When We Collide - Harry/Louis - Chapter 1
Title: When We Collide
Pairings: Harry/Louis
Part: Chapter 1 of ?
Genre: AU, Romance
Rating: R
Summary: Harry and Louis live parallel lives where nothing much happens, but when the lines begin to intersect, they find themselves in situations bigger than either of them have ever bargained for.
♔ PROLOGUE
Chapter one
Harry scratches his head as he looks at the building and double checks the address on the piece of paper he's nervously gripping in his hand for the fifth time.
The bus ride to the area was a very uncomfortable and nerve-wracking ordeal that stretched on for over two hours of nail biting and nervous glances out the window riddled with etched graffiti to see if he was going in the right direction. Every stop seemed like his, and once or twice, he had got up from his seat, thanked the driver, poked his head out the doors, and scanned the place for a second before turning around, apologizing that it wasn't his stop yet, and going back to his seat. His embarrassment didn't stop there, however. When he was drinking from his water bottle, the bus had driven into a particularly nasty hole in the road, and the next moment, he looks down and groans when he sees his trousers soaked down to his underwear, and he had to pull out his jumper to cover up the mess. When it finally came to his stop a few minutes later, he had to hold his jumper a certain way as he awkwardly made his way to the front, and after getting off the bus as quickly as he could, he ran to the nearest gas station and used up all the paper towels trying to dry himself off.
Matching the numbers and the street name for the hundredth time, he takes a deep breath and pushes through the doors.
Inside the building is cool, and he can feel a draft coming from his left. He starts walking. His shoes make more noise than they need to and the echoes make the place all the more unfamiliar-eerie, even. He reckons he's watched too many horror movies for his own good, because now he's thinking about crazy tenants armed with baseball bats and the possible zombie infection that's probably working its way through his system already, or is that even how zombie infections worked? He stuffs the paper back in his pocket and grips the strap of his guitar case tightly, just in case someone-or something-tries to get him from behind.
On the elevator doors, a sign is haphazardly taped, and he reads the out of order in bright, red ink, and he sighs dejectedly before turning his head this way and that until he finds the door to the staircase. He tugs at his case because his arm's starting to fall sleep, but all it does is shoot needles under his skin and he takes a moment to wait for it to subside. He switches to the other hand and makes for the door, and he looks up with wide eyes at the coiling structure behind it, seemingly going all the way up to eternity. He sighs for the millionth time. Failing to recall the flat number, which isn't really a surprise at this point since he's forgotten nearly everything else and it's only eight in the morning, he digs the paper out and examines it for a second. Room 605. He grimaces and looks up one more time, green eyes following each step, each bar, each turn until his eyes roll at the back of his head and he's a bit dizzy. He can't even remember the last time he ran in his physical education class, and his knees are already protesting when he takes the first step. Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine steps to go.
Six floors later, Harry's legs are ready to be buried, and it seems like his heart's about to give out at any moment. He studies the hall before him as he tries to catch his breath. The walls are painted a deep orange not unlike the color of carrots, and he rubs his eyes to make sure he's not hallucinating. He isn't, and the longer he stares at the absurd color, the more he feels his eyes shrinking back into their sockets, and he's about ready to file a complaint concerning basic human rights when his legs miraculously start working again. Doing his best to ignore the walls, he instead keeps his eyes at the doors, taking note of the numbers on faded silver plaques as he walks past them.
He sets his suitcase against the wall next to the door marked 605 and exhales sharply.
He reaches a hand to his guitar strap and grips it tight, and with a deep breath, he presses the buzzer on the wall next to the doorknob.
“Who is it?” someone calls out from the other side, not particularly unpleasant but somewhat distracted. Harry clears his throat.
“It's-It's Harry,” Harry replies, his voice surprisingly mousy. He clears his throat once more and tries again. “Harry Styles. Your new flatmate?”
“Oh right! Come in, the door's open.”
Harry scrambles for his suitcase and composes himself, but he's still gripping the strap tighter than ever.
Twisting the knob, he pulls hard and his eyes shoot open when he hears his shoulder crack. Confused, he tries again, gently this time, but the door doesn't budge.
“I, er, I think something's wrong with the door,” Harry says, attempting for the third time.
“Shit, I forgot! Just jiggle the, erm, handle a bit to loosen-hang on.”
Harry hears movement from the other side of the door. He tries the suggestion and shakes the doorknob from side to side, and to his surprise, the door moves slightly, but it's still quite attached to the frame.
“Hang on, hang on, I'll do it.”
Harry retracts his hand and watches as the knob begins shaking violently, and he flinches when he hears the scraping of wood on wood. But it works and when the door flings open, he's standing in front of a young man with shiny brown hair swept to the side and slightly hollowed cheeks wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and one sock. Harry doesn't even wonder where the other sock's gone because he's still thinking about the door.
“Well, come on,” Liam Payne said, tossing his head to the living room. Harry nods with a grin and slips inside.
It's quite spacious, Harry concludes with eyes alight, with a modest kitchen and a generous amount of open spaces to move about. The living room floor is littered with games and books, and there's a big television screen on the back wall with the word PAUSED blinking in the center. Harry lowers his suitcase on the sofa and turns around just in time to see Liam closing the door, and the grating sound scratches his eardrums again.
“Sorry 'bout that,” Liam apologizes, turning around and scratching his head. “They claimed to have already fixed it two days ago.”
“With what, superglue?” Harry jokes. Liam smiles.
“Anyway, welcome to my humble abode,” Liam says, presenting the place with outstretched arms. “Although it's not really an abode, and it's not very humble. But you're still welcome to it.”
Harry grins and holds a hand out. “Harry Styles.”
“Liam Payne,” Liam says, taking the hand with his own and shaking it. “It's very nice to finally meet you in person.”
“You as well.” Harry drops his hand and moves it back to the strap. “I really appreciate you getting back to me so quickly. I was beginning to think I'd never find someone to room with.”
“Don't mention it,” Liam says with a wave of his hand. “You were in luck, actually. My dickhead flatmate walked out on me literally two days before you sent me the email. Still pretty miffed about it, to be honest.”
“I'd bet,” Harry replies and looks around. “So when can I get, erm, settled in?”
“Oh, right!” Liam points to the hallway beside the television set and Harry's eyes follow. “Your room's just down there on the left. I'm right across and the bathroom's in the back wall. If you need anything, just let me know, yeah?” Harry nods and picks up his suitcase, and when he makes his way to the bedroom, he feels his grip on the strap finally relaxing.
::
Louis shuts his moped off and pulls off his helmet.
It feels like he's been driving forever since he's left Zayn's place, but he's glad he can finally feel solid ground under his feet. One more second in the road and he might have gone off course. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to drive with a million things going on in his head and his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, but he couldn't wait for Niall to get him, especially considering how far he lives.
He kicks the support out with his foot and places the helmet on the leather seat. He digs out the mobile Zayn got him for his birthday and dials Niall's number.
“Lou?”
“I'm right outside.”
“Give me a second, yeah?”
“Sure.”
Louis ends the call and throws the phone on the ground, stomping on it until his foot hurts. When he lifts his head, he sees Niall standing under the doorway still in his pajamas, blond hair messy and sticking every which way, and both lock eyes for a moment before Niall runs to him and holds him tight.
“You're safe now, Lou,” Niall whispers, and Louis lets out a shaky breath. “You're safe with me.”
Louis doesn't know if it's Niall's voice or how he's being held or how warm he feels under his clothes, but when he buries his face in Niall's chest and cries, his bruise doesn't hurt. He wraps his arms around Niall's back and pulls him closer. He doesn't want it to hurt anymore. He's soaking Niall's shirt but he can breathe again. He's not shaking and Niall keeps him close.
“Come on, let's get you inside.”
On the sofa, Niall's pressing a bag of ice against Louis's skin, and Louis just looks down and fidgets with his fingernails because he doesn't know what to say. Thank you isn't enough for everything Niall's done for him, and he's not sure if he can ever pay him back. He's sure that Niall wouldn't want him to, being how he is-give and give and smile and give-and he wonders what goes on in his head, why he never seems to get upset over anything, why he always laughs.
Niall's the first one to break the silence.
“So what finally made you leave?”
Louis lifts his head and meets Niall's eyes, bright blue and glistening. He doesn't know where to begin.
“It wasn't even a big deal, really, what happened last night,” Louis finally says, and Niall pulls back the ice bag and listens with furrowed brows. Louis shifts in his seat. “He got home drunk. Big surprise. He's been coming home drunk for a while now but I-I don't know why I never said anything. Did anything. I don't know. Do you think if I'd asked him to stop, he'd have listened?”
Niall shakes his head but doesn't say anything.
“Yeah, I didn't think so, either. Anyway.” Louis stops and thinks, dropping his eyes back to his hands, still picking at his nails. “I don't even recall what it was I said. Or did. I guess it's not very important. But his reaction, Niall. You'd have thought I killed his entire family. And while he was beating me, I remember thinking 'I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this.'.” Louis turns back to Niall. “When I saw this bruise, this big, ugly bruise, I just-I couldn't stay there. Not for another minute.”
Niall nods and brings the bag to his bruise again, and Louis winces slightly at the touch. It doesn't hurt anymore, not really, but he can still feel Zayn's hand and it brings everything back, and he shuts his eyes and pulls on Niall's wrist to push the bag closer. Niall's surprised but he doesn't resist.
“I know, Lou, I know” Niall says, and when Louis opens his eyes, he sees the other boy smiling. “I won't ever let him touch you again.”
For the first time in what seems like forever, Louis can feel himself smiling.
After rejecting Niall's offers to carry his suitcase for him, Louis grips the handle tight as he follows his friend up the stairs, his free hand skating the smooth, wooden banister as they ascend. Niall's house is big-bigger than what his family needs, really. How much space could two parents, a son, and a cat need anyway? But when your father's a big-time producer for a record company, Louis reckons it can't hurt to be lavish.
When they reach the landing, Niall steers him down a hall and pushes through the door at the far end. Louis walks in after him and he notices the familiar smell wafting through the room. He remembers sleepovers, failed study groups, crazy game nights, countless movie dates and he smiles. Niall's room.
“It's been a while, hasn't it?” Niall asks. Louis nods. It's been two years since he's last been there but he still remembers it like the back of his hand. There's a small space in the closet where they used to hide and eat chocolate bars when Niall's mother insisted they eat healthier for two months, and Louis had to get cavities taken out not too long after. The floor right in front of the bed is Jess's, Niall's cat, favorite sleeping area, and when it got too cold, she used to jump onto the bed and squeeze herself between the two boys for an hour or two before slinking back down and curling back to her spot.
He can't remember why he stopped coming.
“Too long, honestly,” Louis says, and when he sees the inflatable bed next to Niall's bed, he gently places his suitcase on it. But when he's about to take a seat, Niall yanks him away and throws the case on his bed. Louis is confused.
“No, you're sleeping here until I can get another bed in,” Niall says, patting the bedspread. “Can't have you sleeping on that mangy old thing your first night here in ages.”
“Really, Niall, it's fine,” Louis says, but he might as well have been talking to the bed itself because Niall's shaking his head adamantly.
“Don't argue, Tomlinson, you know better,” Niall says and Louis grins. “Now, you go unpack and breakfast'll probably be ready by then.”
“No, no, no, you've already done enough for me today, Ni,” Louis protests. “The least I can do it cook you breakfast. How about it?” But before Niall can come to a decision, Louis decides to run for the door, and when Niall tries to call him back and refuse, he's already halfway down the hall, and he stops just long enough to say, “No sense in arguing, Horan, it's not going to get you anywhere!”
::
After thirty long minutes of turning the flat upside down, Harry finally finds Liam's missing sock, and Liam happily takes it out of his hand and slips it on in one quick motion. Harry doesn't know why he hasn't done his laundry when he's down to his last pair of socks, but Liam's already running late and he doesn't really want to get in the way. Instead, he watches Liam zoom around the place, putting on last minute touches and taking at least five minutes to make sure his hair's not sticking out everywhere, and he waves goodbye to Harry before slamming the door on the hinge, and Harry runs up and helps him close it completely with one big push. He makes a mental note to remind Liam to get that damn thing fixed soon.
Harry turns around and looks at the mess. Cleaning up certainly wasn't part of the agreement, and he can always just ignore them and lock himself in his room playing around with his guitar. He doesn't even remember the last time he cleaned his room back home. But for some reason, he can't seem to avert his eyes, and his hands are telling him to do it, just do it and get it over with.
Sighing, he drags his feet along the floor and begins to pick up the games randomly strewn around, stacking them neatly right under the television. Harry looks over his shoulder and he's surprised that he can actually see the floor now. He takes care of a few bits of clothing hiding under the sofa, a few half-finished bottles of soda pushed right to the wall in a small cluster. Liam probably meant to throw them out but completely forgot, but Harry doesn't mind helping. What else can he do with his free time?
It's starting to get hot and he takes his shirt off, wiping the sweat clinging to his forehead, and he continues to pick wrappers and pieces of paper in the spaces between the cushions. He even finds a few coins, putting them in a bowl set on the kitchen table, and when he drops the last coin he can find, he shakes them and reckons there's enough for at least one burger. Harry pockets them because he's worked hard enough for the past half hour and he deserves a treat.
Putting his shirt back on, he retires to his room and looks at the open suitcase sitting on his bed. He was in the middle of unpacking when Liam had asked for his help, and he picks up where he left off. He folds his shirts and hangs his jumpers, and it isn't until he reaches the bottom of the case that he realizes he's only packed two pairs of jeans. He sighs and puts them away, and he rips a piece of paper out of his notepad and quickly writes get more jeans. He leaves it on his bedside table, placing the alarm clock on it to keep it in place. He slides the empty case in the space under his bed and he sits on the mattress, eyes on the closet.
It's barely filled halfway, with big gaps in between the clothes and big, empty space underneath that's meant for his guitar. Looking at the emptiness now, however, he feels lost. What should he do now? Where does he start? He can't just walk down the street and expect to bump into a record agent and have his entire life changed with a few strokes of his pen right there. No, it doesn't happen like that. But it's not like he didn't think everything through. He had a plan-go to a new city, play at any venue he can find while working to pay for his half of the rent, and hopefully, he can at least get his foot in the door to start. Sure, it's not the best plan in the world, and yeah, sometimes, he did think the whole idea was quite stupid and he should just focus on finishing his schoolwork because it's never going to happen in a million, billion years, but he wouldn't know unless he tried.
And now, he has the opportunity to make it all happen. All he needs is that one spark to set him off.
He picks up his guitar on the floor and moves until his back is touching the wall, and he stretches his legs down the length of the bed. He strums it a few times, trying to get a steady flow, and he begins to hum. His fingers follow each note and in his mind, he can see words coming to life. But he can't seem to put them together, and he stops and they disappear. He shakes his head. He's thinking too much and his brain can't process two things at once. He sighs, scratches his head, and places the guitar back on the floor. Maybe if he clears out his head, he'll be able to get back into it without problem.
The problem at the moment, though, is finding something to do to get his mind off things.
He's all packed up and the place is clean-well, cleaner than it was before he got there-and, really, other than eat or play on Liam's game console, neither of which he feels like doing, the flat can't offer anything remotely exciting
A thought pops in his head and in the next second, he's getting to his feet and he snatches the key to flat sitting on the table next to the note along with his wallet. Seeing as he's going to live there for a while, what better time to get himself familiarized with the area, and who knows, he might even find some cool new places he can blow his money on, which, with all things considered, doesn't amount to much because he needs to save a huge chunk of it for the rent. He can still afford to buy some luxuries, but without a job, his options are limited, and he figures he might as well start looking for a job while he's at it.
Shoving the key and his wallet in his pockets, he makes his way out the door and gives it a quick, strong tug. When he retrieves the key to lock it, his fingers tap the coins he salvaged, and he smiles. Maybe he will get that burger after all.
::
Niall has always been obsessed with shoes.
Louis had been there the moment he bought his first pair of shoes with the money he made from working, and the twinkle in his eyes and the large grin on his face made it seem like he was holding his newborn daughter. He might as well have, Louis thought, because Niall treats his shoes better than he treats his cat-not that he mistreats Jess, but if he were given a choice between her and his favorite pair of shoes, he'd most likely go for the shoes.
Maybe that's why Jess is squeezed inside Niall's shoe compartment, a fairly large alcove in his, let's face it, palace of a closet, scratching at one of the shoes until Louis can see a large, nasty hole in the fabric.
“Come on, Jess, Niall's going to be furious,” Louis says, coaxing the feline into his arms for the fifth time. Jess just ignores him and moves onto the shoe right beside it. Louis gives up playing nice and, in one swift motion, grabs the cat by the back of her neck and drops her back on the floor outside. She's caught by such surprise that she'd forgotten to hiss until she's on the carpet, and Louis crawls backward on all fours and slams the door shut.
When he stands up and turns around, Jess is gone again, and he heaves a big sigh. For the past half hour, he's been playing hide and seek with her, and he's beginning to think that she's doing the best she can to get him in trouble. What an evil little minx, he says to himself, and he opts out of the game and jumps back on the bed because even though he has nothing to do, anything's better than chasing her around the house. Now he understands why Niall likes his shoes better.
Niall walks in the room with a rather large piece of bacon clamped in his teeth, and Louis laughs as he watches him take quick bites until his cheeks are full and puffing out.
“You sure you don't want to go to the café today?” Niall asks as he chews. Louis nods. After everything, he doesn't know how focused he'll be, and he'd rather sit one day out than mess up because he's distracted and have to deal with Mike and one of his speeches. He loves Mike for letting him stay at the café for as long as he has but sometimes, he can only listen for so long before his head leaves his body and he's flying through the air, eating clouds and catching birds with a fishing pole.
“Alright,” Niall says after swallowing. “I'll be off in a second. Just have to get ready. You can do anything you want around the house in the meantime, really. Mum already knows you're staying so you don't have to explain anything. Erm, and I have some sunglasses in the closet if you want to try some on. Most of 'em are new. Got 'em last week on sale.”
“Thanks, Ni,” Louis replies, and Niall smiles and gets a coat from the closet. Louis sits up and holds his breath when Niall begins to shuffle through his shoes in the compartment, and the next second, Niall gives a loud gasp, raising the shoe Jess had made a scratch post and sliding a finger through the hole.
“Fuck!” Niall exclaims, and Louis sinks in his seat, trying to push himself through the bed and hide in the shadows forever. “Cost me a fortune, this!”
“I tried to stop her, Ni, but I couldn't find her!” Louis defends because he doesn't like it when Niall's upset, and Niall exhales and puts it back where it had been. Louis wishes Jess had scratched him instead.
“Don't worry, I needed new shoes anyway,” Niall says dejectedly, his face taking the expression of a kicked puppy. Louis frowns. He doesn't really know just how much Niall loves his shoes, but he does know that he hates seeing his face when something bad happens to them. Louis always liked to see Niall smile.
“How about I'll get you a new pair and I'll nip over and get you some pizza while I'm at it,” Louis offers, and in a second, Niall's face lights up and he's beaming. Louis grins. Niall loves pizza, too. “I'll just stop by when I get them and get a drink or something, yeah?”
Niall nods and grins. “You're the best, you are.”
Louis knows that he can't ever completely pay Niall back for everything he's done, but with little things like these that make him smile, he'll take them as a start.
After Niall finishes getting ready, Louis watches him as he picks up Jess, who has mysteriously ended up curling around his leg without him noticing, and tells her that he'll take her to the animal center and put her up for adoption if she ever claws through any of his shoes again, and he gives her a kiss on the forehead before waving goodbye to Louis and slipping out the door.
Louis eyes Jess carefully as she slinks back and forth in front of the closet, both locking eyes for a moment before the feline breaks it and continues her march. Louis jumps from the bed and picks her up, turning her to face him directly.
“Now, you heard what he said so don't try anything funny,” Louis warns, but Jess just looks at him with her beady amber eyes and opens her mouth to yawn. Louis keeps his eyes at her. “So you want to go in the closet that badly, is that right? Okay, tell you what.”
Louis walks across the room and places Jess on the bed.
“Niall took theater a few years ago and he still has all of his costumes. If you behave, I'll give you a private fashion show. Got it?”
Jess looks at him disinterestedly and yawns again.
“Fine,” Louis says sharply, and he turns on his heels and opens the closet door. Before he walks inside, he looks over his shoulder and locks eyes with her one last time. “Let's see if you're still yawning after the show, and don't you dare peek or I'll take you to the animal shelter myself.”
← prologue ♕ chapter one ♕ chapter two →
Pairings: Harry/Louis
Part: Chapter 1 of ?
Genre: AU, Romance
Rating: R
Summary: Harry and Louis live parallel lives where nothing much happens, but when the lines begin to intersect, they find themselves in situations bigger than either of them have ever bargained for.
♔ PROLOGUE
Chapter one
Harry scratches his head as he looks at the building and double checks the address on the piece of paper he's nervously gripping in his hand for the fifth time.
The bus ride to the area was a very uncomfortable and nerve-wracking ordeal that stretched on for over two hours of nail biting and nervous glances out the window riddled with etched graffiti to see if he was going in the right direction. Every stop seemed like his, and once or twice, he had got up from his seat, thanked the driver, poked his head out the doors, and scanned the place for a second before turning around, apologizing that it wasn't his stop yet, and going back to his seat. His embarrassment didn't stop there, however. When he was drinking from his water bottle, the bus had driven into a particularly nasty hole in the road, and the next moment, he looks down and groans when he sees his trousers soaked down to his underwear, and he had to pull out his jumper to cover up the mess. When it finally came to his stop a few minutes later, he had to hold his jumper a certain way as he awkwardly made his way to the front, and after getting off the bus as quickly as he could, he ran to the nearest gas station and used up all the paper towels trying to dry himself off.
Matching the numbers and the street name for the hundredth time, he takes a deep breath and pushes through the doors.
Inside the building is cool, and he can feel a draft coming from his left. He starts walking. His shoes make more noise than they need to and the echoes make the place all the more unfamiliar-eerie, even. He reckons he's watched too many horror movies for his own good, because now he's thinking about crazy tenants armed with baseball bats and the possible zombie infection that's probably working its way through his system already, or is that even how zombie infections worked? He stuffs the paper back in his pocket and grips the strap of his guitar case tightly, just in case someone-or something-tries to get him from behind.
On the elevator doors, a sign is haphazardly taped, and he reads the out of order in bright, red ink, and he sighs dejectedly before turning his head this way and that until he finds the door to the staircase. He tugs at his case because his arm's starting to fall sleep, but all it does is shoot needles under his skin and he takes a moment to wait for it to subside. He switches to the other hand and makes for the door, and he looks up with wide eyes at the coiling structure behind it, seemingly going all the way up to eternity. He sighs for the millionth time. Failing to recall the flat number, which isn't really a surprise at this point since he's forgotten nearly everything else and it's only eight in the morning, he digs the paper out and examines it for a second. Room 605. He grimaces and looks up one more time, green eyes following each step, each bar, each turn until his eyes roll at the back of his head and he's a bit dizzy. He can't even remember the last time he ran in his physical education class, and his knees are already protesting when he takes the first step. Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine steps to go.
Six floors later, Harry's legs are ready to be buried, and it seems like his heart's about to give out at any moment. He studies the hall before him as he tries to catch his breath. The walls are painted a deep orange not unlike the color of carrots, and he rubs his eyes to make sure he's not hallucinating. He isn't, and the longer he stares at the absurd color, the more he feels his eyes shrinking back into their sockets, and he's about ready to file a complaint concerning basic human rights when his legs miraculously start working again. Doing his best to ignore the walls, he instead keeps his eyes at the doors, taking note of the numbers on faded silver plaques as he walks past them.
He sets his suitcase against the wall next to the door marked 605 and exhales sharply.
He reaches a hand to his guitar strap and grips it tight, and with a deep breath, he presses the buzzer on the wall next to the doorknob.
“Who is it?” someone calls out from the other side, not particularly unpleasant but somewhat distracted. Harry clears his throat.
“It's-It's Harry,” Harry replies, his voice surprisingly mousy. He clears his throat once more and tries again. “Harry Styles. Your new flatmate?”
“Oh right! Come in, the door's open.”
Harry scrambles for his suitcase and composes himself, but he's still gripping the strap tighter than ever.
Twisting the knob, he pulls hard and his eyes shoot open when he hears his shoulder crack. Confused, he tries again, gently this time, but the door doesn't budge.
“I, er, I think something's wrong with the door,” Harry says, attempting for the third time.
“Shit, I forgot! Just jiggle the, erm, handle a bit to loosen-hang on.”
Harry hears movement from the other side of the door. He tries the suggestion and shakes the doorknob from side to side, and to his surprise, the door moves slightly, but it's still quite attached to the frame.
“Hang on, hang on, I'll do it.”
Harry retracts his hand and watches as the knob begins shaking violently, and he flinches when he hears the scraping of wood on wood. But it works and when the door flings open, he's standing in front of a young man with shiny brown hair swept to the side and slightly hollowed cheeks wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and one sock. Harry doesn't even wonder where the other sock's gone because he's still thinking about the door.
“Well, come on,” Liam Payne said, tossing his head to the living room. Harry nods with a grin and slips inside.
It's quite spacious, Harry concludes with eyes alight, with a modest kitchen and a generous amount of open spaces to move about. The living room floor is littered with games and books, and there's a big television screen on the back wall with the word PAUSED blinking in the center. Harry lowers his suitcase on the sofa and turns around just in time to see Liam closing the door, and the grating sound scratches his eardrums again.
“Sorry 'bout that,” Liam apologizes, turning around and scratching his head. “They claimed to have already fixed it two days ago.”
“With what, superglue?” Harry jokes. Liam smiles.
“Anyway, welcome to my humble abode,” Liam says, presenting the place with outstretched arms. “Although it's not really an abode, and it's not very humble. But you're still welcome to it.”
Harry grins and holds a hand out. “Harry Styles.”
“Liam Payne,” Liam says, taking the hand with his own and shaking it. “It's very nice to finally meet you in person.”
“You as well.” Harry drops his hand and moves it back to the strap. “I really appreciate you getting back to me so quickly. I was beginning to think I'd never find someone to room with.”
“Don't mention it,” Liam says with a wave of his hand. “You were in luck, actually. My dickhead flatmate walked out on me literally two days before you sent me the email. Still pretty miffed about it, to be honest.”
“I'd bet,” Harry replies and looks around. “So when can I get, erm, settled in?”
“Oh, right!” Liam points to the hallway beside the television set and Harry's eyes follow. “Your room's just down there on the left. I'm right across and the bathroom's in the back wall. If you need anything, just let me know, yeah?” Harry nods and picks up his suitcase, and when he makes his way to the bedroom, he feels his grip on the strap finally relaxing.
::
Louis shuts his moped off and pulls off his helmet.
It feels like he's been driving forever since he's left Zayn's place, but he's glad he can finally feel solid ground under his feet. One more second in the road and he might have gone off course. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to drive with a million things going on in his head and his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, but he couldn't wait for Niall to get him, especially considering how far he lives.
He kicks the support out with his foot and places the helmet on the leather seat. He digs out the mobile Zayn got him for his birthday and dials Niall's number.
“Lou?”
“I'm right outside.”
“Give me a second, yeah?”
“Sure.”
Louis ends the call and throws the phone on the ground, stomping on it until his foot hurts. When he lifts his head, he sees Niall standing under the doorway still in his pajamas, blond hair messy and sticking every which way, and both lock eyes for a moment before Niall runs to him and holds him tight.
“You're safe now, Lou,” Niall whispers, and Louis lets out a shaky breath. “You're safe with me.”
Louis doesn't know if it's Niall's voice or how he's being held or how warm he feels under his clothes, but when he buries his face in Niall's chest and cries, his bruise doesn't hurt. He wraps his arms around Niall's back and pulls him closer. He doesn't want it to hurt anymore. He's soaking Niall's shirt but he can breathe again. He's not shaking and Niall keeps him close.
“Come on, let's get you inside.”
On the sofa, Niall's pressing a bag of ice against Louis's skin, and Louis just looks down and fidgets with his fingernails because he doesn't know what to say. Thank you isn't enough for everything Niall's done for him, and he's not sure if he can ever pay him back. He's sure that Niall wouldn't want him to, being how he is-give and give and smile and give-and he wonders what goes on in his head, why he never seems to get upset over anything, why he always laughs.
Niall's the first one to break the silence.
“So what finally made you leave?”
Louis lifts his head and meets Niall's eyes, bright blue and glistening. He doesn't know where to begin.
“It wasn't even a big deal, really, what happened last night,” Louis finally says, and Niall pulls back the ice bag and listens with furrowed brows. Louis shifts in his seat. “He got home drunk. Big surprise. He's been coming home drunk for a while now but I-I don't know why I never said anything. Did anything. I don't know. Do you think if I'd asked him to stop, he'd have listened?”
Niall shakes his head but doesn't say anything.
“Yeah, I didn't think so, either. Anyway.” Louis stops and thinks, dropping his eyes back to his hands, still picking at his nails. “I don't even recall what it was I said. Or did. I guess it's not very important. But his reaction, Niall. You'd have thought I killed his entire family. And while he was beating me, I remember thinking 'I don't deserve this. I don't deserve this.'.” Louis turns back to Niall. “When I saw this bruise, this big, ugly bruise, I just-I couldn't stay there. Not for another minute.”
Niall nods and brings the bag to his bruise again, and Louis winces slightly at the touch. It doesn't hurt anymore, not really, but he can still feel Zayn's hand and it brings everything back, and he shuts his eyes and pulls on Niall's wrist to push the bag closer. Niall's surprised but he doesn't resist.
“I know, Lou, I know” Niall says, and when Louis opens his eyes, he sees the other boy smiling. “I won't ever let him touch you again.”
For the first time in what seems like forever, Louis can feel himself smiling.
After rejecting Niall's offers to carry his suitcase for him, Louis grips the handle tight as he follows his friend up the stairs, his free hand skating the smooth, wooden banister as they ascend. Niall's house is big-bigger than what his family needs, really. How much space could two parents, a son, and a cat need anyway? But when your father's a big-time producer for a record company, Louis reckons it can't hurt to be lavish.
When they reach the landing, Niall steers him down a hall and pushes through the door at the far end. Louis walks in after him and he notices the familiar smell wafting through the room. He remembers sleepovers, failed study groups, crazy game nights, countless movie dates and he smiles. Niall's room.
“It's been a while, hasn't it?” Niall asks. Louis nods. It's been two years since he's last been there but he still remembers it like the back of his hand. There's a small space in the closet where they used to hide and eat chocolate bars when Niall's mother insisted they eat healthier for two months, and Louis had to get cavities taken out not too long after. The floor right in front of the bed is Jess's, Niall's cat, favorite sleeping area, and when it got too cold, she used to jump onto the bed and squeeze herself between the two boys for an hour or two before slinking back down and curling back to her spot.
He can't remember why he stopped coming.
“Too long, honestly,” Louis says, and when he sees the inflatable bed next to Niall's bed, he gently places his suitcase on it. But when he's about to take a seat, Niall yanks him away and throws the case on his bed. Louis is confused.
“No, you're sleeping here until I can get another bed in,” Niall says, patting the bedspread. “Can't have you sleeping on that mangy old thing your first night here in ages.”
“Really, Niall, it's fine,” Louis says, but he might as well have been talking to the bed itself because Niall's shaking his head adamantly.
“Don't argue, Tomlinson, you know better,” Niall says and Louis grins. “Now, you go unpack and breakfast'll probably be ready by then.”
“No, no, no, you've already done enough for me today, Ni,” Louis protests. “The least I can do it cook you breakfast. How about it?” But before Niall can come to a decision, Louis decides to run for the door, and when Niall tries to call him back and refuse, he's already halfway down the hall, and he stops just long enough to say, “No sense in arguing, Horan, it's not going to get you anywhere!”
::
After thirty long minutes of turning the flat upside down, Harry finally finds Liam's missing sock, and Liam happily takes it out of his hand and slips it on in one quick motion. Harry doesn't know why he hasn't done his laundry when he's down to his last pair of socks, but Liam's already running late and he doesn't really want to get in the way. Instead, he watches Liam zoom around the place, putting on last minute touches and taking at least five minutes to make sure his hair's not sticking out everywhere, and he waves goodbye to Harry before slamming the door on the hinge, and Harry runs up and helps him close it completely with one big push. He makes a mental note to remind Liam to get that damn thing fixed soon.
Harry turns around and looks at the mess. Cleaning up certainly wasn't part of the agreement, and he can always just ignore them and lock himself in his room playing around with his guitar. He doesn't even remember the last time he cleaned his room back home. But for some reason, he can't seem to avert his eyes, and his hands are telling him to do it, just do it and get it over with.
Sighing, he drags his feet along the floor and begins to pick up the games randomly strewn around, stacking them neatly right under the television. Harry looks over his shoulder and he's surprised that he can actually see the floor now. He takes care of a few bits of clothing hiding under the sofa, a few half-finished bottles of soda pushed right to the wall in a small cluster. Liam probably meant to throw them out but completely forgot, but Harry doesn't mind helping. What else can he do with his free time?
It's starting to get hot and he takes his shirt off, wiping the sweat clinging to his forehead, and he continues to pick wrappers and pieces of paper in the spaces between the cushions. He even finds a few coins, putting them in a bowl set on the kitchen table, and when he drops the last coin he can find, he shakes them and reckons there's enough for at least one burger. Harry pockets them because he's worked hard enough for the past half hour and he deserves a treat.
Putting his shirt back on, he retires to his room and looks at the open suitcase sitting on his bed. He was in the middle of unpacking when Liam had asked for his help, and he picks up where he left off. He folds his shirts and hangs his jumpers, and it isn't until he reaches the bottom of the case that he realizes he's only packed two pairs of jeans. He sighs and puts them away, and he rips a piece of paper out of his notepad and quickly writes get more jeans. He leaves it on his bedside table, placing the alarm clock on it to keep it in place. He slides the empty case in the space under his bed and he sits on the mattress, eyes on the closet.
It's barely filled halfway, with big gaps in between the clothes and big, empty space underneath that's meant for his guitar. Looking at the emptiness now, however, he feels lost. What should he do now? Where does he start? He can't just walk down the street and expect to bump into a record agent and have his entire life changed with a few strokes of his pen right there. No, it doesn't happen like that. But it's not like he didn't think everything through. He had a plan-go to a new city, play at any venue he can find while working to pay for his half of the rent, and hopefully, he can at least get his foot in the door to start. Sure, it's not the best plan in the world, and yeah, sometimes, he did think the whole idea was quite stupid and he should just focus on finishing his schoolwork because it's never going to happen in a million, billion years, but he wouldn't know unless he tried.
And now, he has the opportunity to make it all happen. All he needs is that one spark to set him off.
He picks up his guitar on the floor and moves until his back is touching the wall, and he stretches his legs down the length of the bed. He strums it a few times, trying to get a steady flow, and he begins to hum. His fingers follow each note and in his mind, he can see words coming to life. But he can't seem to put them together, and he stops and they disappear. He shakes his head. He's thinking too much and his brain can't process two things at once. He sighs, scratches his head, and places the guitar back on the floor. Maybe if he clears out his head, he'll be able to get back into it without problem.
The problem at the moment, though, is finding something to do to get his mind off things.
He's all packed up and the place is clean-well, cleaner than it was before he got there-and, really, other than eat or play on Liam's game console, neither of which he feels like doing, the flat can't offer anything remotely exciting
A thought pops in his head and in the next second, he's getting to his feet and he snatches the key to flat sitting on the table next to the note along with his wallet. Seeing as he's going to live there for a while, what better time to get himself familiarized with the area, and who knows, he might even find some cool new places he can blow his money on, which, with all things considered, doesn't amount to much because he needs to save a huge chunk of it for the rent. He can still afford to buy some luxuries, but without a job, his options are limited, and he figures he might as well start looking for a job while he's at it.
Shoving the key and his wallet in his pockets, he makes his way out the door and gives it a quick, strong tug. When he retrieves the key to lock it, his fingers tap the coins he salvaged, and he smiles. Maybe he will get that burger after all.
::
Niall has always been obsessed with shoes.
Louis had been there the moment he bought his first pair of shoes with the money he made from working, and the twinkle in his eyes and the large grin on his face made it seem like he was holding his newborn daughter. He might as well have, Louis thought, because Niall treats his shoes better than he treats his cat-not that he mistreats Jess, but if he were given a choice between her and his favorite pair of shoes, he'd most likely go for the shoes.
Maybe that's why Jess is squeezed inside Niall's shoe compartment, a fairly large alcove in his, let's face it, palace of a closet, scratching at one of the shoes until Louis can see a large, nasty hole in the fabric.
“Come on, Jess, Niall's going to be furious,” Louis says, coaxing the feline into his arms for the fifth time. Jess just ignores him and moves onto the shoe right beside it. Louis gives up playing nice and, in one swift motion, grabs the cat by the back of her neck and drops her back on the floor outside. She's caught by such surprise that she'd forgotten to hiss until she's on the carpet, and Louis crawls backward on all fours and slams the door shut.
When he stands up and turns around, Jess is gone again, and he heaves a big sigh. For the past half hour, he's been playing hide and seek with her, and he's beginning to think that she's doing the best she can to get him in trouble. What an evil little minx, he says to himself, and he opts out of the game and jumps back on the bed because even though he has nothing to do, anything's better than chasing her around the house. Now he understands why Niall likes his shoes better.
Niall walks in the room with a rather large piece of bacon clamped in his teeth, and Louis laughs as he watches him take quick bites until his cheeks are full and puffing out.
“You sure you don't want to go to the café today?” Niall asks as he chews. Louis nods. After everything, he doesn't know how focused he'll be, and he'd rather sit one day out than mess up because he's distracted and have to deal with Mike and one of his speeches. He loves Mike for letting him stay at the café for as long as he has but sometimes, he can only listen for so long before his head leaves his body and he's flying through the air, eating clouds and catching birds with a fishing pole.
“Alright,” Niall says after swallowing. “I'll be off in a second. Just have to get ready. You can do anything you want around the house in the meantime, really. Mum already knows you're staying so you don't have to explain anything. Erm, and I have some sunglasses in the closet if you want to try some on. Most of 'em are new. Got 'em last week on sale.”
“Thanks, Ni,” Louis replies, and Niall smiles and gets a coat from the closet. Louis sits up and holds his breath when Niall begins to shuffle through his shoes in the compartment, and the next second, Niall gives a loud gasp, raising the shoe Jess had made a scratch post and sliding a finger through the hole.
“Fuck!” Niall exclaims, and Louis sinks in his seat, trying to push himself through the bed and hide in the shadows forever. “Cost me a fortune, this!”
“I tried to stop her, Ni, but I couldn't find her!” Louis defends because he doesn't like it when Niall's upset, and Niall exhales and puts it back where it had been. Louis wishes Jess had scratched him instead.
“Don't worry, I needed new shoes anyway,” Niall says dejectedly, his face taking the expression of a kicked puppy. Louis frowns. He doesn't really know just how much Niall loves his shoes, but he does know that he hates seeing his face when something bad happens to them. Louis always liked to see Niall smile.
“How about I'll get you a new pair and I'll nip over and get you some pizza while I'm at it,” Louis offers, and in a second, Niall's face lights up and he's beaming. Louis grins. Niall loves pizza, too. “I'll just stop by when I get them and get a drink or something, yeah?”
Niall nods and grins. “You're the best, you are.”
Louis knows that he can't ever completely pay Niall back for everything he's done, but with little things like these that make him smile, he'll take them as a start.
After Niall finishes getting ready, Louis watches him as he picks up Jess, who has mysteriously ended up curling around his leg without him noticing, and tells her that he'll take her to the animal center and put her up for adoption if she ever claws through any of his shoes again, and he gives her a kiss on the forehead before waving goodbye to Louis and slipping out the door.
Louis eyes Jess carefully as she slinks back and forth in front of the closet, both locking eyes for a moment before the feline breaks it and continues her march. Louis jumps from the bed and picks her up, turning her to face him directly.
“Now, you heard what he said so don't try anything funny,” Louis warns, but Jess just looks at him with her beady amber eyes and opens her mouth to yawn. Louis keeps his eyes at her. “So you want to go in the closet that badly, is that right? Okay, tell you what.”
Louis walks across the room and places Jess on the bed.
“Niall took theater a few years ago and he still has all of his costumes. If you behave, I'll give you a private fashion show. Got it?”
Jess looks at him disinterestedly and yawns again.
“Fine,” Louis says sharply, and he turns on his heels and opens the closet door. Before he walks inside, he looks over his shoulder and locks eyes with her one last time. “Let's see if you're still yawning after the show, and don't you dare peek or I'll take you to the animal shelter myself.”
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