𝒾𝒻 𝒾 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝓁𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒 (𝓁.𝓈.)

twenty

I feel fucking ridiculous right now, but there isn't much I wouldn't do for Harry. He asked for fairy lights, so fairy lights he'll get.

And I don't want to be cheap about it either. I have to find the perfect ones. Which is how I find myself halfway across town at an arts & crafts store, holding up a box of fairy lights with one of those fancy remotes that can change colors and patterns with the click of a button.

A hat is pulled low over my face, but of course that doesn't stop people from recognizing me. When I drop the box of lights on the counter to check out, the girl behind it, who looks to be maybe seventeen, with electric blue-dyed hair, raises her eyebrows in surprise when she sees me.

"Oh my God," she says. "You're Louis Tomlinson."

I grin at her bashfully. "That would be me, yeah," I say. "Did you want a picture or..."

She seems to snap out of a trance. "Oh! Yes please. I mean, if you don't mind."

"Of course, love." I love interacting with fans. It's an amazing experience to meet someone and know that you've touched their life in some way.

She steps out from behind the counter and I quickly pose with her for a picture, pouting slightly when I see her three-inch heels and realize it means she's taller than me. I rise up on my tiptoes at the last second, and she gives me a look like she sees it, but she doesn't comment.

"Oh, congratulations by the way," she says as she scans the fairy lights.

"On what?"

She looks at me, surprised. "Your engagement?"

"Oh," I say, quickly trying to recover. "Right, of course. Sorry, it's been a bit of a crazy few weeks."

The girl snorts. "I bet." She tells me the total and I pay quickly. When she hands me the box, she leans over the counter slightly to whisper to me. "For the record, I think you and Harry would've been a hot couple."

The corner of my mouth twitches up of its own accord, and I try to stop it, but it's too late. There's nothing I can say. She just winks at me and I leave, a swirl of thoughts running through my head.

If a random girl at the checkout of an arts & crafts store thinks Harry and I would be good together...who else supports us? I know from following him that some of Harry's fans are toxic. They're caught on his womanizer image and sex symbol status and refuse to see much else, some of them even denying that he's actually bisexual, even though he's said it multiple times and wears the pride flag like a fucking royal cloak.

But maybe if there's a large enough number of people who can look past that, maybe we have a chance. Maybe it'll make these four months until I'm free more bearable. All I can do is hope.

***

I knock on Harry's door at 5:30 that evening. The sky's already been darkening for some time, and the moon is high in the sky, obscured by that ever-present English cloud layer.

Harry finally opens the door, but it takes longer than usual and it's clear just from one look at him that he's exhausted.

"Hi," I breathe out, happy to see him after a few days of us both being quite busy. It's that whole international pop star thing.

"Hey," Harry replies, but it's distant. Drained.

"I brought Chinese?" I say, as a question. Harry quirks a brow.

"How did you find good Chinese food in London?"

I smirk. "I know a guy."

"Well, come in," he says, gesturing into his house. I smile and walk in, registering the shut and click of the door behind me. I set down the food on the island in Harry's kitchen and lean against the counter, watching Harry as he walks sluggishly after me and stands near the entryway to the kitchen, looking tired and lost.