where your heart is

cuatro

"You're a work of art. Not everyone will understand you, but the ones who do, will never forget about you."

— Anonymous

It's when Harry doesn't show up at the next creative writing class that Louis decides to take matters in his own hands.

It's with a little bit of fear and a lot of doubt that he shows up at Harry's door. They're getting behind, they need to get their assignment done, so if he has to apologize to get it over with, he'll happily take one for the team. It doesn't have anything to do with guilt, curiosity, or anything . He doesn't care.

He doesn't.

Louis feels prickles of apprehension wash over his skin. Even the door of the room screams unnecessarily outlandish: a huge, wide photograph pinned in the centre, of what Louis presumes is both the occupants staring at the camera. It's Harry, and someone... Else.

However, they're not quite staring ; in fact, they seem to be making weird faces behind a window pane , so it looks like the window is a part of the actual door. Louis would be able to admit it just a little inventive if it weren't placed so that no matter how much he moves from side to side in front of it, they're always staring at him.

After a while, he finds the door more over the top than anything else. He draws in a sharp breath, closes his eyes, and knocks.

Louis greeted at the door by a guy. Not Harry. Instead, Louis is faced with what looks like a failed John Lennon tribute. He's wearing small, rounded sunglasses that make his eyes seem like black holes, a nearly fully unbuttoned red and purple striped shirt, and is sporting a quiff that resembles a tower in every possible way.

He stares blankly at Louis for two seconds before turning, yelling, "Harry! Your bible boy's here to see you!"

"What?" Louis finds his cheeks reddening. "Wha--no, I'm--"

"Nick," Harry's voice sounds from further within the apartment, growing closer, "I don't have time right now--"

He sees Louis. He stops. A phone on his ear.

"Oh," he says, blankly. "It's you."

It suddenly occurs to Louis that Harry hasn't referred to any nickname to address him in two days. He doesn't miss it, per say, but it's weird. He hasn't been doing any cheeky remarks either. Louis is definitely in uncharted territory.

Yeah. It's me.

He doesn't say it. Instead, he just stands there, staring right back at him. Nick ventures back into the flat, leaving them both there. Harry in a plain black t-shirt, looking tired with his hand resting on the door edge; Louis stood just outside in a teal turtleneck.

It would be awkward if not for the intense, evident frustration laced in Harry's expression. It seems to blur out everything else.

"What are you doing here?"

"You skipped class and we have a study session scheduled. Let's go." Louis pushes, even though it's clear that a. Harry forgot, and b. He looks quite busy at the moment.

"I-- I can't. I'll catch up, alright?" And Harry is already closing the door, impatiently so, but Louis jabs his foot in the gap.

"Oi. No. I'm not doing your work, Styles." Louis says, stubbornly.

"Attends une minute [Hang on a minute]." Harry sighs, raising his eyebrows to whoever is on the other side of the phone call. "I have to deal with this."

He turns back to Louis, impatience clear in the dark of his eyes. "Look, Louis. I'm sorry. I can't work on this right now."

"Why-- What's wrong?"