’s not even sure why that brief encounter made him so genuinely mad, but it did. It made himfurious. It filled him renewed rage and bitterness and frustration and...fuck.Louis may not know what he’s doing here, what he’s going to do with his life, or how he’s goingto survive the rest of term, but Louis does know one thing:Louis Tomlinson hates Harry Styles.Chapter End NotesYaaayyyy! This is the reason I've written this story. Because I listened to Lana DelRey's "Young & Beautiful" and pictured this version of a warped Harry in a suit witha bowtie being an utter prick and yay! Because now Harry is finally in the story andnow I can finally have fun with his character.

Fun times, folks. Thanks for reading, you are all gems.

VIChapter SummaryLouis Tomlinson is not having it.Chapter NotesI've kept some family names in tact, so this is just a friendly reminder that thesecharacters are in no way based off of their real life personas. I just like their names. :)See the end of the chapter for more notes“Oh my GOD, that was the most insufferable human being I have ever encountered in my entireexistence!”Louis, still passionately irate, has just burst through the door to their flat, eyes seeking Niallinstantly.He’s on the couch, limbs outstretched with one arm on the back of the sofa, discarded crisp bagseverywhere, empty beer bottles at his feet, and clad in track pants and an American basketballjersey as he looks up from his laptop, tellie blaring whatever footie match he’s currently halfwatching.“That bad, eh?”“Oh, it was WORSE,” Louis exclaims, kicking off his shoes and ripping off his jumper. “I did notknow people like that actually existed. I mean—I can’t believe we’re the same species. I can’tbelieve we’re made of the same stuff—surely there’s a computer chip in him somewhere becausethat is not a human being, Niall, no, that is a robotic monster with no sense of decency or feelingsof any nature!” He’s out of breath from his exuberant tirade, and he stares at Niall wildly, trousershalf-done.Niall’s eyebrows shoot into the air, pausing before he brings a bottle of beer to his lips while Louisstorms into his room.“Really? He always seemed all right to me.”“All right?? ALL RIGHT??! Niall, have you any brains in that blonde, liquored head of yours??Has your silver-spooned upbringing clouded your sense of judgment that severely??” Louissplutters, pausing his actions of stuffing on an oversized vest (which might also be Niall’s, he can’tremember).The rest of the beer is finished in one gulp. “Nah, I don’t think so. I’ve got pretty good judgment.I’m starving—dinner soon?”But Louis ignores him, his face flushed with all the fury of a thousand suns.

“Niall, I’m going to set him on fire! I am! Honestly, I’m not even sure how I’m going to manageexisting around this wanking, piece of shit, ponce-assed, fucking—““Whoah, whoah,” Niall interrupts, holding up his hands in what Louis assumes is supposed to bea soothing action. “He can’t be as bad as you say. You’ve only been gone for a few hours!”“A few hours too many, let me tell you!”“Well, what happened? What did he say?”“What did he say? WHAT DID HE SAY?? He said everything! He talked about himself, hetalked about his conquests, he talked about his money and his—““He talked that much?” Niall blinks, standing up and making his way to Louis (who is now sittingat the table with his fists clenched). “He always seemed so quiet.”“Is that a joke? You trying to be funny again? No, he’s not fucking quiet. He yaps and yaps andyaps like a little curly fucking…poodle,” Louis finishes with angered triumph, and he glares hisfrustration at Niall for good measure, thumping the table.“Zayn? Zayn Malik. Zayn Malik yaps like a poodle,” Niall reconfirms as he leans over the tableacross from Louis, arms braced.Louis starts. “Who—what—Zayn? No. No! God, Niall, no, not fucking Zayn Malik! He’s allright, seems like a good enough lad. No, Harry Styles! And, oh God”—Louis brings his hand upto his mouth—“I can’t even say the name. I’m going to be sick from just the sound.”“Oh, Harry?” Niall says, surprised. He stares at Louis for a moment before a small laugh escapeshim, his features set in sunny amusement. “Yeah, I figured he’d be there. You don’t like him?”Louis stares. “Is that a fucking joke?”Niall grins. “But everybody likes Harry Styles,” he mocks, and thumps down into the chairopposite Louis.“Yes, well, then everybody has a personality disorder. Niall,” Louis says, eyes wide with distressas he touches his chest, “I sincerely think he’s evil. There is something seriously wrong with him.He’s cruel, heartless, cold—““Those are not words I have ever heard used to describe Harry Styles,” Niall interrupts, eyebrowsraised. “Are you sure you’re talking about the right guy?”“Oh, I’m sure. Harry, ‘Harold,’ Styles, right? He’s not right, mate. When he spoke it was like hewas reading lines from a playbook. He said what everyone wanted him to say without meaning aword of it. He acted like he was the life of the party, like everybody wants him—““That’s probably true though, mate.”“I don’t care if that’s true. Which, if that’s true—if that’s true—I refuse to believe that that’s true—what kind of world do we live in?!” Louis’ aware that he’s close to shouting, but he doesn’t care,his cheeks flushed and hair wilting as he bangs fists on the table.Niall chuckles at his indignation. “Well, he’s definitely a bit off. I mean, I’ve never had a problemwith him myself—he’s always shown me a good fuckin’ time. But there is something I don’t trustabout him.”

“To put it lightly,” Louis mutters darkly before bursting into humorless laughter. “I’m deadserious, mate. I may just actually rip his head off if I see him again.”“Calm down!” Niall laughs, leaning across the table to clap Louis on the back. “You don’t have tosee him again if you don’t want to! It’ll be fine!”“True. This is true. That is true, and that is comforting.”Niall nods and promptly stands up. “’M starved. Want some cake?” he asks, making his waytowards the fridge.“Nah, you go ahead,” Louis says absently, bringing a hand to his flushed cheek.A few beats pass—filled only by the sound of Niall rummaging for a fork as he reveals the pristinechocolate cake from its cardboard box—and Louis really, really doesn’t want to keep talkingabout Harry Styles.But.“So, what’s his story, then?” he asks, and refuses to chastise himself for a curiosity that can’t betamed. Then again. “Actually, you know what? I take it back. Never mind. I don’t want to hear it.You know why? Because I want no knowledge about anything having to do with Harry Styles. Ifthere is some kind of information that is privy to only those who know Harry Styles, then I wantnone of it. Because I literally want to forget that he exists. Starting now.”Niall laughs, mouth full of chocolate cake, walking around with it as if it were a single portion andlightly tapping his feet in a jig. (Jolly. That’s the best word to describe Niall Horan. Jolly.)“Well,” he swallows, “He’s actually the son of Des Styles. Obviously.”But what? No. No, that is not obvious.“Des Styles?” A pause. “As in…the famous bloke? The one from Crue? The one who sang ‘NineDreams'?”“Yeah.”“The guy from all the mag covers? Who broke records? And was all over the TV and the radioand everywhere in between? The one who wins the ‘Top Rock Groups From the 90’s’countdowns? Every time?”Louis is really trying to keep his cool right now, because of fucking COURSE Harry Styles is theson of one of his favorite bands.“Yeah, that’s him.”“From ‘Crue’?” Louis reaffirms.“Still yes.”It takes a moment to process this information.He looks up, Niall now downing a glass of either water or vodka before wiping his mouth withthe back of his hand. And Louis’ brain is scrambling.“But isn’t that guy mental?”

“Oh yeah. He’s a right fuckin’ mess, it’s pretty bad. Me dad said he’s impossible to work with. Hedoesn’t even know where he is half the time, and if he does, you don’t know which side of him isgoing to show up, you know?”Louis swallows, because shit, that’s pretty intense, before Niall takes another gulp from his refilledglass and ponders, lips wet.“You know, I’m not even sure if he’s living at home right now, actually. He might beinstitutionalized.”“Institutionalized?” Louis repeats, shocked. “What, for drugs or…?”“No, I think he’s clean now. I think. Me dad was never really sure, to be honest. But no, he goesthrough these breakdowns every now and then. Hospital sets him up then he’s all right to go backhome.”“So he’s a nutter.”“That’s an understatement.”Louis nods, more to himself than anything, and clears his throat, refusing to think about theimplications of the situation and how it relates to Harry. So he stands up and walks over to Niall,head held high.“Well,” he says, clearing his throat and grabbing the tumbler out of Niall’s hand, “I’m sure Harryisn’t even aware of the situation. I’m not quite sure he realizes that anybody else exists in theworld.” He takes a drink and—oh, yep. Vodka. He winces as he struggles to swallow while Niallwatches in amusement.“You may have a point there. He didn’t seem too fussed when his mum died.”“…His mum died?”“Well, one of them. I’m not sure if she was his real mum or not. He’s had a few.”Good lord.“How did she die?”Niall shrugs. “Nobody knows. It was pretty hushed up, so it could’ve been an overdose or someshite.”Some shite? Louis feels a little sick.“It probably was drugs. Seeing that his sister’s a bit of an addict herself.”This is just getting worse.“He has a sister?”“Yeah. She’s a big time model. Gemma Styles? Never heard of her?”Louis shakes his head. “I’m not really…into models. Well. Female ones.”Niall smirks. “Well, she’s fit. But a fuckin’ mess. Raised Harry until he could take care of himself,then she was out of there.”

“And this was after their mum died?”“Yep.” Niall reflects for a moment, clear blue eyes cutting through the shadow of the room.“Yeah, no, I remember when their mum passed. Harry didn’t seem too upset about it.”And Louis starts at that because—what??“He didn’t seem too upset when his own mum died??” Louis repeats, perplexed. “What the fuck?What am I dealing with? Is this a monster? Is this an actual monster? I feel like I’m Little RedRiding Hood and I’ve just encountered the big, bad fucking wolf.”Niall rolls his eyes, but his smile is wide. “You’re going to be fine. Harry’s all right. Maybe he’snot all there, but he’s not dangerous or anything. Besides, you don’t even have to see him everagain.”“Well. Not necessarily. I actually quite like Zayn and Liam,” Louis explains thoughtfully. “Theother lads were good, too. It was just Harry that set my teeth on edge. If they offered, I’d be happyto hang about again.” He heaves a sigh, dropping his head onto Niall’s shoulder. “What should Ido? They seem like good friends, so I doubt I’ll be able to completely avoid him.”“Oh, they’re definitely good friends. Zayn and Harry used to be step-brothers.”And the plot thickens.“What?” Louis asks, his head shooting back up.“I told you that already.”“No you did not!”“When you asked about Zayn—I told you his mum married Des Styles for a bit.”“Well I wasn’t listening. How did that happen? Mira is too classy of a woman to sign up for thatmess!” And no, Louis doesn’t actually know her, but he’s seen all of her movies and that’s thenext best thing to a personal relationship.Niall shrugs. “Dunno. It didn’t last very long. Two years, tops.”“Shit. I suppose they’re pretty close, then. Seeing that they’re essentially brothers. Or ex-brothers.Or whatever. Fuck.” Louis’ head drops back onto Niall’s shoulder, closing his eyes in despair.“What’s worse is that Zayn was actually pushing us together.”Niall’s shoulder stiffens ever so slightly. “Really?” And he does not sound impressed.“Yeah. I think he thought it was funny or something. Are these people bad seeds?”“All I know,” Niall says, but his voice has already returned to its normal joviality, “is that Zayn’s agood bloke. He’s rich and powerful as fuck and his father’s a cunt, but he’s good. Liam Payne—““Oh, is that his last name?”“Yeah. He’s Zayn’s boy and a good enough bloke as well. Not too sure if I trust him all thatmuch, though.”At this, Louis is genuinely startled. “What? Why? He seemed so kind and welcoming. He was thenicest person there.”

“No particular reason. He’s just a bit of a wild animal.”“A wild animal," Louis repeats flatly. "Are we talking about the same person? He was like abloody houseplant!”“I’m not saying he’s like Harry Styles. But he’s definitely a big partier. And he knows whatpeople want to hear.”“He’s phony?”“No, I don’t think he’s phony. I think he’s a nice guy but I also think he knows how to playpeople. He’s smart. Extremely well-bred, as you’d say. Just keep that in mind, all right?”“All right,” Louis agrees, watching Niall. “And Zayn, too? Should I watch out for him as well?”“Nah. Unless you feel like you need to. But.” Niall pauses. “Just, watch out for Harry especially.”Louis’ head might actually be spinning in circles. Too many warnings. Too much newinformation.“I thought you said he was this great guy that everybody loved. And that he wasn’t dangerous,”he says, on the verge of exasperation.“He’s not. But. He’s not right in the head, I don’t think.”“I could’ve assumed that much.” Louis watches as Niall chews on his lip, surprised by the boy’ssudden solemnity. “Do you have a specific reason why you’re saying this?”“No, nothing specific. But I’ve seen him during some dark moments. And he fucks everythingthat walks, as well, so don’t let him take advantage of you.” Niall gives him a hard look, toneprotective, hand firmly planted on the counter.Louis grins despite himself. Because he now realizes that Niall is clearly being a mother hen. Andsince his own mother (who hasn’t called since Louis left her that voicemail reminding her to focuson his sisters and not him) never really gave helpful advice, Louis feels rather touched.“Awwww, Nialler!” Louis teases, pinching his cheeks. “You’re starting to be all protective of melike a mum!”“Fuck off,” Niall laughs, but doesn’t deny anything.“Well. I appreciate it, mate,” Louis says more seriously with a grin that he hopes displays as much.“But next time they invite me to something, you’re coming with me.”“Sorry. Not my crowd. Too pretentious and…weird. They have tea parties and play croquet andtalk about the theatre and…no. I’ve had enough of that growing up.”“Hm, yes, well, you’re still coming. Now. Let’s play FIFA before you take me out to dinner, allright? Loser gives Rory a piggyback all the way home from the pub.”“Better rest your back then, Tommo.”“Not a chance, Nialler,” Louis counters, and doesn’t even flinch at the nickname.**Two hours later, Louis’ phone buzzes with a text and his social life has become so monopolized

y Niall at this stage in his life that that really is a momentous occasion.“Who is it?” Niall asks absently, focusing on the game at hand.Louis drops the controller and brings his phone up to his face. “It’s Liam,” he says with surprise.He mumbles through the text, eyes darting across the screen.‘Mate! It was so good to meet you yesterday! Had an absolutely incredible time. There’s going tobe a party tomorrow at The Priory Hotel. We would love you to come. :)’‘Sounds incredible. U hosting ?’‘Harry is’“Ah,” Louis voices, and Niall looks over.“What?”‘Text me the details and I’ll see you then.’‘Excellent!’“Niaaaalllll!” Louis suddenly wails, falling face down into the couch. “I’m upset,” he mutters,voiced muffled in the cushions.“Why are you upset?” comes the immediate response. And, okay, Louis can admit that Niall hasthe patience of a saint.“Because I’ve just been invited to a party hosted by Harry and I hate Harry and I might end upcommitting homicide at a nice party and thus jeopardize my entire future, well-being, and crimerecord.”“You’re being dramatic.”“I’m not dramatic! I’m sincere and heartfelt and I express myself,” he snaps, lifting his face. “Ifthat’s wrong then I don’t want to be right!”“I see. Well. Good luck with tha—““Please come.”“No.” It's spoken without a seconds' thought.“Oh come on!” Louis exclaims, sitting up and climbing toward Niall. “They’d like you! You’rerich like them! And you get along with everybody, even that stuffy old hag who throws me nastyglances when we check our mail. It’ll be fun!”“I like Mary.” At Louis’ pointed glare, Niall sighs, setting down his controller. “When is it?”“Tomorrow.”“Oh, well then I actually can’t. Honestly. I’ve got the rowing team tomorrow.”“You’ve joined the rowing team?”“Yeah, I dunno. I’m just testing out how I like it. Gives me something to do.”

“What do you mean it gives you something to do? Am I chopped liver? Are you going to be atpractice all the time now while I’m at home, alone and bored?” Louis nearly screeches, handsplayed over his heart. He might be a touch offended. But if he were asked, he'd deny it.“You’ve got your new friends. You'll be fine.”“Be that as it may, I really don’t appreciate just being abandoned. I’m not one of those people whofinds new friends and ditches their old friends.”A Cheshire-cat grin spreads immediately upon Niall's lips, eyes caught in a glint. “You just saidwe’re friends,” he smirks, pointing an accusatory finger.Fuck.“No I did not,” Louis immediately responds, looking away as if struck. “You misconstrued mysentence. I meant…" He struggles for words momentarily, before finally settling with a," Shut up,Niall. I was just saying that you should come to the party and not join the rowing team becauseeverybody on it is a prat.”“I’ll go next time, all right?”“But I can’t go alone! I need somebody to talk to! I need somebody to cry with!”“Yeah, no, I'm definitely not going then," he chuckles.“Come on! Please? Please??”“I promise next time I’ll go. I promise,” Niall says with as much sincerity as he’s allowed, beforeaverting his eyes back to the TV screen, controller back in hand.“All right. Fine. That’s fine. I understand. I’m going to text you the whole time and send youpictures of my tears, but it’ll be fine.”“It’ll be fine,” Niall agrees.**When Sunday arrives, Louis still hasn’t heard from Liam.“He was obviously just texting me to be polite. You were right all along, Niall. He’s a swindler. Aright phony. With no moral fiber whatsoever.”He’s currently pacing around the flat, only breaking his stride to occasionally jump on Niall (whois lying on the floor, strumming his guitar and burping the lyrics to “Danny Boy”) and screampanicked obscenities in his face.Which he does now.“IT’S ONLY THE FIRST WEEK AND I’VE ALREADY BEEN REJECTED!!” he screeches,pouncing on Niall and grabbing his face between his hands.Niall blinks up at him between squished cheeks, the guitar uttering a sad twang at the impact.“You can come rowing with me?”Louis releases Niall’s face and glares down at him. “Honestly, Niall, sometimes I wonder if youjust speak to hear your voice. NO, I WILL NOT GO ROWING WITH YOU.” He sniffs anddisengages himself from the boy. “I have more class than that.”

disengages himself from the boy. “I have more class than that.”“So what will you end up doing?”“My studies. I am going to excel in all my courses and will become so supremely intelligent that Iwon’t need any friends.”“What about me?”“You don’t count, you’re Irish.”Niall bursts into laughter. “You are such a fuckin’ cunt,” he says, but there’s enough fondness inhis voice that Louis lets it go.“But you’re not honestly gonna go rowing now, are you? When I’m home all alone?” Louis poutsas he sits next to Niall on the floor, cross legged, hands neatly folded in his lap like a good boy.Niall sighs a chuckle as he sets aside the guitar and sits up. “Well—“And, luck be there, Louis’ phone vibrates at that exact moment.Niall lunges for it before Louis can. “It’s from Liam!” he laughs as he holds it in the air as Louisstruggles to grab it.“What does it say? Is it a rejection? He’s probably just jealous cuz Zayn fancies me!”“Zayn fancies you?” Niall laughs, surprised, as he continues to keep the phone out of the realm ofLouis’ arm span.“Yes! Maybe! Probably!”With a shake of the head, Niall unlocks the text. “Party in an hour at Priory Hotel. Bringswimming trunks. See you there!” he reads, before tossing the phone to a grasping Louis. He nodsin approval. “That’s a nice place. You’ll have fun.”But Louis is still getting over the bit about swimming trunks. “Is there a pool there?”“Yeah. A damn good one, too.”“Shit. I haven’t exercised in ages. And I’m pale as the moon! I can’t just put my body on displaywhen I’ve such little time to prepare! I’m not going,” Louis says, setting down his phone withsteely determination and resolutely ignoring Niall’s rolling of the eyes.“Don’t be a cunt, just go. It’ll be fun. Besides, you can’t be paler than Harry.”“Oh, but fuck. He’s going to be such a piss ant about all this, isn't he? He probably won’t even letme in.The prat.”“If the boys are inviting you, then you’ll be allowed. Now calm the fuck down and get ready. Igotta go soon.” Niall whips out his own phone and begins tapping out a text. “I’m having Rorypick up a few things for me. Do you need swimming trunks?”“I’m not having Rory buy me swimming trunks.”“He won’t. I’ll buy them.”“I don’t need your money!” Louis immediately spits like a baby kitten. “I’m not a charity case. Ican afford—“

“Right, I’m telling him to pick you up some,” he interrupts seamlessly. “Black?”“I refuse to be part of this.”“Nah, blue. It’ll bring out your eyes more,” Niall says conversationally as if he knows what thefuck he’s talking about. Those are big words coming from a boy who’s currently wearing an oversizedt-shirt with the words “Crazy Mofos” scribbled onto it.But Louis can’t help but smile. “You’re such a good lad. Noticing my eyes ‘n all.” And he throwsforth a wink because he can.“You talk about your eyes all the time, Lou. Every day since I’ve met you you’ve told me that youlike to wear blue because it brings out your eyes.”Oh. Yeah.“Shut up.”And before Niall can respond, Louis jumps up and blows a raspberry on the back of his neckbefore prancing away.“Ya cunt!” is all Louis hears as he shuts the door of his bedroom and begins assembling himselffor the party.**Niall promises to leave only after Louis becomes reassured (repeatedly) that he looks good—goodin the sense that he appears naturally disheveled and not like he’s been working on himself for thepast hour.He’s playing the piano again, crafting songs to mock Louis under melodies that sound like nurserytunes. (“Louis, your hair looks fine, Louis, stop wasting your time” “Louis is a boy, Louis’ not agirl. But if he was, he’d be the prettiest in the world” “Don’t be such a cunt, don’t be such a nut,relax your-fucking-self and roll up a blunt”) He's really clever. Just so extremely clever. Louis isso impressed. (That's a lie.)Eventually Rory arrives, delivers several bags with “Ralph Lauren” branded onto them over toNiall, before handing a smaller one to Louis.“You really didn’t have to do this,” Louis says, a little sheepishly.Rory merely winks. “It’s my job, son. No worries. But I made sure to get you the best they had tooffer.”Oh, great.“Thanks, mate," Louis mutters, inspecting the bag hesitantly. He glances up, catches the olderman's eye. "But I will poison you if you’ve set me up for disaster. I’m trained in potions.”But Rory only smiles before asking Niall if he needs anything else.“Tell Nelson I’ll be ready in a minute!”And then Rory exits.“Nelson? It’s not that far of a walk, man. You’re getting spoiled,” Louis berates, slowly emptying

the contents of his bag. And, oh. They’re not bad at all! They’re actually quite nice. “Your boydid good!” he calls, holding the trunks up to himself. “I might just win best dressed.”“Let’s hope so,” Niall says, tumbling out of his room in freshly purchased sporting clothes, pricetag still on his vermilion polo. Which looks ridiculous.“Come here, you knob,” Louis says, shaking his head before unpinning it from the collar. Hegives him a final once over. “There. Good and proper. Off you go, then.”“Good luck at the party,” Niall grins, mussing up Louis’ hair. “Show him who’s best!”“I will. FYI, I’m going to be texting you the entire time.”With one last shake of the head, Niall leaves.So.It’s Louis vs. Party right now.Game. On.Chapter End NotesThis was one of those boring, necessary chapters. Le sigh.

VIIChapter SummaryHarry Styles hosts a party. Judgment ensues.Chapter NotesI made up a lot of Harry's tattoos because this is AU! Some are based off reality, butmost aren't. Because, well...I could go into it but that would be dull. So, I'm awarethat he doesn't have the described tattoos. I'm just painting a picture.See the end of the chapter for more notesLouis arrives to the party forty-five minutes late, his brand new—and very fetching, he must say—trunks underneath his jeans, wearing Niall’s white polo which he grabbed last minute. (What canhe say? The boy’s got some good clothes. They’re few and far between, but they do exist.) He’sin the right place—he said Harry’s name at the front desk and they seemed to know what he wastalking about—and it’s absolutely gorgeous inside, even if he doesn’t recognize a soul.The pool is indoors, surrounded by crystal clear glass windows that arch and reach to the sky. Thewalls are limitless and cream colored, the pool is vast and sparkling, and beautiful vines withbrightly colored flowers paint the corners of the room, perfuming the chlorine scented air.It reeks of wealth and over-indulgence.Sure, it’s lovely. But it's also wasteful and Louis feels really fucking out of place with his Tom’sand judgmental eyes.Girls and boys wearing their finest swimwear, holding cocktail glasses, tumblers of rum, andchampagne flutes, screech and squeal as they splash each other in the pool, making Vines on theiriPhones and posing for Instagram pics.Louis sort of wants to set them all on fire. And damn, they’d light up fast with all that liquorstrewn about.Near the pool is a fountain, possibly crafted by giants, spewing out what looks to be pastel pinkwater. Which—why the fuck? And, oh yes, there are people in there, too. They’re splashing andspewing up tinkling laughter and drunkenly balancing on the edge in heels and…appear to bedrinking it. All right, then. So there's that.“If that’s a fountain of champagne, I swear to god,” Louis mumbles under his breath.But the scene only gets worse.Because just as Louis is on the verge of considering walking out (there are servers swoopingaround with caviar smeared on crackers and there’s an entire room dedicated to smoking cigarsand watching a footie game—come the fuck on now) Louis spots Harry Styles.

With a fucking falcon on his arm.Because, yes, Harry Styles has a fucking falcon. He's got the protective arm sleeve andeverything. On top of that, he’s adorned in a pink suit and gray satin bowtie. At a pool party.What the actual fuck?“Louis!” a voice suddenly exclaims from behind, and oh, praise the heavens, it’s Liam, wearingtiny black trunks (nice abs, Liam, ten points to Gryffindor) and holding a champagne glass. Zaynis at his side in a white button up rolled to his elbows and light brown slacks, fedora in place.“There you are! I’m so glad you’ve come!”“Why do you always think I’m not going to come?” Louis asks, shaking his hand, then Zayn’s.Liam shrugs. “I suppose it's because I’m not sure if I would go to all these strange gatheringshosted by strange people I barely even know.”“Well. I like strange people and I like strange gatherings even more,” Louis grins impishly, andLiam laughs his approval as Zayn smirks. “But what exactly is happening right now?”“How do you mean?” Liam asks, puzzled.“Well, I come here and Harry Styles has a bird on his arm," Louis says, he hopes not toounkindly. "What is that…about?” He's playing nice.Zayn laughs out loud and it’s quite a marvelous laugh, soft and pleased, and Louis can’t help butfeel a tiny bit proud of himself. From what he’s gathered, Zayn is a bit of a stoic character and anychance to see that genuine smile—which is gorgeous, in all honesty—is appreciated.“He just got him,” Liam says, smiling. “He’s so cute. Would you like to pet him?”Louis stares.“Is nobody seeing the issue in this?" he plows on, quirking an incredulous brow. "That he’scurrently in possession of a bird of prey? I’m almost certain that’s against the law.”“No, no. I’m actually good friends with the president of PETA, so he should be fine," Liam smileseffortlessly. He belongs in a toothpaste commercial.Louis continues to stare. “You’re good friends with the president?”“Yes, that’s right.”“Naturally." His tone is flat. "That makes sense.”“He’s a wonderful man.”“All right.”Zayn smirks. “Liam’s friends with everyone over forty.”“I am not!”“Yes you are. You can’t help it, love.” Zayn’s eyes slide to Louis. “But don’t worry about thebird. I’ll make sure he’s given a proper home.”

Louis smiles at that and nods, genuinely surprised. Wasn’t Zayn supposed to be this terrifyingforce of beauty and power? For the most part he seems like a gentle soul, mild mannered andobservant. He also has a brain.Then again, Louis still doesn’t really know the boy at all.But, no matter, because Louis currently has far more pressing issues at hand.“Fuck, he’s coming over,” Louis breathes, watching as Harry spots them and begins saunteringforward, falcon in tow. A sentence Louis had never thought he would say in his life.“Louis Tomlinson,” a deep, husky voice purrs, and the words spread over the trio like molasses,catching under Louis’ nails and clogging his ears. “Hi,” he greets cheekily, dragging out the wordin lilting tones. All the while as the beady eyes of the falcon peer nervously into Louis’ soul.“Hello,” Louis greets distastefully, and gives the bird a once over.“Lads,” Harry nods to Liam and Zayn, before returning his cutting stare back to Louis, his fake,toothy grin in place. “And how are you this afternoon?”“You know what, I would be a lot better if you didn’t have an endangered species sat on yourarm.”“They’re not endangered anymore. His species is well on its way to recovery.”“Even so, you’ve still got a fucking bird sitting on you.”“Cleopatrick.”“Sorry?”“His name is Cleopatrick,” Harry clarifies, and his grin is so wide and goofy, Louis could almostbelieve it to be genuine if it weren’t for the emptiness in his gaze.“Cleopatrick? Are you serious?” Louis deadpans, staring him--and Cleo-fucking-patrick--straightin the eye.“He’s thought of worse names,” Zayn says mildly with a bemused smile, hand on Liam’s back.“He named a cactus ‘Chlamydia’ one time,” Liam explains, and Harry’s grin widens, teethglinting under the rays of sunlight streaming through the skylights.“It’s a beautiful name,” he says softly, turning to stroke Cleopatrick on the head. Its wide, blackeyes blink momentarily in contentment, apparently accustomed to human touch, and it almostactually looks to be enjoying the caress.Even so, it’s a fucked up situation, so Louis just glares. “It’s still a ridiculous name.”“Really? I quite like it,” Harry says absentmindedly, still stroking the bird. And fuck, does it takehim all day to carry on a full conversation? Each word is said so painfully slow, Louis could runverbal laps around the git. “A girl over there named him.”“So you just agreed straight away and named it that? You couldn’t have taken any moresuggestions?”Liam giggles, and Zayn smirks.

“Well. She actually wanted me to name him ‘Barney.’ But I didn’t like it, so I named him‘Cleopatrick.’ But it was because of her I named him. You know?”“So you named the bird.”“Correct, Louis Tomlinson.”And Louis decides that he hates the way Harry says his name, all slow, rumbling, and flowing likea thunderstorm. Or crushed velvet. It’s not appealing at all, not in the slightest. It'sfucking...irksome. It's an irksome sound.“So. Tell me. Why on earth did you buy the poor damn thing in the first place?” Louis then asks,cutting off Liam who was beginning to inquire about the whereabouts of the loo. Too bad.Harry, also failing to acknowledge Liam (who’s now full-on pouting to Zayn), merely says,setting his cold, green eyes back on Louis, “I liked him. It’s my new thing. Do you like birds?”“I do not like birds. They shit everywhere, they fly at your head, they’re not very cute, and I don’ttrust their eyes. They’re very penetrating.”At that, Harry’s lips twitch, almost as if to laugh, before smoothing back out to the wide,unnerving grin. “Best stay away from Cleopatrick, then. His eyes are extra penetrating,” he sayswith a slow blink of his own eyes. Of course he manages to make it creepy.Louis narrows his eyes at the words, already feeling his muscles tense in agitation. “I assure youthat I'll have no problem staying away from Cleopatrick, especially if he’s going to be attached toyou all day. Now, darling, I’m going to find some champagne and pretend like I’m having a goodtime.” With that, Louis begins to stalk off.“I suggest the fountain. Glasses are over there,” Harry calls, gesturing to a table with a tower ofsparkling and freshly polished champagne glasses, waiting to be filled.And yep, that confirms it—it’s a fountain of fucking champagne. How does that even happen?“Of fucking course,” Louis sing-songs in reply, not looking back.He’s sad to have left Liam and Zayn—the only two people at this party that he’s even close toknowing—but he needs, absolutely needs, to be away from Harry Styles before he kills him andhis little bird, too.So he waltzes towards the tower of champagne glasses, steals the one at the very top, and drinkshis irritation away.**It’s been a few hours and a few glasses later, and Louis has had many successful conversationswith the guests.Well. Maybe not exactly successful.The last guy he talked to kept banging on about his father’s yachts.“We’ve gone through so many, I can’t even count. My brothers have crashed over a dozen. It’s nobother, of course, since my father’s the head of the company. We get them all the time—we’ve noroom for them anymore.”

Are there people in the world who actually find this kind of conversation interesting?“Ah, yes,” Louis fake-relates, nodding his head as he stares at a plant. “My father owns the Britishspace programme, so we’ve a bunch of old rockets and spaceships lying about.”“Oh, do you?” Nameless Boy asks, intrigued.For fuck’s sake.“No. That was meant to be a joke.”"Oh."An awkward silence ensues.“So…What does your father own?”And then Louis officially un-invests himself in the conversation.Since then, he’s stripped down to his trunks (and yes, he caught a few gazes so maybe he's not aspasty and ill-shaped as he had thought) and has been swimming luxuriously, occasionally spottingLiam and Zayn and having a laugh. Liam even hopped in the pool for a bit to keep Louiscompany at one point, but Zayn never even changed into proper swim attire, opting to sit on themarble benches to the side, elegantly smoking cigarettes and adjusting his fedora. Which doesn’tsurprise Louis in the slightest--Zayn doesn't seem like the type to splash around in pools.Currently, Louis is lying on the cool floor of the room alone, staring up into the sunny blue skythat peeks through the skylight. His hair is still damp, his fingers are still pruny, but he honestlycouldn’t care less, feeling relaxed and at peace with the world.Perhaps he should text Niall.It’s just as he’s reaching for his trousers that a large pair of feet saunter up to him.And Louis prays, absolutely prays, that it’s not who he thinks it is. With agitation already buildingin his stomach, he looks up.And, yep.It’s him.Dressed in tiny pink swim trunks and nothing else. And, to Louis’ surprise, peppered with tattoos.There’s a ‘G’ on his right shoulder, an 'A' on his left, and unfamiliar scrawls written near hiscollarbones and down his left bicep. There are little images as well, like crowns and triangles anddiamonds and what may or may not be a doodle of a cat, and on his wrist is a tiny lock and whatappears to be the zodiac sign for Aquarius.Interesting. (Not.)“Well, hello,” Harry rumbles, staring down his nose at Louis. How appropriate for the egotisticaltwat.“Where’s Cleopatrick?” Louis asks pointedly, refusing to greet him in return.“Zayn’s watching him,” he says smoothly, and offers his hand to Louis. “May I help you up?”“Why do you think I want to stand up?”

“To talk to me. I’m lonely up here.”“You’re joking, right?”Harry just grins back, wide and unapologetic, his hand still outstretched. And, once again, Louiscould almost believe his flirtatious sincerity—if it wasn’t for those fucking eyes. That completelyunnerving stare that's going to start haunting Louis’ nightmares if he’s not careful.Still, Louis takes his hand, if only because his bum is beginning to hurt, and stands up briskly.And then Harry kisses his hand.He actually kisses his fucking hand, cold lips pressed against warm flesh.“This isn’t Disney. You can stop now,” Louis mutters in a wry tone, wrenching his hand away.“Hey. I was merely being polite,” Harry smirks, curls brushing into his lazy eyes.“I’m sure.”They stare at each other, Harry grinning winningly, hands behind his back, Louis eying him withsuspicious distaste.“Why are you trying to pull me again?” Louis suddenly asks, voice hard as he folds his arms.“I’m not. Never was! I’m just trying to have a nice conversation,” Harry purrs, before glancingdown at Louis’ very appealing trunks. “Not that I wouldn’t mind having a go, of course.” And thesentiment is rude and demeaning, but Harry matches it with his dimple and tilted head, and Louiscan understand why he ensnares so many unwitting victims.Unfortunately for him, Louis is far from unwitting.“You’re vile, you know that? None of your child’s tricks are going to work. I actually have a soul,something you are clearly unfamiliar with.”Harry’s smile falls just the tiniest bit, and Louis once again sees that flash in his eyes—that brief,fleeting moment of actual emotion that is too momentary to place. And then, once again, it’s gone.“Are you intimidated by my tattoos?” he suddenly asks, and Louis actually starts at that, because—what? Was that line actually just used? And completely out of nowhere?“You mean, am I intimidated by a bit of ink that’s been stabbed into your skin? Or do you meanthe actual images themselves? Because neither are anywhere near intimidating, I can promise you.A silverback gorilla—now that’s intimidating,” Louis says, mustering all the judgment hepossesses and pouring it on Harry, flicking hair out of his eyes and placing his hands on his hips.“What if I got a silverback gorilla tattoo?”“Still no. Do you want me to be intimidated?”“Do you want to be?”“No, for fuck’s sake. You really are thick.”“I’m actually a genius. A prodigy, even. All my tutors tell me so.”“That’s cute. For being a genius, you’ve got an awful lot of stupid tattoos.”

Harry’s smile falters. “No I don’t.”“Yeah, mate. You do.”And now Harry is openly scowling at him. “I like them.”Louis rolls his eyes, and inspects the tiny lock painted on Harry’s wrist. “That one’s all rightbecause it’s small. I hate tattoos, by the way. Oh, what’s that say? Some script, it looks like. Youget your girlfriend’s name?” Louis asks in a patronizing voice, poking at Harry’s diamond studdedwatch and the words written underneath in boldface.Harry immediately rips his hand away, movements jerky and eyes glaring with an intensity Louis’never encountered before, truly startling him. His eyes, glinting a deep green that holds noceremony or pretense, bore into Louis, and, fuck. For the first time, Louis feels like he’s looking atan actual person and not a manikin.Louis feels like he may actually be looking at Harry Styles.“Don’t touch my watch,” is all he says, and even his voice loses its musical mockery, insteadsettled low and monotonous.“Why? Because you’ve got real diamonds embedded in it like a nice little posh boy? Don’t wantto smudge them?” he presses, his own temper prickling.For a second, Louis wonders if Harry is going to punch him, and his blood begins pumping withfire, his temper charged and ready to go.But then it’s gone.The scowl, the frown, the realness—it's all gone, replaced by another charming smile and acardboard stare.“Of course they’re real diamonds,” Harry says, voice back in place. “I’ve never understood thereason for fake ones. I like things to be genuine,” he says, and isn’t that a joke?“Perhaps price has something to do with it,” Louis says dryly. “Because, you know, noteverybody was born into extreme, undeserved wealth?”Another flicker dances across his face for the briefest of seconds, soon replaced by a large grin. “Isuppose. But price has never been an issue with me.”Louis stares.There are a thousand bitchy things he could reply with. There are a thousand smacks he could layon this boy.But instead, Louis just blinks, and settles for, “I’m going to go over here now,” and walks away.**About half an hour later, Harry finds him again, as soon as Liam and Zayn depart to refresh theirdrinks, leaving him alone.“You look painfully sober. Are you sure you’ve enough to drink?” he asks, striding up to Louis,and he’s wearing a large white t-shirt over his pink trunks, large, peculiar sandals on his feet.

“You’re back. Aren’t you supposed to be hosting this party?” Louis mumbles, pursing his lips andlooking anywhere but at the nuisance beside him.“I am hosting. I’m talking to my favorite guest,” he smirks, and sends the most insincerely intensestare Louis’ way. He looks more bored than allured, probably mentally picking his clothes for thenext day or trying to decide what drug to do next.“Do you flirt with everything? Like, even Cleopatrick?”“Especially with Cleopatrick. And he’s with a mate, by the way, before you ask. I look after him,don’t think I’m a bad father.”“We’ll see how that theory holds. Now, run along. I need Louis Time and it’s getting dark—you’ll need to change to your evening outfit.”Harry’s smile widens. “How did you know about my evening outfit? Did you bring one as well?”“Don’t be thick.”“You can borrow something of mine, if you’d like.”“You’re still being thick.”“You can help me undress,” he says lowly, and while he probably finds it to be a temptation,Louis almost spits up all the champagne he’s drank that day.“Good lord!” he exclaims, turning to face Harry fully. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I wellunderstand what it’s like to be attractive”—Harry raises his eyebrows—“but do you genuinelybelieve that people actually want you that much? Do you really think that saying things like thatmatters? That they’re worth saying? Because you do talk some shit and you look like an utterprick.”Immediately, the scowl is back. Harry stares, eyes set in a flashing glare, and Louis can see theglint of his diamond watch and the various rings coating his fingers as he clenches his fist.“Can I refresh your drink,” he clips suddenly, and it’s not really a question, stare hard andunyielding.“No thanks, I can get my own,” Louis says evenly, matching Harry’s glare.Without another blink, Harry stalks away.Success.**The rest of the party, Louis stays by Liam and Zayn’s sides.They mingle with the crowd, Liam conducting polite conversation while Zayn and Louis makesjokes about the sloppy drunk kids stumbling around and the pretty girls with no wit.“I went to school with him,” Zayn chuckles lightly, pointing at a boy fully immersed in thefountain without any trousers, drinking handfuls of the shimmering pink liquid. “He smelled likeglue.”“He looks like he would,” Louis muses, and clinks his glass with Zayn’s. “Here’s to smellingfresh!”

fresh!”Zayn smiles, taking a sip of his champagne, before setting down the class by his feet and pullingout a slim, guilt case and opening it. He offers a cigarette to Louis, who declines.“You should come around regularly,” Zayn mutters, lips wrapped around the stick as he clicks thelighter into life.Louis watches the flame engulf the tip, and Zayn’s perfect lips pucker around the end, sucking inthe air reverently. “I might kill your friend.”Zayn exhales smoke through a smile. “Not if he kills you first.”“True,” he laughs.“But I mean it. You should come round tomorrow.”“If you’re inviting me, then I will. I’ll bring my roomie.”“Who’s that, then?”“Niall Horan. He’s this Irish—““I know him. He’s a good lad. Got good spirit.”“That’s an understatement,” Louis says with a roll of the eyes. “He’s fun, though. They’ll enjoyhim.”Zayn nods, bringing the cigarette back to his lips. “You’re fun, too,” he acknowledges, looking atLouis with those piercing, lashed eyes. The boy is certainly beautiful.“I am?” Louis asks, surprised at such open praise--given the source.“Yeah. I like that you have no boundaries. You say whatever you want, to whoever. It’s nice,” hemumbles, and Louis smiles.“I get in trouble for it sometimes.”“I’ll look out for you,” Zayn promises, and he puts a gentle hand on his shoulder and offers thetiniest, sincere smile.“Thanks, mate,” Louis responds, touched.Zayn merely nods in return before taking another drag of his cigarette. “Besides, Liam quite likesyou.”“I what?” Liam suddenly asks, finally having been unburdened from the absolute knob he’d beenstuck making casualties with.“You like our Louis, don’t you?” Zayn asks, smiling widely at him, arm around his shoulders.Louis can’t help but admire the pair as Liam cuddles into his side; Zayn doesn’t smile like that foranybody else. At least not that Louis’ seen.“I love Louis,” Liam affirms, looking over to Louis with joy. “He’s quite fun.”“See, I told you,” Zayn smirks, and Louis lifts up his glass once more.

“To us!” he sings, thrusting the champagne into the air.“To us!” they chorus in return, and the cold, jolting sweetness of the champagne fizzes and slidesdown Louis’ throat with a pleasantness he never knew he adored so much.**The evening progresses into night, and the lights are dimmed, the music increases in volume, andthe guests become messier and more vibrant.Occasionally, Louis spots Harry.He’s completely rid of the falcon now, probably due to the sheer noise in the place and the factthat he’s begun to stumble over his own feet a bit.Still, despite his apparent intoxication, he’s the perfect host. He preens and poses and laughs at theright times and urges everyone to try the oysters and snaps his fingers whenever there’s an emptyglass and lightly touches the tips of his guests’ elbows as he laughs at their jokes and smiles intotheir eyes.He’s full of shit, that’s what he is.And people follow him. He looks like a ring master, his subjects surrounding him and hoppingthrough hoops. The room tinkles with laughter and the splash of water, and all the while HarryStyles is in the middle of it, posing for flashing photographs and shouting out celebrations into theair as he twirls around like a loud, drunken, reckless ballerina on top of the world.But how does nobody else see it? How does nobody else spot the shallowness, the fake childhoodinnocence, the cold hands and his unnerving ability to switch from emotionless to grinning inmilliseconds?How does nobody see what Louis sees?It fills him with anger, almost blinding anger, and more frustration than he knows how to handle.“I really hate him,” Louis shouts openly to Liam (thanks to all the alcohol) as the music picks uparound them, voices from all directions screaming and laughing.Liam laughs, unfazed. “Harry’s complex, yeah. But it’s hard not to like someone that charming!”he shouts back, before being swallowed in Zayn’s embrace and jumping back into the fray. Niallwasn’t lying. Liam really is a bit of an adrenaline junky. In the daylight he’s all sensibility andpolished sentences; at night, he’s loud and laughing, pumping fists into the air and swinging Zaynaround through a never ending haze of liquor.Louis continues to glare at Harry from across the room as he struts around in front of a group withflowers he’d plucked from the surrounding plants tucked into his curls, smiling and laughing andthrowing his arms out exaggeratedly. He remains that way for awhile, the center of attention,before eventually slinking off, alone.He stops near a window, picking up a few stray glasses and holding them up to the light, staring atthem with am impassive expression on his face, rotating them in his grip.He’s probably high off of his ass.Beams of moonlight catch on his face, illuminating his pallid skin, crimson lips, and the soft petalsof the blossoms tucked in his hair. And though the party swirls around him (and yeah, it’s a damn

good party, Louis can give him that) he appears to be in his own little world, face stony and silent,just peering at the glass and the prisms it creates in his eyes. But then suddenly his eyes are closedand his head is bent, his arms falling to his sides in limp defeat, and through his drunken haze,Louis finds himself beginning to walk towards him, curiosity and agitation bubbling up his blood.He wants to ask Harry why he is the way he is.He wants to ask why he makes pretty jokes and says lovely things and doesn’t mean any of it, andwhy he only seems genuine when he’s upset.Why he’s poisonously charming and errant, and completely barren of any substance or reality.Why, right now, amongst throngs of willing people and heaps of hedonism, he stands there alone,hanging his head, frozen to the spot.Then all of a sudden, without warning or transition, Harry awakens into life, leaping atop thefountain, arms outstretched and head thrown back to the heavens.“I AM NOT YOUNG ENOUGH TO KNOW EVERYTHING!” he bellows into the air, hisdeep, rasping voice reverberating against the walls.There’s a momentary lull in volume as all heads turn toward him, and Louis stands there blinking,unable to take his eyes away from Harry’s stiff figure, splayed like a crucifixion as the champagnefountain spits over his limbs, his eyes wide and unseeing and filled with the stars from the sky.It’s almost haunting, and Louis doesn’t breathe.Then, like clockwork, there’s a surge of amused laughter, and a few sporadic attempts at applauseas the party reconvenes.What the fuck?“Oh, Harold!” he hears a girl laugh, like this is such typical behavior of him, and Louis can’t helpbut throw a withering glare in her direction.Harry then leaps down, a wild grin on his face, and immediately becomes overrun by a swarm ofglittering arms and mouths open in laughter and exclamations. Soon he becomes lost in the fray,another head in a sea of chaos, leaving Louis to stand there in bewilderment, brain buzzingfervently.**The last time Louis sees Harry that night, he’s exiting the building amidst a pile of sloppy, sloshed,screaming boys and girls, half-holding him up. His sightless eyes are dilated, his skin glistens withsweat, curls sticking to his forehead, and his bow tie hangs, undone and forgotten.It’s a hot fucking mess.And Louis thinks, just as he’s gathering the last of his things, alcohol and sleep tugging at hislimbs (and the promise of cake at his flat):‘Yep, I’m definitely going to stay as far away from that as I can.’Chapter End Notes

Thanks for reading, pretty things!

VIIIChapter SummaryZayn Malik hosts a picnic.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesLouis awakens the next morning with a head that may have the potential to spontaneouslycombust.“Oh god,” he breathes, blindly reaching for water on his nightstand. But fuck, there is none—andwhere exactly is Niall? Shouldn’t he be checking on him and fetching him things?When Louis finally stumbled his way through the door last night, the boy was nowhere to befound, only the remnants of some Irish stew lying in the sink indicating that he had been there atall since Louis had last seen him.It didn’t irritate him or anything. It’s not as if he had mentally planned out his tirade about theparty and Harry Styles on the way home or anything. He really did enjoy the peace of solitude. IfNiall HAD been there, he probably would have ended up playing the fucking piano or farting.But now Louis is awake (only in the most generous sense of the word) and is weakly grasping atair, pillow over his face as he quietly suffers through existence.“Niall,” he calls weakly, voice burdened from sleep and dehydration.Champagne is evil. It’s pretty and fun and it loves you and it’s evil.“Niall,” he tries again, but his door is closed and he knows Niall is nowhere near doting enough tobe listening for Louis’ weak pleas.Thankfully, this is the twenty-first century.Feeling like he just crawled out of the devil’s ass crack, Louis fumbles for his phone, findingNiall’s name (he’s not talking about the fact that he’s made it to his list of favorites—it was forconvenience and nothing else) and pressing it with all the passion his hungover and pitied statecan muster.It rings once.“Tommo!” Niall answers robustly as soon as he picks up. “Where are you? I was just about tohave Rory get us some food.”“You sound very chipper for being awake so early,” Louis rasps.“It’s nearly midday.”“Midday is early. Anytime of the day involving the sun is early.”

“Can’t say I disagree with you there. But even so, I had lecture. Just came back, in fact.”Lecture.It’s Monday.Fuck.FUCK.“Fuck,” Louis repeats, and it’s a squeak of despair. “I slept clear through! I’m going to be kickedout of school at this rate.”“Don’t be dramatic. So what say you, then? Want anything in particular? Salmon? A sandwich?Lasagna?”“I’m going to need petrol. And a match. Throw in some gunpowder while you’re out.”“…Does this have to do with Harry?”“No. Well. I mean, I guess it could. But no—Niall, I think I’m dying.”“Where are you?”“In my room.”“You called me from your room?”“Yes.”“You’re in there right now?”“Yes.”There’s a pause on the other line, then the sound of heavy footsteps. The door bursts open, andthere’s Niall in black jersey shorts, a cream colored long-sleeve shirt, and a snapback, phonepressed to his ear. He looks tired, shadows deep under his eyes, but the brightness of his smilechases any of the darkness away.“Praise Jesus,” Louis breathes, dropping his phone instantly. “Come here,” he demands, armsoutstretched. “Carry me around, bring me water, and drug me. I beg you.”Niall grins wider, tucking his phone into his pocket before bouncing over to Louis, arms slidingbeneath his body.Ok, then. Apparently he’s actually going to pick Louis up. No complaints there.“Fun night?” Niall laughs, hoisting Louis into the air. Which does nothing for his stomach.“What’s ‘fun’? I’ve never heard of it. I’m only familiar with ‘pain’ and ‘regret’,” Louis groans,grasping at his abdomen. “Can you call Rory again and tell him to bring the hospital?”Niall laughs even louder in Louis’ ear (ouch) before clomping into the living room and droppingLouis inelegantly onto the couch.“Ow!” Louis whines, shielding light from his eyes. “You could be more gentle!”

“I’ve no time for gentle.” Niall hops away and Louis hears him rummaging through cabinets,turning on the faucet, and humming some intolerably chipper tune.Death to Irish.By the time he’s returned, Louis has already made a mental list of the ten best buildings he wouldfling himself off of right now to escape his misery. Because, true, Louis’ always been a bit of apartier and he’s had his fair share of hangovers. But never like this.He’s almost entirely sure that Harry poisoned him.“I think Harry poisoned me,” he voices aloud, grabbing the offered crystal glass of water and pills.“Guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Niall shrugs, hands on hips as he looks down at Louisthoughtfully.“For what?”“If you die.”“Lovely,” Louis glares, but settles his head back down on the pillow.“So how was it, then?” Niall asks, lifting Louis’ legs as he sits next to him, plopping them onto hislap.“Not so fast. Where were you? You were gone last night. I came home to an empty flat,” Louismourns.“I went out with some mates. Nothing big—just a few pubs and clubs and shite. Oh, I met MickJagger!” Niall adds as an afterthought.Louis releases his hands from his eyes.“Sorry?”“I met Mick Jagger. I have a picture, I’ll show you later.”And Louis really wants to elaborate on this (“YOU MET MICK FUCKING JAGGER ANDTHAT WASN’T THE FIRST THING YOU SAID TO ME?” and “JUST WHERE THEFUCK WERE YOU THAT MICK FUCKING JAGGER WAS PRANCING AROUNDMEETING PEOPLE?!”) but his head has a pulse and the bitter aftertaste of liquor and potentiallyimpendingvomit fill his mouth.So instead he just groans his frustration and settles back into the pillow, hands back on his eyes.“Right then. You’ve just forfeited your turn to speak because you’re a knob," he mutters irritably.Niall only laughs in response. "My night was fun as well. Long, frustrating, sweaty, but fun. Zaynand Liam were a good time. There was a champagne fountain which was potentially poisoned,there was a lot of shitty music, a gorgeous swimming pool filled with too many people, good food,and I even was able to witness Harry Styles’ split personalities firsthand.”“Did you, now?” Niall asks, surprised, arm slung over the back of the couch. “What did he do?”“Well, he tried to pull me again. And then again. But then he gave up and he turned into a totalwanker—you should’ve seen his face. Then later he climbed onto the fountain and startedscreaming things and he looked like he was on the verge of mental collapse. And then suddenly,

he was back to normal. Like nothing had happened at all! It was mental, mate. I’ve neverexperienced anything like that.”Niall smiles and shakes his head, clapping Louis on the arm. “Well, at least you had fun and heended up leaving you the fuck alone. You let me know if he ever bothers you, you hear?" Louisnods, a bit begrudgingly, but it smooths the light creases of concern on Niall's face all the same."Good," he nods. "Now. Since you’re feeling so shite, why don’t we smoke before lunch?When’s your next tutorial?”“I’ve got one in about two hours,” Louis pouts. Why is he in school again? Who said this wasfun? With a sigh, he curls in on himself, sinks deeper into the cushions of the couch.“Perfect.”And Niall gets up to get his bowl while Louis whimpers through his pain.**“You’d think you’d want to be a better student,” Niall strains as he keeps the smoke held in hischest, passing the small, glass fixture to Louis. “Seeing as how you’re spending all this money thatyou don’t really have.”Louis is becoming increasingly aware of Niall’s complete lack of tact.“It’s Charles’ money, not mine,” he mutters, wrapping his lips around the smooth glass andflicking the lighter. “Besides, I’ve only missed a couple lectures. Today’s an off day. I’ll be backto form come tomorrow.”“Who’s Charles?”“M’dad,” he replies the mouth-full of smoke.“Why do you call him Charles?”“Why do you ask so many questions?” Louis coughs as the smoke spews from him in waterfalls,vision blurring. “Hey, can you get my phone?”Niall agrees, eyes red and lidded, and heaves himself up off the couch. His movements are lesshyper, more measured as he strides to Louis’ room.He comes back a moment later with the prize in tow.“Thanks, mate. You’re the best,” Louis says absently, flicking it on.And oh!Text from Liam!‘Picnic today at 4pm. Wear blue. :)’“Wear blue,” Louis repeats, raising his eyebrows. “These blokes are something else, aren’t they?Bossy.”Niall smiles hazily. “Anyone born into money is bossy.”“Well, I know that you are.”

He nods. “Born that way. But you should go.”“You’re coming with me.”“I’ve got to go rowing.”Louis’ jaw drops in outrage as he turns to him. “That’s just becoming an excuse now, isn’t it?”“Nah, mate,” Niall chuckles, stretching his legs.“But I promised them you’d come. Now you look rude. You can’t be rude to Zayn Malik.”“I’ll go next time. I mean it,” he adds at Louis’ wry glare, “I think I’m going to quit.”“Why? Because you miss me?” Louis teases, scrunching his face (which maybe hurts his stillslightly pounding brain) and smashing it into Niall’s neck who laughs and wiggles away.“Too much rowing,” he explains amidst chuckles, then gets up, ruffling Louis’ hair on his waypast.“You better not be going to that damn pian—“But Louis is cut off by the beginnings of “A Thousand Miles.”“I’m going to smash that thing,” he grumbles to himself as he collapses onto the couch, facedown.And if his head begins hurting a little bit less at the tinkling notes, Louis will never admit it.**When Louis goes to lecture that day (like the good boy that he is—Niall was trying to convincehim to play football instead) he hears Zayn’s name repeated amongst the swirls of whispers over.And over. And over.“I saw Zayn Malik today!”“Zayn Malik just invited me to a party!”“Did you know Zayn Malik had his boys throw Gilbert Fopp into the lake?”“Zayn Malik shags everyone at his parties. That’s why he only lets all the pretty girls go.”“I just heard Zayn Malik telling someone that he bought a share of the school so that he could comanageit with his father.”“Ohmygosh, Zayn Malik just threatened to hire hitmen because a boy cut in the queue!”And it goes on, each whisper more outrageous than the next.The first dozen times, Louis calls them out.“Don’t be an idiot,” he snaps at a cluster of giggling girls, Louis Vuitton bags pressed to theirchests, hair glimmering. “He would never say that. Stop spreading that shit around.”But he’s only met with blank stares before they return to their conversation in full animation.

It’s going to be a long day.And though Louis really shouldn’t listen, really shouldn’t take any of it to heart, he can’t help butfeel a mixture of annoyance—he probably knows Zayn better than any of these boys and girls andZayn is nothing like he’s painted out to be—and curiosity.Because even though Louis gets on with Zayn and has grown increasingly fond of him in the twoinstances they’ve knocked about, he doesn’t really know him. And Louis has never been thenaive type. He knows that people are capable of many unsuspecting things.For all he knows, Zayn really could have hired a hitman because he grew impatient waiting for hislatte. It’s entirely possible, and Louis really can’t make an argument one way or another. The boycertainly has the power to do something to that effect.Feeling a little dazed (because what has his life become?) Louis spends the rest of his tutorial in ahalf-daze, envisioning the various scenarios in which he would be moved to such extrememeasures as to hire a hitman.**“I’m off to go to club now!” Niall greets as soon as Louis comes through the door, dazed fromhaving heard far too many playwrights’ names in too short a time. Can’t they just stop atShakespeare? Isn’t he the only one that really matters? Why is he in drama, again?“Row, row, row your boat,” Louis sings in a mumble, pumping a falsely enthusiastic fist into theair as he dumps his shoulder bag on the floor and kicks his shoes off.“Have fun at your picnic. Good luck with Harry. Text me if he’s being a cunt,” Niall says, blueeyes pointed in authority, and Louis can’t help but laugh.“Stop fussing and get on.”“I mean it, though. Text me if there’s trouble. Promise?”“Will you just go?”“Promise?”Louis literally kicks Niall out the door and slams it in his face. “I PROMISE!” he shouts throughthe heavy wood with a grin and roll of the eyes.He hears Niall’s muffled, “Damn straight,” before his footsteps recede into nothing.And now, it’s Louis vs. Picnic.First and foremost on the agenda? The outfit.So Louis bustles to Niall’s closet.**Once Louis is properly garbed (blue button-up, gray skinny jeans, and leather shoes) and hasreceived a helpful phone call from Liam (“Meet at our rooms and don’t bring anything exceptyourself!”) he exits his flat, the knowledge that he needs to do his homework at some point tonighttucked in the back of his mind.He retraces his steps from that very first luncheon, finding his way to the tower and winding his

He retraces his steps from that very first luncheon, finding his way to the tower and winding hisway up the steps until he meets with that familiar oak door, stood ajar in the exact same fashion asit had been only a few short days ago.“The party’s started, I’m here!” Louis calls, pushing the door open.Liam is standing by the window bedecked in a sky blue waistcoat, pristine white button-upunderneath, and sky blue slacks, efficiently texting on his Blackberry, the light from the windowilluminating his right side, before he looks up with a happy grin at Louis’ arrival.“Louis!” he exclaims, sounding genuinely excited.Louis categorizes Liam as a puppy. Niall’s the dragon, Zayn’s the snake, and Liam’s the puppy.And considering the puppy’s in love with the snake, it all makes for a very interesting scenario.Speaking of the snake, Zayn stands on the other side of the room in front of the mirror above thefireplace, carefully fixing any and all hairs that are out of place, face serious and full ofconcentration. He looks as if he’s been ripped out of a fashion mag, the spitting image ofperfection in his cornflower suit, sapphire cufflinks, and white leather shoes (that Louis may ormay not be salivating over). His signature fedora rests on the mantle.“Hey mate,” he deadpans as he fusses with a particularly stubborn strand. “Glad you could come.”He doesn’t exactly sound excited, he never does, but the boyishness in his tone is warm and atease, and Louis smiles, wondering how he could have questioned his character.Of course Zayn Malik wouldn’t hire hitmen. What even were these rumors?He’s not the kind of snake that wraps around unsuspecting throats and strangles the life out ofhelpless victims. He’s the kind that lies in the sun and winds down garden paths, peering curiouslyat you from the thistles.“SO glad you came,” Liam emphasizes, walking up to Louis and shaking his hand.Louis looks down at their hands. “Do we have to do this every time we greet each other? Cuz Igotta be honest—I’m not a fan.”Zayn chuckles.“Oh,” Liam says in surprise, and immediately lets go of Louis’ hand. “My apologies. Habit, Isuppose,” he reasons with a smile, before his eyes return to their squinted glee. “Well, shall we?Zayn, darling, are you ready?”“My hair’s shit today,” Zayn mumbles in answer, adorning his fedora in defeat.Liam smiles fondly, immediately walking over and standing behind him, hands on his shoulders.They lock eyes through the mirror and Liam’s grin widens as he rests his chin on his shoulder.“Your hair is never shit! I think you’re perfect. But we should go before the flowers wilt.”With a reassuring press of lips to Zayn’s neck, Liam guides Zayn over to Louis who watches thepair with a stubborn fondness in his chest. He’s not a sap, never was, but even a block of icewould admit that they’re cute.“Off we go then, lads,” Louis smiles, allowing them to walk ahead, before following closelybehind and smiling contentedly at the thought that Harry Styles is nowhere to be seen.**

He should have known that a picnic with Zayn and Liam was less of a ‘blanket on the ground’and more of a ‘white bistro tables and salmon tablecloths with wine and chocolates and violins.’And let’s not forget the piano.“You brought a fucking piano? You actually called someone to deliver a piano to your picnic?”Louis questions, disbelief bugging his eyes.“Of course! Every picnic needs a piano!” Liam laughs.Zayn’s own pressed grin admires Louis. “Do you play?” he asks mildly.“Not even a little bit. Niall tried to teach me but it didn’t do anything but piss me off.”“Do you sing? Zayn’s classically trained,” Liam gushes, smiling over at him like he’s the sun.“Are you now?” Louis asks, genuinely intrigued. “That’s brill! I’ve always wanted to sing.”“We’ll make a night of it!” Liam exclaims happily.“He sings, too,” Zayn says by way of explanation. “A lot.”“Not that much,” Liam protests. “Just when the opportunity arises. Now. Can we get youanything to drink Louis? Please, take a seat.”Louis obliges as he takes in his surroundings. It’s a beautiful clearing by a lake, the grass greenand soft, wildflowers peppering the landscape. There are soft willows grazing in the wind, ivytwining up the trunks, and the soothing sound of water licking at rocks blends perfectly with theviolinists.It feels alarmingly like a wedding.It’s a gorgeous place, though. They drove there, Zayn taking out that antique car that Louis hadseen on that first day he’d arrived (and he feels the tiniest big smug about being right—he knew itwas them in that car; he also realizes with a hit of annoyance that the curly head that had beenlaughing in the back, balancing on the top of the seats and thrusting the champagne? Yeah, thatwas Harry, of fucking course, but he’s not thinking about him right now if he doesn’t have to) andit’s a ways from school, but not incredibly far, tucked enough away that it feels private anddifferent.“Have some wine. And a cigar,” Liam offers, taking the seat next to him.“Don’t mind if I do,” Louis says, smiling sunnily up at the gentleman pouring his glass as Zaynslides him a thick, meaty cigar that costs more than his shoes.**With the warm breeze ruffling his hair, the undertones of cigar smoke permeating the smell ofblossoms and cheese, and the sunlight that catches on his eyelashes and throws prisms off of thecrystal, speckling the world with rainbow droplets, Louis finds himself falling in love with theway Zayn Malik holds social gatherings.And, okay, maybe he understands the dress code now-- the various blues of their outfitscompliment the grass and sky perfectly, brightening the atmosphere and providing for perfectpictures.

These are his people. They understand him.“You throw a lovely picnic, Mr. Malik,” Louis smiles, downing another glass of Pinot Grigio andselecting yet another cigar.“I’ve been told as much,” Zayn smiles, lounging in his chair and occasionally looking over toLiam who has begun playing the piano.“I notice none of the lads are here,” Louis says through the cigar between his teeth as he attemptsto light it against the breeze.Zayn leans over and cups his hands around the end until a successful flame has established.“Harry’s on his way,” he smirks, “if that’s what you mean.”“Who? Harry? Never heard of him,” Louis clips, breathing out the woody smoke.“I haven’t invited the other lads. I can though, if you like.”Louis shrugs. “Up to you, mate. It’s your picnic.”“Actually, it’s yours.”He stares at Zayn. “What do you mean?”“Liam asked me to have this in your honor. Didn’t he say?” Zayn asks mildly, motioning to theserver for another refill.“No,” Louis says and he feels his cheeks flush at the idea. “This is all for me? The chocolates, thecheese, the wine, the violins, the delivered piano? For me?”Zayn smiles lightly, observing him. “We already told you we like you,” he says, as if that explainsanything.“Wow,” Louis laughs, uncrossing his legs and fumbling a bit with his shirt. He’s not a sentimentalperson, but he can’t deny that he’s flattered and secretly very pleased. “I don’t know what to say.Thank you, love. I think we’re going to get on real well.” He grins winningly and salutes him,hoping his voice held his emotions in check.“I very much agree,” Zayn says in his silken tone, and just as he opens his mouth to say somethingmore, the sound of an engine comes rumbling up.They both turn to see a sleek black car pull up, its tinted windows cold against the peacefulambiance of their surroundings.The driver gets out, dutifully walks to the side, and opens the door, back stiff and attentive.Louis’ disappointment begins to prickle already because who else could this be but one person?And yep.Harry Styles, wearing a sapphire blue velvet suit and silver bow tie, holding a cluster of whitelilies, climbs out of the car, his thick curls catching in the wind and light, his venomous smileblooming as he takes in the scene before him.But he’s not alone.Five girls follow him.

Five.Louis bites back the surge of annoyance that floods him and instead settles for another swig ofwine.“This is going to be fun,” Louis breathes through gritted teeth, and Zayn glances at him with alight smirk.“Harry,” Zayn greets lazily, head tilted to the side.“Well, hello there, beautiful,” Harry purrs, and passes one of his lilies to him as dabs a kiss to hislips. “Hold this at all times. Lilies make everything better and I refuse to talk to anyone who isn’tholding one.”Oh for fuck’s sake.Louis bites back yet another surge of distaste with yet another gulp of wine. This is going to be along day.He sits there as Harry and Zayn chat, clutching his wine glass a little too tightly, and waits for theinevitable “Louis Tomlinson” and all the fake charm that he’s so accustomed to. Perhaps he’lldouble his efforts to win Louis over since yesterday was such an utter disaster for him.Harry smiles one last dead smile at Zayn before he disengages himself from the conversation.“You look perfect, by the way. I should’ve snatched you when I had the chance. Shouldn’t Ihave, ladies?” Harry grins, his arms sliding over the shoulders of the stack of girls on either side ofhim as Zayn’s smile falters very momentarily (odd).“We’re all very impressed,” Louis grumbles quietly, rolling his eyes.And there, he’s spoken. Now he’s going to get the classic Harry act and have to deal with—“Liam, love!” Harry calls suddenly, looking straight through Louis, and walking past him as if hewere an insect on a log.What the fuck?Appalled, Louis twists in his seat and watches him depart with his harem, hoping very much thathis jaw is not too dropped. He whips back over to Zayn.“He just ignored me. That wanker just ignored me!”Zayn shrugs. “He does that sometimes. Probably for the best.”“Of course. No, of course you’re right. I’m happy he’s not talking to me,” Louis fake laughsbefore delving into a half-assed conversation with Zayn, fervently ignoring the outrage andwounded pride that have settled in his bones.**Harry ignores Louis throughout the whole fucking picnic. He also chooses to give lilies to everysingle person (even the servers) except Louis.Even when Louis whips out a bitchy comment, it’s met with complete indifference, Harry optingto either check his phone, sip his wine, or bury his giggling face into one of the girls’ necks.

It’s great, really. Splendid, even.So Louis texts Niall.‘THAT FUCKER IS ACTING LIKE I DON’T EXIST. HE’S IGNORING ME !!!!!’Soon his phone alights.‘Congrats! Goal accomplished! Have fun mate x’And no, that wasn’t helpful at all.But Niall is right. He is. Louis needs to appreciate being ignored by the single most repulsivehuman being on the planet.So, stuffing his cheeks with chocolate, Louis stands up and joins them around the piano, Liam stillplaying, his lily draped on his lap, and Zayn sat next to him still clutching his, Harry (who nowhas one in his button hole as well as in his fist) and the prostitutes engulfing them.“You should try them out. They’re lovely,” Harry says, petting the girls beneath their chins as theycoo.And fuck no, he better not be talking about those girls like that.Zayn shakes his head with a light laugh. “We’re not interested in your girls, Harry. They’re allyours.”Okay, fuck. That is it. No more restraint.“You do realize those are people and not objects, Curly? And they’re not to be ‘tried out’?” Louisbites, folding his arms and staring hard at Harry.Harry’s grin freezes, eyes fixed on one of the girls. His expression transforms to one of completeannoyance, but he doesn’t look at Louis.The blonde cranes her head to look at Harry, clearly unimpressed, and not-so-subtly asks withdistaste, “Who’s that?”“Nobody,” Harry snaps, then returns his gaze to the piano.Louis’ tendons seize. His temper flares. And he begins a slow and steady mantra in his head: ‘Iwill not attack Harry Styles. I will not attack Harry Styles. I will not attack Harry Styles.’It’s not calming him at all, but it is preventing him from smashing his face in the dirt.The conversation continues, Louis firmly excluded; once in awhile Liam will ask him a politequestion, features set in a smile. His answer is usually cut short by Harry however, who managesto fill the space with superficial, ridiculous comments (at one point he drawls “I want to get drunkand look at myself” to one of the girls) and only agitates Louis further.“What happened to Cleopatrick?” Louis suddenly asks, glaring full on at the bastard.Harry sips his wine and stares at the sky.“Zayn found him the perfect home,” Liam smiles. “He was even able to keep his name!”“Was he?” Harry suddenly asks, seeming genuinely delighted.

“Yeah, they loved it!”“I hate the world,” Louis grumbles, but doesn’t press the subject further.The conversation continues in this manner, Harry telling them all about how Native Americannecklaces are his “new thing” and repeatedly showing the one he’s wearing underneath hisstarched collar.“My father has a whole collection I didn’t even know about. Mine now,” Harry winks, stuffingthe arrow head and feathers back underneath his shirt.“What do you mean, ‘mine now’?” Louis once again spits, and he curses himself and his completelack of control over his temper.Unsurprisingly, Harry completely ignores him.“Is Des back home?” Liam asks, looking up.Harry’s smile catches instantly. For a moment he stares at Liam, eyes lost, the cocky glow of hisface replaced with an almost imperceptive tension before he blinks rapidly and averts his gaze.“Yes.”The answer is short and packed with a pressure that lies just beyond reach, as if locked away in achest at the bottom of the sea.It surprises Louis, enough to stare closely at Harry and his brief bite of lip, and whereas Harry’scharm usually resurfaces instantly, he appears to be reassembling himself with slight difficulty.Zayn watches closely. “Would you like to sing a song, Harold?” he asks, voice gentle enough toinvoke Louis’ curiosity. Because what does he know? What do they all know? Niall had said Deswas a bit of a loose cannon, but there’s something intangible that suggests there’s more to thestory.So Louis watches Harry and those eyes that reflect nothing.“I don’t sing during the day. If you’ll excuse me, lads,” Harry says, tone flawless but expressionstill off kilter, and glides away, girls in tow.**Eventually, Harry returns to normal, preening, cracking bad jokes, and making odd observations,so any curiosity Louis had begun to feel for him has successfully evaporated, his annoyance backin place.Which is when, of course, Harry approaches Louis for the first time. Well, more Zayn than Louis,but Louis is right there so it still counts.“Zayn, precious,” Harry rumbles, the words dripping. “I don’t suppose you have any herbal jazzcigarettes on you, do you?” His grin is mischievous and sly.What the hell did he just ask for?“Not on me, no. Sorry, mate.”Harry purses his lips, eyes never leaving Zayn, his shoulders tensing with annoyance. “Does he?”

he then asks, jerking a thumb in Louis’ direction.Wow.Zayn looks to Louis. “Louis, mate, do you have any weed?”“No,” Louis says, and allows the word to soak with his irritation.Harry’s brow furrows. “How about pills, or anything like that? Does he have those?” he asksZayn, who is now apparently playing messenger.Zayn looks to Louis again. “Do you have any pills or—“Louis smiles out his impatience and places a gentle yet firm hand on Zayn’s shoulder.“I hear him, love.” Zayn nods and continues to look expectantly at him while Harry looksexpectantly at Zayn. “And no, I’m fresh out of narcotics.”Harry scowls, downing his glass of wine in one go. “Well,” he sighs, licking the remnants of thepurple liquid off of his ruby lips, “thank you for your trouble, beautiful. But I best be on my way.”“So soon? I thought you were going to serenade us when the sun went down,” Zayn muses.“I thought you were,” Harry counters, poking a finger into Zayn’s chest. “I miss yourprofessionally trained falsetto.”“I was waiting for you,” Zayn smirks and they grin at each other.Harry brushes his creamy knuckles against the caramel of Zayn’s cheekbone. “That’s what makesyou beautiful, darling. Text me when you’re back.”With that, he presses a chaste kiss to Zayn’s lips and turns on his heel, the light of the sunilluminating his velvet back, the lilies hanging limply in his grip.“I think I’m going to leave as well. I’ve got homework I absolutely need to do.”Without missing a beat, Harry spins around.“You know what, Zayn, I may just stay after all. The girls are enjoying themselves.”Oh, for fuck’s sake.“Subtle,” Louis glares, and though Harry does not return his gaze, he visibly smirks.Zayn shakes his head as he looks between the pair, just as Liam joins them.“You’re not leaving, are you?” Liam asks Louis, eyes wide.“I am indeed. Homework. You know. Being a student and all that.”“Can’t you just get somebody to do it for you? Just for tonight?”“Uh…”“He’s a good student, our Louis. Likes to do his homework himself. Don’t you?” Zayn asks.“Not really, no. But I need to try because I need to do good here. So, lads, it’s been a pleasure,”

Louis smiles, clapping Zayn and Liam on the shoulders.Harry busies himself with his cufflink.“Tomorrow,” Liam says before Louis departs, “we’re having a tea party at three. Zayn’s rooms.You must come. I’ll text you a reminder.”Louis nods and begins walking towards the road, getting out his phone to call Niall. “Soundsgood. I’ll see you then, lads.”“Let me drive you back,” Liam suddenly calls, jogging to catch up with him.“Oh,” Louis says, surprised. “You don’t have to.”“I’d be happy to,” Liam says cleanly, teeth perfect. “It gives us a chance to talk.”All right then.Louis laughs, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “As you wish, love. Thanks.”Liam beams and holds Louis’ door open for him. “Any time at all,” he replies, and smiles at Louisfor a bit longer than is necessary before getting into the driver’s seat and starting the car.**“Liam Payne just asked me if I wanted to have a threesome with him and Zayn Malik!” Louisshrieks as soon as he bursts through the door to his flat.Niall stares up from the tub of gelato he is currently devouring by the counter, giant headphonesshoved on his head. He flicks one off of his ear. “What?”“Liam Payne just asked me if I wanted to have a threesome with him and Zayn Malik!!” Louisrepeats, an octave higher.Niall stares for a moment, gelato dripping off of his spoon, before bursting into laughter.“It’s not funny!” Louis screeches. “What if that’s the only reason they’ve been nice to me?? Toadd me to their twisted, sex games? Am I just a body to them?”“Mate, mate, mate,” Niall guffaws, nearly doubled over, “That is classic! That is the best thingI’ve ever heard!”Louis folds his arms and glares. “Are you finished?”“No!” Niall manages, pounding a fist on the counter.“Great,” Louis breathes with a roll of the eyes. “I’m serious though, Niall. What kind of peopleare these? I was just beginning to like them!”“I’m sure that’s not the reason they like you,” Niall chuckles, his laughter finally dying down ashe wipes tears from his eyes. “Did you agree?”“OF COURSE NOT!”“Did he take it well?”“Yeah. I mean…yeah. He was fine, actually. It was just a casual offer. I don’t think he was

planning it out or anything,” Louis says, sitting down on one of the velvet armchairs and feeling abit sick.“How did it come up?”“Well, he was talking about his and Zayn’s relationship then he asked me if I was single, then heasked why, and then he just asked me!”“Was it a pity invite? Because you’re alone?” Niall asks, putting the lid on the gelato and returningit to the freezer.Oh god.Louis shrinks in horror. “OHMYGOD. You don’t think it was, was it? Does he think I’mpathetic? And so lonely that he was offering his and his boyfriend’s bodies to me?” Louis pondersthis good and hard, then suddenly clutches a hand to his chest, gasping. “Ohmygod, but that’s sortof beautiful.” He looks up at Niall with shining eyes.Niall faces him and stares, eyebrows nearly lost in his hairline. “Beautiful? Are you being serious?Tommo, is that you? Are you drunk?” Niall asks, and walks up to Louis and inspects his facesuspiciously.“I mean it, Nialler! If that’s what he really meant, that’s so sweet!”“Not really. Still a bit fuckin’ creepy.”“Creepy, yes, but much less so than when I thought he was just after my perfect body. He was justbeing polite,” Louis exclaims with sentiment, smacking Niall on the arm with enthusiasm.“Awwww, you lads and your posh manners. You’re a bunch of nutters, but I think you’regrowing on me.”Niall shakes his head and laughs, pulling Louis off of the chair and into a standing position.“Funny that it took a sexual proposition for you to see that and not, say, us being mates. But Idon’t look a gift horse in the fuckin’ mouth. So. Let’s play FIFA.”“Then dinner? My choice?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow.“Your choice,” Niall agrees, then hops over the back of the couch and settles himself on it, Louisfollowing with a pleased grin.Chapter End NotesOkkaaaay. So. I'm warning you now, I am going to do terrible things to Harry'scharacter before he gets better. I feel guilty because the real Harry is literal sunshineand flowers, but I'm having fun warping him in this story. SO. Just so you're warned,he's going to be a HOT MESS in the next chapter.His song is "Hook & Line" by the Kills. Hands down. To get a vibe of who thisHarry Styles is in this story, listen to that song yo. And, just for the record, "ThisBoy" by Franz Ferdinand is Niall's. That sums him up as well. :)Thanks for reading, you're all perfect!

IXChapter SummaryLouis attends a not-so-tea party and is introduced to Harry Styles' demons.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesThe next day, after being woken up dutifully to Niall’s flawless rendition of Chopin’s ScherzoNo. 2 Opus 31, Louis attends all of his lectures, homework firmly done and ready for a look over,and is the best student he’s ever been, taking notes in every course and not once drawing a doodleof a noose.He’s so proud of himself on his way home that he’s about to offer to treat Niall to scones andscotch, when his phone rings, “The Imperial March” flooding the air.Mum.Fuck.Well. There are two options now. Either Louis can slide the phone back into his pocket and neversay a word….or he can answer. Given that he has yet to answer one of his mum’s calls, hedecides on the latter, nerves already tensing.“Mum,” he greets faux cheerfully as he unlocks the door to the flat.“Boo bear,” she says quietly. Suspiciously quietly. Fuck.“What’s wrong?” Louis immediately asks, keeping the agitation out of his voice as he shouldersthe door open.Niall’s sitting at the piano again, smoking a cigar while the TV’s on.Louis nods in his direction before averting his attention back to the phone.“Oh…nothing. I just.” There’s a pause on the other line and he hears a sharp intake of breathfollowed by a near-sob. “I miss you, love.”Goddammit.He knows what this means.“Mum. Mum, are you watching after the girls? Where are you?”“I’m outside. I need to be alone right now.”“Where are the girls? Are they being looked after?”“They’re fine, Louis. I miss you—“

“MUM. Maggie’s only FOUR. Get back inside right now. You need to look after them.”“I don’t want to,” she says, beginning to cry, and Louis’ nerves fizzle as he brings a hand up tomassage his temples.“It’s not about what you want. You’re their mum. You can do this. Just like you were a goodmum before Charles left…you can be a good mum without him. Come on.”The line is quiet, filled only by the muffled sound of wind and deep breaths.“You’re right, love. You were always wise beyond your years.”Louis nods, his teeth gritting. “I had to be. Now get back inside, yeah? Please?”“I will. I’ll look after them, Lou. Just wait, I’ll be a good mum. I’ll do you proud.”“Do yourself proud,” he says, and tries his best keeping his own emotions in check, his voicedangerously close to rising.Niall looks up at him, brow furrowed, but Louis ignores him for the moment, instead walking overto the row of low set windows that line the wall. He stares out into the sunny expanse of grass,students milling about, and faintly notes that he’s in the very spot where Zayn had gotten sick allover him just that short time ago.“I will.” There’s another pause. “Miss me, Lou?”Louis closes his eyes. “Yes, mum. Now get back inside, please. Please. I love you,” he adds as anafterthought.“Love you, too. Keep in touch.”And then the line is dead.“Fuck’s sake,” he mumbles, setting down his phone on the counter as he drops into the nearestchair.“Was that your mum?” Niall asks with surprise, staring at Louis from across the room, hands nowin his lap.“Yeah.”“What’s wrong with her?”“Everything.”Niall just stares.With a roll of the eyes, Louis elaborates. “She’s not been right ever since Charles left all thoseyears ago. Sometimes she just takes off or forgets about us kids. All she does is cry and look forthe people who aren’t in her life. So I have to remind her now, since I was the one who took careof everyone when I was at home.” Louis hears the bitterness that tinges his words and prays Nialldoesn’t ask for further details.Thankfully, he doesn’t.“Fuck. That’s rough, mate.”

Louis shrugs. “It is what it is. Now, what are your plans for the day? Because we have a tea partyto attend.”Niall then smiles, lighting up the shadows of the room instantly. “All right.”“All right? No excuses? No rowing club? You’re actually going to come?”“Yep. I quit yesterday. I was bored out of my shite mind. So let’s go to a fuckin’ tea party!” Andhe hops off of the piano stool, barreling himself into his room with a loud whoop.Louis smiles. This may just turn out to be a splendid day indeed.**When they arrive at Zayn’s rooms, dressed in awkwardly matching outfits which they onlyrealized after they were almost there (“Niall Horan, you are going to march straight back to ourflat and change this instant. My braces match your trousers. That is NOT acceptable.” “Our shirtsmatch, too.” “NIALL!”), Louis is already a tad flustered.Luckily Niall is incapable of that emotion.“Knock, knock!” Niall calls from the other side of the oak door, the very embodiment of antishyness.“You know that’s rude. You should’ve let me do that,” Louis scolds.“Why?”“Because I know them.”“I know them, too!”“Not as well as me!”“I’ve known them longer.”“It doesn’t work like that—all you rich people know each other or are related! It’s like incest!”A voice interrupts.“Come in!” Liam’s voice sings, and shooting one last glare in Niall’s oblivious direction, Louisopens the door.The room is gorgeous as ever, the table set with Victorian style chinaware that glints amongst thesunlight and ambient lighting, fresh roses and hydrangeas overflowing out of glass vases. Thereare crumpets, scones, and biscuits stacked in neat little piles on elegant, gilt trays. It's marvelous. Abreeze wafts through the maroon satin curtains of the windows, and Louis almost laments that thepiano is sitting, untouched—a bit of music would really accent the setting perfectly.“You’ve outdone yourself once again, Zayn,” Louis greets, and Zayn smiles from the head of thetable as Liam fills his teacup.“Louis!” Liam beams, looking up with a glimmering smile and starched shirt.“Hello, hello. This here’s—“ Louis starts before:“Heeey, mates! Good to see you again,” Niall belts, smacking a handshake to Zayn’s gentle hands

and repeating the gesture with Liam who looks utterly delighted.“Good to see you, Horan! How’s the old man?” Liam asks with jolly etiquette.Niall grins in that way that suggests he’s on the verge of barking laughter, hands splayed on hiships, and stance dominant. The dragon is out to play. “He’s great. Stop by and see him any time!He’s usually at the studio. You know.”“I do, and I really must. It’s been so long since we’ve had a proper sit down.” Liam’s words areperfectly articulated, his accent sickeningly posh, and Louis wonders if he learned how to read byway of an etiquette manual.Unlike Niall, with his chunky Rolex and huge white shoes and agape mouth.“Yeah. He actually likes you, so he’d enjoy that. You can bring Bill along!”“What an excellent idea! Father hasn’t socialized in forever—the business has kept him so busy.He’d love to see Jonathan again.”Dear lord.“I told you he’s only friends with middle-aged men,” Zayn smirks at Louis as he brings the teacupto his perfect lips.Louis stares at the pair as they talk, completely out of his element. “Fair enough. Well, then. Tea?”He sits down to the right of Zayn, just like that very first luncheon, and immediately holds his cupup to Liam expectantly, batting his eyelashes.Liam grins and pours from his teapot immediately as Niall takes a seat beside Louis.“Thank you,” Louis smiles, then brings the cup up to his lips and takes a large gulp. And nearlyspits it out. “What the hell??” he splutters, almost dropping the priceless fixture.“What’s wrong?” Liam asks, alarmed.“Is this whiskey?” Louis coughs, clutching his throat in alarm.Zayn smiles smokily. “Don’t be daft, Louis. It’s Darjeeling and scotch.”Oh, obviously.“Are you sure there’s Darjeeling?”Zayn looks up at Liam who shrugs. “I put a bit in, I think.”“You think?”“This is fuckin’ delicious!” Niall suddenly boasts, guzzling his cup like it were water.Louis stares, his own throat still burning.That boy.“Not all of us came out of the womb with a bottle of whiskey,” Louis glares, secretly marveling atthe way he refills his teacup instantly and pours it down his throat without even a blink of the eye.“Thatta boy,” Zayn smirks, and offers Niall a cigar.

“Oh, excellent. Is this a Black Petite Lancero?” Niall inquires, bringing the thing to his nose tosniff for no apparent reason. Louis will never understand the ways of the rich.“It is. The only kind I like. In August, at least,” Zayn adds, and his smile widens at Niall’scackling laughter.“Cheers, mate,” Niall laughs, raising his teacup.The china clinks as they meet, sending Liam into little sugary smiles as he takes a bite of acroissant, while Louis looks between the two, eyebrows raised. How is it that Niall becomes bestmates with every. single. person. that’s in the same room as him? And just what the fuck is a‘Black Petite Lancero’?“You really are the social little butterfly, aren’t you?” Louis sighs, shaking his head as Niall grabsa fistful of scones.Niall shrugs, and begins slathering on the jam. “I’d like to think I'm more of a dragonfly and lessof a butterfly, but it’s all good, mate.”And Louis is just about to deliver a witty response when suddenly Niall’s gaze focuses onsomething just beyond Louis’ shoulder.“Harry, mate!” he exclaims, immediately standing up and walking towards the source of all evil.Louis turns around to see Harry gliding into the room, wearing a pale yellow suit, a prominentNative American necklace (this one looks a bit more like a dream catcher) and his signature bowtie, looking very much like the cat who got the cream.And oh, would you look at that. He’s brought guests again—this time a beautiful boy and abeautiful girl.How endearing.“Niall Horan,” Harry greets in his velveteen voice, shaking hands and smiling charmingly. “Howare you, m’boy?”“Not as good as you apparently. Who are your guests?”“Oh. This is Roxy and Lullaby.”Lullaby? Someone’s name is Lullaby? Really?“Which one’s Lullaby?” Louis asks as they stand on either side of Harry and stare at him like he’sJesus.But apparently Harry is still ignoring Louis’ existence.“Let us indulge now. After you, my darlings,” Harry smiles, allowing Niall, Roxy, and Lullaby towalk ahead.The girl is stunning, with powder blue hair and a white dress that hangs off of her bony shoulders.The boy is even more stunning, his silken gold hair tousled above lavender eyes--hello, contacts.His clothes are artfully disheveled, in the way only buckets of money can create.“How are you, Harry?” Zayn asks and though his tone is slack, his eyes are careful.

Louis perks up as he pretends to focus on the tray of crumpets, ears alert; the question is justsincere enough to prompt his interest.But Harry smiles easily, whipping the napkin off the table and draping it over his lap. “Marvelous.You?”“Impeccable.”“It’s so good to see you in good spirits,” Liam beams, and Louis glances up at Harry’s reactionwhich reveals nothing but shallow pleasantries.“Isn’t he always?” Niall asks jovially, and Harry laughs, everybody smiles, and the not-exactly-teaparty commences.**Forty-five minutes later, the tea party is cut short because everyone is drunk and Harry and Niallare demanding to play golf.The tea-liquor has been flowing endlessly—Louis is almost positive Liam lied when he said heput Darjeeling in the teapots. It’s abso-fucking-lutely straight scotch and that’s that—and the prettylittle scones and tarts aren’t enough to absorb the effects.So the elegant tea party, with the clinking spoons and extended pinkies, has turned into a bit of ashit show, Louis’ forehead shining as he laughs heartily at a terrible joke that Liam’s just told, allthe while trying to take a picture together which, to be honest, Louis isn’t even good at doingwhen sober.Zayn is also rather inebriated, slung over Roxy and Lullaby like they were stairway railings,apparently relaying the plots of his favorite books from the sounds of it, his hair falling out ofplace and suit jacket crinkling.And then there’s Niall and Harry, arms gripping each other as they sing pub songs and dancewildly, teacups thrust in the air, the light brown liquid sloshing out over the sides and pepperingthe wooden floors, providing a death trap for any passerby.And it’s only about 4:30 pm.“Let’s go golfing!” Niall suddenly suggests in bursting tones, and Harry is right behind him,chanting the same sentence, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.“Golfing? I fucking hate golfing!” Louis protests, arm still around Liam’s neck. He catchesHarry’s eyes which have now settled on him, and he throws as good a glare as he gets. Thebastard.“We can watch while we drink more tea?” Liam suggests, pouring the remains into his awaitingcup. “Actually, sod it—let’s just bring some vermouth.”“Or wine,” Zayn drawls with wet lips.“Or both,” Louis corrects, and Liam grins with delight, eyes squinting.“I’ll go golfing, Niall,” Zayn says, finally disengaging himself from Harry’s guests.“Excellent!” Harry thunders, grinning wildly. “Roxy? Lullaby? You must join. I’ll need moralsupport if I lose,” he grins wickedly.

“You won’t lose, baby,” the boys purrs, just as the girl giggles, “I’ve got you, love.”“I’m in good hands,” Harry smirks, and wraps them into his embrace.Louis gags.“Let’s go!” Niall then shouts, bouncing toward the door. “I’ll call Nelson!”“Who’s Nelson?” Harry laughs, brow furrowed.“My driver!”“Excellent!” Liam celebrates, and one by one they pile out of the room, Harry grabbing a fistful offlowers on the way out. “For ambiance” he explained when Zayn shot him a look.And Louis prepares himself for the worst.**Golfing fucking blows.It’s boring, it’s quiet, and Louis can’t be fussed to even pay attention, instead passing a wine bottleback and forth with Liam who is giggly and silly and keeps asking Louis if he wants to climbtrees. Louis doesn’t climb, he get’s climbed on.“It’s getting dark,” Louis muses through a slur, getting drunker by the minute as he watches Harry“teach” his blonde boy how to golf. As if it’s that hard to swing a damn pole.“It is. We should go soon. Find a party or something,” Liam smiles, leaning back in the golf cartluxuriously.“Let’s lie on the grass. My butt hurts.”Liam chuckles and shakes his head. “Grass stains, Louis. Let’s stay up here.”“Grass stains? You wanted to climb a bloody tree a minute ago!”“We wouldn’t have been in the grass.”“No, just rubbing off on dirty bark.”And Liam bursts into giggles and covers his face as Louis moves to the ground anyway.Amidst even more raucous laughter and shouted cheers to the boys on the field, they pass the winebottle back and forth as the burnt orange sun fades to stars, every once in awhile Niall runningover to tackle Louis.**Finally, they leave.“Where to now?” Harry asks slowly, lips crimson and eyes bright as he leans against his boy, thegirl rubbing his shoulders. She moves to sneak a hand through his hair but he bats her awaywithout a word, eyes cross.“A pub?” Niall offers, helping Louis up off the ground.

Louis smiles cheekily and dabs a quick kiss to Niall’s nose before flitting away, out of reach.Harry briefly watches them before flicking his eyes away.“Let’s go to a party. Zayn, love, what’s a good party for tonight?” Liam asks, embracing Zaynand staring up at him lovingly.Zayn smiles in his drunken haze, rubbing his hand clumsily along Liam’s back. “There’s one atthe Kanes' summer house?” he suggests, smiling loosely and fumbling in his pocket for hiscigarette case.“Perfect,” Liam coos, nuzzling him.“Well , let’s go, then!” Louis exclaims (and he really shouldn’t, should instead be suggesting thatthey all go home and study and take showers, but oh well) before leading the pack away, thrustinghis wine bottle into the air and singing Celine Dion without an ounce of shame.**The drive to the Kanes’ is a blurry mess of shadow and laughter.They clink glasses in the back of Niall’s limo before every drink. Niall guffaws at every word saidin between shots, Zayn laughs just as heartily but silently while clutching his fedora, Liam gigglesand fidgets in his seat, pelting corks at them all, and Harry thunders out a raspy:“TONIGHT IS OURS, LADS!”Roxy and Lullaby are on his lap, pouring champagne into his mouth and locking their fingers inhis bow tie and necklace. As one, everybody cheers at Harry’s words—except Louis—andanother round is poured, courtesy of Liam.And though Louis could do without the disturbing image of Harry sticking his tongue down Roxyand Lullaby’s throats (Louis’ still not sure which one’s which) he can’t really complain when he’ssat in the back of a limo with his three mates, drinking champagne, on his way to what is promisedto be a smashing party.So he toasts the night and laughs before Niall wraps him in a headlock.**The house is gorgeous.It’s enormous, it sits amongst elaborate gardens, it has balconies and terraces, and the floors insideare marble and polished to perfection. It’s fucking incredible, and if Louis wasn’t so drunk, hewould be speechless.“THIS IS SO FUCKING HUGE!” he shouts over the booming noise as soon as they boys enter,immediately greeted by a young man wearing spandex, holding a tray of pink shots.“It’s not that big!” Niall shouts back, taking three of the offered shots and gulping them in mindbendingsuccession.“You would say that.” Louis rolls his eyes.“Come on then, boys!” Liam shouts, glee written clear all over his face as he takes Zayn’s handand charges forward without hesitation. Within seconds they’re completely lost in the sea of

eautifully dressed people and bubbles that are pouring from nowhere.“I told you he was crazy!” Niall laughs, avoiding the heavier masses of people dancing andskirting the edges.“Oh, I’m becoming increasingly aware. But I must say, I’m surprised you’re not crowd surfingwith the best of ‘em, Nialler!”Niall pulls a face and shakes his head. “Nah. I don’t like crowds. Here’s good.”Louis nods, catching sight of Harry—who now has three new playmates draped all over him—and willing himself to resist the urge to spy.Which fails.Harry presses deep kisses to every mouth around him, giving his lips a wet sheen that glows sicklyunder the flickering, rainbow lights. He stumbles a bit, slamming every drink at hand down histhroat and laughing loud enough for the heavens to hear. Occasionally Louis will hear a randomshout of “Harold!” as swarms upon swarms rush to meet him, sliding their hands over his backand chest, some attempting to touch his hair which Harry rebuffs every time (odd), laughing at hisquips and ravenously eating up his dimpled smiles.It’s disgusting, really.These people clearly worship him. And though Louis despises the boy, he’s not dumb—he cansee the appeal. He’s utterly beautiful, charming, well-dressed, eccentric, and seemingly docile.He’s got good manners and an impressive IQ and dimples that last for days.But Louis’ not sure if these people even see that much. They certainly don’t seem aware that he’sa human being (which he might not be, to be fair) as they clutch and grab him, stuffing theirphones in his faces and wrapping arms around his waist like he were a prop, ready to bemanhandled.Harry doesn’t seem to mind too much, though. His face is still plastered with a smile, eyes stillsightless and posed as he accommodates them all and licks salt off of their collarbones and…snortscocaine?Louis squints his eyes as he watches, Harry tilting his head back and inhaling deeply.Yep.With a roll of the eyes, Louis turns back to Niall and they depart to the other side of the house, faraway from Harry Styles.**Swirling bodies, dancing bodies, neon lights, glistening jewelry, and curls of smoke fill Louis’senses.Perfectly coiffed hair bounces in time to the beat, Louis Vuitton blending against Burberry, andglitter falls from the ceilings.“I want to spend the rest of my life here!” Louis praises, his head swimming and his limbs light.“Are you sure?” Niall laughs, bouncing up and down, his polo nearly soaked through and hiseyelashes sparkling. “Forever’s a long time!”

Because oh yeah, they’re immortal and untouchable and everything is life.So Louis laughs and twirls around, hands outstretched to the heavens as glitter falls and catches onhis sweaty skin, coating him in stars.**Louis can’t find the fucking bathroom. And if he doesn’t find it soon, he’s just going to wee in therose bushes.He’s been opening every door he can find, only stumbling upon closets, pantries, and studies.And, now, a very intimate scene.“My bad,” Louis apologizes, instantly shielding his eyes before shutting the door with a snap.He spins around, ready to all but run away, when he’s met with a broad chest and a NativeAmerican necklace.Fuck.“Careful,” Harry warns, taking a step back from Louis and glaring, his curls sticking to hisforehead. He smells fucking amazing, but it only serves to anger Louis more.“Oh get over yourself,” Louis scoffs, and is just about to walk past him when Harry catches hisarm. He looks up, eyes narrowed. “Can I help you?”“Stop acting like you’re better than me,” Harry growls, but his voice wavers the tiniest bit, pupilswide and inebriated under a furrowed brow, his fingers digging into Louis’ warm flesh.Louis shakes his head, eyes slitted. “Then stop being you.”Harry retracts his hand like he’s been burnt, scowling at Louis with that intensity that he onlydisplays when he’s agitated; Louis wonders if all of Harry’s emotions would be that passionate ifhe wasn’t barren of emotions and life. Perhaps that’s why he’s only a shell—he’s too much forhimself.“You don’t know me,” Harry deadpans, straightening his back and smoothing out his features.“I think I do, Harry Styles,” Louis says, and allows his glare to fade, replacing it with pityingdisapproval. “You drown yourself in pretty words and champagne and fuck knows what kind ofdrugs. You shag everything that walks. You only listen and care about yourself, and you feelnothing for the world. You watch people love you and you love nothing in return,” Louis sayslowly, disgusted, the alcohol and fury gripping his bones and spurring his tongue.Harry stares back beneath the flickering lights, shadows deep beneath his eyes, expressionunreadable. “Love?” he asks with wry distaste.Louis merely stares in response, chest squared, adrenaline ebbing.Harry’s mouth twists into a sickly grin, eyes colder than he’s ever seen them—which is sayingsomething.“Haven’t you heard, Louis Tomlinson? Each man kills the thing he loves.” His grin fades. “Thecoward with a kiss.” He takes a step closer to Louis, his alcohol soaked breath and expensivecologne suffocating the air. “The brave man with a sword.” He finishes in an almost-whisper, thecorner of his lips quirked into a sneer.

But it’s his eyes that Louis sees. Those eyes that cut through glass.They’re wide now. They’re wide, they’re pained, and they stare back at Louis with something thatfeels alarmingly like reality.And Louis can only look back, desperately searching the mournful green gaze before him,wishing he could climb inside and pick apart this boy’s brain, delve into the depths and discoverwhat went wrong.But in an instant Harry’s gone, and only the thump of music and Louis’ very full bladder remain.**“Let’s get going!” Niall shouts sometime later, just as Louis’ buzz begins to wear off and his limbsfeel heavy.“Where’s Liam and Zayn?”“I just saw Liam jumping into the pool like a fuckin’ madman. I think they’re gonna be here forawhile.”Louis nods. “All right. I’ll say goodbye to them.”Niall looks at him, puzzled. “Why?”“So they know we’re leaving.”He blinks. “Uh. Okay…?”Not understanding what Niall’s not understanding, Louis just throws him a funny look beforedeparting for the pool. And yep, there’s Zayn on the sidelines, watching a splashing Liam withfondness as he sucks on a cigarette and bathes in moonlight.“We’re going to head back,” Louis says upon reaching him.“Excellent, mate. You’ve got a bit of…” Zayn motions to Louis’ glitter-soaked limbs.He laughs, giving a shrug. “What can I say? I look better with a bit of sparkle.”Zayn smiles and shakes his head, moving his cigarette to his mouth and clapping Louis’ hand inhis. “Have a good night, Louis man. I’ll see you tomorrow?”“Yeah, just text me,” Louis smiles, and then offers one last departing wave to Liam who is in theprocess of doing a cannonball.He turns back into the house, weaving through the hoards of people, and is just about to turn thecorner, when the door across from him opens.Harry stumbles out, hair mussed, lipstick marks coating the line of his jaw and peppering the sharpangles of his collarbone. He’s tucking his ripped open shirt in with clumsy hands, fly half-done,with eyes that glint in conquest. He sneers a cold grin at Louis before wiping the remnants of cokeoff of his nose with the back of his hand, then disappears once more into the sea of people withouta backward glance, his diamond Chanel watch glowing neon.“Each man kills the thing he loves.”

Louis hears the coarse words echoed in the back of his mind as he turns in disgust and sets out tofind Niall.Chapter End NotesThis is going to be the longest story on earth, isn't it?But I'm just tres excited because now we're getting to the parts that I can't wait towrite. And I hope you're listening to "Young and Beautiful" right now because I amand everything seems prettier somehow.Thank you, pretty, shiny people

XChapter SummaryLouis sees Harry and he sort of really hates it.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesFor the next month, Louis finds himself engaged every day with Zayn Malik and co. His days arefilled with wine and cigarettes, grassy plains, pastels, and luncheons. His nights are smoke andmartinis and expensive cologne and dancing and leather seats pressed against his bum as theytravel the city in limos, hopping to and from destinations and toasting life with the finest beveragesmoney can buy.He’s grown quite fond of Zayn Malik.With his calm demeanor, unassuming eyes, and languid movements, he finds a strange kinshipwith the lad; he’s poetic without being pretentious and sweet without being phony. He paints inhis spare time—Louis discovering that the stacks of beautiful paintings in his rooms are actuallyhis own—and sketches anything and everything on bits of paper he finds before slipping them intothe boys’ pockets unnoticed. He’s fun and easy and creative and generous and loyal, and everyday Louis finds new things to laugh about with him, and new mischief to run with.His other partner in crime, Liam, is also becoming a necessary fixture in Louis’ life, if not for themere fact that Liam seems to worship him. He’s clean and professional, says the right thing at alltimes, and has gotten the lads out of many a sticky situation. Particularly that time when Niall wasdiscovered in the school fountain without any clothes on, unconscious and clutching a largeCrockpot filled with confetti. He does it all happily, smooths over the messes with pleasantries andcordiality, and then, just when they’re back in the clear and away from the prying eyes of theirsuperiors, he lets loose a shit show and seizes all of life’s opportunities and throws them in the air,dancing and playing amongst them like falling rain. He’s full of life and can manipulate a situationto his best advantage—as he is a stunning businessman in the making—and Louis admires the joyand kindness that seems to come so natural to him. Even if he can be a bit of a spoil sport on theodd occasion.Still, surprisingly, Louis’ been able to keep up with his studies as well as his social life,occasionally able to successfully convince the group to hold sessions in the library or in Liam’srooms--which are tucked in the far corner of the school, wide and very un-distracting. Louis couldalmost say that he’s excelling at his studies even, if it weren’t for a particularly boring course,“The Study of Prose in Victorian Era Playwrights” which does nothing for his self-esteem orpatience.But he’s pretty sure he’s at least passing that course, so he doesn’t allow himself to worry. Toomuch.He’s also successfully managed to thwart off his mum (who seems to be doing all right, accordingto his sisters’ Facebook messages) and he’s even managed to get a bit of exercise since Liam andNiall enjoy playing football at odd hours of the day, particularly after they’ve smoked and hadtheir evening brandy.

All in all, Louis is winning at life.There’s only one slight catch.And it comes in the form of a curly haired, green eyed, pompous mouthed dandy who strutsaround like he owns the place and flits through empty passions like he does escorts. Because yes,every single fucking time Louis sees Harry, he’s got some new conquest on his arm, some newheart for him to mangle and press against thorns.And oh, all the “new things” he gets into…it’s enough to drive a man crazy.At each social event, Harry manages to paint himself even more ridiculous. Whether it be his threeday obsession with yellow roses (everyone had to dress in yellow, and when they attended asymphony, Harry made them all throw them on the fucking stage) or his infatuation with the word“peafowl” which spurred him to litter live fucking peacocks on the lawn of Zayn’s lake housewhile they played croquet (“They’re my spirit animal,” he drawled), or his particularly annoyinglittle stint where he fell in love with antique doorknobs and refused to open any doors that did notpossess them, thus forcing others to open them for him all day, every day. Louis took advantage ofthat one by slamming doors in his face at every opportunity he could get. It was rather marvelous,actually. That was a good 'thing'.And then there's the parties.The nights of excess where Harry’s walls break and he loses what little he has of himself incrowds and intoxications. The nights where he lies on couches and pours absinthe into hisdripping mouth and smokes opium on velvet pillows and stumbles around with flowers in hishand, pressing glares and thinly-veiled insults into peoples’ mouths. He acts like a king, a fuckingevil king, and Louis can only watch him with a growing intensity and wait for a crack in the cold,hard surface so that he can laugh and rejoice in the barely-there humanity that resides in Harryfucking Styles.Which never comes, of course. Not really.But through all of these little ticks, not once does Harry ever exchange a word with Louis.He looks through him and sidles past without a word, all pretense of charm vanished. He knows itdoesn’t work with Louis so he doesn’t even try. Which is wonderful, really, but Louis was neverthe sort that liked to be ignored, and though he can’t quite bring himself to acknowledge Harryeither--the image of his haunting eyes and whispered words still resonating uncomfortably withinhim from their last interaction--he still finds it all very rude.The others don’t seem to mind, don’t even seem to question the stark animosity between the pair.Especially since Niall and Harry have bonded so well—which Louis constantly berates him for.(“TRAITOR!” “He’s just fun. I still like you better.” “Damn straight. Traitor.”)So it’s natural that Louis isn’t very nervous, at all, right now as he makes his way, alone, toHarry’s rooms. Which he has never been to before. He's not even a little bit nervous.They all agreed to meet there after they were done with lecture, and since Niall still has twentyminutes left of his audio course and needs to run some errands with Rory, Louis took it uponhimself to embark on this perilous journey alone.Which is fine.So, ignoring any sense of displeasure in the pit of his stomach, Louis knocks on what he hopes is

Harry’s door. It’s in a wonderful location, the rooms right above the archways near the gardens,looking out over the lake and tucked far enough away from the hubbub that it’s almost peacefulfrom the outside.As Louis waits, he can only hope that he’s not the first one here. They’re supposed to go to dinnersoon—some posh place that Niall insists has the best steak and whiskey in the country. Originallythey were going to just meet there (which would only be logical, to be honest) but Harry’s newthing is berry cordial, and so he insisted on hosting cocktail hour before they departed.And so here Louis is. Waiting outside of Harry Styles’ door. Dressed in an ebony knit sweater andtimberwolf skinny jeans, arms crossed, and resolutely not nervous. At all.After about 5 minutes and no answer, he considers leaving. Because does he even have the rightdoor?But just as he’s turning on his heel with all the flair of rejection, about to angrily text Niall, thedoor opens, slowly and steadily.And it’s Harry. Scowling. Not dressed in his usual suit and bow tie which Louis has only everseen him in…but wearing a heart shirt. An actual heart shirt. It’s buttoned to the collar, deeppurple, and is splattered with large white fucking hearts.“What in God’s name are you wearing?” Louis utters instantly, unable to stop himself, as he staresin almost-horror at the display before him.Harry’s scowl deepens as he looks down at himself. “What?”“Are those curtains? Surely that is not a shirt.”A steely glare is thrust back into Louis’ face. “What are you doing here?”Louis blinks. “We’re supposed to meet here. Remember? Cocktail hour?” He says it witheringlyand, maybe, rolls his eyes a little over-exaggeratedly.“I said to come at four.”“It’s four-thirty.”“Exactly. You’re supposed to arrive an hour after the proposed time. Don’t you know anything atall?” It’s said in such an equally withering tone that Louis almost starts, the urge to slip off hisshoe and beat it mercilessly over Harry’s head alarming.Instead, he narrows his eyes. Is this one of your trite rules? Or are you seriously telling me thatI’ve arrived half an hour early?”“You’ve arrived half an hour early.”Fuck.So.“Well…” Louis scratches the back of his neck, refusing to look at Harry and instead skimming hiseyes over the wooden grit of the door, focusing intently on the ornate onyx hinges that are reallyrather finely crafted. “Should I just wait, or…?” Louis asks awkwardly, wanting nothing morethan to escape the situation (and maybe sneak a shoe-bludgeon on the way out) but not reallyseeing the practicality of departure.

Where would he go? No point in walking all the way back to his rooms.Harry just shrugs, glare still present, emanating disinterest and disapproval in hefty sums. “Doesn’tmatter to me. You’ll have to entertain yourself either way.”Oh, how lovely.“Then if it’s all the same to you, I’ll just stay,” Louis clips with an exaggerated narrowing of theeyes, taking an aggressive step forward.Harry opens the door and allows Louis in without another word, turning on his heel and stalkingaway, vanishing into an adjoining room and closing the door with a firm click. And then thesound of a lock is heard, and that’s really just overkill.“I’ll just make myself at home then, shall I?” Louis calls with a roll of the eyes, but he’s met withtotal silence.Well. This is going to be awkward.Luckily, Harry’s rooms are gorgeous and full of enough rubbish to keep him plenty occupied. Thespace is large, almost larger than Zayn’s, blood red walls and mahogany painting the atmosphereand, surprisingly, there’s no piano. Because yes—even Liam has one, plays it while Zayn standsnext to him and sings like a bloody angel in Paradise.Harry’s style is far more eccentric than Zayn’s sleek luxury; where Zayn has smooth black stereosystems and large wooden bookcases, Harry has thick velvet curtains, gramophones, recordplayers, framed porn stills from what appears to be the ‘20’s or ‘30’s, and…cat figurines.A lot of fucking cat figurines.He pokes at the creepier ones, their sightless blue eyes staring under the elaborate chandeliers andafternoon light, ceramic fur pointed in all directions. He has to admit some of them are ratherendearing—the pair of glass kittens with their paws mutually wrapped around a little ball of yarnare really rather heartwarming—but for the most part they’re unnerving and the fact that there isn’ta speck of dust on them indicates they’re well cared for.Which Louis doesn’t know how to feel about.He continues slowly sweeping through the room, examining the shelves stuffed with worn books(like Zayn, Harry seems to collect only first and vintage editions) and swipes his fingers over theirtired leather spines, titles barely visible under the stress of time. He notes the rather generouscollection of Oscar Wilde books, and briefly wonders if Harry has enough substance in him totruly appreciate such works, or if he keeps it all as a pretense, a distraction, or a conversationstarter.Probably all three.It’s just as he’s about to take a seat in the vermilion chaise longue (that’s sat next to a tiny, ornatewooden table cluttered with half-drunk bottles of liquor, various stemware milling about) that hehears the sudden click of a lock and the opening of a door.He turns in time to see a beautiful blonde dressed in a rumpled gold dress, dangling her sleekpumps in one hand, combing her hair with the other. Harry follows immediately behind her, asatin magenta robe draped over his hideous heart shirt and black trousers, feet bare.“Bye, Harold,” the girl purrs, and presses a kiss to his cheek which he doesn’t even come close to

acknowledging, instead focusing his stare on Louis, who merely stares back.Without Harry even giving a glance in her direction, the girl leaves, the door softly shutting behindher.Harry continues to stare at Louis, a martini now in his hand. Does he have fucking house elves?Where do all these prepared drinks come from?“I’ve changed my mind. I want you to leave now,” is all he says, lips pressed against the coldglass, eyes simultaneously bored and cutting.What the actual fuck did he just say?“Sorry?”“You can return once the others have arrived,” he says in a sighing drawl, his boredom andentitlement practically oozing out of every orifice.Louis smirks, planting himself down on the chaise longue without a blink. “You’re very funny.”Harry’s eyes flash momentarily, watching as Louis makes himself more comfortable in the mostover-the-top manner that he can manage. “You know that I can have you removed. By force, ifnecessary. I have a variety of options and none of them are any trouble to me.”“I don’t think you understand how little that fazes me, Curly. And yes, I’d love a drink.” Withoutbreaking eye contact, Louis grabs the nearest glass from the table and extends it expectantly atHarry, glancing pointedly at the champagne bottle to his left.And that’s it, Louis thinks. That’s all that Harry is going to take; instead of just walking away orsending a scathing comment, he will instead punch Louis in the face, upending furniture andlosing his fucking mind. And Louis almost wants it. He wants to justify the all-consuming hatredhe has for this boy, wants to rationalize to himself why he focuses, why he cares, why he setsaside time to just think about how much Harry fucking Styles bothers him.So Louis braces himself, a hand already on the cherry wood armrest (if you can call it that), readyto defend and attack.But it doesn’t happen.Instead, instead, Harry continues staring, eyes cold and assessing, before picking up the bottle andslowly walking over to Louis unblinkingly.He’s going to dump it over Louis’ head. He’s going to spill it in his face and laugh and thenprobably crack the bottle over his skull and then—But Harry pours the champagne into Louis’ offered glass.And Louis’ jaw almost fucking drops because what?He stares, probably gaping (but he hopes not) as Harry pours and stares back; he’s almostimpressed with the fluidity of Harry’s actions as he pours champagne unseeingly, eyes still intenton Louis, and is still more impressed when he manages to cut the flow at the precise momentLouis’ glass is filled.And now Louis really doesn’t know how to react, with Harry standing in front of him silently,wearing a tacky shirt and a creepy robe and an expression that’s caught somewhere between

disgust and curiosity, his rose lips pressed into themselves, his curls mussed and hazy in thesunlight.“Thank you,” Louis mutters quietly, a little out of sorts, and Harry nods his acknowledgmentbefore setting down the bottle.Harry seems to be on the brink of saying something further, lips opening just barely, whensuddenly his pocket vibrates, cutting the awkwardness of the room.Louis sends a prayer of thanks to the heavens.They both glance down as one, and while Louis prays that it’s Zayn informing him that he’soutside the door (hah), Harry’s expression instantly falls as he looks at the screen. Which is odd,really, to look that physically distressed about a phone call.Louis’ on the verge of asking who it is, but then Harry silences it, looking back up at Louis with astark paleness that wasn’t there before, even as his features smooth back into indifference, albeitwith difficulty.“Help yourself,” is all he says in a surprisingly quiet tone, words mumbled and slow in theirmonotony before he turns slowly and makes for the other room, once again shutting the door.But this time there’s no click of the lock, and Louis almost wonders if they’ve just made someinsignificant form of progress in their relationship, despite the random and mysterious caller.He hopes not.**It’s been half an hour and Niall isn’t texting him back and Zayn and Liam are still not here.And Harry is still in his room.Which is fine and all, but Louis has already drank too much spare liquor and poked at too many ofHarry’s stuffed animals--because, yep, he discovered a stash of them in the farther corner of theroom, wearing little hats and monocles as they sat atop dark leather chests. He also discovered atiara not too long after, every ounce of his willpower coming in to play as he resisted putting it onand strutting around taking selfies.Okay, so maybe he did actually do that. But it was literally only one selfie, and he only sent it toStan because, well, he just had to. On a moral level.It’s just as Louis is drifting back to his chaise longue for more bored lounging and staring out ofthe window (owl stuffed animal in tow—it’s eyes are just too wide and adorable to not cuddle andhe’s got shit else for company anyways) when he hears the faint tinkling of piano keys.Of fucking course.Are pianos handed out at birth?But Louis has enough liquor in him to provide a pleasant buzz and since the living room doesn’thave much to offer that he hasn’t already dissected, he makes his way towards the sound andpresses his ear against the cool wood of Harry’s door.The tune is lilting and sweet and unfamiliar, almost sad by nature while still bearing undertones ofhope. It’s rather lovely, really, and as Louis listens, closing his eyes and absorbing the textures of

sound, he feels an undeniable urge for more.So, mind addled by champagne and a few sips of gin, he silently turns the doorknob and eases thedoor open.He’s immediately greeted with the sight of Harry sat at a large chestnut piano, head lightly bent.His hands—which are out of Louis’ line of sight, buried beneath the strong lines of the frame—seem to move deftly and gracefully, his quiet eyes following their movement. The satin of his robecatches in the soft rays of light streaming from the line of windows behind him, contrasting againstthe powder blue shadows of the room (the lights are off) and mingling his skin in multi-tones andangles.Louis stares.It’s not like when Niall plays.Niall’s whole life is like a bursting light shining endlessly on all that surrounds it, but when he’simmersed in his instruments and music, his whole being calms. Instead of the raucous energy andlife that pours from him, the shining beacon of life that is Niall Horan dims as he plays piano, hisenergy focused and quiet.It’s the opposite with Harry.Harry, who is all cardboard smiles and vacant eyes, the very personification of 'the light’s on butnobody’s home' in the most gruesome sense, positively alights when he plays. Not that he’ssmiling or anything. No, Harry doesn’t look any less miserable than usual. But there’s somethingindefinably different about him. There’s a trueness, a genuineness, a passionate intent within himthat glows to the surface, leaving him wrecked and real, his shoulders slumped under the weightof the shadows.It’s like all of those flickers of something that Louis sees in Harry’s eyes whenever he’s agitated—here they are, spelled out and assembled in the flesh.For the first time, Harry Styles looks consistently like a person. He looks like a boy. And Louiscan’t look away.But then the keys start to jumble.Louis almost doesn’t notice at first, the unnerving beauty of the moment dulling his senses, butthen the unmistakable odd “clank” of a key mars the simple melody, and Louis’ eyes flash up tomeet with Harry’s face and—Oh fuck.His cheeks are wet.There are streams, thick, hot streams of tears pouring down his face, blurring his vision, pressinghis long eyelashes to his cheeks in clumps, and though Harry has absolutely no idea that Louis isthere as he silently plays and weeps, Louis feels ashamed watching the spectacle.Because Harry Styles is crying (he’s human? what?) and it’s something that Louis has dreamtabout in his darkest hour. But now that it’s actually happening...it’s not satisfying at all. It’sfucking heartbreaking. And the tiny sniffles and the glistening cheeks caught between shadow andlight fill Louis with an indescribable sorrow that he can’t even begin to place.He’s about to turn away, he is, but then Harry stops playing altogether, and he grips the frame of

the piano with one hand, turning his face away.Louis studies his profile, can see the tears even more clearly, and he feels utterly helpless andtrapped, because what does he do? What is happening??So he just stands there frozen and watches as Harry’s eyes close, sending another surge of saltydrops down his face. He bows his head under the weight of his own thoughts and slides a handthrough his curls, gripping the ends tight and tugging in what appears to be agonized frustration,his frame beginning to rock back and forth in gentle sways.Louis just wants to pull his hand away and yell at him to stop because what the fuck, but insteadhe just stares with wide eyes, and Harry’s tiny sobs fill the room as he winds his hair tighteraround trembling fingers like a small, abandoned child.Louis is speechless, frozen, and very, very inexplicably distressed, to the point of needing totouch, to comfort, even if he doesn’t know why or what for.So he goes to take a step forward.And then Harry’s phone rings.With truly alarming speed, Harry wipes the tears away with the sleeve of his shirt, his featuresimmediately assembling into a fixed calm. He swallows, takes a few gulps of air with shaky lips,then shakes the hair out of his eyes as he answers and brings the phone up to his ear in one smoothmovement.“Zayn, darling,” he greets, and his voice bears no trace of the previous scene.It makes Louis feel sicker somehow, his nausea eating away at his stomach lining and poking athis brain in the quiet, guilty corners.“Yes, of course.” Pause. “No rush, love. I gladly await your impeccable arrival. Do wear thecolors of the berries—they’re the only tones that I can understand right now.” Pause. “That will dojust fine. Pass the message to Liam. And tell the boy to stop talking over me.” Pause. “Yes, Louisis here.”Louis feels a spike up his spine at hearing his name on Harry’s lips. It’s odd really, as it’s not thefirst time he’s said it, but it’s jarring and it jolts Louis’ nerves into wakefulness and he prays,prays, prays that Harry doesn’t look over.“Of course,” Harry continues, and he rubs a hand over his eye. “Yes, darling, that sounds perfect.I’ll see you soon. I suggest purple, by the by. It compliments your complexion ever sowonderfully.” And Harry says goodbye with a smile while Louis rolls his eyes and he sets hisphone down quietly. His features are still, no longer smiling but no longer pained, instead restingwithin a frailty that seems perfect enough to paint.Fearing for his own life if Harry discovers him, Louis forces himself to exit, slowly shutting thedoor with all the silence his slight frame is capable of.Dumbly, he walks back to the chaise longue and sits, feet on the floor and elbows resting on hisknees, and he just stares, nausea still present as his head spins, less so because of the alcohol, moreso because of Harry Styles and his fucking tears.He sinks his head into his hands and prays for Zayn’s speedy arrival.Because tonight is already too hard to handle, and he sure as hell can’t stand to be alone with his

thoughts right now.**Eventually all the boys arrive (Niall being last because he insisted on purchasing a segway) andafter berry cordial and various cocktails and hard liquor are distributed (Niall refuses to intakeanything but straight alcohol and labels the rest as “juice”) they depart for a very expensive andlavish dinner that is just as fulfilling as Niall had promised.Everybody’s happy, Zayn musing over his cigarettes at Louis’ complaints about all the bitches inhis courses (some people need to sit the fuck down) while Liam giggles at everything and stares inalmost-awe, hand on Zayn’s leg.Harry is the happiest of them all. Well. “Happiest.”He fills everyone’s drinks and laughs through his napkin and toasts the sky, the stars, the world,and fixes his bow tie (yes, he changed, is now decked in a lavender suit, a sprig of berries pinnedto his lapel) with jeweled fingers that don’t tremble, and Louis feels sick watching it all.Because it’s fake, he knows now just how fake, and with every loud laugh that Harry emits, everytoothy grin that fills the room, every strokes of Zayn’s arm and every clink of his glass againstNiall’s, Louis envisions the shrouded boy at the piano, tears washing his face.But he doesn’t care, can’t care, so he washes his thoughts down with steak and potatoes, beratingNiall for purchasing a segway.“You’re not coming home tonight, and I’ll make sure Rory knows it, Ireland!”"Ireland? Did you just call me Ireland?"And so Louis very firmly pushes away every thought that threatens to surface.**It's as they were driving back to school, stuffed into Zayn’s antique car, the moonlight filling thesky above their heads as the cool night wind whipped wetly against their skin, that Liam suggestsa party.“I’ve been getting texts all day about it. It’s supposed to be quite fun?”“Well, it is Friday,” Louis reasons with a mischievous smile, and Zayn smirks at him in the rearview mirror.“My thoughts exactly, Louis,” he mutters, hands resting lightly on the wheel as he winds themthrough cobbled roads. “Party it is.”“Excellent,” Harry grins, whipping out his phone. “I’ve been meaning for an excuse to ring somepeople.”“Since when do you need an excuse?” Zayn counters with a glance back at Harry.“Never,” he shrugs with a large smile, “but it’s only polite to do so.”Niall barks his laughter, sliding his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “You’ve got balls of brass, youdo!” he roars heartily, and Harry joins him in laughter, pleased with the accolade and tilting hishead back.

Louis watches him, pressed on the other side of Niall in the back, and only briefly feels a stirringin his chest before returning his gaze to the front.“Let’s make tonight the best yet, all right, lads?” he says with an eyebrow raise and an easy grin.Zayn grins out a, “All right, Louis,” while Liam claps like a dolphin and nods enthusiastically,Niall swinging his fists into the air and Harry roaring wordless noise to the void of the sky abovethem.At least Louis can always count on distractions when his thought become too much. And tonighthe is in dire need of just that.**The party is one of the more wild ones, stuffed into a penthouse and emitting smoke, beautifulpeople, and flashing lights.There are trays of crystal glasses filled with absinthe and cognac, people in ornate, glitteringmasks, a band whose members are clad in leather and body paint, and lines of cocaine lie betweenscattered diamond jewelry and pocket watches on every available surface.Perhaps on a normal day Louis would find it fun; today, it only serves to disgust him.He spends his night awkwardly trailing after Niall since, once again, Liam carried Zayn into theswirling masses and was never seen again. He bounces rather than walks, meeting girl after girland making them laugh in that pitching way that is nothing but forced.Louis' aware that he’s salting Niall’s game, always peering over his shoulder cynically at thenewest hanger-on, and while at first he felt indifferent to his stunning lack of manners, he isbecoming increasingly uncomfortable.“I should probably leave you to it,” he says as the sixth girl in a row wanders off after throwing asteely glare his way.“Probably,” Niall agrees, but shrugs. “But I don’t mind much. Fuck all that, I just want to have agood time. Whatever that fuckin’ entails, you know? Don’t feel the need to leave if you don’twant to. I mean it, Tommo.”Louis smiles and nods (is Niall ever not blunt and completely uncomplicated?) and is so touchedby Niall’s loyalty and sun that he claps a hand to his shoulder and says, “I think I’ll let you takethis one, Ireland. Come find me when you’re bored, all right? I’m going to explore and see ifthere’s anything I can steal.” With one last wink he sends a wave, calling out a departing, “Charmthe ladies and all that!” as he walks away, leaving a grinning Niall who shakes his head inamusement.Because maybe Louis does need to be alone right now. Because maybe this distraction isn’tcutting it. Because he’s currently wondering, obsessively, where Harry is.And it needs to stop.**Louis spends the rest of the night outside on the balcony, leaned against the wall and staring up atthe sky which does nothing but stare back.He attempts to sing, hum, and drink, all with the intention to steer his thoughts into distraction, but

he’s still left with one name on the tip of his tongue, and it eats away at him as he checks hisphone, silently praying for Niall to send him a “Let’s get out of here and get stoned.”But it never comes.So after four fucking hours, as the roar from the inside dies down and the stumbling balconyintruders (this is Louis’ place of sanctuary and nobody else’s) lessens to nothing, he decides it’stime to force Niall to leave. Because really.Pocketing his message-less phone and rubbing the boredom out of his eyes, he steps back inside,seeking out Niall or Zayn or Liam with increasingly desperate eyes.But it comes to no avail.And after he’s searched the place as thoroughly as one unfamiliar with it could, he gives up,standing in the middle of a trashed room with beer splashed on the floors, soggy streamersswirling in the ruddy liquid, crushed masks and cups underfoot. Everything smells stale and theremnants of smoke still cling to the air, only serving to frustrate and disgust Louis more.‘Where are you?’ he texts Niall, and his eyes can barely focus on the brightness of the screen, hislimbs weighed down with exhaustion and spent attitude.Because fuck. He just wants to go home. And he really doesn’t know exactly how to go aboutthat.Luckily, he has famous friends.The place is surprisingly empty given the time—he wonders if everybody just migrated tosomewhere even better? But at the first straggler he sees, he grabs her sweaty arm, settingimploring eyes on the brunette girl before him.“I don’t suppose you’ve seen Niall Horan by any chance?”The girl smiles dazedly. “Nope, sorry, love. Not since, like, three hours ago.”Shit.“How about Zayn Malik?”“Oh. Yeah. He and Liam Payne just left, actually.”And Louis stares.Fuck.“Ah. I don’t suppose I could still catch them?”“Doubt it. They were getting in the car when I last saw them. Sorry,” she shrugs, and sends onelast hazy smile in his direction before walking away.Great.Fucking great.So now what?Frustrated at the helplessness of the situation--and when exactly did Louis become helpless and

why hadn’t he prepared for situations like this?--he meanders from room to room, hoping to find aclue that will spark some sort of solution within him.But instead of finding a solution he finds Harry Styles.He’s there, right there across the room, barely conscious and being held up by a string of socialitesin sweaty, hanging clothes that look far too expensive and bland. They grip him from all sides,rubbing their hands over him like he’s shiny (Louis suspects Ecstasy at the very least), turning hisbarely opened eyes towards them, and pressing cold, flushed lips against his slack face.Something alarming burns in the bottom of Louis’ stomach as he watches, and before he quiteknows what he’s doing, he’s marching towards the slew of leeches.Their voices become clearer, reaching Louis’ ears over the remnants of shitty pop music flowingthrough the speakers, sneaking through the clouds of smoke that hang weakly.“I want him,” a pretty redhead slurs, eyes wide and glassy as she slides a hand beneath Harry’sjacket.A young boy, probably no more than sixteen, glares at her, shoving her hand away as he gripsHarry’s hand tightly. “I want him!”“C’mon mate, you’ve already had him,” another boy complains, and begins tugging at Harry’sjacket in a way that makes Louis sick.He stares at the scene before him in horror, barely comprehending the fact these people arecurrently tugging on Harry Styles like he’s a ragdoll, pulling at him from all sides and touchingevery bit of him without an ounce of respect. And it’s even more horrifying that Harry isn’t evenreally there, too intoxicated in whatever it is he’s flooded himself with that night as his weightpasses from person to person, his eyes blearily peering into space and intermittently closing, mouthlightly hanging open, and sweat covering his skin.And fuck no.This is not okay.“All right, people, all right,” Louis thunders, plowing into the sweaty mass of harpies. “Hands off,hands off.” He swats them away, one by one, as they mewl their protests and send cutting lookshis way.The one boy barrels up to him, chest squared and seeming on the verge of violence.“Who says you can have him?” he grumbles, voice low and rich with stale vodka.Louis scrunches his nose in disgust at the odor—as well as his face—and rolls his eyes as hewraps Harry’s arm around his neck, gripping his waist with the other.“I’ve already paid for him,” he says in his most sarcastic of tones, and offers forth such sass that heexpects a full blown fight right there and then.But, to his complete horror, the boy’s eyes fill with comprehension.“Oh. Sorry, mate, I didn’t know.”And Louis wants to fucking puke at the fact that he was taken seriously.

Gritting his teeth against all the things he wants to say (because that won’t help right now, he justneeds to get Harry out of here) he sends one last filthy glare in their direction, allowing himselfonly a, “Fucking parasites,” as he stumbles away.This still doesn’t solve his problem of being stranded—might have complicated it even more—buthe doesn’t care, instead focusing on the sheer difficulty of supporting this lanky puppet that reeksof sweat and flowers, head rolling on his shoulders as he barely manages to put one foot in frontof the other.“I’m so glad you over-indulge, Curly. It’s really great. Just an overall splendid idea,” he grits,meandering him over to the elevator.The doors slide open with a slick ease, allowing them entry into the golden cubicle and Louispushes the button of the main floor with more force than is necessary.“M’name’s Harold,” Harry suddenly mumbles in a low tone, lips barely opening. “Not ‘Curly.’”And Louis almost wants to sing at that, because fuck, Harry is conscious and Harry hasconnections. Notably, a car service.“Curly! Harry. Harold. Excellent, you’re alive. All right then, tell me how I can get us home.Because I actually don’t possess slaves.”He can see the very faint furrowing of Harry’s brow (and Louis considers it an achievement that,even in a state of near unconsciousness, he can still make Harry scowl) but Harry cooperates witha, “’S in my phone. Under ‘Driver.’”And isn’t that tidy.“Of course it is,” Louis grumbles, but slides Harry’s phone out of his pocket all the same, findingthe name with ease and ringing him in a manner that he hopes doesn’t convey how fuckingemotionally taxed he is. All the while Harry mumbling nothings into his shoulder as he fades inand out.**When “Driver” drops them off in front of the school, Louis is already on the verge of mentalcollapse, having had to endure Harry’s body weight for far too long (and his grumbles and nearhissesin his drunken confusion on the ride over) and briefly wonders how horrible it would be ifhe just left him outside.But, of course, his conscience takes over, and so Louis hoists Harry the rest of the way until theysuccessfully reach his rooms—which are unfairly far from Louis and Niall’s.It’s awkward, having to support the almost-dead weight of Harry Styles as he meanders throughthe dark of a flat he only just became acquainted with today. He stumbles, feet catching on sparefurniture and sharp corners, and at one point he almost drops Harry into a pile of cacti which arecongregated inconveniently close to the walkway. And while it would have been hilarious (andwhy does Harry have cacti anyway?) Louis can’t think of anything worse than drawing thisprocess out longer than it needs to be, and so he sends a prayer of thanks to the heavens as hekicks open Harry’s bedroom door, stumbles past the piano without one glance in its direction, andflops Harry onto the bed.And that’s all he’s going to do.That’s what he’s told himself. That’s all he’s going to do.

…Except that Harry isn’t even fully on the bed, his legs hanging over the end, the pillow far fromclose to his head.And so he shifts him upward, maneuvering the boy with endless limbs until he’s situatedcomfortably. Unthinkingly, Louis undoes his bow tie and the first couple buttons on his crisp shirt,opting out of stripping him of his jacket since he can’t even imagine how he would accomplishsuch activity without waking Harry up fully. He unlaces his shoes and slides them off, fetches awet cloth and dabs away a mysterious stickiness that coats his neck and hands (Louis doesn’t wantto know) and brushes a cool hand over his sweaty forehead and damp locks.And now he’s going to leave.Because he’s officially taken care of Harry and basically bathed him and done all that he shouldconsidering he owes him nothing and Harry has as much respect for him as he does a snow crab.Actually, Harry respects snow crabs more. He’s said so.Louis rolls his eyes at the thought as he sits beside Harry, holding the wet cloth in his hands as hestares at his sleeping form. It’s such a contrast from the usual.Once again Louis is reminded of earlier in the day, Harry’s face and posture as he wept andpoured whatever feeling he possessed into the piano; that same sense of realness is there now, andas Louis watches him, unable to look away and unable to identify the clawing in his stomach, hefinds himself placing a hand over Harry’s own.He wants to take it back instantly. But he doesn’t. He just sits there, staring at this tornado of a boywith deep shadows and dark curls and holds his fucking hand like a child, unable to pry himselfaway no matter how much his bed is calling him.Eventually he succumbs to his exhaustion though, sliding his hand away and taking a final look atHarry. He doesn’t know when the next time will be that he sees him in such honest surrender,such open vulnerability, and it makes him both sad and relieved.So with one last parting look in Harry’s direction, Louis shuts the door, gripping the damp cloth inhis hand tightly as he tears himself away and trudges back to his flat, each step bearing a newweight.And Louis does not want tomorrow to come.Because he does not like the direction that this situation is headed.Chapter End NotesI am becoming increasingly concerned over the length of this fic. My greatest fear isthat it will be 100 chapters or something. I mean, I need to handle this situation beforeit becomes Medusa. :SAaaanywho, thank you all for reading, you're gorgeous, you're sweet, I love yourwords.

Also, I've begun tagging pictures that fit in my mental lines of this story. If you wantto see these pups how I envision them in this world, it's all in my "This is inspiringme" tag on tumblrrrr. (mizzwilde.tumblr/tagged/this-is-inspiring-me)

XIChapter SummaryLouis returns from putting Harry Styles to be, and tries to recover his mind. And fails.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesThe minute that Louis enters his flat, he makes a beeline straight for Niall’s bedroom, his mind stillbuzzing with “WHAT THE FUCK” and a fire under his skin in all the places it met with Harry’sin his drunken haze.Because no fucking way can he just flop into bed right now and fall asleep. No, he absolutelycannot do that because his head may explode any minute and his heart is doing weird things andhis blood pressure is probably through the roof; death is almost certainly eminent.And, oh yeah, he’s also pissed at the little Irish fuck because where the hell did he get to tonight?And why the fuck did he abandon Louis, leaving him to support a barely-there Harry Styles? Andput him to bed? And thus force him to hold his fucking hand like a small child?It’s all Niall’s fault.Fury anew, he bursts through the closed door and immediately sees the sleeping frame of the boyswirled amongst blankets, head cushioned deeply amongst pillows, mouth hanging opencomically. He’s still dressed, shoes and all, the room distinctly reeks of marijuana and whiskey,and the remnants of a turkey sandwich sit on his nightstand, half-eaten and drunkenly abandoned.But Louis is relieved for two reasons:1. Niall is officially home and not still off gallivanting.2. Niall’s alone and thus can focus his full attention on Louis who is feeling vulnerable and needy.(He was also sort of terrified of interrupting something that would most likely have scarred him forlife.)“Nialler, Niall, Ireland,” Louis calls as he climbs atop the enormous bed (and damn, don’t thosesheets feel soft) and begins shaking the boy awake. “Hey, I need to talk. I need to ask you things.Ireland! Comfort me!” He pats his cheeks between his hands like he’s banging a drum, impatiencewinning out over gentleness.And Niall, slowly and confusedly with a brow that is more furrowed than Louis has ever seen it,begins to blearily open his eyes. They cut through the darkness in their crystal luster, seekingLouis’ own, and the animosity that pours from them is actually quite startling.But Louis plows on anyway.“Oh, excellent! You’re awake. Now, I need to ask you—““Fuck. Off.”

Louis blinks. Wait, what?“Fuck. Off,” Niall repeats, and his voice is burdened with sleep, his eyes deep set with bags andcrust, and maybe there’s a raging hangover in the process, or maybe Niall just really hates beingwoken up (he does loves his sleep, after all…) but either way, Louis is almost, sort of, maybeterrified.He eases off of him just a bit, staring down into the cutthroat eyes apprehensively as he brings hishands to his sides and far away from the piranha beneath him.“Niall…?” he questions carefully.Niall’s glare increases. “Louis, if you don’t fucking get the fuck off of me, I swear I will fuckingrip your fucking head the fuck off.”Louis gapes, appalled. “Rip my—““I will rip your cunt wanking head off with my bare fucking hands and I will feed it to yourgoddamn mother,” Niall confirms, and even in his exhaustion, his limbs begin to stir.And while Louis is [almost] sure that Niall wouldn’t actually slaughter him…“Right then. I’ll see you when you wake. Goodnight, love, sweet dreams!” he sing-songs,hopping off of him in one deft movement and practically sprinting out of the room without abackward glance.Well, then. Shit.At least Louis’ learned a new thing about Niall: never disturb his slumber, or else suffer thepenalty of death.So it wasn’t a totally wasted effort then, Louis thinks as he begins to make himself some tea, andprepares for a sleepless night of self-doubt and over-analyzing, staying far away from Niall.**The sun has fully risen, four kettles of tea have been ingested, and there is a shamefullyembarrassing stack of crumpled notebook pages (filled with silly things like “but why would hecry????” “I hate H.S.” “Harry Styles” and even a very unattractive doodle of a smashed piano)surrounding Louis as he stares at the currently untouched page before him entitled, ‘What tha fuckis wrong with Harry Stylezzz?’ complete with a scribble of a wilting flower and a storm cloud.Maybe he’s had too much caffeine and maybe he needs sleep.Maybe.He’s already attempted a Venn diagram of Harry’s moods (unsuccessfully) and crafted an outlineof how to avoid him in the future and why (also unsuccessfully).So it’s really quite the blessing when Niall’s door finally creaks open, revealing his yawning faceand shirtless torso complete with lovebites.Louis glares. “The beast awakens,” he says dryly, already crumpling up his newest attempt atdiligent Harry Styles note-taking. He watches as Niall blinks his eyes in the sunlight, lookingaround the flat in near delirium, hair sticking up at all angles and sleep creases in his cheeks.“Somebody had some company last night,” he comments further, pointedly staring at a particularly

vicious bruise near his right nipple.“Hm?” Niall asks offhandedly, scratching his bum and heading straight for the fridge.“Your lovebites.”“Oh. Yeah,” Niall yawns, grinning. “Yeah, it was a good time. She was nice.”She was nice. Wow.Louis’ glare intensifies as he watches the boy rifle through the fruit drawer, before emerging withtwo apples and a bag of grapes.“Aren’t you going to apologize?” he prompts as Niall plucks three croissants from a bag near thefridge.“For what?” he asks, completely oblivious. He rips a croissant open with his teeth and hums hisappreciation as he chews while shoving his fist into the grapes without ceremony. You’d think hehadn’t eaten for days.It’s attractive.“Oh, I dunno. Maybe for threatening to cause me bodily harm this morning when I was justlooking for a cuddle?!” Louis bellows, shooting metaphorical daggers across the room andrefusing to be tamed.Niall looks to him, brows furrowed, as he chomps from the kitchen. “This morning? What?”“Yes, this morning. You threatened to rip my limbs apart like bloody Chewbacca! Don’t play coy,I see you, Niall Horan, and I see the evil that lurks beneath. And it is an ugly shade on you, I mustsay,” Louis huffs, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair with a flounce.“Ohhhhh, I think I do remember that. Vaguely.” Niall strides over and settles down across fromLouis without remorse, bag of grapes extended. “Want some?”But Louis only stares in response.“That’s all you have to say?”He shrugs. “Oops?” he offers.“Oops??!”“I was sleeping. What can I say?”“You could say sorry.”“Sorry. So what were you really waking me up for anyway? You said something about needing totalk.”And maybe that was the most insincere apology in the world, but dammit, because Niall’s justasked the question that Louis needs to answer.“Ah. Well.” Louis clears his throat, gathering the scattered balls of paper before Niall’s curiositywins out and he smooths out a page of humiliation and shame, deciphering Louis’ madman scrawland speculations over the man he hates more than anything. “I was just needing to ask somequestions about Harry. Tell me more about him. Anything and everything you’ve got.” Arms

filled, Louis dumps the paper balls into the bin, appearing nonchalant and keeping one eye onNiall.“I’ve already told you everything I know. Why?”“Because I want to know why he’s so evil. Tell me anything—about his family, his life…justanything.” Louis sits back down and stares across at Niall expectantly, hands folded, refusing toacknowledge any stirrings that feel suspiciously like concern for the boy in question.Niall chews his grapes. “I literally told you everything. Dad’s Des, he’s a fuckin legend—he’s justbeen inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, you know?”“Of course he was,” Louis mumbles.“Erm. He’s still mental. He’s—““Is he at home?” Louis interrupts, eyes serious.“Huh?”“Is he at home? Does he live with Harry? Or is he in hospital…?”“I dunno, I can’t keep track. Probably at home? Why does it matter?” Niall asks, refastening hisRolex and glancing up at Louis.“It doesn’t, I guess. He’s just…” Louis sighs, sinking his tired head into his hands. He really needssome sleep. “Forget it. I’m too tired for this. Wake me in an hour.”“What’s in an hour?”“I want to go to Zayn’s.”And no, this has nothing to do with wanting to see Harry. Because he doesn’t, really.But even if he did want to, it would only be to confirm that nothing has changed between themafter last night’s random act of kindness. That’s all. Just so they’re on the same page. He justwants to confirm that.“All right. Go to sleep. I’ll see you in an hour,” Niall smiles, ruffling Louis’ hair before walkingaway.“DO NOT TOUCH THE PIANO,” Louis warns, and Niall stops mid-step.“I’ll play you to sleep?” he offers, an eyebrow raised.Louis ponders, slowly trudging to his room. “Lullabies?”“I can do lullabies.”“With filthy lyrics?”“I can do that as well.”“All right, then. But play softly,” Louis warns, and slides into his room just as Niall takes a seat atthe grand piece of shit, fingers lowering onto the waiting keys as he serenades Louis to sleep with“Lick My Love Pump.”

**Louis still isn’t thinking about Harry.Him and Niall are on their way to Zayn’s (and Niall took his fucking segway so Louis feels short,slow, and irate beside him) and he is absolutely not terrified to see Harry. He’s not. In no way ishe scared to meet those eyes.But… At the same time…What if he remembers? What if he was more conscious than Louis realized and he remembersLouis taking care of him, wiping his forehead, or, worst of all, holding his hand? The thoughtalone makes Louis’ stomach drop and there are spikes of anxiety shooting from his fingertips tohis brain. Nerves. All Louis can feel is nerves.And then Niall suddenly curses. “Fuck. How am I going to take the segway up the stairs?”Louis looks over, realizing they’ve reached the tower to Zayn’s rooms, and then looks to Niallwho is caught between frustration and realization.“Carry it?”He sighs. “Nah. I think I’ll actually just go back and smoke. I’ve got a headache anyway.”Louis snaps his gaze to him. “You’re going to make me go alone?”“Yeah, why not?”Because Harry. Because he can’t enter that room with Harry staring at him and not have nice,calming, distracting Niall to diffuse the tension and stick by his side. That’s fucking why.“No reason,” Louis says breezily. “But I really think it’s rude to choose spending the day with aplant over me.”Niall laughs, shaking his head as he adjusts his over-sized jumper and kicks his pristine whiteNike’s on the ground, sliding his phone out of his back pocket.“Fine, fine, Drama. I’ll just have Rory take it, then.”Louis rolls his eyes. “I hope you pay that poor man well.”“Of course! He’s me best mate!”And so Niall calls Rory while Louis begins to ascend the stairs, nerves nearly buckling his knees,each step resonating a sound ‘Harry’ inside of his head.It will be okay. He probably won’t even remember. It will be okay and they won’t even discuss itand it will be okay.It will be okay.“All right,” Niall calls, bounding up the stairs to catch up with Louis. “Rory’s on his way.”Louis nods as they reach the top, and as they come face to face with the heavy wooden door, hisnerves pick up to full speed.“I don’t feel good. Maybe we should just go back,” he says, turning to face Niall who raises his

eyebrows.“Well, too late now.” And he opens the door without another moment’s hesitation. “Heeeeyyyy!”he greets in his most jovial tone, and Louis swallows as he prepares himself mentally (impossible)and follows him inside.There’s Zayn, wearing black jersey shorts and an enormous paint-splattered black t-shirt,paintbrush in hand as he stands in front of a large canvas near the row of windows in the back.And there’s Liam, dressed to the nines in a cream waistcoat and trousers, white button-up shirtstarched and ironed and glowing in the afternoon sun as he sits at the long table and puffs on acigar, mindlessly flitting through a large, dusty book.And there’s no Harry.So Louis breathes again.“Louis!” Liam immediately grins, standing up and stubbing out his cigar. “Niall!”“Lads,” Louis greets, smile wider than he realizes, possessing all the relief and unwinding tensionof suffering from a very close call. And, no, he’s not disappointed that Harry isn’t there becauseall he feels is relief. Relief.Zayn sends a nod their way before he continues painting large strokes on the canvas before him.“How are you boys today? Up for a smoke?” Niall asks, and is already getting out his little baggyand the accompanied paraphernalia which Louis had no idea he’d even brought.“Really, Niall?” Louis judges, eying the boy’s focused movements. “We’ve not even been herefor a full minute.”But Niall merely shrugs. “No time like the present!”“Oh, lovely!” Liam smiles, clapping his hands.After Niall makes speedy work of what he does best, he inhales from the little glass bowl with alarge grin, resembling a chipmunk, before handing it off to Liam and hopping towards the piano.“Here, I’ll play you a very special song,” he coughs through an avalanche of smoke, and settleshimself down, golden hair mingling with smoke and sunlight.“Play something chipper, will you?” Louis calls as Liam passes him the bowl with a large smile.“Yes, something chipper!” Liam agrees, cloudy wisps sneaking out of his lips.Louis then brings his own mouth to the glass, flicking the lighter into life as he takes repeated hits,rationalizing that he deserves to get as high as he wants in celebration of the fact that Harry is not,in fact, here, and thus can relax.Because, yup, Harry’s not here!And he’s definitely not going to talk about him.“So where’s Harry?” he finds himself asking as his head dizzies with weed. Oops.“He’s missing,” Liam says nonchalantly, sipping tea.

Louis blinks, Niall’s piano playing thickening his skull in his haze.“Wait, what? Missing?”“Mmhm.”“What do you mean ‘missing?’ Like, he’s gone out or…?”“No, he’s run off somewhere. He does this all the time, though.”“Run off?”“Yeah. You know. He’s usually only gone for a couple of days.”Louis’ jaw quite literally drops. “Days?? I thought you meant for, like, an hour!”“It’s fine. He’ll turn up,” Zayn says dismissively, squinting his eyes as he dabs white paint ontothe corner of the canvas.What the actual fuck?“And if he doesn’t?” Louis inquires, shrill, and even Niall looks up from the piano at this point.“What’s wrong?” he asks, not breaking his stride, eyebrows just knitting together above his glossyreddened eyes.“Nothing,” Louis mumbles, flushing slightly. And Louis never flushes. “I just—““You’re worried about him, are you?” Zayn asks, and he straightens as he stares at Louis with thebarest hint of a smile.“I’ve no reason to worry nor care about his well being, Zayn. I just find it odd that you don’t.Aren’t you supposed to be his best mates? Can’t you at least try to call him?”Liam merely shrugs. “He turns off his phone. That is, if he brings it at all.”Oh wow.Louis just stares.“He’s done this as long as I’ve known him,” Liam continues. “He’ll be fine, Lou.” He ends thesentence with a polite smile, and gets up from his chair before striding over to Louis and taking theseat beside him. With polished teeth he tilts his head as he admires him, sliding his hands aroundhis arm. “Now. What should we do today?”And Louis is sufficiently uncomfortable enough by the topic at hand that he allows the blatantsubject change, and lays his prickling curiosity, and maybe concern, to rest.“I should study,” he mumbles, and the sound of several piano keys being smashed suddenly marsthe peace of the room.Three heads turn to Niall who now has his head in his hands in what is quite possibly the mostdramatic pose on earth.“Tell me we are not going to do homework today,” he warns gruffly, palms pressed into his eyes.Liam turns to Louis for an answer.

“Niall, you lazy sod, I swear to god I’ll—“ Louis begins with a biting glare, before he’s almostimmediately cut off by Zayn saying:“Louis. Come here a moment, will you?”Louis blinks, mouth still posed open in preparation to hurl further insult and warning to Niall,before turning to face Zayn who is now standing in front of the canvas, arms folded incontemplation with his hip jutting to the side as he surveys his work. His eyes flick to Louismomentarily.Louis nods and complies, throwing one last glare in Niall’s direction, who is now playing pianoagain, his soft pink cheeks seemingly suppressing a smile.“I want your opinion," Zayn mutters silkily.Curiously, Louis joins him at his side where he wraps a close arm around Louis’ shoulders,pulling him tighter to his side as he stares intently at the painting before them, smelling of cigarettesmoke, aftershave, and acrylics.“Tell me what you think.”Louis stares at the work before him.Zayn’s painting? It’s gorgeous. That’s the best word for it.Large thick crimson, blood orange, and burnt yellow flames lick at a smooth night sky, engulfingsoft bending willows that cluster the frame in chunky brushstrokes. Streams of fire twist amongstthe congealed bark and the brilliant green leaves, half-shaded in shadowy night tones, of branchesthat grasp at tiny, twinkling stars flicked onto the canvas. Amongst the fiery willows sits a twistedthorn bed, their glimmering stems painted in thick ebonies, spikes illuminated in grays and darkgreens.The swoops of the thorn branches are deep and dark, curling around each other like hair.Like deep, chocolate mousse, curly hair.And the green of the leaves reflects the simultaneous depth and one-dimension of a certain pair ofgreen eyes…And fuck. What is wrong with him? It’s a fucking painting, nothing more.“It’s incredible, Zayn,” Louis utters, deeply impressed.“It’s inspired by you,” he half-smiles, hand squeezing his shoulder.Louis looks to Zayn, then back at the painting. “Me? Zayn, this is, quite literally, a pit of fire.That’s engulfing the world. What are you trying to say?”Zayn smiles wider at that, studying Louis’ face with something akin to smug satisfaction, beforereturning his gaze back to his creation.“You’ve got that fiery spirit,” is all he says.And fuck.So it’s a painting about himself but it reminds him of Harry.

So there’s that.Harry.Harry who is missing. Who is missing while his friends don’t seem to mind one bit. Harry.Harry whose curls are like those thick, treacherous thorns that cut you upon impact. Whose eyesare like those shadowy green leaves that reach to strangle the stars.Harry.“So you really don’t know where he is?” Louis finds himself asking suddenly, breaking the calmsilence of the room. Louis never says his name, but Zayn, apparently, doesn't need to hear it. Hejust knows.He looks to Louis, smile barely visible, and shrugs. “He’s smarter than you give him credit for.”“No, he’s not,” Louis grumbles.“Why do you keep asking?” Liam inquires then suddenly, apparently listening from across theroom. His eyes hold no accusation, just curiosity.Louis shifts, averting his gaze. He is entirely uncomfortable. “Just cuz…you’d think you lot wouldbe worried, is all.”“Trust me, if we spent our time worrying about Harold, we’d never make it out the day alive,”Zayn chuckles lightly, and releases Louis from his grip. “I’m going to submit this for a charity myfather’s hosting,” he immediately segues as he picks up a cloth and wipes his hands with it. Thepaints begin to slide off his caramely skin, blending together on the dull fabric.“You’re getting rid of it?” Louis asks, surprised.Zayn nods. “It’s why I made it.”“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Liam coos, walking over to Zayn and wrapping arms around his waist.“You’re so talented, love,” he simpers into Zayn’s neck, eyes closed and blissful as he graspsZayn like a life raft.Zayn beams and kisses the palm of his hand.Louis and Niall, who has just risen from the piano with an enormous yawn, both roll their eyes.“Sweet Jesus,” Niall says with a shake of his head, sliding his manicured hands into his pockets ashe turns to walk around the room, far away from the spectacle.“They’re sickening, aren’t they, Ireland?” Louis asks, arms crossed as he stares in open disgust.“I’m so glad we’re not fucking.”Louis scoffs. “Oh, please. You wish you had this.” And he pops his hip and sends the boy a wink.Niall cackles.“All right then, lads,” Liam suddenly says, disengaging himself from his cuddle session. “Lunch,yeah?”“And then the library?” Niall asks with dread.

“And then the library,” Liam confirms, and maybe Louis groans, too.“You need to study for your class,” Zayn reminds him, but Louis flicks his hand in dismissal.“I’ve already come to terms with my shortcomings, Zayn dearest. I’ll never pass.”“But you have to pass!” Liam says, eyes wide.“If this is the agenda for the day, then I’m out,” Niall then interrupts with barely withheld disgust,backing towards the door.“You’ve got homework as well, you child. Stop acting like the queen of the day,” Louis scolds,glaring.“I don’t do homework. That’s what assistants are for.”“What?? You have RORY do your homework?” Louis asks in disbelief, before the light bulbsuddenly clicks and his wheels begin slowly turning. He narrows his eyes in suspicious inquiry. “Idon’t suppose he’d do mine?” he asks in a low tone out the side of his mouth, eyebrow raised.“Of course he would!” Niall says delightedly, hopping immediately up out of the throne he’d justsat in. All of Zayn’s chairs look like thrones. It’s sort of impeccable, Louis thinks.Liam smiles widely at this, turning expectantly to Louis with eyes that clearly ask, ‘Well, then?’“In that case—“ Louis starts, but is promptly cut off by Zayn who is now brushing a smear ofblack paint off of his cheek with the back of his dirty, paintbrush-holding hand.“Louis does his own homework, don’t you, Louis?” Zayn smiles, and there’s just a hint ofencouraging pride beneath the surface of his calm features and steady eyes.“Erm.”“He’s smart, our Louis,” Zayn finishes, and with a respectful nod in Louis’ direction, he returnshis attention back to wiping his hands clean.Louis sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, what he said.” And his tone is unconvincing but at least he’s forced thewords out.Niall deflates. “Fuckin’ great. Stuck at the wanking library all day.”“It could be fun,” Liam suggests, adjusting his cufflinks.“Not if he ends up failing and it all goes to waste,” Niall grumbles, pouting.“Niall!” Liam scolds, and Zayn laughs.“I’m not going to fail,” Louis says hotly. “I’ll figure something out. But for now, let’s focus onZayn putting on something proper so we can EAT.”“I’m so fucking starving,” Niall adds as he pokes at an unidentifiable sculpture that resemblesmelted chocolate.Zayn nods, eyes on Louis. “I’ll be right out. Liam?”And with one last look at Louis—which holds far too much unexplained secrecy and mischief for

Louis’ liking—Zayn exits into his rooms, Liam close behind.As Louis watches them part, Niall sighs. “Today’s shite. I should’ve stayed home and smoked.”“You’re absolutely not leaving me. You’ve already ditched me once in the past twenty-fourhours.”“But you like them! You don’t need me here.”“I like you, too. So stay, and stop acting like a peasant.”Niall’s smile slowly creeps onto his face. “You like me?”Louis shifts, flicking his hair out of his eyes. “You’ll never be able to prove I said that. Now hushand discuss lunch options with me.”And just like that, Louis forgets about Harry Styles and all the worries in his world, and insteadfocuses on Niall’s lilting commentary on food and the way his pearly teeth glint under moodlighting. And Louis thinks that, maybe, disengaging himself from Harry Styles’ existence won’tbe so hard after all.**The rest of the weekend and the next couple of days pass as they always do in Louis Version2.0’s life.The boys stroll around and bicker throughout the day, sampling the best of everything and floutinghedonism in every possible manner. It’s lovely, really.On Sunday they attend some posh dinner party, hosted by a man with too many teeth and greasedhair, filled with faces Louis can’t even pretend to place. And he feels out of his element, but helaughs with Niall who chats up every living, breathing thing there, gets the gossip on everyonefrom a slyly whispering Liam at his side, and exchanges mischievous glances with Zayn whowatches in great amusement as Louis slips cubes of cheeses into various guests’ unsuspectingdrinks when their eyes are averted elsewhere.On Monday night, after three studious hours in the library (in which Niall spends his time textingand blaring Poison’s “Every Rose Has Its Thorns” at full volume on his over-sized headphones,much to the distraction of every soul on the planet) Liam proposes that they treat themselves to aquiet party at Edward’s summer home. It turns out to be a ridiculous affair though, with strippersand ice cream trucks and fancy dress, and Louis mostly remembers laughing a lot whileconsuming copious amounts of “Pink Juice” which tastes like candy and stings like battery acid,and firmly ignores every other person’s inquiry of “Where’s Harold at, then?” because who isHarry Styles? Louis doesn’t remember because he’s not been thinking about him and he’s notconcerned for him and he’s not acknowledging the fact that school’s started for the week andHarry is still MIA, missing his courses and all.Nope, he ignores everything, and so Louis bounces around with Liam and gets tackled by Nialluntil they’re falling into a group of girls dressed as slutty rabbits, and Zayn pulls them up one byone, passing them cigarettes and wine glasses as he smooths his jacket.And then they leave early, donning every prop they could get their hands on, and stroll theabandoned streets in the night with bottles of wine. Niall's wrapped in a velvet cape and insists onbeing referred to as ‘Draco Malfoy'--though he repeatedly forgets as much, oblivious when theboys keep calling him to get his attentions: “Draco!” Nothing. “DRACO.” Nothing. “NIALL!”“Huh?”. Zayn is wearing a king’s crown (at Louis’s insistence), gold and encrusted with jewels

while Liam wears a black, glittery mask that keeps falling off his giggling face. And then there'sLouis, bedecked in a large curly afro complete with a comb, a staff, and a Jedi robe.Too many photos are taken, too much wine is guzzled, and it’s all very ridiculous but Louis can’tseem to care as he strides under the murky night sky, laughing. Not when he needs distractionssuch as these, and not when he sings “Phantom of the Opera” at the top of his lungs while heswings from lampposts, mussing the words because he has no fucking clue what they actually are.The night, overall, is a success.And then Tuesday comes around.And it’s a quiet day.Louis attends his courses, ears picking up on the random bits of gossip he hears, especially everytime Harry’s name is mentioned, in some slight and distant hope to obtain any form of informationas to his whereabouts, since Zayn and Liam only repeat the mantra of: “He’ll be fine, he alwayscomes back.”At one point, a group of beautiful girls in McQueen scarves gab animatedly about their previousnights’ exploits with Harry (which is utter bullshit, since Louis has, possibly, meandered aroundHarry’s rooms and has never once seen the light on, the curtains remaining untouched and theshadows within settled and unchanging) and Louis resists the urge to shove their purses over theirheads. Because, really.But other than that, it’s a fairly peaceful day, enough to even sate Louis’ frustration at once againnear-failing his assignment for that bloody course that he hates so fucking much.So, when Louis comes home from lecture and opens the door to Niall atop a full set of fuckingdrums in the middle of their living room, he is rather taken aback.“What the living fuck is happening?” he deadpans before he even shuts the door, standing inhorror and taking in the display, Niall’s hand poised just above a cymbal, ready to crash down.And “CCCCHHHHHH!” there it goes, the metal clanging and reverberating within their notsoundproofflat, and Louis drops his bag to stuff his hands over his hears.“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?!” he shouts, but Niall only grins before stilling the cymbalbetween his thumb and forefinger.“I got a drumset,” he says proudly by way of explanation, sat back on his stool like a little boy onhis first day of school, grin wide and a little smug. His pristine tracksuit puts Louis’ own t-shirtand jeans to shame oddly enough, and his impeccable cologne (which Louis frequently steals eventhough Niall gives him bottles constantly) fills the room.“I see that. And no, you’re not keeping it,” is all Louis says as he shuts the door, kicking off hisshoes.“I have to, ya' see. Me dad wants me to play back-up drums on Des Styles’ new track.”Which makes Louis freeze.“Des Styles? He’s got a new track, then? He’s doing all right?”“Oh, yeah! Yeah, father called this morning. Des is doing another collaboration with NickGrimshaw, and he’s so goddamn excited cuz they asked him to produce it. Last time they did atrack, Des insisted he was going to do the producing himself. Father was fuckin’ furious.”

Louis nods slowly. “Who’s Nick Grimshaw?”“That bloke who sings for that one band—what is it? Electrolytes?”“Electra,” Louis corrects, and he’s almost impressed. “I actually quite like a few of their songs.”Their energetic, fancy grooves often fill the darkness of the seedy clubs Louis loves to attend, andhe finds they go excellently with cosmopolitans.“Yeah, that’s it. He’s camp as hell and he’s an even better time. You’d like him.”Louis rolls his eyes. “Nice. So Des is doing well, then?” And Louis can’t explain why he needs toknow so much about Des Styles and how he relates to Harry lately, but he needs to ask. So hegrabs himself a bottle of water and clomps onto one of the velvet armchairs near Niall who is nowtwirling his drumsticks in his hands.“Erm…” Niall begins, and ceases his twirling, instead focusing on a chip that’s developed on thetip of one. “I don’t think so. I guess he’s trashed the studio twice already.”Louis almost spits out his water. “Sorry? He trashed the fucking studio?? Did he get arrested?”“Nah. Friends in high places and all that.” Niall sets down the drumsticks, turning to Louis, faceeven, cheeks rosy. “He’s had to have security called a couple times though. He’s pretty violent.”“Oh.” Louis swallows, feeling a bit sick.“Brilliant, though. Dad says his new track’s sick. But… Well. I guess he’s relapsed again, so.”Niall shrugs, then gets up and marches to their makeshift bar on the other side of the room,pouring himself a glass of whiskey.“Is it, like, alcohol or…like, heroin or something?”“Eh, if the rumors are true, then both I guess? I dunno, I know he had a problem with coke. AndI’ve seen him smoke crack myself, so…” Niall clears his throat, downing the dregs of hiswhiskey. “It’s a bit fucked, to be honest.”“Is he dangerous?” Louis asks, watching Niall closely.“I dunno. I guess maybe?”“Then why the fuck is he allowed to live with Harry?” Louis immediately clips, standing up andfeeling his veins fill with indignation. Because, yeah, Louis would probably turn into a ragingpiece of shit as well if he had to live with the likes of Des Styles, legendary status be damned.“Look, Louis, I don’t know,” Niall sighs. “All I know is that I get to do the drums for his track,and if Nick Grimshaw chose to work with him, then he can’t be all that fucked, right?”No. No, that doesn’t make sense at all.But Louis really doesn’t feel like arguing and his head is on the verge of swimming, so he justshrugs and sits back down.“I miss when I had no friends and was destined to die alone,” he mumbles.Niall chuckles. “You’re so dramatic.”Louis shoots him a glare.

“Well, I’ve got to go the studio now,” Niall says, hopping over the couch and heading towards hisroom. “Gotta work with father on some stuff. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”“Ooh, look at you. Mr. Fancy Producer in the making,” Louis teases.Niall winks as he emerges from his room wearing a snapback and a large jumper, gray sweatpantspoking out from beneath. “What can I say? I’m well bred!” he mocks, and hops over to Louis sohe can wrestle him into a headlock.“My hair!” Louis squawks as he shoves him away, but Niall merely laughs before bounding to thedoor.“I’ll see you later. Stay out of trouble. Text if you need anything, or text Rory.”“Will do, Ireland. Bang those drums for me.”And then the door closes.Really, Louis should work on his homework, especially for that damn course that will probablyfail him and all his hard work for this term.But then again, it’s a lovely night, and Louis could stand for some good fresh, evening air, and sowithout another thought he grabs his iPod and slides out the door, needing to calm his gratingmind.**The walk was wonderful. The sun was fading, the chatter in the streets was muted, and the lightsbegan to flick on and twinkle all around him. Pubs, shops, and the walls of the school were allpainted in evening blues, and the smell of summer was still just barely lingering amidst coolbreezes.And Louis was finally, finally feeling better, his head clearing of anxiety and over-thinking, andwas just on his way back when the ludicrous thought that he should take the long way homeoccurred to him. And though he knew exactly what he was doing, he didn’t allow himself to overthink it.But now, here he is.Standing in the gardens, looking above at the row of windows of Harry’s flat. And the lights areon. And once in awhile, he’ll see the top of a curly mass of hair walking slowly to and fro.Occasionally he’ll glance an arm or a hand or the tip of a jacket being taken off.Harry’s home.Harry’s home and now Louis has to ignore the surging panic, curiosity, maybe-excitement, and aslew of other emotions that have engulfed him out of seemingly nowhere. Because Louis almoststaggers from the emotions that are taking over his body, and he doesn’t even fucking know why.Because he hates Harry, he’s pretty sure he really does, but he can’t seem to look away as hestands amongst chrysanthemums and daisies on a cobblestone path, the tragic musk of rosessettled in the air, staring up at dimly lit windows, searching for a boy who barely exists.And he stands there until the lights flick off and the movement is no more, the moon soaking theworld in calm shadow, before he can finally drag himself away.And now all he can think about is tomorrow.

And Harry Styles.Chapter End NotesSo guess what? I officially found Louis' song: It's "11th Dimension" by JulianCasablancas. That's his theme song for this piece. And I found Niall's too! It's "ThisBoy" by Franz Ferdinand. (I don't know about you, but I love assigning songs tocharacters, because you can really get a vibe going for them, ya feel?)Also. I WISH I knew how to put pictures here because I found the PERFECT Harrygif for this story. It's so perfect!! It's under my "This is inspiring me" tag on tumblr(mizzwilde.tumblr.com/tagged/this-is-inspiring-me) and it might be a ways back now,but he's got a bowtie and he's scowling and he's pretty and...yeah. I just got reallyexcited by the fact.Anyho, thank you for reading, gorgeous darlings.

XIIChapter SummaryLouis needs help. A lot of help.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesWednesday begins as a mess.It’s already rubbish because Louis is utterly exhausted since he had gone to bed too late onceagain. He’d grilled Niall as soon as he’d returned, casually demanding if Des was at the studio—he wasn’t—and gathering whatever other information he could on the situation—which wasnothing—then proceeded to smoke too much, watch too much tellie with blank eyes as his mindwandered and heart beat angrily, and stuffed whatever food Niall had piled around them into hismouth.All the while resolutely not thinking about a certain light in a certain window as a certain shadowflickered on the walls.Thus today, through the exhaustion that mercilessly pulls on his eyelids and sinks his limbs to thefloor, he has found himself late for every single course of the day. And not once has he retainedan ounce of information throughout said courses, pen always uncapped but never connecting withthe blank notebook page before him, because his minds keeps flicking to either one of two places:1. His bed with its plush sheets and lonely pillows.And2. That certain window.And it’s a big fucking mess.Which only worsens when he runs into Cindy, the only person in his “The Study of Prose inVictorian Era Playwrights” course that doesn’t make him want to pour sulfuric acid into thesprinklers and set the world on fire, as he’s heading to that very course.“Louis,” she greets with a smile, bedecked in what appears to be Hogwarts robes. Or some shit.Louis tries not to judge her choice in attire (he likes Harry Potter, so who is he to judge?) butinstincts take the wheel and he finds himself sliding disapproving eyes over her ensemble.“Cindy,” he nods happily, but his eyes are still caught on her sleeves which are as large as churchbells.Luckily she doesn’t notice, instead grinning and asking a curious, “Where’s your gown?” whiletilting her head in confusion.Which now confuses Louis. Gown?

“What on earth are you referencing?” he asks with amusement, shouldering his bag as he walksinto step beside her.“Your academic dress. We’ve an exam today and you know the rules—have to wear your robesproper if you’re taking exams, else you’ll be asked to leave. Remember?”And Louis shits his pants.Because, no, he did not know they had an exam today, let alone that they had to wear rubbishbags to do so. Well, he did have a faint recollection of such regulations, but actually putting thesethings into practice is another world entirely.Without explanation or reason, Louis takes off in full sprint, in the opposite direction, throwingback a frantic “Sorry!” as he flies through the stone corridors, leaving a very perplexed Cindy inhis wake.And so Louis arrives to his first exam—in the one course that is threatening to sink him to thebottom of the academic ocean—late, academic regalia haphazardly adorned (Niall attempted tohelp him assemble in the mad rush, but he was in the process of eating pizza, his hands flecked insauce and reeking of beer, so Louis spent more time shushing him away than anything) with thefear of death rattling his ribcage.He proceeds to take the exam, attempting to answer as intelligently as his bewildered brainpermits, before finishing with pained hesitance and leaving the building with a very real sense offailure.And so it’s decided that Wednesday is utter shit.‘At Zayn’s. Come after class’ his phone reads as he slides it out in misery.Which is convenient, because he was just about to text his suffering to Niall anyway.Brain addled with self-reprimands and bitter-tinged curses aimed towards society—because whydo they need exams, anyway?—Louis marches in the direction of Zayn’s rooms, robes removedand bundled up in his arms, eyes staring unseeingly at the ground, and mind very much removedfrom anything but his stupid fucking exam that he has almost certainly failed.**He arrives at Zayn’s rooms still in a daze, his mind detached and straining to remember the answerto question twenty-five (because he’s nearly positive he put A, but he might have put C, and wasthe answer D? Because he’s almost certain right now that it is indeed D), barely registering theslew of beautiful females and two males that file out of the large wooden door at the top of thestairs, smiling like peacocks and strutting like chickens as they clamber downward, firmly ignoringLouis as they flit through their iPhones.Which should have tipped him off, really.But unfortunately he’s currently still thinking about question twenty-five, and so when he pushesopen the door and is greeted by Niall’s boisterous, “Louis, mate! How did the examination go?”and he answers with a bemoaned, sightless, “I failed it, you fucker,” the last thing he is expectingis a velvety quipped, “Well, that comes as no surprise,” that drips like molasses down the back ofhis spine.Immediately his head snaps up and there he is.

Dressed in a solid ebony suit and bow tie, curls tossed and practically shimmering in afternoonlight, lips obscenely pink (the fucker wears lippy, he has to), is Harry Styles, holding a champagneglass with his fucking pinky extended, smiling in a half-sneer that tugs at his dimple and leaves hiseyes shadowy and desolate.And fuck, this day just got worse, because there is he, right there, and Louis had totally forgottenthat he’d returned. Had totally forgotten that he’d stood outside his window last night.Oh god.“Well, well. Shady’s back,” Louis mumbles, eyes stuck on Harry and feet stuck on the floor. Hismouth is dry and his hands crawl into his pockets to hide and he flicks his hair nervously and justwhen the fuck did he become so awkward around Harry fucking Styles?Oh yeah, maybe after he’d seen him crying in his room? Or maybe after he’d seen his bodytugged in ten different directions by harpies? Or maybe when he held his hand as he sleptpeacefully. Or maybe not, who knows.But Louis just stares now, frozen to the spot, attempting a glare but unsure of the outcome as hefeels every pair of eyes on him in the room.“I told you he would be,” Zayn smirks from his throne, lounging with a cigarette and Liam at hisside, and immediately Harry and Louis’ eyes fly to him.Louis is speechless. And on the verge of throwing a brick at Zayn’s head—because, thanks toZayn, Harry now knows that Louis had inquired about his whereabouts. And the last thing heneeds Harry to think is that he cares about him in any way at all, because that will probably onlybe used against him and to Harry’s own advantage.Not that Louis cares.But then he feels Harry’s eyes slide over to him and he refuses to react, refuses to look back,having absolutely no idea how to proceed with the situation, while still staring at Zayn with a furythat only the Hulk himself could match. Zayn merely smokes peacefully and traces the patterns ofthe tablecloth with his forefinger.But, luckily, there’s always oblivious Niall and innocent Liam to the rescue.“You failed your exam?” they utter simultaneously, Niall amused and Liam very nearlyflabbergasted.“Er, yeah,” Louis confirms as he gathers himself, clearing his throat as he turns his back to thescene, sliding his shoulder bag off and ignoring the burn of Harry’s gaze. “I didn’t even know wehad one today. It was by luck that I’d managed to run into Cindy beforehand.”“Cindy who?” Harry’s voice asks, and Louis still refuses to look back, instead busying himselfwith his belt which is suddenly conveniently too loose and needs to be readjusted. Now.“Jones,” he mutters, sliding the leather through the buckle tighter, fastening it on the next holewith fidgety fingers.“I’ve had her,” Harry drawls pleasantly, and Louis can practically hear the delicate sip of hischampagne between his smug lips.“Fuck’s sake,” he breathes, rolling his eyes and feeling a surge of disgust. Because, really? Wasthat necessary information?

“You’ve had everybody,” Niall muses, before Harry smirks, and then Niall clomps over, throwingan arm around Louis’ shoulders. “So then, Tommo. What happened?”“What do you mean ‘what happened?’ I fucking failed, didn’t I? Nothing else to say,” Louis findshimself snapping. And he feels bad, he does, but he can’t be bothered about it now because it’s ashit day and if Harry can be such a prat 24/7, surely he can have a slip-up once in a blue moon.And Niall doesn’t seem to mind anyways, instead clapping a soothing hand on Louis’ back andshrugging his shoulders with an, “Ah, well. Better luck next time.”“You’ve been having trouble in that class,” Zayn comments mildly, peering up at Louis who nodsin response, eyes studying his hands as he tries not to glare or pout.“You should get some help with it,” Liam suggests earnestly. “George is an excellent tutor. So isEdward. And that bloke who’s on the Student Union with us—Arthur—his grandfather used toteach the course.” He looks to Zayn who nods slowly, eyes trained on Louis.“I’ve never needed a tutor,” Harry then comments uselessly, sliding his fingers through thebouquets of flowers on the table, eyes lost in the petals.And everybody except Liam rolls their eyes, though Harry is oblivious to any of it.“Hey. You’re good at Victorian literature,” Zayn points out suddenly with a growing smile, eyescalm.Harry sighs, a half-hearted smile at play as he looks up and meets Zayn’s gaze. “Yes. I am,” hesays simply, then returns his gaze to the roses.“You should tutor Louis.”And for a moment, the room is completely silent, all eyes sliding to Louis’ face. Which is nowposed in absolute and total horror.Harry’s own face immediately contorts to an affronted glare as his head snaps up once more.“No,” he counters immediately, gripping a hand over his stomach defensively as if burned, fingersdigging into the rich fabric of his jacket.“But you love the subject,” Zayn breathes through smoke. Liam’s eyes curiously turn to him,quietly calculating.“Well, I have a say in this as well, and I also say no,” Louis adds, pouring himself a very generousglass of champagne and feeling his cheeks flush. Because what the fuck is wrong with Zayn? Andwhen did it get so hot in here?“Why not?” Liam asks, his naivete giving him the air of a small, golden retriever pup, staringbetwixt the two boys with wide brown eyes that search for answers, before settling back on Zayn.“I’d rather peel my own skin off,” Louis spits at the exact same time that Harry replies with a,“Some cannot be taught.”Registering the other’s answer at the exact same time, they whir around to face each other, facesset in matching glares.“I beg your pardon?” Harry demands, grip on his glass tightening.“Say that again, Curly,” Louis dares, ignoring him, and setting down his own drink.

“Some cannot be taught,” Harry repeats, and it’s said with such childish spite that Louis is almosttempted to laugh, and Niall actually does.“Well, that’s funny, that, because some cannot teach.”Harry stares. “What are you trying to say?” he demands, voice deep and even, ruby lips slow toform each word.Louis smiles angelically, batting his eyelashes with exaggerated innocence. “That you can’tteach.”Harry looks as if he’s been slapped, actually recoiling from Louis as if he’s been beaten with ahotwire, and Louis feels the power of his position, regaining confidence as he fixes his steadystare downward to inspect his nails with faux-casualty, enjoying the control of the situation athand.Liam watches with wide, almost fearful eyes, and Zayn sips at burgundy wine, eyes nothing butamused and patient. And Niall scratches his stomach, stifling a yawn.“You know, I’ve said so myself that there’s nothing a knob like you could teach me,” Louis lies.Because, no, he hasn’t exactly said that, but he’s probably thought it. “I could learn more from abroomstick. At least it does actual work.”And there it is—Harry’s eyes are engulfed with all the rage of a man who will absolutely find abroomstick of his own and beat Louis over the head with it. Until he’s dead.“Broomsticks do not do actual work,” he mumbles, eyes ablaze. “They are used for work—it’sother people who perform the duties. They’re just the tool.” Harry pauses, blinking a slow, angryblink, his glare deepening infinitesimally. “So there.”Louis stares at him. “That’s what you got out of that? Really?”Harry continues to glare.So Louis smiles poisonously sugary and places a hand chock-full of attitude on his hip, tilting hishead as he flouts, “Well, then I suppose we’re on the same page in thinking you can’t teach wortha shit!”“OUR FIRST SESSION WILL BE TOMORROW,” Harry immediately clips in a rasping, angrythunder, and his chest puffs with the indignation that Louis is absolutely delighted to hear soakinghis words. “You will be the best student in the fucking school by the time I’m done with you.” Hepauses, scowling. “If that’s possible.”“On your end or mine?” Louis counters, and Harry is actually baring his teeth at this point.“Tomorrow,” he repeats, lowly.And Louis really, really wants to refuse the offer, throw it back in Harry’s face (along with hisdrink) but it’s tempting, and the quiet nagging in his stomach keeps him silent, only leaving himspace to nod his assent.“Tomorrow it is, then,” Louis agrees, and takes the hand Harry has extended, shaking it withforceful finality and squeezing with just enough force to infer who’s boss.Which doesn’t work when Harry squeezes back, harder.

So then Louis squeezes harder, then Harry does, then Louis, and pretty soon their hands aretwisting in the air, shaking and flushed as their faces contort in grimaces and growls, leaving theother three boys to stare at them, Niall mid-bite into a biscuit.“Fuck’s sake,” he says with wide eyes. “Nice one, Malik. Really brilliant suggestion you had.”And Liam doesn’t defend Zayn’s honor, instead sliding hesitant eyes to his smiling profile.Without a word, Zayn merely continues to smile, as Harry and Louis continue to struggle beforethem like a pair of clumsy rams.**Louis is not in a state of terrified discomfort. Nope.Just because it’s already Thursday and he’s due to arrive at Harry’s rooms in less than fifteenminutes for his first tutoring session, it does not mean that he’s in a state of terrified discomfort.No sir-ee.Nope.(He’s also not in a state of unease because he woke up to seventeen missed calls from his mumand a text that merely said, ‘I love you boo bear. Call me please. I miss you. Call me love.’ No,he’s certainly not concerned for the well-being of his five sisters, since his mother seems to begoing through one of her phases again. But he will have to call her later, after he’s returned fromhis tutoring session, and deal with the mess that he’s sure to find.)“You better get going or you’ll be late,” Niall admonishes from the couch where he’s draped inblankets and shoving Jaffa cakes into his mouth. There's a nameless and borderline-terrifyingcartoon on the TV.“Yeah. Look for me if I don’t return? Tell my story?” Louis calls weakly, picking up his shoulderbag.“Will do!” Niall calls, unfazed and mouth full. “Text me if you need anything. See ya, mate!”And Louis closes the door behind him.Fuck.He remains calm as he walks, admiring the warm, golden rays of the sun that have begun tomingle with the nip in the air and the pale, stone walls of the university that peek through clustersof muted green vines and ivy.It’s really rather peaceful, actually.He kicks at pebbles and smiles at passerby and hums Grease songs and stuffs his hands in hispockets, then takes them out, then stuffs them back, all the while as he continues to walk. And heabsolutely does not feel anything except for a strange sense of serenity that engulfs his limbs.And so, when he reaches Satan’s door, he knocks with a steady hand, feeling oceanic waves ofcalm crash over him as he sniffs at the cool air and the soft perfume of flowers that it carries withit.The door opens, painfully slow.

There he is, Harry, and Louis does a double take as he processes the scene before him; becauseHarry is wearing a gray, knit JUMPER and JEANS and fuck—Louis didn’t know he possessedanything besides suits, bow ties, tacky patterns, and velvet.He stares in surprise.“It’s rude to stare,” Harry points out, eyes unimpressed as he watches Louis, arms crossed.“You’re wearing normal clothes,” is all Louis can manage in surprise, and Harry merely glowersas he steps back and allows Louis inside, no word said in response.He walks into the large room and, much to his surprise, it’s rather different from when he was lastthere—which immediately sparks the image of a sleeping, unkempt Harry and a quietly dotingLouis, and he winces away his thoughts as he focuses his attention on the bushels of white liliescovering every flat surface and the large paintings that adorn every inch of space on the walls.Paintings that look oddly familiar.“Zayn’s?” he questions, motioning towards a large canvas of fiery stars hanging above themahogany and marble fireplace.Harry, glower still firmly intact, merely nods, standing at a distance with his hands folded behindhis back. He almost looks soft, with his loose jumper and rumpled jeans and powdery, askewcurls, but the diamonds from his Chanel watch cut through the air, almost as much as his cold,empty stare, and Louis is reminded that Harry Styles is anything but ‘soft.’“You’ve remodeled,” Louis comments, eyes flicking to the candles that cluster the floors, shelves,and tables, woven between the large and worshiped collection of cat statues, and arranged neatlyon the tables amidst champagne bottles. Antique guitars and lutes are scattered about, and crinkledsheet music litters the floors amongst soft yellow rose petals and drips of what Louis assumes isDom Perignon.“I change my rooms every week,” is the low, mumbled response.He glances over to him. “You mean, you hire someone else to change your rooms every week foryou.” Louis smiles brightly.Harry scowls.There’s silence.“Let’s just get this over with, shall we?” Harry murmurs in a growl, and slumps towards the large,antique wooden desk in the corner, flopping himself down in the plush velvet chair before it. “I’mjust going to draw up an outline for you,” he mumbles in a poisonously slow tone, eyes lidded andfollowing his careful movements of…assembling a quill and ink?And oh fuck. Is that parchment?“Christ sake,” Louis laments, standing before the desk, throwing his arms out in exasperation.“Can’t you just use a bloody laptop, man? We’re going to be here all fucking day if you do that.We’re studying the Victorian era, not fucking living it.”A tiny quirk pricks at the corner of Harry’s lips, but other than that, no reaction is made as heslowly dips his quill in the ink and smooths out the parchment before him. Wordlessly, he beginswriting.Louis sighs loudly, and very dramatically, but Harry pays no mind, instead delivering an elaborate

scrawl.After moments of silence, in which Louis tries to keep his back to the scene in a display of protestbut fails (his curiosity was always his weakness) he asks, peering over the desk and attempting todecipher Harry’s neat, swirling handwriting, “You can at least tell me what you’re writing.”“An outline,” Harry rumbles without hesitation.Louis rolls his eyes. “So I heard. About what? You haven’t even asked to see the course scheduleor my books or—““I know the professor. I also know the course. I assure you, this is everything you’ll need toknow. Now, stop questioning me.” And Harry’s eyes never leave the paper, bored and confidentand sightless.“Oh, bravo,” Louis mumbles with another roll of the eyes, but he remains silent (if not for themere fact he can’t think of anything to say) as he begins to pace around the room, arms stillcrossed, surveying the nooks and crannies of Harry’s chaos.“Do you play these old things?” he asks, nudging a dusty and decrepit lute with his toe.“Yes. And don’t touch them.”“I’m surprised they don’t break.”“Well, if you’re not an idiot, it’s pretty easy to avoid those kinds of things.”Louis’ temper begins to prickle. But instead of throwing himself into an argument which wouldonly serve to lengthen this acute form of torture (why had he agreed to this again?) he clamps hismouth shut and stares into the sightless eyes of the porcelain cats that are now before him.And then a shuffle sounds from behind him, and Louis spins around just in time to see a beautifulboy with devastating cheekbones and coal black hair emerge from Harry’s room, clad in adisheveled school uniform and smoking a cigarette.Which is unexpected.“Oh!” Louis starts, dropping his arms to his sides, taking a step back in surprise. “I didn’t realizeyou had company.” He blinks, feeling immediately awkward as he stares between the two, Harrystill scribbling, the boy just standing and eying Louis as he takes a long drag.“He was just leaving,” Harry says mildly without a beat of hesitation, and the boy gives one lastlingering look to Louis before nodding his direction and walking towards the door.“See you, mates,” he calls, before the door closes.And Louis just stands there.“Are you serious right now?” he suddenly bursts, turning to Harry who seems completelyunfazed. “Do you realize every single time I’m here, a random person emerges from yourbedroom? How many people are in there? Are they like fucking gremlins? Do they multiply whenyou pour water on them?”“Hm, very much so,” Harry mumbles, and that very faint quirk of the lips is back as he continueswriting. “And, as you can see, if you feed them after dark they turn into a nightmare in themorning.”

… Did Harry just make a joke? Or was he being a dick?Louis eyes him suspiciously. “Well, regardless, you could have told me there was another personhere.”“Why?” Harry hums, bored, hand flying across the parchment.“So I wouldn’t wee myself when they suddenly materialized out of thin air.”“He didn’t materialize.”“Says you.”At that Harry glances up at Louis, pen momentarily stilling, his eyes assessing and empty. Butfaintly, just faintly, Louis can almost see a stirring…“Well, that’s all for today,” Harry suddenly drawls, standing up with a flourish and setting downhis quill. “This outlines the chapters you need to pay special attention to. I’ve written down thekey words, but you’ll have to look them up yourself. We’ll go over the details tomorrow; this isjust to familiarize you with the general concepts since you seem to have trouble grasping eventhat.”And, yes, that is most certainly condescending.“Thanks so much,” Louis glares, snatching the parchment out of Harry’s hands. “No need to be adick about it.”Harry stares at him, cold, lips tight and pursed into a thin line. “You best run off, novice. I need todepart. I’ve an engagement I’m already quite late for.”Louis snorts. “An engagement? You mean you’ve got to meet up with your next potential fuck?”“There’s nothing potential about it. And it’s ‘fucks’. Plural,” he says with a languid blink anddopey smile that holds all the poisons of the world, just beneath the surface.“Oh, of course. There’s never just one.”“Variety is the spice of life.”“So are venereal diseases.”Harry’s eyes immediately narrow. “I wouldn’t know.”“The trickiest ones are the silent ‘uns. Best get on that before something falls off, mate!”“Don’t call me ‘mate.’ Now go.”But Louis just stands there in defiance, arms crossed and clutching the parchment that he so verydesperately wants to shred in Harry’s face right now because, FUCK, he’s annoyed. But hedoesn’t.After a moment of mutual distaste, Harry sighs and storms past Louis, heading straight towards hisroom, curls bouncing. It’s just as he’s about to stalk inside, that he pauses at the door, making firm,unyielding eye contact with Louis who glares from his spot on the other side of the room.He braces himself, taking in the chasms of green before him.

“And when you’re finished with that,” Harry finally says, motioning to the parchment in Louis’fist, “make sure to tap it and say, ‘Mischief managed.’”And then the door snaps shut.And Louis blinks.Because what the actual fuck?Did he just…quote Harry Potter?But before he allows himself to even attempt to wrap his head around the situation at hand, Louismarches out the door and doesn’t look back once.**When Louis returns to his flat, he finds a note from Niall that reads:“At the studio.Working on the track.Smoke and eat when I get home.”And it’s paired with a cigar, a tenner, some lint, and a pack of gum. In other words, the contents ofNiall’s pockets.So Louis is alone.And even better, Zayn’s just texted him.‘How did tutoring go? ;)’Louis shakes his head as he taps out a response.‘You fucker.’Sometimes Louis really hates his life.**It’s Friday.Glorious Friday.And, despite being woken up too early by both the piano AND the drum set, (“I’m practicing, youcunt!”) Louis feels strangely optimistic. Perhaps because last night, after Niall had finally returned,they, along with Zayn and Liam—apparently Harry’s potential fucks were going as planned, as hewas mysteriously absent and Louis absolutely refused to ask why—had a delicious dinner in asmall restaurant with low lighting and good liquor before spending the rest of the night in Liam’srooms, lounging amongst laptops and textbooks as they attempted homework intermittentlybetween serenading each other with songs at the piano. Which, Louis is coming to discover, is anactual thing they do—Liam belting out opera as Niall plays one minute, Zayn crooning soulfullyin Italian the next—and it’s all taken very seriously, so Louis just watches, unable to deny that theboys have talent, real, actual talent. Louis almost wants to call it 'classy' but the porn that was

eing played on mute, plastered across the giant flatscreen, sort of took something away from it.Occasionally they’d step outside and smoke cigarettes on the balcony, watching the curls ofsmoke disappear into the stars as they laughed while Niall repeatedly begged to abandon studyingand scour the city for clubs and good drugs.It was a good night. Just what Louis needed.And now he has a whole weekend ahead of him that’s going to be filled with sleep, late night runsfor cakes and everything else Niall so desires when he’s having his cravings, weed, video games,parties, good drink, and track pants. And still better, Zayn’s planned on taking them to “CandleHouse” (as Zayn and Harry refer to Zayn’s spring home) and there’s not going to be anybodythere but them, some escargot, croquet, and all the time in the world.So, needless to say, Louis is excited. And he’s just finished his courses for the day.“I want it to be tomorrow,” Louis wails, draped over the couch. “I want to go to Zayn’s springhome. Have you ever been?” he asks Niall, craning his neck to stare at the boy sat behind him asthey stuff éclairs in their mouths and plow through FIFA.“Nah,” Niall muffles through his stuffed mouth. “But I’ve heard good things.”“I’m excited. This weekend’s going to be sick, Ireland. Sick! We should have dinner tonight, justthe two of us, to celebrate the festivities.”“Can’t, sorry. I need to take a nap and—““Why on earth do you need a nap? All you ever do is sleep.” Louis peers over at him as the boyrubs his eyes, his golden hair mussed and greasy.“I was up all night after we came home. Rory made me do half of that project for my ‘Audio andVisual’ course,” Niall yawns, wrapping a blanket around himself as they wait for their next matchto load.“Oh, you poor creature,” Louis tuts sarcastically, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “You actuallyhad to do your own homework? The shame.”“Hush, you,” Niall scolds, but grins goldenly as he swaddles himself, leaving only his face topoke out.Louis grins, eyes crinkling. “You look like a little baby.”“I am a little baby. Now let me sleep!”“But we’re supposed to go to that party later! Sleep when you’re dead!”“I’ll sleep now and go to the party later, how does that sound?”Louis ponders, hands suspended in midair on their route to rip Niall’s blanket off of him, beforethey drop. “All right, fine. But what am I going to do until then? Zayn and Liam are at their stupidmeeting for the stupid Student Union,” he pouts, sinking deeper into the couch.“Don’t you have tutoring with Harry?”Louis’ stomach recoils.“No,” he lies.

“Yes you do.”“…Well, I’m not going.”“Louis.”He pouts at Niall, sinking still deeper into the cushions. “You should have heard how foul he wasto me yesterday! I’m not tolerating that again! I might kill him.”“Just go, you need the help.”“No.”“Louis.”“You can’t make me.”“I’ll just tell him to come here.”Louis stares at Niall, jaw dropped. “You wouldn—““You know I would.”He narrows his eyes, sitting up on his elbows. “I actually hate you, Niall Horan.”“Fine. Just go, goddammit. And let me fuckin’ sleep!”And as much as Louis hates following orders, he does actually go, flicking off the TV and gameconsole while donning Niall’s jumper and fluffing up his hair with one hand, ignoring the pangsof dread in the bottom of his stomach at the prospect of another tense afternoon spent with HarryStyles.**“You came,” Harry grumbles as soon as he opens the door, his tone suggesting he was ardentlyhoping for the opposite.“I came,” Louis repeats flatly, and his own tone suggests the same.With a long suffering sigh, Harry walks back into his rooms, leaving the door wide open for Louisbehind him.“Anymore gremlins today?” he asks as he makes his way inside, dumping his bag on a chair andsettling onto the chaise longue.“I’m alone,” is all Harry snaps, stalking past Louis in his black button up and black trousers, hairquiffed and messy with curls. “I’ll just get this written up, then, seeing as it’s Friday and I have alife to live.”“As do I. I have to get ready for that party Zayn’s been talking about,” Louis sniffs, smoothing outhis [Niall’s] jumper.Harry pauses, staring at him with something akin to revulsion. “You’re going?”“Of course I’m going,” Louis glares. “Zayn’s my mate.”“He was mine first,” Harry counters as he sits at the desk, eyebrows furrowed deep as he dips his

quill in the murky ink, careful to dab the tip against the glass for excess drips. He then beginsmaking work of the parchment before him, the quill scratching efficiently as Harry watches hisown scrawl with lazy, pale green eyes, bottom lip bitten between his teeth, the dust-swirlingsunbeams that shine through the room soaking him in gold and shadow.And Louis can’t help but glare because he hates how poetic this fucker looks right now, with hisGreek-mythology styled curls and clusters of eyelashes that would have spiraled Keats intodepression and worn Byron’s fingers to the bone. Especially when Louis keeps pin-ballingbetween being convinced that he’s a demon and a broken angel.But a broken demon is probably more accurate.“I’ll just sit here, then. No need to talk,” he mumbles, flashing his eyebrows upward and rippinghis eyes away from the scene before him. “I mean, why would you want to ask me if I understoodeverything from last night’s assignment? That would just be strange.”Harry’s jaw sets. “I’ll ask you on Monday, though I already know the answer.” His murky stareflashes up to Louis’. “It’s not like you’ll be touching this during the weekend, anyway.”“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis snaps.“That you’re not going to touch this during the weekend anyway,” he repeats slowly, and nowhe’s stopped writing and is full on glaring at Louis, quill poised in one hand, the other clenched ina fist atop the desk.Louis shakes his head, scoffing. “You know, you really are the most incredible piece of—“But Louis is swiftly cut off by the sharp vibration of the phone in his pocket.Shooting one more glare in Harry’s direction (who has already begun writing again) he slides itout, already prepared to answer Niall and exaggeratedly complain about Harry, but then he seesthe caller ID.And it’s not Niall.Mum.“Fuck,” he hisses, feeling his heart drop immediately. Because he hadn’t texted her backyesterday, had he? Or called. How could he have fucking forgot?Because he’s been corrupted by this fucking school, that’s how.He continues to stare at the screen, psyching himself to answer as it continues to vibrateexpectantly, and he feels Harry’s quiet gaze flicker up to him as he bounces his leg nervously.Shutting his eyes firmly tight, he swipes the phone and brings it to his ear before he can change hismind.“Hey!” he greets in his happiest tone, and pinches the bridge of his nose.“Lou? Louis?” he hears his mother answer, almost frantically. God.“Yes?”“Where have you been? Why’ve you been ignoring me? You up to trouble?”“What? No, I—“

“It’s your fucking father, isn’t it?” she all but screeches, and Louis winces, pulling the phone awayfrom him momentarily.“What are you on about? I haven’t even—““He sends you to that bloody school and now you think you’re too good for us." She's such amess.Louis’ fists clench. Yep. This is exactly what he’d been fearing. And expecting.“Where are you?” he grits out.“I’ve been a mess, Lou,” she admits quietly, and he can hear the sniffles. “I can’t do this on myown, I can’t.”“Where are you?” he repeats, louder, keeping his voice steady.“I’m in the park.”“Alone?”“Yeah, of course.”Of course? He sees red. “Where are the girls?”“Margaret’s watching them, she’s old enough now, love.”“She’s only eleven. Go home.”“I can’t right now. I can’t do it, Louis—““Go. Home.”There’s a pause as Louis rubs at his forehead, and all he hears is his mother’s quiet breath and thestatic of a breeze on the other end of the line.“What’s gotten into you?” she suddenly asks, voice quivering. “You used to be here, you used tocare for us. Now you’ve gone and left—you’re just like your bloody father.”His blood boils at the accusation. It shouldn’t, really, not when he’s heard it before, but it stillstings and his jaw clenches as he focuses his attentions on a particularly soothing painting ofZayn’s before him—an ocean. It’s filled with blues that swirl. Just like real water. “I won’t have it,Lou, I won’t have it!” she continues, shouting through the receiver. “I’ve raised you better!”There are greens in the water, too. Greens mixing with the blues.Louis rises, fisting his jumper in his free hand as he grips onto the phone, white-knuckled, andstands directly in front of the painting, immersing himself in it, his back to Harry whose scribbleshave now ceased entirely.“Just stop it. Please. Stop this and go home. Go now. You can’t leave the girls on their own. Youknow this. You can’t do that shit anymore—I’m not going to be there to fix it this time. I’m not.”As Louis waits, his nerves grating, he hears her faint whisper. “Come home.”“What?”

“Come home. Please come home,” she pleads.But pity is lost on him, and instead he feels another surge of anger and annoyance. “No.”“Come home!” she says louder, but Louis only shakes his head.“No.”“Then I’m coming to get you.”“What? No! Go home, the girls are there, just go—““I’m on my way, and I’m taking you home with me.” Her emotions are frazzled, obviously, andher voice shakes in its determination.“WOULD YOU CALM DOWN,” Louis begins to shout at the receiver, now gripping his hair infrustration, because fuck, no, his mother can’t do this now, she cannot do this now. Not whenLouis is just beginning to like this place, not when things are going so smoothly [for the mostpart], not when he’s finally had a chance to breathe after all these years of being both child andparent because he was unlucky enough to be born into a selfish family that festers in their ownemotions. “Don’t you dare come here, I won’t—“But the dial tone rings, and Louis knows, he just knows, his mum is on her way.Because this is what she does. She panics. And she drags Louis to fix the mess.But not this time.Without reaction, he immediately texts Stan.‘Pls go to my house? Mum’s at it again, sisters home all alone.’And almost instantly he gets a response. ‘Sure thing mate’And he just really loves his best mate.By the time he looks up, he’s all but forgotten where he is and who he’s with. Until he sees Harry,brow furrowed, staring at him from the desk, clutching the quill in both hands absently, sliding hisfingertips over the feathers and looking somewhere between cross, alarmed, and unsettled.And he continues to stare.Louis, having no fight left in him and absolutely dreading the return to his flat where he’ll have todeal with the hot mess that is his mother, only stares back.Then Harry clears his throat.“Who was that,” he asks nonchalantly, eyes now averted as he corks the ink bottle and wipes theremaining ink off of the quill with a small vermillion cloth.“My mum,” Louis admits lamely, running a hand over his face.Harry nods, continuing to clean the quill with painfully slow movements. “She’s coming to getyou?” he asks, but his voice is odd, slow in its usual drawl, but off in timbre.“Yeah,” Louis says simply, and leans against the bookshelf.

“She’s going to your flat?”Louis nods dazedly, eyes lost in thought. “Yeah, she is.”And fuck.Fuck.He groans, then proceeds to bang his head off of the side of the bookshelf. “I would give anythingto disappear right now,” he laments, and he shuts his eyes, gripping the wood with both hands in atight grasp.“Well, you can’t stay here,” is all Harry says in a tart tone, sliding the freshly scrubbed quill intothe drawer before adjusting his sleeves.“I assumed as much,” Louis says flatly, shooting him a glare. “Besides, it wouldn’t help any. Niallwould just tell her where I am. He’s oblivious like that.” He sighs, bringing his hands up to cuphis face. “This is going to be horrible. Fucking horrible.”Harry’s glare deepens as he begins picking at a loose hem on his shirt, but he remains silent.“Might as well get it over with though, eh?” Louis continues. “What doesn’t kill you makes youstronger.” And with that, he pushes himself off of the bookcase and heads towards his shoulderbag.Then Harry shoots up out of his seat.“Follow me,” he says suddenly in a clipping tone, and his eyes are emotionless as he makes hisway forward.Louis blinks as he watches Harry grab his phone and a small cluster of keys off of the mantle. Heglances at his Chanel watch, repeats something quietly to himself, then dons a fedora that hadbeen resting on the coat rack.And Louis just watches, because what the fuck? Did Harry Styles just ask Louis to follow him?Surely not.But apparently he did, because now Harry is moving towards the door and pulling it open, staringat Louis with a bored expectancy, a hint of impatience in the dance of his long, leather-clad feet.He raises his eyebrows. “Are you deaf?” he asks, but it’s less snapping and more sighing, thoughhis glare is still present and his general vibe reeks of supreme distaste.But distaste be damned, Louis can only assess the two options as they are:Or.1. Refuse the smarmy bastard before him and go back to his flat and face his train wreck of amother. And all that entails.1. Follow Harry Styles, who very much hates him, has already threatened his well-being, andcould very possibly kill him.One is responsible, one is reckless. And Louis was never really anything but reckless.“Don’t sass me, Curly,” he says, striding up to Harry. “Now walk.”

And with a very slight smirk playing upon his lips, Harry takes off in his dopey skulk, Louisfollowing close behind.Chapter End NotesSoooo this fic is the fic that never ends. It goes on and on my friends. My mind isinsanity and this fic will probably reflect that. But oh well, cuz it's fun, right? :)Thanks to all my moonbabies who are oh-so-sweet about this fic and say such nicethings and keep me company. I want to be friends with all of, ALL OF YOU, so chatwith me and let's look at One Direction photos together and cry about things, mkur?

XIIIChapter SummaryHarry takes Louis.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesHarry keeps checking his phone.Which is ironic, because Louis is doing the exact opposite—he’s shut off his phone. For fear ofincessant phone calls from his mum. That he may have been tempted to answer.But only to have stopped the incessant ringing.They’re barreling down a country road in the antique car (much to Louis’ confusion: “Isn’t thisZayn’s car?” “We share it,” Harry had said simply, then gotten in without another word), havinglong left their little town, and neither has spoken a word since Louis agreed to follow Harry. AndLouis is sort of, maybe, panicking, but he’s keeping his shit together as he sits in the passengerseat trying to figure out just what the fuck is happening. And why the fuck he agreed to be here.It’s nearing evening, the cloudless sky tinged with citrus hues, and the honeysuckle and cottonblossoms soak the crisp air. Harry and Louis ride along in their windy silence, their framessaturated in amber light as breezes ruffle through hair and lick at skin. Sunlight and trees glide pastthem in streaks as they wind down the road. Louis drums his fingers on the door, on his thigh,everywhere, his feet shuffling as he flicks stubbornly curious eyes at Harry occasionally, verysecretly desperate for an explanation or a sense of ease. But he tries his best not to stare fully, andso he turns his head the opposite way, pretending to take in the blurred scenery.But he’s acutely aware of Harry and his every move.Harry.Harry with his furrowed brow that never blinks as his soft curls whip into his face, his lips set in atight line. Harry who’s checking his phone every other minute, face void of emotion minus thecreases and the tightness. Harry who was in a foul, shitty mood and made the world thunderbefore whisking Louis away to safety without rhyme or reason.Well. Hopefully safety. There’s still that chance that murder is eminent.They’ve been driving for ten minutes and Louis can’t stop picking at the hole in his jeans.Ten whole minutes of driving.And Harry still hasn’t told them where they’re going.And Louis is a really, really curious person.“All right. I need to know,” he finally bursts, turning to face Harry, whose eyebrows are knittedtogether, eyes intent on the road. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere.”“That doesn’t count as an answer,” Louis says crossly, rolling his eyes. “And you can stop withthe attitude. I have a right to know.” He pauses. “You could be taking me somewhere to kill me.”He watches Harry’s reaction closely.“I wouldn’t kill you,” Harry says, sounding as if it’s the most ridiculous notion in the world.“That’s messy.”Oh wow.Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. “Oh! My bad! You could be taking me somewhere to have someoneelse kill me, then.”And Harry keeps silent at that.Which is, maybe, slightly worrisome.Overcome with unease (he doesn’t think he’s ever been in a more awkward situation in his life)Louis reaches out to fiddle with the radio which looks completely at odds with the vintage vehicle,if he’s being honest. He flicks it to the first station he can think of.“Aaaaaalright,” the DJ’s voice booms through the silence and the wind, and Harry’s eyes flicksideways before settling back on the road. “Well there it is. ‘One Heart’ by Electra, their brandnew single, out October 16 th . It’s sure to have the kids dancing, isn’t it, Ted?”“Right you are,” Ted agrees, and Louis smirks at their grandiose, exaggerated voices, notingHarry’s white knuckles on the steering wheel as he glances once more at his phone which sits onhis thigh. “But that won’t be the only hit for Nick Grimshaw this year, will it?”“No?”“He’s got that new single with Des Styles, hasn’t he?”And Louis stiffens at the name, and he thinks Harry might, too.“Ahh, yes, you’re right. And they’re sure to deliver—they always do! Speaking of Des, he’s had abit of a—“But the radio switches off then, Harry’s hand flying to silence it, and Louis starts, looking over athim in alarm.“I was listening to that!” he complains, but Harry’s brow only furrows further, his silence takingon a new edge.“I wasn’t,” he counters, as if that’s all the reason in the world needed to end the conversation.Which, normally, would spur Louis to do the exact opposite, but Harry’s cold eyes flick backdown to the black screen of his phone, and Louis can’t bring himself to argue amidst the alreadytherelayers of tension and silent chaos.So Louis lets it go. Because whatever those radio cronies were about to say in regards to Des,Harry didn’t want to hear it. Or did he not want Louis to hear it?“That’s funny that Niall’s doing the drum bits for your dad’s new song,” Louis dropsconversationally, unable to resist pressing the matter just a tiny bit.

Harry nods quietly, knuckles white, but says nothing.“I think he’s actually going back tonight for more work. That should be fun.”Which makes Harry turn his head sharply. “He’s already been at the studio?” he asks, attentionpiqued.“Er, yeah, two days ago or summat. Didn’t you know?”Harry’s face reacts, just barely, almost too sudden for Louis to catch. He blinks steadily, and hislashes catch in the gold of the sun. “Was Des there?” he asks in a controlled tone, ignoring Louis’question, and though Louis hears nonchalance on the surface of each word, he feels the tensionsparking beneath Harry’s skin.“No. He wasn’t,” is all Louis says.And the silence returns, filled only by the wind that whips against the car and through their bodies.And Louis silently wishes for an anvil to drop on him.**When they reach their destination, the last road Louis expects Harry to turn onto is a long,winding cobblestone one that snakes through willow trees and endless expanses of green grass.And the last sight he expects to see as they wind their way further down is the large, beautifulmansion with classic architecture and Corinthian columns, sat in front of gardens and elaboratefountains at the end of the property, tall, silent, and shadowed by the midday clouds.“Holy shit,” Louis breathes under his breath, but Harry makes no move. “I thought we were goingto go to Starbucks or something,” he mumbles, staring at the sight before him with wide eyes.Harry smirks, the tiniest bit, stormy walls of his eyes flickering for a millisecond as they make theirway further toward the house, Louis staring betwixt Harry and said house with a mixture of aweand confusion.They ease into the roundabout that lies before the enormous expanse of stairs and entryway, largemarble vases overflowing with roses and ivy sitting on either side of them. It’s even moreenormous up close, and more beautiful, and Louis stares with a full dropped jaw at the balconiesand archways, vaguely aware that he should be Snapchatting this to Stan as he spots an actualfucking gargoyle sat at the top of the tallest peak.“Welcome to my house,” comes Harry’s sudden drawl as they park the car.And Louis’ jaw only drops just that bit more, because he genuinely thought they were at a fuckingmuseum. Not Harry’s home.“Sweet mother of god,” he mutters, sending Harry into an irritated eye roll as they emerge fromthe car.When they enter the house, Louis is actually expecting Alfred from Batman to pop out ofnowhere, opening the door for them and offering champagne on a tray despite Harry’s gruffexplanation of “Our butler’s on holiday so we haven’t got the staff here today.”Which, really, is fucking insane enough itself.

Louis immediately notes that it’s dark, very dark, the windows shrouded in curtains, sealed offfrom the world, and not one light is on anywhere. The furniture is draped with soft, white sheets,everything is still as stone, and it smells of wilted flowers and faded cologne. It seems emptysomehow despite its grandiose appeal, and though it took Louis’ breath away from the outside, theinside feels intensely barren and hollow, and Louis doesn’t like the feel of it one bit.He is also becoming increasingly certain that he is, indeed, being brought to a sacrificial alter.Harry stalks ahead wordlessly, heels of his boots clicking through the shadowed, empty halls,echoes bounding through the limitless ceilings and renaissance paintings that are hung at everyturn. The marble beneath Louis’ Toms is cold and shiny as he follows closely, not knowing whatelse to do, and he can’t imagine why anyone would desire such a floor as it is absolute murder onthe feet. But, then again, he can’t imagine this place was designed for comfort in the first place.They whip through room after room, Harry’s stride purposeful as he examines every inch ofspace, opening closets and sliding his palms along the thick, embroidered curtains that cover everywindow from the lingering sun, leaving only shrouds of darkness and slivers of struggling fadedlight; every room is cold and shadowed in blues, and Louis wonders why they can’t flick on adamn light or, god forbid, pull back the curtains.But he doesn’t question it—not when he sees the tight clutch Harry has on his phone or the creasebetween his brows as he glides forward, shoulders stiff beneath the crisp confines of his blackbuttoned shirt, rolled up to his milky elbows, revealing bits of tattoo. He continues his search forsomething nameless, apparently immune to the darkness, and Louis follows close behind becausehe doesn’t know what else to do.It’s odd. It’s weird. It’s strange as fuck. There’s tension and silence and Harry’s eyes aresomewhere distant, barely comprehending Louis is with him at all—and why the fuck is he? Heassumed Harry was taking him somewhere random, just as a distraction. He assumed this trip wasbecause of him, and not just to tag along as Harry runs errands or takes an aimless pit stop at homeor whatever the fuck they’re doing.So Louis’ mind whirrs as he follows the click of the heels, thousands of questions and accusationssitting on the tip of his tongue, barely restrained.Then suddenly Harry stops, unlocks his phone, and throws a glance in Louis’ general direction.“Wait here,” he says, and it’s so sudden, so unexpected, so loud in the still, silent space, that Louiscan only blink before Harry disappears down a flight of stairs.And he could wait, sure.But Louis was never one to be told what to do.So, feeling completely at odds with everything happening in his life in this moment of time (andhe really wishes he could just turn on his phone and text his annoyance and distress to Niall) heturns on his heel and strays from the staircase Harry had just descended, instead walking up thestaircase on the opposite end of the room and towards the only source of light he can see, pouringfrom a little room at the end of the left hall. He doesn’t think, just seeks the source, and walkscarefully as if he were intruding, any noise made giving him away.Each footstep connecting with the polished floor leads him closer to the streaming light, and whilehe tries not to think about where he is, what he’s doing, and with who, and WHY (as if he couldthink about anything else though, because what the actual fuck), his heart misses the memo,hammering uneasily in his chest. His palms sweat, too, so he wipes them on his jeans absently ashe stares at the cold, painted faces of dead ancestors on the walls, the guilt molding, lavish

wallpaper, and statues that rest on Ionic pedestals, proud and dead and untouched. But he looksaway, feeling as if he’s seeing too much.Because he’s in Harry’s house. Harry Styles’ fucking house.And, yes, he knew he was rich, but he didn’t know he was, say, Zayn rich—he expected amodern, lavish house with a pool in the living room and a TV that’s 3D and maybe a zebrarunning about or a gold toilet; but he most definitely did not picture an ornate mansion that wouldbefit the Sun King.His brain can’t stop asking those persistent, nagging questions : Why is he here? Why did Harrybring him? He’s obviously on a mission of sorts, doing something important, something he’d beenmeaning to do—he didn’t just come here on a whim. Harry has a purpose. Louis just doesn’tknow what it is. And he certainly doesn’t know why he’s part of it. Judging from Harry’sbehavior earlier, he certainly hadn’t wanted Louis’ company, was in an even worse mood thanusual, and yet. Here they are.Louis can’t even begin to make sense of it.So he doesn’t. Instead, he strides into the room with the light pouring from it.He finds a large, desolate space filled only with empty, ornate birdcages. Some hang from theceiling, some stand alone, some sit atop the large, granite fireplace at the far end of the room. Theyvary in color and size, resting silent and still, their tiny bars chipped with paint and age. But Louisdoesn’t focus on them despite their dominance in the room—instead, he finds the source of thelight that cuts through them, and finds glass French doors opening to a balcony. The curtains thathang don’t cover them fully, leaving large strips of light exposed, and Louis walks up to them,pressing his hands against the warm glass.And he just stands there.He doesn’t know what he’s doing exactly—not when the room is too silent and too closed off andtoo eerie and too alien. Not when he’s not even sure if Harry will remember he’s there, or justforget him in this tall, dark, ornate prison of a mansion with its air that strangles the light andwelcomes darkness. Not when he stares out at endless rose gardens and fountains of fish peoplevomiting water, and not when he’s surrounded by gold and glass and marble, all the while dressedin a Rolling Stones t-shirt and red jeans.Because when Harry had whisked him away to evade mum, taking him to an empty mansion wasthe last place he expected.So he just stands there, really, really wishing he hadn’t agreed to come.**Eventually, Louis searches for Harry.Because he absolutely does not want to be left behind, and he’s uncomfortable and a little sick,and the day has been terrible, and he really just wants to return to his flat which suddenly seems alot less ridiculously posh and smoke, drink, eat, and play video games.Hell, at this point he would welcome just going home to listen to Niall play his goddamn piano.So Louis searches the unfamiliar territory, leaving the stark birdcages behind, and finds Harry atlast (after awkwardly knocking on closed doors, almost knocking priceless vases over, and findingdark rooms that were positively terrifying—one held actual fucking knight’s armor, rusted and all,

encased in glass and standing on the far end so it very much looked like a very real threat) and hebreathes a sigh of relief at the sight of the tall, troubled boy with the phone pressed to his ear.He’s standing in the middle of a large hall on the ground floor, fist clenched at his side, headbowed, muttering deep and mumbled words into the receiver.Louis makes out only one sentence.“He’s not here.”And it’s said so hopelessly, so quietly, so very almost-tinged-with-fear, that Louis feels his chestcave again, just as he had on that day he’d stumbled upon him in his room, tears and all.And fuck.Louis is not equipped to deal with this boy. Not when he flounders between severe annoyance,distaste, confusion, and pity for him. And part of him wants to pull away, suck it up and turn onhis phone, call Niall or his mum or whomever, and just catch a ride home, forgetting about todayand Harry Styles and his carefully worded sentences and dripping blinks but, fuck, he can’t, hejust can’t, and so Louis steps back into the shadows and waits for Harry to hang up the phone, hismind fighting the urge to race.Because who’s not here? Who is Harry looking for?Louis thinks he could know, might know, but doesn’t understand it; there are too many questionsand no fucking answers--the most infuriating thing in the world, to Louis--and so he doesn’t beginto analyze or pick apart, he just waits.Harry mutters a farewell after a few more murmurs, before dropping his hand to his side, phonestill tight in his grip. His head is still bowed, and as Louis leans further, he catches sight of his eyeswhich are determined, almost manic, and fighting back a thousand emotions that seem to burstbeneath his skin.It makes Louis’ palms itch.“There you are!” he finds himself bursting aloud suddenly, unable to watch whatever it is that’shappening any longer, bounding out from the shadows and towards Harry. He adopts his sassiesttone, his most relaxed limbs, and raises an eyebrow in annoyance, steadily ignoring the pangs ofemotions that irritate him within.Because, no. Louis is not emotional. And no, he does not care about the mess that is Harry Styles.Harry turns around, his face immediately masked, eyes cool and assessing as they settle on Louis.“I told you to wait,” he says, sliding his phone into his pocket.“I know,” Louis says simply, and sends a sugary smile.Harry studies him for a moment, eyebrows on the brink of annoyance, before he scoffs a bit andaverts his gaze. But it’s not nearly as cold as Louis has seen come from him before, and he feelsanother pang.“This is some place,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets as he takes in the room beforehim. It would be the perfect setting for a ball. “Can’t imagine living in a house like this.”Harry shrugs, remaining silent.

“You quite proud of it, then?”“Of what?”“Living here. Coming from all this.”Harry looks around, expressionless, as he takes in the high, vaulted ceilings and tapestries. “Notreally,” he says, simply and monotonously. “It makes no sense to me.”Louis steadies his gaze onto him, surprised, and quirks his eyebrow. “Then we have something incommon, after all.”Harry’s own stare slides to Louis, and their eyes lock, Harry’s boring into him unblinkingly. Louiscan feel the pangs beneath the surface, the swirls and a thousand other things, and even when heclears his throat, Harry doesn’t look away.“Well?” he suddenly questions, breaking the silence, “Aren’t you going to show me around?” Hetilts his head inquisitively, taking a few steps towards Harry.There’s a pause, and a cloud moves to cover the sun outside, muting the sunbeams that sneakthrough the cracks of the covered windows.“No,” Harry finally says, but it’s said with such little conviction, his mind obviously in a thousanddifferent places, and the exhaustion in the hallows of his eyes and tension written in his skin isenough to send tiny jolts through Louis’ bloodstream, stabbing at his heart.And fuck.Louis’ seen the darker bits of Harry, has seen his foul moods and his glares and his tears even, butthis quiet anxiety within him is new, and it’s unsettling, very unsettling, and Louis doesn’t want tosee the forlorn stress that pours from his skin any longer, because it’s making his fingers twitchand it rubs the back of his throat unpleasantly.So, with a smile and a complete lack of thought, he walks up to Harry and finds himself nudginghis elbow playfully into Harry’s side. “C’mon, then. Just a quick look? I might even get jealous.And hate my life, wishing I was you. Wouldn’t that be nice?” he teases with a large smile, andnudges into him once more, trying to soften the sharp edges of Harry’s expression.And Harry…Harry fucking smiles in response. He smiles.Harry Styles actually smiles.It’s small (tiny, really), it struggles to bloom, and it’s paired with eyes that are still a little distantand dark, but his lips quirk and his dimple flashes, and it’s the softest, most sincere thing Louis’ever seen, even if it is gone in a split second.And Louis can hear the refusal, can see it building behind Harry’s eyes again slowly and—“Okay,” he relents suddenly, his tone calm, quiet. And he leaves it at that. No charm slathered on,no quips, no winning smiles. Just a simple “okay” and he leads the way, his limbs relaxed as hislong legs glide forward.Louis stares after him, truly surprised, before catching up and stepping into place beside him.**

Harry showed Louis all of the main floor, dutifully giving the names of each room and relaying abit of history, and was being a very helpful tour guide. He was on the quiet side, surveying eachroom emotionlessly or, occasionally, watching Louis which Louis caught him doing only ahandful of times, his eyes fixed and quiet as Louis touched every surface and commented oneverything he deemed fit. (“That’s bad manners. You shouldn’t say things like that.” “What?You’re going to tell me it’s not stuffy in here and smells of mothballs?” “It doesn’t smell ofmothballs.” “But it is stuffy, innit?”And Harry didn’t respond, instead turning his head away anddoing something that looked suspiciously like suppressing a small smile.) It all went surprisinglysmoothly and calmly, their voices echoing and their glances just missing each other, weariness stilllingering on the ends of them, but Louis almost found himself enjoying the situation, almost evenenjoying Harry’s taciturn demeanor as it accompanied him through every room like a ghost.Until they went upstairs. Where Harry suddenly disappeared.And now, once again, Louis is alone and utterly confused, almost panicking, wondering wherethe fuck Harry could have possibly gone. They literally only just climbed the stairs, and all Louisdid was bend over to pick up his phone which had slipped out of his pocket, and suddenly Harrywas gone when he’d stood back up, either having evaporated or had found a fucking port key. SoLouis begins walking aimlessly once more.He searches, entering the nearest room and noticing a slightly ajar…door?...in the middle of thewall (it blends perfectly with its surroundings, Louis would never have noticed it if it wasn’talready open) and he shuffles towards it before hesitantly widening it. Surprisingly, it connects toanother room, a wee library, and he sees yet another door across the way.He follows this pattern, stumbling through elaborate room after elaborate room, until he finds alarge, pale, barren room with long angora curtains billowing with the breeze from the openwindow, and finds Harry sitting alone on a large sapphire velvet and satin couch. The shadowsalmost swallow him and the breeze tickles his curls and the soft, blood red bow of his lips.Louis stills, struck instantly with the image of a piano and the quiet desolation of Harry beingalone and looking so frail. Why is this such a reoccurring image? Inside AND outside of Louis?His chest lurches again, with pity and discomfort.But Harry’s not crying, not this time, instead staring quietly out the open window, hands lying inhis lap, feet crossed at the ankles, and he looks neat and folded and so, so small despite his endlesslimbs and semi-scowl that seems ingrained in his features.So Louis wordlessly walks ahead and sits beside him on the couch, at the opposite end, andtogether they stare at the vibrant orange sun as it descends on the horizon.“Are you all right?” Louis suddenly finds himself asking, but his words are quiet, barely cuttingthe calm of the scene, and they glide along the breeze gently enough for Harry to get away withpretending to not have heard.But Harry’s head moves infinitesimally towards Louis before returning back, and his handsimmediately clutch together, strong and tight.“I’m always all right,” he answers, but his voice is emotionless and brittle.It catches Louis off guard, the struggle in his voice, and he turns to him, stares at the boy, and hewants to poke, wants to pry and ask for more, but Harry’s eyes are lost. They’re lost and far away,and Louis doesn’t know what to ask.

So he returns to staring at the sun, hyper aware of Harry’s presence, despite Harry being almostcompletely unaware of his own.Minutes upon minutes go by, and the sun is almost gone, sending its last, most glorious rays to theworld, and Louis glances toward Harry, noting the phone that lies quietly on the table beside him,screen staring expectantly, as if Harry’s waiting for a call. Maybe even begging for one. But itdoesn’t come, and Harry stares unseeingly and Louis fixes his hair, feeling uncomfortable andunsettled and off.“I notice you’re a fan of creepy bird cages,” he then says, and Louis really wishes he could rip hisown vocal chords out because why can’t he just stop talking? Why??Harry doesn’t blink. “They’re not mine. I hate them.”And Louis is surprised because such random, antique rubbish seems right up Harry’s alley.“What? Why?”“I like things to be free.”Louis looks over to him again, fully now, and stares openly at the boy before him with hissculpted jaw and smooth skin and noble nose.And in that moment, Harry looked anything but free.And Louis can’t explain why. Or how.And he doesn’t know what to do—fuck, what can he do?—so he looks away, clutching thearmrest tightly and bouncing his leg, wishing there was music or chatter or screaming orsomething to fill the pounding silence of the room and to fill every corner of Louis’ brain, becausehe doesn’t want to think about the boy next to him and he doesn’t want to feel the gnawing desireof needing to know what’s so very wrong, and he doesn’t want to question why Harry had said‘he’s not here’ on the phone or why he goes missing for days at a time or why he falls into bedwith everything with a heartbeat or why he glares at Louis but cries when he’s alone or why helooks so soft in the quiet spaces of the day, when no eyes are upon him.So they continue to sit until Harry stands up, signals for Louis to do the same, and they leave insilence.It’s as they’re leaving the house, the heavy doors shutting behind them, that Louis remembers whythey’re here.“Surely we’re not going back already,” he says, stopping dead in his tracks as Harry makes hisway to the car.Harry pauses, looking at Louis over his shoulder, furrowing. “Your mum wouldn’t really be therestill, would she?” he asks, and Louis is taken aback. Because Harry actually remembers, despitethe obvious piles of shit weighing on his mind? And Harry knows the dread in Louis’ statementwas directed toward his mum, and that alone? He bears concern for the situation at hand? Humanconcern? For another?Louis shrugs, swallowing his thoughts. “She probably would be, if I’m being honest, mate.”Harry looks to the ground. When he looks back up at Louis, his face is stoic.“Let’s look at the gardens. I have a new flower.”

And he takes off.“You really need to work on your transitions!” Louis calls after him, but Harry’s already far aheadof him, probably out of earshot in the soft winds, and so Louis can only roll his eyes as he trotsahead, making to catch up with him as his heart beats to the knowledge that Harry is helpingLouis keep away from his mum.When he matches his pace alongside him, Harry’s face is still tense, giving nothing away.“I don’t know many people who flit through flower obsessions quite like you do,” Louiscomments, glancing sideways.Harry shrugs as he walks. “Maybe the people you know are boring.”“Oh? And you aren’t boring?”“I’m many things, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says, looking at Louis, the right corner of his mouthtugging into a half-smile, “but I am anything but boring.”Louis opens his mouth to protest, as he usually does with Harry, but he shuts it almostimmediately, thinking on the statement. “You know what, Curly? I’ll give that one to you. I cantruly say you aren’t boring.”And Harry’s face lightens immediately. Not incredibly, not largely, not even happily—it justlightens, like a light’s been flicked on in a room or the sun’s just peaked out from an eclipse, andthough Harry doesn’t acknowledge Louis, he seems pleased with his answer, genuinely pleased,and so he begins to walk with a bit more purpose.“Here. Here it is,” he says, pointing at a black and, quite frankly, terrifying flower.Louis stares.Harry emanates pride.“I didn’t think it could be done,” Louis says, still staring at the thing before him. “But I have tosay. That flower is fucking terrifying.”And Harry almost looks like he wants to laugh as he stares at it, with its long, sharp ebony petalsand black, ribboned strands that hang from the center. But he looks at it fondly, appraisingly, andLouis’ words only seem to deepen his affections for the subject at hand.“I find it perfect.”“Not even a little creepy?”“Only in the good ways.”“That doesn’t even make sense.”“Yeah it does,” Harry protests, and it’s so close to a whine that Louis looks to him with hiseyebrows raised, a silent ‘Really?’ written in his brows.Harry half-scowls through an unaffected smile, before returning his gaze to the flower before him.“I like it,” he says quietly, and a smile still plays on his lips, but it’s nothing to do with Louis. Thisis a moment between Harry and a terrifying piece of flora and, despite the absurdity of thesituation, Louis really doesn’t want to break it, not when Harry’s having one of those rare

moments where he resembles a human, so he keeps silent, hands stuffed in his pockets as he gazesat all the different flowers grouped together, colors sharp and cutting through the evening gloom.“They’d look better in the sunlight,” Louis comments. “It’s too dark right now. They look dull.”Harry shakes his head, eyes still on the flower. “No. That makes them more special.”Louis scoffs. “Hardly. It makes them weaker. It’s when they’re standing there, out in the open, infull sun, that they’ll get my respect. Full sun and I’m there.”Harry’s thoughtful gaze turns annoyed as he flicks his eyes up to Louis. “The full sun strips themaway of anything interesting. They’re on display. Nothing left to the imagination. They’reboring.”“Not boring. Bold. They’ve got nothing to hide. I like a good, sunny flower that can flaunt itspetals.” And Louis doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s saying, doesn’t know why they’re eventalking about this, but Harry is staring at him like it matters as he soaks in his words, and so he justgoes along with it, turning his face away to stare up at the violet and cerulean sky, spotting a fewspattered stars that are beginning to peak out. “Look,” he then says, pointing. “Stars.”Brow still very much furrowed, Harry pulls his gaze away from Louis and up to the skymomentarily, before settling back on him. “I like that,” he suddenly says, as Louis begins stridingthrough the garden path, wrinkling his nose at some of the more ostentatious flowers. “About theflowers being bold.”“You like something I said?” Louis asks in mock surprise, unable to resist a bit of sass as hecontinues his stroll.Harry watches him, almost curiously, almost wearily, hands folded behind his back. “They’re justwords,” he says simply, almost confused by Louis’ statement, but his eyes are watchful,observant, and Louis only shakes his head.“Not really, though. But whatever.”Harry continues to watch him.“You don’t like your mum,” he suddenly says out of nowhere, boldly, and it’s not a question, hiseyes stuck on Louis.Louis starts. “I never said that.”“But you don’t like her.”“I… Well. Of course I love her. But. I don’t always like her, no.”“Why?” Harry asks, and it’s so forward, so unabashed, and so demanding, that Louis feels at oddswith the conversation, can sense the challenge in Harry’s voice and doesn’t understand.“Why did you save me from her?” Louis counters, ignoring the question (that he really didn’t feellike getting into with Harry of all people), and Harry blinks, face neutral.“I didn’t save you.”“You took me here.”“I was running late because of you. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Tell me to leave. Obviously.”“You don’t listen to me.”“But I would have then. I was on my way out anyways.”Harry falls silent. He averts his gaze, stroking long, slender milky fingers over the petals of thehideous flower. “I suppose I didn’t think about it. It doesn’t matter, regardless.”The crickets begin singing. Or playing. Louis doesn’t really know what to call it.Harry’s hand drops from the flower before he glances up at Louis. “It’s dark,” is all he says, themoonlight beginning to softly glow, painting his porcelain skin in eerie blues and dusting his curlsin silver.“She’s probably gone,” Louis says. “I doubt she’s waited this long. She’ll have gotten bored. Sowe can go.”“I wasn’t waiting for her to be gone,” Harry says coldly, slowly, but it’s bullshit, Louis can smellit from here, and so he doesn’t protest, just begins walking towards the car and ignoring his bitingretorts and eye rolls.As they climb into the car, Louis shutting the door, he feels lighter. And this evening was weird,yeah, but it could have been a lot weirder. And if he’d been at his flat with his mum, it could havebeen a lot more terrible. So, all in all, despite Harry’s murky conversation skills (when he’s not“on” so to speak) and his penchant for looking at Louis like he’s a stain on the bottom of his shoe,Louis owes him.Maybe a lot.“I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for,” he says on a whim, looking over to Harrywho freezes in the midst of shutting the car door.Eyes staring ahead unblinkingly, Harry breathes, unmoving, Louis’ words seeming to marinatewithin him, before he breaks himself from his reverie and slams the door shut, that grimace back inplace. Without a word, he buckles his seat belt and starts the car, and they drive off, Louissneaking glances as they fly down the road, and Harry’s hands grip the wheel even tighter.**When Harry stops the car on the street outside of Louis’ building, he’s genuinely confused.Because isn’t Harry going to just park by his own rooms and make Louis walk back to his? Likehe always instructs Zayn to do whenever they take a drive?“This is my building,” he says stupidly, and looks to Harry who looks very unimpressed, botheyebrows raised.“I’m aware of that, thank you,” his voice oozes, and the deep velvety timbre of it is almost lost inthe gloom of the night. Because Harry’s voice can be so loud and raucous and yet, sometimes, sosoft and low that Louis thinks it could vanish; he thinks that if he weren’t able to see Harry, hewouldn’t be able to hear his words at all, their presence only established by the slow, twistedmovements of his sinful lips.“I guess I’m just surprised you’re not making me walk across town,” Louis replies dryly, throwinghim a look.

Harry eyes him, still as stone beneath the stars. “That party’s tonight,” he replies, and Louis blinksbecause what? What does that have to do with anything at all?“What are you talking about?” he asks bluntly, squinting his eyes and tilting his head with a ‘whatthe fuck’ air that he has perfected.“If you walked across town, you’d be late for that party. You’d keep Zayn and Liam waiting,”Harry explains calmly, and okay, yeah, Louis definitely has no idea how Harry’s brain works atall. All he knows is that Harry’s train of thought is quite possibly the most scenic route available.“Well then,” he says, as Harry checks his phone, “thanks, I guess.”Harry nods. “And tell the boys I won’t be making it. I’m meeting up with someone.”Someone. Of course.“Will do,” Louis says shrewdly, unable to resist a shake of his head. “Should have known,” hemumbles under his breath.Harry makes no move to reply, just taps a few things onto his phone before sliding it back in hispocket.Louis’ tempted to bite something out, sling judgment or attitude Harry’s way before stalking offbecause Harry is always so damn cold, no matter how much time they spend together, no matterthe progress he feels they almost make, and he’s pissed off about it, annoyed with it, and tired.But then his mind wanders to the phone call with his mum (and, oh yeah, he should probably turnhis phone back on) and he hears Harry’s words of 'Follow me' and he sees Harry stalking ahead tothe garden when Louis feared they were returning, and he can’t be mad. Not really. Not fully.And so he exits the vehicle, palms tingling and chest warm, while Harry waits and stares aheadsilently. But before he closes the door, he turns to face him, smoothing out his features. He knowsHarry won’t turn to meet his gaze because he’s already done and over the situation, ready to moveon to the next scene.But Louis says it anyway.“Thank you, Harry. Really,” he says, and it’s genuine, probably the only genuine thing Louis’ever said to Harry, as he stands there in his simple clothes and messy fringe, a bit of scruff lininghis jaw.As expected, there’s silence in return.But Louis isn’t too bothered, having said what he’d wanted to say (and owing Harry nothingmore) so he closes the door after a pause, then turns on his heel toward his flat, already preparinghis greeting speech to Niall. Who is probably going to punch him in the face after having had todeal with his mum all evening.It’s then, as Louis’ walking away and losing himself in internal monologue, that he hears Harry.“You’re welcome, Louis.”And Louis stops.His heart quickens just that bit more and he feels jarred as he turns around slowly, completelytaken aback by the quiet sincerity in Harry’s voice that was directed toward…Louis.

He finds Harry staring down at his hands in his lap, shoulders hunched and small, but Louis onlykeeps staring until Harry finally looks up.And it’s such a clear gaze that meets Louis, so open and green and glinting under moonbeams,that he takes a sharp intake of breath. It’s not a kind or happy or sweet gaze—hell, it’s not evengentle. It’s just honest. It’s Harry looking back at him, walls removed and replaced with thefragility of openness, and it’s so alien and blatant and real, it’s as if Louis were staring at Harrynaked.Harry doesn’t blink, but Louis, feeling a million things fighting against his skull and ribcage, feelshimself erupting into a soft smile, sending it into Harry, pelting him with it, before giving a short,respectful nod.Harry’s eyes flit a bit in surprise and something else, then Louis turns around, slowly walkingtowards his flat.He can’t help but feel that something has altered, something has changed between him and Harry,and, as he steps through the gates and admits himself into the walls of the ancient school, Louisthinks that, maybe, having Harry Styles as a friend wouldn’t be so bad.Chapter End NotesSo, in case you're wondering what the hell kind of flower I was talking about thatHarry loves, it's called a "Bat Flower" and it's absolutely terrifying and I don't quiteknow how it made its way in this story but, meh. There it is.Thank you for all the sweet and lovely words I get from you beautiful people! I loveyou all. Sincerely. Love.ALSO. As you may know, I tag my inspiration pics for this pic as "this is inspiringme" on my tumblrrrr, but I've recently become even more of a finicky weirdo andtagged my ALL TIME ACCURATE pics n gifs under "Young & Beautiful."(mizzwilde.tumblr/tagged/young-&-beautiful) Basically, under that very elitist tag, Ihave all my EXACT images of who these boys are. So, there's some nice uselesstime wasting for you. :)The song for this chapter is called "Orphans of the Storm" and I wrote this whilelistening to it on repeat and HOLY SHIT GUYS because this song is perfect for thisstory, and, yes, especially this chapter. I particularly envision it when they're drivingoutside in the evening, the wind whipping through their hair, etc. I also envision itwhen they're flitting through the gloomy shadows of the house. Here it is, becauseI'm that adamant for you to hear it. :) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tv2Xvzqqy_oThank you all for reading this long, dribbly, insane mess of a story. You're preciousto me.

XIVChapter SummaryLouis has time to think.Chapter NotesThank you, niallnights (that's her tumblr, she's wonderful) for inspiring Berkley. :))Also big love to Arl (scanda-louis) for giving me too many compliments and makingme smiiiiile

eginning to suspect Niall’s general pleasantness was attributed to his mum having not come afterall…but apparently that is not the case.So.What?“And?” Louis tempts, slowly walking towards Niall, prepared for any attack.Niall looks up then, an easy smile painting his features as he shrugs his shoulders, hands stillworking the keys. “She’s nice. We had dinner.”And Louis stares.“I’m sorry, what?”“I took your mum to dinner.”What the actual fuck.“What—Why did you do that?” Louis splutters, staring at him as if he’d just spoken in tongues.Which, to be honest, he sort of did.“She was pretty upset when she came. So we had a nice chat, then I offered to take her to dinner.She felt better after that, stopped trying to call you, and we had chocolate mousse for dessert. Thenshe went home. Gave her a kiss on the cheek as she left, promised to ring. I think she misseshaving a son to dote on,” Niall says casually, and it’s so simplified and clear and utterly fuckingrandom, that Louis can only continue to stare.Because of fucking course Niall took his mum to dinner. And of course they bonded.“Did she tell you why she came?” Louis asks wearily, heading toward the kitchen for a glass ofwater.“Not really. Said something about missing you, being worried about you. I dunno.”Niall’s concentration is back to the piano, and Louis is tempted to press the matter (because, still,what the fuck?) but he doesn’t, feeling too emotionally demolished enough as it is.“You’re going tonight, right?” he asks instead, after taking a gulp of water, eying Niall’s sleektrousers and freshly scrubbed skin.“Course,” he says jollily, exaggerating his motions as he plays up the scale. “Like you’d let mestay back, anyway.”Louis contemplates, drinking the dregs of his glass. “This is true,” he finally agrees, wiping hismouth.A peaceful silence settles over them, piano tinkling pleasantly at medium volume (why can’t heplay this calmly in the morning? Why is it always the fucking pipe organ at six A-bloody-M?) andthough it’s comforting and safe, being locked back in his flat with Niall and the lush furniture andthat goddamn noise box, Louis’ thoughts, which are pushing and pulling at the corners of hismind, seem louder somehow. Loud enough to invoke a paranoia within him that, somehow, Niallwill be able to hear his inner panic.“Where were you tho?” Niall then asks, soft blue eyes still set on the piano, and Louis is officially

“Where were you tho?” Niall then asks, soft blue eyes still set on the piano, and Louis is officiallyconvinced that, yes, his thoughts can indeed be heard as he nearly drops his glass. “All this time? Ithought you just went to your lesson with Harry?”And oh shit.“Well, obviously I did, Ireland. But then, uh….” Louis eyes the bottles of liquor sitting on theirmakeshift bar on the far end of the living room. “Well. Then mum called. You know how it is.”Niall glances up curiously. “No. What happened?”“Well, she were a right mess. Didn’t want to deal with it, did I? So…” Louis slides his hands intohis back pockets, doing his best not to bite his lip or fidget but rather instead appear aloof.“So?” Niall pushes, hands slowing on the piano. “Then what happened? You stayed at Harry’s?He let you?”“No. He, uh.” Louis flicks his hair out of his face. “He took me to his house.”The piano stops.“What?”“He took me to his house. Just, like, let me tag along while he looked for…something. Someone.”Niall stares, displaying the confusion Louis feels. “He was looking for someone?”“Yeah. Couldn’t find him though.”“Him?”“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know.”“Des?” he voices curiously, and Louis feels a cold drip in his spine.“I honestly don’t know, mate.” He pauses. “Why? Have you heard something?”He shrugs, stroking the keys with his fingers. “Father called me a bit ago to say I didn’t have tocome in to the studio tonight. Said recording’s on hold until they can get ahold of Des. Didn’t sayanything about him missing, but. Could explain it.”And Louis’ stomach grows cold as well.They remain that way, Louis standing in the kitchen, leaned up against the counter for support ashe stares blankly at the floor, and Niall petting his piano like a kitten.Louis’ thoughts are barreling down a dark tunnel, his attempts at keeping the darker thoughts atbay failing, and the awful thought of ‘Why did Harry look so perfectly terrified while searchingfor that nameless something? Especially if that nameless something was his father?’ is beginningto form, when Niall suddenly peers up at Louis, curious in an uncomplicated way.“I thought you hated each other.”Louis blinks. “Well. Yes.” He sighs and flicks his hair again, more nervously than out ofnecessity. “And no. I think something’s wrong with him.”“You think?”

Louis rolls his eyes, but he smiles. “No, but I mean it. Something is seriously wrong.”Without an ounce of worry, Niall dives back into playing whatever song it was that he’d beenattempting to master. “Well, what can you expect? He’s had a very unconventional upbringing.”“Big words.”Niall shrugs. “’S true, though.”The sentence presses into Louis’ mind. Unconventional upbringing.Howso? Yes, the 'rock star' father who is apparently batshit crazy and goes missing. (It runs in thefamily?) Yes, the drug addict, supermodel sister. Yes, the slew of ‘mums’ and the one who passedaway due to unknown causes, probably to drugs.Unconventional upbringing.Harry Styles’ been constructed out of madness, he has. And fuck. How can…But no.No.Louis is not going to be mentally ensnared by Harry today for any longer than is necessary. He’salready spent the day with him, followed him around, been left behind, stared at scary flowers andbeen on the receiving end of the most fluctuant-ly intense stares of his life. And he’s made an oddsort of peace with him as well, so that should really be enough for the moment.“Whatever,” Louis says with finality, shaking the thoughts out of his head. “Doesn’t matter.Anyways. We best get ready or we’re going to be late. And you know how Liam is about that sortof thing.”And with that, he stalks to his room and straight to his closet, dedicating his full concentration onwhat to wear for the night ahead.**The party is much like the rest.Niall crowd surfs over a sea of glittering people, his laughter booming over the blasting music as itpours from the speakers, sunglasses taking up half his face. Not too far behind him is Liam, alsocrowd surfing, his smile gleeful and excited as hands pass him to and fro. Louis notes withfondness that Zayn is always close by, hands protective beneath or around him, making sure hedoesn’t fall or get groped unnecessarily. It’s adorable, really, and Louis smiles as they glide past,Zayn sliding a wink Louis’ way.There’s decent music and good drugs and beautiful people, and Louis gets caught in a longwindedconversation with a fit young boy with too many teeth who keeps staring at his crotch likeit’s painted with gold (which Louis can’t really blame the poor thing for, because fuck yeah, thesetrousers were made to serve his body and that’s that) and, briefly, Louis wonders, through his hazeof weed, alcohol, and who knows what else, if it would be worth it to drag this nameless prettyface to the corner and maybe have him fuck or suck him senseless, or at the very least oblige afriendly hand down the trousers. But he doesn’t feel it, just can’t force it, and he finds himselfbored and studying his wine glass for amusement before finally being saved by Niall, whodemands to show him a bloke who “looks like the splitting fucking image of that cuntShakespeare”. And he sort of does; it’s odd.

Unfortunately, Louis also thinks about Harry throughout the night.Of course.Because how could he not? After the mess of the day, after being prisoner in Harry’s mansionhouse-castleand forced to endure that creepy flower in the garden and getting lost in the darkshadows in the rooms and suffering in the quiet moments and hearing Harry’s very softlymurmured, “You’re welcome, Louis,” how could he fucking not think about him?He just wonders where he’s at, what he’s doing, and why, why, why. He wonders WHY about somany things in regards to Harry.By the end of the night, with a thick mouth that tastes of rubbing alcohol and a sour stomach thathas begun to twist rebelliously (who ever said shots were fun?), Louis latches himself onto Niallso as not to be left behind, not in this state of mind, and eventually they make their way homedespite Liam’s protests. Because, naturally, Liam is insisting, through dilated eyes and excitedgestures, that they move on to another party that his old primary school friend’s holding that’s sureto be a “kicking” good time.They decline though, arrive in their flat instead, and, dropping into bed, Louis vaguely praises thefact that he’s too inebriated to lie in bed awake, mulling over the thoughts of the day.**“Mozart this morning?” Louis yawns, trudging past Niall who is effortlessly thundering the pianoonce again.“You’re getting better at identifying the songs!”“If that’s not a sure sign that I need to move, then I don’t know what is,” he grumbles, setting upthe kettle.“Candle House today,” Niall reminds, and Louis picks it up immediately.“Ah, yes. The famous Malik…’spring’ home, was it?”Niall nods amidst a particularly complicated piano riff.He sighs, shaking his head as he plops a teabag into his cup. “I think I’ve had it with your lot,Ireland . With your spring houses and your summer houses and your rich dads and your cleanmanners and fake smiles and—“ he cuts himself off, his thoughts dangerously close to verging ona certain someone. And, it being only half past nine, he can’t really afford to begin his day thatway. “Well, anyway. What time are they coming to pick us up?”“An hour or so.”“So that means about three hours?”“Yup.”“Excellent,” Louis says, and drifts towards the shower.**It’s nearly midday when the boys finally make it to the flat, dressed in autumn tweeds, scarves,fedoras, and smelling of cigars and eau de toilette in celebration of the autumnal weather.

They arrive as one, Harry leading the way in his gray and mocha plaid blazer, cream knit sweater,and matching gray bow tie, carrying what appears to be an umbrella… With a dog head for ahandle. Which would annoy Louis far more if he wasn’t currently caught on an emotional fishingline, trying his best not to stare intently at Harry’s eyes (are they duller than yesterday? Is there lifein them today? Are they unchanged at all?) and instead focus on the atrocity in Harry’s hands.“This is Berkley,” he purrs fondly, faux-smile bedazzling the room as he holds up the dog carvingreverently.And, fishing line or no, Louis stares at the thing with blatant revulsion.“That has got to be the ugliest thing I have ever seen,” he states flatly on instinct, causing Harry’seyes to immediately flash to him. He scolds himself instantly though because he’s trying withHarry, he really is--and, judging from Harry’s acknowledgement of him, he thinks he might betrying, too--so he adds a hasty, “But it’s very quirky,” and offers an attempt at a smile.Harry still scowls, but it’s not cold or cutting like it usually is. It’s, as odd as it sounds, an amiablescowl, but Harry still shields the umbrella from Louis, and averts his eyes elsewhere as he makesto greet Niall.So perhaps there really is progress. And perhaps whatever mess Harry was in yesterday has beenresolved. Because his smiles aren’t as fake as usual, and he seems very up and pleased with thatumbrella. So that’s something.“So sorry we’re late, mates,” Liam says, but it doesn’t sound very apologetic, just scripted, as heclutches Zayn’s arm with one hand and smooths out his hair with the other. “Our meeting ran a bitlonger than usual today.” And there’s no mistaking the glee that rides just below the surface of hiswords.Zayn is quick to roll his eyes, meeting Louis with a half-lidded, exasperated stare as he shakes hishead. “By his own doing.”“Hey, now,” Liam responds, whirring to pout at Zayn, thick eyebrows meeting as one, “You saidI could do whatever I wanted. Not my fault there was a lot on the agenda.”Zayn just shakes his head, but there’s a light twist of his lips and he presses back a smile.“So, are you going to tell us what you’re talking about, or…?” Louis states, leaning on the counterand glancing between the two with very unimpressed eyebrows.“Student Union?” Niall offers from the other side of the room where he’s adjusting his creamjumper and unpinning the tags as Harry watches him calmly, dog-shaped umbrella handle besidehim at eye level. For fuck’s sake.Zayn nods, and Louis bites back a snort.Zayn’s the president of the Student Union. Naturally. And about once a week, he “holds”meetings where he sits in a large chair as he watches other, lesser, beings make articulatedspeeches and discuss the goings-on of the school in professional tones and spreadsheets, planningaffairs and making nice with the so-called “elites” of the university. And, of course, Liam is also init.Because, you know, god forbid Zayn and Liam ever separate.“Even though I’m the Vice President, Zayn let me hold the meeting and do all the work today,”

Liam gushes, and stares at Zayn like he’s made of glittering gold. Liam is also the editor of thestudent newspaper because he’s a bloody overachiever. Work is fun for him. Or, rather, gettingthe prestige and holding a position of power is fun for him.“Isn’t that how it usually is, though?” Harry asks mildly, now staring into the glassy eyes ofBerkley.Liam beams, completely unfazed. “Yes, but today I was able to call order and dismiss everyone.”Liam positively gloats, rubbing a hand along Zayn’s back as he stares at him with adoration.“Next week he said that I can send out the e-mails.”“Oh, well that’s…cute,” Louis mutters with a disgusted roll of the eyes, and from the corner,Harry’s laugh threatens to emerge before he stuffs it back inside and sends an indifferent sniffLouis’ way.Louis notices. Which makes his own lips quirk upward.“I’m ready,” Niall suddenly announces randomly—clearly uninvested in the conversation—as heseems to be unaware that it’s still happening, plowing between the boys, eyes set on the door.“You should bring a change of clothes. We’re playing croquet,” Harry says as he begins poking ata pile of Louis’ school books on the table.“Why would you need a change of clothes for croquet?” Louis scoffs, and Liam turns to him witha quizzical brow.“Why wouldn’t you?” he counters, and it’s genuine and light, while Zayn grins at Louis’expression.Louis tries his best to control his judgment. “Right. Well, I think I’ll just wear this, thanks.”“Suit yourself,” Harry breezes, now in the kitchen, shamelessly opening cabinets and peeringinside of them, examining the contents of the whole flat.Which, no.He may be warming up to Harry in some small way, may even be indebted to him, but Louis willabsolutely not stand for a boy who thinks he owns the world and doesn’t respect others’boundaries. So with a glare and a firm step, he marches to the other side of the cabinet door andsnaps it shut in Harry’s face, leveling him with narrowed eyes.“Don’t snoop, it’s rude. Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?” he scolds.And just like that, Harry’s eyes darken.There’s a pregnant pause in the room, heavier than it should be, and Louis momentarily wonderswhat he’s done (he was in the right, after all, the fucker was just opening cabinets at will), as theboys stare betwixt the two, Niall chewing on his fingernail, Zayn peering with lidded eyes, stonestill, and Liam in a similar fixture, absentmindedly picking at his fingers, almost nervously.But Louis continues to stare at Harry, who’s building walls before his very eyes, his perfect browsarching in distaste, his rosebud lips twisting.“She couldn’t,” he says shortly, and he takes a step back, immediately cold and guarded.Eh?

Louis’ about to press the subject because his curiosity and intrigue are screaming, but before hecan open his mouth, Zayn is sliding his fedora on and saying, “Come on, boys. Let’s go. Can’tkeep that parking spot forever.” Which, yeah, he’s Zayn Malik, yes he fucking could, butwhatever.So Louis lets it drop.Still though, his mind prickles with curiosity as they march forward, and he follows in the back,curiously watching the bob of Harry’s curls as they make their way towards the car.**They ride in the cool autumn breeze, and Louis really thinks it’s about time they retire theexposed-to-the-elements antique car, as charming as it is, because he’s fucking freezing, and he’stoo busy trying to keep his hair in place anyway.Niall notices his distress, pulls him on his lap and musses up his hair viciously while laughing, andLouis is teetering between biting the shit out of him and koala-ing him to soak up his vast amountof body heat. He decides on the later, and Liam snaps a pic of the two with a squinty smile fromthe passenger seat as Zayn tries to reach back, whilst driving, and tickle Louis, his pearly teethglinting in the review mirror.It’s sweet and cozy and filled with laughter and profanities and wind, and Louis distinctly feels thesensation of being loved.But not once do Harry’s eyes look at him, even amidst his own chuckles and grizzled shouts,instead sending winks to Zayn and sensual shoulder rubs to Liam and handshakes to Niall. WithLouis, his eyes glide past, almost as if they barely register his presence, and while it isn’t filledwith the malice Louis knows Harry is capable of, he feels forgotten and overlooked, and it doesn’tsit well in his stomach. Not when Louis had begun to feel hope toward their friendship.But there’s nothing he can do, so he ignores it, burrowing further into Niall and laughing into hisneck, enjoying all the warmth he can get.**“It’s the cutest little cottage,” Liam explains as they amble along down a small road near a lake,the car bumping along over pebbles and stones. “You’re going to love it.”“Am I?” Louis questions, squinting his eyes in the sun and taking in the expanses of trees andwild-flower addled fields.“I’ve seen it once or twice,” Niall comments, staring out. “It’s nice.”“More than nice,” Zayn criticizes as he turns onto a gated pathway. “Better than all of yours.”Liam beams, placing a hand on Zayn’s knee. “Of course it is, love.”And Zayn catches Louis’ eye in the mirror and winks.“Well, we’ll have to see. I don’t like when people tell me that I’m going to love something. I makemy own decisions. In fact,” Louis adds, sliding his arm around Niall’s shoulders, “I will purposelynot love it now.”“You’ll hate it on principle?” Niall asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Exactly, Ireland. I’ll hate it on principle.”Liam apparently finds this hilarious, and begins laughing near-hysterically, clapping his hands.“Hate it on principle!” he repeats through his giggles.“I’ll hate it with you,” Zayn says, meeting Louis’ eye in the mirror.“But it’s your house,” Harry protests, and Louis is surprised, having thought he wasn’t paying anyattention to their conversation at all. And also finding him to be a hypocrite because he didn’tseem too fond of his own residence just yesterday...“That’s why I can hate it,” is all Zayn says, but his voice is joking and light and it rolls off theshrug of his shoulders, so it makes Louis smile more and nod his assent.“You’ve got my back, Malik.”“I’ve got your back.”They drive on.**Louis sort of does love it.On the outside, at least. It’s certainly smaller than Harry’s mansion, but ‘cottage’ is the last wordon earth that he would use to describe it.“You’re not allowed to describe things anymore,” he tells Liam, who strolls ahead, flicking out hislighter to set flame to the cigarette perched between Zayn’s lips. “This is not a cottage.”“We’re home!” Harry says emphatically, smiling so large it looks painful, and he hops out of thecar, arms looking ready to embrace the building as he close his eyes blissfully.“Did you live here?” Louis asks, surprised, turning to him.But Harry doesn’t open his eyes nor acknowledge the question at all.“Come on,” Liam says before Louis can protest, tugging his arm forward. “I want to playcroquet.”“Show us the house first,” Niall orders, and Zayn strides forward, puffing on his cigarette,motioning the others to follow with the mere flick of his finger.“This way, lads.”They climb the steps to the stone building, its ivy and morning glories carpeting the walls. Thewindows are large and plentiful, most of them opened and welcoming the cool breezes. There arebalconies and patios and a garage stuffed with shiny vehicles, and surrounding them is a largeexpanse of green grass, mini gardens, gazebos, and willow trees whose long branches tickle thesoil.It’s not as classically over the top as Harry’s house. This actually feels like a home, albeit a grandone, and Louis already feels more at ease as he passes through the front door, it’s heavy woodenoak cold and smooth against the palm of his hand as Niall presses it open for him. He findshimself standing in the entry way, with its tall ceilings and coat racks, and, thankfully, it’s much,much warmer than Harry’s house on the inside as well. The sun streams through the large

windows and warms against the cream colored walls, glinting against glass vases filled with freshflowers, and the air is filled with the scent of warm bread, herbs, and clean carpet. He notes thewidescreen that takes up the whole actual wall in the adjoining room, and shakes his head with alaugh as the others walk on and he lingers, attempting to take it all in.“Oh, the posh life,” he jokes to himself, sliding his hands in his pockets as he looks about.“You don’t like it?” a rumbling voice drips, and Louis jumps, having thought he was alone.It’s Harry. It’s always Harry. Harry, walking up to him and staring with eyes that are almost brightwith curiosity. Almost.“I don’t not like it. I just…don’t care. It’s not like I have an attachment to it like I’m sure you do.”He leaves the unspoken ‘Which I can only assume because when I asked you about it you ignoredmy fucking question’ in the air.“But these things don’t affect you?” Harry presses. “All this…stuff,” he finishes, gesturingtowards the imported curtains and cherry wood floors.It’s Louis’ turn to stare curiously at Harry. “Why would it affect me?”Harry returns the stare and there’s a pregnant pause, before he finally blinks languidly.“I used to come here when Mira was married to my father. So, yes, I suppose I lived here,” hestates, and Louis feels the tiniest tightening in his chest immediately. Because Harry is speaking.He’s revealing things. He’s…well.Really, it shouldn’t be a big deal, that little sentence. For anyone else, that would be uselessinformation, forked over easily. But for Harry…Louis waits for more, breath suspended somewhere near the miniature chandeliers and betweenthe tapestries.“I liked it,” Harry continues simply. “Still do.” He rips his gaze away from Louis before taking inthe space before him, and Louis studies him, trying to gauge his mood, his vibe, his everything.Because yesterday Harry seemed weary and on edge and terrified. But today? He seems light,simple, and maybe a little charming. Sure, that undead indifference still sits in the jade of his eyesand his smile is more for show than anything, but he’s better than yesterday, and Louis doesn’tunderstand it, not even a little bit.But he takes it as a good sign. That maybe he’s better, their potential friendship is better, thateverything is better.And now he’s staring back at Louis expectantly.“We should join the others. After you,” he says, graciously gesturing for Louis to move forward.Louis smiles in response, nodding a thanks, and walks ahead.The day may just turn out to be a good one indeed.**They’ve been playing croquet for a very long time.A very long time.

A very long time.It was fun at first as they all joked beneath the bright sun, swinging their mallets (mostly at eachother) and being offered a slew of beverages from Zayn’s kind and obliging staff. Louis literallyalmost shit his pants when he discovered there were actual maids and footmen who resided there.They’ve become family friends essentially, Liam explained, but it was still alarming as fuck, andLouis often took to sneaking his own drinks and snacks. Being served was entirely uncomfortable.It’s bad enough when Rory offers to do him favors.But the overall vibe was good, and, miraculously, Harry’s good mood stayed intact. He madeclever jokes and laughed at the appropriate times and bantered with Zayn about their timestogether here—some jokes flying over all their heads, including Liam’s who stared between thetwo with polite curiosity—and they relayed story after story of the shenanigans they pulled.“We got away with too much,” Zayn had said while staring fondly at Harry, who shook his head.“Never got away with enough,” he countered, and winked in Zayn’s direction before picking uphis mallet.There was something there, a feeling laced within the words, but as Louis watched the pair andtheir secretive eyes and glances broken by Harry—who was more interested in the game thananything else—he found himself clueless, the intangible history of the group far beyond his grasp.So they played on.And now it’s been a good two hours, the clouds are pouring in, and everyone is incredibly bored.Except Harry.“I’m over this,” Niall says, sunglasses donned, one hand propping him up with the mallet, theother on his hip. His face is vastly unamused.“To be quite honest, I am as well,” Liam says, and everybody turns to Harry.He’s got the mallet in his hands, feet splayed in a sturdy stance. He sways the mallet gently onoccasion, testing its weight, lips pressed between his teeth in concentration as he stares intently atthe ball. It’s all very intense. And very unnecessary.“Just give it up, will you, Curly? It’s going to rain,” Louis says, glancing at the foreboding cloudsand occasional flickers of lightning.“Says you,” Harry mumbles, still sizing up the ball.“It’s not even fun anymore,” Niall complains, throwing his head back with misery, but Harrymakes no movement.“You’re being spoiled. And immature. And a prat,” Louis accuses, glaring at Harry. “Majoritysays not to play anymore, so you ignoring the majority makes you an arse.”Harry glances up to him, cross. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere,” he says dryly before returninghis concentration. “I’ve almost won. Just let me finish.”“For fuck’s sake,” Louis sighs, throwing up his hands. “What does it matter if you win?”“I never win.”“That’s true, though,” Liam says fairly.

“Yeah, because you always win,” Zayn teases, and Liam beams. “Unless Niall plays. Then Niallalways wins,” Zayn adds, and Liam deflates.“Irish luck,” Niall shrugs.“Well, then use some of that luck and get this boy going, yeah?” Louis says with exasperation,staring up at the clouds with increasing worry. Juicy drops slowly begin falling. “Fuck. It’s totallyraining.”“It is not.”“Ah, but you see, it really is. Here’s proof.”“I don’t see anything.”“It’s a moist spot on me jumper. From a raindrop.”“That proves nothing.”“I think you’ll find that it does actually.” But before Louis can prove his point further, lightningbolts across the sky.It’s just as he’s about to announce his departure (he’s not fucking around with lightning) that thecrack of thunder coincides with the crack of Harry’s mallet against the ball, sending it through thelast hoop.And that’s when the downpour begins.Instantly, chaos ensues as Zayn shouts, “RACE TO THE HOUSE!” and takes off with Liam athis side, the atmosphere filling with the deafening rush of rain as it pours relentlessly down onthem.Louis is quick to react though, dropping his own mallet and sprinting across the wet grass towardthe house which seems farther away than it did before, laughing as he feels his clothes becomeheavy beneath the pelting streaks of rain. He’s running as fast as he can, his feet flying likeHermes himself, and is quickly gaining on Zayn and Liam who are laughing, throwing glancesback at the rest of the boys to gauge space and speed.Then suddenly he feels a solid weight collide with his body, sending him to the ground.“Ooof!” he emits, feeling the wind knock out of him as a golden head scrambles over him, makingto stand.“Gotcha Tommo!” Niall laughs, attempting to run away, but Louis’ faster, grabbing at his heelsand sending the boy back to the ground.“No you don’t!” he laughs, and they wrestle, the rain drenching their limbs and stinging theireyesight.After a few tussles, Niall finally weasels out of Louis’ grasp and, laughing, sprints towards thehouse without a second glance.“You bastard!” Louis shouts, but he’s grinning despite himself as he scrambles up and attempts tofollow his tracks. But it’s pouring and hazy, the steam from the ground coming off like fog, andwith Niall’s wily speed, he’s soon out of sight, leaving Louis to wonder how the fuck he can getinside, as there seems to be no visible door.

He trots to the nearest porch--which luckily has a door, albeit a camouflaged one--with hischuckles still reverberating through his chest. He slides through the opened door, slouchingthrough the room and entering the house, leaving puddles in his wake as he feels his heart stillpounding in his chest, his bloodstream alight with adrenaline and laughter. He can hear thelaughter of the other boys ahead and he follows the sound, squishing past large windows.Then suddenly something catches his eye.He stops, turning toward the large window nearest to him, and stares, squinting through thetorrential chaos of water and lightening. Amongst the ribbons of rain he sees a grayish blur.Harry.He’s standing in the middle of the yard, arms outstretched, champagne glass in hand, head bentback to face the heavens as rain pelts him relentlessly. His body is splayed, almost begging to bestruck by the licks of lightning, but his face is calm, emotionless, unmoving.Louis stares, catching his breath, his adrenaline ebbing out of his body as he takes in the scenebefore him, the laughter of the other boys now distant in his ear.Because, fuck. Wasn’t Harry supposed to be better? Wasn’t he in a good mood today?But damn. Louis realizes, with a sick twinge of his stomach, the question is more like: Wasn’tHarry a good little actor today?Fuck.It shouldn’t mean anything, Harry standing in the storm, shouldn’t imply anything at all other thanhe likes a good downpour. But Louis knows. He just knows.He knows that this is yet another one of those moments, those things, that instantly alerts Louis tothe shambles that Harry is made up of. He knows this is another sign, another thing wrong, andthat of fucking COURSE Harry wasn’t just suddenly better after yesterday. He'd just been puttingup a front for the boys, a false bravado.And now here he is, thinking he’s alone, quiet and splayed and mentally bruised, letting his bodywash away.Louis feels a thousand internal pangs as Harry continues to stand and he wants nothing more thanto move, to retrieve the idiot and drag him inside where it’s warm and safe, but all he can do isstare as he listens to his own breath return to normal.He swears that he can almost hear the gentle pings of the raindrops hitting the champagne glassclutched in Harry’s left hand.**Harry still hasn’t come inside.And not a word has been said about it.They’re gathered in the living room and kitchen, swaddled in bathrobes while their clothes dry(and Louis is really trying to ignore the fact that each bathrobe is monogrammed with “Z.M.”because, really), stuffing their faces with incredible food and wine, but Harry still isn’t there andnot once has anybody questioned it.

Liam had introduced Louis and Niall to the remaining staff as soon as they’d gathered after theirrain race--which, by the way, nobody won, due to Liam claiming it was Zayn and Zayn claimingit was Liam--and they had all milled about and shared a laugh. Louis found himself to beparticularly fond of Stephen—Zayn’s personal chef—who is currently laughing joyously at Niall’sreactions as he samples each and every dish he procures, taking the time to explain the ingredientsin detail, much to Zayn’s amusement who watches from the table where he’s playing a solitarygame of cards, cigarette dangling between his lips.Louis watches the group with a smile, throwing out an exuberant comment every once in awhilewhere he sees fit, and while the boys chortle around him—especially Liam who always seems tolook anticipatorily toward Louis when something funny occurs or is said—Louis’ mind veers inalmost every other direction. And as he helps himself to another cup of punch, politely decliningDarla’s offer to assist, he begins to feel a strange sort of inner panic as he dumps peach tintedliquid into his sparkling glass teacup.His smile remains fixed, and occasionally he’ll meet the eyes of Zayn or Liam, or roll his eyes inNiall’s general direction…but the rain pelts against the windows steadily, a bit calmer now, andmore often than not he finds himself glancing out into the empty expanses of yard.He can’t see Harry, doesn’t even come close to it, but with each tinkle of rain against cool glass,with each careless laugh shared between the boys, Louis’ chest tugs with anxiety. Because they’reall sitting here, having the time of their lives, while one of their party is missing, actually blatantlymissing, and nobody bats an eye. Not even Zayn, who seems a bit more attuned to Harry than theothers.With a tight grip, Louis brings the punch to his mouth, swallowing the tart liquid in gulps, his eyesglued to the windows.Does nobody honestly care? Does nobody realize? What the fuck?Then again.Is he any better? He, who just turned and walked away from the spectacle of Harry crucifiedunder a crying sky, numb and emotionless as he embraced emptiness? He saw Harry, saw himand left without a word. And, sure, everybody here is just mindlessly enjoying themselves, andyeah, Liam’s now texting Edward and the lads to come out and join them, and they’re allinnocently oblivious, but fuck—don’t they fucking realize that one of their best mates is out theredrowning?Because that’s what it is. Harry is drowning. Probably has been for years. And they don’t evenfucking see it, but Louis—who has known him for a total of sixty days, give or take—saw itautomatically, and fuck.Just fuck.Then again. He could just be looking too deeply into it all. Because, yeah, he doesn’t know Harrylike these guys. He hasn’t lived with his mood swings and his obsessions and his insincerity andemptiness and unpredictability. Maybe they know him well enough to know that this is just whatHarry does.Because when does it get to be too much? Where is the line that separates healthy concern frominvasive fuckery? And how does he even know if something’s off with Harry? Just because of hiseyes? A few choppy expressions? A broken word or two? Standing in the rain? What does thateven mean?

The rain pelts harder and Niall’s laugh is even louder.And, what’s more, if Harry is indeed ‘damaged’ or whatnot, how is Louis to know if he’s evenable to be ‘saved’? What if it’s too late? What if what’s been broken just can’t be fixed, and inconcerning himself for this hot mess of a boy, Louis just embarks on a dead-end journey of uselessstress and concern?Or what if nothing’s wrong and he’s just a little spoiled fucker? Buried in hedonism and excessand demands and distractions to fill the boredom?Liam’s glancing at his pocket watch, announcing the time, and Zayn suggests they spray paint thewalls. Niall’s stuffing spinach croissants in his mouth, the flakes sticking to his chin andembedding in the band of his Rolex, and the rain pelts endlessly, and Harry’s missing, and Louistakes another sip of punch as the tightness in his chest only grows, feeling a little bit really fuckinghelpless.Because what exactly is he supposed to be doing right now? Searching the grounds for anemotional Harry? Dragging him across the lawn, demanding he come inside? He can’t do any ofthose things. He can only do nothing.But, fuck, no he can’t.He can’t just watch someone drowning. Not when he’s standing in front of them. Not whenNiall’s too busy laughing and Liam’s too busy texting and Zayn’s too busy stroking his fingersalong the back of Liam’s neck.Nobody’s reacting, nobody cares, nobody sees it or hears the tidal rushes of water or the rain orthe absence of Harry and his fucking umbrella-dog-handle thing he named Berkley, but Louisdoes, Louis fucking sees and hears and feels and fuck—“I’m going to the loo,” he suddenly announces to the room, too loudly and too disjointed, as hebolts upward out of his chair.The room momentarily softens in volume for a second as the lads glance up at him, Stephenentering the room to place tiny quiches on a silver tray, accompanied by a few sweet-facedwomen in tight buns who gather the mess.“It’s just over there,” Zayn points, eyes studying Louis who nods in acknowledgement, beforeturning away. He feels Zayn’s eyes on his back as he marches in the direction of his finger, beforeturning a sharp corner just as he’s out of sight.Mind flicking and sparking, Louis retraces his steps from before, until he’s met with the porchhe’d entered the house in after the rain.He’s going to search for Harry. He’s going to scour the lawns, drag his dramatic, broken bum intothe house, and he’s going to keep an eye on him. A close eye. Because Harry is a better actor thanhe thought, and he can’t watch someone drown.It’s at that moment that he notices the movement, as he takes a step inside the porch.On the far end, near the doors connecting to the outside, there stands Harry, pushing back hissopping hair off of his face, wearing only a thin white t-shirt that clings damply to his smooth,pallid torso, his tattoos visible beneath, and a soaking pair of trousers. The rest of his clothes arebunched on the ground or lain on the furniture to dry. The champagne glass sits on a table nearby,filled with more rainwater than actual champagne. Louis walks to it immediately, feeling theawkwardness of the situation charge his limbs (because, uh, what was he planning on doing

exactly?) as he picks it up, examining its foggy surface and dripping stem.“There you are,” he says, only a little bit of his frustration breaking to the surface as he brings theglass to his eyes, determining his focus onto it, and steadily avoiding the wet mess that is HarryStyles behind him.He feels Harry’s eyes on him, and a quick glance backwards proves him right. The boy’seyebrows are knitted together as is custom (he’ll develop a unibrow soon, he will) and he doesn’tsay a word, his thick lips pressed together, his fingertips dripping as the remnants of the raincascade down his arms.Somewhere in the back of Louis’ mind he registers that, were this a mere two days ago, this iswhen he would have given up. He would have registered Harry’s silence, allowed the annoyanceto overtake him, and stalked off with a thrown back comment. And that would have been it.But now…Louis lowers the glass and keeps it in his warm grasp as he turns to stare at Harry, taking in theboy's wet, disheveled appearance, his hallow, pale skin, offensive red mouth, and washed awayeyes.“What’s wrong?” Louis asks firmly, eyes holding no amusement.Harry continues to stare, void of emotion beneath his knitted brow.“What were you doing out there?” Louis tries again, but his voice is heavy under the weight ofanxiety, and he can’t help it—he’s fucking tense and uncomfortable and he doesn’t know whathe’s doing, but he’s trying goddamnit.Harry’s face flickers at that, apparently lost for words. Louis feels the budding of hope in hischest, begins to see a bit of a life line, but then Harry’s composure has returned, and the emptinessis back in place.“We’re going to be late for tea,” is all Harry says, as if Louis hadn’t even spoken, and he makes toleave.But Louis catches his arm, turning him around, his heart thudding in his ears.“Curly,” he says quietly, mouth twisting into an attempt at a smile as Harry’s eyes narrow at thenickname. “Are you all right?” He places special emphasis on the sentence, staring into Harry’squiet, unlit gaze as fingers press into the cool, damp flesh of Harry’s arm.Unblinkingly, Harry’s mouth opens after a brief pause.Louis waits, his shoulders tensing, his discomfort at a maximum level.And then Harry closes his mouth.And then the creases of his face smooth into a plastic perfection.And then he smiles with too many teeth.“Tea time, Louis Tomlinson,” he says, and it’s hollow, leaving the air as quickly as it came.Much like Harry himself, who is now striding ahead, long legs carrying him away.And now Louis feels hollow as well. So he just stares as Harry vanishes around a corner.

**It’s not long after that that Edward and the other lads arrive. As well as Harry’s guests. Who hangoff of him like wet cloth while Louis glares at the spectacle over every sip of his wine.They stay at the house for the remainder of the day and the pleasant afternoon turns to a bit of ashit show as everybody absorbs alcohol and laughter, the house filling up with increasinglyunfamiliar faces, pricey perfumes mixing and blending in a way that leaves Louis a bitlightheaded.He gets drunker than he should, at one point slinging an arm around Zayn and demanding to meethis mother in slurred tones because, damn it, she’s only been his favorite actress since he was nineand too many tears have been shed. Zayn had nodded politely as he listened, amusing himselfmore with restyling Louis’ hair than with the actual words coming from his mouth.Louis also, as is the pattern in this new life of his, tries to avoid Harry. And by doing so, ends upwatching him obsessively.Because maybe the boys can focus their attentions on spray painting dirty drawings on thepavement outside and drown themselves in body shots and coke, but Louis still feels anxious andguilty and uneasy. Because his day went from him believing that him and Harry just might have ashot at being friends and that Harry was all right, to discovering that Harry was anything but allright and no more opened up to Louis than he was when they first met.And that’s just disconcerting, really. Especially when the boy himself has three different peoplelicking and sucking the salt off of his collarbones while he stares at the ceiling with vapid patience,his hands limp where they lie on either side of the back of the couch.Harry, with girls and boys alike crawling over his lap, yanking his face to theirs.And Louis, clutching a teacup filled with gin, shifting passerby out of his way roughly in order tokeep his line of sight unobstructed.And fuck, that’s weird, but it’s nearing night now and at least he’s not snorting lines of speed offof the kitchen floor like Niall and Liam—who are also covered in spray paint, having decided thatwas a good idea.And it’s not even seven P.M.Louis inwardly groans at the state of his life before ripping his eyes away from Harry and thewhores and trudging to the farthest corner of the house, knicking a cigarette from Zayn on theway.**By nine o’clock, the boys decide to move the party to the club, and Zayn is just beginning to callforth his chauffeurs on his iPhone, when Harry announces he has other plans.“It’s been a pleasure, darlings,” he announces blearily, each syllable interrupted by a breathygiggle as he stumbles around his gaggle of adoring fans. “The car’s just pulled up. Text me ifyou’ve found gold.” With a lopsided grin that looks worlds away from his foggy eyes, he beginsstumbling forward, pressing a kiss to Niall’s shoulder as he passes.And Louis watches from his perch on the sofa armrest, mid convo with a pair of Swedish twins.“If you’ll just excuse me a moment,” he says hurriedly as the one on the left blathers on about their

father striking oil, and, with tunnel vision—thank you, vodka—Louis chases down Harry.Because no. Fuck no. He may be drunk. This day may have been random and weird andcomplicated. They may not have talked. But Louis is not going to just let Harry leave withoutacknowledging him. Not after yesterday. Not after Louis smiled at him. And looked for himbecause he was worried. And stared at his window the night he returned after he’d went missing.Not after he put his drunken ass to bed all those weeks ago and brushed the frizz out of his eyesand wiped the crust off of his mouth.No.So Louis drunkenly surges forward, grabbing Harry by the arm. And he hasn’t thought this out.“You’re going to tutor me on Monday, then?” he asks drunkenly. And what? No—fuck, that isnot what Louis wanted to say at all.But Harry blinks blearily, smiling through the fog. “’Course, Louis Tomlinson. I’ll make youproper smart. Just you wait, laddy lad.” And he makes to go, but it’s not enough.Louis catches his arm again.“Are you all right?” he asks bluntly, taking a step closer, and by this point, Harry’s harem beginsto thin out, walking ahead with hyena laughter as they pile out the door and to the awaiting car.Harry’s good humor falters. “Why the fuck are you always asking me that?” he growls, pulling hisarm away, but Louis steps even closer, staring as intently as he can into those eyes before himdespite the swells of intoxication that are swiftly engulfing every sense of reasoning he has.“Yesterday,” is all Louis can manage, and Harry’s scowl fades the tiniest bit as he searches Louis’face with something akin to confusion. Or is it bafflement? Whatever it is, it has Louis steppingeven closer, their toes now touching. “Did you find him?” he asks, quieter now, but just as slurred,and he doesn’t know where the question came from or what it really means or if it’s too personalfor Harry to answer, but he doesn’t blink as he registers the changes of emotions in Harry’s face,just continues to stare.Louis expects him to just walk away as he always does, just turn around and stalk off after theparade and into that car, but Harry doesn’t move, the corners of his eyes pinching and his mouthtwisting uncomfortably. A loose curl falls into his eyes.“No,” he all but whispers, keeping Louis’ gaze, and even amidst the blaring music from the inhousespeakers and Niall’s laughter, Louis can swear he hears the boy’s breath and nothing else.He stares at the brittle shadow before him, the exhaustion, the helplessness and the fear etched inhis irises and creases, and Louis echoes the quietly pained ‘no’ in his mind over and over, and heknows now that, yep, most definitely, Harry is not indeed all right.“Harry—“ he begins, reaching out for his arm, but then a sea of other arms suddenly engulf theboy, tanned skin clutching at his jumper and his unkempt curls, as they shout their laughter andpull him in their direction.“C’mon Harold!”“We’ve not got all night!”“Styles! Don’t be a bore now!”And Harry’s eyes, thick and lost and murky, fix on Louis, even as he’s dragged backwards

through the house, stumbling over limbs and oriental rugs, never blinking once, until the doorcloses and Louis is left alone, vaguely wondering if he’s begun to drown as well.Chapter End NotesThe song for this chapter is Coldplay's "Paradise." It's what I feel.Thank you for reading the story that never ends! I cherish you all, my little darlings. :-*

XVChapter SummaryLouis tries. And Louis fails.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesIt’s Sunday evening when Louis makes the decision that he is going to do everything in his powerto befriend Harry Styles.He and Niall had spent the day nursing hangovers (Niall also nursing a broken heart—he’dbroken his Segway the night before after they’d returned from the clubs, trying to ride it off oframps and failing abysmally) and Louis’ mind was a constant replay of Harry being dragged awayby the sea of harpies while staring at Louis in a silent scream for help.Or, well, what Louis took as a silent scream for help at least. But scream or no, Louis couldn’tforget.And so it’s at dinner, in a quaint little pub on the edge of town, around seven P.M., that Louisfirmly decides his course of action.He had practically had to force Niall out of the house to come. “You never take me out anymore,”he whined, jabbing fingers in Niall’s cheeks, armpits, stomach, general face, while Niall wasplaying on some audio program on his laptop. He responded with one of his distracted grunts,which only ever makes Louis more agitated, so he began screeching his name until the boy gavehim attention. “We go out all the time,” he finally responded. “Yeah, but never just the two of us.It’s like you don’t even care anymore.” “You missing me, Tommo?” “No, you shrew. I’mhungry.” “Tomorrow.” “No.” “Later.” “No.” Niall sighed. “Can I at least finish what I’m doing?”“Absolutely not.” Niall groaned, Louis smiled pleasantly, and, finally, after Louis ripped theblankets off of him and darted away with his laptop, Niall finally put on trousers and textedNelson to pick them up.But now, throwing back whiskey sours (well, Louis’ throwing back brightly colored cocktailswhile Niall is throwing back whiskey sours; and beer) they’re having a pleasant time as they pickat a large pile of chips before them, Niall wiping his greasy hands on his sweatpants and footballjersey, while they rehash the events of the night before.“That Liam is a fuckin’ madman,” Niall says with a shake of his head, sun-gold hair framingcornflower eyes. “Did you see him at the end there? When he opened that champagne bottle in thecunt’s face? He nearly took his goddamn eye out!”And, no, Louis doesn’t remember because he was a bit too pissed to remember anything from thenight before really. He swears he doesn’t remember drinking that much. Honestly.Louis laughs good-naturedly though, shoving a particularly large chip in his mouth as he attemptsto sort through the fog of memories. Unfortunately for him, the only thing he seems to be able tofind is a set of green, faded eyes.

He swallows his food thickly at the thought, stomach churning.“Harry left early, eh?” he says casually, glancing up at Niall who’s now finishing his pint in oneswift gulp.He sets down the glass and wipes his mouth with a truly impressive burp. “Yeah. Wonder wherehe got off to.”“Dunno.” Louis pokes at the chips for a couple seconds, resting his chin on his hand. “He wassort of dragged away, wasn’t he? By all those hideous people.”“Was he? Didn’t really notice.”“Yeah. He was.”Niall glances up at him. “And?”“And nothing,” Louis says quickly, crossing his arms on the tabletop.Pause.“It’s just that—“ Louis stops himself, reassessing his words as a bemused smile overcomes Niall’sface, his eyebrow quirking expectantly. “I’ve decided I’m going to make an effort to be his friend,Niall. Like properly.” He averts his eyes to the chipped, wooden tabletop and begins delicatelypicking at a particularly large nick in the surface. “I think the kid needs one.”“So. You wanna fuck him?” Niall asks bluntly with his bright eyes, causing Louis to roll his own.“No, twat, it’s not like that. It’s nothing romantic. I just…feel bad for him.”Niall nods as he listens, motioning to the server to bring another round of whiskeys and beers.“Fair enough.” His eyes settle back on Louis, a grin forming on his lips. “But how the fuck doyou manage to go about it, eh? Cuz last I checked, you couldn’t even stomach the bastard’sfuckin’ umbrella.”“No, but did you see that thing?” Louis bursts, leaning over the table to look Niall in the eyedirectly. “It was hideous! It was bad enough that he was toting it around like it were some prize.But he named it. He fucking named it.”Niall shrugs, sitting back in his chair. “I like the name. Berkley. ‘S cute.”Louis pauses, eying Niall. “It’s not a bad name,” he finally concedes. “But that doesn’t make itright.”Niall laughs, loud and clear, before crossing his hands over his lap, elbows perched on thearmrests of his chair. “You didn’t answer my question. How do you plan on becoming Harry’sbest friend?”Louis throws him a glare. “Funny. Well, I’ve been thinking a bit, and I think what Harry needs issome support in his life, ya know? Like, a helping hand. So, I’m just going to try to be assupportive and accommodating as possible. Starting tomorrow during our tutoring session.”Niall’s eyebrows shoot upward immediately, and Louis grins, popping another chip in his mouth.“You think that’ll work?” Niall asks, caught between incredulity and unimpressed judgment,eyebrows still raised.

“Well. We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”And then their server comes with the next round of drinks, and they clink glasses, laughing for therest of the evening, drinking away the remnants of their hangovers.**Louis has a missed call from his mum. Which is fucking splendid.Especially because he’s cranky as fuck—having not been able to sleep because, perhaps, he’dbeen, maybe, outlining a plan of ‘attack’, so to speak, and it may have, potentially, been entitled:‘How To Become Friends With Harry Styles’. That, on top of having to sit through excruciatinglyboring lectures (and he forgot his homework for one of them, so fuck it all) and having to politelybut firmly squash the incessant attempts at flirting from a group of Dolce & Gabbana girls, hasmade Louis a very, very grumpy duck.And now, as he looks at the little notification on his screen, he’s gotten even grumpier.Really, he should be thankful. Because after the mess from the other day, she hasn’t made anyattempts to contact him--not a text or anything. And she didn’t even leave a voicemail now, hasjust rung and then hung up, so Louis really should feel relief, but instead he feels dread. Becauseshe’s only rung less than ten minutes ago, and she’ll probably ring again.Making a noise suspiciously like a growl, Louis shoves his phone in his bag and starts towards hisflat, ready to sink into the couch before he embarks on his tutoring with Harry.**There aren’t any more missed call from his mum. Just the one. Just one. One.And Louis doesn’t understand it at all, but he credits the unease in his stomach to hisoverwhelming relief and nothing else—it’s not like he wants her to make more of an effort tospeak with him, or maybe see how his day’s been going—and so he doesn’t say a word when hecollapses on the sofa next to Niall, who’s stoned as fuck and watching cartoons in his pants andnothing else, snapback haphazardly hanging off the side of his head.“Rough day?” he asks, offering Louis his bowl.He declines the offer, instead sighing out a “Fuck yes,” and burying his face in the velvetcushions.“Rory’s out getting me food. Want anything?”“Cake?” Louis squeaks hopefully, and Niall flashes him a thumbs up.“You got it, mate.”They stay like that for a good twenty minutes, Louis drifting between sleep and wakefulness, Niallwatching the TV with drooping eyes, occasionally barking out a stream of cackles.And then the cake comes, and they stuff their faces, and Louis is just thinking that this is probablythe best moment of his life as he licks his fingers clean, when he glances at Niall’s Rolex.“Oh fuck!” He bolts up, tossing the empty bakery box onto the coffee table, as Niall yawns andlooks up at him curiously.

“You all right?”“I’ve got to meet Harry in twenty minutes!”Niall blinks. “And?”“And I need to get ready! Fuck,” Louis breathes, trotting to the bathroom to splash water on hisface.“Why do you need to get ready?” Niall calls lazily from the couch, and Louis rolls his eyes as hetowel dries his face.“Because I have to be fucking prepared, now don’t I?”“Prepared for what?”Louis stalks out of the bathroom, hands on hips, voice shrill. “Tutoring! And today is the first dayof ‘Operation: Best Mate’ and I don’t even hav—““Did you just say ‘Operation: Best Mate’?” Niall asks, peering from the back of the couch atLouis.There’s a pause.“It doesn’t matter what I said, Niall. Point is, I need to get going.”Louis begins stuffing his outlines, books, and folders into his shoulder bag, his nerves beginningto prickle as he refrains from envisioning the potential outcomes of the day. For all he knows,Harry and him could be the best of mates by this evening, thus making his operation successful.There’s no telling, really…“By the way, your mum says hi.”Louis freezes then, mid stuffing-foot-in-shoe. “I’m sorry?”“Your mum says hi,” Niall repeats, scratching at his genitals.“What do you mean my mum says hi? Is she here?!”“Nah. I rung her this morning.”“You talk to my mum on the phone?”“Yeah, so? I talk to all me mates’ parents.”“Oh, of course you do.” Louis carefully slides his foot into his shoe, thoughts darting to and frowithin his skull. He hesitates, just for a moment, before he continues. "What’d she have to say,then?”“Not much. She’s tired, stressed, having a hard time. But she’ll be fine.”Louis fiddles with his t-shirt. He doesn’t want to ask it. Not really. It’s not as if he cares, and itcertainly isn’t as if he doesn’t already know the answer.But he asks anyway.“Did she ask about me?”

Niall’s face instantly morphs into an expression akin to a bear cub caught in a trap, and that’s allLouis needs.“That’s what I thought,” he clips, gathering the last of his things.“Well—she said hi,” Niall offers, rubbing the back of his neck and twisting his lips in what Louisassumes is an attempt at a fake smile. For as long as Louis has known Niall, not once has he seenhim anywhere near uncomfortable; the boy’s a fearless dragon—nothing intimidates him and hewould never apologize for who he is. He’s a 'take me or leave me' kind of guy, and such aconfidant, carefree demeanor leaves little room for discomfort or artificiality.But right now Niall is sure as hell faking a smile and fidgeting under the awkwardness of thesituation, and that just makes Louis feel really, really shitty. Because even Niall—oblivious,tactless, asks-Liam-why-he-doesn’t-get-that-creepy-birthmark-removed-from-his-neck Niall Horan—pities Louis and the fact that even he can tell that his mum doesn’t find her only son all thatspecial. She just wants a son, any son will do, and Louis probably wouldn’t be her first choice,with his relentless sass and lack of pity and wardrobe filled with too many shoes he’s only wornonce and never again.She probably wants Niall for a son. Because, really, who wouldn’t? And Louis really doesn’tfucking care because he’s used to this, understands this, and doesn’t need this.“It’s fine, Niall,” Louis says, and he does his best to keep his voice light, but there’s an oddpressure in the back of his throat that throws his tone off, and Niall’s lips tug into the barest hint ofa frown.He claps a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Look. I don’t know the story between you and your mother.But I can tell you right now that you’re a solid bloke, a good fuckin’ guy, and I’ve got your back,mate.”It’s a simple thing to say and a simple gesture, but Louis supposes it’s just the way that Niall saysthings, in his burly Irish lilt that makes the sentence embed in Louis’ bones and warm the coldplaces. That and his utter sincerity, which just comes so natural to him.Louis feels himself smile, genuinely. “Thanks, mate. I appreciate it.” And he returns the clap ontoNiall’s shoulder.And they proceed to have a moment.“Well,” Niall then barks, breaking the tender silence, “You best get going or you’ll be late fortutoring. You’ve got a friend to make.” And he throws him a wink before pocketing his phoneand scratching his nose.**Louis’ standing outside of Harry’s door and already rehearsing some of the accommodating thingshe can say to him in order to make this afternoon a pleasant experience.He could offer Harry a drink? Offer to go umbrella shopping with him? Offer to talk? Say yes toall his ridiculous ideas because he probably doesn’t get the support he needs at home?Louis’ mind is whirring, spinning and spitting all at once, and he’s so caught up with his‘Operation: Best Mate’ that he barely registers the door slowly creaking open in front of him.And there stands Harry, bow tie-less, but wearing a crisp white button-up and onyx blazer with

matching trousers that are almost inappropriately snug. His hair is tousled and wild, almost like hestuck his head in a geyser, and his face is the very picture of ‘thoroughly fucked’ and ‘why areyou here?’.He looks at Louis expectantly, bored.“Tutoring…?” Louis prompts, eyebrow quirking, and he’s about to slam down some judgment atthe slew of voices that are now pouring from within, but, his promised plans at winning Harry’sfavor in the forefront of his mind, he quickly assembles his face into a smile and adds a cheery,“Company today?” which makes his cheeks hurt.Fuck, this is hard.Harry’s own eyebrows shoot in the air. “Yeah, you could say that,” he rumbles, lips full andkissed, just watching Louis beneath lidded eyes as he drapes himself along the doorframe.“How fun,” Louis grits.They stand there.“Are you going to let me in, then?” he asks politely, on the verge of displaying impatience. Gottakeep it cool, gotta reign it in. Operation Best Mate.“Uh. I guess,” Harry says, somewhat suspiciously, taking a step back to allow Louis’ entrance.“Don’t you usually just do whatever you want? Didn’t know you needed my permission.”Something pings inside of Louis at that, and he looks to Harry as he makes his way inside,shrugging his shoulders and smiling. “Well. That’s just bad manners though, isn’t it?”Harry’s brow furrows as he stares.At this point, the slew of voices connect with a slew of bodies as five or so girls and three boysemerge from Harry’s room, clothes rumbled and eyes bright and sunken as they laugh.Louis gawks. Because that is a lot of fucking people. Pardon the pun.“Bye Harold!”“You were lovely, darling.”“Give us a ring, yeah?”“I love everything about you, beautiful, never change.”And countless other meaningless farewells are thrown as each designer clad, perfumed bodypasses by Louis, one by one, before marching out the door in single file. Like an assembly line.And then the door closes and it’s just them, Louis maintaining his chipper demeanor while Harrystares at a random spot on the wall, motionless and unblinking.“Well. That was…timed appropriately,” Louis offers through his teeth, and Harry’s eyes flick tohim.“What, you’ve got nothing to say?” he asks, cold. “No comments? No eye rolling? Just going tooffhandedly remark on how appropriately timed it is?” His voice is almost challenging as he staresat Louis, full on, his hands now on his hips.“That’s all I’m gonna say,” Louis promises, but it’s more a promise to himself than Harry, and

“That’s all I’m gonna say,” Louis promises, but it’s more a promise to himself than Harry, andHarry watches his face. “I have no right to judge you, do I?” he continues, fingers twitching withthe effort, and Louis slathers on a smile.Harry just stares back, gaze hardening.Louis avoids his gaze, instead observing the room, but he feels every languid blink of Harry’seyes, every second of his intent stare that is burningly fierce on the edges.“What are you doing?” Harry asks suddenly, cutting the stiff silence, and his voice is strong butholds no humor.Shit. So Louis is being too obvious.He scrambles for an answer, suppressing his natural instincts and searching for something that isboth accommodating and subtle.“Waiting for you to tutor me,” he settles with, and he smiles once more.Harry glares. “Right. Well. I don’t feel like it right now,” he says quietly, turning his back andbeginning to pour himself a drink. His shoulders are heavy and his hands fumble, but his faceremains impassive as Louis stares, gripping the strap of his shoulder bag.He wants to ask why. He wants to ask about Des. He wants to ask a thousand previouslyunanswered questions in the hopes to get a little bit closer to getting an answer.But, no, that isn’t what he’s agreed to do today. Today is about Louis catering to Harry. Treatinghim specially and carefully. Treading on thin ice.So Louis says instead, “All right. We don’t have to, if you’d prefer.”Harry pauses before turning to look at him. “What?”“We don’t have to if you’re not in the mood.” Louis smiles as kindly as he can. “Whatever youwant.”Harry quirks another eyebrow. “Is that so.”Louis nods, chewing the inside of his lip.“All right, then. Sit down,” Harry instructs.And Louis sits down.“Stand up,” Harry says almost immediately, turning his body to face Louis fully, and a coldness isslowly overcoming his features.Louis bites back a glare as he slowly stands up.They stare each other down, disgust and anger dancing within the lines of Harry’s face, theshadows under his eyes darkening as he watches a silent Louis who has absolutely no fuckingclue as to what’s going on.This is backfiring.This is totally, totally backfiring. Harry is going to probably tell Louis to scrub his toilet orsomething, and why the fuck did he think this was a good idea?

Louis waits, hands gripping so tightly to his shoulder bag that they’re actually cramping now, buthe doesn’t release them for fear he’ll begin scratching Harry’s eyes out or throw a vase.So he just waits.Finally, Harry opens his mouth. “I want to study in the gardens today,” he says abruptly, chinlifted in defiance.“Okay,” Louis agrees almost immediately.Harry’s face falters infinitesimally, before stalking ahead. “Let’s go then,” he growls, throwing thedoor open, and marches onward, not even pretending to wait for Louis to catch up.**After a good seven minutes of sitting in the grass in the middle of the school gardens claiming heneeds to have the right lighting before writing Louis’ outline, Harry decides to call some “mates”over to join them.Louis smiles through his stress veins, says, “All right. Whatever you want,” and reassures himselfthat he must be mastering some sort of reverse psychology on Harry with these mind games--thateven he can’t quite make sense of at the moment--as Harry texts on his phone.Louis waits, legs crossed, gripping at grass blades for dear life, having absolutely no idea what tosay in the flowery stillness. He resists the temptation of texting Niall to instruct Nelson to runHarry over with his car (isn’t he supposed to be attempting to befriend Harry? Isn’t that what thisis all about?) as he watches two beautiful, lipstick-ed girls arrive, kissing Harry and cooing overhim instantly.He watches the tall blonde place Harry’s head in her lap as he lies in the soft fresh grass, watchesas she pulls strawberries out of her purse and feeds them to him, one by one, as if he were someGreek God.He watches Harry’s smirk as his eyes occasionally sweep over Louis, who just sits and can’t thinkof anything to do with his hands.He watches as Harry instructs the magenta-haired girl to write whatever he says.He watches as she pulls out pink, perfumed paper, and scribbles everything Harry dictates inregards to Louis’ outline.All the while as Harry is fed strawberries, and the juice runs down his pearly chin.Louis is seething. But he bites his lips.“Does anybody know a violinist?” Harry suddenly drawls, craning his neck to look upquestioningly at the nameless blonde girl. God forbid Harry introduce Louis. “I want music. Textall the violinists you know, darlings. My phone’s dead so I can’t.”Like clockwork, both girls stop what they’re doing, take out their phones, and begin texting.“I’m getting rewarded for this kindness, aren’t I?” the blonde asks with a luxurious smile, andHarry swipes his fingers over her lips.“In the best way, darling, I promise you,” he breathes.

Louis almost throws up.“Will you get my book, Louis Tomlinson?” Harry suddenly asks, and it’s so random and Louis isso used to being ignored, that he actually jumps in response. “I forgot it in my rooms and I’mcurrently occupied.” The slices of Harry’s eyes find Louis from his home in the girls’ lap as hewaits expectantly for an answer.“All right,” he agrees immediately, thankful to be rid of the scene, and shoots up off of the grasswithout a second glance back at that hot mess of people.He marches across the campus, his mind screeching and shrilling and questioning this ‘brilliant’fucking idea of catering to Harry, trying to decide what to do from here on out because, no, this iscertainly not working.And then he reaches Harry’s door.And his temper escalates.“It’s locked,” he tries not to snap, minutes later, as he approaches Harry and the girls upon hisreturn. They're still in their same positions, now accompanied by two young boys and one girl, allplaying violins a few paces back. And it’s pleasant, sure, but it only serves to stir the agitationbuilding within Louis.“Oh. My apologies,” Harry smiles winningly, handing over a small, ornate key tied to a strip ofred velvet. “There you are. Now, off you go.”And so Louis makes the trip back, opens the door, and searches Harry’s rooms.There are no textbooks to be found. And he can’t fucking call him because: 1) He doesn’t haveHarry’s number. 2) Even if he did, the bastard’s phone is dead.He might be breathing fire.“I couldn’t find them,” he says, upon returning again, through the fakest smile in existence, sweatnow forming on his brow as he grips Harry’s key in his hand.“Oh, drat, you know what? I actually don’t own any school books. I don’t know what I wasthinking,” Harry says in the most exaggerated of tones, smirk blaringly evident, and his eyes glintwith something that Louis can only describe as malice.“Right. Easy mistake,” Louis huffs, handing back the key and trying not to send his foot flyinginto Harry’s crotch.“Well, then. I think we’ll begin the proper tutoring once you’ve returned, now that Marge hascompleted your outline,” Harry hums, examining the key in his hand lazily as Blonde slides herfingers through his hair and smacks her gum, staring at Louis with bored eyes.Louis’ stomach drops. “Returned?”“From fetching me a cheese danish.”“… A cheese danish,” Louis repeats flatly. Operation Best Mate. Operation Best Mate. OperationBest Mate.“Correct. A cheese danish. I’m hungry, Louis Tomlinson. Can’t teach on an empty stomach,” hetuts, patting his stomach twice, and Louis almost bites clean through his lip.

“Right-o, pal," he practically screeches, determination and stubbornness flitting through his veins."A cheese danish. Be back in just a moment!” He's borderline manic in his enthusiasm, taking offfor the nearest bakery that him and Niall always go to when they’re drunk or stoned or have had abad day or wake up before noon.Louis has no clue what’s happening right now. No fucking clue. And he has less of a clue as towhy he’s actively participating in this shit. But at this point it’s almost a matter of principle thatLouis doesn’t back down, so he grinds his teeth and he gets Harry fucking Styles his cheesefucking danish as he swears upon every grave that matters to him to never, ever try toaccommodate this spoiled wretch of a boy ever again.When Louis finally returns, warm pastry in hand, Harry lolls his head over to look at him.“Finally,” he drawls.Louis can feel his eyes flash.With one lazy gesture, Harry has Marge retrieve the prize from Louis without even bothering tolook him in the eye, before the girl nestles herself at Harry’s side, pulling little bits off and gentlylying them in Harry’s awaiting mouth.Louis stares, feeling disgusted, furious, repulsed, fuming, frustrated, angry—“You can go now,” Harry’s voice suddenly purrs through a mouthful. “We’re finished.”“But you said that the proper tutoring—““Marge has your outline. Take it from her.”Louis stares, truly at a loss for words.“And take this,” Harry instructs, rolling up the pastry bag and chucking it at Louis, where itbounces off his head and onto the grass.Speechless and dangerously close to committing homicide, Louis yanks the outline out ofMarge’s procured hand, who is barely holding back her laughter, and Louis feels his cheeks flushat the raw rage he feels inside.Fuck Operation Best Mate.“Same time tomorrow,” Harry instructs in his drawl, a sneer taking up half his face, and as Louiswalks away, he hears the girls erupt into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.**“I FUCKING HATE HIM,” Louis screeches as he slams the door closed behind him.Niall looks up from the piano stool—where he has also managed to drag the drum set—and raiseshis eyebrows in surprise.“Didn’t go so well?”“I AM LITERALLY GOING TO PEEL HIS SKIN OFF AND MAKE HIM EAT IT,” Louiscontinues to bellow, kicking off his bag, then shoes--which go flying across the room as Nialltracks their trajectory with wide eyes--and then his clothes. “I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING,NIALL. I TAKE IT ALL BACK. HE’S AN EVIL, STINKING, SELFISH BASTARD THAT

HAS NO HEART, NO SENSE OF DECENCY, AND I COULDN’T GIVE LESS OF AFUCK ABOUT HIM.”And then he slams his bedroom door shut, leaving a gaping mouthed Niall in his wake.**The next day, Louis can barely sit through his classes, his mind only on one thing: his tutoringsession with Harry. Which already has his skin crawling.It comes quickly enough, the day streaming by in tense anticipation.But Louis is prepared this time.Because, last night, when he was angrily doodling Harry being thrust into an active volcano, healso made a new outline for his plan of attack. This one entitled: ‘No More Mr. Nice Guy’.Because Louis is creative and original. And Louis takes his outlines very seriously.If Harry is going to treat Louis like he’s a fool that’s worth less than nothing, just for the fun of it,then maybe Harry needs some tough love himself. Being accommodating is clearly not the way tobefriend Harry Styles. So maybe a firm hand is.When Harry opens the door for Louis, his glare is already present. He's donned in a full suit, bowtie and all, in rich eggplant. “Yay,” he drawls wryly.Louis glares back, doesn’t respond, and shoves his way roughly inside.“Well, then,” Harry says, shutting the door. “I suppose your attempt at good manners has passed?”Louis ignores him again, instead making to stand in the middle of the room, hands stuffed into thepockets of his jean jacket. He stares ahead of himself, feeling the residual anger of yesterday atHarry’s voice, little spikes of malice and offense.Harry seems oblivious though, instead opting to sit in a large, vermilion chair, a teacup perchedbetween his fingers, legs crossed.“And how are you today, Louis Tomlinson?” he asks casually, smirk disguised as a smile.Louis’ head snaps toward him. “I’m not here to answer stupid fucking questions. Now, where’smy outline?” he barks, expelling his pent up rage and frustrations, and it feels surprisingly good.Maybe tough love will be Louis’ new thing.Harry’s face flickers in surprise, before his composure reassembles, and he’s taking a large sipfrom his teacup. “Well, obviously I haven’t started it yet since—““Then do it. I’m not here for small talk, so stop wasting my fucking time and let’s get this finishedso the both of us don’t have to be here any longer than we have to,” Louis snaps, and he sendsHarry his most withering glare, fists clenched at his sides.Because, good, this is good. Louis is taking control, showing Harry he can’t just be a little spoiledbitch about everything, and in turn, Harry will snap back and they’ll fight, and it will result inmutual respect and understanding.Louis waits, expecting the world to shatter at his words, or at least Harry’s teacup as he hurls itacross the room, but what actually happens is…odd.

Really odd.Harry’s face falls almost imperceptibly, and if Louis hadn’t become a connoisseur of Harry Stylesfacial expressions, he might not have picked up on it immediately. Because Harry’s face falls, andhe stares at Louis. His shoulders slump in submission, and Louis watches him avert his eyes to thefloor, downcast and small. Then, slowly—and dejectedly, much to Louis’ unease—Harry standsup, silently walking to his desk, head bent and eyes…wounded.And fuck.Fuck.This wasn’t supposed to happen.Louis watches him, feeling very much alarmed and out of sorts, and it’s like an actual kickedpuppy is before him as Harry wordlessly sits and takes out a pen—not his quill—and paper,scribbling down an outline at incredible speed, his eyes never leaving the paper, the shadowsseeming deeper, and he watches the bob of his Adam’s apple as the boy swallows thickly.Just like that, the atmosphere of the room has turned to thick, painful sludge.And Louis can’t tell if his new technique is working in some twisted way, this technique of a firmhand, or if it’s backfiring or what, but Harry’s at least listening now, and Louis takes that as asomewhatly positive sign?So, swallowing the bile threatening to rise from his throat and the panging ache in his chest, Louispresses further.“I hate your handwriting,” he criticizes, trying to keep his voice level and firm, standing overHarry’s shoulder and watching his work. “I can barely read it. Do you have to write it like that?Like you’re begging to be noticed?”Harry’s hand immediately stills.Fuck.Louis grips the insides of his pockets to calm his own discomfort, feeling like an utter piece of shit.He walks away then, unable to look at Harry any longer because he cannot fucking keep doingthis, can’t watch Harry’s reaction; because no matter how horrible he was yesterday, or how muchthis could, in the long run, potentially help, Louis can feel himself fracturing, unable to be thispurposefully cruel.And fuck, no, this tough love is definitely not Louis’ new thing. He doesn’t care if this isbeneficial in some sick and twisted way; Louis fucking hates this. He’s not Harry. He can’t justdish out cruelty.The minutes pass by, only interrupted by the scratch of a pen against paper, and the songs of thebirds outside that drift through Harry’s cracked windows. The sun is warm and golden, lightingthe burnt leaves of the autumn trees outside, and everything seems fiery and alight as Louis gazesout the window. The world on fire, burning. Much like his insides, which twist and coil and burn.With guilt. And panic. And anxiety.And just what the fuck is he doing and why? And where are the other boys when he needsthem??At long last, the pen’s scratches stop, and Harry brandishes the finished product at Louis, eyes

never lifting from their downward trajectory.Louis grabs the paper, feeling the brittle composure of his face, still unable to bring himself to lookat Harry just yet and instead searching the document before him.He stares. His heart constricts.“You. You rewrote it,” he says, surprised, but his brow furrows and he looks to Harry for theconformation. “You rewrote the whole thing. Different.”“You said you didn’t like my handwriting,” he says quietly, eyes still down, his lashes thick andclustered over his pale skin. And he almost looks on the verge of frustrated tears, his wholedemeanor screaming rejection and insecurity, and it’s then that Louis sees just how wrong thistactic was. It’s not helping at all, not in any way, this fucking shambles of an experiment atbehavior. Because Harry’s sensitive, moreso than Louis realized, and he sees it in the bow of hishead and the slouch of his shoulders, and the way his body seems to almost fold in on itself as hesits and waits to be criticized further.And, fuck, Louis swallows. It really just seems as though…Harry’s used to this. Harry’saccustomed to being judged and mistreated. That he’s so in the groove of being subservient tothose who take advantage of their power over him, that he immediately folds up without a fight,waiting to be taken advantage of even further and fuck, Louis is going to be sick.“I-“ he begins, but words don’t come out as he clutches his paper.Harry looks up at it, flicks his eyes over the words, and says in a dead voice, still not meetingLouis’ line of sight,, “Is it not good enough?”And Louis really, really might be sick now.“It’s—“ Louis begins, but he literally cannot speak, staring at Harry as Harry stares at the paper.Moments pass, ones where their sights remain the same, before Harry eventually stands, stillwithout meeting Louis’ eyes, and turns his back to him, trudging slowly to his room, hands limp.“You can see yourself out. We’re done for the day.” The words are quiet. And then he slips insidehis room and shuts the door.And no. Nope. Fuck no, Louis cannot leave like this.So Louis stands, paper in hand, in the exact same spot for what could’ve been seconds, minutes,hours, or years.Harry must’ve picked up on the fact that the sound of the door never came, because afore toolong, his bedroom door creaks hesitantly and he’s peering out, eyebrows furrowed and eyesweary, lips set in a small, tentative frown that truly breaks Louis’ heart in ways he absolutelydoesn't understand.“Why are you still here?” he asks, and it’s almost fearful.Louis stares at him. “I just. I’m…I’m looking at your curtains,” he bumbles, staring helplessly atthe boy before him, his insides on the verge of leaking all over the floor.“My…curtains?”“Yes. Yeah. Yeah, your curtains. They’re a bit too long. And, see, I can touch ‘em up a bit if you

like. So they don’t collect dust mites or, ya know, lie on the floor.” Louis’ voice is thick from hisemotions and a little faint, and not once has he even looked in the direction of said curtains, but hecan’t think of any other excuse and can’t even begin to formulate his honest thoughts as he staresunblinkingly at Harry, feeling like a prize idiot.“I like my curtains. I don’t want them altered in any way,” Harry then says stubbornly, voicestronger, presence less hesitant, and Louis feels his blood begin to pump again at the familiarity ofthis Harry.Thank fuck.Louis nods. “All right, then. That’s fine.”Silence.“Why aren’t you leaving?” Harry asks again, now opening the door fully and stepping out.“Because—I—cuz—fuck, Harry!” Louis curses, feeling really, really overwhelmed and at a loss.“What’s wrong with you? I don’t know what to—can’t you just—“ he blurts helplessly,overwhelmingly frustrated yet intangibly so as his words collide and fall over each other, andHarry’s eyes widen.“What are you talking about? Why are you acting so fucking strange?” Harry’s voice has analmost overwhelmed edge as well, his own bewilderment evident, and Louis tries to assess thesituation and the best way to handle it.But, instead, he panics.Louis panics, turns on his heel, and bolts out of the door, mumbling a “Fuck, I can’t do this,” andruns as fast as he can back to his flat, not even bothering to shut Harry’s door on the way out.**“I’m evil!” Louis wails as he flings himself onto Niall’s lap.Niall, sandwich midway to mouth as he’s sprawled on the couch watching music videos, staresdown at Louis.“Hello.”“I’m the most evil fucking brute in the world and I want to die. I was so mean to him, Niall. I wasso fucking mean. And he was so sad! Fuck, he was just so sad and I’m shit. I’m a shit person andI don’t deserve any happiness ever again. Oi, is that pepperoni?” he adds, sniffing at Niall’ssandwich.“Hey. Get your own,” Niall scolds, shielding the sandwich, before settling a hand on the top ofLouis’ head. “Don’t worry so much, Tommo. You make a big deal out of everything and italways turns out to be nothing.”“This isn’t nothing!”“Well, whatever it is, It’s going to be fine. It happened. Move on. So do you want to get dinner?”he asks easily, in his emotionally uncomplicated way, and Louis really envies him that, the factthat he can hear awful things, distressing things, and just move on with his life without a second’shesitation.

“I’m too sick to eat,” Louis grumbles, unabashedly pouting and sticking his face in Niall’sstomach, hoping to sponge his warmth as he clutches at his t-shirt.Niall grins as he shakes his head, patting Louis on the head and searching for his hand beforegrasping it in his own, comfortingly. “What about sushi?” he offers.Louis sighs, sitting up in annoyance, but doesn’t let go of Niall’s hand. “I’m not hungry, Ireland,I’m upset. I don’t know what to do about Harry.”For a moment, Niall studies Louis, the soft and strategically placed lighting of their posh flatwarming his Campbell’s soup cheeks and midsummer eyes that flick over Louis’ features, beforehe finally grasps Louis around his shoulders, pulling him in for a proper cuddle.“All right, well. Maybe if you knew more about Harry, you’d get a better sense of where he’scoming from?” Niall offers, half-watching the TV as he pulls Louis closer to his chest.Louis allows himself to settle into Niall’s embrace, despite the shady hot sauce stain on his t-shirt.“You know, that’s a not a half bad idea,” he mumbles, blinking his thoughts out. He cranes hisneck to look at him. “Is this your subtle way of asking me if I’d like to know more about Harry?”Niall laughs, breath hot as it collides with Louis’ face, who squints away the assault. “Nah, mate. Idon’t know shite about Harry other than what I’ve already told you. Fuck, I bet Zayn knows athing or two, though. They’ve been mates since kids. Ask him.”Louis pauses, letting the information soak into his bloodstream. “Ask Zayn,” he repeats, slowly.He blinks. “Niall. That is potentially the most helpful thing you’ve ever said,” he says in awe.There’s a jolly laugh and a mussing of Louis’ hair, and then Niall’s arms release him. “Glad wehave that settled. Now get your cunt arse up so we can eat some fucking dinner.”And, grinning as he flicks Niall on the underside of his nose, Louis hops up and makes for hisroom, feeling a little less complicated.Chapter End NotesFirstly, look at this because this was made for this story and it's ACCURATE andAMAZING. Gorgeous and pretty and perfect and let's all just love this, okay? :)http://secret-applebees-brigade.tumblr.com/post/59070314384/my-brain-is-all-overthe-place-figuring-stuffSecondly, my songs for this chappa are: "No Light, No Light" by Florence & theMachine--the Unplugged version tho. And "Baby's On Fire" by Venus in Furs (that'sa Harry song right there)AND THIRDLY, THANK YOU ALL FOR READING AND BEINGGORGEOUS. You are all so, so lovely and sweet and your messages have beensunshine to me. :)

XVIChapter SummaryThings make a little bit more sense to Louis.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesThe next day, before his tutoring session with Harry--and after the most boring day of lectures yet—Louis fell asleep during all three of them, being awkwardly awoken by others each time, paperscrusted to his face--Louis knocks on Zayn’s door, his nerves jumbling frantically and his palmssweating with ‘what the fuck am I going to say’.“Come in,” he hears the silken voice reply, and he pushes the door open, smiling instantly as hemeets with Zayn, who is dressed in black track shorts and a Nirvana t-shirt, paint smeared on hishands and arms, as he stands before a canvas covered in blacks and grays, speckled with whites.“Hey,” Louis greets, his hands in his pockets as he slowly makes his way over, feeling ratherawkward and nervous and generally weird.Zayn smiles instantly as he takes in the sight. “Louis,” he greets, his pallet in his left hand,paintbrush in the other.“Er, hi,” Louis greets once more, and his awkwardness is absolutely showing as he mentallyscrambles for an introduction to what he’s trying to get at.But Zayn doesn’t appear curious or intrigued, instead carrying on as if Louis wasn’t even in theroom.“I was wondering when you’d come to see me,” he finally says with a smirk, beautiful hazel eyescatching the crystals in the lights as he studies his work, then dips his brush in midnight blue paint.“I see you all the time,” Louis replies with a laugh but it’s nervous and light and Louis shoves hishands deeper into his pockets.Zayn glances up whilst smearing his brush in the rich color. “You’re here because of Harry,” is allhe says.Louis gapes. How in the fuck??“How did you—““Relax. Doesn’t matter.” He pauses, running his brush along the top of the canvas, head tilted ashe follows the motion of his hand. “Liam’s at a meeting. So we’re alone.”Louis nods, understanding the implications, and appreciates the reassurance of privacy. But hisstomach is still queasy. And his shoes suddenly feel too tight, so he taps them against the darkwood of the floor. They look so dirty against its polished gleam.He’s never been alone with Zayn before. That, coupled with the awkward subject matter, is

leaving Louis a little blank.“If you ask me questions, I’ll answer honestly,” Zayn’s gentle, glossed voice prods, and thoughhis eyes never leave his canvas, Louis knows he’s trying to help him, trying to ease him into aconversation he doesn’t quite know how to go about.Louis begins to open his mouth.“But only in regards to myself—situations that concern myself, and general knowledge. I won’tdisclose any information that’s Harry’s own right to disclose. All right, mate?” he asks, but it’s notreally a question, and he now dips his brush into a thick mess of gold as he stares at Louis headon.Well shit.There go all the questions.But Louis nods anyway, admiring Zayn’s principles and morals and unyielding loyalty, and asmall smile lightens his expression as he watches the beautiful boy before him. “All right,” heagrees.And Zayn goes back to painting, quietly and steadily.So. Here it is. But where does Louis start?“I’m-I’m not sure if you know about the past couple days?” Louis begins, tugging the sleeves ofhis pale gray sweater over his hands, giving himself cozy little paws. He focuses on them,glancing occasionally up at Zayn who continues his work.Zayn remains silent, impassive. Louis isn’t sure if that’s a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’—Zayn’s always beenhard to read—so he doesn’t waste any time in wondering, merely plows on as he scrunches hissweater paws.“I feel badly,” he continues, and he knows his voice sounds so unlike him, all serious and trepid,so he clears his throat and attempts a stronger tone. But it just comes out more disquieted. “Ithought, maybe, if I knew more about him, I could...understand him better? I don’t know, Zayn. Ijust…” He bounces his paws together, flicks his hair out of his eyes, smoothes out his features. “Ithink we could be mates, yeah? But I need to know what’s…wrong.”He glances upward as he says the last word, and Zayn nods, just barely, eyes focused, listening,and understanding.“So, I was wondering.” Louis stares at him, dropping his paws to his sides, letting his hands breakthrough the sleeves. “Could you tell me everything you know about Harry. In regards to you.What’s your story, that sort of thing.”Hopefully that was in the realm of safe questioning.Louis waits.And Zayn smiles. “Good question.” Louis relaxes. “We went to school together, me and Harry.Since young lads.”“All right. Were you friends?”“Yeah, of course. Good friends. We’d grown up a bit together, cuz we were in the same social

circle, our parents. Des’ wife when Harry was a kid was a model, so they were always at all thebanquets and gatherings that my mum went to. Then we started going to school together.”“So you’re childhood friends,” Louis restates conclusively, and Zayn nods, flicking paint onto thecanvas in splatters.“We kicked about at school. Harry was always popular, always got attention, always was first ineverything.”“I reckon you weren’t much different,” Louis smiles.Zayn shrugs. “Yes and no. I didn’t like the attention, see. But Harry loved it. It wasn’t the same athome, like, so he loved everything about it. He was a sweet, charming lad.”“Was he. What happened?” Louis scoffs.There’s a moment’s silence, where Zayn sets down his pallet and picks up a moist rag, beginningto clean his brush. His face is calm and emotionless, but it doesn’t quiet Louis’ intrigue any,instead setting him even more on the edge.“It’s common knowledge that Harry’s mum died when he was 9.”No it’s not. But Louis nods.“People said he weren’t upset about it. And he wasn’t on the outside—not really. But—“ Zaynsuddenly stops, his motions stilling as his eyes get lost somewhere on the ground, his mind far.And then suddenly his movements continue, the cloth dragging over the brush, and he’s back.“Well, that’s his story to tell. He’d had a time of it though, Harry, and just because nobody elsecould tell by the way he acted, doesn’t mean there wasn’t shit happening to him.”Brush now clean, Zayn sets his tools down before gliding towards the large table that sits in themiddle of the room, picking up a slim, guilt case. He opens it, extracts a cigarette, then offers oneto Louis, who takes it without hesitation, as he waits for Zayn to continue.Zayn places the cigarette between his perfect lips, the white contrasting against the warm hues ofhis flesh, and he fumbles for a lighter in his pocket. “He’s had quite a few mums. None of themstuck around. And then Des started dating my mum.” The lighter flicks into life and licks at thecigarette as Zayn inhales, deep and beautifully, long, dark eyelashes draped over his cheeks. “Wewere about fifteen at the time,” he exhales through smoke, the words curling into wisps. “Thenthey got married, we all moved in.” He pauses, reflecting, pinching his cigarette between paintstained fingers. “He was happier then, Harry. He still had his demons, but he weren’t… He hadfun, yeah, but he cared. We got into so much trouble.” Zayn smirks at the memory.Louis smiles in response, passing his unlit cigarette between his hands, listening intently.“He introduced me to everything. We partied all day, every day. Drank everything we could getour hands on, fucked everything we could get our hands on, smoked everything we could get ourhands on—the first time I tried a cigarette was with him.”Louis can’t help but laugh at the reverence in Zayn’s voice, and Zayn matches it, his chuckles softand cute, so unlike the sharp contours of his exterior.“We did everything together. To be honest, I think we were both a bit angry about our parentsbeing married. Des was better back then, he were on medication and he wasn’t drinking as muchand was still clean, so he was all right. I never cared much for him though. If he weren’t on theroad or doing press, he were in the recording studio, and he never said much. Cared more about

guitars than people, I reckon. But we were best mates, Harry and I, so we saw it as an excuse tofight together, you know? Us against the world, that sort of thing. And Harry was good, he wasfunny and thoughtful and fucking weird. And played the violin and asked me to sing cuz he lovedmy voice. Told everybody how good I was. Brought me everywhere. Showed me everything.Picked flowers and left wreaths at me door and fell asleep in my bed and…” Zayn pauses, hisbrow beginning to furrow. “He wasn’t perfect, but he was better than he is now. It all changedwhen Gemma left. And then his au pair.”“Wait, what?” Louis asks, surprised. “His au pair?”Zayn nods, slowly, eyes downcast. “She was the closest thing he had to real affection, I think,aside from Gemma. Des hated her. She hated Des.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette. “ButGems left first. Took off cuz Burberry signed her on. Was already dabbling in drugs, then becamea proper addict. Cut off all ties from the family—even Harry. It got to him. But I didn’t notice atthe time. He never said anything, never acted any different. Weren’t till later that I realized… But Ithink it was too late.” Zayn’s voice is quiet now, distant and calm like the rolls of the ocean, andLouis can barely hear over the cracking of his own ribcage.“What do you mean?” Louis asks, voice whisper soft. He isn’t sure if Zayn hears him.“Only about a month later did…she leave. The au pair.” Zayn’s voice is funny, his face contorted.“Harry loved her, though he never said it, I don’t think. But he did, I know he did, and when sheleft, things really started to change. Again, it was too hard for me to tell at the time. I didn’t evenrealize. But after that, gradually, he became who he is now. Empty. Distracting himself. Existingon the outside but not on the inside.” Zayn looks down, his cigarette dwindling to ash.But Louis, having swiftly gone from sad to infuriated within seconds, stares at him, mouth agape.Because WHAT did Zayn just say?“What?” he demands, but Zayn doesn’t look up. “Are you fucking serious right now? No, really.Are you?” Zayn bites his lip. “You fucking see it? You know that something’s drastically wrongwith this boy, and you don’t do a fucking thing about? You just let it happen?! I thought I was theonly one who noticed, Zayn! Fuck’s sake, why isn’t anybody trying to help him?!”“I can’t do anything, Louis,” Zayn says quietly, but Louis doesn’t hear.“I’ve been sick over the TRAGEDY of that human being in the mere two months that I’ve knownhim, and you’ve known him for years and yet you don’t even fucking care?! Zayn, what theactual fuck?? That’s not—““I tried, Louis,” Zayn says, voice louder, and he looks up at Louis, eyes filled with more emotionthan Louis has ever seen in them. “I tried, all right? But he didn’t…” he trails off, stubbing hiscigarette into a tiny, silver try. He sighs, silkenly, movements smooth as his face begins to relax.“There are certain things Liam doesn’t know, Louis. Things he doesn’t need to know.” Zayn’seyes raise, connecting with Louis’.“What are you saying?” Louis asks slowly.Zayn sighs. “I was in love with Harry.”Louis lets out a stream of breath.“I was fucking gone for him,” Zayn continues, gaze distant. “Would’ve done anything for him.”“Did he know?”

“Yeah.”Shit.“Did you guys ever…?”“Yeah. All the time.”Louis’ eyes widen. “Fuck. No wonder Liam doesn’t know.”“And he shouldn’t. It’s not important anymore. I didn’t know Liam then. All I had was Harry.And I thought we were something, I did. But, apparently, I was alone in that. He never connectedsex with love. Never. Hell, he never connected love with anything because he’s never reallyknown what it is. I told him how I viewed the situation every day. I tried to talk to him, tried totake care of him, but we were young, too fucking young, and he never came close, Louis. Neveronce came close to being anybody other than the person everybody else knew. He cared, yeah,but not the same. It was never the same. He laughed when I first told him that I loved him.”A thousand emotions are flowing through Louis, each more powerful and overwhelming than thelast. He swallows past them though, mind whirring, before settling his gaze back on Zayn, who isnow staring at him.“What happened after your mum and Des split?”Zayn shrugs. “We left. Mum tried to keep in touch with Harry, but. He never wanted it. Supposehe’s had enough mums in his life. I don’t know. She tried being good to him, she did, but…hewasn’t right. He never treated her like a mum. He charmed her, made her laugh, was kind to her,but. I don’t think he could love her. So she never loved him.” He shrugs once more. “At least, Idon’t think she did, I don’t know.”A heavy silence settles, and Louis’ thoughts are loud enough to echo as he paces the room,envisioning a sixteen year old Harry, bright, beautiful, shining, and on the verge of being lostforever. His heart cringes, the thought burning into his brain.“Well, then. Wow,” Louis finally says, lifting his eyebrows as he attempts to crawl back into thepresent. “So there’s that.”“Don’t give up on him,” Zayn says, cool and calm, remastering his control.Louis looks to him, startled. “What—““I think you’d be good for him. As a mate,” he adds, as Louis opens his mouth in protest. “Hecould use someone like you. Someone who won’t take his shit, someone who’s strong and got agood head on his shoulders. Someone who’s kind as well. You’re funny, too, and you’d get on, Iknow you would. I like you, Louis. I think Harry would, too.”“I don’t think Harry could ever like me, to be honest. Especially not after this week.” Louis shakeshis head at the memory. “Did you know he had me run all around town? Picking up cheesedanishes and fetching nonexistent books? Just so he could laugh at me with a couple of tarts? Hedon’t give no fucks, Zayn, I’m telling you. He won’t even talk to me.”“It’s not him being cruel, though, that’s the thing,” Zayn continues patiently, settling in his throneand leaning back. “He just doesn’t know how to act most of the time. Not really. It’s not in him,like. He’s been through a lot, more than you know, more than I know, and he’s got scars, massivescars. He doesn’t know how to heal himself. If he can heal at all. I don’t know. Thing is, Louis.

You’ve got to be patient with him.”“Zayn,” Louis says, taking a seat on Zayn’s left. He holds his stare, articulating each word, hopingto sink them into Zayn’s understanding. “I was nice to him. On Monday, I told myself that, nomatter what shit he pulled or bullshit he spit, I was gonna be nice to him. And do you know whathappened? He treated me like dirt. Like fucking pond scum. For no fucking reason!”No reaction emerges from Zayn, just calm, lidded eyes framed by impossibly long eyelashes thattickle the sky. “Did he know you were acting nice? On purpose, like?”“What?” Louis blinks, confused. “I dunno. Yeah, I guess.”Zayn shakes his head, lets out another sigh. “I’ll say this once, Louis. Every day he deals withphony people. They just hang about for his money or his dad or his name or whatever. Theypretend to be nice. They do whatever he says. At home, if they remembered he was there, he wastreated the same. Given what he wanted, pushed aside. I saw it myself. Louis,” Zayn says, voiceemphatic, and Louis leans forward, feeling like a dumbbell’s just dropped on him. “There’s areason he reacts the way he does.”Louis stares dumbly.Fuck.Fuck.“That makes sense, doesn’t it,” he says quietly.“I don’t have all the answers. There’s a lot I don’t know about him—he doesn’t talk aboutanything. Never. But it’s not hard to put some of it together, yeah? Be patient with him,” herepeats.Patient. With Harry. Yeah.Fuck.“Yeah. I will be,” Louis promises, but he’s barely registering his own words, instead lost amongstthe hundreds of words that have barreled him over during this brief encounter. “I better go.”He stands up and, with wobbly legs, makes for the door, Zayn remaining in his throne at the headof the table.“There’s one more thing you should know about Harry,” Zayn’s voice suddenly says, cutting thesilence of the room and the chaos of Louis’ thoughts.Louis pauses, turns to face him, his emotions already overburdened. He gives an expectant look.“His family is everything to him. Des is all he’s got left. His mum’s gone. And his sister’s wastingaway. She doesn’t care. His father’s all he’s got, Louis. Even if Des…” Zayn stops himself,reassessing his choice of words. “Des has no right to Harry’s loyalty,” he amends. “But he’s got it.He’s got it in spades, and Harry won’t ever change.”Louis swallows. “Why do I need to know that?”“Because if that’s the only thing that matters to him, then it’d probably affect his life, wouldn’t it?”Zayn hints.

Ah.“So, like when he’s in a bad mood or summat, it’s probably cuz of…” Louis concludes hesitantly,not knowing how to appropriately word the sentence, feeling that ending it with ‘his train wreckof a father’ may be a bit harsh.“There’s more than meets the eye. That’s all I’m saying,” Zayn finishes, and he unscrews the capof a nearby water bottle before bringing it to his lips.Louis follows the movement with his eyes, brows pinching. “But I knew that already. I know thathis father, or whatever, bothers him.”Zayn quiets, setting the bottle down, peering at Louis with half-lidded eyes. “But I don’t think yourealize how much. I know I didn’t.” He pauses, bringing his hand up to play idly with the newlyformedscruff beneath his chin, contemplating his next words. At last, he concludes with, “I’masking you to look out for him, Louis. I know he doesn’t know you that well and you don’talways get on, but.” His gaze connects with Louis’. “He’s different with you. In the short timehe’s known you, he’s opened up more than he has to me in the fifteen years we’ve known eachother. And that’s just from the little I’ve seen. Even if he doesn’t realize it…” He leans forwardenough to lay his warm fingers on Louis’ forearm, and his quiet, hazel eyes cut through the air,through Louis. “You affect him.”Louis blinks.He affects him?Louis affects Harry? Cold, moody, empty, barren, makes-Louis-fetch-nonexistent-textbooks-justfor-the-fun-of-itHarry?His body reacts, sending surges of blood and thoughts swimming within, colliding with each otherand erupting in sparks, and he’s not even sure why, probably couldn’t explain it if he was asked,but he feels significant somehow, in hearing this. Significant and torn, and all he can think about ishow Harry still probably hasn’t found what he’s looking for, still searching empty houses andstaring at a blank phone, and he wonders how many times Harry’s cried or Harry’s grabbed ontosomething for dear life because he felt utterly helpless and alone and unwanted and—Fuck fuck fuck. Louis’ eyes almost begin to prickle with just too many thoughts. All for a boywho, despite Louis “affecting” him, barely exists. Harry’s somewhere beyond the realm ofexistence, in the dark corners that get forgotten or shunned, and he’s far away from everybody, sofar away, but Louis imagines himself reaching out, imagines stretching his hand into the bleakdarkness, and imagines his fingers brushing against the bits of Harry that are still there.And that’s all he needs.Louis opens his mouth to respond to the watchful eyes of Zayn, whose hand still rests lightly uponLouis’ flesh, his words seeming to echo through the room and slide off of the smooth surfaces,when the door is suddenly thrown open, and in emerges Liam, a smile instantly splitting his face.“Louis!” he greets, delighted, and walks up to him, smiling giddily squeezing his elbow, beforepressing a sweet kiss to Zayn’s lips. “How are you, mate?”“Uh, good, I’m good,” Louis barely manages, still reeling from everything that had just happened,and Liam’s grin is only lightly questioning, his hand on Zayn’s shoulder. “How was yourmeeting?”“Do you know what, it was actually really strange. I’m the editor of the paper, see, but there was

this guy who I’ve never seen before, and he kept going about and trying to make all thesedecisions, and saying all this rubbish about what he thinks we should be doing. And I thought itwas funny because…”Liam continues talking, about whatever it is he’s talking about, and Zayn is at least pretending tobe interested in it, so Louis allows himself to zone out, giving in to his many thoughts thatcurrently plague him.Thought of:Harry Harry Harry Harry fuck shit oh god I feel terrible what’s happening to my life HarryHarry Harry I’m an arse Harry Harry Harry“Louis.”Upon hearing his name, he returns his attentions back to the present.“Yes?” he asks, blinking, looking to an expectant Liam.“Can I get you anything to drink?” Liam asks, in a tone that implies it wasn’t the first time he’sasked it. “Tea? Water? Anything?”“I love water,” Louis says distractedly, and Zayn peers at him from his chair as he brings his handup to lace his fingers with Liam’s, draped over his shoulder.“Did you know that water is both the softest and strongest force in the world?” Liam asksanimatedly.And Louis knows Liam doesn’t feel the weight of emotions that Louis and Zayn currently do. Heknows that he wasn’t there, didn’t hear the words spoken, didn’t envision the thoughts, didn’tpartake in this mess of a conversation, but Louis still prickles with annoyance at his obliviouscomments and his pert, polished voice, so he steps away before another word is said.“Sorry mates, I’ve got to go.”Liam pouts. “But I’ve only just gotten here.”“I’ve got tutoring with Harry.”He laughs, swift and short. “Oh yeah. How’s that going, by the way?”Louis doesn’t know how to reply as his mouth searches for words, any words.“Stop distracting him, he’s already late,” Zayn tells Liam, nudging him gently in the side, andLiam immediately looks to Louis in apology.“Oh! Terribly sorry mate! I’ll text you later.”“Yeah. Sounds good. See you guys later,” Louis says, and he leaves, dazed, and heads towardHarry’s rooms, totally unprepared for the day’s tutoring session.Or, rather, totally unprepared for Harry.**When Harry opens the door, his face is unreadable, his eyes dark.

“So,” he says, folding his arms across his chest as he stares at Louis, dressed in a shimmery graysweater and black skinny jeans, effortlessly chic and smelling of privilege and manufacturing.“Which personality has decided to show up today?”The sentence is cold, but it’s said quietly enough, the words reverberating against the chilly breezethat tousles Louis’ hair and rustles the leaves on the nearby trees, so that Louis only feels guiltier,dumber, sadder.Louis sighs, looking down at his feet.“Fair enough, that,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, but he sees Harry’s face react in hisperipherals, so he chances a glance upward.The boy’s eyebrows are furrowed, but there’s a quiet curiosity sitting in the corners, and it’salmost encouraging, really, that there isn’t complete vehemence in his expression.“I’m coming inside. It’s cold,” he declares, but he peeks out a small smile as he says it, catchingHarry’s eye.Harry replies with silence, but nods once, stepping back and closing the door behind him oncehe’s entered.And then Louis is standing in the middle of the room, taking in the new rugs lain on the floor(they’re rather nice), and Harry stands behind him, stiff, just staring with an intent scowl that couldeither be concentration or abhorrence—at this point, Louis really doesn’t know.Zayn’s words are crowding his skull.…just because nobody else could tell by the way he acted, doesn’t mean there wasn’t shithappening.I was in love with Harry.…he never connected love with anything because he’s never really known what it is…Be patient with him.You affect him.Fuck.There’s a lot happening right now.“Look,” he says, turning to face Harry, and he forces himself to look in those eyes. Thoseterrifying, vacant eyes. “I’m really sorry.”Harry stares, his scowl morphing into lines of confusion.But Louis just continues. “I’m sorry about yesterday, about the day before, about every day, aboutnow, about everything. I’m sorry. I’ve been an idiot, to be honest. And I’m sorry, Harry.”There’s this heavy moment of silence where Louis stares at Harry, feeling awkward and like he’son fire, and Harry looks almost comically bewildered, caught between frowning and widening hiseyes.“You’re apologizing?” he asks at last, slow and suspicious, but he keeps his distance.

Louis nods. “Well, yeah. I kind of have to.” He pauses. “I mean, I left your door open when I leftyesterday. How rude was that?”At that, Harry’s lip twitches, and though no actual smile is made, Louis still feels instant relief.“I really am sorry though,” Louis adds quietly after a moment, and he looks down once more,fiddling with the fabric of his jeans.He hears the drag of Harry’s shoe across the floor as he draws patterns with the toe of his boot,and one brief glance upward tells him that Harry is looking down as well, hands clasped behindhis back, and he looks fragile and petite and small despite his towering frame and giraffe limbs,resembling a shy little schoolchild on their first day. It’s sort of bizarre and insanely out ofcharacter, this almost bashful discomfort coming from him, yet it somehow fits him perfectly, andLouis can’t stop sneaking glances at the spectacle.“It’s okay,” a small voice purrs quietly, and it takes a moment for Louis to realize it’s Harry that’ssaid that, and not a voice of his own imagining.His neck almost pops as he shoots his head up, staring at Harry who still isn’t looking at him.And he wants to ask if Harry actually just said that, just vocally forgave Louis, or if he justmisunderstood, but he doesn’t want to push it, doesn’t want to force too much attention on it, andso he just shuts his gaping mouth and clasps his own hands behind his back as well, biting back asmile.“So you going to tutor me, then?” he asks after a momentary silence. “And properly, I mean, notjust one of those bloody outlines that are as useful as the textbooks I can’t bother to readanyway?” Louis’ voice is teasing, smile still present.Harry nods, expression quiet. “I’ll teach you what I can. I make no promises, but I’ll help.Properly,” he adds, and Louis’ smile widens. “I can’t today, though. I’ve actually got to—I—“ hecuts off, picking up his phone off of a nearby table, and Louis knows. He just knows it has to dowith Des, something that Louis can’t quite understand, and he hears Zayn telling him to be patient,telling him about the shit nobody can see that lies quietly inside of Harry.“Yeah, alright, no worries,” he agrees, nodding. “Tomorrow, then.”Harry nods, eying Louis. “Don’t be late,” he bosses.“Don’t bring a harem,” Louis counters.Harry glares. “I don’t have a harem.”“Well, see, now you’re just lying.”“I’m not.”“Yes you are. But it’s alright, mate, cuz I told you you had shit handwriting yesterday, and thatwas a lie, so. I figure we’re even.”“You’re aware your opinions bear no effect on me, correct?” Harry asks dryly, folding his armsacross his chest again.“I never said they did.”“I never said you said they did.”

Right then.Louis blinks at him, not fully understanding where the conversation went wrong. ApparentlyHarry Styles is four years old.“I think this would be a good time to leave.”“Good. I’ve got to go.” Harry turns around, heading towards his room.Louis does the same, except in the opposite direction, but just as he’s about to reach the door:“Wait.”Louis stops, turns around. “Yes?”Harry looks at him hard, his curls frizzy and lopsided, his sweater hanging off of his shoulders.“Don’t ever do that again. Being all…weird." His eyebrows pinch the tiniest bit more. "I don’tlike it.”Louis considers. “Only if you don’t ever ask me to get you a cheese danish again.”And Louis swears that Harry bites his lip to hold back an amused smirk, but he can’t be sure.“Right,” is all Harry says, before continuing to his room and shutting the door.A small laugh escapes Louis as he opens the door.“Right,” he agrees quietly, then leaves, smile still in place.Chapter End NotesSo, yay. i got this whole bit done now and I'm just happy about it. Woooo! I suggestwe all make a toast (I'm thinking punch) and wear pearls in celebration. Mkkur?Mkur.This chapter's song is a very special song: "Us Against the World" by Coldplay. It'ssort of baby Zayn and baby Harry's song in this story, from Zayn's perspective. But, Ithink, it's slowly becoming Louis' song for Harry as well. :) You've gotta listen to thissong, though. The full thing. Loudly. Preferably at night. At 2:10, my fav bit begins.Listen to it!!Thank you again, my treasures! I love you all! Come chat! (tumblr = mizzwilde) Ilove hearing your words and your thoughts and your loveliness. And if you have anymusic recs or if you find a pic that reminds you of this story, hollaaa. That shit's myfav.

XVIIChapter SummaryLouis thinks he might be getting somewhere. Maybe.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesFor the rest of the week, Harry tutors Louis in helpful and beneficial ways.And Louis doesn’t really know what he was expecting to happen in that week, after they’d madetheir sort-of peace, but it wasn’t…this.But it’s not like he had envisioned, say, Harry joyously opening the door upon his arrival andproceeding to laugh at all of Louis’ jokes and spill his tightly locked away secrets and cry to himabout feeling unaccepted and apologize for all his previous wrongs. No, Louis didn’t envision thatin any way or form, certainly not. Because that would just be odd and abrasive and thoroughly toomuch, especially considering they weren’t even proper mates yet.Still, though.Harry could’ve at least started…smiling, or something.And sure, yeah, it’s only been a handful of days, but honestly. Zayn told Louis to keep hispatience and fuck, yep, he’s definitely going to need patience because Harry is layered, layered,layered in issues and walls and unfeeling weariness and Louis’ not even sure if he’s begun to chipaway at any of it.So, needless to say, that first day after Louis apologized and Harry actually accepted it, was a bitof a disappointment.Louis had left early his flat early (not in hopes to bond or anything, nope) and was just roundingthe corner to Harry’s building, ready to mount the grand steps that led to his beautiful rooms overthe sunny gardens, when he stopped in his tracks, the low, musical rumble of Harry’s voicecatching in his ears. He searched for the source, eyes flicking through the passing students dressedto the nines, hoisting up their Armani bags, heels clicking against the ancient walkways, trying tospot a bow tie or a mess of coiffed curls.Eventually he found his target. Resplendent in ivory and gold, his bow tie glowing under autumnsun, the diamonds of his watch shining like a beacon, looking typically ridiculous and endearingsimultaneously. While talking to a beautiful raven haired girl in a long, pale yellow dress. Swipinghis finger beneath her giggling chin.He was smiling down at her—with that smile that makes Louis shudder, with its emptiness andvillainous tight corners—and pressing whispers into her ear that forced even more tiny, insistentgiggles out of her as she stared adoringly. Harry’s grin grew with each breathy laughter, and Louisdistinctly remembers finding it nothing but sinister.And, somehow, just so incredibly disheartening. And sad.

But also annoying.After a few warm clutches of the arm and coquettish pleasantries delivered with a lot of teeth anddimple, Harry finally sent the girl on her way, smacking her bum as she giggled and left.Which is exactly when Louis marched over.As Harry turned to face him, the remnants of his soulless, amused smile faded, his eyes connectingwith Louis’. The false cordiality that had previously taken hostage of his face was swiftly replacedwith something…quieter, more observant, and…trepid? It wasn’t smiley, no, but it wasn’t fakeeither, so Louis thought of it as a good start to their session.“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry greeted, but his voice was lackluster, and Louis really would like tothink it hadn’t been filled with something that could be recognized as disappointment, but, well. Ithad been.Which took Louis by surprise. Because wasn’t Harry supposed to be all excited to see Louis nowthat they basically had agreed to be bestest mates and share secrets? Shouldn’t they be holdingeach other while they cried by now? So Louis sort of half-waved in an extremely unnecessarymanner and smiled awkwardly while also feeling his eyes narrow with weariness. He can onlyimagine what his face must’ve looked like.“Hi Curly,” he responded almost automatically, but his nerves had already surfaced, making hisvoice bumpy, sharp with uncertainty on the edges.It felt like Harry assessed him for a full minute, eyes blank and built far away, but Louis couldalmost feel a hum beneath the boy’s skin, as if a thousand panicked thoughts were flitting throughhis bloodstream. And Louis could only hypothesize that somehow, somewhere, Harry had alreadycome to regret their peace treaty, had already made up his mind not to have any more friends, letalone ones like Louis Tomlinson.Because Harry liked distance. And, perhaps, he could see that Louis did not.In any case, Harry’s eyes revealed nothing, and at last the spell was broken when Harry swoopedhis curls out of his face with a large, pearl-smooth hand.“Right. Well. I’m going up the stairs now,” he said, and Louis couldn’t tell if he was feelingawkward or if he just had a habit of stating unnecessary comments. But he continued, clearing histhroat and straightening his jacket, hands on his lapels. “You are to remain five paces behind me,”he added, but it seemed forced and determined. Almost as if Harry was attempting to rekindle theirpast mutual distaste.Which…really?So Louis rolled his eyes. “I think we’re past this by now, aren’t we? Besides, I think you meant tosay ‘steps.’”Harry blinked. “What?”“You meant five steps behind you. Because I would say ‘paces’ is more of a walking term. ‘Steps’ensures a distance of five actual steps. Since we’re going up stairs and all. With steps.” Louissmiled sunnily, tilting his head with exaggerated cuteness.“You can still use ‘paces’ for walking up steps,” he snapped, eyebrows furrowing at lightningspeed.

“But it’s not as succinct, is it?”There was a pause where Harry studied him, glare mingled with the tiniest hint of actualconfusion, and Louis could see the wheels turning as he pondered his choice of vocabulary.“No matter,” he finally concluded. “Just stay behind.”“Oh, sure thing, Curls.”And so Louis raced ahead.“Hey!” Harry immediately protested, and jolted forward, dashing after Louis up the steps andgrabbing at his orange jumper spastically, his serene image of charming cool long forgotten.“I WIN!” Louis declared in a thunderous tone as soon as he reached the top, shoving victoriousfists in the air.Harry huffed behind him, shaking out his hand which had knocked against the railingunpleasantly when Louis shoved him off.“That’s not fair,” he grumbled in protest, but Louis turned to him, grinning.“’Remain five steps behind me’” he repeated in laughing disbelief, rolling his eyes and shaking hishead while Harry glanced at him with slight discomfort, still cradling his hand. “The things thatcome out of your mouth. I tell ya, son.”“’Paces’ not ‘steps,’” is all Harry mumbled in response, before begrudgingly unlocking his doorand letting Louis in.“So you’re teaching me proper, yeah?” Louis asked upon entering, flopping down on the chaiselongue and grinning, kicking off his shoes.Harry froze at the spectacle, keys dangling from his long fingers. “Gross. Shoes must be kept on atall times.”“My feet are cold,” Louis replied, as if that was the end of that, and slid his phone out of hispocket, shifting his attentions elsewhere.With a steeling of the shoulders, Harry stalked over to his desk, muttering obscenities. “Fine,whatever.”Louis smiled as he flitted through old texts, staring unseeingly as his screen.There were a few moments of silence, interrupted only by the opening of Harry’s desk drawersand the rustling of papers while Louis flicked through his phone, answering a text from Niall thatmerely said:‘Best mates yet?’To which Louis’ replied: ‘Dnt be cheeky’A few more moments passed, and Louis took in the room, the cat figurines, the velvet curtains thatbrushed the floors, Zayn’s paintings that hung quietly, and the scattered pages of sheet music thatlittered the corner by a violin and an ancient lute, Harry’s familiar scrawl covering the margins andevery other bit of white space. Which, huh, Louis didn’t know Harry wrote music. But it didn’treally come as much of a surprise.

Silence dragged on, Harry still rummaging in his drawers with that quiet displeasure written in hisfeatures, and Louis watched him, noting the shadows and wondering their cause. He wanted toask, GOD, he wanted to ask what they were from, but he didn’t, knowing it would probably onlyserve to distance him further from Harry, and so he merely watched, biting back the question thatalways pressed against his brain and tongue every time he’s alone with Harry: ‘Have you foundDes yet?’He’s not even sure if that’s the right question. But, regardless, he didn’t ask it then and he stillhasn’t since.So, instead, he stretched out his limbs after the silence felt too long, yawning exaggeratedly loudin hopes to catch Harry’s eye.Which, nope.Irked, Louis stood up, walking over to stand before Harry’s desk, knuckles thumping against thewood.Almost immediately, Harry’s eyes, which were studying some bit of paper, his head bent, shottoward the source of noise, before shooting even further up to meet Louis’ eyes.Irate. That would probably be the appropriate description of Harry’s stare.Louis smirked. “I’m ready for my incredibly insightful, helpful-beyond-belief lesson, CurlyMcCurlyfish.” Harry’s eyes rolled. “Mould me! Transform me into a new and better machine ofwisdom!”With a light shake of the head, Harry returned to his seemingly pointless duty of paper shuffling.“I’m not really one for impossible tasks,” he muttered, shoulders dainty and slouched, a curlcatching in his eyelashes.“But the impossible ones are the funnest ones,” Louis countered, tapping the wood of the deskincessantly, his impatience and annoyance beginning to ripple.Harry paused, observing him, before he finally shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do,” he repliedsimply, then motioned for Louis to sit, and proceeded with the tutoring.And that’s how it went.That’s how it’s been going since. Louis being playful and charming and endearing (yes, all ofthose things) as he examines Harry’s belongings, stares out of Harry’s windows, asks everyquestion that comes to mind, begs for tea (and that’s one thing that’s different—Harry now knowsexactly how Louis likes his tea, which is something Louis takes very seriously), all the while asHarry tolerates, judges, and teaches in his slow, cascading voice that tastes like chocolate and feelslike suede, sitting in his desk chair and sipping champagne, adjusting his Chanel watch, mussinghis hair, checking his phone, and getting lost in his own thoughts.But he teaches Louis—he really does. His slowness allows Louis to keep up, his indifferenceleaves room for Louis to try harder, and sometimes, when he’s quoting some novel or poet orauthor or whateverthefuck, the tragically beautiful words match the tragically beautiful prisms inHarry’s eyes, and the words echo in Louis’ brain, staying with him for the rest of the day, throughsleep, and into the next lecture where he’s asked to write them down from memory.Sometimes the left side of Harry’s mouth will twist when he’s talking about things he cares about—say, Oscar Wilde, who he speaks of religiously, adoringly, reverently, endlessly--and sweetmother of god, Louis means endlessly--or Victorian culture, and Louis thinks it may be some sort

of smile that struggles to surface, but the walls of Harry’s face haven’t learned to let it through yet.Louis marvels when it happens, because he likes to think it grows stronger every day, thoughthat’s probably not the case. Still though, Harry alights when he speaks of such things, stuffing thedetails into his sentences, and his quiet, dopey enthusiasm that seeps through his calm exterior hasLouis feeling triple the enthusiasm he would normally feel, hanging onto Harry’s every word andphrase, every blink and slide of fingertips against brittle book pages. It’s a passion of his, Louissurmises, so it’s quite convenient that he’s tutoring him in a Victorian course that he couldn’t careless about himself.So it works. And Louis is learning. He can tell by the way he doesn’t fall asleep as much inlecture, or by the fact that the thought of doing his homework doesn’t traumatize him. It’s helping,and he’s grateful, and sometimes when he leaves the lecture hall, he texts a boastful exclamation toHarry.Because, yes, Louis forced them to exchange numbers. And, no, Harry never texts him back.Ever. As in, not once. Not even if Louis has a question.So there’s that as well.And it’s all this—the lack of warmth, the unresponsiveness, the lack of progression, Harry’sseeming indifference to Louis’ general existence—that has Louis contemplating ditching today’stutoring altogether, helpful or not.Because it’s been a shit day. He slept through his first course, got woken up by Niall’s fuckingpiano and a text from his sister complaining about Mother Dearest (but Niall assured him that he’dspoken to Jo since and he’s sorted her out, so…yeah…that happened) and he’s had a splittingheadache. Not to mention the fact that he spilled beans all over his pristine, white trousers, or thefact that he tripped on one of Niall’s empty beer bottles that he likes to keep on the floor, or thattomorrow’s Halloween and Zayn’s throwing the party of the century and he really, really wants tobe rested and energized for such antics and also, hopefully, be in a somewhatly pleasant mood.Which, at this point, seems less than likely.And now his phone’s dead, he’s hungry and had forgotten his wallet this morning before he left,and he’s supposed to be at Harry’s in ten minutes so he can sit and be talked at by a poisonousmouth and guarded eyes and fuck all of that.Fuck it.Louis is going back to his flat.So he just keeps walking.**“Aren’t you supposed to be at Harry’s?” Niall asks mildly, strumming his guitar on the couch.Rory’s in the kitchen, cooking up something that smells delicious. And fuck, are those chocolatebiscuits?“Hungry. Hate the world. Don’t give no fucks,” he manages, stuffing biscuits in his mouthwithout hesitation, and Rory raises his eyebrows, but Louis can’t quite care right now.“Did you text him?”Louis scoffs, crumbs falling from his open-because-it’s-so-stuffed-he-can’t-close-it mouth. “Likehe’d even read it,” he says almost unintelligibly, sending sprays of biscuit bits at Rory who wincesand looks on at the spectacle with severe distaste.

“Glass of water?” he offers with a grimace, and Louis glares.“Oh, shut up. I don’t judge you when you hang your sweaty socks over our chairs,” Louiscounters, now reaching for the Nutella, and Rory sniffs but keeps the peace.“So then…FIFA?” Niall offers, glancing back at him.Louis uncaps the Nutella, dipping his finger in and scooping up a heaping portion. With blissfulease he licks it away, his smile blooming and warming his cheeks.“Sure thing, Nialler. FIFA it shall be.”And Louis plops on the couch alongside Niall, grabs a controller, and lets his nerves uncoil.**“You really should go to your lesson. Didn’t you say it was helping you?” Niall asks after a fewfailed rounds, chomping down the stew that Rory had just made.Louis snatches a bit of meat from him, causing Niall to nearly growl. “Yeah, probably. But Idoubt he even notices that I’m not there, to be honest.”“I thought you were getting on?”“Well, yeah, I mean, I don’t think he hates me anymore or anything. But, like, he doesn’t smile orlaugh or talk much. He just…sort of sit there. Judging me. With those eyes. Those very unnervingeyes.”“Maybe you deserve to be judged. You can be quite annoying.”“Hey!” Louis squawks, shooting upwards and staring at Niall, appalled. “I’m not annoying!You’re annoying!”“I’m sociable. There’s a difference.”“There is not. Besides, I’m attractive.”Niall stares at him like he’s confessed to liking women. Or something equally absurd. “What thefuck does that have to do with anything?”“So you agree!” Louis sings, and plants a kiss on Niall’s temple before hopping up off of thecouch.Niall shrugs. “I’d shag ya,” he says, then burps.Louis pauses. “You would?”“Yeah. You’re fit. Why not?”Louis’ hand immediately clutches at his heart, his mouth opening in shock. “Why, Niall Horan!That may be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”He grins, settling deeper into the couch and shoving another spoonful of stew into his mouth.“That’s what friends are for!” he says jovially, and Louis pecks him on the top of his head beforedarting to his room. “You going to Harry’s?”

“Yep!” Louis calls from his room. “Suppose I should. I know I’m late, but. Even if he only hastime to write out one of his damn outlines, that still helps more than the notes I get. I hate dons.”“You hate everything. But have fun, honey! Don’t be out too late—gotta get rested fortomorrow!” Niall calls cheekily.“Halloween,” Louis smiles knowingly, and offers his hand which Niall immediately smacks.“Hallowen,” he agrees, grinning.“Bye, love,” Louis sings, draping a cardigan over his shoulders and grabbing his bag beforehopping out the door and closing it happily behind him, finally feeling a little more human.**As soon as Louis reaches Harry’s door and is raising his fist to knock, the door swings open.“Where’ve you been?” Harry demands without hesitation, brows knitted, wearing a purpleturtleneck and black trousers that contrast shockingly against his pale, delicate skin.Louis stares, wide eyed, hand still poised to knock, midair. He notes the affronted rage in Harry’seyes and something that almost looks wounded or hurt, and Louis actually glances behind himbecause…surely Harry isn’t acting this way about him.But there’s nobody. And Harry is talking about him.And….what?“I’m sorry,” he says automatically, feeling a surging roar of guilt crash into his bones. Why did hethink food was important? Why did he play video games? How could he have been so rude?? “Iwas having a terrible day,” he continues, without blinking, staring into Harry’s childlike, woundedeyes that are desperate to throw a tantrum rather than admit any offense, and fuck fuck fuck, hefeels so guilty, and he’s really not even sure why at this point, but he thinks, maybe, he could bethe most horrible person on the planet. “I went back to my flat because I was hungry. I ate. Areyou hungry? I should’ve come and asked if you were hungry. Do you want to eat? I can eat again.I’m sorry. Are you hungry?”And well, yeah, Louis is rambling like a crazy fuck, and his words don’t even make sense (LouisTomlinson does not apologize, but for some reason that’s all he ever seems to do to Harry),they’re just spilling out to fill the quiet spaces, and he feels shocked and awkward, is actingawkward, but that look in Harry’s eyes is still there and he’s really, really determined to dowhatever it takes to make it go away. Because the most important thing in the world right now isthat look and Louis doesn’t know why, he just knows it’s important and it’s shitty and ugly andneeds to stop.“I’m not hungry,” Harry grumbles quietly, but his pout is lessened, seeming more lingering thanspirited. He folds his arms over his chest, looking out crossly in the distance, over Louis’ shoulder.“You could’ve texted.”“I—“ is all Louis manages, because his shock is actually filling his mouth like a gag and he juststares at Harry, very nearly flabbergasted.Because what?Like, what??

“I didn’t know you read my texts,” Louis blurts, and Harry’s eye snap to him.“Don’t be stupid. I have a phone, don’t I?”“But you never respond.”Harry quiets, before sniffing and looking away. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Just come in. It’llhave to be a short lesson today.”“Why?” Louis asks, following him inside and still feeling very blown apart. Because what???“I have guests arriving in thirty five minutes.”Guests. Great.Louis rolls his eyes. “God forbid you cancel.”“That would be rude. Unlike you, I stick to my engagements,” Harry glares.Well, shit.“I’m sorry, Curly.”“Stop calling me that!”“But I like it,” Louis protests, stepping towards Harry, who is still folded up like a child andlooking everywhere but at Louis.“Why? It’s silly.”“Because. You’re curly,” Louis smiles, and dares to reach out and tug at a loose curl of Harry’s.Harry’s eyes snap to him, his shoulders seize, but he doesn’t step away, instead allowing the tinyendearment, before rolling his eyes and folding his arms tighter, turning his face away once more.He remains silent.Louis watches him, trying to catch his eye, his smile still present, and it feels soft, not like his usualsmug smirks or obnoxious grins. “Besides, I like silly.”Pause.“I know you do,” Harry says at last, and his features are relaxed now, his eyes downcast, but thereis a very, very light upturn of the lips. And, if only in the most technical sense of the word, Louisthinks it could be classified as a smile. Because each corner of the mouth upturned is a smile,right? Even if it’s only a fraction higher than usual? Still counts.And Louis feels like he’s won the lottery. Because thank fuck. Maybe Harry doesn’t hate him.Maybe even enjoys tutoring him.Maybe.“So,” Louis says, and his smile sounds in his voice.Harry’s quiet, but the ‘smile’ is still there.“Let’s make this thirty-five minutes the best yet,” Louis declares, and Harry finally meets his eye.

“All right.”And they proceed to study.It’s fun, though. More fun than usual. Maybe because Harry’s high or something. Louis reallycan’t think of any other explanation; the boy is usually miles away or taking mysterious phonecalls or just watching Louis with mild, unamused eyes that look on the verge of darting if hecomes too close but today their words come easy and Harry’s voice seems lighter, highlighting thekey points in Louis’ notes, and raising his eyebrows whenever he comes across one of Louis’vicious doodles--he may or may not have a slight tendency to draw the various ways he couldmurder his teacher on the spot using the available tools provided, such as pens, notebook spirals,and keys.“I think you may have an unhealthy state of mind, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says, milky smooth,eyes flicking over one of the more detailed depictions.“No, but you should have heard him that day. He didn’t stop for breath once, not once, and helaughed at all of his own jokes. You’d be envisioning choking him with a pencil case as well.”Harry’s cheek twitches, which Louis has now come to label as ‘Harry’s laugh’ (though it’s farfrom any actual form of a laugh, but still) and Louis grins, imitating the doodle with the pencilcase in his hand for an added touch.And then Harry makes a noise in his throat that sounds like amusement, and Louis almostcomments on it, almost, but Harry doesn’t meet his eye and he can’t do it. He just can’t. Becausesome fight will probably ensue from it, or Harry will deny it, or, worse still, it might prevent himfrom every doing it again, so Louis looks down at the pencil case and remains quiet, biting back agrin.There’s silence, an odd silence, and one glance upward tells Louis that Harry looks noticeablyuncomfortable.And that isn’t right. Louis can’t have that. And, sure, he doesn’t know what’s caused it, but nomatter, because Louis just can’t have that. They’re supposed to be progressing.There’s a pang of silence, with Harry’s eyes blindly skimming over the words of the outline,fiddling with his rings, and Louis keeps his eyes down on the pencil case.“One time I imagined stuffing him in the rubbish bin and catapulting it out the window.”And, just like that, Harry’s shoulders loosen and he makes the noise again.Louis feels like Christmas.Invigorated, he continues, watching Harry’s face and noting the appearance of the famous dimpleas he nibbles his lips, keeping his amusement at bay. “But we should probably stop thisconversation before I tell you about my vision with the cat food.”Harry peers up at him, biting his cheek. “Cat food?”Louis nods very seriously. “Yes. The cat food. I’ll save it for another day.”“A rainy day?” Harry offers, smirk faint.“The rainiest,” Louis agrees, and then, as one, they look back down at the papers before them,Louis biting back another smile, and Harry looking like he doesn’t hate Louis.

The lesson continues, easy and informative, Harry’s movements calm and relaxed, Louis actuallyremaining attentive.And then thirty-five minutes have passed. Harry’s phone vibrates.They both jump, surprised by the sudden shake of the desk, before Harry glances at the screen, hiseyes darting across the words.“They’re on their way,” his voice says, and though it sounds the same on the surface, there’ssomething a little hollow about it, and Louis doesn’t think he’s just imagining it.“Oh,” Louis tries to say lightly, but he feels his eyebrows raise in their irritated fashion, and hebegins to gather his things. “How fun.”Harry nods, clearing his throat, sliding the papers towards Louis before standing up. He smoothsdown the fabric of his turtleneck, hikes up his trousers.“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. At the party,” Louis says, zipping his pencil inside his pencil case,feeling odd. And repeatedly glancing up at Harry.He nods. “Study all that,” he adds, adjusting his sleeves. “Report back your findings on Monday.Write down any questions. You know the drill.”So business-like. So to-the-point.“Can I write you a list of questions about the lesson and then another list of questions unrelated tothe lesson? Like, say, ones about you?” Louis then asks with a small smile, eying Harry as hepacks his bag. And he’s not sure why he said that or how he said that, but he plays it off as lightand teasing rather than creepy, hoping he didn’t just scare off the timid squirrel before him.Harry blinks, pausing his fussings and looking over to Louis, brow confused. “Why would you dothat?”And Louis opens his mouth to answer, just as the door swings open, a barrage of bodies andscattered voices filling up the space.“Harold!” they chorus, beautiful people slowly but steadily swarming towards him, and Harry’seyes remain on Louis, who sends a smile and a shrug his way, before waving and ducking outbefore his irritation gets the better of him. Because some auburn haired little rich boy literally justtugged on Harry’s belt without even offering up a greeting and who the fuck does that? And whythe fuck does Harry allow it?So Louis trudges back to his flat, thinking about tomorrow, feeling really fucking weird, and sortof smiling because of Harry Styles.Chapter End NotesTHANK YOU ALL FOR GIVING ME SONG RECS. Forreal, keep doing it plzzzcuz I've gotten some incredible ones! I'm throwin my hands up in the air. Thank youthank you, darlings!

PREFERABLY the "Acousticalullaby" version, but the album version will work aswell.The song I listened to while writing this chapter: "Caring is Creepy" by The Shins.Thank you for reading, beautifuls! I'm just so, so fond of each of you.

XVIIIChapter SummaryHalloween.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesIt’s Halloween.It’s Halloween and Louis’ just woken up to Niall brandishing pumpkin ale into his face.“Happy Halloween, mate!! Drinks on me!!” Niall’s thundering, his radiant smile invading Louis’space bubble, pressing cold bottles into his cheeks, and Louis thinks this might be the first timehe’s ever actively thought that he’d rather get woken by the piano any day.“Fuck’s sake, what’s wrong with you?” he rasps as he attempts to orientate himself, registeringthat it’s morning, it’s Saturday, and Zayn’s party is only a handful of hours away. Zayn’s glorious,costume required, alcohol-is-supplied, very hot and expensive mess party.Which is really the only reason Niall doesn’t get one of those bottles that he’s brandishing crackedover his head.“You got your costume all prepared?” the golden ray of annoying fucking sunshine asks, eyesalight as he pops the cap off of one of the beers, before slinging it back effortlessly, swallowinghalf of its contents without a blink of the eye.Louis stares, impressed, as he scrubs the sleep away from his eyelashes and crevices, sitting upproperly.“All prepared and ready to go, mate. How about you?” Louis considers for a moment. “What areyou gonna be, anyway? You never did get round to telling me.”Niall grins, setting down the now empty bottle, lips moist. “It’s a surprise.” He wipes his mouthwith his Styx t-shirt.“Well that sounds promising,” Louis concludes flatly, before groaning and flopping out of bed(why must he have energetic flatmates? Why?), pulling on trackies and stretching his arms abovehis head. “I dare say I’m actually quite excited for tonight though. It’s been awhile since I’vepartied, proper like.”He waits for Niall’s response as he steps outside of his bedroom and, oh.Damn.There is a pumpkin patch in their flat.“We’re carving pumpkins!” Niall suddenly bursts, hopping forward as Rory hauls in yet anotherhuge pumpkin, struggling to set it down in the kitchen. Louis considers helping, wants to help—he loves Rory—but, no. No. Too early to haul pumpkins. So he sits down instead, rubbing his

eyes of sleep and resting his feet on the nearest one.“I’m terrible at making jack-o-lanterns,” Louis yawns, scratching his tufty hair, but he can’t denythe fact that it sounds fun. At least, more fun than his and Niall’s usual Saturdays which consist ofwatching tellie, eating, hanging about with the lads, and drinking too much. Which, to be honest,gets pretty old after awhile.“It’s going to be part of our Halloween activities. Got to keep up tradition, don’t we?” Niallboasts, thumping Louis.Louis glances up at him witheringly. “We never carved pumpkins at my house. So, no. Not atradition.”“You what? Never?”He shakes his head. “Never. Mum didn’t like the smell. Said she hated pumpkin guts.”Niall stares solidly. “Right. I’m going to have to talk to Jo about that. That’s unacceptable. Don’tyou have younger sisters?”“Five of them,” Louis yawns, and Niall scoffs, outraged.“No, that’s not gonna work. That’s childhood, Louis, childhood!”“Yeah, yeah.”Rory hauls in yet another massive pumpkin, his knees noticeably quivering.The morning light glows through the endless windows lining their flat, and even just the saturationof it feels like autumn. There’s a distinct burnt leaf smell permeating the cool air that escapes pastthe windows, the students just beyond their walls, the ones milling about and flirting and textingand talking animatedly about their plans for the night, are bundled in thick sweaters and luxuriousshades or orange.Louis’ only been awake for about five minutes, yet this is the most festive he’s felt in years,probably. It’s nice.“So you treating us to brekkie then?” Louis asks innocently, fluttering his eyelashes up at Niall.“On account of it being Halloween and all.”“I was thinking sweets for breakfast. Since I don’t get to fuckin’ go trick-or-treating anymore.Load of shite.”“We probably could, though. What’re they gonna do? Call the police? Start a big investigation?”He shrugs. “Suppose I feel a bit creepy, though. Who knows, maybe later. We’ll see. Point is, Iwant sweets for breakfast. So we’re going to the nearest Tesco, loading up, then off to that bakeryon Main. Sound good?”Oh, yes it does. Louis’ usually not a sweets person, but he can make an exception for one day ofthe year. And he deserves it after the year he’s had.“Sounds marvelous, Ireland. Take me away.”“Excellent,” Niall grins, and he places his hands on his hips, looking over to Rory who’s justabout to leave for, presumably, another pumpkin run. “Oi, mate. Come with us to breakfast.”

“Niall, I’ve got another fourteen pumpkins in the back—“Niall waves his hand dismissively, walking towards his room. “Forget about ‘em. You’re coming,my treat.”Rory seems more exasperated than thankful as Niall makes to get dressed, and Louis turns aroundon the couch, draping his arms over the back and grinning.“You can only eat pumpkin flavored things though, Rory. RIGHT, NIALLER?” he shouts, and adistant “Right-o!” is heard in return.“Right, of course,” Rory sighs, rolling his eyes, and Louis beams before trotting off towards hisown room, stuffing on the first bits of orange clothing he sees, already feeling good about the dayand the people in it.**It’s afternoon, they’ve been drinking pumpkin ale and hot apple cider spiked with whiskey (atNiall’s insistence—“why the fuck would I drink hot apple wee unless it was doing something forme in return?”), watching scary movies in the background, and have been carving pumpkinsnonstop.Surprisingly, Niall’s actually very good at it, creating little cartoons and silly faces, (though someare genuinely terrifying, and Louis’ already demanded that they’re to be put outside, as they’redeemed ‘unfit’ for the sanctity of their home), and he makes quick work of it too, so their flat isalready generously peppered with charming jack-o’-lanterns, candles nestled inside of them anddripping hot, orange and black wax onto the still-moist innards. The faces flicker on their walls,even in the bright hours of the day, and fill the room with delicious, seemingly edible scents thatmakes the ale slide down smoother and their jumpers feel warmer.Louis himself tries to create something that resembles a face, he really does, but for the most parthe just spears a bunch of holes in the pumpkin’s side, and once in awhile one has a rectangle for amouth. (“I think I’ll stick to just fetching the pumpkins with Rory next year. Sculpture was nevermy forte.” “I don’t think this is sculpture, Louis.” “Shut up, Niall, nobody likes a show off.”) Still,he takes pictures of them, sends them to Zayn and Liam, even sends one to Harry—a particularlyvicious looking one whose eyes were hacked into angry slits, a large, jagged frown filling up mostof its face. He sent it, along with the words, ‘When did you turn into a pumpkin, Curly?’ and heknows he won’t get a response, but he at least knows he’ll see it, and he’d like to think it’ll makehim smile and maybe bridge some of the gap that’s still left between them.It probably won’t, though.Nevertheless, the carving continues.Currently, Louis’ completely covered in pumpkin guts, as is the surrounding floor. But that’smostly attributed to the pumpkin sludge fight that Louis had initiated, after purposely digging outall of the contents of the largest pumpkin, before dumping it all onto Niall’s unsuspecting head.Chaos ensued. As well as Irish profanities.But now the guts are crusted to their limbs and the room smells pungent despite the candles, andLouis’ hand is cramping from carving so fucking much, so he settles back and allows Niall tocontinue while he hums his folk songs and laughs at the particularly gory bits in the scary movies.And then, well, Louis’ mind wanders. To tonight, mostly. And he wonders if Zayn and Liam arecarving pumpkins right now or going on a peaceful fall stroll. Or if they’re still picking out their

costumes for the evening.And he wonders if Harry is with them.Which, probably not, he’s probably having a Halloween orgy, but Louis would like to think he’scarving pumpkins as well, wrapped in a cozy sweater (probably with something ridiculous like agiant witch’s head on it) and maybe sipping apple cider out of some vintage teacup that ishideously ornate and impractical.He smiles at the thought. Smiles even wider when he remembers him and Harry’s last encounter,and the fact that, probably, he can call them actual mates now. Because Harry had been in such agood mood, a downright suspiciously good mood…Which…huh.Perhaps there was a very specific reason for that.Why hadn’t Louis thought of it before?“So, just out of random curiosity, do you ever go to the studio anymore? To record the drum bitsfor Des’ new single?” Louis suddenly asks, lying in the orange, sticky guts on the floor, and peersover at Niall, an incredibly large pumpkin tucked between his legs, his hands buried deep inside.“It’s on hold,” he answers, only half paying attention as he stares unblinkingly at the tellie and thefamily that is getting traumatized by a rabid clown.“On hold?” Louis prods nonchalantly.“Yeah. Father wouldn’t tell me why, but I suspect it’s something with Des. Haven’t heard abouthim in awhile. He hasn’t come to the studio once. Even Grimshaw won’t talk about him.Something’s off. But that’s all I know.”“Oh,” Louis immediately deflates, hope gone. “You don’t say.”Well, never mind then. Maybe Harry really was just in a good mood.….(Doubtful. There’s always a reason.)“Why do you ask?” Niall glances over at Louis, who forces himself to snap out of his ownthoughts.“Oh. No reason. Just wondering what’s going on in Harry’s family life. You know. The usual.”Niall laughs and shakes his head, just as Rory bursts through the door with endless shopping bagsfilled with candles, Halloween accessories, food, and liquor, and no more is said on the subject asNiall and Louis boisterously cheer his arrival.**Evening arrives soon enough, and Louis’ day of pumpkin carving, drinking, and general cozinesssoon morphs to one of excitement, adrenaline, and shouting, with music blaring through everyspeaker of their flat as they prepare for the evening ahead.“What the bloody fuck are you?” Louis laughs hysterically over the pounding beat of La Roux,every light on in the flat, and nearly doubles over, a towel wrapped around his middle as he stares

every light on in the flat, and nearly doubles over, a towel wrapped around his middle as he staresat Niall. He’s just stepped out of the shower.And he’s a little drunk.“I’m a milk carton!” Niall guffaws, and yes, he is an actual fucking milk carton, the giant foamstructure fitted over his limbs, his sunny little head poking out. It’s large and chunky and accurate,yes, but Louis can’t stop laughing because what the actual fuck?“Your legs look so skinny!” he cries, pointing to Niall’s wee little stick legs that pop out from theflat bottom of the carton, his knobby knees bouncing together and only serving to make hisalready too-large white Nikes look even larger.Niall laughs harder, the song gets louder, the night gets darker, and Louis scrambles to his roombefore his towel falls off, high on sweets and alcohol, already buzzing about his costume and thepride he bears for it.Because tonight is going to be incredible, and Louis’ already decided so.**“I’m too drunk for this,” Louis giggles, teetering on the stool, as Niall applies his makeup for him.“So am I,” he laughs, trying his best to concentrate as he delicately paints the glitter over Louis’eye.“No you’re not. You carved the shit outta those pumpkins before. I didn’t know you had skills!”“I can carve, but I can’t draw.”“Well fuck, Nialler! Now you tell me!” Louis shouts, but burps, then giggles and sways, clutchingonto the corners of Niall’s milk carton.“I’m doing an all right job. The visual aid helps.”“Google Images saves lives.”“Aye.”“Does it even look like a star?”“It’s a damn good star.”“Proper glittery?”“To be honest, Tommo, I’m not even sure how you’re going to survive the night without goingblind,” Niall comments, and he smiles at his handiwork as he finishes.“Perfect,” Louis grins, before inspecting the still-drying glittery star over his right eye. And itlooks great, it actually does (either Niall is actually quite skilled or Louis’ just very inebriated), andthe lines are straight and perfectly proportioned. So he then squeals, “SUPER PERFECT!” beforefalling onto Niall and giggling as the foam of his costume bends beneath him.**They arrive at Zayn’s rooms around 9.Louis hasn’t stopped smiling since the pumpkin pie shots him and Niall made at the flat (after

they’d gotten ready and had some time to spare), and as they glide across the school grounds, hefeels very much like royalty, sauntering forward, arm linked with Niall’s, and even the boxy,awkward bump of Niall’s milk carton crushing into his side doesn’t deter him as they slink theirway towards the tower.Because Louis chose to be ‘glitter’ for Halloween, and it’s the best idea he’s had in years.His hair’s mussed and fussed in pixie disarray, gold dusting the ends. Glitter coats his limbs andneck and chest, and his shirt and painfully tight trousers are sequined—which is essentially thesame thing as glitter. Better still, he and Niall had decided that, in order to capture the properessence of glitter and its attaches-itself-to-literally-fucking-everything skills, Louis would have todo just that. And so they stopped off at the corner market, purchased a large plastic bucket, all theglitter they had in stock, and proceeded to poor said glitter into said bucket. They call it “Louis’Stash” and somehow think they’re the cleverest souls in the kingdom.Louis is throwing handfuls at oblivious passerby, at the sky, at the flowers and the sidewalks, andNiall can’t stop laughing, and Louis can’t stop throwing.“Stop!” Niall snorts hysterically as they climb the stairs to Zayn’s rooms, but that only makesLouis throw bigger handfuls. “You’ll run out!” he insists, but Louis doesn’t hear him, and, finally,they arrive at the top, Niall’s sunflower hair saturated in soft clumps of rainbow glitter that flecksto the ground with his every move, some sticking to his milk carton.“Laddy lads!” Louis immediately exclaims as he pushes the door open, and tosses a handful ofglitter upon entry.Liam, oblivious as to what’s happening or why there’s now a pile of glitter on the floor, still smilesanimatedly, thrilled by everything Louis does.“That’s brilliant!” he explains, and he’s a pirate, dressed all in black and leather, but he looks morelike a superhero with his broad chest and tight trousers, bar the eye patch.Zayn’s beside him, smoking a cigar, and is effortlessly chic in a ‘20’s gangster suit, a terrifyinglyrealistic machine gun in his hand. “I’m Al Capone,” he smiles, and offers a cigar to Niall, then toLouis, grinning with what could only be a lot of martinis.Harry’s not there of course, but Louis doesn’t really notice, not when he’s illuminated in the lightand Liam and Zayn fall into hysterics over Niall’s costume, which they only just register.“He’s a bloody milk carton!” Liam exclaims, tearing at the eyesNiall stands proud.“What are you, Louis? The sky?”“I’m glitter!” Louis exclaims, blowing a small handful into the air.“Can I have some?” Zayn asks, and yeah, he’s drunk, but Louis is endeared by it as he dumps apinchful into Zayn’s awaiting pocket, his smile widened in excitement.“Are you ready for the night, lads?” Louis shouts as Liam pours Zayn another glass of wine, eyesstill shining from his hysterical laughter.“I’m readyyy,” Niall sings, clapping his hands in time, and Liam hands out wine glasses to theothers.

“A toast!” he declares as the four boys gather into a tiny circle. “For the best Halloween ever!”“Here, here!” Louis roars over exaggeratedly, and they laugh as they tip back their glasses, theliquid sliding smoothly down their already numb throats.Then the door opens.And in glides Harry.“I’m here so we can go now,” he greets, smug and smirky, eyes calm and assessing as he takes ineach costume.“Oh, can we? How fortunate,” Louis says with a roll of his eyes, but his smile is permanent andhe’s clutching his empty wine glass, and Harry’s wearing black velvet and heeled shoes, lookinglike something out of Dracula, so it’s all good.Harry barely registers his sass as he saunters towards the group, half-smile present.“Zayn, you look perfect,” he purrs, pecking Zayn’s lips, then glides to Liam. “You look likeyou’re going to get hot in that, love.” He slides a finger over Liam’s eye patch, then steps in frontof Louis. “You look messy,” is all he says (rude), and then he freezes upon seeing Niall, standingexpectantly in his ridiculous attire, hands clasped neatly in front of him. “I…don’t even knowwhat to say,” he finally concludes, and that gets everybody started up again.“What are you, then?” Louis asks, eyeing up Harry’s ensemble (it’s got to be some late 19 thcentury, Victorian garb, complete with a crimson scarf, cane, and green carnation pinned to hislapel). His hair is extra curled and luxurious, piled high on his head, and Louis could almost swearthat he’s wearing mascara, maybe eyeliner? And lippie, actually. But then again, he’s never reallysure with Harry, since the gene pool has a tendency to kiss his ass.“You’re a vampire!” Liam guesses, and Zayn snorts, bringing a hand up to hide his bemusedsmile, watching the horror splat across Harry’s face.“I’m Dorian Gray,” he says, as if their lack of recognition is the most offensive thing in the world,and he turns his head away and lifts his chin with an air of being very wronged, his cane posedperfectly in his hand.“Oscar Wilde’s book?” Louis supplies, happy to reference his learned knowledge from theirtutoring. Because “The Picture of Dorian Gray” is Harry’s favorite novel, written by the manhimself, and Louis is all too familiar with hearing its praises sung. It only pangs him a little bit thatHarry would identify with that character, of all people. Couldn’t he have just been a bunny orsomething?But, no matter. It’s Halloween, and it’s happy, and everybody looks incredible.Harry turns to look at him.“Exactly,” he says calmly, and it could be Louis’ imagination, but he thinks he almost detects ahint of pride.“Jesus Christ,” Niall rolls his eyes. “Of course you’re from a fuckin’ book.”“Not just any book!” Harry protests, scowling.Zayn smiles quietly, bringing his hand up to rest lightly on Liam’s back. “It’s a brilliant book,Harry. But we best be off, yeah? I’m late for me own party.”

“Well that’s the only way to arrive, isn’t it?” Louis grins.And they take off in a flurry of glitter and clicking heels and crisp fabrics rubbing together,smelling of hair product and cheap makeup, and the night seems to bow a little for them.**It’s the first time they don’t take the antique car—Louis having successfully convinced Zayn toput it in storage for the winter months and put a more practical, insulated car to use—but it’ssurprisingly pleasant outside, cool enough to prickle the skin, but warm enough to be comfortablewithout a jacket if running about. Which makes Louis sort of wish they were piling into the oldthing, breezing down the roads with the chill licking their smiles.But the limo—yes, the limo—suffices, and more rounds of pumpkin wine are poured, spillingover the tops of glasses and splashing onto hands, but they only laugh in response.“Let’s go trick or treating, Niall! I’m ready!” Louis shouts enthusiastically, and Zayn just shakeshis head with a smile as Liam practically squeals, Niall laughs as he agrees, while Harry raises amild brow.“I don’t like sweets,” he drawls.“So more for me!” Louis beams, before Niall pinches his arm.“You’re sharing, mate.”“Don’t I always?”And Niall bowls Louis over in his seat as he surges forward, the milk carton taking up half the car,and, as is custom for this night Louis is beginning to realize, laughter is the only response as therounds are poured and the glasses clink.**“Holy shit,” Louis blurts, upon entering the hotel hall.It’s magnificent, naturally, with its vaulted black ceilings and fading purple lights. Cobwebs scatterthe doorways, corners, and drape over every surface, Louis having to duck to avoid them catchingin his glittery hair as he enters. Black and orange streamers—or are those strips of satin?—hang inendless tendrils, tickling the guests as they pass around in swarms, outstretched hands brushingagainst the ends. There’s a large punch bowl sat in the middle of the hall, purple, sinister, andglowing, surrounded by endless rows of crystal teacups, and waiters dressed as scantily cladmummies sashay around with ornate, rusty trays holding various suspicious looking shotscontaining bobbing eyeballs, richly decorated petite fours, spidery cupcakes, severed hands, andrubber insects.It’s absolutely fucking awesome.“Holy shit,” Louis repeats, and he looks over to Zayn who is smiling at him, gauging his reaction.“Do you like it, Louis?” he asks, and Liam stares as well, his arms wrapped around Zayn’s waist.“Don’t ask stupid questions, Zayn!” Louis teases, and the boys erupt into grins.“Zayn Malik! He’s here!” a girl then suddenly shouts, and a tidal wave of bodies come rushing atthem, pushing Louis out of the way as they all cluck and chatter, gushing over Zayn’s party

hosting skills and elaborate décor.“Right, then,” Louis shouts, catching sight of Niall who is having trouble balancing his boxybody. “Let’s get out the fuck out of this mess.” He grabs Niall by the milk carton and trudges himout of harm’s way, only briefly glancing back to see Zayn and Liam swallowed whole, and thenHarry, his charming grin in place, his hand already resting on a boy’s elbow invitingly.But Louis just shakes his head of the thought and drags Niall to the punchbowl.**There’s an orchestra at the party that plays eery violin music for approximately two hours, and itreally sets the mood, providing class and adequate Halloween chill for the evening.During this time, the guests mingle and chat, clinking glasses and snapping pictures of eachother’s costumes on their phones, praising each other on a job well done.Louis lingers around the punch with Niall, judging every costume that passes by (except theSpiderman one—that was sick).“I don’t understand why she even bothered wearing the skirt. She could’ve saved herself somemoney and just worn the corset,” Louis says as he sips his punch, and Niall laughs amidstreceiving yet another passerby’s compliment on his getup.Niall’s gotten fourteen compliments since they’ve been there, and Louis’ gotten nineteen. Not thathe’s counting. But, if he were, Louis would totally be winning.At last, Zayn, Liam, and even Harry emerge from the masses, smiles still in place, and drinks inhand.“Well, that was fun,” Liam grins, his white teeth glowing under the black lights.Harry brings his drink to his lips, surveying the crowd.Louis tries not to watch him.“Would you like to dance?” Zayn suddenly asks Liam. “The orchestra’s about to leave and Idoubt there’ll be any more slow songs after they pack up.”Everybody stares, surprised, and that is exactly how they know how drunk Zayn is. Because heinsists he never dances, and often turns sickly colored at the mention of it. And yet here he is.“Well you two have fun,” Louis smiles, clapping them both on the back as Liam, wide, elatedeyes, is ushered onto the dance floor by a smiling Zayn.Zayn waves at him idly, now being dragged by a very eager Liam onto the dance floor, and theremaining boys laugh—well, Harry smirks—at the spectacle, before they refill their glasses withpunch.“Happy Hallow’s Eve, lads,” Louis announces. “Nialler,” he nods, clinking his glass with his.Then, “Curly,” he says, and his eyes linger on Harry as their cups meet, Harry regarding him, facevoid of expression. Which isn’t unusual but, really? He could at least nod or something.They drink as one, Niall taking it back like a shot, while Harry sips delicately.“Tonight’s gonna be incredible,” Niall grins, setting down his cup, nodding at a beautiful blonde

dressed as a butterfly who’s giving him the eye.“I love Halloween,” Louis muses, still taking in his surroundings.“What’s not to love?” Harry rumbles, voice syrupy and thick. “A night where you get to pretendto be somebody else? It’s perfection.”“It’s funny that you chose Dorian Gray of all people, though,” Louis says, watching Harry’s eyesflick over the crowd. “Bit of a tragic ending, wasn’t it?”Harry shrugs as Niall and the butterfly begin to engage in the first stages of a mating ritual.“Depends on your definition of tragic.”Right.“You better not be all sad and poetic tonight, Curly. I mean it—it’s Halloween, we’ve all the timein the world, and I glitter, for fuck’s sake. So no moping ‘round, you hear?” Louis demands,thrusting his finger in Harry’s face.He raises his eyebrows, avoids Louis’ finger, and purrs out an, “Of course,” but it doesn’t feelvery genuine, doesn’t feel like Harry’s even totally listening, but he at least smirks withamusement as he regards Louis, swinging his cane. “You’re very bossy, you know.”“I know.”“I don’t like bossy people.”“Neither do I,” Louis agrees, and flicks a bit of glitter at a boy wearing a toga.“Do you like yourself?”Louis catches Harry’s eye, his smile wide. “I love myself.” And he flicks more glitter.Harry rolls his eyes, his smooth, velvet-clad, ebony shoulders thick and luxurious under the dimpurple and black lights, emphasizing his paleness, giving darker depths to his bruised shadows.“You know, I think we’re done with having you around. Zayn said so. He’s too polite to tell you,so I am. You were fun while you lasted. Good luck with all of your endeavors.”Louis’ smile reforms as he sprinkles glitter in Harry’s hair, making him wince and fumblebackwards. “That’s odd, because he’s already invited me to luncheon tomorrow!”Harry splutters as glitter catches on his lips, clings to the velvet of his blazer. “Is that so,” hemanages flatly, shooting a withering glance towards Louis as he wipes his mouth with the back ofhis hand.“Indeed. You’re gonna have to do better than that. It takes a lot more to get rid of me.” And with adelighted little smirk, Louis smacks him in the balls.Harry doubles over, one hand clutching the affected area, the other gripping onto the punchbowltable for support.“You’re a fucking barbarian,” he wheezes through clenched teeth and red-rimmed eyes. “I’mnever tutoring you again.”“I am what I am, babycakes,” Louis smiles, before patting him on the back. “And think of it thisway—no matter what happens tonight, you’re still going to feel better physically than you do right

now!”And Harry’s about to respond, still half-doubled over and now swatting at Louis, who jumpsaway in delight, when suddenly music bursts through the speakers, and Zayn and Liam rush up tothem.“That was so romantic! Did you see us?? Did you take photos? Or a video, did you take a video?”Liam demands as Zayn goes to Harry’s side, asking him what’s wrong, which Louis can onlylaugh at.“I’m sorry, Li, I didn’t. But it doesn’t matter because we have our memories. Now, let’s do shotsand dance until we’re dead!” Louis sings, shooting his arms upward in a frenzy of glitter andstrobe lights, and the boys cheer, Niall rejoining them, butterfly in tow, and Harry shakes his headbut follows them all the same, finally able to stand.**The rest of the night is brightly colored and dark at the same time, tastes like pumpkin vodka,smells like new car and cologne, and feels like hot summer nights.Louis bounces around to every song that blasts over the stereo, throwing glitter into Niall’s drinkswhenever he’s not looking (and Harry actually fucking laughs about it at one point, but he’s drunkso Louis isn’t sure if that counts) and takes endless pictures of himself because, well, he looksspectacular.At one point Louis catches onto the fact that Harry keeps whipping out a quill pen, scribbling ontobits of napkin and paper and sliding them stealthily into others’ pockets. He slides one into Zayn’stailored trousers while he’s busy chatting to a group of foaming girls, and Louis almost sayssomething, but doesn’t, just as a familiar beat begins to spread over the hall.The most ridiculous song in the world plays and, though in the sober light of day Louis wouldstick his nose up at such tunes, drunk, nighttime Louis shout-sings, “She’s up all night ‘till thesun, I’m up all night to get some, she’s up all for good fun, I’m up all night to get lucky!” whiledancing on Niall, fists pumping into the air.They sing along, the five lads—even Harry who is surprisingly harpie-less, flourishing his handsup in the air like a princess and giggling incessantly—and dance in a circle that consists of nobodyelse in the world, laughing as they screech the lyrics.“We’re up all night to get lucky! We’re up all night to get lucky!”They’re bouncing into each other, they’re laughing, it’s loud, and they’re drunk as they sing, sing,sing.“We’re up all night to get lucky! We’re up all night to get lucky! We’re up all night to get lucky!We’re up all night…”And it’s ridiculous, and fun, and loud, and exhausting, and probably embarrassing but they justcan’t give a fuck, Niall gyrating in his milk carton, Liam pretending to have a peg leg, Zayn(having finally snuck his gun back from Niall who had been holding it hostage, running aroundand pretending to shoot people) thrusting his gun into the air rhythmically, drunk as the time hevomited on Louis’ slippers.It’s good. Really good.Harry even stays with them, ignoring the hoards of cling-ons that press sweat sheened mouths

against his waistcoat and shoulder blades, so eventually they leave, realizing they aren’t going toget anything.It makes Louis smile wider as he sings, tossing glitter into the air and swallowing most of itthrough his laughter, and the beat presses on, swirling their bloodstreams and brightening theshots.“We’re up all night for good fun! We’re up all night to get lucky…”**“I’m going to grab a drink!” Louis shouts to Niall (who is now currently very occupied with twopretty brunettes dressed as kittens, the butterfly long gone) before he plunders forward, salutingLiam and Zayn as he passes them, and makes his way to the punchbowl.It’s a great night. He’s gotten hit on endlessly by wolves, firemen, wizards, and even theIncredible Hulk, thrown almost all of his glitter, taken incredible photos, and even successfullypersuaded the DJ to play “Get Lucky” on a loop for twenty minutes, much to the surprisingdelight of all the guests.Louis regards the night as a complete success.“Sorry,” he mumbles, tripping over an alien, and finally, finally reaches the punch bowl,surveying the table for a stray bottle of water. He finds one (praise Jesus) and slings it back,gulping it down in one go, and when he comes back for air, his eyes are watering and his chindrips, but he feels hydrated at last, and his bones feel a bit firmer.He’s about to turn back, throw himself into the chaos once more—Zayn is fake-shooting a groupof footballers with his machine gun and Louis cannot miss that—when he suddenly sees a slenderfigure silhouetted in the entrance, framed by the night sky, solitary and unmoving. And suddenlyLouis can’t move because where did Harry go? And is that him?Without thought, his feet begin to move forward, carrying him towards the lone figure, and Louis’drunk enough to rationalize that they’re as good as mates now, that it won’t be weird when heapproaches him, won’t be too much too soon, or awkward. He’s approached him before, after all.Countless times. Nothing new.“There he is,” Louis sings drunkenly upon discovering that it is indeed Harry, and he slumpsagainst the doorway as Harry stares up into the sky.He doesn’t make any movement to suggest he’s even aware of Louis’ presence, instead clutchinghis tiny, crystal glass of punch in both hands, feet together, the frills of his costume sagging in themoonlight.“Whatcha doing?” Louis finally asks, waiting for Harry to look at him.No response, just a languid blink.“Whatcha looking at?” Louis tries again, flicking his hair out of his eyes and sending speckles ofglitter to fall on Harry’s soft, velvet blazer that blends with the sky that swallows him.“The sky.”Well. Progress.Louis sighs, head swimming a bit, struggling to remember if it was this hard to talk to Harry

earlier. He doesn’t think it was.Still, there’s a peaceful silence between them, filled by an outside breeze and some brokensentences as people pass in and out the door, and Harry’s eyes remain upward and Louis’ eyesremain on Harry.“What have you been writing? On those bits of paper you’ve been stuffing into everybody’spockets? I saw you give one to Zayn. Don’t think he noticed, though,” Louis says, voice slurred,but he keeps his eyes fixed on the boy before him, who he now sees is wearing cat ears, almostburied beneath his curls, and large smears of black, shimmering makeup smudged over each eye.It’s sort of beautiful, but sort of not, and Louis’ too drunk to think about it anymore than that.“Quotes,” Harry replies, lips poised to the heavens.“Oscar Wilde quotes?”“Dorian Gray quotes.”“Oh,” Louis says, playing with the glitter in his bucket. “Same thing, really, isn’t it? But. That’sclever.”Harry shrugs.“Do they mean anything? Or they just selected at random, then?” Louis asks, trying to stifle a burpand remain collected, as the alcohol swims through his bloodstream, bubbles his stomach, andsteers his vision. He’s trying to be serious, trying to act sober. Because maybe Harry needs to talkonce in awhile.But all he says is, “Yes. I’ve chosen each specifically,” and he leaves it at that, his lips pressinginto a line.Clouds drift over the moon. It’s very fitting for the holiday.“I think I’ve gotten glitter all over your skin,” Louis notes, taking in the shimmering surfaces ofHarry’s flesh under the pale blue light.Harry shrugs again, this time sipping his punch.Louis shifts, feeling at odds with the situation—and he really just wants to have fun right now, notdeal with the utter tornadic complexity that is his and Harry’s friendship but at the same time hefeels torn—and he cocks his head, trying to catch sight of Harry’s full face rather than his profile.“Are you having fun?” he asks as a last attempt.Slowly, Harry turns to face Louis, a grimaced smile tattooed on his lips.Louis’ heart drops.Well, shit. Back to this.But it’s not as dramatic as Louis anticipates it to be, the air quiet and calm, Harry’s eyes shadowedand unseen, and he merely turns his back and becomes part of the crowd in one effortless, quietmovement, never answering Louis.And Louis’ really drunk still and life still seems fun and Harry Styles still seems like a distantproblem, so he buries any discomfort that threatens to erupt, instead surging back inside and

following the sight of the dancing milk carton.**It’s an ungodly hour when they’re driven back to the school by Zayn’s chauffer, and it’s the firsttime Harry’s gone home with them—and he isn’t even accompanied by a cling-on, which Louiswould marvel at even more if he still wasn’t so damn drunk.They pile out of the vehicle, reeking of sweat and stale alcohol, their sticky skin shivering in thecool night air. Sleep has begun to lick at their limbs, their voices quieter and their movementsslower; even Liam remains silent, resting his cheek on Zayn’s shoulder, who is glassy eyed andblinking very, very slowly.“I’m going home, mates,” Niall announces as soon as his feet have hit the school grounds. “I needto take this fuckin’ thing off. And shower. And sleep.” And without a second glance back, Nialltakes off, solo.And Louis would normally be furious—once again, Niall is carelessly abandoning him—but he’sstill pleasantly swimming with alcohol and the sky is alluring, so he sways on the spot and wavesfarewell at Niall’s retreating figure, milk carton bobbing gently up and down.“I’m actually quite tired as well,” Liam notes, eyes droopy and sunken, his eye patch danglingaround his neck, and he looks to Zayn, his hand clutching his.Zayn nods, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. Let’s go, Liam.” He nods goodbye to Harry,who is twirling his cane and moseying along the edge of the sidewalk leading toward the gardens.There’s this awkward moment where Louis hasn’t said anything, hasn’t chipped in and said he’salso ready to retire for the night, and the crucial point of decision is almost at hand. He standsthere, literally caught between the two parties, and he knows he should go to bed, should sleep offthis night that’s left him simultaneously drained and invigorated, but his limbs are jolting with justenough borrowed energy that he wants to stay awake, wants to wander the world.Liam’s looking at him curiously and Zayn keeps glancing between him and Harry—who isalready beginning to wander almost out of sight, eyes to the sky.“I’m gonna stay, lads. You go,” Louis hears himself saying, and he doesn’t miss the small smilethat flashes briefly over Zayn’s features.“All right, then. Goodnight Louis,” Zayn murmurs.“G’night,” Liam adds as an afterthought, yawning and stumbling after Zayn, who pulls him alonggently.Louis waves, smiling dopily, before he sets his sights on the figure that mixes with the darkness,winding his way down the garden path.This is probably a foolish idea, to be honest. A very drunk Louis following a potentially not-thatdrunkHarry; the recipe is one of pure disaster and bickering, and maybe yet another setback forthem (will Louis ever get anywhere with this boy? Is it possible to be actual friends with HarryStyles?) but he’s not thinking right, the need to talk and be entertained at the forefront of his mind,so he jogs ahead without another thought, until he reaches Harry.Harry, who continues gliding toward the gardens, seeming to head for the center, where the rosebushes lie in clusters and the ivy wraps around the ancient stone benches that encircle them. Heglances sideways at Louis.

“What are you doing?”“Following you,” Louis says simply, tongue loose. “Where are we going?”“Shouldn’t you be going to bed?” And his tone is almost irritated, but Louis would like to think ofit as curious.“Nah. ‘M not tired. The night is young, Curly, and it’s Halloween, and I’m glitter—did I tell youI’m glitter?—and it’s so beautiful outside, so, so beautiful, that I felt it important to stay.” Talkingis fun when Louis is drunk. Even more fun than usual. “You tutor me proper now, so we’remates. And we got on the other day. Remember that? When we got on?” He hiccups, small andtiny.Harry’s face is neutral as he continues walking in lazy strides, cane clicking on the cobblestonedpath. “That was yesterday.”“Yeah! We got on yesterday, Curly, so we’re as good as mates now, I reckon.”“Oh? You reckon?”“Yeah,” Louis says simply, and they walk onward.Harry’s breath mists, swirling into the air and evaporating. Louis tries to make his own do thesame, but it won’t. And that doesn’t make sense, does it? He was never good at science.But before he can ponder it any more, he remembers the bucket of glitter in his hand. And hisdrunken mind finds that very important and very exciting.“I forgot I had this!” he exclaims loudly, thrusting it into the air.Harry glances at it but says nothing.Then Louis gets the brilliant idea of sprinkling a trail of glitter behind them as they walk, becauseeverything is fun and everything is an adventure and why the hell wouldn’t he leave a trail ofglitter?“Look, it’s like Hansel and Gretel!” he exclaims, pointing toward his doings, and he finds himselfto be very clever, his cheeks warm and his hair beginning to fall into his eyes.And out of all the things Louis’ said that night, that’s the last thing he expects to cause Harry tosmile.“It is,” he says, actually stopping and examining Louis’ work. He moves forward. “Here, let mehave some,” he says, smile still present, little laughs escaping him. “We’ll make another trail. But avery complex one.” He begins to sprinkle the glitter in twirls, making figure eights and circlingaround rose bushes, and Louis can’t help but stare with his mouth agape because, well, maybeHarry is drunker than he thought?Or maybe Harry is a giant child. Either way, Louis can’t look away and he can’t stop the smilesplitting his face.He watches Harry making intricate patterns, using the last of the glitter. “Are you making it so wecan never be found?” Louis laughs, and the bucket dangles from his slack fingers.Harry’s smile falters immediately as he sprinkles the last of his handful.

“Something like that.” He brushes his hands off on his trousers, and just like that, he’s back to hisstoic poetry. “You can be found, if you like. But I don’t want to be.”Louis falls silent, staring at him, and he doesn’t really know what to say. The issues at hand feeltoo big, too important for Louis to even begin to tackle in this state, especially while he’s dressedin sequins and sweating sparkles.They continue to walk until they reach the roses. And then, without transition, Harry flops ontothe ground, stretches out, and lies splayed amongst the dying grass and fallen leaves, the fadedroses clustered near his head.“Just lying in the garden, are we?” Louis asks, and stumbles as he makes to lie beside Harry, asafe distance away.“Don’t talk,” Harry says quietly, and his eyes are glued above him, glassy, quiet, and sad.Louis obeys.They lie there in silence, their quiet breaths mingling with the breeze, and it’s really fucking cold,but Louis’ cheeks still feel warm from the alcohol, so he doesn’t complain, just listens to Harrybreathing and sneaks glances at his unmoving profile, shrouded in muted light and prism-lessshadows.And then Louis talks.“I can’t see any stars. Can’t even see the moon,” he mumbles, and maybe the roses are blockinghis view.“’Put out the torches. Hide the moon. Hide the stars,’” Harry breathes and Louis closes his eyes athis whispered voice.“I like that,” he says quietly, and he thinks he may be beginning to feel his drunkenness slowlybegin to slip away.Harry doesn’t respond. The cat ears are still on his head, tangled in his unruly curls, and hischeekbones look sharp and hollow. He looks like Halloween.“You should go back,” Harry’s voice suddenly says, and its softness splits the air.But Louis doesn’t move.And Harry doesn’t say it again.He feels like Harry’s right, feels like he actually really should just leave right now, but can’t, hislimbs heavy and his adrenaline and excitement finally ebbing away and only leaving room forexhaustion.Louis’ eyelids begin to droop, his head nestled in dead leaves and wilted flower petals, and the airis cool, smooth, cozy. And the alcohol drags his limbs and lulls his brain, and he thinks maybe hecan hear Harry’s heartbeat, thudding in time to Louis’ own.He remains that way for awhile, his eyelids drooping lazily as his body prepares for sleep, andthey lie for minutes, maybe hours? It must be a long time because the sun is now beginning topeak above the horizon, catching on the remnants of glitter that still stick to their skin.Louis’ about to fall asleep, he is, but before he does, he feels his own lingering, drunken smile

form.The air is still.A lone bird chirps faintly in the distance.Harry’s breathing, calmly and quietly.“We’re up all night till the sun,” Louis sings, chuckling to himself, the words slurred and forcingthemselves through Louis’ slack lips, but he continues, eyes shutting, his drunken haze hummingpleasantly enough to assure him that this is a good idea. Because the lyrics fit the moment, they fit,and yes, he definitely feels like the cleverest knife in the block.And as Louis sings, “We’re up all night to get some,” he thinks he hears a faint, baritone voicesinging quietly along.“We’re up all night for good fun. We’re up all night to get lucky.”Harry’s voice, low and raspy, slides against Louis’, light and tinkling, and it’s so, so ridiculous,but such a perfect conclusion to their night, and, as Louis’ eyes drift shut for the last time, lyricsstill slipping through his lips, he feels his smile, accompanied by the first slivers of sunlightghosting across his skin.**He awakens as he expected he would—alone.Harry’s nowhere in sight. But that’s probably for the best, because Louis feels vile and has moredistressing matters on his mind.His clothes are damp, as is his skin, nestled in the dew drenched grass, and the sun is alarminglybright, burning his retinas and frying his very, very dry brain and throat.And fuck shit ass.Why was falling asleep outside a good idea?He forces his creaky limbs off of the ground, bones clicking, and swipes a hand over his sleepcreasedface as he begins to stumble toward the direction of his flat, bucket still in tow, speckles ofglitter wet and sticking to the sides of it.Feeling impossibly cold—is he dying? He might be—Louis sticks his free hand deep in hispocket, hoping to sponge at least some warmth—And what?He stops, feeling his fingers brush against a small slip of paper. Curious and confused, he extractsthe bit, unfolding its creases and immediately recognizing the handwriting.“I knew nothing but shadows and I thought them to be real.”Louis stares at the words, tiny and hastily scrawled. They rest in his palm, lying quietly andunassumingly.Harry. Dorian Gray. The quotes.How had he not felt him slip this in his pocket at the party?

How hadn’t he realized it was there?Physically, Louis feels like complete shit right now—hungover and frozen and damp and thirsty.But he sees Harry’s words and, quote be damned, they strike true, too true, and Louis’ barelyawoken heart pangs in frustration.Because they hit home, so, so much.He hears their conversation from the previous night, echoed in his brain.Do they mean anything? Or they just selected at random, then?Yes. I’ve chosen them specifically.And shit.He knows he can’t stitch every wound. He knows that, no matter what, Harry is going to bedamaged and troubled and dealing with goldmines of unseen shit in his life.And yet.He promised Zayn he’d be there for Harry.Hell, he basically already promised himself that he’d look after Harry far before his talk withZayn.And it’s the little shit like this—the quiet, little shit that gets brushed aside because it seemsunessential or frivolous—that Louis can’t ignore, not when he’s fully capable of not ignoring it,and it sits unpleasantly in his stomach.Or maybe that’s just his hangover, who knows.In any case, instead of seeking the sanctuary of his flat, Louis makes a decision. He tears a bit ofpaper off of one of the bulletin boards in the halls, Googles “Dorian Gray quotes” on his phone,and scrolls his too-bright screen until he finds the perfect one—literally perfect.“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”And if that doesn’t scream Harry, then he doesn’t know what does.Automatically he grabs a pen off of the closed shop counter, scribbles down the sentence in hismost legible script, and without wasting another moment, sets off in the direction of Harry’srooms, ignoring his urge to wee and the headache that pounds in time with his footsteps.His travel time is good though, he makes it their fairly swiftly considering his sore back, and heslides the bit of paper under Harry’s door, hoping it won’t get lost or trampled into oblivion.Mission accomplished (and bed calling his name), Louis once again sets out towards his flat,feeling good about himself and the situation at hand.Because at least he did something. And it was something selfless. And, who knows, it might evenstrike Harry in some way.It’s only after he’s safely entered his flat, tiptoed past a passed out Niall on the couch (his bodysprawled and drooling, empty sweets wrappers littering his naked stomach), and locked himself inthe warm solitude of his room, that his other hand slides into his other pocket, and another

crumpled paper is found.He sits up, unfolding it in the streams of sunlight that pour through his window, his vision blurringwith exhaustion and general physical misery.“You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage tocommit.”And bam.The words go straight to Louis’ chest.One tiny scrap of paper. Twenty-one words. Found by chance. He could’ve easily neverdiscovered this, could’ve easily lived the rest of his day in blissful ignorance. But bam, he found it,bam, he read it, and bam, just like that, the words bowl him over. They’re corrupt, they’re twisted,they’re written with a wry, humorless laugh, and all Louis can see is a boy who interprets hiskindness as a means of fascination rather than a kinship.Because Harry chose this quote specifically for Louis.And this…is how he thinks Louis views him.Which…fuck.Really?Really?So Louis stares, just stares, continues to stare, until the sun is set high in the sky, and he can hearNiall fumbling to wakefulness, the paper crumpled in his palm, bathed in midday light, and bam.Louis feels like shit.Chapter End NotesSooo, there are two songs that inspired this whole chapter. The first half is inspired byDaft Punk's "Get Lucky" which...is funny. I envisioned the party scene, so I wrote it.The same happened with the second part. But that's inspired by Florence & theMachine's "Cosmic Love." So I just wrote that vision down as well. (listen to thatsong, forreal, omg)And HEY THANKS OMG you guys are the best! I'm enjoying talking to you so, somuch! Your song recs are gorgeous! Keep it up! Stop by my tumblr for more chatting(mizzwilde) because you're all lovelyyyy. Forreal. You've each made me smile. :)ALSO. I don't know if I will ever do that whole "cover art" thing for this fic (I'm alazy, lazy girl) buuuut I found the perfect picture for it. It's in my inspiration tag, andit's Harry's torso and legs, when he was wearing his heart shirt with that suit at theThis Is Us premiere. I'm in love with that photo. So, if this fic had a book cover, thatwould be it.

XIXChapter SummaryLouis talks.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesNiall may be one of the most oblivious people in the entire world. He may be a bit self-centeredand indulgent. He may be careless and frivolous and crass and exhausting.But he gives damn good advice.The day after Halloween, amongst several trips to the toilet where Louis proceeded to vomit uphis intestines—he’s never drinking purple, glowing punch again and he’s going to have Zaynarrested, the fucker—Louis had spent the day moaning and groaning on the floor, partly becausehe was dying, partly because Harry had, once again, fucked with his mind when he’d finallybegun to think they were obtaining some sense of normalcy.“Why are you so obsessed with this bloke? You barely even fuckin’ know him,” Niall burps,rummaging in the fridge and wearing hot pink boxers. “You want to fuck him, don’t you.”“My lord, Ireland, where did you get your manners from??” Louis exclaims, actually managing tolift his head from the floor to throw him an incredulous look. “And no, I don’t. To be honest, I’msurprised none of you lot are more concerned about the kid. He’s an absolute mess.”“I dunno, he seems a bit better than usual lately.” Niall rips a bag of crisps open with his teeth.“I thought so, too. Until I found these this morning.” Louis thrusts the tiny, scribbled quotes inNiall’s direction.“The fuck?” he asks inquisitively, walking over to Louis’ sprawled figure on the floor, beforeplucking the papers out of his hands. He reads, his eyes squinted. Then he looks back down toLouis, large bags under his bright eyes, a bit of glitter stuck to his cheek. “I don’t get it.”Louis rolls his eyes.“Do those quotes sound positive to you? Do they? Because they certainly don’t to me. And, yeah,I’m not quite sure what he means exactly—you never know with that tit—but I think it means thatthis whole fucking time he’s not gotten any better, and he doesn’t trust me any more than he didbefore and he’s still fucked up and Des is still missing and—““Des is missing?” Niall asks suddenly, eyes widening.Well shit.“Er.”“Nah, yeah, that would explain why the track’s on hold. Where is he then? On a bender?” Andhis tone is simple, curious, inquiring, and Louis is taken aback.

What affects Niall so little has been incessantly plaguing Louis for weeks.“Well—I’m not sure, actually. Harry doesn’t talk about that sort of thing. At least not with me.”Louis quiets, feeling inexplicably unsettled as Niall pops crisps into his mouth, flopping onto thecouch. “I don’t know to do,” he says quietly. “I’m out of ideas. How do I prove that I’ve not gotbad intentions? That I’m not just, like, using him or taking the piss out of him or anything? Like,show him that I’ve got no agenda or anything?”“I think you’re looking too deeply into two scraps of paper, if I’m being honest.”“I am not!” Louis screeches, and his throat hurts, but he doesn’t care, glaring viciously. “He saidhe chose them purposely, Niall. PURPOSELY. And now I don’t know what to do about itbecause everything’s all wrong again when I thought that I was FINALLY getting somewhere!”Niall sighs, loud and exaggerated, and he sets his crisp bag down as he looks over to Louis, tiredand thoroughly uncomplicated. “Louis. Look at me. Stop thinking so much, all right, mate? Youmake all these fuckin’ plans, and not once have they gone right. Just be yourself. It’s literally thatsimple. The more you try to act a certain way or try to pull stupid shite, the more Harry’s gonnapick up on it and suspect your motives even more. Be your goddamn self, Tommo. It’s gotten youthis far.” And then he’s back to eating and staring at his laptop.And, okay. Yeah. Maybe that makes some sense.**Abso-fucking-lutely nothing changes between Harry and Louis in the weeks that followHalloween.Nothing positive, anyway.See, naively, Louis had thought that, maybe, after that very peaceful and—dare he say—enjoyabletutoring session the day before Halloween, that things would have picked up between the two ofthem.False.Things have gone a bit south, actually.It’s not that Harry’s mean or anything. He’s not cruel or condescending like before. Well. Not ascondescending. It’s just that…Harry seems to have retreated back inside of himself, and Louisthinks it may be because things had gone too well. It was too much, too fast, and Louis had scaredthe timid squirrel. And now the squirrel is hiding in a fucking tree, nowhere to be seen,occasionally throwing a nut or two down and cracking Louis on the goddamn head and leavinghim baffled and aching. And normally such things would cause complete and inner panic andfrustration within Louis. Because he feels like he’s running in circles with Harry fucking Styles.But Niall’s advice keeps popping into his head.So he doesn’t fall apart whenever Harry remains silent after he tries to make conversation.He doesn’t fall apart whenever Harry brings guests to their tutoring sessions.He doesn’t fall apart over the fact that Harry hasn’t “smiled,” or “laughed,” or done or said muchof anything other than his public cordialities or his typical scowling greetings and occasionalglances up from the textbooks.

He doesn’t fall apart, he doesn’t screech his annoyances at Niall, and he doesn’t map out plans ofattack. He just breathes and pushes his frustrations, his screamed questions, his guilt, his empathy,and his discomfort to the back of his mind for another day. Or month. Or year. Or decade.And he continues on with his present life.Still though, he mentions it briefly to Zayn one day, when they’re studying in the library and haveonly a few minutes before they need to pack up so they can make their dinner reservation.Liam and Niall are sharing a laptop in the corner, giggling like buffoons at some video—the onlytime Liam’s laughed in awhile, the stress of the latter half of the fall term putting his over achievernessinto overdrive—while Harry is charming some beautiful boy over by the large windows nearthe front desk.And, no, Louis isn’t watching the display. Not watching like a hawk. Because he’s not curious,and he’s not fascinated, and he’s not a little bit irked in the dark recesses of his soul.“So. Harry,” he mutters to Zayn, who’s on his right, quietly reading a large, dusty novel withchipped pages and endless sentences.He glances up, his entrancing hazel eyes smacking Louis in the face like they always do. “Harry?”he murmurs questioningly.“Yes. Harold,” Louis says wryly, and Zayn smiles. “About him. I, er, don’t know how wellthings are going.” He glances over to the subject in question, who is now grinning winningly, hiscurls dusting the frame of his face as he laughs pleasantly, pressing soft, purposeful hands to theboy’s wrist. His face is feral.Louis resists the urge to grimace.“What do you mean?” Zayn asks, attention caught, and softly closes his book, peering at Louisintently.“I just…I don’t know what’s wrong. Everything was going really well the one day. Then thenext…I dunno, mate.” He considers sharing the quotes Harry gave him, is about to, thensomething stops him. A quiet, possessive, discomforted pang that already regrets having shownthem to Niall, even. “I don’t know what to do,” he simply says instead, and Zayn nods to himself,now also looking at Harry.“I wish I could help you,” he mumbles at last, soft. He shrugs. “But you’re better at this than me.”“I’m really not,” Louis laughs, shaking his head. “I’m out of my realm, bro. No fucking clue whatto do at this point. But.” He becomes serious, eyes turning to Zayn. “I do have a question.”He feels himself prickle a bit. Because he’s not sure he wants the answer. Why does he care somuch? Why? Life has never been fair.Zayn’s eyebrow quirks, but he waits patiently.“You said so yourself that Harry’s family is the most important thing to him, right?”Zayn nods.“And that if he’s…upset, so to speak, it would probably be because of that?”Zayn nods again.

“So, I’m wondering. Because Harry’s getting a bit worse, I think, so… Is Des—“ Louis flicks hishair, glancing in Harry’s direction, before lowering his voice further still. “Is Des still, like,missing or whatever? Does Harry know where his father is?”Dawning blooms within Zayn’s eyes, and a seriousness overcomes his face. “I don’t know. Ihonestly don’t.”And Louis sort of sighs, relieved a bit that he wasn’t given an answer to deal with but still tensewith uncertainty, and he nods. “Fair enough. Just figured I’d ask.”Zayn nods in return, but his eyes are still on him. “Louis,” he purrs quietly, and Louis looks backat him. Zayn’s eyes flit over his face, assessing. At last, he speaks. “It could be bad, all right?”Louis doesn’t know what that means.He has no fucking clue, but his veins sort of freeze and there isn’t anything to say, so he nods asZayn stares at him intently, waiting for a response.“All right,” Louis says, and he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to, or if he’s even agreeing, he’sjust nodding, and Zayn’s face eases back into a calm neutrality that simultaneously grounds andscatters Louis.He doesn’t know what to think.So he doesn’t for the rest of the day.**Louis passed his exam.He passed.(Only just barely, but he passed, dammit.)And it’s because of Harry’s tutoring.In celebration, he sends out a mass text consisting of emoticons, symbols, and the words ‘IVEPASSED ME XAM BOW TO YOUR KING PEASANTS’.He has a right to be smug. He’s been through a lot.It feels good, reaping the benefits of weeks of stress and wrinkle inducing tutoring sessions. Itfeels really good and Louis feels smart—almost like he might be good at this whole ‘university’thing. Almost like he might not end up living in a rubbish bin behind Tesco.He makes a mental note to cover Harry’s floor in lilies or kiss his feet or pour champagne into hismouth, or whatever Harry wishes really, because without him, surly behavior and all, he wouldstill be failing these exams and floundering and stressing and giving Charles more reason to talkshit about how useless his son is, even at things like learning. Yes, Louis absolutely wants toshower Harry with thankful praises and presents. Though that would probably be fruitless,considering Harry still doesn’t even text him back, let alone acknowledge Louis’ good deeds forhim. He never did find out if Harry’d received his Dorian Gray quote he slipped under his doorafter Halloween…But at this point, it’s whatever. Their friendship is growing less and less likely, and though it eatsat Louis in a quiet, dull way, he knows there’s really nothing he can do at this point.

Because Harry is acting more and more distracted and Louis can only watch.True, things have become generally quieter amongst the boys since the term’s begun to concludeand exams have become more serious. They party less, throw excess around a little less, and havebegun replacing sweaty nights with sleepy ones buried within the pages of textbooks. Most oftheir time off is either spent around Zayn’s table, laughing about everything and nothing whilethey drink and smoke, snapping too many photos and puttering on their laptops, or at Liam’s,wasting brain cells on video games, mild drugs, pricey liquors, and atrocious, impromptu jamsessions. It’s all less glitzy than the usual, but it’s nice. And Louis almost prefers it.He likes how Zayn stays in at night, swaddled in black sweatpants and band t-shirts, hair indisarray while he wears, large, oversized black glasses that slip down his nose as he scribbles outnotes and powers through novel after novel, bookmarking symbolic themes and loud quotes.He likes how Liam’s face scrunches with worry and concentration as he pours over spreadsheetsand Powerpoints, the sleeves of his oversized jumper pushed up to his elbows, receiving importantphone calls and addressing everyone with his business-like, speedy sentences, his shoulders taughtand the shadows present under his large eyes.He likes how they all feel the weight of school, as one, and have downgraded to ratty clothes andgreasy hair. And how, without the constant thrum of excitement, they still get along famously, stillcare, still have more fun than anybody else, and still choose to be with each other. Because, Louisrealizes, they’re proper best mates now, all them, and it’s comforting, it’s nice, and it’s better thananything Louis could have hoped for in coming to this damn school.Having said that.Niall never gets affected by school. He still has Rory completing the assignments he doesn’t carefor while he putters around on his audio programs and watches senseless YouTube videos forindefinite periods of time. And since the others have been a bit lackluster after 11 PM, he’s the onewho still manages to go out on the town, solo, and stumbles back to the flat at odd hours to sit andride out his intoxications with a pajama clad Louis.And then there’s Harry. Quiet, increasingly distracted, solitary Harry. He never does hiscoursework—Louis doesn’t know how this boy is passing—and he rarely ever sits, alwaysseeming to pace, always standing and staring out of windows, clutching his phone in whiteknuckledhands. Though he’s often present, he barely talks, not even to Zayn, and Louis can’tremember the last time he’s had a ‘thing’ or an ‘obsession’ and he can’t believe he’s saying it, butLouis sort of misses all of it. Once in awhile, while Louis’ in the middle of telling a grand, bullshitstory or teasing one of the boys, he’ll catch Harry looking at him, his eyes watchful and curious,peering at him with a quiet intensity that Louis can’t gauge. It’s unnerving, Harry’s calm,unblinking gaze. But then it’s gone, and nothing changes.Their tutoring sessions have been so quiet.With Harry never straying from the lesson, his face never straying from the notes, and his slenderfingers resting on the spines of books as he highlights quotations, there really isn’t much room foranything lively or memorable. He drawls unhurried definitions and explanations, breathes quietlyin the silence, and barely glances at Louis, never comes near Louis, won’t acknowledge Louis,and it’s all just so fucking strange because isn’t this the boy who watched the sun rise with himwhile they sang Daft Punk?The world feels upside down. But Louis needs to focus, needs to think of school, so all he can dois offer jokes and smiles and scoffs, but he can’t push it any further than that.

But now, as Louis is entering Harry’s rooms (because that’s one thing that’s changed—Harrykeeps his door unlocked, leaving Louis free entry to his place and, on the good days, he’ll evenhave a cup of tea prepared and waiting for him), freshly invigorated from his successful exam, histhoughts are only pleasant, his only distress being that he sort of wishes he really did pick up abushel of lilies for Harry as a thank you.The main room is empty, Louis notes upon entering.And, oh, it’s actually a very good thing he didn’t get those lilies because something else isscattering every single centimeter of the floor—paper. Stacks and piles and clusters of papers.Sheet music actually, at the looks of it. Handwritten and scribbled and elegant.Okay then.And Harry is nowhere in sight.“Curly?” he calls tentatively, checking his phone just in case (though, why, he doesn’t know—he’d sooner get a text from Zeus than he would Harry), and begins walking through the flat,peering into the empty rooms.There’s nothing, just the typical cat figurines and the ancient record players and the books andflowers and—huh.There, on a small, intricate wooden table by a window is a picture of Des, Harry, and a thin,impeccable, wasting away girl with wide eyes and beautiful hair that could only be his sister. It’sblack and white—of course it is, because Harry’s probably had it specially edited, the artful git—and it’s from some sort of banquet or awards show or premier or who knows whathefuck, giventheir world. But they are all dressed immaculately, and they’re clustered together closely enoughto resemble a family.It looks rather recent, Harry’s face only a touch more childlike, but it’s his face. Louis stares at hisface. Because he’s smiling. Smiling. Actual smiling. And it’s wide and sunny and it fills thesmooth planes of his face and he looks like he fucking sparkles with those warm eyes and thatshadowed dimple and it sort of fucking twists Louis’ stomach because it only gives furthercontrast to the Harry that he knows. The empty, stark one that is worlds away from this genuinebeing that emanates warmth. And he doesn’t know if it was because Harry was better back then orif it’s because he’s with his family here, but it sticks to Louis’ ribs and the only reason he can lookaway is because Des.Des. With his crinkled eyes and shadows and hair in disarray and slack jaw. With one handflashing a thumbs up, the other in his pocket. Not, say, embracing his children. No. Just his handsto himself, lightly acknowledging the camera with a manic grin and black eyes that bear enoughhistory in the outlines for Louis to just know.And Louis could really stare at this all day, this picture that’s worth endless words, but then—apiano sounds.Ah yes. The piano.Wordlessly, he heads in the direction of Harry’s bedroom, leaving the photograph behind withouta second glance. The piano grows louder, soft, plonking keys that pepper the air, one at a time.Upon reaching the door, he nudges it open softly, and there he is. Sitting on the edge of the stool,one hand mindlessly tapping keys, the other buried in his endless ribbons of tangled hair, his eyesstaring unseeingly out of the window.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks, and his voice cuts through the air, hitting Harry like a bullet.Immediately, he shoots up, as if he’d been awoken from a deep sleep, his fingers untangling fromhis hair.“How long have you been here?” he demands, his voice thick from exhaustion.“Long enough.” Louis glances around the room, at the stacks of blank paper, the sheet musiclittering every inch of the floor, bits of paper crumbled, an odd book or two cracked open andlying expectantly. He toes at a particularly chaotic looking page. “What is all this? Are you in amusic course?”“No.” Harry stands up, beginning to gather the loose papers off of the ground.“Did you write all of this?” he asks, stunned.And then Harry’s head snaps to him, eyes glaring. “Stop asking questions.”Louis’ eyebrows raise. “All right, Gestapo. Care to take away my right to vote as well?”Harry ignores him, continuing to pile his papers together, before selecting one and bringing it overto the piano. He stares at it as his other hand taps out a simple melody, while Louis watches fromthe doorway.And then suddenly Harry’s whipping across the room, brandishing a guitar at him.“Play a ‘C minor.’ I want to hear how it sounds with the piano.”Louis stares at him. “Curly. In no way do I know how to play a guitar.”He practically growls, taking the guitar back. “You don’t? What the hell did they teach yougrowing up?”“Reading. Writing. Addition. Subtraction. How to fake sick.”Once again, Harry doesn’t respond, instead grabbing a fresh piece of paper and beginning toscribble out a series of notes.“You seem stressed,” Louis says, awkwardly standing in the doorway, bag hanging from hisshoulder.“Yeah, well, I am. And I’m not really in the mood to tutor you today, so how about we justcancel.”“Well. All right, then. But…” Louis pauses, inspecting his fingernails. “Would you, er, mind if Ijust stayed here anyway, then?”Harry stills. “What?”“Just to study, like.”“Look, I really don’t feel like helping out right now—““I know, you great prat, I heard you the first time. I just want a place to study. I’ll keep to myself.It’s just that Niall’s home and he’s playing video games because he never does his homework andhe’s making a general mess of the place and, well. Ya know. I could use a bit of time away. Andsince you’re also working on something…”

Harry blinks, confused. “So. You just want to…study.”“Yes.”“In my rooms.”“Yes.”“And not because you need me to help you or anything.”“Yes.”Pause.Harry peers at him from his current crouching position on the floor, quiet and small in his tweedtrousers and white collared shirt that’s buttoned to his neck, papers stacked in his hands.Another beat of silence passes, and Louis fidgets, pretending to appear aloof but feeling awkwardas fuck, so he flicks his hair and begins feeling for his phone as he waits.Maybe he should just go to the library.“Um.” The silence is broken, and he immediately looks back to Harry. “Okay. Yeah. All right,then,” Harry finally says, and he seems more troubled and bewildered than anything. But he goesalong with it, and Louis nods, appeased.“Thanks, mate,” he says easily, setting down his bag and flopping into a chair in the corner,opposite the piano and facing Harry’s back. He briefly considers sprawling onto Harry’senormous, canopied bed and studying there, but he knows he would probably get a book thrownat him, so he ignores the thought and settles deeper into the large, embroidered chair, unpackinghis things as Harry slowly refocuses himself.Soon enough, they get into the flow of things, each working on their own projects, silent andfocused. And it’s quiet. But it’s nice.Louis’ scribbling notes peacefully into his notebook while Harry plucks keys, humming to himselfand closing his eyes, eyebrows pinched in concentration, feeling the changing melodies within.And Louis really is focusing on his tasks at hand, he is, but he also can’t help but notice howincredibly beautiful the sounds coming from Harry’s piano are, and eventually, he raises his headand just stares as Harry wildly creates haunting, mesmerizing melodies.“I know you probably don’t want my opinion,” he begins, and the piano immediately stops, Harryjumping, startled. “But that has got to be one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard.”Harry starts, looking over to Louis with quiet eyes, before his brow furrows and he grabs anotherblank piece of paper. “No, it’s not.”“Well, see, yeah it is actually. It’s incredible. And if you’ve written that…well then. I think I mightbe impressed.”“Opinions are subjective,” Harry mumbles, completely unaffected by the praise, rejecting itwithout a second thought, and Louis frowns, setting down his pen and staring fully at Harry’sslumped figure.“Sure. But if there’s a knob who doesn’t like that, then I can’t say that their opinion is worth allthat much.” He pauses. “And you know, I’m not just saying it to be kind, either. I never lie about

that much.” He pauses. “And you know, I’m not just saying it to be kind, either. I never lie aboutcompliments. Never. Not once. I don’t give them out much, see, cuz the way I figure it, they meanmore that way. So me complimenting you right now is a real honor, Curly. You’re welcome.”Harry glances up. “You never lie?”Louis grins. “I’m too young and entitled to lie.”He’s expecting some eye-rolled retort back, but all he receives is that quiet stare, Harry watchingand blinking. And then, of course, he turns around, blocking Louis out.“Everybody lies. It’s just part of human nature.”“Oh, how little you know me then,” Louis smirks, and as Harry looks back up at him, Louis looksback down at his notebook, pen dancing in his hand, his lips still quirked.And though he feels Harry’s eyes linger on him for quite awhile, he doesn’t look back up, insteadturning the page of his school book, ready to start the next chapter.**It’s been a couple of hours, and the sun is beginning to set, but Harry’s still lost within his workand Louis is rather enjoying himself, getting vast amounts of homework accomplished while hehears the snippets of beautiful melodies.It’s just as he’s thinking that this has been his first good day in quite awhile that his phone rings.His stomach drops at the caller ID.“Fuck. It’s my mum,” he utters without thinking, staring at his phone, frozen.Harry spins around, stares at him with wide eyes. They flick between Louis and the lit up phone,buzzing incessantly on the armrest beside him. “You’re not going to answer it?” he finally asks,nodding towards it.Louis’ jaw sets. “No. Whatever she has to say, I’m not in the mood for. I’ve got to study,” he sayscurtly, flipping his phone over and returning to his notes, face a bit more tense and hands a bitmore clenched.Of course she had to call and ruin his pleasant thoughts. Of course. Isn’t Niall her replacement sonnow? Doesn’t she call him only? What happened to that?The room feels a bit tense and silent, and Louis’ skin feels too warm at the thought that he’scaused the changed in mood this time. He feels Harry’s eyes on him and he’s uncomfortable, alltoo aware of the silent implications in his words and the fact that he probably should have justnever said anything. Or maybe he should’ve just answered it and brushed her aside as he alwaysdoes.“You don’t get on with your mum,” Harry’s voice says, and it’s not a question.Louis doesn’t look up. “No. I do not.”Pause.“But. She’s your mum.”“Is she?” Louis snorts. “She doesn’t act like it.”

Harry seems caught by the subject, having paused his frantic, agitated actions of scouring throughhis sheet music and instead now absentmindedly fumbling lightly with the corner of a randompage as he stares down at it. “How so?” he asks, and his voice is feigning nonchalance, but Louiscan feel the coiled tension beneath, the genuine curiosity and…something unidentifiable.“Because—“ Louis stops. He never talks about his mum. Not really. He doesn’t see the point in it.If anything, it causes him anger or makes him dwell on it more than is necessary, which does shitall for anybody, so he doesn’t think about, doesn’t talk about it. Just deals with it, and it’s really assimple as that. But Harry’s asking, and he thinks he may need to hear this answer, and Louis’ gotnothing to lose from it, so. So he continues. “Because after Charles left, she became a selfish messand I had to pick up the pieces. She was all right before then—a proper enough mum. She readstories to my sisters and hugged us before we left the house and made us dinner and decorated thehouse for every holiday. She asked us about our days and remembered our birthdays and signedour permission slips when we needed them the next day for school. But Charles spoiled her,probably too much, because she never seemed to pick up on the fact that he didn’t like me. Shewas too focused on the presents and the holidays and the jewelry. So after he had an affair andthey divorced, she lost herself. Maybe she lost herself before then, I don’t know. I have fiveyounger sisters. The youngest is four. I basically raised them—she wouldn’t. She cries becauseshe wants attention, she picks at you if she’s feeling bad about herself, and she loves me, she does,but she loves me most when it serves her best. She gives into her weaknesses and forgets about us,completely fucking forgets about her six children. Then suddenly the next minute she’s practicallystrangling us because she won’t fucking let go—just clings and suffocates us, peering over ourshoulders and sitting in our laps and crying all the goddamn time. Sometimes she leaves for daysat a time, just because she wants to find herself. I’ve no clue where she goes, nor do I care toknow. Sometimes she wants to find a boyfriend. Just because she’s bored and insecure.Sometimes she flirts with me best mates for attention. Sometimes she screams at me in publicbecause I don’t give in to her. And sometimes she’s good, yeah, drives me to appointments ortakes care of me when I’m sick. She came down here to help me move. She misses me, too. Butthing is, I think she only misses me because I looked after her and took care of her. I don’t know.That day you took me to your house? Yeah, she was in a proper strop, on her way here to drag mehome and make me leave school. All because she was having a bad day and decided to blame mefor Charles’ problems. Fuck, probably for her own problems! And I have to thank you again forthat because, even though you probably didn’t do it on purpose and were just bringing me alongfor whatever other reason, that saved my life. I’m not good with her. Niall, Niall’s good with her.But I’m not. I don’t feel bad for her. I don’t have the patience for her. I just…I’m just a bit bitter, Isuppose.” He sighs, and he feels drained, the words having erupted and forced themselves out ofhis mouth. He didn’t plan on saying that much, not nearly, but it felt relieving in some odd way,and Louis forces himself back to the present before taking a look at Harry.His head is bowed, hands in his lap, and Louis isn’t even sure if he’s paying attention anymore—“I did,” he suddenly says, quiet and low. “I did bring you with me on purpose that day.” He looksup at Louis, features void, but eyes filled with swirling clouds—which is more life than Louis’seen in them in weeks.The room is so quiet that it’s loud, Louis and Harry staring at each other from across the room.And fuck.He knew it. But he can’t process it. So Louis just stares. Stares into swirling, overcast eyes thathave hooked painfully into his own, preventing him from blinking, breathing, thinking. Too much.“I know what that’s like,” Harry mumbles, practically into Louis’ fucking soul, “To…to need toescape. Just for a bit.”

Louis’ stomach plunks down somewhere near his knees. But it’s a happy feeling, a touchedfeeling, a warm feeling, a shocked fucking overwhelmed feeling, and he smiles before ducking hishead a bit, a flushed smile painting his face. “Well, then. Thank you again. You didn’t have to.”“Yes I did.”There’s a moment of silence, where Harry’s looking down at the piano keys and Louis’ lookingdown at his books, and the air is filled with some thick, heavy matter that almost feels like mutualunderstanding.And Louis wants to say more, he wants to say so much more, but his throat is thick and themoment is so fragile—he’s afraid he’ll reach out and shatter it all with his clumsy hands and toomuchenergy. Because the words Harry’s said are swirling within him and it’s…a lot. Sort ofstaggering, really.So they each return to their respective duties.Harry seems to fall back into his project easily enough, his pen scratching wildly against paper, hishead bent and focused.Louis is not falling back into his studying so easily, instead hearing his heartbeat within his ears,hands slack, and eyes stuck sightlessly on ‘The’—which is the first word on the first page of thebook.Harry took Louis away from his mum on purpose. He admitted it. He took Louis away. He helpedLouis. Harry Styles helped Louis Tomlinson. Harry Styles admitted to helping Louis Tomlinson.Fuck.Louis’ thought process continues in this fashion for an indefinite amount of time, the sky nowturning black, the stars beginning to speckle through the windows, barely visible through thewarm glow of the room. And Harry continues to scribble seamlessly, head bowed, and his handflies so very eloquently.But then it stops.Louis’ senses tighten. He’s still staring at ‘The.’“Could you--”Harry stops, bites his lip, then looks away.Louis’ head snaps up.“Could I what?” he prods, setting down his textbook.Harry brushes his fingers against the keys of the piano, lip still caught between his teeth. Then heblinks, releases his lip and licks it. “I was thinking. If I played something. Would you…tell mewhat you think?” Harry waits for a response, shoulders stiff and feet pressed together as he sits onthe edge of the piano bench.“Of course,” Louis blurts immediately, completely and utterly shocked because…now Harrywants his opinion??A pig flies by the window.

Harry nods to himself, determined, before slowly standing and walking over to retrieve the violinthat rests near his bed.Louis is immediately intrigued. He vaguely remembers Zayn having said something about Harrybeing able to play, but he’s never heard it himself, and so he watches closely as Harry sits backdown on the piano bench, averting his body away from Louis’ just enough so that he can’t see theother boy, but Louis can see his profile, and his quiet, sad eyes that are alarmingly timid andhesitant.Louis folds his hands in his lap as Harry lifts the instrument to his chin, resting it lightly upon it.With long, slender fingers, he grasps the bow, gently raising it until it sits upon the stiff strings.Gently, flutteringly, he closes his eyes.Louis holds his breath.And the bow moves.He knew it would be beautiful. Somehow. He just…knew.Harry stretches the bow, long and slow, every ounce of emotion in his pinched, wounded browspilling into the strings, seeping into the quiet, dimly lit room, crawling up Louis’ flesh andcatching under his jumper.No, it’s not beautiful. It’s utterly and completely breathtaking. It’s so fucking incredible, andsweet, and so maddeningly sad. And it comes from the slump in Harry’s shoulders, the bruisesbeneath his eyes, the exhaustion in his frown, and Louis thinks that he may never want to hearanother sound again. Not when he could be hearing this.Harry Styles may be assembled from destruction. But how could something so genuinely beautifulbe created by someone who was ‘evil’? By someone who supposedly had nothing left inside?It’s there, as Harry weeps through his music, Louis watching him in silent, speechless awe, thatLouis realizes that he may not be as far away from the boy in the photo as he thinks. That thatgenuine smile Harry had had when he was with Des and his sister, that glow of life, may not beworlds away after all. That it may be sitting, just out of sight, buried beneath dirt and dust.The music stops. The bow stills. Harry’s long, pale limbs lower, setting the violin down gently onthe floor. He waits.Louis reminds himself to blink.“I’ve never…” Louis begins, truly speechless. Harry’s shoulders tense at the words and his headmoves infinitesimally towards the sound of Louis’ voice, quiet and expectant. And maybeterrified? Which Louis doesn’t understand, because Harry should never feel terrified. He neverwants Harry to feel terrified. He clears his throat, blinks a few more times. “I’ve never heardanything like that before. That was.” He stops, looks up and stares hard at Harry’s shaded profile.“Harry, that was incredible.”He hopes his voice conveys everything he means.Harry doesn’t move, nor does he respond.So Louis continues.“Look, I don’t know what it’s for—if you’re just writing songs for the fun of it or if you’re writingit for someone, or whatever. But that was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard and, to be

honest, I don’t even know how to fully tell you that. I figured you’d be good—you’re good ateverything—but that, there. That’s rare. That’s special, Harry. You’ve got it. You’ve got it and Iknow it.”Harry moves, just barely, his eyes opening. “That’s just your opin—““And don’t give me that ‘opinions are subjective’ bullshit,” Louis interrupts, rolling his eyesdespite his overpowering emotions. “Be that as it may, I’m here, telling you how fucking brilliantthat was. And, as far as I’m concerned, that’s all that matters right now, isn’t it? That, even if theentire world thinks you’re shit, that there’s at least one person who thinks you’re amazing.”Harry silences at that, still perched on his piano bench, still staring down at his lap.Moments pass, but Louis doesn’t look away, just stares at Harry, the sounds of the violin stillechoing within.“I think, if it that were played over a faster melody, with guitars and bass and drums, it might beall right, yeah?” Harry asks quietly, still staring at his lap.Louis’ not really sure where this is coming from or what he has in mind, but nonetheless, he nods.“Yeah. Yeah, it’d be more than all right.”Harry nods.Louis stares.“Um.” Harry rubs his eyes before standing up, a bit awkwardly, his long limbs threatening totangle amongst themselves. “I think I’m going to go to bed soon. I’m-I’m tired. So…” Harrydrifts, scratching at his head and keeping his eyes averted away from Louis.“Yeah,” Louis says, understanding, and begins to pack his things, his blood feeling a bit hot, hisbrain a little heavy. “Sure thing, Curly.”The only break in the silence of the room is the shuffling of books and paper as Louis stuffs themall into his bag, Harry standing awkwardly behind him. A large grandfather clock ticks nearby.“Well, then,” Louis says after his bag is slung over his shoulder, all of his items successfullyassembled. He turns to look at Harry whose face is now composed, his brow only threatening tofurrow but remaining smooth. “Thank you for letting me study here.”He nods.Right then.Louis clears his throat. “I’ll, er. See you tomorrow, then? Unless you needed a couple days’ breakfrom tutoring—““No,” Harry says automatically, and Louis blinks in surprise. Harry bites his lip, looks away. Hishands are clutched tightly behind his back.“Oh. All right. Good.”Silence.“Thanks for letting me talk about my mum,” Louis offers, not wanting to leave. And he shouldleave, he needs to leave. Harry wants to be alone and he needs to leave.

Harry shrugs. “I asked, so.” He shrugs again.“Well, yeah, but. I never talk about that sort of thing. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever talked aboutmy mum before—not really.”At that, Harry’s eyes lift to his. “You haven’t?”“No.”“Why not?”Louis shrugs. “I don’t care to. Can’t see the point in it.”Harry’s looking at him, curious, guarded, imploring. Everything at once. “So then why did youtonight?”“Because you asked,” he says simply.And Harry’s eyes flicker.But Louis doesn’t want to push it, doesn’t want to scare Harry away with too many words, toomany secrets, so instead he motions towards the door. “I should go.”“Yeah.”He walks out of Harry’s room and to the door, limbs simultaneously heavy and light, each stepslow. It’s only when the wood creaks behind him does he realize that Harry’s following him,actually walking him out.Which…okay. This is new.“Well, Curly” he says, turning around as his hand finds the doorknob. “Have a good night. Don’thurt yourself over that song. You’ve got it in the bag. And remember—I don’t lie.” He smiles forgood measure, feeling strange and sort of emotionally exhausted.Harry nods distractedly, his phone having just buzzed in his pocket, and he reads the screen withconcentrated eyes, the glow washing over his features.Louis takes this as a good sign to exit.“’Night, Curly,” he says, opening the door and stepping outside. The cool air hits him in tidalwaves, freeing him of the heat and the awkwardness and the mountains of thoughts, and he’s justclosing the door behind him when suddenly an unnamed force prevents him from doing so.He turns around—Harry. His large hand is splayed on the wood, bracing it, and he’s staring atLouis with eyes that faintly spark, his hair an absolute mess, his lips pulled into a faint frown. Butas he stares at Louis, the frown fades, a softer calm overcoming his features, until he’s just staringat Louis, expressionless and honest.“Thank you, Louis,” he says after a moment's silence, and his voice is deep and a little raspy,drifting over the words in soft lilts and tumbles.And. Whoah.Louis doesn’t think he’s ever heard Harry say his name before, not like that, not withoutindifference or accompanied by his surname, and whoah.

Whoah.There’s too much happening. He’s going to need to sit down.“Any time,” Louis replies, and he sends a smile, which Harry accepts before he withdraws hishand from the door.And then he’s walking away, retreating into his room, and, eventually, Louis closes the door andwalks home.Chapter End NotesCan someone punch me in the face? Please? This is so loooong. I'm so saaad.Anywho. This chapter's song is called 'Damaged.' Harry's song is basically based offof this, and if you want to know what I envisioned Harry playing, go to the 2:40mark here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzfcI29wJdkWoo!BY THE BY. Wowww thank you guys for all your song recs. I'm actually stunnedabout it all because I have found so, so many amazing songs because of you! Keep'em coming plz :)ALSO. Check out my tag "this is inspiring me" (mizzwilde.tumblr.com/tagged/thisis-inspiring-me)because there has been fanart and there have been pants clear blownoff in amazement at your guys' talent. (Yes, those blown-off pants would be mine.)(Yours will probably get blown off, too)Seriously. Thank you Kayla and Brooke for being fan-fucking-tastic and rly damntalented. Like whoah.http://wowsokcool.tumblr.com/post/60711069803/edit-for-mizzwildes-youngbeautifulhttp://lovingthisforallitis.tumblr.com/post/60613074834/i-made-this-for-mizzwildesfic-on-ao3-youI LOVE YOU GUYS, COME CHAT, YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL, MWUAH!

XXChapter SummaryHarry gets a phone call.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesNiall’s pounding on the piano like it’s a drum. Even though he has those, too. He’s playing themost chaotic music on the planet, relentlessly, and he’s stoned and laughing at nothing inparticular and, well. Louis might really kill him because he’s got another exam in a week and heneeds to fucking study.So he makes a decision that is based purely on logic and nothing else.“I’m going to study at Harry’s,” Louis calls over the noise, and Niall’s glossed pink eyes smile.“Cool,” he responds, and continues playing.This boy. Wow.Louis slings his bag over his shoulder, throwing one last glare in Niall’s direction. “I’ll be backlater.”“Tell your boyfriend I say—“Louis slams the door shut.Mind still on the events of yesterday—Louis telling Harry about his mum, Harry listening, Harryasking for his opinion, Harry calling him by his name in an unpretentious tone and actually saying‘thank you’ which might have made the moon shine brighter—Louis takes off in the direction ofHarry’s rooms.And while he knows his tutoring session isn’t for about three or so more hours…he decides to justgo for it. Because their time yesterday went well enough. So why wouldn’t today be the same?Upon reaching Harry’s rooms, he quietly opens the door and prays there isn’t any rampant sexgoing on inside. He peers hesitantly into the living room and, nope, there’s not. It’s barren, savefor the sheet music that still rests on the floors and the sheer, vast amount of everything that fillsevery nook and cranny.He’s just about to head towards Harry’s bedroom, when there’s a knock at the door.Did Harry lock himself out? Is it Niall? Did Louis forget something?He opens the door cautiously, peering out and—oh. It’s some hipster.Unimpressed, he opens the door fully, staring the boy up and down openly and judgmentally.He’s dressed immaculately disheveled and he’s beautiful and exotic, bred from all the money, andLouis tries not to snort when he notices an ‘anarchy’ tattoo painted on his wrist.

“Hey mate. I’m, uh, here to see Harold,” the boys says, a little unsure, almost as if he’s potentiallyunaware if he’s at the right door or not.Lovely.“He’s not here,” Louis says without ceremony, and shuts the door in the boy’s face before anotherword is said. And that felt good. With a proud smirk, he turns around, feeling accomplished.And then the smirk falls straight off of his face because there’s Harry, standing right in front ofhim, watching the scene with a scowl.Well, shit.Did the boy see Harry there the whole time? Is he going to knock again because he knows Louiswas lying?“What was that about?” Harry demands, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s in the most casualclothes Louis has ever seen—inappropriately tight jeans and a black t-shirt that still manages tohave buttons at the collar. He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept—or at least hasn’t slept peacefully—and Louis regards him with a gaping mouth and wide eyes.“Er—““You had no right to send my guest away,” he says sharply. He’s staring at Louis like a hawkwould his prey. Which then sparks the memory of Cleopatrick and, huh, fuck. Louis forgot aboutthat. Harry really is a hot mess, isn’t he?“I know,” Louis replies, crossing his own arms and shrugging unapologetically. “But I just did,didn’t I?”Harry glares. “Tell him to come back.”“I’m not your puppet.”“Tell him.”“I wouldn’t even if I wanted to. And do you know why?” Louis asks, eyes pinching into a glareas he takes a step towards Harry who glares harder in response. “Because all of those people arenothing but harpies. And you can do better than that, you great, sex-crazed, bumbling oaf. So, yes,I’m going to send them away every chance I get, and I’m not going to apologize for it, and I’m notgoing to pretend otherwise!” With that, Louis sniffs and turns away, feeling victorious andadamant. He resists the urge to stomp his foot.Harry’s glare recedes. “What do you mean, I can do better than that?” he asks, and his tone issurprised and confused and caught off guard and all those other things that make Louis’ armsuncross and fall to his sides, his face turning to Harry’s.“Just what I said,” he says gently, before his voice picks up its strength again and he flicks his hairout of his eyes. “Now. Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”Harry ducks his head, shuffles a bit. “Why are you here?” he mumbles to the floor, and he’shugging his stomach now, the light catching in the bags under his eyes.“Because I need to study and Niall’s being a wanker. I liked it here yesterday. So. Will you takeme?” Louis asks, and a smile plays at his lips.

Harry’s head snaps up before it falls back down, his feet pawing at the thick, Persian rug. “Well. Iwas just sort of getting ready for the day. I mean, I don’t have classes or anything, because I’vealready finished the coursework for all of them. Just, like, doing little things and looking over mysong. So, I mean, yeah, that’s fine,” Harry rambles, and he’s fiddling with his watch.Louis grins. Success.“Splendid!” he says, and immediately makes a beeline for Harry’s bedroom. “Let’s go in here,yeah? It’s cozy. I like it,” he smiles, and settles down in his chair.Harry follows behind him, eyes watchful but almost smiling? It’s a pleasant look, whatever it is, soLouis nuzzles deeper into the chair and smiles sleepily up at Harry.“Have you finished your song?” he asks.“Yeah.”“Can I hear it?”Harry turns, walks to the window, and stares out. “Yeah.” The sun catches in his skin, his hair, histroubled eyes. “In a bit though. Not right now, yeah?”“Yeah. All right,” Louis says softly, and he watches the boy before him, bathed in golden light.And then Louis begins to study and Harry begins to putter about, sifting through his papers,tapping out quick texts on his phone, and pulling worn books off of the shelf to read them,standing long and looking impossibly elegant—casual attire and all—framed in the window.He literally looks like the embodiment of gold, the sun doing wonders to his body as it streams inthrough the windows behind him, and the book is so frail and so fragile in his creamy whitehands, his fingernails perfectly groomed and soft in hue. His eyelashes glow in the light and the tipof his nose is pink and his lips are wonderfully crimson and—Okay. Maybe textbooks aren’t the only thing Louis’ studying.He pulls his gaze away.“Do you get on with your father?” Harry suddenly asks in his deep, musical voice that sitssomewhere on the floor, and it’s out of nowhere and he’s still holding that book in his handswhich he’s apparently only pretending to read and it startles Louis completely.“What?” he asks, taken aback, staring at Harry’s shimmering outline.He doesn’t look up from the book. “I noticed you call him by his name. And you said he didn’tlike you. Why?”And these questions are so stark and so personal, but Louis finds that, beneath the shock, he reallydoesn’t mind. So he stares at Harry, shrugs, and plays with the spiral of his notebook.“We just clash. He thinks I’m annoying and too loud. And immature.” He pauses, fiddles with hisfringe. “But to be honest, I think the main reason he dislikes me is because I’m gay.”Harry’s whole body reacts, seizes completely, but it’s so subtle and hard to catch that he doubtsanybody but himself would have noticed such a thing. Which, yeah, maybe Louis really doesneed to get a hobby and stop obsessing over Harry. Maybe.

“You can’t help that,” Harry says quietly, never looking up.“I know that. He doesn’t.”“Have you tried to speak with him?”And what are all these questions?Louis jiggles his leg, taps his pen. “Sort of. But he’s not having it, trust me. But I really couldn’tgive a fuck, so. Whatever.”The bowed, curly head finally lifts from the page. “He’s your father.”“He’s a bad person,” he replies simply, forcefully.Harry goes back to looking at his book.More silence.Louis taps out a beat onto the armrest.He sees Harry swallow. Then:“Do you know who my father is?”The question is asked so quietly and lightly, Louis momentarily thinks he may have envisioned itwithin. But, no, Harry’s most definitely said it, and he’s nibbling his lip, brows tugging together,staring unblinking at the same page.Harry has never spoken about his father to Louis. Never. Not directly, anyway. And Louis knowsthis, Harry knows that Louis knows this, and everything feels important right now as Louis’stomach clenches and he resists the urge to walk over to Harry, rip the book out of his hands, grabhis shoulders, and find a little bit of reality in the shade.Instead, he sits in his chair, clutching his pencil so tightly he fears he may snap it in half. “Yeah,”he replies truthfully.Harry nods, mostly to himself. “I’m sure you’ve heard all sorts of things.”“Yeah,” Louis repeats.Harry nibbles harder on his lips.“I’m—“ he stops, blinks hard. He looks up from the book but stares only at the wall, eyes wideand glassy, with a touch of fear in the corners. “I’m not sure if he’s a bad person or not,” he admitsquietly, whisper soft, and it’s said so fearfully and so confusedly, that Louis has to physicallyrestrain himself from gathering the boy in his arms and embracing his demons away.Because fuck. He’s staring at the broken, jagged bits of Harry right now. And it’s painful. It’sactually physically painful.Louis says nothing, just stares and bites back his own prickling emotions. “How is he?” he daresto ask, opting for that instead of ‘where is he.’But he imagines Harry’s reply would have been much the same:“I don’t know.”

And Louis doesn’t know what that means—surely, surely he’s not still missing after all this time??—but he doesn’t like the feeling it gives him, or the weight it lays upon Harry, whose broad bonesseem so, so brittle sometimes. He’s about to say more, say that Harry has a right to think hisfather’s a bad person, say that Des doesn’t deserve his loyalty, that he’s a better son than Louis is,but then Harry’s phone rings and he snatches it up immediately, eyes wide.“Hello?” Harry’s face is hard.And then it’s white.“I’m on my way,” is all he says, before he’s stuffing the phone into his jeans and flying out of thebedroom.“Wha—Harry!” Louis calls, pouncing out of his chair, and races after him.He finds him stuffing his jacket on, sliding his feet into his boots, and his cheeks are pallid andhollow and his eyes are so, so wide and he looks like he’s been stunned, and as he fumbles toassemble himself, Louis just watches, arms limp at his sides.“Who was that?” he asks as Harry taps out a number into his phone.He ignores Louis, pressing it to his ear. “David? Pick me up at the school. Now.” And then thephone’s back in his pocket and he’s hurrying past Louis.“Harry,” he tries again, and he trails behind him as he begins stuffing all of his sheet music into abag. He watches his frenzied movements, at a loss. “Harry, what’s wrong? What are you doing?”Still, he ignores Louis, and he’s not even sure if Harry truly hears him. But then the bag is packedand Harry grips it into his impossibly tight clutch, and he’s making to leave out the door whenLouis steps in his path and grips his arm, his hand burning through the thick wool of Harry’sjacket. .“Can you please just answer me?! I’m not fucking invisible, am I?” he almost shouts, and Harry’seyes train on him, as if for the first time.“I have to go, Louis.”“I understand that, I know, I get it, okay? And I won’t press for details. But fuck’s sake, you’reflitting about like a fucking hummingbird and you look like you’ve just had a stroke and I don’tknow what the fuck’s going on, but can you at least tell me if you’re all right? Is everything allright?”He takes in Louis’ expression, searching and slow, and there’s something settling within his irisesthat resembles understanding. Or is it guilt? Or pity? Or is it nothing at all?“Everything’s all right,” he appeases Louis softly, who sighs in relief. “Better than all right, even.”Louis’ eyebrows raise. “Yeah? Better?”Harry nods. “Yeah,” he says softly.And then it’s there. This split second where, with Louis’ hand still pressed into the crook ofHarry’s elbow, Harry mirrors the touch, bringing his hand to brush softly against Louis’ arm. Andit’s so fucking brief and subtle that it could be a damn accident or trick of the mind, but Louis feelsit, felt it, and he feels a noticeable explosion in his ribcage as Harry begins to disengage himself

and slip away.“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he calls questioningly, as Harry’s just about out the door.Harry looks back, his face remarkably more relaxed than it’s been in months, a small smile settledon his mouth. “Yeah,” he nods, and then he sends one last lingering look Louis’ way before heturns and leaves.Chapter End NotesAlrightykins, so, this chapters' song is: Sons and Daughters - "Awkward Duet"Listen to this song. I love it so much. It's perfect for this. It's one of my fav songs ofall time.

XXIChapter SummaryHarry laughs.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesLouis doesn’t see Harry the next day.He arrives for tutoring early, his anxieties numbing his fingertips. He’d been thinking about thismoment all day, through every never ending course and half-assed conversation. Through everynote scribbled down, every turn of the page in his textbooks, and every attempt at ignoring thewhispered rumors that surrounded him involving the lads (at one point a girl smugly claimed toher friend that Zayn and Harry had broken out into a fisticuffs over her—Louis snorted so loudlythe professor paused, mid-sentence, startled), he had only half paid attention, his thoughts and thebeatings of his heart trapped somewhere within Harry’s rooms, stirring the unanswered questionsthat were dripping from his tongue. In fact, he’d been so eager for today’s session with Harry,he’d even rejected Niall’s invitation of steak and wine at his favorite restaurant. It was that serious.But now he’s arrived and when Louis makes to open Harry’s door, it’s locked.And when Louis knocks, it doesn’t open.And when Louis texts ‘where r u?’ it goes unanswered.And so Louis’ insides deflate.And he walks back to his flat, disappointment and a new sense of dread settled into his bones andtwisting the hairs at the back of his neck.Excellent.**“If he’s missing again, so help me God!” Louis greets thunderously as soon as he enters the flat.Niall looks up from his drum set, his large, pale sweater pushed up to the elbows, drumstickspoised above his head, ready to crash down. “Huh?” he asks, snapping into attention.“Harry. He’s not in his rooms. He’s gone, isn’t he? He’s gone again, and we’re all just going to sitaround looking pretty while he’s off in a ditch somewhere, probably dead, and nobody’s going toeven—““What the fuck are you talking about, mate?” Niall asks, face utterly bewildered as he lowers thedrumsticks, tossing them to the side, and giving his full attention to a very flustered Louis—who isnow ripping off his jacket with more force than necessary.Perhaps he’s wound a bit too tightly today. Anxiety and all that.

“I’ll text Zayn!” Louis suddenly says to nobody in particular, light bulb bursting into life above hishead. He scuttles into the next room, kicking off his shoes as he does so and leaving them strewnacross the floor.“Text him what?” Niall calls after him.“That Harry’s missing!”‘Where’s Harry?’ he pelts out mercilessly on his phone, at an alarming speed.“You should just leave it alone,” Niall calls, picking up one of the forgotten drumsticks andtwirling it in his fingers.“Too late!” Louis sings. He flits back into the room, now adorned in a full sweatsuit, and stareshungrily at his phone as it vibrates.The reply:‘Dunno mate.’“Fuck’s sake,” Louis breathes, rolling his eyes with exasperation as he tosses his phone onto thenearest surface. “Of course he doesn’t know. Does anybody know anything around here?” hedemands. Then he storms back into his room.Niall stares. “Are you okay?’“Me? I’m fine! I’m fucking splendid! But it’s not me who I’m worried about—it’s Harry! He’sgone again, Niall, gone! And after that phone call he got yesterday, I can only imagine what thatmeans! He said he’d see me today but he’s not in his fucking rooms and—““Maybe he went out.”“What? No. No! We had tutoring! He wouldn’t just forget about it like that! Why do you saystupid thing—“Niall whistles low, cutting off Louis’ slew of pelted, agitated words. “We’re talking about Harry?Because I fuckin’ guarantee you he’d forget something like that. Why would that come as asurprise? You know what he’s like.”Louis keeps from growling.Yeah. He does know what Harry’s like. But apparently, Niall does not.“He’s not like that, Niall. He’s not some selfish, evil bastard.”“He’s not?” he asks, tossing the drumstick into the air before catching it, eyes focused on themovement.Louis whips around to stare at the boy, hands on hips. “That’s not funny.”“Jesus,” Niall mutters, rolling his eyes. “Maybe you really are in love with him.”“I’M NOT IN LOVE WITH HIM,” he screeches in response, then storms to the bathroom andslams the door.Niall blinks.

“Right. Well. On another note. I got an A on my last exam!” he calls, sliding off of the drum stool.There’s a brief pause before Louis’ muffled voice emerges from behind the bathroom door. “Youmean Rory got an A?”Niall laughs. “No, I mean Google got an A.”“I’m not even going to ask.”Niall grins as Louis finally emerges from the bathroom, hair damp as he towels his face.“Also, my father texted me. Recording’s back on for Des’ new track.”Louis freezes. “Sorry?”“The new track—the one I’m doing the drums for—it’s back on. He texted me this morning.”“So Des is…” Louis swallows, gripping the damp towel in his hands, his mind immediatelyreturning to Harry’s unanswered door. “Des is back? He’s recording and everything?”A shrug. “Yeah, I suppose.”“Is Harry with him?”“How the fuck should I know? I’ve only just heard—haven’t been there myself yet, have I?”Louis ignores him, the pieces of the puzzle slowly fitting together in his head. Because of course.Des is back. Harry got the phone call, rushed away, looked almost happy, even…Des is back.A grin splits Louis’ face.“Harry’s probably with him,” he smiles, looking over to Niall.“Probably, yeah.”“You going to the studio tonight, then?”“Yep.”“You’ll let me know if he’s there?”Niall throws his head back in exasperation. “Fuck’s sake, Louis…”“Niall,” Louis threatens, and picks up his stray shoe, threatening to pelt it at the boy’s head.“Yeah, yeah, fine, sure. I’ll text you.”“Thank you,” Louis grins, before tossing the shoe back down and joining Niall who is currentlynow making his way to the fridge. He ruffles his morning-sun hair and smacks his bum.Which, naturally, Niall doesn’t even react to, remaining completely unfazed.“You’re becoming obsessed,” is all he breathes in reply, under his breath.“Am not. Now. Take me out to dinner? I want to complain about school and things.”

And, simple as that, they leave.**Harry isn’t there the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.Nor is he ever at the studio, which Niall dutifully informs Louis of at nearly every wakingmoment, though Niall claims the recording is going splendidly, the track nearly finished. (“Deseven came by today.” “Oh, he did? How did that go?” Niall shrugs. “Fine, I guess. He was a bitquiet. Kept to himself. He’s a damn good musician, though. The song he wrote is incredible.” “Ohreally? How nice. Was, um, you know, Harr—“ “No, Louis, Harry wasn’t there.”)So Louis texts him. More than he’d like to admit. He texts him before every tutoring session.‘Omw. U better be there. Ass.’ Or some variation of that. He texts him when he hits mental brickwalls while studying, his brain scattering to a thousand different places (most of those placeslanding on Harry’s doorstep which is just excellent) and leaving him little room to do anythingelse but tap out a, ‘Where r u?’ or the occasional, ‘R u ok?’ and sometimes the, ‘Im going to failmy term and itll be your fault. Think about that Curly.’ And, of course, there’s the, ‘Can u at leasttext me to assure me that ur not dead? That wld be nice.’All to no avail.And it’s sort of worrisome, yeah, it is. But Louis keeps telling himself, each time he arrives atHarry’s door and knocks fruitlessly, feeling a strange disappointment clunk in his stomach once hebegins walking away silently, that he’s probably happy, probably safe, and probably with hisfather. Which…well. Louis actually doesn’t know how to feel about that.But he really would like to think that Harry being with his father is a good, safe thing. So heleaves it at that.He leaves it at that, and he doesn’t stare at his phone hopefully, he doesn’t walk by Harry’s roomsevery day in hopes to see a light, he doesn’t stand in the gardens and wait for a movement, aflicker, anything, and he doesn’t reenact their last conversation in his head over and over and over.He absolutely does none of these things because the end of term is almost here, December is justaround the corner—next week, in fact—and Harry Styles is just a boy who, really, may or maynot be considered a mate.And it’s that simple, really.Yep.That simple.**They’re in the library—even Niall—and it’s been four days since Louis last saw Harry.“Don’t worry about him,” Zayn had assured him in a puff of smoke, and Louis smiled andnodded, sidling the conversation into one of lighter, funnier territory, while the mechanics of hismind clicked and puttered on, undeterred.And while Louis wouldn’t label his feelings as ‘worry’, so to speak, he did still continue to thinkabout Harry despite Zayn’s muttered assurances.So it comes as no surprise that he’s thinking about him right now as the boys bask in the silence,Zayn highlighting passages in his novel, Liam clicking frantically on his Macbook, the blue-bright

screen highlighting the creases of anxiety etching his face, and Niall banging out a steady beatwith his pen on the tabletop, pretending to read his notes. Because the fifth chair at their table—thechair that resides in the corner, edged by the bookshelves and thick, wooden walls marked withscratches from centuries past—is empty. Because that’s Harry’s self-appointed chair. The one thathe demands to sit in because it’s “romantic and lonesome and just detached enough to remainpoetic.” And while Louis had scoffed at the explanation at the time—threw an eraser at the boy’shead even, which earned him a scowl and a crumpled ball of paper to the face—he sort ofunderstands it now, watching it lie in its shaded solitude, forgotten and forlorn in the corner. He’salmost tempted to sit in it just to dispel the pure loneliness it’s procuring. Almost.It’s as Louis is lost in his thoughts, still staring at the empty chair, that a wizened, posh lookinggentleman ambles along and stops abruptly as he sees Liam.“Liam Payne!” he greets, as Liam’s stress soaked gaze looks up, startled. The man grins down, hisironed trousers and crisp jacket contrasting with the lads’ synchronized uniforms of heavy cottonand polyester. “William Payne’s boy, correct?”Liam’s face immediately splits into a practiced grin, his mannerisms clipping into utter perfection.“Right you are, sir,” he smiles, standing up and shaking the man’s hand with gusto.“Your father’s been telling us about how well you’ve done in your courses this term.”Liam laughs tinklingly, shrugging his shoulders modestly. “Well, I certainly hope so. I do like tokeep my marks up to the best of my abilities.”The man smiles approvingly, assessing Liam with old, elitist eyes. Louis sort of wants to squirt hiswater bottle in his face.“Your father says you’ve been excelling at the student newspaper. We’re proud of our university’spaper—it’s got a reputation to uphold. As I’m sure you’re aware.”“Yes, sir.”Louis rolls his eyes.“He tells me that you might take over in his shoes sooner than we think.” This is probably meantas a compliment, but Liam looks more terrified than anything. “We’re all looking forward to yourwork this year, Liam. You never disappoint.”Liam laughs again, slightly manical, while the man smiles on, completely oblivious. “And I hope Inever do!” Liam laughs politely, eyes crinkling.He nods one last time, before clapping Liam on the back. “I best be off. Send your father myregards.”“Of course, sir. Have a good day, sir.”As soon as the man is gone, Liam falls into his chair, eyes wide, dark, and panicked. “My father istalking about me??” he hisses. “What has he been saying?! How am I supposed to work under allof this pressure? Why the fuck would he do that to me?!”Louis hadn’t seen Liam’s uncollected side up until recently. And, quite frankly, he finds ithilarious. He sniggers as Liam’s face pales with each frantic word that spills from his lips.“It’s cuz he’s proud of you,” Zayn purrs seamlessly in response, looking up from his book.

Liam’s head collapses into his hands. “Yeah. Well I hate him.”“No you don’t. You’re just stressed, is all,” Zayn soothes, and immediately stands behind him andbegins to massage his shoulders.Louis, feet kicked up, clad in sweatpants, and chewing on a pencil, glances up at the pair.“If I hear just one sweet nothing whispered between the two of you, I will not hesitate to punchyou both in the balls.”Niall guffaws, Zayn chuckles, and Liam looks appalled.“I’m just sayin’,” Louis mumbles quietly, unable to resist a smirk, and Niall laughs louder, thesound filling the quiet, endlessly vaulted ceilings, bouncing off of the dusty bookshelves and theworn carpet, the ancient books, the marble statues, and the empty chair that sits at their table,untouched.Which Louis continues not to think about as Zayn kneads cool, calming hands into Liam’s back.The silence is only broken once more, about an hour later.“I’m sick of this shite. I want to go out,” Niall says, dropping his notebook onto the tabletop andsighing harshly, the noise grating against the air.Three sets of eyes look up as one.“It’s a weekday!” Liam says, offended at the very thought.Niall shrugs. “So? We used to go out every night of the week.”“Oh, those were the days,” Louis laments, frowning down at his stack of books and messy piles ofpaper. “I wish I could go…”“You wish you could go?” Liam gapes, almost screeches. Louis’ eyebrows raise. “What is wrongwith you two?? How could you possibly consider just moseying about around town when wehave exams and papers and editorials and deadlines and outlines and blueprints and meetingsand…” And with each listed chore, his voice raises an octave higher, until a bemused Zayn isforced to wrap his arms around Liam’s tense, tense shoulders, purring calming words into his earand ushering him to the side for some unwinding time.“It’s all right, Li. You’ll be fine. Just fine. Shh,” he breathes in a satin soft tone, gently rubbing histhumbs against Liam’s nearly quivering arms.Louis sniggers while Niall raises his eyebrows at the spectacle.“Right. So you coming then, Tommo?” he asks, turning to face Louis.He sighs. “Nah, mate. In a perfect world, I would, but as it is...”“All right,” he concludes, hopping out of the chair and popping his pen into his mouth, notebookgripped at his side. “Suit yourself. Have a good ones, lads. Bye, honey.” He adds, pressing a kissto Louis’ cheek messily before bounding away.Louis watches, fond and exasperated simultaneously. “I swear, Ireland. If you end up gettingbetter grades than me this term, I will peel your skin off with a paperclip.”Niall pauses, turning around, his eyebrows nearly hidden in his hairline. “Bit harsh, innit?”

Niall pauses, turning around, his eyebrows nearly hidden in his hairline. “Bit harsh, innit?”Louis looks down at himself—the socks he’s had on for days, the wilted sweatpants with anunnerving orange stain from the spaghetti he’d had last night, and that’s not even beginning tomention his greasy, stubbly complexion or the matted cluster of grease that claims to be hair that iscurrently sitting atop his head. All because he’s spent more time studying than bathing or sleeping.And then he looks back to Niall. Sunny, golden, clean, and calm Niall.“No.”And Niall laughs, head tilted back, teeth white and immaculate, before heading out the doorwithout a second’s thought.“And you said Liam and I were bad,” Zayn teases with a smirk.“Yeah. Cuz me and Niall don’t shag like you two fuckers,” he mutters, which only makes Zayn’sgrin grow and Liam’s eyes widen.And then he goes back to his book, firmly ignoring the way Liam and Zayn look at each other,and the empty chair in the corner.**Another day of classes have gone by—and another impressive exam score (is this real life?)—andLouis is on his way to Harry’s once again, already steeling himself for the silence he knows hewill be met with as he trudges through the patter of icy rain, a beanie tucked over his head and justmanaging to cover the tips of his reddening ears. He whips out his phone, as is custom, and tapsout a, ‘Probs gonna be greeted by a locked door again. U kno u shld rly text me back and saveme the trouble u nuisance.’Like absentminded clockwork he climbs the steps near the gardens, walks up to his door, turns thefaded metal of the doorknob, pushes the heavy wooden door open and—and it’s open.He nearly falls inside.Before he has time to gather himself—his shoulder bag nearly bringing him down, and hard—hehears movement from just beyond his line of sight.“Louis Tomlinson,” that voice greets, and instead of Louis’ stomach clunking in disappointment,it soars up to somewhere near his mouth.Because he was not expecting Harry to actually be here. Nor was he expecting him to be…holding strawberries? And wearing a red suit and bow tie, smiling dashingly as he offers them tohim in a gilt bowl.If he’s being honest, he sort of assumed Harry would be in the depths of despair upon their nextencounter, what with Des being back and all the unforeseen complications that seem toaccompany the man. But this certainly isn’t an unwelcome contrast.“Strawberry?” Harry offers as if on cue, posed perfectly. “They’re my new thing.”Louis stares, finally having gathered himself and shut the door behind him, his beanie falling off,his sweatshirt hanging in disarray, and his bag piled beside him on the floor.“Harry,” he says, shocked, his voice light with surprise as he stares at the utterly unexpected scenebefore him. “You’ve come back.”

Harry smiles in response, perfect and charming, but it’s not altogether disingenuous, so Louissmiles, too.And immediately Louis feels happy beyond understanding, but also sort of bewildered andconfused, so he mumbles, “Well, someone’s in a good mood,” as he stares, still absorbing thedetails of the situation.Harry? Red suit? Strawberries? In autumn? Harry? Back? Happy?“They’re delicious,” Harry replies to a question that wasn’t asked, and plucks a strawberry fromthe bowl and brings it to lips whose hue matches the fruit in question perfectly. With a smirky grinthat paves the way for so many questions, he bites into the fruit, juices dancing on the soft paddingof his lips, before he pops the thing entirely into his mouth, ripping the stem off delicately andflicking it to the side.Louis watches the movement, before shuffling his feet.He doesn’t want to break the vibe of the good mood. Honestly. He doesn’t.But he’s prickling with curiosity and worry still, his mind still hung up on that mysterious phonecall that pulled Harry away in the first place, so his smile quiets as he takes in Harry’s face whichbears the relaxation and quiet happiness that Louis had glimpsed last he saw him. It’s the closestthing to ‘genuinely’ happy Harry’s been, and it’s wonderful. But it also quietly scares Louis,because inconsistency seems to be a theme in Harry’s life, and happiness is well and good, buthow does it react when faced with troubled waters?He may be happy now, but what if something happens? Will he crash? Hard? Come tumblingdown to the ground in a fiery wreck?Louis doesn’t know.So he regards Harry before he dares out a, “Where’ve you been? What happened?” in the mostcasual tone he can manage. Which isn’t very casual at all, his words squeaking at the end thetiniest bit.Harry swallows, his eyes beginning to reflect something more real at the words. He looks down atthe bowl in his hands as his lips fade into an expressionless line. He doesn’t move.Louis sighs, pulling his beanie over his head a bit more, before rubbing a hand over his eyes. Hereally needs to stop being so forward with Harry—the boy can’t take it.“All right, look,” he says, walking up until he’s standing directly in front of Harry, handsillustrating his words, and he notices him take an almost imperceptible step backwards. “I know Idon’t have any right to know. I know that it’s none of my business and I’ve no right to keepasking you all of these questions that you don’t want to answer. And I’m sorry for it, I am. I’mnosy—too nosy for anybody’s sake—and I wish I could say that I won’t keep asking, but I will,and I’m sorry for all those times, too. But can you at least just, like, let me know that it’s all good?So I know that I don’t have to worry about you falling into a stupor or summat. Cuz I…” He driftsoff, searching for words. Harry’s shoulders tense, his brow furrowing further as he waits. “…Ineed a tutor awfully bad. And, see, it’s such short notice to get another one. So, just because Ineed you as my tutor, can you just let me know if everything’s good?” Louis finishes, and hesmiles as he ducks to catch Harry’s eye, immediately feeling the weight of the conversation liftfractionally.Harry huffs out a breathy noise (a snort? a chortle? could it be?), shifting his weight as he lifts his

gaze to the wall. His face is light, maybe a little amused, but the words still aren’t coming, and hebears all the shifting weight of one who is still largely uncomfortable.So Louis tries again.“What if we speak in code, yeah?”Harry finally looks at him. An eyebrow raises.“If things aren’t, like, good, hand me one strawberry. But if things are good, hand me twostrawberries.” He pauses. “With full stems.” He smiles. “I’ll even eat them and everything.”And a single laugh escapes Harry, almost shattering the lightbulbs in the room, not to mentionLouis’ vital organs as he mentally documents the date that he managed to procure a proper laughfrom Harry Styles.“They both need stems?” he clarifies, eyebrow still raised.“Oh yes, absolutely,” Louis nods, feeling his cheeks twitch as Harry looks down at thestrawberries thoughtfully.He slowly begins rummaging in the bowl, his fingers delicately picking at the fruit, carefullyinspecting each one before finally housing two in the protective bowl of his palm. His eyesaverted downward, he offers them to Louis, hand outstretched and patient.Louis breathes out a small stream of relief before he finally observes the offering, wrinkling hisnose as he stares at them—one is fine, stem and all, but one…resembles a raisin. That’s beendigested.“Uhm,” he starts, poking at the purplish lump lying in Harry’s palm with his forefinger. “Care toexplain why you chose this one? In the mood to give me a food-borne illness, are we?”Harry’s smile (yes, he’s still smiling—having his father returned to him has done the boy wonders)twitches at the corner. “I like that one,” he drawls in protest. “I chose him specifically.”Louis looks up. “Him?”“Aloysius.”“Aloysius,” Louis repeats in a deadpan. “You named a shriveled strawberry Aloysius.”Harry shines proudly, looking up to meet Louis’ gaze. “Yeah,” he nods with bright eyes and ahalf-smile.“Right then. Just checking,” Louis says, and offers his palm.Without another word Harry dumps his treasures, before taking back his hand and dusting it off onhis trousers, seeming pleased.Louis smiles, mostly to himself, as he stares at the fruit in his hand. He’s never been happier to seestrawberries in his life.“I’m glad, you know,” he finally says.Harry looks up.So does Louis.

“That everything’s good,” he explains, motioning towards the strawberries.Understanding blooms upon Harry’s features and he nods. “Me, too,” he says quietly, and theshadow of a smile still haunts his face which only presses Louis’ lips into a bigger grin.There’s a moment where Louis’ still holding the two strawberries, staring at Harry and feelingstrangely…uplifted? His feelings are rocketed upward, encompassing him in a way that is bothalien and familiar, and all he can do is stare at the boy before him, resplendent in vermilion andresembling someone so very human and so very real, the facades broken down in so many ways,it almost makes Louis want to reach out and touch him, just to assure himself that this is reality andnot the twisted makings of his own mind.But before he can entertain such silly thoughts any further, Harry’s turning away, setting down thebowl gently, his head bowing with the motion and his back facing Louis.“But why?” he suddenly asks, and his creased brow is back. Which. Doesn’t frustrate Louis asmuch as it makes his heart thump unsteadily, wearily.“Why what?” he asks, genuinely confused.“Why does that make you glad?”And there it is. That quiet, questioning voice of Harry’s that always manages to shatter Louis’bones.He gapes, at a loss for the abrupt and genuine curiosity of the question, before he slides his handsinto his back pockets, rocking on his heels a bit, adopting the most nonchalance he can gather.“Because. I really need a tutor.”A short, small laugh escapes Harry again (Louis thinks the sun may have popped that time)before he presses it back inside, a smile present on the lips that he casts downward, tucking intohis chest and shielding away from the world. Which really isn’t right. He shouldn’t be hiding hissmiles. He should be lifting his chin into the air and lighting the world with them.“And. You know.” Louis pauses, dares to say the next words. “You’re a mate.”There. He said it.And, just like that, the mood is altered.Harry turns, looks fully at Louis, eyebrows pinched once more.“Louis…I don’t have ‘mates.’”At that, Louis releases a puff of air, rocking harder on his heels as he shakes his head with enoughexaggeration to belittle his internal disappointment. “Well, I dunno, Curly. That’s going to bepretty awkward to tell the lads.” He chances a glance at Harry who is looking down at the bowl ofstrawberries, quiet and guarded, body half-turned away from Louis. He can feel it—can feel theline they’re balancing on. He knows that one overeager move will send Harry scattering in theopposite direction, shielding himself from Louis’ intrusions that are too much, too large, tooforceful for a boy who can barely grasp the concept that someone might just care about hispresence in the world. So Louis just smiles easily and finishes with a musical, “And, you know,that’s not even mentioning how rude it is that you would say that when I’m standing right in frontof you, declaring myself as ‘mate.’”

Harry glances up at him.Louis waits for an absolution.“Aren’t you going to eat the strawberries?” Harry asks, and Louis blinks because, no, that was notwhat he was expecting, but...it works. Because Harry’s still in the room and he’s not slammingdoors or lowering the cages behind his eyes.“Of course I am,” Louis says immediately despite his surprise, and throws them into his mouthwithout a second’s hesitation, resolutely ignoring the garish wrinkles of Aloysius. He chews,purposeful at first, then thoughtful, the flavor filling his mouth. “You know, I must say,” he says,mouth full, “This is probably the best regurgitated strawberry I’ve ever eaten.”Harry’s face immediately erases of the trepidation and discomfort it had previously housed, asmall, almost silly smile delicately painting it instead. “It’s not regurgitated!” he insists, and it bearssuch a childlike undertone that Louis feels his own smile warm.“Is it an owl pellet, then?” he continues, spurred on, and Harry’s short, quick snort cuts throughthe room and the air particles, leaving Louis’ skin abuzz, the very earth abuzz. “Is that what youwere doing while you were away? Finding your Hedwig? And feeding me her remains?”At that Harry rolls his eyes, but his lips are still quirked, and he begins striding towards his chinacabinet. “Let’s go outside. We’ll hold our tutoring session another time. It’s a beautiful day,” hesays without transition, opening the glass doors and inspecting his teacups.Louis starts, glancing out the window at the murky gray sky and freezing rain. “Er.”“It’s perfect weather for a picnic,” Harry continues, before selecting two teacups and shutting thedoors gently. He turns around expectantly, eying Louis. “What say you?”“I say that you’re bloody mad and that it’s fucking freezing outside. And wet. And we might die ifwe have a picnic,” Louis says, still feeling the remnants of the chill from his short walk here. Fuckno, he was not going to have a picnic at the end of November. Besides, wasn’t Harry supposed tobe a dainty creature, anyway?Harry sighs, rolling his eyes as he plucks the bowl of strawberries back up off the table. “Don’t beboring.”“I am not boring!” Louis squawks, as Harry offers him a small, red teacup with a small sparrowpainted on the side.“Your favorite cup, correct?” he asks, the object sitting in his extended palm, and Louis nods,grumbling as he accepts the offering with muttered assent.“I’m not having a picnic outside with you,” Louis says in a tone that’s very final, letting the teacupdangle unfeelingly from his fingertips.“Yes you are. I love the rain.”“Funny, because I don’t. I think I may even hate it. And besides, I’m not even sure that qualifiesas rain—I think it’s closer to the ‘snow’ spectrum, to be honest. Given that it’s winter.”But Harry doesn’t even hear, already marching out the door.“Hey! Where are you going?!” Louis demands, trotting to catch up.

“Zayn’s,” Harry responds immediately, head held high.“For what?”“The picnic. I want full attendance.” What in the--?“Are you high right now?”“Of course not,” Harry replies simply, and the conversation dies as they round the corner toZayn’s tower.Louis follows behind Harry’s large strides as they take the stairs, Louis’ mind sputtering inconfusion (because what??) until finally they reach Zayn’s door and press inside, finding Zayn,Liam, and Niall, all sprawled about in various positions of boredom and/or exhausted stress.“My loves!” Harry greets grandiosely, spreading his arms in welcome. Louis rolls his eyes frombehind him. “You are cordially invited to a picnic. Outside. Right now. Bring your own teacup.”Louis snorts. “As if anybody’s actually going to agr—““You know, that’s not a half bad idea,” Zayn says from his spot at the table, surrounded bymountains of books and binders.… What the actual fuck?Zayn then looks over to Liam, questioning, gauging his reaction.“Absolutely not,” Liam replies automatically, and Louis breathes a sigh of relief. “Do you knowhow much I have to do?? I haven’t even started my spreadsheet, Zayn. My spreadsheet,” herepeats with urgency.“I’m with Payne. Have you been outside? It’s fucking freezing. No thanks. I’d rather stay here,”Niall says, sprawled on the couch, flicking through his phone.Zayn rolls his eyes as Harry pouts and Louis performs a mental victory dance.And then Zayn’s standing, tugging Liam’s arms until he’s in a standing position as well. “Comeon, love. You could use the fresh air. It’ll be fun. Then for the rest of the night we can do yourspreadsheet, yeah?”Liam pouts, lip protruding ridiculously as he stares into Zayn’s soothing pools that some wouldcall ‘eyes.’ Louis can see him relenting (which, just great), until finally his shoulders sag in defeatand he sighs, nodding tiredly.“All right,” Liam says, looking over to Harry. “I’m in.”Harry positively beams.“Yeah, well I’m not,” Niall mumbles from the couch.“I’ll buy you strippers, alcohol, and mention your impeccable drumming abilities to my father’sfriends,” Harry bribes, bored and impatient.And Niall shoots up. “Picnic it is, then.”“Oh, fucking excellent,” Louis says, throwing his arms up as the boys begin to assemble intowarmer clothes, stuffing on stylish jumpers and sliding their feet into thick, leather shoes. He looks

down at his own outfit—maroon skinny jeans, white Converse, and a gray zip-up hoodie that’snot exactly made of the thickest of materials—and not only feels under-dressed, but inadequatelysuited for the weather. “I’m going to die of hypothermia,” he deadpans, eyes narrowed at Harry.“That’s why you have to drink tea,” Harry explains as if that’s an explanation at all, and Louis justgives him a look as the boy begins to fuss around Zayn’s rooms and…actually begins to make apot of tea.Louis massages his temples.What even is his life?**They’re outside, it’s spitting freezing rain (or, as Niall likes to inexplicably call it—“Ice Giantwee”) and the only fucking reason Louis is participating in this shambles is because it makesHarry’s face light up like a Christmas tree which is something Louis’ never seen before, and it sortof helps to chase the chill away in a very small, silent, selfless way. Because fuck, if Harry’sfinally back and his dad’s returned, and he’s seemingly happy and in good spirits and wants tohave a goddamn picnic in the dead of winter, then…fuck. There really isn’t much else to say, isthere.At least Liam’s brought the football. Much to Harry’s horror.“It’s supposed to be a picnic,” he insists with a whine, standing in his red suit, teacup in his hand,as the icy wind tumbles his curls and paints his features in soft pink glows.But everybody ignores him, instead splitting into two teams—Zayn and Liam VS. Louis, Niall,and Harry—and begins kicking the ball expertly back and forth.They play for the better part of an hour, running around in the cold, gray air that leaves theirjumpers wet and their shoes muddy. It’s invigorating, urging frozen limbs into life, and Louis findshimself almost appreciating Harry having ushered them outside in the wintry chill. With pale skinand flushed, blotchy cheeks, their gasped, laughing breath creates soft plumes in the frigid air,filling the silence of the courtyard and making everything brighter as they slap hands and bums,offering praises and taunts with each play. It’s a good game: Liam is brilliant as always—“I’m onthe team, you know.”—and Zayn is unsurprisingly skilled, as is Niall, and of course Louis iscertainly no stranger to the sport. But Harry…well.Harry attempts to kick the ball once, and the one time he does, he goes flying to the ground, hisfoot never coming close to the ball. Not even close.“Shit,” he hisses from the icy grass, inspecting his palms and dirtied suit. Of course he insisted onkeeping his suit on for the ‘picnic.’ Of course.“Better luck next time, Styles!” Niall shouts jovially, jogging to the other side of the lawn, Zaynand Liam on either side.Louis’ about to follow, but there’s something very endearingly pathetic about Harry’s crumpledfigure on the ground, his pigeon toes quirked at odd angles, grass and mud stains streaking almostevery inch of his once pristine suit. There’s a pout on his face, silent and upset, and Louis sighs asthe boy struggles to gain his footing.“Here, Curly. Before you hurt yourself” he says, offering his hand, unable to shield away hissmile.

Harry pauses, peering up at him with grumpy, furrowed eyes, and Louis can’t tell if it’s the cold orthe embarrassment that flushes his cheeks, but he finally accepts the offered hand and rises to hisfeet unsteadily.“Football is stupid,” he mutters, his hand immediately finding his watch and rubbing the spacethere absently. He averts his gaze to his feet.“Football is fun,” Louis corrects.“I’m no good at it,” Harry scowls, looking off in the distance. “I never was.” He glances at Louiswho is still catching his breath as he listens, his beanie clutching on for dear life, hands on his hips.Harry continues, low and hesitant. “I was never really a sporty sort of person. My father wantedme to be, I think, but… Like, even at school I just..” he stutters in his rumble, picking at the dyinggrass with the toe of his boot, hand still clutching his wrist. Finally, he looks up at Louis, eyesvery nearly miserable and very helpless. “I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”And Louis bursts into laughter. Which makes Harry’s face crack the tiniest bit, his lips twitchingupward.“It’s not funny,” he argues, but his lips twitch further, and Louis can only cackle, head thrownback and arms wrapped around his stomach as Harry tries his hardest to maintain a scowl.“OI! Lads! You coming or what?!” Liam shouts suddenly, splitting the air between them.“Yeah, yeah! Just a minute!” Louis shouts, his laughter finally dying down.Harry’s gaze returns back to the ground. He chews at his lip.“I can teach you, you know,” Louis says simply with a smile.Harry looks up, cross. “Maybe I don’t want to be taught.”Louis just shrugs. “So then ignore me. But I’ll teach you, anyway.”Harry stares.Louis takes that as a green light.“All right, so, first off—your stance is all wrong. Here, you’ve got to shift your weight, just likethis—“ Louis places his hands on Harry’s, urging his limbs to shift into the proper pose.Taken aback, Harry’s eyes find his face, unblinking and direct, as Louis looks down to their feet,instructing Harry’s to move accordingly. But as Louis continues to speak, his hands still clutchinggently onto Harry’s own, Harry’s eyes, intent on Louis, flicker with something indefinable, theplanes of his face twisting with unease and, suddenly, he disengages himself from Louis’ graspwithout an ounce of warning. Instantly his features grow distant and startled, his stare havingflicked away from Louis’ face, now darting around the courtyard.“I want to play a different game,” he suddenly announces, stepping away from Louis, voice offkilter.Louis blinks. Because…what just happened? He observes Harry—his fidgeting feet and handsthat search for something to do.“Uh, and what game would that be?” he asks, for lack of anything else to say, bringing his handsback to his sides and feeling a persistent stinging beneath his flesh at the sudden change. He’s

faintly aware that the others are still waiting on them, shuffling around impatiently somewherebehind them on the lawn.But before he receives an answer, Harry is already halfway across the courtyard.“Harry!” he calls, but he never turns back, his stride purposeful.And, well, shit.“Where’s he off to?” Liam asks as soon as Louis reconvenes with them.“Is he fussed because he’s such shit at football?” Niall asks bluntly.Louis sighs, pulling his beanie tighter over his ears. “I’m not sure. He just sort of…took off. Saidhe wanted to play a new game.”“Hide and Seek.”All eyes turn to Zayn.“I’m sorry?” Louis asks, quirking an eyebrow.“He’s playing Hide and Seek,” he clarifies smoothly, nodding in the direction Harry’d taken offin. “He wants us to find him. He does this all the time.”Right. Of course.“Fuck’s sake. Well let’s just find the cunt then so we can go back indoors. It’s fucking freezingout here,” Niall complains, tugging on the hood of his sweatshirt.And they disperse.**It isn’t long before Harry’s been found. And, as is custom, he is now deemed “It” or whatever, sonow they’ve all got to hide like a bunch of scattered mice (because who can say no to Harry whenhe’s laughing, his cheeks licked with the cold, his eyes shining with all the sunlight that’s beentrapped by the clouds) and Louis is sort of incredibly sick of this game already as he sitsuncomfortably in a tree, his ass throbbing and muddied, his hands scraping against the wet bark.Because, yes, Louis has accomplished something new: he’s successfully climbed a tree today.And he’s pretty sure that would earn him a badge somewhere. But he can’t quite give two fucksabout that right now because Harry’s ‘It,’ Harry’s nowhere to be seen, Louis is cold, and Louiswants to go back inside and devour a pot of hot soup, his adrenaline having officially departedfrom his bloodstream and leaving glaciers there instead.Luckily it’s then that Harry’s curious little head pokes out from down below as he cautiously stepsforward, searching around the yard with wide, penetrating eyes.He watches the boy through the bare branches of his perch as he cluelessly pads around,inspecting the tree trunk, before moving along.Which. No. Louis wants to be found, goddammit. It’s cold out here.So he noisily clears his throat.Harry whirls around. “I heard that!” he challenges, but his eyes spin aimlessly, searching for the

source blindly, never once thinking to look up.Louis sighs, long and suffering. “You do realize that you’re terrible at this game, don’t you?” hesays, one foot dangling from the tree branch.Harry’s head snaps up, and immediately they lock eyes.“What are you doing up there?” he asks, surprised.“I have no idea,” Louis grunts, shifting uncomfortably. “Worse yet…I have no idea how to getdown.” He glances downward—which really isn’t that far, to be fair—before slinging his otherleg over the side of the branch, anticipating a hopped descent.“I didn’t take you for the climbing type,” Harry says, watching Louis’ unsteady movements.“That’s because I’m not the climbing type.” He slides nearer to the edge of the branch, feetdangling farther down treacherously. He’s probably going to die.Harry quiets, watching Louis. “You’re the football type, though.”“I’m not really that, either.” He braces himself with one hand against the trunk, ready to plummet.He awkwardly hops down, almost catching his foot on a sneaky limb, and stumbles to the groundin the messiest, clunkiest way imaginable, almost collapsing instantly.He fucking hates trees.It’s only after he’s firmly planted safely on the grass, balance restored, that he notices the two largehands that are steadying him on either side of his waste. They’re gentle, feather light, and…theybelong to Harry. Harry Styles.Louis looks from the hands to the face that possesses them—which is much closer now, Harryhaving apparently rushed to catch Louis during his tumble—and just stares at the delicate featuresand wide stormy eyes, swirling and impenetrable like the sky above, a range of emotions flittingthrough his own blood cells, his sides immediately warming to the soft touch that is so unexpectedand so oddly jarring.But then Harry removes his hands and takes a smooth step backwards, his face masked and calm.He remains silent, only the overcast stirrings of his eyes filling the space between them.“Thanks, mate,” Louis says in a tone that sounds more strangled than he’d like, and he feels hisface smiling, cheeks warming completely against his control. He wants to make a joke aboutmanhandling or insist that he doesn’t need any help from nobody, but instead he just continues tosmile and stare at Harry, whose red suit is smeared so pitifully with mud and grass streaks, dampfrom the icy rain and sticking to his skin. His skin is ghostly pale, almost blending seamlessly withthe white, weeping atmosphere, the vein in his neck protruding ever so slightly, and he’s got astray dead, crispy leaf tucked into his cinnamon curls behind his left ear.He looks like autumn.Louis unthinkingly reaches out and gently pulls the leaf out, careful not to pull any hairs with it,Harry’s eyes steadily watching his movements, guarded, but allowing the gesture all the same,expressionless and a little dark, maybe a little uneasy.Louis shows him the leaf, once extracted. “Leaf,” he explains unnecessarily, voice sheepish. Hisskin feels itchy. So does his throat.

Harry’s gaze continues to cut him.And then suddenly Harry’s plucking the leaf from Louis’ hand and flinging it into the air with agrand, swooping arm, a cheeky half smile formed on his face that bursts through the odd (odd)mood and gloom, settling the vibe into something more comfortable.Both heads watch as the leaf tumbles through the air, falling lazily and swirlingly until it lands onthe damp, graying ground, camouflaged amongst the mud and mole hills.“Persephone has returned to Hades.”And that’s the last think Louis is expecting, so he blinks as he turns to Harry, eyebrows shot in theair. “Pardon?”Harry turns to him, moist, clustered lashes blinking calmly. “The last leaf has fallen,” he sayssimply, pointing to the ground. “Demeter’s weeping because her daughter’s returned to theunderworld.”Louis continues to stare.But Harry doesn’t mind, continuing in his slow, languid drip of a voice, eyes faintly pinched witha dreamy amusement. “Demeter controls the crops and the yield and the seasons. The weatherreflects her feelings.” Harry looks up at the spitting, gray sky, squinting against the muted lightand precipitation. “That’s why everything’s gray and dead right now. She’s sad because she’slonely. She misses her daughter.”Louis watches him, watches his lips form the words from memory.“And cold as well? Because she’s unhappy?” he asks, eyes flitting across Harry’s face.Harry nods, still staring up at the sky.In some, inexplicable way, that pangs Louis’ insides. And while it hasn’t anything to do withHarry, really—the boy seems the closest to happy that Louis has ever seen—it still unsettles him,sitting with him strangely in his stomach.Louis purses his lips before walking over to the fallen leaf, plucking it up from the ground.Harry’s head snaps to him. “What are you doing?”“Keeping hold of it, then.”“Why?” he asks, startled.“In case she ever misses Persephone, I’ll show it to her,” he explains as if this is a logicalconversation. But Harry doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes, so he doesn’t either.“But won’t that make her sad?” Harry protests, childlike and curious.Louis shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. I think it’ll just serve as a reminder that she’ll becoming back before too long.”And then Harry grins, procuring enough light for the entire universe and momentarily causingLouis to forget that the sun isn’t even out at all. It's sort of wondrous.But then:

“Lads! I’m freezing me nuts off!”Niall is clomping towards them, soggy and panting, hair in complete disarray. “Are we stillplaying this fucking game or did one of you fucking idiots forget to mention that you’ve beenfound?”Harry and Louis glance at each other.“That’s what I thought. Now fuck’s sake, come on! The lads are waiting.”And with one last glance exchanged, they march back towards Zayn’s rooms.**The rest of the day is good.They study sporadically—or, rather, Liam studies sporadically—and lie about, having changedinto warm, dry clothes that snuggle their limbs. Harry lights scented candles (“Strawberry scented,of course. Anything else would ruin me.”) and Zayn breathes cigarettes and doodles oneveryone’s skin in black Sharpie. There’s copious amounts of food and game systems and jokesthat are only funny because of the way each other laughs about them, and everything feels sort ofwonderful.And Louis feels happy.Happy, as he currently stands by Zayn’s fireplace, attempting to make sense of his unkempt hair—having finally discarded his sad, sad beanie that now smells of grass sweat—when suddenly Harryambles up to him, teacup in hand, now wearing an immaculate rouge jumper and brown-blacktrousers. Which really shouldn’t work as well as it does.“Louis Tomlinson,” he greets, and takes a sip from his teacup, eying Louis’ movements in themirror. “Keeping your hair a bit of company?”“I think it may be the other way around, to be honest,” Louis mutters, attempting to sort the messof strands. “And it’s keeping me too much company at that.”Harry smirks, continuing to watch. His gaze is calm and observant, and Louis does his very bestto continue his ministrations and not catch those eyes reflected back at him. Even if he sort ofwants to. Even if he’s already feeling a random, pleased smile pushing against his mouth just duethe mere fact that Harry’s willingly walked up to him. As if this is a thing they do.As if they were mates.“I’m hosting a party tomorrow,” he says suddenly, lips large and red, matching his jumper. “Dueto it being the end of term, of course.”“Of course.”“You’re allowed to come.”“Oh, am I? I’m allowed?” Louis says, eyebrows raised, turning to face Harry now, whose lipstwitch. “Funny, the way you say that. As if that has any bearing upon whether I’ll be there ornot.”Harry rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but his lips twitch even more.

“You know I’m not good at being told what to do,” Louis reminds him with a smirk, returningback to the mirror.“Yes. I know.”And it’s good.**Eventually, Niall, Louis, and Harry begin the trek back to their rooms.Niall walks between Harry and Louis, their arms all linked together as Niall urges them along,skipping like a madman (did he drink when nobody was looking?) and Harry is smiling quietly tohimself as he strolls, arm being tugged by Niall, while Louis sneaks glances at him and makesloud, catty jokes to distract from said glances.Then Niall suddenly sprints ahead without explanation, clicking his heels and being the veryportrait of a fucking leprechaun.“You’re such a fucking stereotype!” Louis shouts to him and Harry actually giggles at that. Louisstops, turns to him and lowers his hands from where they’d been cupped over his mouth,megaphone style, and he stares at him, startled.A giggle? Harry? What? Is he tripping on hallucinogenics?He looks on as Harry watches Niall with something that could be labeled as sweet, simplisticamusement, or even delight. Which makes Louis smile broadly before also turning to face Niall—who is now running in circled patterns along the pathway.“I should probably chase after the little bastard,” Louis muses, glancing at Harry again, stillsmiling.He nods. “Yeah.”“But, um, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Louis asks, clearing his throat with indifference andpulling on his fringe.“Yeah,” Harry says, half-distractedly. “Yeah, meet at my rooms at five, promptly.”“So six, then?” Louis teases.Harry smirks, eyes trapped on Niall in the distance.The mood is peaceful enough, the sky is starry enough, and Niall’s shouts and madman antics arejust comical enough to keep everything on the less-than-serious side, so Louis clears his throat,scratches at the back of his neck, and continues.“But, what are you, like, doing tomorrow during the day? Like, before that?” he asks. He bites athis lip, adjusts his beanie.Harry looks confused now, brow furrowing, as he turns to look at him. “What do you mean?During the day? I’m not sure.” He surveys Louis. “Why.”“Well, I dunno. Niall’s probably gonna be, ya know, Niall all day. Practicing the drums andwhathaveyou. Smoking. Drinking. Shouting. Laughing. Masturbating.” Another laugh escapesHarry, short and abrupt, before he settles a lightly composed face back to Louis who grins in

esponse. He could easily see himself getting used to this. “And, well, I thought our littlearrangement was working, so. Would it be terribly troublesome if you housed me for another day?Just for a couple hours while I complete some assignments and jot down a few notes? I’ll bringstrawberry wine or something. If it’s still your thing, that is.”“I think I’m over strawberries, actually,” is all Harry says, blinking.“Oh, good. They’re more a summer fruit, aren’t they? You need something more wintery,something to go with the season.”Harry raises an eyebrow. “I do?”“Yeah. Like…I dunno. Something cozy.”Harry sighs, casting his eyes upward. “I don’t choose my interests, Louis, they choose me.”And maybe it’s because the day was so good, or maybe it’s because of the way Harry says hisname, but Louis decides that, maybe, Harry really is a bit charming when he’s not spewingrehearsed lines or words of fleeting pleasure. Maybe he is, naturally, a bit endearing. And maybethere’s a lot more genuine life in him than Louis thought. Life that just needs to be nurtured, caredfor, paid attention to. And that maybe Harry isn’t so far away, maybe isn’t lost in the dark corners.Or, maybe he was and just isn’t anymore.“Well, perhaps I can persuade them to take a liking to you, then. I’m a very influential being,”Louis smiles.Harry’s eyes return to Louis. “Perhaps. Till tomorrow then, Tomlinson.”“Bright and early, Styles.”Then they exchange one last parting nod—Louis smiling and Harry looking out in the night sky—and Louis begins walking away, following the direction of the now out-of-sight Niall.But then he pauses, turning back to look at Harry whose hands are stuffed in the pockets of hislong, black coat as he gazes up into the heavens.“It’s good to see you smiling, Curly. It’s almost unnerving and alien, to be honest—like seeing anice pair of legs on a chimp—“ Harry laughs again, loud and abrupt and short, “—but it’s good.”And Harry doesn’t reply, just sends along a shake of the head and a bitten smile before turningand ambling away, long legs carrying him into the night.Chapter End NotesPUNCH ME IN THE FACE. I'M SO MAD. I write too much.Also. Heeeyyyyyy! Guess what? This chapter's song is: "The Bleeding Heart Show"by The New Pornographers. Woot!Also. SO MANY OF YOU HAVE DONE SUCH SKILLED THINGS OMG.When I come home from work, I'm going to link y'all to the incredible talents of mygorgeous darlings. And if one of you have any artwork or song recs or trailers or

whateverthehell else you want to share with me, well then, I will probably die ofhappiness. Don't be shy! :) (mizzwilde for the tumblr)ALSO!! I will reply to each comment left as soon as I return from work bc I don'thave time right now but ohhhh how I love chatting with you all.

XXIIChapter SummaryLouis finds something.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notes“Why the fuck are you awake this early?”Louis blinks at the question, having just emerged from his room fully dressed (he chose a verywintery jumper on occasion of it being December 1 st ), and pauses as he takes in the image ofNiall, half adorned in golf clothes, smoking a cigar, and pouring himself a glass of what Louishopes is grape juice.“Why are you?” Louis counters, searching for his shoes, resolutely ignoring the question. Becauseno, he is not going to admit to Niall that he’d been planning out the day ever since they’d gottenhome last night, and no, he’s certainly not going to tell him of his plans to fetch Harry somemorning coffee before he goes to his rooms.And no, he’s definitely not going to address the fact that it’s only eight in the morning and yet hefully intends on arriving at Harry’s door within the hour. And why that might be considered badmanners. Or obsessive. Those issues definitely aren’t going to be addressed.“I never went to bed,” Niall smirks in response, downing his glass of burgundy whateverthefuck.“And why ever not?”He shrugs, refilling his glass. “I went out after you went to bed.”“Again? Have you ever actually touched a book before? Just curious,” Louis asks, throwing him apointed look as he slides on his shoes, one by one, eyes already searching for his jacket and scarf.“I’m sure I have.” Niall pauses, wipes his mouth, and a tiny burp escapes him. “Let’s getbreakfast. I’m hungry,” he then states in a very final tone, glancing at his Rolex with lightly pinkeyes.“Can’t,” Louis says, sliding his arms into the sleeves of his jacket—which was behind the couchsomehow—and carefully avoiding Niall’s expectant eyes. “I’ve—er—I’ve got to study.”“At half past eight,” Niall deadpans. “Really?”Fuck.Louis clears his throat, winds the scarf around his neck. “Yep.”Niall watches him, hands splayed on the counter, his hair scattered yet mysteriously grease-free.His cheeks are flushed rosy and his eyes are unblinking, boring into Louis’ every movement.“No,” he finally says simply, still watching Louis. “Food first. I don’t feel like eating alone.”

Louis sighs, long and suffering, before finally meeting Niall’s firm gaze. “I’m serious, Ireland. Ihave to study.”“But you’re not actually going to study.”“And what makes you say that.”“Because you don’t wake up this early for studying. Especially if I haven’t even touched thepiano.”Louis looks sharply to him then, eyes narrowed. “Wait. Are you telling me that you’re fully awarethat that bloody piano wakes me up? And yet you still continue to play it?”Niall grins, easy and blissful. “I’ll never tell.”“Of fucking course,” Louis breathes, rolling his eyes and walking towards the door, fullyintending to ignore Niall and just start his day, his mind only on one thing: seasonal lattes.“I saw you chatting up with Harry a lot yesterday. And last night as we walked home,” Niallsuddenly says, and he’s still at the counter, peering at Louis with careful eyes and bold shoulders.And fuck. He isn’t going to let this go, is he?“You mean when you were running about like a madman?” Louis asks, begrudgingly halting hisstride and turning to face Niall, hands in pockets, the weight of his bag pressing into his shoulder.“Yeah,” Niall grins. His eyes glint. “I don’t suppose you’re going to his rooms or anything rightnow. Are you.”“No!” Louis replies hotly and immediately, but the warmth of his skin feels incriminating, so helooks away from Niall’s widening grin.“Then where are you going to study? The library opens at ten on Saturdays.”Fuck. It does.“I’m going to Starbucks. Picking up a festive beverage,” Louis says truthfully, before untruthfullyfinishing with, “I’ll probably just end up staying there.”“Starbucks you say?” Niall asks, eyebrows raised. “Excellent. I could use a drink myself. I’ll gowith you.”“No!” Louis rushes again, envisioning the unwelcome explanations he’ll have to concoct whenNiall witnesses his order for two beverages. “You’ll distract me.”Niall just assesses him, quiet and amused, maybe a little hungover, his hands still on the counter,before he shakes his head and thunders out a yawn, finally turning away. “Whatever, mate. I’ll seeyou when you get back. Assuming you’ll be back.”“Of course.”He nods, and Louis begins heading towards the door once more, keeping his stride even.“Say hi to Harry for me,” Niall calls one last time just as Louis is shutting the door.**

He just barely manages to push Harry’s door open, the tray with his two—surprisingly heavy—lattes taking up the majority of his hands. He’s got them both—the gingerbread and the eggnoglattes—and the air outside is crisp and faintly smells of smoke and cold, the scent clinging to hisclothes and skin despite now having entered Harry’s warm, empty, softly lit rooms.Empty.Luckily, Louis’ growing more accustomed to Harry’s whereabouts, so the still atmosphere andvacant spaces don’t deter him, his focus shifting towards the lightly ajar bedroom door instead.The happy tinkling of a piano is heard.Louis already feels his smile forming.“I brought preseeeeents!” he practically sings as he bursts through the door, holding the tray abovehis head like Simba as Harry jerks, his hands falling from the keys before he spins around wildly.His eyes connect immediately with Louis’, the shadows below suggesting an unrestful night, butthey’re still as marginally relaxed and pleasant as yesterday, the corners of his lips barely pullingupward. A white sweater the texture of gossamer hangs off of the points of his shoulders andclings to his spindly, spidery legs, and his long, slender feet are adorned in black heeled boots,resting on the pedals of the piano. His hair is in artful disarray—much like his very soul, one couldsay—fluffed on top of his head in great, swooping curls that fall in his face and catch in hiseyelashes and tickle his cheeks.If he’s surprised to see Louis in his rooms this early in the morning—after all, Louis had neverreally specified just when exactly he planned on coming over—he doesn’t really show it, his facecomposed and calm, faintly tinged with a smile.A smile that Louis’ caused.Just because Harry’s sees him.Him.That probably shouldn’t feel as monumentally earth shattering as it does.“Hi,” Harry says simply, quietly, before his eyes flick up to the tray Louis’ holding and his lipsquirk higher. “What’s that?”“Presents,” Louis repeats, watching the way Harry’s lips morph, his tired eyes alight. “Becauseyou said you’re over strawberries, right?”Harry nods, eyes returning to Louis’, the small smile present and watchful. The morning sun isstreaming through the windows, setting the piano and the hairs on his delicate, pale arms on fire.Some of it gets trapped in his eyes.“So I thought maybe a nice Christmas-y flavor could be your new thing,” Louis continues throughhis grin, feeling full of energy and just really fucking excited. Though he couldn’t explain why ifhe was asked. “So. Try these. Tell me your feelings about them. Let us discuss. Let us brainstorm.Because you have to start somewhere, don’t you?”Slowly, Harry blinks, his smile fading. “My new thing? You brought these for me?”“Correct.”“Both of them?”

“Correct again.”There’s a pause as Harry’s brow furrows as he inspects Louis’ face. "Did you need help withsomething, or…?”Louis sighs, shaking his head as he makes his way over to Harry, plopping himself down besidehim on the piano bench. Harry blinks, startled, sliding down the bench marginally, eying up Louiswith almost-alarm.“Jesus, Curly. I don’t have hidden agendas, you know. Ever consider that I just might want to beinfluencing you in good ways? After that travesty of an obsession—strawberries in November?Honestly?—you can’t really blame me for wanting to aid a helpless soul, can you. So here I am,willing test subjects at the wait, ready to change your life.”“Change my life, you say,” Harry now smirks, shoulders already relaxing, and his hands settleback on the piano keys, already resuming their tapping out of a chipper tune.“Yes, sir. Now. Try them,” Louis instructs, plucking them out of their tray and holding them outto Harry expectantly.Upon Louis’ movement, Harry grins—full out, properly grins and it’s so large and toothy that italmost looks painful and definitely feels painful when it hits Louis’ chest and vital organs—andturns to face him, immediately smacking his hands over his eyes, lips quirked and goofy.And Louis blinks.Because what the fuck is Harry doing?“Er. Any reason you’re covering your eyes?” Louis asks, still holding the two cups and attemptingto assess the situation.“It’s a taste test. You’re not supposed to see what you’re tasting,” Harry explains languidly, wordscurled into his smile, and leaves it at that, his palms pressed into his eye sockets, the large sleevesof his jumper sliding down his slender arms.And Louis continues to stare.“You do realize they’re in identical cups, right? And you have no idea what’s in either one? Soyou technically can’t see them anyway?”“They’ve got labels on them. With detailed descriptions,” Harry explains, and Louis glances at thebarely visible stickers tucked under the coffee sleeves that read ‘Vt Ging Latte’ and ‘Vt EggLatte’. Hardly descriptive, but. Whatever floats his boat.“Right then,” he says, refusing to smile at Harry’s childlike pose and demeanor, instead offeringthe cup in his right hand to Harry’s awaiting lips. This is already going better than he anticipated.Slowly he tips it forward, Harry’s head leaning back, and he slurps a tiny taste of the gingerbreadlatte. His face immediately scrunches.“No,” is all he says, before turning to sniff at the other one.“Alrighty then,” Louis chuckles, now tipping the left cup against Harry’s lips.Another slurp is heard and then a small, satisfied smile forms on Harry.

“Much better,” he muses before dropping his hands, his large green eyes blinking back into lifeand observing the two cups before him.“Is it obsession worthy?” Louis asks, watching as Harry inspects each label, taking both cups fromLouis.He nods, reading the stickers quietly. “I think so,” he says distractedly, before poking at thegingerbread latte. He glances up at Louis. “This one was gross,” he comments.Louis shrugs. “I dunno about ‘gross.’ It’s all right. Not really my thing, but hey.”“No, it’s really gross.” Harry’s eyes cast back down to the subject in question. He pauses briefly.“I kind of feel bad for it.”Louis’ eyebrows shoot into the air. “…You feel bad for a latte?”“Yeah. A little bit.”“And why is that, exactly?”Harry glances up again, looking so, so inexplicably small and exhausted and unnervingly innocentwith his wide eyes and wild hair and caricature lips. “Because it doesn’t taste as good as the otherone. And it probably gets forgotten.”Louis smiles, refusing to be endeared and at a loss for any other words as Harry returns theeggnog latte to Louis, keeping the gingerbread and clutching it tightly in his grasp.“Gingerbread’s my new thing,” he suddenly declares, peeling off the lid and staring down at thefrothy, amber liquid.Of course it is.“Because you don’t like it and feel bad for not liking it?” Louis asks, genuinely confused at theturn of events. Because how in the fuck does Harry’s brain even work? And why the fuck is it soinfectiously quirky?“Because I understand that it doesn’t have to be perfect to be liked,” Harry amends, and when helooks up, his face is bathed in a calm decisiveness that leaves Louis to wonder if he’s ever madesuch a strong opinion so quickly in his own life. He almost feels conviction-less.Then again.“I know the feeling,” Louis says, eggnog still in hand.There’s a moment where their eyes are clicked together, staring quietly yet simultaneously not-soquietly,before Harry looks back into the surface of his coffee, and Louis looks into his.“Well then,” he says, interrupting the silence, and Harry swirls the foam with his finger, listening.“I guess eggnog will be my new thing then.”Immediately Harry’s head shoots up.“Your new thing?”“Yeah. Mine. This school’s big enough for two obsessive personalities,” Louis smiles, tippingback his drink and taking a gulp.Harry watches the movement, eyes narrowing into a glare. “I’m not sure if it is.”

“Course it is. Now. Time to study!” Louis sings, and slugs his shoulder bag onto the bench,ignoring Harry’s death stare. He doesn’t bother opening it though. Not when he still has a full cupof coffee to devour. And not when it’s not even nine.Fuck, why did he come here so early again?“Aren’t you going to sit in your chair?” Harry asks, eying both the bag and Louis distastefully asthey hog the majority of the piano bench, leaving little room for Harry’s slight, sinewy frame.Louis grins immediately (‘your chair’) before he shakes his head, cracking his knucklesdistractedly and plonking a key. “I like pianos. And their benches.”“You do?”“No,” Louis reconsiders almost immediately. “I actually hate them. But I want to watch you play,all the same.”Harry’s eyebrows raise at that, but his face reveals nothing as he begins tapping out a melody.“You and the rest of the world,” he says, his fingers picking up pace.“Meaning?” Louis asks, watching his hands.“That I’m a splendid pianist,” Harry grins impishly. “I’m excellent with my hands.”“You’re an idiot,” Louis responds, unimpressed. “An utter idiot.”“Hey.”“What? You deserved that.” Harry glares at the words but continues to play as Louis’ eyes get lostin the movement. “And don’t expect me to ask you teach me how to play or anything. Niallalready tried and it didn’t even come close to working.”“Even if you did ask, I wouldn’t. I don’t teach.”“You said the same thing before you started tutoring me. Look where that got you.”“Shut up.”“Thank you, Curly, I hope you have a nice day, too.”Harry rolls his eyes, but he laughs.Louis might memorize the sound.**Harry’s been teaching Louis piano for the past hour. And it’s been going better than Louisexpected it would.Harry is surprisingly patient, his long fingers calmly finding the right keys and carefully showingLouis each chord, slowly describing each sound and purpose in a voice that is far more captivatingthan it should be, his syllables long and drawn out, his tone rich and deep, almost getting lostamongst the notes. He’s quiet and watchful too, almost curious, as Louis asks questions and daresto tinkle out a shaky melody, occasionally looking to Harry’s steady gaze for approval.All in all, it’s a surprisingly pleasant experience and Louis smiles and laughs in time to Harry’shorror-filled eyes each time Louis manages to coax a particularly hideous sound from the

instrument.“I’ve actually managed to remember something!” Louis exclaims excitedly, grinning at Harry inhis sunny, crinkly way, and Harry’s grin stretches wider than it ever has before as he watchesLouis’ hands on the piano.“You’re not completely terrible,” he admonishes, but it’s said with that smile, so Louis can’t domuch more than laugh and swat at Harry’s hands, which play besides his own.Once again his eyes catch sight of the ink peeking out from beneath Harry’s watch—as they havethroughout the whole piano lesson—and Louis’ curiosity stirs at the ineligible writing. Becausewhy does he even have a tattoo there if he always wears a watch there? What does it say? Why isit covered?These are things Louis had never before realized he needed to know.They play a few more broken rounds of strung together lullabies before Louis finally gives intotemptation and inquisitively taps his forefinger on the encrusted diamonds of Harry’s Chanelwatch.“So what’s this tattoo, then?” he asks bluntly, looking over to Harry, tucking his chin into his ownshoulder, watching the boy’s reaction.Which, of course, is that of a deer in headlights.“Nothing,” Harry says immediately, retracting his hand, his face composing into silent stone as thepiano quiets, the chords echoing into a faded peace.Louis tilts his head, curious and inquiring, studying Harry’s profile as the boy in question looksdown at the piano keys, the lines of exhaustion that are etched in his face somehow becomingmore exaggerated.“It’s all right, you know. I won’t judge you, or anything,” Louis says simply, swinging his legs.The faintest smirk shows on Harry. “You judge everything about me,” he mumbles wryly.“Only the things that deserve to be judged,” Louis replies unabashedly. “But, contrary to popularbelief, I wouldn’t, like, hurt your feelings on purpose or anything. I’m not a mean person.”Harry slides his fingers against the keys, head bent, curls tumbling down.“I know that,” he finally says, quietly.It lifts Louis’ heart in one swift motion. His smile probably grows, but he really can’t feel it, notwhen his head’s swimming in that odd way, so he just nudges Harry’s shoulder with his own,trying to catch his eye.“Look, I don’t mean to pry. And you should never feel like you ever have to tell me anything.Even if I do want to know. And it drives me up a wall. Drives me up all the walls.” He smiles atHarry’s chuckle. “But, just for the record, you don’t have to, like, feel weird or whatever. Notwith me.”It feels good saying it, Louis notes, saying the things that have just quietly sat in the fibers of hisskin and pathways of his brain—things that never shaped into their own words, just sat namelesslywithin him. But now that he’s constructed them into sentences and released them into the air…well. He feels accomplished somehow and it feels good. Right, even. Even if it means nothing to

Harry, he’ll know that he’s said it, said that he cares in his own roundabout way.He’s so lost in his newfound feelings of accomplishment and self-satisfaction, that it takes amoment to register Harry’s silent movements.He’s taking off his watch.Just like that.His head is bowed, carefully sliding the leather out of the buckle before he finally pulls it free fromhis wrist—which looks so petite and naked without the weight of the clunky diamonds and theheavy scent of wealth.And there, written in boldface and capital letters, are the words ‘I CAN’T CHANGE’. It’s notnearly as incriminating as Louis was lead to believe.He glances up at Harry whose face is neutral as he stares at the words, barely angled in Louis’direction.“I’m trying to decide if that’s a hopeful message or not,” Louis muses at last.“Me too.”The words sink into Louis’ skin. They sit there for awhile, Louis trying to decipher the meaning,trying to understand, trying to bear the inexplicable weight, all the while as Harry stares, quiet andalmost peaceful, never moving a muscle.“Don’t hide it,” Louis says at last, feeling at odds with the situation, but he means his words, saysthem with feeling.“I have to. My—“ Harry stops abruptly, short and unexpected, before he seems to think better of itand suddenly continues, words careful. “My father doesn’t like it.”Louis feels a flash bolt through his veins, feels the need to counter whatever it is that is beinghinted at.“I like it.”At that, Harry looks up, eyes saturated in a powerful emotion that is still too alien to be defined.An emotion that Louis can see Harry physically trying to suppress away, keep at bay—but can’t.“Thank you,” he says earnestly, but his voice is petal soft and seems to echo and fade—much likethe chords of the piano that still feel as if they’re lingering in the smallest particles of the air. Andthough there’s no smile, no laugh, no pleasant banter, it somehow feels like the softest momentthat Louis has ever shared with Harry, and it leaves his innards pooled with honey and warmth,filling the hollowed spaces of his ribcage and the cracks in his barely mended bones.“You’re welcome, Curly,” he smiles.They stay that way for a few more moments, sitting quietly on the bench together, Louis’ baguntouched, Harry’s wrist resting on his lap.Then, silently, Louis plucks a pen from his pocket. Because this tattoo is important to Harry, veryimportant somehow, and Louis can feel Harry wishing it wasn’t. Which isn’t right, isn’t right atall. And though he knows nothing about the workings at hand, has no basis to assemble any sortof conclusion, the moment feels too personal, too significant to ignore. So, wordlessly, he draws

quotations on his own wrist, on the opposite arm, on the underside.“There,” he says, feeling Harry’s eyes on him. “Ditto marks. Now neither of us can change.” Hehalf smiles before daring a look at Harry. His face is impossible to read.The silence that follows is long and stretched out, Harry never moving and Louis sitting there,beginning to wonder if his actions should’ve been a bit more thought out. Was that insensitive?Intrusive? Too much?But then, finally, Harry relents into a small smile, observing Louis’ wrist quietly, before almostshyly bringing his own wrist to lay beside Louis’, their marks side by side, Louis’ hand palm up,Harry’s palm down. Almost, Louis thinks, as if itching to be clasped together.Which is an odd thought for this time of day.“Well, don’t we make quite the pair,” Louis smiles all the same, ignoring his thoughts.“We can’t change,” Harry muses in a mumble, repeating Louis’ earlier sentiment.Louis’ chest hammers a bit as they sit there, the wind outside rattling the windows.“Don’t wear your watch tonight,” he finally says, and he feels Harry look over to him, his owneyes still glued to their wrists, side by side. “There’s simply no reason to hide your tattoo—you’vehad it permanently inked into your body, after all.”He then meets Harry’s gaze, his eyes large and distinctly wreaking of ‘puppy.’ “I don’t want tohave to explain it though. Like, if people ask.”“You don’t have to do anything.”He looks back down. “They’ll find a way to force it out of me, I know it,” he mumbles, browsscowling.A flare shoots through Louis. “I won’t ever let anybody force you to do anything.”Harry looks up.Louis meets his gaze.And it feels significant. Somehow. Maybe, sort of, like a promise.**The rest of the day is, to put it simply, wonderful.Harry makes them tea and sandwiches, Harry teaches Louis how to play simple songs on thepiano, Harry plays the violin so he can show off, and Harry listens to Louis’ over exaggeratedstories that are more laughable than engaging. They spend all day together, all day, and not onceare Louis’ books touched or opened. Instead, Louis enjoys every fucking moment, every second,and absorbs Harry’s dripping words and occasional clearings of his throat and his raspy chucklesand abrupt laughs and the way he sometimes tangles his long fingers in his hair and how he picksat his teeth after he eats for far longer than necessary—which should be disgusting but is somehowprecious and real, causing Louis to stare fondly at the spectacle on the brief occasions where itdoesn’t count.And now they’re sat in Harry’s living room, splayed on his fine, ornamental chairs, having a very

passionate argument.“I’m sorry, but who introduced gingerbread into your life?” Louis asks, adamant and preening ashe pours himself another glass of champagne.Harry ponders, unwrapping a chocolate before popping it into his mouth, eyes mischievous.“Probably Cecile.”“Who in the balls is Cecile?”Harry quirks an eyebrow. “My favorite maid.”“She doesn’t count.”“Why not?” Harry asks, and he’s genuinely offended at the thought, his brow pinched and lipspouting obscenely.“Because she can’t cohost like I can.”“For the last time—you’re not cohosting the party with me.”“That’s where you’re wrong, grasshopper. Tonight’s soiree is going to be hosted by LouisTomlinson and Harry Styles.”“I don’t do cohosting.”“You do now. I assure you, I know what I’m about.”“Oh? Is that so,” Harry says wryly, plucking a lily out of one of his vases and bringing it to hisnose to sniff.“It is so. I’m witty, charming, accommodating, alluring. Mesmerizing. Well dressed. Arguablyperfect.”“You’re an imbecile.”“Not exactly the word I’d use.”“Then I’ll use it for you.”“Hey now!” Louis protests, sitting up and looking terribly offended. “I brought you a latte! Twolattes!”Harry glances at him, lily masking his nose and lips. “And you keep saying that a latte.”There’s a beat of silence.And another beat.Then:“Harry Styles. Did you just make a pun?”And then they laugh, just laugh, Louis giggling and bent over, clutching his lips, Harry smilingwildly and barely allowing his chuckles to escape, looking far too pleased with himself.“I’m never speaking to you again,” Louis chortles, smiling at Harry.

Harry’s eyes hold his stare for only a moment before they flick back to the lily still in his grasp.“I’m not sure I’ll notice much,” he says with a twist of the lips.And Louis throws a pillow that hits Harry square in the face, snapping his lily in half in theprocess, ascending him into even more laughter.**“Now. Let’s pick out your outfit for tonight. Since I’m the host”—“Cohost”—“I’ll have toapprove of your choice. You must be adequately festive and chic. But not pretentiously chic.Attractively chic. Like you know how to throw on a pair of trousers but can still forget them in amate’s car.”“I’m not sure what that means.”“It’s a saying.”“No, it’s not.”“Look, do you want my help or not?”“Not.”“Well, you’re going to get it, so hush up and let me adorn you like the peacock you are.”And Harry lets Louis guide him towards the wardrobe.**Eventually, evening draws near, and Louis reluctantly picks up his bag to leave as Harry beginsmaking calls to caterers and sending mass texts to all and sundry.He’s still buzzing from the day—the suspiciously happy day—he’s spent with Harry, and hedoesn’t want to leave, never wants to leave, but he’s still wearing an ill fitting jumper and skinnyjeans and it would simply go against his morals if he were to cohost in such garb.“Well then,” Louis sighs when Harry finally ends his call. “I guess I’ll just head back and change.Get ready. Fetch Niall—he’ll be waiting for me.”Harry nods, but he studies Louis. “You and Niall are good mates?”“Well, yeah,” Louis says, surprised at the question. “He was the first friend I made here.”“You didn’t know him before?”“Nope. Met him the day he moved in.”Harry nods, seemingly to himself, as they walk towards the door.“Well. You best assemble yourself for the party, then. And try to select one of the outfits I’ve setout for you,” Louis teases.“I’m a bit excited, actually,” Harry says, opening the door for Louis. “It’s been awhile since I’vehosted any parties.”“It has, hasn’t it?” Louis muses, nodding his thanks. “You’ve been quite the church mouse thesepast months.” He pauses. “Minus all the sex.”

Harry smirks but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’ll be a nice change.”“I suppose.”He quirks an eyebrow. “You suppose? Of course it’ll be—everybody already thinks I’ve gottenboring.”“Good,” Louis says, voice strong. “Let them.” At Harry’s questioning gaze, he continues. “Ifthere are people who genuinely believe you to be boring—you, who collect cat figurines and holdpicnics in the dead of winter—then they certainly aren’t the kind of people that deserve to bearound you.”“What do you—““They look at you like you’re a piece of paper, Harry,” Louis continues, turning to fully faceHarry whose eyes are pinched, contracted and confused. “Like, you’re just that. One flat surface,taken at face value, and that’s it. Like there’s nothing more to you than just whatever’s presented,right? Just fun, like. Enjoyed and, and—“—he pauses, not wanting to say ‘passed on andforgotten’ though the words sting his tongue, itch his thoughts—“and you’re not like that. You’remore like…a novel. You’ve got the cover, yeah, and it’s fun or whatever, but then, like, there’s somuch more to it, isn’t there? There’s these incredible quotes and memorable passages and so muchhappens, so, so much, and there’s just…a lot, you know? It’s something, it matters, and there’s—there’s substance there. You know?” he finishes, and he knows he’s rambling, blathering on, butthe sentiment is there. He ends with his arms falling to his sides, staring at Harry.That really wasn’t as smooth as he’d intended it to be.But, despite Louis’ lack of eloquence, the sentiment seems to have reached Harry, who is nowstaring at Louis with a sort of strangled, pleased expression, his lips itching to grin and his eyesfighting between a confused scowl and a smile.“You’re starting to sound like me,” he says through his pressed lips, hand still on the door, Louisstill framed in the space between Harry’s rooms and outside.“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Louis grins in response.Both smiles widen while the icy winds lick their way inside, the distant waves of chatter waftingin their wake.“So if I’m a novel,” Harry says, and his smile might have grown even wider which makes Louis’feet feel jittery, “then what are you? A children’s book?”Louis laughs. It blends with the sun. “Probably a fairytale, to be exact.” He smiles sincerely,stuffing his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, absentmindedly rubbing his chin along thewarmth of the scarf wrapped tightly around his neck.“Which one, then? Peter Pan?” He says it with more fondness than mockery, and that alone sendsLouis into spirals of warmth and flattery.He might never get over Harry being kind. Which is just fine.“Probably, yeah,” Louis laughs again, his voice sounding gentler than it probably ever has, and hetilts his head as he observes Harry, his flimsy jumper ruffling in the icy breezes. “Forever young.”He smiles. “And immature.”

A chuckle escapes Harry before he looks back at Louis, eyes light and curious.“So which fairytale would I be then?” he asks.“Pinocchio,” Louis responds without hesitation.Harry blinks, puzzled. “Pinocchio? Why?”‘Because you’ve become a real boy,’ Louis wants to tease, wants to laugh.“Because I swear your nose gets larger every time I see you,” he says instead, and can’t help thelaugh that escapes him when he hears Harry’s indignant squawk and takes in his appalled eyes.“Until tonight, cohost,” he continues without transition, suppressing giggles as he begins to turnaway from him.“Harold,” Harry corrects on autopilot, features still miffed.“Harold,” Louis amends with a smile. “Harold, my cohost.”And Harry glares and Louis laughs, but they exchange one last smile before Louis wavesgoodbye as he descends the stairs by the garden.**“It’s six, Tommo. We’ve got to go!” Niall calls, dressed to the nines in his chocolate suit andpristine white Nike’s. He glances at his watch. “They’ll probably leave without us and I’vealready given Nelson the night off so we’d be fucked if they do.”“I’m ready, you git! Let’s go!” Louis calls, stepping out of the bathroom (no, he wasn’t in therefor the better part of an hour, that would just be obscene), resplendent in a cream colored suit. Hemay or may not have played up his whole ‘eggnog is my new thing’ and adopted a very eggnogesqueensemble, color-wise. But that’s only because it’s in honor of the holiday season. And he’stechnically coshosting this party.It’s not because of Harry or anything. He’s not aiming for a laugh or a smile or a begrudginglyfond roll of the eyes.That would just be weird.Niall’s eyebrows shoot up the minute he sees the spectacle. “You dressed as snow or somethin’?”“Or something,” Louis says with a roll of his eyes, carefully sliding on his jacket. “I’m cohost—““Yeah, yeah, you’re cohosting the party, I know,” Niall dismisses with a wave of his hand,already marching towards the door, bottle of Jameson in one hand, Hennessey in the other. “Stillcan’t believe Harry’s agreed to that. He’ll change his mind.”“No, he won’t. Now. Onward, steed!” Louis announces, before marching out the door, Nialllaughing and shutting the door behind them.**When they arrive at Harry’s rooms, the last thing Louis is expecting is to see Zayn and Liam,practically shimmering in smooth caramel suits, Liam’s waistcoat gold and glowing, smokingcigars and drinking eggnog, the murky liquid clinging to the crystal of their glasses as they throwthem back.

While Harry is nowhere to be seen.“Where’s Harry?” Louis asks before the door’s even shut, and he glances around, startled whenhe sees the bedroom door open and revealing a darkened, still room. His eyes search theremainder of the space before he drifts along, finding an empty kitchen, empty bathroom, emptyeverything.Zayn watches mildly from the chaise longue while Liam beams and follows Louis with his eyescuriously.“He’s left already,” Liam says simply, as if it were obvious. “He’s hosting, you know. He said hewanted to finalize the decorative details and make sure that the gingerbread men were cooked tothe perfect degree. His theme is gingerbread, you know,” he says, eying Louis’ cream suit. “He’llbe displeased that you haven’t followed his dresscode.”“I’m cohost,” is all Louis says, forcing himself to ignore the distinct pain of disappointment and…could it be hurt? that lingers in the oxygen filling his lungs and fogging his brain.“You are?” Liam asks, surprised. “He didn’t mention.”Ouch.“What did I tell ya?” Niall says easily, thumping Louis on the back before busting open theJameson, already accepting a cigar from Zayn and tapping out haphazard texts on his phone.Ouch again.Louis glares at Niall’s golden head.“He’s a bit distracted like,” Zayn says, calm, quiet eyes boring into Louis’. “I’m sure he’ll mentionit once we get there.”Liam looks to Zayn’s peaceful reassurances before setting pitying eyes on Louis—which make hisstomach twist and his nerves flare.“Yes, I’m sure he’ll mention it,” he says.Louis laughs and pretends not to care, sliding off his jacket in the suddenly too-hot room andsetting it on Harry’s desk, ready to drink, ready to laugh some more.**They arrive at the hotel the party’s at.It’s the very portrait of perfection. Everything is gold and amber and caramel and brown, withsprigs of mistletoe and holly hung about, a large punch bowl filled with gingerbread coffee punchsitting in the middle—very reminiscent of Zayn’s party, actually, and Louis briefly wonders ifHarry was the true host of that one as well—and ribbons, bows, and evergreen branchespeppering every other surface and vaulted ceiling. The air smells of ginger and there are goldentrays of gingerbread men and tiny porcelain teacups filled with eggnog.It would all be very charming and very pleasant, really, if it wasn’t for the fact that Louis feelsdistinctly jilted. And forgotten.Especially when he sees Harry, smiling and laughing with a cluster of beautiful guests, raising histeacup in the air and quoting some goddamn poetry. Which is really fucking annoying. And really

fucking pretentious.And Louis, standing in his ridiculous eggnog themed garb, feels like a fucking fool. He also forgothis jacket at Harry’s. So there’s that as well.“Let’s say hi to Harry,” Zayn breathes in his ear, ushering him forward by the elbow, and thenLiam’s on the other side of him, smiling in that clean, practiced way of his and taking his otherelbow.It only serves to irritate Louis more.“I can say hi whenever I like, thanks,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t protest any further than that,his eyes focusing on Harry as he comes into closer view.Like clockwork, the guests around him begin to dissipate, kissing his cheeks and slidingmanicured hands over his broad torso. Only a few stick around, skulking on the outskirts ofHarry’s personal space, dragging eyes over his beautifully dressed figure—crushed ginger velvetwith a silver bow tie and mistletoe corsage which is not one of the outfits Louis had selected—anddrinking punch hungrily though it never quenches their thirst.Louis feels homicidal.“My darling guests!” Harry greets winningly as soon as he sees them, Niall ambling up behind thetrio, open bottle pressed to his lips. Harry’s eyes are wide with delight, genuinely pleased to seethem, and they flit to Louis repeatedly, holding his smile, but it’s still not enough, and Louis’ prideprevents him from returning it.“Harry,” Zayn breathes and Liam smiles, while Niall thunders a, “Mate!” and claps him thickly onthe back.“You came early,” is all Louis says, and Harry nods, curls bouncing.“I did. I had to make last minute adjustments.” He takes in Louis’ suit. “I normally don’t approveof such blatant disregard for my rules”—Louis scoffs as the word ‘rules’—“but I quite like whatyou did. Eggnog?” he asks with a smirk.Louis nods.“How charming,” Harry says, and it’s smooth and luscious and Christmas-y and just…strange.Cocky, maybe. Or hollow. Or all of the above.In any case, it feels ingenuine and posed, and if there is some genuine sentiment lying beneath thesurface, Louis doesn’t really care because Harry ‘s eyes are skimming across the sea of heads forfamiliar faces and he’s…just…Louis doesn’t know.But he doesn’t like it.Still though, he tries. “I’ve seen that you really do like the whole ‘gingerbread’ thing,” Louisattempts through a smile that feels tight on his cheeks. “I’m glad.”“How did you come up with it, Harold? It’s so odd,” one of the hanger-ons inquires, her goldenhair curled and sprayed, her lips alarmingly red and pulled over too-white teeth.“It’s just something that came to me,” he responds lazily, running his fingertips over the rim of his

teacup in lazy circles, and his eyes are dazed, staring sightlessly forward.And that’s. fucking. it.That’s all that Louis can take.“Right. If you’ll excuse me, lads,” he breathes, breaking free of Zayn and Liam’s grips. They lookto him, watchful and a little hesitant, but they let him go all the same. Doing his best to remaincalm, Louis pushes past Harry, brushing his body against his sharply, and stalks forward into thecrowd.**It doesn’t get any better.The night is a fucking shambles.It’s not at all how Louis envisioned it. There’s no laughing or joking with Harry. There are nosecret jokes or Louis defending him from harpies or Harry finding his eyes from across the roomand smiling. There’s no cohosting and no memories and no photos taken and, worst of all maybe,Harry’s wearing his goddamn watch. Even after he said he wouldn’t.It’s like Louis’ just watched his tower of cards tumble to the goddamn ground and now it’s beingtrampled on by ignorant passerby and everything is just shitty. It’s really shitty.The music is festive and beautiful, the violin croons out ghostly melodies, and the lads are in theirtypical form, laughing and dancing, consuming drugs and alcohol like there’s no tomorrow. AndLouis tries, he does, tries to have fun and dance and gulp down everything that will put a smile onhis face, but everything only makes him angrier, and no matter what he consumes, he can’tprevent his eyes from sliding to Harry, the picture perfect host, who cascades around the room andposes for photographs and presses wine-stained lips to person after person, all in the name of‘mistletoe.’It’s pretty unbearable.And Louis attempts to forget. He willingly falls into conversations he normally wouldn’t, pretendsto bond with anybody that will have him, laughs at jokes that aren’t funny, and allows overprimpedboy after over-primped boy to chat him up and press against him on the dancefloor.But it never lasts for long.Not when Louis’ insides squirm and Harry’s very presence is a constant, stabbing reminder ofwhy he feels angry.So it’s not very surprising when, at around quarter after eleven, Louis begins to dial a cab on hisphone, ignoring Liam’s gestures to join him and Zayn on the dancefloor, and instead focuses onthe way Niall is currently chanting an Irish folksong with several unidentifiable lads, their arms allslung around each other’s shoulders as they stomp on tabletops and slosh beer out of the pints thatthey raise into the sky.The last thing he sees, as he’s silently winding his way through the crowd and out the door, is thesight of Harry, grinning and happy, wrapped up in several pairs of arms, being fed biscuits andpunch, his bow tie being plucked undone by a boy with magenta hair.It reignites the flames Louis had spent the night trying to stifle, and he exits out the door, neverlooking back.

**He feels so fucking stupid.Stupid because he dressed for that stupid fucking party—and proceeded to get ignored.Stupid because he was the one that introduced Harry to the goddamn gingerbread and he’s thereason it’s Harry’s new thing—he practically fucking inspired the party—and received no creditwhatsoever. Rather, Harry lied about it.Stupid because he had thought, after two successful, drama free days with Harry, that maybethings were going to be okay. That this was how it was going to be from now on.Stupid because he had made Harry laugh and he thought that changed the world.Stupid because he was ready to beat the masses off with bats if they so much as displeased Harrytonight—and yet Harry chose them over Louis.Stupid because all of this upset him so much that he couldn’t even enjoy himself, and insteadruined his fucking night and made him leave early because it all just felt so fucking shitty.Stupid because here he is, standing in front of Harry’s door—which is probably locked—andready to go inside to get his goddamn eggnog or whatever-the-fuck-it’s-called suit jacket, and he’sjust always standing outside of Harry’s door, isn’t he?He just feels so fucking stupid.Still though, he turns the doorknob, his face set into a scowl that hurts, his body itching to crumbleonto his bed as soon as this is done, and is only mildly disapproving when he finds it open—whatdoes he care if somebody busts in Harry’s rooms and knicks his shit? Those creepy-ass catfigurines need to go anyway.It’s dark inside, the moonlight casting silvery shadows on everything, and the stark bleakness andemptiness feels very representative of everything right now. Where earlier, just hours before, thesesame rooms were filled with the sounds of Harry’s laughter and the uneven sounds of Louis beingtaught piano, there is now nothing. Absolutely nothing.Because it’s all gone. And Louis was wrong about everything.Very representative.Stone silent and defeated, Louis flicks on the light, immediately spotting his jacket lying carelesslyon the surface of Harry’s desk. He doesn’t dilly-dally, just strides over and plucks it up, and isready to slide it over his cold shoulders and flee back to his flat when he catches sight of a small,leather-bound book that had been lying hidden underneath.Huh.He didn’t know Harry kept a journal.He’s not going to read it—he’s not an intrusive fuck, after all—but he does brush his fingersagainst the worn cover, his heart fleetingly pinging at the thought of the mad scribbles and bits ofheartfelt poetry that he’s sure litters the insides. The jumbled compositions and music notationsand little glances into Harry’s soul…It’s lightly reassuring, really. In some odd way, it’s reassuring to know that Harry does have that

depth. He really is that person Louis had begun to see, even if he won’t ever let Louis near it,won’t ever let Louis see. Won’t ever trust Louis.The thought lies acrid in his mouth.Feeling a bit overwhelmed, Louis is just turning away to leave when his eye catches on a rippedpiece of paper poking out from the journal, sticking out from the pages and tucked gently into thespine.That wouldn’t faze Louis normally.What fazes him is the familiar scrawl of it. A scrawl that is remarkably resemblant of…Louis’own.Eyes still itching with the remnants of exhaustion and frustration, he pauses, squinting at the paper.No, it absolutely looks like Louis’ handwriting.His heart picking up pace, he reaches down, unthinkingly opening the book to reveal the scribblednote.It’s there that Louis reads the words that still echo in his fingertips, written haphazardly so longago on the now carefully preserved bit of paper, smoothed out on the edges and tucked lovinglyinside of Harry’s fucking journal:“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”And, on the back, scribbled neatly and so small, the two words:“Louis Tomlinson”Chapter End NotesOhhhhkay so it's finally here. woo woo woo, dance with me.This chapter has 2 significant songs that I listened to while writing it:1. The Strokes "Life is Simple in the Moonlight" which is what I envisioned playingat the party.2. Scala's "With or Without You" which is...amazing. And what I listened to whilewriting this whole thing. ESPECIALLY THE END. It fits quite well with Louis'perspective. Here's a link. (I couldn't find the version that I have, but this one works--just ignore the video)http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEn6YGsXld4Okay, also, I'm sorry if this is rough n shitty. I didn't really proof read all of it. If it's atragic mess, I'll go back and edit. I'm sorry for being a sloppy author :( But whoahdamn, THANK YOU ALL FOR BEING GORRRGEOUS. And ushering me towrite and sending me reminders and messages and writing the most splendid reviewsand being just generally so lovely. Big love

XXIIIChapter SummaryLouis doesn't know.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesLouis can’t sleep.He’s laying awake, limbs cold yet coated in a chilly sweat, crisp sheets sticking to his skin, and hishands lie open and empty on either side of him, resting against the frigid mattress.“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”“Louis Tomlinson”He stares at the ceiling, dark and barren yet pompously elaborate—just like the rest of this fuckingschool.“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”“Louis Tomlinson”His heart is thudding deafeningly. It must have migrated to his skull because it keeps pressingagainst his ear drums.“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”“Louis Tomlinson”Is Niall home yet? He hasn’t heard the door.“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”“Louis Tomlinson”Is Harry home yet?“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”“Louis Tomlinson”Is Harry currently obliterated, mind, body, and spirit, being supported by a slew of soulless tartsthat paint themselves in Versace and Chanel? Is he in a ditch? On a bathroom floor? Is he alreadysleeping peacefully in his bed? Is he smiling? Is he sad? Does he realize Louis’ not there? Does hecare? Does he care about anything?“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”“Louis Tomlinson”

Yeah. No. Louis definitely can’t sleep.**Louis wakes up to a thunderous tune on the piano—Tchaikovsky?—far too early in the morning.But he doesn’t even care, just continues to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. He refuses to thinkabout the note.The note.The note that he wrote. The note that he wrote that is currently tucked in Harry’s journal with hisname on the back. He refuses to think about all of that because it doesn’t even matter becauseHarry ignored him last night, erased his presence from his life, and he was the empty, preeningshell that he always is. Nothing changed. Harry hadn’t changed.“I CAN’T CHANGE” flashes through Louis’ mind, writ on Harry’s fair skin. Hah. Ironic.And fuck.Too many thoughts.And text messages, he notes as he picks up his phone. He sees Zayn and Liam’s names repeatedly—never Harry, of course—but doesn’t bother reading the small text, just unlocks his phone andsearches for the one person that can help him right now.It rings once.The piano stops.“Tommo,” Niall’s voice greets from the phone and the other side of the wall. “Where you at,mate?”“My bed.”There’s a chuckle. “This again? You hungover or somethin’?”“Not even.”“You all right?” he yawns. A piano key dings.“No. Come lie with me. I’m in a dark place.”“What does that mean? You hungry?”“No Sasquatch, I’m not hungry,” Louis says, irritated. “I’m vulnerable and on the precipice ofdarkness.”Pause.“Are you thirsty?”“Fuck’s sake, Ireland, just get your ass in here.”The phone beeps out a dial tone and then the door is swiftly opened, much to Louis’ relief.“Tommo,” Niall greets with a grin, his shirt half-buttoned and stained, his sweatpants pushed up at

the ankles. Without transition, he flops onto the bed face down, immediately crowding Louis’space and engulfing the majority of the mattress.Louis doesn’t mind.“Thank you,” he sniffs, wrapping the blankets tighter around himself, limbs already warming tothe fiery temperature that is Niall Horan. Maybe he really is a dragon.“So. What’s got you on the platypus of death or whatever,” Niall mumbles through a mouthful ofpillow.Louis rolls his eyes but answers all the same. “Harry was a dick last night.”“You surprised?” he muses.Louis shrugs. “Yeah.”Abruptly, Niall laughs, airily and light because he’s an actual fucking sun and nothing could everpossibly faze him or penetrate his light. Louis wishes he could be like that. He hates Niall.“Don’t worry about Harry, all right? You keep trying to make him your project or whatever, but—““He’s not my project,” Louis interrupts sharply.Niall raises his brows. “Whatever. All the same, you’ve got to stop. It’s driving you mad.”Louis nods a moment later. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. That’s why I’m not going to call or text orvisit him today. If he wants to talk to me, he can come to me. I’m done. I’m finished. If he wantsto know why I left so early last night—““You left early?” Niall asks mildly, surprised.Oh wow.“Yes. I did,” Louis grits, shooting a glare at Niall, but it bounces off of him and the pillowssurrounding him, and evaporates into the air.“Huh. Didn’t notice.”“Please. Don’t hold back on the flattery,” Louis says dryly.Niall grins. “I was busy.”“You’re oblivious.”“I’m high.”“Are you?” Louis asks, craning his neck to look at him closely.“No. But I’m going to be. Wanna join? Let’s watch cartoons. Rory’s bringing breakfast.”And Niall pulls him out of bed and drags him into the living room.**Zayn keeps texting Louis. Which is nice.

‘U ok?’ has been sent about thirteen times. On the fourteenth, Louis responds.‘I hate everything. Wanna drink battery acid?’Approximately five seconds pass before he gets a reply.‘I’m coming over.’**There’s a single knock at the door.“Get in here!” Niall shouts from the couch, high as a kite and gulping orange juice and vodka likeit were air, a bottle in each hand. The boy is made of steel.Louis blinks from his nest beside Niall, burrowed in blankets and surrounded by nibbled onbiscuits and Red Bull, and smiles immediately as Zayn—wearing large black glasses and a thickblack jumper that somehow just makes him look even more attractive—sidles into the room.“Niall,” he greets calmly, bumping fists lazily as he passes, making his way to Louis.“Zayn man,” Niall burps. He holds up his bowl. “Want some?”“In a bit,” Zayn says satinly, chocolate truffle eyes intent on Louis. He joins him in his nest,burrowing his slim, Greek God body into the blankets and Louis can’t help but laugh at the imagebecause it’s Zayn and Zayn is flawless and he belongs on gilt thrones and tapestries, not piles ofmessy blankets on a velvet couch that smells like weed and onion crisps.“Hello Zayn,” Louis greets, blinking bleary eyes and resting his head on the boy’s shoulder.“Thanks for coming to see me. Where’s Liam?”He smirks. “Sleeping. He had a time of it last night.”“Doesn’t he always?”“Moreso than usual,” Zayn says with a light shake of the head and his smirk fades. “He’sprobably getting a bit too rowdy, to be honest. Found him on the roof, half naked and snortingsomething pink. Gonna have to keep an eye on him. He could hurt himself.”“Jesus,” Louis mutters while Niall laughs. “Is it cuz he’s so stressed?”Zayn’s eyes slide to the TV, unimpressed but watchful. “I think so.”“Why weren’t you with him?”Zayn looks back at Louis. “I was with Harry.”Ugh. Just the name sends a plonk in Louis’ stomach.“I see,” he says icily, and he feels Zayn’s eyes stick to him even as he looks away. He doesn’t askany questions.“You all right? You left so early,” Zayn comments, inspecting Louis closely with lazy eyes. Lazyeyes-that-appear-lazy-but-are-actually-not-lazy-at-allwould actually be more appropriate, though.Louis hates that. Louis hates Zayn.“I’m incredible. Marvelous. Splendid,” Louis says, but his voice is teetering on the edge of being

shrill, and both Niall and Zayn’s eyebrows shoot into the air. Which is unnecessary.“He didn’t mean to be rude to you, Lou.”Louis feels a flush overcome his body. His spinal cord tingles.“But he was. End of story.”“It’s not that simple.”Louis shoots a sharp eye at him. “Don’t act like a bloody superhero, Zayn. You couldn’t eventake care of your own boyfriend last night.”At that, Zayn actually scowls, his glare machete-sharp and positively venomous. “Liam’s capableof taking care of himself. I’m not his keeper,” his softly dangerous voice breathes, and the slits ofhis eyes make incisions in Louis’ eyes, cheeks, neck. “I love him and I’ll always be there for himto the best of my abilities. But I don’t own him and he can do what he wants, can’t he.”Louis squirms, blinking away his guilt as he burrows deeper within his nest. He’s never reallydisagreed with Zayn before.Quite frankly, it’s terrifying. And Louis feels very much in the wrong.“I’m being a dick right now,” he mutters. He glances at Zayn. “Aren’t I?”Zayn nods.“You’re being a cunt, that’s what you’re being,” Niall’s boisterous voice announces through awaterfall of thick smoke, ending on a cough.Zayn nods again, but a smile twitches at the corner of his lips.“You flirt, you,” Louis says witheringly in Niall’s direction.He shrugs in response.“Look,” Louis sighs, attempting to sit up and free himself of his blanket burrito. He lays his armson top of the blankets, bare and cold now, fiddling with stray hems and fabric. “I know that yousaid I need to be patient with Harry, yeah?”Zayn nods, his eyes continuing to make tiny incisions in Louis.“But, like, that can only be an excuse for so long. You know? Like, sometimes, yeah, I have totake into account that he’s not as, shall we say, equipped to deal with certain situations. But whendoes that start just becoming an excuse? Every time he fucks up, I’ve got to chalk it up to him justbeing the wounded soldier, while I take all the shit? I’ve got to accept all he does and just sit backand wait for it to get better? Is that what you think I should do, Zayn?”“Not at all.”“Exactly! So, like, last night? I’m done. I’m done, mate. We were getting on fine—wonderfully,even—and he’d basically agreed to let me cohost the party and we had an all right day, okay? Itwas an all right day—more than all right, actually. And everything was just…really good, andthen he went and acted like a tit and fucked it all up and now I’m just…” Louis fades, unsure ofwhere to go with that. He briefly considers mentioning Harry’s journal and the quote, pick atZayn’s brain to find out what that means, what any of this means, but the selfish parts of him (the

majority) don’t want anybody else to know.It’s between Harry and him. And he likes that. So he doesn’t say anything more.After a pause that feels much longer than it really is, Zayn sighs, rubbing at his eyes.“I’m too tired for this,” he mumbles, his hand now smoothing down his face, catching on hisstubble.Louis laughs lightly.The click of Niall’s lighter sounds.“You know what, Louis?” Zayn finally sighs, turning to look at him. Louis blinks, feeling smalland owlish in his nest. “Fuck it. Just…do you. Do what’s good for you, all right mate? Forgetabout Harry for awhile and just focus on you. That’s what I care about. That’s what’s important.”And that is sweet, that is genuinely sweet, and Louis feels his face smiling as he welcomes Zaynin with a one armed hug, but there’s this thing in his chest, this solid weight—is it a stone?—and itdoesn’t budge or lift, only seems to get heavier as he accepts Zayn’s kind words and loyalfriendship that he is honestly so thankful for…But it’s that Zayn’s even let go of hope for Harry. It’s that this struggle, this shit that’s kept himawake all night and has been eating at him for months, has just been brushed aside and sweptunder the rug, and now Louis is just supposed to forget about it all?Yes, he can focus on himself. But that doesn’t mean he can’t care about others, too.Not that he wants to care about Harry anymore, not after last night. Or that he ever did at all. Or…Fuck. Just fuck.**Zayn leaves after about an hour, high as a kite and staring lovingly at his phone as he beginsreceiving the first of Liam’s blearily raging hangover texts.“Miss you alreadyyyy,” Niall calls as Louis waves, and then the flat is silent, bar the TV thatprattles on endlessly, a football match that Louis is too distracted to care about flitting on thescreen.He really wants to stop thinking about Harry. He really wants to stop feeling like shit. Which willcome first?“I really just hate everything, Niall,” he announces, staring blankly at the screen.Niall snores in response.And Louis sighs, ignoring the stone that is lodged in his chest and potentially gaining size.He will not contact Harry. He will not.**Eventually Louis wakes Niall up with soft smacks to the chest.“Ireland. I need you to hide my phone,” he says.

He’s greeted with a hideous glare as Niall blinks into life.“Fuck off, cunt,” he growls, then turns over.Louis swallows, and his phone burns in his hand.**Apparently, Louis is a masochist. Because now he’s calling his mum.She picks up on the fourth ring.“Hm?” is the greeting he receives, and he sits down on his bed a little awkwardly.“Mum?”“Who is this?”Annoyance prickles at his scalp. “Your son. Louis.”“Louis,” she says mildly, tone distracted. “What do you need, love?”His tempter sizzles. Because of course. Of fucking course. She goes from leaving him five minutevoicemails of her sobbing and demanding that he return to her, to barely recalling his existence.His stomach spits. So fucking typical of her. Just so fucking typical.“I just wanted to say hi,” he says, keeping the annoyance out of his tone. His voice just soundsalien, though.“Oh.” There’s a pause. “All right, then.”He lies back on his bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How are the girls?”“At school.”Which, okay. That’s sort of an answer.“Good, good. I miss them.”He hears her hum a noncommittal sound.Right then.“Okay, well, it’s been great chatting with you,” he says wryly, feeling loveless and pathetic,getting up off the bed and regretting ever picking up his phone, even if it did serve as a distractionfrom Harry and/or the homework/studying that he just cannot do right now. “I’ll talk to you later.”“Wait, love,” she suddenly says, and Louis’ ears prick up. “Is Niall there? I’d love to have a quickchat.”And he hangs up the phone.Because fuck no. He does not feel like dealing with that.The day feels like it will never end.**

Louis is absolutely a masochist. He is, truly. Because if he wasn’t, then he wouldn’t have leftNiall’s snoring figure and his cozy flat to stand out here in the blistering cold, right outside ofHarry’s door. And he wouldn’t be turning the doorknob to enter it, either.Oh well.He nudges it open with gusto, feeling his body fall inside before his brain has, and he’s alreadybeginning to feel himself catch fire, the thousands of bewildered questions and accusationssurfacing to his mouth as he pictures the jade eyes he’s about to encounter.Then suddenly he’s met with a room filled with fucking strangers, still dressed from the nightbefore, surrounding Harry—who’s standing in the middle of the group and looking a bit peakyand artistically unkempt—and looking very heroin chic, straight out of an ad for Gucci.They all stare at him.Harry immediately looks up.“Louis Tomlinson,” he greets, blatantly surprised, and his voice isn’t the grandiose purr that itusually is when he’s surrounded by people and putting on his false pleasantries. It’s his real voice,his Harry voice, and his eyes are wide with surprise and attentiveness, unblinkingly set on Louis.Louis takes in the scene—the people draped over each other, over Harry, holding their glasses ofchampagne and mineral water, laughing in the most artificial way and surveying Louis as prey.They’re all there for the same reason, making a circle around Harry—to fuck him, use him, takehim, sponge off of him—if they haven’t already. Because they’re sightless, soulless, harpy bitcheswith their noses in the air and their trust funds and their lineages and their possessive claws thatcurl around the lapels of Harry’s jackets and—and no, NOPE, Louis definitely can’t deal with thisright now.“Right. Never mind. Bye,” is all he says, spinning back around. “I’ll see you later.”“Wait!” Harry practically shouts, and Louis pauses before turning around, one eyebrow raised.The chatter of the harpies quiets a bit.“Don’t you desire to meet my exquisite guests?” he then asks, but it’s still in the Harry voicedespite the ostentatious words, so Louis can’t ignore him, can’t turn away.“Not really, no,” he replies, and he feels the hardness of his eyes reflected back in Harry’s wideones. “I don’t have manners, I don’t do pleasantries, and I don’t care to stay. So. Bye.”And with that, Louis walks out the door, his flesh hot and his mouth dry, feeling the tensionskyrocket in the room behind him. He marches forward, ready to flee to the sanctity of his flat andNiall’s sedated arms, when suddenly he hears the door open and close behind him. He glancesback—Harry.It’s Harry.“What, you forget something?” he snaps, whirring around. “Want me to fetch you another latte? Aginger biscuit? A cheese danish?” His voice is bitter, blatantly so, and he feels the muscles aroundhis eyes contracting. But he gives no fucks.Harry stares at him, his eyes widening that much more in surprise. There’s a hint of offense,maybe hurt, lying in the corners and dotting the edges, and his posed pleasantries of playing host

have vanished, his shoulders now slumped and hands quiet. He merely stands there, adorned inhis long, leopard print t-shirt that last for ages (which…the fuck?) and painfully tight trousers, hishair curling around his ears. His eyes look greener today.“Why did you leave so early last night?” he asks, voice quiet, childlike. The words are soft andraspy, catching in the winter air and settling on the crisp remains of dead leaves. His lips are paleand his skin is porcelain and marred in a sleepless night filled with excess. Naturally, it’s fuckingbeautiful. He looks fucking beautiful.The asshole.“Because I didn’t want to be there, obviously,” Louis answers sharply. He folds his arms over hischest, ignoring the way the breeze tumbles Harry’s curls and how one flutters in his eye, tanglingwith his lashes.Harry’s eyes widen still more. “You didn’t like it?” he asks in a small voice and it’s like Louis’just knocked down his ice cream cone, the boy’s lips one step away from quivering.Fuck. Just fuck.“Of course I liked it, you curly haired cunt,” Louis sighs, his voice far less fierce than he’dintended. “But next time you choose to ignore my general existence, don’t expect a fuckingparade for it.”There. Brute honesty. Its feels good, just seeping it out into the air. Relieving.The words cause Harry’s stare to morph from hurt to confusion as he observes Louis closely. “Iwasn’t—I just—I didn’t do it on purpose—“ is all he can muster out, his words stumbling overthemselves. His head drops when he gives up his attempts at articulation, and he paws at theground.“Well,” Louis says, feeling his anger dwindle (which is just terribly inconvenient), “That’s notreally an excuse, is it?” But his throat is really dry now and fuck, it sort of does feel like an excuse.Ugh.Once more, Harry falls silent, his eyes cast to the ground. His ebony lashes cut across the ivoryplanes of his face, which is poetic enough in and of itself, not to mention unfairly endearing.Bastard.“I didn’t want you to go.”Fuck.It’s said quietly to the ground, only so that the cobblestones, the ancient stone, the dead ivy, andLouis can hear. And Louis’ heart, which promptly splits in two. Or has it been mended?Fuck.FUCK.Louis might fall down.He swallows. “Then why did you act that way? So…indifferent, like? Cold,” Louis asks, hisvoice bathed in total honesty, and as he stares, hard, at Harry, he allows his face to assemble into

whatever expression it deems worthy of the situation, not even bothering to mask it in an adoptedcalm or nonchalance.There’s a pause, a silence, a fucking chasm of nothing where Louis just stands and waits, and thenHarry looks up, eyes pained and muddled and storming. Lightning flashes across his irises, rainpours over his corneas. Louis hears rumbles of thunder in his chest.“I’ve got to go back inside,” is all that Harry says, and there, he’s doing it—reassembling himself,his features now masked in stone, his eyes distant. He’s walking backwards towards the door,eyes still on Louis.Louis’ fingertips feel numb as he watches, dumbly.“I didn’t do it on purpose,” is the last thing he says, almost pleadingly—or is he trying to convincehimself?—before he disappears behind the door.Chapter End NotesThis chapter's AMAZAYN inspiration is: "Nothing to Give" by White Lies. Good,good shit. Lookit up, yeah? It's perfect for the situations at hand. Purrfect.Also, thank you again for reading and being so utterly glorious

XXIVChapter SummaryHarry breaks.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesAs soon as Louis gets home, he falls onto the couch, feeling miserable and terrible and horribleand really bewildered by his own emotions—most of which scream Harry’s name and that stupidfucking Dorian Gray quote and throw a lot of question marks behind the lids of his eyes.“You go to see Harry, then?” Niall asks from the kitchen, having now woken up and currentlyeating what appears to be an apple pie with his hands, great clumps of it dripping down his fists ashe licks it off, sleepy and blissfully happy. He’s disgustingly endearing. Or maybe it’s endearinglydisgusting? Louis buries his face deeper into the couch.“No,” he lies, voice muffled by the velvet that feels more grating than luxurious.“How did it go?” Niall asks seamlessly, not even pretending to indulge Louis, syrupy applechunks clinging to his chin.“I hate everything,” Louis groans, relenting. “I’m leaving and never coming back.”“You’ve only got two weeks before term ends. You barely have to see the bloke. You’ll managefine,” Niall mutters through sticky lips.“No I won’t,” Louis says pitifully.At that Niall grins, licking his hands clean before he hops like a fucking rabbit over to Louis,flouncing down atop him and blanketing him in his entire body, causing Louis to emit coughedwheezes.“Jesus Christ!” he gasps, Niall’s weight nearly crushing him. “The fuck are you doing?”“Having a cuddle,” Niall says simply, but he just lays there, limbs loose, smiling into Louis’ hair.“Is this your way of comforting me?”“No. This is how I comfort myself.”“Ah. I see,” Louis struggles, trying to shift their bodies until he has room to breathe. He managesto find a happy medium of balance, his air passageways no longer obscured by dead Irish weight,so he figures he might as well just let Niall stay there now that he won’t die. It might feel a little bitnice, even. Maybe.“Harry’s a cunt,” Niall grunts after a pause.“No he’s not,” Louis sighs. “He’s Harry.”

“Harold,” Niall mockingly corrects.Louis laughs.There’s a peaceful silence, filled only by the distant sounds of student chatter from the other sideof the tightly locked windows, and Louis is just wondering if Niall fell asleep when:“My father’s asked me to come into the studio tomorrow morning, first thing.”Hm?Louis’ attention perks. “The studio? I thought the track was just about ready to be released? Isn’tthe release party coming up?”Niall shifts until he’s staring at Louis, lips pursed.“It was.”Louis raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”Niall nods, slowly disengaging himself from Louis and sitting up, kicking his feet up on the table.His face looks oddly trepid, something Louis isn’t used to seeing from Niall, and he feels spikes ofcuriosity begin to shoot through him.“I heard Des is having a bit of a time of it,” Niall says, and he locks eyes with Louis. “Had a fitthis morning. Bad.”Oh.“He doesn’t like the song. Says he won’t let it be released.”“I thought he wrote it,” Louis says, attention piqued even more. He does his best to keep histhoughts of Harry to the far corners of his mind, keep his face and emotions neutral.“He did. But he changed his mind, I guess,” Niall shrugs. “Father wouldn’t tell me much morethan that, but. Something’s fucked. He didn’t sound right on the phone.”“What does that mean?”“It means that Des is probably losing his fucking mind again and you shouldn’t be surprised ifHarry turns into a wanker about it.”“Excuse me?” Louis asks, taken aback. “If Des is as bad as I keep hearing about, then Harry hasevery right to turn into a wanker. He’s not a fucking robot, Niall, it’s going to affect him!”“Look,” Niall says, and he turns to face Louis fully, his eyes sharp and clear, finger pointed in hisdirection, the band of his watch glistening dangerously, “There is no excuse for Harry treating youbadly. You’ve got to stick up for yourself. You’re not weak, Louis. So don’t act like you are.”Louis blinks, shocked. In this light, in this tone, Niall is almost…intimidating.And weak? Why the fuck would he call Louis weak?Louis Tomlinson is anything but weak.“Don’t point your finger at me,” Louis snarks, grabbing the boy’s finger and shoving it away.“I’m well aware that I’m not weak, Ireland. Well aware. But there’s nothing weak about caring

about somebody and showing them compassion. All right? There’s a strength in that, even. Soyou lot best stop prattling off your speeches to me because you just don’t know Harry like I do, allright?”There’s a pause where the situation could go either way—Niall could retort with a venomouscomment and a flash of the eyes, or he could just walk away peacefully. Louis isn’t sure whichone it’s going to be.Until a smile slowly begins to form on Niall’s lips. Which is unexpected.“Thatta boy, Tommo,” he grins, mussing up Louis’ hair. “That’s what I like to hear. You’re gonnabe fine.”And Louis doesn’t really know what that means or what’s happening, but Niall merely gets up offthe couch and switches on the game station, handing Louis a controller with an approving grin. Sohe lets it go, his mind already too packed to tackle another situation.“You’re the strangest fucking twat,” Louis mutters, taking the controller. “I’m not even sure whatjust happened.”Niall grins. “Love you too, mate. Now. You in the mood for Indian or sushi?”Louis laughs.**When Louis returns from class the next day, his stress levels are through the roof (how manyprojects does he have to do? how many papers? how many exams does he need to diligentlyprepare for??) and he’s even managed to forget about Harry, his thoughts on his grades and busycalculating the probability of failing each course. It’s nearly impossible, but it could still happen.That is, he’s managed to forget Harry until he finds himself at his door, his feet having found theirway there due to an ingrained habit that really shouldn’t be so ingrained since studying at Harry’srooms has only been a recent development. Or, maybe, Louis just really subconsciously wants tosee Harry and his feet figured that out before his head could.Which, no. Probably not. Of course not. No.But for whatever reason, Louis is there, staring at Harry’s door, stress receding as his thoughtsrecede into something more present and hard-hitting.Harry.He hasn’t spoken to him since he came to see him yesterday, when Harry left him outside with thewords, ‘I didn’t do it on purpose’ still lingering in the frigid, unfeeling air. Which isn’t that out ofthe ordinary but it somehow feels significant.Steeling himself and his jangling nerves, he opens the door, stepping inside and feeling a mix ofanxiety and peace at the familiar smell of Harry’s rooms—money, books, and subtle perfumes.Maybe wood polish as well. Maybe a bit of hair product. Maybe a bit of home—which, no. No.Definitely not home. Not that. That would just be strange. No. Not home.Nevertheless, the anxiety and peace are still present, washing down upon Louis, weighing downhis limbs and soaking into his clothes.An anxiety and peace that immediately extinguishes as soon as he shuts the door and takes in the

scene before him.It’s Harry.And a boy.A boy who has Harry pressed against the wall, devouring his body with guiltless, hungry handsand a hideous wet mouth, as Harry’s eyes stare unseeingly at the ceiling, head tilted back. His shirtis unbuttoned and pushed haphazardly off his milky shoulders, revealing his broad expanse oftattoo-scribbled chest. His trousers are unzipped, the stranger’s hands now slinking into them,apparently unaware of Louis’ presence, and the scene is ghastly and sickening because thestranger is just taking and Harry is just allowing it, hands pressed against the wall almost patiently,and he can’t even get a good look of Harry’s face because this fucking person is just crowdinghim, suffocating him, drowning him, and fuck—“The fuck is this?!” Louis snaps without being able to control himself. He realizes his whole bodyhas begun to shake, his fists clenched, and he’s debating which textbook of his is the heaviest (andwould provide the most damage when thrown forcefully at another’s head) as he storms forward,dropping his shoulder bag, his eyes desperately trying to seek out Harry but being blocked by thefucking stranger who is now upright and swiveling around wildly, shocked and angry.At hearing Louis’ voice, Harry immediately turns away, his face hidden, his shoulders tiny, and helooks so unkempt and picked apart and beautiful and disassembled and tragic and fuck, Louis isgoing kill someone.He sets his fury on the stranger before him, a boy with dirty blonde hair and cutting blue eyes,chiseled from stone and glazed in want, the very portrait of something that would look excellenton the receiving end of Louis’ fist. Or a pitchfork. Which this kid probably possesses, becauseisn’t it Satan who carries one around?Louis’ pores might be steaming.The boy glares at Louis, haughty and perturbed, already beginning to reach for Harry again.“It’s not your turn,” is all he says in his uppity, posh voice.And Louis punches him in the face.“THE FUCK?!” the boy shouts, clutching his face, blood already beginning to leak out of hisnose and, fuck, if that isn’t satisfaction, then Louis doesn’t know what is.“Get the fuck out!” Louis shouts, his whole body shivering with adrenaline, and he doesn’t care ifthis is out of line or if Harry’s going to get mad at him—he just needs this kid gone. And gonenow.Luckily Louis must look as scary as he feels because without another word the boy is scramblingout the door, hand still covering his face, hastily grabbing his jacket on the way out.As soon as the door slams, Louis spins around to Harry who is still averted from him, coweringagainst the wall.“You didn’t have to do that, Louis,” his says, his voice harsh and cutting through the air.“Yes I fucking did,” Louis responds, breathing through his nose, his chest heaving, and he daresto reach out a hand, placing it gently on Harry’s shoulder. He flinches and shoves it away.

Louis’ chest pings.“Harry,” he says, his voice regaining its sense of normalcy. “Harry, c'mon, mate. Look at me.”“Why are you even here?” Harry asks darkly, stepping out of Louis’ reach and still not facinghim. Why won’t he look at him?Louis swallows. “I-I wanted to study.”“It’s the end of term. You don’t need me to tutor you anymore.” Harry, head bent, is now walkingtowards his bedroom.So Louis follows him.“I just want to study. Here. Like I have been,” he says, and his voice is quiet now, uncomfortableand upset because what is happening? Something’s wrong.“Just go, Louis.”It pings again, but Louis ignores it.“Harry. Look at me?”“Go,” he says more forcefully.Pings harder.“Look at me please?” Louis asks, and he doesn’t even care that he’s begging, now standing closebehind Harry who has stopped, having entered his room, the dusty light from the windowsilluminating his side.Harry’s shoulders tense and his fists clench. But slowly, ever so slowly, he turns around, slowlylifting his head.The beginnings of a smile form on Louis’ lips as he’s met with the familiar sight of Harry’s face—and then it’s gone and hot, pulsing anger grips at his veins instead.Because bruises.Dark, shining, metallic bruises.One by Harry’s temple, muddled and purple. One at the corner of his eye, almost black, etched inred. One—Louis swallows his own bile—pressed into his neck. It looks alarmingly like athumbprint. And there’s a swollen edge of the lip. And a small cut beside it.And the air has become suffocating.“Harry,” Louis cracks out, immediately reaching his hand to touch, to soothe, but Harry wincesaway, his eyes nearly fearful and his brow scowling.“They’ll go away soon enough,” Harry snaps, voice gravelly, “They’re not permanent.”“Yes they are.”Louis wants to cry. He wants to punch someone. But his brain can’t catch up and he doesn’tknow who to punch or why or what or how or—

“Who did this to you?” he demands, his voice stronger than he intends, and his fury shakes hisvoice. “Was it that piece of shit?”“No,” Harry immediately replies, and he’s turning his back to him again, walking straight towardshis piano and lifting the cover. He sits down heavily, the bench squeaking in the dusty afternoonair that feels too cold and too hot and it might be killing Louis.“Who did it,” Louis repeats, and he wants to remain soft and gentle, doesn’t want to scare Harry,but his emotions have lain siege to his brain and he can’t think or act properly, can only feel.“Who?”“Well it doesn’t fucking matter now, does it?” Harry snaps, body fully tensed, and his headinclines towards Louis but never turns to face him. And then suddenly he’s shuffling through hissheet music.Louis stares, helpless and so, so fucking angry. And so, so fucking scared.“Harry,” he attempts, voice now succumbing to his body. It’s brittle and broken and evaporatesquickly into the air.Harry begins tapping at the keys of the piano. Almost manically.“Harry.”The keys plonk harshly in the air, jumbling together, and Harry’s head is bent over. His shirt isstill open. Louis wonders if he’s cold and can only think of wrapping him in a blanket—something soft and warm and luxurious. Something that will soothe him and protect him and healhim.Louis wants to cry.“Harry.”Immediately, a mess of piano keys are crashed down, furious and frustrated, as Harry slams hishands down, shooting himself upwards in a standing position and knocking the bench to theground. “I’m fucking busy, Louis. Can you just go the fuck away?!” he shouts. He’s breathingheavily, his arms are shaking, and the echo of the piano resonates ominously within the room, lowand haunting.And fuck.Louis’ vision blurs. Actual tears are thick in his eyes and they’re threatening to spill over andLouis hates this part of the crying process. That in-between bit where you’ve already teared up butnothing’s fallen, nothing’s spilled down your dry cheeks, and you’re just balancing betweencomposure and chaos.He evens his breathing—which shakes betrayingly—and stares upward, willing his eyes to absorbthe tears back where they belong—far, far away from the world outside.“I don’t want—“ he finally begins once he’s had a sense of composure, but then Harry’s whirlingaround, his own eyes glassy and red and almost excruciatingly pained.“I don’t give a fuck what you want,” he bellows, fists clenched. A stray sheet of music falls fromthe piano, where it’d been perched haphazardly. It settles on the ground, somewhere near Louis’stomach. Maybe his heart, too. “I don’t need your fucking concern, Louis fucking Tomlinson. Idon’t need your pity or your intrusiveness or your fucking presence in my life at all. You don’t

know me—you don’t know shit about me—and you don’t know anything at all and you haveabsolutely no part of my life and I don’t give a fuck about you so, please, just leave me the fuckalone!”Silence.The room is completely still, bar Harry’s angry, wrought pants and quivering intakes of breath.He’s visibly shaking, shivering like a leaf, and his face is pink and blotchy. It’s barely angry,really, more panicked and terrified and on the verge of breaking into tears, but the words.It’s the words.The words have cut through Louis. Cut him in places he didn’t even know existed. They’vesevered vital appendages and imbedded in his soft tissues and bone marrow and they’ve impaledhim and decapitated him and amputated him and—and it doesn’t feel like there’s very much left.All because of words.It probably shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. It never has before. Louis’ used to words. He knowswords. He uses words. But none like these.There’s, maybe, two more minutes of silence, Harry battling back unfallen tears and full bodyshakes, hurricanes behind his eyes, his chest pale and exposed and his tattoos look like bleedingpoetry.Louis just stands there. He stands there until he can’t stand anymore, and then suddenly he’sturning silently around, leaving, feeling hollowed out and carved, Harry still breathing enough forthe both of them. He imagines that this must be what it feels like to be a jack-o’-lantern.He’s leaving, and he picks up his shoulder bag on the way out and he’s staring at the ceiling, thenthe sky, and he closes the door silently behind him, and he stares upward because the minute helooks down, the tears will fall.And he won’t cry over Harry Styles.So Louis doesn’t look down.**The next two weeks are a blur of stress and Times New Roman.Between writing papers, reading textbook after textbook and play after play and book after book,Louis has barely any time to think. He doesn’t even see the other lads, occasionally exchangingtexts with Zayn and Liam (and Liam is positively going mental under the stress of everything,often replies with autocorrected nonsense and, on one particular occasion, a Spanish exclamationpoint) and, even more rarely, occasionally accompanying them on their late night sessions in thelibrary or Liam’s rooms.He sees Niall sometimes—when he isn’t out partying. Because, apparently, Niall Horan isuntouchable and final exams aren’t something that he does.More often than not, when Louis returns to the flat after a study group or tutorial, he’ll find onlyRory—pouring over books and notes or frantically searching Wikipedia, his reading glassesperched on the edge of his nose and his auburn hair frizzed and sticking out at all ends. Louis willusually make him a cup of tea and offer him a bit of toast before sending an angry, disapprovingtext to Niall (‘U irresponsible fuck.’), but things never change, and Niall never studies, and Louis

is just too tired to care.When he does see Niall, the conversation is never very uplifting.“I’ve got to go to the studio again in an hour.”Louis nearly slams his notebook down, his glasses smudged and his hair hidden beneath a beanie—which is fortunate for Niall, because Louis’ pretty sure it smells. “Again?”Niall nods. “Grimshaw’s so fucking furious about it, too. What with the release party at the end ofthe week.” He shakes his head, clipping the end off of a cigar. “And Des has refused to come intothe studio anymore, so we’re just gonna have to take the vocal bits he did and splice themtogether. It’s all such a fucking chore.”Louis swallows, head bowing back down to his notes. “Oh yeah?”Des. Des being difficult. Harr-nope.No.“This guy’s fucking insane. He tried to attack my father! My father,” Niall scoffs. He shakes hishead, eyes clear and cutting as he gazes out the window.Attack.Louis swallows again. His throat is so dry.“And he trashed the equipment again. Thousands of fucking pounds, thrown down the drain.”“All because he changed his mind about the song?” Louis asks, voice straining to be casual.“He wrote another fucking song—we’re not even using the old one!” Niall exclaims, lighting thecigar, his cheeks hallowed around it as the flame licks the end. “Dunno what the fuck that cunt’sproblem is.”“Well. He’s mental.”“Very much so.” A stream of smoke falls from Niall’s lips. He checks his watch. “Should be mylast trip, though. Everything’s going to be released as scheduled—we’ve already promotedeverything—so we’re speeding everything up a bit.”Louis nods. He shuffles his papers a bit.“I saw Harry yesterday, actually.”Louis’ blood freezes.“He was leaving the studio as I was coming.”Harry? Studio? Why was he at the studio?Louis almost snaps his pencil in half. His hand quivers.“He’s sporting a nasty shiner, isn’t he? Do you know what it’s from?”Niall doesn’t know that Louis doesn’t talk to Harry anymore. Quite frankly, Louis hadn’t had theheart to tell him. And he certainly doesn’t have the heart to tell him now—not when he’s just

discovered that there are more bruises. It’d been almost two weeks ago since Louis’ seen Harry.The other ones must have healed. There’s more. There are more. And Louis can only think ofDes. His stomach burns at the image.“I don’t know,” he chokes out, and he bites his lip to keep from spitting out anything else.Niall must catch onto something (for once in his life) because he doesn’t say anything after that,just raises his eyebrow before placing his cigar back in his teeth and retreating to his room.Louis’ throat hurts.Everything hurts.**Every single day, Louis thinks about texting Harry. But he doesn’t know what to say, so hedoesn’t.He only actually goes through with it once, when he’s leaving his Victorian Playwrightsexamination with a newfound confidence and a bounce in his step, knowing that he passed withflying colors—all because of Harry’s tutoring.‘I think I can safely say I passed my final exam. Thanks to you. I appreciate your help this term.’He’s about to wish him luck on his own exams, about to inquire as to how he is, but then Louisisn’t sure if Harry even takes exams and thinks he probably knows the answer to how he’s doing,so he leaves the message as is and sends it before he can regret his actions, mentally marking it asthe last thing he’ll ever say to Harry.Because, obviously, Harry won’t text him back.And besides, he’s done with Harry. He has to be—Harry’s all but thrown him out on his ass—andnow life is about being easy. It’s about making life easy for Louis and doing well in school andgetting a good job and making some good, mentally stable mates and drinking too much andfucking too many people whose names he’ll never know. University isn’t about Harry fuckingStyles, so Louis is done with him, and Louis is going to make his life easier.Except.Life doesn’t get easier.It doesn’t get easier when he can’t sleep at night or when he stares at his phone, willing it to lightup with a message, just one message, and anything to be said. Even if it’s just one letter or apocket dial or anything. It doesn’t get easier when he goes out of his way to walk by the gardensand can’t help but peer into Harry’s shaded windows. It doesn’t get easier when he feels hollowinside, when he ignores study mates’ requests to celebrate the end of term, when attractive boysflirt, when people greet him with smiles, when Niall tries to drag him out to the clubs. It doesn’tget easier at all.He hears his name in the corridors, in the hallways, in the courtyard, in the classrooms—everywhere. He hears whispers of his parties and exclamations of his conquests and his excessand his charms and his body and his money and his quirks and every single word spoken from apoisoned mouth that knows fuck all about Harry, just makes Louis’ blood boil. Positively boil. Buthe says nothing, just keeps his head down, and studies, studies, studies until he forgets.

But it doesn’t get any easier.He’ll see pictures on Facebook. Harry, adorned in beautiful clothes, draped in beautiful people,pupils blown. Bruises barely visible under makeup and shadow. Captions like “BEST NIGHTEVER FUCK” litter the screen and it leaves Louis’ stomach twisting. Not just with disgust, butwith worry, with fear. With all kinds of things.And then sometimes Zayn will mention him offhandedly before getting this look in his eyes whenLouis clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck, before immediately cutting himself off.As if to spare Louis or something.And sometimes one of Des’ songs will come on the radio and that just fucking sucks as well.And then there was that question about Oscar Wilde on his exam—it almost sent him into adownward spiral of emotional panic and despair, right there in the classroom.No, none of it gets any easier.But, hopefully, in time it will.**“Do I look important enough in this?” Niall asks, twirling in place, arms outstretched andwelcoming an honest, objective opinion.It’s the last day of term before everybody goes home for the holidays. Incidentally, it’s also thenight of Des and Nick Grimshaw’s release party for their new single, “Certain Things,” and Niallhas cordially invited Louis as his ‘plus one.’ He has hasn’t stopped talking about the event for thepast couple of days—he’s brilliantly excited about his drumming skills (the boy doesn’t evenpretend to be humble) and he’s eagerly awaiting the thousands of requests he insists he’s going toget to become the next big thing in modern music.To be honest, Louis wouldn’t be surprised at all if that was Niall’s true calling. He might need tostart looking for a flatmate for next term.“You look important enough for big time execs to request your services for their upcoming artist’stracks. Does that count?” Louis asks, and he smiles. He wishes he could smile bigger. But, in thepresent funk he still seems to be in, he cannot.Niall must notice because he comes up to him, placing a strong hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” hesays, and Louis meets his eye. “We’ll have fun tonight, yeah? Free booze and free drugs andplenty of opportunities for sex. We’ll have fun. I promise.”Louis tries to smile wider. “Well, obviously.”There’s a moment longer where Niall eyes Louis closely before finally nodding and continuing tobutton up his jacket.“Right. Well. Let’s get this party started then, shall we?”Louis looks down at his hands. “Yeah.”He tries to sound excited.**

They’ve arrived in a fluster of camera flashes and cologne and Louis feels so fucking out of placeit isn’t even funny.He tries to ask Niall if Zayn and Liam are coming, but he doesn’t hear him, is instead whiskedaway by white-toothed business men who clasp his hand as they pass him around, assessing himand throwing congratulations upon him. Niall’s never looked happier, his handshakes strong andunyielding, his smile ever present, and his witty banter confidently sparring with the stiffest shirtsthere. He charms everybody, as he always does, and it’s not long before Louis’ lost himaltogether.So he stands by the food most of the night, stuffing his face with hors d’oeuvres and slinging backchampagne. He texts Liam and Zayn—no, they’re not coming, instead opting for “date night”(Louis might have retched) and so Louis promptly decides that all hope is lost and decides to eathis feelings.It’s a glamorous party—startlingly glamorous—and there are celebrities peppering the mix, but itall feels so…empty. And Louis really couldn’t give a fuck about any of it, so he guzzles escargotand quail eggs, wishing he were at home surrounded by his sisters, wearing sweatpants, andplaying video games.His pants are digging into his stomach. They’re itchy too. And his shoes are too tight.Basically, everything’s shit.That is, until Nick Grimshaw arrives, followed by Des Styles.And Harry.Louis almost chokes on an oyster.“The guests of honor,” a smiley faced bloke mutters into the microphone onstage, and a ripple oflaughter flows through the room as a few hands clap and a few smiles shine brighter and a feweyes calculate closer. Everybody’s jewelry glints beneath the lights and there’s so much black andso much lipstick and so much perfume. There’s just so much.And amidst all of that is Nick Grimshaw—basically a walking stick with a dollop of hair and lotsof teeth—laughing winningly as he enters the hall wearing a pink suit and checkered scarf, andDes Styles, wearing a surly smirk beneath black eyes and a charcoal gray suit with cufflinks thatlook like they could support a small family.And then there’s Harry.Which…for some reason, it didn’t occur to Louis that he would be here. But of course he would—it’s his father’s track, after all. How could Louis not have realized??In any case, there he is.Harry, wearing faded bruises and a bitten smile as he watches his father, clapping lightly (almosttimidly) and resplendent in gray tweed and blue satin, a green carnation in his buttonhole. His hairis styled and curled perfectly, tossed to the side and looking damn near edible, it’s so perfect. He’slong and pale and beautiful and…It’s been so long since Louis has seen him. He’s heard his name in the hallways almost every day,he’s heard rumors of his goings-about, he’s seen those pictures on Facebook, but. It’s been so longsince Louis has seen him in person.

And fuck.It’s just a lot.Amidst some murmurs and tinkling laughter, enough people seem to convince Nick Grimshaw totake the stage. He does, without much argument to be honest, and peppered applause fills theroom.Louis notices that Harry is one of the applauders. He also notices that he smiles up at Nick. Andit’s a genuine smile. Heat rips through Louis’ stomach and his jaw immediately clenches. He onlytears his eyes away when Nick’s voice begins cutting through the room over the speakers.“Attention everyone?” he laughs, and he looks around, one hand in his pocket, the other slidingthrough his elf-hair and managing to make it even pointier and taller, and he just seems so…well…cocky. “Yeah, okay. So. The single’s out on Tuesday, which—“ Applause suddenlyrumbles into life and he smiles, nodding, allowing it to run its course before the ruckus settles backdown and he returns to the mic. “Exactly. Thank you. But yeah, the single’s out and I just want tothank Des for being the brilliant musician he is.” More applause, a bit louder this time. Des has hishands deep in his pockets, eyes flicking about the room. He seems antsy. He doesn’t evenacknowledge the praise, might not even be aware of it. “And, of course, his son Harold, for whomwe couldn’t have done this without.”Louis’ eyes flick to Harry—he’s beaming, a faint blush to his cheeks as more applause fills theroom, several eyes studying him approvingly. It simultaneously fills Louis with ice and fire.“And also for being such a pretty, pretty addition to the limelight, may I just say,” Nick continues,throwing a lavish wink Harry’s way.Louis throws back another flute of champagne, almost breaking the delicate glass in his grip.“But yes. Thanks for coming. Now eat up, drink up, and play nice. Or not nice. Or whatever—Idon’t give a fuck,” Nick finishes, waving his hands dismissively, and laughter ripples through theroom before the music continues and the chatter is back in full swing, Nick descending from thestage and returning to Des and Harry. When he reaches them, he mutters something into Harry’sear, a grin plastered to his face, and Harry laughs.Harry laughs.He laughs with other people??Louis grabs another glass of champagne from a passing server.This is going to be a long night.**Louis doesn’t see Niall for the rest of the evening—not really. He hears his laughter, hears hisvoice telling stories that make everybody else laugh, and he glimpses his smiling, smug face asphotographers take pictures of him at the sides of important people, but he doesn’t go anywherenear Louis and Louis sort of wants to skin him alive for that.Because without Niall, Louis knows literally nobody.Except Harry. Who he may or may not be obsessively watching. And it hurts to watch.Now that Nick Grimshaw has finally left his side, instead charming every personality in the room

with his grandiose style (thank fuck—who the fuck does this old man think he is? And how doeshe know Harry, again?) Harry seems to be draped in an invisible cloak, shrouding him indarkness. He stands separate, silent, like he’s…missing. That’s the only way to describe it. Hisstare is cast downward mostly, occasionally flicking upwards and surveying the room, exhausted.His hands clutch his untouched drink tightly.Louis watches him the whole night, relentlessly.Only once does Des actually acknowledge Harry, despite Harry following him timidly, watchinghim with anxious eyes—he follows at a slight distance, as if torn between distancing himself orstepping closer. Des looks at Harry, eyes dark and perturbed, and directs him to fetch him a drink.Without a moment’s hesitation, Harry scurries off, nodding and biting his lips.It’s then, as Harry is carrying back two glasses of whiskey from the bar, that Harry sees Louis.He stops, full on stops, and his eyes, which had been scowled in silence and exhaustion, widenwith surprise.Louis feels like he might be knocked off his feet.He swallows and wants to look away, but he can’t, so he stares, standing by the tables of food,surrounded by empty champagne glasses, sauces and crumbs probably stuck to his jacket, and hewants to say something or wave or scowl or throw a bowl of soup at his head or something, but allhe can do is stare.And Harry stares back.“All right, kids,” Nick Grimshaw’s voice announces over the speakers.Harry continues to stare at Louis, unblinking.“For the first time ever, we are pleased to introduce…’Certain Things’!” he announcesexaggeratedly, and the lights cut out suddenly as the music video is projected onto every wall.And Louis can no longer see Harry, can only see darkness and the casted shadows from the lightsof the projectors. Which, no.Louis wasn’t done, didn’t make any sort of move, didn’t do anything at all, and that’s not how hewanted to end things with Harry—not just by gaping at him like a fish—and so he moves forward,rushing to find him, but it’s dark and there are too, too many bodies and Des’ voice is filling theroom, crooning in his raspy growl while Nick Grimshaw practically yodels in harmony, andeverybody’s eyes are on the walls watching the music video, but Louis’ eyes search for Harry—who is already lost.And, when the lights finally flick back on and Nick Grimshaw asks the crowd how they like it(he’s met with thunderous applause), Harry is nowhere to be seen.**Des leaves early. He sort of storms away, swearing and narrowly avoiding passerby, flicking histwo fingers at everybody before he exits, sunglasses donned and the collar of his trench coatpulled up.This all happens while Harry’s absent—either in the bathroom or outside for a smoke—and hemustn’t have known anything of the sort was going to happen, because it’s not long beforeHarry’s asking passerby where his father is.

It’s heartbreaking, really. And Louis knows, knows he shouldn’t care, knows he shouldn’t feelbad for Harry when Harry just doesn’t care about him in return or want him in his life at all… Buthe can’t help it.So he watches Harry scramble around looking for answers, his face slack and perfect and the veryportrait of a Shakespeare tragedy. It’s like watching the final scene of Hamlet, all within hisfeatures. A mass murder, a total destruction, a bloodbath.Except Louis thinks Harry is probably Ophelia and he’s probably already drowned.**It’s later now, past midnight, but the party only grows louder, more bodies stuffed into the space,and the elegance is slipping into something more familiar—debauchery. And Niall’s probably atthe heart of it all and Louis should probably find him soon if he wants a ride back to their flat, butall Louis can do is notice that Harry is gone.He’d gone missing while Louis had went to the loo—and narrowly avoided a cluster of veryinsistent men who looked as if they were about to gobble Louis up whole—and he’s searchedevery damn corner of the building, only to come up with absolutely nothing. And he’s about togive up, about to just say ‘fuck it’ and bury himself in distraction and pleasure, when a nigglingthought makes its way to his brain, and suddenly, Louis knows where Harry is. He just does.Quietly, he makes his way outside. He wanders around the outskirts of the building, searchingwith squinted, determined eyes in the darkness against the icy breezes, the moon dim and bitter,until he sees a lone figure perched on the grand stone stairs leading to the balcony.He knows immediately that he’s found him.He doesn’t bother approaching timidly, doesn’t waste time in wondering if this is okay or if this isa mistake. He just walks to Harry, walks up to him, and as soon as his footsteps begin crunchingagainst the frozen grass within Harry’s range of hearing, the boy’s head snaps up. The darknesshides his face. All Louis can see is the outline of his body and his mess of curly hair that glowsblue.Wordlessly, Louis sits beside him. The stone is freezing under his bum, instantly sending a shiverthrough his body. It’s also hard as fuck.Good thing he drank so much champagne.Harry’s staring at him, wildly and confused, almost fearfully, his face fully turned towards himand his brow pinched to the point where it looks downright uncomfortable. His features are lit upby moonlight from this angle, and everything looks fragile, like it’s made from porcelain ordelicate pottery. Truth be told, Harry probably really is made of delicate pottery. With tiny, tinycracks covering the surface. Cracks that show in Harry’s face at this very moment.Louis ignores the cracks, just clasps his hands together and stares up at the sky.“What are you doing?” Harry finally asks, voice low and raspy. He hasn’t blinked.“Sitting with you. Obviously.” Louis smirks a bit, ignoring the butterfly conservatory that’s justsprouted inside of his stomach, trying to make the situation light.There’s a heavy pause.

Then:“Why?”But it’s not cold, it’s not angry. It’s confused. It’s guarded. It’s…hopeful?Or maybe Louis’ just imagining that.“Because.” And now Louis turns to face Harry, sets his eyes on him, and it’s the closest he’s beento him in what feels like ages, years, centuries. Millenniums. “I want to make sure you’re allright.”And it’s there.It’s then that Harry’s face actually physically breaks, his furrowed brow releasing and his eyesflooding with something and his lips parting ever so slightly. He’s shaking his head, shaking hishead with disbelief, and his voice is agitated, confused, and so worn out.“Why do you care?” he asks desperately, but he doesn’t move away from Louis and he doesn’tlook away.Louis inhales, exhales, and is so cold he might actually die of hypothermia, but he stares at Harryunflinchingly and all he wants to do is press the pads of his fingers to his skin, to make sureHarry’s all there and nothing’s broken. That the cracks really aren’t there. He clenches his fist onhis thigh to fight the urge.“Because, Harry. I do. Even if you don’t care about me in return, I care about you. I just do.Simple as that. And I need to know if you’re all right,” he says quietly, in the most honest tone hecan manage.It’s like the surface of the earth actually cracks then. That’s what it feels like.Because one minute Louis is staring at Harry as if he’s behind glass, distant and untouchable, andthen suddenly everything that’s hanging in the air just bursts, and Harry crumples. He startssobbing—openly, unashamedly, and bluntly—and he’s slumped, hugging himself around themiddle as tears just pour down his face, and Louis watches this, startled, watches Harry’s eyespress tightly closed, watches his mouth go slack, watches as he breaks in front of him and sobs.“Harry,” Louis can only barely manage, shocked and startlingly affected, his voice cracking, andfuck, this hurts, this is painful. And he doesn’t care, he has to fucking touch him, to comfort, so hewraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders and pulls him to his chest, his own eyes glistening.Harry doesn’t protest, doesn’t fight one bit, just lets himself be engulfed as he clutches Louis' shirttightly within his fists, too many tears spilling freely over the cotton, and his shakes rack throughLouis’ body and soul and so Louis clutches him tighter as the moon watches them. It's a lot.“Louis,” Harry manages amidst his sobs, and it’s said so broken, so ruined, so destroyed andpitiful, that Louis thinks he might just die. He might actually die.Because in that one voice, he can hear every broken bit inside Harry. He can hear every singlething that went wrong in his life, every struggle, every ounce of pain, and suddenly he justunderstands it all. Understands how fucked up this all is. He can hear everything in Harry that’sclung to his soul and his very makeup—like stepping onto glass, imbedding shards and leavingscars, too delicate of incisions to ever properly heal or smooth over.It’s then that he lets his own tears fall—and fuck, he hates crying, especially hates it when the tears

oll down his neck and under his shirt collar—but he’s only human and Harry. Harry. Harry, whois so, so sad and so, so fucked up and who is seeking refuge in Louis’ arms and practically wailinghis name in his quiet, ghosting way, is breaking his goddamn heart and he’s not a fucking robot, ishe?“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” Harry continues to sob, and his lips are muffled by Louis’ shirtand chest, and Louis briefly wonders if Harry can hear the pounding of his heart—which is almostviolent now—or at least the drips of it as it bleeds all over the fucking place.And normally, Louis wouldn’t want someone to know that they’re fucking him up on the inside.He never wants people to know how he feels or what he thinks or any of that shit that’s reservedspecially for him. But he doesn’t mind if Harry knows. Almost wants Harry to know. WantsHarry to know that his heart is beating like this for him.“It’s okay,” he mutters into his hair, and he tries to keep his voice calm and soothing, trying not tochoke on his own tears. “I’m here,” he mumbles repeatedly, “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”Which releases another wrecked sob from Harry.So Louis holds him closer, impossibly closer, and buries his face within his curls with theknowledge that, no matter what, he will never, ever let this boy go.Chapter End NotesO God, was this sad? Was it not sad? I felt like it was sad but I just really hope nottoo sad? In any case, I'm happy to say that it all gets a lot less sad from here on out (Ihope) so yay! There's that?The special, depressing song for this chappa is: Nirvana - "You Know You're Right"It's such a sad song, but so appropriate for this, especially for Harry :(Okayyyy so you guys are gorgeous and my apologies if this was brutal anddepressing and shitty, but it sorta had to happen. It has to get worse before it getsbetter, ya know? So. :)Come at me on tumblr (mizzwilde) if you have any questions or want a chat or wantto send me quotes or anon messages in all caps. Heh. Ily all. I will hopefully post thenext bit soon--it's so much happier! And it'll be Christmas, so YAY! Louis' birthday!:)*smooches*

XXVChapter SummaryLouis misses Harry.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesIt isn’t much longer before Louis takes Harry home from his father’s release party.They sit together on the way back, tucked in Harry’s limo together in the middle of the seat, Harrylightly slumped into Louis’ side as the bumps of the road press them closer together.It’s…odd.They haven’t spoken since Harry cried—Harry hasn’t even looked at Louis since he let the tearsslip from his eyes. Rather, he’d just followed him blindly, like a soggy pup lost in a rainstorm,and Louis lead him by the waist through the throngs of guests smoking on the parameters of thehotel, their strings of smoke twisting together and clogging Louis’ lungs. He led Harry away,safely and efficiently, and now they’re safe inside the car and on their way home and…it’s justodd. Louis is unsure if he should speak, touch, comfort, or let alone. He can still feel whereHarry’s tears dampened his shirt, can still hear his racked, primitive anguish and the way his namewas lamented from Harry’s mouth, so painfully and so helplessly that it stirred even the relativelycolder tendrils that Louis is composed of. And he wants to reach out, clasp Harry’s frail handbetween his own or nose comfortingly into the curls that are resting so close to his cheek or, hell,clutch onto his waist with hands that don't hesitate…but more than all this, he just want to treat thesituation right. He wants to treat Harry right. Doesn’t want to overload him or crowd him.So instead he just gently lays his head atop Harry’s own—which has tiredly come to slide onto hisshoulder—with feather-soft care, just barely resting upon the silky tresses of hair that could inspirethe next Renaissance. He exhales peacefully, his body filling with simple relief for the mere factthat Harry is here, this close, and safe.It feels good to have him back.In the fleeting glow of the street lamps he sees the droop of Harry’s eyelids in response to Louis’movement, but he says nothing and never stirs, just stares out of the window, quiet and worn, asmall sort of serenity overcoming his breathing as the orange glows elongate his eyelashes and theshadows of his face. It’s begun raining—or rather, sleeting—and it’s splattering against thewindows, icy and abrasive, but Louis can’t quite bring himself to care because right now he feelswarm and dry and a lot of other things that he thinks he could feel forever in some whimsical,intangible, wonderful way.And then suddenly the car stops. They’re outside of the outer gardens—near Harry’s rooms.They’re back.He tries not to indulge the flash of unhappiness he feels flit through his system as Harry beginssitting upwards, pulling his body completely off of Louis’ and ripping away the warmth that hadbegun to spread to his bones and the corners of his tight, polished shoes. Harry breathes softly as

he straightens his jacket, stares out into the dripping darkness. He makes no movement to speak ashe blinks slow, long, eternal blinks. He’s shaded and tired. He looks like a poem. One of thosemournfully beautiful ones with short, unfamiliar words that sound ethereal when spoken andcompletely nonsensical when thought. The kind you find in the back of the book and dog-earbecause you want to poke at it a bit later, when your head's a bit clearer. Written by a Romanticpoet with a name that sounds like a soft breath and a reputation.Fuck, Louis has had too much champagne. Too, too much.“We’re here,” Louis says softly, eyes trained on Harry who is still staring out of the window, hisfists clenching onto his open jacket.Harry nods. “Yeah.”Silence.Louis swallows.What now?Louis rips his gaze from Harry, bringing it to his lap where he now fidgets with his sleeve. “Didyou want any company or anything?” he asks nonchalantly, but his voice sounds altered and he’smentally cursing his vocal cords and their ability to unfailingly shame him. He glances up,schooling his face into practiced ease. “I mean, if you’re still feeling shit, that is. Or. Whatever.”He tries not to wince at how utterly wretched he sounds.Fuck.But Harry (somehow) smiles, quiet and blooming, looking down at his own lap.“I should probably just go to bed, actually,” he says, soft and rumbling like thunder. Or maybethat's the storm.It pings Louis a bit—because he finds himself wanting to go with him, wants to watch over him ashe sleeps like a fairy fucking godmother and smooth the wrinkles of his brow if he dreams innightmares (embarrassing)—but all he can do is merely nod in response, the discomfort of his tootighttrousers digging into his waist providing an almost welcome distraction.“But thank you,” Harry adds, lifting his puffy, lidded eyes to Louis for the first time.Despite not having permission to do so, Louis’ insides pool.Because Harry’s eyes are lovely and warm, warmer than Louis’ ever seen them, and they’resmiling in an odd, perfect way, filled with something almost akin to…affection. It’s the mostunfamiliar and mesmerizing spectacle he’s ever seen. It’s breathtaking. And, yes, he’s definitelyhad too much champagne.“You’re welcome,” Louis manages, eyes wide and unblinking as they stare into Harry’s earthenjade orbs of sweet motherfucking nectar that he had previously thought could only be procured bysomething like Disney. (He’s never drinking champagne again.) “And if I don’t see you before weleave for holiday—““You will,” Harry immediately interrupts, voice soft as he continues to stare calmly at Louis, eyesstill warm and burning Louis’ jugular. “Zayn’s having a luncheon tomorrow before we depart.”

Depart. Louis tries not to roll his eyes at his uppity cordiality, despite his intense feelings of…whatever it is he’s feeling.And then the words sink in.Zayn? Luncheon? Tomorrow? Huh?“Funny,” Louis says, furrowing his brow, “he never said anything.”There’s a quiet moment then, where Harry doesn’t reply but just merely studies Louis’ face in thequiet, amber light of the limo, the icy drizzle creating metallic clunks as it collides with the metalof the roof.At last, he speaks, lips slow to form the words. "Until tomorrow then, Louis.”Louis nods, feeling a smile form. “Indeed, Harold.”And Harry smiles again, small and beatifically despite the red rims of his eyes and the exhaustionthat pales his skin. It’s sort of like when there’s a wildflower that sprouts from an errant crack inconcrete—a small, glorious splash of color that struggles through the mundane and changes theworld with its simplistic perfection. That’s what Harry’s smiles are like.… Too much champagne. Simplistic perfection? This is just getting extremely embarrassing.“Goodnight, Curly,” Louis forces himself to say before he starts mentally comparing Harry’s lipsto rose petals (because of the champagne, obviously), and is just climbing out of the car whenHarry’s hand lands on his wrist, warm and solid against the icy breezes that are now slinkingthrough the open door.“No. Stay. Burns will drive you to your flat.”“Harry,” Louis protests, feeling sudden, flooding warmth bloom within his ribs because his bodyis an over-sensitive sap. “It's no big deal. It’s not even a five minute walk—““I insist,” Harry presses, hand still clamped on his wrist. “It’s freezing outside. And raining.Please. Let him drive you back.”And maybe it’s because Harry Styles said ‘please’ or maybe it’s because it really is freezingoutside and the walk is absolutely more than five minutes, but Louis begrudgingly closes the doorof the limo and sits back inside, unable to resist a light roll of the eyes.Harry almost beams, pleased and relieved.Louis thinks he really needs to stop drinking, given the way his chest feels a bit caved in andirreparable.“Thank you. Now. Goodnight, Louis.” With one last lingering press of his hand upon Louis’wrist, Harry climbs out of the vehicle, Burns already at his door and holding an umbrella. Louiswatches as his blurry, darkened form disappears into the night.Until tomorrow, then.**It’s as Louis is lying in bed, safe and warm (and Niall still isn’t home, which is of no surprisewhatsoever) that Louis decides to send the most useless text he’s ever sent.

‘Goodnight Harry’He doesn’t get a response—he wasn’t expecting to—but it doesn’t stop him from falling asleepalmost immediately for the first time in two weeks.**Louis doesn’t know why the fuck he’s going to this luncheon.It’s not that he doesn’t want to see the boys before they leave for holiday break. He does,obviously, and very much so. But the thing is… Louis isn’t sure where he and Harry stand. Arethey friends again? Or did they just part amicably? These are things that Louis needs to know.And normally Louis would be stressing about this to Niall, but unfortunately he hasn’t stoppedtalking since he came home (very early in the morning, deciding to wake Louis up with a bodyslam in bed and a never-ending chat about how incredible his night was; which would’ve beenfine if he hadn’t smelled so strongly of weed and alcohol and several different perfumes) and iscurrently more occupied in trying to decide which party to attend first over holiday.“…but I hear George Van Eyck’s parties are sick and I know his cousin’s a big name in the recordcompanies, so I figure I might as well get in cozy there, eh? Besides, his mum is fit. And healways has good weed. You can’t go wrong, right?” Niall blathers, cheeks pink with the cold asthey ascend the staircase to Zayn’s rooms. His hands are deep in the pockets of his black peacoat,and a thick, wool scarf is wrapped loosely around his neck. He’s the perfect picture of winter,contrasting with the warmth of his lilting voice.But Louis is barely listening.Because they’re closing in upon Zayn’s door. And behind Zayn’s door is Harry. And though, yes,him and Louis shared a moment last night—if that’s what you call it? Because it felt like a fuckingmoment—he can’t help but fear Harry’s temperament and his reaction to the situation. Will herecoil? Hide? Lash out? Be a total prick? Will he even be there?Fuck, he should’ve just went home. He could’ve been sat on his couch, surrounded by his sistersby now.Fuck, fuck, fuck.When they finally reach Zayn’s door, Niall bursts forth without any hesitation.“Mates!” he exclaims, arms outstretched in a welcoming embrace as he clomps forward, andZayn’s smile immediately flashes into existence from where he’s sitting at the head of the table.Within mere seconds of entering the space, Niall’s got his glass filled with whiskey, a lit cigarette,and a plate filled with food. It’s like he’s equipped with his own personal army of tiny, invisiblenymphs that flit about him, serving his every need.Louis is far quieter than his predecessor, skulking in quietly and taking in the scene, his whitejumper hot against his skin and his jacket buttoned too tightly to his chest.“Niall! Louis!” Liam greets happily, slapping Niall’s back happily before making his way toLouis. He sits in front of him, perched upon the edge of the table, staring eagerly like a childwould his favorite teacher.“Liam, mate,” Louis smiles, fiercely fighting the urge to search for Harry in his peripherals. Is hehere?? Is he happy?? Is he hurt?? Is he here?? And, god, he can't even blame his jitteryattentiveness to champagne.

“How are you? We’re so sorry we couldn’t make it last night to the party. I heard it was excellent,though,” Liam grins, teeth impossibly white.Louis nods absently, his brain whirring. “Yeah, yeah. Excellent, yeah.” His jacket is still on andhis hands are still stuffed in his pockets, palms sweaty. He can feel Zayn staring at him curiously.“I’m just happy that exams are over, to be honest,” Liam then laughs, oblivious. “I feel so muchbetter now. I could barely keep my head on for awhile there.”Louis nods, his throat feeling dry. The room is warm and decorated for Christmas—probablyHarry’s doing. It smells like ginger and spice and cocoa. With undertones of herbs. DefinitelyHarry's doing.“The newspaper did excellent, I’m happy to say,” Liam beams.“He’s even got recognition from the school board,” Zayn adds from his throne, lazy and happy,sipping his glass with unmistakable pride. “Everyone’s talking about it. Say he’s the best editor tocome around in over forty years.”Liam’s smile could very possibly split his face. “Who would’ve thought?” he exclaims in his grin,picking up a nearby glass filled with deep red wine. “I did excellently on all my projects as well.”He takes a sip. “I’m just happy to be back to normal, though. Such a relief.”And, yeah, it is nice to see Liam smiling again, posing perfectly and being the effortless host—Zayn’s other, cleanly smiling, half. Louis is happy that he’s no longer grouchy or strained orstressed or sleep-deprived or wearing a sweatsuit and staring helplessly at his laptop as he flitsabout the room, hopped up on caffeine and uppers and various other forms of “aids” that enablemachine-like efficiency and no sleep whatsoever.But the thing is.He can’t be all that engaged in the conversation at the moment. Because Harry has just walkedinto the room. And Louis’ eyes find him instantly. Because he's embarrassing.He’s wearing a cream jumper and vermilion trousers. He looks cozy and clean and freshlyscrubbed, like he’d just taken a bath and still smells like warm soap. His hair is soft and tumbling,his feet are clad in thick, forest green socks, and he’s walking calmly, his movements smooth andrelaxed. His face is equally so, looking like he’d gotten a proper night’s sleep, and Louis doesn’tknow if he’s seen him yet, but he certainly sees Harry, and everything about him exudes holidaycheer and sweetness and warmth and—“Louis?”Louis snaps his gaze away, looking back to Liam who is staring at him expectantly.“Hi? Yes?” he asks dumbly, feeling a flush form in his cheeks as his peripherals catch Harry’sfigure stilling. He feels his gaze find him. But all he can do is stare unblinkingly at Liam inresponse.“Would you like a beverage? Tea? Water? Wine? Champagne?”Liam asks, in a tone that suggestshe’s repeating himself.“Uhm—““D’you have any good whiskey on hand?” Niall then barks from across the room.

Which…thank fuck for Niall.Because that distracts Liam easily enough as he hops up happily off from his perch on the tableand rushes to Zayn’s liquor cabinet in the corner, spouting pleasantries and suggestions with ease.Louis stays planted, eyes seeking Harry once more and, yep, he’s staring at Louis from across theroom. He looks quiet and peaceful, his eyes mildly sad but pleased to see him—genuinely pleased—and crinkling slightly with a small smile. And Louis doesn’t really know what to do or what tosay (does he acknowledge what happened or…?) so he finds himself sending forth an awkwardlittle wave, at a complete loss for anything else.The gesture causes Harry’s smile to grow, just barely, and he returns the wave, small and sweet.At that, there’s a definitive rush of blood to Louis’ head, and he’s just made the decision to walkover to Harry, Harry smiling as Louis takes the first step, when suddenly he feels a hand rest onhis shoulder and—oh.Zayn.“Can I help you?” he asks, sounding bitchier than he meant to with one eyebrow raised, bodyvery much set on finding Harry. He tries to withhold his impatience.Zayn meets his eyes, calm and cool, nodding his head in the opposite direction. “A moment,” hemore commands than asks, and Louis nods immediately. There’s just something about Zayn thatallows no room for refusal. Maybe it’s the quiet intensity of his eyes. Or the sharpness of his teeth.Or maybe it’s the way he breathes curls of smoke and guides you with a coy smile. Or maybe it'sbecause he's intimidatingly attractive and you can't help but find yourself getting lost in the sexthat oozes out of his pores.Either way, Louis finds himself following Zayn, leading him farther away from Harry and to theopposite end of the room, tucked away by a row of collectible action figures and framed comicbooks. A rather nerdy section, if Louis’ being honest. He’s long ago learned that Zayn is rather alarge dork, despite his intimidating countenance. Loveable and easily pleased.“Do you know what’s going on with Harry?” Zayn asks immediately, sparing no thought fortransition or hesitation.Louis blinks, startled. “Going on? Do you mean in general, or…?”“Today,” Zayn says, silken voice dropping in volume. “Something’s changed. He’s better thanhe’s been lately. Still not himself, but. He seems…different.”At that, Louis’ stomach swoops. Hard. It might have even fallen out of his ass and plummetedthrough the floorboards, leaving a shimmering gold sun in its wake. Because Louis’ insides aredefinitely now coated in warm, glittering light. Fuck being embarrassment, fuck champagne-basedexcuses. Louis feels warm, goddammit, and it's a remarkable experience.“Different, you say?” Louis asks, weakly, appearing nonchalant and casual. “Howso?”Zayn sighs, turning to look at Harry who is now taking a seat beside Niall, pouring him anotherglass of whiskey and smiling as the aforementioned boy tells an exaggerated story that’s sendingLiam into fits of giggles.“I can’t explain, really. And he hasn’t said anything to me. I’m just wondering if it has somethingto do with Des. Or…anything else in his life.” He turns his face to Louis. “Do you know anythingat all?”

And shit. Here’s the crossroads.What is he supposed to say? That Harry cried like a baby last night and Louis (who may or maynot have also let a tear or two slip) promised to never leave him? Like some awful romance novel?That they’re friends again in some strange, indefinable, poetic way that nobody in the world seemsto be able to understand, least especially Louis or Harry?But really, is that even the reason Harry’s acting different? Could he really be so bold as to assumethis change of behavior is attributed to him? What if something’s happened with Des and that’s thereal reason? Or anyone else in Harry's life that's more important.Of course it isn’t Louis. Des probably just said something kind or apologized for being the worstfather in the world or maybe his heroin addict sister called him or…whatever. Whatever the reasonfor Harry’s mood change, Louis can’t be it. It’s just too unlikely.So Louis shakes his head.“I’ve no idea, mate, sorry.”Zayn nods, watching Louis closely.“Was he at all different at the party?”Louis shifts. “Not really. A bit quiet, I suppose.”Zayn stares at Louis carefully, eyes intent. “What about the song? How did everybody react tothe song?”The song?Louis raises his eyebrows. “Er. They liked it, I suppose. I haven’t heard any complaints.”At that Zayn breathes a sigh of relief, eyes flicking back to Harry. Which is…strange.“Why?” Louis asks, now watching Zayn who glances at him briefly.“No reason,” he says breezily after a pause, before sliding a cigarette out of his gilt case. He offersone to Louis who shakes his head. “Well, whatever’s going on with him, I hope it continues. It’sgood to see him smiling again.”And then Zayn’s gone, taking his place beside Liam and pressing his cigarette to his lipsreverently while Louis reassembles the broken pieces of his brain.The rest of the luncheon goes smoothly. The boys toast the term, exchanging the better memoriesand laughing off the worse ones, pouring generous amounts of liquor and eggnog in each others’cups. Symphonic Christmas music wafts from the speakers of Zayn’s stereo system, and the skyoutside is grayish white, with tiny flecks of snow falling sporadically. It’s warm and cozy andfestive, and as Louis tells story after story of Niall’s escapades with the piano and Rory, the boyslaugh louder and smile brighter and everything just feels familiar and nice. Almost like home,even.It’s odd to think he’ll be leaving for his actual home within only a few short hours, and stayingthere for almost a month. These faces he’s come to associate with ‘every day’ he will now beseparated from for weeks. It leaves a sad sort of reluctance within him.

Which only grows larger when Harry suddenly rises from Zayn’s piano (all the talk of Niall’sgoings-on inspired him, sending him into spiraling piano twirls of Christmas tunes that the boysattempted to sing along with tipsily, mouths filled with meat pies) and assembles himself with a, “Ibetter be off. Burns’ll be here soon.”Louis’ heart sinks. A tad.“To take you home?” he asks from the table, attempting to camouflage the disappointment in hisvoice.Harry nods. “Yeah. I want to get back as soon as I can.”And that doesn’t sit well with Louis, the idea of Harry returning to that home of his as soon as hecan, but Harry’s face is confident, not the least bit fearful or discomforted, so Louis leaves it aloneand instead just nods.“I’ll see you all soon, of course,” Harry says with a smile. “Probably far sooner than we’d like.Happy Christmas. Save the best sweets for me.” He winks at them all as Zayn rolls his eyes andLiam and Niall chuckle fondly, but his eyes stray lingeringly on Louis for the briefest of moments(or is that the eggnog talking?) before he turns away.And no.No.Harry cannot just leave Zayn’s rooms like it’s nothing so he can go home for a month. He won’tbe seeing any of them—not one of them—and he cannot just walk away as if this is no big thing.Because it’s practically an entire month, damn it--over thirty days--and that’s a long time, and if hethinks that he can just waltz away like that then, well, he’s got another thing coming.“I actually still need to pack,” Louis says before he knows what he’s doing, shooting up out of hischair.Harry pauses.“Better get going myself. Mind if I join you?” he asks, and he feels Zayn, Liam, and Niall’s eyesturn to look up at him.Surprised, Harry turns around. “Join me?”“Yes.”Harry and Louis stare at each other as the other boys’ eyes flick between the two curiously.“Yeah, all right. Come on then, Louis Tomlinson, hurry it up,” Harry says cheekily, but thatdimple’s flashing pleasantly and his face is sincere, so Louis smiles as he makes to stand andaccompanies him by the door.“I’ll ring you lads later, yeah?” Louis says, grinning at the boys.“Course,” Zayn says easily, as Liam smiles winningly.“At your leisure, of course,” he says.“I’ll see you at the flat, yeah?” Niall asks, leaning back in his chair casually. “You won’t leavebefore I get back?”

“No, yeah, I’ll see you at the flat,” Louis assures as he buttons his jacket.“Good. I’ve got a goodbye present,” Niall says lewdly, sending forth a wink and smirking at theboys as they titter in response.Harry quirks an eyebrow but says nothing, instead opening the door for Louis. “After you?”“Always,” Louis grins with a bat of his eyelashes, and he waves goodbye, feeling nostalgic andpleased at once.And then, suddenly the door closes and it’s just him and Harry.“Thanks for letting me join you, Curly. It’s nice when you’re not antisocial,” Louis teases,descending Zayn’s steps, careful to keep in pace with Harry’s measured, meandering strides.A light chuckle reminiscent of jingle bells slips from Harry’s lips. “Can’t say I’ve ever been calledantisocial before.”“Well, I suppose there’s a first for everything.”Harry smiles, shaking his bowed head.There’s a brief silence, the only sound being the soft patters of their feet against ancient stonesteps, and Louis is thinking a thousand million thoughts, each one persistently bubbling in theback of his throat, threatening to emerge.“So…are you all right, then? Everything good today?” he asks, hoping his voice conveys a casualease.They’re now outside, slowly making their way towards Harry’s rooms. He can see the staircasecoming into view. Soft speckles of snow imbed in Harry’s curls.“Yeah. It’s good,” Harry says after a moment’s pause, and Louis can tell he’s forcing himself tospeak, is putting forth the effort to communicate honestly with Louis.Which Louis appreciates to no end. Harry’s trying.“And you really want to go home sooner rather than later?” Louis can’t help but ask, feetcrunching frozen grass. His breath puffs before him before sneaking up to the heavens, taking hiswords with it.Harry nods immediately. “Yes. I don’t want to leave my father on his own for too long. It’s notgood for him to be alone.”“It’s not?”Harry’s not looking at him, eyes instead set on the crunchy, snow speckled ground. “He’s notgood with his thoughts. Like…he has a tendency to wallow.” A twisted smile curls at his coldlips. It’s wry and it’s fleeting, and then his face becomes masked in calm. “But the new singleshould help. He’ll have performances to attend. He might even get nominated for an award—he’dlike that. It gives him something to focus on. So. He should be better. But I still like to keep an eyeon him.”Louis sighs.How the fuck does Harry manage to be such a doting son? He can’t even stomach a conversation

with his mum and she’s not half as difficult to deal with. Guilt begins to worm its way into hisstomach at the thought, grows even moreso as he finds himself dreading seeing her.“Why are you so good to him?” he asks, watching Harry as they near the staircase by the gardens.The snow swirls around them.Harry shrugs. “He’s my father.”“So?”“He’s family, Louis.”They climb the icy steps. Louis feels more questions bubbling in the back of his throat.“What about the rest of your family?” he dares to ask, his hands uncommonly cold and stiff, onlypartly due to the climate.Harry stiffens.“That’s…another story.” He glances up at Louis. “But I’m not interested in such chatter nowthough, anyway. It’s Christmas, Louis. A time of cheer,” he says, almost ironically. Then, “Andan incredible color selection.”Louis laughs despite himself, despite the unease and curiosity that sits in the spaces between hisfingers and the back of his neck. “Fair enough, fair enough,” he smiles, just as they reach the doorto Harry’s rooms. “I’ll stop asking overly personal questions for a change. Consider it a Christmaspresent.”Harry’s lips quirk. “I don’t think I could’ve asked for a better one.”Another laugh escapes Louis.“But.” Harry stops, eyes rested on the snow-smeared stone beneath their feet. “I like that you ask.”Louis wants to press it, wants to (possibly) squeeze out a few more gem sentences from those icedChristmas lips, but he doesn’t, instead breathes out his emotions and paces himself, only allowinghimself a small grin.“I like asking,” he says in response, and his voice has gone traitorously soft.The barely-there smile on Harry’s face threatens to grow, but Harry manages to keep it at bay, hiseyes glued to his feet. “I should go,” he eventually says, voice formal and rich. His gaze returns toLouis, casual and reserved. “I haven’t even begun to assemble my things into any form oforganization. It’s going to be a bit of a horrid mess, this packing business.”“You could always have Burns do it,” Louis suggests with a smirk.“Burns would stuff me in the suitcase before he would one of my belongings,” Harry says, andthey laugh lightly, the sound tinkling against the falling snow.They’re standing there, staring at each other, and it’s pretty cold and very white out, and Louistruthfully does need to actually pack still. Basically, he needs to leave. Right about now.“Well, Happy Christmas then, Curly,” he says with chapped lips that feel numb from the coldbreezes.“Happy Christmas, Louis,” Harry replies with a smile he tucks into his chest.

“Happy Christmas, Louis,” Harry replies with a smile he tucks into his chest.“I hope you’re showered with the best presents—and none that come in the form of venerealdiseases.”Harry bursts into surprised laughter. “You’re very unfair,” he criticizes, but he’s still got his smileon, his cheeks kissed with a blush and his eyes alight. And how the fuck do his eyes manage toglow like that? It’s like someone’s installed lightbulbs behind each socket and they just shine likelittle stars set in the nebulas of Harry’s face. And, no, he’s not even going to mention that crater ofa dimple. He will not.They’re about to part. Louis can feel it. Really, he should just smile a goodbye and walk away,leaving this damn snow queen behind until they reunite next term.But Louis never does what he should do. So instead he hugs Harry.With determined arms he steps forward, engulfing the boy in his tight embrace, standing on histippy toes and wrapping arms around Harry’s neck.At first Harry doesn’t know how to react. He just sort of stiffens and stands with his hands at hissides. But then slowly he relents and wraps long arms around Louis’ waist, enveloping him, andLouis feels his face digging into his skin and the tickle of his eyelashes as his eyes close.It’s a bit overwhelming in some inexplicable way. The way Harry smells and feels and the waythat this might be the most incredible hug in the world? Ever? Louis feels Harry’s nose buried intohis neck and for some reason it feels like every single valve in his body has been turned on fullblast and he’s drowning in something he can’t quite explain.At long last, they part, Louis still holding onto Harry’s jumper, his hand clustered in the fabric athis side. Harry notices, glancing down with lashes that cut into skin that matches snow. And thatshould really be enough to have Louis let go and step back. But instead he just stares, his handwarm, and everything suddenly feels warm despite the wintry chill, flecks of snow sticking toHarry’s glazed red cheeks and his crimson lips, moistening his eyelashes, and dusting his hair. Helooks like a fucking art project, like something a student took months to think up and create.They continue to stand, Harry watching Louis quietly, his head slightly tilted, not moving amuscle, and his breathing is slow and quiet and peaceful, and Louis just doesn’t want to let go.That’s probably not normal, is it?And he hasn’t even had any champagne.With a determination that is stronger than it should be, Louis forces himself to release Harry’sjumper, Harry’s eyes quiet and watchful and softly green, giving life to their wintry surroundings.“I’ll see you next year,” Louis says, smiling a bit weakly, taking a step back.Harry watches him, face unreadable.“Bye, Curly,” he mutters, then turns around and walks away before Harry can speak a word.**He’s been home for six days and it’s already too long.It’s not that it isn’t good to be back—his sisters have missed him terribly, all piling upon himwhenever he’s in the room and tugging at his clothes for attention. Hell, as soon as he’d steppedthrough the door upon his return, they all ran at him with all the fury of the Valkyries, embracing

his every limb and singing his name. That is, except for Charlotte, the oldest, who pouted for threehours until she finally warmed up to Louis’ incessant jokes and silly voices.A begrudging smile lifted her lips.“You never visit anymore,” is all she says as he pokes at her sides teasingly, her giggles filling thegaps between the words.His heart tugs a bit—because, no, he hadn’t visited, and it was in no small way due to theirmother. Which is wrong on several levels. And terribly selfish.Louis is a bad person.“I know. I’m shit,” he says dramatically, swinging his arms around her and tugging her to hischest as he lifts her off her feet.She screeches out a giggle before he settles her gently back onto the ground, and her smile isbright, her golden hair frizzy.“Yeah, you are,” she agrees, but she’s still smiling. “You could give us a ring, you know.”“I Facebook you!”“’S not the same!”“How is it not??”“Can’t hear your voice, can I?” she says, and her pout is back, just a bit, as she folds her armsacross her pale pink jumper.Louis’ smile softens. Fuck, he really did miss his sisters. Even if his mother is a bit of a cow (she’sbeen rather good though, to be fair, and hasn’t left the house mysteriously or spent all day in herroom, locked away; she has, however, asked incessantly about Niall and flits between obsessingover Louis’ presence—coddling him like mad—and forgetting he’s there altogether) he really willneed to make more of an effort to return home more often next term.“I missed you, Arl,” he smiles, mussing up her hair.“Good,” she beams, swatting at his hand, before walking into the kitchen together.So it’s been pretty good in that aspect.He’s also managed to see Stan almost every day. If they’re not kicking about in the snow or at theshops, they’re in Louis’ house, or Stan’s house, or a mutual friend’s house—anywhere, really.Which is wonderful because Louis really misses Stan. Misses his churly smiles and smacks to hisribcage and the way he can always, always make him laugh.But he does not miss his cheek.“Got anyone special, then?” Stan asks cheekily as they’re lying down on the floor of his room,lazily passing a bowl back and forth. The room smells of pizza and beer and cinnamon. It’s allvery holiday.Louis rolls his eyes. “Why hello mum, when did you get here?” he mutters wryly, licking his dry,smoke-tinged lips.Stand laughs, throwing a dirty sock in his face. “Oi, I’m only being friendly. Suppose I might as

Stand laughs, throwing a dirty sock in his face. “Oi, I’m only being friendly. Suppose I might aswell put the effort into pretending to care.”“Good effort there, Stan. A plus,” Louis smiles with a fond roll of the eyes. But there is a quiet,inquisitive whisper within him that warms to the idea, and suddenly Harry’s at the forefront of hismind again.And that’s why Louis has been home too long. That’s why six days is just too much and he needsto go back to school. Because Harry. And thoughts of Harry. And looking at a blank phone andnot hearing from Harry. And having absolutely no idea if Harry’s even all right or if he’s unwellor if he’s missing or…anything.He hears from Zayn and Liam almost every day. He gets drunken snapchats from Niallsporadically and an occasional affectionate “I MISS U U CUNT”s in all caps, followed by emojisthat he didn’t think Niall even knew existed. He hears from them all. But he never hears fromHarry.And he needs to go back to school.“I’m not with anyone, no,” Louis says after a moment’s pause. “And I’m not interested in anyone.Not like that. But. I’ve got this friend…” His insides twist a bit, just at the mention of Harry. Hehasn’t really talked about him to his family. Hasn’t mentioned him to his mum or his sisters. It’slike Harry doesn’t even exist when he’s home, is just some imaginary phantom that visits hisdreams, so speaking of him now, hearing these words slip into the familiar air that he’s breathedsince birth…well.It’s like Harry’s blanketed all areas of his life now. He’s become part of Louis’ own existence. Bymerely mentioning him, Louis is cementing Harry’s place, and it feels warm and electric andstrange and terrifyingly awful, but he presses on anyways because he just has to.“Go on,” Stan says impatiently after Louis falls silent.“I’ve got this friend, see. And he’s…fucking weird. Really weird. Like, carries around teacupsand flowers and has obsessions with strawberries kinda weird.”Stan raises his eyebrows. “He sounds like a hipster.”Louis snorts. “No, no. He’s actually weird. And he’s rich as fuck and crazy and…his father is DesStyles.”“Sick!” Stan says, attention immediately caught. “He’s just released that new track with NickGrimshaw. Have you heard it? It’s fucking wicked. D’you think he could get us into a concert?”Well, shit. Now Louis feels like a real twat. Because he really hasn’t talked to Stan enough.“I have heard it, actually. I, er, went to the single release party.”Stan’s eyes bug. “You what?”“Yeah.” Louis ducks his head. “It was a bit of a mess, though. Harry and I were sorta fighting andNiall just abandoned me and—““Wait. Harry? Niall? Who are they?”And that’s strange, too. Because Harry and Niall are what Louis’ life consists of now and Stan,his best mate of forever, doesn’t even know who they are. It’s really strange.

“Well, Harry’s the…friend. And Niall’s my flatmate. You’d love him. You’d absolutely love him.He’s hilarious and a fucking idiot and he’s got more money than he knows what to do with. He’snice, too—probably the nicest kid I’ve ever met—and he has a fucking assistant.”Stan looks successfully impressed.“So I’m going to meet these blokes, yeah?”“Of course,” Louis says happily, without hesitation. “You need to visit next term. They’d loveyou.”“Even Harry?”Louis pauses. Harry.“I think so,” he says, unsure, and Stan laughs.“I dunno, mate. You sound like you’ve got a bit of a head case on your hands.”“No, no, no,” Louis rushes, “he’s not like that. He’s wonderful. Always. He’s just…got a lot todeal with. But he’s trying! And he’s different, Zayn even said. But he doesn’t even need to bedifferent because he’s fine the way he is. He’s good. He’s sweet and stupid and intelligent andmoody and fucking exhausting and ridiculous and charming and strong and there’s just so muchinside of him. So, so much, Stan.”By the time Louis is done with his speech (which he really hadn’t meant to happen), Stan is justlooking at him with open, flaunted amusement.“What?” Louis asks defensively, skin flushing.“No special someone, you said?” he asks with eyebrows that claim to know too much.“No!” Louis replies hotly, and his skin flushes more which is irritating and unbecoming and hejust really, really wishes he could control the emotions of his skin more. Because Harry isabsolutely just a friend. There’s never been any other option. It’s never been like that betweenthem. Harry’s just a friend. A new friend.“Anyways,” Louis says, still feeling the warmth of his neck radiating within the collar of his shirt,“let’s play Mario. I’m in the mood to be Italian.”And the subject is dropped from there despite Stan’s impish grin and smirking eyes, and, slowly,Louis’ skin returns to its normal temperature.**It’s Louis’ birthday. Therefore, it’s also Christmas Eve.And it’s a good day, actually.He’s spent it with his family, his sisters sticking tiaras atop his head and coloring him pictures aspresents. He accepts each one with the biggest of smiles, clutching them to his chest reverentlyand making them giggle.Stan stops by, has tea with them all and has Louis open his present—a football jersey, a wheel ofcheese, a bottle of beer, and a ball of duct tape—before slapping him on the back with anembrace.

“Happy birthday, mate. Make sure your rich friends spoil the fuck out of you,” he grins.Which is funny actually, because Louis had purposely hidden his phone in his room, his desire tointeract with the outside world slim. He can only imagine the texts he’s received from Niall—thatis, if he even remembered—and he’s not very interested in reading Zayn and Liam’s tapped outwords because, quite frankly, he misses them. He misses them and he wishes he could celebratehis birthday with them, with a grand party and a fountain of punch and a masquerade or some shit,but he can’t see them because his birthday is inconveniently placed and…well.He just feels a bit pissy.He loves his family, he does. He’s happy to spend his birthday like this. But there’s justsomething… missing.“Did your father call you?” Louis’ mum asks stiffly from where she’s putting the finishing toucheson his cake. Which is sweet. Louis hadn’t expected her to bake, and it pleases him, makes hissmiles toward her a bit more genuine. When he hugs her, he means it.“No. Why would he?”She sighs, deep and frustrated. “You’d think one of these years he’d have the decency to call hisown son.”“Haven’t spoken to him in two years. Why stop tradition now?” Louis says with a twisted grin,and they leave it at that.They have dinner—lasagna, Louis’ favorite—and then pour the presents upon him. His mumbrings out all the cards he’s received from relatives, the little packages from far away, and sheeven brings her own, much to Louis’ surprise.“You’ve bought me a present?” he asks, startled.She smiles, ruffling his hair. “Now that you’re away, I figure you need a bit of your mum’s love.”And…well. That sentence is a bit problematic in some regards, but Louis will take it. He smiles,standing up to embrace her, before settling back down in his chair and shoving cake and mincemeat pies in his face as he rips away at paper and envelopes with sticky fingers, the girlscontinuously singing happy birthday.“You’re too good to me,” he teases to Maggie, bopping her on the nose, and she giggles, crawlingonto his lap.“Happy birthdayyyyyy,” she sings, and squeezes his cheeks as he pretends to feel the strengthfrom her tiny hands.Overall, it’s nice. And, though he does wish he was with the lads, he supposes it’s for the better,being here in his kitchen with his family, the house decorated for Christmas and smelling warmand edible, piles of presents and well-wishes around him.Because Louis is loved and it feels nice. Really nice.He makes his way to his room after the festivities are over, his stomach loaded with sweets andcocoa, the promise of sleep better than any other prospect in the world. He creaks the door openbefore making his way to the bed, sitting heavily upon it, the sweetness of frosting still clinging tohis lips. Oh happy day.

There’s a soft knock on the door.“Yeah?” he calls tiredly, rubbing his eyes.The door gently opens, wide eyes and long, blonde hair visible.“Charlotte,” he smiles. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”She grins, rolling her eyes at him, before making her way in and sitting beside him on the bed.“Got you something.”“Did you? Why didn’t you give it to me after dinner?” he asks, tired and fuzzy, his smilepermanent on his face.She hands him a small, square package, her cheeks plumped into a pleased smile. She shrugs. “Idunno. Because.”He chuckles a bit, unwrapping it expertly. His smile only widens when he sees what lies beneath.It’s a framed photo of Louis, his sisters, and his mum the day he left for uni. They’re clusteredtogether, smiling and sunny, and in the corner of the frame is a tiny scrap of paper with the words,“Miss you Lou!!” written in Charlotte’s handwriting.Fuck. That is really fucking sweet. And, no, Louis is not getting emotional.“Why thank you, love,” he smiles, immediately hugging her and blinking away the shine of nottears.“Do you like it?” she ask, voice muffled by his shoulder.He laughs softly. “Love it.” He feels her smile before she pulls away, her eyes quiet and peering athis face.“Do you miss us, too?” she asks.His heart pangs again—he really is a shit brother, isn’t he?—as he smiles, mussing up her hair.“All the time, yeah,” he says softly. “I’ll call you more. Maybe even write a letter or two.”“Send us presents??” she asks hopefully.He laughs, nudging her with his elbow. “So many presents. It will actually become annoying howmany presents I send.”She beams, nodding, and standing up off the bed. “It’s a promise, then. Goodnight, Lou. Happybirthday.” She hugs him one last time, arms clutched around his neck, and he smiles wider than hehas in weeks as he grips her close, her soft blond hair tickling his nose. “Love you,” she sings inhis ear, and then she glides out of the room, waving and smiling before she closes the door.Louis continues to smile. Maybe being home isn’t so bad.It’s only when he’s crawling into bed that he remembers he has a phone at all. It’s connected tothe charger, sitting on his nightstand, and as he lies there, burrowing his feet inside the blankets, heflicks through the lock screen, eyes gliding over the familiar names and chunks of text wishinghim a happy birthday.He’s got a couple from Zayn which makes him smile wide, pushing his cheeks into his eyes, and

even more from Liam which makes him laugh softly. He’s got one from Niall, which merely says‘Is it ur birthday?’ which emits a burst of laughter from him (because of course Niall would sendthat, the oblivious loon) and he’s just about to swipe a reply when an unfamiliar name catches hiseye.Harry StylesHe freezes.… Did he—what—is that--?He looks again.Harry StylesYes, okay. Right. Okay.Harry texted him. Okay. All right. Okay.His eyes flit to the text.‘Happy birthday, Louis Tomlinson.’He stares.He reads it again.‘Happy birthday, Louis Tomlinson.’Oh god.Harry.A text.A text from Harry.On his birthday.On Louis’ birthday.How did he know? Did he ask Zayn? Did he check his Facebook? Had Louis told him in the pastand he’d happened to remember? He texted him. He texted Louis. He texted Louis happy birthdayand—What does he say back??It’s one thing to text Harry when he knows he’s not going to get a response. It’s another thingentirely when he knows he’s going to actually read it and perhaps reply.Fuck.Fuck, fuck, fuck.He weighs his options over the next few minutes, typing out rough drafts and then deleting them.At long last he settles on a classic response:

‘Thank you, Curly. Happy Louis Day.’He waits, fully prepared for nothing, but still he waits and waits and waits, and just as his eyelidsbegin drooping and sleep has begun to ensnare his senses in its quiet clutch, his phone vibratesharshly, startling him out of his slipping unconsciousness. He brings it to his eyes immediately, hispulse picking up. He’s almost tempted not to read it, to save it for the morning so he hassomething to wake up to—be it good or bad. Which is dangerously close to being pathetic.But in the end he gives in to temptation (doesn’t he always?) and unlocks the text, staring atHarry’s response.It’s an emoji. Of an octopus.… Ok, then.So Louis sends him a rose before he falls asleep, his smiling cheeks pressed deep into his pillowthat smells so sweetly of home.**It isn’t long before New Years rolls around the corner.Louis ends up going to Stan’s party, a small, painfully fun bash that he holds in his charminglyshady apartment on the other side of town despite having been invited to Zayn’s ever-so-famousNew Years Party Extravaganza. And he’s a little glum about it, yeah, (in no way could herationalize the traveling costs or the abandonment of his childhood mates for a glamorous shitshow at some elitist hotel) because he doesn’t get to see the lads, but he has fun regardless anddrinks enough to forget to think about them all—namely Harry, who he hasn’t heard from sincehe’d gotten the octopus emoji, the fucker—and as the clock strikes the new year, he’s evenmanaged to find himself a new year’s kiss.It’s a boy with a hairsprayed quiff and a trendy shirt that reeks of sub-par cologne, his forgettablegreen eyes smiling into Louis’ as they chat throughout the night casually, exchanging drinks andpleasantries about their lives. The green only makes him think of Harry—but it’s a shamefulcomparison because Louis’ quite sure the color of Harry’s eyes is the only of its kind and thePowers At Be had fucked around a bit longer while making him, inventing new shades on thecolor spectrum, putting more energy towards him alone than they have the whole population.Or maybe Louis’ had too much tequila.In any case, Hairspray Boy follows Louis around (he can’t be blamed really—Louis looksfantastic tonight) and takes full opportunity of their proximity as everybody cheers in the newyear, the noisemakers exploding, and grabs him into a very un-momentous kiss.“Cheers, mate. Happy new year,” Louis says half-assedly after he’s released, throwing the boy aweak thumbs up and avoiding his gaze as he slips by him and wanders off to find his mates. Hefeels the disappointment in the boy but he leaves regardless because he just can’t care, feeling veryindifferent about the situation in general.“Louis!” Stanley greets with drunken enthusiasm, and before he knows it, he’s swallowed wholeby the masses, laughing and celebrating another year gone by.He wonders what Zayn and Liam are doing—probably cuddling.He wonders what Niall is doing—definitely partying. Maybe shagging some girl. Or girls.

He wonders what Harry is doing.He slips out his phone, untangling himself from the crowds of people, feeling drunken and tiredand somehow forlorn despite the good cheer and the good company and his freshly kissed lips. Hefinds a deserted corner of the house, filled only by abandoned cups and a few fallen beer bottles,and alights his phone, thoughts on Harry, and then—Harry Styles flashes across his screen.Fuck.He fucking texted Louis. Again.On New Years. At midnight.Fuck.Louis swipes the message, reading instantly, his heart sprouting holes and gushing over his organslike a fountain at Buckingham Palace. His mind is a steady thrum of blankness, unable to properlynavigate through all the alcohol in his system and the vast amount of emotions that have just pileddown upon him.Harry texted him.New Years.Again.He reads.‘I knew a simple soldier boyWho grinned at life in empty joy,Slept soundly in the lonesome dark,And whistled early with the lark.In winter trenches, cowed and glum,With crumps and lice and lack of rum,He put a bullet through his brain.No one spoke of him again.You smug-faced crowds with kindling eyeWho cheer when soldier lads march by,Sneak home and pray you’ll never knowThe hell where youth and laughter go.’Louis stares.….. The fuck?

That’s what Harry sent him? It’s New Years and it’s midnight and he’s texted Louis, for only thethird time in his life, and he…sends him a poem about a solider committing suicide?Louis’ heart thumps, painfully and irrationally, and suddenly all he can wonder is if this is somesort of game. If this is some sort of hidden message and he swallows down the thickness in histhroat as he taps out the only reply he can manage in his current state.‘Curly, that’s got to b the single most depressing New Years greeting I’ve ever gotten.’He stands there, staring at his phone, making a drunken and steadfast promise not to move until hegets a response. He hears his name being called from the other room.“Louis!”“Just a minute!” he replies, eyes never leaving his screen, hands hot.He waits.Nothing.Still waits.And then it vibrates. He reads the text immediately.‘It’s art, Louis Tomlinson.’And then, just a pause later:‘Happy New Year’And relief floods Louis. Thank fuck—it’s just Harry being weird.‘Right back at ya, shady pants. Someone’s wearing a bow tie at this party and they’re acting likea twat. Thinking of u! x’Almost immediately there’s a reply.‘Funny, because I’m thinking of you as well. There’s a woman here who keeps looking at herselfin every mirror and insisting she’s beautiful. Though she doesn’t pull of the self-adoration quite sowell as you do.’‘Well that's probably bc she’s not as beautiful.’To which he gets the response of a sunflower emoji. But he’ll take it.He smirks fondly as he rereads the texts, feeling instantly warmer and reassured, before headingback into the party.**Louis is very, very drunk by the time he gets home.Drunk enough to wish that he was coming home to Niall playing piano in his pants, with food allover their flat, and whiskey and beer peppering every surface.Drunk enough to, maybe, take Liam up on that threesome he had offered so long ago with himselfand Zayn.

Drunk enough to call Harry.He picks up on the third ring.“Yes?” Harry’s voice calmly answers, and the sound is startling and pleasant, thrumming inLouis’ air passageways and arteries. His voice is even deeper over the phone.He can’t help but chuckle at the greeting, rolling his eyes to the dark ceiling of his bedroom.“Is that how you greet all your mates? Or is it just me?” he slurs teasingly.“I treat everyone equally, Louis Tomlinson.”Louis rolls his eyes once more. It makes him dizzy. He burps and his mouth tastes like tequila.“Sure. Anyway. Happy new year!” he cheers happily.He can hear Harry’s smirk. "A bit too much to drink?”“What? Nah. Was thirsty, that’s all.”“Well, then you chose an appropriate day to be thirsty,” Harry says, and his voice is so, so faraway, isn’t it? But Louis can still imagine his face, his hair, his eyes. The way his lips form thewords.Too much tequila.“And how did you spend your evening, Curly?” he asks, silencing his thoughts.He hears a deep sigh. “My father threw a party at our house.” The words are heavy.“You didn’t go to Zayn’s?” Louis asks, taken aback. A strange sort of relief floods him at thethought that Harry wasn’t there either. That he didn’t…miss anything.“No. I couldn’t.” He sighs. “It got a bit out of hand, though. Dad…really shouldn’t do things likethat.”Louis snorts. “To put it lightly,” he says, alcohol having ripped away his filter.“Yeah,” Harry says softly before he quiets, and Louis begins to wonder if he’s made him sad,when suddenly he begins speaking again. “Anyway, he needed to go to bed. So I made everyoneleave.”Louis’ eyebrows rise. “You kicked everybody out? A bunch of batshit crazy popstars andsocialites? You were the one who had to ask them all to leave?” The words shock him as heimagines Harry—lone, little, tired Harry—ushering piles of rowdy, beautiful people out of thehuge, dark doors of his mansion. He furrows his brow. “Weren’t you off your tit as well?”“Course not. Wasn’t in the mood. Besides, I needed to care for my father. It was a bit of a…highrisk situation. He needed to be watched.”Louis nods, feeling a barren sort of melancholy settle inside of him. Harry. Poor Harry.He misses Harry.“Not such a happy new year, then,” he says glumly. Burps again. Or was that technically a

hiccup?“Hmm, well, I wouldn’t say that,” Harry hums casually. “I made the place look incredible. It wasalmost too beautiful to look at. I was very close to demanding the guests walk aroundblindfolded.”Louis laughs. Of course he would say that.“Send me a picture?”“If it’s not torn down in the morning.”There’s a pause, and Louis sighs, his drunken head swimming and clinging to the sound ofHarry’s breathing over the phone.“You all right, then?” he asks quietly. “Good holiday?”He can feel Harry nod. “Yeah. Bit tired.”“Me too. I’m utterly pissed,” he says bluntly, and Harry laughs abruptly. “I shouldn’t have drankso much.”“You didn’t go to Zayn’s either?”“Nah. Went to me best mate’s party. Was an incredible time.” He hiccups. For real that time. “Ithink.”Harry laughs again, the sound smooth and velvety over the phone. Louis smiles.“So you had a happy new year, then.”“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Louis says enthusiastically. “Even got me New Year’s kiss!”And the line goes silent.Louis waits for a sound, a word, even a shuffle, but nothing comes, so he pull the phone awayfrom his ear to check that Harry’s still on the line and, yep, he is. But the silence continues.“Er, hello?” he asks.“I should go,” Harry replies, almost immediately, his voice stiff. “I’m tired.”No.Louis’ stomach plummets, feels sour and twisted.“But,” he protests, his insides doing things, “I need you to brighten me mood!” He prays Harrywon’t hang up.“…Why? I thought you said you had a good time.”“Well I did, yeah. The bits with me mates. But that kiss was terrible, Harry, just terrible. It reallyput a damper on the night. And I’m twenty percent sure his hairspray caused irreparable damageto the ozone layer as well as my sense of smell. He was, essentially, a chemical bath on legs.”And Harry’s laugh returns. “Oh, is that what I smelled earlier this evening?” he commentsoffhandedly, and Louis can hear the smile in his words.

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.” There’s another pause, one where they’re both smiling, and Louis playswith the fabric of his blankets. “Wished you were there, though,” he says, very, very softly.And fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that. No more tequila. Never, not ever.“You do?” Harry asks, and he sounds startled, surprised. Taken aback, if you will.“Yeah. You would’ve made it fun, wouldn’t you? Woulda had a proper dress code and a bizarretheme and everybody would’ve fallen over themselves to kiss your ass. It would’ve been asublime time. Moreso than it already was, of course.”“Of course.” Harry’s grin is bursting from the words.Louis feels warm. Maybe even drunker.“I make everything better, you see,” Harry continues. “You would’ve died if you’d seen mycenterpieces today.”At that, Louis laughs, harder than he probably should.“What?” Harry says crossly. “They were carefully constructed!”“From the hands of a god, I’m sure,” Louis laughs, wiping away his tears.“Yes. I suppose I am a god.” And Harry’s voice is smug and sort of adorable and Louis smileseven wider—which is maybe scientifically impossible, but it happens.“You know, Curly,” he says, voice scratchy with sleep and the need for water. He’s gonna feellike utter shit tomorrow. “You’re the first person I’ve called this year.”“You’re the first person I’ve talked to this year,” Harry replies softly, voice also weighed downwith exhaustion. He pauses. “That is, unless you include the screaming I did at the guests when Imade them leave the house.”They both laugh.“That’s not even funny, that’s tragic!” Louis laughs, wrapping an arm around his stomach to keepwarm. Happy happy happy. Drunk drunk drunk.“Such is my life,” Harry giggles, but there’s so much in that sentence, so much truth, that Louissobers, feeling a stabbing sensation in the center of his body.Harry yawns. Like a baby lion.“I should let you go, Curly pants,” Louis smiles, but he doesn’t want to go, just knows he has to.“Sleep,” Harry agrees, even though it’s not a proper sentence.“Happy new year and all that.”“And likewise, my chap.”Another snort escapes Louis. “Very nice. Well.” He sighs, forcing himself to depart. “Goodnight,Harry Styles.” His lips are pressed against the phone, brushing them as he speaks. He imaginesHarry’s are, too. Lips brushing against each others’ voices.

“Goodnight, Louis Tomlinson.”They hang up, Louis’ lips drunk and bumbling and smiling sloppily, and just as he lies down andturns off the light, he receives a text.Harry StylesIt’s an emoji of a shooting star and Louis doesn’t know what it means, but he falls asleep thinkingthat it’s perfect.Chapter End NotesSo here it is and I'm not v pleased with it but, well. Onward to the next chappa!The song that inspired most of this is Arcade Fire's brand new "Awful Sound (OhEurydice)" and it's a gorgeous song that gets even better the more you listen to it. Iparticularly like to listen to this song when I think about the bit where Harry andLouis are saying goodbye at Harry's door before break, with all the snow and stuff. Iwas inspired.Tumlbr @ me, let us chat! (mizzwilde) For supreme, amazing inspiration for thisstory, go to my 'this is inspiring me tag' and feel the love.

XXVIChapter SummaryLouis comes back to school.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesAs soon as Louis and his mum step through the door of his uni flat, Niall is suffocating him todeath.“TOMMO!” he bellows heartily, lithe arms squeezing every particle of oxygen out of Louis’ smallbones. Well, not small. Compact. “How’ve you been, mate? I’ve missed you! We’ve all missedyou! Zayn told me to fetch you as soon as you came—they’re all in his rooms!” He’s golden andsmiling and his blue eyes look like January and a fresh term, his thick knit jumper pushed to hiselbows and his tennis shoes whiter than the snow that’s already begun receding back into theearth.“Easy there, killer,” Louis says, brushing his fringe away, but he’s smiling and the sight of Niallis, to be honest, sort of wonderful. Just seeing and smelling their flat in general brings a tidal waveof joy and relief, and though he’s going to miss the girls (he’s got Charlotte’s gift tucked safely inhis shoulder bag) and Stan and the quirks of his hometown, Louis is quickly beginning to realizethat home is no longer confined to a single location.Even the piano looks comforting right now.“Niall m’dear!” Louis’ mum exclaims, wrapping the bouncing boy in her embrace, and Nialllaughs happily, hugging her like they’ve known each other for years.“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it down,” Niall says sincerely, kissing her cheek. “Got a bit wrappedup in youthful pleasantries.”Youthful pleasantries?Couldn’t make it down?Was he invited??Louis raises his eyebrows.“Oh, it’s fine, love,” she says, smoothing out the wrinkles of his jumper. “I’m just happy to seeyou.”Louis successfully resists a snort. He’s trying to be more supportive of the whole ‘Niall is hismum’s new best friend’ situation. It seems to actually be helping her attitude about things, which isalways welcome, so. He’s biting his lips until they bleed, basically.“Likewise,” Niall says happily, and they chat a bit more as Louis unpacks—setting the photo ofhim and his family on his bedside table with care—and checking his phone every 4 minutes.

Because, see, Harry had texted him that he was coming back today. And, putting two and twotogether, it’s likely that he’s one of those people waiting in Zayn’s rooms. Which is good. Just thefact that Harry has even begun texting him at all is good. And it’s not like it’s a lot or anything,and they haven’t spoken on the phone since New Years, but Harry texts him, he does, and thattells Louis that Harry’s thinking of him and that he cares. In some way he does.Oftentimes, Louis will wake up to these texts—Harry always sends them late at night, creepinginto morning—and sometimes it’s just one word (‘loblolly’ or ‘scurryfunge’ or ‘de profundis’ andLouis has no fucking clue what any of those mean but that’s sort of the majestic beauty of it all sohe, maybe, takes a screenshot of each one), and sometimes it’s just a tiny, insignificant, randomsentence. Like saying, ‘I wish I could sail,’ or ‘Bluebirds are the most beautiful bird in the worldand they were made for the morning,’ or ‘I will never match the beauty of my vanilla candles.’And, on one such occasion, ‘I should like to be a pincushion.’ Sometimes he’ll just send Louisquotes. ‘’I knew I should create a sensation,’ gasped the rocket. And then he went out.’ Or ‘Ibelieve in Willie Hughes.’No, Louis hasn’t memorized every text. Nope.But that’s it. Those are all the texts he gets.To an outsider, each message may appear to be a tiny drop of nothingness. But to Louis, in somestrange, intangible, inexplicable way, they hold the secret of a universe in them, and each word issweet on Louis’ tongue, and each word he cherishes.It’s actually very pathetic.But it is what it is and that’s why Louis needs to go to Zayn’s rooms, preferably now, becauseHarry is probably there and Louis would really like to see Harry.So after Niall and his mum have shared enough laughs and drank enough tea (Niall stuffing 7sugar cubes in his cup and all the cream), Louis finally bustles out, clapping his hands with finalityand smiling a little too brightly.“All right kiddies,” he sing-songs, holding out his mum’s jacket for her, inviting her to slip herarms in. “Time’s a-wasting! We’ve got books to buy and schedules to print and stories toexchange! So, mum, thank you again for being an incredible travel hostess, it’s appreciatedgreatly, and I hope you have a safe trip back. Make sure to mind the girls 'n all that. Tell them Ilove ‘em and miss ‘em already.” He somewhatly forces her arms into the jacket, but she relents asshe chuckles a bit, Niall’s eyebrows shooting up at the spectacle.“In a bit of a rush there, Louis?” Niall asks with amusement, still perched on the kitchen stool.“Rush? What? Never! No,” Louis insists breezily, flitting about the room and gathering her purseand keys. “Just trying to get a head start to the year!” he chirps. He stuffs the remainingbelongings in her hand.She’s got one eyebrow raised, but she’s smirking in response.“All right, then,” she says. “I can take a hint. Bye, loves.” She presses a kiss to Louis’ forehead,then Niall’s.Just as she’s walking out the door and Louis and Niall are waving, Louis calls out a:“And text or call Niall if you ever need anything!”Which makes Niall laugh and his mum smile and then she’s gone. And it’s…good.

“So, just curious,” Louis says as they’re walking back into their flat. “How often do you chat withmy mum?”Niall shrugs, immediately heading towards the piano. “A couple times a week?”Wow.“That’s a lot more than I talk to her.”“I know.” But Niall’s grinning. The little shit.Louis can only roll his eyes fondly.“Of course you do. Well, whatever it is you’re doing, keep it up. She seems…better.” He pauses,considering. “Happier, even.”“I’m good at dealing with sad folk,” is all Niall says before he begins hammering down on thepiano keys, the sound jangling through their ornate flat and bouncing off the satin, tasseledpillows.And, as Louis makes his way to the toilet to brush his teeth and (maybe) fix his hair, he can’t helpbut feel that Niall is absolutely correct. And that he’s extremely fucking thankful to have met him.**The minute that they step into Zayn’s rooms, Louis sees Harry, already sitting at the table withZayn and Liam and drinking out of teacups.He’s wearing a golden suit (which, what?) with a matching bow tie that actually glints in the light.And such ridiculous garb would normally provoke Louis into making total and complete fun ofhim on the spot…but instead the sight of him wrapped in shimmering gold just sort of overwhelmsthe atmosphere, like a star bursting or a sun setting. The gold warms Harry’s skin—which isuntouched, clear and bright, bruises nowhere in sight—and brightens his eyes which are morphingfrom smug composure to naturalness as they find, settle upon, and then dig into Louis in his dirtyjean jacket and rolled up black jeans, scratched Converse covering his sockless feet.“I’m back,” Louis announces to the room, to Harry, and all faces turn towards him, mid-chatter.Niall stands close behind him, Louis’ shoulder occasionally bumping into his.It’s then that the room suddenly feels quiet somehow, even as Liam immediately rises from hischair and greets them boisterously in his waistcoat and slacks, as Niall clomps ahead of Louis andtake his seat where there’s already poured wine and a pile of truffles, and as Zayn lights a cigarettewith one practiced hand, the flame igniting as if in slow motion.Everything just feels quiet as Louis looks at Harry and Harry looks at Louis, and the world aroundthem continues to exist.Louis smiles through the silence and the fog, walks right through the movement, the greetings, thelaughter, walks toward the crystal wine glasses and ornate silverware sitting atop embroiderednapkins, walks towards Harry who is watching him closely with a pink pressed smile and bright,glowing green eyes that are glazed in gold.He takes the seat beside him, never taking his eyes off of Harry’s eyes, and they stare at each otheras if tied together by twine. And it all just feels quiet and it feels like gold, to be honest. Feels likethe color Harry’s wearing, and Louis wonders how he does that. How he bends the atmosphere to

the fibers of his clothes and the fibers of his soul and, fuck.Are you a wizard, Harry?“Hi,” he breathes, sliding his bum into the wooden chair, smile widening as his eyes become levelwith Harry’s.“Greetings, Louis,” Harry smiles back, and his voice rumbles so quietly; it’s like the soft scrape offabric in the morning.They continue to stare, wordless, warm, and golden.Louis is turning into a sap.“Nice to see you, too,” a wry voice suddenly interrupts through the swirls of Louis’ brain, and heblinks, immediately snapping out of his reverie and looking over to find Zayn sucking on hiscigarette, eyes narrowed in amusement and staring betwixt Louis and Harry in a fashion thatimplies he’s very aware of something. Though what he could be aware of is unknown to Louis—there’s nothing to be aware of.No awareness. None. Aware-less, if you will.“Zayn, m’boy!” Louis says, clearing his throat and forcing the chipperness to full capacity.Though it’s not much forced, as he is really is terribly happy to see him. He quite loves Zayn.“How was your Christmas, then? How did the party go?”He can still feel Harry’s eyes on him.“You missed a good time, mate,” he says languidly, picking up his glass of wine. He’s slouched inhis chair, lazy and bored, his eyes calm as they observe the surroundings at hand. Or, morespecifically, Louis and Harry. His eyes flick between them, focusing intently and cuttingly as if hecan hear every thought whispered in their brains, read every text they’ve sent each other that stilllingers in the radio-waves somewhere in the atmosphere…It’s really fucking unnerving actually, and Louis fidgets under his gaze, flicking his hair andfiddling with the zipper of his hoodie.“Did you have a good holiday, Louis?” Liam suddenly asks politely, but when Louis turns to lookat him, he looks a bit put out, almost as if hurt. “Didn’t chat with you too much. You were busy, Itake it?”And there, that’s it—Liam’s pouting.“Well, yeah, no, I was, I suppose,” Louis says, feeling a bit overwhelmed at the various forms ofscrutiny surrounding him—Zayn studying him like a dissection project, Harry searing thosefucking eyes into his flesh and leaving marks, and now Liam with his puppy eyes and pouty lipand thirst for Louis’ attention….It’s just a lot.Thank god for Niall who is texting on his phone unflinchingly, now drinking wine directly fromthe bottle and kicking his feet up on the table. He couldn’t be less aware of Louis’ existence and,yep, Louis really loves him.“I just tried to be with my sisters as much as possible, I guess,” Louis replies, his discomfortbeginning to show. He makes a valiant effort to disguise it however, drinking wine smoothly and

meeting Liam’s eyes with a firm grin on his face. “My bad if I was displaying bad manners,Payne. But you know the old saying—love the one you’re with?” He smirks, finishing the rest ofthe wine with a flourish and a wink, and that alone is enough to satisfy Liam, sending him intodelighted laughter and easing his face back into pleasant expectance.“We’ve missed you,” Liam smiles brightly, and beside him Zayn nods, though he’s still observingin that unnerving way. Which simply will not do. It’s the first day of term. Louis is not about toget stressed out. Especially by his mates.So instead, he turns around to face Harry again as soon as Liam refocuses his attention on Zayn,clasping his hand and murmuring sweet questions, causing Zayn’s eyes to find a better home.Thank fuck.Somehow, Harry seems to be expecting Louis, merely raising an eyebrow the second he spins tolook at him, their shoulders bumping, their chairs clustered closely—probably too closely, how didthat happen?—together. He’s smirking, but amiably, and gazing down at Louis in a manner thatsuggests unlimited patience and amusement, which….?Or is that fondness? It’s either patience or amusement or fondness.“Good holiday?” Louis asks him, his smile breathy.Harry nods, that alien warmth pooling in his eyes and casting away any shadow or emptiness thatLouis had once associated so fiercely with him.“I’d say so. It treated me as well as I deserve.”“So, wonderfully then?” Louis finds himself asking, just on this side of coy and this other side ofshy, and Harry’s eyes imperceptibly widen as he stares at Louis.“I don’t deserve ‘wonderful,’ Louis,” he says quietly, but his eyes leak a pleased sort of affectionand Louis can tell that he’s touched, if a bit guarded.“I think you do,” is what Louis says back.And then it feels silent again.“So tonight!” Niall suddenly booms, straightening in his chair and taking his feet off of the table.He’s grinning, phone in hand, and his cheeks are rosy red and blotchy, matching his lips whichmatch the wine. “Anybody in the mood for a party tonight?”“Where at?” Zayn immediately asks.Niall grins wickedly.“Here, of course.”Zayn returns the exact same smile.“I’m in.”“Excellent!” Liam exclaims happily, “So am I!” He turns to Louis and Harry, wide eyed andbeaming. “And you?”Louis glances at Harry whose already nodding.“A little party never killed nobody,” Harry smiles pleasantly before bringing a teacup to his lips

“A little party never killed nobody,” Harry smiles pleasantly before bringing a teacup to his lipsand sipping daintily, pinky up.Louis feels his insides grinning. Utter sap.“Perfect,” Niall beams. “Because I’ve already invited everybody.”Zayn’s laughter, intertwined with the curls of smoke, bounces around the room.So tonight it is.**The party is…incredible.Far too many people arrive of course and it gets very stuffy and hot very soon, but in the heart of itall are Zayn, Liam, Niall, Louis, and Harry, and they never stray too far from each other throughthe chaos, so it’s fun.Louis is trepid at first—him and Harry at parties has proven to be a recipe for disaster in the past—and he’s even preparing himself to be ignored, as is custom, while Harry adorns his mask andshags the guest list, but…It doesn’t happen.Harry doesn’t put on his mask. He doesn’t change or charm emptily or pretend Louis isn’t there.He stays with Louis, laughing at his jokes and pouring him drinks and toasting the world,announcing to the room, “The whole world is our playground!” while he looks at Louis and whenthey drink, neither dares to break eye contact.It’s sort of intoxicating, really. A lot, really.And as people press against Harry and try to subtly push Louis away (because who is Louis?Who’s his family? His name doesn’t sound familiar), Harry ignores them. He smiles charminglyand flicks their buttons and says something coy in his syrupy voice and then he leaves thembehind to seek out Louis, standing so, so close to him. He smiles down at him, his breath perfumesLouis’ face, the warmth of his body saturates Louis’ clothes, and he follows him and they passcigarettes back and forth and they laugh and they laugh and they laugh as they drink, drink, drink.At one point, Harry showers them all in champagne and rose petals—“Where the fuck did you getroses?!” Niall laughs drunkenly, tackling him in a bear-hug—and they all laugh because they’reyoung, wet and drunk and warm, petals sticking to their skin as snow swirls past their dampwindowpanes.“With freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?” Harry shouts, red grinplastering his face, as the room stares at him reverently, guests laughing like hyenas and snappingInstagram pics; which would normally send Louis into fits of rage and annoyance because hehates the harpies, hates them, but now all he can do is watch Harry and the way he smiles as hepresses sloppy kisses to Zayn and Liam and Niall.“I adore you, Harry Styles!” Louis shouts because he can, because his veins are hot with alcohol,and Harry turns to him with a wide, sparkling grin and a dimple fit for a thumbprint andeverything is gold.Because if Harry seems to be sticking to Louis, following him around, Louis sticks to Harryharder.

And it just feels nice.**The night eventually dwindles down.After Zayn decided to paint drunkenly—which ended up being horrifically messy, all the boys’suits splattered with acrylics and oil pastels, cerulean smudged on their necks and cerise splatteringtheir hair—the exhaustion began to settle in and, supporting each other up, Zayn and Liam driftedto bed, painted hands entwined.And once the host goes to bed, that sort of puts a damper on things. So, steadily, the guests beganto file out, one by one and cluster by cluster.Niall himself leaves even, still abuzz with something and everything, arms wrapped around theshoulders of two jolly-faced boys.“To the clubs, my lads?” he asks happily, not even showing a trace of slowing down.“ONWARD!” they bellow, and they leave, Niall pressing smudgy kisses to Louis and Harrybefore the door slams, leaving silence in its wake.And then it’s just Louis and Harry.“Well that was…loud,” Louis comments, smiling hazily through the last of his drunken stupor.He’s sprawled on the couch clutching a bottle of champagne. Two petals still cling to his arms,one of them splashed with black paint.He feels like art.Or maybe he’s just drunk.“Niall is the loudest that I know,” Harry murmurs through a smile, perched on the armrest of thecouch. The tips of Louis’ Converse graze Harry’s thigh. He looks at Louis, face quiet. A bitcarefully? “I should go. I need sleep and it’s always best for one to fall asleep when one’s happy.”He grins in that put-upon dazzling way, but the words catch on Louis’ skin.“You’re happy?” he immediately asks, tilting his head curiously.The dazzling smile fades, Harry’s lips evening out into something more calm and thoughtful.Something real. “I’ve no reason not to be.”It makes the room warmer and swirls Louis’ already inebriated state.But then it’s broken.“I should go,” Harry says again, this time with more force, and he stands up, leaving the tips ofLouis’ shoes cold and his smile bereft.“Already?” he asks, sitting up, hair a complete mess, skin pink. He doesn’t want Harry to go.“Yeah,” he replies, not looking at Louis.He makes for the door and is about to open it, hand hovering above the handle, and Louis isalready crestfallen—even moreso because when he drinks he feels everything that much more—when suddenly Harry pauses. He pauses, and Louis watches closely, his heart teetering on theedge of a precipice, and there’s about twenty pounding, silent seconds of indecision before, at last,

edge of a precipice, and there’s about twenty pounding, silent seconds of indecision before, at last,Harry drops his hand.Slowly, he turns around.“I’m not really…” he begins, and his eyes are cast aside. He’s biting his lip. “I don’t feel like…”he tries again, sliding a hand over the back of his neck with unease.“Not tired?” Louis supplies, all bright eyes and pounding heart.Harry reveals a tiny smile, glancing up at Louis. “Not tired,” he confirms.Something unravels in Louis’ stomach. He beams, patting the space beside him.“Well, then. You might as well keep me company because I’m not tired either.”Harry’s grin blinds the room, sending it into white light, and as he makes his way over and sitsdown carefully, Louis feels like singing. He tucks his feet under him, sitting cross-legged, andfolds his hands neatly in his lap, suddenly wishing he was more sober and less sweaty, that hishair wasn’t tangled with alcohol and paint and hair product. Oh well.“I’m never tired, you know,” he says conversationally as he observes Harry who has suddenlybecome something resembling shy. Which is new.“Why?” Harry mumbles without looking up, studying his hands.“Because I’m immortal,” Louis says simply, and the calm naturalness of it erupts a laugh fromHarry.“You’re not like anyone I know,” Harry comments after a few moments of chuckling, amused.He’s looking at Louis now, smile small. “You’re ridiculous.”“I’ll wear that label proudly, my friend.”Harry chuckles again.There’s a few moments of silence, calm and quiet. It’s peaceful, it is, but Louis’ drunken mind isprocuring questions—important questions—startlingly fast and he can’t think of any reasons not toask them, not when Harry is choosing to be here, not when Harry is happy, not when they’refinally mates.So. He asks.“Does your father hurt you, Harry?”And it drops like a boulder into the room, solid and loud and final. But Louis won’t take it back.He watches as Harry’s smile wipes clean from his mouth, watches his gaze avert and his handsclench. His brow immediately furrows and, just like that, Harry is distant.Louis sits up a bit straighter, palms sweaty. “I know that’s…I know. I probably shouldn’t haveasked it like that. I know. I’m sorry. But it’s worrying, yeah? You don’t have to tell me, you don’thave to acknowledge the question at all, but, like… I have to ask. I have to. I’m sorry,” hebumbles, slurring a bit, and he really, really wishes he were more sober.At that, Harry eases some, his hands unclenching, and he shuts his eyes tightly as a sigh escapeshim, wracking his body. Louis can’t stop watching him.

“It’s okay, Louis,” Harry says quietly, and just those words alone wash Louis in relief and a sweetbuzz. “I…understand. I get it. But it’s not like that.” He opens his eyes and looks to Louis. Theshadows are back. “He’s not right. He’s not, um, all there, you know? He doesn’t, like…comeafter me or anything. He just…” He pauses, searching for words, swallowing, looks away.“Sometimes he doesn’t know who I am. He gets scared. He’s… Louis, he’s not right.”“But what’s wrong with him?” Louis presses, turning more fully to Harry. It feels a little lessfragile now, this subject. A little.“He’s got serious illnesses. Mentally,” Harry mumbles, a little wryly. “Addictions didn’t help.” Heswallows. “Don’t help.”Louis’ stomach thuds. “Yeah?” he asks gently. “He’s…doing that stuff again?”Harry nods.Louis feels so, so sad.“But what can you expect?” Harry continues, voice sour. “He was in a world famous rock group.It’s the cliché, you know? Heroin addict. Alcoholic. Problem is, nobody expected him to be…”He trails off. “It sort of kicked some of his afflictions into gear. Sped them up. Made them worse.”Louis nods.Harry’s voice sounds so brittle. So uncomfortable.“It’s difficult, yeah, but, like…he’s my father. Even if he…” He swallows again. “Doesn’t know itsometimes. Doesn’t care to be. He’s not entirely gone, or anything. Um. He’s brilliant with music,still, but. Heroin. You know.”No. Louis doesn’t know.He feels sick.Harry’s face twists as he talks. “He didn’t fucking have to pass it on to his daughter, though.Gemma was too young. He gave it to her, you know. That’s how she started. Father made her afucking addict because he didn’t want to do it alone.” Harry’s hands clench again. “And now lookwhere she is. She doesn’t even talk to us.” His voice is shivering, just barely. “Won’t talk to me.”“Harry,” Louis begins, feeling his emotions positively drenching him. Like wet cloth on weaklimbs.“I have to take care of him on my own because she just left,” Harry grits between teeth, and nowthe sparkles of tears have formed in the corners of his eyes. “On my own, Louis.”Louis’ entire heart cracks. “You shouldn’t have to,” he says, scooting closer and just wishing hecould touch, soothe. “You can’t. It’s straining on you. It’s dangerous. Just put him in a hospital—““He gets worse in hospital, Louis. He hates it. I can’t do that to him, I won’t,” Harry says firmly,voice thick and angry as he looks at Louis again, and Louis unravels.“Hire somebody. A nurse, yeah? They’ll be able to take care of him—for fuck’s sake, they’retrained, Harry!” Louis emphasizes as Harry begins shaking his head.“I’m his son. It’s my responsibility. I’m all he has.”

“Fuck’s sake, Harry! This isn’t good for you!”“How can you say that?” Harry snaps, whipping around to look at him fully. He knee knocksharshly into Louis’. “It wouldn’t be good for me to just abandon him!”“Not abandon, you bloody cunt, just live somewhere else. You can fucking visit him, you canspend all your livelong day with the man, but for fuck’s sake, Harry, you honestly cannot arguethat living with him isn’t dangerous or difficult. That’s too much to expect for an eighteen yearold. Don’t be a hero.”Harry shakes his head once before sitting back, folding his arms. “I’m not discussing this.”“Harry,” Louis sighs, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s gotten worse.”“It’s gotten better,” Harry snaps. “This past month of me being home was fine. Good, even. Thesong—he likes the song. That helps.”“I should hope so, he wrote it,” Louis says with a roll of the eyes.Harry doesn’t say anything.“Look, I don’t want to fight. I don’t. I’m drunk still—pretty pissed, to be honest—and tonight wasfun and I missed you Harry, I missed you. I don’t want to fight.” Harry’s face softens as Louiscontinues, inclining his head in Louis’ direction infinitesimally. “But could you please, please justbegin considering some other options? Ones where you can keep him in your life but, just, takesome healthy steps back? It could help him, you know. Sometimes people need a bit of distance.”He keeps his hand on Harry’s arm. The fabric of his gold jacket is warm, a little damp from thenight’s events. It’s smooth as a sigh.Harry quiets, seeming to consider Louis’ words. Albeit begrudgingly.“Yeah, all right,” he says, a little crossly, but a little gently. He glances over at Louis through ahalf-attempted pout. “Though I’m still not sure why you care.”Louis grins, feeling some of the tension ease as he removes his hand. It feels cold and heavy.“You’re stuck with me, Curly. Better get used to it.”Harry averts his face, but Louis can still see the smile.There’s a pause“I’m not—“ Harry begins, then stops. His feet shuffle and his arms uncross. “I’m not used tohaving, like, proper mates. I’ve only ever had Zayn as a real mate, he’s my best mate, even, but,um. Even then I fucked it up a bit. And, like, I’m just…not good at it, I don’t think. I’m not reallysure what to do? But, like…thank you. Just, for being…there? I, just, um, I’m really appreciativeof it. And I really…like being around you. And I’m glad we’re mates. And.” He sends a smirkLouis’ way. “I’m sorry for being such a twat before.”It’s very possible that Louis might combust from the sheer amount of emotion that is welling upinside of him. Every emotion known to man is erupting like a volcano from every crevice in hisbody and he’s just…Harry’s apologizing.Harry’s telling Louis that he cares.

Harry needed a friend and here’s Louis and Harry is telling Louis he’s happy he’s his friendand…Is this real life?“I’m going to throw up,” Louis says, a little dazed, and Harry’s eyebrows shoot up as heimmediately moves away.“Are you actually?”“No, probably not,” Louis continues, still dazed. “I’m just… Drunk.” He replays Harry’s wordsover and over and over. “And, just for the record, you really were an incredible twat to mebefore.” He smiles, beginning to gain a sense of reality again. “Remember the cheese danish?”Harry grimaces but he chuckles, covering his face with his hand. “I’m so sorry,” he says, but he’sactually sort of laughing, so Louis swats at him, but laughs too.God, he’s feeling so, so much right now. Is this real fucking life?? Is it?“I mean, seriously! That was so horrible!”“Well, you were suddenly just acting like everybody else,” Harry defends. “I liked the way youwere before. I liked how you…I don’t know. Um. Challenged me, I guess?” He looks down at hisfeet. He’s always looking down. Louis always wants him to look up. So the sky and the sun andthe moon and the stars can see him and realize why they just don’t compare.Very, very drunk.“I thought you hated me,” Louis says, grin hurting his face.“I did a bit.” Harry smiles. “Still do.”Louis rolls his eyes.“But, like. You’re a good person, Louis. And, um, you’re, like, strong. And…I admire that.” Hiswords struggle to surface as he plays with his sleeve, his curls falling into his face, and Louis sortof wants to tease him about his awkwardness, how his usually polished and showy speech hasbeen dumbed down to ‘like’s and ‘um’s and spaces in between his words but….All he can do is marvel.“You are too, you know. A good person. And strong. Stronger than I could ever imagine to be.”Harry’s face smooths out into such a gentle sweetness that Louis wants to actually nuzzle it.Which. Is probably not great.“Thank you,” he says sincerely, before a yawn overcomes him, large and loud.“Time to go?” Louis offers as he watches, fingertips tingling from everything, just everything.“Time to go,” Harry nods, rubbing at his eyes.And as they say goodbye, smiling, with Harry promising to text Louis the next day, it doesn’t feellike they’re walking in opposite directions as they trudge towards their rooms in the snowy cold.Rather, Louis feels positive that they’re walking together, and it melts the snow around his feet.

Chapter End NotesSo. There are two songs for this chappa.1. Change My Mind by One Direction. I KNOW, RIGHT?? See, thing is, that songinspired this whole chapter way back when and I've finally managed to write it out!yayyy!2. Supersymmetry by Arcade Fire. There's a part after the singing, near the end of thesong, where it's just pretty music, and that's what I kept playing when I wrote thescene where Louis first sees Harry again. So if you listen to it, hopefully you'll get asense of what I feel. Ya know? :)Thank you again darlings, I'm obsessed with you all! I will respond to all commentsand things when I come home from work!For chatting matters or whathave you, come visit me on the tumblrrrr: mizzwilde*kisses you all*

XXVIIChapter SummaryLouis is overwhelmed.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesThe term begins in a bit of a flourish for the lads.Once again, Zayn is the talk of the school after it’s announced he’s first in his class, closelyfollowed by Liam. “Brains, beauty, and money? That’s what dreams are made of!” Louis heardone girl say the other day. It was followed by a stream of giggled assents and a brief wave ofannoyance-induced nausea within him.Because really? Wow.Shortly after it was printed in the school newsletter—designed by Liam himself which he proudlydeclares every single opportunity he can—Louis had even had the disturbingly awkward shock ofcoming face to face with the Chancellor himself after Zayn had texted Louis to meet him near thechapel for lunch. There, amongst dead ivy and muted ancient stone standing tall in wintry whiteskies, was a severe-faced, tall, intimidating man with peppery charcoal hair and smooth cinnamonskin whose spirit animal was probably a piranha or a vampire.And so, sending forth ‘Is this a fucking joke, why are you doing this to me?’ eyes to Zayn—whomerely smiled peaceably back, muttering low sentences with his father—Louis walked up to thepair.“Louis Tomlinson?” Khan Malik had asked, satiny and powerful and assessing. And fuck, thiswas intimidating because just one wrong move and this man could have Louis expelled. Possiblybanned from the continent. He knows no limits of the rich.“Louis Tomlinson,” Louis affirmed, shaking the man’s hand and feeling his bones compressedinto diamonds by the sheer strength in the grip.“I’ve heard excellent things about you from my son.” He released Louis’ hand, stared at him withsharp black eyes. “Are you in any of the extracurriculars here? The paper? The council? I don’trecall hearing your name.”Well, shit. Awkward.“Er, no,” Louis said, sliding his hands in his pockets and tucking his chin further into his patternedscarf. “I’m a bit of an observer, me.” Lie. “But I was thinking of checking out the drama club nextyear.” He shrugged. “Opportunities await, 'n all that.”Khan Malik nodded, staring at him with close, unblinking eyes. “Indeed. Well, I urge you toparticipate. We are proud to display our brightest students—it reflects on us as a whole. There’s areason we have our reputation, Mr. Tomlinson.”

And that was definitely a compliment and Zayn was definitely beaming proudly beside him and soLouis squeaked out a pleased, “Of course, sir, thank you,” before Zayn whisked him away forpasta and wine.And since then, it’s been ‘Zayn Malik,’ ‘Zayn Malilk,’ ‘Zayn Malik.’Of course, it doesn’t help that his mother’s just signed on to star in yet another “Lord of theRings” film (where do they keep coming from??) bringing further attention to all that is ZaynMalik and his impressive lineage. Hoards of hygienically sound trust funders thirsty for ‘fame’cluster around him at parties because of it, spewing forth jovial invitations to their spring homesand their banquets and their ‘this’s and their ‘that’s. They shout greetings to him as he passes inthe courtyard or in the halls, they snapchat his photo whenever he’s not looking, they’ll stare athim wide-eyed, caught between reverence and judgment and…And, to be quite frank, Louis doesn’t give a fuck about any of it. And neither does Zayn.Because his near celebrity status is something felt by the outside only—not by those near to him—and Zayn barely bats an eye at the influxes of attention and uninvited praise. He smirks atpleasantries and breathes smoke through introductions and slithers around the masses of designerclothes silently because it’s Zayn. Louis watches him, watches as he strides through the hallwaysundeterred as the whispered rumors and accolades follow his every move.It’s borderline frustrating, but. At least Zayn’s got Liam at his side through it all. Liam, who hasstarted this term off with flying colors, playing the happy husband to Zayn. Like a guardian angelhe deters unwanted attention away from him seamlessly, is always there when the people are toomuch, is always making charming conversation with those whom Zayn knows nothing about.When girls or boys alike become a bit too hands-on or a bit too there, Liam will whisk up, out ofnowhere, brandishing his photogenic smile and crisp linen shirt, his hand outstretched and waitingpolitely to be shook.“Liam Payne,” he’ll say earnestly, as if he cares for the person at all, planting a firm arm aroundZayn’s waist. “Williams, right? Don’t I know your father?”And the conversation will steer in a completely different direction as Zayn admires him throughhalf-lidded eyes and a fond smirk, Liam never removing his arm, never removing himself from hisside, and always filling the awkward pauses with a laugh or a polite inquiry.It’s very sweet, really.And Louis admires that simple way that Liam just looks after Zayn in these times, how he’salways present and making everything look so effortless and fun with his neat sentences andpolished smile.Liam himself is also having a successful beginning of term because, of course, he’s an absolutestar student at the school. He’s in just about every club and organization and extracurricularknown to man—Khan must adore him, really—and he walks around as if untouched, alwaysclean and always fresh looking, striding around in his football jersey straight from the practicefield or in his waistcoat if he’s returning from the Student Union or his robes if he’s just had dinnerwith professors. His stress levels are manageable enough, as it is only the beginning of term, butthere are times when Louis thinks, perhaps, Liam does live life a bit…intensely. And maybe it’sjust because Louis hadn’t known Liam at the beginning of last term—not really—so maybe it’sjust an age-old tradition of his to start the year with a bang but… Liam lives hard sometimes.Namely when they’re out.

When they’re disguised in the neon lights of clubs and lost in swarms of sweaty bodies, sometimesLouis worries that Liam will lose himself when he drops his polite and professional exterior anddons something much more chaotic and ecstatic.To put it bluntly, he does too many drugs and doesn’t sleep enough and never, ever says no.Louis thinks he can see his own concern reflected in the corners of Zayn’s eyes—Zayn whoalways carries Liam back home as the sun begins blinking from beneath the horizon—but it’snever spoken of or discussed, never addressed, and so Louis never lets his thoughts linger on it.Occasionally he’ll hear Niall’s voice in his head, his words spoken so long ago, about how Liamis a ‘wild animal’ and it stirs something inside of him, some instinctual sense of dread, but… Butit’s no big deal, really. Because it’s probably under control.So essentially, everything’s golden and everybody, especially Liam, is buzzed about April’s bigrowing match against the rival university. Niall’s decided to join the team again—becauseapparently you can do anything when you’ve got money—and he and Liam practice diligently,coming home sweaty and sharing inside jokes about the rowing team while Zayn and Louisexchange eyerolls and throw grapes at them as they lounge at the table, slouched in their chairswith matching smirks.Well. Liam practices diligently.Niall…Niall sort of floats around, skirting by on his new status as ‘upcoming name in the music industry.’He spends most of his time outside of rowing practice partying relentlessly, bringing back girl, orrather, girls to the flat, sometimes only stopping by to change his clothes and re-spritz himself witha bit of cologne before hopping back out the door, calling out “I love you!”s and farewells toLouis. He boasts about the offers he’s gotten and the big names that he’s got in the palm of hishand, and Niall doesn’t care about this stuff or these people, not really, but he likes theopportunities and he likes the game and he’s absolutely winning at it, Louis is certain.In fact, Louis really doesn’t know why he chooses to stay in school when, clearly, he would havean incredible career for himself if he just…left.He mentions it late one night when they’re both in their boxers, sitting at the piano side by side,eating cheese sandwiches and swigging scotch from the bottle. They’re plonking away at thekeys, a random reality show on in the background on low volume, and Louis looks up at thegolden boy with his bright eyes and blushed cheeks and thinks that he can do whatever he wantsin the world.“Why do you stay at school? I mean, when you’ve got all these job offers lined up for you?”Louis asks, nibbling on some crust.Niall rips his gaze away from the TV screen, slides it over to Louis.“What do you mean?”“I mean, why do you stay?” Louis repeats with a roll of the eyes. “Like, why aren’t you out theremaking money and getting a career? The only reason we’re here at school is to do just that—andyou’ve already got it, mate, haven’t you? The world’s at your feet. Why not take it?”Niall smiles, beams actually, and takes another bite of his sandwich. “I like it here. I like mymates.” He looks pointedly at Louis, grinning through a massive bite, before continuing, wordsmuffled by an inhumane amount of sandwich stuffed uncomfortably into his mouth. Which is

gross, but Louis will allow it this once. “It’s home, isn’t it. Here.” He gestures around them.There’s something about the sentence and the way that Niall says it that means something. There’ssomething between the words that, somehow, just sort of solidifies everything. A sort of quiet,whispering undertone that reveals that he and Louis are probably going to be mates for life, thatthis is one of those friendships that won’t break, is the special kind you hear your parents andgrandparents talking about (“You meet your best friends at university—that’s where I met so-andsoand we’ve been friends for thirty years!”), and something about that, something about thisunexpected kinship, makes Louis feel incredibly, incredibly touched. Much to his chagrin.Still, he smiles back, crumbs sticking to his lips, and gives a gentle shove to Niall’s shoulder.“Don’t be sappy,” he smiles.“Don’t be afraid of your feelings, Tommo,” Niall jokes, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.“Give in to them.”Louis chuckles lowly, but lets himself be tugged into Niall’s side, smelling like liquor and mutedcologne.“And of course, there’s also the fact that I like to play a little hard to get," Niall continues."Can’tjust snag up the first job offer I get, now can I? Got to have them fight over me a bit. Raise thestakes. By the time I’m done with Uni, I’ll be a force to be reckoned with, I can tell you that.Especially if I start doing my homework.”And Louis laughs.So it’s good.Then…there’s Harry.Harry Styles.Harold Edward Styles.The boy that’s stuck to Louis’ insides, has painted himself in the walls of his brain, has jammedhis spirit into his pores, and filled the spaces of his phone.Since their return to school (and that fateful night after the party where Louis had word vomit andsomehow didn’t scare Harry away for eternity) they’ve bonded in some unspoken sense, Louisjust always there and Harry always seeming not to mind. They’re together almost always—usually along with the other lads, to be fair—but still, Harry has just become so regular, so presentin Louis’ life. So common.But not common, because everything about Harry means something and is delightful and uniqueand anything but common.The lads still have their luncheons and their outings and their lazy nights and their library studysessions and their parties. They fall asleep on Zayn’s floor when they stumble home in the weehours of morning, play video games at Liam’s when they should be studying, and attendpremieres and concerts and laugh and drink and eat too much, throwing lazy insults at each otherand piling on top of one another for drunken naps, Armani mixing with Chanel, Gucci fleckedwith vomit and champagne, dusted in chip grease after a long night out. They do it all, all of theboys—and Niall always makes a point to put them first despite his chaotic social life—and it’salways fun and always glorious as they live their nights aglow.But sometimes, afterwards, when Liam and Zayn drift to bed and Niall bounces back out the door

to live the night, it’s Louis and Harry.It’s Louis and Harry drifting to sleep on Zayn’s couch as they swig the dregs of their drinks andclink crystal during toasts they make in their slurred exhaustion, the candles burning down andtheir voices lowering.It’s Louis and Harry sitting in silence when Harry’s had a bad day and the boys were just toomuch—and Louis could sense it the whole time as he watched the stiff line of his shoulders, thequiet distance in his eyes, could sense that it was all just too much—and they sit together in peace,Harry staring out the window and Louis breathing beside him.It’s Louis and Harry laughing into their teacups when Liam’s newspaper has a deadline and he’srunning around like a headless chicken, with Zayn at his side, purring calming words.It’s Louis and Harry shaking their heads fondly when Niall’s reading the latest review of “CertainThings” on his iPhone, giving special emphasis to the bits where they mention “solid drums” or“energetic beats” or any such compliments that he can attribute to himself.It’s Louis and Harry being the last ones to answer whenever the lads propose to go out for thenight again, looking at each other in a sort of wistful ‘but we’d rather just stay in and be cozy’manner that Zayn is always, always watching, a gentle smirk playing upon his lips.It’s Louis and Harry when Louis goes to Harry’s rooms to study every day after his courses, tosometimes do actual work and to sometimes not, instead opting for little ‘getting-to-know-allabout-you’sthat Louis likes to slip in when Harry’s not paying attention. He’ll offhandedly sneakin a “Where were you born?” or “What are your favorite things?” or “Why do you have so manycat figures?” The typical things.Sometimes Harry catches on, stops himself from answering if it’s too personal, focusing a squintedlook at Louis as if inspecting him with caution.“Why are you asking me this?” he’ll say, brow dark and creased, lowering his violin.Louis will beam, tilting his head happily. “I’m gonna ask you everything, Curly. Every questionthat I can think of.”“But why?”“Because I want to know everything,” he’ll say simply, and Harry will turn away quickly, goingback to his music, perched on the edge of a beautiful wooden chair as Louis lazes in plush velvetand pours himself another glass of champagne, watching Harry over the rim.Because another thing Louis’ learned about Harry is that he’s fucking brilliant—especiallymusically. And he’s passionate about it. He’s constantly creating, constantly practicing, filling thesilence of the room with the most beautiful sounds and Louis always watches him, mesmerized bywhat’s being made right in front of him, lost in the atmosphere that Harry creates so seamlessly.But when Louis asks him about it, tries to touch foot on some ground—“You quite love music,don’t you?”—he’s met with a solid wall with no give.“Not really, no,” Harry will say before ceasing immediately. Because he would rather empty hisveins than reveal the seriousness he holds in regards to it, and would still rather die poor thanadmit the inspiration he seeks from it.Louis is beginning to discover that Harry Styles is a vase, filled to the brim with the most beautifultreasures, but demands to be empty, wishes to be barren. No matter how much the world wants tobe part of him, wants to fill the hollowed out corners. He’s wants to feel nothing, wants to have

control over his sensations, wants to be unaffected—and so he grips onto his vapidity for dear life.It distresses Louis.He’ll watch as Harry’s eyes close sometimes, watch his body turn away from Louis after he’smumbled a question about his father or said something that hit too close to home. If Harry’srevealed too much.“I’m sick of discussing the world, Louis. I’m going to forget the world.” A pause. “You’rewelcome to forget it with me, if you like.”Louis smiles, feels the sentence, watching his shaded figure as it stares out the window, thecurtains brushing against his long legs.“You know,” he says, eyes following Harry’s hand as it presses against the glass, the surfacefogging from the heat of his fingers. “I like to act disillusioned and like I hate the world—andmaybe part of me really does—but the truth is, I’m sort of in love with it as well.”Harry’s breath fogs the glass. “So you wouldn’t like to join me, then.” His voice is quiet.Louis stands.“On the contrary, my friend,” he says, walking up to stand beside him, placing his hand besideHarry’s and watching the steam from their bodies mingle, morphing on the glass, “I should likeyou to join me.”And Harry doesn’t say anything, but moves his hand closer to Louis’.It’s incredible, really, the progress they’ve made. It’s incredible what they have. It’s incrediblebecause Harry is incredible and suddenly, somehow, everything is just…simple. And Louis isn’teven sure why but it is, it’s simple.“Simple, eh?” Niall says as they share a fresh plate of croissants (courtesy of Rory) at the table,morning light spilling through the windows and softening the sharp edges of the lavish furniture,lighting up the chandeliers and sending the crystals into rainbow shadows that dance along thewalls. He’s got a guitar on his lap, a sleek acoustic the color of fresh embers. Bits of croissant fallfrom his pink lips, settling upon the strings in flaky clumps.“It’s true, Ireland. I can’t even explain what happened,” Louis says, finishing his tea. His cup feelswarm from the sun, spreading into his skin and traveling through his body.His phone vibrates beside him—Harry. He’s sent an emoji of a banana and a violin. Louis schoolshimself not to respond immediately, smiling instantly as his heart patters out of rhythm while Niallwatches with a buttery smirk.“Right,” Niall grins as he gobbles up the last of his breakfast, lifting the guitar up properly andsettling his fingers against the frets. “Well, I bet I can. Finally fucked him, didn’t you?” he asksunabashedly.Louis nearly chokes to death.“Absolutely not, Niall!” he splutters and, well, Louis never splutters. But his skin feels a bitflushed and there are flutterings against his organs and. He’s spluttering.With a warm laugh that mingles with the swirling sunlight, Niall begins playing guitar.

‘Oh how I love a bit of classical fruit in the morning’ Louis texts back, before almost immediatelyreceiving every fruit emoji in the damn book and, no, he really can’t explain it.**It’s four in the afternoon, the sun is out, the weather is cold but very bearable, and Louis iswalking through Harry’s door, straight from his last lecture, dumping his bag in ‘Louis’ Bag’sChair’ (“That’s a priceless antique, you know,” Harry will say icily whenever Louis calls it such;Louis will just smile and flick his hair and say, “I wouldn’t expect anything less for my bag”which makes Harry glare and laugh at the same time) and toeing off his shoes, beaming as Harrylooks up from his desk where he’s writing something in his journal—and that alone sends awarmth dripping down Louis’ spine, the thought that his quote is still in there, secret and hiddenand unspoken—with his quill and ink.“What took you so long?” Harry asks, brow furrowed, mouth set in a pout, the sun setting fire tohis hair.Flickers of that fire alight within Louis’ skin cells. Because Harry’s pouting because Louis is lateand…and Louis’ skin cells are on fire.“Spoke to the professor after class,” he smiles, slipping off his jacket. “Wanted him to look overmy paper.” He smirks, sliding off his beanie and smoothing his hair. “Think he’s got a crush onme though—he took forever and he barely helped at all. Think he just wanted me to sit next tohim, to be quite honest.”Harry’s brow furrows all the more. “You should’ve asked me,” he says, voice childlike and sovery pouty. It’s ridiculous, or at least it should be. But for some reason it just makes Louis warm.Harry returns his attention to the paper before him, dipping his quill in the ink carefully. “I’mbrilliant, you know.”At that, Louis walks up to him, pinches his nose as the sunbeams soak into his skin. “You’recheeky,” he says, looking down at him not fondly. Nope.The touch immediately melts any pout away from Harry, leaving him to smile sunnily up at Louis,face bright and open like a children’s book.“Have you a lot to study tonight?” he asks, setting his quill down and just smiling from his chair,sunlight shimmering on the contours of his quirked lips.“Nothing to study, actually,” Louis says. “So.” He grazes his fingers along the top of the desk,skims his eyes over the sheets of paper before Harry. “I was figuring we could ride bikes. I terriblymiss bikes.”Harry’s smile quirks into a smirk before he rises from the desk with a sigh. “I only ride antiquebikes, I’m afraid.”Louis narrows his eyes, unimpressed. “Of course you do,” he remarks flatly.Harry shoots him a glare. “Luckily,” he says icily, before his smile returns, undeterred, “I havesome. Shall I have Burns drop them off?”“Oh, indeed-lio,” Louis says in his poshest voice, and Harry throws him another glare as hesaunters towards his bedroom, looking narrow and endlessly long in his tight black trousers andblackest black button-up shirt, pushed to the elbows and revealing his scribbled tattoos. His hair isdark and clustered high and his skin is translucently white and he’s…beautiful. It’s just a fact.Harry is beautiful. Louis doesn’t think about it, Louis doesn’t care about it but, yeah, Harry Styles

is beautiful.Obviously.“I want to play you something,” Harry says conversationally, words monotonous, creeping intothe air at their slowest pace. “I’ve written some songs. Tell me how good they are.”“Who says they’ll be good?” Louis teases, following him.“They’re always good,” Harry smirks, but it falls as he sits on the piano bench, Louis sittingbeside him without hesitation, intent as he props his chin on his hand, blinking expectantly. Harryglances down at the keys before bringing his gaze back up, his features trepid, his hands still. “Buttell me, yeah? Be honest?”Louis chews on the inside of his cheek, his chest prickling at Harry’s wide, hesitant eyes and—“I’m always honest,” Louis promises, hoping he sounds flippant but knowing he soundspathetically gentle and it sends a wave through him, through the room, even. Through theuniverse? Maybe he’s being dramatic.But he can be dramatic if he damn well pleases.Harry watches him, stares at him, and then smiles softly.“You’re a good friend,” he smiles quietly, and it warms Louis still more—even though Harry hasa habit of saying little things like this lately, when the sunlight catches him just right—and makeshim press just that bit closer to him.“I am,” Louis agrees with a sigh and angelic smile. “And I guess you are, too. You sentimentalsap.”Harry beams and then brings his hands down upon the piano keys.The song’s gorgeous—they always are—and Harry plays Louis every song he’s written, and eventhe unwritten ones, and Louis applauds and smiles through them all, very much swept away in awave of sound. He sings along and makes up ridiculous, awful lyrics “Harry ate a banana that hefound in his cabana,” etc., and Harry tries not to laugh or roll his eyes as he concentrates, but healways does, and he never gets mad at Louis.“You’re ridiculous,” he always says, and he laughs as he continues to play, elbow brushing Louis’side, smile brushing Louis’ eyes.**Before too long, they ditch the piano and Burns brings the antique bikes.They’re tiny and ornate and look like they’re about to crumble apart—“And, pray tell Curly, justhow is my ass supposed to fit on this seat?” “The same way it manages to fit into this room—suspend your disbelief, Louis Tomlinson.”—but they clamber on them anyway and they’re notnearly as uncomfortable as they look. And after shooting a text to Niall saying that he won’t behome till later and not to wait for him for dinner, Louis rides along with Harry into the night, thetires of the bikes slick against the wet pavement in the cold, frigid air.They laugh as they race through the empty streets, the sound echoing and bouncing off of thetimeless, creaky buildings and cold, frosty glass of the darkened shop windows, and soon theircheeks are burning red and their eyes are glass and a cold sweat has formed on Louis’ body,

dripping down the back of his neck and giving him goosebumps. Their breath fogs before them asquickly as it fades and it pours from them in waterfalls as they laugh and taunt and sing their waythrough the night.It’s like this that Louis loves seeing Harry the most.When Harry forgets that he doesn’t want to feel, forgets that he doesn’t know how, forgets hisdemons, and just is. It’s like watching a bird that’s been caged its whole existence and is suddenlyreleased, overwhelmed with freedom and life, filling its lungs with what it never dared breathe andfilling its eyes with what it never dared see.Harry, wild-eyed and bushy-haired and just so free and happy. Giggling manically as he speedsdown the cobbled streets, his flesh pigmented, his blood-red mouth wide and gaping in laughterand joy and…reckless abandonment, really.Harry, who stops his bike to wait for Louis even though it’s supposed to be a race, looking backover his shoulder at him, his eyes instinctually seeking him out, excited.Harry, who tugs Louis along by his cold hand whenever he gets distracted by a sign or the soundof an owl.Harry, who insists on having Louis take photographs of him in his flushed glee because “This isan artistic moment, Louis, we must immortalize it.”Harry, who sits happily on his bike as they rest atop a hill overlooking the town, the skyswallowing them whole as they catch their breath. Who stares at the stars that alight his face andwho quietly smiles as he looks up.Because Harry’s looking up a lot lately.And as Harry watches the sky, Louis watches Harry. Side by side, antique bike by antiquefucking bike (because really, eyeroll), Harry watches the moon fade and fall, and Louis watchesHarry and the delicate lines of his profile that’s bathed in serenity and soft, blue glows, perchedatop the hill, atop their bikes, feet planting them on the ground, the tips of Louis’ right shoetouching Harry’s left.“I should like to be the sky,” Harry breathes in plumes, lips slick and painfully red.‘It’s got nothing on you,’ is what Louis wants to say. Which. Is… Yeah.“I should like to be the sun,” Louis replies instead, before finally ripping his gaze away fromHarry and looking up as well. “And you can be the moon.”“But then we’d never see each other,” Harry says, hurt, and Louis looks over to him. He’s staringat Louis with a kitten-like disappointment, a sweet pout on his lips.Fuck.“Not so, young one. The moon shines because of the sun, you know. Because the sun’s alwaysthere. Just like me,” Louis says happily. “And don’t even get me started on those eclipses.”He can feel Harry’s grin grow into a beam. A moonbeam.“Okay. Then I don’t mind,” Harry hums, and when Louis looks back to him, his chest tighteningand his throat dry, Harry’s already looking back up at the sky, his smile wide and unyielding.

**When Louis returns home late that night, clothes soaked with the cold and his skin flushed, fingersnumb, mind and chest buzzing with Harry’s smiles and Harry’s laugh as they raced back to theschool grounds, Niall is sitting at their table, suited up to go, a cigar resting between his fingers ashe texts.“Home already?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. He sheds himself of his jacket and shoes,immediately scrambling to his room for a sweatshirt.“Haven’t gone out yet,” Niall smiles without looking up before bringing the cigar to his lips.“Sorting through my options.”“It’s nearly two in the morning!” Louis says, shocked. His skin is damp and prickly, burning withthe warmth of their flat. He thinks he can smell Harry on his clothes. Or maybe it’s in his head.“The night is young, Tommo,” Niall says conversationally, before finally glancing up. “Wherewere you, then? Left me and the boys on our own! Had to scrounge up dinner from the streets!”“Funny,” Louis deadpans with an eyeroll, but suppresses his smile as he hears Harry’s laughterechoing in his mind, remembers how he looked with the stars in his eyes. Fuck. “How are theytoday? Haven’t talked to them.”“Good,” Niall says simply. He puffs on his cigar, his smile widening impishly as he stares at hisphone. “And how are you today? Keeping busy fucking Harry?”Louis almost trips over a stool.“Wha—Goddammit, Niall, fuck! We’re—we’re absolutely not—“But Niall is laughing hysterically, hearty and booming as his mouth unfurls smoke with eachburst.“You’re so easy to upset!” he laughs, clapping his knee and leaning back in his chair. “Thoughyou were both mysteriously missing.”“I hadn’t noticed,” Louis says dryly before pouring himself a glass of water, jaw set.It’s probably best not to tell Niall where he was. Just…just because. Just because of rumors and allthat.It’s not like that with Harry and him.It’s not.“I’m feeling pretty wasted though, Ireland. Gonna fall asleep standing up in a minute or so.” Louischugs his glass of water, lets it wash away his discomfort and annoyance as best it can. “So I thinkI’m going to go to bed. You have fun though, tonight. Be safe and all that. Don’t wake me upwhen you stumble home. Oh, and please don’t bring back anyone. They always stay till morningand it’s so tacky and odd. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I despise sharing my Nutellawith strangers,” he sighs, long and suffering, and Niall barks out a laugh.“Course not. I’m over all that. I don’t take my work home with me, Tommo. ‘M a changed man.”Well. That sentence is fairly problematic, isn’t it? If Louis’ not careful, he’s going to have a realprat for a best friend on his hands.

“Don’t be a dick, Niall. Just be safe. And for the love of God, give Rory a break, yeah? Try doingyour homework one of these nights?”“One of these nights,” Niall promises before hopping off the chair, spinning Louis (en route to hiswarm, luscious haven of a bed) to grab his hand and kiss it before gliding out the door, jacket inhand as he thunders a “Sweet dreams, TomTom!”The door shuts and peace is restored and…And Harry’s laughter is still echoing in Louis’ ears when he lies down for bed.**It’s mid afternoon. The lads are lazing about in Zayn’s rooms, spread on luxurious furniture andsipping champagne, the ceiling blanketed in smoke, and Niall’s asking Liam advice about whichoffer to take in regards to his future.“I’ve got masses of people asking me to be on their track. I’ve even got someone who wants me totry my hand at producing. Already!” he exclaims, and Liam is listening intently and taking notes.It’s all very commonplace and very cozy, and then Louis’ phone rings.And it’s his mum. Yay.Harry quirks an eyebrow as Louis stares at the screen distastefully. Noting his curiosity, Louisflashes the screen towards him.“Mum?” Harry reads. His eyes cloud the tiniest bit, his countenance altering ever so slightly.“Answer it,” he says immediately.“Nah,” Louis says, pocketing the phone again. “She’ll leave a voicemail. Then I’ll decide if Iactually need to talk to her.”“She’s your mum, Louis. The only one you’ve got,” Harry says lowly.“But you don’t know her, Harry,” Louis counters, and his voice is riding the edge of snippy.“There’s a lot you don’t know about her. And the way I was raised.”Which is true. It’s been something Louis has been toying with—spreading his life out for Harry,letting him see the blueprints and then delving into it altogether. He wants Harry to know him,wants him to understand. He doesn’t have much to tell—his life is nowhere as complex or torturedas Harry’s—but it’s the building blocks of his life and character and he wants Harry to rememberhis story.And, perhaps, knowing Louis’ story may encourage Harry to reveal his own. Perhaps.So he’s equal parts disappointed and bewitched when Harry replies, through a stream of smokefrom his freshly lit cigarette:“Good. Keep your secrets. You’re too young and beautiful not to have secrets.”And Louis can’t think of an adequate response, his pulse picking up pace, so he replies with, “Ican’t argue that, now can I?” in a voice he desperately wishes is laughing rather than squeaking.Harry doesn’t look at him for the rest of the day.

**It’s late in the evening on a Friday night. It’s freezing cold and a bit snowy, the school groundsquiet, icy, and white.Zayn’s gone to the library. Niall and Liam had to do something with the rowing club—Louis can’tbe bothered to remember what.So Louis opted to join Harry in his rooms, bringing his bag full of books and a promise of “We’regoing to do homework tonight, Sir Styles.”They’re sitting in the candlelit room watching a cold rain fall, Harry fiddling with his violin on thecouch beside Louis. They’ve put on the film “Wilde” in the background—Harry claims it shouldbe playing always—and the stars are visible through Harry’s wide windows, as are the clusters ofwhite fluff that descend from the heavens. Harry’s eyes wander to the picturesque scene, butLouis watches Harry instead as he always ends up doing somehow, watches the practiced easewith which he slides the bow along the strings, eyes occasionally flitting to the movie in boredpleasure.Their books lie untouched around them, opened halfheartedly (Louis really did try), a Victorianchina set being the only thing that’s been put to use since today’s study session began those threehours ago.Niall keeps texting Louis to “come party wit me wanker” but Louis ignores him, becausewatching Harry is fun and watching Harry is mesmerizing, and their quiet conversations and silly,unexpected laughs are worth far more than any over-indulged Uni party could offer.Harry’s skin is smooth, burning soft amber from the flickers of candle flames. His deft handscontinue to slide the bow, his fingernails clean and perfectly formed. “I CAN’T CHANGE”flashes harsh against the soft glow of his wrist. He isn’t wearing his watch. The inked words areloud and Louis can’t take his eyes off of them.Harry’s eyes are on the film, silent and watchful.Louis’ eyes are on Harry’s wrist, intense and burning.The movie prattles on and there’s a gaping space between their bodies on the couch, but the spaceis filling up with the words screaming from Harry’s wrist and the weeping notes of the music. Andit’s all really sort of entrancing, really. Louis feels like he’s high and he’s hasn’t even smoked inweeks. There’s just something about the moment, with the snow and Harry’s wispy curls thattickle his cheeks and the whine of the violin, that makes everything feel dream-like and unreal,makes it all seem hazy and poignant. And there’s Harry, without his watch, the watch he always,always wears because he hides that tattoo, hides it, and--And before he realizes what he’s doing, Louis’ clasping his warm fingers around Harry’s coolwrist, rubbing his thumb along the words.The violin stops immediately.“Why did you get this if you always hide it?” Louis mumbles inquisitively, favorite teacup nestledbetween his thighs, bare feet tucked beneath him.Harry’s eyes flash down to their point of contact, dark and muddled. Slowly, he sets down hisviolin, before extending his arm closer to Louis, who inspects it closer, thumbs still rubbing alongthe cold flesh.

There’s a brief moment of silence. And then:“I grew up in a place that didn’t quite see me. I have a family, but…I’m not sure if they even trulyexist,” Harry says, voice masquerading as light but straining behind each word. His face isimpossibly smooth and unmarred, glowing golden from the candles and the dark. “But when theyfinally did see me—my father in particular—they didn’t—“ He pauses, swallows, then continues.“I suppose they felt my character needed some alterations.” He lifts his gaze to Louis, eyes lazy,smile wry, but there’s a touch of sadness at the corners, bitterness in the mouth.“Why would they think that?” Louis asks quietly, fingers never leaving Harry’s wrist, but it’s nowout of a sort of protective embrace, the desire to touch and keep close and secure him safely in hisgrip.“I had sex with a lot of boys, for a start,” Harry says bluntly, eyes now sightless and staring aheadof him, perhaps lost in thought.Louis nods, biting the inside of his lip.“And I was eccentric. And frivolous. And feminine. And maybe a bit silly or daft.” He stops,bringing his gaze back to Louis. He looks surrendered and very, very tired. “I don’t know, I’m notexactly sure. But they tried to 'fix' me.”“You don’t need to be fixed,” Louis says firmly, grip tightening on Harry’s wrist, his bloodbeginning to thicken in its lively indignation. He always feels so much when it comes to Harry.Only Harry.“I can’t change, even if they want me to,” Harry replies, languid and gliding, and he’s separatefrom his words, refusing to let his emotions spill into the syllables and the consonants, insteadmaking them appear to be casual and indifferent.But fuck casual and indifferent because Louis’ throat is thick and his expression is outraged,holding onto Harry for dear life.“Nobody should want you to change. The way you are already is—“ He swallows back a‘perfect.’ No. That’s not…no. Come on now, Louis. Get it together. “The way you are already isjust fine.” He lifts Harry’s wrist into the air. “You should be proud of this, Harry. Flaunt it. Shoveit awkwardly in peoples’ faces when you meet them. Or hell, even if you’re just passing them inthe street, I don’t give a fuck.”Harry laughs.Louis grins. “Point is, you don’t need to change. And I…” he trails off, spreading his hand overthe words, letting the pads of his fingers soak up the ink. “I love it. I think it’s beautiful. Even ifothers don’t.”And then suddenly there’s a suffocating sort of pressure in the air, and Louis’ ears sound likethey’re ringing as Harry’s eyes lose any sense of posed nonchalance and focus on Louis. Wherethey had been fuzzy and distant, carefully avoiding revealing anything too deep within, they arenow clear and open, like a cloudless fucking sky in June, and Louis’ fallen into the sky. It’s a bitlike watching a camera focus—first fuzzy and shaky, and then suddenly so clear and bright.It’s almost staggering, really.He watches Louis, closely and clearly, seemingly on the verge of being overwhelmed, and Louisis so lost in everything that comes with ‘direct eye contact from Harry Styles’ that he almostmisses the nearly phantom feeling of Harry’s thumb pulling back to press against the hand that

Louis is lying atop his tattoo, protective and gentle.It’s sort of like Louis’ being electrocuted. That’s what it feels like.Harry’s sort of brushing the back of his thumb along Louis’ fingers and it’s a nearly impossibleangle and should be awkward, but it’s…Louis wants to live in this, wants to dig a hole in this and bury his bones and his fibers in itforever.But of course he manages to ruin it.“You need to stop living with your father,” is what his mouth decides is the best thing to say inthis moment, and just like that, Harry’s hand is snatched away.“Pardon me?” he asks, shutters closing.Louis’ heart sinks, crashes through the floorboards. Because he's a fucking idiot.“How can you live with a man who wants to fix you?” he implores gently, maintaining his calmbeneath the small stabs of panic and frustration as Harry scoots away from him, scowling.“Everything you just said—that’s not right, Harry. He didn’t see you? You, of all people? Youshould be seen by the world, Harry, your name should be written in bloody textbooks, for fuck'ssake, and—““He’s still my fucking father,” Harry snaps, standing up. “You wouldn’t understand.”“So tell me!” Louis begs, standing up as well. “Tell me and maybe I can help—““What? Help me? Maybe you can help me? What fucking right do you have to insinuate that Ineed help?” Harry asks, voice icier than the ground outside.“Help the situation,” Louis amends, and now Harry’s stalking to his room, angry and closed off,so Louis trots behind him.“I’m not leaving him,” he snarls as he suddenly whips around, finger pointed in Louis’ face—whoalmost walks into him, startled. “And this is the last time I’m going to tell you that, do youunderstand?” Harry’s angry breath is puffing in Louis’ face. The atmosphere has been smashed,sending shards of glass everywhere.And Louis stares at Harry, swallowing because he just…can’t.Slowly, he shakes his head, never breaking his eyes away from Harry’s burning, dull ones.At that, Harry seems taken aback, his countenance immediately changing. He drops his hand, hisanger seeping from his face as he stares at Louis, searching and lost. They remain this way forawhile, Harry staring, bereft of speech, while Louis stares back unblinkingly, softly.And then Harry walks away, sits on the piano bench, and sinks his shoulders, his head hung everso slightly as he stares out the windows by his bed.So Louis sits beside him.Silently, they sit, watching the snow drift, watching the shadows of candle flames against thewalls as the movie continues in the other room, nearing its end.Harry is so shadowed and worn beside him, struggling in ways Louis may never understand, so

all he can do is sit beside him, reliving the events of the night over and over and picking aparteverything he did wrong. Because Louis doesn’t fucking know what he’s doing and he has noidea how to treat this situation or Harry, not really, but he can’t stop trying, won’t ever stop, andit’s terrifying because…Can he handle what he’s taking on? Is he doing damage to the boy?Louis doesn’t know.“I’m sorry,” he whispers, tired. He doesn’t look at Harry. He can’t.From his peripherals, he sees Harry shaking his head. “Don’t be.”And those two words strike Louis. They strike him out of his reverie and his self-doubt and theyspur him to look at Harry who turns to look at him. There’s something communicated in theirstare, and Louis doesn’t know what but it’s important. Important enough for Louis to never leaveHarry’s side for the rest of the night.And, slowly, the tension leaves Harry’s shoulders.**It’s nearly the weekend. Thank fuck.Louis is exhausted—not so much from schoolwork (as the term is still fairly fresh and thecoursework is still manageable)—but because he spends his nights stuck to the sides of his ladsand can’t be bothered to be mindful of his bedtime when his courses disinterest him so. He’staking a bunch of shit he cares little for—requirements for his degree—and it’s all fairly simple,leaving him tragically uninspired.But, oh well. He’s not too fussed. How can he be when he’s got the four best mates in the school?This is what he asks himself as he receives a text from Liam.‘”Certain Things” hit number one on the charts! Zayn and Harry want to celebrate. Dinner andcocktails? Please wear crimson. :)’Louis smiles as he tucks his phone into his pocket, mentally assembling an appropriate uniform ashe walks back to his flat, the cold winds sharpening the rays of the sun as it falls atop the peaks ofthe towers around him.**The celebratory dinner is at Niall’s favorite restaurant—isn’t it always?—and Harry buys them allrounds and rounds of drinks (Louis is drunk, yes), his smile brighter than Louis’ ever seen it,mingling perfectly with his crimson suit and bow tie, lily pinned to his lapel. Several of the otherlads in their wide circle of friends stop by, coincidentally and purposely, shaking Harry and Niall’shands and smiling out congratulatory greetings. Edward shares a briefly intimate word with Harry,whispers something in his ear which has Harry actually flush, smiling so widely his dimple almostpops, before moving along with his date, sending warm smiles to all the boys.After that, Harry’s aura is even brighter, searing through the dimly lit room. He’s the center ofattention—whenever Niall isn’t, that is—and everybody stares at him, watches him, admires him.Liam giggles like a schoolchild at his quirks and Niall fist bumps him when he utters a boldstatement and…and often Louis will catch Zayn watching him, fond and quiet and with so much,well…love.

And it’s sweet, it really is, because Zayn is Harry’s best friend.It’s sweet.But.Louis knows their past, knows Zayn was head-over-heels in love with Harry, knows he onlystopped loving him because he had to, because he found someone else he loved more, but…didthat love go away? Did it?These are the questions drunk Louis needs to know.The endless whiskey and coke’s that Niall shoves into his hand keep asking it, and as much as hetries to ignore it and laugh with the others, allow himself to float on the waves of his inebriation,he can’t not see the way Zayn watches Harry and leans over to brush his hand across Harry’sbeaming cheeks. Can’t not see the tender smiles and the unnecessary touches. Or the blindingfucking adoration.He thinks Liam sees it, too, his eyes warm and brown and very carefully watching the pair, hishand never leaving Zayn’s leg.And then Niall toasts his own drumming skills again, loud and drunken and sloshing his drink onhimself before pressing a kiss to Harry and then that bothers Louis and then it only gets worsewhen Zayn laughs, laughs and leans forward to kiss Harry as well, a cigarette burning outbetween his fingers and his fucking cheekbones stopping the world from turning and his hair is sogoddamn perfect that of course Harry is probably attracted to him, is probably secretly in love withhim, and Zayn leans still closer and he just…Louis needs to stop drinking.“Moving on, lads?” he announces loudly, shooting up out of his chair as Zayn’s lips find Harry’s.It’s platonic, of course it’s platonic, and Liam’s laughing now, surprised eyes seeking out Louis asall heads turn towards him.“Are you quite all right, Louis?” Liam asks, curiously, smile still painting his lips.Zayn’s peering at him through the wisps of smoke he always seems to have around him. Besidehim, Harry’s looking closely at Louis, bright and concentrated, flecks of surprise marring his eyes.Niall’s finishing the dregs of his whiskey.“Gonna vomit?” Niall asks with a burp, wiping his mouth. Such a prince.“No,” Louis says, feeling the alcohol swim within him, his emotions pushing harshly against hisflesh, his eyelids, his throat, all threatening to rip him open. He’s just had too much to drink. “I’mjust…over this place. Want to go back for some casual drinking. At a place I can take off myshoes.”“Mine then?” Harry asks, cheeks pink, lips pinker. He’s asking Louis. He’s surrounded by thelads but he’s asking Louis. Louis only.The world feels so warm when Harry says his name. Nice and warm.“Yeah,” Louis nods, smiling brightly. So much alcohol, so bright, so warm. “Brilliant. I’ll use myteacup, yes? Do you have vodka, my dear boy?”“I do,” Zayn breathes, watching Louis closely.

Louis meets his cool gaze, guilt and sadness and discomfort poisoning his insides. Because Zayn’sstaring at him with a hint of concern, but with kindness and amusement and only good things.Because it’s Zayn.Why the fuck was he annoyed with him? Zayn of all people? One of Louis’ best mates? Thenicest, sweetest person on the planet? Who loves Liam very, very much, devotedly? Who lovesHarry as a best mate only?Why does any of this bother him? What the actual fuck is happening inside of him?Fuck.Louis just needs air.“Perfect,” he clips, smiling even brighter, before practically running for the door, leaving asurprised silence behind him before the boys eventually follow.**They spend the rest of the evening at Harry’s.The mood hasn’t gone down any despite Louis’ near-tantrum in the restaurant, everyone tooblasted to take much notice of his current state, and they laugh and drink and smoke weed.Niall thunders down on the piano, Harry at his side, Zayn laughs as he sings from his position onthe floor, his quiffed hair wilted and unkempt as he lies with his feet propped up on the ornatecouch, worn, leather bound books stacked beside him and providing an adequate alter for hisphone which softly plays R&B. Liam’s high as a kite, laughing hysterically as he flits about theroom, constantly refilling everybody’s beverages and touching their hands and faces, brandishingforth Zayn’s cigarettes and bags of crisps. He reminds Louis of the Mad Hatter with hisflourishing hysterics. Zayn’s the sleeping, potentially stoned, mouse. Niall’s that fucking rabbit.And Harry is Alice.Louis’ really drunk.But it’s a decent night nonetheless.It dies down eventually as it always does, but with Zayn and Liam passed out on the floor,wrapped up in each other and reeking of alcohol and stale smoke. Niall’s taken Harry’s bed—healways manages to end up in the most comfortable spot, always—and, once again, it’s just Louisand Harry. Like so often these days.Just Louis and Harry. Sitting on the living room floor against the wall, staring out the window.Harry’s quieted now, his joy replaced with contemplative silence as he stares out the window, hiscrimson bow tie undone, his shirt half-opened and pushed to the elbows, untucked and rumpled.His hair still looks perfect somehow, curly and soft and falling into his eyes. Louis notes that evenhis socks are crimson.“Whatcha thinking about, Curly McCurlypants?” he asks softly, his words bumping into eachother, dripping in inebriation.At the name, Harry chuckles, low and warm and crimson. Louis closes his eyes at the sound.

“A lot of things.” He turns to Louis, face unreadable. “But nothing fun.”“Your thoughts are always fun,” Louis slurs because he’s drunk, and reaches out a hand to tap hisfinger against Harry’s temple.Harry watches, eyes fluttering instinctually, a small smirk on his lips.“Only you think so,” he says, so, so slow. Slow enough to stop time.“Thank the fuckin’ stars then because I’m the only one who matters,” Louis yawns happily,bringing his hand back to rest in his lap. It feels so empty. It feels empty and Louis is drunk.“My birthday is in a week,” Harry says after a pause, his eyes back on the window.Louis perks. “Is it?” he asks, turning to face him fully. “Well, fuck, Curly, that’s splendid! We’llcelebrate! Throw a proper bash!”Harry’s mouth twists. “I don’t want to be nineteen.”At that, Louis can’t help but laugh, sending Harry into a scowl.“What?” he demands.“I’m twenty-one. I hardly feel bad for you,” he says, laughing some more because it feels easy.Because it makes Harry’s lips quirk and twitch.“I want to be young forever,” Harry says quietly, but he’s smiling, watching Louis’ giggles, eyestraveling across his face.“You can be. Age is nothing important. I’m five, you know.”“I know,” Harry deadpans immediately, dry as cracked paper, and that sends Louis into another fitof giggles.“Ohhh, that’s it, you know. That’s it. You can be as sad about being nineteen as you want, youngHarold, but I’m going to shower you in lavish presents and hugs and cuddles and all the things aproper mate would do”—Louis carefully avoids letting himself question that line of rational—“andwe’re going to get spectacularly drunk because I’m spectacularly drunk right now and, I must say,this is quite a pleasant feeling.”Harry smiles, his hands in his lap. “You are quite drunk, aren’t you?” He bops Louis on the nose.Which is fucking cute, to be quite fucking honest. Just really nice and so cute.Louis leans his head back against the walls, smiles at Harry. Because Harry is beautiful. Harry isspecial. Harry…Harry means so much to him. With his smiles and his quirks and the way he looks at Louis. Harryis the world, Harry is everything, Harry is the oxygen that fills Louis' lungs and blood cells and iscreated by plants and leaves.And Louis is drunk.“You’re so nice, Harry,” he says, still smiling. “You seemed like such a dick, I absolutelydespised you when I met you. But you’re so nice, Harry. You’re my best mate.”Oops. Strong words.

But Harry doesn’t flinch, instead smiling wider, leaning his head back against the wall as well,facing closer to Louis. “I’m not as nice as you. You’re better than me, Louis.”The sentence singes Louis as he pushes his head off the wall, his smile falling into a deep frown.“That’s not true,” he says, shaking his head, his tongue thick and soaked in vodka. “Nobody’sbetter than you. That’s not true. You’re wonderful Harry. That’s why we love you, us lads. That’swhy I love to be around you, yeah?” His words are drunken, sad, but they’re real and Louis hopesHarry can hear that in his voice as he tries to clear his vision, school his face into seriousness. Oneof these days he’s really going to need to be sober for one of his and Harry’s talks. “You’reincredible, so incredible, and I’m lucky to know you! I am! Like…’m not better than you, Harry.Not at all.”Silence follows, as Harry looks down at his hands, all traces of his smile gone.“We can’t be best mates, though,” he says, so, so quiet that Louis has to lean in to hear. “Youdeserve better friends, Louis. Liam, Zayn, Niall…they’re good. Usually, at least. I’m not. I’m notgood, Louis.” And as he looks up, eyes wide and sad and lost, Louis feels it again, feels all theemotion pressing against his skin, threatening to rip him to shreds. It’s too much.He thought they were past this?Then again…it is Harry. Harry, who’s never been exposed to these sort of sentiments andemotions, who's never really understood the sort of kindness that asks nothing in return. This is allnew to him. And Louis needs to remember that. Needs to remember Zayn telling him to be patientwith him all that time ago.“That’s not true,” Louis says simply.Harry blinks, brings his vacant stare to the window, composed, quiet, forlorn. “Nobody deserveswhat I’m capable of,” he replies.Louis stares at him, at a loss for words. Because what can he say? What can he do to convinceHarry that he’s something? That he’s everything? That flaws are normal, good, even?He’s just too fucking drunk for this. Fuck.“Harry Edward Styles,” he says, scooting closer and laying his hand atop Harry’s arm. Its stiffens,but Harry doesn’t move it away. “You have all these thoughts in your brain that aren’t true,they’re simply not true. But the thing is, I’m not allowed in there, right? I’m not allowed insideyour brain because it’s quite a small place and there’s no proper entrance.” Harry laughs, his skinwarming. He’s still not looking at Louis, but his smile lingers. “But if I could, if I could find adoor and shrink myself to proper size, I would go in there, Harry. I’d go in and pick out all thoseterrible thoughts. I’d dig them out and peel them off the walls and clean them out from the cornersbecause they’re simply not true. And I don’t want you, someone like you, to waste a second of theday thinking that they are because you have the world in front of you. You’re not like anybodyelse. Nobody. You’re the only one, Harry, the only one, and that’s so important. That’s soimportant, and even if you have a flaw here, a flaw there, a bit of luggage in your pockets…that’sall right. That’s all right because….”Louis searches for the words, searches as Harry now stares at him, eyes wide and shimmering,shock and trepidation caught under the lids.Louis swallows. "Because, ‘Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was somethingtragic,’” he quotes, his mind on the piece of paper tucked in Harry’s journal, the quote that he

scribbled all those months ago that drunken morning after he’d woken up on the school grounds tofind Harry missing.It’s the first time he’s spoken of it aloud, and Harry’s eyes widen at the words. He looks glazedand nearly terrified and…amazed. Harry looks amazed.It destroys Louis’ insides.“The quote,” Harry remarks softly, eyes locked with Louis’. “I knew it was you.”“Obviously,” Louis says, trying for lighthearted, but his voice cracks, feeling weak.Eyes still locked on Louis’, Harry’s hand slowly begins to raise. He reaches out his fingers, softand slender and white, and—as his eyes flick down, breaking their stare—the pads of his fingerscome to rest atop Louis’ lips. He stares in amazement, in reverence almost, and Louis cannotfucking breathe, his lips burning with the cool touch of Harry’s fingers on his fucking mouth.And then, just like that, Harry’s standing up.“I’m tired,” he mumbles, already stalking away. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”“Harry,” Louis says, completely startled (because what??), fumbling to stand, his limbs heavy.“Wait--”“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Harry repeats, and when he turns to look at Louis, his eyes arecold. “Goodnight.”And he’s gone.**The next day, Harry is missing.Of fucking course.Louis had went to his rooms after his lecture, as is custom, and was met with a locked door.He texted—no reply.He called—the phone was off.Fuck.“Why does he always fucking do this?” he says angrily to Niall as they’re on the couch.Niall glances at him, before returning his eyes to the television screen.“You scare him, Lou.”“Yeah? Well he scares me more,” he grumbles, before turning his attention back to the textbookon his lap, feeling empty.**Harry’s missing for nearly a week. A fucking week.And wasn’t his birthday coming up? Is this because he doesn’t want to grow up?

Louis doesn’t know.All he can do is stalk Zayn.“But where does he go, Zayn?” he asks for the hundredth time as he follows him around hisrooms, Liam tapping diligently away on his laptop.“I can’t think of any other way to say ‘I don’t know,’ Louis,” Zayn sighs, keeping his patience.Having just finished making his canvas board, he hoists it up, setting it up against the far wallwhere his paints, easel, and pallet lay.“But surely you know something,” Louis says impatiently, watching as Zayn squeezes a shiny,wet tail of yellow paint out of the tube. “This is the longest he’s ever been gone. I’m fuckingworried. You should be, too.”Zayn’s silent for a moment, his eyes scanning his paint selection, plucking up tube after tube andsquirting them purposefully on the pallet. “There’s nothing we can do,” he shrugs, not looking athim. “He’ll return. He always does.”“But why does he go?” Louis asks, teeth clenched with frustration as he digs his hands into hishair. He flounces down on the couch, watching as Zayn begins selecting brushes. “I hate this.”“He’ll come back, Louis,” Zayn says calmly as he smears the first streak of purple paint on thecanvas, thick, clumpy, and oily. “He’ll come back.”**Harry still hasn’t come back.Louis refuses to count how many days. Refuses to worry about him. Refuses to wonder how thisworks academically. Will he be expelled? Will he fail?Louis refuses to think about it.Instead, he’s sitting on his couch as Niall gets ready for another night out. He’s currently singingin the shower. Normally Louis would go to Zayn’s. But apparently it’s another ‘date night’ forhim and Liam. So. Louis is stuck on his couch, playing video games and not thinking.It’s really fun.“You sure you don’t wanna come?” Niall calls as he exits the shower, wrapped only in a towel,his skin moist and pink. Most people would go to their room and put on clothes. But Niall? Niallclomps over and sits at the piano, begins tinkering out a delicate melody.“I’m sure,” Louis says. Because, no. He’s had enough of people. The problem is people. Heneeds to stay away from people. He wants to be alone on an island, making radios out of coconutsand befriending parrots.“I’ll text you where we go all the same,” Niall says, playing more intently. The sound is rathernice, actually.Louis pauses his game, drops the controller at his side and lets himself listen, leaning his headback on the couch and staring at the ceiling.“It’d be good for you to get out, you know,” Niall says.

“I don’t agree.”Niall snorts. “Course you don’t. But all the same.”Louis shuts his eyes. He listens to the melody, the sound of the keys.It reminds him of Harry.“You okay, Tommo?” Niall asks, but it’s softer, a softer sound than Niall usually makes, andLouis swallows at that. Because that pings him for some reason.“I’m incredible. Perfect, even,” he says, but his voice is scratchy and he doesn’t open his eyes.Niall doesn’t say anything after that.Eventually the piano stops, much to Louis’ sadness, and he’s just about to open his eyes andresume his game, when suddenly arms wrap around his shoulders from the back of the couch,warm skin pressing against him, hair tickling his cheek.“Love you,” Niall says sincerely, pressing a kiss to his cheek.It shouldn’t prickle Louis’ eyes. But it does.“You’re not wearing enough clothes to hug me,” Louis manages, but his voice is doing that thingagain. It’s cracking because it hates him. And he hates it back.Niall laughs, the sound deep as it rumbles against Louis’ back, before he finally lets go, mussingup Louis’ hair as he walks away.“I’ll text you the address,” he says again, and Louis can’t help but smile as he finally opens hiseyes, staring fondly as Niall shuts his door.At least he has Niall.**Niall texts Louis a couple of hours later, after Louis' just finished a sappy romcom and anembarrassingly large bag of crisps.He texts him the address first. Then.‘Forgot my keys FUCK’‘b awake when I get back?’Louis sighs. He was planning on wrapping himself in a cocoon of despair, but. He supposes hecan stay awake all night. Sure. How fun.‘Yea’So he puts on another movie and opens another bag of crisps.**The knock on the door eventually comes, far later than Louis had planned on staying up.It’s 4:25 am.

He’s tired, he’s cold, he’s a bit sick from eating so much and doing absolutely nothing, and hecertainly doesn’t want to get up from the couch, even for Niall. Doesn’t he have Rory for this kindof shit?“Coming, you knob!” Louis grumbles as he gets up, ripping the blankets off of him and stalkingforward. Why does he have friends again?He opens the door forcefully, painting his face in unabashed annoyance as he greets Niall with,“Well, what took you so fucking long?”Except.Harry.It’s. Harry.It’s not Niall.It’s Harry.Harry’s standing at the door. Harry’s there, with his long black jacket and white shirt and tighttrousers and black boots and wilted curls and a face that’s pink from the wind, a face that looklost, and it’s Harry that’s standing at his door and not Niall.“Harry,” he manages, his whole demeanor shifting, hand immediately dropping from the door andfalling limply to his side. “What are you doing here?” he asks, everything buzzing. Questions arepelting his skull, his fingers itch, there’s so much confusion and relief and anger in him… But allhe can do is stare.Harry stares back, breathing heavy, eyes pained and scared and kissed with exhaustion. He lookslike an abandoned kitten, dark and shadowed and abysmally alone, and somehow so small despitehis height and prestige. Despite his long limbs and neverending torso.“I didn’t want to go home,” is all he says quietly. He’s not blinking, just staring at Louis.“Come in, you idiot,” Louis says, but his insides are panicked, flashing with worry as he tugs himinside, shutting the door behind him.Harry looks around, a bit lost, a bit fearful, just standing still. Almost as if not daring to move.Louis notes the state of the room—the crumpled crisp bags strewn about on the couch, the crumbsin the cushions, the paraphernalia that litter the coffee table beside half-drunk bottles of beer andwhiskey.“Er, this way,” he says, leading Harry to his room and away from his nest of shame.As soon as they enter, Harry sits on the edge of the bed, stiff and rigid. His hands are buried deepin his pockets and he drops his head, stares down at his feet. He’s flushed and Louis wonders howcold his skin is to the touch, wonders how long he’s been outside. He brings a hand up to hischeek—freezing.Harry doesn’t move away, just closes his eyes at the contact.“You’re so cold,” Louis says quietly, but he doesn’t remove his hand. He can’t.Harry nods, but remains silent, eyes still closed.

So Louis sits beside him.“Where were you?” he asks, unable to tear his gaze away as he finally removes his hand.Harry’s eyes flick open. “I don’t want to talk,” he says, looking up at Louis. “Please don’t makeme talk,” he practically begs, so quiet, and he just looks so fucking tiny and frail, like a baby birdthat’s fallen out of the nest. Fuck.It itches at Louis, his curiosity claws at his brain, but he ignores it, nodding instead. “Course not.I’d never do that. I’m not Niall, am I?”A small laugh escapes Harry despite his woe.“No. You’re not Niall,” he says quietly, his eyes finding Louis’. He looks so, so tired.“Go to sleep, yeah?” Louis asks. “Take the bed. I’ll bring you tea in the morning,” he smiles, noquestions asked.Harry nods, a small smile forming, only briefly. “Thank you,” he says quietly, and he sounds sofucking grateful that it tears Louis apart all over again.As Louis begins standing up, ready to make himself comfortable on the couch, Harry catches hishand, fingers soft and icy, delicately holding on.“Stay?”It’s one word. One tiny, seemingly insignificant word.But it’s that fucking word that sends Louis spiraling into a thousand fucking directions, his heartexploding within his chest and splattering the walls of his ribcage.“Just, sit beside me, or—“ Harry begins, childlike, and Louis knows. He just knows. Knows thatHarry doesn’t want to be alone but doesn’t know how to ask not to be.“Yeah, of course,” Louis says, his ears ringing, as Harry toes off of his boots and slides his jacketoff.His mind is whirring—because wasn’t Harry just fucking missing? and now he’s here, in Louis’bed??—but he tries to ignore it, tries to silence everything that’s erupting, and instead climbs intothe bed beside Harry as he tucks himself under the covers. Neither remove their clothing. Louisbriefly considers asking Harry if he wants to borrow sweatpants—because how on earth could hesleep in those trousers?—but he doesn’t, instead just settling himself carefully onto the mattressand breathing.He flicks the bedside lamp off, sending the room into darkness, the light from the living roomgently pouring from the cracks of the door. They’re side by side, backs flat, and Louis doesn’tdare touch Harry. He doesn’t because…because he doesn’t want to crowd him. Doesn’t want topush or shove this fragile vase off of its stand, sending it shattering to the ground.But then suddenly Harry’s twisting, turning to face Louis and scooting his body closer, his handstucked into his chest, and Louis is blinded by it, blinded completely, and so he’s wrapping hisarms around Harry’s frame before he can stop himself, placing his chin atop his head and pressinghim into his chest, breathing his soft curls and closing his eyes as Harry exhales, long and slow,his body relaxing.Harry’s asleep within a few short minutes, body now warm and pliable, and as Louis holds him,

he doesn’t dare fall asleep because he doesn’t trust himself to dream.Chapter End NotesThis was soooooo long. My apologies!! I just had a lot to say I guess. Heh. Thankyou alllll! I love you alllll! Beautiful blossoms, I want to make a bouquet of you, lesiiigh

XXVIIIChapter SummaryLouis tries to forget.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesIt’s very early morning. Louis can tell by the way the sunlight looks pale, gliding into the roomand sparkling the air with dust particles.Can tell by the way it illuminates his curtains, setting the creamy, wispy fabric on white fire.Can tell by the way that Harry’s pale skin glows beneath it, can tell by how his hair is haloed inshimmering, frizzy light, and can tell by how his breathing blends perfectly with the clouds thatare beginning to roll into the pastel blue sky.Louis has slept, maybe, a total of fifty minutes the entire night. And it was a tumultuous fiftyminutes.Because even in sleep he thought about Harry (always Harry), and his arms only gripped theboy’s sleeping frame all the tighter, afraid he would slip away again. Because, fuck, Harry literallyshowed up on his doorstep out of nowhere. In one blink he could be gone, swallowed up by hiscold, cruel world once more, leaving Louis’ arms barren and head clouded. And, really, that sortof creeps Louis the fuck out because there is just something terribly wrong with this picture and ithas a lot to do with the bags under Louis’ eyes and his vice-like grip on an unconscious,emotionally-stinted boy.This definitely isn’t how he imagined university to be.Which. Oh well.He remains that way, clutching onto a blissfully sleeping Harry as the sunlight strengthens, until atlast his bladder speaks—and there’s no arguing with that bitch. Carefully, he removes himselffrom Harry, whose arms are tucked into his chest, whose brow immediately furrows at the loss ofcontact. Louis can’t help but smile at that as his feet hit the cool wooden floor, his hands hot andsoft from where they’d been lost in the fabric of Harry’s shirt. He watches Harry curl into himself,quiet and small and young, and fuck, Harry wasn’t meant to sleep alone, he just wasn’t—he needsLouis back in there with him, enveloping his too-long limbs and petite bones. Louis needs toclimb back in that bed this instant.But.But he really has to pee, like now. He fucking hates his bladder.So he slips out of the room silently, his heart on fire.It’s as he’s creeping back to his bedroom, his skin icy and his arms already itching to embraceHarry’s sweet, sleeping figure again, (he refuses to feel creepy about this—kittens snuggle

together and nobody questions that, do they?) that there’s another knock at the front door.Louis blinks.A visitor? At this hour? They don’t even get visitors.He opens it suspiciously, slowly, before he’s practically bowled over by a ball of blonde energy.“Heya mate! Good morning!” Niall booms, thundering into the flat and breaking the quietserenity. “Sorry I didn’t come home last night—figured you’d be sleeping anyways. But here I amnow! I’ve really got to make another spare key and have Rory keep a set.” His clear blue eyes andpale, golden hair look like the morning, his smile shooting forth the rays of the sun, his rumpledgreen jumper and black suede jacket soft and clean like fresh grass.But Louis still wants to kill him. With a shovel.“Shh!” he reprimands, glaring. “Keep your damn voice down will you, man? He’s still sleeping!”It’s just as Louis is inwardly beating himself with a shovel (he absolutely did not intend to informNiall of Harry’s choice of sleeping quarters because that is going to turn into a whole thing) thatNiall’s confused eyes skim clear past Louis, settling somewhere over his right shoulder.Fuck.Louis’ stomach plonks a bit as Niall’s eyebrows shoot up, spinning around almost fearfully despitefully knowing what to expect.And yep. There, in the frame of Louis’ bedroom door, is Harry Styles, sleep rumpled and crinkly,his whipped curls lying in glossy chunks, his eyes wide and puffy, blearily blinking into thegolden light that streams through the windows and cloaks his limbs. His clothes are sloppy andunkempt—his white shirt (adorned in tiny embroidered rabbits which Louis isn’t endeared by atall, except he absolutely is) is almost completely unbuttoned, displaying his scribbled tattoos andsmooth chest. His trousers are zipped, not buttoned, and look a right state.Basically, he looks like he’s been thoroughly fucked.And Louis is the main suspect. He wants to stick his head under the sink and run the water forseven hours.“Oh,” Niall says, surprised, eyes widening almost as much as his grin. “I wasn’t aware we werekeeping Harry Styleses here now. Good morning, mate. Nice shirt.” Niall speaks easy, almostsmug, his eyes occasionally glancing victoriously at Louis—who currently wants to throw ablender at the little shit—and moving forward to muss up Harry’s curls even further.Louis feels his lips twitch at Harry’s kitten scowl, batting away Niall hands with the most childishpout known to man.“I wouldn’t worry, Curly, just let him do his thing,” Louis says with a fighting smile. “It can’t lookany worse than it already is.” He looks pointedly at his hair and he feels his smile intensify asHarry brings a self-conscious hand to it.He sifts his fingers through the tangled clumps, his eyes cast to the floor. He doesn’t respond,doesn’t laugh, just glides his fingers across his scalp, his feet pressed together, his other hand fistedloosely at his side.He seems…off. Harry seems off.

Louis watches him closely, gazing at the hollows of his cheeks, the pomegranate of his mouth.Niall’s eyes flit between them as the silence settles.“Right,” he finally says, still glancing between Louis and Harry and taking a healthy step back. “Ithink I’ll just grab some breakfast. That bakery around the corner. Text me if you need anything orwant a Napoleon or some shit.” He shoots one last amused smirk at Louis before turning aroundand zipping up his jacket, clomping to the door in his giant white Nikes.“Um,” is all Harry says, and Louis perks, immediately walking up to his side, searching his face.“Are you hungry?” he asks instantly (settle, Tomlinson, settle) as his shoulder bumps Harry’s. Hestops himself from brushing the hair off of Harry’s forehead to inspect him closer. At this rate, he'llbe attempting to swaddle him in nursery blankets and change his diaper.Settle, Tomlinson.Harry meets Louis’ gaze, startled and quiet. His eyes are dark, etched in lines and teetering ongrumpy as he takes a tiny step back and nods, placing distance between them.“A bit, yeah.”“When’s the last time you ate?” Louis clucks, mother-henning the shit out of him, and he really,really wants to find that shovel so he can crack it over his own head because what has gotten intohim??Harry’s thoughts seem to be on a similar track because he looks downright terrified, taking anotherstep back. “It’s been awhile I guess,” he mumbles quietly, staring closely at Louis, brows knitted.Of course it has been. The boy’s probably starved.Fuck.“Right then. Ireland, get us tons of food—as much as the bakery has to offer!” Louis announcesboldly, turning around to face Niall, hands on hips.Niall grins, is about to respond, when—“You go,” Harry says softly, poking gently at Louis’ shoulder.Louis spins back around, eyes surprised. “Me?”Harry nods, eyes locked with Louis’, head tilted down ever so slightly. “Yeah, go with him. Bringme back the best, yeah? You—“ Harry swallows, his eyes falling to the floor briefly before hebrings them back up, a tight smile widening his lips. “You know my taste better than him. Icouldn’t possibly eat a Napoleon on a Saturday.”His voice sounds off. Something about Harry is off.Louis’ innards twist a bit, but he smiles, nodding. “All right, then. Text me if anything in particularinspires you. Otherwise I’m just going to get you the ugliest thing they have, okay? I know howyou like ugly things,” Louis says cheekily, donning his jacket.A light laugh escapes Harry, sending Louis into pools of relief.He really needs to stop caring so much.

“And feel free to have as much as tea as you like. I’ve got quite a selection, you know,” Louissays, as Niall hums impatiently. “Even mum says I always keep the best.”Something in Harry’s face flickers, bright and tornadic, before disappearing completely, leavingtrepidation and sadness. “Your mum?” he asks softly.Louis nods, brow furrowing.Something is definitely off.Harry swallows, looks away. “I wish I had my mother.”And that sentence…that is a huge sentence. That is a fucking enormous sentence that Harry hasjust set down in their living room, and fuck, Louis wants to inspect every inch of Harry’s skin tosee if he’s all right because where did that come from?? And what’s wrong?? And what does thatmean??Something is so, so wrong.“Harry?” Louis asks quietly, stepping forward, but Harry steps back.“Talk later?” Harry asks lightly, clearing his throat. “’M hungry.” A sheepish smile makes it pasthis lips.Fuck. Louis is torn.“Fuck’s sake, I shoulda just left without you,” Niall sighs with frustration, digging the heels of hispalms into his eyes.Louis looks at Harry one last time for reassurance. Because should he be leaving? When Harry isobviously balancing precariously on an unknown precipice?“Go,” he urges, shushing him forward, and he flashes a tiny pink smile, one that Louis wants tocollect and scoop into his pocket to keep his hands warm.“Going,” Louis smiles in a song, giving a squeeze to Harry’s hand for reassurance.Harry’s smile deepens, gazing at Louis.“See you soon, mate!” Niall calls, clearly irritated, already out the door and leaving it wide openfor Louis.“Coming, coming,” Louis grumbles, ripping himself away from Harry--an honest struggle. Beforehe steps out, he sends one last look back to him. “We’ll be back in a minute. I hope you’reprepared to eat,” he grins. “And whatever you don’t finish, we’re going to have to throw at peopletonight when we go out. So just keep that in mind, Curly. Wouldn’t want breakfast pastriessticking to posh kids’ Burberry jackets, now would we?”Harry laughs again. “We absolutely would,” he smiles, eyes growing warmer.Louis grins, winks, then goes to shut the door.“Louis.”He pauses, turning back around to look at Harry who’s walking forward, face serious. He waits asHarry’s eyes begin to cloud over, as the sunlight mutes the room in calm. Then Harry sighs,

linking hard, before opening his eyes, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly.“Bring a cheese danish, yeah?”There’s something in Harry’s voice that convinces Louis that that is not what Harry was going tosay. A tired sort of surrender that marks the words and dots the question mark that reveals thatthere is just…something going on.But Louis doesn’t know what, couldn’t know what, and so, with a laugh and a shake of the head,he merely replies with:“You ass,” before shutting the door and firmly keeping his worry at bay as he trots to catch upwith Niall.**It really shouldn’t come as a surprise when, upon Louis and Niall’s return, Harry is gone.But it breaks Louis’ heart a bit anyway.**‘Where did u go??’‘Something came up.’Louis sighs in frustration, resists the urge to throw his phone out the window.“NIALL,” he bellows from his position on the couch, face down in pillows and sprawled, hissweatpants bunched at his ankles.A tinny voice drifts from the bathroom door, shower on at full blast. “WHAT.”“WE GOING OUT TONIGHT?”“FUCK YEAH.”Louis smirks, immediately going back to his phone.‘U comin out with us tonight?’There’s a pause, one where Louis thinks his eyes may be burning holes through the screen of hisphone, before it vibrates, Harry’s name and reply flashing on the screen.‘Of course.’Thank fuck.**Louis and Niall arrive at Zayn’s at five, decked in their best club wear and colognes. Niall put abit too much on tho. (“You smell like a cheap department store.” “You look like a cheapdepartment store.” “Ouch, Ireland. Ouch.”)It’s all very customary as they enter, with Zayn and Liam wrapped up in each other by thefireplace, Liam giggling, the sound like little bubbles popping in the warm air, as Zayn buries hisface in his neck and whispers velveteen words, his perfectly styled raven hair positively glinting

amongst the candles and crystals, a neat fedora resting atop it. They both look gorgeous, look evenbetter together, shrouded in their charcoals and ebonies, their shoes shiny and sleek and so fuckingpristine. Everything about Zayn and Liam is pristine.And it makes Louis smile as he enters, wearing his own indecently tight black trousers, Oxfords,and patterned blue button-up (“Blouse,” Niall named it bluntly. “Not blouse,” Louis counteredhatefully), flicking his hair out of his eyes as Liam paws at Zayn who just holds him all the closer,adoration imbedded in the fibers of his smile.They’re so fucking adorable.“You’re so fucking disgusting,” Niall gags almost immediately, shaking his head and immediatelypicking up a cigar and a bottle of Hennessey. “Isn’t it exhausting, being so up each other’s arsesall the goddamn day?”Zayn’s smile widens, but he never takes his eyes off of Liam. “Never.”Liam giggles more, delighted, burying his face in Zayn’s neck.This is the point Louis would normally respond, throw back some amusing comment thatsimultaneously slanders both the happy couple and Niall, but.But.But, unfortunately, Louis’ eyes are caught somewhere else.Because Harry is here.And Harry’s not alone.“Harry,” Louis says immediately upon seeing him, the name sitting in the air, dead.Harry—who is currently in a chair beneath a pile of scantily clad bodies—looks up instantly, hishair mussed from several different hands, a few specks of glitter flecking his cheeks. His eyes arehazy.“Louis Tomlinson,” he sing-songs, before grinning and returning his attention back to the tinyblonde girl who is currently biting his cheek.Biting. His. Cheek.The bitch is actually biting him. Like a chew toy. And Harry is…laughing? Harry likes beinggnawed on? Like yesterday’s newspaper? Like a bit of chicken that won’t unstick from the bone?He’s just letting this tart glaze his face in her mouth and this is a worthwhile experience?Fuck shit fuck shit.In this moment, Louis feels very connected to Zeus. Hurling lightning bolts at humans seems likea very plausible and pleasurable past time. Fire engulfs Louis.“Hello,” he greets, his voice already an octave lower, an odd feeling clawing at the back of histhroat as he watches the pile of bodies cover Harry’s own, laughing and simpering and pouringback glasses of champagne. Cigarettes are passed between them all, lipstick and spit marring theends, and Louis watches as a young boy with feathery golden hair slides it between Harry’s lips,his eyes intent on his face.

Louis’ fingernails dig into his palms.Harry doesn’t reply.Something is incredibly wrong.“So where are we going?” Niall’s voice bursts through the silence, splitting the room in half, andLouis is one side, Harry and the harpies on the other. He can feel Niall’s eyes on him. Can feel hisworry. His pity.Fuck.“Clubs, correct?” Louis asks nonchalantly, turning from the horrid display and mustering up hiseasiest smile and pose even though it sends shards through him. What the fuck is going on? Andwhy??Because if he’s going to spend the rest of his night being on the receiving end of one of Harry’sepisodes—the one where he buries himself alive and pushes Louis to the farthest corners of theuniverse—then he’s certainly not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’sabsolutely tearing him upside. Abso-fucking-lutely not.Louis is going to have a good night.A good night.A great night.(And he had even toyed with the idea of making this an impromptu birthday celebration for theson of a bitch.) (Fuck that.)“Clubs sound good,” Zayn murmurs as Liam lights his cigarette.“Indeed—I’m in the mood for a bit of dancing,” Liam smiles toothily.“Marvelous!” Louis announces, volume rising because he thinks he might have just heard adistinctive lip smack and no, he is not putting up with that. “Let’s go then, shall we?”“It’s not even six o’clock!” Liam laughs, striding over to Louis. He links arms with him, smilingwinningly. “Surely we should have a few drinks? Just a few before we go, yeah? Zayn?”Zayn nods from his spot by the fireplace, fixing his hair in the mirror and straightening his collar,cigarette dangling between perfect lips, smoke snaking to the ceiling. “Sounds good to me.”“Even better to me. I’m parched,” Harry’s voice purrs from behind.Louis’ jaw tightens.He turns to look at Harry, catching his eye. In the split second that their gazes connect, Louis seesit. Louis sees a flash of guilt, a flash of apology in Harry’s eyes, his face falling into openness.And then Harry looks away, a deep frown settling on his lips. He’s agitated. He’s upset. Hedoesn’t want to be doing this.But…he is. He’s pushing Louis out again. And Louis doesn’t even know how to begin feeling orthinking about this.Fuck.

It’s going to be a long night.**When they finally arrive at the club, it’s absolutely packed.The first thing Liam does is guzzle down a row of shots, passing every other one to each of thelads as they toast. Louis hears one of the girls in Harry’s harem whisper a, “Can I drink mine outof your dimple?” with a little giggle and Louis almost smashes the tiny glass in his hand instantly.It wouldn’t even matter if he did, in all honesty. He already feels shards of something cutting himup.Everything sucks.“Let’s dance!” Niall roars, eyes on Louis (he’s still worrying, still pitying, can probably see thetension in Louis’ grip, the frustration in his eyes) and grabs his hand and flings him into the massof gyrating bodies.So Louis dances, leaving Harry behind.**An immeasurable amount of time goes by, and all Louis is familiar with is the sound of a thick,steady beat that presses against his ribs and heart, clogging his throat, and the continuous flash ofneon lights that saturate the sweaty limbs of the bodies pushed all around him. The shadows caston the walls are eery, everyone’s arms looking like snakes. His hair is wet and hot, his skin moistand sparkling, and his jeans feel suffocating and tight, splattered in beer and martinis. He feels abit like he’s drowning, drowning in lava or color or maybe just plain water—boiling water—andhe’s been bought several drinks by a very pretty boy with good hair and clean teeth.Pretty Boy is currently dancing with (on?) him. Has been dancing on him for the past five songsor so.Niall’s nearby, is keeping an eye on Louis seemingly, repeatedly motioning questions to Louisthat Louis thinks mean “Is he bothering you?” and “Do you want me to get rid of him?” BlessNiall and his protective streak. It warms Louis’ erratic heart.Truth is, Pretty Boy is sorta bothering him. And he does want to get rid of him. He doesn’t feel it,doesn’t feel any connection or pulsing attraction—only a mild sort of interest at seeing a prettyface so close.But Louis doesn’t get rid of him. He doesn’t, he won’t, because ever since Pretty Boy has takenan interest in Louis, Harry’s eyes have never left them. From every single angle of the club, fromevery corner and crowd they’ve been pressed to, Harry’s always found them, always watchedthem.Louis watches him watching them.Watches Harry’s harpies losing interest as he guzzles drink after drink, never removing his gazefrom Louis, never bothering to touch or soothe them as they pet his legs and slide hands beneathhis jacket. One by one, they drift away, float away, rot away.The beat pounds harder, the whole world sickly blue and bright.Pretty Boy breathes on Louis’ neck. “You’re fucking gorgeous. The fittest boy I’ve ever seen,” he

slurs, happy, sliding his hands across Louis’ chest, fingers catching on the buttons.Louis stares at Harry, sweat dripping down his neck. “Yeah,” he pants, hundreds of arms wavingall around him, shadows and light flickering across Harry’s intent features.Neither blink. Just stare.“Come back with me?” Pretty Boy asks, timid, hopeful, pressing wet lips against Louis’ neck.Their hips move in time and Louis closes his eyes because Harry’s eyes burn and this boy’s handsare cold.His heart’s beating hard. Whether it be from dancing, from the boy, from the liquor, fromHarry…. It just beats harder. The world feels like poison.“Well?” Pretty asks again, lips moving further down, sliding over the nape of Louis’ neck.He opens his eyes. Harry looks tortured.“No. No—I,” Louis breathes, staring at Harry, feeling so sad, so sick, so overwhelmed. And fuck.He feels his eyes growing wet. What the fuck is happening? Harry keeps staring, small, far away,never moving a muscle. “I can’t.”“What?” Pretty says, startled. He turns Louis to look at him, breaking his gaze with Harry. “Whynot?”Louis feels Harry’s eyes on his back.“I just can’t. I’m—I’m not—“ Louis tries, but he doesn’t know, doesn’t know why not. He’s infucking university and he’s got a healthy libido and a damn impressive sexual history and, let’s bereal, he’s fit as fuck. He should absolutely be going home with this pretty creature (who’s caughtmore than a few lustful stares and yet he only has eyes for Louis) but he…can’t.He still feels Harry’s eyes. Harry.He bites his cheek.That’s why he can’t.Louis is just opening his mouth, ready to resolutely decline the offer (and having no idea how todo it), when suddenly a warm body is pressed against his own.“Hey, mate. Ease off, yeah? This is my boyfriend you’re dancing with, you cunt.”Louis gapes at Niall.“Boyfriend?!” Pretty boy squeaks, glowing pale and immediately bolting backwards. “I’m sorry,mate! I didn’t know, I swear! I—“ he flounders, flushing, but Niall raises his hand.“Nah, nah. It’s fine. Just fuck off, yeah? I might get jealous.” Niall sneaks a wink at Louis.He resists the urge to laugh, instead biting his lips and nodding. “Yep. This is my boyfriend. Thisis what I got.”Niall jabs him in the back and Louis fights a smile. He fucking loves Niall. Best mates for lifeabsolutely.It isn’t long before Pretty Boy disappears back into the crowd after apologizing profusely and

looking like he maybe weed himself. As soon as he’s gone, Louis and Niall burst into laughter.“How did you know I needed saving?” Louis guffaws, drunk and relieved.“I was keeping an eye on you. You have a very expressive face, Tommo. Can’t keep a secret tosave your fucking life.”“The story was written on my face?” Louis laughs harder, and he doesn’t know why, but helaughs and Niall laughs with him. Then he moves to leave, mussing Louis’ hair, but Louis grabshis arm. “Stay, will ya? Pretend to be my boyfriend. I want to dance, Ireland. But I don’t want tobreak any more hearts.” He winks the words out, feeling prickly and erratic and lost in too manyflashing lights and too much bass.Niall laughs, hearty and booming, before nodding, immediately beginning to exaggeratedly grindon Louis. It’s so fucking obscene and Niall looks so ridiculous and Louis can’t stop laughing asthey dance, dance, dance, everything just getting more ridiculous as they play it all up to thehighest degree. He can honestly say he never expected to spend the larger portion of his nightdirty dancing with Niall fucking Horan. Especially when he finds himself bent over, laughingnonsensically, while Niall smacks his ass in time to a Katy Perry song. He briefly sees Zaynlaughing hysterically at them from a few bodies away, snapping pictures. He doesn’t see Liam, hedoesn’t see Harry.Harry.He doesn’t see Harry.Like having been hit with a live wire, Louis jolts, immediately standing up, raising himself on histippy toes to look over the crowd.“Where’s Harry?” he shouts as Niall begins winking at a cluster of boys who have gatherednearby, admiring his skills. (Which is absurd and Louis will save that judgment for another time.)“Dunno, mate. But I need to piss.” He takes off without a backward glance.Louis’ eyes continue to search for Harry as he fights through the crowd. He’s even sweatier, evenmessier, even dizzier, but he fights through color and sweat and vibration—and then he sees Liam.Who is…sitting on the floor?“Liam?” he asks cautiously, immediately going over.His eyes are glazed over, his head leaned back against the wall. “Louis,” he smiles dreamily, oncehe’s registered his presence. “When did you get here?” he sighs.Louis frowns. He’s fucked up.“What did you take?” he mumbles, helping him up.Barely, Liam manages to stand, his crisp trousers now rumpled and stained. “I didn’t takeanything.” But he laughs almost manically.“Where’s Zayn?” Louis asks.“I lost him awhile ago.” Liam frowns as Louis deposits him on a velvet couch in the corner, near achipped wooden table and several empty glasses. “I had to go to the toilet. And then I never sawhim again…”

Louis sighs, sniffing at a glass filled with clear liquid—water, thank fuck. Germs be damned, hestuffs it into Liam’s hand. He’s too drunk to realize just how foolish that is, but. It’s a pretty darksituation to begin with.“Drink this,” he orders, and Liam does without question.“Have you seen Harry?”Liam nods, wiping his mouth. “He’s outside.” He tilts his head as he looks at Louis, bring hishand up to his cheek, stroking his skin, dazed. “He’s sad, you know?”Louis’ heart jumps.“Sad?”“Yeah. You make him sad,” he breathes, fingers petting Louis, before closing his eyes and leaningback, his hand dropping to his side.Fuck. The sentence hangs in Louis’ skull, his stomach writhing.At long last, Zayn arrives.“Fuck’s sake. I’ve been looking all over for him,” he says, brows angry, his phone clenched in hishand. “Is he all right?”Louis nods. “Yeah. He’s just a bit unconscious.”Zayn shakes his head, petting Liam’s hair away from his forehead. “He needs to stop,” he saysquietly, but Louis isn’t sure if he’s meant to hear, so he says nothing in reply. Zayn glances over tohim. ”Thanks for looking after him. I’ve got it from here, though.”Louis nods, giving Liam one last long look.Zayn glances at him. “Harry’s outside.”His eyes snap to Zayn reflexively.“Liam said.”There’s a heavy pause, filled only with the music that has swallowed them whole, beating,beating, beating.“Talk to him,” is all Zayn says in that satin voice, and Louis nods.“I’m going to. Text me, all right? Let me know how Liam’s doing.”Zayn nods, bumping his fist with Louis’, before Louis finds the exit and leaves.The air outside is freezing yet refreshing after the sweaty humidity of the club, so Louis sighs inrelief, letting his flesh absorb the cold and dry his sweat. He’s just about to get out his phone totext Harry, when he hears a scuffle behind him, the peppered sound of angry voices.Familiar angry voices.Louis turns around.It’s Harry. And it’s Niall.

“I fucking told you, I’m just fucking looking for him to see if he’s all right! He fuckingdisappeared, what do you fucking expect me to do?!” Niall spits, and he’s livid, absolutely livid,bright and glistening and terrifying, his blue eyes like ice picks, ready to slice flesh.Louis has never seen him like this.“And why the fuck are you looking for him?” Harry growls, shoving him, his long, shadowybody crowding in on Niall.What the hell?“He went missing, you cunt, I’m looking after him. Because, you know, he’s my mate? You havea lot of fucking nerve after the way you treat him—““Shut the fuck up.”“You don’t own the bloody kid!”“Well, neither do you!” Harry snarls, and looms over Niall threateningly, teeth bared. “So juststop!”But Niall has never looked less afraid in his life. “What the fuck has gotten into you?” he asks indisgust, shoulders squared. “I thought we were mates, yeah? What the fuck?”Harry is blinking rapidly (blinking back tears?), his face contorted into a fierce scowl, his handsfisted and shaking at his sides. He ignores the question. “Why do you care where he’s at? Whatwere you doing in there?” he demands, almost frantic and desperate, words wet with threatenedanguish. He's like a cornered animal. In so many ways.“He’s one of my fucking best mates, fuck sake,” Niall cries, throwing his hands up in frustration.“Why is this such a fucking issue?! I actually care about him. Unlike you, you goddamn selfishcunt. You make him miserable, you know that? You—“But then Harry moves forward, ready to strike.“STOP!” Louis shouts, panicked and quick, rushing forward to catch hold of Harry’s arm.Niall’s pupils are blown, adrenaline flowing through him, ready to fight, but one look from Louiskeeps him at bay.He doesn’t release Harry’s arm.“What are you doing?!” he asks, alarmed.Harry won’t look at him. “Leave me alone.”“Harry—““I’m fucking leaving—leave me alone!” he shouts, actually proper crying now, tears andeverything, and he rips his arm away from Louis, stalking off into the night. The very portrait ofan erratic, wilted mess.Louis makes to run after him—his whole body is being torn apart, cell by cell—but Niall grabshim.“Let him go. Something’s wrong with him. Something’s seriously fucking wrong with him.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Niall. Let me talk to him.”One cold, terrifying look from Niall silences him.“Louis. Mate,” he says, voice low. “Sort it out later. When he’s sober. He’s fucked up right now—on who knows what the fuck—and he’s not in his right mind. Did you see the size of hisfuckin’ pupils? He’s fucking blasted, probably doesn’t even know what’s real and what’s not. Hecould be dangerous—““Harry’s not dangerous,” Louis interjects firmly.“He could be dangerous,” Niall continues anyway, patiently, “Just like anybody else would be ifthey were high off their fucking arse. And whatever needs to be said now can wait until themorning. Got it?”It takes a solid forty-seven seconds for Louis to begrudgingly agree.“Fine. But I’m visiting him first thing in the morning.”“First thing,” Niall agrees, releasing Louis. “Just not now.”Louis nods, allowing himself to be walked back inside, feeling like his heart’s been dragged intothe dark.**Waking up to the sound of a piano being thundered on is something Louis barely registersanymore. He’s almost thankful, even, that he has such a reliable alarm clock.“I’m going to Harry’s. I’m going to talk to him,” is how he greets Niall, emerging from hisbedroom already dressed, wearing bags under his eyes and stress lines. And very comfortablesocks.“He beat you to the punch,” Niall says, tinkling out some Chopin. His sweatpants are pushed upto his knees and he has an enormous football jersey on. A glass of brandy sits atop the piano, asdoes a half-smoked cigar and a pile of chocolate bars.“What?” Louis asks, stopping in his mission to find his other shoe. He stares at Niall. “What doyou mean?”He motions to the counter.“Have a look.”Utterly confused, Louis makes his way over to the kitchen, finding a neatly written note, foldedover and sitting atop the counter.Louis Tomlinson, it reads.He opens it.Meet me for lunch at the gardens.Sincerely,Harry

Louis beams.“Well then,” he smiles, looking up at Niall.Niall smirks. “He came by to apologize as well.”Louis’ heart lifts. “Yeah?”Niall nods. “I forgave him—he’s a good lad. Just…a bit fucked, innit?” He looks over at Louis,fingers dancing upon the keys. “How much did you hear? Last night?”Ah.Stuffing his feet into his shoes, Louis shrugs. “A bit.”“Do you know what it was about?”And no. Louis doesn’t really know. He knows he had something to do with it but… That’s aboutit.“Not really, no.”Niall nods, but doesn’t say anything more.And normally that would absolutely not fly, but Louis needs to meet Harry for lunch and all hewants to do is see Harry, so he lets it rest (for the time being) and stuffs on his jacket, pressing akiss to Niall’s temple.“See you in a bit, Trouble,” he sings, making for the door.“Have fun with the husband,” Niall smiles.Louis refuses to react as he shuts the door. Even if his stomach does fizzle a little bit.**He sees Harry standing by the ice-encrusted fountain, near gates twined with dead ivy and tinybeds of frost. He’s wearing his long black jacket, a purple sweater, and powder gray trousers thatleave nothing for the imagination, his long feet stuffed in sleek boots. A tiny flower is pinned tohis sweater—which should be hokey but is somehow poetic, the fucker—and atop his tumblingcurls is a timberwolf fedora, dressed in lilac silk.Really, he should look ridiculous. But Louis finds that he wants to paint him. With colors andtextures that haven’t even been invented.Harry watches him approach, his face even and smooth, his green eyes hurling the winter intosummer.“Louis,” he nods, hands stuffed in the pockets of his open jacket.“Curly,” Louis beams, the sun in his eyes. “You caught me first.”“Caught you?” Harry asks, quirking an eyebrow.“I was going to find you this morning—but it looks as though you’ve found me first.” He smileswide, brandishing the note that he’d tucked carefully in his pocket. Did he enjoy the comfort ofbrushing his fingers along it as he walked here? Maybe. But that’s nobody’s business but his own.

Harry stares at the note, his face…torn. But then he looks back up at Louis and his face is clearagain, a cloudless sky.“Of course. Excellent timing, then. Shall we?” he asks, gesturing for Louis to walk forth.“We shall,” Louis smiles, and hops into step beside him as they walk.“I thought the café around the corner would be nice,” Harry says, eyes glinting with sunlight,hands behind his back, as he walks. He’s staring straight ahead of him, eyebrows creased.It’s all very…formal.“Well, you’re very serious today,” Louis teases with a smile, bumping his shoulder into Harry’s.Harry blinks, darts his eyes in Louis’ direction, but doesn’t falter. “Am I? I should hate to beserious.”“I love being serious. Serious is important. I abhor humor and fun. Especially happiness,” Louissays conversationally, also placing his hands behind his back.He can feel Harry roll his eyes.“You’re never serious.”Louis chuckles. “I can be.” He looks at Harry sidelong. “I’ve been serious with you.”Harry bites his lip but remains silent, eyes straining ahead of him.It doesn’t take long before they’re at the café, Harry pulling out the chair for Louis and assuringhim to “Get whatever you want, it’s my treat.” They order their drinks—Louis gets tea and Harrygets sparkling water (which is disgusting and Louis pointedly judges him for it)—and then theysettle into silence, Harry lighting a cigarette.“Can you smoke in here?” Louis asks, eyebrows raised.Harry smirks. “The owner’s a good friend. I assure you, we won’t have any problems.” He cupshis hands around the flame before it alights, then inhales, deep and slow, then exhales. Beautifully.Elegantly.Louis is a bit mesmerized.“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Lunch at a cafe? Any particular reason we’re doing this or am Ijust that good of company?” He smiles, wide and sweet, taking a sip of his tea.“Ah. Well, actually Louis. There is a reason,” he says delicately, tapping the ash off the end of hiscigarette into a tiny ornate tray at his side. He glances up at him, eyes calm and slitted, hiseyelashes long enough to tickle the clouds in the sky. He motions for Louis to eat as a tray ofbreads and jams is brought to the table, followed by a large bowl of fruit and petite fours.It’s a bizarre lunch. But it’s all very Harry.Louis bites into a petite four, double fists a banana and an orange.“I’m not quite sure how to say this,” he says, velvet soft, low and deep and flowing like the ocean.He watches Louis eat, cigarette poised between his fingers, face neutral.

“Say it quickly then,” Louis suggests, offering a bit of orange to Harry, who declines.He purses his lips.“You know how I…go through phases?” he asks, and his eyes flash up to Louis who blinks,confused.“Like the strawberries and the gingerbread?”“Exactly,” Harry smiles. “Like those. Well, I’ve always been that way, you see. I becomefascinated by something, immerse myself in it…and then I’m done with it. Because, you see, onceI’ve adored something, once I’ve found something perfectly beautiful, it is fleeting. It will never beperfect or wonderful to me again because I’ve already experienced it, already taken everythingfrom it that I could.”Louis nods. That’s, maybe, the worst way in the world to think about things, but he nods. BecauseHarry’s not finished, and this all suddenly feels…very odd. He swallows his last mouthful and setsdown his food, waiting for Harry to continue, skin beginning to prickle.“However,” Harry continues calmly, stubbing out his cigarette and setting full eyes on Louis. Full,empty eyes. Shit. “It’s not just objects that I feel that way about. I’m like that with people as well.”Louis shifts under Harry’s gaze, feeling a cold sense of dread spread from the center of his body toevery extremity and crevice.“I find people who fascinate me. I play with them. I have fun. I enjoy them. And then?” Harrytakes a sip of his sparkling water. “Then I’m done with them. I become bored. And I don’t wantthem around anymore.”His eyes bore into Louis’ as he sets down his glass.“Last night made me realize, Louis. You’re one of those people.”Bang.The world becomes dark.Louis swallows. “Meaning…?” he trails off, his skin stinging. He can’t move, can’t blink. Is thisseriously fucking happening?“Meaning I’m done with you, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says, calmly, efficiently, as if prattling offthe day’s homework.“You’re done with me,” Louis repeats flatly, feeling like all the air’s been drained out of him.“I just wanted to inform you. I know we became friends—““You always fucking do this,” Louis grits, plucking his napkin off of his lap and flinging itharshly down on the table’s surface.“Louis.”“Why are you always trying to get rid of me?” he hisses, leaning forward. "Pushing me away andthe sort?"“Louis,” Harry repeats calmly. “I know what this looks like. But this isn’t me ‘pushing you away,’this isn’t me being…whatever it is you think I am. All right? I just work differently. I’m not made

this isn’t me being…whatever it is you think I am. All right? I just work differently. I’m not madeto keep people in my life permanently.”“Fuck’s sake, Harry,” Louis manages, refusing to cry out his frustrations as he scrubs a handthrough his hair. What the fuck is happening? Is this real life? What the actual fuck? Must they gothrough this bullshit every five fucking minutes?He feels deflated. He feels like a fucking balloon that’s been deflated. That’s how he feels.“I am truly sorry,” Harry continues, not sounding sorry at all. “But I wanted to tell you in person.Alone.” He pauses, Louis’ steady breathing filling the silence. “You’re a good person, Louis. I’mglad to have met you. But our time’s up.” He leans forward, tries to catch Louis’ eye.“Understand?”At that, Louis looks up into Harry’s barren, desolate eyes, filling his own with as muchvehemence and frustration as he feels.“No, I don’t fucking understand,” he growls quietly. “I don’t understand this at all. We’re mates—best mates, even—““I already told you we—we can’t—“ Harry stutters, looking away, his posture stiffening, eyesfluttering in discomfort.Louis ignores him.“Every time you’ve acted like a tit and pushed me away, I’ve come back. I’m still fucking here. Iwon’t leave—when will you understand that? Fuck’s sake, there’s no reason for this,” hepractically snarls, wishing he could dump his tea all over Harry’s perfect fucking hair and Disneylips.“Maybe we should have done this in private,” Harry murmurs with an exasperated sigh as aspattering of eyes begin to drift towards them.In private? Honestly?Louis is done. So fucking done.“Harry, what’s wrong?” he implores, reaching for his hand. He just needs Harry to talk. He needsHarry to calm down, open up, and just talk. He needs to see the real Harry, the real shit thatswims beneath this hardened, creepy, off-putting surface of stone and cement. “What’s going on?This isn’t about me at all, is it? Where were you when you were gone? Why did you leave? Whathappened? Because something happened--you can't lie to me. I know something happened.”Harry looks startled, staring as Louis wraps warm fingers around his hand, holding on firmly,gently. He looks mildly terrified and faintly panicked but Louis doesn’t care. Just holds on.“Nothing, Louis. I’m telling you—““Why did you come to my flat at nearly five in the morning? Why were you in the cold? Wheredid you even come from? Why did you come to me, Harry? Why me?” he presses gently, butthere’s a desperate edge to his voice and he prays Harry can’t hear it. He doesn’t want to scarehim, doesn’t want to throw his own emotions at him.But Harry already looks scared. Really fucking scared.“Louis, please. I told you that, at one time, we were friends—“

“This was only two days ago.”“We were friends,” Harry continues, voice strained, removing his hand, “but things have changed.They have, Louis. I’m sorry but I don’t want you in my life anymore.”There’s something about the pleading in Harry’s voice. There’s something about the sincerity ofhis eyes—like they mean what he’s saying—that hurts Louis. That digs the words into the soft,vulnerable bits of his soul and body and leave no mercy.“Harry,” he says, voice cracking.And shit. Shit shit shit. He feels his eyes burning, feels a heavy, hot moisture coat the surface. Hecan’t fucking cry. He will not fucking cry. Louis Tomlinson does not cry. For anything--not evenHarry Styles.“You’re my best mate,” he says quietly, angrily, everything becoming blurry against his will.Fuck.Harry swallows, pushes his chair out, his eyes dark.“I have to go,” he manages, voice thick.“Harry,” Louis says again, forcefully, angrily, a tear managing to escape. Fuck fuck fuck.“Please don’t say my name,” is the last thing Louis hears Harry beg, fucking beg, as he hurries outof the café, alone, cold, and dark.Fuck.**It’s been six hours since Harry told Louis he doesn’t want him in his life anymore, but it feelsmore like a handful of minutes. Just a cluster of silent minutes that scream white noise and makeLouis wish he was stoned. But instead he’s on his couch, texting Stan his despair (he tells Louisthat the girls are well, his mum is even well—at least there’s some light in his dark chasm of a life)and praying for Niall to get home from rowing practice so he can just have another body in theroom.Because everything is too silent and too cold.Basically, everything sucks.Fortunately, it’s not long before the door bursts open.“Ready to go out?” Niall sings, sweaty from rowing practice (how the fuck do they even havepractice, Louis wants to know) and glowing with all the opportunity of a Sunday night. Which,really, shouldn’t have any opportunity.Louis just wants to watch YouTube videos about cats and eat cheese. That sounds likeopportunity.“I’m never leaving the flat again, Niall,” he mumbles, staring at the ceiling. He feels sick.“What’s wrong?” Niall asks, peering over the couch at him, eyebrow raised. His cheeks are pinkand flushed, his blonde hair disheveled.“Everything.”

“Everything.”“Harry?”“Yes.”“Ah.”Louis hears the sound of Niall stomping to his room, hears the sound of him kicking off hischoose and shuffling for clothes.“So we’re going out, yeah?”“Can’t say I’m feeling up to it,” Louis says listlessly. “Sorta just want to sleep.”“Come on, Tommo. Don’t be boring. You need to get your mind off of Harry Styles for onefucking night. Have fun!”“Fun,” Louis repeats, the word alien to him. “Never heard of it.”“Just come, yeah?” Niall asks, now standing at the bathroom door, towel slung over his shoulder.“Forget all this bullshit for a bit. All you do is mope about Harry lately. It’s unhealthy, I’m tellingya.”He has a point. He absolutely has a point.“Fine,” Louis sighs, making to sit up. “I’ll go.”Niall makes a satisfied noise before closing the bathroom door.And Louis sort of just wants to throw up.**When Niall had asked Louis to go out, Louis had assumed that he had meant just that—Niall andLouis go out.He did not assume that Niall had meant they all go out.All.Including Harry.They arrive at a house party—on a street filled with unbelievably large, luxurious houses that haveLouis doing double takes—and when Niall calls back over his shoulder, “I see them!” Louisassumes he means the hosts of the party.Not Zayn, Liam, and…Harry.Louis almost vomits instantly.Harry looks to be in a similar predicament.“Niall,” Louis grits under his breath, pulling the boy’s ear to his mouth. “You failed to mentionthat he would be here.”“Who?” Niall asks, confused.

Wow. Just wow.“Harry, you fuck,” he snaps.“Oh. Well. Zayn asked him to come. But you can still have fun, yeah?” he reasons, laughing hisguilt away.Louis stares at Harry—who’s got a boy on each arm and is now refusing to look at Louis, hissmile bright—and mulls the word over in his head, the idea seeming more and more comical.“It’s gonna be a great night,” he says sarcastically.“Want a drink?” Zayn asks while simultaneously offering him a cigarette.“Yes and yes,” Louis says, hastily placing the cigarette in his mouth as Liam flicks a lighter onand Zayn passes him a cup of something that’s literally just appeared out of nowhere.“Ready for a splendid night, children?” Louis asks, raising his cup in a toast, exhaling the drysmoke that fills his lungs and tastebuds.The boys smile as they raise their glasses—even Harry, who watches calmly, indifferently.Distantly.It hurts so fucking much. Louis hates that it hurts, that somewhere along the line all of thismanaged to actually hurt.“Excellent,” he hears himself say, and drinks the whole cup in one go, closing his eyes tightlyagainst reality and everything that hurts.**The entire night is a blur. It’s just a giant blur.Louis remembers a few things…He remembers drinking cup upon cup of that stuff that Zayn had given him.He remembers smoking a lot of cigarettes that he bummed off of everybody in sight, batting hiseyelashes when he needed a light, and wrapping his lips around the stick seductively if he wantedmore.He remembers seeing Harry, dancing in a swirl of bodies and jewelry, laughing and posing forpictures, Zayn and Liam at his side.He remembers watching them all laugh, Niall bouncing around them and blowing smoke intopeople’s faces.He remembers leaving.Leaving because he was fucking tired and angry—so goddamn angry—and he needed to getaway from them. He needed to be lost in oblivion and strangeness. He needed to be lost.Just one night, he promised himself. One night of disappearing, of vanishing into the air. Hewanted to leave them behind, leave and forget, wanted to break free from the life he had builthere, and so he stumbled out the door, high as a kite, drunk as a skunk, and reeking of otherpeople’s sweat and cologne. Reeking of loneliness. Really fucking pathetic.

He remembers seeing Harry’s face one last time—smiling charmingly at a brunette girl wearingdiamonds—before slipping out the door.He remembers walking down the street in a daze, passing body after body. He remembers a groupof pretty girls surrounding him, asking his name. "You’re gorgeous,” one of them smiles, andleads him by the hand into another, different, house, tall and modern and fucking enormous.“I’m gorgeous,” he repeats, burping, staring up at the vaulted ceilings and people dancing onplatforms. Everything looks expensive. There’s smoke everywhere. Liquor everywhere. Cocaineeverywhere. And a lot of sex. The kind of party Harry would love.No.No more Harry. He needs to forget that evil, little, life-ruining fucker.So he drinks more and smokes and swallows whatever’s pressed into his palms and lets lipglosslips kiss him because he needs to forget.And then there’s a boy. A boy who’s even prettier than Pretty Boy from the night before. AndLouis wants to forget. Louis wants to go back to how he used to be: fun.Niall told him to have fun. He needs to have fun.“Hey,” he breathes, smiling up at the boy because he needs to forget. Needs to succeed where hefailed last night.“Hi,” Boy immediately beams, surveying Louis appraisingly.It doesn’t take long to make his intentions clear.He remembers slurring a nonsensically drunken, “Let’s devour the world,” in Boy’s ear, drunkand dazed and desperate to distract himself, and ignoring every empty feeling inside of himself,ignoring his thoughts of Harry and the fact that he doesn’t give a fuck about this boy. Instead hedigs his fingers into the fabric of his shirt, feeding off of him, stealing his breath, biting at hismouth with his own that he can't even properly feel. It’s hideous and sloppy and wet—Louis’entire face feels like it’s fucking drenched in spit—and everything feels cold and frantic, but hedrags the boy away because he needs to forget. He drags him to an abandoned, dark, blurry corner—or, rather, semi-abandoned but who gives a fuck—and wastes no time, desperate to feelanything, unzipping the boy’s jeans and claiming his offered body. He grabs and slides and usesand, in time, he gets lost in the feeling of sweat, skin, and silence.And now he’s outside.Outside, in the frigid air and icy breeze, stumbling around and staring at the warmly lit windowsof the mansions on either side of him, cum crusted on his jeans and someone else’s vomit on hisshirt. He’s fucking freezing—he’s lost his jacket somewhere, somehow. His mouth tastes likemints but he doesn’t remember chewing gum, doesn’t remember ingesting anything that tastedpleasant, so he just breathes it in, smoke still tinging his lips and tongue, sharpened by peppermintand dulled by winter.He has no fucking idea where he’s going. He has no idea where he’s been. He hasn’t looked athis phone. It’s tucked in his back pocket, forgotten and heavy.“Oi!” a voice shouts.He turns around.

Two heads are smoking cigarettes on the steps of another glorious house. So many houses.“You lost?” one asks, exhaling.“Never lost,” Louis slurs, clunking towards them.“You smoke?” the other asks, amused.“Everything,” Louis breathes, and another cigarette is pressed into his mouth.“Come inside,” they say as the world spins, and it looks warm and loud and perfect, so Louisfollows.It’s just like the other parties, the other houses. Everything’s the same. Everybody’s the same. It allblends together.He spends the rest of the night on a couch, staring at inanimate objects that seem to have faces,mocking him and laughing as he floats, the room spinning and swirling, the stars from the nightsky just out of reach.He can’t fucking move.He’s so fucking tired.He’s so fucking miserable.Eventually, he passes out, chaos swirling around him.**He wakes up to the feeling of warm arms wrapped around his body, hoisting him upright. Thesound of music slowly fills his ears, everything’s too bright, and there are so many voices.It takes a moment to register that he’s still at the party. Wherever the fuck this party is.He blinks awake, throat bone dry, head already pulsating as the arms drag him through the house,his legs somehow participating. He looks to the face beside him, to the body that’s supporting him,as they stumble out the door, and Louis’ eyes can barely adjust. He realizes he’s wearing a jacketwhen the icy breeze doesn’t lick his flesh. When he realizes that he feels warm. Where did thatcome from? Maybe this person gave him this jacket. He tries to focus his gaze on said person.Curls.Pale skin.… Harry.Harry.It’s Harry.But Louis is fucking drunk, is out of his fucking mind right now, and can only barely manage toslur his name.Harry’s heaving him into a car—where did that come from?—and Louis thinks he hears his ownvoice chanting Harry’s name like a mantra. Harry doesn’t respond to it though, just sits beside

Louis and never lets him go. He never turns to look at him, his face hard.“You found me,” Louis eventually manages to piece together, burying his face in Harry’s neck,grabbing his shirt. “I’d thought you lost me.”“Shh,” Harry whispers, still not looking at him but tightening his embrace.“I thought you’d forgotten,” he mumbles, eyelids heavy as weights.He doesn’t know if he speaks after that.**At some point they arrive at Louis’ flat.Harry walks him in, practically carrying him, as Louis tries to understand what’s happeningbecause he can’t. He feels the weight of Harry beside him. That’s all that really matters.Silently, Harry lays Louis down on the bed, the mattress squeaking. He wants to say thank you.Maybe he does. He can’t really hear over the swimming in his ears.The room is pitch black as he feels Harry take off his shoes, feels the blankets pulled up beneathhim and lain over his body. He feels a dip in the bed and he realizes Harry’s sitting next to him.Harry’s sitting on the bed with him.What’s going on? What’s happening? Doesn’t Harry hate Louis? Isn’t he done?He wants to ask, wants to scream it at Harry’s face, but he can’t—can barely even stay conscious,so he just breathes, struggling to stay awake because he’s with Harry.Then suddenly he feels a hand upon his forehead, brushing his hair away. It’s a soft touch,beautifully soft, and gentle. It feels incredible and soothing—like when his mum used to take careof him when he was sick, whenever she was being a proper mum—and he sighs happily, revelingin it yet not being able to process it. Harry is petting his hair.He’s on the brink of sleep when he feels the cool brush of lips on his forehead.It jolts him awake, jolts him into reality. Reminds him that Harry is here, that this is Harry in thedark. He tries to say his name, but it comes out as a drunken groan, an impossible noise thatsounds more painful than anything.“Shh,” Harry soothes, continuing to pet his hair.They remain like that for awhile, until Louis’ breath evens and sleep has begun to ensnare him.Harry must think he’s asleep. Harry must be convinced he is, because suddenly the hand stopspetting his hair and moves to lie atop his heart, calm and gentle, fingers resting atop the fabric ofhis shirt but scarring his skin.He must think he’s asleep when Louis suddenly feels the brief, impossibly brief brush of cool lipsagainst his own. Its spirals Louis into a black hole.He must think he’s asleep when he whispers, “I could never forget you. I’ll always find you,” ashe presses a kiss to Louis’ hand, now pressed between both of Harry’s.The last thing Louis hears, aside from the rush of blood to his head and the hammering of hisintoxicated, poisoned heart, is a whispered goodnight, and then suddenly Harry’s weight is gone.

intoxicated, poisoned heart, is a whispered goodnight, and then suddenly Harry’s weight is gone.**Louis wakes up to a hangover from Hell and a heart that is screaming in time with his head. It ripsthrough his brain and stomach and, within mere seconds of regaining consciousness, he’s runningto the toilet, his insides rushing to burst out. He vomits everything, choking and gasping. Hevomits and vomits, his body poisoned, and he feels weak and tired. Brittle, like tissue paper.He vomits until he can’t anymore, his throat raw, his eyes tearing, and then suddenly he’s sobbing.Just fucking sobbing, bent over the toilet, with sick on his mouth and shirt, forehead sweaty andhair greasy.It’s probably, most definitely, the most pathetic moment of his life.He remains that way, clutching the toilet as his tears dry, wondering.Wondering just how the fuck he managed to fall in love with Harry fucking Styles.Chapter End NotesHeylo, darilngs!So. This chappa. I think this is the last of the painful stuff--mostly, at least. It was anecessary evil, tho. I have a lot of mixed feelings about it, tbqh... I hope it was decent,tho.

XXIXChapter SummaryLouis gets a visitor.Chapter NotesSee the end of the chapter for notesLouis awakens to a spinning bathroom ceiling and a cup of water being brandished in his face.“Hey, you all right?” Niall’s uneasy voice materializes from the ringing silence, hand on Louis’shoulder.And where did he come from? What is air? What are people? Is he even alive?Louis rubs at his crusty eyes, suddenly all too aware of the cold tile of the bathroom floor juttinginto his joints. His neck is stiff and his shirt stinks of vomit and, yep, the bathroom is still spinning.“Nnguh,” is the sound that he produces as he reaches blindly for Niall, limbs heavy andeverything feeling like cold death.Carefully, Niall helps him sit up, grip strong and supportive, an anxious edge to his brow.Miraculously, Louis does not projectile vomit.“You gonna be okay?”“Absolutely not,” Louis rasps, bleary eyed, grabbing the cup of water still in Niall’s grip andguzzling it, spilling it over the sides and feeling it dribble down his cheeks and neck. But he reallycouldn’t give less of a fuck right now because his throat is on fire and his body feels like a crispy,shriveled shell. So does his soul, for that matter.“You hit it a bit too hard last night?” Niall asks, staring at him steadily. He’s got his phone in hishand, kneeling patiently in his hoodie and track pants. He looks so clean and healthy.Louis hates him for it.“You could say that.”In all honesty, Louis doesn’t even know how to begin thinking about last night—thesimultaneously best and worst night of his life. Mostly worst.And then he hears the echo of Harry’s voice, whispered in the dark. Can feel his lips shocking hisbody into life. His perfect, soft lips that lit everything on fire. Can feel the warmth of his weightnext to him and—oh god—how he kissed his hand. And—No, scratch it all. It was definitely the best night of his life.And Louis is so fucking in love.And once again, he wants to cry.

Niall must pick up on his inner turmoil because suddenly he’s crowding closer, inspecting Louis’face and strengthening his hold on his shoulder.“Tommo?”“I’m in love with Harry Styles,” Louis blurts pathetically, burying his face in his sweaty hands.And, nope, he did not intend on telling this to Niall but fuck, his defenses are down and hisstomach may or may not contain an army of poisonous insects gnawing on his intestines and hisfucking throat and head are pounding in synch—he’s only human, after all.Anxiously, he peers at Niall from between his fingers.“Yeah,” Niall replies, as if it’s just a detail. As if that’s not fucking huge. As if that’s not thereason Louis’ world is currently undergoing the apocalypse.He lifts his head, glaring. “What do you mean ‘yeah’? That is huge fucking news, you bloodypotato.”Niall snorts, shaking his head as he begins dragging Louis up from the bathroom floor. “Hardly. Ihave eyes, you know. And ears. And this lumpy thing called a brain.”“That’s not your brain, that’s your dick,” Louis burps, feeling his stomach churn and, oh shit, he’sstill so thirsty and so sick and sort of hungry? And maybe cold but also hot?A barking laugh escapes Niall as he guides Louis to the couch, his phone digging into Louis’ side,before depositing him unceremoniously down onto it. “You are so weird.”“I’m hungover as fuck and utterly heartbroken. I’m allowed to be as weird as I want,” Louisgroans, immediately wrapping himself up in blankets and shutting his eyes from the sunlight that istoo much.Niall shakes his head, glancing once at the phone in his hand before smoothing his features andsighing.“Well then, go on,” he says, taking a seat at the end of the couch, settling Louis’ feet onto his lap.“What happened? Talk to me and then… Then I have to talk to you.”Louis peers at him from beneath the arm he’s just slung over his eyes. “Why do you need to talkto me?” he asks suspiciously.Instantly Niall’s demeanor changes as he shifts uncomfortably, refusing to meet Louis’ gaze. Hisgrip on his phone tightens and he knocks it against his knee unconsciously.Something’s wrong. Yay.If Louis currently didn’t feel like a medieval sewage system, he would absolutely be consumedwith worry and weariness. Maybe even be somewhere near livid or hysterical, given the fact thatNiall never worries or hesitates or feels whatsoever, so whatever’s gotten his panties in a twistmust be significant.As is though, he just closes his eyes and swallows down some bile.“You first,” Niall says, clearing his throat. “Where did you and Harry get to last night? Whathappened? Why’d you two leave?”“I didn’t go anywhere with Harry, you twat,” he croaks. “I left on me own! I swear, you are the

most oblivious, self-centered—““You most definitely left with Harry,” Niall says, looking at Louis as if he’s crazy.He quirks an eyebrow. “I think I would know.”“Would you?” Niall counters. “Your current state suggests you were pretty fucked up.”Louis sighs, too tired to for this, wreaking too much of regret for this. “Ireland. I’m positive Ididn’t leave with Harry. I think you’re the one that was fucked up.”“Right. Well. I guess since he left the same time you did, I just assumed.” He shrugs.And that sparks Louis.Left the same time Louis did?“He left?”“Yeah. When you did. Followed you right out the door,” Niall says as if it’s obvious, tapping hisphone against the armrest of the couch.“He what?” Louis asks faintly, bewildered.Almost immediately the wheels begin turning. Harry followed him out the door? Harry followedhim? Harry?“Yeah. He was keeping an eye on you all night. I figured you two had plans or summat sinceyou’re, like, dating or whatever.”“We’re not dating,” Louis says hollowly, head spinning.Harry followed him?Did he follow him the whole fucking night? Is that why…Is that why he was there? Why he found him?Oh god.“You’re not?” Niall’s surprised voice interrupts, his cornflower blue eyes wide and cloudless.“But…didn’t he stay here the other night? And you went to lunch and—““We’re not dating. I’m in love with him. But we’re not dating. Don’t rub it in any more, Niall. I’malready in a very dark place.”And fuck, Louis is reeling.Harry followed him when he left. Harry followed him the whole fucking night. He saw. He sawLouis stumbling around and sticking his tongue down how many peoples’ throats? He saw himwith that guy. He saw him drooling and drugged up and vomiting and maybe even crying, forfuck’s sake. He followed him.The whole night.A small smile escapes Niall as he rolls his eyes, phone still tapping the armrest. “You’re always ina dark place.”

“This is the darkest it’s ever been.” He swallows, feeling the hollows of his heart. “Niall. …Ihonestly have no idea what to do.”There’s a heavy silence, filled only with the throbbing of Louis’ veins and heart and soul, studentslaughing as they pass by their windows, chiffon glinting in the morning sun. Everything’s toobright.“Fuck, Lou,” Niall suddenly curses under his breath, wincing. And the words are agitated, filledwith emotion. Filled with…a lot more than the situation merits, coming from Niall.Louis looks up, startled, only to see Niall rubbing a hand over his face, the knuckles wrappedaround his phone now white.“What is it? What’s going on?” he asks cautiously, feeling his heart picking up pace in a new waybecause he didn’t realize until now how off Niall is. Instinctively, his mind drifts to Harry.Something’s wrong with Harry. Something’s wrong and Niall knows.Niall stares at him for a long moment before he finally opens his mouth, seeming hesitant.Something Niall never is.Louis feels sick. (Well. More sick.)“Listen. Lou.” And his voice already sounds wrong. Louis swallows. “I know there’s a lot of shitgoing on with you right now. And I’m sorry everything’s so fucked up and you’ve had a badmorning and you’re upset with everything going on with Harry... But.” He sighs, turning to faceLouis, eyes guilty. “I’m gonna need you to forget about all that for the day because there’s…another issue.”Louis blinks.Wait. This isn’t about Harry? For once in his life there’s an issue that isn’t about Harry Styles? Healmost feels relieved. Almost.“What is it?” he asks tentatively, mind whirring. And then—“Oh fuck. I’ve missed me lectures,haven’t I? Fuck, that’s what this is about, isn’t it? Am I expelled? I fucked it all up, haven’t I? I’vebeen a shit student this term. I’ve got good marks though. They can’t throw me out if I’ve gotgood marks!”“No, no, it’s nothing to do with that,” Niall says carefully and somehow that makes Louis onlymore terrified, because Niall is watching him so intently. He pauses, searching for the right words.Which is very significant because this is Niall. Brash, unapologetic, blunt Niall.Louis is petrified.“Your mum called this morning.”Louis’ jaw twists, just barely. “Surprise.”“Yeah. We’ve been…well, we’ve been talking quite a bit lately.”“Weird.”Niall laughs, shaky. It sends another terrified spike through Louis.“Yeah,” he replies, emptily. “But, see. She didn’t know how to tell you. She’s been asking me tobecause…well, we’re mates, you and I. And she thought you’d rather chat with me about it—“

“Chat about what exactly?” Louis asks, heart positively pounding, as he sits up. “Niall.”“She’s being asking me advice for a week now, but. Then this morning she called and… And allshe could do was warn us, really. Because he didn’t give her any warning.”“Who? Warn us about what?” Louis’ voice is sharp, his eyes spearing Niall with all the intensitythat now hums beneath his skin.At that, Niall sighs, hanging his head and closing his eyes. His shoulders are tense, his hands areclenched and pale and taught and his whole demeanor is anything but Niall. It’s horrible, really.And it should make Louis sympathize but all it does is make him angrier.“Spit it the fuck out,” he practically growls, sitting up even straighter, because how is it fair thatthis involves him yet Niall knows, of all people? That his mum went to Niall?“Your father’s coming,” is all he says, rubbing the pad of his finger over the surface of hispolished Rolex, now carefully avoiding Louis’ gaze.And whoosh. All the air leaves the planet Earth. Louis’ stomach feels like it’s been kicked byHercules.His…father? The invisible one? The one he hasn’t seen or spoken to in years?“What?” he manages to utter.Niall looks up, pained. “Your mum called this morning. He called her, said he was on his way—““On his way?!” Louis bellows, feeling a cold sweat prickle. What the actual fuck? Is he on areality show?Niall rushes on. “He didn’t give her a choice, he just told her to tell you so you would expect him—““Expect him?! I barely even remember what he looks like, Niall! He hasn’t talked to me in years!How the fuck do I expect him?? What do I do?!” Louis belts, and he can barely even thinkbecause what?This is bizarre. Everything’s bizarre.“Listen,” Niall says, firmly. “I know this is fucked up. But I’ll be here. I won’t leave, I promise,and I have no problem asking him to leave—“And Louis appreciates that, he really does. Somewhere deep inside Niall’s words warm him. Butright now…he’s in for the kill.So he rounds on Niall.“And just why the fuck were you and my mum discussing this for a week and yet never botheredto tell me?!” he snaps, kicking the blankets off of his body. “What kind of fucking mother tells herson’s flatmate that his father—who doesn’t speak to him, refuses to see him, even—is suddenlydeciding to stop by for tea?!”“I doubt he wants tea.”“What kind of fucked up situation is this?!” Louis plows on, ignoring him. “What kind of personis she?! Fucking horrible! My own fucking mum can’t tell me—“

“She didn’t know how, Louis,” Niall argues, voice now hard. “She’s trying, all right? She justneeds a bit of time to sort things out, yeah? I’ve been helping her, though. She calls me up and shehas a chat and I listen—it’s helping, mate, it really is.”Louis’ stomach releases fire. “She wants you as her son, does she? You’re her little pet?” he tauntscoldly.Niall’s eyes narrow. “She never said that. And no. She just needs to sort her shit out and I’m notbiased like you—I haven’t gone through the shit you have and so I can approach it differently,yeah? You’re so fucking angry at her that you don’t even acknowledge her existence and, yeah,you have a right to be. But fuck, how is she supposed to get better if you won’t fuckin’ let her?”Louis swallows, getting up off the couch and turning away from Niall’s clear blue eyes, from hisstrength of presence and unwavering voice.It’s all too much.This is too much.Why are they even talking about this?“She knows she’s been shit,” Niall continues, louder, not letting Louis escape. “But she’s trying.And she’s been doing better. The girls are happier—““Don’t talk about my sisters like you know them,” Louis snaps.“Are you not listening to me, you fucking cunt?” And Niall’s claws are exposed, his dragon’seyes glinting with fire. “Your sisters are happier. That’s what matters. Your mum’s finally gettingher head out of her arse and stepping up and even your best mate has stopped coming around lessbecause he doesn’t have to. Fuckin’—just—just fuckin’ focus on what’s good about that, allright?”“Why are you even involved in this?” Louis suddenly asks, whirring around. His blood feels likemolten lava spilling down the craters of a freshly burst volcano. (Yes.) “What’s this to do withyou?”Niall sighs, barely disguising his roll of the eyes. “I care, all right?”And that just makes Louis laugh, cold and twisted. “Care? Have you ever actually met anyone inmy family? How can you care about people that you don’t even know?”“I’ve met your mother. Obviously,” Niall barks, frustrated. “It doesn’t matter though, does it? Icare because I care about you. So stop being a stroppy cunt and just…focus on the issue here?Your father?”Louis huffs.Why does Niall sound so fucking smart? Niall, who sings Spongebob songs at the piano in hisboxers, whose favorite past time is seeing how many crisps he can shove into his mouth, whocradles his bowl in his palm like a baby while he insists that homework is all a conspiracy.Louis closes his eyes, presses the palms of his hands into his sockets.It’s all too much.He sighs.

“Why’s he coming?” Louis asks in a defeated almost-whisper, forcing himself to focus. To findinner serenity.Niall relaxes, his eyes calming. “He wants to see how you’re doing in school.”“Don’t know why he suddenly cares.” He glares. “Oh, wait. Yes I do. Because he’s paying for it.And it’s his reputation on the line.” He shakes his head, already so disgusted at just the prospect ofCharles. How is he going to speak to him? To look at him?That quiets Niall.“I’m sorry, Tommo,” he finally replies, quietly.Louis opens his eyes, settling his gaze upon Niall. He looks quiet. Quiet and so openly sad and sounlike everything that he’s built of, that Louis feels his anger dissipate, his panic numb itself. It’sjust him and Niall in that moment and, really, he feels touched in a way. Touched that bright,shining Niall is here right now, worried, unsettled, concerned for Louis.“It’s really not your fault,” he sighs, sliding his hands in the pockets of the soiled jeans he’s stillwearing from the night before. He looks a mess. “Honestly. I’m just trying to figure out how thisday became so shitty so fast.”They exchange small smiles.And then suddenly there’s a knock at the door.Fuck.As one, their eyes flick to the sound. And Louis can’t breathe. Because oh. Fuck. He hasn’t seenhis father in years. Years. And he doesn’t even know what he could possibly say to him that isn’talong the lines of “Fuck off” or “You can leave now.”But, then again, why can’t he say those things?Because, what, his father will stop paying for school? Because Louis will be forced to drop outand go back home, leaving this life and all his friends behind? Leaving the torrid, endless messthat is Harry Styles behind? And isn’t that what he wanted when he came here? To just go backhome? Didn’t he hate this place, these people? Would it really be so bad to just…forget it all?Leave and never look back? Walk away from Harry’s quiet riddles and tucked away smiles andblowjob lips? Walk away and leave him for the sharks that are already devouring his body?… Louis is so fucked.“I’ll get it,” Niall suddenly says, calm and confident, already striding towards the door.Fuck fuck fuck.Louis nods, not knowing what to do with his hands. He looks a mess—a fucking mess—and he’shungover and his heart is currently mangled into an unrecognizable shape because he’s only justdiscovered that he’s in love with Harry Styles (and, okay, maybe he’s not completely surprised,but…it’s still new, it still feels like he’s been awoken from a coma and suddenly his senses areoverwhelmed by everything yet he can’t even properly grasp the situation because of this, becausehe can really only focus on one major issue at a time) and everything is just fucking awful andnow. Before he’s even had brekkie or brushed his teeth, his fucking estranged father is going towaltz back into his life so he can assess Louis’ worth.

Fuck. This. Day.Niall shoots Louis (who successfully does not shit his drawers) one last confident nod before heswings the door open and reveals—Zayn.Liam.And Harry.Louis’ stomach somehow sinks lower, maybe plummets to the center of the Earth.“Lads!” Niall chirps, utterly surprised, as evident in his saucer eyes and agape mouth. “What areyou doing here?”And now Louis really wants to die. He absolutely wants one of those cartoon anvils to fall fromthe ceiling and crush his bones to bits because now, on top of everything, they’ve shown up?!Right when Louis was mentally steeling himself for the onslaught of a father and son reunion, hisother life crisis is now on his doorstep?? Fucking really??He can’t be near Harry right now, that poisonous blossom of mind fuckery and beauty. Can’t lookat him and his flower petal face. Not right now.He tries to make his intentions clear when Niall glances back to him, completely clueless as towhat to do while Zayn calmly speaks.“We just wanted to check on Louis,” he mutters, sleek black hair cutting against the pale sky, eyescalm and sincere. He’s wrapped in a long, narrow, ebony coat with a black satin scarf twinedaround his neck and he looks like a modern delicacy, like he should be kept behind glass. Liamstands beside him, the collar of his gray trench coat popped high, a sleek button-up visiblebeneath. He looks clean and concerned, his head lightly tilted as he stares inquisitively at Niall,hand gripping Zayn’s elbow.And oh fuck. How embarrassing is this? They’ve come to check up on the hot mess that was somentally and physically obliterated last night that he had to literally be carried by Harry and—Oh god. Did Harry tell them all of this?Do they know how he was barely able to say his own name? How he abandoned them all becausehe was a selfish, emotional prick so he could fuck some nameless bloke and suck pills out of somegirl’s mouth? Is he going to have to answer their unwanted, disappointed questions and face thecomplete SHAME of—“Harry told us you got sick last night,” Liam says with worry, looking past Niall and attackingLouis with his puppy’s eyes, concern etched in his strong brows. “Said you had an early night in.We just wanted to make sure you’re feeling better—you left without saying a word!”Louis stares.What? What did Harry say? That Louis was…sick? He lied for him?Okay. Louis can’t help it. He has to look at him.So he does.

Harry’s staring at him, standing behind the unit that is Zayn and Liam. He’s tucked in thebackground, wearing a ridiculous yellow and black striped shirt and a black fur coat, but he looksripped from the pages of a fashion ad, shaded in grayscale and tucked in the back of a dustyscrapbook. He looks fucking timeless and perfect and like his eyelashes whisper or some shit andhis face is soft like the petals of a rose and his eyes are like the green, piercing thorns that leavescars and shit fuck bastard goddamn.Louis is in love with him. This boy. This boy standing within reach. Louis is in love with this boy.It’s horrid.And it’s only more horrid when Harry stares at him, quiet, careful, his face a careful compositionwhile storms and floods thrash just beneath the surface, as evident in the flickers of his eyes andthe twitch of his Grecian Tragedy lips. Barely blinking, just breathing, just eyes and just curls witha powder gray sky as a backdrop.Louis needs to look away. Absolutely needs to look away because if his eyes convey one tenth ofthe adoration he feels for this boy, then he’s fucked and he’s just…not ready for that right now.Not today. Not this morning.“I… Yeah,” he says, breaking his stare from Harry and feeling flooded. And yet dehydratedbecause he’s so fucking hungover. “I got sick.”Niall’s watching him now, completely at a loss and, most likely, afraid to speak for fear of sayingthe wrong thing.Zayn’s eyes flicker between them. “Something wrong?” he asks smoothly, and it’s not a question.It never is with Zayn.“Er. Maybe now’s not a good time for visiting,” Niall says, clapping a hand to Zayn’s shoulder asLouis turns his back on them, walking deeper into the apartment.Louis sighs, rubbing his hands over his face, through his greasy hair.“What’s wrong with Louis?” Liam asks, almost panicked. “Louis?”“Nothing, mate. He’s just… Family’s coming. On their way now. For a visit,” Niall supplies, andLouis can feel the stares on his back.“His mum?” Liam asks. “I thought they didn’t get on. She doesn’t like him or whatever.” Oh,Liam.“Er, no, not that parent,” Niall says, and he sounds so incredibly uncomfortable that this would behilarious in any other situation.“His father?” Liam then surmises with incredulity and Louis sort of really wants to pelt them allwith rocks.“Well—““Is he all right?” Zayn asks, his liquid voice laced with an edge of concern.And then suddenly the voices drop and the mumblings begin. Which sort of sets Louis’ teeth onedge.One glance back reveals Zayn’s snakelike, inspecting eyes as he mutters with Niall, Liam’s wide,

concerned (or is it pitying?) eyes set on Zayn in watchful caution. Niall’s muttering in low tones tothem, his back a little more taught than usual, his foot jiggling as he continues to hold the dooropen, knuckles white.But worse than that is Harry. Who is still staring. Just staring.And Louis refuses to stare back.“All right, lads. Hush your whispers,” he suddenly announces, turning around and making hisway back to them. He won’t look at Harry, won’t let them whisper about him when he’s in thesame fucking room, won’t let any of this affect him, won’t look at Harry. Harry who he’s in lovewith. Fuck. “Yes, my father is coming. No, I haven’t seen him since…I don’t remember when. Sotoday’s an exciting day. But I think I best put on some clean trousers and just plunge head firstinto it, yeah? Now, you’re welcome to stay, of course,”—he prays they won’t stay—why wouldthey stay?—“but I’m going to be terrible company. Thank you for coming, I appreciate you lads.Best mates I could ask for, really.” He grins, hoping his smile is unaffected and his demeanorrelaxed.But, of course, Zayn sees right through him.“You don’t have to pretend, Louis,” he mutters, lidded eyes cutting through Louis’ soul on a tidalwave of eyelashes. “And we can leave, if you like. No fuss.”Louis blinks.“Or we can stay!” Liam offers, hopeful.Harry remains silent, not even moving a muscle.At a loss, Louis looks to Niall. Because what should he do? He wants them here, wants thecomforts of his friends, he does. But is it selfish? To pull them into this mess of a situation? Andworse yet, there’s Harry—who he can’t even look at it because he’s afraid he might do somethinginsane like kiss his palms or tuck his curls behind his ears while he smells his neck.Niall stares back with wide, vacant eyes. He raises his hands in surrender. “This is out of myleague, man. Your call.”Another moment of silence passes, with Zayn gently studying Louis, Liam glancing between thetwo worriedly, and Harry never blinking.He has no idea what to do.“I can leave if you’d prefer,” comes Harry’s quiet voice, out of the blue.As one, all eyes turn to him, Zayn and Liam craning their necks in surprise. Harry’s eyes neverleave Louis, though. Sad, cautious, imploring. It physically hurts to keep his gaze.“No,” Louis finds himself responding almost automatically. Because, no, he really doesn’t wantHarry to leave. Sure, it hurts to be around him. But the idea of him leaving? It hurts more. “Stay.Please,” he emphasizes, and all the worry, the panic, and distance in Harry’s eyes part, leavingway for a softness that splinters Louis’ fucking soul.There’s so much unsaid between them. So much. And all they can do is stare.“Come on in, then,” Niall barks happily, stepping back, interrupting Louis out of his reverie.

Feeling pins and needles pricking his entire body, he sighs, making his way back to the windowas the lads settle onto the couches and chairs, Niall already pouring them glasses of probablywhiskeyand offering them croissants and weed. Louis stands close to the windowpanes, needingthe warmth of the sun. Wants to watch the courtyard as students mill about and scuttle to their nextclass, some wearing robes, some wearing YSL. All with their simple smiles and simple lives…Louis sighs, bowing his head.“You want anything to drink, Tommo?” Niall’s asking just as there’s another knock at the door.And the entire room quiets.“Fuck,” Louis breathes, eyes going blank as he lifts his head, gazing out the clean glass windows.“Fuck,” Niall agrees in a low whistle, sounding absolutely terrified.There’s a moment of silence, just one moment, and then he hears Niall stand, shuffle to the door,open it, and then…“Hello,” a distantly familiar voice greets.Charles.It’s him.It’s actually…him.Louis’ mouth is sour. His whole body is sour, smelling of last night and drenched in despair.Goddammit.“Hello, sir,” Niall’s business-voice smiles. “Can I help you?”The room feels frigid, frighteningly tense.“Yes. Does Louis Tomlinson live here?”The voice is deep, almost gruff, and strong. It brings back little, watery memories. Of Charlesasking Louis to leave the room. Of Charles asking Louis why he doesn’t have a girlfriend. OfCharles always on the phone with a client, brushing everybody else away with a careless flick ofthe hand.Louis’ eyes shut as his fist clenches so tight, he’s almost convinced he’s produced a diamond,nails slicing the cushion of his palm.“Yes, sir. He’s me flatmate,” Niall replies, so sunny and open and everything opposite of the manstanding before him.“Flatmate, you say?” Charles asks, serious and calm. “And you are?”“Niall Horan.”Louis can almost hear them shaking hands.“Son of Jonathan Horan?”“The one and only, sir.”

A short laugh.“Good lad,” Charles says.Louis grits his teeth.He hears the door shut, the scuff of polished shoes against their impeccable wooden floors. Hearsthe squeak of furniture as the boys stand.“And you all are…?”It’s so weird. It’s so fucking weird.“Zayn Malik, sir. Son of Khan Malik,” comes the even flow of Zayn’s voice, and he just soundsimpressive. Without even trying.“Khan Malik, you say? The chancellor of the school?” Charles asks, surprised and delighted.There’s a silence, and Louis can picture the scene behind him—Zayn nodding silently, standingtall and open and beautiful like the fucking Greek statue that he is.“And I’m Liam Payne,” Liam announces, voice lilted to its posh timbre of sparkling perfection.Business Liam is in full gear. “My father is William Payne. I’m sure you’ve heard of him?”“Ah, yes, yes. Bill. Good man. Did a case for his company a couple years back. He’s doingwell?”“He is,” Liam smiles. “Really well. I’ll send him your regards. I could set up a luncheon?”“Yes, of course,” Charles says, clearly impressed.And Louis just feels so tense. Has the man even noticed he’s in the room yet? He can’t turnaround to see. Not when he’s still not sure how he’s even going to react. No, Charles can come tohim.“And who might you be?” Charles suddenly asks, and Louis freezes, completely freezes, but then—“Harold Styles,” Harry suddenly announces in his most charming of voices, and Louis canenvision the infectious grin he’s got plastered onto his face. He’s also got his feathers on display,any trace of concern and trepidation gone and leaving only a winning smile and firm—but not toofirm—handshake.“Styles, eh?” Charles assesses. He doesn’t sound as impressed.“Styles,” Harry confirms. “And you are, of course…?”“Charles Tomlinson,” the man says. And something about hearing that name, hearing that namespoken by that man… A man that’s been all but a phantom in Louis’ a life, just makes everythingthat much more real.Fuck. This is actually happening.Louis still can’t turn around.“What a remarkable name,” Harry smiles. “I’d steal it for my own, but I don’t think I could do itjustice.”

“Perhaps.” The tone is cold.“You’re Louis’ father, then?” Harry continues, unaffected.Louis bites his cheek.“I am. Is he here?”And Louis tries not to roll his eyes. Because really? They’re within arm’s length, for fuck’s sake.“Um, he’s just beside you, actually,” Harry purrs, but his voice is…almost sharp? “If you just turnaround, of course.”And Louis braces himself as he hears the shuffle of feet behind him.“Ah. Louis.” The man’s voice couldn’t sound any less thrilled.“Ah. Charles.” Louis turns around. “Long time, no see,” he continues, taking in the man’sappearance which has changed so little—his eyes still sharp and his hair still speckled with gray,his suit still pristine and his jaw still set. Louis doesn’t even bother painting on a smile, very awareof everyone’s eyes on him. Very aware of Harry, whose face has returned to quiet and concernedas he searches Louis’ face.Charles nods once, lips slightly pursed, his light brown hair glowing golden under the crystallights and sun. It’s so odd to be in the same room as him, as if nothing’s changed and no time haspassed. It’s all just so fucking odd. Louis feels as though he’s dreaming. And he could be, to behonest. This could be one long hungover hallucination. Hopefully it is.“I presume your mother has told you why I’m here?” Charles asks, straight to business. As usual.Fuck, it’s been so long.“Naturally,” Louis continues, folding his arms. “You’re here to make sure you’re not wasting yourmoney.”There’s a brief pause in which all the boys stare, Liam’s eyes practically bugging out of his head.Niall’s eyebrows are raised, almost to his hairline, and Zayn’s eyes are narrowed, assessing.Harry’s brows are furrowed, his gaze now firmly locked on Charles.“Can you blame me?” is all the man replies, tilting his head.Louis’ blood simmers. “Not a wink, Charlie. But even so. A bit more warning would have beennice. I haven’t even had time to put out the fine china!” His voice drips with sarcasm.Tension begins to fill the room. Liam shifts uncomfortably.“Shall we talk somewhere more private?” Charles asks, eyes sharp.“Splendid idea. This way,” Louis says, already mad, just mad, leading Charles to his bedroom.Niall mouths to him, ‘You okay?’Louis nods, biting on his tongue. He hears Zayn mutter a, “We should go, Li,” before he entershis room, leaving the door cracked ajar as his father strides inside. He’s not going to shut the door.The very idea of being trapped in a room with this man is the epitome of suffering.

“So,” Charles begins, feet planted on the ground far apart, hands in the pockets of his ironed graytrousers.“So.” Louis folds his arms, feet planted just as firmly.He regards Louis with narrowed, calculating eyes, reluctant to praise. “You’ve made someexcellent connections while you’ve been here. I’m surprised. And pleased.”Louis snorts. “Nice to see you, too. And oh, how have I been? I’ve been wonderful, thank you forasking. And the girls? They’ve been good as well. So refreshing of you to voice your concern,”he says flatly.Charles’ lips tighten. “Louis. That’s not why I’m here.”Wow. Just wow.Disgusted, Louis shakes his head, nearly incredulous at the man before him, wrapped inoverpriced cloth and greed. “I don’t even remember the last time I’ve seen you,” he says, voicelow. “Are we just going to pretend like that’s not a thing? No questions asked? Not evenexchange a handshake? A tip of the hat?”“I’m paying for your schooling,” Charles continues, ignoring him. “I’m spending a lot of money. Ijust want to be sure I’m making a good investment. Nothing more.”Wow. Wow.“Well then, you tell me,” Louis clips, standing before him and spreading his arms. “This is my life.This is me. Is it a good investment, father?”He sighs, rubbing his temples. “What are your grades, Louis?”“What, you want me to dig out a fucking transcript? Go fish up my file. I don’t keep a record.”He’s lying. He absolutely has a record of his grades online. All the students do. But he sure as hellisn’t gonna tell him that, instead jutting his jaw defiantly and never blinking as he meets Charles’rigid gaze.“You have no record of your work? None whatsoever?”“Fuck’s sake, I don’t have a fucking office, do I?”“Language.”“What about it?” Louis asks faux innocently.Charles glares.“To be quite honest, I’m not even sure why you’ve come. Just out of the blue? Just to see how I’mdoing? When you could’ve called the school and saved us a lot of trouble and time?”There’s a brief pause as Charles assesses him before he nods. “This is true. I suppose I had othermotives.” He flicks his eyes around the room. “I wanted to see the kind of man you’re becoming.”Louis nods, struggling to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Well. This is who I am. If you don’tapprove, I suggest you do what you should have done in the first place—go to the secretary orwhatever. Talk to them. Sort it out. Find your answers. Then decide if I’m ‘worth it’ or not.”Another silence.

Another silence.Charles stares hard.Louis stares just as hard.“You really haven’t changed at all since I’ve last seen you,” he finally replies, delicately. “Andyou were just a boy then.”“Don’t patronize me.”“I’m not.”“Fuck’s sake,” Louis breathes, turning away.“What are your plans, Louis? What do you plan on doing with this opportunity I’m giving you?”This opportunity.“Pissing it away.”“I’m being serious.”And Louis knows it, knows that his father wants to talk and be proper and Louis absolutelydetests it, so he wanders around the room, fidgeting with everything, inspecting everything,refusing to stay still because he doesn’t want to play this game, doesn’t want to give him what hewants. And he doesn’t want to surrender.“I’ll figure it out, won’t I?” he says offhandedly, inspecting his curtains.“You need a career.”“I’ll get one. I’m charming. I’ve got some smarts. I’ll be fine, Chuck.” He pokes at the handle onhis wardrobe.“I’m not going to support you financially, you know.”“You haven’t in nearly a decade. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to. Don’t want to strain thecheckbook.”Charles’ jaw clicks. “So your plan is to be homeless, then.”Louis sighs, inspecting the glass on his bedside table. “Listen. I’ll be fine, all right? Just fuckingfine.”“And how will that work, exactly?” he asks, beginning to follow Louis around the room. “Wherewill you go? What will you do? Who will speak to you?”Louis blanks, the questions pelting at him too fast. He doesn’t like thinking about this, doesn’twant to think about this. It makes him feel…inferior. It makes him feel panicked, almost. Justuncomfortable. Incompetent. Young.He hates this. He hates this about his father.“Louis,” Charles says, low. Almost like a threat.Louis ignores it.

“You’ve no right to ask me these questions. I have no reason to answer them.”“Louis.”“Just go, for fuck’s sake,” Louis continues, voice nearing shrill. “This is fucking pointless! Youdrove all the way here to look at me? Just go!”“Louis,” he says again, more insistently, and there is a definite edge, the corners of the word sharp.Sharp enough to cut at Louis at least. In places he didn’t know existed within him.Why does he care? Why is this bothering him?Why is his father here??“I’ll be fine,” Louis says, quieter, almost to himself.“Louis. You can’t expect the world to care about you,” Charles says as Louis stares at the spaceon the floor between his feet. “Not when you have so little to offer.”And that. That pings Louis. That pings Louis so fucking much.And he’s just starting to feel his flair wilt, his resolve crumbling, his confidence swayingunsteadily on its feet.But then the door is pushed open.“How fucking dare you say that,” a voice practically hisses.Louis’ head snaps up.Harry’s in the doorway, eyes positively livid. And Louis stops breathing.Charles whips around.“Excuse m—““You have no fucking right to come here and tell your own son that. You have no fucking right todo that!” Harry’s nearly shouting, his face blotchy and pink, eyes wide and glistening. It’s likehe’s on fire, blazing and bright, sizzling and crisping, ready to consume the world and the sunitself.Louis’ jaw most certainly drops.Is this real life?And where did he even come from? Was he at the door listening?“Your son—Louis—is brilliant,” Harry continues, taking a fierce step inside, eyes churning withinner flame. His stance is adamant, impassioned, defiant. But his frame quivers ever so slightly, hisbreath shaky, the line of his shoulders trembling, and Louis wonders if it’s from fear or feeling asHarry plows on, never pausing for breath. “He’s genuinely smart—I should know, I tutored himmyself—and he can write a proper essay, yeah, and he can memorize an equation and calculate apercentage and remember all of that trite bullshit. But he’s not just intelligent with his education.He’s intelligent in every fucking manner you could conceive of. He—he sees people.”His eyes are so, so bright. Glassy and glittery. Louis can’t look away. Can’t feel. Can’t even feelhis own tongue or his heartbeat or the cold floor beneath his bare feet. Can only feel Harry’s

words. Can only register the shock in Charles’ speechless face.“He understands people and he’s honest and brilliant and good and he just—just knows. Heknows everything.” Louis might die. Harry’s voice has become more shaky, his stance weaker.And in that moment, Louis knows it isn’t merely enraged passion that has consumed Harry—it’sterror. Harry is terrified. The fear has crystallized in his eyes. “He’s not like everybody else—everybody else is boring, they’re empty,” he practically gasps, his words breathless and jagged.His hands are quivering. “He’s different. Good. And he’s your son. You should be so bloodyproud of him. You should—“ Harry cuts off, shaking his head, his fists clenched tight, chestheaving. “The fact that you could say that to your own family… To your son. To Louis. When…when you should be honored. When you should be thankful.” He takes a deep, shaky breath,gathering himself. “So don’t you dare tell him that he has nothing.” There’s a brief pause, Harry’sface calming into…something. Something gently painful and open and just beyond recognition.Louis’ breath hitches as Harry continues. “Not when he’s everything.”His voice breaks on the last word.The room falls silent, save for Harry’s impassioned breathing. And Louis’pounding heart.The words echo within his skull and body, bouncing around his ribcage and imbeddingthemselves in his eardrums, probably permanently. Because….wow.Just…..wow.Was it ten hours ago that he thought Harry was rid of him? Harry, whose just stood up to hisfather, basically told him to fuck off, and said…said all those things, those beautiful, gorgeousthings about Louis?It’s all too much. Louis hasn’t even changed out of his clothes. He hasn’t even showered.It’s all too much.“You are very insolent for your age,” Charles finally says, calm and quiet, each word pointedsubtly as he observes Harry with thinly veiled distaste. “This conversation has nothing to do withyou.”“I’m sorry that I couldn’t help but overhear your fucking mess of words and just walk away fromthem, sir,” Harry snaps, and this isn’t the Harry that Louis has seen in front of strangers. This isn’tthe peacock that smiles wide and crooked because he can, the golden boy who quips wittycomments and lures everyone in with a mere flick of the wrist. This isn’t the empty-eyed walkingcorpse.This is bright, alive Harry. Fighting for Louis. Genuinely. Electrically. This is Harry. Alive. Themost alive he’s ever been perhaps. Louis wants to cry.Face hard, Charles turns back to Louis.“I’ll go to the school’s office. I think I’ve seen enough here. You were right. I shouldn’t havecome.” He begins making his way toward the door where Harry stands, tall and alight, breathingheavy, his fists finally unclenching.Louis narrows his eyes as he watches him leave, something unexpected and painful blooming inhis chest that he refuses to label. “You’ve seen nothing. You’ve come here, you’ve assumed, andyou still know nothing about me,” he says loudly, voice hard.This makes Charles halt. He inclines his head ever so slightly, eye barely visible over his firmly

lined shoulder. “I’ve heard Harold’s words.”“But you’ve not heard mine.” Louis’ face is hard, refusing to look at Harry for fear he mightactually break, crumble apart. He can’t do that in front of his father. He refuses to give him thatsatisfaction.Charles pauses, surveying Louis, conflict marring the cutting blue of his eyes.“Perhaps we can attempt another meeting,” he finally says. “At another time.”He looks as if he’sabout to say something more, and Louis perks, opens his ears, finding himself almost craving theunspoken words, but then nothing comes. Nothing comes, and his father leaves, brushing harshlypast Harry.Leaving Harry and Louis.And a heart that feels so, so damaged.“Where did the others go?” Louis asks, clearing his throat and blinking his eyes rapidly. He triesto push thoughts of his father away because, really, there’s no reason to think of him now. There’sno reason to be sad. Not after all this time. Why doesn’t his body understand that?It’s all just too much.“Zayn’s,” Harry says quietly, eyes sad as he watches Louis fidget, fiercely blinking back tears.“Wanted to give you some privacy.”“I see. And what about you, then?” He tries to lift his voice, force it into clarity and nonchalance.He wants to feel casual.Harry purses his lips, staring with wide jade eyes. “I didn’t like him.”Louis quirks an eyebrow. “So you stayed here with him?”Silence.“The way you spoke to him…” Harry finally says, voice barely above a whisper. He seemsdazed, shocked almost. “He’s your father. And the way you spoke to him.”“He deserved it,” Louis says, frowning.Harry nods immediately. “He did.” And it’s almost as if something is dawning, a light clicking onbehind his eyes.There’s a heavy moment, one where Harry is somewhere else, eyes caught up in distance, andLouis feels his whole body crackling with electricity because he’s in love with Harry and, forsome reason, it’s so painfully present. All the time, all of a sudden. Especially now, when his heartfeels misshapen and brittle and Harry’s words still echo in the room. And there’s so much unsaid.“But you’re okay? Today? Now?” Harry finally asks, voice scratchy and faint, his eyesrefocusing.Louis stares at him, hard, tries to search the frail eyes before him, the flushed cheeks. “I thoughtyou were over me,” he says bluntly, and he feels his face contorting, feels it droop with sadnessand all the plagues within him.Harry closes his eyes, bows his head. “I wanted to be.” His brows pinch together tightly. Quieter,

arely above a whisper, maybe to himself, he says, “I tried so hard to be.”Louis’ ribcage might be smashed. Louis’ stomach might be disintegrating. Something horrible andlethal might be happening inside of him.“Why?” Louis asks. “After everything you just said…”“I meant every word.”Louis swallows.Too much.“I wanted you to mean it,” he says, all that feeling beginning to break free and flood his limbs. Hetakes a step forward and it’s almost beyond his control, what his body is doing, as he raises a handto Harry’s cheek. He’s almost seeing white, his body fucking betraying him, his mind goinghaywire, but it’s like he’s under a spell as he stares at Harry, his pale, cool skin so soft beneathLouis’ hot hand. “I don’t want you to get rid of me anymore, Harry.”He shakes his bowed head, looking almost as if he’s scowling, his body relaxing under Louis’touch. “I couldn’t if I tried. It’s too late.”“Too late?”Harry finally looks up, eyes glazed once more.“You’re all right, though?” he whispers, face softening.Louis nods, daring to brush his thumb across the smooth plane of Harry’s cheek, softening theboy’s gaze even more.Relief pools in his eyes. “Good.” He bites his lip, looks away. “I’m sorry about your father. Iknow… I know how hard it can be.”And that he does. Harry most certainly knows the hardships of a shitty father. Of a shitty family.And right now, with Louis practically spilling with unbridled emotions—emotions he hasn’t hadto feel in years—and an overwhelming sense of displacement and the very real question of his selfworth that has been thrust into his mind… Well. He wonders if this is what it feels like to beHarry. If these are the emotions he carries with him every day. If that’s why the option of‘emptiness’ is so appealing and hedonism is so frantically desired.The thought bowls Louis over and all he wants to do is grip onto him. He wants to hold the littlefucker that’s imprisoned his heart, and, god. He’s in love. He’s in love with him. And fuck, heneeds to calm down. He needs to be alone.He’s so overwhelmed.Luckily, it’s at that moment that Harry’s milky rumble interrupts the silence.“I need to go,” Harry says softly, grabbing Louis’ wrist with both hands and gently removing hishand from his cheek. “I’ve…I have dinner with a professor.”Louis nods again, feeling so much that he feels nothing.“But tomorrow evening. I’m having a small dinner. Just us lads. My rooms. You’ll come?” heasks, beginning to back towards the door, eyes distantly hopeful and set on Louis.

Louis manages a smile. “As long as you don’t tell me I’m yesterday’s news over the first course.”Harry’ face darkens, his steps fumbling. He looks down, ashamed, light color crawling up hisneck. “Louis—I know—I’m—I’m sorry—““I’ll come,” Louis interrupts calmly, gently, because he wasn’t trying to be a bastard, was trying tomake the mood light. Harry’s just so fucking sensitive… Like a newborn kitten or a dandelion.The thought makes Louis’ chest warm.Okay, he’s too in love.“You will?” Harry says, lifting his head. Such a clear, beautiful face. Full of innocent hope andsincerity. Worlds away from the boy he once knew.“Always,” Louis hears his voice saying as he finds himself following Harry, as if ready to chasehim down and bring him back. To keep him in his room or his bed or his arms or…just anywherereally. Just anywhere near him.Harry smiles, that kiss of a dimple catching in the light pouring from the windows.“Excellent. Until tomorrow, then? Yeah?” His voice is so sweet, so gentle.Why does this hurt so much?“Tomorrow then,” Louis promises, unable to blink, lost in the boy before him whose smile hassomehow become terrifyingly arresting overnight. (Louis hates being in love. He’s never doingthis again.)The sun escapes from Harry’s lips.“Oh, and Louis?”Louis waits, suspended in midair.“You were wonderful today. With your father. The way you handled it all…” He shakes his headin awe. “I could never be like you. But.” Harry laughs lightly, nervously, his head bowed andcurls tumbling down from all sides as he paws at the ground with the toe of his boot. “You makeme…want to be. Like. You give me, like, hope, almost? You know?” And Harry actually flushes.Louis wants to fucking pass out.This is all too much.And Louis opens his mouth to respond, to say something, but before he can, the door clicks andHarry is gone.And it’s all just too much.Chapter End Notes*finds a snow drift to collapse in* Ughhh this chapter gave me such a headache.Wowza. I ended up splitting it in two because it was just taking too long and it wasso, so tedious. *rubs temples*

Anywho.I have a simple request for this chapter. The only reason I was able to write it to apoint of bearability (I really did despise this thing, no matter how much I altered thisand that--it was so strange!) was because I listened to some songs that inspired me.1. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SL68EXJEAPs : Listen to this. Because thissong is literally the entire chapter. It's Pink Floyd (any PF fans out there? yes?) andthis is their best song, hands down. There's no singing, it's all instrumental, but thereis such a story told. And if you're having trouble listening to the middle (it gets prettychaotic which, in the story, would be the part where Charles and Louis are fighting inhis room and Harry bursts in) then I def suggest jumping to the 7:00 minute mark.Because that whole last bit is what inspired the last scene between Louis and Harryand I think it's just a wonderful representation of their relationship in general. *I havea lot of feelings*2. A Message by Coldplay (It inspired quite a bit of Louis/Harry interaction andfeeeelings)3. White Foxes by Susanne Sundfor. THANK YOU GEMS FOR TELLING MEABOUT THIS SONG. I envisioned a lot of Harry when I heard it. I think itrepresents him well--the part that's buried and doesn't get seen much. Ya know?Anyway. Chat me up for all things! I promise I answer everybody--it may just takeawhile because of life and things. But I'm quite chatty so. Come at me!

XXXChapter SummaryHarry talks.Chapter NotesOhkayyy so there are mentions of suicide and drug use and some serious stuff,alright? It's not much, but it's there. Just wanted to let all of you know!See the end of the chapter for more notesWhen Louis wakes up for lecture the next morning, he’s got one notification on his phone. Amissed call from Harry at 4:03 AM.Which is unsettling for several different reasons because Louis texted Harry repeatedly last nightand received zero responses. Not that he noticed too much, given that he spent the majority of itlying in Niall’s bed, ranting about love and awareness. Niall wanted to kill him.“And just where do you think you’re going?” Louis nearly shrieked when Niall began rolling offthe bed, Nike’s still on his feet from when he’d put them on earlier with the intention of going out.Niall sighed, long and suffering, rubbing his hands over his face as Louis aggressively pulled himback down beside him.“I want to go out.”“I’m not finished.”“You’re never going to be at this rate. It’s nearly three in the morning!”“Exactly! It’s far too late to go out now! So just sit tight and let me express my feelings.”“But you have so many fucking feelings,” Niall groaned, flopping over and shoving his face in thepillow. “You’re in love with the bloke—big fucking deal! We all saw it coming. Thought you twowere already fucking, to be honest—ow!” Niall rubbed his arm, throwing a glare Louis’ way.Who was most certainly glaring back.“Stop it.” Louis sighed, settling back down, eyes finding their way to the ceiling. “It’s difficult,you cold-hearted shrew. You wouldn’t understand. It’s fucking horrible, this. Being in love and allthat? It’s like…it’s like this weird quiet thing. Like, it’s so strong but it’s so quiet at the same time.And I guess I always sorta knew how I felt so it’s not, like, been a complete shock to the system,but. I don’t know. I never, like, really let myself feel it. But now that I’ve admitted it to myself Ican’t stop thinking about him, Niall. And I just want to hug him and talk to him and make sureeverything’s okay and fix his problems and his—his father! How’s his father?”Niall shrugged. “Still bad. They’ve cancelled a shit ton of TV performances because he’s not able

to perform live. I think he’s just locked up in his house or something. Fuckin’ loon.”Louis closed his eyes, feeling silent stabs within his heart. Because Harry. Des is locked up inHarry’s house. Locked in the cold, dark, ornate confines of that mansion Louis had visited so longago…“That stuff. That’s the stuff I want to know about. I worry so much, Niall, so much. More than I’dlike to, if I’m being honest. But there’s nothing I can do! And, like, there’s also the issue of: do Isay anything? Do I tell him I’m in love with him? Or will I scare him away? Because I think hemight… I think he might like me. A little bit, at least.”“Of course he likes you.”“No, I mean really like me.” Louis bit his lip, still staring up at the cream colored ceiling, the waythe shadows played upon the smooth surface. “The things he said to Charles this morning… Ithink he might care.”“All right. So tell him you love him. You only live once.”“Yeah, but—““Tell him.”“Niall, I’m not sure—““Tell him.”“Nia—““Tell him.”“N—““Tell him.”“Fucking stop it, you prick!” Louis glared, whacking him over the head. “It’s not that simple! I’mdealing with a timid squirrel here. I’ve got to approach him cautiously.”“You’ve got to lure him in with your nuts?”And when Louis looked over, Niall was laughing hysterically, silently, into his pillow, face pinkand bright.“You’re a complete idiot, do you realize that, Ireland?” But he felt his lips quirk.“Not as much as you are,” Niall chuckled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, cheeks softin a blushing pink. “You’ve finally realized you’re in love with Harry and you’re not even goingto tell him because you’re afraid. Fuckin’ child.”“I’m not afraid!”“So then tell him.”“He’s a squirrel, Niall!”“Can I go now?”

Again, Louis glared, folding his arms across his chest and kicking a foot out, colliding it withNiall’s shin. “No. Absolutely not. You’re here for me tonight and I have a lot of shit to sort out.Now drink some water and sit back because I’ve got to start deciding whether or not to tell Harryfucking Styles I’m in love with him and whether I want everything that goes along with that.”“Like the cat statues?”“Like the cat statues,” Louis confirmed before sighing and laying his head atop Niall’s shoulder.They talked for about two more hours before Niall started snoring obnoxiously in the middle ofone of Louis’ soliloquies discussing the subtle differences between Harry’s amused smile andHarry’s shy smile.So.Louis really hasn’t slept all that much. And waking up to the knowledge that Harry called him lastnight—probably around the time he was insisting that his lips had the ability to unlock the secretsof the world—is more than a little jarring.But he sets his tidal wave of nerves (or feelings or butterflies or whatever the fuck it is that’sswimming in his stomach) aside, instead focusing on waking up, getting dressed, and heading tohis lectures because, even if he leaves this term gutted like a fish because of potentially unrequitedlove, he is going to do well. He is going to do well and he is going to succeed at this school.Does that have something to do with Charles? No. Is he somehow, secretly, trying to prove tohimself that he really is smart and will be fine in life? No. Has their meeting only reignited the firesof defiance and pride that only his own father can create within him? No.No, Louis is independent and fine and unaffected. He just really wants good marks.Still, though. He can’t help but think about Harry…And he thinks he’s made his decision.“Off to lecture?” Niall asks, pouring almost an entire box of cereal into an enormous goblet. Andwhere did that even come from?Louis nods, tucking the ends of his scarf into his jacket. “It’ll be a short day, though. Only twocourses.”“Cool.” Niall pours almost a gallon of soy milk into said goblet.Louis eyes it wearily as he slides his feet into his Vans, one hand balancing him on the wall. “I’m,er, gonna tell Harry today. About, you know. The feelings.”The carton of soy plonks down upon the bronzed granite of the counter, Niall’s eyes growingwide. “Yeah? You’re gonna grow a fuckin’ pair?”“I myself would have phrased it better, but yes.” Louis tries to smile, his stomach careening, hischeeks stiff with cold terror. How is he doing to do this if he’s already terrified?Niall’s expression is warm as he clunks over to Louis, throwing his cream jumper-clad armsaround his body, hugging him tightly to his chest. His grin is wide and honest, shining like the sunon snow, and he smells expensive and cozy and Louis feels his stomach spike even more, but thistime with affection as he smiles into Niall’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his middle.

“Congrats, mate,” Niall grins by his ear. “I’m proud! Real proud. I knew you’d get your head outof your arse.”Louis’ smile scrapes against the cotton of Niall’s jumper. “Thanks, potato.”“Oi.”But Louis smiles wider before finally releasing him and flashing one last nervous look beforeheading for the door.“Love you, Nialler.”“Love you harder, Tommo.”Louis barks a laugh before he shuts the door, his mind and heart already sitting in Harry’s rooms,ready to empty themselves.Today is going to be fucking terrifying.**Sitting through his lectures is a little bit like medieval torture. Or maybe worse than that. AncientEgyptian torture? Was Egyptian torture bad? Or Scandinavian torture? Or maybe Anglo-Saxontorture. Or Sparta. Sparta was fucked up.In any case, Louis is suffering terribly.Because he’s promised himself that he won’t stare at his phone the whole time like some sick pup,won’t text Harry that he’s coming over the second his lecture is over, won’t send him a flutter ofemoticons that encompass his simultaneously fuzzy and prickly feelings that just won’t stop. He’strying to focus on his professors and their long-winded sentences and the way their markerssqueak against the whiteboards when they jot down major plot points in Midsummer Night’sDream and the significance of citation. But try as he might to focus, his brain never really leaveshis phone.Which is currently sitting in the left pocket of his shoulder bag.Totally within reach.Which he will not touch.He will not.**At long last, he’s freed from his inner turmoil. He’s free, and the first thing he does as he emergesinto the bright, wintry daylight is unlock his phone and there—there, sat right in his text inbox is amessage from Harry.‘I must talk to you.’Louis actually stops walking as he reads it.Must? He must talk to Louis? ‘Must’ as in: ‘I cannot take being away from you, I miss your voice’or ‘must’ as in: ‘I don’t really want to, but it’s imperative that we discuss something’. Louis needsto know.

But it’s while he’s having this tumultuous inner battle that he receives two more texts, buzzing hisphone and shocking him out of his zone.One’s from Niall: ‘Good luck, mate! Get it in!’ Classy.And another’s from Harry: ‘Louis’That’s all it says. Just…Louis. It just says Louis. But for reasons unknown to him, Louis suddenlyhas the incredible and terrible urge to clutch his phone to his chest like a teenager would a pictureof their heartthrob. Which is horrific on so many accounts, number one being that he is in fact inpublic, surrounded by students swarming to their next lecture, laughing brightly and smokingcigarettes.Refusing to attempt to sort out that mess of a thought process, he stuffs his phone in his pocketbefore practically jogging ahead, nerves going from simmering to boiling as he makes his way toHarry’s rooms, wondering how the fuck he’s going to manage spilling his undying love.And, maybe, possibly, sort of wondering if Harry could be planning on doing the same.**He walks in without knocking, his heart pounding in his throat in the most uncomfortable andpressing manner imaginable.“Harry?” he finds himself almost shouting eagerly, breathlessly, as he enters, dropping his bag inhis chair and searching the room with bright eyes until he comes across—Harry. At his desk. Wearing a satin suit and polka dotted bow tie, a powder blue flower pinned tohis lapel. Bottle of wine sat next to him. And his head in his hands. Looking…obliterated out ofhis mind.Louis’ lights immediately go out.Oh. So it’s this kind of talk.“Harry?” he repeats, this time more tentatively, and Harry looks up, mussed and teary and blearyand…very drunk. Louis grimaces. “Oh, Harry,” he says sadly, walking forward.“Louis,” Harry says, closing his eyes and burrowing his face in his hands. “Louis, Louis, Louis.”He’s so incredibly drunk.“How about we just set this over here, yeah?” he says delicately, placing the wine bottle at a safedistance from Harry who looks rumpled and small. He crouches down so that they’re nearly eyelevel , hand on Harry’s arm, their knees brushing together. “What’s wrong?” He swallows.Harry shakes his head, remaining silent, before dragging away his hands, eyes still closed. Heshakes his head again, his face crumpling, eyes squeezing shut. In some indescribable way, itdestroys Louis.“Harry,” Louis breathes, heartbroken instantly as he surveys the boy’s pained face. And he feels itthen, feels that surge of ‘in love’ shit that’s just so new to him. He feels it pushing his limbs andit’s like he’s drunk, unable to coherently consider his actions and just plunging into what feelsright. He crowds closer, wanting to touch and pet and soothe, one hand gently trying to tiltHarry’s face fully towards him, the other petting at his arm, his knee, his jacket.

No reply comes, just a bitten lip as Harry’s eyes remain closed shut.And the seconds pass, Louis imploring, Harry wincing, the room silent and watchful and hazy.These are the moments Louis feels out of his league, like he’s handling brittle paper, ready tocrumble at the first wrong touch. He just doesn’t know. Doesn’t know what Harry feels or whatwill make any of it better.“You feel a pain I will never understand,” Louis finds himself mumbling aloud, mostly to himself,fingers beginning to smooth out the stress lines by Harry’s eyes, his lips. “But I’m here,” he says,louder. “Remember? You can’t get rid of me? It’s too late?”There’s a brief pause.Then, slowly, Harry nods and Louis feels it acutely as his hand seeks Louis’ jumper and clenchesit in his fist. It may or may not be his imagination that he pulls him closer. Louis isn’t really surewhat’s real right now, his adrenaline pumping as Harry clings to him in all his bruised eye andinner demon glory, his heart simultaneously swelling and shattering as he shuffles still closer,sliding his hands into Harry’s mess of curls comfortingly. Because he needs to feel close. Becausehe wants to envelop Harry in a cocoon and protect him, shield him, swallow him alive with allthat he has.But all he can do is softly grip his curls.“It’s okay,” Louis whispers and he doesn’t know what isn’t okay, doesn’t know what even iswrong with Harry, but maybe he’s also telling it to himself because he sort of feels like he’sembarking on a terrifying fucking journey without a compass or a map or even a sense of whatcontinent he’s on. He’s a little bit terrified and a lot overwhelmed and he had full plans to comehere today to simply declare his heart’s desires to Harry but now Harry’s drunk and almost cryingand Louis’ almost pulling him out of his chair and onto the floor with him so that he can hold himand…Why is being in love so complicated? It’s been less than two days. Honestly.An unintelligible word falls from Harry’s lips as he brings his head to Louis’ shoulder, mufflingthe words into his neck. It spears Louis’ heart.“What?” he asks gently, attempting to lift Harry’s head, fingers still lost within the tangles of forestcurls. His heart is thumping.Harry’s sliding out of the chair, pushing into Louis, his knees knocking as he clunks to the floor,but Louis keeps his grip on him, makes sure he doesn’t bump his limbs against the desk or tipover. Harry’s hands are still fisted into Louis’ jumper. It burns.Harry repeats the word, still unheard, and this time he lets his head be lifted as Louis aligns theirfaces, brushes his thumbs over Harry’s eyelids as if stroking them to open. As if the answers andthe muffled words will become clear in his gaze. He just wants to see Harry, really. He just wantsto look in his eyes so he knows, has some idea as to what’s going on, what’s brought this on, whatthis is about, what he feels.“Harry,” he prods again, and Harry makes a small noise. Louis’ ears actually pound.Is Harry in love with him? Is this him trying to tell Louis he’s in love with him? Louis wants it sobadly, allows himself to wish for it, allows himself to entertain the possibility. He feels like hecould dry heave right now. And he’s blind, so fucking blinded by the feel of Harry, by the scentof him (minus the wine and despair) as Harry leans his forehead against Louis’. He fucking leans

his forehead against Louis’ fucking forehead, and the cosmos might have just imploded, the starsmight have just collided and shattered galaxies.His eyes still aren’t open but Louis is somewhat thankful now because he doesn’t think he couldtake it if they were. This moment is just…too much. Too much and too unexpected. Too fast.But Harry’s forehead is still against Louis’ and as Louis continues to murmur Harry’s name—imploringly, questioningly, comfortingly—their faces seem to meld together. They just gently drifttowards each other until warm breath is against warm breath, nose against nose and fuck fuckfuck, Louis suddenly feels the urge to cough or laugh or hiccup because this is all so fragile andsudden and terrifying and what is happening??Harry’s eyes are still closed, but the stress of the lines is easing. They’re no longer squeezed tight,but relaxing into smoothness as Louis’ nose bumps his cheek, and he’s not really sure but theymay or may not be fucking nuzzling? Like bear cubs? Is that what this is? He’s never nuzzledbefore—fucking never—but this might be what’s happening and it makes him want to be sickbecause he never expected something so completely random and simple to be so fucking poeticand monumental.And then, without any warning or intention, their lips are just brushing together, feather-soft, andit’s probably by accident because Harry’s so lost inside of himself and inebriated and Louis is justtrying to stay upright (this is not how he expected this to go down) but only one second passes.One second of their lips warm and dry against each other, Louis’ hands on either side of Harry’shead, buried in his hair, Harry’s hands buried within the fabric of Louis’ jumper, near his stomach,and they freeze. They both freeze and Louis’ shocked mind is screaming at him, startled andpanicked because Harry is drunk right now.But he doesn’t need to worry, doesn’t need to push him away because Harry jumps back as ifstruck by lightning, and then Harry opens his eyes, red, glossy, and sad. Louis’ heart is poundingin his throat as he tries to breathe, tries to cling to reality. He removes his hands from Harry’s hair,Harry removes his fists from Louis’ jumper.Harry stares at him, swaying on the spot, unshed tears settled in his eyes.Louis stares back, his whole body electric.“He’s so mad,” is what Harry slurs.Louis blinks. What?“Who’s mad?” Louis asks, startled, and Harry bows his head, hides his face within his hands.“My father,” Harry mumbles, nearly falling backwards as he goes to sit on his heels.Louis steadies him.Fuck.“Why is he mad at you?” is the only thing he can think to ask.“He’s not any better. Why isn’t he better?” Harry asks, maybe not even hearing Louis. Just lostand sad, helpless. And very drunk. “The song. I thought the song would make him better.Happier. Sometimes it works, that’s why I keep writing them. They’re for him. All for him.”Louis stares.

‘Keep writing them.' That’s why Harry…keeps writing them? What the actual fuck?“Keep writing what?” Louis asks, shocked, forgetting his desire, his love, his panic, and onlyfeeling…well. Shock.“The songs. All the songs.”“’Certain Things’?” Louis asks, voice low. So, so shocked. “That’s why you wrote ‘CertainThings’?”“You were there. You were there when I was writing it. You said it was good—you said the songwas good,” Harry says, sad and blinky, like a sleepy owl. Lost.“I—That’s not the song, though. It was good! But that’s not—I don’t—““He didn’t like it,” Harry murmurs, and now his eyes are drifting away, reliving a moment that’snot privy to Louis. “He was so mad. So I wrote him a new one and he said he liked it. He did. Heliked it and he sang it and everybody was so happy for him. He likes when people are happy forhim.” Harry is swaying and Louis’ arms are anchoring him, clutching both of his elbows. “But it’snot helping. He’s not better. He usually gets better but this time he’s not better. And now I’vefucked it up.”“You didn’t,” Louis insists, ears still ringing from the shit that was just lain down. There is somuch happening.“Gemma told him,” he says, sad. “She fucking told him.”“Told him what?”“About my mum.”Louis’ insides ping, pity overtaking him.“He didn’t know she—“ Died, Louis’ about to question incredulously. He swallows, unable tosay it.Harry looks at him, eyes settling upon him slowly and he looks…odd.“He knows I’m looking for her.”Louis stares. “Looking…?”“He knows I’m looking for her,” Harry repeats, grumpy and sad and scowling, wiping a curlaway from his face with the back of his smooth, pallid hand. Skin like polished bone.And Louis is sober, he’s dead sober, but suddenly the room feels like it’s spinning all aroundthem, topsy turvy, and Louis just keep staring at Harry because what did he just say?Harry’s looking for his mum? His mum who died when he was nine from an overdose?Liam had filled him in on the details one afternoon at a luncheon, long ago, back when Harry andhim had hated each other.“Why’s he like that?” Louis had asked with disgust, watching as Harry delicately pecked his lipsto the mouths of the guests, pressing gold-rimmed martini glasses into everybody’s hands andsmiling crookedly, traitorously innocent as he sized them all up.

“Because he always has been,” Liam had said simply, glass in hand, jacket buttoned to the top. Hecrowded closer to Louis with delighted eyes, lowering his voice. “Even when his mum died.”“So Niall said,” Louis murmured, sipping his drink, eyes on Harry across the room.Liam’s eyes glinted, his smile secretive. He inclined his head closer to Louis’. “Heroin overdose.Harry was away at school. I heard that when they told him, the only thing he said was that heneeded to go shopping for the right outfit.”Louis had shaken his head in disgust.“That’s horrible.”“That’s Harry,” Liam had said, and smiled wide when Louis turned to him, incredulous.But now.Now Harry is here, on the floor, bemoaned and speaking of his mother and Louis’ mind isclicking and whirring and the story that he had once pieced together, the bits he had been fed andhad swallowed without question, are now jumbling together and breaking apart.And Louis doesn’t know what to think.“Harry…” he says, bereft of words and oxygen.“Gemma told him that I’d found her,” Harry continues, sad. Sad and staring at his hands, lyinglimp on his thighs. “Because she’s mad. She wants to get at me because I never helped her—butshe wouldn’t let me help her, Louis! So she told father that I’d found her.”The words don’t make sense. There is so much happening. Louis’ heart is in his throat.“But the joke’s on her,” Harry continues in a laugh, cold, small, sad. “Because she doesn’t want tosee me. My mum doesn’t fucking want me!”“Harry—““He’s so mad, Louis,” Harry whispers, gripping onto Louis’ elbows as tight as he’s gripping ontohis. “He never wanted me to find her. That’s why he made her leave after I’d found out who shewas.”Louis’ head is spinning.What?What?“Harry, what are you talking about?” Louis practically begs, overwhelmed, trying to searchHarry’s drunken, manic eyes.This is not what he expected. This is not what he expected.But Harry doesn’t answer, he never answers, just hangs his head, hands still gripped onto Louis’elbows.And then the door swings open.“Harold!” Liam calls happily, walking into the room, Zayn trailing behind him, cigarette pinched

etween two fingers.And fuck.Instantly, Harry’s eyes widen, and before Louis can say or speak or think, Harry pops up off theground like a daisy, a wobbly smile plastering his lips.“You’ve come early!” he remarks, voice only slightly off. “The dinner isn’t for another couple ofhours.”Louis stares at him from the ground, heart still thumping.“We got a bit bored, to be honest,” Liam says, wrapping his hands around Zayn’s arm, pullinghim close. “Decided to help you prepare and whatnot. If you need us, that is.”There’s a brief pause, one where Louis only hears his pulse in his ears, and he can feel Harrythinking, can see the wheels turning behind his eyes, the brief clenching of his fist. And then it’sgone.“Of course,” Harry smiles, opening his arms in welcome. Sweat beads on his brow. “Come in,boys, come in. Beverage?”It’s all bizarre, totally at odds with what was just happening, and Louis is still positively reelingfrom everything—Harry’s mum? Is maybe alive?—but he pushes it away, pushes everythingaway as much as he can as he stands up as well.Liam and Zayn immediately look to him, surprise alighting their faces.“Louis!” Liam says happily, excited. “I didn’t know you were here! Are you helping Harry aswell?”But Zayn’s eyes cut through him, reading every thought he possesses, before slicing over toHarry.“Er, Li? Maybe we should go. Come back a bit later,” Zayn says coolly, but his eyes areprocessing, absorbing.“What? Why?” Liam asks, brow furrowing. “I want to stay.”“Darling—““Please, can we stay?” Liam begs, full on pouting, and Louis can only stare and watch, standingbeside Harry who is just barely swaying on the spot, the heat from his body assaulting Louis.All he wants to do is hold him, keep his pieces together. Kiss his tears and massage his thoughtsand let him speak, let him release. (When did he become such an incredible sap?) But now Liamand Zayn are here and it doesn’t look like they’re going anywhere, Zayn failing abysmally in hisattempts to resist Liam’s wide, pleading eyes.“Well, all right,” Zayn relents, casting a glance in Harry’s direction. “But only if we’re honestlynot…in the way.”Liam turns his wide eyes to Louis and Harry.Another brief pause.“Oh no, not at all,” Harry smiles.

“Oh no, not at all,” Harry smiles.“Not even,” Louis agrees weakly, but Zayn’s eyes remain on him, questioning lightly.“Excellent!” Liam beams, clapping his hands together. “Then let’s have a bit of piano, yes? Zayn?You up for a song?”And just like that, the chaos is swept under the rug, and Louis finds himself stuck.And all he feels is Harry.**It’s right around when dinner is delivered that Niall arrives in a flurry, smiling and carrying thecold wind in his wake, an enormous bottle of Jameson tucked under his arm.“There’s talk of ‘Certain Things’ being nominated for a Brit!” he says excitedly, grin wide.“Fuckin’ amazing!”And Louis looks to Harry, unable to stop himself. Harry doesn’t smile, just looks away.Louis needs to talk to him. He needs to talk. There’s so much to say. So, so much.“That’s brilliant,” Liam smiles, stirring his tea. “You must be so excited. Will you be going to theawards ceremony?”“Abso-fucking-lutely!”“We’ll go then, too,” Zayn says, lifting his glass of wine. “For you.”Liam beams.It’s all so normal. The only odd moments are when Niall casts a questioning glance at Louis,attempting to discreetly text him from under the table.‘Well?’Louis rolls his eyes.‘Well what?’‘Did u fuck him?’‘You’re a pig.’And Louis receives a winking emoticon.‘But srsly. What happened? U ok?’Before Louis can answer:‘U seem off. So does Harry. Do u want me to get us out of here? U wanna go?’Louis sighs, feels a smile on the horizon.‘Nah. I just need to talk to him. Can you get the lads to leave early?’‘Sure thing’

It’s only about a half hour later, after dinner’s been finished and the plates are stacked in themiddle of the table, brandy swirling in glasses and cigars distributed, when Niall whoops afterreading a text he’s just received.“There’s gonna be a wicked fuckin’ party at Andrew Belmont’s place.”“Belmont?” Liam perks. “Oh, they’re a good family.”“Come to the party then. Now,” Niall says unabashedly, sending a discreet wink Louis’ way.And it’s just that easy.Or maybe it’s not.“We were going to study tonight,” Zayn says to Liam—who’s already looking excitedly at Niall,nodding. “We were going to stay in and study, remember?”“Oh. Yeah,” Liam says, beginning to deflate. He ponders for a moment before: “But tomorrow,yeah? We could study tomorrow? I’m completely caught up. I could use a bit of fun after thisweek. All I do is work—it’d be nice to let off some steam.”Zayn studies him, lips pursed, but eventually nods. “All right,” he relents, and he doesn’t soundenthused. Louis sends him a curious look, but Zayn just looks away, grip tightening on Liam’shand. “We can go.”“Go now, yeah? Drinks at my flat first? Then Nelson’ll drive us over.”“Marvelous!” Liam beams, already standing up.Zayn sighs, standing up as well.And Louis doesn’t want to feel relieved, he really doesn’t. But. He does.“Well, it’s been fun,” he says, smiling, his anticipation thrumming. “Text me when you get there.Send me pictures every time Niall hugs a stranger.”“You’re not coming?” Liam asks, instantly saddened.“Nah,” he says, refusing to look at Harry. Who is currently standing by the window, looking out.Tragic hero little fucker. “Think I’ll just have an early night.”“Yeah, take it easy,” Zayn says, pleased, before pulling him aside. His eyes focus on him,concerned and the color of rich chocolate. “Is everything all right?” he asks, voice quiet. He staresclosely.“Yeah. Yeah we just… Just need to have a chat.”Zayn nods, studying his face. “He’s okay? Harry?”“Yeah, I think so? I mean. I’m going to talk to him.”“Good. Take care of him, yeah? Sorry for coming so early…”Louis shakes his head, pressing fingers to Zayn’s lips, shushing him with a big smile. “Hush, you.No worries. Now you go ahead and make nice with the boyfriend and the leprechaun.”A flicker of a smile crosses Zayn’s lips, his eyes softening, before he momentarily darkens.

“Don’t want Liam to go out, to be honest,” he says, looking his way.Surprised, Louis tilts his head in inquiry. “Really? Why?”Zayn pauses, as if searching for the right words, before suddenly shaking his head. “No reason. Ijust…” He looks back to Louis, face neutral. “He likes to be ahead of schedule. I think he’ll regretgoing out, that’s all.”Ah.Louis nods but…he knows. He knows the reason.“I’ll keep an eye on him,” he says anyways, quietly, squeezing Zayn’s arm reassuringly.At that, relief tints Zayn’s eyes, a beautiful and genuine smile lighting up his face. He squeezesLouis’ arm in return. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.“You coming, you fuckin’ slacker?” Niall calls, impatient, but he winks when Louis catches hiseye.Niall is just an incredible winker.“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn mumbles, rolling his eyes. Lacing his fingers with Liam’s they march out thedoor, calling out their farewells and smiling with the promises of the night.“Good luck again. For real this time, you peasant,” Niall says, only so Louis can hear, as hepasses by him on his way to the door.“Thanks,” Louis says flatly, before shutting the door in Niall’s laughing face.Leaving just Louis and Harry. It’s always just Louis and Harry.And a moment of silence.“So,” Louis begins, unsure of how to pick up where they left off. He watches Harry at thewindow, watches the way his head bows and the lamps in the gardens below illuminate his face insoft glows. His eyelashes look brittle and bright, his hair sculpted into waves upon curls that gleambronze.Harry is so, so beautiful.Louis is so, so in love. And it’s still really fucking weird to think it. To know it.And yet it’s not.“That was some dinner,” he finds himself saying, just for the sake of speaking.Harry nods, eyes staring unblinkingly out the window.“’M glad the boys are going to have fun tonight.”“You should’ve went with them,” Harry says quietly, never blinking.Louis cocks an eyebrow. “Why, though? Why would I want to?” He walks to stand beside Harry,stares openly at his profile. He wants to hold his hand. But instead he holds his arm. “It’s not themI want to be with right now.” The unsaid words are there.

Harry seems to catch them, his eyes finally blinking as he turns his head to smile at Louis.“I’m glad you stayed.”Louis wants to live in those words, wants to live in the lips that formed them, the smile thatcolored them. Feeling watery and gushy and wavy on the edges, he rubs his thumb along Harry’sarm, unable to stop himself.“I’m tired,” Harry says, turning back to the window.Louis hums agreement, unable to look away.“I want to lie down. Can we lie down?” Harry asks.We.The ground feels uneven.“Of course we can,” Louis says, a little too breathlessly, and Harry smiles again, small.Harry nods to his bedroom, settling soft eyes on Louis. “I’ll be in in a second. Go ahead,” he sayswith that smile before turning away and disappearing into the adjoining room.Louis’ insides are doing strange things. Somersaults, backflips, the crab walk. Strange, strangethings.Shakily, he walks to the bedroom, walks to the bed until his knees bump against the edge. Hecrawls in, feeling the soft black fabric beneath his hands, before gently lying down, head rested onthe pillow, pulse rickety. He lies there and he breathes, waiting for Harry to come.He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen.But suddenly he has the urge again—he has the urge to confess his love, his undying passion, hisfeelings that have been fucking him up so steadily ever since he came to this goddamn school.In that moment he promises himself: tonight’s the night. He’s gonna do it. He’s gonna tell HarryStyles that he’s in love with him.It’s also in that moment that Harry bumbles back into the room, quiet and soft, his jacket now offand his bow tie removed, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He goes to the bed—Louis’ insidesare sparking, maybe catching on fire—and lies down carefully.But.But it’s far away from Louis, not even touching him, and he makes no notice of Louis, doesn’tlook his way or reach out or anything, just lays his hands atop his stomach and stares up at theceiling silently. He swallows and Louis sees his adam’s apple bob.“I hadn’t seen my mum since I was sixteen,” Harry says, cutting the silence. He continues to stareupwards, separate from Louis.So Louis doesn’t speak. Just listens.“She’d been around all my life, though. She was my au pair,” he says softly and Louis’ eyes bug.Because what? What??

All thoughts of his love life fly out the window, just like that. Because once again, Louis’ mind isgetting fucked and what?? Frantically, he tries to recall his conversation with Zayn—the one theyhad so long ago—tries to remember what he said about the au pair. She’d left, hadn’t she? Left amonth after Gemma? Harry hadn’t been the same since?Fuck. It’s all coming together.“I always liked her—she looked after me the most, out of everyone in my life,” Harry continues,oblivious to Louis’ internal hurricane. “She was the only one who paid attention to me growingup. Sometimes the only one who said my name. She called me ‘Harold,’” he smiles, soft and fondand so far away, blanketed in darkness. Louis feels knots in his stomach. “I didn’t know she wasmy mum, though. I just thought she liked me. I just thought she grew to care for me. That she sawsomething.” Harry pauses, just momentarily, before continuing. “The day I discovered who shewas was the same day she disappeared. My father paid her off.” He chuckles, coldly. “She tookthe money.”And Louis has to say something.“I’m so sorry, Harry,” he says, unable to stop himself, his hands quivering.But Harry continues as if he hasn’t heard.“Aside from her, it didn’t really… It didn’t really feel like I had much of anybody, actually. Notreally. I grew up with my father, my sister, and…whoever was my mum for that day.” Louiscringes. “Gemma raised me, mostly because father couldn’t. He just couldn’t.” Louis can seeHarry biting his lips, his fingers begin to twitch. “Sometimes he would forget who I was.” Thesentence is heavy, flat. “I’d come in the room and he’d get so scared, so angry because he thoughtI was a stranger. When I was younger it terrified me. Because I didn’t understand. I didn’t knowwhat was wrong with him.” He sighs. “He’s got just about every disorder in the book. But, thingis, he wasn’t always like this. He wasn’t always this bad.” Another pause. “I guess the drugsdidn’t help anything—all the acid he did when he was younger. He fried his brain, you know. Hefried it, and it just made everything worse. He probably would’ve been decently okay if he justdidn’t do all that shit all the fucking time. It made everything so much worse.”Louis bites his lips, listens, stares into the darkness of the room.“So it was difficult when I was growing up. He’d always fight with whoever he was with—andbadly. Loudly. Violently. And then he’d forget about me completely. Look past me. Ignore mewhen I spoke, when I needed something. He was always playing guitar or piano, always in thestudio, or on tour or promoting a new album. Sometimes partying if he had a relapse…” Anothersmall pause, another breath escaping Louis. “But sometimes he would obsess over me, too. Like,he would just focus all of his attention on me. Usually whenever he didn’t have anybody else.Sometimes he would wake me up in the middle of the night, like shaking me, just to see if I wasbreathing. Sometimes just to say hi. Sometimes I’d wake up and he’d be hitting me. There was noconsistency.“I have a few good memories. He used to take me into the studio and let me sing into themicrophones. He’d let me sing whatever I wanted and play whatever instrument I wanted. Thenwe’d listen to it back and…it was fun. It was just fun. And he’d smile at me. He’d smile like hewas so happy. I remember him holding me so I could sing in the microphone with him and Iremember his smile.”Just saying it makes Harry beam, and Louis beams with him, if a little unsteadily.“But then he married Barbara. The model.” At this, Harry pauses, and just enough time passes for

Louis to wonder if he should question further, when Harry suddenly continues. “I was about sixor seven. She despised me. She found me annoying. Everybody loved me, you see. Everybody.Our entire staff, our entire family. Friends. My father, if he was able to. But she hated me.“Sometimes I wonder if she was jealous. Because she loved attention—she was a nasty peacock—and I usually had more than her. Because I was the youngest and Gemma coddled me.” Harryshrugs. “I don’t know. But it all got a bit worse after she came.“Father was fairly clean when they first got married. I was the ring bearer.” Louis smiles at thethought. “But she was big on coke—and a lot of it—so it wasn’t long before he was using again.And that just made everything…worse. They’d party all night, both of them, come back at allhours of the night and just fuck in the kitchen or the living room or…” Harry winces. “I was tooyoung for that, you know? Like, I didn’t… They shouldn’t have done that, but I think she did iton purpose. I remember once being very young and going to the bathroom in the middle of thenight and they were in there. It was so fucking disturbing, that. And she saw me. She saw mewalk in, wearing fucking Spiderman pajamas, and she laughed.”A small fire ignites within Louis. This is... Well. It's difficult to hear. It's difficult to imagine Harryas a sweet youth. A tiny china doll face on a tiny porcelain boy, wrapped up in warm Spidermanpajamas, eyes wide and scared and wet with tears....It's difficult.“She’d tell me not to talk, just about every day," Harry continues, voice husky with too muchweight. "She would never address me personally. She’d always tell my au pair—my mum,coincidentally—to tell me whatever it was that she had to say. I just didn’t exist to her. And shetalked about me to my father. She made shit up, she lied to him. And he believed her because he’salways been so paranoid. Because he couldn’t help but forget who I was in the first place. I’venever really been sure about how much he remembers of me or how well he knows me. Notreally.“But eventually I got used to it. And I got attention at school, so it wasn’t like I was totally ignoredor anything. I got awards and endless praise and the teachers adored me, were proper parental tome, and I had tons of friends and no enemies and… It was nice at school. At school I had a name,at home I didn’t. And it wasn’t so bad; not really.”Louis’ heart hurts.“However. Things got more complicated when I was nine.”Nine.The age Zayn and Niall had said Harry’s mum died.“Barbara died that year,” Harry says, voice distant. And, ah, there it is.“An overdose?” Louis blurts, caught within the story, heart caught within a blender.A stunned silence fills the room as Harry turns to face Louis, shock written clear across his face inthe shadow.“An overdose?” he repeats, stunned. “No. She killed herself.”Louis’ stomach drops.Oh.

“I found her.”Louis’ stomach drops further, all oxygen and warmth leaving his body.“I was nine and I came home from school and I found her. I had to call my father.” Harry’s voiceis distant, strangled, slow as molasses. So quiet. “I had to wait for him to get there. Theparamedics got there first. Eventually he came. I had to tell him. I was only nine, Louis.” AndHarry’s voice is so small. So deep and grown but so small. Louis is frozen in horror. What? “Andhe was so upset. He cried for so long. I stayed with him all night and he just cried and hugged me.I wasn’t used to being hugged, not by him, so it was almost nice.” Harry cringes. “That’s horribleto say.”“It’s not,” Louis insists in a whisper, voice gone, throat clogged. He wants to cry. It's all sodifficult. It's so much.Harry bows his head, tucks his chin into his chest. “I didn’t know how to deal with any of it. So Ididn’t. It was odd. It was just like…I could forget about it, you know? They had me seecounselors and talk to psychologists and tried to put me on medication… But I didn’t need any ofit because I didn’t feel anything. For some reason I could, like, just separate from it. When I wentto school nobody knew the details, nobody knew how deeply I was involved or what happened—they just thought she died. So I went with it and never had to talk about it and I just didn’t feel it. Itwas like it never happened.“Gemma tried to get me to talk about it. She’d sit in my room at night and hold my hand and askme all these questions. But I never talked to her. I couldn’t. I think eventually she understood.“After that, my father got pretty bad. Kept saying he wanted to kill himself, too. Which was anhonest concern. He’s not right, you know. He doesn’t know why he thinks those things, but hedoes. He clung to me a bit, too. I mean, he had tons of girlfriends, got married a couple more times—nothing significant, they all left, and most of them pretended I didn’t exist which was good—sohe wasn’t lonely, but I think he was scared. So he’d sit with me until I fell asleep at night and askme to take him to the studio every day. He was still angry, still unpredictable. But… I was all hehad. Gemma despised him, so he despised her. She didn’t like how he treated us, and she alwaystried to keep him away from me. She never liked Barbara or any other woman, even though theyusually were nicer to her than me. Not always, though. Sometimes they hated her more. But shenever cared, really. Occasionally she’d cry. Sometimes I would find her in her room, crying, andshe’d always try to hide her face from me. She never wanted me to see. She tried to hide me fromeverything, even my father. But she never could and eventually, she only hid herself.“The only time Gemma started to get along with father was when he began helping her get hername out there—she wanted to be a model—and then they started partying together. But thatdidn’t last long because then she left.”Louis is so, so sick.“That was when Mira was married to him. When Zayn started living with us.” Harry’s voice hasgrown soft now, cloudy. “It was like a breath of fresh air when they came. Mira was so beautiful.So kind. She would have been a perfect mother. But…I never cared much, not really. Neverproperly loved her. Not when everybody was so temporary, so fleeting. It just didn’t make sense,you know? To love somebody who was so impermanent. I enjoyed her company and her briefstint in my life, but I never wanted her as a mother. I still had my au pair who tried the best shecould to care for Gemma and I, who called me by my name and asked me what I wanted forbreakfast. Who put me to bed when my father came home fucked up, trying to upend every tableand host parties filled with junkies. So I didn’t need a mother… But I did need Zayn.”

A silent, betraying streak of jealousy whips across Louis’ chest. But he pushes it down, pushes iffar away because no. This is not the time.“I needed a friend. A true friend. And that’s what he was. He was the best mate I’d ever had. Wenever took anything seriously, nothing was serious, and we always had fun and he was always sonice and it was like…for the first time I was almost properly happy. My father was married to anice lady and I had a best mate and a sister and Anne—my mum—and I was just sort of…happy.“But then everything became serious.”Louis watches, entranced and caught as Harry closes his eyes.“Gemma left without saying goodbye. She got signed and she just left because she didn’t want todeal with my father anymore. But I guess she didn’t want to deal with me either because I’vebarely heard from her since. She’s a proper addict now. My father did well.” The bitterness tingeshis words painfully. Louis wants to dilute it, wants to suck the venom out of the bite. “It was onlya month later, one fucking month, when Anne left. She just took the money and left in the middleof the night. She didn’t say goodbye either. She was just gone.“And then Zayn told me he was in love with me. And I couldn’t… I needed a friend, Louis. Ididn’t want that. I wanted a friend. But Zayn wanted more, needed more, so… I rememberlaughing. Laughing because I didn’t want it all to be so serious. I didn’t want everything to be thatserious. I wanted to always have fun with him, I wanted to always care for him, but I didn’t wanthim to ruin it like that… But things were never the same afterwards, and so I lost my sister, mymum, and my best mate. But, still, it was just like when Barbara died—I didn’t feel it. It was like itwas someone else’s life and not my own. I didn’t deal with it because, really, I didn’t have to. Ijust kept living and made my own fun and forgot it all. I never let anything become too heavy, tooserious, you know? And it was fine.“For the next two years of my life, after Mira left my father, I went to boarding school for a bituntil my father began relapsing again. So I came back to look after him. Then eventually I camehere. He was in a bad state when I returned, a really bad state, and he went missing for monthsand months. After awhile we’d come to the conclusion that he’d killed himself—he’s alwayssaying he wants to—and so we searched for him. I spent the first months here searching for himevery chance I could, getting phone calls from P.I.’s and family friends who just kept searching,never giving up. Trying to keep it from the tabloids. Paying off reporters. You name it.”Louis’ mind is turning, images flying past at lightning speed.“Is that what you were searching for at your house?” he asks, voice raw, pieces fitting together inhis head. “When—when my mum came and you took me with you? Were you searching for yourfather?”Harry nods, biting his lip. “I thought he might’ve went there to…you know. I was searching forhis body, basically. Odd and horrible as that must sound. That’s why I didn’t want you to followme.” Again, Harry bites his lip, working away at it nervously, furiously. “I shouldn’t have broughtyou, though, I know. I’m sorry. I just…”“Don’t apologize,” Louis says, unable to blink and wanting so badly to touch, to hold, to clutch.“I wouldn’t have wanted you to…go through that alone. Were it as bad as you’d thought.”Silence expands within the room.“We did find him, though. Alive,” Harry says eventually, slow and careening. “A friend of thefamily did. I’ve kept a close eye on him ever since, but… He’s…well. He’s not great right now.

Despite the song, despite the fame, despite Nick trying to help him… Especially because heknows I’ve been looking for Anne. And especially because he knows I’ve found her.” Harrycloses his eyes more tightly. Louis wonders if he’s begun to cry. He can feel his own stormsbrewing. “But what he doesn’t know is that she refused to see me. I finally found her, Louis. Afterso, so long. And she refused to see me.” He opens his eyes, drags them to Louis. So pained.“That’s why I showed up at your flat that night. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t…” Heturns away again.“You had just come from your mother’s?” Louis asks, winded. So much information. So much.So overwhelmed.Harry nods, swallowing. “I didn’t want to be alone.”Where Louis’ heart used to be is now a bloody, shattered mess.“You’ll never be alone again,” he manages, impassioned. He sits up, his limbs shaky.“You can’t promise that.”“Yes I can,” Louis says fiercely. “I can speak for myself. I’m always going to be here.” Hemanages the weakest of smiles. “You should know that by now. We’ve gone over it enough.”Harry’s brow furrows deep, turning his head away, shutting his eyes fiercely.The seconds drag past.“Is that where you go?” Louis asks, faintly. Every question is rising to the surface. Every piece isbeginning to assemble. “When you just…disappear for days on end? To search for your mum?”Harry nods. “Mostly. Sometimes because I try to see Gemma. Sometimes it’s because of myfather.”It’s because Harry keeps trying to reach out. Over and over and over again. Harry disappears,vanishes, because he’s searching. Searching and being spurned by the only people he has in hisfucking life.Louis wants to gag.Louis wants to cry.Louis wants to fix it all.Louis wants so much.“I’m sorry I’ve…unloaded all of this on you,” Harry says eventually. “But I saw you with yourfather and I heard some of the things you were saying and…” He looks at Louis again, face open,eyes somehow managing to glint amongst lightless shadow. “I want to know you, Louis. And Iwant you to know me.”Out of the thousands of emotions Louis is feeling right now (anxiety, pity, despair, helplessness—the list goes on) there is one predominant feeling that shoots to the surface: love.Love for Harry because here is this boy.This boy who’s been left by everybody he loves, who grew up simultaneously in the spotlight andin anonymity, who is so widely adored and forgotten, who shields himself from the world that is

too much to bear, and who has just opened his veins for Louis.Here is this boy telling Louis that he wants to know him. That he, who has never let himself love,who has never opened himself up to the vulnerabilities of the world, who laughed at Zayn’s lovebecause it was too serious, is telling him that he wants Louis to know him.To know him.To know all the secrets and the dark spaces. To unlock the padlocked doors and scour the dark,dusty passageways where nobody has yet tread and...And the fact that Louis is waxing just a little too poetic right now is all the proof in the world heneeds to know that he's gonna go for it. He’s going to tell Harry he loves him, that he’s in lovewith him, is going to scoop him up in his arm and kiss the shadow monsters away, press his lipsagainst every wound and pour the contents of his soul—“I just…really need a friend right now,” Harry says, interrupting Louis’ thoughts. “What I hadwith Zayn… I miss it.”And poof!The dream is popped.Louis deflates instantly.…Friend?“It’s different with you, Louis,” Harry says, quiet and sincere, eyes so, so big and bursting withdusty green shimmer. “I never wanted anybody in my life after that. I never wanted people, youknow? Like…I don’t—I can’t feel things. Not like normal people do. Not like everybody else.I’m, like, I’m just…” He drifts off, unable to find the words. Find the words that press into the softparts that are left within Louis. “I can’t grow attached to shadows. They’re gone as quickly as theycome and, like, I just don’t feel things. I don’t, like, care properly, I guess. But. You make me feel,Louis. You just do. And I’m not used to it and, like…I don’t even know if I’m doing it right. Butyou make things different. You make me want what I don’t want with anybody else. A friendagain. A real friend.”“Friend,” Louis repeats faintly, and he’s trying, he’s trying so hard to be okay with this becausethis is what Harry needs. He’s just heard it all, all the shit in Harry’s messed up fucking life and itmakes sense on paper, it does, that Harry needs a friend before he needs a romance but it hurts.It hurts so much.Harry nods, a small smile forming on his lips. “Yeah. You’re different. You’re worth it, Louis.”Stab stab stab, goes the knife in Louis’ ribcage.The moon is out. Its beams stream through the thick velvet curtains. It dances upon the glintingkeys of the piano, it slices the floorboards, it frosts the surface of the blankets on the bed. It’s like adream. Everything’s bright and murky and dark. All at once.“I’ll be whatever you need me to be, Harry,” he finds himself replying. And it doesn’t hurt asmuch as he thought, maybe because he’s numb. Or maybe because he really just loves Harry thatmuch that it’s become one of those selfless kinds of loves that, apparently, really do exist.Which is fucking excellent.

Here’s to a life of selfless misery and cats. Yay.“I’ll be whatever you want,” Louis whispers again, clinging to the words Harry’s said, ignoringthe pangs at the word ‘friend’. Why is it such a poisonous word? It’s a good word. It’s a word thathe understands. A word that’s good for Harry. A word that could only be the beginning, really.Ugh.He can’t help it now, his emotions short-circuiting. He reaches over and rests his hand lightlyupon Harry’s shoulder because he needs to feel his solidity right now. He needs that.Harry’s muscles relax instantly, his face warming as he regards Louis through moonbeams.“I want to sleep,” he says quietly. “But stay, yeah?”Stay.Stay and sleep in the same goddamn bed. Stay and be friends and sleep together in this bed.Okay.Yay.But Louis is trying. He’s being a selfish dick right now but he’s trying not to be.“Of course,” he says scratchily, and Harry beams.With little else to say, Harry shuffles to Louis, tucks his head quietly between Louis’ neck andshoulder, wrapping slender arms around his body.“I don’t want to talk anymore,” he mutters, lips brushing Louis’ burning collarbone.“Not another word for the rest of the night,” Louis promises, lightheaded. Despaired andoverwhelmed. Everything is so much. “We’ll play the silent game. Winner gets to duct tapeNiall’s mouth shut.”He feels Harry’s chuckle as he wraps his arms tighter around Louis, feels his smile against the thinfabric of his t-shirt.“Goodnight, Louis,” Harry says, voice curved into a sleepy smile. His body is loose, relieved.Louis wonders if he’s ever told any of this to anybody before. If Louis is the first to hear it all. Toknow.“Goodnight, Harold,” Louis breathes, shutting his eyes as he inhales Harry’s scent, Harry’s soul,Harry’s everything. He’s so full of Harry.And Louis holds on, swallows down the disappointment and the feeling that’s blocking his airpassageways. He holds on to Harry protectively because Louis is here. He’s here and he’s goingnowhere.Even if Harry just wants a friend right now.Even if Harry never, ever falls in love with him.Even if Harry finds someone else and marries them and has tons of beautiful curly babies.

Even if it kills Louis. He won’t let Harry go.It’s as he’s finally drifting off that he hears Harry sigh his name in his sleep.And so he tightens his hold onto him just that much more.Chapter End NotesHEY OHKAY, BEFORE YOU GUYS COME AT ME WITH PITCHFORKS!Don't despair, the whole friendzone thing isn't going to last long at alllll. Remember,it's Harry. He's probably a little oblivious of how he feels if this is all new, no? Sodon't fret and think I'm going to drag this out for forever--I promise it will be fixedwithin the next chappa! Well. Sorta fixed.Ummm this will probably have to be re-edited by me later. I never feel pleased tho,do I? :P Apologies if it's a jumbled mess!This chapter's song TO A T is Coldplay's "X & Y" HONESTLY. If you want toknow how Harry is thinking right now, how Harry has been thinking for the lastcouple of chapters, listen to that song. Word for word, that's what Harry's going thru.It's eerie. (Good job, Coldplay)Come @ me on tumblr for chats n feelings! (mizzwilde) I love you guys a latte!Thank you for everything! I will respond to all reviews when the world stops beingsuch a storm!

XXXIChapter SummaryHarry trusts Louis.Chapter NotesTHIS ISN'T THE ENDING. Promise.Also, BIG, SPANKING THANK YOU to my sparkling betas, Tara and J. Youguys are too nice to me. :)See the end of the chapter for more notesAs the second term of Louis’ first year in university goes by, so does his sanity.It’s not because he isn’t enjoying himself—he truly is, and though he may despise his father for hisself-centered, ignorant ways, he can’t deny that he’s been given an incredible opportunity.No, it’s more because everything seems to have changed, been turned on its head drastically andirreparably…while simultaneously remaining exactly the same as it’s always been.Niall still laughs by day, parties by night, leaving crumbs and odd odors in his wake, a trail ofcigar smoke, an echoed piano key; or sometimes Rory, much to Louis’ delight because it’s Roryand he’s a comforting presence, especially if Louis is in need of another soul to fill the large,elaborate flat on those particularly dark nights. And he makes a good cup of tea which Louisalways respects to a most serious degree.But still, Niall is Niall and he fills the pauses in the day and leaves chaos in his wake. On thoseparticularly chilly mornings, he will barrel into Louis’ room—as he’s only just beginning to blinkbleary eyes open into blinding sun—and flounce onto the bed, wrapping Louis up in his arms.“We’ve been nominated for a Brit and Grimshaw’s gonna meet with me about possibly doing amini tour! ‘Certain Things’ is still number one in seven countries! I’ve made it, Tommo! And I’monly 20 years old!” he practically sings one morning, cheeks soft and blushed, hair damp andsmelling of quality soap and linen.Louis groans, trying to push him away, clinging to the shreds of his dreams which were far morepleasant than the reality that awaits him.Which only makes Niall hold tighter, eyes closed blissfully as he snuggles in closer.Nick Grimshaw? Firstly, no thanks.Secondly, touring? With Des? The human timebomb? Absolutely not.Thirdly, a Brit? Well. That’s not too shabby.

“Does Harry know about all this?” Louis rasps, morning breath in full swing.Niall shrugs. “I think so. Grimmy made it sound like it.”“’Grimmy?’” Louis asks, distaste apparent even in his half-woken state. “You’ve gotten to petnames now? Really?”“That’s what everybody who’s anybody calls him,” Niall assures him with a wink. “Now shutyour hole and cuddle me. It’s been a good morning.”“My morning hasn’t even begun,” Louis grumbles, but, maybe, tucks his body towards Niall,letting himself be engulfed with the warmth of Niall’s jolly, radiating Irish body.“My night’s gonna be even better,” Niall plows on. “I’m the place to be. Do you know how manyparties I’ve gotten invited to already? It’s fuckin’ mad.”“They only like you because of your fame, you know.”“I only like them because of their free liquor.”“As if you couldn’t afford it?”“Shh, Tommo, shh,” Niall soothes, smushing his hand to Louis’ face. “Don’t ruin the moment.”And then a there’s a beat before:“Ireland, did you just fucking fart?”So, yes, Niall hasn’t changed at all.And neither have Zayn and Liam, England’s 21 st century power couple.Well.Mostly.There has been some….tension as of late, Louis has noticed. Namely in regards to Liam.“A Brit? How splendid!” Liam says happily, filling Zayn’s glass with wine.It’s lunch and they’re in Zayn’s rooms, the room smelling of smoke and paint and filled withvibrantly gold afternoon light that cuts through the crystal and paints the walls with flickeringrainbows. Ella Fitzgerald plays softly from the stereo in the corner and the weather is just warmenough to warrant a cracked open window, wafting drifted chatter and the smell of cold leavesthrough the air.Zayn frowns, lips wrapped around a thin cigarette, fedora tilted artfully above his immaculatequiff. (The boy’s a stud. It’s a bit ridiculous how much so.)“I thought you knew that already?”“Nah,” Niall says, slathering jam onto a scone, barely avoiding flicking some onto his pressedwhite shirt. “Not for sure. Just speculation. I predicted as much.” He takes a bite, his cheeks fulland puffy as he beams cheekily. “Of course, I was right.”“We knew you would be!” Liam says excitedly, teeth sparkling. “It’s going to be so fun! The after

parties are going to be sick.”Louis’ just about to voice his assent, when:“Exams will be right around that time,” Zayn replies instantly, voice careful and very barely edgedas his eyes bore into Liam’s delighted profile.It makes one of Louis’ eyebrows raise as he exchanges a glance with Harry, who sits beside himstirring his teacup with a tiny golden sword. (Louis doesn’t even bother asking.) (Though he’s92% sure it’s a letter opener.)Liam’s brows crease as he looks to Zayn, delight replaced swiftly by confusion.“I know. What has that to do with anything?”Zayn stares at him a moment longer, just a moment, a deep frown set in his face. And then he tearshis eyes away and stubs out his cigarette, face evening out into casual indifference.“Nothing, of course.”But Louis can still see a faint downward quirk of the lips.It’s been stuff like that that’s been a bit…out of the ordinary. Though, overall, they’ve beenrelatively the same as they always have been—gazing into each other’s eyes, never separating,hosting timeless luncheons and elaborate parties and muttering their own language in low tones,far beyond the realm of existence of those surrounding them.They’re still Zayn and Liam and, inexplicably, it settles a comforting blanket over Louis’ heart.Really, the only change in Louis’ life, the only stark contrast that has brutally assaulted his peaceand tranquility and self-confidence, is but one thing.And it comes in the form of a Harry Styles.Because Harry has been…Happy.That’s probably the best word for it. Harry has been happy.It’s a word he didn’t think he could ever accredit to Harry. Yet here he is, glowing eyes andflowing smiles, and here Louis is, falling apart each time.And it’s truly wonderful to see, if not a bit extremely fucking painful—because each smile, laugh,and low-octaved, syrupy word spoken has been a tiny dagger to Louis’ tender heart. Andconsidering how much Harry has been doing those things as of late, Louis’ heart looks like afucking pin cushion.And every day, it only gets worse.Because every day, Harry trusts Louis that much more. He smiles that much wider. He laughs thatmuch longer. He gazes at him that much fonder, and it’s all so surreal and treacherous becauseLouis is Harry’s best friend and Harry is the love of Louis’ life.It’s been a constant struggle ever since that night Harry had laid it all out for Louis, had ripped hisribcage open and declared it all for Louis to see—Louis the Friend. It’s been such a goddamnstruggle and if Louis had thought that that night had encompassed the epitome of human suffering,

struggle and if Louis had thought that that night had encompassed the epitome of human suffering,then he was really fucking incorrect because the next day was, somehow, even worse.He’d woken up to an empty bed—unsurprisingly—with only a note from Harry that read:“I believe in Willie Hughes.”And on the back:“Thank you”He pocketed it, tucked it away when he dragged his weak, heartbroken body back to his flat (Niallwas gone, probably still hadn’t come back from the night before), then texted Harry asking hiswhereabouts, every tap of the screen shooting through Louis’ core because he didn’t want to seeHarry but he had to see Harry—it was like taking the most beatifically scenic route to one’s death:a gorgeous demise.He was merely sent an address in reply and so Louis began walking—he always begins walking—and found Harry smiling sweetly in a nearby park, bundled in ebony and silver and sporting agrin that warmed the cold white skies of the morning.“I want to spend the day away from school. My only goal is to not step one foot onto its propertyuntil the sun sets,” he said, words curling into smoke and twisting through his reddened-by-cold,vibrant lips. He squinted against the sun that seemed both distant and too bright, curls tumblingsoftly in nipping breezes.“It’s not even midday,” Louis replied, still hollow, still drained, still so in love with theunreachable diamond before him. Still so fucking pathetic, that he brought the damn note from thatmorning with him, tucked it back in his jean pocket. (Nobody had to know.)“It gives us plenty of time to see beautiful things,” Harry grinned.Louis cracked a smile, cracked the ice of his body and heart.“It gives us plenty of time for adventures.” He cocked his head, catching the sunlight in his handsand shading Harry’s eyes. “And I’m quite the adventurer, you know. Don’t even need a treasuremap to find treasure. See?” he said, waving his hands in the sun’s beams, the shadows of hishands flickering across Harry’s face. “Look at all this gold.”And Harry smiled wider and Louis did too, and they took off as one and never looked back.They spent the day scouring bookshelves in shops (Harry bought every single Oscar Wilde bookhe came across; “Healthy state of mind, that,” Louis had mocked, nodding towards the two, verylarge bags in Harry’s hands, stuffed mostly with the same book; “Books are food for the brain. Ican’t think of anything healthier,” he replied with a sniff) and collecting pints in warm pubs asHarry scribbled their “adventures” in a freshly-purchased journal, smiling as he slid it across thesurface of the table towards Louis so he could “add a different perspective—everything is alwaysbetter in multicolor.”They taunted the world and ignored the world and adored the world and Harry quoted Keats andByron and Wilde and sometimes Poe and Louis scribbled their names on every surface he wasn’tallowed to, taking photo after photo so that, someday when he had no memories and lots of time,he could always, always remember the way Harry looked when he was Louis’ for one day. Theway he grinned, holding his stuffed bags in his mittened hands, the way the silver of his scarfshimmered against pearl skin, the way the wind swept up his laughter and the velvet of his voicein great whirls that tufted his hair, and the way his profile burned black against the cityscape,framed in blinding sun.

The sun travelled across the sky until it began to fall, and they walked and walked and walked,drinking steaming cocoas along the riverbank and tucking their chins into their scarves,exchanging sips and wondering if rivers could ever get thirsty.“Think she’d probably enjoy some cocoa,” Louis had said, tipping his cup and letting a quicksplurt of chocolate silk drip into the water below. “All that mucky water’s got to get a bit boring totaste, hasn’t it?”Harry laughed, mirroring the action.“I think I hear her saying thank you,” Harry smiled, listening to the soft babbles of water hittingcement, and when Louis looked up, Harry’s eyes caught in the light, turning the world green.“Let’s find a place we’ve never been to before,” Louis had said, voice catching. Harry met hiseyes, calm and content, a wind-born flush burning his cheeks. “And after today, let’s never gothere again.”“So that we’ll always remember it together?” Harry asked happily, already backing into a differentdirection.Louis nodded, heart wincing. Because it was all just so close, so potent. So barely out of reach.“So it will be ours.”And Harry nodded once before taking off with childlike laughter and Louis didn’t hesitate to grabhis hand. A quick streak of surprise flitted through Harry’s eyes before it was replaced with mirth,and then, hand in hand, they discovered a tiny spot beneath a bridge, entwined with dead ivy andlittered with washed up pebbles. It was small and slightly ominous and a bit crumbly, and it wastheirs.Afterward, when the moon had risen and the stars had begun to blink awake, they had roamedback to the school grounds, feet incredibly sore and aching, skin burning from the icy winds thatnever stopped assaulting them.Louis hesitated as Harry made to climb the steps by the garden to where his rooms lay.“You best warm your bones, Curly. Have some tea and slap on some hideous slippers and enjoythe rest of your night,” he said, heart thumping so loudly. And why?Even in the blue dark, Louis could see Harry’s face fall.“You’re not going to come with me?”Thud, thud.“I have my own flat, you know.”“Oh. Yeah, yes, of course,” Harry had said, frowning and scuffing his toes against the ground.“Niall’s probably waiting for you.”Thud.Louis managed a scoff. “He probably just wants to cuddle some more.”“Cuddle?” Harry repeated, frown deepening remarkably, a scowl beginning to form.

Thud, thud, thud.“He’s a needy Irish lad. All he does is cuddle. But no matter. Because, as tempting as beingtrapped under his pasty dead weight is, I think I’d much rather spend the evening listening to youplay the piano for me. Any song I like. That means the Spice Girls.” He pushed a cheeky smileonto his face.And instantly, Harry brightened, dimmed the moon.“Only if you sing as well.”“There was really no other option.”They climbed the steps, and that was that.Together but separate. Happy but not in love. Close but…so fucking far, it made Louis’ lungs hurtto breathe.And since then it’s been just like that.The same. But different.Peaceful and calm and happy and warm. But inescapable and miserable and taunting and searing.Because with each tender look that Harry bestows upon Louis, Louis can almost pretend to knowwhat it’s like to be loved by Harry. Properly loved. He can almost pretend that they’re more thanwhat they are.And it hurts too, too much.And it only gets worse with time, as every single barrier inside Harry is removed, allowing Louis—and Louis alone—entrance.Of course, it doesn’t help that Louis can’t stay away.Every day, without fail, he arrives on Harry’s doorstep after his lectures, heart in hand and brainsomewhere on the floor in a puddle.“You’re here!” Harry will say as Louis walks in, delighted, sporting whatever ridiculous bow tiehe’s picked for the day, offering a sample of whatever exotic cheese he’s obsessed with, playingwhatever ridiculous record he can’t get enough of.“I’m here,” Louis will grin in response, aiming to be cheeky but falling somewhere around‘lovesick and broken’ as he toes off his shoes, never taking his eyes off of Harry, and alwaysmaking a beeline for him, finding excuses to brush their shoulders and bump elbows and fingers.“How was your day, my curly friend?” Louis’ voice asks as he wraps an arm around Harry’sshoulders while he leads him to the window. And every touch is warm, and every word spokenfeels like something.“I had lunch with a pleasant-faced professor in a well lit place that smelled of gardenias and told apeer how underappreciated mustard yellow is as a color,” Harry replies, smiling down at Louis,tucked at his side perfectly and contentedly, as if he were important, outstanding, memorable. “Itwas perfectly remarkable.”“I’m glad,” Louis grins, unable to depart from his place at Harry’s side. He can’t let go. “No

drama, then?” And the real question is there, beneath the words.Harry shakes his head, smile never wavering.“No drama. I think he’s on his medication again. Should be quiet for awhile.”And Louis nods, smiling.Because they’ve begun to talk about things. Now that Louis knows, knows everything, they canspeak about the subjects that they had skirted before, can bring the issues into the light of day.And they don’t always have to be so serious, so heavy and drenching. They can smile around thewords and keep eye contact and it’s nice.But there are those dark days, too.And Louis expected them, understands the sleepless nights in Harry’s stare and the emptyslackened lips. But even those are different now, too.Because, one day, something different happened.It was while they were in Harry’s rooms, lounging about and lazily finishing up their homeworkbefore meeting up with the lads for dinner at their favorite restaurant. Amidst happy chatter, somepiano, and lots of tea, Harry received a phone call that furrowed his brow and pressed his eyestogether tightly, lips pursing.It was a fairly common occurrence—unsettling calls from probably Des that Harry would receive,causing him to mutter quietly into the phone as he’d depart for the other room, speaking just lowenough for Louis not to hear. Only long after the call’s been ended would he emerge, alwayspresenting himself with a calm expression, beaten into indifference.So that day, as usual, Harry’s voice dropped upon answering, his low rumble carrying through theroom as Louis frowned, immediately making to distract himself. He sat at Harry’s desk, focusingon not focusing on Harry’s voice, ignoring the pitter patter of worry inside and trying desperatelynot to eavesdrop. He took Harry’s quill, dipped it in the black, soupy ink, then began sprawlingpointless black lines on the paper before him, watching the ink stain and bleed the paper.Permanently. Irreparably. Watched as it dried and solidified.And then suddenly, something unexpected happened.Harry emerged from his room, face very nearly crumpling, eyebrows knitted together tightly,phone still pressed to his ear. He didn’t look at Louis, not once. He just walked to him, silently,small step by small step, until he reached the desk.Louis looked up from his chair, surprised and concerned, watching his face carefully, but Harryonly perched on the edge of the surface, facing Louis’, left knee pressed against Louis’ right.He continued to speak, voice low.“Just don’t, yeah?” he said, sad. His eyes were closed.Louis swallowed, watched his face, unsure of what this was, what was happening. He’d neverbeen allowed to listen before.“I can’t go home. I have school,” Harry said, and now his voice was pained but he schooledhimself into control, swallowing and keeping his shoulders firm. “No, Dad.”

Louis’ heart lurched.Unthinkingly, he took Harry’s hand in his own.Harry didn’t let go.“Yeah. Yeah I will, I promise. Just don’t do that anymore. You can’t do stuff like that.”Pause.“I know.”Another pause.“I will.”And another.“I can’t. But—But yeah. I’m trying. I will. If I have an opportunity, I’ll come. I just have school—“ Harry bit his lip. “I need to go to school, Father.”Louis squeezed his hand.His heart stopped when Harry squeezed back.“Okay, all right, fine, whatever. I just—no, dad, I’m not—okay, yeah. Yeah, all right. I w—hello?Hello?” And then Harry took the phone away from his ear, stared at it momentarily before tossingit onto the desktop.“Everything all right?” Louis asked quietly, refusing to let go.Harry stared at his phone where it lay, unmoving, before regarding Louis, eyes sad.“No. He wants me to come back. He gets angry because he doesn’t understand why the worlddoesn’t revolve around him.” He sighed, eyes falling to their linked hands and pulling them intohis lap.Louis’ heart pounded the tiniest bit harder.(Okay. That’s a lie. Louis’ heart pounded a fuckton of a lot harder.)“I don’t always know what to say when he’s like that,” he continued quietly, gripping Louis’hand. His voice was young, small.Louis stared.For the first time, Harry was actively seeking Louis for comfort. With no qualms. Just honest,open, comfort.And for a second, a brief second that was as beautiful as it was painful, Louis could pretend thatthis was what they could have. That this was what they were. Pretend that they were together, aunit, a young and beautiful couple with the world at their feet and problems they will never haveto shoulder alone.“You don’t always have to,” Louis had said, eyes never peeling away from Harry’s face. “You’vejust got to do what you can, Harold. And in that way, it’ll always be the right thing.”

A smile flickered across Harry’s features as he studied him, hand warm against Louis’.“Is that how you think about things?”Louis returned the smile, the universe warm around him. “It is, yeah.” He paused, Harry’s eyespractically fucking sparkling. It hurt. “That, and I can literally do no wrong because, have you metme?”A bark of laughter escaped Harry and then all of it was gone, the tension and the darkness thatalways clouds everything.It was just gone.And it’s those little things, those seemingly tiny advancements, that have made everything seem…more. Because Harry has begun to let Louis completely in, without even realizing it. Because he’sbegun to seek Louis for comfort, for peace, for happiness.He’s begun to seek Louis in general, really.Because yes, one day, Harry also began actually seeking Louis.“I’m going to stay away from him today,” Louis had promised, head buried in his hands as he satat the kitchen table, Niall strumming his guitar on the countertop. “Just one day. I need to just…Forget why I’m in love with him. Just for one day.”Niall’s eyebrows shot through the air.“You honestly think that’ll work?”“Absolutely not,” Louis muttered, lips pressed against the palms of his hands, fingers digging intohis eyeballs. “But I can pretend to think so. Let me pretend, Ireland. Don’t ruin this. Let me havethis.”“All right, all right,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, the guitar pick pinched between thumband forefinger. “Just don’t crawl in my bed to cry tonight when you start missing him because youhaven’t seen him in over 24 hours.”Fuck.He hates when Niall can predict the future.“I hate you,” Louis grumbled.“I know.”And then there was a knock at the door, as if their life were a comedy sketch.“Tell them to go away,” Louis groaned instantly. “I’m miserable and barely holding myselftogether. I’m rejected and alone and have nothing to say to anybody—““Fuck’s sake, Louis,” Niall sighed, fully exasperated as he hopped off the counter, making hisway to the door. “You don’t got to be so fucking dramatic all the time, do you?”Louis glared as he raised his head, hair mussed, eyes pink.“You wouldn’t understand heartbreak, you simpleton.”

Niall rolled his eyes while opening the door.And there was Harry. Holding a teapot. Bright, gleaming, ethereally beautiful Harry, hair catchingin the wind. Wearing a pink collared shirt with a sprig of baby’s breath pinned to the pocket andpowder gray trousers that gave the illusion that his legs lasted forever.Fuck it all.Louis wanted to be annoyed. He really did. He wanted to tell Harry to leave because he had toomuch homework that night or that he’d decided to go out with Niall (hah!) or help Liam on hisproject for the newspaper (double hah!) or just simply because they spend too much time together,are never apart, but he couldn’t. He totally, abso-fucking-lutely could not.Because as much as it claws Louis’ brain and heart to always be at Harry’s side, being away fromhim is becoming next to impossible, and actually denying his company is still worse.“Harry,” he breathed instead, as if waking up from a coma.“Louis! There you are!” Harry beamed, already striding in and pressing a kiss to Niall’s forehead.“You didn’t come to my rooms. I’ve been looking everywhere. I brought tea! Would you likesome? I’ve ordered it from Japan. It costs 1000 pounds,” he rambled happily, setting it down uponthe counter. “It might be my new thing.”“Of course,” Louis said dryly, but he felt his smile pull his cheeks and he just knew he was staringat Harry like he was made of glitter and crystal. “You have such sane, economically practicalobsessions.”“Oh, come now, Louis. I would never want to be practical.”“Perish the thought.”“Perish me!” he grinned crookedly. “That’s such a boring thing to be.”And they smiled at each other and Louis’ stomach was somersaulting because Harry came to hisflat because Harry wanted to be with Louis, too.Because Louis was Harry’s friend.God fuck shit fuck damn shit fuck.Life is hard.“Well. I best be going to practice now. The big race is coming up,” Niall smirked, eyes flickingbetween the two as he set down his guitar. “But have fun, kiddos. Text me if you want to go outwith us later.”“Us?” Harry asked.Louis was still staring at him dazedly, barely aware that Niall was even speaking. Oops.“Zayn, Liam, and I,” Niall said. “We’re going to some banquet? I don’t know. Supposed to be agood time, though. We’ll see.”Harry nodded, that stupid fucking dimple that positively mocks Louis making a dashingappearance.“I think we’re probably just going to stay in tonight. Louis?”

“I think we’re probably just going to stay in tonight. Louis?”Louis nodded, stomach doing gymnastic leaps and bruising his insides.“Uh-huh.”“But thank you for the offer, Niall. You’re a gracious host.” Harry grinned cheekily, hip juttedwhere he stood at the counter, delicate pale hands still settled atop the teapot.“I do what I can!” Niall said, tipping his invisible hat, and then he was gone and Louis’ heart fellon the floor because Harry looked at him with those soft green eyes.“So,” he said, voice so low and so liquidy. “You ready to try this tea, then?”Louis would have probably nodded just as vigorously if Harry had suggested Arsenic.And so this has become Louis’ life.Feeling just as much pain as he does pleasure. Excelling academically and maintaining anexcellent group of friends and being in love with the one person in the world who is incapable offalling in love.Life is really, really hard.**It’s been a good, solid week of Niall driving Louis batshit crazy.“It’s going to be the best fuckin’ day ever,” he exclaims for the 7,023 rd time, bumbling around theflat and gathering his practice clothes. “We’re gonna win that fucking race“—the big rowingmatch thing between the rival schools was less than a week away—“and then as soon as we wipethe victorious sweat from our brows, we’re gonna be fuckin’ living it up at the Brit Awards,winning every fuckin’ category we’re nominated for, and then partying until we piss blood for aweek!”Louis’ eyebrows flash upwards as he reads a text from Harry—he’s on his way over and he’s gotchocolate pasta and almond wine with an outfit to match, apparently—and mumbles out a, “Thathonestly couldn’t sound less appealing.”“You better be prepared, Tommo. Rest up now because it’s going to be the best fucking day ofyour life.”“I feel like that’s not true.” He taps out a reply.“Just wait,” he grins, throwing a towel over his head and walking towards the door to leave,practice bag in tow, just as a knock comes from the door. Louis smiles immediately, knowing it’sHarry. “Just you wait.”**The day that Niall has dubbed “The Most Fucking Brilliant Goddamn Day In Existence” beginswell enough.Everyone’s a bit tired still, having gone to Zayn’s rooms the night before and emptied a fewbottles of champagne over too many toasts wishing Liam and Niall good luck on their highlyanticipated match.

“Don’t fuck it up!” Louis had sung happily as he raised his glass, frothy liquid sloshing down hishand, and Harry laughed and it sounded like music.They guzzled glass after glass, smiling and laughing because they could, Zayn pressing smiles andkisses into a giddy Liam’s neck, Niall thundering down upon the piano, shouting every word hespoke, and Harry pouting in Louis’ ear about how they absolutely must wear matching outfits forthe occasion.“But Louis,” he whined, holding onto Louis’ arm, face ornery and spoilt, “It’s the biggest matchof the year! They can’t possibly compete well if they feel we haven’t dressed our best.”“Curly, I’m not wearing a onesie,” Louis repeated, sighing and pushing his fringe away, fightingoff the blinding smile that was threatening to emerge with every last bit of strength left within him.“That doesn’t make sense. Nobody says that. How could somebody say that?” Harry was full onpouting. Lip jutted and everything.Louis crumbled instantly.But only on the inside.“Because I don’t want to look like I’m 9 months old. I’ll coordinate whatever else with you, butI’m not going to wear what is, essentially, a sleeping bag with feet.”“There are arms, too.”“Not the point.”“Can we at least wear yellow? Because it’s spring. Yellow is the best color for spring.”“Green is a nice color for spring.”“Don’t be tacky, Louis. We’re going to wear yellow.”“I never agreed to this.”“Louis!” Harry whined again, and Louis laughed as Harry tugged on his jumper with frustration.“All right, you sap. We’ll wear yellow. But only because it compliments my skin tone so nicely.”Harry smiled, eyes bright and eyelashes soft and clustered.“Of course it does. You were made for yellow. Now, sit with me. I want to hear Zayn sing.”And so they did.Afterward, when the rest had retired and Harry was still bouncing on his heels, wide awake andeager, they embarked on a night walk. Just around the school grounds. Just for a little while.“My father’s probably not going to go to the awards tomorrow night,” Harry said, budding grasscrunching beneath his gray, sparkling boots that glimmered in the moonlight. “He’s not doing sowell lately. Won’t leave the house. Barely eats. Breaks a lot of furniture.” A wry smile appears onHarry’s lips. “His table manners aren’t exactly in check.”“Doesn’t he have to, though? I thought the song was being performed,” Louis said with a frown,studying Harry closely.

He shook his head. “They cancelled it awhile ago. Couldn’t rely on Des Styles, could they?”Louis bit his cheek at the tone of Harry’s words—a bit bitter, a bit sad.“How has he been to you? How’s he been treating you?”Now it was Harry’s turn to bite his cheek.“When I visit him he tries to attack me,” he says slowly, after a long pause. “He’s afraid becausehe doesn’t know who I am. Doesn’t, like, recognize me. It’s like he’s so far gone within himselfthat he just…forgets everybody else. It’s like he caters to his demons. Or something. I don’tknow.” Harry’s voice was soft, lightly uncomfortable. He chewed his lip.“What are you going to do when term’s over?” Louis asked gently. He never took his eyes awayfrom Harry.“Go home.”“Harry.”“I’m not leaving him, Louis.”“You’ve said yourself that it’s hard.”“I’m all he has.”“And you can continue to be his, but you can do it in a safer way! Get him some in-home help!Hire a nurse or a whatever. Let him be at home with someone who is trained to handle him andlive your own life, Harold. Stop getting swept up in his shadows.”“I’m sick of talking about this,” Harry frowned. “Let’s do something. Do you want to drink wineunder the stars? Wine tastes better in the spring.”“Harry…” Louis sighed, shaking his head. Because Harry needed to listen.And he needed to stop fake-wooing Louis with wine and stars and all that evil, tempting crock ofshit.“I only want to have fun,” Harry sighed in response, as if it were that simple, as if the corners ofhis eyes weren’t crinkled with weight. He scowled at the sky, hands deep in the pockets of hisjacket, the gold buttons glinting through the darkness.“It’s okay to, like, feel things, android. To feel emotion,” Louis teased, but everything about himwas still gentle. “It’s okay to be sad. Okay to be happy too, you know.” He nudged Harry’s ribswith a smile until he looked down at him, his scowl instantly transforming into a matching quirk ofthe lips.“I can be happy,” he said, the words dipped in tar. His dark curls clustered against his pale neckand his eyes became warm and lidded, teetering on amused. “I’m happy when I’m with you.”And Louis’ smile quieted, his blood jamming to a standstill.Ouch.Ouch and…beautiful. Yes.“You make me happy, too,” Louis said immediately, so breathless and so brittle from the perfect

poison that is Harry Styles.Harry eyed him, almost too closely, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to believe him or not, untilsuddenly his lips split into a grin that overcame his face and, suddenly, the sun was pouringthrough Louis’ soul.“Good,” he said, before bending over and plucking a baby cluster of flowers from the cool earth.He straightened, handing them over to Louis with a quiet smile. “Here. Have spring.”And Louis beamed, positively fucking beamed as he accepted the tiny bundle, keeping themlocked in a tightly clenched fist so that they wouldn’t escape, before extracting a single flower.With a grin that felt like it was actually ripping his skin, Louis handed it back to Harry.“Share spring with me?”Harry’s answering smile was breathtaking.So they walked back, Louis escorting Harry to his door, carrying spring in their hands andmatching smiles, before Louis finally made his way home.He’d fallen asleep brushing the tips of his fingers to the flowers on his bedside table with onehand, the other clutching Harry’s goodnight text to his chest.And now they’re all dressed and ready to go—Louis wearing a yellow cardigan and slacks with awhite polo, Harry wearing a yellow embroidered blouse and tailored trousers, a daffodil tuckedinto his curls which has Louis reciting love sonnets in his head—gathered together on one side ofthe river bank to see the lads off on their course amidst clusters of students and journalists andcamera crews.“Fucking hell, it’s crowded here,” Louis shouts and Zayn smiles proudly.“It’s only going to get worse,” he says without raising his voice, yet is somehow able to be heard,waving towards Liam who is about to climb into the eight, Niall—who is literally blowing kissesto the crowd—following close behind him.Bodies bump into them, already cheering and shouting, holding beer cans and water bottles intheir hands.Louis looks over to Harry to remark on a boy nearby who seems to be drinking out of a candle,and falls speechless when he sees Harry staring out at the spectacle calmly, eyes squinted,clutching a parasol that has seemingly appeared out of thin air.A fucking parasol.Sweet Jesus.“What on earth is that?” Louis asks, very nearly mortified.“A parasol. The sun is too assaulting,” Harry responds without a beat, eyes still taking in the scenebefore him with separated control.Louis sighs, shaking his head.“Of course it is.”A few more minutes pass by, filled with the sound of announcers warming up their vocals and

Zayn lighting cigarette after cigarette as the crowds push around them, and suddenly, before Louisknows what’s happening—because he might have been admiring the way the parasol flecks bitsof sun over Harry’s delicate cheeks, shading the rest of him in gray—the race has begun.“GO LIAM!” Zayn shouts, cupping hands around his mouth, and it may be the only time Louis’ever heard him shout.“GO LADS! SHOW ‘EM WHO’S BOSS!” Louis bellows, pumping a fist in the air, doing hisbest to appear enthusiastic.Rowing was never really his thing.Neither, it appears, is it Harry’s, because rather than at least feigning excitement like Louis, he’sbegun to just meander along the riverside, twirling his parasol and smiling brilliantly at everyonewho approaches him.And Louis tries not to watch because he has no claim over Harry and absolutely no right to bejealous, but he can’t help but at least keep his peripherals on him as Zayn sidles through the crowdto get a better view.Body after body approaches Harry, squealing and laughing and flirting and just…pissing Louisthe fuck off.But each time, Harry only smiles like the Rembrandt painting that he is before bowing graciouslyand meandering forwards, the smile never leaving his face.It settles Louis a bit, gives him a creeping warmth because Harry really has been so happy lately,hasn’t he? Just happy. Plain and simple.“I take it you’re not here for the Boat Race, then,” a voice says beside Louis says and he jumps,whirling around and meeting with a vaguely familiar handsome face.“Well,” Louis says, assessing the boy’s grey eyes and windswept chestnut hair and very niceshoulders, “let’s just say watching ‘Titanic’ will probably be the closest thing to water sports I’llever attempt. And even that has disastrous results.”The boy laughs, a little cuttingly. Familiar.“Are you one of those who cries as soon as Jack gets deposited in the ocean bed?”“Yes, I am one of those who empathizes with the vast plethora of emotions surrounding the scenewhere Jack is tragically lost to the sea, yes,” Louis sniffs, and the boy laughs again.“Louis, right?” he asks, hands in the pockets of his jeans.Okay. So he must be more familiar than Louis realizes.“Very right,” he responds, forcing his brain to work because who is this?“The look you’re giving me suggests you don’t remember me,” the guy says with a half-smile.Correct.“Erm—““No, it’s fine,” he laughs, holding up his hands. “We weren’t exactly in the most, shall we say,aware state of mind, when we met. I can forgive you for forgetting a few things. Or everything,

aware state of mind, when we met. I can forgive you for forgetting a few things. Or everything,really.” He smiles easily, his jaw strong and ever so lightly flecked with stubble.A stirring begins in Louis’ stomach. A creeping suspicion.“You’re not from…that party?” Louis asks, fearing he already knows the answer. And what arethe chances? What is his life? “That house party?”The guys smiles, lips caught in his teeth.Louis feels a bit sick, to be honest.“Are you—did we--?”The guy’s smile grows and oh yes, there it is—the sound of Louis’ life playing a cruel trick onhim.“Oh. Well. Hello,” Louis says awkwardly, wondering where the fuck Zayn is and why the fuckhe isn’t at Louis’ side. Or Harry. Where the fuck is Harry for that matter?He has such shitty friends.The guy laughs again—he laughs too much—and shields the sun from his eyes, looking out overthe river.“There it is. I’m Romeo, I’m studying to be an engineer…?” he says, as if to jog Louis’ memoryand nope, Louis definitely does not remember even exchanging words with the boy that suckedhim off in a dark corner of a strange house, let alone catching his name.Maybe it was said post-coital. Louis never remembers anything post-coital.“Sorry, mate. I’m a bit pathetic when it comes to holding my liquor,” Louis smiles apologetically,but it feels tight and he’s not really in the mood to pretend to like strangers, sexual history or no.Romeo nods (and what is that name? Louis would have remembered that name), rubbing a handto the back of his neck before looking up at Louis through his eyelashes. He really is quite fit.Too bad Louis’ ruined for anybody else.“I won’t keep you,” he says amiably, but there’s a hint of regret in his tone. “I just wanted to sayhi.” He shrugs.And now Louis feels like an ass.Shit.As Sir Romeo makes to leave, Louis rests a hand upon his forearm quickly, before he can changehis mind.“Hey, wait. No rush. I’m just…standing here pretending to be interested in eight lads thrustingtheir oars into a river. I can use any entertainment I can get,” he smiles and, okay, so he’s doingthis. He’s going to play nice and earn his gold star for the day.Yay.Romeo grins, turning back easily to stand closer to Louis. “To be honest, when you put it like that,I can’t imagine how anybody wouldn’t be interested.”

Louis actually laughs at that.“True. But that’s only because I have a way with words.”Flirting. Oops.“You have a way with a lot of things, if I remember correctly,” Romeo smirks and his eyes brieflyflash over Louis.“Which you probably don’t, to be fair,” Louis says, unaffected.And Romeo laughs again, moving closer to Louis and settling a hand gently on his back.“And he’s funny, too!” he comments to nobody, smile very…purposeful. Blinding. A littleannoying.Not as beautiful as others’.Louis nods, wondering how much longer the race is going to last.“I’ve got a very large list of admirable attributes. Shall we go through them all?”“Absolutely,” Romeo replies, voice just a notch lower, and Louis turns to look at him as hecrowds still closer, their bodies bumping together and the look in this guy’s eyes screamingsomething far too intimate for what Louis feels.He’s about to take a step back, maybe excuse himself, when suddenly:“Louis?”And Louis whips around like lightning at that voice, to see Harry, parasol hanging limply at hisside, face etched in…well. Horror, one could say. His face is contorted, his eyebrows pushedtogether, his lips open and beginning to twist. The daffodil still sits in his hair, mockingly brightand soft.“Harry,” he greets, relieved.But also…confused.Because Harry is still staring at him like that and he might know why, maybe, but…that wouldn’tmake sense.Harry’s eyes flick between Louis and Romeo before settling back on Louis. And then a childish,adamant glare takes over his face.“I need to talk to you,” he says, glaring at Louis. His breath seems to have picked up, his chestrising and falling harshly. “Come on,” Harry says, taking hold of Louis’ hand and tugging. “Comeon.”Shocked, Louis lets himself be dragged away, waving farewell to a glum Romeo over hisshoulder.“Where are we going?” Louis asks, startled. “Is the race even over?”“It’s just a boat race,” Harry snaps, scowling and stalking towards the gardens. “I don’t want—Iwant to leave. Can we please leave?”

“Yeah, ‘course we can,” Louis says, feeling jumbled inside as he tries to catch glimpses of Harry’sface.What is happening?What just happened?Could Harry be jealous? Surely he couldn’t actually be jealous? Not when it was he himself thatdesired a friend in Louis and nothing more. Is he taking him to get ready for the Brits tonight?Does he need help picking out an outfit?Fuck.Harry’s totally jealous. Isn’t he?Louis’ mind pelts question after question at itself as Harry drags Louis up the stairs and to the doorto his rooms, pushing it open as soon as they reach it (Louis makes a note to scold Harry for onceagain forgetting to lock it) and clambering inside, finally letting go of Louis’ hand as he shuts thedoor.“What’s wrong?” Louis asks, following Harry with his eyes as he stalks around the room,dissembling his outfit and dropping the parasol to the floor harshly. Frustration pushes against histeeth. “Harry.” His voice his hard, insistent.At that, Harry stills, hands dropping from where they’d tossed the daffodil onto the mantle. Heheaves a long sigh, his shoulders loosening, eyes fluttering before they close. Standing in themiddle of the room, he brings his hands up to his face, palms pressed against eye sockets.“I’m sorry,” he finally says, voice odd, keeping his hands over his eyes. “I’m not sure why—Idon’t know what’s wrong.” He sighs again, letting his hands fall, and the fair skin around his eyesis mottled, pink and blotchy.Louis softens.Harry is obviously out of his realm of comfort and understanding.Louis can understand that, can sympathize with it.Without a word he walks up to Harry, placing a hand on his back and rubbing soothing circles.“You all right?” he asks, tilting his head to inspect his face.Harry doesn’t look at him, instead focuses on the ground.“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”A moment passes, one where Louis’ hand keeps up its ministrations and Harry’s eyelids begin todroop.“I do…” Harry’s soft, cracked voice suddenly begins, “I do want to talk to you about something,though. Something I’ve been thinking about. Last night and this morning.”Louis’ hand stills.Oh god.Could it be?

Is Harry in love with him? Has it finally happened? Have the gods taken pity on Louis in hissorry, emotional state and actually bestowed upon him the greatest gift he could ever dare toreceive?Is Harry about to tell him as much?Oh please, oh please, oh please.(Divine intervention would be great right now.)“Oh?” Louis asks, struggling to keep his tone light.Harry nods, rubbing at his eyes again before leaving Louis’ side, causing his hand to drop. Hewalks over to the windows overlooking the gardens and sits upon the beautifully upholsteredcouch, hand linked and elbows resting on his knees. He stares at the ground.“I’ve decided to move out,” he says quietly, lashes splitting his cream skin. “From my father. I’mgoing to do as you say—hire someone who knows what to do. I’ll interview extensively, ofcourse. I’ll get someone who I know he’ll connect with and. And it will be better.” He looks up,simultaneously sad and hopeful, eyes wide. “It will be better, right?”Louis stares, hands at his sides.Oh.Okay.This wasn’t…what he was expecting but… But oh!His gears begin to kick into life as he computes what Harry has just said, immediately rushingover to him and sitting beside him on the couch, relief flooding him completely.“Of course it will be,” he says gently, caressing Harry with his eyes, hesitant to touch. “It will bebetter. I’ll make sure of it.” He half-smiles.Harry stares for a moment before quirking his lip, just slightly. He studies Louis, eyes flittingacross his face as if looking for answers.“Why are you so good to me?” he suddenly asks, affectionate and low, eyes seeming to marvel atLouis. “Why are you my friend?”Louis’ chest pangs like a gong.Shall he name off the list? Does he have all week?He searches the confines of his mind for an answer before he settles with a simple:“Because you’re you.”Harry’s smile widens and softens even more, if possible.It creates the next great war within Louis.Elation vs. Despair“Nobody treats me like you do,” Harry says quietly, after a moment. “Nobody looks at me like

you do.”And.Oh fuck.Louis tries not to recoil, his insides immediately sucked dry.So it is obvious.His pathetic, soppy, gooey, weakening love for Harry is written all over his face like the joke thathe is and Harry sees it. He sees every emotion Louis feels and he knows. He knows and Louis hasnothing left hidden and Harry doesn’t care about any of it, doesn’t feel the same way backbecause he can’t, because he was raised the most fucked up way possible and has lived the mostfucked up life ever and…And Louis feels like an idiot.An idiot who wants to hide from right now and this and what’s happening. It’s just suddenly toomuch.He sits back, putting a fraction more distance between himself and Harry, who frowns, his eyesinspecting Louis’ face closely.“Louis?” he inquires, confused.Oh god.Louis has to look away. This is suddenly too much. Harry sees too much.Sees too much without caring enough. Without caring the way Louis so desperately wants.Silence passes between them as Louis suffers through internal devastation and panic, refusing tolet himself leave but refusing to let himself open up for Harry any further—Harry, who keepsstudying him like he were deciphering the Rosetta Stone.Still, Louis remains silent.“You’ve been so sad lately,” Harry murmurs, the mournful words breaking the peace, his eyes stillboring into Louis and still being too much, yet too little. “And I can’t figure out why.”Louis tenses.Fuck fuck fuck.“Is it because of me? Is it too much? Me?” Harry’s quiet voice rumbles, small and sad and fuckfuck fuck.“No,” he insists immediately, turning back to Harry because fuck it—he’d rather shred himselfalive than ever have Harry question himself. “Not at all. You will never be too much, Harry.Never. No matter what, whatever’s going on with me, however fucked up it all gets inside, I still—“ He cuts off, swallowing. His hands are shaking, balled up into fists on his knees.Fuck.This is just…so difficult. So fucking difficult.

And Louis isn’t even completely sure why.Harry swallows, watching him with fear in his eyes. Like a child about to cry, watching theirparent leave.Louis closes his eyes, pushing through the heaviness that is now weighing down every airpassageway.“Harry,” he says, voice calm, steering the conversation back to what matters. “I am so, so proud ofyou for making the decision to move away from your father. So proud. And I will be here for youthrough the whole process. If you need somewhere to stay or if you need help looking forsomething or if you just…just need someone to make you a sick cup of tea and eat all yourbiscuits—Harry laughs, relieved, softening—“I’ll be right here. Beside you. On this couch. Orwherever else you need me to be. You don’t have to do anything alone anymore, all right?Because no matter what you’re trying to tackle, even though you are strong enough to conquer itall, several times over even, I will always be here to supply you with whatever you need, toshoulder whatever you can’t carry, to fucking fill you with whatever you’ve lost. All right?”He might be telling himself this as much as he’s telling Harry. He doesn’t even know anymore.Harry listens, unmoving and quiet, eyes on the ground, head bentThere’s a steady silence, punctuated only by the distant screams of the boat race, and Louis thinkshe sees the glimmer of a tear sliding down Harry’s cheek before he suddenly brings his hands upto cover his face, head bowed low and never emitting a sound.The moments drag by, Louis breathing raggedly, his heart beating irregularly as he watches Harrysit, head in hands, wondering if he’s crying and why he shields his tears from the world, fromLouis.It’s while he’s lost, staring at Harry’s beautiful tragedy, that he forgets himself.Unthinkingly, blindly, he brings his hand carefully to Harry’s neck. His hand connects with thecool skin and, before he can question himself, he begins rubbing the soft flesh there with histhumb, eyes never blinking, breath barely escaping.He feels the release of Harry’s muscles first, his entire body relaxing into the touch.Then, so slowly he barely registers what’s even happening, he watches as Harry’s hand movesfrom his face to slide through his hair. It slides over the top of his bent head, surfing throughwaves of curls, slowly, slowly, before the tips of his fingers are suddenly brushing against Louis’thumb, stilling any and all of his movements.And Louis stops breathing.There’s a pause, where Louis remains frozen, not daring to break the fragility of the moment, andHarry’s fingers remain rested upon Louis’ thumb, soft and unassuming. Just there. Louis can’t seehis face—his other hand still blocking it from view—but it doesn’t fucking matter because nowHarry’s hand is moving again, achingly slow, to slide further down, fingers finding their way toclutch around Louis’ hand, fingers entwined and gripping on so gently and it’s just…different.It feels different.And Louis still isn’t breathing.And then Harry stands up.

Startled, Louis blinks, his hand dropping to the cushions as Harry pushes himself away andtowards the windows, remaining silent. His face is stormy, expression hard, and Louis could onlyreally describe it as the personification of inner conflict.Something is happening beneath the surface of Harry.Something big.Something…that may be similar to what is happening to Louis.And Harry might be just as overwhelmed as Louis but probably even more so because he doesn’tunderstand it.And maybe…maybe Harry needs some guidance.Maybe Harry needs to just. Know.Maybe he needs to know like Louis already knows.Fuck.Shakily, Louis stands, his heart ready to beat clean out of his chest and fly across the room,splattering the walls. His knees knock, his palms sweat, and his breath is gone, so very gone, buthe ignores it all as he makes his way towards Harry, whose back is strong and silent.“Harry,” he whispers as he approaches him, and he allows himself this moment.This one moment.Just to see.Just because Harry might not know. Because Harry might need to know, want to know.Harry doesn’t move towards Louis nor does he move away, his eyes dark and his breath quick.There’s a light tremor in his fingers, a rigidity in his neck, marked by a prominent vein. His eyesare fixed on the windows and the world outside, but it’s a sightless stare, his pulse thumping and itonly spurs Louis more.Because Harry feels it, too.He does.“Harry,” he whispers again and this time he crawls his hand to Harry’s waist, securing it in hisshirt and feeling his weight against his arm.Harry’s breath hitches.It fucking hitches.And Louis is seeing stars he’s so fucking nervous and terrified and thrilled.Still more confident, he brings his other hand to Harry’s cheek as he places himself directly infront of him, blocking out the windows, blocking out everything else.Harry’s eyebrows pinch as Louis ever so carefully guides his face towards himself, to catch hiseye.

Harry resists, terrified eyes still staring over Louis’ shoulder.“Please look at me,” Louis whispers, quiet as a breath. “Harry. Please just look at me.”There’s so much blood rushing through Louis’ ears as we waits.As Harry’s eyes remain fixed outside, creased and frightened and ready to bolt. He’s balancing ona precipice and Louis isn’t sure which way he’s going to fall, but he waits for Harry to look athim, he waits and waits and waits.And then he finally does.Those eyes, those eyes that started all of this, slide over to Louis’ eyes and, click!Click.It all clicks together.Because suddenly Louis isn’t as terrified as he is inspired. One look in Harry’s eyes—that havebecome so familiar, so comforting and present—has Louis filled with a newfound confidence andassurance, an overwhelming feeling that everything, for just this moment, is perfect in theuniverse, is right.This is how it’s supposed to go.So he kisses him without thinking.Without a moment to shy away or fuck it up or crumble to dust, he pulls Harry’s face to his as helunges forward, heart in his throat, and Harry’s startled intake of breath—because yes, the fuckergasps—opens his mouth and smashes the lightbulbs of Louis’ brain.There’s a solid five seconds of just Louis.Just Louis pouring his feelings into Harry’s frozen, open mouth and it feels as though he’sresuscitating him, breathing life into his stilled lungs, giving all that he has to Harry because he hasnothing else but the air he breathes and he wants to give it all to Harry, every last breath.And then suddenly Harry’s shocked into life, like a bolt of electricity’s been cracked into hisbones.Immediately, without warning, without transition, he suddenly grips at Louis, hands bunching intoLouis’ shirt and tugging him closer, closer, closer, mouth beautifully soft and sighing (of course,with that fucking 8 th wonder of a mouth).Louis can’t see, can’t think, can’t feel, can’t breathe, is completely overwhelmed by it all, byHarry, by Harry’s softness and Harry’s scent and Harry’s touch and Harry because Harry iskissing him back and he’s kissing Harry and everything bad that’s ever happened to Louissuddenly doesn’t fucking matter because this makes up for it all. The feeling of Harry’s mouthmoving like poetry over his own, effortless and real and flowing, warm and slick and bloodywonderful, his hands stretching the fabric of Louis’ cardigan, his toes bumping his own, his hairtickling Louis’ cheek.Louis’ hands get lost, he can’t find them, can’t even feel them, but they’re not on Harry’s faceanymore and wherever they are, Harry must approve because he doesn’t make to stop and Louisnever wants to, never ever.

He’s dizzy now, gasping and dry and reeling but he still clutches, still steals back the breath hegave to Harry, and they’re against the window now it seems, Harry’s back pressed against coldglass that’s begun to fog from their puffing breaths and Louis’ just found his hands. They’vemanaged to find the buttons on Harry’s shirt.Good job, hands. Good hands.They’re unbuttoning each button carefully and Louis can’t even really feel himself doing it, it’sjust a dream, but his mouth is still gasping into Harry’s and there’s sunlight and the smell of homeand Harry’s making the softest, sweetest noises that only Louis can hear and he’s almost donewith those goddamn yellow buttons—thank fuck—and is now beginning to feel the hot press ofHarry’s hands making their way down his stomach and to the button of his trousers—When suddenly Louis’ mouth is cold, his hands empty.He blinks awake, trying to assess what just happened as he stares out the smudged, foggy glass ofthe window. Startled, he whips around.Harry’s panting, eyes blazen and wild, his lips red and wet like fresh lava and his clothes arecrumpled, thanks to Louis. He’s wiping his mouth, his face white, whiter than it should be, andhe’s taking frantic steps back, shaking his head.…What?What’s happening?“Harry?” Louis croaks, dazed and barely conscious, still drowning in adrenaline and Harry.“No,” Harry manages, rough and wrecked, shaking his head frantically. “No. Not with you,Louis. Not with you,” he says, and what??Louis can’t catch his breath.Neither can Harry.Why isn’t there more air?Harry must have taken it with him.“Not with you,” Harry says one last time before he practically flings himself out the door,slamming it behind him, and leaving Louis alone, framed in the window, suffocating.Chapter End NotesTHIS ISN'T THE END.You guys wanted it, so here it is. :)The song that encapsulates this entire chapter and the next is Kodaline's "All I Want".Not even kidding, that song inspired most of this ending, and a lot of this story.Listening to it gives me feelings and images. This is what they were. Listen to it! Itmight make you feel things, too.

Thank you for reading and being so wondrous! Hopefully the last chapter will be thisweek. Then, after that one, we have the epilogue left! Yayyy!!big love, kiddos. (mizzwilde for the tumblrrr)

XXXIIChapter SummaryLouis confesses.Chapter NotesTHERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE. Just want to start off with that! :)Thank you Tara, J, and Becki for being helpful, beautiful people. For reading myrambles and my ALL CAPS MESSAGES and just reading this too-long, tooemotionalstory. You're marvelous. I adore you. :))See the end of the chapter for more notesNot with you.The courtyard is a blur around him.Not with you.His feet pound the grass in dull clumps, smack against stone and echo in time to:Not with you.Almost-warm air slaps his face, assaults his hair.Not with you.Clusters of voices ooze in and out of the blood pumping in his ears.Not with you.He sees the door to his flat coming into view, he feels the air ripping his lungs apart, hears thefragile pounding of what’s left inside.The keys fumble and clank but they fit in the lock and he pushes it open with his shoulder as hardas he can because he just needs to go inside, he needs this door to open right now and he needs toleave.He wants to go home.That’s all that he wants.That’s all he can think about.Well.

Not all.Not with you, Louis.He thrusts every visible article of clothing into his bag (and there are a lot—he’s never pretendedto be anything but a slob) as he blinks back the tears that are already soaking his face, making himshiver under their wet, accusing trails. He locates his iPod and his phone and his jacket and hisToms with the frayed rips on the sides, his lips burning with memory.Everything’s burning.Everything’s cold.He’s dying in fire and ice and yes, he has a right to be dramatic right now because his fucking soulis splitting apart and he has never, ever felt this horrible before.Maybe some people aren’t made for love. Maybe some people aren’t strong enough.Swallowing his choked sobs and humiliation and fucking memories—the feel of Harry’s soft hairand softer skin and the deep, rumbling purrs that escaped his throat as he pulled Louis to him,pulled Louis—that burn, memories that send fresh sobs and heart constrictions and strike Louis,making him wince. He hauls his bag over his shoulder, not even pausing to scribble a note forNiall—who is, thankfully, still at the boat race, celebrating his sure win. He can just text him laterwhen everything isn’t so raw and fresh and bleeding, barely held together by broken strings.Without a second glance or thought—thoughts are so painful right now—he shuts the door,heaving soft shuddering breaths, eyes red-rimmed, before padding outside into the mocking sunthat feels too warm against his glistening cheeks.He hears wafts of the announcer’s voice, hears the thrum of a happy crowd, and takes off for thenearest train station.**When he arrives home, he does something he hasn’t done in years.Louis hugs his mum, no introduction necessary.“Louis?” she blurts, completely taken off guard, unsure of what to do with her hands momentarilybefore wrapping them tentatively around him. “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”And he’s crying again (or has he just never stopped?) as he holds her tightly in the entryway,willing himself the capacity to speak.“I just needed to get away,” he manages, voice muffled by the cotton of her shirt, and closes hiseyes tighter, sending more juicy fucking tears rolling down his fucking cheeks. He’s surprised hisskin hasn’t begun to prune at this rate. He’s so bitter.He feels her nod as she continues to hold him, not saying another word, just petting his hair like amother, and that’s what Louis needs. This is what he needs right now.Home.Comfort.And maybe. His mum.

“It’s good to see you,” she says eventually, rubbing his back soothingly. “Even if you are in aright state.”Louis sniffles.A ‘right state’. Hah.She doesn’t know the half of it.“Good to be home,” he says in response, voice crackling.And it is good. She may drive him up a fucking wall and be a selfish loon and they may have theirmountain-sized pile of issues, but Louis’ mum is still Louis’ mum and… And right now he needsthat.“Come on in, Boo,” she coaxes gently, beginning to lead him forwards, never releasing her hold.“I’ll make us some tea. You can tell me all about it.”When Louis makes to protest, she shushes him, a small smile on her lips.“I’ll listen this time. I promise,” she says.And he thinks she means it.So, together, they walk into the kitchen and Louis can feel himself breathe a little bit again.**He’d had a good talk with his mum.She’d listened, just like she promised, and she nodded where she was supposed to, lookedsympathetic at the right times, and laughed at Louis’ wry humor that managed to squeeze throughthe cracks of his desolation.It was nice.It was new.He felt even better when his sisters came home, squealing in surprise and delight upon seeing himsitting at the kitchen table, his eyes tired and puffy, hair askew, clutching his sixth mug of tea in aratty jumper.“Louis! You came home!” Charlotte squeals, damn near bowling him over as she flings herself athis seated figure.He laughs in a huff, inhaling the wisps of dirty blonde hair that have fallen out of her ponytail.The fur lining the hood of her jacket tickles his nose, prickles his left eye a bit.“Good to see you too, kid,” he smiles.He feels their mum watching them and he glances up to see her smiling, standing by the stovetopand waiting for the kettle. There’s an oddly emotional look caught in her eyes, a bit distant, as ifshe were lost reading a book or watching a movie, but it’s a good smile that paints her face, a fondsmile, and Louis warms at that because this all feels good.So, naturally, he feels yet another batch of tears coming.

Excellent. He’s becoming a weeper. Splendid.He only pulls himself out of his revelry when tiny feet begin padding up to him, pulling Charlotteaway and immediately climbing upon him.“Louis!” they squeal as one, eyes bright and clear and unbroken.“Well, hello,” he grins, not quite whole, mussing up pigtails and kissing red, blotchy cheeks thatfeel like the skin of peaches. “How are my girls?”And they all beam at him with endless adoration and missing baby teeth and they’re a mix of pinkand blue and Velcro shoes and it’s all he needs right now, it’s all he wants.“Good to have you home,” his mum says again as she watches, and, yep, she’s getting emotionalas she stares at the scene, unaware of the kettle steaming behind her insistently, beginning toscreech.He doesn’t even nod to her that it’s ready, doesn’t impatiently point it out. Just holds her smile andfeels yet another fucking wave of emotion and a gratefulness for his mum that he hasn’t felt inyears as he feels his sisters jab at his ribs to get his attention and, yes.This is all he wants right now. This is all he wants.**When Louis goes to text Niall as he dumps his bag in his room, he notes, with a bitter taste in hismouth, that Harry hasn’t called, hasn’t texted. Most definitely doesn’t even know he’s left forhome.Why would he?He swallows past the gravel that’s begun to coat his throat, begins to tap out a half-heartedmessage.‘Good luck at the Brits tonight. Not gonna b able to make it. Tell u later.’It’s about eleven seconds before Niall responds.‘r u fucking serious??! Where r u?? I’ll come get u’‘home’‘the fuck Tommo? It’s the most fucking brilliant goddam day in existence tho u cunt!’ And then:‘whats wrong’Louis can’t bring himself to answer that right now. So he doesn’t, instead tapping out a ‘Have funtonight ireland. Send me pics’ and tossing the phone onto his nightstand before leaving the room,leaving it all behind as he makes his way back to his family.**Stan comes over for dinner.It’s nice, it’s fun, they all laugh and the girls cling to him at every opportunity they get duringdinner, giggling and standing by his chair, sauce flecking their cheeks. He indulges them—healways does—and Louis and his mum smile, just watch and laugh occasionally.

They have dessert while they play video games, Louis’ mum washing up in the kitchen (at herinsistence), and the girls beg to play intermittently between showing off their various toys andsinging for attention.Stan grins, pinches Louis’ cheek.“You should come home more often,” he says, and Louis laughs, bites at his hand.“Maybe I’ll just stay home,” he wants to say jokingly, but there’s a thinly veiled edge there, andStan’s eyes falter momentarily, regarding Louis closely.“Yeah, maybe,” Stan replies, and when Louis looks away, swallowing, he still feels his eyes onhim.**Their shoes scuff the pavement as they walk.“So you just left?” Stan asks, brows pinched, watching Louis closely. “Didn’t try to call him oranything?”The sun is setting and the sky’s becoming overcast, and Louis’ hands are stuffed deep in thepockets of his jacket. He’s just word-vomited it all to Stan, everything, told him all about Harryand all about Harry-and-Louis and all about the dead ends and the almosts and he feels so fuckingexhausted from it, just wants to be done with the conversation now that it’s only started.“He hasn’t tried calling me, either.” His voice carries in the breeze, breaks in the wind.“Have you checked?”He studies the cracks that pass beneath his feet, the little blades of grass that struggle to growthere. Louis carefully avoids stepping on them.“I don’t need to. He won’t call.”“He might.”“He won’t.”Stan falls silent, sighs eventually, and knocks into Louis’ side.“He’ll come around. He always does, from the sounds of it.”Louis bites down hard on the corner of his lips, just because. He never does that, probably neverhas even once, but he does it now because there’s nothing else he can do. Just bites the corners ofhis lips as they walk, lets it sting.“He sounds like he really loves you, you know,” Stan adds, a bit softer, and at that Louis has toclose his eyes.“No, Stan,” he says when he opens them finally, moist and stinging. “He doesn’t know how tolove.” And why does his voice sound like that? Why does it sound weak and small and distantand everything Louis is not? “He doesn’t want me.”And it’s simple and it’s dead and it’s final, and Louis just shrugs as Stan sighs and they don’tspeak until they arrive back at the house.

**Just as Louis suspected, Harry did not text.He’s in bed before the moon has barely even risen—after having read his youngest sisters bedtimestories and sat and chatted softly with the older ones and kissed his mum on the cheek—and hehates his phone right now, wishes he didn’t need to obsessively check it for Harry’s name.He sees a stream of texts from Niall that he doesn’t read, most of them with exclamation points,and he knows they’re good, knows they’re all having fun, most definitely won, and he’ll hearabout it later, he will, but right now he needs himself, the silence, and the quiet knowledge ofnothing.So he sets his phone down, punches his pillow into a cold, inviting ball, and drops down like deadweight.Sleep. He will sleep and then tomorrow, in the morning, he’ll think.**It’s definitely not morning when a sharp buzz jolts him awake.The monotonous wail of his phone fills the room as it rumbles on the table, making the roomglow. It startles Louis momentarily before it stops and darkens, returning the room to silence andpeace.He’d put money on it being Niall. Probably drunk. Most definitely drunk. Calling Louis to singhim a victory song.Rubbing his burning, dry eyes, Louis stretches as much as he can as he reaches for his phone,checking his notifications and—Twenty-three missed calls.From Rory.Twenty-three.Something icy spikes through Louis.So he reads all of his texts next—Niall exclaiming ‘WEVE FUCKIN WON’ around eight PM.‘WE WON AGAIN’ fifteen minutes later. ‘WISH YOU WERE HERE MATE LOVE YA’ fiveminutes later. ‘Why aren’t you here?? :(’ from Liam around the same time. Another from Liamthat says ‘Will you be coming out with us after? :(‘ and a ‘U okay?’ from Zayn seven minuteslater. A picture of them all huddled together looking beautiful around nine-thirty. Harry’s there.He’s giving his fake smile, his eyes closed off and dull, too many teeth showing. He hasn’t saidanything to Louis.But then the texts stop. And that’s it.And then, at three in the morning. Twenty-three consecutive missed calls from Rory. Rory of allpeople.Something’s not right.All Louis can think about is Niall and his heart beats painfully hard, unhealthily fast, and

everything is sharp and cold as he sits up in bed. His throat itches like it wants to be sick.Niall. Is something wrong with Niall? Rory would know. Rory would call Louis if something waswrong with Niall.Suddenly, his phone begins vibrating in his hand again—it’s Rory calling for the twenty-fourthtime. His name flashes across the screen, bold and bright and terrifying, too bright for Louis’ tiredeyes.He stares, feeling another icy streak of panic shoot through his entire body as he stares at thescreen before answering with one swift swipe, toes tingling and heart beating uncomfortably. Hecan hear his sisters’ soft snores drifting from the hall.It’s probably nothing. He’s probably just being paranoid. Niall’s probably fine.“Hello?” he answers, and his tone is obviously stricken with worry, too discombobulated toassemble any sort of poker face.“Louis.” Rory’s tone is flat, almost hesitant. Sounds simultaneously relieved and apprehensive atfinally being able to reach him.“What?” Louis asks immediately, maybe a little abrasively, but he doesn’t care. His hands clenchthe sheets that have fallen to his waist. He can’t see, everything black and formless around him. Soquiet, save for the soft snores and his heartbeat.“You better come back, Louis.”His heart jumps into this throat at the firm words. He tries to swallow, over and over, tries to pushit back down so he can breathe.“Why?” He’s keeping his breath even.Dread. He feels dread. Something is wrong.“You better come down,” Rory just repeats and Louis’ about to growl like a wild dog, when:“We’re at St. Francis.”Thud, goes the drop of his heart.“Hospital?” Louis manages and there’s gravel in his mouth. “What’s wrong? Niall? What’shappened to him? Is he alright? What the fuck, Rory?”“We don’t know where Niall is.”What??“What does that mean?”There’s a strangled sigh on the other end and Louis’ already pushing his sheets off, trying to blinkthrough the crust in his eyes and the heavy silence of night and dark.“Just come back. It’s better to…” Louis stops breathing, stops moving, just listens. “It’s better ifyou hear in person.”Everything freezes around him as little acidic white spots begin blinking in Louis’ eyes.“Tell me,” is all he says, but it’s in a tone unfamiliar to himself, one he’s never used before, and

Louis doesn’t feel connected to his body right now.A pause.Then.“Liam.”And ice floods Louis’ veins.“What about him?” he asks, panicked, high, dizzy.“He’s here. In hospital.”“What about him?!” Louis repeats in a snarl and he’s sat down on the bed. He’s dizzy. Heprobably needs water. Everything’s shaking.There’s the faint sound of voices and hubbub on the other end.“He overdosed.”Silence.Louis stares.“They’re stabilizing him, Louis,” he says, and the tension in his voice is so alien anduncomfortable and horrible. “It wasn’t too late. He’s still here, Louis.”Louis stares.There’s no blood in his fingers.“Come back. Zayn’s asking for you.”Zayn.“I’m coming,” he says faintly, eyes tearing because he hasn’t blinked, frozen to the spot. No air,no thoughts, no movement. Louis is filled with nothing.“Good.”Silence.Long, thick silence.“He’s going to be okay, Louis.”“They said that?”A pause.“He’s going to be okay.”And that’s all that Louis hears before he hangs up.**“Do you want me to stay?” his mum asks, wrapped in a thick jacket, face still sleep-creased and

puffy. Her long hair is catching in the wind as she stands beside the car, the moon glowing abovethe cold lights of the hospital.It hadn’t taken them long to get here, and Louis can’t help but be a bit extremely thankful that hismum was as calm about everything as she was. Even when he shook her awake, his heartbeat inhis mouth and his hands rougher than he meant, jerky and cold, she’d merely switched on herlight, sat up, listened, and nodded. She’d wrapped a jacket around her nightgown, plucked thekeys off of the counter, and waited for Louis expectantly at the door after waking Charlotte, tellingher to watch the girls, to call Stan if she needed.Louis didn’t like it, didn’t like leaving like that, but he had to. He had to go and all he could dowas hug his little sister without an explanation as he ambled out the door; and now they’re hereafter a silent drive, the moon high in the sky, his mum shivering in the wind, his bag slung over hisshoulder, and his jacket open and rumpled.And he doesn’t want to go inside.“No, it’s fine,” he finally responds, voice scratchy. He’s solemn, terrified. Biting the insides of hislips and avoiding his mum’s gaze.The wind whips past them as they stand, awkward.“And they can’t find Niall?” she asks after a moment, hugging her sides.“I guess,” he shrugs, hollow. “At least, that’s what Rory said.”He needs to suck it up and go inside.“You’re sure you don’t need me?” she asks, one last time, unsure.Louis is thankful for it. Niall really has, somehow, miraculously, improved her character.Niall.His stomach twists.“Yeah. I don’t think Zayn would—“ he cuts off, swallowing.This is all so bizarre.She nods, silent, clearly uncomfortable.“Call us and the girls when everything’s okay. Don’t forget about us,” she adds with a weaksmile.A prickle of annoyance settles inside him at the request but it’s only momentary before he attemptsa smile in return.“Couldn’t if I tried, could I?” he tries to joke.She merely stares at him in response, searchingly, worriedly.The wind whips by.“Good luck,” she says at last, stepping towards him after hesitating, wrapping him up in her arms.He feels her press her lips to his hair, her hands gripping him tightly.

Neither lets go. Louis doesn’t want to let go.But still he says, “I should go,” and steps out of her embrace, face pinned together in a smile. “I’lllet you know if anything happens.”She nods.“See you soon, love.”He nods. His eyes are prickling. Fuck.“Love you, Boo,” she adds.He nods again, glancing away because his eyes are wet. He manages a wave, watches as she getsback in the car and drives off, leaving him in his trackies and old jacket, his bare ankles bright coldin the chilly air as he wipes the back of his hand against his eyes.No crying. No crying.He turns around and walks inside.**“Louis. You’re here,” Rory says in a relieved whoosh, almost as soon as Louis steps out of thelift.He must’ve been waiting, and that sends sharp jolts through him.“Sorry, I had to have my mum drive me. Went home,” he says, his eyes searching the cluster ofchairs nearby, searching for a familiar face. The hospital is mostly empty.“Nothing would have changed had you gotten here earlier,” Rory says, a little gruff. He claps himon the back. “He’ll be glad you’re here.”“Who?”“Zayn.”Louis takes a deep breath.This is so, so out of his realm.He nods, scanning the room again.“Where is he?” he asks, breathless, steeling himself.“With Liam.”His head snaps to Rory, feeling the warm trickle of hope in his scalp.“He’s awake?”“No.”And the trickle stops.“But he’s going to be okay.”

The trickle turns into a flood.“Yeah?” Louis asks, feeling the moisture in his eyes return. “They said?”Rory nods, a smile forming beneath tired eyes, hand still gentle on Louis’ back. And then it’sgone.“Come on. He’ll want to see you.”**Louis isn’t allowed to see Liam, which comes as no surprise. Secretly, he’s relieved. He isn’t goodwith this stuff, doesn’t know how to handle it, and seeing Liam hooked up to machines, drained ofcolor and consciousness…. Well.Louis’ secretly relieved.But that’s all very much smashed as soon as he sees Zayn, pacing back and forth in the waitingroom, still in his satin lapelled jacked and trousers and slackened tie, polished shoes gleamingbeneath the fluorescent lights as the soles click against the floor. He’s pale as a ghost, his eyesblack, his entire demeanor erratic and bright like a dying star.Louis stops in his tracks.He’s never seen Zayn like this. Has only ever seen smooth, smoke-breathing Zayn with his quietunderstanding and loyal looks and lightning touches, has only been met with his lidded eyes andhalf-smiles. Yet here he is, twitching and pink and pale and red around the edges and gray on thesurface and jumpy and weak and blurry, sparking like lightning, jumbled like a hurricane.“Zayn?” Louis asks tentatively, upon approaching him.He hears Rory walk away, leaving them alone.Zayn immediately whips around, strained, glossy eyes finding Louis. Relief breaks through themadness.He doesn’t say a word, just bolts up to Louis and embraces him in a tight, unyielding hug.Louis’ never hugged Zayn before. At least not while sober. It’s new to him, the way Zayn’s litheframe presses against him, his hair sleek and perfumed, his skin smoke-tinged and warm.He holds on, unsure and a little disoriented, holds on because Zayn clings to him, and he can’teven think to ask any questions, his mind and body blank.Eventually, Zayn peels himself away, red eyes inspecting Louis with a fury that raises the finehairs on his forearms, his eyes smudged with exhaustion—emotional and physical.“He’s going to be all right,” he says, but he doesn’t say it with relief. His voice shakes and thewords are barely holding themselves together, everything about him screaming agitation. “He’sgoing to be alright which is the only reason I’m here right now and not fucking killing him.”Louis frowns.Not what he was expecting.“Look, Zayn. I know Liam’s made some mistakes—“

“This isn’t Liam’s fault,” Zayn snaps frantically, taking a step back and looking both terrified andready to attack. Like a cornered animal.What?“I thought—“ Louis begins, but Zayn is shaking his head furiously, stalking past Louis andbumping him in the shoulder hard enough to cause him to lose his footing.“It’s his fault. It’s always his fucking fault,” Zayn spits.And, no, Louis has never, ever seen Zayn like this before. He’s almost near hysterical.“Whose fault?” Louis asks, bewildered, trailing slowly after him. “What—““He was such a fucking mess the whole night—such a fucking psycho like his father—that hefucking dragged Liam into it all—he didn’t even know what he was taking! He just gave it to himbecause he didn’t want to be the only one who was fucking miserable,” Zayn’s saying, wordsrushed and loud and sparking and Louis is confused because what is he saying? He’s not talkingabout –“He gave him bad fucking drugs, is what he gave him,” Zayn continues. His eyes areglossier, fierce. A tear pools and collects in his right eye before streaming down his sculptedcheek, marked in stubble and twisted into a sneer. “Laced with some fucked up, random shit. Didhe take some? No. He fucking bought it and gave it to Liam because he’s a selfish fuck and heknew—he knew Liam would take it and he just fucking watched.”Louis is so confused.Surely…“Who gave it to him?” he asks, faint.Not…Zayn’s face twists in disgust and vehemence, another tear falling. He’s terrifying, he’s a terrifyingcrier, and Louis finds himself taking a step back, his blood cold and sluggish.“Harry.”Louis stops breathing.He blinks, takes another step back. “Ha-Harry gave—““I left Liam’s side for two fucking minutes, Louis. Two fucking minutes so I could get him a drinkbecause he was hitting it too hard as it were. And I came back and—“ Zayn cuts off, steadystreams now falling down his face. So, so silently. His vicious expression begins to disintegrate,leaving him looking helpless, brittle, everything he’s never been.Louis can’t breathe.This is all so fucking insane.“I didn’t know it was him until after we’d arrived here. Harry’d come, brought us here in his car,”Zayn says, sadness beginning to reign over his fury. “He only told me what he did while we werewaiting to hear if…” He swallows, looks away. “He told me while we were waiting.”Louis’ heart isn’t beating. Or if it is, he can’t feel it.

“He had the fucking audacity to tell me here, while Liam was in there, with people he doesn’teven know—“ And now Zayn’s crying, properly, and it’s potentially the most heartbreaking thingLouis has ever seen in his entire life. Worse than Fox and the Hound, worse than Black Beauty.Without thought or breath, Louis walks to him, wraps an arm around his waist, pulling Zayn to hisside.He goes willingly, briefly settling his forehead upon Louis’ shoulder as he gathers himself beforestanding straight, the slits of his eyes glittering and sour, etched raw.“I almost killed him after he told me,” he manages eventually, sniffing, voice hard. He wipes theremaining tears away with the back of his hand, eyelashes clustered together like spears. “I neverwant to see him again. Or I swear on my life, I will kill him.”Louis doesn’t know how to answer that, his stomach constricting painfully.Harry.Harry, Harry, Harry.What the actual fuck, Harry.Why?“Where’s Niall?” he asks because he can’t ask anything else.The lights are clinical and bright, and Zayn’s eyes are tired and red, and all Louis wants isdarkness. Just a billowing, endless, velvety swarm of darkness.And maybe the sound of Harry’s breath.But then Louis thinks of Liam—smiling, bright, perfect Liam—and he doesn’t know what hewants, doesn’t know how to think of this, doesn’t know if there’s such a thing as blame, doesn’tknow if he should feel anger or sadness or regret or…nothing.Because right now he feels nothing.“Dunno,” Zayn sniffs some more, sliding his hands in his pockets. His eyes droop, his shoulderssag. Exhausted. “Barely saw him the entire night.”“But surely he would’ve come if he’d known,” Louis says, shocked, because it’s Niall. Niall whothrows his body onto others for a cuddle, Niall who presses wet kisses to cheeks, Niall who smileslike the sun and laughs like the beginning of summer and who leaves chip grease on the doorhandles.Zayn just shrugs in response.So tired.“Look, Zayn, I can stay here for the night. You go back and sleep, yeah?” He knows there’s asnowball’s chance in hell of him taking him up on the offer, but he still hopes, still offers.Zayn shakes his head before the last word is out.“I’m staying. Waiting for his parents to arrive.”“Then I’ll stay with you,” Louis says simply.

A smile struggles through, looks warped beneath the cold lights. “Thank you, Louis,” Zayn sayssoftly, with feeling. “But go back, yeah? Come back tomorrow. I just need to sort my head.”“Need some space?”He nods. “Yeah. Some space. Thank you, though. Really.”Louis nods, clenching his fists nervously.Does he go, then? Just go? Leave this half-Zayn behind to sleep in stiff wooden chairs upholsteredin plastic? Alone?“Rory will be here,” he says, as if reading Louis’ thoughts.He nods again.“You’re sure you don’t want more company? I mean. I know I’m no Rory, but.” Louis smiles.Zayn sort of smiles.“Goodnight, Louis,” is all he says, and Louis’ nodding.“Goodnight Zayn.”He presses the button to the lift, it opens immediately. Before he steps inside, he turns backaround.“Tell Liam I said hi,” he says, and it’s so casual and commonplace and normal, so utterlycontrasted against reality, that Zayn immediately smiles, eyes beginning to glisten once more.There’s a sureness in the words, an understanding made.“I will. Soon as he finally wakes up, the tosser,” Zayn responds softly, and his entire demeanorcalms, his fists unclenching, his pacing ceasing.Louis smiles back before entering the lift.**Niall’s not at the flat.He doesn’t answer his phone, won’t text Louis back, and he’s just…well. He’s missing.And Louis is so fucking emotionally exhausted at this point, so utterly undone, that he can onlyadd it to his list of things he feels helplessly terrified about as he drops his bag off into his room,searching the place for any indication that there’d been a recent inhabitant.But everything lies still and cold and untouched and there are no answers to be found.He stands in the middle of the room, taking in the decadence, the chandeliers, the velvets and thesilks and the polished floors and the ridiculously sized TV that Niall’s come to call ‘home’. Helooks at the piano—sleek and unassuming and a fucking nuisance—and smirks, picturing Niall inhis pants and snapback so easily, his fingers smelling of weed, his mouth stuffed with cheese, hislaughter booming louder than the keys. He takes in the low-set windows that Zayn had vomited inso very long ago (and fuck, Louis never thought he’d ever be eternally grateful for someonegetting sick on his feet, but here he is) and he shakes his head and marvels at it all because it alllooks so different to him now.

What had been ostentatious, unbearable, ridiculous, is now commonplace, casual, comforting. Hasbecome home.What he had sneered at, he now adores wildly.What he had thought empty, heartless, ridiculous, he now thinks of as warm, open, beautiful.Enchanting.Childlike.Strong.Home.He closes his eyes as his thoughts whisper the name, that name, a thousand conflicting feelingsbubbling beneath the surface. Wild adoration, despair, shame, worry, affection, anger, frustration,love….Not with you.His heart lurches as he thinks of the feel of his lips, as he thinks of the way he looked when he leftLouis behind.No. He can’t keep doing this. He just can’t.But then he hears Zayn’s voice.I never want to see him again. Or I swear on my life, I will kill him.Never see him again.The thought alone pushes into Louis painfully, pierces his heart like a thorn.Once more. He’ll see him just once more. Because this is all so fucked up and, yes, he might’vepushed Louis away, he might’ve rejected him, but this is more. This is so much more thanunrequited love, and Louis needs to just see him once more.When he finally opens his eyes, he grabs his keys and leaves.**He’s standing outside Harry’s door and, this time, it’s difficult to go inside.He wants to, wants to more than anything because he needs to see him. Desperately. Needs to justunderstand what’s happened tonight, needs to know if he’s alright.But every time he closes his eyes he sees Harry’s wild eyes retreating away from him, hears hisweak voice spitting out a, “Not with you, Louis,” and it’s all so fresh still. So fucking excruciatingand humiliating.He clenches his jaw.And opens the door anyway.The room is dimly lit by a gas lamp and candles—sun still having not yet risen—that cast shadows

upon the walls in flickering sighs. Their flames catch in the cold breezes that whip through theroom, pushing through the windows that are opened wide, wide as they can go—as if there wasn’tenough air—the curtains rippling and snapping. Suitcases lie half-packed around the room, bits ofclothes haphazardly strewn about, papers stacked, their edges fluttering, and cracked, leatherboundbooks litter the floor. The cat figurines are missing from their shelf. Flowers lie dead on thetables, crispy petals lifted in the gusts of wind, drifting to the floor.And there, amidst it all, is Harry.Harry, with his tangled curls and…Louis swallows at the sight.Harry. With his tears that glisten his soft, pale cheeks and sobs that wreck his trembling body andhands that he doesn’t know what do with as he wanders in circles, journal in one hand, his lilacjumper in the other.Like Zayn, he’s also still wearing his suit from the Brits, his bowtie undone and his shirtunbuttoned at the top, ripped apart wide as if he’d been choking, revealing the slender line of hiswhite neck that heaves unsteadily. Little noises escape him—little hiccups and little shaky breaths—as he walks, clearly distraught, clearly blinded by tears and just aimless, stumbling over theoriental rug and stumbling over himself.He doesn’t see Louis.So Louis just watches for a little longer, watches because he’s transfixed and heartbroken andvery, very fucking terrified, unsure if he should even be here.But he always keeps coming back, doesn’t he. He always comes back.He swallows.Just once more.“Where are you going?” he asks at last, voice raspy. He clears his throat, but Harry’s already spunaround, his eyes wild and body stiffening and—And he lets out a sob the minute his eyes land on Louis.It’s open, it’s unabashed, and it’s raw, his entire composure unraveling that much more, andLouis feels it too, feels the relief and the dread and the exhaustion in that sob, sees the helplessnessin his tears, and that’s enough. That’s enough to assure him that, yes, he should be here.“Harry,” he says, voice breaking, as he rushes to him blindly, instinctually. When he reaches him,he touches unthinkingly, cradles Harry’s head in his hands and brushes away the fresh surge oftears and it makes Harry cry harder, the jumper and journal falling out of his slackened hands,thudding onto the floor.Louis’ eyes sting, his throat stings, his chest stings as Harry’s head bows with the weight of histears, and he feels it as Harry brings his hands up to rest on Louis’ forearms, loose, then gripping,almost bruising, and the sobs never stop and Louis can’t swallow, can’t blink. He just brushes tearafter tear away with his clumsy thumbs, fingertips lost in wisps of hair and smooth flesh as heholds Harry together, keeps all of his pieces in place as they crack and crumble.He doesn’t want to say ‘it’s okay’ and he doesn’t want to shush him, doesn’t want to tell himanything because Harry needs this, needs to cry, and Louis wants it for him, doesn’t want him to

feel ashamed of his tears or feel weakened by them.Minutes and forever passes, and Louis never releases Harry and Harry never releases Louis.Louis can’t let go. He just fucking can’t. Can’t even look away.“Is he okay?”Louis startles at Harry’s quiet, almost-whimper of a voice, his heart breaking all over again asHarry bows his head further down, ashamed, quiet, small.“He’s going to be okay, yeah,” he whispers, his thumbs brushing the thin flesh beneath his eyes,wondering if he’s leaving indents.Harry nods, sobs quieting.They stand longer, stand together, and Louis never looks away.“I have to go,” Harry says at least, head still bowed, voice miserable. His grip on Louis eases, andthe tip of his nose is pink, his eyelashes wet and clinging to his skin. “I’m going to leave.Tonight.”Louis freezes, impaled.What?“I’m not coming back this time,” he continues. “I can’t come back.”Incredulous and a bit completely fucking shattered, Louis stares, moving his hand to brush histhumb over Harry’s lips, wanting to push the words back inside, keep them away from the world.He watches, heart rate increasing, as Harry’s eyelids flutter at the contact, his lips momentarilyturning to graze Louis’ palm; he watches the sweet press of his lids as they shut, watches Harryinhale his skin.He’s inhaling Louis’ skin.He’s breathing him.He’s relaxing, loosening, cells melting into Louis’ cells and his eyes are closed as he breathesLouis’ skin, grazing his face against the flesh of his fingers so gently, so reverently.And holy fuck, holy shit, fuck, shit, what, what?? Louis is going to die, is going to—But then he pulls away.Always pulls away.And he opens his eyes, revealing a blankened stare that doesn’t reach farther than the floor, beforeslipping out of Louis’ grasp and turning away.“No,” Louis says dumbly, finding his voice, because that’s all that he can say. He shakes his head,following Harry as he picks up the journal, the jumper, picks up another book. “No, you can’tleave. You can’t just leave. You’re in school, for fuck’s sake. This isn’t a fucking novel, Harry,you can’t run away.”“I don’t need school. You know that. I’ll be fine.” His voice is raspy, low. Quiet.

Louis doesn’t know how to respond.“You can’t leave.”Harry continues to move throughout the room, dropping item after item in each suitcase, anoccasional sniffle breaking the steady sounds of wind, flickering candle, and billowing curtains.A panicked desperation begins to drip cold down Louis’ scalp.“Harry—fucking—you can’t fucking—you can’t just leave, you can’t do that!”That goddamned heart shirt gets dropped in next, rumpling softly as it reaches the suitcase. Louistracks the movement with his eyes, palms cold.There’s a few more pangs of silence, of Louis watching Harry pack and feeling his heart crack,and then his pulse quickens. His heart beats harder, each thump vicious against his frail bones andshivered skin. It might crack him in half.“Take me with you,” Louis finds himself saying, desperate.He might be going insane.He says it before he understands it, but the minute the words fall into the room, he knows that hemeans them, means them more than he’s ever meant any other drivel he’s spewed in his entiretwenty-one years of existence, and he stands there, defiant, refusing to take the words back.And Harry freezes.“Take me with you” he repeats, stepping forwards, breathless. “I want to go with you.”He’s panicked, he’s blind.Slowly, Harry’s head turns, eyes wide, bright, careful.“Louis,” he drips slowly, drawing the name out into a song, “I can’t do that to you.”“Take me with you,” Louis says again, walking up to him and locking his gaze, and Harry looksdown, trapped, torn, and frayed.He tries to shake his head, but his eyes crawl to Louis’ eyes, settling there, and he stops, his browfurrowing.“That doesn’t make sense,” he whispers.“You make me want to not make sense,” Louis whispers back with a smile, and something shiftsin Harry’s eyes. Maybe a returned smile.Harry swallows, still staring, still caught. Almost dazed.“That doesn’t make sense, either.”Louis dares to smile wider. “Good. I should hate to make sense.”“’To be great is to be misunderstood,’” Harry quotes mindlessly, unblinkingly, lost.Louis’ ribs are cracking. He grins.

“So it’s decided, then?” he asks, and what is he saying? What is he asking? What is he doing?What about the rejection? What about Liam? What about what he did? What about Niall and Zaynand what about, what about, what about??He’s spinning out of control. But he can’t think about any of that, any of it, because he’sdrowning in right now and trapped by Harry’s eyes.At Louis’ words, Harry’s trace of a smile vanishes, leaving only darkness.“I could never do that to you,” he says, low. “I could never take you with me. You don’t deservethat. You deserve—“ His voice cracks, stops, a ripple of a grimace shadows his face. Louiswatches the lines of his throat as he swallows.“Then stay,” Louis insists, gripping his arm. “I won’t—I won’t kiss you again, all right? I won’t—I’m your friend, first and foremost, okay? I won’t and—and the lads will come around, Zayn willcome around. He’s just upset. He’s…”He falls silent as Harry shakes his head, his eyes intent on Louis’ lips. His breathing is harshthrough his nose. He remains perfectly still, face tense, chest heavy.Pinpricks of seconds pass by, Harry’s eyes still locked on Louis’ mouth, Louis’ mind whirring,and there they stand, alone together, surrounded by open suitcases and wind and flickeringcandles and a moon that’s begun to descend on the horizon.Louis’ mind is fucking whirring.“Why did you do it, Harry?” he needs to ask after a stretch of silence, voice in a whisper. Themood shifts immediately. “What did you give him? Why? What happened tonight?”Again, Harry grimaces, but he remains silent, eyes flicking away from his lips and up to Louis’eyes. The glassiness of his gaze intensifies, but the tears never fall.“Zayn’s my best mate,” he eventually says, cracked. He doesn’t answer the question. “They’re myonly mates. I don’t want to them to look at me like that again. I can’t stay here, not when Zaynlooks at me like that.”“Like what?”Harry’s voice comes out even quieter, weaker, face threatening to crumple. “He hates me, Louis.He hates me and I can’t stay here. I don’t want to.”Louis ignores the pang at that.He doesn’t want to stay? Even if Louis’ here?Louis couldn’t leave Harry if he tried.“I don’t hate you,” he says, pushing his thoughts away because no. This isn’t about his heart—thisis about Harry’s. “I don’t hate you at all—I just don’t understand you. You never let meunderstand you. I want—“ He stops himself, unsure of what he was about to say.The wind whistles low as it slides past the windowpanes.With a deep-set frown, Harry lifts his hand, cautiously, shakily, to Louis’ cheek. It’s electric,almost too much, as it touches Louis’ cheek, just barely. “You don’t deserve—“ he begins, eyes

softening, and the electricity turns into a fire.With hot, burning coals that ignite Louis’ insides, flare his temper.“Stop fucking telling me what I deserve!” he snaps, angry, exasperated, gripping onto Harry’swrist and securing it in place. Okay, maybe he will be a little bit selfish. He deserves to be. “Don’tjust leave your messes behind, Harry. Just don’t. We’ll sort it out. Both of us. Me and you.” AsHarry begins to shake his head, Louis growls, grips tighter to Harry’s wrist. “Yes. Just—just don’tleave this time, okay? Stay. Please. Please stay.”Harry regards him, eyes cloudy, hand limp against Louis’ cheek as he holds it up. Doubt reigns inhis features.“Please,” Louis says again, softer.Moments drag by, moments filled with the sound of Louis’ body thrashing in agony.Then finally, finally, Harry’s eyes clear the tiniest bit, his lips quirking down a bit more, and henods. Just once, quickly, but he nods, and Louis breathes as he releases Harry’s wrist, letting hishand fall back to his side.“Good,” he breathes, “good. Stay tonight, yeah? And lemme just—lemme talk to Zayn. I thinkhe’ll listen to me. If I just put some perspective into him…we can work on this, all right? I knowyou didn’t want to hurt Liam—““Never,” Harry interrupts, impassioned, pained, eyes wide and lost. “I would never want—I’dnever want that.” He swallows.Louis nods. “I know. And Zayn does, too. He does, deep down. He’s just upset right now. He’snot thinking clearly. I’ll talk to him.”With determination, he begins backing away, confidence pairing with the adrenaline in this body,the hysteria and the panic and over-abundance of emotions and sleep deprivation.“What—now?” Harry asks, brow furrowing. “I can’t ask you to do that, Louis.” His voice isdoubtful.“Let me talk to him. Stay here. I’ll be back, okay? Just let me talk to Zayn and I’ll be back.”Please don’t leave, is what he means.Harry doesn’t reply.“Please,” Louis says, pausing, because Harry isn’t agreeing anymore, is just standing there. Heneeds to agree. “Just stay, okay?”Another beat of silence from Harry.Louis’ heart is quivering, bruising.“For me.”At that, Harry starts.“Please stay for me.”More silence passes, more drags on.

Then. At last.“Tonight,” Harry promises, quiet, eyes locked within Louis’. “I’ll stay tonight.”Louis feels his chest expand.Thank god.It’s enough. It’s not everything…but it’s enough.He turns to leave as Harry watches him, eyes unblinking, face hard. He watches him, his curlsruffling in the wind, before he suddenly strides forward before Louis’ hand reaches the doorhandle.“Louis,” he says, quiet and loud at the same time, voice pitched in fear.Louis turns immediately.Harry stares at him, eyes scorching him alive.“I’m sorry,” he says, overwhelmed, frail. “I don’t know—you weren’t there tonight and I wasn’tsure if it was because—I don’t know if I—I didn’t mean to—“ he cuts off, swallowing, eyes wide.His hands clench at his sides. “Thank you. For coming tonight. For coming here.”Fuck.Louis’ insides soften.“I always come,” he says, lips twisting in a self-depreciating smile. “For you, at least.” He tries tosound wry, but he sounds hurt instead. He licks his lips.“I wasn’t sure if—“ Harry falls silent.His heart drags. Rejection, rejection, rejection.“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Louis says. He looks away, anywhere but at Harry. “Ishouldn’t have kissed you.”In his peripherals, he sees Harry stiffen.He swallows past it.“You need a friend,” he says, hollow, keeping his voice level. “And I respect that. I don’t knowwhat I expected, I just…” And he can’t help it, he looks to Harry, looks into his wide, wide greeneyes and pale, terrified face, his brows that are beginning to pinch, his lips whose fine, red lineswarp into a grimace. “I lost myself. Just, for a moment…” He breathes through his nose.Now is not the time, Louis. Now is not the time.But, of course, he ignores his rational thought, instead opting for doing what feels right, becausehe’s lost right now and he can’t think properly, he’s spinning out of control.“I thought… I thought, maybe, if you just knew how I…” He stops, once more unable to look atHarry, voice weak.Okay. Maybe he can’t do this after all.

He swallows.“I’ll never do that again,” he says instead and it hurts. Things are caving in. “I’ll never make youfeel that way again.”He still can’t look at Harry, but he hears him breathing, hears the harsh breaths through his noseand can see the shaking of his hands. But he can’t, can’t, can’t look at him.“I don’t…. I don’t want anything that you don’t want to give,” he continues, and he breathes,forces himself to look up. “And I won’t ask it of you.”God, this hurts.Harry stares at him, shiny and pink and agape, looking somewhere between confused andspeechless and terrified and he just stares at Louis, won’t stop staring.“Just please don’t leave. Okay? I’ll be back. I’ll be back and I’ll fix this,” Louis says in a rushbecause this is horrible, this is embarrassing, this is pathetic.He came here to find answers about Liam, because Liam’s hurt—really hurt—and instead he’smade a fucking fool of himself, thrown himself at Harry again and why?Why is he doing these things? Why can’t he stop? Why must he constantly find himself drowningin Harry and why can’t he think properly? He’s focusing on this drivel, this mess of emotionsseeping from his heart, instead of the things that matter.Or, maybe, these things do matter.He doesn’t know.What he does know is that he needs to get the fuck out of here.“I’ll be back,” he says, near frantic, one last time as he shuts the door, leaving Harry’s open mouthand wide, wet eyes.**It only occurred to him as he was about to leave the school gates that it wasn’t yet morning, wasstill mostly night.Cursing, he walked back to his flat. Maybe for a nap, maybe just for a cup of tea, maybe just to sitin silence for a bit. But he came back because Zayn’s still at the hospital, wanting to be alone,waiting for Liam’s parents, and Louis can’t talk to Harry right now.Not when he can’t fucking handle it. Not when he’s throwing up feelings and emotions and wordshe doesn’t understand. There are more important things happening right now.And besides—just how many times does Harry need to reject Louis before he gets the hint? (A lotof times, apparently.)He’s lost in thought when he opens the door to his flat, the sky still a navy sort of blue, the stars alittle weaker, the very faint peakings of the sun beginning to unleash upon the world.He’s lost when he flicks on the light, and so he doesn’t see the figure sitting at the table in thedark, doesn’t see the fingers that grip in blonde hair.

Instead, in his haste to collapse at the kitchen table and—maybe?—cry, he almost collapses onNiall.“Fuck’s sake!” he yips, jumping up as Niall starts. He collects himself, allows his thoughts toquiet, and then, heart warming, gasps out a, “Niall??!”But Niall doesn’t say anything.He just slides his hands down to his face and hides, and his skin is the hue of tears, is muddled andmoist and he’s dressed to the nines and completely undone and…And what’s happening?“Niall?” he asks again, tentative, taking in the boy before him who is…wrong. Just wrong.Niall is bright and alive and unaffected. Not…this.“What’s wrong, Ireland?” he asks, playing for casual, playing for light, but Niall just shakes hishead and—And Louis thinks he just heard a…quiet sob? Like. An actual sob?Panicked, alarmed, and very fucking upset—this might be more heartbreaking than Zayn’smeltdown—Louis just places his arm around his shoulders, grips him to his side, and instantlyNiall sinks into him, his shoulders shaking as he silently weeps.What’s wrong what’s wrong what’s wrong.Louis’ blood is humming. (Worst. Night. Ever.)They remain like that for some time, Louis keeping calm because he’s become a bit of an expert atdealing with tears, just holding Niall silently and trying to just take each moment as it comesbefore he explodes, and Niall shaking, occasionally emitting tiny, painful noises, and Louis justlistens because there’s nothing else he can do.Eventually, the noises quiet and the shakes lessen and Louis waits some more.“I fucked up,” is what Niall finally says, low and anguished.Louis’ heart breaks a bit as he takes a seat beside him.When he finally lowers his hands, his face is red and mottled, his hair askew with product and thetraces of his fingers, and his eyes are lost, crimson, and puffy. He looks broken. It makes Louisswallow.“What do you mean?” Louis asks softly, never releasing his grip on him.“I fucked up real bad, Lou,” he says, and his face begins to fall again, his eyes crumpling and no,no, no there’s just too much crying right now.Louis is so tired.“You heard what happened, yeah?” Niall continues, swallowing down the tears, breathing slowand shaky. He glances sidelong at Louis before looking away, folding his arms over his chest.“Tonight? With Liam?”“Yeah,” Louis nods sadly, tightens his hold around his shoulders. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here.

Mum drove me back.”Niall nods, breathing through his mouth, still assembling himself.“Good woman.”Louis half-smiles. “I guess. Could credit you for some of that.”Niall’s face falls that much more.“No. No, don’t do that.” His voice is strangled and fuck, this is all so wrong.“He’s going to be okay,” Louis assures gently. “Do you want to go? Zayn’s there right now.Liam’s parents are on their way if they haven’t arrived already—““Fuck, Lou, stop! Just stop, all right?” Niall says, pushing his chair away and breaking free,making to stand up. “I fuckin’…” He walks to the windows, shoulders tense.“You fuckin’ what?” Louis asks, confused. “What’s wrong, Niall? He’s gonna be okay—““I did it.”A drop of silence.“What?” Louis asks, confused. Because… “Did what?”“I gave it to him. I gave that shit to Liam. I took some, too.”Oh fuck.Oh shit.What?!“You gave—“ Louis starts, dead.“I don’t know, I just… We fuckin’ won—we won, Louis! We won every fuckin’ category and Iwas having the best fuckin’ time and I was getting all this recognition and these fuckin’ offers andshit and I just fuckin’…. I felt on top of the goddamn world, ya know?” He laughs, dry andempty, running his hands through his hair as he stares out the windows, at the awakening sky, hisback to Louis. “And Liam’s always up for it. So I gave him some and it just so happened that theshit he took was… It was bad, Lou. I fuckin’ gave it to him. And I should’ve stayed to see howhe’d react to it but I just left him and—“ He cuts off, and Louis can’t see his face.Louis can barely see anything, because there are spots in his eyes and his world has just beenfucking turned upside down.His blood beats in his ears.“Why didn’t you say anything?” Louis manages to ask in a brittle voice, eyes wide, and he staresat Niall’s back unblinkingly. His own thoughts are assaulting him.What what what.“I was scared,” Niall admits quietly after a moment. The cool blue of the fading night sky glowson his pallid skin, soaks into his tangled strands of hair. “I was scared shitless so I fuckin’ left.” Hehears him swallow. “I just left.” And his head droops.

Louis’ thoughts are on overload.He tries to absorb the information, tries to think of Rory and how he couldn’t find Niall, Zayn’sfury at Harry and—Harry.Fuck.“Why the fuck did you leave? Why the fuck didn’t you talk to Zayn?” Louis asks, standing up aswell, but he’s not mad. He can’t be mad right now when everything else is so strong and it’s leftno room for anything else. “Niall, that was such a shit move. You’re better than that. He could’vedied and you would’ve just hid??”“I know.”“Do you??”“Yeah, I fuckin’ do,” Niall says louder, turning around. His face is pained and marked in lines,ghostly illuminated. “I’m going to talk to Zayn.”“Good,” Louis says, walking up to him. “I’ll go with you. First thing in the morning.”“So. Like, an hour.”Louis nods. “Like an hour.”The air is tense.And Louis is still confused.“Harry told Zayn he did it,” he says, low and careful, watching Niall’s face.Niall blinks at that, surprise alighting his expression.“Wait, what?”“Harry said he did it. Zayn almost killed him. Was he there, or…?” Louis asks, and his heart ispicking up pace because things are slotting into uneven places in his mind, coming togetherjaggedly.“No, no he wasn’t there,” Niall says, taken. “He was off in the corner, moping about you.”Louis feels sick.“What?”“He was like that the whole night. Barely spoke to anyone. Just stared at his fuckin’ phone. Hewouldn’t even talk to Grimmy.”Oh god.“Then why did he…” Louis searches for answers. Comes up with nothing.Fuck.“I’ve got to talk to him.”“I’ve got to talk to him,” Niall says, bewildered, but Louis stops him as he makes to leave.

“No, please. Let me just—let me do this first. I need to talk to him on my own. First. Then, youcan?” Louis’ voice is hopeful, is teetering on the edge as he stares at Niall. His heart is racing.Niall nods.“Yeah, sure. That’s fine. Just. Just tell him I’m going to come clean to Zayn, yeah?”“Yeah, of course. I’ll text you when we’re finished? You can come over? Or, whatever.” Louiscan barely think. His heart just keeps beating so loudly.Niall nods. “Sounds good, yeah.”“Okay.”They stare at each other for a moment before Louis rushes forward, wraps Niall up in his arms in afierce embrace.For a moment, Niall is stunned, body stiff against Louis’ before he finally relaxes, wrapping warmarms around Louis’ body.“We’ll fix this, all right? It’s fucked up. It is. But we’ll be all right,” Louis says, voice muffled byNiall’s blazer.Niall nods.“It’s down to me, though, isn’t it? Gotta fix it on me own, Tommo. I fucked up, not you. Gotta tryand fix this. Well. Fix whatever can be fixed.” He releases Louis, expression dark. “Not sure howyou can fix something like this.”“Maybe fix isn’t the right word,” Louis says. “But we’ll work through it. All of us, yeah? Andwhen Liam wakes up, we’ll have a proper chat with him as well, yeah?”Niall nods, eyes still dark, before he attempts a smile.“Yeah. Now go on, get it. Go fetch your prince.”Louis smiles sadly.“No prince fetching, I’m afraid. ‘S not like that. He needs a mate, Niall.”And Niall actually smirks at that.“He needs you, is what he needs. Go on. Shoo. Go!” he laughs, and Louis hugs him once more,just briefly, before bounding out the door.**When he opens the door, he finds Harry at his desk, journal open.He’s staring down at it, hands in his lap, just staring.The click of the door as Louis closes it brings him back to life though, makes his head snap up andhis eyes brighten infinitesimally.And they stare at each other from across the room.

Louis, hand still on the door handle, jacket open.Harry, sat at his desk, the trickling of pink and purple sun framing the frizz of his curls, hisshoulders tiny and slouched.“You didn’t do it,” Louis says, beginning to walk slowly towards him. “You told Zayn you did it,but you didn’t do it.”Harry’s face changes, but he says nothing.So Louis continues.“Niall did. He’s at the flat now. He told me everything. He doesn’t know you took the blame, youknow. He had no clue! And he’s gonna fix it. As soon as the sun’s risen, he’s going to tell Zayn.”Harry bites his lip, still says nothing, following Louis with his eyes.Louis reaches the desk, his knees bumping against the cherry wood. He stares down at Harry, lost.So lost.“Why did you fucking do that? Didn’t you think Liam would tell the truth? Didn’t you think Niallwould say something? Why did you do that?!”“I told Zayn before we knew if Liam was going to be all right,” Harry says softly. He keepsstaring.“But Niall?”“I gave him an option.” Harry swallows, never blinks. “His career, Louis. He did so well tonight.He’s just a kid, he’s got the world before him. Something like this would ruin his life—““It’d ruin your life!” Louis interjects, but Harry stands, shaking his head.“Better me than him.”Louis stares.“Niall’s good. He’s a good person. And, like, he’s going to have a good life. He deserves that.But me? They expect it of me. It made sense, Louis. And I was going to tell Niall, I was, but—““But I got to him first,” Louis says, watching as Harry walks to him hesitantly. “And now he’sgoing to tell Zayn and Liam’s going to tell Zayn and—fuck, Harry, what were you thinking? Thiswas completely fucking unnecessary you stupid fucking martyr! It’s senseless! You fucking oaf!”And he wants to be angry, but he’s not, his voice almost hysterically relieved.“I’m sorry,” Harry says, voice carrying in the breeze.“Stop apologizing.”“I’m sorry.”“Fuck’s sake,” Louis sighs, but half-laughs, rubbing his eyes. He looks at Harry, takes in the tornboy before him, and he laughs once more, shaking his head because everything is so fucked up.“So that means you stay then,” is all he thinks to say. “For good.”Harry watches him closely.

“Perhaps.”“Not ‘perhaps’. Stay. Come on—there’s no reason for you to go anymore.”He’s silent, eerily silent, watching Louis. But then he nods eventually, just once, his eyes boringinto him.“Good,” Louis says, muscles relaxing.But Harry keeps staring. Why is he looking at him like that?“What did you mean before?” he suddenly asks, voice odd. He’s still staring at Louis, almostfiercely, his hands at his sides.Louis blinks, startled.“Before…?”“When you said you won’t ask it of me?”Oh.Well oh shit.Louis swallows, ducks his head, clears his throat.Shit.“Oh. Er. Well. I—““What did you mean when you said you didn’t know what you expected? When you said you lostyourself?”And Harry’s eyes fucking burn. And his voice is strange.Shit shit shit.“I just…” he begins, surveying the half-empty room, before his shoulders fall in an exhale. Tired,he looks up at Harry, looks in those wide, penetrating eyes that sear. “I care about you so much,”he admits quietly, openly, nakedly. His voice is weak under the strain of feeling he allows to seepforth. “So, so much. And you mean everything to me. Somehow, without me even really knowinghow, you mean everything to me. And it’s the little things and the big things and… And it’s sort ofquiet, you know? It’s sort of this quiet feeling that is just so fucking powerful and essential but soquiet that sometimes I forget it’s there almost? But then, sometimes, it just sort of washes over meand I… I lose myself, I guess. I forget that I’m not supposed to. I forget that I can’t. I forgetbecause all I’m aware of his how much I—“No.No no no.He can’t say it. He can’t do this to Harry.Not with you.He closes his mouth, sucks in a breath.

Harry’s eyes have widened—is that possible?—as they stare at him, his entire body in Louis’direction, focused on Louis, and he’s like a force of concentrated energy, ready to combust andchange the world. Like the moment before the Big Bang. Harry’s the Big Bang.Louis stares back though, tucks his hands in the sleeves of his jacket and holds on just to gripsomething, tries to breathe evenly even though he’s just spilled his innards and embarrassedhimself yet again, has lain himself out to dry, and he tries to sooth the tight muscles in his facebecause everything hurts and—“Say it.”Harry’s voice is soft, firm, raspy and catching in his throat.Louis starts at the words.“Wha—“ he begins, taken aback, clutching tighter to his sleeves.“Say it,” Harry repeats, and his eyelids flutter, eyes terrified but determined, set in the steel of hisface, his copper curls framing and cutting into the porcelain of his skin.“Say what?” Louis asks, breathless.What is he asking? Surely not…“Say it,” Harry says again, and takes a step forward. His eyes grow glassy, staring at Louis as ifhe were the only fucking thing in the world and fuck. “Please.” The last word is barely above awhisper.So Louis loses himself again.“I’m in love with you,” he says after a moment’s pause, all of the oxygen leaving the room. Andhe’s on fire, he’s on fucking fire, but he doesn’t look away from Harry’s eyes. “Duh,” he addsafter a moment, needing to lessen the pressure, needing to lighten the pounding tension, but itcomes out weak and frail and he can’t feel his face so he’s not completely sure he’s evenattempted a smile.He doesn’t know what he was expecting Harry to do.But he certainly was not expecting him to break into tears.In one swift tidal wave, Harry bursts, crying, crying, crying, burrowing his face in his hands, andfuck, no, Louis has had enough crying for the day.“Curly,” he says lightly, wants to laugh and feel lighter because he’s sick of being on fire, as hetakes a tentative step forward. “I—“ But he doesn’t know what to say.Harry just cries.But then. But then he suddenly tumbles forward and Louis catches him and Harry’s suddenlyclinging to him, clutching him to his chest and burying his face in Louis’ neck and he’s holdingonto Louis for dear life, just crying and grabbing and staying.And Louis’ shocked—really fucking shocked and confused—but he holds on, unsure if he’sbeing rejected or brushed aside or what, so he just holds.Then Harry finally lifts his head, little hiccups and sobs still escaping, and what is his expression?

It’s a mixture of relief and raw emotion and it’s a lot. It’s everything.But before Louis can touch a gentle hand to his cheek, before he can search his face, label it, giveit a name he’ll keep in his bones forever, Harry’s leaning forward with his red, open lips and wetcheeks and damp eyelashes and he—He kisses Louis.He’s absolutely kissing Louis, one hand in his hair, one hand clenched in his jacket, and he’s stillcrying and Louis is dying. Maybe already dead. It’s soft, alarmingly soft, and slow as the drip ofrain, fallen from wet leaves. Like he’s being careful, like he’s savoring, like he’s handlingsomething precious even though Louis feels as if he’s locked in marble. So opposite of their lastkiss, of their panicked desperation.Then Harry gasps for breath through his tears that, apparently, have kept flowing and he breaksoff before Louis can even begin to kiss back—and then he’s pressing a kiss to the corner of Louis’mouth and, yes, Louis is most certainly already dead.He can barely grasp the situation, can barely keep himself upright and Harry’s shuddering breathscollide with Louis’ cheeks as he presses wet kiss after wet kiss to his cheekbones, jaw, nose,forehead, temples, eyelids, the little space between his eyebrows, the bit between his lips and nose,his chin—he’s just kissing Louis, little wet, sweet dabs that are reverent and careful and sighingand crying and Louis’ face is moist with Harry’s tears and Harry’s kisses and it’s the most perfectfucking thing in the world, with the sun rising, the wind whipping through the windows andlicking his skin icy.“I thought,” Louis begins, tangling his hands in Harry’s hair and staring, just staring at Harry’spink cheeks and the way his eyelashes flutter with every press of his lips to Louis’ face. “I thoughtyou needed a friend?”Harry stops, pressing one last hiccup-y kiss to the space near Louis’ left ear, and he shakes hishead, his grip on Louis tightening.“I just need you,” he says, eyes finally meeting with Louis’. They’re shining. They’re fuckingshining and they’re brighter than the rising sun, more important than the rising sun, warmer thanall the suns in every stretch of the endless universe. They’re the collisions of stars and thesupernovas, the moons, and the nebulas and they’re everything. “I don’t know what I’m—I don’tknow anything,” he says, holding onto Louis, face alive. “I just need you. And you’re so muchmore—you’re so much. And I—““You left after I kissed you,” Louis says, bewildered, breathless, swirling his fingers againstHarry’s scalp, causing his eyelids to flutter like the broken wings of a moth. “You left and Ithought—““You’re more than that,” Harry says, impassioned, gripping, burning. His eyes are clearer, drier,his eyelashes still damp and sparkling under the dim lights and speckles of fresh, barely awokensunlight. “I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t. Not with you, Louis. You’re more.”Well.“You can, though,” Louis says, soft, bringing his hand to Harry’s face and brushing his thumbacross ever plane, every stretch of soft skin.Harry closes his eyes, leans into the contact, cherishes the touch.Louis is going to die.

“No,” Harry insists in a mumble, eyes still closed, his eyelashes catching on Louis’ fingertips. “Iwant to do it right, Louis. It’s different. You’re different.”“You’re different,” Louis says, just because he can, because he’s ready to be sick and he’s floatingand he might fucking burst. He’s grinning now, can feel his painful, brilliant, blinding grin andHarry’s lips quirk upwards, too. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You’ve restored my faith inhumanity, Curly. Just by existing.” He laughs, grinning, brushing fingers across Harry’s lipswhich smile wider at the feeling, his eyes intent on Louis, bright. It’s exhilarating. “Just becausesomeone like you exists… You made me fall in love with the world again.”Harry’s breath catches, just for a moment.But Louis feels it. Loves that he can feel it.“You gave me a world I didn’t know was there,” Harry whispers in response, stilling, staring atLouis so gently, so reverently, so adoringly.And oh, sweet fuck, what is air??Louis’ heart soars. It soars above treetops, on birds’ wings, and breaks through cloud clusters andchases the sun.“I’ll always give you everything,” Louis says, lightheaded, soaring, full.Is he high? Is this normal? Does emotion do this to people? He must be high.He’s so fucking happy.“I’ll always give you everything,” Harry mimics, sincerely, and they just stare, lost in each other,before Harry breaks out in a wide grin, glancing down at Louis’ lips shyly. “If you want,” he addsquietly.“I only want what you want to give, what’s good for you to give, and what I will give you inreturn. What I will never stop giving you,” Louis beams, leaning forward. And he kisses him,seeking the comfort of Harry’s satin mouth that parts eagerly. Because he can, because he finallycan and because this is okay. This is what Harry wants.He’s so. Fucking. Happy.“Never?” Harry giggles between kisses, his lips warm and red as apples. He giggles. The fuckergiggles and he dips in for another kiss, impossibly soft and impossibly perfect, slotted just right toLouis’ body and it clicks.They kiss like they’ve kissed for-fucking-ever and they align like a key in a lock and Louis is sofucking happy.He thinks he hears the world sigh.“Never,” he confirms, before they finally break apart, Harry warm and pink and clutching him,calmer and softer than he’s ever been.“Now,” he says, as Harry leans forward, presses his face gently to the side of Louis’ just because.Just nuzzles into him like a kitten and just breathes him in, just stays there. Louis can smell thesweetness of his curls, can hear his breathing in his ear. He grins even wider. Soaring. “We bestgo fetch Niall. Then go talk to Zayn.”

He feels Harry nod.“Together, yeah?” Louis whispers, pressing a kiss to his temple.He feels Harry’s smile before he sees it, before he raises his head, curls mussed. The smile’s adopey one, gleeful and almost sleepy, as if drunk.“Yeah,” Harry says, happily.And then Louis finds himself kissing him again, grip around him strong.**It goes better than Louis expected.By the time they arrive at the hospital, Liam’s awake and with his parents and Zayn has finallystopped pacing. He grins widely upon seeing Louis and Niall, faltering only slightly when he seesHarry.“I’ve got to talk to you, mate,” Niall says immediately, and Zayn rips his gaze away from Harry,focuses it to Niall who looks worn, save for his occasional sly grins and quick winks herelentlessly sends Louis’ way. (He was not oblivious to the way Harry snuck his hand into Louis’on the ride there. He was not oblivious and Louis absolutely did not give a fuck because he wasstill soaring, soaring higher, and he gripped Harry’s hand firmly and unbreakably, fingers laced.)Zayn nods, confused. “All right,” he says, and they walk off, Niall’s shoulders slouched.“At least he didn’t attack me, I suppose,” Harry mumbles, watching them walk away.“He wouldn’t do that,” Louis insists, poking his side, and when Harry looks to him, the cloudsclear. Louis smiles. “Besides, Niall’s going to set it straight.”Harry nods, catches Louis’ hand.“Can we see Liam soon?”“Yeah, ‘course,” Louis nods, sliding fingers together. “Shouldn’t be too long now, love.”Love.Oops.Too soon?But Harry beams at the name, pulls Louis closer by their linked hands and kisses him—open, free,young, beautiful, barriers gone.It’s, maybe, not appropriate, but Louis thinks Liam will probably approve.**“I have to go to rehab,” is the first thing Liam says when they finally get to see him. He’smortified, glum, weak, and pale. And that’s the first thing he says.Zayn sighs, shakes his head, but says nothing as he holds his hand from the bedside. He’dreturned from his talk with Niall only ten minutes prior, his face remarkably calmer than Louis hadanticipated.

“He told me everything,” he’d said, eyes finding Harry’s. “I’m sorry, mate.” He shrugged, a bitlost. “I’m sorry.”“You don’t have to apologize,” Harry said quietly, watching him. “There’s no reason to.”Despite everything, Zayn’s eyebrows rose, his lips forming into a smirk.“Oh, trust me. There’s plenty reason to be.”Harry just shrugged, averting his gaze.Louis squeezed his hand.“Where’s Niall?” he asked.Zayn sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.“He went back to your flat. He’s ashamed. Says he can’t face Liam.”Louis sighed.Of course.“Are you…happy about that?” he asked tentatively.Zayn shrugged, gaze falling to the floor.“Not really. I don’t…” He shrugged again. “I don’t blame him, I guess. Now that I know Liam’sgoing to be all right, I just want it all to be over. I can see straight now. Just want to move on. Nopoint in dwelling.”And then he looked up, half-smiled at Louis. “It’ll be all right.”Relief flooded the room.“Good,” Louis nodded. “It’s just an overall shit situation, really. But. Like you said. It’ll be allright.” He glanced over at Harry, only to find him staring at him, smiling softly. His heart lurched.“It’ll be all right,” he says again.And now Liam’s awake, they’re clustered in the room, and the first words out of his mouth areabout rehab.“I don’t care where you have to go, you tosser. You’re alive,” Louis blurts, hugging him gently.He always feels in danger of breaking people.Liam positively pouts.“This is horrible. This could ruin me.”“Babe, everybody goes to rehab. It’s not as much of a scandal as it used to be,” Zayn soothes.“It’s not going to set you back if you don’t let it.” He pauses, eyes serious. “And I think it willhelp.”Liam looks down.“Yeah. It probably will.” When he looks back up, his eyes are watery, his smile bumpy. He looksto Zayn, reaching for his hand, which Zayn easily offers. “I love you,” he says with a teary smile.

Zayn swallows, smiles beatifically.“I love you, too.”Louis watches, chest tight.Those are emotions he understands.He feels Harry shuffle that much closer to him.He understands.**When Liam begins falling asleep, they walk into the hall, including Zayn.“I want to talk to you,” he says to Harry, eyes full of apology, and Harry nods, casting a quicklook at Louis before following.Louis smiles, is about to flash a thumbs up, when his pocket vibrates.It’s Niall.‘U comin back soon? Feel like shit’Louis feels a slight pang—Niall’s the only one missing from here. Where he belongs. He mightmiss him.He taps his reply quickly.‘Yeah. Be there soon’‘wit harry?’Louis looks up from his phone, looks over to where Harry is, being released from Zayn’sembrace. He’s smiling, bright, sunny, and full, his eyes the color of sun sparkling on the surface ofa lake. His skin is warm, full of color. Slowly, he looks over to Louis, catches his eye. His smilewidens, his eyes brightening that much more.And Louis feels warm. Forever warm.When he goes to smile back, he realizes he’s been smiling the whole time.Flushed, he returns to his phone, tapping out a reply before sliding it in his back pocket andstriding over to Harry and Zayn, finding Harry’s hand as Zayn’s eyes flicker amusedly down tothe movement. Louis grins, Harry grins, and neither let go.‘Yeah. With Harry.’*THE END.(SORT OF)

Chapter End NotesTHERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE.:)And I will deal with Niall more in there, mmkur? I promise!THANK YOU ALL FOR READING AND BEING SO LOVELY ANDWONDERFUL. I adore you guys so much. You're too nice to me and you're sweetand your words are a constant source of beauty to me.

EpilogueChapter SummaryHarry loves Louis.Chapter NotesTARA AND J AND BECKS. YOU ARE ALL MY BRIGHT STARS. THANKYOU. I WILL POUR GOLD AT YOUR FEET AND LINE YOUR ROADSWITH FLOWERS. Honestly, you are all diamonds. Thank you for everything! Thisending would've been an erratic mess without you!

“No, Lou! No, that one’s too loud,” Harry chastises, his baritone verging on whiny. Oh dear lord.“Have you even been listening to a word I’ve said this whole day? Do you even care about today?You aren’t even trying to make this luncheon nice for Liam. You’re just—““Whoah, whoah, settle there, Curly, hold on,” Louis rushes, drowning out Harry’s pouts. With anexasperated sigh, he slides past him, setting the boxes on the table—careful to avoid the china andartfully folded napkins—before turning back around and stepping toe-to-toe with him,immediately cradling his lip-jutted face in his hands.So it’s going to be one of those kinds of days.“Harold,” he begins, feeling a smirk form, and Harry’s eyes fall to his mouth. “I know you wantto make this perfect for Liam—““He’s going to rehab, Louis. Of course it has to be perfect—“Louis silences him with his forefinger, pushes it against the cushion of his lips.“Be that as it may, it’s going to be perfect regardless of the flowers you choose to put on thetable.”Harry very nearly squawks at that, but Louis digs his finger in deeper, feels the ridges of Harry’steeth beneath his skin.“You’ve done a beautiful job, love. As you always do. And it’s going to be a wonderfulluncheon. Not just because of us five lads, but because you always manage to create quite thesetting—whether you’re aware of it or not. Now. Can you please just set the roses on the table, setthe lilies somewhere else, and help me unpack these five—very large, I might add—boxes thatI’ve generously hauled from the bakery? On foot? Because you asked me to? And I didn’tcomplain once?” With that, Louis extracts his finger from Harry’s lips, ready to begin pastrydistributionin as timely a fashion as possible because Zayn had said he’d be back with Liam anyminute.And that was an hour ago.But then suddenly Harry’s grin blazes into life and he’s catching Louis’ hand between his own,holding him in place.“You’re quite stunning,” he mumbles, pressing his lips into Louis’ palm. His eyes are lidded withaffection, sliding up to lock into Louis’. “Did you know?”Something pops in Louis’ heart. It spreads goo throughout his insides, might even leak to the floora bit, soaking the ancient floorboards.“I did,” Louis tries to say smugly, but his voice cracks and he’s almost positive his eyelashes arefluttering, his cheeks flushed. He has a traitor for a body. “But it’s always nice to be reminded.”Harry grins wider at that, swoops in for a kiss and pulls Louis to him, arm hooked around thesmall of his back.There’s goo everywhere. Goo stuck to Louis’ feet so he may never be able to move away fromHarry’s arms ever again.Oh well.“I shall remind you always, then,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ lips, his dimple skidding Louis’

thoughts in twelve different directions, all of them slobbering and love-stricken.“And this is why I love you,” Louis replies, body humming and warm in all the places it’sconnected to Harry’s.Another smile smoothes Harry’s face as he pulls away to look at Louis, gaze fuzzy and soft likehot summer air.Louis warms even more under the scrutiny, feels an insistent sort of pounding in his limbs becausefuck, Harry is just completely beautiful, isn’t he? And he’s looking at Louis like that—like Louisis the beautiful one.Fuck.But before Louis’ knees weaken (yes that can happen and yes that’s already happened—butnobody can prove anything so no, he doesn’t want to talk about it), Harry steps back, releasingLouis from his hold and walking over to the pastry boxes, the sparkly velvet of his blazercrystallizing the room.And Louis doesn’t feel a ping at that—he really doesn’t.He knows why Harry hasn’t said…it back yet. He knows that this is all still so new, so fresh andunchartered for him, that he’s only just following what feels right—and saying ‘I love you’ is aforeign concept entirely. It’s very understandable and, if asked, Louis could absolutely write anessay explaining the rationale in detail.Having said that.It’s still a bit…anticlimactic.But no matter.“We’ll have to give Rory a call,” Harry says, lifting the lids of the boxes and peering inside.“Rory?” Louis asks, surprised. He walks up to Harry’s back, tucks his chin onto his shoulder.“What for?”“To set up the pastries, of course.”Louis stares.“You can’t…put them on trays yourself?” he asks, eyebrow raised.Harry stares.“Are you being serious right now?” Louis continues, absolutely refusing to laugh, placing hishands on Harry’s hips as he peers up at him. “You set the damn table so why can’t you just—“He stops, taking in Harry’s bite of the lip and his overly—innocent expression as he averts hiseyes to the ceiling. “Harry,” he says, suspicion lowering his voice. “Did you set the table?”Harry clears his throat, glances at him. “Uhm. Technically?” A pause. “No.”Oh wow.Louis rubs at his eyes.“But,” Harry continues, peeling Louis’ hand away from his eyes. He turns to face him, forming

his words with a smile, “I did pick out the china myself! And the flowers. And the cutlery.”“Who set the table then, Harry?” Louis asks, exasperated. And, maybe, biting his cheek to fight asmile. Perhaps.A stubborn line forms on Harry’s lips as he stares, hands behind back.“Harry,” Louis warns, biting his cheek harder as the boy rocks back on his heels, a stray curlbouncing.“Rory,” he finally admits.“Rory??” Louis exclaims, immediately darting his hand to Harry’s side, pinching him delicately.Harry laughs, bright and surprised, immediately capturing Louis’ hand in his own, fingersclamped and unyielding.“Stop!” he giggles, but he doesn’t move away.“You’ve already dragged Rory here and made him set the fucking table? And you want to ringhim again?? What’s wrong with you??” Louis demands, but he’s laughing at Harry’s struggle tokeep Louis’ hands away, laughing at Harry’s laugh, laughing at the way the room glows andbows to Harry’s presence.Laughing because he is really, really fucking in love.“I was busy getting dressed,” Harry’s voice drags out in the time it would take any normal humanbeing to say three sentences. Slow and deliberate and oddly musical despite its monotony.With a shake of the head, Louis smiles.“What am I going to do with you,” he sighs, wishing he didn’t sound so damn fond all of the timeas he bops his nose into Harry’s cheek, arms wrapping around his waist.Harry leans into the feeling, slides his hands over Louis’ arms. He’s smiling.Always smiling.“Keep me,” Harry mumbles, resting his lips upon Louis’ forehead. “I’ve been told I make a ratherbeautiful accessory.”Beautiful accessory?Accessory?NOPE. No. No.Louis’ eyebrows pinch as he steps back; tilts Harry’s head to meet his gaze full on.“You’re not an accessory, Harry,” he says, feeling prickly and hearing his voice quiver, just theslightest.Which…okay, yeah. Louis is a bit over-sensitive when it comes to this sort of thing, is a bit tooquick to stomp out any hint at Harry’s worth being less than what it is. But damn it—he has areason to. Given their past, given Harry’s past, given everything, he has a reason to be sensitiveabout it, has a reason to enforce Harry’s true worth shamelessly and without fail. He has a reasonto pour every fiber of himself into the passion he gives Harry, charges it into his support, his

confidence.Harry blinks his surprise at Louis’ sudden reaction but listens, eyes skittering along the surface ofLouis’ face.“Whoever told you that is a fucking prick,” Louis continues, gripping onto him tighter. “That’s not—you’re not an accessory! You’re a person. An incredible person—one with his own mind andhis own actions and… And you’re not just there to look beautiful. Not even a little bit. ”Louis tries not to huff. He needs to settle down—his agitation always does get the best of him.There’s a moment where Harry just stares at him, his face largely unreadable. And then, slowly, asmile begins to form and he leans in, brushes his lips against Louis’ briefly, retrieving his hand andlocking it with his own.“Set up the pastries with me,” is all he says, his grin wide and soft, his voice softer. “And hold myhand.”Instantly Louis’ agitation evaporates, a smile seamlessly replacing his gritty frown. A smile that isquickly becoming stupidly big. Pushing into his cheeks. Almost painfully.“Won’t that make it a bit difficult? With your great big paw in mine?” he teases, but he tightens hishold on Harry’s fingers nonetheless.“No,” Harry responds simply, then grins even wider as he begins to fold back the wax paper.*It’s not long after the table is set—pastries carefully placed on dish sets and glinting trays—thatthere’s a tentative knock on the door.Curious, Louis opens it, only to find…Niall.“Why did you knock?” he asks, taken aback.Niall shrugs, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, his black shirt pushed up to his elbows.His sweet face is set in guilt, his eyes lightly shadowed.“Thought it’d be shitty to just barge in,” he says.Louis frowns.Ever since Liam’s overdose, Niall hasn’t been…Niall. He’s been cautious, quiet, tentative—hebarely even talks to Rory since he refuses to ask favors of anyone, is instead diligently locked inhis room doing homework every night before eight—at which point he goes to bed. Actually goesto bed. And sleeps. Before waking up to eat breakfast. Without even glancing at the piano, for fearof waking Louis.It’s sort of awful, really. Louis sort of hates it. A lot.“It’s not shitty. Not when it’s us and Zayn’s rooms,” Louis says, stepping back and gesturing forNiall to enter.He does, slowly, his hands still in his pockets.

“No whiskey?” Louis jokes, glancing to Harry who’s watching them with a sad tilt to his mouth.Niall shakes his head, taking in the place settings.“Didn’t think it was appropriate.” He pauses, shrugs. “Given the situation.”“Ah. Good call.” Louis tries to keep the frown out of his voice.“Glad you came,” Harry says, attempting a small smile.Niall does the same. “Thanks, mate. Glad to be here.”Silence.“Liam will be happy to see you,” Louis says, placing an arm around Niall’s shoulders. “Hemisses you.”“Can’t see why he would.”“Because you’re one of his best mates. And he loves you.”“Can’t see why he would,” he says again, and Louis swallows back the hoards of frustrations hefeels pushing against his throat.“Niall, it’s not your fault. Liam is equally to blame—he says so himself. Rather, he prefers to takethe full blame,” Louis says, maybe for the hundredth time, but as always, Niall shrugs him off.“Whatever. I just stopped by because I really wanted to see him before he leaves.”Louis sends another helpless look to Harry, who shakes his head with sympathetic eyes.“Well. I’m glad you came,” Louis sighs.Niall nods, but doesn’t say anything, just goes to the window and looks out, refusing to sit down.*By the time Zayn returns with Liam, the room has enough tension to launch a catapult and Louispractically leaps out of his chair with excitement at the sight of them.“Here’s the golden boy!” he roars, immediately barreling over and attacking Liam in an embrace,who giggles and blushes as he clings back.Zayn watches with a fond smile, eyes slit and sparkling, smelling like a freshly lit cigarette and thesun.“Sorry it took us a bit,” he says, eyes still on Liam. “We went for a walk.”“Wanted to enjoy my freedom while I still can,” Liam says sadly.And Zayn definitely rolls his eyes.“You’re not being locked in a dungeon, Li.”“How do you know that?” Liam asks, puppy eyes in full swing. “From the way my fathersounded…”

Zayn sighs, pulls him in to brush his lips across his cheek.“It’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it. If it’s anything less than what you want I’ll rip you out of theremyself and take you somewhere better—anywhere in the world.”Liam smiles, pleased and cooing.“I love you,” he simpers.“Love you, too,” Zayn replies, easy as air, before ushering him over to the table.They sit down, Liam immediately commenting on the beauty of the flowers—which almostknocks Harry off his feet with how hard he is positively preening—and everything feels so normaland familiar that it takes Louis a moment to notice that there is one chair that is still yetunoccupied.“Niall?” he enquires, turning around.He’s still at the window, hovering on the outskirts of the room awkwardly, his entire demeanorhesitant and cautious. His frown clashes with the light of his face, his summer blue eyes cloudy.Wrong wrong wrong.“Niall, have a seat, pull up a chair,” Louis says, smiling invitingly and sweeping his hand over thetable. “Don’t be shy.”Niall just bites his lip, doesn’t move a muscle.“Yes, please do,” Liam smiles, plucking the napkin off the table with one hand and gesturing tothe chair beside him with the other. “It feels like ages since I’ve seen you, mate. I miss you!”Liam’s face is wide, innocent, and smiling like the gleaming china before them.He probably has no idea that Niall’s been as fucked up as he has been over the entire ordeal. No—scratch that. He absolutely has no idea.“If you’re sure,” Niall says, low and quiet. Wrong.Liam tilts his head, his smile turning quizzical.“Of course I’m sure. Come on, then.”There’s a beat and then Niall smiles, walks over and takes a seat, smiling wider as Liam beams athim.“Thank you for coming,” Liam says sincerely.Niall’s positively shining now. “Thanks for having me, mate.”And maybe Zayn, Louis, and Harry are all watching the two with watery smiles. And maybe itgets the tiniest bit awkward when the other two boys turn to them, raising their eyebrows at thethree sets of eyes intently fawning.“Well, then,” Louis announces, clearing his throat and attempting to maintain composure. But hecan’t stop smiling because Niall is smiling—proper smiling—and this is the most normal it’s allfelt since everything happened. And fuck, his body feels oddly close to being emotional and fuck,why do his eyes keep doing that? Why is there moisture??

“Let us eat,” Harry finishes, brushing the back of his hand against Louis’ thigh comfortinglybeneath the table.Which doesn’t help Louis’ frail emotional state.“To Liam,” Harry announces, raising his champagne flute.Smiles flicker, eyes settle on a glowing Liam and his wide grin as each flute is raised, the soft,bubbling liquid sparkling under the lights.Sparkling against Harry’s smile.(Not that Louis would know. This is Liam’s moment. He’s paying attention to Liam. Liam.)“To Liam,” comes the chorus in response, and the tinkle of clinking glasses fills the room beforethey’re emptied and the pastries devoured.It all goes as smoothly and wonderfully as it always does, Louis notes with relief and happiness.Zayn and Liam are practically rotting with sweetness, always cooing and always brushing smilestogether. Harry’s making inane observations that he regards as brilliant while he grins and laughsand softens his gaze every time he looks at Louis, and Niall…Well.About twenty minutes in, Niall started shooting back pastries like shots, his laugh got a littlebrighter, he helped himself to more liquor, and by the forty minute marker, he was clapping Liamon the back and throwing his head back with laughter every time anybody talked—whether it wasfunny or not.“I’ve missed you cunts so fucking much,” he laughs, clapping his hands at Harry’s response of‘I’m going to make tea,’ when Liam had asked him how he was planning on spending hissummer.“We’ve missed you too, you fucker. Now, you gonna stop hiding out?” Louis asks, unable to stopsmiling as he takes in the boy before him. As he takes in Niall.His laughter dies a bit, a more serious sort of smile settling on his face as he considers thequestion. He rubs his fingers up and down his glass.“I mean. If you want me, you can have me. I just.” He shifts a bit, brings his bright gaze to Liam.“I’m really fuckin’ sorry about what happened, mate. I never meant—““Not at all, Niall,” Liam says immediately, completely unbothered. “It wasn’t your fault at all. Infact it’s…” He sighs, glances to Zayn. “It’s probably a blessing in disguise that it happened at all,really.” He lands a smooth hand on Niall’s shoulder. “Sometimes you’ve got to be woken up a bit,you know?”Niall nods, absorbing the words.“I woke you up, then?”“You did.”“Well, then.” Niall nods a bit, mostly to himself, before bursting into a grin. “You’re fuckingwelcome.”

And just like that, Liam laughs delighted as always, and Zayn smiles slightly and Harry giggles ashe tickles the end of his nose with one of the roses, and Louis feels the very cells of his bodywarming and reaching out to everything that he has come to know as home.**The year is crawling by, slowly reaching the end of the term.Louis spends most of his time in textbooks and Harry’s arms.“Sugar today?” Louis enquires as he prepares his tea.They’re wrapped up on the floor, leaning against the couch and surrounded by mounds ofembroidered pillows with tassels and thick, woven blankets that stick to their socks. A silver traysits near their knees, set with a gorgeous tea set that Harry claims was made specifically for him(and it’s so ostentatious and unnervingly charming that Louis doesn’t even doubt it). They pourcup after cup, the steaming liquid tickling their noses as Harry breezes through poetry books andLouis highlights playbooks.He’s the very portrait of contentment, leaning into Harry’s warm, solid chest that breathes softly,one of his hands absently brushing fingertips up and down along Louis’ arm, his other handpropping up Keats’ Endymion, silently mouthing the words to his favorite lines. Sometimes hislips will brush Louis’ ear when he leans in a bit or when he whispers his favorite words to him.Sometimes he just skims his lips across his hair and neck and temple just because, his eyes neverleaving the page. It’s perfect, it’s intoxicating, it’s a little bit distracting seeing as how Louis’ doinghis homework, but it’s abso-fucking-lutely perfect and Louis would rather roll in thorns than evermove from this very spot.Harry blinks lazily at the question, rips his gaze from a particularly long verse as he glances at thedish in Louis’ hand.“Of course not,” he rumbles musically, pressing a smile into Louis’ hair.Louis feels him breath him in, feels his deep inhale and it’s…Wonderful.“I will have nothing short of agave syrup,” he continues in a purr and Louis blinks, because thatwas not what he was expecting. After a pause and more of Harry nuzzling into the side of Louis’face, wrapping his hand that still holds his book gingerly around Louis’ chest, he adds, “It’s mynew thing.”Louis snorts his laughter.“Stop it, Styles,” he chuckles. “You’re ridiculous. We don’t have any Algonquin syrup orwhatever the fuck it’s called.”“Agave,” Harry corrects, and Louis feels his smile form against his neck. “And yes we do. Ibought tons of it. It’s in my rooms.”“Well, I’m not going to fetch it for you.”

“Have Niall get it.”“Niall’s not here. Obviously.”“Text him.”“Would you just shut up?” Louis laughs, twisting in his arms. He glares at Harry but his lipsdeceive him, propped up in a wide grin that probably spills all of his secrets and his mad adorationfor this charming, ridiculous, exhausting boy he’s found.Harry smirks.“Make me.”Louis doesn’t need to be told twice.Immediately, he lunges for him, snags Harry’s lips into a kiss that he presses into insistently, hisown smirk forming as he feels Harry jolt a bit, the book falling from his hands, his chestconstricting with a gasp. He smirks and he twists until they’re bumping hearts, Louis’ hands quickto find Harry’s hair and tug, just like Harry likes, and sending Harry through a small, delightful setof shivers and hums, his own hands delicately tracing the lines of Louis’ back.“The curves of your lips rewrite history,” Harry manages through stuttered breath, eyes glazed, asLouis drags his lips across his chin, up his jaw, presses his teeth gently into the cushion of Harry’searlobe.“That’s not Keats,” he mumbles, nosing his curls.“I know,” Harry says, voice altered an octave. His hands feel a bit shaky where they’ve come torest on Louis’ shoulders.“It’s Wilde,” Louis continues and Harry positively purrs at that.“It is,” Harry replies, almost in awe and his grip on Louis tightens as he lunges forward, slamminghis mouth against Louis’ insistently.Well then.Note to Self: Memorize every word Oscar Wilde has ever said and reference him always.The edges of his consciousness feel a bit hazy as Harry presses further in upon him, his sweetkisses and sighs and reverent hands drowning Louis and he can feel him, every part of him. Theirfeet knock the tea tray, rattling the china, and Louis feels the press of Harry’s fallen book digginginto his knee and the blankets are tightly swirled around their limbs but he doesn’t care, doesn’tfucking care, because Harry is breathless and beautiful and pliant against Louis and—And Harry pulls away, catching his breath the minute Louis fingers find his buttons.“I’m sorry,” he says amidst heavy breath, avoiding Louis’ eyes, cheeks splashed with rose hues.Louis blinks, startled, searching Harry’s expression as he finds himself, calms his pattering heartand heaving chest.“Did I—“ Louis begins, feeling a prickle of panic, but Harry immediately shakes his head, kissesLouis’ knuckles with red, wet lips.“No,” he crackles, voice low and dry. “No, I just.” He considers his words, presses another kiss to

“No,” he crackles, voice low and dry. “No, I just.” He considers his words, presses another kiss toLouis’ hand, holding his lips there as he thinks, breath slowing. “It’s different with you. I’m….”He swallows. “A bit.” He swallows again. “Scared. Like.”Oh god. Louis is going to erupt into fiery, shooting hearts.Why is this boy so sweet? Why is he everything Louis never dared hope for? Why is he Louis’and why is Louis so fucking lucky??“Oh, love,” he croons, petting Harry’s flushed cheeks. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I get it,yeah? No rush. Honestly, no rush.” He pauses, catches Harry’s eye. “I’m happy just to dance withyou.”Harry’s lips twitch.“The Beatles?”Louis grins.“I mean. How could I resist?”“My father’s worked with Paul McCartney.”Louis rolls his eyes, shoves playfully at Harry’s chest.“Oh, stop it. You posh kids and your popstar fathers. Just stop.” But he’s smiling and Harry looksrelieved, even more thankful, and just so utterly lovely. “Let’s finish my homework, yeah?” Louiscontinues, pressing one last kiss to Harry’s nose. “How about you read me this shit play and I’llread you some Keats. Deal? Then maybe I’ll want to rip out my hair a little less?”Harry chuckles, low and sweet and bumbling, mixing with the steam from the tea, settling inLouis’ lungs like the air.“Deal,” he agrees, pleased. He pauses, his eyes intent on Louis. “And. Thank you.”Louis quirks an eyebrow, plucking up Endymion.“For what?”The evening sun imbeds in Harry’s lashes as he blinks; his warm, creamy eyes fenced in fire.“For being you.”And Louis himself is probably fenced in fire now, but he plays it cool, just nods and shrugs andsmiles cheekily with a faux-innocent bat of his eyes.“What can I say?” he says sweetly, and Harry giggles and wraps himself back around him and therest of the night is spent amidst books and quiet words and a moon that ascends into the sky.**Harry still has his bad days.He has those days where his texts are short and uninspired. Where he doesn’t pounce on Louis the

minute he walks through the door, curls bouncing. Where he doesn’t follow him around and pethis arms and kiss his hands and play piano for him with a smile that dazzles even the cold, crackedfloorboards.Rather, he’ll be quiet, sunken, shaded.Louis hates it. It hurts him far more than he understands, worries him for reasons he can’tcomprehend.He just hates it.“I’ve found a place,” Harry says one day as they’re perusing the aisles of an antique shop. “Tolive.”The china on the shelf’s a bit dusty, the books are cracked and spotty, and the record player in thecorner is crackly and marked as the needle scratches along the grid. Harry insists this is whatheaven feels like and Louis admits to finding it rather charming—albeit begrudgingly and secretlybecause Harry’s smug enough as it is and no, he doesn’t always need to be victorious.“Yeah?” Louis asks, interest piqued as he admires a porcelain oil lamp. “You’re thinking aboutbuying it?”Harry’s silent, chews on his lip as he inspects a small, gilt music box; a Renaissance paintingwoven onto the top.“Already bought it.”Oh. Well. That’s surprising.“Is it near your father?” Louis asks, furrowing his brow.He already bought it? Really? Why doesn’t Louis know this?“Not really,” Harry says. He sets down the music box, though his eyes linger on it.(So of course Louis picks it up and tucks it behind his back the minute Harry looks away.)“It’s, uh. Near Doncaster,” Harry says, very lightly, very off-handedly.Which makes Louis stop in his tracks.“What?”His heart shits its pants.Harry swallows, his face the very portrait of anxiety.“I can change my mind.”“Change your—?”“It was stupid,” Harry continues in a rush, still not looking at Louis, making a beeline for the exit.“I’ll call up my—““Whoah, Curly, whooah,” Louis interjects, grabbing hold of Harry’s jacket. “No, not at all! No—it’s the very opposite of stupid! It’s fucking… It’s brilliant! Honestly.” He grins, trying to processit all because is Harry moving closer to him?

Is this real life?Louis beams, allowing the reality to sweep him up. “Fucking brilliant,” he says again, reachingfor Harry. Grinning like a madman, he grabs his face, pulls him in for an elated kiss that is mostlyhis teeth scraping against Harry’s lips.Harry smiles in response, eyes soft. Yet his own lips remain stiff, etched in anxiety. He nods, buthe looks altogether unsure, taking a step back.Still, Louis brushes it off because Harry is moving closer to him and he still needs to buy thismusic box pronto. So with one last kiss, he pats Harry’s bum, says a, “Now why don’t you waitoutside while I use the loo,” and watches as Harry nods and departs, his shoulders stiff, the tails ofhis coat flapping as he descends the stairs.With a smile, he walks to the counter, sets the golden box on the glass surface.The lady behind the counter smiles above her blue spectacles, her layers of jewelry bright underthe glow of the lamps.“Just this for you, dear?”Louis grins, nearly bouncing on his heels, as he slides his wallet from his back pocket.“Just this,” he smiles, so hard it hurts. .*Harry’s not himself for the rest of the day.Louis tells himself that it’s just in his imagination the way that Harry’s smile falters, the way hiseyes dart away as quickly as they come, that he doesn’t hold Louis’ hand as often as he normallydoes. But by the end of the day, when they’re leaving to meet the lads at the restaurant for dinnerand Harry grumbles out that he’d rather just stay back and have some alone time, Louis admitsdefeat.“Okay, what’s wrong?” he sighs, immediately closing the door. Because nope, he certainly isn’tgoing anywhere without Harry, not in this state.Harry doesn’t say anything though, just stalks to his room.Louis might roll his eyes.“Curly,” he calls, irked, as he follows him. “Don’t avoid the situation. It’s written clear all overyour face. What’s wrong.”“Nothing,” he lies, sitting down at his piano. His hands make no movement to play as he staresdown at the keys.With a great sigh, Louis nudges him over, plops down on the bench beside him. With a patientsmile, he takes Harry’s hands, wraps them in his own. Harry’s skin is always so cold. So delicateand pale and porcelain against Louis’ fiery paws.“What’s wrong?” he asks again, gentler, his thumbs brushing against Harry’s knuckles inrepetitive swoops.There’s a heavy pause, one in which Harry’s eyes just watch Louis’ thumbs.

“It’s about the flat, isn’t it?” Louis offers, searching Harry’s downcast face. “You regret buyingit.”Harry doesn’t speak.Louis’ insides wilt.“You don’t want to live that close to me and my family,” he concludes flatly. He tries to keep itout of his voice, tries to keep his feelings separate from this, but…But he’s Louis, so he can’t.“No, that’s not it at all,” Harry immediately rushes, eyes snapping up to Louis’, imploring andwide. “Not at all,” he emphasizes, and squeezes Louis’ hands.His insides wilt a bit slower.“Well, then,” Louis says gently, bumping his head against Harry’s shoulder and causing him tosmile, if only briefly. “What is it?”Harry swallows.“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”And oh. He’s wilting again.But Louis maintains his features, just swallows delicately.“Why not?”“Because then it’s…” Harry trails off, turns his head to look out the window, eyebrows furrowed.“It feels a bit more, like, serious then? More… Permanent. I don’t know.”Ouch. Is that a spear that’s just been driven into Louis’ heart?Oh, no. That’s Harry Styles.“And that’s not what you want,” Louis finishes, voice breaking.Shit.Shit shit shit.“No, I do,” Harry says quietly, still staring out at the window, his brows un-furrowing. “I do,” herepeats gently. “But it’s not what I want for you.”Oh, for Christ’s sake.He can breathe again.“All right, Harold Curly Styles, or whatever your name is. You listen to me,” Louis says, hisshoulders relaxing. His grip on Harry’s hands tighten as Harry looks to him, his lips twitching atthe name. “You need to just stop that, all right? Stop doing that thing you do—where you decidethings for me? Yes. That thing. Stop it. I love you. A lot. Probably too much, actually. And do Iplan to stop loving you any time soon? No. Do I plan to stop loving you ever? No. So do you seethe situation now? Do you understand why it’s terribly inconvenient of you to always fight against

us? I’m unrelenting and I’m stubborn and I always win, Harry, I do. So let me love you, you greatbig oaf, and come live next to me so I can be clingy and needy and kiss you every day, okay?” Hefinishes with a smile, tugs Harry closer to him and pecks a kiss to his cheek. Harry giggles a bitlike the little gumdrop he is, glancing downward, shy. Louis tilts his face back up with hisforefinger. “Okay?” he repeats softly with a smile.Harry smiles, allows himself to relax as he gazes at Louis.“’M not used to this,” he mumbles after a moment. “I’m afraid I’m, like, doing it wrong.”Louis laughs, just a bit, under his breath.“Does it feel right? What you’re doing?”Harry shrugs, eyes still caught on Louis.“Yeah. I guess, yeah.”“Then you’re doing it right.”“That simple?” Harry asks, looking so small and beautiful and small as he sighs and curls intoLouis, resting his head upon his shoulder.Louis warms, wraps his arms around his long, lithe body.“That simple,” he promises into his hair.A sweet moment of silence follows, their breath filling the space of the room.“So you’re moving,” Louis continues eventually. He’s smiling through the words, smiling becauseHarry is growing, because things are just good right now. “Officially. Away from your father.”He feels Harry nod.A pause.Harry plays with a hole in Louis’ cardigan.Louis pecks the top of his head with a kiss. “I’m proud of you. Like, I’m always proud of you, butright now? I’m even more proud of you. You’re doing the right thing, Harry. And I know it’s noteasy.”He feels Harry swallow.“Thank you,” his voice says, small.“We can visit him a lot, you know,” Louis says, beginning to slide his fingers across Harry’sscalp, catching the curls. “As much as you like.”At that, Harry stirs, lifts his head to look at Louis.“We can?” he asks, surprised. “You—you want to meet my father?”Louis smiles, soft, so soft. “Of course. I want to meet him lots of times.”Harry positively beams.

“And you’ll visit him with me? Honestly?”“Honestly.”Harry’s grin is enough to power the entire the world into the next Golden Age.He nuzzles back into Louis, smile still present, the very last of the tension leaving his body.“Thank you, thank you,” he sighs, wrapping his ankles around Louis’.“Always welcome, Curly,” Louis replies. And then he remembers. “Oh, by the way. I have apresent for you.”Without another word, he disentangles himself from Harry, walks over to his back in the otherroom and carefully removes the music box.He’s already smiling.“Present?” he hears Harry inquiring from the other room, and he hears his eager footsteps comingto meet him, which only makes Louis laugh.“You were supposed to stay in there so I could present it to you properly,” Louis laughs as Harrypractically bounces up to him, a curl falling in his eye.His face is youthful and bright, unabashedly eager.“How could I possibly stay when there’s the promise of presents??” Harry asks, ecstatic. “J’adoreles cadeaux.”“Er, oui. Je m’appelle Louis. Comme ci comme ca. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir,” hesupplies uselessly and Harry laughs.“Do you even know what you’re saying?” he chuckles, gaze skittering over Louis in search of his‘cadeau’. Or, as Louis likes to say: present.“Of course. I said my name and other such important things. I’m very fluent in all languages. I’mlike Dumbledore. Anyway,” Louis continues as Harry laughs again, pawing at Louis’ chest. “Hereyou go, you big puppy.”Without another word he procures the golden music box, its carvings glinting and catching thelight.Harry’s eyes widen, his mouth opening in surprise.“How did you know—“ he begins, but Louis narrows his eyes.“I was with you, you idiot! This afternoon!”“No, I know, but. How did you know I wanted it? Like, I never said anything or…” He takes thebox carefully in his hands, glides his fingers across its surface appraisingly before raising hissaucer eyes to Louis. “How did you know?”Uh.Louis shrugs, the tiniest bit embarrassed.“I dunno. I just…could tell? You’re a bit obvious, Curly. I don’t know. Easy to read, I guess.”

At that, Harry smiles wider, before his eyes flick down to the box, opening it carefully and fillingthe room with its tinkling song.“It’s perfect,” he says, his baritone echoing off the delicate notes. “Thank you, Louis. Thank youso much.” He’s beaming now, beaming so wide and Louis is beaming right back.Louis really loves Harry.“Well, c’mon then,” Louis says eventually, after Harry’s pressed enough simpering kisses to hisface and cooed and played the song over and over and over (it’s not annoying, nope, it’s not).“Let’s go grab some dinner with the other idiots. Zayn’s been so stroppy ever since Liam’s left. Ican only imagine what Niall’s putting up with.”Harry cocks an eyebrow, tucking the music box beneath his arm.“Knowing Niall, Zayn’s probably piss drunk and in love with the world. Not even the harsh windthat is Zayn Malik can resist the eternal sunshine that is Niall Horan,” he says, donning a hat witha large blossom tucked in the ribbon.“Poetic,” Louis comments with a half-smile, then glances down at the music box as he makes toopen the door. “Surely you’re not bringing that with you?”“Of course I am,” Harry comments, offended at the very idea that he wouldn’t. “It’s my newthing. And don’t call me ‘Shirley.’” He grins like he’s clever and Louis fights a laugh because hewishes Harry wasn’t able to pull stupid shit like that off.That boy.“Right. Well, sir. Off we go?” he says, offering his arm.Harry grins, tipping back his hat, hoisting up his music box.“Off we go,” he agrees, taking Louis arm.**It’s nearing the end of term so, naturally, there’s a school banquet.It’s held at some posh hotel of some sort—Louis never caught the name as it just sounds like abunch of consonants shoved together whenever somebody repeats it to him—and it’s everythingthat the university is: beautiful, tasteful, intimidating…and a bit stuffy.But there’s free food and free drinks and it’s pleasant enough, chatting with professors andlaughing at clever jokes, even if Louis does feel a bit out of his realm.Niall’s having a grand old time, slinging back whiskey and surrounded by a group of whitehaired,pink-cheeked jolly looking men wearing pocket watches, and Louis can’t tell who’slaughing loudest, their boisterous baritones overlapping each other and speaking a language Louiscan’t be bothered to decipher.

Liam is with a small group of the stuffiest professors—and the most intimidating—but he seems tobe holding up well. His stint in rehab was shortened miraculously (oh, the things money can do)so he was able to come back in time for this, as well as his final exams and the last edition of theschool newspaper. Convenient. But he’s happy, having said his time in rehab was both useful andinspiring, and is happily drinking lemon water while he rubs elbows with The Powerful andlaughs cleanly at all of their jokes.Not too much farther is Zayn. Who currently looks so very bored that Louis has to stifle hislaughter into his glass. He’s surrounded by a throng of girls, eager for his face and name, theoccasional professor stopping by to schmooze; having a father as the chancellor of a schoolabsolutely has its perks in the form of good grades and favoritism, and absolutely has its downfallwith unwanted attention and empty praise.Still, Louis wants to laugh. Zayn genuinely may fall asleep standing up. Or perhaps punch himselfin the face.Briefly, he meets his eye, winks, and Zayn’s lips quirk just barely before he goes back to staring atthe wall, nodding absently to the girl beside him who’s chatting a mile a minute.And then, of course, there’s Harry.Harry, who is standing in the middle of a circle of immaculately dressed students and professorsalike, delighting everybody with his wiles and charms, lighting the room with his glimmering eyesand poison-apple smiles. He drops compliments like rain and warms to everybody’s praise and hejust… Well. He loves the attention. He does. He loves it and it loves him and it’s all a bitfascinating to Louis.Then again, everything about Harry is fascinating to Louis.He watches for a bit longer (he’s decidedly avoiding conversation at the moment, his pleasantriesand small talk having reached their limit) before he finally grabs two glasses of champagne andbegins walking towards the sun and all the planets in its orbit.Careful to avoid spilling, he slithers through the group, ignores the pointed stares and glares andhisses as he makes his way closer to Harry.“… I just enjoy a bit of piano,” he hears Harry saying as he finally breaches the circle. “It shouldalways be played while learning any subject. Even the tedious ones like Maths are enlightened bya little Chopin.”Louis rolls his eyes, taking his place at Harry’s side.“I enjoy a bit of Adele, myself,” he says as all eyes turn to him, resisting the urge to glare at theblonde creature that is standing much too close to Harry, with much too enraptured eyes. “But, yaknow. That’s just me.”Immediately, Harry spins around, eyes brightening the second they find Louis.“Darling,” he greets, overrun with joy. With the grace of a swan (a rarity with Harry, but he doeshave his moments) he clasps Louis’ hand and brings it to his lips, bowing ever so slightly. “I knewI felt something beautiful stirring up the dust. Hello.” Harry smiles down at him as he straightens,never releasing Louis’ hand, completely unfazed by their onlookers—some of which are currentlybearing fangs.Hah. Oh well.

“Hey, you,” Louis breathes, nudging Harry with his hip that much more. “I see you’ve capturedall the guests?”Harry’s eyes glint.“On the contrary, my love, they seem to have captured me.”The gaggle practically glows at the comment, Louis practically snorts.“I’m sure,” he says with a smirk, before turning back to the group at large. “So. What are wediscussing? Nothing pretentious, I hope?”“Never that,” Harry says, grin still large, never taking his eyes off of Louis.“Perfect, Harold. Just what I like to hear,” Louis replies with approval, feeling Harry’s grip on himtighten that much more.Together, they paint the room in conversation, paint the sour faces sweet and though, no, Louiscan’t quite say that he loves the attention like Harry does, he cannot deny that here, alongsideHarry, it somehow feels right to share it.So, sentences intertwining and smiles matching, they spend the rest of the night at each other’sside. Louis swears everybody watches them, that nobody can take their eyes off of them, and itsends a strange sort of thrill through him, a strange sort of pride.Because it’s not just ‘There’s Harry Styles’ anymore.It’s ‘There’s Harry Styles and his boy’ and it spikes through Louis and makes him smile that muchwider because he never, ever wants to be anywhere else.*When they decide to walk back to Harry’s rooms after the party, drunk off champagne, it seemslike a good idea.“We want to walk!” they said, when Zayn offered his car. “We want to savor the moment!”And it’s certainly savory, what with the way the moon hangs low in the sky and blanks everythingin a glow, with the way the alcohol sings pleasantly in their veins as they walk on slick, rain-freshpavement.The night is warm and damp. It feels like Harry’s breath.“Let’s dance,” he says, extending his hand. “I want to dance, Lou.”Louis doesn’t hesitate to grasp the proffered fingers, glinting like pale marble against the velvet ofthe night, and laughs as he’s yanked close to Harry’s body, his arms jerked upward in well-trainedpose.They ballroom dance in the street—no fear of cars, no fear at all—and Harry twirls Louis. Hetwirls him until he’s dizzy with motion and drink and laughter and the stars swirl as he gazes up atthem.“’Put out the torches,’” Harry suddenly quotes, staring upward as well once they finally stop toregain their balance, stumbling where they stand. “’Hide the moon. Hide the stars.’”“Wilde?” Louis offers, though it’s not really a question anymore.

“Wilde?” Louis offers, though it’s not really a question anymore.Harry just smiles.They continue to stare up at the sky, Louis still dizzy, still a little out of breath.“Hey, Louis Tomlinson," Harry suddenly asks, splitting the calm.“Yeah?”A beat of silence.“Wanna race?”A smirk twitches Louis’ lips.“Where to?”“That bridge.” Harry points, his eyes mischievous.Louis grins once before sprinting away in a frenzy, not even bothering to reply.“That’s cheating!” he hears Harry laugh from behind him, but he doesn’t stop, just runs and runs,as fast as his polished oxfords will carry him.Louis wins, of course.He reaches the bridge long before Harry does (he thinks Harry might’ve fallen down at somepoint, but he doesn’t comment on the mud that streaks his slacks) and pummels his chest invictory, Harry laughing hysterically as he reaches him, watching him in glistening delight.“I win,” Harry sing-songs teasingly, and Louis lunges for him, but he darts away too quickly.The air is cold as Louis sucks it into his lungs, as he bends over to catch his breath, hands proppedon his knees.“Hey, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says again, a giggle dancing on the edge of his words.Louis fights the urge to roll his eyes.“Yeah?”“Want to know a secret?”He looks up at Harry who is currently grinning like a fool, eyes outshining the stars.“All right.”Harry grins wider at that, beckons Louis forward with his finger.“Really?” Louis sighs, but he’s smiling, is already walking towards him. “We’re completely alone.You can’t just tell me?”“It’s a secret,” Harry insists, but his grin is still growing, his skin flushed with inebriation and hisexpression bright with youth.“All right then. Lay it on me,” Louis replies in faux-exasperation, settling hands on his hipsimpatiently.

Harry beams, pulls Louis in by the back of the neck and presses his mouth against Louis’ ear.“The moon knows,” is what he says, breath colored in liquor and a smile.Louis stares at him.“What are you talking about?”Another manic grin from Harry, and then he pulls him in again, his hand travelling to the side ofLouis’ face, cradling his cheek.“The moon knows that we’re in love.”And Louis pauses at that, his entire body and physical processes pause, because Harry has neversaid he loves Louis. He’s implied it, his eyes have whispered it, but he’s never said it and…did hejust, sort of, maybe say it?“Wha—“ he begins, dizzy, his veins filling, but Harry steps even closer, continues to whispereven lower.“I’m in love with you, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says, curls the words in Louis’ ear, and whenLouis pulls back to look at him, his gaze is dazed and soft, grinning with freedom and therecklessness of inebriation. Fond. “And this belongs to you,” he continues in his low, rumblingvolume as he places Louis’ hand over his heart and presses it there, holds it there with his coolfingers clasped around Louis’ wrist. “It’s yours, and yours to keep, and nobody deserves to knowbecause nobody else matters.”Louis thinks he might die, standing here with the perspiration layering his skin like a delicate film,the gaze of the heavens alighting his limbs as he feels the beat of Harry’s thumping heart beneathhis fingers.Harry’s gaze burns into him like white fire.And breathing is currently hard, near impossible, but Louis defies reality and smiles, steppingcloser and exhaling through a breathy whisper, “Hey, Harry Styles?”And Harry breaks into a wider grin, shuffles closer still, whispers, “What?”There’s a delicate, moon-laden moment where they’re just pressed against each other, lost in eachothers’ gazes, surrounded by endless night and endless sky and slick roads. Louis would hate towax cliché but… time might have actually fucking stopped. In the most delicious way.But then Louis’ lips twitch and he’s taking a step back, breaking free of Harry’s clutch and liftshimself on his tippy toes, throwing his head back to the sky.“I LOVE YOU, TOO!” he shouts, throws the words from his chest, arms flung wide. “I LOVEYOU, HARRY EDWARD STYLES!”And, nope, Louis never ever thought he’d be the type to drunkenly screech his love to thesleeping world but here he is and here they are and when Harry’s face bursts into life and colorlike a newborn star, Louis knows that he never wants to stop being this person.“I LOVE YOU!” he screams again, just to watch the jade of Harry’s eyes dance, and he’sbreathless and elated and everything feels endless.“What are you doing?” Harry giggles, glancing brightly between Louis and the sky as he tumbles

over, grabbing for Louis’ hands, his shirt, his face.“I’m filling up the sky with my love for you,” Louis says simply, catching his breath with a shrug.“So whenever you look up, it echoes back.”“No matter where I am?” Harry asks, his smile softening as he nuzzles gently into his cheek,breathing him in, nose brushing his jawline and sending cascades of shivers down his spine.“No matter where you are,” Louis affirms. “There’s only one sky.”“We all share the same sky,” Harry agrees. He pauses, skimming fingertips across Louis’collarbones. “But I should always like to hear you say it,” Harry whispers, almost tentatively. “Notan echo. I want you beside me under every sky. Always.”Things are sizzling inside Louis, snapping and stealing his breath.“Will always be beside you, Harry,” Louis murmurs, cradling his face. “The sky’s just the backingtrack, of course.” He smiles.Harry glows.“Of course,” agrees.They stay there a moment longer, Louis pulling Harry down to brush cool lips against his own,losing himself in the sensation of everything Harry, everything exquisite. He allows him to stealhis breath—through the warmth of his mouth and the cadence of his lips that slide so sweetlyagainst Louis’ own.A perfect match.“Let’s go home,” Louis eventually says, pulling back to watch Harry’s eyes refocus.He nods, face glazed in a soft smile that blends with the muted lights and the glinting shopwindows and the flickering streetlamps that stand so tall all around them.“Let us,” he agrees, before suddenly grinning—rather manically—and throwing his head back, hischest filling. “I LOVE LOUIS TOMLINSON!” he bellows, far more impressively than Louis (hesounds like an absolute Titan, his voice akin to thunder) and closing his eyes blissfully beforedropping his head back down, his kissed lips very pleased with themselves.“What was that for?” Louis laughs, surprised.Harry opens his eyes.“Because I love you,” he smiles slow. “And because I want a backing track, too.” His grin islopsided.“Come on, you idiot,” Louis laughs, refusing to give into the flush of his skin as he pulls Harryalong, stumbling over his clicking, sleek boots.And as they walk, fingers laced with fingers and the clicks of their heels synching together as theylaugh, laugh, laugh, Louis swears he can hear their voices mingled in the sky, dancing betweenthe stars.**

**They’re going home tomorrow.The term has ended, Louis’ marks are near perfect (Harry credits it to himself, Louis swats at him)and Niall’s already booking them hotels for all the vacations he demands they take.“We’ll only be apart for two weeks before you whisk me away to Greece?” Louis laughed,incredulous.“Two weeks is a long time, Tommo!” Niall said indignantly, but he winked, flinging an armaround his shoulders. “I’m tellin’ ya, mate. You’ll fuckin’ love it there. It’s incredible. Mostbeautiful place I’ve ever seen.”“Well, I’m not going.”“And why the fuck not?”“I don’t have the money to—““All right, go and piss that excuse out your arsehole. I’m bringing you and can either go with it orput up a fuss, but you’re coming Tommo and that’s that.”Louis glared at him, refusing to feel gratitude because no, he did not agree to this.“You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you.”“Nah. I’m not little. I’m a bossy giant,” Niall winked and Louis huffed, folding his arms over hischest. “But come, yeah? Please? I’ve booked everything and I’ll need my best mates there.”Louis perked.“Oh? Everybody else is going?”“’Course.”Instantly, he beamed.“Well, why didn’t you say so! I’ll be glad to come!”And Niall laughed, shaking his head, departing from Louis’ side to pick up his guitar.“Wanker.”Louis blew a kiss.“Love you,” he sang.“Love you more,” Niall boomed, before banging on the guitar.So, really, Louis doesn’t have anything to worry about. He’ll see the lads often enough—probablywill end up seeing Niall all the time, given that he’s his mum’s new best friend—and he’ll havequality time with his family and Stan for the first time in forever. It’s basically an ideal situation.Except for one thing.

And it comes in the form of curls, sinful lips, and sparkly giggles.Because, yeah, Harry will be moving into his flat sometime during the summer and yes, he will bea ten minute drive away but…But.But the thing is, is that this place, this university, this town has become something special to Louis.Has almost become synonymous with Harry. And taking them away from it, taking them awayfrom Harry’s rooms and his and Niall’s flat and taking them away from all of their memories andtheir moments and their haunts just seems terribly upsetting to Louis. It almost seems terrifying,even.Because what if he and Harry don’t work in the real world? What if they only work when they’reamidst ancient stone walls and heavy oak doors and yellow-paged books and nooks and crannies?What if the world sweeps Harry away and what if Harry hates Louis’ family and Louis’ familyhates Harry and what if they grow apart and what if Harry forgets about him and what if??Louis feels too much.So it comes as no surprise that, on their last night together, Louis practically suctions himself toHarry. He moulds himself to his body, kissing every reachable part of him every other minute asthe candles flicker, the windows open and ushering in soft breezes that carry the light perfume ofbaby blossoms.Harry’s things are packed in chests and suitcases all around them, the shelves empty and barren,the Persian rugs rolled up and leaning against the cold, blackened fireplace. The china’s wrappedand put away and the desk’s drawers are empty and the piano’s even covered with a billowingwhite sheet. It’s all so final, so empty, so…terrifying.They’re supposed to be doing something, packing a bit more perhaps. Maybe doing somethinggrand and fun? But instead they’re just lying together on the floor in a pile of interwoven limbs, allof the lights off save for Harry’s scented candles, as they stare up at the night sky through the openwindows, Harry’s records playing softly in the background.They can barely bring themselves to speak, everything feeling just a bit too fragile and precariousand inexplicably painful. They just lie there and touch, existing together.Until Louis breaks the silence.“I’m going to miss you every second I’m not with you. I hope you know that,” he whispersagainst Harry’s cheek. He bites back the wave of sadness that threatens to do something terriblelike fill his eyes, so he closes them, just pulls Harry closer by his silky white shirt. “You haveruined me, Harry Styles. Ruined me and made me one of those clingy things. Do you findyourself very cruel for ruining me this way?” His words are teasing yet there’s the underlyingstench of sincerity there and Louis just swallows because he can’t act this away, can’t pretendthat’s he not just the tiniest bit depressed about it all.Harry’s response is to turn his head, brushing his lips against the bridge between Louis’ eyebrows.“I find that you are the cruel one in this, Louis Tomlinson,” he mumbles, voice cracked likeparchment.Louis feels him swallow and he dares to open his eyes, meets with Harry’s gaze that is wet,mournfully sweet and delicate as he watches Louis with all the careful reverence of a dream.

He scrunches his brows inquisitively as Harry continues to stare before the latter sighs, eyes fallingto Louis’ lips.“You are impossibly cruel, Louis,” Harry whispers, turning his body to face him so that they arenose-to-nose, heart-to-heart. Louis’ entire body is thrumming with too many emotions and toomany desires and too many fears. “You are cruel for making everything else seem dull. You arecruel for imprisoning me in your very touch—“—carefully, he brings the pads of his fingers toLouis’ cheekbones, swirls delicate patterns onto his flesh—“—for freeing me with your everyword—“—his fingers slide to graze over Louis’ lips—“—and for bestowing upon me the mostpainful sense of longing that I’ve ever had the pleasure to suffer at the hands of. You have shownme color in a world of gray and you are cruel, Louis Tomlinson, for you take the color with youevery moment that you’re not beside me. You are cruel because I will gladly suffer until theworld has returned.” At that, Harry’s eyes flicker up to Louis’, and the words linger in his stare,pelting Louis again and again and again.And Louis might actually die.“Harry,” he breathes, pulling him closer, pulling him until Harry’s lips find his and he can feelagain, feel Harry—the world.He doesn’t want the night to end, he doesn’t want to go just one day without this boy (love ishorrible, it’s awful, it’s unhealthy for fuck’s sake) and it terrifies him a bit, terrifies him that he justneeds another soul so much. But it’s as intoxicating as it is toxic, thrilling as it is chilling.Louis wants.“We’ll see each other every day,” Harry whispers between fevered kisses, his curls tumbling andtangling in Louis’ fingers, his skin hot, his shirt clinging to his skin and catching on Louis’ angles.“I’ll move into the flat as soon as I can.”The words tingle Louis, run up his spine and make his heart beat faster.“Promise me,” he finds himself saying as Harry mouths at his neck and when did he become soneedy?But he doesn’t care, doesn’t fucking care because he’s not scared.“I promise,” Harry manages, the words formed into Louis’ skin and it’s all so, so much.Louis loves Harry so, so much.“Louis,” Harry suddenly says quietly, and it sounds like a plea, his hands scrambling over hisbody, settling up on the waistband of his jeans and—oh.Oh.Louis breaks off, inspects Harry’s flushed face and burning eyes, lit with fire and the orange,flickering shadow of candle flame.“Harry?” he questions, voice barely above a whisper. There’s a heavy silence as they stare at eachother, Louis trying to decipher the flickers in Harry’s eyes, his breath coming out in uneven spurts.The silent plea is in Harry’s breath, in his hands, in his stare. And Louis’ chest is collapsing. “Areyou…sure?”It feels delicate and unknown, that unspoken question.

But Harry’s nodding, he’s nodding and moving in again, mouth latching onto Louis’ collarbonesand fuck this actually is sort of terrifying, isn’t it?This is real. This is Harry, his Harry, and it’s happening.“Okay,” he finds himself saying, breathless, his heart picking up speed (is he going to die?) andjerking his hands unsteady. “Okay,” he says again and calms his breathing, focuses his vision,focuses his thoughts.Because this has to be special. This has to be monu-fucking-mental and this has to be carefulbecause this is their last night together for awhile, the last night before summer and everything thatit may bring, and it’s Harry—the only boy he’s ever properly loved, the only boy he’s ever caredenough about to fight for.There have been others, yeah. There have been flings and month-long ‘relationships’ and enoughflirting to fill the oceans and major lakes but there’s never been that single, shining person. There’snever been that one. And it had never bothered him because he’s always put himself first, hasalways loved himself first and foremost, but now here’s that single, shining person, here’s the one.And he’s got to do this right, lest he scare him away forever.Fuck.Very terrifying, indeed.So Louis fully intends to take this slow. To take the scenic route, if you will.“I love you,” he mumbles, lifting Harry’s head to meet his lips and Harry makes an indecipherablenoise that’s a complete mixture of adorable, romantic, and fucking irresistible and so Louis says itagain, enjoys the way the words affect Harry’s body, the way it quickens his heart.“Yeah,” Harry breathes, nodding a bit frantically, and Louis smiles, brushing back his hair andtrying to catch his eye as he rubs his hands along Harry’s skin soothingly, slowly, taking his timeas much as he can and—And Harry’s unzipping Louis’ pants, sitting up to straddle his legs, lips caught between his teeth,eyes covered in shadow as the night haloes his body.Which.Uhm.Wasn’t Harry the one who wanted to…take things slow?Louis glances up at him, trying to read his face despite the darkened room, but all he can see is thedetermined set to Harry’s mouth as he slides his fingers inside Louis’ jeans, his other hand tuggingthe waistband down eagerly and, okay, it’s certainly not unpleasant, but Louis’ trying to graspwhat’s happening.He’s beautiful, so beautiful, and Louis reaches out to brush the hair out of his eyes, to still himwith a lingering kiss, but Harry pulls away, hands reaching to palm Louis through his briefs—thatHarry’s already peeling off with practice, silent and focused.It’s a bit… Off, to be honest. Something doesn’t feel right.“In a rush?” Louis laughs breathlessly, trying for light, but Harry doesn’t laugh, just peels thebriefs further down and no, this doesn’t feel right.

Instantly, Louis stills Harry’s hands.“Harry?” he questions, brows pinching.His gaze meets Louis’, burning and intent.“I want to make you feel good,” is what he says, impassioned, making to break free from Louis’grasp, to resume his progress. “I’m good at this, I can make you feel good,” he promises, and it’slike…It’s like he’s trying to prove himself to Louis.As if all of his worth boils down to this, to sex, and Louis’ throat closes up at the thought, hisstomach constricting.“No, no, Harry,” he says, sitting up, twisting his fingers with Harry’s. “This isn’t about me,” heinsists softly. “It’s about us.”But Harry’s biting the cushion of his flushed lips and avoiding Louis’ gaze, and still it doesn’t feelright.“We don’t have to do anything,” Louis says calmly after a moment, stroking Harry’s cheeks withthe backs of his fingers. And he means it, absolutely means it, which means he must either bemade of steel or really fucking in love.He thinks it’s probably the latter.Harry swallows, shaking his head vehemently before the sentence is even finished, eyes stillaverted.“No, no I want to—I really do want to—to be with you,” Harry struggles and is blushing, turningcrimson. Harry, who has had every kind of sex imaginable in, probably, every position physicallypossible, on, probably, every single continent is blushing. For Louis.There’s a pregnant pause, one where Harry still won’t look at Louis, his cheeks still flaming,before Louis gently tilts his chin up, scrapes the pad of his thumb over the soft flesh there.“I want you, too,” he says simply, never releasing his hold, his breath whispering against Harry’sskin.Harry swallows at the words, blinks slowly as they wash over the room.“Yeah?” he asks in a whisper, voice scratchy. His eyes flick up to Louis’ just briefly beforedarting away again.“Yes, of course,” Louis says, reverently, leaning in and capturing him with the softest brush of thelips. “Of course I do. I want everything with you.” He dips in again, lips firmer, pressing thatmuch harder against Harry’s awaiting ones before pulling away again. “You make me want thesoppy shit in life.” Another, firmer kiss, one that leaves Harry chasing after it after he’s pulledaway again. “You make me want to learn how to cook more than a pot of water so I can makeyou dinner.” Yet another longer kiss, punctuated by a second kiss to Harry’s jaw that loosens hislimbs that bit more. “You make me want to fold my laundry and set aside money to buy youpresents and pick you ugly flowers I find struggling to grow and you make me want to be a betterperson—one that’s always here for you, one that shares everything with you, one that giveseverything to you.” At this, he pulls back, stares into Harry’s eyes which have finally settled uponLouis, dilated and wide. “You make me want it all, but mostly, you make me want you.”

The sound of Harry’s breath is the only thing that fills the space between them as Louis waits,brushes his fingers along the angles of Harry’s face, the warmth of his body seeping into his own.And then suddenly Harry jolts up, grips at Louis with unyielding hands, and crashes his lipsagainst his own—insistently, beautifully, unbreakingly.“Yeah?” Louis pants in an unspoken question, managing to rip away from the hypnotic slide ofHarry’s mouth, eyes closed. He feels heavy, his limbs sunken in the thick perfume of desire, andhis mouth is pressing against Harry’s cheek, maybe the corner of his mouth, he doesn’t know. Justknows that he can’t lift his head as he exchanges air with Harry, as he feels the pricklings of sweatbegin to bead, as he feels Harry’s forehead press against his own.“Yeah,” Harry breathes in response, breathless and light, nodding. He smears a kiss to the cornerof Louis’ eye, warm, wet, entrancing. “’M in love with you.”“Love you, too. Trust you.”“Trust you, too.”And Louis melts, melts into the fucking floor, or maybe into Harry, continues to kiss him with asmuch passion as he can dreg up and seeks his hands again, entwining their fingers in time withHarry’s sharp intakes of breath and the purrs that coil in the back of his throat. Their palms jottogether, warm and balanced, and Louis holds him through each deepened kiss, through eachmeticulous glide of their bodies, until he forgets where he ends and Harry begins and he doesn’twant to remember, doesn’t want to know, doesn’t ever want to be reminded again.*When Louis awakens later, startled from a dream, the moonlight is streaming through the openedwindows, illuminating the curtains and the bare skin of their sheet-entangled bodies.He looks down, blinking away his dreams, only to find a dream born of reality—his handengulfed by Harry’s own, pressed against his heart, a small smile delicately painted upon his lips.It warms him immediately, sending quick, silvery flashes of memory throughout his marked andpleasantly aching body. He gazes down at him, revels in the feel of their hands, revels in thereality that he’s his.That Harry is his.And that he is Harry’s.He’s the very portrait of peace, the very portrait of someone who’s been rebuilt, his heart reopenedand allowing the world back in. Allowing Louis in.It takes his breath away.He didn’t think that actually could happen but, yep, it’s happening; Harry takes Louis’ fuckingbreath away.And suddenly he’s flooded, absolutely flooded, with love and adoration and softness and desireand every other feeling that whispers ‘forever’ and ‘always’ and ‘home’; because Louis has foundhis forever, has found his always, has found his home.With Harry pressing Louis’ palm against his heart, his skin soft and milky, his eyelashes stretchingacross his cheeks, any qualms or anxieties or fears that Louis may have ever harbored—or will

ever harbor—fade, leaving only the quiet knowledge that it’s going to be all right.That they’re always going to be all right.That Louis will fight to the ends of the Earth for this boy and that Harry will fight, too.That he loves Harry unyieldingly, and Harry loves Louis, too.That Harry saved Louis.And Louis saved Harry.And with that, the reassurance flooding his veins and his brain and everything that his soul ismade of, he drifts back to sleep, serenaded by the music of Harry’s heart, beating beneath hisfingers.~FIN~Chapter End NotesThe End.*Note* So I've written some little snippets of their futures on the tumblrrrr. Here theyare And here!Wow. Wowww okay so this has been such a journey, hasn't it? Wow wow wowww.Well. It's 3 in the morning and I'm getting oddly emotional about this, so lemme justsay that I didn't actually listen to any songs while I wrote this chapter. Which I justrealized. Weird.However, there is a particular song that I like to imagine playing at the end credits(heh) and it's one of my favs. "A Change is Gonna Come" by Sam CookeOther songs that fit are:"Wondrous Place" by the Last Shadow Puppets"The Subarbs (Cont'd)" by Arcade Fire [again]"You've Got the Love" by Florence & and the Machine"Perfect Day" by Scala [again] BUT LISTEN TO THIS SERIOUSLY THIS ISTHE PERFECT SONG TO THIS STORY! There are pianos and beauty and itsounds like a waterfall if waterfalls had voices. Le siiigh. :)and"I'm Set Free" by The Velvet Underground -- which is my official ending Harry song:')Also. Just because, a perfect Louis and Harry song for the very beginning of the story(I always forgot to include it oops) is "Play With Fire" by The Rolling Stones.PERFECT SONG AND IT PERFECTLY FITS. Look it up!

Anyway. So, thank you all so, so much. Honestly. I have gotten the most beautifulmessages and made the most beautiful friends and I am getting all emotional overhere right now so I'm just going to say I love you all so, so much. And I appreciateevery word said. I have so many feelings.Ohkay. Thank you all again. Come to me if you want to talk or have any questions orart (mizzwilde = tumblr)Roses and lilies for all of you.Kisses,velvetoscarPlease drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!