Two Degrees of Separation

Chapter 8: Sur

Author's Note: I'm an idiot and accidentally posted chapter 9 at first. Hope none of you saw that, lol.

Chapter 8: Sur

"Louis, shut up." Harry felt the heat of his blush spread over the skin of his face and neck. He had had enough of the teasing, and unfortunately, Louis was going to take the brunt of his frustration.

"Sorry, Hazza," Louis managed to utter through his light laughter. "I think it's sweet, really, how secretive you're being about this, and how protective as well..."

"You certainly don't think it's cute enough to leave me alone about it," Harry pouted into the receiver, only half-kidding.

"In all seriousness, Haz, I hope he's worth it. Because if you pursue anything with him, I hope he's in it for the right reasons. I just don't want him to hurt you. None of us do. That's all it is, really." Harry appreciated Louis' honesty, but he found himself becoming angry. Louis had no idea who Scott was. He had no idea what he was like. It seemed that he was simply judging for judgement's sake, and it was making Harry's blood boil.

"Did Niall and Liam say something to you to make you think he's a dirtbag or something?" Harry asked, slowly.

Louis laughed again. "They actually said he's amazing."

"Then I'm not quite sure what the problem is."

"The problem is, Harold, that he isn't like us. You have to watch out for barnacles and the like."

Harry saw red flash before his eyes. "Barnacles?"

"People who want to latch on to your success."

Harry thought back to one of his conversations with Scott, in which his heart ached as Scott admitted his self-deprecating thoughts, about how was afraid he came on too strong. Now his friend was accusing him of this exact thing. It was completely unfair.

"Scott doesn't care about that."

"How do you know that?"

Harry nearly threw the phone. "Because he doesn't. He has more talent in his pinky than we had in all of One Direction. And he's genuine, Louis. I'm sure of that."

"Okay... okay. I'm sorry I said anything," Louis muttered in defeat. "You seem to have fallen, hard. Did anything happen?"

"I kissed him."

"Ahh," the teasing tone was back. "And how was the pretty blond boy?"

"None of your business," Harry replied, smirking again.

"I'll have to take those lips for a spin myself then, when I finally get to meet him."

"Over my dead body, Tommo."

Harry caught a glimpse of his reflection in his rear-view mirror one last time before hopping out of his car later that night. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this nervous, and considering the fact that he had just performed in front of the entire music industry, and the world, just two nights before, that was saying something.

He stood at the looming front door and glared at it, like it was some sort of bouncer that was going to turn him away. "Sorry sir," he imagined the door saying. "You just aren't good enough for this one."

He reached out and rang the bell, trying to ignore how shaky his hand was as he did so. Then, he waited. He looked down at his outfit. His black button-down was just tight enough, and it was tucked into his black jeans perfectly (he had spent fifteen minutes making sure it looked just right). The top three buttons were open, exposing three delicate gold necklaces against his bare chest that peeked through the top. His hair had been a hassle, but he finally had it just right, sitting as perfect curls on the top of his head.