Louis looked moodily down at his desk and discovered that for the past ten minutes he had been neatly engraving ‘I’m bored’ into it with his biro. He absently rubbed at the battered wood, and then reached across to the filing cabinet. Sliding open the bottom drawer, he helped himself to a chocolate Hob Nob and popped it into his mouth without enthusiasm. He kept the drawer well stocked; his biscuits kept disappearing – possibly it was Niall’s doing, but more likely he had just been eating all of them himself without noticing – and he was determined to have the amount of biscuits he had promised –
“Harry!”
Niall’s shout of welcome in the corridor was loud enough for Louis to hear it all the way in his office. Leaping up so suddenly that his coffee went flying and he scattered papers all over the room, launching them into the air like hundreds of giant, flat birds, Louis shoved his chair back, scrambled free of the new mess on the floor and struggled across the room to the door. Yanking the door open so hard that he wouldn’t have been surprised if it had fallen off its hinges, he poked his head out of the door. In the corridor, Liam was stood staring hopefully in the direction of the Irish boy’s cry.
Louis glanced at him. “Is it?”
“I hope so!”
They sprinted down the corridor together, which was probably inappropriate in both of their cases; Liam as a guard and Louis as a psychologist should not have been running to hug the returning prisoner who had only just been released from hospital – but the fact was that they both liked Harry, and they missed him, and they weren’t going to miss the chance to welcome him back just because it wasn’t in their job descriptions to be friends with him.
They burst into the main hall to find Harry cheerfully sprawled out on his usual sofa, grinning up at everyone with his bandaged arms hanging loosely at his sides. He looked far happier than he had for days; the sparkle was back in his eyes, and his cheeky grin showed no sign of faltering. His curls were soft and natural and freshly washed, not like they had been the last time Louis had visited him; he remembered Harry moaning about how disgusting his hair was and how long it had been since he’d washed it. His cheeks were just the right colour; peachy and with just a little colour, and his dimples flashed as he smiled. Beside him was Niall and they were having a proper conversation, which Louis found a little odd; he hadn’t known that Harry and Niall were friends. But then again, he’d never noticed Harry having any friends at all; he was a perpetual loner, and not because people shunned him, but because he’d never seemed interested in making the effort to talk to anybody.
“Hey, Harry!” Liam greeted, “you look better.”
“I feel better. How’s my favourite psychiatrist?” Harry looked up at Louis and smiled warmly.
“Buried in a mountain of paperwork…which you’re about to add to. You’re well overdue for your next session.”
Harry tutted. “Disorganised.”
“This is me we’re talking about. Come on, drag yourself away from your admirers, we have things to discuss.”
Rolling his eyes, Harry pushed himself up off the sofa and lightly punched Niall on the arm. “I’ll catch up to you later, yeah, Nialler?”
“All right, man. See you around.”
Harry smiled at the blond boy and patted him on the knee, and then he followed Louis across the room and they headed for the office.
“Nialler, huh?” Louis murmured as they walked.
Harry shrugged self-consciously. “Yep. He’s not a bad kid, I guess. I think it’s about time I made some friends in here.”
Louis fell silent. Ouch.
Looking up, Harry said quickly “Apart from you, obviously.”
Louis’ answering smile was a little too bright, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Oh, wow,” Harry said as they opened the door to Louis’ office; “you weren’t joking. This place is a mess.”
“I dropped some stuff when I heard Niall yelling,” Louis said casually, pretending he hadn’t almost had a heart attack and thrown himself out of his office like it was about to explode, just because of the possibility that Harry might be back.
Harry’s little cough and the smile he hid behind his hand showed Louis that clearly he wasn’t very convincing. He wondered if Harry knew that Louis adored him – and how he felt about that. His cheeks grew hot.
Sliding into the chair, Harry looked around the room. “Well then, I guess it’s time for a catch-up.”
Their ‘catch-up’ lasted far longer than the designated twenty minutes – in fact, it was closer to an hour. Or possibly two. Clock-watching was the last thing on Louis’ mind. He was fascinated by Harry; the conversation they had captivated him like nothing else could. Eventually, Harry relaxed enough to just start ranting, and the mental state he was in had Louis sat open-mouthed, amazed by the thoughts going through Harry’s brain. So caught up was the boy in his revelations that he no longer required a response, and eventually Louis forgot that he was supposed to be listening, commenting and analysing. His pen fell to the floor and he just sat and stared. When he let his mind drift for a few minutes and just let Harry talk, he felt like could watch the movement of Harry’s lips framing words forever. Every infinitesimal twitch of Harry’s face had him frozen in interest, wondering what it could mean, from his eyebrows raising to the tiniest frown. His eyes lingered on Harry’s curls for the longest time, curiously wondering what it would feel like to touch them and feel silky hair sliding through his fingers. Then he found himself watching Harry’s amazing eyes, and observing every passing emotion that flickered through their gentle green depths, completely enthralled.
Such was his absorption that it took him a good five minutes to realize that Harry had stopped speaking and was simply watching him, quiet for once, his expression unreadable. Blushing, Louis tore his gaze away and stared at his papers, embarrassed.
“It’s late. You should probably go.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I probably should.”
He didn’t move an inch from his seat.
They examined each others’ faces for a while.
“You owe me biscuits, Tomlinson.”
“Damn. I’ll have to get those.”
Louis wasn’t sure why they were still talking. From the longing glances they were giving each other, they probably should have been kissing by now.
“You’d better – or you’ll have to be…punished.” Harry’s voice was so silky that it weirdly reminded Louis of a caress. He shivered slightly, overcome with the odd feeling that Harry had touched him even though there was still an extremely formal distance between them.
Okay, they definitely should have been kissing.
Taking a deep breath, Louis leaned forwards ever so slightly. He looked Harry right in the eyes, and then at his lips, then let his gaze drift back to Harry’s eyes again. He repeated the gesture several times, waiting for a response – it was a fairly subtle flirting technique, but a very persuasive one, and one that he owed credit to his psychology textbooks for.
Harry opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, but words failed him. Swallowing, he looked at Louis and nibbled his lower lip anxiously.
Louis said weakly “Ha –”
“Louis, you do realize you were supposed to have left half an hour ago?”
The two of them flinched and turned to see Niall stood in the doorway, staring quizzically at Louis. Neither of them had heard the door opening, and they stared at him in shock.
“Right!” Louis blurted out. A hand jumped to his hair, which only ever happened when he was nervous – rare, for him. “Yeah! Of course. Um…I’d, uh…I mean…I’d better, uh, go. See you tomorrow!”
Grabbing one of his folders, he was halfway out of the door before Niall tapped him on the shoulder.
“Louis? Tomorrow is Saturday. You don’t work on Saturdays.”
“Oh. Well. I, um…I guess I’ll see you on Monday, then. Bye!” his words blurred together and he was rushing off before he’d even finished his sentence.
Niall and Harry stared after him. Glancing at Harry, Niall raised an eyebrow questioningly, as if to saywhat’s gotten into him? Harry shrugged in response, and they left it at that.
* * * * * *
It had been too long since Louis had spent an evening with his friends – they seemed to share that opinion. When he got home and let himself into his dark, silent flat, he nearly fell over in shock – because Stan, Hannah and about six other people were cheerfully sat on his kitchen floor, downing shots and stealing from his fridge like they owned the place. Instead of getting mad and kicking them all out, like he probably should have done, Louis yelled delighted insults at them and started up a mock-wrestling match, all nine of them rolling around squealing on the floor like children. Still, even Louis could see that having eight hyperactive drunks in his rather small flat was not the most sensible of ideas – which was why they ended up in the local park. Louis and Stan sat on the swings while everyone else sprawled lazily on the floor, and a casual conversation was struck up out of nowhere.
“How’s your job?” Stan asked smugly. “I bet you’re going insane.”
“Nah,” Louis reassured him, “it’s all right, really. I’ve made a couple of mates.”
Wide-eyed, Hannah demanded “What, like…the prisoners?”
A grin crept across Louis’ face and he fought to get rid of it. When his face was suitably blank, he shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. “Yeah.”
“Ooooooooooh!” came the high-pitched chorus.
“Ooh, I’m Louis and I think I’m so hard with my jail buddies!” Ben teased.
“Check out the gangster Louis with his law-breaking crew!”
“Yeah, mate! I’m hard, me, chilling in the criminals’ crib!”
The entire group cracked up laughing, Louis included. He shook his head, grinning at the friendly teasing, and then leaned backwards and started gently swinging back and forth, the chains of his swing creaking.
”I don’t think I’ll ever go to work,” Stan said dreamily. “I’ll just live off unemployment benefits until I’m ancient and too old to have a job.”
“You’ll get a crap pension, then.”
“Who cares? Live life for the moment! It’s your motto, Boo; try living by it.” Stan poked him playfully.
“I am living life for the moment. I like my job.”
“I bet you don’t.”
“I do!”
“I bet you hate it, really. You dread waking up in the morning and having to drag yourself in…and then spending all day listening to criminals whining about their problems and the injustice of the British Law system…” Stan shook his head amusedly. “It sounds awful.”
“Shows how much you know,” Louis said defensively; “it’s great.”
“Come on, then – what makes it so wonderful?”
“I’ve got my own office,” Louis began, “and a filing cabinet…and a photocopier, and a desk, and two chairs. And a plant!”
“Bad-ass,” Hannah teased.
“My mate Liam is one of the most important security guards there!” Louis boasted.
That was stretching the truth a bit; Liam was hardly an authoritarian figure where official matters were concerned, but he was friends with almost everyone and therefore his opinions were sought among almost every petty dispute among the prisoners, and many people saw him as some kind of leader, a guy you could go to for pretty much anything. It was basically an outright lie, and Louis prayed that no one would call his bluff and catch him out.
“I get free biscuits,” continued Louis, pulling his best ‘truthful’ expression.
That was certainly true – so long as he provided them first.
“Good God, free biscuits!” Hannah said sarcastically. “Someone’s gone up in the world.”
Stan was looking extremely unimpressed. Everyone else just looked bored.
“It sounds…” Jamie began.
“Nice.” Hannah said tactfully.
“Boring!” corrected Stan, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, anyway,” Louis interrupted, “that’s not the best part, not by far.”
“Oh, God, I don’t think I can take any more! What’s next, filtered coffee?”
“No.” Louis paused dramatically for effect. “You see, there’s this guy…”
Immediately, everyone perked up interestedly. Hannah propped herself up on one elbow and Stan tilted his head to the left. Everybody else sat up and eyed Louis, sensing gossip.
“Spill,” Stan commanded.
“Well…” Louis hesitated, uncertain where to start. “He’s…”
“Tall, dark and handsome!” Hannah giggled.
He blushed. “I guess. Yeah, he is.”
“Tell me more!” ordered Stan. He grinned, leapt up and then started singing “Tell me more, tell me more –”
Louis clamped a hand over his mouth. “Enough with the show tunes! Do you want to know about Harry or not?”
“Oooh, Harry, huh?” Stan said as he sat back down.
“Yeah.” Louis smiled slightly.
“I want details,” Hannah prompted. “What colour are his eyes? What’s his hair like? How tall is he?”
“His eyes are amazing…they’re kind of green, and really, like…intense, you know what I mean? Like he sees right into your soul…he’s got lovely eyes. His hair is brown; darker than mine, sort of chocolate-coloured, and it’s curly; you know, those kind of really nice loose curls, not like an old granny’s perm.” He grinned. “As for height…he’s taller than me, just a little bit; he’s about so high.” He held out a hand at vaguely Harry’s height to demonstrate.
“There’s one thing you forgot to mention,” Stan said.
“Oh? What’s that, then?”
“That you totally fancy him, of course!”
Louis blushed. “I don’t,” he muttered.
Hannah’s mouth fell open. “Oh my God, you do!” she squealed, hands flying to her mouth.
Mortified, Louis stared at her. “I do not!”
“Oh my God, you so do,” Stan agreed.
“Louis has a crush!” Hannah cried.
“I do not have a crush!”
Of course, the more he tried to deny it, the more insistent they became.
“Louis has a crush, Louis has a crush!”
“Shut up!”
“Not until you admit that you have a crush!”
He hated the stupid word; he’d always hated it. It sounded pathetic, and it was pathetic. “I don’t have abloody crush, Hannah!”
A chorus of wolf-whistles had his cheeks flaring bright red with embarrassment.
“Don’t even try to deny it,” Stan told him, “it’s written all over your face.”
“It is not a crush,” Louis growled. “So I like him – so what?”
“How much do you like him?”
“…A lot,” Louis admitted grudgingly.
“Awww! That’s really sweet!”
“Shut up!”
“But it is!”
“Whatever,” Louis said shortly, “it doesn’t matter anyway. He’s a prisoner, and I’m his psychiatrist. It’s along the same lines as student-teacher relationships. It could never work.”
“You mean like Romeo and Juliet?” Hannah asked delightedly.
“What? No!”
“A pair of star-crossed lovers,” she said dreamily, folding her hands across her chest and sinking backwards until she lay flat on her back in the grass, dandelion seeds sticking in her hair and grass stains rubbing onto her white shirt. “It’s adorable!”
“Don’t be silly,” Louis told her sternly. “I’m no Romeo.”
“Oh, I know that.” Hannah sat up, giggling, and brushed a few stray blades of grass off her top. She looked at him mischievously and announced, “You’d be Juliet.”
Louis lunged for her – he didn’t care that she was a girl; he was gay, and therefore it was socially acceptable for him to punch her.
Laughing, Hannah leapt up and danced out of his reach, and after a few more seconds of irritation he settled back down with a sigh, setting the swing back in motion. For a minute or so, Louis swayed on the padded black seat in silence, staring moodily at the ground.
“Forget it, guys,” he said, trying not to sound sad. “Nothing can ever come of it.”
Stan patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t give up, mate.”
“Yeah,” Hannah agreed. “After all –” she leaned back dramatically “ – love always finds a way.”
Louis snorted in disbelief and pulled the bottle of tequila towards him. If love could find a way to get Harry out of prison and into his bed, he’d officially give up psychology and become a Jehovah’s Witness.