tangled up in you ~ l.s

V.

It's two days later when Louis texts again.

party time !!!!, his text reads, followed by an image file. Harry leans against the treadmill he'd been planning on using and taps at it, waiting for it to load.

He'd almost caved yesterday, his fingers itching to text Louis, to send him dumb things, but Louis did tell him in no uncertain terms to fuck off. And, okay, sure, Louis was probably joking, but Harry just wanted to give him space, just in case.

Besides, he'd been sufficiently distracted the previous day—he went to the spa, got a really good massage, and after, Jeff had dragged him out and plied him with pints until he felt all loose and happy. Harry hadn't even thought of Louis at all, except for when the bartender had placed down a cocktail similar to the colour of Louis' eyes in front of him and he'd almost cried because of its beauty.

So, yeah. Progress.

The picture finally finishes loading and Harry opens it up, humming. Louis hasn't ever sent him a photo before—usually it's Harry sending the photos, and Louis being snarky about them. It's quite the development. Harry tries not to feel giddy about it.

And he really, really shouldn't have, because he ends up staring at a selfie of Louis beaming innocently in his living room, his coffee table piled high with food, all his DVDs and Xboxes brought out, and two men he has never seen in his life looking somehow like a combination of annoyed and shifty at the same time.

"What the fuck," Harry mumbles, loud enough that the lady on the treadmill beside him shoots him a dirty look. He gives her an apologetic grin and waits for her face to soften slightly before turning back to his phone.

What are you doing? He sends, not at all frantically.

The reply comes within seconds. i'm throwing a party, it says. and you're not invited.

In my house??? Louis, who are those people??

what people ?

The ones behind you.

there's nobody behind me , Harry, Louis replies. i'm alone.

Louis there are two strange men in the selfie you sent me, Harry sends.

huh . maybe they're ghosts . guess your house is haunted after all .

Harry takes a deep breath, and lets it all out exasperatedly. He steps off the treadmill, shooting yet another apologetic grin to the lady beside him before going off to the least populated corner of the hotel gym.

He taps Louis' number, before bringing the phone up to his ear. He waits patiently as the phone rings, and Louis only pocks up right before it goes to voicemail. "Hello?"

"Louis," Harry hisses, pitching his voice low so as not to draw stares from the people at the gym. "What are you doing?"

"I'm throwing a party." He sounds smug, more smug than anyone who's throwing a house party in someone else's house has the right to be.

"In my house?"

"I would've invited you, but you're in L.A.," Louis points out.

Harry shuts his eyes, tries to calm himself down. "That's not the point," he says, making sure his voice is calm and measured. "The point is you've broken into my house, and brought two men I have never seen in my life into my living room."

"Well you've got a nice living room," Louis says. "A nice sofa. And a huge telly where we can play FIFA and watch footie."

"Louis, I swear to God, if you just invited random strangers into my house to fuck with me—"