For your eyes only - l.s

Chapter Nineteen

Louis can literally feel the colour draining from his face. If it wasn't painted white already, it would look like that now. He is pretty sure that his jaw is hanging open, but he can't bring himself to close his mouth at the moment. The amused sparkling in Harry's eyes tells him that this was definitely more than a lucky guess and Louis is aware that he has signalled him already that he is correct.

Harry's face breaks into dimpled grin and he shakes his head, chuckling. "Louis, did you really think I wouldn't recognise you?"

"I-... But-... How-... I could've been literally anyone," Louis basically pouts after finding his voice again.

"True... But not anyone has these mischievous blue eyes, terrible juggling skills, annoyed sassy attitude and, not to forget, undefinable accent," he tells him with a wink and a smug grin on his lips, which Louis would have liked to punch away if this weren't Harry Styles' pretty face.

Wait - did he just say pretty?

Nope, definitely not.

"Why didn't you say something right away? Did you think it's funny to watch me making a fool out of myself?" Louis asks, annoyance clear in his voice.

"Actually, yes," Harry states boldly and gives Louis one of these winning smiles that make his anger subside almost instantly. "But don't worry," he adds, whispering conspiratorially, "I won't tell anyone it's you."

"Wow thank you, I'm very relieved then," Louis mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes internally.

Harry just laughs loudly at his response, shaking his head in amusement. In this moment, someone dressed like a circus director rings a bell at the entrance, signalling for spectators to come in.

"I'd better be going now," Harry says, nodding his head at Louis. "I don't want to miss the beginning of the show," he adds with a happy childish grin.

This man is like a giant five-year-old, Louis thinks to himself and notices that, much to his dismay, he needs all his mental power to prevent the fond expression that is about to spread on his face. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"Will you still be here when the show is over?" Harry asks from the entrance.

"Actually, I was planning on running away as fast as I can when you're gone," he replies flatly.

"You probably won't be far then when I come back," Harry replies with raised eyebrows, pointing at Louis' bulky clown shoes. "I'll see you around."

Louis simply glares at him, already regretting his choice of not punching him earlier. If his shift wasn't still lasting a few hours, he would really like to leave right now. But of course, he can't, and he is also starting to realise that he probably won't be able to run from Harry his whole life, especially not as they are living in the same city, how he recently learnt. It is actually a wonder that they didn't cross paths here earlier. London is quite big, but not that big. On the other hand, Louis never paid attention.

Harry gives him a short wave before disappearing in the tent. Louis is once more left alone. He sighs deeply before returning to his actual task. Even though this show is sparsely visited, there is still a chance that he will be more successful with the next one. He has nearly two hours to advertise it. And two hours to bring his juggling to perfection. He doesn't know why but he somehow wishes to proudly present Harry his improvement when he comes back out.

Louis usually hates the expression Practice makes perfect, but he knows that it's true and he actually gets to see results from his efforts quickly. After a few more attempts he manages to juggle the balls five times before he finally drops them. He might still be bad, but this small success fills him with a kind of satisfaction he hasn't felt in quite a while. After half an hour, he receives the first compliments from passers-by and after another 15 minutes, he gets asked when the next show is going to start and if he is going to be part of it, which he has to deny unfortunately.