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Assistant: Title: Flat 302
        Author: crissyfleur crissyfleur 
        Chapter: 15/16 
        Summary: On the third floor, in Flat 302, life was anything but ordinary. It was the kind of place where the door was always open, smelled like takeaway and you could always hear laughter echoing through the halls. And living there was f@ck@ng great, until Harry Styles moved in.OrThe one where sharing a room with Harry is the worst thing that’s ever happened to Louis. And then the best.
        Contents: Chapter 15: Flat 15
    

    

        
          
          
            The one where questions start to make sense
          
        

  

  
  
    
    
  When Louis parked the car, they stepped out into the cold, walking slowly toward the restaurant. Their feet crunched softly against the snow, both of them carefully navigating the patches of ice on the pavement. The wind bit at their cheeks, but neither seemed in a rush.

  The restaurant stood close to the Manchester Art Gallery, its large windows glowing warmly against the winter afternoon. Louis realised, as they pushed open the glass doors, that even if he’d passed this place a hundred times, he’d never actually step inside it. 

  It felt like summer in there with soft yellow lights spilling from low-hanging lamps, quiet music playing somewhere in the background. Louis looked down at his clothes, feeling inappropriate. Stupid Harry.

  “A table for two, please,” Harry said, and they were led to a small booth near the window.

  Louis glanced around. Everything was sleek and elegant. White tablecloths, polished glasses, waiters in pressed shirts. It was far from his usual choice. He didn’t even have to open the menu to know it was going to cost a fortune. But when he did open it, he sighed audibly.

  “There aren’t any prices,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “That’s never a good sign.”

  Harry, already scanning the cocktail list, didn’t look up. “Want one?”

  “It’s one. And I’m driving.”

  “Well, I want one,” Harry replied with a cheeky grin.

  “Not today, you don’t,” Louis said, eyes still fixed on the list, scanning for anything that sounded vaguely affordable. It all read like poetry. “Harry, seriously. We can go somewhere else. This place is—”

  “Expensive?” Harry finished for him, leaning back with a smirk. “I’m the one paying.”

  A knot tightened in Louis’ stomach. Just like that, his appetite vanished. It wasn’t about pride, not exactly. But it sat wrong, being taken out like this. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 

  “Can I choose yours?” Harry asked, flipping his menu with enthusiasm.

  “No,” Louis replied immediately. “Why would I let you choose my order?”

  “I’m the one paying,” Harry teased again, sing-song voice and all. Louis rolled his eyes. “I’m kidding,” Harry added quickly, dimples flashing. “It’s just… There's one dish I think you’d really like. I remembered you saying something about lemon and garlic the other day.”

  Louis paused, frown still tugging at his brow. He didn’t even remember saying that. But Harry had noticed.

  “Fine,” he said eventually, arms crossing as he slumped back a bit in the booth. “But if it has mushrooms, I’m killing you.”

  “No mushrooms,” Harry promised, lips twitching into a satisfied smile. “Scout’s honour.”

  “You were never a scout.”

  “Details.”

  Harry ordered for both of them, a fancy steak for Louis, and a salad for himself. No cocktail, Louis noticed. He was oddly glad. Sure, getting Harry tipsy might’ve made it easier to extract answers, but Louis didn’t want confessions that slipped out under pressure. He only wanted what Harry was willing to share.

  The restaurant was quiet, nearly empty. Just two other tables were occupied. The soft clinking of cutlery was the loudest sound.

  “Pretty empty today,” Harry remarked, glancing around.

  “Yes, Harry. People are with their families. As we should be.”

  Harry looked at him, gaze steady and serious. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

  Louis didn’t flinch. “As 
  
    you 
  
  should be,” he repeated, ignoring the sting. Because it was true. No one had asked him. He came because he 
  
    had
  
   to. Because if he didn’t, he’d spend his entire birthday wondering how Harry was, and whether he was okay. “Niall said your mum is worried, H.”

  “H?” Harry lifted an eyebrow. “We have nicknames now? Look at us. We’re 
  
    so 
  
  friends, Lou.”

  “Harry,” Louis said, sitting up straighter as he ignored Harry’s last words. “Why are you ignoring your mum?”

  “I don’t share that kind of stuff with my enemies,” Harry replied coolly, still not meeting his eyes. “Or frenemies.”

  “What do I have to do to make you talk, huh?” Louis asked, half teasing. “Want me to say we’re friends? Is that it?”

  The smirk that crept onto Harry’s face was both irritating and a little bit charming. “Yes,” he said. Then, finally, he looked at Louis. “I don’t want you to lie. I want you to admit to yourself that you actually enjoy my company.”

  Louis huffed. “And why the hell would I do that?”

  But Harry just stared at him, frown giving way to another dimpled smile. His curls were longer now, looser, messier. His eyes looked greener, somehow. And Louis, with a dull sort of ache in his chest, realised how young he still looked. Young and, maybe, a little lost. And very, very stupid.

  “Because,” Harry said quietly, “you want to know the story.”

  “I do,” Louis agreed.

  “Then admit it.”

  Louis looked down at the tablecloth. Of course even 
  
    that
  
   felt expensive. He let out a sigh, then leaned in a little, eyes on Harry now. “Okay. I admit it. I think you’re… tolerable.”

  “Not enough,” Harry said, that damned cocky grin returning.

  Louis groaned. “More than tolerable. Your company is 
  
    enjoyable
  
  .”

  “And we’re friends?”

  “Friend-
  
    ish
  
  ,” Louis tried. But Harry only raised his eyebrows, waiting. “Fine,” he grumbled. “We’re friends.”

  Harry beamed, victorious.

  “I should’ve ordered their most expensive bottle of whiskey,” Louis muttered. “Now, go on. Talk.”

  “Just like that? Not even gonna wait for the food?”

  “For f@ck’s sake.”

  Harry chuckled, quiet and fond. “Alright, alright. I’ll tell you. But it’s not a cute story. It’s not fun.”

  “I don’t need it to be,” Louis said, voice softer now. “Just talk. Please.”

  “Alright, Louis.”

  Harry leaned back in his chair and let out a slow breath. Louis instinctively relaxed, though his eyes stayed sharp, watching every flicker of expression on Harry’s face like it might vanish if he looked away.

  Harry stared at the ceiling for a second. “My mum cheated on my dad. That’s why I don’t talk to her much.”

  Louis blinked, taken slightly aback by the bluntness. “Okay… Care to elaborate on that?”

  Harry shook his head, eyes falling back to his hands. “Nope.”

  “Come on,” Louis said, shifting in his seat. “That’s not a story, that’s a sentence. It’s not fair. You can’t just drop that and go quiet.”

  “I can, actually,” Harry muttered, arms crossing.

  Louis frowned, then softened his voice. “Please?” he said, tilting his head with a hint of a pout. “Then at least tell me about them. I don’t know anything, and you know loads about me.”

  Harry’s jaw clenched. For a moment, Louis thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then, quietly, he started, “My mum’s… complicated. She was unhappy for a long time. Dad was never around. Always working, always travelling. And when he was home, they just… fought. Constantly. About everything. But I thought it was normal, you know? I thought that’s just what marriage looked like.”

  Louis nodded slowly. “And your dad?”

  “My dad works with music. That’s where my passion comes from. He’s not a musician, though, he’s a sound engineer. He used to take me to concerts all over Europe when I was younger. Gemma would never go. They were never really close.”

  “And you and him were?”

  “Not really,” Harry admitted, with a small, strange smile. “But we bonded over music. He gave me my first guitar. Signed me up for piano lessons.”

  “You play piano?” Louis raised his eyebrows, intrigued. “Sorry. Go on.”

  “I do, yeah. We didn’t have a lot in common, but music was the thing. I guess Gemma didn’t have that with him. To be fair, he wasn’t around much anyway. He lived here, but he travelled constantly, toured with different artists, always gone.”

  “Sh@t.”

  “Yeah.” Harry breathed in deep again. “Everyone knew their marriage was a façade. They had nothing in common. But they stayed married, because… I don’t know, appearance.”

  “Yes.”

  “My mum asked for a divorce, but my dad didn’t want that. So instead, they just… coexisted. Around each other. Around us. Gemma and I were just there, watching it all rot, and no one talked about it. Then my dad bought a house in LA and started spending months there.”

  “But they were still married?” Louis frowned.

  “Yes, technically. But eventually, my mum got a boyfriend.”

  “When was this?”

  “My dad moved to LA when I was sixteen. She met Robin a year later, I think.”

  “How did you deal with that?”

  “I didn’t,” Harry said plainly. “I was angry. At everyone. At her, for not trying harder. At Gemma, for picking a side. At him, for being a coward.”

  “But… why’d you move in with him then?”

  “Louis,” Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I honestly don’t know why I’m telling you this. Look, that’s it. I’m still angry. That’s why I don’t want to see her.”

  “It’s been years, H.”

  “So what? Am I supposed to just shove it all up my @rs@ and pretend it’s fine?”

  “No,” Louis said gently. “But maybe… visit her. She seems like she’s trying. She expected you for Christmas.”

  “Of course she did. She still doesn’t get it. She doesn’t see what she did. Sometimes, I think I hate her.”

  “You can still hate her and miss her, you know,” Louis added quietly. “Both things can be true.”

  “I don’t really hate her.”

  “H…” Louis’ voice softened. His mum meant the world to him, and the idea of not speaking to her was unthinkable. Harry still 
  
    had
  
   his mum. “She’s your mum. I’m sure she loves you.”

  “She does. I love her too. But I’m not ready. I haven’t seen her since I left England.”

  “You don’t talk?”

  “We do… sometimes.” Harry glanced under the table as Louis nudged his leg with his own. “She calls once a week, usually. I answer. We talk about nothing.”

  “Then why did you come back to England?”

  Harry hesitated, his eyes narrowing a little. “That’s a whole different story, Louis.” Louis didn’t budge. He just waited until Harry finally relented.  “Because of her. When everything blew up with my dad, I lost it. I called her, crying.”

  “To apologise?”

  “No.” He looked up, eyes sharp. “To ask for help. She’s still my mum. We’re not on solid ground, but she’s still the one I could call.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She helped. I wanted to come back. I couldn’t stand LA anymore. Couldn’t stand the people, or the loneliness. I wanted to study again. My dad wouldn’t pay for it, he wouldn’t even 
  
    look
  
   at me.”

  “Go on. I’m listening.”

  “I 
  
    know
  
   you are.” Harry let out a short laugh. “You seem very invested in the mess of my life.”

  “In 
  
    you
  
  , actually,” Louis corrected without thinking. “Something had to be messy, right? I get why you’re so obsessed with order now. Everything else in your life is chaos. You want to control at least 
  
    something
  
  .” The words hung there. Louis blinked, then added, quickly, “Sorry, did I read too much into it?”

  “No. I guess not.” Harry bit his lip again. “She had a few conditions, though. I had to get good grades. And I had to live with Niall. Because, God knows why, she 
  
    trusts
  
   him.”

  “Imagine trusting Niall,” Louis snorted, and to his surprise, Harry 
  
    really
  
   laughed, with dimples and all. That kind of laugh that cracked him open a bit, honest and bright.  “Now I get why you didn’t just move out when I made your life hell.”

  “Honestly?” Harry shrugged, the smile still lingering. “I never even wanted to leave.”

  “Well, you 
  
    did
  
   ask Liam to switch rooms with you,” Louis said, poking at Harry’s ego with a teasing grin.

  Harry let out another loud laugh, tossing his head back. “God, they can’t keep their mouths shut for a second, can they?”

  “They really can’t. But why?” Louis asked, leaning in slightly. His legs bounced under the table. “I know it wasn’t because of the mess.”

  “It 
  
    could’ve
  
   been,” Harry said, lifting his eyebrows. “Sharing a room with you isn’t exactly easy, you know. Half the time I can’t even find the floor.”

  “Maybe it’s 
  
    hiding
  
   from you,” Louis shot back. “But sure. Go on, blame the mess.”

  Harry shrugged with mock seriousness. “It’s a 
  
    very
  
   cluttered room.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not why.”

  He sighed, defeated. “Okay, fine. You’re right. It’s not.”

  Just then, the waitress approached with their food, balancing plates. Conversation paused instinctively. Louis watched as the plate landed in front of him. His stomach did a backflip. Or possibly a cartwheel.

  One look at the suspiciously decorative leaves piled on top and he knew 
  
    this
  
   was not a meal, it was a statement. And that statement was: you can’t afford this.

  “Is it dumb if I take a photo to send to my mum?” Louis asked, glancing at Harry with the most serious expression he could manage.

  Harry giggled. “It’s not dumb. It’s very on-brand.” Louis fished out his phone, snapped a quick pic, and was already fumbling to send it before Harry leaned across the table like a curious squirrel. “Let me see.” 

  Louis hesitated, thumb frozen mid-air, then passed the phone over. Harry took one look and made a face like he’d just smelled something off. “This looks like sh@t.” He snatched the phone and stood up from his seat. “Hold on.”

  “Harry, sit down, you maniac—”

  “No. This is art,” Harry said, ignoring him completely as he held the phone high above the table. He furrowed his brows, adjusted the angles, and with one hand, gently repositioned the cutlery and one of the plates, tilting it slightly toward the light. “There,” he announced proudly, “
  
    now
  
   it looks like overpriced lettuce.”

  Louis stared at the final shot: their plates bathed in a dramatic yellow glow, like they were inside an indie film. He hit send with a sigh and a smile.

  Harry finally sat again, adjusting his napkin onto his lap. Louis followed, mimicking him like he was waiting for instructions on how to eat fancy food without being publicly arrested. They picked up their cutlery at the same time.

  “You’re seriously eating 
  
    just
  
   leaves?” Louis asked, giving Harry’s plate a sideways glance.

  Harry nodded, smug. “Mm-hmm.”

  “F@ck@ng 
  
    rabbit
  
  ,” Louis muttered.

  “I thought I was a 
  
    frog
  
  .”

  “You’re a bl@@dy zoo, is what you are.”

  Harry grinned. “You’re so nice to me.”

  “I try.”

  And just like that, they started eating. Louis dramatically chewed his first bite like it was punishment, Harry smiling like he was perfectly content with grazing on a garden.

  He would never 
  
    admit
  
   it, God forbid, but it was probably the best steak he’d ever had in his life. Like, 
  
    melt in your mouth
  
  , 
  
    Michelin star
  
  , 
  
    write-a-poem-about-it
  
   good. But instead of saying that out loud like a normal person, Louis just chewed in silence, pretending it was average. Maybe even below average. Maybe even... disappointing. It was not.

  Still chewing, he glanced between their plates. His, a glorious pile of steak perfection; Harry’s, a depressing garden centre. Without a word, he sliced off a generous piece and dropped it onto Harry’s plate like it was charity.

  “Here,” Louis said casually. “You need protein. You’re starting to look like one of those Instagram yoga lads who only drink celery juice.”

  Harry blinked down at the steak, then looked back up, grinning. “I was okay with just salad, but if you insist.” He shrugged, spearing the meat with his fork like it was some royal offering. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  Louis gave a dramatic little nod. “You’re welcome, peasant.”

  There was a pause while they both chewed. Louis, because he was savouring heaven; Harry, because he had just been introduced to actual flavour.

  “So…” Louis started, tone all too innocent, “Go on with your story.”

  Harry raised a brow. “What story?”

  Louis rolled his eyes and gestured vaguely. “The whole 
  
    ‘I randomly asked Liam to change rooms but pretended it was about mess’
  
   thing. That story.”

  “There’s no big reason,” Harry said, way too quickly.

  Louis narrowed his eyes. “There’s 
  
    always
  
   a big reason.”

  “There’s really not.”

  “There 
  
    absolutely
  
   is. You were surviving the mess. You even said, and I quote, ‘that's just how Louis is.’”

  Harry winced. “I regretted saying that the second it left my mouth.”

  “You 
  
    were
  
   getting used to it,” Louis insisted.

  “I really wasn’t.”

  “But you 
  
    confessed
  
   the mess wasn’t the reason. So, again, what was it?”

  Harry stared at him, chewing slower now, clearly stalling for time.

  Louis leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. “Did I do something? Did I snore? Do I talk in my sleep? Did I leave my pants somewhere weird?”

  “Louis.”

  “
  
    Was it the pants?
  
   Be honest.”

  “It wasn’t the pants!” Harry laughed, nearly choking on his bite of steak. “But you should stop leaving them on the floor.”

  “Should I, though?” Louis said, pointing his fork at him. “So… why, then?”

  Harry sighed, looked at him for a long second, then stabbed a leaf like it had personally wronged him. “You made things complicated,” he muttered.

  Louis blinked. “What?”

  Harry didn’t repeat it. Just kept chewing, gaze fixed very pointedly on his plate of sad vegetables and one heroic cube of steak.

  Louis sat back slowly in his chair, the air shifting just a little between them. He didn’t say anything for a moment, not because he didn’t have a million questions, but because for once, Harry had said something real and he didn’t want to scare it away.

  So he just replied, with a careful smile, “Well, yeah. I 
  
    am
  
   complicated.”

  Harry looked up, and there was something unreadable behind his eyes. “I noticed.”

  “But… What about it felt complicated?” Louis asked, his voice a bit smaller than intended. But whatever, he was leaning into the whole vulnerable-and-curious thing today, apparently. “Because to me, 
  
    you
  
   were complicated from the very start.”

  Harry exhaled, dragging his fork. “It was the assignment thing, Louis.”

  Louis’ whole body groaned. “I 
  
    knew
  
   it. I shouldn’t’ve said anything. I 
  
    knew
  
   I’d crossed the line that night. Should’ve kept my mouth shut and let you rot in passive-aggressive silence.”

  “It’s not that,” Harry said quickly, sitting a little straighter. “It’s that I felt like a son of a b@tch. I criticised your work and you actually 
  
    listened
  
  . You 
  
    changed
  
   it. And that same night, you started a real conversation. And I was just... rude.”

  “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “I wasn’t proud of it.”

  Louis snorted, arms crossing now. “So I share something personal, and your response is to immediately move in with Niall.”

  “It sounds 
  
    awful
  
   when you say it like that,” Harry winced, rubbing his temple like Louis had given him a migraine. “I thought I was making things worse. I touched something private and handled it badly. I didn’t want to see you every day and keep messing it up.”

  Louis narrowed his eyes. “That’s a 
  
    sh@tty
  
   reason.”

  “I 
  
    know
  
  ,” Harry muttered again, sheepishly. “I didn’t want you to actually hate me, because I do enjoy being around you. Most times. And I was scared I’d… hurt your feelings or something.”

  There was a beat. Louis took a bite of steak just to keep from saying something too sentimental. He chewed, swallowed, then smirked. “Just so you know,” he said, pointing his fork at Harry again, “you’d 
  
    hate
  
   sharing a room with Niall.”

  Harry tilted his head. “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. First of all, Liam would’ve ended up stuck with me, and he’d cry 
  
    every single night
  
  . All sniffles and sighs and 
  
    ‘Louis, why are your pants here?’
  
   Like, grow up, Liam. And you would be all guilty and sh@t.”

  Harry laughed softly, eyes crinkling.

  “And 
  
    secondly,
  
  ” Louis continued, warming up, “Niall wouldn’t sing along when you’re playing that f@ck@ng guitar at 2am. He’d just whine about needing sleep like a baby.”

  “He does like his sleep.”

  “Right? Also, he wouldn’t share a smoke with you. Wouldn’t leave aggressive post-its on your pillow. Or on your forehead. Wouldn’t use all your expensive body lotion.”

  “That was 
  
    you?
  
  ” Harry gasped, full betrayal in his tone.

  Louis grinned. “Allegedly.”

  “I’m not sure your reasons were good enough,” Harry said, tilting his head, playing with his fork.

  “Niall is fun,” Louis conceded, nodding slowly like he was about to say something mature, “but he’s not 
  
    me
  
  . That’s my point.”

  “Oh, profound,” Harry laughed. “You’ve really made your case. ‘He’s not me.’ How did I miss that logic?”

  Louis leaned forward slightly, smirking. “You didn’t miss it. You just didn’t want to admit I’m right.”

  “And you think I prefer you?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, eyes glinting under the low restaurant lights like he was calling a bluff.

  “Not that you 
  
    prefer
  
  , necessarily,” Louis said, waving a hand. “You just 
  
    know
  
   it’s how it’s gotta be. Something with—” he paused dramatically, “—
  
    destiny
  
   or whatever.”

  Harry blinked at him. “Destiny.”

  “Yeah. Cosmic alignment. Moon vibes. Fate. You were supposed to live with me and hate every sock I leave on the floor. It’s written in the stars.”

  Harry snorted. “Pretty sure if we had a soul contract, yours would’ve about five clauses about never doing laundry.”

  “Exactly,” Louis said, stabbing a piece of steak like it proved a point. “Only someone 
  
    meant
  
   to share a room with you could be this annoying and still get away with it.”

  “So what? You’re saying you’re sort of my soulmate?”

  “Room-soulmates. Cosmically aligned 
  
    cohabitants
  
  . Don’t make it weird.”

  Harry smiled at his plate, taking an obnoxiously slow bite of lettuce. “You’re the one who brought up fate.”

  “Don’t make it weird,” Louis repeated, eyebrows raised in mock warning, a cocky little smirk playing at the corner of his lips like he already knew Harry was about to 
  
    definitely
  
   make it weird.

  Harry shook his head, but his grin was threatening to split his face. “You’re so annoying.”

  “And yet.” Louis lifted his glass, raising his brows. “Here we are. Having lunch. Talking about the stars. You, eating steak I gave you because I care about your protein levels.”

  “You dropped it on my plate.”

  Louis shrugged. “You 
  
    looked
  
   hungry.”

  Harry took a long sip of water, trying very hard not to look too pleased. “You love us being friends,” he said.

  “Shut up,” Louis muttered, but it sounded suspiciously close to 
  
    maybe
  
  .

  “If this was meant to be 
  
    this
  
  ,” Harry said, gesturing vaguely between them, “you’ve just gotta deal with it. I can say whatever I want because our souls are mates.”

  “
  
    Room
  
  -soulmates, Harry!” Louis snapped, scandalised. “Don’t you dare leave out the prefix. That’s how rumours start.”

  Chuckling, Harry leaned back in his seat, swirling his glass like he was trying to distract himself from the heat rising to his cheeks. “And here I thought the soulmate talk was reserved for after the 
  
    third
  
   date. Clearly, I’ve been doing this all wrong.”

  Louis blinked slowly. “Mate, if this were a date, I’d be ordering fine wine and dessert.”

  Harry looked up at him with a grin before he shrugged. “You can, if you want.”

  “P@ss off,” Louis shot back, but his smirk gave him away as he rolled his eyes. “If this 
  
    was
  
   a date, it’d be the best one you’ve had in years.”

  “I’ll take my wins where I can get them,” Harry replied smoothly, his eyes lingering a second too long. Then, he winked at Louis. “Though I know 
  
    you’re
  
   not one of them.”

  “Tragic,” Louis sighed dramatically. “Sorry to break your heart. But I get it. It’s hard being around someone this handsome, and smart, and funny, and 
  
    absurdly
  
   strong. It’s a curse, really.”

  “Oh, get over yourself,” Harry snorted. “You wouldn’t even be my first option 
  
    in the flat
  
  .”

  Louis gawked. “What? Who the hell would beat 
  
    this
  
  ?” He gestured at himself.

  “Not telling you.”

  “Niall?” Louis leaned in, whispering. “Are you secretly in love with him? Childhood pining?”

  Harry raised a brow. “What if it 
  
    was
  
   Zayn? Would you bolt right now? Climb out the window?”

  “Shut up,” Louis said too quickly.

  “Not Zayn,” Harry added with a wicked grin.

  “Then 
  
    tell me!
  
  ”

  “Nope.” Harry popped a leaf into his mouth.

  “It’s 
  
    Liam
  
  , then!” he accused.

  Harry didn’t even blink. “I’m not telling you.”

  “Oh my God,” Louis gasped, eyes wide. “It 
  
    is
  
   Liam.”

  Harry raised a brow. “Please. If anything, Liam’s in love with 
  
    me
  
  .”

  Louis snorted. “Yeah, he dreams about spreadsheets and responsible life choices. You’re his nightmare.”

  “I’m not telling you,” Harry repeated, now clearly enjoying himself.

  “You can’t keep secrets from me forever,” Louis warned, narrowing his eyes.

  “Good luck,” Harry smirked. “Maybe if you were my first choice, I’d tell you.”

  Louis gasped again. “You are 
  
    so
  
   lucky I don’t cry easily.”

  Harry shrugged. “Shame. That would’ve been cute.”

  “This is emotional abuse,” Louis muttered. 

  “Consider it payback for all your singing.”

  “You
  
     like
  
   my singing!”

  Harry shook his head. “No comment.”

  “You’re insufferable, Harry,” Louis murmured.

  “You’re obsessed with me, Louis.”

  “No, you’re obsessed with me!”'
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.
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