taming mr.tomlinson [larry stylinson] ✔️

38.

Harry was sweating like mad, but he simply blamed it on the fact that him and Louis were sitting in the back of a restaurant near a barely cracked open window, and not the fact that Louis looked like he was made of millions of dollars. Nope, that certainly wasn't the reason why Harry was sweating. Maybe he should have taken Liam's offer and put in a Bluetooth, therefore, being able to hear his best friend in order to know what to do.

"Are you going to eat?" Louis asked curiously. "Because, correct me if I'm wrong, you look like you're going to pass out."

"I'm just a little nervous." Harry said, picking up his fork and pushing it through the kale that he ordered, grinding his teeth together as he tried to think of a follow up topic. He wished that he knew why he was behaving this way when he had already went on a date with Louis. Maybe it was because this was a bit more serious. They were in a secluded booth and not a fast food place. "Hey, um, so—"

Louis breathed through his nose and lay his hand on top of Harry's before he spoke, and Harry felt his cheeks warm from the gesture. "You're going to have to relax, okay? You're only stressing yourself out by thinking about things in advance. Breathe."

So Harry does, and he will admit that he felt a little better afterwards; especially since Louis' tone of voice was so smooth and soothing, and it makes Harry feel at home, safe. So he stops thinking about his 'what I should say on the date' notecards, and focuses on the blueness of Louis' eyes, and the way they crinkle whenever Harry stared for too long, and wow, Harry can't breathe again.

"You know, I wasn't really interested in the field of teaching before I got a job at the school," said Louis faintly, though Harry could hear every word since his eyes were glued to the man's lips. "I wanted to be, ironic enough, a psychologist, but I didn't put in the work, or the effort."

"I wasn't really interested in being a teacher neither." Harry admitted quickly. "I wanted to be. . .don't make fun of me, okay? I wanted to be a hair stylist or a singer, but I don't know much about styling hair, and I don't think that I can sing that well. Those were just dreams though.

Louis grinned, intertwining their fingers together, which only made Harry want to squeal. "Sing something then."

"O-Oh, no. I can't--I can't sing. I mean, not here, but--" Harry forced himself to cough in order to clear his throat, but his voice only sounded high pitched when he spoke again. "I could--I could sing for you later? You know, when we go back to your place, or if we. . .go back to mine? I don't know. Wow, we should really open that window a little more. I'm burning up in here."

"I can open it--"

Then Harry abruptly stood up from his seat and wiped his sweaty palms on his black ripped jeans, looking around anxiously before stumbling out of the booth. "I have to wee. I'm--I'm going to go to the bathroom, and. . .yeah." Before Louis could say anything, Harry had rushed off, bumping into several people until he made it into the bathroom, which was, conveniently, vacant.

First, Harry paced back and forth in the large space, his teeth sinking into his nails as he tried to think about his next steps. He certainly fucked things up now if he hadn't already; he left Louis at the table alone so that he could pull himself together. So he pulled out his phone and dialed Liam's number, groaning loudly when he was sent directly to voicemail. Great, thought Harry bitterly.