Louis doesn’t see Harry the next day.
He arrives for tutoring early, his anxieties numbing his fingertips. He’d been thinking about this moment all day, through every never ending course and half-assed conversation. Through every note scribbled down, every turn of the page in his textbooks, and every attempt at ignoring the whispered rumors that surrounded him involving the lads (at one point a girl smugly claimed to her friend that Zayn and Harry had broken out into a fisticuffs over her—Louis snorted so loudly the professor paused, mid-sentence, startled), he had only half paid attention, his thoughts and the beatings of his heart trapped somewhere within Harry’s rooms, stirring the unanswered questions that were dripping from his tongue. In fact, he’d been so eager for today’s session with Harry, he’d even rejected Niall’s invitation of steak and wine at his favorite restaurant. It was that serious.
But now he’s arrived and when Louis makes to open Harry’s door, it’s locked.
And when Louis knocks, it doesn’t open.
And when Louis texts ‘where r u?’ it goes unanswered.
And so Louis’ insides deflate.
And he walks back to his flat, disappointment and a new sense of dread settled into his bones and twisting the hairs at the back of his neck.
Excellent.
**
“If he’s missing again, so help me God!” Louis greets thunderously as soon as he enters the flat.
Niall looks up from his drum set, his large, pale sweater pushed up to the elbows, drumsticks poised above his head, ready to crash down. “Huh?” he asks, snapping into attention.
“Harry. He’s not in his rooms. He’s gone, isn’t he? He’s gone again, and we’re all just going to sit around looking pretty while he’s off in a ditch somewhere, probably dead, and nobody’s going to even—“
“What the fuck are you talking about, mate?” Niall asks, face utterly bewildered as he lowers the drumsticks, tossing them to the side, and giving his full attention to a very flustered Louis—who is now ripping off his jacket with more force than necessary.
Perhaps he’s wound a bit too tightly today. Anxiety and all that.
“I’ll text Zayn!” Louis suddenly says to nobody in particular, light bulb bursting into life above his head. He scuttles into the next room, kicking off his shoes as he does so and leaving them strewn across the floor.
“Text him what?” Niall calls after him.
“That Harry’s missing!”
‘Where’s Harry?’ he pelts out mercilessly on his phone, at an alarming speed.
“You should just leave it alone,” Niall calls, picking up one of the forgotten drumsticks and twirling it in his fingers.
“Too late!” Louis sings. He flits back into the room, now adorned in a full sweatsuit, and stares hungrily at his phone as it vibrates.
The reply:
‘Dunno mate.’
“Fuck’s sake,” Louis breathes, rolling his eyes with exasperation as he tosses his phone onto the nearest surface. “Of course he doesn’t know. Does anybody know anything around here?” he demands. Then he storms back into his room.
Niall stares. “Are you okay?’
“Me? I’m fine! I’m fucking splendid! But it’s not me who I’m worried about—it’s Harry! He’s gone again, Niall, gone! And after that phone call he got yesterday, I can only imagine what that means! He said he’d see me today but he’s not in his fucking rooms and—“
