That Sounds Fake But Okay

Chapter 11

"Pap pics are in," Harry says quietly as Louis emerges from the bathroom freshly showered, a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist. He tosses his phone across the bed.

Louis doesn't look fazed at all. Pap pics are in is a phrase he hears almost every day. He flops down next to Harry and grabs the phone to look at the photos. His face falls immediately when he sees the screen.

"Harry..."

But Harry's already scrambled out of the bed and is busying himself stacking last night's room service dishes.

"This is not what you think it is." Louis' voice is firm.

"It doesn't matter what I think," Harry replies hastily as he opens the door to set the dishes in the hallway. He turns to face Louis, who's sitting on the edge of the bed now, a worried look beginning to etch its way across his face. "You can do whatever you want. You're not obligated to me."

"That doesn't mean I don't want to explain!" Louis exclaims. "It was just lunch. He called me because he had early access to some new scripts. He was doing me a professional favor by giving me first look."

"Doing you a favor?" Harry snorts, leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. "You don't need any favors from him. He only wants one thing from you."

Louis rises from the bed, accidentally dropping his towel and picking it back up awkwardly. "Harry, I have absolutely no feelings for Aiden anymore. This was strictly about work. I need to find my next job."

"Bullshit," Harry accuses, hearing the petulance in his voice but feeling powerless to stop it. "You already have your next script picked out. You have for months ."

Louis sighs and sinks back down on the bed, running a hand through his damp hair. "It's not that easy, and I've told you that."

Harry pushes off the door and stalks across the room, picking up his clothes and stuffing them into his suitcase haphazardly. "It could be that easy if you wanted it to be."

"You don't understand how the industry works." There's a cutting edge to Louis' tone now, his defenses rising fast.

"You're right," Harry responds roughly. "I don't." He drives his knee into the top of his overstuffed suitcase so that he can zip it. "I'm just the idiot you found to play this PR game with you. What the hell do I know, right?"

Louis stands up again, holding tighter to his towel this time, but Harry backs away, dragging his suitcase toward the door.

"You know I didn't mean it that way. Why are you being like this?" When Harry refuses to respond, Louis softens a little, changes tack. "I'm just...listen, I'm sorry. I should have told you I was meeting him for lunch."

"You don't have to tell me anything, Louis." Harry's voice is tremulous, and he knows he shouldn't continue, not when he's upset like this. He should stop talking immediately and leave until his emotions are under control. But he doesn't. Of course he doesn't.

"This is a business arrangement and always has been. You can fuck every guy in West Hollywood for all I care."

Say it again.

I'm not fucking anyone else. I can't even go to sleep without you. No one else feels like this. No one else does this to me...just you.

Silence blankets the room like a sudden snowfall. Louis is too stunned to speak, opening his mouth and then closing it again quickly.

Harry can't meet his eyes. "I'm going to get ready at my hotel," he mumbles, opening the door. "I'll see you at the interview."

"Harry, wait..." Louis croaks, scrambling to command his voice to work again.