17 Black

Someone Like You -- Chapter 4

Harry felt as though his world was flying apart into a million tiny little pieces. Louis was speaking to him—actually speaking to him—and, to top that off, he was quite literally holding his cock in his hand, and so was Louis. And, he had absolutely no idea how to respond.

Bumbling, Harry managed to spit out a response. "Hey," he breathed.

Louis seemed to take no notice of Harry's apparent concern. "Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like I've seen your face before."

"Um," Harry mumbled, zipping up his pants after he finished, taking his eyes off Louis, "I was in the audience just then. For your, um, performance."

Louis shook his head, but a slight smile graced his perfect features as he, too, finished up his business. "No, no, as much as I appreciate it, that's not it. What do you do? Maybe I know you from your work."

Harry winced. He had hope that, despite the brighter lighting in the bathroom, the pink lights would be enough to drown out his facial features. But, him being who he was, no amount of pink lights in the world were going to drown him out forever. He almost groaned audibly, realizing his brief moments of anonymity were fleeting, but, when he looked into Louis's eyes, he found his frustrating quickly dissipating, realizing that he wanted Louis to know who he was, wanted Louis to want to know him. And if it took name dropping himself to get there, then God damnit, he was going to do it. Proudly.

"Well, my name is Harry. Harry Styles. If that means anything to you at all. I, uh, make music." When Louis didn't respond, he leaned forward slightly, rocking on his heels. "I was in a band, called One—"

Louis abruptly cut him off, looking up at him, eyes wide. "No, I know who you are now, I'm just—well, I'm speechless. What is someone like you doing here? I always thought famous people like you didn't waste your time in strip clubs—I thought they just called escorts and got on with it. I never thought I'd see someone like you in a place like this."

Harry shrugged, slowly making his way around Louis to the sinks. "I guess I'm not like everyone else then."

"No, you're not," Louis breathed, almost too quiet for Harry to hear as Louis watched him carefully as he began to wash his hands. Harry could feel his eyes roaming over every inch of his body, making him simultaneously uncomfortable and aroused by the attention. He was used to it—he almost had to be in his profession—and yet, there was something about Louis's eyes that made him feel downright naughty, almost like a schoolboy who had just been caught with his pants down.

He felt dizzy. Unsure of how to react, he leaned forward, balancing his weight on the porcelain sink as he looked up into the mirror, hoping his reflection would give him some kind of guidance. However, when he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he was caught off guard—he looked almost nothing like himself.

His pupils were blown almost to their peaks, affected both by the low, crappy lighting in the bathroom and the way Louis was looking at him. His hair was tussled into a ragged mess, his cheeks flushed bright pink with every ragged beat his heart made, his lips flushed and tingling from puking in the toilet. He felt mortified—He looked like he'd been freshly fucked and Louis hadn't even touched him yet.

Clearing his throat, he attempted to drag his eyes away from his haggard reflection, desperate to lose himself in the image he had portrayed. If his body wanted him to look freshly fucked, then he'd better actually get to feel that way too, lest he might explode from anticipation altogether.

"I hope that's a good thing."

Louis raised an eyebrow. "What's a good thing?"

Harry shuffled his feet. "You said I'm not like the rest. I hope that's a good thing."