Chapter Text
Harry’s plane was late. Of course, it was.
He wasn’t surprised in the slightest; it hadn’t stopped raining in New York for the past twelve hours. It was quite obviously a sign, and he mentioned it to Niall while they were on the phone. Harry had spent the past three hours in the lounge, surrounded by people who grew more annoyed by the second, on the phone with their assistants, demanding that they find them a different flight as if having money would somehow make the rain stop just for them.
“It’s December,” Niall said. “Of course, it’s going to rain. It’s not a sign of any kind.”
“It is. The universe knows that there is no chance Tomlinson and I can stay in the same room for three days in a row.”
Niall groaned. He had heard Harry rambling about it for weeks now. “The universe doesn’t know anything. And even if it did, it would be glad that maybe you and Louis will finally bury the hatchet and realise that you would actually get along –”
“Not this again, Ni,” Harry interrupted him. Niall chuckled. Harry rolled his eyes even if Niall could not see him.
Some flights were cancelled and some others were postponed half an hour at the time. He kept on getting emails about how sorry they were. Anytime he got a new one, Harry got some more wine. At this point, he was going to board this flight drunk already, which sounded like a great plan, hoping that the alcohol would knock him out once he got on it. If he ever was going to board, that was.
“You mentioned him first!” Niall cried out on the other side of the line, peacefully enjoying his evening in his London flat. Harry could easily picture him, sprawled out on his couch, the telly on, and maybe one of his guitars lying next to him. Niall always had a guitar next to him, no matter where he was. It was a part of him just like his arms or legs were. Harry didn’t think he was a bad guitarist himself, but he never met someone as talented as Niall.
“Hard not to, considering every single British news outlet is reporting the two of us as the headliners. Honestly, Niall, you are way more famous than he is,” Harry mumbled. “He must have a good team to have such good PR –”
“Harry.” Niall kept on interrupting him and Harry was getting annoyed by it. What kind of friend he was, not letting him ramble for a bit? Especially considering how dire his situation was right now. “It’s just because he made those comments. They love the idea of the two of you being on the same stage. Mentioning me wouldn’t get as much traction. We are seen together at all times.”
Niall was, of course, right. Louis Tomlinson, king of all the indie rock fans out there, had made some snarky comments about Harry in the past, to which Harry had never cared to reply to since Louis was a nobody. But now every single news outlet in the country was writing articles about their confrontation, when there quite obviously was not going to be any. Why was everyone so obsessed with making the two of them fight? Where was the Christmas spirit that the British loved so much? Did they leave it back in 2003 when Love, Actually was released? Harry had never felt the same thrill about the holidays ever since he first watched that movie, that was for sure. He didn’t hate Christmas, he loved to have an excuse to go back to his small village and exchange gifts with his family, but he had never found the same magic as when he was a kid. There was always that spark missing, somehow. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. He got another email just then. Another delay. He sighed.
“I don’t get why they don’t just cancel it at this point,” he complained to Niall, because he preferred to talk about the weather and his flight rather than Louis Tomlinson. Everything was better than talking about that wannabe Liam Gallagher. Niall, thankfully, didn’t go back to the topic and kept Harry on the phone while he downed yet another glass of wine.
Flights resumed regular operations some hours later, after Harry called his sister and replied to a few work emails. By the time he boarded, it was already morning in England, and he knew that falling asleep on the flight would throw off all of his resolve to adjust to the timezone, but there was no chance he was going to stay up for the whole flight. And so he slept, and woke up in London.
His house had been empty for weeks, except for the few times his sister had been over to check on it. It had a peculiar smell when he wasn't there for a while. By now, he had started associating that smell with the end of a tour. Harry walked around the rooms, just because, a ritual anytime he came back after a while away. In the living room, he found that Gemma had put up a Christmas tree, despite Harry telling her not to. After the charity concert they were going directly back home to their mum in Cheshire, so there was no need for her to decorate the house. She didn't put up a lot of things, just a small tree and some decorations she picked up herself because they didn't look anything like the ones Harry had in a box somewhere down in the basement. He looked around the tree, and scoffed when he saw that his sister had picked up an ornament with his face on it. One of those tacky, fake merch things they sold in Camden market. He could not believe that people actually sold so much stuff with his face on. T-shirts, stickers, keychains. He took a picture of the ornament and sent it to Gemma, I cannot believe you. She didn't reply immediately, but it was the middle of the day on a weekday, and unlike him his sister had a regular job. He yawned loudly, but had to resist until the evening. Sleeping on the plane was a terrible idea, but Harry never made smart decisions when he was drunk on wine. So he went upstairs and did the only thing he knew would keep him occupied for hours, picked up a guitar and played.
Harry didn't think of putting an alarm, he went to sleep quite early the night before, he didn't think he would need it. But he should've known. Of course, he woke up exactly at the same time he was supposed to leave for the arena. Which meant he was late. He hurried to the bathroom, took a very quick shower, brushed his teeth and picked a t-shirt and some comfy tracksuit pants. It was rehearsal day and he couldn't be bothered with wearing anything nicer than that. He tied his hair, wore a jumper and a coat on top of that, and he was out of the house, the driver waiting for him outside with his arms crossed on his chest, leaning on the car, not looking particularly pleased.
“Sorry, Sir,” he murmured as he got in the car. He didn't dare ask him to stop to get some coffee, he would get some at the arena. It was going to taste terrible, but he didn't want to upset his driver even more.
He tipped the driver way more than he did on normal occasions, and repeated how sorry he was again. The man slightly nodded his head and drove away, probably towards some clients that valued punctuality, unlike him.
Harry was then escorted inside the arena by a cheerful young lady who was a fan of his but quite likely got told to act professional. He never liked to assume that someone was a fan, he wasn’t that self-absorbed, but she was wearing a t-shirt and he saw a tattoo with the lyrics of a song he wrote on her arm, so he assumed that she most likely didn’t get that out of spite.
She showed him to his dressing room, and then disappeared after asking if he needed anything. Harry said that he didn’t, even though he could feel a headache mounting at the back of his head from the lack of caffeine. Lucky thing Niall was already there – of course he was, everyone had been there for at least half an hour – and Harry begged him to bring a cup of coffee to his dressing room. Niall arrived, looking a lot more rested than Harry, wearing a ridiculous red t-shirt with the Grinch on it.
“Was there a Christmas dress code for rehearsals or is it just you?” He asked, as Niall handed him the cup and sat on the couch next to Harry. “Thanks, by the way.”
“Just me, mate,” Niall answered. “Found this thrifting the other day and thought it would be fun to wear a different shirt for rehearsals. And the fun jumper for the show. Have you gotten yours?”
“I have, yeah,” Harry muttered, not interested in discussing Christmas jumpers, and finally took the first sip of his coffee. It was good, or maybe it was just his body already going in withdrawals from caffeine convincing him of that. He let his head fall on the couch’s armrest.
“Louis is in the dressing room next to yours, by the way,” Niall said then, completely out of nowhere. Harry’s head snapped up, almost giving him whiplash. That made Niall laugh, and if it weren’t for the coffee he just brought to him, Harry would’ve kicked his friend out.
“And?” Harry asked, eyebrow raised.
Niall shrugged. “I just thought that it was funny. Fate, and all that. Maybe you will end up finding some mistletoe between your dressing rooms, who knows.” He looked all too pleased about his ridiculous plan.
“This is not one of those Christmas movies you love to watch so much, Niall.” He also loved to watch those, but that was beside the point. “It's my life and I'm not going to change my mind on Tomlinson.” He took another sip of the coffee. Niall didn't say anything, but that smug smile on his face didn't disappear. Harry found it somehow creepy, kind of like one of those mystical creatures in holiday movies that give you a warning before something huge happens in the life of the main character. Except this wasn't a movie; it was Harry's real life, and there was no chance of anything changing in the next three days. He was there because he cared about the reason behind this concert, all the funds they were going to raise for the research against cancer, not anything else. Harry wasn’t there to make friends. He was going to sing on stage on live television, and then the next morning drive with his sister back to Cheshire. Nothing more.
After he was done with his coffee and there was enough caffeine running in his veins, Harry finally reunited with the rest of the acts that were going to sing at the concert. He knew some of them because they had met backstage at festivals, or just around studios in London or at parties. Some he liked; Liam Payne was a funny guy, always with a smile on his face, and who, bless him, liked to dance on stage. Harry was not a fan of that, but he could recognise talent when he saw it, and Liam was talented. Then there was Zayn, who was one of the hottest blokes Harry had ever seen in his life. They might or might have not fucked backstage at a festival once. He was wearing sunglasses inside, and normally Harry would've found it annoying, but it was Zayn so he allowed it. Even now that he was dressed with comfy clothes, there was an energy that he radiated. Kids these days would call it aura. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he was sure that if there was one person that had aura, that was Zayn Malik.
Zayn’s biggest flaw was that he was very close with Louis.They were sitting close together when Harry entered the room, laughing about something, and Louis' expression shifted as soon as he saw who was entering the room.
“Of course he's late,” he muttered, loud enough for Harry to hear. He pretended not to hear that and sat as far as possible from Louis. He could feel Niall’s look piercing through his head, but he ignored it. They would have plenty of time to spend together lately.
He thought it was going to be a short meeting with the organisers, but it turned out to be quite long, explaining how the whole live show was going to work, and how they were going to be interviewed between acts while they set up the stage for the next singer.
On the first day they were supposed to have a quick sound check, and then tomorrow a general rehearsal of the actual show. Quick being the key word for today. Except, it turned out to be a whole mess from the beginning. Niall was going to play an acoustic set with his guitar, and he kept on getting weird feedback in his in-ears. Harry was standing by the side, leaning against a column, arms crossed in front of his chest. Niall had been smart enough to tell them that he had an important thing he couldn’t miss and was sound checking before everyone else so he could leave. Harry had not been that smart. He was still jet lagged, to be fair, and had accepted his fate, which meant that he would have to stay in the arena until the evening. Just then, as Niall cursed against the microphone because the feedback was still there, he realised that he hadn’t eaten anything since his last meal on the plane. He was running on one cup of coffee and nothing else. The lightness in his head was maybe not due to the jetlag.
“Can we try again – yeah – okay,” Niall said, and strummed a couple of chords with his guitar. The issue seemed to be finally fixed.
“Hey,” a voice behind Harry said. He turned around, and saw Zayn standing there, smiling at him. He had taken off his sunglasses, and even if he looked like he hadn’t slept in two days, he was gorgeous. A bit unfair for the rest of humankind. “Didn’t get the chance to say hi earlier.”
“Yeah, well, your friend –”
Zayn rolled his eyes. “Will you two ever stop acting like two 5-year-olds?”
“I wasn’t the one talking shit about Louis during interviews, was I?” Harry pointed out, realising how childish that sounded as soon as the words left his mouth.
Zayn shook his head. “Whatever, man. He says a lot of shit, but it’s banter most of the time.” He turned towards the stage, taking a look at Niall. He had stopped playing once again, another technical issue. “We are going to be here for a long time,” Zayn sighed. “I’m ordering Chinese with Liam and Louis, are you in?”
Harry’s stomach grumbled. He didn’t feel like eating lunch with Louis Tomlinson, but he could always order with them and then go back to his dressing room with an excuse, so he said yes.
Like everything else that had happened to Harry’s life in the past twenty-four hours, things didn’t go as he planned. Of course they didn’t. Liam, ever the cheerful one, invited them to his dressing room to eat, and Harry couldn’t say no to Liam. They had met only a handful of times before, but they had always talked about music, and Harry always enjoyed their conversations. He was kind, it was the thing. There was a sort of child-like wonder to him that made it impossible to refuse anything he offered.
They all sat together in the dressing room, Liam and Louis sharing the couch and Zayn and Harry sitting on chairs. Harry barely spoke unless the others asked him questions. It was mostly Liam or Zayn, while Louis observed him with that piercing look of his anytime Harry said something. It was a bit upsetting, he could not lie. Those blue eyes seemed to be getting right through him, more in a if-a-look-could-kill kind of way than anything else. He wondered if his friends told Louis to behave, because he could see how he rolled his eyes often when Harry was involved in the conversation, but bit down on his usual snarky remarks, or if that was just an act he put up when he was in public. When Liam asked Harry how was playing to a sold out Madison Square Garden, Louis almost looked interested. But maybe it was just so he could take mental notes on what to say when he would inevitably be interviewed in the next few days and get asked about their rivalry.
“It was one of the most intense experiences of my life,” Harry replied. ”Like, I don’t know, it’s not even the biggest places I’ve ever played in –” by now he could see that Louis’ eyes had probably reached his skull, from how much he was rolling them. “But there is just something so special about playing there. Not as much as playing in London, I’d say, but it takes second place, easily.” Louis scoffed, this time a bit louder than before. “Anything you’d like to say, Louis?” It was probably the first time Harry ever said his name out loud. It felt a bit foreign coming out of his mouth.
“I –” Louis sighed. Harry didn’t miss the way Zayn looked at him. “No. Not really. Happy for you, mate.”
That made Harry laugh. No one had ever called him mate with such disdain before. He had to give it to Louis, he was good at holding a grudge. A grudge built out of nothing, really, but still.
“Thanks, mate,” Harry said, trying to match Louis’ tone, emphasizing the word mate as much as he could. Louis grinned. Zayn and Liam exchanged a look. There were a lot of looks exchanged between the three of them, a complicity that made Harry feel a bit out of place there. At least the food was really good. The perfect kind of greasy food he needed to get over the jetlag.
“Can’t believe I wasn’t invited,” Niall barged in a while later, when they were all pretty much done with their food and Harry thought he could finally leave. Niall jumped in the middle of the couch, between Louis and Liam. “So, Harry and Louis haven’t gotten at each other’s throat yet? I count that as a win.” Well, if Harry wasn’t going to get at Louis’ throat, he sure was going to get at Niall’s now.
Zayn disappeared a while later and came back with a joint, which Harry politely declined as it went around.
“I don’t smoke before I have to go on stage,” he said. Louis, of course, scoffed. “Mate,” Harry started to say, with as much vitriol in his voice as possible, “if there’s anything you want to say to me, just say it.”
“I’m on time-out,” Louis said, as he took the joint from Niall’s hand. Zayn groaned, as he let his head fall back, mouth opened. Harry raised an eyebrow, confused. “I promised Zayn and Liam that I would be nice to you.” He took a drag. Harry had to look away, for some reason.
“It’s fine, I can take whatever you’ve got to say.”
“I’d rather not,” Louis said. “Mate,” he added at the end.
Someone knocked on the door, and everyone said to come in at the same time, forgetting that this was technically Liam’s dressing room.
“Oh hello,” a woman said, as she opened the door. “We were looking for you, Mr. Tomlinson. It’s your turn.”
Louis didn’t seem too pleased with it. He stole the joint from Liam’s hands and took a drag, before passing it to Harry.
“Just a drag won’t ruin your angelic little voice, mate, I promise.” And then he was out. Harry stared at the joint in his hand, a bit dumbfounded. He took a drag and then passed it to Zayn.
Harry usually performed with many musicians, but of course, a concert as big as this one required adjustments. Some of the performers chose to play with backing tracks and vocals, like Liam and Zayn. Both Louis and Harry chose to bring a guitarist, bassist and drummer. Which meant that, since the stage was already set up with a drum kit, Harry had to go up next. He stood by the side of the stage as Louis sound checked his final song of his set, which Harry had listened to several times on the radio before. He liked it, although obviously he was never going to admit that out loud. His voice fit perfectly with the sort of indie rock music he played, a bit raw but also soft at the edges. Louis had a vulnerability in his lyrics that Harry envied in a way; he often hid a thousand layers of metaphors so the audience wouldn’t know what he actually meant, while Louis wasn’t afraid to tell the world what he was feeling.
His musicians were right there behind him, ready to get on stage once Tomlinson and his band were done.
“He’s good,” Phil, the bassist, said.
“Isn’t that the guy who said Harry is a pretentious arse a while ago?” Bill, the guitarist, asked.
“Yeah,” Harry confirmed.
“What an arse then,” Phil said. Harry smiled. “Must be that Northern attitude.”
“Oi. I’m a Northerner too,” Harry protested, pouting. His musicians laughed.
“Exactly, mate, exactly,” Bill said, a hand on Harry’s shoulder. He could not believe that they were somehow putting him on the same level as Louis Tomlinson, just because of some geographical association.
“I’ll find a new band for the rest of the tour,” he muttered, as Louis finished singing his last song.
Luckily, their rehearsal went by smoothly, probably all the earlier technical issues solved. Niall had been the poor guinea pig of the sound engineers. Harry was starting to get excited for the concert. He hadn’t played a televised concert in quite a while.
Niall:
beer at mine with the rest of the lads in an hour?
Harry:
no thanks ni i’m still jetlagged
Niall:
more than jetlag i think you suffer more from a stick up your arse type of disease
Harry:
fuck off niall
Niall:
you too babe
He took a shower that evening, ordered some food that he ate in the living room while he watched some of his favourite Christmas episodes from his favourite sitcoms. The lights of the Christmas tree that Gemma put together looked quite nice, there on the side. He sent a picture of it to his sister to thank her. She replied with a heart and then asked how it was going with his nemesis. He didn’t reply. Niall sent a selfie of him with Zayn, Liam and Louis, and didn’t reply to that either. He went to sleep not long after, ready for whatever day two had in store for him.
🎄🎄🎄
Harry should’ve guessed that that karma would punish him later on, because he had a good night's sleep and this time he wasn’t late. He was even able to have a proper meal and decent coffee at home. Later, on the way to the arena, Harry asked the driver to stop at his favourite cafè so he could get something for him and Niall.
He barged in his dressing room first thing when he got there, and Niall definitely looked like he needed the extra boost of caffeine.
“What happened?” He asked, handing his friend the cup of coffee. Niall was lying on the couch, his eyes closed. It wasn’t even that early, so Harry wondered how long the night with the boys dragged on. Niall had a certain capacity to propose to go out for just a drink and then drag people out until dawn, Harry knew. He curled his legs a bit so Harry could sit next to him.
“One beer turned into two. Then three. Then Zayn proposed we should go to a club he knows. We did shots. Too many of them,” Niall explained, his fingers pinching the space between his eyebrows. “Thanks for the coffee, by the way.” He raised the cup. “Cheers.”
Someone barged in the room just then, the voice coming before Harry could see who it was. He would recognise that annoying voice anywhere.
“I’m so fucking dead, mate, I swear –” Louis stopped talking when he saw Harry sitting there. “Oh. Good morning, princess. Is your angelic voice well rested?”
“Sure is, thank you for asking, mate,” Harry replied, a sarcastic smile plastered on his face.
Niall groaned. “I have the biggest headache ever, can you not do this now, please.”
Harry slouched. It was not his fault Louis got under his skin so easily, and all he could do was fight back. He wasn't like this, usually. Louis brought the worst out of him.
“Just came here to ask if you needed some ibuprofen,” Louis said, his eyes darting from Harry to Niall. “Sorry if I interrupted something.”
Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. For Niall’s sake.
“Oh god, thanks mate. Yes.” Louis came closer and handed the blister to Niall, who barely opened his eyes as he popped one pill out of the packet and downed it with some of the coffee Harry brought him. “You guys make a good team. Harry brought me the coffee and you brought me the medicine. The best mates I could ever ask for.”
“Sure,” Louis said, frowning. “See you for lunch, yeah?”
Niall hummed something in response. Louis took a final look at the two of them, although Harry had a feeling he was mostly looking at him, but didn’t say anything, and then went out of the room.
Before the actual rehearsals started for the day, they had a press conference to go through. There were a little over ten acts playing for the night, but only the five of them had a spot at the conference alongside the organizers. They put, of course, Harry next to Louis. They blamed it on the alphabetical order, but they both knew better. They exchanged a glance before sitting down, but neither of them said anything. Harry had changed clothes from earlier – it wouldn’t have been nice to show up to a press conference wearing nothing but a t-shirt and joggers – and was now wearing one of his favourite shirts. Half-unbuttoned, like he always did. One of his favourite keychains around his neck, one that his mum got him as a gift after he released his first record. Something to ground him, always, that would bring him back home. He needed this today. Harry wasn’t particularly fond of press conferences, but he agreed to do this one because it was for an important cause. Except that, once the questions started, they were not about curing cancer and research – some were, but most of them were about personal things. The peak was of course reached when someone asked what the deal was with the beef between Louis and Harry. Louis turned towards Harry, eyebrow raised. Harry took it as an invitation to speak.
“There is no beef,” Harry said into the mic, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “Just a bit of banter between musicians. It’s not that deep.” It was that deep. “Now please, we’d love to answer questions about the music we’re going to play on stage and the cause we’re supporting today.” Harry then went on with a whole speech about research and how important research against cancer was, and how researchers were underpaid. Everyone in the room clapped. He didn’t turn to look at Louis’ face, knowing already the expression he would have in that moment. The next questions were, thankfully, about the music and the charities they were supporting again.
“Nice diversion technique,” Louis told him as they were making their way back to their dressing rooms. Harry was walking ahead of Louis and turned abruptly. For a second, Harry could swear that Louis checked him out. “You know, the whole speech about the importance of research. You’re so nice and noble all the bloody time, aren’t you?”
Harry looked around. The rest of the lads seemed to have gone back to their rooms already, around them just technicians walking quickly from one side to the other, completely ignoring the two of them.
“You wanted me to tell them how much you annoy the fuck out of me?” Harry asked through gritted teeth. Someone else walked past them and smiled at the two of them, and Harry smiled back, although he was sure it would be quite obvious how tense he was at the moment. Louis waited for the person to walk past them so he could talk again.
“Yes, actually,” he replied. “For once in your life you could be an actual person and not all rainbows and sunshine or whatever is that you are about.” Louis opened his arms and then dropped them down, almost hitting someone in the process. Harry took a deep breath, his hand on his dressing room’s door handle.
“Whatever,” he said, and pulled the handle down. He entered the room and was about to close the door behind him, but Louis stopped the door, and Harry turned to look at him, confused expression on his face.
“So the conversation is over?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t have anything else to say to you.” A flicker, something in Louis’ eyes Harry couldn’t quite catch, and then he pushed the door open, slamming it behind himself. Harry didn’t say anything, and looked down as he started to unbutton the rest of his shirt. The heating was too high in this room. It wasn’t so high before. He was waiting for Louis to say something but he didn’t. Harry looked up, and saw Louis just standing in the middle of the room, and if Harry was not mistaken, he was checking Harry out. Again. “So?” He said simply, which only seemed to rile Louis up even more.
“So? You’re just – I don’t even know why Niall likes you. Or Zayn. You’re never honest. All you do is performative. You just want everyone to like you and you never take a stand. You couldn’t even admit you don’t like me.”
“I’m sorry, but what is wrong with not wanting to have headlines written about something that isn’t related to your music? I don’t want that. I want them to talk about what really matters,” Harry explained, his voice still calm. He took off his shirt and threw it on the couch. “I don’t want any headlines of mine associated with you,” he added as he looked up at Louis, who was most definitely checking him out now.
“That makes two of us,” Louis said, moving closer to Harry. “Tabloids suck, I agree, but that’s not my point. You know what I mean.”
Harry knew what he meant. “No, I don’t.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of not being fully yourself?” Louis asked, now so close that Harry could feel his breath against him. He could walk back, there was enough space, and yet he was paralysed to the spot.
“I don’t appreciate you barging into my room and psychoanalysing me,” he growled. Louis' eyes darted left and right then, a smirk appearing on his face. “Can you leave now?” He asked, having a hard time maintaining his composure. But Louis didn’t leave. He didn’t say anything and for a few seconds they stared at each other’s eyes, like some sort of silent competition of who could hold a stare longer. Louis’ eyes were a ridiculous shade of blue, Harry noticed just that moment. And then for a flicker of a second his gaze traveled a bit lower, to his lips. It was just a fraction of a second, but something happened because before he knew it, Louis’ lips were on his. Harry wasn’t sure who leaned in first, what he knew was that Louis was kissing him, rough and urgent, teeth clashing as they both opened their mouths at the same time. Harry didn’t know what was happening. He had never thought about Louis with nothing but disdain. And yet now a primal instinct took over and it was like his body – his dick, more like – had forgotten about it all, chasing after Louis’ body, wanting more, wanting – no. This couldn’t happen. No. He tried to let the message reach the rest of the body, but it didn’t respond at first, the kiss was too good to pull back. He could not remember the last time his whole body lit up that way with a simple kiss. Just like a Christmas tree, he thought, and groaned internally at the cheesy metaphor. It was Louis who, embarrassingly enough, was the first one to pull back. Harry opened his eyes and he couldn’t lie to himself – he was going to remember Louis’ flushed face for a very long time. If he had been wrecked by this kiss, he was sure Louis was just as much. There was a moment of silence, their heavy breathing the only sound in the room. And then, Harry finally spoke, “Can you actually leave now?” with a venom in his voice that was uncharacteristic of him, but then again he didn’t normally kiss people he despised. Louis didn’t wait a bit and he was out of the room, not even bothering to check if the door had closed behind him. Harry fell backwards on the couch, hands in his hair. Shit. What the fuck had just happened?
For lunch, he made up an excuse not to join the others. Niall, weirdly, didn’t push it. Harry ate a salad, although he didn’t feel particularly hungry. He texted with some friends to distract himself, and called his sister. They talked about Christmas plans, Gemma was desperate because she was still looking for something to get one of their cousins. Harry suggested a spa weekend, because he was always so annoying, maybe he needed to relax a little.
“Actually, you know what,” Gemma said after laughing. “That’s a great idea. So we can order that online and I don’t even have to go to the stores again. You’re a genius, H.” Harry didn’t feel like a genius right now, but he appreciated his sister for lifting his spirits. Gemma was coming for the concert the next day, and Harry couldn’t wait to see her. Seeing his sister at his concerts made him nervous but calmed him down at the same time. She asked him about the setlist, and then, when he thought he was safe, the question Harry was dreading. “So, you never replied to my text. How is it going with your archnemesis? I saw your answer at the press conference. You’re too nice.”
Harry snorted. He heard this one before. “Yeah, it’s – well, it’s fine. Niall is interested in forcing us to socialise but thankfully it will be all over tomorrow.”
“Is he really that bad?”
“No,” Harry found himself saying. “We’re just – very different. Not compatible.”
“You just described my relationship with all my colleagues,” Gemma chuckled.
“Except that your relationships with your colleagues don’t get shared on the Dailymail, do they?” Harry sighed. Right now he would love to have some of that weed Zayn had the day before. He didn’t even care about preserving his voice that much. He just needed to stop thinking for a few hours. He didn’t want to ask Zayn, though, because he was surely with Louis right now. He would have to smoke whatever he had left at home, later. Alone, like an idiot. Which seemed to be how he was spending most of his time anyway.
So Harry stayed in his dressing room until he got called for his final rehearsals, the only interruption a visit from Niall who asked him if everything was alright and brought him some coffee. Bringing each other cups of coffee was, apparently, their love language these days. He told Niall he was fine and diverted the conversation to Christmas dinner and asked his friend about his plans back home in Ireland, which worked. It lifted Harry’s spirit a bit, to know about Niall’s family’s tradition and about how his nan was ninety and still cooked every Christmas. Then Niall left, leaving Harry alone while he waited for his band to arrive and to be called on stage. Louis had, thankfully, already gotten off the stage when they walked on it. It was a whole fanfare, with the presenters announcing him, the biggest guest of the night. The arena was empty, just some people from the staff there, clapping and howling and screaming Harry’s name. He raised a hand in salutation to them, and they all made a big scene of screaming some more when he did, some of them pretending to faint. He smiled at them, and then he started singing.
He quickly went back to his dressing room to pick up his coat and the rest of his things, trying not to linger too much in the spot where it happened. Harry didn't like how his body reacted when he thought about it again. He was on the way out of the arena when his phone started ringing. Niall. He thought about not picking up but he knew his friend would try again, so he answered.
“You're not allowed to say no today,” he said, not even greeting him. “My place. In an hour.”
Harry sighed. So much for ignoring Louis as much as he could. “Yeah, okay.”
Niall had moved out of London a couple of years earlier. He had bought a giant mansion in the middle of nowhere. It was decorated already from the outside. Harry hadn't been there in a while, since he was on tour in the US, so this was the first time he saw the way he went overboard with the lights, and the gigantic wreath fixed on his door. He wasn't someone who did things halfway, that was for sure.
Niall welcomed him in, looking a lot more rested than he did in the morning.
“You’re the first one to get here,” Niall told him, as Harry followed him towards the kitchen. His friend opened the fridge and took out two beers, without even asking Harry if he wanted some. He always had Harry’s favourite brand in his fridge anyway, when he knew that he was coming over. Harry thanked him as Niall handed him the beer, already uncapped.
“So, who else is coming?” Harry asked, trying to sound casual.
“Same people from last night,” Niall replied. He was smirking, the bastard. Harry took a long sip of his beer. “Do you want me to show you my Christmas decorations around the house before the others get there?”
“Niall. If you want to fuck me you could’ve just said instead of –”
“Oi, piss off,” Niall interrupted him. Harry laughed loudly.
“Yeah, of course I want you to.” He winked, and Niall rolled his eyes.
It was, Harry had to admit it, quite impressive. Niall had one giant Christmas tree in his living room, and a lot of lights all around the walls of the house. There was also another smaller tree in the corridor upstairs. A Santa in the bathroom, even. Not a room was spared by the Christmas spirit.
“You didn’t tell me what jumper you’re wearing tomorrow,” Niall told him as they walked down the stairs. Niall had just shown him the ugly jumper that he bought for the concert, a red one with Jingle my bells written in white. H
“It’s because I don’t know yet. I let Gemma pick one last week, and I told her not to send a picture of it, so it’ll be a surprise for me too,” Harry explained.
They waited for the other on the couch, some chill, jazz Christmas music playing on the speakers. It was all a bit over the top, but so Niall that it warmed Harry’s heart. They were barely in London at the same time, so it was nice to meet back home and not in an anonymous club or hotel room somewhere around the world. It was rather unfortunate that some other people would disturb their quiet soon.
Liam was the first to arrive, followed by Louis a few minutes later.
“Gracing us with your presence today, princess?” Louis said when he saw Harry, sitting on the opposite couch with Liam. Niall had gone to the kitchen, a second one for Harry because he needed it. He made the mistake of looking into Louis’ eyes for a second too long and the memories flooded back in. It was going to be a long night.
Zayn arrived fashionably late, but he brought some food with him. They ate thai from the containers without moving from the couches, the playlist now had some more indie rock vibe that Louis chose, of course he did, because he didn’t enjoy jazz as much. After so many hours Harry truly could not believe he had kissed such an annoying arsehole who acted like he owned the house.
Luckily Liam distracted him from the memories by telling a story of a date he went on a week earlier, and how disastrous it had been because after the usual small talk one did a date, the conversation died down.
“The two longest hours of my life,” Liam said.
It then became a competition to find out who went on the worst date ever. Zayn definitely won it, with the story of a guy he slept with once, and who left Zayn tied to the bed and then went out for hours.
“Did you press charges?” Liam asked, shocked. “That’s basically kidnapping.”
“I didn’t, but I peed on his bed,” Zayn replied, a satisfied grin on his face. Liam put both hands on his face. Niall winced.
“I mean,” Harry started to say, everyone’s attention now moving to him. “Who knows, maybe you did him a favour. Some people like that.”
“And by some people, you mean yourself?” Of course Louis didn’t miss a beat. Harry ignored him, like he often did. And especially after what happened earlier, he avoided looking directly at Louis. The conversation moved away, thankfully, from piss and kinks and to safer territories.
“So,” Harry asked a bit out of the blue at some point, when he had lost track of how many beers Niall had handed him so far. “Who’s coming to see you tomorrow?”
Everyone in the group had, except for Niall, multiple sisters. Harry found out that Louis had four sisters, and that his mum remarried not long ago and now had two younger siblings as well. He talked about them all with such fondness that for a second Harry forgot about his grudge. It was surprisingly pleasant, at least until Harry said something and that judging expression came back. He could see that Louis was, once again, holding back a lot of comments, just like he did the day before during lunch. Especially when Liam asked Harry about the rest of his tour and Niall mentioned that it was sold out all over Europe – he didn’t know what Louis was sighing so loud for, it was not Harry who mentioned it in the first place.
“Is it my fault now that people buy tickets?” He asked, looking straight at Louis, which was probably the first time he had done that all evening.
“I mean, it is your fault for putting those generic pop songs out into the world,” Louis replied. Zayn groaned.
“Here we go again,” Niall muttered, and got up to, presumably, get more alcohol, although Harry had a feeling he was going to empty his whole liquor cabinet by himself now. He wouldn’t have blamed him.
“You know,” Harry started to say. He hated being confrontational, but there was something about Louis that brought it out of him somehow. “Your pathetic attempt at being a Liam Gallagher clone is – well, pathetic.” That was, admittedly, a terrible comeback, but he thought he made his point across. It didn’t help that, as he said it, the memory of Louis’ lips on his kept on haunting him. The most annoying person he knew was also the best kiss he ever had, so Harry’s words faltered a bit in the process. His argument was a lot stronger before he had Louis’ tongue shoved down his throat.
“I’m no one’s clone,” Louis retorted, fixing his fringe and shifting awkwardly in his seat. Harry smirked, sort of proud of having made him uncomfortable. The silence that lingered was heavy with tension, Zayn quite obviously pondering about joining Niall wherever it was that he went.
“I’m kind of sad that the plan of singing a song all together tomorrow evening fell through,” Liam said all of a sudden, breaking the silence. “Would’ve been fun to see the two of you getting at each other’s throats on national television.”
“Spreading the holiday cheer, and all that,” Zayn agreed. That made all of them laugh. Niall came back just then with a bottle of tequila in one hand.
“Shots?” He said, and that effectively ended the argument. At least for the night.
🎄🎄🎄
The thing about growing up, was that it was supposed to make you wiser.
Harry, though, didn’t feel a day older than eighteen, especially in the mornings he woke up with a terrible headache. He knew that going over at Niall’s was going to be a mistake, and yet he went anyway. He didn’t even drink that much, but it was obvious that with growing up came a lot of problems and one of them was that his alcohol tolerance had worsened. He couldn’t even do a couple of tequila shots without waking up and wanting to puke his guts out. Granted, he also drank a few beers before that. But it wasn’t that much. He hated drinking before a concert, he hated what it did to his voice, and yet he did anyway, because Louis’ presence annoyed him so much that it obfuscated all his rational thoughts. It was a problem, but it was going to be solved after tonight.
After the concert, they were going to see each other maybe once or twice a year at parties, barely saying hi to each other. Maybe Louis would’ve talked shit about him again to try and stay relevant, and Harry would’ve ignored once again. Restoring the natural circle of life, so to speak.
But Harry was still in bed and the day had yet to start, and the idea of having to go through the next twelve hours seemed insurmountable.
He was forced out of bed to actually go puke which was, frankly, embarrassing, and he was thankful to be home alone so no one witnessed him throwing up because of a few shots. There was obviously something rotten in the food that he ate last night.
Harry felt, thankfully, a lot better when he had to leave for the arena later. He even managed to eat some food and drink some tea, and all of a sudden he felt optimistic for the day ahead. Maybe it was the cheerful Christmas music that his driver was blasting from the speakers, maybe it was the thought of seeing Gemma again that evening. He could’ve easily avoided Louis all day. And then find an excuse to skip the afterparty. Everything was going to work out, he suddenly decided, when All I want for Christmas is you started playing on the radio. He ignored the weird feeling at the pit of the stomach, and focused on the positives. He sent a message to Gemma can’t wait to see you tonight xx. That was all he wanted for that night. A quiet night with his sister. It was all going to work out for the best, he repeated to himself like a mantra.
At first, Harry’s plan worked. There was so much to do around the arena, so many interviews to give and, regrettably, Tiktok to record, that Harry had barely time to say hi to Niall, let alone get into another round of metaphorical boxing with Louis. He mostly got asked about the tour and if he could spoil his new single, which he did to a Rolling Stone journalist because he was feeling rather generous. He wasn’t sure his publicist had allowed him to do that. Harry didn’t care. The journalist was nice to him, and he didn’t ask him if he was in a relationship, so Harry decided to reward him with the news. A little Christmas present. He was in a good mood, partly because he didn’t have to see Louis at all. Until he did.
Harry had forgotten that Louis’ dressing room was next to his. He remembered as he was leaving his, because Gemma had texted him that she was getting there and he didn’t want her to get lost in the maze that were the corridors of Wembley arena. That turned out to be a mistake, because as soon as he opened the door he saw two girls rushing towards Louis, screaming his name. The younger ones jumped into his arms, and Louis complained about being too old to hold them by now. There were two older girls following them, who kissed him on the cheek. He didn’t know how long he stood there, but long enough for Louis to catch him staring. Harry immediately looked away and walked towards the entrance, trying to ignore the weird feeling at the pit of his stomach.
Luckily Gemma’s presence distracted Harry from Louis and everything that happened in the past twenty four hours. Show time was close, and chatting a bit about family gossip and what they were going to do for Christmas calmed Harry down. Even though it was not the biggest show that Harry had ever played and it was a small fifteen-minute show, it was still an event that was going to air live on national television, and that was the part that scared him the most. But finding out that Aunt Marie’s daughter, Laura, cheated on his husband therefore he was not going to be there for Christmas, helped him ease his nerves. Harry found it incredibly funny, because Aunt Marie was always so judgemental of Harry’s career, saying how he was always too obscene on stage, not at all what God would want.
“Imagine asking her, is God in favour of your daughter cheating on her husband for a whole year?” Gemma said, and they were laughing again, almost hysterically. They had barely drunk anything, but that was the effect Gemma had on him anytime they saw each other. They were two kids again, laughing at every dumb joke the other made.
She took out the jumper she got for him after a while, almost as an afterthought. The juicy family gossip was more important than anything else. The jumper was pink, and it said too cute to wear an ugly sweater, with three snowmen sawn in the bottom part. Around there were some more decorations, and Harry loved it.
“This is perfect,” Harry said, kissing his sister’s cheek.
“It screamed Harry as soon as I saw it,” she said, leaning in for a hug. “I love you, baby brother. I’m sure you’ll kick everyone's arses tonight.” She whispers that into his ear before every concert of his she went to. Usually she wouldn’t bring along a Christmas jumper as well, but the rest of it was part of their ritual. When she wasn’t there, she would usually text it.
Harry put the jumper on after, and Gemma took a few pictures that she immediately sent to their mum.
Harry had, of course, to cross paths again with Louis later because the arse played right before him. Him and his band were waiting backstage for Louis’ last song to finish playing and the small interview following right after. There was going to be a commercial break to allow them to set their instruments on stage. For now, they waited. Gemma sat down in the audience from the beginning of the concert, and Harry tried to spot her from where he was standing but with all the lights it was impossible to see anyone in the crowd. He looked back at the stage, and listened to Louis talk about how happy he was that his sisters and his mum were there for him that night. He smiled proudly, his eyes shining as he said it.
“They live in Doncaster so I don’t get to see them that often, and they surprised me here tonight, so yeah, it’s a special night for me,” he said. That feeling at the pit of Harry’s stomach came back, more insistent this time. Harry could not come to terms with the fact that the man who spit the most venomous shit at his face was the same person who was now standing on stage, talking about how much he loved his family and how much this night meant to him in terms of collecting money for such an important cause. He talked about a young fan that he met that passed away just a few months before. This is not fair, Harry thought, as the audience clapped and Louis got off stage. He walked past Harry and took a look at his jumper, his expression changing completely from the one he had on stage.
“Of course you would wear something like that,” Louis sneered. He was wearing a jumper that looked handmade, with no funny writing on it, just some snowmen that Harry figured represented him and his siblings.
“Do you know of a thing called irony?” Harry retorted.
“Sure I do, but I doubt that you would.”
Harry rolled his eyes and Louis must have felt that he had won that match, because he and his band walked past them without looking back.
“Insane tension,” Phil commented.
“Sexual tension,” Chris, the drummer, added. Harry shot him a look. He held both arms up as if to say, I'm innocent. “Just noticing,” he said.
“Well, stop noticing,” Harry said, and felt guilty immediately because now Louis got him into a shitty mood and he was lashing out on his innocent band members. “Sorry. Just – you know, nervous before the performance.”
“Sure,” Bill said. “The performance.” All of them snickered. Harry rolled his eyes. Maybe he really needed to find a new band. The commercial break was finally announced and they could walk on stage.
It was probably not the best performance of Harry's career, far from it, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. It was not easy to capture the attention of a casual crowd like the one of people who participate in a TV program, but Harry felt like he managed to do that well. Most of the people knew his latest single, and most of the audience got up from their seats as he started singing it, clapping along. He finally spotted Gemma when he was halfway through the song. His sister was singing along, and when she realised he was looking in her direction she smiled and blew him a kiss. He winked at her. There were probably going to be articles in the Sun in about an hour about Harry Styles' secret girlfriend just because of a wink towards the crowd. He didn’t care, though, he was going to go home tomorrow and barely check his phone until New Year’s Eve.
He jumped around the stage and tried to forget about the cameras, and made the crowd sing along, even all the television execs who were in the first rows and who were most likely forced to be there.
Harry would usually wear very revealing clothes on stage, and yet that night he felt more exposed than at his own concerts, maybe because he knew that the press was going to eviscerate every single moment that had been caught on camera. He flirted a bit with one of the cameras, planted a kiss on it.
The cheers were loud when the performance ended. Harry bowed, once on his own and then with his band. The presenters came back on stage and asked him a few questions, and it was all a blur. They tried this the night before, so he knew what they were going to ask and he had his replies ready anyway.
Since he was the final act of the night, all the other artists got called back on stage, for a final bow. Louis, because he was the type to love to stir up the press, stood next to Harry, taking his hand in his.
“Nice performance, mate,” he said, the fakest smile on his face.
Harry smiled back. “You too, mate.” He knew that the photographers were most likely fixated on the two of them, and that these pictures will be everywhere quite soon. The two of them holding hands, smiling at each other. The Twitter crowd would go wild with it. Enemies to lovers. He knew their lingo, the fanfiction, the tropes. He didn’t read them, but he was aware that people wrote things about him. He would let them have it. He squeezed Louis’ hand a bit more as he bowed down for the last time.
🎄🎄🎄
“The best thing about you being famous,” Gemma told Harry as she handed him a new glass full of prosecco, sitting back next to him on the couch that he had claimed a while ago, “is the free alcohol.”
Harry smiled as he drank a sip of it. He had lost count of how many glasses he drank tonight and how many hands he shook. These events were a lot more fun for Gemma, who mostly interacted with Niall and didn’t have to have meaningless conversations with music and television executives and pretend to care about their three kids and their relatives coming home for Christmas.
“There is going to be alcohol at mum’s place tomorrow,” Harry pointed out.
“Yes, but she has to pay for it. I don’t feel guilty about getting drunk at a rich people’s party open bar.” Gemma had a point, even though Harry had technically paid for it as well, since he was one of the organisers of the event. He didn’t tell his sister that, but instead kissed her cheek and announced to her that he was going to the bathroom.
“Bring back some more drinks on your way back, please,” she said. Harry rolled his eyes and got up.
It wasn’t an easy task, getting to the bathroom. The club seemed to be even more filled with people now, and every single one of them had a mission to tell Harry how much they appreciated the event and his performance. He stumbled upon Zayn and Liam, so busy in their conversation they barely acknowledged Harry, just a nod, of which he was grateful.
No matter how many times Harry went to these kinds of parties, there always came a time he needed to decompress for a bit, take a deep breath before getting back to the chaos. He thought that with time he would get used to it, but the truth was he grew more tired of them as he got older. And also, well, alcohol made him pee a lot. It was a general win, for his mind and for his body. He entered a stall, just in case someone started to chat him up at the urinals. He overheard voices, two men he didn’t recognise talking about their Christmas plans. He waited for their voices to fade, for the main door to close to get out of the stall. He thought the coast was clear, but as soon as he opened the door he found the only person he didn’t want to meet in front of him, washing his hands in one of the sinks. Niall would've probably said it was fate or some shit, but it was the opposite of fate. Harry could call these past few days a series of unfortunate series of events. Maybe write a song about it.
Louis looked at Harry through the mirror in front of him, an eyebrow raised. Harry could’ve easily left by then, said a quick goodbye and not cross paths with Louis for the rest of the night, but he didn’t. Just like in his dressing room, his body refused to move. He stayed there, locking eyes with Louis through the mirror. There was something pulling him in, something that Harry could not quite explain. Louis didn't bother drying his hands, just shook his hands briefly over the sink and then turned to face Harry, and he wanted so badly to make a joke, say something mean to Louis but the words got stuck in his throat. His body has stopped working from head to toe.
Louis took a look at him, down to his chest and his half-unbuttoned shirt, and then up again. Before Harry knew it, Louis wet hands were pushing him inside the same stall he came out of. He could've quite easily told Louis to fuck off and leave, but instead he stayed there, with his back against the stall’s wall, not even waiting for Louis to push him against it. It wasn't the first time someone wanted to fuck him in a public bathroom, and after that kiss the other day Harry was sort of curious of what Louis could do. Curious of what his tongue could do in other places. There must've been something this guy was talented at.
The good thing about this was that Louis despised him just as much as Harry did, and even if something happened in this stall, Louis was not going to chase after him like some people did, thinking that an orgasm equaled undying love. Harry just wanted to have a good shag. And he could at least admit to himself that he wanted to know if Louis could provide that.
No words were uttered, thankfully, as Louis kissed him. It was mortifying enough to admit that he was attracted to Louis Tomlinson, there didn't need to be any sort of foreplay, as much as Harry loved dirty talk. He loved being told what to do. But for tonight it seemed that having Louis’ body pressed against him was enough to turn him on. It must've been also because someone entered the bathroom, and the thrill of risking being discovered helped. Well, if that was going to happen then he'd have to perform a spell on that person because he didn't want anyone to know that he shagged Louis Tomlinson in a public bathroom, but for now his brain was fogged by the alcohol and the arousal, so he didn't think that much further.
Louis didn't waste any time, his hands moving down to his trousers, unbuttoning them with the ability of someone who did it quite often. It wasn’t surprising, really, but Harry had never thought of Louis in other terms other than a nuisance, like a fly that won’t stop buzzing in your ear at night. And now here he was, locked in a bathroom stall with Louis, letting him pull down his pants and trousers just under his arse. Louis smirked as he pulled back and slowly got on his knees. Harry couldn’t lie, he had gotten his dick sucked by men who weren’t half as hot as Louis was right now. Blue eyes looking up at him, with a hint of playfulness behind them. He put his index fingers on his lips then, and Harry was almost tempted to bite it, but didn't. There were lines he wasn't going to cross, as much as he despised Louis, Harry was nothing but a gentleman when it came to sex. It was annoying how even that simple gesture, that finger pressed against his lip, turned Harry on even more. He was enjoying this whole thing a bit too much. Harry enjoyed the way Louis licked his length and then sucked a few times and then pulled back;teasing, leaving Harry gasping and struggling to keep it down. His lips felt so good, he would’ve maybe said it if they weren’t in a public bathroom, or maybe he wouldn’t have because Louis didn’t deserve to know that. Maybe Harry would’ve grunted to hurry the fuck up, pretending he didn’t care that much, even though his whole body’s reactions would’ve betrayed those words. Harry had his hands pressed against the wall, trying to keep himself in balance as his legs trembled.
Not everyone managed to take his whole dick in, but Louis did. Harry could feel his tip hitting his throat, and fuck, the idea of wrecking Louis Tomlinson and making him spend his Christmas holidays with a rough voice because of him made him want to moan loudly, but instead he bit his lower lip. It was effective, but he also tasted blood. Louis was obviously struggling, breathing heavily but taking it so well that Harry was thoroughly impressed. When he was about to come, he tapped Louis on the cheek, just in case he wanted to pull back—might be the first time he had ever been nice to him. But Louis didn’t, and swallowed it all. Harry looked down, at Louis’ lips still around his cock, easing him through his orgasm, eyes glassy. So wrecked because of him, and Harry could not wait to wreck him some more. Someone outside the stall wished someone else a merry Christmas. Merry Christmas, indeed.
As Harry was coming down from his orgasm and Louis had, sadly, pulled off, Harry thought for a second about leaving Louis there with a hard-on, wishing him a Merry Christmas as he made his exit. But it wouldn’t have been nice, right? And he could be nice to Louis, just this once. Louis had taken Harry’s whole cock in, not complaining for a second. He sucked Harry’s dick like no one else had done in a while. And so Louis deserved for the favour to be returned. Just this once. A fluid exchange, just this once, in the bathroom stall of a club somewhere in central London. So Harry pulled up his pants and trousers, not bothering buttoning them up for now, and grabbed Louis who had just gotten up again, obviously taking him by surprise. He was a bit too violent maybe, as Louis hit his head against the wall.
“Sorry,” Harry whispered, the first word they uttered ever since they saw each other outside the stall a while earlier. It felt like a whole lifetime had gone by ever since they locked eyes in that mirror. Back then, Harry had no idea how beautiful Louis looked when he had a cock in his mouth, cheeks flushed and lips red.
“‘s fine,” Louis whispered back, and surprisingly, didn’t add anything more. It was that easy to shut Louis Tomlinson up, Harry thought. The information might’ve come in handy in case they met again. Not that Harry wanted that to happen anytime soon.
It was quite the surprise, when he unbuttoned Louis’ trousers, Harry already on his knees, to find his pants wet already. It must’ve hurt, with his dick so hard trapped in there. Harry thought about teasing him for a bit, touching him through his pants. It would’ve been fun to see Louis come without taking them off. But then he realised that they should’ve hurried, there was a party to get back to. He didn’t want Gemma to get suspicious, although she probably was already. And so he gently pulled down Louis’ pants, licking his lips at the vision in front of him. He looked up at Louis when he kissed his tip, enjoying how much he was already struggling with it. Clearly he had enjoyed sucking Harry’s cock enough for him to be quite close already.
Harry, pervaded with the spirit of the Christmas present, wanted Louis to enjoy this brief encounter. And so Harry took Louis’ dick without missing a beat, sucking like his life depended on it, obscene noises that he hoped could not be heard from outside. Not just from him, but also from Louis, who could barely keep it together. Harry could see Louis’ neck straining, teeth clenched, trying to hold back his orgasm which came almost right after. Predictably, he didn't last long. Harry swallowed down, looking up at Louis' blissed out face, and then slowly pulled back. Louis' chest was going up and down rapidly, and Harry stayed there on his knees, observing him for a bit longer, before Louis hastily pulled up his pants and trousers and unlocked the stall, leaving without looking back at Harry, who was still on his knees, trousers still unbuttoned, unable to process what had just happened.
When Harry went back to the couch he was sharing with his sister, after splashing some water on his face and fixing his hair as much as he could, he excused himself, told her that he ran into Zayn and Liam and they ended up chatting for a while. Gemma squinted her eyes, obviously not convinced, but took a sip from her drink that Harry had just handed her. It was a miracle he remembered to stop by the bar and get some more drinks like his sister asked him. He still had the taste of Louis’ cum in his mouth. Harry had forgotten how to function normally. He had completely blanked out and forgot the names of every single cocktail in the world and told the bartender to make whatever he liked.
“You've always been a shitty liar,” she said. “Cheers,” she added, as they clicked their glasses. Harry had no idea what the drink was, but downed it quickly all the same.