Against One's Wishes

Chapter 18

Louis is talking to Alice on the phone that afternoon when he hears a knock at his door. He's quickly putting the phone down and answering it, thinking his father has come by. Again.

"Hey," Harry says to him at once.

"Hey," Louis' eyes widen some before he's ushering for Harry to come in. "I didn't know you'd be coming by."

"I should've called. I'm sorry," Harry mumbles and runs his fingers through his hair.

"No," Louis says quickly before he's picking up the phone.

Harry notices and nods some before he's walking to the window and waiting for Louis to finish his conversation.

"Yeah, I'll see you after the show," Louis says before he's hanging up the phone. He sighs and glances over at Harry. "What's wrong?"

"How's Alice? Niall made a move yet?" Harry asks Louis as he's looking back at him.

"Uh," Louis smirks and shrugs, "haven't talked to Horan. But Alice, on the other hand, doesn't seem to want to see me much tonight."

"Really?" Harry asks, his face more serious.

Louis crosses his arms, "really. Love isn't always real, Harold. It's faked. It's forced for an image... or rather, an inheritance..."

"Guess I thought that she really cared about you," Harry whispers and looks out of the window again.

"Did you hope that she loved me?" Louis manages to ask, making Harry glance back at him immediately.

"Really?" He asks loudly. "Why the fuck, Lou..."

"I shouldn't have said that," Louis sighs, "I'm sorry. I know you don't want that. I'm really sorry, Harold."

"It's... it's ok," Harry manages to say, a small smile crossing his lips again, "you know what I like about you, Lou? You aren't scared to admit when you're wrong. I mean, what man wants to admit that they're wrong, right? We're so quick to place the blame on someone else."

"Well," Louis shrugs some, "I've always looked at what my dad has done and I've done the opposite... because I've never wanted to be like him. I've never wanted to place the blame on other people... what's the point?"

Harry's dimples show some when he glances back at Louis. He sees a notepad by the phone and he's walking over slowly, spinning it around to read it.

"What's this?" Harry's asking softly, his eyes on the words below.

"It's, uh," Louis mumbles, "mine. I... I've been trying to write for years."

Harry looks back at Louis instantly, their eyes meeting. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I have always done it for fun, really," Louis tries to laugh. "I don't expect anyone to read it."

Harry glances back at the words, reading a few of the sentences. "This seems very well written. God. No wonder you're going to Columbia..."

"I'm not a writer," Louis smirks.

"You are apparently," Harry says, "or... is that a life your father didn't want for you?"

Louis bites his lip and takes the notepad.

"Is that it?" Harry asks again. "Your dad wants you to be more than a writer, correct?"

"He wants me to be into politics... and the fucking law," Louis mumbles, "but... that couldn't be farther from who I am."

"Then, be who you are," Harry states, his tone serious. "If you wanna do the opposite of him, write. And... when you're writing, somewhere in between the landscapes that you paint or the laughs the people will share, make sure that you address what really bothers you..."