More Than You Know [l.s.] ✓

Chapter 12

"The Meldiva piece here," Harry points to the wall space to the left of his bed, "And the Agello piece there." He points to the other side of the bed.

"The what and who?" Louis asks with confusion.

"The mostly pink painting on the left. The gray one on the right," Harry dumbs it down for him. He can't recognize expensive art for shit. He drags the step stool close to the wall, trying to figure out in his mind how professionals hang up wall décor. Isn't there some kind of ruler thing to make sure they're even? Louis isn't sure if he's supposed to just hammer a nail into the wall and call it a day. He's never been too fond of the whole handyman thing. Truth be told, Harry would probably be better off hanging his art himself.

The ringing of Harry's phone breaks the silence. He looks down at the phone with a look of concern before glancing over at Louis.

"I have to take this. I'll be right back."

He stalks out of the room, leaving Louis alone to sort out the pictures. Louis tries to ignore the funny feeling in his stomach, wondering what phone call is so important that Harry has to take it at-he glances at the alarm clock on Harry's nightstand- 11:30 at night. Earlier, he was about to get off work when Harry had called him, inviting him up to watch a movie. Once he walked in, he remembered the paintings he'd mentioned hanging up for Harry a while ago, which again was a stupid idea since he's only used tape and thumb tacks in the past to hang up anything.

He should just wait until Harry comes back in the room. He should shove the little voice inside his head away telling him to go see if he can hear anything. Eavesdropping is wrong. It's incredibly terrible, but he doesn't have a hammer or nails to put the frames up.

Before he actually gives himself permission, his feet are carrying him out of Harry's bedroom and slowly up the hallway.

"What do you mean you're moving it up to this weekend? What if I'm already booked?" Harry's voice sounds irritated as he grits out to whoever is on the other end of the line.

This was a mistake. Louis shouldn't be hearing this. He shouldn't be listening to Harry talk to his clients on the phone. He turns around and is about to start back down the hallway when he feels a hand rest on his shoulder, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin at the shock.

"What's wrong?" Harry says quietly with his hands covering the speaker of his cell phone.

"I just," He swipes a hand over his fringe, his go-to move when he's feeling unsettled and doesn't know what to do with his hands. "We didn't get the hammer or nails out."

"Box in the closet," Harry rushes out softly, the corner of his lips slowly starting to turn up but they never reach their full destination, frowning down instead at whatever is being spewed at him on the phone line. He starts walking away from Louis. "In the future, I'm going to need more of a heads up. I can't be expected to leave with only three day's notice. I understand things like this come up sometimes.."

Harry's voice trails off as Louis makes it back to the bedroom. He sounds so angry. Louis isn't even sure someone as nice as Harry was capable of getting angry, but apparently he is. He was popping off. Louis is still curious about who he is talking to. His mind leads him to terrible thoughts. Maybe more than just a prostitute, Harry does escort servicing along with it. He fucks his clients and attends events and gatherings when they're in need of a date. Damn his mind for picturing some middle aged man lonely man, calling Harry and telling him his brother's birthday party got moved around and he's needed at a different date. Maybe Harry is the boss of some elite escort service where the escorts are all models, and he assigns them to different old men clientele. It would make sense. He bets Harry costs the most out of the whole lot.