Archive of Our Own ^beta

Every shift is the same on Saturdays. It always starts off busy, but dies down quickly once the football game has kicked off. Fans pour in and out all morning, in various states of drunkenness, buying their spiritwear, before finally making their way to the stadium and leaving Louis alone in the bookstore for the rest of the afternoon. His shifts usually end before the game does, so he never has to deal with the drunkards afterwards.

He’d initially taken the job because the university gave him a discount on the textbooks, and then he'd stayed because it was so slow he had down time to do homework. The store only really gets busy at the beginnings of the semester, or when home games are happening and fans need to buy their last minute apparel.

It’s never too exciting, and that’s the way he prefers.

The bell dings over the doorway, signalling a customer. The place has been dead since kickoff,  sending people running and leaving him alone for the past two hours, and the sudden sound startles Louis from the book he’s reading. He marks his page and looks up to see who’s disturbed him, only to find the person has quickly made their way to the stacks of books, disappearing from his view. Shrugging, Louis goes back to reading, sure the customer will find him if they need anything.

“It’s emptier than I expected,” comes a deep voice around twenty minutes later, startling Louis once again. “Where is everyone?”

“At the game,” Louis says as he marks the page in his book and finally glances up. The stranger standing in front of him is breathtakingly beautiful, with his dark hair pulled into a bun on the top of his head. He’s got milky white skin in sharp contrast to his full, red lips and deep emerald eyes. He looks wildly out of place on the college campus, decked out in a floral blouse half unbuttoned and tight, black skinny jeans.

“Oh, I guess that makes sense,” the man replies, laying the books he’s chosen onto the counter. Louis glances at the titles and can see he’s chosen a few books about feminism, sexuality, and politics. “I’ve heard this city’s big on school spirit.”

Louis snorts, scanning each of the books, impressed by the selections. “You can say that. We all bleed scarlet and grey, and all that bullshit.”

The stranger tilts his head at that, a puzzled expression taking over his face. He takes the bag that Louis hands to him, looking like he can’t quite figure Louis out.

“Are you not big into school spirit?” he finally asks, tucking a curl behind his ear that’s fallen loose from his bun.

“Not so much, no.” Louis leans forward against the counter, using his elbows to prop him up and placing his chin into his clasped hands. “Are you not a student here? You’re not exactly screaming school spirit, either.”

The man steps back as if he’s been slapped in the face, and Louis wonders what he’s said wrong. He’s not wearing any rival school’s gear, or any school gear at all, and Louis doesn’t think he’s said anything particularly offensive. Before he can think too much about it, the man’s face breaks into a beaming smile, a complete 180 from the expression he had just been wearing.

“No, I’m not from around here,” the man replies. Which, Louis could have guessed. His slow drawl has a bit of an accent, definitely British if Louis were to make an assumption. The more the man talks, the thicker the accent becomes, as if he were suppressing it before or altering his voice in some way.

“Hmm,” Louis hums. “What brings you here? You’re a long way from home, it sounds like.”

“Definitely a long way from home,” he says. His smile sets dimples deep into his cheeks and crinkles by the corners of his eyes. Louis refuses to find it cute. “I’m here for work.”

“Ah.” Silence settles over them, but it’s not uncomfortable. The man doesn’t appear eager to leave, and Louis has to admit he’s sparked some sort of curiosity that has him wanting the man to stick around. “What’s your name, then? I’ve got to stop thinking of you as Bambi in my mind.”

The man chokes out a surprised sound, more of a squawk than a laugh, slapping his free hand over his mouth. He chuckles into his palm for a few seconds before dropping his hand, still smiling brightly. Louis isn’t ashamed to admit he feels proud, looking into the man’s cheerful expression.

“My friend Niall calls me Bambi, as well,” Bambi says. “Although I think he means it less kindly. My name’s Harry. Very similar, though.”

It’s Louis’ turn to laugh, both at Harry’s attempt at humor and the idea that other people agree with him that the man, Harry , resembles the animated deer.

“I agree, you are very similar to Bambi,” Louis says. “Nice to meet you.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?” Harry asks, cocking his head. The bell chimes from the front of the store and Louis is reminded he has an actual job to be doing. “It’s only fair.”

“If life were fair, it’d be a lot less fun,” Louis says teasingly. “I don’t go around giving out my name to strangers so easily, though. You’ll have to try harder next time. If you’ll excuse me, there’s work that needs to be done.”

Harry’s eyes widen in amazement, like he can’t quite believe the words coming from Louis’ mouth. Like maybe he’s not used to being denied, but he’s not mad about it happening now. He cocks his head, smile toying at the corners of his mouth.

“Have a good day,” he says softly, turning in a half circle and heading towards the front of the store. Louis admires his retreating form, the way his jeans cling to his long legs and the pieces of hair fallen from his bun blowing behind him.

By the time Louis himself has gone to the front of the store, no one is there.

Life continues for Louis. He doesn’t even think of the encounter with Harry for weeks, the man never crossing his mind again. It had been a strange encounter, yes, but nothing too memorable. Nothing to stay up all night thinking about. He goes to class, works his shifts, and does his homework.

On a Tuesday, almost a month later, he’s in the library on campus attempting to do his homework. Attempting being the key word. There’s a large group at the table next to him, apparently ignoring the silent rule of this floor of the library. He’s about to tell them to shut up when one of them starts talking about some new song on the radio.

“It’s not my usual type of music,” the girl says. “Bit rocky, bit slow. But the guy’s got a gorgeous voice.”

“Yeah,” one of the boys snorts. “It’s his voice that you think is gorgeous. His good looks don’t play into it at all.”

“You’re crazy if you think he isn’t talented,” one of the other boys argues. “Have you even listened to the song? The lyrics made me tear up. You should look up the meaning behind the song and tell me it isn’t emotional. He’s got a wicked voice, too.”

Louis is five seconds from slamming his laptop shut and yelling at them to just be quiet when the girl says, “He is a talented man and I will not tolerate any type of Edward Cox slander in this household.”

The name sounds vaguely familiar to him, like he’s heard it mentioned in passing or maybe even heard one of the man’s songs before. He can’t quite put a finger on it, but he decides maybe he’ll have a listen later on, give the guy’s music a chance if people are this passionate about it.

Luckily for Louis, the group packs up their things and heads out of the library, leaving him to go back to writing his paper in peace.

He manages to make it ten whole minutes, writes fifty-six whole words, before he gives in and types Edward’s name into his Spotify. He figures that he might as well give the man a listen now, always down to be introduced to new music, and it’s not like he’s doing anything else.

Soft guitar begins playing over his headphones and Louis can already tell this is his type of music. The man begins singing, voice deep and lovely, lyrics even lovelier. He adds the album to his playlist, letting it play on a loop for the rest of the night.

Once he’s got the man’s album playing, the words seem to flow from him easier. It’s as if the creative block is lifted from his mind, aided by the man’s own beautiful words sang into his ears like a lullaby. It takes him half the time it normally does to complete his paper, and it feels like some of his best work. He reads over it again before sending it in to his professor, three hours before the deadline instead of just ten minutes.

He’s been struggling lately, with finding the words for what he wants to say and how he feels. Sometimes he’ll get a breeze of creativity, gone stagnant by the time he’s pulled open his laptop or found a piece of paper and a pen. It’s the worst curse on an artist, a creative block on their mind, and not able to find the words he needs is detrimental to, at the very least, his English and writing classes.

Professors can only be so understanding, can only accept so many subpar assignments before they want to know what’s going on, why you’re writing clipped sentences and the words feel glued together instead of sewn together seamlessly. And Louis doesn’t have an answer for them, can’t quite figure out why the words escape him and he has to force himself just to get the simplest assignments done.

He doesn’t have an explanation, is the thing. Nothing’s changed, nothing dramatic has happened to him; he’s just blocked . If he could change it, he would, but professors don’t necessarily like that answer either.

So if this Edward Cox is the thing that clears his mind, lifts the block, and gets him writing again - then that’s what he’s listening to from here on out, niggling feeling of familiarity in the back of his mind be damned.

Having finished his assignment, he doesn’t have any other pressing assignments that need to be done. In the past, this might have had him packing up his things and heading home for the night, but instead he opens up another folder that he keeps hidden in his laptop. He rarely opens this particular folder these days; there’s not much of a reason to.

He scrolls through the pages, all written at a time when he wasn’t struggling so hard for words to come to him, when he could string sentences together without so much effort. It hurts more than anything else to open it now, like a kick to the gut that leaves an emptiness that won’t shake for days. He just finds it easier to avoid the whole folder now.

Which is why it’s so confusing that he’s double clicking the icon, rereading what he’s written, and actually adding to the document.

There’s all of twenty pages written, random scenes of a novel he hopes one day he’ll complete. He used to be so full of ideas for it that he couldn’t shut up about it, basically having the whole thing completed in his mind. Now he can’t figure out what the climax should be and how it should conclude. It’s come to the point that he can’t imagine actually writing a happy ending for the thing.

Or, that had been the case.

Now there’s happy scenes dancing across his mind, the words spilling from his fingertips almost without his permission. He hasn’t felt so motivated in literal months, and he can feel the frustration rolling off of him the more words he types.

By the time he’s added a thousand more words onto the document, there’s a ghost of a smile across his lips.

Eventually, the well of inspiration that Louis had found from listening to Edward Cox’s music has dried up.

He listens to the album on repeat, trying desperately to recreate the feeling that had overcome him the first time he listened to it, but to no avail. He’s got writer’s block. His assignments start going downhill again, his professors start asking him if he’s okay again, and the folder on his computer starts collecting dust again.

It’s starting to feel hopeless, like maybe the strike of inspiration was a fluke incident, never to come back, when Harry comes wandering into the store.

Like the last time, he looks out of place, dressed in black flowing pants and a half unbuttoned white floral top. His long, dark hair spills past his shoulders, curlier than Louis expected. Louis doesn’t notice him at first, hadn’t even heard the bell chime, but he comes up to the counter and clears his throat awkwardly.

Louis sets down his book opened-faced onto the countertop and glances up.

He expects to see a student, a football player maybe, or a fan just loading up on a gear during the “best sale of the year.” He finds none of the above, and he’s not too disappointed by it.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Louis says in lieu of hello.

“And why’s that?” Harry asks, leaning onto his elbows on the counter. This puts him right up in Louis’ space, breath fanning across his face. It smells minty, as if he’s been chewing gum just before this. Louis can only imagine how indecent he looks while doing something as innocent as chewing gum - his lips are downright sinful .

“Well, you’re not a student here, you were only here for work, and you’re not even from America .” Louis ticks each item off on his fingers until he’s holding up three. He wiggles them in Harry’s face, and watches the amused smile dance across his lips. “So what are you doing here?”

Just like the first time they had interacted, Harry gets a weird look across his face. Louis can’t quite pinpoint the expression, but the closest explanation he can come up with is that it looks almost like Harry thinks Louis should know who he is. That maybe they’ve met even before that first time, and he’s surprised Louis doesn’t remember it.

He seems to compose himself though, shrugging and answering, “Work. Like last time. I love this city, so I requested that I had to come back.”

“Don’t lie to me. You really just had to come back to see me,” Louis teases.

“There was that too,” he says, and it sounds like the truth. Like maybe he did come back for Louis. “You’re part of the city, in my opinion. One of the better parts.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere,” Louis tells him. “I won’t sleep with you, no matter how nice you are to me.”

Harry only hums in response, placing his index finger on the cover of the book Louis had put down, pulling it slightly towards himself. He reads the cover, lips moving along silently. Louis refuses to find it endearing.

“ Bad Feminist ?” he asks with a raised eyebrow. It doesn’t come across as judgemental. Instead, it seems more curious, more intrigued, like he’s never heard of the book before but the title’s caught his eye. Louis vaguely recalls the first time Harry had visited, and the collection of books about feminism, sexuality, and social justice he had bought. “Tell me about it?”

The way he asks, instead of just flat out telling Louis to give him the rundown, is also something he refuses to find endearing.

“It’s a collection of essays,” Louis says. “All about imperfect feminism. Very interesting, honestly. You should check it out.”

“Honestly, I think I will.”

And the way he says it makes Louis believe him - like he’s actually taking the recommendation to heart and he’s going to sit down and read the book. Like maybe he’ll even purchase the book today.

It’s silent for a beat, their eyes connected, neither one of them wanting to be the first to break whatever tense silence they’ve fallen into. Louis isn’t sure what to say to keep the conversation going, and Harry looks like he might feel the same way.

“Are you going to tell me your name, yet?” Harry finally says. “Or will I have to come back again?”

Louis allows himself to chuckle, momentarily charmed by his dimples peeking out and the low timber of his voice. “You might just have to come back. Maybe I need you to woo me for seven days straight.”

“I will if that’s what it takes,” he says, straightfaced, until he’s breaking out into a laugh. He throws his whole body into it, shaking as he throws his head back. Louis can’t help but laugh with him, unsure of what’s so funny.

“Okay, well then.” He reaches for the book, picking it up and holding it open in front of his face. “Woo me for seven straight days and then I will tell you my name.”

Harry’s face continues to hold his smile, eyes darkening like he likes the idea of the challenge.

“Deal,” he says, before turning on his heel and exiting the store.

Louis wonders if Harry’s an alien.

He doesn’t even think of the exchange after he falls asleep that night. It’s like going to sleep resets his brain and he forgets all about it.

Which is why he has no idea the reason there’s a basket on the register desk when he walks into work approximately one week later.

“Lou, there’s a gift for you,” Zayn says, disinterested as he continues to sketch in his book. He’s majoring in fashion design, and he spends most of his shifts designing. Louis appreciates it, the way Zayn never presses him for any details about his life. He doesn’t even know Zayn’s last name.

“Thanks,” he says, dropping his things behind the register. His bag thuds too loudly for the otherwise quiet bookstore. It’s a Friday night, which means absolutely no one will be coming in unless to ask for directions or to use their public restroom. “Did you see who delivered it?”

Zayn halts his pencil across his paper and looks up, squinting his eyes at Louis before resuming his work. He doesn’t even bother answering.

Not to be deterred, Louis checks out the basket. There’s bouquets of roses popping out the sides, the most gorgeous deep, red in color. Tucked into one of the bouquets is a card, and Louis opens it as quickly as he can, mouth mumbling along to words as he reads them.

Louis,

Hope you don’t mind that I had to find out your name so I could have these delivered. I’ll just woo you for ten days instead of seven now.

xoxo Harry

Which is- The last thing he expected to read when he picked up the plain white cardstock.

He sets aside the card in favor of digging through the rest of the basket. There are chocolate covered strawberries in heart shaped boxes and two bottles of wine. He checks the labels on everything, not able to understand most of it - it’s all in a foreign language, looking vaguely French or Italian. The wine is definitely more expensive than anything he could ever afford with his college student budget.

“Gonna share the chocolates?” Zayn asks him.

Louis spins around and gapes at him. “Did he drop this off personally?”

“Nah.”

“That asshole .”

Once again, Zayn looks up and gives him an unamused look. Louis wonders if he ever smiles or if his face is stuck in the most perfect smoulder.

“He’s an asshole because he got you roses, chocolate, and expensive wine?” He sounds bored, laying the facts out to Louis. He actually closes his notebook, though, setting it aside on the counter. He scoots closer, edging towards where the basket is perched.

“Well, when you put it that way.” Louis huffs, settling his hands on his waist and staring at the basket. “I can’t imagine how much this cost. Way too much, definitely.”

“Accept the gift,” Zayn says. He reaches a hand into the basket, pulling out the box of strawberries. He pops one into his mouth without even asking for permission. Louis wonders if this is maybe just what friendship with Zayn is like . “Do you think he’ll really give you a new gift everyday?”

“Did you read the card?” Louis asks, but he doesn’t really care all that much. He probably would have done the same thing if an expensive looking gift had been dropped off by some random man or woman.

“Of course I did,” he snorts, popping another strawberry into his mouth. Some of the chocolate crumbles onto the counter and he wipes it away. “If he keeps sending food as gifts I’m gonna have to go up a pant size, I think.”

“As if I’d keep sharing with you,” Louis jokes, reaching for a strawberry to try himself. He bites into it, the chocolate a satisfying crunch while the strawberry is soft. Some of the juice runs down his chin, but he catches it in a cupped hand before it can fall onto his white t-shirt. Around a mouthful of strawberry, he says, “I’m keeping this all for myself.”

And it continues, for nine more days, just like the note had promised.

There are no more notes, but Louis of course knows who it’s from. The gifts start to become more luxurious, going from expensive wine to even more expensive colognes to pricey watches to sets of pots and pans to noise-cancelling Bluetooth headphones.

Zayn’s disappointed because he doesn’t put any more food into the baskets.

“How rich do you think this guy is?” Louis asks the next time he and Zayn work together. He’s sitting on the register counter, legs dangling and kicking his feet. Zayn hasn’t said anything to him in almost a full hour, which would have been normal ten days ago, before Harry sent him the first basket. They actually have conversations now, actually talk about more than their coworkers and their hard classes.

“Definitely a millionaire,” Zayn answers. He’s designing a suit, going between his laptop where he’s researching different flowers and their meanings and the page where he brings the flowers to life. Louis is glad one of them is inspired to create because he hasn’t been able to write anything in weeks, can barely even force himself to write research papers. “Without a doubt in my mind, that man is a millionaire.”

“Do you think he’s my sugar daddy now?”

“Only if he keeps buying you things,” Zayn says. “As it stands, the ten days of wooing are over and he might never buy you anything ever again.” He finally looks up from his design, catching Louis’ eyes. “Are you going to agree to go on a date with him?”

“Seems kind of dumb,” he says, worrying his lip between his teeth. “I mean, he couldn’t even be around to deliver the baskets himself. He travels for his job. He’s not even from America . I don’t know his last name. He could be a murderer.”

Zayn doesn’t have anything helpful to say. “Maybe he’ll pay for your college tuition.”

Louis hums. “Maybe I’ll ask him to.”

“Just for the shits and giggles.”

With a sigh, Louis pushes himself off of the counter. He begins pacing back and forth in front of it, running through the possibilities in his mind. He doesn’t exactly know what Harry expects to happen, but he can guess, and he isn’t sure how he feels about that. He’s a student before anything else - a student who’s already struggling to get his work done on time.

“You’re making me dizzy,” Zayn says. He’s completely given up the pretense of actually getting any work done by this point, notebook pushed aside and pencil laying flat on the countertop. “Stop pacing, dickhead, and talk about this with me.”

He can’t even help the snort that shoots out of his nose. “That’s so funny because like, ten days ago we had said maybe three words to each other that weren’t work related.”

“I had to make sure you were worth my oxygen,” Zayn replies, and Louis can’t quite tell if he’s joking or not.

“Am I worth the oxygen?”

“Not really.”

A squawking sound comes from Louis, but he stops his pacing anyway. He stands in front of Zayn, the register separating them, and puts his hands on his hips. He decides to just get back to the topic at hand.

“So what should we discuss?”

“Well,” Zayn starts. He leans forward against the counter, placing all of his weight onto his elbows. “He’s courting you, obviously. You’ve listed a few valid reasons why you’re not into Harry, but maybe we should focus on some positives. Why would pursuing Harry maybe not be such a bad idea?”

“I have no reasons,” Louis says. “It’s all a bad idea. Good talk, I guess.”

Zayn throws a pencil at him, nailing him on the cheekbone. “Shut up, dickhead.”

“Okay, fine .” He sighs, pretending to be exasperated, but he doesn’t mind it. He actually loves having the spotlight on him, the drama queen that he is. “He’s attractive. Nice accent. Apparently wealthy. Actually is trying to court me, which is not something that, like, happens any more. Buys very politically and culturally aware books.”

“Now, list the cons.”

Louis gives him a look, one that says ‘ we’ve already been over them ’ but he does it anyway.

“He travels a lot, I know nothing about him, and I’m a student who doesn’t have time for dating.”

“Isn’t the point of dating someone to get to know them?” Zayn asks. He rests his head in the palm of his hand, eyes wide and the picture of innocence, but Louis is already getting a sense of just how devious he actually is.

“Stop saying smart things,” Louis says defensively. “I’m not here for it.”

“I can’t help it, they just come out.” He pauses before adding, “And if you’re too busy to date him, wouldn’t it be kind of a plus that he’s traveling all the time? Then you only have to make time for him, like, once a month or less.”

“You might be on to something, actually,” Louis says, voice dying off towards the end of his sentence.

It makes a moderate amount of sense, actually. Whatever it is that Harry does, and does well enough to get paid generously apparently, keeps him incredibly busy. As in, so busy that Louis has seen him twice in a span of a couple of months. Maybe it would make dating easier. Or it could just make it harder - what would happen if Louis needed a cuddle right then and there? That’s hard to do with a long distance boyfriend.

“Stop overthinking it,” Zayn scolds him. His face softens when he realizes how much inner turmoil Louis is putting himself through over this. “Next time you see him, you say thank you for the gifts and agree to one date and an exchange of phone numbers?”

He nods, but he can’t quite keep himself from overthinking it all anyway.

The biggest surprise of the week had not been the gifts that had been delivered every day to the bookstore, but more the inspiration that they seem to give to him. Halfway through the so-called courting, Louis found himself opening the almost forbidden folder on his computer and writing almost three pages worth of good content. Content he doesn’t think he’ll go back and delete later on. Content he’s almost proud of.

He isn’t sure whether it’s the gifts themselves or the modern day love story he’s managed to find himself submerged in, but either way, it seems to be working. He finds he does his best work when he thinks of Harry’s lanky form standing across the counter from him while Edward Cox’s music blares in his headphones.

Eventually, he starts imagining Harry’s face with Edward’s voice coming out of it. Which is not something he really should think about, if he wants to keep his sanity in check. Combining Edward’s raw and emotional lyrics and voice with Harry’s striking good looks and charming personality is downright lethal.

But he can’t help himself.

It’s like a song meant to be song directly for him, and he imagines Harry sitting on the opposite end of the couch, strumming a guitar and singing along while he types. If that’s what keeps him typing furiously every night for three straight days, then he’s not going to complain. He’ll deal with the repercussions of that at another time.

Eventually, he notices that the protagonist of his story is taking on the form of Harry. His character has, somewhere along the line, grown dark, curly hair that he frequently wears in a bun and has deep set dimples. He’d never admit it out loud, but even the character’s mannerisms are based on the man himself.

“You’ve got a lot of schoolwork to do today?” Zayn asks the next shift they work together, commenting on the fact that Louis’ pulling a laptop out of his bag. Usually, they sit in companionable silence while they both do their homework, but lately more and more they’ve been getting distracted by one another. They might even be on their way to becoming good friends.

“No, actually,” Louis answers him. “I’ve been inspired to write.”

Zayn knows about Louis’ previously forbidden folder. Just a couple nights ago, in a moment of weakness, Louis confessed that he hadn’t written anything substantial in months and then had heard Edward Cox’s music and had struck a metaphorical gold mine. When that mine had run empty, he’d hit another jackpot with Harry’s gifts and had been on a roll since.

Zayn doesn’t say anything for a moment, pausing and worrying at his bottom lip. Finally, he asks, “Have you heard that Cox guy is coming out with a new song?”

Louis freezes, fingers hovering over his keyboard where they had been typing his password.

“No, I hadn’t,” Louis says truthfully. “Where did you hear that?”

“Tell anyone this and I’ll kill you, but I’d consider myself a big fan,” Zayn says. His face doesn’t change in expression, completely serious as he admits this to Louis.

“Big fan? Like run a blog and everything?”

“I’ll fucking ruin your life,” he says, and that’s enough of an answer for Louis that yes Zayn Malik does run a fan blog about Edward Cox.

He doesn’t even bother with a response, laughing quietly to himself as he opens up the document. It’s almost doubled in size since he started working on it, nearly a year ago by this point. It had started out a small idea; an idea he bounced off his roommate, Liam, until one day the inspiration struck for a scene. And from there he would get random bursts of motivation to write, never anything that necessarily fit together, but obviously fell along the same timeline.

Now, however, it’s finally starting to come together. He’s got a solid plot, conflict, character development, and scenes that fit almost seamlessly together. It’s come a long way from its creation, when he was high off an edible and Liam was egging him on. It’s become of more of a ‘ sooner rather than later, this will be done .’

Which is kind of terrifying, if he spends too long thinking about it.

He and Zayn spend the next few hours in almost total silence, save for when they have to actually assist a guest. Evenings are slower than almost anything else, which is when they both work. Most of the time only one person needs to be in the shop when it’s this slow, but sometimes Zayn and Louis get lucky enough to be scheduled together. Maybe the owner takes pity on them, having to work numerous hours alone when no one comes in, or maybe it’s a safety thing. They don’t ask, either way.

Louis is the one to break the silence.

“So, uh, when is this new song coming out?” he asks tentatively, stuttering over the syllables.

Zayn snorts, pencil still scratching across the thick paper of his sketchbook. He’s been hunched over in the same position for nearly two hours, and Louis is sure that his back has got to be killing him. If it is, he’s showing no signs of it, still managing to come off as perfectly poised and put together.

“This Friday,” he finally says, deciding he’s laughed at Louis for long enough. “Local release time, I think. So you’ve got two days to prepare yourself, and all that.”

Louis rolls his eyes and shuts his laptop. He’s written about all that will come out of him at this point, and every new sentence he types just feels forced.

“What if it’s a total let down?” Louis is joking, of course; as if anything Edward Cox ever put out could be a let down . He’s a lyrical genius with a gorgeous voice to match. He could sing the phone book and Louis would probably be content.

“Shut your mouth,” Zayn says, straight faced and finally looking up from his piece. “You’re not even funny.”

So obviously Zayn wasn’t kidding about being a huge fan, Louis notes. Good to know for future teasing purposes, for when he's being an insufferable jackass.

After another few minutes have passed in silence, Zayn finally speaks up again. “Are we gonna have a listening party?”

“Did you like my gifts?”

Louis startles, hitting his knee against the counter of the register, slamming his book onto the table in surprise.

“ Fucking hell, god dammit!” he whisper-shouts. Rubbing at his knee where he bumped it, he finally looks up, although he knows who’s standing there. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Startled you?” Harry chuckles, leaning forward on his elbows onto the counter. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t sound sorry, still laughing and smile split wide across his face.

It’s Friday now, and Harry’s the last person Louis had expected to walk in the door. Of course, that’s the way it seems to be working. Harry always shows up when he’s least expected, always finding ways to surprise Louis.

“What brings you in? Need a new book to read?” Louis asks, trying to sound nonchalant but definitely failing. His knee still hurts like a motherfucker and his heart is beating wildly in his chest. Not exactly the recipe for calm.

“Yeah, and I really enjoyed the last book you recommended so I figured, why not come in and get another recommendation from you?”

“How far did you have to travel for this recommendation?” Louis starts racking his brain for other books Harry might like, but he’s pulling a blank. He can’t even remember the last time he sat down to read. Lately, all of his free time goes to catching up on school work and writing his novel.

“Pretty damn far, but I have no other way to contact you since you haven’t given me your number,” he says, but he sounds like he doesn’t mind so much. Like maybe it’s better to travel all this way than to only talk on the phone.

Louis hums, low in his throat, continuing to think. He finally digs into his backpack and pulls out the last book he had attempted to read before he’d hit the inspiration jackpot and he couldn’t think about anything else. He hands it over to Harry and says, “I actually haven’t read this one yet. I’ve been a bit busy, so maybe you can tell me how it is?”

Harry takes the book with a grateful smile. Their fingers briefly brush against each other and chills run down Louis’ spine.

This reminds him of Harry’s original question, about the gifts, and Louis decides now is as good of a time as any to bring up the subject at hand.

“Do you want to date me?” he asks bluntly. There may have been a better way to go about it, but he’s never been too good at being anything but brutally honest.

Harry cocks his left eyebrow, grateful smile turning more wicked. “What makes you think that?”

“Not to be presumptuous or anything,” Louis says as he fights back his own smile. “But you did send me gifts for ten straight days. Expensive gifts, if we’re talking details. So I figured maybe you might be like, at least a little interested me.”

“I’m not interested in you at all,” he deadpans, face turning serious. He manages to hold the expression for all of ten seconds before cracking, soft laughter shaking his body.

“Okay, so I’m free tomorrow night,” Louis says, trying to ignore the way his heart flutters at the sound of Harry’s laughter. “Pick me up and take me somewhere nice. Somewhere I can’t afford as a student on a bookstore worker’s salary.”

“I feel like you’re using me for my money, but it’s a date. Where should I pick you up?”

Louis doesn't know if he feels entirely comfortable giving his address to this almost-stranger, but he isn’t sure what other choice he has. He jots down his address and his phone number onto a spare receipt and hands it over, hands trembling with nervous excitement.

Harry doesn’t stay much longer after that, just takes the book and the receipt and is on his way, with promises to call later and see Louis tomorrow.

Louis’ breathless the rest of the night.

He almost forgets about the release of Edward Cox’s new song.

Almost.

The song’s been out for hours now, but he hasn’t heard anything about it. Then again, he also hasn’t had a chance to get online and check any type of social media, so maybe he’s just missed the buzz around it.

He’s on his way home from his shift, only three hours after Harry had come in and then left just as quickly, when his phone lights up with a text from Zayn.

did u listen yet

Instantly, he’s pulling his headphones from his bag and pulling up his Spotify account. He isn’t prepared for what he hears when he presses play, Edward’s warm voice filling up his head.

It’s a slower song, a ballad, and the lyrics are as beautiful as the rest of his songs. This one is different, however, in the way that it’s more hopeful. Edward’s first album had been more of a breakup album, songs about having his heart broken and having love slip from his fingers. This new song is just as slow as the rest of them, music almost as melancholy if you aren’t paying too closely of attention.

There’s the undercurrent of hope, though. He starts singing about meeting someone new and the fresh feelings that come from new crushes and young love. All the butterflies that come from first dates. The blushes and the flirting and the many firsts that come along with the start of a relationship.

The song ends just as softly as it started, Edward’s voice holding the last note before dying out quietly and slowly.

Louis finds himself stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, drunk college students bumping into him with their shoulders as they stumble down the street. He doesn’t even care - his heart is welling up with something that resembles pride at the incredible song that Edward Cox has just put out. He takes a moment to breathe deeply, making a note to remember this moment and feeling to write about later, then presses play on the song again and continues on his journey.

He makes it back to his apartment in record time, pulling his laptop from his bag and diving onto his bed. The song is on a continuous loop in his ears by this point, Edward’s voice wrapping around him like a blanket, like a comforting friend.

He starts typing and then finds himself unable to stop, reluctant to even go to the bathroom or grab a glass of water. It doesn’t even feel like he’s been writing all that long before he notices the sun rising through his window, the city starting to wake back up for the day. He stares in amazement at the sunrise, an orange hue shining over the city, blinking away the sudden tiredness that has overcome him.

Finally, he turns off Edward’s music and decides he’s been up long enough.

The sweet lyrics and honey smooth voice play on a loop in his head as he drifts off into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in a long time.

The sun is high in the sky when he wakes up, feeling the kind of well-rested that he’s not sure he’s felt in ages. It takes him minutes before he’s able to even open his eyes, still coated with a heavy layer of sleep. The light filters in through the slots of his blinds, just missing his direct line of sight. It can’t be morning any longer, not when he’d gone to bed at six, but it feels early. Like it’s just seven in the morning and the sun has finished rising and the birds are chirping and he’s still got the whole day ahead of him.

When he checks his phone, however, it’s almost one in the afternoon.

Louis wonders why Liam hasn’t come knocking on the door and woken him up, like he’s prone to do on days where Louis sleeps past nine-thirty. He decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth and cuddles further into his comforter, just to enjoy the peace for a few more moments.

It’s not long-lived.

Liam comes bursting through the door, not even bothering to knock, scowl tugging at the features of his face.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he says. Not ‘ hey, Louis, how are you? ’ or maybe ‘ Louis, why have you slept in so late? ’

“Oh, Liam, so nice to see you too,” Louis responds, pushing the comforter from his legs and sitting up. He winces as his bare feet touch the hardwood floor, sending a chill up his spine and goosebumps running along his skin.

“I’m gonna get you evicted,” Liam says. “Make you live on the streets. Get a new roommate who doesn’t play fucking Edward Cox on a loop until fucking six in the fucking morning. Fucking insufferable dickhead.”

“I wouldn’t say Edward Cox’s voice is anything to complain about, would you?”

Liam crosses the room, feet slapping against the hardwood angrily, and takes a pillow from Louis’ bed and whacks him in the face with it. Just as Louis’ about to say something, Liam slaps him in the face again before setting the pillow back onto the bed and sitting down next to him.

“Okay, I think I’m done being angry with you,” Liam says, and it sounds like he means it. The fight has left his voice and he’s slouching, looking relaxed. “So why were you listening to Edward Cox on a loop for, like, eight hours? He’s good but I don’t think he’s that good.”

“Mind your business,” Louis says reflexively.

Liam gives him an unamused look, his eyebrows furrowing together. Louis always tells him his face is going to get stuck like that, but he never seems to care enough to listen.

“Fine,” Louis sighs. “He just helps me write. That’s it. I’m not, like, obsessed or anything.”

Before Liam can respond, Louis’ phone is buzzing on his nightstand. He leaps to grab at it, unsure of who could even be texting him. While Zayn has his number, he only bothers to reach out about work related things, and Liam’s the only other person who would ever text him.

He unlocks his phone, a message from an unknown number appearing on the screen. He clicks on it, feeling wary at what it could be.

Hey it’s Harry, can’t wait to see you tonight xoxo

Just like that, Louis starts panicking. He had almost forgotten that he agreed to go on a date; a date that would be happening in only a few short hours, and now that he’s remembered he realizes he has nothing to wear. He’s got a closet full of clothes and nothing to wear .

“Why did you start breathing so heavy all of a sudden?” Liam asks, trying to peek over Louis’ shoulder at his phone screen. He doesn’t seem to be able to see anything, and he wrinkles his nose before adding, “And a little sweaty. Did you just get a dick picture?”

“No, I did not just get a dick picture ,” Louis says, affronted. He rolls his eyes before Harry sending a quick replying, confirming what time he should pick him up.

Liam snatches the phone from Louis’ hand, reading the two texts on the screen. “Who’s Harry?”

“None of your business,” Louis replies, taking his phone back. He places it back on the charger on his nightstand and makes his way to his closet. It’s a disorganized mess, everything’s haphazardly hung on the hangers in no particular pattern, and things are crumpled onto the shelves rather folded.

He browses through a few of his nicer shirts, wondering exactly how nice he’s supposed to look. He had told Harry to take him somewhere nice, but he wasn’t sure just how nice that meant. What if they just went to an Applebee’s? Or what if they ended up at an expensive steakhouse? There wasn’t an outfit that covered both of those options.

“Do you have a date tonight?”

Liam’s voice interrupts the downward spiral he’s found himself stuck in, bringing him back to the present.

“Yes,” he answers. Spinning on his heels, Louis makes his way back across the room and plops face first onto the bed. Voice muffled into the sheets, he says, “And I have no idea what to wear.”

“Where are you going?” Which is a loaded question, in Louis’ opinion. Where are they going? He’s only been trying to figure that out for the past five minutes, staring at the clothes in his closet that are just now suddenly not good enough.

Louis fills him in on the story, from his initial meeting with Harry all the way up until just yesterday when they had decided to go on a date. Liam takes it all in stride, nodding his head and humming at the more interesting parts.

“So you’ve got a sugar daddy?” he asks, when Louis’ finally finished telling the story.

“Uh, not exactly?” It comes out like more of a question than statement, like Louis isn’t quite sure any longer. Like maybe he does have a sugar daddy.

“I’ve got something you can wear, I think,” Liam finally says, which is more helpful than Louis actually expected him to be. He expected Liam to laugh in his face and maybe warn him against going on dates with almost complete strangers.

The next few hours pass with Louis trying on upwards of fifteen outfits for his date. He paces around his bedroom, turning in circles until he’s so dizzy he has to sit down. Liam, bless his heart, remains patient throughout the whole thing, laying out numerous outfit ideas just for Louis to shoot them down.

Finally, they settle on a pair of navy blue dress pants that Liam had outgrown and a light grey button up shirt. It’s made of a silkier material, smooth against Louis’ skin as he slides it over his shoulders. It fits him perfectly and he finds himself wondering why he’s never worn it before, coming to the conclusion that he’s never really had a reason to.

“You look hot,” Liam says, shooting an appreciative glance at the tight fit of the pants against Louis’ backside. “If Harry doesn’t sleep with you tonight, he’s insane.”

Louis hums, fighting back nervous laughter. There’s only fifteen minutes before Harry’s supposed to be picking him up, and his palms are damp and clammy all of a sudden. No amount of compliments Liam gives him does anything to calm his nerves.

“Maybe I don’t want to sleep with Harry tonight. Bet you didn’t think about that one, did you?” Louis says, doing his best to lighten the mood.

He’s not entirely sure why he’s so nervous. Harry hasn’t proven himself to be out of his league and definitely doesn’t come off as unattainable. While wildly attractive, Louis’ come to learn that he’s a huge dork. The only thing even remotely intimidating about him is that he seems to have a buttload of money. Which isn’t a bad thing, honestly.

Liam snorts, crinkling his eyebrows like Louis’ just gone and said the dumbest thing. Louis doesn’t even bother with a response, turning to the mirror again and smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt.

His phone starts buzzing on the nightstand, where Louis’ left it plugged in and charging for the past several hours. At least if Harry turns out to be a serial killer or a super creep, his phone won’t be dead and he’ll probably be able to text Liam to come save him.

With nervous hands, trembling and shaking, Louis removes his phone from the charger and reads the text Harry has sent him.

I’m here. Would have come right to the door like a gentleman, but it appears the buzzer is broken and I obviously don’t know the code :///

Louis can’t help the quiet laughter that sneaks out, already hopelessly endeared by Harry’s weirdness.

“He’s here,” Louis tells Liam, slipping his phone into his pocket and heading down the hallway towards the front door. Liam follows silently behind him.

“Promise me you’ll be safe?” he asks, face turning serious. He reaches out and fixes a strand of Louis’ hair that’s fallen into his face, both calming and familiar. “I don’t want to have to go about finding a new roommate.”

“Yes, because that’s why it would be so bad for me to get murdered or kidnapped,” Louis teases, but he claps a hand onto Liam’s shoulder and squeezes tightly before letting it drop. “I promise I will make it back home in one piece. I understand that you need someone here to split the cost of rent.”

With that, Louis takes a deep breath and heads out the door.

At the bottom of the stairs, Harry is leaning casually against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when he hears Louis approaching, his face breaking into a beaming smile.

“You look incredible,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. Like it’s not just something he rehearsed or only said because it’s expected. The breathless tone in his voice makes it seem like maybe that isn’t even the right word to describe it.

Louis isn’t sure how to respond, so he just mumbles out, “You too.”

It’s not a lie. He’s wearing dark maroon dress pants, a white button down tucked into them. The button down, of course, only has three buttons done up. The fabric is slightly see-through, and Louis can see the dark outline of some large tattoo on Harry’s stomach.

Breaking the silence, Louis asks, “Where are we going?”

“Drinking,” Harry answers. Which clears absolutely nothing up, in Louis’ opinion.

“Where are we going drinking?” Louis tries again.

“Somewhere.”

Louis is going to slap the shit out of him.

Harry laughs quietly at the look on Louis’ face. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Am I dressed appropriately?” Louis makes another attempt.

Harry pauses, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to give his full attention to Louis’ outfit. He gives an appreciative glance up Louis’ body, causing a blush to flame at his cheeks.

“ Absolutely ,” Harry says wholeheartedly.

Louis would reply, maybe something sarcastic to deflect Harry’s sincere compliment, but they’ve come up to what he can only presume is Harry’s car. His whole body freezes, midstep, staring at a vehicle that costs more than his college tuition for at least ten years.

“I don’t think I’m nice enough to sit in this car,” he finally manages to say. There’s a tightening in his chest as he glances at the impeccable shape the car is in. There’s not a single scrape or dent on the exterior, and the interior looks spotless from where Harry is holding the door open for him. Louis’ genuinely worried he may dirty the car up just by looking at it.

Harry snorts. “Just shut up and get in.”

Harry drives carefully, which is not what Louis expected. He expected Harry to speed down the streets of the city like he’s got nothing to lose, but the opposite seems to be true. Like maybe he’s got to drive safe because he’s got something to look forward to.

Ten minutes into their drive, Harry reaches over and intertwines their fingers and Louis has to hide his smile in his shoulder.

The rest of the drive passes quickly as Louis spends the time wondering if his palm is too sweaty, if he’s being too awkward, and talking too much or too little. Harry doesn’t seem to mind, laughing in all the appropriate places and finding the right things to say to keep the conversation from dying. It’s not like talking to Harry is hard, and Louis finds himself more than willing to divulge secrets that he would usually save for his closest friends. They bond over Louis’ admittance that he listens to musical soundtracks every morning while he gets dressed and how Harry has a list of cat names picked out for when the time comes.

Harry slows the car down in an area of the city that Louis isn’t too familiar with, parallel parking with ease. Louis finds himself enjoying the way Harry puts his arm behind the seat to turn around and look, despite the backup camera that shows him all he needs.

“Which of these fine establishments are we going into?” Louis asks, unbuckling his seat belt and waiting for Harry to turn the car off. Harry only throws him a cheeky smile and climbs from the vehicle, speed walking over to the passenger side to open the door before Louis even gets a chance.

“I think you’ll like it,” Harry says, which is once again not a real answer. Louis wonders if he even knows how to answer questions. “I wanted to do something more than just grabbing dinner. I hope you don’t mind, but I picked this place with you in mind. You’re a creative type, I can tell, so I have high hopes.”

Louis can’t imagine what idea Harry has come up with this date, but luckily he doesn’t have to think for too long. They walk up to a hole in the wall place called Sip n Dip and there are fairy lights strung all around the entryway and artful canvases hanging in the window. He’s enamored immediately, eyes widening as he takes in the complex pieces of artwork and twinkling lights in the setting sun.

“What is this place?” Louis can’t keep the awe from his voice, breathless and amazed the more he looks through the wide front window. He can see people milling about inside with towels in their laps and wine glasses in one hand while the other holds a paintbrush. Some are laughing, obviously drunk and having a good time, while others appear to be taking it a bit more seriously, wine glasses left untouched.

Harry watches Louis take it all in with a soft smile tugging lopsided at his mouth. His right dimple sets shallowly into his cheek, head tilting fondly.

“We’re here to drink wine and paint,” he answers, voice just as soft as Louis’. “Well. You’re here to drink the wine and we’ll both paint. I’ll limit myself to a glass so I can drive us home.”

Louis turns his head to look at him, reluctant to take his gaze away from the scene in front of him. He’s struggling to process Harry’s words. “This is our date?”

“Yeah, is that okay?” Harry’s confidence is dissipating the longer Louis goes without answering him, shoulders slumping as he tucks his hands into his pockets. It makes him look younger, when he’s hunched over like that, and it occurs to Louis that he doesn’t even have any idea how old Harry is.

“More than,” he says. “It’s lovely. Thank you.” And he means it, hoping he can convey in his tone where words are failing him, unable to come up with something more sincere.

Harry opens the door instead of replying, but Louis can see the hint of a blush flaming at his cheeks as he ducks his head down. The bell above the entryway chimes adorably, high pitched and similar to the one hanging in the bookstore.

A woman standing at a counter glances up at the bell chimes, eyes widening and lips parting slightly. Louis can’t quite figure what about them walking through the door has inspired such a dumb look on her face.

“Hi, uh, I have a reservation?” Harry says to the girl, who still hasn’t managed to shut her mouth.

Yes. Louis gets it. Harry’s hot, but he’s not, like, that hot.

“Oh, um.” The girl shakes her head and appears to gather herself. She types something into the computer and says, “It looks like the only reservation we have is for-”

“Harry Styles,” he cuts her off before he can say anything else. “Is that correct?”

The woman’s eyes widen again, but in more of a confused manner this time. Her eyebrows pull together and she nods.

“That’s correct, yes.”

“Perfect.” Harry gives her a warm smile that Louis almost believes, gesturing with his hand for her to lead the way.

“Why does she look like she’s seen a ghost?” Louis asks in a whisper as she leads them down a hallway to what Louis assumes is the private room Harry has rented out.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry whispers back just as quietly, holding the door open for Louis to walk through first. In the room there are two easels set up with stools sitting next to them, multiple bottles of French wines sitting on a table in the center. Surrounding the bottles of wine are bottles of paint and paintbrushes, and Louis can only assume that at some point tonight he will fuck up and either pour wine where paint should go or vice versa.

The woman leaves them alone, scurrying out of the room once she makes sure everything is to their standard.

“Who are you, Harry Styles?” Louis asks, attempting to be casual as he pours two glasses of wine.

“You ask that like I’m a puzzle or something,” Harry laughs, accepting the glass offered to him. “Am I a puzzle to you?”

“How old are you?” Louis blurts out instead of answering him.

“Twenty.”

“You’re younger than me?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” he laughs, taking a sip of his wine.

“You’re not even old enough to be drinking that,” Louis points out. “Is it not a rule that you need to be twenty-one to come here?”

Harry shrugs. “Maybe.”

“What do you even do?” Louis asks, finally taking a sip of his own glass of wine. He chooses one of the bottles of white wine, but the label is in French so he knows nothing else about it. He briefly wonders if Harry knows French.

“I sing,” he answers casually.

Louis laughs in disbelief. “Maybe I should have learned more about you before agreeing to come tonight.”

“Maybe,” Harry agrees with a laugh of his own. “But that’d be less fun, I think.”

He doesn’t even bother that with a response, setting down his glass and squirting paint onto the provided tray. For a second, he thinks about picking colors that go together and maybe attempting something halfway nice to bring home for either Liam or his mom, but that thought goes flying out the window as quickly as he thinks of it. It’s much more fun to wreck chaos on the canvas, not caring about perfection for just once in his life.

Harry seems to agree, pouring himself every shade of green and blue and then adding a bright orange into the mix. Louis has no idea what he plans to do with those colors, but he’s excited to see the outcome either way. Harry’s sure to be either horrendous or incredible at painting, though he strongly believes the former.

They paint in silence for a while, and time passes without Louis noticing. Maybe it’s not the most typical first date, both of them sitting in silence while Louis gets progressively drunker on expensive wine and paints diverse dicks all over his canvas while Harry appears to actually be trying his best. But Louis’ having a good time, and he thinks maybe that’s all that matters.

Eventually, he grows tired of painting dicks and tries his hand at drawing a vulva but he fails miserably, just a mess of scribbled lines overlapping each other. Once that’s failed, he sets down his paintbrush and tray of paint on the center table and decides it’s been too long since he’s last bothered Harry.

“What’re you painting?” Louis asks, trying to peek over Harry’s form at his canvas, placing a hand on his shoulder to keep himself balanced. Harry’s broad shoulders block most of the view, so he shifts to allow Louis a look.

Louis takes in the colors swirled onto the canvas. Harry has taken this seriously, then, unlike Louis. He’s swirled the blues and greens together and smudged a darker orange shade where the green and blue mix and blended them together nicely. Louis hadn’t expected the colors to work, but they complement each other well on the page.

“Just something abstract,” Harry answers, using his thumb to do some more smudging. Louis wonders if that’s the correct way to do that or if Harry’s just made his own rules, and then he wonders if there are correct ways to do anything in art.

“That’s beautiful,” Louis says, and he means it. The smile Harry gives him in return says it all, stretching his lips thin as he gives the back of Louis’ hand a kiss where it’s still resting on his shoulder.

Harry is a perfect gentleman when he drops Louis off, walking him to the door and not trying any funny business. He smiles gratefully when Louis kisses his cheek, dimples settling deep as he bites the inside of his mouth.

“I had a great time tonight,” Louis says honestly. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

“I probably won’t be around for a few weeks, but I’ll let you know the exact date I’ll be back,” Harry says.

“Hmm, is that the only reason you plan on texting me?” Louis asks, teasing lilt in his tone.

“Oh definitely not.” Harry reaches out and intertwines their fingers. “I plan on blowing up your phone so much that you contemplate blocking my number.”

“Not creepy at all.”

Harry throws his head back and laughs, whole body shaking with it as if Louis has said something earth-shatteringly funny.

It takes Harry thirty-two minutes before he finally says goodbye. Liam makes sure to let them know when he opens the door and asks them if they could just get on with it so he could go to bed . With a giggle, Louis kisses Harry’s cheek one last time and promises to answer every single one of his dumb text messages. He stands in the doorway and watches Harry’s retreating form, wondering why his heart’s beating so furiously.

“How are things with Harry?” Zayn asks, but he doesn’t look like he cares one way or another.

“I’d say pretty well,” Louis answers him. He swings his legs back and forth, bored and anxiously waiting for Harry to text him back. They’ve been texting nonstop since their first (and only ) date three weeks ago, Louis’ phone buzzing so much Liam has actually starting twitching with irritation when he hears it in the apartment.

Harry’s set to come back to town in a couple of days, and he told Louis he’s got something just as fun planned for their second date. Louis wonders how he plans on topping the first date, something so perfect and thoughtful that his heart still races when he thinks about it. As if the date weren’t incredible enough, Harry had sent him a bouquet of flowers once a week since, each with a personal note attached.

“Has he got something big planned?”

Louis shakes his head. “I have no idea. He makes no sense.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Zayn says, packing up all of his things into his bag. His shift ends earlier than Louis’ for once, and he’s been itching to leave for the past forty-five minutes. “I can’t wait to be invited to your weird wedding.”

Louis only scowls in return, flipping off his back as he walks away.

It’s two hours until closing time and without Zayn there to entertain him and Harry not texting him back, he’s not sure how he’ll pass the time. He pulls out his laptop, opening the folder with his writing. It used to be so hard, just to even look at it, and now it’s easy to reread the words he’s written.

He’s got maybe three-hundred words written when the bell dings from the front, alerting him that thirty minutes have passed. He tries not to be disappointed when he checks his phone and finds Harry still hasn’t texted him back.

“Hey, babe.”

Louis looks up from his phone, brain trying to piece together why it seems like Harry’s standing in the store currently.

“Harry?”

“Unless I’ve got a twin somewhere, then yes. I think so,” he chuckles.

He’s still dressed in what Louis assumes are his work clothes, black dress pants that flare out at the ends and a half buttoned maroon silk top.

“What are you doing here?” Louis asks, biting the inside of his cheeks to keep his smile from breaking through. “I thought you wouldn’t be here for a few more days.”

“Well, if you don’t want me here I can come back in a few more days. I just thought I’d surprise you. We could do something chill tonight and then I can take you to dinner in a few days.”

Even biting the inside of his cheeks doesn’t stop Louis’ smile from spreading across his face. “I would absolutely adore that. I’m stuck here for about an hour and a half longer, but then I’m free. I do have a paper to write, but…” His voice trails off and he starts panicking about all of the things he’s actually got to do.

“Hey, hey, that’s okay,” Harry says soothingly. “I’ve got an idea actually. And you can get your work done at the same time.”

“And what would that be?”

“Come to my hotel tonight. We’ll build a fort and put on some music and we can both just...do our work. I’ve got some songwriting to do and you can do your schoolwork and then we can reward ourselves by watching a movie and eating junk food until we pass out.” He reaches over and tucks a stray piece of Louis’ hair back into its place. “How does that sound?”

“Absolutely lovely,” Louis sighs.

The rest of his shift passes by with Harry distracting him from reshelving books and asking him questions about every book he picks up. Like Louis’ read every book in the store, or something. A lot of the books are textbooks .

He locks the store with his key, tucking his lanyard into bag and turning to Harry.

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing to the empty sidewalk with his hand.

Harry uses this as an opportunity to grab his hand and interlock their fingers, leading them to where his car is parked. Like the gentleman he is, Harry opens the door for him and waits for him to climb all the way inside before shutting it. He doesn’t even smack Louis with the door or make a comment about his ass.

The drive to the hotel is short, music playing lightly over Harry’s speakers. Louis recognizes some of it, but most of it is stuff he’s never heard before. Louis makes a note to ask Harry to send over his playlist later and briefly wonders if Harry is a fan of Edward Cox before shaking that thought from his mind.

There’s a crowd of what appears to be mostly teenage girls standing at the entrance of the hotel. Louis is alarmed, to say the least.

“We’ll go through the back,” Harry says as they park. As if this is normal .

The back door has less teenagers than the front entrance, and they all perk up in excitement when they see Harry.

“Hi girls,” he drawls, voice lower than Louis is used to hearing. “Everyone having a good night?”

They all make some version of high-pitched excited noises, some of them nodding and some of them looking frozen in what Louis thinks might be fear.

“Okay, well, my friend and I need to get through if you don’t mind.” He says it politely, and the girls actually listen, scooting out of the way for the pair to reach the door. “Everyone have a safe night. Get the proper amount of rest, and make sure to eat something.” He pauses briefly once he’s got the door open, turning to ask, “Does anyone have any dietary restrictions?”

Louis doesn’t hear any of them answer, halfway down the hallway to the elevator. Harry jogs to catch up to him, pressing the button and slipping his hand into the back pocket of Louis’ jeans.

“Sorry about that,” he says, as if he’s to blame or something.

Shrugging, Louis says, “Not your fault. Let’s just go get some work done and eat junk food until we burst.”

The elevator doors slide open silently, and they step inside. Harry doesn’t even hesitate before pressing the button for the penthouse. He has to scan his card to even get the elevator to start moving.

“Harry.”

The man looks up, lips pulled between his teeth. He hums quietly.

“Are you staying in the penthouse?”

“I might be.”

“Harry.”

“You keep saying my name.”

“I’ve had ramen for dinner for the past three nights.” Louis’ eyes widen as the doors slide open, revealing the glamorous penthouse suite behind them. He’s seen things like this in movies, but never in real life. He never thought he’d get a chance to.

Everything is modern, sleek, and clean. The furniture in the living room probably costs more than rent for his entire building for a whole year, there’s a full kitchen, and there’s multiple bedrooms coming off the hallway. Louis might be in over his head.

He decides to pretend like this is normal. It seems to be his best bet.

They get to work stripping the beds of their sheets and pulling the chairs into a ring in the center of the living room. Harry grabs pillows to use as weights so the sheets don’t slide everywhere and Louis lays down fluffier blankets and pillows onto the floor for a comfier spot for them to work. It takes all of fifteen minutes for them to have the perfect fort, cozy and with an opening to see the television.

In the middle of all of this, Louis can hear Harry on the phone. First, with the front desk to ask them to bring all the snacks from the concierge, and then with what Louis thinks is a pizza place.

Harry settles into the blankets and pillows on the ground easily, pulling out a worn leather notebook and both a pencil and pen. He leaves the right amount of space for Louis to slide in, letting their legs tangle but leaving enough room that they won’t sweat all over each other.

Louis thought it would be harder to work when he couldn’t put on Edward Cox, what’s become his usual studying and writing music. It’s the opposite, though, with Harry’s pencil scratching across the page and tapping against his thigh mixing with the clicking of Louis’ laptop keys to build a soundtrack he wouldn’t mind listening to for a while.

He finishes his paper easily, three whole days before the due date, and decides to switch to finishing his novel. He’s only got a few loose ends to tie up and then the first draft will technically be finished. The thought doesn’t scare him as much as it used to. In fact, it almost excites him, the idea of editing his own work and toying with the idea of getting it ready to send out somewhere.

“What’re you working on?”

Louis lolls his head, resting his cheek on his shoulder to look at Harry. Maybe if it were anyone else, he’d be scared to talk about what he considers one of his most guarded secrets, but the words slip out easily. “I’m writing a book.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums. “Do you want to tell me about it or is it personal? I know, like, sometimes I write songs that I have to keep to myself for a while. Sometimes I never share them.”

“It’s a love story,” Louis says.

“Mine too.”

“What?”

“Mine’s a love story too.” Harry taps the notebook in his hands with the eraser of his pencil.

“Will you sing for me sometime?” Louis asks, suddenly desperate to hear Harry’s deep speaking voice translate to something more melodic.

Harry appears to be thinking it over, lips pouting as he bites the inside of them. “Maybe one day.”

Louis gets it. It’s personal . Art is personal. Artists pour a little bit of themselves into everything they do. He does the same thing.

They settle back into a comfortable silence, but somewhere along the way they’ve scooted close enough that their shoulders keep bumping whenever they shift.

At some point, Louis must fall asleep because he wakes up feeling more rested than he has in a long time, tucked into a king size bed in a room too nice to be his. He doesn’t even bother worrying about it before he falls back asleep, shifting closer to the warm body next to him.

He doesn’t even wonder why Harry ordered a pizza that never came until later that week, when he’s long gone and Louis remembers the girls outside the hotel. He decides to brush it off, not putting much thought into it.

Fall goes by in the blink of an eye, and before Louis knows it Thanksgiving has passed and he’s thrown into the midst of finals season. He can barely keep his head on his shoulders, getting whiplash from how quickly he turns in a paper or final project just to have another one spring back up at him. He’s on the verge of breaking down completely, when a knock at his door shakes him out of it.

He assumes Liam gets it and goes back to work, trying to refocus himself.

“Lou?”

Liam knocks against his cracked bedroom door with one knuckle, edging it open slowly.

“Yeah?” Louis shoves his laptop to the end of the bed, deciding maybe it’s time for a break since the words have all started blurring together and he’s not even sure he’s typing in English any longer.

“You’ve got a package,” he says softly, like speaking any louder might be the thing that sends Louis off the edge. “I think it’s from Harry.”

Poor Harry’s had to deal with most of Louis’ breakdowns. He can’t help the way he sends text after text, each one more hysterical and containing more spelling mistakes than the last. Harry takes it all in stride, sending back support and empathizing the best he can. He’s kept up with the bouquet of flowers a week thing, and Louis assumes that’s what this is before Liam gestures for him to come out to the living room.

In the middle of the room is a basket labeled ‘ finals szn cure .’ It’s overflowing with candy, coffee mugs, bags of coffee, gift cards, flowers, and even cold medicine. Louis picks up the card with shaking hands, feeling overwhelmingly taken care of.

I know it’s hard, but you’ll get through it! I threw in some cold medicine because stress lowers your immune system and you sounded a little stuffed up on our last phone call. See you in a little over a week, babe, when everything’s turned in. We can drink a lot of wine and forget it all happened.

“You have to marry him, I think,” Liam says. “I think that’s, like, the law or something.”

Louis whacks him on the arm with the card. “It’s not the law. Don’t be dumb.”

“Okay but you have to marry him, even if it’s not the law.”

Louis whacks him again. “Shut up.”

But he’s blushing and he doesn’t mean it and he spends the rest of the night more motivated than ever to actually get his work done.

Louis sees Harry one time over Christmas break. Harry goes home to his own family (and apologizes because they can’t spend the holidays together) and Louis celebrates his birthday and Christmas and New Years trying desperately not to think about Harry.

His mom, of course, asks him what’s got him walking around so wistfully and he considers it a feat of strength that he manages to keep from telling her.

His sisters are the same as the last time he saw them, if only a little taller. They do his makeup and paint his nails and gush all about boys in their classes.

They’ve even become avid Edward Cox fans.

“He’s so hot,” Lottie says. “Like. So hot. Wanna see a picture of him?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, Lottie. I do not care what Edward Cox looks like.”

In truth, he does care a little, but he doesn’t want to find out in case it ruins it all for him. He’s built the man up so much in his head that he’s sure it’ll all come tumbling down eventually. Nobody’s perfect, everyone’s flawed, etc. He knows this, but he can’t keep himself from setting Edward on a pedestal.

They don’t press the issue, distracted by gossiping about their classmates and missing clothes they’ve stolen from each other.

Break ends soon enough, and while Louis loves his family, he wants nothing more than to crash in his own bed and not have seven pairs of ears listening in to his phone calls with Harry in the middle of night. They’d had to talk at three in the morning most days due to the time difference, when Harry was just getting up for the day and Louis was just settling down. Harry had insisted he’d be willing to stay up late to talk to Louis every night, but Louis swore he was awake at that time anyway.

A fresh bouquet of flowers is waiting outside his door when he gets home, but that’s not all.

Harry is holding the flowers, cheeky grin threatening to split his face in half and permanently set his dimples into his cheeks.

“Surprise?”

“Shut up,” Louis says, but he’s smiling and pulling Harry closer to kiss him against the door.

The kiss is just growing deeper when a throat clears from behind them. They break apart to see Liam standing there, hands on his hips like a stern father. Harry smiles sheepishly, but Louis doesn’t even bother to appear ashamed.

“How were your holidays?” Harry asks politely.

“Can you guys just promise to have sex quietly?” Liam asks, a slight hint of desperation in his tone. “I have to be up early.”

It’s two weeks before Easter when Louis’ world gets turned upside down. Or well. He’s being dramatic. Nothing that big happens, really.

Edward Cox just drops a surprise album.

No promo, no other singles than the one almost six months ago, no interviews. Out of the blue. Drops a twelve song album.

It makes Louis cry because of course .

He’s expecting the rawness and the realness of it just because that’s how Edward’s work is. What he doesn’t expect is the way it takes his breath away and makes him feel like he’s been plunged under cold water and he’s waking up for the first time in years.

The album tells a story, when played through in order. Everything transitions beautifully, stitching together a vivid picture in Louis’ mind.

The opening song tells all about cynicism turned optimism when Edward meets someone who changes his world, a chance encounter that ripples into the rest of his life. The album builds, from first dates and kisses to realizations of love that take one’s breath away and closing with an unfinished story. Edward doesn’t say one way or another what happens to these lovers, whether they get their happy ending, are still going strong, or if something darker has happened to them.

He listens on repeat for three days before Zayn unplugs his phone one day at work and tells him he won’t get it back until he promises to play something else. Louis agrees reluctantly and puts on the playlist Harry put together for him.

He continues listening on his own time until even Spotify suggests a new artist every time he opens the app.

As if it’s not bad enough that Edward’s gone and dropped a surprise album all about being in love, words poetic and heartbreakingly raw that rips Louis apart starting at his chest, he does interview after interview about each of the songs and their meanings. Louis sees articles pop up on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter all speculating who’s gone and made Edward feel like this.

It only gets worse when he reads about the inspiration behind the cover art. Louis had found the artwork interesting, a surprising color palette with blues and greens and orange smudges. Edward, or maybe someone hired to fake print-interviews for the man, says the inspiration comes from his own artwork that he had done himself. He’d gone and put all the colors together, unlikely pairings that they are, and they had worked in the end. It felt like a metaphor for his relationship - he and his mystery lover were an unlikely pair who seemed to be working out all right.

Louis wonders if it’s possible to fall in love with someone you’ve never met, and decides that he’s very in love Edward Cox.

The radio is on when Louis begins his shift. That’s what changes things.

It’s a generally agreed upon rule that you turn your music off when you clock out for your shift, but it looks like whoever had been working before him either didn’t know, forgot, or didn’t care. Louis himself is partial to connecting his phone to the speaker and just playing from one of his own playlists, but a lot of the other workers listen to the local radio station.

He slides a chair around to where the radio is set up higher into the wall, behind the register, prepared to step on and turn off the sound when a deep, familiar voice knocks the wind out of him.

“ Yeah, thanks for having me. ”

The words are just slow enough, curve together enough, that Louis seriously considers it might be Harry. Like Harry is important enough to be doing an interview on the radio station, for god knows what.

“So, Edward, what keeps bringing you back to this humble town of ours? You’ve done quite a few private shows here lately and you said you recorded most of your album here,” the radio host says. Chuckling quietly, he adds, “Not sure any of us our complaining. Keep doing private shows here all you want.”

That’s why the voice is so familiar. It’s Edward Cox. The man responsible for Louis finishing the first draft of his novel. The man responsible for the strikes of inspiration, leading to countless sleepless nights as his fingers hurried to keep up with his brain.

Why does Edward Cox sound so much like Harry ?

“I, uh, I just love this area. I did most of the songwriting here too,” Edward answers, voice growing deeper the longer he talks. It feels like it takes him five minutes just to say such few words. He’s much more eloquent when singing, Louis notes.

“Love any particular piece of it, or love just all of it?”

“I really fell in love with the atmosphere, and then I fell in love with someone here so I had to just keep coming back.”

Edward’s answer is so honest, Louis feels like he’s been punched in the gut, even though he has no real connection to Edward or the imaginary person he’s fallen in love with.

“I’d say I get that feeling from your album,” the radio host says. “Edward, I have been listening to your album nonstop since you dropped it out of nowhere a few weeks ago. It’s so raw and honest. Makes me feel like I might be in love.” Both of them force out a chuckle.

“Gonna boost my ego too much,” Edward jokes. “Get an even bigger head on my shoulders.”

Louis turns the radio off. He can’t handle listening to any more. Something about Edward feels too familiar, whether it be the his voice or the way he speaks. Maybe he’s just feeling off because it’s the first time he’ll be seeing Harry in almost a full month, the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other since they went on their first date roughly six months ago.

Maybe he feels off because Edward sounds so much like Harry, and he’s in love with Harry. Maybe he genuinely needed a push from faceless popstar to help him recognize his feelings. Maybe Louis can write a love story but can’t recognize when love is slapping him in the face.

The chime of the bell from the front of the store knocks him from the spiral he’s found himself stuck in. He has just enough time to take a deep breath and collect his bearings before Zayn is entering his line of sight, a small smile quirking at his lips.

“Hey, Lou,” he says, coming around the counter and dropping his things on the floor. “I didn’t know we were working together tonight.”

“I needed some extra cash, so I asked if I could work tonight with you,” Louis explains. He hops onto the counter, somewhat of his assigned seat by this point, letting his heels kick at the wood cabinets underneath.

“Don’t you have a date with Harry tonight?” Zayn pulls out his sketchbook and pencil bag, the pencils clinking together daintily as he sets the bag on the counter. The sketchbook must be new, looking pristine and like he hasn’t even opened it yet.

“Don’t remind me,” Louis says with a sigh. “I just realized I’m in love with him.”

Zayn snorts, but doesn’t even bother looking up from where his pencil is scratching across the paper. Somehow, without Louis even noticing, he’s managed to get the vague outline of a person drawn onto his page. Louis’ convinced he’s magic, but Zayn just calls him unobservant and self-absorbed.

“So tell him,” Zayn says, unhelpful as ever.

“Maybe I’ll tell him when he comes to pick me up and then he’ll be so freaked out because this was supposed to be a casual thing that he’ll leave me here to cry in your arms.” Louis says it all quickly, words jumbling together so messily that he’s not even sure Zayn can understand him.

“You’re an idiot if you think this has been anything casual for either of you,” Zayn says. “You’ve both probably been planning your wedding since before he sent you those chocolate covered strawberries.”

“You think so?” Louis asks hopefully, eyes wide and chest feeling light.

Zayn sets down his pencil, looking mildly annoyed that Louis is still bothering him, and glances up. “Did you guys ever talk about being casual? I just want to, like, figure out why we keep throwing that word around when your relationship seems anything but.”

“I feel like you know the answer to this question and asking it is just a waste of your breath.” Louis tries to smile innocently but all Zayn does is furrow his eyebrows as the corners of his lips tug downwards.

He takes a deep breath, lips mumbling something silently before he says, “Can you just fucking figure your shit out? Jesus .”

His tone is even until the end, breaking on the last word as he slumps over against the counter with his head buried in his hands.

“Yeah, I’ll uh, I’ll figure my shit out.”

“Thank you,” Zayn says, exhaling deeply. “That’s all I ask.”

The rest of the night passes in near silence, save for the music Louis finally puts on and the scratch of Zayn’s pencil as he works on his designs.

Louis’ phone breaks the silence about five minutes before he’s set to leave for his date, vibrating loudly from its place on the counter. He picks it up, smiling as he reads the text from Harry on the screen.

“Do you want to meet him?” Louis asks, hopping down from the counter and slipping his phone into his pocket. “He’ll be here in a few minutes and I can tell him to come in.”

Zayn closes his sketchbook and slides it away from him. He smiles softly and answers, “Yeah, Lou, I’d like that.”

He pulls his phone back from his pocket, sending a text to let Harry know to come into the store to meet Zayn. He’s been asking for a while now, so it’s about time Louis finally introduces them.

Not even five minutes later, the bell in the front is chiming and Louis can hear the familiar noise of Harry’s boots on the hardwood. His face breaks into a smile without his permission, stretching across his face as he whirls around to greet Harry.

“Hey!” he says, unable to keep the excitement from his tone. Harry’s face is broken into the same smile, looking like it might crack in half.

“Hey babe,” Harry answers, stepping closer and curling a hand around Louis’ waist. He places a soft kiss against Louis’ forehead before stepping back and turning to Zayn. “So nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh my god,” Zayn says, jaw dropping. “Louis. Oh my fucking god.”

“Zayn, you’re being impolite,” Louis hisses, cheeks heating in embarrassment. “What is wrong with you?”

“I know I’m not the hottest guy on the planet, but I can’t say I’m scary looking enough to warrant that kind of reaction,” Harry tries to joke, laughing feebly. Louis just wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

“Louis.” Zayn blinks his eyes harshly a few times, continuing, “Louis, you’ve been dating Edward Cox .”

“Wait, no I haven’t,” Louis says, puzzled. “I’ve been dating Harry Styles.”

“I’d say you’ve been dating both,” Harry chimes in helpfully, doing absolutely nothing to clear up Louis’ confusion. Louis turns to face him now, eyebrows pulled tightly together and lips pressed in a firm line.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, but the pieces are starting to come together. “Oh my god. Oh my god. ”

“Yeah,” Zayn tacks on. “That about sums it up.”

“You’ve been seeing me when you’re in love with someone else ?” Louis all but screeches, voice reaching a pitch he didn’t even know he could reach. “You’ve been stringing me along when you’re pining for someone else? What the fuck ?”

Harry holds both of his hands in front of him, palms facing outward, the way you would approach a startled animal.

“Hold on, I think I deserve a chance to, like, speak my case because that’s not at all what’s-”

Louis cuts him off. “Shut up.”

“What?” Harry’s mouth gapes like a fish.

“I think you broke me.” Louis pinches at the skin of his arm, testing to see that he hasn’t fallen into some wild dream world where nothing makes sense. “Harry Styles. Edward Cox. Whatever. I think you broke me.”

“My name is Harry.” He takes a tentative step towards Louis. “I never technically lied to you.”

“That’s not what I’m mad about here,” Louis says. “Wrong battle. I don’t even care about that. I get that.”

“You do?” Harry’s face scrunches up adorably, and Louis refuses to feel charmed.

“Well, yeah.” Louis waves his arm around like it’s obvious, but he can tell Harry still doesn’t get it. “You’re famous. When I didn’t notice you, it would have seemed like bragging to tell me about it, or whatever. And like, I’m sure people use you for your fame and money. Whatever. You were protecting yourself.”

“Then what are you mad about?” Harry asks.

At some point, Zayn must have packed up his things and slipped out because when Louis turns to look to him for guidance, he’s gone from the scene. The bastard.

“That you’re in love with someone else!” Louis throws his arms up in frustration, watching as Harry winces. “You’re stringing me along!”

“I’m not, though,” Harry says defensively.

“Then what do you call taking me on dates while you’re in love with someone else?”

“Why do you assume that the person I’m in love with and you are two separate people?”

Harry’s words stop him in his tracks. It’s as if he’s been punched in the gut and he just barely resists the urge to bend over to catch his breath.

“Don’t say something like that if you don’t mean it,” Louis warns him, but it comes out winded, like he’s just run sprints. He sounds exactly like he feels, exactly like the way Harry makes him feel.

“I mean it, babe, I really do.” Harry takes a step closer to him, hesitantly reaching out his fingertips. “I am incredibly in love with you. Can’t shut up about you. Wrote a whole album about you.”

“You did.” And it would be a question, but it comes out as more of a statement, as if Louis finally believes that Harry wrote a whole album about being in love with him. And suddenly every metaphor, the symbolism, and all the lyrics hit him like a freight train, knocking him unsteady. He whispers again, breathless this time, “You really did.”

A smile splits across Harry’s face again, eyes glimmering like he might be holding back tears. Louis can relate - he’s blinking away a few of his own.

“I-” Louis pauses and takes a deep breath, doing his best to steady himself but it’s so hard when Harry is looking at him like that and they’re in love and he can hear Harry’s voice singing the loving words in his brain. The loving words that he wrote for Louis and it’s all a bit much. “We have to get out of here.”

“Where are we going?” Harry asks, but doesn’t protest as Louis grabs his hand and leads him to the front of the store. He sends a short wave to Zayn, reminding himself to send him a bouquet of flowers (or wine) later as a thank you for all the shit he’s put up with.

Louis leads him straight to Harry’s car, crowding him up against it and leaning up onto his toes so he can press a kiss to Harry’s jaw.

“Take me home,” Louis mumbles against the skin there.

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice, fumbling behind him for the car handle, and shifting their bodies so he can swing the door open. Louis climbs in, gesturing for Harry to get a move on. He may do everything else slowly, but he’s going to need to speed up for this.

As if he can read Louis’ brain, Harry doesn’t drive like a grandma as per his usual technique. He makes it to Louis’ apartment in record time, and someone must be looking out for them because there’s parking available right in front of the building. Louis barely even waits for Harry to put the car in park before he’s jumping from the car and running towards the stairs.

Harry is hot on his heels, laughing just loudly enough that Louis can detect it.

The door is unlocked when they get there and Louis is thankful for that, but apologetic because that means Liam is about to hear what happens. He doesn’t waste too much time thinking about it, not when Harry is pushing him onto the bed and crowding into his space like that’s exactly where he belongs.

“You gonna fuck me or are you just gonna stare me looking stupid all night?” Louis teases him, but it loses its bite when it’s so overwhelmingly fond.

“I, uh, yeah.” Harry trips over his words, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I can do that.”

“Which one? Fucking me or looking stupid all night?”

“I can do both at the same time.”

Louis laughs, full body shaking, feeling happier than he’s felt in a while.

Kissing Harry feels like coming home, as cliche and cheesy as it sounds even in Louis’ own head. It’s true. It feels like a weight lifted from his shoulders, familiarity seeping into every inch of his body, beginning where their lips fit together so easily.

The kiss turns heated soon enough, hips grinding against each other as they try to get closer than they already are. At some point, they part just enough to slip their clothes off but the brief distance doesn’t last long, Harry slipping in between Louis’ parted thighs.

He opens Louis up with gentle hands, pausing after every wince or when Louis tenses up. He eases one finger, then two and three inside, slippery with lube and with a grounding hand placed against the flat of Louis’ stomach.

They both gasp when Harry slides in, Louis’ mouth stuck open and eyes open wide while Harry squeezes his closed. Like he’s doing his best to control himself; doing his best to make this as good as possible for Louis.

It doesn’t take long before Harry finds a rhythm they both like, hands gripped around Louis’ hips, leaving fingerprint shaped bruises in the soft skin. Louis can’t do much more than whine and curse every few minutes, legs wrapped around Harry’s waist as he drives in.

“I can’t believe,” Louis says between thrusts. “That you, fuck, wrote a whole - god dammit - fucking love album for me. And I was - fucking hell - sitting right next to you while you did it. Oh god .” His words seem to spur Harry on, their hips slapping together loudly, Louis scrambling his nails against Harry’s back. It’s all he can do to hold on, Harry thrusting as deep as he can and teeth digging into the skin of Louis’ shoulder.

“You can’t talk like that,” Harry pants. “I’m gonna come.”

“Then fucking do it,” Louis says, near the edge himself. He doesn’t want to be the first to let go, but it seems likely when Harry’s nailing his prostate with every twitch of his hips and his cock is trapped between their bodies.

“Fuck fuck fuck .” Harry’s hips stutter, lips sucking a bruise onto Louis’ collarbone.

Louis comes first, cock untouched between them as it spills onto both of their chests. He throws his head back and Harry uses this as an excuse to kiss his exposed neck, hands running along his body as he chases his own orgasm. Louis is sensitive and sore, but would take this forever, take whatever Harry needs to give him for the rest of his life.

Hips stuttering, rhythm lost, Harry comes into the condom with an “ I love you ” mumbled into Louis’ skin, and drops his weight onto Louis’ body. He pulls out enough to take the condom off and toss it in the direction of the trash can (Louis can hear it plop to the floor, but he doesn’t have enough energy to care) before collapsing back into his arms.

“Get off me, you ostrich,” Louis says, but he wraps his legs tighter around Harry’s thighs to prevent him from doing just that.

Later, when Harry’s used a rag to clean them both up and they’re both drifting peacefully towards sleep, tangled in each other’s arms, Louis remembers to say, “Harry?”

“Mm,” Harry mumbles, face pressed into the pillow next to Louis’ head. His breath is warm as it fans out across both of their bare bodies, leaving goosebumps in its path.

“I think I’m gonna send my book out to some publishers.”

Harry’s awake in a matter of seconds, pressing Louis into the mattress with big hands on his shoulders, shaking him in excitement. His eyes are comically wide, mouth thrown open wide and attempting to smile at the same time.

“Louis, that’s incredible!” His voice is too loud for the quiet hour of the night, and Liam will probably give them a lecture in the morning, but for now Louis finds himself laughing gleefully and letting himself be shaken by Harry.

As the excitement momentarily wears off (he’s sure in the morning Harry will want to treat him to some extravagant breakfast), they both cuddle back into each other’s arms. Sleep overcoming him, Louis isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to come up with the words to describe the love he feels, but between his novels and Harry’s songs, he’s sure he’ll come up with something fitting.