[Thursday, 17:12 p.m Notting Hill, Louis Apartment]

"Honestly, Harry, I'm so so sorry about your trousers," Louis said with pleading eyes for what must have been the fifth time since they left the cafe to take a stroll to Louis apartment three blocks away, "Did they have to be Gucci? You're not allowed to wear Gucci if you don't make more than 4000 quid a month," he shook his head as he searched for his keys, "Now I'll owe you for life."

"In my defence, I bought theme on sale, after paying my rent," Harry defended himself, waiting for Louis to unlock the door, "And also in my defence, I don't think you're allowed to live in a three-room flat in central Notting Hill if you make under 4000 quid a month either."

Louis sneered back at him as he pushed the door open, "Perhaps I do?"

"In what world does a director make 400 a month?" Harry bickered back, looking around, letting out a low whistle, "Airy."

"Perhaps I'm moonlighting as an entertainment dancer," Louis winked back at Harry as he tossed his jacket over a large couch.

Harry gulped, "That would've- that explains it," he said and placed his coat on the coat rack next to to the door. Eyed himself in the mirror hanging on the wall, bit his lip as he looked down at the stains on his trousers.

"Would you like to change out of those?" Louis asked, pointing at his legs.

Harry turned from the mirror, "Would love that. Although I live and breath for coffee, one can have enough when it's starting to imbibe your skin."

Louis bobbed his head before disappearing into a hallway, "On it."

Harry walked further inside the living room, eyes travelling over the beige couch that separated the rest of the room from the small hallway, looked like a heavenly place for a nap he thought. Stuffed bookshelves stood against the right wall, the orange light of the sunset reflecting in the pictures hanging across the room. Harry walked further inside, smiling as he caught a glance of Louis collection of LP-discs, neatly placed inside of a large wooden box.

On the living table laid an outworn manuscript, next to a small laminated note. Harry bent over to get a closer look; Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change...

"These were the only thing I could find that would at least fit you a little," Louis said from the hallway behind him, and Harry quickly looked up as Louis tossed him a pair of light grey sweatpants, "One word about my size and I'll not even consider paying for your dry cleaning."

Harry put up a finger, "I sense there's an underlying insecurity here that got nothing to do with me, but I'll shut up, to be on the safe side," he smiled and unbuttoned his trousers, dragged them off in one go and handed them towards Louis, who stood frozen, "Could you hold these?"

Louis shook his head, "Yeah, yeah- um, sure," he said as he grabbed the trousers from Harry who fiddled with the sweatpants.

He looked down at his legs, the sweatpants hugging his legs tightly and two inches too short, "These fits perfect," he stated, clapping his hands together as Louis eyed him from top to toe.

"Oh fuck you, Styles," he said in a dark voice and walked towards the kitchen. Harry followed, laughing.

"What? I mean it," he said, rushing after Louis as he rounded the dinner table, dragging out a chair, "I used to like them tight, like, really tight."

Louis gave him a quick glance, "But not anymore, because now it's only loose fitting, extraordinary Gucci that does it," he said as he carefully placed the trousers in his hands over the back of the chair, "I'll take them to a dry cleaner tomorrow, I promise."

"You don't have to! It's really no big deal," Harry tried but Louis cut him off by holding up a hand before his face.

"Not negotiable," he said determined, "Are you staying for dinner?"

[Thursday, 18:17 p.m Notting Hill, Louis Apartment]

"Put me to work, Tomlinson," Harry said, leaning against the kitchen island, bobbing his head to the tunes of Lennon and McCartney that streamed out off the speakers.

Louis opened the fridge and looked back at Harry, "Bread duty or veggie cutting?"

"It's your house, you decide. I'm good with whatever." Harry said, clapping his hand against the counter, his eyes moving down Louis' neck, over his slim shoulders.

"Veggie cutting it is then," Louis said, interrupting his staring as he turned around with hands full of carrots.

"Ace. Cutting board?" Harry said, bouncing off the counter, searching the cabinets.

Louis gave out a low chuckle, "Third drawer next to the stove."

The following hour passed without Harry noticing as they both moved around the kitchen, Harry chopping veggies by Louis instructions as he kneaded the dough. Sharing laughs now and then, otherwise, they fell into a comfortable silence, both occupied with their tasks. When he cut the last piece of ginger he realised he hadn't even thought about his health once since they arrived at Louis flat. Something about the atmosphere had kept him from it, as if Louis flat, or Louis himself, occupied a safe haven from the crippling fear. It held no power over him inside these walls, but he didn't take the thought any further, afraid to poke the beast awake in the back of his mind.

"Are you done?" Louis walked up beside him, eyeing Harry's work, his arm brushing lightly against Harry's as he leaned his head forward.

Harry inhaled sharply as Louis scent flow towards him, "Yeah," he answered, voice croaky. He couldn't deny it this time, even for himself, that Louis scent had an instant effect on him. His heart pounded harder, and he could feel the sweat pricking the back of his neck as he took a step back, to let Louis grab the cutting board. He was attracted to him, and he had close to no control over it.

He averted his eyes from Louis tight jeans that hugged his behind in the most perfect way possible and thought of what Zayn had warned him about just yesterday. Don't shit where you eat. He swallowed, blood trailing up his cheeks. Why did Louis have to be such a fit, perfect ass- looking bloke he asked himself as he leaned towards the kitchen island. Being friends with him would be so much easier if he wasn't looking like that, he bit his lip as Louis walked over to the stove, his bicep flexed as he grabbed a casserole from the cabinet. Great, he was on his way to display a hard-on in the middle of Louis kitchen, just great.

"I- loo," Harry said with a strained voice and hurried out into the corridor, the grey sweatpants doing him absolutely no good in the state he was currently in.

[Thursday, 20:10 p.m Notting Hill, Louis Apartment]

He survived dinner without any interference by his very much unwelcomed penis, and as he put down his spoon he let out a sigh in satisfaction, "The soup was amazing!"

"I'm glad you liked it," Louis smiled, his eyes stuck somewhere beneath Harry's chest. He smiled carefully, "Is there a story behind them?"

Harry sipped on his water, looked at Louis, confused at first, "Oh, the rings?"

Louis gave a small nod, still looking at Harry's hands.

"Yeah, you could say so," Harry said, letting out a comfortable sigh as he put his glass down, "This one I bought during my first week at Mountview University," he paused to point at the ring on his left index finger, a silver one covered with a light blue stone, "I felt I needed a change, stop being afraid to stand out, I guess. Studying theatre really helped that process," he said with a laugh, "No one bats an eye if a theatre-major starts coming to class with patterned button-down designer shirts."

Louis eyes where steady on him, and Harry continued, "And this one," he pointed to a golden one with a large red stone, "This one I bought during my first production at Jermyn Street, both as a gift for myself, but also as a way to expand my character, Antíp Búrdovskij. That's when it started really, the obsession."

"The ring obsession, you mean? I think I've read a book about something like that,..." Louis said, smirking, "I'm sorry, that was a bad one. Do carry on, please."

"Well, after that one I've always bought a new ring for every new character I've played. This one," he pointed to a large golden one in the shape of a roaring tiger, "That's my Tybalt Capulet one."

"Let me guess, it's Gucci?" Louis said teasingly, leaning closer over the table.

Harry smiled and nodded, "Cost me a fortune, but oh, so worth it," he said, patting the ring fondly.

"I'm intrigued, they're all very beautiful," Louis admitted as he met Harry's gaze.

Harry felt his heart leap before turning his eye away, "Yes, they're all very precious to me."

"Do you one for Dorian yet?" Louis asked, still full attention on Harry's face.

Harry's shoulder dropped, "No," he admitted, shaking his head slowly, still with his eyes on the rings, "maybe that's for the best."

"Don't say that," Louis argued, a frown on his forehead as he reached out to touch Harry's hand. His skin felt hot against Harry's, "It's not too late. We want you to come back."

"We? All of you? So you're saying Jeff hasn't already planned to give my part to Zayn?" Harry said with a bitter laugh, careful not to move his hand that laid underneath Louis soft touch. He wanted it to stay there, for so much longer than it did.

Louis pulled his hand back before he answered, "No, he hasn't."

Harry had a hard time to believe that, but as he met Louis soft eyes he chose to do so. If Louis said they hadn't given up on him, he wanted to believe it was true.