Modest Temptations - Book 2 (Larry Stylinson AU)

Chapter 25 - Learn to love, lessons repeating

Learn to love, lessons repeating

The street was lined with people who talked loudly and laughter rang through the air, the night was cold and Harry shuddered moving closer to Louis as they waited in line. As they stood in line, they didn’t talk and Louis was growing increasingly anxious, Harry watched him as he fiddled with his blazer and looked everywhere but at Harry’s face. Louis was avoiding his eyes, Harry felt guilty but bit his tongue, maybe a little squirming would do him good after the day of lies they had enjoyed together. Enjoyed being the operative, sarcastic word in this situation, he enjoyed nothing about lying in wait for whatever Louis was hiding to creep out of the woodworks. Harry tried to forget the pangs of anxiety that filled his entire being as he lay motionless on the couch, desperate for Louis’ return. Now, they stood together and he sighed as he waited in line, enjoying the anonymity that the busy crowd gave him. For once he was faceless and it couldn’t have come at a better time.

Harry ran a hand through his messy curls as he smiled at the girl next to him, she was building up the courage to ask for a photo. Harry leaned closer and offered, she giggled and smiled shyly as he politely obliged and Louis took the photos. Louis had a sour look of jealousy on his soft features, Harry hated it when Louis was jealous. What could he possibly be jealous of? Harry’s heart was locked away with a promise to Louis long ago and nothing had changed. Nor would it, anytime soon. 

Two bouncers stood in dark suits with earpieces and scowls, the held the red rope and let small groups of people in as time passed slowly by. When one of them noticed Harry however, he gestured with a quick nod of his head and a flick of his wrist. A few people behind Harry and Louis groaned as they quickly dashed through the crowd and were let into the dimly lit foyer. It was dark, desolate and filled with noise but Harry enjoyed every moment of it, such a different place to the VIP clubs they had become accustomed to. Clean and elegant this place was rough and alternative with a grungy theme that came in hand with the sticky floors and velvet draped walls. 

Music blared in heavy rhythmic thumps through the walls, a strong bass instantly rattling through their bodies the moment they crossed the threshold. Instead of the usual stamps on the wrist Louis and Harry were given emerald green VIP wristbands and told their tab would be taken care of. Something to do with publicity for the club, she politely explained over the loud music. Harry grinned, swaying on his feet as his mind swam with alcohol and exhaustion. He gripped Louis hand tightly as the long, black velvet curtains were drawn back.

Harry gasped in awe at the underground nightclub, a real gem in the hub of the city. The roof was covered in hanging origami-like lights that filtered a deep bright blue along the ceiling and onto the heads of the people packed inside. The bar was bright pink, lights flashed behind the busy bartenders who shouted over the music to take orders from the queues of people. Bottles of assorted alcohol lined the walls like expensive art and small booths littered one side of the room. Shrouded by dark velvet curtains, the leather couches were covered in hot pink and blue throw pillows. Couples and groups filled the booths like ornate mannequins, women draped in beautiful jewellery and their arms slithered around unsuspecting men, a wold and their prey so to speak. 

Harry smiled as he watched them, the stroking of hands, flipping and twisting of hair and their heads slinging back in raucous laughter. He never would understand the mechanics of women, he’d always know he was gay. Sure, he’d tried  to have girlfriends but it always felt so forced and unnatural to him. He didn’t see heterosexual couples as wrong or right, he just didn’t want to be in one himself. It was always precious knowledge he’d known deep down, no matter how hard he tried, in his younger years to suppress his sexuality. Being with modest was sometimes like getting thrown into that metaphorical closet, having the key stolen and never really knowing if he’d get out again.