Tempest || l.s. ✓

Chapter 15

"Harry?" Louis sung out, knocking on Harry's door.

"Hello." He swung the door open, stumbling as he opened it too fast, "fuck, shit, sorry. I'm okay."

"Right," Louis chuckled, "well I just wanted to let you know that there's gonna be someone in the room nextdoor to you for a couple of days. They got here this morning."

"Oh..." Harry immediately seemed to morph into a frightened bunny.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Um, will they be with us for dinner? How many people? Name? Age?" Harry rambled.

"Okay, so a it's a couple, they're both in their like 30s maybe? They're called, um fuck...they're called Steve maybe? And um, Elle?" He was biting his lip with a frown as he tried to recall their names. "Ella? Elle? Ellie? Stephan? Steven? Shit."

"Good god." Harry mumbled, "what did you think my name was at first?"

"Harry." Louis said simply, "you were memorable."

"Oh." Harry blushed, fiddling with his hands again.

"Oh yeah, they're joining us for dinner as well."

"Okay," Harry chewed his lip, "okay."

"Is that okay?"

Harry nodded, far too aggressively.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Of course. You can't exactly say no. It's fine, honest."

"Alright. Is there anything you want in particular?"

Harry shook his head, "do whatever you want to do."

"Okay. I'll leave you to...whatever you're doing."

"Writing poetry."

"Well I'll leave you to your poetry writing William Wordsworth. Have fun."

"I will." Harry chuckled lightly. "Writing poetry is very enjoyable you know."

"Yeah, I'm sure it is." Louis spoke sarcastically.

"It is!" Harry protested. "It's like, all of your thoughts are just put into pretty words and I like words. Poetry and songwriting are similar, because they tell a story but with a rhythm." He began to rant, but soon stopped himself. "I'm sorry, I get passionate about some things. It's stupid really."

"Hey, it's not stupid. If it's something you care about it's never going to be stupid, okay? It's lovely to hear about something people are passionate about."

"But it's not something you care about. Doesn't it bore you?"

"No. I can appreciate the beauty in it, even if I wouldn't like to do it myself. And if you enjoy it, I'd like to hear about it."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Oh, well. Okay." Harry didn't quite know what to say. Beforehand, whenever he had talked about something he was passionate about, he had either been talked over, ignored, or told to 'shut the fuck up because nobody cared'. Sometimes he found himself rambling on before catching himself and stopping midway through a word.

"I'll leave you to your poetry but I'm perfectly happy to hear about it, yeah?"

"Yeah."

//

"Hi, I'm Jamie, this is Ella." A tall man smiled at Harry, holding his hand out to him. Louis winced, and mouthed a 'close' over their shoulders.

"Hi." Harry responded quietly, "Harry." He shook Jamie's hand, smiling at Ella before allowing them to sit down first.

Jamie sat and Harry's usual seat, so Harry sat at the opposite end of the table. As far away as he could without looking weird.

Louis handed them their food before sitting in his seat and beginning to talk. Jamie and Ella engaged in conversation with them, whilst Harry just kept his eyes on his plate, eating quietly.

Louis sent him a few concerned glances, trying to say stuff that would include Harry but Harry didn't take the 'bait'.

"Oh, your an artist? Harry paints too." Louis told Ella, Harry's head immediately snapping up.

"You do? You'll have to show me some of you artwork."

"Yeah." Harry agreed quietly, though he had no intentions of sharing it. "Um, I'm actually not feeling too great. I think I'm going to go to bed early."

"Oh," Louis frowned, "leave your plate there and I'll take it out later if you want."

"Thanks. It was lovely to meet you both." He kept his voice at a low volume before scurrying off.

//

"Hey, Harry." Louis called quietly, knocking gently on the door. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah." He replied, and Louis stepped into the room, where Harry was lying on his side, a pillow against his chest and a book in his hands.

"Can I sit?" He asked, Harry nodding. Louis settled at the end of the bed, turning to face Harry, "are you okay? Did I say something earlier?"

Harry sighed, placing the book down on the bedside table before shifting to sit up.

"It wasn't anything you said, I just don't really do well around people. I just get really on edge..."

"And me telling them you liked to paint crossed a line?" Louis tilted his head.

"A little. I know it's stupid, like who cares if I like to paint? But I don't want people invading my space, and I don't want people taking some of the few things I have left." He murmured.

"I'm sorry Harry." Louis immediately felt guilty.

"It's okay. I just don't think I'll be joining for meals if they're there." He admitted, "sorry, I just can't do it.

"I've got a proposition for you."

Harry frowned, "I'm not interacting with them."

"That wasn't what I was going to say. Basically, those two, um, Ella and Steve-"

"Jamie." Harry corrected with a small smile.

"That's what I said. Anyway, they can eat in the dining room and I'll eat in the kitchen with you."

"No." Harry shook his head quickly, "that's hardly fair."

"It is. I'm sure they'll be alright on their own."

"And I won't? I just don't wanna take you away from other people."

"You prefer not to be alone."

"What? How do you know that?"

"You told me."

Harry sighed again, "let me guess, when I was drunk?"

"Yeah."

"Um, I was lying. I prefer to be alone." Harry said, though it might be the least convincing thing Louis had ever heard.

"You're a fucking shit liar you know?"

"Hey!" Harry immediately pouted, and Louis smiled.

"Come on, stop arguing with me. I don't want to spend my dinners with a happy couple, I'd much rather sit with you."

"Okay." He eventually gave in. "Fine."

"I knew you'd come to your senses." Louis grinned. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight Louis."

"Goodnight Harold." And with a wave, Louis left the room.