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In the midst of everything else going on right now, the last thing Harry wants is to sit through yet another grueling interview. To hear an endless parade of questions about his potential suitors, his family, his personal life that he explicitly tells them beforehand he wants to keep off of the radar.
It takes everything in him not to call and cancel. At eight-thirty in the morning, he’d much rather crawl back into bed and hide his face underneath the pillow than be scrutinized under a microscope again. He’s got nothing else to do today, so the idea tempts him more than normal.
Despite the nagging headache he can feel working its way up to his temples, Harry throws a leg over the side of his bed and stands to get dressed.
He’d set out an outfit to wear yesterday when he’d been admittedly more optimistic, a lilac, glittery top with some high-waisted trousers and his favorite shoes that have a small rainbow over the top. It’s a piece he was excited about when he first got it but now, after one too many people have felt comfortable assuming things about him based on his clothing choices, Harry glances down at his matching lilac nails and reconsiders.
He leaves it set out across the bed while he goes to brush his teeth. There’s a car set to pick him up in thirty minutes, so he doesn’t waste any time critiquing his appearance in the mirror. His stubble is overgrown now as he eyes it in the reflection. He could probably do with a shave, but there isn’t time right now. With nervous hands, he adjusts his hair until it’s less sleep-pressed and slips his pearls over his head to rest comfortably, familiar around his neck.
The sequins stare intimidatingly back at him where they rest flat on the sheets. Harry weighs his options, running a careful hand over the fabric he’d been so happy about wearing before. It’s a familiar risk, putting himself out there, but he’ll have to decide if the implications are something he’s emotionally able to handle today.
The trousers fit him perfectly, sliding over his calves and thighs until they rest snugly around his hips. Harry slides his sleep shirt off and picks up the blouse.
It looks just as good on him as the moment he first tried it on, but he’s missing that same level of confidence. His gaze runs over the loose, hanging sleeves, the glitter glinting in the glass, the unbuttoned collar exposing the top part of his chest. He’s never met the person who’s supposed to interview him today but he’s sure they’ll have something to say if he walks in wearing this.
Harry sighs and goes to slip it back off right when his phone vibrates on top of the dresser. The car is downstairs waiting for him.
He curses and slips the shoes on on his way to the door, grabbing a large black sweatshirt off of the back of the sofa to put on in the car. Fumbling for his keys, the lock clicks and he rushes to the elevator and out to the car.
“Hi, sorry I’m late,” he tells the driver.
They wave him off politely, reminding him they have plenty of time. In the privacy of the backseat, Harry pulls the thick black material over his hair, leaving it ruffled with no mirror to fix it again.
Feeling decidedly less himself, he leans his head back against the seat and bites back frustrated tears. The worst part of all of this is that he has no way to prepare. He’s allowed to give them a list of no’s - topics he doesn’t want to be asked about - but most of the time they find clever loopholes to ask anyway or just ignore it altogether.
But he can’t exactly tell people to fuck off when he preaches to treat people with kindness, can he, even when they don’t treat him kindly back.
Thin fingers find the line of pearls resting just above his neckline. Harry smooths the pad of his pointer finger over each ball, clinking them together. Then, as the car pulls to a stop out front of the building, he shoves the entire thing underneath the black so that it’s covered, too.
He’d gotten an email a few days prior that detailed the interviewer and the purpose for the debut, but he hadn’t read it. What would have been the point, truly, anyway? They’re all the same.
Slipping a half-smile onto his face for any cameras that might be out, Harry thanks the person who opened his door and waves at the fans gathered at the entrance. He’s ushered inside without time to stop properly to say hello by two bodyguards on either side.
Which is yet another thing that irks him about his fame, he supposes. Sometimes the fans are the only people he feels actually understand what he’s trying to say. Magazines and interviews always twist his words, make it sound like he said something he hadn’t. These people, the ones that support him endlessly, mean everything to him. He would spend days getting to know each of them if he could.
A firm hand steering him the right direction on his back reminds him he can’t. He’s led through several dark hallways until they get to a blank door at the end, the only light on in the building over the top of it.
When he’s left alone, Harry knocks lightly on it.
“Come in,” he hears softly from the other side.
Harry expects cameras. He expects a stern, smirking interviewer behind a desk and bright lights aimed directly at him. He expects microphones in every corner, waiting patiently for him to stumble over his words so they can edit it into something else entirely.
It’s not what he gets. Instead, the room is painted a warm tan color, posters and memorabilia hung on each of the walls. There are two couches, no desks, and a coffee table in the middle with snacks and some water bottles. Even the rug beneath all of it is a soft, fluffy white that Harry imagines would feel amazing on his tired feet.
Then, in the corner, there is movement. Harry’s eyes fly to it from where he’s standing frozen in the doorway. A man much shorter than himself stands abruptly, huffing as he uses the side of the couch to get to his feet.
“Sorry,” he says, voice light and airy, refreshing, “This lamp has been broken for days now and for some reason I thought it right this second would be a good time to try and fix it.”
He laughs lightly, side-stepping the table to get to Harry. When he stops in front of him, he keeps a short, respectable distance.
“I’m Louis Tomlinson, it’s nice to meet you,” he offers a hand.
Harry accepts it automatically. It’s a habit of his to shake everyone’s hands when he enters a room and to introduce himself but he’s still a bit stunned at the change of scenery. No matter how hard he stares, he can’t find one camera or microphone. They must be well-hidden, he figures. To trick him into being more comfortable, revealing more information to use against him later.
“Harry,” he offers blankly, running his tongue over his dry lips.
“Come in, please,” Louis gestures, widening the door for him to slip past.
When he shuts it, Harry realizes it’s sound proof, the thick padding layering the entire backside of it and some of the wall space as well. He isn’t sure if that makes him feel safer or more anxious.
“I’ve got tea, water, coffee, whatever you’d like,” Louis walks over to a small built-in kitchen area, grabbing himself a cup. “Would you like anything?”
“Some water would be great, thanks.”
Harry sits tentatively on the edge of one of the sofas, crossing his legs and trying to get comfortable despite the throbbing in his head and the ache in his back from being so tense. He tugs at the hem of the black sweatshirt compulsively.
“Here you go,” Louis hands him a clear glass, waiting until Harry takes it from him to sit on the sofa opposite him.
Underneath the snacks on the table, Harry can see a notepad. It’s got writing from the top to the very bottom line, scrawled notes with his name in them, scribbled out paragraphs here and there. His eyes snap up from it when Louis clears his throat.
“Thank you for being here. I know you’ve got a busy schedule and it means a lot that you agreed to this.”
Harry nods and takes a cool sip of his water even though he isn’t actually sure what he agreed to. At this point, he just wants to get this over with.
“Of course,” he says.
He watches as Louis fumbles for his notes, rearranging the food accordingly so it won’t fall. He used to be really good at reading people though he hasn’t tried in a while. Right now it seems like Louis is nervous.
Me too , Harry thinks.
“So, I’ve put together some questions for you,” Louis says, voice getting higher toward the end, “if there are any that you don’t feel comfortable answering just say so and we’ll move on.”
“Okay,” Harry agrees, then pauses, “shouldn’t there be a microphone or cameras?”
“Oh, I just record on my phone. And I don’t film anything. Although there is a wall over there for social media where I try to get pictures of the people that come in, but we don’t have to do that if you don’t want to.”
Swallowing so hard the column of his throat bobs once, twice, Harry watches with furrowed brows as color floods his cheeks. Louis looks down to hide it, focusing hard on his notes as he pulls out his phone from his pocket.
“Sorry, I ramble quite a bit,” he breathes a laugh.
Harry almost reassures him, then decides he wants to see how this plays out. The questions they ask him are always telling of what they truly want from him.
When he stays silent, Louis looks up at him questioningly and Harry simply nods. He shouldn’t be, but he’s kind of getting off on the fact that he feels like the one in control now. For once, he doesn’t feel stuck underneath a corporate thumb.
“I, uhm, the first thing - I wanted to start off simple. Just a few vague questions to get going,” he takes a deep breath at the same time Harry does, bracing himself for the inevitable. Then, “If you were reincarnated as one, which animal do you think you would be and why?”
A surprised laugh bubbles out of Harry’s lips unbidden, and Louis shrinks back into the cushion he’s leaning on.
“No, I - it’s a good question, it’s just, I hadn’t been expecting that,” Harry rushes, “Uhm, I guess I would just be like, a cat. They’re fairly calm and friendly most of the time, so.”
Louis’ face shifts from embarrassed to amused as his eyes light up again, a small grin on his lips.
“That’s what I’ve always said. I’ve got two at home that I blend right in with most of the time,” he chuckles.
“Exactly, exactly,” Harry smiles.
Usually Harry couldn’t care less about what the person on the other side of the table thinks. Right now though, it is comforting to hear Louis’ feedback as well.
He feels better now but he’s still waiting for it. Inevitably, there’s got to be something coming that will throw him off, put him in the same category as everyone else. These are just the opening questions, and Harry’s only been here for ten minutes or so when he checks the time. He doesn’t let his hopes get too high.
“Okay, next one. Which Disney princess do you feel you’re the most like?”
“Ah, these are hard,” Harry hums, hiding his relieved grin in his chest, “I think probably Ariel.” Louis hadn’t even asked why, but Harry continues, “I love being in water and I - she’s got a good sense of fashion. And she’s clumsy.”
He’d paused in the middle, ready to say something along the lines of one time I bought a seashell bra as a joke and didn’t take it off for days , but he bites his tongue.
Louis giggles again.
“Fair enough. Another easy one - favorite color.”
“Blue,” Harry answers easily. “It’s calming.”
“Like the sea or like baby blue, or…?”
Harry ponders, “More of a baby blue, probably. But I also like orange.”
Louis honks a laugh at the stretch, slapping a hand over his mouth immediately afterwards. He asks Harry several more questions about trivial topics like his favorite kind of weather and what he likes on a sandwich, things that make Harry so unbelievably relieved he feels like he could jump across the table and tackle him in a hug.
It’s been years since he’s had an interview like this one. One where he wasn’t waiting on the edge of his seat to get out as soon as possible. Where the person wasn’t either trying to seduce him or asking about who he wanted to seduce.
Louis’ voice is so soft and soothing that Harry feels much more relaxed now, clenched fists unfurling in his lap. He’s leaned back in the cushions as they check more of the adorably simple questions off of his list.
It says a lot about Louis that this may be a once in a lifetime opportunity for him and yet he’s still not pushing for gossip. Harry watches him with interested eyes, his small body only taking up half of the middle cushion across from him.
“Alright then, I think we’ve done all of the easy ones,” he crosses some more things off of his notepad, “Ready for the harder ones now?”
Sombering, Harry straightens his back again and nods. At this point, he’s going to be bummed if Louis ruins the atmosphere.
“Your style has changed a lot over the last few years,” Harry tenses at Louis’ words, “you’ve become such an inspiration to young people that are still figuring out their own aesthetics. Is there somewhere you get ideas from or do you come up with the pieces yourself?”
Glancing down at the lilac peaking out just barely from underneath the sweatshirt, Harry clears his throat.
“Definitely not all myself. I work with Harris Reed a lot, they design most everything I wear now. It’s been amazing, really. I get to pick out things that I like and they make them even more well-suited for me. They let me kind of tap into that side of me that I hadn’t necessarily gotten to before.”
He doesn’t realize he’d been tugging at the pearls again until Louis’ eyes focus there. Harry drops them immediately, letting them thud back onto his chest. Louis’ lips turn downward on one side.
“That’s really great,” Louis says quietly, “I know it’s - I know you’ve helped a lot of people by getting to do that.”
As he flips the page over, Harry catches the lightest shade of blue he’s ever seen painted thinly on Louis’ nails. His breath catches in his throat. It’s subtle enough that he could play it off if he needed to. Harry’s familiar with the feeling.
“I know there are probably things you like about both of them, but which album would you say was more fun to make?” He changes the subject before Harry can say anything about it.
“Probably this one, I’d say. The first one I felt like was necessary. Things I had inside that I just wanted to get off my chest. But this one was just fun. A lot more upbeat.”
Louis nods, “Your lyrics are so - they just paint such a vivid picture when you listen to the music. I think it’s cool that you don’t ever say the true meaning behind them so people can derive their own meaning from it. So without saying too much, if there was one thing you wanted people to take away from your latest album specifically, like a life lesson or something, what would it be?”
Without staring at him outright, Louis’ eyes flicker between him and his notes, patiently waiting for his answer without rushing him.
“Maybe that, I don’t know, I think most of it was just me being dramatic but, there a few hidden messages in there, I think. I guess I would tell people not to get too in your own head. It can be scary when you’re thinking too much and you isolate yourself. I have to remind myself not to do that a lot,” Harry reasons.
When Louis brings his legs up onto the sofa next to him to get comfortable, Harry realizes he’d already done the same thing. His own legs are crossed on the cushions, his hands resting in his lap without thinking much about it.
It’s getting hot in the room now, the overhead light beating down on both of them. Louis’ in short sleeves but Harry’s got on two long sleeved shirts. Biting his lip, he grabs the hem of the sweatshirt and glances up at Louis.
“D’you mind if I,” he gestures.
“No, not at all. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
He pretends to look over his writing again while Harry tugs it off and sets it next to him on the sofa. The glitter is heavy but the entire back of the shirt is sheer, and he feels much better with the big sweatshirt finally off.
“Okay,” he sighs, signalling that it’s okay for Louis to continue.
“You’ve created such a welcoming environment for your fans at concerts and when they meet you. People feel more comfortable to be themselves, which I know is something you said they’ve helped you to feel as well. Is there something you wish you could tell them, the people who might be struggling with those things?” Louis specifies.
“I wish I could have conversations with every one of them,” Harry answers earnestly. “They’re so important to me, like, they’re the whole reason I get to be able to do what I do. Performing is always wonderful because I get to be in a room full of, just - love. It’s amazing.”
Harry pauses, thinking over the second part of his question.
“As for the advice for people who are struggling, I would just have to say keep going. I know it’s overused but, some of the lowest points in my life I’ve gotten better simply because someone noticed my struggle and told me it would be okay. That things wouldn’t be that bad forever. It takes a lot to be strong, but I think it’s so worth it in the end.”
Louis looks at him with lowered eyes like he knows what he’s talking about. He hadn’t even asked that specific of a question and here he is laying his trauma out to be picked at all over again. He’s so used to it that he does it without being prompted now, apparently.
“This one is kind of personal,” he warns, “you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”
At Harry’s nod, he coughs lightly and looks down again.
“Where do you feel safest in the whole world?”
“Uh,” Harry stutters, unsure of what to say.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that one. Let me just,” he fumbles around, flipping pages, “sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m just thinking. It’s not too personal, I promise.”
He isn’t sure if he’s telling the truth really, but Louis’ face has gone from happy back to bright-red-embarrassed within seconds and Harry likes it much more when he’s smiling.
“If - if you’re sure,” he says softly.
“I think, probably when I’m back home. With my family. Nothing beats that feeling of just, not having to put on any sort of show. Just being able to exist without worrying about judgement or anything else.”
“Okay,” he practically whispers, “thank you. I think that’s everything I’ve got.”
Harry’s head snaps upwards. Surely that can’t be -
“You aren’t going to ask me about my family? About who I’m dating currently? Who my latest song was about?”
Louis’ brows furrow deeply, a frown set on his lips.
“All of those things are on your ‘no’ list,” he muses softly, a confused smile on his lips.
And what is Harry supposed to say to that? I know ? He can’t say he’s surprised Louis is a decent human being, that wouldn’t come across very nicely. So he just lets his mouth hang open slightly, eyes widening the more he realizes Louis is serious.
“Did you want me to ask some more, or,” Louis trails off.
Harry manages to pull himself together enough to seem intentional. Recrossing his legs, he raises an amused brow, noticing the phone still recording on the table between them.
“Well, I don’t have anything else to do today and I never get to ask the interviewer any questions,” Harry muses.
He’s not sure why he says it. Never in his life has he willingly stayed at one of these places longer than he had to. But something about the environment, the cozy setup instead of the clinical television set, makes him want to stay a bit longer. And Louis.
“I’m not all that interesting but, uhm, go ahead, if you want,” Louis mutters self-deprecatingly, already crossing his arms protectively over his stomach, setting his notepad off to the side.
“What made you decide to be a journalist?”
“I’m not really,” Louis shakes his head, “I have a degree in psychology, actually. I was really big into bands and musicians when I was younger and every interview I ever watched was just absolute garbage. You could always tell when the person being interviewed was uncomfortable and when they didn’t want to answer something.”
Harry doesn’t even blink for a few seconds, too enraptured by the words coming out of his mouth.
“When I graduated I saw, uhm, a particular interview,” Louis blushes again, continuing, “and I knew I wanted to create a source of information that fans actually wanted to know instead of just gossip headlines. A lot of times musicians put such personal messages in their work and yet all anyone seems to ask is who they’re sleeping with. I just - I got tired of it.”
“Well, you’ve certainly done a great job.”
“Really?” He asks, bright eyes catching his.
Harry nods, “I wasn’t uncomfortable once.”
Louis grins widely and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, shaking his head.
“Thank you, you have no idea what that means to me.”
Harry just lets him soak in the compliment for a minute because, for once, he really means it. Even at the very end, Louis had approached topics without pushing him too hard for information and he hadn’t once mentioned anything Harry said he didn’t want to talk about.
“If I’m still allowed to ask things,” Harry starts, “can I ask what interview did it for you?”
“That’s actually, uhm, why this was such a big deal for me,” Louis laughs anxiously, “I’m not usually this nervous.”
Harry’s head tilts to the side, confused for a few moments before he understands.
“Oh,” he says. “Was it - it was me ?”
Slowly, Louis’ head bobs.
“Yeah. It was this one interview from a couple of years ago when your first album came out. The questions were just awful, you looked so uncomfortable, and it felt dirty just watching it. When I saw that everyone else was agreeing online, I made it my goal to make people feel the opposite.”
Stunned silence falls over him. Not only is it the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, but Harry is the reason he wanted to do this? For some reason, his eyes fill with stunned wetness.
“Louis, that’s - you’re amazing.”
“I wasn’t trying to get you to -” he waves a hand.
“No, I mean it. That’s so incredible that you’re doing this for people. I bet everyone loves it.”
“Some of them, yeah,” he relents.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I only just started doing them last year. I’ve done a lot of internet people, some big names but mostly small. I don’t get like, a ton of views. It was a miracle that your team even saw my email,” he huffs out a laugh, “I love doing it but I was actually going to have to go back to my old job within the next few months or so.”
“Why? Do you not enjoy it?”
“No,” Louis shakes his head sharply, “I love doing this. It’s been so much fun to come up with questions and just meet cool people. It’s been amazing.”
“So…” Harry drawls, eyebrows raised.
Louis takes a hard glance around the room, “It’s just a lot. I don’t have any real equipment. All of the furniture is from my flat. All of my income depends on if people even respond to my emails or if I get any clicks online. Plus, I’ve got rent for this place, too, which isn’t cheap.”
Harry’s eyes settle on the broken lamp he’d been trying to fix earlier, limp in the corner against the wall. He deflates slightly, leaning back into the cushions.
“That’s not very fair,” he hums.
“It’s alright,” Louis placates, “It’s been cool just to get to do it for the time that I did. I’m so grateful for everyone that’s come in.”
He’s never seen Louis’ name anywhere and yet he’s more deserving of the views than most of the people that he talks with. He’s kind and respectful, traits Harry hasn’t seen in anyone in a long time now.
“Well, I hope you find a way to keep doing it. It would be a shame if you had to stop.”
“Yeah,” Louis smiles, “We’ll see.”
He stands and offers Harry a cookie from the table. Harry takes it as his cue to leave, accepting it half-gratefully and half-disappointedly and taking a bite.
“Oh, my God,” he mutters around a mouthful, “these are amazing. Did you make them?”
“Yeah, last night,” he blushes again.
“They’re amazing, truly. You know, I used to -”
“-be a baker,” Louis finishes, cheeks still red, “I know.”
Harry shoves the rest of the cookie into his mouth to avoid kissing him. He’s never been so happy leaving an interview before. Never wanted to just stay .
“Oh, there is one last thing I needed to ask,” Louis fumbles for his phone. “Do I have permission to use the recorded information that we spoke about today for my blog and website, and is there anything you’d like me to leave out if I do?” He recites prefessionally.
Glancing down at the phone between them, Harry considers it.
“Has anyone ever said no before? After an interview?”
“Yes. Once I had someone here for nearly four hours. I had prepared for weeks before and I thought they were really good questions. At the very end they said I couldn’t use any of it, they just needed to vent for a few hours.”
“That’s awful,” Harry frowns.
“It’s just a part of doing this,” he reasons, shrugging, “it doesn’t do any good to throw a fit or get upset.”
“Well feel free to use any part of this interview. It isn’t everyday that it’s so nicely done.”
It feels too soon when they shake hands again, too formal. In some ways Harry already feels like they’re friends.
“Thank you again, Harry. I’m - I’m very grateful.”
As soon as he turns the recorder off, Harry leans in closer in case anyone can hear them in the hallway where Louis’ got the door propped open now.
“I’ve got a single coming out in a few weeks. If you’re still doing this, email me again, yeah?”
“Oh, uhm, sure. Of course,” he fidgets, looking down at Harry’s top. “I really like this by the way,” he whispers.
“I really like the color you’ve chosen,” Harry compliments him back.
Louis glances around confused, fingering the material of his own top.
“Your nails,” Harry says clearly.
He turns to walk away just as Louis’ wide eyes look back up to his, bringing a nail up to his mouth to chew on anxiously.
“I - thank you,” he says.
“I’ll see you around, Louis.”
With a small wave, he walks back down the hallway to where another car is waiting. He greets several of the fans still there on the way out, shaking hands and signing his own merchandise. He doesn’t even let the pushy bodyguards shake his mood as he slides into the backseat of the car.
Only when he’s halfway back home does he realize he left his sweatshirt.
+
Waiting is the hardest part. Even though the interview itself had gone swimmingly, the cynical side of his brain reasons that Louis could still manipulate the information somehow. Everything he said could’ve been a lie, although Harry’s pretty sure it wasn’t.
He’d logged onto Louis’ blog the same day after the interview, curious to find out more. He doesn’t ever upload raw audio, which makes Harry breathe a small sigh of relief. Instead, Louis makes magazine-like spreads for his site that are all very aesthetically pleasing. For Harry’s, just posted yesterday, he’d used a tan and blue color palette and a type-writer font, and Harry loves it.
He realizes that they never got a picture together. Most of the other interviews have a single image of Louis and the celebrity at the top for reference before the information. Now he feels guilty - the least he could’ve done is gotten a picture with him. Harry supposed he’d been too distracted to remember.
So he comes to the conclusion relatively quickly that he wants to see him again, even if it’s only to take a picture and get his jacket back. He had to wait until the interview came out first, though.
It’d taken two weeks before it was uploaded to his page. Two weeks exactly, because Harry’s been checking every day.
If he wasn’t shocked already at how lovely Louis was, he even included a note at the end about the personal impact Harry’s had on his life. The nail polish had told him enough, but he mentions things that Harry would never have thought would’ve made such a big impact. Small, insignificant details that he hadn’t batted an eyelash at before showing them to the world.
On top of all of that, he’s been a fan for years now. He’d already sort of admitted to that but it still makes Harry’s heart flutter and his ego swell.
The article has over a million views. It’s been posted for just under twenty-four hours. Harry hopes it’ll be enough traffic to allow Louis to keep doing this. Just to be sure, he retweets it and follows Louis before locking his phone and going to email his manager.
Another two weeks pass before he gets to see him in person again. It’s more than enough time to prove to his label that those types of interviews are much more popular with fans. If he’d known it was so easy, Harry would have reached out to Louis years ago.
This time they’re going to talk about his new song that’s out in a few days. Unexpectedly, Harry’s buzzing with excitement as he bounds downstairs to the car, thinking of all of the new questions Louis might have.
He sends Louis a text because that’s something he can do now (he got it from his manager) that says he’s on his way. He’s learned several things about him during their conversations, like what time he wakes up and goes to sleep and how long he takes to get dressed in the morning.
Today, Harry’s wearing another one of his favorite shirts. A ruffled violet one with his nails painted to match. He’s anxious to see if Louis reacts positively. Because of how many views his last interview got in such a short amount of time, Harry hasn’t been forced into any others since.
“Louis,” he says, rounding the sharp corner to get to his open door.
“Hi,” Louis says, stuck between the couch and the wall awkwardly. “I got the lamp fixed.”
Harry laughs inappropriately hard. He crosses the small room quickly, offering a hand to help him out from behind the furniture.
“Let’s get this over with,” Louis sighs theatrically, grabbing his notebook again.
“Shut up,” Harry sneers. “You know I’m the most interesting person in the world.”
“I can’t argue with that,” he shrugs, already getting his phone out.
It still makes Harry’s own cheeks color slightly, settling comfortably on the opposing side of the table. He slips his shoes off, feeling the fluffy strips of the rug under his feet.
Louis asks him questions that actually make him think, and he still doesn’t even go near any of Harry’s ‘no’s’. His heart swells again. He offers Harry his sweatshirt back to which he politely declines, telling Louis it would look better on him. He blushes prettily for the next five minutes.
The entire thing seems much shorter than the first one, littered with bad jokes and more cookies and Louis’ light laughter, but he has just as much fun talking to him. Harry’s trial has worked, then. He’s decided.
He watches Louis stand, setting their cups near the sink and dusting crumbs off of his hands. Coming back over to the couch, he grabs his phone off of the table and locks it.
“Is it still recording?” Harry asks.
“No,” Louis shakes his head, grabbing his coat off of the sofa to leave. “I just turned it off.”
Smirking, Harry fights the smile off of his face and tries to appear serious, turning to look directly at Louis.
“So, hypothetically, I could ask you another question, off the record?”
Louis grins, nodding, slipping his fingers into his pockets.
“Do you want to go get something to eat with me?”
“I would love to,” he breathes happily.
When he glances down to take hold of Louis’ hand, his nails are painted a dark, striking blue.