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Indian or Chinese?”

“Chinese, please,” Zayn says, and tries to swallow his worry.

If Louis had a single, tiny bit of self-preservation instinct left, he‟d end

it now. He‟d put a stop to this thing with Harry and walk away with a

lot of decent memories and at least a little self-respect. That‟s exactly

what he should do. He should sit down with Harry, explain that hey,

they had some laughs, and now it‟s run it‟s course, so let‟s be friends,

yeah? No hard feelings.

He‟s not going to do that. He knows it, the way he knew in school that

he would leave every assignment until the last minute and the way he

knows he‟ll always hit the snooze button at least once in the morning.

It‟s stupid, and it‟s going to fuck him over, and he‟s still going to

completely fail to end this. Maybe a stronger, smarter person would be

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able to look Harry in the eye and tell him they didn‟t want him, but

Louis has no illusions of being that person. So he needs to find a Plan

B.

The only way this is going to work, the only way Louis is going to

make it through the next few months alive, is if it‟s just sex. Nothing

sweet, nothing gentle. He can‟t let Harry touch him like he means

something. He can‟t let Harry smile when he kisses him, can‟t let his

thumb trace over the corners of Harry‟s mouth when he does. He can‟t

let himself sink back into this. He won‟t. He knew the warning signs

before and chose to ignore them. This time he knows better. This time

he‟ll trust his instincts when alarm bells start going off, when too close,

too much starts running on loop in his brain. He can still make this

work. He can still win this thing. God knows he‟s done it before.

Apparently Zayn did not think his promise not to interfere with things

extended to include not telling anybody he was back in town, because

he wakes up Saturday morning to a text from Niall calling him a dick

and a text from Harry that he puts off for an hour before finally biting

the bullet and opening it up.

a little blonde birdy told me that you‟re back!!! hope you‟re feeling

better.. let me make you dinner tonight, yeah ? miss you xx

Louis only spends about ten minutes with his face buried in his hands.

He can‟t just blindly react to this. That‟s how he got into this mess in

the first place. He needs to strategize.

All right. What are his options? He could say yes, of course, if he

wanted to sabotage himself completely and spend a few hours mooning

at Harry across his stupid fucking table in his stupid fucking flat. No

thanks. Louis can admit that he wants to see him, as much as it makes

him hate himself, but he‟s not an idiot. He can‟t go on like before, not

when he knows how hollow it all is. That‟s off the table.

He could blow Harry off completely. He could ignore the text, or just

turn him down. It‟s tempting, because it gives him more time before he

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has to look Harry in the eye again, but he knows it‟ll backfire. It‟s too

out of character. Harry will figure out something‟s up and ask

questions, or he‟ll talk to Zayn and Niall and they‟ll ask questions, and

if Harry comes to Louis angry or upset and looking for answers Louis

is terrified of what truths might come out of his mouth. He‟s a good

actor, but he‟s not that good.

It‟s decided, then. Harry can‟t know anything‟s wrong. It has to be

down the middle. There‟s no chance of a clean break, so it‟ll have to be

a slow drift, a gradual slide away from him that pulls them apart

without Louis having to ever talk about it. Hell, if he plays this right,

Harry won‟t even notice.

Louis pretends he doesn‟t notice the way his stomach twists at that

thought.

feeling better, yeah. why don‟t you come over to mine instead? i‟ll

order in and we can play doctor ;)

He taps out the message carefully and hits send.

They set a time and Louis spends the rest of the day talking himself up

for what he‟s going to have to do. He doesn‟t care. He does not care.

He‟s losing Harry and he doesn‟t care because why the fuck should he?

If he tells himself this enough times eventually it‟ll be true.

The weather seems to be in on it too, turning dark and stormy in the

late morning and pissing down rain for hours, turning the world beyond

his balcony gray and heavy. Matches his mental state. He sits out there

with his knees pulled up to his chest and lets little flecks of rain splash

onto him from the edge of the balcony and watches the time tick down

on his phone, and he‟s going to do this. He‟s going to treat this just like

he intended at the beginning, just like everyone he‟s been with between

age twenty and now, like it doesn‟t mean anything, like he doesn‟t feel

anything about it.

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Then he opens the door and Harry is there, solid and gorgeous and

smiling, and God, Louis is so, so fucked.

“Hi,” Harry says, ducking inside and kissing Louis hello before Louis

even has a chance to deflect it. Louis at least manages to gather himself

enough to step sideways out of his hug, although it‟s a near thing, and

it‟s harder than he ever anticipated to pretend like he doesn‟t want it.

“Don‟t let the rain in,” Louis says. He steps back and leaves Harry to

toe off his muddy boots and shake out his hair, and he feels a stab of

anger, too, on top of the ache. If Harry‟s going to leave him then he

could have the decency to make it a little easier on Louis. It‟d be nice if

he‟d be a little less goddamn lovely for a second so Louis didn‟t have

to spend every second in his presence swimming upstream. Louis likes

that anger; he grabs onto it, clings to it. He‟s going to need an anchor,

and being pissed off is nice and familiar.

“Feeling better?” Harry says as he shrugs out of his jacket.

“Oh yeah, loads,” Louis lies, as if his sides don‟t feel like they‟re

splitting open as they fucking speak. “Good as new.”

“Good, I was worried,” Harry says. Louis is just going to pretend he

doesn‟t say the last part.

Normally Louis doesn‟t mind talking to Harry about nothing for hours,

but with London looming over their heads like an axe, small talk is

excruciating. And besides, he doesn‟t care, right? What would he do if

he didn‟t care?

“So,” he says brightly. “London, hm? That‟s exciting.”

Harry‟s eyes light up, and Louis is going to be sick everywhere. “Yeah!

I‟m really excited, it‟s going to be great, I think. I actually talked to my

boss—well, my future boss, I guess—over break, and I think we‟re

going to get along really well, which is good.” He twists his face into a

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wry little smile. “I‟ve never had a proper full-time job before, so it‟d be

bad if my boss and I hated each other straight off.”

How the hell had Louis not seen this coming? “That‟s definitely good,”

he says, swallowing dryly. He turns his back on Harry and heads off

into the kitchen, where the Indian delivery is already waiting on the

counter. He pulls a plate down—just one—and starts helping himself.

“Went ahead and ordered the usual.” He winces at the phrasing. He‟s

going to have to start cutting that sort of stuff out, “the usual,” anything

that refers to them as a unit or refers to their history. They don‟t have a

shared history anymore, just like they don‟t have a shared future.

Harry‟s been over for a grand total of five minutes, and now Louis is

getting worked up over Indian food. Fucked. So, so fucked.

Harry grabs a second plate and starts loading it up, leaning into Louis‟

side at the counter. Louis allows it, but doesn‟t lean back, doesn‟t let

himself enjoy the warm weight. He drops his plate onto the kitchen

table and moves to the fridge, grabbing himself a beer.

“Get one for me too, babe?” Harry says, his mouth already half full of

food, and Louis squeezes his eyes shut tightly for a second before

reaching back into the fridge and grabbing another bottle. He sets it

down next to Harry rather than handing it to him and then moves on to

his own plate, safe on the other side of the table.

“How was Doncaster?” Harry says once he‟s swallowed. “Were the

girls all home?”

And, okay, this can‟t happen. He can‟t let Harry anywhere near that

part of his life.

“Fine, fine,” Louis says. “Good to see them. What about you? Get up to

anything exciting?” Harry blinks a little at the brush-off, but takes it in

stride.

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“Did some looking around about flats in London,” he says, looking

eager. “Gemma‟s helping me out, giving me some advice. I called a

couple of places up, seeing if they think there‟ll be vacancies in July.”

“Sounds fun,” Louis says, tucking into his food with much more

urgency than is necessary.

“Yeah, the place I‟m going to be working is in a really cool part of

London,” Harry says excitedly. “Lots to do around there, it‟s brilliant.

I‟ve been to that area before but it‟s going to be amazing to actually,

like, live there, you know?”

“Sounds great,” Louis says flatly. He carries on shoveling food into his

mouth so he has an excuse to not to say anything else.

Harry nods excitedly. “You‟d really like it there, Lou. Lots of exciting

artist types. Actors too.” He raises his eyebrows, as if he expects Louis

to chime in with how pleased he is that Harry is going to be constantly

surrounded by gorgeous eccentric people the second he leaves. All he

can hear every time Harry opens his mouth is I can‟t wait to leave you,

and Harry seems to expect him to nod along happily.

“Well, I‟m a boring teacher type,” Louis says, “so I‟m sure it‟ll suit you

better than it would me.”

“No, I swear, it‟s the coolest,” Harry goes on. “There are all these

different weird restaurants everywhere, and this place that one of my

friends says has these crazy fruit tarts, and all kinds of shops, and

there‟s a tube stop like twenty feet away from where my offices are

gonna be, and it‟s London so I‟ll never run out of things to take pictures

of. It‟s perfect.”

“Perfect,” Louis echoes back.

“I think there should be some flats around there that I can afford, but

I‟ll have to actually go down there to check them all out first. Rent

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shouldn‟t be too bad if I‟m splitting it,” Harry says brightly, and that‟s

all Louis can take.

“Well, I hope you can find a flatmate, then,” he says.

It‟s silent at the table for a moment, and Louis just keeps staring down

at his plate, busily sawing a piece of chicken in half.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “I guess.” He chews thoughtfully for a bit, brow

furrowed, swallows, and then looks up. “Lou.”

Nothing good is going to come from that tone of voice. “Yes, Harold?”

Harry doesn‟t smile at the nickname, just keeps looking serious.

“There‟s something I want to talk to you about.”

No, no, absolutely not. Abort mission, release parachute,

motherfucking eject. Louis is very familiar with nervousness, but this is

absolute hair-raising panic. He has no idea what Harry is going to say,

but he‟s damn sure he doesn‟t want to hear it. He‟s never had a

conversation that started like this end well in his life, and somehow he

doubts this is gonna be the one to break the pattern. This needs to get

derailed now.

So Louis does the only thing he can think to do and stands up from the

table. “There will be plenty of time to talk later,” he says, pitching his

voice low. “I‟ve got other plans for you tonight.” Harry looks a little

exasperated but mostly amused as Louis comes around the table and

slides into his lap. Looping his arms around Harry‟s neck, Louis leans

in and lets his lips brush just below his ear. “I‟ve missed you,” he says,

and the worst part is it isn‟t even a lie.

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but Louis seals it shut with a

rough kiss. He presses his chest flush against Harry‟s and rolls his hips,

desperate to get things moving before Harry remembers to finish

whatever he was going to say.

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It takes Harry a few moments to respond, and when he does, it‟s only to

wrap his hands around Louis‟ waist, and God, it shouldn‟t be possible.

Harry‟s hands are impossibly huge and impossibly gentle on him and

Louis feels himself crumbling under the touch, and it just shouldn‟t

happen like this, not when he‟s trying so fucking hard to protect

himself. It‟s like it takes all his willpower to remember the reality of

the situation, and Harry shouldn‟t have that power over him. It‟s not

fair. He deserves to be able to sleep with a pretty boy without it feeling

like it matters.

He tries to grind his hips down again, screws his eyes shut and bites