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Chapter Text

The night was heavy. It had been night for God knows how long, and Louis couldn’t seem to escape himself. He’d waited for the sun; he swore he had, but the moon still hung in the sky, just the same, as if it had no care in the world, and nowhere else to be. It just hung there: delicate, white, and bright. He’d been out drinking, but last call must have been hours ago. He didn’t feel the effects anymore. Initially, he had gone home, laid down in bed, and closed his eyes, like he was meant to do. Of course, it was no use.

You see, once Louis fell into this kind of pit, it would take a miracle of sorts to drag him out. It had only happened once before, and that was years ago – perhaps a decade or so, but never mind that. He was in it bad this time. Fuck, if only he could sleep. Instead, he was strolling the streets of his old neighborhood on foot. He’d driven here, of course; he wasn’t deranged enough to walk all the way across town, and yet, here he was, still. 

He had walked these sidewalks many times before; he used to walk them in the wee hours of dawn, when he would ponder song lyrics and jot them down in a little spiral notebook. He once kept that notebook on him at all times, and the memory of it caused him to instinctively reach for his pocket. Empty. He hadn’t seen that notebook in years. 

His stroll inevitably led Louis to the driveway of his old home. A little brick one story, with bushes and a weeping willow tree out front. The thought crossed his mind that he must’ve ended up here by accident, but he couldn’t lie to himself, really. He knew exactly why he was here. He traced his fingers along the edge of the crooked mailbox as he stared at the house from across the yard, and the ache in his chest began to pulse. The pulse acted as a magnet, beckoning Louis closer and closer to the front porch until he was inches away from the door. He wasn’t drunk, but he felt like he was blacking out as pure emotion overtook him. Muscle memory brought his hand to the bronze knob, and his eyes fell closed. His mind was a whirlpool of reality and his fantastical mess, and his free hand reached up to catch a tear that had seeped through the corner of his eye. 

Louis’ heart was galloping out of time; he felt indescribably insane. His bearing to reality was weakening by the second, and as he tried to regain focus, his hand remained locked to the doorknob. It was the only physical sensation he could place, despite the sharp chill of the winter air stinging his nose and lungs with each inhale. In the moment of stillness, he vaguely recalled his therapist’s words – find one thing, and focus. He curled his fingertips tighter around the doorknob, with no intention of turning it. He just needed to feel it. Just as his breathing began to find a more steady rhythm and he became aware of the white condensation of his exhales, the knob turned against his will. 

The door suddenly swung half-open, and another face appeared in the darkness. There was no air of mystery between the two figures as the orange porch light flickered on. Louis inhaled sharply, jerking his hand away from the doorknob. It would have been convenient if the reality of the situation came crumbling down around Louis, but it didn’t. If anything, the whirlpool of mania only deepened. “Harry,” Louis breathed. The pools that had formed beneath his irises instantly leaked onto his icy cheeks, the heat of the salt scorching his skin. 

The taller man on the other side of the small door frame only needed a moment to absorb and comprehend the scene before him, before he exasperatedly huffed, his arm instinctively going to slam the door closed. Still, as if against his own will, he yanked it back open, a sense of aggression evident in his movement. “You can’t keep fucking coming here,” he scowled, an undeniable sharpness and exhaustion in his low voice. His sleepy eyes avoided Louis’, but his stare, directed at the man’s shoes, was indisputably cold. “It’s your second time this month. Stop.” The last word was decisive, but Harry’s tone was blended with an honest plea. 

Louis earnestly wanted to listen to Harry, and hear his words, but he couldn’t. His own mind was too loud. “Harry, I–” he choked back a sob, but at this point, his willpower to show any level of emotional restraint had perished as quickly as his tears had gone cold. Louis broke, his hands reaching out to Harry, clutching hastily onto his loose tee shirt. Louis thought, in his scattered brain, that this particular shirt didn’t seem like Harry’s usual style. As if he’d been in any proximity with Harry for the past five years. He didn’t know his style anymore. Within moments, Harry’s warm hands reached up to fiercely grip Louis’ wrists, restraining him from moving any closer. “I– I’m trapped in time, I don’t feel right,” Louis cried, stepping closer to Harry, underneath the doorway – as if his sudden closeness would cause Harry to react differently, as if it would bring the Harry that he knew back. His Harry. 

Harry breathed in shakily, stepping backwards before Louis could collide into him. His nails dug into Louis’ wrists as he ripped his hands off of his shirt, holding him back at arm’s length. “Are you fucking serious?” Harry hissed, his eyes glaring daggers into the other man. Louis hardly reacted, still clearly deafened by the ringing of his own mind. He just inhaled sharply, his arms going limp in Harry’s grasp as tears continued to pour from blurry eyes. 

A sudden brisk breeze blew in through the door, prompting Harry to release Louis’ wrists and pull the door shut behind him. Harry remained silent, the heaviness of Louis’ state beginning to inevitably tug at his conscience. The ache of guilt began to swell in his chest at how he’d reacted to Louis just moments ago. Louis never used to be like this. He knew that Louis was unwell, and had been for a while, but there was nothing he could offer. Harry watched as Louis’ hands now began to furiously wipe away at his deep red eyes, only making them redder. 

After a minute of nothing but Louis’ repeated sniffles and half-restrained sobs echoing through the dimmed parlor, Harry’s heart was pounding. He felt straight out of an Edgar Allen Poe story, and it suddenly couldn’t go on any longer. He hesitantly stepped toward Louis, his arms bringing him into a gentle embrace. Louis failed to register what was happening for the first couple of seconds. But, once he was aware of Harry’s warmth, his hands reflexively wrapped around Harry’s waist, his knuckles grasping at the fabric, as if to ensure Harry was actually there . Louis’ body still trembled from his raw emotion, but now, he had an anchor. His forehead fell against Harry’s shoulder, and his eyes finally fluttered shut. 

For Harry, this moment had nothing to do with their history, or whatever reason Louis had showed up in the middle of the night. It was about being human and showing empathy when Louis was clearly in crisis. But, still – the longer he stood there, holding Louis, and the longer Louis’ body took to become steady – the ache in Harry’s chest surged. A couple of minutes creeped by, and Harry brought his hand up to the back of Louis’ head, resting his cheek against Louis’ temple. He stroked his thumb along the hair at the nape of his neck. It was an undoubtedly tender gesture, he knew; but he had truly begun to worry if Louis would actually make it through this episode. He closed his eyes and attempted to silence the very real part of him that still wanted to send Louis back outside and on his way. “You’re okay,” he finally whispered. The statement was directed at Louis, but another strange feeling twinged inside of him. Harry had needed somebody to treat him this way, many years ago. 

Louis had no real sense of timing, so he hadn’t a clue how long they must have stood there. It must have been several minutes. Harry’s words and presence had miraculously brought him peace. He wasn’t shaking anymore, and his hands had unballed their fists around Harry’s shirt. His breathing had slowed, but still occasionally hitched. He basked in the sensation of Harry’s hand and cheek resting against his head. It brought his mind back into his body, and he realized that his tears had stopped, somewhere along the way. “Cup of tea, yeah?” Harry murmured against Louis’ hair, reluctant to pull back, worried for Louis’ reaction. He really had turned a 180 from the moment he’d opened the door. 

Louis abruptly released his arms from around Harry and took a step back, as if he’d just reentered his body. “Sure,” he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest to compensate for the loss of Harry’s warmth enveloping him. 

“Wait for me in the front room, okay?” Harry promptly turned toward the kitchen, which was down the narrow hallway and out of sight from where Louis was standing. Now that Louis had somewhat found his bearing, he was beginning to think in a logical form. He had driven to this neighborhood with the idea of taking a late-night-early-morning stroll. Naturally, he had stopped by his old house: the house he used to share with Harry, who still lived here. He had walked up to the porch and Harry had opened the door. Louis had become a crying wreck in front of him, after Harry told him to leave. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispered to himself, as he turned and took a couple of steps into the sitting room, his palms pushing into his temples. His emotional outburst had left a residual migraine. He was out of his head, for now. It was only a matter of how long that would last. 

As he took a seat on the sofa, Louis’ eyes darted around the room. The carpet and walls were the same, along with some pieces of furniture. But, since he had last stepped foot inside, everything had been rearranged. The television was mounted on a different wall, and the couch (which was different, too) had rotated. It was mildly disorienting. His eyes studied some old, familiar knick knacks, and some new. Thankfully, his brain must have been overworked: he was too spent for all of the memories to flood back. He breathed in and out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the sofa cushion. That’s when his eyes landed on a picture frame, on a bookshelf beside the television. 

The picture wasn’t loud; it wasn’t overwhelming. But, it sent a chill down Louis’ body, causing him to immediately stand. It wasn’t even fresh news, really. He didn’t need to get closer to the photo to tell what it was: It was Harry’s wedding photo. Louis knew that Harry had gotten married about a year ago; he had probably seen this exact photo online around that time. He didn’t know much about the husband; he just seemed to be some standard white-collar citizen. Louis didn’t dive too deep into that aspect. Still, the reminder . It brought back a wave of intense nausea, and made his mind whirl, again. “Fuck,” he muttered, quickly glancing around the room. Harry lived with his husband , for Christ’s sake – he was probably sleeping a couple of rooms away. And what the fuck was Louis doing? Barging in in the middle of the night and forcing his ex to comfort him during some kind of psychotic breakdown. And he was on the verge of another one, so that was his queue to cut. Harry would understand; fuck, he’d probably be grateful. Louis practically bolted for the door, opening and shutting it without a second thought as he quickly exited the house into the moonlit night. 

Back in the kitchen, Harry had just been finishing up preparing the tea when he heard the soft creak of the front door. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that Louis had left. He sighed, staring down at the cup. He’d used a mug that Louis had always used out of habit. He should be relieved; he’d told Louis to scram, anyway. He knew how Louis got when he felt too vulnerable. Still, he felt the tightness of worry in his stomach.  

~

Ten years earlier, in a downtown pub

“Fuckin’ hell, mate,” Louis laughed, taking a swig of his drink before slamming it down on the worn wooden bartop. He was 23, and he was a member of a local band. Tonight, he found himself out with his bandmate and best friend, Zayn. They had spent the majority of the day hosting auditions for an opening in their band because one of their guys was leaving for university.  

“I don’t like any of them,” Zayn repeated for the eleventh time, amusedly watching Louis continue to study the notes they had collectively taken during auditions earlier. There were two other guys in the band: Niall and Liam. Those two had understandably bailed out on evening drinks; it had been a drag of a day. Louis and Zayn were – how would one put it – the executive decision makers, anyway. They had formed the band together 4 years prior. 

“We must’ve gone through dozens, though,” Louis groaned, using a pen to keep his gaze focused as he attempted to make out the words on the paper. “None of you can fuckin’ write,” he snorted, pausing his study to take another drink.

“I just feel like when we know, we’ll fucking know, alright,” Zayn echoed. 

“You always say that like this is some movie. We aren’t looking for a replacement. No one will be Wes, all right. We’re looking for someone who can work with us and bring something new. And surely one of these dozen can. We’ve been looking for months,” Louis said, putting the notebook down as their starter arrived. Both him and Zayn took a few bites, quiet for once, as they both savored one of the only decent meals they’d eaten today. 

Louis sighed after a couple minutes, as Zayn still appeared unconvinced. Zayn reached over and snatched the notepad, before chucking it in his pocket. “Enough. None of them,” he laughed again. The pair continued to bicker for what must have been a half hour, as they picked at their food and drank. The band was looking for a vocalist, primarily. All of the members could sing and play multiple instruments, so they were ideally looking for another all-around musician who jived with the group. Cohesion was important. Louis had tried to convince Zayn to take over lead vocals to no avail – even though Louis knew they would never find a vocalist as talented as Zayn. And, the truth was that Zayn was right – none of the guys who had auditioned yet had brought something intriguing enough. 

Just as Louis and Zayn began to plan their next audition day, Louis’ attention was snapped to the pub’s live performer. This pub had live music, every now and then, but it wasn’t usually anything to write home about. Usually just some middle aged tipsy fellows filling the silence with some classic folk tunes. It’s a special thing, Louis had always believed, when music suddenly demands your attention. Zayn’s focus also turned toward the corner of the room with the mic. 

The performer was a young man, certainly around the age of 20, with a guitar, sat on a stool. He was a couple notes into Linger by the Cranberries, a tune instantly recognizable to Louis, and well – most everybody, right? 

I swore, I swore I would be true

And honey, so did you.

So why were you holding her hand?

Is that the way we stand? 

Were you lying all the time? 

Was it just a game to you?

Louis found himself irrevocably captivated. The performer clearly had soul. He knew the song, but he understood it, also; Louis could just tell . He had dark curls that framed his jaw, down to his neck, and a warm face. The singer’s eyes roamed the pub as he continued, clearly seeking out some kind of engagement. When he finally noticed Louis – already staring directly his way –  he smiled. It was subtle, and from behind the mic, but Louis could see it. Louis tried to prevent the grin that crept onto his own lips, but he couldn’t. He quickly looked away, glancing over at Zayn, to see if he was having any kind of reaction to the song. But, within seconds, his eyes were forced back to the singer as he sang the chorus, whose eyes were now closed in feeling. 

And I’m in so deep,

You know I’m such a fool for you.

You got me wrapped around your finger,

Do you have to let it linger? 

Louis admired the way he strummed the guitar, his hands so at ease. He wasn’t perfect with the strings, but it wasn’t noticeable; in fact, it could have just been the way he was playing the song. But he sounded beautiful . His voice had a velvetness to it that made the hairs on Louis’ arms stand up. But, even then, it wasn’t even about the vocal quality. Just his presence was special. The room could feel it. Louis could tell by the change in the atmosphere. He had his eyes glued to the performer’s for the remainder of the song, and he met the man’s gaze more than a couple of times; to the point where it felt like a secret was being exchanged. 

When he finished the song, the bar collectively applauded - a rarity in that kind of place. Louis’ eyes lingered on the man as he slipped off the stool and gave a small bow to his applause. He began putting his guitar away, and Louis swiveled around to Zayn.

“I need him,” he stated simply, his fist falling excitedly down onto the bar. “For the band.” 

Chapter Text

“For the band?” Zayn replied, after a moment of stunned silence. He reached for another potato wedge, his expression one of sincere amusement at Louis’ sudden urgency. His gaze flickered back over to the musician, who was now all packed up and exchanging pleasantries with some other attendees near the doors. “You think he’s the kind of vibe we are going for?” He asked; his tone lacked any real judgment, but was nonetheless laced with hesitation. Louis could be a bit impulsive with his decision-making– this wasn’t the first time he had been set on making space for a random person in the band based off of one performance that moved him. Zayn acted as more of a grounding force when it came to decisions for this reason. 

Zayn had imagined that their newest member would be on the edgier side, because that kind of vocalist would bring a certain electricity to live performances that Zayn felt like the band lacked. He had discussed this with Louis and he had thought they were on the same page. So, as he studied this mystery musician, who wore an oversized brown sweater with sleeves that swallowed his hands, skintight white skinny-jeans, and boots that glittered gold – he just wasn’t sure how Louis’ split second call aligned with their goals. Still, like Louis, Zayn knew they’d just heard a hell of a cover.

Louis was still watching the man, too. He clearly hadn’t registered Zayn’s question, and honestly, it was unclear if he was still aware of Zayn’s presence. He was hyper-focused, his mind quite obviously in a brew. His hand slid to the back of his own chair as his stare lingered, as if he were preparing to bolt – predatory instinct. From the moment the guitar-player’s voice had demanded the attention of the room, Louis had felt that feeling inside of him – the feeling an artist gets when an idea appears out of the mist of your unconscious, and the clock is ticking for you to act upon it. 

“Louis,” Zayn said, his knuckles knocking lightly on the bartop. “Mate, hello,” he huffed, suddenly reaching back into his pocket to retrieve the notebook. He thought they could jot down some notes. Louis didn’t care. 

“Wait for me,” Louis spurred. The words could have been directed at Zayn, who laid the notebook flatly on the table as he watched Louis descend from the stool and tug on his jacket. But, the words also could’ve been directed at the musician, who was now two steps out the door. Zayn groaned and turned to fully face the bar again, surely to order another drink. 

As Louis slipped out of the bar door, the bite of London’s early November cold pierced him; he must have spent more time at the bar than he realized. The air hadn’t gotten quite freezing yet, but he noted that he’d have to pull out the proper coat soon. The rips in his jeans didn’t help the sensation. Louis stopped for a moment and zipped up his jacket as his eyes scanned the warmly lit streets for the figure he was after. He spotted the man immediately, as he hadn’t had enough time to wander too far. The large guitar case plastered with what looked like hundreds of colorful stickers rendered the figure immediately recognizable despite the deepening darkness of the night. Louis wasn’t too sure what would come of it or what he was doing, but he couldn’t let a talent like this slip through his fingers; that much he did know. Clearly not having any words planned, Louis took a few steps in the man’s direction, before calling out. “Hey!” 

The sound of a voice cutting through the otherwise silent strip prompted the man with the guitar case to turn around. Louis could get a proper look at his face now, without the microphone. Upon meeting eyes, the stranger smiled familiarly. He clearly remembered his wordless interaction with Louis during his performance. “Ah, hello,” he stated, eyeing Louis curiously. 

Louis caught himself faltering, which was not a common occurrence. Still, he wondered what really had gotten into him– he had been interested in approaching random musicians about the band before this, but he didn’t usually rush after them immediately following their performance. He would generally wait until he saw them again, or find them later on social media. Granted, he had never seen this particular singer before; he didn’t know if he’d get another chance. He found himself thinking, Jesus, was he really that good? But as the man’s green eyes began to stare quite mercilessly into Louis’, he remembered that yeah, he was.

“Hi. Sorry to follow you out here like this. Do you want to take a walk?” Louis felt quite awkward after uttering the words, but that was what he could muster up in the moment. Linger boy didn’t seem to mind. 

“Uh, sure,” the man breathed out a quiet laugh, nodding his head in the direction that he had been moving before. “Headed this way.” He remained paused, waiting for Louis to meet his side before he continued his stroll. For no reason in particular, Louis had the urge to carefully place his words. Verbal expression generally came quite naturally to him, so he didn’t often pay too much attention to himself. But, he supposed he was going into this conversation with an end goal, so it made sense to be tactful. This was a purposeful engagement. It clicked for him suddenly that he ought to speak up before he came across like a real freak.

“I like the way you played that song,” Louis stated simply, turning his face toward the other as they moved around a corner. Now that the distance between them had been closed, he noticed the way the man’s curls rested against the nape of his neck, and the dimple that appeared when he spoke. 

“Thank you. I like the way you listened,” the man smiled again, though the curiosity surrounding Louis’ presence was still evident in his eyes. “I’m Harry.” 

“Louis,” he replied plainly, his eyes trailing down to the guitar case between them. The only stickers he could truly make out in the dim night were Mamas & Papas and Blur. Cute. “How long have you been performin’?” Louis asked. He met Harry’s gaze again. It was honestly a bit too dark and a bit too late and a bit too cold and a bit too strange to be getting into any fine details about this stranger’s music career, but Louis was truly running on some force beyond himself. He couldn’t help it.

Harry’s brows furrowed as his eyes lingered on the character who had followed him. He was sure that this Louis was trying to pick him up or something, and he figured it took some real guts to approach him outside. Of course he had noticed Louis during his performance; his stare during “Linger” had already told Harry everything he needed to know. Louis wanted him. Now, Harry was just curious about how many roundabout ways Louis would take to get to his point. Still, he was wholly entertained. And interested – he liked Louis’ focusedness and the way he felt like he could read his eyes. Plus, Louis had a good body. He could tell. “Uh, I have performed my whole life,” Harry shrugged, quietly laughing as they continued their walk across a street. “But if you mean like that, back there, just me and my guitar, I’d say about six months.” 

Louis’ eyes widened. Six months was quite the surprise, because, as far as his own perception went, Harry had an incredible presence– one that would seemingly take years to express and perfect. But, hell, maybe old wisdom rings true: you either have it or you don’t. “I would’ve guessed longer,” Louis said. His eyes kept flickering down to the guitar case to see if he could make out any more stickers. Harry just smiled in response, and Louis suddenly felt the weight of the ball in his court. He still hadn’t given Harry a reason for his presence. 

“Look,” Louis began, “It’s late and this is a little weird, so I should just get on with it. I just really liked the way you sang that song. This is a tad untraditional but I’m in a band. One Direction, and we–”

“You’re in a band?” Harry interrupted in surprise, his eyebrows rising. By the looks of Louis, Harry wouldn’t have initially anticipated that he was in a band, but now that he’d said it, it made perfect, rational sense. 

“A band, yeah. We do gigs around town, and sometimes out. We are actually recently down a member. He’s going to uni. And, you know, not to repeat myself, but I just really liked the way you sang that song. Y–”

Harry stopped walking suddenly, reaching over with his free arm to gently stop Louis by the shoulder, underneath a street light. A quiet laugh fell from his lips, and Louis got a chill. “You want me to join your band ?” Harry asked. 

The forthrightness of Harry’s statement took Louis aback; it wasn’t like he was formally asking him to join the band at this very moment or anything. He just thought he would bring up the topic, seeing as it was his entire purpose for approaching Harry. The way Harry’s expression twisted when he said ‘ band’ threw Louis off. He suddenly felt a touch vulnerable under Harry’s expectant stare. “I mean, I think you’re good . I think you should meet us all, maybe. We could try some things out. Nothing too serious, just play a few songs,” Louis rambled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Harry was amusedly stunned. He had really misread the situation before he agreed to Louis’ company on his walk home from the bar, he guessed. Here he was, thinking that he might fuck around tonight; meanwhile, Louis had wanted to coax him into some musical arrangement. Oops! Harry was quiet, before he turned and slowly picked up their prior walking pace. Louis remained at his side, watching him as he began to lightly swing his guitar case.

“That’s really sweet of you, Louis,” Harry started, and Louis was sure he picked up on some condescension in Harry’s tone– purposeful or not. “But I don’t do bands.” 

And there it was, again. The way Harry said ‘ bands’ as if he was above the concept. Ironic, considering all of those damn stickers that Louis couldn’t make out, but he was sure related to plenty of bands . A strange tightness began to twist in Louis’ chest, which wasn’t so much caused by the rejection as it was the grain of judgment he was perceiving. “You don’t do bands , huh?” Louis retorted, mimicking Harry’s emphasis. A new sharpness was evident in his attitude. “What is it that you do, then?”  

Harry met Louis’ eyes again, unfazed by his sudden challenge. A mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “You, maybe.” 

Christ , Louis thought. So that’s what Harry thought he was up to. Louis stopped again, his gaze piercing at Harry through the increasingly cold air. Surely his cheeks were reddening, but the nip of the breeze ought to explain that. His own body temperature had definitely increased since the beginning of their stroll. Harry also stopped, still looking at Louis–  his green eyes glistening with playfulness and something primal, too. The one-sided tension that had arisen from the very brief band conversation began to roll off of Louis’ back as he studied Harry’s face. There was something so honest and innocent about the musician’s very nature. The same traits that had made his “Linger” performance so moving to Louis, anyway– Louis decided that Harry must just naturally embody that charm. 

“Well, shit,” Louis eventually mumbled, uncrossing his arms as he decisively dropped the discussion of the band, at least for now. He took a full step closer to Harry, fresh motivations and visions beginning to blur through his mind. His stare lingered on Harry’s lips for a heavy few seconds, before flickering boldly back up to his eyes. “How far do you live, then?” 

— 

It was January. It had been a couple of months since Wes had officially packed up and moved across the country to attend university, and One Direction was still down a vocalist. The bitter icy sludge of a typical London winter had consumed the city. Louis, though, didn’t totally hate the winter – he felt like it allowed him the time he needed to truly reflect and plan for the months ahead. He was quite fond of it, actually. His walks felt more classically cinematic, the way that he liked. Dark, dead tree branches broke through icy grey mist with jagged edges, and that kind of thing spoke poetically to Louis. 

The band wasn’t so active over the holidays, so Louis used the time to focus on songwriting, which was his first and truest love. Today was a Saturday, and he was on an early morning walk. Saturdays were nice, because Louis could pour every ounce of his focus into music; though he didn’t like to get into it much, he did have a day job during the week. He did virtual bookkeeping for several dependable customers that he had worked with since he tried his hand at university. Once he learned enough to keep himself afloat, he called it quits – his one true interest lied with his art, and he could forget all the rest. Working virtually allowed him the most freedom, as it really wasn’t all that difficult for him – he had set up his own systems to where all of his tasks practically took care of themselves; he just had to make sure everything was kept up to date and accurate. 

Louis’ knack for efficiency had carried over to his passions quite conveniently for the sake of the band. They had been able to raise enough money to release an EP and a full album without any label, and that was how Louis preferred it. The control was fully in their hands, and Louis had poured so much of his creative soul into getting them to this point. He wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

He must have walked around three or so miles this morning, and he paused to take a seat on a familiar bench. These morning walks and the wintry fog always seemed to draw the words out of him. He sat still for a moment, collecting his thoughts as he absorbed his surroundings. The morning was still quiet, and the stratus clouds masked any potential of a visible sunrise, per usual. A park stood across the street, and Louis observed a young woman being led around aimlessly by a tiny puppy for a while. Before long, he retrieved his notebook from his pocket and jotted down some of his thoughts from his stroll. What was the source of originality? Is time wholly a human conception, or is the universe a victim, too? So on, and so forth. Louis preferred for his lyrics to be direct, while most of his thoughts, actually, were not. It was an entire process. 

Just as he was getting into the groove of a thought, his phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from Zayn:

Meet later? Got more interest on the post. Told some they could drop by.

Louis sighed at the sight of the message. If he were honest, his motivation to continue the search for a new band member had greatly declined over the holidays. They may as well make it work as they already were. They had done a few gigs without Wes, and had managed quite well. Zayn seemed more open to the concept of leading vocals these days– Liam was keen to share that load, which also helped. It just didn’t seem like it was meant to be, at this rate. Still, Louis figured that it couldn’t hurt to at least give the option one last true shot. 

The remainder of Louis’ day was spent on usual activities; he wrapped up his stroll and returned to his modest flat with several pages of messy thoughts scribbled down– he usually utilized Sundays as his ‘organizing’ day, though that’d never been his strength. That’s why it was granted a whole day. But, for Saturday, he lounged around on his couch, smoking and half-heartedly watching a football match between two teams he couldn’t really care that much about. Frankly, when he wasn’t invested in some active pursuit, Louis could be quite lousy. But, there were worse things one could be, he figured. 

Around mid-afternoon, Louis dragged himself up from his mini-slump and took his usual bus over to Liam’s place – where the band typically met. You see, Liam lived next door to a church, and while he wasn’t actively religious, it was his childhood church. It had run down over the years, with attendance dipping and the general member population growing old. Liam had kept close enough ties with the elder members, who allowed the band to use the space for practice and rehearsals. Hardly any events were held outside of Sundays, which left them with nearly free reign– plus, it was free. It couldn’t be beat. Plus, Louis was quite addicted to the aura of the place. It wasn’t too extravagant, but the interior was dark and cozy, and the small stained glass windows exuded a type of charm that Louis couldn’t put into words. He loved when they would squeeze in a morning rehearsal, and he could see the dust particles in the air, between the natural light beams. 

By the time Louis arrived at Liam's place, Zayn was already there. Zayn was certainly the most punctual of the group. Liam had a bit more of a lavish day job than the other band members – something in consulting – so arriving in his neatly kept neighborhood always made Louis feel a bit fancy. It was one of his favorites to stroll around. The group decided that they’d go ahead and walk over to the church, so Louis texted Niall to meet them there. 

“I’m starting to think this is a lost cause,” Louis admitted to the other two, who also seemed mildly disinterested in the event, but were nonetheless happy to meet up with the group. Truth be told, Louis could feel the momentum of the band’s energy slipping over the past year. He tried not to think about it too much, but it did worry him from time to time. 

“No, mate. You were so buzzed about this, before,” Zayn’s tone was suddenly reassuring, and his hand reached up to grip Louis’ shoulder with a squeeze. “Besides, I forgot to tell you. Remember that lad from the pub a while back? I’m pretty sure he was one of the ones to reply.”

Louis flicked his head toward Zayn, immediately recalling who he was talking about. Harry . Louis hadn’t forgotten about the man, of course not– he hadn’t forgotten about that cover of “Linger,” either. But surely Zayn was mistaken, because Harry had made himself quite clear to Louis about where he stood on the matter of music, and bands . Despite the blow of disappointment upon Harry’s rejection to meet the band, Louis had quite easily forgiven Harry following their… engagement that night. Besides, they hadn’t spoken since. 

“Not a chance,” Louis laughed, his head shaking as they entered the front doors to the church. “Even if it actually was him, it’s not happening. He had a bit of a chip on his shoulder when I spoke to him, outside.”

“Then why’d the hell you take so long, then, when you went out there? Left me stranded,” Zayn teased, sighing at the recollection of his time waiting for Louis at the bar. Truth be told, he’d left after thirty minutes– he knew how Louis was and figured he’d gotten tangled up. 

“Whatever, mate,” Louis joked, visibly ready to change the topic– that didn’t stop his mind from wandering, though. He was sure it couldn’t be Harry. The memory of him had crossed Louis’ mind a number of times since they’d met – in more ways than one – but he figured seeing him again might be a bit awkward, considering neither of them had made any active effort to keep in touch. They’d seemed to have an unspoken pact about their time together that night. Still, Louis could already feel his mind brewing, again. What if he actually did show up? Louis couldn’t actually dismiss him that easily– he had rushed after him to practically beg for this exact opportunity, before. He was still a hell of a musician. Louis hadn’t forgotten that, above all else. 

The three members who didn’t suffer from time-blindness began to set up equipment and prepare the space without Niall, who would surely make it up to them by bringing some kind of treat. That was how he maintained everyone's good graces at practically all times. The group ran through a few of their songs, just for fun, before any outsiders arrived. Louis found it ideal if the auditioners went ahead and played with the band, because he understood that cohesion was the key to it all. Someone could be an incredible talent, but if they didn’t click with the whole, they didn’t click. Zayn handled backing vocals and a rhythm guitar; Liam took the drums, and Louis claimed the keyboard, for today. But, nothing was ever in stone– that was what Louis loved about this group. Everyone was so fluid with their gifts. 

Before too long, those who had shown interest in Zayn’s social media post began to show up – before Niall, if you could believe that – and Zayn and Liam were always the first to greet them at the door. It was always mostly men who showed up– from a wide span of ages and backgrounds, and a handful of women, who were, on average, more talented. Louis was usually very quiet during auditions. Though he wouldn’t self-describe as a socially reserved person, especially under casual circumstances, there was always a formality to these auditions for him. He wasn’t a judgmental person, by his own standard, but he was always fully focused on perceiving whoever presented themselves. To truly focus required a certain social withdrawal, he believed. 

As a handful of auditioners ran through some numbers with the band– with Louis pausing between each song to jot down God knows what– Niall showed up during a break, at last, toting a couple dozen boxes of doughnuts, no less. “Thank God,” Louis laughed upon the sight of the blonde, standing up from the keyboard with a bored sigh. The most recent bloke to audition sounded like nails on a chalkboard, and Louis needed a breather. He descended from the lifted stage, meeting Niall halfway down the aisle, without another warning. 

“I’m sorry I’m late!” Niall exclaimed, offering out the boxes to Louis with a grin – one that knew he would be forgiven. 

“Whatever,” Louis playfully muttered, grabbing the boxes from Niall and carrying them back to the stage, where he set them down and opened a box, taking the first treat for himself. “Everyone, feel free,” Louis announced toward the auditioners, who were informally dispersed through the room, engaged in side conversations with one another. Though Louis took these events quite seriously, the energy was generally very lax. By this point, a good dozen had shown up, but Louis still hadn’t seen Harry; of course he was looking.

After a ten minute break, the band proceeded with the next audition, and made room for Niall on the bass. This current audition was a 34 year old man named Brady, who had frazzled hair, a uniquely raspy voice, and a spotty history of performing for various local bands. Louis had actually seen him sing before, a couple of times. He was very talented. But, throughout the audition, Louis couldn’t stop thinking about where he would be by the time he was Brady’s age. He wasn’t trying to judge him, at all, but by the time he reached that age, he certainly didn’t want to still be looking for a place in someone else’s band. Louis tended to get caught up in thoughts like these, especially as he fell into his mid 20s. It felt like the clock was tumbling forward faster and faster. He would always remind himself that the band had come a long way, and progress was happening. 

Midway through the second song with Brady, the front door opened and Louis instinctively flashed a seeking glance over toward the entrance. Surely enough, it was Harry who was slipping through the door. And, yes, he had his stickered guitar case. His curls looked a touch tighter than Louis remembered them, and his outfit was much more lively today than the night at the pub: a deep purple collared top which was covered by a thigh-length, tightly belted denim coat – certainly from some women’s collection – and matching flared denim jeans. And still, those golden boots. Louis distractedly slipped up on a few notes on the keyboard before catching his rhythm and circling his focus back around to the song at hand. Obviously, that didn’t work for too long. Zayn must have noticed the subtle shift in Louis’ energy, because when Louis glanced over at him, he was eyeing Niall and restraining a laugh. Of course, Zayn had told the boys about how Louis had been beside himself over this random bar performer, and how he’d stalked him outside to invite him to the band. 

“Oh, hell,” Louis huffed, shaking his head as he suddenly stopped playing. Zayn, Niall, Liam, and Brady followed suit seconds later. “Sorry, sorry. Take the next one without me. I’ll be back in a second,” Louis assured, his eyes lingering warningly on Zayn, who just bit down on his lip to restrain his amusement. 

“Told you,” was all Zayn could muster out, before he began to prepare the stage for whatever the next song would be. 

Louis silently hopped down from the stage and grabbed another doughnut, his gaze scanning the nave for Harry. Once he spotted him, settled in one of the back pews with his guitar case perched on his lap, he met those familiar green eyes, and Harry’s lips hinted a knowing smile. The next audition song – ‘39, by the sounds of it – started as Louis approached the back pew. The noise would allow for some privacy during whatever their conversation would be. Louis truly had no idea what he’d say to Harry; he guessed he’d find out. 

Harry’s anticipatory stare followed Louis as he neared the pew. Once he arrived, Harry set his adorned guitar case down on the bench, and scooted over to make room for Louis. Louis sat, leg-to-leg with Harry, wordlessly for a moment, before offering up the doughnut he’d stolen from the stage. “We catered,” he joked. 

“That’s okay,” Harry chuckled, flickering a rejective glance at the doughnut before focusing his attention on the stage. 

 Louis raised an eyebrow at the dismissal, though he just decided upon taking a bite of the treat himself. “I assume you came to audition?” He asked, nodding over toward the guitar Harry had brought. Now that there was enough light, Louis could make out more stickers. Elton, Bowie, ELO, Eartha Kitt– a lot of the canonical greats. But there were non-music related stickers, too. Michael Meyers, Hollywoodland, and The Nightmare Before Christmas… 

“Maybe,” Harry stated softly, his head now turned back toward Louis. “Honestly, I was just curious.” 

“I thought you didn’t do bands ,” Louis replied, tearing his curiosity away from the stickers to focus on Harry’s face. His skin looked so soft, as did his hair. Louis realized that he had remembered Harry quite accurately (very pretty). Graphic memories danced around the edge of his consciousness, but he locked them up in a mental drawer, for his own wellbeing. 

Harry laughed at the recollection of his band conversation with Louis, his shoulders tugging into a small shrug. “Well, nothing is ever permanent. But, I really was just curious about your setup. I came across Zayn’s post and I was surprised that you lot were still looking for someone, seeing how easily you asked me to join. I hadn't realized I impressed you that much, at the pub.”

Normally, this kind of attitude would absolutely piss Louis off, but something about the earnestness with which Harry uttered this stupidly arrogant statement rendered him nothing short of amused. “Well, I told you several times that I liked the way you sang that song,” Louis reminded him, an eyebrow raised. “And you brought your guitar, so that means you’re proper auditioning.” Louis thought back briefly to how he’d told Zayn he wouldn’t allow anything of the sort to happen. Funny. 

Truth be told, Harry did intend on auditioning – obviously. After he met Louis that night, he’d been very creatively inspired, for whatever reason. He’d ridden the high for a while after their encounter, until he came to the conclusion that Louis’ spirit was one that sparked something in his soul. Sure , he hadn’t been fucked in a while before that night – but it was more than that, Harry concluded! He felt it during his performance at the pub when they spoke wordlessly, and he could feel it, now. Something about the way Louis perceived him was familiar and true. And it was comforting. And Harry wanted to experience it again. He wasn’t as sure about joining a band, still – but that could be worked through.

Based on Harry’s silent response to his matter-of-fact statement, and the ever-so-subtle redness that tinted his cheeks, Louis knew that he’d gotten what he wanted. “That’s what I thought,” he chuckled, gripping the back of the pew in front of them to pull himself to his feet. 

As Brady’s Queen song came to a close, Louis ascended the stage once more and headed toward Zayn, pulling him by the arm a couple feet away from the others. “I think we need to make everyone leave,” he plainly informed him, knowing that Zayn would be able to work his charismatic magic without making the whole room hate them. 

Zayn took a moment to process the statement, before sighing in understanding. He knew it wasn’t worth putting up a fight with Louis about this particular matter. Over half of the attendees had completed their audition, anyway. Zayn considered for a moment how best to accomplish the goal, before nodding and pulling his arm back from Louis’ grasp. “Alright. I figured this would happen, anyway.” 

Whenever Brady had descended the stage, Zayn borrowed the microphone to make the announcement. He thanked everyone for coming out to audition and let them know that he’d be in touch soon, and that any uncompleted auditions for the day would have to be postponed due to unforeseen circumstances, and that he was sorry. Zayn said it much more eloquently than this, though – Louis was always impressed. Thankfully, the small crowd didn’t seem to have a strong reaction. Within a couple of minutes, they had all funnelled out the doors, leaving just the band, and Harry, still sat back in the pew. 

“Well, come on, then,” Louis’ voice echoed through the space as he gestured Harry toward the stage. Harry sighed, gripping a hold of his guitar before following Louis’ call and approaching the stage. Once he had made it up there, with the four of them, he took quick glances at the other band members; he was only familiar with Louis, obviously, and Zayn, because he was the one who had made the post on the band’s social media. Harry was actually quite shy, truth be told – despite his occasional bold streak – so he hoped that he wouldn’t make a fool of himself in front of strangers. Harry could feel that he stuck out a bit; these men were dressed quite plainly, in tee shirts and straight cut jeans, and all looked like they played footie on the weekends. He suddenly did begin to wonder why Louis believed he would be a supposed perfect fit. 

“What song are we doing?” Liam asked, as Harry began to retrieve his guitar from its case. 

Louis interjected, “I want him to perform alone.” This statement was met with confused stares from the band, as that was never how Louis ran auditions. “We will all do something together, after, but I need you guys to see what I’m talking about when I say he has a certain feeling,” Louis clarified. Louis’ statement sent a burst of confidence through Harry’s chest, and he smiled as he lifted his guitar strap over his head. Following Louis’ lead, the band descended from the stage and scattered themselves amongst the first two pews, leaving Harry up on the stage, alone. He was vulnerable, again, but this was a sensation that he knew how to handle. 

Harry was quiet for several moments, his lips pursing as he considered what he would sing. He had honestly assumed that the songs would be pre-selected by the band, so he hadn’t prepared anything in particular. Once he placed a piece, though, he adjusted the microphone stand and his grip on his guitar, before he began. His strums were slow, and heavy, and his voice was the same. Dripping with earnest. 

I remember you well,

In the Chelsea Hotel.

You were talking so brave

And so sweet.

Givin’ me head 

On the unmade bed,

While the limousines

Wait in the street.

It was very natural for Harry to slip into the character of the song, and it was obvious, too. His eyes closed as he projected the lyrics with an undeniable sincerity. The band members were all engaged, listening intently to Harry’s performance. Still, Louis wondered if the others would truly get it, like he did. It was an honest-to-God rare phenomenon for a singer to reveal themselves in the way Louis felt like Harry accomplished. Of course, he figured he couldn’t discount the fact that he was turned on by Harry and his vulnerable expressiveness, but he liked to think that this didn’t judge his ability to critique his musical ability. If anything, maybe it made him a more reliable source? 

 Louis folded his hands across the back of the first row pew in front of him, and leaned forward to rest his chin atop his hands as he listened to Harry. He closed his eyes to truly absorb the sound of his voice, which – in the acoustics of the old church, sounded deeper and fuller and sweeter than it had in the pub. He could feel the tingling in his chest; Louis loved when music had a way of bringing about a physical reaction. 

And then you got away,

Didn’t you babe?

You just turned your back

On the crowd. 

You got away,

I never once heard you say,

I need you, I don’t need you

I need you, I don’t need you.

Whenever Louis did open his eyes to peer up at the stage, he was likely to find Harry already gazing down at him. It was one thing when Harry did that before they met, prompting Louis into some sort of unspoken game of chance and engaging him as an audience member. It felt indescribably different, now that they were somewhat acquainted with one another. Louis still didn’t know Harry, obviously, but hell– they’d made some kind of connection, for this occurrence to even be taking place. Anyway, the conclusion was that Harry’s stare made Louis feel like he was on fire . Still, though, Louis couldn’t look away; the two maintained a steady look until Harry completed his song, and strummed the final string. 

It was quiet, afterwards, and some glances were exchanged between the band members. Zayn was the first to break the silence. “Incredible voice,” he commented, shooting a curious look at Louis. “Can you play anything other than guitar?” He asked. 

“Thank you. I know piano,” Harry replied, shifting his full focus to Zayn. “And, uh, saxophone,” he added, unsurely. He felt very awkward all of a sudden, still standing up on the stage. Thankfully, this was alleviated when Louis stood up from his seat and ascended the stage, motioning for the others to do the same. 

“The sax, huh,” Louis noted, strolling over to the keyboard to get himself set up. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a sax player. That could be promising, for something,” he murmured, as the others made their way to their respective instruments, oddly quiet. Louis wasn’t too concerned about their immediate reaction – he knew they could be convinced. He’d deal with it later. 

Harry, however, was suddenly very aware of a distinct energy of hesitancy from the band, apart from Louis. He didn’t particularly care, as joining a band was not ever on his actual radar, but the prospect of rejection did make his stomach churn, after he’d gone out of his way to audition. He shared a weak smile with Niall as the blonde picked up the bass– he seemed to be the most approachable, so maybe Harry could win points with him. He had no clue. 

“Alright,” Zayn spoke, his tone gentle and neutral, though his eyes gave his doubtfulness away. Nonetheless, he did have a sincere energy, and Harry decided that he liked him. “What do you want to play?”

Harry shrugged. “Wish You Were Here,” he decided. The band played through this tune, as well as a couple others, chosen by both the band and Harry. Louis’ eyes never truly left Harry, as the keyboardist appeared to remain deep in thought through each number. He didn’t take any notes, though. During the group songs, Harry thought he could feel the reluctance of the band begin to slip away– at least on part of the bassist and drummer. Zayn was still hard to read. After they’d completed a couple of classic songs without any hiccups, Louis was beaming. 

“I like that,” Niall concluded once they finished up their last tune, setting down his own guitar. “I’m Niall, by the way.” 

“I’m Harry,” he grinned, pleased to have additional approval, even if he didn’t seek it out when he initially planned to audition. Harry had to admit, he did like the way everyone sounded together, quite a lot. The instrumental layers made him feel more at ease with his own voice, and brought a depth that he didn’t think he had been able to fully accomplish yet, on his own. Liam and Zayn also took a moment to properly introduce themselves, as the three made some polite small talk about Harry’s history with performing and music in general. Louis knew that the band would have to have a serious, formal discussion before any decisions could be made, but he felt as though something was suddenly falling into place. He had a renewed excitement that had been absent when he’d first received Zayn’s text, earlier in the day. Perhaps this whole thing could give the band some much needed momentum. 

“Well, Harry,” Louis interrupted whatever was going on, taking a step closer to where the group had gathered on the stage. “Thank you for coming in. I guess we’ll have to get back to you,” he proclaimed. 

Harry found it cute that Louis could even attempt such a serious and authoritative demeanor, after he’d just practically been in tears during Harry’s Cohen cover. Harry just laughed, removing his guitar and placing it carefully back in its case. “I will be waiting at my phone,” he replied, equally as seriously, a teasing glint in his eye as he retrieved a pen from his pocket. He brought it to his lips and bit down on the cap as he opened it, using his now free hand to pick up one of Louis’. He pressed the utensil against Louis’ skin, testing a swirly before jotting down his phone number on the palm of his hand. Louis watched as Harry focused, that familiar warm pulse beating against his chest. Once Harry finished, his eyes darted back up to Louis’ face as he returned the cap to the pen. “Only call me if I’m in.” 

Chapter Text

“I don’t see the harm in allowing him to play a couple of gigs with us,” Liam mumbled, after several minutes of silence. It was a Friday night and the band was gathered over at Zayn’s place, where they’d ordered Chinese takeout and were absentmindedly playing some poorly aged video game. Zayn’s place was generally the vibe for chill weekend nights – he had his own artwork strewn all over the walls and shelves, and a mix of deep red and purple hues dominated. He had the largest television and an impressive collection of physical media, to boot. A hardly existent kitchen, but takeout was the move, often enough. 

It had been about a week since Harry had performed for the band back at the church. Liam was right, Louis thought – it wasn’t some abnormal thing to have temporary fill-ins or testers during gigs. In fact, it was essential – audience engagement was important, so you would have to see how they responded to a new dynamic, too. A new vocalist would be a noticeable change. 

“Listen, lads. I’m not saying he’s bad, at all. I just think you all might need to think for a bit, alright?” Zayn replied, leaning against the armrest of his sofa. His question was directed generally, but Louis could feel Zayn’s eyes on him as he focused on the screen in front of him. 

Louis had grown accustomed to Zayn’s cautionary nature over the years. They’d met during college, and Zayn had always tried to steer Louis away from his impulsivity – with about a 50% success rate. If Louis was honest, Zayn had saved him from digging himself into a hole plenty of times. Kept him from burning bridges that he’d later been thankful for. Still, there were times when Zayn overdid it. Louis recalled that Zayn was also hesitant to start the band with him in the first place, but changed his mind when Liam, another university mate of theirs, fully agreed to join. If Louis thought about it too hard, moments like these made it feel like Zayn didn’t trust him creatively. Which stung, but whatever. Louis knew he would get his way, at the end of the day. 

“I think Zayn’s right,” Niall chirped, gracing the room with his input that nobody (well, certainly not Louis) had asked for. “I really like him, actually, but he definitely has a different style about him than we’ve ever had on stage. It might clash, you don’t think?” 

Louis suddenly emitted a dramatically drastic sigh as the round of the game he was playing came to a close – Liam was beating his ass in whatever it was. “Alright, lads, I get it. You don’t want him in the band. Back to the drawing board, then,” Louis muttered, clearly fed up with the direction the conversation had taken. He had spent the greater portion of the day listening to these same musings, repeated in different forms. Everyone was doubtful – save for Liam, who generally seemed neutral on the matter.  

“Louis, that’s not what I’m saying,” Zayn sat up suddenly, noticing the shift in his mate’s attitude. “I’m just saying…” Zayn paused, his gaze falling past Louis and focusing on some random point on the wall as he scoured his brain for the correct phrasing. After a moment, he seemed to give up on the effort. “You know what, fuck it. I’m just saying: maybe you shouldn’t be so eager to give away our front man spot to a bit of dick you met one night at a pub.” 

The accusation from Zayn hit Louis like a punch in the gut – the issue of Harry aside, Zayn should have known that the wellbeing of the band was always at the forefront of Louis’ focus. What did he say, a bit of dick ? Shit. Zayn always knew what he was up to; Louis would give him that. Louis couldn’t be bothered to respond, though, because he knew that Zayn knew better; he didn’t know where this tension was stemming from. He had begged Zayn to take over vocals, himself, at least a dozen times formally. So, jealousy couldn’t be the issue. Zayn wasn’t the type to ever be intimidated, anyway. That’s why Louis had immediately respected him. 

“Ouch,” Niall dully stated, scooting over to where Louis had stood up from the game to take his place with the controller. Liam just chuckled, shaking his head as he started another round of the game with Niall. These kinds of spats clearly weren’t anything foreign, but they didn’t typically happen between Louis and Zayn. Louis paced over toward the pathetically small kitchen to crack open a drink. Part of him had wanted to go home after Zayn’s snark – but that felt a bit dramatic. So, he just ignored it.  

The conversations of the evening shifted to a lighter focus, but the stake that had been driven between Louis and Zayn remained in place. Once the video game became a bore, Louis passed around some sheets of paper with the lyrics he’d been working on, so that the band could get an idea of the direction of possible future tracks. Niall was always very complimentary, which made Louis feel a little guilty for dismissing him earlier. He always meant well. Louis watched Zayn, particularly, as he studied the lyrics on the page. After several minutes of reading and re-reading, Zayn passed the paper back to Louis with a glint of approval in his eyes, and Louis was satisfied. Despite any disharmony, Louis still relied on Zayn’s input the most – he was a true visionary in Louis’ eyes, and they were best mates. That didn’t mean Louis wasn’t still miffed over his comment earlier, of course. 

It was truly an uneventful session, but it was relaxed and decent, anyways. It had been several weeks since the band had hung out informally. Everyone was still fresh off the holidays and falling into the routines of the new year – not that anything had changed, really. By the end of the night, unspoken tensions seemed to have smoothed over. Niall was the first to leave, announcing that he had other places to be and people to see. Liam lingered around for a bit, until he called it a night, too. As Louis bundled himself up in his coat and scarf, Zayn also approached the front hall, grabbing his own coat off a hanger. “Care for a smoke?” He asked Louis, picking up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the shelf in the entryway.  

“Course,” Louis replied without a thought, pausing a moment for Zayn to get his coat on before the pair of them stepped into the night chill, down a couple of steps to the pavement. The street Zayn lived on was very quiet; the only sounds were distant traffic and faint hums from the inside of the few homes on the street that were still awake. Zayn had always opted to live alone, though Louis came close to convincing him to sign a lease together, during university. But not quite. Louis understood, though – that was just Zayn’s way. 

Zayn flicked on the lighter, a warm glow in the dark air, and brought it to the cigarette already perched between his lips. He lit it and then passed the pack and the lighter to Louis, who did the same. The two were quiet for some time, just absorbing the crisp of the night and the taste of their cigarettes. Louis lived for these moments, if he were honest – the slight from earlier in the evening had been momentarily forgotten. He could enjoy a nicotine buzz with Zayn for eternity. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Zayn eventually murmured, but Louis already knew this. Louis shook his head, peeling the cigarette away from his mouth as he emitted a quiet laugh. 

“Look, mate, do you want to be our vocalist? I’d never take that from you, if you want it. I was confused, is all. I thought you, of all people, would know I’d never make a decision that would put us or the band in jeopardy.” Placing the cigarette back in its spot, Louis inhaled deeply. 

“No, no, it’s not about that,” Zayn assured, leaning back against the gate that lined the pavement of his street. “I was just looking out for us, too, even though you seem to think I don’t care about the band as much as you do,” he smiled, barely, tauntingly, though he was clearly much more relaxed now that the energy between Louis and him was settled. “Look, I like Harry. I can see what you’re talking about with his presence. I was just more worried about the way he’ll mesh with us on stage. But, I guess we can’t know for sure unless we give him a chance, hm?” 

Louis kept his eyes trained on Zayn’s expression for a mildly stretched silence, before he decided it was sincere. A grin found its way onto his own lips and he decided to put his cigarette out early. “So,” Louis started, leaning against the gate beside Zayn and slinging his arm around his shoulder. “You’re saying that you love my creative direction, and that you’ll allow me to prove myself by inviting Harry to play with us?” Zayn rolled his eyes, taking another drag from his cigarette as he playfully leaned away.

“I’m saying, we can give him a chance, ” The darker-haired man emphasized, finally deciding to put out his cigarette. Louis was still grinning; truth be told, of course Zayn’s approval on the matter was the only one that meant something serious to him. Niall and Liam – Louis loved them dearly, but they were along for the ride. Releasing Zayn from his grip, Louis sighed, contentedly.

“A chance. Beautiful. I’ll let him know,” Louis stated, a bit of peppiness sneaking through his tone. He hadn’t expected Zayn to concede, tonight; maybe he was feeling guilty about calling Louis out for his clear… attraction to Harry, so openly. Not that the other lads had even batted an eye, really. They didn’t know Louis as well as Zayn did, though. Zayn just chuckled, standing up from the gate and turning back towards his front door.  

“Night, Lou.” 

– 

Harry hadn’t heard anything back from Louis since his audition. He wasn’t truly sure why he had bothered with such an endeavor; he hadn’t lied to Louis that night. Bands truly weren’t his style. But, he really didn’t mean for it to come across as though he viewed himself above them, because he didn’t! He actually loved the idea of collaborating with others on music – but he had tried that many times before, and it never seemed to work out in his favor. 

Now, Harry laid wide awake in his bed on a Friday night, the clock inching toward the devil’s hour. He had stayed up until midnight, naturally, completing assignments for university. And still, he missed that golden deadline. He still submitted everything before 2, at least – maybe his professors would take pity on him. He completed the work, anyway! Harry studied philosophy, stereotypically. He had transferred through a couple of different majors – first economics, at the suggestion of his high school guidance counselor – then ceramic art, you know, for fun – then advertising (that was a realistic option?) – and now, philosophy. It seemed to fall in line with the rest of them. It was hard for him to commit, you see. 

Now, with his laptop put away, Harry remained with only the company of his cell phone’s backlight. That, and the faintest glow of a childhood nightlight in the corner. His mind had been reeling all week over his audition. Based on the way Louis had acted that one night at the pub, Harry had expected him to call back, pretty much immediately. Had Louis not been joking when he acted like it was some unclear decision? Hell , they’d made everyone leave before Harry performed! It was clear from the band’s dynamic  – Louis was, like, the leader , or whatever. So, Harry didn’t understand what the hold up was. 

He’d found himself, throughout the week, scrolling One Direction’s band site and social media. Most of them were inactive or sparse. These people definitely had day jobs. The band’s instagram account was the most promising – the only posts within the last 6 months regarded auditions, but there was a steady stream of posts before that. In these posts, Harry noticed the vocalist, tagged as Wes – that’s who he was meant to replace. Wes appeared more in line with how Harry perceived the other lads at the church – classically masculine and unassuming. Standard rock boy in a local band who was probably a little mean to women. Ah, whatever. Harry shouldn’t be making assumptions like that. 

He continued to scroll, frustratedly noticing the lack of Louis in most of the photos. He must have been the photographer, Harry figured. He did come across a particular frame though – from 2 years ago, where the band did a performance at Glastonbury ? It was a small stage at the festival, of course, but Harry was nonetheless impressed. Louis was visible in the photo with a guitar, sporting a band tee shirt with chopped sleeves and sunglasses. Hot. Of course, Harry had listened to One Direction’s music over the course of the week, too. It was quite different from what he tended to create, but he found it enjoyable, anyway. Especially the lyrics. He could imagine the songs on the small stage. 

As he zoomed into this candid photo of Louis performing at Glastonbury, the sound of the front door of the flat slamming from the sitting room jolted Harry from his position, his phone falling onto his chest. In the other room, he could hear his roommate – Madison (God bless her soul) – giggling and whispering something to what Harry could only assume would be a special guest . You see, Mads had recently been through a breakup, and was coping in a multitude of ways. Harry had met her in one of his ceramic art classes as a first year, and they’d been inseparable ever since. He’d make sure to double-check on her, tomorrow. 

When he lifted his phone from his chest, to his horror – he noticed that he liked the Louis at Glastonbury photo. He swiftly removed the ‘heart,’ and exited out of the app, huffing out at his own behavior. Hopefully, he unliked the post quickly enough. And hopefully , Louis wasn’t the band member logged into the One Direction account. He locked his phone and shoved it onto his nightstand, before grabbing one of his extra pillows and clutching it to his chest, his eyes falling closed. Maybe Harry knew why he had bothered with that audition, after all. The vivid details of the night after the pub performance – those memories soon began to infiltrate Harry’s thoughts, as they had almost every night that week. Harry didn’t put up much of a fight against them, though. 

Do you like the way that feels?

The simple recollection of Louis’ words – hot and unsteady against the tender skin of his neck – sparked a shudder through Harry’s chest. He clenched down on his jaw and rolled over onto his side, repeatedly tensing and relaxing what felt like every muscle in his body. Breaths: in and out. My God, was he really that touch deprived? “Fuck,” he muttered against his pillowcase, specific flashes weaving in and out of his imagination. 

A sudden streak of consciousness put a sudden end to the obscenity, before Harry had the chance to slip his hand anywhere. It had been a whole week and Louis hadn’t called. Harry would probably never hear from him or that stupid band again. This was the mental cycle he had been going through all week, by the way. 

Frustratedly, he reached over to his phone and unlocked it. When he opened Instagram, Glastonbury Louis still stood there. “Prick,” Harry mumbled, refreshing his feed to his own home page and attempting to distract himself from the flame that had already been lit. Of course, it was too late. After less than five minutes of aimless scrolling the online lives of people he no longer knew, he chucked the phone totally onto the floor. The absence of any distraction only meant one thing, and Harry knew it: the returning whirlwind collage of frenzied hands on his skin, whispers in his ear, and lips – flush and fervent against his own. His memory was rapid, relentless – and it took him down. Thoughtlessly, Harry shoved his pillow and blankets away – the fog of his mind growing into an impenetrable and all-consuming cloud of heat that made its way into his bloodstream. His hand, at last, eagerly slid beneath the only fabric he wore, and his hips rolled familiarly against his own touch. Shit , he thought, what difference did it make? 

– 

Harry slept the morning away on Saturday, to his own detriment. He hated to miss mornings, but he often did. The allure of sleep was one of his most loyal seductresses, especially since he’d started university. He’d also become a slow riser. As he opened his eyes, he leaned into a stretch, sighing as the brightness seeping in through the translucent curtain definitely indicated he’d slept past all single digit hours. Coming into his senses, he recognized a faint sizzle from the kitchen; Mads was cooking. This was enough motivation for him to slip out of bed, complete his morning routine, and get dressed. It’d be a plain, knitted sky-colored jumper for today, with some brown lounging pants; he didn’t plan on going anywhere. 

Harry said a silent prayer that Mads’ nighttime guest had already left before opening his bedroom door. The scent of cinnamon toast beckoned him toward the kitchen, and he gave Mads a knowing smile. His prayer had been answered. “Have yourself a good time last night?” 

Madison, still in her sleeping clothes, just gave a lousy hand motion as she stirred at some eggs scrambling in a pan. “Let’s not.” She was funny; Harry was sure she’d get into any juicy details later on, when she was up for it. 

Harry laughed, taking the hint, and examined the small arrangement of plates that Madison had been up to preparing. He spotted the cinnamon toast dish and counted the slices, deciding that Mads had made enough for him, too – she always did. He was a big fan of the little domestic routine that they had naturally developed, practically a day after moving in together. Mads was American, in London to study, so he was grateful for the sweeter options she tended to bring to the breakfast table. He treated himself to a slice of the toast, as well as some fruit. “Happy Saturday to me,” he exclaimed, a fleeting wave of freedom washing over him. Perhaps he’d accepted his defeat when it came to the One Direction slash Louis fiasco – it had been long enough; he had his answer (nothing), so he could free himself from the shackle of uncertainty. He took a bite of his toast. 

Madison quirked an eyebrow at Harry’s tone as she moved her scrambled eggs onto a plate. “What? Did you hear back from that guy?”  

Harry immediately shook his head, leaning back against the sink opposite the stove where Madison stood. “No. Think I’m chalking that one up. All week, and nothing.” He started out with that tone of assurance, but a minor weight fell from his words by the end of his statement. 

Madison was quiet for a moment as she studied her friend, picking up on that slight falter in his voice. “Well, Harry,” she started, turning her attention back away from him and to her breakfast plate as she picked out some fruit for herself, too. “They’re just stupid if they don’t want you. And so is he,” she stated, so matter-of-factly. She said the words so obviously; Harry was urged to agree. He just smiled, choosing to buy into Mads’ sentiment for this moment in time. 

As he finished up his modest breakfast, Harry figured he should call his mum – this was a weekly tradition, almost always reserved for Saturday mornings. This week, it would border on an afternoon call, but that would be fine. After rinsing his plate, Harry sauntered back into his bedroom, and picked up his phone from where he’d dropped it the night before. 

He brushed off his screen, adjusting the brightness. 

9:47

Missed call from 07283 927302.  

9:52

07283 927302: Ring back, it’s Louis 

Harry blinked down at the words, his throat suddenly tight. The image of himself liking that Instagram post in the middle of the night flashed through his memory (he would never admit to doing that, so long as he lived). He then briefly recalled the last time he’d seen Louis, when he’d told him to only call his number if they were going to let him in the band. So, he wondered if Louis would actually hold up his end of the bargain. The curiosity wouldn’t stand a chance, today, anyway – Harry unlocked his phone and pressed on the missed call, immediately dialing the unknown number back.

As the phone rang, he paced over to his bedroom door, softly closing it. Pick up, pick up, pick up. Just when he thought he was destined to a game of phone tag with Louis, the other line clicked. “Hello?” 

“Uh, morning. Louis? It’s Harry,” he stated plainly, stopping his nervous pace in the middle of his bedroom. 

The line was silent for a second, before a quiet laughter fell from the other end. “Right. I know. You left your number.” 

Harry generally enjoyed talking on the phone, but this call was indisputably awkward, already. The ball was in Louis’ court, he supposed. “Oh, right,” Harry retorted, pursing his lips. Did he need to say more? 

Another moment of awkward quiet passed, before Louis spoke up again. “Sorry for being weird. I don’t do many calls like this. Maybe this would be easier to talk about in person. Basically, we have a proposal for you. But, maybe we can get lunch to talk it over. You busy now?” 

Harry paused, considering. A proposal; so, he was in. Louis’ directness excited him. He really shouldn’t overthink it, he guessed; he wasn't doing anything today, anyway. “We can get lunch. Um, I’m in Camden. Have you heard of Libbie’s?” It was a popular enough destination. 

“Sure, sure. Meet in about an hour?” 

“Works for me.”

After stumbling his way through a goodbye, Harry tossed his phone back on the bed. He had some wardrobe adjustments to make. Decidedly keeping the jumper, he traded out his joggers for a pair of fitted jeans, and slipped on his classic maroon Vans. He stepped toward his dresser, where he kept a small wooden box for his rings; he adorned a couple fingers on both of his hands with various colors and sizes. Once satisfied with his combination, Harry got on his way, giving Mads a quick goodbye as he draped on his coat and left – though they’d agreed on meeting in an hour, he preferred to be the first to arrive at these types of arrangements.  

Harry lived about a 20 minute walk from the restaurant, and while he could’ve easily hopped on a direct bus to the area, he decided he’d walk – it would help pass a chunk of the time, anyway. His mind reeled over the many different ways this meeting may go. Shit, would he even accept an offer to be in the band? Part of him wanted to drop that entire conversation, if he were honest – but maybe that was just the doubt that had crept up on him during the week. He had to remind himself that the band was Louis’ primary reason for contacting him, anyway – because that’s how Harry himself had instructed Louis to use his phone number. What an idiot. Harry was still deeply interested in music, obviously – but the idea of playing with a band, constantly relying on others and being relied on, artistically; it made him mildly sick. He didn’t know how Louis had managed to make him forget about that part during his audition. 

Luckily, despite being a classic winter day, the weather was relatively nice. The sun even peeked through the cloud blankets for a couple of minutes at a time, which brought Harry a renewed energy as he strolled the streets. He suddenly regretted his original decision to do nothing with his Saturday, until the lunch plan was arranged. He would have missed out on a nice day. The street that Libbie’s was on was quite lively, which provided Harry with an ample opportunity to people-watch. He copped a spot on one of the empty benches near the corner, instinctively checking his phone to make sure Louis hadn’t surprise-cancelled or anything; he hadn’t. 

Around 15 minutes before an hour had passed, Harry spotted a figure approaching from the bus stop across the way. He was quite positive it was Louis, and only became surer as the man neared. Louis just had a certain air to his walk. Of course, after his initial clock, Harry had looked away so as to not stare like a freak. 

Louis approached soon enough, and when Harry deemed it appropriate – in other words, when Louis had had enough time to spot him, too – he stood up from the bench. Harry was instantly aware of a sudden naked feeling – he realized this was his first time meeting Louis without his guitar. Louis must have noticed too, because Harry noticed the man’s eyes, shielded behind unnecessary sunglasses, flicker down towards where his guitar case would’ve been. 

“Bet you thought I forgot about you,” Louis said, reaching up to take his sunglasses off and slip them into his coat pocket. Harry was thankful that Louis had suggested meeting in person – though he still felt nervous, this dynamic was much more natural than whatever that phone call had been. Being able to meet Louis’ eyes certainly helped.

“Well, I knew if you were serious about your band, then you’d call,” Harry bluffed, a playful smirk hooking the corner of his lips as he led the way toward the front door of the small restaurant. 

Inside, the restaurant held a cozy and warm familiarity – at least to Harry. Classic records and posters lined the mahogany walls, along with historic black-and-white photographs. It was a dim atmosphere that someone regular might not associate with a casual lunch (it certainly wasn’t formal, though), but Harry didn’t care. He hadn’t been here in a while, and he missed it – and, truthfully, he thought that Louis might like it. A soft rock tracklist played softly in the background – currently: Smashing Pumpkins’ cover of My Blue Heaven. 

As the pair were led to a table, Harry stole the occasional glimpse of Louis, attempting to gauge his impression, already. Soon enough, the two were sat across from one another at a small corner booth, and they slipped out of their coats. Harry decided he would allow Louis to lead the flow of whatever this was supposed to be – he had called the meeting, anyway. 

Louis didn’t seem to be in any rush to get the conversation flowing. He had been entranced by the place since they had stepped inside; his eyes continued to study the walls beyond Harry, and the art that adorned them. Louis didn’t usually go inside restaurants like this – not that he didn’t eat out; he was simply more of a take out kind of lad. But this specific atmosphere – if Louis was a restaurant goer, this would be what he’d seek out. Their table remained quiet for some time as Louis absorbed the space – including Harry, in front of him. Louis had immediately noticed the absence of the guitar, which he hadn’t realized he’d mentally attached to Harry, as if it were a prosthetic limb. Now, he did notice the rings on Harry’s fingers, which he hadn’t recalled from before. What was truly astounding to Louis, though, was Harry’s current demeanor. Something about Linger boy was different , today, and Louis couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Not yet, at least. But he sensed something.

“Are you nervous?” Louis asked, a hint of a tease in his voice as his eyes met Harry’s.

Harry blinked, caught off guard by the abruptness of Louis’ question. “Why would I be nervous? I told you not to call unless I was in,” he replied simply, hoping that he was dedicated enough to his poker face. To be fair, if Louis thought Harry was nervous about being let in the band, he’d be dead wrong. Sure, it wouldn’t be the most ego-stroking blow if Harry were rejected, but he would manage just fine. 

“That is true, isn’t it?” Louis agreed, turning his attention to the small paper menu. Harry pretended to scan the menu, also, though he already knew what he was going to order. Harry had never changed his order at Libbie’s – not even once. “Well, I guess I’ll lay it out, then. I talked with the lads, and everyone likes you,” Louis flicked his eyes back up to Harry’s. “Basically, they want you to do a couple of performances with us. To test the waters, see how the audience likes us.” A waitress appeared before Harry could respond, and took both of their orders: Mediterranean wrap for Harry, and BLT for Louis.

Once alone again, Louis locked his eyes on Harry’s, awaiting his reply. Harry could only look into Louis’ eyes for a couple of seconds before he looked away – he wasn’t sure if the burning tension he felt was mutual or a conjecture of his imagination. He was sure by the look on his own face that Louis would be able to perceive his uncertainty about joining a band, which left him in quite an awkward position. Why did he show up to the fucking audition? As his thoughts began to swirl and he began to curse himself, Louis didn’t interrupt – he just leaned back against his side of the booth, observing the spectacle that was Harry’s (very readable) expression. Harry didn’t know what to say. 

“Well, then,” Louis began, after what must have been three full minutes of silence, folding his hands against the edge of his table as his gaze burned into Harry’s cheeks. “You don’t do bands, hm,” he softly said; the phrase wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t accusatory. Louis’ expression wasn’t clear, either – to Harry, he just looked curious, with maybe a twinge of disappointment – maybe .  

“I don’t know,” Harry replied, his teeth suddenly digging into his lower lip. I just wanted to see you. “I don’t think I manage very well when I know something is expected of me,” he explained, honestly. Harry suddenly felt a surge of guilt – surely he could have just approached Louis directly instead of through this whole band ordeal. But, he could tell from the gleam in Louis’ eyes that his primary passion lied with music, and Harry wanted to meet him there, in that intensity. Not even just because it was Louis – Harry was intense, too. At least, he thought he could be. 

Louis’ brows furrowed as he sat up from his relaxed position, his elbows resting against the table as he leaned forward slightly. “It’s not like that,” he assured; his tone held understanding, and his focus on Harry remained unwavering. “It’s not like you would come in with anything to prove.” The thing was – Harry believed Louis when he said this.. But, still – in practice, Harry knew it would feel different. 

“What is it that you like so much, anyway?” Harry asked quietly, finally deciding to meet Louis’ eyes, again. He knew it was somewhat loaded, but he wanted to hear Louis’ answer, anyway. Ever since Harry had started performing, he’d received certain praise that he never quite understood; he wasn’t insecure , or anything, but the fact of why he resonated (deeply, apparently) with so many people when he performed was a bit of a mystery to him. Part of him was very concerned about this factor disappearing if he were to join a band – you see, he loved when people expressed this kind of sentiment. It made him feel like he was doing something special. 

“About you?” Louis’ eyes narrowed. He wondered if it was the lack of guitar that was making Harry seem so unsteady. “I like the way you sing as if you wrote those songs yourself.” 

The compliment naturally elicited a smile from Harry, and he thought he could feel some of the tension at the top of his spine release. “Thank you.” Still, he was reminded that he had to give Louis some kind of response to the band inquiry. He pushed back a cluster of curls from his face and sighed; just then, the waitress arrived with their dishes.  

Louis seemed okay with pausing their conversation, as he started to eat. “We’ll come back to it,” he promised. There was another bout of silence, though it wasn’t awkward this time as the two of them focused on their lunch. Louis eventually interrupted it, though. “This place is incredible, by the way. You’ve been here before?” 

The sudden casual tone chirped Harry up, and he nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I discovered it during my first semester. A couple of my classes were down the block, so this place was perfect.” Now that the energy had mellowed out, Harry felt safe to really study Louis. He wore a long sleeve, black Adidas jumper and matching joggers. Harry noticed the number ‘28’ tattooed across the base of two fingers. He decided he would ask about that, at some point. 

“You’re still in university? What’d’you study?” 

Harry hesitated. “Philosophy.” 

“Oh yeah?” Louis was the one to perk up now. “Is it broad like that? Or do you pick a specialty, like logic or ethics?” 

A bit surprised at Louis’ open interest and awareness in the subject, Harry chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. “My program is broad, but flexible with requirements, so I can take pretty much any classes, as I like. Do you read much philosophy?” 

Louis shook his head. “I wouldn’t say so, no. I have bursts of interest in random topics, I guess. I admire people who do read it a lot, though. Seems like it takes a lot of brain power.” 

“Hm, it does,” Harry confirmed, chuckling. It was quiet for a while longer as they ate, Harry occasionally allowing his gaze to linger on Louis’ face. He couldn’t help but notice his eyelashes  and the prominence of his cupid’s bow. Louis would – usually quite quickly – catch Harry’s stare, and Harry would look away, each time. 

Feeling that the conversation of the band would return soon, Harry began to bounce his foot against the base of the table as the two of them finished up their meals. He still hadn’t come up with an answer. Louis was satisfied with his BLT, wiping his mouth off with a napkin. “This really is a great place,” Louis repeated. He was quiet momentarily, before continuing. “I will be direct with you, Harry,” he began. The sound of his name off Louis’ lips brought Harry to alertness. “I want you to play with us. You have something I don’t see a lot– honestly, maybe something I haven’t seen in the flesh before. It might not work – whatever. You could think of it as a trial, for yourself, too. It’s not like you’re signing a contract if you agree. Just play a couple of gigs with us and think of it as that, yeah? I mean, don’t feel pressured,” Louis added, “but I want to be as frank as possible. I do want you to join us.” 

The way Louis expressed himself made the endeavor sound actually very manageable to Harry, for a moment. His natural inhibitions loosened, and he rolled his shoulders back in thought, his foot still bouncing, albeit slower than before. He was still holding onto his hesitation; he didn’t want to let Louis down, really – that may have been the root of it. He looked up from his half-eaten plate, lips pulled to the side in thought. “A trial for both of us, then.” 

Louis nodded, that glint shimmering in his eye. “Right.” 

All of a sudden, Harry was jolted by a movement from under his foot; the base of the table had suddenly vanished. From the ever-so-subtle smirk on Louis’ expression, Harry realized that it must have been Louis’ foot he had been anxiously pepping against, rather than the table. Wonderful. 

“Right,” Harry repeated, picking up his drink, and taking a sip. “I guess there’s no harm in just a couple of gigs. No commitment,” Harry murmured – though his eyes, hesitant, still sought some confirmation from Louis. 

“None at all, mate,” Louis promised, looking suddenly quite smug – Harry guessed he’d given Louis what he came there to get. Harry slightly tilted his head as he began to envision himself on the stage with the band he’d played only a couple of audition songs with. He wondered how audiences would respond. 

Harry hummed in thought as the waitress returned with the bill and to collect their plates. “Consider it a welcome gift,” Louis joked as he handled the payment. Harry’s mind had begun reeling with questions about practicing, songwriting, performances – everything. He shouldn’t get ahead of himself, he figured, but now that he’d (at least unofficially) confirmed himself, he felt the need to be prepared for whatever was to come. Maybe it wasn’t the best time to get down to the nitty-gritty with details, though. Lunch was ending. 

As the waitress departed and Louis began to stand up, Harry impulsively moved his foot toward Louis’ beneath the table, promptly finding his ankle and curling his shoe around it. “Wait,” Harry said, peering at Louis timorously, as if the two hadn’t been in much more intimate proximity, before. Louis paused, mid-stance, returning Harry’s gaze. Louis’ eyes squinted, and after a moment of perplexity, he sat back down. There was a knowingness and reluctance in his gaze that Harry couldn’t exactly place. 

“Yes?” 

Harry suddenly longed for the confidence that he’d carried the night at the pub. It wasn’t fair! That night, Louis had caught him while he was still high off of his performance. When they’d conversed on their nighttime stroll, Harry didn’t have to think about what he would say. He’d had the power. Things felt different, now. “Do you want to come over?” Harry asked after a moment, his voice slow, and his eyes wide and clear. Louis would know exactly what he was asking. 

Louis looked like he might be considering, for a moment. Harry’s foot remained in place, his expression careful and still. Say yes.

“ Harry,” Louis eventually answered, his hands folding at the table’s edge again. He cracked a knowing smile, his eyes shifting elsewhere before he eventually brought them back to Harry, his ankle wiggling out of Harry’s grasp. “Can’t be doing anything like that if we’re going to work together.” Despite his words, his tone was empathetic, his eyes attentively scanning Harry’s features. Harry noticed, though, the way Louis’ eyes lingered on his lips. 

Harry felt his chest burn and tighten at the rejection, despite the very simple and understandable reason. Shit , he had really screwed himself over, with the whole band thing, huh? He exhaled, one of his hands moving up to push loose curls back from his face, yet again. Though he was silent, his expression must have been giving him away, because Louis chuckled. “What? Is that what you came here for?” Louis was teasing.  

“No,” Harry simply stated, with a shrug. He locked into his poker face. “Just seemed like you might want to.” With a convincing smirk, Harry stood up, slipping into his coat, and waited a moment for Louis to follow his lead. As the two made their way outside, Harry asked for a couple details about practicing and locations, to which Louis answered.

“I’ll see you Wednesday, then,” Harry smiled, departing from Louis and strolling back toward his neighborhood. As soon as he was alone again, he had to repress a groan and a kick to the pavement. How ridiculous. He vowed to himself, right then and there, that he would play a single gig with the band and then back out of this deal. No commitment.  

Chapter Text

The beginning of the week was defined by long (but not long enough) nights in isolation with a guitar, notepad, the moon, and a drink. Triumphant after his encounter with Harry, Louis felt absolutely certain that his creative vision would unfold as he’d planned for the band. As for Harry’s proposal, there, at the end of lunch– Louis hadn’t thought too much of it. Well, there had been a moment or two (but that’s all), when Louis had closed his eyes, late at night beneath warm sheets, and been met with that palpable gleam that persisted in Harry’s stare. Some unspoken craving.

Louis had arranged a few casual gigs at local venues that the band was well-acquainted with for the coming weeks. Nothing too demanding or hectic – just enough to hopefully get everyone warmed up and Harry acclimated. Leading up to the band’s first proper practice with Harry, Louis had sent him the band’s EP to study, along with some additional demos. He didn’t hear much back from Harry, but surely he was just preoccupied and hadn’t changed his mind about the whole thing. It crossed Louis’ mind that the style of many existing tracks was quite different from how he perceived Harry to be as a performer. The band tended to lean very much into rock, to the point where the instrumentals were often just as powerful as the vocals (or even more) – this habit was sure to change, Louis knew. At some point he’d messaged alongside one of the demos:

I hope you’ll like this one, I want to hear how you’ll sing it :)

Still, he heard nothing back from Harry, even by Wednesday’s dreary afternoon. He figured he would just have to trust that Harry would show up. As he boarded the quiet bus to Liam’s neighborhood, Louis’ mind drifted to the possibility that Harry was embarrassed or disappointed by his rejection to coming over. Even if Louis had wanted to come over, he wasn’t going to jeopardize the band’s new opportunity before it had even started. Not even for someone like Harry.

After seven stops, Louis stepped out into the cold air and headed toward the church with some urgency for warmth. He decided to show up half an hour early. Harry had been early to their lunch, Louis noted, so he wanted to be there in case Harry repeated himself. When he didn’t see anyone loitering around the large wooden door out front, he knew he was the first to arrive. He slipped through one of the side doors that was usually left unlocked, and proceeded to the nave. Louis’d spent a bit of time alone in the church, even on non-practice days. He hadn’t grown up with any religion, but he did find something peaceful about sitting alone in the pews, on occasion – the dusty scent, the dark wooden interior, the scratchy, aged pew cushions – it was indescribably and perhaps eerily inviting. There were also stained glass windows. Nothing too extravagant like you’d see in the famous cathedrals, but they were a quiet marvel to Louis, anyway. 

Louis entered one of the side-rooms where the band stored their equipment and began to set it up on the stage – first the drums, then the keyboard with the stand and so forth. Louis kept a separate practice board and guitar at his flat. Before too long, the other three arrived, disrupting the serenity of the large room with their chatter. Still, no sign of Harry. 

“He here, yet?” Niall asked, hopping up the steps to the stage with his personal guitar swinging in his grasp. 

“Well, do you see him?” Louis replied, pulling his phone from his pocket to see if he’d missed any messages. He was sure he hadn’t. By this point, he was used to the lack of a response. His assumption had been correct: nothing. With a huff, he checked the time. Five till. If Harry had changed his mind, after all, surely he would’ve said something to Louis. He didn’t strike Louis as flakey, but Louis didn’t really know him, he guessed. “I’ll give him a ring,” Louis decided, descending the stage as the others began to warm up. 

He walked toward the front door entrance, pressing call. The speaker rang several times, before going to voicemail, which Harry didn’t even have set up. Figures. Louis returned his phone to his pocket, circling back around the pews toward the stage. 

“Well?” Zayn asked, brows raised. “Is he coming?” 

“Dunno. Haven’t been able to reach him, but I’m sure he will,” Louis assured, taking a seat at the keyboard stool. “We can just start, and I’ll figure out about him later. I reckon he’ll be here, though.” Louis truly was eager to get started, because he’d polished up several songs since the band had last practiced. The four of them spent the next half hour going through two of the newer songs, in particular, including the one Louis had texted Harry he was eager to hear him sing. Louis and Zayn took turns on lead vocals, the sound of the band’s strings and voices saturating the room with modern life. Halfway through a chorus, the front door creaked partly open. 

Harry stepped through the crack with his guitar case and closed the door behind him, his eyes finding and momentarily lingering on Louis, before shifting as he neared the stage. He looked quite different from how Louis was used to seeing him, which was quite polished and stylish. He had on a loose black hoodie and gray sweats – no shimmering boots, just a pair of Vans that looked like they’d seen hell and back. He looked a bit like he’d just lazed around all day, his hair and face included. “Hey. Sorry I’m late. Didn’t realize the time,” his voice was nonchalant as he ascended the stage steps, avoiding eye contact with the others. He retrieved his instrument from its case as the others shared questionable glances with Louis. 

“It’s no worries at all,” Louis stated, grabbing a sheet of music from his keyboard stand and handing it over to Harry. “This is what we were working on. I texted it to you, if you got a chance to listen to any of those. Assuming you did, since we’ve only got two weeks until the gig.” Harry’s eyes shot up to Louis’ at the mention of the deadline. Harry was aware that they only had two weeks until the first gig (because it seemed like Louis texted him new details every goddamn hour), so the way Louis just said that felt like a subtle threat. Perhaps because it was. 

After sharing a challenging gaze with Louis for a moment, Harry’s eyes fell down to the arrangement sheet, and he took a brief moment to read the lyrics. “Yeah, I listened to this one. Practiced it a little bit on my guitar,” he mumbled. 

“Great,” Louis exclaimed, returning to his keyboard. “Well, we’ll take it from the top. You can listen a few times and do whatever you’ve got to do. Join in when you feel ready.” With his guitar, Harry sat on a free stool nearest the microphone stand. The band proceeded with the piece several times, from the beginning. Louis was proud of this one. It was called Axis; it was supposed to be a moderate tempo, and quite dreamy sounding – that was, if the band could capture it how Louis envisioned it. And thankfully, they were doing just that. He’d imagined Harry’s voice on it from the night they’d met outside the bar, and countless times since. But, here they were, a dozen takes in, and Harry wasn’t joining. On the eleventh go, Harry gave his guitar a few halfhearted strums, before Louis stopped them all. “What are you doing?” He asked, an edge of something Harry hadn’t heard before in his voice. Frustration?

Harry flickered his gaze over to the keyboardist, unaffectedly shrugging. “I was still getting a feel for it.” 

“Give him a minute. He definitely knows it,” Zayn chimed in, a tempted grin fighting its way on his lips. “He’s been up all night scrolling on our Instagram, or that’s at least how the notifications look. He’s probably a little tired, so take it easy, Lou.” He chuckled and gave Harry a playful swat on the back, before removing his own guitar strap from his shoulders. Harry’s eyes immediately blinked between Louis and Zayn following the comment, and Louis caught a momentary glimpse of pure terror in Harry’s wide eyes. The sight caused a quiet wave (of endearment?) to course through Louis’ chest. Zayn didn’t mean it harshly – Louis was sure he was just trying to lighten the air. But it didn’t seem like Harry received it this way.

“I think it’s time for a dinner break,” Zayn announced, looking to Niall and Liam who apparently agreed, as Liam was stretching up from the drums and Niall was putting down his bass. Harry sat still, his stare focusing down on the arrangement sheet he’d set on a little black stand in front of him. He strummed a few careless times at his guitar, making it evidently clear that he was uninterested in going to dinner. Louis stood, his eyes on Harry, as the other three descended down into the aisle. Zayn paused for a moment, between the pews, looking back at Louis expectantly, his lips pursed. 

Louis looked toward Zayn, giving a reassuring nod. “We’ll be right behind you,” he emptily promised. Zayn, knowingly taking that statement with a grain of salt, followed Niall and Liam out the front door after they all prepared themselves for the crisp air with coats. 

Louis continued to sit silently at his keyboard, observing Harry, who was still mindlessly strumming at his guitar – every now and then achieving something that sounded like tatters of the song Louis wanted to hear. Harry didn’t look at Louis at all – and his face seemed redder now than when he had first come in from the cold. Maybe Louis had come off a little bit strong, earlier; it wasn’t realistic for Harry to really have taught himself anything about the band’s music since they’d met for lunch on Sunday. Not to mention, Harry seemed to actually value his studies, unlike Louis when he was in university. Maybe Louis should have offered for Harry to just watch their first gig, and then join the next one. Yes, that sounded much more reasonable. 

“I did learn the music,” Harry interrupted Louis’ reflections, his eyes remaining locked on the arrangement sheet. “Not all of it. But the songs you texted me, I learned them.” Louis’ brows furrowed as Harry continued to strum along, though his strums were now totally unrelated to Axis. 

Louis’ first instinct was to assure Harry that it was all fine, and that he had been unreasonable to expect Harry to learn multiple songs within the span of a couple days. But, some primal part of him was much more interested in pushing Harry. He retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, before lighting one up. After taking a deep inhale, he held it between his fingers, and spoke up. “Why didn’t you play with us, then? And why were you late?” 

Harry stopped strumming, and turned his face toward Louis. His eyes followed the smoke that Louis breathed out. Harry was silent, but Louis could tell from the transparency of his gaze that he was racking his brain for an answer that would mask whatever the honest truth may be. As Harry pondered on his reply, Louis stood up from his seat and took a few steps closer to Harry’s, cigarette held between his lips. The man in front of him was a different creature than whoever had performed Linger that night, and Louis needed to know why. It wasn’t just Harry’s wardrobe or his performance – everything about his energy was off, down to the way he stepped through the door. Harry’s eyes didn’t follow Louis as he moved, for once. He must have been too distracted by conjuring up that answer. Louis eventually stepped directly behind Harry’s stool. 

“Just have a migraine,” Harry decided, though his delivery was hazy at best. 

“Hm,” Louis hummed, his eyes falling down on Harry’s curls as he stood still behind him. The supposed migraine wouldn’t explain the multiple days of Harry ignoring his texts. Also, if Harry had really learned the music (which Louis happened to believe), then what did a migraine have to do with his behavior this evening - the tardiness, the lack of his usual presence? As Louis took another drag, he pondered to himself – would Harry feel the same as he did that night Louis had touched him? Silently and without hesitation, Louis brought both of his hands up to the nape of Harry’s neck, his fingertips gently dragging against Harry’s scalp. Harry’s curls felt soft and fresh between Louis’ fingers, which he grazed in slow and deliberate circles. From his proximity, Louis could smell what must have been Harry’s conditioner – citrusy. Harry’s posture tensed very briefly before he dissolved into the touch, one of his hands gripping his guitar from the bottom to keep it from slipping. Louis could hear the deepening of Harry’s breathing and feel the slightest tip back of Harry’s head against his hands. 

Louis didn’t think to restrain the quiet laugh that fell from his lips, around his cigarette. From Harry’s reaction, you’d think he really did have a migraine. Still, Louis continued his motions, because Harry did feel the same beneath his touch, after all: aware and enraptured. “Do you think it’s a good look for you to reject a dinner with your bandmates?” Louis asked, his tone unserious, but nonetheless fishing for a grain of something. 

“Well, who goes to dinner in the middle of a practice?” Harry retorted simply, as if his wit had suddenly returned to him; his tone was still hazy – but relaxed. His eyes had fallen closed. Louis’ fingers combed Harry’s curls back from his face and brushed across his temples. Harry’s answer was fair enough, he guessed. 

“You enjoy looking at our Instagram?” Louis nudged, referencing Zayn’s little jab from earlier. It seemed, however, that Harry had moved past that embarrassment, because he only gave an amused laugh in return. His head continued to slant toward Louis’ touch. 

“Wouldn’t you want to know what you were getting yourself into if you were me? You stalked and begged me to be here. I was making sure you weren’t shit, is all,” Harry contended. 

“Well?” Louis asked as his fingers released Harry’s locks and trailed lightly down the back of his neck. Louis hesitated for the splittest of seconds before pulling away to free the cigarette momentarily from his lips. 

When Harry felt the absence of Louis’ touch, he swiveled around enough to look Louis in the face. “If you were shit, I wouldn’t be here,” Harry promised, with a certain earnestness that tipped beyond their banter. Louis was quiet, his eyes reserved for Harry’s. Now that he stood closer, he noticed the long shadow that Harry’s eyelashes casted onto his cheekbones from the dimmed, decades-old interior light of the cathedral. Harry had a pretty face. Not just a standard pretty face – one you would continue to look for on the street after you’d seen it, once, even if you knew you probably wouldn’t see it again. But what Louis was most concerned with, and what stood out to him, now and always, were those eyes. It was incredible how readable they were, as if they were an open green channel flowing directly to the core of Harry’s soul. 

“Are you here to play music, then, or are you here because you want me to fuck you?” Louis asked softly, placing the cigarette back in its previous position as he took another drag. He knew he shouldn’t have teased the question, but Louis couldn’t help himself. The anticipation he felt as he stared into Harry’s eyes, awaiting a reaction, felt like being on the edge of your seat at the thriller of the century. 

Harry blinked his big eyes, unable to restrain the confessional smirk that appeared on his lips, but he refused to look away from Louis. “Last I heard, you’re only offering one of those.” His retort was playful, but his eyes couldn’t help but search Louis’ expression for some signal of seriousness. He wouldn’t describe Louis’ expression as purely smug (it definitely was there), but there was a semblance of something deeper and more intentional, too. 

Louis smiled at Harry’s reply – a real smile, creases appearing at the sides of his eyes. He lingered there for another moment. It was cute, he thought, how transparent Harry was, even outside of his singing. Deciding to leave that conversation hanging in the air, Louis returned to his keyboard and put his cigarette out in an ashtray next to it. 

“Let’s play the song, then,” Louis decided. He must have struck some chord, because Harry was the first to start strumming. Harry hadn’t been lying about learning the music, which Louis already knew, because he played the notes with a distinct familiarity. Louis matched Harry’s tempo as his fingers pressed keys. As Harry began to sing the first verse, Louis felt his core ignite, as if his tongue were a string of metal and the discarded cigarette had lit the tip of it, and the flame had made its way down his throat and through his stomach, and now his organs were threatening to explode. Harry’s voice – it was so deep, so sweet, and so true, it just sounded right. It was what Louis had been waiting for: not only since meeting Harry, but long before, too. 

The two of them practiced for some while longer on the songs that Louis had introduced Harry to through text message, which he now provided physical copies for. Louis was roused and awed, take by take, by how seamlessly Harry seemed to absorb and reflect the music back to him.

 After not too long, the other three band members returned from their dinner, chatty as ever. The atmosphere was different when it was just Harry and Louis. More immediate. Louis quickly picked up on that Harry was a bit more reserved around the others compared to whenever they were alone together, but that was natural, given their circumstances. Over time, he reckoned they would all bond naturally with Harry. At least, he hoped. 

–

As the weekdays dragged by, Harry found his entire focus wrapped up by the band– well, Louis, anyway. He planned on sticking to his guns about quitting after one gig, but from the moment Louis’ fingers had touched his neck at the church, he’d been wavering on that. He had even been procrastinating his studies to learn the songs Louis sent him, even if he couldn’t be bothered to reply to Louis, half the time. Well, it wasn’t like Harry wouldn’t have procrastinated, anyway – but at least now he could feel productive about it. It was Friday night, so while he was still free from his Sunday deadlines, he sat criss-crossed on his bed, guitar on his lap, with the music sheets Louis had given him strewn across his duvet. There was a little over a week left before the gig, and he didn’t want to be the reason a performance tanked, even if he planned on ditching after.

There was one song in particular from the band’s discography that Harry had become attached to – Strangers, even though it wasn’t one Louis had sent him directly. He had seen a performance posted on the One Direction Instagram, and he found another video of it on Youtube from years ago, probably around from when the band first started, he assumed. He would have to bring it up to Louis. There was just something about it, and it may or may not have been because Louis was the lead vocalist in the videos he found, and there was a power to his stage presence when he sang, his voice was so fucking cool and distinct, and the way he held the mic–

“Harry, you know I love you to death, but can you like– shut the hell up?” 

Harry suddenly looked up to see Mads standing in his doorway – he must have missed a knock. He stopped strumming the chords to the song he had just been thinking of, and groaned. “But it’s Friday night!” He exclaimed, to be met with an aghast stare from Madison. 

“It’s almost 4 AM!” She retorted, her eyes pleading for a chance at slumber. Harry really had been playing nonstop, for days now. Maybe he ought to grant her mercy.

“Okay, fine,” Harry conceded, quite easily, lifting his guitar from his lap. “But can you promise me you’ll help me put together an outfit for this gig when you can?” 

Mads, hardly coherent, replied, “of course,” followed by an audible sigh and a gentle slam of Harry’s door. Harry smiled to himself as he envisioned the show, with himself done up in something fancy. Though Madison studied ceramics, she was very involved with theater as well, and had a knack for fashion and design. 

Harry carefully collected the music sheets into a neat stack and placed them on his nightstand, and put away his guitar. After adjusting his lights and getting comfortable in his bed, he grabbed his phone, which he hadn’t touched in hours. He had a notification from before midnight.

23:07

Louis: Dinner tomorrow with lads after practice?

Harry had grown accustomed to these kinds of notifications from Louis. They came quite often, always regarding music or the band. Why else would Louis talk to him, anyway? As Harry studied the message, he felt his stomach twist with conflict. On one hand – yes, it did make him feel warm to think that Louis had thought of him. On another hand, Harry really couldn’t care less about performing as part of a band. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the lads – they were fine enough. Well, he sensed their hesitation with him, but he didn’t hold it against them. He was hesitant, too. And, it wasn’t about the music. He was actually quite a fan of everything Louis had sent him. It wasn’t about anything, really. Just that Harry had a preference for having every creative detail of his performances under his own control. If he didn’t feel like performing one night? He wouldn’t go. He didn’t have anybody to let down. If he suddenly wanted to perform a different song? He would; he didn’t have other people to depend on knowing the same notes. To him, extra people just seemed like unnecessary pressure, when what drew him to music in the first place was that it only required himself. So, would he go to this dinner? Probably not. 

But then, there was the way Louis looked at him when he was singing. As if he were a shooting star, or something. When Harry closed his eyes, he could see Louis’ directed stare, his hooded blue eyes, almost trying to mask his focus, but the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile and giving him away, anyway. God, Harry was sick. It was like his growing fascination (surely not obsession) with Louis had gotten worse since he decided he would bail on the band. He locked his phone without replying and set an alarm – there was another long practice planned for tomorrow. It was in the afternoon, but Harry didn’t want to go through the awkwardness of another late arrival. The taunting from the last time had been enough. Even though Harry had shown up late and careless-looking on purpose. He figured if he gave a shitty practice performance, Louis might tell him ‘nevermind’ about the whole thing. But then Louis had to go and touch him, and ruin his whole plan. Freak. Whatever.  

– 

The next afternoon, Harry woke up before his alarm. Even with a slow start, and a quiet tea alone in the kitchen, he still had plenty of extra time before practice. Harry decided to make use of it by taking a stroll around the block. He listened to the sounds of the birds and quiet chatter of passersby. The streets were tranquil, like everyone was away on vacation. It was a rather sunny winter day, and the direct sunlight against his skin felt like some remedy Harry hadn’t known he’d needed. Harry usually tried not to allow his mind to wander too far for the sake of his sanity, but it crossed his mind that he’d been in search of something for so long. He couldn’t tell you what it was he was searching for. He didn’t have any long-term goals, because he never felt aligned with any singular ‘life path’. That was why his studies had changed so often. He didn’t seem to ever feel quite satisfied. He wasn’t depressed, or even discontent– at least, he didn’t think he was. But now, the feeling of a sunbeam on the tip of his nose felt like the only true reward he would ever experience. But, it was good enough for now.

Refreshed enough, Harry collected his guitar and music sheets from his flat and made his way to the church, which he still found peculiar for a practice location, albeit charming. It reminded him of his childhood, although he never really paid attention during the services he attended with his grandparents. He would usually curl into his grandmother and fall asleep (bless her for allowing it), or daydream about the adventures he would go on once he was allowed to go on the playground, afterwards. This church looked exactly like that, except without a playground. Lame. 

The practice went smoothly. Harry found himself bonding quite easily with Niall and Liam, light banter making for a sincerely enjoyable afternoon. At some point during the practice, Niall and Harry fell into a half-hour argument over whether or not Avatar was worth its hype. Obviously it wasn’t, but Niall was hilarious to debate with. He did raise some good points about the complexity of the Na’vi language. Harry still felt like he won. 

Harry’s direct interactions with Louis and Zayn outside of playing were sparse, although he noticed they seem to banter and chat a lot. Zayn was definitely Louis’ closest mate. Both of them struck Harry as sharp and opinionated. It was nice to exist in the same place as Louis without feeling the ache of longing in his chest, for once. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t still crave Louis, because he did, but something about Saturday just felt lighter. And Harry was grateful for that. The two did share their standard glances, and Harry came close to approaching Louis about the song he’d found, Strangers. For whatever reason, he decided it wasn’t the right day. Maybe another time. 

As practice came to a satisfying end, Harry followed Louis down the stairs of the stage and out the front door. 

“I’m not going to be able to make it to dinner. I’ve got a lot of assignments,” Harry said. There was no real use in attempting to bond when he was positive this one performance would be the end of his band adventure. 

“Oh, alright,” Louis replied, and before he could make any further conversation, Harry was off on his own way. 

– 

When Harry arrived back at his flat, Madison was prepared. She had already seemingly emptied at least half of Harry’s closet, which was laid out all over the furniture.The living room was also littered with several large containers of various patches, ribbons, pins, buttons, and other little accessories. Mads had clearly been collecting this kind of stuff for a while.

“Half of this stuff came from my old college,” she said with a laugh. “Anyways, you said you needed an outfit. So, I’m ready when you are. I already thought of a couple ideas!” 

Harry closed the door as he registered the mess of a sight in front of him, before a grin flashed across his lips. Yes, this seemed like the perfect way to spend his Saturday night. After putting his coat and instrument away, he returned to sit on the floor and listen intently to whatever Madison had conjured up so far. Of course, he already had an idea of his own, but he did take Mads’ input seriously – she did have an eye. 

“So, I was thinking if you wore this, under this – or just this, whatever you’d like. And we could iron these rose patches on it,” Mads was holding up various shirts of Harry’s as he nodded and held a finger to his lips in thought. She went on for some time, which allowed Harry a chance to see all of the little embellishments she had to offer from the bottomless containers. After Mads was done presenting her ideas, Harry pulled a small box of pins over and rummaged through it until he laid eyes on something pointy and shimmery – it was a vintage-looking star-shaped lapel pin. 

“I definitely want this,” he decided, laying it off to the side on the coffee table. Madison smiled in understanding. 

“Great, and for your clothes? What’re you thinking?”

“Shirt and blazer, I think,” He stated, beginning to go through the items Mads had laid out. “I’ll do that blue button-down you had earlier.” 

Once Harry had decided on all of his base pieces, the two spent what must have been an hour pairing different necklaces and other accessories with it, until Harry was content with the pieces. They’d decided on a velvet black blazer, which really made the lapel pin standout, along with the smaller, outer-space themed embellishments they’d found – littler stars, a moon, and a comet, scattered precisely across the chest. They were mostly gold, which matched a golden, Aquarius pendant necklace Harry had owned for years. It was perfect – if Harry could make it to show night without changing his mind. 

“You’re an angel, Mads,” Harry beamed with gratitude, grabbing his pile of clothes to return to their rightful place for the night. 

– 

An exact week from that moment, down to the minute, Harry felt his consciousness suddenly snap into the hyper-awareness of existence. He was on the stage at the venue, microphone before him, and the band was about to perform their first song. The venue was dark, intimate, and there was a relaxed crowd, but Harry could tell they were already intrigued by the arrangement on stage. Or maybe, by him. The dark walls near the stage were lined with old concert posters, and the ceiling light fixtures looked like antiquated red lamp shades. The bar area was lit dimly orange, creating an atmosphere with a certain edge that made Harry’s insides twist with anticipation. The last week had passed by slowly, but the days felt quick, monotonous, and blurry. This Saturday evening had cycled around with a heavier air than the last one. Harry had spent the whole week making sure he knew the songs they were going to perform, both with his guitar and his voice. He’d wanted to kick himself for the severity of his nerves; the plan to quit the band was still intact. It wasn’t like he hadn’t performed publicly before. There had been a couple more practices during the week, with nothing too significant happening during or between them. His mind had built up a barrier between himself and Louis for his own survival. Harry truly hadn’t thought about Louis much at all; at least not during the daylight hours when there was any noise around. After tonight, he would be able to free himself from this stupid commitment, and from whatever hold Louis seemed to have on him.

They had arrived a couple of hours early to the venue to complete a proper soundcheck, which was a new process to Harry. Usually, he just showed up with his guitar and played. He had made small adjustments with sound technicians at some of the bars he’d performed at, but not much else. It was a neat process, and gave him a chance to properly warm up. His nerves had eased up during the soundcheck as he fell into the groove of the music. Louis’ presence also brought him some kind of indescribable ease, despite their unsteady dynamic. He could feel Louis’ stare as he sang during soundcheck, and it caused a wave of relief and comfort to course through him. Although Louis was particular about their set, Harry never felt any kind of judgment from Louis – moreso an understanding, and maybe even admiration. 

Now, as Harry glanced over at Louis on the keyboard, a determined brim in his sharp blue eyes, the band leader shared a glance with each member on stage as some sort of mutual signal before he began their first song, and the others joined in on their respective instruments. The first song was high energy and rock-driven, which quickly got Harry into the headspace that he needed to be in – he did well with energetic numbers; they allowed for some movement and flow. He clung to the microphone in its stand as he began to sing, his voice low and intentional. Within a verse, Harry felt himself falling fully into the number, as he tended to do with music that he loved. He was moving, too – his nerves dissipated into the darkness with every note as he seemed to absorb the stage lights. He was thoroughly consumed by the song. The crowd was getting into it, but Harry wasn’t ready to open up to their influence on him, just yet. Not during the first number. When the song ended, he caught his breath, and smiled, still holding onto his mic. 

The band performed a couple more short, original songs, before Louis took over on his own mic to do a customary introduction, as he continued playing intermittent notes. “I hope you’re all feeling us all, tonight. We’re One Direction. We’ve got a new vocalist. He’s doing a great job, so far, isn’t he?” He paused, allowing for a couple of shouts from the crowd. Harry stood in his place, his eyes locked on Louis as his hands suddenly felt much heavier and a shyness creeped over his expression. Louis stared at Harry with a smirk, his head tilting to the side for a moment before he continued. “It’s kind of his proper audition, tonight. I think he’s killing it.” Louis smiled, endeared by Harry’s sudden shift in demeanor, before announcing the next song. 

The show continued with an air of excitement, and as Harry flowed through the music, he understood the sudden appeal of playing onstage with a band. If he fell out of his element for a few moments, it wasn’t the end of the world, because there was support from the others. He felt that he could relax a bit more than he usually did, alone. Toward the end of the show, he was feeding off of the energy of the crowd, who had gradually become more enthralled as the set went on. Before the last song, Zayn took over on his mic, and briefly shouted out each member of the band. The last song was one of the first songs Harry had learned by the band (he’d listened to it several times from their Instagram page, before he had even decided to show up at auditions), so it was a thrilling breeze from him, and he found himself all over the stage. Right as the music came to a close, he was stood by Louis and his keyboard, his body still rattling with the electricity of the music. 

Harry leaned down, his lips brushing against Louis’ ear. “Do you know Lovefool?” He asked, holding his microphone away from his body. Confusion flashed across Louis’ face as he considered the words. 

“The song-” before Louis could complete his thought, Harry had already spun back toward center stage, and was beginning to croon the first verse into his mic. 

Dear, I fear we’re facing a problem..

Niall, playing an electric guitar tonight, immediately picked up on where Harry was going, and began to strum along. Liam, on the drums, also joined in. Harry knew exactly what he was doing. He hadn’t exactly planned on improvising a song, but the thought had passively crossed his fantasies. Not that he ever planned on actually going through with it – just that he had envisioned it. Like he’d repeated to himself countless times: this would be his only performance with the band. And, if that weren’t the case before, he knew it definitely would be, now, because Louis seemed so particular about the set, and Harry was going totally off-script. But, right now, none of that mattered – Harry was singing, enraptured by the emotion, and the audience felt it, too. The instrumentals were definitely spotty, but it didn’t seem to matter much. 

As the song ventured into the chorus, Harry’s fervor spread all across the stage as he sashayed. When he was near Louis again, he – without any hesitation – dragged his hand through the keyboardist’s hair, and down his neck, too. Louis was giving it his best effort on the keyboard, and to Harry’s pleasure, was improvising quite well – he at least knew the song. Louis was very visibly forcing himself to focus on the keys despite Harry’s prodding.

Love me, love me,

Say that you love me.

Leave me, leave me,

Just say that you need me.

I can’t care about anything but you.

Harry loitered around Louis for much longer than necessary, his fingers slipping down past the collar of his tee shirt as he continued the verse, his nails grazing the skin that he remembered well. God knows if Louis had been wearing a button-down, Harry would’ve undone it. Harry didn’t feel like he knew any limits at this very moment. Still, he was having enough fun, himself. He peeled himself away from Louis and skipped across the stage, the words falling from his lips like he’d invented them. The song was definitely a choice, and Harry had no regrets. After the band finished the number, a bit sloppily but nonetheless finished, Harry took a bow and took it upon himself to say the band’s goodnight. 

He honestly planned on bolting out once he had the chance. He’d accomplished the gig; he’d even had fun doing it. But, he had now accepted that his final departure was overdue. He helped the lads pack up equipment, and he grabbed his coat. Niall, Liam, and Zayn had begun to socialize a bit, which was even more of a cue for Harry to bounce. He didn’t even want to know where Louis was. As he picked up his guitar case (which he hadn’t even ended up playing, for the first time in a long time), he felt a hand on the back of his shoulder. He pivoted around to face no other than Louis, who still had this determined look in his eyes. 

“Oh, hey,” Harry muttered, frankly not in the mood to discuss anything about the show or the band. Louis had to be pissed, anyway, and Harry wasn't going to bother getting into it. “I’m sorry to rush out, but I’ve-”

“Harry,” Louis interrupted, his hand still placed on the taller man’s shoulder. His tone contained some kind of indescribable intensity. He slowly leaned in closer, his other hand carefully brushing back the curls on the right side of Harry’s face; Louis  pushed the strands back, so that Harry’s ear would be exposed. Harry’s mind was doubling over; they hadn’t had an interaction this loaded since that first practice at the church. He’d been too lost in himself on stage to really register Louis’ reactions during the show, anyway. Harry stood still, obliging with a curious gaze. Louis leaned towards Harry’s ear, his words slow and deliberate, as his fingers still clung to the end of one of Harry's ringlets. “Let me take you home.” 

Chapter Text

Maybe Harry should have said no. But here he was. Laid up in Louis’ flat, naked, in his bed, at some early morning hour before the sun had considered rising. Maybe he should have left after they’d wrapped up their session, too. Louis, beside him, was knocked out cold. The last time this’d happened, Harry had woken up around this time and vanished into the night. Right now, that flight instinct wasn’t as strong. He looked over at Louis, who was lying on his side, facing him. Because Harry had been up for a while, his eyes were well adjusted to the dark; he still couldn’t make out that many details, but he could see the outline of Louis’ cheekbones and his lips. Louis looked much more relaxed when he was sleeping. He was always so focused on something when he was awake. 

Harry, who’d been on his back, turned on his side so that he was facing Louis, and rested his hand on the mattress between their bodies. He wouldn’t dare touch Louis – that felt forbidden (as if Louis hadn’t already spent the night entangled with and inside of Harry). He could admire him, though. His eyes loitered across Louis’ exposed shoulders and chest, over his tattoos. ‘It is what it is.'  Right.

Why couldn’t he just leave? It would really be in Harry’s best interest to get up, jot a little note to thank Louis for the musical opportunity, and never speak to him again. Harry wasn’t really one to participate in hookups (at least, not with people he respected as much as Louis), particularly for this reason. They always drove him fucking crazy. He closed his eyes, trying to reel in his mind. Maybe he could just enjoy the moment. He’d fantasized about being back in this position, hadn’t he? He opened his eyes, again, to see Louis unmoved. The longer Harry looked at him, the more frustrated he grew – and the clearer the realization became that he would never land himself in this position again. Even if Harry went through with ditching the band – it wasn’t like Louis had expressed interest in any other aspects of his life. Harry knew they wouldn’t talk anymore. Not that they ever really did. 

Louis never even did anything special or worthy of his attention, Harry thought and attempted to replay through his internal ear, until it would stick. The problem with this method was that it was extraordinarily difficult to convince himself of that, while the other half of his brain was focused on the roundness of the tip of Louis’ nose, and how fucking badly he wanted to bite it. Besides, maybe it wasn’t true. Louis didn’t come across as a self-serving prick; there was some kind of intuitive understanding between them, wasn’t there? Or else Louis wouldn’t have chased Harry out of the bar that night. The memory of that encounter brought a softness over Harry, and he decided to risk his comfort. He lifted his hand from the mattress and - with great hesitancy - brought it to Louis’ forehead, brushing his hair away from his eyelids. He briefly imagined how he would react if Louis opened his eyes – Jesus, he had no idea. Louis remained still, totally undisturbed. 

Harry lowered his hand and continued to stare, not even attempting to sleep. What if he accidentally slept too long and overstayed his welcome? What if Louis had expected him to leave as soon as they finished up? He laid there and thought, and thought, and thought himself into a damn episode. It wasn’t even about Louis anymore. Harry felt a tightness beginning to twist in his chest, and he rolled onto his stomach, his arms wrapping around his pillow as he buried his face into it. Why couldn’t he just be normal, and have some fucking self restraint, for once? He inhaled and exhaled deeply against the pillow, fighting against the imminent nervous breakdown. At the end of the day, Harry knew that Louis was a drop of water in the pond of his life. Harry was deeply embarrassed that something so small - like their shared glances - was enough for him to latch onto some fantastical feeling, and become a wreck over the mere chance of some special connection. Nothing had even happened between them, for Christ’s sake. Not really. 

And it wasn’t like Louis had even rejected him. Well, not besides that lunch date at Libbie’s. But the mere ease with which Louis seemed to deal with Harry – he never seemed nervous or uncertain; in fact, Harry knew that Louis was teasing him with the little comment he’d made at practice: ‘Are you here to play music, or fuck?’, or something like that. Louis was clearly unaffected by the whole hooking up thing. Which should have been fine – but in moments like this, it just seemed to remind Harry that he was the vulnerable one; it felt like no matter where he went, in life, it always seemed like he was the one with something to lose. When Harry felt his breathing start to hitch, he tightened his grip around the pillow, and focused on keeping himself still and quiet. He really preferred not to wake Louis up by acting like a case in his bed. 

At some point during his self-soothing, Harry briefly lifted his eyes from his pillow to see deep blue waves of dusk beginning to spill through the blinds and past the curtains. Daylight. That was his cue. Attempting to minimize disturbance, he removed himself from the bed very slowly and quietly, and began to scour the floor for his clothes. Louis’ room wasn’t the worst, but God, it could use a tidying up. Once he found his clothes, he began to quickly dress himself. As he was putting on his pants, he noticed that Louis had raised up on his elbows, and was squinting at him through the darkness. 

“You don’t have to run off, y’know,” Louis murmured, his voice heavy with sleep as he used one of his hands to rub at his eyes. Louis’ sudden alertness caused Harry to pause his motion, the shirt in his hands falling silently back to the floor. Harry was still for a moment, his mind attempting to process if Louis was making another teasing joke, or if he actually meant it. It really wasn’t that complicated – Louis had just woken up. Harry was just on edge from all of his late-night analyses. As he quieted his mind, he reluctantly walked back toward the side of the bed that he’d gotten up from, each step feeling more like a trap than the last. 

Louis watched Harry’s achingly slow return, his expression impossible for Harry to read. Probably because it was overwhelmed by sleepiness. “Fucking hell, Harry, do you think I’m gonna bite you or something? Get in bed,” Louis mumbled, accent thick, his eyes still strained in the low light. The younger man didn’t answer, but obliged, crawling back into his previous spot and slipping beneath the warmth of the covers, again. Satisfied, Louis fell back onto his pillow, returning to the position on his side as his eyes fell closed. 

After some moments of paused silence, Louis whispered, “Turn.” His hand scoured over the sheets and eventually pressed against Harry’s waist, prodding for him to turn on his side, too. Again, Harry listened, not considering much else when he was receiving that kind of direction from Louis. Once Harry was comfortable with his new position, on his side facing away from Louis, he felt the other’s familiar warmth draw closer to his back. A gentle arm slipped across his waist beneath the sheets. Louis’ hold on Harry temporarily tightened as he arranged himself closer to him. Then, Louis relaxed again, his breathing pattern slowly returning to the pace he maintained when he was asleep. 

Harry closed his eyes, unable to continue the self-torture routine that had kept him in a mental whirlpool for hours. All he could feel was the warmth of Louis’ skin against his own, and the slow breathing against the back of his neck. Louis was holding him. As if it were just a natural step in a chain of events. Harry could hear a slight shakiness in his own breath, but he was sure it was subtle enough to evade the attention of Louis, who had probably already fallen back asleep. But, like some stroke of pure magic, Harry’s muscles began to relax, one by one, and he could feel the enchantment of sleep beginning to creep up on him. This time, he was able to fully surrender, no battle necessary. 

–

The sun blared through the closed (but evidently cheap) blinds, onto Harry’s face. His body fought against the sun’s demand for him to wake, and rolled away from the window, to the now-empty side of the bed. His movement caused his consciousness to begin to stir, and that was when he realized that Louis was not in the bed with him anymore. He let out a long sigh as his body and mind began to come to, before sitting up and looking around the room. 

Louis’ bedroom was quite plain, decoration-wise. Harry noticed piles of stacked notebooks with loose paper shoved inside them on a desk, which was submerged by more paper. There was paper scattered on various surfaces galore. Besides that, Harry noticed shelves full of records. There was a single framed painting on the wall opposite the window, which was a stylized, colorful landscape. A tiger hid in the leaves. As he examined the room, Harry reached his arms up to stretch. He could hear the television in the next room, so he figured Louis hadn’t gone anywhere. He felt mildly nervous about facing him.

After getting dressed, Harry walked into the living room to find Louis half-heartedly watching some film Harry hadn’t seen. Louis turned his head to face Harry as he ventured further into the room. “Morning,” Louis stated casually, as if it weren’t an out-of-the-ordinary scenario. Harry, still mildly hazy from sleep and an emotional hangover, stared at Louis with a certain hesitancy as he leaned against the armrest of the sofa. The living room, he noticed, was neater than the bedroom. There were still stacks of paper and physical media loitering around, along with some instruments and low-maintenance looking plants. It was very simplistic, but held a surprisingly cozy feeling.  

Amused by Harry’s unsure demeanor, Louis chuckled and glanced back at the television. “Feel free to come in. Doesn’t have to be weird,” Louis assured quietly, lifting his mug to take a sip. Harry, unconvinced, looked toward the front door. Promptly leaving felt like the correct option. It had probably been a mistake to accept Louis’ offer after the gig, and probably a greater mistake to sleep there through the night. 

Still, Louis’… nonchalant attitude was somewhat contagious - if Louis wasn’t uncomfortable, Harry didn’t have to be, either. And, Harry dreaded the thoughts he knew would take over whenever he was alone, again. As Harry walked around to sit down on the sofa, a sudden realization flashed across Louis’ face. “I’ll make you a cuppa. Didn’t know what time you were going to get up,” He stated, and lifted himself up to make his way into the kitchen. 

Just then, Harry heard his own familiar ringtone from back in the bedroom. He’d forgotten his phone. He stepped back into where he’d slept and found his phone on the floor where his clothes had spent the majority of the night. He picked it up; it was a call from his mum. He immediately answered, “Hello?”

Her voice was chirpy on the other end. “Harry! Love, I’ve been trying to reach you all morning,” she said, and Harry could hear her smile through her words. He must have slept through his phone ringing. 

“Morning, mum,” he replied, almost closing the bedroom door for some privacy. 

“Happy birthday!” She cheered, and Harry smiled. “What are your plans for the day? I sent you something in the mail, I hope it gets there by today”

“Aw, you didn’t have to. I’m sure I’ll love whatever it is. I’m not sure what I’ll do today, just yet. Maybe a little exploring,” he replied, peeking through the crack in the door to see if he could see Louis from the angle. He could not. 

“Well, that sounds fun. I know how you love to be out and about. Were you still playing with that band you mentioned?” 

Harry laughed quietly, turning away from the door and stepping further into the room. He continued to look around at various little knick-knacks in the room while he was on the phone with his mum, making easy conversation with her. He often missed her. They caught up like this every week or so. Shortly though, he ended the call, and returned to the living room. Harry scrolled through his phone as he took slow steps, skimming through the few birthday texts he’d received over the past couple of hours. It was enough to remind him that he had people in his life who truly cared, and it brought a smile to his face.

Louis had finished preparing the tea and held it out to Harry before the both of them returned to the sofa. “Thank you,” Harry stated, taking a small sip. 

“I don’t know how you slept through your phone ringing,” Louis chuckled. “It’s been nonstop all morning. I was about to go in and silence it myself if you hadn’t gotten up. Something urgent?”

Harry brought the mug to his lips once more, focusing on the warmth and flavor of the drink before smiling. “Well, it’s my birthday,” he said casually, his eyes landing on the television screen. “My mum was trying to get a hold of me.”

Louis reacted instantly. “Your birthday?” He repeated, glancing over at Harry. Harry’s eyes lingered on the screen before he looked toward Louis again. 

He hummed in confirmation. “Mhm.”

“Well, happy birthday,” Louis stated, a twinge of some indecipherable emotion in his voice. Not quite as dramatic as remorse, but something .

“Thanks.” 

After a couple minutes of hesitant silence, masked only by the volume of the television that was too low to even understand, Louis spoke again, turning his entire body to face Harry. “Harry, I want to make something very clear to you,” he began, and Harry instantly switched his attention, setting his mug down on the coffee table.

Louis continued, “You know you don’t have to do the band. Not if you don’t want to.” His eyes were locked on Harry’s now. 

Harry wasn’t sure what flashed across his own face, but it must have been something, because Louis cracked a small, knowing smile. “I knew you didn’t want to.”

“Hey, wait,” Harry protested, shaking his head as he looked at Louis. “Where is this coming from? I never said anything like that.” But, of course – it was true. Harry knew it was true, and apparently Louis knew it was true, too. He wasn’t expecting to be hit with the conversation, though. After all, he had planned on ghosting the band after the gig last night. 

“I don’t know, I just get the feeling. Maybe you don’t want to disappoint me, or something. I just wanted you to know that it’s alright. We’ll manage,” Louis replied.

Harry was quiet. Louis brought what had reeled in a loop in his mind for weeks out into the open, and Harry had no idea how to react or what to say. And why was this coming up now? Was Louis trying to get rid of him? He really shouldn’t think like that. Not right now, on his birthday. Not in front of Louis. 

“I can’t believe you’re kicking me out of the band on my birthday,” Harry eventually uttered, a smile on his lips. 

Louis chuckled, the serious demeanor he’d put on beginning to fade as it seemed like he’d gotten out what he wanted to say. “Yeah, well. It’s a cut throat industry, you know.”

Harry lifted his mug again and took a long sip as he turned back to the television. He decided to take control of the remote and flick through different options. The air between them was something new. The band didn’t seem to be a topic of conversation either one of them wanted to delve into more, at the moment. Harry wasn’t sure either of them knew what to do with it.

“Surely your birthday plans don’t include sitting on my sofa all day,” Louis eventually teased, though he was leaned back, curious what Harry would do. 

“Not particularly. I didn’t have any in-stone plans this year. Mads– my roommate, she’s out of town this weekend for family stuff. I usually just find something new to do,” Harry explained.

“By yourself?” Louis frowned. “You want me to call the lads?” 

Harry quickly shook his head. “No, no. It’s not like that.” He looked over at Louis. The older man’s hair looked neat, but not too neat – it still had some fluff to it, and the occasional curl at the ends. His expression was one of concern, which endeared him to Harry. Harry had been honest, though; he didn’t mind spending birthdays (or even holidays, in some cases) alone. He’d made some truly memorable experiences that way – he’d visited many museums, galleries, and concerts – all of which can be nicer alone. 

Louis didn’t seem convinced, but he accepted it. When Harry couldn’t find anything he deemed worth watching, he set the remote down. “You’re right, though. I guess I should get going. I shouldn’t waste the day.” Harry stood up and returned his mug to the kitchen. As he slipped into his coat, Louis followed behind him, looking like he was debating on his next move. 

As Harry opened the front door, Louis stopped him, his hand moving swiftly to Harry’s arm. Maybe he hadn’t accepted it. “Well, let me come out with you, yeah?” Louis’ tone seemed almost shy , which amused Harry. This interaction felt much more like the first one they’d had, outside of the bar. Harry laughed, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Louis, it’s really okay. I don’t mind it–”

“Come on,” Louis interrupted, tilting his head. “It doesn’t have to be for the whole day. Just go home for a bit and I’ll come to you. I’ll get you birthday lunch, at least. ” There was a sort of urgency in Louis’ eyes that convinced Harry quite easily. He found it very difficult to say no. 

“Alright,” Harry agreed, biting back the smile that hinted at his lips. Then, he was out the door. 

–  

Louis hardly waited any time at all before he boarded a bus to Camden. His mind had been in a sort of blur since the night before. He really hadn’t intended to bring Harry home, but he’d been overpowered. He guessed the whole no-fucking-your-bandmates thing could be thrown out the window, now. Well, maybe. It didn’t seem like Harry would be his bandmate anymore, anyway. Not that Louis was happy about this – no, far from it. But he’d seen it in Harry’s performance last night. Harry wasn’t truly performing until that impromptu number at the end, there. There was something different in Harry’s eyes during Lovefool, and Louis knew that Harry must get the most out of having that kind of control and freedom. He didn’t do bands, after all. Louis could see why. In fact, he’d meant to talk to Harry about it, there at the venue. Just, other ideas got in the way. 

But, regardless of how Louis felt about the band and its future, there was another element to Harry that made him feel almost sick. How quickly he had learned the music Louis had sent him. How readily he’d gone home with Louis – not once, but twice . His eyes and the way he’d tugged on Louis’ ankle when they’d gotten lunch at Libbie’s. Harry was honest and readable. The only way a band works, anyway, is honesty. Louis wouldn’t tolerate keeping anyone in it if they didn’t truly want to contribute. And when it came to Harry, that applied double. Harry’s authenticity materialized into something so pure that Louis couldn’t stand the thought of boxing him in. He refused to do it. And he could see the relief in Harry’s eyes when he brought the topic up, earlier. So, he figured that the conversation was settled and done with. Even if Harry had given him an unclear response. Louis wouldn’t bring it up, anymore.

As for his readiness to accompany Harry on his birthday ventures – that, he had less answers for. Harry had never mentioned his birthday. Also, even if he refused to think about it too deeply, Louis knew that he didn’t hook up with Harry for no reason. Despite his behaviors, Louis wasn’t the type to do that. There was a real attraction there; that much was clear. What Louis wanted to do about it was another story.  

Still, he couldn’t let Harry spend his birthday alone. The idea was ridiculous. He was sure Harry was honest about enjoying it alone, or whatever, but Louis just wasn’t wired to let him leave the flat under those circumstances – not without at least a lunch date. So, here he was, exiting the bus at the Camden station nearest Harry’s flat. 

The air was biting, but the sun shone surprisingly bright for a winter day. Louis decided to have a quick smoke before nearing Harry’s flat; he had a little time to kill anyway. Once he deemed an appropriate amount of time had passed, he approached Harry’s place. He remembered where it was from the night they’d met. He knocked on the front door and slipped his hands into his pockets. Harry answered shortly. He had definitely showered and gotten himself tidy; Louis could smell the freshness – not in an overwhelming way, but enough. Fresh linen with a hint of citrus. Like when he’d massaged his scalp. Harry was wearing light wash skinny jeans and a sweater with a patchy graphic sweater with simple little trees and bears and squirrels. Louis thought his grandmother might have a quilt of the same pattern. 

“You get ready fast,” Louis commented. 

“You came over fast. Christ, did you leave right after me?” Harry opened the door wider so Louis could step in.

Louis laughed and stepped past the frame, closing the door behind him. He noticed Harry’s curls were still damp at the ends. He resisted the urge to reach out and twist one; truth be told, he found it quite difficult to not touch Harry in some fashion or another. Just part of that energy about him, Louis guessed. 

“Didn’t even bring me a gift,” Harry muttered under his breath, though his tone was playful as he eyed Louis. “Give me a minute. I’m almost done,” he promised, disappearing from the main room. The sudden lightness of the energy between them caused Louis’ thoughts to press – why was he here? He just wanted to make sure Harry had a decent birthday, was all. 

By the time Harry returned, his curls were dry, and he had sunglasses perched on his head, pulling them back from his face. “Come on, then,” he stated, prompting Louis to stand up from the sofa before they exited. 

As they got to walking down the street, Harry glanced at Louis and laughed quietly to himself. Louis smiled and asked, “What?” Even though he could already guess what Harry was going to say. 

“Just a little weird, no?” Harry asked, pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes. “We haven’t really talked about anything other than the band.”

“I know. Well, a little bit, we have. We talked about your studies. Are you enjoying them, still?”

Harry reached into his bag as they turned a corner, grabbing a beanie and pulling it over his head and ears. It was colder than he’d anticipated. “My studies,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I enjoy it, sure, but it’s at that point in the year where I’m kind of done, you know? It’s just hard to focus on one single topic for so long. Besides, I’ve changed my focus so many times. You know the first thing I studied was economics?” 

Louis pitied the thought of somebody like Harry studying economics. He shook his head. “Well, good thing you’re out of that. At least philosophy has all of those schools of thoughts and branches, hm? If you get bored of one, you can try another?” 

Harry nodded. “I do like that. There’s always something new. I get frustrated, because at the end of the day, it’s still other people’s ideas. My professors – a lot of them are so deep in one or two philosophers. I don’t think I could be like that. There’s too much out there to limit yourself like that.” 

Louis enjoyed how easy it was to get Harry talking. “Well, do you have a favorite?” 

“Spinoza,” Harry didn’t miss a beat. “I love the concept of everything as this interdependent system. Everything is connected. Bit hippie-ish, maybe, but I think it’s true.” 

Of course it was Spinoza. Louis smiled, but his stomach began to contort. He feared he’d gotten off on the wrong foot with Harry. He’d been so focused on the band that he’d neglected to learn about Harry as he was, as the person walking beside him. Even basic information. It made him feel guilty, frankly. And the fact that he’d been intimate with him, twice– well, Louis could afford to put that thought off, for now. 

“Well?” Harry said, looking at Louis like he’d just had to repeat himself. 

“What?” 

“I asked if you had a favorite philosopher.” Ah, so Harry had repeated himself. 

“Not particularly,” Louis replied, chuckling. “I’m sure you’ve read much more than me. I like that story from Plato, about the cave and the shadows. Where he basically says that everyone lives in ignorance and still don’t believe it when you show them the truth.” 

“I know the one,” Harry replied, chuckling. “Makes sense for you.” Just then, Harry abruptly stopped and held his arm out in front of Louis to stop him, too. “Wait, I’ve always wanted to try this place.” To their right was a colorfully themed restaurant called Mondo Mundo Monde. “They have a rotating menu with foods from different cultures,” Harry explained, lowering his arm from in front of Louis. He lightly gripped Louis’ black coat sleeve to lead him closer to the entrance before dropping it. 

When they entered, it was crowded, and Louis wondered if they would be able to get a spot. Thankfully, the hostess announced that they had one more open table. Unlike Libbie’s, this restaurant was unlike any place Louis would ever venture into on his own free will, but Harry seemed delighted. The tables were placed only inches apart with intricate cloths hanging from them, and the atmosphere was trendy with neon signs hung on the walls; it seemed like someplace that wouldn’t exist in a few years, or would just adapt with the times. Whatever they were serving today — the spices smelled strong to Louis. 

As he glanced over the provided menus, Louis realized that the hit of the week seemed to be Ethiopian dishes. He scoured the options for something that sounded vaguely familiar to something he would normally order, and came up short. Harry seemed enraptured, though, as he kept reading the menu items aloud to Louis. Louis read and reread the menu until it was finally time to place their order, and by that time, he had given up. He didn’t mind, though. 

“It seems like you’re supposed to create, like, a shareable dish,” Harry said. “Do you wanna–”

“Just get whatever you want for the platter, then. It’s your birthday. I’m good with anything. It all looks good,” Louis lied at the last sentence, and Harry could tell. He smiled. He ordered the yetsom beyaynetu, a popular vegetarian dish with a lot of variety. It was a mix of vegetables and curries on a flatbread called injera. Harry hadn’t had anything like it. 

After the waiter left, Harry spoke, “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t give you much of a choice before I dragged you in here. Maybe you’ll like it,” he stated encouragingly, like he could will it to happen.

“Maybe,” Louis agreed, though he knew better. 

Lunch was relatively quiet. Harry didn’t seem interested in forcing conversation, and Louis was more than happy with that. There was the occasional comment about the meal, but the pair of them seemed to be quiet eaters, for the most part. Or , more likely, it was all still a little strange, given their circumstances. Louis could believe that he understood Harry through his performances and through music all day long, but that didn’t change that he knew quite little about the man sitting across from him. 

Throughout lunch, Harry’s eyes lingered on Louis, as if he were expecting something. Louis didn’t know what he could be expecting – probably for the topic of the band to come up again, but Louis had said his piece. It was final. 

After lunch, Harry and Louis returned outside, and Harry adjusted the beanie on his head. “You really didn’t have to do that. Thank you, though,” he grinned. “I loved it,” and he meant it. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and half-turned away from Louis, as if he planned on walking in a different direction, shortly. Louis’ eyebrows scrunched toward one another.

“What are you gonna get up to, now?” Louis questioned. He could tell that Harry’s body language was reserved. 

“Um, I don’t know,” Harry amusedly exhaled, shoulders shrugging. 

Louis was quiet for a moment, though he felt some semblance of adrenaline brewing in his chest. His back teeth gnawed on the inside of his cheek as he studied Harry – Yes , Louis wouldn’t deny that he felt like he owed Harry something for the whole band ordeal. But beyond that, there was a simpler truth. He didn’t want to leave him, yet. 

“You wanna do something?” Louis blurted out, his eyes shifting toward Harry’s shoes. Not the shimmery boots, but boots. 

Harry faced Louis fully, again, arms uncrossing. “Do something?” He asked, a questionable smirk on his lips. “I’m not coming home with you again, if that’s what you want.” Even though Harry’s dig was at Louis’ expense, there was something exhilarating about being face to face with this Harry, again. The one who seemed aware of his own sway. 

“Well, I would hope you weren’t that easy. Christ,” Louis retorted. He paused. “I mean… Wanna go to Southend?” 

Harry’s green eyes widened, and Louis wondered if his were those kind of eyes that changed colors. He knew his own seemed to – one day a dull grey, next day sky blue. Harry’s eyes didn’t seem as variable; from every recollection Louis had, they were green. Earth green. 

“Southend,” Harry repeated, appearing to contemplate the option as he brought a finger up to the corner of his lips. He hummed. 

“What? You don’t do Southend?” Louis playfully challenged, now turning away from Harry and nodding his head in the direction he inched toward. “Come on.” 

Like it was the natural thing to do, Harry turned, too, and began walking with Louis toward the nearest train station. “You’re totally hijacking my birthday adventure,” he grumbled, but Louis could see him biting back that grin. 

“Yeah, well.” Louis laughed. “You keep letting me.” 

The train ride was a peaceful and quiet one. There weren’t that many people going out that direction at this time of day, in this season. It was still winter, after all, and Southend was a seaside, mildly touristy destination. Louis was familiar enough with the place to get around; one of his childhood best friends used to always invite the class there for his summertime birthday parties. Louis had been jealous, at the time, even though he wouldn’t trade his Christmas Eve birthday for anything. He remembered running on the pier, the wide open sand, and the sunshine. And, luckily, today was quite a sunny day. As the pair exited the station and descended the steps toward the quaint town centre (littered with just about every kind of shop you could imagine), Harry was still going back and forth between staring at Louis and keeping his eyes ahead. Louis ignored it, but the blood in his veins flowed a mile a minute when he could feel Harry’s eyes. “What would you normally be doing right now?” Harry asked. 

Louis shrugged. “I’d probably be over at Zayn’s, doing nothing. Maybe we’d write some.” 

“For the band,” Harry stated; it wasn’t a question, just a solid assumption. 

“Yeah,” Louis confirmed. 

Harry was quiet again. They strolled along down the middle of the street; cars couldn’t access this section. Strings of tiny red and blue flags hung above them, and only a few people - presumably locals - accompanied them on the little strip this afternoon. It was a different and (to Louis, anyway) a welcome change of scenery from London, which was always bustling. Especially on the weekends. He supposed Harry would enjoy the serenity, but he couldn’t be sure. Of course he wanted him to like it. Despite the nip in the air, the sunlight provided a touch of warmth to their cheeks. 

They didn’t walk particularly fast, toward the beach; there were moments when Louis was sure Harry was about to ignite some conversation. Then, he wouldn’t. Louis couldn’t say much, though, because he wasn’t too talkative, either. Harry didn’t seem to be bothered by the quietness between them, though. Louis noticed that at some point, Harry had put his sunglasses back on. It was almost funny to him - the younger man looked so much more serious with his eyes hidden, that transparency of emotion no longer immediately detectable. His charm might not even enrapture you – well, until he smiled. And Louis seemed to catch plenty of those, to his delight. He found his occasional glances at Harry to grow longer as they walked. For no particular reason, he wanted to be inside of Harry’s mind. The way he felt like he could be when he watched Harry sing, or when they’d slept together. 

Even if they weren’t rattling off their standard wit to one another, Louis enjoyed walking aside Harry; there were a couple times Harry had started humming to himself, before knocking it off, as if he’d suddenly remembered that Louis was there, and he wasn’t alone. He must have spent a lot of time alone, Louis reckoned. It came almost too naturally to Harry, in a way that bore a weight in Louis’ chest. 

Unable to restrain himself from interrupting their together-solitude, Louis suddenly pivoted toward a store front, his hand delicately grasping Harry’s wrist and guiding him over, as Harry had done to him at that forsaken restaurant. 

“Christmas store?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “That was literally a month ago.”

“Didn’t your mum ever teach you about finding a good deal?” Louis asked, releasing Harry’s wrist as they entered the shop. The air was suddenly overly taken by that classic scent Christmas shops always have, like a wintery candle – hints of cinnamon, vanilla, peppermint, the works. 

Harry followed behind Louis, unconvinced by the promise of the place. “Are you looking for a certain decoration?” Harry asked, chuckling at the prospect of some unforgettable New Year’s deal. 

Louis shook his head as they moved past shelves of snowglobes and tabletop knick-knacks, like angels and Christmas villages. It seemed to be one of the older Christmas stores, so there were quite a few handmade-looking gifts. “I just like it. Since I moved out on my own– I always say I’m going to decorate. Every year. And I always put it off until it’s too late,” Louis explained. The store was entirely empty. 

As Louis moved to the wall strung with hundreds of ornaments, Harry watched him, curiously. “Sorry. This won’t take long,” Louis promised, his eyes lingering upon the rows of shapes and colors. 

“Don’t have anywhere to be,” Harry reminded him. After what couldn’t have been longer than a couple of minutes of exploring the little wooden interior of the store, Louis seemed satisfied and they exited and continued on their way. 

They continued that same routine, going in and out of a couple various quirky shops on the street. Harry was the most charmed by a magic shop. The inside walls were purple and thoroughly themed, little top hats and wands strewn about. Harry even accepted the shop owner’s offer to perform one of those standard card tricks at the register counter. Harry picked a card from three rows, and by the end of the trick, the ‘magician’ had gotten Harry to choose his own original card from the deck. Louis could tell how the guy’d done it; it was a classic, unable-to-fuck-up prediction trick. Still, Harry was clearly wooed. Birthday boy had intended to leave empty-handed, but Louis wouldn’t allow it; he had to show Harry how to do that trick. It was just a regular, inexpensive deck of cards, so he bought it. 

Harry laughed at Louis’ purchase once they returned outside. 

“What’s funny?  I’m going to teach you how to do it,” Louis promised. 

“I don’t want to learn how to do it,” Harry replied quickly, his tone becoming half-serious. “That’d spoil the magic. Then what?” 

Louis huffed, deflated by Harry’s answer. “It’s magical to know what goes into it, though, isn’t it?” 

Harry shrugged, smiling as they turned a corner. Louis dropped the cards into his coat pocket. Now, they were walking by these vibrantly colored fronts – glaring yellows and reds and blues, all jumping out at you with different arcade names, with rows of game machines visible from the pavement. These places were meant to be admired at night, with their neon shapes and rattling music. Still, they brought a wave of nostalgia over Louis. He hadn’t been out here in years, he’d realized. He’d loved those arcades. He felt a twinge of guilt that he’d somehow taken Harry, on his birthday, to a memorial of his own childhood. 

“Do you like arcades?” Louis asked, subtly slowing his pace as they walked beneath one of the awnings. 

Harry naturally slowed his pace to match Louis’, his eyes darting into the arcade that they were in front of. “Love them,” he grinned, starting toward the door. “You think this is a good one?” 

“I know it’s a good one,” Louis assured. Taking a moment to recall where the token machines were, Louis led the way through the arcade. It was carpeted, like any worthy arcade, with the classic confetti design and enlivening music and noises rattling off the machines. This one seemed focused on having a diverse array, as there was a solid selection of both retro and modern games. 

“I can get the tokens,” Harry offered. 

“It’s your birthday,” Louis responded simply, inserting his money into the machine. As the tokens clinked into the metal cup, Louis felt his stomach lurch from the familiar noise. It was like he was on a first date, all of a sudden. Except even weirder , because it wasn’t a date, and there was no explicit cause for him to be here with Harry, who he hardly even knew . He reached in and gathered all of the tokens, slipping them into his free coat pocket as he turned. 

When he met Harry’s eyes again, the twist in his abdomen sharpened, and he didn’t know why it hurt. It was as if his natural-given instincts were blocked by an impossible constraint. 

Louis  could tell that Harry (the observer that he was) noticed something off, because he parted his lips to speak. But, Louis spoke first. “You have arcade favorites?” 

“The claw machines,” Harry immediately answered, turning to look past a row of racing games. “I saw them, over there.”

Louis bit back a smile. Of course Harry would love the biggest scam ever introduced to the world of arcades. He would grant Harry his wish without any commotion, though. 

While Harry controlled the knob to the claw machine, Louis watched with an intent but questionable hope. Harry was trying to pick up a stuffie. He didn’t seem too concerned with the actual content of the machine, but Louis could see a serious determination in his eyes to ‘win.’ Out of the three attempts Harry made, he came quite close, twice. The claw dropped the stuffie right before it could swing into its final position. Even Louis had fully bought into the thrill of hope for a moment. “You want me to give it a go for you?” Louis asked.

“What good would you winning do me?” Harry teased. Louis found that this arcade really gave you your money’s worth; mostly everything cost a single token, so the two spent their tokens freely. Harry was drawn toward the games that required some stroke of luck, like the machine where you tug down the handle and spin to win tickets. What was amusing to Louis was that Harry never seemed to win, but he didn’t hesitate to test his luck, again and again. Louis would’ve called the behavior ridiculous at some point, but Harry may have been on to something. What was there to lose, anyway? 

As their token count began to dwindle, many games had been conquered - air hockey (Harry won, despite a genuine effort from Louis), the retro machine classics like Ms. Pacman (not her desolate husband), even The Typhoon (that one was Louis’ dying wish). They were down to 2 coins, and it seemed like all of the options had been exhausted. “Let’s save them for next time,” Harry suggested.

Louis hummed in agreement, his hands slipping back into his pockets as they headed toward the exit. He could see from the glass doors that clouds had overtaken the sky. It wasn’t dark, yet, but it would be, soon.

Suddenly, it was as if a machine appeared from beneath the floor. Louis had no idea how he’d missed it, but there it stood. Glowing in its nostalgic green and orange glory. He stopped in his tracks when he saw it, glancing over at Harry (who’d also apparently missed it) before back at the game machine. “We can’t go yet,” Louis announced.

Harry turned back, his eyes flickering between Louis and the machine in front of him. From his knowing expression, Louis realized that Harry probably hadn’t missed it. “Oh God,” Harry groaned, a laugh slipping from his lips. “Guitar Hero?” 

Louis frowned at Harry’s tone, retrieving the two tokens from his pocket. Despite the attitude Harry had copped, he stepped beside Louis and lifted the faux guitar strap around himself as Louis inserted the tokens. “So, you don’t think it’s a little corny?” Harry asked, as Louis swung his own strap over his shoulder. 

“What? Are you bad, or something? I can put it on beginner mode,” Louis quipped. “Didn’t you play this when you were little?” He asked, more seriously, as the two of them selected their characters. Louis took the lead guitar, leaving Harry with the bass. 

“Believe it or not, I was playing my real guitar,” Harry retorted.

It was one of those statements that would usually rub Louis the wrong way, but he felt himself charmed, nonetheless. That was Harry, as Louis had experienced him before. “Right, right,” he replied. “I’ll let you pick the song. God knows you’d do it anyway.” 

Harry scoffed in amusement, scrolling through the options of the machine. He didn’t take long at all; it was like he knew when he saw the title. Float On.

“Cute,” Louis mumbled, adjusting his hands on the plastic guitar like it were a professional instrument. As the song started playing from the speakers, quite loud, and the notes began to appear, Louis hit his sequences without error. He quickly realized that Harry must’ve been honest about playing his ‘real’ guitar, because he missed several notes off the bat, as he got into the groove of the equipment. 

Louis laughed quietly, eyes flickering several times toward Harry, who was focusing intently on the screen and the accuracy of his notes, like he wanted to win. Harry improved with each verse, even though Louis must have doubled his score by the middle of the song. 

During the second chorus, Harry seemingly gave up on his original attempt. He began to bob his head and body to the song, no longer locked into his assigned sequence. Louis’ felt his eyes drifting toward Harry for extended stretches of the song, to the point where he was missing several notes, himself. 

By the final minute of the song, Harry was hardly using his guitar, anymore, except as a prop for his… dance, or whatever you would call it. Louis wouldn’t draw a real distinction between Guitar Hero Harry and Linger Harry. Either way – his eyes burned the same. The birthday boy was just feeling the music. Real guitar or not. He inched closer to Louis as he bounced, leaning near his ear. “I’d be killing you, if these were real, I bet,” Harry whispered, slightly lifting the neck of the ‘guitar.’ The twist that Louis had felt in his stomach earlier felt like it was simultaneously tightening and unwinding.  

“And we’ll all float on, all right,” Harry sang along with the end of the song under his breath as he turned back toward the screen. When the final scores appeared, the audience booed their characters, which elicited a laugh from the younger man. “That’s fucking wonderful.” 

Harry and Louis exited the arcade to a slightly chillier and darker air, but Louis felt much warmer than before, himself. The sun hadn’t quite set, but it would be less than an hour. The two shortly approached the area where the town centre connected to beach access. Louis paused at the overlook viewpoint beside the stairs for a moment, looking out onto the sand and the water; there wasn’t a soul in sight. He didn’t think it was that cold outside, but he would gladly reserve the beach for Harry and himself. He silently reached for Harry’s hand before they descended the steps, and he could feel Harry’s cooler fingers curl around the back of his as they moved. Only now was he beginning to become aware of the simple truth that had been desperately clawing from the inside of his lungs all day: he just wanted to be close to Harry. 

Neither of them spoke for a while, as they walked along the darkening beach. But, it was a different kind of silence from before – less awkward, more contemplative. At some random moment in time, Harry pulled his hand away. When Louis looked at him, he was looking out at the water. The silence was harmless, at first, but as the minutes dragged on, it felt to Louis like the stakes to say anything were growing. And it became more and more difficult to think of a way to break that risky silence. So, he decided that he wouldn’t.  

Inevitably, the sun set, and the pair of them returned to the train station, with some weight in between them that Louis couldn’t begin to articulate. The wait for the train was brief, and the atmosphere onboard was relievingly calm. Unlike the majority of the day, Louis couldn’t feel Harry’s eyes on him; in fact, he felt the lack thereof. As the train started motion and the two of them took seats, Louis turned his face toward Harry’s and lightly nudged his elbow. Sure enough, Harry’s eyes blinked to his. 

But, not for long. For the few seconds that Louis could see Harry, he saw reluctance, which he’d seen before – when he first brought up the idea of the band. But, there was something else, too. Something worse. Something like fear in his eyes. It brought the tension in Louis’ stomach back at full intensity. His instincts tended to be very physically motivated, but he knew that probably wasn’t what Harry would want at the moment. So, all he could do was sit there and wait for the journey to end. His mind was clouded – he wasn’t sure where it had gone wrong, if it had even gone wrong. He didn’t understand the sudden shift in Harry’s demeanor. 

As his mind reeled and the train sped up, he slowly and audibly exhaled, closing his eyes and tilting his head back against the window. He was annoyed by the fact that Harry’s birthday was ending on a strange note. He didn’t want that. 

Before Louis’ mind could plummet any further, he felt the weight of Harry’s head resting against his shoulder. He remained as still as he could for a bit, as if it were some freak accident and Harry would pull away once he realized what he’d done. But, he didn’t. Louis leaned forward enough to check if Harry was asleep – he wasn’t. Louis’ mind was tired, by this rate. He couldn’t do any more analysis tonight. 

After several minutes had passed with Harry’s head on his shoulder, Louis accepted that he had meant to rest it there. He rested his cheek against Harry’s beanie, closing his eyes as he felt the softness of the wool against his skin. Harry didn’t budge. At some point, the harmless desire Louis had held onto all day won out against his hesitancies. He reached up and slowly twirled his finger through one of the loose ringlets that hung at the base of Harry’s jaw, and felt the strand bounce back up. He lowered his hand afterwards.

For the rest of the ride, Louis considered the many conversations he could’ve initiated during the day. There was so much time that he could’ve dedicated to learning more about Harry, but it was gone. Hopefully Harry’s birthday was better than it would’ve been if he had spent it by himself. That was the priority. Louis wasn’t sure, truth be told – but he felt like he gave it an honest try. 

Harry’s flat wasn’t far from the train station. After a short and silent walk, absent any shared glances, the two arrived at the brick building. By this point, Louis felt like he was being burned alive. He stopped at the corner of the building, his fingers pinching Harry’s coat sleeve to gently pull him to the side, before they were too close to the entrance. 

“Hey,” Louis pleaded quietly, his tired eyes scanning Harry’s face, though Harry was still avoiding his gaze. “I’m not sure what happened, but I don’t want to leave you like this on your birthday,” he paused, his eyes never leaving Harry’s, though the younger man’s were downcast. Louis could count his eyelashes if he tried. Harry eventually gazed up at Louis, though his eyes held the same emotions that they had on the train. Harry’s mouth tightened into a near grimace, like he was reluctant yet determined to speak. Still, he didn’t. His eyes closed and he suddenly stepped forward, closing the small gap between their bodies. One of his hands reached up to curl around Louis’ neck, while the other cupped his jaw. There was only a minor, otherwise forgettable moment of hesitancy (that Louis would never forget), when Harry’s thumb dragged firmly along the underside of his jaw, his lips exhaling a trembled breath against Louis’. He pressed forward, then, and the kiss was fervent. Unsteady. Whatever Louis had perceived in Harry’s pretty eyes, he could feel it in the kiss, too. Louis’ lips moved slowly and tenderly against Harry’s, in return; he didn’t want to overpower him, he wanted to understand. His hands secured Harry’s waist as the kiss nearly bottomed out. Harry’s breath hitched and teetered against Louis’ mouth, his eyes remaining closed. 

“I want to keep seeing you,” He whispered, so much more strained than it needed to be. It nearly took Louis to his knees, right then and there. He’d never been on the receiving end of such a raw expression before. He could hardly think, but there was only one thing he could say. He lifted a hand to Harry’s cheek, the back of his fingers caressing the softest patch of skin, still so close to him. 

“You will.”

Chapter Text

Louis had meant it when he promised Harry that he would see him again. When that would be – that was undetermined. The first half of the week breezed by, the time slipping through Louis’ fingers as they would hover, nightly, over his unmoved text thread with Harry. The words didn’t come to him – not naturally. So, he said nothing. 

But, he thought about Harry. More often than not. He wondered if Harry’s roommate had ever returned home from her travels, or if he was still alone. This especially ailed him at night, when he would replay moments from Harry’s birthday, which he could see as clear as day from behind his eyelids. The indent of Harry’s dimple while the cashier performed that card trick, how he’d sucked in his bottom lip as he attempted Guitar Hero, how Harry had denied Louis his eyes for the last hour or so. Louis remembered how he’d tried to drown out the sounds of the train in hopes of learning the rhythm of Harry’s breath as he lay on his shoulder. And he found himself craving it, then. 

Now, it was Wednesday evening, and Louis was on the bus to band practice. He hadn’t spoken much to the other members, which wasn’t exactly a rarity. Their day jobs didn’t allow for as much freedom as Louis’. The air outside was still cold, as to be expected. Winter always dragged on after the holidays. Harry’s birthday had felt like a sneak peak of spring, an anomaly. 

As he stepped in the door, the others had already arrived and set up. Liam and Niall were laughing at some story Zayn was telling, and they all looked toward Louis as he stepped into the nave. Niall was the first to greet him. “Hey, Louis.”

For the first time, it crossed Louis’ mind that he’d totally abandoned the group after their show last weekend. He couldn’t remember what excuse he’d given the band to skip out on their usual after-party shenanigans, but he knew they’d probably wondered. 

“Where’ve you been?” Liam asked, no pressing curiosity in his tone. He just meant, ‘we missed you.’ Zayn was quiet, observant. Eventually, he spoke, too. 

“I tried to call you a couple times. Social media went kind of crazy after the gig. We gained, like, over a hundred followers,” he stated. After a minute, he asked, “Where’s Harry?” He assumed Louis to know. 

Louis’ expression remained totally neutral as he situated himself at the keyboard stand, retrieving music sheets from his bag. “Harry’s done. I spoke with him this weekend, and it’s not going to work out.” There was a finality to his tone that discouraged the others from pushing, but Louis knew, from the edge in Zayn’s gaze, that he would have to explain it to him, eventually. 

The other three fumbled around with their instruments as they took in the news, unsure if a specific response was warranted. Niall eventually mumbled, “Well, shit. That sucks. I really liked the guy. The crowd seemed to love him, too. Incredible performer.” Liam nodded in agreement, as Zayn’s attention remained on Louis, curious if he would spare any further details. Louis didn’t. 

The band carried on with practice as usual, though the unspoken nature of the situation was rather foreign to them. Louis was usually very open about these kinds of details concerning the band – if not with anyone else, then at least with Zayn. And Zayn’s muted annoyance seemed to grow as the practice hours passed by. There wasn’t the normal amount of chatter between the group, especially considering how little Louis had spoken with the other members all week. Louis knew that it couldn’t go on this way for long, but he just needed to let the matter sit, for a while. Besides, each time his fingertips struck a key, he found his mind wandering back to how Harry’s fingers had felt between his, and his humming. 

As they wrapped up, Zayn spoke directly to Louis. “Coming out tonight?” 

Louis flickered only a glance toward Zayn as he packed up his belongings. “Not tonight. But we’ll chat soon. Promise.” 

That was it, and Louis was heading back toward the bus stop as the last streaks of pink winter light loitered in the sky. Blanket clouds overtook the horizon and brought the weight of night with them. Louis leaned against the post for his bus stop for a few minutes. The whirl that had been spinning in him since Harry’s birthday hadn’t slowed; he could hardly even focus on music. And that was going to become a problem. As a different bus passed by, he suddenly straightened himself up and looked down the street. He didn’t want to go home, yet. 

He took a short walk toward another bus stop located on the opposite side of the street, and boarded a bus headed toward Camden within minutes. It was a busier bus than his usual ride, but nothing unmanageable. The stop dropped him off not far from Harry’s flat building, at all. With each step he took, he wondered what he would say. He supposed it wasn’t that important; he just wanted to see Harry. And he’d promised Harry that he would see him again. There wasn’t a reason to get into the weeds of it, he didn’t think. It was as simple as two people who saw one another. And who were seeing each other again – as promised. The memory of Harry’s eyes created a lump in Louis’ throat. Louis tended to maintain a firm control over his thoughts, but once the spiral started – there it went. 

He knocked on the front door and managed to ground himself. Soon, the door opened, and Harry was on the other side. For a short moment, Louis found himself shy to make eye contact, so his gaze shifted downward. “Hey, Louis,” Harry greeted, his tone a mixture of surprise and puzzlement, but nonetheless pleasant. Louis noticed that Harry had already changed out of his day clothes and wore flannel pajama pants with a plain gray tee that hung loosely over his arms. He looked cozy and settled. 

“Hey,” Louis replied, his voice uncertain. He met Harry’s eyes, again, finally. To his surprise, Harry’s lips cracked into a smile. 

“Why are you looking like that?” Harry asked with a soft laugh. “Come in. I don’t bite. Isn’t that what you said?” He teased, opening the door wider to create space for Louis to enter. The level of comfort and familiarity with which Harry spoke to him confused and eased his mind at once. 

Louis stepped into the flat and Harry closed the door. He then breezed past Louis, toward the decorated kitchen, where a little lidless pot released a steady swirl of smoke. “Just buttered noodles. You’re welcome to a plate when they’re done, if you’d like,” Harry announced. It seemed like they were finishing up. 

“Thanks,” Louis replied, still absorbing the shift in atmosphere from the church to the bus to the warm little flat. He watched Harry as he went through the motions of removing the pot from the stove, straining the noodles over the sink, returning them to the pot, and so on. Harry would spare him a quick glance every few minutes, like he was waiting for Louis to break into the scene and join him in the moment, but he didn’t seem impatient. Louis appreciated that. 

Harry prepared the dish quite carefully, despite its simplicity, from what Louis could tell. He retrieved two plates from the cupboard, and completed their finishing touches. He then grabbed two utensils, setting them on the plates, and stepped over to Louis, holding one out. Louis hadn’t asked. He took the plate. “Thank you,” Louis repeated, and Harry smiled. Louis wished he could express what he wanted to say, or even have a slight grasp of what he wanted to say. 

Harry carried his own dish into the living room where the television was on, but silent, and ignored it as he took a seat on the edge of the sofa, his body still facing Louis’ direction. “You know, I thought about coming by for Wednesday night practice,” Harry announced, before taking his first bite. 

Louis quirked an eyebrow as he twirled noodles onto his fork, still standing by the counter which connected the two rooms. “Oh, yeah? Why didn’t you?” 

“I got kicked out,” Harry reminded him, though the playful smirk on his lips ensured the lack of heartbreak. 

“Right. My bad,” Louis chuckled. He took the first bite of his noodles. They were much more up his alley than the meal they’d shared at Mondo Mundo Monde. Even in Harry’s physical presence, the birthday outing pressed in Louis’ memory. Still, there was a sense of ease that seemed to increase with each bite he took. Harry didn’t mind to eat in quiet, as usual. Louis finished his meal, still standing, and set his plate in the sink. Seeing that Harry had finished, too, and had resorted to what appeared to be a crossword puzzle booklet, Louis approached to take his plate back to the sink, too. 

“You don’t have to wash them,” Harry informed, but Louis shrugged.

“I’m already over here. You made it,” he stated simply, turning on the sink. Harry didn’t have a dishwasher. It struck him, briefly, how weird it all was. He intruded on Harry’s alone time, ate what would have been his leftovers, and was now washing the dishes. All without any real conversation or outward acknowledgment of why he was even here, in Harry’s space, to begin with. He was acting freakish. Harry seemed to just be waiting for Louis to make the first move, given that he was the one who had shown up out of the blue. Louis didn’t understand it. If he were in Harry’s shoes, he certainly would’ve thrown himself out. 

Once the dishes were clean and set upside down to dry, Louis returned to the living room and sat down on the sofa– the end opposite Harry. Harry’s eyes on him were patient, but were growing with intensity as the minutes passed. Louis could see how they sharpened on him. “Why were you thinking of coming by the chapel?” Louis eventually asked, his back teeth biting on the inside of his cheek. 

Harry looked almost surprised by the question as he set the crossword book and pen down beside him. “I wanted to see you.” He looked away from Louis, for a moment, then, toward the nearly muted television, before returning his gaze with more of a hesitancy. “Isn’t that why you came?” 

Louis felt an aching tension in his core release. He’d gone days without reaching out to Harry. He’d hoped that Harry wouldn’t be upset. “Well, I didn’t come for a free dinner,” Louis quipped, his eyes studying Harry’s face. “Of course I wanted to see you.” 

Harry smiled. His expression fell into one of pondering, and he stood up from the sofa, stepping across the room toward the record player. “Seeing as you’re extra quiet, I guess we should fill that, somehow,” Harry teased, his fingers tipping through a stack of albums. He eventually settled on Sweet Baby James, his eyes flickering toward Louis as he returned. As he sat, he tossed a crocheted throw pillow onto Louis’ lap. His movements weren’t particularly swift, but Louis found himself struggling to keep up. Harry indulged in the liberty of his free will, as he liked to do, and turned his back to Louis, before lying down, the weight of his head and shoulders resting on the pillow atop Louis’ legs. 

As Harry relaxed against him, Louis moved to accommodate his presence, naturally and without thought. He felt himself stiffen, like he had on the train, even though he was certain this time that Harry knew what he was doing. His eyes remained focused curiously on Harry’s, which, compared to the last time he looked into them, reflected a newfound sense of certainty. Louis couldn’t shake the quiet laugh that escaped his throat. “Making yourself comfortable, then?” 

Harry exhaled with a smile, his shoulders lightly shrugging. “One of us has to.” Louis could only resist the urge to reach out and touch Harry for so long, especially with this proximity. There was a touch of something so intimate in Harry’s ease of being. He draped one of his arms across Harry’s waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric at Harry’s side. Harry was warm. He was suddenly very thankful for the sound of the music filling the room. His mind slipped away from the moment, and he wondered how Harry had discovered that kind of music. Family, friends? His own personal musical odyssey: the rite of passage for all artists? As he studied Harry’s soft features, he imagined him listening to music, at night, when he was alone. And on his birthdays. He felt his hand go numb against Harry’s side. Harry’s voice broke him out of his trance. 

“You know your song, ‘Strangers?’” Harry asked. 

A flash of bemusement crossed Louis’ features, though he smiled. He knew he hadn’t sent Harry that one. It was one of the first songs he’d ever been proud of writing. “I know it well,” he replied, his free arm resting against the arm of the upholstered sofa, a few inches away from Harry’s head. 

“I love that one,” Harry mumbled, his head rolling to the side and resting against Louis’ ribs. Louis took a deep inhale, his closest hand reflexively moving to Harry’s hair. He combed through it as he focused on keeping himself in the present. He wanted to be here. He didn’t know why part of him so desperately sought an escape route. 

Louis was quiet for a while longer, before whispering, “Thanks.” Harry’s hair felt like silk against his skin, the curls seeming to ring autonomously around Louis’ fingertips as he began to massage Harry’s scalp. “I’m sorry I’m being so weird,” Louis eventually added, a sigh slipping from his lips. He thought he could feel goosebumps rising on his own skin beneath his shirt. “I really didn’t know if you would still want to see me.” 

Harry turned his face back up toward Louis at that, his eyebrows furrowed. “Why would you think that?” He thought for a moment. “Oh, because we haven’t talked in a few days?” An understanding smirk tugged at Harry’s lips. “Well, don’t worry about that. I needed a few days to recover, too. I acted pretty weird the last time we saw each other. At the end, anyway. It got a little intense.” 

The explanation made sense to Louis and brought him a true sense of relief. He would’ve hated the idea of leaving Harry nervous. “You weren’t weird,” Louis assured, his fingers continuing to caress the locks that laid against the pillow. Harry had been scared. Louis remembered it vividly. It was amazing, the contrast, now– now, he seemed so light.  Louis wondered how he did it. Was it some kind of push and pull; the universe would only allow one of them to be scared, at once? 

Suddenly, Harry lifted himself from his half-lying position, so that he was sat fully up, though his torso remained facing Louis’. To balance his awkwardly twisted position, he brought both of his arms to Louis’ shoulders, which were almost humorously petite compared to his own. He embraced Louis’ neck, leaving Louis left with little option but to envelop him, and Louis did. Louis listened to their juxtaposed breathing as Harry’s forehead rested against his. Harry’s breathing was so calm and quiet, and Louis felt like his own sounded so forced, like he’d just learned how. Harry touched the tip of his nose to Louis’. The nerves slipped from Louis’ lips, then. “I can’t make any promises to you,” he whispered; but, the way he clung to Harry told a different story. 

“What do you think I’m trying to do? Marry you?” Harry teased with a grin, his dimples deepening. Harry’s playfulness was contagious. Louis’ grip tightened around Harry as the corners of his lips twitched upward. Harry’s fingers loitered at the nape of Louis’ neck, stroking smoothly just beneath the collar at the back of his shirt. Louis felt a chill rush down his spine. “But, really. I said what I meant. I just want to keep seeing you,” his voice got quieter as he continued. “There’s just something. I don’t know.” 

The pins and needles in Louis’ hands had never gone away. Despite the buzzing tingling in his fingers, he brought them to the warmth of Harry’s cheek. “I know,” Louis agreed in a murmur. His thumb caressed over Harry’s cheekbone, and he brought his face closer to Harry’s other cheek,  his lips touching where he knew Harry’s dimple was, and pressing a lingering kiss. The pins and needles were slinking up Louis’ arms. But, he didn’t feel scared anymore. Without totally removing his lips from Harry’s skin, he grazed them closer to Harry’s mouth, and he could make out the faintest hitch of breath from the other’s lips. Harry’s eyes had closed, and Louis could count his lashes, again. “You’re pretty,” Louis whispered against the skin of his cheek, finally relinquishing his hesitancy. He noticed that Harry’s cheeks had shaded a deep crimson, and the compliment caused him to flutter his eyes open, just enough to meet Louis’ gaze. 

But not moments later, Harry’s eyes were on Louis’ lips, and Louis could see the restraint in his stare. It was different from the time before, when Harry had kissed him, outside: that had been out of a desperation to be heard. This time, he could tell that Harry wasn’t going to kiss him. No, Harry wanted to be kissed. It was as if a lock had been picked within Louis, when he realized this. He couldn’t give in right away, and part of him felt almost cruel for that. But he couldn’t help but to admire Harry, in that very moment, with his flushed cheeks and parted lips and transparent, excruciatingly green eyes. His thumb stroked along the corner of Harry’s lips, and Harry leaned his cheek toward Louis’ fingers. 

It was funny. It wasn’t like they’d never touched one another, but it was different, now. Louis had never been particularly rough with Harry, anyway, but there was a newfound tenderness and familiarity in the way he touched him. He wasn’t merely an artist or peer, any longer – not just a figure passing through in the outside world. Louis wasn’t sure, yet, exactly what he was to him, but that was irrelevant. He was Harry, and he was here, in Louis’ arms, wanting to be kissed. That was simple enough. 

Louis combed his fingers through the curls that framed Harry’s face as he leaned forward, grazing his lips against Harry’s before pressing them flush together. His movements were slow and deliberate, and he could sense that Harry still held onto some restraint, even as he returned the kiss. As his hand found the back of Harry’s head, he molded his mouth around Harry’s lower lip, softly sucking on it as he wordlessly urged Harry to let go of whatever he was holding back. It must have worked. As he softly groaned a hum of relief against Louis’ lips, his hands dragged down from Louis shoulders, gently grasping at the fabric of Louis’ jumper on his chest, just beneath the collar. He suddenly pressed his open mouth firmer against Louis’, some primal urge seeming to overtake him for just a moment, before he suddenly broke the kiss. “Can you stay here?” He asked, sucking a gust of air back into his lungs as his head leaned against Louis’. “For the night?” There was that hint of hesitation in Harry’s voice, again, that Louis remembered from his birthday. 

Before Louis could respond, Harry added, with more certainty, “I don’t want to fuck, though.” 

The condition inevitably brought an amused grin to Louis’ lips. He supposed he should be offended that Harry thought it necessary to preface with that condition, as if it would impact Louis’ decision to stay. As Louis also caught his breath, he laughed softly, his finger twirling around a loose curl at the back of Harry’s neck. “I can stay,” he assured. “And for the record, I wouldn’t fuck you, even if you begged for it,” he teased with a soft wink. 

Harry quietly giggled, tipping his head forward to nudge his nose against Louis’ cheek as his hands relaxed flatly against his chest. “Not pretty enough for you?” He ribbed back, unable to resist from leaving a lazy, warm kiss against Louis’ jaw. After that, Louis’ hands gripped Harry’s hips, swiftly hoisting him onto his lap.

They must have stayed like that, in this new position, for a while. The unease and fear that had dominated the room not too long before had dissipated, and it was as if they had created their own dimension. They consumed one another’s taste until Sweet Baby James ended, dropping a sudden quietness over the space. Harry didn’t stop immediately; he was caught up in the sensuality of it all. And Louis – well, it’s not like Louis was going to stop him. Despite initiating, he was still truly following Harry’s lead. 

Soon, though, Harry did stop. He found Louis’ hand as he stood up, lightly pulling him along. Louis stood and followed Harry to his bedroom. When Louis walked in, he noticed that the space was much fuller than his own. Harry seemed to be something of a maximalist. He had stacks of papers and instrumental related belongings, like Louis – only, Harry’s were confined to a smaller part of his room instead of everywhere. Harry had several photographs of himself with friends displayed above his desk, which sent some course of relief through Louis. Maybe Harry hadn’t spent as much time alone as he assumed. Good. As Louis took in the space, which was clean and quite cozy, Harry prepared his bed.

“You can’t sleep in jeans,” Harry suddenly announced, reaching into his dresser to retrieve a pair of sweats which he tossed at Louis. 

“Right,” Louis replied, amused at Harry’s decisiveness as he swiftly changed into the much softer gray sweats. He wondered if they were the ones Harry had worn to practice that once. Harry departed into the bathroom to take care of whatever his nightly routine was, as Louis situated himself on the bed, peeling off his jumper and tee shirt as he leaned back against the headboard. It was strange, momentarily, to be in someone else’s most intimate space. 

When Harry returned, he crawled into the space beside Louis, situating himself close. Harry didn’t seem to ever shy away from physical touch, even when it would potentially feel strange to Louis. It wasn’t that Louis minded, because he didn’t. In fact, it made him feel at ease. Why would he mind, anyway? They’d already touched each other in the most intimate of ways. 

“I like your tattoo,” Harry complimented, his fingertips brushing over the 5-word phrase inked across Louis’ chest. 

“Thanks. I find it’s been a pretty useful motto,” Louis replied, his head turning toward Harry’s. Harry laid his cheek down against Louis’ bare shoulder as he continued, his arm draping loosely around Louis’ torso. 

“And by the way,” Harry continued, “I think you should be the lead singer of your band.” 

Louis smiled at the notion. It wasn’t one he had ever heard. Of course he’d taken on the role for a rare performance or song, but it generally wasn’t where he spent his time performing. He often did backing vocals, but the vocal limelight usually belonged to Zayn, or even Liam. Louis wondered what Harry had even heard him sing, because he hadn’t sent Harry any of those performances. But, they did exist online. “Yeah?” He murmured, adjusting his right arm so that it could wrap around Harry’s shoulders. 

Harry hummed in confirmation, and it was quiet for a while. Louis rested his cheek on Harry’s head, closing his eyes. Suddenly, he craved a cigarette. His pack would still be deep in the pocket of his jeans that were across the room. He supposed it could wait. As his mind lingered on that cigarette, Harry broke the silence again. “But if you aren’t the lead singer, I want back in.” 

Those words snapped Louis’ focus back onto Harry, and he lifted his head up to look at the other man. His mind reeled momentarily on why Harry would be interested. Louis was sure that he’d been correct when he figured that Harry wanted to drop it. Harry also lifted his head, awaiting Louis’ reply. 

“You know you don’t have to be in the band to see me,” Louis eventually answered, his eyes scanning Harry’s expression, to see if he could figure out where this thought was coming from. 

Harry smiled, his fingers tapping absently at Louis’ side. “I know.” 

Louis hesitated with his next words, watching Harry carefully. “I don’t want you to be in the band because I’m in it. Everyone is in the band because they want to make music.”

Harry’s smile faltered at Louis’ reply, and he broke eye contact, glancing down at Louis’ arm. He stroked his fingertips up the skin. “Can’t I want to make music with you?” He challenged softly, his caress making its way over Louis’ collarbone as he looked back up into his pale blue eyes. 

Louis’ heart dropped the moment Harry’s grin did, and he returned his hand reassuringly to Harry’s cheek as he considered the question. “Hm…” He breathed, quite charmed by the idea. 

“Of course you can. I just saw you. When you’re on stage, I’m not sure… not sure you need a band behind you. You just feel like a star,” Louis said simply. 

Harry’s smile returned. “A star, hm,” he repeated, almost amusedly. He continued, “It’s not about needing or not needing a band. I’m used to doing covers. You do something else. You make music from scratch. And it’s so cool,” he emphasized, his lips pursing. “And I like it. I want to do it with you,” he stated. Louis was surprised at his persistence. It seemed like he’d really thought about it. 

Harry’s pointer finger pressed gently against Louis’ chest. “I know you want me to,” he teased. 

Louis laughed, somewhat dumbfounded by the interaction. It was the last thing he’d expected Harry to say. Of course, Harry was right. He did want Harry in the band. He would probably always want Harry in the band. “I already told the lads you were finished,” Louis said, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. 

Harry took such a response as an answer in his favor. He smirked, dipping his head down once more and brushing his lips against the curve of Louis’ neck. He left a slow and warm kiss to the spot before replying. “So? Aren’t you in charge?” 

Louis’ eyes fell closed as he exhaled. God. He decided that he couldn’t underestimate Harry’s influence over him in the future. As for right now– whatever was happening in the air of Harry’s flat – Louis knew that he would give Harry anything he asked for. 

“Alright,” Louis eventually announced, one of his hands peeling Harry’s off of his chest so that he could intertwine their fingers. He passively studied Harry’s hands, his thumb slowly dragging across his knuckles. “I’m not giving you special treatment,” he mumbled playfully. Under other circumstances, he would probably be more concerned. If Harry continued with the band, a sudden departure could hurt. They’d already lost a singer before. Louis didn’t want to be the high-turnover band. Plus, Louis still thought about the possibility of Harry being held back by other people, when he was such a force on his own, already. 

But, right now, Louis’ worries escaped him. Harry would be in the band.

The two of them eventually lied down beneath the sheets. Louis embraced Harry the way he had on the night before his birthday, and they slept. 

–

Harry had a renewed sense of confidence. He’d had no idea how the night was going to go when Louis had arrived, wordless, at his doorstep, but he wouldn’t have changed a thing. He’d been serious about joining the band, again. Of course, it was primarily about Louis. But, he really did want to learn more about Louis’ craft. He didn’t tell Louis that he could songwrite, but that wasn’t very important. Louis seemed to write much more than him, and he wanted to experience more of the process. Sue him. 

The rest of the week went by, and Harry actually looked forward to band practice the guys were holding on Friday night. He didn’t dread it, like he had before. He wondered if Louis had told them that Harry would be there. Ever since the night Louis came over, they’d exchanged more frequent texts – but, still not much. Harry wasn’t much of a texter, truthfully, so it was probably his fault. If he got too caught up in the virtual conversations, he would stir himself crazy. 

He did find himself wondering about the comment Louis had made, about not being able to ‘promise him anything.’ Harry had never asked for any promises, as far as he remembered, so he found it peculiar. He assumed Louis meant that he couldn’t promise Harry a proper relationship, or something like that. But he didn’t know why Louis would assume that he would want a dynamic like that. Was he really that transparent? Whatever. 

He probably did want a relationship with Louis. He still didn’t know him that well. But he knew that he wanted to know him. 

Harry took the tube to the closest stop to the church, and he breathed in deeply as he started the short walk there. The weather still wasn’t warming up. Maybe another month or two, and things would start to lighten up. When Harry opened the front door to the church, the welcoming interior was much warmer. It appeared that he was the last to arrive. The four voices in the room hushed when Harry entered, so he figured that Louis hadn’t told them that he was returning. 

“Harry!” Niall was the first one to call out, tapping his drumsticks a couple times against a quiet drum. “You’re back!” He chanted, a sincere expression of excitement on his face. 

Though he didn’t know Niall well, Harry always found his presence calming to be around. “Hey, Niall. Yep, I am,” he claimed with a confidence in his demeanor that hadn’t existed within the band until the last time he spoke to Louis. He flickered his gaze expectantly to Louis and restrained a grin as he carried his famous guitar case onto the stage and rested it against a stool. Liam and Zayn’s eyes were also on Louis, who glanced between Harry and the other members, like he was reading everyone’s reactions. Liam and Zayn seemed neutral on the matter, but Harry supposed he didn’t know them well enough to decide that. 

“You know, the crowd loved you at the last gig,” Louis said to Harry, deciding it unnecessary to tell the other lads any details about his return, Harry guessed. Harry hummed at the statement. He knew. He’d gained a couple of followers on Instagram since the show. 

“Good. I had fun,” Harry replied as he retrieved his guitar from its case. 

“I’m sure you did,” Zayn suddenly spoke up, but didn’t look at Harry. It was definitely snark, as far as Harry was concerned, but not sharp enough to warrant offense. Louis noticed it too, and eyed Harry. 

“Right, well, we have another show, soon,” Louis announced, cutting through the awkwardness. “In two weeks. It’ll be a little bigger. It’s at The Horizon, so I want to be good.” From the sounds of it, the band hadn’t performed at that venue before. Harry had seen a couple of live shows there. It was a cool and versatile venue, from what he remembered. He wondered how Louis got events like that planned. It must have taken some effort. He was amused by the seriousness in Louis’ tone, but he supposed he understood. 

The practice went smoothly, and Harry found it very exciting. Maybe all he’d needed all along was to release some of the tension he’d built up with Louis. The band focused on the songs Harry had learned before, and they introduced to him a couple of new ones, including Strangers.  “We haven’t performed this in forever,” Liam noted, when Louis announced that they’d be playing it. 

“I know. It feels like it’s time to bring it back,” Louis replied. 

After a couple of hours, the band decided to call it. “Drinks?” Zayn proposed, and everyone agreed – including Harry. Harry noticed that he felt Zayn’s eyes on him more often than not as the practice had continued on. Part of him was growing nervous about that, because he recalled from before that he seemed to be the closest in the band to Louis. Did he have some kind of problem with Harry? He sensed that Zayn had something to say to him, but he couldn’t tell if he would confront him or not. 

After all instruments were put away, except for Harry’s guitar, which he would carry with him, everyone began to make their way out of the church. Louis, Niall, and Liam were caught up in some discussion about soccer as the five of them headed toward a familiar bar. Harry didn’t care much for sports. In the back of the group, Zayn walked beside Harry and glanced over at him, before mumbling quietly, “Walk with me.” Harry furrowed his eyebrows at the request. Zayn’s pace suddenly slowed drastically, and Harry followed suit, until they were several steps behind the other men, who were still in the heat of their debate. Harry could feel anxiety beginning to course through him, but he didn’t know why. Why would he care about anything Zayn had to say? He didn’t even know him. 

“So, you’re out of the band, and then you’re back in,” Zayn spoke hushedly, and Harry pursed his lips. Surely he wouldn’t ask Harry for the details. Harry wondered why Louis hadn’t told him, anyway. Harry quietly waited for Zayn to add something besides a simple observation to the discussion. After a moment, Zayn did. “I’m not trying to freak you out, by the way. I think you’re very talented, and you play well with us. We don’t come across vocalists like you, a lot,” he said. This eased Harry’s feeling of tightness somewhat. So, what did he want?

“What’s up?” Harry asked, putting great effort into masking the weird feeling he had. He felt the impulse to go on the defensive with Zayn, even if the other man was kind. 

Zayn hesitated before speaking, narrowing his eyes forward, as though he was working through how he wanted to express it. “I don’t know the details between you and Louis, privately, and I don’t care to. I assume you two are fucking – which, not my business. Louis can be a little impulsive with decision-making. So, I just want you to know this. This band, this whole project,” he paused, considering his thought for a moment longer before sighing. “He loves it, you know? It’s a really big commitment for him. He puts more into it than any of us. You could probably tell that.” Harry could tell that.

“So,” Zayn continued, “I’m not saying you’re in the band, unfairly, or anything. But, it’s not like Louis to make rash decisions without running them by us, first. And with you, he is keeping details a lot more hidden from us,” he glanced over at Harry, and Harry could see the concern and care in his deep brown eyes. Directed at Louis, of course. “And he’s allowed to do that. We don’t need all of the details, you know? But being in and out of the band in a week, with some secret reasons,” Zayn chuckled, his head shaking. “I don’t know. I’m sure you understand what I mean. Really, I just feel like I have to tell you how much this band, this music – how much it means to Louis. He kind of circles his life around it. I don’t think he cares much for his job. You– I can tell that he likes you. Quite a bit. Musically, personally, whatever. As his mate, I just don’t want him to get crumbled.” They took a couple of more steps in silence, before Zayn spoke again. “He might not tell you straight up to take the band as a commitment, because he likes you, or something. So that’s all I meant by bringing this up. If you’re not sure, I just think you should make a solid decision sooner rather than later, is all.”

Harry was quiet as he pondered Zayn’s words. His first instinct was still defensive; it didn’t seem to be Zayn’s place. But, he also felt, deep down, that he understood where Zayn was coming from. Even if it came across as mildly unwelcoming, Harry knew that Zayn was speaking out of concern for his friend, and of course, his own band. Harry’s eyes followed Louis, several steps ahead of them. The other three hadn’t seemed to notice how Harry and Zayn had fallen behind. Harry looked over at Zayn, and a flash of something recognizable struck Harry’s awareness. There was something about Zayn that truly reminded him of himself; he wasn’t sure what it was, or how he felt about it. Harry thought about how he would respond. 

“Trust me,” he eventually replied, briefly meeting Zayn’s gaze. “I hear you.” There wasn’t much more he could say. The group finally approached the bar they usually frequented, and the other three disappeared into the golden room, leaving Zayn and Harry in the dusk. 

Zayn nodded in apparent understanding, before opening the door for Harry so that they could join the rest of the group. “Good.”