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Assistant: Title: Cold Blades, Warm Lies
        Author: keepstylinson keepstylinson 
        Chapter: 1/3 
        Summary: Louis, a wealthy heir devoted to the pleasures of s@x and the excesses of drugs, is content to live in a world of debauchery alongside his inseparable friend Zayn, with whom he shares dark pastimes and a quest for escape. On the other hand, Harry is a daring and passionate figure skater, willing to take risks both on the ice and in real life to constantly push his limits. Their destinies intersect at a masquerade ball where, beneath the shimmering masks and the glow of chandeliers, the wolf falls in love with the swan. In this enchanting yet troubled setting, addictions and aspirations engage in an infernal struggle, upending their existence and giving rise to passions as intense as they are destructive.AU where Louis is the son of a billionaire politician and where Harry is a renowned figure skater.
        Contents: Chapter 1: Shivers of the First Frost
    

    


  

  
  
    
     “What, barely thirty minutes? And I’ve already made 500 quid.”Zayn’s whisper in his ear sends shivers down Louis’ arms. He takes a sip from the whisky glass he holds in his hands, his smile slightly obscured by the wolf mask covering his eyes and the upper part of his nose.“That’s a good start. I’ll go find you the big fish.” Louis replies to his friend, amused by the situation. Zayn moves even closer and discreetly slips a small pouch into the pocket of his blazer.“This is for your personal use. Try to have some fun tonight as well.”As always, he is there to remind Louis that he has the right to take time for himself, to have fun, to think about something else. And tonight, Louis actually feels like enjoying himself a little. He nods in thanks before stepping away, beginning to stroll around the buffet tables and, more importantly, the people surrounding him.Tonight, Kensington Palace has been entirely privatised for London’s elite, including Louis’ father. Even though the faces are masked, Louis manages to recognise a few familiar ones. People working as secretaries of state like his father, politicians, singers, actors, racing drivers, and even entrepreneurs. There are as many women as men, each having been allowed to bring whomever they wanted. Louis chose Zayn.The venue is beyond magnificent, set in a Victorian-era theme with meticulously chosen decorations. The walls are covered in deep red damask, dozens of golden candelabras hold tall white candles, and at the far end of the ballroom, a glossy black grand piano accompanies an orchestra playing waltzes and, above all, romantic pieces. As people dance, their masks glisten under the chandelier’s warm glow.Louis quietly slips into one of the private salons, where some guests have already retreated to converse. The ornamentation is similar, though here the velvet sofas are deep midnight blue, and Victorian paintings of noble portraits adorn the walls. They aren’t originals, in an effort to preserve the beauty of the art, but Louis can’t help but pause for a few seconds, admiring the artist’s singular craftsmanship. He recognises these paintings, but the reproductions aren’t entirely accurate, some details are missing, some colours have been deliberately altered and he likes it that way.For a moment, he imagines himself painting some of these works because that’s what he studied for a few years. But he stopped. Because what he was doing wasn’t what he truly loved, and because, with a politician for a father, his life was already mapped out for him.Around him, people laugh, commenting on the latest gossip of the month, and Louis enjoys this kind of atmosphere. Partly because he thrives on the latest London scandals, but mostly because a lively crowd means people are more inclined to buy cannabis. And that means good money for him and Zayn.Louis has never done this for the money. He does it for Zayn.He promised him that he would always get him into these kinds of places, introduce him to good clients, occasional ones, sometimes even regulars. It helps his friend crawl out of the mess he’s in, and it helps Louis escape his constant loneliness, his endless boredom. And, most of all, it enrages his father, who is, of course, well aware of his son’s dealings. His twenty-five-year-old son, who hasn’t managed to find a respectable job, financial stability, or even a serious relationship. But that, Louis can’t be blamed for. For the rest : yes.He doesn’t end up in the newspapers because he is discreet and makes sure not to tarnish his family’s reputation. Even though his father is a b@st@rd, Louis still gives him his respect and makes an effort not to lose control when he gets high.He moves towards a small wooden table, where an antique music box and glass perfume bottles sit, a subtle touch that aligns with the Victorian theme of the ball. He doesn’t know much about interior design, but he recognises that the setting is magnificent and charming.Scanning the room, it’s obvious that people aren’t drunk enough yet to buy Zayn’s supply, and at this rate, he’d make a terrible negotiator.Another hour or two, and he’ll be able to start hunting for the big fish, those willing to drop hundreds of pounds just to smoke three or four joints. Simply because they can.In the meantime, Louis heads towards the toilets. He finds them quickly, surprised to see that they, too, are dimly lit and somewhat decorated. He locks himself in a cubicle, away from prying eyes, before sitting on the toilet seat to roll himself a decent joint. It’s not ideal, but he’s used to it. And for once, these aren’t the miserable toilets of a nightclub.He steps out shortly after, washing his hands before returning to the private lounge, slipping through one of the doors and stepping into the vast garden. Once again, he takes in the scenery, the string lights hanging between the trees, the gravel paths lined with flowers. Louis thinks he recognises roses, jasmine, and white lilies, but his knowledge of flowers stops there. Their fragrance fills the air.The prettiest detail is undoubtedly the grand fountain at the end of the garden, and he can’t help but move towards it. Of course, he isn’t the only one who wanted a breath of fresh May air, and he isn’t alone, but he knows that here, no one will judge him for smoking. Buying, however, is another matter.So he lights up the joint he had tucked behind his ear and takes a drag, his other hand slipping into the cold water, sending a light shiver under his white shirt.Nearby, he hears the laughter of a young woman, no, more like repeated giggles. He glances towards her, observing the way she clings to a man’s arm. She laughs behind her fan. Her dress is nearly identical to those worn by all the other women here, satin with lace, her mask made of silk, and the man accompanying her wears a tailcoat. They move gracefully, their steps in sync with the ball music floating through the open windows.Louis squints. He wonders what this man could possibly be saying to her to make her agree with every word. Are they lovers? Married? Have they only just met? It’s his thing, staring at people and trying to decipher their behaviours. At least, he tries.Until his eyes land on something far more interesting.
   A swan. 
Or rather, a man wearing a mask so magnificent that Louis is momentarily left speechless. The mask depicts a swan, its body resting over the nose, the feathers fanned out over the eyes and extending up over the brow bone. He can’t see the finer details from this distance, but he’s close enough to tell that the man looks stunning.Long brunette curls cascade over his shoulders, draping elegantly over his black-and-gold three-piece suit. Louis swallows hard, already feeling a burning desire to make him his prey. This swan will be his game for the night. Flirting is the best part of all his nights out, and tonight will be no exception.He’s about to approach him before even thinking it through, but someone beats him to it.A young woman, dressed in a long satin and lace gown in soft pink, her matching feathered mask covering her eyes. Louis catches only a few words, but she seems to be arguing with the swan.“How could you? You’re such a b@st@rd. You’re ruining everything. Think about it. You’re going to destroy it all…”He doesn’t hear the rest, but he can see how tense the exchange is. He continues puffing on his joint as he watches them, knowing full well that they aren’t even aware of his presence from where he stands.The swan barely moves an inch while the young woman gestures wildly, waving a finger at him in a clear warning. Louis smirks, because this likely means she isn’t a romantic rival. And when she finally storms off, without looking back, he knows it’s his moment to strike.Now, it will be simple: walk up to him, ask if everything is all right, add a little charm, and if the swan is receptive, it will only be a matter of hours before Louis has him in his bed.Simple, quick, and efficient. Just how Louis likes it.So he stubs out his joint on the edge of the fountain before approaching the swan, who now stands alone in the empty pathway.Louis feels somewhat plain next to this stunning man. Unlike him, Louis has opted for nothing more than a black blazer, matching trousers, and a white shirt. Of course, he still looks elegant, his fringe is perfectly styled over his forehead, and his black-and-grey wolf mask glistens just like his blue eyes.But this man, this man is the exquisite meal Louis is missing.The brunette lifts his head as he senses movement towards him, and Louis can already glimpse his green eyes as he approaches at a reasonable distance. His lips part slightly, already prepared to set his plan in motion, but the curly-haired man beats him to it, speaking first in a cold, sharp voice."I thought this was a masquerade ball, not a place to scare children."Louis hadn’t seen that one coming.His mouth closes immediately, stretching into a smile that looks more like a grimace, because being caught off guard with a snide remark was not part of his plan. He’s not the type to take teasing lightly, especially when it comes from strangers, it feels more like a power play than anything else."The ‘theme’ doesn’t interest me in the slightest. I didn’t feel obliged to follow the stupid rules they set, and if I want to throw a wolf into this jungle, that’s my business." He says it with a soft, delicate tone, even wearing a small smile, despite his words being ice cold."So you’re breaking the rules just to give yourself an edge? Who are you trying to impress tonight?"Louis doesn’t understand. He squints slightly as he observes this incredibly beautiful man, his smirk fading quickly. This magnificent swan, who seems so much darker on the inside. Bad pick.Except Louis doesn’t like to give up, and he’s still searching for his distraction of the night."Impress who? You?" He lets out a small chuckle. "That’s funny. I didn’t mean any harm by coming over. I thought you were as harmless as your costume suggests. But a costume that reeks of arrogance like this? It can turn into a joke pretty quickly, you know?"Louis leans in slightly, his gaze sharper as he utters those last words, taking a moment to savour the impact of his response.The curly-haired man blinks several times and stays silent for a few seconds before shaking his head."Funny how guys like you are always looking for something, huh? You look like you’re searching for an excuse to stand out, but trust me, this kind of ‘rebel’ is never enough. You can act like a wolf all you want, but in the end, you’re just another guy with one mask too many."Louis frowns. This exchange is starting to annoy him, turning into a full-blown confrontation. He’s gone from an overwhelming urge to take him against a tree in the garden to wanting to spit in his face.Being talked down to by a complete stranger was not in his plans for the evening, and he absolutely hates it."It’s funny how you think everyone wants to ‘stand out’. Maybe you’re just too used to ruling over these parties with your polished little look, but I’m here to enjoy myself, not to fit into your standards."Louis steps closer this time, not to seduce him, but to unsettle him.And it works, because the curly-haired man lowers his head slightly before letting out a quiet sigh."You’re just a wolf barking for nothing."Then, he turns on his heel and walks away, heading back inside through the lounge Louis had exited earlier.Louis watches him go, brows still furrowed, slightly thrown off by the conversation he hadn’t been able to control, and by the blazing anger radiating from this <PRESIDIO_ANONYMIZED_EMAIL_ADDRESS> wasn’t even his fault. He had just walked over.Maybe approaching someone straight after an argument isn’t the best strategy anymore, and Louis regrets it instantly, because the wolf had very much wanted to make the swan his next prey. *** Louis glances at the central clock in the entrance hall. It’s already past midnight. He’s been roaming the palace for nearly five hours. He’s run into Zayn several times, managing to send a few clients his way, people looking to relax a little more.But just as he’s about to head back out to the garden for a smoke, a hand lands on his shoulder.“I see you, and I’m watching you.”The cold voice behind him makes him freeze instantly. His jaw tightens, and he shrugs off the hand before turning towards the owner of that threatening voice.“And?”“Don’t embarrass me.”“Since I arrived, where exactly have I embarrassed you?”“Consider this a warning.”“Thanks, Dad. But I think I can manage myself.”He shoots him a dark look before letting his spare joint fall to the floor and deciding instead to take the stairs leading to the private lounges upstairs.Just that short exchange with his father feels like a dagger to the stomach. He feels nauseous, and when he spots a waiter, he grabs another glass of whisky with a smile. He’s barely drunk anything tonight, not wanting to overindulge in alcohol or drugs, but maybe his father has just pushed him in the opposite direction, because once again, his words have cut in a way he couldn’t anticipate, threats, whispered anywhere, anytime.Up here, everything is quieter. The scent of polished wood and old leather fills the space. There’s a couple kissing on one of the sofas, two men standing by the windows deep in conversation, and a group of three women fanning themselves while chatting on another couch.Louis picks an empty one, surrounded by heavy velvet curtains, offering him the privacy he suddenly craves.He gets lost in his darkest thoughts, in this life of isolation, of failing to fit into society, in his father’s constant reminders that he was a mistake. The black mark on the perfect painting.Louis will never be a politician. Nor a doctor, nor an artist, nor anything.He turns those negative thoughts over and over, but he doesn’t have time to sink deeper, because suddenly, the curtain shifts, and a hand gently pulls him.
  The swan is back.
“Oh, I thought… I assumed the seat was free… I—Are you alright? You seem a little out of your element. Have you stopped the show, or are you just taking a break between performances?”His tone is still sharp, but Louis doesn’t feel like playing along. He exhales deeply, irritated by the dig.“Go f@ck yourself, judging people from your pedestal.”He shoots him a cold glare before focusing back on his hands. He silently hopes the curly-haired man will leave as quickly as he arrived, but he doesn’t.Instead, he sinks into the sofa next to Louis.“I’ve had a sh@t day.”This time, there’s no malice in his voice, no teasing. Just honesty. Louis lifts his gaze. His elbows are still resting on his knees as he observes the man beside him, legs crossed, staring off ahead.If Louis had stuck to his original plan of getting him into his bed, he would have pushed on this weak spot. But right now, he doesn’t have the energy. And oddly enough, the curly-haired man keeps talking.“I had an argument with my partner. Earlier. In the garden.”Louis narrows his eyes behind his mask. His interest returns instantly.“Your girlfriend?”The swan smiles, shaking his head. “No, my partner. We skate together.” Oh . A skater.Of course, in the world of the arts, there would be dancers and in this case, a figure skater.“And why did you argue with her?”“Because our manager told her, before we got here, that I’d broken my contract and was going solo. We won’t be skating together after next month.”Louis doesn’t know much about the rules of figure skating, but he can guess this must be a big deal, at least for the woman in question. A brutal end to a partnership that must have been successful enough to land them an invitation here.“I don’t know much about figure skating, but… was your decision worth it?”The swan’s smile widens slightly, and this time, he turns to face Louis.For the first time, Louis can see every small detail of the man’s mask. The golden pearls woven into the exquisite craftsmanship. His emerald eyes, clearer now, more intense.Louis’ senses are back on high alert.Ready to devour the swan if the opportunity arises.“I don’t know. But I like taking risks.”Louis seizes the moment. He sits up straighter, eyes now devouring the man next to him, and wets his lips before delivering his next line.“And is that the skater speaking… or the swan?”The curly-haired man notices the shift in his demeanour but doesn’t shy away, his gaze lingering just as intently.“Both. They both like mysteries.”His eyes trail over Louis’ body for a brief moment before settling back on his face.“And mysteries are far more fascinating when they can be savoured.”Once again, Louis is caught off guard.This man, so confident yet unpredictable. Between his sharp words in the garden and his sudden engagement in this game of seduction, Louis’ mind is confused.But his body? His body welcomes it. The hunter watches the bird, subtly measuring the distance between them. But it’s the prey that moves first. The swan leans in, so close that Louis can smell his vanilla-scented cologne. The tension crackles beneath the surface of their formal exchanges.“You want to keep playing the mystery… even if you don’t know where it leads?”Louis whispers this time, because the swan can hear him now. Their breaths mingle.“I’m curious. And you?”“I have a weakness for the unknown.”Their masks touch. It’s the last obstacle between them. Louis lifts his hand, reaching towards the curly-haired man’s mask. But before he can touch it, the swan’s hand catches his, holding it gently.“No.”Louis blinks a few times.“You don’t want to take off your mask?”"Let me be someone else for a little longer."He whispers as his face tilts forward, burying himself in the crook of Louis’ neck. Louis feels the warmth of soft, damp lips against his skin, and he has to fight back a moan because this simple touch is already making him lose control. One of his hands finds its way into the brunette’s curls, something he’s wanted to do since he first saw him in the garden. The other rests against his neck, guiding the man to lift his head."Tell me your name.""I can’t.""Why?""I told you. I want to be someone else.""I already know you’re a skater.""And that’s all you’ll know tonight." The swan replies, lips brushing against his.Louis is burning with desire. He wants to undress him with his eyes, his lips, in a fraction of a second.He’s never seen a body this enticing, eyes this mesmerising, or a face so delicate and perfect. He has no doubt the top half of it is just as breathtaking as the rest. But Louis respects his wish to remain unknown, his name, his face, everything else. So he smiles, and just before their lips meet, he whispers,"Alright,  cigno di ghiaccio ."And without waiting any longer, he kisses him. The fascination he feels is almost sacred. This swan should have been immortalised in one of the entrance hall portraits, among the divine beings.The kiss starts tender, almost hesitant. A delicious warmth spreads through him as he tastes lips that respond immediately to his own. The moment turns more urgent, more feverish. The air around them thickens, each kiss igniting their fragile, intimate bubble a little more.The outside world ceases to exist.There is only this suspended moment, this shared breath, this silent language they are inventing together. Louis stops thinking. He feels. He loses himself. He wishes time would stop here, in this burning, desperate embrace.But suddenly, a sharp noise tears through their bubble like an invisible blade. A ringtone. Loud. Insistent. A phone, ringing. It’s coming from the man, the Ice Swan. Louis feels him stiffen instantly, as if an invisible wall had suddenly risen between them. The magic shatters. The man pulls back, breaking the kiss.Louis, still dizzy, looks at him, his eyes full of questions. But the other says nothing. The closeness, the openness in his gaze just moments ago is now gone, sealed shut.A flicker of worry crosses his face. He looks away and starts to stand without a word, but Louis grabs his arm, brows furrowed, his breath still uneven."Wait."His voice carries a hint of pleading that he couldn’t suppress.But the man doesn’t stop. He runs a hand through his hair as he rises, stealing one last glance at Louis. His lips are still red and swollen from the kiss, and that’s the last thing Louis sees before he disappears into the darkness.Leaving Louis alone. Alone in this room that suddenly feels too big, too cold. Louis stays still, his breath still short. The air around him is heavy with what could have been. But the absence of this man is crushing.He is alone.Alone with his thoughts.With this desire still burning, his trousers now uncomfortably tight, his racing heart, and a frustration that will haunt him until he finds his next prey. But this one was too beautiful. And Louis let him slip away. He never saw the swan again that night. And when he leaves the palace with Zayn, just as the sun begins to rise, he’s still dazed from the kisses they shared earlier.“Not taking a man home tonight?”“Not tonight.”“That’s not like you.” The darker-skinned man remarks, and Louis sighs, finally pulling off his mask, holding it carelessly in his right hand.“I know. The hunter let his ivory dream escape.”And with that, he steps into the Mercedes waiting outside the palace, which is gradually emptying, his best friend following behind him without a word. *** Louis steps out of his house, slamming the door behind him.He descends the steps as his chauffeur waits by the car, the Mercedes already running."Mr Tomlinson." His driver greets him, opening the door.Louis sighs, shaking his head."Did my father tell you I was going to see him?""No, your mother did."Louis rolls his eyes. He lives in South Kensington, and while it’s not uncommon to see the wealthy around, having a personal driver makes him stand out more than he likes."Thanks, Theodore. But today, I’m taking the tube.""Your mother insisted. She’s worried about your safety."Louis raises a brow.Normally, he would have told Theodore to drop it, and the man would have sided with him. Today would have been no different. But this time, he actually needs his father’s help.For once, it’s not his father summoning him to lecture him, Louis is the one seeking a favour. So he figures he might as well follow the rules for a few hours."Fine. Let’s go."He slides into the back of the car, Theodore following suit behind the wheel, heading towards his parents’ home in Belgravia. His mother is always worried about his safety, his health. Louis doesn’t resent that on the contrary, he likes feeling her love. But she never defended him against his father.And that’s what mattered most to Louis. *** Outside the house, Theodore opens the door, and Louis steps out, patting his arm lightly as a thank you. The butler opens the door before he even has a chance to knock. Louis greets him with a nod. His mother appears in the entrance, arms outstretched, immediately pulling him into a hug as soon as he steps inside."I’m so happy to see you, my Louis."There’s no need to point out that they saw each other just ten days ago, and that this embrace is entirely exaggerated."Me too, Mum. Where’s Dad?"She steps back to observe him with a smile."He's in his office. You’ll go see him first, and then we’ll have tea together?""Yes, but… Okay. Yeah."He answers before she can start making accusations or playing the victim. If she really wanted to see him, she would visit him. But in the five years he’s lived in his house, her visits can be counted on one hand.She’s never approved of him living in this area. She’s always found faults with his décor and lifestyle. But for him, it works. His parents never visit, which means he can do whatever he wants, even if they’re still the ones paying his rent. He doesn’t wait any longer before climbing the marble staircase, heading straight for the top floor, entirely dedicated to his father. There’s his office, his private lounge, and his library. This was the one place he was never allowed to go when he was younger, and he hates this part of the house with a passion. He knocks twice on the office door. His father’s cold "Enter" sends a wave of anxiety through his body.He steps inside, closing the door behind him, feeling a lump form in his throat."Hello, Dad."His father lifts his gaze from the paper in his hands, scanning him critically."I’ve told you before to stop styling your hair like that. Cut that fringe or push it back. You look like a hedgehog."Louis' body tenses. He holds back a sigh.Whenever he needs something from his father, the man takes full advantage of the situation, throwing in four or five insults just to remind him who’s in charge."So? What do you want? Your pocket money isn’t enough this month? Do I need to get my chequebook? I don’t like it when you come begging."He places a hand on the drawer, ready to pull out his chequebook.Louis feels ridiculous. Powerless.His father gives him nearly £5,000 a month.Once, Louis made the mistake of spending it all too quickly and had to ask for extra. Since then, it’s become routine, his father never fails to remind him how dependent he is. But not anymore. For the past few years, Louis has saved a significant amount, preferring to be prepared in case his parents ever decide to disinherit him. They have more than enough reasons to do so.Now, he stays cautious."No, Dad. I’m not here for money. I have something else to ask.""Surprising. Go on, then."His father slides his chequebook back into the drawer, wearing a mocking smirk, and Louis is already exhausted."I wanted to know if you have the guest list from last week’s ball?"Mark narrows his eyes, now staring at his son with a dark, piercing gaze."Why? Is this more of your drug business with Zayn?""No… Dad…"Louis can’t help but sigh this time."It’s not about that. Not about Zayn either. Someone offered me a job opportunity, and I just want to find his name."His father lets out a bitter laugh."Oh, really? And you, my son, didn’t have the common sense to take down his details? A job in what, exactly?"Louis expected these kinds of questions, so he doesn’t stammer when he answers."There were a few of us talking. He mentioned contacts in the art world, but didn’t give specifics. But given the calibre of that ball, I figured someone like that must have serious opportunities to offer. It’s worth checking, isn’t it? I didn’t ask for his name, but if I see the list, I’ll recognise him and be able to reach out."Mark scrutinises him for a moment, then searches through the documents stacked on his desk.He opens one, Louis catches a glimpse of the date matching the night of the ball, and pulls out a sheet thicker than the rest. It’s official-looking, embossed with the government seal. His father opens it, revealing a neatly printed guest list on heavy, prestigious paper."I wonder how you even manage to survive in this world," he says, sliding the list across the desk. "Your negligence will be your downfall. This is an official, private document. It doesn’t leave this office. So find what you need quickly. And don’t expect me to do all the work for you."Louis steps closer, hesitantly reaching out. His eyes skim the names quickly, line after line. Impressive titles. Prestigious affiliations. Every name blurs together, sinking him further into uncertainty.Until he finds it.
   Harry Styles & Emma Ostilly, British Figure Skating Duo – Olympic Gold Medallists, British Ice Skating (BIS) 
It has to be him.Below those names, he keeps reading:Richard Carter, Manager of Harry Styles & Emma Ostilly – British Ice Skating (BIS)  Mona Graham, Athlete Representative – British Ice Skating (BIS)  Jonathan Pierce, Technical Director – British Ice Skating (BIS)There’s no doubt. No other figure skaters are mentioned, not even from foreign delegations. His swan had also mentioned his partner. It can only be him. Now, Louis knows his name. A smirk appears on his lips.The silence in the room is broken by his father’s voice."Well? Did you find what you were looking for?"Louis swallows the lump in his throat and nods. He hands the paper back before stepping towards the door, speaking quickly."Yes. Thanks, I really appreciate it. I’ll keep you updated. See you later."His father watches him with a questioning look, but Louis doesn’t wait for a response. He rushes out of the office. *** Downstairs, his mother is waiting. Arms crossed. Of course. She was expecting her mother-son moment.Louis sighs in frustration, he has to endure at least another hour with her before he can finally focus on his skater."Louis."She says firmly, as if she already knew he had planned to avoid her. She has that tone that doesn’t tolerate refusal or excuses, even when wrapped in fake kindness.With a resigned sigh, he follows her to the kitchen. The room is bright, immaculately tidy, radiating a domestic warmth that irritates him. She moves around immediately, the porcelain cups already set on the table as she simply boils the water. Louis sits at the table, repeating his swan’s name over and over in his head so he won’t forget it.
   Harry Styles, Harry Styles, Harry Styles, Harry Styles. 
"So," she begins, placing the teapot down, "what did you need from your father? You seemed… preoccupied. And in a hurry."He looks up, keeping his expression neutral."Nothing important, Mum. Just something for a professional contact. He gave me what I needed."She raises an eyebrow, sceptical but relieved."Professional? Oh, that makes me happy, darling. Is it for an internship? A job? Or is this just another one of your… fleeting ideas?"Her last remark is a direct hit, but Louis recognises his father’s words in her voice. She’s simply parroting her husband. As she always does. Louis sighs softly, pinching his lower lip between his index finger and thumb."I’ve got it under control, alright? It’s nothing serious for now. I’m just trying to get more information."She pours the tea into her cup, adding a careful splash of milk, then looks at him with far too much curiosity for his liking."And on the… personal side? Still no girl on the horizon? A lovely young woman you might have met, perhaps at the ball?"He rolls his eyes, irritated by the question."Mum."He pauses, straightening slightly, his voice firmer."I’m gay."She blinks, as if the words hadn’t registered, or worse, as if she refused to understand them. Her gaze drops to her cup, stirring her tea absentmindedly. It’s been almost ten years. Ten years of unspoken disapproval."You say that as if it matters," she replies softly, almost absent-mindedly, before looking up at him with a polite smile."You’re young, Louis. Things change. And these kinds of phases… they’re not a big deal, you know."He freezes, his jaw tightening, a wave of frustration rising within him."It’s not a phase, Mum," he says coldly, enunciating every word.He’s used to this. He’s repeated the same thing every time. His mother is becoming more and more like his father. She’s not really listening. She continues, as if she hadn’t heard him at all."You always liked sweet girls. What did that teacher say about you again? That you were quite the little charmer in the playground. I’m sure if you just gave it some time—""Mum," he cuts her off, his voice sharper this time. "You don’t want to hear what I’m saying. And you know what? That’s fine. I don’t have time for this right now."He stands up, taking his cup of tea with him and downing it in one go, ignoring the burning sensation in his mouth.She lifts her head towards him, surprised by his brusqueness."Louis… I’m just worried about you," she says softly, almost in a whisper, as if those words could mend the distance between them.He stands still for a moment, his eyes lowered to the floor, caught between exhaustion and a quiet, simmering anger he tries to contain.Every fibre of his being urges him to cut the conversation short and walk away, but he knows she doesn’t deserve that.Not yet.She’s the only one in his family who still worries about him, the only one who still gives him the love he craves. Taking a deep breath, he loosens his shoulders and moves around the table, pulling her into a firm embrace, as if this single gesture could both soothe his own pain and spare her from the sting of his words."I know you worry," he murmurs against her shoulder, his voice calm but distant, worn out by a tiredness he no longer bothers to hide."But I’m fine. I really have to go."His mother stays still for a moment, startled by the unexpected hug, as if she’s hesitant to embrace him back, afraid of losing this connection forever.Then, she closes her eyes and holds him tightly, her thin but firm arms wrapping around him, almost desperately.She inhales deeply, taking in the familiar scent of her only son, that subtle mix of cologne and lost innocence."Be careful, alright?" she whispers, her voice betraying a fear she has never known how to express.Louis nods against her, but his eyes are already elsewhere, on the door, on the world waiting beyond this conversation he had been dreading.Slowly, he pulls away from her arms. She holds on for a moment longer, her fingers brushing his shoulders, before finally letting him go. He straightens, giving her a quick, tense smile, more of a formality than actual reassurance. He knows she’s searching for answers in his eyes, but he refuses to give her any."Thank you, Mum," he says simply, his voice barely above a whisper, before turning on his heel.He leaves the kitchen, his footsteps echoing faintly down the hall, then gently shuts the front door behind him.Once outside, he pauses on the doorstep, his head tilted down, inhaling a deep breath of cool morning air.His chest tightens, as if the bitterness weighing on his heart had suddenly become tangible, a heaviness he can’t quite shake off. As he descends the steps, a single thought cuts through his mind with icy certainty: He should have known. With her, just like with his father, some things would never change.She would always be that gentle but passive presence, the one who worries without acting, the one who loves without defending him. And he would always be the one swallowing down the words he could never say.Without looking back, he walks away.Theodore offers to drive him back, but he declines politely, wishing him a good day before heading towards the tube station. One thought now consumes him entirely:Finding that man.His  Cigno di ghiaccio .As he walks, he pulls out his phone and immediately dials his favourite contact.The call rings four times before a groggy voice answers."Hey, princess. What do you want?"Zayn’s sleepy drawl confirms what Louis already suspected, he just woke him up.It’s nearly ten in the morning, but his friend is never awake before noon."I need info on someone.""Ohhh, I love this. Got a name? What industry?""He was at the ball. His name is Harry Styles. Can you find out where he works? He’s a figure skater, it’s not like there are fifty ice rinks in London, but I need to know if he’s still in town, if he’s training, and if I can go see him."Louis often asks Zayn for these kinds of favours. His friend knows everyone. He has all the right contacts to get detailed intel on the people Louis has slept with or wants to sleep with.It’s a sort of precaution, a way of protecting their names and reputations. Though, in this case, Louis just wants to find his swan and finish what they started. Nothing more, nothing less."Alright, I can do that. I’ll ask around and send you everything once I’ve got it.""Thanks."Louis hangs up, a satisfied smile creeping onto his face. He’s impatient to see those emerald eyes again, those perfect curls, that athlete’s body. He doesn’t need promises. He doesn’t want complications.He only wants one night. *** Louis pushes open the rink’s door with a firm motion, the metallic sound echoing slightly in the empty space. The cold air greets him, but he doesn’t slow down, he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. He’s here for one thing only, and he has no intention of leaving without it. As soon as Zayn found information on his swan, just a few hours after his call, Louis knew he wouldn’t back down. His friend had provided him with several intriguing details about his skater. First, he’s younger than Louis, having turned twenty-three earlier this year.Second, his partner, Emma, is thirty.Harry started figure skating quite late, and it’s only been two years since his name started circulating among top-level athletes. Emma, on the other hand, had always been well-known to the public, but she had plateaued in her career, never quite making it onto the podium. It was only with Harry that she rose to fame.Then there was the fact that they trained regularly at Alexandra Palace Ice Rink since they both lived in the capital. And that, Louis had particularly enjoyed hearing.It would make it so much easier to get Harry into his bed. Of course, Louis had done his own research too.He had typed his swan’s name into Google, surprised to see how frequently it appeared online. There were video edits of him, his performances, fans adoring his artistry. Louis had watched several of them and had been captivated by the beauty of his movements. There were far more videos of him with Emma, though, and Louis hadn’t liked watching those, a flicker of jealousy curling in his stomach every time he saw their bodies intertwined on the ice. He had also stumbled upon several articles speculating about the nature of their relationship. A hidden romance? A turbulent affair? Apparently, they had always been vague on the subject, neither confirming nor denying anything.Louis at least hoped to get a clear answer tonight.Zayn had told him that the rink was privately booked five days a week by Mona Graham, Harry and Emma’s representative, except for Wednesdays and Saturdays.And at particularly early hours, from six to ten in the morning. So now, here he is. At the rink. At eight o’clock on a Thursday morning, hope thrumming in his veins. His eyes sweep across the vast expanse of ice.And there, in the centre of the rink: He sees him.
   Harry. His swan. 
Or rather, the man he’s been hunting with burning obsession since that night at the ball. Harry is in motion, his blades carving perfect curves into the ice.His black T-shirt, slightly loose, accentuates his broad shoulders, while his unruly curls bounce slightly with every turn. His graceful arms follow his movements as if he’s one with the ice, his body light yet powerful. Louis stills for a moment, his eyes locked onto him, just as fascinated as he was the first time he saw him in the garden. But it’s not just admiration burning in his veins.No. It’s also frustration.A deep, gnawing frustration, born from Harry’s sudden escape that night and this mystery he seems to weave so effortlessly. With a smirk, Louis descends the stands, stepping closer to the rink’s barrier. He leans against it, arms crossed, his gaze steady, confident, fixed on Harry."I knew I’d find you here," he murmurs to himself.Harry doesn’t seem to notice him yet. There are already several people watching from the sides, so if Louis was allowed in simply by mentioning his name, he figures others must have the same privilege just to observe the champion in action. He thinks he recognises Emma, standing opposite him, off the ice. Beside her is a man in his forties, watching Harry’s movements closely. Louis watches as Harry takes off into a flawless jump, lands smoothly, glides for a few more metres, then finishes with a breathtaking spin. And then, finally, Harry’s glide slows down. His emerald eyes meet Louis’, and the instant flash of surprise on his face is undeniable. But he masks it almost immediately, his features hardening slightly. He skates towards him, blades slicing through the ice with precision. Louis is more than grateful to finally see his face in full.And he hadn’t been wrong, Harry is even more stunning without his swan mask."You?"The curly-haired man stops a few metres from the edge, running a gloved hand through his tousled curls. His tone is calm, but his slightly raised brows betray his disbelief."I thought I lost you. Apparently, not enough."Louis' smirk deepens, a touch amused, almost mocking."You know, people tend to underestimate my determination. Finding you was just a matter of time."He pauses, his eyes trailing deliberately over Harry."And trust me, it was worth it."Harry narrows his eyes, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks, though he tries to hide it by tilting his head slightly."And what exactly do you want?" His lips curl in a near-provocative smirk. "The wolf is still hungry? This isn’t really his hunting ground, though, is it?"He gestures vaguely to the ice around them, his expression hovering between amusement and challenge. Louis lets out a brief laugh, dipping his head slightly before lifting it again, his grin even more arrogant."You’re on the right track. I came to finish what we started."Harry watches him for a few seconds, his lips pressing together slightly. But instead of stepping back or showing any sign of intimidation, he moves forward, skating right up to the edge. His slim yet firm hands land on the railing just in front of Louis, eliminating almost all distance between them."You talk as if everything revolves around you," he replies, his emerald gaze locked onto Louis'. "But I’m not some play where you get to be the lead actor. It was fun in the moment. But now, I’m working. And if you turn around, you’ll see the guy across the rink who’s probably about to have a go at me for chatting with strangers."Louis leans slightly to the side, just enough to catch the man near Emma raising his arms in exasperation. He assumes that must be Harry’s manager. He raises an eyebrow, amused by Harry’s nerve. Tilting his head just a fraction closer, he narrows the space between them even more. "So what was last week, then? A game?" Harry holds his gaze, his breathing just a fraction faster. But he doesn’t give in so easily. "And what if it was just… a moment?"His smirk is playful, provocative."A fleeting instant you simply misinterpreted?"Louis chuckles softly, a deep, raspy laugh that echoes through the emptiness of the rink."Oh no,  Cigno di ghiaccio ," he murmurs, emphasising each word with a near-magnetic intensity. "You can play this game as much as you like. But we both know that wasn’t just a moment. That’s why you’re not stepping back now."Harry, visibly ruffled, takes a small step back, but his gaze remains locked onto Louis', refusing to show even the slightest weakness. He runs a hand through his curls, as if trying to regain control of the situation, before murmuring:"You might be a little too sure of yourself."Louis smirks, triumphant, but he doesn’t push further. Not yet."I’ll take that as a compliment."He steps back slightly, finally breaking the tension, but his eyes remain fixed on Harry."I won’t bother you any longer. For now. But I’ll be back. I really liked what I saw on the ice. Goodbye, Harry."Harry watches him leave, his jaw tightening slightly, as if he hates Louis’ arrogance just as much as he finds it intriguing.And most of all, because Louis used his name.Even though he’d never given it to him the first time. And today, Louis hadn’t given his own either. *** It’s almost six o’clock, and Louis is already there. The Alexandra Palace Ice Skating rink is empty, and aside from the security guards at the entrance, he hasn’t seen a single soul.While waiting for his swan to finally grace the ice, he checks a message from Zayn, received during the night.
   "You + me = Cirque tonight?" 
And, of course, he never says no to a night out at the club with him."Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me?"Louis suddenly hears the voice. It comes from his swan, standing at the bottom of the stands. Harry is wearing a wool cardigan, his hair tied back in a bun, a sports bag slung over his shoulder. His tone is sharp, but his cheeks are slightly pink.Louis, unfazed, lifts his head towards him, smiling as he slowly stands up, slipping his phone into the pockets of his coat."I’m not following you,  Cigno di ghiaccio . I’m watching you. There’s a difference."He lets the nickname hang in the air, savouring the effect it has. Harry rolls his eyes, exasperated, but he doesn’t walk away."And I suppose you’ve got some excuse lined up for being here?"It’s been a week since Louis last came here, and he’s missed Harry’s arrogance terribly. His smile widens, and he nods."It’s Friday. You don’t have training scheduled for tomorrow."Harry’s expression shifts ever so slightly, as if suddenly feeling exposed, because somehow, Louis knows everything about him. And yet, the curly-haired man knows absolutely nothing about him in return."You know a lot about me..."Harry’s voice is low, almost cautious."It seems so." Louis tilts his head slightly, his tone teasing but firm. "So, I’m asking you out tonight."Harry freezes for a moment, his hand still gripping the strap of his sports bag. His eyebrows rise slightly, and a flicker of incredulity flashes through his green eyes.For a moment, Harry doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t look away either.Louis, on the other hand, thrives in the tension lingering between them. He notices the way Harry’s fingers tighten slightly around the strap of his bag. A subtle, almost imperceptible movement, but one that gives him away. Louis savours it, that tiny hint of nervousness he manages to stir up in the skater. It gives him a strange sense of satisfaction."You must be joking," Harry finally says, his tone cutting, as if trying to play his winning card.But Louis doesn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk only grows.He adores that defensive little look Harry gets when he tries to mask his emotions. Slowly, he steps closer to the barrier, further closing the distance between them."Not at all," he replies, his voice calm, smooth, almost seductive."I think you spend too much time here, obsessing over moves you’ve already mastered. A night out would do you some good."He lets his words linger in the space between them, carefully observing every reaction Harry has. The way his lips press together, as if he’s searching for a sharp response. But, Harry doesn’t move.He stays rooted where he stands. And Louis knows, he’s got his attention.Even if Harry refuses to admit it."And I suppose you’re the one who’s going to teach me what’s good for me?"Harry finally retorts, his voice laced with sarcasm and challenge. Louis raises an eyebrow, amused by this resistance, finding it more charming than frustrating."Perhaps," he replies calmly. "But if you don’t come, you’ll never know, will you?"A short laugh escapes Harry, almost instinctively, but he quickly regains control. He takes a step back, placing his bag on the railing as if trying to establish some kind of barrier. Louis notices the gesture and allows himself a faint smile. Harry thinks he’s keeping control but it’s Louis who’s leading the game."And what if I say no?"Harry’s arms fold across his chest, his tone still defensive. Louis tilts his head slightly, as if sizing up his opponent. After a pause, his voice drops just a fraction, turning almost into a quiet statement of fact."You won’t say no, because you’re curious. Curious about why I’m here. Curious about why I’m interested in you."His gaze drifts over Harry’s face, pausing just for a fraction of a second on his lips, remembering their softness. Then his eyes return to Harry’s own."Tell me I’m wrong."Harry doesn’t move. Louis sees his fingers hesitate slightly, as if he’s deciding his next move. But what Louis loves most is this silence between them. This suspended moment where he knows Harry is internally battling against his own curiosity.Finally Harry sighs, unfolds his arms, and locks his emerald gaze onto Louis’."I’m only agreeing out of boredom. And mostly because I’m tired of how insufferable you are."The words fall from his lips, almost as if it’s an accusation.Louis lets out a quiet, satisfied chuckle."I’ll take that as a compliment."Harry looks away for a moment, clearly irritated by him. But instead of walking off, he grabs his bag again, slinging it back over his shoulder."Fine," he finally says, his voice calmer now, almost weary. "Just one night. And after that, you leave me alone."Louis straightens slightly, triumphant.He knew Harry wouldn’t refuse."That’s all I ask."He shrugs, as if it’s effortless."I’m meant to be meeting a friend there, but you’re my priority. I’ll pick you up outside the rink at midnight."A smirk tugs at his lips as he takes a step back.He still doesn’t fully understand why Harry is putting up such a fight, when their encounter at the ball had been nothing short of electric. His ego could have taken a hit, but instead, he finds the chase exhilarating.Harry doesn’t respond. He simply turns on his heel, heading towards the changing rooms, his walk deliberately casual. Louis watches him go, his lips still curved into a satisfied smile. He adores this dynamic between them, this game of resistance that only makes their exchanges more thrilling. He’s not used to being made to wait, but he likes it. It pulls him out of his usual routine. Once Harry disappears down the hallway, Louis pulls out his phone, quickly tapping out a response to Zayn’s message.
   "Alright. I’m coming! With my skater." 
 *** Midnight approaches, and the London night wraps Alexandra Palace in a hazy glow beneath the streetlights. Louis, leaning against his car, glances at the time on his phone.A final message from Zayn lights up his screen.
   "I’m already here, hurry up ;)" 
Louis smirks, amused. He can picture his friend all too well, probably already high, and Louis can’t wait to join him.A shadow moves towards him, and, of course, it’s Harry. The messy bun from that morning is gone, replaced by perfectly styled curls framing his face. A deep burgundy silk scarf wraps around his neck, a sharp contrast to his small black jacket. Despite the late hour, he carries himself with an effortless elegance, one that immediately draws Louis’ gaze.Louis straightens up, his smirk playful, his eyes roaming over Harry with barely hidden appreciation.When the curly-haired man reaches him, he arches an eyebrow, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat  whether to shield himself from the May breeze. Or from Louis himself. It’s hard to tell."I was almost expecting you to stand me up," Louis teases, his voice low and smooth."I’m not the type to break my word…"Harry’s grimace is brief, but a smile betrays his amusement. Without waiting for another remark, he slips into the car, settling in with natural grace. Louis rounds the vehicle, sliding into the driver’s seat, feeling a surge of adrenaline pulse through him. The night is already promising. He recognises Harry’s scent instantly, the same as at the ball. And his heart pounds a little faster.As they drive towards Cirque le Soir, the streets of London blur past in streaks of light and illuminated shopfronts.The radio hums with a metal song, one Louis particularly loves.And he turns the volume up slightly, letting the energy of the music seep into the car. He glances at Harry from time to time, watching how the streetlights cast shifting patterns over his delicate features."So," Harry begins, finally breaking the comfortable silence. "Can I have your name now? Might help me relax.""Louis. Nice to meet you, Harry."He replies softly, while his guest nods, taking in the information before immediately following up with another question."Where are you taking me, Louis?""Cirque le Soir."Harry raises an eyebrow."Is that where you take all your conquests?"Louis smiles, his fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel."Not all of them. Only the ones worth it."Harry rolls his eyes, but Louis catches it. That faint smirk tugging at his lips.A small victory.But a victory nonetheless.And on top of that, he’s not even lying. *** Outside the club, its discreet yet imposing façade unmistakable, a suited bouncer stands at the entrance, but he lets them in without a word. Louis quickly fires off a message to Zayn, letting him know they’ve arrived. Inside, it’s a whirlwind of coloured lights, hypnotic music, and artistic performances that defy imagination.Acrobats, dancers, and circus artists mingle with the guests, creating an atmosphere that is both electric and intimate.Louis guides Harry through the crowd towards a reserved table, where Zayn is already waiting, a glass in hand, his signature charming grin already in place. He’s not alone. An unfamiliar man sits beside him, and Louis easily guesses he’s another of Zayn’s latest conquests."Ah, the famous Harry Styles."Zayn rises to his feet, extending a friendly hand towards Harry."I see why Louis was in such a rush tonight."Louis says nothing, because it’s true. The curly-haired man shakes Zayn’s hand, his gaze sharp, yet not devoid of curiosity."And you, are you the friend who covers for him?"Zayn bursts into laughter, lifting his glass in mock solemnity."Someone’s got to do it. I just volunteered."Louis sits down beside his swan, his knee deliberately brushing against Harry’s under the table."So, ready for an unforgettable night?"Harry meets his gaze, his green eyes gleaming under the dim club lights."I’m more resilient than you think."His voice drops slightly, low enough that only Louis can hear."And I only came to clear my head. Not to get laid…"The words are a challenge, but the smirk tugging at his lips, promises sparks. Louis doesn’t answer.Because really, his swan is in deep denial. As the waiter approaches, Louis orders four bottles of champagne."How do you know I like champagne? Did you look that up too?""Mh… No." Louis chuckles as the waiters uncork the bottles and pour each of them a glass. "I guessed.""How?""Your elegance,  Cigno di ghiaccio …"Harry rolls his eyes but still takes his glass. Louis clinks his against it, smiling. Zayn and his companion take a sip before disappearing onto the dancefloor, and Louis couldn’t be more grateful. Finally, he’s alone with Harry, and he wastes no time making the most of it."So, Harry," Louis begins, his voice smooth, playful. "Now that it’s just us, tell me something about yourself. Anything."Harry tilts his head, the challenge in his green eyes unmistakable. "Why would I do that?"Louis pretends to think, before shrugging lightly. "Because you want to know more about me too. But you refuse to ask first."Harry’s lips press together slightly, his silence betraying the accuracy of the remark. He takes his glass, idly tracing a finger through the condensation, before finally exhaling a quiet response."I’m not a fan of nightclubs."Louis grins. "And yet, here you are."Harry throws him a glance, one that’s mockingly unimpressed. "Let’s just say I’m intrigued."Louis straightens slightly, feigning innocence. "Intrigued by what? The club? Me?"Harry doesn’t answer right away. He takes a sip of his champagne, letting the silence stretch just enough to build tension. Then he sets his glass down and crosses his arms, feigning a relaxed demeanour. "Both," he finally admits, his eyes glimmering with amusement. Louis doesn’t hide his satisfied smile. "Interesting…" he murmurs, his tone deliberately vague, as if storing the information for later. "You never come here?""It’s not exactly part of the skating routine. Friday nights, I rest. I sleep. I don’t drink."Louis narrows his eyes. "You’re missing out on a lot at your age."Of course, Harry knows his Wikipedia page is probably packed with details and that Louis must have used it to learn even his age. "Maybe, but that’s my life. I deal with it."Louis pulls a small pouch from his pocket, along with rolling papers and a filter tip. Harry’s eyes widen. "What are you doing?""Rolling a joint.""In front of me?""Well… yeah?" Louis squints at him. "You don’t smoke?""No. Never tried it. Just a cigarette once." Harry answers simply. "Are we even allowed to smoke in here?""Haven’t you realised yet that the rich can do whatever they want?" It’s a serious question. Rules don’t exist, especially not when you have money. Harry looks surprised, and Louis wonders if he’s new to wealth. "Do you want to try?" he offers. He expects his swan to refuse outright, but to his surprise, Harry just shrugs."Alright. But I don’t want to feel awful tomorrow.""You won’t, I promise."Louis lights the joint, taking a few slow drags before handing it over to the boy beside him. "It’s like a cigarette. Pull lightly, or it’ll make your head spin."Harry follows his instructions, inhaling once before exhaling slowly, focusing on how it feels. Then he takes another hit, and Louis smirks. "Easy. You won’t feel anything right away… When you smoke it, cannabis takes time to kick in."The swan obeys, taking it more slowly before handing the joint back to Louis. He looks pleased to have tried it.There are questions Louis would like to ask. Like why did he agree to come in the end? Why didn’t he refuse when Louis told him it was a nightclub? Why is he smoking his first joint with a stranger in a place he doesn’t know? These are risks.Louis knows he would never put him in danger and that he’s always respectful with his conquests, he just hopes his companion for the night knows what he’s doing."So, Louis… What do you do for a living?"That’s the dreaded question. "I’m Mark Tomlinson’s son.""I don’t know who that is, but that’s not what I asked…" Harry replies gently.Louis smiles, lowering his gaze to his lap before looking back up at the curly-haired man. "That was my way of saying I don’t do anything. I live off my parents’ money. My father works in the government."Harry runs a hand through his curls, pressing his lips together in quiet understanding. Louis sinks further into the sofa before putting his joint out in the ashtray."Do you want to dance?""Really?""Really."He stands up, holding out his hand to his swan, who studies him with narrowed eyes for a few seconds before accepting and taking his hand. The blue-eyed boy finally enjoys having real contact, and for now, their hands joined together is enough.They step into the crowd together, the deafening music drowning out everything, the blinding lights making the scene feel almost surreal. The heat of the bodies dancing around them, the intoxicating atmosphere, everything seems suspended in the moment Louis finally places his hands on Harry.He grabs his swan by the waist, pulling him close with effortless ease. Harry doesn’t pull away. He lets it happen. His hands slide over Louis’ forearms before trailing up to his shoulders, a movement fluid, almost deliberate. He’s not used to this, and yet, it feels completely natural.The music pulses, a slow yet powerful rhythm, a mix of heavy bass and sensual melodies. Their bodies begin to move together, and Louis can’t help but notice how effortlessly Harry follows his movements. As if he’s dancing on the ice."You’re just as comfortable on solid ground as you are on the ice…" Louis murmurs, his warm breath brushing against Harry’s ear.Harry chuckles softly, a teasing glint in his green eyes. "Still surprising you, am I?"Louis tightens his grip slightly, his fingers lingering on Harry’s hips, feeling the thin fabric of his shirt beneath his palms. "A little," he admits in a hushed breath.Harry shifts slightly, pressing his back against Louis’ chest, subtly reversing their roles. He’s pushing the game further, and Louis feels it immediately. A shiver runs down his spine as the curly-haired man sways against him, just enough to test his limits.Louis lets out a low, raspy laugh, his lips grazing dangerously close to the shell of Harry’s ear. "I’m the one leading, you know."Harry turns his head just enough to meet his gaze, the flicker of a challenge lighting up his eyes. "Is that what you think?""I don’t just think it, I know it." *** The music still vibrates through their bodies as they step out of the nightclub. The night air is crisp, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat inside. Harry runs a hand through his curls, tousled from dancing and the adrenaline-filled atmosphere. They hadn’t stayed longer than two hours, because the tension between them was already too intense."Where to now?" the brunette asks, his voice still slightly hoarse, his gaze carrying that same playful glint.Louis, leaning casually against his car with a smirk, pulls out his keys and twirls them between his fingers. "My place. Unless you’d rather go home alone."Harry hesitates for a moment but then simply shrugs before opening the passenger door. "Why not."Louis starts the car, stealing a few glances at Harry sitting beside him, just to make sure he’s not forcing himself to come along. But he doesn’t seem uncomfortable, his eyes stay fixed on the blur of London lights outside the window. The silence between them isn’t awkward, but it’s charged with something undefined.Eventually, Harry breaks it. "Do you always take guys home after a dance?"Louis smirks but keeps his eyes on the road. "I only take the ones who are worth it."Harry lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. He’s heard that one before. "You’re truly insufferable."The brunette turns his head briefly, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. "Looks like you’re starting to like it."Harry doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t hide the small smirk pulling at his lips either. Louis parks the car outside his place in Kensington, and they step out together. As he unlocks the door, he catches the way his swan’s eyes widen slightly, taking in the beauty of the building with quiet admiration.Louis’ house is a reflection of himself, almost chaotic, yet every detail seems deliberately curated, as if each piece tells a story. The terrazzo floor, with its colourful marble fragments, lends an unexpected retro charm, while the warm beige walls are adorned with abstract graphic prints and 70s artwork.He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it carelessly over the back of a chair in the adjacent living room. "Make yourself at home," he says casually before disappearing into the kitchen to pour them two glasses of water.Harry steps forward slowly, his eyes scanning the room, taking in every detail. The caramel-brown velvet modular sofa dominates the space, surrounded by cream bouclé armchairs that add a soft texture to the decoration. A smoked glass coffee table with chrome legs reflects the dim lighting of the room. One entire wall is occupied by a built-in dark wood bookshelf, overflowing with books, vinyl records, and carefully chosen decorative objects, a vintage mustard-yellow rotary phone, abstract ceramic sculptures… Everything here radiates elegance with a bold, personal touch. He also notices the heavy ochre velvet curtains framing a floor-to-ceiling window, leading to a private garden bathed in the soft glow of the outdoor lampposts.Louis returns, holding the two glasses in his hands. He hands one to Harry with an enigmatic smile. "I see you’re admiring my sanctuary. Do you like it?"Harry raises an eyebrow, feigning indifference, but he can’t deny he’s impressed, Louis can see it written all over his face. "It’s... well thought out," he murmurs, setting his glass down on the coffee table.Louis chuckles softly, sinking into the sofa, relaxed but never taking his eyes off Harry. The latter leans slightly against the back of the couch, still taking in the details around him. The mix of modern design with retro elements is unexpected, yet strangely harmonious. A brass lamp with an asymmetrical design casts a warm golden glow in the corner of the room."It’s a bit… you," he finally says, almost to himself.Louis nods, satisfied, before pulling a small box from under the coffee table, taking out a pre-rolled joint. He lights it, taking a slow drag before handing it to Harry, who accepts it with a smirk."Exactly. Practical, seductive, and just a little dramatic."Harry doesn’t reply, but a faint smirk tugs at his lips. Louis amuses him just as much as he irritates him. And this house, much like its owner, seems to constantly walk the line between deliberate arrogance and effortless charm. "I have to admit, you’re right. But now I’ve got a question. Why do you constantly flatter yourself? Is it a lack of confidence?"Louis remains still for a moment, his smile frozen, as if Harry’s words have managed to crack an armour he never intended to lower. Hurt isn’t quite the right word, but there’s a sharp sting, a small fracture in his carefully maintained game. He sinks a little deeper into the sofa, his gaze fixed on Harry, a different glint in his eyes now. Colder, more calculated, but with a flicker of something he can’t quite mask. Control slips from his grasp, just for a second."A lack of confidence?" he repeats, his voice low, almost a whisper. He turns his glass between his fingers, watching the way the light refracts through the amber liquid. "Do you really think that’s what it is? That I boast to compensate for something?"Harry watches him, legs crossed, leaning against the back of the sofa with that same mix of curiosity and impertinence that has the unique ability to both frustrate and intrigue Louis."Well," Louis continues, tilting his head slightly, his smile returning but this time, it’s more restrained, more forced. "Just because you hide behind half-truths and silences doesn’t mean everyone else does the same."Harry raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond right away. He waits, patient, and that is exactly what makes Louis waver even more. He’s not used to being pushed like this, to being knocked from his pedestal.Louis eventually exhales sharply, setting his glass down on the coffee table with a movement that’s almost abrupt. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. His mask begins to slip."You want the truth, Harry?" he asks, his voice rougher now, slightly sharper. He turns his head towards him, locking their gazes. "Maybe I boast because it’s easier than asking myself questions I don’t want to answer. Maybe it’s simpler to be ‘arrogant’, as you put it, than to face things that sometimes eat me up inside."He pauses, and his usually piercing blue eyes seem just a shade darker. "But what about you? What exactly do you do? You criticise, you observe, you throw out remarks as if you’ve got it all figured out. But you know what, Harry? I don’t think you’re so different from me."Harry, who until now had seemed almost amused, straightens slightly. Louis' tone has changed. It’s as if something inside him has cracked, allowing a glimpse of a truth he never reveals or so rarely that it makes him uneasy."Maybe you’re right," Harry murmurs, his gaze softer but still sharp. "Maybe we’re not so different."Louis abruptly stands, a sudden need to reclaim the space. He walks towards the bay window, hands buried deep in his trouser pockets, staring out at the city lights shimmering in the distance."What I do know," he finally says, his voice calmer but still tense, "is that if I talk myself up, it’s because no one else ever did it for me. So yeah, maybe it sounds like arrogance. But I really don’t give a f@ck."He stays there, his back to Harry, suddenly looking more vulnerable than he ever has. The silence in the room is heavy, and Louis hates it. He hates this feeling of being exposed, especially with someone he barely knows.The swan rises slowly, moving towards him. He doesn’t speak at first, but when he stops just a few steps behind him, his voice is soft, almost a whisper. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."Louis lets out a bitter laugh without turning around. "It’s fine, Styles. It’s not like you said anything I didn’t already know."A pause. Then, Harry does something neither of them really expects. He takes another step forward, crossing an invisible boundary, and rests a light hand on Louis' shoulder, Louis, who hasn’t used a single affectionate nickname this time."Maybe you should let someone else do it for once," he murmurs, his voice so low it almost melts into the night.Louis turns his head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. A silent exchange. Nothing more. But everything is there.He stopped believing in this a long time ago, and Harry’s words aren’t about to change his mind.The silence settles between them, broken only by the distant hum of the city beyond the glass. Harry is the first to step back, perhaps sensing that Louis needs air, that vital space allowing him to keep from being overwhelmed."I’ll step outside for a bit and give you a moment," he murmurs before disappearing onto the private terrace overlooking the garden.Louis lets him go, making no effort to fill the void Harry leaves behind. Instead, he returns to the living room, picks up his glass, and sinks into the sofa, replaying what he just said. What he just admitted, to a man he had only planned on taking to bed.But a few minutes later, he hears a noise. A faint rustle, an awkward shift. He straightens up, intrigued, and turns toward the bay window. He sees Harry, leaning against the railing, eyes half-closed, shoulders slumped, looking... elsewhere.Louis frowns, sets his glass down, and in just a few steps, reaches the terrace. The cool night air bites at his skin, but all his attention is fixed on Harry."What the hell are you doing?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.Harry doesn’t respond immediately. Louis watches him closely, noting the unusual pallor of his skin, the slight tremble in his fingers gripping the railing. He looks distant, trapped somewhere between euphoria and discomfort. It’s easy to tell that the joint he smoked has fully kicked in and that Harry wasn’t ready for the effects.Harry briefly closes his eyes, as if even the act of moving makes his head spin. "I’m not used to this."Louis steps closer, his initial irritation shifting into genuine concern. "Come here," he murmurs, gently grasping Harry’s wrist, pulling him away from the railing. He’s warm, feverish, almost, and doesn’t resist. He lets Louis guide him inside, stumbling slightly over the threshold.Louis clenches his jaw as he sees just how lost, how disoriented Harry looks."F@ck, cigno , you’re not built for this," Louis mutters, supporting him with a hand on his back as they cross the living room. Harry doesn’t even react to the jab. His eyelids are heavy, his breathing too fast, and Louis feels his weight pressing against him more and more."Hey," he says softly, trying to get his attention as he guides him to the sofa.Harry drops heavily onto the leather cushions, his head tilting slightly back. His neck is tense, and Louis can see the slight clench in his jaw, as if he’s fighting against something.Anxiety. The effect of the joint. A mix of both.Louis sighs, running a hand through his hair before crouching in front of him. "How do you feel?"The curly-haired boy blinks his eyes open, but they’re glazed over, almost unfocused. "Feels like everything’s spinning," he murmurs. Louis grabs a cushion and props it behind his neck."Lie down for a bit."Harry obeys, shutting his eyes briefly, his breathing uneven. Louis stays close, watching the small shivers that run through his body. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like seeing Harry off balance."Breathe slowly," Louis murmurs, placing a light hand on his arm, as if grounding him to something real. "It’ll pass."Harry slowly reopens his eyes and stares at Louis, silent. For a second, he looks completely vulnerable, caught between dizziness and exhaustion. Louis, who has always loved having control, realises he hates seeing Harry like this. He usually doesn’t care about others, but here, in his own home, he doesn’t like seeing his prey in such a fragile state.Without really thinking, he gets up and disappears into the kitchen. A few moments later, he returns with a glass of ice water and a bar of dark chocolate."Here," he says, setting the glass on the coffee table. "Drink this. And have some chocolate, it helps."The swan raises an eyebrow, clearly sceptical, but he slowly sits up and takes a square of chocolate. Louis watches him, arms crossed, feigning indifference but his eyes never leave Harry."Didn’t take you for the nursing type," Harry murmurs after taking a bite, already feeling slightly better.Louis raises an eyebrow. "I’m not a nurse. I’m just not an @ssh@l@."Harry lets out a tired but genuine laugh. He rests his head against the sofa, slowly regaining his composure.Louis stays there. At a reasonable distance. Not too close. Not too far either. And he waits. Tonight, he’s the one keeping watch.Harry eventually closes his eyes, and Louis wonders how long he skated today. Fatigue doesn’t mix well with drugs, and that could explain why he felt so dizzy.He finally hears Harry’s breathing slow, deepening into sleep. Louis sighs, grabbing a blanket and draping it over his body. It’s not something he usually does, but there’s something about Harry, something that makes him want to be protective.He stays up watching over him the entire night, eventually dozing off in the armchair next to the sofa, exhausted and, above all, guilt-ridden. Guilt for oversharing his personal issues. Guilt for giving Harry cannabis in the first place. *** Smoke drifts lazily from Louis’ cigarette, curling into the crisp morning air as he stares out at the perfectly manicured garden in front of him. Every hedge trimmed with precision, every flower carefully chosen to complement the rest. Everything here is under control. Unlike him.Three days. Three days since that f@ck@ng night. Three days of pretending it doesn’t bother him.But it does.When he woke up, the sofa was empty. Not a word. Not a sound. Nothing. Just the blanket folded neatly over the cushions, proof that Harry had been there, but not long enough for it to mean anything.He should have seen it coming. Even though Louis never wants more than a one-night stand, this still stings.Zayn appears in the background, grabbing a beer from the fridge before stepping onto the terrace. He leans against the railing, looking relaxed and at ease a perfect contrast to the storm brewing inside Louis. He pops the cap off his bottle, takes a sip, then finally breaks the silence."F@ck, you left too early and missed what happened with my guy last night."Louis doesn’t respond, his eyes still lost in the precise symmetry of the bushes below. Everything is too neatly arranged. As if keeping things in order on the outside might somehow help him control the mess inside. But he’s lost that control, ever since his  cigno di ghiaccio  disappeared before sunrise.Zayn doesn’t seem to mind his lack of response and keeps going, resting his elbow on the railing. "That guy was insane," he starts, talking about his conquest from  Cirque le Soir.  "Like, seriously. Gorgeous, smart, totally my type. But you know what?" He lets a pause hang in the air, twirling the bottle in his hand. "I think he wanted something from me. Something serious."Louis barely raises an eyebrow, more out of politeness than curiosity. "And what did you do?"Zayn chuckles softly, a joyless laugh. "What do you think? I left before he could tie a ball and chain to my ankle."Louis stubs out his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray and pulls out another. "Classy," he comments in a neutral tone.But Zayn isn’t fooled. He studies Louis for a moment, his sharp gaze dissecting every detail, every bit of tension in his stance. He sees straight through him. "And you?" he finally asks, still calm but more attentive. "What have you been up to these past three days?"Louis lights his cigarette, taking a deep drag, searching for an escape in the nicotine. "Nothing special," he lies.Zayn doesn’t take the bait. Of course not. "You know you’re a f@ck@ng terrible liar when it comes to me, right?"Louis clenches his jaw. He knows. Of course, he knows. Zayn always does.Silence stretches between them. His friend waits. And finally, Louis caves. "Harry," he mutters, almost reluctantly.Zayn raises an eyebrow. "Harry... The skater? Him again?"Louis nods, his eyes locked on a fixed point in the garden, unable to look Zayn in the eye. "He stayed over," he adds after a pause.The brunette leans against the railing a little more, listening intently. "And?"Louis inhales slowly, choosing his words carefully. "And I let my guard down," he finally admits, his voice rougher, darker. A bitter smirk tugs at his lips, but it isn’t a smile. "I did exactly what I swore I’d never do."Zayn says nothing, but his silence says everything. He’s waiting for the rest.Louis runs a hand over his face, clearly irritated at his own weakness. "I let myself go," he continues, his tone sharper now. "I dropped the mask, let him see what I really am. And you know what he did?"The other man doesn’t respond, so Louis eventually turns his head towards him, his gaze sharp, cold, filled with bitterness. "He left," he murmurs, as if saying it out loud finally makes it real.Zayn raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t look surprised or sympathetic. He takes a sip of his beer before setting the bottle down on the railing, calm and unshaken. "So what?" he finally asks. "What are you gonna do? Ignore him? Pretend it didn’t mean anything?"Louis grits his teeth, takes another drag from his cigarette to avoid answering.But Zayn doesn’t let it go."It scares you, doesn’t it?" he says quietly. "That someone could see through your façade."Louis exhales the smoke slowly, his features tense. "I’m not seeing him again," he states flatly. "It’s done. I just wanted a sh@g and to move on. It just p@ss@s me off that he already knows too much about me and left before I could even f@ck him."Of course, he doesn’t mention that Harry smoked a bit too much weed, that’s why he just slept, and that Louis is f@ck@ng frustrated. Zayn nods slowly, as if he already knew Louis was going to say that.He takes a few seconds before responding, then exhales, "I think this Harry guy had something a little different about him, and you’re just really p@ss@d that he left without saying anything. Am I wrong?"Louis doesn’t answer, but he feels his chest tighten. Because he knows Zayn is right.The two of them stay silent for a few seconds, letting unspoken thoughts weave through their veins, and it’s Louis who finally breaks the silence by changing the subject."How much did you make at the ball?""£2,000."Louis nods, pressing his lips together. "Not bad.""Thanks for inviting me." Zayn replies, his tone softer than usual.The brunette smiles at his friend. He’d do anything for him. It’s been seven years since Zayn was cut off from his family, and seven years that Louis has been helping him keep his head above water. He lost his inheritance, his support, his safety net at eighteen when he came out to his parents. His father, a businessman, never tolerated weakness, let alone a son who didn’t fit the image of perfection he wanted to project. For years, Zayn played along. He acted like the perfect son until the day he thought he could finally tell the truth. But that was when the downfall began.His bank card was blocked, his personal account frozen. He still lived at home, so he was simply thrown out, his belongings stuffed into a suitcase and dumped onto the street. His name was even erased from the family’s legal documents, as if he had never been a Malik. Louis was the only friend who stayed by his side because, in their bourgeois circle, you didn’t associate with the disgraced.Zayn never took advantage of who Louis was. They’d been friends since primary school, having attended the same private institution. Their relationship didn’t change, if anything, it only became stronger. The darker-skinned man always makes sure to pay for a meal, a coffee, or something for Louis at least once a month, even though it’s hard for him to stay afloat.He had to find work and ended up pursuing tattooing, with Louis’ help, who paid for his equipment and training. Zayn is doing well, but not well enough to afford rent and live comfortably in the capital. So, he supplements his income by selling cannabis to the rich, at the parties Louis brings him to.It’s probably not the best solution, but at least he’s trying to get by, and Louis can’t help but be proud of him for refusing to let himself drown in misery. He helps however he can and admires the way Zayn has managed, despite everything his family put him through.That’s why Louis is careful, too. He tries to save money for the worst-case scenario where his own parents finally get fed up with him. Whether it’s because he refuses to look for a job or because of his personal life, though they already know he’s gay. Even if they don’t like it, they haven’t kicked him out yet, and that’s enough."Shall we go for dinner?" Zayn suggests with a grin, and Louis can’t say no."Okay, but something greasy and loaded with calories. I need comfort food." *** The sharp sound of the front door closing echoes behind him as Louis descends the steps of his house. He adjusts the collar of his denim jacket, his stride fluid yet tense, the visceral need to leave this day behind him and distract his mind elsewhere.Today, he’s going shopping in Mayfair. Losing himself between racks of overpriced suits, buying without thinking, maybe having a glass of white wine on a terrace, proving to himself that nothing gets to him.But his plan shatters in a split second.Because the moment he steps onto the pavement, he sees him.
   Harry. 
He’s there. Right across the street.Leaning against a lamppost, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket, his curls even more tousled than usual, his jaw slightly clenched. His gaze is steady, determined, but there’s something fragile in his posture, a hesitation, as if he knows Louis won’t want to listen to him.And he’s right.Louis doesn’t want to listen to him.He doesn’t want these belated apologies, doesn’t want the guilt seeping from those green eyes.He doesn’t want to hear why he left, he just wants to forget that he let him. So he does the only thing left to do: he ignores him. He keeps his chin high, shoulders squared, gaze fixed straight ahead, and keeps walking. As if Harry Styles doesn’t exist. As if his  cigno di ghiaccio  isn’t standing right there.The metallic steps of the station gleam under the artificial light, and Louis descends quickly, his travel card already in hand. He slides it through the reader without a glance back, passes through the turnstile with the ease of someone who’s done this journey hundreds of times.He acts as if nothing else can reach him, but he feels it. He feels his presence right behind him.So, by reflex, he glances back.And of course. Harry is there. He followed him.Louis narrows his eyes slightly, an irritated shiver crawling up his spine.He doesn’t slow down. He moves down to the platform, disappearing into the crowd. But Harry doesn’t let go. It’s almost ridiculous.Louis stops at the far end of the platform, hands buried in his pockets. The train arrives.With a loud hiss, the doors slide open, groaning under the pressure of the passengers.Louis steps inside, grips a metal pole, fixes his reflection in the window. He takes a slow breath, ready to finally exhale. Then, he turns his head slightly.And Harry is there, seated right in front of him.Louis’ brows furrow.He’s taken too much these past few days. His jaw tightens. His heart pounds hard. He feels the anger burning beneath his skin, rising like a slow but violent poison.So he speaks. In a voice cold, sharp."Are you planning to follow me to my grave, or are you finally going to get that I don’t give a f@ck about seeing your face?"His voice strikes, brutal, sharp. Harry doesn’t flinch, and yet, Louis isn’t holding back. In truth, he only feels two emotions: anger and joy. For Harry, at first, there had been passion and excitement, but ever since he left, there’s been nothing.A tense silence settles between them, broken only by the sound of the train rushing beneath London. Finally, Harry speaks. His voice is low. Steady. But it has that icy edge that means he’s not here to beg, his pride still very much intact."I was just scared."Louis laughs. A short, bitter laugh, void of warmth."Congratulations," he spits sarcastically. "And so?"Harry doesn’t react. He takes it."I’m serious, Louis," he finally says, his gaze more intense now, more grounded."No, you’re just pathetic."Harry hesitates for a second. Then, he takes a slow breath, and his expression hardens slightly."I freaked out with the joint," he murmurs.Louis’ brows furrow slightly. He wasn’t expecting that."I wasn’t okay," Harry continues. "I panicked. I didn’t know where I was, what I was feeling." He pauses. Then, he says the thing that truly haunts him."And I felt unsafe."That word.It lands hard.Louis doesn’t move.His heart slows, just for a second. Because that sentence, he hadn’t seen it coming. It wasn’t him who had scared Harry. It was Harry who had scared himself. And f@ck. Louis had reacted like a selfish pr@ck again, convinced Harry had left because of his own confession, his own lack of confidence. But no. It was just that stupid f@ck@ng joint.The train pulls into Mayfair, the doors sliding open. Louis steps out without a word, because he’s ashamed of how badly he misunderstood. And mostly because, deep down, he knows Harry will follow him. He’s right. He feels his shadow moving beside him as they leave the platform.He still feels the anger in his chest, but it’s different now. Less searing. Less sharp.He still tastes the bitterness on his tongue, but he can’t ignore what Harry just admitted. It’s not an apology. But it’s a crack in the wall. And Louis, even if he regrets it, won’t apologise either.Finally, after minutes of silence, Louis stops in front of a shop. He turns slightly. His gaze is less harsh, but still piercing."Are you coming or not?"It’s still not an apology. But it’s an open door. And Harry takes it without hesitation.They step through the boutique’s doors, an understated yet elegant establishment, where every detail is a quiet declaration of wealth. The scent of new leather and polished wood lingers in the air, the hushed atmosphere punctuated only by the soft rustling of fabric as sales assistants carefully arrange displays.Louis still says nothing. He moves as if Harry isn’t there, his gaze skimming over the racks of suits, brushing over the fabrics with that carefully cultivated indifference, the kind of detachment worn by a man who already has everything and is looking for nothing. Harry follows in silence. Not too close. But not too far either.He watches Louis in his element, a world where price tags don’t exist, where every customer is treated like royalty, where he doesn’t need to speak to get what he wants. And yet, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself. Not today."Good evening, Mr Tomlinson," a salesman in a flawless suit greets smoothly. "Shall I prepare a fitting room for you?"Louis nods wordlessly.The salesman vanishes within seconds, and Louis runs a hanger between his fingers, staring at the suit with absurd concentration. As if trying to trap his thoughts inside it.Eventually, it’s Harry who breaks the silence."Are you really going to buy a suit just to avoid talking?"Louis barely raises an eyebrow, grabs a jacket at random, and hands it to the returning salesman."Yes," he replies simply.Harry exhales sharply. "Louis."But Louis has already turned on his heel, disappearing behind the dressing room curtains.Behind the curtain, he takes a deep breath. He shrugs off his denim jacket, slips into the suit blazer, adjusts the collar in the mirror. But he’s not really looking at himself. No suit is going to erase the fact that he let his guard down, that Harry came back, that somewhere, a part of him is relieved. He doesn’t want to be relieved. He wants to be angry. It’s easier for him to act like this because it’s the emotion he knows best. Angry at his father, at his mother, at Zayn’s family, at Harry."To be honest, that really doesn’t suit you."Harry’s voice carries easily through the curtain, and Louis clenches his teeth."Why are you still here?" Louis snaps, pulling the curtain open just enough to glare at him.Harry doesn’t step back."Because you didn’t say no," he replies, steady, calm.Louis swallows hard. He shuts the curtain again and leans against the wooden wall, the weight of this g@dd@mn day suddenly crashing down on his shoulders. He could throw him out and ignore him, turn this encounter into something sterile, insignificant. But he knows that’s a lie because otherwise, he wouldn’t have kept this conversation going. He wouldn’t have let it drag out instead of landing his fist straight into Harry’s face.He shrugs off the heavy jacket and tosses it onto the chair inside the fitting room. Then, he steps out.Harry is still there. Obviously.Louis crosses his arms, tilts his head slightly. "So?" he exhales, his voice more tired than sharp. "This was your grand comeback? Following me around until I get tired of ignoring you?"Harry doesn’t flinch. "If that’s what it took, then yes."Louis presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek, an ironic smile threatening to form on his lips. "And now?"Harry hesitates for a second, his fingers lacing together nervously. Then he lifts his gaze to Louis. "Now, I’d like you to let me make up for my mistake."A thick tension settles between them, almost suffocating.Louis should say no. He knows he should… But f@ck… He just can’t. He exhales, long and exasperated. "You owe me a drink, then."Harry raises an eyebrow. "That’s how you forgive me?"Louis walks past him, slipping his coat over his shoulders. "No," he murmurs without looking back. "That’s how I see if you’re worth it."He steps out of the store, nodding at the salesman on his way. And again, Harry follows without hesitation. *** The street is calm and elegant, bathed in the golden glow of Mayfair’s shop windows. Luxury seeps from every facade, from every passerby walking with quiet confidence, from the well-groomed shadows of a world where money is never questioned, it asserts itself. Louis strides forward without a word. He could pick any place. A private bar, one of those where entrance is by invitation only. A chic terrace where champagne flows endlessly, a dimly lit alcove reserved for regulars. But he doesn’t want perfection. He wants a place where tension can’t dissolve into appearances.So, he stops in front of a discreet bar, an unassuming spot that serves exceptional spirits. Away from the noise, away from his world. He pushes the door open without sparing a glance at Harry, but he knows he’s following.Inside, the bar is intimate, lit by low-hanging lamps, a mix of dark wood and velvet banquettes worn by time. They settle at a corner table, slightly removed from the rest. Louis shrugs off his coat, absentmindedly smoothing down his shirt before finally lifting his gaze to Harry."Whisky," he orders without hesitation. Straight. Like him, like the night, like everything still lingering thickly between them.Harry doesn’t look away, then eventually raises an eyebrow. "Same for me, please."The waiter nods and disappears, leaving a dense silence between them.Louis leans back against the booth, one arm draped carelessly over the armrest."So?" His tone is neutral, almost indifferent. "What are we here for?"Harry inhales slightly, as if weighing his words. Then he meets Louis’ gaze without flinching."So you stop pretending it didn’t matter."The waiter returns at that moment, setting two glasses down in front of them. Louis immediately grabs his, brings it to his lips, and takes a slow sip. The whisky burns, but not as much as the weight of Harry’s words. He sets his glass down, tapping the rim lightly with his fingertips, a small gesture of thought. Then, he locks eyes with Harry."Explain it to me then," he murmurs, his voice still cold but slightly lower. "Explain to me exactly what mattered, considering you left like it was nothing. I just wanted a one-night stand, Harry. I just find it pathetic that you ran off."Harry doesn’t flinch. Not a blink, not a shift. He stays frozen in this tension, his gaze locked onto Louis’, unmoving but pulsing beneath the surface. He’s been waiting for this moment. Since he followed him here, since he had the audacity to come back after three days of silence. He takes a sip of his whisky, lets the alcohol roll over his tongue, burn slightly down his throat, then sets the glass back down with deliberate slowness. His gaze never wavers."And what if I told you I’m here for exactly that?"Silence. Louis doesn’t move. His face betrays nothing. No reaction, no sign that Harry has just struck something inside him. But his fist tightens slightly around his glass. Harry sees it.The brunette tilts his head, a joyless smile barely tugging at his lips."You’d rather it be just s@x," Harry continues, letting the words sink in slowly. "Because that way, you can control what you feel. That way, you can erase it all once it’s over."Harry crosses his arms, his jaw slightly clenched.Louis sees him tense. He swallows the bitterness on his tongue and sinks into the booth, crossing his legs with perfect composure. Then, he smiles. A challenging smile."You think I’m going to say no?"Harry squints slightly. Louis lifts his glass, swirling the liquid between his fingers."Because I’m not going to say no, Harry. I wanted it, and I still do. We can f@ck without talking."He takes a sip, sets the glass down with a sharp clink. Then, he leans in again, just enough for his voice to drop into a private murmur."But if you stay this time, you deal with the consequences."Harry doesn’t look away. He could leave now. He could drop this dangerous game before something spirals out of control. But he doesn’t move. He holds Louis’ gaze. A heartbeat passes. A silence too heavy. And then, finally, a slow, almost predatory smile stretches across his lips."I’ll take the risk," he murmurs.Louis straightens, satisfied. He gestures to the waiter with a flick of his fingers. Risks, apparently, are their thing."Two more whiskies," he orders. "We’re going to need them." *** 6 Cranley Pl, South Kensington.Louis strides towards his front door and unlocks it. This time, he glances back, watching as Harry lingers a little further away, his gaze fixed on the chestnut’s house."Are you planning to stand there all night, or are you finally going to come in?" Louis asks, an amused smile tugging at his lips.Harry finally turns his head, and in those deep green eyes, there’s something steady, something sure, something defiant, a flame that hasn’t flickered despite everything that’s happened between them. "I wanted to see if you’d change your mind," he murmurs, a barely-there smile ghosting his lips.Louis lets out a quiet laugh, tinged with something warmer than before. "Not tonight."As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, something shifts. The air grows heavier, denser, as if the walls are absorbing the charged atmosphere, as if the silence between them is taking up more space than before. Louis tosses his keys onto the console table, shrugs off his coat with a quick, precise movement, letting it land carelessly on the sofa, before tugging at the collar of his t-shirt.He doesn’t look at Harry. Not yet. He moves towards the bar in the living room, grabs an expensive bottle of whisky, pours two glasses, and simply slides one towards Harry without a word."One last drink for the road?" he finally says, his voice light, detached, as if nothing truly weighs on him.Harry takes the glass without breaking eye contact, rolling it slowly between his fingers, as if he’s still assessing the moment, as if he already knows this isn’t just a drink, it’s something far more significant. "That depends on where the road leads," he murmurs, a hint of challenge in his voice.Louis raises an eyebrow, an almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips, amused by that response, by the fact that Harry isn't backing down, that he's not looking for an escape this time. "We both know exactly where this leads, Styles," he says slowly, savouring every syllable.Harry takes a sip of his whisky, the amber liquid sliding down his throat before he sets his glass down on the marble bar with a dull, precise, calculated thud.“I preferred it when you called me… something else. In Italian, wasn’t it?”Louis steps closer, his own glass still in hand, reducing the space between them, closing the distance that’s been burning since they left the bar, that’s been burning since Harry followed him across London, that’s been burning from the very start.He takes one last sip, then places his glass down beside Harry’s, their reflections merging on the glossy black surface of the bar. He finally looks at him properly, really looks at him, as if searching for any hesitation, any lingering doubt.“ Cigno di Ghiaccio .”The brunette’s smile lights up instantly. “That’s much better. What does it mean?”Louis’s blue eyes trail over his angelic face, recalling the first time he crossed paths with those same green eyes almost two weeks ago. So brief, yet so long ago at the same time.“Ice Swan.”The curl of Harry’s lips deepens, evidently pleased with the meaning."You still only want a one-night stand?" Louis asks next, his voice rougher, lower, more dangerous.Harry doesn’t flinch. But he wets his lips slightly, an almost imperceptible movement, a detail that gives too much away.And Louis sees it. He sees it, and he understands.Then he leans in slightly, just enough for his voice to slip between them like an intimate whisper, both a warning and a promise."Because I’m not going to say no, Harry," he breathes, his eyes locked onto his.Harry remains still, but his breathing grows shorter, tighter, more impatient."But I need you to be sure. We've had a bit to drink, and if you feel like you're not completely certain, you can leave. But this time, say goodbye, and we’ll set a date where we’ll both stay sober.""It doesn’t work like that," Harry replies, his voice clipped."What?""I’ve been thinking about you these past few days. About this tension between us, the words we exchanged, that kiss at the masquerade ball, your persistence in tracking me down at my workplace… I wanted things to go further last time, but I couldn’t. Earlier tonight, there was only one thought in my head: seeing you again. I came all the way to your place to finish what we started. I’m not leaving without it."Louis listens, his clear eyes scanning every tiny detail of Harry’s body, searching for any hint of deception, any trace of hesitation. And when he finally decides that Harry is sincere, he closes the last bit of space between them, letting their breaths mingle before, in one final move, he erases the distance and presses his lips to his.Harry’s breath catches, trapped in the moment where Louis’ lips meet his, where anticipation dissolves into certainty. The kiss is slow at first, not out of hesitation, but out of a deliberate need to savour every stretched-out second, every shiver imprinted on their skin. Louis isn’t the type to rush things, not when he’s spent days replaying this frustration in his head, convincing himself that he didn’t care.Harry’s fingers tighten around the fabric of Louis’ shirt, as if he needs something solid to hold onto, as if he has to anchor himself in the reality of the moment to believe that this time, he won’t leave. Louis, on the other hand, controls every inch of it, the angle, the rhythm, the heat of his hand resting against the nape of Harry’s neck, the way he tilts his head, deepening the kiss without rushing, without letting himself be swept away too soon.But f@ck, he feels it. The tension burns beneath his skin, this unfulfilled need hammering in his chest, this thing slipping through his fingers that he has no desire to confront. So he focuses on the taste of whisky on Harry’s tongue, on the pressure of their bodies drawn together with a force they’ve never managed to resist, on the certainty that he doesn’t need to speak, doesn’t need to ask, doesn’t need anything else but this precise moment.He pulls back for just a few seconds, his blue eyes locking onto the green of Harry’s. "Tell me you want this as much as I do," Louis murmurs, his voice lower, rougher.Harry doesn’t even think. "You already know," he breathes, and this time, he’s the one who closes the distance, he’s the one who captures Louis’ mouth with more urgency, more fervour, more impatience.He doesn’t want to wait anymore. He doesn’t want to run anymore. And Louis has no intention of letting him slip away.They move blindly through the living room, navigating the space without breaking contact, led by instinct, by adrenaline, by this f@ck@ng need to feel each other. The glasses on the bar tremble when Louis leans against it for a moment, his hands already tangled in Harry’s clothes, tugging at the fabric, his fingers trailing down his waist like a silent promise.Harry responds to every touch, his body pressed against his, warm, feverish, burning from the inside out. There’s no hesitation anymore, no room for doubt.Only them. Only these d@mn seconds falling into place like they were inevitable from the start. Louis smiles against his lips a satisfied, playful smile, one that says,  I’ve got you exactly where I wanted you , but that also betrays the truth. He’s just as trapped.The seconds stretch in an electric tension, their breaths intertwined, their bodies balanced precariously between control and surrender. Louis’ hands glide over the fabric of Harry’s shirt, brushing against his skin through the cloth, testing the limits of the impatience crackling between them.Harry grips Louis’ shoulders lightly, closing the distance even further, letting out a barely audible sigh against his lips when Louis tilts his head slightly and presses his body a little more against his. Everything is slow. Controlled. But Louis is burning. There’s this game between them, this f@ck@ng power struggle that neither of them wants to fully relinquish.Louis' hand tugs Harry forward, leading him upstairs to his bedroom. He doesn’t even give Harry the chance to take in the space, similar in style to the rest of his house, because his hands are already trailing down the curve of his swan’s back, skimming over the subtle contours of his waist, and when he pulls him towards the bed, he barely registers the way Harry yields under the pressure.Everything is instinctive. Harry sinks into the pillows, his pupils slightly blown under the dim lighting, his lips a little redder from the kiss. Louis stands for a few seconds, just watching him, an unreadable glint in his eyes. Then he smirks, that d@mn smirk of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly what he wants. He leans in slowly, placing his hands on either side of Harry, trapping him without touching him completely, still playing with that distance that’s consuming them."Are you planning to just stare at me all night, or are you going to kiss me again like I know you’re dying to?" Harry murmurs, his tone barely provocative, but dripping with impatience.Louis chuckles softly, his breath grazing Harry’s skin. "Oh, so that’s how it is now?"Harry slides a hand behind Louis' neck, pulling him down gently, erasing the last inch that separated them. And this time, he doesn’t stop. Their movements unravel, becoming more fluid, more grounded. Louis has never liked rushing things, he enjoys playing with his prey. But with Harry, everything is different. Every touch is more intense. Every movement burns hotter.When his lips brush against the delicate skin of Harry’s neck, he hears a sigh he won’t forget anytime soon. And when Harry’s hands gently grip his waist, as if trying to hold him in this moment, Louis surprises himself by wanting to stay there just a little longer.He locks eyes with Harry, just for an instant, just a second too long, and he knows he’s screwed.Because this isn’t just s@x. Because this isn’t just a one-night stand. And because this time, Harry won’t be gone before dawn. *** The first light of dawn filters through the heavy curtains of the bedroom. The silence is peaceful. Harry's breathing is steady. And yet, Louis is awake, staring at the ceiling, his gaze lost in the dimmed darkness, the reality of the past night slowly crashing down on him.F@ck.He turns his head slightly. Harry is there, asleep beside him, his breathing calm, relaxed, as if he had no doubts. Louis, on the other hand, has too many. He closes his eyes. He already knows that this morning, everything will be different. He already knows that this night should never have mattered this much. But it did. And maybe that’s the real problem. *** Morning slowly seeps into the bedroom, casting soft shadows over the wrinkled sheets, silent witnesses to the night that unfolded here, a night that wasn’t supposed to be any different… and yet. Louis slowly opens his eyes.For a few seconds, he doesn’t move. He feels the warmth of another body beside his own, the steady rhythm of Harry’s breathing, the familiar scent of the night before.And it hits him. Far too quickly. Far too hard. Usually, his conquests leave well before the sun rises. His swan makes him lose all sense of control, all his carefully set rules.He clenches his jaw, closing his eyes briefly as he takes a slow breath. Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He pushes himself up slightly, his elbows sinking into the mattress, and turns his head to look at Harry, still asleep beside him, his mouth slightly parted, his hair a mess against the pillow, the soft morning light tracing the delicate lines of his face.And that’s when doubt settles in. A doubt he refuses to face. So, he moves. A little too abruptly. The bed creaks under the sudden shift, and Harry lets out a small, sleepy sound before slowly opening his eyes. He blinks a few times, his gaze still hazy with sleep, before meeting Louis’s.A fleeting smile tugs at his lips, almost instinctively.Louis immediately looks away and snaps back into his original @ssh@l@ self."You should go," he says, his voice cold, sharp, as if he were speaking to just another conquest.The fragile quiet shatters in an instant. A moment ago, everything felt almost peaceful.Now, the air is heavier, colder.Harry sits up slowly, confusion flickering across his face. Of course, it was just a one-night stand, but clearly, he didn’t expect to be thrown out like this."What?" His voice is rough, marked by the night before.Louis doesn’t repeat himself. He gets out of bed, grabs his phone from the nightstand, runs a hand through his hair in a mechanical gesture, as if he could brush away the strangeness of the situation with a single movement."You knew what you were getting into," he finally says, without even looking at him. "We never talked about anything more, Styles."He pulls on his boxers and joggers, then finally turns to Harry, arms crossed, a mask of indifference firmly in place. "So don’t get carried away," he finishes, brutally detached.Harry tenses slightly, his green eyes dark and unreadable. He doesn’t look surprised.But he looks disappointed.And Louis can’t stand it.He can’t stand that f@ck@ng emotion hanging in the air, can’t stand this thing he refuses to analyze. Harry watches him for a few seconds too long. Then he stands up, searching for his clothes distractedly, and Louis lets him. He even watches with that fake distance, as if he feels nothing, as if this morning is like any other.But it’s not like any other morning, because there’s that d@mn weight sitting in his chest, a feeling he refuses to acknowledge.When Harry buttons his shirt, he finally speaks."Alright."That’s it.No questions.No arguments.Just one word, spoken in a neutral tone.Louis had expected him to say something else. To insist. To argue. Like most of the men he’d brought here. But he doesn’t.He lets him win. And f@ck, that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.Harry runs a hand through his hair before grabbing his jacket, throwing one last glance at Louis, as if making sure he’s really serious. Louis doesn’t flinch. And then, without another word, Harry leaves the room.A few seconds later, the front door closes softly. And the silence after his departure is worse than anything else.Louis knows this isn’t what he wanted, but maybe it’s easier to convince himself that he’s in control of the situation. He stands frozen in the middle of his bedroom, fingers clenched around his phone. He can’t let it go, and he waits for long minutes, hoping Harry will come back, knock on the door, insult him. But he doesn’t.His heart is pounding too fast, too hard, a f@ck@ng reminder that something went wrong this morning, that this was supposed to be simple, and it isn’t.So he does what he does best, he calls Zayn.The dial tone barely lasts a few seconds before a rough, sleep-heavy voice comes through."F@ck, Tommo, it’s barely—""Come over."Zayn falls silent, a brief pause stretching out before he exhales heavily."Louis, what the f@ck have you done now?"Louis presses his lips together, his gaze shifting to the window, to the morning light that should feel normal but suddenly feels suffocating."Nothing," he breathes.A tired chuckle on the other end of the line.“B@llsh@t.”Louis grits his teeth.“Just come over, Zayn.”And of course, his friend gives in. Of course, he does. They’re best friends, they’re brothers.“Give me twenty minutes.”Louis hangs up. And as he tosses his phone onto the bed, as he strides toward the bathroom, he knows this wasn’t just a one-night stand. He knows he feels something.But f@ck, he refuses to accept it.He’s just a guy he met at a f@ck@ng ball. A f@ck@ng skater. But a f@ck@ng good f@ck. And a f@ck@ng guy who’s completely messed up his head. *** The sound of the door opening shatters the hushed silence of the house, too big, too perfect, too empty since Harry walked out this morning. Zayn steps in like he owns the place, his sharp gaze immediately assessing Louis’s state."Judging by your face, you f@ck@d up," he says, shutting the door behind him before even bothering with a greeting.Louis rolls his eyes, grabs a cigarette, and holds it out toward him without a word. Zayn doesn’t need him to speak to know this morning wasn’t just another morning. He expected it. He watches Louis for a few seconds too long, then exhales a sigh. They settle onto the terrace, sinking into the outdoor sofas, two lost souls pretending to be indifferent.But Zayn isn’t fooled."So, what did you f@ck up this time?" he asks after a few drags.Louis arches a brow, feigning innocence. "Nothing worth analysing, Malik."Zayn chuckles, a low, knowing laugh, tinged with amusement. "You can't b@llsh@t me. If it was nothing, you wouldn't have called me."Louis takes another sip, eyes fixed on his glass. He doesn’t want to talk about it because he knows exactly what Zayn is going to say.That it was obvious he’d end up getting attached, blah blah.That it was obvious Harry wasn’t just another fleeting distraction, blah blah.That it was obvious he’s already scr@w@ng it up, blah blah blah blah blah.So he doesn’t answer. He just smirks, too forced, too sharp."Are we smoking, or are we having a group therapy session?"Zayn shakes his head, a dry laugh rumbling in his chest, as Louis makes it clear he won’t say a d@mn thing today, leaving Zayn to read between the lines. *** The night stretches on, filled with emptying glasses and slowly burning cigarettes. They’ve spent the day playing video games, talking about everything except the one thing Louis is trying to forget.And it works. Almost.Until his phone vibrates on the coffee table.Louis frowns. He wasn’t expecting any calls tonight. But when his eyes drop to the screen, his heart skips a beat.
   Harry Styles. 
F@ck.Zayn raises an eyebrow, catching the way Louis’s expression freezes. Louis hesitates a second too long. Then he picks up."Why are you calling me?" His voice is neutral. Cold.But there’s an underlying tension, something lodged deep in his throat. On the other end, Harry lets out a dry chuckle."Charming as always."Louis closes his eyes briefly, clenches his jaw." Cigno ."He doesn’t want to play. Not tonight. Or at least, that’s what he tries to make himself believe, even as the nickname slips from his lips. He hears Harry inhale slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully. Then, his voice drops, steadier now."I put my number in your phone last night," he confesses. "I knew you’d kick me out in the morning. I just… wanted to leave you the option to call me. In case…"Silence.Louis swallows hard."If I didn’t want to f@ck everything up?""If you didn’t want to f@ck everything up."Louis feels his heart hammering against his ribs, gripping the phone tighter than he should. He could hang up, end this conversation before it becomes too real. But he doesn’t. He can’t.Instead, he runs a hand over his face, searching for words."Harry, I…"But he doesn’t get the chance to finish, because Zayn, still beside him, still the silent witness to this f@ck@ng disaster, speaks first."Just tell him you’re drinking to forget about him," he throws out, his voice dripping with sarcasm.And it’s loud enough for Harry to hear.A sharp silence cuts through the call. Then, Harry’s voice shifts."Oh."It’s colder now. Sharper.Louis exhales heavily. "It’s not—"But Harry doesn’t let him finish."I get it," he cuts in, his tone clipped.And before Louis can say anything else, the call ends.Zayn watches Louis, one brow raised.Louis just stares at his screen, phone still clenched in his hand.He should feel relieved.This is what he wanted, isn’t it? Distance. To not see him again, to end the game.So why does it feel like he’s the one who f@ck@d it all up?"Well," Zayn mutters, lighting another cigarette. "It’s official. You f@ck@d up."Louis shoots him a glare."I needed you to shut the f@ck up, right now. Especially since he probably didn’t recognise your voice, he must’ve thought that—"Zayn chuckles, shaking his head."And what exactly did you need, Louis? For him to wait around while you drink yourself numb and f@ck someone else to forget about him? Does it bother you that he thinks you’ve already replaced him?"Louis doesn’t answer.Harry is angry.And Harry being angry is a problem.Because if he really didn’t care, he wouldn’t feel this tightness in his chest, this f@ck@ng weight pressing down on his ribs.He places his glass down on the table, harder than intended, then gets up."I’m going to bed," he mutters.Zayn shakes his head, unimpressed."Yeah, run and hide. Let’s see if you actually sleep."Louis ignores him, but raises his middle finger as he walks away, knowing Zayn caught it. He climbs the stairs, heads straight for his bedroom, and closes the door behind him.And in the darkness of his too-big room, he lies down without closing his eyes.Because this is when it finally sinks in.No matter what he does, no matter how much he tries to bury it under alcohol or s@x…He won’t be able to forget him. F@ck@ng swan . *** The night seems calm on the surface, but the air is thick with tension, like a brewing storm ready to explode at any moment. Zayn stayed over, lingering until mid-afternoon before heading off to tattoo a client. Since then, Louis has been alone, stewing over the last miserable days of his life.For some reason, he knew this was coming. He knew it was only a matter of time before Harry showed up, furious, determined, ready to throw every hard truth in his face.What he hadn’t anticipated was the way his heart clenched at the sight of that anger burning in those green eyes. He didn’t want to feel anything. But f@ck, it’s already too late.When he hears the knock and opens the door, he isn’t surprised when Harry storms in like a f@ck@ng tornado, and Louis doesn’t even try to stop him, simply closing the door behind him."So, what was your plan, huh?" Harry spits, his voice sharp, his gaze searching for any sign of weakness on Louis’ face.Louis walks to the living room, leans casually against his bar, glass in hand, and raises an eyebrow, feigning indifference. "My plan?" he echoes, his voice icy. "I think you’re imagining things,  cigno ."Harry lets out a dry, humourless laugh."Oh yeah? Because I made up the fact that you spent your whole night drinking with Zayn, hoping to forget about me?" He steps closer, closing the distance, his shoulders tight with frustration. "You can b@llsh@t me all you want, Louis," he continues, jaw clenched. "But you and I both know you can’t get me out of your f@ck@ng head."Louis’ fingers tighten imperceptibly around his glass.And of course, Harry notices. It’s exactly what he was waiting for. A bitter smile tugs at his lips as he murmurs, "There. Right there. You’re cracking."Louis snaps.In a split second, he slams his glass onto the counter, his eyes flashing with a chaotic mix of anger and uncontrollable desire. He grabs Harry by the collar of his T-shirt, pulling him in, their breaths colliding in a clash of raw tension."Shut up."The whisper is more of a command than a plea. But Harry doesn’t listen. He never has. He doesn’t back down this time. Instead, he grabs Louis right back, and in an instant, their lips crash together, hot, fierce, desperate, starved for something neither of them dares to name. It’s rough and frantic, a battle where neither wants to surrender, but where both are already burning. Hands clutching at fabric, breaths uneven, bodies too close. And just as everything could spiral again, just as Louis could keep him here, in this f@ck@ng bubble where nothing else matters…He pulls back.Like he’s been burned. Like he’s realised too late what he’s just done."No," he exhales, his voice rougher than he intended.Harry freezes. The silence is brutal, cutting."You’re p@ss@ng me off," Louis mutters, running a hand over his face, avoiding Harry’s gaze. "I can’t do this with you. I told you it was one f@ck@ng night. Just s@x, and that’s it."It takes Harry a few seconds to process. Then his shoulders tense, his eyes flickering with something sharp and painful, something that hardens as he clenches his jaw.He shakes his head, lets out a humourless laugh."You’ve got to be f@ck@ng kidding me."Louis doesn’t reply, and maybe that’s what hurts the most.So Harry nods slowly, stepping back. “You’re right.” His tone is colder than ever. “At least I had the guts to feel something.”Then he turns, opens the door, and slams it shut behind him without a backward glance.Louis is left standing alone in the middle of his living room, fists clenched, breath unsteady.F@ck.He grits his teeth, grabs his glass, and hurls it violently against the wall. He knows he’s f@ck@d up. But he still refuses to admit it. *** The air is thick with that discreet electricity found only in the most exclusive social circles. Voices are poised, controlled, every laugh resonating with just the right amount of elegance, and the dim lighting, carefully adjusted, dances over champagne flutes and obscenely expensive jewelry.It’s a private charity event, one of those galas where people parade as much as they donate, where every gesture carries subtext, where nothing is ever truly innocent.And tonight, Louis is playing with fire again. He knows it, but he has no intention of backing down. He was the one who asked Zayn to find Harry’s schedule. And that’s when his friend, reluctantly, revealed that he would be attending this charity event. Louis immediately called to put his name down, along with Zayn’s and one more. A surprise guest.When he walks through the doors of the luxurious hall, he draws attention instantly. Not just because he always exudes that cold, impenetrable confidence, that aura of absolute control that commands people to look at him. But because he’s not alone. His arm rests casually on the forearm of another man, a young heir he barely knows, all good looks and charm, but nothing else. They’ve slept together once before, and it had been easy for Louis to reach out again. He’s an accessory, nothing more. He can feel Zayn’s presence beside him, silent yet weighty, and he already knows he’s about to endure his sharp gaze and thinly veiled commentary. And it doesn’t take long. They’ve barely stepped into the grand hall, under the opulent chandeliers, when Zayn sighs, amused, exasperated. He doesn’t even need to speak loudly. "Your plan is to make him jealous? At a f@ck@ng charity gala?" Louis chuckles, raising an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." But Zayn isn’t fooled. He knows him too well. And he sees right through his game. He laughs quietly, shaking his head before bringing his champagne flute to his lips. "Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about." He watches Louis for a moment, his smirk fading into something more serious. "And this is the worst idea you’ve ever had." Louis doesn’t flinch. He deliberately ignores his friend, grabs a glass from a passing tray, and lets his gaze wander across the room lazily, as if he’s merely here to enjoy the evening. But he knows exactly what he’s looking for. Who he’s looking for. And when he finds him— f@ck .Harry is seated at a table, perfectly upright, his expression focused but slightly tense. Beside him, his skating partner taps on her phone absentmindedly, while his manager engages in conversation with an older man dressed in an impeccable tuxedo. A perfectly composed scene, a well-controlled façade.Until Harry looks up. Until he sees him. Their eyes meet effortlessly. As if it’s instinctive. As if his body knew before his mind even registered it.Louis doesn’t move. He holds the stare, that insufferably arrogant smirk resting at the corner of his lips.Harry doesn’t look away immediately. He takes it in. And more than that, he sees the man on Louis’s arm.Louis has already won. Slowly, he turns away. He moves toward the donation counter, his pace relaxed, deliberate. And there, in front of the entire room, in front of all these invisible spectators who have no idea they’re witnessing a silent war, he pulls out his chequebook. With an almost careless ease, he signs a donation.An absurdly high number, because he knows his father won’t bat an eye at the grotesque sum if it means keeping their name in the right circles. Just big enough to be noticed. For Louis to be seen.And most importantly, as a reminder. A reminder that Louis Tomlinson does whatever he wants, whenever he wants. And that Harry never had any hold over him. Even if it’s a lie. When Louis turns around after signing, his eyes instinctively search for Harry. He didn’t really mean to look for his reaction. But he sees it anyway. He sees just how much he’s hurt him.It’s subtle, but it’s there. Harry has gone still, his fingers tightening around his glass, his jaw clenched, his gaze suddenly evasive. He looks away a little too quickly, as if trying to mask whatever just unraveled inside him.And that’s when Louis feels something creeping in, something unexpected, something he didn’t plan for. It’s not the cruel triumph he thought he wanted. It’s something else, something bitter. A sharp taste of  what the f@ck have I done? But the damage is done. The wound has been inflicted.And Louis realises that even if his donation will help, he used this gala as nothing more than a tool to regain control over Harry. And he can see it. In the way Harry takes a sip of his drink without even tasting it. In the way he shifts slightly in his chair, as if trying to steady himself.As if Louis actually hurt him.Next to him, Zayn exhales slowly. And that’s when Louis realises something else, he’s hurt his best friend too.The champagne flute sways slightly in Zayn’s hand, the golden liquid catching the dim lights of the gala. He’s staring at some invisible point across the room, his expression distant, as if he’s no longer entirely there.Louis knows he should say something. But the words are stuck in his throat.It’s not just Harry he’s hurt tonight. It’s Zayn too. And f@ck, he didn’t even see it coming, too blinded by his own need for revenge.It’s only when he hears the exhaustion in his friend’s voice, when he sees the dullness creeping into his usually sharp gaze, that he understands, Zayn has just taken a hit he never should have been caught up in.So Louis does something he doesn’t do often. He swallows his f@ck@ng pride. And he murmurs, barely audible beneath the hum of high society murmurs around them:"Zayn… I’m sorry."His friend doesn’t react immediately. He finally takes a sip of his champagne, like he’s deliberately taking his time, like he needs a buffer between them.Then, slowly, he turns his head towards Louis. His gaze is exhausted, not just from this night, but from the whole d@mn game he's been forced to witness, powerless, from the very beginning."You know what’s the worst part?" he murmurs, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the crystal flute. Louis doesn’t respond. He knows he has to shut up. It’s his turn to take the hit. "It’s not even the fact that you wanted to destroy him tonight," Zayn continues, his tone calm, measured, but ice-cold. He takes another sip, then finally delivers the fatal blow. "It’s that you actually did."Louis tenses, looking away, unable to face the weight of those words.Zayn doesn’t stop. He’s relentless. "I’ve never seen you do this. Not like this. Playing with someone’s feelings like you  need  to crush what they feel under your f@ck@ng boot just to prove to yourself that you still have control." His laugh is bitter, hollow, fractured. "And the worst part? You didn’t just break Harry." He pauses, then locks eyes with Louis. "You broke a little bit of me too. I can’t even write a hundred-pound cheque, and you’re the one who paid for this suit. Without you, I wouldn’t have even been allowed in here."And  sh@t . That one lands.Louis feels his stomach twist. It’s a cold, sharp truth. He swallows hard. Then he murmurs, gaze still averted:"Zayn… I didn’t mean to…"He doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence. Because what excuse could possibly be enough? He hadn’t thought about Zayn for a single second. He’d thought about Harry. About his anger. About his pride. About that f@ck@ng need to always have the last word.But Zayn? Zayn had been there the whole time. Right beside him. Watching it happen, powerless to stop the fall. And it had broken something in him, too.Zayn exhales, shaking his head."I know you didn’t mean to. But f@ck, Louis…"He places his glass down on the table a little too forcefully before pushing himself to his feet, leaving his champagne untouched.“Zayn. I swear, I’m sorry. I didn’t want this. I f@ck@d up, I know—”But before he leaves, he throws one last sentence over his shoulder, one that leaves a taste in Louis' mouth far worse than the alcohol he’s been drowning in to forget."I’ll get over it, don’t worry… But Louis, realise something, you’re not as untouchable as you think you are. And you’re figuring that out  too late ."And then he walks away, leaving Louis there, in the middle of hushed laughter and hollow conversations.Alone.With nothing but his f@ck@ng regrets. *** When he gets home, late into the night, he’s not even surprised when he hears the violent knocks against his door.Harry is here.He knew he wouldn’t let this slide.The night outside is calm, but inside Louis, it’s f@ck@ng chaos. He’s felt this tension choking him ever since he left the gala, ever since he met Harry’s wounded gaze, ever since he realised, without even wanting to admit it, that maybe, just maybe, he had gone too far.But he hadn’t expected him to show up. Not tonight. Not now. Not with this urgency in the relentless knocking against his door, pounding like an alarm in the stillness of his house.Louis closes his eyes briefly, drags a hand down his face while the other holds his half-smoked joint, and tries to keep himself composed, but he can already feel the agitation thrumming beneath his skin.He knows he shouldn’t open the door, knows he should just ignore the insistent pounding, let Harry shout out his rage from the other side until he tires himself out and leaves.But he’s never been one to run away. And, deep down, a part of him  wants  to face that anger, wants to hear every accusation, wants, maybe even needs, to feel Harry  hate  him, just so he doesn’t have to face the fact that he actually hurt him. So, slowly, he steps toward the door, takes in a breath he hopes is steadier than it actually is, and then, he opens it.And  f@ck .Angry Harry is a  problem .He’s standing there, right in front of him, breath uneven, cheeks flushed from a mix of adrenaline and the cold, and in his eyes… there’s a storm.Louis doesn’t even have time to say a single word before Harry pushes past him, shoving the door open with enough force to make Louis stumble back a few steps under the impact, his presence  crashing  into the room like an untamed f@ck@ng wave.He’s still wearing the same suit from the event. Louis can tell instantly, he came  straight  here."What the f@ck was that?!" he spits, his voice almost breaking under the weight of restrained rage, his hands trembling slightly from the pressure.Louis, still wearing his mask of control, crosses his arms, raising a brow, feigning innocence with that studied detachment he’s mastered so well. "What are you talking about, Styles?" he replies, too calm, too cold, as if he has no idea why Harry is standing here, past midnight, furious like never before.Bad idea. Very bad idea.Harry laughs, but it’s not real, it’s sharp, bitter, cut through with frustration and barely contained hurt, like it’s tearing its way out of him. He steps forward, closing the space between them, and Louis shifts back just a fraction, purely on instinct, but he refuses to let himself be pushed."You think I didn’t get it, huh?" Harry exhales harshly, shaking his head, breath unsteady. "You think I didn’t see the f@ck@ng spectacle? That guy on your arm, your smug little grin, your over-the-top donation thrown in my face like you needed to remind me that you’re untouchable, that you’re always in control, that nothing can ever get to you, especially not me?"Louis lets out a dry chuckle, but he feels his pulse hammering harder, feels that something inside him clawing its way up. So he does what he does best, pushes back, strikes where it stings, provokes until there’s nothing left but the burn. He’s playing with fire and he knows it, but he won’t stop, because stopping means facing the truth that’s been haunting him for days."It was a gala, Harry," he says, voice flat, detached, deliberately bored. "I made a donation. Had a good time. Sorry if you took it personally."That is the final straw.Harry snaps. "F@ck@ng hell, Louis!" he yells.And Louis feels it, sees it, breathes it. He has never seen him this furious. Never seen him this hurt."You wanted to hurt me." Harry’s voice drops, but it’s rougher now, lower, more threatening, each word hitting like an accusation impossible to dodge. "Was that your f@ck@ng plan? To shove it in my face that I was an idiot for thinking this was something?"He laughs, cold and hollow, but his eyes, f@ck, his eyes burn with something deeper, something raw, something permanent. And it’s so much worse than any insult he could’ve thrown. "And you know what?" He leans in, just slightly, closing that final inch of space between them, his breath hot against Louis’s skin. And right there, Louis feels it. That thing between them, the static charge, the inevitability, that dangerous pull that never f@ck@ng leaves. That keeps dragging them back into this twisted push-and-pull, balancing on the edge of hate and something neither of them dares to name.Louis doesn’t move. He can’t move. He doesn’t even blink. And then Harry whispers the words that hit like a killing blow."You won."The silence is suffocating.Louis doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even let his expression shift. But his fingers tighten just slightly, just enough for Harry to see, to know, to f@ck@ng feel it.Harry hesitates. He could back off. Could walk away. But he doesn’t. He’s too far in, too deep to turn back now. So he does something he’s never done before.He tells the truth."You think this is a f@ck@ng game?" he breathes, voice shaking with emotion, gaze locked onto Louis’s, unfiltered, unguarded, brutally honest. "You think I’m like you?" He shakes his head, disgusted, exhausted. Then, softer, sharper, "I’m not that guy, Louis. I don’t run into someone else’s arms just to prove I don’t give a sh@t. I don’t do that."His hand rakes through his curls, exhaling sharply, trying —failing— to steady himself. And when his eyes lift again, Louis sees it. It’s there. Unmistakable. Too real. Too f@ck@ng dangerous."This wasn’t what I wanted," Harry murmurs, voice breaking just slightly, gaze unwavering, bleeding honesty. "Even if I was the one who kissed you first that night."A shiver runs down Louis’s spine. It’s a fatal blow. Because he knows he just lost this war. Because Harry just said what Louis never had the courage to admit.Harry takes a step back, exhausted, worn down by a battle that’s dragged on too long. And then, one last time, he speaks, quieter now, more resigned, but no less painful."I'm not here to beg for anything. If you have something to give me, I'll take it. But I won’t let you destroy me."And that, that’s when Louis breaks. That’s when his body moves before his mind catches up. That’s when his arm reaches out, fingers wrapping around Harry’s wrist just before he reaches the door. That’s when his breath catches in his throat. That’s when it all clicks.He whispers, barely audible, barely breathing."Stay."Harry stills, muscles tensing under Louis’s grip. Then, slowly, carefully, he turns his head. Louis could take it back, could play it off, could bury it beneath layers of bravado.But he doesn’t.Because he can’t anymore.The silence between them no longer carries the same weight it did at the start of the evening. It’s no longer thick with anger, resentment, or sharp-edged provocations. It’s softer now, more measured, where every breath, every exchanged glance, every movement feels considered and accepted without effort.Harry is still sprawled out on the living room couch, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, legs crossed, while Louis, ever meticulous, takes his time behind the bar, pouring them a drink. He could ask Harry what he wants, but he doesn’t. He chooses whisky a classic, something raw and honest, something that doesn’t try to disguise its taste. And anyway, he knows Harry likes it.He hands the glass over, and when Harry takes it without a word, their fingers barely brush. But even that fleeting contact sends the smallest spark through Louis’s skin, subtle but noticeable. He settles onto the couch beside him not too close, not too far, his gaze fixed on the amber reflections in his own glass. He takes a sip, lets the burn of the alcohol settle, then finally breaks the silence.“How long have you been skating?” His voice is steadier than he expected.Harry, who had been absently spinning his glass between his fingers, looks up at him, hesitates for a second. Not because he doesn’t want to answer, but because he hadn’t expected Louis to ask something so simple, so normal.“Sixteen years,” he finally says before taking a sip. “I started pretty late. I didn’t even want to, my mum signed me up. She thought it’d be good for me, said I had too much energy to sit still.” A smirk tugs at his lips. “She wasn’t wrong.”Louis watches him, takes in the way his face softens as he talks about it, and a part of him catches onto something unexpected he likes this version of Harry. The one who speaks without pretense, without defiance, just with an unguarded sincerity that suits him far too well.“And you never wanted to quit?” Louis asks, genuinely curious.Harry shrugs slightly. “Yeah, of course. Plenty of times. It’s a brutal sport, you wreck your body, you’re never allowed to be tired, never allowed to slip up, and in the end, it’s always about politics.” He pauses, eyes locking onto a fixed point in the distance before continuing. “But it’s also the only place where I feel… free.”Louis furrows his brows slightly, intrigued by those last words. “Free?”Harry nods. “When I’m on the ice, there’s nothing else. No pressure, no expectations, no sacrifices. Just me and the movement.” He lets out a small laugh. “Sounds a bit dramatic when I say it like that, doesn’t it?”Louis doesn’t smile. He just watches him —really watches him— and suddenly, he understands a little more. “No. I think I get what you mean.” He takes another sip before setting his glass down on the coffee table. “You said you made sacrifices. What did you lose for this sport?”Harry sighs, running a hand through his curls, hesitating. He doesn’t know why he’s answering, why he’s opening up to Louis like this when Louis has always treated him like a piece in some game only he knows the rules to. But tonight, he doesn’t feel like playing.“Everything,” he says simply. “I gave up anything that could’ve made me a normal person. I never had a typical teenagehood, never had the luxury of figuring myself out, of making stupid mistakes, sneaking out to parties where you end up throwing up in some corner and regretting it the next day. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve built, it’s always been about one thing: winning.” He laughs softly, but there’s no real joy in it. “And now that I have what I wanted, I’m not even sure it was worth it. I had to give up too much to get here, just to be part of the elite.”Louis listens in silence, his throat tightening slightly without really knowing why. He sees something in Harry that he never expected to find, someone who, beneath the insolence and determination, has been shaped by years of pressure and expectations."And that’s why you’re accepting the solo contract? You mentioned it at the ball," he asks, shifting the subject slightly, though he can tell everything is connected.Harry nods, his gaze darkening just a little. "Yeah. Another manager made me an offer, and I took it. Because it’s a good opportunity, because the money’s there, and because…" He hesitates, trailing off before finishing his sentence.Louis raises an eyebrow. "Because what?"Harry looks at him, and this time, he doesn’t lie. "Because I need it."Louis knows there’s more to it, but he doesn’t push. Not now.A silence stretches between them before Louis speaks again, his tone lighter, more playful, but still genuinely curious. "And Emma, then? Those rumors about you two, are they true?"Harry smirks slightly, but it’s a tired smirk, one laced with something like resignation. He knows Louis must have done his research, so he isn’t surprised that he knows his partner’s name, or the gossip that followed them. "Yeah. We were together for six months."Louis didn’t expect him to admit it so easily, and it almost catches him off guard. "And? Why did it end?"Harry shrugs, absentmindedly tracing the rim of his glass with his fingertips. "Because I realized I was just trying to convince myself it was real. But it wasn’t. I never felt anything real for her."Louis nods slowly, his fingers tapping absentmindedly against the armrest of the couch. "Does she know?"Harry smirks slightly. "Of course. She figured it out before I did. And do you know what she told me?"Louis tilts his head slightly, waiting for the rest."'You’re like the ice, Harry. You know how to make it look fluid and effortless, but deep down, it’s always cold.'"Louis doesn’t reply immediately. Because he doesn’t know what to say. Because that sentence rings a little too loudly in him as well. And f@ck.He relights his joint, taking a slow drag, watching Harry, who, for the first time since they’ve met, looks completely sincere."And you, Louis?" Harry asks after a moment, his voice softer. "Why are you like this?"Louis says nothing. He just lets his gaze drift between his glass and his joint, turning the latter slowly between his fingers before watching the amber reflections of the whisky dance under the dim light of the living room. It’s not that he doesn’t have an answer. It’s that he doesn’t want to give it.Harry watches him, and Louis feels it, he feels the weight of that gaze, searching, not judging, but trying to see through him, trying to understand what he refuses to say. But he doesn’t push. So the silence lingers between them, no longer heavy and threatening, but like a fragile truce, as if they both know they’ve taken a step closer, yet there’s still a precipice between them.Louis eventually takes another sip, feeling the burn of the alcohol down his throat, a reminder that he’s still here, that all of this is real. "We’ve been talking a lot about me tonight," he finally says, breaking the tension with a smirk that almost seems genuine. "Trying to psychoanalyse me,  cigno ?"Harry chuckles, shaking his head, his body sinking slightly deeper into the couch. "You’re not that interesting, Tomlinson," he quips with a mocking smile. "I’m just trying to figure out why you love making your life so f@ck@ng complicated."He then reaches out his hand, wordlessly asking for the joint, and Louis hands it over without a word. He arches a brow, playing along with the amusement, though there’s an edge of irritation beneath his skin."Oh, and you’re the model of simplicity, is that it?"Harry nods, deadly serious. "Of course. I’m a very stable and predictable person."Louis lets out an actual laugh, shaking his head. "F@ck, you’re such a liar.""And you’re so deep in denial."That one hits harder than it should, but Louis lets it slide, refusing to take the bait.They sit in silence for a while, drinking and smoking, listening to the distant ticking of a clock somewhere in the house, the soft clink of whisky swirling in their glasses, and the faint crackle of burning paper as the smoke curls and lingers in the fabric of the cushions. It’s peaceful in a way that neither of them is used to."So," Louis asks after a moment, his gaze lifting toward Harry, his tone more neutral but genuinely curious, "what’s your plan now? You’ve taken the solo contract, left Emma, got the money rolling in. What comes after that?"Harry sighs lightly, setting his glass down on the coffee table before sinking further into the couch. "No idea. I don’t even know if I want to think about it right now. I’m tired of always having a plan, tired of constantly anticipating the next move."Louis watches him, finally seeing a side of Harry he never thought he would. Someone who, beneath the ambition and arrogance, is simply exhausted."So what are you waiting for, then?" he asks, tilting his head slightly as if he’s genuinely trying to understand.Harry looks at him, a small smirk appearing, softer this time. "For you to pour me another drink, maybe?"Louis shakes his head with a quiet laugh, grabbing the bottle from the table and refilling his glass without a word. Silence settles between them again, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. It lingers because neither of them feels the need to fill it. Because, for the first time, just being here is enough.And maybe that’s the most terrifying part of all of this.Louis places the bottle back on the table, watching briefly as the golden liquid swirls in their glasses before leaning back into the couch. He doesn’t quite know what just happened between them. It wasn’t a confrontation, not exactly a confession either, but it was something, something more intimate than anything they’ve shared before.And strangely, it doesn’t scare him as much as he thought it would.Harry lifts his glass, takes a slow sip, then leans his head back against the couch, his eyelids heavy, as if he’s finally letting go of all the tension that’s been weighing him down these past few days. His body, usually wound tight and always ready for a fight, seems to loosen, as if, for the first time, he no longer has anything to prove.Louis watches him from the corner of his eye, taking in the softened profile bathed in dim light, the faint shadows his lashes cast against his cheeks, the way his fingers curl just slightly around the glass, like an anchor. This quiet between them, it’s strange. Almost unreal."I like this silence," Harry murmurs, breaking through Louis’ thoughts.Louis raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "You like it when people shut up, is that it?"Harry smirks slightly, not bothering to open his eyes. "No. I like it when I don’t need to talk for it to feel comfortable."Louis nods slowly, absorbing the words, and maybe this is when he realizes, it’s the first time they’ve been together without one of them trying to take control. No provocations, no innuendos, no calculations.Just them, here, sharing something that doesn’t need to be defined.Eventually, Harry sets his glass down beside his, tilting his head back against the couch with a quiet, almost content sigh. Louis unconsciously mirrors him, his gaze drifting to some indistinct point in the room, his mind quieter than it’s been in days.The night stretches on, lazy and unhurried, and for the first time since this all began, Louis doesn’t feel the need to run. Minutes slip by, uncounted. Harry, still sprawled on the couch, his glass abandoned on the coffee table, the joints stacked in the ashtray, lets his eyes close slowly, as if surrendering to a half-conscious state.Louis watches from the corner of his eye, noting the gradual rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers rest loosely against the fabric of his black jeans, the way his features relax bit by bit.He could almost believe he’s asleep.Almost.But when he shifts slightly, his head tilting to the side, curls messy against the couch’s cushion, Louis catches the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips."What?" he asks, his voice deeper than he intended, lower, more intimate.Harry doesn’t open his eyes, but his smile grows just a little. "You’ve been staring at me for five minutes, Tomlinson."Louis shakes his head, chuckling softly as he sinks further into the couch, his body naturally settling into a more relaxed posture. "Your eyes are closed. How would you even know?"Harry shrugs lazily, still looking as unbothered as ever. "I just do."And f@ck, Louis doesn’t know why, but that makes him smile.It’s strange, this ease between them tonight, as if all the sh@t that’s been hanging over them has paused, as if, for a few hours, they’re allowed to just exist, without playing, without controlling, without trying to destroy before they can be destroyed.Louis takes the last sip of his whisky before setting the glass down on the coffee table. Then, he lets himself lean back against the couch, turning slightly toward Harry like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like it’s a habit he hasn’t quite realized he’s formed yet.He watches him again. But this time, he doesn’t look away when Harry finally opens his eyes, meeting his gaze head-on."Are you staying here tonight?" Louis asks, the words slipping out without much thought, his voice too natural, too different from the way he usually speaks.Harry raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You’re not kicking me out this time?"Louis rolls his eyes, but there’s still a faint smile tugging at his lips. "If I wanted you gone, you’d already be out the door."Harry studies him for a moment, his gaze tracing every inch of his face, like he’s trying to decipher what Louis isn’t saying.And then, instead of answering, he simply lets his head fall back against the couch, his eyes half-lidded but still locked on Louis."It's comfortable here," he murmurs, almost to himself.Against all odds, Louis allows himself to relax too, his shoulder barely brushing against Harry’s, but neither of them makes a move to pull away."I know. But if you're going to sleep here, you might as well come to bed," he replies simply.Harry turns his head toward him, one eyebrow slightly raised, and for a second, Louis wonders if he’s just broken this fragile balance between them, if he’s pushed too far, too soon, disrupting whatever new dynamic they’ve found. But Harry doesn’t respond immediately. He just watches him, studying his features, his tone, as if trying to decipher what this invitation really means.Louis doesn’t look away. He doesn’t take it back either.He could play it off, shrug and say,  It’s just more comfortable than a f@ck@ng couch.  But he doesn’t. Because deep down, he knows it’s not just about comfort. Not really.Eventually, Harry’s lips curve into the smallest smirk, not mocking, not arrogant, just something light, something thoughtful. "Are you trying to seduce me, Tomlinson?"Louis huffs out a quiet laugh, shakes his head, downs the rest of his drink in one go, and then answers, his voice calmer, steadier. "Haven’t I already?"Harry watches him for another beat before exhaling an amused sigh and sitting up. He doesn’t refuse. He doesn’t pretend he doesn’t understand what Louis isn’t saying out loud."Okay," he says simply.And that’s it.No tension, no battle, no defiance this time. Just Harry following him upstairs, through the dimly lit hallway, and Louis feeling his presence a few steps behind, their breathing unconsciously synchronized. He pushes open his bedroom door, leaving it slightly ajar as he steps inside, and Harry crosses the threshold without hesitation.The room is bathed in soft, muted lighting, the bed large, the linens pristine yet effortlessly disheveled, everything about it reflects Louis. He runs a hand through his hair, casting a brief glance toward Harry, who still stands near the doorway, before shrugging with feigned nonchalance."We’re just sleeping,  cigno ."Harry lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over a chair. "I should hope so, I’m not that easy."Louis wonders when this started, when they started being  this . Was it tonight? Or before? Had it always been inevitable?But he doesn’t ask. He simply slips under the covers, not too close, not too far, feeling Harry do the same on the other side.They don’t touch.But the boundary between them is thin, fragile. And as Louis closes his eyes, he doesn’t think about how he was supposed to be alone in this bed tonight.He just thinks about how it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. *** The warmth is the first thing he notices when he wakes up. A soft, lingering warmth that doesn’t just come from the blankets. It takes him a few seconds to understand why he feels good, why he doesn’t have that usual feeling of empty detachment in the morning.And then he remembers.He slowly opens his eyes and turns his head to the other side of the bed.Empty.The space next to him is warm but vacant. Harry is gone. No footsteps echo in the house, no presence lingers in the hallway. Just absence. Louis could have expected it.  Should  have expected it.But it bothers him more than he thought it would.He drags a hand over his face, sighs, and slowly sits up, the covers sliding down his torso. His gaze drifts toward the door, left slightly ajar, then toward the chair where Harry had tossed his jacket the night before. It’s gone. He hasn’t left anything behind.Nothing.Just a morning that could have made Louis believe he’d imagined it all.Until his eyes land on a small yellow post-it stuck to the nightstand.He frowns, picks it up, flips it over.A simple message.
   "You should come see me at practice next Tuesday. I’d like that. I’m not leaving like a thief, I just had training. Thanks for last night." 
Louis stares at the writing, tracing the slightly slanted letters, the casual tone, as if it’s nothing.But it’s  something .It’s a f@ck@ng invitation.And worse, it’s an invitation he already knows he’s going to accept.He sets the note back down, rubs a hand over the back of his neck, closes his eyes briefly.He’s in deep sh@t.But maybe —just maybe— he loves it.'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
Assistant: