R O O M 1 9 7 // Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson Edition

Eight

~Sunday 25th December 2016~

14:06 pm

Young Harry stands in front of the floor length mirror inside Room 197's bathroom, assessing the darkening bruise along his neck. It started out as a small red rash, but in the last twenty minutes since Mr Tomlinson left the hotel room, it has grown in size and colour. It doesn't hurt, as Harry brushes his fingers over the crimson skin that lays just beneath his jaw. He didn't realise how tight Mr Tomlinson's hold was around his collar, until he peeked into the mirror and saw the intensifying colour.

As Harry wonders how long Mr Tomlinson's second meeting of the day will last, he moves into the main area of the hotel room, absentmindedly strolling through. He passes the now clean glass table, with a pile of dry-but-tea-stained documents laying atop, the chairs Mr Tomlinson threw sat back in their individual places around the table. The long red vase - or actually the pieces left of it - have been swept up and put in the trash can.
Harry is still dazed, still shocked, still wired from moments ago when his boss's lips were forced upon his own. His lips are swollen and red, and now have the slight taste of spearmint toothpaste lingering upon them. His body - and his mind - both carry the evidence of what was here just twenty minutes ago. The bruises and the dull ache are the signature of Mr Tomlinson's passion, his anger, his exhaustion. But, looking around this room now, this dreary space only lit by the grey clouds rolling and tumbling through the winter sky, you would never imagine what just happened, between a man and his employee.
By now, Harry knows that he has feelings for his boss. Despite his unexpected rage and his endless need for everything to be clean, Mr Tomlinson has found himself somewhere deep inside Harry's heart. It's a shock to Harry's system. He hasn't felt this way in a long time, and after Gemma left him, he thought that maybe he wasn't capable of love or affection, especially when the booze takes over. He finds himself sitting in silence, still processing his encounter with this new side of Mr Tomlinson.

It feels like hours later, but it could be only a matter of minutes, when the door to Room 197 clicks open and Mr Tomlinson barges through. Harry immediately stands, brushing away the creases in the bed, where he has just sat, before slowly moving into the main area of the large room.
Mr Tomlinson's back is facing Harry when he first sees him. He's leaning over, rummaging through a bag, shoving piles of paper into it, seemingly in a hurry. The fabric of his light grey suit stretches across his back, teasing the material as he turns, passing Harry and rushing into the bedroom, without even a single glance. Harry stays where he is beside the wall, where their encounter had happened not long ago, unsure what to say, how to say it.

Mr Tomlinson's back in the room in a matter of seconds, with a pile of shirts and trousers in his hands. He throws them inside a brown suitcase that lays on the carpeted floor, making an uncharacteristic mess.
"I'm going home to my house in the suburbs for an extended weekend." He finally says, his back to Harry, unable to look into the eyes of the boy he had not long ago kissed. He remains facing away from his employee, packing up the remainder of his clothes, until young Harry speaks up, his voice rasped and quiet.
"You don't have any plans to go home in your planner...for atleast a few more weeks." Harry responds, remembering the circled date in Mr Tomlinson's leather-bound diary that usually sits on his desk. Looking around the room now, he sees it inside the brown bag, along with the rest of Mr Tomlinson's belongings.

"I'm going home to spend time with my wife. I miss her and want to be with her." Mr Tomlinson answers slowly, finally turning around to properly face Harry, after zipping up the large suitcase and standing it up beside him, taking time to process the pained expression on Harry's child-like features. Louis digs deep into his trouser pocket, reaching in and bringing out a silver band, before slowly twisting it onto his finger. Mr Tomlinson's sudden desire to visit the woman he seemingly dislikes so much, hurts Harry tremendously, more than he could ever imagine and he feels as if his knees will give way beneath him, if not for the wall he's leaning on.
The words sting and burn Mr Tomlinson's lips as he says them, but for once, he needs to be truthful with his young assistant. That kiss meant nothing to him. It was just a lapse in control, a lapse in judgement.