Blood Red Lipstick [L.S.] ✓

Ch. 20; Date.

Maybe Louis has been sitting on his couch waiting for Harry since 5:30pm. 

He supposes that it isn't really that big of a deal, since he's already waited two years.

It's currently around 6:50 something, he thinks, since he only checked his watch a few minutes ago. 

It's getting rather boring, all this waiting for Harry. A little ridiculous.

Finally, there's a knock on the door.

Louis stands, trying not to rush towards it (and by god if he doesn't feel like a teenager again), opening the door to a smirking Harry.

"Louis." He says, and Louis absolutely detests how fucking hot Harry's voice sounds saying his name. He's heard countless men say it, but Harry's just doing shit to him. "You know, I was hiding behind that little tree of yours, watching you drive yourself crazy waiting for me."

"I hate you." Louis scowls, and Harry laughs. And, yes, Louis is staring. His hair, thankfully back to how it's meant to be, a little bit shorter, now in waves which just about brush against his broad shoulders. The dress is lilac tonight, paired with a white leather jacket and lilac high heels. Not stilettos, kitten heels.

"Sure you do." Harry says. It's weird. Harry looks so innocent, wide green eyes, his shorter, cute hair, clothes that don't seem to be concealing a knife or something beneath them. The shoes which he couldn't kill a man with, the abscene of red lipstick, instead a pretty pink colour.

"I prefer you with red lipstick." Louis says, grabbing his stuff and locking the door behind him, Harry's hand immediately finding his waist.

"Never happy." Harry tuts. 

"What? It's true." Louis shrugs defensively. "You suit looking hot more than cutesy."

Harry chuckles, pulling him in for a fleeting kiss. "Well, too bad. Didn't want you cumming in your pants in the middle of dinner." He teases, skipping towards Louis' car, and giving him a flash of lilac-coloured lace, which are, as always, connected to his white thigh highs by garter clips.

He unlocks the car, opening the door for Harry then going around the other side to get in himself.

"Wanna know something?" Harry says.

"Sure."

"This is my first proper date." Harry admits, drumming fingers on his thighs. 

"Really?" Louis asks, surprised. Harry nods.

"Oh, yeah." He says. "See, any other date I went on was just to kill a guy, maybe steal his wallet. I've never went on a date because I like someone, or to just go on a date."

"You've never dated to date?" Louis questions. "That's a bit sad, Harry."

"Eh. Who cares." Harry shrugs. "Not the saddest part of my life."

"Hm." Louis says, not sure to follow it up with.

"You know, about a year ago I decided- while drunk, might I add- to go to therapy." Harry begins, chuckling to himself. "Poor woman needs therapy herself now. Apparently my childhood trauma has turned me into a bit of a, oh, what was it she said? I can't remember now. But she said that my personality and my tendency not to trust people or look for relationships is all due to PTSD or some nonsense like that. Said I should try dating." 

"Is that why you're here?" Louis asks.

"Oh, no." Harry says. "It'a just cause you're pretty."

Louis is a 28-year-old assassin, for the love of god. He's a grown man, an adult man. Yet here he is, blushing like a teenage girl cause a bloke in a skirt called him pretty. Louis doesn't understand his own biology sometimes. First there were the breakdowns over being a little twat that was confused why girls repulsed him, now he's freaking out over Harry. 

 "I don't know where we're going." Louis realises after a few minutes.

"Was wondering when you'd realise that." Harry says, placing his hand over Louis' on the gear. "Turn left here."

He does, following Harry's directions until they're outside an abandoned looking place. "I know I was joking last night, but you're not actually gonna murder me, right?"

Harry snorts and doesn't answer, just gets out of the car, waiting for Louis to follow suit.

He does, hesitantly, and raises an eyebrow at a smirking Harry.

"Oh do calm down, Louis." Harry says. "I'm not gonna kill you in an abandoned warehouse, much too intelligent for that. Just trust me."

Harry grabs his hand, tugging him towards the door. "I don't really trust people."

"Do I give a shit?" Harry sneers mockingly, but it's only teasing.

"Harry-" he begins, and Harry slams him against the wall, a hand over his mouth.

"Stop whining. Yeah?" Harry says, loosening his tie. 

Louis sighs, nodding, and Harry tugs him through the door. He types in a code, an abrupt, angry beep sounding, a door sliding open with a mechanical grinding sound.

"Harry!" Someone yells. Harry waves.

"Where are we?" Louis asks, incredulous. He looks around, every type of pride flag hangs from the ceiling, trans, bi, gay, lesbian, genderfluid, asexual, non-binary, etc. There's a large one painted onto the wall, a mural of a range of couples in the foreground. Framed photographs of people such as Lady Gaga or RuPaul on one wall, news stories and clippings, tweets and things scrawled on paper or napkins in lipstick on another. It's dimly lit, only by an array of fairy lights and small lamps, the room filled with high circular tables with mismatching chairs or sofa's with coffee tables. There's a bar in the corner, several shirtless men or women only wearing a very revealing bikini top manning it, music coming from behind the fabric draped back wall.

And the people. God, the people. Girls and guy dressed like Harry, girls and guys dressed like himself. People of every gender and ethnicity, girls with adams apples, guys without. Twinks, butch lesbians, muscled men in skirts and girls in power suits. People from every walk of life.

A guy sitting at a table close to the door with two guys beside him, all three dressed in a similar way to Harry. "Styles. Who's your friend?" One, with smooth coffee coloured skin and bright pink hair in a skimpy hot pink dress says. 

"This is Louis." Harry introduces him. "Guy I told you about, Axel."

The guy nods. "Cute."

"Where's Rowan?" Harry asks. 

"They were at the bar a second ago. Must of went backstage."

Harry nods, tugging Louis along. Everyone greets Harry. He's tugged to a seat in the corner next to a picture of Cher.

"Ok, where are we?" Louis finally asks.