14: Songs and Secrets
C H A P T E R F O U R T E E N
Songs and Secrets
❄●❄
IT WAS GETTING colder in London. The breeze no longer brushed; it stung and bit. Louis' lips were beginning to chap. His hands were getting drier and rougher. He knew winter was coming, and he hated it. Although he knew there was such a time, he couldn't remember when he last enjoyed the year's first snowfall or seeing his breath outside. It must have been long ago.
The wall of windows in Gibson's was all fogged up today. Louis was staring tensely at the door, knowing that he wouldn't see Harry coming until he was literally entering the building. There would be no twenty seconds of mental preparation for Louis today. He'd have to get that all out of the way now, because once Harry arrived, there was no more time to think about it.
It wasn't a bad idea. Honestly, he'd be shocked if Harry was upset about it. Hopefully he'd feel honored. Hopefully he'd be as excited and optimistic about it as Louis was.
But how awkward would it be? Louis was, like, ninety-nine percent sure that those poems were about him – the one about ruining, especially. Would Louis be opening some door that he'd regret opening by asking to turn that poem into a song? Would he even actually regret it, were that to happen? Because...well, because if Harry likes him like that, then maybe he likes Harry like that too.
Or, it's entirely possible that Louis had misinterpreted him and that those poems were about someone else or nobody at all, which would mean that Harry doesn't like Louis like that, so what does that mean for Louis? Did he like Harry like that or not? Did he only like him because he might like Louis? Because if that's the case, then Louis can't possibly really like him...right?
Why did Louis suddenly feel like he should be sat amongst his students rather than stood at the front of his classroom to teach them? God, get it together, mate.
Whatever. He'd throw caution to the wind and just ask him. Harry wouldn't make it awkward. Why would he? He knew that Louis had read the poems back when he found them on the floor, and he knew that Louis had liked them. Sure, Louis may now know that the poems are likely about himself, but whatever. Whatever.
Louis pressed the edge of his tea cup to his lips and paused to squint at the figure outside the fogged up glass door. The height seemed right, but was it him? The person pulled the door open and stepped inside, and his eyes found Louis' immediately.
Without Louis' permission, his face practically cracked open to reveal an absurdly large grin, and every worry he'd had moments ago, every nerve and doubt, vanished. Look at this kid, he thought, watching Harry walk toward him with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.
Harry was all legs. Louis could watch the way they moved for days. Admittedly, they were clumsy and somehow always in each other's way, but Louis liked being able to see every curve, every edge. Despite Harry's legs being Louis' favorite thing to become distracted by, he couldn't deny that the next thing that always caught his attention was the hair. The mane, as he's started referring to it in his head. He couldn't imagine letting his own hair grow out that long. So messy, so tangled. So lovely.
"Hi," Harry said, swiftly removing his jacket and sitting himself on the sofa beside Louis. They sat closer together now than they used to. Louis isn't sure when this happened, but he doesn't mind. Weirdly, he liked being able to smell that fresh, clean scent he smelled on Harry's jacket a while back. "How was your day?"
"Uneventful," Louis said. "I finished grading those essays I've been complaining about for the last two weeks, so no worries. I'm finished whining your ear off."
"Did I ever complain?"
"Well, no. But I'd assume it wasn't very pleasant."
Harry raised a brow and shrugged, settling back into the cushions. "I quite like when you're whining in my ear."
"Wow. Not sure that's what I said, Harold, but okay." To keep Harry from seeing his entire face turn an embarrassing shade of red, Louis turned to rummage through his bag.
"I mean, that's basically what you said."
"No. Not really."
"You meant it, though."
"Did I?"
"I hope so."
Wide-eyed, Louis swallowed. "Okay, so, anyway. I wanted to ask you something." Although it looks like all of my fears are quickly being confirmed and I probably shouldn't anymore.
"Hmm?"
Louis was nervous again. It'd all gone away as soon as he laid eyes on Harry, but it's back. All of it. Harry was going to make it awkward. He was already doing that. And it didn't necessarily make Louis uncomfortable, but it's just...did he want to talk about this already? No. He knew that. That much, Louis was certain about.
"Well," he began, clearing his throat. He had his notebook in his lap, tapping a pen against the cover as he forced his tongue to do its damned job. "I was thinking."
"Yes?" Harry asked, slowly and dragged out. It reminded Louis of a scene from a movie, but he couldn't figure out which one.
"That...that maybe, um, we could possibly..."
"Yes?" Harry leaned forward this time, staring intently and Louis with the hint of an amused smirk brewing.
Finally, Louis figured it out. "Quit acting out Anastasia scenes and be serious, you peasant."
Harry sat back again, laughing. After a second, he sighed, folding his hands and setting them in his lap. "Okay. Continue."
"Anyway," Louis huffed. "I was thinking that – and feel free to tell me if this is a stupid idea, I was just...I just sort of thought of it last night, and... Well, what do you think about maybe turning one of your poems into a song?"
Harry didn't respond right away like Louis thought he would. He actually took it seriously and was thinking it over, and somehow, Louis kind of regretted making him think this was a super important thing. Because now he was all anxious and fidgeting and chewing on the insides of his cheeks waiting for Harry to either make it awkward, tell him it was a terrible idea, or agree to do it.
After a long minute that felt like ten, Harry's brow furrowed. "What if I'm no good?"
"Huh?"
"What if all my poems are rubbish? How would you know?"
Louis raised a brow. "Harry, I've read your poems already. The napkin ones, anyway."
Harry's face blanked before he finally remembered. "Oh yeah. Yeah, yeah. So which one did you have in mind then? Or were you just...generally making that suggestion?"
For some annoying reason, Louis was blushing again, and he hated himself for it. "Um. I was thinking the one about ruining you...or whatever. The unfinished one."
A small smile turned the corners of Harry's lips upward. "Ah."
The words poured out of Louis then in an effort to keep Harry on track, because he knew – he just knew – that if it was going to become awkward, this was the point in the conversation that it would happen. "Yeah, I just... I feel like that one has a lot of potential to make a really great song. I feel like we could put a great melody to it, and I think it'd work well with our sound, and it could possibly even be the one we release to catch people's attention, you know? Because it's so poetic, obviously, and you'd get all writing credit for it, of course. I know Zayn would love it, especially if we make it slower, because he's been dying for something like that, and – "
"I think it's a great idea," Harry interrupted. "A really, really great idea. I've made it longer, too, since then."
"What? Really?"
"Yeah. I've had more inspiration."
Louis felt his pulse literally everywhere – his fingertips, his throat, his stomach. "I suppose the more material, the better the song will be."
"Definitely. Will you be singing it, if it all works out?"
"I usually do, yeah. But sometimes Zayn likes to. We all do, I guess."
"We'll turn it into a song if you'll be the one to sing it."
At this point, Louis was certain that he's never experienced Harry being this bold before. What has gotten into him? Louis was also certain that Harry definitely liked him like that. He wasn't misinterpreting anything. And truthfully, he didn't quite know how to respond. It was continuously catching him off guard, throwing him for a loop, knocking him off whatever game he might have had. And this endlessly frustrated him.
"Those are your stipulations?" Louis asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking with nerves.
The worst part was that Harry wasn't even looking at him in a suggestive manner; anyone else would look at them and just think that the long-haired one simply had a staring problem. How was Louis supposed to take any of this? Was Harry flirting with him or not?
"Yes. That, and I get to pick the title of the song once it's finished."
"That sounds like a terrible idea."
Harry smiled cheekily. "Those are my terms."
Alright. This seemed slightly less mortifying. Louis rolled his eyes, more at ease. "Fine. I don't suppose you have your journal with you, or that napkin, do you?"
"I've got the journal. Are we going to start?"
"Not yet. Well, you should probably rewrite it into my notebook. But first, give it to me. I've been dying to know how this stupid poem ends since I first read it."
"Cheekbones, are you fangirling over my poem?"
"Just give me the damned journal, Styles."
❄●❄
AS FAR AS Louis was concerned, Harry's poem was going to turn into the best song they've ever completed. He knew that he already thought that with their last masterpiece, but this was truly it. This would get them attention. This would make the world love them.
The lads loved it straight away. They'd known Harry was a poet, but until that night they hadn't read any of his work. Harry was surprisingly private about it, it turned out. And he was much shyer about discussing the ruining poem – which they'd all taken to calling McSteamy due to the McDonalds dinner they all had and the slightly sexy, romantic nature of the poem itself – with the others than he was back at Gibson's. Louis figured it was because he was worried they'd all realize Harry had written it about him, but he didn't think any of them caught on.
They'd all gone by now. Well, except for Harry. Niall left his guitar here, and Liam left some of his things as well. They were coming back again tomorrow night, which meant that Lottie would probably spend the night by Tommy's. She was getting annoyed with having to hide out in Louis' bedroom the entire time; the TV in there didn't have cable or a DVD player. Louis just used it for video games.
It was late. Louis had fetched them both beers, and it wasn't their firsts of the night, but he was paying attention to how many Harry's had. The lad's gotten better with alcohol. Louis' been easing him into it carefully, and he already sort of knows how much Harry can handle before he becomes inebriated.
They were still sat on the floor, leaning their backs against the sofa. They'd abandoned their notebooks and slid them off to the side so that they could stretch their legs out, and Louis was staring at how much longer Harry's were than his own, lost in thought for a second. He couldn't remember what they had just been talking about, so when Harry asked, "What's on your mind?" he hoped it wasn't because he'd stopped responding.
"Sorry?" Louis asked.
"What's on your mind? You've gone quiet all of a sudden."
"Oh. Not much. Was just thinking about how well tonight went, I suppose. You must be our good luck charm, Harold."
Harry's lips curled into a tired smile. "Good. Keep me around, then."
Louis chuckled. "I planned on it."
"Yeah?"
The unsure way Harry asked made Louis realize that what he'd said could be taken more than one way. He pursed his lips for a second before nodding, because really, he's had enough alcohol that he might not be drunk, but he didn't feel like thinking twice anymore tonight. He could regret this conversation later. "Yeah. Seems to suit me well, having you with me all the time. Lottie says I've started dressing nicer, whatever that's supposed to mean."
Harry laughed.
Louis continued. "And apparently I comb my hair more often. She also said that I've been nicer to the cats, but I don't know what she's talking about. They're my best friends; I'm nicer to them than I am to any human."
"I like how you two get on so well," Harry said.
"Lot and I?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "Makes me miss mine."
"You've got a sister?" Louis was just realizing how little he knew about Harry's family. He doesn't even know where he originally came from.
"Gemma. She's older. We look alike sort of. I guess we have a bit of a different dynamic than you and Lottie do since, you know, we're opposite you guys, but we probably get on just as well."
"Gemma," Louis repeated him. "I like that name."
"Whenever I see her next, I'll tell her you said that." Then, Harry's smile quickly faded. "Which reminds me. I've got to go home for a couple days."
"Where is home?" Though that's what Louis asked, it wasn't exactly what he was most concerned about. He did want to know the answer, but he was mostly thinking about what it would be like to not see Harry at least once a day for more than one day. How many days was a couple? Two? Three?
"Uh... Up north a bit," Harry said, clearing his throat halfway through. "Anyway, I'm leaving Monday, and I'll probably – hopefully – be back Thursday."
"I suppose if we don't finish your song tomorrow night then, you'll have to be surprised by the finished product when you come back. McSteamy will become McPerfect without you."
Thankfully, Harry's smile returned at that. Louis had been starting to miss it. "Yes, you'll have to do without your good luck charm for a little while. I'm glad to hear you'll be able to manage without me."
"It'll be tough, I'm sure. But we'll power through."
"Can I tell you a secret?"
Louis rested his head back on the sofa cushion. He was tired, but he didn't want to sleep yet. He wanted this conversation to continue. "I'm all ears."
And speaking of his ears, Harry's lips were right beside one of them when he said softly, "I actually hope you can't manage without me."
Louis chuckled, hoping to disguise the shiver that moved through his entire body at the feeling of Harry's breath hot on his cheek and neck. "Don't worry. We'll probably fail miserably, and McSteamy will turn into McRuined. No pun intended."
Harry had pulled away, but not all the way. He angled his body now to face Louis, propping an elbow up on the cushion. "I didn't mean the song, Lou."
Louis took a swig of his beer and then stared at the bottle, though he felt Harry watching his face closely. "I know you didn't."
"So why'd you say that?"
"I dunno. Guess I wasn't sure how else to respond."
"Like this: 'don't worry, I'll be miserable and lost without you. My days will blend with the nights and my soul will probably leave with you; I'll be a shell of a man until you return to me.'"
Louis burst into laughter, buckling over so far that his forehead nearly touched his knees. Harry was grinning as well. "I don't think I'm capable of saying something that sickening, so don't hold your breath."
"Reword it, then."
Confused by the sincerity in Harry's tone, Louis had to look over at him. He was resting the side of his head against his hand, staring at Louis and waiting, his brows slightly tilted inwards. "You're serious?"
"Please." There's that cheeky grin again. Damn him.
"You're lucky I'm halfway gone," Louis grumbled. Then, he sighed. "Harold, fear not. I'll be a mess when you're gone. Maybe I'll start dressing like a slacker again, or I'll stop combing my hair. Perhaps I'll quit letting Charming and Dashing sleep in my bed with me. All because you've left me. So return quickly. There, how was that?"
"Perfect," he practically purred. "Thank you."
He was so endearing, and Louis so, so liked him like that. "Finish your drink. It's past your bedtime."
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