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Harry’s not even halfway through his first year of university, and he’s already too stressed out for his own good. That may be why, when Louis texts him drinks Friday?, Harry agrees at once even though he has an english lit paper he should be writing.
A more probable explanation is his inability to say no to Louis.
You work too hard, darling, Louis has told him time and time again. You’ll have plenty of time to stress in the next three years. First year is for sleeping in, staying up too late, and waking up in strangers bathtubs. He wiggled his eyebrows.
Speaking from experience? Harry had asked.
Louis waved him off. Never enter a drinking contest with Niall.
Harry has no intentions of entering a drinking contest period, let alone one with Niall. He knows how much Niall can drink.
Maybe, he muses, that’s his problem. He doesn’t do fun, exciting, spontaneous things that lead to waking up in unfamiliar places. Maybe, a dark part of his mind whispers, Louis would like you better if you did.
He doesn’t listen to that part of his brain; it always leads down a dark, depressing tunnel with no escape in sight.
He also, resolutely, does not think about whose bathtub Louis may have been waking up in.
✿
He meets Louis at the pub off campus, the one Louis deems the best though he has yet to tell Harry why exactly it’s the best. Something ridiculous like mood lighting or the aura, he’s sure.
Louis is already sitting at the bar, with not one, not two, but three different admirers — four if you count the bartender; she is making a drink, but also laughing at whatever Louis is saying.
Harry has to take a moment to prepare himself. He likes being around people, loves going out and having a good time, but there’s something so intimidating about approaching a group. Even with his best friend in the middle of said group, Harry feels shy and nervous, a clinch in his stomach that makes him feel like he might be sick all over the floor. Louis is so very clearly charming the pants off of everyone. He always does, effortlessly. Harry is left fumbling behind him, picking up the pieces of his own personality and trying to fit them into something that resembles a normal human being.
Tonight will be different, he thinks, like he has so many times before. But he tries to really mean it this time. Mind over matter and all that. He’s got to put himself out there, face his anxiety head on. He can’t wait around, pining after a boy who is never going to be interested in him. There’s something quite pathetic about how — less than twenty minutes earlier — he’d been sitting in his dorm pretending to work on a paper that wasn’t even due until Monday, waiting hopefully for a text from Louis.
Waiting, waiting, waiting, he is always waiting. And suddenly, watching Louis be so effortlessly present, Harry is tired.
Before he can finish giving himself a mental pep talk — there’s no way they’re laughing at him; Louis wouldn’t do that for one, and he doesn’t know why the thought even occurs to him in the first place — Louis turns and spots him.
His eyes are bright and his hair looks soft; despite himself, Harry starts to relax.
I’m done waiting, he reminds himself.
“Oi, Hazza, darling, come join us.”
Harry does, making himself comfortable on the suddenly free barstool next to Louis.
“This is the love of my life, Harry,” Louis says in way of introduction. Harry wishes he wouldn’t. People think they’re dating enough as it is, and then Harry has to tell them no, we’re just friends without sounding like he’s about to cry. Going off of the sympathetic looks he often gets in return, he doesn’t think he succeeds.
They grew up together; the cliche story of boy meets boy, two houses down the block. Louis was older, but charming and beautiful, and Harry was absolutely smitten from the word go. Louis has always been painfully out of Harry’s league.
The girl sitting next to Harry says, “You’re together?” She’s got brown skin and dark hair pulled into two French braids. Harry thinks she looks vaguely familiar, but he can’t place her.
He shakes his head when it’s clear Louis isn’t going to answer — he never does, probably thinks it’s a big laugh letting people think they’re dating. Harry knows Louis doesn’t mean anything by it, but it aches something deep inside him — that even the idea of them dating is laughable, just one big joke.
“No, we’re just friends.”
“Best friends,” Louis clarifies, dropping his arm over Harry’s shoulder.
Harry nods in agreement and fights the urge to either shrug his arm off or curl closer to him. “Best friends.”
“Well, in that case—” She holds out a hand for him to shake, which he does. Her skin is soft, but calloused around her fingertips. “I’m Carter.”
“We have music theory together,” Harry realizes at once, releasing her hand a second too late. Her nails are a pretty shade of orange.
She grins, pleased to have been recognized. “Indeed.”
They spend more than a few minutes talking about their class and upcoming assignments. Harry’s just started to ask about her other classes — apparently she dabbles in music in her free time — when Louis’ hand tightens on his shoulder. Harry had forgotten it had been there.
“That booth just freed up,” Louis says.
Harry frowns, following Louis’ gaze for a moment before turning back to Carter. “What’s wrong with right here? We were talking—”
Carter waves it off, a gleam in her eyes. “It’s fine. I should be off, anyways. I’ll see you in class, Harry, yeah?” She takes the napkin in front of him and writes her phone number down on it. “Text me sometime. We can plan a study date.” She winks and then disappears into the crowd.
Louis very nearly drags him off the stool, almost too fast for Harry to grab the napkin. He shoves it into his pocket.
“Why the rush?” he asks once he’s sat down again.
When he looks up at Louis, his expression is flat, his eyes searching. After a moment, Louis smiles, face softening. “No rush, darling. Just wanted to grab this table before someone else did. I think Liam and Niall might join us.”
“Oh,” Harry says, looking around. Last he checked, Niall was having a Pantone related crisis, and God only knows what Liam’s up to. Probably crying over black holes again. “I thought it would just be the two of us.” Waiting, waiting, waiting. He shrugs it off. “Alright. Are you going to buy me a beer?”
Louis nods and moves to stand up again. “Yeah, darling. I’ll buy you a beer.”
✿
He texts Carter the next day — after giving himself an hour and a half hour long pep talk — and they agree to get together for a study session on Monday.
When he walks out of his lecture Monday afternoon, Louis is waiting for him.
Harry looks around, confused. “You don’t have a class here.”
“I do not,” Louis confirms. “I thought I’d walk you to the library.”
“Oh.” Something soft unfurls in his chest that he tries desperately to tamp down. Not waiting. “That’s nice of you.”
Louis shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a nice guy, the nicest. We’re best friends. Gonna walk you to class and carry your books and buy you drinks, ‘cause you’re my best friend, and that’s what best friends do.” He sounds a little put off.
Harry frowns. He doesn’t have any books. “You’re being weird. What’s going on? You don’t have to walk me if you don’t want to.”
Louis deflates. “I had a bad class. I’m sorry.”
“Oh? Tell me about it?”
All the way to the library, Louis tells him about his history class and the history paper he has to write. It’s not much different than any other day of the week; in fact, Harry is quickly becoming convinced that ninety percent of being a history major is just writing papers. Louis seems to be in a better mood by the time he’s done ranting, though; Harry knows he can’t be too worried about his paper — he always gets high marks.
By the time they make it inside the library, and Harry is preoccupied searching for Carter, Louis starts to grumble again.
“Do you want to get together this evening?” Harry offers. “We can order in, and I’ll go over your paper for you? If that’ll help?”
Louis’ features have gone all soft at the edges, a stark difference from a moment ago. “Yeah? Thanks, darling. I’d love that.” He gestures towards a corner of the room. “There’s your girl.”
Harry wants to say she’s not my girl. He doesn’t have girls. It’s difficult to have girls or boys or anyone when you’re too busy pretending not to be in love with your best friend.
Louis doesn’t give him a chance to speak, just tangles their fingers together and leads the way to where Carter has already set up camp. Her books are spread across the table, and her laptop is open in front of her.
“Hi,” Harry greets when they’re close enough. He drops his backpack onto the table across from her.
She looks up, her hair done in a messy bun and glasses perched on her nose. “Hello, Harry. You look quite dashing today,” she says.
Harry looks down at the blazer he’d thrown on over his t-shirt. “Oh, thanks,” he starts.
“He is quite cute, isn’t he,” Louis teases.
It’s not much, but it strikes a nerve.
There’s a lot of things Harry can put up with. He doesn’t mind when Louis calls him darling, even though it fills him with a special kind of yearning he’ll never get used to. He can handle Louis putting his hands on him and kissing his cheeks, ‘cause he knows it doesn’t mean anything and he’s quite handsy with everyone. But he absolutely draws the line at Louis teasing him over his appearance. He likes his blazer.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” he asks, perhaps a little ruder than necessary judging by Louis’ expression.
“Yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll leave you to it. Are we—” he hesitates. “Are we still on for tonight?”
Harry nods; he can’t stay mad at Louis very long. “I’ll be there. Text me what you want to eat.”
“Don’t worry, darling,” Louis says. “I’ll take care of it.”
Harry sits down at the table, pulling out his books, and doesn’t watch him walk away.
✿
A week passes by. Harry reads Louis’ history paper, which is essentially perfect except for his pisspour grammar and insistence that vibey is a word — Harry thinks he put it in his history paper just to fuck with him. They pretend like Harry didn’t snap at Louis over a bloody blazer. He and Carter meet up to study again on Friday. Harry continues to not tell Louis about his feelings. Life continues on as normal.
“Let’s go get some tea,” Louis says one day.
They’re sprawled out across his living room; Louis has taken over the couch, a textbook open in front of him. Harry is on the floor, half his books on the coffee table and the rest around him on the carpet. He’s chewing on the end of his pen, trying to think of a short story idea for his creative writing class. Louis has been staring at a blank notebook for the past twenty minutes.
“Get some tea?” Harry asks, confused, wondering if this is just a ploy to stop studying. “We could just make some.”
Liam comes into the room, stares at them for a beat of two seconds, and cries, “There’s a planet where it rains glass. Glass!” He disappears back into his room. Before Harry can say anything, or even close his mouth, Liam comes back. “Sideways!” he says. “It rains glass sideways,” and then bounds away again.
“Is he okay?” Harry asks.
“He’s studying astronomy, darling, no he’s not okay. We have to get out of here before he starts whining about super-puffs or trying to build a spacecraft in the backyard.”
“You don’t have a backyard,” Harry points out. “Also, I don’t think he knows how to do that.”
“Exactly my point! Let’s go before he figures it out and takes over the community garden.”
“What are super-puffs?” Harry asks a moment later as he’s pulling on his jacket, successfully distracted from studying.
Louis sighs. “I wish I didn’t know.”
✿
The coffee shop is mostly empty when they arrive, a rarity. Louis is that customer, using the lack of a crowd to his advantage and telling the barista exactly how he wants his tea made. She looks amused more than anything, probably ‘cause it’s Louis. Harry could never get away with that — not that he would ever try. He can hardly order for himself half the time.
Harry stares at the menu board, contemplating his choices; he doesn’t really like tea unless Louis’s the one making it. It’s late enough in the evening, if he drinks coffee now, he might not sleep well tonight. He could stay up and get his homework done, he supposes, but isn’t that what weekends are for now that he’s being all exciting and spontaneous?
Well. Trying to be all exciting and spontaneous.
“You want the hot chocolate, darling?” Louis asks.
“Oh.” He hadn’t even seen that on the menu. “Yes, please.”
Louis orders his hot chocolate — with extra whipped cream because he’s Harry’s very favorite person and also is apparently dead set on not letting Harry get over him. Harry continues to stare at the menu, trying to find where hot chocolate is listed.
“It’s on our secret menu,” an unfamiliar voice supplies.
Harry drops his gaze to the man in question. He’s taller than Harry, with dirty blond hair. The use of our leads Harry to believe he works at the coffee shop, but he’s not wearing the customary apron, and he’s on the wrong side of the counter.
“Secret menu?” Harry repeats.
The man grins. He’s probably just a few years older than Harry, maybe a student. “Yeah, it’s only for the special customers.” He winks.
“Special customers,” Harry says slowly, looking from him to Louis with a frown. Special as in — Maybe Louis woke up in this man’s bathtub, he muses.
“Yeah, I could—” Before the man can finish, Louis tugs Harry away from the counter with a hand at his elbow. He’s somehow managing to carry both of their drinks in one hand, and it distracts Harry enough to let himself be pulled away.
“That was weird,” he says when they sit down.
Louis studies him for a long moment, then shakes his head gently. “Yeah, weird alright.”
✿
Louis is oddly subdued when he walks Harry across campus the next Monday. He hasn’t once complained about the weather — chillier, the further into winter they get. Harry knows he got an A on his last History paper, so it can’t be that.
“You coming over later?” Louis asks, sounding distant and distracted.
“No,” Harry says, regretfully.
“Oh. What about tomorrow?”
“I’m busy all this week,” Harry tells him. “Carter has a project due and—”
“Right,” Louis cuts him off. “Sorry, but I just remembered I have to go.” He turns on his heels abruptly.
Harry frowns, they haven’t even made it to the library yet.
“Oh, okay. I’ll see you later?”
Louis shrugs and waves him off without a backwards glance.
✿
“Do you think Louis has been acting weird lately?” Harry asks Niall a few days later.
Niall is standing barefoot and shirtless in front of an easel, wearing only a pair of light pink jean shorts that are ripped in various places across his thighs. There’s paint on the sheet on the floor around them, paint on the wall, and somehow paint on Harry, but miraculously no paint on Niall himself or the easel. Niall is just staring at it, contemplating.
“Given the situation, can’t really be surprised,” Niall says, which isn’t really much of an answer at all.
“What situation?” If Louis were in a situation surely he would tell Harry? Unless maybe it’s a situation regarding…. strange men’s bathtubs.
Niall hands him a paintbrush. “What are you?” he asks.
Harry blinks. “Uh, confused?”
“No, you’re an idiot with a paintbrush. Now give that back.”
He hands the paintbrush back to Niall wordlessly.
“Are you going to answer my question?”
Niall sighs. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”
“Figure what out?”
He shakes his head and swipes his brush across the canvas. Electric blue. “It’s the end of term,” Niall says diplomatically, “everyone’s a little out of it this time of year. Except me, of course.”
“Right,” Harry says, and lies down on the sheet.
There’s paint on the ceiling.
✿
Louis isn’t waiting for him outside his class on Monday, much like he hadn’t been free for dinner the night before. They always eat dinner together on Sundays, and Louis has taken to walking Harry to the library for his study sessions with Carter.
Until now.
Something fishy is going on.
Harry thinks he’s better at managing his pining now. It helps that he’s been too busy to even think about anything other than classes — save for the late hours in his dorm, Niall’s paintbrushes the soundtrack to his yearning. One day his feelings might explode all over everything or give him heart problems, but that’s future Harry’s problem. Still. He can’t stop wondering, wondering about the guy at the coffee shop and who else Louis might be special to. Or maybe, maybe, Louis has somehow found out about Harry’s pining, and that’s why he’s being avoided.
Finals, Niall had said. Harry is not being avoided; Louis is busy studying for finals. That’s all it is.
He puts it out of his head.
Carter is waiting for him at their usual table. She has a textbook in front of her, but it’s closed, and she’s resting her head on the cover.
“Are you okay?” he asks her, taking his seat.
She huffs out a breath and sits up. “Hi, Harry.”
“Hi, Carter. Is everything alright? You look a little — flushed.”
She smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. It’s loose today, falling nearly to her waist. Harry has never seen it down; Carter claims it’s too long and always gets in her way.
“I think we should go to dinner.”
Harry nods. “Okay. We could get some Thai food and bring it back to my place while we study?” he suggests. “I have that Lit exam on Wednesday next week and I—”
“No,” Carter interrupts, shaking her head. She places her hands flat on the table. “I mean, I think we should go out to dinner.”
“You mean — take our books and study there? That might be counterproductive.”
“Oh, my actual God.” She faceplants on to her textbook again.
“What’s wrong?”
Whatever she says is muffled.
“Sorry, what?” Finals have everyone acting weird it would seem.
She sits up again, running a hand through her now slightly messy hair. “Nothing, Harry. Don’t worry about it. She opens up her textbook. “What part of your lit final are you worried about?”
✿
After another two days of Louis not-avoiding him, Harry goes to his flat and drags him outside.
“You’re taking a break,” Harry tells him. “We’re going to go get tea.”
Louis looks up at him silently. His eyes are red. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. He’s wearing one of Harry’s jumpers that is slightly too big on him; the sleeves are long on Harry and fall past Louis’ palms. There’s a strong possibility he hasn’t showered recently, but Harry wraps an arm around him anyways and holds his breath.
“Tea?” Louis says after a moment. “We’re just gonna go get tea?”
“Yeah, you can go back to studying later.”
“Studying,” Louis repeats. “Right, okay.”
✿
The coffee shop is significantly more packed this time. Harry steers Louis toward an available table.
“Sit,” he tells him. “I’ll get your tea.” He can order drinks for Louis. It’s fine.
Louis obeys wordlessly, curling in on himself like he’s cold. Harry should’ve asked him if he needed a jacket before kidnapping him; it’s a little chilly.
The guy he’d talk to last time is working the counter — Louis’ special friend — and he smiles when he sees Harry. He’s wearing an apron this time, with a name tag that says ADAM. “Back again? Couldn’t resist the temptation of our secret menu, huh?”
“I guess not,” Harry agrees easily. He rattles off their orders, careful to make sure Adam writes Louis’ down perfectly.
“Your boyfriend, right?” Adam asks, sweeping his eyes over to Louis.
Harry shakes his head. “No, my best friend.”
“Well, in that case, it’s on the house.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.”
Adam flicks his gaze over to Louis again briefly, a smirk playing on the edge of his lips. “Believe me, it’s my pleasure.”
Harry takes his receipt wordlessly, resisting the urge to crumble it into a ball. Adam continues talking, asking Harry about school. Harry has to fight the compulsion to turn and check on Louis. He doesn’t want to come across as rude, though. A few minutes later, their drinks are done, and Harry takes them back to the table after thanking Adam.
“That was weird,” Harry says, sitting down across from Louis.
Louis has his head buried in his jumper sleeves. He lifts it after a moment and shakes his head. “He was flirting,” he says, nudging the receipt towards Harry. At the bottom is a phone number. Oh. “I’d say not very well, but I don’t think he’s the problem.”
Harry frowns and takes a sip of his hot chocolate. “Are you sure it’s not for you? He kept saying something about a special menu.” And looking at you, he thinks bitterly. Not that he can blame the guy.
“I have never spoken to him before in my life.”
“How did you know about the secret menu then?”
“Jade used to work here.”
“Oh,” Harry says, voice flat.
“You should tell your girlfriend she’s got competition.”
Harry very nearly chokes on his drink. “What? I don’t have a girlfriend.” He picks up a napkin to wipe the hot chocolate off his face.
“Uh, what about Carter?” Louis says. “You’re always with her. Especially last week,” he grunts.
“She had a project for one of her classes I was helping her with,” Harry says. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
Louis blinks, sitting up. “Are you sure?”
“I think I’d know if someone was my girlfriend, Louis.”
“Oh, my God.” Louis buries his face in his sleeves again. “What the fuck?”
✿
When Harry makes it back to the dorm that night — after making sure Louis showered and ate and didn’t study for a good hour and a half break — Niall is standing in front of his easel again. He’s back in his pink shorts. There’s a strong possibility he never took them off. There’s a strong possibility he hasn’t even moved, now that Harry thinks about it. He’s never seen him attend a lecture. Niall once said he can survive off of sunlight and paint fumes, and Harry is inclined to believe him.
“So, you don’t have a girlfriend,” he says by way of greeting, not looking at Harry. There’s a stripe of yellow paint on his back.
“No,” Harry confirms. “Who told you I did… or didn’t?”
“A little bird.”
“O….kay then.”
“You’re still an idiot,” Niall tells him.
✿
Louis is waiting for him outside of his class the next day. He looks much more chipper; he’s bouncing slightly.
“How much tea have you had today?” Harry asks him, squinting at him suspiciously. He may actually be vibrating.
“Two, four, seven cups, it doesn’t matter.” He waves it off. “I want to ask you something.”
“Okay.” He leads the way across the courtyard, Louis beside him.
“Do you want to go to dinner with me on Saturday?”
“I’d love to,” Harry says, “but I can’t. I’m going to the museum with Zayn. What happened to Sunday dinner? Are you canceling on me again?”
“Well, no, but I thought this could be like— Wait Zayn Malik? The biology major? Doesn't he have a pet tarantula?”
Harry has no idea what Zayn’s probably very lovely spider has to do with anything, but he nods. “Her name is Bela,” he informs. “And he wanted someone to go to the planetarium with him. They’re doing a thing on the stars, but he’s worried he’ll get dizzy and doesn’t want to go alone.”
Louis huffs and storms off, grumbling under his breath without so much as a bye.
“Wait! Are we still doing dinner on Sunday?” Harry hollers after him.
✿
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Harry asks.
They’re leaning back in their seats, nearly horizontal. The room around them is darkening, but Harry can still see the wide-eyed expression on Zayn’s face. He’d looked unusually pale in the cheeks before the lights went down.
Zayn nods quickly, and then shakes his head. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” he confesses, voice hushed.
“Hey, no it wasn’t.” He nudges Zayn with his hand. The ceiling above them is beaming with pinpricks of light now. “Look at all the stars. They’re so pretty.”
Interlocking their fingers, Zayn beams— smile visible even in the low lighting. “Worth any dizziness,” he agrees.
✿
“Thanks for coming with me, Harry, sorry I almost broke your hand.”
“It’s okay.” Harry flexes his fingers. “I think I’m getting the feeling back in my fingers.”
Zayn smiles and with a hand on Harry’s waist, leads him across the parking lot.
“If you want someone who really knows their stuff, you should take my friend Liam next time,” Harry tells him, studying his chipped pink nail polish. He’s about due for a manicure.
“Oh.” The smile drops from Zayn’s face as does the hand on his waist. It’s not an unusual reaction people have when learning he’s friends with Liam. The older boy has quite the reputation. Harry almost expects Zayn to step away from Harry, as if Liam’s Liamness is contagious. “Isn’t he the one who was running through the music department wearing a tinfoil hat and screaming about aliens.”
“Yes,” Harry says. “But in all fairness, he’s an astrology major, and that was a particularly stressful week for him. Also, what are the odds there aren’t aliens? Apparently there are planets with the density of cotton candy,” he informs. “Quite fascinating stuff.”
✿
Sunday night Louis opens the door and before he’s even let Harry inside, says, “Zayn asked Liam out.”
“Oh, that was quick. Can I come in?”
Louis lets him in, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re not upset?”
“Why would I be upset? What are we eating?”
“I was going to order pizza. You went on a date with him yesterday.”
“I had pizza for lunch,” Harry tells him. “And it wasn’t a date.”
“You went to the planetarium together and laid underneath the stars and held hands.”
“He got dizzy,” Harry tells him. He looks down at his hand. “Also, I think he bruised my hand. He was squeezing really hard. Do you think I should have it looked at? Can we have pasta for dinner?”
Louis sighs, taking his hand to inspect it. “Yeah, darling. We can have pasta.”
✿
Louis meets him outside his lecture on Monday.
“How many cups of tea have you had?” Harry asks him.
“One,” Louis says. “I wanted to be clear headed when I did this.”
“Walk me to the library? You don’t have to walk with me, you know.”
“I want to, and no. This: Will you go to dinner with me on Saturday? Or do you have another not-date.”
“It wasn’t a not-date,” Harry tells him. He wishes Louis would stop teasing him about girlfriends and not having dates. He’s quite aware of it already, thank you very much. “It was two friends looking at the stars together and some platonic hand holding. Yes, I’ll go to dinner with you on Saturday.”
“Really?” He looks honestly surprised, like they don’t have dinner together every week.
“Yes, of course.”
“Great. I will pick you up at 6. Wear something nice.”
Harry frowns. “Whose definition of nice?”
“What? You’re so weird. Just don’t wear your holey jeans.”
✿
Louis is wearing black trousers, cuffed above his ankles, and a black shirt under a black blazer. He’s even wearing dress shoes.
“Wow, you look nice,” Harry says. He hates that when he wears a blazer he looks like a posh school boy — cute —, but when Louis wears one he looks like a sexy professor.
He moves to close the door behind him, but Louis is frozen staring at him.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asks. He looks down at his own outfit: black jeans without any holes in them and a purple button-up he got at the thrift store. It’s got white stars all over it. He thought it was quirky, but maybe it’s a little too out there.
“Nothing,” Louis says, shaking his head. “Nothing at all.”
“Should I button it up more?” Harry asks.
Louis shakes his head, then swallows audibly. “Actually, yeah, maybe that’s a good idea.”
✿
After dinner, Harry goes to pay for the meal, and Louis stops him.
“You paid for pasta last week, remember?” Harry says.
Louis smiles. “Let me spoil you a little bit.”
“We always take turns.”
“Yes, well, I asked you, so I should be the one to pay.”
“I don’t think that’s how that works,” Harry tells him, but he lets Louis take the check. “Besides, it’s not like it’s a date.” He tries not to sound too put out. The entire dinner he’s been fighting the urge to hold Louis’ hand and tangle their feet together under the table and stare lovingly into his eyes and also maybe talk about how many kids they’d like to have.
Louis pauses, hand outstretched. “What?”
Harry shakes his head. Shit. He shouldn’t have said anything. Now it’s going to be obvious Harry wanted it to be a date.
“Did you think—” Louis starts.
“No, of course not,” he lies, feeling frantic. Oh, God. Is he sweating? “Can we not do this right now?”
Louis blinks. “Right, okay.”
They walk to the car after, quiet, too much space between them. The drive back to Harry’s dorm is equally as silent.
“I’m sorry,” Harry tells him. He was doing so good, and now he’s gone and blown it over a stupid not-date. “I didn’t mean to make you think—”
Louis shakes his head. “It’s fine, Harry. Don’t worry about it.”
✿
It’s clearly not fine. Louis doesn’t talk to him for two whole weeks. The longest they’ve ever gone without talking, minus that summer Louis had to spend with his nan when he was fourteen. Louis had apparently thrown a fit until he was allowed to call Harry two and a half weeks in.
Finals come and go; their break comes and goes; Harry sends him a happy birthday text and doesn’t get a word in response.
The day Harry arrives back on campus, Harry shows up at Louis’ flat first thing, beanie pulled over his curls, feeling like a marshmallow in the new coat his mom bought him.
“I need you to talk to me,” Harry tells Louis when he answers the door. He pushes his way into the flat, dropping his bag on the floor. “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what you’re thinking. You can’t just ignore me.”
“I just need some time, Harry, okay. You owe me that much.”
Harry turns to face him. “You need time,” he repeats.
Louis stares at the floor.
The ache in Harry’s chest spreads, encompassing his internal organs and making his fingertips feel slightly numb. Though maybe that’s just the feeling returning to them after being out in the cold. “Is it really that bad?” he manages. Is the idea of me being in love with you really that bad that you can’t even look at me.
There’s a brief moment where Harry thinks he might actually throw up.
Louis sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and looks at Harry finally. “No, of course not. Don’t worry about it, okay? I like your coat, by the way. Is that new? Very cute.”
Harry groans in frustration. There he goes with the cute again. It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t sound like he was teasing him, the same way he does when he talks about Harry being young, so much younger.
“Stop, okay. I get it. I’m sorry I made a joke about it not being a date. I know you don’t want to date me. I know no one wants to date me. And you teasing me about all these not-dates and not having a girlfriend, making fun of my outfits and—”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Louis interrupts.
“You’re always teasing me about me going on ‘dates.’ I know they’re not dates. No one wants to date me, I get it.” He shakes his head. “And that’s bad enough, but then you have to talk about my stupid blazers and make fun of my coat and—”
“I said your coat was cute,” Louis says. “It is cute.”
“Whatever,” Harry huffs. “I’ll just go.”
“No.” Louis stops him before he can make it to the door, arm outstretched. “All those ‘not-dates’ you went on were dates, Harry. I asked Zayn. He said he asked you out to the planetarium. Carter thought your study sessions at the library were dates, and she’d been waiting for you to take her on a proper date for ages. Adam, God, he flirts with you every single time we go to the coffee shop. Pretty terribly, I might add, but that’s beside the point. Okay. And that’s just in the past month. Someone is always hitting on you. Everywhere we go. Constantly. I honestly don’t understand how you came to be so oblivious.”
Harry crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not,” he pouts.
“I don’t think your blazers are stupid,” Louis continues like he didn’t hear him. “I love them. I think you look great in them. And I think you look cute in your coat. I think you look cute all the time.”
“I wish you wouldn’t say stuff like that,” Harry mumbles.
“What? Compliment you? I’m sorry. I’ll stop. But you have to give me space to get over you, okay?”
“It’s not that, it just hurts cause I know you’ll never — Wait, get over me?”
“Yes, I need to get over you before we can be friends again. I’m sorry.” Louis frowns. “What hurts?”
“Over me?” Harry asks, ignoring the question. Over me? Nothing makes sense.
“You turned me down on our date,” Louis says. “You can’t think that didn’t hurt.”
“I didn’t know — That was a date?”
“What the fuck, Harry? Yes, it was a date.”
“Hold on. You like me?”
Louis stares at him, eyes wide, mouth open for a long moment, then turns around. “Oh, my God.” He shakes his head, pulling at his hair. He takes a few steps and then face plants onto the couch. “Oh my God.”
“Why didn’t you just say so?” Could have saved him a lot of pain and pining.
“Didn’t…..say…..so.” His voice is muffled by the pillows.
After another minute, Louis sits up and pulls Harry down onto the couch beside him. He studies Harry for one long moment and then frames Harry’s face with his hands. “Harry, darling, I am quite in love with you. And I have been for a very long time. And you keep going on not-dates and making me jealous. I almost failed my finals, y‘know, because I couldn’t get out of bed. I was so miserable. And then—”
He thinks back to when Louis wasn’t speaking to him the first time. He’d thought he’d been too busy studying. He’d been wearing Harry’s jumper and his eyes had been red.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” He drops his hands. “I’m sorry.”
“Wait, no, don’t be sorry.” Harry grabs his hands and puts them back on his cheeks. He holds them there. “I love you, too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I thought you were avoiding me ‘cause you knew I liked you and wanted our not-date to be a real date.”
“No, I had no idea.”
“So we’re both idiots,” Harry says cheerfully. He can’t stop smiling.
“No, darling, I think you take the cake there.”
“Look at you,” Harry defends. “I didn’t think I had a chance. I never even entertained the possibility that you might like me back. I’ve been pining after you since I was like nine.”
“You’re ridiculous. I’m going to kiss you now, and then I’m going to take you on a real date, okay?”
“Should I pay this time?” Harry asks.
“Yes,” Louis tells him. “I think you should have to pay for the next twenty dates after all the stress you’ve put me through.”
“That’s fair. Wait—you’re really so sure you want to go on twenty dates with me?”
Louis shuts him up with a kiss.