For Your Love

The day that Louis decides they should apply for the 2013 season of X Factor they're holed up in Louis' flat and Harry decides that Louis has just about lost his mind.

"Lou, all of that band stuff was years ago. I haven't performed since year ten and we've never performed together. Plus, don't you think it's time to revise?" Harry sighs, huffing out a breath over his steaming -- Louis never seems to remember to take the kettle off the burner -- tea. His fingertips burn a little from where they're tapping at the ceramic of his mug. 

Waving a hand about as he plops down into the seat across from Harry, Louis grins widely, "Come on, Harry. It'll just be one day spent in the queue. Help me mark something off my bucket list."

"Bucket list?" Harry repeats, leveling Louis with an incredulous look. "For one, you're not dying and two, why is auditioning for the X Factor on your bucket list?" he pulls at a loose thread in his sweater sleeve and tilts his head. 

"Everyone's dying, Harry. Every second of every day, you're one step closer to the grave. You've practically got one foot in the grave already, babe," Louis shrugs his shoulders and pushes a bit of his fringe off of his forehead before scratching at the speckling of scruff along his jaw. "And, yes. That's on my bucket list. It has been since I was eighteen, come on. Please, Harry. Please," he pouts, reaching across the table to pull Harry's larger hands into his own. 

Harry lets Louis pout for a few moments before letting out a heavy breath, "Fine. I'm ready to be humiliated just for you."

A moment later, Louis pushes up off his chair and leans across the table to press a kiss to Harry's lips. "You won't humiliate yourself. It'll be a great day for us," he says quietly and it sounds soft, like a promise, like it might mean more than the words themselves.

So, Harry lets Louis sort through songs on their Itunes accounts and coach him through which parts he thinks that Harry should sing, where they should harmonize. It seems a little more and more like Louis knew which song he was going to pick for them as they practice in Louis' living room. The days creep passed them slowly, counting down to the day that they will perform in front of the real judges panel, if they're lucky. Harry's nerves dissipate as he commits the lyrics to memory and Louis' nerves seem to grow. 

The day before the audition, Louis isn't anywhere around Harry's flat when he wakes up, the normal scent of freshly made tea, absent, and Harry's sure that Louis was huddled into his chest the night before. Then, throughout the day, Louis doesn't answer his phone, just lets it ring until his voicemail clicks on. For the first few hours, Harry chalks Louis' absence up to Louis just being busy, nervous, and even on one particularly imaginative train of thought, Harry had detailed the possible kidnapping of Louis. For a few minutes after that thought, Harry had to convince himself not to call the police because Louis was probably fine.

As the day ticks away, Harry forces himself to practice his parts of their song, walking through his different stance positions as if Louis were there singing with him. He makes dinner for the two of them and waits at the table, counting the seconds that pass by as their meals grow cold and Louis doesn't come through his front door. Scrubbing a hand through his curls, Harry places their plates inside his fridge and tries calling Louis' phone once more. When Louis doesn't answer, Harry takes a bath and climbs into his bed alone. 

Frustration curls in his lungs as he stares at the ceiling above him, glaring at the little holes where Louis had tried to hang a picture of himself for Harry to look at while he slept. He's glad that he didn't let Louis keep the photograph there now, that he doesn't have to stare at Louis' stupidly grinning face when he doesn't have the real thing sleeping next to him. Kicking Louis' designated pillow off of the bed and turning away from the empty side of the bed, Harry tries to force himself to sleep.