It’s December 15th.
It’s December 15th, almost 9 o’clock at night, and Harry isn’t freaking out.
He isn’t.
Okay, maybe just a little.
He’s stressing over what to wear until he realizes that he isn’t a teenage girl, and throws on a pair of black skinny jeans and a low-collared white t-shirt. It’s probably cold, though, so he throws on his peacoat over it.
It’s 8:41 pm, and Harry leaves the apartment.
Harry doesn’t arrive off of 9th street until 9:15 pm, since he didn’t realize how long of a walk it was. When he does arrive, it’s empty.
There’s a bench facing the bus stop across the street, so he sits.
He sits, and he waits.
He gets distracted by his phone buzzing, apparently a drunken message from Zayn, but whenever he looks up, there is a figure standing underneath the street lamp.
Creepy, much?
His throat feels tight and dry, because this person could either be a murder, a rapist, a stalker.
Or it could be Louis.
The man continues standing there, and Harry thinks that he can make out bright blue eyes staring back at him. Everything is quiet, even the sounds of cars a few streets over sound silent. His breathing has increased and he wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans.
Harry stands, and he crosses the street.
The man stands still.
“Louis?” Harry’s voice is hesitant and unsure, and he’s one foot away from this person who is watching him intently.
The man nods.
Harry strides forward.
Harry kisses him.