For the rest of the week, Harry tutors Louis in helpful and beneficial ways.
And Louis doesn’t really know what he was expecting to happen in that week, after they’d made their sort-of peace, but it wasn’t…this.
But it’s not like he had envisioned, say, Harry joyously opening the door upon his arrival and proceeding to laugh at all of Louis’ jokes and spill his tightly locked away secrets and cry to him about feeling unaccepted and apologize for all his previous wrongs. No, Louis didn’t envision that in any way or form, certainly not. Because that would just be odd and abrasive and thoroughly too much, especially considering they weren’t even proper mates yet.
Still, though.
Harry could’ve at least started…smiling, or something.
And sure, yeah, it’s only been a handful of days, but honestly. Zayn told Louis to keep his patience and fuck, yep, he’s definitely going to need patience because Harry is layered, layered, layered in issues and walls and unfeeling weariness and Louis’ not even sure if he’s begun to chip away at any of it.
So, needless to say, that first day after Louis apologized and Harry actually accepted it, was a bit of a disappointment.
Louis had left early his flat early (not in hopes to bond or anything, nope) and was just rounding the corner to Harry’s building, ready to mount the grand steps that led to his beautiful rooms over the sunny gardens, when he stopped in his tracks, the low, musical rumble of Harry’s voice catching in his ears. He searched for the source, eyes flicking through the passing students dressed to the nines, hoisting up their Armani bags, heels clicking against the ancient walkways, trying to spot a bow tie or a mess of coiffed curls.
Eventually he found his target. Resplendent in ivory and gold, his bow tie glowing under autumn sun, the diamonds of his watch shining like a beacon, looking typically ridiculous and endearing simultaneously. While talking to a beautiful raven haired girl in a long, pale yellow dress. Swiping his finger beneath her giggling chin.
He was smiling down at her—with that smile that makes Louis shudder, with its emptiness and villainous tight corners—and pressing whispers into her ear that forced even more tiny, insistent giggles out of her as she stared adoringly. Harry’s grin grew with each breathy laughter, and Louis distinctly remembers finding it nothing but sinister.
And, somehow, just so incredibly disheartening. And sad.
But also annoying.
After a few warm clutches of the arm and coquettish pleasantries delivered with a lot of teeth and dimple, Harry finally sent the girl on her way, smacking her bum as she giggled and left.
Which is exactly when Louis marched over.
As Harry turned to face him, the remnants of his soulless, amused smile faded, his eyes connecting with Louis’. The false cordiality that had previously taken hostage of his face was swiftly replaced with something…quieter, more observant, and…trepid? It wasn’t smiley, no, but it wasn’t fake either, so Louis thought of it as a good start to their session.
“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry greeted, but his voice was lackluster, and Louis really would like to think it hadn’t been filled with something that could be recognized as disappointment, but, well. It had been.
Which took Louis by surprise. Because wasn’t Harry supposed to be all excited to see Louis now that they basically had agreed to be bestest mates and share secrets? Shouldn’t they be holding each other while they cried by now? So Louis sort of half-waved in an extremely unnecessary manner and smiled awkwardly while also feeling his eyes narrow with weariness. He can only imagine what his face must’ve looked like.
