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63 Degrees is famous in Manchester for innovative French food, a romantic atmosphere, and the horrific first dates of Louis Tomlinson. Not necessarily in that order.
Since he crashed back into the dating scene, Louis has always insisted that his first dates take place there. There are multiple theories as to why; the first, and most popular among the kitchen staff, is that he has developed an addiction to the delicious food. Patrons are generally split between believing that he’s the restaurant’s ghost, or that he’s secretly trying to woo Nick Grimshaw, who always waits his tables.
The truth is far less interesting: his friend, Liam, washes dishes there, and he lets Louis leave his son in the kitchen with him.
“Thanks again, Liam. Really, you’re the best.” Louis says. Peter has already sat down on a chair and taken out his Gameboy.
Liam shrugs. “It’s not a problem. Peter and I have fun, don’t we?”
Peter responds by grunting at his video game. His recent detachment from the world in favor of video games is, apparently, typical of seven year old boys. At least, that’s what Louis’s mother tells him. It doesn’t make him stop worrying completely, but it helps. (Also, if he’s honest, he kind of enjoys the silence it provides.)
Liam laughs like it’s a great joke. Not for the first time, Louis is extremely grateful that Liam finds his son endearing. Getting a roommate when you have a kid is near impossible. Liam’s a wonderful exception.
“I’ll see you two later, then. Don’t have too much fun without me!”
--
Friday night’s date goes about as well as they usually do. The man shows up drunk, insults his outfit, and then leaves before they have a chance to order. All things considered, it’s not the worst first date Louis’s ever had.
It does, however, present him with a unique problem: he is all dressed up at a nice restaurant with no one left to wine and dine him. So, the way he sees it, he can leave now and get a crappy meal at a drive through, or he can stay seated and enjoy the nice meal he clearly deserves. Obviously, he’s going for option two.
Louis pulls out his phone to wait for his waiter to arrive. There are, predictably, no text messages awaiting him. His social life isn’t currently thriving. Even the mums at Peter’s school, who had been enamored with Louis when they met, had given up since he let it slip that he was gay. Now they firmly believe he and Liam are actually partners, no matter what Louis says to the contrary.
Just as Louis is close to getting the high score on Flappy Bird, he’s caught off guard by a high-pitched squeal. It startles him into jumping, and he promptly drops his phone.
“Damn.” Louis mutters. That was a hard-fought Flappy Bird battle. He deserved that high score.
Also, there was a squeal. Possibly more important than his game. Maybe.
He looks over in its direction, to the lobby of the restaurant. There’s a waitress on the ground, surrounded by broken plates and spilled food. Leaning over her are two people: a blushing hostess and a man in a large hat that’s covering most of his face. The man has a hand stretched out to pull the waitress up from the ground. She, however, appears more interested in studying the floor.
Nick Grimshaw, Louis’s regular waiter, wanders over to his table. “What’s going on there?” Louis asks.
Nick shrugs. “Not a clue. I think she just collapsed at the sight of him.”
“Hmm. Maybe he’s her long-lost brother who she thought died in the Russian Revolution.”
A busboy carrying a tray stops to talk to Nick before he can provide a theory. “D’you know who he is?”
Nick squints his eyes. He’s looking at the man, who is still squatted down but has finally convinced the waitress to take his hand. “Not a clue, mate. You?”
Louis doesn’t listen to them speculate. Their theories are far less interesting than his. Anyway, he’s close to getting a glimpse of the man. Once he gets the waitress up on her feet, he straightens himself up and pulls off the hat to run his hands through his hair. He shakes his head around to rearrange his hair, and for a second his face is at just the right angle for Louis to view it.
And then he understands why the waitress dropped her platter. It’s a wonder she didn’t faint, to be honest.
The busboy forms the words before Louis can find the coherence to do so. “Holy God, that’s Harry Styles!”
Harry Styles is a popstar. He’s the popstar- has been called everything from ‘The New Justin Timberlake’ to ‘A Millennial Elvis.’ No matter how you categorize him, he can sell just about anything: records, t-shirts, toothbrushes- hell, if you put his face on a box of laxatives, you’d probably sell a million.
Not that Louis is a fan; he’s about ten years too old for that. But he can appreciate the charisma and surplus of adorable that Harry Styles oozes. He’s proper fit.
And now, he and Louis are in the same restaurant. It’s surreal, and maybe a little too good to be true. He’s half-certain he’s stumbled into one of his little sisters’ daydreams.
“Oh my God. That explains it all, dear Lord. I can’t believe he’s actually here.” says Nick.
“Do you think he’d give me an autograph?” Busboy.
“Do you think he’d suck my dick?” Grimmy. Obviously.
“You’re disgusting and you have no tact.” Louis says.
It’s likely that Nick shrugs. Louis wouldn’t know; his eyes are trained on Harry Styles. He’s speaking to the hostess, who looks a little starstruck, herself. When he’s done, she starts to speak. Her face looks a bit pained and a lot embarrassed.
He perks his ears up to listen, but the busboy is speaking too loudly. “Shh, I’m trying to listen,” he says, and busboy rolls his eyes. Still, he shuts his mouth, which is all Louis wanted.
If he inclines his ear and focuses on the sound, he can just hear the hostess’s soft voice speaking to Harry. “I am so, so sorry sir, I wish there was something we could do.”
That’s not right. Louis gives up on subtlety and gets up on his knees on his chair to look over the other tables in the restaurant. Harry is smiling and assuring her, “It’s fine, it’s okay. I should have made reservations.”
It dawns on Louis, and then all he can think to say is, “Oh shit.”
Nick looks over at him, then back at Harry, and somehow connects the dots. “Shit,” he agrees. Harry’s now walking towards the door.
Louis can’t help feeling sad, like he’s wasted an opportunity to get laid with a pop star. He owed it to gay men everywhere, and he failed to bed Harry Styles.
Sadness leaves quickly. It’s replaced by its less friendly cousin, embarrassment, the moment Nick opens his mouth and shouts “WAIT!”
Everyone in the restaurant turns to stare at them, including Harry and the hostess. Louis tries to figure out a graceful way to hide underneath the table, but he comes up blank.
“You. Harry Styles. Weary traveler. You’ve come so far to get to our restaurant-”
“Where the hell do you think he’s come from? This is Manchester, not Antarctica,” Louis mutters.
“Shut up,” Nick whispers back. Then he continues at full volume. “And it would be a shame for you to leave now. This gentleman would be happy to give you the empty other half of his table-”
“I would?” Louis whispers.
“Yes. Shut up.” He beams at his captive audience. “Ahem, yes. This man would be happy to share with you. If you’ll have him.”
Harry looks conflicted. Or maybe that’s fright- it would be a natural response to the crazy man shouting across the restaurant at him. He turns to the hostess, and she shrugs. Then he turns his eyes on Louis. The question is clear in them, even from this distance.
To be honest, Louis can’t think of a reason to object to it. Why would he say no to a dinner with Harry Styles? He’s well fit, and, even if he’s straight, Louis wouldn’t mind some company. He nods at Harry.
Since everyone in the restaurant is still staring, Harry addresses them out loud. “I guess I’ll, um, sit there.”
Nick claps. No one joins in. (It’s what he deserves for embarrassing Louis within an inch of his life.)
“You are crazy,” Louis mutters, as he watches Harry walk toward his table.
“I am doing you a favor. He’s fit, and you may not have a chance, but you have an opportunity to try. Don’t waste it.”
He’s not sure how he feels about Nick Grimshaw ‘helping out’ with his love life. He gets the feeling nothing good can come of it.
It doesn’t bear much reflection, though, because Harry is getting closer and closer to the table and that’s consuming all Louis’s capacity for thought. It’s just that he’s even more fit in person, very tall and wearing a ridiculously skinny pair of black jeans that make his legs look phenomenal. Nick’s motives might not be pure, but Louis can’t help but appreciate the outcome.
Harry settles in across from him. “I’m very sorry for this. I can, like, leave if it’s a problem. Really.”
Louis rolls his eyes. At this point, he’s not sure he would let Harry leave. “No, it’s fine. This is the stuff of dreams. It’s like I’ve won a contest.” He bats his eyelashes ridiculously. It’s supposed to communicate ‘I’m kidding, really, I’m actually insanely cool and very shaggable.’ He hopes it succeeds.
It must to some extent, because Harry laughs. (It’s a nice sound, Harry’s laugh. Louis has heard it on the television and from a computer before, but it’s different in person. Lower and sweeter and a lot more endearing than the electronic approximation.)
“You’re right. I think this particular competition comes with a signed album and a personalized charm bracelet.”
He’s about to reply with something witty and undoubtedly able to charm the pants off of Harry Styles when Grimmy opens his mouth again. “I hate to interrupt this little teenage mating ritual, but I’m meant to be getting your drink orders. I’d rather not get fired.”
Louis glares. “Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”
“That’ll be a water with extra spit, then. Now, Harry, what’ll you have to drink?”
Harry smiles. “Can I get water, please? Without spit, preferably.” He has a dimple. God. Louis knows Harry’s probably straight, but he’s praying to every deity he’s heard of that he’s not.
Nick nods. “Coming right out, sweetheart. And, as you may know, we have a tasting menu here, so I’ll bring out your food when it’s ready.”
Then Nick is gone and Louis is alone in the lion’s den, where the lion is a cute curly-haired pop star.
Harry smiles. “So. I’m Harry.”
“I’m Louis Tomlinson, nice to meet you. And I’m sorry for him, by the way. We’re really not friends.”
“Oh, it was fine. I thought he was funny.”
“See, you think that, then you realize that he’s not kidding about spitting in your drink.”
Harry laughs. “Oh, well. I guess I better not offend him.”
“You’d best not. There’s only so much I can do to fend off the wiles of Nick Grimshaw.”
“Oh. How chivalrous of you.”
Louis nods. “Big word, huh? Have you been reading your dictionary?”
Harry goes a little red. Louis’s quite fond of that, too. “Oh, you know. Have to keep the mind sharp. I didn’t go to uni, so I need all the help I can get.”
He shrugs. “Me neither, actually. As far as I can tell, you’re not missing out on a lot in the way of learning.”
“You didn’t go to uni? Why?”
And here comes the deal breaker. If Harry was considering sleeping with him before, this will ruin it. Louis is resigned to it. “Well, in sixth form, I was dating this girl named Hannah. And we weren’t very careful, so. She got pregnant. She didn’t want the kid, so I took him. I ended up failing out, anyway.”
He waits for the ‘oh,’ the raised eyebrow, any of the usual judgment that comes when Louis brings that up. Instead, Harry smiles brilliantly. “Oh, you have a son? How old is he?”
Well. Maybe Harry likes kids. That seems strange for a twenty-something popstar, but stranger things have happened. “Peter is seven. Seems more like a teenager sometimes, but I hear that holds many more horrors than I’m dealing with now.”
Harry looks off dreamily. “I’d love to have kids someday. I just really want a family. I’ve kinda wanted to settle down since I was, like, sixteen.”
Louis lets out a startled laugh. That’s completely impossible; Louis hasn’t known a lot of sixteen year olds in his life, but he knows them well enough to realize that that is far too unusual. Sixteen year old Harry was dreaming of becoming a famous singer, not getting married. Surely.
“There is no way. You’re too young!” he says.
Harry shrugs. “I mean, obviously I’m not in any position to settle down with someone right now. But it’s always sounded nice. You know, having someone to come home to.”
Louis shakes his head. “You’re really something, Harry Styles.”
It makes the dimple pop out again. Louis counts that as a win.
“So, Louis Tomlinson, what do you do?”
Oh, God. Even though the kid thing didn’t send him running, this might. “I work at Toys ‘R’ Us.”
Harry doesn’t make a crack about it. Louis appreciates that. He gets enough shit about his job already, not least of all from himself. He asks a question of his own this time. “So, how long are you in town for?”
“A couple more days. I have a concert Sunday night here, and then we’re going to hit the road.”
Louis nods. “Must be nice, going on tour. You know, I used to think I wanted to be a singer. I was going to audition for The X Factor, but then Peter happened, and, well.”
“Huh,” Harry mutters, then looks down at his lap. He’s chuckling quietly, and that puzzles Louis.
“What?” he asks.
Harry shakes his head. “Oh, nothing. It’s nothing, I just… I auditioned for X Factor when I was sixteen. I didn’t make it through, but. Yeah, I auditioned.”
Louis laughs. God, what are the odds? “Wow, that’s some coincidence. What year did you audition?”
“Two thousand ten,” Harry says, and that startles Louis a bit. It’s just… that’s the year he was going to audition. It’s probably not a big deal, but it feels like a connection.
“Oh. Well, that’s when I was going to audition, too.”
Harry laughs again. “My God. What are the odds?”
Louis shakes his head. “Really. Imagine that- I might have met the wonderful Harry Styles before he was fully formed.”
Harry grins. “Yeah. Imagine that.”
--
Dinner with Harry is better than any date Louis has had in the past year. Not that they were on a date, but. If they had been, Harry would get high marks.
He laughs at Louis’s jokes all night, and makes funny faces when the dishes from the tasting menu are particularly weird. He doesn’t even make a big deal about Louis having a son. Then, when it’s time to leave, Harry insists on paying. “Look, I made you share a table. At least let me buy you dinner.”
Louis walks Harry up to the door, and they linger. The restaurant is closing soon, but Louis can’t help hesitating. He wants to sit back down at the table and let the night extend indefinitely, let himself pretend that Harry is interested in him so he can flirt shamelessly and make Harry blush.
But Harry isn’t just Harry, who’s funny and friendly and bought Louis dinner. He’s Harry Styles, TM, the cheeky, charming popstar, and he’s going to be gone in two days.
“So.” Harry says. He seems to be lingering too, rocking back and forth on his feet to pass the time. “Um, thank you. For letting me sit with you, and for having dinner with me. It was really, really nice.”
Louis smiles. He is not blushing, he swears, and if his cheeks happen to be a little red he hopes the mood lighting will cover for him. “Thank you. You know, I have to say, that’s the best dinner I’ve had in a while.”
Harry smiles back, and it’s big and brilliant. Louis really wants to keep him. “I’m going to be in Manchester for a couple more days. If you wanted, we could, um, hang out? At some point?”
This is not real life. It’s distinctly similar to real life, sure, but Louis’s real life does not consist of Harry Styles asking him to hang out again. This is a very convincing fever dream.
Oh, hell. Who is he kidding? He has a crush, and if it’s a fever dream, he’s more than happy to humor it.
“Uh, yeah. Yes. Do you want to get my number?”
Harry nods, and Louis nods back. Harry hands him an iPhone, and he adds the contact quickly, fumbling slightly with his fingers. When it’s done, he gives the phone back to Harry. “Alright. Well, it was nice to meet you, Harry.”
Harry smiles at him. “It was nice to meet you too, Louis.” Then he walks out the door.
Louis takes the moment to catch his breath. Being friends with Harry Styles is possibly going to be a problem, but he’s up for trying. (If he continues to check out Harry in the process, no one has to know.)
--
When Louis finally makes his way back to the kitchen, it’s in cleanup mode. Liam’s frantically trying to wash three plates at a time while chefs rush around him, sweeping, mopping, and wiping off countertops. The kitchen is always in chaos when they’re closing up.
Peter is entirely unaffected by his surroundings. He’s dozing on a chair in the corner, game console held tight in his hands even while he’s sleeping. Louis is struck by how peaceful he looks, and how much younger he seems when he’s sleeping.
Louis goes forward and settles down next to Peter. There’s no reason to wake him up until Liam’s ready to leave. (And, besides, Louis would like to see him be that peaceful for a while. It makes him feel calmer, too.)
Eventually, Liam looks up from his sink of dishes long enough to notice Louis. “Oh!” he says. “Hey, how was your date?”
This bears explanation, Louis knows. He should explain that his date left, and that the person he had dinner with wasn’t really his date at all. He should mention Harry Styles, because that’s a big part of the story. But that’ll come out eventually. For now, he doesn’t feel like going into it.
“Good. It was good.”
Liam smiles. “Oh, that’s great! Are you going to see him again?”
No sooner has Liam said it than Louis’s phone buzzes with a text message. ‘hiiii. -harry.’
Louis smiles. “Yeah. I think I am.”
--
On Saturday morning, Louis wakes up to one-hundred-eighty pounds of eager Liam flopping down on top of him. It’s undoubtedly some ridiculous hour of the day- the sun seems like it’s just rising. He and Liam have rules about this sort of thing. Liam is not allowed to wake him up unless Peter is up and needs Louis terribly. It’s very important that Louis gets his beauty rest.
He thinks, for a moment, that Peter is up and in trouble. But when he squints his eyes open to see Liam, his face isn’t filled with panic like it should be. No, it’s slightly confused and a little excited. A lot like a puppy, actually.
A really annoying puppy that’s keeping him from getting sufficient sleep. “What in the hell could you want at this time of the morning, Liam?” Louis doesn’t technically know the time, but he knows it is far too early to be up on a Saturday.
“Is the Harry Styles in your phone actual Harry Styles? I keep thinking, why would you have Harry Styles in your phone, but then that’s a weird name to give someone else in your phone, and…”
“Liam! Were you looking through my phone?”
Liam immediately looks contrite. “Oh, no, I wasn’t. You got a text message, and it says it’s from Harry Styles.”
Oh. So Harry did text him back. “Oh. That’s… where’s my phone?”
Liam doesn’t answer his question, of course. Not only is he waking him up far too early, he’s refusing to be useful. “Is it the real Harry Styles? Louis, is that Harry Styles the popstar?”
Louis pushes Liam off him so he can get up and look for the phone. He’s pretty sure he left it somewhere in the family room last night, but Liam might have moved it. “Liam, please, where’s the phone?”
“It’s on the kitchen counter and you’re not answering me!”
Once again, Louis ignores him so he can go look for the phone. It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell him, but he doesn’t feel like going into the whole explanation. Then Liam will know Louis likes Harry, and he’ll start assuming all sorts of things about Harry liking him back. Which is impossible. Louis thinking about the possibility will only hurt more in the long run.
Liam lets him go to the kitchen, but he follows him. When Louis picks up the phone he asks his question again.
“Is that the real Harry Styles?”
The text message is, like Liam said, from Harry. It says ‘said u were a fan of footie? I have a few extra tickets for the man u game today if ur interested? x.’
Louis swallows down his ridiculous grin and says, “Yes.”
That opens the floodgate for questions, of course. It’s an onslaught of ‘how did you meet him?’ and ‘are you dating?’ and ‘does he really have four nipples?’ Louis doesn’t even understand the context for that last one, except, apparently, Liam is a big fan. He never mentioned it before.
Louis doesn’t answer any of the questions. He texts Harry back instead. ‘can i bring plus 2?’
Liam continues to question. At this point, Louis is very good at turning his voice into a dull, background noise.
The phone buzzes again. ‘course. see you at 3?’
Louis replies, ‘yea, see ya then mate.’ He rewrites it with and without the mate four times, but eventually decides to keep it. It sounds casual. He can be totally, completely casual.
Then he turns to Liam, because he’s going to have to answer at least some of his questions. “I met him at the restaurant last night, it’s complicated. I’m bringing you and Peter to the Man U game with him this afternoon, and you are going to behave and not mention nipples. What the hell was up with that, anyway?”
Liam pouts at him. “He has four nipples.”
Right. Harry Styles is a strange, home-making teenager and an alien, too. Actually, it doesn’t sound that unlikely. “I don’t doubt it, Liam.”
He walks back to the bedroom to catch a little more sleep. Just before he shuts the door, he hears Liam say, “I can wear my Harry Styles shirt, though, right?”
--
Liam doesn’t wear his Harry Styles shirt It’s a hard fight, but Louis convinces him that Harry’s less likely to want to be best friends if he thinks Liam’s a rabid fan. In fact, when Louis, Peter, and Liam walk up to the stadium for the game, Louis thinks they look at least semi-presentable. He combed his hair and Peter left his Gameboy at home, which is all Louis can hope for, these days.
When they find Harry, he’s already sitting down. There are two men with him, one blonde and one black-haired. The three are laughing hard together, the blonde one bent over with the strength of his guffaws. All of a sudden, Louis feels extremely out of his depth. He doesn’t know these people, and they probably won’t even like him. He’s not a model, or an actor, or a singer. He’s not anyone, really.
It’s a good thing Liam’s there. He takes the extra steps when Louis can’t bring himself to. “Hey!” he shouts as they approach.
Harry and co. look back, and Harry’s face lights up. He waves at them enthusiastically, and then Louis can’t help but walking the rest of the way forward to meet him.
The other two are good-looking, like Harry. The blonde is rather adorable, but it’s the dark haired one that stands out. He’s positively beautiful, and it makes Louis feels like writing sonnets on the effect well-placed stubble can have on a symmetrical face. And yet, even he can’t hold Louis’s attention. Once he takes in Harry properly for the first time, he’s all gone.
Harry is wearing a low-necked t-shirt that dips far enough to display his collarbones, where there are bird tattoos. He appears to be wearing the same black skinny jeans from the night before, except that these might be ripped in a couple more places. His long, curly hair is held back in a ponytail. Overall, he looks like a dirty hipster. Louis usually finds that revolting, but on Harry it looks phenomenal. If he ever becomes a poet, this is what he’ll write his sonnets about- not perfect cheekbones or coiffed black hair, but this dirty hipster angel sitting in the bleachers.
“Hi.” Harry says.
“Hello again.”
And he’s caught there for a moment, once again, in green eyes that shine like-
“Um. Louis, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Liam elbows him in the side.
“Right! Right, yes. Harry, this is my son Peter, and that’s my… Liam. I don’t know what you’d call him. The mums at Peter’s school call him my life partner, but that’s just not true. How about… Platonic life partner! Eh, Liam?”
Liam ignores his rambling, as he usually does. “Lovely to meet you, Harry. I’m a big fan.”
Harry grins at him. “Yeah, mate? Thanks. And you must be Peter. Hello!”
Peter smirks at Harry. “Did you really sit through a whole dinner with my dad last night? I feel bad for you.”
Louis squawks. How much indignity must he suffer? His child, his own flesh and blood, turning against him. These are dark, dark times.
Harry laughs. “It was a struggle, but I managed to fight my way through it.”
Everyone else laughs at Louis’s expense, because his life is full of traitors, and then Harry turns to introduce his friends. “Right, this is Niall and Zayn. Niall’s my manager and Zayn’s my stylist, but really they’re more my mates than anything.”
So black-haired and beautiful is Zayn and blonde and adorable is Niall. Right, he’s got this.
“So,” says Zayn, “you guys gonna sit down, or are you gonna stand here all day?”
They slip past Niall and Zayn into the bleachers. Louis happens to end up next to Harry, which is entirely a coincidence, he swears. It just kind of happens. But he’s definitely not complaining.
The game doesn’t start for a few minutes, so Louis turns to Harry, to make innocent and entirely non-flirty conversation. He’s just trying to pass the time. “Are you a big Man U fan?”
Harry pauses for a moment, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m a Man U fan. Who isn’t, really?”
“I suppose I’m a fan, since I live here now. I was a huge Doncaster Rovers fan growing up, though, so they’d definitely be my favorite.”
“Yeah, totally, Doncaster Rovers are a great team. Fantastic.”
Yeah, Louis is getting the feeling that Harry’s not as ‘passionate’ about football as he’s trying to appear. “They’re great. Except for how they’ve lost every game so far, y’know.”
Harry blushes, and Louis knows he’s caught him. “Right. Of course, those Doncaster Rovers. I mistook them for the other ones.”
Louis can’t keep in his laughter any longer. “I don’t care if you don’t know about football. Really, it doesn’t matter. Liam here can’t keep up for shit and we keep him around anyway.”
Peter shouts, “Bad word!” As any good trainee of Liam Killjoy Payne would. He assumes Liam is glowing with pride.
“I’m sorry. I know, we shouldn’t say bad words. And you definitely shouldn’t!”
Liam mutters “Double standards don’t make for good parenting,” which he’s said a million times before. Frankly, it’s losing its impact. “And I do keep up with football!”
He snorts. “Looking like David Beckham doesn’t count as keeping up with football. They’re not the same thing.”
The teams come out then. Louis knows Man U’s the favorite, but he’s hoping for Sunderland to put up a bit of a fight. There’s nothing exciting about a slaughter.
He watches intently when they begin to play. Louis is completely absorbed in the game when he feels a pair of lips pressing up to his ear and hears Harry’s voice saying, “I’ll admit it. I know nothing about football.” It seems less like a whisper and more like a kiss.
Louis gulps. “Right, right. Of course.” He does his best to concentrate on the game and not on Harry Styles and his very pink lips. It’s a struggle.
--
The kiss-pering becomes a thing. Instead of speaking normally, Harry leans in to whisper whenever he has something to say. It’s- it’s textbook flirting, is the thing, but Louis can’t believe that’s what’s happening here. It seems far too unlikely.
Instead of overanalyzing it, Louis takes the offensive. If Harry can whisper, so can Louis- it’s only fair. When Manchester gets a goal, he resists the urge to shout with Peter, Liam, and Niall, and leans into Harry. “Some shot, huh?”
Harry freezes. It takes him a minute to work up to a response, and it’s hardly coherent. That’s enough to make Louis want to do it over and over again.
And so he does. He makes excuses to whisper in Harry’s ear as often as he can. Harry recovers from his shock after Louis’s first couple attacks, and then he responds with matching frequency. It gets to the point that Louis loses track of the game entirely, and he and Harry are whispering back and forth without delay.
“Do you want to hear a joke?” Harry asks.
“Oh God. Sure, Styles, let’s have it.”
“Knock Knock.”
“Oh no. Oh God, no.”
“That’s not the right answer.”
“Fine. Who’s there?”
“Europe.”
Louis waits, thinks about it. He can’t catch on, so he goes through with it. “Europe who?”
“No, you’re a poo!”
Harry proceeds to laugh his head off. Louis just stares at him. He’s leaning over, slapping his knee, unable to contain how funny he found his own joke. For the first time, Louis realizes ‘Harry Styles is a massive dork.’ Directly after that realization comes another one: ‘I’m so gone for him.’
--
Manchester wins. Louis knows this, because he sees hears people celebrating after the fact. But he doesn’t actually see the winning goal. It’s possibly the most distracted he’s ever been at a football game. He’s caught somewhere between shame and giddiness from flirting with Harry all afternoon. (That’s what this is, he’s decided. They’re flirting. They have to be, as ridiculous as that sounds, because people don’t whisper like that all day and mean nothing by it.)
They all get up to leave, and Louis walks ahead of Harry to catch up with Liam and Peter.
Liam smirks at him. “How did you like the game?”
“Oh, it was great. Good game.” Louis can’t stand more questioning right now, so he deflects in the only way he knows is foolproof for Liam: he brings Peter in. “Did you have fun, Peter?”
Peter nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, that was great! Niall and Zayn were really cool! Hey, Niall said we could go get chips, can we go get chips?”
Louis looks over at Liam, who shrugs. “If they still want to, we’re up for it.”
Peter turns around and launches himself at Niall. He’s all eagerness and constant motion, just like Louis. “Hey, Niall, can we still go get chips?”
“Of course we can still get chips! I never say no to chips. As long as Harry’s buying, of course.”
Harry chuckles. “I don’t remember agreeing to buy everyone chips.”
Zayn smirks. “Well, you were a bit busy with your kissing-”
Louis doesn’t let him finish. His son is here, thank you very much, and he won’t have him hearing things like this. “Right, chips, sounds great! Fantastic, let’s get going!”
Everyone laughs at his expense, save Harry, who’s just as red as Louis’s sure he is.
--
Louis is beginning to like Harry’s friends. Niall tells long, funny stories that he usually has trouble finishing, since he’s laughing so hard at himself. Zayn’s quiet, mostly, but he’s witty and sarcastic when he does speak. Louis appreciates that in a person.
Liam’s got a starstruck glaze to his eyes. In the car, he had gushed about how nice Harry and his friends were. He still wants to get an autograph, but Louis hopes he’ll let it drop by the end of the night. That sounds less like a wonderful opportunity to embarrass Liam and more like a surefire way to tell Harry he’s uncool.
Niall and Liam are currently engaged in a heated debate over the virtues of soaps vs. reality television. Liam falls firmly on the side of the soaps, but Niall claims that reality television is much more authentic. Louis is thoroughly amused by the whole thing, and it claims his attention until he notices Peter talking to Harry.
“No, I swear, I don’t fancy her. I just… It’s just fun to pull her hair and stuff. And sometimes I kind of like spending time with her, but, like, she’s gross and girly! I could never fancy a girl who wears sparkly nail polish. It’s impossible.”
This isn’t the first Louis has heard of Peter picking at a girl, but it’s the first time Peter has talked about how he feels about it. Louis listens closely.
Harry nods. “It’s rough, mate, I get it. Girls will mess you up, huh? I haven’t really fancied a girl in a while, but I remember being your age. I think that when I felt that way about a girl I did fancy her. But it doesn't have to mean you fancy her. If you want to spend time with her, you should. It doesn’t have to mean anything. And you should definitely stop pulling her hair, that’s not nice.”
This discussion is important for Peter in a number of ways, and that's what Louis's main focus in on, really. But when he hears 'haven't fancied a girl in a while,' it grabs his attention. Does that mean Harry doesn't fancy girls in general, or has he just not found one recently? Louis sort of wants to ask, but there's no way he's interrupting this conversation now.
He'll file it away for later, when he can't sleep and starts building a case for Harry Styles as non-heterosexual.
Peter nods. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to hang out. In a friendly way.”
“In a friendly way, of course.”
And, god, Louis has been trying to get through there for ages. Peter refused to talk about his feelings past 'I DON'T FANCY HER,' but along comes Harry and he's opening right up. It’s kind of magical, Louis thinks.
Maybe Harry’s just magical. It would explain the erratic way Louis’s heart is beating.
--
On Sunday morning, Louis attempts to question Peter about the girl situation. He had talked to Harry about it yesterday, but Louis wants to hear about it for himself. Also, he really needs to make sure that Peter doesn’t keep pulling pigtails, because that’s getting him in trouble.
“Good morning, Peter. How are you?”
Peter pouts. He’s still sleepy, and his brown hair is falling in his eyes. “‘m fine.”
Louis gets his tea and sits at the table across from him. “Right, so. I know there’s this girl. Who you don’t fancy, obviously! You clearly don’t fancy her, but. You have been pulling her hair and bothering her.”
Suddenly, Peter is a lot more awake. “Well… why is it so obvious I don’t fancy her?”
“What?”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with fancying her! Maybe I like her glitter nail polish. I don’t, but, she’s nice. And she likes to go on the swings with me.”
Louis smiles. Maybe he hasn't quite lost his fatherly touch. “She sounds lovely, Peter. But if you do fancy her, you might ought to spend more time talking to her and less time kicking her chair, yeah?”
Peter rolls his eyes. “You sound like my teacher.”
“Sorry, sorry! I’ll keep out of it. But, just so you know, if you do fancy her, there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Peter nods. “And if you fancied someone, there would be nothing wrong with that, too. Just so you know.”
Louis narrows his eyes. He didn’t realize his son had gotten smart on him. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, it’s just that Harry was nice. And you two looked like you had fun together. I like him.”
There are a million proper responses to that: Harry and I aren’t dating, or Harry’s leaving tonight, or Harry’s not interested in me that way. None of them feel right. Louis settles for, “Thanks. You’re pretty smart, you know?”
Peter sighs dramatically. “I know. It’s a blessing and a curse.”
--
At noon, Harry texts. Louis is in the process of making lunch- a simple affair, ham sandwiches, no frills- when he sees his phone light up. hii. todays my last day in town. think we could hang?
A second later, it flashes again. Just the two of us?
Louis tries not to hyperventilate. He mostly fails.
Ya, great. What time?
Pick you up at 2.
--
Louis spends the rest of the afternoon worrying over the dress code of today’s hangout. On the one hand, it’s in the afternoon, which leads Louis to believe t-shirt and jeans. On the other hand, Harry is rich, which means he could show up with a limo and a dozen roses.
Also, there’s the question of whether this is a date. Signs seem to point to yes, but common sense tells Louis that that’s extremely unlikely. There are flashing signs in Louis’s head screaming discouragements at him, like ‘FIT’ and ‘POPSTAR' and 'STILL POSSIBLY STRAIGHT.'
In the end, he settles for jeans, a t-shirt, and not taking things too seriously. Isn’t that what Harry told Peter? That he could hang out with the girl, but it didn’t have to mean anything? Louis likes that bit of advice. He thinks he’ll apply it to his own life.
--
When Harry shows up, Louis is relieved to find that he's gotten the dress code right. There's no limo, just Harry standing at his doorstep in a plaid button up and jeans.
Louis intends to slip out the door without alerting Liam or Peter. He’s already told them that he’ll be out, but he doesn’t want Harry to have to face a protective, mama bear Liam Payne. It doesn’t work out, though, because before Louis can say a word to Harry, Liam is right behind him.
“Oh, Harry, how nice to see you!” Liam says, “Please, won’t you come inside?”
Shit. It’s time to get out of there. If Harry comes in, Liam will give him tea and smother him in biscuits. Louis is not up for this sort of warfare. He shakes his head frantically at Harry, mouthing “no,” and “abort mission.”
Harry looks a little confused, but, bless him, he gets the message. “I’m sorry, but we really should get going. Some other time?”
Liam puts on his disappointed face, and Louis isn’t confident Harry can resist it. Louis has learned to with time and practice, but it’s a fine art. “Alright, must get going, very time-sensitive, move along Harry!”
Harry smirks at him. “It was nice to see you both,” he says over his shoulder, as Louis shoves him down the sidewalk.
“Bye Peter!” Louis shouts, and then he shuts the door on Liam’s puppy dog face.
--
“So,” Louis asks, when he gets in Harry’s Range Rover, “where are we going?”
Harry smirks. “Well, if I told you that, it would ruin the surprise.”
“Oh Lord. Are you trying to keep a secret from me, Harry? You, who told me four knock-knock jokes yesterday?”
Harry huffs, “What do you have against knock-knock jokes? They were hilarious!”
“One of them was just you pretending you were a grandma.”
“That one was hilarious! It’s the best one! I stole it off Andrew Garfield.”
Louis can imagine it now: two dorky celebrities sitting down and exchanging knock-knock jokes. He thinks he and Emma Stone could have a long conversation about the pros and cons of spending time with dorky British boys. She would get it.
They lapse into silence briefly while Harry drives. “Louis,” Harry says finally, “do you wanna hear a joke?”
“No.”
“Knock knock.”
“Harry Styles, I will grab that wheel from you and drive us into a tree. Don’t push me; I will do it.”
“Oh, come on. Knock knock.” Harry smiles at him in the cute, dimpled way that he has, and it still manages to push Louis to do things he wouldn’t otherwise. It’s eternally frustrating.
“Who’s there?”
Harry takes a moment out to cheer. Louis says, “I could still run us off the road, you know.”
Harry rolls his eyes, but he complies. “Interrupting cow.”
Louis knows where this is going. He has a seven year old; he’s heard the lame jokes. For some reason, though, he decides to indulge Harry. “Interrup-”
“MOO!”
Louis falls silent, listening to Harry laugh at himself. “Are you proud of yourself?” he asks.
Harry nods through his laughter. “So proud. So, so proud.”
--
Harry’s surprise location turns out to not be so clandestine, after all.
“TADA!” Harry shouts when he drives up to the bowling alley.
It’s not quite the private cruise or seedy love nook that Louis was expecting, but it works. Actually, bowling sounds like a lot of fun. Obviously he’ll wipe the floor with Harry. Victory is one of his favorite things.
“Wow. A bowling alley. You have outdone yourself, Harry.”
Harry rolls his eyes, parking right in front of the building. The parking lot is mostly empty, since the bowling alley isn’t exactly on Manchester’s finest attraction. “I thought it would be nice, you know. Normal. We’ve gotten really lucky that you haven’t been papped yet. I want it to stay that way.”
And, well. If that isn’t sweet, Louis doesn’t know what is. He gets out of the car before he can start saying stupidly emotional things. “Right. Well, I suppose the bowling alley will work. If it must.”
Harry smirks and leads him inside. “It must. I just hope you’re okay with me beating you.”
Louis raises an eyebrow. Does Harry, with his pigeon toes and fidgety hands, really think he can beat him? That’s cute. Louis’s up for the challenge. “Oh, is that how we’re gonna play it? It’s on, curly boy.”
--
If you were to ask him how Harry Styles is beating him at bowling, he couldn’t tell you. It defies the laws of physics and the rules common sense. Harry has the grace of a baby antelope when he walks, but, apparently, when you put him on a bowling lane he becomes a world-class athlete.
When he made his first strike, Louis had thought Harry got lucky. The second was an anomaly. The third was worrying. Now that he’s made eight, Louis is going back to his theory of Harry Styles as an alien. He needs to check for those four nipples.
Harry goes up to bowl again and, what a shock, he bowls a strike. Louis is a good bowler, but this is ridiculous. He’s never seen someone bowl this well. “Are you on some kind of performance enhancing drugs?” Louis asks finally.
Harry turns around and chuckles. “Why? Because I’m kicking your ass?”
Oh, this will not stand. Louis cannot lose to Harry Styles. Not when he’s being such a smart ass and wearing a farmer’s hat.
If Louis makes strikes on his last two shots and Harry does terribly on his, he can still win this. He just has to distract Harry and suddenly become a professional bowler. No biggie.
He grabs the bowling ball to take his shot. He makes a show of kissing it for good luck and lining up the shot. He’s praying for a strike when he lets it roll from his hand.
It goes down the lane and hits the center pin, knocking the rest down. “YES!” He shouts. “Yes, I am the king of strikes, how do you like me now, Styles?”
Harry is sitting in a chair, smirking. The bastard still thinks he’s going to win. If he makes the strike, he will. Louis can’t let that happen.
Hmm. To fluster Harry Styles, he’ll have to pull out something good. Louis is crafty, he can do this.
He watches Harry walk up to get his ball, and it comes to him. This will be sure to fluster him. If he’s been reading the signs correctly, that is. If not, Louis will end up majorly embarrassed and have to go home to lick his wounds. But considering the events of the past couples days, Louis thinks it’s only a small risk.
“Hey, how about a wager?”
Harry shrugs. His attention is on the game, but he’s clearly confident in where his ball will go.
Louis creeps up next to him while he’s lining up his shot. Just as Harry’s about to let go of the ball, Louis leans up to whisper in his ear. “Loser has to kiss the winner?”
Harry lets go of the ball early, and it clatters into the gutter. He looks at Louis, and there’s something blazing in them, but it doesn’t seem like anger. “That sounds like a good idea.” He turns to face Louis, stepping closer to him until there is no space between them, hardly enough room to breathe. “You know what’s a better one? I kiss you now.”
God, Louis couldn’t think of a complaint to that if he tried. He can’t even vocalize his enthusiastic yes, he just gives a quick, jerky nod of his head.
Harry smirks, and then he leans down to kiss him.
When Louis had imagined kissing Harry Styles, he had been torn between thinking it would be unbearably sweet or hot as fire. The real thing is so much better than Louis could have imagined.
It’s fast and dirty, urgent like this has been coming for a long time. It makes Louis wonder if Harry has wanted to kiss him since they met at dinner, like Louis has. There is no sweet, hesitant beginning. It’s a collision, with tongues and teeth crashing together with a force that nothing could stop.
Louis can’t help it; he moans. When he does, Harry pulls back and puts his lips to his ear. “What do you say we forget the game and go back to my hotel room?”
Louis’s first and only thought is to say “Yes, fuck yes, please.”
Then Harry pulls back and starts to drag him out by the hand, and Louis has a second to pause. His mind starts working again, and he gets a chance to realize what they’re actually doing.
This is clearly a one-night stand. Well, one-afternoon, but the principle is still the same. Harry and Louis will fuck, and then Harry will leave and he’ll never see him again. As ridiculous as it sounds, Louis had been hoping for something resembling an actual relationship. It would have to be long-distance, but he had thought ‘Harry’s worth it.’
Suddenly, that all feels very stupid, because that is obviously not what’s happening here. Of course Harry isn’t interested in a relationship with him; he’s young, and he’s the whole world’s darling. Those things he said about settling down with a family were meant for some time in the future. Certainly not now, and certainly not with Louis.
So what now? Should he be another one of Harry Styles’s flings? He wants to, he wants to so badly. Just one kiss has left him aching all over, and he knows it would be easy to forget that he had stupid expectations and melt into Harry.
But Louis is an adult. He’s a real adult, with taxes, a mortgage, and a son. When he had to give up his teenage years, he learned to be responsible, and he said goodbye to some things. One night stands were one of them. Harry Styles, he realizes, will have to be one of them too. Harry is young, bright and untethered, and Louis couldn’t hope to tie him down- he wouldn’t want to. But he can’t pretend he won’t float away, either.
With a force of will he’s never attempted before, he takes his hand out of Harry’s and stops walking. They’re almost outside by now, standing just in front of the doors. “Wait. Wait, no, we can’t. I can’t do this.”
Harry’s face contorts into confusion. “What? Why? Do you not want-”
“No, I do. That’s the thing, I do, but I can’t.”
He shakes his head, “Wait, um. Why?” He looks sweet and nervous, less hot and bothered and more young and confused. Louis thinks it’s probably good that he can cut things off now. He just has to find the right way to say it.
“Listen, Harry, I’m twenty-five. I’m supposed to be an adult, and fuck knows I don’t succeed half the time, but I’m trying. And doing this? That would be extremely irresponsible. Not just because it’s a hook-up, but because… Because I can’t stand to have sex with you and then pretend I don’t have feelings for you. And you leaving is going to be bad enough already, without this on top of it.”
Shit. That’s not right. That is not what Louis had intended to say at all, but it slips out anyway. He squints his eyes shut, away from the embarrassment of having to look at Harry. When he looks out tentatively, Harry looks confused again. “Louis, wait, that’s not what I meant-”
Oh, God. He can’t stand to have the conversation where Harry explains that he meant for it to be platonic sex and he doesn’t have feelings for Louis, then sends him home with a kiss on the cheek for his trouble. He might actually die of embarrassment.
“No, Harry, just don’t. I’m going.” Louis pushes open the door and rushes out. Of course, he then realizes that he doesn’t have a car there, and Harry is running up behind him. Louis doesn’t want to face this, but he doesn’t have a lot of options.
Harry’s coming up behind him, shouting, “Wait, Louis, please let me explain!”
He sees no other way out. Louis takes off at a run down the street.
--
The decision to run all the way home isn’t a very good one, Louis realizes, when he’s exhausted after ten minutes of ducking around behind buildings and trees and whatever else he can find to avoid Harry and his car. He thinks he’s lost him at this point, but there’s clearly no way that he’s going to make it all the way home like this. Louis has maybe let himself go a little bit.
When all else fails, he calls Liam.
He answers on the third ring. “Hello? Where are you? Harry called to see if I had heard from you.”
Ugh. Of course he did. “Don’t tell him where I am, but I need you to come pick me up.”
There’s a pause on the other end. “What? Why?”
This would worry Louis, except he can hear Liam picking up his keys already. Liam is wonderful and Louis doesn’t deserve him.
“I’ll explain when you get here.”
“Yeah, fine.” He, apparently, pulls the phone away from his ear and then shouts, “Peter! Come on, we have to go pick up your dad!”
“I’m at Starbucks, going in now. See you soon.” Then he hangs up the phone. Liam will be here soon enough, and then he can go home and forget this weekend ever happened.
--
When Liam arrives to pick him up, he, predictably, has a lot of questions. He asks about four of them, then he takes a good look at Louis’s face and says, “You know what? This can wait. Let’s get home.”
Nobody talks the rest of the way home. Liam turns on the radio so they can have something else to concentrate on. It works well enough, until one of Harry’s songs comes on. Louis turns it off, and they spend the rest of the ride in total silence.
--
Liam, God bless him, lets Louis take a nap without making him talk. He does, eventually, come to wake him up, but at least he doesn’t jump on him this time. Louis isn’t fragile, but Liam is heavy.
“Louis,” he says, softly.
He needs more of a nap than this. He’d like to sleep for a week, if possible. “Nuh-uh.”
“Louis, you have to get up.”
He raises his head off the pillow to look at Liam. “Is Peter in trouble?”
“No, he’s fine.”
Louis smiles. “Then I don’t have to get up.”
“I’m leaving, Lou. You have to get up.”
Shit. He does have to get up. Reluctantly, he pulls himself up into a sitting position. “Where are you going?”
Liam goes a bit red. “Well, Zayn came by earlier, and he gave me a ticket to Harry’s concert tonight. Actually, there are three tickets, but Peter says he’d rather stay home and I assume you don’t want to go.”
Right. Harry’s concert is tonight, and then Harry is leaving. Louis wishes for all the world he could get back in bed, but he knows he has to get up. He has responsibilities. (He hates responsibilities.) “Has Peter eaten yet?”
Liam shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry. But I really need to get going for the concert, sorry.” He starts to get up and walk out, but then he pauses. “You know what, actually? I don’t need to go to the concert. I can stay here.”
Louis knows that it’s hard for Liam to say that. He’s a huge fan of Harry. But he also knows that he would stay home, if Louis asked him to. Louis may be upset, but he’s not nearly that selfish. “No, you get out of here.”
“Really, Lou, I bet it’ll be boring anyway-”
“Liam James Payne, do not pull this martyr act with me. Go put on your Harry Styles shirt and get to your concert.”
Liam rolls his eyes and leaves the room. Before he goes for good, though, he pokes his head in one last time. “Do you really think I should wear it?”
--
When Louis tells Peter that they’re ordering takeaway, he immediately says, “Pizza?”
Louis nods. “Pizza for sure.”
They’re on the same wavelength most of the time, which is nice. It makes things like communication and deciding what to eat much easier.
Peter watches television while they wait, and Louis tries to get into it too. It’s difficult; as far as he can tell, there’s not so much a plot as there is a series of explosions. Peter ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhhs’ every so often, so Louis guesses it works for him, somehow.
His phone dings just as he’s starting to get invested in a car chase. It’s a message from Liam that says ‘looooooookk omg’ and there’s a video attached that’s currently trying to load. Louis rolls his eyes; Harry probably looked at Liam and made him pass out, or something.
The doorbell rings then, and Louis smiles. “Pizza’s here.”
Peter nods vaguely, too invested in the plotless movie to care about even pizza.
Louis rolls his eyes. He goes to open the door with cash in one hand and his phone in the other. It’s still loading the video, and as much as he doesn’t want to see Harry… well, he really wants to see Harry. He’s definitely going to watch the video.
The video loads just as he’s getting the door, and he plays it immediately. It’s not that he’s eager, really, but what if Liam is in trouble? What if that’s Liam’s roundabout way of reporting that he’s being robbed, or murdered? It could happen.
He answers it and says, “I’m sorry, can you hold on just a second?” The pizza guy shrugs, so he lets the video play.
The video is, predictably, of the concert. Harry is sitting on a chair on stage, and there are screams erupting from the audience. “Okay, guys, can you settle down?” Miraculously, the sound of the crowd lowers to a dull roar. “Thanks. So, there’s something I want to tell you. It’s a secret, so you can’t tell.”
Screams that sound vaguely like “I PROMISE!” come from the crowd. Louis is pretty sure Liam is yelling it, too.
“So, there’s this person. And I really like them, but I don’t know if they like me or not. I think I may have blown it, I’ve been an idiot.”
The crowd screams again, and Louis isn’t sure if it’s in support or annoyance. He doesn’t care; he can’t breathe properly.
“Anyway, I didn’t get a chance to explain how I feel, but this song is sort of what I wanted to say. Will you guys sing along with me?”
The crowd screams “YES! YES!”, and then Harry starts to sing.
Louis has heard Harry sing before. He’s even heard this particular song, though he doesn’t know what it’s called. But when Harry’s on the radio, it’s different. It’s edited and autotuned. He sounds so much better this way, acoustic and rasping with all its imperfections shining through. Harry’s voice is beautiful.
When Harry gets to the chorus and sings “Don’t let me go,” it feels like he’s singing directly to Louis.
God, Harry must have been talking about him. It makes sense. It’s confusing, considering what happened at the bowling alley, but there’s Harry, saying that he has feelings for him, and singing “don’t let me go” to him.
He needs to talk to him. He needs to talk to Harry now. But Liam’s gone and taken their car, and Louis has no way to get there. “Shit,” he says out loud, and then he looks up at the pizza man.
He considers him for a moment. Then he says, “How much money would it take to get you to drive me to a concert?”
--
One hundred quid later, Louis and Peter are crammed in the back seat of the Pizza Hut car, going as fast as the roads will allow to Etihad stadium.
Peter is still mostly confused- Louis had pretty much grabbed him and stuffed him in the car without explanation, because they needed to get moving. Once they’re in the car, he starts asking questions. “Where are we going?”
“Harry’s concert.”
The pizza guy looks back at him. “Harry Styles? Why are we going to his concert?”
Louis is, privately, of the opinion that the pizza guy should concentrate more on driving and less on analyzing Louis’s life choices. Unfortunately, he can’t bite the hand that’s helping him. “He talked about me on stage, and I have to go find him so I can perform a grand romantic gesture.” He keeps his face and voice completely serious, like he’s deadpanning the guy. Somehow, he’s not, which just goes to show how crazy his life is getting lately.
“Right. Of course. Whatever, dude, for one hundred quid I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Crazy or not.”
At least thinking he’s crazy makes the pizza man stop talking. Small victories.
Peter, on the other hand, takes this as a cue to open the floodgates. “Why is Harry talking about you on stage? I thought you broke up? And didn’t you say you didn’t like him like that, anyway?”
“We didn’t break up. We just had… we had a little argument. And I do like him that way. And apparently he likes me that way too. So that’s why we’re going to Harry’s concert. Also, Liam will be there, so it’ll be okay.”
That logic doesn’t make a lot of sense, but Peter accepts it. It passes for logic at their house.
For his sake, Louis hopes it holds true.
--
When they arrive at the stadium, it looks like the Exodus. If the Exodus consisted of giggly teenage girls and their tired parents, that is.
“Oh, dang it, no.” Louis mutters. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to find Harry in this mess of people.
The pizza guy parks and says, “Alright, this is where you get off. Thank you for traveling with Pizza Hut, have a nice day.”
“Thanks, mate. Really.”
Louis takes Peter’s hand and they leave the car to struggle towards the door. It’s a hell of a struggle, fighting against the tide of people. Louis has Peter get on his back after a few seconds, and then they set off as quickly as they can for the front doors.
When they get there, finally, there are guards all around. “Sorry, sir, you can’t come in here,” says one man.
“No, I’m a friend of Harry’s, really-”
The bodyguard looks at him like he’s heard that ten thousand times today. He probably has. Louis can’t blame him for not believing him, honestly.
Making a break for it doesn’t look wise, considering that there are about twenty security guards and he is one man with a seven year old. Peter would probably betray him for the bodyguards, anyway.
His next best option is to call Liam. It’s really sad how dependent he is on Liam; he’ll have to work on that sometime after he’s seen Harry. He puts Peter back on the ground and picks up his phone. “Hello?” he says when Liam answers.
“Louis! Louis, thank God, is Harry with you?” Liam sounds worried out of his mind.
“What? No. I’m actually… I’m here at the stadium, I came to see him.”
“Wow, really? That’s great, Louis, I’m so happy for- Oh, um, right. Zayn says he needs to know if Harry’s contacted you.”
This is undeniably weird. “No. Why? What’s wrong with Harry?”
“Well, it’s… We kind of lost him. He’s not here anymore, and we have no idea where he went, but Zayn thought he might have gone looking for you.”
That’s not good. He thinks Harry would probably go looking for him at his house, but he, of course, is not there anymore. And now his chauffeur the pizza guy is gone.
“Okay, I need you to come out here and give me the keys to the car. Then you’re going to take Peter back into the venue, and I’m going to go find Harry.”
“Okay, good. I’ll be right there.”
Louis hangs up the phone and turns to Peter. “You’re going to stay here with Liam, okay?”
Peter nods. “And you’re gonna go get Harry, so you can live happily ever after.”
He rolls his eyes. “Something like that.”
“Good. I like Harry.”
“Do you? Cause, if you're not okay with him, I’ll drop him. Just like that, all gone.”
Peter rolls his eyes. “You shouldn’t do that, he’s much cooler than you. And I do like him. I think he’ll make you happy. You… you deserve that, Dad.”
Shit. Peter’s never been the most affectionate kid, so Louis has learned not to expect it. But hearing that- it’s really nice. It makes his eyes water, and he leans over and hugs his son. “Thank you. I love you so much. More than anybody else.”
Peter chuckles against his chest. “I know. I love you too.”
--
As soon as Liam gives him the keys, Louis sets off. He figures his best bet is his house, if Harry’s looking for him. It doesn’t make a lot of sense that Harry hasn’t called him, if he really is looking for him, but Louis has to try it.
When he gets back to his house, he looks all around, inside and out. No sign of Harry.
Well, where the hell else would Harry go looking for him? Maybe he’s not looking for him at all, and he just went to a bar to hook up with a stranger. Maybe Louis is reading this all wrong, and so is everyone else. Maybe Harry really doesn’t like him.
He’s ready to give up when his phone starts ringing. It’s not Harry, but Nick Grimshaw, oddly enough. Louis really hopes this isn’t a drunk dial; he’s had to field his fair share of those from Grimmy already.
“What?”
“My, aren’t we friendly? And me here doing you a favor. You don’t deserve my kindness.”
Louis rolls his eyes. “What are you on about?”
“I’m here on the front steps of 63 Degrees with a little friend of yours. Name of Harry Styles. He’s out here on the steps, saying he wants to stay here for the night. I don’t pretend to comprehend it, but I am trying to get the crazy celebrity inside. He mentioned something about you, so I thought I’d call you and inform you of the situation.”
Nick Grimshaw is a prat, but Louis has never been so grateful for him. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Make sure he doesn’t leave.”
“Oh, thank you, Grimmy. I’m so glad you’re going out of your way to help me, even though you have places to be-”
Louis hangs up. He doesn’t have time for that.
He has a restaurant to get to.
--
When he gets to the restaurant, Harry is sitting on the steps, as promised. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black shirt, black jeans, and a headscarf to hold back his mass of hair. Nick Grimshaw is nowhere in sight, but Louis supposes that’s just as well.
Louis gets out of the car and jogs over to him. Harry’s face lights up when he sees him, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Louis doesn’t let him. Before he really thinks it through, he’s shouting, “You complete dumbass!”
Harry’s face falls into confusion. It makes Louis even angrier.
“What are you doing here, you idiot? Everyone is looking for you! And Liam sent me a video of you talking about me onstage- what the hell? What do you want, Harry? You propositioned me, and now you say you have feelings for me? What am I supposed to think?”
Harry stands up and steps towards him. His face is the picture of calm, his steps slow and measured, and it’s infuriating, maddening, just like Harry. Louis can’t stop moving, but Harry is taking his time.
When he reaches Louis, he puts out his hands and grabs onto both of Louis’s arms. “What I want is you, Louis. I screwed up earlier. I thought- I thought, like, surely you know that I like you, when I’ve been making a fool of myself around you all weekend. And then you just ran away, you didn’t give me a chance to explain. But I’m sorry, that was stupid of me. I should have explained things better.”
“Yeah,” Louis grumbles, “you should’ve.”
Harry smiles a little. “Well, let me explain now. Louis Tomlinson, I like you. I don’t just want to have sex with you- though I do, like, want to have sex with you. A lot. But, um, what I’m saying is that I want to be with you. When I told you that I wanted a family and something to come home to, I wasn’t kidding. And we obviously can’t go all in all at once, but. But I want to come home to you, Louis. I want that to be you.”
Louis sucks in a deep breath. “Jesus, Harry. That was… that was pretty good. Is that going to be in a pop song in a couple months?”
Harry chuckles. “Of course. I’m already working on the music.”
Louis grins, and he finds that he can’t stop smiling. He leans into Harry further until their foreheads are touching, and then he says, “Well, in case I didn’t make it obvious, I like you too.”
“Good,” Harry says.
“Very good,” Louis agrees, and then he kisses Harry again.