Slight Pressure

10. The Trouble with Threesomes

Author's Note: Massive shoutout to NickUskoski for helping me turn this chapter from a steaming pile of writer's block garbage into something actually readable and (hopefully) enjoyable. It's also a little rude so there's that. Happy reading! - alessandra

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On Monday afternoon, Harry discovers Louis slumped over his desk in his office showing very little signs of life. From the doorway, Harry notes that despite his shift starting any minute now, Louis had only managed to get halfway into his scrubs before completely giving up. Louis and Harry were usually on opposite schedules on Mondays, so as Harry was signing off for the day, Louis was just arriving. But today was the first time they had crossed paths since their elevator run-in on Saturday and he was hoping to get a quick word in before he had to leave for the day. But from the looks of his mate's current state, this didn't seem very likely. 

His date on Saturday had been excellent, from what he could gather at least, but since he and Riley had parted ways there had been nothing but radio silence from her. Harry normally considers himself quite self-assured, however, it had been some time since he was that close to a woman who wasn't his patient or, in this case, wasn't his patient anymore and it was shaking him up just a little bit.

Harry lets himself inside Louis' office and settles into the chair across from the desk. He also came bearing gifts: a piping hot Starbucks coffee in one hand and a bearclaw in the other. He had bribed the receptionist, whose name Harry still couldn't remember, to fetch them before Louis' arrival in anticipation of this exact situation.

"I see someone's in a mood today," he said, placing the paper cup close to Louis' limp, outstretched fingers. He's hoping the offering will revive Louis enough to get at least one sensible opinion out of him. Louis peels his cheek off the desk slowly and looks up. Though they're inside the clinic Louis is still wearing his aviators, which means he's hung-the-fuck over (in his own words). And even through his tinted, mirrored lenses, Harry can tell that he is glowering.

"Franco's was a complete and utter bust last night," Louis groans as he brings the cup up to his lips with a shaky hand. "Which means all this pain is entirely for nothing."

"What did you expect to find there on a Sunday night, exactly?" Harry asks him with a chuckle.

"That's when all the little mermaids come to play after synchro practice!" Louis tries to smile back but only manages to wince. "At least, they're supposed to. I'm gonna have to ask the Irish lad to brush me up on the latest pub traffic. Cannot make this mistake again." Louis lays his head back down on his arm with a soft thump.

"And here I thought you had the entire campus ecosystem figured out."

"I do..." Louis mumbles into the crook of his elbow. "I pay damn good attention thank you very much." he lifts his head just enough to take a long swig from the cup and utters a grateful moan in response. "You'd have this talent too if you weren't such a manic pixie dream fuck."

Harry decides to ignore the minor insult. He knows it's just the hangover talking. "I think I'm very perceptive, actually."

"No," Louis replies as he stiffly leans back on his chair. "You're careful. There's a difference. You take care of people. Make them feel good and warm and all tingly inside with your good boy niceties." Louis flicks his wrist lazily to emphasize his snark. "But me? I pay attention."

Harry opens his mouth to argue but stops himself. Why bother.

"For instance, when I ask how your weekend went, you're going to tell me because my fuckboy senses are buzzin' and I know that's the only reason why you're still here." Louis states. Harry's eyes widen just enough for Louis to know he hit the nail squarely on the head. With a smile he taps his temple lightly with his forefinger. "Magic, motherfucker."