In From The Cold

Thursday 2/3

Thursday, continued

They return to the inn around four as the sun begins to fall from the sky, Harry’s feet beginning to get sore from the constant walking and Louis shivering in the cold wind that sets in after lunch.

Louis is telling a particularly animated tale about the time he tried to buy hayfever medication in Vienna from a non-English speaking chemist which has Harry close to tears of laughter when they enter the lobby, and Harry stops dead in his tracks.

“And the policeman- Harry?” Louis asks, halting in his story. Harry frowns.

“Zayn should be at the desk. He’s not.”

“He’s probably in the loo,” Louis says, but Harry shakes his head.

“I saw Liam’s car out front,” Harry explains, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Louis, for the good of the town and its gossip mill, I’m going to need you to be a ninja for the next five minutes. Do you accept?”

Louis, to his credit, seems to take this completely in his stride. “Aye aye, Sensei Styles.”

Having gained his complicity, Harry motions for him to follow quietly down the hall. Within seconds, the sound of low voices becomes apparent from the dining room, and Harry creeps to the threshold of the door and peers round.

Zayn and Liam are making tea. Ok, so not the scandal of the century as he’d been hoping to pass on to Bairbre and Aislin.

“No, it’s just my dad,” Liam is saying, stirring in sugar. “I think he misses watching me grow. He still thinks of me as a kid.”

“He’s the one who wanted you to get back in touch with your Irish roots though, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Liam sighs. “He's so far away down in Wolverhampton though. I think he’s worried he’s been replaced with Mum’s family here, you know?”

“Liam,” Zayn says softly, and from where Harry and Louis are watching Harry can see Zayn hesitate, his arm twitching as though itching to reach out and touch, offer support. His hand even moves, comes up slightly, and then halts, falls back to his side.

“Ah well,” Liam says, looking up from his tea stirring and smiling a little sadly at Zayn. “Can’t arrest your life for your family, that’s the point of adulthood.”

“Exactly. You’re half-Irish, you belong here,” Zayn says. “And your aunt and uncle would kill you if you moved back now. I’d kill you.”

“You’d kill me?” Liam laughs, and Zayn smiles fondly, so warmly that Harry can’t believe Liam doesn’t snog him right then and there.

“I need you,” he says, his voice soft, and then he seems to visibly shake himself. “I mean, Harry and I. The inn. It would fall apart the second you went.”

Liam grins at this, blowing on his tea. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I better get back to the washing machine, not sure how those wires became disconnected.”

“So weird,” Zayn says, his voice an unnatural pitch as he turns away, and Harry hastily pulls Louis back with him as they stumble away from the doorway. He motions for Louis to follow, leads him into the kitchen.

“Well that is a soap opera and a half,” Louis murmurs as Harry closes the door softly behind them. “When are they getting married exactly?”

“When one of them grows a pair and admits their deep, mutual and undying love for each other,” Harry sighs, folding his arms over his chest.

“You could do it?” Louis suggests, but Harry shakes his head.

“Zayn hates being pushed, and Liam is too self-conscious. I’d have to figure out a way to manage it without getting caught.” Because ok fine, Harry admits it, it’s not like he’s never thought about catalysing them in some way. But how do you solve a problem like Zayn and Liam? It’s probably written on an ancient tablet somewhere deep in the Moroccan forest. If there are forests in Morocco. Where the hell is Morocco, anyway?