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Today is the day. The time on Harry’s wrist timer states 08:12:38. In about eight hours, Harry’s going to meet his soulmate.
He’s waited his whole life for this day. Eighteen years, six months, one week and five days of agonizingly reluctant waiting.
Though, of course, it’s not like he’s the only one. Everyone’s got to wait for it; even if there are some cases where people are lucky enough to meet their soulmate only a few years, or even months, after birth.
Harry’s not so lucky. He’s waited a long time for this, and he’s been anxious for it since he was fifteen.
His mum met Robin, her own soulmate, when she was twenty-six, though, so, really, it’s not like he can complain to her. He’s lucky enough to meet whoever it is before he even turns twenty — some people wait forty years to meet their soulmate. His dad still hasn’t met his. That’s kind of why Harry’s even alive; his dad was just too impatient to wait four decades to find his soulmate. His mum had felt relatively the same, figured he was relatively charming, and even though it’s extremely taboo (and useless) to even date someone other than your soulmate, they’d managed to create a whole other person. Yay for mum and dad.
Of course, that’s kind of why it’s a big deal for him to even be alive. No one has even heard of a child of non-soulmatching parents. He’s a bit of a prodigy, in that aspect. Honestly, though, he doesn’t think there’s anything special about him. He’s just like anyone else; he goes to school, he plays video games, he nags his mum and Robin. He’s just a typical teenager.
Sometimes, Harry wonders if anyone could ever really love him; if, somehow, when his parents had him, he was destined to not have a soulmate. And even if he does have a soulmate, what if they don’t want him? Does that even happen with soulmates? What if he ends up not wanting his own soulmate?
His hands shake anxiously as he pulls his shirt over the mop of hair on his head, his heart pounding irregularly hard. He wonders if he’ll be this much of a wreck when he meets whoever his soul mate is, and he wonders if his whole life will change. He wonders so many fucking things at once that he thinks his mind is practically spinning inside of his skull, but then his mum knocks on his door, and he’s brought back to reality.
“You’ll be late for class, Harry, c’mon!” She yells, and then the soft padding of her footsteps tell him that she’s descended back down the stairs, leaving him to finish getting ready in peace.
As soon as Harry leaves his room, he manages to detour around the kitchen, out the door, and then finds himself on the sidewalk that leads toward his college.
Only, when he realizes that this is it; he’s finally going to meet his soulmate, he begins to panic, and his feet start to lead him in the opposite direction. He suddenly finds himself in the middle of the local park, the air whipping around his head and forcing his curls to flap around in odd directions.
Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he heads over to a bench to sit down; just to catch his breath, and to figure out how to calm himself down.
It’s a simple kind of quiet that he witnesses while sitting in the park, watching the birds fly around each other and the squirrels quarreling as they run up tree trunks.
Harry wonders if animals have soulmates, too. Maybe his own cat has one, and they’ve kept her cooped up in their home, unable to see them. And Maybe that blue jay chirping on that tree branch is looking for its soulmate, worried for them. Maybe Harry’s like that blue jay, looking for a soulmate that he may never even get to meet, all because he skipped college.
He leans back against the park bench, closing his eyes, and takes deep, calming breaths.
“Nothing bad’s going to happen,” he mutters to himself over and over. “They’ll come, and they won’t hate you,” Harry licks his lips, sighing, “they’ve got plenty to hate, but they won’t. Because they were made for you.”
His mother used to tell him that when he was younger. Every night, when he’d be in his room, with no friends to call, and no soulmate to love, he’d begin to wonder if he were the actual freak everyone at school told him he was.
“You see that timer?” His mother would press her finger to his right wrist, smiling softly. Harry would nod, sniffling a bit. “That means you’ll meet them in less than three years’ time. And you're never going to be all alone, Harry,” she would push back his curls from his forehead, overgrown and hanging in his eyes, and she’d kiss him on his cheek, hugging him tight. “They are going to love you, Harry, just like I do,” she’d say, her fingers combing through his hair reassuringly. “Because that person was made for you,” she would lean away, smiling at him as he looked up at her, his wide, green eyes scared and worried and sad. “Just for you, love.”
—
He sits there for awhile before the first person he’s seen all day comes up to him. He’s blonde, he’s got grey-blue eyes and braces, and just the way he presents himself is so childish that Harry doesn’t realize that the boy looks about his age, maybe older, until he's directly in front of him.
The blonde boy smiles, his hands in his pockets and feet rocking back and forth, until, finally, Harry looks up at him.
“Hello?” He says cautiously, glancing at the boy’s wrist and seeing a name in orange-red lettering: Sadie.
It’s simple how the timers work, really. They start out long, with a set of seven numbers: years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes and seconds. Each time one of the numbers gets down to zero, it dissipates, leaving six, five, four, and etcetera, until eventually none. After the last set of zeros disappear, the name of that person's soulmate is embedded there, instead of the numbers.
“Hiya,” the blonde boy says, and it’s prevalent, even in the one word he’s said, that he’s Irish. “Waiting for somebody?” He asks, and Harry shrugs.
“Sort of,” he purses his lips, twisting his fingers together once he’s gotten them out of his pockets. “Or avoiding them. Haven’t decided yet.”
The blonde boy takes a seat next to Harry, without asking if it was alright if he did or not, and Harry automatically can smell his cologne mixed with alcohol.
“I’m Niall,” he introduces himself, not bothering to hold out a hand.
“Harry,” Harry returns, glancing over at Niall. He doesn’t seem drunk, but then again, Harry’s not met many drunk people.
“Hello, Harry,” Niall grins at him, “Who are you waiting for and-or avoiding?”
Harry smiles a sad, reluctant smile, then shows Niall his wrist.
“Ohhh,” Niall nods in understanding when he sees Harry’s timer. “Yeah, I know what you’re going through. But don’t sweat it, yeah? Whoever it is will get it, if you’re nervous or scared or excited or whatever.” Niall knocks his shoulder playfully into Harry’s, “Don’t worry about it.”
Well, it’s not like Harry hasn’t been trying to tell himself that for the past six hours or anything.
“You know what I’m going through?” He asks, instead of letting his attitude get the best of him. He feels like Niall isn’t one to take things lightly.
Niall nods, once, twice, and then quickly a few times, before humming, “Yeah. Found mine about a year ago,” he smiles to himself, his fingers playing idly in his lap. “Thought I’d have a heart attack before I’d even get to meet her,” he chuckles nervously, but there’s a pleased note in it, like he’s thankful, that Harry catches, and he smiles, too, before replying.
“What… What’s it like?”
Niall looks up at Harry, his grin slowly moving into a small, polite smile, and he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes.
“She’s like nothin’ I’ve ever known,” he answers softly, “it’s like I can’t imagine my life without her. The eighteen years before her, I can’t… She was always there, even though she wasn’t, really.” He purses his lips, staring down at the ground, the grass practically blown sideways from the gusts of wind. “I’m better with her, not because she wants me to be, but because I wanna be everything for her. I wanna be the person she can always count on, and I wanna be able to give her everything. There’s nothing I don’t wanna do without her,” he shrugs a shoulder, laughing as he lets out a breath. “She’s my everything,” Niall glances over at Harry, “it’s hard to explain to someone who hasn’t experienced it yet.”
Harry’s pretty sure if he were that girl, he’d be giving Niall head almost every single second of the day if Niall talked about him like that.
“You explained it perfectly,” Harry scoffs, shaking his hair out. “Wish I could talk like that.”
Niall shrugs, giggling, and Harry notices a blush rise on his cheeks, “Guess it’s good that I’m a songwriter, then. On the side, of course. My real job’s at the pub.”
Well, that explains the smell of alcohol.
“Yeah?” Harry smiles, then, instantly intrigued, “What kind of music do you write?”
“Just, like, acoustic stuff. Me and me guitar, y'know,” Niall says, chewing on his bottom lip, “Nothin’ I’d perform, really. Still needs work.”
“Niall!” A girl with short brown hair, practically as short as Niall’s, runs up to them, laughing and managing not to trip on her feet at the same time, “Niall, help me!” She screams, falling into his lap as a couple of boys come running up behind her, one with tan skin and a bright grin, the other with skinny legs and sandy brown hair.
“Why are you chasing my girlfriend?” Niall demands, his eyebrows furrowed, though his smile remains. The girl sits on his lap, her face pressed into his neck as she catches her breath, grinning slyly at the other two boys.
“She threatened to run over Mickey and Jay-Z with her bike!” The darker haired boy huffs, leaning over and resting his hands on his knees as he attempts to catch his breath.
“Because he was going to tell you what your Christmas present was!” She argues, sitting up and sticking her tongue out at the tan boy.
“Only because you stole my batman action figure and refuse to give it back,” the other boy, presumably named Liam, says sternly, unlike the other two, who aren’t afraid to shout at each other, even with the lack of air in their lungs.
The girl frowns at Liam, then crosses her arms over her chest, pouting excessively, her eyes almost comically wide.
“Sadie,” Niall says, looking down at the girl in his lap, and Harry takes a moment to get a better look at her.
Her dark brown hair is very short, like a pixie cut, and her eyes match it, deep and muddy and they faintly remind Harry of a puppy. Her lips are pink and thin, and from the shape of her mouth, Harry guesses her smile is breathtaking. And with her bottom lip jutted out in a pout, her eyelashes batting at Niall, she’s beautiful, even if she’s not conventionally gorgeous. Her skin is dotted with millions of freckles, speckling against the paleness of her, and Harry imagines Niall’s kissed every single one of them.
“I wasn’t actually going to run over his fucking turtles,” she rolls her eyes once she retracts her pout.
“You got your bike out!” Liam says, his eyes almost as wide as Sadie’s had been a moment ago.
“I was kidding!” She squeals, and Niall grips her closer, shushing her as he presses his face into her cheek, a slight giggle coming from his lips.
He starts to mutter something into her ear, and she fights a smile as her cheeks redden, just as Liam steps over to the tan boy and places his hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles with his fingers.
“You okay?” Liam asks quietly, to which the tan boy nods.
“I haven’t run like that since I was, like, ten,” he laughs once, finally standing up straight to lean onto Liam’s shoulder. Liam chuckles, pressing a soft kiss into the tan boy’s hair, and runs his fingers through it while the tan boy wraps an arm around Liam’s torso.
Harry smiles, then, even if he's envious. The four of them, together and best friends, with their soulmates. It’s reassuring, really, to see that there actually are soulmates out there besides his mum and Robin, and the kids at college who seem to constantly make out in the hallways.
He catches a glimpse of Liam’s wrist, then, and sees a dark turquoise lettering of the name ‘Zayn.’
“Oh!” Liam starts, blinking at Harry, “Sorry, uh, are you a friend of Niall’s?”
“Er… Not exactly?” Harry hesitates, and Niall glances up at the sound of his voice, looking over at Harry, then at Liam.
“Oh, yeah, guys, this is Harry. He’s waiting for his soulmate,” he grins at Harry, and it makes him feel a tiny bit better about this whole ordeal. Sadie slumps her shoulders, looking at him sympathetically, and Liam smiles knowingly, chuckling a little. But Zayn stays straight-faced, leaning on Liam, though he seems to have caught his breath.
“It’s not a big deal,” he shakes his head, but Sadie raises her eyebrow at him, scoffing.
“Keep telling yourself that, love,” she grins, resting her forehead against Niall’s temple. “It is big,” she shrugs, “but there’s no reason to get nervous.”
“To be honest, you’re kinda lucky,” Liam fills in, and Harry can see his fingers holding onto Zayn’s waist in a tight hold.
“Yeah? How?”
Zayn, who hasn’t spoken a word to him, or even looked a bit friendly, finally speaks, sighing, “At least you’re awake.”
—
Liam and Zayn met after Zayn was hospitalized, in a coma and in critical condition.
It wasn’t completely serious; he’d only been in it for all of two days before Liam had come along. Zayn was stupid enough to have been driving one of his friend’s cars back from a party, even though he had no license. His friend had been passed out in the backseat, and Zayn’d had a few drinks himself.
Luckily, his friend barely got a few scratches. Zayn, on the other hand, was left with minor contusions, a broken arm and a bushel of cuts and bruises.
Liam had been helping out in the hospital at the time, only because his older sister had pulled some strings for him, so he could get a job. It was Liam’s fifth week working at the hospital when he was assigned to help nurse a comatose boy named Zayn.
Liam usually listened to his iPod when he worked; singing and humming along when he walked around the hallways, pushing a cart of lunches that he’d deliver to people who barely ate them, then he’d go back to their rooms and help them use the bathroom, take their trays, then bring them back to the cafeteria, where the food was washed away with the other garbage. Afterwards, he’d maybe help patients take baths, or read to the kids in the children’s portion of the hospital. That was Liam’s favorite thing to do, and he’d even sometimes be able to have sing-a-longs with them, clapping and helping them with the words.
That was his regular routine, and then one morning, just before his lunch break, his friend and mentor, nurse Amy, told him to go to room 549 and care for the patient Zayn Malik.
He’d seen his wrist that morning; he wasn’t stupid. He could see the timer running down by each minute, the moments passing by quicker and quicker as time went on. But he didn’t think that when he opened the door to room 549 that it would run out, and that Zayn’s name would begin blinking in the bright turquoise that used to be his timer.
It was odd, though, because Zayn’s timer had yet to run down. Maybe a malfunction? he thought, but there weren’t any instances of malfunction with the timers, at least not recorded in modern history.
Still, though, he cared for Zayn as he’d been ordered to. It became his regular job; everyday he’d go into the hospital, and Amy would assign him Zayn’s room at least three times a day, and then the kids’ hospital after lunch.
When a little girl named Melinda, who was a cancer patient with a tumor in her brain the size of her eye with very little chance of survival, pointed out to Liam that he had a name on his wrist, Liam felt his heart swell. A little boy on the opposite side of Liam asked him when he’d met the boy.
“About a week ago,” he answered, settling into the dark purple chair that was set in front of the large group of kids sitting on the floor, waiting to have story time. “But he’s not awake yet.”
Most of the kids, like Liam had presumed, were confused and full of questions.
So, he let them ask all everything their hearts desired.
“Why’s he sleeping?”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Is he nice?”
“Can we meet him?”
“What does he look like?”
Liam laughed, surprised by the sudden outbursts by some of the patients who were usually so quiet and only attentive to the sound of his voice, then proceeded to answer as many of the questions as he could remember.
“He was in a car accident, and he’s in a coma right now, for about six days, now, I think. I really hope he’s nice,” he blushed a bit, shrugging, “Sure, I guess you could meet him, but maybe it’d be better for him to come to you guys, instead of all of you going up to the fifth floor, yeah?” The kids nodded their agreement, then, and he smiled at them, “He’s really beautiful. At least, I think so. He has short black hair, and really warm and soft tan skin,” he grinned at the enthusiasm the boys and girls in the front row were showing, “I haven’t seen his eyes yet, but I have a feeling they’re brown. I’ve always liked brown eyes…”
“Brown eyes are yucky!” A boy from the back shouted, and the girl by his side shoved him, pouting at him.
“Maybe you think so, but I think they’re very pretty,” he smiled sweetly at the girl who’d pushed him, and she grinned back, pleased.
“Mister Payneee!” A small girl from the front row raised her tiny, pale hand, and Liam looked over to her. “Are you in love with the sleepy man?”
Liam chuckled, then pursed his lips, contemplative. “I’m not sure… I know I’m supposed to be, but I haven’t really, erm, spoken to him. I… I dunno,” he answered honestly, then cleared his throat. “Right. What do you guys want me to read this week?” He asked, picking up a pile of books.
The reading went along more smoothly than he had anticipated, and as soon as it was over, he headed back up to room 549. It had become so routine, even only in the six days he’d been going back and forth from the first floor to the fifth.
Liam pulled the door closed as gently as he could, watching his feet, until he heard a small groan from the bed towards the window. He looked up, only to meet a pair of the most gorgeous brown eyes he’d even seen, a jolt of nervousness and excitement running through him.
Just as Zayn opened his mouth to speak, he could see his wrist flashing incessantly, then reforming itself into letters spelling out ‘Liam’.
“Are you…” He started, his voice hoarse, but so, so beautiful. “You’re Liam?”
Before Liam could even register what was happening, he nodded, his voice choked and stuck in his throat.
He stepped forward, instinctive, and bit down on his lip before reaching a hand forward, resting it on Zayn’s cheek, still scratched and flushed. Zayn’s eyes immediately closed, his face pressing into the warmth of Liam’s hand, and a breath barely made its way passed his lips before Liam dipped down, capturing Zayn’s lips with his own.
—
Before the four of them leave, Harry exchanges his number with Niall, and Sadie tells him to be sure to text them whenever he has time to, just to tell them what happened, if nothing else. Liam tells him that he’s welcome to come over anytime, just to hang out with them, and Harry gladly tells him, with a bright smile, that he’d love to hang out whenever they’re free.
Somehow, he’s forgotten what it’s like to have friends. He imagines that it’s probably nice, having people to call when you’re sad, or scared, or even if you only need to get out of your house.
With a soft sigh, he tries to smile as he waves goodbye to the four of them, watching Niall wrap his arm around his girlfriend’s waist, pressing a soft kiss to her head. Swiftly, Sadie turns her head, capturing his lips with hers, and grabs his hand on her hip, entangling their fingers. Liam and Zayn, then, shove at Niall’s shoulder, nearly knocking the two over, and they all begin to chase each other down the hill, beyond where Harry can see them.
Harry purses his lips, glancing at his wrist again, and it seems like time couldn’t go any slower. So, instead of sitting, helpless, he stands, walking towards an open field at the top of an opposite hill.
There’s no trees or bushes stopping the wind from the top of the hill, and Harry almost trips over his own feet a couple of times, the wind is so strong.
He feels almost immortal from up on top of the hill, seeing only green grass just before trees, then large buildings and apartments and houses and it’s like everything is so simple when he’s looking at it from so far away.
Taking a deep breath, he settles down onto the grass beneath him, crossing his legs and tying together strands of grass, and he decides to continue to wait, since he’s got nothing else to lose.
A couple of hours pass, and he can see his wrist, the time continuing to lower until, finally, it’s at one minute, and his heart is racing so rapidly that he’s pretty sure he’s going into cardiac arrest. He feels like he’s some sort of magician, changing destiny and all that.
No one is anywhere close to him, and he’s pretty convinced that he’s somehow changed fate. He figures he should just get up and go home when something very heavy and bulky smashes into the back of his head.
“Hey!” He jumps, rubbing the back of his skull with his fingers. He slowly turns, facing the direction in which the object was thrown from, and sees a boy, about his age, running up the hill, towards him, with a bright white jersey on, along with black track shorts.
Subtly, Harry glances down at the time on his wrist, and only ten seconds are left. He glances back up, and his heart begins to race. Is this guy, the person who probably just kicked his football at the back of Harry’s head, his soulmate?
“Sorry, mate, my friend’s got shit aim,” the boy announces as he skids to a halt in front if Harry. The boy’s smile is small and knowing, and he doesn’t even bother to look at his own wrist, where a bright blue and blinking lettering is stated on it: Harry.
“My name’s Louis,” he offers with a warmer grin, holding out his hand.
Louis.
“Erm. Harry,” he replies with a choked voice, grasping Louis’ hand into his own, and it’s warm and soft and Harry doesn’t want to ever let go. He glances down at their hands clasped together, and there it is — Louis, etched into the skin on Harry’s wrist in bright red.
“Harry,” Louis says, and Harry almost melts with the way his name rolls off of Louis’ tongue. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“You’re telling me,” Harry laughs, unable to keep his eyes from the gorgeous boy in front of him.
Louis is shorter than him, but he’s got a superior air around him that makes Harry feel like he’d be willing to do anything for him; anything that Louis asked of him, he’d do it with no question. His eyes are a bright, incandescent blue mixed with light green in the center, and his smile seems to pierce through Harry and fill him with a warm sensation near his gut, along with a feeling that vaguely reminds him of floating and it’s got him smiling like a complete idiot.
It’s like Louis' everything that Harry’s always wanted without knowing he wanted it.
“Do you wanna play, Harry?” A voice comes from behind Louis, and it’s a boy with short brown hair, just enough to have bangs. He’s got the same jersey on as Louis, except with an 18.
“Uh, no,” Harry laughs, his cheeks flushed, “I’m rubbish at football.”
“Aw, c’mon,” the boy prods, giving Harry a sly smile, “You can’t be that bad.”
“Ah,” Harry laughs awkwardly, “but I can.”
The boy shrugs, then, and turns to Louis, “I’m gonna go meet up with Chelsea, then, yeah?” He says, a questioning tone in his voice.
“Yeah, Stan, go see your girl,” Louis elbows his friend, giving him a knowing grin, “Got my own business to attend to.”
“Mm,” Stan hums, beginning to walk away, then yells over his shoulder, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
“There are things you wouldn't do?" Louis calls without turning back to Stan, so he can't see it when Stan flips him the bird. They still haven't let go of each other's hands and Louis bites on his lower lip, his eyes trailing up and down Harry’s body. Harry’s honestly never felt more excited, nervous and, surprisingly, warm at the same time.
“So,” he begins, but his voice breaks as soon as he starts to speak. He clears his throat, then begins again, “So.”
Louis laughs; a bright, raspy, contagious laugh that has Harry smiling, too, even though he doesn’t know why Louis’ laughing.
“What?” He asks, unsure.
“You’re cute,” Louis admits fearlessly, his tone light with remnants of his laughter still there.
Harry grins wide, batting his eyelashes, and hitches his voice up a few notches as he says, in a questioning tone, “You really think so?”
Shaking his head, Louis shoves gently at Harry’s shoulder, but quickly grasps onto his coat, pulling him forward. Slowly, then, Louis tilts his head up to meet Harry’s eyes, and he smirks with a knowing glint in his eye.
Harry kisses him, just like that, even though Harry’s sure Louis was about to do the same to him, and the air around them suddenly gets warmer — warmer than before, with his shaky hands and thudding heartbeat.
It’s different from the Rom-Com kisses Harry’s always seen; it’s so much better. It’s exciting, and he feels like his insides have burst into flames, though it’s a comfortable heat, like a fire under a mantle in the middle of winter. Harry slides his arms around Louis’ slim figure, holding him closer, and Louis hums into his mouth, his own hands gripping onto Harry’s jacket.
It’s barely a minute before Louis pulls away for a quiet intake of air, their faces still so close that Harry can feel Louis' breath.
“You wanna go back to my place?” Louis offers softly, his nose nuzzling Harry's.
“Yeah,” he whispers, nodding surely, “yes, definitely.”
—
Harry barely has time to take in the look of Louis’ flat before Louis pulls him into the bedroom, tugging at his jacket, then shirt, until he removes them with a quickness he’s never had to use before.
The sun is bleeding in through the red curtains, and Harry suddenly feels like they’re in an infrared room, where people develop photographs. He’s thrown back onto the mattress, his shocked yelp the only sound he can make before Louis straddles his hips, kissing his mouth to quiet him.
He doesn’t notice until then that Louis is down to his boxers, black and skin-tight and so revealing that Harry’s mouth begins to water. With his stomach tensing, Harry leans away.
“What…?” Louis asks cautiously, and Harry can feel his heartbeat thudding inside of his chest.
Louis brings a hand up to Harry’s hair, pushing the curls from his forehead, and he kisses his skin gently, the kiss long and sweet and like electricity against him.
“I just don’t want to forget this. I don’t want to be too fast, I guess. We’ve got the rest of our lives,” he tries to smirk, and he can feel Louis’ lips on his forehead, soft and warm and reassuring to his twisting stomach.
“We can be as slow as you want,” Louis says in a low tone, his voice sounding contained between them as it reverberates against Harry’s skin.
Nodding, Harry breathes in, then out, his chest heaving and pressing along Louis’, their flushed skin leaving sparks where they touch. Louis leaves a trail of kisses on Harry’s cheek, down to his throat, and slowly, he moves to suck small bruises on his chest. The sensitive skin there reddens easily, Louis’ mouth relentless with the amount of possessive patches he leaves, and Harry’s fingers ache with the need to touch him. Harry bites down on his bottom lip, fighting the urge; the urge to thread his fingers through Louis’ hair and the urge to trace shapes along his perfectly smooth skin. Louis’ eyes close and his mouth drops open as he tries to hide a smile.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, his hands gripping onto Louis’ hips and guiding him closer, where Harry can lean up to kiss him like he’s practically yearning to. He wonders if that feeling will ever go away, then silently hopes that it won’t. He never wants to get used to the way Louis tastes on his tongue, or the way Louis’ fingers glide over his skin like Olympic ice-skaters during their routines.
Harry moves his hands up the arch of Louis’ back, his fingernails lightly digging into his tan skin, turning it a bloodless white. Louis gasps into Harry’s mouth, their foreheads pressed together, and Harry’s stomach jumps when Louis bites down onto his bottom lip, pulling at it until Harry whines and his hips buck up appreciatively.
“Harry,” Louis whispers, raspy and sweet, and Harry almost caves in on himself from the way his whole body melts into Louis. Harry realizes he’s going to let Louis do just about anything to him. Louis drags his trousers and underwear off, making him feel exposed and, frankly, a bit cold, but then Louis’ there, leaning over him, pressing kisses on his spine from the nape of his neck to the swell of his ass, and Harry feels warm and tingly again, sighing into his touch.
With a swift movement, Louis reaches over to the nightstand, into a drawer, and pulls out a small, green bottle that Harry guesses is lube. Trying not to swallow too audibly, he shudders, and Louis glances down at him, furrowing his eyebrows.
“You okay?” He asks softly, genuinely curious, and Harry has to pull him down by the neck to give him a kiss, because no one’s ever been so careful with him, so cautious and determined to make him feel good.
“‘M fine,” Harry smiles against Louis’ lips, taking a deep breath, “nervous. Never done this.” Then, for the first time during this, Harry wonders how Louis knows how to do all of this.
“Wait,” he murmurs, placing his palms against Louis’ chest, his eyebrows furrowed, “Why aren’t you nervous? And why do you have lube just handy? Were you, like, planning this?”
Louis laughs brightly again, looking at Harry like he’s fond of the obliviousness all over his face. “I am nervous, because I’ve done this before, and no,” he shrugs, blinking slowly and trailing his fingers over Harry’s wrists, loosening his tension.
“You — ?” Harry scoffs, sitting up, “You’ve done this? Like, not with me?” He furrows his eyebrows, attempting to hide a frown unsuccessfully.
Chuckling lightly, Louis’ stomach tightening as he grips Harry’s hands and brings them to his lips to kiss, he rolls his eyes. “You’re a jealous one, aren’t you?” He laughs, keeping Harry’s hands in his own, and Harry frowns deeper, his bottom lip out in a pout.
“I’m not jealous,” he mutters, “just a little concerned that my soulmate has slept with other people.”
Louis purses his lips, trying not to grin, and nods, twining his fingers with Harry’s slowly.
“Harry,” he starts, letting a small smile lift the corners of his lips, “there’s a reason we’re soulmates. And just because I couldn’t keep it in my pants for twenty years doesn’t mean I’m not yours.” Briefly planting a kiss on Harry’s lips, keeping their faces close, Louis whispers, “I’m all yours.”
Suppressing an estranged whimper, Harry swallows thickly and lets Louis’ hands slip out of his own as he grips onto Louis’ hips, reaching his neck up to join their mouths together. “All mine,” he whispers, and Louis nods, tangling his fingers into Harry’s hair. “Okay,” Harry nods once, and Louis smiles softly, if a bit unsure.
“Tell me,” he whispers, kissing Harry’s cheek, all the way to his ear, “if you don’t like it. If it hurts, and you want me to stop, just tell me. Alright?”
Harry presses a swift kiss to Louis’ forehead. “Alright, let's do this already. Been waiting for ages,” he chuckles, and Louis grins, rolling his eyes.
Louis’ fingers are wet and slick when they push into Harry, and he gasps at the feeling, though it doesn’t particularly hurt. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but for the most part, he likes it; he likes the feeling of Louis’ fingers opening him and making him shiver.
“Lou,” the small nickname slips out of his mouth as Harry’s head falls back against the pillow, “Lou, please.” He doesn’t know what he’s pleading for, but it’s not like he has entire control over his body at this point, either.
“It’s alright, love,” Louis kisses Harry’s forehead, then continues to pepper sweet kisses to Harry’s skin, his free hand gently tracing soothing circles into Harry’s hip.
Just as Louis inserts a third finger into Harry, Harry begins to adjust to the feeling, and he starts to rock into Louis’ fingers, his forehead becoming sweaty and plastering his hair to it.
Only then does Louis finally press a few more kisses to Harry’s face, then his lips, and places himself between Harry’s legs. He takes away his fingers, laughing lightly when Harry attempts to suppress a whine at the quick loss, and looks down at Harry for a second, waiting to catch his attention.
“What?” Harry breathes, restless.
“Do you…” Louis trails off, his eyes slowly moving down Harry’s body, “d’you want me to use a condom?”
Harry blinks up at Louis, his eyebrows furrowed, and then laughs once, brightly, leaning up to kiss Louis’ soft, pink lips.
“You had me worried for a second,” he sighs, and then settles down as he catches his breath. “Do we need to use one?”
Louis shakes his head determinedly, “No, no, no, I just. Sometimes it’s uncomfortable,” he bites his lip, “I’m just — I dunno.”
Harry rolls his eyes, pushing Louis down onto his back, and then proceeds to straddle him, the cleft of his arse pressing back against Louis’ cock.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he places a hand against Louis’ chest, and then somehow manages to take Louis’ cock and position it at his entrance, and then he’s settling down on him, and he lets out a choked sound that has Louis gripping onto Harry’s hips worriedly.
“I’m fine,” Harry laughs once, blinking rapidly and trying to breathe, “‘S just weird.”
Louis lets a small, worrisome smile overcome his lips, and nods, then trails his hands down to where he’s barely inside of Harry, his fingers gracing the skin of his ass.
“Okay?” He asks, and Harry, after a second, lets out a breath, and then presses down the rest of the way until he's sat down on Louis’ hips, Louis’ cock buried inside of him.
“Shit, Harry,” Louis breathes, tossing his head back, and Harry bites down on his bottom lip, moaning in agreement.
Because Harry’s not exactly sure what he’s doing, he lets Louis grip onto his hips, thrusting up into him at a slow pace. His hands grip down onto Louis’ shoulders, steadying himself, and then he’s revolving his hips around in small circles, his muscles tightening around Louis and making him gasp.
Louis pulls Harry down, then, closer to his chest, and kisses him desperately, moaning something that sounds strangely like Harry’s name.
Harry’s eyes focus in on Louis’ from their dazed state, and he manages not to whimper when Louis’ eyes are on him, bright blue that’s got Harry frozen in place. Louis smiles at him easily, a hand coming up to caress his cheek, and then Harry’s stomach flips, once, twice, three times in a row.
“God, Harry,” Louis sighs, and pushes up into Harry, their eyes still locked on one another.
The moment is so much more tight and intimate and warm than Harry expected. He can feel a bubbling in his abdomen, and he’s so close to coming, but then he doesn’t want to, he wants to revel in this feeling forever, with just Louis looking up at him like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Louis brings both of his hands up to Harry’s hair, pulling him down and crashing their lips together, and then Louis’ moaning into his mouth and Harry can feel him coming inside of him, and it doesn’t feel weird, like he’d thought, it feels warm, and Harry has to dig his fingers down into Louis’ shoulders as he kisses him, the feeling overwhelming him.
It takes barely another second for Harry’s body to catch up to his brain, to finally grasp onto his orgasm, and he’s gasping for breath but feeling so open and exposed and he’s clutching onto Louis and he can see his bright blue eyes in a see of white flashes that leave him completely breathless.
—
Without meaning to, Harry and Louis fall asleep like that, with Harry curled up on top of him, and Louis comfortably holding him in his arms.
They didn’t bother to clean themselves, or to do much more other than pull Louis’ sheets up around them. The last thing Harry remembers before he falls asleep is Louis whispering his name lovingly in his ear, and then Harry had kissed his heated skin before closing his own eyes and letting the exhaustion take over.
When Harry wakes up, he’s disoriented and confused. The room he wakes up in is not his, he’s naked, and he’s alone.
After a moment, and after casting a glance at his wrist, Harry remembers; Louis.
Louis’ room smells of warm, fresh coffee, so Harry sits up, wincing at the tenderness of his bum, and slips on his boxers quietly before scrubbing furiously at his unruly hair.
He’s pretty sure he can see an angel in Louis’ kitchen when he steps into it (after having to bloody search for it because Louis hadn’t exactly given him a tour before they’d gone to his bedroom). But then Harry’s eyes focus, and he smiles as he sees Louis there, in his pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt, humming to the radio and swinging his hips as he scrapes a spatula against a pan.
“Morning,” Harry says in a scratchy voice, and Louis startles, almost dropping the frying pan onto the floor.
He looks over his shoulder, then grins.
“Mornin’,” he simply replies and Harry shuffles forward, his feet cold against the linoleum tiling.
Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s lips, smiling against him, and bumps their noses together. “Breakfast?” He raises an eyebrow, and Harry glances at the pan Louis' holding. He's about to tease Louis about how his eggs are black just as he hears a trill from Louis’ bedroom.
“Shit,” Harry groans, realizing that it’s his phone, and he sprints — well, walks as quickly as he can at nine in the morning — to Louis’ room, picking up his jeans from the floor and rifling through his pockets. Fortunately, he gets to his phone before the call goes to voicemail, but he doesn’t bother to see who it is before he answers.
“Hello?” He scratches the top of his head, fingers pulling at his curls.
“Harry? Oh, Harry, thank god,” his mum’s voice comes through, and Harry can hear the relief in her tone.
“Fuck -- I-I’m so sorry, mum, I know, I should’ve called, I just got caught up with — well, I just, yeah. Sorry. I'm fine,” he sighs, but then Anne speaks, her tone less worried than before.
“I’m just relieved to know you’re safe. Where are you, love? What happened?”
“I…” Harry moves to the doorway of Louis’ room, looking out to the kitchen, and feels a smile creep onto his features. “I met him, mum.”
“Met who — oh. Oh. Oh, Harry, my baby, I’m so happy for you!” Harry grins at the happiness in his mother’s tone, “So, you’ve stayed over at his place, then? He’s got a place of his own, I'm hoping. You're not imposing on his poor mother, are you?”
Harry knows his mother can’t see him, but he still blushes, and he clears his throat, “Mum. I -- Listen, erm, he’s cooked us some breakfast, so I’d better go eat it before it gets cold…”
“Mmhm. Promise me you’ll tell me all about him once you come back home?” Harry sighs, then, because he knows he can’t say no to her, not after all she’s done for him, and he’s pretty sure he’ll explode if he doesn’t tell someone about Louis.
“Sure, mum. I’ll see you soon, alright?” He presses the end button as soon as Anne says goodbye, and then he steps back out to the kitchen, where Louis’ standing against the counter, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Harry adoringly.
“My mum,” Harry mutters, and he swears he can see Louis’ grin grow wider, but then Louis catches his lips in another kiss, and he melts into it, uncaring about the way his breath must smell, and the grease on Louis’ fingers that settle onto Harry’s bare waist.
Louis pulls away, barely leaving space between their lips as he speaks, “I’ll have to meet her at some point.” He smiles cheekily, and Harry sighs, knowing that means he’ll probably have to meet Louis’ family as well. He’s never been good at meeting people.
Suddenly, in Harry’s hand, his phone starts to ring again, and he curses it before glancing at the screen, seeing that it’s, actually, not his mother, but Niall.
sadie told me to wait for you to text us but i jus couldnt wait. what happend??
Harry chuckles, shaking his head, and then Louis lifts Harry’s chin with his fingers.
“What’s so funny?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed curiously.
'He’s perfect.' Harry texts back, then shakes his head noncommittally at Louis, dipping his head down to kiss him.