By: @lightseep on AO3
Summary:
In all the ways he thought about their reunion going, watching Louis finger himself open was not on the list.
Work Text:
It's raining in London by the time Harry lands and he thinks Of course it fucking is as he chases after his duffel on the carousel.
Shouldering the bag, he walks over to Cal who's talking with airport security about the best way to maneuver through the terminal. Security look nervous, like they're not quite prepared for what's about to happen, and Harry spares them a little sympathy.
He can't see them yet but he can definitely hear them; a low thrumming, like bees in spring, anxious and excited and eager.
Because Cal's with him, it'll be a little easier getting through the fan crowds. Usually he doesn't have a problem stopping to take photos and pull faces, but right now his problem is in his head. Specifically, right now his problem is at home and there's an itch under his skin telling him to go face it, to go handle it, right alongside with the itch telling him to board the first plane back west. But with Cal, it's easier to pull polite excuses like In a rush, sorry guys or Excuse me, excuse me, sorry, can we just-because Cal is impatient as fuck all and never likes idling while he chats with his fans. He'll sulk off to the side and smack his lips and Harry usually finds it funny, thinks it's hilarious to put Cal in that situation, but he can't even think about Cal right now.
Grimfaced, they all start walking through the terminal. Harry shoulders through a frantic group of friends, all with their iPhones flashing in his face. He grits his teeth so he can move past them without swearing out loud and he tries to ignore the sound in his head but it keeps rising with the roaring of the crowd and it's going
Louis, Louis, Louis.
Cal, on the other hand, doesn't have to fake politeness, doesn't have to show that he appreciates anything at all, so he takes Harry's elbow and forcibly leads him through the worst of the mass. It's so fantastically loud and Harry wonders not for the first time what it's like to go anywhere, just common places, where that noise isn't there. Usually with the other boys around it's tolerable, he can handle it, because he can bounce off their energy; alone, it's like being carried to the sacrificial altar.
Cal's like a fucking bulldozer and his grip on Harry's elbow is tight so he lets him pull them through and he lets the dozens of shrill voices calling out his own name deafen the one in his head.
By the time they get to the car, a mountainous black SUV, airport security has managed to keep the worst of the crowd at bay. The rain momentarily pelts Harry's back as he moves from under the airport roof and into the open car door at the street. It's enough to make him uncomfortable as he flops down on the leather, chucking his bag to the trunk. Cal stands at the open door, a blockade between him and the fans, and glances at his face questioningly.
The rain is falling on his bare head and sliding down his face, like tears, Harry thinks. In that moment Harry really, truly appreciates Cal with such a surging affection that he can't speak. So he stares back, shakes his head, and is grateful when Cal smirks like he gets it and slams the door, moving to sit shotgun with the driver instead.
The silence is heavy. Harry leans his head back and sighs. London looks like hell. It's overcast and dreary and not in the charming way, like right on the cusp of Christmas holidays, but it's. Depressing, he thinks, so he closes his eyes to it, the taxis rushing by and the people hunched under umbrellas and upturned collars. For the first time since landing, he can't hear the chanting in his head.
