Euphoria | Larry A.U

(xiv) - Day III

La vie trop courte pour boire du mauvais vin - Life is too short to drink bad wine.

Day 3:

Louis hadn't noticed. Was he supposed to? He came early the afternoon before, Harry was no where in site and when he came back he didn't say much at all, said he had to take a shower (but Louis didn't hear any water running) and kinda laid low for the rest of the night... Until one thing led to another and they ended up having steaming sex - pun fully intended - in the hot tub on the balcony. Then Harry complained about how 'tired' and 'exhausted' he was.

When the next morning rolled around and he woke up at five am to leave, little did he know Harry was already up, sitting on the edge of the bed, stark naked and his left wrist in his hand.

"Bonjour ma chéri," Louis says, breaking his middle in half to poke a finger in the part of Harrys' arsecrack he can reach.

"No," Harry squirms away at Louis' touch moving further - if that's even possible - Louis can't help but wonder what's wrong and gotten Harry in this state.

"Mon ange," He's interrupted by a whispered "don't,"

"What do you mean don't? Don't what? What did I even do," Louis' voice may or may not have cracked at that last sentence. He just woke up, he's in his second favorite country in the world and he gets to share that with Harry - Harry - and yet he's not. Because he can't. He can't. He's there for work and he has to call fitter after fitter after fitter when a bigger and better brand takes them away with money and new makeup artists by the hour, and having to deal with petty bs like how he had mistaken the foundation that they used on the models with Mac when it was actually Ulta? He thought the lipstick brand was Estée Lauder but it was Dior? And having to sign legal files because of a trivial accident he made. He's been waking up at 4-5am since they came, having to leave a sleepy Harry and everyone who has been with Harry probably knows that a sleepy Harry is a beautiful Harry - not that he isn't always - and Louis bends down wanting to press a peck to his open mouth - regardless of morning breath - but he has to resist the urge because he knows if he starts once, he'll never find the strength to stop. Finally leaving, internal dilemma after dilemma with a childish pout and a sour mood. The coke he's been taking just doesn't have the same effect as the British one and he doesn't know how to feel about that, on the outside he looks like he got ran over by a car while simultaneously getting drop kicked by a sumo wrestler, but he feels like plain boring old Louis on the inside. But regardless when he gets to work in the morning he has to swallow his sarcastic remarks at colleagues because that's 'not professional goddammit'. Having no choice but yelling at young interns who don't know the ins and outs of fashion week who make stupid mistakes, because "this is fashion week there is no time for stupid mistakes" and looking like a stuck-up arsehole when he does. Let him be called a stuck-up arsehole behind closed doors but at least he's a stuck-up arsehole who does his job. All in all he's exhausted, has been since they came and probably will be when they leave. He's neck deep in a pool of hard work, clothing material, and bullshit. Harry being inexplicably cross with him isn't the first thing on his mind, and he doesn't want it to be now.

"You didn't notice," Harry sniffles clutching his left wrist like his life depends on it.

"Didn't notice? Didn't notice what?" A tan? France wasn't sunny enough. A haircut? If anything his hair seemed longer. "The tattoo!"

Louis doesn't know how to reply when Harry jumps up and waves his injured wrist in Louis' unsuspecting face.

As he flails it around in front of his eyes Louis swears he sees an anchor where a text once was. So he grabs his left hand to keep him in place, to see what Harrys' talking about and sure enough, an anchor is literally where a text once was.

"M-matching?"

"M-m-m-matching. Yes, matching!" Harry mocks. And Louis doesn't know how to react. Should he be flattered? Because all he can think about his how Harry deems him worthy enough to get a tattoo matching his own, but in reality he's the shittiest person to see the face of the earth, and doesn't deserve Harrys' acknowledgment let alone something as sentimental as matching tattoos. "You're in love" the voice whispers and the itch burns his throat. He face palms his forehead and hopes Harry hadn't noticed.

"Well fucking speak! What, have you gone mute? Ironic that considering you had so much to say when we were having sex last night," Harry says, deceiving walls of strength up, but Louis could see through his lies as fresh tears start pooling in Harrys' emerald eyes, the yellowing around the sides becoming more noticeable.

"I just - I don't know - you just caught me by surprise is all," Louis says through a mostly forced smile.

"Ugh, I had a feeling you'd react that way," Harry replies with a self-deprecating smile, one that screamed "I'm so stupid" and Louis doesn't know if he wants to run, or grab Harry by the shoulders and kiss that face away.

"No no no Harry, it's just - I wish - I wish you would've told me? Y'know to prepare..." Louis trails off because Harry looks as though he'll bite his head off if he dares continue.

Harry didn't - couldn't stand there and pretend to be alright when Louis was so clearly being a hypocritical dickhead. So he didn't.

He dressed as fast as he could ignoring Louis' protests of "ange where are you going?!" "Chéri c'mon now!" "What the fuck, Haz?" Harry just kept on walking.

He found Louis#2 leaving the bakery because he wasn't working and he was just picking up personal belongings and decided to tag along when many hours later, at nearly midnight Louis#2 got a call from a friend inviting him to a club somewhere near the tower.

•

"La vie trop courte pour boire du mauvais vin," Louis#2 whispered in his ear, Harry's surprised he even catches what he's trying to say over the bass of the electro song playing at the club. Besides the music his mind is foggy with vodka and emotions.

"What does that mean," he somehow manages albeit slurred.

"Life is too short to drink bad wine," Louis#2 answers with somewhat of a mischievous glint to his grey coloured eyes.

"But - but this isn't wine," Harry blinks.

"It's just a phrase, Chéri," Harrys heart hurts "but you'll understand with time. You're still a - a young - bud as you call it," the only protests Louis#2 gets that entire night is a slurred "hey" from Harry because the rest is spent partying and covering up scars only alcohol and complaints can temporarily fix.

Besides the pain of being ignored, there was a sting in his liver that hurt so bad Harry wondered if that's why he's been feeling so tired all the time lately.

Maybe it was, or maybe it was just Louis.