Archive of Our Own

Louis gets out of the classroom as soon as the bell rings, fishing his iPod out of his schoolbag and putting the headphones on. It’s Friday; he got an A on his English pop quiz, and Portugal. The Man just came on shuffle. All is good in the world.

“If pain was a color to paint on you, your heart would be the color blue,” He sings under his breath, turning the volume up until it drowns out all the noise proper from a last period class, and makes his way to the lockers. He skips down the hallway, bobbing his head to the beat of the song, probably looking a bit dumb, but he doesn’t care. He ignores the looks that some people give him, a teacher included.

As he opens his locker he is received with the same naked sight that he swore he would fill with posters and stickers and photos and other stuff, but never really did. He figures that now it’s kind of pointless, considering Easter holidays are around the corner, and afterwards final exams will start, giving an end to his senior year faster than he can realize. That thought causes him a bit of distress, because where has time gone?

But for now, Louis lets his worries slide by and focuses on trying to stick his books in without getting swamped by a flood of perfect scored exams and detention notes. He’s too distracted to hear the footsteps coming closer, until someone slaps his ass and makes him jump a bit.

“Louis! It’s Friday, pumpkin!”

He turns around, a grin splitting his mouth even as he speaks. “I’m sorry, do you mind, I’m in my zone.”

“Oh, you’re in your zone?” Zayn reaches for his headphones, but Louis ducks his head before he can get a hold of them, taking advantage of his rather tiny complexion.

“What? What? I can’t hear you Zayn, what’s that?” He laughs as his headphones get tangled and fall off his head, letting the music flow freely from the small speakers. He tries to slip out of his friend’s arms, headphones dangling from his neck.

But before he can say anything, a girl makes her way to them, heels clicking on the linoleum floor.

“Hey guys,” She says, holding out a square piece of cardboard.

“Hey Cher,” Louis rolls his eyes, and turns around to put his books back in the locker.

“Guess what, he made me another mix.” She smirks, not giving them a chance to answer. “He’s so pathetic, it’s the fourth one this month.” With that, she lets it drop on the trashcan and walks away swaying her hips.

Louis sighs, his eyes following the direction of the album case lying on top of the bin.

Zayn eyes him, and cocks an eyebrow. “Louis, don’t –”

“Just –”

“You are so –”

“Shuddup,” He flips Zayn off, going to pick up the cd from the trash. “Look at this, the cover art is so good, God, I can’t believe this guy.” He bites his lip, opening the case and sliding the pad of his finger over the plastic disc.

“You are so in love with this guy, it’s ridiculous.”

Louis looks up to glare at his friend. “Am not. He makes the best mixes, I’m just gonna put this on my iPod.”

“Right, keep telling yourself that.” Zayn rolls his eyes, flinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Come on, stop swooning and let’s go.”

“Besides,” Louis continues as they make their way out of the main building, “I don’t even know the guy, and I probably never will. It’s totally platonic, he just happens to have absolutely the best taste in music in the history of humanity.”

Zayn snorts. “Yeah, well, I disagree.”

Louis’ jaw goes slack as they step out into the sunny March day, and Zayn knows he should’ve bitten his tongue. If there’s one thing Louis is good at, it’s rambling on and on about the indie scene and its glorious music and how underrated bands like Neon Indian are, and seriously Zayn, there is a whole other world besides the Top 40, if you just let me I could change your life.

They hop into Zayn’s car, Minus The Bear playing on the radio, and Louis is only getting started on the importance of supporting local acts when the radio host says three words that catch both Louis and Zayn’s attention.

“Less Than Popular.”

That makes Louis shut his mouth, and reaching for the buttons to turn the volume up, he signals Zayn to be quiet and let him listen.

“…and for all of you Less Than Popular fans out there, for the first time since the last time, the band is doing a secret show, tonight in the city. So make sure to tune in this evening, because we’ll be giving away clues of the show’s location. The band is rumored to play after hours, so pay attention and drink as many red bulls as you ought to!”

The high-pitched squeal that follows this statement almost makes Zayn steer out of the road, but if you ever asked Louis, he is going to deny that sound came out of him until the day he dies.

+++

The club is packed with people from wall to wall, and Louis has to make use of his bony elbows to get over where to Zayn is, ordering them drinks. Getting some scowls and frowns from the people around him, he crosses the dance floor and climbs to the seat next to his friend.

The band isn’t due on stage for another ten minutes at least, but it isn’t the reason why they have come here. Zayn suggested they should start looking for clues in here, because it’s the place where Less Than Popular last played.

Louis checks his phone. It’s half past ten; way too early to expect a club to be this crowded. He’s thinking about what this represents for the band playing; their egos are probably through the ceiling. He forgot their name, something about the Milky Way, but he hopes they aren’t naïve enough to think this is because of them. He overheard at least five people gushing about Less Than Popular; Zayn wasn’t probably the only one to get that idea.

“Okay, so I was talking to this guy; he said he heard these guys talking about LTP, and supposedly they’re playing in the Upper West Side. If that’s true, we gotta start moving.” Zayn hands him a coke, while he sips an orange liquid that Louis supposes has vodka in it.

“Zee, you have to promise me you’re not gonna get drunk off your face and ditch me like last time,” He leans in to be heard over the roar of the crowd.

As they leave their seats to get near the stage, Zayn juts out his bottom lip and raises his eyebrows. “When have I ever done that?”

Louis pinches his nipple, and Zayn bats him away. “I’m kidding. Relax, tonight is gonna be a great night.”

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Louis that Zayn didn’t promise.

The opening act gets on stage and starts playing without an introduction, and Louis tries not to roll his eyes at their pretentiousness. He gulps the coke down and rubs the back of his neck. He needs to suppress his inner indie critic. But of course, it’s easier said than done. Thank his dad for teaching him the ways of the music scene since a tender age, which is why at 19 years old, he can be a kickass DJ if he wants; but had also turned him into an insufferable music snob. 

Once he shakes those thoughts away and gets rid of his preconceived ideas about how a post pop-punk garage revival band should sound, he finds he actually likes their music. Even Zayn seems to be enjoying himself, which doesn’t happen a lot unless he has three or four drinks in, though, by the looks of it, he’s getting there.

Their setlist is short, but Louis likes all of the songs. The lead singer has stage presence, and the drums are loud and powerful, just how he likes them. The fact that they only have one guitarist is odd, and a rhythmic guitar would do them good, but the bassist covers that area pretty nicely. During the last part, when the singer is introducing them, his gaze focuses on the bassist again.

He is hot, like, really hot. He has a wild mass of curly hair, now drenched in sweat, and one single brown lock falls over his forehead. He’s fiddling with the knobs of his bass, and he hasn’t made eye contact with the audience, just keeping his eyes on his instrument, or his bandmates. Louis could tell he is shy, sticking to the bassists’ cliché, but as the singer thanks the crowd before kicking off with a cover of The Fratellis’ Chelsea Dagger, he looks up and catches Louis staring at him. Louis just smiles, and starts moving to the beat of the song, his eyes never leaving the bassist’s side of stage completely.

“Oh my god, you dirty slut,” He feels Zayn coming up from behind him, resting his elbow on Louis’ shoulder.

Louis laughs. “What?” He feigns innocence, but can’t stop smiling.

“You’re practically blowing him with your eyes, I can tell.” Zayn says against the rim of his glass, sending Louis a knowing look.

“And how exactly does one blow someone with their eyes, Zee? Please, I’m begging you, tell me.” He says, still smiling.

The song culminates in a loud screech from the guitar, the cymbals ringing and the singer demonstrating his abilities, holding a high note for a long moment. The drummer bangs his drums one last time, and the bassist throws his bass over his head, getting rid of his plaid shirt in the process. He’s wearing a white t-shirt underneath, Louis notes disappointed.

“The same way you are looking at that guy, duh.” Zayn says, bursting into cheers and applauses immediately after.

“Thank you! We are Glass of Lemonade!” The guitarist yells into the microphone, and the band leaves the stage.

The crowd’s applause fades away while they wait for the main act to show up. Louis goes to leave the empty glass on the bar, absently searching for the cute bassist while he does. When he gets back to Zayn’s side, he can see him talking to his bandmates on the side of stage.

“You should go talk to him,” Zayn says, slurring slightly.

“What? No, I don’t know what to say. Besides, we don’t even know if he’s gay.” Louis shakes his head.

“Lou, his band is called Glass of Lemonade. I’m pretty sure he’s not the straightest dude around.”

That makes Louis laugh, but he quickly stops when he trails his eyes around the room and recognizes someone.

“Ugh,” he moans, getting Zayn’s attention. “Cher is here.”

Zayn turns around, looking for her. When he spots her, he looks at Louis and clasps his shoulder with one hand. “Don’t let her ruin your night, okay? Remember why we’re here.” Louis smiles. “Less Than Popular, okay? In less than five hours we’re gonna be seeing Less Than Popular, and also, your chances of getting laid tonight have increased about 50 percent.”

Confused, Louis looks up at Zayn. “What do you mean –”

“Cute bassist at 10 o’clock!” His friend whispers before pushing him.

He stumbles before colliding chest first against a tall guy. He grabs him from his shirt to keep from losing balance, but quickly retrieves his hands, not daring to look him in the eye.

“Uh, umm… Sorry.” He mumbles.

The guy looks at him for a second, and Louis notices his eyes are green. Like, mad green. Which is really cool, but also, it doesn’t help his already compromised balance.

The guy shrugs it off and keeps walking like nothing happened, and Louis feels really dumb. For a moment. Then he remembers the original purpose of tonight isn’t getting laid, it’s searching for Less Than Popular.

“What a dick,” Zayn comments, downing a tequila shot.

Yeah, whatever, Louis thinks. Suddenly, the next band is getting onstage, and he decides to focus on that.

These guys are darker and more aggressive than Glass of Lemonade, but they are really good. Their depressing melodies fuse with the raspy voice of the lead singer, and Louis is faintly reminded of Nirvana. He lets loose and starts dancing, or more like jumping around without stomping on (too many) people’s feet. He really enjoys himself out there, but after three or four songs he remembers he is on a quest tonight; he can’t afford to waste time.

But leaving the safety of the mass of people turns out to be a bad idea. As if having smelled her, Louis turns his head to see Cher standing in a corner with a guy stuck to her side, and before he can duck and cover, she sees him and smiles acidly.

“Louis!” She grabs the guy by the hand and walks over to him.

“Cher, hi,” He says. “Been looking for you everywhere.”

She arches a perfectly waxed eyebrow and flips hair off her shoulder. “So, Zayn ditched you again, huh?” She turns to the guy. “He is kind of a loner at school, only hangs out with Zayn.”

Louis crosses his arms and tries to remain calm. “No, actually I –”

“Or maybe you finally got yourself a boyfriend?” Cher mocks, and that, well, that makes Louis angry. He really can’t deal with Cher and her bullshit right now, so he says what first comes to mind. “Actually,” He says, standing up straight. “You’re right love, I came here with my new boyfriend.”

Cher stops smiling at that. “What?”

“Yeah, he’s somewhere around here… I should probably go look for him.” He turns around, aware of Cher still watching him, and slowly walks to the bar. His eyes frantically search for someone, hopefully for Zayn, but to no avail. He glances over his shoulder, and can see Cher with a hand on her hip, looking expectant. Okay, think fast Tomlinson.

He sees the cute bassist from earlier and before he can react, his brain has already formed a plan. His legs lead him to the bar, and he takes a deep breath.

“Hey,” He says, and the guy turns around to look at him. “I know this is gonna sound weird, because you don’t know me, but. Um, could you… Could you like, be my boyfriend, for five minutes?”

“What?” The guy looks confused.

“Just – yeah, just like, pretend.” Louis sneaks into his personal space, sliding an arm around him, and looks back to where Cher is, now gaping at the scene. He makes a motion to the guy, and mouths ‘found him’.

“Be cool, okay? Just, go with it.” He whispers to the guy, before leaning in and pressing their lips together, taking him by surprise. The guy tenses for a second, but quickly relaxes and Louis feels the moment he starts kissing back.

Louis peeks through his eyelashes. Well, at least the guy has the decency to close his eyes. They kiss for a bit more, lips sealed, but it’s a fairly nice kiss, to be honest. He pulls back, and the guy opens his eyes, blinking owlishly at him.

Wow. His eyes are shining, and Louis thinks for a split second that he looks dazzled. He dazzled a guy.

Suddenly, the proximity of their faces dawns on Louis, and he feels slightly taken aback. He opens his mouth to say something, but then he hears someone calling his name.

“Louis! Harry!” Cher looks at them, horrified, but quickly composes herself. “How do you guys… know each other?”

The guy, Harry apparently, looks at Cher, and then at Louis. “I… What?”

Louis’ eyes widen. “Uh… we, well, um. I – He came to the record store one day, asking for a Vampire Weekend album, and… Yeah.” He nods, putting his arm around the guy’s, Harry’s, waist.

“Well. That’s great, wow, what a coincidence.” Cher says, and her eyes look like they are bugging out. She turns to her… whatever the guy was. “Come on, let’s go Patrick.” She takes him by the hand and disappears into the crowd.

“Wait,” Harry pipes in after her. “Did you get my mixes?”

And then it hits Louis.

“Mixes?”

Harry turns to him. “You guys know each other?”

“Oh my god.” Louis feels the bile creeping up his throat. “You are Cher’s ex?”

“She told you about me?” Harry asks.

Yeah, he’s definitely going to throw up.

“Oh. God.” Louis leaves the poor guy in a state of shock, but he doesn’t have time to feel sorry for him. He kissed Cher’s ex. Cher thinks he is dating her ex.

This has got to be a fucking joke.

So he comes back to the bar where Zayn is licking salt off some girl’s neck, and Louis doesn’t think twice before grabbing him by the arm and yanking him from the girl.

“Zayn! What exactly do you think you’re doing?” He yells, trying to sound offended, but comes out as more of hysterical. Which he is. Sort of.

The girl blinks at him, clearly pissed off, and opens her mouth to say something.

“Sorry honey,” He cuts her off. “Tonight you’re out of luck.”

He drags them away from there, looking for the exit, with his friend stumbling behind him.

“Dude!” Zayn groans. “What’s the matter with you? I was totally gonna score!”

“I don’t care, I just made out with Cher’s ex! You know, the pathetic one?” Louis double-checks on his friend. “And you, you got drunk when I specifically told you not to, you asshole!”

Zayn makes a face, and buries his face on Louis’ neck. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m not that drunk.”

“Whatever, did you just hear what I told you?” Louis huffs.

“Yeah, you made out with Cher’s ex, big deal.”

“No, you don’t understand! This is not going to compete with perfect little that.” He points towards Cher’s direction. “Come on, we have to go.”

He attempts to push Zayn so they can just get out of there already, but most of his friend is dead weight by now. “Zayn! What are you doing, move!”

Zayn trips and falls on his ass. Louis tries to manhandle him into a somewhat standing position, but seriously, he’s just a tiny guy, and when did Zayn start to weigh so damn much?

“Ow,” He hears Zayn whimpering. “I fell.”

Louis rolls his eyes. He’s starting to consider kicking his friend wherever he can reach when he notices a pair of beat up Converse stopping in front of him.

“Hey, do you, um. Need help?”

Louis pushes his hair back to look at Harry, who kneels and helps Zayn up without waiting for an answer.

“I need to get him home, I…” Louis wraps his arm around Zayn’s waist, making sure he doesn’t slide down again. “Thanks.”

After a quick exchange, (“If you guys need a ride, I could get you back to Jersey, is that where you live?” “Do we look like we’re from Jersey?” “I – I don’t know if you’re trying to say that you live there or you don’t, um.”) they leave the smoky club and step out into the cold night.

Louis finds himself in front of a little yellow car, and it’s almost comical, really, how this tall boy with wild hair and lanky limbs owns such a cartoon of a car.

“Nice ride,” Louis muses. He catches a glimpse of the corners of Harry’s mouth curling upwards, and can’t help but to smile himself.

The car is small, like awfully so; Louis thinks it’s like a shoebox. With a bit of collaborative effort, Harry and Louis manage to get Zayn into the backseat, and it’s like the boy doesn’t even notice it, he just opens his eyes to stare directly at Harry, and says, “Your hair is so funny, wow.” Before letting his head fall back down, giggling drunkenly.

Louis snorts, and rubs his nose. “Again, thank you, this is really nice of you.”

“Hey,” Harry turns to look at him, and smiles. It’s the first time tonight that Louis looks directly at his smile, and it feels kinda like looking straight into the sun, for some reason. Dimpled cheeks and ruffled hair, Harry shoves his hands into his pockets, and fishes out the car’s keys. “It’s no problem, really.”

Louis gets in the passenger’s seat, and takes a discreet look around. Harry sticks the key into the ignition, and struggles to start the engine. After the fourth turn of the key, Louis thinks screw it and turns around on the seat to take a look at Zayn. He is snoring like a baby. An over-sized, drooling baby. Endearing, really.

Harry makes a frustrated noise, and Louis smacks his lips. “It’s being a bit stubborn, eh?”

Harry doesn’t answer, instead thumping his forehead against the steering wheel.

“I have to say, I have never seen one of these ones before.” Louis smirks, although Harry can’t see.

“When you buy them, you see them everywhere.”

“I’m sure.”

Harry turns to look at him, a playful frown on his face, when a loud honk makes him jump. Louis looks out the windshield, where an old, dirty van parks in front of them. He recognizes Harry’s bandmates, who are now waving manically at them.

“Oh, no.” Harry mutters, and rolls down his window, then, “Hey, Josh, what are you guys, um, doing here?”

Before Louis can hear Josh’s response, someone opens his door and he finds a pair of sparkling blue eyes smiling at him. “Hey, I’m Niall,” He puts out his hand and Louis reaches to shake it, but is pulled out of the car instead. “You are needed in the van, my friend.”

He takes a second look at Niall, his golden hair shining under the streetlamp. He is the guitarist from Harry’s band.

Dumbfounded, Louis nods and heads to the van, that has the side door slid open. He taps it, and sticks his head in. “Hey, um… Niall told me –”

“Try this on,” A guy who he recognizes as the singer hands him a pair of black jeans, and he takes them.

He climbs in the van, and looks around. “Who are you?”

The singer turns to smile at him. “Hi, I’m Liam. And you, are our salvation.”

“My name’s Louis, actually, uh…” He takes a look around and then looks at Liam. “What the hell is going on?”

Liam laughs and pats him on the leg. “Look, we are not the biggest fans of Harry’s ex, and we’ve decided that you are gonna help us with that. Besides,” He rummages through a bag, taking out a hairbrush, and points it at Louis. “We saw you guys making out earlier, and we think that you’re the one.”

Louis gapes at him, dumbfounded (again), and runs a hand through his hair. “Right, um.”

“Come on, put those on.” Liam nods at the jeans still on Louis’ hands.

“What’s wrong with mine?” Louis’ tone is defensive, but then he looks down at the old pants he's wearing, baggy and stained, and – well. Okay, he can see where Liam is coming from.

He fumbles with the button, and Liam gets the hint. “Right, my eyes are closed, don’t worry.”

Louis changes out of his pants, thanking Liam’s sensitivity and trying not to think too much about the implications of what he’s doing; changing in a seedy van in front of a stranger, and pulls the skinny jeans on. To his surprise, not only do they fit perfectly, they also cling to his thighs and ass in a flattering way. They might be a little too long for his liking, but he fixes it up by rolling the cuffs up his ankles.

“Okay, you can look now.” Louis throws the discarded pants to the van’s floor. It’s not like he’s gonna miss that pair.

Liam uncovers his eyes and smiles when he sees him, arching an eyebrow. “Now that's much better.”

Louis glances over to where Harry and his friends are standing, the car’s hood popped open as they peer down at the engine. They will probably try to jump-start the car and hopefully get electrocuted in the process.

He sighs. “This isn’t gonna work, he’s still not over Cher.”

“Nonsense, you look great. Like, seriously dude, if I weren’t straight I’d be all over you.”

A moment of awkward silence falls between them.

“Please take that as a compliment.”

Louis looks down, straightening the fabric, fingers pulling his t-shirt down in a nervous gesture he’s done his entire life.

“And let me tell you something, Louis, that guy,” Liam nods in Harry’s direction, “is definitely worth it. He just needs a little push.”

Louis worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Okay, yeah, but what about Zayn?”

“Don’t worry about him. We’ll get him home; you guys go look for Less Than Popular, and then we’ll meet there.” Louis’ face lights up at that. “Now go!”

He flashes Liam a quick smile, thanking him, and jumps out of the van. He can see Harry and Niall and Josh, as well as some people who gathered around the car. Niall is knocking on the window, and as he gets closer he can hear the small crowd laughing. “Open up, please!” Josh yells.

“Hey, what happened?” He asks the first person he sees, a girl with green dyed hair wearing a David Johnston shirt.

“Oh, the drunk guy locked the door and now they can’t get in.” She giggles.

Of course.

He makes his way in between the people, and leans into the window. “Unlock the door, bitch!”

Even Niall shuts up at that. Harry turns to look at him, tugging at his curls nervously. “We got the car to start. But I left the keys inside, and your friend is not responding.” Louis nods his head, reassuringly. “It’s okay, I got it.”

He knocks on the window with his knuckles. “Come on Zayn, do like we practiced. Flick your hand, just like this.”

Zayn is in that state of drunkenness where he isn’t very aware of his surroundings. Luckily for them, he hasn’t fallen asleep. Yet. Louis tries to recall what he drank at the club. Tequila doesn’t get him in a comatose state, unlike whisky, but he’s barely coherent when he does tequila shots.

He hears his friend saying something from the other side of the window, but can’t make out the words. Eventually, Zayn unlocks the door, and Louis pulls it open. Everyone around them cheers. “Okay, thank you! The show is over, you can go home now.” He addresses the crowd, smiling a bit to himself.

They slide inside the car, and Harry picks at his nails. “Hey, thanks. I was really starting to freak out.”

“It’s no problem.” He answers, echoing Harry’s words. Between Niall and Josh, they carry Zayn to the van, (“Louis, look, I’m being carried!” “Yes you are, Zayn.”) and Louis decides swapping numbers with these guys is the smart thing to do.

“Okay, so you have the address, and my number, please get him home in one piece or I will kill all of you, I swear.” Louis says, pointing his finger at Niall and Liam. Josh is already in the driver’s seat, making sure Zayn doesn’t choke on his own vomit or something.

“Oh, he’s gonna be fine, don’t worry! Right, Liam?” Niall winks. Liam gives him a thumbs-up. “Harry, dude, go look for LTP, and text us when you guys find them!” With that, they hop in the van and drive down the street.

Harry gives a U turn, which Louis is fairly sure is forbidden, and gets them into NY’s traffic.

“So, um,” Harry gives him a once-over, “Where should we start?”

+++

The streets are wet from a sudden downpour, which is expected from the weather in the middle of March, and Louis doesn’t think he has tried this hard to make small talk with anyone, like, ever.

Harry is a tough bone; he can say that about the boy already. Or maybe he is just really shy. Even with his glorious physique (because seriously, he’s the poster boy for indie rockstar, with those mussed curls and that ratty shirt scribbled on with Sharpie and his dirty Chucks; and a glint of something peeking out of the border of his iris, something Louis can’t place his finger on), the boy is quiet and calm in that way that Louis never liked or could be, and right now, it’s unnerving. Whatever the reason, he’s being… unresponsive. Yeah. Harry is being unresponsive, and Louis’ attempts to get him to open up have been futile so far.

He has asked three questions already, every single one of them getting a monosyllabic response, or even just a hum. Louis feels like he’s being a nuisance, like Harry is doing him a favor by sharing the same reduced space with him, and seriously, if Harry only knew it’s him the one that’s doing favors around here. Liam and the other guys decided he was their “salvation” without a second thought, but maybe they got it wrong. Maybe he isn’t the one for the job. Especially considering the fact that this Harry guy is, in fact, just another name in the long list of Cher’s victims.

That makes Louis shiver. What is he doing? Harry is one of those guys. One of those poor guys that fell in Cher’s trap. He fell fast, and hard at that, Louis saw it firsthand. Or well – not firsthand. But Cher told them, him and Zayn, when she came out of P.E. and lingered around to chat with them in the lockers; Louis saw her face every time she received Harry’s mixtapes, how she mocked him.

Even before meeting him, Louis knew Harry was love-struck. Fuck him if he knows why Harry would fall for Cher, of all demons that had taken human form and chosen to prance around the face of the earth wearing tight leather skirts and heels, but it’s just – even before knowing Harry, he had pitied him. Because Louis knew Cher, had known her since they were toddlers and Louis came to Cher’s apartment for playdates; and he knew Cher was gonna break Harry’s heart. Although, at the time, Louis referred to Harry as ‘poor schmuck’. It was easier, because a long line of schmucks had come before him, and he didn’t even know Harry’s name, but he was the first one that Louis had actually felt sorry for.

Never, ever, ever, not even in his craziest dreams, he would’ve thought that he’d spend his Friday night inside a toy car with poor schmuck.

Louis sighs, and decides to have one last try.

“So, Harry from Glass of Lemonade,” He puts on his best interview voice, but hesitates. Um. What can he say? “Is Harry your real name? Or is it like a stage name?”

Harry is focused on the road. Louis notices he’s gripping the wheel with both hands, and maybe his knuckles are a bit too white, giving away his tension. Or maybe Louis is just imagining it.

“I don’t understand in which universe would Harry be a stage name,” He starts, his voice tuned down in a deep and quiet way; but not unfriendly, not really. “Like, aren’t stage names supposed to be something cool? You know, something that people remember, something that makes you seem badass or mysterious. You have, uh, David Bowie, for instance, though Bowie isn’t really that great in my opinion; or, say, Sid Vicious. Joe Strummer. Glenn Danzig. Now those are stage names.”

This is by far the longest he has spoken to Louis in the span of time they have spent together. And shit, his voice is dense and gravelly, sewing the words together to form one big sentence. It’s like the guy can’t be bothered to speak at normal human pace; every word that comes out of his mouth sounds like it’s wrapped in velvet. Maybe that’s why it takes him so long to talk, to get out every word the way he intends to.

Harry talked to him slow and deliberate, which is the exact opposite of what Louis does. His thoughts always run at a hundred miles per hour, and he feels the need to get everything out, to vomit it, because his mind goes too fast and he can’t catch up with it; he’s afraid he’d lose his thoughts and forget them if he didn’t speak them out loud now. That’s why he often stutters or mumbles unintelligibly, his tongue tripping over his own words. His parents often tease him for that.

But Harry is in a whole new level of coolness, that chilled way of moving and speaking that almost seems lethargic, and even the way he looks; those are all things that would have frustrated Louis, should have frustrated him. But he idly thinks that he doesn’t mind; he could’ve heard Harry talk for hours, lulling him to sleep while he talked away the night.

“Fair enough. And I’m gonna choose to ignore the fact you just dissed David Bowie’s name, and ask, what is your last name, Harry?”

“Styles.” He answers without missing a beat.

Louis laughs. “Yeah, right.” He takes a look at Harry, who just shrugs. “Wait, are you serious? Harry Styles?”

And Harry hums, clearly amused.

“That’s like, really made up, it’s not even funny.” Louis crosses his arms over his chest.

“What can I say, a surname is a surname.”

Styles can’t possibly be a last name. It can’t be. “Who the fuck is named Styles?” He whispers, more to himself than to Harry.

“I take it you don’t like it or…?” Harry asks in what is probably the first intentional question of the night, and Louis cheers inside. They are making some progress.

“No, it’s not that I don’t like it, I just think it’s fucking unfair someone gets to have that as a birth name, because it probably beats every stage name of the past century.” Louis has always hated the way people change the way they behave around him when they hear his last name, but he actually likes it. It has a nice ring to it. But next to Styles, his last name sounds weird and boring.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Please do, Harry Styles. Please do.” He tries to sound blasé, and doesn’t really feel guilty, albeit a bit creepy, thinking how it would sound, taking Harry’s last name.

Styles, Louis Styles.

Yeah, he can get used to the sound of that.

“…you could.” Harry is saying.

“What? I’m sorry, I got a bit distracted.”

“I was asking what your last name was.” Harry says softly.

“Presley.”

“You don’t say?”

“Okay, not really. It’s Potter.” Louis admits.

“Oh, come on now.” Harry shoots him a brief glance.

“Or better yet, it’s Fogerty.” Louis smirks.

“Yeah okay, but you’re John’s offspring right, because Tom was like, a douche.” Harry says earnestly and holy fuck, poor schmuck knows about Creedence Clearwater Revival, and okay, Louis might just have a mini heart attack.

He tries really hard to fight the huge grin that’s spreading across his face, because you don’t find cute boys who like Creedence everyday, but he can’t quite hide it.

He opens his mouth to reply something, when a guy literally jumps in front of the car, and luckily Harry slowed down considerably, but the guy just bangs on the windshield, dragging a girl along with him. “Taxi, taxi! Thank god, yeah!”

Louis stares wide-eyed as the guy pulls open the door on Harry’s side, popping almost half of his body in, and looks at them.

“Hey.”

Harry blinks. “Hi, uh –”

“Mercury Lounge.” The guy says and jumps in, the girl following suit. He kicks Harry’s seat, pushing him forward to get in, and Louis receives a push or two on his seat too.

“I’m not a cab…” Harry mumbles, but the guy doesn’t listen. He is obviously on a binge; too drunk to notice the yellow car isn’t actually a taxi.

Louis doesn’t know if he should laugh or frown, so he settles for a mixture of the two, looking at Harry, who returns his gaze with a helpless expression.

“Um, d’you wanna go to Mercury Lounge?” He asks, obviously resigned to the fact that the guy isn’t going to get out.

Louis pulls a face, shrugging in a whatcha gonna do way. “Sure.”

As they drive down the street, Louis can hear the distinctive sounds of what is a heated make-out session going on in the backseat, and Harry probably heard it too, if the way he eyes the back of the car warily through the rearview mirror is any signal to go by.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Louis can’t stand the couple any longer. They are clearly in love, (“I love you so much, you have no idea,” “No, I love you more,” “God, I love you so much it hurts,”) that’s great, good for them, but it’s really awkward to have to hear that while being next to Harry, who already causes him enough sexual frustration on his own. So he reaches for the first CD that he sees lying on the dashboard and puts it on. The initial chords of what he thinks is a Wombats’ song greets him, and he smiles, relaxing a little.

“So, Louis Fogerty,” Harry speaks after a minute. “Are you from Newark?”

“Yup, born and raised.” Actually, he was born in Manhattan, but whatever.

“That’s great, uh, I’m from Hoboken.”

“Hey, you live like, really close.”

“That I do.” Harry says. “And, um, are you going to college?”

“I, yeah, I mean, I got accepted into NYU, which was like my first and only option, but I have this job offer too, so I have to make up my mind fast because they’re only holding my spot at NYU until Monday, so yeah, I don’t know.” Louis cards a hand through his hair, ruffling his fringe. He doesn’t really wanna talk about that, it just stresses him out.

“I’m going to Berklee College of Music, in Boston, starting next fall.”

“Oh yeah? That’s awesome.”

“If you go to NYU, what are you gonna study?” Harry asks, peering curiously at him.

Louis doesn’t really know how to answer that, because, well, he doesn’t know. Like, of course he has a general idea, sort of, but it didn’t seem too important at the time. “Uh, I – I dunno. Music stuff. Writing stuff. Maybe journalism, so I can be a columnist for Kerrang! Magazine or something.” He says what first popped into his mind, really.

Harry makes a humming noise, and begins to talk about his family, and how his older sister went off to the other side of the world to study architecture, leaving him and his mom alone. But he doesn’t mind, he’s always gotten along really well with his mom, surprisingly so for a teenager.

Louis listens carefully, chewing on his bottom lip, and trying not to melt at how cute Harry sounds talking about his everyday life, and how fondly he talks of his mom and his friends.

He does his fair share of personal details, (he discovers he’s a year older than Harry, which costs him a lot of teasing from Harry’s part, especially for their height difference, but if he secretly delights himself in being smaller than Harry, well, no one has to know), but he doesn’t want to turn this into the typical first date chitchat, so after the conversation dies down, he decides to turn the music up.

An acoustic version of Horchata by Vampire Weekend is blasting through the speakers. He sings along to the song, quietly at first, and then louder, pointing his finger at Harry as he recites here comes the feeling you thought you’d forgotten and causes him to laugh.

Harry stops in front of the Mercury Lounge, turning around to look at the couple. “Okay, here we are.”

The guy opens the door on Louis’ side. “Thanks, how much do I owe you?”

“Oh, um, 8.50.”

The guy lets him keep the change and gets out, stumbling into the sidewalk with his girlfriend. “I charged him extra.” Harry confesses.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “I would’ve charged them twenty. The guy was so wasted he wouldn’t have minded.”

Harry laughs. “Yeah. Um, thanks for… sticking through that with me. Would you be surprised if I told you it’s not the first time someone mistakes me for a cab?” He smiles shyly, dimples showing, and Louis just wants to lick them.

He’s smiling so hard his cheeks are aching, but he can’t help it. “I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest.”

+++

“Harry Styles, where had you been all my life?”

Louis shakes his head in disbelief as he scrolls through Harry’s old iPod. He hooked it to the stereo and selected a playlist called ‘Road to Closure’. They are three songs in and Louis is pretty sure he’s dreaming, with Lisztomania currently playing. On the seat next to him, Harry laughs.

“You are literally my musical soul mate, like, I’m not even kidding.” Louis smiles. His eyes scan the artists passing in front of him, and he thinks that it’s a good thing Harry is driving, because he can’t take his eyes off the device for more than five seconds, not even to look at Harry when he speaks again.

“Really? I don’t know, being someone’s musical soul mate is a big responsibility, I’m not sure if I want that weight on my shoulders.”

“Well, there’s no turning back now. Your faith was doomed from the moment you decided to download Walk The Moon’s new album,” He says, reading the names of the songs. “You have Quesadilla, wow, that’s like my favorite song by them!”

“Actually, I went to see them at The Troubadour last winter. They were sick.”

“Okay, stop this car right now. I’m not sure I can be in the same place as you right now.” Louis almost ripped his hair out when he found out about the shows all along the West Coast. He has always prided himself on being an East Coast hipster, and his parents refused to let him fly across the country just for a gig.

“And leave you here, in the middle of Manhattan at –” Harry glances at the dashboard, “12:16 in the night? I think not.”

Louis squints his eyes at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you probably wouldn’t make it past Fifth Avenue.”

Instead of arguing, Louis keeps scrolling down the infinite songs Harry had downloaded to this 180GB brick with a fond smile on his face, and settles for Los Campesinos! and their new album.

He bobs his head to the beat, and Harry smiles appreciatively at his music selection. He props his feet on the dashboard, hoping Harry doesn’t mind, and drums a rhythm against his knees.

“You’re not wearing socks?” Harry raises an eyebrow.

Louis takes a look at his feet, his naked ankles peeking from under his dark jeans. “Yeah, I guess I’m not.” He smiles at Harry. “I never do.”

“What, like never? Never ever? Why not?” Harry asks, voice full of curiosity, which Louis doesn’t know if it’s genuine or mocking.

He stretches his legs even more, toes almost touching the windshield.

“Well,” He thinks about it. “I just don’t like it. Like – okay, let me ask you a question. Why do you wear socks?”

“Um,” Harry considers it for a second. “It’s a basic piece of clothing, like underwear. I’ve worn socks all my life, and…”

“Exactly, all your life they have made you wear socks, and you never questioned it, because you accepted it was just part of life, but it’s not. It’s not a basic piece of clothing, what the fuck?”

Harry snorts. “You’re seriously saying socks are a form of oppression?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Harold, and like, it’s really infuriating when you think about it, because who decided that you have to wear them? They’re little bags for your feet, that’s the most ridiculous thing I have heard in my entire life.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Harry grins, shaking his head.

“I am not! You are just blinded by the socks companies, don’t you see, Harry? This is exactly what they want. To confuse you with lies and tricks so you keep buying their socks for the rest of your life! Also, what is it with selling them in pairs? Like, why in pairs?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Harry whispers in a conspiratorial tone, “But you have two feet, Louis.”

Louis flips him off. “Yes, I know I have two feet Harry, thanks for clearing that up. What I mean is like, it’s not fair to make people buy two socks. Let’s say I lost one sock, so I want to buy just another one because that’s all I need, one sock. As a consumer, I should be able to buy one lonely sock, that’s like, basic rights or something. But no, they make you buy two! And don’t even get me started on the social convention of matching socks.”

“Oh my god, social convention? Lou, what are you even on about?”

“Who said that socks have to be the same color?” They stop at a red light, and Louis raises his voice as he starts getting into his speech, trying to ignore the voice inside him that says he called me Lou he called me Lou he called me Lou. “Like, people always wear socks according to the patterns and the colors, and that is oppression, Harry. If I want to wear a pink sock and a striped sock then who cares? People should be able to wear socks of any color and not have to worry if they’re from the same set or not. And the day people realize that, we will have reached freedom.”

He stops to take a breath after that, noticing he started rambling, a bit annoyed with himself, but can’t really help it.

“And that, Harry,” He reaches with his hand to grab Harry’s jaw, making him look him in the eye, “Is why I don’t wear socks.”

“Wow.” Harry says, like an exhalation. Again, Louis isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be genuine or sarcastic, and he had the feeling he would never really learn the difference, not with Harry.

But his stomach lurches when he looks into Harry’s eyes, and he becomes acutely aware of his hand touching Harry’s face, and how he is staring at Harry’s pink lips, and takes note of Harry’s perfect cupid bow, the curve delicate and pronounced; and his pale skin suddenly feels really smooth and really warm under his hand.

The red light turns to a green light, and the green of Harry’s eyes turns away from him, a bit startled.

Louis’ hand drops to his side, and he fiddles with the iPod’s cable, realizing he was talking nonsense, (about fucking socks, of all fucking things, how fucking smooth, Tomlinson) and shuts his mouth, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Great, now Harry will think he’s a complete nut job.

“I don’t think I’ll ever see socks the same way ever again,” Harry muses and Louis looks out the window at the night traffic as they drive into Greenwich Village, and yeah, he thinks Harry thinks he’s an idiot. Oh, well.

+++

SoHo is their first option. Less Than Popular is more than likely to be found in one of the fancy bars scattered in the streets, (though that’s probably wishful thinking from Louis’ part; dudes are harder to find than fucking Waldo), but it’s logical that the place to start looking for would be one of the less snobby clubs. Less Than Popular aren’t posers, they never have been. That is part of their image, what attracted Louis in the first place.

When they get there, he jumps out of the car, flexing his legs and popping a joint or two; after being crammed in the stuffy car, he receives the cool air thankful.

They go to this club that Louis remembers having gone to once, and it’s a really nice club, the line of people waiting in the entrance stretching on for almost a block.

“Hey,” he greets the bouncer, and can feel Harry stiffening next to him.

He looks at him, catching his gaze, and smiles. “It’s okay, get in.”

The bouncer nods in response, and steps aside to let them in. Louis motions for Harry to follow him inside, and he does, still looking pretty taken aback.

As soon as they cross the door, following through a dark corridor, Louis can feel the bass thumping against the walls, making his chest vibrate.

“Are you on YouTube or something?” Harry asks, hands in his pockets. “Who are you?”

“I’m Louis.” He answers. “I’m no one. Just… the son of someone.”

“The son of who?” Harry enquires, to what Louis just laughs.

“Do you want a beer or something?” He yells, now that they are in the middle of the club, surrounded by dancing bodies and buzzed gazes.

“No, I don’t drink, hope that’s okay.” Harry leans in to say into his ear, which makes Louis get hot in the cheeks. It’s probably the room’s temperature.

A DJ is perched on top of the stage, behind some amps and cables, but Louis can see guitars and a bass resting against the farthest wall. He isn’t going to get his hopes up though, Less Than Popular aren’t that easy to find.

Surprisingly, they find a table not far away, which is scattered with empty glasses and chewed straws. And then Harry does something that kind of sort of makes Louis’ insides flutter.

“So I guess you could say you have friends in high places, then?” Harry asks, pulling out the chair (which isn’t technically a chair, but a bar stool,) for him. Louis takes the seat and doesn’t say anything because seriously, who does that? He feels like they are in a 1950’s movie and suddenly Harry is fucking Humphrey Bogart or something. Which probably makes him Katharine Hepburn, but whatever.

“You could say that, yeah,” He says, looking down at his hands on the table.

“Mysterious, I like that,” Harry nods. “Uh, as long as you’re not connected to the mafia or anything.”

Louis smiles, looking up at him. Under the neon lights, he allows himself to truly appraise Harry. He admires the way his denim jacket hugs his broad shoulders, and he lets his eyes linger on the way his curly hair falls over his forehead and his ears, almost like an auburn halo.

Reluctantly, he takes his eyes off Harry’s face, not wanting to be creepy. He searches the crowd with his eyes, not sure what he’s expecting to find. Suddenly, a full-body shiver courses through him.

“Wow, does the air conditioning have to be so cold?” He jokes, wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing his sides. He didn’t notice when they first arrived, but it’s very chilly in there.

Harry’s response is to take off his jacket and put it around his shoulders. Yup, they are definitely in a 1950’s film, and Louis is definitely Katharine Hepburn.

“Thanks,” He mutters, trying not to sound too giddy. He feels safe and warm inside the jacket, and he thinks he can smell a faint whiff of what probably is Harry’s cologne. He bites his lip and wills himself to not start sniffing the jacket like a fucking dog.

The applaud of the crowd signals the end of the performance, and Louis tunes in his ear. The band currently on leaves the stage after one of the guys rips his shirt off and throws it to the public, and a thin girl with freakishly long hair who reminds Louis of a fairy climbs up there, with a bearded guy holding an acoustic guitar following behind her.

They open with a cover of This Isn’t A Test by She & Him. The girl has a great voice, and the guitar is upbeat and happy. He can see some people clapping to the beat and Harry nodding his head.

The song is cheerful, everyone looks so happy, and Harry is smiling so genuinely Louis wants to puke. It’s all so fucking nice.

“You know what, I have to pee.” He says quickly, jumping from his seat.

He makes his way in between the mass of people without even looking back, and takes out his phone as soon as the restroom’s door closes behind him. He doesn’t need to pee. He needs to think. He needs to call Zayn.

Two or three more guys are in there, and he gets himself into the only cubicle, sitting on top of the toilet. The first call gets him straight to voicemail, so he tries again. Come on Zayn, answer your damn phone, he thinks.

Three rings.

Five rings.

“Pick up, please pick up, pick up, pick up.”

Nine rings and he hangs up.

He locks his phone and slides it inside his pocket, holding his head between his hands and squeezing his eyes close.

He’s not the kind of guy to meet someone and have his life changed over the course of one night. He wears the same jeans for three days in a row. He has more concert stubs pinned to his headboard than contacts in his phone. He eats KFC directly from the bucket. What is a guy like Harry doing with him?

He sighs, looking around the stall, walls decorated with notes and poems and drawings and Stacy is a fucking slut, she gives good head though. Here’s her number followed by a phone number and an obscene stickmen doodle.

He puts his phone away and is going to get out of the stall when a message written in glow-in-the-dark ink catches his attention.

He gets closer to try to read it, and almost falls when he deciphers the scribbles. With a tiny drawing of a bunny, Less Than Popular’s mascot, someone wrote LTP tonite @ the Bowery Ballroom, be there or be square!!

He touches the ink with his fingertips, leaving smudges on the surface. It’s recent.

He has to tell Harry. He owes him at least that. Forgetting about his personal issues he runs off to their table, bumping into other people, but finally reaches the guy and grabs him by the shoulders.

“You are not gonna believe this!”

Without waiting for an answer, he drags Harry out of the club, and grins at him. He tells him he got a clue, and they both hop into the car, Harry pressing the gas all the way in.

“So can we talk about how great Less Than Popular are?”

“They’re my favorite band in the world.”

“They’re my favorite band in the world.” Louis declares, now hyped up on adrenaline and the prospect of finding LTP.

“I actually got so many people into that band, I have been a fan since like, the beginning.” Harry says proudly.

“Yeah? You mean since 2010?” Louis heard of them in early 2011, but didn’t get into them until September of that year.

“Yup, actually I got to listen to Absentminded before anybody else, they – I’m pretty sure I was the first person outside of the band that listened to that song.”

“Really? That’s amazing, wow.”

“Yeah, I think so. You know that show they did at the Elbow Room? It was a total scam, Prisoners of The Basement showed up instead.”

“Ugh, that literally makes me wanna die.”

“I hate those guys.”

“Yeah, that must’ve sucked. And I was actually so sad when I didn’t go to that show.”

“Well, you didn’t miss anything, so don’t worry.”

Louis blinks, a warm and fuzzy feeling sinking in. “Wow. I can’t believe you love Less Than Popular. If I had a penny for every person I know that likes them, I would be in debt.”

Harry barks out a laugh, and immediately clasps his hand over his mouth.

God, this guy is so fucking cute, it’s not fair.

“They are so underrated though, I hope it stays that way.” Harry picks up after a second. Okay, he’s a music snob too apparently, wow, what were the chances?

“Yeah, I know right?”

“I, um. Actually, I got Cher into them as well. She had never heard of them, until I put one of their songs into a mix CD I did for her –” Louis rolls his eyes.  “And she liked them immediately, which is cool.” He rubs his nose, and okay, Harry may be a music snob like Louis, and his musical soul mate on a basic level, but he is not subtle.

“Is that right,” He mumbles, unpleased with the turn of the conversation.

“Yeah, uh, how well do you guys know each other? You go to the same school together?”

Louis curses internally. How can he go from he’s so cute and awkward I think I wanna marry him to get me out of this car right now in 0.6 seconds?

“Wow, I can’t believe Cher dated a straight-edge, that’s like, groundbreaking.” He says, sarcasm dripping from every word. But Harry won’t get the hint, won’t drop the subject, and he’s really going to have to be harsh, isn’t he?

“Did she say that? Did she say I’m straight-edge?” Harry asks, voice full of what Louis thinks is hope.

“Can I ask what did you see in her? I’ve seen Barbie dolls with more personality.”

“This is your friend we’re talking about,” Harry says, frowning, and Louis wants to laugh at that. Cher his friend? Yeah, right.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy now, that’s what we’re doing, I’m the bad guy?” He is so not surprised by this bullshit; he knew Harry was still hung up on that girl.

“If you really want to know, she supported our music before anybody else. She was there from day one and always believed in us, not that it’s any of your business.”

Louis laughs. “Okay, you know what, forget it, I’m not doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“This, I refuse to be the only guest at your pity-party, poor schmuck. Just pull over and drop me off.”

“There is no need to yell, we’re in a tiny car.”

“Just drop me off!”

“I will!” Harry looks at him, and makes a violent U turn, receiving honks and yells from other cars. They get out of the road, and a bus almost hits them as Harry steers and stops in front of a 7-11. Louis jumps out of the car and into the curb like his seat is on fire.

“Are you crazy, we could’ve died!” Louis yells, and he is not going to let his brain do music connections like And if a double-decker bus crashes into us / To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die, seriously, this is not the time for that.

“Look, I don’t know what I did to make you so angry!” Harry yells back, jumping out of the car too.

“Nothing! You’re just – you’re ridiculous.” He slams the door shut.

“You don’t even know me!” Harry squints his eyes at him, clearly offended by the accusation.

“Oh, I know you, I know your make.”

“My make?”

“You’re an emo punk band boy, you’re obsessed with Cher, and you have a bad hair cut; it’s like they make you in series!”

“You know what, it’s not my fault that you’re jealous or something!” Harry says, throwing his arms on the air, and he did not just go there.

“Jealous?!” Louis walks around the car, ready to kick him in the balls or something.

“Yeah, now that I remember, Cher mentioned some time this guy who thought he was better than everybody else, and who was jealous of her!”

“Oh, let’s dance, douchebag,” Louis plants himself in front of Harry, and although he has to look up too see his face, he doesn’t hesitate. “I am not jealous!”

And he punches him in the throat.

Unfuckingbelievable. He could not have gotten himself into this willingly. But he had. And now he needs to get away.

Not even bothering to check if Harry is okay, he really hopes he isn’t, he walks away, getting his phone out of his pocket and dialing a taxicab service. He can search for Less Than Popular on his own.

+++

Harry has always tried to do the right thing. He’s a nice guy, or so he has been told, and he usually remains calm and cool through everything. “You are our rock, Haz,” his friends always tell him, which, okay, he supposes he can be that. It’s easy for him, to do what is right no matter what, and any time he faces a new problem, he can always solve it and get it over and done with. 

That's who he is, that is his thing, and he accepted it and even prided himself a little bit on it. He always knows what to do, and things always work out for him in the end. Like Jagger used to say, You can't always get what you want / But you get what you need. He applied that to his life, it’s his mantra. 

So why now, of all times, why now it seems like everything was turning against him? First, he spotted Cher at the band's gig, even though he asked her, no, he begged her not to come to any of the shows. Then an eccentric boy, who has been giving him nothing but mixed signals all night, dragged him into this one act comedy. Granted, this boy is drop-dead gorgeous, is really kinda interesting and has the best music taste Harry has seen, but it’s just. This is all fucking madness, and Harry isn't used to it. 

Louis is fucking madness, he’s everything Harry is not, and it really messes with Harry's head that Louis kicked him out of his comfort zone so effortlessly. 

Louis is fascinating; Harry could tell right from the start that he isn’t like any other person he'd ever met, and that sent a thrilling sensation down his spine. 

Louis is extremely complicated, and Harry doesn’t do complicated. He often contradicted himself, Louis, not Harry, and some times it was alarming. To Harry. 

And now, Louis is walking away from him, after punching him in the goddamned throat, wow, and it really doesn’t surprise Harry. Just like Cher, just like the classroom pet in fourth grade, he is walking away, and it doesn’t surprise Harry, not anymore. 

And if it isn’t enough, to leave Harry on the sidewalk, wheezing and clutching his neck as he gasped for breath, his phone starts buzzing on his pocket. God is on a roll tonight, apparently, and Harry is just here to amuse him, because when he picks up and hears Niall's voice through the speaker, he somehow knows that something is wrong. 

“We lost the guy.”

Harry clears his throat, coughing a bit. Louis has a good swing. “Who?”

“You know, the guy.”

“What?” Harry freezes. “What do you mean you lost him?”

“I dunno, we –” Niall pauses, and Harry can tell he’s munching on something. “We stopped at Gray’s Papaya for a midnight snack, and when we came back, he wasn’t in the van.”

Harry starts shaking his head in denial. “This is not acceptable, Niall.” He looks around at the street he’s in, full of people and cars and noise and he can hear someone blasting Def Leppard songs not too far away.

“I know, Liam says sorry,” Niall mumbles. “Where are you guys?”

“Uh…” Harry takes a deep breath. He takes a look at himself on the side mirror, and then looks at Louis who is at the end of the street and quickly approaching the corner. He has to stop him. “Wait, text me where you are, we’ll be there in ten,” And hangs up.

He runs to catch up with Louis, and stops in front of him. “Wait, Louis, something came up.” Louis is talking with someone on the phone, and the look he gives Harry makes him feel tiny and ugly and dumb, which, he is, except maybe for the tiny part.

He has to tell Louis. And he knows Louis is going to hate him. But that’s okay; he is prepared for Louis to hate him, even before liking him.

So that’s why he says without blinking, to measure his reaction, “They lost Zayn.”

He can clearly see even under the dim streetlamps how Louis pales two shades. “What?”

Harry opens his mouth to say something when his phone buzzes again, with a text from Niall. It’s their location.

“C’mon, we gotta go,” He says, and Louis follows him back to the car without a word.

Luckily the guys aren’t that far from there, a few blocks away from Gray’s Papaya, and Harry wonders how long they drove before noticing Zayn was gone.

The ride there is silent, and Harry doesn’t dare to turn on the stereo, so he settles for tapping his fingers against the wheel in every red light.

Just once Louis speaks, and Harry isn’t sure if he’s talking to himself or to Harry, so he doesn’t answer.

“That fucking asshole is ruining my life.”

+++

Harry spots their van almost immediately. It had been a ‘present’ from Liam’s uncle, which became the band’s property before they could even decide if they should stick with the shit-brown color they had received it in. (They didn’t). But Harry always suspected uncle John just wanted to get rid of the clunker without having to pay a junkyard to take it down.

He parks across the street, sending a worried glance to the gas indicator. He has less than half a tank.

Louis knocks on the van, only to be blinded by flashlights pointed directly to their faces.

“You kids been drinking?” Josh demands in a serious tone.

“No!” They both say at the same time.

“Well, why not?” Niall throws his flashlight away to grab a can of beer. “We’re having a search party!”

Liam rolls his eyes fondly as Niall cheers, and Harry takes note of Louis accepting a can. He doesn’t blame Louis; he supposes he really needs a drink right now.

They get in, and the Beastie Boys start blasting through the speakers, with Josh and Niall singing along off key, Liam on the passenger seat worriedly asking if Niall should drink and drive at literally the same time, and Harry thinks that this feels strangely like any other late night with the boys, if he doesn’t take into account the fact that he is sitting next to a really hot guy who makes him ridiculously nervous, and they are searching for a drunk boy in the largest city of the world.

He could laugh at the situation, he wants to laugh at himself, because this whole thing was just fucked up, but he’s becoming aware of Louis sat next to him in the floor of the van, the two of them cramped between Niall’s amp and Josh’s pedals, and he really likes how his side brushes Louis’ thighs, likes it more than he should.

He shakes his curls to rearrange them, and yawns. He takes a look at his phone. 1:13. It’s still early, but he woke up that morning at 4 am and couldn’t go back to sleep.

It’s overwhelming, how much happened since the day started, and if he could go back to this morning knowing what was waiting for him, he would’ve just gone back to bed and buried himself under his blankets for the rest of the day.

He makes out of his peripheral vision how Louis shifts slightly, tapping something on his phone.

Okay, so maybe if he hadn’t gotten out of bed he wouldn’t have met Louis. And that isn’t a nice thing to think about. Because he wants to keep meeting Louis on random places, he wants to go with him to his favorite record store, he wants to get to know Louis and to tell him about his life and his friends and maybe he wants to spend other sleepless nights with him here in the Big Apple. But he screwed it up, and now Louis probably prefers to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge than spend another night with him. He doesn’t know why he said those things. He also doesn’t know why Louis got so angry, but still. Harry doesn’t know a lot of things, but he doesn’t think that should be a reason to keep him from being happy.

“Guys, we gotta go to the bus terminal,” Louis says, and Liam turns the radio off. “If he tried to get back home, he’s probably at the station, and the last bus leaves soon, so we have to be quick.”

“Well, what if he’s not there?” Josh asks.

“I don’t know. But this might be our only chance of finding him, so.” Harry scrutinizes his features, but Louis’ expression is unreadable. He notices Harry is staring at him, his cerulean eyes landing on him.

Harry holds his gaze, expecting an outburst of some kind. He only hopes he doesn’t get punched in the throat again.

Niall and Liam were arguing about something, the band’s name probably, and he doesn’t know if the guys are ignoring them on purpose to ‘give them space’ but he really wishes they didn’t. Eventually, Louis looks away.

“What about Neglected Children?”

“Why would we be called Neglected Children, Niall?”

“I dunno, it sounds cool. Besides, we are neglected children. It’s a form of protest.”

“No, don’t start with your social bullshit. But what about Nobody? Like, just Nobody. Think about how cool it’d sound, when they played our songs on the radio. Here’s Nobody, with their latest hit, Above the System. And people would be like who and we’d be like, Nobody.”

“Nah, that’s too confusing.”

“Okay, but what if we were The Nobodies?” Josh pipes in.

“Pretty sure that name’s already taken, dude.”

“Ugh, we should’ve been Balls Deep when we had the chance. Now that stupid band from Michigan has the name.”

Louis snorts at that, and Harry glances at him, smiling tentatively.

“I like Glass of Lemonade,” He whispers, returning the smile.

“You do? I, um, I came up with that one.” Harry normally doesn’t care about the band’s name, but when Niall and Liam can’t agree on anything, he throws around silly names, and for once, that’s the only one they all liked.

“It’s cool. Everybody likes lemonade.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “Yeah, I guess they do.”

He grates his brains trying to think of something else to say, but can’t find anything else to talk about. Without his musical references, he’s nothing.

Louis shifts away from him, resting his back against the van’s wall, and Harry wants to reach out with his arm, thinking no, come back, but instead shoves his hands under his legs, clasping his nails against his palms.

Suddenly, through his mind run the lines of an old poem that he read once. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, or something like that.

The irony is cruel and feels like a bucket of cold water.

Because this isn’t a car, it’s a van, and he isn’t in love, he doesn’t think, and the boy is beautiful, and just out of reach, and if Harry had the courage, he would touch him, just to feel the warmth seeping out of his skin, but this isn’t that poem, and they aren’t in love, but for a split moment, Harry thinks that he wants to share a story like that one with Louis, if they had only met under other circumstances.

He can see it, in his mind, looking at Louis and knowing that he’s the one or whatever, and maybe it’s wrong, to want so desperately to fall in love with him, because deep down he knows he just wants to love someone, anyone, to forget about Cher. It is wrong, but he wishes he could look at Louis in the eye and make him fall in love with him too.

And that’s shitty. He thinks. It’s not fair to Louis. He doesn’t deserve this, even if it was him who approached Harry and asked him to be his boyfriend for five minutes. When Louis came over to kiss him at the club, he recognized him. He had bumped into him earlier, and he remembers idly thinking that this boy with blue eyes and tousled hair was really cute, and that if it had been any other night, he would’ve probably stayed to chat and maybe offer to buy him a harmless non-alcoholic beverage, but he had other things nagging at the back of his mind, like the fact that he had just seen Cher, and she was there with another guy.

The kiss they shared was nice. It had been really nice, and for a moment Harry had allowed himself to get a little bit of hope, that is, until somebody called his name and Louis’ name too, breaking them out of their reverie. It was really just a fucking cruel joke, the fact that Cher was the link that connected them all. But, it was just Harry’s luck.

He’s thinking about the theory of the Six Grades of Separation, and how tonight everybody seems to be related somehow, when the van comes to a violent stop, causing the cymbals to fall with a crash.

“Ow!” Louis groans, rubbing his head. He tosses the cymbals aside, clearly upset.

“Sorry dude,” Niall mumbles over the driver’s seat.

“Ugh, I can’t believe I’m missing Less Than Popular for this,” Louis mutters under his breath. But it’s too late.

“Less Than Popular?! Where?!” Both Josh and Liam turn around to look at him, and Niall stops the van again.

Harry sighs. “Supposedly at the Bowery Ballroom.”

“Hell yes, we have –”

“And we can’t go because we have to find the person you managed to lose under your watch.” He cuts in.

“Yes, thank you very much,” Louis looks at him.

“Oh, come on!” Niall whines.

“Listen, he is probably there, I mean, the guy likes to party, I say we drive by the venue,” Josh smiles wickedly.

“No, absolutely not.” Louis frowns. “No. Look, the sooner we find Zayn; the sooner we find LTP, and the sooner this night is over.”

“Okay, fine.” With that, Niall starts the car again, driving faster as they approach the bus terminal.

They get there pretty fast, Louis entering the terminal in that way that isn’t really running but it isn’t walking either, with Liam and Niall trailing behind him like bodyguards.

Taking a look at the departures dashboard, they see the last bus to Newark left 9 minutes ago.

“See, he’s fine, now let’s go,” Niall jumps excited.

“No, just because there’s a last bus doesn’t mean he’s on the last bus.” Louis flicks his fringe to the side.

“You and your logic.”

“I’m trying his phone again.”

Harry takes a look around the terminal. It’s empty besides a couple making out on the seats and a hobo standing on a corner, dozing off. If Zayn really left on the last bus, then he still may have a chance to save the night and sweep Louis off his feet. Or at least listen to The Shins’ new record on his car together while eating McDonald’s fries and a milkshake.

“Okay, yeah, but tell me where you are. Zayn –” Louis is looking around frantically, maybe hoping for his friend to show up any minute. “Shit! I lost him.”

“So, where is he?” Liam asks.

“I don’t know, I couldn’t hear over the music.”

“Music? What music?”

“He’s at Bowery Ballroom!” Niall yells, high-fiving Josh.

“See, we have to go, he’s probably looking for you.”

Louis looked at them, clearly giving up. “In East Village?”

They all nod, even Liam, and Niall is bouncing.

“Fine, we’ll go to Bowery.” Louis agrees.

It’s no surprise that when they get there, the bouncer lets them in without asking questions. Well, at least not to Harry. He is trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Louis is probably some kind of underground celebrity that could charm your pants off without even trying. And he probably has magical powers too.

“Woah, man, you sure know how to pick ‘em!” Niall jumps over him, ruffling his hair.

“Harry’s boyfriend is famous, awesome!” Josh laughs, and they leave him standing awkwardly next to Louis as they make their way into the crowd.

He blushes, but when he turns to Louis with an apologetic look on his face, he finds him smiling to himself, his eyes friendly.

“Um, you have to forgive Niall and Josh, they’re not – they haven’t been the same since the accident.”

Louis laughs, fidgeting with his shirt, and licks his lips before saying, “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

Harry stares at him, a grin pulling at his cheeks, making him show all his teeth. He realizes he’s fixated on Louis’ features and how the sharp cut of his cheekbones looks under the lights, making his heart skip a beat. “Hey, you wanna dance?”

There’s electronic music pumping through the speakers, and although Harry doesn’t really like it, he has to admit it is a great beat to dance to, even if he isn’t the greatest dancer around. He just wants to keep that smile on Louis’ face, if this meant he isn’t mad at him anymore, and if it doesn’t, he can always make a fool of himself and make Louis forget about the bad stuff.

“Yeah.” Louis says after seeming to consider it. “Yeah, okay.”

They get to the center of the dance floor, and start moving with ease, slowly at first and then when they both realize neither of them are the most graceful dancers, they stop worrying that the other might be devastatingly better, making them feel dumb and uncoordinated. That’s when they really start enjoying themselves, moving freely to the beat and jumping around with the people that surround them, not caring if they’re being ridiculous.

Harry notices some people are looking at them, especially at him, and he decides that probably some of them might even know Louis, and yeah, he is the stranger. So he figures he is The Guy With Louis, but he doesn’t care. In that moment, that’s all he wants to be.

They get caught in that push and pull of the crowd coming alive with the music, until a man is shouting into the microphone, asking the crowd if they are fucking ready, and this is it, Less Than Popular are about to go onstage and everybody is screaming and cheering, and Harry and Louis are lost in that sea of people, so Harry takes Louis by the hand, squeezing, because people get injured at mosh pits, really, that’s all there is to it, he just needs to make sure Louis is safe next to him and not being stumped on by the frenzied people around them, because Louis is just so small and looks so fragile there next to him, and when he squeezes back, Harry smiles at him as the crowd chants LTP, LTP, LTP, LTP.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Warriors Against Us!”

Boos and insults start being thrown into the air, and Harry can’t help feeling disappointed.

“Aw man, it was a scam!” Josh yells from somewhere next to them, and Harry sees him and Liam have made their way into the crowd.

“This sucks!” Louis says, pouting, and he looks so cute, with his brow furrowed and his bottom lip jutting out.

A considerable amount of people leaves the dance floor, while others stick around to see the show. Harry has heard of them, but he doesn’t dig their stuff. He spins around to see his friends, still gripping Louis’ hand tightly, and notices Niall isn’t there.

“He left for the bar as soon as he saw it wasn’t LTP, said he needed a drink.” Liam shrugs when Harry asks about him.

They decide to go back to the bar and join Niall with a couple of drinks, leaving him and Louis alone in the crowded dance floor.

“So, do you like these guys?” Louis yells into his ear, and Harry feels a weird sensation coursing through his body when he takes note of how he has to lean down so Louis can reach his face.

“Not really.” Harry shakes his head, then, “Do you?”

“Nope.” Louis says, but is smiling.

“Oh.” Harry realizes he is still holding his hand, and Louis hasn’t let go, and he isn’t sure what that means, but it’s one of those things where as soon as his brain notices he’s doing it, he becomes hyperaware of him doing it. So he lets go with a flinch, and hopes Louis won’t care. “I can’t believe they did this again. Those clever little shits.”

“Yeah, it’s so like them to do this. It’s fun, though. Like a treasure hunt!” Louis yells again over the noise of the band.

“I know! Niall will be so pissed.” He laughs.

They have unconsciously walked over to a less populated side of the stage, right in front of the toilets, but still leaning over to talk.

“So, um,” Louis licks his lips, and Harry can’t help following the swipe of his tongue across his pink mouth with his eyes. “I’m fairly sure Zayn isn’t here.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes.

“I guess we… I guess we should go, then. And go look… somewhere else,” Louis says, voice trailing off as Harry starts leaning forward, never taking his eyes off Louis’ face.

“Yeah,” He repeats.

Louis’ eyes are hooded as he trails them from Harry’s eyes to Harry’s mouth, and. “Because he isn’t here, and I’ve no idea where he could, um,” He swallows. “Where he could…”

He stops talking when Harry briefly brushes his lips against his, just a slight touch.

“Yeah,” Louis exhales shakily, and yeah, Harry thinks. Yeah.

He connects their lips again, and it feels amazing, with his frame covering the totality of Louis’, and he has the fabric of his striped shirt bunched in a fist and they’re just taking it and taking it and taking it.

Then Louis sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, making him gasp, and Harry grabs his jaw with his other hand, coaxing his mouth open, wanting just a bit more.

He licks into his mouth heatedly, pleased with himself when he hears Louis mewling at the back of his throat, and he can feel a pair of hands snaking into his curls, tugging slightly.

The music is still blaring on the background, and Harry knows there are a lot of people around them, but he can only focus on the feeling of Louis’ mouth against his. Louis probably realizes the same thing, because he pulls back after a bit, looking at him in the eye, and all Harry can think as Louis leads them away from the crowd and to the bathrooms was this should have been our first kiss.

Louis gets them into a small room to the side of the girls’ bathroom. It’s the size of a closet, with a lonely light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Harry looks up to see Louis, who jumps into him, knees knocking, and locks their lips together. Harry stumbles backwards, his back hitting against the chipped wood door, with Louis draping over him, tongue and hands exploring, leaving Harry breathless with the sheer force of the kiss.

It’s powerful and makes something in his chest stir, as Louis lets his hands wander to the buckle of his belt, and Harry’s aroused, so fucking aroused, with the way Louis slides his tongue over his teeth, with the way that his eyelashes flutter against his cheek, but there is something off, Harry can’t quite place it, but it just. It doesn’t feel right, cramped in this tiny room, breathing heavily against each other’s mouths, there’s something that throws Harry off. Louis breaks the kiss as his nimble fingers travel up inside his shirt to his chest, a nail teasing his right (upper) nipple, and then go back down, and down, and down, and Harry feels like he’s going to explode, and he just wants Louis to say something, even his name, but he doesn’t. So Harry doesn’t.

Suddenly he can’t, he wants to be sure, and he isn’t sure, so he says no, because he wants Louis to be sure and he can’t be sure that he is.

Louis presses against him, kissing him again and lets his hand ghost over his quickly hardening length, and Harry has to stop him before something happens, because he doesn’t understand what is going on, so he grabs Louis’ wrist, and pulls away, saying no again.

Instead of getting upset, like Harry thought he would, Louis looks guilty. And if there is something he needed to prove, well, now Harry has disproven it.

+++

Louis is having trouble getting his breathing back to normal, and he can feel his pulse picking up, which didn’t happen when he slid his hand down a guy’s pants just a minute ago, but now he can feel himself flushing, and his throat is so dry, and the embarrassment is prickling in the back of his neck and the tip of his ears.

Harry asks what’s wrong and instead of answering Louis asks did you see her and Harry answers no and Louis doesn’t think he knows who he’s talking about. 

But Louis does. He saw her, right in front of the stage, right before he closed his eyes to kiss Harry, he saw her. 

Cher. 

That’s why he did what he did. That's why he dragged Harry to this broom closet and attempted to have his wicked way with him, and then he panicked, and now he doesn’t know what to do.

So he gets out of the closet, pushing the door shut behind him with his foot, pleased by the snarl of “Ow! That fucking hurt!” he hears from Harry’s side of the door. 

Harry would need a minute to rearrange himself back there, which gives him time to do what he needs to do. 

Louis feels humiliated. He is so fucking humiliated, he just wants to curl up in a hole on the ground and never have to look Harry in the eye again. He trusted his instincts. He thought the music could never lie, and he trusted it. Because for once, even if Zayn wasn’t here to whack him in the head and talk some sense into him, he had known to recognize the signs when he saw them, screaming at him to just fucking go for it. 

But apparently he fucked up. Again. He doesn’t know why Harry stopped him, but he did. He did, and that’s the only thing that matters. In a self-deprecating way, Louis thinks that nothing indicated Harry is into him. Because guys were guys, and it could have been a fucking Elmo doll touching him and Harry’s body would have responded anyways. So, nothing differentiates him from a stuffed toy. Not tonight. 

To be completely honest, he doesn’t know what would’ve happened if Harry hadn’t stopped him. So yeah, in a way he is grateful for Harry’s common sense.

The kissing part had been awesome; Louis can admit that to himself. As the night wore on, he found himself adding more and more reasons to the list of Why Harry Is The Perfect Guy. He is a cute guy who likes good music and doesn’t feel the need to drink to be cool and owns a tiny car that also serves as a cab and is kind and nice to everybody and now also turns out to be a great fucking kisser. And he’s not the type to take advantage of someone just to get laid. 

Wow, he really hit the jackpot here, didn’t he?

Even if it was a blow to his ego, the fact that Harry found the strength to stop him as he was about to snake his hand where no Louis had dared to go before was awesome. And Louis respects that. In fact, he isn’t sure he could say the same about himself were he in the same position. 

Now as he looks into the crowd, he takes a deep breath to calm his nerves, walking over to the stage, when he sees her. And then the embarrassment is gone, and all that’s left is pure fucking rage. He’s so angry he doesn’t notice his legs leading him to where Cher is, crowd surfing, and the people around him part to let him pass like he’s fucking Moses and this is the Red Sea. 

He reaches for her leg, a pink heel dangling from her foot, and yanks her down, hard. 

The crowd doesn’t care, and Cher stands up from the floor, rubbing her forehead, and glares at Louis. “That fucking hurt!” She yells at him, and Louis takes a hold of her bony wrist, dragging them out of there and into the street. 

Once they’re outside and Louis can breathe again, he is less on hate and more on tired. He turns around to see Cher, who sighs and leans against the brick wall of the club, letting herself slide down to sit on the ground. 

Over the ringing in his ears, the cold air hits Louis and clears his mind, and he can hear himself saying why? but he’s actually yelling WHY? because he still hasn’t adjusted to the silence that is being outside in the middle of the night, but his heartbeat is slowing down, and he can get a lungful of air in which makes his head stop spinning, and now, without the banging of the drums and the thrumming of the bass his chest is feeling hollow and empty, but he ignores it. 

“I’m fucking tired,” Cher whimpers. “And you don't have to fucking yell.”

She’s wearing a black skirt with metal chains on one side and a wrinkled shirt that says I'M WITH THE BAND, which she probably cut off to hang just above her belly button. On top of that she’s wearing a black jacket, her eyeliner is smudged and she has a piece of paper stuck to her hair, but she still looks hot and raw in that Brody Dalle kind of way, which Louis thinks is completely unfair. 

He sighs, and takes a step forward, towering over her. “Why?” He asks, and he doesn't know if he is asking why did Cher cheat on Harry, or why did she dump him. 

“Harry?” She frowns, biting at her red lips. 

“Yeah.” He goes to sit next to her, and she looks like she might fall asleep. 

Him and Cher go way back. Both their moms went to college together, and when they moved to New York and realized their babies were due the same month, well, that set it off.

A year after Louis was born, his mom decided the city wasn’t a place to raise a child, so they moved to Jersey, but he still went to Cher’s apartment on Wall Street every week for playdates. And it was all fun and games until they turned seven and Cher decided that she liked Louis, like liked liked him, and gave him a kiss on the mouth, which made Louis cry. He pulled her ponytail, which made Cher cry in return, and that was that. 

After that he went to an all-boys school in Boston, where he met Zayn. And Cher stopped being a part of his life and started being a part of his past, until Zayn and him turned 16 and decided they wanted to go to a normal girl and boy high school in Jersey, which turned out to be the same high school Cher attended. 

He pretended he didn’t know who she was the first two weeks, and that seemed to work until Cher put a balloon full of blue ink inside his locker, leaving all his things and his books and his face and his hair paint-splattered in blue. 

Louis shivers at the memory. They left the childish pranks and stopped making a living hell out of each other’s lives in junior year, the same year Cher banged the entire football team and Louis lost his virginity and decided he definitely wasn’t straight. 

They have been… civilized ever since. Especially after Louis’ parents threw a party and invited Cher and her parents, and they spent the whole party listening to The White Stripes in Louis’ bedroom. Though of course, neither of them speak about that. 

As the heat of the moment dies down, Louis realizes he doesn’t really hate her. He wants to – but he can’t hate her. 

“What is it with you two?” Cher opens one eye at him. “Are you on a fucking date or something? Do you like him?”

Louis looks to the ground, shoving the pavement with the tip of his Vans. “Yes,” He says because he doesn’t want to lie, then amends it with “Not really,” because he doesn’t want to lie, and finally says “No,” because he doesn’t want to lie. 

He needs to accept defeat, because this whole night is an accident, clearly. 

“Did you tell him?” She asks, shifting her weight. 

“No, I didn’t tell him.” Louis is glad he didn’t tell him. He cannot be responsible for Harry’s heartbreak, if someone has to tell him, it’s Cher. “You need to own up to what you did, you know,” He mumbles, and he can hear her sigh, because Louis is right. 

“I know.” She says. Louis expects something else, but it looks like she’s done talking. 

“Why did you do it, anyway?”

“I’m hungry,” Cher says, standing up and offering a hand to Louis, who takes it.

They walk to the 24-hour Chinese grocery across the street, and it’s like they are thinking the same thing, because they both go for the cookies shelf, and Cher grabs a box of Chips Ahoy and Louis takes one of Oreos, and there they are, the two of them munching on the aisle, and the Chinese guy in the counter is like “You have to pay for that!” and Louis and Cher are both like “We know!”

After Louis’ sixth cookie, Cher speaks. “The thing was like this,” she starts. “Harry was this guy who I’d seen at a couple of gigs, and I wanted him, and then I had him, which gave me so much street cred because like, he was in a band yeah? A punk band. And he was the hot and sort of mysterious pansexual straight-edge emo boy who I was dating, and it was awesome.” She takes a bite of another cookie. “For a while. But he’s like such a great fucking guy, he's so nice and he didn’t want to let go, so I didn’t let him go, even though there were other guys in the picture. And suddenly he was making college decisions based on me, because he knew I was gonna go to fucking Pittsburgh, and like, it was suffocating. But also, it wasn’t fucking fair, you know? Because he was making all these decisions around us, and he was wasting so many opportunities because of me, because he wanted serious, and I was not ready to settle down.” She stops to put an entire cookie in her mouth. “Like, I’m 18 and I’m fucking hot, right? The last thing I’m looking for is settling down. So, I let him go. Because it was the right thing to do. Because he deserves someone that truly loves him, and I can’t be that person.” 

For once in his life, Louis is speechless. Cher’s probably the most right she is ever going to be in her entire life about anything. 

He has eaten at least ten Oreos in under five minutes, and he knows his teeth must be stained in black with bits of chocolate, but he doesn’t care when he opens his mouth to say, “You need to tell him, Cher. He deserves to know. If you don't tell him, I will.”

It’s an empty threat, Cher knows that, but she sighs before popping another cookie in her mouth. “Fine.”

They go to the counter to pay for the cookies, when Cher's phone starts ringing. 

She glances at the caller ID and smiles as she takes the call. “Hey bitch,” She turns to look at Louis, whispering it’s Zayn.

Louis drops the box of Oreos to the ground. As Cher frowns in amusement asking, “wait, what do you mean you were kidnapped?” Louis throws a bill into the counter and grabs Cher by the elbow, clutching the cookies with the other hand. 

“Let me talk to him,” Louis demands. 

“Okay, hang on, Louis wants to talk to you.” Cher hands over the phone, snatching the Chips Ahoy from Louis. 

Louis feels so relieved when he hears Zayn’s voice through the speaker his knees almost give in. “Tommo! Where the fuck are you dude?” 

Louis pulls the phone away from him, fearing he might get deaf from Zayn’s yelling. After telling him what happened and no, Zayn, you weren’t kidnapped, I asked Harry’s friends to give you a ride, he becomes more and more frustrated with Zayn, because the guy can’t fucking tell him where he is. 

Cher probably sees his face getting redder, because before Louis can snap at Zayn, she grabs the phone and starts talking. 

“Okay Zayn, how does it look like where you are? There’s a girl wearing fishnets next to you? Yeah, I’m sure her tits are fake, now be a doll and pass her the phone okay?” Cher waits patiently, tapping her foot on the ground. “Hey, I’m a friend of Zayn, could you please tell me where he is? We’ve been looking for him everywhere so – Oh, okay. Yeah, cool, thank you so much!”

Louis is nervously chewing on his bottom lip, when Cher hangs up. “So? Where is he?” He asks expectant. 

“He’s in the zoo.”

+++

Louis gets back to the club to talk to Liam and Niall and Josh, to tell them they have an address, fucking finally, and has to threaten them to get them out of the venue. He just wants to find Zayn before he can disappear again. So he gets them all into the van, making time while Cher corners Harry and talks to him. He can’t see from the front seat of the van what they’re doing, but he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t care. He just wants Cher to get this over and done with, and hopefully don’t break Harry’s heart in the process.

Not again.

“You just haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”

Liam’s voice startles him, and he snaps his eyes away from the windshield, turning to look at Liam. He has bags under his eyes, and he’s slumped against the seat, shoulders tense and cheeks splotched with red, exhaustion written across his face, and Louis thinks that Liam looks exactly like he feels.

“What?”

“Harry. You haven’t figured it out.” Liam says confidently, with the hint of a smile peeking at the corner of his lips. “Do you like him?”

“Can you like someone who confuses the hell out of you?” Louis enquires, raising an eyebrow.

“Always.”

“Did he say I confused him?”

“Niall talked to him, you know, when you came to the van to get changed,” Liam cranes his neck, cracking the bones with a soft pop. “He told him to man up and just… go for it. Because he does like you, he really does. He’s just, uh, not scared, but like, he’s being careful, I guess? He doesn’t want to get his heart broken again.”

“Cher cheated on him, you know? The whole five months, she cheated.” Louis doesn’t think subtlety is necessary anymore. Right as they spoke, she was confessing everything, and if she got lucky, Harry might absolve her from her sins.

“I didn’t know. But. It doesn’t surprise me. Niall suspected it, I think.” Liam pauses, shuffling on his seat. “Is that what they’re talking about now?”

“Yes.” Louis blinks blearily. “Liam, can I ask you a question?”

“Um. Yeah, I guess.”

“Why me?” And it’s simple, really. Of all people, why him? This seems too big to pass it off as a coincidence. Now, he isn’t a big believer of fate or whatever, but. Maybe if he hears it from someone else, he can have the reassurance that he isn’t crazy. At least not that kind of crazy.

“Well, why don’t you ask yourself that? Why did you choose him? When we were at the club, why did you go and asked him to be your boyfriend for five minutes?”

Because he was scared shitless. He panicked, and he didn’t think it through.

He says this to Liam, who shrugs and pats him on the back.

“A lot of life’s greatest things aren’t thought through. I don’t want to sound sappy and shit, but maybe this was meant to happen, dude. Maybe what you need to do is jump into it headfirst without thinking it through.”

Louis lets Liam’s words sink in, leaving them in silence as they wait for Harry to get back.

Maybe Liam is right. Maybe, just maybe, there is still hope.

After thirteen minutes and two LCD Soundsystem songs, Louis has run out of patience.

“This is ridiculous, what is taking him so long?” He mutters out loud to no one in particular before flinging himself out of the van.

But when he gets to the alley where he can make out Cher’s voice coming from, he stops dead on his tracks.

Cher immediately stops talking, shifting her gaze from Harry to Louis and vice versa. But Louis doesn’t pay attention to her, he’s focused on Harry, who looks upset and a bit in hysterics.

“Harry,” He says, and he doesn’t know if it’s a warning or a plead.

He wants to reach out and touch him, or do something, turn around and ask Cher what the fuck did you do to him, but in that moment everything seems like a scene from a movie; with a number of things happening separately but almost at the same time, like slow motion.

Harry says, “I can’t do this right now,” and Cher tucks a strand of hair behind her ear guiltily, and Louis takes a step forward, and Harry walks past him, and Cher grimaces and looks down at her feet, and Louis blinks like a deer caught in the headlights, and before he can react Harry is out of the alley and walking down the street.

And Cher mumbles “sorry,” but Louis doesn’t pay attention to her, instead running to the corner just in time to see Harry’s silhouette disappearing in the night.

“Wait, Harry!”

His voice feels spent and raspy, and proves to be useless too. He at least has enough dignity to remain where he stands and not run after Harry. He waits there until Harry is long gone, and goes back to the van, not bothering to check if Cher is still in the alley.

“Wait, where’s Harry?” Niall asks from the back of the van.

“Uh, he’s not coming with us,” He explains, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just drive, Liam.”

The boy looks at Louis for a second, reminding him of how sometimes Zayn looks at him to ask are you okay without words, but then he breaks eye contact and just leans against the seat, looking out the window at the buildings passing by.

I Can Change starts playing and Louis lets the movement of the van lull him as James Murphy sings about how he can change, he can change, he can change, he can change, if it helps you fall in love.

+++

Zayn is sitting in the front steps of the Central Park Zoo when Louis finds him. Liam parks right in front, and Louis hops out of the van before it stops moving.

“You stupid prick, do you have any idea how scared I was?” Louis asks when he’s 10 feet away.

“I had some idea, yeah,” Zayn chuckles, and Louis punches his shoulder before enveloping him in a tight hug.

After a long moment, he lets go and tugs Zayn along with him.

“You could’ve died, and then what would I have told your mom?”

“Oh shut up, she loves you more anyways.”

Niall and Liam are next to the van, waiting for them, and Louis smiles to both, then looks back at Zayn.

“Hey dude, we’re your kidnappers,” Niall waves, grinning.

“Hey,” Zayn cocks an eyebrow and looks back at Louis. “I don’t actually remember you.”

“It’s no surprise you don’t, you were absolutely wasted.” Niall laughs.

“We, um. We didn’t actually kidnap you.” Liam says awkwardly.

Louis laughs at that, and Zayn elbows him. By the looks of it, he has sobered up a bit.

“Hey, but I do remember you.” Zayn says, drawing out the u.

Liam’s eyes widen. “You do? Oh, um, I – thanks?”

Both Niall and Louis roll their eyes at the same time, and Zayn snickers.

“You are welcome…”

“Liam, I’m Liam.” The boy clears his throat. “Oh, and he’s Niall.”

“And I’m Louis! Now that we’ve introduced ourselves can we please get out of here?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and pushes Zayn into the van, as Niall mocks Liam about something he can’t hear.

They sit at the back, with Josh taking the wheel and Niall and Liam squeezed next to him. Although he sobered up, Zayn’s still the worst cuddler Louis knows, especially after long nights out, he liked to use Louis as a pillow and drift off to sleep. He places his head on Louis’ lap, and Louis starts threading his fingers through his hair, cooing him to sleep as his mind wanders off to less pleasant thoughts.

He’s happy they found Zayn, he really is, but it still left the bitter taste of Harry’s departure.

A storm of encountered feelings is taking place inside him. Anger, frustration, rejection, desperation, sadness, jealousy, panic, rage, love, and also hunger. Louis takes a moment to process the information.

Harry left. He literally walked out on him. Louis admits he didn’t see that one coming. And he feels like he can’t really blame him, but fuck him for chickening out. Fuck him for leaving Louis high and dry. Fuck Harry for making him feel like it was somehow his fault.

And that’s what makes Louis angry. That he cares. He can pretend it doesn’t sting, but it does. A lot. Because somewhere between getting pushed into Harry at the club and trying to give him a handjob inside of a broom closet, Louis started to care. He opened up and allowed Harry in, which he never does. Something went wrong along the way, where he should’ve turned right he turned left, and before he could realize what he was getting himself into, he crashed and burned and made a mess in the process. The CSI would analyze the accident and determine that at the moment of collision there had been not one, but two people inside, but only one victim had been found. The other one got up like it was nothing and walked away, not even sparing a second glance to the debris, they’d say. Now all that was left was a pair of body bags and a fuckton of self-pity.

He isn’t mad at Harry, not really. He is fucking enraged with himself for being dumb and gullible and stupid and naïve and hopeful, but he is more disappointed at Harry.

He is disappointed and he feels betrayed and he is glad he punched Harry in the throat when he had the chance, because now at least he can say he deserved it.

He wants to kick and scream and cry his lungs out, but then a voice makes him snap out of his thoughts, and he’s back in a battered van with three guys he barely knows and his best friend asleep on his lap.

“Sorry?” Louis sniffs his nose.

“I asked where we were headed,” Liam looks at him through the rearview mirror. “You wanna take Zayn back to Jersey, or you wanna keep searching for LTP, or…”

Less Than Popular. He forgot about that.

“Well, um, it’s only –” Louis takes his phone out to check the time. “2:44 in the morning, but I think Private Ryan here needs to sleep it off, in a proper bed.”

Zayn grunts from somewhere beneath him, and he smiles lovingly at his friend. “You guys can still drop us off, right?”

“Totally.” Niall nods, looking at them from the front of the van. “You’re wearing Harry’s jacket? He never lets anyone wear his jacket.”

Harry’s jacket. He forgot about that too.

He doesn’t answer because he doesn’t know what to make out of that statement. He simply tucks in the sleeves of the jacket even more, and closes his eyes for a moment.

“You should go,” Zayn surprises him a bit afterwards, his voice muffled against his clothes. “Seriously, I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Louis knows that Zayn knows that he wants to be left alone and have some time to think, and he’s glad their telepathy thing is still going strong.

“I know you want to go,” Zayn goes on, smiling up at him. “I’ll still be passed out on your bed when you get back.”

Louis considers this for a bit. He’s too tired to sleep anyways. He can always stop by that Chinese restaurant that’s open all night.

“Are you sure?” He whispers, to which Zayn just nods.

“Okay.” He bites his lip, feeling like a bad friend.

“Just go,” Zayn prompts.

He makes the guys stop, and shimmies out from under Zayn. “Okay, be safe.” He mumbles, smacking a sloppy kiss on his friend’s cheek.

“Always.”

He tries not to glare at that too hard, and gets out of the van. Niall rolls down his window, and they all wave at him.

“I wish I could say something like this has been a lovely night, but looking at your tired expressions I feel like I’d be insulting your intelligence.” Louis says, raising his eyebrows.

“It was still a pleasure,” Niall cocks his head to the side, smiling.

Josh nods exaggeratedly, and Louis thinks that these boys are really good, and probably the only positive thing that came out of this night.

“Okay. Don’t be afraid of my parents, if you tell them I asked you to drop Zayn off they’ll probably tip you and my mom will invite you in to have a cup of hot chocolate for getting him home safe.”

They laugh, and Louis leans into the window. “I’ll be seeing you around, guys. Have a good night.”

Liam waves at him again, gripping the steering wheel again as they say goodnights and goodbyes.

He watches the van get to the end of the street and stop at the yellow light. Then he turns to the opposite direction and starts walking, wrapping the jacket tight around him.

He is so going to keep Harry’s jacket.

+++

It’s 3 or so in the morning and Harry Styles has officially reached the bottom of the pit.

He’s sitting on the sidewalk somewhere near Battery Park. He roamed the streets for a while and ended up in the shore, in front of the dark waters of the river. After fantasizing with tying rocks to his extremities and diving into the bay, he had an epiphany of sorts.

Now there is nothing to do but dust himself off and climb out of the pit.

He knows what he wants. Or at least, he knows what he doesn’t want.

He doesn’t want to lose Louis.

He doesn’t want to let him go thinking Harry is the biggest douche on this side of the Hudson.

He doesn’t want this to be just a one-night accident.

He’s determined not to screw this up. There are only so many ways one can screw things up in one night. There has to be a quota, Harry thinks. He just prays that Louis hasn’t left the city yet.

But after patting his pockets, he realizes he doesn’t have his phone with him. Shit.

He gets back to the main avenue and looks for a phone booth. So many indignities. Three streets crossed and Harry is seriously thinking phone booths don’t exist anymore. Who the fuck could possibly need a phone booth nowadays? It’s the fucking 21st century. Only a big moron like himself would search for a phone booth at 3 in the morning.

He walks all the way back to Broadway when he finally finds one in the corner of a deli.

The machine rejects his first three quarters, and he’s about to lose his shit entirely but then he shoves two in and gets a dial tone.

Louis answers on the fifth ring.

“Harold’s phone.”

Harry freezes for a second. He knew Louis was going to answer, but he still feels dumbstruck.

“Is Harry there?” He finally asks.

“No.” Louis pauses. “Do you want to call again for his voice mail?”

“No, it’s okay. Just. Could you pass on a message?”

“I guess, but I don’t have a pen, so.”

“It’s not long, can you please just tell him that he really blew it when he walked out of that alley tonight?”

Now it’s Louis’ turn to hesitate. “Who’s this?”

“And could you also tell him that I’m really fucking relieved that he finally opened his eyes and got over that Cher bitch?”

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“And could you please let him know that it’s really fucking useless to start writing songs about a boy in his head when he’s alone in the middle of the fucking street if he’s not going to at least try to talk to that boy in person?”

He can hear Louis’ intake of breath through the speaker. “Are you serious?”

“Where are you?”

“Hop Kee. Where are you?”

“I’m nowhere. I’m going there,” He says, hanging up before Louis can reply.

He figures Chinatown can’t be that far.

As he walks through the busy streets he thinks that this might be his only shot. He really believes he has a chance with Louis, whatever that chance might translate into.

With Cher he never had a chance. He had been too blind to realize, but the good news is that he doesn’t care, not anymore.

But with Louis is different. He is different and perfect and this is so scary. Good scary, though. He has a chance with this amazing boy that he wouldn’t have met under any other circumstances.

This is fucking fate.

Getting closer and closer to the restaurant, a bunch of images flood his mind. Louis’ face when he lent him his jacket, Louis’ eyes sparkling in the dark club, Louis’ smile when he was looking through Harry’s music, the bubbling sound of his laughter whenever Harry made a lame joke, Louis’ pink lips when they kissed at the Bowery Ballroom, the way he looked tiny and surreal in the middle of the crowd, his disheveled hair and how soft it felt under his palm, Louis’ cheekbones, the tiny freckles splattered across the bridge of his nose, the way his eyelashes fluttered like he was going to cry when he got out of the broom closet, Louis’ hands balled into fists when he punched Harry in the throat, Louis’ voice squeaky and loud on the inside of his car.

It’s all coming back like a fucking avalanche, and Harry gets goosebumps at the vivid sensations.

He looks up to see the restaurant’s sign and make sure it’s the right one. It reads HOP KEE – CHINESE FOOD in glowing letters, and Harry walks in.

He surrenders to the feeling and his body becomes pliant as he allows himself to be crushed by the avalanche.

+++

Harry spots Louis sitting alone in a table at the very back of the establishment. Only a few other night wanderers are there, sipping on their wonton soups and poking at greasy spring rolls.

He walks over to the table, and stands there behind the chair for a moment, just staring.

“Sit down, you’re getting on my nerves just standing there.” Is Louis’ greeting.

He does so, leaning back on the chair stiffly. One of the legs is slightly shorter than the others, and he starts rocking back and forth.

Apparently Louis doesn’t expect him to say anything; in fact he acts like Harry isn’t even there. He goes back to eating from his Lo Mein and his Kung Pao Chicken and –

“Oh, are those dumplings?”

He picks one and pops it in his mouth.

Louis raises an eyebrow at him, and Harry half-smiles as he chews the doughy treat. “How many people did you order food for anyway?” He asks, swallowing.

“Doesn’t matter how many people I ordered for, I certainly wasn’t expecting you.” Louis answers, but there’s no bite in his words.

Harry looks at him, and maybe it’s how dead this place is, but it feels like they’re the only two in the room.

So he finally says, “My jacket looks good on you.”

Louis puts down the glass he is drinking from, and stares back at Harry.

“No,” He goes on, “It does. And if I left now, you’d probably want to give it back. But if you did, I wouldn’t be able to put it on. Because the whole time I’d be thinking of how perfectly it fits on you. Like, even if the sleeves are ridiculously long and the collar is all fucked up, I just can’t ruin the picture of you sitting there across from me wearing my jacket better than I or anyone else ever could. If I don’t owe it to you and I don’t owe it to me, at least I owe it to the jacket.”

And there, he said it. He said everything he wanted to say without actually saying please stay.

Now it’s up to Louis.

They stare at each other for a moment, plate of Lo Mein forgotten next to Louis.

“I have a confession to make,” He says eventually.

“Oh, you do?” Harry asks, nervous and waiting.

“I was planning to steal it.”

“Steal what?”

Louis smiles, and bites his lip. “Your jacket. I was planning on stealing it.”

Harry relaxes at that. And he can’t help it; he falls into conversation with Louis again like the last two hours never happened.

“That’s okay, you don’t need to steal it. You can have it.”

“Why, thank you. That’s very nice of you.” Louis says, rolling his eyes.

“Consider it a form of apologizing, for being a complete asshole.”

He grabs another dumpling, and thinks that when he bought that jacket at H & M just because it was 70% off and he really needed a jacket, he would’ve never imagined it was gonna end up here, tonight, in a Chinese restaurant covering the body of a boy who he was in serious danger of falling in love with. He grins.

“I haven’t forgiven you yet,” Louis warns, his eyes flashing.

“Good, I wasn’t expecting you to.” He says, and he really wasn’t. “I can wait.”

“Yeah, I can wait too.”

They fall into a short silence as they eat again and Harry picks from the Kung Pao chicken, flicking bits of peanut at Louis. He notices that Louis is wearing one of his earphones, the other dangling from his shoulder.

“What are you listening to?”

Louis passes him the other earphone wordlessly, and King and Lionheart by Of Monsters And Men is what Louis is listening to.

“I really like them,” Harry says after a while. “Especially this one song, it’s the best off the new album.”

Louis looks at him and doesn’t say anything, humming along to the music, and then Harry takes off the earphone, sliding back to his chair.

“And in the winter night sky ships are sailing, looking down on these bright blue city lights. And they won’t wait, they won’t wait,” He sings quietly.

“We’re here to stay, we’re here to stay,” Louis completes after a moment, his gaze unfocused.

“Yeah,” Harry says, and he thinks that the first thing he’s gonna do when he gets to his house is make a mixtape about tonight, featuring all the songs that remind him of Louis.

Then Louis reaches out, and pinches him on the thigh.

Harry yelps. “Ow! What was that for?” He asks, rubbing his leg.

“Just making sure I’m not dreaming, is all.”

“Aren’t you supposed to pinch yourself?”

Louis shrugs, and smiles. “Maybe.”

+++

Louis is staring, he knows he’s staring. And frankly, he’s too drained to give a shit. I mean, one can hardly blame him for doing so; after Harry did what he did, showing up at this godforsaken restaurant in the middle of the night, rambling about jackets and dumplings and music and just. Louis might consider the possibility of forgiving him.

Harry is sitting there, in front of him, like a vision of curls and dimples and tired eyes, eating from his wonton dumplings, and Louis thinks about how ‘wonton’ literally translates into swallowing a cloud and right now, that’s exactly how he feels. Like he just swallowed a cloud.

It’s a fucking strange feeling, but Louis’ not sure he dislikes it.

His bones feel fluffy, and his chest feels like it’s gonna explode, in a good way. Like the cloud is growing by the second, pushing at his insides and making them flutter, and he feels short of breath, and he feels like he needs to scream a little to decompress.

Overall, it’s a nice freaky feeling.

Just like Harry.

“So, what happened with Zayn, did you guys find him?” The boy asks, and Louis wants to say yes, and without your help but refrains himself from doing so.

He nods instead, and finishes his noodles, and Harry finishes his (their?) dumplings, and Louis wants to get out of there.

“Where do you wanna go?” Harry asks.

“I dunno, we can go anywhere,” Louis slips a bill under his empty glass and stands up. “It’s only like, half past three.”

He walks out of the restaurant, trusting that Harry is following behind. He looks at the night sky and then he looks back at Harry, and it’s ridiculous, how they smile every time they make eye contact, and it’s dumb too, Louis knows that, but he smiles anyway.

He feels renewed with confidence, and he never wants this night to end.

“So,” Louis speaks after walking a few yards. “I – I sort of know you already, actually.”

“Huh?” Harry opens his mouth and leaves it like that, reminding Louis of a fish.

“Yeah, like.” He’s not sure why he’s telling Harry this, and he’s fairly sure it’s gonna make him look like a creep, but whatever. “The mixtapes you made for Cher? All the lyrics you wrote on the back of the CD sleeves, and the songs, I… I listened to them. Like, I saw all that stuff, and I was like hey, I wouldn’t mind knowing this guy. I didn’t really care for Cher’s relationship, and I’m not a stalker or something, I mean, I don’t think I am, but I guess…” He takes a breath, figuring he might as well be completely honest, now that he’s already here walking around aimlessly with poor schmuck. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I thought you were a cool person even before I met you, based on purely circumstantial evidence. So you don’t think I throw myself at just any guy.”

Harry laughs. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Wow, I feel honored.” He slows down, shooting Louis a sideways glance, like he’s deciding on something. “So you liked the mixes? Did you listen to all of them? Because there were like, a lot.”

“Uh, yeah, I listened to three or four, maybe eleven.” Louis makes a face, and he thinks, fine, I’m a creep. “Eleven, yeah, I have eleven of them.”

He shoves his hands in Harry’s – his jacket, and looks down at his shoes. By this point, they have stopped walking.

“Can I ask which song you liked the most?”

“Honestly?” Louis thinks for a moment, brow furrowing in concentration. “Um. Probably the one that talks about noticing. I don’t know its name.”

Harry’s looking at him, and he looks confused, so Louis starts to sing.

“The way you’re singing in your sleep / The way you look before you leap / The strange illusions that you keep / You don’t know / But I’m noticing"

He trails off. “…Yeah. I don’t know the whole song, but that one is great. I felt dumb not knowing who played it, and then I looked it up online and nothing came up but –”

“It’s me.”

“What?”

Harry looks flustered, and he tugs on one of his curls in the way Louis has noticed he does when he’s nervous. “That song, I, um, it’s mine. Like, I wrote it. It was nothing, really, one night I recorded it onto my laptop and decided to stuck it as a hidden track on mix number seven.”

Seven is Louis’ lucky number. “You wrote that, are you serious?”

“Yeah. It’s called Impress Me and I. It’s not a love song, I mean, not for her. It wasn’t about anyone, you know? I just felt like writing a love song about love itself, and not a person.”

“I really love it. I fell asleep to that song for like a week straight.” When Louis realizes that he just admitted Harry’s voice lulled him to sleep for what in reality were three weeks and a half, he wants to punch himself in the face. “I mean. Uh, it wasn’t – it’s not a thing, like. I promise I’m not a stalker or anything.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry, this is like, the highlight of my existence right now.” Harry smiles the brightest smile he has smiled tonight, and Louis feels the urge to stab himself in the forearm with a sharp object. “You have no idea what it feels like to have someone sing your words back to you. And I’m glad you liked it.”

“Maybe you could play it for me someday.” Louis muses, and starts moving again.

“Would you want me to?” Harry asks from behind him.

“I’d like that, yeah.” He would very much like that.

They walk for what feels like miles, and they still haven’t left Chinatown. So Louis asks him where he left his car, but Harry just sighs.

“Like four blocks from where we left it when we went to look for Zayn with the guys, and it’s out of gas.”

Louis wants to cry, and starts whining about how his feet hurt until Harry offers him to carry him.

“Bridal style?” He cocks an eyebrow, and Harry chuckles.

“Not really, unless you want to. I was thinking more of a piggyback ride?”

Twenty minutes later they’re passing in front of the Madison Square Garden with Louis’ legs wrapped around his waist and his arms curled around his shoulders and Harry is the one complaining about backaches, but the grin on his face gives him away.

Suddenly, it hits Louis.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“We could’ve taken the subway.”

+++

Louis decides he wants to go to Times Square because how can you come to New York without visiting Times Square and call yourself a tourist, Harry? So they go, and Louis’ been here countless of times, but never at – he checks his phone – 3:58 in the morning, and it’s fucking magical.

There is literally no one there, and besides the occasional pedestrian and the taxis passing by, the main street is empty, leaving the square glowing with the lit up ads in an almost eerie way.

He takes Harry by the hand and walks them to the very center of the square. Louis closes his eyes, breathes in the early morning air, and they have a nice moment of complete silence that makes Louis feels weightless. He feels laughter bubbling up inside him and creeping up his throat, and he grabs the lamppost with one hand and spins around it, giggling like a four year old.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asks, but his voice sounds happy too.

“We’re at the Crossroads of the World, Harry,” He says, which doesn’t really answer his question, but to Louis it does. He throws his head back and spins some more, leaving him breathless.

He stops when Harry comes closer and steps in front of him, taking a hold of his forearms.

“I don’t care about the past,” Harry says, “And I don’t know about the future, but right now, this moment, this thing, I want it.”

With that, he presses a soft kiss against Louis’ chapped lips, and pulls back before he can kiss back. Harry smiles.

They talk about the weirdest dreams they remember having, and their favorite brand of peanut butter, and the uncomfortable truth of how awesome Lady Gaga would be if she made rock music.

Basically, they talk about everything and anything and it’s so easy and effortless that Louis can feel his skin melt a little bit every time they touch.

Harry is launching into a description of the time he and his cousin sneaked backstage at a Brand New concert when Louis’ phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes it out and sees ‘Mom’ flashing across the screen.

He has to answer. That’s the rule for an all-night sortie.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” He mumbles, and Harry nods, taking out his own phone.

“Hey mom,” He greets.

“You okay sweetie? It’s almost four in the morning, concerts don’t normally take you this long.”

“I’m fine mom, actually, I’m more than fine.” He peeks from behind his eyelashes at Harry who’s busy tapping something on his phone and smiles. “I’m great.”

“Oh. To whom do we owe this? Is he cute?”

“No. I mean, he is.” He rolls his eyes. Why does his mom always have to assume there’s a guy involved? He’d like to think he’s more than that.

“Are you going to be home soon?”

“Not really, I mean, do you want me to?”

He can hear his mom sighing on the other end of the line. He crosses his fingers. “I suppose the night really is young. Just, don’t get arrested, okay? Your dad is asleep, but we were kinda worried.”

“Don’t, it’s okay mom, it’s just that, well, I guess time really does fly by when you’re having fun.”

“That is true. Be careful, okay Boo, and call me when you’re on your way home.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll be home for breakfast.”

“Okay, take care. I love you, Lou.”

“Love you too mom, bye.”

He hangs up smiling and turns to Harry, who’s looking at him with curiosity in his eyes. He thinks he knows where he wants to take Harry.

“I have an idea. It’s brilliant, actually.”

Harry returns the smile. “What is it?”

“Come with me.”

+++

Louis talks and asks questions all the way to the building, and it’s not that far, not really, until Harry realizes where they’re headed and says,

“Lou, we just were here.”

And yes, they just got out of Greenwich but it doesn’t matter, and Louis shuts him up with a quick peck on the lips and maybe he’s getting into this I Can Kiss Harry Whenever I Want thing pretty fast, but it’s okay, because Harry gets flushed in the cheeks when he does that and maybe it’s the chilly air but.

He kisses him again, and pulls him by the arm, running through the streets, fingers laced.

“We’re almost there, hurry!”

They cross the curb and Louis sees the building and yanks Harry inside with him before he can stop to take a look.

“Woah!” Harry laughs, bumping into him as he gets the door open. “Where are we?”

“Shh,” Louis shoves the keys in his back pocket and rushes them upstairs. “You’ll see.”

Their feet stomp up the steps and they laugh and it’s all very loud in the silence of the room. Louis flicks the light on and waits to see Harry’s reaction.

The moment his eyes trail around the room and land on the sign hanging from the wall, Harry’s mouth drops open and his pupils widen a bit.

“Are we – this is, oh my god, are you serious?”

Louis just grins.

“Your – your dad works here?”

He turns around to look at Louis, and chokes on air a little.

“Yup, he owns the place, actually.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god –” Harry gapes at the sign. It reads ELECTRIC LADY STUDIOS in metal letters, and Louis bites his lip, measuring Harry’s reaction and trying to determine if he’s gonna faint or not. “Louis, this is insane.”

“Yes.”

“We’re at Electric Lady Studios.”

“Yes.”

“Founded by Jimi Hendrix in 1970.”

“Yes.”

“Where the greatest rock bands of the world have recorded.”

“Yes.”

“AC/DC, Metallica, The Rolling Stones, The Clash, David Bowie, John Lennon, and Bob Dylan, uh, Radiohead, Guns n’ Roses, Patti Smith, Coldplay, Arctic Monkeys, and Interpol, Kings of Leon – do you have any idea how many artists have been in this studio?”

“Yes.”

Harry looks around him in awe, where framed pictures and plaques and posters and instruments hang from the walls, and he leans in to take a better look at the photographs.

“Is this your dad?”

Louis takes the jacket off, throwing it to the floor, and walks over to Harry, where he’s stooping to take it all in like a kid in a candy shop peering at the sweets in the showcase.

“Yeah, that’s my dad.”

His dad is posing with different bands and artists in a few pictures, and he’s smiling in all of them.

Harry swipes his head up to look at Louis.

“Wow. He owns this place?” Louis nods. “Is he like a former hippie, current yuppie? Spoon-feeding the same old garbage to the masses – you can stop me at any moment.”

Louis points his finger at him. “Yes,” He nods again, “Yes. God, I’m gonna use that in my graduation speech, that’s amazing.”

Harry laughs, and scratches the back of his head.

“Is this the job offer you were talking about?”

“Yeah, well, it’s mine if I want it.” Louis shrugs.

“How could you not want this?” Harry’s eyes widen comically, “I mean, isn’t this like a dream job?”

Louis sighs. “I know, it’s just that. Like, I love music, but I feel like if I work in it, here, I might – I might not love it the same way, you know?”

Harry raises his eyebrows, shaking his head slightly. He still looks pretty shocked, Louis thinks. “Yeah, it’s a possibility, I guess. But, still.” He walks around, trailing his fingers across the wall and touching the plaques. “I mean, wow.”

Louis nods, although Harry can’t see it.

After a moment, Harry turns around to look at him. “Louis, what’s your last name?”

“Tomlinson.”

Harry puffs out a breath. “Louis Tomlinson.” Then he frowns. “Wait. Tomlinson? Tomlinson. Oh my god, your dad is Mark Tomlinson.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

Harry notices and blushes. “Sorry. I guess it makes sense now, that you didn’t want to tell me your last name.”

“It’s okay,” He pauses. “Hey, do you wanna play Impress Me?”

“What, like here?”

Louis nods.

“Right now?”

He nods again, and can see how fidgety Harry is getting.

“Come on, don’t be scared.”

He takes a hold of his hand and drags them out of the room.

+++

Harry is led into a recording booth that might actually be three times the size of his bedroom. He’s only been in a studio once, and a shitty one at that, but he’s fairly certain that recording booths aren’t this spacious.

He eyes the audio consoles and whistles high and long in admiration.

Louis looks at him in amusement. “Like what you see?”

Harry comes closer to the shiny, expensive-looking consoles, and nods absently. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Oh, well, don’t throw up on the equipment, please.”

Harry thinks he would rather throw up inside his mouth before daring to puke all over the consoles.

He tells Louis this, and the boy just laughs.

He continues to scrutinize every inch of the booth, still trying to grasp the fact that this is actually happening, and he’s here, in Electric Lady Studios, and if this isn’t the best night of his life then he doesn’t know what is.

And then there’s Louis.

Earlier when he was experimenting a sort of minimized nirvana in Battery Park, he knew that this boy was going to change his life. He could feel it in his bones. Meeting Louis wasn’t just a coincidence; he knew it was going to make a difference.

He just didn’t know that it was going to be this. Never, not even in his craziest dreams, he would’ve thought that he’d spend his Friday night inside the most famous recording studios of the country with the five-minute boyfriend.

Louis’ voice brings him back to reality, and he notices his hands are shaking a bit.

“So, what are you waiting for? Come on, get in there.”

Harry looks at him one last time, like asking are you sure or is this even legal and the boy just flashes him a reassuring smile, baring his teeth and motioning his hands for him to step inside.

The room’s floor is decorated with colorful rugs and wires and beanbags are scattered all over the place. There are at least six guitars resting on their stands and on the farther end there’s a big black leather couch.

Harry takes one of the acoustic guitars, a Gibson Hummingbird, and slides the strap over his neck. The instrument feels warm and solid on his arms, and he breathes again. This he knows. No matter where he is or how he feels, holding a guitar always brings him back to a physical state, like an anchor tying him to earth. And even though he’s at the verge of freaking out, he takes a deep breath. Just one song.

He looks at where Louis is behind the window, and smiles. Louis gives him a thumbs-up, holding a set of headphones against his ear.

“Can you hear me?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, loud and clear.”

He walks over to the mic, and puts the headphones on. There’s another pair of headphones and a lectern holding some music sheets and guitar picks, and he wonders if Louis is planning on actually recording this.

“Okay, whenever you’re ready,” Louis says, and Harry jumps. He didn’t expect to hear his voice so close, but then he realizes it’s probably because of the headphones.

Harry strums a few chords to get familiarized with the guitar and closes his eyes. Okay. He’s ready.

He starts to sing, his voice trembling a bit, but then the tension eases away a bit and he grows more confident, his fingers plucking the strings.

“I know this could take us forever / It probably will, just / Know that I know how you feel / Take a step back and I / I’ll hold you in my arms / And you can hold me in your heart

Wasting time / Crashing parties / Leaving me breathless for tonight / Cause you are an underrated state of mind”

He takes a deep breath after finishing the verse, and launches onto the chorus, the one that Louis sang.

“The way you’re singing in your sleep / The way you look before you leap / The strange illusions that you keep / You don’t know / But I’m noticing

The way your touch turns into arcs / The way you slide into the dark / The beating of your open heart / You don’t know / But I’m noticing”

He plays his way through the bridge, and maybe he’s a little rusty for lack of practicing, but he thinks it goes okay, and finishes quietly with an encore of the chorus.

After the song ends he stops playing, and he’s left in an ominous silence.

The grip he has on the guitar’s neck loosens. He licks his lips, and sees Louis through the glass. He counts the seconds in his mind.

On second 21, Louis speaks.

“Harry?” He puts the headphones down. “I’m going in.”

It’s like time has stopped, and Harry puts the guitar aside, watching as Louis walks over to him.

Louis stops in front of him, so close the tips of their shoes are touching and Harry has to squint his eyes a bit to look properly at his face, but his eyes never leave Louis’. He thinks that the shade of blue that’s threatening to swallow him whole is not cerulean, not really, but it’s not exactly baby blue either; it’s like the color of the sky on spring, but it has specks of sapphire that shine and dance behind his pupils, and Harry forgets how to breathe.

“That was beautiful,” Louis whispers, and his face is so fucking close, he can feel the warm puff of breath hitting his face.

Harry aches to touch him, so he does, raising his hand and brushing strands of hair away from his face. He lets his fingers linger on the warm skin of his cheeks, and traces his thumb from his temple to his jaw, tilting his head up, and Louis lets him.

After what feels like eons, Harry leans forward slowly, and sees Louis closing his eyes, his lashes sweeping against the dip of his cheekbones.

Harry closes the distance between their mouths, feeling the soft and plump curve of his lips before applying a slight pressure. He lets his eyes close too, and raises his other hand, placing them on each side of Louis’ face.

They fall into the kiss quickly, and Harry feels himself slipping away from his mind. Louis kisses him back eagerly, and then he snakes his arms around Harry’s neck, pushing himself against his body.

They trade quick and soft kisses, lips sealed, and Harry pulls back just the shortest inch to smile, because he cannot stop it, he has to smile, and Louis blinks up at him, smiling too.

Harry walks them to the couch, his hands still cupping Louis’ face, and falls into the cushions, Louis on top of him. He scans his face for a moment, trying to read his expression, but then Louis’ mouth is covering his again, and they both laugh against each other’s lips, breathless.

Harry opens his mouth and licks Louis’ bottom lip, poking for entrance, to which Louis sighs and parts his lips slightly, letting him in.

They kiss and lick and suck, making wet noises that deafen Harry’s ears, and he loves it. He loves the way Louis sounds, and the way their lips lock like they’re puzzle pieces that are meant to fit together.

After a while Louis moans at the back of his throat and Harry squeezes his eyes shut when he feels him straddling his lap, his knees on each side of Harry’s thighs. His head is spinning and he feels his pulse picking up. Louis tangles his fingers on Harry’s curls, his nails digging into his scalp, and now it’s Harry’s turn to moan.

He bites Louis’ bottom lip, letting his hands wander around Louis’ back, tickling the nape of his neck and rubbing at his shoulder blades until they settle at the small of his back.

Harry kisses him while nipping at his lower lip every now and then, and they continue to kiss in this weird way that Harry has never kissed in before. It’s heated, but it doesn’t feel urgent, everything is soft and warm and Harry remembers to breathe through his nose so he doesn’t die, but with Louis on top of him and his tongue licking on the roof of his mouth he thinks that he wouldn’t mind if he died right now.

It’s nice and wet and everything Harry expects from a kiss, but more. Like everything feels amplified, and he relaxes into Louis’ embrace, because there’s no rush, Harry thinks that they can go on like this for miles and never stop, and it’s really odd; usually Harry is used to making out as a form of foreplay, it always leads to something more, and it’s desperate and sloppy and not nearly as satisfying as this is. He supposes Louis has something to do with it, and he already knew this, but Louis is one amazing kisser.

His breathing is worked up and he feels himself getting hot under his clothes, but he wouldn’t care if Louis decides not to take it any further.  But then his hands drop a bit lower and he figures at this point he might as well go big or go home, so he grabs Louis’ ass and it’s so big and soft that he has to squeeze, so he does.

Louis gasps in surprise against his mouth, and Harry licks into it, pleased at the boy’s reaction, so he grasps tighter, kneading the skin and giving it a light squeeze.

“I – I guess I could finish what I started earlier,” Louis whispers in between kisses, “I mean, if you – if you want to.”

Harry’s pretty sure his brain makes short circuit.

He nods frantically, trying to make some sense. “Yeah, Lou, fuck, I – yeah.”

He feels the blood in his veins rush to his lower half, and the fabric of his pants clings uncomfortably to his skin as he grows harder by the second.

With his head swimming in a sea of hormones he’s barely aware of Louis unzipping his jeans and pulling them down, bunching at his ankles.

He’s leaning in to kiss Louis because he really wants to taste him again but then the boy in front of him kneels on the floor and Harry is asking “Wait, Louis, what are you –”

And he feels it.

Oh. Oh.

Louis places a kiss on his still cladded cock, and mouths the shape that’s stranding against the cotton of Harry’s boxers. He hooks a finger under the waistband and pulls them down slowly, letting Harry spring free.

His fingers dance over the length, one hand curling around the base and squeezing. Harry chews on his lip to keep himself from whimpering. Louis’ other hand is brushing the inside of his left thigh, and Harry finds that incredibly distracting.

Louis gives his cock small kitten licks at first, and then wraps his soft lips around the tip of his erection, tongue twirling over the slit. Harry mewls, trying to catch up, his brain sinking to his stomach. Louis takes more of him into his wet mouth, sucking hard and making slurping noises.

Harry moves his hands to his head, placing them on top of his feathery, soft hair. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to pull or would that be considered rude, but then Louis’ fist curls tighter around the base and Harry has to do something.

“Oh my god, Lou,” He moans, pulling on the strands of hair. Louis takes him in deeper. God, his mouth feels amazing. Harry’s body goes slack and pliant, liquid heat pooling at the pit of his stomach.

Just when he thinks he’s used to the rhythm Louis keeps, he removes the hand he has at the base and swallows him down. Harry whimpers, and tightens the grip on his hair. Holy shit. Louis’ head is moving steadily, taking him deeper, pulling back, then deeper again.

Harry stares down at him, amazed, and he’s got his eyes closed, his cheeks flushed. His lips are stretched around Harry’s cock, shiny with his spit. Harry nearly comes at the sight.

“Christ,” Harry mutters, his breath ragged. He throws his head back, banging against the couch. Louis opens his eyes and looks up at him, and Harry swallows as fire scorches through him.

Louis settles his hands on his thighs where his blunt nails dig in. His hips are bucking up pathetically, rolling in small movements but trying not to be too aggressive, and Louis meets his thrusts with his mouth, his cock disappearing between his swollen lips.

Harry’s breathing is shaky, and his body is trembling. What drives him crazy besides the keening noises that Louis is making, is the fact that Louis is blowing him in Electric Lady Studios, for god’s sakes, and somehow it’s kind of kinky, like a messed up sexual fantasy coming true.

Louis pulls back though, having to push Harry’s hand away from his head. His hair is a mess, his eyes wide and dark. Harry’s cock slips out of his mouth, and his pink lips are swollen and slick. He grabs the base of his cock, giving him a few strokes that makes his toes curl.

Louis places hungry, wet kisses along the shaft. He licks up a trail before slipping his mouth over the swollen, leaking head. Harry groans, hips automatically thrusting forward. Louis moans around him, and it sends a vibration up and down his spine, and then Louis takes him in all the way again, hands on his hips.

“Lou, Louis, Lou,” He sings, “I’m gonna come, gonna come...”

Louis pulls back, sucking softly the tip of his cock into his mouth with hollow cheeks, his tongue licking and brushing over the slit. Harry comes with a strength that leaves him breathless, nearly doubling over and with his hips thrusting erratically.

Louis stays there, swallowing, until Harry finishes, panting.

He lets go of him, absolutely wrecked. Louis pulls back and moves to place small, wet kisses on his stomach where the muscles are still quivering. Harry’s arms hang by his sides as he leans against the couch for support, trying to come down from his high. He feels weak at the knees. Louis’ mouth, fucking hell. It’s all his fault.

Louis zips him up and buckles his belt before standing up. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are bright with an almost manic glow. Harry grabs him, pulling him on top of him for a kiss. His mouth is still so slick, and he responds, hot and pliant. He can taste himself on Louis’ mouth.

Harry sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, moaning again.

Louis breaks the kiss, but he rests his forehead against Harry’s, letting his eyes flutter shut and sighing.

+++

Louis wants to say something, but he doesn’t trust his voice right now. Deep throating always fucks up his vocal chords for a while, and his muscles feel especially sore right now, maybe because it’s so late, or maybe because he hasn’t actually blown anyone in over a month, but yeah. Talking, not good.

Harry breathes heavily against his mouth, and he’s looking at him like he can’t quite believe Louis is real. Louis tries not to look smug about it, but yeah, he’s fairly sure he just sort of rocked Harry’s world.

He lets his eyelids close again as Harry crashes his mouth into his, and makes a tiny noise, grinding softly against Harry’s leg. He’s so fucking turned on just from sucking Harry off, he’d be embarrassed but he thinks they’re well past that now.

Harry seems to take the hint, pushing him back against the couch and covering his body with his, kissing Louis while palming him through his jeans.

Louis bucks his hips upwards, trying to find a bit of friction between their bodies, and Harry bites at his bottom lip, pulling it slightly before letting go. He tilts his head and starts kissing along his jawline, placing openmouthed kisses on his neck, and Louis’ cock twitches inside his underwear. Harry’s skilled hands try to tug his jeans down, but he seems to struggle a bit.

“Goddammit,” He growls against Louis’ skin, “How do you get yourself inside these things?”

Louis snorts at that, and falls into a helpless fit of giggles.

“Seriously, they’re so fucking tight,” Harry mumbles, laughing too.

Louis doesn’t reply, still laughing, and tries to help Harry by lifting his waist.

“I’m sorry, I –” Harry slides them down to his knees, and nips at the skin on his throat. Louis lets out an involuntary whine.

He closes his eyes, feeling like his ribcage is about to crack open, and he’s so hard it hurts, but then Harry’s hand is there, and it makes the pain go away, rippling a moan from him.

“Harry,” He says, trying to ask for more.

Harry travels up from the column of his throat to his jaw again, and places his lips on the corner of his mouth, the pace of his hand increasing, and Louis thanks the Gods of Rock n’ Roll for Harry and his calloused fingertips, because wow. It’s a subtle change, but it makes it all the more pleasing. Harry starts tugging harshly on his length, the rough pads of his fingers caressing the heated skin.

He bites his lip, blindly searching for Harry’s mouth, and locks him in a heated kiss, all tongues and teeth. He whimpers inside his mouth, and his hips move on their own will, thrusting into the hollow of Harry’s hand.

He feels the drag of a nail on his slit, and his hold on Harry’s hair tightens. They keep kissing and kissing until Louis feels the embers of his orgasm burning hot in his stomach, spreading warmth all throughout his limbs.

Harry rubs his thumb over the tip of his erection, whispering soft encouragements against Louis’ mouth.

The boy peppers kisses all over his face, mumbling things like come on, Lou, and yeah, you’re so close, and let me feel you, and you look so pretty like this and Louis can feel how he’s in the brink of his climax, can almost taste it, and his mouth falls open in a silent scream as his toes curl and his lower stomach bursts into this white and fuzzy pleasure.

He spurts his release onto Harry’s fist and his belly, all warm and sticky. “Oh, fuck, oh my god,” He breathes, relishing on the feeling until he feels his peak coming down and stopping, his thighs trembling.

He comes to an end, and hears his loud breathing on his ears. He blinks his eyes open, and Harry is staring at him.

“Wow,” He says, licking his lips. He wills his heart rate to slow down. He feels a bit self-conscious now. “This is embarrassing.”

Harry brushes the side of his hand to his forehead, showing a small smile. “Don’t be embarrassed, you’re amazing,” He whispers.

Louis takes a deep breath, catching his wrist on his hand. “Thanks.”

Harry lets go of his softening cock, and props himself up, sitting up on the couch.

“Um. This is kind of messy, and your dad is probably gonna get pissed if I stain the couch, do you have anything…”

Louis’ brain kicks in at that. Lifting himself up and off from the couch, he pulls his jeans up carefully avoiding the come streaks on his stomach and reaches for a box of tissues that’s on a little coffee table nearby.

“Yeah, yes, of course, I’m sorry. Here, take this,” He hands the box to Harry, taking a bunch of tissues himself and cleaning himself up. He scans his clothes for signs of stains but finds nothing, and sighs in relief.

Harry wipes his hands with a balled up tissue and uses some more to clean the couch. He picks them up gingerly and pulls a face, making Louis laugh.

“Gimme those, I’ll get rid of the evidence.” He goes to put them in a trashcan but then thinks about it. “You put the mic stand and the guitar back on their places, and it’ll be like we were never here.”

He leaves the recording booth and enters a small bathroom, flushing the tissues down the toilet.

When he comes back, the guitar is on his place and Harry is holding up his phone, grinning.

“Lou?” He asks, still reading something from his phone. “Do you wanna go see Less Than Popular?”

+++

“You bunch of idiots, I thought you’d be home by now?”

Louis presses the phone against his ear. Harry had handed it to him, mouthing they’re on speaker, and with everybody talking at the same time he could barely understand anything.

“We were, but then the radio host –”

“…And then we heard it –”

“It got really confusing and then Zayn –”

“…Turned around first chance we got –”

They were walking hurriedly through the streets, and Harry has a hand on his side, guiding him so he won’t trip.

“Okay, okay, let me talk to Zayn!”

He hears a lot of noise and a grumble, and then, “Lou! Aren’t you glad we found LTP dude?”

“Yes, Zayn, that’s great, but you were supposed to be home by now and Niall, you dick, you swore on your mother you would take him home without making any stops –”

“Hey! It’s not my fault Liam couldn’t keep his hands to himself –”

“Oh my god, shut the hell up, I wasn’t doing anything!”

“OKAY!” Harry snatches the phone and keeps walking as he speaks. “You guys should’ve kept your promise, and Louis was really worried about his friend, so you don’t get to argue.” He pauses. “But at the same time, it’s sort of amazing what you guys did, and both Louis and me thank you for letting us know, so if you can just tell us where the hell you are maybe we can actually get there before the fuckin’ show starts!”

Louis looks at him, trying to read his expressions as they change. “Yeah, okay. Okay. Mhmm. Okay. Great, we’ll be there in ten, stay by the door.”

He hangs up and smiles at Louis, grabbing him by the hand and racing across the sidewalk.

Louis doesn’t let go, firstly because he thinks that if he does he’ll fall to the ground and stay there, and second because he really likes holding Harry’s hand. They run and run until Louis’ legs ache and he’s gasping for breath, and he doesn’t know where they’re going, but it’s the promise that’ll lead them to Less Than Popular that keeps him going.

Louis recognizes the building painted in black and the neon lights casting shadows on the doors and the high ceilings as the bouncer lets them in, and Louis wants to hit himself in the forehead, how dumb could he be?

The sign above them reads SANDSTORM and of course LTP would play here. It’s like their alma mater or something. Harry says they have to go upstairs, to the roof, and so they do, bumping into Liam and Zayn almost immediately.

The place looks like some sort of roofless loft under the night sky, with twinkling lights and curtains draped all over, and a few couches on the side. There’s a stage placed right in the middle, with a drum kit and the mics already set.

Louis glares at Zayn, going for something like you dumb tit and I can’t believe you, but Zayn throws his arms in the air and cuts him off. “Oh, stop it with the bitch act, Lou, we’re going to see LTP after all, okay?”

So Louis rolls his eyes, and feels his anger melt when Harry places a kiss on his head, slinging his arm over his shoulders. “So how did you guys find out where they were playing?” He asks, and keeps a perfect poker face as Liam eyes the way he’s rubbing his hand on Louis’ shoulder.

“Oh, let me tell you, it was awesome,” Niall and Josh appear next to them in a heartbeat, chugging down beers and smiling at them. “We were at the Lincoln Tunnel, right? Like, we were practically in Jersey, when suddenly that annoying radio host, what’s his name, uh, Ryan, starts talking about LTP and stuff. Josh here,” Niall continues, “Heard it, and the guy was like oh okay, I guess I could give you people a hint, and said a bunch of random numbers. Liam almost rips his hair out cause we couldn’t figure out what that meant, and then Zayn goes oh my god, it’s an address, and we were like HOLY SHIT and –”

“And then Niall was yelling like a madman for Liam to turn around, and we passed like two red lights and almost got killed at the crossroad,” Zayn cuts in, laughing, and Liam looks mortified.

“Yeah, it was hilarious! Turns out Zayn was right, it is an address. We figured it out and got here, and then Niall texted Harry cause he knew you’d never forgive us if we didn’t tell you guys.” Josh finishes, ruffling Zayn’s hair.

Louis looks at them in amusement, amazed at how well Zayn seems to get along with them. He feels like a proud mom when their kids start making friends at kindergarten.

The people around them are buzzing, everyone’s talking and everything’s so loud, and then like in a horror flick where the murderer makes a comeback when you’re least expecting it, Cher appears in front of them with that Patrick guy next to her.

Before Louis can open his mouth, Harry yanks him from the collar of his jacket and gets them behind a mass of people, and he thinks Harry is trying to hide.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Louis asks, looking up at him worriedly.

Harry shakes his head. “Nothing,” but he’s tugging nervously on his hair again, so Louis calls bullshit.

“I just – she doesn’t matter anymore, okay, but right now I rather not be in the same place as the person that cheated on me. I don’t hate her, but it’s weird and awkward and it makes me feel bad…” Harry trails off, biting his lip. Louis sees his hands are shaking, and he looks like he might jump off the roof any moment now.

“Hey,” Louis takes his left hand between his, squeezing lightly. “It’s okay, don’t freak out, you didn’t do anything bad, Harry. It’s okay to feel that way, you –”

The crowd starts screaming and yelling in that moment, and it’s all confusing and disorientating, with everyone rushing to the stage to get a better spot to let John J.’s sweat drip on them.

The band’s about to go on stage.

“Harry,” Louis yells, trying to get his attention. “Harry, do you wanna go?”

Harry looks at him, his eyes wide, and he shakes his head. “I – I don’t know!” He yells back.

Suddenly Louis hears his name being called, and Zayn is right behind him, saying something, something he doesn’t understand, and he thinks he hears the words your ex and he’s here and there’s no way he got that right.

He hears his name again, and a blond guy with flat ironed hair is making his way in between people, calling it again, and well, what do you know, his ex really is here.

Shit.

“Oh god, oh no, no no no no no,” He takes a step back, and bumps into Harry.

Zayn catches his eyes and there’s concern written in his face, and he mouths at him “Go.”

He grabs Harry’s hand again, sliding between the people and trying to get away from anywhere near Cher or his ex.

The sound of a voice bursts through the speakers, saying “Are you ready for… Less Than Popular?!” and the screaming gets twice as ear-piercing.

Harry stops him, making him look him in the eye, asking “What’s wrong?” and John J. and Tucker T. and Michael M. and Garrett G. are up on the stage, taking their instruments as the crowd chants LTP, LTP, LTP, LTP.

Louis looks around him frantically, his mind racing a mile per second, and it’s not fucking fair, he only wanted to see his favorite band live and now everybody he doesn’t want to see is here, ruining it for him, and ruining it for Harry.

He hears the voice of John J. greeting the crowd while Michael M. strums a few notes, and he doesn’t know what to do.

In that moment, he looks Harry in the eye, his green eyes like a beacon of hope in the middle of all this chaos, and he remembers to breathe. Harry doesn’t break eye contact, trying to say something with his eyes, and Louis thinks he’s getting it, at least he’s trying to, and he conveys all he wants to say in return in that one look.

Harry laces their fingers, smiling a half-smile, and Louis thinks they are both thinking the same thing.

Let’s get out of here.

Before he can hear his name being called out again, or worse, Harry’s name, he leads them out of that roof, and out of the noise and the bad thoughts and the smell of sweat and cheap beer.

They leave the club without as much as a second glance, walking away hand in hand.

Between the skyscrapers they can see the sky coloring orange and the streetlights fading out. It’s 6 in the morning and they head to Pennsylvania Station, where men in suits holding brief cases and insomniac punks go in and out, and they never let go of each other’s hand.

This is it, for them. It’s the end of the night. Where does the night end? Is it when the sunrise starts or when it ends? Is it when you finally fall asleep or when you realize that you have to? When the club closes or when everyone leaves?

Louis wonders about this a lot, and this time he voices his thoughts to Harry, asking him.

Harry shrugs. “It’s over when you decide it’s over. When you call it a night. The rest is just a matter of where the sun is in the sky. That has nothing to do with us.”

Louis stares at him like he just revealed the meaning of life. He had never thought of it that way.

He hopes this means the night can stretch on forever, because he doesn’t want to leave Harry.

They reach the escalators, but Louis stops. He has always thought of days as songs. Each day is a song, and he shouldn’t want this song to end. But right now, he thinks they don’t live in a single song. They move from song to song, from lyric to lyric, from chord to chord. It’s like an infinite playlist.

Harry hops on them, but when he realizes Louis isn’t next to him, he turns around, climbing the stairs without going anywhere because they just keep moving and moving.

Louis smiles weakly at his goofiness, and cards a hand through his hair. “Are you sad we missed it?” He asks, thinking of the concert.

Harry shakes his head. “We didn’t miss it. This is it.”

He looks back on this whole night and it’s hard to believe it has only been that, a night. It feels like years, and he feels different. It amazes him how much he’s changed since yesterday. He thinks that yeah, this definitely feels bigger than a gig. It. Whatever it is.

With that, Louis jumps on the escalator, steading himself on the reeling. Standing like this, with Harry on a lower step, they’re actually the same height, and Louis smiles at him. Then Harry is up and all over his personal space. He blinks to bring Harry’s face into focus when he leans in, smiling back.

He bumps his nose with Louis’, rubbing them together softly.

Louis feels like his chest explodes, as the warm skin of Harry’s nose keeps brushing against his. Then Harry leans back, breaking contact, but stays really close to him.

“Harry Styles, did you just give me a fucking eskimo kiss?”

“Yeah, I guess I did. Always wanted to do that.”

This guy is not real.

They hop off the escalator and Harry gets out a green plastic card, flashing it like it’s an American Express. “I got a MetroCard. This trip is on me.”

Louis snorts and shoves him into the turnstiles. Harry slides the card through a machine and they hear a train approaching so they better hurry or they’ll have to wait forty minutes for the next one. Harry hands him the card, but when Louis slides it the machine reads insufficient fare, because Harry must have used the last value of his card.

“Fuck!” They both say at the same time.

Harry puts his hands on Louis’ from the other side of the turnstile. He says, “Don’t worry about it, just jump over.”

Louis hesitates. He knows the train is coming, but if he makes the jump, then this is real, Harry is real. He will have broken the law for Harry, and that will bind them together forever, outlaws, like Bonnie and Clyde. And that didn’t work for them.

“C’mon Lou,” Harry shoots a glance to the train that just stopped, and looks back at him. Louis thinks that in this night he must have trashed Harry’s nerves to dust. He’s a walking contradiction; he should just call a car service and let Harry go.

“Louis?” Harry’s tone is urgent, but his features are soft. “Are we in this or not?”

Louis chews on the inside of his cheek. Harry is literally asking him to take a leap of faith.

He grabs a hold of his warm hand, and takes a deep breath.

Ready.

Set.

Jump.