For the trip to Paris, Harry decided first class would be the best option for a seven-hour flight, so he forked over the cash in the name of comfort and even bought the seats near him so he could be truly unbothered. Normally he wasn't snobby, but he just wanted to be left alone to collect himself and not think about Louis. That hardly worked of course because he still thought of him and still worried too much for his own good.
Irritated with his lack of self-control, he leaned back against his chair and dreamt of Louis drinking too much at crowded New York bars.
When he woke up, the plane was landing and people had already began gathering their stuff. He hadn't brought much, so when he had vacated the plane with his carry-on and got his luggage, it was obvious he was a light packer.
Much to his surprise, there was a limousine waiting for him, and a man leaning against it with his name on a white paper.
"Bonjour, Monsieur."
Although Harry had never gone to France, he studied some in high school and relearned a lot for the trip.
"Bonjour, comment alles-vouz?"
"Bien, merci. Et vous, Monsieur?"
"Très bien, merci beacoup," he replied politely as the chauffeur opened the door for him. He nodded, thanked him once more, and slid into the leather seats of the lavish limousine.
He and the driver made small talk to pass the time, which the chauffeur said he appreciated considering most people ignore 'the help.' Harry said he thought that was ridiculous and elitist.
After the kind man dropped him off at the entrance of a luxurious Parisian hotel, Harry was finally into his room where he could unwind and prepare for a long day shooting tomorrow. Because Giselle was obviously a professional, he didn't expect her to cause any problems, but these things simply took a while, especially when Harry and the magazine representatives clashed over what they wanted the photo to look like. He hoped this wouldn't happen tomorrow, but with his luck, he'd get some snob who's unwilling to compromise.
Although it was late in Paris, Harry knew it was only 6 PM in New York, so he decided to call Gemma, who was basically his best friend. She answered after several rings, which was unusual for her.
"Hey, Harry," she said, seemingly distracted. "Can't talk right now, but I'll call you later. Have fun in Pari—oh, c'mon."
Harry could've sworn he heard someone, Jaime presumably, vomiting in the background.
"Well, you sound busy, Gem. Good luck with that," he said.
"I love you, 'bye," she declared before a string of curses spilled from her lips. Usually none of Gemma's friends drank that much, but he supposed consuming alcohol uncharacteristically was a common motif in his life now.
Left with no one to call and only one person to think about, Harry drew a bath, wallowed in the warm water, and attempted to relax in this little haven far away from the problems of New York.
***
Louis went out drinking. Again. After ignoring several of Jake's calls, pretending he wasn't home when he knocked, and overall ghosting the poor chap, he decided he needed some relief. There was something about drinking alone that turned Louis off; it was just a textbook sad thing to do. So although he never went out with others and was all-in-all alone in a crowd, he found himself enjoying drinks at another bar.
The night started as usual, with Louis taking shot after shot after shot then slowing down with beer then moving onto rum. It quickly got sour when he heard a certain name he'd tried to drink out of his mind. Halfway into the rum phase, a man sitting a few chairs down was talking about Harry.
"Yeah, she's great, you'll like her," he said to the man beside him. "She's actually related to that Harry Styles bloke."
Louis, irrational, drunk, and confrontational all but leapt from his seat and faced the two men.
"What did you say?" he growled as his fists clenched.
"Uh," the two men exchanged looks. "I'm sorry, sir, but who are you?"
"What did you fucking say, asshole!?" he shouted, the whole bar froze and stared at the situation unfolding before him.
Louis hardly noticed the door open, and he didn't realize who it was until she said his name.
"Louis William, just what in the fuck are you doing?" she stomped over, apologized to the men saying she would reschedule, and dragged Louis out of the bar before stuffing him into her car.
"Gemma, what are you doing?" he asked. He had only just processed what the hell just happened. Why the hell was she there? Was this Harry's doing?
She sighed, obviously worried. Her anger and disappointment took the backseat to her overwhelming concern.
"Louis, I came to meet those men you just yelled at," she said before lightening up the mood with, "But it's okay, the bloke he set me up with wasn't that cute, was he?"
Louis laughed for far too long and agreed with her.
"Gem, does Harry know you're here?" he slurred his speech so much that he sounded like he was stroking. Gemma sped on to her flat.
"No," she admitted. "I didn't plan on seeing you. Now, hush. We'll talk when we get home."
"My home?" he asked, his head lulling to the side. She wondered for a moment if she should be taking him to the hospital instead.
She answered gently, "No, Lou. Mine. You'll stay there tonight."
Nothing else was said for the remainder of the ride. When they arrived at her apartment, she managed to get him changed into some clothes she stole from Harry and even tricked him into taking ibuprofen before he rolled off of her bed and crawled to the toilet.
With the sound of vomiting accompanying her ringer, it took her a few moments to hear her phone, but when she did, she hated to see that it was Harry.
"Hey, Harry," she greeted as she peered into the bathroom. She worried that Louis would pass out with his head in the bowl and drown in his own throw up. "Can't talk right now, but I'll call you later. Have fun in Pari— oh, come on."
Louis had managed to clog her toilet after stuffing a whole roll in the bowl with the hopes of 'plugging his throw up,' he would recount later. She quickly said her goodbyes to Harry and prayed he didn't recognize Louis' heaving.
