Got the sunshine on my shoulders - by: hattalove

chapter twenty four

Harry ends up sleeping in the studio, too tired to try and find his hotel after they wrap up for the day. He wakes staring at the word Home, written in tall letters on the wall just above the sofa, and to the scent of tea wafting in from that mysterious door Louis had opened yesterday.
Harry, naturally, follows his nose.

The room he pokes it into turns out to be a kitchen. It's decent-sized, modern, but still underground - the only thing that tells Harry it's still the morning is Louis, who's sitting at the rickety table in the corner with a newspaper and hair sticking up in all directions.

"Hey," Harry says from the doorway, reluctant to come in unless he's invited.

"Morning," Louis replies. He doesn't look up, but he does pull his feet under his chair to make some space.

It's enough for Harry. He steps in, still gingerly, weaving around the tight-packed bits of furniture as he fixes his cup of tea.

"How'd you sleep?" he asks, his tongue still clumsy with sleep. It's-an awkward question, at best, but it's better than the strained silence and the judgmental buzzing of the lights overhead.

"All right," Louis replies. He's nodding when Harry turns to him and joins him at the table. "I always do in here, it's way quieter than home."

Harry's not entirely convinced, not when he can feel the traffic rumbling through the walls as it passes overhead, but he says nothing.

He misses the easy way they talked to each other just a couple of days ago.

All of last night, he'd been thinking about telling Louis. It's not fair, not fair at all, to keep it a secret from him, but he can't help being scared. He has no idea what Louis's reaction would be, not after everything that Harry put him through to get what he wanted, but-but.

"So," he says, forms and re-forms the sentence in his head between one breath and another, but what comes out instead instead is, "When do you think we'll be done with the song?"

Louis folds the top of his newspaper down to level Harry with a look. "Have a croissant, Harry."

"What?"

"A croissant," he repeats, and points to the kitchen counter where a bakery bag is sitting, patchy with grease. "Have one."

"Uh," Harry says intelligently, but he does get up and get the bag. When he pulls it open, the scent that hits his nose immediately makes his mouth water. "Thanks."

Louis takes a loud sip of his tea in response.

It's then, as he delicately sits down with his breakfast, that he wakes up enough to notice Louis's body language - namely, the way he's leaning back in his chair, with a straight back and loose shoulders, tilting his chin this way and that as he reads his news. He doesn't look angry. Doesn't look sad. He's just sitting, and watching Harry bumble through what he's convinced himself will be an awkward conversation.

With a momentary bout of bravery, Harry takes a breath and says: "I've been meaning to tell you something. Since we're revealing our secrets and all."

Louis puts the paper down. Harry looks for the ever-present kindness in his eyes, and finds it there.

"You know how I somehow forgot to sign the divorce papers?"

Louis nods, a little strained. The faint wrinkle around the corner of his mouth becomes more pronounced.

"Well, um. I only found the messages that Phil left about it after-after Marcus. I forgot to turn my phone on after I landed."

"Okay," Louis says, a barely concealed question. He's folded his hands on the tabletop, one over the other, digging his own fingers into the hollows between his knuckles.