"Loooouuuuis come dance with meee," Harry slurs.
Louis hates the alcohol, hates what it does to people, what it can turn them into, but Harry doesn't seem transformed; the only difference is that his dimple is a permanent fixture of his face now and he's- if it's even possible- more clumsy. "Sure, Harry." He scoots out of the booth, mouthing an apology to the still-sober Liam, who shrugs and waves him off. Louis likes Liam, who has been trying all night to make Louis feel welcome, in between regulating Niall's drinking and laughing at Harry's awful jokes and slinging a casual arm around Zayn when he begins to get too quiet.
Harry leads Louis onto the dance floor, past Niall, who is dancing with (and possibly on) some girl and past Zayn, who is getting himself another drink and a rum and Coke for Liam, minus the rum part. "I'm a horrible dancer," he warns with a massive grin.
"Are you now?" Louis begins to dance, wary of Harrry's huge feet crushing his toes. "That's alright. We can blame the alcohol."
"Blame it on the a-a-a-a-alcohoool," Harry sings, off key.
Louis laughs. "Exactly."
Despite what Harry says about his dancing, they both get sucked into the beat and soon they're laughing and sweating and dancing all over each other. Louis completely forgets himself; forgets everything about the last three years, forgets his desperate road trip, forgets that he only just met Harry, forgets everything and just dances until the lights are turned back on and it's time to leave.
Louis and Harry stare at one another, beathless. Louis doesn't know how to break the silence until Harry smiles widely and says, "I guess that means you're staying another night."
"I guess I am."
Despite his hangover, Louis wakes up bright and early and, on autopilot, pads into the upstairs kitchen and whips up a full English breakfast for Harry, complete with srong coffee and aspirin. He plates it carefully on a tray. Knocking on Harry's door, Louis whispers, "Harry. I've got breakfast."
"Mmph?... Huh? Lou? C'mon in."
Louis, very silently and very nervously, tiptoes into the darkened room. "I have breakfast," he whispers.
Harry perks up. "Thanks, Lou!" He accepts the tray. "You didn't have to do this."
Yes I did, Louis thinks. I've always had to. For the last three years I have had to do this exact routine nearly every morning. All that he says is. "It's no big deal."
"Well, I appreciate it," Harry replies lightly, as though he senses that he's scratched the surface of something. "Hey... d'you wanna get lunch today? I can show you around."
Louis hesitates because he really should be going. "I... yeah. That would be great. Thanks, Harry."
"It's a date!" Harry beams cheerfully, and if Louis' stomach lurches a little bit, well, that's nobody's business but his own.
