Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"He's got to be the best forward in the nation,"

In fact, he was. Louis William Tomlinson had been nominated for plenty of national titles and awards due to strictly his quickness and ability to score without complication.

No one in the league could stop Louis from getting the ball in the net since he had a variety of strong areas. He could easily sink a kick around the mid-field region, and just as easily as kicking a reasonable goal, too. He was 'Number 28 on The Field and Number 1 in your Heart'.

With a solid 4.0 GPA, Louis was able to stay in football as long as he wanted, and he decided to carry through until the end of his senior year. He wanted to end his footie career with a bang, which means ending a state title his senior year. He never once had needed a tutor for his subjects and courses in Uni, which his teachers in high school would've found extremely astonishing.

With his profession sky-rocketing in his sophomore year, Louis has had his options open for a hot minute. At one point, he had the option to get a full ride to play for another Uni team because of his skill, which he politely declined. Louis always carried himself well, with a good amount of sanity still with him.

On the opposite hand, there was another male on his team threatening his position:

Harry Edward Styles.

Harry was, truthfully, something extraordinary. He was the best center-back recruits had seen in a really, really long time. Under multiple circumstances, Harry had been notified that he would be exceptionally beneficial to particular teams because of how much class he had in his game, and how forceful he precisely was.

Harry never used to have to fight for his place; it was simply given to him. He always was down-to-earth and humbled, nonetheless. His mum had always been relatively assertive about how inhumanly good Harry was at his position, which made Harry finalize his decision on whether or not he'd be playing Uni-ball or not. Of course, he chose to stick with it.

Their personalities clashed greatly.

A wrong message, a wrong glimpse, and they would be beating the shit out of each other.

There was no mercy when it came to their cruciality to the team.

If one of them got mouthy, the other made sure to shut them down quickly.

They loathed the very tone of the other's voice.

Regardless, they couldn't do anything to each other on the field, since that would get them suspended from the team presently. And they had the same best mates, which made physical quarreling all the less plausible between them.

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Acquiring not even nearly a pep in his step, Harry Styles made a beeline toward the locker room, which was stationed so kindly at the other side of campus. He always had a secret grudge against the team of architects that had made the layout of said locker rooms, and solely because they thought it would be a brilliant idea to place them so inconveniently. He had his Powerade in his right hand, phone in his left, and bag slung over his back. He looked like a proper tramp, but who did he crave to impress at fucking footie practice?

Harry kept his head lowered and eyes narrow, just in case someone tried to spark up an unwanted conversation with him while he was focused on getting to practice on time.  

"Jesus fuck," Slipped the Juniors' lips, almost immediately gaining concerned looks from passerby's.

He really couldn't care less, however. His eyes remained steady on the ground below him, and his eyebrows scrunched up in the middle with concentration. With that, Harry finally arrived on the grounds of the field and locker room.

With a certain speed he didn't have while on his journey to the field, he raced into the locker rooms. He always was on time to practice and any extra-curricular activities, but this was not one of those occasions. Tailing behind the clock by five minutes, Harry let out an exasperated sigh.

He sat his footie bag down on one of the benches, hastily pulling out his shoes and a bandana to push his long, curly, brown locks of hair out of his face. Harry believed strongly that his hair was, surely, his best feature- even though he adored his physique.

Grunting in annoyance, Harry slipped his shoes on. He was very close to losing his balance as each shoe was put on his foot, but he decided to ignore that factor for his sanity and well-being.

After he was sure that all of his needs were taken care of, he walked out of the locker rooms and onto the field. Almost directly, the image of Louis Tomlinson appeared in his peripheral vision.

That was an enormous thing that Harry needed desperately to be taken care of.

Louis caught Harry in his line of sight (coincidentally), and Harry could've sworn he was able to see the gears in Louis' pea-sized brain turning. The Tomlinson male trotted right up to Harry, and within moments, a hand was felt on his lower back.

With an unmistakably thick English accent, Louis began speaking, "Oi, Styles. Was beginning to think I  finally managed to scare you off." Louis' hand slipped lower on Harry's body, positioning himself where he was sure no one could see the way he was touching Harry.

With a roll of his eyes, Harry pressed his side against Louis', closing the gap in between them. He only felt the eyes of his mates burning into the back of his skull like lasers as he engaged in the exchange between Louis and him. Harry split his lips with his tongue, narrowing his gaze at the golden-skinned male.

"With all due respect, Lou," Harry began, turning completely so that he was face-to-face with Louis, having a few inches on him as it was. They were so close that Harry could almost see the way Louis' eyelashes bent against the air that was coming out of his nose and mouth.

He leaned forward, trying to get eye-level with the other. "Bite me. Bite me so hard, you fucking twat."

With simply a turn on his heels, Harry made his way to the middle of the field where the rest of the team was running through their warmup drill. His head was focused on everything but football, which would eventually catch up to him.

He wanted nothing more than to put his hands all over Louis and shut him up for at least a few minutes- but he wasn't entirely sure if that was the only way he'd like his hands on Louis.

Louis gladly made his way over to the taller, toned male with nothing but an amused look on his face. He came up behind him, rested one of his hands on his shoulder and the other on his neck, and tilted Harry's head back.

Ah, shit.

"Don't look so enthused to see me, Styles. It isn't a good look on you," Louis quipped, leaning down to get level with the boy's ear. "If you aren't a total wanker today, I might give you a reward. Only, and I mean only if you're sweet to me." Louis placed a sneaky kiss on his earlobe and slid past Harry to get to his position.

They played the positions that would rely on each other the most, which brought, constantly, a lot of disagreements to the table.

It would always start because 'Harry wasn't giving Louis enough room to run the dish and kick drill', or 'Louis was cracking his back too loud'. It created an unbearable amount of sexual tension- all the yelling and arguing between them.

In fear of people's eyes being on him after the rather intimate action he had just supplied Harry with, he quickly called out to start the drill.

Captain of the team or not, everyone listened to him since he had quite the history in his earlier years in college. As you can imagine, Louis now being a Senior carried quite a reputation with him.

Louis was beyond exhausted from last night's frat party, hosted by the Apex Beast Beta (ABB for short). Of course, Louis was in that fraternity group and was practically the alpha male of it. He made the party themes and decided who was on the guest list or not. He was in charge, for lack of a better word.

Within moments, Niall Horan was tapping the pad of his finger repeatedly on Louis' defined shoulder, clearly in distress. "Loueh, fucking look at me. So stubborn, you absolute slut." Niall managed, making Louis turn around without hesitation.

Louis had an unreadable expression on his face, other than that anyone with eyes and the basic understanding of the human body could see that he was hungover. "Keep talking to me like that, Ni. Kinda sexy," Louis taunted, running his tongue over his top set of teeth.

There was no doubting that that was just banter and not sexual. Of course, Louis wasn't gay. Louis, while waiting his turn to demonstrate the drill at hand, always engaged in conversations with Niall. Niall was his hype-beast and best mate, and also the lad who settled the most disputes between Harry and Louis.

Chapter Text

"Fuck. You."

Those were the first few words that made their way out of Louis' lips and into the crisp air of the night. Practise had concluded only minutes before, but there was some disorderly tension between the two boys still. Harry had been fucking up the entirety of the drills they ran, and it firmly hampered Louis' flow.

Tremendously.

Harry was sitting on the grass quietly, patiently waiting for his empty Powerade bottle to fill up under the water dispenser. Harry's eyes dwindled at Louis' sudden expression of his irritation, letting a light snicker pass through his pink-tinted lips. "Oh, you one-hundred percent would, stud muffin." The corners of his thin lips perked up in a half-smirk, watching intently at the smaller male's facial mannerisms.

Regardless, Louis knew what his previous actions had done to Harry, which made the encounter that he was going to initiate all that more interesting. After kicking a few extra practice goals while the boys were cooling off, he had stripped from his shirt to cool down faster. Once he was finished getting his extra kicks in, he made his way over to the lad sitting on the grass.

"For the love of Jesus Christ and me own mum-" Niall nearly shouted, obviously exhausted of hearing the bitching and aimless accusations being thrown between

Harry and Louis. Niall was always their saving grace anytime the two wouldn't see eye to eye on things, which the rest of the team was beyond thankful for.

Niall typically ended things with a bribe, mostly: "Want to go grab a pint?" Harry and Louis greatly appreciated that.

Sometimes, they would just bicker so they could hear Niall's voice. Heavy and coarse with just a glimmer of rasp that was just so addicting to give attention to.  Super, exquisitely Irish, nonetheless.

Louis shuddered and crinkled his nose up, gawking definitely down at Harry (who remained in his criss-cross apple sauce position in the grass) in acknowledgment. "I want you dead. I want to slam your teeth in the pavement, that's what I wanna do with you."

"Enough. That's enough. Please just go fuck it out or something-" Suggested the blonde bloke, eyebrows quirking up every so slightly. He was amused but properly annoyed.

Harry's eyes scanned over Louis' body, giving him a once-over. If only Niall knew how fucking difficult it was acting like he hated the pretty, petite, golden boy religiously. Louis's body was certainly built flawlessly. How his electric blue eyes gave rise to the reflection of the lights illuminating the field seem like clouds.

Clouds.

Harry took a mental note on how Louis' hip was popped out in a sassy technique, all slumped over to his right side. Harry was confident that it was proper apparent that he was eyeing Louis at that juncture, but he wasn't entirely willing to look away.

With that, his eyes wandered further down, reaching his robust thighs that were being put on display with his 5" inseam footie shorts.

"Stop gawking." Louis' voice fractured the silence that had been floating in the air whilst grabbing Harry's face on either side.

He moved Harry's face upwards from its established position, locking eyes with Harry as soon as his eyes were in his sight.

Louis didn't hesitate to sit on Harry's lap, knees propped up to give him leverage. "Are you still mad at me?" Louis asked, wrapped his arms around the male's neck, and watched his features to see if he'd get a reaction out of him. Louis' back arched on its own as if it were second nature.

Louis tilted Harry's head upwards so that he would have full access to his neck. He pressed his wetted lips to Harry's skin, the saltiness of the sweat drops making his lips tingle.

He made sure his actions were painfully slow, not to give Harry everything he wanted right then and there. His nails were soon digging into the back of Harry's neck unmercifully, and Louis pulled his lips away from the gentle skin of his neck.

'Harry looked pretty with his face already flushed and pink.'

"Tell me you don't want me all over you right now, Styles. Tell me you haven't had this same dream nights in a row, because I know you have. You get so tense around me because you know that I can hurt you without even putting my hands on you," Louis' brows raised, and a small and successful-looking grin appeared on his mouth.

Louis adjusted his position, moving his face now closer to Harry's. Their faces were now only a few millimeters away from each other. "I want to-" Louis' hands dragged down Harry's chest, making circles and patterns in the meantime. "I want to go back to your flat, and I want you to do whatever your tiny little brain wants to do with me."

Harry couldn't quite process what was going on until he found himself with a lapful of Louis, but he was definitely not complaining. At that moment, Harry fell in love with the world again.

I love him now because of his touch.

There was truly not a soul more fit for his own than Louis was. He would never admit it, though, because that would absolutely ruin the fun. He figured it would be fun and quirky for a minute, but he would soon be bored without the tension.

It would kind of be like going to a party and leaping into the pool with all your clothes on. It was a promising notion at that moment, but now that you're out of the water, you regret even ever attending the party.

Chapter Text

Harry was almost already finished with the shit Louis was pulling right in front of him. He tried embarrassingly hard to ignore Louis during practice, but he soon realized that that plan didn't work at all. At fucking all. All he did was slowly place his hands on Louis' hips, glancing frantically around the field to see if anyone else was around them (disregarding Niall).

"Right idea." Louis' slightly high-pitched voice pressed, spreading his legs out wider and leaning backward so he could crack his back. His back arched, and his hands slapped over his own mouth before he could accidentally make lewd noises due to the pleasure of said stretch.

It was nearly dead silent, with the exception of the buzzing noise that the water dispenser machine was making.

Louis' eyes clenched shut and he let out a sigh of relief once he returned to his original position. He purposefully ran his hand down Harry's arm in the most subtle way he could think of and glanced across the field at Niall, who had a knowing look on his face.

Louis gave a challenging smirk and stood up from his place after leaving a small kiss to the side of Harry's neck. Niall also stood up from the ground, walking in the direction of Louis. They met in the middle, cooly discussing the frat party that was being hosted at the frat house later that night.

A few casual nods and chuckles were shared between the two of them, Louis occasionally looking back at Harry to make sure he stayed put.

When Niall noticed that Harry was definitely aware of the conversation he and Louis were having, he snaked his arm around Louis' neck. He turned them both so they would be at an angle and looking at Harry.

He then placed a gentle, meaningful kiss on Louis' stubble, sending a wink at Harry. "You lost your chance, pretty boy. He's mine,"

Louis only snickered, moving his eyes to Harry. "I'm not, don't let him fuck with you. I don't belong to anyone," He stated, rather confidently, before continuing.

"I belong to you," With the correction of his statement, he took his bottom lip in between his teeth and turned back to Niall so that they could continue their conversation.

Niall was still latched on to Louis and was having a great time. Louis peeked at the Apple Watch on his wrist to check the time, and it read nine-ten.

Exactly ten minutes before they would be forced off of the field and back to dorms or flats, but more specifically, ten minutes until he'd beg Harry to not go back home and attend the party at the fraternity house.

After around five minutes, Louis found himself back at Harry, grinning anyhow. He looked like he knew Harry was painfully aroused by him, which was probably all correct.

Harry locked eyes with Louis, his eyes going shallow after a few moments of reading Louis' expressions. "'M not gonna fuck you; beg all you want." His cheeks hollowed while he watched Louis' shoulders cave inward. Louis was about to make an example of Harry right in the nucleus of the location where you're supposed to kick balls. Literally and figuratively.

Louis sat there, nearly dumbfounded, for lack of a better phrase. He had nearly gotten his way with Harry, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He was ecstatic thinking about the night to come because Louis doesn't just give up. Chasing is all a part of the game, and that's his favorite part. He loved getting into Harry's head and seeing the bloke's excruciating expressions.

He knew Harry would end up pounding him- either at his flat or the frat house- and they'd be visiting both that night. With all of those thoughts beginning to group in his head in different sections, he thought that it was in his best interest to find a solution to that.

Louis stood up from the grass, grabbed a cup of water from the 'Gatorade' water dispenser, and made his way back to the locker room.

There were showers in the locker room not too far from where all of the boys were packing up, and he was planning on showering and getting dressed there to spare some time. There was a frat party, after all, and Louis was a whore for parties. Absolutely couldn't miss one if he tried.

Once he made his way down to the locker room, he made his presence known. "Oi Oi, lads," Louis greeted, intentionally shoving Niall as he walked past him. He was pretty keen on not paying Harry any attention, so he would carry that out until Harry made /his/ move. Niall gave nothing but a speedy head bob in response to the greeting.

"Have you got soap? I'm washing here and going to the frat house for the party after." Louis asked the Irish male, sitting himself prettily on the wooden bench near him. Niall nodded triumphantly after searching through his bag to find some soap.

The blonde said he would with Louis until he was dressed, and would give him a lift to the frat house since he would be going, too. Louis heard a shower running down the hall, and the only teammate that wasn't packing up with the rest of them was Harry. He smirked to himself and pulled out his phone. He clicked on the contact name 'wanker;)', which was Harry, and texted him.

'want to save water? ;)'

Chapter Text

Typically, Harry has got his phone in the shower with him. It makes the music from the tiny speakers much more noticeable; he can tune out the world. When he heard his text tone go off, he dried his hand off with his towel that was hanging on a nearby hook in the back of the shower. Once he figured that his hands were dry enough to touch the screen of his phone, he did. Much to his dismay, he saw the cheeky text message from Louis. He nearly cackled, clicking on the notification. Sure enough, it said exactly what he thought it said. Louis knew how to get a rise out of Harry, and he knew that bastard probably thought he was just so sly for sending said message.

Harry's thumbs drifted gracefully across the digital keyboard of his phone, and before he was able to comprehend what he had typed out, he sent it.

harry: 'yea, come get it'

Well, that was that, wasn't it? He'd be shat on the entirety of football practice the following day. It was determined. His fate was lined out before him.

Harry locked his phone, contemplating about bashing his brains out against the cool tiles of the shower momentarily. Once he set his phone down in a safe spot in which he knew the water wouldn't reach it, he began washing his body. He had a loofa with the cherry-watermelon scented suds on it and rubbed it over every single inch of his body that could be touched.

He felt a presence in the shower behind him and could feel the cool breeze of air that came through and teased his skin when the shower curtain opened. He didn't even have to turn around to know that it was Louis Tomlinson. People didn't just hop in the shower with him on a regular basis.

"Did you think I would leave you high and dry?" Questioned Louis.

"I didn't; I made room for you," Harry replied.

"Good boy." Louis was full of it. Harry could tell.

Harry refused to face the male with the feathered brown hair because he could just tell that he would pop a hard-on if he did so much as to feel Louis' hands on his body. Louis knew exactly what he was doing with just his words, and Harry was feeding off of it. So fucking hopelessly desperate.

Louis was ready to start this show, and that's exactly what he did. Blown eyes and all, it was noticeable that he wanted only one thing. He snatched the loofa from the curly-haired bloke and squeezed more body wash onto it, scrapping his eyes over Harry's nude body while doing so. Louis' nostrils were filled with the smell of cherries. It was a high to him.

"Didn't know you had such an ass. A pleasant surprise." Pressed the smaller, moving the loofa onto Harry's shoulders.

"Didn't know you had such a fucking mouth." Retorted Harry without missing a beat. He let his head roll back at the newfound touch and sensation against his gentle skin.

Louis moved the body-scrubbing device in circular motions, applying pressure when he thought was appropriate. He shuffled so that there wouldn't be so much space in between them. He took his lower lip into his mouth, embracing in the sight in front of him. It was so, so beyond unholy to think the things that he did when it came to Harry. Louis was trying to convince himself that he wasn't attracted to men, but this was not a situation where him being 'straight' applied.

Harry melted into Louis' indications, adoring how good Louis was at pleasing him. Louis didn't even know his middle name or his favorite color, but he did know how to excite Harry. "Louis." Harry asserted with a warning tone lacing his voice. He turned around abruptly, met with the exposed body of Louis'. He wasn't going to let himself be toyed with, and certainly not by Louis.

"Stop. Before you say anything, shut the fuck up." Louis declared, plopping the loofa to the grimey ground of the shower.

Louis had his right hand on Harry's chest, and the other on the back of his neck. He was speculating about forty things at once, but he was positive he'd forget them all within twinklings. He closed the gap between their dampened lips. He did it. He initiated it.

Harry mashed his lips against Louis', his hands collectively going to Louis' curved waist. He idolized how Louis' waist dipped in the most angelic way he'd ever seen, and how the dip on his lower back sunk perfectly. He wanted so much more, regardless.

With his leg sliding perfectly in between Harry's thighs, Louis was planning on letting out years' worth of friction extremely soon. He wanted to completely wreck Harry in ways that would be unexplainable to anyone who wasn't them. Louis pulled away from the kiss, proper breathless.

"Kiss me the way that you wish you could speak to me," Louis muttered, fixing his eyes directly on Harry's.

And Harry did exactly that. His fingernails gripped so tightly on the gentle flesh of Louis' that he was almost certain that the markings would appear to be animal bites. He kissed a trail on Louis' soaked neck, and only stopped when he neared the middle of his chest.

"Want you," Harry admitted.

"Fuck you." Louis acknowledged.

Louis forcefully turned Harry around so that his chest was flush against the tiles of the walls. His hands trailed down his back and right to Harry's ass. He wasn't ashamed when he was alone. With Harry. 

Harry wishes he could say that he wasn't having a fucking aneurysm against the wall due to all the foreplay, but he was. Truthfully, he was. "Get in me, wanker." Harry snapped, swiping his sopping wet hair out of his face.

Louis crouched down so that he had easy access to Harry's hole and slid his wet fingers into him. Harry was a massive slut, therefore Louis didn't see a need to prep the shit out of him. After a few curls of his digits inside the cavern of Harry, he tugged his finger out.

Harry, soon, was met with a significantly more filling sensation that made his body ripple and jerk.

"Jesus-" Moaned the youngest, letting his forehead gently hit the wall. The fact of the matter was that Harry was about to have the best sex of his life with the biggest prick he's ever met.

Louis was about to come up with a witty remark, but he was very quickly silenced by the extremely romantic gesture coming from Harry. Harry kissed his fucking hand. Harry really did.

Louis' hands smacked over his mouth so he wouldn't make an obscene and loud noise at the sudden movement, still locking eyes with Harry. "You-" Louis inhaled sharply. "You look like an angel," He let out that same breath, kissing gently over the back of his neck and his shoulderblade.

Harry rolled completely and flesh against Louis' dick, making sure Louis' ear was right beside Harry's lips before he let out a shaky moan. Harry loved how Louis felt inside of him, and his cock was throbbing for a release. It was beyond painful, but so, so worth it when it came to Harry.

"I'd let you fuck me anywhere. 'M not ashamed- at all." Harry proudly stated, beginning to grind himself down into Louis' cock, leaving no room for breathers or breaks.

"One last direction, and then I'm done speaking," Louis started, pressing his lips against Harry's, moaning gently into his mouth as they kissed. He pulled off of his lips slightly to continue his phrase. "Want you to talk me through my orgasm. I want you to talk dirty to me the entire time. Want to hear how sexy I look fucking you like this,"

Harry was panting loudly at this point. The words that Louis was saying to him were getting to the point where it would be unbearable. "Only- fuck- if you ask nicely."

Louis did just then. He pleaded for a few minutes as Louis fucking destroyed his insides, his words slurring to the point where it was embarrassing.

"Beyond fit. It's so hard for me to not bend over and let you fuck me every second of the day." Harry said.

Harry was adjusting to the new, fast pace- but he craved more. He always craved more of the other no matter the circumstances.

Harry's nails were pawing against the wall in front of him and he was even thinking about beginning to suck along the other's skin.

Harry hissed when the other started actually speaking sentences to him, making his length throb in ecstasy. "Fuck-" He groaned once their pace started to increase, even more, his hips rocking down into Louis' strokes at an increasingly rough pace. If the boys didn't hear their sounds, they could definitely hear their skin slapping together.

Louis' free hand moved to grab ahold of Harry's hair, giving it rough tugs whenever he felt like it. This is exactly what he desired; a release from the outside world.

Chapter Text

open message ?

(✓)

>>> the frat 🍻

niall fucking WHOREan: 'oioi!!!! u coming lad? been waiting for ya'

zed: 'yea lou'

louis: 'only if i get to sit and bathe in tequila shots *shrug emoticon*'

niall fucking WHOREan: 'can it, zayn, u weren't even at footie practice ;)'

zed: 'oh so just bc i missed a singular practice means i've lost speaking privileges? my bad, king horan'

niall fucking WHOREan: 'say that under different circumstances babycakes;))))'

zed: 'absolutely disgusting-'

louis: 'stop'

louis: 'blowing'

louis: 'my'

louis: 'phone'

louis: 'up'

louis: '*middle finger emoticon*'

zed: 'tell that to niall, fucker'

louis: 'ok.'

niall fucking WHOREan: 'xx'

———

Louis sat in the chair he had relocated from the kitchen table to in front of his bathroom mirror, using the text-to-voice feature to respond to the thread of texts in the group chat. He completed his skincare routine within moments of reading Niall's final text and moved his hands directly from his face to his hair. It wasn't styled the way that Louis wanted it to be, but he didn't have time to battle with it. He was completely and utterly set on trying to make it to the party only ten minutes after the guest would start pouring it.

"Mmh," Louis thought aloud. He examined his outfit and his overall appearance for a blinking moment, concluding that it was about as perfect as he was going to get it. He, for sure, hated being so attractive sometimes.

With a pre-cracked beer bottle in his hand, Louis set out for the door of his flat. The condensation from the beer made his fingers tingly. The thought of the party made him feel tingly. He was a wreck of sensitivities as he opened the door of his flat, now officially being on his way. "Motherfucker." Mumbled the male, almost losing the beer can that was slipping through his moistened fingers. His instincts kicked in right as they needed to, and he modified his grip on said can.

His head was banging. He swore he could smell colors. It was getting worse. What did he eat for breakfast?

Louis' gentle nose scrunched up, trying to recall specifically that. He couldn't, and it completely drove him feral. The dimmed street lights of the sidewalk he was walking down really took a toll on his thinking, as well. He was at a double-fault, go figure.

"Just my fucking luck."

Louis' accent was thick and slurred most of the time, as he really had no interest in correcting his speech patterns. What came off of Louis' tongue was rarely what he hoped it would sound like. Louis had a troublesome time recollecting the things that happened exclusively recently, but he was sure that it was only due to his short-term memory loss.

This had been a reoccurring issue, nonetheless. When Louis was a tiny boy growing up in Doncaster, he had difficulties remembering what color his eyes were. He looked in the mirror plenty of times while brushing his teeth or watching his mum fix his hair, but it seemed like such a long time ago whenever he tried to recall it.

Now that he was an older lad, Louis had an easier time recollecting said things. He remembered what color his hair was by countless exercises and short quizzes his mum would give him. He used to forget his mum's name. Jay, is it? He extrapolated the names of the colors of the rainbow when he was ten. He stopped coming to a fault when trying to recall what his best mate's name was when he was twelve. His mom never had thought anything of it, just that Louis was pulling her leg and being ludicrous. Louis never thought anything of it.

Neither Jay nor Louis thought anything about it present day, but it always caught up to him. Always. He could escape how prone he is to forgetting for potentially a few days, but then it'd be right back.

Regardless of his stupid brain, Louis was going to have a splendid time at this God-forsaken function.

Louis reached the door of the frat house with a sigh that gave nothing but a prosperous vibe. He knocked on the door by booting it with the toe of his shoe, now waiting semi-patiently. Louis calf cramped up the longer he kicked at the door, jogging his memory of him railing the shit out of Harry a few hours previously. He smirked to himself, commencing his force to create an optimistic attitude in his system.

"Only hot people can come in-" Niall's prominent Irish accent bursted through the stillness as he the door swung open. Niall Horan was clearly focused on the drink in his hand, and the drink in his hand only.

"Clearly, you don't know who you're speaking to." Shot Louis, cocking his brows in an animated manner.

"Oh, no, mate. I definitely do." Niall buzzed.

"You're playing a dangerous game," Louis mocked, handing Niall the can of beer that was stiffening his fingertips.

"Come in, but try not to draw much attention to yourself. You'll only cause a scene." Offered the Irish fellow, casting his hand out to pull Louis through the entrance and into the mortal atmosphere.

Chapter Text

Louis had no idea what was going on, if he was being completely truthful. All he knew is that after he had a couple of pints and somewhere on a spectrum of 3-5 shots of liquor, he was done for. Not mortal, per se, but borderline fucked up. He had ended up on the counter within moments of his appearance and was being tossed between girls at the current moment. Somehow, football was brought up. Of course, it was.

"You're so tough, Lou," remarked one woman.

One with an annoying voice pitched in, "Oh, yes. Definitely."

For the most part, Louis was a complete whore for praises and took them without a second thought. He wouldn't pay mind to who showered him with them, however. Under this circumstance, Louis did. He found himself mildly uneasy with how the girls were throwing themselves at him, and half of him straight felt embarrassed for them. Louis' weight periodically shifted from one foot to the other, smiling cheekily ever so often. Louis didn't want to be a walker, but he was beyond unsettled and was piecing together an escape plan from the conversation. He had not a single indication on what the names were of the women he was accompanying, and he didn't care to find out.

Eventually, Zayn Malik came to his beck and call, slipping his slight figure through the throng of people. He touched Louis' shoulder as he made his way to him, wholly grasping him after he attained better footing.

"Hi, ladies. I'll be stealing Louis from you guys, if it isn't too big of an issue, " mentioned Zayn, sliding his hands down Louis' body to yank ahold of him at his hips. Once he got the signal that he was all good to snatch Louis up from them, he took advantage of that. The Bradford-born boy barred his teeth, giving a toothy smile to the women before quite aggressively pulling Louis away from them.

All whilst being tugged away from that terribly awkward predicament, Louis let out a gust of air that he didn't know he had been holding.

Zayn acknowledged that action. Louis heard a breathy, hearty laugh come out of Zayn's fine lips that lightened his heart a bit. Louis finally crushed the absence of noise between them, glancing up at Zayn while being steered through the tangle of people. "Thanks." Louis' voice stood quiet compared to the loud bass and screaming party-goers.

"Don't mention it. Niall and I were nearly pissing ourselves watching you be so uncomfortable, so he told me to come to get you." Zayn's lips curled up into an insignificant smile. Zayn always knew when to take the piss and when to keep his thoughts contained; he rarely had to refrain from joking with Louis.

"Is that right?" Louis was wide-eyed and had a humorous look plastered faultlessly across his complexion.

Zayn left him with a wink, finally ending their trip through the mob by sitting Louis down at a stool that was pulled up by the counter. Louis had forgotten the color of the marble countertop before coming to the frat house, so it flared something in him when he finally extrapolated what it looked like. These are the types of things Louis would speculate about before anything else, regardless of its importance. The pigment, silhouettes, and features of objects. He had a confidential notebook he kept with him when he hauled around his book bag that had lists of items and what makes up the outer surface of said item. Louis kept the notebook hidden to spare himself some dignity, and it had been working for as long as he had been jotting down shit in it.

There were other subjects that Louis would think about when his brain couldn't operate properly, such as what he would eat after classes, the routines he wanted to run through in practice, and what all he would plan on doing over the weekend. Occasionally,  it would be an individual that he would think about. His mum, sisters, and best mates were the ones that he thought about when he needed to cleanse his mind.

Harry Styles.

Harry was one of those thoughts, as much as of pained Louis to disclose. There wasn't any particular reason that Harry would float around in his brain. Honestly no reason. However, Louis would find himself imagining a civil conversation of his and Harry's, and sometimes he'd just blank on Harry's name altogether.

When that happened, Louis had to start his memory back up by telling it that Harry was the one with the curls and the ridiculous footie shoes that he wore to practice. After what had happened a few hours beforehand, he would need to start referring to Harry in his brain as the male that Louis fucked.  Louis' thighs were still palpitating from those few hours back, and he wasn't even ashamed to say that Harry gave him the best climax of his lifetime. Well, in his psyche, that is.

Within minutes of Louis' excitement towards Harry slowly starting to take over his brain, he saw the door open across the room from him, completely shattering any train of thought he had going. At first glance, all Louis saw was the top of the person's head and almost two-quarters worth of their face. With just that information, he decided that the mate that just came in was none other than Liam Payne. Liam was a proper fit male with the voice of an angel, and he pursued his longing of being a professional boxer in Uni. Louis had said to him before that if he were gay, he would let Liam fuck him.

Louis' guess genuinely could not have been more far off. He knew instantly who it was when he watched the male trot around the room and make his rounds in his fucking Chelsea boots. Harry Styles was the only man in the commonwealth that wore dress boots to a fraternity party, and the only man in the world that could even pull them off. Louis had been set on the fact that Harry always has been abnormally social, but he found it amusing, to say the most. The pure thought of Harry took over Louis yet again, but this time, they were more persistent than ever.

Harry Styles and his marvelous, light-toned skin. Harry Styles and his lengthy, slender, ringed fingers. Harry Styles and his distinguished philosophies. Louis still believed wholeheartedly that Harry might be the most irritating person he'd ever come across, but that didn't completely mute the other emotions he felt towards him.

Louis wasn't going to make it out of this night alive.

But if he were to, he didn't want to remember anything from the night. Especially not Harry fucking Styles. He detested the very thought of seeing Harry have a fun time vividly remembering what number Louis did on him in the showers.

"That's it, lads. 'M gonna go get alcohol poisoning," informed Louis after having his eyes set on Harry for at least one consecutive minute, drinking up the beer that was placed in front of Niall's area at the counter.

He knew Niall was about to start giving him lip, so Louis decided to make a run for it before he got the opportunity to.

Was going to get royally fucked up.

Chapter Text

"Ah, shite."

That.

That pretty much rehashed the entire night.

Once Harry turned up all fresh and flower-like, the night was a near blur for Louis. Although he was fully conscious, his thoughts began dulling by the moment. He was slumped down in one of the bar stools in the kitchen, watching Harry steal the metaphorical show with his rolling coils and spirited smile.

Now.

If you were to ask anyone (but Louis), they would say Harry was, singlehandedly, the softest and most compassionate person they knew. Harry's mum had raised him with every single aspect of respect and fondness that she could teach, which was almost appalling. How in the actual fuck could one individual elicit so much vigor and hospitality all at once?

Because Harry was certainly not anything of that kind in Louis' mind.

Never that.

Bile made its way up Louis' throat even thinking about that prissy son of a bitch.

But then again, who was he to judge? Louis' never had a stellar personality himself, so him bashing the bloody fuck out of Harry's temperament could come off wickedly double-dealing. Did he give a care in the fucking world? Absolutely not. He wouldn't resent fo thinking rubbish about someone who has only caused discord and burdensome feelings of anger in his life.

And that someone was presently doing the fucking limbo at the center of the living room.

Louis suppressed the loudest scoff conceivable at the sight, watching Harry delicately nevertheless. Harry looked like an absolute jackass out there, but Louis could tell that he was having nothing but a remarkable time. There were plenty of people encircling Harry, which made it quite difficult for Louis five-foot five-inch stature to see the scene. Not that he was actively trying to look at him, anyway.

At around five minutes into Louis peering through the mass of population on the dancefloor, he ultimately got a precise picture of the limbo crisis blathering on. Only, Harry wasn't even with those people. Louis furrowed his brows, eyeing hastily around the house to find the male with the standing of a string bean. The music was loud- 'Hymn for the Weekend by Coldplay, precisely- and Louis couldn't quite think straight. Well, he couldn't think straight as it was plainly, but with all of the interactions and the volume of aspects in the room, it made it inconceivable to think anything like straight.

"Jesus fuck," spat the golden-toned male, still set on the responsibility of locating and admonishing Harry.

"What're you looking at?" Harry's voice split through the symphony and screaming in an inhumane way. It was a voice that was so distinguishable and throaty, and it brought Louis in an uproar.

Louis jerked forward.

He knew it was Harry without even having to look. Who the fuck else had a voice that grainy and firm as a twenty-two-year-old? Louis gave a satisfied sigh, swiveling his head at an angle to properly gape at the other. "You're obsessed," Louis observed.

"Am I?"

"Mhm. Wildly, at that. Can't stay to yourself for more than a couple of hours."

Harry only provided as much as a chuckle. Harry, in fact, did get lonely rather rapidly. The thing that got to him was that Louis knew. There couldn't be anything more humiliating than your sworn nemesis comprehending you've got a soft spot for them. He appointed that there was nothing else to lose when it came to Louis, and he was about to voice that discovery. "This is quite the nice gathering, isn't it?" He purely asked, sailing his hands onto Louis' shoulders, squeezing gently on the areas that were where his shoulders and neck encountered. It was an innocent motion with a completely contrasting undertone.

The touching is about to drive Louis mad, on the other hand. The gesture of Harry's massive hands caressing and pushing into his shoulders is definitely doing something to him- not to mention what he had said previously. Offering nothing more than a smirk and a small laugh, he turned to entirely face Harry. He locked eyes with him, raising his brows all in the meantime. It was a commodity he did when he wanted to be intimidating, although he wasn't sure if it would work with Harry. Before speaking, he decided to make his first move. He placed his hand on Harry's upper thigh, squeezing lightly to see what that did to him.

This was the most outrageous thing in existence. He was fondling all up on the male he has strived to ascertain himself that he abhorred. Utterly pathetic. Louis would never live it down if his flaming Irish mate caught him.

He, subconsciously, took his bottom lip in between his teeth as he watched this scene play out, never once breaking eye contact with Harry.

Louis did get a reaction. Harry's eyes enlarged an absurd percentage. The nooks of Harry's lips warped, and he transmitted Louis a warning look.

"Oh? Perhaps I would. Maybe I'd love you making me whine for you, Styles. Maybe I want your hands all over me, digging into my skin. Maybe I want your lips on every inch of my body... Maybe I want my lips to be purple after I kiss you," With each utterance, Louis' hand traveled dangerously more close to Harry's upper inner thigh, making sure to inspect pathetically at his face for a fallout.

He let his hand move right over Harry's clothed dick, pertaining light pressure to the area. Louis moved his positioning so that his left leg would be enmeshed between Harry's legs.

He would be sitting on Harry's lap if he wasn't worried about drawing that much attention to them.

Louis turned his focus back to the events that were going on around the house to which he pretended to pay notoriety. He was so focused on the pretty boy beside him that he barely had heard a single word to the song that had been said within the past five minutes. His hands remained in the same spot on Harry's lower half, imagining keeping it there until the taller did something about it.

Louis heard an interjection of frustration slip Harry's mouth at his complete insensibility of what Louis had just engaged in, and that made him snicker.

Someone was approaching the table he was sat at at an alarmingly fast rate, which made Louis jerk his hand off of the curly-headed boy's body.

Who the fuck is that?

Oh, it's just Zayn. Must've arrived unannounced.

"Oioi, lad," greeted Louis; Harry gave a minuscule nod as his regards. Louis persisted after a duration of stillness. "Missed you coming in. You alright, Zed?"

Harry's face tinted red. He leaned over and nudged Louis, dipping downwards so he could murmur something in his ear.

"Louis, that's Niall."

Chapter Text

Niall had always known that Louis had recollection problems, so he didn't take the blunder too much to heart. He cackled it off like the jolly, 'pleasant' Irish man he was and winked gleefully in Louis' direction.

Niall was taking the piss of it so Louis would feel less apologetic or remorseful.

It was the little things.

Louis clapped his hand over his mouth when he exclusively got a grip on what Harry had said to him. While squirming timidly in his seat, he shot his eyes up at Niall's pearly ones. "Fuck, mate. 'M so sorry. Don't know what's gotten into me." He was feverish with his apology, not wanting Niall to get any more offended than he already came off to be.

"Aye, aye. No fret, Lou. I know what games your good ol' noggin has been playin' on ya," Niall held his hands up in a joking manner, tapping Louis politely on his head for good measure. Niall was as irksome as any bloke could be, and that accent of his was intolerable, but he was a good lad. Always knew how to alleviate Louis off of his highs and lull him down when commodities like this transpired. In the last instance, Louis had completely forgotten where he was at. He had been out with Niall and another one of Niall's mates, and before he even started drinking, Louis was freaked out shouting about how he didn't know how he ended up at the snobbish bar.

That was only the third time Louis had one of his outbreaks around Niall, and it still shook the blonde male up. That was a few months ago, still, and since then, Niall had had plenty of time to inquire Louis what would be the most profitable thing to do if he was around when shit went down. 

Louis exhaled, particular baggage seeming like it was lifted off of him as he gave attention to Niall speaking. "Yeah, yeah. But you really did look like Zayn from over there," pestered Louis. "Truthfully." His inked hands were now stationed on the counter in front of him, fingers interlaced in an affluent position.

Niall shrugged him off, seeing himself to attend to the guests that were pooling in by the front door. The colorful banners made the posh walls and wooden floors loom, and it was such a breathtaking concept in Louis' eyes. (He was easily fascinated by the stupidest things.) (Like Harry Styles).

Louis has decided that Harry Styles was a ludicrous name, having said that. What person with an adequate mindset would willingly label their youngster that? Anne Twist, apparently.

Although he couldn't begin to pin Harry with a name that wasn't- well, Harry.

What a bastard.

Harry took every good gene that his parents had, which even canceled out the terrible genes passed to him. It was nauseating having to coincide in the same realm as Harry Styles.

Nothing about that seemed appealing to Louis.

The fucked thing was that Louis couldn't quite put a finger on how exactly he felt towards Harry. Half of him yearned to say that Harry made him want to perpetrate arson or thump his head against a wall, and the other half craved to have a morally romantic rapport with him.

No person should have to feel that way Louis felt with Harry.

Louis could realistically keep a conversation up and about with virtually anyone (if he applied himself), but that promptly altered the jiffy Harry became involved. He is more inclined to forget things when around Harry, and his hands get moist with sweat. It was proper humbling, for the scarcity of a better expression.

Why?

Literally, why was Louis the person that got to pleasure to chaperone the overly expressive, magnanimous, and erratic man-baby? He had not a solo notion as to why that was, so he just made do with what he had. No person (other than Harry) could guilelessly hold up that many favorable peculiarities without getting mentally infertile.

He wanted out of his head.

Fuck, what day was it?

He zoned back into sensibility almost faultlessly in time to give attention to Harry talking absolute rubbish about him to a man he had never caught a glimpse of before in his life.

"Just because you desperately want to get me naked and have me all to yourself does not mean I cannot live a little, Styles. Try it sometime," Louis hummed, instantly feeling the jolt of pain at his calf from Harry kicking it rather harshly, but then the familiar feeling of his leg against his. He hissed at the pain, returning the favor nonetheless. He, without a thought, stepped on his foot with a good amount of pressure.

"You fucking twat- That kind of hurt."

"Did it? I hadn't noticed."

Louis tossed his head back to divert himself from the disappearing discomfort in his calf. He ran his fingers through his own hair, peeping at Harry through a side grimace.

Harry was mildly fearful about if the kick did hurt that bad or if it was just Louis being theatrical. Harry did, frankly, look exceptionally desirable when he was concentrated, and Louis nurtured the way Harry's complexion looked while being so immersed.

Louis observed that Harry's brows crimped and raised, and his nose seamed. Louis let out a breathy chuckle as he inspected, strengthened to avert his eyes to something else if Harry aimed to make direct eye contact with him.

"You look pretty trying not to break for me, Styles. You'd also look pretty pounding me with your hands guiding my body. Know that?" That all the flamboyant Louis had to let out. Louis wanted to leave a modicum of toxicity in the air.

He turned his chair around to face Zayn's (yes, Louis was sure that this was actually Zayn this time), and locked eyes with him. They made notes to each other using some form of 'telekinesis', altogether understanding every facial articulation and glance given.

Zayn was clearly upset about how Louis was liquoring up too extensively and how Louis was in the cycle of having all of the leisure and left him out of it- which wasn't half false.

Louis had already gone off on his own.

Louis did already make out with four different sorority girls.

Louis did already do a keg-stand.

Zayn did none of that shit, only because he had lost Louis in the fucking crowd.

The event he would not flee from Zayn in the populace at is the perennial psychical analysis at the provincial clinic. It transpired every year, and with every check-up, his nerves got nastier. There was no particular reason for him to get worked up, but something about an exam that tells him whether or not he is authorized to play the sport that has gotten him through his unbroken life was nerve-wracking.

There wasn't anything hazardous that went down during the exam, either.

So, why he was scared of a harmless check-up, he couldn't tell you.

*

Harry's hands existed all over Louis essence as they got progressively more intoxicated, him not liking the idea of leaving any inch of Louis' body untouched or neglected. Louis was about as into it as Harry was, although he was considerably further trashed than him.

That lived until something inside of Louis clicked.

Harry hasn't touched anywhere Louis specified not to, but it just didn't feel okay anymore to have the hands of your hostile sensually on your body. "Get the fuck off me-" Louis blurted out, grabbing at Harry's wrists and throwing his hands off of him. Louis began again:

"Don't ever fucking touch me again, you dumb shit. I'll kill you."

Chapter Text

Fuck.

Because literally fuck his life.

Louis was currently in Zayn Malik's luxurious ass car (With Zayn driving, obviously), and tripping balls about the destination they'd be going to. Since the night before, Louis hasn't heard jack-shit from Harry, which pleased him to an extent- however, he didn't remember what happened at the party. Like, at all. There was no recollection on his part. Seemingly, it wasn't too substantial of an occurrence because the male with perfect teeth and a chiseled jawline barely uttered a word about it so far.

Louis knew Zayn, though. How the bloke was the spitting image of someone who would be considered calm, cool, and collected, and infrequently opened his chops about anything. Zayn was gorgeous, too, and people loved pure, modest Bradford lads with model-like features. Especially Louis. Louis thought Zayn was a superior individual and admired him endlessly.

If it wasn't apparent enough, Louis wouldn't exactly take a bullet for Zayn. (He would thoroughly consider it.)

When Louis looked over to observe Zayn, he couldn't have looked more godly if he tried.

What the actual fuck.

Louis had elected that Zayn wasn't even mortal- just a hologram or a figment of his ingenuity. One of the large hands of Zayn's were firmly pressed to the wheel whilst the other one on his lap, tapping the beat of the song blaring through the radio. His skin was a perfect caramel tone all over, and his eyes were a splitting speck of hazel- and yes, Louis was confident that Zayn was a Greek God. From just the way Zayn carried himself, it sold it for Louis.

Breaking his trance, the velvety voice of Zayn cut through the air like a blade. "Loueh, look at me,"

Louis did as he was instructed, fulfilling the gaze of the lad beside him.

"You seem fully out of it, mate. Sorry for prowling, but I just have got to know if you're all right." Pressed Zayn in almost a whinging manner, eyebrows dipping as if to sell his plead.

The skepticism was already ample enough for Louis to answer, but he essentially wilted at the facial articulations.

"'M alright, Zayn. I just've got this feeling in my stomach."

"Really? Of what? Are you going to be sick?"

Louis' face hardened, drawing his brows together. "No, Bradford."

Zayn did a double-take before answering back, his eyes wide with mirth. "What in the fuck did you just call me?" Zayn's polished voice had not a sole hint of violation in it, and his tone had a certain light-heartedness to it.

"Bradford. You're a Bradford bad boy, y'know?"

"Oh- am I, Tomlinson?"

"Mhm, that's why I said it,"

And with that, they both burst out in hearty laughter, Zayn nearly swerving the malevolently invaluable black Mustang off of the highway they were driving in from how hard he was laughing. That only stimulated a gasp from Louis and an even more contentious laugh to come rumbling out of Zayn's throat. ("You just about fucking killed us!" "I didn't, you're such a doormat," "You won't be saying that when you're a quarter-way out of the windshield and dead as shite, Malik.")

The rest of the way there, the boys listened to all of Zayn's road trip playlist and almost half of Louis' as their jam session was cut short by them actually arriving on time. As they walked up to the hospital building, Zayn twirled his car keys around his index finger with a particular grace that Louis was in complete astonishment of.

Because what the fuck.

Louis has never been anywhere near as careful and attentive as Zayn and didn't plan on it, either. He quite liked his own personality, thanks. It periodically got him in a shit ton of trouble and scandals, but that was the fun of it. The exhilaration of knowing he was such an utter asshole really prompted him. Louis also took into consideration how greatly his personality and Zayn's clashed, but since they were best mates, they actually complimented each other.

They walked into the hospital side by side, leaving no room in between them because that's how Zayn preferred it. Louis had to sign them in at the front desk because Zayn didn't feel like speaking to people at that moment. Typical, nonetheless. ("You fucker-" "What? I just didn't want to talk to her. She looked rather posh," "And you don't?")

They solicited the same medical room, which was heartily procured to them, much to their elation. The music that came through the small speaker on the cheap ceiling tiles was less than appreciated, entirely being trashed on by Zayn and Louis unmercifully. "What in the actual hell is this song?" Louis asked Zayn, who simply shrugged. "Man, I don't know. I'm sure Niall could make better music than this- by far."  Louis laughed at that, flashing Zayn a look of uncertainty before countering, "You're pushing it now."

Zayn flipped him off in the most king-like strategy feasible and turned his gaze to the unpleasant floor tiles that had the most irritating glint in them as the florescent white lighting reflected off of them. Louis kept his eyes on the door of their room, waiting for the specialist to come in and attend to them. He really didn't want to be here longer than he needed to. Louis sent Zayn a text message with the link to a GamePigeon game of Cup Pong, bitting back a mild grin on his lips. Zayn averted his eyes to Louis' with a scarcely amused orifice, clicking on the game anyhow. They played only two rounds before the doctor walked into their room, which startled both of them, to say the least. The man wore a fake, toothy smile and looked like he could pass out any minute. Downsides of the job, eh?

"Hey, guys. I'm Doctor Gillian and I'll be taking care of you guys today," the doctor declared openly, extending his bony hand to reasonably clasp the boys' hands in his. They shook his hand without question, Zayn even offering an inconsequential smile.

"You boys are here for your physicals, yes?" Doctor Gillian inquired, obviously attempting to stimulate an unnecessary conversation.

"Mhm." Simply answered Louis, glancing over at the pretty boy sitting across him, slipping him a funny face to make an undertaking to lighten his spirits.

Zayn rolled his eyes and winked at Louis in his response, intertwining his own slim,
ringed fingers and positioning them on his lap.

Doctor Gillian smiled at the interchange, "Well, I suppose we should get to it, alright?" He clapped his hands concurrently, looking at the two lads expectantly. Once he got ratifying nods from Zayn and Louis, he proclaimed he'd be snatching Zayn first.

Louis was partway relieved and partway truly fucking indignant. The apprehension was proper killing him at this rate, and he predicted his heart would be wholly halted by the time Zayn's physical analysis was completed.

Zayn clapped Louis' back with his firm hands, nuzzling gently into the side of Louis' neck, replacing words he cannot even begin to form. Was it romantic? No- it was something they did as a comfort protocol. Louis ran his right hand over Zayn's defined facial configuration, and within moments, Zayn and Doctor Gillian had exited the room. "Jesus-" Louis muttered, throwing his head back and resting it against the wall.

Thousands of words and phrases jogged through his intellect at a problematic rate, causing Louis' paunch to do flips. Louis missed the company of Zayn already, and he missed the solace of his own home surprisingly extra.

Presently, Louis has literally been reclining in the same position for thirty consecutive minutes, frequently peeking at the door across from him and hoping Zayn's beautiful figure would come through the door with that bright, no-teeth smile he's got.

Well, it's actually not far when he gets exactly what he yearned for.

Zayn opens the door, accompanied by Doctor Gillian. He's got a whole stappled stack of papers in his right hand, and he's clutching a tiny sucker in his left hand. Louis stubs Zayn's face visibly lighten at the sight of him, which makes Louis smile like a fucking idiot.

Because why.

Zayn props himself against the chair Louis was sat in once he got into the room, now grinning with his faultlessly aligned teeth. "Missed you, princess." Zayn presses, placing a gentle and friendly kiss on Louis' forehead, emitting a small laugh from the both of them. "Missed you, too, Bradford. Now, let me go see if I have cancer or something." Louis retorts, standing up from his seat with a long-awaited yawn. Zayn only rolled his eyes, sitting in the same seat Louis was just in once Louis got up.

Ah, shit. Well, here goes nothing, right?

*

Louis is now sat on his bum on the examination table, on the verge of a heart attack or a hernia, whichever one comes first. Louis could feel his heart beating out of his toned chest, and was foremost getting progressively more uncomfortable wondering whether or not he was the only person who could hear it. He had already pissed in a tiny cup with a bunch of colored lines on it, and Doctor Gillian had made him touch his toes to see if he had scoliosis.

Louis hasn't smoked weed for a few weeks, but he has smoked those ornate cigarettes that Niall invests in with the shit-load of cash he just has got lying around. Long story short, he pissed clean. He doesn't have fucking scoliosis, just terrible back predicaments- which is always better than having scoliosis.

Louis was sat alone in the room, and his doctor was nowhere in sight.

Wrong. So, so painfully wrong.

Doctor Gillian came bursting through the door, an incredibly disturbed look plastered on his simple features. Louis was about to piss himself at how his doctor looked, locking eyes with him to try and read his expressions.

"Mr. Tomlinson, you've got Glioblastoma,"

Chapter Text

"Pardon my French, but what the fuck is that?" Louis cracked, tossing his hands up in a heated description.

"Well," Gillian commenced, placing a hand on Louis' shoulder and softening his facial expressions. "Glioblastoma is a fatal, malignant tumor that has been affecting your spine and brain. It's been growing inside of you since you were a wee youngin, and there is absolutely no cure."

Louis sat in the atrocity, feeling unexpectedly sick to his stomach. "No-" He choked, his words breaking and his thoughts kicking in faster than they ever have before in his life. Tears. Fucking tears were forming in his bright blue eyes, and his lip was quivering nonetheless. Because holy fuck. Louis discerned he'd be a dead man long before he and Harry even sorted their principles out.

Gillian's hand grabbed tighter onto Louis' shoulder when he noticed the tears welling in the boy's eyes. Louis couldn't look at anything but the ground.

Gillian sighed, "I'm so terribly sorry. You said you play football for Uni? Zayn couldn't stop talking about how badly you guys want to win the title. I'm rooting for you, Louis. Don't let this bring you down-"

Louis' eyes fastened from the floor and up to the man before him in moral revulsion and resentment. "How in the bloody hell am I supposed to not let this affect me? I'm going to die, for fuck's sake." His voice was hazardous and volatile, and he feels himself fighting back the unmentioned desire to hurl a brick at Doctor Gillian's head. There couldn't be a worse way to find out he had a lethal tumor in his brain than how he had just found out.

The doctor's gaze halted, running his hand through the red locks of his own, feeling his heart shatter for the boy screaming on his table at him. "Son, I know. You've got to tell Zayn, though. He will be just as heartbroken as you are, but you need someone to help you through this. You won't start experiencing the immense pains of this tumor until your time's about up. You've got a bit over a month to live without serious complications."

Louis grabbed the paperwork off of the desk beside him and made a v-line out of the exam room with nothing more than that. He reckoned a goodbye or wasn't crucial at that given moment. He raged into the patient's room that Zayn was in and opened the entrance without additional reluctance. "We're leaving. Grab your stuff," announced the flustered Louis, grabbing Zayn's paperwork off of the desk near him.

Zayn saw the tears pooling out of Louis' eyes and questioned the affidavit no more. He had never once caught a glimpse of Louis crying in the whole timeline of being mates with him, so he knew that there was truly no time to waste.

Louis snatched frantically at the slim wrist of Zayn's, pulling him directly out of the room and out the main entrance of the building. He and Zayn already reimbursed pre-visit, so it wasn't like what he was perpetrating was illicit. The hostile look never dropped from Louis' features, making Zayn ever more apprehensive.

Because what the fuck.

Louis was hyperventilating- it was all happening way too damn fast for him to even start to comprehend the situation. All he knew is that he had a month to live successfully before everything would turn to shit, and that was devastating altogether. He motioned for Zayn to unlock the car so they could get in, and Zayn got the memo completely. Once the doors were opened, Zayn sat himself in the driver's seat, and Louis plopped himself down into the passenger's seat. It was only a thirty-minute drive back to their campus, but it was thirty minutes too long. He didn't want to have to deal with the weight of what he was just told with another soul in the car with him.

Exactly what he did not want to do.

Louis hasn't cried in years, and he wasn't planning on doing it in front of his best mate, either. He understood how fucking terribly the information would encompass Zayn, and Louis refuses to see Zayn weep- especially because of him.

Zayn played his cards carefully, getting them out of the parking lot as safely as conceivable. Zayn, in no way, desired to impel anything out of Louis, so he wouldn't. They had mutually reputable thresholds and a bro-code that they would invariably pursue. Zayn's pristine posture was now slumped, and he was clasping his hands so aggressively on the wheel that his knuckles faded white. If it wasn't entirely fucking striking at that juncture, Zayn was losing his fucking brain trying to get a grip of the catastrophe and why Louis' disposition deviated drastically.

"You're gonna tell me," pried Zayn, watching Louis out of his peripherals.

Louis sough, "Yeah, mate."

"What is going on in that pretty brain of yours?"

"So, so much."

"Tell me."

"I've got a malignant tumor in me brain." Louis finally breaks, his hands grasping at the fabric of his own shirt, twisting the cotton-y material in between his index finger and thumb. Zayn's brows morphed, dipping his head mildly as he loitered for a justification.

Louis groaned, pacifying his hands before answering back. "Means 'm gonna die within a month, lad."

Zayn laughed. And he laughed arduously. Because why in the flying fuck would Louis quip about anything of that sort? "Awh, mate- you've always been such a good fiber. Did you just want to get out of there? I know how check-ups can startle you-" Zayn implored quizzically, evaluating Louis' manifestations as he spoke. 

"No. I'm not pissing around, Zayn. I've only been given a month to live, which means need to hold on to you." Louis snarled, smacking his hands downward onto the leather seat be was sat on.

"Holy shit, Lou." Zayn murmured, his right hand now taking Louis' hand in his own. Zayn could feel the back of his throat start to burn, his eyes start to prickle, and his chest start collapsing. Because holy fucking shit. His best mate- soulmate, even- wasn't going to make it to see his next birthday.

Louis nearly had a psychotic fracture at the sense, grabbing at the boy's hand like it would be the last time he could feel him. He couldn't just leave his best mate like that. No fucking way.

Well, fuck.

"Gonna make this the best month of me entire life, mate," Louis whispered, not daring to lock eyes with the figure sitting in the passenger's seat.

Chapter Text

Louis is walking over to Harry Styles' flat. Taking time out of his evening to go suck up to the boy that has been making his Uni experience absolute hell. You only live once, and this is Louis' time to live.

Louis delivered himself in such a way that it was precisely unmatchable. He never let his head fall because he knew he'd cry, so he looked up at the stars. What a remarkable tragedy, plainly. He had watched so many romance movies read hundreds of novels with the genre being romance, but nothing even came near to correlating to the impressions that were tacit between Harry and Louis. They had a conflagration in their essences that steers them to be the best and they picked each other up when necessary.

Louis's fingernails were digging dips into the golden skin of his palms (surely, he's drawing blood) and his steps bolstered in distance. He wanted to admit everything to Harry while he had most of his sanity.

Soon, but not soon enough, Louis arrived on the doorstep of Harry's flat. It was a sight, truly. The gaudiest flat he's discovered in all his years of being on campus.

Literally, what the fuck is he doing?

With not as much as an inhale and recomposing himself, he brought himself to knock on the door. Now, Louis never knocks on the door of anyone's house but Zayn's, but all reasoning is already out the window for him. Harry came to the door -curls bouncing gracefully on top of his head- and unlocked and opened the door.

"Good aft-" The taller ceased mid-sentence, rendering immediate eye contact with the man in front of him. Harry's voice was deep, portending he'd been asleep not too long ago.

"Shh. Don't speak," Louis acknowledged, pressing both of his hands to Harry's chest and lightly directed him backward. Harry made no effort to fight him off, which overall surprised the fuck out of Louis. Harry was either high or absolutely mortal. "Sit down, Curls."

"Why would I do that? You quite verbatim barged into my flat unannounced-"

"Harry, please. Please be quiet, I can't even hear myself losing the will to live,"

"Say that again, wanker."

Louis wailed, much over-dramatically. "Kiss me, you fucking twat."

Harry stood in utter alarm, eyes going exclusively wide. He was still striving to process Louis appearing on his doorstep. "What?"

With a roll of his eyes and one swift bustle, he put his sweaty hands on either side of Harry's countenance and pulled himself impossibly close. Their lips weren't fondling, but every other body part of theirs was. "You look so fucking stupid." Was all that came out of his tinted, bruised lips.

Their lips brushed in such a gesture that it nearly knocked the wind out of the both of them. Louis' hands never faltered, so he kept a proper firm grip on Harry's cheeks nonetheless.

Louis kissed at Harry's flawlessly shapen lips, pushing his lips against the other's like it would be his only prospect to do so. Because it might as well be.

Harry was unresponsive, him still in the process of determining if he should put his hands on Louis' curvy midsection or tangle his digits in his hair. He settled for the first option, desperate to feel Louis in any way. They detested each other so terribly bad, however, they could both sense the modification in the aura.

Harry's lips finally began to collide against Louis', almost positive he had scraped Louis' bottom lip with his teeth. He promptly perceived what was taking place and the environment that they were rendezvousing in, and pulled away from the tenderness of Louis' lips abruptly. "Did you just kiss me?"

Louis narrowed his eyes. "Did you just like it?"

Harry took a duration to counter, thinking of exactly what he wished to explain beforehand. "Louis, we've got a problem now,"

"Can it be solved by me shooting you?"

Silence.

"No?"

Silence again.

"Then it isn't an issue I should be concerned about at this very moment, now, is it?"

The side of Harry's lips quirked halfway, rolling his eyes nonetheless. He fucking hated Louis. Everything about the small, pretentious prick made his skin crawl. Yes, they had hooked up once, but that meant absolutely nothing and didn't rationalize romantic behavior between the two of them. Harry figured that Louis only used him for his sexual fantasies (Louis wasn't even gay), and Harry only reciprocated that blessing.

But the way Louis was behaving really threw Harry off. Not ever did Louis openly express intimacy to him, and not ever did Louis want Harry to kiss him. Most of the time, Louis loses his shit when Harry accidentally touches him. ("Get your bloody knee off of me leg." "I didn't even mean to, but know that you're complaining about it, I'm not moving it." "Fuck you, Harold. I hope you die slow.")

"Lewis," Harry whispered, veering his hands from Louis' hips to down at his own side. Concern laced his voice like a coating of silk, but it's all in a day's work.

"Hm?" Replied Louis without missing a beat.

He didn't want to tell Harry. Louis knew that he would be able to see the boy's heart shatter through his painfully green eyes.

Harry furthered his interrogation. "Why'd you come here and kiss me?"

"'Cause I needed someone to distract me." Promptly came Louis' voice, high in pitch- a discrepancy to Harry's gravelly voice.

"Figured." Harry was spent at that final utterance. "Now, get out. I've got company arriving soon." He grabbed Louis by his shoulders and ushered him toward the door of his flat, pressing a forgery smile to his delicate lips. "Will be seeing you tomorrow, to much of my distaste."

Louis stared at him with his mouth agape and whatnot, sensing his insides itch with pure turmoil.

A prime example of why he fucking loathed Harry Styles.

Anywho, Louis made his way out of the gaily adorned door of Harry's flat, not even turning back to say good-bye. Saying goodbye was for pussies, and the one thing Louis Tomlinson was not, was a pussy.

Louis sensed his throat burn yet again, and that was his cue to book it down the sidewalk. There was no way in hell he would let Harry study that the bullshit he talked about comprised him in any denomination.

You can't win against someone who's got nothing to lose.

Chapter Text

Footie practice. Five in the fucking morning.

Louis is forthwith trotting sprints with Zayn not too far behind him. Niall was working on his footing, all smiles and glimmer emitting off of him like the fucking sun.

No one could withstand the shiny, happy-go-lucky soul that was Niall fucking Horan. 

Harry was straightening out his unduly posh shin guards that were positioned on his firm legs already, almost as if scrutinizing the very substance utilized to formulate them. There was colorful tension in the air that was painted by none other than Louis Tomlinson's toothy grin, and there was no disavowing it.

Louis had no reminiscence of the day before.

He had brandished few chitchats with the lads since practice commenced, predominantly because he wasn't feeling adequate. Louis had the backbone to get the team to the finals and not let anyone hamper that precise devotion. Not even Harry Styles. Louis, jovially, hasn't conversed with that bloke since the prior encounter of theirs at Harry's flat (truthfully, Louis remembered nothing they talked about)- nor did he aspire to, with that. Nothing about hearing the monotone, slow and sweet voice of Harry and being in the equivalent wake captivated him. Louis didn't understand why so many people had such tyrannical fondness towards him, all he could decipher is why occasional people can't tolerate him.

He really needs to stop speculating about Harry at ungodly hours of days.

*

The practice had finalized, and Louis couldn't be more enthusiastic to flee the entire radius and conceivably walk off of a bridge? Niall was pitching him a ride back to his flat, which only excited Louis because he was unable of thinking back to the last time he went over to Niall's flat. Zayn didn't typically let Louis leave their flat since he's got separation anxiety, so this was a first.

"Y'ready, lad?" Came Niall's peppery voice through the frigid air of the daybreak, making Louis' eyes roll out of subconsciousness. He didn't memorize Niall being so fucking loud.

"Only if you'd stop shouting, yes," Louis scolded with a spirited tinge that spread straight across his face. What was he getting himself into?

"'M bad, Tommo. Forgot your ears are sensitive as shite. Keep reminding, won't ya? Don't want to scare you off."

And at that moment, Louis wanted to throw himself down a flight of stairs.

Why?

Because his physical and mental health was affecting the people around him, and that killed him. Entirely ravaged him, for lack of a better phrase.

"Ni," Louis said, not much above a whisper, and held his arms outwards, wagging his fingers to exemplify that he wants to properly encompass the blonde-headed fool. Niall obliged nevertheless, scrambling his feet over to Louis and allowing himself to plummet inelegantly into the frail arms of Louis'.

Louis was never much of a hugger.

Louis finally spoke, "There's something I've been meaning to tell you, but when I tell you, you can't tell anyone."

"Promise I won't. It isn't world-shattering, yeah?" Responds Niall, not missing a beat.

"Depends on what you'd consider 'world-shattering', Ireland." Louis' voice was full of eccentric youth, and it only brightened when speaking to the people he cared for. (No, he wasn't saying that he cared for Niall.)

(No way.)

(Not at all.)

(Who the fuck even is Niall Horan?)

"Well, for starters, it would be earth-shattering if Jameson stopped producing alcohol-"

"Oh, mother of god."

"Shut up, you bloody cunt. Carry on."

Louis inhaled, eyeing around the field to make sure they had a bit of solitude. On the contrary to Niall, he had some dignity. "Doc told me that I should only expect to survive a little under a month, now."

Niall's jaw dipped open, his picture-perfect eyes bulging out of their sockets nearly. Then he laughed.

And, oh, boy- When Niall Horan laughed, he laughed good.

Louis stood in utmost terror, snatching ahold of Niall's shoulders firmly. "Are you cross? Mate, I really wish I was joking, I do, but joking is the last thing I'm actively doing right now." Louis' eyes were glossed over and he could barely feel his bottom lip begin to ripple. But no way in shite was he going to sob in front of the only individual on the planet that shined brighter than the sun.

Niall's laughter came to an abrupt halt as he let the words of Louis soak into his mind. "Mate, what? Have you gone mad?"

"I'm gonna fucking die, Niall. See, I've got this tumor in me brain that is lethal, and the Doc said that they haven't for a cure for it just yet. Rather, I'm going to be dead in approximately twenty days," Louis explains calmly, looking at Niall with a thoughtful representation. "Give or take, actually."

Everything about the luminous soul of Niall's obscured, and Louis could virtually discern the very elements of him fall asunder in such a description that it came to be bewildering. Before Louis could completely render everything that was happening, Niall was crying. Tears were collapsing down the precarious cheeks of the boy, and his chest appeared to seize due to his lack of breath.

Louis has never seen Niall weep before this instant, and he never wants to ever again.

Niall's hands were twitching uncontrollably, and Louis could potentially document that he was trying to propel utterances out of his throat to articulate his concern.

The way Niall's tears drew such a poetic pathway down his face prevailed concern enough.

"Hey, blondie, stop." Louis' voice shot through the atmosphere in a way that was almost comforting to Niall, however, all hope of Niall's was relinquished once he felt the slender fingers of Louis' press through his hair like unspoken words. Niall felt everything he hadn't before.

Niall wondered if the moon was watching them.

Louis, at that point, had to clutch Niall upright and coo into his ear to soothe the heart-wrenching sobs coming out of the boy's cracked lips, all whilst suffering his own endurance demolishing to bits. "Oh, Niall," Managed Louis, holding the boy in his arms as if their very existence counted on it.

In which,

If you really think about it,

It does.

"Lou."

Louis listened.

"I'm not ready to say goodbye just yet."

Chapter Text

That's it.

It's finalized.

Louis is laboring mercifully on a letter to Harry.

A hand-made, pen-composed letter.

Do people even write letters anymore? Do mailboxes actually exist? It was all a haze for Louis, though Zayn had heretofore told him that letters substantiate more touching than just babbling about your utopian illusions with them over a text message.

Louis conceded with what was left of him.

He has only been up for irregular hours, but a few hours too overdue to elucidate his modern well-being. He wasn't quite sure how to begin, nonetheless. Because how in the sweet world are you supposed to explain to the individual you hate the most (but at the same time, the soul you crave to accompany additionally more than anyone could) that you're perishing and have known for much lengthier than you're giving a conveyance to? There were aspects that Louis has never spoken about that he yearned so badly to illustrate in-depth to Harry. From what he can compile about Harry thus far is that he is a susceptible son of a bitch, and doesn't take loss lightly-

So.

How was he going to lightly confide that he was going to die any time now?

Louis reckoned that it would be best for his cognitive state to just commence inscribing and see where his penmanship takes him.

So, that's what he did. He placed the pen with the squishy grip around the base to the paper, and briefly shut his eyes. He wanted the world to stop for just this one moment. He needed to remember things.

'Harry,

I am writing this while you're probably fucking anything that walks, which is how I expect it to be. Wouldn't foresee anything else from you, actually. I'm sat in my flat writing a fucking letter to you while you're having the time of your adolescent life. God, you're so young. That's always the first thing I've remembered about you. I can't remember much as it is, but I seem to remember the things I must when it comes to you. The bloke that I wish death upon. Because frankly, I do want you to feel the anguish I'm feeling. I want to see that ridiculous grin of yours fall off your face like Pompeii. Isn't that the tragedy where thousands and thousands of people died when the walls fell through? Hopefully, it is, or I'd sound like quite the cunt, wouldn't I?

Rather, I'm in a shit load of pain right now, and I've told everyone but you. Makes you feel real special, doesn't it? Don't want to tell you exactly what it is, because I know, personally, that I like to be kept on my toes. Conceivably it's just me, but I also relish seeing you exacerbated.

I bet you're wondering why, after nearly two months of me properly ignoring you, I'm writing you a letter. Well, guess no more, Sherlock, 'cause I've got your alibi. I don't wish for shit to go unsaid, and that's the unsophistication of it. You are single-handedly the most irksome bloke I've ever met in my entire life, but that's what I like about you, Curls. You're so tenacious when I let you be, and you always, always know when I'm tired of your shit. I hate you, actually. You make me so fucking frantic and feverish. I would call you an imbecile, but that'd be cruel, as you wouldn't know how to spell it. There is nothing more I detest more than you, genuinely.

I feel hostility towards the way your curls bounce around your face when you run, because how can you even see through that mop of a mane? I hate the way you stare at me- and don't even get me opened on the way you breathe. I can sense every single emotion you feel towards me; implying that I know that you've got your little impressions bunched up for me. I've noticed within the time I've worked with you in footie that you mess with your little fingers whenever you get worked up. You don't immerse in disputes, you attend to people denouncing you and you rectify precisely what they abhor about you. You are the purest form of art. I see how the constellations align for you in such a habit that I'm appalled by. You look like the best configuration of mastery, and you sound so metaphysical. I've never met a soul that can make me feel so enthralled by just their voice and their substance, but you've done it for me.

I don't hate you, Harry, I want to be you. We are not the same, and never will be, which gives me only my ingenuity and my compassion. I watch your motions like I'll die if I don't, and every time I study you, I find something various I like about you. By casualty, of course.

And.

This might sound exceptionally insensitive, but I don't care about the world- I only care about you. It's perpetually been you, Harold. Regardless, my heart is about as cold as my flat, and I can't feel my toes in my flat, so it's bloody cold. It wilts when I notice you, practically. I've only ever assimilated a routine of me, me, me, me, footie, and then me some more, but you are so much more. Everything I've never seen is in you. I see how your teeth shine in the sun- and Jesus fuck it's so disturbing. Naturally. You handily are a Disney prince.

So, I'm sure that I've formulated a school-girl crush on you.

Feel extremely special.

Regardless, whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same.

The constellations are blazing so brilliantly for you, beloved. I've always loved you with everything in me.

Truly,

Louis.'

The music from Louis' iPhone was blaring through his earbuds when he blinked back into sensibility, and it was a relatively fitting song for this brash juncture of his.

'Experience', written by Ludovico Einaudi.

"Reminds me of Curls." Louis surmised aloud, pinching in between his eyes once he acknowledged how wickedly out-of-it he was for reciting to himself.

What was he doing?

He was about to sell his soul to the devil and Harry all at once.

Naturally, at that.

With delicate fingers, stagnant and oscillation, Louis glid the folded letter into a vintage-looking envelope that was kept in a drawer in his desk, licking the inside of the flap to safeguard the statement jointly.

He presumed that Harry wouldn't be too delighted to see a piece of mail with Louis' name in massive, candid letters in his mailbox, which brought an idiosyncrasy to Louis' lips.

This whole thing was ludicrous, but Louis was relatively relieved that he wouldn't be breathing long enough to hear all the bullshit slipping around the university about it.

He dispatched the letter out to Harry's without another impression, cozying up by the fireplace while being encompassed by one of the fuzzy blankets drooping fashionably off the back of the settee.

When Louis' eyes shut, they fail to ever open back up.

Chapter Text

Harry was presently smacking his hands on the door of Niall's flat, howling nothings into the general orientation of the entrance as if to get his message across.

"Niall, open the door."

Nonentity.

"All right, I'm coming in."

Niall had lent Harry multiple spare keys for his flat since Niall used to instruct him back when Harry was neglecting math in such a tormenting description that he'd of been booted out of Uni if it persisted.

How funny it is.

Harry slipped the copper key out of the pocket of his sweater (it was proper freezing) and shakily nudged the key into the keyhole of the knob. He had to switch the direction of the key only two times because he was, evidently, incompetent when it came to inserting keys into keyholes. Once the lock finally made the noise of entry, Harry let out a groan of solace, because who in the hell takes basically two minutes to unlock a door? With that, he opened the door and enticed himself in, dimples in play and everything, and looked around the living room with an expecting tinge on his countenance. "Ni?" Harry called, returning the key to its initial place in his pocket.

The tap of his shoes on the hardwood floor as he made his way into the living room was the only thing to be heard inside the walls of Niall's residence.

Niall was curled up on his settee, weeping gruffly and shaking violently. He was draped in a weighted blanket that Harry had endowed to him for a flat-warming gift, and from Harry's stature in the living room, he could already tell how clammy the blanket would be due to Niagra Falls spewing out of Niall's eyes. He had not a single inkling of how long his mate had been shrieking for, but it looked like he was suitably fucked up, to say the least.

"Ni, are you alright?" Cooed Harry, speeding up to Niall's viewpoint and clamping his shoulders in a consolation aspect. Niall jerked out of Harry's touch hastier than he's ever stridden in his life, lifting his head from the blanket with not much more than a scoff. "You don't get to come here and act as you care. You let him die, fucker. So, to hell with you,"

Niall was a proper bunch, and he obviously inclined toward the company of no one.

"What are you talking about?"

"Louis died alone, Harry. Did you even know?"

"No, he didn't, Niall. He didn't die. What are you on?"

"He wrote you a letter. He knew he'd pass soon, and he said you needn't worry. He told everyone but you that he was going to die. He has- sorry, had- a brain tumor or some shite,"

"He can't be dead. That isn't even possible," Harry was approaching hysterics, and his fingers dug assertively into his palms. He was trying to recall Louis' whereabouts of the last night, and when he came up to a predominant theme, he ceased breathing.

Louis really was dead.

The man he wanted to say everything and then some to was actually lifeless. They were determined to fix everything and be together like he both recognized they would be. Surely the things they did meant something- did they?

"No." Harry hissed through clenched teeth, smashing a nearby vase from the countertop to the floor.

Niall's eyes shot open, locking eyes with the boy before him. "Fucking quit it, Harry."

"We're just kids."

Louis was gone before Harry could even begin to explain how ample of an indispensable story he was to Harry's sporadic world.

And whilst coming to that realization, he withdrew an enveloped letter from his sweater pocket and brushed the pad of his thumb over the paper. He sat next to Niall, speaking nothing in return.

Niall's head fell onto Harry's shoulder, and all Harry could to listen to the weeps and sobs of his. A friend that was once the backbone to him and his soulmate. 

"We'll be all right," Harry murmured into the satiny blonde highlights of Niall's hair, commandeering his arms around Niall's torso and heaving him impossibly near.

"Mhm." Niall eventually mustered, letting himself be taken ahold of.

"Lou wrote me this." Harry held up the envelope with a dilapidated grin, feeling hot tears roll down the sides of his face immediately.

"Oh, did he? He's always been such a romantic, yeah?"

They laughed.

Though, how were they able to extrapolate how to operate properly when the individual that held them together was gone perpetually?

Their sun.

Louis was the sun and all of his mates were the orbiting planets.

They'd be all right with the mere idea that Louis will be looking down on them whenever he gets the chance.

"I'll see him in another life. This one wasn't fit for us." Finalized Harry, pressing his lips softly to the delicate paper placed between his fingers. 

———

the end.

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