the rolling blues [l.s.]

chapter two

Harry was still trying to remember how to breathe when Zayn dragged him toward the bar, insisting that they needed drinks. The venue was buzzing, a low hum of excitement mixing with the sound of ice clinking in glasses and the occasional shout of someone who had clearly had one too many.

"It was great, wasn't it?" Zayn said excitedly as he ordered two beers for them.

"It was fine," Harry replied, unwilling to give in, even if it was Zayn's birthday. 

Zayn snorted. "Yeah, mister. I could see how dreadfully boring this whole thing was for you. As if the sexual tension between you and that hot piece of ass wasn't through the roof. I mean---"

"Zayn," Harry said quietly. "I'm not gay."

Zayn shrugged as he took a sip of his beer. "Whatever."

They were quiet for a few beats before Harry sighed and broke the silence. "It was...intense, yeah?"

Zayn laughed, clinking his beer against Harry's. "You're acting like you've never been to a gig before. But yeah, that was fucking mad. Louis Tomlinson, man, what a frontman."

Harry forced a smile, but his mind was still spinning. Louis Tomlinson, man, what a frontman. That little moment on stage—it hadn't been nothing. The way Louis had looked at him, the way he'd wound his finger in Harry's hair... it wasn't the normal 'hey, thanks for coming to my show' kind of look. It was more like a 'hey, I've got something planned for you' kind of look. And Harry had no clue what that even meant. Harry had been to his fair share of concerts and gigs through his teens, but he'd never seen anything like this happen before. 

"Oi, you two!" a voice called out over the crowd. Harry and Zayn both turned to see a glasses-clad guy in a headset, looking official and slightly exasperated as he pushed through the sea of leather-clad fans. "You're on the list for backstage, yeah?"

Zayn furrowed his brow. "Are we?"

The guy checked a clipboard, clearly unimpressed with Zayn's lack of awareness. "Birthday guest of the band? Yeah, you're on here. Come on, before the crowd goes feral."

Harry raised his eyebrows at Zayn, who shrugged and downed the rest of his beer like it was no big deal. "Guess we're going backstage," Zayn said, far too casually for someone who had just been declared a VIP. Harry widened his eyes at Zayn in a what-the-fuck-do-you-think-you're-doing way, who just shrugged, hopped off from his seat, and followed the guy in the headset.

Exasperated, Harry followed, his mind now running on overdrive. Backstage? As in, where Louis is? He wasn't sure if he was excited, terrified, or both. For all he knew, they could end up killing the pair of them.

They were led down a narrow hallway, the noise from the main room fading into the background. The walls were plastered with old posters of legendary bands, giving the place a grungy, lived-in vibe. Zayn, always the picture of cool, was unfazed, but Harry's heart was now somewhere in his throat.

As they rounded the corner, the backstage area opened up into a small, dimly lit room where the band was lounging, still buzzing from the high of the show. And there, sitting on a ratty old couch like he owned the universe, was Louis Tomlinson.

Harry swallowed hard.

"Lads!" Louis grinned, standing up and walking over to them with all the casual swagger in the world. He greeted Zayn with a friendly hug, as if they were old mates. Zayn replied with equal vigor, exchanging names and grinning. Harry watched, frozen, wondering if maybe he could just melt into the floor and disappear.

But then Louis turned to him, and suddenly all the noise in the room disappeared. It was just Harry and Louis, locked in this strange, buzzing moment again.