That's Me In The Spotlight {The Jesus Fic}.

Chapter 12

Seattle was all grey and bleak and miserable, which probably had much more to do with Louis' mood than the city itself. Part of Louis wanted to give Harry a chance, wait for him, help him. Another part of him reminded himself that he was too good to wait for anyone, and he only ever helped people when there was a collection of free Helmut Lang jackets or Dior brogues waiting on the other end.

What did Harry have to offer, besides 'no homo' and 'I'm not gay' and a whole lot of lawbreaking every time they touched? Green eyes that gave too much away, and brown curls that begged for Louis' fingers to be ran through them, that's what Harry had. Louis didn't need that, he didn't need Harry's youthful joie de vivre that made Louis forget that he was wearing thousand-dollar shoes and climb up a tree. Louis didn't need Harry looking at him in a way that had Louis not caring about the four pounds he'd gained, happily eating ice cream or eggs benedict with Harry. Despite being half Louis' age, Harry was the best company Louis had ever enjoyed by at least double - but Louis didn't need anyone's company. He had himself. He was an island, a self-sustaining island.

Harry wasn't even a good fuck, for goodness' sake! Not that Louis had fucked Harry, but he had enough experience to go by - Harry was all nerves and teeth and pounding heart, so urgent and eager to please, so in awe of every movement Louis made. Harry had the least experience of anyone Louis had, starting at not even a kiss. Louis had fucked porn stars, see. It was preposterous to even consider that Harry could be the best he'd ever had. Ridiculous. Louis wouldn't even humour the thought.

Harry was the only person Louis had ever been truly patient with. Louis rarely lost his cool but there was a certain look he could give absolutely anyone in Paris, and they'd instantly apologise profusely, leave the room, and not come back until the problem was fixed. Harry, with his clumsy ignorance and enormous heart and genuine desire to be good, had Louis really trying his best to bite his tongue for as long as he could, because maybe Harry was worth it...

Louis didn't need that, he really didn't need any of it. What he needed was a stiff drink.

Louis had walked out of Harry's hotel room and straight into the first decent bar he saw. Luckily the joint seemed to appeal to a demographic that didn't overlap with Modern Missionary's audience, nor did the fashion world seem to be thriving in Seattle - he wasn't recognised by anyone.

Louis didn't flirt with any men, not even the bartender. He couldn't even be bothered lifting his eyes to assess the bar's patrons. He reasoned it wasn't loyalty and it certainly wasn't love – Harry was sixteen and very confused and had also kind of hurt Louis (no he hadn't, Louis didn't get hurt, not by anyone), and Louis definitely didn't love Harry. He was just tired and in a strop and that's why he wasn't bothering to find a man for the night.

Christ, he'd given Harry his great-grandmother's Fleur de Lis. Le cerveau était en option pour moi, he hissed at himself, idiot. He should have just given Harry a punch in the mouth.

A text from Eleanor came around 3am. I'm so not used to hotel beds. Can't sleep. Within an hour she was sat by Louis at the bar.

Louis half hoped she'd seen right through them, that she'd say, I know what's going on with Harry, and he could wail to her about the teen with his soft plump lips, his grabby fingers, his wet mouth that tasted like sugar water and toothpaste, his tiny tight asshole, and his 'I want to hold hands with you, Louis', but Eleanor had no clue, she had no fucking clue.

They just drank together in silence until Eleanor reminded Louis that while she didn't have to be on the MM set tomorrow, Louis did, and he should probably sober up and get to sleep.

Louis flung an arm around her for balance on the short walk home, and he never let go. Eleanor got pulled into Louis' hotel bed, because he couldn't bear to sleep alone, not after Harry's 'I'm not in love with you.' It was all wrong, though. Her hips were too big and her waist was too small and Louis wasn't sure where to put his hands.