Chapter Text
"Look, El, I'm sorry, but I can't tonight … I've already told you why, and no, I can't ditch my team—again," Louis snapped into his phone, his voice perhaps a bit too harsh for being in such a public setting. But the young man wasn't paying his surroundings much attention as he slowed his steps and let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.
He came to a complete stop, absolutely defeated as he listened to his girlfriend's voice nag on and on and on through the phone, though he wasn't entirely listening to everything she had to say. He knew he should probably feel bad about that, but he didn't. This nagging bit of their relationship, these petty little fights that sprung up completely out of nowhere and often over the most trivial of things had been happening for weeks now, maybe even a month and a half or so. But it felt like forever.
And Louis was tired.
He was tired of listening. Tired of caring. Tired of putting in the effort.
They would fix things up just to tear them down again, and it was growing tedious and tiresome and Louis wanted nothing more than to throw in the towel. But he couldn't do that now, not over the phone and especially not with Christmas just two days away.
So he heaved a sigh as Eleanor's voice finally came to a halt and decided to take the blame this time around. "You're right," he said, feigning the most sincerity he could. "I'm sorry, babe, I should've told you earlier. I get that. I'll make it up to you tomorrow I swear, but my train's about to pull in, so I've got to hang up, okay? … Okay … Yeah, yeah, I know. Love you too, El. Bye."
Stopping another sigh from passing through his lips, Louis pulled the phone from his ear and hit the onscreen ‘end call' button with a bit more force than truly necessary, almost sending the phone flying from his hand. His grip tightened around it just in time though, and he kept it in his hand as he readjusted his shoulder bag, straightened his coat that was draped over his forearm to ensure it didn't fall, and pushed the freshest fight from his mind as he took off at a quick pace to navigate through the station and to the right platform for his train.
It wasn't an unfamiliar walk, since Louis often had to catch the 7:43 train out of town for sudden, last minute business meetings. But he still felt a little hitch of nerves whenever he entered the station and was greeted by its slightly foreign surroundings. The lights were always dim, there was always an eerie draft no matter the temperature above ground, and the people rushing about always passed with blank eyes and tired features, never a smile to share.
It set Louis on edge.
He weaved his way through the crowds this day with downcast eyes, trying to pass without once ever making eye contact—not everyone liked that, he had learned early on. Some people took that as an intrusion of privacy. So he had since found it best to make his journey through the old station with his eyes on the ground instead of letting them bounce from unfamiliar face to unfamiliar face.
When he found himself standing behind the yellow line at the right platform, he finally lifted his head and let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He never really was one for public transit; crowds made him nervous. And today was exceptionally draining on his comfort as he looked up and down the platform, noting the surge in crowds that the holidays brought. Young and old, grandparents, little kids—all were present, it seemed, and all were waiting with long faces for the 7:43 train that, Louis noticed with a quick glance at his wristwatch, was currently running four minutes behind schedule.
"Oi! I've told you lot before, get!" a booming voice bellowed from behind the platform, echoing throughout the station and gaining attention.
Louis turned toward the ruckus, his eyes falling on an officer who was waving his baton spastically at a crowd of people.
Homeless people, from the looks of it. They had settled against a wall of the station, lined up side by side with what little belongings they all had. The few belongings that they were all now rushing to snag up in their arms as the officer continued chastising them, mixing in a lot of talk about laws and disrupting the peace as he spat at them.
"Oh just let them be," a middle-aged woman with frazzled blond hair croaked at the officer, looking more than a little displeased with the situation. But she didn't seem phased at all by the glare the officer sent her. Rather she continued in her tired voice, "They could die out there tonight with the wind chills, you know that? They ain't doing no one no harm by staying here for the night."
The officer's eyes were wide, the woman's defiance leaving him momentarily silent.
The group of people looked on to the scene with slight curiosity, but most of their eyes didn't hold even an ounce of hope; they knew the woman's efforts were coming from the heart, but they knew most of all that they wouldn't change a thing.
They would still be kicked out from the mild warmth the station had to offer, which Louis noticed one of the people mentioning to one of the youngest looking members of the group with a nudge to the shoulder and a jerk of the head. It was an older man, maybe younger than sixty, and a young boy who Louis didn't think looked a day past eighteen.
He looked much too young to be down here, fumbling with a ratty old backpack as he watched the unraveling scene with wide, jumpy eyes. He looked nervous. Antsy. He looked, Louis thought, like fresh meat. He didn't have all the layers the other folks had, just a thin t-shirt and a pair of jeans that looked like they may have slid off of his slender frame if it weren’t for the narrow belt holding them up. Where the others had dirty knuckles poking out from fingerless gloves and unkempt hair shoved beneath hoods and hats, he had bare hands and unruly, shaggy brown curls, completely uncovered.
He was clearly unprepared.
“They can spend their night at the shelter,” the officer continued to bark, momentarily regaining Louis’ attention. “That’s what they’re there for anyway.”
The woman snorted, rolling her eyes. “Think they’ll have space in a city this big at the holidays? That’d certainly be a Christmas miracle,” she muttered.
With a furrowed brow, the officer stood up a bit taller, his jaw stiffening as he straightened his coat. “Well,” he started with a note of conclusion in his tone, “they should have thought about that before wasting all their money.”
The atrocious generalization received quite a few glares and several mouths opened in protest, but none spoke, as their voices would have been drowned by the roar of the train pulling into the station. The woman shook her head at the officer and handed a few coins to a couple of the homeless strangers, sharing a few quick words before heading up to the platform.
Louis was still watching the scene, despite it having ended, as the train pulled fully into the station. His feet took a few steps toward the opening doors, but his eyes lingered back on the group of people, particularly on the underdressed, curly-haired boy who was watching the retreating officer with a look nothing short of apprehensive. The older man, who had walked a few steps away, seemed to notice his look though and nudged the boy, motioning toward the exit that would lead them back up above ground.
Back out into the bitter, late December cold.
The thought made a twinge of guilt flare in Louis’ stomach, and he found himself calling out a second later, “Hey, kid!”
The curly-haired boy turned at the voice, somehow knowing it was aimed at him, and met Louis’ eyes with a look of fright.
“Here,” Louis said, taking a few steps toward him. He tossed the boy the coat that had been draped over his arm, a smile crossing his features as the boy caught it and stared at it with uncertainty. “You take it.”
The boy’s eyes widened, and he shook his head, already holding the coat back out for Louis to take. “Oh, I can’t, no, but you—”
“I’ve got another coat at home,” Louis cut him off with a lifted hand. “That can be yours. Consider it a Christmas gift.”
“Are you sure?” the boy asked and visibly swallowed at Louis’ nod. He turned the coat over in his hands, staring at it with a sort of awe that Louis wasn’t entirely sure how to place. Finding his voice after a moment, he met Louis’ eyes with a ghost of a smile gliding across his lips. “Thank you.”
There was a beep behind him, signaling that the train’s doors were only seconds away from closing. Louis glanced over his shoulder and took a few steps toward the train before looking back at the curly-haired boy. “You’re welcome,” he called back toward him. “Look, I’ve got to go, but there should be twenty quid in one of the pockets. Get yourself a good meal tonight, alright?”
He couldn’t stand around and wait for a reply. He boarded the train and the doors closed before the boy could even move his lips to form a single syllable. He grabbed hold of one of the overhead bars once aboard and ducked to peer out one of the windows, a smile claiming his lips as he saw the boy still staring at the coat in wonder.
The boy didn’t look up until the train had already pulled out of the station.
He didn’t even know what to think; no one had ever given him more than loose change and pocket fuzz since he’d been on the streets. Most people even seem appalled that he would be there, offended that he would ask them for money, for anything.
To have a stranger give him his coat?
It was quite possibly the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for him, before and after. But he didn’t have the time to dwell on the matter as a growingly familiar voice called his name. “Harry, come on, let’s get out of here before that cop comes back through!”
Harry glanced toward the older man, standing with a foot already up the steps that would lead them back outside.
He sent him a smile and slipped off his backpack just long enough to pull on the coat. It was a bit snug around the shoulders, but it was warm. Really warm. A dark navy wool, he felt like he had gone from wearing rags to robes as he pulled it tight around his frame and hurried off to join the others.
Climbing the steps up and out of the station, Harry shoved his hands into the pockets and stopped as his right hand collided with something much larger than a banknote.
He wrapped his fingers around the object and pulled it out.
His eyes widened.
It was a wallet.
A brown, leather tri-fold that he was certain held far more than twenty quid.
Before anyone else could see, he stuffed it back into the pocket and scurried to catch up with the group. But his fingers wrapped around its smooth exterior and clung to it like it was crowned jewels.
That night, one man struck gold and the other struck out.
~*~