(A/N: Late update but I had a horrific end of term at university & also experienced something extremely traumatic and now suffering with PTSD and my panic disorder is elevated more than ever. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It is very dialogue focused because it's important to start focusing on them trying to scramble at finding a /friendship/. anyway. comment away :) i love reading everything you guys say. as always, love you. - ash x )

-

The following days and the concept of time dissolve into itself, becoming shapeless; with no structure or distinctive pattern. All Louis can recall is that Harry doesn't really speak much, in fact, he spends a lot of his time disappearing with his moleskin journal in tow. His disappearances are sporadic, never at a set time. Louis does his best not to stick his nose in Harry's business, and he most definitely refrains from asking any intrusive questions that might set off a chain of nasty responses. They've managed to avoid any sort of disruption to their daily lives and also miraculously have not bickered, which is genuinely surprising to Louis.

Until the fifth day, when Harry returns from one disappearing stint which leaves Louis reeling with a million questions that are better off unsaid. It's on that day when Louis finally finds some sort of breakthrough from Harry's blasé demeanour, which in return leaves his mile-high walls threatening to tumble. It's midday and he's curled on the couch wrapped in a knitted blanket with the aircon blasting at almost sub-zero temperature when there's a loud thud in the direction of the back door. It's loud enough for his attention to jolt from the television and towards the source.  And once Louis' gaze falls on the doorframe, he immediately registers Harry's presence; shoulders slouched in a radiating sadness. Louis didn't even need to look at his face to understand. In fact, he wishes he hadn't.

Louis automatically sits up straighter, back arching to for a better view to assess the damage. Which in return might be in his list of biggest regrets of his lifetime; because Harry's eyes flicker towards him for the slightest second but it's all slow motion for Louis. Immediately he is aware of Harry's eyes; a fern green mixed with a soulless grey that has his heart lurching in his chest. But Louis momentarily loses grip on sanity when his vision focuses on the slight swell of his eyes, and the tinge of redness framing his irises. Louis grips the blanket, desperately focusing on the feeling of the fabric to distract his brain, lips parting as his breath silently fans outwards.

The entirety of that interaction lasts no longer than 5 seconds, but to Louis, it may as well have been 60. The reality of the speed finally catches up to Louis once he blinks and tries to look back towards Harry. Except now he's already disappeared down the hallway without a single word or noise. In the last four days, they had managed a simple routine of Harry using the shower as needed, and Louis doesn't even question it. Except he does question Harry's sanity when he continuously sleeps on the hammock every night. It doesn't make sense, especially considering there's a perfectly functional, and very soft, couch. A couch that would be twice as comforting as a bloody hammock. But Harry Styles will do what he wants, and supposedly he wants to spend his nights sleeping outside.

As Louis works through his loud thoughts, mind whirring and conspiracies popping up in every corner of his brain, he eventually finds himself completely frozen. The second a horrible intrusive thought enters his brain Louis briefly shifts his position, eyeballing between the television and the direction of the bedroom. He's mentally at war with himself. Should he check on him or should he give him space? The inner professional screamed at him to go ahead, check and decode the root of his issues, but this wasn't his job. Harry Styles was not Louis Tomlinson's job to fix.

Louis spends a considerable amount of time debating breaking his moral code, and in the end, he decides it's not wise to stick his nose in others business. Instead, he turns his attention to Haunting of Hill House. Which, in fact, was moderately terrifying and Louis really wasn't good with the horror genre. But it offered a genuine distraction. A full half an hour passes of Louis watching, partially hidden underneath the blanket, eyes peering over the edge when Harry finally appears.

He steps into the open space of the lounge room, ruffling his damp hair and appearing slightly less frazzled than thirty minutes earlier. He appears blank of emotion again until he notices Louis' rigid body peeping out from underneath the magenta blanket in the corner of the couch. In the next second, he realises what is happening when he looks at the screen. He takes in the scene that Louis is watching, and he realises it's the same show that every man and his dog have watched. Well, everyone but Harry. And there was a very good reason for avoiding it for this long.

"Why are you watching that? Isn't it supposed to be disturbing?" Harry's voice pierces the silence like a bullet in the dark. Louis doesn't answer, and instead shrugs and attempts to look less like a scared child but it's already way too late for that. Harry cautiously walks forward, closing the distance between himself and the couch and slumps into it. "I've not watched it. How far are you into it?"

"Not that far. I can probably start it again if you want to. I feel like you need to understand the backstory otherwise this won't make sense," Louis swallows thickly, fidgeting with the blanket and eyes focusing on the screen. There's an avoidance of eye contact, purely for the fact it won't take much for the questions to start flowing and he really doesn't want to go down that route.

"I don't think horror is my forte, to be honest. I've been thinking about starting End of The Fucking World. Have you heard of that one?" Harry doesn't move his gaze from the screen, face scrunching at the scene unfolding in front of him and his lips purse uncomfortably. In Louis' peripheral vision, he notices Harry fidgeting with one of his rings as he speaks.

"No, what's it about?" Louis asks nonchalantly, treading the fine line of being not interested. He's not good at this small talk but he'll try it anyway. He doesn't want Harry to know he's trying to get inside his head, and he doesn't want Harry to know that he's constantly looking at his red-ringed eyes. And he also definitely doesn't want Harry to know it's making his heartache.

"Well, to be honest, I don't know much other than the general gist. I'm usually a fan of things like Love is Blind-," Harry starts but Louis immediately cuts him off. Harry shoots a glare towards his direction, eyes narrowing and eyebrows furrowing in frustration, but Louis doesn't even acknowledge him.

"Love is Blind? Do you not have any taste in television shows?" Louis shakes his head, thinking to himself and then laughs. "You actually watch that shit? Wait...You probably watch Love Island right?" His eyes widen for a moment, the look of horror washes over his features and Harry doesn't respond straight away. It isn't until he notices Louis about to speak again that he finally opens his mouth.

"Love Island is actually pretty funny. Sometimes reality television and things about love can be interesting. A lot more real than acting." He hums to himself. "I know most of the time they're acting themselves, but it just feels more real. But. End of The Fucking World isn't reality television so...."

"Thank god, I'd rather gauge my eyes out if it were," Louis huffs, fingers tracing the remote and he notices in his peripheral vision Harry shift into a more comfortable position on the other end of the couch. "Sorry for cutting you off. Tell me about the show,"

"I've not watched it but apparently it's about two teenagers that take off on a road trip and it's pretty dark, but they actually fall in love with each other. The guy thinks he's going to murder the girl like he has it planned out. And she just hates life and wants to leave. It sounds kind of fun,"

By this point, Louis' gaze has finally settled on the man of mystery, and Louis' eyes slowly take in the whole sight of him. Harry's absentmindedly playing with his damp hair, a ringlet wrapped around one of his fingers as he stares at the tv. His eyes, although still swollen and still partially bloodshot, are bright chartreuse. His eyes alone are some of the most hypnotic Louis has come across in his life, and even from across the room it wasn't hard to find himself lost in them. It was an endless pit of green emptiness, but Louis was certain there was more to it. He was going to find out.

"What part of any of that sounds remotely fun? Murdering people, hating your life, and then taking off? I don't think so," Louis shakes his head, and he notices that Harry's face reflects dejection and his bottom lip slightly juts out. "Do you really think it'd be quality entertainment?"

"I think if you really hated your life enough, packing up and going away for a while could be really fun. And it's more interesting bringing someone else along with you. Especially if they're also not having a great time. It's like... self-discovery and also making friends... or in that case... finding love. But I think it's a cool concept," Harry speaks softly, voice void of any bitterness that he usually radiates. Louis feels a surge of sadness overcome him as he watches the boy across from him speak with careful thought.

"So just to be clear, we're talking about the Netflix show right? This is starting to sound too real to be Netflix," Louis says without thinking. As the words leave his mouth and Harry flinches, Louis' insides recoil in shame. "I didn't mean it in a way that you might hate your life or anything. I just- I don't know," Louis tries to save himself but finds himself at a dead end.

"It's fine. I mean, my life isn't the best, but I wouldn't say I hated it enough to want to disappear and start all over again. And I'm definitely not homicidal...unless you're the homicidal one and I'm the one that wants to run away?" The corners of Harry's pink lips upturn into a soft smile, and there's a sense of playfulness that instantly relaxes Louis.

"I don't think I'm homicidal unless we're referring to the little leprechaun that decided to put me in this position. Then yeah, I'd say slightly murderous," Louis mutters to himself and then decides to go back to the Netflix home screen to try and find the show that Harry mentioned.

"So, your best friend is Irish then?" Harry asks, and it does take Louis by surprise. Because Harry hasn't really shown much care for knowing about him until right this very moment. So, Louis turns his head towards Harry and locks eyes with him. It's enough for Louis' insides to twist anxiously and heart rate instantly rises. Harry holds his gaze and he looks genuinely interested in the conversation.

"Yeah, never trust the Irish. I've no idea what he was thinking of when putting me here," Louis rolls his eyes, and this time Harry does smile widely. Those dimples appear again, and Louis immediately diverts his attention back to the television. "I guess he was probably just trying to look out for me and my relationship, it hasn't been the easiest lately. This was probably our last hope and that was before I had that horrendous night out. I don't really know our chances of survival now,"

"I'm sure it'll be fine. If you're soulmates then whatever issues that you have, you'll work through it. If it's the real thing, you can overcome anything," Louis watches cautiously as Harry shrugs as he speaks, his eyes break contact and stare elsewhere. Harry runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat.

"You sound like a true romantic," Louis scoffs.  Harry doesn't reply straight away, which makes Louis start to second guess his bantering. In fact, he finds himself about to start stammering to take it back, but Harry speaks before he has the chance to.

"I wouldn't say I'm romantic. I just know what love is, and what love should be. It's not unrealistic to have the view that love triumphs all," His voice appears more gravelly than usual, and the lump in Louis' throat grows exponentially. "But it's fine. Maybe I read too much literature. Sometimes I feel like my life is one big Shakespearian tragedy,"

This is the response that kicks Louis' fight or flight response into gear. He does a sharp intake of air and nods slowly as his brain registers his words. What the hell is he supposed to reply with? His mind desperately searches for any response, sarcastic or not. He needs to say something quick or else the silence is going to be the end of him.

"What Shakespearian tragedy fits your life the best then Mister Styles?" Louis tries to relax his body, but it doesn't do anything. His whole being tenses and he holds his breath as he observes Harry contemplate his response. Harry purses his lips, cocking his head to the side thinking deeply to himself.

"My life doesn't match the plot, but it's more like two people can't be together but they're in love," Harry speaks so softly that Louis isn't sure he's hearing it correctly at first. Except when he hears the wavering of Harry's voice at the end, he knows he's heard it correctly.

"But you're with your girlfriend? Oh...your parents don't want you together?" Louis frowns, thinking deeply as he speaks until his eyes widen with realisation. Harry blinks at Louis' response, but his face remains unchanged, just a blank canvas.

"Something like that," Harry holds Louis' gaze, neither of them refusing to break contact. Both radiating stubbornness that leaves Louis' skin prickling with angst. Even from across the room Louis can see the dullness of Harry's iris' and the sadness that swims through them. His body instinctively shifts as if it wants to move towards the boy, but Louis shifts his attention back to the television. Shit.

"So, End of The Fucking World?" Louis loudly clears his throat, trying to divert the attention and break the rising awkward tension. Each time Louis blinks, his vision is violated by the faded emerald colour that belongs to Harry.

Louis wasn't getting under Harry's skin; it was the total opposite. Harry had somehow injected himself directly into Louis' veins, and the thought of his was pulsing through his bloodstream rapidly, completely overhauling everything that Louis thought he knew. There was no escaping him anymore. All Louis could do was get comfortable with it, and not play with fire. He can't approach this like he's the psychologist because it would be detrimental for him in the end.

"We could watch a bit. But I have a feeling we've got something else to do this afternoon," Harry looks towards the kitchen bench, and Louis follows his gaze until his eyes fall on another envelope. Screw those envelopes. "Do you want me to read it? I wonder what they'll have us do today."

"I'm up for anything that doesn't involve yoga. I'm already fed up with sunrise vinyasa," Louis chuckles. "And look at me go; I'm learning the terminology for different yoga's. My IQ is rising each day,"

"Congratulations. But it's still not that impressive. Talk to me when you can recite Hamlet's soliloquy. Then I might actually reconsider," Harry chuckles as he pushes himself off the couch and quickly walks to the bench. Louis pretends not to witness the flex of Harry's biceps and the protruding veins that cause his head to spin for a second. He doesn't even understand what is happening anymore. Nothing is making sense in his brain and he can't keep up with the abrupt ups and downs.

"I can actually recite it, you know?" Louis shoots back, trying to suppress a nervous laugh. Harry stops reading the note for a few seconds, eyes suddenly staring at Louis through those thick dark lashes and Louis notices his eyebrows arch. It's a definite challenge. "Alright. You don't believe me?"

"Not in the slightest. You're a psychology major, not an English literature major. You don't need to pretend that you're knowledgeable in that field. You're better off sticking to your brain studies, I'm sure you could recite half of the academic journals by now," Harry returns his attention back to the note, lips slightly turning up in the corners which ignite a fire deep in Louis' soul.

"To be, or not to be? That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing them. To die, to sleep. No more; and by a sleep to say we end. The heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream, aye, there's the rub. For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off his mortal coil. Must have us pause...there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life." Louis says clearly, matter-of-factly and it's enough for Harry to place the envelope back on the bench and stare at Louis with widened eyes and parted lips. "Do you need more, or is that enough for you to realise I might actually know a thing or two?"

"I didn't think you would actually know it," Harry's quiet, and it's that type of quiet that Louis knows that it's probably embarrassed Harry and to be quite fair it's deserved. He should be embarrassed making others feel less intelligent. "Do you know the meaning of it?" He asks, staring at the floor and once again fidgeting with the rings on his finger. Louis watches as he turns them back and forth, eyebrows furrowed and gaze completely focused on them as they glisten.

"Well, the good thing about literature everyone can interpret the way they want. But, from my own studies and understanding, I believe it's about how horrifically miserable and painful human life is. And that death is a preferable option than living, but the fear of the uncertainty of the afterlife prevents him from doing the deed." Louis forces himself off the couch next, stretching his limbs and yawning briefly. Harry doesn't respond again, and Louis feels extremely smug right about now. In fact, Harry just stares at his feet and hair falls limply over his face in shame. "It's actually a really good piece to study regarding the human brain and how we process depression and suicidal ideations. It's dark but interesting,"

"Yeah. I suppose you're right," Harry mumbles as Louis reaches his side at the bench. Louis doesn't make it much further into reading the letter when Harry looks up from the tiles, expression completely unreadable. Louis briefly looks up and feels the overwhelming urge to pull the man across from him into a hug. And he also immediately regrets being such a smart ass.

"I'm sorry if you thought I was doubting your intelligence. I wasn't really. You graduated with a degree...that's something I could never do. You are intelligent but I just didn't really pin you for a classic literature type," Harry stumbles over himself, and Louis although feeling bad, also feels exponentially proud of himself. Mostly because no one was ever going to make him feel unintelligent.

"You should never judge a book by its cover, young Harold,"

"It's Harry, and I'm not that young," Harry frowns. "You can't make smart comments about age...you're like 30,".

Louis clenches his jaw and continues reading, focusing on not hurling a slew of horrible profanities at Harry. And as the words sink in, he realises he's doing something that is probably even worse than fucking yoga. At least yoga you're not running around like a lunatic.

"Hiking? They want us to be hiking buddies?" Louis slams the letter down, voice raised in pain as he groans. "I will absolutely not hike. And for your information, I'm not 30. I'm offended,"

"I didn't even get that far into reading before you decided to be possessed by literature demons," Harry mutters as he snatches the note, eyes quickly darting across the message. Louis becomes alert to the sudden closeness of Harry's body and the heat that radiates off him. It fills Louis' whole personal space, heating every millimetre of skin in proximity, radiating that same energy that Louis keeps picking up on. But he can't get lost in it right now.

"Literature demons," Louis replies, shaking his head and softly chuckling to himself as he takes a slight step away. He finds himself staring out the kitchen window, watching the leaves on the trees sway in the ocean breeze. He tries his best to focus on anything but Harry, but his brain is still clinging to the memory of the closeness of Harry's skin and the addicting warmth. Louis swallows and grinds his teeth, blinking a few times before Harry speaks again.

"Okay. So, a sunset hike up to the summit of a mountain,"

"No way. No way in hell," Louis' voice raises a few octaves, and he can feel the veins in his neck protruding as he tenses. Harry's eyes flicker from the note and towards Louis, and there's a brief emotion that washes over his face. It's brief and Louis is sure he was imagining it, but the shift in the energy, even for a second, proves it.

"It won't be that bad. Stretch out those legs, you must be stiff from sitting on the couch all day,"

"I literally did yoga this morning. I've done it every day for the last like 4 days or whatever. I'm anything but stiff. I don't think my legs are capable of carrying my body uphill for that long," Louis groans, leaning into the bench and pressing his face into the palms of his hands. His body was only just growing accustomed to the yoga and he still ached. Although the aching was decreasing each day.

"Stop being dramatic. What if I offered something...it might persuade you?"

Louis' whole body seizes up, face still in his palms and blood threatening to turn into icicles. Louis lifts his head cautiously, eyes instantly meeting Harry's. His eyes dart all over his face searching for any sign that he's joking but the only thing he notices is the lack of emotion that Harry still has. The saliva in Louis' mouth almost instantly evaporates, tongue suddenly feeling like sandpaper. He tries his best to keep his composure because he doesn't want Harry to even have an inkling of what he's feeling.

"What? What are you bribing me with?" Louis doesn't have the faintest idea where to look now, so instead remains observing Harry until he gets a response. Harry doesn't reply straight away and instead fidgets and picks at the bottom of his shirt, face looking slightly uncomfortable. He looks almost pained, and Louis decides to just say forget about it but he doesn't get the chance.

"I'll play you a little extract to one of my songs. You might be able to give me some constructive criticism. Since I can't really talk with the label here,"

Harry doesn't need to say a word more. Louis knows for a fact that whatever Harry's written would be a direct insight into his feelings, thoughts, and experiences. This is the perfect opportunity to gain a better understanding of who he is. Except it's also a very private thing, and he isn't sure whether this is crossing some type of boundary. He's never felt this fucking conflicted in his whole life. It's like hitting the pot of gold, but it's as if he's reading a private diary to get there.

"Are you sure...isn't that like private?"

"If it was private why would I be intending to release it? I need someone's opinion on the quality otherwise no one will listen," Harry's brows furrow, and he stops chewing on his now reddened lips. Louis' gaze doesn't stray from the eye-contact he's now holding, desperate to figure out what Harry is thinking but nothing comes. It also doesn't help that Harry doesn't hold the contact, instead, he shifts his gaze back towards the envelope on the bench.

"Okay fine. I'll go hiking but I expect a masterpiece once I get home,"

As soon as Louis dramatically sighs and responds, Harry's face instantly lights up. There's an instant surge of brightness in his eyes that was absent previously, and there was no escaping those crater-sized dimples either. It's been almost a week, and it's probably the second or third time that Louis has seen genuine happiness radiating from Harry. He despises exercise, truly. His yoga skills were already horrific, and now he's going to embarrass himself all over again but for some reason, he's alright with it.

"Did you want to watch some television for a bit? We have a couple of hours before we need to head out." Harry's entire demeanour has changed yet again, a stark contrast to this emptiness just a few minutes earlier. This time he's radiating enthusiasm and literal rays of sunshine. "We could watch that show?"

"What show? Haunting of Hill House?"

"Yeah. If we're going to hike, you should at least get to do something you want to do. Try and make you feel a little less shitty. If you're in a good mood beforehand, you might not complain as much,"

"I don't complain," Louis frowns, to which Harry chuckles. He literally chuckles and it's a sound that makes Louis feel like the earth was just pulled out from beneath his feet. It's bizarre but he tries his best to keep his composure. It seems that's all he does these days.

"I'm afraid you do, like a lot," Harry grins, and Louis decides he's had enough. So, he playfully kicks Harry's shin. "Hey! What was that for?! That hurt!"

Louis has already started to move back towards the couch and even though he can't see Harry's face, he can sense the playfulness in his voice. Louis shrugs, moving a little faster. He still manages to hear Harry mutter something under his breath, so he looks over his shoulder. "Who's complaining now?"

"You're a jack-ass, you know that right?"

"So I've been told,"

The next few hours Louis and Harry find themselves completely immersed in the show, and the entire time Louis remains partially hidden under his blanket. And there wasn't much difference with Harry either; who placed a pillow in front of him and peaked whenever he was game enough. It was the most harmonious a single interaction between the two had gone. In fact, the essence of time had completely escaped their train of thought and instead, they laughed, screamed, and discussed plots together as if they were best friends. It was quite comforting. Louis had always been the social butterfly, even from as young as a toddler so being this far away from his best friends and support systems was a whole new world for him. This whole week he desperately wanted to make a call home and speak with whoever was willing to listen. He knew without a doubt that Niall would spend hours on the phone, and as much as Louis hated him for this, he also missed the shit out of him. Louis had spent countless amount of time wondering what the lad had been up to. He just knew that Niall would be boarding himself up at home, slaving away at his job and ruining his health just a little bit more with his unhealthy coping mechanisms. God. He missed him, so fucking much. And for the first time this week, Louis wasn't thinking about home life or Eleanor. In fact, he was just stuck in the moment enjoying himself. And it stayed that way until Harry states the time and they frantically find the right attire for the hike. And that was one thing Louis most definitely wasn't going to enjoy.

-

"Do you think you could slow down for a sec, yeah?" Louis squints up towards Harry's lean figure ahead. Harry takes one step forward and then slowly turns his head; forehead glistening with a sheer layer of sweat.

It's almost offensive at how angular Harry's jaw is from where Louis is standing. Louis hadn't really taken in the full beauty of it since Harry's face was always framed by a curtain of ringlets. This time, however, they're tightly pulled back into a man-bun. Because yeah, he's a stylish hipster and lectured Louis that man-buns are a totally valid fashion trend for half an hour.

"Do you think you could just walk a little faster?" Harry yells back, his voice is slightly strained. Louis recognises the out of breath panting, and his eyes widen. He's actually struggling. Shock horror.

"We've been on a steady incline for the last...what? Kilometre?" Louis huffs, remaining frozen and slightly hunched over, his body desperately trying to recover and failing miserably. The insides of Louis' oesophagus burn like depths of hell, stinging and causing immense grief. No one should hike, it's actually torture. Who does this for fun?

"If you can't walk a slight incline for a kilometre you have to really reconsider your health," Harry's brows pull together slightly, and then he turns towards the path and starts to move again. There is zero hesitation which ignites a flicker of rage deep in Louis' stomach because this man has zero compassion whatsoever.

"I'm well aware I'm not in great nick. This place has really highlighted that. So, can you just slow down?" Louis challenges his own body, forcing his aching legs forward with extra force. He's going to reach that curly-haired cunt and kick him in the shin. That's probably as far as his legs could reach at this moment. Harry doesn't say a single word in return, instead just grips the straps of his backpack tightly, frowning and eyes trained on the top of the hill. Louis could scream, he really could.

The only upside to this whole experience is that the sun is beginning to set, and Louis is determined to watch the beauty of it from the summit. But with the way his whole body is buckling, he's starting to second guess his ability to make it in time. But Louis will not have the Gucci king beat him at something so trivial, because for god's sake, he can't lose to him again. And that's when the idea strikes, and Louis has to suppress the laughter as he pretends to fall.

"Harold!"

At this moment, Louis has never been so thankful for those drama classes he took in his youth because he's honing every acting skill he knows. He dramatically hits the pavement beneath him, letting out an 'oomph' and inhales deeply. His body automatically thanks him for this, because it takes immense stress off his legs, and suddenly oxygen has never felt so good.

"Harry! I've screwed my ankle!" Louis hollers again, tightly gripping his ankle and scrunching his face in fake agony. He doesn't even look up towards Harry, because he's manifesting an oscar-winning performance.

There are about 15 seconds that pass before he hears Harry's fastened footsteps descend back in Louis' direction and they're moving fast. Before Louis can even open his mouth or see Harry in his line of vision, he is suddenly aware of Harry's presence and the warmth that radiates off him. He can feel his warmth to his side, and then he feels Harry's hands gentle grip his ankle.

"You can't do anything right, can you?" Harry mumbles to himself, fingers gently palpating the skin around Louis' ankle. Louis narrows his eyes, hisses in fake agony and flinches his ankle away from Harry's touch. Academy Award-winning acting right here.

"I said, to slow down. What more do you want me to do?" Louis takes deep calculated breaths, blissfully soaking in the oxygen that his aching lungs yearn for. He's conserving every drop because once he finally makes a break for the summit he'll need it. It won't take much for Harry to catch up, in fact, it's going to be easy. He's got the legs of a giraffe for fuck sake, and all Louis was gifted with was short stumps. Not to mention the difference in fitness levels, Louis is out of breath just by walking to the fridge half the time. There really wasn't a hope in hell that Louis could do this, but he was going to try anyway.

"I want you to not be a total dickhead and stop trying to think you can keep up with me,"

"I wanted to see the sunset! I wasn't expecting to break my damn ankle,"

Louis tries his hardest to keep his façade up, desperate to not let Harry clue on. This time Harry doesn't even respond to Louis' fake cry and instead, his face remains stone-cold serious. Louis can't help but stare in wonderment. He silently takes in the beauty of Harry's alabaster skin glowing under the now setting sun, lips slightly parted as he too struggles to catch his breath. The sheer layer of his sweat glistens, making him appear more ethereal than ever. In this moment, and for the first time this week, there appears to be no guards up on Harry's behalf. Louis feels the warmth of Harry's fingertips gently brushing against his skin, softly pressing into the bone of his ankle. The very second Harry's fingers disconnect from his skin, Louis is sure he'll feel those prints burning into his flesh for the next week.

"It's not broken, I can sense that much. It's not swelling up yet or bruising. What did you even do?" Harry's jaded eyes cast a concerned gaze over Louis' ankle again, eyes darting back and forth waiting for a sign of swelling. Louis keeps taking deep breaths, relishing in the way his muscles are no longer crying in agony. He notices Harry's tongue quickly dart across his pinkened lips, allowing it to equally glisten under the suns remaining beaming light.

"I was trying to walk faster, and then I think I rolled my ankle or something. It happened too fast to really take notice but all I know is that it hurts like shit,"

"Well. We can't really do any first aid up here, can we? So, we will have to head back and get you bandaged up. We can try the sunset again tomorrow,"

Louis needs to make his break right now, and he doesn't know how he's going to do it, but he'll try it anyway. He looks back up towards the mountain, mentally calculating the sprinting distance before he gets to the top. It's somewhere between 100 and 200 meters. It's enough for his stomach to twist in a nauseating knot and he can feel his muscles already locking up in refusal, but he won't back down. He just needs to win this once, to prove a point to himself. There is nothing more powerful than the human mind, and Louis does know that much.

"Do you think you could help me up?" Louis holds a handout, eyes slipping from the summit back to Harry who's still kneeling beside him. He also becomes immediately aware of how heavy Harry is breathing and can see the quick rise and fall of his broadened shoulders. "You know you shouldn't push yourself. You're asthmatic after all,"

"It's not like I don't bring my puffer with me. I'm not that incompetent," Harry shoots back but doesn't bother looking at Louis as shifts his bag until it lands in front of him with a loud thud. What in the hell does he carry in that thing?

"Okay Mary Poppins, what do you have hiding in your goody bag?"

"I'm not Mary Poppins," Harry glares for a moment then refocuses his attention on the bag as his shaky hands search through his belongings. There are a few more moments that pass before Harry lifts the Ventolin out from his bag, smiling like a kid at a candy store. "I'm just Harry Styles. And wouldn't you like to know what's in my goody bag,"

The response, although smart ass, sounds ridiculously sexual at the same time. It's enough for Louis to feel as though a bucket of ice-cold water has been poured straight over his head, instantly causing icicles in every nerve ending. The air that fills his lungs escapes in a sharp exhale and finds himself blinking till he's grounded back to earth again. It feels like minutes but in reality, it's not even five seconds that passes.

"Well, I did ask Harold," He forces a smile, shaking off the suddenly rising internal tension. Harry doesn't hesitate to bring the Ventolin to his lips, and Louis finds himself staring at those same godforsaken eyes that bore into the deepest corners of his soul. It's as if Harry can see straight through him and is discovering corners of his soul that not even Louis knew existed.

Louis doesn't know how to react to the situation, but he does see the perfect window of opportunity. Harry's the perfect unsuspecting victim, and if Louis shoves him in the right way he'll topple over and knock over his mystery bag in the process. He takes 3 deep breaths, allowing the oxygen to reach every corner of his weak lungs and counts down in his head. He watches Harry take the first puff and Louis mentally prepares for it. He continues clutching the area around his ankle until he hears Harry take the second puff and then he lunges.

"What the-" Harry starts, but is immediately cut off as he lands against the uneven gravel with a harsh thud. His eyes widen in shock, as he witnesses his bag fall over and his belonging scatter. "You son of a-,"

There's an instantaneous surge of adrenaline that takes over Louis' body. He witnesses the curly-haired boys face suddenly switch from playful to dreadful anger that instantly kicks Louis' fight or flight response into gear. He doesn't stay for a second longer, instead, he forces his legs to move now. He doesn't even have to focus on it, and the burning ache of his muscles are now a distant memory. The adrenaline has taken over completely, surging through his veins and making this whole process easier than expected. The distance itself isn't the worst thing in the world, it's just like one of those races at the carnivals in high school. It's as if they were all practices for this exact moment. The only thing that is bringing fear directly into Louis' being is the thought that Harry is right behind him, which only makes Louis dig deeper and his body keeps pushing further and further. He doesn't even bother looking over his shoulder because he's certain Harry's probably closing the gap already and Louis is about to be pummelled. He uses every last bit of strength in his body to force his legs up the last final meters, desperately gasping for air and sweat physically dripping off his forehead. He feels incredibly disgusting, and to be honest he isn't that proud of what he did. But he'll take the victory anyway.

So with those last few steps, Louis steps onto the flattened ground of the top, and he desperately inhales while hunching over. He can't help but feel the nauseating twisting of his stomach and his mouth fills with saliva. It's that disgusting feeling pre-vomit that overcomes him but he desperately tries to distract himself from it. He stands up, resting his arms behind his head to stretch out his lungs and he looks out at the sunset.

It is quite possibly the most beautiful thing he's ever witnessed in his life. The whole sky is a hue of golden rays of light that illuminate Louis at the very spot he's standing in. Except he doesn't get to stand for long because his knees genuinely give out and he silently falls to his knees, staring in awe at the beauty in front of him.

"I made it," He huffs, smiling to himself. The feeling of achievement is overwhelming, and the smile turns into a chuckle as he accepts the fact he won.

He gives himself a few more moments to bask in the glory before turning his attention back towards the direction of Harry. He's half-expecting Harry to already be next to him and a fist to fly into his jaw when he turns around, but alas he isn't. It comes as a complete surprise when Harry is walking up the hill, bag back on his shoulders and gaze locked on Louis. Each step is calculated, and there's a brute force behind each of them and Louis can sense the anger that pulsates from his being. It's only another 30 or so seconds before Harry's finally in earshot so Louis speaks quickly.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to win at something,"

"It doesn't count if you cheat," Harry's voice is laced with an uncomfortable amount of anger that slices its way through Louis' heart and the joy he was just feeling. Louis' smile falters and he wipes his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt to rid himself of the sweat.

"It wasn't cheating. I ran up the hill with my own legs," Louis tries to shoot back, but it's a useless argument. He definitely did cheat, but he wasn't going to admit it out loud.

"Yeah, by taking out your opponent in an unfair tackle. You faked an injury. That's cheating," Harry doesn't even bother looking at Louis now, instead, he stares out at the sunset with a guarded expression and Louis monitors the way Harry's chest rises and falls.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware there was a rulebook on hiking a mountain. Show me the manual!"

"We managed to get up here to witness the sunset," Harry says softly, all traces of annoyance or rage has instantly dissipated which gives Louis immediately whiplash. It doesn't last longer than a second though.  "You can watch the sunset alone. I'm heading back to the villa. Take your time. Don't fall and break your leg on the way down...or do. I'm not here to help you this time,"

Louis can't find the words as Harry starts to move back towards the hill, eyes quickly scanning Louis who is attempting to stand. Louis feels his legs buckle as he forces himself up, and he holds a hand out to steady himself but eventually, he's fine. Harry takes a total of 5 steps down the hill before Louis panics.

"Stay. Stay and watch the sunset. I'm sorry that I did that, it wasn't fair. I could have hurt you badly and that wasn't my intention at all. I'm selfish, I know. I just wanted to feel good about winning something for fucking once, okay?"

Harry does stop walking at this point, and Louis isn't sure whether it's the words or the actual sheer desperation that is being projected in his voice. He's a mess and doesn't know what he's doing anymore. Louis watches as Harry turns around, and effortlessly swings his bag and throws it so it lands on the summit with a thud. Louis looks between the bag and then Harry again, who looks like a canvas straight out of the renaissance.

"I think this may be the first time you've apologised and actually sounded genuine. The character growth this week has been exceptional," Harry says flatly, and then turns back towards Louis and steps back onto the flat ground. Louis doesn't know what to say or do, but suddenly Harry's standing right next to him. Louis physically feels his arm brushing against him. There's a whole-ass summit but he just has to stand that close. "You kept your side of the deal. You might have played dirty, but you did the hike and that's what matters. So... Do you think you could just stay quiet for a minute?"

Louis slightly turns his head, gaze moving from the sunset and up towards where Harry's towering body stands next to him. He frowns, completely confused. He can tell that Harry is aware of the gaze on him by the way he anxiously swallows but his gaze remains fixated on the horizon in front of them.

"I don't understand," Louis speaks, but it comes out so quietly that it takes him by surprise.

"Don't speak. Just listen,"

Louis notices Harry's eyes slightly flicker in Louis' direction, so he swallows thickly and nods carefully. Harry's arm is still faintly brushing against his own, and he can feel the stickiness of his sweat but neither of them moves. Louis can barely think straight, but he's suddenly aware of Harry's deep breathing. He's confused. And then it happens. The voice that comes out of Harry's mouth is the most soothing, melodious, and broken sound Louis has ever heard in his entire life. It's as if Louis is physically catapulted into the realms of space because he feels his heart drop and he feels like he's astral projecting. The words wrap around him like velvet, brushing against all the damaged parts of his soul and causing his eyes to well up in tears. It's the only voice in the world that makes him feel seen.

"Don't blame me for fallin', I was just a little boy. Don't blame the drunk caller...Wasn't ready for it all. You can't blame me, darling. Not even a little bit. I was away, and I'm just an arrogant son of a bitch, who can't admit when he's sorry,"