The Devil Wears GUCCI || Larry Stylinson

Chapter 14.

He rolled down the window during the journey, letting the cool night air brush against his face. He kept his eyes closed and his head tilted back until the friendly driver announced that they had arrived at the specified location.

The journey had felt so brief that he needed a moment to orient himself. He reached for his wallet when he saw the house and handed over a few notes after wishing the driver a good night.

He remained unaware of his actions until he rang the doorbell and the sleep-ridden face of Harry appeared on the other side of the door.

"Louis?" He asked, rubbing one of his eyes. His hair is tangled and his feet are bare.

"Hi." Louis exhales shakily, as if he barely allowed himself to.

"Hi," Harry tilts his head, appearing more curious than annoyed by the unexpected visit. He holds the door with one hand and they stand awkwardly facing each other for two cricket chirps from the garden's distance. "What are you doing here at this hour?" he finally asks, calmly. Then his eyes widen, "Did the clocks change and I didn't notice? Is it getting light later now?"

"No, Harry," Louis says, feeling guilty at how mortified Harry looks. "It's not the next day. We don't even have to work tomorrow. It's Saturday," he explains, touchingly and gently.

He was supposed to be the drunk one.

"Oh," the editor breathes in relief, "For a moment, I thought I'd overslept," he runs a hand over his face and then looks at Louis carefully. "So, what are you doing here?" he asks again. Just as calm, just as curious.

What is he doing here? Louis doesn't even know himself.

It had been an irrational thought, an idea that had come to his drunken mind. Hopefully, it had faded along the way, and he now found himself more sober than he was when leaving the bar.

Now he can see how strange it must be for him to appear out of nowhere at his door, with no apparent reason, in the middle of the night. For Louis's excuse, it had been his only option. He had nowhere else to go.

He makes a mental note to ask for Niall's address for future reference before focusing on the question at hand.

Louis looks at Harry's face, which is still waiting for an answer. Realising he has no way to respond without sounding pathetic, he lowers his gaze to his T-shirt. More specifically, to the print on his T-shirt.

In the middle was a hand-stitched 'Save the drama, for your mama' in red thread. An exact replica of one of Rachel's T-shirts from an episode.

"Do you like Friends?" he asks, feeling like a fool for answering a question with another question. His physics teacher used to tell him that every time he answered a question with another question, like when he asked if he could go to the bathroom instead of answering a query on the subject.

Mr. Richard's words don't matter much to him right now, as he's drunk, and it's enough to make Harry glance down at his own T-shirt and get distracted.

"Uh," Harry tugs at the hem of the shirt, "Yes?"

"I love it too!" Louis responds with excessive enthusiasm, steering the conversation as far away as he can. "Where did you get it?"

"It was a gift from Gemma for my twenty-ninth birthday," Harry replies.

The shirt looked somewhat worn and had a small hole around the collar. It was clear it was a piece Harry wore frequently, given its worn appearance.

Looking more closely, Louis sees that Harry is wearing grey sweatpants and pink socks. It's the most casual he has ever seen Harry, and he now feels guilty for interrupting his downtime.