Chapter Text
Harry can’t decide which sound he hates more: the god awful groaning coming from the old office printer or the wheezing fan that’s circling the dusty room with “fresh air”. Even though both of the noises together made him want to rip his ears off, there was something worse.
The stern voice coming from his boss’ tongue, lecturing him once again on how his column for The Times was once again becoming a bore to the public.
“Look, kid, you’ve got a lot of talent, really, but what you’re doing right now isn’t interesting enough for you to be writing about. When I read your columns, I picture an 80 year old man in a taupe, not a 21 year old boy with hair curlier than a clowns.” Harry’s boss, Liam, spits out, dangling his lit cigar from his lip.
The same disquisition was given to Harry by his boss almost monthly now. It was always the same old thing, Harry was bright, Harry had talent, Harry was this, Harry was that, but the one thing Harry wasn’t was comfortable with the columns he had been producing.
It wasn’t the Harry’s columns were necessarily awful, it was just that they weren’t what Harry wanted to write. And honestly, Harry wasn’t even sure what he wanted to write either. It was like his whole career path had hit a wall at this point, and he was running out of options.
“I have a proposition,” Liam said when he realized he had lost Harry’s attention, and was desperate to get it back. As planned, Harry’s head shot up, his forest green eyes meeting Liam’s.
“And what would that be?” Harry asks, pushing a hand through his hair and finding the pen the he kept behind his ear. Harry propped the pen in his hand, hovering it eagerly above his notepad as he waited for Liam to continue.
Liam decided to ignore what he just saw and he began talking again, “I think I’ve finally figured out what your writing is good for,” Liam waits, letting Harry sit in suspense for a minute before continuing, “Nonsense.”
Harry blinks back, his expression unreadable, “What?”
“Nonsense, as in doesn’t make sense,” Liam stated in a matter of fact type of tone.
Still bewildered, Harry is still giving him an odd stare. Liam sighs, shaking his head and removing the lit cigar from his mouth.
“What I mean by that, is that your writing would be great for something doesn’t really justify itself for an article, but it’s still interesting and attention grabbing.” Liam explains, watching Harry’s pink lips form into an o-shape.
“Honestly,” Harry clears his throat and leans back in his chair, “I’m still confused as to what you’re talking about.”
“I’m giving you one more shot,” Liam says, finally getting to the point, “And trust me, this is going to be your big break. I rarely offer this detail to anyone, especially a 21 year old intern.”
Harry sits back upright, resuming the position he was in before, “Talk to me, boss.”
Liam smiles, “A spot opened up at our office firm in New York, and I want you to fill that spot. At least for a while, that is.”
Jaw slacking, Harry looked at Liam with wide eyes, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“That’s not all, I have a penthouse there that you’re welcome to stay in, and I’ll be giving you a credit card for your living expenses, but don’t spend it all in one place.” Liam winks, and Harry tries to let all this set in.
“So I’m going to New York?” Harry asks, his mind still processing what the hell was even being told to him right now.
Nodding, Liam responds, “Yes, that’s right.
The whole room was spinning and Harry’s legs felt like static on the television screen. He had so many questions about so many things, but decided to stow most of his worries into the back of his mind, only asking one question.
“What will I do there? In New York. For the column. Paper.” Harry says, his mouth spitting out whatever he could think of.
“It’s up to you. Find something that interests you in the streets of New York, learn everything you can about it, write a spread, and take a flight back to London, using your emergency credit card, of course.” Liam smirks, stubbing his cigar in the ash tray that he had brought along with him when he came into Harry’s office because god knows Harry would never have one laying around.
Harry ponders for a second, letting his mind simmer and he wonders if he really wants to do this. Everything was paid for, well, for him of course, but it would be a whole new life in a whole new place, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to start over again.
On the flip side, he could absolutely love it there and want to drop his job at the firm and make a living in New York. Harry could see everything that he never even dreamed of because New York was the place where dreams come true.
Without a further thought, Harry reached his hand across the table and grasped Liam’s hand, shaking it violently and a beaming expression on his face, “We’ve got ourselves a deal, boss.”
“Great,” Liam replies excitedly, “I’ll arrange a plane for you for as soon as possible, and I’ll get that card to you as soon as possible. You’re good for the day.”
Liam tips his hat, exiting Harry’s office and slamming the door behind him, the blinds swishing at breakneck speed.
When Harry was positive that he was alone, he jumped out of his seat, energetically sprinting across the room to relieve his excitement. After his two minute freak out, Harry grabbed his notepad and pen and was ready to go. Harry threw his coat over his shoulder, straightened his hat on top of his head, dramatically blew his office a kiss before giving it a once over for the last time in a while, and left the building.
--
Surprisingly, Harry has never been on a plane prior to today and after the sights he’d seen at the airport, he was pretty sure he never wanted to have that experience again.
The people were loud and bustling, some of them even having first-timers like Harry, but contrary to him, these were children. Extremely, vocal children who cried about the popping in their ears or their fear of heights. So Harry spent most of his venture with his bulky headphones jammed over his ears, blaring the sound of his most soothing music and whatnot.
Almost seven hours later, Harry was unbuckling his seat belt and pulling his luggage from the storage area above. Harry got off the plane, bustling through tons of other people that were going to have the same experiences as him. He thought it was rather amusing that this was such a big event in his life and he got to share it with no one else but almost 200 strangers.
The hallways were narrow and cramped with bodies, causing Harry's claustrophobia to kick in. When he made it out of the door at last, he escaped to the nearest bathroom, which was tiny as well. Harry fetched his inhaler out of his carry on bag, taking a huff out of the object before tucking it away safely and taking a wee.
The only thing scarier than his first flying experience was his reflection in the mirror when he stepped out of the stall. His skin was milky white except for the purple semi circles forming under his eyes. Harry's usually fluffy curls were ruffled up into an unruly mess, poking out from every angle of his head. Harry sighed, attempting to fix his zombie-like appearance best he could.
When he thought he looked halfway presentable, Harry exited the bathroom to the airport, which thankfully wasn't as intimidating as before. Sighing, Harry made his way through the remaining people that were waiting, avoiding eye contact with anyone he passed by.
Several minutes later, Harry was standing on the curb with a couple others, waiting for the next available taxi to pass. He contemplated walking to his penthouse, but decided against it, not knowing which roads to take and even worse, he was scared that he would get jumped or raped or something.
So Harry waved down the next cab that he saw, quickly jumping into the backseat and reciting off the address that he'd been repeating in his head for the last fifteen minutes. The driver nodded, stepping on the gas and taking the streets to Harry's new penthouse.
Harry rested his chin on the side of the car door, pressing his nose against the glass and taking in the sights of his new city. The pictures he'd seen in the brochure that Liam had given him didn't give this place justice at all, only showing a smidgen of the life and beauty of New York. He took in the sites of the shining lights and the flashing signs and all of the happy people, his stomach filling with butterflies when he realized that he would eventually become on of them.
"We're here, kid. Five." The driver said, holding out his palm.
Harry fished through his pockets and found some of the American dollars that Liam had given him before he boarded the plane and placed them in the drivers hand. "Here, thanks."
"No problem, and welcome to New York." The driver winked, turning back to the front of his vehicle as Harry stepped out, struggling to keep all of his luggage together.
The building was huge, probably bigger than anything he'd ever seen up close. Harry's knees quivered knowing that his new home was at the top of the building, but he tried to push that thought out of his mind.
Harry trudged up the steps to his new home, glancing up at shining windows above and smiling. A bolt of electricity ran through his body as he reached for the door, tugging on the handle and not feeling it open. Embarrassed, Harry pushed the door open and hoped that none of the people roaming the streets had seen that.
The inside of the building lobby was absolutely beautiful, making Harry's breath welt up in his lungs. The lobby was magnificent in Harry's eyes, a chandelier bigger than his shack back in London was dangling from the ceiling, the lights reflecting off the large windows. The room was decorated neatly with whites and browns, maroon carpet leading to an elevator, which Harry invited himself into. He pressed his index finger onto the button for the top floor, drumming his fingers against his thighs as the elevator rose.
The chrome doors opened to a lush foyer, a pristine white door awaiting Harry's entrance. Harry fumbled for the keys in his jacket pocket, his hands shaking in anticipation for what was on the other side of the door. Harry fit the key into the lock, twisting the door handle open and standing in awe in front of his new home.
Penthouses weren't a commonplace for Harry, the exceeding of his privileges being the backyard of Liam's mansion that he interviewed for his internship at. But this was probably the most magnificent that young Harry had ever run into, let alone lived in.
Accents of eggshell and oak filled the room, coloring all objects ranging from counter tops to couches, and even the fireplace matched the furniture. The entire living area looked clean cut and upright, the only splash of tone being the vase of red roses on the coffee table. Harry had barely noticed the note that was tied around the neck of the clear vase, hesitating walking over the white carpet without taking his shoes off.
Harry kicked off his charcoal loafers by the door and abandoned his luggage, padding across the plush carpet to the coffee table. Harry sat down on the couch, sinking comfortably into the cushion as he reached for the card that was attached to the string, pushing the top layer over with his thumb.
'hope these get here before you do, enjoy x -liam'
Smiling, Harry let the note fall from his fingers and relaxed back into the couch, taking in his new surroundings. It was a lot to get used to after spending his nights in his lonely office, more recently a shack he'd been renting from an elderly woman who let him stay there at barely any cost, just paying his way through the manual labor that she couldn't do anymore. It was difficult to tell her that he'd be gone for a while, but she understood and wished him luck, kissing his cheek and watching him walk away to his new destiny.
Now here he was, in a penthouse that surely cost over a million dollars, resting his sock-clad feet on a glass coffee table that more than likely cost more than his entire wardrobe.
Harry lingered there for a while, trying to calm his nerves that were surely about to burst out of his body if he didn't calm down. When he felt stable, Harry stood up, stumbling over, dizzying as he felt the blood rush to his head. When the feeling had passed, Harry walked over to his luggage and hauled it into the bedroom, which was even more lovely than the rest of his new home, if that was possible.
Golden mirrors covered the striped walls, Harry's tired reflection being shown from a hundred different angles. The feel of the room was the same as the rest of the penthouse, the bed laced with white bedding and about a billion pillows that Harry would have to remove and never put back again.
Harry decided to ignore that task for now, violently dropping his suitcases onto the bed. Sighing, Harry unzipped the luggage and removed a pair of pajama bottoms, setting them to the side so he could put them on later. It took about thirty minutes for Harry to empty his luggage and to put all of his belongings in the once bare dresser drawers. After it was all put away, Harry pushed the unneeded luggage into the back of his closet because he hoped he wouldn't have to see it for a long time.
A quick shower later, Harry was tucked neatly into his new king size bed, staring out the window at the cars passing by and the people roaming the streets. His chest felt heavy with excitement because this was the start of his new life, his real life.
--
The streets of New York were actually quite boring in the morning, only full of businessmen speeding through traffic for work and police officers pulling into the nearest doughnut shops. The people seemed like they all had places to be at an exact time and were a lot more uptight than the people Harry had seen the night before. Harry liked the night people better, the ones that had all the time in the world to have the times of their lives.
Harry spent a fair amount of time mulling around the streets, pointing and shooting his camera at interesting things he saw. Only once did he stop for some coffee and a bagel, sitting by the window of the small corner shop downtown. Harry flipped through the newspaper, reading mindlessly over the articles about crimes and lost puppies.
Not fulfilling his interests, Harry flipped to the advertisements page in hopes to find a new hotspot for him to visit, and to possibly find his muse. Movies theaters and restaurants galore filled the sheet, but an ad for the local burlesque club was the one that made Harry's wandering stop, causing him to lean closer into the typed words.
'Best talent in the city, all right here at the Underground Burlesque! Featuring the talents of everyone's guilty pleasure, Niall Horan! Come in Friday evening for the annual show!'
Harry wasn't sure why, but he was awfully intrigued. The thoughts of the dancing and the music and the nightlife swarmed Harry's body again, making him want to squeal in his seat. Harry checked the weekday of the happening again, counting down on his finger to see how long he had to wait.
Nerves of excitement shivered through his legs as he realized that today was Friday, and he definitely wouldn't miss this chance for the world.
--
It was finally time for the club to open, and Harry had made in just in time. A man dressed in all black was standing firmly outside the door, asking Harry for identification. Luckily, he had been weary enough to bring it along, awkwardly showing his ID card to the intimidating man. Without a second glance, the man gave Harry a nod of approval, signaling him to go through the single door in front of him.
For being an annual occurrence, the winding staircase leading to wherever the hell Harry was going was eery and creepily empty. As he closed to the door, chatter and piano tones could be heard, and Harry sighed, hoping that he wasn't late.
He wasn't. Well, maybe just a little bit.
The room was magnificent, multicolored lights flashing around the room, gliding over occupied tables and reflecting off the mirrors at back of the room. The stage was covered mostly by a curtain, but the only visible part was set up as one would expect for a burlesque show, a piano on the left side, and a stairwell leading up to the main stage, but it was empty for now, besides the young man tapping his fingers on the black and white keys of the piano.
The people, on the other hand, all looked stunning compared to Harry's mild outfit choice. The women were dolled up in the prettiest silks, flowing from their shoulders to their toes, which were accomponied by heels the length of a premature baby. The men looked dashing as well, tailored in their finest suits and tops hats resting upon their heads, shoes polished to absolute perfection.
So yes, Harry looked frumpy in a button-up shirt paired with slacks that he wore to work.
And since he was just here for work purposes only, Harry decided against introducing himself to a new group of people (more than likely in an awkward manner, mind you), and hopped up onto a bar stool, admiring the empty stage from afar,
"Can I get you something?" A raspy voice asks, nearly scaring Harry into falling onto the floor.
"No thanks, just here for work stuff." Harry replied, nervously folding his fingers back.
The bartender responded with an excited tone in his voice, "Are you applying to be a waitress?"
"Um, no." Harry answered, trying to look away from the bartender once again, hoping that he'd get the queue that he didn't want to talk.
"Are you here to audition for being in the burlesque, because Paul isn't-"
"No, no. You see, I'm a journalist, and I'm looking for a new muse. I was hoping this would be a good place? I don't know, it sparked my interest." Harry explained, giving away a lot more detail to the bartender than he ever wanted.
The other man nodded, "Ah, so you're looking for Niall Horan."
"Well, no. Isn't he like, the prodigy? Or am I just twisting the words in your advertisement?" Harry asked, walking on eggshells so he wouldn't harm anyone's feelings.
"Pretty much, he's a star," The bartender responded, placing his hands onto the counter in front of Harry, "The most famous person we got, the people come for him. It's like the Niall Horan show."
"That's the exact opposite of what I'm looking for." Harry states, slanting his lips.
The bartender shrugs, "Then don't watch him, keep your eyes on a couple of dancers Paul shoves in the back. Now there's the talent you're looking for."
"Thanks," Harry smiles, "I'm Harry, by the way. What's your name? I didn't happen to catch it before."
"Zayn, just yell for me if you need me." Zayn says with a wink, moving his way over to the woman at the other side of the bar that was attempting to capture his attention.
Not believing that he had made an unlikely acquaintance with the bartender, Harry spun back around in his seat, folding his arms over his chest as he observed the people surrounding him. They all seemed to be having a swell time, muttering names and places that Harry had yet to know. Of course, he did hear Niall's name mentioned quite a while throughout conversations, roaring praise following afterwords.
According to everyone else, Niall seemed to be the best there ever was, but Harry would have to be the judge of that. He was absolutely sure that he could find someone that could outshine their prodigy in a second if he really tried.
And without time for another thought to pass his mind, it was time for the show to begin. The lights dimmed back to the stage, and the curtain rose slowly to reveal the group of boys, dressed in silver, flashy outfits that reflected the colored lights back into the faces of the audience. A soft piano started, and the front man, who Harry assumed was Niall, began to lip sync along with some Marilyn Monroe track.
Watching Niall was like watching the most popular girl in school at her cheerleading meet, she was the star and everyone knew it, but there was always someone could probably smoke her in a battle if it ever came down to it.
Harry had a difficultly finding someone who overshadowed the boy, but none of the other dancers were at his level. Then he recalled what Zayn had said earlier, that the owner stuck the hidden talents in the back so they wouldn't take the attention away from the star of the show.
Poking his head above the crowds, Harry examined the people in the back row of the dance block. It was hard to tell what they looked like because the dancers were incredible, moving their bodies at lightening speed and hitting all of the moves in unison.
Chills crept up at the nape of Harry's neck as Zayn whispered in his ear, "Back line, far right. Seems like a pretty good pick."
Harry gazed to where Zayn was talking about, and that's when he was positive that he'd found exactly who he was looking for.
There was a boy, no older than Harry, was probably the fiercest of the bunch. He had rhythm, and acted like he was the leader of the group, not Niall. Harry watched him intently, squinting his eyes to get a better look at his face. The boy resembled a fairy, his features soft but striking at the same time. Harry noticed that he had blue eyes that sparkled in the stage lights, but also with passion and determination.
"Do you know his name?" Harry asked, barely taking his attention away from the boy, hoping that Zayn was still behind him.
"Louis, he's been here since he was only a kid, like 16 years old I think? I don't know, it's been a while, but he's really got some competition on Horan." Zayn responds, washing a glass with the washrag in his hand.
Harry nods, taking a longer gaze at the boy. He continues to watch him throughout the entire show, Louis never missing a beat and fumbling his footwork. Harry thought he was absolutely perfect compared to everyone else and knew exactly what he was doing at all time like it was instinct.
The show only last about six songs, all of them led by the lip syncing wonder Niall Horan. Harry observed that the rest of the boys were merely just for show, and no one really payed attention to the back up dancers. He thought it was sad because most of the talent that held the show together was through the other dancers and not just the front man, like everyone else seemed to think.
So when the last tune of the piano made its mark, the crowd roared with applause, the boys linking arms and bowing their torsos, but Niall stood front and center, blowing kisses to his public. Harry scoffed, averting his eyes to the boy he had been watching the entire show.
Louis looked pretty under the lights, caramel colored hair swept to the side of his head, glitter resting on his cheekbones (which made his extremely blue eyes sparkle in the light), and his thin lips doused with a red color. Harry thought he was absolutely gorgeous, and he was determined to make him the subject of his column.
And every Friday night for five weeks, Harry found himself in the same bar stool at the Burlesque club, chatting with Zayn the bartender and gawking at the boy with feathery hair and baby blue eyes.
"Maybe you should try approaching Louis, this whole 'admiring from afar' thing you have going on doesn't seem to be working out." Zayn smirks, placing the glass of seabreeze down in front of Harry.
Harry sighs, because this is the same thing that Zayn says to him every time he's in here.
"How would I even go about doing that? I mean, wouldn't it be uncomfortable telling him that I've been watching him for weeks now and that I want to write a column about him?" Harry asks, swirling his ice cubes in his drink around with his straw.
Zayn shrugs, "I don't know man, he's kind of a tough cookie if you know what I mean. Really stubborn and a little dramatic."
Harry purses his lips, not believing Zayn at first, but then realizing Zayn probably knew him better since they were coworkers in a sort. Harry was just some guy who was a regular and just happened to want to write about him.
"It doesn't hurt to try, right?" Zayn assures, and Harry smiles back.
"Thanks Zayn." Harry responds, sipping out of his drink.
When the show ended and the curtain went down, Harry hopped off the bar stool to avoid the crowds and gave Zayn a goodbye before escaping through a door which he hoped led backstage.
The room Harry had just entered had a sickly smell of perfume and make up powder, making him feel woozy as he looked for someone who could appoint him to the fairly-like boy that he'd seen earlier.
"Who are you?" An older man asked, and Harry assumed that this must be Paul.
"I'm a journalist and I was interested in writing about one of the dancers here?" Harry stated, his words coming together at the end like a question.
Paul nodded, "You must be looking for Niall. Niall!" He called out.
"No, I'm actually looking for a Louis? I talked to the bartender and he told me that was his name so I don't know if-"
"Oh, well that's a little unexpected. Um, Louis, can you come over here?" Paul yelled with a confused look on his face.
"Did you need me sir?" A young, blonde man asked, and Harry immediately recognized him as Niall.
Paul shook his head, "Misunderstanding, you're dismissed."
Niall gave a slight smile back, giving Harry an awkward glance before escaping from the circle of people and back to his vanity.
Louis approached, and Harry's mouth stayed agape because he was even more gorgeous up close, if that was possible.
"Yes, sir?" Louis asked, his voice dainty and innocent and it just made Harry's knees feel like gelatin.
"This young man would like to have a word with you if that's alright." Paul said firmly.
"'Course." Louis responded, turning his attention to Harry, "Yes?"
"I, uh," Harry's mind went hazy as he thought of something to say, sweating as he realized that Louis' eyes were peering patiently into his, "Wanted to compliment you on your expertise, you're a really great dancer."
Harry mentally kicked himself in the balls for sounding so lame.
"Oh, well, thank you." Louis responded, "If that's all you needed me for..." He said, turning away on his heel.
"No! I mean, wait," Harry shouted, louder than he meant to and getting a stare from the rest of the dancers, "I wanted to know if you wanted to like, help me work on something? I don't know, it's stupid but I-"
"Elaborate," Louis says, the pique in his eyebrow showing that he's intrigued.
Harry purses his lips, forming a sentence in his head before speaking so he doesn't sound like a total idiot.
"I'm a journalist and I was wondering if I could-"
"No." Louis responds, cutting him off once again. Louis crosses his arms over his robe-clad chest, walking back to his vanity without even giving Harry a second chance.
This was now or never, Harry could give up and scrap his last five weeks of determination and hard work (not really) to find something else to write about, probably not as interesting as Louis, but it would have to do.
Harry decided that he wasn't going to let him slip away.
He strode right over to Louis' vanity, staring at him from the side of the mirror as he applied powder to his cheeks. Harry freaked out inside for a second, worried that he might not even be able to speak in the presence of something so delicate, but he did.
"Just let me explain before you make your final decision," Harry started, Louis still ignoring him, "Please."
With the last plead, Louis turned his attention back to the curly-haired boy.
"Go on." Louis sighed, rolling his eyes, and Harry noticed how long his eyelashes were up close.
"Like I said, I'm a journalist from London and I was sent here to write a creative piece about whatever-or whoever- I found interesting," Harry smiled, inhaling deeply, "And well, I chose you."
Louis' facial expression is unreadable, and the silence between them is awkward.
"Why do you find me so interesting?" Louis asks, breaking the stillness.
Harry gulps, choosing his words carefully so he won't say something that will throw Louis off, "You're probably the most talented person here. You always know exactly what you're supposed to be doing and you're always on point, even when the other dancers are. It's fantastic, and I don't understand why you aren't the center of attention, because you deserve it. And I want you to have that, one way or another."
It's quiet again, but Harry can swear that Louis is blushing at him.
"You really think that?" Louis grins, his red lips making his white teeth pop.
"Um, yeah, why else would I trouble myself so much over making you the subject of my writing? I surely wouldn't of tried for a second chance." Harry exhales, forcing a look of plead on his face.
"Fine, I'm in. But I have some circumstances." Louis says, his voice firming again.
"Of course, your wishes are my command." Harry says cheesily, making Louis roll his eyes again.
Louis refocuses, staring deeply into Harry's eyes, making him squirm a bit, "For one, you let me stay with you, because I'm currently couch hopping."
"Done." Harry says, the king size bed from the penthouse automatically popping into his mind and sending shivers down his spine.
"And two, you can't fall in love with me." Louis says teasingly.
"No problem." Harry forces a smile back, secretly hoping that Louis was only kidding because he wasn't sure he could keep that promise.
--
About 20 minutes later, Harry is finally getting up from the uncomfortable chair that more than likely made an indention on his bottom. He's been waiting for Louis to unwind from the show and to get some of his belongings together for the not so big move into Harry's penthouse.
"Sorry it took so long, glitter mascara is a pain in the ass to get off." Louis laughs, his face looking fresher and less caked on than it did during and after the show. He was dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and a bulky sweater.
Harry still thought he was beautiful.
"It's alright, I guess we should get going then?" Harry asks, nodding his head toward the door.
"Yeah, that would be great," Louis exhales loudly, tightening his grip on the duffel bag that was resting in his arms, "How far from here do you live?"
Harry clicks his tongue, "I don't exactly have a license, so it'll probably be about a 30 minute walk, give or take a couple minutes."
Louis groans, "That's okay I guess. How old are you, anyway? I mean, you are old enough to have a drivers license, right?"
"Oh definitely, I just never got around it. I'm 21, I'm pretty much legal to do anything," Harry assures, closing the space between him and Louis, "How about I care that bag for you? It looks like it's troubling you."
Without having time to answer, Louis' hands were free from the weight of the bag.
"You didn't have to, but thanks." Louis smiles, walking towards the door, "You walk in front of me, I have to lock this place up."
After all the doors were locked, and Louis made sure they were locked. Oh yes, he had to check each door several times after locking it with the key. Harry didn't mind waiting, but his bag was extremely heavy. Harry wondered if Louis packed the thing with bricks and was trying to pull a fast one over him.
"Ready now, Lou?" Harry asked impatiently, penning a nickname for Louis.
Louis nods, walking alongside Harry on the concrete. It was quite nice outside, and people were still out on the strip. Bars were starting to open now, people buzzing in and out of the joints, laughing wildly with their ensemble. Harry smiled at the sidewalk, not wanting Louis to think he was just randomly smiling. He didn't Louis to think he was that weird.
"Why are you smiling at the sidewalk?"
"It's lame," Harry muttered out, craning his neck so he could look at Louis, "But I really like the atmosphere here. I don't know, the people here are more alive than they are back in London. It's nice."
Harry feels stupid as Louis just blankly looks at him for a second, then returning his eyes back to the sidewalk in front of him.
"I get what you mean, I love it here," Louis responds, "It's a magical place, for the most part."
"Do dreams really come true here, Lou?" Harry asked, loving the way Louis' name rolled off his tongue.
Louis shrugged, his shoulder sulking, "Sometimes. If you work really hard, you'll usually make it, but then again you can do everything in the world towards your dreams and you never fulfill them. It kinda sucks."
Harry's lips slanted, "You'll make it one day, one day you're going to be the star of that show."
"Not as long as Niall's around," Louis scoffed, "He's the reason for most of our buzz."
"But you're better." Harry spat out without thinking.
At first he was embarrassed, but he could see the blush on Louis' cheeks in the streetlights.
"You don't have to say that." Louis said humbly, the corners of his mouth raising into a tiny smile.
"It's true," Harry gushes again, "You should be the shining star of that show. I've only been like, admiring you from afar, I guess, but you're really amazing. Don't underestimate yourself."
Louis doesn't respond, just giving a cute little smile to Harry, which makes his heart melt in his chest.
And it didn't matter that Louis didn't say anything back, because they were back at Harry's establishment.
"We're here." Harry says, leading Louis up the steps and to the front door.
Louis audibly gasped when they walked through the front doors, and the look of the astonishment on his face was similar to Harry's when he first walked into the lobby almost 5 weeks ago.
Harry could tell that Louis was impressed with the atmosphere, and he obviously wasn't used to this kind of environment.
They walked to the elevator, Louis lagging a bit behind, admiring the interior the location.
It was a silent ride in the lift up to the room, which was very uncomfortable since they barely knew anything about each other and they were going to be living together. For all Harry knew, Louis could be a psyhco murderer or could have really odd fetishes or well-anything.
That's when Harry realized that they knew absolutely nothing about each other. Hell, Harry couldn't even tell you Louis' last name or his favorite book or what his favorite food was.
But he still felt connected enough to him to want to write an entire piece about him.
The elevator doors parted, Harry letting Louis walk out first as they approached his front door. Harry handed Louis' items back to him while he dug his keys out from his pocket, shoving the appropriate key into the doorknob and twisting it open. He retrieved the luggage back from Louis, stumbling behind him and shutting the door with him foot.
"How the hell did you afford this?" Louis asks breathlessly.
"I didn't." Harry responds, walking over to the couch and placing the bag onto the floor.
Louis gives him a look of concern, the whites of his eyes growing larger.
"What do you mean you didn't afford this? This is your home, isn't it?" Louis' said, his voice turning shrill.
"For now. My boss is letting me stay here until I'm done with the article." Harry elaborates, watching Louis sigh out of relief.
"Thought I was living with a criminal for a second." Louis responds.
Harry laughs, "It looked as if you were going to have a heart attack there, I'm not a criminal or anything, Louis."
"So am I going to be spending my nights on the couch which probably costs more than my pension?" Louis asks, changing the subject.
"If you'd like, or we can share the king-sized bed." Harry replies, waggling his eyebrows at Louis.
Louis rolls his eyes, "Please, Harry, do you really think I'm that easy? At least wait until my second night here to be a pervert."
"Hey now, I was just messing with you. I'll go hunt for some sheets or a blanket or something." Harry says, leaving Louis behind in the living room and heading to his bedroom in search of something that could keep Louis warm.
Thankfully, he had washed his second pair of sheets a couple days prior and he could spare having clean sheets for a couple days so Louis could use them. Harry whisks one of the extra blankets off the foot of his bed, then staring at the mountain of pillows on the floor with squinted eyes.
"Yo Lou, how many pillows do you need?" Harry yells loud enough for Louis to hear.
"Just one or two will be fine." Louis yells back.
"Are you sure that's all you need? I have like 30 in here." Harry says, laughing to himself as he picks up two pillows from the top of the stack and walks back into the living room.
"Yeah that will be-oh." Louis begins to say, but then stops when he sees that Harry is back in the room.
Harry tosses the items at Louis, mumbling, "Here."
Louis mutters out a 'thank you' as he tucks the sheets into the cushions, laying the blanket out on top of it, and placing the pillow at the head of the couch.
Watching awkwardly, Harry politely said, "I can show you where everything's at before I go to bed, if you want."
"I think I'll be fine, but thank you." Louis smiles, sitting cross-legged on top of his cot.
With this, Harry nods and gives him a small grin, turning on his heel and going back into his bedroom. He closes the door behind him, leaning his back against the wood and exhaling, the everlasting curl to his lips not fading.
Harry couldn't believe that he had convinced Louis had given him a second chance, or that Louis had actually agreed to this ordeal, and that right now Louis was tucking himself under the blankets on Harry's couch. The whole idea of this was so outrageous, and if it were Harry in Louis' shoes, he wouldn't have accepted the offer to be the centric of some stranger's workpiece.
Shaking out his curls, Harry pressed his hand to his head, the chill of his fingertips soothing the headache that was forming behind his forehead.
For now, Harry wanted to forget everything for about seven hours so he could catch up on the sleep that the blue-eyed starlet at the burlesque club was causing him to lose. And the fact that he was less than a hundred feet away from him right now.
Harry sighed, trying to put an end to the thoughts formulating in his mind, but they wouldn't stop.
And they didn't stop the entire time he was changing, or when he was sliding his legs underneath the covers, or when his cheek was pressed up against the cold pillow sheet.
Eventually he fell asleep, and for a while his mind was numb, but that didn't clear the way for dreams about the flashy dancer with the highest cheekbones Harry had ever seen.