Where We Belong

Chapter 26

All of Friday, Harry spends grumbling at his laptop. Something about editor wants this part gone, but if I do that then this entire other thing is going to have to get rewritten too and then- fuck and smiling gratefully whenever Louis brings him a cup of tea or a sandwich because he's forgotten to eat. Louis takes advantage of the ready-writey atmosphere in the livingroom, for once, and reads up on a text for his art history-class, which turns out to be incredibly interesting, and he ends up reading far further in the text than what's demanded.

By the time he finally stops for a moment to rub at his eyes and look at the time, he realises he's got to shower and he's got to shower now. The welcome home-party/thing that Niall and Jennie informed Louis a little over a month ago that they'd be hosting in his honour, starts around eight, but he's been told not to arrive before nine, because arriving before everyone else at your own party would just be fuckin' sad, mate and somehow he's still running late.

"Which one should I go with?" he asks, when he's out of the shower, with a towel round his waist, and torn between a plain white button-down and a diagonally striped blue and grey one, which really isn't his style, but Niall and Jennie gave it to him last Christmas, so.

Harry looks up from his laptop, then blinks like he's forgotten to do so in hours. "Uhm," he says, eyes not-so-subtly gliding up and down Louis' half-naked body, "I don't like the striped one."

"No?"

"I mean, no, I like it, I do, but... I don't feel like it's you."

Louis smiles. "No," he says, "you're right."

"Besides, you look really hot in white, so."

Louis grins. "Aw, that's nice of you to say," he says, as his insides flutter a bit, and Harry scratches at his own ear and looks down, grinning too, "what are you wearing?"

Harry's gaze snaps up, brows furrowing a little. "Louis, I—"

"Oh." Fuck. "Shit, you're not— fuck. I'm sorry."

"No no, it's all right, really, don't- God, I don't want you to feel bad, it's— it's fine, they're your friends."

But Louis can't bear the thought of that. "No, that's got to have been a mistake, Harry, and even if it isn't, I'm sure they wouldn't mind, let me just give them a call—"

"No, really, you don't have to," Harry cuts through, eyes gone wider, "seriously, I haven't spoken to them in ages. Besides, even if they wanted to invite me, I still think they wouldn't have done it cause they thought it'd be awkward for you."

"Why would it be awkward for me?"

"Louis," Harry says, and his voice is lower suddenly, calm in a way Louis doesn't like, "we're not together anymore. It's not normal."

It feels a bit like a slap in the face, hearing Harry say it out loud. He knows it shouldn't anymore, but it does, because Louis still wants him so badly. "Okay," he says, "well, yeah, I— but I don't find it awkward. I mean, I- I don't find it awkward if you want to come. I'd love for you to come. We can still be friends, can't we?"

"Yeah," Harry says, but everything about his expression says no. "But I think you'll be better off just having a good time with your gang, Lou. Besides, uhm... I've actually got a few friends of my own coming over tonight, so."

"Oh," Louis says, "oh, okay. Oh, okay, yeah, well, that's— that good, then."

Harry gives a closed-mouthed little smile that doesn't really reach the eyes.

Louis mimics it. "Well," he says, "I better go get ready."

"Yeah."

He spends two minutes shimmying into a pair of tight black jeans, buttoning up his shirt and rolling his sleeves up past his elbows, then ten getting his hair right and an additional three, looking at himself in the mirror, wondering whether Harry finds him as attractive as he used to.