Louis phone remains stagnant from any messages from Harry, and though it buzzes and buzzes with well wishes from old friends, his family and random acquaintances in the industry telling him ‘good luck!’ for his show tonight, every time he checks his messages, one truth remains plain and simple, Harry hasn’t answered. His last message to him stays frozen in time.
Today’s a big show, there’s a vip box with your name attached to it, come if you’d like.
Delivered 12:07
Read 14:22
He sighs deeply, placing his phone down one more time, promising himself he won’t check again and knowing he’s lying to himself, opting instead to get a good long look at himself in the mirror. He looks good today, he’s not vain but he would be stupid to not admit it. He’s got a very light stubble going on, a new haircut that seems more perfect than the last, and he can’t help but think that in his tight black embroidered polo and, for once, trousers tailored to fit him perfectly, he looks good enough to eat.
Shame Harry won’t be here to foam at the mouth from the comfort of the shadows.
Things between them recently have only been what can be called ‘complicated,’ they haven’t quite found the right words in their stretched out, songwriter’s vocabulary for when they get like this, when everything just becomes too much for them and they just… drift. Oh of course, they’re still madly in love, it seems impossible to imagine a life where they aren’t, but everything becomes fleeting, touch and go. They’ll be together one day in the silence that just feels like a crushing weight on the both of them knowing they’re back in this phase and really, what can they do.
It’s been like this since the start, when they just thought it was childish, that one day they’d know the answers and grow out of it but then the years rolled around and they learned that they’d just have to always play the waiting game. Harry at one point suggested counselling, just to oversee that one issue, but Louis’ pride cut through like a knife and insisted they didn’t need it, so here he is, back to staring at his phone hoping that the little text bubbles will pop up so he can squeal like a teenager and see Harry at his London show.
But nothing shows from Harry, and Louis musses his hair one more time to perfect it.
He has an hour to go on stage, within five minutes, one of his band or crew members should be happily rapping at his door, grin plastered to their face and the promise of a drink or a low stakes game of odds and to be honest, Louis needs this. He needs Oli or Charlie or literally anyone to scoop him out of this self pitying hole of Harry that he’s currently residing in.
He hears something from behind him, and with his focus latched on his phone he mutters a small "yeah come in.”
But he doesn’t hear the door open or shut, or the voice of anyone familiar saying his name jovially so he looks up into the mirror and looks into the gaze of the man who seems to have literally teleported into his dressing room.
It’s Harry, there’s no doubt about it, although, perhaps there is.
He has those same, familiar green eyes that somewhat don’t radiate the same comfort as Harry’s even though they are identical. The curves of his lips and his jaw meander in the same way, his body is lithe in the same way, his nose peaks in the same way and he even has those same, gorgeous dimples that Louis first noticed all those years ago.
All the signs point to Harry being this man who is standing, albeit confused, in his dressing room except… well… his hair. And his clothes
He’s almost… ginger? Louis wants to think.
And he’s wearing some kind of ridiculous red, metallic robe. Harry has always been well, bold with his fashion and Louis has always been a supporter but this seems a bit too far.
He doesn’t really want to admit this to himself but he binge watched a recent interview with Harry, as in the last week, and his hair was still regular brown, so why on earth has he suddenly gone red? Is it a random rebellious streak? Whatever it is, it’s horribly out of character and it’s left Louis even more confused.
Another thing that only really catches his attention after he’s been gaping at Harry for a good moment are his tattoos or rather, the lack thereof. If he’s had them removed, Louis swears that is the final straw.
He’s decided that really, Harry’s not going to speak first so he takes it upon himself to squeak a small “Harry?”
But instead of responding like a regular human, Harry cocks his head, looking even more confused than he was when he materialised in Louis’ room a minute ago.
“You- uh- you came,” Louis continues, taking a small step forward and, again, Harry doesn’t really respond, he just keeps looking at Louis like he’s a total stranger. “Harry, is everything okay?”
Harry finally speaks. ‘Who in all the stars is Harry?”
And, ah, that’s an odd response.
“Uh, you are, you are Harry, do you need me to call a medic?”
“Why would I need a medic?” The Harry-but-not-Harry asks sincerely and wow, Louis is lost.
“Because you just appeared in my room and you have weird clothes and red hair and you don’t know your own name, is this a joke? Did you lose a game of odds?”
“I have no idea who Harry is! Why do you keep calling me Harry?” Harry-not-Harry throws his hands up indignantly and huffs. “This is what I get for drunk dimension traveling.”
“Ok,” Louis holds his fingers to his temples in an attempt to sort out his wheeling brain, “If you’re not Harry, which I still think you are, then who are you?”
Harry-not-Harry laughs and suddenly like clockwork his entire demeanour changes, his posture straightens and a lopsided and horrifically charming grin that makes Louis’ insides squirm is plastered across his face and he extends his hand towards Louis in what feels like an oddly casual gesture.
“I’m Eros,” he croons, “brother of the mad titan Thanos, defeater of Black Roger,” he reels off off the top of his head and Louis is even more confused now. “You don’t know any of that?”
As a polite gesture, Louis shakes the extended hand of the madman in front of him, who breaks his confusion once more to bend down and plant a gentle kiss onto Louis’ hand with a flirty smile and it just feels wrong.
“So…Eros,” Louis says gingerly and ‘Eros’ bows his head graciously, “what brings you backstage to my show, looking like an identical, ginger twin of my-“ he pauses and reconsiders what he is about to call Harry, “-friend?” He settles on, which isn’t a total lie, but it’s guaranteed to break Harry out of this weird bit he’s doing, but nothing happens. ‘Eros’ just shrugs.
“I have no idea, I meant to go to earth and something bad happened with dimensional travel, I’m not usually this clumsy,” he says and oh my god Louis thinks and has to stifle a laugh he’s actually serious. “This is earth right? You look rather human to me, and pretty one at that,” and now Louis has to summon all his energy into not blushing because this insane Harry lookalike called him ‘pretty.’
“Yup, Earth, London, Wembley Arena, England, Solar System, welcome aboard!” He jokes, and Eros is eying him up and down now, making Louis a little anxious. His gaze is frankly quite piercing as he examines Louis wordlessly, only looking away occasionally to get a sense of his environment, but then quickly returning to eye up Louis like a hawk.
“So,” he practically purrs with his Harry-esque voice that sends shivers up Louis’ spine, “who is this ‘Harry’ guy you mistook me for?”
“Harry Styles, you don’t know who he is?”
“Should I?”
Louis is pretty sure his jaw is frozen slightly open because dear lord this has gone too far.
“Alright enough jokes, roll up your sleeves I need to see something.”
‘Eros’ yanks his arm away from Louis’ grasp and tuts condescendingly. “My my, quite the attitude, who said you could touch?”
“Harry I’m not kidding just show me your arms please,” Louis tone is becoming sharp and bitter, he doesn’t need whatever fucked up game this is before his biggest show.
“Fine, but only if you stop calling me Harry and start calling me by my actual name.”
“Remind me?” Louis mocks and Eros scowls.
“It’s Eros, now whatever it is you want, you’ll have to ask politely and address me as such.”
Louis rolls his eyes and asks monotonously, “Eros, please can you roll up your sleeve.”
Eros flashes a cold smile and obeys, rolling up the sleeve of his odd, geometrically patterned robe, revealing a completely bare arm. So Louis licks his thumb and starts scrubbing.
“Uh, look, I understand I am a creature to be desired but what you are doing is… odd,” he states and sounds genuinely taken aback by Louis still rubbing at his arm, now using his shirt, all to no avail.
“Oh don’t flatter yourself Eros, I’m trying to rub this damn concealer off.”
He tries and tries for a few more moments before deciding there’s no hope and drops his shirt, not a hint of concealer or anything to suggest a covered up tattoo on the fabric.
“My my,” Eros taunts, standing tall and resting his hand on his hip and chuckling in a way that makes Louis simultaneously very angry and very horny, “looks like we can’t always get what we want.” He takes a step closer towards Louis, “where are my manners, what’s your name?”
“You didn’t see it on the door when you appeared like a ghost?” He sighs and rolls his eyes, “Louis, Tomlinson. And you’re interrupting my pre-show ritual, so I’d like you to quit messing with me, yeah? And go back to whatever cosplay convention you accidentally teleported from.”
“And what ritual is that? Checking endlessly to see if you’ve received a message from a certain someone?”
And damn, Louis doesn’t want to admit this but he’s been cornered.
“No- I- uh, absolutely not- why would- how did-?” He sputters and Eros laughs again.
“I have my tricks, Louis Tomlinson, I understand your love, your confusion, this connection you have with, what’s his name, Harry? Is that right?”
“How could you-?”
Eros holds up a dismissive hand and oddly enough, Louis finds himself obeying. ”I was technically in the room just a bit before I teleported, plus, I have a thing for feelings.”
“Eros, like cupid right? What, you carry around a little bow and arrows and make people fall in love whilst you sit in a little cloud in a nappy?”
At this comparison, Eros seems genuinely annoyed. “You earth people, what is it with you and completely misconstruing the person in favour for some half-baked mythology? Do I look like a baby on a cloud in a diaper?”
To be honest, no he doesn’t, he just looks like Harry.
“No, no you don’t,” Louis sighs and rubs his hands across his temple. “Look, I have a big show to get ready for, so I’d appreciate it if you could tell me what you need and get going.”
Eros scoffs, crossing his arms smugly and rolling his eyes, making Louis want to smack him. “What I need?” He takes another step towards Louis, almost making his topple into his table as he retreats. “No, I sense there is something that you need, Louis Tomlinson.”
The purr of his name sends shockwaves through his body, but he swallows the feeling and attempts to straighten up, bringing himself almost eye to eye to Eros.
“I don’t need anything from you, thank you,” he sniffs, keeping the eye contact and holding his ground. To his annoyance, Eros doesn’t seemed convinced by this, and seems to stare deeply into his soul before speaking again.
“Well, that’s not true in the slightest, I think you have a problem that starts with a capital H.”
“Stop this.” Louis protests quietly.
“Does an A come after that H?” He continues, inching closer to him.
“I’ll call security on you.”
“Oh and do what? Make them toss me into the street? Where there are still dozens of people outside? I get the feeling you don’t want me mistaken for my lookalike outside of your concert.”
Louis opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out, he has no arguments so he clenches his jaw and looks away in defeat, whilst Eros continues to grin smugly. “That’s what I thought.”
Eros takes a step back and begins to take long sweeping strides around the dressing room, twirling his long, slender figures around a potted plant and continuing to eye down Louis. “This Harry guy, you known him long? No, wait,” he holds up his spare hand to silence Louis, “let me guess, ten years?”
“Twelve, actually.” Louis corrects.
“Damn, I’m usually better at this. Anyways,” he migrates from the plant to the sofa, where he practically drapes himself upon it, “young love that’s never quite figured how to grow up, my my, that’s tricky.”
“Okay that’s it!”
“Hit the nail on the head did I?”
“I don’t know how you know this, cupid man, but this is none of your business, so I suggest you teleport out of here before I actually get angry.”
The smugness drains from Eros’ face slowly and he begins to sit up from the sofa, leaning forward with his hands clasped and suddenly seeming very Harry-like.
“Look,” he says softly, “I’m going to stop the teasing. I wasn’t lying when I said I’m an expert in feelings, from what I’ve seen you have an incredibly complex relationship, and I’m sorry.”
Louis feels taken aback by his sudden sincerity. “I didn’t mean to yell, but yeah, it’s complex. What are you sorry for though?”
“The fact that you’re so deeply in love with this person but you were terrified at the fact that people might see his lookalike at your concert.”
“Oh.”
“He’ll be here though.”
“How can you be certain?” Louis asks with a bitter chuckle.
“Intuition, I’m great at it.”
“Who are you, really?”
Eros rolls his eyes, “I already told you, I haven’t been dishonest about anything, I’ve always been gifted in the romance department so you’re better off believing me over the doubt in your head.
“I still don’t know how you know he’ll be here, this has happened before and he hasn’t shown, I’ve done the same thing to him.”
“I really can’t convince you, can I?” Eros asks, and Louis shakes his head forlornly.
There’s a beat of silence between them, before three successive raps at his door cut through the air.
“Yo, Louis, you decent?” Comes the voice of his bassist Matt from the other side of the door.
Louis groans and looks at Eros, who suddenly seems very excited at the prospect of meeting new people. “You can’t turn invisible, can you?” He whispers and Eros shakes his head eagerly. “Fuck, fine.” He braces himself. “Yup! Come in!”
The door swings open and practically the whole band pile in, not looking to their side as they babble on about the night’s game of odds.
“So Matt might go on in his boxers-“
“Yeah and Isaac promised he’d let himself get pantsed-“
“But Zak said he’s going to eat bananas the whole show-“
Their rambling is cut off by Eros clearing his throat and rising from the sofa.
“Oh, Harry’s here, um-“ Matt extends his hand awkwardly, and Eros grips is with confidence, “it’s nice to finally meet you mate! Louis’ said so much! So you’re, um, going to be at the show?”
“Nice clothes mate!” Michael interrupts, but slinks back when he receives a glaring look from Louis.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Eros says with a beaming smile, looking adoringly at Louis, which causes the band to swap quick, wide eyed glances.
“Harry and I were just chatting, do you mind coming back in a minute?” Louis says, hoping the message of get the fuck out of here please comes across as politely as possible.
“Oh, sure, course! We’ll wait for you before we crack open the beers,” Matt says before he shoos the rest of the band out of the door, smiling politely before beginning to close the door.
“Nice to meet you Harry!” Isaac calls behind him before the door slams.
Eros turns to Louis, confused. “They’ve never met him?”
“No, uh, not properly at least. Our schedules don’t cross all that often so, they’ve never met him. Clearly they know about him though.”
“Oh yes, I could just feel the excitement radiating from each of them,” he says, “they’re cackling down the hall as we speak, giddy like children that they met the famous Harry.”
“He is famous though.”
“I sensed that.”
“Anyways, if the actual Harry doesn’t come that’s going to be a tough one to explain.”
“And my clothes aren’t?” He looks Louis up and down, “doesn’t seem like you earth people share my style. Or really any style at all.”
“Stranger things have been worn by Harry, trust me, you won’t be shocking anyone.”
“He seems fun, I can’t wait to meet him tonight.”
“He won’t come.”
“He will.”
“No he won’t.”
“Yes, he will.”
“No, he won’t.”
“Are you always this stubborn?”
“Yes, of course I am, he wrote about it once.”
Eros chuckles to himself, “oh, you’re both performers, that makes sense.”
“I think singer-songwriters is a more appropriate title, thank you very much.”
“And what have you sung-song written about him then?”
Louis scoffs, “God, you’re really into the personal stuff aren’t you?”
“Oh darling, I excel in the personal stuff,” Eros hums, “I’m not even using my gifts to persuade you to tell me the true personal stuff.”
“Your gifts?”
“I can manipulate the pleasure centres in people's minds, makes it easier to make them talk,” he says as if anybody could do that.
“Right, yeah course, pleasure centres.”
“For example, right now,” he brings himself back up and close to Louis, pressing himself closer to him to the point Louis can feel the heat radiating from him and can see his pupils dilate, filling in the greens, “do you want to tell me more?”
Louis feels his face flush and shit, he really wants to tell him more. He feels an overwhelming urge to pull that stupid ginger hair and grab him and kiss him like he would with Harry, to tell this stranger all the details about his love life just like he asked, because that’s what he wants to do. He doesn’t feel spaced out or possessed, or like he’s being controlled, he just seems to want to talk.
“Yes, I do.”
“So what do you want to tell me?”
“I want to tell you about Harry,” he whispers against Eros’ lips, using all his might to hold himself back from climbing him like a tree. It’s an awfully genuine feeling.
Suddenly, Eros steps back, and the feeling is gone. “See, I told you, pleasure centres. I’m not usually that intense, but I needed you to feel it to believe me.”
“Oh God, were you going to make me cheat on Harry?” Louis yells, probably too loudly considering his bandmates are probably piled up with an ear each pressed to the door.
“No, I wasn’t, I wanted you to tell me more, you just already had that feeling inside of you. If I didn’t look like your lover you wouldn’t have wanted that, and I wouldn’t have made you done anything. But you just revealed to me what you really badly want is this Harry.”
And shit, Louis really wants to slap him now.
“I do, is that a shock? I thought that was established by now.”
“I didn’t know you wanted it that badly and I must say, I was tempted myself, you smell wonderful.”
“Ugh,” Louis says, “you really are a creep.”
“This Harry is a lucky guy, if you were mine I wouldn’t be able to stay away.”
Louis really wants to start yelling now, but luckily there’s another knock at the door that interrupts his protests.
“Louis, I’m here to do your hair, I know you’ve messed it up by now.” Krystal’s voice comes from behind the door.
“Just a second,” Louis sighs.
“Has she met Harry?” Eros asks and Louis doesn’t answer. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“It’s for the best if you just teleport out of here, I really don’t know what you can do for me. You’ve barged into my dressing room, tried to read my mind, convinced me the impossible will happen and then tried to make me fuck you and spill the details of my relationship. I appreciate the effort but I need these last few moments to get ready.”
“Without me?” Eros says with a pout.
“Yeah, of course without you, did you not hear when I said ‘you need to teleport out of here?’”
“Ouch Louis Tomlinson, I’m hurt.”
“Please, today has been a massive mind fuck and the last thing I need is for you to mess with my head more.”
“Fine,” Eros whines, “but I’ll leave you on this. You think that this silence is going to heal you but it won’t. You’re both too defensive and you need to stop thinking that if you believe hard enough, everything will go back to how it was. You need to stop wallowing and let your love grow with you otherwise you are doomed for disappointment. And you” he points to Louis, “need to open up. It’s suffocating you.”
He stands firmly on the ground and takes a long deep breath. “I hope to see you soon, Louis Tomlinson.”
“Yeah uh- likewise Eros.”
In almost an instant, a piercing rainbow of lights fills the room, and a whoosh of wind knocks Louis off of his feet and onto his arse. It’s over in a flash and Eros is gone, leaving no trace he was ever there.
After the dust quite literally settles, Louis gets up and pats himself down, quickly adjusting the plant that toppled over and making sure he looks presentable before inviting Krystal in.
“Oh darling,” she sighs as she walks in, eying Louis up and down, “what did I tell you about messing up your hair?”
Louis glances at himself at the mirror and sees his hair, which he had previously mussed to perfection, sticking up at a hundred different angles, looking like the victim of a nearby explosion.
Thanks Eros.
Krystal makes her way to Louis and gently puts her hand on his shoulder, pushing him towards his chair and trying her best to restore his hair to its previous state.
“Boy troubles?” She asks, running a comb through his hair and noting the distracted look on his face.
“Hah. Don’t you know it,” he replies bluntly, wincing as she rips through a knot.
“Don’t sweat it love, if he comes, he’ll come, and if he doesn’t, he’s lost out on an amazing Friday night.”
“Thank you Krystal.”
“I mean it! You’re wonderful, and you know he’ll come back sooner or later.”
Louis exhales deeply and tries to contain a frown. “It’s just, this is my biggest show, I want him to see me like this, just, in my element, y’know?”
“I want to give him a good talking to, he knows what he’s missing and if he’s not here, he’s a stupid stupid man. His head needs to be set on straight.”
“Poor choice of words love.”
Krystal rolls her eyes and rips another knot from his hair, “you know what I meant.”
After a few more minutes of strategic combing and spraying, his hair has returned to its regular glory, and she practically has to wrestle him away from running his fingers through it.
He finally exits his dressing room to find the rest of his band waiting apprehensively, eyes glued to him curiously.
“Sooo,” Michael asks with wide eyes, “how did things go with Harry?”
He stands still for a moment, brain whirring with excuses to make and alibis to say as to why ‘Harry’ vanished mysteriously but instead settles on, “ah, fuck him, let's do shots!” Which prompts a raucous cheer from all of them, Steve practically tripping over his own feet to retrieve the vodka.
And so Harry is forgotten, by the band and by Louis, for the fast hour before they have to step onstage. His nerves about him settle temporarily, focussing their energy into pumping himself full of adrenaline, knowing that thousands and thousands of people will be dancing and cheering for him, and it’s okay if Harry’s not one of those thousands. He has most of what he needs, and that’s okay for tonight.
He’s about to go onstage, getting pats on the backs and kisses on his temples from his mates, everybody who supports him swarming him and surrounding him with love.
Except for Harry a voice in his head nags briefly, but he catches Charlie flashing him a toothy grin and a thumbs up and is dissipates.
The lights begin to flash and the cheering fills his ears as he takes a few moments to just breathe, settling his restless heart and whispering to himself you’re going to have a good time.
And then he steps out on stage at his cue, the roar of the arena penetrating his in ear monitors and bathing him in glory. His eyes don’t wander to the box in the top corner, they just skim over the crowds jumping and hollering, for him.
And so he starts singing, from his heart. We made it. He’s made it. It’s cyclical.
He hasn’t quite meditated on the fact that this place is truly where his journey started, the slabs of wood where he’s planted himself now as a man, singing the songs he wrote and means as a man are in the same place he was a nervous teenager, shakily making his way through an unrehearsed cover of Hey there Delilah. He’s not just being watched anymore, he’s being experienced, by people he is so endlessly grateful to call his fans.
As they cheer and belt their way through his opening song, he remembers every emotion that ran through him on this stage all those years ago. The stress, anxiety, worry but also the triumph, jubilation and euphoria, the butterflies that formed when a stupid boy in a green polo and with a wide grin threw himself into Louis and latched himself to him for the foreseeable future.
We made it! He sings with full sincerity because Jesus Christ, has he ever.
By the time the song is over, he’s so excited by the whole ordeal he doesn’t even think to look up and instead, bathes himself in the light and lets himself be reborn. It isn’t until he stops briefly after three songs to acknowledge the audience that he brings his gaze high up enough that he sees a shadow in the box that is undeniably, and unmistakably Harry Styles.
He came.
So he keeps talking, thanking everyone for coming, for their support and then before he can stop himself, he’s saying more. “This venue is special to me, incredibly special because it all started right here,” he points to the stage beneath him, “all those years ago, as a little boy with no idea who he could become so again, thank you, thank you so much.” The crowd roars again but his eyes go back to the box and he smiles. He doesn’t even care at this point, he just hopes he can see the beam on his face and knows what he means beneath that.
Once he’s finished his speech, he’s a little choked up, and really prays that at this moment, none of the camera people decide to push in on his face, and illuminate his forming tears onto the big screen. “Anyways uh, this is Always You!” He announces and the arena lights up once more.
Again, he means every word that he sings and that his people echo back to him, it was always you, I should have never let you go, I can feel it.
Through the remainder of the show he has to continuously remind himself to keep his focus on the crowd, and to not just sing looking directly into the shadows of the arena, he even thinks he sees the band having a giggle as he forcibly shuts his eyes in Habit, scared he might never look away if he looks up again.
He’s on top form, there’s no other way to say it. He’s effortless, chatting with the crowd, flipping them off to gain another round of screams, chuckling at little jokes that nobody will believe he acknowledged. At Only the Brave he has to stop himself from tearing up again because he makes the mistake of looking up, and sees Harry’s shadow perched with a teeny flag in hand, joining the thousands of others waving about, telling him that you’ve made this place our safe space, a thousand silent thank you’s in the forms of various rainbows. When the show comes to a close, he trashes himself around to the sounds of crashing drums and wailing guitars and cheering crowds, shouting away from the mic that he never wants it to end, but it has to, so with a broken voice he calls his goodnights and waves, skipping off the stage giddy like a teenager.
“Holy shit!” He screams as his peers all pull close together in a huddle, all jumping around and yelling, “that was so fucking good! You were so fucking good! All of yous!” His heart is still racing, more so than after any previous show because Harry was there too.
The drinks start flowing again, cold beers and shots in plastic cups and Louis hasn’t felt this loved and happy in so long that he doesn’t even notice when Harry walks in.
The real Harry this time.
He doesn’t actually notice until Michael calls it out, yelling over the top of the music, “hey Harry’s back! In normal clothes!” To which Zak elbows him in the rib.
Louis turns around and indeed, Harry’s there, smiling at him with kind eyes, with his regular coloured hair and normal, non-interdimensional clothing.
“Hi,” he manages to stutter, aware that he’s back to being watched.
“Hi,” Harry replies warmly.
“Should uh, we talk?”
“Oh, yes, sure, good thinking.”
Louis turns to face his friends who are trying (and failing) to look as nonchalant and uninvested in their business as possible. “I’ll uh, be back in a minute.”
When he shuts the door of his dressing room behind him, he’s at a complete loss for words, and so stares at Harry idiotically for about half a minute until his brain can compute a single sentence.
“So, you came.” Is what he finally lands on, and he wants to punch himself.
“Oh, um, yeah, I did.”
The silence rings between them for a few more moments before Harry speaks up, an apologetic look in his eyes. “Look I know I should have texted or something, I’m shit I know, but I’m here now, and I’m sorry. I couldn’t let you down again, and I just wanted to come here and let you know that you were fantastic, you always are, and the way you were tonight? I am just so, so proud of you, I just hope you know.”
And Louis can’t think of any words to say again, so he just jumps forwards and kisses him, their lips slotting together harmoniously and making Louis wonder how he ever managed to go without him. He lets his mind re-familiarise his taste, his touch, the way his hair feels under his meandering fingers. When they finally pull apart, Louis smiles wider than he thinks he’s ever smiled before.
“Are we alright then?” He asks in a whisper against Harry’s lips.
“Yeah, of course we are.” He clears his throat and speaks again, “I uh, also wanted to let you know that I’ve been cast in a marvel movie.”
Louis groans and drops his head, “for fucks sake,” he mumbles, “is it some guy named Eros?”
Harry looks at him, a mix of confusion and shock mingling on his face, “how did you know?”
“Lucky guess.”
They emerge from the dressing room a few minutes later, after having kissed again, talked, and then kissed some more, rejoining the others who had continued the party without them.
“Oh, I don’t think I’ve met you guys yet! I’m Harry, Louis’ told me so much about you lot,” he says to the band, smiling as they look at each other, and then back at Louis more perplexed than ever, but once again he distracts their questions with an invitation to a night out on the town, and their questions disappear.
“So, I guess that invitation might not extend to me,” Harry chuckles.
“No, I mean, yes, I mean,” he hides his face in his hands, “we can find somewhere discreet you know? London has them, we have connections, can’t be too hard?”
“Do you want to go out?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Well, there’s a chilled beer in my fridge that’s been practically screaming your name ever since I bought it, if you’d be interested?”
Louis smiles and takes his arm, “I think I would like that very much.”
As they walk off together, his security wrestling Harry into a high vis vest and black mask, Louis spots a figure in the back, one foot propped up against the wall and a victorious smirk on his face.
“I told you he’d come!” Eros calls over the commotion, and disappears into the shadows.
“Whatcha smiling at?” Harry asks, trying to look at what caught Harry’s attention.
“Oh, no-one. I’m just glad you made it.”
“I was always going to come, you know that right?”
“Of course I do Harry, of course I do.”
And the memory of the mysterious stranger with Harry’s eyes and lips and body fades, replaced only with the thoughts of his Harry, present beside him with his own eyes, lips and body.