Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Nearly twenty minutes of waiting for a damned hamburger have passed and Louis Tomlinson is infuriated. Though, he isn't the only one. Old women stand behind him, bickering about the audacity this generation has, and a family of seven stand at the counter. The kids scream in agony and the dear mother is trying her hardest to calm the baby sobbing against her chest.

It was supposed to be a fast alternative to ordering Chinese take-out or going to a buffet, hence the phrase fast food, yet he hasn't moved forward at all since stepping into line.

All he originally wanted was a quick bite before heading over to Syco to discuss his band's new album,The Shame of Art. But, of course, nothing can possibly go his way when he seriously needs it to.

After keeping himself as best contained as he can, for as long as he can, Louis can’t hold in his comments any longer. “No wonder Burger King is losing customers to McDonald’s. Jesus Christ, this isn’t proper customer service. What the hell is going on up there?” His voice carries throughout the enterprise and everyone in listening vicinity grumbles in agreement.

The lady standing in front of him turns around. She's no older than mid-twenties, but dresses as a middle-aged woman with one too many cats at home. “The idiot working the register doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing and now I have to get back to work. Great. I wasted my entire lunch break waiting on that stupid fuck.”

And with those kind words she finds her way to the nearest exit. Louis’ eyes follow her as she storms out of the fast food joint and to her car. She wastes no time in abruptly slamming the blue minivan door shut and squealing her tires as she races out of the parking lot.

He slips into her spot. At least he's closer to the front and there’s one less person to listen to complain. He does a quick mental calculation. There’s six orders in front of him. If each runs smoothly and only takes two minutes, then he’ll be out and partially satisfied in about fifteen minutes.

He can deal with fifteen minutes. A little tardiness never killed anyone.

And anyways he hasn’t wasted twenty minutes of his utterly unorganized life for no reason. He’s going to get that hamburger one way or another, even if he has to get someone fired in the process.

One step at a time, he gradually reaches the front, and it's his turn to order. He's struggling to bite his tongue. He wants to tell the cashier off for putting him through a half an hour wait, but after getting a good look at him, he can’t find the words to say anything - let alone insult or berate him.

It’s a kid. There’s no way he’s any older than Louis is - in fact, he’s most likely a few years younger. Curly brunet hair cascades past his shoulders and his green eyes are brighter than stars in a cloudless night sky.

“Hi.” Bright eyes breathes, finds himself staring for a tad too long, and clears his throat to draw away from his blatant fonding. “Can I help you?”

Louis picks up on three things right away. Bright eyes is gorgeous, like proper runway fashion Gucci model gorgeous, and wow Louis has never seen anyone look so fit in a Burger King uniform.

But the other two things he’s noticed aren’t as positively inclined. They’re strange points of interest. Personality traits or just quirks, perhaps.

Bright eyes is significantly shorter than him, but soon he realizes that bright eyes is sat down on a chair - which is peculiar, considering customer service is brutal and any sign of laziness can get someone sacked in seconds. It’s more than that though, bright eyes speaks with slurred speech, but Louis knows he isn’t drunk - or at least, he doesn't think he is.

Bright eye’s voice breaks him away from his thoughts. “Hello?”

And that voice. Louis can hardly focus on anything other than that voice. It's deep, but not guttural or dissonant, and soothing.  

“Uh - yeah. My bad, sorry.” Louis tries to sound not too obviously interested. He casually glances up at the menu board, even though he already knows exactly what he wants and it isn’t food. He wants to take bright eyes for a ride, and in more ways than one.

Bright eyes watches on as he mentally decides what sort of tone to use when he orders his heart attack on a bun.

“Can I get a number two? But hold the onion and tomato.” He’s rather proud of himself. He sounds confident, but not cocky, and poised, but not robotic.

Christ. He’s way too concerned with impressing this stranger, this bloody beautiful stranger, sitting before him.

It’s not like he asked him to have a quickie in the bathroom. He ordered a fucking hamburger, yet here he is again making something a much bigger deal than it truly is.

“What size?”

Louis thinks for a moment. He slides his sunglasses off his face and clips them to the front of his shirt. “Go big or go home, right?”

Bright eyes nervously laughs. Louis focuses back on him and notices a name tag reading Harry pinned to his uniform.

“What to drink?”

Louis purrs. “God.”  

Somehow it’s possible. Harry grows more anxious right in front of Louis’ own two eyes, face flushing, and eyes bulging. “What?”

“There’s too many options. I want you to pick for me. What’s your favorite drink?”

Harry shakes his head. "I don't know."

“Funny, I don’t believe I’ve heard of that flavor. Come on Harry, what do you like to drink?”

Louis knows he shouldn’t be checking Harry out right now, but how is he supposed to look away from such an exquisite man?

“I don't know.” Harry says, shyly. He lowers his head, trying his hardest not to look at Louis, and taps his fingers nervously against his thighs.

“Course you do. Everyone has a favorite soda. I like root beer.”

Harry swallows. “I’ll ring that up then.”

“Ah, ah, not so fast pretty boy.” Louis smiles. “I’m serious. I want you to pick for me. How about you surprise me?”

Harry glances up at Louis, blushing, and looks back down again. “Oh…okay." He types Louis’ order into the register and the machine responds with a god awful noise, something between a beep and a screech.

Louis isn’t very well off with technology himself, but he’s almost positive that cash registers aren’t supposed to make that sound. “First day on the job?”

“Not exactly.”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you know what you’re doing then?”

The beeping stops and Harry hesitates for a moment. “You would think so.”

“I don’t mean to sound like an ass, but you’re going to get fired if you continue to slack off. You have quite a few angry customers." He leans in closer, whispering to Harry, "And unfortunately for you, your looks don’t make things better.”

“Yes...I know.” Harry taps another button on the machine, hoping to fix the problem, but to everyone’s dismay, the horrid beeping returns. The old women in line behind Louis scold Harry, calling him an "uneducated fool", and step out of line.

On a second thought, maybe Harry is drunk. Running a cash register isn't as difficult as he's making it out to be. “Maybe reevaluate? You shouldn’t come into work hungover.”

Harry is offended. He furrows his eyebrows and his lips pull into a taut line. “I’m not - what? What the hell makes you think I'm hungover?”

“Well for one you’re not speaking very clearly. I think you had one too many last night pal." Louis points out, completely ignorant of Harry’s shift in behavior.

He’s only trying to save Harry from getting fired.

Harry scoffs. “Excuse me?”

The manager, Louis assumes, comes out from behind the kitchen. His lips are tightly pursed and his eyes narrow permanently in disapproval. There’s no sign of any other emotion aside from anger - or maybe that’s frustration. Louis has always had trouble differing emotions from one another. “Harry! What is the problem? Why am I getting complaints? What did you do this time?"

Harry sighs and rubs at his face with his fist. “There’s not - It’s nothing sir.” He’s left a huge red mark on his forehead.

“Why is the register beeping again then? I thought I showed you how to fix it before. How fucking ignorant can you be?” Mr. Manager barks. Louis catches a glimpse of his name tag. His name begins with a T. Tyler or Tony, maybe.

Tony shoves his way in between Harry and the cash register, quite literally almost knocking him out of the chair he’s sat in, and Harry doesn’t even bother arguing. Louis watches his entire body rise and sink with a hefty sigh.

He guesses that this has happened on more than one occasion.

Tony stares at Harry, as if waiting for him to answer that rhetorical question of his, and Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat under his interrogating scowl.

There’s the other thing that’s been bothering Louis. He doesn't understand why Harry has been sat down this entire time. He's been sacked from enough jobs to know what a manager likes and dislikes and someone who displays signs of disobedience is definitely someone they dislike.

Tony turns his attention back to the register.

He clicks a few buttons on the surface of the machine, but his expression hardens and he glowers at Harry. “What the fuck did you do? I swear to god - this is what I get for hiring a fucking cripple.”

It dawns on Louis then. Harry isn’t a slacker and he isn’t hungover. He’s disabled.

And oh shit, does he feel like a dickhead.

It does make more sense though. The way Harry moves his lips when he talks isn’t normal, only one side of his mouth curves when he speaks, while the other side struggles to form around words.

He doesn’t enunciate, his words run together, and he doesn’t finish pronouncing each individual word. His vowels are drawn out in almost a whine.

Even though Louis made a mistake, he shouldn’t be held accountable for thinking that Harry was drunk. When people aren’t sober they speak like that, he’s seen the lads smoke enough weed to recognize the speech pattern.

Hell, he’s seen so many drunken videos of himself that he knows that’s exactly what he sounds like when he’s under the influence.

The last thing he needs from all of this is the press hearing about it. He would never live it down. Management would never stop scolding him for being rude towards a cripple. The world would use it against him even after he faded out of the spotlight, never to be heard of ever again and they’d still talk about his problematic actions.

He'd be making constant headlines: Louis Tomlinson the asshole who used his fame to poke fun at handicaps.

Fuck.

Harry sits still, wringing his hands together, and watches Tony as he tries to fix the register. His cheeks are flushed and Louis swears he can see tears forming in those bright eyes.

This is his chance. He can make things right and the media will never hear of this silly misunderstanding.

“Excuse me,” Louis tries to interrupt Tony as he continues to rant about what a terrible person Harry is. He ignores him until Louis repeats himself. “I said excuse me.”

Tony looks up and snaps at him. “What do you want?” Then, there’s a moment of silence. “Wait...I know you.”

“I don’t think you do. We’ve never met.”

“I do...aren’t you in that boyband? Uh - One Addition?" He guesses and rubs the back of his neck. "My daughter is a huge fan. Even has a cardboard cut-out of the blonde one.”

“One Direction. Yeah, I am,” He confirms, but he hardly sounds moved by Tony recognizing him - in fact he doesn’t sound remotely interested. “And you’re making me really uncomfortable by talking to your employee so disrespectfully.”

Harry peers up at Louis, doesn't speak a word, but his expression says it all for him. He hasn't had someone stand up for him before, not like this, and he admires Louis' courage.

At a loss for words, Tony blankly stares at Louis, stumbling over his thoughts. “I don’t -”

“You get off talking to him like that? He’s a human being." Louis leans on the counter. "He doesn’t deserve that. If he's such a hassle, why don't you fire him?"

“Okay,” Tony faces Harry, flatly says, without a second thought, “Harry, you’re fired. Get out.”

Harry stares at him in disbelief and then he glances towards Louis. “I - what? What did I do?”

“Get out.”

Harry's admiration becomes blinded by pure anger and hatred. “Thanks a lot.” he spits.

Louis’ shock is written all over his own features. He definitely didn’t expect for that to happen and for it to transpire so quickly is not a good thing either.

He shakes his head. He can’t believe this, but he can't find it within himself to apologize either. What is he supposed to say? I’m sorry I caused you to lose your job? “Uh - I, that’s not what I meant mate. You weren’t supposed to fire the lad.”

Tony only smiles, it's a devious smile, and his eyebrows raise with pleasure. “Thanks for the advice. I’ve wanted to get rid of him for a while, but I’d be in a shit load of trouble for firing him because he’s a cripple. Now, how about a signature for May?”

“No. I’ll - I’ll pass.” He’s still in shock. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Harry slowly rises from his chair, holding himself up by pushing his palms flat on the counter top, and reaches for something underneath the counter.

Tony berates him for not moving quick enough. “You’re going to have to leave today. Hurry it up. I don't have time for this bullshit.”

"That's enough of that. Leave him alone." Louis demands.

Harry holds a crutch in one hand and he cautiously bends down for the second one. One by one, he slips his arms in the forearm cuffs. He wraps his palms around the hand grips and his knuckles fade to white with the pressure he's applying.

Louis still can’t form any words when he watches Harry unsteadily hobble around the front counter. He tries his hardest not to look at his legs, but he can’t help himself, all of his attention is drawn to them. They’re pulled together, his feet are turned inward, and his knees knock together with nearly every step he takes. He’s understandably slow.

Louis finds this situation playing out in front of him to be strangely intricate. He’s never seen anyone walk like Harry before. It’s brand new to him, he doesn’t feel uncomfortable observing him, but he’s almost positive Harry is uncomfortable with having someone stare at his physical obstacles.

Harry’s face is set with concentration, bottom lip drawn between his teeth, almost as though a single distraction would be detrimental. Louis supposes it would be. He doesn’t want to see Harry fail and he’s only just met him.

“I’ll mail your last check. Don’t ever come back, you hear?”

Harry doesn’t bother thanking him. He doesn't even bother with a reply.

“Harry!” Louis calls after him, but he continues to stumble along. “Harry.” He tries again. Harry halts in front of the door, not because he’s going to wait for Louis, but because he can’t push the door open. Still, it gives Louis perfect opportunity.

Louis walks to Harry and holds the door open. Harry crutches past him, without even acknowledging the favor he’s done, and pauses in the vestibule when there’s another door.

Louis slips past him and holds the door leading to the parking lot open.  

“See. I’m good for something. I promise I -”

Harry interrupts him. “Shut up. I don’t even know you.”

“My names Louis.”

“Would have been nice to know your name before you got me fired.” Harry budges past once again.

Louis follows him outside. He has to be careful, there’s a higher chance that fans and paparazzi will spot him now that he’s out in the open. “Harry, come on, I'm sorry. I didn’t know he was going to fire you. I was defending you.”

Harry pauses in his actions. Steadily, he turns himself around to face Louis. “Defending me? I don’t need anyone to defend me.”

Louis remains silent.

“What? You think just because I’m disabled I need to be defended? I can’t walk on my own that must mean I’m totally helpless.”

Again, Louis doesn’t say a word.

“You do, don’t you? I don’t even know you man! I don’t need you or anyone coming to my rescue.”

Louis sighs. “I thought I was doing a good thing. You were upset.”

“Oh, so you’re one of those people? If you help me out then you’re a saint for helping out a handicap is that it? Do I look like a charity case?” There's a brief moment of hesitance. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”

“I’m really sorry I got you fired. I didn’t mean to, alright? It was an accident.”

Harry scoffs and his nostrils flare with anger. “Oh, it’s okay. I’ll just find another fucking place that hires cripples. Shouldn’t be that hard. I didn't need to pay my rent or anything."

“I’ll help you if you want.” Louis treads closer to grab Harry's arm, a gesture in which means no harm, he only wants to be of comfort, but Harry jerks away.

“I don’t even know you!”

“I’m Louis.”

“We’ve been over this." Harry laughs in disbelief. "I don’t fucking care who you are or who you think you are, because apparently you think you’re big shit or something.”

“I am. Well, sort of.”

Harry glares at Louis, skeptic of how much audacity the blue-eyed lad has, “Congratulations. Get away from me.” Harry begins to leave in the opposite direction of the employee cars.

Louis calls out to him. “How are you getting home?”

Harry freezes. “Excuse me?” He turns around. "What did you say?"

"I asked how you were getting home.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“Well - it’s going to rain, I think, and I don’t - how long, realistically, can you walk on those? I can give you a ride home. It's the least I can do.”

Louis looks up towards the sky, observing the way the blue sky is beginning to intertwine with hues of grey, and smells the air. It’s going to rain. The airs beginning to shift in humidity and the scent of wet dog already fills the atmosphere.

“Listen, big shit, I don’t need you or anyone else doing me any more favors. I’m fine.”

“It’s not a favor. I don’t want you walking home alone in the rain and I’m already late for a meeting, I might as well make the most of my tardiness, right?”

“That makes no sense.” Harry argues.

“Are you going to argue with me or are you going to let me drive you home?”

Louis gestures for Harry to follow him. Harry does, but once he sees Louis’ car, he comes to a complete stop. “No way.”

“What?”

“You drive a Ferrari.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yeah...pretty cool, right?”

Harry's in shock. “This is like a 250,000 pound car.”

“262,000 actually.”

Harry continues to stare at the vehicle in awe. “That’s crazy. It’s a beautiful car.”

“Thank you?”  Louis’ voice raises in a question. He knows it’s a nice car, but not as nice as Harry is making it out to be. It only equates to a large piece of metal in his mind.

He opens the driver’s side door and leans inside. He runs his hand underneath the dash until he feels the lever to pop the trunk. “Okay, you can put your crutches in the trunk if you’d like.”

Harry stares at the open trunk and doesn’t say a word.

“Harry? What’s wrong?”

He pivots himself to glance at Louis. His voice loses the venomous tone it held previously. "Louis - I can’t...can you put them back there once I get in the car?”

“Oh, right. It completely slipped my mind that you can’t - ah, nevermind. Sorry love.” The name of endearment slips past his lips before he can catch it. He hopes Harry hasn’t heard him, but the small smile on Harry’s face says otherwise.

Louis opens the passenger door for Harry. He stands nearby, uncertain of Harry’s ability, and waits for the first sign of trouble. But, it never comes.

Harry pulls himself into the car using the handle installed on the roof and Louis takes the crutches from him, “These are heavier than they look.” He says.

Harry shifts until he’s completely sat in the seat. “They’re weighted at the bottom.”

“I see.” Louis carries them back to the trunk. He sets them inside, shuts the lid, and walks back around front. He slides into the driver's and shuts the door. “You can plug your address into the GPS.”

Harry does so and he doesn't say a word to Louis. He stares out the passenger window, waiting for Louis to drive, but he still hasn't thought of anything to say.

As soon as Louis pulls onto the main road, rain begins to pelt down on his windshield, and he flips his windshield wipers on.

Soon enough, he manages to start conversation with Harry. "How do you normally get to and from work? Please don’t tell me you walk when it’s like this. The GPS says you live two miles from here.”

Harry glances over at him. “No. I can usually catch a taxi or the local bus.”

“Is that what you planned on doing today?”

Thunder claps in the sky and Harry nearly jumps out of his skin, but it doesn't even faze Louis. He's almost certain that he's immune to loud noises at this point.

“Yeah.”

Louis keeps his eyes set forward on the road. “You can’t drive then?”

“I can, in theory, but I don’t have my license.”

"What does that mean? In theory?"

"I can, sort of, but the government won't issue me a license."

Louis nods. Thunder and the light hum of the radio fill the void between the two of them.

“So, you’re one of those One Direction guys?” Harry asks. He can't help his curiosity.

“I am, yeah. You’ve heard of us?”

“Of course, yeah. I don’t live under a rock, y’know?" He breathlessly laughs. "My sister’s like a proper stalker fan of yours. Thought you looked a bit familiar.”

“How old is your sister?”

“Twenty six.”

Louis grins. "Has she ever been to one of our shows?"

"Are you kidding? Your tickets are expensive as hell. No way."

Louis' grin doesn't hold for long. "Oh."

"I mean - you're obviously loaded. What gives? Why is it three hundred pounds for a decent seat? Three hundred pounds doesn’t even guarantee someone a floor seat.”

Louis begins to rant in his defense. He can feel Harry’s lack of interest expanding. "We don't decide on ticket prices. It’s all up to our management. Girls are willing to pay anything to see us - and, yeah, guys too, but of course gents don’t like us as much as the ladies. So yeah. There’s that.”

Silence.

Louis quickly decides to propose an offer. "I could probably hook the two of you up with tickets - VIP passes maybe, if you wanted.”

"No - it's fine. I can't do concerts anyways."

Louis says. "Why not? We have a handicap section."

He doesn't realize what he's said until he's already said it and it's too late.

"You're disgusting." Harry blurts out. "I thought - maybe for a second there, you weren't a complete dick, but you go and say shit like that. For your information, I don't do concerts because crowds aren't my thing. I'm aware there's a handicap section. Idiot."

"I'm sorry Harry - I just, I've never - you know?"

"No. I don't know what the hell you're on about."

Louis runs a hand through his hair. God, he's an idiot. He's embarrassed and he hates himself more than anything right now. Both things make for a great combination. "What if, uh, the two of you watched the show from backstage then?"

"Why are you trying so hard to get me to see one of your silly little shows?" Harry rubs at his face.

Bluntly, Louis admits, "I want to see you again. If you come to one of my silly little shows, then I will. I know I will."

"You want to see me again," Harry tries to understand. "Why?"

Louis hesitates. "I - I mean - you're interesting. Fuck, that sounds so stupid - I don't know. I just want to see you again. That is, if you want to see me."

Harry thinks it over for a second. "I don't know if I do."

As Harry answers, Louis pulls in front of his apartment complex. He turns to face him. "How about this? If you want to come to the show, you can shoot me a text and I'll tell security to let you in." Louis opens the center console - withdrawing a pen and a napkin. His car's an absolute mess, littered with food wrappers and articles of clothing. He leans forward, pressing the napkin to the dashboard, and scribbles his phone number down. He hands it to Harry. "When you text me just send me your name so I know it's you, yeah?"

"You mean if I decide to text you," He shoves the napkin down into his pocket. Louis watches him and most definitely notices when his attitude shifts and his cheeks flush.

Louis begins to question him. “What’s -”

"I - um, can you get my crutches?"

He's embarrassed.

"Oh yeah, of course, just give me a second, okay?" Louis gets out of the car and walks around to the trunk. He withdraws the two crutches and takes them up front to Harry.

Harry has the car door open, both legs outside of the car, and his feet flat on the pavement.

"Do you need help?"

"No, but you can hand me one of my crutches." There's something in his tone that tells Louis he should refrain from asking if he needs help in the future.

Louis hands one over and Harry slips his arm through the cuff. He presses the tip to the cement and he's able to push himself up until he's standing - hunched over, but standing nevertheless. Harry reaches out for his other crutch and Louis quickly hands it to him.

He nearly trips as he struggles to gain his full balance. "Shit! Are you okay?" Louis goes to steady him with hands on his shoulders, but he only jerks away.

"I’m fine! Fucking hell. Don't touch me. I don't need your help."

Louis has his hands raised in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. Hopefully I'll see you around."

"If I were you I definitely wouldn't keep my hopes up.”

Louis watches Harry leave. There's both a ramp and stairs leading to the entrance of the lobby - he uses the stairs, taking one step at a time. It takes him ages, but after a few grueling moments he’s inside.

Once he's gone and out of Louis' sight, Louis decides then that he can leave.

Turns out, he wasn't willing to do anything for that burger. Instead, he has himself a new found admiration for a certain bright-eyed boy and despite knowing the terrible ending it’s bound to have, he’s willing to take chances.

It’s the next day at the studio when his phone vibrates.

He glances down at his phone. Even though he doesn’t recognize the number, he goes to his messaging app and reads over the text.

It’s Harry. You told me to text you about tickets.

Straight to the point. Louis admires that. He must type out and delete at least four versions of virtually the same text before deciding on one to actually send.

hi harry ! glad to hear from you ! how are ya ??

After it's sent, he saves Harry's number to his phone. His reply comes back seconds later.

I’m fine...anyways about the tickets.

“Someone looks flustered.” Louis jumps at the voice.

He glances up at the person casting a shadow over him and sighs. “What do you want Liam?”

Liam smiles. “Ah, come on mate, I’m only teasing.” He sits down on the couch, beside Louis, and tries to look over his shoulder. Louis turns his back to him. “Oh, I see. Who are you texting?”

“It’s nobody.”

“Certainly doesn’t look that way. Is it a boy? Did you meet someone? Huh?" Liam prods him with a sharp jab to the side. He winces and curls in on himself.

In the meantime, his phone dings with another message. Hello? Louis are you still there?

“You did, didn’t you? What’s he like? Is he nice? He’s fit, isn’t he? Jesus, this is great!” With each question, there's another stab to his side.

Louis swats his hands away. “If you could go find someone else to annoy for like two minutes, that would be fantastic. I'm busy.”

Liam sloppily kisses Louis’ cheek, leaving saliva residue all over his face, but he pulls away before Louis can smack him.  “You know you’re my favorite.”

“Fuck! That’s disgusting!” Louis groans. He uses his sleeve to wipe away Liam’s mess. “Get away from me, fucking tit.”

He types a quick message. sorry..annoying bandmates hahaha...yeah can you make it to our show tomorrow night maybe ??

There's a short pause before the reply comes in. I think so. What do I need to do?

Louis’ in the middle of typing his response when Liam snatches his phone away.

“What the fuck? Give it back.”

“Do you have a picture of him? Oh, he sounds so proper over text. What a darling. Wait, you’re giving him tickets for the show tomorrow? Fuck! I can’t wait to meet him.”

Louis groans. “So help me god. Give me my phone.”

Liam laughs as he rapidly types out a message. “One second, one second. I’m sending a text to loverboy.”

“For fuck's sake, leave him alone!”

Louis manages to finally steal his phone back, but once he looks at the conversation, he realizes the damage has already been done

He sent. ok first u have to suck my dick..u swallow right??

He’s going to kill Liam.

Harry’s reply comes quicker than any of them before.

If that’s what I have to do then I’ll pass...

Louis tries to make it right. i am so sorry that was my friend liam . im so so sorry fuck . tomorrow just come through the vip area tell security your name .. whats your last name ? your sister’s name ?

Louis glares at Liam. “You’re an asshole.”

“But you love me. Did loverboy agree?”

“His name is Harry and no, he didn’t.”

Liam draws in a sharp breath. “That’s rough. For you, I mean." Louis cuts him a dirty look and he stands up, excusing himself before the severity of the situation intensifies.  “I think I’ll be on my way then.”

He disappears out the door. Louis rolls his eyes and stares down at his phone until another text bubble pops up.

Styles and her name is Gemma. Thank you for doing this. She’s going to be so happy. I'll see you tomorrow. I' ve got to go.

no problem . see you and your sister tomorrow .

“Harry Styles.” Louis says to himself. A beautiful name for a beautiful person. “See you tomorrow Harry Styles.”

Louis is far beyond the feeling of irritation.

They have less than an hour until the show begins and Niall still hasn't bothered to make an appearance. He doesn't understand how irresponsible and reckless one person can be, especially someone as famous as Niall.

The three of them, with the blatant exclusion of Niall, are sat in Zayn’s dressing room, exchanging angry words about their band mate. They have to go on, with or without him, and they all know he's with some girl, probably having sex with her right as they speak.

There's a knock at the door, Louis doesn't look up, not even when the voice introduces himself as Paul, their head of security. He can't focus on anything other than his resentment towards Niall, at least half the crowd out there tonight is here for him. They always are.

"Louis, there's a kid here to see you." Paul says, steps into the room, not even showing a glimpse of a smile.

Louis furrows his eyebrows. "What kid?"

"Says his name is Harry. There’s a girl with him too. I'm only telling you because I thought I remembered you talking about him."

Zayn grins, taking a long drag from his cigarette, even though he knows they're not supposed to smoke backstage. "We finally get to meet the mysterious Harry. How exciting. Just think this entire time I thought Liam was making him up."

"Oi, shut up." Louis chastises. He looks back towards Paul. "Tell them to come on in."

"Will do." With that, Paul leaves and shuts the door behind him.

"Aw, you're blushing. Sweet." Liam coos and pinches Louis' cheek in between his fingers.

Louis elbows him in the stomach. He doubles over, holding his gut, and gags. "Easy. I was only kidding."

“Whatever. Before you meet Harry and his sister you should know that - “

He’s interrupted by the door opening, but instead of Paul entering with Harry and Gemma, Niall steps inside. “Lads! I've got a great one to tell you about!"

Zayn glares at him. “Bro, where the fuck have you been? The show starts in less than an hour.”

“What can I say? I got caught up.” He notices the three of them staring at the door and he too turns to face it. “What are we waiting for?”

“Harry.” Liam smirks.

“The same Harry I heard about all day yesterday?”

"You know it.”

He sits beside Louis and stretches his legs out. “It’s about damn time. I can’t deal with hearing about him for another day.”

It wasn’t even Louis who was going around speaking about him every ten minutes. Liam was the one who told Zayn and Niall all about his alleged crush.

Louis isn’t sure what he possibly could have told them, considering Liam knows even less than he did about Harry, which is somehow possible.

"I bet he's fit. I can hardly wait."

Louis doesn't know whether to tell them that Harry's disabled or not. He tried to moments earlier, but he was interrupted. Maybe it's not important. After all, it doesn't matter to him that Harry isn't fully capable of everyday actions because it doesn't make him any less of a person and it's not like he's romantically involved with him anyway. The boys shouldn't be too concerned with his well being.

Louis keeps his eyes set on the door. His nerves are tangled right in the pit of his stomach. He wants today to go as smoothly as he's imagined it.

The door creaks open once again and in comes Paul, followed by Harry and a girl who resembles Harry, but with more delicate features and dyed hair. She must be Gemma.

Louis stares at Harry for a moment, not quite understanding where his crutches went. He's sat in a wheelchair, though he doesn't seem bothered by it. What gives Louis a right to be?

He isn't. He's trying to tell himself that he isn't, but he is. He definitely is bothered and it isn't as though he finds it unattractive or disgusting, it's just that Harry has more physical barriers than Louis thought originally and it bothers him to see someone as gorgeous as Harry struggle.

Paul exits the room and shuts the door behind him, thus leaving the six of them to fend for themselves, and it's quite awkward at first. No one says anything for the longest time, instead bewildered stares and whispers are exchanged.

Louis stands up to greet Harry and Gemma after having enough of the silence. He still isn't sure what to say, but he knows that the lads feel even more uncomfortable than he does. He should have told them.

Harry shyly looks up at Louis. "Hi Louis."

Huh. He's in a better mood than he was two days ago.

"Hi. How are you?" Louis leans down and opens his arms, preparing to engulf Harry in a hug, but the younger lad slumps down to show that he doesn't want to be touched. Louis makes a quick save, clearing his throat, and standing up straight as if nothing happened.

Harry focuses his eyes on his lap. "I'm well. Uh - so, this is my sister, Gemma." He's trying his hardest to get all of the attention off of himself, but it isn't working.

Gemma stands behind Harry with her hands resting on his shoulders. She eyes Louis before finally stepping around Harry to shake his hand. "It's nice to meet you. I'm a huge fan."

He declines her handshake. "Oh, come on, you can do better than that. Give me a cuddle, love." Instead, he wraps his arms around her thin waist in a tight hug. She smells of a flowery fragrance. He briefly wonders if Harry smells the same. Last time he saw him he smelled liked grease, which he's almost positive isn't a normal scent for the younger lad.

His hug takes Gemma by surprise, but she's grateful to have received it, and she holds him closely. "Thank you." She whispers.

His head tilts slightly, but he chooses not to question it, assuming she means thank you for the tickets. Little does he know that it's much more than that. "Of course." He releases her. "Go on now babes. The other three are waiting for you."

Before she he walks over to Niall, Zayn, and Liam and leaves Harry with Louis, she turns to ask her brother, "All right, H?"

He nods at her, but only appears uncomfortable after she leaves as he picks at the bottom hem of his shirt. He's dressed simple, wearing all black, a t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. He has a cross pendant that lays right in the center of his chest.

Louis sits on the arm of the couch. "No crutches today?"

Harry glances towards Louis. "I wasn't feeling well enough for them and I wanted to be able to move around more. It's hard for me to walk long distances with crutches."

"Can you walk on your own? Without crutches or your wheelchair, I mean." He slips his hands into his front pockets as he waits for a proper, honest answer.

"I can."

"Then why don't you?"

"It's hard. It's not like I can walk all day without them, and I have to be assisted anyways. Someone has to hold me up, or my legs will give out."

Louis nods at him. "I see."

Not another word is spoken until Harry clears his throat moments later.

"Why haven't you asked me yet?"

"Asked you yet?" Louis raises an eyebrow. "What am I supposed to ask you?"

Harry meets his eyes. Louis doesn't have a clue what Harry is alluding to and it's evident across his eyes.

"Nothing, nevermind." He looks off to the side.

Louis sighs. "Alright. Come on. What am I supposed to ask you?"

"It's just - by now, people usually ask what's wrong with me and you haven't yet. It's odd. Your band mates are obviously biting their tongues. They want to know. Why don't you?"

"I've only known you for two days. I don't know enough about you to intrude like that."

Harry shakes his head, glancing down, and laughs. "You thought you knew enough about me in those four minutes the other day to intrude and have me fired."

"That's different."

"How so?"

"Because - well, I don't know, but it is."

Harry argues. "It's the same thing, only on a smaller scale."

"So, what? You want me to ask you then? Fine Harry. What's wrong with you? Why can't you walk like a normal person? Why do you talk like that?"

Harry stares at Louis in disbelief. "That wasn't my intention."

"Wasn't your intention? Then what was?"

Harry shakes his head, glancing down at his lap, and wrings his hands together.

"You're the one who pulled attention to it. I wasn't about to say anything else. Maybe you shouldn't fucking bring it up if you don't want to hear about it." Louis points out and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Fuck. You're such a dick."

"I'm a dick? Because I asked you what you wanted me to ask?"

"I didn't want you to ask me." Harry groans. He runs his hands through his hair and tugs at the roots in frustration. "That's not what I meant."

Louis swallows. This was supposed to be a good experience and here he is, ruining it already. "Hey, look, I'm sorry. Harry," He steps closer to him. Gently, he plucks Harry's hands away from his hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frustrate you." He takes his hand and flattens down the part of Harry's hair that's disheveled from him pulling on it.

"Cerebral palsy." Harry whispers.

"Pardon?"

"I have cerebral palsy."

Louis stares at him without speaking a single word. "Okay." He whispers in attempt to find his voice. "It's okay. You didn't have to tell me." He cups Harry's chin in his hand.

Harry shifts away from Louis' touch. "But I did."

"I shouldn't have insisted. You didn't need to."

"I did."

Louis softly laughs and peers in a different direction, shaking his head. "Harry."

"No. I want you to look at me." He demands and he won't speak until Louis gives him the proper attention he deserves, which he does. "I didn't tell you because you wanted me to. I don't want you thinking that I do whatever I'm told or asked. I'm one hundred percent independent. I make all my own decisions. I told you because I wanted to."

"Okay, sure, but why did you want to?"

"How do you expect for me to trust you when you don't know the basics?"

"You want to trust me?" Louis presses.

"Yes."

"But we've only just met."

"I know, but I like you."

"Good because I like you too."

Gemma walks back over to them. She places a gentle hand on Louis' back, like she's known him all of her life. "You boys are so lovely. Aren't they lovely, Harry?"

Harry meets Louis' eyes and smiles sheepishly. "Yeah. Just lovely."

Louis steps away from him, takes a look over his shoulder at the boys, and smiles despite the confused stares they're giving him. "Uh -" He looks back to Harry and Gemma. "Our security is right outside. They'll take you to a room where you can watch the concert. See you after the show?"

Harry looks to Gemma for an answer. "Of course. Thank you so much."

Louis watches the two of them leave and as soon as the door shuts, all the questions the boys kept contained are spewed at him.

"Why the fuck didn't you say he was in a wheelchair?"

"Christ. You're seeing a guy in a wheelchair? What's wrong with him?"

"He didn't even say hi to us. Does he always talk like that?"

Louis gawks at them, eyes wide, and a scoff falls from his mouth. "Are you done?"

"You should have told us mate." Niall shakes his head in dismay.

"Told you what? That he's a little different? Would we still be having this conversation had I told you beforehand?"

Liam's in the midst of pacing. He comes to a halt as soon as Louis utters those words and shouts. "A little? Fuck! He's more than a little different. For god's sake Louis, he's in a wheelchair."

"Really? I had no idea." Louis sounds surprised. "When I met him he was using crutches. I didn't know he was going to turn up in a wheelchair. If I'd known I would have reminded you of your manners."

Zayn scoffs and takes a drag from the second cigarette Louis' seen him with tonight. "So what then? What's wrong with him?"

"Does it matter? He's still a person even if he's in a wheelchair and even if he sounds a bit different. None of that gives the lot of you the right to belittle him."

"Fuck. Louis. Seriously, what's wrong with him? Is he retarded? He doesn't have the best fucking social skills, didn't even acknowledge any of us."

"You didn't approach him either!" Louis swears he's seeing red. How do the boys have the audacity to ask such questions? It makes him wonder if he's made snide comments like that without realizing it. No, it doesn't matter. This isn't about him right now. "The fuck is wrong with you? Retarded? No, he isn't retarded. He has cerebral palsy."

Liam shakes his head. "Cerebral palsy? What the hell is that?"

"I don't know. I've yet to ask him. But he isn't fucking retarded." He points an accusing finger towards Zayn. "Don't talk about him like that."

"I didn't mean to offend you bro. I'm only being honest based off what I saw." Zayn pauses. "You know you can't see him, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"Harry. You can't date him."

"And just why not?"

"You'll hurt him."

"When did I mention anything about dating him?" He bellows a laugh. "We only met a few days ago. I’m not even sure that we’re friends."

"Louis," Niall squeezes his shoulder, "I see how you're looking at him. It's okay that you like him, but you're going to hurt him. He's not what you're usually into. He isn't high-profile. He isn't athletic. He isn't rich. He isn't dominate. Mate, you should leave him alone before you crush his feelings."

Louis moves away from Niall. "We have a show to prepare for. I'm going to get changed."

With that, he slips out of the room before he loses his temper.

The show ends and Louis waits backstage for Harry. He doesn’t try denying it to anyone who questions him.

He does a quick pit check, thankfully he smells decent, not exactly as refreshing as a dryer sheet, but it’ll do. Sometimes the quick showers he takes after gigs don’t work as well as he would like them to.

For nearly ten minutes he stands by himself. Then, he sees Harry roll himself into the room and tries not to focus on Harry’s toned arms.

He’s unsuccessful.

Harry's biceps bulge every time he pushes his wheels forward. Louis hasn’t noticed the scattering of tattoos on his left arm before, yet he likes them. They’re quite intricate, but they don’t match. He isn’t going for a sleeve, they’re tattoos that look good by themselves, like little masterpieces that all have personal reasons.

Louis raises an eyebrow at Harry.

"What?" Harry asks.

“A naked mermaid? Seriously?”

Harry’s fingertips brush over where his mermaid is inked into his skin. His chin presses to his chest as he examines his tattoo. “She’s a beaut, isn’t she?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess - but why are her boobs saggy?”

“We all have our imperfections Louis.” He sounds offended.

“Alright, alright, sorry I asked,”  Louis raises his hands in quick surrender and changes the subject. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“I thought it was...interesting. I can’t believe people spend thousands to see the four of you fuck around on stage. Must be an incredible job.”

Louis confirms. “It is.”

“And you have a lovely voice.”

“Sorry?”

“I said you have a lovely voice. I could listen to you sing for hours on end.”

Louis stares at him in confusion. That’s one of the first times he’s ever heard such a warming compliment - coming from someone other than his mum and the fans. He’s always been referred to as the weak link of One Direction. His vocals aren’t as strong or amazing as Liam’s falsetto or Zayn’s riffs. He knows that.

“Don't be silly. You’re just saying that.”

Harry smiles. “I’m not. Honestly, I think you’re the strongest vocalist. None of the other lads sound like you,” Silently, Louis rests his hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezes and for the first time Harry engages in the physical contact. He lays his hand on top of Louis’. “I take it you don’t get compliments like that often?”

“Not really, no.”

“Shame. You’re quite talented. I thought your work with the piano was good as well.”

“Thank you. It means a lot.” There’s a moment of silence. “Do you want to maybe - I don’t know, grab a bite to eat? I know a Mexican place downtown that has great quesadillas.”

“You’re seriously asking me out?” Harry smiles.

Louis is quick to deny that in fear of appearing desperate. “I wouldn’t say I’m asking you out...I’m just asking you to dinner.”

Harry smirks. “You’re definitely asking me out. One second,” he lifts his bum out of the chair and reaches into his back pocket for his cell phone. “I have to ring my sister - you can drive me home, yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“Brilliant. Just a moment.” Harry calls Gemma, explains what’s going on to her, and hangs up after a few agitating minutes. "Sorry. She's a worrier. I promise it's not always like that. It's just because she drove me here and we're kind of far from my flat and she - "

Louis cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “No worries. It's all good. You're set then?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Louis motions for Harry to follow him and they head out through the back where a car is waiting for them. “Can you get in the car by yourself?”

“I should be fine.”

Louis doesn’t say anything. Instead of rushing forward to help him, he allows Harry to get as close to the car as he can, but he does stand nearby with hesitating hands. He holds onto the car door and stands. Slowly, he steps into the car and sits down in the backseat.

"How do I fold your chair up?"

"Oh - um - there's a button in the back. Push it down and you should be able to snap the wheels together. Thank you."

Louis does as Harry instructs. He's surprised to find that the wheelchair is light in weight. He carries it to the back and slides it into the van's trunk.

He walks back around and sits beside Harry. The driver checks with them, asking if they have everything they need, and once they tell him yes, he hits the accelerator and their drive begins.

Louis glances over at Harry. "You know, I don't mean to sound insensitive but - "

"Nonsense. You're one of the most insensitive people I've ever met."

“Oh…” Louis winces at that very blunt confirmation, but swiftly moves on. "How long have you been, you know, like...yeah."

Harry's slightly amused. "For being as famous as you are, you're not very well-spoken."

"I am - it's just...I don't know how to say things without offending you."

"You haven't offended me yet, irritated me and made me angry, sure, but you haven't offended me. You've done well this far."

Louis looks Harry up and down. "Seriously? I've said some pretty stupid things."

"I know, but I've heard a lot worse."

That's unsettling. "Alright. So, uh - I guess, how long have you had cerebral palsy? That’s not a stupid question is it? I don’t know much about it, sorry.”

"It's alright. My case is mild. I wasn't diagnosed until I was three."

Louis leans forward. "Oh. How was that diagnosed then?"

"I don't remember, but my mum always says that I was a late bloomer. She said I never attempted to crawl as a baby and I wasn't walking at 18 months which were the first signs. Then she noticed my speech impediment I guess."

“It's not that noticeable."

Harry smiles. "You don't have to flatter me. I can hear myself and I know I don't sound right. It's called dysarthria. Some of my facial muscles are impaired. I can’t move this side of my mouth."

Louis nods, reaches over, and takes Harry's hand in his. He squeezes. "Why can't you walk by yourself?”

"There's multiple types of cerebral palsy. I have symptoms of multiple, so what I have is called mixed Cerebral Palsy. My muscles are stiff because I have more muscle tone then I should. The faster I try to move, the more my muscles will contract, the harder it is for me to walk. Sometimes I have really bad spasms. It depends on the day for me."

Louis sighs. "Sorry but I don't get it."

"You don't get what?"

"Where did it come from? Like if you weren't diagnosed until you were three then where did it come from.”

"It's a form of brain damage. It just didn't effect me until I started developing. You do know that around three years is when our brains begin to develop the most, right?"

“I didn’t.”

“My therapist says that’s when we learn to become less dependent on our parents. It’s human nature, I suppose.”

“Interesting,” Louis nods. "Your condition...will it get worse?"

"No." Harry answers. "It's non-progressive."

"But what -"

Harry interrupts and squeezes his hand to let him know that he isn't angry, just a bit flustered with all the questions. "Louis, if you don't mind, I wouldn't like to talk about it anymore right now."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. You’re curious. I don’t blame you."

Louis' driver pulls in front of El Taco Loco and waits for the two of them to get out of the car before driving off to park.

Louis glances down at Harry and rests his hand on the nape of his neck. Harry shifts his attention to him and stares as though he's puzzled. "Why are -"

"Do you not like being touched there?”

"No I do. I just -"

"Then hush. Leave it be."

Harry huffs, but doesn't say anything. They head inside, though it takes them a moment to find a pace they can both agree on. It's a slower pace since it takes Harry longer to find momentum.

Once inside, they immediately get the attention of the host, despite the others waiting for a seat. It's the wheelchair. Louis knows it's Harry's physical disability that has everyone on their toes and prepared to make any necessary accommodations.

The host asks. "How many? Two?"

"Don't you have other people waiting?" Louis presses the issue further.

"No, it’s fine. I can seat you now."

Harry shakes his head. "That won't be necessary. We can wait like everyone else is."

His request is ignored. The host picks up two menus and gestures for them to follow. "Come along gentlemen, right this way."

Harry mutters a quick apology to all the people waiting, flushing, and takes a quick look at the clustered the tables and booths. He won't be able to maneuver his way through that. There’s no way he can handle those sharp turns. He peers up at Louis. "Will you push me?"

"Push you? Oh, you mean, like..."

“Can you quit babbling for once? Jesus Christ. It was a simple fucking question.” He snaps.

Louis isn't sure what he's done, but he doesn't like the agitation in Harry's tone. "Oh," He mumbles. "Of course." He steps behind Harry and wraps his hands around the handles. He pushes him. Not too far behind the host - so they don’t lose track of him in the busy restaurant, and not too close - so Louis doesn’t run over the man’s heels with Harry’s wheels.

They’re brought to a two person table. The host moves one of the chairs out of the way and Harry slides into the empty spot.

The host sets their menus down, smiling, and he takes a step back. “Your server will be right with you.” He disappears from their view and they're left with awkward silence, though there seems to be a lot of that.

Harry sighs. “Louis.”

Louis watches Harry. His lips are pursed together. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“That’s it? You’re sorry? I don’t even get an explanation?”

“You do." Harry’s voice softens. “This is all just so frustrating for me.”

“What’s frustrating?” He’s not angry. He’s confused - bewildered, if you will.

“You know.”

Louis shakes his head. “I don’t babe sorry.”

“I’d like to be able to do some things for myself, but I can’t.”

Oh, Louis gets it now. He insists. “I didn’t mind pushing you Harry if that’s what you’re on about.”

“It’s a bit more than that.” He humorlessly laughs. “You’d have to be me to understand.”

Perhaps Louis doesn’t understand as well as he thought he did. “You’re right about something. I don’t understand.” He admits.

“I won’t bother explaining it. I don’t want to change how you feel about me.”

“And just how do I feel about you?”

“You’re trying to care for me, but I don't want your pity. You do want to care for me, but the more I speak the less you care and the more you pity me.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “You’ve got me be kidding. We both know that isn’t true."

“Do we?”

“Yes. We do.” Louis confirms. “If I didn’t like you, much less didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t be sitting here and treating you to dinner.”

Harry holds out one hand. Louis isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to do, but he takes his hand and constricts anyway. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“I don’t blame you. It must be hard for you to maintain relationships and friendships. I couldn’t imagine.”

He’s always been the life of the party. He’s never had trouble not fitting in or not being liked, which are ideas completely foreign to Harry.

Harry laughs.

“What’s funny about that?”

“You’re going to make fun of me.”

Louis shakes his head. “I won’t. I swear on my nan’s grave. I will not make fun of you.”

Harry sighs. “Okay, well, I’ve never been in a relationship.”

“You’ve never had a girlfriend?”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend, no.” Harry lowers his eyes. He tries to release Louis’ hand, but Louis doesn’t allow him to.

Those words shouldn’t make Louis feel the way they do. Harry’s gay, which isn’t the world’s best kept secret, but it does make him feel a better, knowing it’s out in the open.

“You’re kidding. This isn’t your first date, is it?”

“God, no. I’ve been on plenty of dates. Terrible dates. It’s just - I haven’t ever had a guy stick around long enough to get serious, y’know?”

Louis can’t say he knows how it feels. He doesn't say anything at all.

“Of course you don’t. I’ve seen the tabloids.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve had your fair share of boyfriends, yeah? Tom Daley, Nick Grimshaw…I’ve been trying to figure out where I fit in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Louis.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m not famous. You’re not going to get good publicity from being seen with me. So, I guess I'm asking, why you're doing this?”

Louis sighs. “Publicity has never mattered to me. It’s something that comes with fame love. I’ve taken a liking to you because you’re charming and humble. And you’re quite a looker as well.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re gorgeous.” Louis corrects. “Absolutely fucking gorgeous.”

Harry blushes and rubs at his face with his hand. “Anyway.” He clears his throat. “Tell me what it’s like to be in the world’s biggest band.”

“You’re actually interested?”

“Is that a bad thing?” He sounds nervous.

Louis shakes his head, reassuringly telling him, “Not at all. What do you want to know?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry rests his chin in the palm of his hand. “I guess, how did you guys get together?”

“I’ve known the lads since I was little and we've all always had an interest in music. It was an idea at first, you know, the four us with cheap instruments in our parent's’ garages, now it's a dream come true. It's unfathomable.”

“It must be incredible to experience everything with your best friends. Where did the name One Direction come from?”

“Our name wasn’t originally One Direction. We were, and you can’t laugh at this, Fire Diamond and -”

“Hold on. Fire Diamond?” Harry smiles, holding back a laugh. “Good thing you changed your name.”

“The label made us change our name and sound. We were strictly indie music, but they said that we needed to sound and appear more marketable. It took us awhile, but we finally decided on One Direction.”

Harry uses his hands to stretch his legs. He pulls them off of the platforms provided from the wheelchair and extends them underneath the table. A small groan leaves his mouth as a result of the aching leaving his cramped limbs.

Louis worries. “Harry? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” He waves him off with a nonchalant hand gesture and continues on with the conversation. “What does One Direction mean?”

Louis hesitates, looking Harry over multiple times before he answers. He cares more about Harry compared to anyone aside from family and the boys and he's just met him. “Niall came up with it since we only want to go in one direction.”

“Which is?”

“Up.”

Harry can’t hold his laugh in anymore and covers his mouth with his palm. “That’s cheesy. I’m sorry.”

“Isn’t it? Personally, I don’t like it, but who am I?”

The chatter and laughter of those surrounding their table fills the void of their lack of conversation. “Does it ever bother you?”

Louis doesn’t understand. “Does what ever bother me?”

Harry rephrases. “You’re not the frontman of One Direction. Niall is. Does that bother you?”

“Ah, I see you’ve noticed, but I can tell you honestly, it doesn’t bother me.”

“But you’re envious.” Harry points out.

Louis is taken back and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t say - no, that isn’t true. There’s no jealousy within the band.”

He’s not jealous of Niall. Definitely not. He likes his position in the band. Maybe he does get a bit tired of everything being Niall-centric from time to time, but he isn’t jealous. That’s ridiculous.

“Of course. I shouldn’t have implied that. I’m sorry. It just seems a bit tedious.”

“What does?”

“Well....like Niall is always credited the most and you are too, but never with as much positive intent. You’re talented and a nice person. It’s a real shame that media portrays you with such negative connotations. I thought you were a prick for the longest time.”

“I don’t mind the media.”

“Right, of course.” Harry doesn't sound convinced.

“I don’t. People can think I’m an asshole all they want, but at the end of the day do they matter? No. The only people who matter in my life are my family and the boys. And both would tell me if my ego was any bigger than usual.”

Harry smiles. “And you’re smart too? This is already the best date I’ve ever been on.”

Louis purses his lips together and tries to ignore that very candid statement. It bothers him. Harry is in his twenties and he’s never been treated properly by a man. “I’m glad Harry.”

The next question catches him off guard. “What’s your family like?”

“Good, yeah. I’m the oldest of eight.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Eight? Christ. How did your parents manage?”

“I have no idea, but none of them are full siblings. I haven’t met one of my sisters, but the rest are quite a bunch. I’ve got six sisters and one brother.”

“My sister was more than enough for me. I couldn’t imagine growing up with so many girls.”

“Yeah and there’s quite a gap between us. I’m nearly seven years older than my oldest sister Lottie and then there’s Fizzy, the first set of twins, Phoebe and Daisy, and then the second set of twins, Ernest and Doris.” His tone shifts into one of extreme pride. He loves his family more than anything else - ten times more than his career even.

“Do you all get on?”

“For the most part, yes. More now than when we were younger.”

“You get on with your parents too? It must be hard having a son who’s traveling the world all year long.”

“I will proudly tell you that I’m a mummy’s boy. I love my mum more than anything.” His smiles grows, face flushing, and he glances down at his cloth bracelet. His sisters made it for him, Phoebe and Daisy have matching ones.

“That’s sweet. What about your father?”

“I’ve never met him.”

“Did he pass away?” Harry perks up for a second.

“Walked out on my mum and I more like it.”

Harry winces. “I’m really sorry Louis. He’s a dick. He doesn’t deserve someone like you in his life anyways.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. I know. I wouldn’t spit on him if he were on fire.” Louis glances away from Harry and swallows.

“I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.” Harry apologizes.

“No - it’s fine. You’re fine. Thinking of him makes me angry.” Turning his attention back to Harry, he asks, “It’s normal that I still hold resentment towards him, right?”

“It’s more than normal. Your father wasn’t there for you. You could be angry every day for the rest of your life and that would be okay too.”

“My mum always says that I should learn to forgive, but I can’t find it within myself. How does someone desert their girlfriend and ten day old son? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know Lou. Some people are terrible. There's no reason for them being how they are, they’re just shitty.”

Louis draws in a sharp breath. He should stop complaining. His life could be a whole lot worse. “That’s enough about my disgrace of a father. What’s your family like?”

“Simple. It's just my mum, Gemma, and I.”

“Dad?”

“Died when I was younger.”

Louis’ mouth falls open. “Oh um…”

“It’s okay. I don’t remember him well enough to grieve.” Harry says.

“I know. I just - I feel like I overstepped myself and I didn't mean too.”

“That’s sort of how I feel right now as well.”

Louis shakes his head. “I’m not angry with you.”

“Me neither and I think honesty is a good thing. Nothing is off limits with me.”

“Same here.” There’s a long pause. “Do you think things like that happen for a reason?”

Harry becomes a philosopher then. Socrates in the flesh. “I think God has a plan for all of us and we shouldn't question the bad things that happen in our lifetime because they're meant to happen. God wants it that way.”

“But why do we suffer?”

“So we have appreciation for the small things I suppose.”

Louis nods, doesn't utter another word, as he thinks over what Harry has told him. His point of view is interesting and Louis briefly wonders if Harry feels the same about his disability.

Their server comes over, smiling, and they order, pretending as though the previous conversation hadn’t happened.

It’s a few days after dinner and Louis hasn’t heard from Harry, but he isn't surprised. They both have their own lives to attend to and if they’re meant to be they'll come back together. If not, it was a nice while it lasted and it was nice meeting Harry.

He’ll try not to be heartbroken if they never speak again.

So, when his phone rings in the early hours of the morning - no later than three am - it startles him awake.

He blindly reaches for his phone sat on the table beside him and doesn't bother reading the caller ID before hitting accept and bringing it to his ear, it’s either important or a telemarketer.

His voice is thick with sleep. "Hello?"

"Lou?" The voice on the other line is weak, quivering with distress. He recognizes it as Harry's. "Louis. Louis? Fuck. Are you there?" His words are more slurred than usual, but Louis debates whether it's him being tired or upset.

"Yeah Harry I'm - “ As soon as hears a sob on the other line, he’s sitting up and fully attentive. “What's wrong? Are you crying? What’s -"

"I can't - my sister she won't pick up and - and - " Harry's voice breaks into loud sobs and Louis feels his heart clench.

He’s never heard Harry cry and he’s never had anyone calling him in the middle of the night crying either. "It's okay, shh, it’s okay. I think I understand. Gemma isn't answering her phone and you needed someone to call, so you decided to call me right?"

Harry sniffles, sputtering out his next sentence, "Yeah. I can't - my hips Louis. Fuck."

Time freezes then. That really doesn’t sound good and Louis seriously shouldn't fuck around with it. "What about your hips love?" Louis clambers out of bed, yanking the covers off, leaving him in only his boxers. "What happened? Talk to me. Harry. Come on.” He’s worried. His heart thumps against his chest and his ears hear nothing over the negativity of his internal thoughts and Harry’s cries.

"I fell," Harry admits finally. "And I can't - I can't get up."

"You fell? Shit. Babe, are you at your flat?" He slips on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He’s hyperventilating. "I don’t know what to do. Shit, I really don't know what to do.”

"Hush Harry. It’s okay. I'm coming over. Are you hurt?” Louis tries his way to calm him down, but without his physical presence it's hard.

“No, I don’t - no, I’m not hurt. I just can’t - oh, shit, I can’t get up.”

“That’s why I’m coming. It’s alright. I’ll be right there. What apartment are you love?”

"26B. Louis you don’t have to -”

Louis grabs his keys off of the side table. "I'll be there in ten minutes, okay? I'm not that far out. Do you want me to stay on the phone?"

"No." It sounds pained. He's mortified, definitely, but there's nothing else he can do.

"Okay. I'm on my way." He hangs up and heads downstairs to the car park.

He must break at least five road regulations. He speeds, runs through multiple red lights and stop signs, and nearly hits a pedestrian who thinks a night walk is a good idea.

He's thankful there isn't traffic or police officers on the road.

Pulling in front of the apartment complex, he hardly allows his car to turn off before he scrambles out and heads inside.

He goes straight to the elevator and clicks the button for the second floor. He must walk past Harry's apartment several times before realizing that the faded number on the plaque is actually a six.

Knocking before entering, he doesn’t receive an answer. He takes it upon himself and steps inside.

Instantly, he's taken back. Harry's apartment is aesthetically pleasing, but Louis tries to draw his attention away, it’s not important right now.

Black curtains hang from the walls and the couches are covered with velvet blankets. There isn't much color, but then again it could be from the lack of light. There's one scented candle burning in the center of the living room.

He calls out to him. "Harry. It's Louis. Where are you?"

There’s a faint response. "Bedroom."

Louis walks down the hall until he comes across a room with an open door. He feels sneaky, tip-toeing through Harry's home, even when Harry gave him permission to come over.

It doesn't feel right, but Harry needs his help.

His heart shatters a soon as he peeks inside, Harry is on the floor, trying to push himself up by using the sideboard of his bed, but his arms keep giving out.

"Harry. Hey." Louis ventures softly, stepping into the room, and quickly maneuvers over to be with him. Harry's crying - loudly, sobbingas he tries to get himself up. If Harry hadn’t completely broken his heart before, he surely has now.  "Shh. I'll help you get up babe. Don’t cry. It's okay. I’m here now.”

He crouches down beside him and rests his hand on his shoulder. "What happened?"

"I just...I tripped," Harry sniffles, "and my - my crutches...I can't get up." He looks away from Louis and swallows.

"Why were you talking about your hips on the phone? Did you hurt them when you fell?"

"No. They just - it hurt really bad. They tightened up, my back too, felt like I couldn’t breathe, it hurt."

"Are you still in pain? Maybe I ought you call an -"

"No!” Harry shouts.

Louis hesitates. "I don't want to hurt you Harry."

"You won't.” Harry breathes, staring at the wall in pure rage, “I swear to god - if you call an ambulance, I will never fucking talk to you again. My pump already gave me medicine and I’m fine.”

"Pump?" Louis presses.

"It's - it's really not important."

"Of course it isn’t.”

"I shouldn't have called you. You can go home." He tries once again to pull himself up to a kneeling position, but fails.

"It's three in the morning, you're crying because you've fallen on the floor and you can't get up. What's your plan now?"

Harry's face flushes. "I - I'll figure it out. I always do."

Louis shakes his head. He stands up and glances around his bedroom.

Harry's eyebrows draw together in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to help you get into bed. I haven't figured out how yet," Louis crosses his arms over his chest and taps his fingers against his arm. "Any ideas?"

"I told you not to help me." Harry wipes at his face with the back of his hand. “I’m a piece of shit. This happens all the time and I don't fucking need you here. I made a mistake and panicked. Get the hell out!”

Louis remains calm and collected. "You called me crying in the middle of the night, Harry. It's past not needing help. You’re frustrated, I understand, and if you never want to talk to me again, I understand, but at least let me help you. I can't leave you like this." He gets an idea and bends down. "Here's what we'll do. Wrap your arm around my shoulders and I'll support your waist."

Harry stares at him. "I can't - you'll have to support most of my weight. I can't support myself. I don't have any strength in my legs.”

"I realize. What's your point?”

"It's just...you're quite small, y'know, and I'm quite big."

Louis laughs. "Come on. Wrap your arm around me."

Harry slips his arm around Louis' neck and only tenses a little when he feels Louis grasp his waist

"I'm going to take it nice and slow. If you need to stop, let me know."

Harry hums.

Louis slowly stands the two of them up, but has to stop when Harry's legs buckle underneath him. Louis' the only thing keeping him from crumpling to the floor.

Harry's calm breaths turn into exerted pants. "Louis I can't. Fuck Louis I really can't."

"It's okay. It's okay. Let's stop for a minute. I can hold you up. Try to find your footing love."

And he doesn't know why it happens or what makes him think it's a good idea, but he kisses the top of Harry's head.

"Did you just -"

"Yeah. I did."

Harry doesn't say anything. Not for a few moments. "Okay. I think I have it."

"Come on.” Louis whispers and helps Harry step towards his bed.

He hadn't actually realized just how difficult it is for Harry to walk until now. Harry isn't capable. Stumbling with nearly every step he takes, it's hard for his legs to bend and even harder for him to find balance.

Once he sits him down on the bed, Harry shifts to lay on his back. His eyes shut and he draws in a sharp breath.

"Is there anything else you need babe?”

"Can you bring my crutches closer to bed?"

Louis nods. He walks over to where they're scattered on the floor. They're not placed in a straightened manner, it's obvious Harry lost his handle on them when he tripped. Louis picks them up and leans them against the dresser beside the bed.

Harry’s chest rapidly rises up and down and Louis swears he can hear him whimpering.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

Harry whispers, sounding choked up, but maybe the exhaustion of the situation is finally getting to him. "I'm okay."

Louis doesn't push it any further. "I'm going to head back to my hotel now. I'm glad you're settled." He begins to leave the room.

Harry watches him. "Louis." He calls.

Louis comes to a complete stop and pivots to face Harry. "Yes?"

"Stay with me tonight."

He doesn't argue. Instead, he walks to bed and slips in beside Harry.

"Thank you." Harry shifts closer. His body heat radiates off of him.

Their eyes meet. "Out of anyone, why did you call me? We’re as good as strangers.”

"I knew I could trust you. You've been good to me."

"I've only known you for a week."

Harry smiles and cups Louis' cheek with his fingertips. "I know when I've met someone special. You're one of a kind." Gently, he grazes Louis' cheek before withdrawing his hand and letting it relax against the mattress.  

"You have it all mixed up." He takes Harry’s hand into his, squeezing tightly, and presses his lips to his knuckles. “But I’ll take the compliment. You’re lovely.”

Harry breathes. “Louis.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Louis narrows his eyes. "For what?"

"You make me feel normal and I don't ever feel this way."

“Normal?”

“I’m not normal Louis. You have a way of speaking to me that isn’t condescending and you treat me like an actual person. A lot of people are confused by my condition and I’m sure you are too, but you’re not rude. I hate being different, but somehow you've made me feel better about it tonight. It means a lot to me.”

All Louis feels is more confusion. “What means a lot to you?”

“You’re staying with me tonight.”

“Right…”

“Most people wouldn’t do that. Not after what they just walked in on.”

“For starters, I’m not most people. I’m an independent individual and anyone who wouldn’t stay with you isn’t worth a shit. I understand that your legs don’t work properly Harry and I also understand that what I walked in on most likely isn’t a normal occurrence for you. You live by yourself, yeah?”

“I do.”

“That right there shows me that you want to be dependent on only yourself. Tonight didn’t bother me love.” His thumb glides back and forth over Harry’s knuckles. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here for you.”

With that, Harry smiles and moves closer to Louis. He curls himself against Louis’s chest, burying his face into the material of his t-shirt, and Louis finds it oddly cute. He’s smaller than Harry, but somehow he’s ended up as his protector. One of his hands rests on Harry’s back while the other sprawls across the mattress. He presses his lips to Harry’s hairline. “Sweet dreams love.”

The next morning Louis wakes up to an empty bed. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, but with one look around, he remembers that he's in Harry's apartment - more specifically, Harry’s bedroom.

There's light shining through the cracks in the curtains and into the small bedroom. Now, Louis' able to see the paintings that hang from his wall and the fairy lights twisted around his dressers - and the pill bottles that litter the top of his dressers.

Those make him feel unsettled.

The paintings hanging from his walls are unlike anything Louis has ever seen before. At first glance they look like splashes of color, but the closer he looks, the more he can make out the outlines of people. They’re not stick people. They’re portraits, but with certain facial details highlighted. In one, eyes are the main feature. Another, a nose. Another, lips. Each article that isn’t a main feature is colored with pastels. None of the portraits are a typical skin complexion. Complexions are shaded with blues, purples, and greens.

He calls. "Harry?"

There's no reply, but there is a faint scent of tea in the apartment.

Harry must be awake.

He slips out of bed and walks down the hallway. Once he's in the loft, he can see Harry sitting in his wheelchair - Louis knows it means he isn't feeling well enough for his crutches this morning, he’s slowly learning his quirks - near the counter.

The counter is significantly lower than most counters are, considering even though Harry's sat down he's still higher up than the counter top.

He can hear the sound of a kettle whistling. "Harry?"

Harry looks up and a smile pulls at his lips. "Morning Lou. I'm making tea."

"So I see.” Louis walks into the kitchen. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Better than last night. I'm a bit sore. Did you sleep alright?"

"Surprisingly well. Your mattress is quite comfortable. It’s a nice change from hotel mattresses."

Harry nods. “I bet. You must be holed up in hotels for hours on end. How long are your tours?”

“Six to eight months. We have about a month left of this one.”

“That’s a long time to be on the road isn’t it? I’m sure your family misses you.”

“They do. I call mum at least once a day, but we’re on our last leg which is throughout the UK. She’ll come to a few of my shows.”

“Humble.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re humble.”

“How do you figure?”

“You call your mum everyday Louis. You’re glued to your roots. I don’t even call my mum everyday. I respect that.”

Louis smiles. “Family is my number one.”

“As it should be.” Harry moves over to the stove and flips the stove top off. Grabbing the handle of the kettle, he carefully steers himself back over to the counter and sets it down. “Do you want a cup? It’s PG Tips.”

“Sure love.” Louis steps around him and takes a seat at the kitchen table. it’s intricate. The way Harry takes his time with every action he does. He always has a set look of concentration on his face.

Louis watches as he pulls two mugs from the bottom cupboard and sets them on the counter. His hands shake as he aims the nozzle of the kettle above the mugs, but successfully he gets all of the steamy liquid into the glasses without dumping it. Louis didn’t think he was going to, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling a sense of pride when he doesn't.

He doesn’t stay sitting for long though. As soon as Harry puts the mugs between his thighs, it’s a no go. He’ll end up spilling and burning his thighs and crotch with the boiling liquid. Once he moves over to be by Harry, he takes the mugs from him, though his hands do graze the inside of his thighs by accident.

Harry shivers, thickly swallowing, “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Louis sets the mugs down on the table and waits for Harry before he sits down. “Your apartment is nice. I didn’t know you had such abstract taste.”

“Abstract?”

“I’ve seen some of the paintings in your room. Where did you get them? They're brilliant."

Harry doesn’t say anything at first, sipping his tea, and avoids eye contact with Louis. “You like them?”

“Of course I like them. Where did you get them?”

Confidence is evident in his tone. “I painted them.”

“You painted them? Seriously?”

“Do you think they’re any good?”

“I think they’re incredible. I didn’t know you were an artist. They’re amazing Harry. Shit.”

Harry grins. “Do you want to see my studio?”

“Fuck. Of course.”

Their teas are forgotten as they both depart from the kitchen. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a painter?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs. “It never came into conversation.”

They walk down to the hallway, past Harry’s bedroom, until they reach the end of the hallway. Only one door is there. Harry peeks over his shoulder at Louis as if he’s about to show him something top secret before he pulls the door open.

Slipping inside the room, the entire atmosphere shifts, to one of tranquility, as though there has never been any disruption of peace in this very studio.

A large window, with the curtains drawn back, and a platform with a pillow and blanket lying out is against the back wall. There's a mountain of books and a pair of glasses stacked near the window.

It's completely contrasting the rest of the flat. Bright colors and a littering of paint cans fill the room. It’s messy, but creatively so, as though it’s purpose is to be messy. The mess is art. Every inch of the room is art. There’s a couch - made with patches of patterned fabric - pushed to one side of the room, but there isn’t any other furniture.

An easel sits right in the center of the room, the sun shines on it, and it's surrounded by carpet stained with dark blue and bright yellow and everything in between.

His paintings cover nearly every inch of the walls, only one empty space occupies the four walls. “What are you going to put there?” Louis asks, trying not to sound too involved.

Harry might find his curiosity odd.

“Where?”

Louis points to the empty spot. “There.”

“I haven’t finished a good enough piece to put up there just yet. My favorite painting will go up there once I’ve created it.”

“Why not put your current favorite painting up there?”

Harry is nonchalant. “I don’t have one.”

“You have to have one painting that you like more than the others.”

“I don’t.” Harry repeats, turning to face Louis, “They say that you know when you make the masterpiece of your entire career, but I haven’t reached that point in stature yet.”

“You’re telling me that all of your paintings have the same value?”

“Yes. My very first means the same as my very last which was…” Harry peers around the room until he spots his latest painting. “That one.” He points.

A portrait of a woman. Her skin is a pastel blue, while her lips are bright orange and patterned with small white diamonds. He isn’t sure how or why the contrasting colors appeal to him, but they do. He should find it tacky and uncoordinated, but putting orange and blue sort of makes sense to him.

“Why orange and blue?”

Harry rephrases. “Why not orange and blue? Art is interesting. You can make up your own mind about it.”

“But why do you always use contrasting colors? Orange and blue, red and green, yellow and purple."

“That’s for you to decide. I can’t tell you.”

“What if I’m wrong?”

“There isn’t a wrong answer Louis.” Now, he sounds like some philosophical fortune cookie, but Louis isn’t sure he disagrees. “It’s all up to interpretation.”

"I don't -"

"Have you ever heard the expression, "beauty is in the eye of the beholder"?"

"Of course."

"It's a similar concept." Harry pushes himself past Louis, to the couch, and he transfers himself from the wheelchair to on of the cushions.

Looking at him, without his disability in mind, he appears completely able, but as soon as Louis’ eyes drift to the wheelchair the thought disappears.

He sighs, forgetting the thought he just had, and presses his ideas further. "If I guess correctly, will you tell me?”

“There isn't a right answer.”

“There has to be some reason.” Harry doesn't answer. "Whatever." Louis walks around the room and he examines the piece of work on the easel. It's only in the beginning stages - a sketch made with graphite lines. "Who is this?"

Harry furrows his eyebrows, leaning forward, and he too examines the sketch. "What do you mean?"

"Who are you drawing?"

Harry stares at him in confusion. "I'm not drawing anyone in particular."

"You mean to tell me that you've done this from imagination?"

"Yes. " Harry nods. Louis is taken back. That makes things even more impressive. Harry cuts his thoughts off yet again. "Have you ever thought of modeling?"

Louis glances at Harry as if asking if he’s kidding. “Modeling? Why would I model? I’m already a performer.”

“I know, but plenty of performers model on the side. You should think about it. You have nice features. You’re French, yeah?”

Louis nods. “How did you know?”

“It’s the dainty nose and cheekbones.”

Louis brushes his fingers against his face. He’s never heard the word dainty used to describe him, out of all people, but smiles nevertheless. “Thank you.” He takes one last glance at the sketch on the easel before drawing his attention to jumble of letters on Harry’s wall. The letters spell out possibly the most beautiful anecdote he’s ever read:

I wish I had the talent to paint the way I feel about you, for my words always feel inadequate. I imagine using red for your passion and pale blue for your kindness; forest green to reflect the depth of your empathy and bright yellow for you unflagging optimism. And still I wonder; can even an artist’s palette capture the full range of what you mean to me?

“That’s a nice saying, isn’t it?” Harry asks.

“Beautiful. Did you write it?”

“No. I can't write for shit.” He stretches his legs out. “Nicholas Sparks did. I’ve never been in love, but that’s how I imagine it feels.”

He whispers to himself, quiet enough so Harry can’t make out what he’s saying. “I wouldn’t know.” He treads over to sit beside Harry.

Harry stares at his profile for the longest time, not stopping until Louis questions him on it, and even then he still side eyes him. “Why are you looking at me?”

“I want to paint you.” He admits.

Louis scrunches his nose. “You want to paint me?”

“You’re beautiful and I would love to paint you. I don’t know what feature I would focus on, there’s too many to choose from, but I’ll figure it out. Can I paint you? Please?”

“I don't know. I can’t stay for much longer. I have a recording session and then - “

“No, not today.” Harry corrects. “It’s going to take me a long time to draw you perfectly. Will you come back this weekend? I promise I’ll paint you as beautiful as you are in person.”

Louis can’t argue with something as sweet as that. He gives in with a sigh. “Fine. You can paint me, but only if you come to another one of my shows.”

“Are you serious? You’ll do it?”

"I’ll text you the details.”

And he doesn’t expect a huge reaction out of him, though he’s learning not to expect anything from him, but to his surprise Harry wraps his arms around him and squeezes. “Thank you. I’m so excited.” He whispers.

This feels oddly normal. Louis feels comfortable and welcomed.

Harry buries his face against his neck. Louis rubs his back and the smells of fresh linen engulfs him. He feels safe, too.  “You’re welcome.” They separate and Louis braces himself on Harry’s shoulders. “I have to head out of here. I’ll see you this weekend babe,”  

“Bye.” Harry smiles.

Louis kisses his forehead. “Text me if you need anything, even if you just want someone to say hi to."

"Of course."

"Take care. I'll see you soon."

"Okay sunshine, you too."

With those words he slips out of the studio and the house. He can’t stop smiling, not during the invasive questions and interviewers, not while reading rude tweets, not even while being booed by a handful of fans.  

He has only one thought. Harry Styles. He's enough to make him smile for days.