Song(s):

                                             "Melancholy Man" - The Moody Blues

                                  "Cigarettes and Chocolate milk" - Rufus Wainwright

Here's what Harry knew:

1. His name was Louis Tomlinson

2. He had been one of the most promising young English theatre actors audiences had ever seen

3. One night, during the production of Shakespeare's "A midsummer night's dream" (directed by one of London's best and most acclaimed directors) in which he played Puck, he had stumbled on the stage completely drunk, mumbled something inaudible, crying, and then fell off the stage

4. After that, he had moved away and never played another part again

5. Harry needed his help

6. This turned out harder than he had initially anticipated.

After a week of stalking observing him, Harry had finally mustered up the courage to go talk to him. And it had gone horribly. Absolutely terrible.

When he thought about his embarrassing attempt to climb the wall from the alleyway he could already feel his cheeks heating up and knocked his head against the flower tapestry behind him with a groan. He felt the pressing need to bury himself under the covers of his (also flower patterned) bed covers and then maybe sink into his mattress and just lie there until the world ceased to exist.

He was about to do just that when suddenly he turned his head to be greeted with the sight of a very hairy, very pissed looking face. It was the face of one of his aunts countless cats that were strutting around everywhere in her apartment (Harry had tried to remember all their names, he really had, but after a while had accepted it as an impossible task and given up). The cat looked at him like cats did, always pissed and demanding and bored and like they were judging you and your life.

Harry sighed. "Stop judging me. I tried." The cat kept looking at him. Another sigh. "Fine. I'll get up, Jesus."

He had the biggest bedroom of his aunt's apartment, but it didn't have any windows and the door was a curtain separating his vulnerable person from the horde of cats and old ladies that occasionally stopped by to peek their head into his room. Everything in the flat was clean and old and the carpet was stained with god knows what. Possibly cat pee since Harry has never seen any of them actually go outside to finish their business.

Harry made his way to the living room, which was basically the entire apartment, where his twelve-year-old cousin Jack was in his permanent position on the couch, video game console in his hands. At first, Harry had tried talking to him in an effort to avert his eyes from the screen but that was the first unsuccessful attempt at trying to make conversation in this town, the second one being Louis Tomlinson. God, Louis Tomlinson.

His aunt was drinking tea with a few of her old lady friends, all of which had already accepted Harry as a member of their secret organization/club/clique/tea, flower patterns, stitching, cats worshipping cult.

They greeted him with ecstatic ejaculations and warm, perfumey embraces and compliments and offerings of tea and biscuits. Harry politely declined and said he had to go somewhere, trying not to trip over one of the cats on his way out. It had happened before. More than once.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Harris from down the street asked while sipping her tea.

Harry gave her a bright, polite smile. "I'm visiting a friend of mine."

The ladies nodded with delight. "Have fun, darling!" his aunt called before he closed the door behind him.

He shortly leaned against the wood of the door, closing his eyes. What was he even doing here? What the hell had he been thinking? He felt the distant rumblings of a major freak-out coming his way, so he quickly walked down the stairs and hopped on his bike.

Ten minutes later, he arrived at his destination: a big manor covered in ivy, a large, neatly mown lawn in front of it. He tried ringing the bell but no one opened the door, so he walked around the house to the back garden where he finally found him.

Zayn was lying in one of his small tomato fields, looking sort of dead. His Egyptian bald cat Mr. Whiskers was lying on his stomach, looking just as dead and just as high as its owner.

Harry had always thought himself to be a very nice human being. He liked most people and most people liked him. Same with animals. Harry liked them and they generally accepted him. That was until the day Zayn had introduced him to Mr. Whiskers, a literal spawn of hell.

This wasn't just because he looked sort of disgusting with his wrinkled pink skin and little scruffs of white hair, but also because of the malice behind his large eyes. It was easy to imagine Mr. Whiskers as Satan's helper and assistant, puffing on a big cigar, a monocle over one of his scary eyes which were looking at you and the darkest secrets within your soul, deciding which job you would be assigned to in the five realms of hell.

And no, Harry wasn't being dramatic and he also wasn't being mean. The detestation was based on reciprocity. It was strange, really, that a boy like Zayn Malik took such great liking to a cat like Mr. Whiskers (a hilariously unfitting name in Harry's opinion).

Zayn Malik was one of Harry's oldest and probably also one of his best friends. He never really talked much and when he did, it was usually something strange or deep or nerdy or just generally messed-up. Zayn was also the only boy Harry knew who owned an entire room just for spray-painting all the walls with pictures of Batman and Dragons and other weird stuff. Zayn's family had been good friends with Harry's family. They had met at some fancy, posh dinner party at Harry's, and ever since then, they had been friends, or at least something similar to that. Harry couldn't remember exactly how it had come about that they started talking, but he supposed he had been the one to start the conversation since Zayn hadn't started a conversation or taken active part in a discussion his entire life.

This house belonged to Zayn's family who were visiting the rest of their relatives in Pakistan, leaving Zayn behind in his weed cloud of a room filled with comic books, his tomato and cucumber fields, and his creepy, weird cat. Harry wasn't sure how long they'd be gone for.

He approached the patch of earth Zayn was lying on, eyes closed. The orange autumn sun was lighting up his raven black hair to a soft auburn color and making his eyelashes throw long shadows over his high cheekbones.

Harry looked down at him, tilting his head to the side. "Hey, Z. What are you doing?"

Zayn opened one eye. "Thinking about the vulnerability of the universe and all the specimens living in it. Do you think in another universe the humans are all cucumbers and the cucumbers look like humans?"

Harry tilted his head to the other side. He had known Zayn too long to question any of the things he said. "Possibly. But would the cucumbers have faces or would they just walk around silently? How would they even walk? I mean, do they have legs?"

Zayn lazily stroked Mr. Whisker's head. "Yeah, I guess..."

"Okay." There was a beat of silence in which Harry sat down next to Zayn on the patch of earth. "Can I talk to you?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I don't know what I'm doing."

"No one does."

"Yeah, but I really don't know what I'm doing with this whole theatre thing. I mean, what if my dad was right?"

"He wasn't."

"Yeah, but we're really bad. And Louis Tomlinson said no. He could have turned this whole thing around, but he said no, and trust me, he was pretty determined."

"Anyone can change their mind."

"I don't think he will."

"Well, not on his own of course. Ask him again."

"Trust me, he wouldn't want that. He hates me."

"No one hates you, H."

"Your cat does."

Zayn tickled Mr. Whisker's chin. "No, he loves you. He loves the whole world."

"Well, then he has a strange way of showing that love. He bit me last week." Harry held his finger under Zayn's nose to show him the faint bite marks on his skin.

"People show affection in their own ways."

Harry didn't discuss the term 'people' and instead just sighed, dropping his hand into his lap. "Fine. So you think Louis Tomlinson just didn't show his love for me, but secretly adores me?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Ah, okay." Harry let himself fall backward onto the ground, his arms spread over his head.

"I think you have to keep trying to convince him. You'd be surprised how much determination and annoyance can do. You will conquer. You are Napoleon. Pre-Waterloo of course. And better looking. Always remember that." He lifted a limp finger in the air at those words.

Harry nodded determinedly. "Napoleon, okay. I guess that could work." He stared at the bright blue sky for a while, watching the huge damp clouds drift by. "Wouldn't it be awesome if clouds had different colors? Like, what if that one was green and that one next to it was blue and that over there pink and that one yellow? That would look really cool, right?"

Zayn's eyes followed Harry's finger as he pointed at the different cotton-wool balls above them. "Yeah, that would look siiick."

They lay in silence for a while, just imagining the clouds being in different colors and parallel universes populated by walking cucumbers when Harry spoke again. "Hey, you should really join, too."

"No, I don't think it's my destiny to become a theatre actor."

"Why? Because you're a hermit crab that doesn't like other people?"

"No. I'm more of an alga and I do like most people. I just don't particularly enjoy talking to them. Or them watching me."

"Right. Well, you should still think about it. I think it would be a lot of fun. And maybe give you something to do."

Zayn was studying English at college, but still spend most his time smoking weed and spray-painting his walls and also doing a whole lot of nothing.

"'It is awfully hard work doing nothing'," Zayn quoted.

"I didn't know you read Oscar Wilde," Harry said, a bit surprised.

"I don't. You once said that to me. I like that quote. It really speaks to me."

"Oh, okay. You should still think about it."

"I will." Harry knew this was not true.

"Okay. Well, I have to go and conquer now," Harry said, picking himself up from the ground, and patted the earth from his clothes. "See ya, Z."

"See ya, H," Zayn replied absently and continued staring at the sky, contemplating fate and destiny and the universe.

-

Harry stopped his bike when he spotted Louis Tomlinson sitting on his usual spot during his breaks at the café. (It was maybe a bit concerning that he knew this, but Napoleon probably also collected information about his opponents before meeting them on the battle field, so you know, it was fine. Which is probably exactly what a stalker would have said, but whatever).

It was actually quite fascinating to see him sitting there in his black jeans, scruffy-looking jacket, scruffy-looking shirt, cigarette in one hand, a small yellow bottle of chocolate milk in the other one, drinking its content with a red straw. Everything about Louis Tomlinson was fascinating. His person, his career, his demeanor, the night that had led him to give up everything.

Harry took a deep breath, shutting the ventail of his imaginary armor, getting ready to conquer. He got off his bike and slowly pushed it toward the fascinating boy. This time, he didn't make the mistake of approaching him from the back of the wall but from the other side that wasn't located six feet beneath him. He quietly leaned his bike against the bricks and then walked up to Louis Tomlinson. Alright, deep breath. Conquer, right.

"Hi, it's me again," he said cheerily.

This time, Louis didn't jump or turn around in shock. Instead, he just glanced up through a few strands of his feathery brown hair, the red straw between his lips. It wasn't a very reassuring look. "Great." His icy blue eyes seemed to be producing sparks.

Harry swallowed. "Well, I'm here to ask you if you reconsidered my suggestion."

Louis took a long suck from his straw, creating a loud slurping sound from what seemed to be an as-good-as-empty bottle. It was quite a strange sight, actually. This boy alternately taking a sip from his chocolate milk (which had a bunny on it) and then a long drag from his cigarette. "No."

"Oh."

Silence. Then Louis raised his eyebrows. "Well, you can leave now."

Harry straightened his back, squaring his shoulders. "No."

Louis narrowed his eyes. "Um, yes. You're blocking my view."

Harry looked behind himself. "Of what?"

"Of not you."

"Ha. Funny."

"I know. I have a very droll personality."

"I've noticed. You're a literal sunshine, it seems like."

"Yeah, that's true. I have been known to blind others with my relentlessly sunny disposition."

Harry chuckled. And maybe he imagined it or it was a trick of the light, but he thought he caught a small glimpse of something that could maybe count as a smile on Louis's face as well. (a small one, but still).

Louis appraised Harry coolly through his cigarette haze. "Well, you can really leave again."

"So, you won't be joining us?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to. You guys are terrible." He paused shortly. "Even though I don't have a reputation to lose," he added with a dry laugh.

"That's exactly why we need you. Because we are so terrible, and you- you're really good. Besides, you just said it yourself: You don't really have a reputation to lose anyway, so might as well, right? The only way it can go is up."

Louis glanced up at him. "That's not true. Things can actually always become worse."

"Wow, sunny disposition indeed," Harry gave back with a short laugh. "But-" He scratched the tip of one of his boots over the ground, head bent down. "Well, you're really good. I think everything with you in it is automatically elevated." He didn't look at the boy lying before him and started fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. "I've seen some of your plays, and- and you were great. You were absolutely fantastic."

There was a beat of silence, then Louis said dryly, "Wow, do you want an autograph or do you prefer a selfie?"

Harry looked up. "A yes would be great."

Louis jumped off the small wall and flicked his cigarette to the side. "Fans nowadays are way too demanding."

He started walking to the backdoor of the café, hands stuffed into his pockets. Déjà vu.

Harry followed him with long strides. "Wait! Can you please stop running away all the time?"

"I'm not running. I'm calmly sauntering."

Harry stopped walking and lifted his hands in the air a bit. "Well, you can saunter away from me as much as you want to, but I won't give up, I promise. I will come back every day to annoy you until you agree to help us."

Louis twirled around and glared at him. "Fine," he snapped. "Do whatever you want. I don't fucking care about you or your life or that fucking theatre group."

Harry shrugged. "I can work with that. People have told me I can be quite convincing."

Louis regarded him with those mysterious, blue eyes and Harry regarded back. Louis Tomlinson was undisputedly very attractive. There wasn't any denying that. His face, his high cheekbones and softly arched eyebrows, were perfect as a statue's, like he was some Greek god's paean to mortal beauty. But at the same time, the was a coldness to his face, the repellent bars of a locked cage. Against all reasoning, Harry wanted nothing more than to open that cage and see what was behind. Behind the statue's cold marble skin.

"I'll see you, Louis Tomlinson," he called over to him, cheery. A short twitch in the corners of his lips, then Louis Tomlinson turned around, shaking his head, and disappeared behind the door.

Well. He hadn't fully conquered yet, but battles weren't won in a day.

-

On Tuesday, Harry Styles was waiting for Louis when his shift in the café was over, leaning against the pole of a street lamp in his long-limped, easy way. Louis just rolled his eyes and hurried down the street, ignoring the boy who flashed him a wide grin.

On Wednesday, Harry Styles was leaning next to the café door, smiling brightly when Louis left the room to go home. A small "Hi," was all he said. Louis didn't reply.

On Thursday, Louis looked up from the sticky table he was cleaning, seeing Styles enter the small, bright café, his hair swept into a small bun. It somehow made his limbs seem even more elongated and gracious. Louis thrust the napkin holder back onto the silver table with a bit more force than necessary.

He went back to his spot behind the counter where Niall was sitting on one of the high chairs, slurping his milkshake.

Harry looked around the tiny café and then sat down next to Niall at the counter. Louis rolled his eyes which had become a somewhat permanent state in Harry Styles's presence.

He threw the dirty rag into the sink behind him and turned around. "Did you know Albert Einstein once defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again, expecting the result to change?"

Harry peered over the menu card he was holding in his large hands. "Well, I'm not doing the same thing, am I? This time, I'm here to eat something. That's different."

Niall, who had been quietly observing their interaction, now turned his body fully to Harry, brightly grinning in that Niall Horan kind of way. "Hey, mate!" He held out his hand. "You must be Harry Styles. I've heard so much about you. Great to finally meet you." He shook Harry's hand. "I'm Niall. Don't listen to anything Louis tells you, by the way. He can be really daunting, despite his very undaunting appearance."

As if to prove him otherwise, Louis shot Niall the hardest glare his could muster.

Harry smiled at Niall. "It's nice to meet you, Niall."

Niall glanced down at the menu in Harry's other hand. "Maybe you should reconsider ordering something off that menu. Most of it tastes like shit."

Harry's mouth opened to a surprised O. "I haven't found any alien-looking objects in my milkshakes or ice creams yet, though. So I guess you're on the safe side with those."

"Well, then I'll take an ice cream," Harry said to Louis, a sweet smile on his lips. One of those smiles that could get you diabetes just from looking at it.

"What flavor?" Louis asked in the most annoyed voice in his repertoire.

Harry leaned over the counter to look at the assortment of different colored pastel ice-creams. "What's that pink one?"

Louis sighed. He hated this. And the thing was, he didn't know why it bothered him so much. Why Harry Style's presence was enough to anguish him and make him want to ball his hands into fists. Why everything Harry did was annoying to him. Probably because Harry Styles was everything Louis wasn't and everything he didn't like and his presence reminded him of a life he had been trying desperately to leave behind. What was this boy thinking, just turning up in Louis' life and messing everything up and holding up his hands that were filled with the dirty scraps of Louis' old life, showing it to him even though he didn't want to see them.

Harry and Niall were looking at him expectantly. "Strawberry," he hissed.

Harry seemed to shrink back on his chair a bit. "Okay, I'll take one scoop."

Niall shot Louis a questioning, angered look. It seemed to be saying What the hell was that? Can't you be a bit nicer?

Louis didn't have an answer to either of those questions.

"I like your shoes, by the way," Niall said, looking at Harry's feet.

"Oh, thanks," Harry replied with a small smile. Louis pushed the sundae filled with strawberry ice cream over to him, inconspicuously trying to catch a glimpse of the talked about shoes. They were silver and blue boots, sparkly of course.

"I like yours, too," Harry said to Niall.

Niall looked down at his large white sneakers. "Thanks."

Louis, who didn't support this blossoming friendship, looked for something to say so they wouldn't forget about him. "You really like that glitter, don't you?" he asked Harry.

Harry looked up from his pink ice cream. "Yes, I mean, who doesn't? Glitter makes everything better in life. Glitter here, Glitter there, Glitter everywhere."

"I'm not a big glitter fan," Louis said, starting to clean a used glass. "It's uncontainable and sticky and I generally don't like things with those attributes."

Niall held up a finger. "First of all: That's what she said. Second of all: You used to wear glitter all the time. Remember that Halloween party we went to in London where we stuck glitter and sequins all over our faces?" He took a sip from his drink. When he lowered the glass again, he had a thin milk moustache above his upper lip. "That was a magical night."

Harry looked at Louis, a happy expression on his face. His lips were colored pink, even pinker than usual, from his ice-cream. "That sounds fun," he said.

"That was once upon a time," Louis gave back, knocking the glass back on the table.

"Once upon a time, there was boy called Louis and he had eyes of bluey. But one day, the sparkle in his heart was banished, and he decided to vanish...ed. Now he lives in a small town, and oftentimes gets down. The end," Niall recited. He had a proud grin on his face, the moustache still above his lip.

Harry clapped, enthusiastic. Louis put his face in his hands. "I hate you," he mumbled into them.

Niall grinned and then hopped off his chair, Henley in his hand. "Alright, I should probably go now. Harry-" he turned around again, a solemn expression on his face. "It was very nice to meet you." Harry grinned and gave him a small flourish of a bow. Niall curtsied.

Louis wanted to smack his forehead against the counter, or maybe just lay down in the display of pastel ice creams and lie there until he either froze to death or drowned in a pool of melting chemicals and artificial fruits. Tough choice.

Harry's face suddenly lit up. "Hey, Niall, you wouldn't just happen to be into theatre, would you?"

Niall contemplated this. "Nah, not really. I was usually pretty bored while watching the plays Louis dragged me to." He looked at Louis with a sentimental smile. "I was, however, always delighted to watch the plays he was in. I always felt like a proud mother. Well, Jay actually was the proud mother but she once told me she would share that title with me. I still hold that crown very close to my heart."

Harry smiled at Louis. Louis didn't smile back. Harry's smile vanished as well, leaving only a disappointed tilt to his mouth. Louis hated himself. And he also hated Niall who told Harry Styles things that were none of his business and who was in general a big traitor as it now turned out when he shrugged on his jacket. "But sure, I'll join ya. Sounds fun."

Harry brightly grinned. "Amazing, thanks!"

Louis followed his instinct and knocked his forehead against the cool surface of the counter once. And then once more, just to be sure.

He glanced up, his cheek still on the metal counter. The surface was sticky, so he wasn't even sure he would be able to pick his head up again. He was probably just stuck.

Harry set his chin on the edge of the counter and smiled at him with that morbidly sweet grin, dimples popping out like craters. Of course that fucker also had dimples. Of fucking course.

Harry's smile reflected in the plastic metal surface under his chin, blurry and expended and twisted like another strange dimension. Maybe the dimension Louis belonged in. He certainly didn't belong in this one. The one that had a triumphant Harry Styles and a grinning Niall Horan in it.

Louis' face was so close to Harry's that he could see every single one of his nonexistent pores and spots. What the fuck? Who had skin like that? Smooth and pink and soft-looking. Someone who didn't chain-smoke probably. Whatever.

Another explanation was that Harry Styles was involved in witchcraft and sacrificed baby goats at midnight under a full moon and drank smoothies with frog skin in it. Or maybe he was a fairy and his wand was hidden in one of his glittery boots or under the silk of his blouse.

Yeah, that explanation sounded more like it.

With a groan, he slowly peeled his skin off the counter, pardon, off the portal to another twisted dimension.

"Traitor," he grunted and threw a dirty rag at Niall who merely caught it and grinned, wriggling his eyebrows. Harry also raised his brows, lifting his chin from the counter, that annoying smirk that seemed to always be on his lips still firmly in place.

"Alright, lads," Niall sighed, hands on his hips. "I'll see ya." With that, he left the café, the bell over the glass door ringing behind him.

"So." Harry grinned up at Louis. "Will you rethink your decision?"

Louis didn't reply and Harry smugly smirked. That goddamn smirk!

Luckily, in that moment the bell rang once again, signalizing the entering of new customers. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work," Louis said snippily and went over to the family.

As he walked away from the counter, he could practically feel Harry's smile burning into his back. God-fucking-damn-it.

"Louis," he suddenly called behind him and Louis slowly turned around again with a sigh.

"What? I really have to work. Newsflash, but not everyone can rely on their rich daddy to pay for their stuff. Some of us actually have to do shit for it, you know?"

The smile was wiped clean off Harry's face, leaving only a harried, deeply sad look on it. His jaw was clenched, his hands lying on the counter balled to loose fists. Fuck, Louis felt like he'd just kicked a puppy.

"I just wondered if I could ask you a question," the puppy said, looking down at his fingers on the counter, his lips pressed tightly together.

Louis took a small step toward him. "Fine. What is it?"

The nail of Harry's index finger scraped at the metal of the counter. "I know it's none of my business, but I was just really curious." He looked up now, big green eyes surrounded by dark lashes. The line of his pulled back hair had the shape of a parabola and there were a few loose, frizzy hairs curling over his ears. Louis gripped the material of his uncomfortably bright apron tightly.

"It's fine. You can ask, though I can't guarantee you an answer."

"What happened on that day that made you come to work so wasted?"

Louis had known what the question would be, though it still made him grip the apron even more tightly. "Let's just say my day hadn't been going so great."

"Okay. I hope at least this day will be a good one for you." Harry's voice was slow and earnest.

"We'll see." He smiled a tiny bit. "Depends on when you will finally leave."

Harry gave the tiniest of smiles back. "Maybe I'll stay here for the rest of your shift just to mess up your day. Make it properly miserable. I'll go get my pillows and blankets, so I can fully commit and even stay the night. Watch some movies, paint my nails. The usual, but this time with the great advantage of simultaneously destroying your relentlessly sunny disposition."

"Well, game on," Louis said and then turned around once more, finally tending to the newly arrived family.

When he came back to the counter, Harry Styles was gone, but clamped under his empty sundae was money for the ice-cream plus a way-too-generous tip.

Louis sort of felt the urge to lie down in the ice cream and freeze to death in it again. Drowning in a sea of ice cream would be a way too glorious and delicious way for him to go.