Archive of Our Own ^beta

i.

Louis taps his finger against the table like the beat to a song that he can’t dance to. He glances around, once, twice; looking the lavish cafeteria over to see if any of the lads have gotten out of their classes yet. He groans when he sees no one familiar, and proceeds by sitting back in the hard, uncomfortable chair and crossing his arms over his chest, stretching his legs out. One of his black Vans is untied, but he's too lazy to stretch down and re-knit it. He flicks his fringe from his eyes and looks again toward the doors, but, to no avail.

Rolling his eyes, he picks at the little string hanging off the sleeve of his new, white band shirt. He got it for five dollars at an obviously overpriced thrift-shop, but really, he can't complain. His summer job went to shit, so he doesn’t have a whole lot of money to splurge on himself after buying all the textbooks he needed for the first term (which he probably won't even use half as much as the professors say he will.) So, overpriced used band shirts is better than brand new ones that cost triple- maybe even more- that price. (Logistics. Logistics.)

Oh well. It is what it is.

He glances back toward the doors again, only to be startled by a deep cough and an, “Excuse me?”

He turns forward again, and then up, only to see a tall, well fit boy, with chocolate curls that brush against his shoulders, and soft milky skin. His lips are curled up in a small, hesitant smile, his body clad in a white shirt that dips down over his delicate looking collarbones, paired with tight black jeans that hug his slender thighs. Only one thought runs through Louis' mind. Hot.

Louis blinks, clearing his throat. He sits up a little. “What do you need, mate?”

The boy blushes, looking down for a moment as if rethinking what he is about to say, before he softly asks, “Is it alright if I sit here? There’s nowhere else.”

Louis throws him a flirtatious smile, using his hand to gesture to the empty table. “Feel free.”

The boy blushes again, looking down at the table as he sits. “Thank you.”

Louis looks back, seeing if his mates are here like it’s a nervous habit, but when he sees they aren't he turns back to the boy. He watches as the boy pulls out a clear bottle, filled to the brink with something pink that sort of looks like Pepto Bismol.

“What’s that?” he asks.

The boy looks up startled eyes wide. “Oh, uh. It’s strawberry milk.”

Louis laughs under his breath. “Strawberry milk? I haven't drank that since I was like, five, probably.”

The boy blushes a deep red, opening his mouth to say something, but he ends up closing it. That's when Louis notices his fingers tapping against the bottle, similar to the way he was tapping against the table earlier. His nails, though, are polished in a pale mint colour, that almost blends in with the boy's creamy skin. Louis feels light-headed, like it isn’t getting enough oxygen. Sure he’s likely dehydrated, but the sight of a beautiful man with painted nails holding strawberry milk borders obscurity and is a little too much to handle this morning. He doesn’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

“Why are your nails painted?” he blurts, not tearing his eyes away from the boy's jittering fingers.

“I-uh, I just like it, um.” The boy stutters, looking down. His knuckles turn white, and Louis can tell he is squeezing the bottle.

“S’ bit weird.”

The boy chews his lip, cheeks red and eyes drawn down.

It's not harsh or mean, the way Louis stated it. He just said it like he was talking to one of his mates. He didn’t mean for it to come off as him being disgusted by it or something.

But then the boy glances up to Louis and his eyes are rimmed with tears. He smiles weakly, says, “Thanks for letting me sit here, but I forgot that I have somewhere to be.”

Louis shouldn't feel as bad as he does watching the boy stumble out of the cafeteria with his painted nails and strawberry milk, but he does, because he truly didn't mean for what he said to hurt the boy's feelings. He sighs, running his fingers through his fringe.

“Who was that, mate?” he hears a smooth voice ask behind him, startling him. He looks up to see thick black hair and white teeth, his mate Zayn sitting down where the other boy was moments before.

Louis exhales shakily, picking at the string on his shirt again, “Don't know.”

“Well, he was proper fit, that's for sure.”

Louis shrugs, not mentioning the pale mint colour that was delicately painted over his nails. He also doesn’t mention that Zayn never calls guys fit, but.

Zayn is staring at him with lines between his eyebrows and a small, confused smile. Louis pretends to ignore it.

“Right.” Zayn says breathlessly, pretending Louis isn't acting as off as he is at the moment, “so, sorry to break it to you, mate, but I’ve got to get some more textbooks, shit right? But Li and Niall should be here soon. Just wanted to stop by and tell ya.”

Louis nods, looking over his own fingernails.

(Louis’ last class of Monday is astronomy, which sounded like a cool and easy way to get his science credit. That is until he had to buy an expensive arse telescope and textbook. But he's here, and he's doing it, because apparently the professors cool, and the class is relatively easy to pass, all as long as you stay connected in the online forums and learn to use your planisphere correctly.

Most of the students have piled in, chattering around him as he sits leaned back against his chair, arms crossed over his chest with his typical bored expression. That is, until a curly-haired boy stumbles in with his head down and his cheeks flushed, taking a seat in the front row. Louis’ interest is peaked again.

Louis’ entire body fills with guilt, though, which is probably dripping around him in an invisible puddle, when he notices the boy frantically scratching off the nail polish with trembling fingers.)

ii.

The guilty feeling doesn’t go away like it should. And honestly, Louis doesn’t even know why he feels so bad about it. It isn’t his fault the boy is so sensitive or whatever. He has always just been honest about things like that. Like the time Zayn got a blond streak through his hair and all he did was call him a skunk for the time he had it. But, Louis still watches him in their astronomy class, and he notices how his nails remain dull and unpainted, and really, he feels a bit like the equivalence to shit.

(He also notices that the boy carries around bottles/jars/cartons of strawberry milk everywhere he goes, which is really fucking weird, but whatever. Louis’ already established in his mind that the boy is strange.)

His chance to apologise comes quick and easy within the next few weeks (because it’s much too early in the school year to be burdened with such guilt, and also because the astronomy teacher is assigning a project that you can do alone or in partners, and Louis’ never been one to work alone.)

So he figures that this would be the best time to apologise to the mess of a boy, ease his degradable conscience, and also get a partner. That way he doesn’t fall into an implication of depression, and the boy, or girl, or whatever he identifies as, can go back to painting his nails.

He sighs, picking up his Marvel comic book covered bag, and he makes his way to the front of the class. The boy is sitting there, picking at his own bag and biting at his lip as the people around him look for partners or begin their work alone. Louis sits next to him, ignoring the way the boy looks over startled. He stares straight-ahead at the giant board, and says: “So here's the thing,” he sighs, “I didn't mean what I said a few weeks ago to like, hurt your feelings or anything. If you like painting your nails, then you should do that, and not like, care if anyone else doesn't like it, because their opinions shouldn't matter, y’know?” Louis takes a breath, finally glancing over to see the boy wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. On a whim, he adds, “and like, I noticed you scraping it off, and that you haven't been wearing any, and I think you should, because that's what you like.”

The boy blushes, and Louis thinks it might be the only thing he knows how to do. He also looks away, wringing his fingers nervously which makes Louis want to keep talking.

“Also, my name is Louis and I really want you to be my partner, so that maybe I can prove to you I’m not as big as a twat as I probably came off as.” He holds his hand out, offering a shrug and a small smile.

The boy watches Louis’ hand carefully, before gently wrapping his own around it. Soft.

“My names Harry,” the boy says shyly, a small smile covering his own face as well, “and I wouldn't mind being your partner.”

(The next day as Louis is walking through the lunchroom as a shortcut to his next class, he sees Harry. He has his strawberry milk and a clean-cut sandwich. Louis also notices his nails are painted a light, bubble-gum pink, and he can’ help but to smile a little as he walks out the cafeteria doors.)

*

They agree to meet at Louis’ flat the following week to start the project. Louis cleans his room frantically, clearing away the mess piled up by his window so they can set up their telescopes. He picks up his dirty clothes, and stuffs all his shoes under his bed, and dumps the dirty dishes that are lying around into the dishwasher. He sneaks into Zayn’s bathroom and steals one of his fancy colognes to spray around his room so it doesn't smell so much like grease and masturbation.

And honestly, he doesn't even know why he's cleaning his room. Louis doesn’t even clean his room up for his dates- though he hasn’t had any of those recently- and if anything, he just wants to get this over with.

“Mate, we’ve lived here over a year and I’m positive this is the first time I've seen you clean your room, what’s going on?” Zayn’s in the doorway, watching a distressed and pouty Louis stuff clothes in his closet, “also, what is my cologne doing in here, that was expensive.”

“Got someone coming over for a project tonight,” he huffs out, flipping his fringe out of his face with a heavy breath, “and I don’t want the first thing to hit them be the smell of endless nights of loneliness and masturbation.”

“Wait, what?”

“Partner. Project. Tonight.” Louis rolls his eyes, slumping his shoulders as he looks around his room proudly. Not too shabby.

“Can’t you go to their place?” Zayn asks, ignoring all of Louis’ sarcasm and his hard work.

“Why?” Louis asks, his eyes squinted in suspicion.

Zayn flushes, kicking a shirt to Louis. “I’m having someone over tonight and I was coming in here to ask if you would hang with Niall or something, because like, yeah.”

“Wait, you’re having someone over?” Louis asks, astonished. He crosses his arms over his chest with a smug smile.

“Um, yeah?” Zayn says.

“Well, who is she?” Louis asks, picking himself up from the ground.

Zayn mumbles under his breath, not meeting Louis’ eyes.

“Come on, mate. You know I won't care.”

“It's not- It's not a girl.”

“Oh.” Louis raises his eyebrows

“Yeah, like. I don't know. It's the first guy I’ve ever had feelings for and, yeah.” Zayn blushes whilst rubbing the back of his neck.

Louis doesn't want to embarrass Zayn, at least not yet. So he cocks his head, and gently asks: “Well, that's fine, Z. Who’s the special lad?”

“Liam,” he says, laughing awkwardly.

“No fucking way.” Louis whispers. He smirks and bites at the inside of his cheek.

Zayn’s cheeks turn an even brighter red than before. He smiles though, and watches Louis stuff another shirt into his closet. “You don't mind, do you?”

“Mate, the only thing that bothers me is that you didn’t tell me you liked Liam, because I could have so made this happen faster," Louis smirks, "other than that, I could care less. Just know, me and Niall are going to be giving you two so much shit.”

iii.

Louis loves Zayn and he fucking hates short notices. So, when it finally dawns on him that he just cleaned his whole fucking room for absolutely no reason, he wants to bash his head in and light himself on fire, but whatever, it's too late to go back now and spend those delicate hours watching Project Runway or jerking himself off.

So now he’s slipping on a t-shirt that smells like it hasn’t been washed since he first bought it, and pulling on socks that have mud stains sprinkled over the heels. He doesn’t really care, though, because all his energy went into absolutely nothing, and he's too moody to bother looking- or smelling- decent.

There's a soft knock at the door whilst Louis is slipping on his other Van. He curses under his breath, reaching up to open it to find a confused Harry staring down at him. Louis just shakes his head, straightening up and gently pushing him out of the doorway whilst he shuts it behind him.

“Yeah, so here's the thing,” Louis starts, grabbing his telescope off the ground that he set there minutes before, “it turns out my roommate and also my best mate likes a guy, and the guy he likes is my other best mate, and he didn't even tell me he liked a guy let alone Li.” He waves his in the air, “So apparently he was planning on kicking me out tonight. Stupid, I know,” Louis huffs, bending over to stuff his laces into his shoes. “So is it alright if we just go to your place?”

Harry is dressed in tight black jeans and a lovely university sweater, with his curls pushed back behind an even lovelier headscarf instead of having them swipe down over his forehead. His cheeks are red and he's holding his textbooks close to his chest, his telescope hanging off of his beautifully broad shoulder. Louis suddenly feels bad for making the lovely boy walk all this way, only to have to walk back.

He feels even worse when Harry frowns, looking down. “Um, I don't really-”

Louis realises how rude he is and sighs, “Hey, how about this, I’ll carry everything, alright? Because you walked all this way, and I'm a shit person, and here, let me take that,” Louis reaches and takes Harrys bag with the telescope, slinging it onto his shoulder where his own bag sits as well.

Harry tries to protest, but Louis is taking away his textbooks too, and Harry is left standing without anything but the ratty sweater that looks better than it should on him. Louis really does think that Harry is quite pretty, honestly, though he tucks those thoughts in the far back of his mind.

“No, really, it's okay. You don't live too far, do you?” He smiles gently, just because.

Harry blushes again, looking down. He kicks at the floor lightly, and Louis can feel the itching of annoyance creep up into his throat, because he is holding all of this stuff whilst the boy just stands there looking pretty, and for god’s sake, he will probably need back surgery in the near future or whatever.

“Uh, actually, could we maybe, just not go to my place and like, do it outside or something?”

Louis’ fucking bewildered by that. “Um, what?”

“Like, I don't know, I just-”

“Harry, it's cold, it’s late, and we kinda have to have light. What’s the big deal about going to your place?”

Again, he doesn't mean for what he's said to come out so harshly, but maybe it does, because all of a sudden Harry's taking in a sharp breath and Louis feels like a douchebag all over again. He's just not use to sensitive people, he’s use to loud and sarcastic twats like himself.

“Hey, hey,” he sighs, carefully setting all the stuff down and reaching out to the boy. He carefully runs his hand down Harry’s shoulder, and a weird feeling of softness strikes through Louis’ body. “I'm really sorry, okay?” he says gently, “I'm not mad at you or anything, I’m just annoyed because I spent all day cleaning up my room for you, and it was all for nothing, y‘know?”

“It's not- it's not you. Just-” Harry shakes his head, stepping back from Louis so he can no longer touch him, “if we go to my place you have to promise not to laugh or anything.”

Louis looks at him confused, but nods nonetheless. “I promise, Harry.”

Harry nods too, taking in another shaky breath as his eyes shift down the hallway. He decidedly bends over, grabbing the handles of the bags, but Louis stops him.

“Hey now, I said I’d carry these.”

Harry blushes, pulling away. He lets out a soft, surprising giggle.

Louis cocks an eyebrow at him, straightening up and smiling when Harry freezes and his cheeks begin to pinken.

“Cute,” Louis murmurs, watching Harry turn an even brighter red, “now where are we headed?”

*

It's quiet, and Harry walks beside him, playing with his fingers and chewing his lip. Louis can see the word ‘nervous’ painted above him in the way he can see the lilac colour painted elegantly over his trimmed nails. Louis finds himself wanting to take the boy's hand and squeeze some reassurance into him that everything is okay.

When the boy goes to open the door to his flat, he does so with a shaking hand, not even able to get the key into the keyhole.

Louis sighs, gently taking Harry’s hand in his own. He notices the boy flinch from the contact, but he ignores it. “Mate, love, calm down, alright? Everything's fine.”

Louis guides the key into the door, and Harry blinks, slowly nodding as there is a small clicking noise. He inhales quickly, looking away, before slowly opening the door as Louis’ hand drops from his. He lets Louis in first, and then he is stumbling to get the lights on.

Louis doesn't really know what he was expecting, but then again, he never really knows what he expects for anything.

Off-white picture frames cover the wall that is painted a soft pink, little fairy lights hang delicately from where they are strung around the room, casting a gentle yellow over the walls. The couch is a very light pink, fading into a white almost, and it looks like it cost a decent amount of money. It’s decorated with fluffy, pink-laced pillows, and there is a darker coloured purple rug on the ground. It’s prim, and proper, and Louis is almost wondering how Harry got all of this pale and clean furniture, rather than why he has it.

If anything, it all just makes Louis want to run through a car wash.

Harry doesn't really meet Louis’ eyes as he leads him somewhere else. “Um, there's a balcony in my room. So, yeah,” he blushes.

His room is painted a soft white colour rather than pink like the main room. More fairy lights drape around the walls and dangle around a vanity that is filled with lotions, scrubs, and a few stray nail polishes. His bed is clad in a mint coloured bedding that looks unbelievably soft and fluffy, a white sheer mosquito net hanging from the ceiling around the headboard. Nail polishes line racks on the wall, along with fancy perfumes and different sprays. Flower crowns hang on little pins and glitter jars of different shades of pinks and purples lay mischievously on shelves with books and vases of flowers. The lacy curtains are pulled back, contrasting against the dark sky. The room smells sweet, and Louis guesses it is because there are unlit, but half-burnt candles all around the room.

Overall, the room is very sweet and delicate, and Louis thinks back to when Lottie was showing him her dream room in a catalogue.

Really, though, it’s fitting. The boy paints his nails, so Louis thinks now that he is here, it really isn’t all that surprising. At first glance you wouldn’t expect the deep-voiced and tall boy to be into such feminine things, but now that Louis’ been around him a little bit, it all seems to just fit, even if he is a boy.

Is he a boy, though?

He thinks back to Liam lecturing him on gender and sex and how there are many different combinations of what people identify as, or act like. To Louis it is still all a bit strange, or maybe a better word is foreign, only because he has never actually met anyone who didn’t act like the gender they were born as. And if he has, he never realised it.

He keeps his mouth shut despite everything running through his head, and gently sets all of their stuff that he's been carrying onto the hardwood floor.

He watches as Harry slips his shoes off and then begins to toe his socks off, before pausing. “Is- uhm- is it okay if I take my socks off?”

Louis blinks, furrowing his eyebrows, “Yeah, go ahead, mate,” he says sort of awkwardly. “No foot fetishes over here,” he jokes, to lighten the mood.

Harry bites his lip to stop a laugh, but his dimples totally give him away, and Louis thinks that's sort of cute, really. So he smiles to himself, watching as Harry arranges himself so he is sitting cross-legged on his bed, a hesitant smile on his face.

Louis follows, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“So like,” Louis pauses, picking over his words, “do you wanna be a girl or something?” Eloquent.

Harry clears his throat a little, picking up one of his soft mint pillows and playing with the corners of it, “No,” he says softly- simply.

“Then why do you have so much,” Louis throws his hand up, gesturing at his room. He knows if Liam were here he would've slapped him.

Harry sighs, “I like being a boy. I just - I like feeling like a pretty boy.”

“You know,” Louis starts, almost shyly, “you don't need all of this to be pretty.” Harry looks up at him, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, “because, I mean, you are pretty. Like, ridiculously pretty, and you’d still be without all of this stuff.”

He bites his lip after saying it. He's just a bit confused, doesn't understand why Harry thinks he needs all these other things to make him pretty, especially when he's so secretive about it. Sure, Louis has his own self-love rituals, like how he secretly loves taking bubble baths whilst Mariah Carey plays softly in the background, but he just can't help but feel like this isn't that for Harry. His tommo-intuition is telling him that this is something more.

Harry looks down, picking at the fabric on the pillow he is holding still. He is smiling, though, and Louis’ glad that he is. “I just like it, you know? It makes me feel good.”

Louis simpers, watching the bashful boy. “I get it,” he says finally, even though he feels he doesn't get it all, “it's really nice.”

“You think so?” He asks, looking up way too enthusiastically, but Louis likes that. He likes that he can tell Harry's trying to bite back a smile that's spreading evidently.

“Yeah. You're pretty and all of this is pretty, too.” Louis says honestly.

When a huge grin spreads across Harry’s face, Louis can’t contain the urge to reach over and poke one of the boys dimples, so he does, just making the boy’s cheeks turn a matching pink to the items around them, his eyes widening.

They work quickly together. They jot down the star names and constellations, and draw them out fairly easily. Harry’s not hard to make laugh, or blush, and Louis takes advantage of that, always doing something to make the boy burst out into a loud laugh.

And in the midst of everything, Louis notices Harry's toenails are painted the same colour as his fingernails, that his giggles are gentle, and that his handwriting is curvy. And, well, Louis keeps finding himself drifting. Drifting in the way that he all of a sudden really wants to curl up in soft blankets, drink warm tea, and have a soft candle glowing in front of him - and he wants Harry to be next to him.

(At one moment, Louis is able to finally find Saturn with his telescope and planisphere. He excitedly bounces, keeping his eye to the telescope as he waves at Harry. “Harry! Harry! Look!” and all Harry does is gently wrap his fingers over Louis’, and softly push his head away, just enough to squeeze his own head in. Louis slowly settles down, feeling his body melt under the touch. He doesn't know if he is even breathing as he feels himself soften, a gentle warmth spreading over his body in the colour of pinks and reds. His heart begins to tumble like shoes in the dryer, and his cheeks are burning, and Harry smells like strawberries and cucumbers.

The tall boy is just so gentle and Louis can feel himself growing insecure over himself and the fact that he probably smells like Zayn’s cigarette smoke, and B.O., and who knows, he could have used this shirt to wipe up his come and he just hasn’t seen the stain yet. He tries to tell himself the only reason Harry is making him feel light-headed is because he isn’t use to all of the stuff that comes with who Harry is. He's used to Zayn and Liam and Niall, and guys who don't remember his name in the morning.

He's just reacting to how unusual it is to hear Harry's deep voice and have his soft touch, is all.)

Before they know it, it’s ten at night and they are closing the textbooks, deciding they’ll start cutting out stuff later in the week.

Right now, they're both sitting on Harry's fleecy bed, Harry’s finger tracing the patterns on his duvet and Louis is texting Niall. Niall who still hasn’t responded to him on whether it is okay if he stays the night.

“Thank you.” It's gentle, hangs in the lovely smelling air, forcing Louis to look up.

“For what?”

“For not, like, laughing at me or anything.”

Louis smiles, patting Harry's hand. “You don't need to thank me over something like that, it wasn't like a burden or anything not to laugh,” he says reassuringly. “It's a bit different, but it's nice.”

Harry nods shyly, “Can you not tell anyone? I mean, you're the first person who has been over, so.”

“Don't worry, Curly.” He reassures with a smile, looking back down to his phone. He has a lot of things he wants to ask Harry, he just doesn’t know how.

Harry coughs lightly, smiling. “Are your friends date going okay?”

Louis shrugs, “I don’t know, and quite frankly, I don’t want to know,” he smirks, “I’m just seeing if my other friend has replied about me staying over at his, because I definitely don’t want to interrupt anything.”

Harry nods, looking down. “Um, if you want, you can stay here.” Harry furrows his eyebrows, “I mean- if your friend doesn't reply, or if you just want to stay. I-I wouldn't mind.” He bites his lip, picking at his blanket.

Louis softens, smiling fondly. There's no denying that this boy is a sweetheart. “Only if you're sure,” he replies, voice soft and gentle.

Harry glances up quickly, eyes bright as he shakes his head, making Louis burst out into the biggest grin at his enthusiasm.

“Alright, great.”

“I can make us some food, too.” Harry says excitedly, biting back a grin.

Louis looks at him confused, nonetheless with a smile, and Harry's own falters a bit as he flushes red. “Sorry, I've just never, y’know, had anyone over or anything.”

“Just move here or summat?” Louis pries, texting Niall a ‘nevermind’ and shutting his phone off.

“Um, no. I just never made friends, I guess?” Harry gets quieter as he says it, eyes shifting to the duvet, but he doesn't let his smile leave his face.

“Oh,” is all that falls from Louis’ lips.

“Yeah, I mean there was this one guy, but,” Harry wrings his fingers, “there was, but, um.” Harry cuts himself off, shaking his head, “Nevermind,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows.

Louis sees it. He sees it and can hear it in the small and broken way he talks, and he knows that there is something more to Harry, and that he hasn't even skimmed the surface. He knows it before it has even happened.

(He’s going to get attached.)

(He knows he's already in too deep, and at the same time, not at all.)

He chews his lip, waiting to see if Harry is going to say anything further, and when he doesn't, he reaches over and brushes his fingers over his knuckles. Harry glances up and there are lines between his eyebrows and a bite in his lip. Louis knows that he is starting to feel that feeling he gets when someone is being mean to his little sisters, that familiar mixture of anger and protectiveness.

He offers Harry another gentle smile, and says, “How about that food, yeah? You know, ever since you've been carrying that strawberry milk around I've been wanting some.”

Harry's smile is worth the world and then some.

(Harry makes finger sandwiches cut into the shape of hearts, paired with spotless glasses of strawberry milk. They watch music videos on Harry's laptop and argue over singers and bands. (“Punk rock is a thousand times better, sorry.” “What, no. Indie mus-” “Hipster music. That is hipster music.” “The genre literally says Indi-” “Hipster”) Harry is in a constant kaleidoscope of blushing and laughing, and Louis’ the one making it all happen.

When Louis uses Harry's bathroom, he notices he has soft pink towels and cotton candy candles. Rows and rows of different body scrubs of all kinds line the shower and are cornered on the countertop. The little garbage can is filled with more body soap, and Louis finds it a little weird- weirder than everything else that is Harry- but he chooses not to look into it.

Harry gives him his bed and opts for the couch. Louis doesn't mean to fall asleep to the smell of Harry's pillow, but he can't bring himself to turn over and lay on his back.)

iv.

In the morning, Louis rubs the sleep out of his eyes only to be faced with walls that are definitely not his, and to blankets that don't smell like come. It takes him a while to realise he's at Harry's- curly-haired Harry's- who paints his nails and drinks strawberry milk.

Then he hears the voice cutting through the silence of the flat, “If I were a boooooy, even just for a daaay,” and Louis can't help the laugh that rolls out of his lips as he turns his face into the velveteen pillow. He's considering stealing the linen on it, he really is.

He rolls out of Harry’s bed, making it up really fast, which is new because he hasn't made his own bed since he lived back at home. He stretches quickly, pulling up his jeans and finally stumbling into the kitchen. Harry looks soft with matted curls and bright eyes, sprinkling sprinkles on bread. Louis notices he is only in his pants. His pants that hug his hips just tight enough for his love handles to poke over the side. Louis takes note of this, and also the fact that Harry’s legs are completely hairless. He also takes note of the fact that he finds Harry really...pretty. Not just pretty in the way he finds girls pretty despite having no interest in them, and not pretty in the way he finds the guys he wants to bone pretty, but pretty in the way that he thinks Harry could be shooting milk out his nose and still be just as pretty. It’s very confusing.

He blinks, looking away. “Beyonce?” he says.

Harry looks up startled, and he flushes down to his chest.

Louis can’t help but to laugh loud, throwing his head back. “S’alright, mate, everyone loves them some Beyoncé,” he winks, looking at what Harry's doing, “now whatch’ya making?”

Harry smiles through squinted eyes. “Um, some fairy bread. I made you some, too.” He gestures toward the other plate on the table that has a slice of bread cut in half, covered in pink sprinkles and small slices of bananas.

“Wow.” Louis breathes. He doesn't mean to say it, but he does.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Just, I don't know, the way you live. I'm a bit jealous, really.” He means it too, because everything is so neat and lovely and soft, and Louis sort of likes it compared to his own slobby life of greasy foods and bags of chips.

Harry doesn't say anything for a long moment, and Louis chews at his breakfast, humming when he tastes how yummy it is.

“You shouldn't be,” Harry finally says, not looking up as he picks at a banana.

Louis wants to question it, make Harry sit down and explain, but he just sighs, (because he doesn’t even know him) watching as Harry pours him a glass of strawberry milk.

“Send my best regards to the chef, yeah?” He says softly, because he feels the tension rising and Niall once gave him an award for being the one to kill the elephant in the room (granted it was scribbled on a piece of paper and Niall was drunk, but nevertheless.)

Harry smiles up at him. “He’s on break right now, but I’ll be sure to tell him when he gets back.”

And it wasn't that funny, but Louis laughs hard and long until his face is crimson and there are tears in his eyes, because he thinks it's what Harry needs.

(Before he leaves, he says thank you a million times, ushering them out and out until Harry is grinning so wide his dimples look permanent and his cheeks are enveloped in a light pink. He makes sure to get Harry's number and promises to text him when he gets back to his flat.

And he does. Sending him a bunch of little ‘X’s’ and smiley faces.

When he walks in, Zayn and Liam are curled up on the couch together, and Louis groans,

“God, I’m already disgusted,” he says, leaving them alone whilst he gathers his clothes, all of a sudden deciding he wants to wash them.

Maybe because it has been awhile or maybe because he's feeling inspired- whatever.)

v.

He’s alone in the cafeteria again, picking at his freshly washed t-shirt that smells like green apples and strawberries, and it has absolutely nothing to do with a curly haired boy. It was just what he was feeling at the moment.

Anyway, he’s alone and annoyed, because he doesn't like being alone. It makes him feel anxious and edgy and like he looks stupid, which is stupid, because it's not like he's in high school anymore, a lot of people are sitting alone.

But all of that rushes away when he sees a certain gentle boy stumble as gracefully as someone can make tripping look through the doors. The boy looks around, seemingly anxious, and Louis immediately waves him over. When their eyes meet, Harry smiles shyly and nods, making his way to Louis in his trackies and cotton sweater. Louis thinks he looks very warm and cuddly, and all Louis finds himself wanting to do is to wrap his arms around the boy and spoon him hot cocoa.

“Hey mate, how’ve you been?” Louis asks softly, moving so he’s facing Harry at the round table.

Harry smiles up at him from where he’s pulling out his bottle of strawberry milk, fingers poking out from his sweater paws, and Louis sees that they're still painted purple. “I'm alright, how about you?”

Louis props his head up on his hand and pretends like he’s stroking a fake beard, face scrunched up in thought. “Well,” he says,  “I washed my clothes. So that’s that, I suppose.”

Harry giggles next to him, his eyes bright.

“No, seriously, you should smell me, c’mon.”

Louis’ pushing his shirt sleeve toward Harry, and Harry laughs, but smells anyway, humming out, “Apples?”

“Green,” Louis nods, adding, “oh, and strawberries.”

“Fits you.” Harry says between sips of his strawberry milk.

“That's what I tho-” Louis’ interrupted by a loud bang, and Harry's entire face contorts in fear. He shrinks back into his chair, eyes wide. It looks as if he is trying to melt into the plastic, completely disappear until he is nothing more than a placemat for dirty feet.

Louis see’s it all, too. He sees the way Harry just falls into himself, shrinks into his anxiety, and it’s like watching a star collapse in on itself in collateral. Absolutely nothing. No flash of light, no seeping life into miraculous beauty. Just - nothing.

It takes a lot to look away, but Louis does, to see that it is Niall who slammed his tray down and scared Harry.

“I just don't see why I was the last to hear about this!” He's saying it to Liam and Zayn who are wrapped around each other behind him, rolling their eyes and muttering different things to him.

Louis turns back to Harry, whose pink cheeks are now a dull white and his lovely fingers are now wringing around one another nervously. Louis feels himself furrowing his eyebrows, filling to the brim with confusion

“Are you alrigh-” he starts to whisper, but Liam interrupts.

“Who’s this, Lou?”

They are now all sitting around the table, Liam and Zayn squished up next together with their fingers entwined under the table. Niall takes advantage of the extra space and spreads his legs out wide.

Above all, they are all staring at Harry like he is the plague, or at least that’s how it feels. Louis feels a disgusting itch under his skin, an itch that is making him want to yell at the others and tell them to stop staring, because something is wrong with Harry, and even though he barely knows the boy he still cares about him, can sense how uncomfortable he is and wants to make it better.

Instead of whacking his mates upside the head though, he opts for gently grazing his thumb over Harry’s knuckles, feeling it dip between each gap of a knuckle, pressing comfort into each slot. Harry flinches from the unexpected touch, but then sinks into it like a shipwrecked boat. Louis says, “This is the lovely Harry, lads.”

He looks to Harry, and says more gently, “And Harry, this is Niall, Liam, and Zayn.” He points to each of them as he introduces them, and Harry nods, giving timid smiles.

“Nice to meet you, mate.” Niall holds out his hand to shake Harry's, but Louis is instantly standing up and interrupting the greeting, because he knows Niall will see the nail polish, and he knows he will ask about it, and he can just see it - he can see Niall and Liam arguing over it, and human rights, and gender roles, and which world leader is the best, and why you should use mint cough drops opposed to fruity ones.

(He barely knows the boy, yet he has such a strong urge to protect him.)

“Sorry to leave so suddenly, but Harry and I have to get to Astronomy early today to work on our project,” he gestures to Harry, who nods slowly with lines stuck between his eyebrows, standing up warily. Louis is gathering his belongings beside him, quickly stuffing them into his bag.

Zayn and Liam throw him abashed looks as well, glancing between Harry and Louis. Harry bites his lip, quickly mumbling out a soft goodbye.

Once they are out of the double doors of the cafeteria, Harry stops walking. Louis notices faster than he should, and quickly turns to him nonplussed, watching as the boy picks at his sleeves. “Do you not- like- want me to meet your friends?”

And for fucks sake. “Harry, shit. No, it’s not that at all, I promise. Fuck. That's how it came off, wasn't it?”

Harry looks at him confused, and Louis continues, “You just looked so scared back there and I didn't know why, and like, my friends are really straight-forward about things,” Louis pauses, “and loud, and annoying, and I just, fuck.” Louis shakes his head and huffs out. He brushes his fingers through his fringe as the other one rests on his hip. “How about you stop by my flat tonight, alright? Zayn lives there and I’m sure Liam will be there. I can get Niall to come over or something. Then you can properly meet them, and I know they’ll love you, and yeah. Please? ” Louis throws him a desperate look that falls between a pout, confusion, and self-hatred.

Because Louis, god, Louis knows that this thing with Harry isn’t going to just end when their project does. He knows that he’s already in deep with the boy, knows that he wants to keep him in his life.

“Um,” Harry swallows awkwardly, “alright.”

Louis texts the lads, telling them that Harry is coming over and he wants them to be there to meet him properly, and that they need to be nice because he’s really sensitive. Then he sends a second message, telling them that he likes to wear nail polish and not to question it.

When they’re in astronomy cutting out shapes for their project, Louis forces himself to ask.

“Harry?”

Harry hums in response.

“Why were you so scared earlier?”

Harry doesn’t speak for a while. He just keeps cutting out stars and chewing at his lip, and Louis’ almost sure he sees blood from how hard the boy is biting into it, but he's patient for an answer.

“I just don't like loud things,” he finally says.

Louis feels it's only half the truth, but he nods anyway. “Okay.”

(When Harry arrives at Louis’ flat, the lads are all playing video games with beers in hand, and Harry gives them shy smiles. Niall immediately jumps up, wrapping his arms around Harry, “Good to meet’ya mate,” it’s loud and Louis sees Harry flinch and carefully hug him back. “Also,” Niall whispers, so Louis doesn't hear, “I think Louis here really likes ya’, ‘never seen him like he was today.”

Harry flushes, looking up to Louis with bright eyes as Niall pulls away. There is a prominent feeling of his heart stuttering, and they've only known each other a few days all together.

The other boys give him handshakes, introducing themselves again. Harry gives them gentle ‘hello’s’ and soft smiles as Louis watches him carefully. When Niall hands Harry a drink and sees his fingernails, he smiles and says “Wow mate, your nails look sick, not even my mum paints 'er nails that good and she’s been doin’ it forever, I swear. She always gets it all over 'er skin, and don't even mention how bad the right hand looks. God.”

Niall shoots Louis a smile and Louis thanks God for Niall, he does, because Harry's beaming so bright Louis thinks he might go blind.

He sits back, beer in hand, and tries not to think about how much he already likes the sweet boy.)

vi.

“So why does he like painting his nails?” Zayn asks over a bowl of cereal.

Louis just shrugs, chewing on his own.

“Is he like, transgender or summat?”

Louis shakes his head ‘no,' and he almost wants to call Liam up so he can give Zayn the same lecture he got.

“Do you like him?”

Louis looks at him with wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

Zayn shrugs. "You're just weird with him.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “What about you and Liam,” he says sarcastically.

Zayn blushes and looks down. “I’ve liked him for a long time, Lou.”

Louis immediately softens at his friend's response. “Yeah, he has liked you for a while too, though, y'know? He use to zone out staring at you mate, still does.”

“Yeah?” Zayn says, smiling.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Z.”

vii.

To Curly:) oh god please save me they are so disgusting

From Curly:) wanna come over? :)

Louis feels extraordinarily thankful that Harry doesn’t question it. Because he can make a list- a list - of how utterly disgusting Liam and Zayn are. The regret of letting them ever fulfill their date alone is quickly filling him, because they are just so fucking gross. One minute they’re kissing and cuddling and talking to each other like they’re sodding babies, then the next minute they’re dry humping each other and moaning and groaning, and fucking ew. It all makes Louis want to slit his throat and jump into a pool of goddamn lemon juice.

Louis sends Harry a quick ‘on my way’ and he doesn’t even think the two lovebirds notice him slipping out the door.

The next thing he knows he is sitting cross-legged on Harry's bedroom floor, Harry’s hand sprawled across his thigh as he leans backwards and cackles loud enough the neighbours will hear.

“I never said I was any good at painting nails,” Louis says, licking his thumb and wiping away the bright red mark that runs across Harry’s thumb.

“You’re terrible.” Harry says between crossed fingers and giggles.

“Yeah, I can tell you something that's terrible alright,” he mutters under his breath, and Harry giggles again.

“Are they really that bad?” He asks, smile evident in his tone as Louis paints over his pointer finger.

“God, yes. At least I have the decency to take my boyfriends somewhere else. All they do is cuddle on the couch- my couch, by the way- and trade spit and- god, they are probably having sex on it right now,” Louis groans and ends up swiping across Harry’s middle finger with the polish.

“You have a boyfriend, then?” Harry asks, cautiously almost, but Louis just shakes head.

“Not at the moment, no. My last relationship was over a year ago and after that I just decided to take a little break, y’know? We ended it mutually, and honestly, I could probably call him up and we could chat like friends, but y’know. He just wasn’t that type of person I could see myself with in the long-run.”

Louis looks up and sees Harry nodding at what he's saying. Louis gestures for his other hand and Harry moves it over. “So what about you Harry? Boyfriends, girlfriends?” Louis doesn't expect Harry to have one, because he said he has no friends, but he figures he might as well still ask.

“Boyfriends,” Harry says shyly, “and no, none at the moment.”

Louis does better at this hand, the thumb turning out quite well with minimal painting over the cuticle, and he’ll admit, he’s quite proud of himself.

He smiles smugly, looking up to Harry, “No nasty exes or anything then?”

It’s all in light teasing, but somehow, Louis finds Harry tensing under his touch.

Their eyes meet, and then Harry is looking away, muttering, “No, not really.”

Louis watches him for a minute. He knows Harry's lying about something, wonders if maybe Harry’s never actually had a boyfriend before and he’s embarrassed about it, or perhaps he is still getting over an ex and it’s a touchy subject. He doesn’t dig further, though, not wanting to make Harry uncomfortable.

But. It’s quiet now. Not just the sound quiet, but the feeling quiet. It makes Louis’ skin crawl.

So maybe he says it just to fill the spaces of their breaths, or maybe he says it because he thinks it will make Harry happy. “Hey, how about you paint my nails after I do yours, yeah? See if you're actually all that good?”

Harry's eyes light up, dimples caving in. “Really?”

Louis shrugs. “Yeah, why not?”

Louis finishes Harry's last two fingers easily enough, with a grinning Harry bouncing in enthusiasm. “What colour do you want?”

“What colour do you think will look good on me?” Louis asks, looking to Harry through his eyelashes.

Harry bites his lip, then gets up to look at his racks of polishes that are all colour and brand coordinated. He picks up a pale blue colour, and sits back down.

“I think this would look the best,” he says shyly, taking the hand Louis offers him and carefully shaking the bottle a bit. He unscrews the cap and sets it beside him.

“Why’d’ya think this would look best?” Louis asks in amusement, watching Harry’s face as he concentrates on painting his pinky. A calming feeling rushes through Louis’ body at the cool feeling he gets just right under his nails.

“It's pretty, like your eyes.” Harry says simply.

He feels it now. He feels the uncontrollable feeling spread warmth through his body like little forest fires, and he knows exactly what it is. Harry is pretty, and Harry is sweet, and he's only known him a couple weeks now, but he knows the feeling and he pushes it away as the varnish brush softly paints over his nails.

“Yeah, you really think they're that pretty?” he says teasingly, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically when Harry glances up to him, only to look back down with a blush spreading over his face.

He nods carefully, “Um, yeah. It was actually the first thing I noticed about you.”

“Really?” Louis chews at his lip. Harry's already switching to his other hand.

“Mhhm, they're my favourite colour.”

Louis smiles, ignoring the blush that's getting brighter on his own cheeks. He murmurs, “Yeah, well, my favourite colour is green.”

(The feeling is inescapable when Harry looks up at him with bright, bright, green eyes and a beaming grin.)

viii.

They get an ‘A’ on their project, and obviously Louis doesn’t really have a reason to keep talking to Harry. But all of a sudden he's spending every single day with him, and three days turns into three weeks, which turns into roughly three months. He even has his own drawer at Harry’s place, filled with some sweats, t-shirts, and spare pants. Louis thinks the best part about it is that sometimes he’ll find one of his shirts in Harry’s laundry basket, one that he knows he didn’t wear.

It makes his heart heave, oh boy, does it. The thought of Harry slipping on one of his t-shirts when he isn’t around, the thought of him sleeping in one of them. Louis is extremely smug over the little fact, smitten too, but mostly smug.

Because the thing is, Harry is the definition of lovely. He is all soft curves and pretty edges, and Louis is hopelessly crushing on him. He is this flawlessly flawed human. He blushes too much, and he giggles like a child, and he stutters all over his words, and god, Louis has never met a boy like him before. Not just because he is a boy who paints his nails and likes soft things, but because he is just genuinely kind and sweet in his nature, and Louis likes that. He has only ever dated skater boys, potheads, or sarcastic twats like himself. And he just. He really, really likes Harry.

He likes the way he will giggle with strawberry milk moustaches, and he likes the way his tongue pokes out of his mouth to lick it away. He likes the way Harry will always call him over when he is testing out ingredients for his cooking courses for his honest opinion, and it's not because Louis likes food and is picky about flavour, no, it's because Harry trusts him. God, Louis just likes the way his nails are always painted such complementary colours, and how his skin is so smooth and milky, and the way it has its own sweet scent. The same scent that illuminates his rich curls and darling, oversized sweaters.

Louis finds him perfect in the way he likes lip balms, and shaving his legs, and sweet, smelling candles that Louis always blows out to make Harry give him that look, and then he is re-lighting them to get that other look from him. He's perfect in how he likes the stars as much as Louis, and in the way he's so soft spoken and gently put. He’s beautiful in the way that when he smiles it ripples through his skin to his eyes, and in the way his safe place is the kitchen floor.

(Some days the birthmark on his wrist looks like a teardrop and other days it looks like hope.)

So Louis’ probably pretty close to being in love, and he doesn’t think he cares all that much because his mum always taught him to admire pretty things, and Harry isn’t a thing, but goddamn is he so pretty.

Right now, they are walking to Harry's flat from a local shop that sells jars of strawberry milk and some lovely looking roses. Louis is carrying the grocery bags because he was very insistent on doing so, and he is also telling Harry about the speech he had to give Liam and Zayn about having sex on their kitchen table. Harry is just nodding along, laughing on cue, and giving him a few bewildered looks. Really, it’s just all too cute, and Louis finds his heart melting as he rambles to the boy.

But then, in the midst of it all, Harry is stopping and bending down, and Louis doesn't notice for a moment, but then he does, and he turns to see Harry kneeling next to a little girl with long, curly blonde hair and light eyes. She has tears streaming down her face and is sitting right outside a small shop. “Are you a princess?” he hears Harry ask in a lilted voice, and Louis crosses his arms and bites at his lip to stop himself from smiling.

The girl looks up at him confused, and  she sniffles.

“You look just like one I use to know.”

The girl's eyes widen as he she wipes at her crimson nose, “Really?”

“Yeah. Except,” Harry leans in closer, scrunching his nose up, “you're much prettier than her.”

Louis’ entire body melts and he can't help the ‘aw’ that slips through his lips as the girl's eyes widen even more, her lips curving in a giant smile.

Harry smiles at the girl, and motions Louis over so he can pull out a rose for the girl, of course picking the thorns off before handing it to her, and she accepts it with a little squeak. “Every princess needs a flower,” Harry says softly, “now where's your mummy, sweetie?”

The girl looks back in the shop. “She works in there.”

“Well, don't you think it would be better if you stay in there with mum?”

The little girl huffs, petting at the rose petals. “I'm mad because I wanna get a gumball out of the machine but she won't give me a quarter.”

Harry frowns at the girl. “Princess' aren’t supposed to get mad at their mums for things like that.”

The girl pouts and looks down, kicking at the ground. “I just want a gumball.”

Harry smiles sympathetically. “If I give you a quarter, will you promise to be nice to mummy? Then you’ll be the prettiest princess of all.”

Louis smiles, watching as the girl nods fervently and Harry digs a quarter out of his jeans. “You be a nice princess, okay? Be good to mummy.”

The girl nods happily and says thank you, before running back inside the little shop. Harry stands up with a small smile, blushing when he meets Louis’ eyes.

“Harry Styles, what even are you.” Louis says, gently wrapping his fingers around Harry’s wrist and pulling him along.

Harry blushes a deeper red, smiling as he looks to the pavement. “What are you talking about?”

“What am I- Harry,” Louis says, exasperated, “you're seriously the sweetest human being in the entire world, god.”

“No m’not” he says bashfully.

“Honestly, Harry. That girl is probably in love with you now. Hell, everyone who meets you is probably in love with you,” he mutters, pretending not to notice the way Harry looks to him too fast.

“Everyone?” he asks, almost urgently.

Louis bites his lip and squints his eyes, looking over Harry's face. He shakes his head and looks away. “Yeah, everyone.”

(Harry's hand bumps his and Louis can feel his entire body flushing in a colour that he has never felt before. He isn’t close to being in love, no, he knows he is already there.)

ix.

Louis’ curled up in a fluffy duvet. Liam and Zayn have finally decided to go out instead of spending all their time time fucking in the flat, and so he has the entire flat to himself. He has chips on one side of him and a litre of soda on the other, and honestly, it’s all about him tonight. It’s the night he is going to pamper himself, and watch movies that make him bawl, and no one can make fun of him.

Louis night, he thinks, it definitely has a ring to it.

(It's eleven at night, and that's when he gets the text from Harry.)

From Curly:) ple se come ovr ?

Louis can’t explain why, but worry fills his body. He hurriedly slips on his vans and leaves the flat with everything left on. He jogs his way to Harry’s flat, despite the fact that it probably isn’t even a big deal. Louis just - he loves Harry, yaknow?

He doesn’t knock when he gets there, instead just turns the knob and finds that it’s already unlocked. That worries him, because it's nearly midnight; Harry should not have his door unlocked. He slips in the door, though, and finds that the only lights on in the flat are the fairy lights, illuminating the room in a dainty, ivory colour.

“Harry?” he calls softly, slipping his shoes off by the door, locking the door as he does so.

His reply is a soft giggle, and despite the confusion, he does find himself less worried. He smiles lightly, knocking softly on Harry’s door, before peeking inside.

“I found y-” he cuts off, seeing Harry on the floor, surrounded by alcohol bottles, and the smell hits his face like a freight train. Louis hasn’t drank in a long time, really. He use to go out with the lads a few nights a week, but he has been finding himself trading those nights in to stay over at Harry’s place, trying his newest desserts and watching bad rom-coms.

“Harry, are you alright?” he shuts the door a bit behind him, though he isn’t sure why, and carefully pads toward Harry. Harry whose curls are matted to his forehead and neck, and his skin a light pink. His eyes are glossy, and lips red.

“Louis, you're here!” Harry giggles, and he holds his arms open for a hug that Louis cautiously gives away.

“Yeah, I'm here. Harry, how long have you been drinking?” Louis asks, only to find himself laughing when Harry’s face scrunches up all cute, and he holds his hands out.

“This many times!” He’s holding up 6 fingers, and Louis isn't sure if that's hours, or minutes, or drinks, but he goes with it.

“Alright, love,” he says gently, “I think you've had enough now, yeah?” He tries to take the bottle Harry is working on now, but Harry pouts and moves it away from him.

“Just one more, Louis. Just one more,” he babbles, and Louis is so guiltily endeared by it. In spite of, he still tries to take it away. “Harry, no. I think you've had plenty.”

Harry shakes his head again, making a little humming noise and poking his tongue out. “I think you’ve had plenty.”

Louis laughs, biting his lip. “C’mon Harry, just hand it over, alright? I’ll tuck you in and in the morning I’ll take you out for a yummy and greasy breakfast.”

“I don't want breakfast, I want strawberry milk!”

Harry screams it out, and then erupts in a fit of giggles. Louis has to bite his cheek to keep from giving in and laughing too. He can’t help it, Harry is just so adorable, and honestly, Louis never thought he would be calling a drunk guy adorable, but here he is.

“You can't have milk after drinking, love, it’s not good. And if you drink even more you're going to be even more hung-over.”

Harry pouts and looks down into the neck of the bottle, sighing deeply. “Lemme finish this one, Lou, lemme finish and then I’ll stop.”

Louis breathes in deeply, and finally nods, though unsurely. He sits down beside Harry on the ground and gently presses his thumb against Harry's cheek. “Alright, last one.”

“Last one,” he murmurs quietly, slowly sipping the contents from it.

He really does drink it slowly, too, is the thing. And he also babbles and slurs little nothings to Louis that he can’t quite understand anyway. He manages to catch a few words and sentences, but the rest is gibberish.

The lights are casting little shadows on Harry's face, though, and Louis does recognise that Harry still looks so pretty, even if he is glossy-eyed and lip-bitten. He giggles a lot, is another thing Louis notices, and he just simply sits with him, smiling at whatever the nonsense he is going on about, and picking at his sweats.

His phone starts buzzing and Louis fishes it out of his sweats pocket to answer the message, ignoring whatever it is Harry is slurring to him.

From Zaynie where r u?

To Zaynie at harrys don't worry, you and liam have fun ;)

From Zaynie yea in ur bed ;)

And Louis’ about to reply with something as equally witty and sarcastic when he hears it. And when he hears it, he really hears it. Loud and clear, and perfectly enunciated, as if Harry has been practising to say it out loud for so long. It sucks the oxygen from the room and replaces it with this suffocating poison that shoots shivers down Louis' spine. He hurriedly turns to Harry, his eyes wide and heart pounding, pounding, fucking pounding, and he doesn't - he fucking hopes he heard it wrong.

“What Harry? What did you just say?” Louis asks urgently, chewing at his cheek and trying to take deep breaths.

Harry watches Louis with glossy eyes, blinking. “’s’why my ex-boyfriend use to hit me.”

Louis watches Harry carefully. His body trembling. “Who use to hit you?”

“My ex-boyfriend, Mark. He use to touch me too, and I would feel gross afterwards.”

And Louis’- he's- Louis. He doesn't know what to feel. His blood is boiling and his fists are clenching, but then he sees Harry’s face, Harry’s beautiful and soft face, and he gets soft and sad. So sad. He just - all he wants to do is wrap Harry up in his arms and protect him. He just - how could anyone hurt him?

“S’why I like all this stuff! It makes me feel nice and pretty and clean,” Harry giggles into his hand, “and the strawberry milk makes me feel good on the inside too!”

Louis doesn't know when he starts crying, but he can feel the tears just leaking from his eyes, pooling somewhere in his chest in the forms of disbelief and heartbreak.

Before he knows it, Harry is wiping at his cheeks with messy fingers, drunkenly murmuring, “Don't cry Louis. You can have strawberry milk too, and then we’ll both feel good.”

And Louis feels fucking shattered, as if he is reliving his most painful moments in life. He shakes his head, trying his hardest to force a smile.

“I'm fine, Harry, I'm fine. We’re fine,” he hushes through his tears. Louis wraps his arms around Harry, tangling a hand in his curls and holding him close.

“What’d’ya mean, Lou?” Harry murmurs, his eyelids shifting down as he yawns, “what’d’ya mean?”

Harry is slowly falling asleep, subconsciously pressing himself further into Louis’ chest, and Louis carefully lays them down on the floor. He murmurs through everything soft little nothings until Harry is heavy in his arms, tinted breath hitting Louis’ face softly. He doesn’t mind, though.

Louis silently cries them both to sleep that night, because that’s all he can do.

x.

He’s awoken again by the feeling of Harry scrambling from his arms. Then he hears the choking sound of puking.

(He almost forgets.)

He looks at the clock, four fifteen flashing brightly against his tired eyes. He gets up, though, feeling his body trembling against his will, and he quickly follows Harry into the bathroom. He finds him on his knees, tears dripping against the side of the toilet as he empties his stomach. Louis pauses, before carefully stepping closer. He wants to make sure Harry is okay with this, okay with him being in the room with him.

Once he feels it is okay, he sits on the edge of the bathtub that is beside the toilet, and gently runs his fingers through Harry’s curls, holding them back from his forehead. He feels sick himself, but for entirely different reasons.

Harry looks up to Louis after a moment, sniffling and making sure he can talk proper enough, before asking, “What’re you doing here, Lou?”

Louis bites his lip, running his thumb across the corners of Harry's mouth to wipe away a little bit of puke. Harry makes a funny face, like he is trying to decide if what Louis is doing is disgusting or sweet.

“Well, Harry,” Louis finally speaks, wiping his fingers on his sweats, “last night you texted me and asked me to come over," Harry nods to what Louis is saying to him, and leans his head against the toilet seat, "and when I got here, you were drunk,” he stops himself for a moment, “and… you said... something.”

Harry turns red all the way up to his ears. “What did I say?”

Louis bites his lip, trying to keep his breathing steady. “You said,” he starts softly, “that your ex-boyfriend use to hit you.”

Harry is puking again. He is vomiting tears and screams, clawing at his arms. He trembles, eyes squeezed closed, mouth open as sobs spill into the air; he’s caving in on himself, trying to disappear, trying to make himself smaller as he curls around himself, trembling, he is fucking trembling.

Louis bites his lip, feeling the tears well in his own eyes as he kneels down and wraps his arms around Harry. He holds him close to his chest, one hand holding his head, the other running up and down the shaking boy’s spine.

Harry pukes again, he pukes on the both of them, and is sobbing out incoherent apologies. Louis tells him it’s okay, ‘it’s okay, Harry, it’s okay, shh, you’re okay.’

Louis sees them, the fingertips of someone who wasn’t supposed to leave them there.

"M'sorry, m'sorry," Harry murmurs, shaking like telephone wires, the fault lines of an aftershock. Louis is breaking under the weight, but he holds on.

"It's alright Harry, it's alright- it's not your fault, it was never your fault,” he pauses, he tells himself to be strong, be strong for Harry because he needs it, “C'mon," Louis stands up, not knowing what to do, pulling Harry up with him gently. "Gonna take a bath, okay? And then I'm going to take you out for breakfast, anywhere you want, and you're going to talk to me, okay?" he smooths Harry's hair back. "Okay, Harry?" he repeats, "I need you to talk to me," and Harry nods, balling his fists into Louis’ shirt and rubbing his nose into it.

"Okay now, come on. We're covered in puke, love." Louis tries to sound playful but it comes out a little more like a small sob. He sits down in the tub, pulling Harry down on top of him. Harry tries taking his shirt off, but Louis stops him. "We're gonna leave clothes on, alright? Now's not the best time to be naked."

Louis uses his toes to twist the faucet, turning it so that it will come out nice and warm as Harry lays scrunched up against his chest in the small tub, crying softly with muffled words and stinky breath, but Louis pulls him closer. He runs his fingers through his hair, hushing him quietly as he looks around all of the body washes, and it's finally making sense why he has them all. He wants to feel clean - he wants to feel clean again. All they are are bruises and punches and blood disguised in body washes that are supposed to make it better, he just wants it to get better.

(it’s the sudden realisation that nothing has been soft for Harry since then, he has been blocked in and covered up and it was never soft or gentle.)

"Alright, how about the cinnamon one, does that sound good?" Louis sniffles, trying to hide the shakiness in his voice as he reaches out for it, (feeling the punch), wrapping his arm around Harry's waist and ignoring the way his sweats are clinging wet and uncomfortable to his body as he toes the water off.

"M'gonna wash your hair for you, okay? Gonna take care of you." Louis murmurs, pouring a little dollop into his palm and lathering it, before gently rubbing Harry's scalp.

Harry is warm and pliant against him, and Louis wonders how long he has been trying to scrub away the dirty feeling. Wonders how long he has been trying to rub away the filth to feel clean again. How long Harry's been trying to feel the softness.

He carefully gets the cup that's in the corner of the tub and fills it with water. He dumps it over Harry's head and washes the soap out, covering the boy’s tear-filled eyes as he does so.

He pours some more of the soap into his hands and gently runs his fingers under Harry's shirt, grazing them over his back and chest softly to wash away any puke that soaked through. And he just- he can’t picture someone taking this from him, this loveliness. He can't picture someone ever spreading him apart despite his quiet pleads, he can't see how anyone could ever be anything but gentle with him.

(His skin is milky and his eyes are big and his heart is bigger - who would ever possibly ruin that?)

He shakes his head, biting back a sob as he quickly washes the puke off himself as well, not bothering with his hair as he gently shakes Harry. “You okay, love?”

Harry lets out a small sob and Louis’ chest clenches as he hugs Harry tight.

“S’alright Harry,” Louis says softly, pushing his wet curls back again, “going to take you out for breakfast now, okay? And we’re going to talk, okay?”

Harry nods and Louis helps him up, letting the water out of the tub. He grabs the fluffiest and pinkest towel he can find, wrapping it around Harry's head and drying his curls before handing it to Harry and telling him to go get dressed. He quickly gets his own towel out from under the cupboard and picks out some of his dirty clothes he left in the bathroom from a couple days ago. When he's dressed, he gives a small warning to Harry, and then opens the door slightly, making sure the boy is dressed before walking out.

Harry is sitting at the edge of his bed, not looking up but his cheeks are red and Louis knows he is still crying by the way his shoulders are slumped and shaking. Louis walks over to him, gently running his thumb over Harry's cheeks to wipe away the tears and everything that is being held in them.

“C’mon.”

*

Harry mumbles out to Louis where he wants to eat and they walk there quietly. Harry never really lifts his head from the ground until they are seated in a booth with menus, and then Harry decides to never look up from that.

“Order whatever you like, alright? I don't care how much it is.”

Harry nods and bites his lip. Louis can tell he is holding in tears.

*

After the waiter takes their order, Louis scoots up straighter, reaching across the table and lightly brushing his fingers over top Harry's hand. He has so many questions that he needs answers to.

“Was it bad?” Louis asks quietly, and he only gets a shrug in response. He sighs, “How long has it been?”

Harry still doesn't answer, just keeps his bottom lip tucked between his teeth and eyes laid against the table.

“Harry c’mon, this isn’t time for you to be this way. You can trust me, you can talk to me, alright? I won’t tell anyone or do anything you don't want me to do, okay? I just want you to talk to me, love, that’s all.”

“Two years,” Harry mumbles quietly.

“Two years?” Louis urges.

“Haven’t seen him in two years.”

Louis nods, taking in the information gratefully. “How’d you get away?” he asks.

Harry sucks in sharply, tears welling in his eyes. “I just left once I had enough money.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

Harry shakes his head, bringing a hand up to wipe at his cheek.

“Why not?” Louis presses softly.

“They already knew.”

Louis looks at him confused. “What do you mean?”

“I had friends, before I met him.”

“Okay.” Louis says softly.

“And when I met him - when I was 16 - he told me I shouldn't be friends with them because they didn’t understand,” he pauses, “and at first I didn’t get it, but he was pretty and bought me things, and could drive. But one day he got mad that I was still talking to them and…. he hurt me.”

“Why did you stay with him?”

“Because he said sorry and bought me flowers and told me he would never do it again, and I was just - I was so young and I didn't -" he pauses, "I didn't know. And I just kept telling myself excuses that I believed, like my mum always told my sister when boys are mean to her it was because they liked her a lot and I just, like -” Harry sniffles, “because the bruises looked the same as when he kissed me really hard and I stopped being able to tell the difference. And, and,” he frantically wipes at the tears running down his cheeks, “and he always made it up to me."

"My friends told me to leave him, that what he was doing was bad, and - and I don't know why I didn't get it. I just thought he was right, that they weren't really my friends because they couldn't see how good he was.” He wipes at his cheeks, taking in air quickly before continuing, “Then we got a flat together, and it was nice at first, like, I felt so grown up. But, but then he started touching me when I didn’t want to be touched, and he’d just get so mad and hit me when I tried to get away. Then I just- just realised after a few years, that this isn’t what love is. So I opened a secret bank account and - and put half my pay check there every month.”

“Harry,” Louis breaths out, “ I’m so - fuck - I’m so sorry. I - I - why didn't you tell me all this sooner?”

“Because you’re the first friend I’ve made in two years, Louis! I didn't want to lose you. I don't want you to leave me.” Harry lets out a small, broken sob and Louis quickly rushes to his side of the booth, crowding in next to him.

“Harry, I'm not going anywhere, I promise.” Louis wraps his arms around him, holding him close whilst his fingers tangle with his.

(I’ll never let my hand slip away from the gravity of your fingers, I promise.)

“You don't think I'm dirty?” Harry cries, face scrunched up.

“Harry, love, you've been clean for a long time.”

xi.

They don’t really talk about it. Louis tries asking Harry if he wants to get some professional help, or tell the police, or something. But Harry always closes up, starts sobbing and shaking, ‘please Lou, I don't want to talk about it,’ sob harder and then ask for strawberry milk. Louis will sigh, fetch him a glass, and then wrap his arms around him and hold him as tight as he needs.

(The fighting:

“Harry, the ‘forgive and forget’ method is shit! You don’t forgive people like that; you don't forgive unforgivable things!”

“Get out.”

“Harry-”

“Just get out!”

Louis would return the next day with an incoherent but genuine apology, lean against Harry’s door and say it through the grain.

“Harry, Look. I’m really sorry for being that way yesterday. You’re the one who went through it -well, you still are, I guess - I just- I don’t want you thinking that what he did to you was okay, because it wasn’t. Just - please let me in. I - I miss you.

The door would snick and Harry would be there with open arms and an apology that he would mumble into Louis’ neck.)

They grow closer, though. Harry isn’t hiding anything else from Louis. He told him he was sexually, physically, and emotionally abused, and Louis never asked questions. He held in his quivering lip, and all the tears that threatened to fall from his cheeks, and was strong for Harry. Every little thing he closed off before, finally made sense. Louis understood, even if he didn’t understand.

Louis spends most his days and nights with Harry. They don’t share the same bed, but there is a sea of pillows and cushions and blankets on the floor, and they’ll sleep there together.

Louis will always use some of his extra money to buy Harry pretty things. Things he deserves to have. Harry deserves a lot. He mostly buys him candles, because when Harry gets in a really bad place, it calms him down to watch the flame flicker and the wax melt. Louis’ watched Harry sit in front of a brand new little candle until it was completely gone, and the scent of bubble-gum filled the air.

Some days they’ll skip class, open the curtains to the sliding glass door of Harry’s balcony, and crack the door just a bit. They’ll sit with warm glasses of strawberry milk, watch the slush fall from the sky and wrap themselves with blankets. Louis will paint Harry’s nails warm colours to heat his body up, kiss his knuckles, and press his blush into Harry’s palm.

Louis’ just so in love with Harry it hurts. He doesn’t care about how obvious it comes off as. He wants Harry to know that he loves him, he wants him to know it and feel it, and realise there is good love.

The thing is, though, that’s all Louis can do. He can do small, subtle things to try and let Harry know, but he can’t just say it, or initiate anything between the two of them. Harry’s been through so much and Louis can’t hurt him, or scare him, or damage their close friendship in anyway. He has to make sure Harry is okay - that's before his own wants and needs, that comes first - and he hopes that one day something can happen between them, that one day Harry will be okay.

(And he knows Harry won’t ever be okay again, not after what happened. Loud noises will always surround him into a flinching mess, walls painted light brown and red marks across a city map. He isn’t waiting for Harry to be okay, he’s waiting for him to be stable enough. He’s waiting for Harry to allow him closer.)

“Yeah, they literally fuck on everything,” Louis pauses, swallowing the bite he took of his sandwich as Harry sits across from him, giggling and twirling the straw in his milkshake, “and I'm just sitting there like, ‘hey I got my fingers.’” Louis rolls his eyes, watching Harry choke around the straw of his milkshake as he stifles a laugh.

“You don't have, like, a dildo or anything?” he asks shyly.

Louis just shrugs. “Eh, I‘ve never bottomed much, to be honest.”

Harry nods, this time sipping his drink without choking.

“What about you, though, I bet you do.” Louis waggles his eyebrows teasingly, watching Harry smirk around his straw and turn a bright red.

He laughs lightly, looking down at the table, “Not anymore.”

“Wait, what?” Louis starts, “What do you mean not anymore, what happened to it?” he asks suspiciously, “did it like, break?”

Harry can’t help but to snort. “My arse did not break a dildo, Louis Tomlinson,” he says in mock defence, trying to look appalled, but instead looking really, really cute.

Louis squints, smirking. “Did you lose it?” he pauses, “and if you did, have you looked up your arse yet?”

Harry snorts, again, this time with his lips wrapped around the straw, making bubbling noises in his milkshake as he laughs. “Gee,” he starts, “I would never think to look there.”

Louis bites his smile, putting his elbows on the table and leaning close in interest. “Seriously, though,” he starts with a clack of his lips, “what happened to it?”

Harry sighs, pushing his cup away. “I, uh,” he clears his throat, the previous expressions of playfulness melting away, “he didn’t, um, let me have one.”

Harry clears his throat, pushing the empty glass away. “Um, yeah. He didn't let me have one, so.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Louis frowns, reaching across the small diner table and pressing his thumb to the inside of Harry’s elbow. The skin there is softest, vulnerable in its delicacy. “Why didn’t you just, like, get another one?”

Harry shrugs, “I-I don’t-” he freezes, only to bite his lip and to slightly shake his head.

“Are you scared?” Louis asks gently.

Harry glances up to catch Louis’ eyes. Louis knows the answer is yes.

“Do you want one?” he pries gently, curiously.

Harry blushes, looking away again.

“Hey now,” Louis sits up, gently wrapping his fingers under Harry’s chin and pulling his face to look at him, “I just told you I put my fingers up my arse like I was talking about the weather. We’re best mates, we can talk about this stuff. You have no reason to be embarrassed or scared about this with me.” Harry blushes again, and Louis rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Haz. Zayn showed me how to wank. Literally just grabbed my dick and showed me how he did it.”

Harry snorts at that, breaking the scared look on his face, “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Louis said seriously, before breaking out into a smile. “He was sleeping over when I got my first boner and I woke up and was fucking terrified,” Harry laughs louder, and Louis scoffs, “this is no laughing matter Mr. Styles, I thought my dick was going to fall off!”

Harry’s hand is over his stomach, and his head is tilted back, and he is laughing; loud and carefree with two craters in his cheeks. Louis loves the boy so much, he fucking does.

Louis breaks into a full out grin, watching him continue to chuckle to himself.

“I can’t believe that, oh my god.”

Louis rolls his eyes fondly, “Yeah, and I can’t believe you don't have a dildo. That just won’t do,” he ‘tsk’s,’ “we still have to get the lovebirds a gift. How about something embarrassingly kinky, and for you, a brand new rubber cock?”

Harry snorts for the however-many-it-is-now time that day, and Louis takes it as a yes.

*

“Louis, these are expensive.” Harry is biting at his lip, looking around at all the toys in the dark shop.

“Just find one you like, alright?” Louis runs his fingers down Harry's back, feeling the boy shiver beneath him, “I literally put all my extra refund money into savings. I’m not struggling to live.”

Harry sighs, squinting at Louis to see if he can tell if he is lying. He sighs again, but nods nonetheless. He looks away, slowly shuffling around and gazing over all the different shaped butt-plugs and anal beads, cringing at some of the sizes of the dildos. There’s a wall of different bondage looking things. Lots of latex. Harry looks back to Louis.

“C’mon Haz, you know you want this.” Louis holds up a 12 inch dildo with little bumps, and oh, what’d’ya know, it vibrates. The box reads: prostate tickler, and Harry’s eyes widen, his cheeks turn flaming red, making Louis burst out in laughter as he sets it back down. “We’ll have to work up to that one,” Louis teases, “but for now, what do’ya think will get the job done?”

Harry rolls his eyes at Louis’ comment, running his fingers over the ridges of an average sized, red coloured dildo.

Louis sighs, glancing around the shop, until his eyes cross over and then settle on a decent-sized dildo, pink in colour with sparkles, too. Yup, Louis thinks, it’ll do.

He quickly grabs Harry's hand, lacing their fingers and dragging him to the shelf with Harry stumbling and looking at him confused, and also down to their fingers.

“That one, Harry. That’s you.” Louis grins, especially when Harry doesn’t let go of his hand.

Harry picks it up with his free hand. His cheeks are just barely brighter than the pink of the toy and Louis can tell he is biting back a smile.

“It’s pretty,” Harry murmurs, glancing up.

“Do you want it?”

Harry blushes, looking up to see the price and immediately frowning. “Lou, it’s way too much I couldn't le-”

“Hush.” Louis says, taking the dildo from Harry and turning to pay for it. He is still holding Harry’s hand and he drags him to the front with him. He thinks his hand fits pretty well tucked into Harry’s.

“Louis, you really don't have t-”

“Harry, c’mon,” Louis says sternly “I.wanna.do.this.for.you.” He enunciates each word by tapping the damn thing against Harry’s nose.

“Stop it,” Harry drags out, whining and slapping the dildo from his face.

Louis smirks, tapping Harry’s nose once more with it.

He thinks this is love.

*

“You better use this, Harold.” Louis says teasingly after making purchase, handing the black bag over to the eye rolling Harry. They aren’t holding hands anymore, but they don’t frown.

They’re walking through the mall, Louis rolling his eyes every time Harry squeaks out another, ‘thank you, Lou,’ and he tries to pretend like it isn't as cute as it is, but yeah it is. It’s not until he sees the ‘50% off everything’ sign that he stops, Harry slowly stopping just a bit ahead of him.

It’s a lingerie shop, a lovely, little lingerie shop, and it’s also Zayn and Liam's anniversary of half a year and that's why Harry and him are in town anyway, looking for them a gift because apparently half a year is a big deal.

Anyway, he thinks lingerie is perfect because he honestly doesn't know what to get them: chocolates, flowers, lube (definitely not lube because he's tired of them fucking on every piece of furniture they own). So he thinks this is perfect, because it’s kinky, but not the type of kinky they’d actually be into. So really, it's a waste of money, but a good waste. All Louis knows is the sign is big and pink and inviting, and everything is 50% off.

Harry gives him a small, knowing smile, and they walk in. Louis quickly picks out these things that are called garters, and stockings, and corsets. He grabs some random panties and a bra, and he thinks that it’ll do just fine for ‘em. Zayn will die of laughter and Liam will die of embarrassment. There’s a lot of black and red and lace, and things that he’s not even sure how to put on, but whatever. It’s cheap and funny and he even made sure to go out of his way and pick sizes that would fit them, y'know, just in case. He’s a good best friend, he is.

It’s not until he has picked everything out, throwing in some musky vanilla lotion, that he notices Harry isn't with him anymore. He glances around, worriedly, an irrational fear growing in his mind.

Until he spots him. His brown, curly-haired head is casted down, looking at panties on a little stand. He’s thumbing over a mint green lace pair, lip between his teeth and a curious look on his face. Louis swears he knows exactly what he's thinking.

“Do you want them?”

Harry looks up startled, turning red.

“Uhm, no, it’s fine,” he smiles gently, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, just get them, and you might as well throw in a few more. I don't know how long this sale lasts and you might discover you're really into panties, if you know what I mean,” Louis winks and Harry flushes further.

“You can’t spend all your spare money on me.”

Louis rolls his eyes, shifting the basket of items he is holding to the other hand. “Honestly Harry, I have money and I like buying you things,” Louis looks at the table of underwear, “besides,” Louis smirks, because he knows what this is, “you'd look nice in these.”

Harry's eyes light up and he chews his lip in almost mock innocence, “Really?”

“Of course, babe,” Louis says, pretending not to see the way Harry smiles lightly.

There's a long pause, before Harry speaks up again. “Can I at least pay you back?” there is a smirk on his lips as he says it, but Louis chooses not to acknowledge it.

Instead, he groans- mockingly. “Honestly babe, you pay me back by basically letting me live with you free of charge. That strawberry milk has to get expensive.”

Harry smiles wider, looking back to the panties, “I just feel like you're my sugar daddy or something.”

Louis laughs. “Oh kitten, you just say daddy and daddy will be there for you.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but picks up the mint coloured panties nonetheless.

“Do you think daddy can help pick out some panties then?” he says it sarcastically, but he knows the feeling in his tummy.

He smirks, shifting around the small rack, when he sees the silky, pale pink pair with white lace bows. They’re delicate and charming, and Louis knows they are perfect.

By the end of the day Louis' spent over 150, but he doesn’t mind. Because Harry has a new dildo and 6 delicate pairs of panties, that make his tummy swirl with the thought of Harry in them. And also, his best mates have some kinky lingerie for when they decide to embrace that side of their sex life. Wonderful.

xii.

It is the rare occasion that Louis isn't at Harry’s flat. He would be, but Liam and Zayn had date plans tonight. Which yeah, doesn’t affect him, but it does, because Liam had to watch his cousin’s cat for the week whilst he was away on some important business trip, and so now he's at home, on the couch that he knows they had sex on, watching a fat, orange cat that can’t even do a backflip or anything. Apparently Liam’s cousin is very attached to the thing though, so, okay.

He is surfing through the channels, already giving up on all the TV series he was previously watching, because really, it’s hard to catch up on over 100 different episodes, and Harry’s more important, so, whatever.

He finds some TV show about cats and puts it on, picking up the fat thing of a cat and shoving its face into the screen. “Your family!” Louis yells, for no other reason than yelling seemed like the appropriate thing to do at the moment. But then the cat is mewling, and there is a gash over his pinky, and he decides he hates cats. A lot.

He sucks on his pinky, laying back over the couch just as his phone buzzes. He reaches over, realising it’s from Harry, and then he is also realising that this is the first time Harry has texted him all day, and he becomes worried, fumbling over his phone password to see the message.

is this good for paying you back? x

and-and, oh.

Louis chews his lip. The picture on his phone makes him whimper embarrassingly, eyes slowly trailing over the small screen. He doesn’t know if he is breathing.

Harry's perky little bum is displayed, his milky cheeks clad in delicate silk that hug perfectly around the rounds of his bum and his creamy hips. Fuck. His arse looks fantastic. Obscene and absolutely fantastic.

He quickly types out a reply, chewing at his lip and just, fuck.

To Curly :) even better. fuck you look so good.

And Louis doesn’t mean for his sweats to end up at his ankles and for his dick to be hard and flushed in his hand, but, that’s what happens as he stares over the image. He looks over Harry’s pallid skin; all his soft curves and lush form. Harry’s little arse looks like it was specially designed to be in nothing but dainty little panties that press indecent lines into his skin and just, fuck. Louis’ so hard and Harry's so pretty.

God damn, fuck.

From Curly:) im using my new toy x

And god, Louis groans, closing his eyes and pumping himself faster. He can’t even think of the last time he got this hard. Especially this fast, jesus. But he can’t blame his body for reverting back to a 16 year old because fuck. Panties, and the dildo, and Harry. Fucking lewd.

To Curly:) yeah? i hope youre thinking of me

He doesn't think about what's going on right now, what's going on between them. He doesn't think about what this all means because he absolutely cannot. All he does is thumb over his slit, biting into his lip to stop from whimpering as he bucks up into his hand. He is picturing Harry, sprawled across his lovely bed with his fairy lights casting a beautiful colour over his pearly skin that’s lined in sweat. His panties pushed aside to make room for a pink dildo that he is fucking himself back on, small noises falling from his strawberry lips, and Louis knew he was gone before he even started.

From Curly:) always am. x

And attached is a lovely picture of a pink dildo wedged between Harry's lips, his eyes closed and cheeks hollowed as he presumably sucks on it. His lips are a harsh red against the light pink, and Louis can see the glow of the yellow fairy lights across his face, along with a light blush and Louis’, god, he is gone.

He can’t- he can’t even text back so he quickly hits Harry's speed dial and moments later he hears a breathless moan through his speaker and he whimpers in response. “Fuck, Harry, you’re so- I’m so-” he cuts off, squeezing his hand a little harder at the base, and he can hear a tiny gasp through the phone line.

“Louis,” Harry moans out, gasping, and Louis hears the sounds of rubber and lube and he knows he’s easing it inside of himself, “all for you.”

Louis chokes, high and prettily in his throat, letting the moan roll off his lips. “You look so good Harry, so pretty. Fuck-” and Louis knows he’s pumping his hand way too fast, and that Harry can probably hear it through the phone line, but he is so hard; leaking from the tip and flushed so dark. His stomach is swirling and his is so fucking close and he can’t stop. Because Harry’s whimpers are so encouraging and pretty as he smears the precum that is dripping from his tip. “Can I- another picture?” he breathes out, eyes closing as he hears Harry let out a small noise that he assumes is some form of a 'yes.'

After a moment he gets a picture of Harry on his back, legs lifted and dildo half out of his arse as he fucks himself on it, cock poking out from the top of the panties, a sharp red against the silky pink, and all Louis can get out is a string of “Fuck- so pretty- Harry- oh,” before he is coming over his fist, and whimpering out Harry’s name.

He is shaking on the couch, feeling ridiculous and blissed, as his breath comes out ragged and uneven, eyes heavy and jaw slack. He hears Harry finish some time later, squeaking out his name. Louis never wants to hear his name any other way then off of Harry's lips. No other way, ever.

There's a small giggle through the phone line moments later, and Louis can't help but to laugh too, feeling his heart flutter, and he wonders if now is the right time to tell Harry he’s been in love with him for a while. He decides against it, because Harry sends him a picture of his stomach streaked in come. Fuck.

xiii.

The thing is, they don't talk about it.

In fact, it has been nearly a month since it has happened, and neither have brought it up.

The next day after it had happened even, Louis went straight over to Harry's. Harry simply blushed and smiled, let him in like always. They never said anything about it, instead talked about astronomy over glasses of strawberry milk, and Zayn and Liam over painting nails, and then over lunch in a little cafe they prank called Niall. And it's literally like nothing’s happened and Louis is so frustrated.

He wants Harry so bad, though. He wants to hold him and kiss him and let him know how pretty he is, and he wants to touch. Touch everywhere, with soft fingertips and gentle lips. He is so in love but he can’t bring himself to tell Harry because he is so scared.

Louis isn’t oblivious though. He notices the way Harry is clingier, doesn't mind touching Louis and holding on to him. He notices Harry's blushing cheeks at certain things, and his giggles in necks, and the way Harry adds in soft compliments. Louis’ seen him bend over with the tip of his purple, lacy thong peeking out, and the way he moans Louis’ name in the shower just loud enough for Louis to hear when he is still wrapped up in his duvet. Louis knows Harry wants it just as bad as he does, but he's scared to be the one to say something, too.

(But Louis can’t be the one to do it, He can't.

He can’t because Harry has been through too much and he needs him to be 100% into this. He is scared because he doesn't know what Harry's opinion on love is any more - he doesn't know how scared he is of it, or if he ever wants to fall in love again, or if he maybe already has.)

(One night they are curled up in Harry’s bed, it is soft and quiet and gentle, when Harry’s lips press against his own. Harry simply pulls away and turns over, murmuring out a, ‘night, Lou.’ Louis blinks, touching his lips and smiling into his palm to refrain from giggling.)

Right now, Louis’ using nail polish remover to remove the dark green colour from Harry’s nails, Harry deciding that a yellow is what he wants. Louis’ been progressing well in painting nails, and Harry lets him do it more often for him.

“Did they ever use their gift?”

Louis smirks. “They pretended to hate it, right? Pretended they were absolutely revolted by the lingerie thing. And like, the first week there is nothing, right?” Harry nods to what Louis’ saying, chewing at his lip and watching his eyelashes flutter to his cheekbones, “then after a week I notice the bag is no longer in the living room, and I didn't really think too much of it. But then, I see the panties in the wash when I was doing my laundry.”

Harry's eyes widen. “No.”

Louis nods, smirking, “So I send Zayn a little picture, right? Calls me immediately begging that I won’t tell Niall and asking where I got the stuff.”

Harry laughs, eyes sparkling. “So they're like, into that?”

“Mate, you have no idea. I was looking for my black jeans last week - an entire load of laundry of just lingerie.”

“No.” Harry says again, shocked.

“Oh yeah.”

xv.

Louis doesn't mean to do it.

He really doesn't. But Niall texted him asking if he wanted to get something to eat, and he was walking to the restaurant, and he saw it.

It was sitting on a small white stool, golden and shiny and perfect. All Louis could think about during lunch with Niall was how pretty the thing would look atop of Harry rich and chocolaty curls, make him look sugary sweet and special, and Louis knew he had to buy it. Had to see Harry's cheeky grin when the damn thing is tangled in his curls, imagined him asking if he's a pretty princess, and fuck, Louis pays the thirty for the fucking crown.

And like, he really didn't mean to buy the panties, either. But as he is cursing himself for being so utterly ridiculous he sees them in the window of a small boutique. They're so lovely, so soft looking. Pink and lazy with 'princess' embroidered over the backside of them with golden little sparkles, and like, they go with the crown. He has to get them.

And so he's weak, whatever.

He keeps the two items wrapped in pink tissue, stuffed in a small gift bag with fucking lace ruffles on the top of it, and yeah, he's pathetic.

He ignores it all, though. He goes and hangs out with Harry, watches his lips curve up, and his cheeks curve in, and his laugh curve out. He pets his face like an icie on the hottest day over summer, and runs his fingers through his hair like trying out new rain boots. They drink strawberry milk, and go on lunch 'dates,' and watch movies that leave them emotionally drained. Louis will wash his back when he's too weak to do it himself, and he'll watch the curls bounce against his shoulders when he finds the boy dancing in his kitchen in the morning.

(He sees the lotion and the tinted lip balm, and he doesn't mean to add them to the gift bag, but like, it's inevitable.)

Fall down happens when Harry makes waffles in the shape of crowns with his new goddamn princess waffle-maker, and Louis is 109% sure that Harry is an actual, real life, fucking princess. He is pretty, and soft, and gracious, and Louis can’t stop thinking about the fact that Harry could slip right into a Disney princess movie. He has big doe eyes and these lovely curls, and Louis is hopelessly in love with the boy. So fuck it, he needs the crown.

At first, he feels a bit - lot - ridiculous, because he fucking knows Harry isn't really a princess. He is just the most gorgeous boy in the entire world who got dealt a bad deck of cards. It's just that, Harry really does deserve to be treated like a princess, and to have pretty things. It isn't to make him feel good for that reason, though, and it has nothing to do with what happened to him.

Harry is genuinely the most kind-hearted person Louis knows, and the pink and lace and softness, it just adds to his gentleness. Something so gentle and soft and fucking strong deserves to be treated good, they do. Louis just really wants to be able to kiss the boy, and hold the boy, and touch the boy; run gentle fingertips down his spine.

He's fucking whipped, is the easiest way to put it.

So here he is, chewing his lip, carrying the bag with trembling fingers that make his stomach swirl. He's nervous - and he tries to remind himself that this is Harry, blushing and babbling Harry, but jesus, he is so nervous, and he's even bought the boy a fucking dildo, for christs sake.

(He's just so in love with him, has never felt so strongly about someone. never felt so scared to lose someone.)

“Doors unlocked!” he hears from the other side. He carefully walks in, taking in the lovely smell all over again like he always does, the mix of candle wax, and flour, and the underlying aroma of just Harry.

“Hey Lo- what's that?” Harry asks, coming out from the kitchen with soft black sweats and a white t-shirt.

“Oh, uh- I got you some stuff,” he smiles shyly, setting the bag on the coffee table and walking into the kitchen as Harry walks out.

“Can I?” Harry calls.

“Yeah, go ahead. I’m getting something to drink.” Louis replies, nervously pouring himself a glass of strawberry milk. He sips it slowly, listening to the unravelling of the tissue and the rummaging of curious fingertips. Then it's silent, deeply and unnervingly silent. He feels the need to go back into the living room, ease the tension that is rising from the tips of his toes, but he hears Harry's soft patter of feet and a door snicking close, and he freezes.

He doesn't move, maybe doesn't even breathe for the few moments he waits. Not until he hears the door snick again, this time open, and there is a soft cough filling the kitchen. A timid, "Louis?"

He tears his eyes from the counter, forcing them to meet Harry’s eyes, before allowing them to trail over Harry's body and- oh fuck.

The crown sits crooked and tangled in his brown curls, his white scoop shirt hanging delicately off his thin shoulders and vulnerable collarbones, up until the hem of the cloth meets the pretty pink panties that hug tightly to his hips, noticeable outline of his cock tucked against his thigh, and the bottom of his arse poking out from the delicate lacy underlines. 'Princess' spans his arse, and Louis knows for sure he's not breathing.

“Fuck- Haz,” he takes a cautious step closer, and then another one when Harry doesn't do anything, right up until he can feel Harry's breath hitting his face softly. His hands move without his own permission, slowly to the boy's hips, edging the white shirt up so he can place his palms to Harry's skin. He stares, stares more and more, milky skin and light colours and sweet smells. He's beautiful.

“Can-” they both start at the same time, glancing up to each other’s eyes.

“What?” Harry asks breathlessly, his eyes glimmering

Louis shakes his head, biting down on his bottom lip, “You first.”

Harry blushes, nods, and looks down, “Can you- do you wanna help… with- um… the lotion?”

Louis blinks up at him, he feels dizzy almost, like his head isn't getting enough oxygen, nodding on its own accord. Harry blushes, blinking the butterflies that are filling his tummy into Louis' as he entwines their fingers. He leads Louis to his bedroom, as if the boy doesn't already know where it is like mapped out memory, and lets out a small breath.

Harry hesitantly lays down on his bed, grabbing the lotion from the bag that sits on the floor and handing it to Louis.

Louis bites his lip, trying to remind himself to move and swallow and breathe as he carefully settles himself on the bed between Harry's legs. "Is this- am I okay here?" he asks breathlessly.

Harry nods, sitting up on his elbows, the crown slipping on his head a bit.

Louis attentively pours a dollop of the cotton candy lotion into his palm, lathering it in his palms before rubbing over Harry's foot, gingerly, and then more deliberate. He presses his thumbs into the arch, smoothing circles over the skin, before moving up to his ankle, admiring his pink toenails that he painted yesterday. He doesn't know why he does it, maybe because he feels a bit drunk, but overwhelmed in such a lovely way, but he lifts Harry's legs, bending it so he can lean down and kiss Harry's little toes, making the boy giggle softly.

He slowly works his way up Harry's smooth and shaved legs, pressing gently into his knee. "Do you want me to go, um, higher?" he asks, circling around the milky skin above Harry's knees, glancing up to see Harry pink cheeked, bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

He nods, his eyelashes fluttering to his cheekbones.

Louis shakes his head, pouring a bit more of the light scented cream into his hand and then gently rubbing it over the soft skin above his knees. He coats Harry's skin benevolently and rubs higher, revelling in the pudgy skin of his thighs. He rubs until he is grazing the lines of Harry's panties, not even noticing how high he has gotten until he hears Harry's sharp intake of breath and he is taking in a sharp breath himself as well.

He moves to the other leg then, doing it the same way, sinking into the silence of the room so softly, forcing himself not to let his eyes trail any higher than where his hands are working and soothing the cream.

When he is done with Harry's legs, he crawls over them, hovering over where Harry is still perched up on his elbows, chest and head elevated. He let his eyes wander over Harry's torso, fingers edging at the hem of the shirt, fingers grazing over his hipbones, sending shivers up his arms. “Can I?”

Harry looks up to Louis, faces just inches apart, and he nods, lip quivering and eyes sheened and bright.

He lays down flat on the bed, lifting his arms so Louis can pull the shirt over his head, and in result, knocking the crown off. Louis laughs nervously, gently placing the crown back on Harry's head and wiping the curls that fall over his face back. “Princess,” he murmurs under his breath.

Harry bites his lip, eyes luminous as he watches Louis gently rub the lotion over his stomach and chest, making the boy giggle when he squeezes at his tummy and circles his bellybutton. His thumbs swipe over his delicate collarbones, smearing the lotion over his shoulders and then down his arms.

Then he is down to the last hand, working the lotion into the last bit of skin he can get too, and when he is done with that, he entangles their hands, not knowing where to go as he looks up to see Harry's face. He is so painstakingly aware of how he is still straddling Harry's hips, still looming over him.

"Louis," Harry whispers, voice hoarse, "please kiss me."

Louis swallows, looking down at their hands. His heart races, cheeks warm and body even warmer. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Harry breathes, squeezing Louis' hand. It's so intimate, so shaking, making the world tremble.

"I don't want to hurt you," Louis whispers, still looking at their hands.

"You won't Louis, I promise," he pauses, "I'm asking you."

He exhales deeply, leaning down and knocking his forehead against Harry's. His lips ghost over Harry's, so close, so there. "I love you, you know." he whispers.

Harry lifts his head, lips brushing over Louis', "I love you too."

Louis’ heart flutters like Harry's eyelashes do when he laughs too hard, and his stomach keeps leaping in the way the sun rises and sets. Stars are glimmering in Harry's eyes and blackholes widen to suck them in. The way Harry's eyes glance down between their too close faces is what brings Louis to press his lips to Harry's; gentle, full, proper. He pulls away, watches Harry's eyes flutter open like a new day, and he's kissing him again, slow pecks, soft and languid, their noses brushing against each other.

The overwhelming feeling of Harry's hot tongue pressing against his lips is what sends him over the edge as he adds more pressure between them, parting his lips, letting Harry lick into his mouth and take all the sluggish kisses he wants. It's so slow, so sensual, and so, so long overdue. When Harry slowly slides his fingers under Louis’ shirt, slotting his fingers in between his ribs, pulling him flat against him, Louis tangles his fingers in Harry's curls and tugs on them lightly.

Louis traces lovebites down Harry's jaw to his collarbones, peppering his body with ease and gentleness and so, so much love that he's not even sure if Harry can feel the soft touches, but when he murmurs, “Is this what it's s’pose to feel like?” his entire heart bursts, and he finds himself kissing Harry's cheeks and eyelids and forehead and lips as he breathes,

“What does it feel like?”

“Safe.”

And Louis knows it's okay. Everything's going to be okay.

So he kisses Harry harder, breathing air into his lungs through each wet slide of tongues against tongues. And when Harry ruts up against him, letting small whimpers fall from his bruised lips, Louis doesn't hold his hips down and tell him to slow down, instead he holds him closer, kissing him even harder than before.

“So pretty Harry, princess. So pretty,” he murmurs against his lips, letting his hand trail gingerly down his side, brushing over Harry's clothed cock, hot through the material. Harry moans, pressing into the touch, letting Louis rub over him, grip him through his pretty panties and stroke him with the soft fabric.

Louis presses his mouth back to Harry's, sighing into it as he kisses him indolently and languidly, thumbing over the head of Harry's cock that's poking out from the front of the panties, swollen and leaking. He breaks the kiss when Harry moans into his mouth, looking down between them to watch the precum drip onto Harry's stomach.

Harry trembles beneath him, moaning and writhing and letting out small noises that Louis soaks up and kisses back into his mouth.

He feels Harry's hands slip lower on his waist, thumbing under his sweats lightly.

“Only if you want to.” Louis murmurs quietly, reassuring his pretty boy.

Harry nods, leaning up to capture Louis’ lips as he slips his hand into his pants, mirroring Louis and stroking over his clothed cock.

It's hot and messy and full of wet kisses and wetter cocks, and all around their mouths they are covered in spit as they kiss more frantically and moan against each other’s lips, sending vibrations down each other’s throats and spitting them back up to each other.

It's hot and gentle and amorous, and when Harry comes into Louis’ hand, he makes the most beautiful little noise with his jaw slack and eyes shut, gasping for air, and Louis can’t help but to thumb over his red lips, murmuring ‘beautiful’ before he is coming too.

(It's erratic and sensual and safe, and Harry falls asleep with a crown tangled in his hair and someone wrapped around him that makes him feel snug and like he belongs nowhere else.)

When Louis wakes up, it's to the sound of a certain someone singing in the kitchen, “Druuunk in looooove.”

He laughs, rolling out of the bed with the giddiest feeling inside of him. He doesn't bother making the bed, and he doesn't bother putting pants on either as stumbles out of the bedroom into the kitchen. He finds him, his soft boy with matted curls and pink cheeks, pouring a glass of strawberry milk completely naked - and all Louis can say is, “Beyonce?”

(They take slow and gentle kisses against the refrigerator, and when Louis goes to lift Harry on top of the countertop to stand between his legs, they knock over the glass of strawberry milk, and all they can do is giggle into each other’s mouths and kiss the sound of reassurance.)

(+

It's years later. Harry's nails are painted blue (Louis' green), and tears fill his eyes as Louis slips a ring onto his finger, murmuring, “I do.”

When Harry throws the bouquet, it's Zayn who catches it, glancing to Liam with a snicker as Liam blushes.

It’s safe. And everything's been more than okay for a while.)