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Of all the things Louis imagined he would be doing when he first signed on with Buzzfeed, hunting for ghosts and demons was not one of them. For starters, he thought that most of it was a load of bullshit. Invisible entities that are out to get real, living people? It’s a joke. He’s amazed that the higher-ups even agreed to run this show. But helping Harry wouldn’t be so bad.
Coming to L.A. was a scary thing. He had never been much farther than his small town in Illinois, though once he left Columbia he knew that heading out West was the best way to get his career moving. Among his initial friends was the charismatic Angeleno, Harry Styles. He was a golden retriever in human form--always quick to invite Louis to do things, offered to show him around the big city, and never let him feel too lonely so far from home. That is why he is here now, in the middle of nowhere (not unlike his own stomping grounds) to confront a demon.
“Everyone thinks feeling energy is bullshit, but you don’t feel strange at all? Not even a little bit?” Harry looks back at him as they walk up the steps of the house. His eyes are wide, his mouth pressed into a tight-lipped smile. He’s so fucking terrified, Louis assesses.
“No, not really.” There’s a quiet pause after he says this as Harry stares intently at the house’s rather ordinary exterior. He decides that Harry is wearing his fear like a fur coat: impossible to miss and incredibly heavy. Maybe he should make him laugh.
“Oh shit, what up, I’m taking a selfie with some demons, yo! Hell yeah, what?” He puts on a faux-surfer dude accent and takes the picture, “Great, that’ll be good, I’m gonna snap that.” As he does he turns the camera to Harry who is definitely not laughing, but looks as though he is in a state of amused annoyance.
Louis snorts lightly, “What’s the matter?”
“You’re insufferable,” Harry deadpans, “I was working myself up to it, you know?.”
“Sure, are you alright man? Are we going in there?”
He laughs this time, as if he too can see how ridiculous this all is, “Yeah, I know, m’just going to get the fucking holy water.”
“Okay.” Louis chuckles at that following him back towards the house, this time with the Holy Water tucked safely into Harry’s pocket. He tells him to joke all he wants, but when the ghosts try to kill him he can’t ask for it. Louis decidedly won’t do that. Ghosts aren’t real.
Harry unlocks the door which, of course, creaks, somehow making him even more jumpy than he was before. He sends a pointed look back to Louis, and he is not impressed.
“All they need is a little bit of WD-40. Calm down.” He meant to say the last part in an equally condescending manner, but it sounds more like a reassurance. Harry’s shoulders relax almost imperceptibly. That’s a start.
The place is as normal on the inside as it is on the outside. It’s a sensible Midwest home with outdated trim-wallpaper and ornamental trinkets on the shelves. He spots a lamp next to the couch that he swears looks just like the one in his childhood living room. He supposes most suburban dwellings in Small Town, USA are the same after all.
“This is actually pretty nice,” Louis mutters, swinging the camera back and forth to take in the whole scene. “You know what a place like this in L.A. would cost? An arm and a leg.”
Harry’s hand has been rubbing his forehead this entire time, clearly not seeing the house in the way Louis does. If he had to guess, Harry is imagining a ten-foot-tall, angry demon waiting around the corner to rip his heart right out of his chest, or maybe, a malevolent ghost hiding in the floorboards capable of eating human souls. Louis would feel bad if he didn’t find the whole thing fucking hilarious. There is nothing tangibly frightening about this house except for its dismally basic decorations.
“Let’s just tell the story of this house, how about that?” Harry says finally. This is the part where they cut, and Harry will add his little blurb when he is editing. Louis turns off the camera, then sits at the dining room table. Harry follows, dropping into the chair across from him with a groan.
“H, you looking fucking awful.”
His head falls to the wood, mumbling something that sounded a lot like ‘thanks, dick.’ Louis rolls his eyes, continuing anyway.
“If you really are this scared, we don’t have to do this. We can just use the footage from the first two places.”
Harry quickly looks up, a fire in his eyes.
“Yes we fucking do have to do this. I have done way too much research and put way too much of my own time into this project to stop now. It would help if you took it more seriously, hm? Why did you even sign on, to be a pain in my ass?” He questions as he tosses his hands up in indignation.
“Jesus Christ. I’m your friend, that’s why I’m doing this. And I had a clear schedule, figured it would be fun to mess around. It won’t be fun if you continue to wind yourself up to the point of being a bitch to everyone. Being scared is not justification to act shitty.”
They sit in silence for a moment, staring at each other in a standoff. Louis will not be the first to break, that’s for sure. He knows he’s right and he knows that this will help Harry if they can talk it out.
Being friends with Harry is easy, but being coworkers with him proves to be difficult now and again. He has a habit of overworking himself, putting too much stake into the things he does. In some ways, this is a good thing. Harry always has the best final products. He remembers a specific instance in which Harry had stayed up all night, left the office at eleven then went to the 24-hour Waffle House a block away to finish his work. When he came into work the next day, Louis was stunned to see him wearing the same clothes, and falling asleep on the desk in exhaustion. His head was in the crook of his arm, not unlike the way he was resting just moments ago in the Sallie House.
“Harry? Dude, what the fuck happened to you? Get kidnapped or something?” Louis had asked, a teasing lilt in his tone to mask the fact that he was rather concerned. He had even reached across the space between their desks and gave his thick head of curls a pat. That was before he and Harry were good friends, so it was a breach of personal space that had not been broken yet. Harry did not seem to mind.
“Stayed up to finalize the editing and shit,” he grumbled, voice muffled and short.
“Wow, I admire the dedication. Staying awake’ll be a bitch though.”
“Yeah,” Harry said as he shifted, eyes now peeking up from over his arm, “nothing a little coffee can’t fix.”
“I was actually just going to grab a cup, you want me to bring you one?” Louis figured that the best way to get to know someone was to get them coffee. And if Harry Styles can stay up all night to do a project, he would be someone Louis wants in his corner.
“Yes please, you’re amazing. A little cream, a lot of sugar. As much caffeine as you can find. Thank you, Louis.” As Harry ended his sentence he looked up and gave Louis a small smile, but the size did not matter when his eyes sparkled like the L.A. skyline. Not anything quite like it, and still nothing comparable after two years. This is in reference to the beautiful city lights of course, certainly not Harry’s eyes.
Most of the time though, his intense work ethic leaves him burnt out and irritable. Louis understands this more than others, so he tries his best to be the one talking Harry down. Or in this case, waking him the fuck up.
“Goddammit,” Harry mutters, tilting his head up towards the ceiling and taking a deep breath. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of it.” Louis gets up and squeezes his shoulder.
“I know you didn’t. You’re freaked out, and you’re overworked. But we have to make the best of the situation or this pilot will be a dumpster fire.” At that Harry glances at him and grabs Louis’s hand before he can remove it from his shoulder.
“You always know what to say to make a guy feel better,” he says sarcastically, “yet you are infuriatingly right, so let’s get this shit done.”
They begin their investigation by welcoming in a paranormal investigator. His name is Eric and right off the bat, Louis makes sure he knows that the whole ghost thing is bullshit. The man does not seem too fazed by this, and despite the fact that he thinks its stupid, Louis hopes this will help Harry sleep better.
First is the nursery, where one of the haunted families found all their child’s stuffed animals arranged in a cult-like circle in the middle of the room. Louis had scoffed at this fact initially--stuffed animals aren’t scary, they’re cute. Nevertheless, Harry insisted they set up the toys just like they were discovered some years ago. The three of them sit down next to the circle, and Eric begins his spiel.
Who’s here? Want to communicate? Turn the flashlight on. Blah, blah, blah. Louis has a blank expression, while inside he is slightly hoping something will happen. That would be fun. Maybe not for Harry, actually, because his hands are shaking and he begs the flashlight to stay off with wide eyes. Louis has an urge to take Harry’s hand so that he can fucking relax already. He does not and the ghosts do not turn on the flashlight.
“You know,” Louis whispers into Harry’s ear not so quietly, “I had a thought, maybe ghosts aren’t real? I know it’s crazy--”
“Shut up, Louis,” he replies, with an exasperated smile. It’s not as big as it normally is when Louis messes around with him, but Louis will chalk that up to his nerves, not Harry being angry.
They move to the kitchen, and set up a flashlight on the counter. Supposedly, the ghosts can communicate with them by turning the flashlights on and off.
“Please turn the light on for us,” Eric says. Nothing.
“Demon?” Louis calls out.
“Stop calling it that!” Harry mutters, voice wavering. He is nearly laughing from what seems to be an incredulous fear.
“Demon?”
“Stop it, stop talking to it!”
“I’m just trying to talk to the demons. We have a pal named Father Thomas, he told us not to talk to you, but I think you guys are swell.”
Louis crouches down right next to the oven to get the best view while Harry is across the room. A shit-eating grin spreads out over his face and he sends a wink to his counterpart. Harry rolls his eyes in response.
“If you like the guys standing here, turn it on,” Eric chimes in again.
“You’re fucking crazy, Louis.” Louis glances at Harry, mischief in his eyes.
“If you don’t like us, turn it on.”
A beat of silence. Everyone watches in anticipation while Harry begins to whisper the same pleading mantra from the nursery. Suddenly the light flickers on and the reaction is instant. Harry screams, ducking down behind the table, but unable to tear his eyes away from the flashlight. Louis, on the other hand laughs manically, partially at Harry and partially at the ridiculousness of it all. As Harry continues to scream the flashlight turns off again, so Louis saunters back over.
“If you really don’t like us, turn it back on. Frankly, I don’t think you have the power.” The words must piss off the ghosts--Louis respects the pettiness--because there is a light illuminating his face. Harry is sent into another fit of yelps and terrified glances. He looks like a child, and for a second, Louis wants to give him a hug, tell him everything will be okay. He settles for walking over and placing a hand on the hysterical Harry.
After a moment to collect himself, he gets up and examines the flashlight, Louis close behind. His eyes look like they are going to fall out of his head, especially as Eric requests the demons turn off the flashlight which gradually fades to dark. Harry grabs the counter and practically falls to his knees.
“God, why did you have to talk to them?”
“Keep in mind, we have to sleep here tonight,” Louis says casually.
Harry grimaces, “I was trying to forget about that.”
When he thinks Harry could not possibly get anymore keyed up, the flashlight rolls on its own across the otherwise level counter. Louis can’t help but notice the way Harry’s entire body tenses, coiled up tight like a spring. They always joke that Harry will have a heart attack at twenty-five, but with how tonight is going, he actually believes it.
“Do not be afraid, do not be afraid.” Harry says this to himself over and over as he stumbles out to the living room. He practically collapses on the floor, so Louis sidles up behind him and sits on the chair.
“Listen, yes there’s not a great way to explain that, but isn’t this what you wanted?” Louis’s voice trails a little bit. Harry does not banter back to him, doesn’t say anything at all, so Louis takes a glance below him.
Harry is lying deathly still on the ground. He has his eyes closed, and he takes in air in short gasps that get quicker by the second. Louis motions for the crew to cut the cameras. They walk off and speak to Eric in the kitchen while he reaches a hand down to tap Harry.
“Hey, Haz, you have to breathe, okay? Nothing is going to hurt you,” he says.
“You don’t fucking know that,” Harry mutters.
“Fine, I don’t know that, but what I do know is that any ghouls will have to go through me first."
Harry must be surprised by Louis’s genuine tone, because he lifts his head up to see him. Their eyes meet, and for a second it doesn’t feel like Louis is in the Sallie House with Harry. Instead, he feels like they are flying above the clouds, high off the energy between them. Now he is the one with the rapid breathing. He has to diffuse the situation or he might explode.
“Besides, I’d be easier to drag down to hell considering you are a giant.” Harry snorts at him and slaps his shin.
“Shut the fuck up, without me you wouldn’t be able to get anything off the shelves in the office.”
Louis jerks back, pretending like Harry’s words were a bullet to his chest.
“Oh, right where it hurts, Harold.” Another giggle escapes Harry’s lips as he stands and holds his hand out for Louis to grab.
“Back to ghost hunting?” He takes it and stands up with an incredulous smile.
“You say that like I wanted to stop!”
A member of the crew pops their head in then, so they move on to the next part of the investigation--the basement. Harry has been verbally dreading this segment for the majority of the night so far. He spoke of all the rumored satanic rituals that might have been performed there, the hole in the wall that could be harboring a demon, and of course the stain on the floor where a pentagram once was. Louis does not like the basement because it is wet and grimy, but he is forced to deal with it as they set up another flashlight. Eric encourages the demon to communicate like he is talking to an acquaintance from work. Louis decides such communication is not the way to go, and Harry glances his way as if he knows what he is about to do. With a teasing stare fixed right on him, Louis calls to the dark.
“If you want to eat my heart, turn that light on.”
Harry’s eyes just about pop out of his skull, and he can’t help the smirk that creeps onto his face. The light does not turn on, so he turns to the camera.
“I think that demon’s a wimp.”
“He’s lost his mind,” Harry says, looking in the same direction just a million times more terrified. Louis does not want to back down--and he won’t--but he runs his fingers softly down Harry’s spine where no one can see, then leaves his hand at the small of his back for a second. For comfort, of course.
“Am I losing mine, too?” No one else can hear when Harry speaks again, and he knows they weren’t meant to. They sneak a look at each other. Louis shakes his head no. Harry seems to shiver under the touch. Perhaps a ghost passed through his body. Lucky for Louis, ghosts aren’t real.
“I’m going to lay on the pentagram now.”
Harry facepalms with a loud groan.
“You’re truly asking to be murdered, and I hope you know that I will not care if you are.”
Louis flops onto the floor chuckling as he asks, “You sure about that, Hazza?”
“Yeah I’m fucking sure.”
“Well, suit yourself. Demons, if you want to eat my heart, turn that light on. If you want to eat Harry’s heart, turn that light on--”
“Stop putting me in your shit!” Harry hisses. Louis continues through the protests, and in every word, his smile is evident.
“Our old pal, Harold Styles, we’re a package deal.” Harry is smiling too, and then the light flickers on.
If Louis could describe the expression on Harry’s face at that very moment, he would compare it to one of those pen-topper creatures whose eyes pop out of their head whenever you squeeze them. He is torn between laughing and checking in on him, so he goes with laughing.
“Harry, look, the light is on!”
Harry is jumping out of his seat, yelling “no,” and leaning up against the wall. So very dramatic. So very adorable.
“Go ahead and turn that off, for Harry’s sake,” Eric says, and immediately the light is gone.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Harry whispers.
They pack up the gear in the room and move to the final segment of the night--the sleepover. Harry can barely walk up the steps, something Louis has gathered since he is walking behind him. Every minuscule creak makes the younger man jolt his head back down to the basement.
“Come on now, you can do it,” Louis says, and eventually, he does. They and the crew reset what they have in the living room. He lays out his sleeping bag and sits down at the edge of the couch. Unlike Harry, he anticipates having a good night’s rest.
“Fuck this house, fuck this house so hard,” Harry laments.
“It’s going to be totally fine. Nothing is going to eat your heart in the middle of the night, because ghosts aren’t real.”
Harry slides down next to him, their shoulders touching. There is plenty of room all around, a perfectly good couch above them, and yet Harry chose to be pressed against him. Louis’s heart races for a second time that night. He gives Harry a pat on the arm then heads to the door where everyone else has gathered. The cameraman, Niall, shoves him playfully then nods toward Harry.
“Don’t think we didn’t see all the touching you guys have been doing.” Louis rolls his eyes but his smile gives him away.
The crew leaves, wishing them well and sending several sympathetic--suggestive from Niall--glances at Louis like they are parents leaving a babysitter with a horde of unruly kids. Those unruly kids are currently living inside of one person and that person is lying as straight as a plank in his sleeping bag. Harry is back to reciting the mantra Father Thomas suggested for him. Louis also observes that Harry’s sleeping bag is much closer to his than before. I make him feel safe.
He comes over, walking quietly because he knows any loud sound will make Harry jump through the ceiling. It is very dark, and Harry has his flashlight on, trained on his face then to a corner, then to the walkway by the door. Louis turns his back to him to try and get some sleep. He can hear each jerk of his counterpart’s head on the pillow, and can feel the way his rapid breathing is taking over his whole body.
“Harry? Are you okay?” Louis asks. A deep breath comes from behind him along with a timid “no.”
They both roll to face each other at the same time, petrified green eyes meeting sympathetic blue ones. A wave of sympathy washes over Louis, because even though he cannot understand how Harry believes in all the supernatural mumbo-jumbo, he does care about him, and he looks bad.
“You have to relax. You’re going to have a panic attack or something.”
“We are long past me relaxing, and I think you know that.”
Louis nods, but reaches out to caress his arm, squeezing gently when he gets to Harry’s shoulder. There’s a sharp inhale that occurs between them, and he's not quite sure who it came from.
“I’m right here, will be all night. We don’t even have to stay if you don’t want to. Like I tell you literally all the time, there’s nothing to prove. No one will blame you.”
“And like I tell you all the time back, I don’t believe you. I have everything to prove. You don’t make it in this business by wimping out. I don’t want this to end. I like this show. I like being with you.”
Louis is sure he is the one who inhales now. Harry really just said that, and the loaded statement hangs in the air. He could mean a million different things by ‘I like being with you,’ but Louis desperately hopes for a certain interpretation (so desperately he’s caught wondering when he fell this deep in for Harry). One in which leaning in for a kiss would be appropriate. On the other hand, he refuses to be someone that takes advantage of vulnerability. Making a move would have to wait.
“Haz, I like this show, too. Your ideas are fantastic, and you already know how I feel about your work ethic. But let me look out for you--as your friend, as someone who cannot imagine their life in L.A. without you--come back to the hotel with me.”
Harry stares, and he feels it run straight through his body, all the way down to the fingertips still gripping Harry’s arm.
“Okay, let’s just get a little more footage. It’s nearly the witching hour, you never know what might show itself.” He says, cracking a tired smile at Louis. He agrees, content in the fact that Harry’s not arguing anymore.
The minutes pass quietly, so they leave the Sallie House without any more excitement. Louis packs up their stuff, which is just sleeping bags and a couple cameras, then hops in the passenger side.
“Lou, I want to thank you for tonight,” Harry says, head turned forward. It’s quiet in the car, no ambient noise beyond the bugs chirping from outside. The only light is the streetlamp overhead and the soft blue glow of the dashboard.
“You don’t have to--” He cuts him off.
“Yes I do. I can get in my own head sometimes, it’s a fault that I’m not proud of. No one knows how to shake me out of it like you. It’s always exactly what I need,” he faces Louis now, “you’re exactly what I need.”
“You really mean that?” Louis asks. His heart is pounding in his ears, nearly drowning out his own voice.
“Of course, we’re HarryandLouis, no space as far as everyone else is concerned.”
“Can’t say I’m mad at that.”
Louis slowly tucks a rogue curl behind Harry’s ear, loving how cliche it is. The curly head of hair has been a constant distraction since day one, which Louis will surely disclose to him at some point, if this is going where he thinks it's going. He then keeps his hand on the back of Harry’s neck. He pulls him in close so that their lips are inches away. Every breath is shared.
“Can I kiss you?” Louis murmurs.
“Obviously, shithead.” Harry replies, the corners of his mouth turning up as Louis closes the distance.
Later that week, Harry runs up to their desk area with a big smile.
“Guess who got renewed?”
“Unsolved?”
“Unsolved.”
“Congrats, H, you deserve it.” Louis says. He can’t help the grin that grows on his face, as well. Seeing Harry happy makes him happy.
“We’ll be going to plenty of secluded locations, lots of potential nights on our own.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down.
Louis smirks.
“I was going to come with you no matter what you said. Baiting me with sex seems a little unprofessional, doesn’t it?”
Harry laughs and it triggers a wonderful swarm of butterflies in his stomach.
“Who said I was talking about sex?”
“Oh sure, play coy, Styles. To think, I was planning on inviting you to my place tonight to celebrate.”
“Now that sounds pretty sexy to me.”
“Who said I was talking about sex?”
“Touche, Tomlinson.”
They both sit down, and get to work, throwing the occasional smile or funny face at the other. There is much to do, both for the show and for other endeavors. Louis sighs, wistfully glancing at the furrow in Harry’s brow and the concentrated narrowing of his eyes. Something tells him that their team-up will go far beyond just one more season.