i 0d2125e00f277ca8 (46 page)

Scrubbing hard on a pan, Louis tries his best not to listen. He forgets,

sometimes, that Harry has a life outside the school. A life outside of

when Louis sees him, or when he‟s here in this flat. A life that Louis is

completely incapable of keeping up with, but that Claire down the

phone apparently knows well enough to make Harry laugh

uproariously. And Louis can make Harry laugh, too, can make him do a

lot of things if he puts his mind to it, but it‟s strange to think that there

are parts of Harry‟s life that are completely inaccessible to him. Parts

that are important. Harry knows everything about Louis‟ work, about

what he loves to do, and Louis doesn‟t know the first thing about what

Harry wants to do with this life. He hasn‟t really thought about that,

and he doesn‟t particularly care to now.

It sounds like the conversation is winding down, finally, which is good,

because Louis has run out of dishes to wash and has started drying

them himself in an effort to keep busy. “Yeah, I‟ll let you know as soon

as I hear anything,” Harry says. “Should be sooner rather than later.

Fingers crossed, yeah?” He chuckles at something she says, and then

continues. “Thanks. All right, I‟ve gotta run, yeah? I‟ll see you

tomorrow. Okay. Bye,” and then he hangs up.

He walks back into the kitchen and takes the dishtowel from Louis,

picking up where he left off. “Sorry „bout that, she had a question about

the assignment for next week.”

“S‟fine,” Louis says, maybe a little more shortly than he means to. He

opens the fridge and pulls out a beer, grabbing a bottle opener from the

drawer to the right of the sink. Opening the bottle with a hiss, he drops

the opener back in the drawer and leans against the counter, picking at

the bottle‟s label idly.

“She‟s nice. You‟d like her,” Harry says, glancing over his shoulder

before going back to the frying pan he‟s currently drying.

313

“I‟ll bet,” Louis says, and all right, even he knows he sounds like a

snide piece of shit right now. It‟s just that all he can think about is that

Harry‟s classes are probably full of people who know more about what

Harry cares about than he does, and he‟s not sure who exactly to be

mad at about it.

Harry turns around and leans back against the sink, and Louis is

prepared for him to be angry, but that‟s not what‟s playing out on his

face.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, looking thrilled. “Of Claire? I mean she‟s a

lovely girl and all, but she‟s very much in love with her girlfriend and

I‟m very much not interested anyway.”

“No, I‟m not,” Louis says, staring at his beer. He wishes he were just

jealous, because it doesn‟t make him feel much better to think of how

many people there are out there who Harry doesn‟t even fancy who are

probably still more interesting than he is.

“You are,” Harry says, tilting his head to the side.

“I am not jealous,” he says, but this time he grins through it. It‟s a good

lie, a better cover than he could have come up with himself. It‟s not like

he hasn‟t gotten jealous before, hasn‟t done stupid shit because of it.

“It‟s all right if you are, you know,” Harry says, nudging into Louis‟

space, grazing his fingers over Louis‟ and pulling the beer out of his

hand gently. His eyes are wicked. “I think it‟s hot.”

Louis stares at him a moment, lets out a growl, and pounces. Maybe he

doesn‟t know a thing about Harry‟s life outside these four walls, he

thinks, his teeth on Harry‟s collarbone and his hand down his jeans, but

he‟s still the resident expert on this. Later, when the two of them are

lying in bed chasing sleep, he runs two fingers over the mark he left

there on Harry‟s shoulder and thinks he maybe is an artist, after a

fashion.

314

Then it‟s Thursday, meaning it‟s the final dress rehearsal, meaning

Louis‟ life is one long coronary that isn‟t even kind enough to let him

die. And it‟s okay. It could be much worse. The kids are trying so hard,

and they have almost everything together. Dress rehearsal honestly

does go better than he would have predicted a week ago. Louis‟ just

incapable of not seeing every little thing that‟s still wrong, everything

that could fuck up when it matters most. Stuart might not hit that high

note in Summer Nights, or the T-Birds might flub their choreography

again, or Melanie might put her catsuit on backwards like she did in

one particularly disastrous run-through.

Then again, there‟s a certain serenity in knowing that it‟s too late to do

anything about it now. Tomorrow is the assembly show for the school,

then opening night for the parents in the evening. If everything is going

to collapse, Louis doesn‟t have enough time to stop it. If he‟s doomed,

he‟s doomed. He wonders if this is like how people feel really warm

right before they freeze to death.

“Nobody‟s going to die,” Harry says, because Louis is tired enough that

he‟s spouting his last-minute fatalistic bullshit to him as Harry drives

them home. “Everything‟s going to be fine, and everyone will applaud

your brilliance.”

“You have to say that,” Louis grumbles. “You‟re just afraid I‟ll murder

you. I know where you sleep.”

“Yeah you do,” Harry says with a suggestive tone, and Louis lets out a

slightly hysterical giggle.

They sit in silence for a while, Harry driving smoothly around the

almost-empty late night streets, before Louis feels a sudden urge to say

something. Normally this doesn‟t happen to him sober, but he supposes

that he‟s probably tipsy off stress and sleep deprivation at this point.

“Thanks,” he says, lolling his head to the side to look at Harry. “For

helping out so much. It can‟t have been easy with your classes and

everything.”

315

Harry glances at him before turning his eyes back to the road and

shrugging. “Not a big deal. I got all of my work for this week done

early so I‟d have time.”

Louis doesn‟t really know what to say to that. He‟s not sure how to

process the idea that Harry thought that far ahead, thought that much

about him that he was willing to schedule his life around what Louis

would need. It‟s a lot to think about, and Louis doubts he‟d be any

better prepared if he weren‟t halfway into a neurotic coma. But even if

he can‟t quite get a handle on it, he knows that he likes it.

He settles for reaching across the car and setting his hand on Harry‟s

thigh, squeezing a little. “You‟re something else, you know that?” he

says quietly. Harry doesn‟t answer, just smiles a soft smile and drops

his own hand to cover Louis‟ briefly before moving it back to the

wheel.

Back at the flat, Harry starts rattling around pots and pans and making

spaghetti. Louis waits, blearily watching this boy make room for him in

his home, until the noodles are boiling and the sauce is simmering.

Then he crowds into Harry‟s space and drops to his knees, going down

on him with Harry leaning back against the countertop and cursing a

blue streak. Harry comes as the noodles boil over, and they eat slightly

overcooked spaghetti from bowls while sitting on the kitchen floor,

Louis‟ legs thrown over Harry‟s lap and one of Harry‟s hands loosely

circling his ankle. It‟s good. The spaghetti, that is, but also—yeah, also

the other stuff too.

Louis could get used to this. Louis maybe already has. Maybe that‟s

okay.

Harry returns the favor and sucks him off in bed later, leaving Louis a

boneless wreck, which thankfully lets him drop off to sleep almost

immediately. In the morning, they shower together, Harry using the

shampoo to sculpt Louis‟ hair into a mohawk and pressing soapy kisses

to his mouth. “Everything‟s going to be fine,” he murmurs against

Louis‟ neck, lips slipping against the wet skin, and Louis can almost

believe him. Even if everything goes terribly today, he‟ll still be able to

316

come back here tonight if he wants to, and that‟s a pretty good

consolation prize.

The whole arrangement for the day is like this: the morning goes by an

abbreviated, miniature version of their normal daily schedule, and then

halfway through the day everyone files into the theatre for the show. In

a lot of ways, the assembly performance is sort of the step between

dress rehearsals and the real deal, but he knows it‟s more important to

his kids, since their classmates are watching.

Louis himself has a supply teacher covering his classes while he spends

the day in the theatre making sure all the props are in their right places

and all the wheels on the moving set pieces are in working order, while

Niall and Harry double and triple check the sound and lights. His cast

starts trickling in an hour or so before they‟re due for mic check,

talking and laughing nervously as they filter into dressing rooms and

start getting into costumes and makeup. Louis tries not to let his own

nerves get the best of him. There‟s no time for that.

Louis has Harry stationed backstage for this performance because he‟s

not a hundred percent certain his props manager won‟t have a

breakdown at some point and he needs a safety net back there for the

first show just in case. He can tell Harry would rather be back in the

soundbooth with him, by his side the whole time, but he‟ll do whatever

Louis needs, bless him.

After mic check Louis makes one final pass backstage, shouting into

the dressing rooms for any stragglers to finish up and slapping Stuart

on his leather-clad shoulder as he passes. He checks with his stage

manager to make sure her headset‟s working properly and then lingers

next to some of the side curtains, soaking up the energy around him.

“Excuse me, Mr. Director,” says Harry‟s voice behind him, and Louis

turns around to find Harry standing there grinning at him.

317

Before he knows what‟s happening, Harry grabs the curtain next to

them in one hand, spins Louis around so that it‟s wrapped around both

of them, and kisses him full on the lips.

“Good luck,” Harry says against his cheek, and then he‟s unwrapping

them both and sending Louis twirling away. He winks over his

shoulder and disappears around the corner, leaving Louis smiling like

an idiot after him, still regaining his balance.

Five minutes later the curtains go up and Louis is standing in the

soundbooth with Niall while one of the other assistant band directors

starts up the overture. Niall squeezes Louis‟ shoulder. Louis holds his

breath.

The show goes... really, really well. Obviously there are a few rough

patches, like the moment when his Kenickie‟s voice cracks in the

middle of a high note or the time one of the T-Birds forgets to switch

his mic pack on until halfway through a scene and has to dig in the

back of his trousers for it, but overall, for a first run it‟s great. Louis

can breathe again. Once they work out the kinks, opening night could

really be amazing. He feels pride swelling in his chest, not just for

himself but for his kids who‟ve worked so hard for this, who‟ve spent

so much time and energy on making this great. He loves them,

honestly. It‟s one of those moments that reminds him why he got into

this line of work, why it was so much more than just a backup plan for

when he didn‟t make it in theatre himself.

By the time the curtain is rising for their big opening night show, Louis

is giddy and nauseous at the same time, because now that he knows

how good the show can be, he‟s terrified it won‟t happen again. What if

the good first run was just luck? What if the other shoe drops and it all

goes to hell? There‟s no way they can pull it off again.

Except they do, they fucking do, and Louis knows it‟s just because the

audience is full of parents but there‟s a standing ovation this time, with

multiple whistles when Stuart steps up to take his bow. He was radiant

tonight, absolutely nailing every single scene, and Louis doesn‟t even

feel a tiny flare of jealousy when he admits to himself that Stuart is

318

better than he was at his age. It‟s just true, and it makes Louis feel all

kinds of warm that he got to witness it and help him along.

He doesn‟t mind stepping up to take his own round of applause,

though. Not one bit. He blinks happily into the stagelights and waves at

the crowd, before leading the cast in their final bow and then

scampering backstage to find his boys.

Harry is easy to find, waiting for him behind the curtain. He throws his