The following week was something I could only describe as FLTAHF.

Which meant: Fuck Louis Tomlinson and His Face.

I was fully aware that FLTAHF was not technically an adjective, but it sure was one that I used a lot. I'd first came up with the fabulous acronym when I'd been delighted to attend a group ski trip with my fellow cast members and co-workers, thinking I'd have not too bad of a time until I'd been paired to share a room with—guess who—Louis Tomlinson.

This had been back when me and Louis were just beginning our “friendship.” We still didn't know each other well enough, and were getting the hang of pretending to be best friends. I didn't like to admit it, but this had been a time when I had actually been okay with spending time with Louis, and getting to know him more, as well as working with him. So the news of having to share a room with Louis at the lodge hadn't been bad news to my ears.

That was until I got Louis to play a simple game with me.

I didn't understand how the teen game Would You Rather could take such a drastic spin that sent us spiraling.

“Do you have to be so crude?” Louis had asked as he choked on his own laughs, holding his beer outstretched from him, as if his cackles would cause it to spill out of the bottle.

“Have you never played this game before?” I turned my body as I said that, kicking my feet up onto the couch and tipping the bottle in my hand back, letting the alcohol pour into my mouth. “Honestly, if you don't have the stomach for Would You Rather, then we should play a different game.”

“No, I can stomach it, I just wasn't expecting this game to be so inappropriate,” the twenty-year-old across from me said, shaking his head. “Children play this game.”

“So do stoners at your local stoner party.”

“What kind of stoner parties do you go to?”

“Oh, you know.” I waved the bottle, shrugging. “The usual.”

Louis didn't say anything else in regard to stoner parties, and just leaned forward on his knees. “What was the question again?”

I took a moment to rewind my thoughts. “Would you rather have to take a mud-bath in animal shit instead of showering or proper bathing for a month, or have to drink nothing but animal piss for two weeks?”

Louis made a gagging noise. “I think I just threw up a little in my mouth,” he said distastefully and looked at me. “Where do you even come up with that foul garbage?”

I smirked and had another swig of my beer, working on my third as Louis, notably, was still on his first. “Imagination, baby,” I said, tapping the side of my temple.

“Disgusting.” Louis shook his head and took a rather long drink of his beer, for him at least, then set the bottle down on the table that separated us. “If you're forcing me to choose... then I have to go with the piss.”

The look that I received after reacting to Louis's answer was something I wanted to see again and again. As I set my beer bottle down and quirked my top lip up in disgust towards the other man, Louis's mouth fell open and his eyes went sad and wide.

“What?” he said quickly, actually seeming scared. “You gave me two options and both were equally repulsive! You can't really judge me!”

“The piss? Really?” I shook my head. “You have to taste that. You'd never be able to stomach it.”

“Well, I wouldn't be able to stomach sitting in animal shit for a month!”

“Yes, but I never said you had to,” I pointed out.

“Yes, you—”

“I said you had to replace proper baths and showers with animal shit baths. You could have just went a month without not taking showers and baths. Then you wouldn't need to replace anything.”

“Harry, that is not—”

“You'd be a lot dirtier by bathing in shit than not bathing at all. And you can go longer without good hygiene than you can without water.”

Louis's eyes began to narrow. “Oh, you are just the worst at this game,” he grumbled. “Every turn you trick me.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “How so?”

“You always put some kind of loop-hole in there.” I followed the blue eyes roll. “That's not how you're supposed to play the game.”

“Are you actually upset about this?” I couldn't help but let out a short laugh as I saw the way Louis's round eyebrows had lowered and his lips were no longer turned up, not even just the slightest. “Oh, come on, Louis. It's just a game. Don't be mad because you clearly suck at it.”

“I'm not mad,” he said, though his face spoke otherwise. By now, I had realized that Louis loved to speak through his facial expressions. “Really, I'm not mad. Stop thinking that I am, right now.”

“Will you just relax, mate?” I leaned back before throwing the last bit of my beer back. “It's just a game,” I said again.

“Well, you could play fairly,” I could hear Louis grumble, but I decided to ignore it. I was beginning to think that messing with Louis wasn't something that I should do often, even if it was something that seemed to entertain me.

We didn't continue playing Would You Rather after that. Louis was quieter, but was obviously pretending to be perfectly fine. I played ignorance so I didn't have to pay attention to the way Louis was acting, not really caring if he had a problem until he got a phone call.

“Hold on, I need to take this,” he said, getting up and walking out of the room with his phone. I just shrugged to myself and drank another beer.

I didn't care much if Louis was upset or if I had made him upset. I was just trying to get to know the lad better so working with him would be easier. I knew it would be less tiresome if I didn't have to act like I was Louis's friend, but actually was his friend.

When Louis came back, I did begin to care—just a bit. There was this thing about Louis that I'd learned over the years, this time being the first piece of evidence I had to support my realization. Louis would never hide his emotions through his face. He simply didn't know how to, or simply didn't care to. But it became an inconvenience to the people around him. Most people didn't give two shits if someone else looked a little mad, but Louis made it so obvious that something was up with him that it was hard to ignore. Even if you didn't care, he made you care.

“Bad phone call?” I had to ask, like it was an obligation.

“What?” The word came out as nearly a snap, Louis's eyes darting to me once he sat down. “Oh, no. There was nothing wrong with that phone call.”

“Really?” I raised my eyebrows, Louis making it too easy to see that he was lying. “Because you've got this scowl on your face, and you kind of just got snippy with me.”

Louis's eyes grew for a moment, then his shoulders slumped forward as he leaned back against the plaid cushioned chair he was in, his facial features changing like the leaves on trees through the transition into fall. His fingers went to his forehead and brushed away his feathers of hair as his eyes fell to his lap before going to me again.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted like that,” he said gently. “I just get kind of moody sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” I couldn't help teasing, but I made sure to smile just the slightest at Louis. He just sighed and gave a faint smile back that didn't last long at all. “It's fine, mate. So, what was up with the phone call?”

The question brought back the same scowl and look of distress back to his face. “Could we perhaps not talk about it?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said easily since I hadn't cared much in the first place. But when Louis's face stayed the same for twenty minutes—even after he downed a shot that I had nearly forced on him—I needed to bring it back up.

“Okay, really, what's up?” I asked with a sigh that was mostly of annoyance. “That phone call or whatever obviously upset you to the point where you won't just forget about it, so what the hell was wrong with it?”

“Harry,” Louis said with a frown, “I thought we were going to drop it.”

“Yeah, that's what I thought, too, but I'm getting pretty tired of you just sitting there with that fucking bothered scowl on your face. It's annoying and it's beginning to upset me, which is totally ruining my buzz.”

Louis just rolled his eyes. “Well, it's really none of your business, and even if it was, nothing is wrong.”

I gave a dry laugh that had my head falling back. “You are such shit, you know that?” I looked over at Louis, and I knew that I was losing my patience with him. “Are you really going to lie and say that nothing is wrong when it's pretty obvious that something is in fact wrong? That's pathetic.”

“It's not any of your business,” Louis repeated, this time with a sharp edge to his voice.

“Okay, fine,” I huffed and got up. “If it's not my business and you're not going to talk about it and you're just going to stay all pissed and broody, then I'm gonna go have a good time somewhere else.”

“Fine, drama queen.”

I scoffed at that and stormed out without another word. I wound up in the bar down in the lodge, a glass of scotch on the rocks between my hands and a new friend watching me drink and complain.

“Fuck him,” I said after telling the bartender my problem with Louis and finishing two strong drinks. “Really, fuck him and his bloody emotions. Honestly, what kind of moron thinks it's all right to just act like a complete ass and not expect someone to ask what the fuck is going on? He was begging for it, not like I gave a fuck. He should have shut his face up.”

“Innit,” is all the bartender said.

“Just...” I burped and shook my head. “Fuck Louis Tomlinson and his face.”

“I'll get you another,” said my new friend after the scotch in front of me had disappeared down my throat. When a new scotch was in front of me, I held it up towards the bartender and smiled lazily.

“Cheers.”

That ski trip had definitely been a FLTAHF kind of trip. More FLTAHF times came over the years, but this week was a probably the most worthy of being described as FLTAHF.

I saw Louis every day that week, but that was usually normal, since I saw him every day of filming new seasons, but that was at work. And a week that I saw Louis Tomlinson out of our work environment more than in was a FLTAHF kind of week.

I swear, Jack and the rest of them were trying to trick us into doing this “fake dating” crap since they had sent us out together every day. On Monday, I was told to go to a breakfast place called Toasty Cakes to have a meeting with my agent, but my agent didn't show up, and I guess neither did Louis's since he was sitting at the table a waitress took me to. I hadn't been happy, to say the least, that I had to have breakfast with him.

On Tuesday, we went running together, but that was normal for us, since it had become a weekly thing for us to exercise together. On Wednesday, we went to dinner together. I had been told that it was group dinner amongst some of the cast, but of course when I got to the restaurant, the only one there was Louis, and then there was Jack with his wife a few tables away, discretely telling us to eat together. It was obviously a scheme to make it look like we were on a date. And in the middle of the week? Only married couples with no time during the rest of the week went out on Wednesday night. Fucking ridiculous.

On Thursday, I knew the pattern, and had a few drinks with Louis at a pub. Friday, we were at the same party as each other, so I took it as an opportunity to socialize with different people, ignoring Louis Fucking Tomlinson as much as possible. Saturday, I thought I was free of him, until we were both called in later in the night to film one stupid scene. And Sunday... don't even get me fucking started on Sunday.

“If this isn't a fucking date, then I don't know what is,” I said to Louis as I used his shoulder for balance.

“Mil and James are here, though,” Louis said, pushing me off of him and skating away, which only caused me to stumble after him and grab onto him again. “And Niall was here for a while, too. It's just a casual get-together.”

“Oh, bullshit,” I grumbled, holding onto him tighter than I would have liked as I tried to glide along with him. “This is a set-up and you know it. Ice skating is the most romantic kind of skating.”

“Well, if you would get off of me—” Louis pushed me off of him again, and I scrambled away, yelping, “—it wouldn't look so much like we're on a date.”

I held onto the arm of a short woman, who reacted by shoving me away and skating off like a pro. I quickly tried to fall in the direction of the wall of the rink, and I held onto it once I got a hold of the edge, pressing my legs to the wall. Louis slid up beside me and leaned against it.

“Have you never skated before?”

I looked up at him and rolled my eyes. “I've skated before,” I said, trying to stand up straight. When I almost fell on my knees, I didn't try again.

“When?” Louis laughed, looking too amused right now. “When you were seven, skating around the hardwood flooring in your socks?”

I just glared at him, knowing I would have flipped him off if I wasn't so scared of letting go of the wall with just one of my hands.

“I could teach you,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“No fucking way.” I shook my head, trying to keep my feet stable. “Fuck off, Tomlinson.”

“All right.”

When I looked up again, he had skated away. I watched him skate to where Mil and James were and my eyes narrowed at him. “Tosser,” I muttered and looked around as people stared while they skated by, probably thinking, Look at that giant man cower against the wall like a little girl.

“Okay, you can do this,” I whispered to myself after studying the way people were skating and I took a few tries before slowly pushing myself off of the wall.

I was fine for a few feet, gliding along the ice as I tried to keep my body as still as possible with my knees bent and my arms out at my sides for balance. Then I began to wobble and my feet began to move away from each other, so I reached out and grabbed what was nearest to me.

Which happened to be a child.

“Ah!” the girl shrieked and tried to get me to let go of her shoulders as she began to wobble as well. “Mummy!”

“Get your hands off my daughter, you bloody wanker!” I was suddenly hit on my upper back with something and I stumbled away from the child, trying to gain balance as I tripped over my own feet. Skaters zoomed by me, and one bumped into me, finally sending me falling onto my back.

With a groan, I looked up and over at the woman and her daughter. “Hey, watch your language! You are with a child! And who the hell takes their purse with them in the rink? Fucking cow.” Then I huffed and let my head fall onto the ice, groaning again.

“I have to say, Styles, watching you fall onto your arse is something I enjoy way too much.”

I rolled my eyes as I saw Louis standing above me a moment later, looking smug and amused. With both of my hands free this time, I did flip him the bird before closing my eyes, the lights above me starting to give me a headache.

“You sure you don't want me to teach you how to skate?” Louis asked.

“Piss off.”

“I could leave you here and let you lay here all night because you and I both know that you won't be able to get up,” he said. “Or you could stop acting like a prick and I could help you up.”

“Oh, shut up. Just help me up. You don't have to be a smug bastard.” I held out my hand and he took it, pulling me up as I held onto him tightly, not wanting to fall over again. “Now get me the hell off this ice. I fucking hate ice. Never again will I do this.”

“All right, cry baby.” Louis chuckled as he led me towards the other side of the rink. “Relax. All you did was fall on your bum. You'll live.”

“And I will live to make sure this ice rink doesn't last,” I proclaimed. “This is a rip-off.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Right, it's an outrage that you don't know how to skate and got yourself hurt.”

“Damn right.”

He helped me onto the carpet and I continued to wobble until I was seated on a bench. “Finally,” I muttered as I took off my skates and rubbed my aching feet. I groaned as I sat up, my back already sore from the fall, an ache spreading from my lower back through my spine.

“Need some ice?” Louis asked me, sitting next to me and removing his skates as well.

“No, I just need to take a hot bath and turn on my jets,” I said simply. My bathtub could solve all the world's problems, honestly.

“Fine, then let's get you home.”

“That's all right,” I said, pushing myself up after putting my boots back on. “Since this was obviously a set-up to make it look like you and I are madly in love, I think it's best that you don't help me get home. And I drove myself here, so I can get myself home. But thanks.”

“Okay.” Louis smirked up at me. “Drive safe. And I suppose I'll be seeing you tomorrow?”

“I wouldn't doubt it.”

I didn't see it as a non-masculine thing to take baths. It's not like a bathed all the time. I was a shower man, but when the days wore on and the first thing I needed was to relax, my bathtub was exactly what I needed. It's not that I enjoyed sitting in my own filth, it just helped relieve any stress, or in tonight's case, pain. It was practically a hot tub, anyway. With the jets going, and the faucet pouring hot water in, I didn't consider it just a bathtub.

I stayed in it for a good hour before I decided to get out, my back feeling much better. I dried my body, then threw on some warm clothes before getting myself a gorgeous bottle of brandy and getting comfortable on my sofa in my living room, and starting a new episode of The Walking Dead.

I didn't even get thirty minutes in before I was interrupted by a knock on my door. I usually would have grumbled at hearing the knock, but after that night last week, it was reaffirmed that only one person would come knocking at my door at this time.

I spent a good minute or two panicking and fretting over how I didn't even have the chance to fix my hair as I called out that I'd be right there. Then I needed a few seconds to stand in front of my door and figure out how I wanted to answer and how I wanted my face to look. Finally, I decided and opened the door with a smirk on my face.

“Come back for—?”

The smirk was knocked right off my face, as well as my lips, it felt like, as a firm hand slapped across my cheek with a stinging linger.

“You, Harry Styles, are the slaggiest slag there has ever been, you bastard!” she practically yelled at me as she invited herself in, storming in like she owned the place before turning towards me with her hands on her hips.

“What the hell did I do now, woman?” I groaned as I nursed my burning cheek.

“What the hell did you do now?” Her eyes were wide and angry. “I'm gone a goddamn week after our night together and the night of the day I leave, you're off kissing your best friend? That's a real low down-low.”

I was confused for a good amount of time, though I hadn't been paying much attention, focusing much more on how such a little thing could slap so hard. Then I looked at my ex-girlfriend and realized. “Oh,” is all I said.

“Yeah, 'oh.'” It'd been a while since I'd seen Marnie Erickson so upset. It was sad that I still got a tightening in my stomach at seeing her nostrils flare. “Were you planning on telling me that you were into guys now?”

“Marnie, I'm not into guys,” I said hastily. “I'm as straight as they get. You should know that.”

She just narrowed her eyes, which made her skin crinkle at the corners, and that made my stomach tighten as well. “It's kind of hard to know anything when you see your ex-boyfriend snogging his best mate.”

“First off, you know I don't like Louis, and that if I were to snog some guy, Louis would not be my first pick,” I said, waving a finger at her. “And second, I'm not gay. We were drunk and I don't even know how it happened. I'm not gay.”

Here's another reason that made the whole kissing Louis the worst thing that has ever happened. Marnie thought that I wanted men, and now would have a completely different look at me. And it had nothing to do with having an issue with homosexuality, just security. Not many women were okay with being with men that wanted other men.

“You know what, Harry?” she said and sighed. “I'm really tired. I thought maybe after last week you were going to change. I thought you were going to make it easier for me to trust you. But this? This has to be the last straw.”

“Marnie, I didn't do anything wrong!” Frustration rose up inside me as it became clear that I was on the path to losing something, and I needed to turn around, only I couldn't.

“I shouldn't have came here that night.” She shook her head and looked away, walking back towards the door. “So it's my fault. Not yours. You're Harry Styles, right? Nothing is ever your fault anyway.”

She was gone as fast as she had arrived, and I was left standing by my door, my hand to my cheek as my mind spun as I wondered how everything could have gotten so much worse in the matter of minutes.

“Fuck Louis Tomlinson and his face, that's how,” I muttered before returning to my couch and my brandy.

Notes