Harry keeps checking his phone.
Which is ironic, because Louis is doing the exact opposite—he’s shut off his phone. For fear of incessant phone calls from his mum. That he may have been tempted to answer.
But only to have stopped the incessant ringing.
They’re barreling down a country road in the antique car (much to Louis’ confusion: “Isn’t this Zayn’s car?” “We share it,” Harry had said simply, then gotten in without another word), having long left their little town, and neither has spoken a word since Louis agreed to follow Harry. And Louis is sort of, maybe, panicking, but he’s keeping his shit together as he sits in the passenger seat trying to figure out just what the fuck is happening. And why the fuck he agreed to be here.
It’s nearing evening, the cloudless sky tinged with citrus hues, and the honeysuckle and cotton blossoms soak the crisp air. Harry and Louis ride along in their windy silence, their frames saturated in amber light as breezes ruffle through hair and lick at skin. Sunlight and trees glide past them in streaks as they wind down the road. Louis drums his fingers on the door, on his thigh, everywhere, his feet shuffling as he flicks stubbornly curious eyes at Harry occasionally, very secretly desperate for an explanation or a sense of ease. But he tries his best not to stare fully, and so he turns his head the opposite way, pretending to take in the blurred scenery.
But he’s acutely aware of Harry and his every move.
Harry.
Harry with his furrowed brow that never blinks as his soft curls whip into his face, his lips set in a tight line. Harry who’s checking his phone every other minute, face void of emotion minus the creases and the tightness. Harry who was in a foul, shitty mood and made the world thunder before whisking Louis away to safety without rhyme or reason.
Well. Hopefully safety. There’s still that chance that murder is eminent.
They’ve been driving for ten minutes and Louis can’t stop picking at the hole in his jeans.
Ten whole minutes of driving.
And Harry still hasn’t told them where they’re going.
And Louis is a really, really curious person.
“All right. I need to know,” he finally bursts, turning to face Harry, whose eyebrows are knitted together, eyes intent on the road. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere.”
“That doesn’t count as an answer,” Louis says crossly, rolling his eyes. “And you can stop with the attitude. I have a right to know.” He pauses. “You could be taking me somewhere to kill me.” He watches Harry’s reaction closely.
“I wouldn’t kill you,” Harry says, sounding as if it’s the most ridiculous notion in the world. “That’s messy.”
Oh wow.
Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. “Oh! My bad! You could be taking me somewhere to have someone else kill me, then.”
And Harry keeps silent at that.
Which is, maybe, slightly worrisome.
Overcome with unease (he doesn’t think he’s ever been in a more awkward situation in his life) Louis reaches out to fiddle with the radio which looks completely at odds with the vintage vehicle, if he’s being honest. He flicks it to the first station he can think of.
“Aaaaaalright,” the DJ’s voice booms through the silence and the wind, and Harry’s eyes flick sideways before settling back on the road. “Well there it is. ‘One Heart’ by Electra, their brand new single, out October 16th. It’s sure to have the kids dancing, isn’t it, Ted?”
