Chapter Text
Harry lets his head fall forward, defeated. He stretches out his sore hands, the countless hours of typing finally taking its toll. He’d feel a lot better about it if the topic wasn’t so mind-numbingly boring.
The evening sunset washes golden-yellow light all over Harry’s mahogany desk, his tired shadow taunting him. Harry’s not sure how much longer he can stand this job.
He feels his phone vibrate in his right pocket and wrestles it out of his tight black jeans. Looking at the caller ID, Harry wonders once again if his best friend has psychic powers; he always seems to know when Harry’s due for a break.
“Hellloo Zaynn,” Harry drawls, phone smushed against his right dimple.
“Harrry, how are you?” Zayn slurs, the sound almost unintelligible with all the noise traveling through the phone.
“Can’t say I’m that well mate.”
“Well, I’m at the pub on 30th and 1st and it’s seriously lacking on the six-foot dimpling man front. I think you should come and fix it, we haven’t been out in ages.”
Looking around his empty flat, Harry figures it wouldn’t be so bad to get out a little. The walls are a boring white, and the pictures few. There is one of him and his lovely sister Gemma, his long ringlets rivaling hers. In the neighboring picture he’s sitting on his old porch steps, both his arms wrapped around his mother Ann. He’s wearing his signature double dimpled smile. Harry tries not to focus on the twinkle in his eyes, how they are alight with wonder. He tries not to think about how the light may have gone out.
Returning his attention to the phone, he answers with a small chuckle, “Well, why not I guess. I’ll see you in twenty. You better still be there.”
The last thing he hears before ending the call is a faint, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Standing up, Harry lets his phone drop onto the cushioned seat. His hand hovers over the desk he’s had for ages. He got it in Uni when he and his friends went on an impromptu trip to the mountainous Utah, where they hiked up Mount Timpanogos. After they got down from the mountain, they went to a shop that sold authentic hand-carved wooden objects. Harry remembers first looking at this desk, he’d imagined himself sitting at it, writing passionately about something he loved. Unfortunately, it’s a far cry from what he actually does. Harry takes a deep breath and remembers he has somewhere to be.
Harry heads into his walk-in closet, deciding to not change his pants, instead exchanging his shirt with a fitted white button-up. This particular shirt has the space directly below his shoulders and to the sides of his neck cut out, it reflects that of the laurel tattoos he has on his abdomen, while also showing off the swallow tattoos that sit just below his collarbones. He decides to leave his curls down and lets them brush against his bare skin. His chunky rings glint under the last light of the day.
Harry drops himself onto the cushioned bench in front of his door and picks up both of his heeled chelsea boots in one large hand, placing them to his side and shifting over slightly, taking care not to lean against the picture of a daffodil that’s framed behind him. Gracelessly Harry slips on his shoes.
He looks back at the frame of his mother and a young him and gives her a little wave. It’s become a habit of his. She may be thousands of miles away in the UK, but it still helps to ward off the homesickness. The door shuts with a little jostle and he decides to forgo the lift and walk the stairs for the sake of time; he can’t remember the last time the lift got to the lobby without getting stuck.
He makes his way out of the building, smiling at the concierge as he goes. The revolving door shows little resistance as he steps into the slightly chilled air of a busy New York City evening.
Harry’s photographer's eye makes him more attuned to his surroundings, and he’s keen on observing the busy streets and architecture as he walks.
To Harry’s dismay, the almost constant construction projects block his view of the darkening sky; but on the bright side, he does get to the bar in record time.
The bar is on the end of the street and has a hexagonal shape. Harry lays one hand on the curved wooden handle and pulls open the heavy oak door.
Swerving around some very inebriated and enthused dancers, Harry saunters up to the bar to where he sees Zayn getting a refill.
Zayn immediately pulls him into a hug and Harry isn’t embarrassed to admit he really needs it at the moment, and maybe a cry too, but shots will do just fine.
“Harry”, Zayn whispers into Harry's neck, tickling his sensitive skin and pulling a chuckle out of him.
Zayn is very entertaining with even a spot of alcohol, it’s probably half of his charm.
“Hello again, what is tonight's drink?” Zayn looks at his own glass, half-filled with a clear substance and adorned with an orange peel.
“Old-fashioned, obviously .”
“ Obviously,” Harry replies as he catches the eye of the bartender and orders one for himself.
While Zayn takes a slow drink from his glass, Harry takes the time to survey the room. The bar is filled considerably, there’s a mix of calm and rowdy bodies, many smiling faces and glazed over eyes. He gives Zayn a nod and disappears into the crowd. It’s freeing to not be seen for once, to just lose himself in the music and elevated energy.
When someone knocks into him and spills some liquid, likely vodka onto his shirt, he decides it’s time for a breather, so he finds the side exit. He unbuttons most of his shirt, to let it dry a little, not appreciating the drink's residual stickiness.
The wind ruffles his hair as he steps into the night. There’s a few people there already, but he pays them no mind as he finds an empty spot along the paved wall.
He lets his eyes close and his arms hang by his sides, breathing deeply and relaxing his mind. He practices the breathing exercises that his mom taught him, imagining that she’s in front of him, squeezing his shoulders, telling him to leave his worries at his desk.
He startles when someone hastily pushes open the door. Harry tense when he feels a light hand on his back. On instinct, Harry turns around to gauge the situation and sees someone gently push him forward. The stranger's face is apologetic as he gestures for Harry to be quiet. The man then drops down, curls himself inward, and leans on his toes in a crouched position. The stranger seems to be moving too fast and accidentally falls forward on his knees. He seems to be too distracted to realize the compromising position. There’s a blur of motion in front of him, but it passes before Harry can figure out what it was.
With a relieved sigh, the guy stands up, looking entirely unphased. The fluffy haired brunette seems to notice Harry’s eyes on him then and tilts his head slightly upward to look at his bewildered expression. A light, amused laugh falls from his thin pink lips, accompanied by a pretty smile. At that moment it looks like he realized the strangeness of the situation and in a light raspy voice he lets out a quiet, “Sorry, I, uh.” He pauses, looking around. “Well to be honest I don’t have an explanation for that.” His eyes assess Harry, almost like he’s preparing himself for a negative reaction.
Harry suddenly bursts out laughing, both dimples making an appearance. He practically doubles over, laying one hand on his leg.
The guy has his eyebrows raised when Harry looks back at him.
Harry takes a few breaths, trying to calm himself and eventually his laughs die down.
Seeing the other guy's puzzled expression Harry starts, “That was rather odd, but honestly, it was the perfect thing to lighten my mood. So, is it weird to say I’m rather grateful you’ve just pushed me and looked to also use me as some kind of human shield?”
The other guy's eyes light up, “If you're asking, I’m gonna say yeah, that’s weird for sure.” He giggles. “But, I can admire the honesty. And if I’m honest, it’s relieving, I thought you were close to punching me.” His eyes drift down to Harry’s exposed torso. “Well, actually you are half naked outside of a bar so maybe I should have expected you wouldn’t be quite so normal.”
Harry scoffs, feigning offense. He waves the stranger off. “Oh pish posh! I am perfectly normal.” The enthusiasm of the movement seems to have too much force, causing Harry to stumble on the flat ground.
With a little chuckle the guy says, “Woah woah curly, not an insult. I find normal people quite boring actually.”
Harry wonders who this guy is,who he’s running from, and how he could act so casual about it.
“It’s Harry actually.” He says as he stretches out a hand.
“Louis.” Their gazes lock, his mesmerizing eyes silencing Harry’s thoughts. He gives Harry a small smile that Harry finds it hard to look away from.
Louis extends a hand out to meet Harry’s. It’s delicate, small, laced with tattoos, and is dorphed by Harry’s.
“Harry, hmm.” Louis sets a small hand against Harry’s exposed skin and twirls a curl between his fingers.
The hand is warm and soft on his skin and Harry wills himself to keep breathing.
“No wonder that’s the first thing I noticed about you. Hairyy.” Louis drags out the last word, motioning wildly to Harry’s flowing curls.
Harry’s eyes close as he squawks out a laugh, entirely caught off guard by the bad pun.
Harry looks around, starting to notice the stranger’s judgmental eyes. “Do you want to get out of here?” At Louis’ slight nod Harry grasps the small hand still attached to his chest and leads them both back through the side door. They move around the dancers to place their glasses at the bar. Harry sees Zayn still sitting there and gives him a nod. Hands still clasped, they make their way outside.
Harry looks over Louis again, noticing how the fluffy soft sweater he’s wearing makes him look both soft and striking. Harry releases his hand and feels his stomach grumble.
Louis seems to have also caught the sound, “Feel like getting a bite?”
Harry nods appreciatively at the idea. “Yeah, I know this good diner close to my flat. Come, follow me,” Harry says, beckoning him.
Louis steps up next to him and Harry can’t stop himself from looking over and admiring how Louis’ long eyelashes fan over his high cheekbones Harry claps his hands behind his back, needing to physically restrain himself from reaching to run a finger over the delicate angles of Louis’ face.
A few people walk by, laughing obnoxiously, and effectively breaking Harry out of his trance.
The night has fallen and the sky is littered with sparkling stars, illuminating an otherwise normal evening.
Louis’ voice breaks the comfortable silence. “So, what were you doing at the bar tonight?”
The usually bustling city is quiet now and it feels like they’re the only ones around for miles.
“My job’s kind of going to shit right now, and my mate invited me out. I was happy for the break.”
Louis hums.
“And what is it that Harold does?”
Harry lets out a chuckle, “First, it’s Harry. And, I’m a journalist for a semi-popular newspaper. The problem is that the stories my boss has been assigning me recently have been absolute rubbish.”
Harry can see Louis kick a little piece of gravel in his periphery. “Well, now I’m interested. I mean, you were perfectly pleasant after I basically pushed you out of the way without any type of warning, so it must be really bad if it gets you riled up.”
The reason Harry reacted so calmly may not have been entirely due to his forgiving nature, more so because Louis was the one who did it. But Louis doesn’t need to know that.
“Oh Lou, you couldn’t push me if you tried.” Harry makes a point to look down at him. He continues, “And if you must know, I’ve just been assigned to write,” Harry takes a deep breath to center himself, “about the significance of rats in restaurant kitchens.”
Harry hears a gasp beside him. “No.”
“Yes.”
Adorable giggles start to fall from Louis’ lips, and Harry can’t help but laugh along.
Once Louis gets a hold of himself he adds, “That is completely absurd.”
Harry's eyes stay on Louis, “And what about you, what was it that had you running outside, using a stranger for cover?”
Louis pauses, not appearing amused by the joke. His face is impassive as he stares off into the distance.
Harry hears the winds whistling in the silence that follows.
Louis turns to face him, his eyes flitting briefly to something behind Harry.
“Wait.” Louis says, a small fist lightly tapping Harry’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks and drawing his eyes to Louis’ thin wrist. “I have an idea. I think it could really help you get out of your shit situation.”
“Alright, go on then.” Harry prompts, eyes still cast down.
“I know research is very important for journalism. So why don’t we go get a primary source?”
Harry’s eyebrows crease and he tilts his head to the side, not having any idea where this is going.
“You know what, just follow me.” Louis turns fast, pulling Harry by his hand towards the spot ahead he’d been glancing at.
Louis is leading Harry to what looks like the back door of a building, ushering him up the stairs until they are standing right in front of it.
Louis puts his hand on the handle of the door, looks at Harry, shrugs, pulls on the door, and seemingly to both of their surprise, it swings open without much effort. Harry feels words forming in his mouth but it’s cut off when he sees the mischievous glint in Louis’ eyes.
Harry knows he shouldn’t do this. With that thought in mind, he walks into the unfamiliar building. He’s beginning to think he’d follow Louis anywhere.
Louis’ steps are light and his walk agile. Harry lets his gaze drift lower and simultaneously doesn’t notice the small puddle of water in front of him. Of course he begins to slip, waving his arms around, as if trying to pull on invisible ropes to keep himself from falling. It only makes him look like an idiot and he ends up straight on his back anyway. Harry looks up at a white ceiling, cringing as the water starts to seep into his just-dried shirt.
He hears Louis’ laughter coming from above him. “Oh. My. God.”
Soon he sees a widely smiling Louis staring down at him, hands on his hips, and a beautiful pink coating his cheeks.
He leans down closer to Harry, and whispers, “What are you doing?”
Harry blinks up at him. “Well I’m just taking a nice kip in this strange building we’ve just broken into. It’s rather comfortable actually. Why don’t you join me?”
Harry reaches his hand out to tug Louis down, Louis smoothly swerves around it. Though, it seems he’s forgotten where they are because the next second he’s lying flat on top of Harry.
“The puddle got you too?” Harry smiles at where Louis’ head rests on his chest.
Louis shakes his head into Harry’s chest. Most of Louis’ face is hidden but he can still see how Louis’ eyes crinkle. Something warm runs through him.
They help each other up, matching pink blushes coating their cheeks.
Louis resumes his position ahead of Harry and waves him forward. He stops at a door, leaning forward to look through its opening. Harry can’t help but drop his eyes again, admiring how Louis’ tight black jeans hug his plump bum and highlight his small waist.
He shuffles forward at the same time that Louis steps backward, seemingly to try to maintain their cover. Louis’ still leaned forward but now their legs are aligned and Louis’ bum now rests snug against Harry’s crotch. Once again, Harry wills himself to keep breathing. Louis looks back at him from under his eyelashes, a teasing smile sitting on his lips. Louis rights himself, their entire bodies connected now, back to front, turning his head to whisper into Harry's neck, “Follow my lead.”
Louis takes a deep breath and calmly walks forward, pushing open the door. Once through, Harry realizes they’ve entered a kitchen. There are multiple waiters and waitresses talking in one corner, a drink station, and a large counter where food is sitting.
“Hello. How are you?” Louis casually greets them as he continues deeper into the kitchen. They walk all the way through the back, passing an empty office, a mop sink, and several storage areas. Their final destination seems to be where the cooks are preparing the food and once Louis gets there, he, once again, does not inform Harry of their plan, and keeps his gaze trained on the floor, in search of god knows what. “Shit.”
“What?”
“No rats.” Louis says dejectedly.
It suddenly all clicks into place and a mirthful smile takes over Harry’s face. “What the hell?”
Louis startles and looks at Harry, eyes drifting to the dimples, a smile once again sitting on his lips.
“There. Are. No. Rats!” Louis says again, slower this time. As if that explains anything.
Harry goes to respond but he’s cut off when Louis adds, “No primary source for your article then.” He slumps his shoulders dramatically, pouting.
There’s that warm feeling again.
Finally, someone seems to notice them. “Wait. Who are you?”
Almost on instinct, Harry hurriedly grabs Louis by his wrist and runs out of the kitchen, veering around the people milling around. He opens the clear door, turning back the way they came, moving as fast as his gangly legs will take him. Pretty fast, actually.
After what feels like forever they finally reach the door they entered through and Harry busts it open without a second thought, pushing Louis out first in front of him while checking to see if someone is following them. Louis hustles down the steps and just as Harry reaches the ground, a loud slam is heard from behind them. Quickly, Harry pushes Louis against the wall, hands falling on either side of his face. He hides Louis’ body with his own, breathing heavily against him.
It seems they have good luck because the door opens towards them and it blocks the person's view of them.
“Whatever.” Harry hears before the door shuts. He lets out a sigh of relief.
Harry falls forward a little and laughs into Louis’ neck. Louis smells like lavender and cotton and he feels a yank of his hair before his head is tilted up.
In between breathless giggles Louis says, “I’m…I’m ticklish Harry! Your breath is tickling me!”
Once again, Harry can’t help but laugh with him. “Drama queen.” His eyes are fond as the lock with Louis’.
After a few minutes, when Harry’s finally settled he says, “Well, I guess you don’t have an explanation for that either?”
“Well, you did follow me of your own accord, I owe you no such thing. I’m a stranger Harry, I could have led you anywhere. I think between the two of us you’re the one who owes me an explanation.” Louis puts his hands on his hips as if to emphasize the point.
Harry looks down, “Well. In my defense, It was a pretty stranger that I followed.”
“Oh Harry, pretty people can be dangerous too, you know.” Louis rolls his eyes but a warm pink still falls over his cheekbones.
“Oh.” Harry points a finger, “ And you did get on your knees within the first five minutes of meeting me.” Harry adds with a slight smirk.
Harry’s not surprised when Louis huffs, pushes out from under him, and determinedly continues on the path to the diner, not stopping to let Harry catch up.
Louis leaves Harry with no choice but to run. He can admit it’s not the most graceful act.
“Louis. Louis, wait up.” Harry is out of breath and his steps begin to falter.
He can make out a faint sound of laughter, and once he looks ahead, he finds Louis stopped, bent over slightly with his hand on his leg, apparently unable to contain himself and keep up the chase.
This seems to be all Harry needs to catch up so he makes a decidedly unathletic attempt at a sprint.
Louis never is one to give up so right before Harry finally reaches him, he starts running again, though at a slow pace. But Harry’s sprint hasn’t stopped either, only slightly slowed by him cackling at Louis’ inability to accept defeat. As Harry closes the distance between them he reaches out his hands and wraps his hands around Louis’ middle to stop his fruitless attempts to continue their game.
Harry hooks his head over Louis' shoulder. “Got you.”
Louis turns his head slightly to face Harry, his smile is wide and his eyes bright with exhilaration.
Breath Harry.
They’ve seemed to pause under a streetlamp, giving them their own spotlight.
Louis still hasn’t looked away and his eyes keep flickering between Harry’s lips and eyes. “Oh no, let me go Harry.” Louis’ breath catches as their eyes lock.
“Never.”
It’s peaceful, quiet, and Harry worries Louis may be able to hear his heartbeat.
Harry glances again at Louis’ mouth and moves in slowly to connect their lips.
Louis’ smooth lips glide against his own, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. A soft sigh escapes Louis as he brings one delicate hand to twirl his fingers in Harry’s ringlets that hang between them.
Harry gently licks at Louis’ bottom lip, coaxing his mouth open while he places a careful hand on Louis’ jaw, slightly tilting his face to get a better angle as he dips his tongue inside and explores Louis’ inviting mouth. A spark travels through Harry as the space between them begins to disappear.
Louis’ tongue swirls around Harry’s as Harry strokes his fingers along Louis’ jaw.
The streetlight flickers, reminding them of where they are, and they both pull back. They connect for one last soft kiss before stepping apart fully.
There’s a kind of contentment in Louis’ expression, that Harry notices wasn’t there before. Harry feels something settle inside him.
Louis’ soft hair flutters in the wind, his long eyelashes casting shadows over his delicate face, and eyes crinkling as his thin pink lips slowly curl into a smile. Harry’s never seen something so beautiful.
It’s safe to say Harry’s smile doesn’t drop as they make their way forward along the path, and agree, because of the later time, to crash at Harry’s flat.