Just Shut Up And Die

Chapter Twenty-Three

Harry's POV

Eight months later

Coming out was probably one of the best things I'd ever done. I mean, I'm not saying my life has been easy since then but god - the relief of living an honest life is seriously worth all the hardships we had to go through. And most people have cooled down now so Louis and I were able to squeeze in a date or two in the location-switching parts of the tour when we had a few days break. Our parents were very supportive and nice when we told them, as well.

The sound of our soles slapping the pavement in the darkness of the November night was a pleasant sound. It was separated from the noise of the living city behind us; separated by a veil of silence. The murmurs of the city couldn't reach us more than a sated hum in the background while the silence in the middle leaked into the frequent tap tap tap of our shoes on the sidewalk, drowning it out. No, the real reason for our steps being drowned out was that all my awareness was focused upon the warm hand in my palm, wrapped in my fingers, heated skin touching heated skin in a bashful blush even after nine months.

I sighed contentedly. Love, man. It changes a guy.

It's not like Louis and I never fought, though. We'd still get on each other's nerves, just never to the point where we're at the other's throat. But the most serious subject of our fight ever was when Louis'd had enough of me leaving the utensils when it's my turn to wash the dishes - which is most of the time. Washing utensils is a bother. Louis enjoys pointing out that I like to use them a lot, when I cook and eat and bake. He enjoys it a lot; it gets most of his frustration out.

We arrived back at my flat after a wonderful date in the lamp lit park. As we walked up the staircase we heard odd shuffling and frustrated grunts echoing in the stairwell, accompanied by a loud bang and then a "fuck!" was heard. Louis and I exchanged a glance and scurried the last few steps.

In the doorway of the flat across from mine there was a sofa. A beige couch was stuck with one armrest against the upper ledge of the doorway and the other perched on the threshold while someone was evidently trying to pull it inside.

"Er, excuse me, d'you need any help?" I called out to the person and the sofa stilled.

"Yes! Please, thank god! Could you possibly help me to get me couch inside?" came a female voice from the other side.

"Sure, love! Harry, could you pull it out while I hold it up so it doesn't fall on her?" Louis looked over at me for confirmation and I gave him a quick nod. I took hold of the nether jutted out edges of the sofa for a good grip as Louis placed his hands on the upper part of it.

"One, two, three - pull!"

The furniture was removed to reveal a girl who looked to be in her early twenties. She was wearing a grey pair of sweats and a brown tank top beneath a too-big t-shirt. Her hazel hair was in a messy bun and her glasses were sliding off the bridge of her nose. She pushed them up with her index finger and locked eyes on us.

"Than-oh my goodness..." her voice gave out in a strangled whisper and her blue eyes turned into saucers - in a very familiar way. Louis gave her a slight, awkward wave.

"Hi..."

"Shit this is so embarrassing," she practically whimpered. We looked at her quizzically.

"What do you mean? There's not really anything embarrassing about needing help to lift an object twice your weight," I reasoned.

"No, it's-at the exhibit. Back in February," the girl's cheeks darken at the memory and suddenly it clicks.

"You're the girl who had a fight with the girlfriend!" we recognised.

"Great, I'd hoped you would've forgotten that," she smiled sheepishly.

"Whatever happened to her?" I asked conversationally.

"Well, things weren't really smooth after that argument so she told me to pack my bags - and here I am. We used to live together and when we broke up no one would even help me move. I hired a guy to drive all my stuff here but I couldn't afford a team to help me carry anything. That's why I'm here at ten, still moving the stuff inside."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Wait, when did you start moving?"

"About noon," she sighed heavily.

"So you've been carrying these heavy weights all day? Aren't you, like, thoroughly knackered?" Louis asked in disbelief.

"Yup," she said as she leaned against the sofa that now stood in the stairwell, and it was first now that I saw the trembling in her muscles and the complete dead look in her eyes. She was exhausted.

"But that happened months ago. Why are you moving in today?" I tried to clarify, as it felt like something was missing.

"D'you know how hard it is to find decent flat in London with my salary? I'll probably not be able to live here in a month or two. Unless I get a job that throws ridiculous amounts of money at me," she pouted sulkily.

She was clearly upset by this conversation so I offered us to help her carry her sofa inside; also as a change of topic. Very smooth. Thank you, I try.

When we got the piece of furniture settled in in her messy flat we bid her goodbye, unbeknown at the time that it was a future friendship between the three of us.

[Sorry about the shortness of the chapter and me being lazy.]