Larry Stylinson ao3 one shots.

The Man I Love

Written by:avatarlahey

Summary:
It's the Roaring Twenties, a time of blissful prosperity, overflowing champagne flutes, adrenaline-filled dancing, and the rise of the Jazz Age—and Louis Tomlinson absolutely abhors it all. A stickler for modest classics, jazz is the bane of Louis' existence.
Coincidentally, Harry Styles is the bass player for an underground jazz band.
or
The 1920s AU where Louis is a hardworking, no nonsense paralegal, Harry is in love with the greatest city on earth, Zayn is the enigmatic leader of the band, Niall's just there to make sure everyone's having a good time, and Liam is the barber who started it all.

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Work Text:

"And yet, who knows very much of what jazz is really about?
Or how shall we ever know until we are willing to confront
anything and everything which it sweeps across our path?"
-Ralph Ellison
_____
New York City, 1928
It is one night that changes everything.
Sinking in his wooden chair, arms splayed across his cluttered desk, and head resting on a pillow of unfinished paperwork, Louis Tomlinson thinks: This is where I will die.
And if not today, then the next day, and if not then—soon. He's a ticking time bomb. Every minute spent in this cramped office is another minute closer to his eventual death. In fairness, he supposes he brought this upon himself. At twenty-four years old, Louis is the newest and youngest paralegal of Cowell Law Firm—New York City's latest up and coming firm. And by up and coming, Louis means: a fairly shitty firm that resides above the "finest" barbershop in all of Manhattan.
Oh well. It's the quality of the work that matters, Louis always says. To which, he must also say, is pretty damn spectacular. As a small firm, Louis' paralegal duties extend to varied fields, whether it be secretarial, clerical, or simply, administrative—he takes care of it all.
He doesn't take his job lightly, never. Every work day, Louis Tomlinson is always the last to leave the firm, trudging down the stairs with his briefcase in one hand while the other catches the inevitable yawn that escapes his lips. Every facet of his job is important to him, and it must be done right.
So if he starts to sprout some gray hairs and perpetually passes out for a minute or so, it's all for a greater purpose.
However, right now, the New York summer is getting to him, and his lopsided ceiling fan is doing nothing to cool his feverish skin. The sweltering heat leaves him in a hypnotic state, heavy eyelids drooping as beads of sweat trickle down his forehead. What time is it? He has a pleading that he needs to get drafted and a pile of files that he must organize. There's so much work to get done, but so little time.
There's never enough time.
This is where I will die, he thinks, drool pooling around his typewriter, the ticking of the clock serving as a reminder of each hour, minute, second closer to his final breath. There is no time to mourn.
One night changes everything, and it starts with Liam rudely barging into his office:
"Louis Tomlinson!"
Louis moans, squeezing his eyes shut as heavy footsteps fall closer to him. "Liam...fucking...Payne." He can hear his breaths over him, haggard from bounding up the staircase most likely.
He loves Liam like a brother, always has. He's one of the barbers from downstairs, but more than that, they grew up together.With both families immigrating to the states when they were just babies, they've been stuck together from day one: living in the same apartment, going to the same school, sharing the same family struggles of attaining the American dream. Now, he and Liam share a small one bedroom apartment down the street, paving their own successful lives in this heavily populated, god-forsaken city.
Louis knows Liam so well, he can already tell Liam's got something cooking in that brain of his. Begrudgingly, Louis sits up to see Liam staring at him with moony eyes, overflowing with excitement. Oh God...
"Tommo boy, you done working here?" Liam asks, bouncing from foot to foot.
Louis' eyes flit from the bouncing puppy in front of him to his hardly touched typewriter. "No, Liam."
"Well you ought to be."
"Well, I can't. There's so much to be done."
"But the work day's over!" Liam protests. He scans Louis' frazzled state in amusement, the obsessive need to work is foreign to Liam.
Louis shakes his head, quickly making himself appear busy, when really, he's just shuffling papers repeatedly. "Nonsense. I've hardly made a dent in my agenda."
Liam rolls his eyes before making his way toward the window, pulling at the curtains to reveal a darkened sky, the faint outline of the moon—how? He shoots Louis a pointed look before dropping the fabric.
"See? Work day's done. The building's going to close and you need to leave." Liam crosses his arms, and boy, he is up to something.
Louis remains firm, leaning back against his chair. Sure, he will have to leave soon, but there's more to tonight then Liam is letting on. "What is this really about, Liam?"
"I-uh-I," Liam sputters, focus darting all over the place as he tries to come up with a coherent sentence, before he lets out a defeated sigh. "I need you to accompany me tonight. Out. On the town."
"Out?" Louis shrieks. "You want me to go out?"
Louis Tomlinson never goes out.
"Um, well, that's what I said," Liam says sheepishly, playing with the hem of his vest.
He already knows he's asking too much of Louis. He knows that Louis usually likes to go straight home, curl up in his bed with a cup of tea and a book, and then fall into a deep sleep before another day at work. It's his routine, and Liam is asking him to break it.
"No."
"But, Louis," Liam whines, his amber eyes pooling with anxiety, "this is important!"
"Oh, please carry on," Louis says with disinterest, standing up to pack his belongings.
"Zayn. He invited me out tonight."
He stops. "Zayn? The one from the shop? Your most valued client?" Louis folds his arm smugly, the pieces of Liam's enthusiasm slotting together.
Liam rolls his eyes. "Yes, Zayn. The one with the amazing dark locks and beautiful eyes and sculpted jaw and delightful smell."
"I didn't say that."
"Louis."
"No, Liam," Louis says, placing his hands on his hips in defiance. "I have work tomorrow. I will take no part."
"It's always work, work, work," Liam groans. "What about me? I need you for moral support."
Here it goes. He watches as Liam's expression changes, eyes bulging with hope, shining with practiced tears. His lips form a small pout, and his shoulders sag in dejection. It takes all of his power for Louis to resist.
"I can't..."
No. No. No. No.
"What if I said there was alcohol involved?" Liam says hurriedly, before Louis' lips can form rejection.
Dammit.
It feels like ages since Louis has tasted the now illegal substance. The thought sends Louis in a haze, tension sagging at the idea of a cool mug touching his lips.
"How?" Louis questions, "Where?"
"Um, it's just at a friend's house," Liam says. "No trouble. Just a couple of people and an old bottle of rum. A quiet night."
That sounds enticing. What's a little drink before bed, anyhow? He'll just make sure they don't stay too long. And really, Liam needs him. He can't possibly leave Liam to traverse through the city on his own, forced to mingle with a group of strangers.
Louis is really going out to protect his good friend. No harm.
He pretends to fall into deep thought, leaving Liam in anticipation, before he sighs dramatically. "Fine. We'll go."
"Attaboy!" Liam's brightened expression lights up the whole room, cheering as he swipes Louis' hat and blazer from the coat rack, throwing it onto his body and pulling him towards the door.
"You will not regret this, Tommo!"
_____
Fifteen minutes of walking, and Louis already regrets this decision.
"Liam, are we there yet?" He moans, his feet feeling like lead battling through an onslaught of fiery lava. He can already feel the blisters on his feet forming—he's in so much fucking pain.
With their residence and workplace being located alongside the East River, they never have to travel this deep into the city. Louis is grateful for this. Already, he's sick of the crowded pedestrian filled streets, the screeching of automobiles swerving through the road, and the smell of pollution and construction.
He's given up on this promising night and they've only just passed Grand Central Station. Grand my ass, he thinks.
"Just a lil' while longer," Liam mumbles, shooting Louis a careful smile. He's grown accustomed to Louis' moods, knowing full well that he is not enjoying himself at the moment. He picks up his tone. "Didya see the construction over by Lexington? The Chrysler Building! It's already so tall! Everything here is tall—look up, Louis!"
Louis hums under his breath. "It's nice, Liam," he mutters, even though his attention is focused on the way his shoes strike the pavement, his feet crying out in pain with every step. "Jesus, does his friend have to live so bloody far from us?"
"What friend?" Liam replies brightly—wait.He guides a shocked Louis around the corner. "Corner of fifth. Just as he said-"
"Liam," Louis slowly says, gripping Liam's wrist, "what do you mean what friend?"
It's like a thread unraveling, the way Liam's expression transforms from relaxed into oh shit. He stands still, sputtering in front of Louis with guilty eyes. "I-I meant-fuck."
"There's no friend," Louis moans, scrubbing a hand over his face, "is there, Liam?"
Liam slowly shakes his head.
"So then where are we going, my dear and trustworthy Liam?"
"Don't say it like that."
"Liam."
Liam gulps, before turning his head to the left, beckoning to a solid black door that's almost hidden amongst the surrounding brick walls and overpowering glass displays of luxurious fashion. A worn sign, Records & More, hangs lamely above the entrance.
This is where they're meeting this Zayn?
"Liam," Louis says through gritted teeth, inspecting the door, "the sign says closed."
"Yes...but it's not really closed."
"Liam," he continues impatiently, "what do you mean it's not really closed? Have you gone bonkers? If it says it's closed, then it's fucking closed, unless—"
Louis lets out a high-pitched gasp, his hand flying to cover his gaping mouth.
"You've brought me to a juice joint!"
Liam cringes, reaching out to comfort the flailing Louis. "Erm, yes. I may have brought you to a speakeasy. I may have. And by that I mean, yes, I did. Fuck, I'm sorr—"
"Liam!"
"Gee, you've been saying my name lots tonight," he rambles on. "Really know how to make a man feel important."
Louis continues, "Do you know how many criminals gather here? This is illegal! And dirty! And wrong!"
"We're getting served alcohol." Liam rolls his eyes. "Of course there's going to be some illegal business involved—"
"I know that, Liam!" Louis yelps. "But places like this involve mobsters. Trouble gathers here in numbers! It's like their own circle of hell! One of us is going to die tonight, or worse, we might get fired for promoting illicit behavior!"
Liam raises an eyebrow, sighing. "You're being far too dramatic."
He groans, "Why did Zayn tell you to come here of all places? He's a murderer, isn't he?"
Liam grips Louis' shoulder, looking him square in the eye. "Listen, Tommo boy, I'm gonna be frank with you." He sighs, voice teeming with apprehension, "We're here...because this place is a jazz club. Zayn has a jazz band. He plays jazz."
All of Louis' insides feel like they're about to combust. He's only blinking back at Liam, but really, his internalized screaming is causing his cheeks to redden and his skin to crawl with sudden disgust. He's imagining himself climbing to the top of the half-finished Chrysler Building and jumping off.
"No fucking way."
He spins on his heel, because here's the thing: Louis Tomlinson hates jazz.
"Louis, come back!" A hand grips his wrist, whirling him into the bigger body. Liam stares down at him, chewing his lip nervously and looking at him with those stupid eyes.
In response to Liam's fucking stupid glistening amber eyes, Louis stands tall, chin up and expression firm. "Why'd you lie?"
"Because," Liam begins, "you wouldn't have come if I told you straight. I know how much you don't like jazz." He mutters quietly to himself, "Or anything fun..."
Louis pretends he doesn't hear that. "Good. So then it's settled. I'm going back home."
The earth is round and Louis hates jazz—the two facts of life.
Before he can turn away, Liam cuts around him, arms raised to chest level, forming a wall in front of Louis. He slowly removes his straw boater hat from his head, pulling it gently towards his heart.
"Louis," he says, earnestly, "I swear on my mum's grave—"
"God bless her," they say in unison.
"...I really like this guy." Stupid, stupid, stupid eyes. "And it would mean so much to me if you'd come. I need you, Tommo."
He awaits Louis' answer with visible anxiousness, gripping his hat with white knuckles, as if his entire existence relied on Louis' presence, like he determines how well his night goes.
Dammit.
Liam's his brother. And heaven knows that he'd sit through one of Louis' boring business meetings if he'd so ask, so of-fucking-course, he needs to be by Liam's side, too. He'll have to trade his morals for the night, but it's worth Liam's happiness.
Louis will just have to keep his head down—that's what he'll do.
"Fine."
"YES!"
Louis hides the smile forming on his lips, turning to face the black door with an annoyed huff. Liam catches up, pressing himself behind him, teeming with excitement.
Liam stops him as Louis reaches for the doorknob. "Don't. It's locked." He extends his hand out with a furrowed brow. "Here...this is what Zayn told me to do..."
He forms a fist, rapping his knuckles against the door with a specific rhythmic beat: Four fast knocks. Two slow even knocks. Three fast. God, Louis has to roll his eyes.
The door creaks open, a pair of bright blue eyes appear amidst the dark crack.
A low voice speaks, "Who brought you here?"
Liam coughs nervously, voice deepening as he talks. "Zayn. Zayn Malik."
The door surreptitiously swings open, gifting Louis and Liam with entrance. The store is dark, almost pitch black if it wasn't for the moonlight filtering through the smallest window. Before Louis can register the man who let them in, the figure lurks back into a dark corner, eyes only visible to the duo.
"Straight to the back. Behind the bookshelf." The pair of eyes disappear, turning away from Louis and Liam.
"Uh...thanks," Louis mutters. He turns to Liam and hisses,"Criminals..."
Liam scoffs, pushing Louis forward as they make their way through the closed record store. Tables upon tables display boxes filled with a variety of records, from heinous jazz to even classical pieces—Louis' choice music.
He meets Liam at the only bookshelf that rests against the backwall, hearing Liam mutter, "Behind the bookshelf...behind..." His head perks up. "Look!" He points to a large metal hook attached to the inner wall of the middle shelf. "It's like a door handle." With a sharp tug, the bookshelf slides a bit to the right. He pulls with more effort, huffing a deep breath.
"What. The. Fuck."
Louis watches as a narrow stairwell is revealed, leading to an abyss of sin, the thumping of satan's heart can be heard from their spot on the top ledge.
"An underground jazz club," Liam beams in contrast to Louis. "Who'd a thunk? Come on, then." He pulls Louis down the steps, while Louis' eyes dart nervously between the deep colored brickwalls on either side of them. They squeeze through bodies that crowd the cluttered staircase. One woman with a feather winks at Louis. Two men with stained lips greet him with a sly smirk. And it's loud. So loud.
"Where are we?" Louis breathes out next to Liam as they reach the bottom of the stairwell.
Quickly, a voice that's not Liam's replies. "The Oasis."
Louis snaps his head towards the husky voice, meeting a pair of strikingly green eyes. His gaze travels up and down the length of the body that leans against the banister in a sleek manner. From his broad shoulders that don a stark white button down—the first few buttons are deplorablypopped open—to his straight black pants held taught by suspenders. His long fingers curling around the brim of his dark bowler hat, he tips it forward, hiding his green eyes and leaving only a sideways smile. It's a mere second in Louis' mundane life, but in that second, it's everything."Welcome."
"Uh—"
"Tommo!"
Louis turns to see Liam with outstretched arms, eyes spinning around the room in wonderment. "Look at it!"
He rolls his eyes, reverting his attention back to the—he's gone. Louis whirls around, looking for the familiar hat, the broad shoulders, and the stupid peek of skin. But he's lost in the crowd, disappearing into thin air. A fucking mystery—like this fucking place.
A hand grasps his shoulder, and Liam's voice, despite the brassy noise, is clear in his ear. "You're missing out."
_____
The Oasis is unlike anything Louis has ever seen. It is a place that is not of this earth. The walls alternate between dark cherry paneling and deep red brick, velvet tapestries sporadically hanging here and there, like rich blood splattered around the underground room.
The smoky quality of the club only adds to its mysterious air. Walking through the haze of cigar smoke and the steam of lust, Louis makes out a polished U-shaped bar, lined with various alcoholic beverages. The stools are littered with men and woman, clinking their glasses and tipping their head back with each joyous chug. There are woman who seductively trace the rim of their brandy filled glasses as they chat up the bartenders, who mix drinks like it's an art, all while keeping time to the rhythm of the noise.
The noise. Circular tables lined with cloth and topped with a single warm lantern are spread throughout the outskirts of the club, and in the middle, there is a tight dance floor, filled to capacity with uproarious guests. They flail their bodies in a way that is so bizarre to Louis, dancing in front of a raised stage where various instruments and its players are lined up, bobbing to the beat of their own music. It's violently loud. A crashing cacophony of trumpets and drums and the slamming of piano keys and other blaring instruments.
The whole room takes delight in it, however. Drinking the noise like it's their own alcohol, stimulating their bodies to produce raucous movement and laughter and belting and utter bliss.
Louis knows he should hate it. He should feel disgust. But this place and all of its constituents is so strange to him, foreign, that the only thing he can truly feel is awe. Nevertheless, he'll portray differently to Liam.
"What now?" Louis grumbles as Liam pulls him along, weaving their way through sweaty bodies, ricocheting off dancing person after dancing person. "Is that Zayn up there? Centerstage?"
Liam shakes his head. "No, he goes up after. Must be special or somethin'. Here!" He leads them to a circular table near the corner of the stage. "Let's sit up close so he can see me!" He plops Louis down on a chair, before taking the seat opposite of him. Meanwhile, Louis flicks discarded cigarettes and used napkins off their tabletop, a look of repugnance obvious on his face. Liam spares him a trying look. "Look alive, will you? You're repelling people."
Louis slumps in his seat. Fine. He resigns to watching Liam clap to the beat of the current orchestra, only half-listening to his crinkled-eye commentary. He was always the more vulnerable one, susceptible to the hottest trends and whatever charm came his way.
Finally, the orchestra takes a bow, and the whole room erupts into uproarious applause. As the orchestra members clear the stage, a man with a loose powdery blue suit takes the stage, grabbing the microphone stand with added flair.
"Alright, guys and dolls, let's welcome to the stage—a crowd favorite here—Zayn and His Boys!"
Louis snorts.
"Here he comes, Louis!"
Slowly, a dark-skinned man quietly makes his way onto the stage, head bowed as to avoid the eager stares being thrown his way, ignoring the whistles and applause geared towards him.
"That's Zayn," Liam says dreamily, his chin cradled in his hands. Zayn, Louis concludes, is everything Liam had made him out to be. He really does carry himself with an allusive air, and his physicalities are so stunningly handsome, Louis almost has to shake himself from disbelief. A navy blue suit hugs his figure, white pinstripes running down the length of his body, all the way to his shiny black shoes. His bronze cheeks are hollowed, sculpted by high cheekbones and an angular jaw. His deep eyes are hidden behind his black fedora, only a strand of raven hair peeks out, curling against his forehead in a way that's also so fucking handsome.
Liam is first to wiggle his eyebrows at Louis, to which he sticks out his tongue, watching as more men trickle on stage taking their spots alongside their respectful instruments.
Zayn takes center stage, fumbling with the microphone stand in front him. A blonde boy with knee-pants and long plaid socks, a newsie hat placed messily on his head, leads the brass section, trumpet in hand. Louis can't make out the last person climbing onto the stage, as their figure is obscured by the biggest fucking violin thing in the world.
"What in God's name is that?" Louis scoffs next to Liam, eyes traveling from the top of the instrument all the way to the wing tipped shoes of the struggling individual.
Liam chuckles. "An upright bass, I think. Poor soul."
The man takes a seat, and a bowler hat peers from around the instrument. Louis gasps. Mystery boy. He takes off his hat, revealing a dark head of slicked back curls, and places it precariously on his knee before adjusting himself on the stool. His long fingers trail up the string, elbows high. Louis swallows thickly when the boy finally looks up, beaming with summery eyes and grinning at Zayn, a bright toothy smile. He nods at Zayn, who then finally acknowledges the audience.
"Hello," he says, voice soft as he greets the room. The way he speaks is careful, as if each word has been given thought, yet packing a confident punch. "Let's slow things down, shall we?"
It's like the whole club has dimmed, the only thing worthy of illumination is Zayn and his significantly small band, and they haven't even begun yet. Their presence, Louis thinks, is quite bizarre.
Zayn's fingers curl tighter around the microphone stand, bowing his head and tapping his feet to count himself in.
Louis gasps when just Zayn croons, buttery and low, "Stars shining bright above you..."He holds the you, letting the note simmer, until he suddenly snaps his finger, cooly. The band encapsulates his voice, wrapping it up and carrying it through the rest of the song.
His voice is like wanting. Yearning. As if he's released a fishing line and is slowly pulling his captors in with each note. It shocks Louis how much he leans forward, finger gripping the tablecloth.
On the other side of the stage, the blonde boy, cheeks rosy as he blows his horn, sways to the melodic voice that conducts him through the rise and fall of the song.
And then there's Mystery Boy. Louis wishes that he hadn't chanced him a look, because now, he can't keep his eyes off of him. The bass player has his own little corner, almost hidden in the shadows. Louis is enraptured by the way the boy's eyes are squeezed shut, head bobbing to the way Zayn's voice dances throughout the room. It looks like there's no thought to how his fingers pluck at the strings of his bass with one hand, while the other flutters up and down the board, forming notes with the placement of his fingers.
With the constant deep notes coming from his instrument, mixed with the rest of the band and Zayn's heavenly vocals, Louis can safely say that the whole piece is marvelous.
But that's doesn't mean he likes it.
"There's something about the way Zayn and his band plays..."
A stranger takes a seat in between Liam and Louis, wiping at his matted hair, fiery strands wet with sweat. Louis recognizes him as the leader of the last band, the one who played the piano.
Louis and Liam exchange a confused look, watching as the strange man takes a swig of beer, eyes fixed on the stage. He continues, "They just capture the room. All of us come here to celebrate in our prosperity, you know. We numb ourselves with dancing, living off the buzz of alcohol and music. But Zayn..." His eyes slowly close, absorbing the words being sung by the glowing man onstage. "The way he sings and the way they play...They make you remember. Remember that there is heartache and pain and more to this glamourous life. They make you feel."
Louis slowly turns his attention back to the stage, watching the way Zayn kisses the microphone, singing with his eyes closed, the way the blonde boy leans his body back, surrendering himself to the song, the way the handsome boy on the bass plucks at his strings, hugging his instrument like it's a part of him. Together it's magic, and Louis sits stricken by their spell.
"Do you feel it?" The stranger says to them.
Liam nods fervently. "I do. I truly do."
The stranger turns to Louis, beckoning towards him. "And you?"
Louis barely hears him, swallowing thickly. His mouth has gone dry.
Like a twitch, a microsecond, he makes an undetectable nod. And like that, the stranger gets up and leaves. Louis nervously casts a glance at Liam to see if he saw their short exchange. He's relieved to see that Liam is engrossed in the performance, eyes fixated on Zayn.
Louis doesn't register when the song finally comes to a close, not until Liam pulls him up on his feet, whistling and clapping as he shakes his head in amazement.
"Thank you, thank you!" Zayn says, raising a hand up to quiet the room. Louis watches as his eyes scan the room, pausing only for a moment when he catches Liam's stare. His lips quirk into a smile before turning to the front. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm pleased to welcome to the stage..." Liam eagerly scrambles back into his chair. "The most beautiful dame in this here city, a talented singer, my gal, Perrie Edwards."
Cringing, Louis eyes Liam, watching as he slowly deflates. A girl, who Louis assumes is Perrie, saunters on stage. She is beautiful. Her bouncy blonde hair curls around her ears, and the fringe of her champagne dress catches the light perfectly, sparkling with every move she makes. The red of her lips contrasts with the fairness of her skin and the brightness of her smile. Zayn twirls her and the crowd applauds.
He looks to Liam, whose attention is to the floor, lips in a thin line. "I'm sorry, Payno. It's probably nothing..."
"Maybe..."
Zayn takes a spot at the piano, offering the microphone to Perrie.
She gives them a sweet hello before nodding at Zayn to count them off. When he does, the most sultriest drawl comes out of her tiny body, "Everybody want to steal my girl..." Her voice and the music starts with a rise, before fading into a soft forlorn tone.
Louis shoots Liam a hopeful look, mouthing 'girl', but Liam shakes his head, disheartened. Sighing, Louis continues listening to the song. It's not as good as the first one. The lyrics are a bit childish and the progression sounds oddly familiar, but Zayn leads them in a solid performance.
But for some fucking unknown reason, Louis attention always drifts back to Mystery Boy's corner. Louis guesses he likes the way his brow is furrowed in concentration, trickles of sweat sliding down his forehead. He likes that his curls have popped out from its hold, messily falling towards his eyes. He likes the way his head swings from left to right as he loses himself in the music. Then there's the way he straddles the instrument and—Oh God, they've made eye contact.
Mystery Boy is smirking at him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Louis blanches. Cheeks burning, he drops his gaze onto his lap in lightning speed.
And they stay there for the rest of Zayn's set.
_____
"So that was fantastic—Dammit Louis, are you asleep?"
Louis raises his head, registering the applause and moving bodies around him, groups of guests rejoining the dance floor. Cautiously, he chances a look towards the stage. It's empty. He's safe.
"I was listening," Louis says, defensive.
Liam rolls his eyes. "Sure thing, Tommo boy." He doesn't grill Louis any longer. Instead his head frantically whips around, "I hope Zayn doesn't leave without saying hello. I think he saw me, right?"
Louis hums in response, waving a dismissive hand, freezing when he sees Zayn walking towards their table, shoes clicking on the wooden floor. The singer lays a hand on Liam's shoulder, to which Liam gasps in response, eyes comically bulging as he realizes whose hand is on him.
"Liam," Zayn greets with a smile, taking a seat next to him. "You came."
Louis bites down a grin, watching as Liam becomes flustered under Zayn's attention.
"Good," Liam blurts.
"What?"
"You were good!"
"Oh!" Zayn nods, chuckling to himself. "Thanks. It's the boys really..."
Before Liam can reply, a gaggle of the musicians from the band launch themselves at Zayn, shaking his shoulder, offering handshakes, and shouting praise before making their way to the bar. A head of curls emerges from the huddle, twirling his hat on the tip of his pointer finger. He sees Louis and smiles, moving around Liam to take the seat in between them.
Louis groans internally. It's going to be a long night.
The blonde trumpet boy also stays behind, dragging a chair from the table next to them, swings it backwards, and plops onto it, arms hanging over its back. His voice is like his trumpet, loud and brassy, but also, irish: "Hiya! You must be Zayn's barber! He said you were coming." He tips his hat. "I'm Niall! Niall Horan—trumpet player."
Mystery Boy bumps Liam. "I like to call him Niall Horn-an."
That's not funny, Louis. Don't laugh. A pained noise escapes his lips, and Liam shoots him a look. You're embarrassing, it says.
"And I don't," Zayn adds.
Niall reaches around Louis to ruffle Mystery Boy's hair, further ruining it. "Don't worry. It'll catch on."
"Right! This is Liam," Zayn says, throwing an arm around Liam's shoulder, letting it rest on the back of his chair. Louis snickers at the way Liam reacts, a dopey smile stretching across his face.
"Uh, hi."
"It's cool that you cut hair," Mystery Boy says. It's kind of comical hearing him say that with that deep voice of his. Louis finds that the way he bobs his head and the way his eyes brighten are strangely endearing to him. "I'm Harry, by the way. Harry Styles. How do you do?"
Liam just furiously nods his head, swept by the boys' cheerfulness and Zayn's fingers that casually linger close to his shoulder.
"It's nice to meet all of you," Liam beams. He was always better at making friends.
Harry turns his body towards him, his eyes boring straight into Louis', unwavering. "And who's this?"
"Who's this?" Niall repeats, scandalized, rolling his eyes. "Be proper, will ya? Try: Hi, I don't think we've met. What's your name?" He extends his arm to Louis, which Louis cautiously takes.
"Louis Tomlinson." He drops his hand, focusing on the flicker of the lantern, feeling Harry's gaze on him.
From on stage, music begins to blast. The stranger from before, along with his large orchestra, has taken over again, bouncing on his piano seat as his fingers dance across the keys. The middle of the club erupts into cheers as they partner up, limbs flying in every direction. He scoffs to himself. Harry notices this, nudging him, eyebrows raised.
"Duck, boys!" Niall cries.
Naively curious, Louis turns to where Niall is staring at. What the fuck? Something is being hurled at him.
"You deaf?" Harry chastises, spreading his hand on the back of Louis' head, shoving him flat against the table top. He gasps as a bottle of champagne whizzes right over him. Niall catches it with ease, popping it with wild laughter.
Crazies.
Louis shakes Harry off of him, avoiding his still expression, instead, focusing on Niall, whose head is tipped back, bubbly liquid gushing from the bottle into his mouth. He swallows, meeting Zayn's judging stare. "What? Didja want me to share?"
Zayn clicks his tongue, before turning to Liam. "Let's get us some drinks?"
Louis shakes his head, silently pleading with his friend. Don't leave me alone with them. With Harry. Please. But he ignores him, happily following Zayn to the bar.
Fine. He turns to Niall, hoping to occupy himself for the time being, but he finds that he has busied himself with shouting across the room to another table.
"Blow me, Niall!"
"The only thing I'll blow is my trumpet!"
He leans towards Louis, and swiftly says, "That's just banter. I'm not picky." Louis chokes as Niall turns back to holler at the table. "Hey! Toss me that bottle will you..."
His eyes dart between Harry and the suddenly pre-occupied Niall. Dammit.
Begrudgingly, Louis turns to Harry, who grins at him expectantly. "So...you play the bass. It's big. Your bass."
Harry nods, winking. "I hear people like 'em big."
Louis groans inwardly, rolling his eyes while Harry chuckles at his reaction. "Too rude?"
"Yes," he glowers. "But what did I expect," he says, watching a woman in red dance atop the bar, shaking her chest to the beat of the percussions, "I mean, look."
Harry regards him, thoughtfully. "You're not enjoying yourself, are you?"
He shrugs.
"Does it matter?"
"Well it's my life."
"Is it?"
Harry lets out a deep breath, before gesturing to the room around him. "It's why I came here. To America. It's why your family came here."
Louis grumbles, fiddling with the fabric of his blazer, "My family didn't come here to party."
"True," Harry nods. "But they came here because of a promise. For a better life. The American Dream."
"The pursuit of happiness," Louis adds.
"And? The city has kept its promise, has it not?"
Louis shudders, his mind going back to a time when he was living with his six family members, cramped in a boxy apartment with the Paynes. He remembers waking up before the sun came out, beating the city pavement with dirt stained cheeks, Liam by his side, begging for jobs. Days filled with schoolwork and nights spent working at the dock. He'd come home reeking of salt and fish, falling asleep next to an inevitable sick sister and waking up every few minutes to wipe their forehead with a cool rag, checking for a pulse on their frail body. In their building, incidents like this were common, but for the Tomlinsons, there have been no fatalities—thank God.
Now, if Louis thinks of his family, he imagines them safe in the new apartment above their modest family-run market, sleeping in beds that he helped pay for in pajamas that he bought for them. A roof over their heads and a fridge stocked with food, extra money in their pockets from a business they spent years building. Safe.
"I suppose," Louis answers. "Things are alright. They're happy."
"And are you happy?" Harry's voice is low, his hair tickling Louis' skin. When did he get this close? And what kind of question is that?
He frowns. "They are. That's enough for me." Off Harry's quizzical look he says, "It hasn't been easy. America didn't hand us bags of money once we touched her soil, okay?"
Harry back tracks. "Of course, of course. You're right. I'm quite new here, but Niall says there have been troubling times. It was the same growing up in London."
"How new?"
"Almost a year."
"Why here?"
Harry pauses, smiling. "I had a painting of New York City nailed to the door of my dormitory. Everyone seemed so...happy here. I wanted to see it was true.I wanted to come here and be something. Saved a pitiful amount of money, took a boat here after graduation, and...ended up sleeping two nights on a bench in Central Park. That's where Zayn found me. Offered me a place to stay with him and Niall." He points a finger up towards the ceiling. "Right above the store. All three of us live here. They introduced me to the band and they taught me how to play bass."
"In a year?"
"Right? I'm quite good for a rook."
"You're cocky."
Harry wiggles his eyebrows, and Louis lightly pushes him. Harry shrugs innocently and continues, "Been playing with Zayn and the boys ever since. Easy living."
Easy living. Louis purses his lips. "Lucky you."
Harry sees the way Louis slumps back into his chair, distancing himself from Harry. "Wait. I didn't mean—Niall and Zayn have had hard times, too. Niall's family came here starving. His older brother used to peddle the streets selling papes! Lost his mum to a factory fire. And Zayn...he was an orphan child. Doesn't remember anything. The owner of this place found him outside once and offered him shelter in exchange for work. That's how he learned how to play." He leans in closer to Louis. "We've all been there, Louis. And now we're here! The world is bright again!"
Niall, who must've been listening in, chimes, "High times, hard times." He raises his mug (that Louis thinks just magically appears, sensing whenever Niall's hands are empty) and takes a large gulp.
"Sometimes the living is sweet," Harry sings, a cheesy grin plastered on his face.
"And sometimes there's nothing to eat,"Louis finishes, singing softly to himself. Him and Liam used to sneak into vaudeville shows along with other working children, listening to filled theatres sing such morale raising songs. The memory elicits a distant smile on his lips. "But I always land on my feet..."
Harry excitedly nods next to him, a fond smile on his face. The look spikes something in Louis, a nervous squirm, an odd sensation that thankfully disappears when Zayn's voice jolts the table from their conversation.
"So you really liked it?" He says to Liam, setting a tray of glasses and bottles onto the table.
"Loved it," Liam says, shouting over the volume of the club as he passes glasses filled with some rum based mixture. "Never seen anything like it."
Surprising him, Zayn makes eye contact with Louis, waving his glass in his direction. "And you? What do you have to say?"
He freezes, genuinely unsure about how to respond. He came into this club with a certain way of thinking, but now it's become sickeningly muddled. Louis is an honest man...but he's also prideful. What is he supposed to say?
Luckily, but also unfortunately, there's Liam. "Oh, Louis hates jazz!"
Upon hearing this, Harry sharply turns to Louis with a face full of shock.
Niall spits up his drink.
"What?"
"Are you bonkers?"
Louis crosses his arms, matching their stares with an unyielding expression. "And?"
Zayn looks at him thoughtfully."May I ask why?"
Louis throws his hands up in the air, "I dunno!" He continues impatiently, "It's...it's everywhere. Loud. In your face. People replacing Vivaldi and Mozart with this mainstream noise? It's nonsense!"
"That's what happens when time moves forward!" Niall replies, waving his hands enthusiastically. "We're always finding the next big thing! Listen here, lads. The next big thing: boybands."
Harry and Zayn groan.
"He does this every time," Harry whispers to Louis. "He wants us to abandon our instruments and try it out."
"Imagine: young men dressed in dapper costumes, synchronized dancing and harmonic singing," Niall says, swiping his hand across the air as if painting his dream in front of them.
"It's a terrible idea, Niall," Zayn says, batting his hands away. "We're never trying that out. I disapprove."
"What are you going to do? Leave the band?" Niall chides. "You started it!"
Louis gestures at them impatiently, halting the impending argument. "Besides all that, you're telling me that you approve of this new found delinquency? This frivolous lifestyle?"
Niall pauses."What do you do for a living, Louis?"
"I'm a paralegal."
"That explains it."
Liam jumps to Louis' defense, a guiltful shine in his eyes. "Louis' a very smart gent. He works in his office all day. He's a university boy, so he's allowed to have no life!"
Louis reaches to pat Liam's knee, quieting him down. He tried.
Niall lets out a low whistle. "Look at you! Then you just need to go out more. Learn to love it and all that jazz."
"Nice one, Nialler—"
"Hey! I don't need to go out mo—"
"Listen, Louis," Zayn says, and the table goes quiet, "Jazz...it's not just some blind craze, and you won't be able to truly understand it until you breathe it in. This music is the spirit of this spontaneous and beautiful era we're in!" He points to the red-headed man on the piano. "See Ed up there? That is an unprecedented sense of rhythm. That is fucking talent. The thrumming in your veins that you feel when each note hits you is an artform!"
Niall raises his glass. "Hear, hear!"
Louis doesn't like that Zayn's words affect him. Instead, he merely shrugs, bringing his glass to his lips, the dark syrup moving smoothly through him.
Zayn turns to his boys, defeated. "People hate what they can't understand."
Hopeful, Harry nudges him. "What about the jazz we play? Do you like that?"
Louis hates being wrong, so he takes another swig, before pointing to the dance floor in disgust, swiftly ignoring his answer. "And what about them!" He smacks his lips in distaste, watching as men and women crowd around each other, women showing skin and men with lopsided tongues, dancing and kicking wildly, squealing with spastic arms. "What do you even call that?"
"Dancing," Harry scolds, crossing his arms impatiently.
"Looks like they're having an episode."
"They're having fun," Harry corrects. "Something you seem to be incapable of."
Liam moans from his spot, already on his third glass. "'s true."
Louis clicks his tongue towards a man popping bottle after bottle like it's a firework show, "Fools."
Harry groans. "You're mistaking foolishness for freedom. They're free." He sweeps his arms in a grandeur gesture, "That's what it's all about."
Niall smacks a bottle of wine into Louis' chest. "Fucking hell, drink up! As long as you're here, who cares if you're a fool!"
A song comes on that rouses something in Harry, knees bouncing energetically against Louis'. Even Zayn and Niall let out a pleased gasp.
"Charleston!" Zayn dramatically exclaims to Liam, fingers fluttering in the air.
"What's that?" Liam questions, head perking in curiosity as Oasis members pile onto the floor in excitement. He says with a sheepish shrug, "Even I don't go out often."
"The newest dance craze," Niall explains. "Everybody knows it!"
Harry slams his palms onto the table, jumping from his chair, eyes growing wide from the thrilling beat. "Louis doesn't need to drink! He needs to get up and dance. It's easy!" He turns to Louis, extending his hand with a bow. "What say you? May I have this dance?"
And he wants to. He wants to take Harry's hand and throw caution to the wind. He wants to tip his head back in laughter the way the men and women are now, but...he can't.
Louis Tomlinson is a prideful piece of shit, and he won't allow himself to fall under Harry's charm.
He gulps, shaking his head, silently wishing that Harry will pull him up anyway. However, Harry remains unfazed, utterly lost in the music. He leaps around to face Niall, who is rhythmically extending his arms over his head like a starfish, scatting along with the brass section.
"Niall Horan, Nialler, my Niall Horn-an!" Harry sings, reaching his hand out towards the trumpeter. "May I be so lucky to have this dance?"
"I thought you'd never ask!" Niall cackles, taking Harry's hand in his and leaping off his chair, leaving Louis and Liam to stare after the duo incredulously.
"They're dancing together!" Liam gasps.
Louis adds, "They're men!"
"So?" Zayn says, throwing his head back in laughter. "Look around you!" For the first time, Louis registers that there are other couples of the same sex dancing with each other, while others are gathered in corners, pressed closely together, lips finding every part of the body. It sends a shiver down his spine. Zayn continues, "This is the Oasis. The world may be different out there, but here, everything's okay. You're safe!" He softens, his pinkie finger gently grazes Liam's, "You're safe."
"So..." Louis continues, reveling in the way Liam's suddenly grows bashful, hiding his face behind his glass. "You...you're queer?"
Zayn shrugs. "Doesn't really matter to me." He swirls the ice cubes inside his glass before nodding towards him. "You?"
It's the rum, Louis thinks, that's allowing him to nod easily. If anyone from his firm found out, he'd be exiled. He adds hesitantly, gesturing to Harry and Niall, "What about them?"
"I don't think Niall really cares either. Everybody loves him and he loves everybody," he chuckles. "I've only seen Harry with men, so I suppose that's where he leans. We don't really talk labels though, so I don't want to assume. Like I said, it doesn't matter here."
Liam sighs into his drink, while Louis feels the need to pour himself another glass. The fucking Oasis. Pressing the cool glass to his lips, his attention becomes fixed on Harry and Niall. Their bodies are one blur as they circle one another, sweat pouring down their foreheads as they kick their legs infront and behind them, leaning forward with swinging arms. Niall hollers something that causes Harry and others around them to gleefully laugh. Niall pulls Harry towards him, and Louis has to tear his gaze away, suddenly wishing that he was the one pulling Harry into his chest. The fact that Louis is beginning to even think that makes his stomach sick.
"How do they even dance like that," Louis mutters.
Liam agrees. "It's crazy."
"It's all the same moves, but there's no one way to do it. Everyone's got their own flair," Zayn explains, head bobbing in time to the music. "See, Niall, he gets the crowd going with this," he waves his arms around violently, "it's his energy that makes his dancing his. Then Harry," he laughs, "he doesn't really have control of what his body does. He just goes with the music and people like that."
"What about you?" Liam asks, batting his eyelashes at Zayn, followed by him hilariously choking on his drink as he tries to sip cooly from his glass. Louis smacks his palm against his friend's back, rolling his eyes.
Zayn opens his mouth but is stopped by a woman's voice.
"Zayn knows what his partner wants," she says. They look up to see Perrie hovering over Zayn, winking when she makes eye contact with Liam, and he scoffs into his glass in response. She leans over Zayn, hands running along his chest as she hooks her chin onto his shoulder. "He's very dominant with his partner, knows all the mechanics, a hot pick for any lucky person."
Zayn playfully swats her away. "Perrie, please!"
"How's about this," she continues, giggling, "can I be the lucky girl tonight?"
Chuckling, Zayn shoots Liam and Louis an apologetic look, lingering on Liam for a second longer. "Thanks for coming gentlemen." He turns to Perrie, tangling their fingers together. "Hop to it, doll."
With a sigh, Liam turns away from the fleeting Zayn, a forlorn look in his expression. "I guess that's it," he says to Louis.
"Do you want to stay?" Louis offers, sympathetic. "Maybe he'll come back. Ask for a dance or something."
Liam shakes his head, scooting his chair back. "I doubt it. I think I'd like to go home."
"Yeah. Me too."
He thinks they've both had enough of this damn place. Sharing a mutual feeling of foolishness, the two get up from their table, stretching their legs. Louis throws a couple of bills on the tabletop and Liam swipes a decanter of brandy from the table, stuffing it into his striped vest. Together, they slip quickly through the crowd, bumping into heated bodies as they near the stairwell.
"Louis, wait!"
Harry's shout causes Louis to freeze. He pivots to see a flustered Harry running a hand through his hair. "You're leaving?"
He looks disheartened. Louis beckons for Liam to continue up the stairs.
"Yes," he replies quickly.
"Stay, will you?"
The way he looks at Louis reminds him of the first time he heard him play. The room had hushed, focusing on the soft music being produced by the band, the sweet notes melting in their ears. In that moment, time had froze. And now...
I'm longing to linger til' dawn dear...
"I would love for you to stay with me," he reaches for Louis' hand, lacing their fingers together. And no! No, he can't do that to Louis! "I know you don't like jazz but—"
There's so much to be done in Louis' life. He doesn't have time for this.
"No," Louis says sharply, recoiling from Harry's grasp. "I don't like you, Harry Styles."
He turns quickly, only seeing a flash of Harry's stricken expression. Back straight, he marches up the narrow steps, the music becoming softer with every step, and okay, maybe Liam's right. He is a bit dramatic.
He meets Liam at the front of the store, grabbing at him in the darkness. Together, they spill out into the moonlit streets. The city is still alive with whizzing automobiles and tipsy pedestrians. Louis takes one last look at The Oasis, and for some odd reason, he can still feel the beat of a deep string thumping rhythmically in his skin, buzzing through his insides.
Liam pulls him away, but that doesn't stop him from throwing his gaze over his shoulder, watching as the building becomes smaller and smaller.
He's afraid that he misses it already.
_____
This was never supposed to happen.
It was supposed to be one night.
But ever since then, it's been every night. It's become his routine for the past week; waiting until the moon is high, leaving his office with his hat tipped so far down, no one could recognize him; four fast knocks, two slow, three fast; creeping through the mass of bliss, dancing and drunkenness, blending into the bar, eyes low and drink hiding his face.
It's pitiful how this place has him on a chain.
It's only for an hour or so, long enough to listen to Zayn and His Boys' set, long enough for Louis to linger for a moment or two, drinking enough liquid courage to go up to Harry and talk to him, to surrender. But he never does. Nevertheless, it's the sweetest hour of Louis' day, watching Harry play, allowing the music, the buzz of the club, to seep into his skin.
Louis sits on a stool at the edge of the bar, spinning his body to face the stage. It had been a long day at the office. He orders himself his own decanter as Zayn enters the stage, his boys in tow. After all that Harry has told him, after days of watching them perform, Louis feels more attached to every note they play and sing. He can hear Zayn mourning his empty history when he croons melancholic melodies into the microphones. He can hear Niall's exuberance for this new prosperity with every toot of his horn. And Harry...
Louis can hear his thirst for a different life, his sense of wonder, and his desire to be something with every single note he plays. And he shouldn't feel all this for Harry after just one conversation with him—one shared look—but he does.
But he also figures this: if he had ran into Harry at the deli shop across the street, he'd still be able to know all of this, feel all the things he feels now.
And he's looking at Harry now, pink lips pouted as he concentrates on his part, eyes closely watching the way his fingers moves up and down his bass. With his long fingers swiftly forming shapes and plucking the strings of instrument, Louis can hear—can see—all the things he wants Harry to do to him.
Louis gulps and takes another great swig of his drink, the burning alcohol coating his suddenly parched tongue. This is all very, very bad for him.
This is the last night, Louis thinks to himself as the band prepares for one more song. It's been the most painful yet wonderful week, but it has to come to an end.
Thank God Liam isn't here to see him. Here he is watching a boy play music that Louis swore he would never fall victim to, caught up in a stupid infatuation. Liam's been busy all week, also. He's lucky that when he comes home, Liam isn't there to question him. In fact, he doesn't see him till the morning, and even then, they go about their day, saying nothing about there whereabouts.
As the song comes to a close, Louis firmly decides it's time to leave before Harry exits the stage. Time to say goodbye to The Oasis forever—to the boy with the bass.
He brings his glass to his lips for one last sip. Goodbye, my devil's nectar, he thinks solemnly, head tipped back as the booze travels down his throat. You will be miss—fuck!
A force pummels into his shoulder, knocking the rim of his glass off his lips, the amber drink sloshing everywhere—onto his really nice shirt. Fucking hell.
"Yikes! Sorry, mate!"
Louis turns, ready to face this deplorable person with fiery eyes, then freezes. Because Liam.
Liam, too, also stands open mouthed as he meets Louis' stare. His glass drops to the ground, the shattering noise lost in the blaring music and club chaos.
"Louis?"
"Liam?"
"What are you doing here?" Louis questions. His voice comes out embarrassingly squeaky.
Liam looks him up and down, folding his arms in thought. "You should know why I'm here." He gestures towards Zayn, who is standing in the middle of the dance floor, watching as Ed takes over the club with his rousing music, a pleased smile on his face. "I think I should be asking you the question. I mean you don't..."
Something in Louis' face causes Liam to trail off, eyes darting between Louis and the stage. An idea pops in his head, and Liam's face brightens, a smug smile on his lips. He points at Louis accusingly. "You like jazz, Louis Tomlinson!"
"Do not!" Louis gasps, affronted by Liam's horrible assumption. "How dare you—"
"You're bouncing your knee to the music!"
Louis squawks, binding his knees together, holding them with a death grip. "Instinct!"
"Admit it, Tommo boy," Liam says in a sing-song tone, "You like this."
Maybe. Maybe Louis does like The Oasis. Maybe he does like jazz. What he does know for sure, however, is that he likes the boy who plays jazz more than all of that. That's why he's here—but he won't tell Liam.
He holds Liam's stare for a moment before he slumps in his stool, a defeated sigh escaping his lips. "Fine. I possibly like jazz, but can you atleast let me keep my dignity for awhile? I'm still trying to figure out why it's got me prisoner."
Liam shrugs. "I know why. I mean, I've been here every night, and I can honestly say, I get how easy it is to become lost in this place. The music, the booze, the dancing...it's all so wonderous."
"I come here," Liam continues, "and every time I think: man, I deserve this."
Liam's words elicit a slow blooming in his chest. It makes sense when Liam says it outloud.
"So," Louis says, watching as Liam orders himself a martini, "every night? I suppose you and Zayn are a proper thing."
"Oh, no," Liam says nonchalantly, "I haven't said one word to him. I hide back here for most of the night. Drink until I get the courage to have a dance or two, hoping that he sees me. Or asks me for a drink, a dance, something. But he never does. He's very popular."
"Liam," Louis groans, and Liam shrugs.
This explains Liam's absence at home when Louis returns for the night. This explains why they're so quiet in the morning. They're both nursing hangovers from last night's escapades.
"The bass player sees me, though. He asked about you once. Harry Styles, was it?"
"Styles?" Louis chokes on his drink. "What Styles?"
"Jeez, alright there, Tommo boy?" Liam laughs, moving to pat Louis' vest dry. "I oughta say, with you getting the shakes like that, I'd suppose you fancy him." Louis freezes, and Liam chuckles softly to himself. "I'm just joking—"
"Wait." Liam's eyes bulge, feeling Louis stiffen under his touch. "You do! You do have a crush on Harry! That's why you're hiding here!"
"Fucking hell, Liam."
"I knew there was something between you two the minute he sat beside us. Admit it," Liam says, poking his sides, "You're all about that bass."
Louis fall silent, balling up his fists atop his knees, face growing distressingly hot.
"Louis," Liam says, softer, leaning closer to him, "This is a good thing. You haven't been with anyone in a long time."
Louis scoffs. "Do you remember what times we live in?"
"That means squat." Liam grips Louis' knees, looking him straight in the eye. "Everyone deserves love. And you. You deserve a man to love."
"I don't lo—"
"You could," Liam interjects. "You could, Lou, and that's somethin'."
He swallows thickly, wishing for a change in topic. "Can we stop talking about me?"
"Louis, we never talk about you."
"Please?"
"But—"
Louis groans, sticking his neck out, searching for a man with slick black hair and a steamy jaw line...aha. "Zayn!" The head sticking out in the middle of the dancing group whirls, dark eyes meeting Louis'. He smiles as Louis frantically points to a sputtering Liam. Look, he mouths with a giant grin. Look who's here! Zayn's eyes light up as he begins to swerve through the crowd.
Liam cries out, "Louis!"
"There. Now you can—"
"Harry!"
"Liam!"
Horrified, Louis turns to where Liam is staring at. His eyes meet Harry's for the first time since their 'goodbye' by the stairwell, and in this moment, Louis heart feels like its about to jump out of his chest. Harry looks pleasantly shocked, already making his way to their spot at the bar, saying excuse me to every body he squeezes past.
Louis turns back to Liam to hit him, to give him the dirtiest glare of his life, but he's already gone, being pulled away by Zayn.
"Hello."
He gasps to find that Harry is inches away from him, a lopsided grin on his face. He's donning a burgundy suit, slim, accentuating every part of his body. His curls are more tamed tonight, slicked back in a fashionable part, showcasing his moony eyes, olive green with swirls of blue and gold. Unusual, but beautiful. So beautiful.
He busies himself with fixing the buttons on his shirt before he's caught staring. "Hi." Short, and seemingly uninterested.
"It's good to see you," Harry continues, discarding his blazer, throwing it cooly over his shoulder.
"Quite swell," he replies quickly, watching as Harry moves to Louis' left side, leaning against the bar, licking his lips.
"Although," he says slowly, an unyielding gaze set on Louis, "I must be honest. This isn't the first time I've seen you since that night. In fact, I think I've seen you every night since then-right here." Louis stills. "I'd spend minute after minute, song after song, daring myself to go up and talk to you. But then I'd remember, you don't like jazz...and you don't like me."
Louis gulps, remembering full well the exchange they shared that night. "All true."
"And yet," Harry leans in closer, "you're here."
The music instantly goes faint as they hold each other's stare. The only thing he can hear is Harry's heartbeat, dangerously close to him.
Louis coughs haughtily to fill the silence, eyes darting on everything but Harry. "Yeah, well," he moves to grab his blazer and hat from the bar top, "I was just leaving."
Harry's eyebrows droop. Quickly, he gently catches Louis' wrist. "Wait. You can stay. I want you to—"
"No," Louis repeats, muttering over and over to Harry (or himself), "I really shouldn't be here."
"So why?"
"Why what?"
Harry takes a seat on the stool, crossing his legs and folding his arms on top of his lap, an endearingly thoughtful position. "Why have you been coming back?"
"I just—I..." Louis pauses, searching for an acceptable answer. "Observation."
Harry quirks an eyebrow. "Observation?"
"Experimentation. Consideration. Examination," Louis begins to list cooly. "All the -ations, really. I just had to come back and observe everything. You know, really get a feel for the music and this club thing. It's not my scene, truly. Immensely ridiculous, actually. Anyhow, I was leaving."
He begins to pack up his things. Harry sighs, his voice resonates in Louis as he makes to leave, "I get it, Louis. You're above all this. To you, we're just fools following a crazy fad. And you, university boy, you're better than us. "
That stops Louis. Dropping his belongings back on the table, he turns sharply to Harry. "You're wrong," he says fiercely, "Do not put me on a pedestal just because I went to university. I am a 'university boy' because I worked my fucking arse off to get there. There were days where I didn't sleep, days where I didn't eat, but it got me a career that I'm a good at. And yeah, it's fucking miserable, but it gives me money to provide for my family and just enough for me to get by."
"Louis, I—"
"I do so much, Harry," Louis continues, towering over a wide-eyed Harry, "I do so much to make sure the people around me can live comfortably. I do so much to prove to people that I'm worthy of this American soil. So I'm sorry that I have this pride, but I need it. Because I can't—Harry, I can't—let anything ruin all that I've done to get to where I am."
"Stop, Louis, stop. It's okay," Harry murmurs gently, and it's then when Louis realizes that he's shaking. He reaches an arm towards Louis, gently placing his hand on the small of his back, rubbing smooth circles. "That's...that's amazing. That's a good reason to not want to be involved with us. You really are as brilliant as I thought you were."
"Oh."
"I understand," Harry continues, "I understand this need to have resentment towards something that can be so...impulsive and new. After all that you've gone through, you'd want nothing to jeopardize that."
"T-thanks, Harry," he drawls, taken aback.
"But that's why you deserve this even more."
"What?"
Harry takes a deep breath. "Every single one of us experiences pain—some more than others. You have this great responsibility for yourself and your family." Louis lets out a puff of air, because boy is that true. "It's hard and it's grueling work, but Louis, you don't have to let it consume you. You're allowed to have fun. You're allowed to let loose. It's human nature."
"Okay...and what's your pain?" Louis asks.
Harry drops his gaze, his touch falls limp on Louis' back. "I, uh..." He inhales a shuddering breath. "I lost my mum and my sister during this violent riot outside their work about three years ago. My father died in battle years before. I don't really have anyone. " Louis gasps, instinctively resting a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "But that's why I came here. That's why I have this!" He gestures around the energetic club, beckoning to Zayn and Liam, who are dancing closely together, and to Niall, who is standing on top of a table, juggling glasses filled with alcohol, "We all deserve something sweet, a comfort when we need it. This is it for me." He tilts his head, thoughtful, "What's yours, Louis?"
Louis nods slowly, pondering. He lets out an almost deprecating chuckle when one person comes to mind. "I guess—it's sad—but Liam's always been there. He's been there through the bad times, and even after a terrible day at work, he's there." He shrugs sheepishly, "Yeah...just Liam."
Of course Louis' thing would be just one person. That epitomizes all that Louis has done in the last few years—nothing but work and coming home to his one and only best friend.
Harry smiles, a fond expression blooming on his face. "But you can have so much more."
Those words are weighted. With what, Louis can't fully comprehend at the moment. All he knows is that he's looking at Harry, and his mind has gone fuzzy. They're looking at eachother, and it's sweet. It's something.
Somewhere during this conversation, Harry has drawn Louis closer to him. His knees knock against Louis' thighs, legs almost straddling him, while Louis' hand remains draped over Harry's shoulder.
Louis bites back a smile. "I could use a few more drinks."
"Yeah?" Harry chuckles. "Me too."
_____
"Do it again, Harry! Do it again!"
They're sitting across from each other, knees pressed closely together. Giggles spill incessantly out of their lips, clutching onto one another to keep themselves from falling off their stools.
"Okay," Harry says, wagging a finger at Louis, "One last time."
Louis sits up straight, fingers curling around his glass in anticipation. Harry sets his drink down, places his hands on his hips, furrows his brow and says with a high pitched voice, "I don't like you, Harry Styles!"
They erupt into laughter once more, Louis' head dropping to the crook of Harry's neck, fighting for breath amidst all the giggles. He never imagined that the night would lead to this. Harry and himself, curled towards one another, lost in their own world.
"I didn't sound like that," Louis pouts, finally breaking away from Harry. He moves to pour another round of drinks for the two. He's lost count on how many glasses they've downed, and he'd try to do the math in his head now, but his mind is too pleasantly scrambled to even bother.
Harry snorts. "You weren't on the receiving end."
"You're right," Louis says, raising a defensive hand. "And I'm sorry for that." He chuckles, "Liam says I'm quite dramatic." His eyebrows perk up. "Hey," he drawls, voice rising in pitch, "where's Liam?"
"Probably wrapped around Zayn," Harry snorts, eyes scanning the room for their two friends.
Louis pouts. "But what about Perrie? Shouldn't Zayn be with his girl?"
"His girl? Maybe two years ago!" Harry cackles. "But you and I both know he's got his heart set on one person...and his name starts with an L and ends with an ee-yum."
"Good," Louis says, relieved. So that's one less thing to worry about.
He watches as Harry takes a short sip from his glass, observing the way Harry's throat bobs as the liquid travels down his pipe. He takes a deep breath, downs his glass, and pours himself another.
"Oi! Look who's here!"
A blur of blonde hair lunges straight in between Harry and Louis, slamming into the the bar in a fit of giggles. Niall leans his back against it, limbs messily splayed. He dips his head towards Harry and slurs, "Harreh! Do ya know?"
"Know what?" Harry smirks, shooting an amused look at Louis.
Niall smacks a finger on his lips, shushing Harry like a mother to her child. He beckons towards Louis. "Your boy's here! The pouty law boy! Now ya can stop talkin' bout him!" Harry's eyes bulge, his mouth parting in protest before Niall stops him. "Don't look, ya sap! He's right behind me!"
"Niall..." Harry groans, before casting an apologetic look to Louis.
Louis has to cover his face with his hands, smothering the affectionate smile growing on his face as Harry explains to Niall that he's quite aware of the fact that Louis is here. So he's Harry's boy, then?
Upon realization, Niall turns to Louis, slapping a hand on his back, causing Louis to spit up his drink. "Whatcha doin' back here, huh? Thought ya hate this place!" He follows this with a deep frown, slumping his shoulders and scanning the room with a deprecating expression. Is that supposed to be Louis?
He lets the poor imitation slide. It's Niall, after all, and he can only imagine what Louis truly looked like that night—probably constipated, if he's going off Niall's emulation.
"It's the alcohol that's bringing me back," he smirks, finding Harry's eye, who coyly winks back. "That's it."
Niall tips his head back with a groan of sympathy, "Fucking prohibition!" He gestures to the bartender. The silent communication is a pure example of Niall's constant presence at the club. "It's a damn right shame that we live in a world that'd deny its beautiful people alcohol!"
Harry's face twists humorously. "You live above a bar, Ni. You have nothing to worry about." He says this just as Niall retrieves a silver tray filled with clattering shot glasses, liquid sloshing everywhere as he struggles to keep balance.
"Yeah, well, my fucking sympathies, still." He rolls his eyes. "They tell us to stop drinkin' and then take away our alcohol. And you know what happens? Double the people drink! More and more! You can't go anywhere without seein' people sneakin' bottles!"
The drunk man's got a point.
"You're going off with those drinks, right Niall?" Louis asks, staring at the tray apprehensively. He's already delightfully inebriated. He doesn't think he can handle a round of shots with Niall.
Niall protectively pulls the tray away from Harry and Louis, raising a suspicious brow. "'Course! Get your own!"
"Thank God," Harry mutters over Niall's shoulder, earning a short chuckle from Louis.
"I'm off to pass these around," Niall continues excitedly, hoisting the tray up once more, "Gotta make sure everyone is having as much fun as me!"
He scurries away from them, shouting over his shoulder, "Good seein' ya, Louis! You boys be safe now." He manages a wink, before he almost slams into a table, "Aye! Watch it! Dirty four-legged cretin..."
They watch as Niall zig zags through the crowd, passing out glass after glass while stealing a few sips of his own.
"Jesus," Louis murmurs as Niall joins a group of dancers by the stairwell, hooking his legs over the railing. Louis is drunk, but he's not that drunk. He turns to Harry, finding that he's looking right at him. "What?"
"You're far away again," he says, with a pout. Oh. "Come closer."
Louis stifles the immediate desire to climb onto Harry's lap and scream: Is this close enough? No, Louis has self control—although, his heavy consumption of alcohol may have withered it significantly.
"Aha—well—I," he stutters, punctuating his words with a nervous laugh.
Cool. He's so cool.
It's all so new to him. Flirting. And despite his dumbstruck self, Harry remains interested. The way he's looking at Louis with no judgment, fond eyes and a playful grin, it's enough for Louis to want to continue whatever this is. To not give up.
"So bass," Louis continues, a valor attempt at a smooth recovery, "what made you want to play bass?"
Harry tilts his head slightly, a hint of a teasing smirk growing on his lips. "C'mere." Louis' stifles a gasp of surprise when Harry spreads his legs wider, eyes flitting down to the space between his knees, "I can show you."
"Show me?"
"I'm offering a demonstration, a presentation, another -ation, if you will."
Louis crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow at the roguish expression on Harry's face. It's being with Harry that gives Louis the need to keep his guard up, but it's the same unearthly eyes, warm smile, and soothing voice that eradicates all of that. So, with shaky breaths, Louis finds himself slowly sliding himself in-between Harry's thighs, cheeks spiking with heat.
"Now what?" Louis says, a challenging tone.
Surprise flashes across Harry's for a moment, before he masks it smoothly, turning Louis so that his back is against Harry's chest. "You're the bass," he says, low, the warmth of his breath tickling his skin. He's the fucking bass.
Harry continues, pressing Louis closer to him so that he's literally straddling him, and it's so hot everywhere. Louis doesn't know what to do with himself, he makes to grab at Harry's knees, but he recoils. That's too much. Instead, he hides his hands in his pockets so Harry can't see the way his fingers flex when Harry runs his hands up and down his chest, mimicking the way he holds his own bass.
With one hand placed on Louis' chest, the other on his stomach, Harry whispers, "I'll show you why I play the bass."
"They say that the bass is the heart of the song," he continues, a single finger slowly tracing Louis' heart, "it keeps the pulse. Underneath all the noise, there's a steady rhythm."
Louis shudders as Harry's fingers flutter against his torso, plucking at the invisible strings. "You might not see it at first, but my instrument is the foundation of the band, from harmony to tempo. I create the tension," he says, soft fingers feathering up and down the length of his body, barely touching, but fuck, Louis still feels it. "I push or I pull. I give it all or I leave you wanting more."
It feels like with each teasing touch, a seething hot scar is left, leaving Louis to repress his writhing body. Swallowing thickly, Louis faintly shakes his head. Don't leave me hanging, he's thinking. Please."That's all me. I have that power." His lips suddenly graze against Louis' neck, the touch, Louis instinctively leans towards, mouth agape, knuckles clenched in his pockets. "I like that."
They stay like that for just a second or two, but the way they're pressed closed together, the commotion of the club hardly audible under their trance, makes it feel like an eternity in Louis' life.
Finally, Harry dips his head, nuzzling into the crook of Louis' neck, letting out a deep chuckle that rumbles against Louis' skin.
"That's it?" Louis responds, turning to face Harry. His voice is rasped, obviously still affected by the fact that Harry just played him like a fucking upright bass.
"That's it," Harry concludes. His sultry eyes are locked on Louis', and it's a stare that neither want to break. He breathes out, "What's next?"
Louis feels as if his skin is vibrating, veins deliciously flooding with all the alcohol. Everything about this moment leaves him reeling with giddiness, it's hard to suppress thoughtless giggles. "You want more?" This is dangerous. "Don't you think we've had enough?"
Harry pouts, catching Louis' hand in his. "Of course I do." Louis rolls his eyes mockingly. "C'mon. You're no fun."
No fun? Louis pushes away from him, and immediately, Harry knows he's made a mistake, expression washing with panic. Louis finds his glass, takes a breath, and downs every single bit of it in one final gulp. Narrowing his eyes at a distraught Harry, Louis slams his drink onto the bar and walks away from Harry, not even sparing him one glance.
"Louis, don't go—please! I didn't—"
Louis dives into the mass of dancing men and women, sweaty bodies and raucous noise swallowing him. He can't believe he's doing this.
But he doesn't want this night to end, he wants to do more with Harry, and he needs to do this; he has a point to prove.
And that's why Louis is standing in the middle of the dance floor, holding a solid stance, watching as Harry's eyes search frantically around the club. Oh dear God,Louis thinks, willing the nervous tremors of his stomach to still. You can do this. The song changes and the group in front of him mingles off to the side, leaving Louis clearly visible to Harry.
His eyes bulge when they notice Louis. Louis extends his hand out towards Harry, his stomach in knots. Harry forces himself to shake off the bewildered expression that has quickly formed on his face. He stumbles out of his stool, clumsily making his way towards Louis, a dopey grin painted on his lips.
"Louis," he gasps, taking his hand. "What are yo—"
"You're teaching me how to dance," Louis interjects. "That's what's next."
Harry slack-jawed gaze softens into one that's fond, voice low amidst the blaring band, "You really are something, Louis Tomlinson."
He takes Louis' hand, places it on his shoulder, before resting his own on the small of Louis' back. He raises Louis' other hand, gently clasping them together, and offers Louis an encouraging nod, eyes sparkling in Louis' direction. "You ready?"
Louis lets out a nervous rush of laughter. "Hurry before I run like a coward."
Harry only grips him tighter, "You got this. Follow me." He demonstrates a move for Louis, kicking his leg out in front of him so fast Louis can barely keep track of the movement. He beckons Louis to mimic him, and he does, albeit, a little more sloppily. Harry acts impressed otherwise.
"All dancing is," he mutters as he and Louis take turns alternating kicks, slowly at first, "is reacting to your partner." He tries out a new move and Louis responds to it seamlessly. "Like that! I move forward, you move back. My arms go this way and your arms go that way—very good, Lou! Let's speed it up."
Harry leads, twisting Louis as their polished shoes scoot around each other, arms high and swaying to each blaring pang of the song. His eyes dart in every direction, watching Harry's every move, every minute twitch of his body, and somehow, by doing this, Louis knows exactly what to do. Maybe it's because of all the nights spent watching this club unfurl before him, all the observations from his spot at the bar. Or maybe it's because Louis just feels it in his bones. Harry and Louis—they're in sync.
"You're doing so good!" Harry yells brightly, voice disfigured by their bouncy steps.
Louis just tips his head back, roaring in carefree laughter, heart pounding with adrenaline as Harry twirls him around.
"I'm gonna let you go now," Harry says, pressing Louis close to him, a warning tone in his voice.
"What?" Louis cries out. "I don't know how to do this alone!"
Harry dips him, "It's easy." He pulls him back up, grinning from ear to ear. "There are no rules, Louis. All you gotta do is feel the beat." He gently pushes Louis away from him and winks, "Like this."
Harry is insane, but in the best way possible. He's kicking and thrashing his arms about, an eternal smile on his lips, jumping and twirling from foot to foot. He motions for Louis to do something. Louis' mind had short-circuited for a second that he'd forgotten how to move.
But he follows Harry, mimicking his steps, the way that he breathes with every move, until finally, he starts to understand what Harry means; he feels the beat. The trumpets swell around them, and Louis is so giddy. He can feel every note jolt his core, telling him what to do, showing him how to move his body. Breathless with excitement, Louis kicks his legs high in the air, reaching his arms in and out, and then dips forward so that his nose almost touches the ground, swinging one leg behind him.
Harry cheers, and Louis realizes that he is completely dancing on his own with reckless abandon. There's no thought, it just fits, and Harry looks so proud. They circle each other, the music rising and rising in its climax.
"You're doing it!" Harry giggles, hooking his arm with Louis' for just a moment, spinning him around.
Somehow, Louis loses his balance, slamming into another body.
It's Liam.
Liam has to do a doubletake when he realizes who just crashed into him. "Louis?"
Louis doesn't fucking care. He just twists away from them, one finger dancing in the air, a smug smile on his lips, a look at me now.
Zayn comes up from behind Liam, mouth wide with bewilderment. "Louis?" He turns his head behind him, calling out, "Niall, look who's got happy feet! It's Louis!"
Somewhere from the stairwell, Niall whistles loudly. He's surrounded by a gaggle of girls, swinging from the railing, a drink in his hand. "Well I'll be!" He screams over the roar of the music, "Clear the floor, ya filthy animals! This rook's gots some moves!"
The space around Louis widens, forming a circle around himself and Harry. All eyes are on him. Louis only pauses for a second, body freezing in mid-dance. Until, he throws his arms in the air, roaring audaciously, because who the fuck cares? For once, it's Louis' night.
So he dances, spinning and swaying, crazy, improvised movements. He mirrors Harry at first, but then they dance back to back, a force of nature. From the edges, Zayn hollers at the crowd to clap to the beat, until he joins the duo in the middle, dragging Liam along with him. He pulls Louis away from Harry, taking his hands and leading him through the dance. Dancing with Zayn is like floating across the floor, he knows exactly what to do. Meanwhile, Liam and Harry are orbiting each other, palms waving in the air. Liam makes a face at Louis: what the hell are we doing?
"We're having fun!" Louis screeches, as Zayn kicks a leg over him.
The song is coming to a close, and Louis frantically twists his head, searching for Harry. Zayn does him a favor and spins Louis away, and Harry's done the same, because Liam finds his way back to Zayn, as well.
When Louis reaches Harry, he's lifted by his strong arms, high above the rest of the dancers, slowly spinning in pure bliss. When the song ends, Louis slides back down, wrapped in Harry's embrace.
He's sticky with sweat, a few of his buttons have popped open, and his hair has messily fallen over his eyes—but he doesn't care. In fact, he's never felt this much exhilaration until this moment.
"Thank you," Louis breathes out, voice haggard and chest heaving.
Harry reaches his hand out, slowly pushing Louis' bangs off his forehead, a fixed expression on his face. He's sure another song is playing, but all he sees is Harry. "Do you wanna go some place else? Just you and me."
"Where?"
"Anywhere."
Louis replies with a dazed nod. A mischievous grin creeps on Harry's face, before he tugs Louis along.
"Where are we going?" Louis yelps, as they snake through dancing couples and men and women drinking to their heart's content.
How drunk is he? Is this all just an uninhibited act?
"I know just the place," Harry replies as they reach the narrow staircase—where Niall is straddling the railing, shimmying his chest to rhythm of the current song.
They share a mutual look. How were they to escape Niall? Harry places a finger to his lips, causing Louis to bite back laughter as they attempt to tiptoe past Niall.
"Stop!"
"Fuck," Harry mutters under his breath, tightening his grip on Louis' hand. "Yes, Niall?"
"Where do ya think you two are goin'?" Niall's eyes dart to their clasped hands. "Wait a minute—"
Louis' eye widen. Without thinking, he shoots a hand out and flicks Niall's glass out of his hand mid-drink. The fall causes Niall to squeal, and Louis swear he sees a single tear spring from an eye.
"Go! Go!"
Niall calls out after them, "Louis, ya fucker!" He frantically cries to the circle surrounding him, "Fill my cup! Quick, put some liquor in it!
As Niall's cries becomes fainter, Harry and Louis spill out of the record store, clutching their sides, laughter echoing into the night.
"Louis Tomlinson, you are a brilliant man," Harry says in-between giggles. He pulls Louis in for a congratulatory hug, the touch and admiration sends Louis reeling. "Let's go."
They stumble through the city sidewalks, never letting go of one another.
_____
"42nd street?"
"Lou, we turn this corner, and we enter the heart of New York City. Times Square!"
They stand with their shoulders pressed together, the city awake with automobiles swerving through the street and ritzy city dwellers strutting the pavement. They had let go of eachother's hold the minute they stopped moving, careful to hide their affections from judging eyes.
"I've never been," Louis shrugs.
Harry's head snaps towards Louis, a gobsmacked expression on his face. "You lived in New York all your life, and you haven't even seen Broadway?"
"I've always lived along the docks," he explains, "and I suppose I've been once or twice. I've just never noticed it enough to remember."
Harry dips his head towards Louis, lips grazing his ear. "Well remember this," he murmurs, before taking off, leaving Louis with no choice but to follow.
When Louis turns the corner, he sees Harry with arms outstretched, beckoning towards the sight behind him. He doesn't even try to stifle the awed gasp that inevitably escapes his mouth.
"The Great White Way," Harry announces, a proud look in his eyes. He sighs dreamily before turning away from Louis, observing the magnificent sight for himself. "Everything that's beautiful in this world is right in front of you, Louis, but you won't find it if you spend your life looking down."
Broadway truly is a spectacle. The rows of dazzling marquees illuminate in the night, as if stars themselves stretching before him. It's larger than life, brash and alluring. The beat of dolled up theatre go-ers, businessmen, and celebrities, reckless automobile drivers zigzagging through the street, its passengers dangling out the window, roaring with drunken delight, the dull thumping of music coming from various places, every noise and every sight—it feels like it's all just for Louis. Despite all of New York's inhabitants, it seems as if the city is his heart, only Louis'.
He supposes everybody must feel this way.
"Oh Louis," he hears Harry murmur over and over again, "Louis, Louis, Louis."
Harry twirls lazily on his feet, arms swaying as his head is tipped back in amazement,"I want to live everyday of my life like this."
Harry chances a look at Louis, and immediately, his expression softens, his lips forming a crooked smile.
Then there's Harry, standing in front of him with hearts in his eyes. Despite all his misfortunes, Harry still possesses a light inside him that allows him to enjoy the life he's been given, to find wonder in everything that surrounds him. Harry carries joy and hope, and that is why Louis likes him so much.
Louis likes Harry. The thought is sobering.
He's so beautiful and he's right in front of Louis.
Louis takes large strides to meet Harry under a glowing marquee and takes his hand, pulling a confused Harry to the nearest alleyway.
Releasing Harry from his grasp, Louis beholds the way the moon casts a glow on Harry, the way its radiance sparks the life in those churning pools of green. Louis reaches a hand up, gently tangling a finger in Harry's soft locks, before tucking a strand behind his ears. Then, Louis' fingers find the smoothness of Harry's skin, cupping his cheek.
"What are you doing?" Harry softly exhales, leaning into Louis' touch.
Louis licks his lips, eyes wide with adoration. He leans forward, mouth barely grazing Harry's, and murmurs, "Looking up."
The corner of Harry's lips stretch from ear to ear, his smile lighting up the darkest corners of their hiding spot. Louis pauses in silence, waiting for any sign of yes from Harry, heart racing with anticipation.
Harry slightly nods, parting his lips, and that's it. Louis joins their lips together, sinking into his touch. Harry wraps his arms around Louis' neck, encapsulating Louis with every wonderful part of him; his warm embrace, his sharp cologne, and the soft caress of lips. There's almost a mutual pang of worry: are we just drunk? Is this really nothing?
But, no. Louis squashes the thought, digging deeper into the kiss, a pleased noise escaping Harry's lips. They've been sober the minute they touched each other, the minute they realized that this night could be something more. The only thing that could inebriate him further is this right here, the taste of Harry's lips, moving against his.
Together, they slowly pull away, using each other as support as they find their breath.
Harry sighs, mumbling into Louis' lips, "Let's go...my place—"
"Wait."
Louis' hands slide to find Harry's, lacing their fingers together. Louis just kissed Harry. He gave a bit of himself for Harry, something he hasn't done for someone in years. This is so important to him, and as he looks into Harry's eyes, Louis knows: Harry is so important to him.
"I don't want this to be a one night thing. That's not who I am, and that's not why I'm with you," Louis says hurriedly, slightly fearing that someone will stumble upon them. "I want someone for every day of my life, someone who I could love. I think we can be something special, you're something special, and I need to know if you feel the same."
He's knows he asking a lot from Harry, but this is Louis' heart, and he needs to protect it. He needs to know if all of the sneaking away was worth it—if Harry is worth it. And he knows he might just be digging a hole for himself. Harry is bold and vivacious, and all of this may have just been routine for him, just another night.
So he's surprised when Harry kisses him again, short yet earnest. "Didn't you hear me?" He says as he pulls away. "I want to live everyday of my life like this."
Harry's words are everything. Louis shakes his head in amazement, his skin prickling with heat. "But Harry," he stops when Harry leans in once more, "we both need to think this through. On our own. Our world...it could be difficult."
They just agreed to forging a relationship, and he wouldn't it allow it to be official unless they both understood its repercussions, the obstacles they may face. He's not talking about The Oasis. The Oasis is safe. But everywhere else...
Their commitment will entail plenty of lying, sneaking, and outside scorn, so Louis needs to know if they're ready for this. He had allowed himself to let loose tonight, but this, this is serious to him.
And it must be for Harry, too. Because even he is silenced, brows knitted together in thought as he begins to understand what Louis is telling him.
"You're right."
"We need time."
"As long as we need."
Louis nods, a hint of sadness in his smile. He turns back to the lit streets, his fingers slowly sliding out of Harry's touch. Harry follows suit, facing the world outside their dark hiding spot.
Louis presses himself close to Harry's side, the back of his hand laying flushed against his. He chances a look at Harry. "Will you walk me home?"
Harry glimpses at the spot where their pinkies touch, almost linked together. A small smile forms on his lips before he finds Louis' eyes.
"Of course."
_____
The sky is a muted blue and the moon has lost its glow. The night is gone, and Louis trudges up the stairs mourning its goodbye, his fingers finding the spot where Harry had sneakily kissed him when he had dropped him off. A few hours ago, he was tucked away in a bar, hiding from Harry. In a few hours, Louis will be sat in his cluttered desk, the ghost of Harry's kiss on his lips.
Funny.
When Louis reaches the landing, he's surprised to see Liam on the floor, leaning against the front door, eyes closed and legs stretched out in front of him.
"Liam?"
"I forgot my keys," Liam moans, recognizing Louis' voice.
Louis chuckles softly, as Liam scrambles to his feet.
"Did you have a good night?" Louis asks, opening the door for the both of them.
Liam looks back at Louis, a distant smile on his face, exhaling a dreamy sigh. "Best night ever."
Louis simply nods.
"Me too."
_____
A few hours later, Louis is sat in his office, his right leg bouncing incessantly as his gaze darts between the clock on his wall and the stack of paper on his desk.
There was no sleep. He had laid in bed, Liam's snores drifting from the bed next to him, endlessly dwelling about the night's events. About Harry. With his mind in overload, Louis had bolted out of bed the minute his alarm clock went off, in order to be the first one to the building. He had worked diligently, his mind never drifting to the subject of Harry, but now, his agenda is laid out on his desk—finished.
And it's only 11 o'clock in the morning.
Scrubbing at his tired eyes, Louis lets out a low groan. He had asked for time and he got it. But instead, all he can think about is how much he misses Harry.
And that's it, isn't it? Louis leans back in his chair, heart fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird. He misses Harry—and that's all he needs for an answer.
They were supposed to give each other space, a period to consider the weight of their choices, to figure out if they were absolutely sure about what they wanted. But honestly, Louis has never been sure of anything in his whole entire life.
He gasps, jumping to his feet. He had been right all along:
There's not enough time.
_____
Louis' shoes pound against the city pavement as he round fifth avenue, sweat trickling down his forehead. He had zoomed down the staircase of his building with one person on his mind. He even searched the barbershop downstairs for Liam in hopes that he would join him in his romantic conquest, but his chair was empty, no where to be found.
It didn't stop Louis. He carried on, sprinting through his memorized route, stopping for just a second to purchase a rose from a lady in the street.
Now, with a flower in one hand, Louis clambers through the record store, the door ringing upon arrival. A man from the counter perks up as Louis enters, brow quirking as he scans Louis' current state.
He's a little disheveled, he must admit.
Louis runs to the counter, fighting for breath. "Excuse me, is Harry Styles here?" He says excitedly, slamming his hands on the counter.
The man narrows his eyes at Louis. "He might be."
"Sir, I know about your dangerously illegal underground club," Louis quickly says, rolling his eyes, voice rising with impatience. "Is he here or not!"
"Jesus!" The man gestures at Louis to quiet down, "Not in front of the customers!"
"The store is empty!"
"Through the bookcase—"
Louis dashes off, already sliding the secret door open. Enchanting music fills the space, as if Louis had just open Heaven's gates, as if he had just sailed past an island of sirens.
"Wait! They're rehearsing!"
Skipping steps, Louis bounds down the stairwell, stumbling as he hits the floor. He immediately spots Harry, plucking his strings absentmindedly, echoing the beating of Louis' heart. Meanwhile, Zayn experiments with a beautiful run of notes as Niall supports him with his horn.
Eyes trained on Harry, Louis crashes into a table, rose falling from his hand. The music halts, and Harry's head snaps up to meet Louis' stare, while other heads turn towards the sound of the noise, including Zayn and Niall.
Harry slowly rises from his stool, "Louis?"
Louis doesn't answer him, instead, rushing to reach Harry. Harry does the same, pushing past the band and jumping off the stage.
They meet in the middle of the dance floor.
"I want this," Louis blurts, as soon as they stand toe to toe, Harry's breath on his.
Harry's lips quiver with a minute smile. "I thought we wanted more t—"
"No," Louis says firmly, "I can't waste my life moping, overworking myself, or hiding in my room, when I could be out experiencing the world. There's not enough time, Harry. And there's definitely not enough time to even consider that you may be the best thing I ever needed—because you are. There's no time to waste, Harry. I want us. Now. That's my answer."
Harry swallows thickly. Somehow, as Louis spoke, they had gravitated closer to each other, arms wrapped around the other. His eyes flit to Louis' parted mouth, his head already tilting closer and closer to join Louis' lips with his.
"Good, that's good," Harry says shakily, his warm breath spilling onto Louis' lips. "Because my answer's been yes from the moment you first came down those stairs."
Harry came into his life like a fucking a storm, a force of nature, and it's about time Louis realized that he was never equipped to handle it. He's a capsized ship, and he's absolutely enthralled by the fact.
Like crashing waves, their lips meet as they cling onto each other desperately. Louis sucks in a breath as Harry tilts his head, moving the kiss deeper and deeper. He can distantly hear applause coming from the stage—probably Niall—causing him to pull away, laughing against the crook of Harry's neck.
"What changed?" Harry asks, wrapping his arms tighter around Louis' middle.
Louis can say that the night Liam dragged him to The Oasis for the first time changed everything, but he can also say the night after is what changed everything—and the night after that and the night after that. Every night that he got to experience Harry play his music, slowly falling for the mysterious boy with the bass, surrendering himself to something sweet—that's what changed everything. That's what made Louis forget everything he once knew.
Harry.
"You did," Louis replies, leaning back to find Harry smiling down at him, cheeks stained with a bashful pink. "You changed everything, Harry."
"I mean, it's not going to be easy for us two. Out in the city," Louis continues, pressing his lips against Harry's skin.
"I know. Do you think..." Harry's voice trails off, spilling words of fantasy, "someday..."
"Maybe."
"But for now?"
"We have eachother and this oasis."
"We do," Harry says, a radiant smile blooming on his face. He takes a step back from Louis and offers his hand, "So, for now, can I have this dance?"
Louis lays his hand atop of Harry, and Harry pulls him close. Somehow, this cues Zayn and the rest of the band. Music starts to fill the room, a wistful trumpet and the velvet croon of a mystical voice:
"Someday he'll come along, the man I love..."
Their dance is slow. They float effortlessly, enraptured by each other's warm embrace as the music swells around them. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Niall watching them fondly as he plays and Zayn...Zayn's eyes are on someone else; his song is directed to a figure that sits at the corner of the bar. When Harry slowly spins Louis away from him, Louis finds Liam staring back at him—of course.
"He'll take my hand, and though it seems absurd, I know we both won't say a word..."
Liam offers him a wink, a proud smile on his lips, before turning back to the man who serenades him.
Harry guides him back in, bodies pressing close together. His eyes linger on Louis' lips, before pressing a chaste kiss upon them. Their tender gazes are locked on one another, a kaleidoscope of green and blue, bringing about a glimmer of a hope, a surge of pure adoration.
Louis' heart swoops in his chest when Harry bows his head, murmuring in his ear.
"So will you say it?" He says with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Do you like jazz?"
Harry and Louis, wrapped around a dreamy melody, dancing under the low glow of the room, are merely a moment in time. But here, Louis believes, is a moment that'll redefine the rest of his life. A newfound love that transcends any length of time, any decade, any century.
"I've found that I love jazz," Louis replies. He brings Harry down for another kiss, their lips forming a smile against each other. When Louis pulls away, he knows:
"But most importantly, I've found a love that's worth more."
They share this dance and many after.
One night changed everything, and as they glide across the room with gentle kisses and enchanted gazes, Louis is sure that there is nothing else in this world as sweet as this.
_____
"He'll build a little home just meant for two,
from which I'll never roam.
Who would? Would you?
And so all else above, I'm waiting for the man I love.