The room is lit to the point of muted glowing, and he can hear tinkles of familiar laughter vibrating from the house. It brings a smile to his face, as he keeps the door open for Niall, shifting the beer in his arms as he makes his way in.
“We’re not even in the same room as him yet and you’re already smiling? What a fuckin’ sap.” Niall closes the door with his foot, and Harry’s smile drops slightly as he rolls his eyes.
“I’m not a sap Niall, I was just admiring the atmosphere .” he says, though he knows Niall is the type of asshole to ignore it and laugh at him.
He finally gets his guffaws out and straightens, telling Harry, “Now let’s go set these cases down my arms are about to fucking fall off.”
Harry nods and follows him to the kitchen, cursing Zayn and Liam yet again for living on the the third floor of a complex without a working elevator, and then once more for forgetting to bring beer to a party . He’d never understand why he was friends with these people.
But then he remembers how Zayn helped him fit in when he was the new cast member on his first big television show ever, how Liam helped him train for his most physically demanding role without overwhelming him. He remembers how Niall had fought to give him roles he’d fit in with, even now with all the roles thrust at him, and he felt it a bit easier to take their shit.
But then he stumbles and Niall laughs and that gratitude shrinks back down, and he grins as they set the beer down on the table and Harry finally finally catches sight of his boy.
He’s the picture of soft mischievousness, resting his bum on the end table while holding his cup (which Harry can tell is wine from the dewiness of his expression) with the gentlest of wrists. And as vain as it may sound, Harry can tell that he’s talking about him from the warmth of his smile and the crinkles by his eyes that indicate he’s getting away with something.
He moves closer, sidestepping Liam, who’s undoubtedly come to thank him for bringing the beer. Liam can wait though, his boy is here, being the best he can be (which is himself), and Harry just needs to get to him. Once he catches a snippet of the conversation however, he positions himself just out of his boy’s view and listens.
“Your boy is an actor too right?” the girl says. Harry dimly remembers her name to be Lauren, but he could be wrong.
Louis is nodding even as he takes a sip, which leads to a bit slipping onto his shirt, and Harry is hopelessly endeared. “Yup! He’s top class too, ‘m very proud of him.”
He looks proud too, because giggly as he is his grin has an edge of boast to it, and Harry steps forward cause damned if he doesn’t want to kiss him.
Louis looks up at the movement and his smile widens even as Lauren asks, “Oh, what’s he been in?”
Harry wraps his arm around Louis’ shoulder and smiles in greeting. Louis’ grin had turned positively feral, and Harry shakes his head apologetically, because he knows what’s coming next.