That Sounds Fake But Okay

Chapter 9

It's raining in London. No surprise there. It's been a long week of interviews and industry events, and Louis is exhausted. London usually lulls him a bit. The grey skies, the fog. It's like New York, only a half-step slower. He usually sleeps better when it rains, but he hasn't this time. He's tossed and turned every night until he either gives in and knocks himself out with a pill or calls Harry. Which means nothing, he tells himself- it's just that Harry's voice is so deep and his stories are so long and boring that it'd be crazy not to utilize him as a sleeping aid.

Today is their last day here, and Louis finally has an afternoon to himself. It'd been fairly easy getting away from Sam Clifton, but ditching Niall had proven more difficult. He'd been sticking closer than usual throughout the entire trip and didn't seem interested in seeing his Islington girl. Louis told him he was going to take a nap and then slipped out of the hotel as soon as Niall returned to his own room.

He climbs the narrow staircase into Candid Café in Angel five minutes after the agreed-upon time and immediately spots her at a table near the back. It has to be her. She looks just like her brother.

No one in the café seems to notice him as he slips to the small table-for-two at the back and sits down across from her, taking off his sunglasses and pasting on a nervous smile.

"You're late," she says, her nose wrinkling a little, and Louis can't tell if it's amusement or disapproval. God, Harry does the exact same thing.

"I'm so sorry, Gemma," Louis apologizes. "I got a little turned around on my way here. I should have taken a car instead of walking."

Her expression gives way to a slight, crooked grin. "You walked? I'm impressed. I would have expected a limousine, or at least an Addison Lee."

Relieved, Louis lets out a small chuckle. "I was trying to stay incognito."

Gemma glances around the cozy space. There are a half dozen other patrons there, and no one seems to be paying any attention to them. "I think you succeeded."

They order tea and slices of cake with custard- carrot for Gemma, chocolate for Louis- and make a bit of small talk about the weather and the traffic and the exchange rate between the dollar and the pound. Gemma rolls her eyes when Louis complains that the tea is shit.

"Maybe your American palate just isn't sophisticated enough to appreciate our fine British variations."

"Excuse me, you're from California, miss," Louis answers defensively, but his eyes are smiling. "And I'll have you know that I take my tea in a very British way- a splash of milk, no sugar. My taste is actually quite refined."

Gemma groans and shakes her head. "I'm trying to imagine you and my brother in the same room, but it's too much. No wonder you two get along so well."

The statement catches Louis off guard. "He said that? We get along well?" He tries to ask without seeming overly invested in the answer.

"Well, no, I guess he didn't," Gemma replies. "But I just assumed? I know it started out a little rough, but you look like you're having fun in every photo I see of you together. And Harry is...happy. He sounds happy every time I talk to him." Her eyes meet Louis' and she doesn't look away.

A flush starts to creep up Louis' neck as he takes a gulp of the awful tea. "You know," he stammers a little, "that we're not...I mean, it's kind of a PR thing...we're just...well, you know...we're friends."

Gemma settles her cup into its saucer gently. "Friends just sleep in another bed."

Her gaze is still fixed on Louis, but it's clear from her expression that she isn't trying to be intimidating.