Summary:
louis and harry have been friends with benefits for going on nine years, until a woman claiming to be louis' fairy godmother decides to send him into a variety of alternate universes to help him find his soulmate.
Notes:
this might be the weirdest thing i have ever written. i hope you like it & if you don't that's cool too. ♥ endless thanks to for being my cheerleader. i love you lots.
: Before.Chapter Text
Louis can still hear the echo of applause when he steps off stage. Eyes closed, he takes a moment to just breath, thankful for the still pumping adrenaline that's keeping his tired legs from collapsing under him. People are waiting for him, to congratulate him, to tell him how good he sounded, how proud they are, but right now he needs to be alone.
His phone rings.
He doesn't have to look to know who it is. Harry's always been psychic when it comes to these things.
Louis sighs, leaning his head back against the wall without opening his eyes. He feels sweaty and gross; all he wants to do is go back to his hotel, take a long hot shower, and go to bed. He pulls his phone out, stares at it for longer than necessary, thinking about ignoring the call or sending it straight to voicemail.
He answers the phone.
"How do you do that?" he asks, meaning: how do you know just the right moment to call, but he doesn't elaborate, doesn't need to.
Harry's answering laugh is bright and cheery. Louis doesn't know where in the world Harry is or what time it is there, but he sounds much too awake for Louis' level of consciousness. The adrenaline is fading; he is going to pass out standing up.
"It's a gift," Harry says. "When're you gonna learn? I have a sixth sense, a Louis sense, if you will."
Louis rolls his eyes. "A sense I'm gonna hang up on you," he grumbles.
Harry laughs again, unperturbed. "You wouldn't," he says, confidently.
As soon as Louis walks into the green room where the group is waiting, they cheer congratulations at him. Louis waves off Lottie's questioning look, half-turned like maybe that will offer the call a modicum of protection. Harry? Lottie mouths. Louis just nods, ignoring her answering smirk. It's a pointless question. Who else would Louis bother answering the phone for right now? Who else would even call him right now?
"You must not know me as well as you think you do," he tells Harry, voice hushed unnecessarily -- everyone is already giving him privacy, wisphered congrats as they pass. He tries not to feel selfish as he watches them go, mumbled promises about catching up later; he sees them all the time, he reasons.
Harry snorts. "Good luck finding someone who knows you better," he argues. "I know you'd hang up on me just because I said you wouldn't. You stubborn arse."
Louis doesn't dignify that with a response. It's not like Harry's wrong; he also thinks about hanging up on Harry just because he knows that Harry doesn't think he'd actually hang up on him. Louis's gotta keep him on his toes. He's so tired, though; it's been a few days since they've spoken on the phone, and Harry's voice is a familiar, comforting sound in Louis' ear.
There's a small cluster of fans waiting behind the gated off area outside, and Louis pauses before he steps through the door, gripping his phone more tightly.
"Why did you call?" he asks. "I'm about to leave."
Harry hums in understanding. "Just wanted to ask you how it went. Are you going straight back to your hotel?"
