To Slow Down The Time (2/2)
Parts: 1
“It’s cold as fuck outside and you want ice cream?” Harry asks when he sees Louis again. The ice cream parlor is just down the street from the park where they first met, but they both drive there anyway.
It’s the first time that they’re meeting during the day and Louis feels like it’s worth noting, almost like it’s adding a whole new dimension to this sex-only thing they’ve got going so far. But he had a day off and Harry mentioned he was bored, so here they are.
“What can I say?” Louis peers into the display case. “I wanted mint chocolate chip.”
“Always a good choice,” Harry confirms before leaving a quick kiss to the back of his neck. Louis bites the inside of his cheek.
When they’re sat down, Harry leans over and takes a spoonful from Louis’ cup, earning a quick smack to the top of his head. But before he can retaliate, Louis kicks his shin and tangles their legs together underneath the table. He does it without thinking, and he can see the faintest shade of pink on Harry’s cheeks, even when he’s scowling. But he focuses on his ice cream, acting like he doesn’t see.
“You’re, like, really young,” he observes absently. “Or you just seem really young,” Louis adds when Harry feigns a look of hurt. “Young isn’t a bad thing, though. I’m twenty and my creaky joints could use some lubing up in the mornings.”
“Lube. Dirty.” Harry gives a filthy smirk.
Louis groans and screws his eyes shut. “Nevermind. Young, you’re definitely young.”
“Eighteen. That doesn’t count as definitely young, does it?”
“No, not really,” he agrees, smiling. “Young is like, sixteen.”
“I was a catch when I was sixteen,” Harry says very seriously.
Louis snorts. “And what about now?”
“I dunno. You tell me.” He takes a thoughtful pause from his ice cream. “I like singing, but I can’t dance for shit. Really, you’d laugh. Other than that, I’m a big animal person, especially when it comes to cats. I like holding hands and I like beaches but I don’t like playing in the water because the ocean is actually pretty terrifying. I’m a bit pasty, but I’m tall, so I think that makes up for it. Currently obsessed with the new xx album and, oh, I’m an art student.”
Louis makes a face. “Art student? I hate art students.”
“Shut up.” Harry flicks his wrist. “You don’t hate me. And I’m quite good, actually.”
“Whatever. That’s, like, the art student credo. You can’t say you’re not good. Otherwise, you’d ruin your cred.”
Harry thinks about that and all his features scrunch together in confusion. “We have cred? Is that, like, the same as street cred?”
Louis waves him away with his spoon. “I don’t know what I’m saying, honestly. So you’re in uni?”
“Kind of.” And when Louis’ eyebrows go up, he leans forward on his elbows. “Only when I want to be. I skip class a lot. Like right now.”
“You’re skipping right now?” Louis asks, blinking.
“Sure.”
“Then why’d you agree to meet me?”
“I wanted to see you.”
Louis hums. “That’s weird.”
Harry laughs and messes with his fringe. “What, that I wanted to see you?”
“I guess.” Louis takes a last spoonful and pushes his cup next to Harry’s empty one. “You shouldn’t skip. I dropped out of uni with my best friend, and now he’s moved out and I’m working in a coffee house. That’s basically all you need to know.”
“So, what, you’re a barista?”
“Not exactly. How long have you been doing the toilet thing?”
Harry gives him a look.
“What?”
“You’re just.” He laughs a little disbelievingly. “Your brain-to-mouth filter is a disaster, that’s all. Erm, for a while, a couple months in total.”
“Oh.” Louis shifts in his seat. “Why?”
“Why?” Harry repeats. “Does anyone really have a reason?”
He shifts forward in his chair and his knees hit Harry’s. “I have one, which is, I was high and I walked in accidentally.”
“That explains why you looked so skittish.” Harry smiles to himself, lost in the memory. “Anyways. I dunno. Sex, for the most part.”
“And the other part?” Louis asks, genuinely curious.
“The people are nice,” Harry offers slowly. “The ones I get to know, at least. And there haven’t been a lot of those.”
“Ah.” That’s all Louis can really think to say. He can’t imagine what the other people are like, the faceless ones that walk in, do their business, and walk out. But he can imagine what Harry is like, the way his legs wobble or the way he whimpers helplessly before he comes. Louis likes picking up on these things and memorizing the way people get during sex. He figures if they notice his weaknesses and kinks, he might as well arm himself with theirs. “Flattered to join such an elite group, then.”
“As you should be,” Harry says.
They sit in silence again and it should be weird, to sit and say absolutely nothing, but it’s just the opposite. For a brief moment, Louis wonders if the silence means something, if there’s something right in front of him he’s not picking up on. But when he looks up, it’s only Harry in front of him, face soft and swirling his spoon in the melted mess of his ice cream.
***
Harry follows back to the flat, where they wind up fucking twice - first on the couch where they’d done the last time and a second time in Louis’ bed, normally and slow and thoughtful for once. They try for a third time in the shower, even when they’re a little lazy and there are bruises cleaved into Louis’ hips. But they end up slipping and falling, Louis landing hard on his knees and Harry collapsing on top of him. When they’ve finished laughing, Harry kisses the pain away and blows him for good measure.
In the living room, Louis pays him back in kind with a warm blanket and a mug of tea. They watch several infomercials and fantasize about dream kitchens and living rooms until Harry has to leave.
***
“Niall mentioned he saw you the other day.”
“Oh?” He doesn’t look up from his carton of lo mein. Liam is on a quick run for a banoffee pie at Tesco and Louis doesn’t like being alone with Zayn in their flat. It just feels weird somehow. “Where?”
Zayn clicks his chopsticks together thoughtfully. “At the cinema. He said you were with another bloke. Have you been seeing someone?”
Louis tenses. He knows what day Zayn is talking about. Harry didn’t have classes and convinced him to call out from work so they could watch a movie. They ended up walking around and playing in the park when nothing caught their interest, and Harry even left his beanie behind after fucking bent over the kitchen counter. It had been a nice day overall.
“Erm. No. That was Aiden,” he lies. “We both had the day off. Thought we’d spend it together.”
“Oh. Okay.” Zayn hums, his eyes trained on the football playing on the telly. He doesn’t mention that Louis and Aiden never spend time together. “I like hearing about your life and I was only wondering.”
Louis nods with a tight smile. He wants to ask Zayn why, why he would even ask when he’s with Liam and they’re living together and they’re agreeing on posh-as-hell desserts like a fucking banoffee pie.
***
Harry inhales deeply, his face mashed into Louis’ chest. His nose-breath tickles and Louis squirms underneath him. They’re both coming down from their high, courtesy of a pre-sex joint, and it’s cold in the flat, being after midnight and all. But the duvet is on the floor and neither of them feels like moving to grab it. Instead, Louis drapes an arm across Harry’s bare back, his skin still fever warm in the aftermath, and he decides he doesn’t really need the duvet as it is.
“I like your place,” Harry murmurs into his sternum.
“I’ve never seen yours.”
“Ha.” He looks up with glassy eyes and rosy cheeks and swollen lips and Louis thinks he’s beautiful like this. “You’d hate it. It’s a tiny thing next to the uni, covered from floor to ceiling in my work.”
Louis wrinkles his nose. “You’re right. I’d hate it.”
Harry giggles and swats at Louis’ collarbone. “It’s better here, anyway. Central heating and all.”
“And loads of good that’s done us,” Louis says flatly, but Harry skims fingertips along his side and he’s not that cold anymore. “Shouldn’t you be heading back soon? Don’t you have class and whatnot?”
“Not too early.” Harry shifts so his knee slides between Louis’ calves. “I could stay, probably.”
“Best not,” Louis says, turning his eyes to the ceiling. “I have work early, and yes, I have to go.”
Harry doesn’t say anything, but Louis can feel him staring, and it should bother him that he can probably see into his nostrils, but whatever. They’ve only spent the night together once on accident, and he really does have work in the morning, so he’s not lying.
“Where do you work, by the way?”
Louis clears his throat. “Downtown. Why?”
“Give me the address. I’m visiting tomorrow.”
***
So he’s not that surprised when Harry shows up half past two the following day with his curls pulled back under a beanie and a rucksack thrown over his shoulder. He beams when he walks in, and Louis busies himself with rearranging the croissants in the display case.
“You’re working alone?” he asks, taking a seat at the bar and leaning over the counter for a kiss.
“Aiden’s in the back.” Louis considers for a second before pecking Harry quickly on the lips. “So yeah, basically. What’ll you have?”
Harry quirks a brow. “What’ll you give me?”
“Whatever you can pay for,” he says, winking and swaying his hips on his way to the back room. When he comes back out with a cranberry muffin he’s saved, he feels particularly proud of the way Harry watches him, licking his lips.
“Don’t let anybody catch you,” Louis warns when he sets the muffin in front of him. “Those go quickly in the mornings.”
“And tea?” Harry asks hopefully, eyes wide.
“Brat,” he grumbles under his breath. But he brings Harry a mug of Yorkshire tea, anyway. “I’ll just add it to your tab.” And when Harry blows him a kiss, Louis goes to clean the espresso machine.
It’s slow today, so he doesn’t really need the extra help up front. Besides, it affords him the opportunity to sneak quick glances at Harry, who’s settled down with a sketchbook and an expensive-looking pencil that has Louis thinking art students, honestly. He tries peering over each time he walks past, but Harry blocks the view with his arm.
“It’s a surprise,” he insists, sounding like a child.
Louis grabs and eats the last piece of muffin, ignoring Harry’s annoyed yowl. “I don’t care anyway.”
Harry just nods and smirks knowingly. “Okay.”
He stays there for the rest of Louis’ shift, not moving and not speaking other than to ask for a refill of his tea. Louis watches the way he bites his lip and wrinkles his brow in concentration, and he would find it endearing if he didn’t find the silence mildly concerning. When he’s ready to leave at five, he’s about to ask Harry if everything is okay, but stops short when he sees the blinding smile on his face.
“What?” he asks slowly.
“I drew you.” His chest puffs out proudly.
Louis is genuinely, and probably stupidly, confused. “What?” he repeats.
Harry slides the sketchbook across the counter and flips it around so Louis can see. It’s rough and unfinished and mostly a sketch, but there’s shading and dimension and it’s still better than anything he’d ever be able to draw. And there’s no doubt that it’s him, leaning against the counter and staring to the side. When he looks up, Harry is still smiling, albeit a little more warily.
“D’you like it?” And he looks so young.
He’ll probably regret it later because he gets weird about public displays of affection, but he closes the gap between them and kisses Harry, slow and lingering. Harry seems dazed when they pull back.
“I still hate art students.” Louis pokes his nose. “Just as a disclaimer.”
***
Harry gives him the drawing. And because he’d feel weird about putting a drawing of himself anywhere for safekeeping, he pins it on the fridge until he can find a better place to put it. But he sees Harry smile around his mug of tea, and he ducks his head to keep from doing the same.
They don’t fuck, but Louis feels bad for dragging Harry to his flat without some kind of recompense, so he wanks him off and wipes him down gently with a warm washcloth. He goes to change into a shirt that doesn’t smell like coffee grounds, but Harry tugs him down easily by the collar for a deep, sweet kiss. They’re getting good at this, Louis thinks.
Harry tells him as much. “You’re good at this, at everything.” He sighs and slumps against the pillows, tucking Louis into his side. “I should’ve known from the beginning.”
“I’m offended.” Louis bumps his nose against Harry’s rib. “My talents are obvious to everyone else.”
“It’s obvious to me now,” Harry says earnestly, squeezing his shoulder. “And that’s the important part, yeah?”
Louis shrugs, his stomach fluttering. He digs his face into the sheets.
“Hey.”
He looks up with one eye. “Yeah?”
“Y’alright?”
“Yeah.” Louis flips over onto his back and Harry hauls him over so that he’s half draped over his chest. “D’you still go? To the toilets, I mean?”
Harry looks at him, momentarily confused. But Louis wipes away the wrinkles on his forehead with his thumb.
“No,” Harry says eventually.
“Why not?”
He kisses the top of Louis’ head. “It’s cold out there. It’s warm in here.”
“Oh.” Louis can smell Harry’s cologne everywhere, will probably smell it in his sheets for nights to come. “Okay.”
***
They see each other most of that next week, several times at night and once in the day when Harry comes back to visit Louis at work. Aiden and Matt seem to like him, more so when he leaves behind a caricature drawing of them enclosed in a big heart. Harry is smug about it afterward, and Louis pretends to ignore him until he’s forced into the bedroom with curls between his thighs and pink, hot heat on his cock.
Zayn texts on the same night that Harry finally invites Louis to his flat, hesitant and stumbling over his words around a cigarette. They fuck on a heap of charcoal drawings and discarded condom wrappers, waking up to passive aggressive notes slipped under the door, each one complaining about the noise from the night before.
He finally checks his mobile back at his flat, and he aches only a little when he reads the message.
i miss you x
***
Everything goes to shit a couple days after that.
It starts with another text from Zayn, part of a conversation they’ve steadily maintained over their mobiles. He casually mentions that he and Liam have adopted a puppy - a rescue hound they’ve named Wilson - and that’s about all that Louis can handle.
He holes himself in the flat for a full day, blocking all communication and struggling to get past breakfast at noon. And when he goes to work two joints deep, he’s too slow and too sad to deal with customers, much less to make a fucking cappuccino. Aiden covers for him that first time, but it doesn’t work as well the next day, when he’s somehow both high and annoyed, snapping at a frail-looking woman who comes up to the counter asking for a new tea because I ordered chamomile, not oolong.
There aren’t a lot of customers around, thankfully, but Louis lets his voice reach a pitch normally reserved for pub crawls and footie matches. Matt comes running, looking stricken, and Louis is only halfway apologetic when he’s sent into the back room to be dealt with later on.
He’s fired, obviously, but not so obviously because he’s come into work high before, but he’s also never screamed at a woman before and there’s a first time for everything, but not quite in a good way.
Matt feels bad about it, but it’s the principle of the thing or some shit like that, and Louis doesn’t think he can cope with that kind of pity anyway, so he tells him he understands. There’ve been complaints in the past, once when Louis had brought a flask to work, but that was before Aiden and back when Matt had a not-so-secret crush on him.
When he leaves, there are hugs all around and he holds up surprisingly well until he gets home and crumples to the floor, salt in his eyes.
***
He texts Harry to ask him where he is, careful not to call because he’ll blubber or something stupid like that.
in class…i've been told not to skip, remember? x
Of course he remembers, so he does the only other thing he knows how to do and dials Zayn’s number. At least he’s used to Louis crying.
***
“I’ve fucked it all up.”
“You’ve not fucked it all up.” Zayn runs a finger through the condensation on his beer bottle. “What’s that saying, the one about one door closing and another opening?”
“That’s the whole of it,” Louis hiccups. For seven in the evening, he’s doing a spectacular job of getting pissed. He can’t even tell if Zayn’s keeping up. “And you’re wrong. Christmas is less than a month away. How do I explain to my sisters that I’ve come home empty-handed because I’ve lost my job?”
Zayn shakes his head. “They won’t care.”
“I’ll care.” Louis groans, pulling another sip from his bottle. His phone vibrates next to him on the couch, but he ignores it. He already knows who it is, and he doesn’t want to deal with that.
“You shouldn’t.” Zayn rubs his free hand consolingly, and Louis doesn’t back away from the touch. “Maybe you could go back to school.”
He scoffs, the taste of alcohol strong and brackish in the back of his throat. “I couldn’t. We dropped out together.”
“But that doesn’t mean we have to stay out together,” Zayn says shrewdly. “You’ve saved up, haven’t you?”
Louis grumbles. “Probably spent it all on weed and booze.”
“No, you haven’t.” Zayn smiles gently, his hand still on Louis’.
His phone buzzes again with no less urgency. He screws his eyes shut, like that’ll make it go away.
“You going to get that?”
“Maybe later,” Louis decides. He looks at where their hands are resting between them. “Where’s Liam? He doesn’t mind that you’re here?”
Zayn shrugs. “Told him it was an emergency. It wasn’t a lie,” he adds when he sees Louis roll his eyes. “And he seemed to understand well enough.”
“Good lad, that Liam.”
Zayn doesn’t bother agreeing and points to Louis’ phone instead. “Are you going to bother telling me who that is?”
He’s getting tired of hearing that, so rather than answering properly, he kisses Zayn instead.
There’s a brief moment when he braces himself for the fallout, for the inevitable push of rejection or the punch to his jaw that he probably deserves. Besides, Zayn’s lips are frozen under his, and it’s not really a kiss if there’s no reciprocity. But that stops being an issue a full second later, when Zayn responds and starts kissing back. It’s rough and unpracticed in a way that things left neglected often are. But it’s still familiar and it’s the most like home that this flat has felt in forever.
Zayn’s grip curls at the base of Louis’ neck, fingertips tracing the soft skin there. Louis wants to swing a leg over and deepen the kiss, but he’s still kind of shocked by it all and he’ll probably throw up if he moves too quickly, so he settles for staying. When he runs out of breath, he has no choice but to pull away, and he’s afraid of what he’ll see when he opens his eyes.
Whatever he expected, it’s not the sadness mingled with sympathy that he finds in Zayn’s eyes. Somehow, that’s worse than anything else, and he actually recoils like he’s been burnt when Zayn reaches out for him.
“No,” Louis says, afraid he might burst into tears again.
Zayn looks tired. “Are you telling, or asking?”
He shakes his head; this is all too much. “Why did you let me do that?”
“You’re still my best friend.”
Louis begs him to leave when it feels too awkward, thanks him profusely for showing up when he didn’t have to, but asks him to go home all the same. Zayn nods and wordlessly does as he’s told, because Zayn has always been good at that, at understanding.
When he goes to grab another beer from the kitchen, he sees the drawing on the fridge. He pretends the unbalanced feeling in the pit of his stomach is nothing more than nausea and spends the next hour slung over the toilet, retching, because of it.
***
He calls Zayn two days later and almost wishes he hadn’t.
“I shouldn’t be talking to you right now,” Zayn says, voice heavy. There’s a pause, before, “I told him everything.”
Louis swallows and for a second, he thinks he’ll be sick again. “Told Liam everything?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” His eyes prickle and he pinches the bridge of his nose.
Zayn sighs. “We just bought a puppy, Lou. We’re together and - and I don’t want to fuck it up with this one. We’re working it out.” Somewhere in the background, Wilson barks. “So I don’t think I can do us right now, not like this.”
He almost wants to applaud Zayn for staying and working it out with somebody for once in his fucking life. But he thinks twice about it, realizes that this is probably that one door closing and the other opening they’d been talking about, and hangs up.
***
For a few days, he feels shitty but he pushes through it with some kind of a routine. Most of the time, it means waking up before two in the afternoon and pulling out the paper over some oatmeal, circling job listings like they’re promises for change or something.
His phone rings and buzzes and he lets it go to voicemail each time. He knows it isn’t Zayn because it’s been too short a time for not talking, but he feels bad for not answering all the same.
***
Louis goes to the park with weed and alcohol in his system, enough that he can’t drive but not enough that he can’t stumble his way back to the restroom. It must be a busy night, because there are men propped up against the wall with other men on top of them, caught by their lips. He’s cold when he walks inside, seeking a familiar face with his arms wrapped around his middle.
There’s no one here he recognizes, of course, but he makes eye contact with a beefy brunette by the paper towel dispenser and he figures that’ll do. They don’t really say anything in between falling into a freshly used stall and peeling off each other’s clothes in hungry anticipation. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend he won’t see the darkening bruises across his neck when he wakes up in the morning, or the bite marks leading to the shell of his ear. Beefy pulls out a foil-wrapped condom and Louis needs the world to slow down.
“Afraid not, love,” he says, pushing his arm away gently. “But I’ll get you if you get me.”
Beefy pauses, nods, and frees Louis’ cock by tugging his pants down around his thighs. He gets to his knees and strokes him once, twice to full hardness and Louis is actually kind of surprised.
He bangs his head against the partition, hard, and bites down on his lip until he draws blood because this is how it’s supposed to feel.
***
Harry is sitting on his doorstep when he gets back, and he can’t fathom why.
“Jesus, Lou.” He jumps up to his feet and grabs hold of Louis, who goes limp in his arms. “What the fuck?”
“It’s you.” He should probably say more than that, but he honestly can’t be fucked to do anything right now.
Somehow, they wind up inside the flat and he figures that Harry’s taken the keys from his pocket. Harry deposits him on the couch and disappears into the kitchen, probably plugging in the kettle while he rifles through cabinets in search of something to help. Louis just wants to sleep.
“Where were you?” Harry rushes in with a washcloth and a stricken look on his face. Then he’s wiping away the grime on Louis’ skin. “Are you high? Christ.”
“A bit.” Louis wants to clamber away, but he’s boneless under Harry’s ministrations. “Was, rather.”
“You’re feeling okay?” He’s worried but his shoulders fall in relief when Louis nods. Then his eyes go steely. “Where were you?” he repeats.
“The park.” Louis gives a long-winded sigh. “I hate it there.”
Harry freezes, crumples momentarily, and then draws his face together in concern again. “You shouldn’t go back there.”
Louis groans, but he feels like a new person scrubbed clean. “I was lonely.”
“You’re fucked up,” Harry says, soft but firm. “I’ll get you tea and then you’ll have a shower.”
No, Louis starts to say, but Harry’s already gone. When he comes back, he hauls Louis up so they’re pressed against each other down the side. He holds the mug to Louis’ lips and Louis practically jumps away when the tea burns his tongue. But Harry insists, and soon, he can barely register the sensation.
“What got you this way?” Harry murmurs into his hair afterward, and Louis doesn’t want to think about all the possible answers to that, so he rolls away.
“No,” he says finally, more a croak than anything else.
Harry blinks. “No, what?”
“We’re not doing this. You’re not taking care of me.” Louis shakes his head, tries to get up, but his arms won’t support him. He leans against the opposite arm rest. “I’ll have a shower and all, but you have to leave.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Yes, you are.” Louis stares him down, unaffected by the reserve in Harry’s eyes. “Go away. Go back to the toilet or don’t, I don’t care. But find yourself some prissy and pretentious and equally hipster boyfriend and do that away from here.”
“Fuck that.” Harry comes toward him and pins Louis’ legs down with his weight. “Shut up. Let’s get you clean.”
“I’m perfectly clean, thanks.”
“You smell like sex,” Harry says, voice breaking. “I’ll run you a bath. Come on.”
Louis’s protests are lost on his tongue and he ends up following him to the bathroom, sitting down in the tub while Harry runs the water temperature somewhere just below scalding. They don’t make eye contact the whole way through, not when Harry shampoos his hair or scrubs soap down his spine or rinses him until he’s pink and shiny again. He’s wrapped in fleece when Harry sets him down in his bed and curls around his back, annoyingly still.
“I had to do this,” Harry whispers just when Louis thinks he might fall asleep. “Your dishes are piled up in your sink. I had to do this.”
Louis wants to shake his head or move, but he’s caged in Harry’s arms.
“Don’t go back there,” Louis decides instead. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “I think about you sometimes and - you’re too good for there. Don’t go back.”
Harry holds him close, a full-body squeeze, and they fall asleep like that.
***
When Louis wakes up the next morning, Harry isn’t there. It’s probably for the best.
***
It more or less stays the same way through to the holidays, when Louis goes home for a week with fewer presents than he’d normally have, but presents nonetheless. His mum and sisters kiss him all over, and when he goes to bed on the night of his birthday, Zayn calls.
They talk for an hour, with Liam’s blessing, Louis soon realizes, and it feels better.
Liam knows everything now, Louis learns when he comes back in time for the new year. He sympathizes, even, and tells him that he wouldn’t know what to do either if his best friend had left him like that. There’s Pimm’s in his bloodstream so he can go ahead and blame it on that, but Louis hugs Liam and cries into his neck as Zayn looks on. It’s a fucked up way of getting to where they are, but they’re here now and that’s all that matters.
Barely a week later, Liam shows up alone to Louis’ flat and tells him there’s an opening for a secretary at the office where he works as a dental assistant. Louis can’t do it, especially when he didn’t know what Liam did with his life in the first place, but he’s eventually worn down by this sweet, sad little look Liam gets on his face, one he figures must work on Zayn incredibly well. He starts the next Monday and by then, he doesn’t know if he recognizes his life.
He eventually sees that they’re perfect for each other, Zayn and Liam. It’s almost annoying how easily they fall into each other once Louis starts hanging around them long enough to notice. There’s a pang of something low and familiar in Louis’ chest each time, but it goes away day by day.
As it turns out, Niall isn’t the friend Liam had intended to set him up with, what with his preference for girls and all, but that doesn’t matter because they end up becoming great mates anyway and it’s nice to be able to call on someone else on nights when Zayn and Liam just aren’t willing to go out. He still eats Louis’ crusts and that’s fine, because he still doesn’t want them.
“Things are good then?” Zayn asks one day when Louis drives Liam home from work and stays for a plate of spaghetti.
He shrugs and bites into his garlic bread, tossing a small piece to Wilson. “Suppose so. Yeah.”
***
Louis is in a booth near the window of the coffee house, watching the rain fall outside. It’s the first rain of the season and even though it's still freezing, he’s basically excited to shed the extra layers for something lighter. He pours some more milk in his tea, careful not to get any on the continuing education brochures Zayn handed him the night before. It’s his day off, and Zayn made him promise to apply to at least one place by nightfall.
Matt winks at him from the counter and Louis grins because they were always friends and there were never any hard feelings. He can come here and not feel weird about it, wave at them and greet the occasional customer like it’s still his job. He gets odd looks sometimes, but he shrugs and figures he’d like to make someone’s day, even if it’s his own.
The bell above the door jingles and when he looks up, he’s more surprised than he should probably be.
Harry looks around for an empty seat, his coat tight and mottled wet. Louis doesn’t even bother pretending to look away and when their eyes meet, it seems to make sense.
“I’m going to assume you’re on your own,” Harry says, smiling and taking the seat across from Louis.
“Don’t know what I’ve done to make you assume that.” Louis looks down at his lap. “But you’d be right.”
“Thought so.” Harry takes off his beanie and shakes his hair around until it’s back to its normal bird’s nest. “Didn’t you get sacked from here?”
“Don’t you have class?”
Harry’s eyes light up with mischief, and he smirks in a way that Louis didn’t even know he’d memorized. He takes a look at the brochures on the table and his expression changes to soft, happy recognition.
“I haven’t been able to draw anything recently. I’ve come here looking for inspiration,” he explains, pulling out his sketchbook and showing him its empty pages. “First time I’ve skipped in months, though, believe me.”
Louis swirls his spoon in his tea. “How’d you know I got sacked anyway?”
“I’ve been in once or twice,” Harry admits, looking out the window. “Matt told me the whole story.”
He nods and thinks maybe, one of these days, he’d like to tell Harry the whole story himself. “Inspiration, you said? Have you found it?”
Harry laughs - actually laughs - and they both flush bright red.
“I think so,” he says.
Louis feels his cheeks burn, and smiles.