Larry Stylinson - Turning From Praise (AU)

8.

Louis spotted Harry walking down the street towards him and immediately looked away, casual but forcing himself not to make eye contact. It was difficult; averting his eyes from Harry’s gorgeous features made his jaw clench, and his hands balled into fists in his pockets. Still, he determinedly kept looking away. On the other side of the road, out of his peripheral vision, he could see that Harry kept his gaze glued to the ground and he didn’t look up either; they walked straight past each other with no acknowledgement whatsoever, and as far as any onlookers were concerned, Louis was yet another normal boy shunning the freak with just as much ease as everybody else.

The moment Louis rounded the corner, Harry whipped his phone out and Louis answered halfway through the first ring, grinning all over his face. “Smooth. Nobody was any the wiser. I think we’re good at this whole –” he lowered his voice a little “ – secret boyfriend thing, Harold. I feel like a ninja.”

“A ninja,” Harry scoffed, “we’re going for coffee, not robbing a bank or kidnapping zombies or whatever. I really don’t think we need to be quite this careful, you know.” He was smiling all over his face; not that he’d admit it, but the whole air of mystery thing was kind of cute, really.

“Better safe than sorry. I don’t want my parents finding out. Okay, I’m almost here, you gonna double back and meet me here in ten?”

“Five,” Harry corrected, “no way am I waiting that long, I’m so caffeine-starved that the moment I have that coffee in front of me, I’m going to drown myself in it. Don’t worry, I left my ‘Dating Louis Tomlinson’ rainbow flags at home. Everything’s going to be fine, Lou. You worry too much!”

“You don’t worry enough,” Louis muttered, thinking about the consequences of Harry getting caught hanging out with him, aka none whatsoever, whereas merely imagining his parents’ reaction to seeing him within a ten foot radius of ‘Harry Styles and the Eyeliner Brigade’, as the locals had none too affectionately dubbed them, made him feel ill. “See you.”

He heard a moist squishing sound right beside his ear, flinched in shock, and suddenly realized with a bright red flush of his cheeks that Harry had blown a kiss into the phone. “I’ll be there in two.” The call disconnected.

Louis headed into the coffee shop, the bell overhead tinkling as he slipped through the door and ordered himself a latte. He dithered over tables for a few minutes, chose the one closest to the window so as not to look like he was trying to hide, swapped it for the one right at the back because he was trying to hide, then finally settled for one in the middle which he hoped would provide a certain amount of discretion but look appropriately nonchalant to any passers-by.

The waitress brought him his drink, chewing irritably on gum and looking as sour as the milk in his usual coffee shop – despite her foul expression, he relied on Harry’s judgement when he’d claimed that this was a far nicer cafe than the one he usually visited. It had less pink and white checked tablecloths, but the coffee definitely looked more appetizing than he was used to. He treated her to a sunny grin and she wrinkled her nose and stomped off like she couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d hate to be more, and Louis wondered if he should tip her to put her in a better mood or whether that would just make her expect tips every time he came in. He decided he’d toss a coin for it, and whichever coin he pulled out, he’d give to her if he got tails. He sipped on his drink and doodled on the complimentary napkins, and when he’d filled them all with blue biro scribbles, he pulled his phone out for a couple of quick rounds of Angry Birds.

His tense shoulders quickly relaxed through the winning combination of virtual ornithological violence, a hot drink and a comfy chair, and he was soon completely absorbed in the moving birds on the screen. It was just as well; when the little bell on the door tinkled to announce Harry’s entrance, Louis didn’t look up; when Harry strolled to the counter, ordered a coffee (“blacker than my soul,” he said seriously to the cashier, who didn’t crack a smile and appeared to be in an even worse mood than the waitress) and once it had been brewed, carried it over to Louis’ table and sat opposite him. He angled his chair away from the window.