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Chapter Text

The airport was crowded, like you’d expect Heathrow to be around the international departures terminal, and, if Harry was honest, as a first airport experience, it really didn’t live up to what movies had led him to believe about airborne travel. He figured it was his own fault for expecting Love Actually to paint a realistic picture of airports, and yet he couldn’t quite shake off his disappointment.

He trailed behind his mother, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, looking around at everything that was happening at a pace faster than he could take in. Families rushing by with crying children, more crying children, a crying adult in a business suit (he’d kill to know the story behind that), and more cries coming from a far off corner. Screw the movies, he thought. There was nothing romantic about airports. It was a place of desolation and heartbreak from what he could see.

“Gems?” Harry asked, turning to his sister in time to see her yawn. “D’you reckon people cry so much in airports because they make you feel helpless?”

Gemma shrugged, yawning again.

“I just think that, like, you’re stuck here, you know? If something goes wrong, there’s nowhere you can go. You just have to wait. It’s got to be a nightmare.”

“You’re a cheery one this morning, aren’t you?” Gemma said. “I don’t know, Harry. I think it’s the security that kills your mood. Makes you feel like you’ve got something to hide. I wasn’t sure anymore if I weren’t a terrorist.”

Harry laughed. “Who knows, you might be a dangerous woman out to blow up Disney World. You could be after the sources of happiness in the world, feeding on hopes and dreams.”

“Or after symbols of capitalism.”

“Nah, I think it’s the happiness thing.”

Gemma shoved him and he laughed again, swaying to the side and nearly knocking into a nervous-looking man. He apologized, raising his hands in atonement and lifting his eyebrows at the muttered curse against teenagers the man let out.

“Gate 31, that’s us,” Harry’s mother said, leading them to a crowded area filled with an array of blue cloth-covered chairs.

There were more crying children, one of them having a spectacular fit and rolling around on the blue carpeted floor at the feet of exhausted-looking parents. Harry winced, thinking that they had a twelve-hour flight ahead of them. He tried to send them positive vibes. They would need it.

The walls were covered with adverts for restaurants Harry remembered crossing on their way, but what caught his eye was the huge windowpanes giving him a price view of the kind of plane they’d be boarding with the landing strips in the background. He’d always known that transatlantic planes had to be big, but what he was seeing wasn’t just big; it was proper massive. He could feel himself gaping at it, but it didn’t matter because if there were people who were not impressed by the miracle of airplanes, he felt sorry for them.

“Harry, love, come and sit with us,” his mother called. He peeled his eyes from the spectacle of luggage being loaded up in the belly of the plane to see that they had chosen seats lined against a wall and close enough to the windows to let him still watch.

He grinned as he made his way to them and plopped down in a chair next to Gemma, who had already taken out a book and had balanced it on her knee. His mother took out a magazine and started leafing through it while Harry gave a fleeting thought to the book he had brought before choosing to look around some more. He’d have plenty of time to read on the plane, although he doubted he’d be able to get over being in the clouds to look away from the porthole.

Harry was counting the children he could see at their gate (twenty-four, so far), ignoring the rumble in his stomach as a smell of curry wafted to his nose from a nearby restaurant, when he saw him.  Sitting cross-legged between two identical little girls, he was reading from a picture book opened in his lap, his head bowed down. He had a dark blue and white striped shirt and khakis, paired with tan suspenders and white trainers. Black rectangle glasses rested on his nose and Harry inhaled sharply when the boy pushed them up with his knuckle.

The first thought that popped in Harry’s head was that he looked like Peter Pan, if Peter Pan could be seen in an English airport in 2010 and not, like, at the windows of little girls in whenever Peter Pan took place (he hadn’t seen the movie in a while). He was pretty, the kind of pretty that knocks the wits out of you and leaves you without words to describe it. The kind of pretty that never actually exists in real life, only in movies or in magazines. Boys that pretty didn’t just sit in airports reading stories to children. They just didn’t.

As Harry watched, one of the girls got restless and stood up, causing the boy to close the book and cross his arms over his chest. His voice reached Harry’s ears amidst the din, a high, sharp voice laced with a Yorkshire accent.

“Daisy, if you’re not interested in the story, I won’t bother.”

The girl said something Harry didn’t catch and the boy shook his head. “Mum said we’ve got to stay here and wait while she fetches something to eat. Now sit down and pay attention, you’re ruining it for Phoebe.”

The other girl nodded emphatically and with a dramatic sigh, the first one sat back down, crossing her arms in a pretty good imitation of her brother’s posture. The boy rolled his eyes and ruffled her hair before opening the book back up. Before he bent his head down again, though, his eyes met Harry’s, who felt himself blushing at being caught looking. He still smiled his most winsome smile, the one he’d been told could melt a glacier.

The boy gave a small, hesitant smile in return before going back to the book with a push to his glasses.

“Go talk to him,” Gemma said, making him jump.

“What?”

“The cute boy you’re ogling. Go talk to him.”

“Nah. He’s busy.”

“As you wish.”

She returned to her book, a smirk on her face. Harry sighed and slipped lower in his chair, resting his head against the wall. He made an effort for the remainder of the time before they had to board to not constantly stare at the boy. He maybe looked back at him every twenty minutes or so, catching him eating a sandwich while laughing at something a woman - his mother, surely - had said, then reading a book by himself, his feet up on the chair, and later typing furiously at his phone. Their eyes didn’t meet again, which Harry thought was a pity.

Boarding arrived and only after he was settled in the window seat, which he’d wrestled away from Gemma, did Harry decide that boarding was probably why people looked so distraught in airports. The minutes it’d taken them to get their tickets scanned and then to make their way inside the plane had felt like an eternity. Now that they were seated and he’d figured out how to work the belt, he was starting to feel nervous and jittery from the anticipation of the take off.

The plane taxied around the strips for a few agonizing minutes before it gained speed. Everything shook and Harry gripped the armrests tightly as they took off, the ground getting farther and farther until the city of London looked like a collection of dots on the ground. He only leaned away from the window when they flew up through the clouds and he lost sight of what was down below.

“Oh, they have Inception,” Gemma said, tapping on the screen embedded in the seat in front of her. “Should we try to sync?”

“Yeah, cool,” Harry replied, reaching down into the bag he had squeezed between his legs and unrolling his earbuds from around his iPod.

They tried - and failed - to synchronize their movies. Gemma’s had started a second before Harry’s and he gave up trying to ignore her screen five minutes in. Besides, he’d seen it already, so he turned everything off and took out his book, shifting on his seat. His bum already hurt and they’d only been flying for half an hour. He sighed.

Hostesses came by after about two hours of flight, pushing food trolleys, and Harry got an orange juice and a minuscule pouch of pretzels from her, unfolding the tray to place them on it. He also made sure to get some for his mother, who was too busy sleeping with her mouth hanging open to order food for herself. He downed the juice in two long gulps and then nibbled on the pretzels as he listlessly stared out the porthole.

It began around hour three, but he ignored it. By hour four, he had to actively keep his mind off thinking about it, but come hour five, he couldn’t lie to himself anymore: he had to pee and would probably die from internal something if he didn’t go.

He got up slowly and then shuffled sideways, carefully avoiding waking up his mother and sister by doing contortions that could definitely earn him a spot in a circus. Once out in the alley, he made his way to the back of the plane, only to find the door locked.

“Shit,” he whispered, leaning against the opposite wall and crossing his legs and arms. “Hurry up, mate.”

The plane bumped and he splayed his hands on the wall to keep his balance, looking around worriedly.

“It’s nothing to worry about, sweetie. We just hit an air pocket,” one of the hostesses, a pretty dark-skinned woman in her early twenties, told him in an American accent.

Just then, the door to the lavatory opened and Harry pushed himself off the wall, stepping forward and miscalculating the distance. He bumped into the person who was walking out, realizing with sinking horror that it was The Boy (now that he was seeing him up close, the capital letters were more than necessary). Crinkled blue eyes met his and he let out a shaky breath.

“Oops,” Harry said, taking a step back.

The Boy laughed. “Hi.”

Harry watched him go away, heart hammering in his chest, feeling like a proper fool to be flustered and breathless because of a complete stranger. He wiped his hands on his jeans and headed for the lavatory at last, pointedly ignoring the hostess’ knowing smile at his social ineptitude. Honestly, he was mostly glad Gemma hadn’t witnessed that mess. She’d never let him live it down.

Hours six through nine passed agonizingly slow, with an unsatisfying meal in the middle that left Harry hungrier than before he ate what they were trying to pass off as chicken. He had time to finish his book and watch a movie, which lulled him into a light sleep that carried him through the next two hours.

Harry awoke, disoriented and sore, to see the seatbelt sign flashing. He shook Gemma awake and then buckled up, straightening in his seat.

“I hate landing,” his mother said and he reached across his sister to hold her hand, squeezing it. She smiled and squeezed back.

The plane tipped forward and Harry’s heart lurched in his throat as they started their descent. Landing sucked, he decided, gripping the armrest and his mother’s hand tightly. Gemma stroked his shoulder comfortingly and Harry gave her a grateful smile.

Harry was still groggy from his nap and on edge from the landing when they left the plane. His legs were stiff from sitting for nearly thirteen hours, he was hungry, he felt gross, and he wanted nothing more than to get to their hotel room and crash face first on the bed for the next twelve to fifteen hours.

“Mum, can we get something to eat?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning. There were potted palm trees in the high-ceilinged area they had just entered. He glared at them for good measure. How ridiculous of them to keep potted trees inside the airport. They didn’t go around and put potted birches inside of Heathrow, did they?

“Not before we get our luggage, Harry,” she replied through a yawn.

Yawning as well, Harry pulled the hood of his hoodie up and shoved his hands deep in his pockets, following his mother and sister around the terminal, head bent low. He stayed a few paces behind them, brooding and knowing he was brooding, which only worsened his mood. He hated feeling like he was, but his nap had made him grumpy and there was nothing to be done about it.

Even seeing The Boy from a distance - pushing a cart piled high with colourful bags and surrounded by young girls - didn’t lighten up his mood, which plummeted even lower at his mother’s insistence that they wait until they were on the resort to get something to eat.

“Wasn’t that your cute boy from Heathrow?” Gemma asked, nodding towards The Boy.

“Shut up,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, I think it was him. Small bloke wearing suspenders, there aren’t many of them. You should go talk to him.”

Harry stared at his sister, getting increasingly annoyed at her for waggling her eyebrows and smirking. “Piss off, Gems.”

“There,” Gemma said testily, digging a granola bar from the depths of her purse and throwing it at him. “Eat this. You’re being a proper git right now.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but gratefully ate the snack as they carried their bags through the airport, guided by signs announcing the Disney’s Magical Express.

The sight of the yellow and blue buses made Harry feel a bit silly for being in such a bad mood. Cheerful employees directed them outside and when they stepped out, Harry was hit by a wall of suffocating warmth, an oppressive heat that made him feel like he was breathing in steam. He unzipped his hoodie and balled it up under his arm before smiling at a man in a loud floral shirt and stepping inside the blissfully air conditioned bus. He made his way to the back and slumped in a window seat. His mother sat next to him and he shifted to rest his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes.

“Are you excited?” his mother asked, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

“It doesn’t feel real yet,” Harry replied thickly, sleep already pulling him down.

“Just sleep, love. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

It only started to sink in after they checked into their hotel. Harry wordlessly admired the brightly coloured buildings, which he guessed were supposed to replicate the architectural style of the Caribbean. The lobby was all white walls, high ceilings and latticed windows; scattered around the room were pots overflowing with exotic flowers that filled the air with a heady, sickeningly sweet smell. He wandered around the lobby, the ‘Custom House’ a sign over the entrance had said, and went over to where a television was playing cartoons. He sat down and waited, watching absentmindedly.

“Jamaica!” Gemma said as she came over, waving a card. “That’s for you. Don’t lose it.”

Harry shoved it in his pocket and followed her out of the building and through winding paths surrounded by tropical plants. A small lizard ran across the pavement and he grinned, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead. The humidity in the air was almost visible, making him sweat profusely despite the fact that he was only walking.

A bright yellow building appeared around a corner and they climbed up white staircases to the second floor, making their way around the walkway that ran around the building. Their room was, unsurprisingly, terribly cold. Harry was beginning to see a pattern.

Once the door had shut with a click behind them, Harry exchanged a glance with Gemma and they both jumped on the beds at the same time. Harry laughed and flopped on his back, stretching his limbs to take as much room as possible. He turned his head and noticed the drawings on the bedspread. He grinned.

“It’s Finding Nemo!”

“Our suitcases will be brought up soon,” his mother explained and Harry tipped his head back to look at her upside down. “Magic Kingdom?”

With those two words alone, Harry’s tiredness and bad mood evaporated completely.

“Magic Kingdom!” he repeated, cheering and rolling off the bed.

-

If Harry had thought the heat was bad on the first day, discovering with amazement all the parts of his body that could sweat while he stood motionless in the shade, the temperature that greeted them on their first morning showed him to never assume Florida couldn’t get worse. Stepping out of the hotel room, the lenses of his sunglasses fogged up and he had to take them off, squinting against the sunlight while they adjusted to the humidity.

From their building, a path meandered through thick, luxurious vegetation leading to the restaurants. Harry trailed behind the other two, looking around in wonder at the lush trees surrounding them. Up ahead, a wooden bridge ran across the lake around which the resort was built. The water sparkled in the morning light, its surface smooth bar for small ripples when a breeze blew. It lapped at the pillars of the bridge, the sound quiet and soothing amongst the cacophony of birdcalls and insects buzzing. In the middle of the lake was a small sandy island, but Harry didn’t linger to look at it, instead hurrying up to catch up with his mother and sister. He spotted a hammock, though, and made a mental note to come back to explore later.

The main building, called Old Port Royale, was on the other side of the bridge, its turquoise walls and rust-coloured roof contrasting sharply against the cloudless blue sky. People were milling about around it, walking in and out while chatting happily, excitedly. The air hung heavy with the smell of sun cream as they entered.

Once he got over the shock of the much lower indoor temperature, Harry let out a low whistle. Ahead of them lay a long alley with restaurant fronts on their rights. The high ceiling gave the impression of a blue sky; lanterns hung between the coral, turquoise, white and yellow facades of the restaurants and the arches leading to the dining area. Harry spun on his heels to take it all in.

After a breakfast of Mickey Mouse-shaped waffles, Harry followed his mother and sister to the bus stop nearest the restaurants.

“They warn you about the humidity,” his mother said, wiping her brow. “But you can never quite understand what they mean until you’re there.”

“And it’s only nine in the morning,” Harry replied, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “It’s making me miss the English summer.”

“Which is saying a lot,” Gemma said, letting out a sigh and fanning herself with her hand.

A bus pulled over, orange letters at the front announcing Disney’s Hollywood Studios. Harry watched it forlornly, envying the few people who climbed on and were saved from the heat. He leaned against the wall of the small bus stop and shook the front of his shirt to try to cool off a bit. Another bus, this one marked EPCOT, came and went. Harry spotted a lizard on the opposite wall and went over to inspect it while his mother unfolded a map and started studying it, Gemma glancing at it before returning to a state of lethargic waiting.

The third bus to come along announced Disney’s Animal Kingdom and they gathered their bags to climb on it. Harry shut his eyes and smiled blissfully as the cold air hit him after he stepped on it, his drying sweat almost making him shiver.

The bus ride was just long enough to make Harry jittery with excitement and after shuffling along with the people crowding at the entrance for long minutes under the sun they entered the park. Harry felt like he’d need a second pair of eyes to fully appreciate all there was to see. The heat did not matter any longer, not when there were chimpanzees to look at or little shops to explore, their layout inspired by faraway places and their shelves covered in trinkets. The morning went by in a blur of parades and a particularly good Finding Nemo musical, and it was only as they sat on the second floor of a Tibetan-inspired restaurant that they took the time to breathe.

“Best part of the day so far: go. Harry?” his mother asked.

Harry stopped sipping on his fruity drink with a smile. “The monkeys,” he replied without hesitating.

“I preferred Magic Kingdom,” Gemma said, shrugging and taking a bite from her noodles.

“But monkeys!” Harry gasped in mock offence.

“Yes, but I raise you princesses.”

“We didn’t see any yesterday.”

“But we might tomorrow.” Turning to their mother, Gemma took a sip of her drink. “What’s next for today?”

Their mother took out the park map from her purse and unfolded it, laying it flat on the table. “There’s the rafting ride we could do,” she began, “although I don’t fancy getting soaked. Which leaves Expedition Everest.”

“Is that the roller coaster?”

Harry’s head snapped up, a cold feeling seeping through his veins. “I think I’ll skip on that one.”

“Ah, come on Harry, we didn’t fly all the way here to have you back out of a ride,” Gemma said, patting his arm. “It’s going to be full of little children. Are you going to let them be braver than you?”

Chewing on his lip, Harry looked away to focus on the strings of prayer flags hanging from the walls. He’d known this moment would come, knew that there would be roller coasters to face and a choice to make. Gemma had a point; he didn’t cross the ocean to back out at the last second. He couldn’t, not in good conscience. There would be children half his age doing them fearlessly, surely he could muster up the courage to sit in a ride for two minutes. It was only two minutes, after all. Two minutes of utter terror, but two minutes nonetheless.

“I guess not,” he drawled, pushing his food around his plate, his hunger gone as the shadow of what was to come spread inside his mind. “Where is it?”

“You can see it outside the window,” his mother said and he leaned over to look out. “The big mountain over there.”

Harry gulped, his breath hitching. He could do it. He could absolutely do it, he would not back out and let children be braver than him. He would not.

With this mantra in head, he reluctantly made his way towards the ride, ignoring with all of his might the screams that grew louder as they neared it. He let the other two carry the conversation as they got in line, hands fisted inside his pockets. His stomach felt like it disagreed with his lunch and his breath was coming out short and shallow. He tried to keep his mind off what was waiting for him by paying close attention to the elaborately decorated waiting line, but he couldn’t keep up with the story it was telling. He was reading the same bit of yellowed newspaper without grasping its meaning when he heard a voice that made his heart flutter.

“Phoebe, I told you the line was too long to meet Pocahontas. Now our FastPass’ time is over and we’ve got to wait in line for hours,” The Boy was telling one of the two little girls he was dragging along by the hand.

Harry smiled and watched them walk by towards the end of the line, his dread momentarily forgotten.

“Isn’t that the boy you fancied at the airport?” Gemma asked, an amused lilt to her voice. “Go talk to him.”

“What? No,” Harry replied sharply. “No, that’s not a good idea.”

“Why not? You’ve got a daft smile on your face whenever you see him. What have you got to lose?”

“My dignity.”

Gemma rolled her eyes. “You’ll never see him again if it goes badly.”

“I’d doubt that, it’s the fourth time I see him since we left London.”

Staring at him with wide eyes, Gemma’s face slowly broke into a grin. “Oh, my god. Harry. Go talk to him. It’s destiny.”

“You won’t leave me alone until I do, will you?”

“Go!” Gemma grinned and pushed him forward, putting an end to their conversation. When he glanced at her over his shoulder, she motioned him away by sweeping her hands and he rolled his eyes for good measure.

Getting to the back of the line was a painstaking process, and only like half of it was due to the near-crippling nerves that were threatening to paralyze him. In a weird, completely nonsensical way, though, talking to The Boy worried him less than the ride and he felt something almost like relief when he spotted him.

The Boy raised an eyebrow daintily when he saw Harry approaching and he nervously rubbed the back of his neck as he shuffled to a stop in front of him. That was a bad idea. What was he supposed to say, now? ‘Hi’? That was lame and did not explain why he’d gone back through an entire waiting line to see him. Who did that, anyway? Psychos. That’s who.

“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, it’s just—from afar, I was sure you were Peter Pan and I wanted to say hi. To Peter, not y—well, I want to say hi to you, but I thought you were—” Harry trailed off, biting his lip and letting out a nervous laugh.

It wasn’t just a bad idea. It was a Bad Idea, capitalized.

The Boy looked at him curiously for an excruciatingly long second before letting out a sharp burst of laughter. Not a Bad Idea, then, a Terrible Idea. Harry felt himself blushing and started wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The ride seemed like nothing now that he was being made fun of by a really gorgeous boy he’d been dumb enough to go talk to.

Holding out his hand, The Boy smiled. “I’m Louis.”

Harry stared at him for a second or two, blinking. He then glanced down at the extended hand and his brain caught up with the situation enough to let him take it with his own and shake it. “I’m Harry,” he heard himself say, although he wasn’t conscious of doing it.

“You can let go of my hand, now. It’s becoming a bit embarrassing for you,” The Boy—Louis whispered with a wink.

“Oh, huh, yes. Right. Sorry.” Harry let out a shaky breath and dropped Louis’ hand before shaking his head. “I’ve gone off to a wrong start, haven’t I?”

“If we consider that dimpled smile at the airport as the start, I think you’re doing quite well, actually.” Louis rearranged his fringe, which had fallen into his glasses. “On the other hand, if we consider how you walked into me outside of the plane’s loo, or this moment just now, then you have a good reason to be blushing.”

Harry ran his hand over his face and then through his hair. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone, now.”

Louis caught his arm before he could walk away, letting go as soon as he touched it. “But, considering I would have said something far worse than that, I’m impressed. Do you really think I look like Peter Pan?”

“Yeah, I mean, the hair and the—the, just a bit, yeah. Overall.”

A pleased smile appeared on Louis’ face and Harry’s stomach swooped at the sight. “You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?” He laughed to himself, a quiet burst of air. “Are you aware you lost your spot in line?”

Harry glanced back over his shoulder, getting on tiptoes to see where his mother and Gemma were. Catching Gemma’s eyes, she gave him the thumbs up. He quickly looked away. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“I don’t think you should be telling secrets to strangers, even if they look like Peter Pan, but I’d be glad to hear it, Harold.”

Harry leaned in to whisper, “I’m really scared of roller coasters.”

“What?” Louis laughed again, louder this time. “The twins aren’t afraid and they’re seven! So you’re telling me you came all the way here to avoid doing the ride?”

“Among other things,” Harry said, giving Louis a small smile.

“Were you afraid to do it alone? Because we’re only three, you could do it with us.”

“No, no,” Harry replied hurriedly. He looked again towards his family, but couldn’t see them. “I don’t want to intrude, I only wanted to say hello.”

“You really wouldn’t. I’d give anything to stop talking about princesses with these ladies. But I don’t want to hold you back, you can go if you want. I just thought I’d offer.” Louis bit his lip and shrugged, and Harry noticed with another swoop of his stomach that Louis’ eyes were blue and big and perfect.

Tearing his eyes away from Louis’ face, Harry shook his head. “No, really. It’d be weird, this whole thing is weird, I’m going to go, now.” He cleared his throat.

“Are you sure, Curly? Because I could really use a hand with these two.” As he said it, eyes fluttering in such an obnoxiously flirty way that Harry could not even doubt that it was what Louis was doing, Louis caught one of the two girls by the arm as she was about to dash away.

Harry smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. “All right, I’ll stay.”

And then they were silent for far too long. Or, well, it felt like it, but nerves and the lingering dread caused by the ride distorted Harry’s perception of time so that it felt like three hours passed before he found something to say. He could feel Louis’ eyes on him and that only made his mind go blank.

“They’re your sisters?” Harry asked, cursing himself for asking something so lame. It took him everything not to wince.

“Yeah.” Louis took the twins by the wrists and placed them in front of him. “This is Phoebe, this is Daisy. Don’t worry if you can’t tell them apart, no one can. I said their names at random.” He grinned when one of the twins stomped on his foot with a shout of protest. “Girls, this is Harry...?”

“Styles.”

Louis smiled. “You’ve got a rock star’s name, Harold.”

The girls greeted Harry by talking in perfect synchronisation, which was only slightly less scary than the fact that they were moving forwards and towards the front of the line. He greeted them back and felt his stomach swoop at the smile Louis gave him, halfway between proud and pleased.

And then they were silent again which made Harry’s stomach swoop for an entirely different reason. “So, hum, how do you like Disney World so far?” he asked, directing his question at the twins even if he was looking at Louis.

“It’s only our first park,” Louis replied, pushing the girls forwards as they moved again. “We stayed in last night to let the little ones sleep.”

“I went to Magic Kingdom yesterday.”

“Yeah? And how was it? We’re going tomorrow.”

“We’re going back tomorrow, too!” Harry exclaimed before he could stop it. His eyes widened and he cleared his throat. “I mean, it was a lot of fun.”

Louis laughed. “Glad to hear it. Maybe we’ll run into each other again tomorrow, then.”

“That’d be fun.” Harry smiled and Louis returned it and for a second, Harry swore time stopped and his breath caught in his throat as they looked at each other with matching smiles.

That is, until the twins began arguing about whose bottle of water it was that the other was holding and Louis had to step in, splitting the fight with an authoritative voice and a cross frown. When the twins had calmed down, he turned to Harry, apologetic smile on his face. “So Harry, tell me why in the world you want to stay with us? This was just a preview of what these two are capable of.”

Harry shrugged, trying to act nonchalant even though he felt like dissolving into a puddle of embarrassment and fearfulness. “You’ll laugh,” he let out, voice only slightly shaking.

“Try me.”

Laughing nervously, Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “I think you’re fit.”

“Well, that’s fortunate because I think the same of you,” Louis replied without missing a beat before winking. If Harry wasn’t mistaken, a slight pink tint had appeared on his cheeks. It might have been the heat. It was probably, most definitely the heat.

“Oh, that’s, hum. That’s good.” Harry cleared his throat. He needed to keep talking so the moment did not become awkward; it had the potential to be very uncomfortable to everyone so he had to keep talking. He said the first thing to cross his mind:  “That accent, where’s it from?”

“Same place as me: Yorkshire. We’re from Doncaster. And you? You’re a Northerner, too, aren’t you?”

“From Cheshire. Holmes Chapel.”

“Never heard of it.”

Harry laughed. “Didn’t expect you to.”

Louis laughed, too, his eyes crinkling. “You can tell me about your wee village if it’ll make you feel less nervous.”

“There’s isn’t much to say about it. I guess you could say it’s quite picturesque?”

“Oh, picturesque, I see.” Louis pushed Harry’s shoulder with his own and laughed again. “That’s a big word for such a fit boy.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

Louis put his hand over his heart, looking offended. “I’d never dare. Not when you look like you’re about to throw up, anyway. I should have you sit with Daisy, she’s fearless.”

“I’m not sure knowing that a kid who’s ten years younger than me is braver makes me feel better.”

“Ten years, eh? So tell me, 17 years old Harold from Cheshire, who did you ditch to come see me?”

Harry bit his lip. “My mum and sister are higher up the line. And 16, actually. 16 and a half.”

“Oh god, 16? Are you serious? I feel old, now. I’m not Peter Pan at all.” Louis shook his head. “You know, with that name and those eyes, I’d expect to find you at the Wizarding World, not Disney World.”

“A Harry Potter joke? Really? That’s not very original.” Harry rolled his eyes for show, feeling anything but annoyance at this incredible boy who seemed to enjoy talking to him rather than think he was a creepy weirdo with terrible pick-up lines. “How old are you, then? You don’t look older than 15.”

“Hey, you said I looked like Peter Pan, that was payback. And now you think I’m younger than you! You’re quite cheeky.” Louis steered the girls forwards and Harry’s heart sank when he saw the front of the line coming nearer. “I like it. I’m 18, by the way. Have you told your mum you’re staying with me?

“She’ll figure it out.”

At one of the twins’ shout, Harry looked away from Louis and froze on the spot. They were on the next train. He glanced at Louis in panic and the boy only laughed and stroked his back as he turned to talk to one of the twins. “Daisy? You’ll ride with Harry. He’s a bit scared, he’ll need to be comforted.”

“Hum, actually, could I ride with you? Maybe?”

Louis smirked, raising his eyebrows. “Why?” he drawled.

“Just ‘cause.”

“No, you’ll have to give me a better reason than that. You’re fit and my sister will be heartbroken if she doesn’t get to ride with you.”

“Maybe...” Harry sighed, deciding ‘to hell with it’ and walking all over the last shreds of his pride. “Maybe I wanted to hold your hand.”

“Aw, Harold! You should have told me from the start! It’ll be my pleasure to hold your hand so you don’t get scared.” Louis’ smirked turned into an earnest smile and Harry returned it, albeit shakily.

He swallowed thickly as they were instructed to go wait by the barriers. Louis placed the twins in front of them and leaned against the railing, looking at Harry with concern. “You look very pale, are you sure you’ll be fine?”

“No,” Harry said, his throat feeling dry. He wiped his clammy hands on his pants and tried to take deep breaths. “I’m really scared.”

Louis stroked his back, pouting. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. It’s just a silly roller coaster, it’s perfectly safe.”

The train rolled in at that moment and Harry stifled a fearful whine by biting his lip. People got off of the train and then the barriers swung open. Louis grabbed his wrist and pulled him along, stepping inside the ride and leaning forward to make sure the twins were all right before sitting back and turning to Harry. All the while, Harry was staring at the security bar and trying not to panic at the thought that this was the only thing keeping him safe.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” he commented in a white voice, pulling the bar down and clinging to it.

“Hey, you’ll be fine,” Louis said softly, prying one of his hands away from the bar and taking it in his. “Just make sure you don’t throw up on me, yeah? If anything goes wrong, don’t worry, you said it yourself, I’m Peter Pan. I’ll save us all with some pixie dust. Don’t forget: just think happy thoughts and you can fly.” Louis laughed and Harry guessed that what he’d said was funny, but his nerves were making it hard to do anything other than freak out. “You can scream, I won’t mind. I know I will, I’m quite loud, but you probably already noticed that.”

Harry looked down at their entwined hands and was about to comment on the way Louis was stroking his knuckles with his thumb when the train started moving and his words got caught in his throat. He squeezed Louis’ hand tighter and focused on his breathing and on not screaming, but it all went to hell at the first drop.

“It wasn’t even a big one,” Louis said, laughing.

Harry’s intention was to tell him to shut up, but their train started climbing a hill and the metallic clicking noise knocked the wits out of him. He squeezed Louis’ hand and Louis did it back just in time for their descent, which pulled a strangled scream of terror out of Harry. He leaned back in his seat and tried to get back in control, but they started climbing another hill, a much, much bigger one and he whined.

“No, no, no, I don’t want to do this anymore,” he said, voice white.

“I don’t think you have a choice.” Louis leaned forward and looked around, letting out a squeal and pointing at something in the distance. “Harry! Look! It’s the Tower of Terror! I can’t wait to ride it, I’ve heard it’s one of the best rides!”

“Louis, sit down, you’ll fall off!” Harry squawked, torn between his desperate need to keep clinging to the bar and his urge to push Louis back against his seat.

“No, I won’t, calm down. Man, I had no idea how big Disney World was, it goes on forever, look!”

Keeping his eyes straight ahead, seeing only the top of the ride and the blue sky, Harry shook his head. “No, thank you, I’m fine like this.”

Louis gave his hand a squeeze. “Brace yourself, I think we’re going down.”

Harry held his breath as the train went over the top and then he screamed, hearing Louis’ giggles of delight next to him. The train went up a slope before slowing down to a stop and Harry realised with horror that the tracks ahead of them were gone, sticking up in the air at odd angles. The only way to go was backwards. Shit.

“Oh no, oh no, no, no, tell me we’re not going backwards.” A metallic click behind them confirmed his worst fears a second before the train launched backwards, down a slope and curving to the left into a dark cavern, only to stop at the bottom of a hill, facing an exit made bright by the sunlight outside.

“Oh, look! It’s the Yeti’s fault!” Louis said, using their entwined hands to point at the wall where a projection of a Yeti’s shadow was shown pulling the rails apart.

“I don’t care,” Harry replied, voice strangled by his fear because at any moment they would go up that hill and who knew what would be on the other side. They’d already gone backwards. For all he knew, a loop-the-loop was awaiting them.

The train started moving again and he whined, tightening his hold on Louis’ hand even more. He could do it. The ride had to be almost over, right? The worst was behind them, he could absolutely do this and get out of there with some dignity left.

His conviction died when the train tipped forward and he saw the steep fall ahead. He screamed and gripped the bar and Louis’ hand even tighter, feeling his stomach rise up in his throat as the train gained speed and moved through the drops and curves. He barely saw the Yeti at the end of the cavern despite the strobe lights illuminating it and only breathed out in relief when the train slowed down and the station appeared ahead of them.

“Still alive?” Louis asked, letting go of Harry’s hand when the train stopped and jumping out of the train to meet with his sisters.

Harry took his time getting up, his legs feeling like jelly. He climbed out of the train and staggered, only to find Louis by his side, helping him up with a hand on his back. “Barely,” Harry replied once his legs were secure enough to let him walk.

“I can feel it in my hand.” Louis winked. “Wasn’t it fun, though? I loved when we went backwards!” The twins shouted their approval and Louis high-fived his sisters, a beaming smile on his face. Harry looked at them, still feeling too sick to the stomach to talk. He honestly felt like he’d just had a near-death experience. “Harold? Are you all right?”

“I’ll be, eventually.” Harry’s voice came out raspy and he cleared his throat. “I’m a bit embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. I’m sure my hand will be fine in a couple of days.” When Harry paled, Louis laughed. “I’m taking the piss, Harry, don’t be embarrassed. I still think you’re cute and charming.” He winked again.

Harry smiled back, shakily, and followed the crowd out of the ride, feeling better with each step. He also felt light in a way he couldn’t quite explain, except perhaps with a single word: Louis. It made no sense that they were getting along so well so soon. It wasn’t normal, people didn’t just become friends in a matter of thirty minutes, but that was what was happening with Louis. They were friends and he somehow felt more comfortable with him than he did with some of his closest friends. They just clicked, it seemed, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. Harry rolled his eyes; this was ridiculous. People were not puzzle pieces and didn’t just click with someone else. It was Disney Magic, surely. Everything was possible in this pocket-universe of whimsical extravagance: Tibet was within walking distance of Africa (or, you know, Tibet existed) and people met their soulmates in a queue.

“Harry!” Harry turned around at the sound of his name and saw his mother and sister coming over. “That’s where you went!” Anne said, frowning. “You could have said!”

“I thought Gemma would have told you,” Harry said meekly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.” Harry saw the twins drag Louis away out of the corner of his eye and he bit back a smile when he noticed that Louis was struggling to stay put, looking at Harry while biting his lip. “Give me a second?” He went over to Louis, hands in his pockets. “I think I need to go back with them.”

“Understandable. It was nice meeting you, Harry Styles from Cheshire.”

“Where are you guys headed?”

“The safari!” one of the twins shouted excitedly.

“Us too,” Gemma said and Harry whipped around to see his family standing by his side. “Right, Mum?”

It took his mother a second to catch up. “Oh! Right, the safari, that’s exactly where we’re going.”

“That’s cool,” Louis said and then caught himself. “I’m Louis, by the way. Louis Tomlinson. And those two ladies are my sisters, Daisy and Phoebe. I kept an eye on your son during the ride, ma’am, I made sure he stayed alive. Nearly lost my hand doing so.”

“Did he scream a lot?” Gemma asked and Harry glared at her, only to be met with a smirk.

“He almost popped my eardrum.”

“That’s Gemma, my older sister,” Harry said, begrudgingly doing the introductions. “And my mother, Anne.”

“Your mother? Really? I’d have sworn she was another sister.” Louis smiled and winked. Harry had to admire his charisma, even if it made him feel oddly jealous that Louis’ attention wasn’t on him anymore. “Anyway, we should be off, these two are about to rip out my arms to see giraffes.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll see you around, I reckon?” Harry said, his heart sinking. There was no chance they’d meet again and he knew it.

“Really, Harold? You’re letting me go without asking for my number? I was going to add you on Facebook as soon as I got back to my room, but I was hoping you’d show at least a little bit of interest in making sure we can see each other again. I’m wounded.” He sighed, taking his phone out of his pocket and shoving it in Harry’s hand. “Please use a name I’ll recognize.”

Harry laughed and thought about it for a moment before typing ‘Harold from Cheshire’ and his phone number. He gave the phone back to Louis, feeling silly that his heart quickened when their fingers brushed, and then shifted his weight between his feet, unsure of what to do next.

“Actually, I think I might want to do this ride again,” Gemma said, breaking the silence. “Come with me, Mum. Haz, you go to the safari with your new friend, yeah? We’ll meet you there.”

Harry could have kissed his sister and he mouthed a ‘thank you’ to her before she dragged their mother away with her, the two of them giggling because of what Harry suspected to be him.

“Your mum’s nice to let you come with us,” Louis commented as they made their way to the safari, the twins running ahead when they saw that the line was short.

Shrugging, Harry smiled. “You can thank Gemma. What about your parents? Where are they?”

“My dad’s back in England, but my mum’s with my two other sisters. We figured it’d be simpler to split rather than try to get around in a group of six.”

“So you’ve got four sisters?”

“Yeah. And I’m the eldest.”

“The eldest sister?” Harry asked, smirking.

Louis pushed his shoulder with his as they caught up with the twins. “Very funny.”

“I try,” Harry replied and burst out laughing when Louis stuck out his tongue.

“You should try harder, then, because you’re not funny at all. Maybe I should go with your sister, instead. She seemed more fun than you.”

“I can introduce you properly,” Harry said, feeling a bit sick at the idea. “She’s single.”

Louis grabbed the twins by the hands as they neared one of the vans, helping them in before climbing in himself. Harry slipped on the seat after him, hyper aware of how close their thighs were. “I think I’ll pass. I’ve got my eye on someone else.”

Harry swallowed. “Oh, she’s lucky.”

With a snort, Louis rolled his eyes. The van started moving forward and Harry kept his eyes on him because, well, that was kind of a pretty decisive moment in his life and Louis was taking his sweet time answering him.

“Oh, Harold. Please don’t say that.” Louis glanced at Harry, looking almost worried.

“Why? You look like I asked you if you were dating a goat.”

One of the twins pulled on Louis’ shirt and pointed the flamingos, chatting excitedly. Harry watched them and smiled at the way Louis was with his sisters. His heart fluttered and he knew in that instant that he was so, so screwed. There was no going back.

And Louis still hadn’t answered him.

“I’m surprised you didn’t catch my drift, if you know what I mean.”

Hope and an entire flock of butterflies rose inside of Harry and he couldn’t hold back a grin. “Maybe I caught it, but I want to hear you say it.”

“Maybe.” Louis’ eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before he turned his attention to the twins. “Look, over there, there’s a lion! On top of that rock, can you see it?”

Unsatisfied that the conversation was going to stop there, Harry frowned and took a deep breath before talking. “I like both, by the way. Hum, girls and boys, I mean. Just, yeah.” Harry cleared his throat, regretting his words and wanting to change the topic. He’d only ever told his mum and sister and now he was pouring out his deepest secret to a stranger. Nice job, Styles. “Oh! There’s a giraffe! I love giraffes!”

Louis clicked his tongue and frowned disapprovingly. “You think this is a conversation we should be having in front of my sisters? They’re seven, Harold.” His tone didn’t match his expression, though, and his voice came out playful and amused.

Before Harry could reply, one of the twins spoke up, pointing excitedly at a baby giraffe. “There’s a baby! Look! Harry, it walks like you!”

From his side of the van, Harry couldn’t see it properly so he did the only logical thing: placing a hand high on Louis’ thigh for leverage, he leaned forward. “You think? I think I’m clumsier than it is.” He smiled when he heard Louis choke on air. Two could play this game.

“I think it’s really cute. In a dorky way,” Louis commented. Harry glanced at Louis and saw him looking back with reddened cheeks. “Makes me want to hug it.”

“I think it’d like it,” Harry replied, lowering his voice and not missing the way Louis bit back a smile. He took his hand off Louis’ thigh slowly, but not before squeezing it to show that it was no accident that he had put it there. Louis sighed deeply and shook his head, looking at Harry like he couldn’t quite believe he was real. Harry counted that as a win. “I can’t wait to see the hippos. I love hippos.”

“Is there something you don’t love?”

“Roller coasters?” Harry replied in a sheepish voice, batting his eyelashes at Louis until he shoved his shoulder and laughed. Harry pushed his foot with his, only to have Louis push it back.

“Yeah, my hand remembers that.”

By the time they exited the ride, Harry felt breathless and giggly in a way he’d never been before. He felt like his entire world was narrowed down to Louis and Louis alone; the rest didn’t matter, even if the rest was bloody Disney World. Louis was funny and witty, he was charming and so gorgeous Harry could barely breathe, and on top of it, he was into Harry. Boys were never into Harry, especially not gorgeous older boys. Harry knew he could be charming when he put in the effort - and sometimes even if he did not - but he had never had anyone react so enthusiastically to his advances, never mind return them. Again, Harry was willing to blame the Disney Magic for how easy it was to get a boy like Louis interested in him; back in England, he wouldn’t have looked twice at him, he was sure of it.

The twins took off running towards a woman surrounded by two teenagers and Harry realised with a sigh that Louis’ family was there. There was no chance that he might be able to convince his mother to let him go off with a stranger once more. He’d have to say goodbye. From the way Louis’ face had fallen into a resentful pout, Harry dared to hope he felt the same.

“That’s my mum and I see yours over there. I guess this is goodbye?”

Harry shifted on his feet and shrugged, nodding. “I guess it is, yeah.” He bit his lip. “You, hum, you have my number, so you can, you know. Once you’re back in England. You could text me.”

Louis nodded. “Yes, I will. And I’ll add you on Facebook, if that’s okay?”

Harry returned the nod. “Yes. You should find me easily, there aren’t a lot of Harry Styles, are there?”

Louis giggled. “I don’t reckon there are, no.” He cleared his throat and glanced away for a second before looking back at Harry. “Listen, I know you said you were going to Magic Kingdom tomorrow, so maybe we could, only if you want to, okay, feel comfortable refusing, but I thought we might meet up there?”

A smile appeared on Harry’s face, big enough to hurt. “I’d love that. Yes, I’d love to.” He inhaled sharply. “I’d love to.”

“You’d love to, yeah?” Louis repeated teasingly.

“Yeah.” Harry laughed. “Let’s say we meet by the statue of Walt Disney at 10? Can you make it?”

Louis nodded. “That sounds good.”

Harry smiled and then wondered for a moment whether it’d be more appropriate to lean in for a hug or a peck on the cheek. He felt like kissing Louis on the cheek - and elsewhere, oh my god - but he didn’t know how Louis would react. Louis seemed to be faced with the same dilemma and for far too long they stood a few feet apart, shuffling their feet and laughing nervously. Then Louis was inhaling sharply and moving closer, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to his cheek. His lips were slightly chapped and warm against Harry’s cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Curly,” Louis whispered in his ear, his warm breath making Harry shiver.

“I can’t wait,” Harry whispered back and saw that Louis was beaming when he pulled away and walked over to his family, glancing back at Harry one final time, bracing himself for the teasing he knew he was in for as soon as he saw Gemma’s wicked grin.

Getting back to their room a couple of hours later after leaving the park right after dinner out of exhaustion, Harry couldn’t hold back a smile when he saw that he had a friend request from Louis waiting on his phone. He accepted it immediately, plopping down on his bed to look through Louis’ profile. His heart leapt when he saw that his relationship status was set to single, but it very nearly burst out of his chest when his phone buzzed with a private message from Louis.

hello harold from cheshire

Trying to keep a straight face and turning on the television as a distraction, Harry got comfortable against the pillows.

Hi! Harry stared at the blinking cursor, gnawing his lip, as he tried to find something to say. Had a good day?

it went downhill after you left :( it’s not too much, is it?

Not too much, Harry replied, smiling despite himself.

good cause I don’t wanna stop. im looking through ur profile rn and ur pretty posh, aren’t u? :P

Oi! Harry typed, stifling a giggle in his hand. Is that your definition of charming?

dunno if I wanna be associated with that ;)

Well, I don’t know if I want to be associated with someone who’s profile picture is him like 4 years ago wearing a football as a hat.

*whose

It took a couple of minutes for Louis to reply and Harry understood why as soon as he saw that he had changed his profile picture to himself hugging Tigger.

look at u with ur perfect grammar, posh boy

Have you seen how you type? Don’t you have autocorrect?

turned it off, we disagreed too much

Shouldn’t it be ‘2 much’?

cheeky, aren’t u?

I try ;) Harry pressed send before he could regret the smiley.

I like it. im being bullied by my sisters to go to the pool we will talk more later, harold xxxx

Looking forward to it xxxx

Harry let out a sigh and dropped his phone on the bed, looking at the television without really paying attention to what was on, his heart hammering in his chest and his entire body tingling with excitement at the prospect of spending the next day with Louis.

It all came to a crashing halt a few moments later when his mother stepped out of the shower, towelling her hair dry as she sat at the table.

“So, EPCOT tomorrow?”

Gemma agreed, but Harry felt his heart sink. “Weren’t we supposed to go to Magic Kingdom again?”

“No, love. That’s the day after tomorrow. We have reservations for dinner at EPCOT tomorrow.”

“But…” Harry bit his lip and shook his head, letting out a sigh. “Okay, I forgot, yeah. EPCOT tomorrow,” he finished, trying to put some enthusiasm in his voice.

Picking up his phone, he quickly typed a message to Louis: Sorry, I got it all mixed up, we’re going to EPCOT tomorrow. MK is the day after. I can’t meet up :(

It took an hour for Louis to reply, during which Harry showered before slipping into his pyjamas to watch weird American shows in bed. They were all feeling the effects of jet lag and he had plans for an early night. Gemma was already nodding off in the bed she shared with their mother.

same time, same place?

Don’t change your plans for me.

am not. we’re taking a day off so im free to do what I want. sorry I took a while to reply, theres a pirate ship at the pool. coolest shit ever

Harry frowned, sitting up straighter in his bed. A pirate ship? Which resort are you at?

caribbean beach. why?

I’m there, too. Harry took in a long, steadying breath before he finished the message. Want to meet up?

Louis replied immediately: yes!!!!! see you at the pool in ten.

Harry jumped out of bed and headed straight for his suitcase.

“What are you doing?” his mother asked as he started changing into his nicest pair of trousers and his favourite shirt. “Where are you going?”

“You know the boy I met at the park? He’s at the same resort as us so we’re going to hang out for a bit.” Harry hurried to the mirror to arrange his hair. “Is it okay?” he added as an afterthought.

“I suppose…” his mother replied, sounding unsure. “I want you back here before eleven. We’re getting up early tomorrow. And don’t leave the resort!”

Harry laughed. “Where do you want us to go? There’s nothing but swamps and probably crocodiles outside of the resort.”

“Alligators,” Gemma corrected sleepily. “Crocodiles are mostly found in Africa.”

With a roll of his eyes, Harry pocketed his phone and his key card before leaving the room, making his way for the pool with the help of the various signs along the path. The air was as heavy as it was during the way, making him feel like he was swimming through it, but without the scorching sun, it was more bearable. For a moment, before he got close enough to the pool to hear the shouts of the swimmers and splashes of water, he felt alone in the world, imagining himself a jungle explorer on a mission to study chimps and rare birds. The vegetation, the heavy humidity and the noises all contributed to make him feel like he was as far from civilization as was humanly possible, the differences with England so large that he almost felt homesick.

It all went away when he reached the pool and the vegetation cleared out, leaving way for a massive pool with water games around it, including the pirate ship Louis had mentioned. Harry circled the pool slowly, scanning the crowd for Louis, and he was so focused on trying to find him that he jumped and yelped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry,” Louis said with a lilting laugh when Harry turned to him. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” Harry replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hi,” he added, smiling timidly.

Louis smiled. “Hello, Harold from Cheshire. Do you come here often?”

Harry giggled. “You’re dumb.”

With a gasp, Louis shook his head. “Is that your definition of charming?” Hooking his arm with Harry’s, Louis began steering him forwards. “Come on, I’ve seen this island-thing on my way to breakfast this morning and I want to see it closer.”

“I saw it, too,” Harry said. “There’s a hammock on it.”

“Wicked.”

Harry let Louis pull him along, his golden skin nearly scorching where it touched Harry’s. Louis was chattering about his day and what he’d done with his sisters and Harry listened, unable to stop smiling. Louis’ voice was entrancing, lively and high in a way that nearly hypnotized Harry. He could have listened to him talk all day even if all he’d do was read the phonebook. He told Harry about his family, about the plane ride to get there and how one of his sisters was sick the entire time, about their room and how nightmarish it was to coordinate five children and how his mother was a saint for taking them. Harry nodded at the right times, laughed and smiled when he felt it was appropriate, and he was almost exhausted from all the information Louis dumped on him by the time they reached the island.

“Oh, there’s the hammock!” Louis said, letting go of Harry’s arm to go sit on it. He patted a spot next to him. “Joining me, Harold?”

Carefully, Harry sat down. He tried to keep some space between them, but the laws of physics decided elsewise and he ended up pressed against Louis, not an inch of space between them from knee to shoulder. Louis smiled at him, cheeks flushed from the heat, and brushed his fringe out of his eyes.

“This is cosy,” he commented.

“Pretty intimate, yeah,” Harry replied, laughing nervously.

He could feel every shift in Louis’ muscle, every twitch, every inhale. Their skins were sticking together from the permanent sheen of sweat Florida was inflicting on them. Louis smelled like chlorine and sweat, a heady smell of summer surrounding him and matching his sun-kissed skin. With their arms so close, Harry could see the contrast between his pasty skin and Louis’ tanned one and it made him smile.

“How are you so tanned? Is the sun stronger in Yorkshire?”

“I spend all of my time outdoors?” Louis shrugged. “I don’t know, I suppose I tan easily. Unlike you, hm? You’re almost see-through.” Louis gently took Harry’s arm in his hands, turning it over and tracing his blue-green veins with the tip of his finger. The gentle touch raised goose bumps on Harry’s skin and he didn’t miss the soft smile that bloomed on Louis’ face. “So, Harry, Facebook tells me you’re single.”

“Facebook isn’t lying,” Harry said, tearing his eyes away from Louis’ finger still stroking his arm to look at his face. “Facebook tells me the same about you.”

Nodding, Louis glanced at Harry. “Yeah, that’s right. Convenient, isn’t it?”

“I think so, yeah.”

Louis held Harry’s gaze for a few seconds before looking away with a soft sigh and a softer smile. “And earlier you were saying you’re bi?”

Harry bit his lip, gulping. “I think I am. I’ve… I’ve kissed girls and boys and it was nice with both of them, so… so I think I like both. I mean, I had a girlfriend for a couple of months and it was great, I enjoyed it, y’know, what we did, the…. The kissing and touching part.” Harry cleared his throat. “But after we broke up, I… hum, I tried stuff with a guy, nothing too… nothing too heavy, but we snogged and stuff and it was great, too, so… yeah. I suppose bi is what I am.” Harry let out a small laugh. “It’s funny, I never told anyone this before.”

“Aren’t you out?” Louis asked softly.

“To my friends and to my mum and sister, yeah, but I didn’t give them the full story.”

“Which would be…?”

“That I snogged a boy in the empty chem lab at school during lunch and really liked it. I already had doubts that I might be, but it confirmed them.”

Louis laughed, his eyes crinkling. “Naughty boy!”

“I was tutoring him! It just… it just kind of happened!”

That did not stop Louis from laughing even more. “It’s worse! It’s like the beginning of a porno!”

“Fine, if my story is so funny, what about yours?” Harry asked, trying to sound cross and failing spectacularly, unable to resist Louis’ contagious laughter.

“Mine’s pretty simple. Never had any interest in girls and it all became clear when I first had a cock in my mouth,” Louis replied with a shrug, shooting glances at Harry as if to gauge his reaction.

Harry nearly choked. “Oh, wow, okay. Yeah. I’m… not there, yet.”

“I can tell, your cheeks are all red!” Louis cooed, taking Harry’s face between his hands and patting his cheeks with a grin.

“It’s the heat,” Harry mumbled, blushing even more than he already was.

“Of course it is, love,” Louis said, pushing Harry’s shoulder with his. “Can you scoot a bit? I want to lie down.”

Harry moved forward to let Louis slip his legs behind him and watched him lie down.

“There isn’t much room left for me, is there?” he asked.

“No, no, there is. I’m tiny, I don’t take a lot of space,” Louis replied, moving towards the edge of the hammock.

With a hesitant nod, Harry began lying down so that his head would be next to Louis’ feet.

“You don’t want to lie there, I’ve got smelly feet,” Louis said, laughing. “Come here, I won’t bite you.”

Nodding again, Harry settled down next to Louis, slowly so he wouldn’t rock the hammock and send them both to the ground. Harry could barely breathe, afraid to break the spell that bound them both and made it possible for them to lie like that, pressed together on a small hammock when they’d met barely twelve hours earlier. He felt comfortable around Louis, more so than with most of his friends, and he wanted, more than anything, to get to know him better and so he started talking about himself and his life while his eyes stayed on the darkening sky above them. Louis was quiet, letting Harry talk about school and his friends, about his family and his worries about university, about every little thing that crossed his mind. He talked and talked without interruption more than he had in his entire life, probably, and still Louis listened without showing any sign that he was getting sick of Harry’s nonstop babbling.

By the time Harry got to his parents’ divorce, his mouth felt dry and pasty, so he coughed a little and stopped. A moment of silence stretched between them before Louis spoke up.

“My parents got a divorce, too. Well, not really. My dad abandoned us not long after I was born.”

It was Louis’ turn to start talking, pouring his heart out and sharing things Harry suspected he’d never shared with anyone else, talking about how he felt like The Other in his family, sometimes, the mistake born too early that didn’t quite fit in the new life his mother had made for herself, about his need for attention that landed him in trouble more than anything else, his lack of motivation in every aspect of his life and the self-sabotaging that it caused, his fears that he’d never amount to anything reinforced by teachers telling him so, and halfway through his spiel, Harry fumbled blindly until he could take Louis’ hand and squeeze it.

A few stars had appeared in the dark blue sky, the moon a pale crescent above the palm trees, and the only things they could hear once Louis grew quiet was the sounds of the lake and the palm trees rustled by the lazy evening breeze, punctuated here and there by peels of laughter and excerpts of conversations as people headed back to their rooms for the night.

“I wish I could see you tomorrow,” Louis said after a long moment in silence. He gave Harry’s hand a squeeze.

“We could meet up like tonight?”

“No, I’m on babysitting duties. Mum and my older sisters are going to do some shopping. It won’t be fun with the twins.”

“We’ll hang out at Magic Kingdom, then. And we can always talk on Facebook, hm?”

“I suppose, yeah… Won’t be the same, though.”

“No, it won’t.”

They both sighed. Harry pulled out his phone to check the time, sighing again when he saw that it was past ten. “I need to be back by eleven.”

“Can I keep you a bit longer?” Louis asked, holding Harry’s hand tighter.

Harry turned his head to look at Louis and was met by his blue eyes staring back at him, wide and open and almost pleading. The immensity of what they were living, of how quickly they’d gone from perfect strangers to sharing the same hammock and spilling the darkest corners of their hearts to each other dawned on Harry and he sat up slowly, shaking his head, feeling like he needed to be alone for a while as he let it all sink in.

“I don’t want to make my mum cross. She might not let me spend the day with you.”

Louis sat up, too, and the charm was broken. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, feeling uncomfortable and shy.

“Can I walk you to your room, at least?” Louis asked, looking as uneasy as Harry felt.

“Yeah, sure. I’d love to.”

Louis hooked his arm with Harry’s once more and they set off towards the blocks of hotel rooms.

“Where are you staying?”

“Jamaica,” Harry replied, stepping closer to Louis for a moment to avoid walking on a lizard.

“Sweet. I’m in Martinique, over there,” Louis said, pointing to their left.

The walk was too short and before Harry was ready to say goodbye, they were standing outside of his hotel room.

“I’ll see you at 10 in front of Walt Disney’s statue, yeah?” Louis asked, hands buried in his pockets.

“Yes. I can’t wait. It’ll be great.”

“Definitely, yeah. See you, Harry. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Louis.”

Louis hesitated for a second before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek. Before Harry could react, Louis was running down the stairs, leaving Harry blushing and bashful on his doorstep.

-

Harry would like to say that the day before he met up with Louis was excruciatingly long, that he counted the seconds until he could see him again, but the truth is that it went by in the blink of an eye. They ended up spending nearly twelve hours in EPCOT, first doing the big rides – and Harry swore to never tell anyone that he was sick after Mission: Space – before moving on to the world pavilions, finishing the day by watching the fireworks while munching on Werther’s caramel-covered popcorn from the German pavilion. Harry licked the sugar off his sticky fingers and took a picture of the fireworks to send it to Louis, grinning when the boy replied to him with a picture of himself pouting. His feet were throbbing by the time they got back to the room and after a refreshing shower, he slipped into bed, but not before he sent a ‘goodnight xxxx’ message to Louis.

The next morning, he parted with his mother and sister at the bus stop after breakfast, wishing them a good day at Downtown Disney when their bus arrived first, and he spent the five minutes it took the Magic Kingdom bus to arrive pacing back and forth and wringing his hands.

It was 9:48 by the time he got to the statue, after he hurried down Main Street, slipping through the thick crowd and avoiding the photographer who asked if he wanted to take a picture in front of the castle.

Louis was already there, looking lovely and even prettier than Harry remembered under the morning sun. He jumped to his feet when he saw Harry approach and he pulled him into a hug, kissing his cheek before he let go.

“Good morning!” Louis said cheerfully. “I must have got on the bus before yours, I got here about ten minutes ago. First time in my life I’m not late.” He chuckled. “Where do you want to begin? I say we should decide early which rides we want a FastPass for so we can get them. I say Space Mountain is a priority because it gets pretty mental, I saw yesterday, like two hours wait and shit. So we should get one for it, and then after that, maybe Splash Mountain? Or Big Thunder Mountain Railroad? I don’t know, you choose. I want to do them all, I couldn’t yesterday with the twins!”

“Hm,” Harry said, dizzied by Louis’ enthusiasm. “Space Mountain sounds like a good idea? We could hang around Tomorrowland while we’re there, too? I want to try the Lilo & Stitch ride.”

“Sweet! Come on, let’s go, then.” Louis hooked his arm with Harry’s and pulled him along, walking with a spring in his step. “Oh, and I got us reservations for tonight at that The Lady and the Tramp restaurant, maybe you saw it on your way in? Doesn’t matter if you didn’t, it had good reviews. You like Italian food, right? Everyone does, of course you do,” Louis rambled.

“Yeah, Italian is fine,” Harry said when Louis stopped to breath.

“Good! Come on, use those long legs of yours, we need to beat the crowd!” Louis cried, tugging on Harry’s arm to make him walk faster, only to let out a frustrated sigh when Harry was not fast enough. “All right, give me your card, I’ll run to get us passes and I’ll come back, yeah?”

Harry wasn’t done taking the card out of his pocket that Louis was snatching it from his hand and running away, leaving Harry alone. He drifted towards the mist machine, stepping into it and closing his eyes, enjoying the cool water on his skin. He stepped out after a while and shook his head before running a hand through his hair when he saw Louis coming over.

“We were too late, we’ve only got them for 4 o’clock, so I say we should keep this part of the park for later and go elsewhere for now.”

“Okay, lead the way,” Harry said, smiling timidly when Louis reached forward to rearrange his fringe.

“You went in the mist, hm? You’re even curlier, now,” Louis commented as he fussed with Harry’s hair. “There, now you’re perfect.”

Harry darted in and pressed a kiss to Louis’ cheek before turning on his heels towards Fantasyland. “I want to see princesses, first.”

Louis hurried behind him to catch up and hooked their arms, smiling at Harry when he glanced at him timidly.

Louis never let go of Harry’s arm as they slowly made their way through the park, except for rides and when Harry forced him to take a picture with Peter Pan, insisting that they looked like twins separated at birth. He took Harry’s arm once more after it was done, squeezing it briefly before pulling Harry along when he saw a cart selling popcorn.

Fantasyland gave way to Liberty Square, which Louis crossed quickly to get Harry to the Haunted Mansion despite Harry’s pleas that he’d rather go to the Christmas shop. They ended up doing both before going through Frontierland, Louis talking him into doing Big Thunder Mountain Railroad because 'it’s not as scary as it looks' and insisting that he’d already done the worst with the one in Animal Kingdom. Harry clung to his hand despite it and screamed his throat raw, to Louis’ obvious amusement. It only grew bigger once they were on Splash Mountain and Harry tried to make him feel bad by pouting a lot until he apologised for laughing at him. All Louis did was kiss his cheek and entwine their fingers before taking them to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride.

At 4:05pm, they stepped inside Space Mountain. At 4:10, Harry began regretting his decision, feeling like it would have been better to ask Louis to have another go in the Lilo & Stitch ride. Louis was bouncing on his toes, grinning excitedly as they slowly progressed through the FastPass line, babbling about how he was upset that he couldn’t do it the day before, but now he was happy that he would get to try it, and wasn’t Harry excited, too? And didn’t it look amazing? Harry nodded along and gripped the handrail tightly, following Louis closely and trying not to throw up.

“Take the front seat,” Louis offered, pushing Harry in front of him when it was their turn.

“No,” Harry said, too loudly. “You take it. I’ll go behind.”

Louis shrugged, but the smile on his face told Harry that Louis only offered to be a gentleman. “Try not to be sick on me,” he said lightly, squeezing Harry’s shoulder comfortingly before stepping in his seat. “Good luck sitting in those with your giraffe legs!”

Harry blushed to think that Louis had noticed – and liked – his legs, and it took his mind off the ride for a few moments. It was the wrong thing to happen, though, because it meant that he was not prepared at all for the ride to start, lurching forward and peeling a scream from his mouth. In front of him, Louis laughed.

The ride probably wasn’t very long, but it felt like two eternities for Harry—two eternities of flashing lights, drops and pinhead turns. When they were finally released, he had to hold on to the handrail with both hands to stay up, his legs wobbling dangerously.

“I hate roller coasters,” he croaked when Louis joined him.

“Aw, poor thing,” Louis cooed, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist to guide him outside. “Are you going to be sick?”

“Don’t think so,” Harry mumbled. “M’just a bit shaken. That was too much.”

Louis nodded, rubbing Harry’s back soothingly. “I’ll get you something to drink, yeah? We’ll just find you a bench so you can sit and then I’ll go get you a nice, cold bottle of water and you’ll feel better, yeah? Look, over there, there’s one in the shade, that’ll be perfect for you,” Louis said, keeping his voice soft. He sat Harry down and then skipped off.

Harry took a deep, steadying breath and then bent forward, hanging his head between his knees to try and fight the dizziness clouding his mind. He jumped when he felt something ice cold on the nape of his neck and looked up, seeing Louis crouched next to him, wetting his hand on the condensation of the water bottle he just bought before carefully petting the back of Harry’s neck.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Louis asked, biting his lip. “You’re pale, even for you.”

“I am, I just feel a bit dizzy.”

Nodding, Louis sat down next to Harry, uncapping the bottle for him and watching closely as he drank his first sip. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask if you wanted to do the ride, I just assumed you would even if I knew you didn’t like roller coasters.”

Harry shrugged, drank more water. “I’d have told you if I didn’t want to. I didn’t cross the ocean to miss out on rides.”

Louis patted his knee. “There’s still an hour and a half before our reservation, what do you want to do?”

“That carousel thing looks quiet.”

Louis visibly twitched. “Oh, yeah, it is. Let’s go, there’s never any wait for it. I warn you, though, it’s a bloody earworm.”

Standing up and offering his hand, Louis smiled when Harry took it. Without a word, they entwined their fingers and headed for the Carousel of Progress. Once comfortably settled in his seat, feeling better with the help of the air-conditioned darkness inside the theatre, Harry felt a jolt in his heart when he thought back to his day and especially to how quickly they moved from hooked-arms to hand-holding. Much like it had two nights earlier, their relationship seemed to be evolving on fast-forward, naturally going through the steps at the speed of light. From complete strangers they’d moved on to what Harry could only describe as best friends. He felt like he’d always known Louis, down to being able to predict how he would react to certain things. Watching the show distractingly, he was proud to see that he could tell which jokes would make Louis chuckle and push him with his shoulder to see how he reacted. Everything was so easy with Louis, working seamlessly, like they fit. The day was quickly beginning to feel like a date.

Harry took a long sip of water and offered the bottle to Louis as the room shifted to the right, as though they were moving forward in time. Louis took it, their fingers brushing as he did so, and he drank from it while Harry stared at the bob of his Adam’s apple, something hot coiling in his belly as he thought that it would be the perfect ride to snog.

Swallowing thickly, Harry turned back towards the stage, leaning just a bit to the side so their shoulders touched. Louis immediately leaned in, too, and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, smiling up at him goofily. Harry pressed his head against Louis’ and smiled to himself, his heart fluttering in his chest.

They kept holding hands after walking out of the ride and all the way to the restaurant, stopping along the way to shop for souvenirs. Harry made Louis laugh until his eyes crinkled as he tried on Mickey Mouse ears and pulled faces, blushing when Louis asked if he could take pictures and buying the ones that had made him laugh the most, white ones with pink rhinestones and a pink veil in the back. Harry couldn’t tell exactly why he bought them, but a part of him felt like he needed something to remember this moment, a token to bring back to his memory the delighted shrieks of laughter that Louis let out and the way his entire face lit up as Harry pouted while wearing ridiculous hats.

After Harry had finished filling in paperwork to have his purchase sent to his room, Louis snaked his hand into Harry’s and entwined theirs fingers, smiling almost shyly when Harry looked at him. Swinging their hands between their bodies, Louis led them to the restaurant, announcing them before taking Harry back outside as they waited, their clammy hands still clutched. They were seated at the back of the restaurant, underneath stained glass panels, and a tense silence fell between them.

Harry pulled up his menu and hid behind it as he read it, feeling more nervous with every second of silence stretching between them. While the conversations had been easy all day, flowing effortlessly between them like they were old pals, the change of pace and setting made the reality of the moment obvious: it was a date. What had began as two new friends hanging out together had slowly inched into date territory throughout the day, but now as they were seated opposite each other in a dim restaurant it was clear that they were not just friends. The spark between them, which Harry had suspected existed when they first met and had then been confirmed as they lay in a hammock spilling their secrets to each other, was about to be laid bare in front of them and prodded, turned and questioned until something came out of it.

Harry’s hands shook as he took a sip from his icy cold water, choking a little.

“I don’t know about you,” Louis finally said, breaking the tension. “But I’m not doing that thing with the spaghetti.”

“What thing?” Harry asked, lowering his menu to frown at Louis.

“The thing in the movie! Lady and the Tramp? The spaghetti thing? Come on, Harry!”

With a sheepish smile, Harry nodded. “Yeah, that’s a bit unhygienic, isn’t it?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Harry smiled once again before disappearing behind his menu, feeling a twinge of affection for the loud, enthusiastic boy sitting in front of him.

They ordered their food and then before Harry could find something to say, Louis began drilling him with questions, asking about his favourite everything: favourite movie, favourite band, favourite song, favourite show on telly, favourite food, firing the questions so fast that Harry hardly had time to think about his answers.

“Are you prepping me for a talk show?” he asked with a laugh after Louis had asked what was his favourite planet. Their food had arrived, but Louis had barely touched his.

“No, just trying to get to know you better. Speaking of talk shows, though, what’s your favourite?”

“Huh, Jonathan Ross, I suppose?” Harry answered, taking a bite of his pasta and washing it down with a sip of iced tea.

“Good answer,” Louis said, nodding seriously. He chewed on a piece of chicken for a moment before speaking again. “If you could be anything, what would you be?”

Harry didn’t need to think long to answer that. “A singer.”

“A famous one?”

“No, one in weddings and stuff.” Harry rolled his eyes, smiled. “Of course, a famous one.”

Louis chuckled. “All right, I’ll admit, that was a stupid question. But really? I didn’t think you’d be the type to dream of being famous.”

There was no judgement in Louis’ voice, no edge; only plain curiosity. Harry felt his heart swell at how seriously Louis was taking that confession. Usually, people dismissed it as a foolish boy’s foolish pipe dream, but Louis seemed to think it was plausible and completely normal that Harry would want that.

“There’s a type of people who’re expected to want that?”

With a shrug, Louis took a sip of apple juice. “You’re a bit shy, is all.”

“I’m not shy!” Harry cried, shaking his head. “You just talk a lot more than me.”

“I do talk a lot,” Louis conceded, laughing. “I bet you have a lovely singing voice, though. Your voice is so deep and soothing.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied, smiling above his glass, feeling his cheeks colour under the compliment. “What about you, then? If you could be anything, what would you be?”

Louis’ reply was instantaneous. “I’d love to be in musicals.”

“Like Broadway and stuff?”

“And stuff, yeah. I’d rather stay in England, to stay close to my family, so it’s more West End for me.” Louis shrugged. It was like his bravado had melted away, leaving him almost – Harry found it hard to believe – shy. “Or anything to do with theatre, really. I love the attention, as you may have noticed.”

Harry laughed. “I have, yeah. Just a bit.” He squinted and held his index finger and thumb close to each other, grinning when Louis laughed. “I’d pay to see you on a stage, though.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Please, Harold, like I’d ever make you pay to see me. You’ll get front row tickets for free.”

“It’s a deal, then,” Harry said, extending his hand above the table. “You buy my first record and I go to your first premiere.”

Louis shook his hand, nodding solemnly. “Deal. Hopefully, we’ll still be in each other’s lives by then.”

Harry bowed his head, smiling. “I hope so.” He looked up at Louis through his eyelashes and saw the boy’s cheeks tint pink.

Their desserts arrived and Louis made a show of letting Harry taste his, holding out his fork for him and waiting expectantly for Harry to agree that it tasted heavenly. When the bills came, Louis joked that if they weren’t both on meal plans, he’d pay for Harry, laughing when Harry blushed, surprising the two of them.

Their hands found each other as they made their way out of the restaurant and Louis offered to ride the train that circled the park a few times as they digested their huge meal. Louis made jokes throughout the entire first run, looking proud to have made Harry laugh, and then repeated them with the same intonations and the same cues for the other two runs they did in the train. Harry filmed the third run, wanting to immortalise that moment in case he never saw Louis again once they left Florida and the charm was lifted.

After the train, Louis pulled him by the hand, cutting through the thick crowd gathering for the fireworks. “Come on, I know a good spot for the fireworks,” he said, only stopping when they were by the statue of Walt Disney, facing the castle. “Only half an hour, now. Have you seen them before?”

“Yeah, I have. On our first night here.”

Louis nodded and smiled, fidgeting with his hair and clothes. “I hope I won’t cry tonight. I did the first time.” He chuckled. “Don’t judge me.”

“I’d never dare,” Harry said, placing a hand on his heart to seem completely earnest. “I did, too. A bit. It’s really moving, isn’t it?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Louis nodded. “So bloody moving.”

The half hour went by quickly, with the two of them on their phones checking in with their mothers to assure they were still alive and in one piece. Harry had to cut short his promise to his mother that he’d leave as soon as the fireworks were over by the beginning of them, and he turned an excited grin to Louis, who returned it while bouncing on his toes.

The still-thickening crowd jostled them closer and Harry felt Louis slip his arm around his waist. He leaned into his side and did the same, feeling Louis give his waist a squeeze. Turning to give Louis a smile, Harry saw that he had his head bent back and was looking at the fireworks with a smile, the firecrackers reflected in his glasses. He jumped, surprised by a loud explosion, and then chuckled, fixing his fringe and pushing up his glasses.

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from Louis, sure that he was going through every single romantic comedy clichés, from the wobbly knees to the hammering heart to feeling like he was about to have a heart attack. He tightened his arm around Louis to pull him closer and the boy did it without looking away from the show, his own arm holding Harry snugger.

It was when he saw Louis’ eyes fill with tears at an emotional part of the show that Harry did it, acting on an impulse coming from the pit of his belly, electrifying him and making him bold enough to lift his hand and gently pull Louis’ face towards him by his chin before leaning in and pressing a small kiss to his lips.

Louis let out a small noise of surprise that was mostly drowned by the music and then he was wrapping both arms around Harry and kissing him back with insistence, his glasses digging into Harry’s cheek. Harry kissed back in kind, parting his lips for Louis’ tongue just as the climax of the show exploded around them, the world drowning in loud music and explosions and Louis, Louis kissing him and holding him tight like he was afraid Harry would run away.

As they pulled away, it was like the world came back into focus, the sound of thousands of voices washing in like a tide inside Harry’s head, getting increasingly louder as people began making their way towards the exit. Dazed and giddy, Harry kept both arms around Louis as they let the crowd move them towards the exit, his lips tingling with the ghost of Louis’ kiss.

They found a bench by the queue for the shuttle to their resort and sat on it, wordlessly agreeing to wait until the crowd had thinned before they tried to get on it. Harry sent a quick ‘Waiting for shuttle. It’s crowded. Might take a while.’ to his mother before turning to Louis, grinning from ear to ear.

“So…” Louis began, biting his lip against a smile.

“We kissed.”

“Yeah. We did.”

“And?” Harry asked, his heart hammering with anticipation and nerves.

“I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

“Good,” Louis simply said before pulling Harry’s face forwards with a hand on his jaw to kiss him once again, swinging his legs over Harry’s.

Harry pulled him closer and held him tightly, kissing Louis back until he couldn’t catch his breath anymore and his jaw ached. He began pressing quick kisses to Louis’ lips until he laughed and pushed Harry away.

“You ruined it!” Louis whined, pouting. “We were having a nice, normal kiss, but then you ruined it!”

“We have a shuttle to take,” Harry reminded him. “And I couldn’t breathe.”

“You’re not supposed to hold you breath, Harold. Don’t they teach you anything in Cheshire?” Louis said with a laugh before kissing Harry’s nose. “Come on, I’ll take you home before your mum sends a SWAT team after you.”

Getting in line for the shuttle, Harry thought out loud. “I think they’d send the Disney police, first.”

“That doesn’t exist, does it?” Louis pondered, frowning. “But if it does, they better be wearing whimsical costumes.”

They spent most of the drive to their resort describing the kind of costumes the Disney police would have, making them more and more outrageous as they built on the other’s ideas, all the while laughing until they had tears in their eyes and Harry’s stomach hurt. The rest of the time was spent snogging, experimenting with pressure, nibbles and tongues, and ending much too soon.

Louis walked Harry to his room and kissed him goodnight, lingering into the kiss until Harry gently pushed him away.

“I need to go in,” he whispered, keeping his hands pressed to Louis’ chest to keep him away. “Can we hang out tomorrow?”

“We’ll figure something out. We could have breakfast tomorrow.”

Harry smiled and nodded. “That sounds good. Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Haz. Take care.” Louis kissed him one last time and then left, glancing over his shoulder every few steps until he disappeared down the stairs.

Harry entered his room quietly and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Gemma sitting at the table on her laptop. He could hear his mother’s deep breathing coming from the bed.

“Had a good day?” she asked, her face illuminated by the blue light of the screen. She was smirking.

Harry nodded and sighed, pretended to swoon and fell on the bed. “We kissed,” he whispered.

Gemma gasped and shut the lid of her laptop before climbing on the bed with Harry. “Spill.”

-

They missed each other for breakfast, Louis’ family leaving for a park way before his own even considered getting out of bed, and Harry sent a message filled with ‘:( :( :( :(‘ to Louis to apologise for missing their rendezvous. His bed was particularly comfortable that morning, especially with how poorly he’d slept the night before. A part of him – a pessimistic, nagging part – had started trying to convince him that it was all in his head, that Louis had only kissed him back to be polite and that he’d never want to see him again. It was too fast, that part said. They were just a summer fling, they wouldn’t last, Louis was just bored and Harry was easy and it was all going to implode, sooner than later, and Harry would get heartbroken. He tossed and turned for most of the night before falling into a restless sleep for a couple of hours.

To make Harry’s nerves and uncertainty worse, they didn’t get to hang out again until the last day of their respective trips, only keeping in touch through messages when they could get WiFi on their phones. The subject of kissing never came up, which made Harry even more nervous than he already was when he left his room in his swimsuit to meet up with Louis by the pool. Their families had both decided to take the last day quietly and Anne and Gemma left earlier that morning for some last minute shopping at Downtown Disney, leaving before Harry even woke up.

Harry hugged his towel to his chest, his thongs flapping as he walked to the pool. The sun was hot on his pale skin and he clutched the bottle of sun cream he brought along, hoping in a silly, enamoured way that Louis might offer to put it on for him. He’d clearly watched too many rom coms.

Louis was already stretched on a chaise longue when Harry arrived, aviator sunglasses perched on his nose and tanned skin on display, making Harry stare unabashedly. He dropped his things on the chair next to his and cleared his throat, watching as a lazy smile appeared on Louis’ face.

“Harold,” he said, lowering his sunglasses to look at him. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You… we planned this,” Harry replied lamely.

Louis chuckled. “I know we did, I was… never mind.” He sat up and pushed his glasses up, smiling more broadly. “How’s it going?”

Harry shrugged and smiled, feeling bashful under Louis’ gaze. “Not much.”

Louis threw his head back in a laugh. “That’s not what I asked.”

“Oh…” Harry blushed and nervously fixed his hair. “Hm, I’m okay. It’s been a big week, I think I’ll sleep for ages once I get home.”

“Same, I’m exhausted.” Louis smiled softly. “I hope you put some sun cream on, gorgeous, you’ll burn to a crisp in minutes out here.”

Harry giggled and shook his head. “No, I brought it, though. It’s not easy to put it on your own back, is it?”

“Turn around, then. We don’t want that fair skin to burn,” Louis said, holding out his hand for the bottle.

Harry gave it to him and turned around, biting his lip as he waited, his heart skipping a beat when he heard the cap pop open. He hissed and straightened in shock when Louis’ hands splayed on his back, the lotion icy cold.

“Sorry,” Louis said with a laugh. “Forgot to warm it.”

Louis began rubbing slow, soothing circles on his back, taking his time to spread the lotion. Harry bowed his head and closed his eyes, biting his lip to hold back groans of pleasure as Louis’ hands roamed his skin and traced his waist, running over his hips before moving back up along his spine to rub the back of his neck and his shoulders.

“Turn around,” Louis asked after a moment, voice low.

Harry obliged and watched as Louis squirted more lotion in his hands and rubbed them together before placing them both flat on his chest, running them down slowly, his eyes following his hands.

“Is that… nipples?”

“Hm, well, yes, I have nipples. Like mammals usually do.”

Louis clicked his tongue. “I mean you’ve got four.” He touched one with the tip of his finger and Harry squirmed, flustered. “You’re full of surprises.”

Louis’ hands lingered on Harry’s belly and over his hips, squeezing them as he commented on what he described as “adorable love handles”, before he moved up to apply lotion to Harry’s arms and then his face, his hands gentle and careful as he traced his nose and his cheekbones. Harry felt like a live wire, every inch of his skin electrified and hyperaware of the barest of touches from Louis’ warm hands.

“Only your legs left, now,” Louis said, handing back the bottle to Harry with a peck to his lips.

Harry let out a noise of surprise that he disguised as a cough and dealt with applying lotion on his legs before reclining on the chair, glancing at Louis to mimic his posture, stretching his arms over his head for a second before settling down, closing his eyes once he was comfortable.

“I don’t usually tan,” Harry commented, unsure whether he enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his skin or not.

“S’cause you’re from the North.”

Harry laughed. “So are you.”

Louis fiddled with the chair until it was lying flat and then he flipped around to lie on his stomach, pillowing his head with his folded arms. “Yeah, but as long as I keep my mouth shut, no one can tell.”

“Oh, that explains why you talk so little,” Harry deadpanned before cackling when Louis swung his arm out to try and hit him.

Louis let out a small sigh and then rested his head on his arms, a happy smile on his face. Harry smiled back at him before letting his eyes trail down Louis’ back, golden and smooth, narrowing down into a small waist before widening again into round hips, and Harry nearly choked when his eyes passed over Louis’ bum and the impossible swell of it. He stared unabashedly for a moment before he caught himself and looked away, his cheeks on fire.

He had a thing for boys’ backs, liking the sight of broad shoulders stretching shirts, and he also had a thing for girls with rounder hips and full bums, and seeing both of those things in Louis made something hot coil inside of him. Louis was everything he liked in human bodies wrapped up in a dazzling personality and for the first time since he’d met Louis, Harry felt stirrings of lust for him, aching to stroke and kiss and lick his sun-kissed skin to taste the salt of his sweat.

Biting his lip and squirming, Harry flipped on his stomach, too, and smiled at Louis, who smiled back before yawning.

“M’falling asleep,” Louis muttered, chuckling. “It’s such a bad idea. Tell me it’s a bad idea.”

“You’ll probably die if you sleep in the sun,” Harry said, nodding solemnly. “I’d quite like to see more of you, so please don’t die.”

Louis grinned. “I can’t let you down, can I?” He pushed himself off the chair and held out a hand for Harry. “Want to go for a swim? I have an idea.” Harry took it and let Louis pull him up, letting the boy drag him towards the pool, circling it until they reached the deep end. “Don’t let go of my hand,” Louis said, squeezing Harry’s.

“I’ll never let go, Jack!”

Louis gasped and slapped Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t you dare quote Titanic in vain!” He shook his head, pretending to be annoyed while Harry laughed. “Ready?”

Harry nodded and Louis counted down from three before they jumped, their entwined hands making it hard to swim back to the surface. Harry did it first and he pulled Louis up, pushing his hair off his forehead as he watched Louis splutter and do the same.

“Hold your breath,” Louis said softly.

Doing it without asking questions, Harry mirrored Louis as he dove under, gasping when Louis pulled him closer and kissed him, keeping a hand on the back of his head so he wouldn’t drift away. Harry pulled away when his lungs burned and only surfaced long enough to catch his breath before he dove again, kissing Louis and clinging to him to keep him close, one hand on his waist and the other gripping his shoulder. Louis pulled them both up to the surface and they stayed close, panting for breath. Once his breath came back to normal, Harry opened his mouth to say something only for Louis to pull him back under and kiss him again, wrapping his arms around his neck. Harry let his hands stroke down Louis’ sides, stopping on his hips and digging his fingers in, causing Louis to let out a string of bubbles through his nose before swimming up to the surface. Harry followed him and gripped the edge of the pool, his legs tired of keeping him up.

Despite his sore legs and his burning lungs, Harry moved in to kiss Louis again, the need for it crackling under his skin, making him tremble. Just as he was about to pull Louis into another kiss, Louis took off, swimming away rapidly and only turning long enough to shout: “Catch me if you can!”

Harry followed, weaving through the other swimmers and following the high sounds of Louis’ laugh, but never quite catching up with him. They were in the shallow end, now, running against the water. Harry was breathless, but he was closing in on Louis, the boy glancing over his shoulder more and more as Harry neared him. In one final, desperate attempt, Harry lunged forward and caught Louis, wrapping his arms around his neck and his thighs around his waist, letting his weight fall backwards to bring the two of them down.

They surfaced and Louis pounced on him, trying to dunk him with hands everywhere and his limbs tangling with Harry’s. Retaliation from Harry brought them pressed flush from hips to shoulders and they parted quickly. Harry cleared his throat and watched Louis fiddle with his hair, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Not that this isn’t fun or anything,” Louis said, cheeks flushed. “But it’s our last day here, I say we should go to a park one last time.” His voice was breathier than usual, and lower.

“Yeah, we could,” Harry replied, nodding, glad to be given an excuse to get away from Louis’ skin. “What about Hollywood Studios?”

“Sure! I loved that one. I think it’s my favourite,” Louis commented, slowly swimming towards a ladder. Harry followed him before quickly going to the chair where he left his towel, wrapping himself in it. “I’ll go to my room and change and we’ll meet at yours? Mine’s closer, it won’t take me long to get there.”

“Okay, see you soon, then,” Harry said, leaning in to place a quick kiss on Louis’ cheek. He watched him walk away for a moment before turning on his heels and heading for his own room, his heart beating loudly in his ears, feeling like he was walking on a cloud.

Harry was trying to choose between two possible shirts when Louis knocked on his door. He let him in, giving him a once over that he hoped wasn’t too obvious before going back to his suitcase.

“Won’t be long, I just can’t choose which shirt to wear,” Harry explained, holding up the two and turning to face the mirror, placing them one after the other in front of himself while squinting.

In the reflection, he saw Louis come up behind him before he felt his warm hands on his hips. They were the same height, Harry noticed, locking eyes with Louis in the mirror.

“Both would look amazing on you,” Louis said, voice low. His breath felt hot on Harry’s bare skin and he shivered.

Louis placed a first kiss on Harry’s collarbone, looking at him in the mirror questioningly. When Harry nodded, his breath stayed stuck in his lungs. Louis kissed his skin once more, then again and again, leaving a trail of kisses along Harry’s collarbone and up his neck, ending behind his ear, where Louis nuzzled softly, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist.

Turning in Louis’ embrace, Harry pressed a small kiss to his lips, hesitant at first, then repeated the motion over and over again, growing bolder with every kiss he peppered on Louis’ lips. Louis ran a hand up through Harry’s curls and tugged on them lightly to bend Harry’s head back, deepening the kiss in a way that made Harry whine softly through his nose.

Through the kisses, Louis spun them around and began walking Harry backwards, only stopping when the back of Harry’s knees hit the edge of his mattress. Louis pushed him softly and Harry sat down on the bed, Louis bending forward to follow him, only breaking the kiss to crawl on the mattress as Harry scooted back to the head of the bed, hooking a hand around the back of Louis’ neck to pull him down into another kiss, parting his lips when he felt Louis’ tongue giving them kitten licks.

Harry’s head was spinning from a lack of oxygen and from having Louis on top of him. He’d snogged on a bed with his girlfriend, but it was his first time doing it with a boy, the first time he felt rough boy hands stroke his skin and pull at his hair, the first time he had another cock to think about and oh, the thought alone made his own cock twitch and made him claw at Louis’ shirt, pulling it up with frustrated sighs until Louis sat back on his heels long enough to take it off, lowering himself until he was lying on Harry.

“Is this okay?” Louis asked in a breath, kissing along Harry’s jaw and rubbing his nose on his cheekbone. “It’s fine if it’s not.”

“S’fine,” Harry replied, voice strained. He was finding it hard to breathe with Louis’ bare chest pressed against his. “I’ve snogged before.”

Louis smiled and nodded, kissing Harry’s nose. “I was just checking. You stop me whenever you want, though.”

Harry nodded and lifted his head to capture Louis’ lips with his, running his hands down his back and relishing the scorching heat of his skin. Burying both hands in Harry’s curls, Louis rolled his body, shifting until one of his legs fell in between Harry’s before pressing it up, drawing a surprised moan from Harry’s mouth.

“You’re so fit,” Louis whispered against Harry’s lips, nibbling them before licking to soothe. “Makes me want to eat you up.”

“I’m not going to stop you,” Harry whispered back, breathless, his hands dangerously low on the small of Louis’ back.

Louis lifted his head to give Harry a smirk. “Good lad.”

Slowly, almost like he was afraid of scaring Harry, Louis began rolling his hips down on Harry’s thigh, pressing his leg up between them and making Harry moan against his lips. Harry bucked his hips to meet up with Louis and smiled to hear him let out a whimper.

His smile seemed to light up something inside of Louis and he crashed their lips together while beginning to grind down against Harry, keeping his movement slow and dirty. Harry moved his hands down the rest of the way and squeezed Louis’ bum, pulling him down against him and letting out a moan when he felt Louis’ hard cock press into his hip. Louis moaned, too, and tugged on Harry’s curls to pull his head back, kissing him deeply, his tongue pushing into his mouth.

With his hands still on Louis’ bum, Harry began rolling his hips up to match Louis’ rhythm while his heart hammered in his chest and he kissed Louis messily. It was the farthest he’d ever gone with anyone before, but somehow he did not feel nervous about it.

Harry could feel his orgasm building like flames licking at the bottom of his spine and he quickened his movements, pushing down on Louis’ hips every time he bucked up, pleased to hear him moan loudly.

Louis kissed a trail from his mouth to his neck, attaching his lips to the skin and sucking, making Harry’s breath catch as he nodded. Louis chuckled. “You taste like summer,” he said, scraping his teeth on the spot he had been sucking before blowing cold air on it. Harry shivered. “Are you close?”

“Y-yeah, you?”

Louis nodded and began thrusting his hips down with more strength, riding Harry’s thigh while his own rubbed against Harry’s cock almost painfully. Their chests were slick with sweat, sliding together as they kissed. Louis moved his mouth to the crook of Harry’s neck and lightly bit down, sending Harry over the edge instantly. His toes curled and he squeezed Louis’ bum tightly as he pushed up against his hips and came with a groan, his back arching off the bed for a few seconds before he fell back on it, panting and red in the face.

Louis licked and kissed the spot he’d bitten soothingly as he continued rocking down against Harry’s thigh. Harry kneaded his bum, digging his fingers in the flesh and he smiled to feel Louis push back against his hands with a high-pitched whine before he tensed, gasping and shaking as he came. He collapsed back on Harry after he was done, kissing his chest with a chuckle.

“If you’d told me I’d hook up with a gorgeous boy in Disney World…” Louis said, laughing.

Harry laughed, too, and stroked Louis’ hair. Louis looked up at him and smiled. “I could say the same.”

“Aren’t you charming,” Louis replied, rolling off Harry. “I’ll have to borrow pants.”

Just like that, the charm was broken and Harry’s mind began catching up with what had happened. He was, technically, no longer a virgin, wasn’t he? The thought made his heartbeat pick up once more and he used the excuse to go fetch them clean pants to escape to the bathroom for a glass of water. He changed his own, having thrown a clean pair to Louis, and waited for Louis’ signal to come back out.

There was softness in Louis’ eyes that hadn’t been there before, like all of his edges had been buffed out. Holding out a shirt for Harry, he bit his lip.

“I think you should wear this one,” he said, shrugging almost timidly.

Harry put it on, thanking Louis, but not finding anything else to say. Louis shuffled his feet as he waited, playing with his fringe, smoothing it out before pushing it out of his glasses. Harry gave himself a quick look in the mirror, ran a hand through his messy hair, and then headed for the door.

“Hollywood Studios?”

Louis nodded and followed him out, taking his hand once the door was shut.

The tension between them, accentuated by Harry’s hazy bliss rendering him almost mute, only eased out once they got to the park and took out a map to choose which rides to go on. At Louis’ insistence, Harry agreed to go on the Aerosmith’s Rock ‘n’ Roller Coaster even if he’d refused to do it when he was first there with Anne and Gemma.

“It’s a lot of fun, you’ll see,” Louis repeated over and over again as they waited in line. There was no way he could miss the way Harry’s hand was growing clammier by the minute in his, or the way his eyes darted around in muted panic. “But we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

Something about Louis made Harry more daring, though, so he shook his head every time Louis offered to leave the queue and go do something quieter. “I can do it,” Harry would say, voice strangled with nerves. “I didn’t cross the ocean to back out.”

Still, his heart hammered in his chest once they entered the ride, walking through the introduction video with wobbly knees and a dry mouth. He barely registered Louis tugging on his hand and telling him that maybe one day he’d be the one with a ride made after him, nor the way he called him ‘rock star’ before kissing behind his ear. He only gripped Louis’ hand tighter and let the boy pull him towards the final queue. Through a chain-link fence, Harry could see the train and the way it was launched forward into darkness and he bit his lip, turning to Louis.

“How fast did you say it goes?” he asked, his voice unrecognizable to his own ears.

“From 0 to 57 miles in 2.8 seconds,” Louis replied, his excitement palpable. “It’s one of the best rides I’ve ever done in my life.”

Harry gulped and nodded, his stomach tightening even more as they rounded the final corner and were sent towards the gate to wait for the next train. Louis had to help him into the train, his legs shaking too much, and he fussed over Harry after lowering the safety harness for him, stroking his arm soothingly and squeezing his knee, giving him an encouraging smile when the train moved forward to get in place.

“Better take these off,” Louis said, taking off his glasses and placing them in the pocket of his shorts.

Harry glanced at him and couldn’t hold back a smile, ignoring for a second the way the train moved back and locked in place. He still stared into the darkness ahead, unable to tear his eyes away from his impending doom. “You look cute without your gla—AH!”

His comment cut off into an almost primal shout as the train shot forward into the dark, the force of the acceleration pushing him back against his seat and all but stopping his heart. He kept screaming as they looped and dropped and looped again, his voice breaking as he yelled: “I hate roller coasters!” after coming out of a corkscrew loop. He could hear Louis’ laughter above the loud music.

Just like Louis had to help him into the ride, he had to help him out, gripping his elbow and wrapping an arm around his waist as they exited through the gift shop and out into the sun.

“Okay?” Louis asked, rubbing Harry’s back soothingly.

Harry nodded, letting out a small laugh. “It was kind of fun…” he trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

Louis grinned and bounced on his toes. “Yeah? You liked it? Good! It makes me really happy, I don’t feel like I forced you so much anymore.” Louis was silent for a beat before he turned towards the Tower of Terror, a smirk on his face. “Do you have some braveness left, Styles?”

Harry sighed and took Louis’ hand, letting the boy drag him towards the one ride he’d sworn he would never, ever do, even under torture. It was becoming apparent, and alarming, that he would follow Louis into hell if the boy asked with a smile.

The rest of the day went by in the blink of an eye. After Tower of Terror, Harry declared that he was done with scary rides and Louis made amends by taking them both to see the Beauty and the Beast musical before they headed towards the Pixar part of the park, hands clasped and swinging between them. Not long after getting there, they found themselves running for cover from a storm inside the Disney museum, slowly walking around it while their drenched clothes dripped on the carpet. From there, they headed towards Star Tours, the Star Wars ride, before circling back to the centre of the park, walking past the American Idol attraction. This led to Louis trying to get Harry to try out for it, only stopping when Harry ran away from him, letting Louis chase him until they reached the Great Movie Ride, which they did, thankful for an excuse to escape the heat.

They finished the day by walking up to the outdoors theatre for Fantasmic!, the fireworks and water show, choosing seats far enough to avoid getting wet. They spent it tangled together, with Harry’s legs in Louis’ lap and his head on his shoulder while Louis played with his curls, twisting them around his finger before tugging playfully, planting a kiss to Harry’s nose every time he looked up. Harry took time to inhale Louis’ scent, committing it to memory, knowing despite how hard he was trying to ignore it that these were his last hours with Louis. The next day, their planes were leaving at different times, meaning that their goodbyes by his hotel room might be the last time he ever saw Louis. His heart tightened every time he thought about it.

Louis, too, seemed to be realising what was coming because every minute found him cuddlier than the last. When the show ended, they lingered for a moment and Harry truly felt like he was clinging to the last seconds of the charm that brought them together. Stepping out of the park would break it, he was sure, and bring them back to reality. At last, when the last stragglers were disappearing out of the theatre, Louis gently pushed Harry off and got up, pulling him up and wrapping his arm around his waist.

“Come on, Cinderella, I’ve got to bring you back before you turn into a pumpkin.”

Harry chuckled, his mood lifting despite himself. “I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong your analogy is.”

“Yeah, but I made you smile,” Louis said gently, touching the upturned corner of Harry’s lips before pressing a finger into his dimple.

The ride to their resort was quiet, the two of them deep in brooding thoughts. Louis held his hand tightly and stroked it with his thumb, his head on Harry’s shoulder, pressed up against him from shoulders to knees.

“Let’s walk,” Louis said once they reached the resort and he steered them down the paths towards the island where they’d first hung out, sitting on the hammock and pulling Harry down without letting go of his hand.

“When’s your flight tomorrow?” Harry asked, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“Around 2pm, we’re leaving the resort before lunch. Yours?”

“We leave at 6pm,” Harry said with a sigh. “I won’t see you tomorrow, then?”

Louis shook his head. “No, we’ll spend the morning packing and then we need to catch a shuttle.”

Silence hung heavy between them for a while, interrupted by cicadas and the sound of the water lapping in the breeze.

“This is goodbye, I suppose,” Harry finally said, his voice barely above a breath.

“I want to see you again,” Louis said, almost interrupting Harry with the eagerness of his reply. “When we’re back home.”

A smile bloomed on Harry’s face, the brightest he’d done all day. “Yeah?”

He nodded sharply. “Yes. You could come up to Donny for a visit one weekend before the end of the summer hols, it’d be fun. Or… or I could visit you, I mean… whichever you prefer.” Louis finished on a shrug, smiling almost shyly.

It was Harry’s turn to nod. “I’d love that. I want to see you again, too.”

Louis heaved out a sigh of relief and pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “I’ve got your number, I’ll text you once I land, yeah? And you reply when you do.”

“I will.” Harry looked up at the sky, the stars hidden behind thick grey clouds. “I wish the sky was like it was on the day we met.”

Louis looked up, too, and scrunched up his nose. “They’re rain clouds, aren’t they? We should probably get back in before we’re caught in it.”

Still, they didn’t move for a while, wrapped up in each other and silence, until the wind picked up and they felt the first droplets of water. Louis walked him to his room one final time, pressing a long, tender kiss that Harry tried hard to believe wasn’t a farewell one.

-

Harry’s phone vibrated incessantly for a whole minute when he took it off airplane mode. He was curled up in the backseat of Robin’s car after a never-ending flight. He hadn’t slept at all and felt feverish with exhaustion, and already he was nodding off, his head resting against the window.

Amongst the numerous messages from his friends, Harry found one from an unknown number.

we just landed and it rains. welcome back to england!!!!

Harry grinned and typed a reply (no rain now, I think the country likes me better) before adding the number to his contacts, smiling when his phone buzzed before he was even done.

can’t blame it ;) gonna nap for like six hours, ttyl harold

Pocketing his phone and curling up against the door, Harry smiled, his heart fluttering as he imagined what having Louis over at his house for a weekend might feel like, the thoughts lulling him to sleep just as it began raining, the soft pitter-patter on the car’s roof a comforting sound.

Chapter Text

Harry pulled his phone out of his bag as soon as he reached his locker, ignoring the knowing smirks and laughs of his friends. He had sent a message to Louis before first period, a simple ‘Good morning!’, and even though it was now their routine to send each other messages of the sort, Harry’s heart hammered in his chest as he unlocked his phone.

morning, gorgeous! Louis had replied and Harry’s heart leapt at the sight. He pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle a giggle and glanced around to make sure no one had seen the way his face turned scarlet.

Typing quickly before he was caught and had his phone confiscated, Harry sent ‘Had a good night?’ before shoving his phone back in his bag and grabbing the book he’d come to retrieve. He hadn’t even closed his locker that he heard his phone buzzing, rattling the keys it was resting against and making him jump.

Harry ducked inside the nearest restrooms and pulled out his phone once more, grinning to see that Louis had already replied, sending a picture of himself, hair a mess and face pressed into a pillow. Despite the dim light making the picture grainy, Harry could see that Louis was shirtless in it, the smooth skin of his shoulders peeking from underneath the covers. Harry bit his lip and read the accompanying message, ‘just woke up, oops. had a class this morning, i think?’

You’re terrible. What kind of example are you setting for me?

Harry glanced around quickly, hands wrapped tightly around his phone. The sound of a slammed locker door made him jump and look up at the door in alert.

didn’t know i was supposed to set an example for you.

Well, I’m younger.

didn’t know making me sound like a paedophile was your new way of flirting with me

Harry jumped, startled when the warning bell rang. Have to go to class, but wanted to ask: what did your mum say about our plans?

Harry bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited for the reply, inching closer to the door, jittery with nerves. He let out a yelp of surprise when his phone buzzed in his hand.

it’s on! ill book the train tonight!

Harry sent a string of exclamation marks before running to his class, slipping in through the door just as the bell rang. He took his seat and unpacked his notebook, all the while trying to stay calm. His mind was running at a thousand miles an hour, spinning and circling around a single idea: Louis was coming to visit in two weeks. After nearly two months of trying to make plans only to see them fail, they had finally found a weekend that suited them both and their mothers had agreed. In fourteen days, he would be with Louis. Louis would be in his house, in his bedroom, and they would have two days and a half together, two days of being really together, not through a screen, and—and maybe they would kiss, if that was something Louis wanted.

His heart sank; perhaps he was no more than a summer fling to Louis, perhaps the boy had intentionally been avoiding him? And now he’d run out of excuses and was getting ready to endure Harry for a weekend just so he would stop asking to see him. How else could he explain how impossible it had been for them to visit, even if they’d had an entire month of summer holidays to make it happen? And Louis had never once said anything that might clarify the nature of their relationship. Were they boyfriends? Best friends? Only two boys who hooked up by accident?

Absentmindedly jotting down what his teacher was writing on the board, Harry frowned. It made no sense to think Louis was only humouring him. Half of the time, he was the one proposing dates for visits, only for Harry to turn them down because he was busy. Of course, Louis wanted to see him again. He’d have stopped replying to his text messages and would have avoided their Skype conversations if he didn’t want to. Harry was only being paranoid, imagining the worst where the best was about to happen. Louis couldn’t be faking the way his eyes crinkled when Harry said something funny, or the fondness in his eyes when he listened to one of Harry’s long-winded stories. As difficult to believe as it seemed, Louis might actually like like him.

The day was long and filled with jeers from his friends, the lot of them immensely amused by Harry’s bright-eyed enthusiasm. He ignored them the best he could and when that failed, he derailed the conversation to the assignments they had to work on, a technique that only worked until he would get a text message from Louis and immediately turn bashful.

Harry’s excitation and restlessness reached its peak when he got home from school. He abandoned all hopes of working on assignments after he spent ten minutes staring at his computer, hoping Louis would come online. He never did before dinner; that time was usually reserved for his sisters or football practices, but the day felt miraculous enough already that Harry kept a small hope that he might. When he heard his mother come back from work, he ran downstairs, jumping down the last four steps and rushing towards her, grinning from ear to ear.

“Guess what?” Harry asked, washing his hands to help her prepare dinner. He took a salad out of the refrigerator and turned to her.

“I don’t know, love. You got an A on a paper?”

Shaking his head, Harry turned on the tap to rinse the salad. “You get another go.”

“Oh, I’m lucky,” Anne said, laughing. She stopped mid-motion, a pot in her hand. “Your smile says it’s about Louis.”

Harry gave an enthusiastic nod. “He can come over in two weeks! It’s still all right, is it? He’d spend two nights here, if it’s okay with you, of course,” he replied, giving his mother pleading eyes for good measure. She had already agreed, but that was before it became official.

“Yes, of course! It’ll be lovely to have him over for a weekend, he’s such a good boy.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Harry gave a small sigh, feeling like he was going to float up through the ceiling. “I’ve missed him, I’d lost hope I’d ever see him again.”

Anne gave another laugh. “Aren’t you smitten? He’s your boyfriend, then?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, shrugging. “We never put a label of it. We’re…” He hesitated, glancing at his mother. “We kissed before leaving Disney World, so… I don’t know.”

“You kissed! You never told me that!” Anne turned to face Harry, a large smile on her face. “What kind of kiss? Tell me more!”

“Mum!” Harry cried out, a flush creeping up his cheeks. He turned towards the counter to hide his embarrassment, absentmindedly preparing the salad, a smile still on his face. “A good kiss. It’s all I’ll say!”

Anne put her hands on Harry’s shoulders as she walked by him to get to the pantry. “I’m pretty sure he’s your boyfriend, love,” she whispered before moving out of the way with a laugh, narrowly avoiding the crouton Harry tried to throw at her.

“I’m going back to my room,” Harry announced, rolling his eyes as he moved out of his mother’s grip to head back upstairs. “I have work to do.”

“Tell your boyfriend I said hi!” she called after him, laughing loudly when he groaned.

Harry slumped on his bed once he reached his room, fishing his phone out of his pocket and opening a new message to Louis.

My mum is still okay with your visit! I can’t wait!!

Louis’ reply only came after dinner, just as Harry was getting ready to shower. He had blushed and groaned his way through the meal as his mother explained to Robin how important Louis’ visit was, and how great Louis was, gently teasing Harry until his stepfather pitied his reddened cheeks and changed the subject.

brilliant! im buying the tickets rn. when do u get out of school?

At 3.

so if I get to ur village at 4 next friday, it works for u?

Harry ran out of his room and down the stairs to try and find his mother. “Mum?” he asked when he found her in the living room. “Could we pick up Louis from the train station at 4? Or is it better if he gets here later?”

“I get out of work at 5, love. Later would be better.”

With a small sigh, Harry nodded and went back to his room, typing as he walked. Can you take a later one? Mum gets out of work at 5.

It took Louis a few minutes to reply and Harry busied himself by taking out his clothes for the next day, dropping his tie when his phone buzzed.

if i take the 4:45 train, ill be there around 6:30

That’s perfect! We’ll pick you up at the station!

A couple of minutes later, Louis sent Harry a picture of the email confirmation he got for the tickets, followed by a picture of his grinning face. Harry sent a similar one before hurrying for a shower, not wanting to be late for their daily Skype call. On his way out of his room, he circled the date of Louis’ arrival on his calendar, counting down the days. He resisted the urge to text Louis that they would be seeing each other in twelve days, instead keeping the news for when they would talk later.

--

Rain was coming down hard when Harry woke up on the morning of Louis’ visit. It cast a low, dank light in his room, making him feel like he was in a fish tank. It was the perfect day to laze in bed, and he might have faked a stomach ache to skip school if he didn’t desperately need distractions to get through the day.

He had spent the night before cleaning up, vacuuming and dusting up every surface thoroughly. There hadn’t been a lot of work to do, his room was usually tidy, but he had gone the extra mile for Louis, not wanting him to think that Harry was messy. Everything had to be perfect, especially since he needed to make up for his mother unarguable refusal that they share a room. He had fought for the past week with his mother to try and convince her to let Louis sleep on a mattress on the floor of his room, but it had been fruitless. No amounts of wheedling or pouting had worked, and he’d had to admit defeat when she threatened to call the whole thing off if he didn’t stop. Louis would have to sleep on the television room couch and, in preparation for it, Harry had washed and fluffed the dusty, rarely used spare blankets in the dryer with three sheets of fabric softener.

The day was excruciatingly slow; Harry had no tests, no team projects to work on, no PE class to release his pent-up energy. The lectures blended together, hours upon hours of taking useless, disjointed notes while a teacher droned in front of the class about subjects that mixed and blurred into an endless stream of dates and facts. Harry jittered and gnawed on his pens, shook each of his legs in turn, ran his hand through his hair enough times to guarantee he’d turn bald before the end of the year, loosened then tightened then loosened again his tie, earning himself annoying looks from his classmates and silent glares from the teachers, but he couldn’t stop even if he wanted. His entire body was throbbing with energy, he was on edge and his heart hammered in his chest, blood rushing loudly in his ears whenever he remembered that before the day was over, he would see Louis again.

Harry bolted out of his chair when the last bell of the day rang, tripping over his feet on his haste and making his friends laugh, not unkindly. He had deafened them all day with tales of his plans for the weekend, grand tours of the village and stargazing in the park after a picnic, so he figured they were allowed one last laugh before he turned off his phone and disappeared for two days. He owed them that.

He made it back home in record time, his wet hair and wetter clothes glued to his skin, and he jumped in the shower as soon as he’d peeled them off, leaving them in a soaked puddle on the bathroom tiles. He scrubbed his skin pink and used his palm’s worth of conditioner in his hair so it would be perfectly soft and curly, remembering fondly the way Louis had called him ‘Curly’ almost two months earlier, before stepping out and hanging his uniform to dry. Choosing his clothes, he’d done the night before, and he took out the ironing board to flatten the wrinkles out of his plaid shirt, checking his phone every ten seconds in case Louis texted him.

Almost out of a tacit agreement, they had both held back from their usual endless stream of texting, which only made Harry’s anticipation that much bigger. He hadn’t heard from Louis in almost 24 hours: a first since the second week after they came back from Florida.

Once dressed, Harry headed for the kitchen and put on the pink and yellow-checkered frilly apron his sister had given him as a joke for his 16th birthday before he started mixing cookie dough, his welcoming surprise for Louis. He’d inquired in the past week about Louis’ tastes, as subtly as he could, and once he’d figured out that Louis would eat anything so long as the word ‘chocolate’ was in the name, he’d searched the Internet for the perfect recipe, settling on one that mixed chocolate and chili powder. Spicy food was supposed to be an aphrodisiac, wasn’t it?

With the biscuits in the oven, Harry had nothing left to do and he slumped on the couch in front of the telly, mindlessly zapping and stopping on E4 to watch whatever was on without paying much attention. He was gripping his phone in his hand, willing it to come to life, and he was so absorbed on wishing that it would that he jumped in surprise when it buzzed.

the train is moving! got a surprise for u!

Harry grinned, pressing a hand to his burning cheek. He looked around self-consciously, even if he was home alone, and let out a nervous giggle.

You didn’t have to! Harry replied even as the rich smell of spiced chocolate slowly filled the house.

yea i did ;) do i risk food poisoning with a train sandwich or u will feed me?

I’ll feed you. Please try to stay alive until I’ve seen you.

so i can drop dead in the station then?

Harry laughed, a great bark of laughter that echoed around the empty house, and he took his time replying, carefully phrasing his reply. Yes. You can drop dead, but I need to see you before you do. Not talk or hug, just seeing you will be enough.

He bit his lip, unsure of how Louis would read his reply. Was it too flirty? Did he come off as rude? Was it even flirty or was Harry completely inept at it?

damn styles u missed me a lot huh

A second later, Harry’s phone buzzed again: can’t blame u ;)

And again, before Harry could even think of a reply: I missed you too.

More than the words themselves, the spelling got to Harry, making his heart speed up and his cheeks burn. Louis had missed him; Harry had suspected it, what with the way they talked hourly, but to be told directly made his stomach loop and flutter. The biggest thing Louis’ message did, though, was confirm to Harry that Louis wanted them to have a relationship. The nature of it didn’t matter - although Harry was hopingprayingwishing for a romantic one - but Louis wanted him in his life as more than a texting buddy. Louis missed him, it was the first time he said it, and it gave Harry hope about what kind of relationship Louis had in mind.

I missed you, yeah, Harry finally replied before dropping his phone on the couch, almost scared of it and the weight their conversation had suddenly gained. He got up and headed for the kitchen to take his biscuits out of the oven.

It buzzed one last time with Louis’ reply of ‘Good boy’ and Harry had half a mind to turn it off, his anticipation slowly turning into something akin to dread. It was becoming real, the whole Louis thing, and their relationship was about to get out of limbo and become tangible, something real. Louis would be in his house, in his room, on his bed even, and after he’d left, the ghost of his presence would linger, his smell and perhaps a sock or a shirt he’d forgotten, and Harry’s life would never be the same again. He wouldn’t be able to dismiss whatever thing they had going on with a wave of his hand and a light ‘we hung out on holiday’; Louis would be someone real who was really in his house for two days, not the memory of sun-warmed skin and chlorine kisses, not the blurry memories of how his body felt against Harry’s or an ever-growing thread of text messages, but a real person made of flesh and bones and playful smiles.

Harry only realised he was wringing his hands when his mother called for him when she came through the door, and Harry got up to greet her, immediately grabbing the bags she was holding.

“I got out of work early and got some groceries, I figured with two boys in the house, we’d run out. How much does your Louis eat?” she asked, shrugging off her mac and causing a small rainfall on the entrance hall’s tiles.

“He’s not my Louis,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

“Isn’t he?” she asked lightly, a smirk on her face.

Harry huffed and headed off to the kitchen, dropping the bags on the table and unloading them quickly, his eyes darting to the clock on the oven every five seconds.

“Your sister’s not coming up for the weekend, did she tell you?” Anne said once she had joined Harry to help with the groceries.

“Yeah, she did,” Harry said distractedly as he checked his phone for a message from Louis. “She’s got a test, hasn’t she?”

“That’s what she told me. She said she’s upset she’ll miss Louis, though. Said she’d have loved to be there.”

Harry rolled his eyes once more, shaking his head. “I bet she would, yeah. She loves making fun of me.”

“Do you plan on making a fool out of yourself, then?” Anne asked, her tone teasing.

“That’s not the plan, no,” Harry mumbled, the last word ending in a squeak when his phone buzzed in his hand.

just switched trains, i’m almost there!

“What’s Louis saying?”

“He’s transferred trains, he’ll be there soon, now.”

“We better hurry, then! I’ll put dinner in the oven and we can be on our way, there’s going to be traffic around the station at this time of the day.”

Harry’s stomach gave a swoop and he nodded, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. He helped his mother with dinner, going through the motions automatically while his mind was already at the train station, imagining what was soon going to happen. First, he’d get out of the car and walk up to the platform to wait for Louis. Then, he’d scan the crowd in search of a light brown head of hair. They would lock eyes from a distance and then the world would stop spinning, time would stand still and a path would magically open between them, the crowd would part and they would run up to each other and hug, and if Harry was courageous enough, he might even kiss him right there in the middle of the platform at rush hour.

He had to quit his perfect daydream when he dropped a tin of onion powder, which opened and scattered across the floor in a cloud of dust. Anne clicked her tongue, annoyed, and sent Harry to get the vacuum cleaner while she finished cooking, and then they were out of the door and in the rain that still came down relentlessly.

Harry kept bouncing his leg throughout the drive to the station, his stomach a tightly coiled knot of nerves and anticipation. A string of ‘what if’s’ was running through his mind; what if Louis didn’t like him anymore, what if he was bored, what if he found Harry uninteresting, what if they got into a big fight over something silly and never talked again, what if the train crashed into another one and Louis died a fiery death he could have avoided if Harry hadn’t invited him, what if he took the wrong train and ended up in Newcastle upon Tyne, or in Scotland, or like, in Wolverhampton?

After ten minutes of increasingly terrible scenarios and frantic leg bouncing, Anne put her hand on his thigh and squeezed it in a warning, saying without words that one more bounce and Harry would walk the rest of the way.

They found a parking spot just close enough that an umbrella would seem like overkill, but far enough so that they would still get wet walking to and from the station. Harry unbuckled the seat belt and took a deep, steadying breath before turning towards his mother.

“I’ll wait for you boys here, okay?” she said before Harry could open his mouth. “I’ve brought a book,” she added when Harry was about to argue. “Go, his train should be there soon.”

Harry nodded, his words getting stuck in his throat, and walked out of the car, breaking into a run to get to the station with minimum damage to his hair. Once inside, he made his way to the bench close to the platform, sitting next to an exhausted-looking woman with a toddler on her knees. He began wringing his hands once more, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He kept his eyes glued to platform and when the train rolled in and stopped, letting out a flow of passengers, Harry swallowed thickly and inched forward, peering through the thickening crowd for a familiar face.

He heard Louis before he saw him. A loud shout of “Harry!” rose above the cacophony of voices and Harry’s heart gave a jolt before it started beating twice as fast as was healthy. Harry looked frantically around, rising on the tip of his toes to see above the crowds, and he spotted Louis. A grin bloomed on his face and the one on Louis’ matched it when they locked eyes. Harry waited eagerly as Louis slowly made his way out of the rain and under the cover of the waiting area’s canopy, and then they were standing face to face.

“Hi,” Harry breathed out, biting his lip against a grin.

“Hi!” Louis said, his voice much too loud. The smile on his face could have outshone the sun, his eyes crinkling adorably from it.

They stood facing each other, every second more uncomfortable than the previous. Around them, the flow of people was thinning as they made their way towards the exit. Harry could not stop staring at Louis, drinking his face in, committing every detail of this perfect moment to memory, from the rushing white noise of the rain on the pavement outside and the distant sound of car engines starting to the slight dampness of his clothes and the smell of humidity coming from a full day of rain. And Louis, Louis with his skin still glowing golden from a summer in the sun and two tiny flashes of white against his pink skin from his canines peeking out of his mouth as he smiled, with his blue eyes, made more obvious by the absence of his glasses, and the almost reverent way they were going over every inch of Harry’s face, making him blush and duck his head.

“I have a surprise for you,” Louis said, lowering his voice at last. His voice, Harry had missed his voice so much, missed the sound of it when it wasn’t tinny from coming out of a phone or a computer. From behind his back, Louis produced a bouquet of bright yellow flowers: daisies, tulips, daffodils and a single sunflower. He handed it to Harry, his smile turning hesitant. “Do you like it?”

“I...” Harry replied, stalling. “Yes! It’s lovely!” Taking the bouquet from Louis’ hands, he brought it up to his nose and inhaled, smiling. “I’ve never been given flowers before.”

“Never? People out here are crazy. I got the yellow ones because they’re as bright as your smile.”

Harry could not hold back the giggle that escaped his mouth, nor the way he blushed once more. His head was too light and he couldn’t stop smiling, and he clung to the bouquet to steady himself.

“Thank you,” Harry breathed out, smelling the flowers once more. “Hm, my mum’s waiting in the car park, we should...” he motioned vaguely over his shoulder, “you must be hungry, dinner’s in the oven, it’ll be ready when we get home.”

Louis raised his eyebrows, a quizzical smile on his face. “Can I get a hug, first?”

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, feeling foolish that he hadn’t given Louis one, yet. “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Only if you want to....” Louis hesitated.

“I do! I really do!” Harry moved in at once, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist and pulling him in close, pressing his body against Louis’ and burying his nose in his neck, breathing in his scent. It was brand new. Gone were the sun cream and sweat; Louis now smelled of rain and what Harry supposed was cologne. He pressed in closer, smiling. “I was a bit shy, sorry,” he whispered, feeling Louis laugh against him.

“Aw, no reason to be. It’s just me.”

Harry took a step back, shrugging. “You’re the reason I’m shy.”

Louis shook his head, smiling fondly, and pinched Harry’s cheek affectionately. “Aw, that’s adorable. There’s no need to be shy with me. I’m the same bloke you’ve been texting. I haven’t changed at all since we last hung out.”

“I know, I know,” Harry replied, starting towards the car park. “I just... it’s odd to have you here.”

“Good odd, I hope?”

“Yes! Of course! I’ll stop talking, now, I just keep making it awkward,” Harry mumbled, running a hand down his reddened cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, love, calm down,” Louis said, taking Harry’s hand. “You’re way too nervous. It’s just me,” he added in a soft voice.

With a gulp, Harry nodded. “I’ll try. I’m sorry.” He turned towards the car park, waving at his mother before turning once more to Louis while he waited for her to drive closer to the entrance. “I’ll get less shy, soon. Just give me time. It’s just... too real.”

Louis squeezed his hand, giving Harry a lopsided smile. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere before Sunday night at seven.”

“Seven?!” Harry asked, perking up. “That late!”

“Is it too late? I thought... I wanted to spend as much time as possible with you, but if... I could change my ticket for earlier, that wouldn’t be a problem, I suppose?”

“No! No, seven is perfect!” Harry replied, nodding frantically. “That gives us more than forty-eight hours together. It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?” Louis asked, his smile hesitant. “Okay, great. I was hoping you’d said that.”

“Of course I’d say that,” Harry replied matter-of-factly before letting go of Louis’ hand to run up to the car, holding the back door opened for him before slipping into the passenger seat.

Anne greeted Louis as she drove out of the car park and Harry sunk back in his seat, letting the two of them chat politely while he stole glances at Louis over his shoulder, grinning every time Louis made a face at him in return. He spent most of the ride pointing out landmarks to Louis, telling stories about what had happened to him there or why it had a semblance of historical importance for the village, and Louis drank it all in, looking enraptured every time Harry glanced at him.

They waited in the car, safe from the rain, while Anne ran up to the front door to unlock it, and Harry turned in his seat to look at Louis. “Race you to the door?”

Louis cocked an eyebrow. “Feel like losing, Styles?”

“You wish,” Harry replied, unlocking his door. “Ready...”

“Wait! Let me grab my bag, first.” Harry rolled his eyes and sighed playfully. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Ready...” Harry made a show of repeating, “set... GO!”

They both jumped out of the car and ran, Harry splashing in puddles he did not take the time to avoid when he saw that Louis was already outdistancing him, running twice as fast as Harry could ever hope to. His laughter drifted towards Harry, who smiled at the sound. Louis reached the front door before Harry had even started on the steps of the porch and he disappeared into the house, leaving a defeated Harry to catch up with him. The victorious smile on Louis’ face when Harry joined him inside the house might have been the prettiest thing Harry ever saw, though, and he forgot the bitter sting of losing instantly.

“That was pathetic,” Louis said through a laugh as he toed off his soaked trainers. His bare ankles – he had rolled up his jeans – were covered in splatters of mud from when he’d run off the path as a shortcut.

“You cheated by getting off the path and now you’re all dirty!” Harry complained, kicking off his shoes and taking off his wet socks with one hand, the other still gripping the bouquet tightly.

Anne appeared in the doorway, smiling at them. “Come with me, Haz, I’ll give you a vase for your flowers.”

Harry nodded. “My room’s the second one on the left upstairs,” he told Louis before following his mother, looking over his shoulder to watch Louis go up.

Anne rounded up on him as soon as they stepped into the kitchen. “The door stays opened, all right?”

Her statement took Harry by surprise and he blushed, his eyes widening comically. “Hm, okay? Yes, it will. I don’t think... you have anything to worry about.”

“Is that so?” she asked, nodding at the flowers before walking up to a cupboard, retrieving a vase from it and filling it with warm water. Harry watched it fill up so he wouldn’t have to face his mother’s knowing eyes. “Whatever you do, keep in mind we could walk in any moment.”

“Mum! Please! Don’t... that’s embarrassing.”

“Good,” she said with a tone of finality as she handed him the vase. “Now go. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”

With a wink, she pushed Harry out of the kitchen, laughing when he groaned and said she was a nightmare. Harry climbed the stairs slowly, telling himself he was doing it so he wouldn’t make the vase overflow, but knowing the truth behind his slow pace. He eventually reached the doorway of his room and smiled when Louis looked up from the book he was leafing through as he sat on Harry’s bed.

“Nice haircut,” Louis said, holding up Harry’s yearbook with a smirk.

Harry placed the flowers on his desk and hurried to his bed, snatching the book from Louis’ hands. “Don’t look at that! It’s embarrassing!”

“It’s adorable. I’ll show you mine when you visit. You’ll see you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.” Louis got up and squinted a bit, studying Harry. “I’m still taller, aren’t I? I better be, I’m older.”

“Hm, I think you are, yeah. Even with all of my hair, you’re taller.”

“Good. Don’t you dare outgrow me,” Louis said, pointing a menacing finger at Harry before letting out a small, lilting laugh. “I love your room!” he continued, walking around it appreciatively. “Mine’s like... half of yours? It’s fucking tiny, but yours is amazing. I half expected you to have a room like the one in Toy Story, y’know? With clouds on the walls and stuff.”

“We repainted two years ago. The theme was dinosaurs before,” Harry replied, leaning against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, unsure of what to do as he watched Louis snoop around.

“Dinosaurs, eh? Good choice. Mine was footie themed. Walls were green and the bedspread had balls on them.” Louis laughed, his eyes crinkling. “Footie balls, eh, not... not the other kind of balls. Anyway, my mate Stan and I, we repainted it the other summer, but we did a shit job at it, there’s still some green through the white, it’s bloody awful. And it’s small, but I said that already, didn’t I?”

Harry giggled, nodding. “Yeah, you did. You’ve got a lot to say about bedrooms.”

Louis wiped his hands on his trousers, shrugging. “I’m a bit nervous, I suppose. I talk when I’m nervous.”

Harry pushed off his desk and moved closer to Louis. “There’s no reason to be nervous, it’s just me,” he said, mirroring Louis’ words from earlier.

“You’re a good reason to be nervous, Curly,” Louis replied, moving closer as well. “Fit boy like you, can’t believe I’ve got you all for myself all weekend.”

Harry’s cheeks burned and he ducked his head, grinning widely. Louis patted his cheek and pulled his head up softly, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I keep blushing, I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled, his hands hanging at his sides awkwardly.

“Don’t apologise, it’s adorable. You’re adorable...” Louis said, dropping his voice lower as he took a step closer. “Can I...?” he asked before pressing his lips to Harry’s briefly without waiting for an answer, like he couldn’t bear to wait a second longer, pulling back before Harry had time to understand what had just happened.

Harry let out a huff of surprise and his hands flew to Louis’ waist, resting on the place where it widened into his hips, and he leaned in for another kiss, his eyes fluttering shut as their lips met and Louis smiled.

“I was wondering...” Harry said, resting his forehead against Louis’ and keeping his eyes shut. “If we’d do this.”

“I don’t see why not,” Louis whispered in reply before pressing their lips together once more, his arms wrapping around Harry’s neck. “Missed your lips.”

Harry kissed back with more intensity, pulling Louis even closer by his waist, his hands running up Louis’ sides and over his back where they rested, open-palmed. Louis let out a happy noise from the back of his throat and flicked out his tongue to give Harry’s lips a kitten lick, his hand running through Harry’s hair and tugging slightly when Harry returned the lick. His knees felt weak when their tongues met and he let out a small whimper, making Louis pull back and giggle breathlessly, splashes of red high on his cheeks.

“You’re like a kitten,” Louis said, eyes crinkled from smiling too hard. “You mewl when I scratch your head.”

Harry only bit his lip and shrugged. “It feels good.”

“I’m sure it does, Kitten,” Louis replied fondly, running a hand through Harry’s hair.

“Is that my name, now? Kitten?”

“D’you like it? It could be.”

With a nod, Harry took a step back and moved away from Louis reluctantly, going to sit on his bed, casting glances around as he tried to come up with something to do. Louis had something else in mind, though, and Harry wasn’t done sitting down that Louis was climbing in his lap, sitting there with his arms around Harry’s shoulders as he leaned in for another kiss, taking Harry so much by surprise that he forgot to kiss back and how to breathe.

“W-what?” he spluttered, moving his head back and away from Louis.

“I’m kissing you?” There was a frown on Louis’ face.

“I can see that, it’s just... sudden.”

“Too much?” Louis asked with a wince. “I’m sorry. I got carried away.” Without another word, Louis climbed off Harry and sat next to him, shrugging apologetically.

Harry gave Louis a thankful smile and moved on, not wanting to dwell on what had just happened. “D’you reckon I should put the flowers on my bedside table?” he asked, getting up to fetch the vase. “Or on the dresser?”

He alternated between both options, waiting for Louis’ answer. Louis made a show of thinking about it, or perhaps he genuinely took his time to ponder the options, before coming up with an answer.

“Bedside table. That way, you’ll think of me before you fall asleep and when you wake up.”

“That’s... sweet,” Harry said, keeping his first instinct quiet. Romantic, he had meant to say, but he wasn’t brave enough to face however Louis might reply to it.

He placed the flowers on the table and joined Louis on the bed, making sure to leave a couple of inches of space between them, his hands resting on his knees to keep from wringing them nervously.

A silence like they’d never had before fell between them, heavy and uncomfortable, and Harry fidgeted on his bed and sighed, a short puff of air that made Louis look at him. They’d never run out of things to talk about, could text and Skype for hours without getting bored with each other, but to be in the same place at the same time, and perhaps to have kissed, emptied Harry’s mind completely and rendered him mute.

“I’ll give you a tour of the house,” he finally said, unable to stand the silence anymore. “Come on.”

Louis nodded and followed Harry around the house. It seemed to break the spell and untie their tongues, the conversations coming to them easy once more as Louis commented on the different rooms, comparing them to his own house and cracking jokes about Harry’s house making him feel like the family in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, all of them living in the same single room and sharing a bed. Harry’s room had been the culprit, then, the reason why they couldn’t talk. It was too private, even with the door opened. They’d only ever been once in a room alone, out of the public eye, and it had gone, well. Harry only let himself think about what had happened in his hotel room when he was alone in his bed, late at night, tossing and turning while trying to fall asleep. Only then did he allow himself to revisit the memory, conjuring the feeling of Louis’ skin on his and the fevered kisses they had exchanged; only then did he truly love the memory. In broad daylight, it came with a bitter aftertaste, with questions and doubts and an uncomfortable twist of his stomach.

They reached the kitchen just as Anne was walking out of it to call them down and she smiled when she saw them, ushering Louis to the dining room and holding Harry back to help with the plates.

“It’s going well?” she asked as soon as Louis had left the room.

“Mum, he’ll know we’re talking about him if you keep calling me into the kitchen,” Harry replied as he piled asparagus on a plate.

“How’s it going?” she asked again, her tone teasing.

“It’s okay. It’s... odd to have him here. It makes him real.”

“And is that a good or a bad thing?” She brushed a hand down his back as she moved passed him to the stove.

“Good, I suppose. No, I mean, it’s a good thing. Yes. I’m glad he’s here. He’s still amazing.”

“You’ll get used to it, love. Don’t worry. You boys just haven’t seen much of each other in normal situations, is all. Soon, it’ll feel natural.”

“Yeah...” Harry said, shrugging. “It’s just, I don’t know what to do with him when there’s no rides to try.”

“That’s what I said: you’ll learn to be normal. Give it time. Now come on, we’ve got starving boys waiting for us,” she said with finality, handing Harry two plates and leading the way out of the room.

Harry placed a plate in front of Louis and then fussed a bit, asking if he needed juice or water or salt, or maybe pepper? He only stopped when Louis laughed and begged him to sit down, which he did with burning cheeks and a sheepish smile.

Anne led the conversation and Harry was glad for it, letting his mother question Louis about his family, his grades, his job and his hobbies while Harry stuffed his mouth for an excuse to be quiet. Harry kept shooting thankful glances to his mother and a few to Robin, especially when he pulled Louis into a heated discussion after they realised they liked rival football teams. It lent Harry the time he needed to get used to having Louis in his house, to have him be real and there and not just a name on his screen writing him ‘good morning’ messages with dreadful grammar.

“So, Harry,” Anne asked as Robin started clearing out the plates, motioning for Louis to stay put when he got up to help, “what are your plans for the weekend? Do I need to drive you boys anywhere?”

Harry shook his head, washing down the last of his mashed potatoes with a long sip of apple juice. “No, we’ll walk. If the weather clears out, I’ll show Louis the village, but it’s better by foot.”

“Indeed,” Robin commented, taking away Harry’s plate and his excuse to stay silent with him. “It’s a shame the cinema’s closed, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded as Louis frowned. “The cinema’s closed? Why’s that?”

They all laughed, which only seemed to make Louis more confused.

“It got flooded about a month ago. There’s this big fundraiser right now to help the owners pay for the damage,” Harry explained. “So we don’t have a cinema.”

“It’s like, you warned me you lived in a small village, but it just keeps surprising me every time I realise how small it is,” Louis replied, shaking his head with a smile of disbelief on his face. “Do you actually know everyone?”

“No, no!” Harry said with a laugh. “There’s like, eight thousand people living here.”

“We don’t know them all by name,” Anne added. “But I could probably recognise their faces.”

“Oh, yes, absolutely. I could tell if someone lived here or not,” Harry continued, smirking.

Louis looked between the two of them. “You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?”

Harry held a straight face for a few seconds before he burst into giggles, nodding. “We are. We don’t know everyone.”

With a sigh of relief and a laugh, Louis shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You got me scared for a moment. Like, wondering what kind of cult I’d just walked into and whether I’d be allowed to leave.”

“As long as they haven’t changed the number of inhabitants on the sign at the entrance of the village, you’re free to go,” Anne said.

“But once they did, you can’t leave for too long. Like China, you’ve got to guarantee you’ll come back. Paint doesn’t come cheap and it’s expensive to change the sign every other week,” Harry added.

“You’ve got to commit to live here. Sign some waivers saying you agree to the terms and all that.”

“They take attendances every year. If you miss it, your taxes go up.”

“Right,” Anne finished, and Harry envied her straight face as he was struggling with holding in his laughter at the look of dumbstruck horror Louis was giving them.

“This is a joke...?”

“Of course it’s a joke,” Anne deadpanned. “Your taxes only go up if you can’t sing the village song on demand.”

Louis shot a concerned look at Harry, who couldn’t hold it in any longer and let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head all the while.

“You should have seen your face!” Harry said, his words choppy because of his guffaws. “It was priceless!”

“I hate you,” Louis muttered darkly before the corners of his mouth pulled up in a smile. “Stop laughing, Styles! It’s not funny!” he whined before he began laughing again. “You’re awful!”

“Maybe,” Harry replied, wiping the tears from his eyes. He took a sip of juice before continuing. “But I made you biscuits,” he finished as Robin entered the room with a plate piled high with the biscuits Harry had baked earlier.

Louis seemed to forget his anger instantly. “Is that my surprise?”

“Yes. I baked them this afternoon,” Harry explained as he watched Louis take three from the plate and stuff one in his mouth immediately. “They’re Mexican chocolate biscuits, so there’s spices in them. Like chili spices and stuff,” he said nervously, watching Louis closely for his reaction.

His mouth full, Louis could only nod and hold up his thumb in approval. Harry rushed to get him a glass of milk and waited until Louis had swallowed and washed it down with milk before he relaxed.

“They’re really good, Haz. Thank you,” Louis said in a soft, fond voice. “Do you cook a lot?” he asked, nibbling on another biscuit.

“Yeah, I like it,” Harry said, shrugging dismissively. “Especially sweet things, like desserts and stuff. I’m okay at it.” He reached for a biscuit and nibbled at it, too.

“Harry is an excellent cook,” Anne butted in, stroking his forearm. “You should make breakfast tomorrow, yeah? So you can dazzle your guest with your skills.”

Harry shrugged again. “Okay,” he replied. “Sure. Any special requests, Louis?”

“I’ll think about it.” Louis ate another biscuit, his fourth, and Harry smiled fondly to see the crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve got...” Harry said, wiping the corner of his own mouth.

“Oh? Where?” Louis asked, wiping the wrong spot.

“No, right there.” Harry did it again on himself, rolling his eyes when Louis missed again. “Wait, let me...” he said before he could think about it, reaching forward and wiping Louis’ mouth clean with his thumb.

Louis’ eyebrows shot upwards and he gave Harry a little smirk at the same time as Anne threw him a knowing glance. Surprised by his own boldness, Harry bowed his head and focused on his biscuit to avoid the combined weight of their surprise.

“Well, I’m stuffed,” Louis finally said, breaking the silence as he pushed back his chair. “Thank you, Mrs Styles. It was delicious.”

“It’s not...” Anne shook her head. “Just call me Anne, will you?”

Louis nodded. “Thank you, Anne. It was delicious.”

“You boys get out of here, now, Robin and I will do the dishes,” she said, getting up and gathering the remaining dishes from the table before disappearing in the kitchen, Robin on her heels.

“Hm...” Harry began, “Do you want to take a shower? I thought we might watch a movie later tonight.”

When Louis agreed, they made their way upstairs and Harry showed Louis to the bathroom, explaining how the shower worked before fetching him a towel.

“You can use my things,” he said, pointing at a shelf. “I’ll be in my room if there’s anything.”

“Thank you, Kitten,” Louis said quietly, smiling almost shyly at Harry.

Harry led the way back to his room and watched as Louis took his pyjamas out of his bag, only tearing his eyes away from him when he left the room. Harry waited until he heard the bathroom door click shut before he sunk down on his bed, letting out a shaky breath.

It was going well. Despite his nerves and anticipation, it was going splendidly. Louis was getting along with his family and they, mostly, had things to talk about, and everything was going smoothly. No big disastrous mishap had happened, nothing too embarrassing, and if the weekend kept up like it had begun, there was a chance Louis might be interested in seeing him again in the future. Harry would have to thank his mother in a big, significant way, though, after how she saved dinner by questioning Louis like she did, helping Harry with the ‘not being able to talk’ part of his Louis-shaped problem. Harry let himself have a few more minutes of quiet celebration before he changed into his own pyjamas and sat at his computer while he waited for Louis to come out of the shower.

He was just done checking Facebook when he heard a quiet knock at his door, making him swivel around. He swallowed thickly at the sight of Louis standing in his doorway, his hair towel-dried and darker than usual from the water, wearing a thin cotton shirt and trousers a size too big for him with the Superman logo on them.

“I didn’t know what to do with the towel...” he said, trailing off when he caught sight of Harry.

“Oh, let me.” Harry hurried up to Louis, taking the towel from him to go hang it in the bathroom. He came back and gave a shy smile. “Movie?”

Harry led the way to the television room, motioning for the shelves where they kept their movies. “You pick.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility you’re giving me,” Louis said, still in that quiet, uncharacteristic voice.

“I’m sure you can do it, Superman.”

Louis grimaced. “Please, don’t choose this for my pet name.”

“I won’t,” Harry replied with a laugh, coming to stand next to Louis as he surveyed the shelves.

“Hm...” Louis began. “Maybe... The Breakfast Club?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s one of Robin’s, I’ve never seen it.”

“Me neither. Let’s go.”

Harry took the movie from the shelf and told Louis to get comfortable on the couch while he put it on. When he turned around, he found Louis wrapped in a throw blanket, sitting cross-legged on the couch.

“Is there room for me under there?” Harry asked, grabbing the remote and making his way to the couch.

“If you want to, yes,” Louis replied, opening his arms to invite Harry under the blanket.

Harry climbed on the couch and under the throw, letting Louis pull him into his arms and curling up against him, shifting until he was comfortable, his head resting on Louis’ shoulder and his arms around his waist. Louis pulled him closer, then, until Harry had no choice but to swing his legs over Louis’ and let him wrap the blanket around them. He placed a kiss on Louis’ jaw before pressing ‘play’.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw his mother check on them once or twice, and Harry always blushed to think she saw them entwined that way. Harry was barely paying attention to the movie, his mind wandering to Louis’ fingers scratching his skull or the warmth of his body where it touched Harry’s. Harry had cuddled before, but it had never felt as good as it did to be wrapped up in Louis’ arms. He was sure it couldn’t get better until halfway through the movie when Louis got restless and pushed and pulled at Harry until they were lying on their sides, holding Harry against his chest with an arm tightly wrapped around his waist.

“Is this okay?” Louis whispered in his ear, his lips brushing the shell and making Harry shiver.

“Yes,” Harry whispered back, smiling to himself, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Spooning was a first and he could get used to it. Easily.

The movie ended and Harry reached for the remote to turn off the television, feeling Louis press his face into his hair after he settled back against him. No one said a thing, the two of them staying quiet and enjoying the intimacy of the moment for a long time. Louis was gently stroking his stomach, his lips ghosting now and then against the nape of Harry’s neck, and Harry’s eyes drooped closed, soothed to sleep by Louis’ warmth and his gentle caresses.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” Louis whispered. Harry felt more than he heard his quiet laughter.

Turning on his back, Harry looked up at Louis, smiling lazily. Perhaps it was because he was half-asleep, but some of his nerves had vanished, leaving Harry much more comfortable than he’d been since Louis stepped off the train.

“I’m happy that you’re here,” Harry drawled, his sleepiness dragging his words.

“I’m happy to be here, too,” Louis replied, smiling as he brushed Harry’s fringe back in place with delicate fingers. He dragged them down Harry’s cheek and then along his jaw, keeping his touch feather-light. “May I kiss you?” he asked, almost solemnly, and Harry smiled.

“Yes, you may.”

Louis leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s lips, then another, pecking them lightly while his hand stroked Harry’s hair. Louis’ lips were warm and soft, bearing the barest hint of minty toothpaste, and Harry let his eyes flutter shut, kissing back with his own series of pecks. After a while, when Harry’s lips tingled from their kisses, Louis slowly deepened it and Harry replied in kind, pliant in Louis’ arms, letting him lead and doing what he could to kiss back through the fog in his brain. Louis’ hand abandoned his hair to run down his chest, then his stomach, stopping at his hip where it squeezed and stroked for a while. Harry’s legs fell opened and Louis didn’t miss a beat, shifting from his position squeezed between the back of the couch and Harry to climb over him and between his legs, staying up on his knees so their bodies didn’t touch. The blanket, still thrown over them, was keeping in the warmth generated by their bodies and the temperature was becoming feverish, reminiscent of the humid warmth they had met in.

It was only when Louis’ hand slipped up under his shirt that Harry’s brain realigned with his thoughts long enough to make a single word pop into his head: no.

“No,” he said, breaking the kiss with a wet smack, his hand wrapped around Louis’ wrist. “No,” he repeated, hoping Louis would be able to make sense of what Harry was trying to say.

Louis studied him for a second, his lips red and shining, and then nodded. “Okay.” He sat back on his heels, taking the blanket with him as it covered his shoulders like a cape. “No because anyone could walk in at any moment, or no because it’s too much?” He ran a hand through his hair and Harry noticed that he was panting slightly.

“No because it’s too much,” Harry admitted, biting his lip. “Wh-what happened in Disney,” he continued, hesitating, “was fun, but... it was an accident. I’d never done that before and I... I don’t want to do it again. Not yet, anyway.”

With a visible swallow, Louis nodded. “Okay, yes, of course, there’s no pressure, love,” he said, smiling. “And I’m sorry about Disney. If I’d known, I’d have stopped.”

“I don’t regret it!” Harry rushed to say. “I liked it! A lot! I’m just not ready for more. Or for it to happen again.” Harry bit his lip for a second, his heart tight in his chest. “I’m sorry if this isn’t what you expected.”

Louis was quick to reply. “No! Harry, come on, don’t apologise! There’s nothing to apologise for. I didn’t come here thinking I’d get sex out of it, I came here to see you. I’d be happy playing Scrabble with you all weekend. Honestly,” he said, putting a hand to his own chest, over his heart. “If you’re not comfortable with kissing, we don’t kiss. It’s as simple as that.”

Harry let out a sigh of relief, feeling a weight lift off his chest. “Kissing is fine,” he said in a slow voice. “But hands above the hips and over the clothes.”

“Works for me,” Louis answered, smiling. He reached forward to stroke Harry’s cheek. “I’m happy just being with you. The rest doesn’t matter.”

Harry sat up, slipping his legs from underneath Louis and crossing them. Louis mirrored him, keeping the blanket over his shoulders and wrapping it around his shoulders.

“I was worried about it, but... you reacted well. Perfectly, even,” Harry admitted.

“Worried about what? That I’d want to leave because you won’t put out?” Louis took Harry’s hand in his and squeezed it, rolling his eyes. “No, sadly I think you’re quite fun to be around. I enjoy your company even when we have to, like, talk and do stuff that’s not sexual.” He smiled. “Honestly, Harry, I don’t mind at all. I’m sorry I pushed.”

Leaning forward to peck Louis’ lips, Harry pulled on the blanket to get it off Louis so he could wrap it around himself. “Don’t apologise. Everything is okay. We’re okay.”

“No, we’re not!” Louis squawked indignantly. “I was using that!”

“Were you?” Harry asked innocently, giggling as he held it tightly. “I didn’t notice.”

Louis pounced forward, reaching for the blanket, but Harry was quicker and he got up on the couch, climbing on the armrest and pressing a hand on the wall to keep his balance. He laughed as Louis stood up as well and stepped onto the coffee table to stay out of reach. Louis lost his balance as he tried to turn and toppled over before getting back up, bouncing slightly on the couch.

“Careful, if you break the couch you have no bed tonight!” Harry said, stepping off the table so it stood in between them before letting out a shriek of laughter when Louis climbed on it, making him take several steps back.

Harry ran out of the room after that, laughing to hear Louis hurtling after him. He shut the door to his bedroom and waited, no more than two seconds passing by before Louis tried to turn the handle. Harry gripped it and they wrestled it for a moment before Harry’s hand slipped and the door flung opened. Not missing a beat, Harry ran to his bed and climbed on it, letting out a scream that Louis mirrored when Louis climbed after him. As suddenly as he’d first stolen it, Harry draped the blanket over Louis’s head, wrapping his arms around his torso once he was blinded and tackling him down, making the two of them collapse in a heap on the bed.

Louis fought and writhed against Harry’s hold for a few seconds before going limp and heaving out a loud sigh that lifted the blanket where his mouth was.

“Can you take this off me, please?” Louis asked, voice syrupy-sweet.

Harry giggled. “No.”

“Haz... please.”

“Give me one good reason,” Harry said, folding his arms on Louis’ chest, keeping himself heavy over him.

“Because I can’t breathe?”

“Not good enough.” Harry pressed a kiss to where he figured Louis’ mouth was. He heard him let out a muffled noise and laughed.

“That was my eye, but thank you for the thought. Hm, let’s see... you have to take the blanket off because I miss looking at your gorgeous face?”

Harry’s heart leapt and he grinned, pressing his face against Louis’ chest for a second before he gently pulled the blanket away. “Good answer.”

Before he could see it coming, Louis was pouncing on him, flipping them so that Harry was pressed to the mattress, and began tickling Harry, mercilessly moving his fingers over Harry’s sides after settling on his hips, straddling them. Harry let out a shriek and began writhing on his bed, laughing breathlessly, tears pouring out of his eyes.

“Stop! Please, Louis, please! Stop!” he pleaded, his words distorted by his giggles.

“Give me one good reason!” Louis said, his tone as smug as his smile. “I’ve got four sisters, I know how to fight back, Styles.”

Harry’s entire mind was screaming for release, incapable of focusing on finding a good reason while Louis’ fingers still grazed his skin, and he tried once more to move out of Louis’ grip. Louis saw it coming, however, and he tightened his legs around Harry, batting away Harry’s arm when he tried to push him away. It was all too much, the overstimulation of Louis’ tickles paired with the weight of him on Harry’s hips and the acute knowledge that only two thin layers of cotton separated their cocks. Harry was blushing and it wasn’t entirely because he was out of breath.

“Give me a good reason!” Louis repeated, laughing too, his eyes crinkled.

“What is going on in here?”

Harry and Louis froze and Louis was off Harry before he even had time to register that his mother was standing in the doorway. Wiping his eyes, Harry sat up, still shaken by giggles when he turned to Anne. Louis had moved to sit with his back against the wall, looking like a perfectly behaved boy.

“Tickle fight,” Harry answered, breathless and giddy. He cleared his throat when his voice came out hoarse.

Anne raised her eyebrow, looking at them with an amused look on her face. “Well, try to keep it down, will you? Robin and I are going to bed. Lights out in half an hour.”

With a pout, Harry shook his head. “An hour? Please?”

With a short sigh, she turned to leave. “Forty-five minutes. And I don’t want to hear you!”

Harry watched his mother walk away and then turned to Louis, twitching and scooting away when he saw him move. “No more tickling!” he begged, raising his arms defensively. “Please!”

Louis let out a short laugh and shook his head as he patted the spot next to him. Harry moved to sit there and his heart rate picked up when Louis leaned his head on his shoulder. With a slightly shaking hand, Harry reached for Louis’ and entwined their fingers, stroking Louis’ thumb with his own. He turned his head when Louis let out a small sigh.

“It’s over between my mum and Mark,” Louis whispered, his gaze resolutely fixed upon the bedspread. Harry tightened his grip on Louis’ hand, but said nothing. “It’s been over for a while, I suppose... he didn’t come with us this summer, that was a big warning sign, but lately...” Louis sighed again. “Lately, they’re not even trying anymore. Life at home is hell. It’s... it’s in part why I couldn’t come before now. I’ve been keeping things together for the girls, like... like trying to hide it from them. But...” he gulped, “I don’t expect to spend Christmas as a family.”

Harry had a million questions, most of them revolving about Louis’ sisters and custody and the mess of trying to decide who got the keep the son who had the name, but no blood relations. Letting go of Louis’ hand, Harry wrapped his arm around his shoulder and held him tight when Louis curled up into his side, his arms snaking around Harry’s waist and holding on for dear life.

“I’m sorry...” Harry whispered, knowing all too well how empty and useless his words were.

He had been there and done that, he knew how nothing could quite erase the gut-wrenching, earth-shattering feeling of watching your parents going through a divorce. If Harry had to compare it to anything, it would be one of those freefall rides, but one that never stopped. It was losing all of your bearings and feeling betrayed while knowing how wrong it was to feel as such, it was panic about everything that was about to change and wishing more than anything that you could pretend just for a little while longer that everything was fine. Harry had been lucky; he’d had Gemma to cushion the fall for him, to comfort and whisper soothing reassurances that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed despite how much it hurt. Louis didn’t have that and as much as Harry wished he could be that for him, he lived too far to ever hope to fill those shoes.

Louis took a deep, shuddering breath, and when he looked up at Harry, he was smiling once more. “So, yeah. That’s what sucks in my life right now.”

With a pout, Harry stroked his arm. “I’m there for you, yeah? I know what it’s like, I... just tell me if I can help.”

Louis’ smile faltered for a moment and he nodded curtly before untangling himself from Harry’s hold and jumping off the bed. “We’ve got to make my bed, Harold, come on,” he ordered in a tone that allowed no arguing before setting off to the television room, his pyjama-clad body springing back to life after a few minutes of dejection.

Harry followed, taking a detour to the washing room to fetch the freshly-laundered sheets before joining Louis and finding him sitting on the arm of the couch, texting. He had gone back to Harry’s room, as evidenced by his bag thrown carelessly at the foot of the couch.

“Who’re you texting?” Harry asked, laughing. “I’m right here.”

Louis glanced up, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’ve got friends other than you, you know.”

“You do? That’s surprising,” Harry replied, ducking out of the way when Louis threw a cushion at him. It fell out of the room and into the hall with a soft thump.

“My mate Aiden forgot I was coming down here for the weekend, he wanted to hang out,” Louis answered, shrugging with a yawn. “I only told him half a million times.”

“You should have gone for a million,” Harry said as he went to retrieve the cushion, dropping it on the floor with the others before he began dressing the couch for the night. “The living room couch’s bigger, but here you’ll have a door and won’t be woken up by Robin making tea at seven tomorrow morning.”

“Great!” Louis replied, distracted when his phone buzzed.

He spent the next few minutes texting back and forth while Harry made his bed, and it was only when Harry slumped on it and crossed his arm over his chest, annoyed to come second to some guy Louis saw every day, that Louis made a show to put his phone on silent before crawling over to Harry, settling down against his chest and giving him a sheepish smile.

“Sorry. You have all of my attention, now.”

Harry glanced at the clock on their old VCR and sighed. “We don’t have long left.”

“Until the morning, Kitten. I’m here all weekend,” Louis said with a small laugh and a quick kiss to Harry’s chin. “Are you going to make me breakfast tomorrow?”

“If you want, yeah.”

“I do. If it ends up as good as your biscuits were, I definitely, definitely do.”

Harry preened and caught the proud look on Louis’ face. He pushed up with his forearms on Harry’s chest and leaned down to kiss him, just a small press of his lips that made Harry’s heart skip a beat.

“I can’t believe how cute you are,” Louis admitted, giggling when Harry blushed. He kissed each of his cheeks in turn. “I’m genuinely surprised every time I’m reminded.”

“Cute isn’t what I aim for,” Harry said with a small pout.

“What do you aim for?”

“I don’t know, cool, maybe?”

Louis snorted. “Oh, baby. No, you don’t need to try to be cool. You’re really cool without trying, I promise,” Louis said, the look on his face saying the opposite.

“You’re mocking me.”

“I’d never dare. I honestly think you’re cool in your own, small town way.”

“Hey!” Harry squawked, pinching Louis’ waist. “You make me sound like some sort of wacky farmer!”

“Well...” Louis laughed, shook his head. “I’m joking. Don’t take it the wrong way.” He kissed Harry. “You don’t have to try to be anything with me.”

Louis settled back down and Harry wrapped his arms around him, stroking his back slowly. Louis let out a happy little noise from the back of his throat and shifted, lying even more on top of Harry. Harry closed his eyes and sighed, feeling content and at peace despite the fast beating of his heart. He seemed to be unable to keep it calm whenever Louis was touching him, which could eventually prove to be a problem. At the moment, though, Harry was too busy trying to decide whether it was worth his mother’s anger to fall asleep where he lay. It would be so easy to just let himself go. He was already tethering on the edge of sleep, feeling it crash over him in waves, and all he’d need to do was let it take him under.

“Don’t fall asleep here,” Louis mumbled after a while, himself looking only half-awake. He lifted his head to fix heavy-lidded eyes on Harry. “Or I’ll never be allowed to come back.” Louis pressed a small kiss to his lips. “Go to bed, Kitten. I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, Louis got up on unsteady legs and held out his hand for Harry, pulling him up and out of the room without a word. He stood by the bed while Harry slipped under the covers, clumsy and working in slow motion as he fought to keep his eyes opened, and moved in once he was settled down.

“Good night, Harry,” Louis whispered, tucking Harry in. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Sleep tight.”

Harry gave Louis a lazy smile and a nod, shifting to lie on his side. He barely registered Louis leaving the room before he was sound asleep.

-

In his short life, Harry had only ever experienced two terrible ways to wake up. The first was when he was camping with school in late November, back in year 11, and discovered that the tent they had found in the attic wasn’t exactly whole and he woke up covered in snow. The second was the first morning after his father moved out of the house.

He had a split second to contemplate that this was probably the third most terrible way he experienced between the shout of his name Louis let out and the moment when he landed on his chest roughly, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

“What the—” Harry gasped out, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“I’ve been awake for an hour and I was really bored so I decided to wake you up,” Louis explained, grinning. “Good morning!”

Harry groaned and pulled the blankets over his head, not daring to check the time in case it was as early as it felt. He heard Louis giggle before he felt his fingers pry at his own to make them let go of the blanket, his warm skin soft against Harry’s sleep-numb fingers. Gently, Louis pulled back the covers and pressed his forehead against Harry’s, making him go cross-eyed to try and still look at him.

“Pay attention to me, please,” Louis whispered, laughter in his voice. “I’m bored.”

With a yawn, Harry patted his back. “Want to cuddle?”

Louis nodded and moved away so he could slip under the covers and curl up against Harry’s side, throwing a leg over his and draping his arm over Harry’s stomach. He rested his head on Harry’s chest and let out a sigh, squirming a bit more.

“Are you comfortable?” Harry asked with a laugh. “Or have you got worms?”

Louis gave Harry’s chest a feeble slap before he stopped moving. “Don’t sleep. I’m not tired. I want attention.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Harry promised, yawning halfway through the second word. “Did you sleep well?”

Louis shrugged, shifting once again so his face was pressed into the crook of Harry’s neck. “I slept okay.” He nosed at Harry’s skin for a moment before Harry felt him smile. “You smell like sleep.”

“What does sleep smell like?” Harry asked, scrunching up his nose. He brought his hand up to stroke Louis’ back, scratching it lightly and relishing the noise Louis let out.

“It smells warm and sweet and a little bit sweaty. I like it. I’m used to when you smell like coconut from the bucket of sun cream you needed to survive, it’s a nice change. And vanilla, from your shampoo.”

“Coconut and vanilla? Am I a dessert?”

“Well... I kind of want to devour you whole, so yeah, you’re a dessert.”

Harry flushed and squirmed at Louis’ words, swallowing thickly. “Hm, okay... Thanks?”

Sensing his discomfort, Louis softly stroked his arm as he let out a happy little sigh. Out of reflex more than anything, Harry ran his hand through Louis’ hair, scratching his scalp until Louis made a noise akin to a cat’s meow and squirmed closer, pressing his lips to Harry’s neck in an almost-kiss.

After a while, Louis lifted his head, his sleep-matted hair sticking up adorably. “What are the plans for today?”

“Well, we can start with breakfast for now.”

“I was hoping you’d said that, I’m famished.”

Louis climbed off the bed to let Harry get up and trotted off to the television room, meeting him downstairs once he’d changed. Harry was already halfway done with cooking when he showed up and he tried hard to ignore Louis’ hovering presence around him while he finished, determined not to let his renewed nerves mess up what he was making.

Placing two plates of waffles on the table, he poured them both glasses of orange juice before sitting down, holding his breath until Louis had taken a bite and nodded in approval.

“Amazing, Kitten. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Harry said, smiling into his glass and stealing a glance at Louis, who looked over at him with fondness in his eyes. “So, hm, I thought I might show you around town, yeah? We could walk or ride bikes, if you prefer.”

“How far from everything do you live?” Louis asked, brows furrowed.

“Not that far. Maybe twenty minutes away from the centre of town.”

Louis nodded, shrugged. “Let’s walk, then.”

After getting dressed – which took longer than planned because the light drizzle falling outside forced them to find Gemma’s old wellies from the back of a closet to lend to Louis – they headed out. The rain was keeping everyone inside and Harry felt quite like they were the only two people in the world. He loved the feeling; after having spent most of his time with Louis in crowded theme parks, to walk along a deserted street with only the pitter-patter of the rain to fill the silence was refreshing.

Pushing back the hood of Harry’s mother’s mac, which he’d had to borrow as well, Louis turned to Harry. “Tell me about life here.”

They smiled at each other, but their smiles quickly turned into shouts as the rain grew more intense, coming down in sheets. Stuck in the middle of a road with nothing but houses and trees surrounding them, they had no choice but to keep walking, shouting at each other above the rain while it mercilessly beat down on them.

“Aren’t you glad I forced you into my mum and my sister’s stuff?” Harry asked loudly, turning his head to grin at Louis.

“Yeah, yeah, no need to brag!” Louis replied, sticking out his tongue. “Are we going to keep walking like this for long?”

“In about five minutes there’ll be this nice little teahouse, we can stop there!”

Louis let out a loud groan and flipped off Harry when he laughed. “My hair is going to be ruined!”

“Are you done complaining?”

“No!” Louis shouted before laughing, turning around to walk backwards to grimace at Harry, poking out his tongue when Harry did the same.

The teahouse was almost empty when they reached it and, after hanging his dripping coat to a stand by the door, Harry weaved through the tables to get to his favourite, the one by a window with a view of the field behind. He pulled Louis’ chair for him and gave him a shy smile when Louis thanked him warmly before sitting opposite him and pulling out the menu.

The crisp air outside had coloured Louis’ cheeks pink and his eyes seemed almost indigo in the dim light of the shop. He was looking down at his menu, making his eyelashes fan over his cheeks and Harry had to force his gaze off him to look at his own menu before he was caught staring. Despite his best efforts, however, he kept glancing up at Louis, seemingly unable to keep his eyes off him for longer than a couple of minutes. Without thinking too much about it, Harry pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of Louis, the sound of it making Louis look up sharply.

“No! Delete that! My hair is a mess!” Louis complained, reaching across the table to look at the picture. “Oh my god! I’m all red! It’s terrible!”

Harry grabbed his phone back, shaking his head. “No, I love it! You look amazing on it, I promise.”

Louis pouted, an exaggerated, snotty purse of his lips, and then sighed. “Why’d you take it?”

“You looked… I don’t know. I wanted a memory.”

A small smile spread on Louis’ face. “Are you going to use it as your wallpaper, then?” He batted his eyelids, the corners of his mouth turned up mischievously.

Taken aback, Harry blushed and shrugged. “I don’t know… can I?”

“Nah, not this one. I’ll give you a better one if you want my face as your wallpaper. But I’ll need one as well, it’s only fair!”

Harry smiled and nodded, feeling warmth spreading through him, convinced that it had nothing to do with the stifling air inside the shop. The shop owner stopped by to take their orders, staying a bit longer to discuss with Harry and share news of their respective families, which only made Louis snigger and tease Harry about his yokel way of life until Harry kicked his shin under the table.

Their order arrived and Harry rolled his eyes to see that the owner had included extra items, which she laid on the table with a wink and a cheerful ‘it’s on the house!’ By Monday afternoon, he expected, everyone at school would know he was on a date with a boy during the weekend.

Watching Louis sip his tea and carefully pick which pastry he would eat first, a smidgen of doubt crossed Harry’s mind, growing bigger every second he wasted paying attention to it: was it a date they were on? The word had never been uttered, nor had it been made clear what their relationship was. Could Harry really be blamed for doubting the nature of what they were doing? They’d been snogging the night before, after all, but for all he knew, they were only two friends spending time together.

With a little cough, Louis pushed the thoughts to the back of Harry’s mind as he began telling a wild story involving his friend Stan, whom Harry absolutely had to meet one day, and lighter fluid, which brought back to Louis’ memory another story, this time with a guy named Aiden, and before long they had finished their food and the rain had stopped, beckoning them back outside and through the village, Harry pointing out noteworthy landmarks as Louis hummed and awed at everything he was shown. From his school, Harry made a beeline to his favourite park.

The sky hung low and grey above them as they began walking across the park and the air was filled with fine mist, feeling more like drizzle at times. Their boots squelched in the mud, every step a fight to pull their foot out of the grass, and that sound, apart from their breathing, was the only one that could be heard. It felt like they were walking inside a bubble, like the edges of the world were so close they could have touched them. The air was crisp and sharp, several degrees lower than before it rained.

“I had my first kiss over there,” Harry said, pointing ahead of them though the visibility was null.

“Did you, now?” Louis asked. “Who was it for? Boy or girl? Tell me everything!”

With a self-conscious laugh, Harry shrugged, digging his hands deep inside his pockets. “It was a girl. We were stupidly young, like, 13 I think? It was up against a tree and, hm… well, it was quite steamy, from what I remember.”

“What you remember?” Louis’s voice was teasing and there was a smirk on his face.

“I’ve had a few kisses since. You’re partly to blame.”

With a great burst of laughter, Louis nodded. “Good, good. I want to make a lasting impression.”

Harry bit back a smile and bowed his head. “You definitely did.”

There was a pause between them, a breath, and then Louis’ cold fingers were wrapping around Harry’s wrist.

“Come on, show me that tree!”

They made their squelching way to the tree in question and Louis leaned back against it, looking at Harry through his lashes, his cheeks reddened by the wind and the cold, the greyness around and above them turning his eyes the colour of sleet.

“What—”

“Is this how it happened?” Louis asked, voice pitched lower than usual, in both volume and range. “You pressed her up against the tree and kissed her?” As he spoke, he pulled Harry closer by the lapel of his mac, lowering himself against the tree and making himself shorter than Harry.

“Hm, yeah, that’s… yes,” Harry replied, gulping as he stepped closer to Louis and he wrapped his arms loosely around Harry’s neck.

“Yes? Can you show me?”

With a curt nod, Harry bent down and, with a careful hand on Louis’ jaw, tilted his head back to press a kiss to his lips. He pulled back after a few seconds, only to laugh when Louis let out a small whine in protest.

“You said you wanted to see how my first kiss went. That was how,” Harry explained, chuckling.

“You said it was steamy! That wasn’t steamy!”

“It was for a 13 year-old! We didn’t use tongue that time because she was chewing gum. Oh, and she was taller than me,” he added, pulling Louis up to his normal height.

“Boring! That is so boring, mate!” Louis complained in a huff. “You dragged me through a muddy field to kiss me like I kissed when I was a child!”

Louis was still resting against the tree and Harry acted before he could second-guess his decision, pressing his body against Louis’ to kiss him, crashing his mouth against Louis’ in a way that dragged a surprised moan from the back of Louis’ throat. Louis’ arms tightened around Harry’s neck, pulling off his hood in the process and sending the water that had gathered on it down the back of his coat. The cold water made him hiss and he pressed closer to Louis, who deepened the kiss by parting his lips and prying Harry’s open with insistent licks of his tongue. Harry placed his hands flat against the rough trunk of the tree for balance when he felt his knees weakening under the kiss. His breath was coming out in shallow puffs and Harry pulled back when he was starting to feel lightheaded.

“Was that better?” he asked, panting, pressing his forehead to Louis’.

Louis let out a giggle and nodded. When Harry leaned back to look at him, his cheeks were a dark shade of red, his eyes were closed and his lips were stretched in a smile that was almost shy.

“Much better,” Louis whispered. “I had no idea you had that in you.”

“Me neither,” Harry replied, laughing breathlessly. “That was…”

“Steamy?” Louis offered, smirking.

“Steamy, yeah. Much better than my first one.”

“That’s what I’m here for!” Louis said cheerily, pulling Harry in by his coat to kiss him again.

Small droplets of water began falling around them, pitter-patting on the hard fabric of their coats. Harry broke the kiss and pulled up his hood in a hurry, holding out his hand for Louis.

“We should run for it,” Harry explained as he began heading back towards the street.

“Another race? Eager to lose again, Styles?”

“No, we run together this time.” Harry squeezed Louis’ hand and waited until he nodded before he broke into a run.

The grass was slippery with rain and the mud was threatening to hold their boots captive with every step, requiring twice the efforts to move forward and quickly exhausting Harry. His lungs were on fire and he faltered for a moment, letting Louis get ahead of him, and just when he was thinking that there was no way he could possibly catch up, Louis stopped with a shriek and a guffaw.

“My boot! I lost my bloody boot!”

Balanced on one foot, Louis precariously bent down to try and pry his wellington from the ground. Harry had half a mind to help, but he was content laughing and watching Louis try and solve his problem.

“No, no, don’t help me, I’m doing fine on my own!” Louis snapped. Mid-sentence, he lost his balance and put his foot down on the ground, realising a second too late what he was doing. “No! Shit! That’s disgusting!” He pulled it back up, too fast, and before Harry could reach out to hold him up, he was falling backwards, hitting the ground with a big, wet splash.

“Don’t you bloody dare laugh!” Louis shouted, laughing himself at his position. He peeled off his wet sock, discarded it on the ground next to him and held out his bare foot in the air, wiggling his toes. “Can you put my boot back on, please?”

Harry pried the boot out of the mud and emptied it of the rain that had gathered in it before slipping it on Louis’ foot. “This has got to be the weirdest Cinderella re-enactment ever staged,” he commented as he pulled Louis up from the ground by the hand.

“What?! Someone told you that I turn into a pumpkin at midnight?! It was supposed to be a secret!” Louis exclaimed with a laugh, bending down to pick up his soaked, muddy sock before linking his arm through Harry’s.

“Oh, hush,” Harry sighed, rolling his eyes, to which Louis stuck out his tongue.

By the time they got back to Harry’s house, the rain had quieted down once more to a light drizzle and the mud had congealed on the back of Louis’ coat. Going into the backyard to fetch the garden hose, Harry sprayed Louis with it, laughing when he squeaked as the cold water hit him full on. Once the coat was clean enough to be brought into the house, Harry hung both of theirs to dry and insisted they change into their pyjamas before he met Louis in the television room, where they cuddled on the couch in front of a movie, wrapped up in blankets to combat the chill that the rain had spread all the way through to their bones.

Rather than calling them downstairs for dinner, Anne brought up their meal, piping hot bowls of stew that finished chasing the cold out of them and lit a small fire inside of Harry's chest. They weren't even paying attention to the television, at that point, keeping it instead as background noise while they talked and talked and talked, seemingly never running out of things to talk about. And when they finally did, the silence was as comfortable as the conversations had been, stretching between them like a cat lying in the sun, lazily filling the empty spaces. Harry could not remember leaning his head against Louis' shoulder, but he was now wrapped up in him with Louis softly stroking his arm with the tips of his fingers, lightly tickling Harry's skin with every movement.

Too soon, Anne poked her head through the door to announce that it was time for bed. Harry left Louis reluctantly, the two of them exchanging one last kiss, and another, and another, before Harry finally moved to his room, where he lay awake, his mind swirling with thoughts of Louis in a room down the hall and how this relative distance made the whole weekend feel like a dream, as if Louis vanished from existence the second he was out of Harry's sight.

Louis didn't jump on him to wake him up, the next morning, which only made him feel that much less tangible. Quietly, Harry tiptoed through the silent house to the television room. He pushed open the door, wincing when it creaked on its hinges, and smiled to see Louis still fast asleep, his head resting on his hands in a pose that made him look like a cherub escaped from a painting. Harry stopped in the doorway to ponder on the best way to wake him up. Jumping on him like Louis had done the day before was out of the question; it wasn't Harry's style at all. He could call his name in a soft voice until it stirred him awake, but he also really wanted to touch his sleep-warmed skin.

With this final thought, Harry entered the room and knelt on the floor next to the couch, stroking the swell of Louis' reddened cheek with the back of his fingers, smiling to feel it so warm.

"Lou," he whispered, his voice lilting happily. "It's time to wake up, darling."

Louis' eyes fluttered open, his long eyelashes batting a couple of times before revealing his blue eyes, and his gaze was unfocused for a moment before he saw Harry and a slow, lazy smile stretched on his face.

"You're spoiling me," he croaked, the roughness of his voice making Harry's spine tingle with interest. "I never want to wake up any other way, now."

"You should hire me as your alarm clock," Harry said, laughing quietly. He sat on the floor and folded his arms on the seat of the couch to rest his head on it, gazing adoringly at Louis all the while.

"I should, yes." With a yawn, Louis stretched under the blanket before rubbing at his eye sleepily. "What time is it?"

"A little after 9. I didn't want to waste our day."

"Wise decision, Styles," Louis answered, running his hand through Harry's hair with a fond smile. He ruffled his hair before pushing himself up, keeping the blanket around his shoulders. "Are you making me breakfast again?"

"I thought you could make it for me, maybe? Show me your skills?" Harry asked, smiling adorably to sell his point.

"Or lack thereof. I hope you like cereals."

"I love cereals," Harry answered sincerely, still smiling as he nodded.

Louis rolled his eyes. "You'd agree to anything, wouldn't you?"

Again, Harry nodded with still the same schmoozing smile. "Absolutely."

"You're the cutest, you know that?" Louis let out, reaching forward to pinch Harry's cheek, pulling at his dimple until Harry batted his hand away with a laugh. "Cereals, yeah? Come on."

Louis pushed himself off the couch, ruffling Harry's hair on the way, and headed towards the kitchen without another word. Harry followed and sat down at the table, watching with an amused smile as Anne bossed Louis around while he prepared breakfast for the two of them and sticking out his tongue every time he caught Louis' eyes.

A few minutes later, Louis placed a bowl in front of him with a flourish. "Wait for a while," he instructed, a stern look on his brow. "We need to wait to reach the perfect balance between soggy and crunchy." Holding up his hand to silence Harry's giggles, Louis kept a straight face. "Just a moment longer..." he continued, still completely serious. "Stir a little, but not too much!"

Harry saw his mother looking at them from the kitchen doorway and Harry quickly had to look away from her so he didn't burst out laughing when their eyes met.

"Can we eat, now?"

"Patience is a virtue, Curly."

"Are you going to make us say grace, too, while you're at it? It is Sunday morning, after all," Harry teased, earning himself a light kick in the shins.

Gingerly, with infinite care, Louis tasted a single cereal and, when he deemed it all right, nodded solemnly. "You can eat, now. You can thank me later."

Harry dived in, tasting the first spoon with higher expectations than he should have had for cereals. As he had predicted, they were just ordinary cereal with nothing spectacular in terms of soaking, but he let out a hum of appreciation nonetheless.

"Amazing," Harry commented around a spoonful. "You're the best at cereals."

"I know," Louis replied, preening slightly, and just for the spark of pride in his eyes, Harry was glad he lied.

Once they were done with breakfast, they went back upstairs to shower and get dressed, which stole a precious hour off their day, and then Harry sat on the couch as he watched Louis pack his bag, something heavy hanging in the air between them. Louis' departure, while still far enough in the day that it hadn't clouded their moods yet, but it was still there, still a shapeless quasi-entity hovering just out of sight. It felt like a hand was wrapped around Harry's heart and slowly squeezing tighter with every passing minute.

"You owe me a wallpaper picture, Styles," Louis commented as he knelt by his bag, folding his trousers. After the third attempt at it, though, he let out a sigh and balled them up, pushing them down in the bag amongst the mess that was already there.

"So do you, Tommo."

Louis looked up with a grimace. "Don't call me that. My mates call me that."

"And I'm not your mate?" Harry asked, keeping his tone light despite the painful way his heart had clenched.

"Of course you're my mate. I meant my mates that I don't snog." Louis bit his lip for a second and Harry could almost see the thought popping up in his mind, but with a shake of his head, Louis waved it away.

"All right," Harry let out. "How do you want it?"

Abandoning his bag, Louis got up and placed his fist on his waist, his brow furrowed with concentration as he pondered the question. "By the window," he finally answered, motioning to it with his thumb. "There's a bit of sun, I want to see it hit your eyes."

"You want me to squint?"

Louis clicked his tongue impatiently. "No," he answered, speaking slowly. "I want your eyes to be as green as they can be."

"Oh..." A blush crept up Harry's cheeks and he bowed his head, smiling against his will. He chanced a look up at Louis, through his eyelashes, and before he could react he heard the distinct sound of a picture being snapped. "What?!" he squeaked, looking up sharply, his eyes wide.

"You were just too cute! I couldn't resist!" Louis explained, throwing himself on the couch next to Harry and showing him the picture. "Look at that little face!" he cooed, holding up his phone for Harry to see.

Harry looked at the picture, scrunching up his nose in distaste as he took in the pink tint of his cheeks and the bashful way he was looking up at Louis. "I don't like it."

"Well, I love it. I think you look perfect on it."

With a sigh, Harry shook his head. "You're full of shit."

"I'm not! You are! You're honestly perfect, Haz."

"Okay, your turn," Harry said with a sigh that he hoped sounded annoyed rather than fond.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and aimed it at Louis as he opened the camera app. "Smile for me, yeah?"

Before he was done talking, Louis had gone cross-eyed and was smiling with his lips pressed tight together. Harry reached across and smacked him on the chest, making Louis laugh.

"Smile! Come on!" he insisted. "I want a pretty picture of you for my wallpaper."

"All right, all right," Louis conceded. "Just for you."

Harry aimed his phone again and this time, Louis gave him a small smile, looking almost bashful. Harry quickly took the picture before Louis changed his mind and grimaced again, and when he looked at it, his heart skipped a beat.

Louis' eyes were fixed on a point just above the frame and, Harry guessed, it must mean he was looking at Harry and that the tenderness in his gaze was for him.

"Is it good?" Louis asked, pressing up against Harry to look at the screen. "No! Take it again, my hair looks bad!" he ordered while compulsively fixing his fringe.

"No, I love it. I'm keeping it. Your hair looks good, don't worry."

Louis hesitated for a moment before he let out a sigh. "Fine. But I get a kiss in return."

A smile bloomed on Harry's lips and he leaned in to press it to Louis', who returned it eagerly, one hand snaking behind Harry's head to hold him in place.

"I'm going to miss this," Louis whispered against Harry's lips, placing one last kiss on them before pulling back.

Harry's heart tightened at the words and he nodded, biting his lip. "Yeah, me too. A lot. It'll be even harder to only be able to talk to you online."

Louis pouted, nodding alongside Harry. "It's not fair that you're so perfect and live so far."

"Technically, that makes me not perfect," Harry pointed out, unable to muster the smirk his words called for.

"Hush. Your tiny village in the middle of nowhere is not your fault," Louis protested. "You're still perfect."

Harry leaned into Louis' side and laid his head on his shoulder, humming quietly when Louis pressed his head against his. "I'll miss this, too," Harry whispered, taking Louis' hand in his and tangling their fingers. "Not just kissing. Just being with you physically."

"I know..." Louis replied just as quietly, playing mindlessly with Harry's fingers. He pressed a kiss to the top of Harry's head. "We'll try to see each other again soon, yes?"

"As soon as possible," Harry replied firmly. "Not like this time, we can't wait almost two months."

"Good, good. I was afraid I'd sound needy or clingy if I asked."

Harry let out a small laugh. "So you waited until I did it?"

"You're younger. Coming from you, it's cute."

Harry stuck out his tongue. "Whatever. You need to finish packing," he said, toeing one of Louis' shirt that he had left crumpled on the floor. "And properly, too, I don't want your mum to say you can't come back because we let you be messy."

Louis made a face. "I don't understand how that would work, my mum doesn't give a shit about that."

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "Pack, Louis. You're wasting our precious time."

With another grimace, Louis slipped to the floor and started going through his bag, refolding everything and giving Harry a pointed look for every piece of clothing as if he were asking for his approval. Finishing this took them the better part of an hour; Harry's stomach sank when he saw that their time together was coming to an end dangerously quickly.

And after that, it seemed like the hours were slipping through his fingers. Every time he glanced at the time, it was much later than he'd hoped and he could feel his heart breaking. Their moods were plummeting rapidly and they were restless, unable to decide what to do and going from activity to activity without much conviction, knowing they were wasting their precious minute, but unwilling to do anything too captivating in fear that they wouldn't see the end coming. Harry got the feeling they were keeping themselves bored intentionally just so they could feel every minute as it ticked by.

Six o'clock did come, though, and time sped up even more in a blur of catching a quick dinner and last minute packing before driving Louis to the train station. The car ride was silent, the radio the only thing cutting through the tension. Harry's heart gave a painful lurch when he saw the station appear around a corner. He heard Louis let out a pained exhale and turned in his seat to pout at him.

"I'll wait until the train has left," Harry told his mother while they got out of the car, Louis hauling his bag on his shoulder with a mournful expression on his face. The life had gone out of his eyes and that, even more so than the imminent separation, hurt Harry the most.

They didn't speak much while waiting on the platform. They were alone save for an elderly couple talking loudly about visiting their daughter in York and a bored controller sneaking glances at his phone when he thought no one was looking. The sky was grey and heavy with rainclouds and there was a bit of chilling wind. Harry watched as a gum wrapper was pushed across the tracks, swirling through the air until it landed in a puddle of muddy water and stopped. Louis sighed next to him.

"I don't want to go," he admitted in a small, pained voice. "It's not fair."

"It's not," Harry agreed, sighing as well. "It's like you only just got here."

"I know, I hate it."

Harry's stomach gave a painful twist when he heard the train approaching. "Call me when you get home, okay? No matter what time it is."

"I will. I will," Louis answered. His voice was higher than usual and his eyes were oddly bright.

And as the train screeched to a stop in front of them, Louis flung an arm around Harry's neck and pulled him closer, pressing a desperate kiss on his lips. "This isn't goodbye forever," he whispered.

Before Harry could return the kiss or reply, Louis was picking up his bag and jumping on the train, waving at Harry from the window as soon as he'd sat down.

Harry stood on the platform watching the train until it disappeared around a bend, and then he turned on his heels and headed back for his mother's car, feeling like half of him had just left.

Chapter Text

Distance makes the heart grow fonder, the saying goes, and Harry was acutely aware of its veracity in the weeks following Louis' visit. The feeling like his heart had been split in half faded after a couple of days, but things still felt odd. Harry never considered himself to be a bitter person, but he grew resentful of couples he saw parading around the school hand in hand, his stomach clenching with envy as he wondered why he couldn't have that, too. Then, of course, there would follow the sinking realisation that even if Louis lived in his town and went to his school, they couldn't possibly have exactly that. There'd be stares and whispers if they held hands in the hallways and god forbid they tried to kiss in public. Things had come a long way, but not such a long way that they could act like a normal couple.

And he wondered, sometimes, why he felt such a need to have a normal relationship. Whenever he'd see a couple fighting, he'd think how thankful he was that he and Louis didn't see enough of each other to start fighting about the flavour of yoghurt they bought each other. Besides, spending all of their time together would mean having nothing to talk about, hm? Most of their conversations revolved around what they'd done that day. With that removed, what would they talk about?

Following that train of thought was dangerous, however, and Harry knew it. It always led to questioning exactly how they worked when they were at odds on most things. They were best friends, that had become strikingly obvious in the past weeks, but maybe that's all they were. Best friends that kissed a couple of times, basically. The b-word hadn't been uttered, after all. Neither had the l-word. Letting himself get further along this trail led to jealousy, a deep, searing jealousy that paralysed him at times. Louis had never hidden the fact that he had fooled around with others and, Harry sometimes wondered, what stopped him from continuing? Nothing bound them; they were not each other's. Louis was continually receiving text messages from his mates while they talked at night, but he never elaborated, never used names. On good days, Harry thought nothing of it. On bad ones, though, he imagined myriad boys waiting in line to give Louis what Harry couldn't; what Harry wouldn't more than once.

And that part was wrong, now. He wanted more. Snogging Louis during his visit hadn’t felt enough and that had surprised Harry more than he could describe. He was ready to take things a step further; not all the way, not yet, not for a long time, but at least take them beyond snogging. They saw so little of each other; he wanted to make every second count, and it was the one thought occupying his mind at all times: seeing Louis and showing him how much he cared, how much he wanted him.

Harry wouldn’t say he believes in miracles, or karma, or divine intervention. He wouldn’t say he doesn’t, but he never really gave it much thought, to be honest. Things happened, for a reason or not, and that was that. Life was just being itself: messy and complicated and mostly just a bit dull.

That is, until he found a letter on the kitchen counter as he came home from school on a windy October day.

The envelope was lavender and his name was written on it in that old-timey, neat cursive old people all seemed to write in. With a frown, Harry grabbed a paper cutter from a bowl of knick-knacks resting on the counter and cut it opened. There was a birthday card inside and when he opened it, notes fell out. A quick read let him know it was from a great-aunt over in Leeds and nothing in the note she scribbled mentioned the fact that she was eight months late for his birthday. Dismissing the card, Harry gathered the notes that had fallen at his feet and counted.

And then he counted again, his heart hammering in his chest. £100. She’s sent him £100 for his birthday, eight months too late, but the timing couldn’t have been better. It couldn’t, no, because the night before, he had been complaining with Louis on Skype about how expensive train tickets are and how unfair it is that because of this, they hadn’t seen each other again, nearly a month and a half later. There had been entire nights spent watching the same movie at the same time while Skyping about it; their latest one had been The Notebook, and they’d had a long conversation afterwards about how letters were the most romantic thing and how sad it was that people had stopped writing them.

Harry had found a job in the weeks after Louis’ visit, but his weekends at the town’s bakery were not enough to pay for the train and his phone bill, so he had resigned himself to waiting until Louis could afford to visit once again. But now, clutching the crisp notes in his hand, his mind was already running wild with plans. He reached for his phone, but stopped halfway to his pocket, shaking his head.

Instead of texting Louis, he ran up to his room and immediately turned on his computer to look at tickets, all the while dialling his mum’s number at work.

“Mum! Aunt Ruth just sent me money for my birthday!” he nearly shouted as soon as she answered.

“Did she, now? I wondered what that letter was! It’s not so bad, she remembered before Christmas, this year! Poor dear, it breaks my heart to see her memory go like that. Did she call you Henry again, or did she get it right, this time?”

“She got my name right, but I think she might have gotten the money wrong. She sent me £100.”

Harry laughed when he heard his mother let out a small gasp. “Well, that’s a nice present, hm! What are you going to do with it, love?”

Harry bit his lip, swivelling on his chair for a few seconds. “Could I use it to go surprise Louis in Doncaster?”

There was silence on the other end before Anne sighed. “I suppose, yes. But you’ve got to make sure with his mother that it’s okay! If she agrees, I don’t see why you couldn’t go.”

“Thanks, Mum!”

“One more thing, can you start making dinner around 5? Robin and I need to stop by the bank before we come home, I left you instructions in the kitchen.”

“Yes, yes, don’t worry,” Harry assured her, eager to hang up so he could try and get in touch with Mrs Tomlinson. “Bye Mum, I love you!”

“Love you, too,” she replied, but Harry hung up before he could hear the last syllable.

Finding a way to contact Louis’ mother without asking Louis was not as hard as Harry imagined it would be. It took him all of three seconds to find her profile in Facebook and five minutes to compose his message. He kept it short and straight to the point, but still polite.

Hi, Mrs Tomlinson! I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Harry, the boy Louis met at Disney World? He came to my house in September? I’m writing to you because I was thinking maybe I could come for a visit soon and I want to surprise Louis with it, if it’s okay with you? Let me know, if you don’t want to, it’s not a problem at all. I just thought I’d ask. Best, Harry.

Satisfied, Harry sent the message and then replied to the five text messages Louis had sent him in the fifteen minutes since he’d walked through the front door.

Mrs Tomlinson’s answer came later that evening, right when Harry was about to go to bed.

Of course I remember you, Harry! Louis won’t shut up about you ;) you’re welcome here anytime, it’d be a pleasure to have you over! When are you free? Louis has a match out of town Saturday in two weeks, so it might be better to do it before or after that. Let me know!

With a grin big enough to hurt his cheeks, Harry quickly typed his reply, having to delete and retype several words that he mistyped in his haste.

I know it’s very last minute, but maybe this weekend? I don’t have school on Friday, I could get to Doncaster earlier and surprise him as he leaves school?

Immediately, the message was marked as ‘read’ and Harry began bouncing his leg up and down.

Tell me a time and I’ll pick you up at the station. Friday is my day off, it’s perfect! :D

Okay, I’ll ask my mum and book the ticket. Thank you!!!!!! Please don’t tell Louis!

I know nothing ;)

Five minutes later, Harry’s tickets were bought and he was texting Louis good night, thinking to himself that in four days, he would be telling him in person.

Harry was nervous all week, but he reached the height of anticipation as the train started making its way towards Harry’s stop. He had brought homework to do during the ride, but found that he could not focus on anything. Reading proved to be just as fruitless, and so was trying to nap. The only thing he found he could do was lecture Louis through text messages for writing to him while he was supposed to pay attention in class.

Part of Harry’s nerves came from his worry about finding Mrs Tomlinson in the crowded station, and that part came through. It took him almost ten minutes of wandering around to finally find her sitting on a bench right next to where he’d walked in. She laughed when she saw him, which made him bow his head.

“I tried calling your name, love! But you never heard me! I figured it was safer to stay here and wait for you to find me instead of running after you. Did you have a nice trip?” As she talked, she pulled Harry into a hug, which surprised him so much that he was lost for words for a few seconds.

“Oh, hm, yes, it was nice. Very long, though.”

“It’s two hours, isn’t it? Louis said it felt like the two longest hours of his life,” she said with a laugh, hooking her arm with Harry’s to steer him towards the parking lot. “I was thinking I’d drop you off at his school, they’re out in about ten minutes, but he has footie practice on Friday afternoons, so you can surprise him there, yeah? And he usually grabs a ride from one of his mates after it, so you won’t have to bother with taking a bus or anything.”

Harry nodded, letting her lead the conversation even as they sat in the car and pulled into the late afternoon traffic. What he was about to do was starting to feel very real; too real. Mrs Tomlinson must have felt that Harry was getting nervous because she patted his knee and gave him a reassuring smile.

“That’s you, love,” she said at last, turning into a mostly empty car park and stopping the car. “So, you’ll need to go behind the school to find Louis. Follow that path there and it’ll be on your left once you’ve reached the back, but honestly, you can’t miss it. Tell Louis he needs to be home by six, yeah? Have fun.” She punctuated her words with another small pat on Harry’s knee, which he took as his cue to get out of the car. “Leave your bag,” she said as she saw him reaching for it. “I’ll leave it in Louis’ room, don’t worry. Off you go, now!”

With a final nod and a thank you, Harry started down the path she had indicated. He felt out of place wearing normal clothes when every student he crossed was dressed in their uniform. He pulled on the sleeves of his hoodie, intimidated, and kept walking.

As Mrs Tomlinson had predicted, it was impossible for Harry to miss the pitch. Loud shouts and shrill whistles were coming from it, guiding Harry across the yard. He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers and tried to decide what he would do. Walking on the pitch would get him killed, probably; he could see several balls being kicked and he honestly did not want to end up with one in his face because he came in unexpected. His gaze turned to the bleachers, where a handful of girls were already sitting, cheering on some of the boys, and he made his way there, climbing so he could be a couple of levels higher than the girls. Their gazes followed him as he passed and he gave them a small smile and an uncomfortable wave, wondering if they could tell who he was here for.

It took Harry a couple of minutes to find Louis, but when he did, he kept his eyes glued to him. It was mesmerising to see him play, yes, but also to see him interact with his teammates. Harry had only ever seen Louis with him or his sisters, he had no idea what kind of guy Louis was in a crowd. As it turned out, Louis was the extremely outgoing type and he seemed to be friends with every single guy on the team. Watching him from a distance, Harry could tell that he was doing equal parts practice and socialising, to his coach’s annoyance. Of all the whistles Harry heard in the twenty minutes he sat, half of them were directed at Louis. It made him laugh and spread warmth inside of him, like a wave of fondness and affection for this boy who did not seem able to stop talking, not for one second.

Harry rubbed his hands together and squeezed them underneath his thighs, feeling more and more the cold, biting wind, and yet the practice didn’t seem to be drawing to a close any time soon. He knew from waiting for replies from Louis on Friday afternoons that the practices never ended past five, but as the minutes stretched, it dawned on Harry that perhaps they would practice longer, considering the upcoming match. With a sigh, Harry thought of the coat he’d left in his bag, thinking he wouldn’t need it.

“Take five!” the coach shouted and Harry was brought back to reality when he saw the players heading for the bleachers, Louis amongst them.

Keeping his eyes on him, Harry hoped and prayed Louis would look up and see him. He felt glued to the bench and was petrified at the thought of having to come down and try to get Louis’ attention while he was in the midst of talking with his teammates. He watched Louis grab a water bottle and gulp it down, head thrown back while his sweaty fringe fell in his eyes, and Harry gulped. Gathering his courage, he made the move to get up and that’s when he met Louis’ eyes.

Louis slowly lowered his bottle and squinted, taking a couple of steps forward, and Harry gave him a small wave and a smaller smile. At that, Louis’ eyes widened comically and he shouted “No way!” before starting up the steps, climbing them two by two.

Harry had no time to brace himself before Louis threw himself at him, wrapping his arms around his neck and toppling them both backwards. Harry hit his elbow on the bench behind him, but completely ignored it, preferring instead to cling to Louis’ sweaty back.

“What are you doing here?!” Louis shouted, his mouth inches from Harry’s ear.

Harry winced and laughed, holding Louis tighter. “Surprise!”

“Are you trying to kill me?! Is that what you want?! You’ve got to warn a guy, fuck, Styles!” Louis pulled back and grinned at Harry, shaking his head. “I can’t bloody believe it.”

“I’m here all weekend, too!”

“Yeah, you better be!” Louis’ voice was shaking; they both noticed it at the same time. Louis placed his hands on Harry’s cheeks and stroked his cheekbones with his thumbs a couple of times before leaning in for a kiss. It was quick and chaste, but it got Harry’s heart beating wildly. “I can’t believe you’re really here,” he repeated, shaking his head once more.

“I’ll explain it all later, yeah? I think you’re needed back on the pitch.”

“You have no idea how much I don’t give a fuck about footie practice right now.”

“Tomlinson!” the coach shouted, confirming Harry’s guess. “Get down here!”

“Go,” Harry said softly, pushing Louis away despite his half-hearted protests. “I’ll be there when it’s over.”

Sticking out his tongue, Louis stole one last kiss before running back down. Harry couldn’t hear what his teammates said to him, but from the way Louis was pushing them or flipping them off, he figured he was being teased about what he had just done. Without being able to quite explain it, in that moment, Harry felt proud.

The practice lasted for another half hour and by the time the coach let them go, Harry couldn’t feel his fingers and his feet. He clumsily walked down the steps to meet up with Louis, who grinned when he saw him approaching.

“You were really good,” Harry commented, hands dug deep inside his pockets.

“You think so?” Louis asked, shrugging as he took a sip of water. “I’m okay, I guess.”

“You’re more than okay. You’ve clearly never seen me play,” Harry said with a laugh.

“That bad, huh? Those stupidly long legs of yours get all tangled up like Bambi, is that it?”

“Pretty much.”

They both laughed, but Harry’s smile faded when Louis grabbed a ball and motioned towards the pitch with his head. “Come on. The first to score twice wins. The winner picks which movie we’ll go see tonight.”

“That’s not fair!” Harry complained, following Louis nonetheless. “I’ll lose!”

“Maybe not! I’m tired!” Louis opened his eyes wide, probably aiming for adorable, but mostly looking proud of himself. "But maybe I just really want to pick the movie."

Louis took off running and Harry went after him, meeting Louis in the middle of the pitch, already beginning to get winded. Louis dropped the ball on the ground and placed his foot on top of it as he waited for Harry to take his position in front of him.

"Is it safe to assume you won't give me a chance?"

"Yes, absolutely," Louis said, cackling. "I want to win! Ready? Go!" he shouted before Harry could see it coming, kicking the ball and running towards Harry's goal.

Harry ran after him, catching up quickly thanks to his long legs, and began trying to kick the ball out of Louis' control. Louis kept moving out of his way, laughing as he did and letting out small cries whenever Harry got too close. He had years of experience controlling the ball that Harry did not have and within five minutes, he'd already scored once, letting out a victorious shout as he did.

"That's one point for me!"

"I wasn't even in the goal! I couldn't stop you!"

"That's your problem, mate! Not mine!" Louis cried through his laughter, coming back towards Harry with the ball under his arm. "Come on, back to the centre. Try playing this time instead of complaining, it might help."

Louis ducked out of the way just in time to avoid the smack Harry was aiming at the back of his head. They got in position and, once more, Louis got hold of the ball first. Harry caught up with him faster this time and after a few misses, he managed to push the ball out of Louis' control, immediately leading it towards the other end of the pitch with Louis on his heels. Focusing entirely on the task at end, Harry kept going, mustering every shred of technique he'd learn in the past to get the ball into the goal. He was at a disadvantage, running on the dewy lawn with regular trainers while Louis had cleats on, but despite this, he reached the goal without slipping once. Hearing Louis approaching, Harry kicked without aiming and scored, the ball hitting the top post and ricocheting inside the net. He raised his arms in victory and turned to face Louis, grinning.

"1-1!" he shouted, laughing when Louis rolled his eyes.

"Go get the ball, this time we're playing for real."

"Because we weren't before?" Harry asked, jogging over to the goal to retrieve the ball. Before joining Louis in the middle of the pitch, though, he headed towards the bleachers to pull off his hoodie and strip down to the white shirt he wore underneath.

"I was going easy on you. Not anymore. This time it's for real."

Louis made a show of stretching his legs and arms while Harry joined him and placed the ball on the ground. Knowing that deception was his only chance at winning this game, Harry shouted "Go!" before Louis was in position and took off with the ball, laughing to hear Louis curse behind him as he ran to catch up.

"That's cheating, Styles! You're a fucking cheater!" he shouted with indignation, and Harry only laughed, glad of the head start he had on him.

Said head start was becoming smaller fast, though, Louis running at full speed to catch up and appearing at his side with a smirk.

"I'm going to end you," he threatened and with it, he slipped his leg out to kick the ball.

Harry saw it coming, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He tripped over Louis' leg and stumbled forward, barely keeping his balance, before getting tangled up in the ball and falling down, face first. Shocked by the fall, Harry rolled on his back and stared at the grey sky for a few seconds, catching his breath and letting a wave of embarrassment wash over him. Louis knelt on the ground next to him, frowning.

"Are you okay?" He reached down and pushed Harry's hair out of his eyes, worry etched on his face.

"Yeah, yeah. My pride took the worst hit."

"Aw, your poor pride," Louis cooed, extending his hand to help Harry up. "Want to finish the game? I scored before I saw you'd gone down. Technically, I won."

"You could try to look sheepish about it."

"Why lie?" Louis smiled proudly. "So," he continued, brushing bits of grass off Harry. "I need to hit the showers before we go, I reek."

"Yeah, I noticed," Harry teased, earning himself a shove on the arm.

"Such a gentleman." Louis rolled his eyes, heading off to the bleachers to pick up his bag and bottle of water, throwing his hoodie at Harry.

They started towards the school, exchanging platitudes until they reached the locker room. Louis waved at the few boys who were still there while he opened his locker and toed off his cleats.

"Tommo," one of the boys said as he closed his locker and picked up his bag, heading off towards the exit. "We'll see you tonight, yeah?"

"Tonight?" Louis asked, frowning.

"Stan's party, mate. You're still coming?"

Louis glanced at Harry, then, and bit his lip. "Shit, I forgot about that! I'll let him know when I figured it out."

"Your..." the guy looked Harry up and down and Harry felt appraised, "Your friend can come, too."

"Yeah, I'm not going to leave him at home, am I?" Louis snapped, pulling off his shirt swiftly, bunching it up and throwing it in his locker. "I'll let you guys know what I decided," Louis finished and his tone made it clear that the guy was dismissed.

"You can still go," Harry hurried to say. "I can stay at your place, I don't mind. I've got homework."

Louis winced. "Don't be stupid. If I'm going, you're coming along. Of course you are." Louis bit his lip and stopped moving, his eyes fixed on the wall behind Harry. "I was about to strip in front of you," he admitted.

Harry inhaled sharply and brushed it off with a small, uncomfortable laugh. "Oh, yeah, that's... Hm, you'd do it if I were one of your teammates, though."

Louis gave a jerky shrug. "I wouldn't think twice about it. But, hm... yeah."

Harry ran a hand through his hair and winced when he felt how sweaty they were. He hesitated for a second before letting out a shaky sigh. "I need to shower, too. I feel gross from the game and the train journey."

"There are no... it's... open. In the showers. There are no stalls," Louis stammered. "I thought... well, you said... kissing was the limit and now... well. I'm not saying I would look or... or touch, but you'll... you'll be there and naked, y'know?"

"I know what I said." Harry gulped. "And I know what I'm saying now."

"You mean you want us to be naked together? Isn't that too much?"

"I... I'm curious."

Louis sighed, took Harry's hands in his and, in that moment, Harry knew he was about to be told that it was better to wait, that Louis wanted to make it special, and romantic, and that he didn't want their first time naked together to be in grimy school showers. He braced himself for the burning disappointment of it, but also for the shame of having his offer be turned down because it was too much.

"We can't touch. I won't be able to control myself if you let me touch you."

Harry's throat turned dry from the shock of Louis' words. He licked his lips and nodded. "It doesn't have to be—" The word got stuck in his throat and he cleared it with a small cough. "It doesn't have to be sexual."

"No, of course not!" Louis smiled in relief. "We both need to shower, it's more efficient to do it at the same time, is all."

"Exactly," Harry agreed, nodding with emphasis. "So..."

"So," Louis said with finality. "Shower time."

With an encouraging smile, Louis squeezed Harry’s hands one last time before going back to his locker. He kept his back to Harry as he began to slowly take off his clothes and Harry was grateful for the semblance of intimacy it gave him. He’d never been ashamed of his body – far from it, actually – but there was something unnerving about the idea of stripping while Louis watched.

“Are there any towels?” Harry asked.

Without turning around, Louis answered in a light tone. “Oh, yes, on your left you’ll find a cabinet with them in it. Can you bring me one, too? Just put it on the bench behind me, thanks.”

Retrieving the towels only took Harry a minute and then he was back on his side of the bench, his back to Louis, and his heart racing at the thought that he was about to see him naked. He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, carefully laying it on the bench to avoid wrinkles, before toeing off his shoes while he undid the button of his jeans. After that, all he had left to do was pull down his trousers and pants and pull off his socks, which he did hurriedly before wrapping the towel around his waist.

“Can I turn?”

“Yes, yes,” Louis answered, and when Harry spun on his heels he found Louis in a similar state, with the white towel hanging from his hips. “Come on, I’ve got shampoo and soap,” he added, pulling them out of his bag and leading the way to the showers.

Harry followed and within seconds, he had to look away at the sight of Louis pulling off his towel and leaving it at the entrance of the shower area. Louis didn’t look back, not once, and he made his way to a showerhead, turning it on while keeping his back to Harry. With a deep, bracing inhale, Harry took off his towel and left it with Louis’ before joining him, picking the showerhead next to his. He turned on the water and stepped under the spray, closing his eyes under the lukewarm water.

“Does it ever get warmer?”

Louis laughed, a short gasp that sounded breathless. “I wish.”

Running his hands through his hair to properly wet them, Harry chanced a glance to the side and he had to bite his lip against a gasp when he was greeted with the sight of Louis’ wet, round bum. His eyes widened as he took in it, now staring unabashedly. Louis’ clothes had hinted at a bum like this, but despite that nothing could have prepared Harry for how glorious it was in the flesh, with two strong thighs underneath and—and—

Louis turned, his eyes closed under the water, and Harry got an eyeful of his cock, soapy and limp, but so completely unexpected that he gasped out loud and turned his back on Louis, blood pumping in his ears.

“Haz… were you peeking at me?” Louis asked, his tone annoyingly teasing.

“I—no.”

“So you’re blushing for no reason at all? You’re red all the way down your shoulders and back.”

“Am I?” Harry risked a look over his shoulder and found Louis’ eyes on him, raking his body up and down.

“Hm, yes.” Louis shook his head and let out a sharp breath. “Fuck, Haz, you’re bloody fit,” he said, looking surprised by his own words. “I mean… I knew you were fit, but your body is… wow. It’s a good little body.”

Bashful, slightly uncomfortable, Harry placed his hands over his cock as he turned to face Louis, but kept his body angled away. “You think so?”

“I know so. Your body’s amazing, love.”

Harry licked his lips, keeping his eyes on Louis’ since he seemed completely unfazed by how exposed he was; Harry didn’t want to risk glancing down again, in case he lost the very small control he had on himself at the moment, the tiny bits of it that prevented him from having a boner just from the intensity of the moment.

“Thank you,” he replied, his voice muted by his nerves. “I’m not usually shy…”

Louis smiled and shrugged, brushing it off lightly. “Don’t worry about it.”

With a nod, Harry turned back to the wall, letting out a shaky exhale as he resumed washing up, reaching blindly on the floor for the shampoo and soap when he needed them. His heart was beating so hard he was afraid Louis might be able to hear it above the noise of the water what with the way it was deafening to him. He had thought that their furtive moment in the hotel room, which felt like a lifetime ago, had been the most erotic moment he had ever lived, but he was realising starkly now that just because they weren’t touching didn’t mean it wasn’t sensual in a different way. He felt closer to Louis than he’d ever felt, which made no sense considering that all he’d done was get caught looking at his naked body.

He jumped at the sound of Louis shutting the water off, the pipes screeching in protest, and he kept his eyes on the wall in front of him while Louis walked back to his towel, only risking a glance when he was sure he was gone. He joined him not long after, the towel tightly wrapped around his hips, and kept his back to Louis while he dressed, only humming in reply to what Louis was babbling about as he got dressed.

“Ready to go, Kitten?” Louis asked at last, shutting his locker with a metallic clang and picking up his bag. “We missed our lift, we’ll have to take the bus. I’ll pay for your ticket, don’t worry,” he said with a wink before linking his arm through Harry’s.

Harry didn’t say much, instead letting Louis lead the way to the bus stop, and it was only once they were sitting on the bench to wait for it that Louis turned to him. His eyebrows were creased in worry.

“Are you okay? You’re quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Harry answered, nodding quickly. “It’s just… sometimes, what you think you want isn’t what you actually want, you know?”

With a smile, Louis shook his head. “I’m not following.”

“I really, really thought I wanted to see you naked, but now that I’ve done it, I… I’m not sure.”

The crease got deeper. “What are you saying? Do you regret it?”

“No! It’s just… It made things worse, I think.” Harry bit his lip, keeping his head down.

“Things? What things?” Louis asked softly.

The bus pulled at the stop and Harry was grateful for the few minutes it gave him to gather his thoughts and come up with a proper answer. Louis dragged him by the wrist to the back of the bus, sitting by the window and pulling Harry close, his arm around his shoulder in a protective way. In a show-off way, too, and that made Harry smile shyly.

“The thing is…” Harry began, keeping his voice low and forcing Louis to lean in close. “The thing is, I… I’m regretting what I told you about not wanting more than kissing. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I… I think I want more.”

Louis raised his eyebrows in surprise, but other than that, his face stayed neutral. “More what?”

“I want to touch you…” he admitted, his eyes cast down, “intimately.”

Louis laughed, out of breath, and pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “Intimately, hm? Like… sex?”

With a shaky exhale Harry nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Thinking isn’t enough, love. I want you to be sure before we do anything. But when you’re ready, I’ll be, too.” Louis took Harry’s chin between his fingers and raised it to lock their eyes. “I’m really excited about sex with you. I want to eat you up,” he whispered before kissing Harry.

Harry’s stomach gave a great swoop and he laughed against Louis’ lips, returning the kiss clumsily.

Too soon, the bus pulled at Louis’ stop and they climbed out to walk hand in hand to his house. They were greeted by loud shrieks as the twins ran up to Harry, clinging to him and talking all over each other, pulling and tugging on his hands so he would come see their rooms and play with them. Louis treacherously abandoned Harry to his faith for almost an hour, choosing only to stand in the doorway and watch as Harry was being attacked by his sisters, only stepping in when they were called for dinner.

Harry was bombarded with questions, then, coming from everyone but Louis, who only sat quietly and ate with a smirk on his face, visibly amused by the way Harry had been turned into the centre of attention.

“Mum, Haz and I are going to Stan’s tonight. We’ll be quiet when we come back, promised,” Louis said when there was a lull in the conversation.

Harry looked up from his plate. Louis had never actually told him if he’d decided to go or not, but he seemed to have made up his mind. Something cold and heavy coiled inside of Harry’s stomach and he put down his fork to take a sip of water, his appetite gone as nerves settled in.

“What’s at Stan’s tonight?” Jay asked with a slight frown.

“It’ll just be a couple of mates getting together, nothing big. I already said I’d go before Haz came and he doesn’t mind, so it’s still on.”

Jay turned to Harry. “Do you have a curfew, love?”

“Mum!”

“He’s 16, Louis!”

Harry cleared his throat. “Hm, yeah, it’s usually before midnight.”

“Midnight, it is, then. Louis, you heard me?”

Louis sighed and nodded. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll be home by midnight.”

Under the table, he squeezed Harry’s knee and gave him a small smile when Harry glanced at him. Harry returned it, hoping it didn’t betray his apprehension.

-

All the lights were on in the house as they neared it and Harry could hear voices coming from the yard. He pulled on his shirt before smoothing it down and running a hand through his hair to try and ruffle them just right.

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m coming?” he asked for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, of course, everyone will be happy to meet you, Kitten. Come on,” Louis replied, his patience wearing thin. “Have you ever met anyone who didn’t instantly like you? Besides, it’s Stan, he’s my best mate. He won’t say a word, I promise.”

With that, he shoved Harry forward with a hand on the small of his back and opened the front door without knocking. They were immediately greeted by loud cheers as, it seems, everyone called out for Louis’ attention. Harry stayed one step behind him as Louis weaved through the crowd, shaking hands and clapping shoulders like he was a politician trying to win votes. Harry had suspected that Louis was popular, but nothing could have prepared him for what he was witnessing. Once in a while, Louis would glance over his shoulder to make sure Harry was following. When they reached the middle of the living room, where most of the people were gathered, Louis finally stopped and pulled on Harry’s arm to bring him by his side. In front of them stood a boy Harry recognised from Louis’ Facebook pictures. Without a word, he and Louis started a complicated handshake before greeting each other warmly.

“You must be the infamous Harry, then?” Stan asked, not waiting for Harry to reply before he continued. “What can I offer you? Usually it’s BYOB, but you’re Louis’ plus one and a minor, so you’re drinking on me today.”

Harry bit his lip and glanced at Louis, who gave him an encouraging smile. “I don’t… I don’t like beer, so… maybe WKD? If you’ve got some.”

A ginger boy snorted a laugh. “We do, yeah. For the girls!”

“Piss off, tosser!” Louis immediately replied, punching him on the arm. “That was Oli. You don’t need to talk to him,” Louis told Harry, smirking. “A beer for me, Stan!” He turned to Harry once more. “Don’t let Stan fool you, I paid for half of what he bought. He’s not that generous.”

Harry nodded, glancing around the room. “Do you really know everyone here? I think there’s more people than in my entire year at school.”

Louis laughed and nodded, reaching up to fix Harry’s fringe. “Yeah, I do. It’s mostly my footie team and the drama club. Some are Stan’s mate, but I know them, too. I go to a big school. Don’t be intimidated, everyone will love you.”

“You keep saying that, yeah, but—” Harry was interrupted by the simultaneous return of Stan and the arrival of a boy in their circle.

The newcomer gave Harry a curious once-over before turning to Louis, a bright smile appearing on his face. He was taller than both of them with big, expressive brown eyes and brown hair swooped up in a stylish quiff. There was a scarf artfully thrown around his neck and he oozed confidence and a sense of worldliness that Harry sorely lacked in that moment, making him feel even more like a child as he took a first sip of his bright blue drink.

“Long time no see,” the boy said, stepping further into their circle, his eyes glued on Louis.

“I had other things on my mind, Aiden,” Louis replied and the icy undertone of his voice made Harry open his eyes wide in surprise.

The name, too, gave him pause. He’d heard it before, but try as he might, he could not remember when Louis had mentioned an Aiden. In any case, his presence felt like a shadow had been cast over the evening. He was looking at Louis in an almost proprietary way, like he belonged to him, or had, in the past.

Or still did.

Harry gulped and looked between them, at the tense line of Louis’ shoulders and the smirk on Aiden’s face, and his stomach sank. Of course, he should have known.

“I see that,” Aiden replied, once again glancing at Harry. “I’m Aiden, by the way,” he added, finally introducing himself properly.

“Harry.” Harry took a long sip of his drink to try and fight the dryness of his throat.

Louis was looking increasingly annoyed at the scene and Harry supposed that he snapped when he felt Louis’ arm snake around his waist before he pulled him along, away from Aiden, pushing back into the crowd.

“It looked like you’ve got history with Aiden,” Harry commented, trying to keep his voice light.

Louis shrugged. “History’s the right word.” He took a sip of his beer before a smile broke on his face. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the girls from drama. They’re dying to meet you!”

By the time Harry had reached the end of his bottle of WKD, he had been introduced to close to twenty people and promptly forgotten all of their names. Another bottle was pushed in his hand by Stan, who walked away with a wink, and Harry was grateful for it. He’d never been one to be shy, but he was intimidated by Louis’ friends. They were older, more experienced, all of them acting like this party was a routine thing, something that happened a couple of times every month, while Harry was trying to hide how overwhelmed he was to be at his first real party. He’d never even believed parties like that were a thing, but as he followed Louis through the house, he felt more and more like he’d just walked into a clichéd teen movie.

And then he lost Louis. A group of girls grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away, talking excitedly about trying to remember the choreography from their show from the previous year. Harry stayed where he stood, keeping his eyes on Louis so he didn’t lose him in the crowd. He finished his bottle in one long gulp and abandoned it on an end table nearby, staying put for a moment before he tried to find Stan for more alcohol. He liked the way it made some of his nerves dissipate.

After a few minutes of trying to make his way through the crowd, which was converging towards the room where Louis and his friends were dancing and singing, Harry finally made it to the kitchen, where he found yet more girls. Two of them were sitting on the counter and eating crisps from a bag while another was rummaging through the fridge.

“Oh, hello there!” the one nearest Harry said. “I don’t know you.”

“No, I, hm…” Harry stammered, swallowing. He hadn’t expected having to talk to anyone. “I’m not from here.”

“That’s what I said! I said you weren’t from our school because I’d have noticed you, didn’t I? I did, yeah,” the one with her head in the fridge said, nodding to herself. From the way her words slurred, she’d been at the party for a while. “Have you tried Oli’s brownies? They’re mental,” she added, pushing a plate towards Harry.

The two girls on the counter giggled and nodded emphatically, so Harry had no choice but to take one. He tasted it, reluctantly at first, before letting out a small hum of surprise and finishing it in two bites.

“Yeah, okay, those are amazing,” he said, taking another one. “Do you know if there’s any WKD left?”

The girl from the fridge, who had gone back to searching the content as soon as she’d stopped talking, handed him a bottle. Harry uncapped it and nibbled on his brownie, feeling like he was the only one in the room who felt the weight of the silence. He cleared his throat.

“What do you know about Aiden?” he asked after a moment, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could think them through.

“Aiden?” the fridge girl asked. “I don’t know any Aiden.”

“Yeah, you do! Grimshaw!”

“I don’t… oh! Shit! Yeah! I know about him! What do you want to know?”

Harry shrugged. “Just… stuff.”

The girl who’d been quiet since he walked in spoke up after painstakingly sucking orange powder off her fingers. “He’s in college, now, isn’t he? And he used to hang out all the time with Louis.”

“Louis?” the fridge girl asked. Having found leftover meatloaf, she’d started a quest for utensils, her movements clumsy.

“Tomlinson. They were fuck friends. Last year. Until he met that guy on summer hols and ended it with a text.”

“Who, Aiden?”

“No, Tomlinson! Louis ended it.”

“What about that guy he met?” Harry asked, biting his lip.

“I don’t know much about it except that he lives in another town and he made Louis lose his mind. I mean, he must have, to turn down Grimshaw. But for all we know, he’s not even real. Like, a boyfriend in another town? That’s really unoriginal.”

“I heard Louis ended it because Aiden was pressuring him to shag.”

“You literally just said they were fuck friend!” the fridge girl cried out.

“But they weren’t really shagging! It’s like, a big deal or something for two guys because of, like… well, it’s up the bum, yeah? So that’s kind of a big deal. That’s what my cousin told me anyway.”

“So they weren’t really fuck friends? They were just fooling around.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what I meant. They weren’t boyfriends or anything, but Aiden took it rough when Louis ended it.”

“He did not! My cousin goes to uni with him and she says he found a new boy, like, two weeks into the term.”

“Then why is he here? If not to see Louis?”

Harry was feeling increasingly sick listening to them and he put down the third piece of brownie he was mindlessly nibbling. He needed to find Louis before Aiden got his hands back on him. He did not stand a chance next to him: Aiden was older, more handsome and far more experienced than Harry could ever dream to be.

“Hey, where are you going?” the fridge girl said when he turned to walk out. “You didn’t even tell us your name!”

Pausing, Harry sighed. “I’m Harry.”

One of the girls on the counter gasped. “You’re Louis’ Harry, aren’t you? He never shuts up about you!”

Something dark coiled inside of Harry. “I’m not Louis’ anything.”

He left the room, clutching his bottle and feeling the effects of the previous two on his coordination. They were not boyfriends; he wasn’t safe. With a hollow feeling in his stomach, Harry downed his drink much faster than he should have, discarding the empty bottle on the first surface he could find before unsteadily making his way back to where Louis was still dancing and singing, out of key, with his friends. On a bookshelf near them were lined up several empty shot glasses. A crowd was still gathered around them and – Harry didn’t miss it – Aiden was amongst them, cheering and laughing loudly whenever Louis cracked a joke.

Pushing his way to the front, Harry stood next to Aiden and crossed his arms over his chest, glancing at him from time to time to see if he’d been noticed. After a few minutes of this, Aiden caught his glimpse and turned his attention to him, an amused smirk on his lips.

“Feeling territorial, are we?”

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking back at Louis. “Should I?”

That only seemed to amuse Aiden more. “Maybe, yeah. He’s quite amazing, but you already know that. To be honest, I didn’t expect you to be here. I was hoping… well. Let’s say Louis and I had a routine, whenever there was a party.”

From the lewd smile he had, and from the way he was wistfully looking at Louis, Harry understood his meaning quite well. He gulped.

“He’s with me, now,” Harry said.

“Is he really, though? You’ve made it official?”

Despite the condensed heat of so many bodies crammed into a small room, Harry felt cold. “As good as.”

“We were as good as, too, you know. And then he met you.”

Louis had climbed on the coffee table and was loudly singing about ‘dancing through life’, hammy choreography supporting it. Harry watched him in silence for a moment, Aiden’s presence next to him like a searing burn.

“Hey, Haz,” Stan said as he approached, holding two shot glasses in his hands. “You look like you could use one of those.”

With a grateful smile, Harry took the two shots. It made Stan laugh and the atmosphere immediately became lighter. Harry could see why Louis liked him so much. Without so much as a glance to Aiden, Harry downed the shots one after the other, grimacing when the clear liquid burned his insides. Stan clapped him on the back and then hollered at someone, moving on and leaving Harry alone once more.

There was warmth radiating from his sternum outwards, his extremities tingling with it. Aiden was still by his side, but he found that he cared less and less with every passing minute. In front of him, Louis was seemingly going through the entire Broadway repertoire. It was fascinating to watch him go, to see him completely in his element, spinning and dancing and singing at the top of his lungs, his eyes crinkled with happiness and laughter bubbling out of him at every misstep and false note. His presence was magnetic; the eyes were drawn to him, to this tiny, shining boy burning brightly and glowing under the attention. Louis was born to be on a stage, Harry realised, and the warmth inside of him only burned harder.

“Kitten! Kitten, Harry, come here, come on!” Louis called when he spotted him, stopping in the middle of a song and stepping off the table unsteadily.

Harry walked into Louis’ outstretched arms with a shy smile, knowing that he was being stared at. Louis pulled him in tight, arms wrapping around his neck and his breath warm against his skin.

“Hey, Lou. You’re having fun?”

“Much more now that you’re here!” Louis’ words were not as slurred as Harry had expected, and yet Louis kept clinging to him, his glasses digging in Harry’s skin in a way that should have been painful if he’d been able to connect to his body. As it were, he felt like he was loose inside of it, like he would rattle if someone shook him too much.

“You were really good up there,” Harry slurred.

Louis giggled. “Did you do shots, Kitten?”

Harry nodded and it threw off his balance. He clung to Louis.

“Without me?” Louis pouted. “That’s not fair! We have to fix that!”

Grabbing Harry’s shirt in the middle of his chest, Louis pulled him along, walking across the house to the dining room, where most of the alcohol was. There was a girl lying on it, wearing only her bra, and Harry recognised her as one of the two girls sitting on the counter. When she caught Harry’s eyes on her, she winked exaggeratedly. Harry watched as a pimply, gangly boy licked up a trail on her stomach and sprinkled it with salt.

“Body shots!” Louis shouted and he was met with enthusiastic replies. “It’s not a proper party at Stan’s if there are no body shots,” he explained to Harry. “And we’re next.”

Giggles bubbled out of Harry and he nodded, leaning against Louis, smiling when Louis held on to his waist.

“That’s Sam,” Louis explained in Harry’s ear, nodding his chin towards the girl.

“I met her in the kitchen.”

“Good.” Louis kissed his cheek. “She’s great. She was my first kiss.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he stared at Louis, vaguely aware that he was gaping. Louis giggled and kissed Harry’s cheek again.

“We were neighbours growing up. Now, she’s dating…” Louis looked around and pointed at the other girl who had been sitting on the counter, “… her. Emily.”

“And she’s letting a guy do a body shot off her?”

“It’s the closest he’ll ever get to a girl,” Louis said with a shrug.

Harry nodded, although he wasn’t sure he understood. He watched as the boy moved up Sam’s body to take the lime she was holding between her teeth and laughed with the rest of the room when she pushed him away the second he tried to kiss her, getting off the table with a hop and putting on the shirt her girlfriend handed her.

It took Harry a second too many to understand that it was their turn, the fact only dawning on him when Louis pulled on his arm and pushed him up against the table, the back of Harry’s thighs colliding with the edge of the table. Louis closed in to kiss him, pressing their bodies together with insistence. Harry was hyperaware of every inch of him that was touching Louis and he let his hands roam over Louis’ back, their lips nibbling and sucking the other’s, all thoughts of body shots forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Harry moved his hands down to grip Louis’ bum, squeezing it until Louis let out a squeak of surprise and pushed up against him, pressing their hips together. Harry could feel everything, including the beginning of his hard-on, bringing back flashes of a Disney World hotel room and sun-kissed skin. Harry pushed his hips forward, almost unintentionally, and smiled to hear Louis let out a small moan that he instantly swallowed. Louis pulled on the hem of Harry’s shirt, bumping their noses when he moved back to speak.

“Take it off, babe. Please.”

Louis’ breath was scorching where it hit Harry’s lips and he found himself nodding, pulling off his shirt and throwing it down on the ground. He met Aiden’s eyes, then, and held his gaze as he kissed Louis again, dirty and messy. With a small noise of protest, Louis pushed him back gently and helped lay him down on the table. He pressed another kiss to his lips before moving back, thanking the girl who handed him the saltshaker and a slice of lime. Clumsily, Louis climbed on the table and swung a leg over Harry’s, sitting in his lap and smiling down at him.

“Hold this between your teeth,” Louis said, gently placing the lime between Harry’s parted lips.

Harry could taste the tartness of the fruit on his tongue as he watched Louis move down his body, lowering himself to lick a broad stripe along the trail of soft, downy hair between Harry’s belly button and the waistband of his trousers. Harry gasped, biting down on the lime and grimacing as sour juice filled his mouth.

Louis only smirked and started sprinkling salt along the wet stripe, discarding the saltshaker and taking the shot of amber liquid he was handed.

“It’s a bit inconvenient that you haven’t got boobs,” Louis mused out loud, frowning slightly. “I don’t know where to put this… oh! I know!”

Without further warning, Louis bent down once more and licked the trail of salt. Harry’s skin tingled under it, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his breath already coming out short. The contrast between Louis’ burning tongue and the cold air hitting his wet skin made him shiver. He rose on his elbows just in time to see Louis pour the shot in his belly button and immediately bend down to suck the tequila out of it, licking in and around it to drink every single drop.

Harry gasped at the sensation, feeling like every single one of his nerves was firing at once. Louis moved all the way up to bite down on the lime, his lips brushing Harry’s in the process. Louis leaned back just long enough to spit out the lime before diving back in to kiss Harry once more.

“How many shots did you do, Kitten?” Louis asked against his lips.

“Two,” Harry whispered shakily.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

With a final peck, Louis moved back down Harry’s body, this time licking along his sternum and sprinkling the salt there. He gently placed another slice of lime between his teeth, which Harry obediently took. With a hand behind Harry’s neck, Louis pulled him up.

“Sit up. I need you to sit up for this one.”

Once again, Harry obeyed, letting Louis pull him up until he was sitting. Louis settled down in his lap and bowed his head to lick the salt. Straightening up once more, he began gently pouring the shot over Harry’s collarbone, licking and sucking at the drops that gathered in the dip of it. Harry shivered and leaned back on the table, resting on his hands to stay upright, and the pronounced hollow it created allowed Louis to pour the rest of the shot in and drink it from there.

Tequila was running down Harry’s chest and he was about to complain when Louis latched his lips to his skin, licking and kissing as he moved lower, his tongue circling Harry’s nipple to catch the last of the runaway drops. Harry was finding it hard to breath. He brought a hand up to run it through Louis’ hair, pulling on it until Louis looked up and, like an afterthought, moved up to bite the lime, only keeping it in his mouth a second before he was spitting it out and kissing Harry.

Harry licked into Louis’ mouth, chasing the taste of lime and tequila, his body a live wire that sparked with every touch of Louis’ skin against his. He was hard and hurting in his trousers, and feeling Louis rock on top of him, hearing his ragged breath as they kissed, only made it worse. Harry was vaguely aware, in a part of his brain he wasn’t paying attention to, that people were taking pictures. He brushed off the fact and focused on trying to slip his hands down the back of Louis’ trousers, encouraged by the hitching in Louis’ breath.

“That’s quite enough, move along, we’ve got a queue here,” Stan’s voice boomed, and seconds later Louis was climbing off the table and pulling on Harry’s hand for him to follow.

A girl Harry had never seen before handed him his shirt and he took hold of it. With a swoop of his stomach, Harry imagined for a moment that Louis was leading them to a bedroom to continue what they’d been doing, but his was soon disappointed to find himself going back to the living room, where someone had turned on the stereo and turned off the lights, turning it into a makeshift dance floor. Couples were swaying, entwined and oblivious to the world around them.

The temperature in the room was ridiculously high, a thin layer of sweat appearing on Harry’s skin before they started doing anything. He put his shirt on quickly, grinning and letting Louis move in closer, his arms wrapping around Harry’s neck as his clung to Louis’ moist back. A weird feeling was taking over Harry, a kind of giddy euphoria that he couldn’t remember having ever experienced before, fogging his mind in a very pleasant way. He felt light and fresh, like someone had ironed out the kinks and wrinkles in his mind and left it flat and untroubled by anything.

A heady smell of sweat and musk hung in the air, with a hint of the clean notes of alcohol, and Harry buried his nose in Louis’ neck, seeking that smell he’d loved so much when he’d first encountered it in the summer. He bit and kissed his skin, relishing the way Louis’ breath hitched with every nip of his teeth. Louis moved in even closer so that every inch of their bodies were pressed together, the heat between them becoming almost unbearable. Harry could feel his hair sticking to his forehead, but he didn’t want to let go of Louis to move them back. They were swaying, vaguely, although his mind was too clouded to really take in the music, which was coming to him in waves of sounds rather than as a melody.

Harry felt weird; it was like his senses were enhanced, his skin tingling everywhere it met Louis’, his nose detecting every note of the smells filling the room, the hint of cheap perfume coming from the boy next to him, the stale scent of cigarette smoke clinging to the clothes of the girl in his arms. The lights had been dimmed so colours were muddled, but he could still see them clearer than he’d have expected, the pinks and purples and greens popping out of the darkness around.

Louis’ heart was beating madly in his chest, Harry could feel the vibrations reverberating through his own ribcage and mixing with his own, and Louis’ presence in his arms was so vivid, Harry was so acutely aware that Louis was a breathing, living person, all clammy skin, wild heart and clean smell of perspiration, his body heat making it almost impossible to stay so close to him, but never in an instant would Harry consider stepping back.

Harry moved a hand down Louis’ back to press it at the bottom of his spine, like he’d seen people do in music videos and movies, swaying their hips together back and forth, feeling Louis’ cock hard against his own. It drew a moan from his lips, which only grew louder when Louis slipped his thigh between Harry’s, making it rub against his cock in a deliciously painful way.

“About what I said earlier…” Harry whispered with a nibble to Louis’ earlobe.

“Fuck, I hope you still mean it,” Louis replied immediately.

Shifting back just enough to be able to see Louis’ face, Harry bit his lip. Louis’ glasses were a bit fogged up from the humid heat between them, making it hard for Harry to see his eyes clearly, but the little he could see was open and earnest, expecting nothing.

With a small nod, Harry pecked Louis’ lips. “I do.”

An electric shock seemed to go through Louis at that and he groaned, pulling Harry out of the room and up the stairs. Harry’s heart leapt and he grinned, his heart beating wildly with anticipation. He hadn’t drunk enough to be unsteady on his feet and the euphoric cloud was still there, making him burst out in fits of giggles every time Louis opened a door to reveal a couple already using the room. Frustrated beyond words, Louis rushed back downstairs, his grip on Harry’s wrist never wavering, and he threw open the door to the bathroom before pushing Harry inside and locking it behind them.

In the cramped room, the only space Harry found was the counter so he hopped on it, resting his back against the cool glass of the vanity. He trapped Louis between his legs and leaned in to kiss him, knowing at the back of his mind that he would be nervous if it weren’t for the alcohol in his system. In the intimacy of the bathroom, it was like their kisses were more real, like Harry was reminded that beyond their bodies pressed together, there was the reality of their relationship and everything that was still unclear about it. Not only that, but the consequences, the fact that whatever they were about to do would redefine what they were and, hell, Harry didn’t even know if Louis was his boyfriend or not.

“I want to blow you,” Louis said, breaking the silence with words that shattered whatever doubts Harry had left about the moment.

“I—I…” Harry stammered. “Okay…?” He didn’t mean it to come out as a question and he groaned as soon as the words were out.

“Okay?” Louis repeated, his hands stroking up and down Harry’s thighs. “You can say no.”

Harry shook his head. “Do it.” As an afterthought, he added, “Please.”

With a final kiss to Harry’s lips, Louis sank to his knees in front of the counter. He pulled Harry by the hips until he got off the counter to lean against it instead. Harry gulped to see Louis knelt in front of him, his crotch at the level of his eyes. Looking up at Harry for his approval, Louis undid the button of his jeans and unzipped them. When Harry nodded, Louis slowly pulled them down, leaving his pants in place.

Louis kissed his stomach, moving on to his hipbones, kissing and nibbling them while he stroked Harry’s hips. Moving his hands down, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of Harry’s pants and pulled them down, letting out a small gasp when Harry’s cock bobbed out, full and dark red.

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Louis rasped.

Harry let out a breathless laugh. “You didn’t look in the showers, did you?”

Louis shook his head, licking his lips. “No. I’m a gentleman. Stop laughing.”

“I’m only laughing because your reaction is funny,” Harry said, still laughing. He was gripping the edge of the counter, his knuckles already white from the strain, and Louis wasn’t even touching him, yet.

Harry had expected to be nervous when he’d be naked – or almost – in front of Louis for the first time. He thought he’d feel self-conscious, that he’d worry what Louis thought, even if he’d never been uncomfortable with nudity before. As it turned out, though, there was something about the reverence with which Louis was looking at him that made Harry comfortable. Not just comfortable; Louis was impressed by him and, if the glazed eyes he kept glued to Harry’s cock were any indication, he was turned on by the sight. Harry felt a rush to know he could turn on someone.

A first lick to the head of his cock pulled him out of his thoughts roughly and Harry let out a moan, his grip on the counter tightening even more. With an amused smirk, Louis licked a broad stripe from the base to the tip, his fingers digging into Harry’s flesh as he kept his hips still. Encouraged by Harry’s reaction, Louis wrapped his lips around the tip to suckle on it, applying just enough pressure to make Harry’s knees weak. Harry began bracing himself for when Louis would sink his mouth on him, but instead, he went back to licking up and down, holding Harry’s cock in place with his hand and giving it a few loose jerks from time to time. Harry’s hips twitched forward and Louis grinned, hungry, as he removed his hand to hold Harry’s hips once more.

“Don’t move or you’ll choke me. It’s been a while, we’ll need to work up to it,” Louis warned.

“T-to what?”

“You fucking my mouth. That’ll happen, but not tonight. I’m not sober enough for it.”

Harry let out another moan, low in his throat, at the images that flooded his mind. Satisfied with the reaction, Louis kissed the tip of his cock and then licked it, pressing his tongue into the slit, making Harry gasp and groan. Louis looked up, holding Harry’s gaze, and then parted his lips to take Harry’s cock in his mouth, sinking down as low as he could before moving back up, hollowing his cheeks as he did so. He repeated the motion, over and over again, going faster with every upstroke until his head was bobbing back and forth and Harry’s lungs had stopped working.

He gasped and tried to breath in, but Louis’ mouth was warm and wet around him, so perfectly skilled that Harry’s head was spinning from it. He let go of the counter to put his hands on Louis’ head, grabbing his hair and pulling on it slightly. Louis moaned around him when he did so he tried again, the vibrations on and around his cock driving him crazy. Louis pulled off and took hold of Harry’s cock again, licking and kissing with enthusiasm, his lips red and shiny with spit.

Harry’s orgasm crept up on him without warning and he came with a loud moan, shaking as he watched his come splatter Louis’ face, covering his glasses, cheekbones, nose and fringe. Louis was frozen in place with huge, surprised eyes.

Harry closed his eyes, ashamed of what had happened and still shaking from the force of his orgasm, until he felt tentative lips press against his.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, opening his eyes, bracing himself for Louis’ anger.

“Don’t be, Louis replied, shaking his head. His voice was rough and wrecked and he had patches of red high on his cheeks. Harry couldn’t bring himself to stop staring at the streaks of come on Louis’ glasses. “That was stupidly hot.”

“I… there’s some on your glasses,” Harry said, pointing vaguely before tucking himself back in his trousers, still half-hard and sore.

“Oh!” Louis turned a darker shade of red and swallowed. He took off his glasses to look at them and let out a quiet moan. “Shit, that’s hot.”

“Yeah? I… I didn’t mean to come so fast. Or on your face.”

Louis smiled and kissed Harry once more. “I loved it.”

“Oh… okay, then.” Harry gulped and ran a hand through his hair. “Do you… need anything?” With a shaking hand, he cupped Louis’ cock through his trousers, smiling timidly to hear him hum in approval.

“Well… if you’re offering,” Louis replied with a smile.

Before Harry could decide what to do, there came a loud banging on the door, followed by a voice shouting that they needed the loo to throw up, instantly killing the mood.

“Give us a minute!” Louis shouted back before turning on the tap and running his glasses under the water.

As he did so, Harry used a tissue to clean Louis’ face, gently dabbing the drying come off his face, completely overwhelmed whenever he stopped to think about how it got there. Louis turned off the water with a squeak of the pipes and shook his glasses dry, pushing them back up his nose and crashing his lips against Harry’s one last time before opening the door and pulling him out.

A girl and a boy pushed in passed them, slamming the door behind. Harry heard the toilet’s lid being roughly pushed up as Louis lead him back to the living room, heading for a free space on the couch.

More and more, Harry had the feeling he was trapped inside a bubble that shielded him from everything around. Sounds were coming to him muted and everything seemed to be in slow motion. He crashed nearly on top of Louis when Louis sat them and pulled on his arm for Harry to join him, letting out a squawk of surprise to find himself half-sitting in his lap. Harry blinked slowly and smiled at Louis, and then frowned to see he was holding two shot glasses.

“How—” he began asking, stopping short when he noticed Stan hovering nearby with two more in his hands.

Louis handed him one of the glasses and clinked them before downing his, grimacing as he did. Harry mirrored him, feeling the unknown liquid burn down his throat, warming him up from the inside.

“What was it?” Harry asked, voice roughened by the shot.

“Whiskey,” Stan said, handing them the two other shots.

Harry did his as soon as he had it in his hands, coughing a little, feeling tears well up in his eyes. “I don’t like whiskey,” he rasped.

“Neither do I,” Louis said, coughing too after drinking his shot. “Why’d you give us this?” he asked Stan.

“Thought you might need to chase the taste of cock with something strong,” Stan replied, matter-of-fact and nonplussed.

Harry squawked and hid his face in Louis’ neck, his cheeks on fire.

“How the f—” Louis began.

“There’s spunk on your glasses, mate.”

Quickly, Louis took off his glasses and Harry inspected them with him, noticing with a sinking feeling the smudges in the lenses and on the frames.

“It was Harry’s first,” Louis said proudly, putting his glasses back on.

“Just tell me if I need to wash my sheets,” Stan said with a sigh and a teasing smile.

“You do, but it’s not because of us,” Harry replied, smiling proudly when he heard Louis giggle.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Stan shouted, leaving them to run upstairs, cursing all the way.

Watching him leave with a laugh, Harry curled up against Louis’ side, smiling to feel him wrap an arm around his shoulders. He kissed his jaw and then closed his eyes against the increasingly unsteady room around him.

“Are you having fun, Kitten?” Louis ran a hand through Harry’s hair, scratching his scalp at the same time.

“Yeah, I am. I’m a bit hungry, though. I wonder if there’s any brownies left, they were mental.”

“Brownies?”

Something in Louis’ tone made Harry open his eyes. “Yeah, in the kitchen. I ate, like, three.”

Louis laughed, loud and sharp. “Oh, Kitten. You’re high.”

“What?!” Harry looked up, frowning. “I didn’t smoke!”

“Oli always makes pot brownies. That does explain why you’re so spacey. You stared at the wall for, like, five minutes before Stan brought us shots.”

“It was only a couple of seconds!”

“Five minutes, love. Probably even closer to ten. Have you ever been high before?”

Harry shook his head, his heart tightening. “I don’t want to be high!” he whined. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay! Don’t worry, Haz, there’s nothing wrong with that. To be honest, I'm glad your first time is with me, this way I know you're with someone who'll take care of you.”

"My mum's going to kill me when she finds out!"

"She won't find out. I won't tell her and you won't, so how could she?"

"She... she'll smell it on my clothes!"

"You didn't smoke it, love. You ate it. There's no way she'll know."

Harry bit his lip, the anxiety that had exploded inside of him receding slowly under Louis' reassurances. "Promised?"

"I promise. Your mum won't know you got high and got a blowie in a stranger's bathroom." Louis planted a kiss to his forehead with a loud smack.

Quieted, Harry lay his head on Louis' shoulder. "Okay. If you promise, I believe you."

"I'll take care of you, don't you worry your pretty little head," Louis cooed in his ear, stroking his back soothingly.

-

Harry wouldn't swear by it, but he must have fallen asleep because when he reopened his eyes, Louis was gone. He had been laid down on the couch, his head pillowed by a quilted cushion, and within seconds of waking up, a wave of nausea rose inside of him, threatening and overwhelming. Harry whined and shut his eyes tightly, burying his face in the cushion, willing it to go away despite knowing very well that it was futile.

"Oh, he's awake! Hey, Harry, how are you feeling? Louis asked us to keep an eye on you," a girl said in a soft voice, stroking his arm. Harry realised his skin was clammy and he winced.

Opening his eyes once more, Harry recognised Sam, one of the girls he'd met in the kitchen. With her, sitting on a nearby couch and on the floor, were more girls, talking quietly amongst themselves while stealing curious glances at Harry.

"Where's Louis?" Harry asked, trying to push himself up. "I feel sick. I want to go home."

"Em, go fetch Louis, will you?"

The girl, Emily, got up from the floor. "Where's he?"

"I don't know, he left with Aiden when he said he wanted to talk."

Aiden. The name filled Harry with dread; he felt it seep through his veins like lead, and he sat up, too fast. His head spun and his heart rose in his throat, so violently that he had to lay back down with a whine.

"Hurry, he's upset." Sam ran a hand through Harry's sweaty hair, clucking her tongue in a way that reminded Harry of his mother. "You've got nothing to worry about. Aiden's no one to Louis, now. Not since he's got you. Everyone knows that."

But we're not boyfriends, Harry might have said if it hadn't felt like his mouth was filled with cotton balls.

Still stroking his hair, she kept talking. "He's never committed with Aiden, it was like he never really cared. We all thought it was because he had a fear of commitment, you know? But then he met you in Florida and you became the only thing he ever talked about. It's always 'Harry this' and 'Harry that' even though you live in the middle of bloody nowhere and he barely sees you. You have no idea how many movie nights he's skipped to be with you on Skype."

Harry nodded, rubbing his cheek against the cushion and wincing when a button on it hurt his cheek. He rubbed his eye, and tried to sit up once more, taking his time to avoid feeling nauseous once more. The room was no longer spinning, but tilting slightly, and it stabilised once he was completely up.

Emily came back, Louis in tow, and Harry felt a surge of relief when Louis rushed to him and put a hand on his forehead.

“Hey, Kitten, you’re not feeling well?” he asked and something in his tone, the kindness and concern in it, made Harry’s eyes well up.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I want to go home. I feel sick.”

“Hey, hey, no tears, okay? We’re leaving, come on. I’ll take care of you.”

Louis hauled Harry up to his feet and slipped an arm under his to help support him, keeping him close to him at the same time. The crowd seemed to part for them – in case Harry threw up, he supposed – and before long Harry was hit with the cold night hair. His skin was instantly covered in goose bumps and he shivered, leaning into Louis even more.

“I want my home,” Harry whined, sniffling. “I want my bed.”

“You can have mine, it’s the best I can do tonight. It’s too late to go home, I’m sorry.” Louis, Harry reflected dimly through the battle between inebriation and nausea raging in his body, sounded heartbroken that he had to say no to him.

Nausea won and Harry barely had time to let out a squawk of warning before he was doubling over and retching on the sidewalk. Louis stayed next to him, stroking his back soothingly.

“Let it all out, Haz. It’ll help.”

After a few minutes that felt like hours, Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his shaking hand and started walking again, determined to find a place where he could curl up to die. Louis’ footsteps echoed in the empty street as he hurried to catch up.

“Do you feel better?” Louis asked, holding on to Harry once more to stop him swaying so much.

“No.” Harry tried to make his reply stern, but it came out wobbly and uncertain.

“We’re almost there, you’ll be fine.”

Louis lied, Harry concluded angrily once they finally reached his house. They covered a distance that should have taken them ten minutes in close to half an hour and Harry knew, distantly, that it was his fault for being unsteady on his feet, but he was still angry at Louis for not insisting they go faster. The cold hair had done nothing to alleviate Harry’s nausea, nor had retching a second time in someone’s hydrangeas, and on top of that, Louis wouldn’t let him go back home.

“It’s all your fault,” Harry slurred, much too loudly, as they entered the house.

“Shush, not so loud!” Louis whispered, turning on the hall light. “We’ve missed your curfew, don’t wake my mum.”

Harry groaned and slumped against the wall, resting his head against it and closing his painful eyes. As soon as he did, it felt like the wall behind him was tilting backwards and he stumbled back up, losing his balance. Louis was there to steady him with two hands on his hips and a sigh.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed. And be quiet!”

With an arm around Harry’s waist, Louis lead them on a slow ascension of the stairs, stopping every few seconds for no apparent reason.

“What’re you doing?” Harry asked in a whisper that was still too loud if Louis’ wince was any indication.

“Making sure Mum’s still asleep.”

They made it halfway down the hall to Louis’ room before Harry stopped dead in his tracks and shook his head.

“Loo,” he managed to hiss.

“I’m right here.”

“No! I need the loo!”

“Shit!” Louis hissed, too, and he pulled Harry along, pushing him inside a room on their right and shutting the door behind them.

He hadn’t even turned on the light that Harry was kneeling in front of the toilet and retching once more, coughing and spluttering. He heard running water and turned his head to see Louis wetting a washcloth that he then placed on the nape of Harry’s neck. With a small, pitiful whine, Harry slumped down on the floor, resting his burning skin against the cold tiles and closing his eyes.

“Ew, it’s blue. That’s so gross,” Louis commented, flushing the toilet and sitting down with his back against the bathtub. “Are you feeling better?”

“What does it look like?” Harry snapped weakly. He grimaced. “Sorry.”

“It’s all my fault.” Louis shrugged. “I was supposed to keep an eye on you and I let my ex…” he hesitated, searching for the right word. “My ex booty call distract me.”

“The girls said fuck friend.”

“Aiden wasn’t my friend.”

Harry gave a faint smile and sat up slowly, removing the washcloth from his neck. “I think I feel better,” he began, pushing up to his feet.

Seconds later, he was back on his knees by the toilet, dry-heaving over it. He let out a sob between two spasms, shaking violently and wiping tears from his cheeks.

“Make it stop!” he pleaded, clinging to the porcelain as he continued to gag.

There was a moment of silence then Louis sighed. “I’ll go get Mum.”

Harry moved back to the floor, curling up on his side. He was more and more convinced that he was about to die. It was the only logical explanation. He had poisoned his body too much and it was slowly breaking down, every function giving up one after the other. It had begun with his eyesight, making him see things as much more brightly coloured than they were, and wasn’t that a sign of cerebral damage? It had to be. He was going to die on the floor of a bathroom in Doncaster, in bloody Yorkshire, far from his mother, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Instead of being reassured to have figured out his fate, it only made him cry harder. He didn’t want to die, he was too young to die; he would die without ever knowing if Louis was his boyfriend or not and that was probably the worst part. With him dead, Louis would go back to Aiden because no one mourned their Not-Boyfriend who died in a pool of his own vomit after drinking an embarrassingly low quantity of alcohol.

Through the paranoia clouding his mind, Harry heard footsteps approaching and he lifted his head in time to see Louis’ mother wrapped in a fuzzy pink dressing gown bending over him while Louis stood back, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“How are you feeling, love?” she asked softly, pushing Harry’s hair back.

“Lousy.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when we drink too much. Do you think you can make it to Louis’ bed?”

Harry swallowed and nodded, trying once more to get back up. Jay helped him, keeping one hand on his elbow as she reached down and grabbed the bin, shoving it against Louis’ chest.

“You hold this in case he’s sick again.” Turning back to Harry, she softened. “We’ll go slow.”

They left the bathroom, a shuffling procession stopping every now and then to let Harry dry-heave over the bin, and Harry had the feeling he’d just walked all the way back to his home when he finally saw Louis’ bed. Shaking, weakened to the point of being unable to stand straight, he let his Not-Boyfriend’s mother undress him down to his pants and lead him to bed. He climbed in it and curled up on his side, his eyes slipping shut on their own.

“What did he drink?” Jay asked and her words sounded as though they came from a great distance.

“A couple WKDs, some shots… I don’t know how many. And, hm…” The pause in Louis’ answer sounded like a death sentence. “He ate way too many of Oli’s weed brownies. Is he going to be okay?”

With an angry sigh, Jay stroked Harry’s hair once more. “Yes. He’s going to wish he were dead tomorrow morning, though. And you will, too, once I call his mother.”

Harry’s eyes sprung open. “You can’t call my mum.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not up for discussion.”

The prospect of his mother finding out he’d gotten drunk and high at a party added one layer too many on top of Harry’s inner panic and something inside of him broke, like a levee breaking under too much pressure. He let out a sob, burying his face in the pillow to try and muffle it, still dimly aware that Louis’ sisters were sleeping nearby.

“Mum! You’re making it worse!” Louis snapped. The mattress shifted under Louis’ weight as he climbed on it to get closer to Harry, pressing his chest down against him and resting their heads together. “Hey, Kitten, don’t cry, I’m right here.”

Louis’ breath stunk of alcohol as he whispered sweet nothings in his ear and Harry winced unintentionally, turning his face into the pillow even more to get away from the sickening smell. His tears burned his eyes and his sobs hurt his sore throat, and he could hardly believe how far he was from the feeling of blissful elation he’d felt after Louis blew him.

“Mum’ll never let me see you again,” he whimpered.

“You don’t know that,” Louis whispered. “She’s not evil, she’ll understand.”

“Come get me if he’s sick again,” Jay said. “And make him drink water before you go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Louis was peppering kissed to the back of Harry’s neck when his mother spoke so Harry felt him nod and hum in reply. The door closed with a quiet click and Harry took in a sharp, quivering inhale, trying to calm down.

“I’m so sorry, Haz. It’s all my fault. I should have taken better care of you.”

“You didn’t force me to drink,” Harry said, his breath hitching in a sob.

“No, but my bloody friends did. Who knows what they gave you.”

Harry sniffled. “Did we wake up your mother?”

“No, she was waiting for us. We were one hour late, I’ve rarely seen her that worried before.”

“S’because I’m not hers.” Harry wiped his runny nose and tear-stained cheeks with the back of his hand.

“I suppose, yeah. You’ll be all right, don’t worry. I’ll make sure of it, this time. I’ll take the blame with your mum, I’ll say you didn’t want to go and I made you do it.”

“She’ll never let me see you again!”

Louis groaned. “I’ll think of something. Don’t cry, love, hm, you’re safe with me.”

It took several minutes for Harry to calm down, leaving him feeling drained and wrung dry. He let out a yawn big enough to unhinge his jaw and startled when Louis kissed the tip of his nose.

“I’ll go get you a glass of water, you’ll drink it and then we’ll go to bed, yeah? I’ll be right back.”

Harry closed his eyes and dozed off, jumping in surprise to see Louis already back when he reopened them. He drank the glass Louis pressed to his lips, nervous that he would just retch it right back. They waited in worried silence for a few minutes and when it was clear that Harry’s stomach was fine with it, Louis went back to fill it once more before shutting his bedroom door a final time and changing into his pyjamas. By then, Harry was actively fighting sleep: his eyes refused to stay opened for more than a second at a time and sounds came to him in waves, first dimly then louder, going quiet only to become loud again, over and over. He felt more than saw Louis get back to bed, climbing behind him under the duvet and pressing his chest against Harry’s. He slipped an arm around his waist and kissed his shoulder.

“There’s a bin on the floor if you feel you’ll be sick again. And you can wake me up anytime, I’m staying right here with you.”

“G’night,” Harry whispered, mouth numb with sleep.

“Good night, Kitten.”

-

Harry slept lousily. He woke up several times, sometimes cold, sometimes too hot, kicking the covers off only to pull them back up, and he must have kicked and elbowed Louis a dozen times. He lied awake for long periods of time, eyes wide opened and staring at the ceiling, counting the minutes until the sun rose and it would be okay to stop pretending he would be able to sleep. He was acutely aware of how small the bed was and if he hadn’t been conscious enough at first to raise objections about sharing a twin bed with someone, as he counted the seconds until the night ended, he regretted not offering to take the couch. Louis slept like a log through it all, letting out small snores that would have warmed Harry’s heart at any other time.

Around seven o’clock, the light in the room began brightening and Harry judged it was time to wake up Louis. His head was pounding, his throat and mouth were drier than the Sahara and he had a taste in his mouth like something had died in it, and he was so clammy the sheets clung to his body uncomfortably.

“Louis,” he said, shaking him awake.

Louis slowly blinked his eyes opened, taking a few seconds to focus them on Harry. “Hm? You sick?”

“No, but I’d rather be dead.” Harry’s voice was gravelly, surprising the both of them.

“It happens. Don’t puke on me,” Louis said groggily, his eyes closed once more. “And go back to sleep.”

“I’ve been awake since five.”

Louis opened his eyes. “Just lying there?”

“My head hurts too much to move.”

With a sigh, Louis nodded. “Okay. I’ll…” he sighed again, pushing himself up and out of bed. “I’ll take care of it.”

Louis shuffled out of the room, yawning loudly, and Harry went back to staring at the ceiling, following with his eyes the now familiar cracks on it. Moving his eyeballs hurt and he’d have never thought that possible before.

It took much too long for Louis to come back; so long that Harry was seriously considering getting up to go make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep on the loo. He was half-convinced to do it when the door creaked opened and the smell of peanut butter and bread preceded Louis into the room.

“No!” Harry protested weakly as the smell revolted his stomach. “Get that out of here!” he croaked.

“You’ve got to eat before I can give you paracetamol. Otherwise you’ll feel even worse, believe me."

“I can’t do it, I swear I can’t.”

“You must,” Louis continued, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just tiny bites. It’s just a silly piece of toast, are you going to let it win?”

Harry glanced at the bottle of pills Louis had brought and then at the glass of orange juice next to it, and he reached for the juice. He spit out the first sip with a grimace as nausea slapped him in the face.

“What the fuck is that?!”

“Orange juice with boiled water and salt in it. You’re dehydrated. My mum said to make you drink this.”

“Couldn’t you get me Gatorade like any normal person would have?” Harry whined, flipping on his back and covering his eyes with his arms.

“I’ve got a hangover, too, you know. I’m not going out,” Louis snapped. “Eat your bloody toast and stop being so difficult. Besides, the shops aren’t open yet.”

Harry lowered his arms long enough to glare at Louis. “What happened to taking care of me?”

“I can’t help you if you’re being a brat,” Louis said without any heat. “You need to eat or you won’t get better.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Harry slowly sat up, abandoning halfway and slumping against the headboard. He took the plate Louis offered him and nibbled on the corner of the toast, fearful of retching again. When his stomach accepted it, he kept on eating, washing down every other bite with the disgusting orange juice horror Louis had brought him. Only after he’d eaten the entire piece of toast did Louis uncap the bottle and shook out to pills into Harry’s extended hand.

“Did you take some, too?” Harry asked after swallowing the pills with the last of his revolting juice.

“Yeah, I ate before coming back. I was starving, the only thing I’d put in my stomach in twelve hours was your spunk. There were no brownies left last night, for some reason,” Louis said with a wink, a proud smile appearing on his face when Harry blushed.

“Stop torturing me, I’m sick,” Harry whined, lying back down.

“You’ll survive,” Louis replied coldly before giggling and climbing back into bed. “You’re so gross, Kitten, you’re all sweaty. And I won’t even mention your smell right now. Especially your breath. It’s like road kill left in the sun for too long.”

“You’re such a good person,” Harry said dryly, elbowing Louis.

“I know, I’m amazed by it, too.”

Harry rolled his eyes and groaned in pain. “How do you manage to make jokes? It feels like my skull is being split open from the inside.”

“I’m used to it. And I’m not as bad as you.” Louis ran a hand through Harry’s moist hair and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “When you feel like you can move, I’ll run you a bath. I don’t think you could survive a shower right now.”

Just imagining the sound of the shower jet hitting the tiles made Harry want to die. “No, I can’t.” He yawned. “I think I’ll try to sleep again.”

“You do that,” Louis said around a yawn. “I won’t need to try to do the same.”

Harry felt slightly better when he awoke. The house was alive with noises, this time, and he turned his head to see the time, surprised that he’d managed to sleep almost three hours. Louis was gone and Harry considered getting up to find him for a second before his headache woke up, too, and he whined in pain. The paracetamol had done almost nothing and on top of it, the piece of toast sat heavily in his stomach, making him feel on the edge of nausea. He figured he would text Louis, but he had no idea where his phone was and getting up to find it was out of the question. His only option, then, was to lie and wait to see who would find him first: Louis or death.

An unexpected third option manifested itself in the form of a little girl in a The Little Mermaid nightgown. The door creaked open and then the head of one of the twins appeared, smiling shyly.

“Hi,” she said, walking in and standing right by the door, one hand still on the handle.

“Hi,” Harry croaked, swallowing dryly.

“I’m Phoebe,” she said automatically with a weariness that didn’t fit her age.

“Phoebe, can you go get Louis for me, please?”

She nodded and took off, bringing back Louis a few minutes later. She stayed in the doorway until Louis shooed her out, saying that Harry wasn’t in any state to play with her.

“Sorry about that. I tried to keep them away, but she escaped.”

Louis looked better than he had three hours earlier. He had showered and was dressed, and aside from a hint of weariness and pain behind his words, he might have fooled anyone into thinking he was perfectly fine.

“She didn’t wake me up.”

“That’s good,” Louis replied distractedly. Without warning, he crossed the room and climbed over Harry on the bed to reach the window, opening it completely. “It smells like a locker room in here.”

It was the third comment Louis made on his smell and Harry frowned, annoyed and self-conscious. “You don’t have to be so rude about it.”

“I’m just being honest. You’re still the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, doll, but you stink.”

Harry pulled the duvet over his head. “You’re annoying today.”

“I’m my usual self, you’re the messed up one. Come on, it’s bath time for the stinky boy. I’ll even wash your hair for you.”

Harry pulled the duvet down to stare at Louis. “You’ll stay in the room?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen or tasted,” he replied with a smirk that disappeared in an instant. “You’re allowed to tell me to stay out.”

Harry swallowed. “No, it’s okay. Ask my mum or sister, I’m really not bothered by nudity.”

“Come on, then.” Louis opened a drawer and pulled out a plaid flannel pyjama. “For you.”

Slowly, mindful of incoming nausea, Harry got out of bed. Louis offered his arm and Harry took it gratefully. Before they left the room, Louis stopped and let go of Harry long enough to pull Harry’s toothbrush out of his bag, handing it to him with a wink.

Once in the bathroom, Harry headed for the sink while Louis filled the bath. He risked a glance at himself in the mirror and winced. His skin was sallow, his hair matted and oily, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked as bad as he felt.

“Brush them twice, just to be safe,” Louis teased as he tested the temperature of the water.

Harry stuck out his tongue, but did it anyway, already feeling a bit more human now that the taste of decay was gone from his mouth. He took small, slow sips from the cup by the sink, giving his stomach time to revolt in between each.

“Bath’s ready,” Louis said and Harry nodded.

He took a small breath to give himself courage before dropping his pants. Louis’ efforts to look away were palpable and were making the atmosphere in the room tense. He only relaxed once he was sitting in the warm water, letting his head lull back against the wall and sighing with contentment.

“Feels good, huh?” Louis said softly from nearby.

Harry opened his eyes and found him sitting on the floor by the bath, his arms folded over the lip and his chin resting on them. They smiled at each other and Harry’s stomach swooped in a familiar way when their eyes met. Still smiling, Louis unfolded his arms and cupped water in his hand to pour it over the parts of Harry’s shoulders that were exposed, repeating the motion several times.

“Get under water to wet your hair,” Louis said softly. He helped Harry do it and then wiped the water from his face.

Louis’ careful motions and the tender way in which he washed his hair made Harry boneless and relaxed. Louis took his time massaging Harry’s scalp, scratching at it and making Harry hum with pleasure. The only sound breaking the silence between them was the drip of the faucet, the barely-there noise of droplets hitting the water echoing on the tiles.

“You’d purr if you could, you’re so cute,” Louis whispered, laughing to himself.

“It feels so good,” Harry replied lazily.

“Close your eyes, I’m rinsing.”

Harry obeyed and smiled when Louis wiped his face once more before placing a kiss to his lips. He returned it, putting a hand on the back of Louis’ neck, wetting his shirt in the same motion.

“Hey, hey, careful,” Louis said, moving back with a laugh. “I’ll let you finish in here, I’ll go make you breakfast. Don’t get your hopes high,” he added, getting up and taking a towel out of the closet for Harry, “I’ll just put frozen waffles in the toaster.”

“It’s the thought that counts. And no more gross orange juice. You have to promise.” Harry pointed a threatening finger at Louis.

“Only tea, I promise.” Louis smiled. “Take your time.”

Nevertheless, Harry hurried to soap his body and rinse after Louis had gone, stepping out of the tub and wrapping the large Disney World towel around his shivering body. He smiled to see it, knowing Louis took it out on purpose.

The pyjama was half an inch too short, which filled Harry with pride. He was growing taller than his older Not-Boyfriend; it was sure to infuriate Louis, it would be hilarious. He made his way downstairs, feeling sleepy from his bath and like it had smoothed out all of his edges. He sat at the kitchen table and smiled at Louis, who hurried to bring him a cup of tea and a plate of waffles with strawberry jam messily spread on it.

“I even put it in my favourite mug,” Louis said, sitting down next to Harry, clinging to his own cup. “Feeling better?”

“I feel ‘bleh’. Can we stay in and watch movies all day?”

“There aren’t sunglasses dark enough to make me go out in the sun today, Kitten. That was already the plan.” Louis pushed Harry’s wet, already curly fringe out of his eyes. “You look cute in my jammies.”

“They’re too short for me,” Harry said, his tone teasing.

Louis let out a soft laugh and shook his head. “Let me take a rain check on getting offended about that. My head hurts too much to shout.”

Harry’s laugh died in his throat when he saw Jay enter the room, a stern look on her face, the effect of which was diminished by the pink dressing gown she was still wearing.

“I’ll let you boys finish before the lecture, I’m not completely cruel,” she said, unsmiling.

The tone in which she said it got rid of Harry’s appetite and he pushed his plate away from him. He took his cup of tea in his hands and clung to it, the warmth a small comfort in the wake of what was to come.

“You’re done? Good. I don’t even know where to start.” Jay shut the door to the kitchen and sat opposite them at the table, shaking her head. “Wasn’t I clear about the rules, Louis?”

“I’m sorry we missed Harry’s curfew,” Louis replied automatically.

“If it was the only thing you’d done, I could ignore, but you came home late and drunk! And who knows what else! You were in such a pitiful state, Louis, I thought you’d outgrown that.”

Harry frowned. “I was the only one drunk, Louis wasn’t.”

Louis shook his head and patted his arm. “I was, love. You were just much more and didn’t notice.”

“May I?” Jay asked, annoyed. “Did you know it would be that kind of party when you asked to go?”

Louis hesitated a second too long and the scathing look his mother gave him made him look down, sheepish. “I did.”

Jay sighed. “So you lied to me, took your underage boyfriend to a party where there would be alcohol and then let him get drunk to the point of being violently sick and you missed his curfew. Did you do anything right last night?”

Harry’s head was reeling. Jay had said he was Louis’ boyfriend and Louis hadn’t corrected her. Did it mean… ? No, surely not. It was just simpler to let his mother believe that rather than correct her. It had to be. Harry stole a glance at Louis, but found him staring at the table, scratching at a stain with his thumb.

“I didn’t, no. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise to me. I’m used to you missing curfew and coming home drunk, I gave up on trying to stop you a long time ago. It’s Harry who deserves apologies. He spent his birthday money to surprise you here and you thank him by making him ill and putting him in trouble with his mother.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Have you called her?”

“Not yet, but I will. No need to look at me this way, Louis, it’s the mothers’ code of honour. I’d want her to tell me if you did something stupid when you’re visiting. And besides,” she added, eyeing Harry accusingly, “he didn’t force you to drink, did he? You knew perfectly well what you were doing and how many rules you were breaking.”

With a nod, Harry looked down, his stomach somewhere in the vicinity of his toes. He’d never be allowed to see Louis again after Jay had called his mother.

“I didn’t hear you,” Jay said.

“Yes, ma’am. I knew I wasn’t allowed to drink and I still did it. I’m sorry.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t throw up on your way to the bathroom. I’d be much less lenient if I’d found your vomit in the stairs this morning. It’s a miracle you didn’t wake the girls, you were loud enough to alert the entire street.” She sighed. “I’m only calling your mum so she trusts us with you, Harry. If she finds out I hid something this big from her, she’ll never let you come here again and that’s not what I want. We like you.”

Harry nodded again, gulping. Jay clearly did not know his mother. He’d probably be grounded for the rest of the school year once she found out he’d gotten drunk the night before. He couldn’t even imagine what might happen if she ever knew he’d been high as well.

“Are we dismissed?” Louis asked, subdued in a way Harry had never seen him before.

“Yes, all right. I’ll be calling your mother, now, Harry. I’ll need your phone number at home.”

Louis picked up his dirty plate and empty mug while Harry jotted it down and they made their way upstairs, the two of them slumping on the bed as soon as the door was shut.

“Are we allowed to keep it closed?”

“She never said we couldn’t.”

Satisfied with the answer, Harry curled up on his side. “I’m never going to see you again,” he whined, sniffling. “My mum will probably send me to a monastery as punishment for this.”

“Aren’t you being a bit overdramatic?” Louis asked, pressing his chest to Harry’s back and wrapping an arm around him. “You didn’t kill anyone, you got drunk. It happens. She’ll probably be surprised it took you so long. My first time was when I was 13.”

“If you tell her that, it’s sure we’ll never be allowed to be together again. You don’t know my mum. She seems cool, but she’s really strict.”

“I can tell,” Louis said, pressing kisses on the back of Harry’s neck. “You and your sister are insanely well-behaved, like little robot children. My mum lets us be messy.”

“Mine only had two, not twenty like yours. It was easier to control, I suppose.”

Louis pinched his waist in protest. “That’s not very nice, Kitten.”

With a giggle, Harry batted his hand away before letting out a pained noise. “Laughing makes my head hurt.”

“We’ll be quiet, then,” Louis whispered.

“You know how?”

“I think I liked you better when you were too busy retching to talk,” Louis replied and Harry could hear the pout in his voice.

“Hush, we’re being quiet, now,” Harry whispered, laughing and wincing when Louis put his hand over his mouth to silence him.

Trying to pry it away, Harry twisted and turned until he was facing Louis and could see the proud smile on his face. He pinched Louis’ waist and yelped when Louis returned it. Harry tried to move out of the way and ended up flinging himself off the small bed. He fell to the floor with a dull thud and a sigh.

“Why do we always end up like that?”

Louis moved so his head poked over the edge of the bed. “I’d say it’s how we channel our sexual tension.”

Harry blushed, the increase of blood to his head making the pounding in it worse. He accepted the hand Louis offered him to get up, sitting on the bed only to have to get up once more when he heard his phone vibrating from where it was hidden in a pile of his clothes from the day before. Picking it up, he moved back to the bed and sat on the edge, opening the message from his mother with trembling fingers at the sight of the name.

We’ll talk when you get home. I’m very disappointed. Say your goodbyes to Louis.

Harry looked at Louis and saw his panic reflected on his face. “Do you think she meant forever?”

“No, she can’t! She can’t separate us!” Louis squeaked. “We didn’t kill anyone!”

Breathless, Harry typed back: forever???

The reply came a second later: Don’t be daft. You’re grounded, but I’m not a monster.

“How long do you think she’ll ground you?” Louis asked over Harry’s heaving sigh of relief.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been grounded before. We just have to wait and see.”

Chapter Text

Two weeks. Harry wasn’t allowed to talk to Louis for two weeks. When his mother had told him what she’d decided as soon as he’d climbed into her car, he thought his heart had stopped beating. He’d spend the weekend battling the remains of his hangover and the train ride had been painful on his fragile stomach, which had still not recovered from being sick and barely eating for an entire day afterwards. He was ready to crawl into his bed and try to sleep it off, but his mother insisted on lecturing him on the way home and then for longer still, stretching it through dinner, telling him all about how Louis was a bad influence on him and that perhaps he wasn’t the best friend for Harry, and maybe he should reconsider his place in his life. Her verdict was immovable: Harry was allowed a final call to Louis to explain what was going on and then he was to give up his phone and allow his mother to change his Skype password. He knew better than to cause a scene, knew that trying to change her mind would make everything worse, so he bowed his head and nodded.

The call with Louis was particularly tearful, the two of them running on a severe lack of sleep and heightened emotions after the mess their weekend had turned out to be. They promised each other to be there when Harry’s punishment was lifted and made a big ceremony out of marking it down in their planners. With a final goodbye that felt like farewells, Harry hung up, turned off his phone and gave it to his mother, feeling like he was relinquishing half of his soul.

Four days later, four days of slowly going stir-crazy, Harry found a letter addressed to him on the table when he came back from school. He picked it up, frowning. The enveloped was covered in drawings, leaving barely enough room for the stamp and his address. Flipping it over while trying to figure out whom in his family had young children and would write to him, Harry let out a gasp when he saw Louis’ name written on the flap, along with a return address. He ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter written on orange paper.

Doncaster, 2nd November 2010
(I feel like a knob writting like this, who am I, Oscar Wilde?)
(Not to say that Wilde was a knob. You get what I mean, yes?)

Dear Harry,

Your mother never said anyting about letters, did she? She’ll never see this coming. Surprise! It’s me! Louis! I only lasted two days without talking to you, I was going absolutely bonkers. It’s like my thoughts were too loud, you know? Like I needed to tell you what I was thinking or else I’d explode. BAM. No more Louis. Well, lots of Louis everywhere, but none that’s alive!

I don’t know what you’re supposed to write in letters. Should I ask you how it’s going in the countryside? How’s life in your little hamlet? Is that even a word? Can’t be arsed finding a dictionary, sorry. Handwriting is hard! My hand already hurts so much! You’d think I trained it to have stamina by wanking but no!

I miss you.

Today Daisy stood up in front of a bully who called another kid gay to say that it was okay to be because her brother was and he was still a good person. I took her out to buy ice cream and ruined her supper, mum was pissed! But it was worth it! And then I went to buy stationnary paper and they only had orange that wasn’t like pink or lilac or neon green so I got this one. Hope you like it!

You know why I’m writing, also, right………………????? THE NOTEBOOK! We said letters were romantic so that is what I’m doing.

Write back to me soon please I left my address on the back of the envelope before the twins decoreted it.

Take care, Kitten!
Louis
(Like you didn’t know it was me)

Harry stared at the page, not quite taking in the words. He had to read it three times before they began making sense to him. Louis wrote to him. Louis went against Harry's grounding to write to him because he missed him too much. Against all of Harry's fears, the ones that had him convinced Louis was going to move on now that his plaything was unavailable, Louis had sent him a letter.

Without changing out of his uniform, Harry ran out of the house and jumped on his bicycle to get to the post office, racing against the clock to get there before it closed. Once there, sweaty despite the cold wind that slowed his progression, he bought a leaflet of stamps, ones with pictures of the royal family on it because he knew they'd make Louis laugh. He made it back home with plenty of time before his mother got back from work and he locked himself in his room, sat at his desk, and took out a stack of ruled paper from his school supplies.

Holmes Chapel, 4th November 2010
(It's pompous, but it's the proper way to write the date, didn't you learn anything in school?)
(And yes! I know! Oscar Wilde was the BEST. He understood US.)

Dear Louis,

I can't believe you did that. I actually can't believe it. Have you gone mad? You're lucky it's the lady who cleans our house who brought in the mail, otherwise she'd have known you wrote to me and we'd have been DEAD. It doesn't mean I don't like it, though...

I know what you mean, about your thoughts. I feel like an animal in a cage, like I'm just pacing back and forth and I'm going nuts. What did I do before I had you? Read? Do my homework? Pfft. A waste of time, the lot of it. I'm glad you wrote to me. I wouldn't have thought of it, to be honest. I'd have sat in my room and brooded for two weeks, wondering what you were doing and if you were thinking of me...

If you're going for romantic, talking about wanking is the WRONG way to go, Lou. But life in my hamlet (it’s a word) is normal. I go to school, I see cows, there's gossip at the bakery. Apparently - and I heard that from a reliable source: their children - the barber's wife is cheating on him with the butcher's wife! It's wild! That's small town gossip for you. How's the "big" city? Saw any dead bodies this week? Got offered drugs? Did you see any - gasp - prostitutes? Tell me, is your life really like Grand Theft Auto? A lil' country bumpkin wonders. (I went American there a bit, didn't I? We're reading Of Mice and Men in school. Blame Steinbeck.)

I miss you, too. Wildly.

Daisy is the best! Tell her I'll buy her an ice cream the next time I see her! You must be so proud of your girls! I know I am.

I love orange, that was a good choice.

I'm glad I forced you to watch that movie, then, if it means I get lovely letters in the mail! The next one I'll make us watch is Chocolat. I don't know what it's about, but there's chocolate in the title so I hope it'll inspire you as much as The Notebook did. And besides, added bonus, there's Johnny Depp in it...

Take care, Louis.
H.E.S.
(Doesn't it look cool to sign with just your initials? I always thought so. If I ever become a famous singer, that's how I'll sign autographs and the little booklet inside of records, you know, at the end of the paragraphs no one ever reads? H.E.S.: that'll be my cool signature.)

Satisfied with his letter, Harry sealed it and carefully placed a stamp on it before slipping it inside his school bag, ready to be mailed the next morning, his heart beating wildly at the honesty he'd dared to show in the letter.

-

The next letter arrived three days later and Harry nearly shouted with glee when he found it. He took his time to open it, this time, making sure to create the proper mood before he read it. He waited until he'd had dinner and was in bed, comfortable in his pyjamas with the lights dimmed, settled the same way he would if he were about to Skype with Louis.

Doncaster, 6th November 2010
(I did learn something in school, your face is pompous!)
(Look at you, "Wilde understood US" you sound silly. It's cute.)

Dear Harry,

It's a bloody maid, Harry. Use the word, you idiot. I already know your posh no need to hide it. You're wasting our time! I'm joking, I hope you know. I would never talk to you like that seriously. Sarcasm doesn't translate well in a letter!

How are you a natural at writting letters? It's like I'm writing to bloody Stephen Fry, you NEED to stop being so eloquent. And what's with the CAPITAL letters? Are you SHOUTING???

You better bloody like it the stamps were expensive!!! But you probably know since you had to buy some too. You didn't tell your mum, did you? About the letters? I don't want her to make us stop. It would break my heart.

I know for a fact that I didn't do my homework before you! Loads of FIFA and loitering though! Oh and Aiden. I did Aiden. Are we comfortable with that topic? Because that's something we'll have to discuss one day. It's over, btw!!!!!!!! Completely over!!!!!!! I'm all about you, now. Only you. So, to answer your question: yes, I think about you. All the time. When I wake up and before I fall asleep and when I'm bored in school, which is always!!

Wanking is romantic if I do it thinking about you, doll. I'd be winking now if you were in front of me. I'm so flirty.

OMG!!! That’s wild! I thought small town folks were supposed to be perfect and like holier than thou or whatever. That’s hilarious! No I didn’t see any dead body unless you count a dead bird then if so yes. It crashed in a window during school and Stan and I found it. Oli wanted to give it a proper buriel but birds have rabies no? Or something? Dead birds are bad, I know that for sure. Not sure why though. And no I did not see any prostitute or was offered any drugs. The big city is as boring as your town but only with less trees. I had to read that book but instead I watched the movie instead. Don’t tell my teacher!

I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you

You have no idea how proud of my girls I am. There are no words! It’s just! So much! Like my heart could burst! I’ll tell her you said that, she’ll be happy.

Orange is great, isn’t it? I’m glad you agree.

OH! I love Chocolat! You won’t have to force me, I will GLADLY watch it with you. But FYI Johnny Depp isn’t such a selling point for me. Try young Leonardo DiCaprio, next time. Romeo+Juliet was a sexual awakening for me and not because of the girl if you know what I mean.

Best,
Louis
(For the love of god, DO NO SIGN LIKE THAT. It makes you even more pompous than you already are, posh boy. I will break up with you if you sign like that. Seriously. You already have an old man’s name. Don’t make it worse.)

The letter slipped from Harry’s fingers when he gasped in shock. Break up with him? As in, Louis considered them to be boyfriends? Was that what they had been all along and Harry was too stupid to notice? It did explain why Louis was so comfortable with Aiden’s presence at the party; he never thought Harry would see him as a threat because he thought Harry knew they were a couple. Automatically, he reached out for his phone, remembering a second too late that his mother was keeping it from him. He ached to call Louis, to clear up the confusion and hear him say the words. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend how much of an idiot he’d been to miss it. Now that he knew how Louis perceived them, things made much more sense. Louis’ entire behaviour could be explained with one simple fact: they were boyfriends. Of course, he didn’t feel the need to constantly reassure Harry that he was thinking about him and wanted to see him; in his mind, it went without saying because they were dating.

Scrambling out of bed, Harry sat at his desk and pulled out paper and a pen, his hand trembling so much that he had to start over three times, making sure to tear to pieces every discarded draft.

Holmes Chapel, 8th November 2010

Dearest Louis,

Let me get this out of the way from the start because I feel like we’re not on the same page… ARE WE BOYFRIENDS?!?! Because we never talked about it, so I thought we weren’t. I was waiting for you to make it official, I think… to ask me if I wanted to be, I suppose? NOT THAT I DON’T WANT TO BECAUSE I DO!! I was worried you didn’t and that it was why you never mentioned it. Since when have you considered us boyfriends…?

Are you crazy, I’d never ever ever ever tell my mum! She’d find a way to stop me writing to you and that would kill me. I’m serious. You have no idea how much I need you in my life. I never thought I could get attached like this to anyone. You’ve ruined my life in the best way possible.

Yes, we will need to talk about Aiden because it’s a sore spot for me. I don’t like the idea of him or even thinking about him or just the fact that he exists. He makes me worried and insecure and I start doubting everything we have.

Just now, I wonder what exactly do we have. We’ve only see each other two times since we met. What right do I have to worry about who you might be seeing while we’re apart? You don’t owe me anything and I feel terrible for feeling like you do and wanting you to. Do you think I’m a bad person? Or that I’m smothering you? Please be honest. Even if you never want to see me again, tell me. I’d understand.

On a lighter note, of course you like young Leo. You look like young Leo. That’s adorably narcissistic of you. As a side note: I like him, too. A LOT.

The tone of this letter really got out of hand so I’ll cut it short and tell you that I miss you terribly.

Harry

Before he changed his mind again, Harry sealed the envelope. He spent the night worrying that he’d opened up too much and that it would scare Louis away, that he would just never reply to the letter and cut Harry out of his life for being too clingy and insecure. He barely slept that night and the one after, going through his days in a haze of anxiety, feeling like he was finally beginning to understand the moodiness and glum attitudes of the Romantics. His mother noticed and he lied by omission, telling her that he missed talking to Louis, keeping to himself the fact that he’d just opened his heart, had almost confessed his love.

Because that was what it was: love. It was the only explanation that made sense, the only word that seemed to make everything quiet once Harry contemplated it. Of course, he was in love with Louis was a conclusion as logical as “of course it gets dark at night.” The sun set once a day and he was in love with Louis; it was guaranteed to rain in the next week and he was in love with Louis.

The realisation of it had lifted a weight off Harry’s shoulders when it had come in the middle of the first night after he’d written the letter. He had suspected it for a long time, but, he concluded, he couldn’t have known what it was until it was truly there. He knew that it was, now, just like he knew that he was screwed. There was no way Louis would reciprocate those feelings with the same strength as Harry felt them. He was the only one crazy enough to fall for a boy he’d barely seen.

When Louis’ reply came, three days later, Harry’s exhaustion had reached critical levels. He’d almost fallen asleep in history class and had been hit with a ball in gym class because he wasn’t paying attention. He couldn’t seem to stop shaking and there was a knot in his stomach that refused to go away, preventing him from eating, which only made him hazier and more tired.

He ripped open the envelope as soon as he was home, dropping the rest of the mail on the floor and stepping over it to go sit on the couch, his hands shaking so much that he couldn’t read the paper and had to lay it down on the coffee table. He bent in half, his arms trapped between his chest and his thighs, and he read.

Doncaster, 11th November 2010

Oh, Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry.

It’s all my fault. I suppose I got used to playing the cooler older guy with you. You were so starstruck when we met with your big green eyes and that permanent blush on your cheeks, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven that a boy like you would talk to me. And more than talk to me: I impressed you. I was older (and from my point of view it’s not much, but I remember thinking 18 year-olds were much much cooler and older than they actually were because of that whole legal age thing) and experienced and I got off on making you giggle and smile that dimpled smile. And oh, great, you were down to snog and fool around and that was like a dream I didn’t know I have to fool around at Disney World, you know? I’m not saying I used you or didn’t feel anything for you but I didn’t know at the time if it makes sense? You were not just a fling but you weren’t plosible boyfriend material either.

But then I got attached. I’m not sure when but it was probably around the time we began texting all the time. Did I tell you that the second I landed in England, I texted Aiden to call it off? To tell him to go find someone else to suck his cock? Because I did. Because of you. Thanks to you, I should say. It just didn’t feel right having him now that I had you.

Anyway, by the time I first visited you, I had a massive crush on you. It was embarrassing. And you were so cute at the train station with how you were too shy to hug me and you were quiet and I knew it was because you were shy. It was adorable and I fell so hard for you. Then we snogged again and for me that was it, you were my boyfriend. It was the only conclusion I wanted to make. Even if the distance made everything so complicated, I wanted to be yours. I’d never understood why people wanted boyfriends until that weekend. I wanted what we had in those two days all the time.

Why I didn’t say anything I’m not sure. I suppose I was scared you would find it too complicated or think I was too fast. Especially after you said you didn’t want to fool around which was FINE!!! But still I didn’t want to pressure you in any way. So I kept quiet and we kept skyping and texting and I was just falling so hard and so fast for you.

When I saw you in the stands!!! At my school!!! By surprise!!! Fuck, Harry, I nearly died. I honestly thought I’d just had a heart attack and you were an angel coming to take me to heaven. I couldn’t believe it. And once again you were shy for a while and that’s just the cutest thing how you’re always shy at first even though when we text your flirty and wity. I spent the weekend not correcting anyone when they called you my boyfriend to see how you would react and you didn’t say or do anything so I didn’t say or do anything either. I didn’t want to scare you away. I pretended I didn’t hear them. I was a coward. Instead of talking to you, I gave you a blowie at a party. I know you enjoyed it, but it felt so cheap to me. I wanted your first to be much more romantic. I had plans. Flowers and candles were involved. Instead it was a repeat of what we did in Disney World because I lost my mind once more and ruined it all.

Because that’s what happens to me when it comes to you: I lose my head. And it really upsets me to see you think that what we have doesn’t count because it’s not in person. You say we’ve only seen each other twice since we met, but what about texting each other day and night? What about spending hours on Skype? Doesn’t this count to you? For you, the only relationships that matter are the ones in the flesh? Because if that is so, I don’t think we should be boyfriends because it will be all we are for a very long time. I’m going to London for uni next year if my plans work and you’ll be in Cheshire for another year so the distance will be even bigger and if you don’t think our relationship will be real because we only hang out once or twice a month I think it should stop now before we… I was going to write “before we fall in love” but I think it’s too late for me. Yeah.

When does your grounding ends? I took extra shifts at work so I could save up and have my car fixed. I didn’t tell you I had a car, did I? It’s shit but it gets me around when it’s not broken. I didn’t mention it because I couldn’t afford to fix it but now I have a reason to. As soon as your allowed to see me again, I will drive to your house and we will talk.

Also don’t you ever dare be ashamed of your feelings like you were in your letter ever again. Don’t keep things from me please if we’re going to make this official. Honesty is the only thing that will make this long-distance mess work.

All my love,
Louis

P.S.: You forgot the sweater you were wearing when you got here and it smells like you so I sleep with it every night.

It was like the air had been knocked out of Harry’s body. He felt light-headed and weak, even more so than he had in the past days. He wasn’t sure that he dared imagine that the sentiments expressed in the letter – coming dangerously close to a complete confession of love – might be true, but what other choice did he have? Louis wouldn’t fabricate a letter so filled with lies. He wasn’t cruel; Harry doubted that anyone could be this cruel. It meant, then, that Louis might be feeling the things he said he did. He might actually have fallen for Harry, awkward pick-up line and incomprehensible shyness included. He might not care about the distance. He might want to think about a future with Harry, a thing Harry had violently censored in his mind for weeks.

He had to call Louis. He had to convince his mother to let him call Louis so they could talk it through and make things happen. He had two simple tasks to accomplish, then: talk to his mother and talk to Louis. He could do it. He could get off the couch and regain control over his trembling limbs to make dinner, which would please his mother and would put her in good spirits. And then, he would tell her, he would beg and make her read the letter, he would promise her the moon and the stars so she would let him call Louis.

With this plan in mind, Harry set his body in motion, peeling himself off the couch and heading upstairs to change, his hand still clutching the letter. He folded it carefully and slipped it inside of his pocket, not letting himself think of the content as he made his way downstairs to prepare dinner. He went through the motions automatically and even managed to sound cheerful when he greeted Anne and Robin as they walked through the door.

“It smells delicious, Haz, have you got something to apologise for?” his mother teased as she entered the kitchen and pressed a kiss to the back of his head.

“I wanted to keep myself busy,” Harry replied. His voice came out with a slight quiver and he cleared his throat, gripping the wooden spoon tighter so it would stop shaking.

“Your timing couldn’t have been better, we’re in a hurry, we have an appointment at the bank at 7,” Robin said and Harry turned to stare at him, anger rising in him to see his stepfather look so pleased that dinner was almost ready with no clue that his words had shattered Harry’s entire plan. He was supposed to talk to his mother after dinner, not before. He wasn’t ready to do it before. He still needed an hour or so to gather enough courage to face her.

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Harry replied, lowering the heat on the stovetop. “Mum, can I have a word, then?”

“Can’t it wait?” she asked.

“Not really. It’s important.”

She lifted her eyebrows, but didn’t insist and followed Harry to the living room. “I knew something was up,” she said as she sat down on the couch where Harry had nearly lost his mind not so long ago.

“Can I call Louis, please?” Harry asked before he even sat. There was no use beating around the bush.

“No, you can’t. You’re still grounded for two days. I’m sure whatever you have to say can wait.”

“No, it can’t. It really, really can’t.”

There must have been something in Harry’s voice that worried her because the look of vague amusement she’d been sporting faded away to be replaced with concern. “Did something happen?”

“Sort of.” Harry pulled the letter out of his pockets. “We’ve been writing to each other… you said nothing about letters. And hm, it got… honest, I’d say? He sent me this.”

Anne took the letter and unfolded it, her eyebrows knitted since the first mention of the letters. Clearly, she disapproved. She read in silence, her eyes only darting up twice to look at Harry; the mentions of their sexual experiments were sure to bother her. Once she was done, she folded the letter once more and laid it down on the table, halfway between each of them. She studied Harry’s face for a long time and try as he might, Harry couldn’t read her.

“Are you in love with him?” she finally asked, her voice neutral.

Harry gulped. “I think so.”

She shook her head. “It’s not enough. This boy deserves certainty. He’s a terrible writer, but he poured his heart out to you. I suggest you take the two days you have left to decide what you’re going to tell him.”

Harry’s heart sank. “But…”

“Harry.” She sighed. “It’s only two days. I can’t lift your punishment because you went behind my back and did exactly what I forbid you in a disguised way. You’re still grounded until Sunday, but if he wants to come for a visit next weekend, I will raise no objections.”

“So you’ve forgiven him?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure. But any boy who compares my baby to an angel deserves a second chance.” She smiled for the first time since they’d sat down and Harry relaxed, slumping against the back of the couch and hiding his face in his hands. “Even if that boy did some very dirty things to my baby.”

Harry groaned and turned a deep shade of red. “I’m sorry you had to read that.”

“Was he good, at least?”

“Mum!” Harry shouted, outraged.

“What? So you’re old enough to get a blowjob, but not old enough to hear your mother talk about it?”

“Oh my god, don’t say that word!”

“Why not? It’s not like I’ve never done it,” she said with a laugh.

“Oh my god, stop it!” Harry grabbed a cushion to hit her with it. “You’re my mother! You can’t say that to me!”

She retaliated in kind, hitting Harry back with a cushion and making him laugh. “Figure out what you want before you call him. It’s my only condition.” She smiled before frowning, sniffing the air. “Can you smell something burning?”

“Dinner!” Harry shrieked before running to the kitchen, feeling lighter than he had in days.

His mother was right. He had to be sure before he called Louis because that would be it, after that. They would either part or commit to each other. He couldn’t be scared anymore.

-

On Sunday evening, right after dinner had been cleared away, Anne gave Harry his phone back with a solemn air that matched Harry’s mood. He had done a lot of thinking over the past two days and he knew what he would say when he called Louis. He felt like a different person, almost; he was sure he had matured faster than he normally would have by juggling such intense and complicated feelings.

He sat on his bed with his phone in front of him for a while, just staring at it and building his courage. Then, when he felt like he could no longer wait if he wanted to keep his sanity, he turned it on, laying it back on the bed to watch the boot up animation. He expected to get dozens of text messages, but his friends had remembered he was grounded and abstained. Even Louis hadn’t written.

Calmly, surprising himself, Harry picked up his phone and called Louis, concentrating hard on regulating his breathing while it rang. Louis picked up after the fifth tone.

“Harry,” he said, his voice white.

“Hi. I’m not grounded anymore.”

“Yay!” Even through the tinny line, Harry could hear how soft and vulnerable Louis sounded. He was as nervous as Harry was and it reassured him. “Did you get my letter?”

Harry exhaled loudly, wincing to think about the crackles Louis would hear. “I did, yes. I wanted to call you the day I got it, but Mum insisted I wait until the end of my punishment.”

There was silence for a moment. “What did you think of it?”

“You can’t spell,” Harry replied spontaneously and his eyes widened in horror. No. He hadn’t just said that.

Louis let out a startled laugh. “Piss off!”

“I liked it,” Harry hurried to add. “A lot. It… you nearly killed me with what you wrote in it.”

“Y-yeah? I meant every word.”

Despite his best efforts to be courageous, Harry tried to stall the conversation. “What are you doing right now?”

“I’m in my room, trying not to panic.”

“Panic? Because of what?”

“Because of you. I’ve never opened up like I did in that letter to anyone. I’m scared of what you’re going to say.”

“Don’t be,” Harry rushed to reply. “I’m not calling to make you sad.”

He heard Louis breath in shakily. “Why, then?”

Harry licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair, trying to brace himself for what was to come. At the last second, just as he was about to say it out loud, he shook his head. “I don’t want to do this by phone. Do you want to come next weekend? Mum says you can.”

Louis’ exhale sounded like he was deflating. “She’s allowing you to see me?”

“She says that any boy who calls her son an angel deserves a second chance.”

“You made her read my letter?!”

It took Louis’ outraged squawk to make Harry realise that what Louis had written was, perhaps, confidential. He’d never even considered it, which probably made him a terrible person.

“I’m sorry! I needed her to understand!”

“And you couldn’t use your own words?! Fuck, Harry! I talk about giving you head in there! Who else read it? Your mates at school? Your sister? Your boss at the bakery?! Did you make copies and distributed it through the school?!”

“Calm down! I only made my mum read it! I’m sorry that I did, it was a shit move and I didn’t think before I did it.”

“Obviously.” Louis sighed. “I’m really upset with you now. I was eager to talk to you, but now I’m pissed off and I think I need to cool down a little before we talk some more. I’ll call you back later.”

“Louis! Please, no! I’ve waited so long to talk to you! I’m sorry I made my mum read your letter. I didn’t want to upset you!” Harry begged, panicked at the idea that Louis might hang up as well as amazed to think they were having their first fight.

“I feel betrayed, Haz. I trusted you with my most private feelings and the first thing you did was share them with someone else.”

“But it wasn’t just anyone. It was my mum. I needed her to understand, otherwise I don’t think she’d have left me see you again. I did it for us. I… I needed to tell someone and I couldn’t call you. It was so much to take in, I was… I couldn’t breathe for a moment after reading it. I couldn’t think straight. I’m sorry. I didn’t show her to mock you.”

The line crackled with Louis’ sigh. “I know, Kitten.” The use of his nickname made Harry relax. “I’m just on edge lately. There’s a cute boy in Cheshire who’s holding my sanity hostage right now.”

Harry giggled. “Don’t be scared. He’s only got good news.”

“Has he? And he won’t tell me over the phone?”

“No. He doesn’t want it to be cheap. He’s got plans.”

“Don’t you dare use my own words against me, Styles! That’s a cheap shot!”

“Isn’t that what you said about our little bathroom adventure?”

Louis guffawed. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

“Me too. Can you make it next weekend, then?” Harry asked, clinging to the phone and hoping he didn’t sound too eager.

“The only thing that could stop me would be my own death.”

“Talking about death isn’t romantic.”

“Death isn’t romantic, wanking isn’t romantic… you’re a complicated man, Harry!”

“I know. And yet, you like me,” Harry said with a happy smile. “Do you want to Skype for a bit? I miss your face.”

“Like you even need to ask,” Louis replied with a laugh. “Hang up and we’ll go.”

“You first.”

“No, we’re not doing that!” Louis laughed. “I’m hanging up. See you soon.”

Harry hung up and dropped his phone on his bed before falling backwards against his pillows, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. He basked in the glow of his happiness for a few minutes before he scrambled off his bed to go ask his mother to give him back his Skype password, feeling so light he worried he’d float up to the ceiling.

-

Going through an entire day of longing and anticipation felt comfortably familiar to Harry when the Friday of Louis’ visit arrived. The jitters and restlessness were like old familiar shoes that Harry slipped back on and he almost relished it. Louis was due to arrive after dinner; he had football practice after school that he couldn’t miss and it was a long drive. Harry was counting down the minutes and was teaching himself to enjoy the feeling. He knew – he hoped, at least – that he would have to live similar moments many more times in the future and he wanted to get used to them, to come to terms with the butterflies in his stomach and the feeling like time was going backwards. He would have to become like old friends with it if everything went according to plan.

He was walking between classes before the last period when his phone buzzed in his bag. Ducking inside a restroom, he pulled it out to see a message from Louis.

get out of the school RIGHT NOW

Why? He texted back, frowning. Is something bad about to happen?

This isn’t america silly. I’m parked infront of the school. I’m asking you to bunk off.

Harry’s frown deepened. I can’t leave without a note from my mum.

:( for me? I bunked for you so I could get here early. Can’T you pretend to be ill?

For the last period on Friday? They’ll know I’m bunking.

Live a little styles. Worst case scenario you get detention. It never killed anyone. I need to see you :(((((

FINE.

Harry sighed loud enough for the sound to echo around the empty restroom. He had never left school in the middle of the day and he had no idea how he’d do it without getting caught. If a teacher saw him walk off campus, there would be questions and soon enough, the entire plan would collapse and he’d be physically brought back to class. At least, that’s how he imagined it went down.

His stomach in a knot, he ran out of the restroom and started packing his bag for the weekend, coming up with a plan as he did so. He’d walk out of the school pretending that he was allowed to. He’d keep his head high, act like he had every right to be walking away from the warning bells and he’d ignore every looks and questions and he would run if it came to it.

“Where are you going?”

He jumped and turned to see one of his friends looking at him quizzically, clutching a maths textbook to her chest. That was where he was supposed to go. He felt high on adrenalin to think he wasn’t.

“I’m bunking off. My boyfriend’s here to pick me up early.”

A grin bloomed on his face at the word. It was the first time he used it out loud to refer to Louis and he definitely could get used to the high it brought him. His friend mirrored his grin and giggled.

“He’s your boyfriend, now, is he? Go, I’ll cover for you. I’ll say you felt a bit ill and your mum picked you up. We’ll figure something out for the note they’ll ask for, don’t worry. Go!” she repeated when Harry didn’t move, pushing him away and slamming his locker shut.

Harry glanced one last time over his shoulder before hurrying his steps to leave the school, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. He made it to the doors without being noticed and walked out into the parking lot in amazement. He’d have never imagined it would be this easy, bunking off. He’d imagined having to sneak away, hide in bushes or in closets until the way was clear, but it took him all of two minutes to be out of the school and free for the weekend.

He looked around, trying to find which car was Louis’, and he burst out laughing when he spotted a beat up old Renault. Louis stepped out of it and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Are you laughing at my car, Styles?” he snapped.

“It’s beige!” Harry wheezed. “It’s an old lady’s car!”

“It was my nan’s, yeah. What about it?” Louis sounded defensive and wounded. Harry swallowed back his laughter almost instantly.

“Sorry. It was just a surprise. I’m over it, now. It’s pretty nice,” Harry said, atoning.

“Stop lying, that car’s shit.” Louis grinned. “Come on in, we need to get you off campus before they notice you’re gone.”

With that, he climbed back in it and Harry followed, throwing his backpack on the backseat where Louis’ was and looking around at the car in barely contained disappointment. He’d been thrilled to learn Louis had a car, but he’d hoped for better. He’d hoped for something he wouldn’t be ashamed to show his mates.

Louis turned on the engine and the radio filled the silence between them with The Script’s “For the First Time”, making Harry smile.

“I love this song,” Louis commented as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“Me too! I love The Script!”

Louis glanced at him, smiling. “Yeah? Me too. They’re my favourite band.”

Harry nodded and smiled, singing along to himself, mouthing the words softly. Louis pushed his arm when he noticed.

“Louder. I want to hear you sing.”

In any other situation, Harry would have tried to talk himself out of it, but with Louis smiling at him the way he was, and with the adrenalin of truanting still coursing through his veins, he felt tall as a mountain and fearless. With a nod, he began singing louder, pouring his heart into it and beating the rhythm on the dashboard. He lost himself to the music, letting it fill all of the empty spaces inside of him, turning the volume up until it rattled his bones and he sang louder to be heard above it. Harry closed his eyes to feel the music more, to focus on nothing else but the notes and the words, to let them swirl and grow inside of him, taking up all the room, making him feel like his skin was too small to contain how big he was becoming. He channelled his anxiety for the conversation to come and his fear of the future into his singing, only turning back to Louis on the last ‘don’t give up on me baby’ of the song. He turned the volume down when the next song started.

“Bloody hell,” Louis breathed out, shifting his gaze from the road to Harry. “Why have I never heard you sing before?!”

Harry shrugged. “We were too busy snogging?”

Louis laughed, a bit breathless. “That might be it, yeah.”

With a smile, Harry looked out the window only to turn back to Louis. “We’re not going to my house. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“I know,” Louis replied, gnawing at his lip and tapping his fingers on the wheel. “I thought it’d be better to just sit in my car to have the conversation we need to have? There’s no guarantee we can talk as much as we want at your house, anyone could walk in.”

Harry nodded and turned back to the window to watch the fields go by. They kept driving for a while, long enough to be beyond the outskirts of the village and into the countryside surrounding it. At last, Louis turned into a dirt road and drove long enough to be out of sight from the road. He killed the engine and sighed.

“I brought blankets so we don’t freeze while we talk,” he explained, climbing out of the car. He rummaged in the trunk and came back with two plaid throws, giving one to Harry and wrapping the other one around his shoulders. He rolled down his window an inch or two to let air in and then turned to Harry, folding a leg underneath him.

“Hi,” Harry said to fill the silence. The shyness that Louis had mentioned was creeping in, making him bow his head to avoid Louis’ eyes.

“Hi. I missed you.”

Harry looked up. “I missed you, too. I loved the letters.”

“I thought you would.”

They were skirting the crux of what they had to talk about and it weighed between them heavily, making the silence electric with the tension of everything unsaid.

“About my last letter—” Louis began.

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Harry blurted out at the same time.

Louis’ eyes widened and his cheeks turned pink as his lips stretched into a smile big enough to make his eyes crinkle. “Yeah? Even if I live far away?”

“We have to talk about it, but I’d love to,” Harry replied, grimacing to see that he was once again trying to push back the conversation.

“Now. We’ll talk about it now. What’s on your mind?”

Harry could have kissed Louis for forcing him to face the problem head on.

“The distance, for one.”

Louis nodded. “You don’t consider texting and Skyping as real contact, yeah. That’ll make it hard.” He sounded bitter and it made Harry look down, afraid of a confrontation. “Especially once I go to London.”

“I don’t think it doesn’t count.”

“Are you sure?”

Harry hesitated before he replied, taking the time to really think about it. “I said it didn’t count because I thought it was what you thought. I’m worried I’m not enough and that you’ll be sick of it one day and find someone closer to you.”

“See, that’s why I’m not sure if we should be boyfriends. You don’t trust me.”

“I do trust you!” Harry exclaimed, tightening the blanket around his shoulders.

“No, Harry. You don’t. You don’t trust me when I say that no one else exists now that I’ve met you. You don’t trust me, you’re afraid I’ll go be with someone else!”

“Because we’re not official! Before your letter, I thought I was just a… a plaything in another town you saw from time to time! I didn’t know how committed you were!”

“And you think a label will fix it?” Louis sounded dubious and it enraged Harry.

“Of course! Because if I’m your boyfriend, then it means we belong to each other and no one else can have us.”

Louis shook his head. “People don’t belong to people. You won’t belong to me and I won’t belong to you. But yes, we’d be exclusive. We already were even without the label. Do you think I’d have crossed two counties to see someone who was just a ‘plaything’ for me? I had Aiden for that and I ended it with him when I got you.”

“And what tells me you won’t end it with me as soon as you find someone better and closer?”

“Trust. And…” Louis sighed, looking drained. “And because I’m in love with you, Harry, but you already knew that.”

Harry’s heart gave a flutter and he felt himself blushing. He had to fight to hold Louis’ gaze and not look down. “You said it in your letter, yes.”

“I wanted to tell you again, for real this time. I love you, even if we’ve only seen each other twice. Thrice, now, I suppose. And I want to be your boyfriend, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

With a gulp, Harry nodded. He needed to stop avoiding it. “I love you, too. And I know I have trust issues. I’m really insecure because I can’t believe a boy like you could love me. I never understood why you wanted me in the first place and I’m terrified you’ll find someone else.”

“We’re back at trust! You have to trust that I won’t just find someone else. You have to trust that I love you enough to deal with the distance. I don’t mind driving here every weekend or even on weeknights. I don’t care. I just want to be with you.” Louis took Harry’s hands and squeezed them. “I’ve never opened up to anyone like I did with you. I’ve never let someone in like that. You have to trust me.”

Harry squeezed his hands in return. “I just told you I loved you and you didn’t even notice.”

Louis bowed his head and let out a small laugh. “I’ve noticed, don’t worry. I was coming to that. First, though, do you trust me?”

“I will. I’ll work on it. I promise that I will. You’ve never given me any reason not to.”

Louis nodded. “And you’ll be my boyfriend?”

“Obviously.”

“And you love me?” He was smiling, now, a big crinkling thing.

“Yes!” Harry sighed, pretending to be exasperated.

Grinning and nodding at the same time, Louis leaned in to press a kiss to Harry’s lips. “It’s settled, then. We’re officially dating.”

Harry leaned back in to kiss Louis again, keeping him in place with a hand on the back of his neck. It felt like a first kiss, with butterflies running wild in his belly and fireworks going off in his head. He was kissing his boyfriend – his first boyfriend – and they were young and in love. It felt like the whole world was at their feet, just standing a step out of reach, waiting for them to jump forward and seize it.

They kissed long enough for their fingers to go numb with cold; long enough for the windows to frost from the sharp contrast between their combined body heat and the biting, November cold outside. Louis paused long enough to turn on the engine and crank up the heating and then they kissed again, and despite the heat of it they kept their hands in the other’s hair or clutching the other’s. Harry didn’t feel the need to try and push for more, it was enough just to feel Louis’ lips and tongue against is, over and over and over again until he was dizzy with it. There was no rush, they had nowhere to go and nothing else to do but kiss and kiss and kiss.

The buzz of Harry’s phone ringing broke the charm, pulling him out of the moment like he was surfacing from deep under water, and he answered it in a daze.

“Yeah?”

“Mum’s looking for you. Word is you bunked off,” Gemma said. Harry could hear the smirk in her voice as plainly as if she'd been standing in front of him.

Harry cleared his throat, taking his eyes off Louis' flustered face and swollen lips, desperately needing to cool off, to stare at the expanses of frozen field and grey sky outside the windshield. "I'm with Louis. He picked me up before my last lesson." Aiming for nonchalant, Harry feared he'd come off as aloof. He winced.

"Didn't you just stop being grounded? You're in so much trouble, Haz." She paused and Harry's heart grew wild with hope. "Unless I cover for you. I could tell Mum Louis picked you up after school."

"Would you?"

She sighed and Harry immediately knew he was saved. "You're lucky I got home before Mum did and intercepted the call. The official story is that you felt ill and left. I'll forge a note for you. Find your own story for why you aren't home yet, though. I've done my part."

"Thank you so much!" Harry exclaimed, feeling his heart swell with affection for his sister. "You just saved my life."

"I'll think of a way for you to repay me, worry not. Dinner's at 6:30."

Harry hung up and turned to Louis, grinning. "My sister covered for me bunking off, but we need to get home, my mum's looking for me."

The entire time Harry spoke, Louis kept a steady, tender gaze fixed on him. He reached out to stroke Harry's cheek as he nodded, moving forward to press a kiss to his lips.

"All right, Cinderella. I'll take you home."

Harry laughed, watching Louis twist his body around to back out of the dirt road, a frown of concentration on his brow as he focused on the task at hand. He had thrown an arm around the back of Harry's seat and was manoeuvring the wheel without looking at it, and in an instant, Harry understood why some people went mad over guys with cars. He felt a pleasant warmth in his stomach just watching Louis do something as mundane as driving backwards. He felt silly and pressed a kiss to Louis' cheek before looking out of his window, only turning once more to Louis when they were back on the main road.

"If we're talking which princess I am, I'm probably Snow White, by the way."

Louis glanced at him for a second without nodding. "Yeah, yes, you're right. You're definitely Snow White. I swear, though, if you make a single dwarf joke at me, I'm going to let you walk the rest of the way."

"You have no idea where I live."

"Don't test me, Styles," Louis snapped, smirking. "I'm not that short, all right? You're barely taller."

"Yet."

"Shut up!"

To make sure the conversation was over, Louis turned up the volume of the radio, drowning them in the pounding bass line of "Like a G6".

-

Thanks to Gemma's lie, Harry managed to escape any consequence for his reckless decision. It felt good to have her back at home for the weekend; he'd miss her during her midterms, which had kept her away for almost a whole month. Her presence, added to that of Louis, made for a delightfully cheerful dinnertime. She immediately got along with Louis, the two of them hitting it off like they'd always been pals, and it occurred to Harry that Louis was actually closer in age to her than he was to him. When he pointed it out, the onslaught of 'cradle-robbing' jokes occupied the table until every crumb of their dessert had been cleaned off their plates.

They lingered downstairs with Harry’s family for a while, Louis perched on the arm of the armchair Harry was sitting in, his toes tucked underneath Harry’s thighs and his arms around his shoulders, pressing small kisses to the crown of his head from time to time. He stayed silent throughout most of the conversation Harry was having with his family, commenting now and then to crack a joke, invariably making them laugh. After a while, Anne offered to watch a movie and Harry saw that as their cue to go upstairs, nodding along to the reminders to keep the door opened.

Harry pulled Louis upstairs by his wrist, glad to be finally free from his family, and he pushed him in his room, closing the door until just before it clicked shut. "Hi," he then said, pulling Louis by his shirt to plant his lips on his.

Louis giggled into the kiss. "Hi. Eager, much?"

That calmed down Harry almost instantly and he took a step back. "Oh, I'm sorry. We can—we could watch a movie, if you want?"

Louis rolled his eyes and shook his head, moving over to the bed and lying down on it on his side. He patted the empty space in front of him. Harry joined him and smiled, running his hand down the curve of Louis' hip, watching his hand go with fascination.

When he looked up, he found Louis close enough for their noses to brush. Meeting for a kiss felt like a natural progression, their bodies pulled together like magnets, and Harry sighed, his lips stretching into a smile under the kisses Louis was peppering on them.

“We’re official boyfriends,” Louis muttered, running a hand up and down Harry’s spine, rucking up his shirt in the process.

“Not quite,” Harry replied, and Louis moved back, startled. “It’s not Facebook official, yet.”

Louis gave a snort, but his cheeks tinted pink. “You want to make it public?”

With a nod, Harry reluctantly pushed himself off the bed to go fetch his laptop, bringing it back to the bed. He sat before it and logged into Facebook, clicking through the pages until he could change his relationship status to “In a relationship with Louis Tomlinson” and then pushing the computer towards Louis.

“Your turn.”

His eyes sparkling with happiness, Louis did the same, closing the lid of the computer with a flourish when he was done. “We’re officially official, Styles.”

“Do you think our friends will comment to congratulate us?” Harry asked as Louis gently laid him down. He loosened his uniform tie and popped open the first button of his starched white shirt to press kisses to his neck.

“I don’t care. I don’t need their validation,” Louis replied against Harry’s skin, nosing behind his ear.

“We should have matching profile pictures,” Harry continued, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars glued to his ceiling to keep his train of thought as Louis kept kissing his neck, his jaw, and the tender skin behind his ear.

With a sigh that Harry felt against his skin rather than heard, Louis lifted his head. “Is this some kind of weird relationship fantasy we’re fulfilling? Like you’ve always wanted to do those things every teenager does?”

Harry bit his lip and nodded, shrugging dismissively. “It’s okay, though, if you don’t want to.”

“I never said that,” Louis replied softly, kissing the tip of Harry’s nose. “What kind of picture did you have in mind?”

“Would you be comfortable with a kissing picture?”

Louis smiled until his eyes crinkled. “Of course, Kitten. It gives me an excuse to kiss you, of course I’m comfortable with it.”

“No, but I mean… your mates will see it.”

“They’ve seen me do much worse, don’t worry.”

Harry pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Louis, looking at him expectantly, not quite sure of how to proceed and hoping Louis could help.

“Why do you look at me like I’m supposed to have lots of experience taking pictures of myself?”

“My instinct tells me you are.”

Louis flipped his fringe with a roll of his eyes, fixing it reflexively immediately after. “Your instinct is insulting, but right.” He reached forward to play with Harry’s hair, fluffing it up and then fixing his fringe before patting his cheek. “There, you’re perfect. Do I keep my glasses?”

“Please.”

Louis nodded, turned on the phone and Harry gave him the PIN before he asked, having no reason to keep it a secret. Louis moved closer, a soft smile playing on his lips, and he climbed into Harry’s lap, straddling his hips. He took a few seconds to angle the phone and then, gently, he lifted Harry’s chin and kissed him. Harry returned the kiss, his eyes fluttering shut and his hands gripping Louis’ hips. He could hear Louis snapping pictures, but he pushed the shutter noise to the back of his mind to focus on the kiss, pulling Louis’ lip between his teeth for the fun of hearing him gasp quietly. He flicked his tongue along the lip once he released it to soothe it before diving in to kiss Louis fully, digging his fingers in his flesh. It went on for a while, but just when it was becoming interesting, Louis pulled back to stop.

“Let’s make sure we got a good one before we lose control,” he explained with a sheepish giggle.

With Louis still in his lap, they swiped through the pictures, some off-centre, some blurry, some with part of Louis’ finger in the frame. There were two or three that were decent, and it was between them that they tried to choose.

“This one, you can see my tongue,” Harry marvelled, hiding his face against Louis’ chest.

“I’d think so, yeah, it was halfway down my throat.” Louis stroked his back and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I like that one,” Harry said, swiping back to the first one.

Louis studied the picture for a while. It showed them with their lips pressed together, their eyes closed, and they were both smiling. It was chaste enough for their friends and family to see, but the sight still set butterflies free in Harry’s stomach; he never thought he’d get someone like Louis to take that kind of pictures with, let alone someone comfortable with posting them online.

While Harry was lost in thoughts, Louis was already busy sending himself the picture. His chuckling got Harry’s attention.

“What is it?”

“We’d be so popular online. Cute boys snogging are a big thing right now,” Louis explained.

“And you know that how…?”

“I have needs, Styles! And my boyfriend lives far away!”

“Are we talking about porn…?”

Louis slapped his arm and rolled his eyes. “No. Change your bloody profile picture instead of making fun of me.”

Laughing, Harry did as he was told, feeling a thrill of exhilaration as he did so. Louis made him reckless and he loved it.

“Have you done it, too?” Harry asked once he was done.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s also my wallpaper now. And my lock screen.” He showed Harry, smiling proudly. “All right. Now, we snog.”

He once again laid Harry down and resumed kissing his neck, placing slow, warm kisses on his skin. Harry relaxed, breathing out deeply and closing his eyes, his lips stretching into a lazy smile. Louis moved up, leaving a trail of kisses from the hollow of Harry’s neck to his jaw and then his lips, which he nibbled gently until Harry let out a soft, unexpected whimper. Cradling his face with his hand, Louis deepened the kiss, changing the pressure of his lips against Harry’s from hard to barely there without warning, over and over again and unpredictably.

Harry sighed through his nose and rested his hands on the small of Louis’ back, stroking back and forth for a while before he slipped them under the hem of Louis’ shirt to caress the warm skin underneath. Louis was lying half on top of him and the scene was so familiar, at once, that Harry let out a small noise into Louis’ mouth, which only encouraged him to kiss Harry harder.

Moving his hand higher, Harry ran feather-light fingers along Louis’ spine, pushing his shirt up at the same time. Breaking the kiss with a shiver, Louis raised heavy-lidded eyes to Harry’s.

“D’you want me to take it off?”

Harry nodded. “Please.”

“Can yours go as well, baby?” Louis asked softly as he fiddled with a button of Harry’s shirt. He waited until Harry nodded and smiled to begin unbuttoning it, latching his lips to every inch of skin he uncovered as he moved down. “Good boy. Thank you. Up,” he said, helping Harry to sit up so he could slip the shirt off his shoulders and throw it off to the side, leaving Harry with only his necktie on.

“Your turn,” Harry said, grabbing the hem of Louis’ shirt and pulling it up, watching with a smile as Louis lifted his arms to help with the process. It joined Harry’s shirt on the floor.

Taking hold of the tie, Louis pulled on it to bring Harry closer. “You look so sexy with only your tie on, it’s driving me wild,” he muttered before kissing Harry once more, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and shifting so he was sitting astride Harry’s leg.

That kiss was messier than the previous ones and for the first time of the evening, Harry felt like it had a purpose and a goal in mind. Circling Louis’ slim waist with his arms, he brought him closer, pressing their chests together as he returned the kiss with the same intensity, crashing their lips together over and over again, their tongues meeting and exploring the other’s mouth without holding back anything.

“Is this too much for you?” Louis asked after a while, peeling his mouth away with a loud, wet ‘smack’.

“No,” Harry replied immediately. He dug his fingers in Louis’ skin for good measure. “We’re not stopping, tonight.”

Louis let out a keening noise from the back of his throat and balled Harry’s tie in his fist, pulling him desperately closer and kissing him once more. He sucked and licked and nibbled his lips, breathing hard through his nose. Harry’s trousers were getting tighter by the second and he whined, shifting underneath Louis uncomfortably.

“Me too,” Louis whispered against Harry’s lips. He rolled his hips down against Harry’s thigh to show him, letting out a small moan that shot through Harry’s body like lightning. Moving off Harry without breaking the kiss, Louis stroked his cheek, then his hair. “We’ll take it slow, yeah? It’s kind of our first time.”

“I’d like that, yeah.”

They slowed down their kisses after that and Harry was grateful for the respite. Lying back down on the bed on their sides, they faced each other and grinned until their cheeks hurt. They traded kisses between caresses, their hands exploring the other’s body for what felt like the first time. Louis’ hands, surprisingly soft for a boy’s, were ghosting over Harry’s side and back as though touching him would spoil him; whenever Louis pressed down or dared scratching lightly, it was with a restraint that bordered on reverence.

Harry trailed the dizzying curve of Louis’ hip, starting from his bird-like ribcage, tickling him lightly under the arm until Louis pinched his waist to make him stop, and moving his fingers one by one down Louis’ flank. He watched in amazement as his light touches raised goose bumps on Louis’ yielding skin. Moving back up, Harry traced Louis’ collarbones with the tip of his finger, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his neck and rubbing his nose up along the column of it, inhaling his smell to try and commit it to memory.

Louis laughed, a quiet little thing, and Harry smiled to feel the vibrations where his lips were pressed to the skin of his neck.

“What are you doing?” Louis asked.

“Trying to remember your smell. I didn’t have one of your shirts to sleep with.”

Still laughing, Louis flipped them so he was on top of Harry, his hands pressed into the pillow framing Harry’s head. The harsh denim of his jeans was rough against Harry’s bare stomach when Louis lowered his body on top of him.

“I’ll leave you one, if you want. Anything to make my Kitten happy,” he cooed, kissing the tip of Harry’s nose.

“You make me happy. Can you stay forever?”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis replied, his lips brushing Harry’s as he spoke. “I’ll hide under your bed.”

Harry shook his head. “In it. You hide in my bed.”

“Deal.” Louis kissed him, slow and dirty, pulling on his bottom lip with his teeth before he stopped. “How will you feed me?”

“I’ll sneak food from the kitchen.”

Louis shook his head. “Not good enough. I need something sweeter.” He nosed along Harry’s jaw and kissed its base, sucking lightly on the skin before moving down, pressing wet kisses down the side of Harry’s neck until he reached the crook. “Your skin’s the colour of marzipan, d’you reckon you taste like it, too? I could live off of that.”

Harry let out a breathless laugh. “Marzipan? Really? That’s corny.”

“But it made you laugh.” Louis’ warm tongue gave Harry’s neck a small lick before Louis pressed his teeth to the skin, open-mouthed and brief.

Harry let out a gasp, his eyes opening wide under the sensation. “Do it again,” he heard himself say.

Louis’ laugh rumbled against Harry’s skin before he moved in again, nibbling Harry’s neck with more intent, pulling on the skin and then soothing it with licks of his tongue and kisses. Harry’s toes curled and he shut his eyes tight, his breathing becoming laboured within seconds. He dug his fingers in Louis’ hair, keeping his head in place and scratching his scalp as Louis applied even more pressure, making Harry feel like he might be about to break the skin, which drew a whimper from his lips.

“Yeah? That good?” Louis asked, kissing Harry’s chin and then his lips. “Right here is best, yeah?” He moved down again and bit the crook of Harry’s neck, hard enough to make him gasp with pain. It was immediately followed by a moan and a frantic nod. “Thought so.” A laugh vibrated against Harry’s sore skin.

Instead of biting again in that sweet spot, Louis moved along Harry’s collarbone, nibbling and kissing the thin skin until he got to his shoulder, which he bit harder before kissing tenderly. From there, his trail of kisses and nibbles moved lower and across Harry’s chest until he stopped to hover over his right nipple. He blew cold air on it and Harry shivered.

Louis ran a thumb over the left one, shaking his head. “They’re so red and puffy.” He repeated the motion, only stopping when the tip had hardened under the excitation. “That’s better,” he breathed out.

Without a warning, he latched his lips on it, sucking until Harry moaned. Satisfied, he took the hard nub between his teeth and pulled back, glancing up at Harry as he did so to check on him. Harry moaned, louder than before, and arched his back off the bed, whimpering when Louis pressed a hand to the middle of his chest to keep him down. Louis moved to the other one, doing the same thing to it, turning Harry into a whimpering mess on the bed. Every time Louis bit down, Harry’s cock gave an uncomfortable twitch, reminding him of how constricting his trousers had become. He longed to open them to release some pressure, but Louis’ body blocked the way. Instead, he gripped the sheets in his hands, pulling on them whenever it got too much.

“You know,” Louis mused out loud, “I’ve always been curious about your third and fourth nipples. Do you feel anything with them?”

Harry shrugged, taken aback by the timing of the question and, most importantly, by the question itself. “I’ve never stopped to think about it.”

“Want to find out?” Louis asked, smirking. He didn’t wait for an answer to suck on one of them for a moment. “So?” he asked expectantly, looking at Harry with wide, curious eyes.

“I can feel something, but it’s not as strong as with the two normal ones.”

Louis nodded. “That’s so cool! Do I need to play with them, too, or can we move on?”

Harry let out a burst of laughter. “You didn’t have to play with the first two!”

“I kind of did. Your body is incredible, I want to taste every inch of it.”

“I could return the compliment,” Harry replied, stroking Louis’ back. “It’s so soft and gorgeous.”

Louis rolled his eyes, a pink tint on his cheeks. “You’re only saying that to get me to take off my trousers.”

“Is it working?” Harry asked, smiling as innocently as he could.

With a giggle, Louis rolled off him and knelt on the bed. He made a show of unbuttoning his jeans, lowering them with a sway of his hips that brought colour to Harry’s cheeks and all the way down to his chest. Louis’ erection was clearly visible through the cotton of his briefs, the clingy fabric leaving no room for imagination, and Harry swallowed thickly as he licked his lips. That was it, he was about to see Louis naked once again, but this time he would be allowed to look. It wouldn’t be a furtive glance, but an assumed, authorised one. He felt a thrill just thinking about it.

Except that Louis stopped at his trousers, keeping his pants on. Harry frowned.

“You’re forgetting something,” he said, reaching to snap the elastic waistband against Louis’ hip.

Louis gave a jolt. “Hey! That hurt! No need to be rough!” he complained half-heartedly while he hooked his fingers in the waistband and pulled the briefs off, making quick work of sending them on the floor to join the rest of his clothes. “There. Happy?”

Harry licked his lips and placed his hands on Louis’ bare hips, his chest rising and falling rapidly under the excitation. “Very.”

Louis’ cock jutted out from his hips, dusty pink and fully hard. Harry swallowed once more, his eyes fixed on it, unable to look away or even move. His own cock, still trapped in his trousers, gave yet another painful twitch, making him wince. After a moment, he glanced up at Louis and found him looking down on him fondly, a soft smile on his lips.

“You can touch it, if you want,” Louis said, bending down to press a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “My body is all yours.”

So Harry did, wrapping a tentative hand around the length to feel the weight and warmth of it. Louis exhaled, slow and deep, his eyes fluttering shut. Stroking it once or twice, Harry let go and moved over to Louis’ balls, rolling them over in his hand and watching them with fascination.

“Harry…” Louis breathed out. “I won’t last long if you do that.”

Harry let go with a self-conscious laugh. “Sorry. Do you want me to…” he added, bringing his hands to the button of his trousers.

“Let me.”

Louis gently pushed his hands away and unbuttoned his trousers, lowering the zipper with something close to reverence. Once opened, he grabbed his pants and trousers and pulled them down, nudging Harry’s hip with his knee so he’d lift them and allow him to completely remove his clothes. They fell to the floor with a clatter, Harry’s keys still in his pocket. Louis then removed Harry’s socks, then his own, and moved over to lie on his side next to Harry, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

Harry looked down at both of their cocks, so close and yet not close enough for his liking; his body was coursing with adrenaline, making him want more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life for them to touch, to do something—anything to release the pressure that had built in his body. He whimpered and Louis pressed a soothing kiss to his cheek.

“What do you want?” Louis whispered in his ear, adding a nibble and a lick to its lobe. His body was pressed alongside Harry's so that he could feel Louis' cock against his hip. “Do you want a blowie?” Harry shook his head. “No? What then? Do you want to watch me wank off?” Harry shook his head once more. “Do you want a handjob?”

Harry’s breath hitched at that and Louis grinned. He began walking his fingers down Harry’s chest, slowly, excruciatingly slowly, making his way to his crotch.

“Can I give you one, too?” Harry asked before Louis reached his cock and shorted his brain.

“You don’t have to ask,” Louis replied with a breathless laugh. “I told you, my body is all yours.” With that, and without warning, Louis wrapped his hand around Harry’s cock and pulled, tightly, making Harry’ breath stutter in surprise. “It feels good, hm?”

“How… how do you want it?” Harry asked, running a clumsy hand up and down Louis’ hip.

“Like you do to yourself. Show me how you like it.”

Harry turned to face Louis and kissed him as he took his cock in his hand, tightening his hand until Louis let out a small gasp that wiped away the smug look he’d had on his face seconds earlier. Their eyes met and Harry smiled, happy to see Louis’ eyes crinkle as he returned it. Gently, with his free hand, Harry took off Louis’ glasses and placed them on the nightstand behind him before leaning in to press a soft kiss to Louis’ lips. Louis returned it immediately as his hand quickened on Harry’s cock. He twisted his wrist on the upstroke, drawing a moan that he swallowed and mirrored when Harry squeezed his cock almost tight enough to hurt.

Louis pulled out of the kiss with a laugh. “You like it rough?”

“I like the pain,” Harry admitted, giving Louis a sheepish smile before he softened his grip and started building a rhythm with his hand.

“I’ll try to remember,” Louis said, bowing his head to bite Harry's collarbone and giggling against his skin when Harry's body jerked in surprise.

Harry kissed Louis once more to wipe the smile off his face, whimpering in his mouth as Louis stopped mucking about and started getting him off in earnest. Harry quickly lost his own rhythm and only kept Louis’ cock in his hand loosely as he looked down to watch Louis work him over, his hand looking smaller than ever as it moved up and down his length.

It only took a couple of minutes for Harry to be reduced to a moaning, squirming mess, his entire body quivering under the strength of the orgasm building inside of him. He didn’t want to come before Louis, that much he knew, and through the haze of thoughts all centered around Louis filling his brain, he managed to tighten his grip once more and recover the rhythm he’d lost, moving his hand fast and tight over Louis’ cock. Louis let out a surprised cry and nodded, whining softly through his nose.

“Yes, babe, that’s perfect, keep going, it’s…” he broke off to kiss Harry, messy and rough, pulling back to moan and look down. “Your hand is so big, I… fuck, Harry, you’re… you’re a natural.”

Whereas Harry’s brain was too fried to come up with words, Louis continued babbling in an increasingly high-pitched and frantic voice, his words interrupted by soft moans that sounded like mewls and shot straight to Harry's cock. They were both rolling their hips into the other’s fist, both moaning and grunting, and it would take a miracle, Harry thought in the back of his mind, for his family not to hear the mattress creaking and their panting, ecstatic noises over the loud explosions coming from their movie. To his ears, they were loud enough to be heard one block over.

It almost felt a like a race, now, to know who would come first. As hard as he tried to hold off, it was Harry who stepped over the edge first, rolling forward to hide his face in Louis’ neck, muffling his moan there as he spilled over Louis’ hand. Louis followed almost immediately, quiet except for the loud, ragged sound of his breath as he, Harry realised, bit his lip to muffle any sound.

Exhausted, sweaty, they rolled on their backs, squeezed tight in the small bed, every inch of their bodies pressed together so they wouldn't fall off. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, listening to Louis' breath returning to normal to calm down. He smiled when he felt Louis snaking his hand into his and entwining their fingers before squeezing tight. Opening his eyes, Harry stared at the stars glued to his ceiling, remembering with a queasy feeling that he'd put them there with his father more than ten years before. It almost felt like blasphemy to have had sex underneath them, but as the thought threatened to cloud the perfect, fragile balance of the moment, teetering between ecstasy and worry that he'd been too fast, too soon, Louis rolled on his side and traced the outline of Harry's profile with his finger, drawing his attention to him.

"Hi," Louis whispered, taping the tip of Harry's nose with his finger repeatedly. "Did you enjoy it?"

Harry turned to face him and shrugged. "Yeah, sure. It wasn't too fast, was it?"

"Do you feel like it was? That's what matters, Kitten. It wasn't my first time, it was yours."

"It was my first time, wasn't it? So I'm not a virgin anymore?"

It was Louis' turn to shrug. He reached forward and ran his fingers through Harry's messy, sweat-soaked fringe. "What's virginity for you? Penetration?" He tapped Harry's nose once more. "Hey, no blushing, there's nothing embarrassing about this. So, what is it?"

"I never... I don't know... I think, maybe, yes. Penetration," Harry stammered, hiding his face in the pillow under Louis' unwavering gaze.

"Then, according to this, I'm still a virgin. Does that sound right to you?" There was no judgement in Louis' voice and it relaxed Harry.

"You've never... done that with Aiden?"

"No," Louis answered, placing a kiss to Harry's shoulder. "I'm waiting for the right boy."

Harry gave him a shy smile. "I feel like I might know him."

"I feel like you might, yeah," Louis replied, teasing. "You didn't answer me. Do you think I'm still a virgin? Because if I am, you are, too. According to your criteria."

Harry stayed silent for a moment, taking his time to think about it. In sex ed classes, they never told you about what it was like for two boys. What Harry knew, he'd learned off the Internet through the few websites the parental control his mother had installed on the family computer at the time didn't block. He knew the textbook definition of the logistics, knew that Part A went into Slot B, but everything that existed around it, he had to figure out on his own. No teacher, no textbook had ever taught him what his virginity was supposed to be as the bisexual boy he was, so he had nothing to rely on, nothing to base his conclusions on except for his own impressions and feelings.

"I don't think I want to be a virgin anymore," Harry finally answered. "I don't think you are and I don't feel like I am either."

Louis nodded and kissed him long and sweet. "Glad to hear it, I feel the same way. And guess what else I feel?"

"What else do you feel?" Harry asked, humouring him.

"I feel that I am desperately in love with you." Louis grinned, eyes crinkled, and Harry's heart felt like it was about to burst at his words.

"I'm in love with you, too."

"You better be!" Louis said with a laugh that did not completely conceal a hint of insecurity. He stretched, unabashedly exposing his naked body, and then let out a sigh. "We should clean up before your mother checks on us."

“No, no, don’t go,” Harry said, pulling Louis back against him with an arm across his waist.

Louis laughed, but freed himself. “Haz, babe, we can’t be found naked and covered in come by your parents.”

Harry pouted, but pushed himself up, grabbing his bathrobe from behind the door and slipping it on. “Stay here, I’ll go get washcloths.”

He heard Louis throw himself back on the bed as he made his way to the bathroom, wetting a first washcloth with warm water to clean his belly and his cock, grinning to himself as he remembered what they’d just done. Wetting a second one, he headed back to his room, humming a song under his breath.

“There you go,” he said, entering the room and leaving the door ajar. He sat on the edge of the bed and began cleaning Louis, who giggled and tried to bat his hand away to do it himself. “Let me, please.”

He took his time, keeping his motions soft and tender while he washed Louis, letting his free hand caress his warm skin and watching in amazement as it raised goose bumps in its wake. Once he had finished cleaning Louis’ hands, he pressed a kiss to Louis’ sternum and headed back to the bathroom to bury the washcloths at the bottom of the hamper so they would be inconspicuous when his mother did laundry. By the time he had hidden them as deep as he could go without emptying the hamper and he had come back to his room, Louis had changed into his pyjamas and curled up under the duvet. Harry hurried to the bed to kiss him, making Louis laugh, and then he changed into his pyjamas before joining him in bed.

They had to tangle their legs to fit in the small bed and Harry used that excuse to get closer to him, watching with a smile as Louis took his hand and pressed their palms.

“You have such big hands for a boy that’s not so tall,” Louis commented in awe.

Harry curled his fingers so they would cover Louis’, almost managing to fold them in two. “I’m not done growing. Just wait, I’ll be so much taller than you someday.”

Louis clucked his tongue. “You’re not allowed. I forbid it.”

“I might even get bigger than you, like larger and taller and you’ll be my tiny little boyfriend,” he said with a proud laugh. He really liked the idea.

“That’s not fair.” Louis pouted and Harry pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’m older, I’m supposed to be taller, too.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. Even if you outgrow me, at least I’ll always be older and smarter.”

Harry giggled, entwining their fingers and tightening his hold on Louis’ hand. “How come you’re smarter?”

“It’s obvious,” Louis said, rolling his eyes. “You’re the pretty one, I’m the smart one.”

“I’d say it’s the opposite. I saw your dreadful spelling in the letters. You’re much prettier than me, too.”

It was Louis’ turn to giggle, his eyes crinkling. “Always the charmer, Curly.”

The only reply Harry gave him was to lean in with a kiss, and another, and another, until Louis started returning them, squeezing his hand as hard as Harry was, never letting go as they traded small, almost coy kisses. They stopped once in a while to talk quietly or check their phones for comments on their new relationship, reading the best ones out loud to make each other laugh, keeping this up until it was time to go to bed and Harry accompanied Louis to the television room so he could tuck him in with a long, final kiss and a whispered ‘I love you’ that made Louis giggle and hide underneath the duvet.

-

Harry knocked on Gemma’s bedroom door before he opened it, not waiting for an answer. She looked up from her textbook with a slight frown, immediately relaxing when she saw him.

“Are you busy?” Harry asked, staying out of the room.

“Nothing that can’t wait. Come on in,” she said, swivelling in her chair to face Harry as he crossed the room to sit on her bed. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

A grin appeared on his face at the word. “On Skype with his sisters. Apparently whatever they had to say couldn’t wait until tomorrow night.” He shrugged.

She nodded. “So, how’s it going?”

They chatted for a while, catching up on weeks of conversations limited to phone calls and text messages. Harry told her all about the party, about being grounded, about the letters and Louis’ confession, and he only stammered once he got to what they had done last night. He stalled and bit his lip, unsure whether he should go as far as to tell her that.

“And? What happened after? I saw the picture on Facebook, you’re sickening by the way, so you can fast-forward that part,” she said with a laugh.

“I… hm, we… I don’t think I’m a virgin anymore,” he admitted, biting his lip, his cheeks on fire.

Gemma’s eyes widened and she got up from her chair to fling herself at Harry, bringing the two of them down on the bed with a loud laugh. “Oh my god, Haz, you have to tell me everything.”

“No! I won’t give you details! Ew! You’re my sister!”

That only made her laugh more. “But it’s a big moment! My baby brother is in love and he’s had sex! While we were downstairs! I didn’t know you were so wild,” Gemma said, pinching Harry’s waist, making him squirm away with a yelp.

“We didn’t shag or anything, we just… fooled around, I guess?”

Propping herself up on an elbow to hold her head up, she nodded. “Blowies, yeah?”

“No! No, hm… just handjobs,” Harry replied, mirroring her position.

“Yeah? And how was it?”

Harry couldn’t hold back the smile that appeared on his face. “Incredible. Best moment of my life.”

Her smile softened, making her look uncannily like their mother. Harry squirmed, spooked by the resemblance. “I can imagine, yeah. What’s the next step, now?”

“Blowjobs, I suppose, but hm… he’s given me one already,” he began, ignoring Gemma’s smirk, “but I… I don’t know how to give it back.” Harry swallowed. “If you know what I mean.”

Gemma frowned. “You’re asking me for advice on how to give a blowie, aren’t you? I look like a specialist to you?”

“No, but… I mean… you’ve already done it, no?” Harry stammered out, wishing that the floor might open up and swallow him whole, saving him from the increasingly uncomfortable situation he’d brought on himself.

“I have, yes. There isn’t some secret technique to it, love. Don’t use your teeth, don’t choke, make sure he warns you if you don’t want to swallow.” She shrugged. “There isn’t much else to it. The rest is just practice, I suppose. I mean, Harry,” she continued, placing her hand on his shoulder for emphasis, “you’re going to have your mouth on his cock. He won’t care about your technique; he’ll probably be trying not to have a heart attack.”

“Why?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Well, first, because he loves you and literally worships the ground you walk on. Secondly, surely you’ve noticed the lips you’ve got. It’s the family lips. We’ve all got them. They drive boys mad.” She winked exaggeratedly.

Harry thought about it for a moment, and then he stopped as his mind screeched to a halt. “Oh my god, fuck you, now I’m thinking about Mum giving blowies! Why did you say that!” he moaned, hiding his face against the mattress.

Gemma cackled. “No, no, no, don’t say that! Oh god, I’m seeing it, too, it burns, my entire brain is literally burning, I’m going to die here because of you!”

“It was your fault!” Harry cried, grabbing a pillow to hit his sister with it. “You ruined my life!”

“I’m going to need therapy! Why did you say it! Couldn’t you keep it to yourself?!” she whined, retaliating with a pillow of her own.

“Keep what to himself, hm?” Louis asked, interrupting Harry mid-movement; he was about to hit his sister again.

“Our mum’s sex life,” Gemma answered, making Harry cry out again. He swung the pillow and got her square in the face with it.

“We don’t talk about that! She’s done it twice, to have us, and that’s it!”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Amateurs. I’ve got four sisters. Try living with that knowledge.”

“Yeah, but two of them were made at once,” Harry said, putting down the pillow. “It’s not as bad as you’re painting it to be.”

Louis grimaced. “No, it is.”

“Not that I’m not enjoying this, boys,” Gemma began, rearranging her pillows, “but I was doing readings for Monday, so if you’ll excuse me…” she said, going back to her desk. “Remember, Haz, no teeth,” she said with a wink.

Groaning, Harry slipped his arm around Louis’ shoulders and guided him out of the room before his sister could do more damage. As soon as they were out, Louis rounded up on him.

“Why were you talking about your mum’s sex life, though? Did you tell her about us?”

“Yeah… is that okay?”

“Of course! And no teeth? Why?”

His smirk told Harry that he knew and he felt a blush creeping up on his cheeks. With a quick kiss to silence Louis, he steered them towards the stairs.

“For no reason. Come on,” he said, “I’ll teach you my secret recipe for the best biscuits you’ve ever tasted.”

Louis sighed and laughed. “Whatever you say, Kitten. No pressure, I told you. Now, are you sure you want me anywhere near an oven?”

Harry kissed his cheek as a silent thank you, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders to know that Louis didn’t expect more out of their weekend.

Chapter Text

Fall ended in a flurry of cold winds and tests, the grey skies overhead casting a gloomy shadow over Harry's mind as he trudged through the month of November, clinging to the promise of the upcoming Christmas holidays like an oasis of warmth and endless, lazy days. And, most importantly, Louis. The night of his departure, after his last visit, they'd both agreed that they wouldn't be able to travel to see each other until school let out, until tests were done and they could breathe freely again. It crushed Harry's spirit even more than the weather did, and he honestly felt like he was dragging his feet through the weeks, their daily Skype sessions never enough to cheer him up.

It was a chilly, late November day, and he wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck as he walked out of his Saturday afternoon shift at the bakery. He had the evening to himself and reflexively, he pulled his phone out of his pockets to text Louis and ask him if they were going to Skype; it was a rhetorical question, but he liked the routine of it. It felt like a kind of ritual, a little habit they had, and having habits with his boyfriend from out of town was a shred of normalcy Harry was willing to cling to despite how silly it sometimes felt.

He had no messages when he turned on the screen and he bit his lip, remembering how he used to receive more messages than he could reply to before… Well. Before he met Louis and devoted all of his attention to him. It was sometimes hard to remember that he’d had a life before Louis. He had friends and hobbies; he went out with his friends and didn’t spend all of his time waiting to hear from a boy. He had a thriving social life, yet now it felt like he couldn’t think of a single person to call when he wanted to do something. Harry saw it; he wasn’t blind. His friends were distancing themselves from him. Or, perhaps, he was the one who had abandoned them, focusing too much on Louis and neglecting them, making friends he’d had for as long as he could remember move on.

With that in mind, he sent a group message to his friends, offering to go see a movie or hang out, anything to get him out of his house, really. Not five minutes later, he had replies, and by the time he reached his house, his toes, fingers and nose numb with cold, he had his entire evening mapped out and felt strangely lighter.

“Hello! I’m home! And I’m going out tonight!” he announced as he hung his coat and toed off his shoes. The house smelled of roasted beef, potatoes, and thick, hearty gravy, and Harry immediately felt warmer. He padded to the kitchen and pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek as a greeting.

“I’m glad to hear it!” his mother replied. The earnest way she said it sat uneasily with Harry, but he tried to swallow the feeling down, not wanting to come off as too touchy.

“Yeah, it’s been a while since I hung out with my mates and there’s a new Harry Potter out,” Harry said, shrugging as he sat at the counter, reaching to steal a crouton from a nearby bowl of salad and laughing when Anne slapped his hand away.

“I know, that’s why I’m surprised. Don’t you usually spend your evenings locked up in your room talking to Louis?”

“It sounds bad when you say it like that,” Harry mumbled, but he didn’t contradict her. “I’ve neglected my friends. I used to see them all the time before…” he trailed off, stealing another crouton.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that, yes,” Anne said, leaving the counter to go stir dinner. She waited until she’d joined Harry again before she spoke. “I was getting worried, to be honest. I worried Louis was taking over your entire life.”

“Well,” Harry began, immediately hating the conversation. “He’s a pretty big part of it. The most important one.”

Anne shook her head. “That’s what worries me. I know a first love can be exhilarating, Harry, but you need to remain realist through this.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that it’s good fun while it lasts, but you can’t make him the centre of your life. When it’ll be over, you’ll be left with nothing.”

“What do you mean, ‘when it’ll be over’? You don’t think we’re going to last?” Harry’s stomach had sunk at his mother’s words and he gulped, shaking his head. “Why wouldn’t we? Don’t you want us to last?”

“That’s not what I said, Harry. I just meant that he’s your first boyfriend and you’ve only seen him four times. I want you to be happy and I wish with everything I have that you two last, but if you don’t, I don’t want you to end up alone because you pushed away everyone else to be with him. It’s great that you have a boyfriend, but you also need friends.”

“I know,” Harry sighed. “That’s why I’m going out tonight with them. I’m fine, Mum, seriously. Don’t worry about me.”

“I just want to make sure you don’t throw yourself into this hopelessly. Try to keep your feet on the ground. He’s leaving for university next year, don’t forget.”

“I know that he is. Believe me, I’m very aware of it. But I won’t give him half of me just because I want to feel safe. It’d be dishonest to do so.”

Anne placed her hand on his and squeezed it. “Just promise me you’ll try to divide your attention equally between him and the rest of your life.”

Harry rolled his eyes for good measure. “I promise. Again, that’s why I’m going out tonight. Thank you for worrying about me, but it’s useless. I’m going to be all right. He won’t break my heart.” He sighed again. “I have an assignment to work on before we eat, if it’s okay?”

“You go along. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” She held him back a second longer to press a kiss to the crown of his head before pushing him out of the kitchen.

Hearing his worst fears said out loud by his mother had managed to ruin Harry’s mood almost thoroughly. He knew everything his mother had said: it kept him awake at night, sometimes, to think that if Louis were to break up with him without warning, he’d be left with almost nothing. His entire life was so tightly coiled around Louis that it would fall apart if he left. Harry hated the thought of it, but what he hated the most was how dark his musings got whenever he spent more than a couple of hours without talking to Louis. Despite making it official and admitting their love, Harry – he supposed – still couldn’t believe that what they had was serious and would last, it seemed, the rest of their lives.

Throwing himself down on his bed, he typed a message to Louis to explain why he wouldn’t be able to call him later that night. Louis’ reply was instantaneous and surprising. Harry had expected a sad smiley or something similar, telling him that Louis was upset they wouldn’t talk, but what he got instead was Louis hoping he would have fun at the cinema and saying that he’d go hang out with his own mates since they couldn’t talk.

Harry chewed on his lip. It occurred to him that Louis might have had the same thoughts. He had friends, too, and he ought to have neglected them, too. To make matters worse, Louis had to juggle football practices, drama rehearsals, a job, a boyfriend, and a much more active social circle and, Harry suspected, it might explain why his school results were so dismal. He had other matters. It made Harry feel inadequate and he considered, for a wild second, joining the drama club of his own school, but he quickly remembered he was a terrible, hopeless actor.

He was a good singer, though. A very good one, at that, if he was being entirely honest. He knew he was good and he didn’t think it counted as bragging if he admitted it to himself. And, just like that, he knew what he would be doing with his spare time in his attempt to bring more to his life than just school and his boyfriend. It would please his mother and it would be an active step towards his dream: he was going to take singing and guitar lessons.

As soon as the idea took form in his mind, he got excited about it, pushing himself off his bed and sitting at his desk to search online for a music school nearby. He found one within minutes and saw they had a new term of lessons beginning in January. Then, he saw the price, and his mood plummeted. He’d hoped he’d be able to pay for them himself with his meagre income from the bakery, but that wasn’t going to work. He would need his parents’ help. For the moment, he bookmarked the page and glued a sticky note on his corkboard to remember to mention them to his mother before running downstairs when he was summoned.

Harry had a fantastic time out with his friends, the cinema outing turning into a massive sleepover at one of his friends’ place, the lot of them staying up until sunrise talking and watching movies. Harry felt young and silly and so alive. For the first time he told his friends all there was to know about him and Louis, not skipping any details to give them the long version, even going as far as talking about losing his virginity. He felt closer than he’d ever felt to them and around four in the morning, almost delirious with sleepiness, he confessed to them that he knew he’d neglected them and that he regretted doing it, promising he’d never do it again, turning the moment from fun to emotional in a split second. At seven o’clock, they left the house to go have breakfast in town and Harry stumbled back home past ten, heading straight to bed with a goofy, exhausted smile on his face. Not once in over twelve hours had he checked his phone to see if Louis had written. He saw that he had a couple of messages from him and sent a quick ‘just got home, haven’t slept, will reply later, love you’ before falling into a deep, well-earned sleep.

-

Following that evening, Harry made sure to keep his activities diverse. He was doing it partly to avoid falling into the rut of a routine that consisted of dragging his feet through school wishing he were talking to Louis followed by actually talking to Louis and then going to bed wishing he were still talking to Louis. He didn’t want to turn into one of those lovesick people who didn’t know how to function without their partner. He was an entire person on his own; he didn’t need Louis to complete him.

Obviously, it was easy to say when Louis was away and he was kept busy by tests, but as the holidays got nearer and they still hadn’t made plans to see each other, the first shadows of worry started appearing in the dark corners of Harry’s mind. He could pretend as much as he wanted that he didn’t need no man and, most of the time, it was true, but there was a major difference between not needing Louis to function in his daily life, between refraining from texting him upwards of a hundred times a day, to being comfortable with the fact that he still didn’t know if he would see Louis soon or not.

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He only had a couple of days left to the term and he wanted to be set, to know where he was going to spend the holidays. He was also fed up with the pointed, commiserating look his mother got on her face whenever he answered her questions with ‘I don’t know, yet.’ He didn’t want to prove her right, didn’t want their story to end when it had just begun.

A light snow was falling when he walked out of school. It was almost mid-December, almost the end of the term, and it was already getting dark outside. The snow twinkled in the streetlamps, a thin layer of it already gathered on the ground, and he smiled to see the first years trying to make snowballs, their attempts crumbling in their hands before they could consider throwing them. It had been bitingly cold lately, some days plummeting below 0°C, but the snow had brought along slightly warmer weather, so much so that Harry did not bother putting on his gloves as he turned away from school to walk back home. He made part of the way with his friends, their group dwindling in size along the way until there were only two of them left. They said their goodbyes and promised to hang out over the weekend before Harry turned on his street and towards his house. He took his phone out of his pocket and wiped the screen with his thumb as snowflakes fell and melted on it.

Any chance you might be free for Skype tonight? We need to talk about the hols. I miss you :( he texted Louis before fishing for his keys.

He was comfortably settled in his favourite armchair, which he’d moved by a window, with class notes to revise, a steaming cup of tea carefully placed on the windowsill, when Louis texted back.

ACTUALLY YES practice was cancelled because of snow. I gotta drive the twins from their ballet class tho but I text you when I get home ok?

Harry replied in the affirmative before turning his attention to his notebook, a smile tugging at his lips. Even after all this time, he still got a thrill out of knowing he would be talking to Louis soon. If he were a character in a movie he was watching, he’d be disgusted by his own hopelessness when it came to his boyfriend.

It was several hours before Louis texted him. Harry had just walked out of the shower, a towel loosely wrapped around his hips, his hair dripping cold droplets on his bare shoulders, and he checked his phone without much hope only to see that Louis had sent he was logged in almost fifteen minutes earlier.

Harry hurried to his computer and logged in as well, immediately calling Louis when he saw his name on the screen.

“Sorry!” Harry said as a greeting, changing the angle of his webcam to show only his face before he turned it on. “I was showering.”

Louis’ eyes crinkled when he saw him, his face blurred by the poor quality of the camera and the soft, warm yellow glow of his bedside lamp. He was lying on his bed, propped up on his side with a hand holding up his head and wearing, Harry noticed with a leap of his heart, one of Harry's shirt, a faded Rolling Stones shirt he'd obviously forgotten there the last time he visited. “I can see that. Hi, love.”

“Hi,” Harry replied, grinning. “How’s it going?”

They chatted for a while about their lives, their last Skype call four days before, and Harry felt the usual warmth spread through him from his heart as he was reminded why he was so in love with Louis.

“And finally,” Louis said after a five minutes long soliloquy about his life in the previous days, his eyes sparkling, “the casting for the musical is out.”

Louis’ school was putting on Grease that year and Harry had helped Louis prepare for his audition—it had mostly been as simple as showering him with compliments whenever he winced as a note came out flat. He’d have preferred to do it in person, one more thing to add to the list of reasons why he hated being in a long-distance relationship. Louis had auditioned for a background role, never believing he had what it took to be Kenickie or Danny Zuko despite the numerous times Harry assured him that he did.

“Yeah? Did you get a big part?”

Louis laughed, the sound coming to Harry faster than the image as Louis moved too quickly for his computer to handle. “You could say that. I’m Danny Zuko.”

Harry let out a gasp. “What?! But you didn’t audition for him!”

“I know! But they said they loved me and I was the best for the role! Can you believe it?!”

“No, I mean, yes! Of course I can! I’ve been telling you from the beginning that you could be Danny! Louis! That’s amazing!”

Louis was smiling so hard that his eyes were only two slits; it was outshining the lamp next to him. “We start rehearsals in January. I haven’t met my Sandy, yet. I hope she’s cute, kissing a girl will be hard enough, I can’t imagine doing it to one I don’t find cute.”

Harry giggled. “You’re terrible.” He stuck out his tongue when Louis gave him an innocent smile. “So, if it starts in January, it means you’ll be free to hang out during the hols, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course. I can’t believe you have to ask. It goes without saying.”

“Okay, so when do we do it?” Harry hid his annoyance by shifting in his chair to sit on his legs, readjusting the camera so Louis could still see him.

“That’s the thing. I’m crazy busy all the way up to Christmas, but I had an idea… maybe you could come over for New Year’s Eve? Do you think your parents would let you? I’d prefer to have you here for my birthday, but I know that Christmas Eve is probably sacred family time."

"You're right, yeah. I couldn't miss it. I'll ask my mum tomorrow for New Year's Eve, though," Harry said, glancing down at the towel he was still wearing.

"Why not now?" Louis asked, sneaking his hand underneath his shirt to scratch at his chest, the fabric riding up to reveal the curve of his hipbone and the soft slope leading to his tummy.

"I can't go downstairs now. I hurried to talk to you so I'm still only wearing a towel," Harry replied, motioning down at his lap.

Louis' eyebrows shot up and he licked his lips. "Are you, now?" He glanced over his shoulder and Harry understood with a soft gasp that he was checking if his bedroom door was shut. "It must be all humid and uncomfortable. You'd be more comfortable if you took it off, no?"

Harry giggled and ran a hand through his hair, shrugging. "But then I'd be cold and naked. Do you want me to catch a cold?"

Louis pouted exaggeratedly. "Of course not! I'd never want that, my love! It's just that I miss your body so much." He batted his eyelashes and Harry was a goner.

Getting up quickly, he strode over to the door and quietly shut it before returning to his desk, standing up in front of it. He bent so Louis could still see his face and the smirk that adorned it.

"Are we really doing this?"

"Define 'this'?" Louis replied, just as playfully.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, you tell me. You're the one who wants me naked. I don't know how this works, you know that." Harry opened his eyes wide to add to the effect he hoped his words had.

Louis shook his head and then fixed his fringe, a soft laugh shaking his shoulders. "You're such a minx, it's obscene. Drop the towel, Harry."

And so he did, straightening up so that only his lower abdomen and hips were in the frame. He moved slowly, untying the towel and then unfolding the panels one by one before he let it fall to the floor and stood there, cold and awkward. He watched Louis watching him for a moment, his heart skipping a beat when Louis’ hand moved down to his crotch. He palmed his cock, a look of something close to pain on his face.

"Fuck, your cock," Louis let out in a low, breathy voice. "I swear I could get hard just looking at it."

"Should I..." Harry placed his hand over his cock and palmed it a few times, hesitant.

It seemed to work on Louis because he let out a gasp and leaned in closer to the screen, his hand still working on his crotch.

"Get on your bed, maybe? Don't just stand there, it's weird."

Harry nodded and unplugged his laptop to bring it over to his bed, laughing when Louis said, "Hm, a close-up of your nipples, lucky me." He got settled against his pillows and placed the computer on the bed, in between his legs, angling the screen so that Louis could see all the way up to his face.

"You, too," Harry heard himself say although he never thought he'd have the guts to voice it out loud.

Without a word of protest, Louis pushed down his pyjama bottoms until his cock was out. "Is that okay?"

Harry gulped and nodded. "More than. So we just... watch each other... y'know?"

"That's roughly the concept, yeah," Louis said with a small, nervous laugh.

Wrapping his hand around his cock, Harry began slowly stroking it, his eyes glued to the screen where Louis was doing the same thing. At first, he was worried about giving a good show, trying to pull faces like what he'd seen in porn videos or move his hand in a way that would be enticing for Louis, but gradually, as he swelled and his brain slowly shut down under the onslaught of pleasure flooding his body, he stopped caring. The silence weighed on him, though, especially coming from Louis, who seemed too busy staring at his screen to use his mouth.

It only lasted for a short time, though, and before long Louis was babbling words of encouragement in a low voice, his breath stuttering out whenever he twisted his hand on an upstroke or Harry moved his hand in a way that showed off his cock. With his free hand, Louis was stroking his chest, pushing his shirt up higher and higher until it was almost off. Harry let out a groan when Louis pinched and twisted his nipple, pulling a gasp out of his own mouth. Noticing Harry's reaction, Louis did it again, repeating the motion in an increasingly harder way until he was mewling and whining, his nipples red and obvious even through the pixelated image.

The sight of Louis' ministrations sent wave after wave of heat through Harry's body and he tightened his hand and quickened his movements until it was getting hard to breathe through his gasped moans.

"Are you close?" he asked, voice raspy and wrecked, and Louis nodded frantically.

"I am, yeah, I'm..." He never got to finish his sentence because at that moment, a shriek made Harry’s speakers screech with static and Harry heard a door slamming shut. "Lottie, what the fuck, you could bloody knock!" Louis shouted, tucking himself back in his trousers just in time for a knock to come on his door.

Harry let out a yelp and cut his webcam, watching in horror as Louis’ mother entered his room. Louis rolled on his stomach to hide his hard-on and Harry held his breath, not daring to speak in case Jay realised he was on the line.

“Seriously? It’s not even nine o’clock and everyone is home,” she said, sounding more exasperated than angry. “I thought you’d outgrown that and knew how to wank without alerting everyone. What if it had been Daisy or Phoebe who walked in?” She paused and Harry saw Louis pushing his laptop to the side so his screen was hidden. Jay sighed. “Were you watching porn?!”

Louis let out a groan and Harry could imagine him dropping his head against the mattress even if he couldn’t actually see it, the new angle of the camera showing him Louis’ pillows. “No, Mum. I was… I was talking to Harry.”

“What… oh,” she said and instead of the anger Harry expected to explode at any moment, he was surprised when she burst out laughing. “Oh god, Louis, really?! Harry, darling, are you still there?”

Harry gulped. “Hi, Jay,” he said after clearing his throat.

“Were you also…?”

“Mum!” Louis shouted. “You can’t ask my boyfriend that! What is wrong with you?!”

That only made her laugh louder. “I’m afraid we’ve ruined your night, hm? Wow, okay,” she continued, calming down, her voice still broken from time to time by giggles. “I’ve got to call your mum, now, haven’t I?” She cleared her throat. “The rules have got to change if you two are having it off, now.”

“Mum! We’re not—it’s not—oh my god, can you stop?!” Louis sounded desperate, his voice strangled and higher than Harry had ever heard it before.

Harry expected her to laugh again, but there was a long silence before she spoke up. “This is serious, Louis. Anyone might have walked in. You’re lucky it was Lottie, she’s old enough not to be scarred by it. She saw everything, including what was on your screen, sorry to tell you, Harry.” She sighed. “If you two have started fooling around, we’ve got to change the rules. I need to talk to Anne. I’ll call you downstairs when we’ve decided what to do.”

Not two minutes later, Harry heard the landline ringing and his stomach dropped.

“Shit, you’re still there, I forgot to hang up,” Louis let out, weary. “That was a terrible idea we just had. I’m so embarrassed. I think I’m going to die from it. Do you reckon I can die from feeling too much shame? I’m small, my body doesn’t have much capacity for strong emotions.”

“You think you’re ashamed? Wait until your mum is done telling mine I flashed my cock to your younger sister! I’m only 16! You’re 18, you’re an adult, you do what you want, but I’m underage and I go around showing my cock on the Internet! She’ll probably ground me until I turn 50!”

“You didn’t post nudes, you were Skyping with me. She’ll understand, yeah? I mean, we’re two young boys, it’s normal that we have urges and with the distance, we cope the best we can? Do you think she won’t let you come visit for New Year’s Eve because of that?”

Harry’s panic rose even higher. “Shit, maybe? I don’t know, I mean, she might if she doesn’t want me to have sex before I’m 18! Now she knows it’s not safe even with the open-door rule!”

It took ten minutes for their mothers to call them downstairs. Ten minutes of discussing catastrophe scenarios and making their fear and embarrassment worse. By the time Harry had slipped on his pyjamas – his hard-on long gone – and had joined his mother in the kitchen, he was shaking with anxiety.

She was sitting at the table, cradling a steaming cup of tea between her hands. There was a second one placed in front of her and Harry sat down and held on to it, the hot ceramic of the mug grounding him. He bowed his head to blow on the tea, not daring to look at his mother.

Before he could open his mouth, an apology on the tip of his tongue, she snorted a laugh. “You gave Charlotte quite a show, I hear.” Harry’s face turned a deep shade of red and she laughed harder. “You expect me to ground you, now, I suppose?”

Harry risked a glance up. “Well… yes.”

She shrugged, waving her hand dismissively. “She’s not your sister. It was Louis who wasn’t careful. I’m not going to ground you for having a sex life.”

This had to be the most embarrassing conversation Harry ever had to sit through. It couldn’t get worse. He took a quick sip of tea, hoping to gain some composure, but only ended up burning his tongue. He grimaced and put the mug down again.

“You’re not?”

She shook her head. “Not if you tell me you’re being careful. Just because you can’t get pregnant doesn’t mean you don’t need protection.”

Correction: it could get worse.

“I know!” he squawked. “But we don’t… it’s not necessary yet. We will, though, when… when we’ll need it. I’m not… I know.” He still couldn’t hold her gaze, instead staring at a scorch mark on the wood of the table, a reminder of an Easter dinner five years earlier when Gemma had placed a pot directly on it by mistake. He reached out to graze his fingers over it. “We’re taking it slowly, all things considered.”

“So you’ve talked about it? I was worried you’d just jumped into it because I get it, it’s fun, but you need to be careful. It’s not just light-hearted fun.”

“We talked about it, yeah. We don’t do anything without talking about it, first. Talking is all we’ve got, we see so little of each other.”

Anne hummed and when Harry risked a glance up, he saw her sipping her tea, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Speaking of it, Jay invited you to her house for the New Year. I went ahead and agreed before I asked you, I assumed you’d want to go.”

“You assumed right,” Harry replied brightly, his embarrassment finally fading and leaving place for elation. "Thanks, Mum.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ve accepted a long time ago that this boy makes you happy. It’s all I need.”

Harry got up to kiss her cheek and hug her, not quite believing how lucky he was to have such an understanding mother, one who helped him make a difficult situation just a bit easier to live with.

-

A thin layer of snow was covering the Tomlinson’s driveway as Harry hopped out of the car. It crunched underneath the soles of his boots and twinkled in the fading sunlight, glowing orange from the streetlamps. Jay rounded the car and led the way to the door, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Harry was following. Louis had been called into work at the last minute that morning so Jay had been mandated to pick up Harry from the train station. Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, Harry followed Jay into the house, grinning from ear to ear when he heard Louis’ voice drifting into the hall from the living room where he was playing with his sisters, loud and dramatic as his character was, in all likelihood, dying a slow and painful death.

Careful not to step in the small puddles created by the snow melting on the carpet, Harry tiptoed to the living room and stood in the doorway, silently watching Louis play, his Ken doll breathing out his dying words while the twins giggled with delight at the scene. Once the doll was dead at last, Harry coughed discreetly, waiting for Louis to notice him. It took a second or two before Louis looked up and saw him, his face splitting into a smile immediately.

Hurrying to his feet, he pushed Harry out of the room and back into the deserted hall, only stopping once he’d wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders tightly and clung to him, burying his face in his neck.

“Hi,” Harry said through a breathless laugh, holding Louis just as tightly. “I thought you worked?”

“I just got home. You were supposed to be here earlier.”

“We hit traffic.”

Still they didn’t let go of each other, the scratchy wool of Louis’ sweater rough against the nape of Harry’s neck and underneath his chin, but nothing would have made him let go of Louis. It felt too good to have him back in his arms, warm and solid, and to be held in his as tightly as was possible. Louis moved back and pressed their lips together, kissing Harry over and over again while keeping him close until Harry giggled and squirmed away.

“It tickles!”

“You taste like cinnamon, I can’t believe you’re real,” Louis said, leaning in for yet another kiss.

“I got a latte from Costa at the station while I waited for your mum.”

“My boyfriend tastes like Christmas, lucky me,” Louis commented with awe, kissing Harry once more.

It took them a while to finally make their way up to Louis’ room, delayed as they were by long minutes of exchanging kisses and muttered praises, hidden in the darkening hall. Once upstairs, Harry immediately rummaged through his bag to retrieve two presents, handing them to Louis with a sheepish smile.

“Happy birthday and merry Christmas, Lou,” he said. “I hope you like them.”

“I’ve got two? Why have I got two?” Louis looked genuinely surprised, his eyes wide and sparkling. “I never get two!”

Harry shrugged. “If anyone was to give you two, it had to be me, hadn’t it?”

Louis pulled Harry by the arm so he would sit next to him on the bed. “Yes, that’s something you would do, Kitten. Which one do I open first?”

“The smaller one. It’s your Christmas present.”

“Birthday is bigger?”

“Of course, it’s your day.”

Louis grinned, looking almost shy, and proceeded to unwrap the first present. Harry explained that he’d wrapped it himself, which made Louis giggle and compliment his technique. He laughed when he saw the present, a karaoke CD of the Grease soundtrack, and he kissed Harry as he said it would be useful to him soon.

“Okay,” Harry explained after Louis had placed his birthday present on his lap, a much bigger one than the CD had been. “There’s a card, first.”

Harry retrieved the card from his bag and gave it to Louis before sitting on his legs and watching him read it. Harry had spent hours on it, printing pictures of them together to glue inside and splurging on ridiculously expensive scrapbook stickers to decorate it before covering every inch with writing. He had come up with something close to a novel, telling Louis all that he loved about him and all of the things Louis made him feel, pouring out his heart on the paper and now that it was time for Louis to read it, he wasn’t sure it had been such a good idea. He understood why Louis had been so upset that Harry had let his mother read his letter.

Louis looked up, his cheeks red and his eyes glistening. “Oh my god, Harry.” He covered his mouth with his hand and giggled. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. You can open the present, now.”

Louis smiled and began unwrapping it, letting out a gasp of disbelief when he recognised the box. “Cleats?! You bought me new cleats? Are you insane?!”

“No, just a very good boyfriend?”

Letting the box fall to the floor, Louis flung his arms around Harry’s neck, holding him tight and laughing into his neck. “I love you so, so much, Harry. You have no idea.” Before Harry could return the hug, Louis had bounced off on his feet, returning with a bag overflowing with glittery tissue paper. “Merry Christmas!”

Harry dug through the bag, throwing the paper out sheet by sheet just to make Louis laugh, before reaching the bottom and pulling out a soft, heavy maroon sweater.

“It made me think of you. The colour will look amazing with your skin,” Louis explained timidly, shrugging. “And I can borrow it sometimes, it looks comfortable.”

“Thank you.” Harry pressed a kiss to Louis’ cheek and pulled off his sweater to put the new one on, stroking his hands down his arms to feel how soft the fabric was.

“It looks great on you, I knew it.” Louis leaned in for a kiss and Harry met him halfway. “And it’ll look even better on my floor, hm?”

Harry burst out laughing, slapping Louis’ arm. “Moron.”

“I know! Don’t you love it?”

“Calm down, your mum already thinks we’re perverts.”

Louis sighed dramatically. “Fine, we can go play with my sisters instead, if you prefer.”

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon lying on his stomach on the hardwood floor of the Tomlinsons’ living room playing with Barbie dolls, making up silly stories to hear them laugh, encouraged by the fond, crinkled way Louis kept looking at him. It was one of Louis’ (multiple) ways to look at him—probably his favourite. It felt like a small sun had taken residence inside of Harry’s chest, warming him up from the inside, whenever Louis cast one of his fond glances on him. It made Harry feel almighty, like he could conquer everything. Needless to say, he’d do anything for those glances.

The days leading to New Year’s Eve blended together, forming an endless chain of blissful hours spent with Louis, each more perfect than the previous even when all they did was sit side by side on the couch while on their respective laptops. Early on the morning of the third day of Harry’s visit, Louis woke him up by jumping on the couch Harry had adopted as his bed, covering his face with kisses as he said it was officially the longest they’d been together since Disney World, and Harry pulled and held Louis down until he calmed down and they gradually went back to sleep.

On the morning of December 31st, once his breakfast had been cleaned away, Harry headed upstairs for a quick shower while Louis’ sisters were still lazing in bed and the bathroom was available. He knew it was the last quiet moment he would have for the rest of the day; the Tomlinsons had guests coming over to celebrate the New Year and the boys had already been enrolled to help with a thousand tasks, half of which took place in separate parts of the house. Louis was still sleeping when Harry tiptoed to his bedroom to grab clean clothes from his bag and he watched him sleep for a moment, his heart fluttering at the sight of Louis so calm and peaceful. Crossing the room quietly, Harry pressed a kiss to Louis’ cheek and stroked his hair a few times before walking out, wincing whenever a floorboard creaked under his weight.

He was shampooing his hair, humming quietly to himself a song that’d been stuck in his head all morning, when a cold draft surprised him back to the moment. He opened his eyes and frowned, seeing a moving shadow through the shower curtain.

“Who’s here?” he asked. When he got no answer, he tried again: “Hey, who’s there? I’m using the shower!”

There must have been an edge of panic in his voice because he heard a very familiar annoyed sigh. “So much for the surprise, Styles.”

“Lou?” Harry pulled aside the shower curtain so he could peek out from behind it. The sight of Louis getting undressed greeted him. “Did I wake you up?”

“Yes,” Louis answered, all matter-of-fact tone and quirked eyebrow. “But it doesn’t matter.” He dropped his pyjama trousers and walked over, climbing in the bathtub through the opposite end of the curtain from where Harry was watching him. “Scoot over, I’m freezing,” he then said, pushing Harry out of the way to step under the spray of water with a sigh of relief.

Through it all, Harry remained motionless as he stared at Louis. They’d never showered together, except that one time at his school and Harry doubted it counted. They’d also never been naked together without the express purpose of having sex, and considering they hadn’t had sex since Harry’s arrival in Doncaster, he really couldn’t be blamed for the way his mind immediately started reeling at the sight of Louis’ wet naked body. He was uncomfortably standing in between the wall and the shower spray, the faucet painfully digging in his lower back while shampoo suds inched down his face and neck.

Louis stepped out from under the water and shook his head like a dog, his wet hair spraying the walls, curtain and Harry. He ran his hand through them to push them back and then opened his eyes, immediately smirking at the sight of Harry.

“You okay, there? You look like you’re in shock.” Gently, he pulled Harry forward by his wrists, placing him under the spray to rinse his hair, scratching and massaging Harry’s scalp as he did so. “Too much?”

Harry shook his head, cleared his throat. “No, no. I’m just surprised. I didn’t expect it.”

“It’s probably the last quiet moment together we’ll have until next year,” Louis explained with a wink. “And it saves water.”

Louis grabbed his bottle of shampoo and squirted some in his hand, starting to wash his hair like he had no clue that Harry was having a silent meltdown right in front of him. Harry knew the day would come when they would be comfortable enough to be naked together for something else than sex, but he hadn’t had time to brace himself for this moment arriving so early. A part of him, more than half of him actually, wanted to pin Louis to the tiled wall and ravish him, but another was curious to see if they could actually pull this off, this whole naked-without-sex thing. It would make him feel really adult if they could.

“You’re ogling me, Harry,” Louis said with a laugh. “Are you okay?”

“It’s just… you’re naked.”

Louis’ smirk came back in force. “Does that turn you on?” He glanced down and his smile brightened when he saw that Harry was already hardening, to his own mortification. “Yeah? Just the sight of my body is enough to get you going?”

“It’s the idea of—of being naked together. We’ve never been without sex.”

“I could remedy that,” Louis answered, lowering his voice as he stepped closer. His charms were somewhat dampened by the mass of suds on his head. “Did you have something in mind?”

To his own surprise, Harry answered, the words pouring out of his mouth before he could think them properly: “I’ve never returned that blowie you gave me.”

Louis’ eyebrows shot up. “You haven’t, no. You don’t have to. Not like this, anyway. Not in my shower.”

“What do you mean? You don’t want a blowjob?” Harry asked, running a hand down Louis’ arm, hesitantly.

“Believe me, I really do,” Louis replied in a rush, reaching up to run the tips of his fingers along Harry’s bottom lip. “But I also want it to be a good moment for you. Not… not on your knees in my shower when anyone might walk in. It’ll be the first one you give.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal, is it?”

“Harry…” Louis said through a sigh. “It is. You’ll always remember it.” He wiped at suds dripping down his forehead and gently shoved Harry out of the way to rinse his hair.

“Do you remember your first?”

“First time I gave one, I was in the grimy bathroom stall of a club I’d snuck in, on my knees in a puddle of what was probably pee but I pretended was water. I don’t even remember what the guy looked like, I was too drunk. The first one I received was on the backseat of Aiden’s car. Both times are engraved in my memory forever. Don’t do my mistakes and ruin the only half you’ve got left that hasn’t been ruined yet. I messed up your first time getting one, please let me make the first time you give a good one.” When Harry said nothing, Louis bit his lip. “You’re grossed out by me.”

Grossed out, no, but Harry’s stomach had sunk at the mention of a stranger getting to touch Louis. He must have been so young, younger than Harry was at the moment, and he got a shit first time, and before he knew it, Harry was hugging Louis tightly, clinging to him as if he was trying to climb underneath his skin.

“What’s that about?” Louis asked with a breathless laugh, the usual chime of it dulled by confusion.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get good firsts.” He kissed Louis’ cheek. “And I’m so lucky I’ve got you to give me perfect firsts.”

Louis returned the hug and dug his fingers into Harry’s back, resting his chin on his shoulder. “So no blowies in the shower for you, Kitten. But tonight, in my bed, after we’ve drank fake champagne and kissed at midnight, absolutely. Let’s hurry, now, Lottie was awake when I got up and she’ll be banging on the door soon.”

Louis wasn’t kidding when he said that it was the last quiet moment they would get all day. Simply by having a car, Louis was mandated to run errands and he dragged Harry along with him for moral support. Harry made sure to turn every drive through the city and the traffic caused by yet another snowfall overnight into a sing-along to keep Louis’ mood up, sensing his aggravation in the furrowing of his brow or the increasingly tense line of his shoulders.

They made it back to the Tomlinsons’ house a couple of hours before dinner and Harry was immediately locked into the kitchen to help with the cooking while Louis helped his stepfather setting up the rooms to accommodate their guests. More than once, as he measured flour or checked temperatures, Harry wondered why they hadn’t started preparing the day before, but he never dared ask out loud, not when he could hear Louis’ shouted curses whenever he bumped into furniture or dropped something.

Finally, once everything was almost ready, they were ushered upstairs to change and Louis shut his bedroom door with a slam as soon as they were inside.

“It’s the same every year. She turns us into slaves,” Louis groaned, tearing off his clothes and throwing them on the floor.

“Why didn’t we start setting up yesterday?” Harry asked, carefully folding his clothes and changing into the outfit he’d selected the day before and spent long minutes ironing.

“Planning ahead isn’t exactly a family trait,” Louis said through a sigh, putting on the clothes Harry had prepared for him.

Harry stood in front of the mirror to adjust the collar of his shirt after he’d pulled on the sweater Louis gave him before fixing his hair. He locked eyes with Louis through it. “I kind of like the chaos. My house is so organised, it gets dull.”

“I’d give anything for organisation,” Louis said through a dramatic sigh, joining Harry at the mirror to fix his own appearance.

“You wouldn’t. You hate being organised unless you’re the one bossing everyone around.”

Louis laughed, pushing Harry with his shoulder. “Like you’re not bossy yourself. You chose my outfit, remember?”

“Because you were going to wear a band t-shirt for New Year’s Day! You look much better like this.” Harry flattened the collar of Louis’ dress shirt and then stroked down the bright red suspenders he’d found at the bottom of Louis’ closet.

“I look fat. It makes my stomach look huge. Are you sure I can’t wear my shirt out of my trousers?” Louis asked, pulling on his shirt to un-tuck it.

“I’m sure, yes,” Harry snapped, slapping Louis’ hand away.

Louis sighed and rolled his eyes, sticking out his tongue when Harry pinched his waist. “You’re a tyrant, Styles.”

“You love it, Tommo.”

“Just wait until I’ve got you in my bed tonight. Just bloody wait.”

Harry giggled, quirking his eyebrows in mock-surprise. “I’d like to see you try to boss me around when I’ll have your cock in my mouth.” He could see in the mirror that his cheeks were turning pink from the boldness of his words.

Louis, too, seemed surprised, and he barked out a laugh. “We’ll see about that.”

“Are you saying you don’t want a blowie?” Harry asked, his eyebrows rising higher.

“I never said such a thing. I just…” Louis frowned. “You’re making me lose my train of thought. That’s rude.”

“Do you always need to have the last word?”

“Yes,” Louis replied, sticking out his tongue one more time and stepping away from the mirror before throwing himself down on his bed. “Come on, now, we can snog until we’re called downstairs.”

Louis didn’t have to ask Harry twice.

-

It felt like half of Doncaster was trying to fit inside the Tomlinsons’ house. Despite Louis’ explanation that it was a tradition for his family to invite everyone who had nowhere else to be for New Year’s Eve, Harry had not expected such a crowd. Cousins and uncles and aunts and grandparents; every possible family relation was represented inside the house and the noises had reached deafening levels when Harry finally managed to escape meeting his third great-aunt of the day by slipping outside the house to sit on the backyard patio, his cheeks red from the heat inside.

A few minutes later, he heard the door opening then closing and soft, padded footsteps. He glanced up to see Louis sitting next to him on the steps.

“You’ll catch your death out here,” he said, handing Harry yet another flute of bubbly. Harry had already lost count, the alcohol inside of him keeping him warm despite the biting late December cold.

“I just needed a break. It’s a lot, I’m not used to so many people. I have a small family.” Harry moved closer, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder.

“Hey, if you want to be a famous rock star, you’ll have to get used to it, Kitten,” Louis said with a laugh.

“I know. Can’t I just be a teenager tonight, though?” Harry took Louis’ hand in his, entwining their fingers. “I can’t believe you remember my dream of becoming a singer. I only told you once on our first date. We never talked about it again.”

Louis kissed the top of his head. “I could never forget it. You were so cute when you told me, like you were shy to admit it. Is it still a thing?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. It is. I meant to tell you, I’ll start taking singing lessons in January. And maybe guitar, too.”

“Yeah? That’s a good step in the right direction. Have you ever written a song?”

“No, I don’t think I’d be good at it.”

Louis clicked his tongue and squeezed Harry’s fingers. “I’ve read your letters. You’re a really good writer. I’m sure you’d be good if you tried to write songs.”

With a shrug, Harry moved in closer, seeking Louis’ warmth while sipping his wine pensively. “I’d only end up writing a hundred songs about how much I love you, though.”

“Some have made careers out of writing about how much they love their partner. You could make it work.”

Harry glanced up at Louis and saw red blotches on his cheeks. He thought it must be the cold. Louis looked down and smiled when he met Harry’s eyes. He leaned in to kiss his cold nose.

“I just… I don’t know if I could make it. As a singer, I mean. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Singing lessons are good first step, although I really don’t think you need them. Guitar, too, if you want to accompany yourself.” Louis sipped his wine in silence for a moment. “There’s one thing, but you might not like it.”

“Tell me.”

“Ever heard of that show, The X-Factor?”

Harry hummed, swallowing hard. “I’ve thought about it.”

“Yeah?” Louis squeezed his fingers again.

“Yeah. But I was too young before and I—I don’t know. Do you think I could make it on the show?”

“Yes,” Louis replied immediately, without hesitating a single second. “You could. You’ve got the voice, the looks and the charm. The public would fall in love at first sight with you.”

Letting out a giggle, Harry took a sip of wine. “But it means being locked up in that house for weeks and weeks without seeing anyone. Without seeing you.”

He heard Louis swallowing before he spoke. “It’s only a few weeks to launch your career. Once you’ve won, you can do whatever you want.” He paused. “Besides, I’ll be in London by that time.”

Harry straightened up to look at Louis squarely. “It’s official, then? Why not Manchester?”

“Well, yes, I’ll try the ones in Manchester and York and every other Northern city, but I’ll apply to unis in London as well. I really see myself living there, you know? And I could get a flat and get it all ready for when you’ll join me a year later. I’d make it our little nest.”

“Yeah, I suppose…” Harry said, feeling his heart sinking. “But London is very far away.”

“Not if you get into the X-Factor house,” Louis replied, keeping his voice light. “Which I know you will, without a doubt.”

“There’s another thing I’ve thought about, besides the singing lessons and X-Factor,” Harry continued, changing the topic when his heartache got too strong. “I could have a YouTube channel where I post videos of myself singing. It worked for Justin Bieber, after all.”

Louis’ smile was bright enough to outshine the sun. “That’s a brilliant idea! If you have fans before the TV show, you’ll be sure people will vote for you!” Louis put down his flute and threw his arms around Harry, holding him tight and covering his face with kisses. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I haven’t done anything, yet!” Harry replied, laughing beneath the kisses.

“No, but you want to follow your dreams and I really admire you for that.” There was something almost sad in Louis’ voice when he said it, but Harry didn’t ask, unsure of it he’d heard right. “Let’s make a deal, for the new year.”

“I’m listening,” Harry said, teeth chattering slightly. He was beginning to feel cold and going back to the mayhem inside was slowly becoming more enticing than staying in the quiet outdoors.

“We get you on The X-Factor and we get me into a good uni. I’ll need help for my A-levels. I’m a shit student. I want us to both be living in London a year from now.”

Harry nodded. “Deal. We’ll try our best.”

Louis mirrored his nod. “Excellent. Now let’s get you back inside before you catch pneumonia and your mother actually kills me.”

Harry was thrown back into the chaos inside. He lost Louis within minutes, but Félicité found him and stayed by his side as they made their rounds through family friends and neighbours. Somehow, he never managed to empty his flute, someone topping it up every time it was less than half-full, and by the time he found Louis again, a couple of minutes before midnight, he was running on a happy, fuzzy buzz. He collapsed on the couch next to Louis and snuggled into his side, nuzzling his neck happily. The living room was warm with body heat, a cloying smell of fudge hanging heavy in the air. The Christmas tree was near them and its flashing lights bathed Louis in warm shades of red and yellow. From so close, the tree smelled fresh and green and open-spaces. It reminded Harry of home.

“I feel like champagne,” Harry declared with a giggle.

“The French region or the drink?” Louis asked, wrapping an arm around Harry and running his fingers through his hair.

“The drink. I feel like I’m made of bubbles.”

Louis laughed softly. “No more bubbly for you, hm?” He gently pried the flute from Harry’s fingers and downed it for him. “We don’t want you to get sloppy in front of the guests.”

“I’m not drunk. Just tipsy. Just perfectly, completely, happy-tipsy,” Harry babbled, clinging to Louis tighter.

“The perfect mood for a new year, yeah?” Louis smiled fondly. “It fits that you feel like champagne because if you were a drink, that’s what you’d be. You’re posh and bubbly. There’s knockoff versions if you’re cheap, but the real deal is worth every penny.”

Harry giggled and kissed Louis’ jaw. “And you’re a cup of tea.”

“I’m plain old leaf water? Stereotypically British?”

“Comforting and the perfect pick-me-up and you taste like home.” Harry kissed Louis’ shy smile. “I love you and I love all of your little things. Your little tummy and your little crooked tooth and your little hands and feet and the little dimples in your back.”

Louis giggled, his eyes crinkling. “I think I’m going to put you on a steady diet of bubbly if this is what it does to you.”

It was Harry’s turn to giggle. “It’s the moment. New Year’s Eve always makes me think about what I have and how lucky I am. A year ago, my mum was telling us that going to Disney World could be a fun trip for the summer after we’d watched Lilo & Stitch before midnight. If we’d watched a different movie, I might have never gone there. We would have never met.”

Louis shook his head. “No. We were meant to be. We’d have met in a different way, but I’m convinced we’d have met.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat at the words. “You think so?”

“I know so. Don’t you feel it, too?”

With a nod, Harry pecked Louis’ lips. “I do.”

Louis shivered and held Harry close to him, giggling quietly, a bright smile on his face.

“What is it?” Harry asked in a soft voice.

“You said ‘I do’ and I… my thoughts got ahead of me. It’s silly, forget it.”

After skipping a beat earlier, Harry’s heart sped up, beating so hard he was worried Louis might see it rattling his ribcage. “That would be my answer.”

Louis swallowed visibly. “I know, which is why I’m not asking, yet. But not never, okay?”

Hearing his heartbeat in his ears, Harry nodded. “Not never. I can live with that.”

Louis pressed a tender kiss to Harry’s lips and Harry breathed out loudly through his nose as he returned it, holding Louis against him with strong arms. They were so close that his own manic heartbeats mixed with Louis’, making Harry unable to tell who was more overwhelmed between the two of them.

They jumped apart as shouts announced the beginning of the countdown to midnight. The radio was turned on louder so that the announcers’ voices could be heard above the din. They jumped to their feet, arms around each other, to join in, grinning from ear to ear. As the bells of Big Ben were heard over the radio and everyone shouted ‘Happy New Year!’, and as the children made confetti bombs explode, filling the living room with metallic streamers and bright bits of paper, Harry and Louis exchanged their first kiss of the year, oblivious to everything around them.

“Happy New Year, baby,” Louis whispered against his lips. “To the first of many together.”

“Happy New Year,” Harry replied, kissing him again. “To never spending another one apart.”

“I like the sound of that.”

They were jostled apart before they could exchange another kiss, everyone wanting to wish them a happy New Year. Jay hugged Harry for an almost uncomfortably long time, thanking him for he wasn’t sure what, and he decided it would be simpler to just nod and hug her back until she decided to let go of him.

The celebrations continued through most of the night and Harry eventually convinced Louis to let him have more bubbly, turning the night from fun to fantastic. He called his mother at some point, although he couldn’t tell exactly when, to wish her a happy New Year and tell her how much he loved her until she laughed and hung up on him. A lot of the night was spent snogging Louis in various shaded corner, which worked towards making this one of the best nights of Harry’s life.

By the time they crawled into bed, the two of them squeezed together on Louis’ twin mattress, the sky was turning from indigo to grey. Harry tried hard to stay awake so that he could give Louis the blowjob he’d promised, but his eyelids turned heavy as soon as his head touched the pillow. He tried to blink, but he found that once closed, he could not reopen his eyes. A few seconds later, he was asleep, only to wake up several hours later.

He rubbed at his eyes and blinked against the bright, midday light coming in through the window. A quick glance at Louis’ alarm clock told him that it was a little after noon and that he’d only slept six hours. He groaned and pressed his face in the pillow, listening to the eerie silence filling the house. The only noises were quiet giggles coming from the twins’ room and the ticking of a clock. Louis was still fast asleep and letting out small snores.

Harry watched Louis sleep for a moment, smiling whenever slight twitches shook his face as he dreamed. Eventually, though, a worry that he might be creepy took over Harry and he sighed, now utterly beyond sleep and the only one above the age of ten awake in the house.

The idea came to him in a flash and he grinned as he carefully peeled back the duvet, unveiling Louis’ bare chest, only stopping once it was pooled at his feet. Louis’ black boxer shorts stood in sharp contrast with his winter-paled skin. Making sure that Louis was still asleep with a quick glance upwards, Harry slowly moved so that he was kneeling between Louis’ legs, spreading them further apart with light touches. With the same barely-there grazes, Harry pulled down Louis’ underwear, licking his lips when Louis’ cock came into sight.

Feeling deliciously devious, Harry bent down and gave it a small, quick lick, immediately looking up to see if Louis was reacting. When he did not so much as twitch, Harry sat back on his haunches and took a deep breath. He was almost glad that Louis was asleep for this; it gave him ample time to analyse the situation and build up the courage needed to tackle it. Louis' cock was already half-hard from sleep, which facilitated the job, Harry assumed. He took it in his hand, still amazed that he got to do this, to touch Louis in such an intimate way, and flattened his body on the mattress so that he was lying on his stomach and propped up on his elbows. Giving Louis’ cock a few tentative tugs, he tried to remember the advice his sister had given him: no teeth, don't choke, warn if you don't want to swallow. He repeated it in his head like a mantra as he moved his hand over Louis' length, building up his courage.

Quickly and at once, before he changed his mind or chickened out, Harry wrapped his lips around the tip of Louis' cock, frowning in concentration as he suckled it. Beneath him, Louis let out a sigh and shifted, but didn't stir. Harry sunk his head lower, Louis' cock slipping over his tongue as it filled up Harry's mouth. The weigh and the taste of it was a surprise, something Harry had never considered when he'd thought about giving head. He moved his head back up, covering what he couldn't with his hand like he'd seen done in videos, and then sunk down again, faster this time. He did it a few times, feeling Louis harden in his mouth—literally feeling him swell and fill him up more. Pulling off, Harry looked up to check on Louis, and his breath hitched when he met Louis' wide, wide blue eyes.

"Morning," Louis let out in a rasp, voice far away. "What—" he swallowed, "—what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Harry asked, smiling shyly. "I promised, didn't I?" He gave Louis' cock a tug and grinned when Louis gasped in surprise.

"I—okay. Keep going."

Nodding with intent, Harry held Louis' gaze when he licked from the base to the tip and then took him in his mouth once more, sinking down as low as he could go before he felt Louis' cock hit the back of throat. Feeling a gag coming on, Harry pulled back to cough.

"Oh, Kitten, don't—not that deep, okay? You'll get there, but not this morning."

Harry smiled, a bit sheepish, and then went back to work, careful not to take too much in. Don't choke, Gemma had said, and he'd done just that. To avoid making the same mistake again, Harry kept his motions shallow and covered the rest with his hand. When Louis brushed his cheek with his hand, Harry looked up, letting his cock slip out of his mouth, but keeping his lips pressed to it.

"What?" he asked, his lips brushing against Louis' tip as he spoke. He smiled when Louis gasped.

"Try—try hollowing out your cheeks. Really suck on it, you know?"

"Oh!" Gemma had left out that part, hadn't she? And now Harry felt like an idiot, just loosely moving his head up and down; it must have been the unsexiest thing Louis had ever had to endure. "I'll try."

The next time Harry took Louis in his mouth, he tried tightening his lips and immediately, he knew he'd done the right thing. Louis let out a soft moan and a breathless 'yes, like that' before Harry had even began sucking. When he did, Louis moaned again, louder this time, and Harry heard rather than saw him clamp a hand over his own mouth to muffle the sounds.

"Try—fuck, try putting your tongue flat, and—and sometimes flick it a bit, it's—remember I did it to you? Like I did," Louis babbled, his voice going higher when Harry began doing what he'd said before he was even done talking.

His hand was still pumping in time to his head's back and forth motion and he sucked hard. His jaw ached and his lips were sore, but the high, keening noises Louis was now letting out without even noticing it told Harry that he needed to keep going just a little while longer because it would soon be over.

Louis was twisting and shifting underneath him, his hands gripping the sheet so tight that his knuckles had turned white, and his breath was coming out in ragged gasps. Harry's eyes flicked up and he met Louis', and Louis let out a low moan and took in a sharp breath.

"I'm close, Haz... don't... not like that," he mumbled.

Understanding what Louis meant by instinct rather than deduction, Harry pulled off, watching in amazement as a string of saliva stretched from his lip to Louis' cock. He licked it clean, pressed kisses over and around the tip, his hand still tightly wrapped around it. It was when he gave a tentative lick along the slit of it that Louis groaned, sounding almost in pain, and Harry had just enough time to angle his cock towards Louis' belly before he came, the jerking motions of Harry's hand gliding smoothly with the help of his saliva.

Lying down next to Louis, Harry pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Happy New Year?" he asked, cheeks red and voice shy.

As his only reply, Louis pounced on him, attaching their lips and kissing Harry reverently, keeping it up until a knock on the door announced that the twins wanted playmates and that their day had to start, whether they wanted it to or not.

Chapter Text

If the weeks leading up to Christmas had felt to Harry like they’d lasted a year each, the ones before his birthday seemed to blend into one, going by so fast that before he was truly aware of it, February 1st arrived and then was over, all in the blink of an eye.

He had been thrown back into the exhausting rhythm of school the day after he’d come back from Doncaster, lips swollen with kisses and heart beating to the rhythm of promises and plans. Not even a week later, he was starting singing and guitar lessons, both of which he had to help pay for, which forced him to take more shifts at work, changing his usual Saturday afternoon for both weekend days and one weeknight. With the lessons added on top of it, it left Harry with little time to spare.

And because it was not enough, or so it seemed, he’d done what Louis had suggested and set up a YouTube channel, where his first two videos (Coldplay’s Yellow and Snow Patrol’s Chasing Cars, musical choices that had made Louis laugh and call him corny until Harry had snapped that he’d chosen them for him) had both a couple hundred views, and Harry prided himself to think that only maybe ten of those were from his friends and family. It was possible, though, that most of them were from Louis. It was still flattering, if he was being completely honest.

Despite all this, Harry counted down the days to his birthday, knowing that the weekend following it would bring Louis to his home and, well. Well. Before he’d left Doncaster, they’d had a long, serious, very grown-up and mature conversation on what exactly they were doing in bed together and where they wanted to go from there. It was Louis who’d brought up the subject, although Harry had been trying to find a way to mention it for days.

Tangled up in the sheets, skins sticky with sweat after a particularly athletic session of frottage, Louis had kissed Harry’s shoulder and pulled him closer.

“So… that was fun, hm,” Louis had said, running his fingers along Harry’s spine, raising goose bumps on his clammy skin. When Harry had agreed, he continued. “Would you like to try something else, someday?”

Harry had lifted his head. “Like what? I’m very open to suggestions.” He’d smiled, then, to support his words and show Louis that he wasn’t spooked by the conversation.

“There’s one thing on my mind, to be honest.”

“On mine, too.”

Louis had perked up. “Yeah? So… are we talking about the same thing?”

“If it’s the thing you’ve never done before, then yes.” Harry was proud to see Louis’ cheeks tint pink at his words, so he’d continued, emboldened. “It’s making love, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. That’s what I have on my mind. You’ve thought about it, too?”

Harry had nodded, his heart thumping in his chest. Thinking about it late at night, alone in his bed with his hand and his imagination was one thing, but to discuss it with Louis was another. He could feel the adrenaline of his stress coursing through his veins, making him feel light-headed.

“I have, yes. A lot, actually. I’m ready to… to go all the way.”

Louis had pulled him in for a kiss, a long, passionate crash of lips that left them breathless. “How? I mean… do you want to top or bottom?”

That, Harry hadn’t been able to make up his mind about. “I don’t know. I think… we should just follow the mood of the moment? Do whatever we feel like fits the most at the time?”

“I agree.” Louis had gently laid Harry down on the bed and begun peppering his collarbones with small pecks of his lips. “Which brings me to my next question. When? I’ve… I’ve had this silly idea in my head, but I don’t know… only if you want.”

“Do tell.”

Stopping his kisses, Louis had looked up to meet Harry’s eyes. “Your birthday weekend. I’ll be visiting you, but, hm, it’s maybe a bit too early.”

If Harry’s mind had been startled by the early date, his heart had ran wild with it, hammering even faster than before, telling him everything he needed to know. “You want to make love for the first time on my birthday?”

“That’d be a good timing, wouldn’t it? You know how I want to make your first times special… and this is a first for me, too. So it would be perfect, I think. If you want, of course.”

And Harry had agreed, of course he’d agreed. When he dropped his bag in his room that night, after a draining ride in the two different trains it took to tear him away from Louis, Harry had hurried to his calendar and counted down the days. They added up to 31. On his calendar and in his planner, on Saturday the 5th of February, Harry drew little hearts, too elated to be self-aware.

On the morning of the 4th, Harry’s third day as a 17 year-old (he still thrilled to think of it, he was getting so close to being an adult, he could almost taste it), he was getting dressed for a day out in Manchester with his mates. The fact that the Friday after his birthday turned out to be an inset day was a special kind of miracle occurrence that Harry chose to believe was a sign he was going to have the best birthday he’d had so far. If nothing special had happened on the 1st except a cake and presents from his family, the day concluding with a dinner at his favourite restaurant where even his father showed up, to his surprise and delight, the weekend following it was sure to be incredible.

His phone rang and a quick glance at the screen told him it was Louis. With a smile, Harry abandoned the buttons of his shirt to answer.

“Good morning!” he said, as chipper as he could be in the morning.

“Harry, I’m fucked,” Louis said in what had to be the strongest apparition of his accent Harry had ever heard. He barely noticed Louis’ accent the majority of the time, his own resembling it too closely, but at that moment, the words came out in a mumbled, distraught cry sounding like ‘Harreh, I’m fooked.’

Harry’s gripped tightened around his phone. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t get out of my shift tonight. And tomorrow, I… tomorrow there’s a football match, another team was disqualified so we made the next round and I… it’s in bloody Hull, Harry. I don’t want to go to Hull!”

At Louis’ words, Harry’s heart sank and the blood drained from his head. “What are you saying?”

Louis’ sigh was so loud that it made the line crackle. “I can’t come this weekend. I’m so sorry.”

Harry shook his head, his heart leaping from the vicinity of his heels to his throat. “No. No, no, no, no. Louis Tomlinson, you are not standing me up for my birthday. When’s the match over? It won’t last all day and even if you’re in Hull, you can still make it to my house. I don’t care if you bloody get here at midnight, you will come to my birthday. We have plans! You can’t ruin our plans!”

A part of Harry knew he was acting like a petulant child, but the rest of him was too panicked at the thought of not having Louis with him to celebrate to care.

Louis was silent for a long time, long enough to make Harry worry he’d gone too far. “Okay. I’ll try my best.”

“Your best is not enough.”

“Harry, it’s not like I’m doing this on purpose! Don’t be mad at me!”

“I’m not mad at you!” Harry snapped down the line, sounding very mad indeed, “I’m mad at the situation! I know you can’t help it, but I don’t know, skip the match? They can go one match without you, surely?”

“Footie’s like the only thing I’m actually good at, I don’t want to get kicked off the team.”

“Well, figure it out! I want you here, Louis! It’s my birthday!”

Now, every parts of him agreed he was being petulant.

“Harry, please… I don’t want to fight over this. It’s not that I don’t want to be there, you know that, right? Right, love? You know it’s not because I’m trying to find a way out?”

Harry sighed, his anger deflating at the sound of Louis’ panicked, atoning voice. “I know. I’m just upset. Everything was supposed to be perfect.”

“It’ll be. I promise you it’ll be.”

Despite Louis’ promise, Harry didn’t manage to enjoy his day with his friends. Still, he forced a smile on his face and he honestly, truthfully tried his best to look like he was having a good time and, for the most part, it was fun, but there was always this thought at the back of his head, this little nagging voice reminding him that he might not get to celebrate with his boyfriend.

Coming home in the middle of the night, exhausted and a just a step on the wrong side of tipsy, Harry stripped and then plunged into his bed, grabbing his phone and opening his conversation with Louis.

i know you’re not doing it on purpose but it’s making me really upsqet that you won’t come tomorrow. i feel betrayed and like i don’t matter and ji’m drunk so don’t take everything i say seriously bust i’m stitll hurt. itx’s nuot even about tthe sex part it’s just that as soon as it grets hard to comge here you just give up. like i don’t really matter? or only whebn it’s convenient to iyou? pit’s super insulting tbh and i don’t even think i want to see you tomorrow if it’s this way, likedon’t even bothre missing the match or taking the train. thedre, i uninvited you. don’t come.

He sent the message and then dropped his phone on the floor, his anger flaring up inside of him the more he thought about how disgusting it was of Louis to call at the last minute to cancel the single most important day of the year for Harry. Who even did that? Shit boyfriends, that’s who.

Tossing and turning for a while, Harry sighed and got out of bed, padding downstairs as quietly as he could to get to the kitchen. There, he retrieved the leftover cake from his birthday dinner and a fork before going back to his room. Once back in bed, cake plate unsteadily balanced on his knee, he retrieved his phone and texted Louis again.

i'm eatnig cake bin bed because of yo.u you made me so angry that i'm eating in beed. you know i hate crumbs in bed. and now i'm remembering when we argued because ci wouldn't let you eat crisps in your bde becbause i hate crmsb.u but now i don't care becaudse you'ere ruining my life. who even cancels the day before??????y? question: would you let a fucking football match make you miss our wedding? rsory i can't get married today i've got a match in hulll. fuck hpull. and fuck youn.

Dimly, Harry was aware that he should not be texting Louis in his state, but now that he’d begun, he didn’t know how to stop.

and one more thing! you didn't only riun tomorrow, you ruined today. i was supposed to have fun with my friends but i was too miserable to enjoy i.t and then i goat drunk and now i've eaten qlike half a cake and if i throw up itm'll be because of you. i hope you're hapgpy with what you've accomplished. stupid selfish twat like who fucking cares about your stupid football team it's my birthday

no sorry lou i ddt'in mean that last part. i'm mjust upset. very very upset. i'm cryinng and eating cake and i'm so so so upset. tomorrow hwill suck withoubt you. you're reinvited. pleasoe come. pelase..

With that last text, Harry placed his phone and the now empty plate on the floor and curled up in his bed, sniffling and wiping at his eyes until he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

-

Anne had to wake Harry up the next morning, shaking him softly until he blinked his eyes opened.

“It’s almost noon, love. You need to get ready, your grandparents called and they’re already on their way.”

With a nod and a yawn, Harry slowly sat up, taking the time to assess his state. His head didn’t hurt, which was good considering what he remembered drinking the night before. As soon as he was sure he wouldn’t be sick if he moved, he dove for his phone, unlocking it to check if he really sent the text messages he thought he sent.

He did. He reread them, feeling more and more like the floor had just opened up under his feet. With a sinking feeling that did nothing to help his stomach process the quantity of chocolate cake he’d eaten, he tried to take a deep breath before blowing it out shakily.

Gnawing at his lip, he sent a quick message to Louis: Jesus

Louis’ reply was instantaneous: I see you’re awake.

I’m so sorry, Lou. How angry are you? Harry typed, feeling terrible that it was the only way he had to apologise. He wasn’t sure calling would be a good idea; wasn’t sure Louis would want to hear it.

With little to no time to spare before he had to entertain guests, Harry headed for a long, warm shower that he hoped would make him feel cleansed of all the bad things he’d written and thought the night before. It left him feeling revitalised and brave enough to face whatever reply Louis had sent.

You called me a stupid fucking twat

Harry sighed, his stomach dropping. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I was upset.

Yeah, I caught that. Harry, u need to call me when u feel like this. Don’t lash out like that, it’s unfair.

Hating that he had to type something like that, Harry pressed send before he could change his mind: maybe it’s better that you can’t come after all.

maybe, yeah

Harry went through the motions of getting ready, but his head and his heart were not into it. Regret and remorse battled inside of him, and still there was a hint of anger in there. Anger at Louis for cancelling at the last minute, but also anger at himself for reacting the way he had. He knew Louis wasn’t doing it on purpose and, yet, here he was blaming him for something he had no control over. He could only imagine how upset Louis was to see that he was hurting Harry, too, and he was only making it worse by acting like a child about it.

With the resolution to enjoy the day despite Louis’ absence, Harry made his way downstairs at the same time as his grandparents arrived. He plastered a smile on his face and hurried to go greet them, and soon enough he found that his smile had turned genuine.

The house filled up as the afternoon progressed and Harry, having had no proper breakfast, spent most of it by the table set up with finger sandwiches and bowls of crisps. If the day before had been spent celebrating with his friends, now it was all about his family, with uncles and aunts and an assortment of cousins. Gemma had come home for the weekend, which in itself was enough to make Harry happy. Still, though, there was a Louis-shaped hole in the celebrations and it cast a dark shadow over Harry’s mood. It didn’t help that everyone kept asking if they were finally going to meet that infamous boyfriend of his, every repetition of the question burying the shard of disappointment deeper into Harry’s heart.

Still, it would be a lie to say that Harry remained in a bad mood the entire day. Seeing his family was always fun, always entertaining, and it was obviously even better because it was his day and everyone was there to celebrate him. Yes, he’d have liked for Louis to be there, but it wouldn’t kill him; they would make up, too, before the day was over, or so he hoped. It was up to Louis to forgive him, and up to Harry to apologise more if needed, but he was confident they wouldn’t stay fighting for long. He was ready to atone for his mistake any way Louis asked.

Thinking about Louis made Harry miss him and he took out his phone to snap a picture of his pouting face, sending it to Louis along with ‘Wish you were here. Love you <3’ before being swept away to the kitchen by his one of his aunts who insisted that Harry needed to give her the recipe for the potato salad they were serving. As he rummaged through the various printed recipes they kept in a binder with the rest of their cookbooks, Harry paid little attention to a knock on the front door. It was probably just more relatives, or perhaps one of his friends coming for the food Harry had described to them the day before.

“Here you go, that’s the one Mum used. It’s always a hit,” Harry said, taking the sheet out of the binder. “I can copy it down for you, if you want?”

His aunt only hummed in reply so Harry looked up, frowning when he saw her distractedly looking out of the room.

“Auntie?” he said, knowing full well that she hated being called that way. He hoped to get her attention. “Do you want me to copy the recipe?”

“Oh, hm, sure, darling, you do that.” She craned her neck to look down the hall. “Anne?”

“A minute!” Anne called back.

Harry dropped his pen with a smile and a little thrill of excitement. They were about to surprise him. Granted, they were terrible at it, but it was the thought that counted. Harry was glad he’d figured it out because he was usually terrible at reacting to surprises, but now he’d have time to school his face into the proper emotion for the situation. Even though he knew it was impossible his first thought was ‘a car!’, but he could settle for a new laptop, or a guitar, or really, just a fancy cake. If Louis were here, he’d tell him he was being ridiculously pleasant and that no one would be happy for just anything involved in a surprise. Harry would then have to stick his tongue out at him and—He stopped his train of thought, travelling down that road even for a second making his heart ache with disappointment.

And then he heard it: “Harry, love, could you come here for a minute?”

The grin on his aunt’s face betrayed the surprise as much as the uncanny cheerfulness of the conversations now drifting out of the living room. Slowly, Harry walked down the hall back to the front of the house, bracing himself for whatever he was about to be faced with when he entered the room and, more importantly, preparing his reaction to it.

Oh my god! That’s amazing! He rehearsed in his head so he wouldn’t freeze and have nothing to say once he discovered what the big secret was. A kitten, perhaps? He’d always wanted another cat. Maybe finally his mother had caved in?

When Harry entered the living room, his eyes immediately turned to the massive gift-wrapped box sitting in the middle of it. It was one of those comically oversized presents like you only see in movies or cartoons, with a giant bow on top. The kind where someone would pop out of if this were a romantic comedy, either an estranged relative or a lover coming back from war, and—and—

Harry’s heartbeat turned frantic in a second with a wild, crazy idea that couldn’t possibly be true. He was in Hull. His mother wouldn’t do that to him, making Louis say he’d come and then cancel only to hide him in a bloody box with a bow on top. No one was that cruel.

Shaking with anticipation, Harry walked closer to the box. “What’s that?” he asked with a small, nervous laugh.

“Open it!” Gemma urged on, grinning.

Harry pulled on the end of the bow to untie it, watching the ribbon fall to the floor on each side of the box. With a deep breath, preparing himself for disappointment, Harry shut his eyes and lifted the cover, dropping it to the floor before breathing in again and opening his eyes.

Another box. This time a plain, cardboard box, slightly smaller than the previous. “Is this a joke?”

“Keep unwrapping!” Robin said, his smile more smirk than amusement.

Sighing to show just how silly he felt, Harry lifted the first flap of the box, glad to see it hadn’t been taped shut. At that, the box burst open as if he’d triggered a spring inside of it and a cloud of confetti was thrown in his face while everyone in the room shouted ‘surprise!’

With a yelp, Harry jumped back and blinked in confusion a few times as he tried to register what had just happened. Louis was smiling back at him, standing amidst the boxes and when he saw that Harry had noticed him, he threw a second handful of confetti at him with a cackle.

“L-Louis?” Harry stammered, his shock slowly lifting to let him understand what was going on. “You’re in Hull.”

“Does it look like I’m in Hull?” he replied, still grinning, still acting like he hadn’t lied and nearly broken Harry’s heart the day before.

“You said you couldn’t come!”

“It was part of the surprise… I’ll explain later!” Louis’ smile faltered for a second. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Right now? No, I’m bloody mad at you!” Harry spat out, grabbing the top of the box and advancing on Louis menacingly. “You made me believe you didn’t care!”

Seeing him coming closer, Louis recoiled at the bottom of the box, crouching just in time to avoid getting hit in the head by the lid as Harry put it back in place and jumped up to sit on it, trapping Louis inside.

“Haz!” came a muffled cry from inside the box. “I’m sorry! I had to! I’d messed up when I said I’d come, I wasn’t supposed to be unable to afford to come from the start and then I’d surprise you! I had to fix my mistake, your mum and Gemma worked so hard on preparing the surprise! There’s more to it than just me being here!”

“I don’t care! I’m cross!” Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “Also, I got confetti in my eyes, it hurt.”

Harry cast a glance around the room and nervously fixed his hair when he saw that they had an amused audience, his family laughing every time they judged that Harry’s anger was funny. It wasn’t funny, he was angry.

“Harry… love of my life… let me out, please,” Louis tried again, his voice now syrupy sweet.

Turning to his mother, Harry rolled his eyes. “Mum, did you keep the receipt? I don’t like this present, I want to return it to the shop.”

Another burst of laughter from the room, half-covering the indignant squawk coming from inside the box. Harry felt pushes to the lid and he put more of his weight on it.

“Are you sitting on top of me?” Louis called, banging on the lid. “Come on, Harry, I’m kind of running out of air in here. It’s not funny anymore!”

“Harry,” Anne started, “if you kill your boyfriend, I’m not getting you another one.”

With a groan, Harry hopped off the box and lifted the lid again, watching as Louis sprung up immediately, his smile completely gone.

“Can we not do this in front of your guests?”

Something about Louis’ tone and the look on his face completely melted Harry’s anger. He felt foolish to be giving Louis hell for being there, especially when he knew that it had all come from good intentions. The fact was that he had Louis all for himself for the entire weekend, for his birthday, and their special plans could still happen, after all. His stomach gave a pleasant swoop at the thought.

He nodded, holding out his hands to help him climb out of the box. “Okay.”

“I’ve got it,” Louis said, hopping to balance on the edge of the larger box then swinging his legs over and jumping off.

As soon as he touched the ground, Harry flung his arms around his neck and held on tightly to him, smiling into his neck to hear the ‘hmpf!’ of surprise that Louis let out at the sudden hug. Around them, Harry heard a few ‘aw!’ and he blushed, clinging even more to Louis to hide his embarrassment.

“I’m sorry that I made you upset,” Louis whispered, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist.

“I’m sorry that I drunk-texted you and was mean.”

“Don’t you worry about that. I deserved it.”

Harry pulled back to look into Louis’ eyes and stroked his knuckles along his cheek. A small smile bloomed on Louis’ lips and grew big enough to make his eyes crinkle. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I wouldn’t have missed your birthday for footie.” Louis ran his hands up and down Harry’s waist. “Happy birthday, Kitten.”

They leaned in for a kiss at the same time and Harry smiled against Louis’ lips, conscious that they were being watched, conscious of the weight of being a boy kissing a boy in front of people, conscious that this was his real, official, irrevocable coming out to his entire family, conscious that he could – and would – forgive Louis anything no matter how cross he’d made him much, much too easily.

Pulling back and pressing a final kiss to the tip of Louis’ nose, Harry kept his arm around his shoulders as he turned to his mother. “Can I unwrap my other presents, now?”

When his mother agreed, Harry pulled Louis along to claim the armchair, pushing him down on it and then squeezing in next to him, shifting and squirming until they were pressed together into the single seat. Louis giggled through all of it and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist once he was settled.

The unwrapping went by quickly; most of the presents were in the form of checks and gift cards. In a little under ten minutes, there were only one gift bag and an envelope left on the coffee table.

“The envelope first,” Anne said, handing it to him. “It’s from Robin, your father and me.”

Inside was a regular, generic birthday card, and Harry opened it slowly in case bank notes slipped out. Instead, a card fell out. A gift card, he assumed, and he shrugged, reading the card before he checked which store it was for. The text began with something almost like an ode to how lucky they were to have a son like him, how proud they were of the man he was growing up to be, a kind, sensible, intelligent young man who would go far in life, and Harry glanced up with a moved pout, wiping a pretend tear from his cheek to make them laugh. He continued reading after that, leaning into Louis and smiling when Louis replied to the cuddle by stroking his thigh.

And now, we know you were expecting money for your birthday, but we felt like it was too easy. We wanted to bring Louis here, but now that he has a car, he is fully mobile and didn’t need our help to pay for the train. But you do, darling. We know you try so hard to be independent and we are so, so proud of you for of it. For your birthday, we’re asking you to let us help a little. This year, we’re giving you a preloaded credit card. You’ve got enough for five journeys to Doncaster and back on it. A love like yours and Louis' is a rare and precious thing and we want to do what we can to help you take care of it.

All the love,

Mum, Dad, & Robin

Harry looked up sharply, eyes wide, into the smiling faces of his parents and Robin. He shook his head in disbelief and picked up the card from his lap, turning it over in his hands and stroking his thumb over the digits printed on it.

“What is it?” Louis asked, breath hot on Harry’s neck.

“Five trips to Donnie,” Harry replied in a breath, turning his gaze to Louis.

“What?” Louis asked, voice flat with disbelief.

Harry placed the birthday card in Louis’ hand so he could read while he got up to hug his parents, all three of them, as tight as he could.

“Thank you so much,” Harry said, kissing their cheeks. “You can’t even imagine what this means to me.”

“To us,” Louis said, having gotten up to join them. “You’ve given me a wonderful present, too.”

“You boys deserve it.”

Louis grinned and bumped his hip against Harry’s. “Come on, it’s my turn, now! Go sit!” he ordered Harry, pointing back to the armchair.

Bouncing on his feet, Louis retrieved the bag and crossed the room to go give it to Harry, perching on the arm of the chair and pushing his cold toes underneath his thigh before he gave it to Harry.

“I hope you’ll like it.”

Harry dug into the bag, flinging the tissue paper to the sides to make Louis giggle, and then gently retrieved the two small parcels from the bottom. He unwrapped the first one, eyes widening at the sight of the ring. He picked it up between his fingers to study it. It was a silver ring inlaid with three turquoise rectangles.

“It’s gorgeous!” he said, slipping it on his left index finger. It fit perfectly and he grinned at Louis.

“Open the rest.”

Harry did, using the same care to unwrap the second parcel. A delicate silver chain fell into his lap and he picked it up, laying the pendant in his palm to look at it. An oval turquoise stone was mounted on a silver disk, matching the ring.

“Lou…?”

“Turquoise is the birthstone of December,” Louis blurted out quickly, his cheeks red. “I just… with this, I’ll always be with you, you know?”

Smiling wide enough for it to hurt, Harry wrapped a hand around the back of Louis’ neck and pulled him down into a long, tender kiss, ignoring as much as he could the ‘aw!’ of his family.

“I adore them. I’ll wear them all the time.”

“Always?”

“Always,” Harry repeated, pressing another kiss to Louis’ lips.

Louis moved out of it with a small laugh, clearly intimidated by their audience or the meaning of his present, or whatever else could possibly make a boy like Louis shy, and he picked up the necklace to put it on Harry, kissing his forehead once he had clasped it shut.

“Well, show us, Haz!” Gemma said, motioning Harry closer.

Harry made the rounds of the room, first showing his jewels and then thanking everyone for their presence and the presents. A cake was brought out once he was done and he had to sit through the tortuous process of being sung ‘Happy birthday!’ to, out of key and too loud, with Louis’ voice louder than the rest. He blew out the candles, wishing to one day become a famous singer. He did not even consider wishing to spend the rest of his days with Louis because that was a given, a clear and unshakeable fact of the universe that nothing could change. The sun would rise and he would spend his life with Louis. It was inevitable. He didn’t need birthday wishes for that.

Halfway through his slice of cake, Harry was pulled aside by Gemma. He followed her to the second flood, still clinging to his cardboard plate and his piece of cake, with Louis on his heels.

“What?” he asked, mouth full.

Louis clucked his tongue and wiped a bit of icing from the corner of Harry’s lips with his thumb.

“My present couldn’t be given to you in front of them. Well, mine and Louis’, together. Part of it, at least.”

Harry frowned, swallowing his cake. “If you bought me a dildo, I swear to god I’m telling Mum it’s yours.”

Gemma burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Not quite that.” She handed Harry an envelope. “We both chipped in. It was my idea, well, my solution to a problem he brought up to me.”

Harry looked between the two of them for a moment before he handed Louis his plate. He tore open the envelope and took out the card, yet another generic birthday card with a corny joke inside. He pulled out a piece of paper from it and read, frowning even more.

“A gift certificate for a bed and breakfast?”

Gemma sighed. “It’s not a B&B, it’s an inn! And it’s already booked for tonight.” She winked and Harry stared, uncomprehending.

And then he got it, his face turning a deep shade of red when he understood. “Oh my god, Gemma.”

“Don’t Gemma me, yet!” she said, handing him a small gift bag.

One peek inside of it showed Harry a box of condoms, making him gasp. “You told her?! Lou!”

“No! What?!” Louis took the bag and looked inside. He gasped. “Gemma!”

“I guessed! No one said anything, but I mean… Louis asked if I had an idea for a quiet night for you two. I’m not a complete moron.” Her voice softened. “I told Mum I was paying you a night and a day at a place with a spa, she knows you’ve always wanted to go to one. She doesn’t need to know everything.”

Harry turned to Louis. “Lou…”

“I wasn’t about to… we couldn’t do it here!” Louis looked as embarrassed as Harry and it was a satisfying sight.

Harry was uncertain whether he should be ashamed or relieved that his sister was so great, so he settled for a sort of quiet, grateful mortification.

“I agreed to chip in because I think you two deserve a break,” Gemma explained, her voice soft. “You know, a time where you’re just the two of you. No parents and no need to keep the door opened and sleep apart. So enjoy your night and the day after, whatever you end up doing. And whether or not you need what’s in the bag. But, just so you know, it’s ribbed for his pleasure,” she finished with a smirk, making the two of them shout in horror and flee the room.

-

Before they could leave the house, Harry insisted that he properly introduce Louis to everyone, feeling a thrill go up and down his spine whenever he said ‘This is my boyfriend, Louis.’ He didn’t get to say those words often enough and he never tired of doing it. Louis and his father spent almost a half hour discussing, this being their first meeting, and Harry would have been dead nervous had it not been for their laughs and smiles. Clearly, they got along, and when Des finally released Louis, he gave Harry a wink and a nod of approbation.

Once everyone had left, the goodbyes taking a toll on Harry’s nerves because of their never-ending length, he hurried up to his room to pack for the night. Louis sat on his bed, legs crossed and bouncing.

“You don’t need pyjamas,” he said when Harry took a pair out of his dresser.

Those four words had the effect of a bomb inside of Harry’s mind. It became clear in a second what they were about to do. He dropped the garments back in the drawer and closed it with a bang, nodding.

“Right. Only clothes for tomorrow and, hm, my toothbrush? And Gemma’s present, yeah?” In that question, he disguised his insecurity over the fact that they still hadn’t discussed it again.

“Yeah, the present we will need.” Louis’ smile was uncertain, but it was enough to convince Harry.

Harry upended his school bag on his bed and then shoved clothes and toiletries in it, emptying the bag Gemma had given him into it without touching the box, not bothering to get rid of the tissue paper that fell in along it, and zipping it up quickly.

“I’m ready,” he said, running his hand through Louis’ hair.

Together, they went downstairs and said goodbye to Harry’s parents, adding on to the spa lie despite Harry’s lingering feeling that everyone in the room knew it was a lie, but no one wanted to confront the truth.

It was only once they were settled in Louis’ car and he pulled out of the driveway that Harry let out a nervous giggle.

“What is it?” Louis asked, fiddling with the radio until he found a song he liked.

“We’re making love tonight,” Harry said with another giggle, unable to stop.

Louis glanced at him, the nature of his look only briefly visible whenever they drove under a streetlamp, the dark swallowing up his usually expressive features. “We are, if you still want to.”

“I do. Do you?”

Letting out a laugh, Louis nodded. “Like mad.”

They smiled at each other, Louis’ smile appearing and disappearing in the fleeting light, and wordlessly they reached for each other’s hands, entwining their fingers over the gearshift.

“Is it far?”

“It’s in place called Burwardsley or something? I checked on a map, we’ll be almost in Wales. Cheshire is a joke,” Louis said, laughing.

“I don’t know where that is, though. Is it far?” Harry asked, teasing. “Are we there yet?”

Louis clucked his tongue, laughed. “Don’t you dare start that. Gemma said it’d be a 45-minute drive, roughly.”

Harry got settled more comfortably in his seat and fiddled a bit with the heating until hot air was blowing on his frozen fingers. “Good, it means I have time to tell you about my guitar and singing lessons in detail.”

The inn, once they got there, was an imposing, ivy-covered stone building looming above them dim light of the lamps hanging around the door. Harry could guess rather than see that open fields surrounded it by how thick the darkness was, so profoundly black that it felt almost tangible, like he would meet a resistance if he held his hand out into it. Above them, the sky was clear and high; it was a cold weather sky, everything stark and sharply in focus. It hung above them like a blanket pierced with thousands upon thousands of little holes letting through starlight so bright it looked like it might be enough to light their way from the car to the front door.

Louis held out the door for him and they walked into the low-ceilinged lobby. The walls were covered with dark wood and an evergreen-coloured tapestry. Large, rugged beams of dark wood ran across the ceiling above them, so low that Harry felt the urge to duck his head so he wouldn’t hit one of them as they crossed the used tiles of the floor towards the front desk.

“Hi, we’ve got a reservation under the name Tomlinson, for a night.”

The lady smiled at them and typed on her computer for a while before nodding. “Yes, your room is ready. And I see you requested a late check-out, is that still right?”

Louis nodded. “Yeah, definitely.”

Taking Louis’ credit card, she finished checking them in and Harry took that time to explore the lobby a bit, wandering around and looking at everything with wide, awed eyes. Shelves in a corner were surrounded by plush armchairs and covered in antique knickknacks. Beneath the heady scent of roasted meat and wood fire that hung in the air, Harry could detect that unmistakable smell that came with old buildings, something like humidity, old wood and the earthy smell of masonry. A double-sided hearth connected the lobby to the dining hall and Harry bent down to look through it, seeing people sitting at tables through the flames. He observed them for a while and waved when a child noticed him, grinning when the kid waved back.

“Haz? Ready?” Louis asked, touching his shoulder gently. He held out his hand to help Harry up and kept it in his, squeezing it. “Come on.”

They had to climb two flights of stairs, the dark wood of them used by thousands of feet until the centre of each step was curving down and polished to the point of being slippery. Once upstairs, the walked down a wood-panelled hallway to get to their room. Louis unlocked it and let Harry in first, turning on the lights before he closed the door and locked it.

“Wow!” Harry exclaimed when he saw that an entire wall of their room was made of stones. “How old do you reckon these stones are?” he asked, dropping his bag on the bed and rushing to touch the stones, feeling their cold and rough surface with awe.

“Couple centuries, I’d say,” Louis replied, sitting on the bed to kick off his shoes. The hardwood floorboards creaked when he walked. “Do you like the room?”

“I love it,” Harry replied, turning to smile at Louis. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s small, but we don’t need much space, do we? We’re not that big.”

“It’s perfect, Lou,” Harry repeated, sitting on the bed to take off his shoes before shrugging off his coat. He grabbed his and Louis’ and placed them on the armchair by the window before returning to the bed, sitting on his legs and smiling at Louis nervously. “Hi.”

Louis mimicked his position and bit his lip. “Hi, darling. Happy birthday again.”

Harry opened his arms and Louis moved into them, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s lips. “Do you want to order some room service? My treat.”

“Could we get champagne?”

If Louis hesitated at the price, nothing on his face betrayed him. “Of course. Anything for my little Kitten.”

He pressed another kiss to Harry’s lips before reaching for the phone to order a bottle of champagne and strawberries, winking at Harry as he did so.

“Strawberries?” Harry asked once he’d hung up.

“I’ve heard somewhere strawberries and champagne mix well.” Louis shrugged.

“Great.” Harry settled against the pillows and reached for the remote, turning on the television before pulling on Louis’ sleeve until he was cradled in Harry’s arms. “Hey, a rerun of Skins!”

Louis let out a small laugh. “We’re not really here to watch telly.”

“Just while we wait for our bubbles.”

With Louis warm in his arms, the smell of his shampoo filling his nostrils, Harry felt some of his nerves melting away. He wouldn’t say he was completely calm regarding what was about to happen, but the knot in his stomach was slowly becoming loose. He knew that if he panicked at the last second and changed his mind, he didn’t need to worry about making Louis stop. He would and Harry adored him for that, his obsession for making sure Harry was comfortable.

It only took a few minutes for their order to arrive, the soft knock at the door sending Harry’s heart in a panic at the thought that it was bringing the main event of the night closer. Louis got up to answer, wheeling in a cart with two flutes and a bowl of strawberries on it next to a metal bucket brimming with ice cradling an unopened bottle of champagne.

“Here we go. Haz, please, love, put a strawberry in each glass while I pop this open,” Louis said, taking the bottle out of the bucket and wiping it dry in the tablecloth the cart also contained.

“Try not to blind us or break the telly,” Harry said, teasing, as Louis started slowly prying the cork out of the bottle.

“The trick is to keep your palm over it, Mark said,” Louis explained, voice strained under the effort. “I’d hate to lose half of it because it exploded.”

With a loud pop that made the two of them yelp in surprise, the cork sprung out of the bottle. Louis hurried to fill their flutes as the wine started overflowing out of the bottle. Carefully, Louis wiped the glasses clean before handing one to Harry. He sat on the bed and held his flute out, smiling shyly.

Harry clinked his flute against Louis’. “To us?”

Louis shook his head. “To you. Happy birthday. I know you’ve been told a hundred times today by your family, but I just… You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. I didn’t think people like you existed before we met. I’m truly blessed to have you in my life, I still can’t quite believe you chose me.” There was a note of fervour in his voice, a twinkle in his eyes, and it was all so much that Harry ducked his head, giggling shyly. “I know you think I’m only saying that to try and get you to put out, but I mean it, Harry. I really do.”

Harry looked up. “I didn’t think you were. I know you better than that. It’s just… it’s making me shy, is all.”

With a small laugh, Louis leaned in for a quick kiss. “You and your shyness.”

Harry only smiled and took a sip of his drink, eyes widening at the taste. “Oh! I understand why people pay the price of champagne, now.”

“Are you developing a taste for luxury? You better become rich and famous,” Louis teased and Harry stuck out his tongue at him.

“Are you calling me high maintenance?”

“Well, you did try to smother me inside a box earlier today, only because I’d lied a little to save a surprise.”

“Okay, but for my defense, it was a really mean thing to do!” Harry protested with no heat, knowing they were joking.

“I know. I’m really sorry I had to lie to you. It killed me to know you were upset because o me.”

Okay, maybe they weren’t joking, after all. Louis looked honestly crushed and it hurt Harry more than the lies had the day before.

“Lou, I’m not upset anymore. I’m not even mad at you. I know why you did it and I thought it was very sweet that you’d team with my mum to surprise me. It’s behind us.”

“Yeah? So you won’t try to smother me in my sleep?”

Harry laughed. “I think I’d miss you too much.”

“You think? Wow, thanks, love.”

“You’re annoying, you know that?”

“I’m vaguely aware, yeah.” Louis giggled, taking a long sip of his champagne. “The strawberries were a good idea, I’m a genius.”

“I’m not going to reply to that, I’m afraid your ego might inflate so much you won’t fit through the door tomorrow morning,” Harry said loftily, reclining on the pillows with a smirk. Immediately, Louis scooted closer to fit his body against Harry’s.

They watched the television while sipping their champagne and Harry suspected that Louis needed that time as much as he did to calm his nerves in prevision of what was to come. After a while, Harry finished his flute in one sip, letting the strawberry slip into his mouth and chewing it with a pleased moan.

“The strawberry tastes like champagne. Alcohol fruits, someone needs to invent that.”

Louis let out a small laugh, finishing his drink. “And someone has. It’s called ‘the best thing about sangria’.” He picked the strawberry from the bottom of his flute and held it out for Harry.

Harry took it, his lips brushing against Louis’ fingers. “Thanks. Do you want a refill?” Harry asked, motioning for the bottle.

With a shake of his head, Louis grabbed both of their glasses and placed them on the nightstand. Climbing into Harry’s lap, Louis sat with his knees on either side of Harry’s hips. He brushed Harry’s hair back and pecked his forehead. “I want you, now. Is it okay?”

Right on cue, the worry that he was pushing too far. “More than,” Harry breathed out in reply before leaning in to press a kiss to Louis’ lips. He put his hands to Louis’ slender waist, squeezing it until Louis let out a tiny noise through his nose as they kissed.

Louis replied with another kiss, longer this time, pressing hard, his fingers slipping through Harry’s hair, tugging slightly. This one kiss turned into many more, with Harry’s hands sliding to rest low on Louis’ hips and then moving back to settle on his bum, squeezing it to pull Louis flush against him. In synchronisation, out of habit, their hips began rolling together, dragging short huffs and little moans from their mouths. Harry’s hands travelled all over Louis’ body, mapping every curve and dip of his boyfriend, committing the solid weight of him in his lap to memory. Louis was making a mess of Harry’s hair, hands roaming through it, tugging and pulling, tangling his curls with every movement.

Harry slipped his hands under Louis’ shirt and pulled it up, Louis helping him clumsily to take it off and then immediately doing the same to Harry’s, throwing the two of them on the floor. Without missing a beat, Harry attacked the button of Louis’ jeans, popping it open and zipping them down before sliding his hands inside of Louis’ briefs to palm at his bum, fingers digging in the flesh. His movements were pulling the fabric down, unveiling the swell of Louis’ arse more and more. Louis whined, his skin covered in goose bumps, and peeled his mouth from Harry’s, moving down to his neck where he began pressing long, sucking kisses.

Louis ran his hands down the smooth plane of Harry’s chest, his lips still attached to his neck, and stopped at Harry’s waistband, undoing his jeans and pushing them down as much as he could. With one hand, he reached inside Harry’s trousers, wrapping his fingers around his cock and pulling it out while his other hand did the same to his own, bringing the two together, his small hand wrapped around them the best he could. He gave a tentative tug, which made them both moan, and then started rolling his hips up. Harry was quick to imitate the motions.

Their lips crashed together once more and Harry’s hand joined Louis, closing the circle around their cocks, increasing the pressure until it was just this side of too much. Harry was getting harder by the second and he could feel Louis doing the same against his cock and beneath his hand, and he let out a moan when the thought of how it would feel inside of him crossed his mind.

He pulled out of the kiss with a gasp, eyes wide to realise he’d made a decision.

“What is it?” Louis asked, breathless. He removed his hand and moved back, creating space between them.

“I… I know how I want it.”

Louis’ face softened immediately, his worries swept away. “Tell me,” he said, fondness lacing his words.

“I want you in me.”

It was Louis’ turn to widen his eyes, clearly surprised. “Really?”

“If… if you want, of course. Otherwise, it’s however you want, I don’t mind, both are good, I imagine?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I just thought… with your cock and my arse, you’d assume you’d be on top.”

“Is this what you’d prefer?”

Louis shook his head. “I don’t have a preference. Besides, it’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

Harry bit his lip against a smile. “So… what now?”

“Let me take over, yeah? Just relax and enjoy. I’ll take good care of you, Kitten,” Louis said, pressing a tender kiss to Harry’s forehead. “Let’s see what your sister gave you, hm?”

Harry ran a hand down his face. “It’s not my favourite thing, hearing about my sister while I’ve got a hard-on, you know.”

“You think talking about her in the same situation is easier?” Louis replied with a laugh, pressing a final, long kiss to Harry’s lips before crawling off the bed to retrieve Harry’s bag. On the way, he shimmied out of his clothes, making a show of shaking his bum. He threw a glance over his shoulder and smirked to see Harry watching him, punctuating it with a slap to his bum.

“Enjoying the show, Styles?”

“Keep going and I might change my mind about this evening.”

“You’d be more useful if you took off your clothes, but whatever, you do you,” Louis said with a laugh, bending to take the bag, shamelessly keeping his bum up in the air as he did so, showing Harry everything.

Quickly, Harry kicked off his jeans and briefs and lay back against the pillows. Harry’s mouth was dry by the time Louis came back to him, hard cock bouncing with every step he took. Louis unzipped the bag, pulled out the tissue paper and then the box of condoms, placing it between them on the bed. Harry picked it up to study it, cheeks red and burning to see that Gemma had made sure to pick condoms suited for anal sex. It showed a level of planning that put Harry too far into mortification for the word to have any meaning left.

Next to him, Louis was rummaging wildly through the bag, pulling out its content and then upending it over the bed, shaking it a few times and then letting out a distressed whine.

“What is it?”

“She forgot the lube,” Louis replied, looking up dramatically.

Harry paled. “Can’t… can’t we use something else? Like… hand lotion?”

“There’s a reason they say ‘for external use only’ on the bottles, you know!” Louis snapped, shaking his head. “I can’t believe she forgot the lube! I didn’t bring any, I thought we’d stop to buy everything, but with the condoms, I thought she’d taken care of everything, I am so pissed at her right now.”

Harry let out a long, painful sigh and sunk against the pillows. “What, now?”

Louis whined again, throwing the empty bag on the floor. “We need to go out and buy some.”

Harry looked down at his naked body, at his hard cock resting against his stomach, and he sighed. “I wish you’d have let me bring pyjamas, now.”

Getting back into their clothes took a few minutes, the two of them struggling to tuck themselves in a way that wouldn’t be too painful, and then they were out of their room. Harry grabbed Louis’ keys straight from his hands and hurried to the car while Louis stayed behind and asked the front desk for the nearest pharmacy, the need behind his question too obvious for Harry to be able to stand there and wait for the answer. He turned on the engine and cranked the heating to its highest setting, keeping his eyes on the front door while his annoyed breaths came out in small puffs of vapour.

Louis skipped out of the inn and joined him in the car, a small black shape against the darkness all around, and they were on their way. The ride was silent in a tense way, and Louis only lasted a few minutes before he spoke up.

“Are you mad at me? Again?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Harry replied, terse. “I’m angry, period.”

“Look, I told you it wasn’t my fault,” Louis said, his tone matching Harry’s.

“I know! And I told you, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at this whole situation. And at my sister, a bit. We’d have stopped before we got here for—for that, if she hadn’t felt the need to try and be funny.”

Louis nodded and fiddled with the radio, turning up the volume. “The lady at the front desk said the nearest shop that would be opened at this hour was in Chester.”

“And that’s…?”

“A half hour drive.”

Harry groaned and sunk deeper in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Bloody hell.”

“Hey, don’t sulk! It’s either Chester or bloody Wrexham in Wales. It’s not my fault and I’ll have you know I’m the one who has to drive with hard on, all right? I’d much rather be back in bed with you.” Louis snapped. “So you either try to be decent or I’ll leave you on the side of the road and pick you back up in an hour when I’m done.”

Louis’ words shocked Harry out of his slump. He turned in his seat to face him, a smile tugging at his lips and laughter building up in his chest. “Remind me not to let you in charge of disciplining our children,” he said.

Louis licked his lips and a beat passed before he spoke. “Our children?”

Harry’s smile widened. “Yeah. You want children, I want children; it’s an easy equation.”

They drove under a streetlamp in time for Harry to see Louis’ lips twitching into a smile. “Yeah. It is.” A beat. “I want three.”

“Deal.”

Louis let out a breathless laugh and reached out for Harry’s hand, entwining their cold fingers together. “For a boy who didn’t realise we were dating for months, you sure are certain about our future.”

“Now that I’ve got you, I’m not letting go,” Harry replied, thankful that the darkness hid his face.

“That’s good news,” Louis replied, voice tight, and Harry knew without needing to ask that he needed to change the subject.

Looking out the window, he spent the rest of the drive pointing out constellations to Louis, babbling about having been a massive fan of astronomy when he was a child, but that now he could barely remember the difference between Orion and the Plough. Louis listened with a smile that never wavered, his eyes shifting from the endless stretch of road that seemed to be conjured into existence by the headlights of the car to the blanket of stars above them.

The instructions given to Louis led them into the deserted parking lot of a shop, right next to the motorway. Louis killed the engine and they exchanged a nervous glance, their faces pallid in the bright glow of the shop’s signboard.

It was Louis who eventually got out of the car and Harry followed, letting him lead the way by staying just one step behind him. The door chimed when they pushed it, alerting a clerk. She looked up from her crosswords, eyes narrowing on them and a bright smile appeared on her face.

“Good evening, loves! We’re closing in a couple of minutes, so may I help you? There’s no time to wander around,” she explained, pointedly glancing up at the clock so they would follow her gaze.

9:56. Harry hated being that one customer who barged in five minutes before the shop closed. His stomach dropped at the thought of being what he hated, but also because it meant telling a lady his mother’s age exactly what they’d come in to buy. Next to him, Louis’ ears were turning red and Harry suspected it wasn’t the cold.

“We, hm, we’ll be quick,” Louis blurted out, grapping Harry by the sleeve of his coat and dragging him along, walking briskly towards an aisle.

“Do you know where it is?” Harry whispered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t followed.

“I haven’t the faintest,” Louis replied, gritting his teeth. “Don’t check on her like that, she’ll think we’re trying to rob.”

Louis started with the first row, glancing down its length before pulling Harry along to the next, repeating the motion when it wasn’t the right one. Harry checked the time on the clock, his breath itching.

“9:58, Lou. She can’t throw us out before we bought it, she can’t.”

“What choice do we have?” Louis hissed. “You want to ask her where they keep it?”

“Keep what? I can’t let you stay in after 10. Let me help.”

They both jumped to see that she had left her till to join them at the entrance of the fourth row. Harry stared at her, eyes wide and panicked. He honestly didn’t think he’d ever known shame before that moment, standing in a brightly lit chemist’s shop in his parka with the word ‘lube’ stuck in his throat.

The lady blinked at the two of them and then checked her watch, her lips twitching. Next to Harry, Louis let out a long, loud sigh, and Harry braced himself for the moment that was about to happen.

“We’re looking for lubricant,” Louis explained, voice as neutral as Harry had ever heard it.

“We don’t sell automobile products here, love,” she replied, voice flat. Her annoyance seemed to grow with every second bringing them closer to 10 o’clock.

“I know,” Louis countered. “We need the other kind.”

There was a beat where the only sounds that could be heard was the low rumble of the ventilation system and the buzzing of the neon lights above them. Then, almost in slow motion, Harry saw the lady understand, her expression changing from annoyed to amused before his eyes.

“Oh,” she said, eyes flicking between them. “Row six. Come with me.”

Louis followed her, but Harry was rooted on the spot, his legs stiff and unresponsive. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even consider moving, completely paralysed by embarrassment. After a moment, Harry managed to make his way to the till, leaning on the counter to wait for them to come back. He kept his eyes on the clock, watching it reach and then go over 12. It was almost 10:05 when they emerged from row six, Louis holding a brightly coloured bottle in his hands. He placed it on the treadmill and grinned at Harry.

“I got a flavoured one. It’s called ‘cheeky cherry’,” he explained, reaching up to pinch Harry’s cheek. “It matches your face right now.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Why does it need to be flavoured?”

The lady let out a small chuckle that was almost completely drowned out by Louis’ laughter. “You’re adorable,” he replied, patting Harry’s cheek before pulling a £10 note from his wallet.

“Will that be all?” she asked after ringing the bottle.

“Yeah, we’ve got the rest already,” Louis replied, winking playfully.

Harry couldn’t hold back his groan and he turned on his heels, heading out of the shop and only stopping once he was leaning against the car. He watched Louis through the window, clucking his tongue to see him joke and laugh with the lady, and when he saw that Louis was on his way out, he circled the car to the passenger door so he could climb in the second Louis had unlocked it.

Once sat, he rested his forehead against the dashboard and let out another groan. “That was so embarrassing, oh my god.”

“You think? No, it went all right. She was great, she said this one’s her favourite and she gave me tips and stuff. Put on your seatbelt, Kitten, we’re leaving.”

Harry lifted his head with great difficulty and fastened his seatbelt, sighing dramatically. “I’m just glad it’s over. I never want to live a moment like this ever again.”

Louis let out a small laugh and patted Harry’s thigh. “Why are you so embarrassed? It’s normal to have sex.”

“But she knows we’re going to… y’know… in the bum.”

“Yeah, she does. So does everyone who sees us together.” Louis frowned, staying silent while he merged onto the motorway. “Are you sure you’re ready? You can’t even say it.”

“I can! Listen: we’re going to have anal sex in a half hour,” Harry snapped.

Louis nodded. “Okay. I was just checking.”

“I’m just not comfortable discussing my personal life with complete strangers,” Harry continued. “That doesn’t mean I’m ashamed, I just don’t like it. It’s private, the stuff we do together. It’s between you and I only.”

With another nod, Louis squeezed Harry’s knee. “I get it. I’ll go buy the supplies from now on, then. Don’t worry,” he said in a soft voice. He reached for the radio and turned up the volume. “Sing for me, now, while I drive.”

-

Back at the inn, they rushed up the stairs to their room. Louis fiddled with the key for a moment, hands shaking with anticipation, and they barged in as soon as the door was opened. Harry shed his coat and kicked off his boats, leaving them where they fell. He grabbed the champagne bottle from where it floated in the half-melted ice of its bucket and downed a long sip straight from it.

“Hey, hey, you’ve got to share!” Louis complained, pulling the bottle out of Harry’s hands and mirroring him. “A bit nervous, aren’t you?”

With a nod, Harry took the bottle again, taking a long sip before wiping his mouth. “Yeah. You?”

“Oh yeah. It’s my first time, too.” Wiping his mouth, Louis placed the bottle back on the cart and zeroed in on Harry, pushing him backwards until he fell sitting on the bed. “But now that we’re back here and have everything we need, I’m ready to eat you up.”

Harry giggled and grabbed a handful of Louis’ shirt to pull him down for a kiss. “What are you waiting for? Take your clothes off.”

Louis pressed another kiss to his lips before taking a few steps back. He peeled his shirt off and then undid his trousers, pushing them down along with his briefs. Harry leaned back on his hands to watch him, eyebrows raised and his lips in a satisfied smile. Bending down to remove his socks, Louis then walked back to the bed and climbed on it, walking on all fours until he could sit against the headboard.

“Your turn,” he told Harry, leaning back with his legs spread, his hand lazily wrapped around his cock. A smug grin was on his lips, sending arousal like an electric current down Harry’s spine.

He got up and undressed, his fingers numb with nerves and fumbling with the buttons and zipper. Louis’ eyes didn’t leave him for a second and his grin softened when Harry joined him, settling between his spread legs to peck his lips.

Gently, Louis shifted to lay Harry down, flipping them until he was above Harry and could place a soft kiss to his lips. Harry reached up and took Louis’ jaw between his hands, holding his gaze.

“We shouldn’t mess around too much. You know how fast I come when you touch me. I don’t want to come before we’ve begun.”

A smile, fond and loving, appeared on Louis’ lips. “You’re possibly the first boy in the history of the world to specify that he does not want a blowjob.” He pecked Harry’s nose. “All right, Kitten. Whatever you want.”

From Louis’ jaw, Harry moved his hands through his hair, bringing him closer for a kiss, parting his lips against Louis’ until he understood and slipped his tongue inside Harry’s mouth. Wordlessly, they began moving together, Harry’s hands clawing at Louis’ back so he would press down on him, his weight trapping their cocks between their hips and making every shift heavenly. Harry moaned, breaking the kiss to gasp for air, and he hooked a leg over Louis’ thigh to keep him close. This was known territory and Harry could have easily let his body take over, changing the plans of the evening by making sure they didn’t steer away from what he was comfortable with, but he wanted more. Opening his eyes, he found Louis’ on him and smiled. Blindly, he searched the bed until his hand closed on the handles of a plastic bag. He pulled it closer and retrieved the bottle of lubricant from it before handing it to Louis.

“Get busy,” Harry said, smiling even more when Louis’ breath stuttered.

Louis faltered, taking the bottle and looking at it with his eyebrows frowned. “Don’t you… don’t you want more foreplay? A bit more… I don’t know, something more romantic?”

“More romantic than a getaway with my boyfriend in a quaint inn after he’s given me jewels?” Harry quirked an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t need rose petals or, like, cherubs playing the harp. I need you, right here, right now.”

Louis nodded and pecked Harry’s lips before moving away, kneeling by Harry’s hips. “I researched how to do this right.”

“Was your research watching porn?” Harry asked, voice shaken by a barely contained laugh.

Louis pinched his hip with an insulted yelp. “No! Do you want this or not?”

“Yes, yes,” Harry conceded, reigning in his laughter. “Sorry. Please proceed.”

“Right.” Louis took a deep breath and tried to uncap the bottle, only to frown when nothing happened. “Oh, hang on, there’s the plastic wrapper that’s still on,” he muttered, fighting with it. He was growing increasingly annoyed and just when Harry was about to offer to help, he managed to rip it off, letting out a triumphant ‘ah!’ “Right, where was I?” He uncapped the bottle and sniffed it, grinning. “It smells like candy.”

Harry pushed himself up on his elbows to smell it and let out a chuckle. “Candy, exactly what I want my arse to smell like.”

Louis pinched him again, rolling his eyes. “Are you done talking shit?”

“Sorry, sorry, it’s the nerves.” Harry lied back down and crossed his hands on his belly, watching Louis intently.

At first, he looked about to squirt lubricant in his hand, but at the last second, he reached for a pillow and placed it underneath Harry’s hips, bending down to press a kiss to his belly button once it was done. Satisfied with what he’d done, Louis ran a hand down the inside of Harry’s thigh, nudging it aside so he had enough room to kneel between his legs. Harry gulped to see him positioned there, feeling exposed and raw with nerves. Louis poured some of the lubricant in his hand and then tossed the bottle aside. He rubbed his hands together, warming up the liquid, and then he coated the fingers of his right hand.

“I’ll start, now. You tell me if you want to stop, okay?” Louis said, his voice just a bit shaky at the edges. He gulped, his throat visibly working up and down, and then licked his lips. “Just one finger.”

Harry’s heart felt like a bird caught in a cage, trashing against his ribs to get out. His breath fluttered when Louis’ hand moved out of sight and he jumped when he felt the tip of his finger brush down his taint, tentatively.

“It’s quite intimate, isn’t it?” Harry let out, a breathless laugh puffing out of him. “I don’t even touch myself there.”

In a flash, Louis’ finger was gone. “We don’t have to do it this way. We can switch.”

“That wasn’t a ‘stop’. I was just commenting to break the tension.”

“You need to relax, Harry, or else I won’t be able to get in. Let me just…” Louis trailed off, instead shifting to lie down on his stomach in between Harry’s legs with his elbows holding him up. He pressed a kiss to Harry’s semi-hard cock, glancing up at Harry coyly. “I know you said you didn’t want that, but it’ll take your mind off the rest.”

Harry let out a long, deep, shaking breath and nodded. “I’m not going to stop you if that’s what you’re wondering. I’m not about to turn down a blowjob.” He let out a small laugh. “I trust you. Do whatever you want.”

Louis’ lips stretched into a smile. “If you insist.”

Harry barely had time to lie back down before Louis took his cock in his mouth, making Harry’s toes curl in surprise. He closed his eyes and gripped the sheets, his breath immediately becoming ragged under Louis’ relentless mouth. His head was quickly swimming as all of his blood rushed down to his cock, getting harder and filling Louis’ mouth with every back and forth motion of his head. Broken noises were coming out of Harry’s mouth, half-sentences interrupted by moans pushing their way out of Harry’s throat.

With one hand, Louis was stroking up and down Harry’s belly, pushing his fingers into his flesh on the upstroke and dragging his nails down as it came back, and it was too much, with Louis’ mouth on him and one of his fingers rubbing his taint, getting increasingly lower, so Harry took a hold of Louis’ hand and entwined theirs fingers, squeezing it tightly.

At the same time, Louis’ finger reached his hole, rubbing over and around it. Harry let out a sound like he’d never heard himself make before, halfway between a sob and a moan, and Louis giggled around his cock, sending vibrations through it that shot straight through Harry’s body. Harry spread his legs further just as the tip of Louis’ finger breached him and Harry’s lungs emptied with a huff.

It was weird. Not necessarily uncomfortable, but not exciting, either. Just—weird. Louis lifted his head, Harry’s cock slipping out of his mouth with a ‘pop’, and their eyes met.

“Okay?” Louis asked once his finger was completely in.

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice to reply with words. Slowly, enough that Harry could feel his rim drag along Louis’ finger, he pulled it out and then pushed it back in, making Harry let out a small mewl. Louis repeated the motion, again and again, until Harry’s breath turned raspy and his knuckles whitened under the effort of gripping the sheets.

“I’ll add another, now,” Louis warned before he did it, pushing two fingers in.

Harry gasped and arched his back under the stretch, no longer doubting whether he liked it or not. His discomfort having Louis in such an intimate place was gone, swept away by the waves of increasing pleasure washing over him. He writhed and moaned, a broken sound that ripped through him. Louis let out a small laugh and kissed the crease of his thigh, twisting his fingers as he pushed them, making Harry whine, high and pleading.

After a few more minutes, right when Harry felt like he might die from needing more, Louis added a third finger, eliciting the loudest moan yet, one that made him laugh.

“I’m getting jealous. It’s that good?”

Harry nodded frantically and wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking it in time with Louis’ fingers. He kept this up for a very short time, stopping as soon as he felt the first hints of an orgasm pooling at the bottom of his spine.

“Lou,” he breathed out, voice a wreck. “Lou, get on with it. I’m… I’m about to come.”

With a final kiss to the tip of Harry’s cock, making it twitch, smearing precome across his belly, Louis slowly pulled his fingers out and sat up on his haunches. Harry pushed up on his elbows to look at Louis, breath laboured.

“Let me,” Harry said when he saw Louis reach for the box of condoms.

He sat up, grabbed the box and opened it, hands shaking as he took one out. Licking his lips, he fought with the tinfoil packet for a few seconds before he managed to tear it open. With the condom in hands, he scooted closer to Louis and kissed him at the same time as he gave his cock a few tugs before putting the condom on. He had to break the kiss to glance down at what he was doing, realising with every second that knowing the theory didn’t mean he had any sort of talent to actually do it.

“It looks easy when they explain it to you,” he muttered while Louis chuckled softly to see him struggle. “Ah! There you go!” Harry gave Louis’ cock a few tugs to check that it was holding, satisfied with both his work and the mewl Louis let out.

Louis captured his mouth in a kiss, his hands flat against Harry’s back as he lowered him down on the bed. Harry returned the kiss messily, his heart hammering in his chest with the knowledge of what was about to happen. He clung to Louis’ back and held him flush against his chest, needing a few seconds of breathing deeply with his nose pressed to the crook of Louis’ neck to calm down.

“Are you ready?” Louis asked, his voice barely above a breath and warm on his cheek.

Harry looked up into his eyes and held his gaze for a moment, stroking Louis’ cheek tenderly. He nodded. “Yes. I’m ready.”

Louis mirrored his nod. “I love you, Harry,” he whispered, his lips brushing Harry’s as he spoke.

“I love you, too,” Harry replied, lifting his chin to kiss Louis.

“I’m… I’ll do it, now,” Louis said. He shifted over Harry for a few seconds before Harry felt the tip of his cock rub over his entrance. “Okay. Now.”

Louis pushed in, going slowly until Harry could feel his balls pressed against his bum. Harry had let out a gasp of surprise, at first, and it turned into a moan as Louis moved and he felt pried open and filled up, his body slowly adjusting to the intrusion. Louis didn’t move out, but lifted his eyes to meet Harry’s. They were wide and almost black with arousal, and for a second Harry worried that Louis had stopped breathing, until he heard him let out a moan that seemed to come from deep inside his ribcage.

“Fuck,” Louis breathed out, disbelief lacing his voice. “You’re so tight, oh my god. Are you okay?!”

Harry nodded frantically. “Just… just give me a second.”

“Take your time.”

Harry closed his eyes and forced his breathing back to normal, a smile tugging on his lips when Louis started peppering kisses all over his face. He could feel Louis shaking above him, could hear his ragged breath and he reopened his eyes to press a hand over Louis’ heart, the thumping of it making him smile even more. Shifting and gasping at the sensation, Harry wrapped his legs around Louis’ waist and his arms around his neck, scratching the nape of it and burying his fingers in the thick, warm hair there.

“Okay. Go slow,” Harry rasped.

Louis rolled his hips, once, and Harry saw stars. He let out a surprised moan and tightened his legs around Louis, pulling him closer with his heels digging into his back. Encouraged, Louis did it again, and again, and then a third time, picking up a rhythm that he punctuated with small, broken noises coming from his throat.

“Is this—” Louis began, breaking off into a moan, “Is this okay?”

“It’s brilliant,” Harry replied, giggling to realise that his choice of word – and no word, really – couldn’t convey exactly just how good it felt.

His whole world was reduced to Louis; above him and around him and inside of him was Louis, his scorching skin on his and his smell filling his nose, his warm breath ghosting on his lips, their foreheads pressed together with their sweat-mussed hair getting in their eyes.

“Y-you can go faster,” Harry heard himself say though he had no memory of forming the thought or choosing to say it out loud. “I won’t break.”

Louis kissed him at the words, messy and rough, with teeth colliding and noses bumping, and he picked up the rhythm of his thrusts. The room, which had been rather silent up until then, was now filled with the slapping sound of Louis’ skin hitting Harry’s with every push of his hips and with their moans, growing increasingly louder as their bodies learned to move together, Harry meeting Louis’ movements with thrusts of his own, using his legs around Louis as leverage to pull him deeper inside of him.

Harry’s orgasm started building within a few minutes and he shut his eyes tightly, trying to keep it away as long as he could. Every second brought his closer and he shook with his efforts to hold it back, not ready to come, not when it felt so good to have Louis in him this way. His hands splayed over Louis’ back and he dug his nails in, relishing the whine it drew from Louis and the way it made him feel a bit more grounded.

“Are you close?” Louis breathed in his ear in between gulps of air, his rhythm wavering in intensity as his entire body shook.

“Yes, but I don’t want to,” Harry replied, shaking his head, biting his lip for a second before he let out a moan when Louis rolled his hips just right.

“You first.” When Harry shook his head once more, Louis clucked his tongue and kissed him. “Yes. It’s your birthday. Come on, love, let go. I can feel how close you are.” Louis kissed a trail from his mouth to his neck and Harry only had a second to realise what he was about to do when Louis bit down on his neck, pulling the skin between his teeth.

Harry cried out, burying his fingers through Louis’ hair, cradling his skull and scratching at his scalp. His body jerked and he whined. Louis did it again, this time biting the crook of his neck, getting to the spot he knew drove Harry crazy. He accompanied the bite with a sharp thrust of his hips, hard enough to move Harry up the bed. He did it again, thrusting and biting at the same time, and it only took a third time of this for Harry to come, untouched. He clenched around Louis, involuntarily, and heard him gasp, his head thrown back on the pillow and his back arching off the bed, trapping his cock between their bellies where it spasmed and twitched.

At the first splash of warmth on his belly, Harry heard Louis let out a high, drawn-out moan and then he was coming, his hips stuttering against Harry’s bum while he gasped for breath and shook violently. Harry, feeling boneless and like he could melt into the mattress at any moment, stroked his back through his orgasm, smiling to watch his face contort.

In one swift motion, Louis pulled out of Harry. The sudden hollowness made him whine in discomfort and he squirmed in protest. His consciousness was slipping, the force of his orgasm making him sleepy, so he was vaguely aware of Louis getting rid of the condom and grabbing a nearby box of tissues to clean up the both of them. Harry let him, his eyes getting too heavy to open, and he smiled when he felt Louis gently tucking him into bed before placing a kiss to his nose.

“Hey,” Louis said, voice soft. “How’s my favourite boy doing?” He pushed Harry’s fringe out of his face with careful fingers.

Harry blinked his eyes opened and smiled up at Louis, goofy and sated. “He’s doing wonderfully well,” Harry replied, voice thick with sleepiness. “He’s been done wonderfully well, too.”

Louis giggled. “You liked it?”

With a snorted laugh, Harry rolled his eyes, his lips quirked up in a smile. “It was all right.”

“It was all right for me, too,” Louis replied, smiling hard enough to make his eyes crinkle. “Quite all right, yeah.”

Pushing himself up to kiss Louis, Harry tried to pull him down with him, to get him to slip under the covers so they could curl up together and sleep off what was quite possibly the best orgasm he’d ever had. Louis resisted, moving out of the embrace to the foot of the bed, where he retrieved the bottle of champagne and the bowl of strawberries before he joined Harry underneath the duvet.

Louis took a swig from the bottle before handing it to Harry, who imitated him. Louis pressed a strawberry to Harry’s lips and he bit into it with a smile that only widened when Louis licked the juice off his lips. Taking another sip from the bottle, Harry then leaned up to kiss Louis.

“You taste like strawberries, I love it,” Louis muttered against his lips. Harry could feel his smile.

“I taste like strawberries and my arse smells like cherry. I’m a bloody fruit!”

“Well, you did just have a cock up your arse, love,” Louis replied, laughing.

Harry drank again and then handed Louis the bottle so he could wrap his arms around Louis’ neck and move closer to him, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ve never loved you more,” he whispered, pecking Louis’ lips. “Thank you for tonight. I’ll never forget it.”

When he pulled back, he saw that Louis’ eyes were a bit shiny. He kissed him again, just a soft brush of his lips against his.

Louis cleared his throat. “Do you believe in soulmates?” he asked.

Harry swallowed thickly. “I do since I met you.”

With a nod, Louis kissed Harry. “Me too. I’m glad I waited to make love and that my first time was with you.”

“I’m glad you did, too. I’m so happy that we could share that.”

Harry pulled Louis against him, laughing when Louis took a long sip of champagne before setting down the bottle on the nightstand. The bowl of strawberries joined it and then Louis got settled against Harry, wrapping an arm over his waist and pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“I’ll have a hard time to top this birthday next year, hm?”

With a sleepy laugh, Harry patted Louis’ hair. “I’m sure you’ll find a way. Next year, though, try not to lie about whether you’ll be there or not, yeah?”

“And I’m going to ignore that,” Louis replied, kissing Harry’s arm. “Do you want to sleep?”

“Turn on the telly, if you want. I don’t think I have a choice whether I’m sleeping or not. It’ll happen even if I fight it,” Harry replied through a yawn big enough to make him feel like he might unhinge his jaw.

“Good night, then. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Harry replied, craning his neck to kiss Louis one last time.

He fell asleep quickly, lulled by Louis’ warm embrace and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Chapter Text

“Harry!” Anne called from the bottom of the stairs. “Have you got everything? We need to go!”

“In a minute!” Harry replied before walking back into the television room and shaking Louis awake. “Lou, come on, we’ve got to leave right now!” Louis mumbled and swung an arm out, trying to push Harry away, but he jumped out of the way with a tut. “Not this morning, please. We’ve got to get to Manchester!”

“Remind me why?” Louis muttered, lifting his head from a cushion and pushing his mussed up hair out of his eyes.

“My audition!” Harry snapped, throwing his hands in the air. “X-Factor? Remember? You’re the one who signed me up!”

Louis let out a sigh and nodded, pushing himself off the couch with a groan. “If I’d known I’d have to get up at bloody five in the morning…” He assessed Harry’s state, looking him up and down. “How long have you been awake for? You showered?”

“Well yeah! I can’t look bad on my audition! It’s filmed! For telly!” Harry bounced on the balls of his feet. “I woke up at three.”

With a roll of his eyes, Louis started putting on clothes. He was still clumsy with sleep, unsteady on his feet, and Harry had to catch his elbow before he toppled to the floor as he tried to pull on his trousers.

Once Louis was dressed, Harry grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along while Louis still looked half-asleep. Anne pointed at her watch, annoyed, once they finally exited the house and Harry nodded towards Louis with an apologetic smile. They got settled in the car, with Louis sprawling across the backseat and resting his head against the window to go back to sleep, and Harry in the passenger seat.

It was still chilly outside because of the hour, but the rising sun promised that a good, beautiful May day was ahead of them. Resting his own head against the window, Harry smiled to himself. So much had happened in the past months that sometimes, he couldn’t quite believe that it was his actual life and not something pulled straight out of a movie.

He’d continued his singing and guitar lessons through the winter, growing in confidence and skills every week. His YouTube channel had kept gaining views and followers, so much that he was starting to have his very own fanbase. A week earlier, he’d posted a video announcement that he was about to go to his final audition for The X-Factor and the response had been overwhelmingly positive, with his fans – and god, he would never get used to that word – promising to vote for him if he got through. He had a Twitter account, now, and a fair amount of followers, and that, too was odd. He’d always seen Twitter as just a fancy way to shout meaninglessly into the void, but he was getting replies, even to the most insignificant of tweets. He’d posted about getting ready for his audition earlier that morning and had gotten replies almost instantly from people in the United States who were up late wishing him good luck and to break a leg.

The first two auditions were a blur, blending into each other. There had been louds crowds and endless queuing, and then waiting in an uncomfortable seat for hours, and more queuing, so much that the actual auditions seemed like tiny blips in the whole process. He’d gotten the final call back a week earlier telling him he’d be auditioning for the real judges and it would be televised. He’d barely slept since.

Harry scrolled through the many replies with a smile and a yawn. He glanced in the backseat when he heard Louis let out a small snore and smiled, his heart skipping a beat like it always did whenever he was made aware of Louis’ existence, not just as the abstract concept of his long-distance boyfriend, but as a real boy, breathing and talking and presently slightly drooling down his own chin as he slept.

So much had happened with Louis, too. There had been visits, too few in numbers and too short each of them. They’d spent most of the month of March filling in university applications for Louis and then anxiously waiting for replies. The course Louis had applied for was behind their most serious fight to date and Harry still seethed when he thought about how Louis was ruining his life because he didn’t believe in himself. Instead of applying for musical theatre like he’d always dreamed of, he went down the practical – boring, soul-crushing – road and applied for accounting, claiming that if he was going to have a singer for a husband, he’d have to bring in a good salary. Harry had exploded, telling Louis that he had no right to pin his own insecurities and fears on Harry’s dreams and Louis replying that not everyone had grown up in a gilded world where dreams came true and that sometimes, sometimes, being logical was the only way to go.

In any case, Louis had been accepted to the London Metropolitan University despite his nearly dismal A-levels results and he was scheduled to move into his residence by the middle of September. Harry had a few thoughts on the matter and they could be summed up by a resounding ‘no’.

Twisting in his seat, Harry snapped a picture of Louis, smiling softly while his heart ached to be reminded of how much things were about to change.

“Nervous?” Anne asked, patting his thigh.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, letting out a shaky breath. “But it doesn’t feel real, yet.”

“Just be yourself and they’ll have no choice but to put you through.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re my mum and you have to support me.”

She clucked her tongue and shook her head with a fond smile. “You’re right. I think you’re mediocre, but I don’t have the heart to tell you.”

“That’s better,” Harry said with a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His stomach twisted uncomfortably when the first signs for Manchester started appearing.

Harry wished Louis were awake so he could ask him for tricks to control his nerves before he faced the judges. Louis had been so composed before his opening night as Danny Zuko while Harry had been racked with nerves on his behalf, his heart thumping all the way through in case Louis made a mistake and everyone made fun of him. Harry couldn’t have dealt with hearing people make fun of his boyfriend. It’d have killed him. He’d hid behind the bouquet of flowers he had brought whenever Louis had to kiss his Sandy and he’d been the first on his feet to applaud him, initiating a standing ovation with his enthusiasm.

“We’re picking up Gemma at her flat, did I tell you?” Anne said, taking Harry out of his memories.

He looked away from the road to nod at her. “You did. Three times.” Harry frowned, smiling. “Are you nervous?”

She laughed. “Probably as much as you are, love.”

Somehow, it calmed him down to know he was not the only one worried out of his mind. He twisted around to look at Louis once more, reaching with a smile to push his fringe out of his eyes with careful fingers. Louis stirred and scrunched his nose, rubbing it at it with his hand a few times before growing motionless once more. Harry pressed his head against the side of the headrest, his nerves receding temporarily. Without being able to quite explain it, Harry had the besetting feeling that he needed to commit that moment to memory, to secure it safely in his head so he could remember every detail of it: the sound of the tyres on the asphalt and the open road ahead of them; the lingering smell of eggs and bacon from their fast-food breakfasts and the bittersweet hint of coffee; the early morning sun bright in his eyes and warm on his skin and Louis, Louis asleep and as peaceful as he ever got, with his hoodie balled up under his head to serve as a pillow and his mismatched-socked feet up on the backseat. Harry closed his eyes for a second, stamping the moment in his memory, etching the way he felt like his heart was too big and too warm to be contained within him, belonging in deep space alongside suns and red giants, before he turned back to face the road with a yawn.

“Thanks, Mum,” he said after a moment, cradling his cup of coffee between his hands. “It’s not every mother who’d do what you’re doing now.”

Anne hummed and winked at him, her brows furrowing as they pulled into the early morning Manchester traffic. From somewhere off to their left, a car honked and Louis woke up in alarm, sitting up straight, confusion etched on his face.

“What—?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eye.

“It’s nothing,” Harry replied, twisting around to smile at him. “Did you have a good nap?”

Louis yawned, big enough that his jaw popped. “Not long enough.” He blinked a few times before leaning in to peck Harry’s lips, stroking the side of his head at the same time. “Nervous?” he asked in a whisper.

Harry only nodded, his heart in his throat. “I might retch soon.”

“Don’t,” Anne said, voice authoritative. “Robin just had the car shampooed.”

“He won’t, Anne, it’s just the nerves,” Louis replied for Harry, his voice still scratchy with sleep.” Louis petted his head once more. “Join me back here?”

Harry waited a few seconds for the car to be stopped, the traffic going into the city completely halted, before he unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed across the console to the backseat, ignoring his mother’s protest with a giggle. He sat down heavily on the seat and then buckled up once more before exchanging a high-five with Louis.

“That was gracious, Bambi,” Louis teased, sticking out his tongue.

“Right? I’m like a proper ballerina.”

Louis lifted an eyebrow, turning so his back was against the door and he could wedge his toes underneath Harry’s thigh. “I’d like to see you in a tutu and tights.”

Harry giggled. “I know what I’m giving you for your birthday.”

“Oi, I’m right here,” Anne snapped.

Harry leaned forward to peck her cheek. “Sorry!” he said quickly, laughing when she pushed his face away.

It took them almost an hour to get to the venue for the audition, between the traffic and stopping by Gemma’s flat to pick her up, and getting lost until Gemma turned on the GPS despite Anne’s insistence that she could find the place without it. After that, finding a parking spot was a nightmare and they circled the venue for twenty minutes before Louis snapped and said he’d pay for the bloody car park if it meant actually getting somewhere.

The queue was already long when they neared it. Anne checked the time and frowned, getting ahead of them to ask a lady sporting an X-Factor shirt a question and then motioning them forward. “We’re a tiny bit late, but she said it’s fine and we can still get in line. Go on,” she said, shooing them away until they joined the back of the queue.

As long as that queue was, it was nothing compared to the first day of auditions, when Harry had seriously considered turning around and leaving. They’d arrived around seven in the morning and only left after nine at night, exhausted. The second day had been slightly better, so Harry had high hopes for the third and final auditions. There couldn’t be that many people left to audition in front of the judges. There just couldn’t.

With every step forward that he took, Harry’s stomach twisted in a tighter knot. He was clinging to Louis’ hand, holding it tight enough that it had to hurt Louis and yet he said nothing. Louis hadn’t come to the first two auditions, unable to get out of work, but he had promised that he’d quit if he had to before he missed the final audition. Harry hadn’t commented on it, at the time, instead telling Louis that he was an idiot, but it had meant the world to him to know he’d have Louis by his side to face the single most nerve-racking moment of his life.

They were ushered inside and to a waiting room where people were already gathering, looking as nervous and sick as Harry. A man came over to him to give him a number to pin to his shirt and Harry tried to do it himself, but his hands shook so much that Gemma had to take over. He let her do it and caught Louis’ hand again, entwining theirs fingers and clinging to it with both hands. Around them, he could see certain people being interviewed by a camera, most of them the eccentric candidates that Harry had no clue why they’d been called back.

“It’s the weird ones. They make for good television,” Anne explained when she noticed him looking. “They bring them back because it’s funny, nothing else. That’s not your competition, love.”

Eventually the camera made it to him and he gave his first proper interview, talking a bit about where he was from – and probably insulting the entire population of Holmes Chapel by accident at the same time – and his dreams, finding as he talked that he was oddly comfortable with being on camera. The words came to him naturally and his confidence grew as he talked, allowing for his personality to shine through. They’d already interviewed him before his second audition, while he was queuing, but that one had been much more general. That one, he felt, was built specifically so the viewers at home could learn to know him better. He liked that, thinking that he was building his likeability with them, making sure they voted for him before he even got through.

It took almost three hours before he was called to audition. He walked to the door on shaky knees, white as a sheet and not saying a word, his heart in his throat.

“Oh! Wait!” Gemma exclaimed, searching through her handbag while they waited outside. “We forgot something!”

She pulled three shirts out of her bag and gave one to Louis and Anne, keeping one for herself and putting it on over her top. It said ‘We think Harry has the X-Factor!’ and Harry let out a groan before he could stop it.

“Oh my god, why?! Don’t wear that on telly!”

“I think it’s lovely,” Louis said, putting it on with a smirk.

“Harry Styles? Come in,” a man said, opening the door for them and writing something down on his clipboard. “Your guests can come, too.”

Anne nudged him forward and he led the way, his breath shallow, his eyes as wide as they could go. Seconds later, a bright light was shone in his face and a camera appeared, making him gasp in surprise.

“So, Harry,” a man said, smile bright. Harry recognised him from telly and he froze, star-struck, when his name popped into his head a second later: Olly Murs. He paled even more. “Tell us a bit about who’s here to support you today!”

Harry swallowed, feeling like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Hm, my mum and my sister and…” he faltered, glancing at Louis, “and Louis.”

There was a beat, a second of something uncomfortable hanging in the air after Harry’s hesitation and his final choice of words. He had no idea why he hadn’t been able to say what he’d planned: calling Louis his boyfriend. He’d never had any issue with it before.

“Well, good luck to you, Harry! You’re up next! Go!” the man urged him, still smiling that dazzling smile.

Harry was grabbed from all sides by Anne and Louis who smacked kisses on his cheeks and forehead before pushing him towards the stage, Gemma explaining to the presenter that there was no way she was kissing her brother on national television. He stumbled a bit over his own feet before straightening up and walking out on stage, immediately blinded by the spotlights. He shielded his eyes with his hand and waved at the judges, taking a deep breath and smiling his most winsome smile. He could already feel his heart getting lighter to see that Simon Cowell wasn’t part of the panel. He might not get eviscerated on national television, after all.

Harry lowered his hand and lost sight of who was talking to him, but he kept on smiling, hyper-aware of the cameras aimed at him.

“Hello, love,” a female voice said. “Tell us a bit about yourself.”

“Hm, my name’s Harry Styles, I’m 17… I’m from Cheshire and I work in a bakery.”

“And what will you sing for us today, Harry?”

He bit his lip for a second, smiling softly. “I’ll sing ‘Yellow’ by Coldplay. It’s for my—it’s for Lou.”

He cleared his throat, closed his eyes for a second, and started singing. He held the microphone with both hands to hide how much they shook and he made sure that he looked into every camera at least once, wanting to connect with the audience as much as he did with the judges, whom he tried to look at despite the blinding lights. He glanced once at the side of the stage, where he saw Louis looking at him and beaming with pride, and Harry poured all of the love he had for Louis into the line, singing ‘do you know, you know I love you so.’

Harry bit his lip once more when his allotted time was over and he shifted his weight between his legs as he waited for the judges to speak up. It had gone well, he knew it. He’d given his best performance to date and he had a really, really good feeling about it.

“That was lovely, Harry, thank you,” the same voice as earlier said.

The three judges began discussing his voice, complimenting him while also saying how young and inexperienced he was, and Harry’s heart was beating so loudly in his ears he felt like it might explode.

“It’s a yes for me,” a first judge said.

Harry blinked back to the moment, eyes wide.

A second voice spoke up. “You have a surprising voice for such a young man. I think that with proper vocal coaching, you could be brilliant. It’s a yes for me, too.”

Harry’s heart leapt. He’d done it. No matter what the third judge said, he was going through. His face broke into a wide smile, the kind that made the dimples in his cheeks appear, and he jumped with happiness when the third judge gave him a yes.

“Thank you!” Harry said, voice shaky with relief. “Thank you so much!”

He ran off the stage and into the arms of his family, laughing and crying happy tears. The whole process of the actual audition had taken no more than five minutes and it felt completely crazy to think that his life had been turned around in such a short time.

“I’m through! I’m going to be on The X-Factor!” he said, kissing cheeks at random and clinging to whomever was closest. He was only vaguely aware of a camera filming everything and it might have been why he only hugged Louis instead of going with his instinct and kissing him. He clung to him for a very long time, balancing from side to side.

“We’ll see you soon at bootcamp!” he heard Olly Murs say and the only reply he could have to that was a half-giggle, half-yelp of bewilderment.

-

There’s a phenomenon that happens in the dead of winter, when the world has been repainted in steel and charcoal, when it feels like cold is endless and forever: black ice, these thin layers of ice, invisible to the naked eye, turning the pavements treacherous and motorways deadly. One second you’re going about your life, unaware that in a moment the ground will slip from underneath your feet and send you sprawling down with no possibility to hang on to anything.

Harry’s life felt a lot like stepping on black ice. From the moment he came back home after his third audition in Manchester, it was like he was losing his grip on time, watching it slip away from him and feeling like the ground was vanishing and all he could do was tumble down and go wherever it took him. He finished his school year in a daze, disconnected from the reality of examinations to prepare and projects to work on, going through the motions like he was watching himself from outside his body rather than living the moment. When Harry closed his locker for the last time of the year, its content packed into his backpack, he took a long look around, knowing that it might be the last time he ever stepped foot in that building. He wasn’t allowed to tell anyone he’d made it to the bootcamp round – they’d made him sign enough non-disclosure agreements to legally shut him up for the rest of his life, it felt like – so he had to pretend things were normal despite the knot in his throat and the tears prickling his eyes.

By then it was already July, less than a month until he had to face London alone for the bootcamp, and despite the sluggish, uncharacteristically hot summer that had descended over England and made time go by in slow motion, he still felt like he was running out of time.

On a particularly restless day, Harry listened to his impulse of the moment and logged online to buy a train ticket to Doncaster with no return date, packed his bag and called his mother on his way to the train station to say he was off to spend a few days in Donny and he wasn’t quite sure when he’d come back, but he would let her know. He felt restless, like his skin was too tight, and he itched for something to happen to him, anything to make the endless waiting feel a bit more manageable.

The walk to the station, which took him almost an hour and left him covered in sweat and what promised to be sunburns, did nothing to alleviate his jitters. The train ride only made it worse, the two hours of it feeling like an eternity and a half. Once in Doncaster, he began realising that no one was expecting him and that he had never had to navigate public transportation on his own. He knew Louis’ address and could map in his head where his neighbourhood was in relation to the station, but he’d never had to get there by himself. He’d also never showed up unannounced and he gulped, hoping it wouldn’t bother anyone.

To try and calm down, Harry wandered into a Costa to buy something to drink, hoping that a dose of caffeine might help him refocus. He was about to, perhaps, go live on his own in London, surely he could handle Doncaster. With that in mind, Harry took a deep breath and left the coffee shop to try and find a map. He found one at the other end of the station and spent almost ten minutes studying it, muttering to himself as he tried to understand the route he needed to take.

Once sure that he’d deciphered it, he bought a ticket and went outside to wait for the bus, shielding his eyes against the glaring, late afternoon sun reflected into the windows of the building on the other side of the street. He was so nervous about getting to Louis’ house alone that he was forgetting about his now baseline X-Factor-related anxiety, which was exactly what he’d sought when he jumped on a train without any warning.

He made it to Louis’ house in a little under an hour, having missed his connection twice because he was waiting on the wrong side of the street. The driveway was empty, but he could hear the telly playing through the open windows, so he knocked, bouncing his foot.

Félicité opened and frowned when she saw him. “Harry? What’re you doing here?”

“It’s a surprise!” he said, forcing his voice to sound normal. “I’m surprising Louis with a surprise visit.”

“Louis’ at work,” she replied, still frowning.

Seconds later, Charlotte’s voice sounded from within the house: “Fiz? Who’s there?”

“It’s Harry!” Félicité called over his shoulder, opening the door wider so Harry could see that Charlotte was poking her head out of the living room.

“Harry? Louis didn’t say you were coming?”

She approached the door, the twins on her heels, and Harry was momentarily overwhelmed by the number of siblings Louis had. It was daunting to face their quizzical, enquiring eyes all at once.

“I’m surprising him. I… I don’t know. I felt like seeing him. Is it a bad time?”

Félicité and Charlotte shared a look. “No, no, it’s not! Come in,” Charlotte finally said, motioning him inside.

Louis’ sisters parted to let him in and Harry stood in the hall, uncomfortably aware of how weird it was to be alone with them for the first time.

“When is he coming back from work?” Harry finally asked to break the silence endlessly stretching between them.

“In an hour and he’s bringing dinner, Mum’s working a double shift,” Phoebe recited.

Harry nodded. “Can I… do you mind if I take a shower? I’m gross from the train.”

“No, of course not,” Charlotte said, finally setting things in motion by leading him upstairs to the bathroom. “You know where everything is, so make yourself at home.” She paused in the doorway and hesitated. “Louis’ been packing for uni, just so you know. I… he said you were taking it hard, so… be ready to see boxes in his room.”

A pang seized Harry’s heart for a second, like a hand wrapping around it and squeezing, cutting his breath for a heartbeat before it receded. “Thanks, Lottie,” he managed to push out, forcing a smile or, rather, the approximation of one.

“I’ll let you shower, now,” she said before leaving Harry alone in the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

Harry emerged from the steamy bathroom a while later, smelling of Louis’ products and immensely calmed by such a simple detail. He’d have to remember to buy the same ones when Louis would be gone so he would feel less lonely.

From the bathroom, he made his way to Louis’ room. He held his breath as he pushed the door, expecting to see it stripped down and bare, with everything wrapped up in boxes, but Charlotte had been exaggerating. There were boxes, yes, but nothing had been put in them, yet, which – Harry realised with a sigh of relief – was to be expected coming from Louis. Harry sat down on the bed, smoothing down the duvet with his hands and looking around with curious eyes. He’d never been truly alone in Louis’ room before, only brief instants whenever Louis had gone down to fetch something to eat or to use the loo, but never completely and never for long.

There was a framed picture on the nightstand and Harry picked it up, wiping a light layer of dust off the glass with a smile. It was a picture of the two of them taken after Louis’ opening night of Grease, arms thrown around each other and caught mid-laughter. For the first time, Harry noticed the way Louis was looking at him in the picture, his eyes soft and full of love. It was overwhelming to look at and he put the picture back on the nightstand, getting up to walk around the small room to let his eyes wander over the mess.

One of his sweaters was lying on top of a pile of Louis’ clothes and when Harry picked it up, he saw pyjama bottoms underneath. With a smile, Harry buried his nose in the sweater and inhaled, smelling Louis’ scent. It was time for a switch, he mused, saddened that he hadn’t brought Louis a new one.

There was a pamphlet for Louis’ new university lying on his desk and Harry picked it up, his stomach twisting uncomfortably as he looked at the bright and happy faces of the students photographed in it, leisurely studying on the steps of an old building or sitting in a classroom. Louis had drawn moustaches and eye-patches on a few of them and it made Harry chuckle, made the knot of his stomach loosen slightly.

Hanging on the wall over the desk was a corkboard overflowing with pictures of Louis and his friends, a few of them two scattered amongst them. Louis had glued a couple of sticky notes in the shape of a snowman to the edge of the board that said ‘Haz July????’ and ‘Niall Horan’ followed by a phone number based, if Harry was right, in Ireland.

Harry heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, accompanied by Louis’ loud voice proclaiming he was just going to change before they sat down for dinner, so he sat on the bed and waited for Louis to find him, jittery with anticipation.

Louis didn’t notice him at first, making a beeline for his closet, but he froze halfway and slowly turned on his heels, his face going through several emotions in a row, from uncertainty to confusion, finally landing on surprise and unbridled happiness, his eyes crinkling from how hard he was smiling.

“Harry?!”

Harry waved, laughing. “Surprise!”

Louis closed the distance between them and pulled Harry into a tight hug, pressing his knee into the mattress to keep his balance as he leaned his weight into the hug, nearly crushing Harry.

“That’s a lovely surprise, Kitten,” Louis whispered in his ear, pulling back just enough to give Harry a kiss.

“I missed you,” Harry said against Louis’ lips instead of the thousand other reasons that had brought him there, choosing the simplest one for the moment.

Louis smiled and kissed him again. “Missed you, too. How long are you here for?”

“As long as you want me. I don’t have a return ticket,” Harry admitted, laughing. “It was a very spontaneous thing I did.”

“You mean my mum doesn’t know either? How did you get here?”

“I rode the bus,” Harry said, shrugging.

“Alone?”

“I figured it out, yes. I have to get used to doing that if I’m moving to London soon.”

Louis nodded and smiled, pecking Harry’s forehead and burying his nose in his curls. “I’m proud of you.” He giggled. “You smell like me, it’s odd. I don’t like it.”

“I love it, personally.”

Moving away to change out of his work uniform, Louis stuck out his tongue playfully. He pulled on a pair of shorts and a short-sleeved shirt and then held out his hand for Harry, who got up and took it, letting Louis lead him downstairs.

“I brought Maccies for dinner, you can have my burger, I’ll eat something else.”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll make myself a toastie, as long as you share your chips I’m happy.”

“Is that all? You only need chips to be happy? And here I was working hard to be a good boyfriend!” Louis said, playing up the dramatics until Harry giggled and bumped their shoulders.

Dinner was a joyous affair, so much so that it had to be faked. Harry paid close attention to Louis through the meal, noticing how he worked hard to make sure the mood stayed high and light. The reason hit Harry hard, nearly choking him: Mark was gone and Louis was trying to fill the absence of the girls’ father, trying to make them forget that there should have been a father sitting at the table with them while their mother worked double shifts to make ends meet. It brought back a tidal wave of memories to the surface of Harry’s mind, some he thought he had forgotten forever. He could remember how wrong it had felt the first few months they were having dinner just the three of them, Gemma, his mother, and him, with his father’s chair empty. He remembered walking on eggshells around his mother, cautiously studying her moods and modelling his behaviour on them.

He remembered, then, the way Phoebe had seemed to be reciting something she’d been told hundreds of times and it left a bitter taste in his mouth to imagine Jay or Louis explaining to the twins what was going on and why they never saw their parents anymore. They would have to be explained why Louis was leaving, soon. The thought finished ruining Harry’s appetite and he abandoned his toastie on his plate, half-eaten. The hollow feeling in his chest, the one he’d tried running away from by coming to Doncaster, was back.

He tried to keep a smile on his face and conceal his anguish, but after they had put the twins to bed and bid Charlotte and Félicité goodnight, Louis expressed his worry.

“You look upset,” he said, his voice soft and careful, as he pulled Harry into his room and closed the door behind them.

“I suppose I am,” Harry mumbled with a dismissive shrug.

Gently, Louis sat him down on his bed and settled next to him. “Tell me?”

Harry swallowed around the permanent lump in his throat and sighed. “I don’t like change.” When Louis didn’t reply, Harry continued. “We’re about to change. Everything is about to change. I will lose you to London and you will lose me to that stupid show and nothing will ever be the same.”

“Hey, hey, what’s that, now? You’re not going to lose me, what’s this nonsense? Just because I’m going to uni doesn’t mean I’m getting rid of you!” His voice was coming out high and soft, and laced with concern.

“But you’ll meet an older bloke who’s more fit than I am and more clever and he’ll be living in your building and you’ll forget me.” Harry knew that was he was saying made no sense, that Louis loved him, but he couldn’t stop. His anxiety was getting the best of him. It had to come out, even if it made him sound crazy.

“Harry,” Louis snapped. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and held his gaze, eyes stern. “Harry Edward Styles. Shut up, now. You’re being completely mad. Do you honestly think I could ever forget you? That we have an expiration date? You’re my boy!” His expression softened. “You’re the love of my life. We’re soulmates, remember? You need to tell me when you think like that, I don’t like knowing you’re upset and scared.” Louis rubbed his arms. “I’m there for you and I always will be.”

Harry nodded. “I know you are, it’s just… I’m under a lot of stress, right now.”

“Are you sure you want to go through with that whole X-Factor thing? It’s really messing you up.”

“I’m sure, yes. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Did you? Because sometimes I feel like I’m the one who pushed you. I’ve been pushing you to try out since Disney World, remember? With the American Idol ride?”

Harry let out a small laugh. “I remember. I was too shy in front of you at the time to sing, though. I was still trying to impress you.”

“You didn’t have to try for that, you know, yeah? I was so impressed by you from the start. But, hm, yeah? You really want this for yourself?”

“I do, yes. There’s just many things happening at once in my life, it’s a bit overwhelming.” Harry took a deep breath to calm down, casting his eyes around the room to try and get a grip on the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. His gaze fell on the corkboard. “Who’s Niall Horan?” he asked.

“My roommate!” Louis perked up at the mention. “We’ve been assigned last week! And we’ve been texting a bit since and we decided we’d rent a flat rather than stay in a residence, y’know, like proper grownups! And it means I’ll have room for you when you’ll come visit.” Louis gave Harry an exaggerated wink. “He’s a great guy, the kind everyone gets along with, you know what I mean? You’ll love him and he said he wants to meet you because I talk about you so much.”

“Have you found a flat?”

“Not yet, I mean, London is bloody expensive, but we’ve found a couple places where it’s not too expensive, but it’s kind of far from campus, so we don’t know, yet. We just know we don’t want to live in a residence. Here, I’ll show you.”

Louis got settled next to Harry with his laptop and started showing up listings for flats and talking about his plans with that Niall bloke and Harry nodded and hummed at the right time, but his mind wasn’t there. He wished he were the one Louis was making plans with, not some Irish bloke who wouldn’t appreciate Louis the way Harry did. He’d probably get annoyed by the quirks Harry found so endearing. As much as he desired what The X-Factor promised to bring him, at the moment it felt more like a gilded prison awaiting him.

Despite Louis’ best efforts, Harry’s stay remained clouded with doubts and dark thoughts. He had thought that being near Louis would make it easier, but it only brought into sharper focus what he might lose in the near future. He stayed for five days, babysitting the twins whenever Louis had to go to work before spending the evening helping Louis pack his room, watching him store a lifetime of memories into a handful of boxes. Louis was cavalier about discarding things he didn’t want anymore and it only worsened Harry’s anxiety, making him fear that he might one day be one of the items Louis so carelessly got rid of when his purpose was passed.

Harry couldn’t shake the feeling, as his train was pulling out of the station and taking him away from Louis, that a chapter was ending. He didn’t think he’d ever go back to Doncaster to see Louis at his house; from now on, it would be London that he’d have to reach to see Louis. Louis wouldn’t be home in Doncaster anymore and he knew his boyfriend well enough to know that once he got out of Yorkshire, he’d never go back. He’d make London his home and take roots there, and it was up to the future to tell Harry whether he’d have room for him there or not.

-

The bootcamp was nothing like the auditions had been. It was pure concentrated stress mixed with pressure and the omnipresence of the cameras, always watching him and waiting to see if he would crack under the demands. Harry was the youngest by far; the contestant closest in age to him was in his early twenties, placing him roughly an ocean apart from Harry in terms of life experience and shared interests. The rhythm was hectic and the stakes high, wringing them all to the last of their sanity. Harry tried to make friends, but there was always the underlying knowledge that they were competing for spots on the show.

The day before Robin drove them to London, Louis called Harry excitedly to tell him he’d found a flat and that he’d be moving to London in two weeks, and Harry’s anxiety had gotten so bad that he rushed to the bathroom, feeling like he was going to be sick. He’d hidden it from Louis, forcing his voice to come out as happy as he could make it and then pretexting having to help his mother so he could hang up and crumble to the dank tiled floor, his heart racing and his mind in chaos.

In comparison to that moment, the low point of Harry’s summer by far, Harry felt oddly calm as he stood in front of the judges, awaiting their decisions. So calm, in fact, that when they told him he’d been selected, it took a few seconds for his brain to process the meaning of their words. A smile exploded on his face and he thanked them a thousand times before rushing offstage to call his parents and Louis, a mix of adrenaline and relief coursing through his veins.

There was only the judges’ house left to get through and he was soon informed that he’d be flown to Los Angeles to perform in front of the judge who took on performers in his age range. None of the friends he’d made, all relatively close in age to him, had gone through, making him the youngest in the ‘boys’ category by a whole six years.

Louis was, predictably, ecstatic to learn Harry had made it through to the final step before the actual show, but his happiness wavered when Harry had to cancel his first visit to London because of it. They rescheduled, but not without a hint of bitterness from Louis who admitted that he’d already planned the whole week and would have to move everything. He assured Harry that it was fine and that of course he should prioritise The X-Factor, that there was no question there, and that he couldn’t wait to see him and show him around his new city.

The trip to Los Angeles felt completely surreal. They were flown in first class and put into a five-star hotel, and Harry vowed to never get blasé about this lifestyle if it ever were to become his own. Being in another country meant that Harry couldn’t text Louis as much as he wished, especially since the production company made sure to keep them busy by showing them around the city when they were not rehearsing for their final performance. Cut as he was from communicating freely with Louis, Harry spent the first day feeling disconnected from himself and like half of him was missing. By the end of the second day, though, he was distraught to see that he had just as easily slipped into a rhythm where he didn’t talk constantly to Louis as he had started doing it in the first place, months ago. It was terrifying to see just how easily he could adapt to the absence of his boyfriend.

The verdict fell, but didn’t feel real: he was through. He was officially an X-Factor contestant and he would be moving into the house in September.

The news left him feeling numb despite his parents’ and Louis’ reactions once he told them.

He could picture himself standing on the edge of a cliff. Behind him was a house, its windows lit from within by a warm, yellow light and Harry knew that if he went inside of it, he would feel the comforting embrace of home and know he’d never have to worry. He’d get the reassuring presence of familiarity and the promise of a new school year, soon, and visits to London to see his boyfriend with a marriage a few years down the road. No alarms, no surprises, just an ordinary life like his parents and their parents and everyone down his family tree had ever lived.

Before him, beyond the edge of the cliff, down by the agitated sea, was the unknown, the glamourous promises of fame and the exhilaration to know he was, perhaps, a few months away from accomplishing his life-long dream. There was the sun-backed glitz of Los Angeles and the sleek glam of London, and everything every big city had to offer. The world could become his playground and he might never have to think about money another day in his life. He wouldn’t have to find a job or go to university and he could buy a house or two for him and Louis and their children to come.

The realisation came upon him like a wave, crashing over him and then receding softly, leaving him with the feeling of having been cleansed: Louis would be there, whether he pulled out of the show or went through with it. Louis was the only constant in his life and – he knew then – the only one he needed to push forward.

With a smile, he stepped off the edge and into the unknown.

-

“Harry!” Louis’ voice resonated above the chaos in the station. “Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry!” he kept shouting as he ran through the crowds and crashed into him, hugging him and lifting him off the floor. “You’re here!”

Harry laughed and held Louis just as tightly. Around them, King’s Cross Station was an organized mayhem of commuters and tourists weaving around each other to get to their destination, but in their small bubble in the middle of it all, Harry felt at peace. Between the bootcamp, the judges’ house and Louis’ move to London, they hadn’t seen each other in almost two months, the longest they’d ever done and it had been A Mistake, capital letters and all.

“I saw an ad on telly for the show and you were in it! I saw you! I shouted so loud, Niall fell in the shower, he thought we were getting robbed!” Louis shouted, seemingly unable to lower the volume of his voice. “Come on, I’ve already got you a card for the Tube and I don’t live far, but we need to leave your stuff at my flat before we go out for dinner, I made reservations for tonight!”

Louis grabbed his wrist and pulled him along while Harry struggled to keep up and craned his neck around to take everything in. The crowd swallowed them up as they headed for the Underground, people pressing in around them and making him feel highly conscious of how big his bag was. He hadn’t packed everything, yet, his parents would bring the rest with them once they came down to London to get him settled inside the house. For the moment, he’d only brought what he needed to spend the week at Louis’, yet his bag felt bulky and cumbersome on the packed train. Louis kept him close with an arm around his waist and another holding on to a pole to stay up as the train rattled and jerked down the dark tunnel. It was Harry’s first time on the London Underground and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

“Please mind the gap between the train and the platform. This is Holloway Road. This is a Piccadilly line service to Cockfosters,” Louis spoke along with the announcement, grinning. “I’ll never get sick of this,” he said, “it’s just so bloody incredible to think that this is my life, now!”

“So you like living in London, then?” Harry asked, pushing his way out of the train to follow after Louis, grabbing his hand as soon as he could.

“Like? Haz, oh my god, I love it! It’s incredible! I am never living anywhere else! I mean, we live close to the university so we can walk pretty much everywhere and we’re close to everything and I can’t believe this is my life, Haz, I honestly can’t!”

Harry laughed and pecked Louis’ cheek, smiling. He had never seen Louis so enthusiastic in his life. “I’m so happy that you’re happy, love, it’s great. You’re making me a bit jealous, to be honest.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Please, Mister X-Factor, you’re not allowed to say things like that. You’re about to become a big pop star, you don’t get to be jealous!” Louis pinched his waist. “But it’s nothing to be jealous of. It’s fun now, but wait until I start having to study.” He grimaced. “And besides, it’s missing my favourite boy, so it’s not perfect.”

“You’re allowed to like it even if I’m not there. I won’t be sad.”

Louis bit his lip for a second before he exploded. “Okay, so it’s literally perfect! And I know you’ll move here with me as soon as you can, so I’m not even sad about it, y’know? Does that make sense?”

Harry nodded. “It does. We’re a constant in each other’s lives. We’ll always be there.”

“Exactly!” Louis shouted happily, pointing at Harry with sparkling eyes. “You’re the one thing that doesn’t change! Oh! We’re there, let me get my key!”

They turned from the main road unto a smaller street. One side of it was occupied by a large university pavilion while the other was lined with disparate buildings. Louis stopped at a door between two shops and took out his key, jiggling it in the lock for a few seconds before it slipped in and he could unlock.

“We’re on the second floor,” he explained as he started up a narrow staircase.

Harry pressed his hands to the walls as he climbed, a bit uncomfortable by how close they were. He felt like his shoulders were barely an inch from scraping on them. A smell like humidity and dust hung in the air and he involuntarily wrinkled his nose.

“It isn’t much,” Louis began, unlocking a second door at the top of the stairs, “But the location is priceless. I’m never more than five minutes away from my classes.” He pushed open the door. “Niall! We’re here!”

The living room – if it could be called that – was smaller than Harry’s bedroom back home. A ratty old couch and a television had been crammed at one end, with barely enough space between the arms of the couch and the walls for a person to pass. The couch had its back to the rest of the flat and the television was placed in front of the couch. Several video game consoles were plugged into it.

Closer to the door was a small wooden table with two chairs, strategically placed so that it was possible to watch telly while eating and Harry spun on his heels to see a cramped kitchen, too small for two people to be in it at once. The counters were covered in dirty plates and cereal boxes. From between the living room area and the kitchen, a short hallway emerged, with a door on each side and one at the end.

“My bedroom’s down to the right, Niall’s on the left, and at the end is the bathroom,” Louis explained, before raising his voice. “Niall!”

The door on the left opened and a boy walked out, giving Harry a bright smile and a wave.

“Hey! You must be Harry! I’m Niall!” he said, holding out his hand to shake Harry’s. He spoke in a thick Irish accent and he was smiling so kindly that Harry immediately liked him. “It’s a pleasure to have you here.”

Harry glanced at Louis and saw him beaming proudly. He wondered if Louis had trained Niall to be this polite, or if it was just his personality.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Niall,” Harry replied, shaking his hand heartily. “Thanks for letting me stay for the week. There’s isn’t much room, so I know how big of a deal it is.”

“Not at all! The more the merrier!” Niall said. “Louis said you cooked well, I might offer you to stay if he’s telling the truth.”

Harry laughed. “As much as I wish I could, I have plans next week.”

Louis snorted a laugh. “Plans. You make it sound like a dentist appointment.”

Harry stuck out his tongue and Louis mirrored him, causing Niall to laugh.

“Sickening, the both of you. I’ll be in my room,” he said, backing away.

“No, we’re leaving actually. I got us reservations for dinner, so we only need to get changed and then we’re going.”

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, dropping his bag on the floor and rubbing his sore shoulders. “Is it fancy? Because I didn’t really bring any fancy clothes.”

“Not too fancy. Just a clean shirt and trousers will do, I think,” Louis shrugged. “It’s a surprise, where I’m taking you.”

Louis grabbed Harry’s bag and led him to his bedroom, which managed to be almost smaller than his room back in Doncaster. There was room for a double bed, a desk and not much else. Closing the door behind them, Louis crossed the short distance between them to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck and press a long kiss to his lips.

“I hadn’t had my kiss, yet. That’s unacceptable.”

Smiling, Harry returned the kiss, placing his hands on Louis’ waist. “Better?”

“Not quite. You’ll have to be really good tonight to make up for it.”

With a small laugh, Harry kissed Louis’ nose. “I’ll try.”

“Good boy.” Louis slapped his bum. “Now get changed.”

After slipping into the nicest clothes he’d brought and watching Louis do the same, they headed out for the restaurant. They couldn’t have spent more than twenty minutes at Louis’ flat, but already, the rush hour crowd was thinning and Harry managed to find a seat on the train. He let out a loud peel of laughter when Louis sat in his lap, wrapping his arms around Louis’ middle and resting his forehead against his back.

Harry had a thousand things to tell him, but he kept quiet. He was unsure where to start as well as hyper-aware that it was slowly becoming a problem, this thing of is where he did not know how to tell Louis what he had to, skimming to the surface in their conversations rather than admitting what troubled him. He lied to himself and said he’d tell Louis at the restaurant while knowing he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t bring up his growing anxiety problems or how jealous he was of Louis’ new, adult life during a romantic dinner, just like he wouldn’t tell Louis that he hadn’t had a full night of sleep in weeks because of the stress The X-Factor was causing him when they went back to his flat. It’d be simpler to talk song choices and outfits. It was less likely that he would cry.

“Covent Garden, hm?” Harry commented as they exited the station, hands entwined. “You’re spoiling me.”

“Just take notes and give it all back to me once you’re rich and famous,” Louis replied with a wink.

“And if I’m never rich and famous?”

Louis smirked. “You think I’ll still talk to you if you lose?” He cast a quick glance at Harry and continued when he saw that Harry was smiling. “I don’t date losers, sorry.”

“Well, that’s good to know. I’m glad you were honest with me. It’ll save us a lot of awkward moments in the future,” Harry replied in a deadpan, a smile cracking at the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, it’s good that we’re so honest, it’s healthy.”

“Can you imagine, though,” Harry began, smiling at last, “if the show was like that book, The Hunger Games, have you read it?”

Louis burst out laughing, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. Could you kill people? If your life depended on it? I think I could.”

“I know you could. I’m not sure if I could.”

“I’d protect you,” Louis immediately replied. “We’d team up like they did and we’d conquer because love conquers all.”

“Love doesn’t conquer all. Have you read the sequels?”

“So what, you think Katniss should have killed Peeta to win?”

“No, I’m just saying, they didn’t win. No one did, in the end.”

“You’re chipper tonight, aren’t you?” Louis grimaced. “Is something the matter?”

Harry shook his head. “No, no, sorry, I’m just hungry,” he replied, biting his cheek in anger to have missed a good opportunity to be honest.

“Well, cheer up because it’s right there.” Louis pointed at a restaurant with red awnings. “Clos Maggiore. Apparently, it’s very romantic,” he added, a bit self-conscious.

‘Apparently, it’s very romantic’ would turn out to be the understatement of the year, because as they were led through the main room of the restaurant into the conservatory, Harry’s heart skipped a beat. The ceiling and the walls were hung with leaves and white blossoms with fairy lights interwoven through them. A fireplace occupied the back wall and a fire was roaring inside of it, casting long, dancing shadows around the room. It was still light outside, but the conservatory was so cosy and dim that Harry immediately felt like it was the middle of the night. They were seated at a table near the back and Harry hurried to take the seat that gave him a good view of the fireplace and the rest of the room.

As soon as they were seated, Harry reached across the table for Louis’ hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Lou. This place is beautiful.”

Louis smiled at him, eyes crinkled. “The fairy lights make your eyes twinkle. I can’t believe you’re real.”

The comment was so earnest, so heartfelt, that Harry let out a giggle and looked down, bashful around Louis for the first time in months.

“You’re such a good boyfriend, sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you,” Harry began, feeling a flow of words coming on and not knowing how to stop it. “You do all of these amazing, romantic things for me and I never do anything in return. I can’t believe you still put up with me, it’s just insane.”

A cloud passed over Louis’ mood and his eyes darkened. “Harry, let me be the judge of who deserves me and who doesn’t, yeah?” He shook his head. “You’re overthinking this, you’re letting your anxiety get the best of you.”

Harry was startled to see that Louis had noticed he was struggling more and more with anxious bouts. He gulped and let him continue.

“I’m not doing what I do because I expect the same from you, but because I love making you smile. You say you’ve never done anything for me, but, love, look around. We’re in London because I live there. I wasn’t even planning to go to uni before I met you. I never told you that, did I? But you made me feel like I was worth something, love. And the way you just go after what you want… it’s inspiring. It’s made me want to be a better person just so I could deserve to stand next to you. You burn so bright, Harry, and we’re all just glad to be allowed to live in your shadow.”

Breathless, speechless, his heart hammering in his chest, Harry stared at Louis for a moment. Here was the boy he’d always looked up to telling him that he was inspiring and that he’d changed his life.

“I had no idea…” Harry reached for his glass of water and took a long sip, his throat parched. “But you don’t live in my shadow, Louis. You burn just as bright.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “That’s sweet, but I don’t. By some sort of miracle, you haven’t noticed yet that I’m a deadbeat dirtbag, but believe me, I am not what you think I am.”

The waiter neared their table to take their orders, but left without a word when he saw that their menus were still untouched. Harry squeezed Louis’ hand tighter.

“You’re not a deadbeat dirtbag. You’re… you have the biggest, most selfless heart I’ve ever seen in anyone in my entire life. The way you take care of your sisters, it’s incredible. And the way you take care of me, always putting me first.”

Louis gave him a small, wavering smile. “All right, so… let’s agree that we both deserve each other, yeah? And order? Because I’m famished.”

Their conversations lightened after they received their first course and some of their hunger receded. Louis ordered wine and winked at Harry when he was about to protest that he’s not 18 yet, and by the time they had scraped the last of their dessert off the plate, Harry felt warm and happy.

“Do you want to walk for a bit?” Louis offered after they’d mildly bickered for the check, deciding to go Dutch when they’d seen the amount printed on it.

They wandered down the streets, hand in hand, until they reached the Thames, and from there they walked longer still, talking and making plans for their future, crazy plans like living on a deserted island together and more realistic ones, discussing numbers of children and locations for the wedding, until the moon was high in the sky and their feet were sore.

Back at the flat, they tiptoed to Louis’ room and locked the door, falling on the bed in a tumble of limbs. They kissed and kissed and kissed, taking their time to explore their bodies, relearning every angle and curve, and by the time Louis pushed inside of Harry, the two of them were shaking with desire and love and, for the first time in weeks, Harry’s anxiety had completely disappeared.

-

By the fifth day of his stay, Harry was glad that he’d packed a comfortable pair of trainers. Louis kept them out of the flat at all times, taking Harry on a tour of the most touristic spots London had to offer. Nothing was left unvisited: from the London Bridge to the Tower of London, with an unexplainable visit to The Globe despite their mutual disinterest for Shakespeare. Louis only skipped the museums, saying that he wasn’t a fan of them and didn’t really care for old paintings. Harry found the time to get a tattoo impulsively, watching in amazement as Louis sweet-talked the artist into letting Harry get one despite being a minor. He chose the outline of a star and clung to Louis’ hand as he watched the artist tattoo the inside of his bicep, grinning to feel so wild and young and free. They had tea in a quaint teashop near Hyde Park, where they then went for a stroll, and had a picnic in St James Park before visiting Buckingham Palace, where Harry snapped a priceless picture of Louis mimicking a guard.

It was only one amongst close to a thousand pictures that they took between the two of them. Wordlessly, they shared the same plan to immortalize the other as much as they could before they were separated by the diverging roads their lives were taking. Despite living in the same city starting next week, they knew they wouldn’t see each other much, if at all. Harry did not yet know how cloistered he’d be inside the house, but he didn’t expect he’d be allowed to pop out for a quick visit to his boyfriend once he’d been locked in. They were making memories and, at times, it almost felt too much, over the top, ridiculous.

The day before Harry’s parents were coming down to London to get him settled, they’d finally admitted that they were exhausted and needed a quiet day, so Louis offered they go for a stroll in Kensington Gardens and take a nap in the shade.

Harry had expectations about Kensington, knew it was one of the poshest areas of London, but it didn’t prepare him for the immediate and bone-deep love he felt at the first sight of the tall, rust-coloured houses lining Kensington Court. Everything about the neighbourhood had charmed him, but there was something about the row of houses on that particular street, standing straight like soldiers in attention and looking like they’d been taken out of postcards that tickled his fancy.

“If I ever get rich,” Harry said, craning his neck to look all around them, “I’m going to live in one of these houses.”

“Of course you will, posh boy,” Louis said, snorting a laugh. “You want a house with a view of Queen Victoria’s palace, don’t you?” Louis added, putting on his best approximation of a posh accent.

“Why not?” Harry giggled. “Wouldn’t it be grand to live here?”

“Oh, ‘grand’, your vocabulary’s already changing, old chap,” Louis continued in the accent, grinning.

“Fine, you’re not invited. I’ll live in my grand house here and you won’t be allowed inside,” Harry said with a laugh.

“But who’s going to cover you in kisses, if I can’t come in?”

Harry put on a mock thinking face. “I hadn’t thought about that. I suppose you could come in, but you wouldn’t be allowed to enjoy it.”

Louis let out a bark of laughter. “Deal. As long as I get to be with you, I can pretend that I hate your posh house.”

Harry threw his arms around Louis’ shoulders and smacked a kiss on his cheek, grinning when Louis giggled and leaned into him. They made their way to the park like that, half-crab crawling and half-shuffling so they wouldn’t have to stop being wrapped up in each other.

They walked around the park for a while, searching for the perfect spot, and after half an hour they finally found it, nestled between flower beds and trees. The grass was dappled with flecks of golden sunlight, the breeze was just right, and when they lay down, still wrapped up in each other, they were lulled to sleep by birdsongs and distant laughter.

Waking up a while later, neither of them bothering to check how long they’d slept, they lazily made their way back to the Tube station, arms around waists and debating dinner options, skirting impending arguments with well-timed kisses. The consensus was to order takeout and Louis pulled out his laptop once they reached his empty apartment, Harry sitting close to him and kissing his jaw every time Louis spoke.

With the food ordered, they turned on the telly and distractedly watched it, exchanging kisses and gentle, reverent strokes that left Harry feeling dizzy with happiness.

Their curry arrived and they made the effort to move to the table to eat it, and while they discussed with their usual enthusiasm, the topics they chose stayed mundane. The shadow of their separation loomed too big, too dark over them for them to think about it, let alone address it.

Once the dishes had been cleared away – and Louis’ definition of that was to pile them in the sink on top of what was already there – a heavy, uncomfortable silence descended between them. The first they’d had since they met, it seemed to Harry, and it made his stomach twist up uncomfortably.

“So…” Louis said, clearing his throat. “What do you want to do?”

Harry looked at Louis, at that boy he’d met a little under a year earlier, and he felt a surge of affection and love for him. Behind the bravado and snark, Louis was just as overwhelmed by their love as Harry was, he could see it plain as day in his eyes as he watched Louis watching him. It physically hurt him to think about it, made his chest feel too small and his heart beat faster like it was trying to squeeze more beats into the little time they had left together. And it still looked like the same Louis he’d met all those months ago, but little details had changed, so minute he hadn’t noticed them appearing, but that became obvious when he looked at the whole picture. Louis’ cheeks now showed the patchy beginnings of a beard, which promised to be full before he turned 20; he was leaner than he had been when they’d met, but despite his narrow chest and frail wrist, he looked stronger, older. Harry had met a teenager, but now he was looking at a young man.

Louis shook his head to the side, nervously adjusting his fringe under the scrutiny. “Hm, Haz? Say something, please.” His voice was barely above a breath.

“You,” Harry replied, standing up and getting closer to Louis. “I want to do you.”

A shiver shook Louis and his eyes flicked up to lock with Harry’s. He had grown since they’d met, just enough for Louis to need to look up when they were close enough for their heartbeats to mingle. For a second, a breath, Louis looked lost for words, but blinked and it was gone, the uncertainty replaced by the fire of lust in his eyes.

“You want to take me while I’m still enough for you, rock star?” he asked, coyly and with batting eyelashes.

“I’m not a rockstar, yet,” Harry replied, latching unto that part of Louis’ question, knowing that he’d lose control as soon as he let himself consider the rest of it.

“But you will be.” Louis closed the distance between them to kiss Harry’s lips. “And—”

“Don’t,” Harry interrupted him with another kiss. “Don’t finish that sentence. It won’t happen. I’ll always want you. You’re the one for me.”

“You’re my ecstasy, you’re the one I need…” Louis hummed under his breath, prompting Harry to pinch his waist.

“Stop it. I’m serious. I’m not going to find a new boyfriend just because I might become famous. I don’t want anyone else, I only want you. For the rest of my life. Unless…”

“No,” Louis snapped. “I won’t be the one to end it between us. Never.”

Harry gulped and nodded. “So, stop talking like tonight is our last night together.”

With a long sigh that seemed to come from deep within him, Louis rubbed his face. “I know, I just—things are about to change and it’s scary. And I’m trying to keep it together to reassure you, but I’m actually terrified. I can’t lose you, Haz.”

“You won’t lose me! I promise—Louis, look at me. I promise that you won’t lose me.”

Louis nodded, hooking his arms around Harry’s neck and he kept nodding as he leaned in for a kiss, pressing his body against Harry’s. Out of reflex, Harry’s arms wrapped around Louis’ waist and he pulled him closer, holding him tight enough that it felt like he was trying to fuse their bodies together.

“I want what you want,” Louis whispered, bumping their noses together. “I want you to make love to me.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat before it started beating wildly and it was his turn to nod emphatically as he started walking Louis backwards towards his room. “But not because it’s the last time I’ll want you, okay? I’ll always want you.”

They had reached Louis’ room and at Harry’s words, Louis moved away to close the door, and Harry suspected he needed a second to hide his face before he could reply. He wished he knew how to show Louis he wasn’t going to get rid of him as soon as he had better options, but he could hardly believe Louis wouldn’t do exactly the same thing to him; it was hard to come up with arguments for something he feared, too.

Before Harry could find something to say, Louis closed in on him and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it off Harry and throwing it on the floor. He pressed a kiss to the centre of his chest.

“I’ll always want you,” he said, his hands roaming over Harry’s warm skin. “You’re growing up so fast, you look more like a man every time I see you,” he continued, pressing kisses up the column of Harry’s neck and along his jaw.

Smiling, Harry pulled on Louis’ shirt until he took it off, pausing while Louis removed his glasses so they wouldn’t get stuck. All the while, Louis kept peppering his skin with kisses and showering him with compliments that made Harry’s heart flutter wildly. Letting Louis speak, too speechless to reply in kind, Harry let his hands caress every inch of Louis’ skin, stepping into his space and pressing their foreheads together while he listened to Louis’ babbling about every part of Harry he loved.

They made it to the bed, climbing on it in a tangle of limbs, giggles and kisses mingling together as they fell from their lips, and there were a few minutes of fumbling as they removed their clothes and tried to find a position they were comfortable in. Louis’ mattress was lumpy and Harry made a show of complaining about it, squirming around on his back until he found the right spot. He pulled Louis to him and pressed a long, insistent kiss on his lips, pulling and pulling until Louis finally climbed on top of him, lining them up from head to toe, and still they were kissing and stroking the other’s skin, touching like it was holy.

Their hips rolled together in almost perfect synchronicity. Harry wrapped his arms around Louis and pressed his hands flat against his shoulder blades, digging in his nails and smiling to hear Louis let out a sharp exhale and a high-pitched whine.

“H-how?” Harry choked out, the word getting trapped in the way Louis’ cock felt as it rubbed against his hip, hard and hot and it flooded Harry’s mind with the sudden desire to let Louis take him like they always did, to be filled and surrounded by Louis and have his whole world narrowed down to nothing but Louis, Louis, Louis.

Louis answered, “You on top. On my back,” and the desperation in his voice, the need and want, flushed the ideas out of Harry’s head at once.

He flipped them over, trapping Louis between his body and the mattress, and he relished the mewl that Louis released and the way his body undulated beneath Harry. Louis wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist, pulling him even closer and pressing their cocks between their bellies, which drew moans from both of them.

“You need to finger me,” Louis breathed out, flinging out an arm towards his nightstand. He tried, unsuccessfully, to open the top drawer a couple of time before Harry reached out and did it, retrieving what Louis had sought and sitting back on his heels. He looked down at Louis. “You know how, right?”

“I’ve felt you do it to me, yeah.”

“But you’ve done it to yourself?”

Harry shook his head. “The angle’s odd. It didn’t feel good.”

Louis rolled his eyes fondly. “Well, I have to myself so I know what to expect. Except…” He took hold of Harry’s hand, studying it. “Your fingers are bigger and longer than mine. That’ll be fun!” He sounded thrilled. “Start by coating your fingers with lube, yeah? At least three of them, the middle ones,” Louis explained, holding up his three middle fingers. “Be generous, you can’t use too much.”

Harry did as he was told, grimacing when he spilled some on his thighs. “And now?”

“Hm, let me think,” Louis said, frowning for a second. “For that part, I think it’ll be easier for you if you see what you’re doing. Hold on.” Louis wiggled out from underneath Harry and turned so he was on all fours, his bum sticking out in the air. “Better, yeah?”

Harry swallowed. Louis was spread in front of him, hiding nothing and feeling no shame for it. He put a hand to Louis’ cheek, squeezing it until Louis let out a small noise and a laugh.

“Enjoying the view?” Louis asked, twisting his upper body so he could look back at Harry. With a smirk, he used both of his hands to spread his cheeks apart. “And now?”

Any reply Harry might have had died in his throat at the sight. Hesitantly, he pressed a finger to Louis’ pink hole and watched in amazement as it fluttered under the touch. Louis let out a deep sigh and a hum, so Harry kept pressing his finger until it breached in, drawing a surprised moan from the both of them.

The first finger took a while, Louis repeating constantly to go slower, but once it was in, he demanded that Harry start moving it, asking for a faster rhythm whenever Harry faltered for a second. Within minutes he was begging for more and Harry carefully slipped in a second finger, watching them disappear inside of Louis in amazement.

“Curl them a bit, just…” Louis’ words were interrupted by a loud moan when Harry’s fingers hit his prostate – by accident, to be honest – and his body jolted under the sensation. “Y-yes, right there! Again!”

Harry curled his fingers as he pulled them out before pushing back in, doing it again and again. He watched Louis unravel beneath him, his hands gripping the pillow he’d place under his head and moans like Harry had never heard spilling from his lips.

“Another,” Louis begged, “please.”

Harry obeyed immediately, his cock twitching where it hung hard and heavy between his legs when he saw the way Louis’ rim was stretched and bright red around his fingers. Louis let out a long-drawn moan, his breath stuttering as Harry pushed in and then pulled out, remembering to curl his fingers to hit Louis’ prostate.

He only had to move three times before Louis was crawling out of reach and flipping on his back, beckoning Harry closer and grabbing him by the back of the head for a kiss. “Fuck me, now. I need you in me,” he said against Harry’s lips.

Harry searched the bed blindly for the box of condoms and he fumbled with it to take one out, only to be stopped when Louis grabbed the box and threw it away from them.

“Skip the condom,” Louis said in between kisses. “We don’t need it. I don’t want it.”

Harry pulled back to look at him, frowning. “Are you sure?”

Holding his gaze, Louis nodded. “I’m sure. We’re both each other’s first. We’re clean.”

Nodding, Harry grabbed the bottle of lubricant instead and smeared some in his hands before coating his cock, biting his lip against moans as he did so. Once he felt he’d put on enough, Harry climbed over Louis and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Ready?”

“When you are, love,” Louis replied, his voice soft despite his heaving breath.

Slowly, carefully, Harry lined himself up against Louis’ entrance and began pushing in, stopping when he heard Louis gasp in shock.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, it’s just—wow, you’re bigger than I was expecting. Keep going.”

So Harry did, pushing in as slowly as he could, fighting the spasms of his hips at the tight, tight heat engulfing him. He pushed in, inch by inch, until their hips were pressed together and he was worried Louis had completely stopped breathing.

“It gets better,” Harry whispered, bowing his head to kiss Louis softly. “The first thrust is the worst.”

Louis nodded, lips pressed tight and eyes watering. He let out a shaky exhale and shifted his hips minutely, testing. “Go,” he said in a breath. “Slow.”

Harry pulled out as slowly as he could, shaking with restraint, and stopped when only the tip of his cock was still inside Louis. He locked eyes with him and waited for Louis to nod before thrusting back in. Louis let out a long, drawn out mewl that ended in a breathless laugh.

“Good?” Harry asked. He was vaguely conscious that his hips were twitching, shallowly thrusting forward.

“Yes, yes, keep going, stop asking questions!” Louis let out in a shrill voice.

So Harry kept going, building up a rhythm that was increasingly fast as Louis dissolved beneath him, turning into a mess of half-sentences and loud, loud, loud moans. Harry had been worried that he wouldn’t know how to do it properly, but his body took over and he let his mind shut down, his head blissfully empty except for the way Louis felt under and around him, and how he wished he could stay like this forever.

Louis was clawing at his back, his nails scratching the skin, sure to leave marks, and the bed was creaking, and Harry was covered in sweat, shaking with exertion and fatigue, sounds and words spilling out of his mouth without him realising, and he could feel his orgasm building at the bottom of his spine, feel the familiar tug and everything inside of him getting tighter, high-strung.

Louis moved a hand up the nape of Harry’s neck to bury it in his curls and tugged on them, forcing Harry to lock eyes with him.

“I love you,” Louis said.

Harry’s rhythm faltered and his heart thumped in his chest, and before he could try to hold it in longer he was coming, spilling inside of Louis, hips stuttering and a long, low moan falling out of his mouth.

Louis let out a gasp of surprise. “Shit, I can feel every spurt!” he commented, his usual lack of filter making Harry laugh before he collapsed on top of Louis.

Louis cradled him against his chest as he shook in the aftermath, stroking his back soothingly. After a few minutes, Harry tried to pull out, but Louis wrapped his legs tighter around him with a whine.

“No, no, no, stay in. I want to come with you in me,” he pleaded, rolling his hips against Harry’s, pushing him deeper inside.

“I can’t come again, Lou,” Harry said, worry lacing his voice. “And soon it’ll hurt…”

“Then hurry up and make me come.”

Harry rolled his eyes and snaked a hand between them to wrap it around Louis’ length, smiling to hear him let out an appreciative mewl. He pumped him fast, his hand slippery with precome and leftover lube, while Louis clenched around Harry’s cock and moaned louder and louder until his voice broke in a high-pitched noise and he came, grinding wildly against Harry’s hips, his back arched off the bed, and gripping the sheets tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

Waiting for Louis to come down and relax, his eyes fluttering shut with a satisfied smile on his face, Harry slipped out of him and rolled on his back, landing on one of the mattress’ lumps. He grimaced and shifted closer to Louis, who blindly searched for his hand and entwined their fingers.

For a while, the room was only filled with the sound of their panting breaths and the faraway, distant noises of traffic reaching them from beyond the open window.

“I love you, too,” Harry replied, belatedly.

Louis squeezed his hand. “Haz, guess what?”

“What?”

“I think I’m a bottom,” Louis said, his voice breaking into giggles. “I loved it way more than when I top.”

“Your moans gave it away. I think there’s some people three blocks over who must have heard.” Harry turned his head to grin at Louis, laughing when he saw the offended look on his face.

“I was trying to encourage you! Sorry for being a good, supportive boyfriend!” he squawked before laughing again, curling up into Harry’s side and resting his head on his chest. “Did you like it?”

“The same as the other way around. But if you want to bottom more often, I won’t mind.”

Louis shrugged. “We can share that. I’m quite versatile.” He laughed, quiet and to himself. “Hey, Haz. Guess what?”

“What?”

“Your come’s dripping out of my arse.”

Harry grimaced. “That’s disgusting!”

“That’s yours! It’s your fault!” Louis kept laughing, giddy and brimming with happiness. “Do you want to shower with me, dirty boy?”

“I’m not the dirty one, you are,” Harry replied, sticking out his tongue.

“Keep talking like that, Styles, and I’ll smear it all over your face.”

With a squawk, Harry jumped off the bed and raced to the bathroom, Louis on his heels and slapping his bum repeatedly as he fumbled with the bathroom’s doorknob.

Later, much later, their minutes left together slipping through their fingers like sand, when they were cuddled in bed and trying to pay attention to the movie playing on Louis’ laptop, Louis reached for Harry’s hand and squeezed it tight enough for it to hurt.

“I don’t want you to leave tomorrow,” he said in a low voice, barely above a breath. “I want to be selfish and tell you to stay with me.”

“I would,” Harry replied, entwining their fingers.

“I know. That’s why I would never ask.” He brought Harry’s hand up to his lips and kissed it, sighing as he brought it back down.

Louis freed his hand and took Harry’s left hand, his thumb stroking the turquoise ring he had given him for his birthday. Wordlessly, he pulled it off Harry’s index finger and slipped it on his ring finger. He glanced up at Harry.

“I would do that, too,” Harry said, voice tight in his throat.

Louis nodded and pressed a kiss to his lips before resting their foreheads together. “It’s just another goodbye, isn’t it? You and I, we know how to say goodbye. That's what we're best at. We've got loads of practice."

“It doesn’t make it easier.”

“Nothing ever will, Kitten.”

Something snapped inside of Harry, giving him a sense of urgency, like it was important that he said everything he had to before it was too late, a kind of foreboding sense that it was his last chance.

“Lou,” he said, almost frantic. “I’ve never told you that, but you’re… you’re my prince charming, you know that, hm? It’s like I met you in a fairy tale, with Disney World and all. Things like us don’t happen in real life.”

Louis’ smile was immeasurably soft. “I know you, I’ve walked with you once upon a dream,” he hummed, stroking Harry’s cheek with the back of his knuckles. “If I’m your prince charming, it means we’ll have a happy ending, yeah? So everything will be fine. We’ll be okay, I know it. I will always love you.”

“I’ll always love you, too. I promise. No matter what happens, I will always love you.”

Louis ran his hand through Harry’s hair and kissed his forehead. “Nothing will happen. We’ll be just fine.”

Harry nodded, but still the feeling lingered, a dark cloud swarming inside him, casting its shadow over everything.

-

From the moment Harry left Louis’ flat to get into his parents’ car and drive to the X-Factor house, it was like he’d been sucked into a hurricane. Time lost its meaning, days blending into each other until they turned into weeks and then months, with the weekly live shows breaking the monotony of life inside the house with peaks of what life would be like as a celebrity.

Harry was popular with the public from the start, but he had seen it coming. Without bragging, he knew what he looked like and he also knew that he was already being aggressively sold to the younger viewers. He could feel the way his image was being softly moulded, gently prodded towards this picture of the perfect, well-bred boy-next-door. The clothes they picked for him, while not far from what he would normally wear, emphasised the idea that he was just a regular boy, really.

He felt like a Barbie doll in the hands of an ambitious child, living the perfect rise to fame. Because he was rising, every week placing at the top of the contestants, never once facing elimination. The audience screamed the loudest for him and he knew from the few phone calls he’d had with his mother and Louis that his name was the one that stood out the most in headlines about the show. He was rising up, up, up and by the beginning of December, it had started sinking in that he might actually win the contest and become a star.

Despite how busy they were kept and the nearly debilitating anxiety and pressure he felt every waking hour because of the show and its demands, despite how much he missed Louis, feeling like every breath he took without him was ripping his heart out anew, the downtimes were the worst. Whenever he had a moment to himself, everything came crashing down on him, trapping him inside his own head, reminding him how alone he truly was. He’d made friends in the house, but their numbers had dwindled with the passing weeks until he was left alone with people he shared no affinities with except the surreal experience of being sequestered in a fancy North London house. He had no one by his side to eleviate the suffocating feeling of being caged up and the panic of what it meant if he won.

The only redemption he had were the video diaries he made. It reminded him of his YouTube channel and it was a hint of normalcy in the crazy life he now led. He loved the direct contact with his fans it gave him and it was the only place where he was allowed to be truly himself. The response to them was crazy and Louis loved to text him the GIFs people made of their favourite moments. There were blogs dedicated to him, Louis explained, and he promised to show Harry once he was out of the house. For the moment, Harry focused on Twitter, watching in amazement as his fanbase grew daily on the platform, working on promoting him better than the show’s team ever could.

He had his first real taste of fame when he went back home for a visit, the thing turned into a show with people he’d grown up with swarming him and hysterically telling the cameras how much they loved him, and with people coming from all over the country and filling the streets of his village in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him. It was heart-warming to see the support of his neighbours and the people he’d known all his life and nothing would beat the warmth he felt when he saw the pride in his mother’s eyes, but the experience left him feeling profoundly uncomfortable. He’d asked Louis if he might be able to accompany him to Cheshire, but university was getting the best of him, his decision to forego drama for accounting finally catching up with him.

And then Harry won.

The words made no sense, at first, even as the crowd exploded and blinding lights were turned on him. Confetti fell from the ceiling and the other finalist jumped on him, hugging him tightly, and still Harry couldn’t comprehend. He looked around, bewildered, as things seemed to happen in slow motion. A microphone was shoved in his face and he stuttered an answer, something generic that his brain supplied to him automatically, and then he blinked and smiled his winsome smile because that’s what he knew he had to do.

He made his way backstage with the help of a wave of bodies carrying him there. He was pulled into a rib-crushing hug by his mother and he collapsed against her, clinging to her as tightly as his arms would let him, shaking as slowly, the news sank in.

“I won, didn’t I?” he asked, uncertain.

“Yes, love. You won.” She stroked the back of his head almost frantically, lulling him from side to side. “I’m so proud of you, Harry.”

“Is Louis here?” He moved out of her arms, looking around with a frown.

Her face crumbled. “He really wanted to come, but he couldn’t get off work. He begged and begged, but they threatened to fire him. He’s really sorry.”

Something inside Harry shattered. It felt it give out, could picture the way the cracks spread like spider webs. He took a deep breath and a deeper exhale, trying to push out everything negative he felt with it. It meant nothing. It happened.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll see him soon enough.”

Anne nodded and smiled encouragingly. “He can’t wait to see you.” She hugged him again and he let her, resting his head on her shoulder and breathing in her scent, her perfume smelling so much of home that he nearly choked on the knot in his throat.

“Harry,” a woman said and Harry straightened up to smile at her, “you’ve got to give an interview about winning, I’ll get you ready, come with me.”

He looked at his mother and she shooed him away with a wink and a smile. The woman led him to his dressing room and sat him in a chair, saying they’d touch up his hair and makeup before he was on. As he waited, he pulled his mobile out of his pocket and swiped to read the message Louis had sent him.

Haz baby love of my life. I’m so sorry I tried to get off work for the show tonight I swear I did but my boss is a cunt and he wouldn’t let me he said I’d lose my job if I didn’t show tonight and I need the job to pay for everything I’m so sorry so so so sorry. ur mum said wed go for dinner to celebrate or comfort you (hoping for celebrate!) and I will DEFINATELY be there I promise love.

Harry sighed, his anger feeling foolish at once. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and texted back ‘It’s okay. I won, btw. I love you’ before smiling at the hairdresser when she came in.

His mobile buzzed in his hand and he looked at it.

“I won btw” HAROLD EDWARD STYLES I WILL KILL YOU S2G. CONGRATS KITTEN ID CALL U BUT I’M HIDING AT WORK. TTYL PROMISED.

Harry squinted at the message, barely recognising the way Louis texted. He’d seen the changes come in the past weeks and could tell that it was the effect of his new friends on him – notably the inclusion of the word ‘cunt’ into his vocabulary, which he blamed on Niall – but it had the result of making Harry feel like he was texting a complete stranger.

He sighed and put his phone away, closing his eyes as various brushes were being swiped on his face.

-

Harry looked up, and up, and up, at the building in front of him. He didn’t dare stop for too long in fear of being swept away by the early morning pedestrian traffic. He stepped out of the crowd and up the stairs, pushing open the doors to the building. He felt odd in his clothes, the suit was too formal and ill-fitting, but he blended in well with the corporate London crowd that filled the streets and then the lobby he had just entered.

He put a hand to his collarbone, pressing down until the tender skin of the hickey he had there hurt. It grounded him, reminded him that he was not alone in this. He checked his phone, rereading the message his mother had sent him telling him she’d be waiting for him in the office they were expected, and he hurried to the elevator, his dress shoes slipping on the marble floor.

The elevator climbed up, the numbers above the door going by at an alarming speed, and Harry’s ears popped before he had reached his floor. He checked his hair in the mirrored wall opposite the doors before they opened and then he walked out, his feet sinking into the lush carpet that covered the floor from wall to wall.

As she’d promised, his mother was waiting for him down the hall and he hurried to hug her and kiss her cheek.

“Did you have a good night?” she asked with a smirk and Harry blushed, knowing he had bags the size of Belgium under his eyes.

“It was short,” he replied with a chuckle. “Louis says hi, by the way.”

She hooked her arm with his. “Ready to sign away your soul?”

“No,” he said with a laugh before walking them inside.

They were led to a conference room in the middle of which a table long enough to comfortably sit at least twenty people stretched. It was made of a dark wood that must have cost a fortune, and the walls that weren’t floor-to-ceiling windows were covered with artworks. Harry took a seat, turning slightly from side to side on the swanky spinning chair.

It had only been two days since he won the show and it still didn’t feel real. He and Louis had raided the magazine section of the Tesco’s near his flat and bought every single one that had something about Harry inside and they’d spent the evening cutting out the articles and gluing them in a notebook, and still it didn’t feel real. Harry had signed autographs on the Tube that very morning and, still, it didn’t feel real.

But sitting in that room, waiting for the man who would be his manager to come in and make him sign papers, it was slowly sinking in. He was sitting in the nicest office he’d ever visited, he’d been treated like royalty by the receptionist, he’d be meeting a label to sign a record deal later in the day, and everything was moving so fast that it dizzied him.

“Are you nervous?” Anne asked, stroking his hand.

“Not really? It doesn’t feel like it’s my life.”

She smiled. “Well, it is. And you deserve everything that’s about to come your way, love. You’ve worked so hard.”

He chuckled. “Not really. I woke up early for a few auditions and then I just kept singing whenever they asked me until I won.”

“But you didn’t wake up one morning with singing abilities. You worked for them. And it took courage to get on the show and go through with it. Don’t underestimate what you’ve done.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m pretty amazing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Can we aim for the middle? In between deprecation and boasting?”

Harry stuck out his tongue. “I’ll try.” He took a sip of the cup of tea an assistant had just brought him. “Oh, I wanted to tell you, I won’t come to dinner tonight with you and Robin. Louis’ taking me out again.” He smiled to himself. “And I won’t come back to the hotel, either.”

Anne kicked him under the table. “I didn’t need to hear that.”

“Sorry!” he said, sounding anything but.

A door opened on their right and they both stood up when a middle aged man, handsome in a rugged, George Clooney kind of way, walked in. He held out his hand for them to shake.

“Hi, I’m Henry Burke, I’ll be representing Mr Styles, if he agrees,” he said pleasantly, shaking Harry’s hand.

“You can call me Harry,” Harry said, smiling in return. He liked the man already. “Mr Burke, this is my mother, Anne Cox.”

“Call me Henry, please,” he said with a wink before shaking Anne’s hand. “Ms Cox, what a pleasure to meet you. Have a seat, please, please.” He waited until they were seated before speaking. “Harry, Henry, we’ll get along for sure, won’t we?” Still, he was smiling. He produced a thick pile of papers from a file he’d carried into the room and placed it in front of Harry before sitting on the other side of the table. “This is your contract. Of course, you take the time you need to read it.” He squinted. “You didn’t bring a lawyer?”

Harry glanced at his mother, waiting for her to answer. When she didn’t, he spoke up. “I… I don’t have one. Is it a bad thing?”

“No, not at all. I’ll explain it to you, then. Informal, I like your style, Styles.”

He switched sides, taking the chair next to Harry. “Most of it is legalese, you don’t need to know all of the details. The gist of it, though, is that by agreeing to be represented by us – and me – you give us the right to control your public image. We book interviews, we secure promo deals with designers, we hook you up with cool free goodies, we help you handle your social media presence, all of that. You have a YouTube channel, yeah?” He got up to retrieve an iPad from his attaché-case before sitting down again, pulling up Harry’s channel on the screen. “That’s great, really. We love it. It’s given you a loyal, core fanbase, that’s what we want. What about the rest, Twitter, Facebook?”

“I’ve got both, yeah.”

“First thing we’ll do, if you sign with us, is get your Twitter verified and your Facebook page will be revamped. It’ll be more like a fan page, you know? Like when you like, I don’t know, Sainsbury’s page, you don’t see personal information, just promo stuff, yeah? Does that make sense?”

“But I’m not a shop. I’m a person. My page is personal. What about my friends?”

“We’ll discuss that after you’ve signed.” He added, quickly, “if you choose to do it, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry echoed, taking the corner of the pile and letting pages fall one by one.

“The contract’s for five years, that’s pretty standard. We get a percentage of your revenue, again, standard deal. Really, it’s just your regular representation contract, the kind we issue to X-Factor winners, at least. You lot are special, you come to us and you’re already almost famous. Our job is to remove that ‘almost’ and make you megastars. I’ve seen what you can do, kid, I’ve got American ambitions for you. Tell you what, I’ll make a deal with you. If you sign with us, two years from now I’m guaranteeing an American tour. And after you’ve conquered America, it’s only one simple step to a world tour.”

Harry’s head was reeling with all of the information Henry was throwing at him. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of offered to him on a silver platter. He picked up the pen and looked at his mother.

“Don’t look at me, love. It’s your career. I’ll support whatever decision you take.” Turning her attention to Henry, she narrowed her eyes. “What are the penalties if he breaks the contract?”

Henry grimaced like it pained him to even think about it. “It’s not pretty, but it never is whenever you try to break a contract, isn’t it? You know what I mean, Ms Cox, you went through a divorce, too. We know how ugly it gets. We’ll fulfil our side of the agreement and in return, we expect Harry to stay with us until the end. There are no penalties, per se, if he wants out, but it’d have to be taken to court, like with any contract.”

Harry nodded. “I won’t break it.”

The table was so slippery with varnish that all Harry had to do was slide the contract closer to him. He turned to the page where a yellow, arrow-shaped sticky note had been helpfully put and let his pen hover above the line under which his name was printed.

Taking a deep breath, Harry signed the page, closed the contract and then pushed it towards Henry. “Done.”

Henry’s smile was almost predatory, it was so wide. “Welcome to show business, Harry,” he said, shaking his hand warmly. “So! Should we get started? We’ll move to my office.” He got up, held up his hand for Anne. “Ms Cox, thank you for coming, today. I’ll take good care of your son, I promise. It was a pleasure meeting you. My assistant will escort you out.”

“My mum can’t come with us?” Harry asked, frowning.

“I’m afraid not. I mean, she could, but I don’t have a non-disclosure agreement on hand, but I could have one drafted, it’d just take longer, and…” he trailed off.

“No, no, it’s fine. Harry, call me when you get out. Have fun, boys!” she said, giving Harry a knowing, heavy look before being escorted out.

“All right, this way, Harry,” Henry said, guiding him with a hand on his shoulder.

They entered a large, brightly-lit office. The furniture was sleek, make of metal, glass and black leather. The desk was bare except for a computer and a keyboard. The walls were covered with more artwork. The desk was placed in front of a window, the chair with its back to it, and the view outside took Harry’s breath away. It had to be one of the best views of London he’d ever witnessed.

“Yeah, you understand why my chair’s back is to the window?” Henry commented when he saw him looking. “Take a seat, we’ll start working right away. Can I offer you anything? Tea? Coffee? Maybe something to eat?”

“Just tea, please,” Harry replied and Henry waved at yet another assistant, who scurried away.

“Okay!” Henry said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Let’s get to work. Our first order of business: your public image. Did you like what we’ve been trying during the show? This kind of boy-next-door, just a regular guy image? I think you worked it really well.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, it was all right. It’s not much different from what I am anyway.”

“Exactly,” Henry said, pointing at him with a smile. “We want you to be yourself, but enhanced. Question: who’s Louis?”

Harry couldn’t hold back his smile. “My boyfriend. We’ve been together for almost a year and a half, now.”

Henry hummed, tapping his lips with his finger. “I assume you know who’s Adam Lambert?” When Harry nodded, Henry continued. “Word association. What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you think of him?”

The word left Harry’s mouth a second before he realised what Henry was doing: “Gay.”

“Yeah, for me, too. And for everyone, especially intolerant people. We live in a sick world, don’t you think? I say sick because some people will genuinely hate this artist, who’s crazy talented, only because he’s not like them. I’m not saying he’s not doing wonderfully well, but then take Justin Timberlake. Or, I don’t know, Justin Bieber. Have you thought about changing your name to Justin? I’m kidding.” Henry laughed to himself. “What I’m saying is, you don’t want to be pigeonholed, do you?”

Harry’s stomach felt tight and he shifted in his chair. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we’re not marketing you as Elton John’s heir. I mean—we want you to become as big as him, don’t get me wrong. I’ve never had one of my artists knighted, that’s on the bucket list.” He laughed again. “I’m saying, the boyfriend has to go, Harry.”

Harry burst out laughing. It died down when he saw that Henry didn’t so much as smiled. “You’re not serious.”

Henry quirked his eyebrow. “You gave me the right to control your public image, Harry. That’s the major point that we need to work on.”

Every fibre of his being screamed ‘no!’ all at once, but Harry kept a cool expression. “I don’t have to be public about it.”

“You and I both know it’s not going to work. I watched your audition footage and I’ve seen wedding videos that were less obvious. Besides, people talk, especially when they’re with someone famous.”

“Louis won’t. He wants what’s best for me. He wouldn’t ruin my career.”

“Not intentionally, no. Probably not.”

“I’m not breaking up with Louis, that’s the end of the discussion.”

Every warmth that Henry had been displaying from the start vanished, drained out of his face like a switch had been turned off. “You don’t get to decide that. I do. The boyfriend needs to go. You’re too young to know that, but the world won’t be kind to a gay artist. It never is. You’ll end up as a niche performer, but you’ll never make it to the mainstream. That’s not what you want and that’s not what I want for you.”

“I don’t care. Louis is more important than any of this.”

Henry leaned forward, his eyes narrow in cold fury. “Listen carefully to what I’m about to say. You signed a contract with my firm for the next five years. That means that we’ll be controlling the conversation about you. What the media says, what rumours go around, which shows you perform, everything. Unless you want to perform in malls for the next five years while being slandered in the press until it drives you straight into rehab, you’ll cooperate with us. We’re doing this for your own good. I’ve got a whole team behind me, you know, it’s not just me asking you this. We know our job.”

Harry gripped the armrests of the chair to hide the trembling of his hands. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was, perhaps for the first time in his life, profoundly terrified. The once handsome face of Henry was deformed by his power trip, turning him into a mask of egomaniacal greed.

“I won’t do it,” he said, voice trembling. He cleared his throat. “I’m not scared of you.”

Henry sighed. “I’m not trying to scare you, Harry. I’m being realistic. This isn’t what you want for your career.”

“What I don’t want is you representing me. I changed my mind.”

Another sigh, weary. “Then you’ve got two choices. Either you pick up your phone and call your mother so she hires you a lawyer, but it better be a damn good one because we’re not in the business of letting our artists go easily. It would ruin your parents, Harry, I’m warning you. Or, you pick up your phone and call Louis and you explain to him the situation. I’m sure he’ll understand, he seems to be a reasonable man.”

Harry swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and placed it on the desk in front of him, staring at it like it might hold the answer to all of his problems.

He picked it up again and dialled.

Chapter Text

The thing with being dumped by a pop star is that it’s kind of completely and utterly impossible to get them out of your life. People have the pesky habit of getting entangled in your memories, dragging down with them mundane things that you can no longer appreciate. Like, say you had an aunt who loved the Beatles before she passed away, now you can't ever listen to them without feeling blue. Already, that sucks massively, but when the person you’re trying to get over with has their face on magazines and bloody buses, it’s basically guaranteed that you’ll never, ever get over the bloody break up.

Which is exactly what Louis tells people whenever they give him that pitying, saddened look upon finding out that he’s not over his ex almost two years after he was dumped. Over the phone, no less, and really, that should get him sympathy points from the get-go, who even does that?

But really, Louis had never anticipated that it would be the smallest, silliest things that would bring back memories of Harry. It’s never the big moments that hurt the most, like seeing him on telly or the side of a bus; it’s hearing The Script on the radio and remembering the way his eyes had looked against the gunmetal of the autumn sky, or smelling cinnamon and remembering latte-flavoured kisses. These hurt the most, punching his breath away and reminding his heart that some arsehole ran away with half of it as soon as fame knocked on his door.

The thing with being dumped by Harry is that no one prepared him for it. It was always assumed by everyone they knew that Louis would be the dumper, not the dumpee. Never in a million years would people have imagined that Harry Styles, kitten-boy extraordinaire, would be the one to end their relationship. It would be Louis who would end it, Louis who’d move on and break poor little Harry’s heart.

Well, he did. Harry dumped him, plain and square, because it would ‘ruin his career’ and ‘hold him back.’ He said he’d call back in a few hours and explain everything, as if Louis was whipped enough to answer his phone.

Louis shakes his head, pushing the thoughts away. He throws the newspaper on the floor of the train, watching with a sinister sense of satisfaction as Harry’s face is immediately walked on by the rush hour crowd. Seeing him unexpectedly always brings back the worst of his thoughts, the ones it took months to get under control. There he is again, always really, walking the thin line between holding it together and crumbling into a hot fucking mess because of a picture of Harry on the cover of the Metro.

Louis gets off at his stop and heaves out a sigh as he weaves through the thick crowd of students. Checking the time on his phone, he slows his steps. Niall’s class only starts in fifteen minutes and he plans on avoiding his roommate as much as he can for the rest of the day. Knowing he has time to spare, he turns in the opposite direction from his flat once outside the station and heads for the nearest sandwich place; there’s nothing in his fridge that he could eat and he’s not exactly hungry so much as he seeks comfort. He’ll have to make a stop for a new tub of ice cream, too.

His errands take him long enough to enter an empty apartment. He kicks off his shoes and dumps his bag on the floor by the door, stepping over it to get to the kitchen. Niall left his dirty dishes on the counter and Louis rolls his eyes, putting the bag his sandwich came in on a plate and moving back to the living room, grabbing a beer on the way. He turns on the television for white noise and then picks up his laptop from the floor, turning it on and watching whatever is playing while it boots up.

Louis has ample time to finish his sandwich before it’s managed to open the browser and he wipes his hands on the couch before logging into Tumblr, relaxing against the cushions. He’s dreamed all day of this moment, of reclining on his couch and watching telly while wasting time on the Internet until he has to go to bed. It probably says something about how sad his life is, but he is beyond caring what kind of life he leads.

His dashboard is covered with pictures of Harry and he squints, trying to figure out if they’re new ones or not. Paparazzi photos tend to blend together after all this time, but the captions seem to say that they’re recent, which gets his interest. It’s been a while since Harry was seen in public, something must be about to happen.

Scrolling down, Louis realises they’re all pictures of Harry and his girlfriend and he winces. He really needs to figure out how to use a blacklist. He’s pretty sure that seeing his ex-boyfriend holding hands or kissing someone else almost every day isn’t part of the recovery process, but he also thought that he’d carefully selected the people he followed so that he could avoid seeing it. He honestly feels profoundly betrayed to discover that the people he follows turned into helsie shippers. Helsie. What kind of awful ship name is that, anyway? Not that anything else might have worked, but that’s Harry’s problem for dating some girl named Elsie. Awful name for an awful, fame-hungry, gold-digging tart. At least when people suspected he and Harry were dating, when Harry was on The X-Factor, they’d called them ‘halo’. Much, much cuter than ‘helsie’.

Louis keeps scrolling for a while longer, until his mind screeches to a halt when he sees a gif set with the caption: ‘RIP helsie’ which, what? He scrolls faster until he finds the link to an article from The Sun about the breakup, not daring to believe that it’s finally over until he gets an official confirmation. There’s no way Harry got rid of his beard so fast. He reads the article quickly and rolls his eyes when it’s mentioned that no officials have confirmed it, yet. Of course. It was too good to be true.

Because that’s the thing with Harry and that Elsie. Louis knows and most of the fans know and pretty much everyone knows that she’s a beard. Or, well, they suspect it, while Louis knows with certainty that she is. Not that it’s impossible that Harry would date a girl—Louis remembers all too well the way Harry’s voice shook slightly and how his eyes were so, so bright and big and green and his cheeks were red when he’d told Louis he was bisexual a little under an hour after they’d met. It’s possible that Harry would date a girl. What’s impossible is that he would start dating her a couple of months after breaking up with someone he’d cajoled into thinking he was the love of his life.

Heaving a shaky sigh, Louis opens up the blog of one of his online friends to send her a message: do we believe the break up or not? I just found out.

While he waits for her reply, Louis refreshes his dashboard to see if anything else happened, reblogging a few things and queuing his favourite pictures of Harry for the hundredth time.

The thing with being dumped by a celebrity is that he’s still a fan. He genuinely loves Harry’s music and, on good days, when he can separate the person who broke his heart from the up and coming artist, Louis sees what everyone else sees in Harry. It’s hard to hate him and he gets swept away, too, by Harry’s charisma and enthusiasm for life and sometimes, for a fleeting second, he forgives him.

Another refresh shows him he has a message and he opens it.

I’m not sure we’re so lucky. I don’t think we’ll get rid of her until they bring Louis back but that’s tinhatting isn’t it

The thing with being dumped by someone with a loyal fanbase is that they remember a time when Louis was a part of Harry’s life and they think he’s just being hidden by Harry’s management at the moment. They think they’re still dating.

well idk maybe they just both got sick of the lies and decided to stop pretending, he sends back before returning to his dashboard, grimacing when he’s greeted with a picture set of Elsie tugging playfully on Harry’s turquoise necklace in one picture and kissing him in another. Louis’ necklace. He sighs and opens a new tab, to search for how to install a blacklist, fed up and determined to spend a quiet, relaxing evening with nothing to make him feel like a black hole has opened up inside of his stomach.

Niall finds him in the same position when he comes back from his lecture, barging into the apartment loudly in his usual graceless manner, leaning his guitar case against the wall before kicking off his shoes.

“How’s it going?” he asks, plopping down on the couch next to Louis and holding out his hand.

Louis hands him the spoon he’s using to eat ice cream and lets him take a few scoops from the tub. “Good, good,” Louis replies. “How was your lecture?”

Niall shrugs, grabbing the television remote to switch channels. “Same old.” He glanced at Louis’ laptop. “Still stalking your ex?”

“I’m not stalking him!” Louis replies with a fond roll of his eyes, falling into their usual script effortlessly. “I just happen to be a fan of his work.”

“It’s not healthy, mate.”

“Neither is this but I don’t see you complaining,” Louis retorts, pointing at the ice cream. He shoves Niall’s arm. “Rumour has it that he split with Elsie.”

Niall grunts. “I can hear your thoughts. Don’t even consider it.”

“Consider what?”

“Getting back with him.”

It’s Louis’ turn to grunt. “Like he’d ever want me back. I’m not reading anything into it.”

“You better not. He’s not someone you should be thinking about too much.”

With a sigh, Louis eats a spoonful of ice cream. “Can we talk about something else? Literally anything.”

“Thanks for admitting that I’m right.” Niall switches channel a final time before finding something he wants to watch.

He shifts his attention to the screen and just in time, too, because a rather explicit photo manipulation of Harry appears on Louis’ screen a second later. He quickly likes it before he scrolls down, glancing at Niall to be sure he didn’t see.

“I didn’t admit anything.” Louis sighs and shifts on the couch until he can wedge his toes underneath Niall’s thigh. “Are you busy tomorrow night?”

“Don’t think so, why?”

“I feel like going out. D’you want to go out?”

“Out like a pub or out like a club?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

Niall chuckles. “A club, all right. I’ll call my cousin, she’ll want to come, too.”

“Already talked to Perrie about it,” Louis says. “She’s in.”

“Gay club, yeah? If Pez is coming, I’m outnumbered for a straight place.”

Louis laughs. “Do you even have to ask?”

“As long as I don’t have to play wingman, mate, I don’t care.”

“Great, it’ll be fun! I miss going out, it’s been too long.”

With a snort, Niall glances at him. “You mean you miss fucking.”

“That, too,” Louis replies with a smirk. “Are you judging me?”

Niall shakes his head as he gets up to go grab a beer from the fridge. “No, I might even be a bit jealous.”

“Aw, poor Nialler!” Louis coos. “We’ll find you a nice lady tomorrow if you want. Or a nice boy, if you’re finally willing to experiment!”

With a snort, Niall joins him back. “Not a chance.”

Louis leans in closer with a smirk, enjoying nothing more than to tease Niall. “Heterosexuality is a myth, you know. No one is a hundred percent straight,” he says to his ear, enjoying the way Niall groans in reply.

“For fuck’s sake, Louis, just because you took one gender studies elective before you dropped out doesn’t mean I have to believe the shit you make up!”

Louis sits back down, away from Niall, his mood plummeting back down immediately.

The thing when you get dumped by the love of your life is that it ruins everything.

Louis shuts the lid of his laptop roughly and gets off the couch, holding it under his arm as he carries the ice cream back to the freezer. “Whatever. I’m going to bed. Try not to wake me up when you get up tomorrow, yeah? I only work at noon.”

“Where?”

“Topshop, so no, you can’t drop by for a free lunch today. Sorry.”

“Disappointing.” Niall gets more comfortable on the couch and cranes his neck to look at Louis right before he enters his bedroom. “Try and be quiet when you’ll wank to that picture of Harry I saw you save earlier!”

Flipping him off without a word, Louis slams his bedroom door shut behind him to hide his shame that Niall guessed his plan so easily.

-

“All fucking day!” Louis shouts as he enters his flat, slamming the door shut. Framed pictures hung on the adjacent wall rattle and he glares at them for good measure. “All fucking day, the only thing the girls at work could talk about was that Harry dumped Elsie! I can’t fucking escape him!”

From where she’s contorted on the couch painting her toenails, Perrie gives Louis a sympathetic wince. “Everyone knows who he is, now. Even my nan does. She says he’s rather dashing for a Southerner.”

“She does know he’s from Cheshire, right? How is that the South?”

“When you’re from Newcastle like my nan, everyone’s a Southerner. Hey, it’s a compliment coming from her, take it.” She smirks and Louis braces himself for what’s coming next. “Also, when you’re trying to convince people you’re not stalking him, offering random titbits like where he’s from isn’t exactly helping.”

“Except I literally know his home address and, like, where they keep the toilet paper rolls in their house, Pez. I’m not stalking a celeb, I’m talking about my ex-boyfriend.” Louis perches on the arm of the couch, watching her painstakingly colouring her nails. “Besides,” he continues, nudging her with his toe. “You know I’m over him, yeah? Niall doesn’t get it, but you do?”

“My cousin has no emotional depth, don’t hold it against him. I know you’re over him, love. And I know it’s a messy situation, god knows I’d hate for my own ex to be all over the news all the time and then have people blaming me for talking about him.”

“How is the Z-word, by the way?”

“He could be dead in a ditch that I wouldn’t care, so…” She shrugs. “When’s Niall coming back? We should order something, I checked and you’ve got nothing to eat.”

“Isn’t he here already? Who let you in?”

“I’ve got my own key, someone’s got to come in here from time to time and make sure you’re not living in unsanitary conditions. At least, someone’s got to Febreeze the place. It smells like feet when I don’t.”

Louis sticks out his tongue as he gets back up. “I’ll hop in the shower, there’s takeout menus in a kitchen drawer, choose what you want to eat.”

Perrie gives him a thumb up from behind the couch’s back and he trots down the hallway towards the bathroom. When he comes back out, he finds Niall now sitting with Perrie, the two of them turning in sync to look at Louis when they hear him approach like creepy twins from a horror movie.

“We went ahead and ordered curry,” Niall says by way of greeting. “Also, I stopped by the store to buy some booze so we could pregame.”

Louis crosses the room to press a kiss to the top of Niall’s head. “You’re the best.”

Circling the couch, he wedges himself between the two of them, grinning when Niall protests and finally relents, scooting away to give Louis some space. He immediately curls up against Perrie, who wraps both arms around him.

“You smell good,” she says with a laugh. “That’s like proper boy soap, too, I’m surprised!”

Louis doesn’t tell her that it was Harry who introduced him to that brand, nor does he tell her that for the first few months, he couldn’t smell it without crying. What he does is roll his eyes and cluck his tongue. “But I’m a proper boy! I’ve got the parts and all!”

Niall chuckles. “Are you Pinocchio or what?”

“I don’t know, does that make you Geppetto or the fairy?”

“No,” Perrie comments, “he’s got to be Jiminy Cricket, his bits are small as an insect.”

With a cackle that covers Niall’s indignant squawk, Louis high-fives Perrie. “I won’t ask how you know that.”

“Baths together. So many baths together,” Niall replies. “But I was a child! I’ve grown since!”

“Of course, of course,” Perrie says, reaching over Louis to pat Niall’s thigh, giving Louis a wink as she does so. “We believe you.”

Louis settles more comfortably against Perrie, stretching his legs across Niall’s lap, closing his eyes when Perrie buries her fingers in his hair to scratch his scalp. Louis closes his eyes and sighs, revelling in the quiet contentment he feels for the first time in days.

They only move when their food arrives, and only so they can grab cutlery and settle back in front of the television, and the wave of laziness that overtakes Louis is so big that he almost offers that they stay home instead of going out. He fights it, though, and drags himself off the couch to go change while Perrie turns on music to put them in the mood.

As he slips into his tightest pair of jeans, the ones so tight he has to go commando when he wears them, Louis can hear Niall taking out glasses and the tell-tale sound of a bottle of hard liquor being opened for the first time, and he smiles, finally getting the thrill of excitement he was waiting for. He plugs in his straightening iron and pads back to the kitchen to down his drink, grimacing as the whiskey burns its way down his throat.

“Can I do your hair?” Perrie asks, pouring herself a second tumbler. “I’ll do it special for tonight!”

Louis shrugs. “Sure! The iron’s warming up for my fringe already.”

They clink their glasses and finish them before going to Louis’ room. He sits on his bed and lets her work, trying to stay still even as he worries to feel her tugging on his hair and sees her using product he never really uses.

“Done!” she says after a while, pushing Louis off the bed so he can go check her work.

He steps in front of his mirror and grins, nodding. She smoothed down his fringe over his forehead like he usually does, but ruffled the rest of his hair, giving it a messy, bedhead look.

“It looks like I’ve already shagged,” he comments, laughing.

“That was the plan. Gotta help you with your hunt, dear.” She slaps his bum and Louis squeaks in surprise, retaliating with both hands until she runs out of his room, laughing loudly.

It’s another three hours before they actually go out, arguing about the club they’re going to and then about the acceptable time to get there. There’s a queue stretching all the way across the front of the building when they arrive a little after eleven, and Perrie jokes that Louis should use the fact that he deflowered a celebrity to try and get them in.

“No, but seriously, are we going to wait out here? It’ll be hours before we can enter,” Niall complains, leaning against the brick wall and sighing dramatically, arms crossed over his chest to show just how much he disagrees with their plan.

Perrie frowns for a second and then pulls her mobile out of her bra, sticking out her tongue when Louis asks exactly how much stuff she’s got hidden in there.

“My friend Sophia’s dating this guy who knows lots of important people, if we’re very, very lucky…” she says, dialling a number and turning her back to them when her friend answers. A few minutes later, she turns back to them, holding up two thumbs. “Sophia’s boy is calling to get us on the guest list, we’re skipping the queue!”

Niall punches the air in triumph and Louis takes Perrie’s arm, grinning. “Okay, I need to meet Sophia and shower her in presents.”

“I’ll invite them to our next karaoke night, she keeps saying she’d love to meet you.”

“Her boyfriend’s invited, too, obviously. His drinks will be on me.” Louis stops talking while they’re being let inside, pausing to blow a kiss to the people at the front of the queue just for the fun of seeing them fume. “But anyway,” he continues once they’re inside, raising his voice to be heard over the music, “what kind of people does he know?”

“I don’t know, really!” Perry shouts. “He’s in the music industry, I think he’s like an assistant tour manager or something, she says he’s always gone.”

“Well, bless Sophia’s boyfriend!” Louis shouts before steering Perrie towards the bar, joining Niall who’s already nursing a beer next to it.

Louis would like to say he tries to stay decent when he goes out like this, but he’d hate to lie to himself in such a way. He orders a round of shots for the three of them and then a drink on top of it, downing the shots quickly before sipping his drink with a straw, waiting eagerly for the alcohol to numb his senses and dull his consciousness until he can abandon himself completely.

While he steadfastly gets drunk by the bar, he stars scanning the crowd – hunting, Perrie would say – to find someone of interest. It’s not that he has a type, but—he has a type. He’s looking for tall boys, preferably brunets. Curly hair is best, but any will do, really, and he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. He knows.

He spots one that could fit the mould well enough for his increasingly inebriated discernment and he smiles, all coy and flirty, when the man looks his way. He plays with the straw of his drink with his tongue and bats his eyelids, he flicks his fringe and pops his hip, sucking on the straw and Louis knows then that the man swallowed the bait hook, line and sinker when he sees him coming over.

“Already?” Perrie says with a cackle. “Damn, Louis, you’re efficient.”

“Tut tut,” Louis says, waggling his finger at her and finishing his drink in one long gulp. “I’m horny and desperate and I’ve got low standards.”

He pushes himself off the bar and meets the stranger halfway, looking up at him beneath his lashes. He’s much taller than Louis, and broader, and in the dim light of the club, Louis could almost be fooled.

“I’m Louis,” he says, pitching his voice a little higher, a little breathier.

“Noel,” the man replies, and Louis barely holds back a frown. His voice is too high, it’s ruining everything.

“Well, Noel,” he continues nevertheless, stroking Noel’s bicep, “have you been naughty or nice?” He chuckles, thinking he’s incredibly clever.

“What?”

“If you’ve been nice, you’ll get a present,” Louis replies, chuckling once more.

“What’s a present got to do with anything?”

Louis is taken aback and he coughs to hide it. “It’s just your name…”

“What about it?” Noel asks, a bit roughly.

Louis sighs. “It means Christmas in French, doesn’t it? I was making a Christmas joke. Forget it. Let’s dance.”

“Really?” Noel looks genuinely surprised and Louis feels a bit bad for him, so he smiles kindly and nods. “You speak French?”

“Un petit peu,” Louis replies, lifting an eyebrow with pride.

Noel puts his hand over the nape of Louis’ neck and pulls him closer, sending shivers down Louis’ spine. “Fuck, you’re hot. Let’s dance, Lewis.”

Louis doesn’t correct him. He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath, letting Noel guide him to the dance floor and pull him up against his body, pressing them until there’s not an inch of space between them, and putting his hand low on the small of Louis’ back. Louis melts against him, resting his forehead on his chest for a second to realign his thoughts before he looks up and smiles, biting his lip.

Noel’s breath is warm on Louis’ neck and his scent is strong with musk, and he’s too tall and broad, but if Louis closes his eyes and lets the alcohol take over, he can pretend he doesn’t mind and let the stranger pull him closer still, pushing their hips together and holding on to Louis proprietarily, and his intent is transparent, but then again so is Louis’, so he wraps his arms around Noel’s neck and pushes up on his toes to kiss him.

It’s like Louis flipped a switch the moment their lips met. Noel’s hands turn insistent as they roam Louis’ body, and Louis had hoped for a bit more courting, but it’s becoming obvious that they’ll migrate to the bathroom before the end of the song. He’d hoped, foolishly, that it might be one of those rare times that the guy bothers with taking him home, but Noel is already pushing his hands under his shirt so the chances of that are becoming slimmer by the second. Louis buries his fingers in Noel’s hair to bring his head closer, crashing their lips over and over again, and when Noel’s hand travels down his back, over his bum and along his thigh, pulling it up, Louis wraps it around his waist and hops up, grinning when Noel catches him and holds him up with his hands under Louis’ bum.

Louis feels small in Noel’s arm, small and fragile and all of the things he never lets himself feel like usually, and he keens, letting Noel do what he wants with his body. He clings to Noel and kisses him wildly, fingers tugging on his curls, and even though his lips are too small, Louis pretends that it’s Harry, allows himself to ache and yearn, lets his heart overflow with how much he misses his ex, and when Noel starts walking and Louis realises with a sinking feeling that it’ll be over sooner than he’d hoped, he only kisses him harder.

Noel kicks the door to the grimy restroom shut behind them and sits Louis on the counter, kissing him rough and messy until the only other man in the room with them leaves. Noel lets go of Louis long enough to go lock the door before he returns, grin predatory and lustful. Louis licks his lips and hops off the counter, dragging him closer with two fistfuls of his shirt, craning his neck to crash their lips together and push him up against the counter.

He makes quick work of undoing Noel’s jeans and pulling his cock out, determined to get him going before he demands to be fucked over the counter. He can picture it already, how he’ll hold himself up on his elbows on the counter and watch everything taking place in the mirror, and he might even take a selfie while he’s there, for posterity. A private, wank-bank picture of him being very obviously fucked by a complete stranger, his face cut out of the frame and the camera angled just right so that there’s no possible doubt that he’s got a cock up his arse.

Louis moans at the thought and hurries to his knees, sinking his mouth over Noel’s length, grinning to hear him moan. He might have dropped out of college and be stuck working two minimum wage jobs to get by, but at least he knows he’s good at giving head. Not just good; he’s excellent and he loves showing off, so he gives Noel all he’s got, moaning and humming as he works his mouth up and down his length, using every trick he knows to reduce him to a groaning, panting mess.

A memory bursts in his mind like lightning, making him gasp and pull off Noel’s cock to pant in shock. He’s in Stan’s bathroom and the mess of a boy he’s getting off with his mouth is Harry, suddenly, all red-splotched cheeks and bright, bright green eyes, and everything’s wrong because when he looks up it’s not green he sees but a muddy brown, and he sees now that the hair he thought was brown is actually auburn, so Louis screws his eyes shut and goes back to work, heart in his throat and still the images flood his mind’s eyes, and it’s not fair.

Noel comes before Louis can anticipate it and he lets him do it in his mouth because he doesn’t want to mar the memory of the only time he’s let a boy come on his face with a stranger met in a club, so once he’s sure Noel is done, Louis gets back up and spits in the sink, ignoring the comment that he’s gross that Noel lets out.

When Noel leaves the bathroom without so much as a thanks, Louis sighs and rests his elbows on the counter, his head hanging down and his body shaking with tremors. He feels like he’s going to be sick so he takes in a great gulp of air to try and push it down, but the taste of sperm in his mouth makes him nauseous. He opens the tap and bends low to drink from it, rinsing his mouth before spitting out again. He runs a shaky hand through his hair and wipes the tears from his eyes before walking out and making a beeline for the bar, where Niall is still sat.

Louis wraps his arms around Niall’s waist and rests his forehead between his shoulder blades, saying ‘it’s me, Niall’ before Niall has time to push him away. Niall rubs his forearm comfortingly for a few seconds before he forces Louis to let go of him, getting up to give him his stool. Louis climbs on it clumsily and sighs.

“Already done with your catch of the day?” Niall asks, motioning the bartender to order another drink—whether it’s for him or Louis, he neither knows nor cares.

“I’m very efficient at giving head.”

“So was he, you’ve been gone like ten minutes.” Niall hands him a bright red drink and Louis takes a long sip gratefully.

“You seem to think he returned the favour,” Louis replies, voice hollow.

“He didn’t? The fuck?!”

“They never do, Niall. Never, ever, unless they take me home.”

Niall lets out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head as he takes a swig from his beer. “And here I thought gay men were classier than straight ones. I mean, even I return the favour.” When Louis frowns, Niall rolls his eyes. “I do know how to give head, you know. To girls,” he adds quickly and it’s Louis’ turn to roll his eyes.

“I don’t think it’s all gay men that don’t. Just the ones who’re interested in me. Granted, I get it that not everyone wants to touch a fat loser like me, but…” Louis trails off, sipping his drink.

“Fat loser? The fuck are you talking about?”

“Never mind that.” Louis finishes his drink. “Get me another two of those. I don’t want to remember tonight.”

-

They pile in a cab just before three in the morning and Louis starts crying as soon as the door is shut.

“I’m such a loser!” he moans, burying his face in his hands. “I’m going home with my flatmate! I was supposed to go home with a guy and f-fuck!” he sobs. “Even Perrie found someone to fuck tonight! At a gay bar! What’s w-wrong with me, Niall?!”

Niall shifts closer, wrapping an arm around Louis’ shoulders. His breath is thick with the smell of beer and whiskey. “Nothing’s wrong with you, Lou.”

Leaning into Niall, Louis shakes his head. “I’m gross and disgusting and no one wants me anymore! Even if I’m the easiest they’ll ever meet!” He looks up at Niall, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m bloody easy, Niall! I’ll fuck anyone who asks, I will! Anyone! Even him!” He points at the cabbie through the screen, a man old enough to be his grandfather. “But no one wants me!”

Needless to say, Louis isn’t a happy drunk.

“You’re not gross and disgusting, Lou,” Niall slurs, pulling him closer and squeezing his shoulder. “You’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever met,” and Niall’s words are heavy with the sincerity of the drunkard.

“You’re only saying that because you’re my friend!” Louis moans, dissolving into sobs once more. “No one will ever love me again! They won’t even fuck me, how could they love me! Harry couldn’t and I tried so hard to make him love me, Niall! I did everything right!”

“Harry’s a cunt, you know that. He’s a lying, scheming cunt who abused your kindness and generosity and I want to fight him so much, Lou,” Niall says, frantically. “I have to fight him for what he did to you.”

Needless to say, Niall isn’t a happy drunk, either.

Louis nods with emphasis. “Yes. You fight him for me. You be my knight in shining armour. You save me, my dashing Irish saviour.” He strokes Niall’s cheek and perhaps it’s the way he looks in the streetlight, or perhaps it’s the alcohol, but Louis realises with a gasp that Niall is attractive.

“I’ll fight him for you, Lou. For your honour.”

The more Niall talks, the thicker his Irish accent gets, and that’s doing surprising things to Louis. He shifts closer.

“But it won’t fix me. I’m broken and ugly and fat and I’ll die alone,” Louis whines, fresh tears pouring from his eyes.

“No, no, no,” Niall mumbles, wrapping both arms around Louis. “You’re very, very pretty.” Niall opens his mouth to say more, but then the cab stops and he grins. “Home! Come on, Lou, we’re home!”

Louis stumbles out of the cab while he lets Niall pay, leaning against the cold brick wall of their building to try and get grounded. When Niall gets out of the car and smiles at him, Louis’ heart skips a beat and he giggles with incomprehension. He’d never noticed Niall’s body before, but now he sees everything he’s overlooked before he bites his lip, the thin fabric of Niall’s white shirt teasing more than it covers him. Louis grabs a fistful of Niall’s shirt.

“Come on home, stud,” he slurs, giggling afterwards. “I forgot my keys.”

Niall laughs and unlocks the doors, letting Louis pull him up the stairs and into their flat. Once inside, reality shifts back into focus and Louis remembers that Niall’s his flatmate, not a one-night stand, so he sighs and kicks off his shoes.

“I don’t want to go to bed alone,” Louis whines. “I’m too sad.”

Niall walks up to Louis and wraps him in a tight embrace, rocking him from left to right. “You can share my bed for the night, Lou. I’m here for you.”

Louis pulls back just enough to look into Niall’s face and his breath catches when he meets Niall’s blue eyes and, really, Louis had never actually noticed how nice Niall’s eyes look before tonight, but they’re really quite nice.

“Okay,” Louis says, moving out of the embrace and making his way to Niall’s room. “But I’m fat and I’ll take up all of the bed.”

He checks to see if Niall is following and catches his look of disapproval. “You’re not fat, Lou,” he repeats once more. He pulls off his shirt once they’re in his room and Louis averts his eyes.

“I am! Look!” Louis takes off his shirt and throws it on the floor. “Look at that!” he continues, pinching his tummy fat and pulling on it. “I’ve got rolls of fat!”

Niall grimaces, doing the same to his tummy. “So do I.” He undoes his trousers and at that, Louis can’t find the force to look away. A thrill goes through him to see that Niall is a briefs kind of guy.

Louis mirrors him, shimmying out of his jeans and losing his balance as he does so, remembering a second too late that he’s not wearing any underwear. He swallows and looks up, head swimming and befuddling his understand of what he can and cannot do in front of his flatmate.

“I’m fat,” he repeats, throat dried up by the way Niall is looking at him, all wide eyes and reddened cheeks. “Look,” Louis says, getting closer and twisting to the side, popping out his hip. “I’ve got stretch marks. That’s new. I didn’t have them before Harry dumped me and I binged on ice cream. He made me fat, that cunt.”

Niall audibly swallows. “You’re not fat. Your body’s amazing.” He reaches out and puts his hand to Louis’ bare hip, caressing it lightly as if to feel the stretch marks for himself. Niall clears his throat. “I always thought so.”

Louis’ heart speeds up and he bites his lip, taking a step closer to Niall. “Is that so?” He runs a hand down Niall’s chest and smiles to see him let out a shaky breath. “Have you ever thought about… you know… with me?”

Niall’s lack of answer is the only one Louis needs. Niall’s heart is beating so fast that Louis can see his ribcage pulsing with it, and he knows that if Niall weren’t just as drunk as he himself is there’d be no way any of this would be happening, but as it is, Niall is drunk and, more importantly, seemingly willing.

“I’m going to kiss you, Niall. Is that okay?” Louis asks, running his hands down Niall’s sides.

“Yes,” Niall croaks out, eyes wide and wild.

Louis nods and leans in, pressing a kiss to Niall’s lips. They’re chapped and taste like beer, but Louis kisses them again, and again, and again, relishing the way Niall returns each with more intensity. After a few seconds of chaste kisses, Louis gets bored, so he grabs Niall’s hands where they hang by his sides, and places them on his bare bum before wrapping his arms around Niall’s neck.

“You can grope me,” he whispers before kissing Niall again.

Niall does it almost immediately, his hands squeezing Louis’ bum to the same rhythm as their kisses, and when Louis slips his tongue past Niall’s lips to stroke it against his own, Niall lets out a moan and pulls Louis flush against him by the bum. They both moan and Louis clings to him.

“Is this okay with you?” Louis asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’d stop you if it weren’t,” Niall replies, stealing a kiss. “Nothing I haven’t thought about before.”

Louis squeals with delight. “Really?!” He grins.

“S’not that I’m in love with you!” Niall lets out. “But you’re fit and I’m drunk and I’m horny. And…” he hesitates and Louis kisses his nose to reassure him. “And if I’m going to try it once with a guy, I’d rather it’d be one I love, y’know? Not… not love-love, but… you know?”

“I do, yes,” Louis says because he does. It’s the same kind of feeling that made him experiment with Stan, before he had Aiden, before he had Harry. It’s the profound bond of friendship that’s sometimes hard to differentiate from romantic love, and Louis gets it. “We’re best mates and we’re doing this because it feels good. It means nothing.” Louis pecks Niall’s lips. “You’re still straight.”

Niall nods. “I don’t like seeing you sad,” he continues, moving his hands up Louis’ back and making him shiver. “Not when I know I can help.”

Louis lets out a chuckle. “You can’t help, Niall. I’m sad because I wanted to get fucked tonight and it makes me feel gross that I couldn’t find anyone.”

“I know what I said,” Niall says, voice wavering.

It takes a second for Louis to comprehend what Niall just said and when he does, he gasps, kissing him roughly. “Are you serious?! You’d do this for me?!”

“We’re best mates,” he says. He looks like he’s about to say more, but he closes his mouth, face set and resolute.

Louis’ heart skips a beat before it goes wild. He throws himself at Niall, kissing him over and over again. His hands caress Niall’s sides for a moment before he moves them lower to hook his fingers in the elastic band of his briefs, pushing them down swiftly. Once they’re out of the way, Louis steps even closer to press their bodies together, rolling his hips tentatively to see how Niall will react.

Niall gasps, at first, probably from the feeling of Louis’ erection against his abdomen, but then he mirrors Louis and breathes out shakily.

“Okay, okay, that’s odd,” Niall comments, doing it once more as if testing a theory. “Not bad, but odd.

Louis laughs and shakes his head, giving Niall a long kiss before pushing him to sit on the bed and kneeling in front of him. “I’ll start by giving you head for a bit, if you want.” He spreads Niall’s knees and moves in between them, giving him a coy glance before wrapping his hand around his semi-hard cock. Louis moves in to talk in Niall’s ear while his hand works over his length. “Then I’m going to prep myself while you watch. And then I’ll let you fuck me. Have you ever fucked anyone in the ass before?” When Niall shakes his head jerkily, Louis licks the shell of his ear. “You’ll see, it’s the tightest thing you’ll ever fuck. It’s amazing.”

Niall lets out a breathy moan and nods. Satisfied, Louis moves back and lowers himself, licking a broad stripe up Niall’s cock. He grins when Niall twitches, resting his cheek against his inner thigh to smile up at him.

“Fuck, your cheek is scratchy. That’s—it’s weird,” Niall comments.

Louis giggles, stroking his thigh. “I shave, yes. I’m a proper boy!” He suckles on the head of Niall’s cock for a few seconds before pulling off, smiling at him. “Still okay?”

“Fuck, yeah, yeah, more than, go on,” Niall chokes out.

Louis sinks his head over his length, thinking despite the alcohol clouding his mind that it’s the second blowjob he gives that night and that it’s the first time he does that to two different men. He’s proud, if he’s entirely honest.

He enjoys showing off his skills for a little while, relishing the way Niall is moaning and groaning, coming undone under his mouth, but he stops before he fears Niall will get too close to the edge.

“Stay here,” he whispers, kissing his inner thigh. “Get comfortable.”

Getting up quickly makes his blood rush to his head and he stumbles, catching himself on the wall before he hurries to his room to retrieve lube and a condom. He jumps on Niall’s bed as soon as he’s back, grinning wickedly.

“I forgot to mention,” Louis begins, licking his lips, “but you’ve got a nice cock. You’re full of surprises, Horan.”

With that, Louis uncaps the lube and pours some in his hand before discarding the tube to rub his hands together and warm it up. He coats the fingers of his right hand and then turns so his back is to Niall, figuring that he’s not in this for Louis’ cock, what with being straight and all. Besides, he knows his best assets are behind him. He gets down on all fours and spreads his legs, sticking out his bum, and grins to hear Niall gasp.

Louis begins with one finger, making quick work of pushing it in and moving it. Time is of the essence, he’s afraid Niall might change his mind if it takes too long, so he goes faster than he usually would, making himself wince. He adds a second finger and moans, feeling the familiar, intoxicating stretch that he loves so much.

“One more and I’m good to go,” he tells Niall, voice strained. He doesn’t bother twisting around to see how Niall is handling the situation, he can hear Niall wanking as he watches.

A couple of minutes and one more finger later, Louis throws the lube and condom at Niall, resting his head against the mattress and panting quietly.

“Ready?” Niall asks and Louis has to give him props, his voice sounds sure and confident.

“Yeah, yeah. Put the rubber on, lube up and get to work.”

Louis listens as Niall gets ready, anticipating the moment, and when he feels the head of Niall’s cock against his hole, he grins and pushes up on his elbows, making sure to arch his back prettily.

Niall pushes in without warning and Louis lets out a loud, surprised moan followed by a resounding ‘yes!’. Niall clearly has no idea what he’s doing because he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, he slams inside of Louis and it’s exactly what Louis needed.

“Don’t hold back,” Louis groans, bracing himself on the mattress as Niall begins fucking him. “I want it hard.”

Louis is still drunk, he’s very conscious of it, and it’s dulling his perception to the point that he feels disconnected from his body. It’s not enough, he feels like he still needs more even though there’s a cock inside of him like he’s craved all night, and Niall listened and is going hard, harder than Louis’ been fucked in a long time. Niall’s hips slap against Louis’ bum over and over, the sounds almost deafening in the room, and Louis clenches around Niall and yes, now he’s feeling it, so he does it again and again, grinning to hear Niall’s wild, uncontrolled moans.

They don’t talk and it traps Louis inside of his mind, pulling him out of the moment, so he wraps a hand around his cock and tugs on it in time with Niall’s thrusts, groaning and moaning more and more as he gets close to his orgasm.

Niall comes first, with a shout and a series of stuttered thrusts, and Louis speeds up his hand, knowing he won’t be able to get there after Niall pulled out. He clenches around Niall and twists his hand and he comes, burying his face against the mattress to muffle his moans.

Louis shifts so Niall slips out of him and he lies down on his stomach, not looking up as he tries to catch his breath. He’s shaking and his mind is too muddled to figure out why, and with every passing second Louis feels increasingly worse. From behind him, he can hear Niall panting to catch his breath.

“Are you staying there?” Niall asks after a moment and Louis cranes his neck to see him lying down, head on his pillow.

With a small moan of protest, Louis crawls on all fours up to the head of the bed, dropping down on it and sighing. The explosion of endorphins that flooded his brain is receding and he’s slowly sinking down into his previous bad mood, and before he knows it he’s wiping tears from his eyes.

“I’m disgusting,” Louis whines, burying his face in the pillow. It smells like Niall and he grimaces, the odour reminding him painfully of the one he’s craving.

“Lou…” Niall says, voice soft and slurred. “You’re not disgusting.”

“I am, though! And I’m pathetic! Look what I’ve sank to because of him!” He gasps for air, a sob nearly choking him. “I’m fucking straight guys, now!”

Niall is actively refraining from touching him, Louis can feel the tension caused by it, and he sniffles, slipping underneath the duvet with a whimper. After a beat, Niall mirrors him and he pats Louis’ hair, awkward and far from comforting.

“It’s not his fault. You’re just… working through some heavy stuff.”

“It makes it worse if it’s not his fault!” Louis squawks. “It means I’m a slut for fun!”

Niall bites his lip. “You’re not a slut. You have a tough life.”

“No, I don’t,” Louis protests. “I’m just a moron who can’t handle a bloody heartbreak without ruining his own life.” Louis sighs. “I’m sorry I made you fuck me. I’ve ruined our friendship now.”

Shaking his head, Niall pats Louis’ hair once more. “It’s not ruined. It’ll be uncomfortable for a while, but it’s not ruined. You didn’t rape me, I was curious.”

“So, I was just a test for you?” Louis says through another whimper.

“Kind of,” Niall says, grimacing. “But I wouldn’t have tested it with anyone else?”

“Not helping,” Louis snaps, turning on his side so his back is to Niall. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“If we remember.”

“I hope we don’t,” Louis snarls, swallowing back the sob that’s nearly choking him, burying his face in the pillow and willing sleep to come.

-

It takes Louis two days to get back on his feet after the massive hangover that their night out at the club gave him. He spent the first day moaning in his bed—he doesn’t remember crawling to it in the middle of the night, because that’s where he woke up in the middle of throwing up at the crack of dawn. On the second day, he’s heavily dehydrated and famished so he manages to make it out of his room long enough to put together a cup of tea and grab a box of saltine crackers, and only because he heard Niall leaving for work. Tragically, he remembers what they did and he’s not ready to face him. He doubts he’ll ever be.

It’s only on the third morning that he feels like his body’s detoxing has run its course and he can manage to make it out of bed. That, and, well, he already used up two sick days and he can’t justify wasting a third one on a freakishly violent hangover.

There’s nothing appealing to eat at his flat so after a long, refreshing shower that makes him feel human once more, Louis pads out the front door, careful not to wake Niall, and heads for the Tube station, figuring he’ll find a coffee shop near his job and eat there before he has to work. He catches his reflexion in the darkened window of the train and he turns away, his face appearing ghostly and sunken after two days of sickness.

Well, it’s the sickness or the shame, and he can’t figure out which one is distorting his traits the most. He feels like Dorian Grey’s portrait, like every sin of the world is being etched on his face, and he wonders if he’ll ever be able to meet his own eyes in the mirror again. He knows he’ll have to talk to Niall eventually to clear the air, but he is a coward and would rather wait until it stops being terrifying.

Harry’s latest single greets him when he enters the first Costa he finds once out of the train and he winces. He considers walking out and finding another one, but his stomach is growling loudly and they’re heating up at cheese toastie, the smell making him salivate. Reluctantly, he walks up to the counter to wait in line, hands clenched by his sides and heart hammering in his ears to hear Harry’s voice over the speakers, and really, he is not about to have a breakdown in the middle of a coffee shop, so he better get his shit together.

“Louis?! Louis Tomlinson?!”

His head whips around at the sound of a voice that’s all too familiar and he freezes at the sight of Gemma. It’s her bloody face, that bloody stupid family face that Harry, Anne and Gemma share, that gets to him the most and he swallows thickly, burying his hands in his pockets to hide that they’re shaking.

“Gemma?” he says, voice squeaking. He clears his throat. “Hi…”

She presses her lips together to erase the smile she’d had seconds before. “I can leave and pretend I never saw you if this is… I mean, I get it.”

Louis considers it for a moment because he really wants nothing to do with any Styles ever again. The words are on the tip of his tongue and he opens his mouth to ask her to leave, but what comes out instead is: “No, it’s fine. I’m glad to see you,” and he realises that he means it, as incongruent as it feels.

Her once brown mane has been bleached a warm, honey blond, and the lengths of it are a faded pink, and she looks a million times more put together and professional than Louis could ever hope to be despite only being a year older.

She smiles and her dimples go straight to Louis’ heart, so he looks away and at the menu, reading the words without understanding any of them.

“How have you been?” she eventually asks. Her words are weighed and careful and Louis sighs to see he’s being treated like something that might break.

The fact that he might actually break is irrelevant.

“It’s been a bit shit, really,” he deadpans, still not looking at her.

She lets out a breathy, uncomfortable laugh. “I can imagine… it’s been what, a year and a half?”

A year and nine months, almost to the day, but Louis can’t say that. “More or less, yeah. I dropped out of uni.”

“I’ve heard, yeah,” she says, readjusting the strap of her satchel on her shoulder. “I’m not going to try and defend his choice to you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I disagree with him.”

Louis looks at her properly for the first time, meeting her gaze and nodding curtly. “Thanks. Everyone does, though, really. No one has had the nerve to tell me what he did was right, so yeah.” Louis shrugs, turning towards the barista to order his breakfast.

He reaches in his bag to take out his wallet, but Gemma puts a hand on his wrist. “It’s on me,” she says.

“I don’t need your pity,” Louis spits out, wounded deep in his pride.

“It’s not pity, it’s a treat. The very bloody least I can do.”

Before Louis can argue further, she places her order and pays, casting Louis a glare when he tries once more to offer his card. They move to the end of the counter to wait for their orders and the silence between them is heavy and uncomfortable. They used to be friends, but their bonding was mainly made through a common passion for teasing Harry.

Gemma clears her throat and Louis looks at her, expecting her to speak, but she does a half-shrug, half-shake of the head and Louis looks away once more, only to turn to her again when he sees her taking out her phone. The guilty glance she gives Louis tells him all he needs to know.

“Don’t tell him you’re with me,” he snaps.

“I wasn’t going to,” she immediately replies. “He doesn’t get to know anything about you.” There’s a fierceness in her voice that makes Louis relax, if only slightly.

Their orders in hand, they find a table at the back of the coffee shop and Louis is glad for the distraction his food brings when the silence between them continues to stretch and thicken.

“I didn’t know you were in London,” Louis finally says in between sips of his tea. It tastes like dishwater, but it’ll have to do.

“It’s recent,” she replies, wiping the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin. “Moved here about a month ago, after graduation.”

“Right!” Louis says, nodding. “You graduated! I forget that because of my age I’m two years behind you in school. December baby and all.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember you were working on your A-Levels when…” she trails off with a shrug, taking a sip of coffee and averting her eyes. “So now you work, yeah?”

“Topshop and a bistro, yeah. Two jobs to make ends meet, that’s the glamourous life of the undereducated.”

She winces. “Sorry to hear it. Are the tips good?”

“Eh,” Louis drawls. “They’re decent.”

Louis looks down at his plate, working on his toastie with appetite for a while. He keeps glancing up at Gemma and their eyes meet a few times, causing them to laugh uncomfortably.

“I’m glad I bumped into you,” Gemma comments. “I’ve been so worried.”

“You shouldn’t have been.”

“Your mother talked to mine, in the early days. I couldn’t be anything but worried with the things I heard.”

“Did… did he hear them, too?”

Gemma shakes her head vehemently. “No. Mum and I withheld the information from him. You have to understand…” she begins, brows furrowed like it hurts her to broach that topic, “I spent many months enraged at him for what he’d done to you. I probably should have been there for him, but I couldn’t even look him in the eyes. Even when he explained… I couldn’t.”

Louis gives up a small smile. “Thanks for your loyalty.”

“It wasn’t loyalty. It was… I was disgusted.”

“Yeah, me too, among other things.”

“It doesn’t compare, I know, but I… I felt like you had to know.”

Louis nods. “Thank you for telling me.” He finishes his tea and takes a deep, bracing breath. “How’s he?”

Gemma bites her lip, frowning. She studies Louis for a moment before she speaks. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Y-yes,” he stutters, clearing his throat. “I do.”

“Well, he loves what he’s doing and he was born for it, it’s fascinating to watch how easily he got the hang of it. He’s a natural at being famous and he works so hard, like… he could take it for granted because he won the show and now his career’s pretty much planned ahead for him for the next few years, but he still makes sure he gives his best. So, obviously, he’s overworked and exhausted, but he refuses to stop because he genuinely loves it.” She shrugs. “Mum agrees with me that he’s probably ignoring a lot of shit by throwing himself into his work. Like…” She points at Louis, her mouth twitching. “There was Elsie for a while, but it was doomed from the start, so when it fizzled and died he didn’t even try to save it.”

Louis’ stomach sinks. “She wasn’t a beard?!”

“At first,” Gemma replies, breaking off a piece of her croissant and eating it. “But they tried dating for a while. She ended it and I can’t blame her.”

Louis swallows thickly, his appetite gone. “I forget he’s bi,” he whispers, stunned. “I was so sure it was fake, with her.”

“It was fake. It’s not like he was in love with her. But… he was lonely and she was there. That’s how he put it when I called him a few days ago.”

“Wow, that’s a bit shit, isn’t it?”

“It’s more than a bit shit. Everyone copes differently.”

Louis reaches for his tea, forgetting that the cup is empty before he tries taking a sip. He puts it back down with a sigh. “I fucked my flatmate,” he blurts out.

Gemma opens her eyes wide. “Okay…?”

“And so many other men, since he dumped me. Good men, bad men, men who treated me like shit were the majority, really. I lied when you asked me how I was. I’m barely keeping it together. I hate myself because I’m not over him and I’m terrified I never will be.”

“He’s not over you, either.”

Louis gets up so fast that he knocks over his chair. It falls to the floor with a clatter, drawing everyone’s attention to them. Louis picks it up and pushes it back under the table roughly, shaking his head all the while.

“I have to go,” he mumbles, hoisting his bag up on his shoulder. “I’ll be late for work. Thanks for the breakfast. Have a good life, Gemma.”

He nearly runs out of the coffee shop, his heart hammering in his chest and Gemma’s words echoing around his head. It’s the worst thing Gemma could have ever told him, that Harry isn’t over him. He’s not allowed to still be hung up on Louis, he’s the one who broke up. It’s not fair that he thinks he can tell his sister shit like that and then for her to go around telling it to Louis, because Louis has worked so hard trying to convince himself that Harry had moved on, hoping he might be able to move on, too, and it was all for nothing because Harry is not over him, fuck.

If his co-workers notice anything, they have the decency not to comment. It allows Louis the freedom to go through his day automatically, disconnected from his body and going through the motions out of muscle memory. He’s so shaken by Gemma’s revelation that he doesn’t even think twice before entering his flat, the mess with Niall forgotten until they’re face to face, Niall on his way out for class.

“We’re cool,” Niall says immediately. “You can stop avoiding me.”

“I wouldn’t have done it sober.”

Niall cackles. “Neither would I. No offence.”

“None taken.”

They both nod curtly. Louis clears his throat. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal if we don’t make it one.”

“I agree.” Niall nods again.

“It’s a secret, though.”

“Obviously. Do you feel better than the other night?” Niall’s voice softens, turning back into his flatmate and best friend after having been a stranger for the past days.

The change gets to Louis and his face crumbles. He drops his bag on the floor and shakes his head, falling into Niall’s open arms. “I saw Harry’s sister, earlier. She said he’s not over me,” he says, words chopped by his sobs. “It’s not fair!”

“Oh, boy. Fuck class,” Niall mutters, steering him towards the couch. “It’ll be okay, Lou, don’t worry. I’m here.”

Louis doesn’t believe a single word of it. He doubts he’ll ever be okay ever again, let alone happy.

Chapter Text

“Maybe I should go back to school,” Louis comments.

They’re sitting out on the lawn in Highbury Fields, enjoying the last warm days of the year. Niall and Perrie have textbooks and class notes scattered around them, revising for their midterm evaluations, but Louis is just lying by their side, using his arms as a pillow and staring up at the sky, listlessly trying to see shapes in the clouds.

“Lads, what if I went back to school?” he repeats when he gets no reply. He lifts his head up to glance at them, but they’re both deep in their revision. Or, they’re trying to ignore him. It’s likely, actually. “Also, I’ve considered shaving my whole head and going around telling people to call me Lewis. And I’ll sell balloons in Hyde Park. How’s that?”

Still nothing. Louis groans and stretches before sitting up with his legs crossed. He rests his elbows on his knees and holds his head up in his hands before pouting dramatically.

“You don’t love me anymore, is that it? I can go, if you prefer. Leave you alone. Unburden you of my presence!”

“Don’t be such a dramatic twat,” Perrie mutters without looking up. “And don’t shave your head, you’ve got a massive forehead, it’d look like shit.”

Louis squawks and covers his forehead with both of his hands. “Perrie! You can’t tell me that!”

“I swear to God,” Niall says through a sigh. “We don’t pay attention to you for ten minutes and you go bonkers. What’s the matter, now?”

“Me. Back to school. Maybe?”

Niall shrugs. “Accounting again?”

With a grimace, Louis rips out a handful of grass and throws it at Niall. “No. Gross. Maybe musical theatre…?”

“London Met doesn’t have that,” Perrie remarks, going back to her notebook.

“I know. I’d have to look into other schools.” Louis looks down, frowning, and keeps ripping out grass blades one by one.

“Your grades are shit and you’re broke,” Niall adds.

Louis throws another handful at him. “I know! Fuck! Okay, I know. But I’m in a rut right now and I’m trying to find a way to climb out. I don’t want my entire life to be about working two part-time jobs to survive, all right? Fuck.” He sighs. “I’m just considering it, okay? It’s the first time I think about the future since… y’know,” he finishes, deflated.

“Sorry, Lou,” Perrie says, voice soft and careful. “We didn’t mean to make fun of you.”

With a shrug, Louis looks up. “You’re not wrong, though. I know I’ve got nothing going for me right now. I couldn’t get back in uni even if I wanted, let alone in a competitive course like musical theatre. But it’s what I’ve always wanted to do, so…”

“It’s great that you’re making plans. We’ll help you every step of the way, too, you know that, yeah?” Perrie smiles at him, reaching out to take his hand and squeeze it. “We’ve got your back, always.”

Louis smiles back, his heart feeling lighter already to have shared the first stumbling steps of a potential plan with them. “Besides, it wouldn’t be before next fall, so I’ve got plenty of time to get the funds and all.”

“Yeah, of course,” Niall replies, nodding. “It could work out.”

“I think so, too. I kind of really want to, yeah,” Louis says, smiling and squinting against the sun, his entire face crinkled. “I mean, it’s nice to kind of have an idea of where I want to be a year from now, besides working at Topshop selling clothes I can’t afford.”

“It’s part of the process of healing, yes,” Perrie comments, careful once more. “Having a life and making plans, not just surviving from day to day.”

“It’s what I want. I’m sick of being miserable because of a… because of, y’know. It’s over, it’s in the past, I need to move on eventually, hm?”

Perrie and Niall exchange a worried glance and Louis rolls his eyes. Sure, a week earlier he was crying his eyes out because he’d found out Harry wasn’t over him, either. And sure, just the day before he’d stormed out of Primark when Harry’s song played in the store. The thing is, though, that Louis woke up in an exceptionally good mood for the first time in weeks and he’s decided that he would win the breakup. If Harry’s not over him, he’s got to be over Harry. He’s got to show that he’s the one who made it out alive despite being the one who was dumped.

So, he’s making plans, the kind of plans he’d given up on when he’d decided he’d build a life with Harry, and it begins with going to university to study musical theatre. For the first time in almost two years, he’s getting excited about his life.

Perrie digs through her purse and retrieves her phone. She shields her eyes and squints at the screen, a smile growing on her lips as she reads the message she received.

“Are you two busy tonight?” she asks, grinning.

Niall and Louis exchange a glance before shrugging in sync. “No,” Louis says.

“Sophia, remember my friend whose boyfriend got us into that club? Yeah, so Sophia’s boy is taking her to a private party and he said she could invite friends. That’s us,” she adds, motioning to the three of them. “VIP access, open bar, private DJ, everything. I’m assuming you’re in?” she asks, already typing a reply.

“Whose party is it?” Louis asks.

“I’m asking,” Perrie replies with a wink. There’s a pause until she receives the next message, which she reads quickly. “She doesn’t know. It’s a private listening session followed by a party, like Liam said even the media doesn’t know who’s hosting. He said it’s a surprise early release, actually. From an up and coming artist. Of course, he knows, but he can’t tell us yet.”

“I’m in,” Niall says, nodding. “Free alcohol, you had me at that.”

“Louis?”

“Have I ever turned down an opportunity to party, like, ever?”

She laughs and types a message, reading as soon as she gets the reply. “Okay, so we’re not invited to the actual listening sesh, that’s for the media only, but we can crash the party, our names will be on the guest list.”

“Is it crashing if we’re allowed in?” Louis asks, squinting.

“It’s crashing in the sense that we’re three dirty working-class kids who’ll attend a private night with the big cheese.”

“So like a crash of the classes, like on an ideological level?” Niall asks with a smirk.

“Yes, we’re crashing a party that our overtaxed, cheap-laboured arses paid for,” she replies, laughing as soon as she stops talking.

Louis groans and throws grass at both of them. “Never mind, I’m not going back to school, it turned you both into boring wankers.”

-

“Are you sure it’s there?” Niall asks, cocking his head to the side.

They’re standing in front of a tall building, nondescript except for the fact that it looks slightly decrepit. It had to have been some sort of small-scale factory, possibly during the first Industrial Revolution, and then repurposed a couple of times before it was abandoned. Their cabbie had argued with them when they’d given the address, saying that they’d been pranked because that was in an industrial part of town and there was no way they had any business up there dressed like they were.

“Yes, I’m sure!” Perrie snaps for the tenth time that night. She has her phone pressed to her ear and a look of anger on her face. “Sophia! Are you sure you gave us the proper address?! It’s a bloody disaffected factory!” She frowns as she listens, and then nods. “Oh, okay. Well, we’re out front.” She looks around them. “There’s literally no one else around, he should find us all right.” Perrie nods and hums a few more times before hanging up. “It’s the right place, Liam will get us in,” she tells them, a smug smile on her face.

A few minutes later, the door opens and a guy walks out. The only word that comes to Louis’ mind when he sees him is ‘husky’, both for the shape of his body, which is, well, distracting, but also because his big, apologetic dark eyes make him look like a dog who was caught misbehaving. Louis looks him up and down and notices the construction boots, and he realises that this Liam guy probably had the right idea, that place probably has thousands of tetanus-infected nails just rusting away on the floor and Louis’ wearing canvas trainers with no socks in them. He’s not even up to date on his shots, he’s definitely dying tonight.

“Hey, sorry about the confusion. I’m Liam!” the guy tells them cheerfully. “Sophia’s friends, hm? You must be Perrie, she talks nonstop about you. And—” he turns to Niall. “You’re the Irish cousin, yeah? Niall? Soph said you looked a bit like Flounder in the pictures she’s seen, I can see it, too! And you—” he turns to Louis and Louis almost snarls, daring him to say something unintentionally rude about him. “You ought to be Louis. Come on in, mates, the party’s inside, we’ve got a whole level at the back, it’s mental.”

Liam holds the door open for them and lets them in before he hurries to walk ahead. “It’s pretty creepy, I know, I told the event planner that it was a bad idea, but she said it was good for the edgy image they’re trying to go for, so here we are. The acoustics are real bad, too, but hey, what do I know, hm?”

He keeps babbling the whole way to the back of the factory and up the concrete staircase, but Louis tunes him out. With every step they take, Louis gets increasingly confused.

“There’s no music,” he comments as they get to the second floor.

“Elementary, my dear Watson!” Liam replies and Louis can’t hold back his cringe. “It’s a silent party! The artist really wanted people to be able to discuss freely, but also enjoy themselves, so if you want to dance, you put on headphones, and if you want to talk, you can do it without shouting! Brilliant, eh?”

“How bloody quaint,” Louis drawls, rolling his eyes.

Perrie elbows him in the ribs. “That’s actually wicked! So, who’s that mysterious artist?”

Liam grimaces. “I’m not allowed to say. He doesn’t want this to be promo, it’s just for fun. Look at it like an anonymous patron.”

“But the media here tonight knows,” Louis argues.

“The media wasn’t invited to the party, though. Just to the listening session. That’s been over for hours.”

“Ugh, pretentious twat. Is the open bar part real, though?”

Liam laughs. “Yes, I wouldn’t lie about free alcohol. Come on in, now, it’s right around the corner.”

A few feet further, Liam pushes open a heavy-looking metal door and motions them inside of a fairly small open space, with high ceilings and no windows. Multi-coloured lights have been rigged across the room, recreating the feeling of a club. There’s even a fog machine, which makes the whole scene completely preposterous. The sight of people dancing to a music Louis can’t hear makes him burst out laughing before he can stop it.

“Fuck, they look insane!” he says through a cackle.

“You can’t be self-conscious, no,” Liam says, laughing. “Oh! Here’s Soph!”

A tall brunette walks over to them and Louis lets out a low whistle, impressed that a guy as plain and affable as Liam could get a girl who looks so much like a model. The introductions turn unexplainably tense when Perrie gets to Louis.

Sophia frowns when she hears his name and she looks him up and down. “Louis, hm? Is he the one you told me about, Pez? With… y’know. Because that could be a problem, tonight. I didn’t know when I invited you, but now…” She winces.

“What could be a problem? Is it the gay thing? Because it’s 2013, love, you better bloody not mean the gay thing,” Louis spits out, defensive.

“No, no, shit, no, it’s not the gay thing! It’s nothing, don’t worry about it! Perrie, come, I need to fix my lipstick. Have fun, boys!” she says quickly, grabbing Perrie by the elbow and towing her away.

“Well, that was weird and uncomfortable!” Niall exclaims to break the ice. “Liam, my man, where’s the alcohol?”

“This way, come along!” Liam says with pomp, and Louis has to admit that his hammy personality is growing on him.

With their drinks in hand, they find a free table and climb up on the high chairs, Louis claiming the one giving him a view of the dance floor. As much as he thought the whole concept was ridiculous, he has to admit now that it’s nice not having to shout to be heard. Balancing his feet under his chair, he sips his drink in silence, listening to Liam and Niall talk about the technical aspects of music for a while until he gets bored and sighs dramatically.

“Liam, what’s your team?”

Liam’s eyes widen and he looks taken aback. “Hm, I mean… I’m… heterosexual?”

With a cackle, Louis kicks his shin under the table. “I knew that. It’s deadly obvious. I meant football team.”

“Jesus, Louis, call it a club like everyone else?! You tricked him on purpose!” Niall exclaims.

Louis holds out his hand for Niall. “Hi, my name’s Louis Tomlinson, have we met? Also we’re flatmates, so you should be taking my side, always.”

If anything, Liam looks even more surprised that Louis wants to talk about football and Louis sighs, wishing he were with the girls, wherever they’ve gone to. Having been the one to initiate the conversation, he makes sure to participate in it, mocking Niall and Liam for their choices because that’s what he does, and he’s in the middle of a particularly clever insult about Derby County when he catches sight of a boy on the dance floor and freezes mid-sentence.

It has got to be the best Harry lookalike Louis has ever had the misfortune to see and his heart stops in his chest, his breath catches in his throat, and he croaks out in surprise.

“What is it?” Liam asks, and Louis tears his eyes from the crowd, where the lookalike vanished, to look into Liam’s worried face.

“N-nothing, just… I thought I saw someone I… never mind.”

“You okay?” Niall asks, his fingers brushing Louis’ arm. He knows, of course he knows.

“Yeah, yeah, just… I’m stupid. Hey, I want to dance, where do I get a pair of headphones?”

Liam points him towards the stand and Louis finishes his drink in one long sip before hopping off the chair. He crosses the room and grabs a pair of headphones, listening listlessly to the instructions on how to use them before putting them on and adjusting the volume so that it drowns out every other sound. He makes his way to the dance floor and closes his eyes as he starts dancing, a part of him wishing the Harry lookalike will reappear and another hoping he never sees him again.

Usually, whenever he goes dancing, he tries to make himself desirable, to catch everyone’s attention and, hopefully, not leave the club alone, but the headphones are cutting him from the rest of the world. He feels alone, completely alone in his bubble of music, and he closes his eyes and dances freely, not caring if people are looking or how he looks. It’s liberating and he usually needs to be a lot drunker to let go like this, but with the bass pounding in his ears in time with his heartbeat, he feels weightless and grounded at once.

He senses a presence near him and opens his eyes, blinking up in the low lights at a figure standing in front of him. The man is taller and broader than him, but not by much, just enough to force him to crane his neck to look at his face. In the dancing flashes of colours from the spotlights above he can’t make out his face, but he sees a shock of curls and his heart gives a lurch. It’s the lookalike. He always seems to attract them, which would be amusing if it weren’t completely disheartening.

The man is saying something, but Louis can’t hear him and he shakes his head with a wide smile when he motions for Louis to remove his headphones. It looks like he might be saying ‘wee’ and Louis laughs, shrugging.

“I don’t know where the loo is, sorry!” he shouts, forgetting that he’s the only one to hear the music. “Dance with me!”

He grabs the man by his wrists and pulls him closer, letting go so he can move the headphones from around the man’s neck to his ears. Now that he’s closer, Louis realises it’s wrong to call him ‘the man’ in his head. This is a boy, younger than Louis is, with not even a hint of peach fuzz on his cheeks, probably. He can’t see enough of him to check, but he has a feeling he’s right.

The song in the headphones changes from an upbeat dance number to a slow, dirty one, and Louis grins wickedly. That’s his specialty. He takes the boy’s hands and places them on his hips before turning so his back is to his chest, and he begins lasciviously grinding his hips, humming in approval when the boy’s hands slip from his hips to his lower abdomen.

Louis lays his head on the boy’s shoulder and turns it, nuzzling the base of his jaw with his nose. The boy’s hands are big and warm against Louis’ belly and they feel right, like they were meant to be placed there, and Louis moves even closer to him so that his bum is grinding directly over the boy’s crotch. He feels his surprised exhale on his cheek, warm and heady with the smell of alcohol.

Louis brings a hand up to hold the back of the boy’s neck and covers one of his with the other, guiding it lower. The boy slips the tip of his fingers inside the waistband of Louis’ jeans and he exhales sharply, nodding to encourage him.

Using his nose, Louis nudges the boy’s headphones to the side so he can be heard. “You look like my ex,” he whispers in his ear. “I’m pretending you’re him, right now. You should know.”

He sees the boy swallow thickly and Louis removes his own headphones from one ear.

“You do, too,” the boy rasps in reply and his voice goes straight to Louis’ heart, ripping it in half and filling his veins with ice.

Louis moves away from the boy and spins around, removing his headphones with shaking hands. He squints through the dark and studies his face and after a few seconds, when his eyes adjust, he lets out a squawk.

“You fucking wanker!” he shouts, covering his mouth with his hands. He stares into Harry’s face in disbelief, a hundred emotions flooding his mind at once. “You bloody arsehole, you let me fucking dance with you! Did you know who I was?!”

The boy’s – Harry’s – eyes are wild, devouring Louis’ face frantically, and he lets out a soft gasp after a while, shaking his head. “I didn’t! I thought you looked like… but I didn’t… Louis!” he finishes in a gasp, taking a step back. “I asked you and you shook your head! Earlier!”

Louis growls. “I thought you said you had to wee! I had my headphones on, you massive idiot!”

“What are you doing here?!”

“I could ask you the same thing!”

“It’s my party!”

With a scoff, Louis rolls his eyes. “I should have figured. Only a pretentious twat like you could throw a bloody silent party! Well, I’m leaving now.”

“No, Louis, wait!” Harry says, moving forward to catch Louis’ wrist. He stops at the last second and it’s good, Louis is pretty sure he’d have ripped off his arm if he’d touched him.

Hearing Harry say his name after so long makes Louis tremble with yearning. The slow, slow drawling way Harry has of saying it, making it sound like it has twice the number of vowels, is so uniquely Harry that Louis realises he’d missed it the moment he hears it once more. He closes his eyes and exhales loudly, taking a second to brace himself.

“No. You don’t get to talk to me. You don’t even get to see me,” he says, voice icy. “As far as you’re concerned, I’m dead. Is that clear?”

Harry’s eyes are wide with hurt and Gemma’s words come back to haunt Louis. He shakes his head and turns on his heels, headed for the door. Screw Niall and Perrie, they can catch a cab on their own when they’re ready to leave. Louis has to be gone now and possibly find a high place from which to throw himself.

“Louis, please…” Harry insists and it’s like lightning struck Louis.

He stalks closer to him and slaps him across the face before pushing him away. “Fuck off! You fucking broke up with me! I never want to see you again, what’s so hard to understand?! There’s no ‘Louis, please’! No second chance! It’s not something you can fix even if you try really hard!”

“I just want to explain!” Harry is pleading, now, and out of muscle memory Louis almost caves. Everything in him is wired to do anything to fix it when Harry looks the way he does at the moment, distressed and lost.

“There’s nothing to explain! You chose your career over me!”

“It’s not that simple!”

“Yes, it is! It literally is!”

“If you would just let me explain!”

Louis growls and pushes Harry again, lifting his hand up for a slap that’s stopped mid-movement when Liam catches his wrist.

“That’s enough!” Liam says and his grip is vice-like. “Take that shit outside!”

“I’m not going anywhere with him,” Louis spits, shaking his arm to release it. “I’m leaving.”

Louis feels like a live wire, like the barest of touch would make him go off in sparks, and he’s shaking so violently that he drops his headphones when he tries to take them from around his neck. He bends down to pick them up, but Niall beats him to it, placing a comforting hand on his back.

“We’re leaving?” Niall asks, voice low. “D’you want me to punch him for you?”

Harry takes a step closer and Louis is on him again, pushing with both hands on his chest and hitting his arm repeatedly until Liam pulls him away by the wrist.

“What’s going on, seriously?!” Liam snaps, grabbing the two of them by the arms. “Come on, we’re not making a scene in public.”

Liam steers them both away, Niall following closely with a hand on Louis’ shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

“I’m not going! Let me go!” Louis shouts, trying to break free.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’m not bringing you out back to shoot you, we’ll only talk. Stop shouting!”

“I don’t want to hear what he has to say!”

Liam only clicks his tongue and keeps moving forward. He only lets go of them once they’re outside of the building. They’re at the back of the factory, in an vacant lot strewn with patches of dried up grass growing in the cracks of the asphalt and bits and scraps of metal and plastic. The single light is an aggressive sentinel above the door and it keeps flashing on and off, its motion detector too sensitive. As soon as he’s free, Louis throws himself at Harry again.

“You knew it would happen! That’s why Sophia looked so shifty! You knew I was coming! You planned this!” Louis shouts, hitting Harry’s chest with his fists. Louis’ voice echoes around the empty yard, bouncing off the walls of the building, amplifying its reach. A dog starts barking in the distance.

“I didn’t! Do you think this is how I’d try to get you back?!”

Louis gasps, slapping Harry again. “There’s no getting me back! I’m over you! I don’t love you anymore, Harry!” Louis lies. “I stopped a long time ago!”

For the first time, Harry seems to be realising that the situation is not in his favour. He sways on his feet, taking a step back, eyes widening and mouth gaping open. “I… I didn’t think you still did.”

“Always such a lousy liar,” Louis sneers, rolling his eyes. “I talked to your sister, I know you’re not over me. But guess what: I am! Leave me alone, I don’t ever want to see you again.”

Harry inhales sharply and recoils, shoulders slumping forward. His chin is trembling and his eyes are glistening with tears in the streetlamps and every instinct inside of Louis are shouting that he needs to comfort Harry, but he steels himself.

And the worst is, in that moment, if Harry decided to explain why he broke up, Louis would listen. It’s weak and he hates himself for it, but he’d want to hear Harry’s story because he never could resist that stupid boy when he cries.

Harry doesn’t talk, though, he just sniffles and wipes his eyes, and Louis’ heart break to think he made him look that way. Unable to see him in that state any longer, Louis turns on his heels, headed away from what he feels might have been the worst mistake of his entire life.

It’s only when he reaches the corner of the street that he checks to see if Niall is following. Louis checks left and right and then behind him, his frown deepening when he can’t see Niall. He’s about to shout his name when he sees him appearing from around the corner of the building, jogging towards him.

“Sorry, Liam was talking to me. Let’s call a cab.” Niall pauses to catch his breath. “Are you all right?”

“Of course not!” Louis snaps, wrapping his arms around himself. “I need to be home, now.”

Niall puts his arm around Louis’ shoulders and Louis leans into him, hiding his face in Niall’s neck. He stays there, trying to shut off the entire world, until Niall gently nudges him.

“The cab’s here,” he says, steering Louis towards it. A second pair of hands joins in and Louis jumps and tenses, immediately relaxing when he sees that it’s Perrie.

The ride back home is made in silence, with Louis curled up against Perrie’s side while she strokes his hair soothingly, and when they drop her off at her flat he leans to the other side and snuggles up to Niall.

More and more, Louis is convinced that he’s done a huge mistake. He could have gotten Harry back, could have just opened his arms and agreed to listen to him and the past year and a half of heartbreak and pain would be over, he’d be back home in his boy’s arms. He let his pride get in the way, though, like he always does, like he did when Harry tried calling him for days and days after the break up and Louis would deny the calls until he couldn’t take it anymore and turned off his phone. It felt right, these few minutes of dancing in his arms, his body responded too well to Harry’s, they fit easily once more.

Louis climbs up to their flat without a word to Niall, locking himself in his room and tearing his clothes off before climbing in bed to hide under his duvet. After a few minutes, Niall knocks softly at the door.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, thank you,” Louis replies, voice flat.

He expected to cry once he got home, but he feels numb. It’s as though he ran out of tears to shed on Harry, at last. He closes his eyes and rubs them roughly, unable to get the image of Harry crying out of his mind. His heart twists painfully whenever it comes back. He spent so many months making sure Harry never felt anything but happiness that letting him cry felt like he’d failed him.

Niall knocks again and opens the door before Louis answers, sitting at the foot of the bed. The room is dark except for the sliver of light pouring in from the ajar door. Niall is sitting inside of the rectangle of warm light and it hurts Louis’ eyes to look at him so he looks up at the ceiling, his eyes falling on the glow-in-the-dark stars he and Harry had glued there together during his first visit.

“Don’t be mad,” he opens with and Louis sighs. “But before we left, I…”

Trailing off, he hands Louis his phone. Louis looks at it for a moment without understanding what he’s looking at before his stomach drops.

“You got Harry’s number?” Louis asks, voice white. “W-why?”

Niall shrugs. “You have unfinished business. Maybe it’s what you need to finally move on. I don’t know, mate. You do what you want with it. Give me your phone.” Louis complies, watching Niall thumb through his phone for a moment. “You still have his contact…” he mutters to himself, typing in the new number. “He changed his number, though. There.”

Louis takes the phone and drops it on the bed next to him. “Okay. Can you leave me alone, now? Please?”

He waits for Niall to be out of the room before plunging back under the duvet, his phone’s presence nearby taunting him.

-

Nearly a week later, Louis still hasn’t made up his mind. Some days, he wakes up convinced he’ll delete Harry’s number, but he changes his mind at the last second, only to start typing a message that he deletes almost immediately. He has no idea what he wants.

Letting Harry back into his life means risking another heartbreak when he inevitably lets him down, but it’s also possible that Harry is the only boy for him and his only shot at love. Harry doesn’t deserve him, though, not with the cavalier way he dismissed him, but perhaps Louis doesn’t deserve him either. He has to have done something terrible for Harry to dump him, he can’t have stopped loving him in a split second, it’s not how it works.

i think i have a shot at getting back with my ex but idk what to do why can’t i get spoilers for my own life from time to time, he posts on his blog on the fifth day, switching from the Tumblr app to his contacts where Harry’s information is still opened. His thumb hovers over the message bubble for a moment before he locks his phone with a sigh to finish getting ready for work.

He has a few replies when gets back home at the end of a long, exhausting shift. He locks himself in his room with a bottle of wine he bought on his way and takes out his laptop, uncorking the bottle while waiting for it to boot. He logs onto Tumblr and navigates to his blog’s page to read the replies.

Most of them are encouraging to give it a try, especially the ones from the friends he’s had the longest. They’ve witnessed him going through some of the roughest weeks of his life and he feels like they might know him better than Perrie and Niall do after he used his blog as a public diary, writing things on it that he never dared voice to his two best friends.

OKAY I’M DOING IT BUT I NEED HELP, he types in a new post in which he tags his closest online friends.

He sits back and waits for them to reply, scrolling through his dashboard mindlessly. It’s mostly filled with old pictures of Harry. Nothing big happened recently and he hasn’t been sighted in public either. Louis has to give his PR team points for the way the private party was kept a secret even from the most devoted fans. It’s impressive, really, considering the scene he personally caused there.

He refreshes his dashboard and sees that he has a message from one of the girls he tagged.

Oh love okay if you really want to do this, you need to set boundaries. Like make it clear you’re not gonna be won over easily, you know? He owes you the efforts of winning you back.

Louis nods to himself, drinking a long sip of wine from the bottle. A second message comes in by the time he replied to the first, that one basically saying the same thing. He picks up his phone and stares at it as though it might compose the message for him.

Harry, he begins, drinking more wine immediately. You’re a twat. But. You’re my twat.

He immediately erases everything and starts over.

Harold, I don’t know why I’m writing to you right now. I’m drinking wine though so it sounds like a good idea. Better. I need closure. You do too. I need to understand why you threw everything we had away. How you could stop loving me so suddenly. I give you one meeting in a coffee shop. A public place so we’re not alone. I can’t be alone with you. I’ll either kill you or
He erases that part, up to ‘alone’. This is your last chance, after that I’m over you.

Louis sends the message and his stomach churns to see it go immediately from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’. Three dots appear and he gasps, clutching the wine.

I wasn’t sure you’d still have the same number, I see that you do. Yes. Name a time and place. Yes to everything.

Also I almost died when I opened your message, the last message before it was… from a different era. It hurt.

Louis groans. You don’t get to say that. It’s your own bloody fault. Next Monday, 3pm, I’ll text you the address. I’ll wait five minutes and then I’ll leave.

I’ll be there. Thank you. Thank you.

Louis turns off his phone before he does something stupid like reply and start a conversation with Harry. He knows what last message he was talking about. He still has it saved. He’d sent it the morning Harry was going to meet his new management team, when he’d woken up alone and had missed him violently.

good luck babe knock em dead i believe in u my star i love u, it reads. Louis knows it by heart, he’s read it so much in the past year and a half, cursing himself for having sent something so heartfelt hours before being unceremoniously dumped.

He finishes the bottle in the next hour to be able to fall asleep, wondering if he’ll need to get drunk every night until the meeting if he wants to sleep.

-

He gets to the coffee house half an hour early, by mistake. He orders a cup of tea and a pastry before finding an armchair at the back, secluded and the closest thing to privacy they might get. He places his jacket on the empty chair next to his, saving the seat for Harry. If he shows up.

Louis brought a book, but he can’t focus long enough to even think about taking it out of his jacket’s pocket. He’s compulsively drinking his tea, his pastry left untouched on the plate, and within fifteen minutes he needs to get up for a second cup. He takes a tentative bite of his pastry when he comes back, but his stomach twists in protest.

He tries not to, but his eyes stay glued to the door. It only makes him jumpy, his heart speeding up whenever it opens and then deflating when it’s not Harry. He’s had a couple more days to think about what his view of the situation is and he drew a couple of conclusions.

Number one, he is still in love with Harry, but that was an easy one. Of course, he is still in love with Harry. He wouldn’t be Louis if he weren’t in love with Harry.

Number two, he wants to be convinced by Harry’s story. He wants to be given a reason to forgive him. He hates what Harry did, but he hates his life without him even more.

Number three, he’s not ready to trust Harry even if he forgives him. The thought of jumping back into a relationship with him so soon twists his stomach and clouds his mind. The only possibility he found, for the moment, would be a trial period during which Harry would have to prove to him that he’s not mistaken to give him a second chance.

Number four, he is weak, boy crazy, and it’s disgusting. He unravelled after a break up and basically threw away his whole life because he was dumped, he is pathetic and would be the biggest idiot the world has ever carried if he blindly gave Harry a second chance. Taking him back needs to be a choice, not the only option.

Hopefully, he remembers it all when Harry will be sat next to him and begging for a second chance.

The door opens and Louis’ breath catches in his lungs when he sees Harry entering. He watches him push his sunglasses off and run a hand through his hair to ruffle it before scanning the room, his breath visibly hitching when he finds Louis. He’s ten minutes early.

While Harry waits in line to order, Louis rushes to take out his phone and uses the front-facing camera to fix his fringe before readjusting the way his shirt falls to try and conceal his tummy. He drains the remnants of his tea and takes a deep, steadying breath, turning a stony face to Harry when he gets closer.

“Take a seat,” Louis says, voice cold.

“Hi,” Harry replies, out of breath. “I got you something, too. Tea, yeah?”

Louis gives him a tight smile. “Thanks. Take a seat.”

Harry gently removes Louis’ jacket from the seat before sitting down, twisting his fingers together and squeezing them between his knees. He’s sitting with his shoulders hunched and his head bowed down, making his hair fall into his face. Louis allows himself a few seconds to observe Harry’s face, making a mental list of all the ways it has changed and all the ways it has not. Same eyes, but they look slightly more proportionate to his face now that he’s grown. It’s the same for his nose and those sinful lips, the ones Louis knows would be his unmaking if they touched his own. Harry’s jaw is wider already and it promises to drive Louis crazy when he’ll finish growing up. With all that’s happened, it really took seeing him from so close for Louis to remember that he’s only 19, after all.

Louis licks his lips and sits back in his chair, putting as much distance as possible between them. Harry looks up at the sound, but he can’t hold Louis’ eyes more than a second before looking down again. He has dark circles under his eyes and it worries Louis before he can censor the thought.

“So,” Louis says.

“Yes.” Harry breathes in deeply, swallows loudly, and reaches for his coffee, taking a long sip from it. “Here’s my side of the story.” His hands are shaking and he puts down his coffee, perhaps hoping that Louis won’t notice. “When I met with my new agent, he was playing it cool.” Harry begins in his slow, steady voice that Louis missed so much it ached physically. “He promised me all of those great things and he… I’ve thought about it a lot and he manipulated me into signing. If I’d been older, I’d have understood what he meant when he said they’d control my image, you know? But I was 17. I didn’t know.”

“Yes, okay, evil management convinced you I was bad for you, that’s all you’ve got to say?” Louis snaps, grabbing his jacket.

“No! No, please, let me finish,” Harry says, a bit aggressively. Louis knows him well enough to know that Harry hates being interrupted during his long-winded, rambling stories. He always swore to himself he would never do it and he regrets speaking up.

“Fine,” Louis says with a sigh.

“As I was saying, when he said he’d control my image I thought it’d be, like… how I dressed or the way I talked in interviews. So, I signed. He… he promised he’d make me an international star by the end of the contract, it’s all I’d ever wanted. After I signed, he took me to his office, without my mum, and he… the first thing he said was that my boyfriend had to go. That… he didn’t want people to pigeonhole me. He talked about Elton John and, like, Adam Lambert and he asked if I wanted to be known as ‘the gay one,’ basically.” Harry looks up, meeting Louis’ eyes. “My plan was to call you back once I was out of his office to explain so that we could still be together as a secret. But you never picked up…”

“You still could have said no!”

“And face a lawsuit? He threatened me with one! I didn’t have a lawyer at the time, he said it was part of my contract and refusing to comply was breaking it and I was so scared, Louis, I… I panicked.” Harry runs his hands down his face. “I didn’t choose my career over you, but I was too afraid to fight for you. That, I’ll admit.”

“That’s it?” Louis asks, clearing his throat when his voice comes out shaky.

“I…” Harry sighs, visibly deflating. “Yes. That’s it.”

“What about her?” Louis asks, still as cold as ever. He nearly spits out her name and it makes Harry twitch.

“She started as a beard to get rid of the rumours that I had a boyfriend, but… we had to spend a lot of time together pretending to be dating so eventually we just… did.”

“And you fucked her?”

“Hm, yes, I… yes. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise to me, apologise to the poor girl who had to shag a gay man for months,” Louis snarls, taking a sip of his tea. It’s perfect because of course, Harry would remember how he takes his tea.

“I’m not gay,” Harry whispers, frowning. “I’m bi. You know that.”

Louis waves a dismissive hand. “Same difference.”

“No, it’s not,” Harry snaps in reply, brows almost comically furrowed.

“Okay, okay, it’s not,” Louis says, dropping the subject quickly. “So what, you dumped her, too?”

“No, she broke up with me when she fell in love with someone else.”

“Karma is a bitch.” Louis chuckles under his breath, hating every second of this shitty attitude he’s developed in the past ten minutes.

There’s an impulse in him to hurt Harry with every single word he says. Perhaps as payback even if Harry’s story convinced him to give him a second chance, or perhaps to test how willing Harry is about being given a second chance, to see if he’ll stick around through thick and thin.

“Well, it’s not like I was in love with her,” Harry says, his eyes not leaving Louis, and Louis blushes, letting out a huff of indignation at the disgusting way his body is betraying him.

“Nice try, Styles, but I’m not 18 anymore. You’ll have to try a little harder. I’m basically dead inside, now,” Louis quips.

“Are...” Harry stops to gulp down a long sip of coffee. “What are you saying?”

Louis licks his lips and shrugs, sinking deeper into the armchair. He looks away, fixing his gaze to the electric fireplace he’s sitting by. “I don’t know,” he says in a breath, shrugging again. “You fucked me up. I… I lost everything. I dropped out of school, I…” Louis shakes his head. “You don’t get to hear all of that.”

Harry has the decency to stay silent, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands joined in the middle and his fingers twisting and pulling at each other. “If there’s even a slim chance,” Harry begins after a moment, “that you might give me a second chance, no matter the cost, I’ll… you’re worth more than I could ever give you, but… I’m not ready to give up yet.”

Louis is taken aback by Harry’s words, suddenly at a loss for words. He takes a sip of tea and tears off a piece of his pastry to have an excuse to take a while before he replies. “Fuck, Harry, did you rehearse that line?” he scoffs.

“Yes,” Harry deadpans, matter-of-fact. Louis narrows his eyes, unsure whether Harry is being earnest or petty on purpose. “Because I was afraid I wouldn’t find the words to convince you when I’d be too nervous.”

“Oh, okay,” Louis pipes, rolling his eyes. “What’s my line, then?”

“I figured you’d ad lib it, so I left your line blank.”

“Don’t be smart,” Louis snaps, grimacing.

They play off each other so well, it’s like they actually have a script even after all this time. The way the script should go, Louis feels, is that he tells Harry that he won’t give him a second chance, that he’s too hurt. His role is that of the slighted lover who has grown stronger, the stone-hearted ex who doesn’t care about the truth, who thinks it’s not enough or too late. Everyone would tell him to be strong, to walk away before he lets Harry wreck him again. He moves on and grows up as a person, he lets go of his adolescent, puppy love excuse for a relationship, and he truly becomes an adult.

The thing is, though, Louis has always been lousy at following scripts. There’s a reason Harry made that ad lib comment, he knows him and he’s heard the countless stories of Louis’ Grease director losing it whenever he improvised. If there’s something that Louis hates, it’s being predictable.

“Okay. I’ve thought about my line,” he finally says, bringing a leg up on the chair and hugging it to his chest. “I’m giving you one more chance, but only one more. I don’t trust you and I’m not your boyfriend. Don’t take me for granted. You were a shit boyfriend before, I won’t be as tolerant as I was.”

“I wasn’t a shit boyfriend!” Harry lets out in an indignant squawk.

“This is my soliloquy, shut up. You were. You were insecure and needy, you never did anything for me and you’d get upset and messy whenever you were asked to make a compromise. I won’t have any of it now.”

Harry nods, frantic. “Okay, yes, of course. I’ll do anything you ask.” He moves as though he wants to squeeze Louis’ hand, but he stops halfway and lets his hand drop. “Does… does that mean I can start texting and talking to you again? Regularly?”

Louis’ heart leaps at the thought, every cell in his body shouting ‘yes!’ in reply. “It depends. If you’re only calling to talk about you and your problems, I swear I’ll put your bloody number on Twitter.”

Harry nods again. “So, hm... friends again?”

“No, acquaintances for now. You need to earn my friendship, let alone my love. Besides, I don’t know who you are anymore.”

Licking his lips, Harry finishes his coffee. “I always thought we moved too fast, the first time. From strangers to… well… dry humping in my hotel room within a couple of days. And boyfriends by the time we were back home.”

“As much as I hate to say it, I think you’re right. So, we’ll be more careful, now. This isn’t a guarantee that we’ll date again, just so we’re clear. So don’t get all pissy if I never want you as my boyfriend again, are we clear?”

“Perfectly clear. I’ll follow your cues.”

“Good boy,” Louis snarls, grabbing his jacket. “Now, I need to go to work. We’ll stay in touch.”

“Can I get a hug?” Harry blurts out, eyes wide in surprise at his own courage.

“Hm, yes, I don’t see why not.”

They get up at the same time and move naturally into the hug, the motion familiar despite how long it’s been. The new angle is all wrong and Louis’ neck hurts from it, but the way Harry’s arms are tightening around him is enough to make him reel. Harry smells nothing like he remembered, his perfume probably as expensive as a month’s worth of rent and he uses a new shampoo. He lets Harry cling to him for a moment, refraining from doing the same, before stepping back and out of his arms.

“Okay, enough. I have to go. Bye, Harry.”

Louis hurries out of the shop before he can catch a glimpse of the state Harry is in after the hug. He doesn’t think he could handle it.

-
When Louis gets out of his shift, feet sore and smelling of cooking oil, he checks his phone. He bites his lip when he sees he has a message from Harry.

Hey Louis, it was really good talking to you earlier. I still mean everything I said and I swear I’ll hold my promise, this time. I hope your shift at work was all right and I hope to see you soon.

Louis can’t hold back the smile that appears on his face so he hides it with a hand over his mouth. He feels stupidly giddy for such a mundane message, but fuck, he never thought he’d ever receive messages from Harry ever again.

“What’s making you so happy, love?” one of his co-workers asks.

“Trouble,” he replies. “So much trouble.”

Chapter Text

Every day, Louis wakes up with a message from Harry wishing him a good morning. Every day, without fail, he checks his phone as soon as he opens his eyes and there it is, waiting for him on the lock screen, and his heart leaps at the sight. It’s nothing exceptional, it’s only a return to their old habits, to what they used to do every morning when they were dating, but the comeback of the routine makes Louis feel dizzy with emotions he can’t quite name. All he knows is that for the first time in months, he looks forward to waking up so he can see Harry’s name on his lock screen.

It’s pathetic.

Louis never replies; he’s not ready to start a conversation just yet. It’s enough, for now, to know that Harry is thinking of him and persevering despite silence coming from Louis.

One morning, about two weeks after he met with Harry, Louis wakes up to two messages. The usual Harry one, which he grins at guiltily for a while, and one from Perrie.

Let’s bring back karaoke night! Tonight! Are you in?

Louis replies with a couple of emojis to signify that he’s in before rolling out of bed and heading for the shower, making quick work of getting ready for his early shift at the bistro. He hates the brunch shift on weekends; it’s filled with obnoxious, hungover people his age reminding him that he, too, could be obnoxious and hungover if he didn’t have to be at work.

The promise of karaoke night helps him get through the day, at least. He gets a message during his break from Perrie to say she invited a couple of friends to join them, which is fine. It’s all fine. The more the merrier, especially when it means Louis has more people to laugh at while they butcher songs up on stage.

He gets out of work just before dinner time and he barely has time to run home to shower off the smell of cooking and change before he has to run out of the door once more, knowing that Niall and Perrie will already be there to secure the private room. Usually, Niall brings along uni friends, all annoying music students who are actually talented at singing and make everyone feel bad, but they’re friends with Niall so it’s hard to hate them, they share his annoyingly endearing personality. When it’s Perrie who invites her friends, then Louis usually ends up crying over a pink drink in the bathroom while he tells his life story to anyone who’ll listen. Considering he’s currently living through the very confusing experience of having his ex being reintroduced into his life, Louis is glad it’s Perrie’s friends that are coming. He needs to be cooed at for an hour or two.

Louis stops by the bar to order when he gets there, picking the dirtiest, greasiest hot dog on the menu, with rivers of melted cheese and bits of onion and other unspeakable things stacked on it, along with an entire bottle of wine. It’ll be that kind of evening; he can already tell.

He hurries up the stairs at the back of the bar and pushes open the door to the private room, closing it behind him. He places his food on the table and slumps on one of the black couches, sprawling until he’s taking up most of it.

“What’s that?” Perrie asks, nodding her head towards the bottle of wine.

“My lover for the night. And I don’t share. It’s been a long week.”

“It’s a Monday night,” Niall comments around a mouthful of cheesy fries.

“It’s been a long life, then,” Louis corrects, ignoring the glass the bartender gave him and drinking straight from the bottle before straightening up to attack his hot dog. His stomach growls in anticipation.

“I invited some friends,” Niall says after washing his mouthful of fries with a sip of beer. “They’ll be here soon.”

“My friends should be here soon, too,” Perrie says, sipping on her drink. “I invited Sophia and Liam, I think you guys liked them the other day, yeah?”

Louis shrugs, taking a swig of wine. “Yeah, they’re great. Liam is fun to tease. I have a feeling he’s a shit singer, too, that’ll be fun.”

“Soph says he’s actually quite good. His classic is ‘Cry Me a River’ according to her.”

Louis laughs at the prospect of seeing Liam hamming it to a Timberlake song. The hot dog and the wine, along with the intimate, isolated feeling the room gives him, makes Louis relax. The black walls make him feel safe and the room is so familiar by now that it’s like visiting a friend’s apartment. He knows which couch is the comfiest and the exact spot where to hip check the door so it closes completely.

Unwinding from his long day, sinking deeper into the cushions, the basket holding his hot dog balanced on the arm of the couch, Louis closes his eyes and savours the moment, relishing the profound pleasure he’ll feel later when he’ll get to see his friends’ friends massacring songs. He loves karaoke.

“You’ve got cheese everywhere,” Niall says with a laugh and Louis shrugs, licking around his mouth without any grace.

“Don’t care, it’s delicious.” Louis takes another bite, feeling the hot, melted cheese run down his chin, and he giggles. He probably looks disgusting, but who cares, really, he’s got no one to impress.

It turns out that fate is a bitch. At that exact moment, the door opens to let in Sophia, Liam and—fuck, Harry. Louis, mouth full of hot dog and half of his face covered in cheese, can only stare and try not to choke. He swallows thickly and reaches blindly for a napkin, wiping his chin hastily, eyes glued to Harry.

He’s standing by the door despite Sophia and Liam already coming in and claiming a couch for themselves, and no one is talking – why isn’t anyone talking? – making the air thick with tension. Or, perhaps people are talking, Louis is dimly aware that Liam and Niall are attempting small talk, but there’s a buzzing in Louis’ ears that dulls the noises and amplifies the rushing, beating of his heart.

Harry can’t do that, he can’t just bloody show up unannounced, Louis needs a 48-hour warning so he can mentally prepare; without it, he’s a bumbling, stumbling, blushing teenager in love and he forgets why exactly he hates Harry because Harry just looks so goddamn good it’s like seeing him again for the first time in Heathrow years ago.

Only a second or two must have passed, but it feels to Louis like a lifetime just went by before Harry goes to sit next to Liam on the couch opposite Louis’, so that only a coffee table separates them. Louis reaches for his wine and takes a long sip to try and wash away the bitter taste from his mouth. He abandons the remains of his hot dog on the table, his appetite all but gone.

“How are you today, Louis?” Harry asks, voice low and careful.

“I’ve been better,” Louis drawls, shrugging. He cradles the bottle of wine to his chest, gripping its neck tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. He doesn’t return the question, instead shifting his attention to the conversation Perrie and Sophia are having.

Niall’s friends arrive like a stampede a few minutes later and create a crazy game of musical chair, making everyone move around until Louis is stuck squeezed in between the arm of a couch and Perrie, Harry in the same position next to Niall, their respective couches forming an angle and putting them much too close. Louis has to keep his elbows and knees to himself so they don’t bump into Harry’s gangly limbs. He keeps the bottle between his thighs, sipping from it regularly. He notices – then hates himself for noticing – that Harry is nursing a colourful, sugary drink. He never did develop a test for beer, then.

Niall and his friends are the first up to sing, a choral of loud, loud Irish boys singing slightly off-key along to Oasis’ ‘Champagne Supernova’ followed by three Jackson Five songs. Only when the opening bars of ‘Rock Lobster’ fill the room are they booed away from the microphones. They immediately leave the room, coming back a few minutes later with two pints of beer each. It’ll be a fun evening, Louis decides when he sees them clink their pints together. He won’t let Harry take that away from him.

Halfway through his bottle of wine, Louis stops paying attention to the songs being performed. He hasn’t sung yet, he’s not drunk enough for it, not when Harry is there. Harry hasn’t, either, but he looks vaguely uncomfortable so it’s possible he’s intimidated to sing in front of Niall’s friends, who appear to be completely unaware of who Harry is. It must be hard for his ego, Louis imagines, not to be recognised by music students. Good.

Liam takes the microphone when Louis takes his last sip of wine, and by that time he’s in the perfect state to see him destroy Justin Timberlake. As predicted, he picks ‘Cry Me a River’ from the menu, but Louis frowns when it isn’t the familiar melody that starts.

“Oh!” he says loudly once he understands. “The Ella Fitzgerald one!”

Sophia shushes him and he sticks out his tongue, resting his elbows on his knees so he can lean forward and pay attention without tipping off the couch, which is increasingly likely. Liam is good, surprisingly, nailing the sultry, shifting notes of the song seemingly easily. Louis is jealous and upset and pissed off that a boy who doesn’t even want to make a career out of his voice has a better one than he does. Harry has a knowing smile on his face which annoys Louis, basically because anything that makes Harry happy annoys him. He doesn’t deserve to be happy, especially not when it’s because a stupid tour manager is a better singer than his ex.

Niall’s friends leave after the song, moving at once like a boisterous hive-mind, coming back with a platter covered in shot glasses.

Louis squeals and jumps off the couch, joining them with pleading eyes and pouting lips, and he sits heavily on the coffee table when they agree to share. He takes five shots before freezing with the sixth halfway to his lips when he sees Harry take the microphone from Perrie.

Harry closes his eyes as the song starts, the dim lights of the room erasing the past two years from his face, making him look as young as he was when Louis met him, and it’s perhaps a trick of the alcohol, but Louis considers, for just a moment, forgiving him.

“When the rain is blowing in your face,’ Harry starts crooning softly, his deep voice sending chills up Louis’ spine, “and the whole world is on your case, I could offer you a warm embrace to make you feel my love.”

The air gets knocked out of him at Harry’s song choice and Louis hobbles back to the couch, slumping heavily into it and curling up into Perrie’s side, letting out a shaky sigh when she strokes his hair. It’s not fair that Harry picked a love song, even worse that it’s an Adele song and he has to know that Louis listened to her nonstop for months after they broke up, everyone does, and Louis could kill him if he wasn’t rooted to where he’s dying on the couch.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes out and Perrie hums, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly.

Harry’s eyes are still closed; he’s got one hand holding the microphone and the other shoved in his pocket, and it’s the most understated performance Louis has ever seen him give. It’s the first time he hears him sing live since they broke up and he got better, a thousand times better, and Louis’ heart is breaking all over again.

“I know you haven’t made your mind up yet, but I would never do you wrong,” Harry continues, reaching notes Louis never imagined he could hit, and for a moment he is just a fan baffled by Harry’s talent, not his slighted, heartbroken ex-boyfriend. “I’ve known it from the moment that we met; no doubt in my mind where you belong.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Louis breathes out and Perrie hums, using her free hand to stroke his forearm soothingly.

“I could make you happy, make your dreams come true. Nothing that I wouldn’t do,” Harry sings, his voice soft as a whisper, “Go to the ends of the Earth for you, to make you feel my love.”

The music stops and Harry keeps his eyes closed, takes a shaky inhale, and then heads back to his spot on the couch under the enthusiastic applauds of Niall and his friends. Louis swallows thickly and keeps his eyes away from him, feeling like he could break down if a single word was spoken to him at the moment.

With the amount of alcohol sloshing around his system, it’s a matter of seconds before Louis’ mood changes dramatically, pushing him off the couch and up to the front of the room. He pries the microphone out of Niall’s hands and pushes him away, grabbing the remote and moving quickly through the song selection on the television, his eyes unfocused but his mind knowing exactly what he’s looking for. He makes his selection and then turns to face his friends, gripping the microphone with both hands to hide that he’s shaking. He pointedly avoids looking at Harry until the opening bars of the song make everyone laugh and cheer.

“At first I was afraid, I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side…” Louis sings, spitting the words like acid, his eyes drifting on their own to meet Harry’s. He narrows his gaze when he sees that Harry has paled.

Louis paces the room and dances as he sings, getting into it dramatically with the help of the alcohol. He jumps up on the coffee table and uses it as a catwalk, stopping in front of Harry to crouch and look at him straight in the eyes when he gets to the crucial part of the song.

“And you see me, somebody new, I’m not that chained up little person still in love with you. And so you felt like dropping in and just expect me to be free, but now I’m saving all my loving for someone who’s loving me!” he sings, his words dripping with venom, and he gets a happy little thrill of satisfaction in the pit of his stomach when he sees Harry crumble before his eyes.

There’s always a moment in a Glee episode where a character gets a big musical-worthy dream sequence, when the climax of their song of the week peaks and they sing through their emotional breakdowns, and that’s exactly how Louis feels. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine himself parading on a stage in a flamboyant costume with a glittering golden background and back-up singers dancing along, with the music booming around him, and the moment when tears well up in Harry’s eyes is when he imagines confetti cannons going off, and he’s Freddie Mercury when ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ explodes, and he’s strutting like the lovechild of Bowie and Jagger, and he feels so bloody alive he might die when the song ends.

But of course this is all in his head. When the music stops he’s still crouched on the table in front of Harry and rather than successfully getting back up he falls down on his arse with a squeal, earning himself laughter amidst the applauds his performance got him. Louis stays on the table, giving Niall the mic when he asks for it. He’s grinning and feels light as air, his heart soaring from the high of his performance until it all comes crashing down when he hears Harry sniffle a second before he gets up and leaves the room in a rush, slamming the door behind him, only to make it bounce back open when it doesn’t click shut.

“Fuck,” Louis moans, scrambling off the table and after Harry before he can think twice about it. Damn his reflexes.

He finds Harry in the bathroom, hands gripping the porcelain of the sink and head bowed down, sniffling and gasping against tears—Louis knows the sounds all too well.

“Get over yourself,” Louis snaps, leaning against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s just a song.”

“Is it?” Harry asks without lifting his head. “Am I wasting my time?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” Louis drawls. “If you’re only being nice to get in my pants, then yes, you better piss off right fucking now. If not, no, maybe not.”

“I want what we used to have.”

“You’re beating a dead horse,” Louis says, the edge slipping from his voice. He doesn’t mean it.

Harry turns around, then, eyes red and jaw set. “Is that it, then?”

“Is that what?!” Louis snaps, shaking his head, his hands balled into fists. “One little hurdle and you’re done? One tiny Tina Turner—”

“Gloria Gaynor,” Harry cuts him.

“You shut up, okay? One tiny song and you’re falling apart and giving up! Besides, you asked for it with that stunt you pulled! How’d you think I’d react when you crooned that you still love me in front of everyone?! I never, ever said you were allowed to tell me you love me! It’s not fair play and I won’t tolerate it!”

“But it’s the tru—” Harry begins.

“No!” Louis shouts loud enough to cover his voice. “You don’t get to say that. You’re not allowed. I don’t want to hear it! Do you tell your acquaintances that you love them?! No, you don’t, because you’re not a raging lunatic. It’s the same with me. As far as you’re concerned, I’m the friend of a friend, is that clear?! I’m the friend of your friend’s girlfriend!”

“But you have my ex’s face, and my ex’s voice, and my ex’s smile, and it’s hard, okay? You’re not the only one who suffered in this break up.”

“I—” Louis begins, but he stops short and shakes his head. “Harry. It’s simple. Either you pull yourself together and you’re being civil, or you act like a massive moron alone. I’m not here to pick you up and put you back together. It’s not on me. You got sloppy tonight and it was disgusting.”

“I got sloppy?! You’re the one who’s drunk on a Monday night.”

“I’m not drunk!” Louis shouts and he only then realises how slurred his words are. Has he been talking this way from the start?

Embarrassed, Louis storms out of the bathroom and makes a beeline for the bar, ordering a pint of beer and carefully taking it back upstairs with him. He sits heavily on the couch and narrows his eyes at Harry, who doesn’t look like he was choking back tears in the bathroom moments before. It’s a skill Louis needs to work on.

“Fucking cheers,” Louis snarls, lifting his pint to salute Harry before downing a long, bitter sip of it. “Who’s sloppy now, bitch?!”

“Still you,” Harry deadpans, his brows furrowed.

Louis flips him off and drinks more of his beer, now intent to get blackout drunk. He’s never been known to do things halfway. The evening becomes blurry from that moment on and it only gets worse when one of Niall’s friends buys him another pint. Louis attaches himself to his side after that, acting overly flirty to make sure that Harry notices. The guy plays along, probably as drunk as Louis is if the number of shot glasses on the table near him is anything to go by, and when he wraps his arm around Louis’ shoulders, Louis moves his legs across his lap and curls into his side, his head on his shoulder, his almost empty pint cradled to his chest.

“D’you wanna fuck me?” Louis asks him, batting his eyes up at him, his eyes getting unfocused from it.

“No, mate. Sorry.”

“But I look like a girl from behind,” Louis insists, pouting in what he hopes is a cute way. “It’ll be like I’m a really slutty girl who’s into anal. You know you want to,” he slurs, tracing the guys’ lips with the tip of his index.

“Seriously, no, I don’t want to,” the guy insists and Louis whines through his nose.

“Is it because I’m ugly?! I know I’m fat, but it’s not my fault! It’s his!” Louis cries, pointing at Harry.

“Okay!” Niall says loudly, covering whatever reply Harry or the guy were about to make. “I’m taking him home now.”

“I’ll help,” Harry says, jumping to his feet so fast that he becomes blurry to Louis’ eyes.

Niall looks like he’s about to say something, but he only nods. “You’re bigger than me. Can you carry him to a cab?”

Louis squeals when Harry lifts him up, making him feel like he’s flying, and he giggles, letting out a small “wheee!” of amusement. He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and his legs around his hips and giggles again when they start moving. He closes his eyes and nuzzles his nose against Harry’s neck.

“I don’t hate you,” Louis whispers, rubbing his nose against the thin, pale skin of Harry’s neck where it smells the strongest like him despite the layer of perfume he wears. “I didn’t mean the song. Well, I do hate you,” Louis starts over, giggling every time he bounces up when Harry goes down a step of the stairs. “But I don’t. Why’d you grow up? You were cute when you were 16, but now you’re…” Louis scrunches up his face, “you’re 19 and it’s a dangerous game because you’re not… it’s not… we’re adults.”

“Barely,” Harry replies. “We’re barely adults.”

“The government thinks we are!” Louis gasps, pulling back to look Harry in the eyes. “Harold. Have you filed your taxes? You’re an adult now! You need to do that! You can’t even take the bus alone in Doncaster, how will you do that?! You make, like… at least two times as much as me, it’s so much money! Who’s helping you if I’m not there?!”

The thought of Harry facing the world alone is suddenly, inexplicably, the most heart-breaking and depressing and terrifying thought that Louis has ever had and his eyes well up with tears.

“An accountant?” Harry offers in reply and Louis can’t decide if he’s confused or amused. Maybe Louis is the one who’s confused. That would make more sense.

Louis feels like he’s falling and he squeals, but he finds himself sitting in a car a second later and he relaxes, scooting until he can press his overheated cheek against the window. “Oh, cool, good,” he drawls, closing his eyes. “I want to take a bath when we get home. Haz, will you take it with me?” Louis gasps when a thought hits him. “No! No, you won’t! You dumped me! Sorry, I forgot! Niall!” he shouts, leaning forward to look at Niall, who’s sitting on the other side of Harry. “Niall, I won’t have sex with you tonight, okay? It was a bad idea the last time.”

Satisfied with his statement, Louis leans back against the seat and closes his eyes, giggling when he hears Harry question Niall about what he just said.

“It was my fault, Harold. I was horny and drunk and sad. His cock was smaller than yours, I barely felt it.” Louis cackles.

“Louis!” Niall squawks. “You can’t say that!”

“I can! I did! I sleep, now.” Louis nods to himself and curls up against Harry, closing his eyes. He reopens them what feels like a second later when he feels like someone is shaking him. “What?! I didn’t sleep.”

“You were snoring,” Niall snaps.

Louis stumbles out of the cab and giggles, and he keeps stumbling until he meets the brick wall of his building and can rest his weight against it.

“Help me get him to bed,” Niall tells Harry and Louis feels two large, warm hands on his waist.

“Yeah, Harry Styles, get in my bed,” Louis says with a laugh, letting Harry steer him up the stairs. “I mean, get me in bed. But come, too. And come in it, too.” Louis laughs even more.

Louis trips over the threshold of their flat and nearly topples forward, Harry’s hands the only thing keeping him upright. The shift throws off his equilibrium and a wave of nausea crashes over him, making him run for the bathroom where he barely has time to get to the toilet before he’s retching into it.

“Thanks, mate,” Niall tells Harry, their voices too close.

“Don’t watch me vomit!” Louis shouts before he retches again.

He hears the floorboards creak and chances a glance towards the hallway, satisfied when he doesn’t see them anymore. Their voices are still audible, though, and Louis falls heavily in a sitting position, his throbbing head pressed against the cold porcelain.

“You must hate me,” Harry says, matter-of-fact.

“Hm,” Niall replies. “I’m changing my mind. I used to, but, I don’t know… fuck, it’s just… You didn’t see how bad it got when you dumped him.”

“Do I want to know?”

“No, but you have to,” Niall snaps. “After a week, I was so scared that I bought us train tickets and took him back to his mum. I was scared of leaving him alone to go to class. He was…” Niall trails off. “And even after he came back here, he wasn’t the same. He still isn’t. So… yeah, I hate you.”

There’s a long silence and Louis fills it by retching some more.

“… a choice,” he hears Harry say, missing the beginning of his sentence. He knows what Harry is talking about and just thinking about it makes him nauseous, forcing him to get up on his knees and cling to the porcelain under the violence of his vomiting.

A hand on his back makes him whine and he shakes it off. “No, I don’t want you,” he says without checking who it is.

“You’re a bloody mess,” Niall says with a chuckle. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“No! Go away! I want Haz!” Louis sniffles. “I’m not a mess. I’m pretty.”

“Not right now, love. Right now, you’re repulsive,” Niall says and Louis groans, wincing when it hurts his scratched throat.

“You’re right…” Louis sighs loudly. “Harry thinks I’m repulsive, too! Oh, god, I hate myself so much.” Louis’ voice breaks and he bows his head until his forehead rests on the seat of the toilet.

“He doesn’t think that, Lou. I’m sure he doesn’t.”

There’s shuffling and Louis jumps when he feels a hand on his back.

“It’s me,” Harry whispers, his voice so soothing that tears well up in Louis’ eyes. He feels something cold on the nape of his neck and he shivers. “It’s okay, love. I’m here. I don’t think you’re repulsive at all.”

“It’s not okay with you,” Louis whines once more. “It will never be.” Slumping once more on the floor, Louis sniffles. “I want to go to bed. I don’t want you. I want Niall. I hate you, even if you’re really pretty. But shhh,” Louis says, looking up and placing a finger on Harry’s lips to shush him. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Louis gasps and hurries over the toilet to retch once more, shaking violently, cold sweat breaking on his skin, making him feel clammy and disgusting. Through it all, Harry strokes his back and he offers Louis a glass of water when he sits back on the floor heavily.

“Why’d you do that?” Louis asks in a small, scared voice. “Why’d you break up with me, Harry? We were supposed to spend our lives together. You were it for me and then you were not and I miss you so much I have no idea how I go through every day without losing my mind.” His voice breaks halfway through his sentence, but he doesn’t care, he keeps going, knowing he’ll never have the courage to say this sober. “I’m done throwing up.”

“Because I’m a fucking idiot,” Harry says, helping Louis up. He prepares his toothbrush for him and hands it over, staying close while Louis brushes his teeth in case he loses his balance once more. “I ruined both of our lives, I know that.” He speaks in a low voice and Louis glances around quickly, finding Niall nowhere. “But if you’ll let me, I’ll make it up to you. We’re not discussing this tonight, though.”

Louis rinses his mouth and staggers backwards. Harry’s hands fly to his waist and they help guide him to his bedroom. Louis takes off his clothes and climbs into bed, burying his face in his pillow so he doesn’t have to look at Harry anymore. When Harry is silent for too long, Louis looks up, scared that Harry snuck away without a goodbye. He finds him holding a framed photograph and staring at it, lips slightly parted and eyes wide. He turns it so that Louis can see which one it is: the two of them at Animal Kingdom, the day they met; Louis is pulling a funny face and throwing a gang sign, but Harry looks abashed, hands buried deep in his pockets, hair a curly mess from the humidity, and cheeks reddened by the heat or—or Louis. He never figured it out.

“I don’t remember taking this,” Harry whispers, looking up at Louis.

“Lottie took it. My sister, Charlotte,” Louis clarifies. “The oldest.”

Harry clicks his tongue, placing the frame back on Louis’ nightstand. “I remember your sisters, Louis.” Harry gulps and Louis watches his Adam’s apple bobbing, fascinated. “Why did you keep the pictures?” he asks, picking up another one, the one from Louis’ Grease premiere. “You hate me.”

Louis sighs, rubbing his face against his pillow a few times to try and clear his mind. “I don’t hate you. I hate what you did. But you…” his voice breaks and he clears his throat, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. “I don’t hate you. You’re Harry. I can’t hate you.”

“You should, though,” Harry says, running a hand through Louis’ humid hair. “You have every right to. I hate myself enough for the two of us. But let’s not talk about this when you’re drunk. You should rest.”

Louis closes his eyes. His breath hitches when he feels Harry press a kiss to his cheek, letting his nose rub against it for a second before he moves back, the floorboards creaking as he walks out of the room.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Louis hears Niall whisper.

“I know. I—” Harry sighs. “I’m sorry, Niall. For everything.”

Niall huffs. “Yeah, I bet you are.” There’s a pause and then Niall groans. “Oh, fuck it. D’you want a beer? Let’s hear your bloody side of the story, you cunt,” he snaps, voice more playful than angry.

Louis succumbs to sleep before he can strain his ears to hear what they’re discussing in the living room, but he already knows the story. The hitch is that he doesn’t know if he wants to forgive Harry, yet.

-

Good morning, Louis :)

piss off and die

I left paracetamol and water on your nightstand

uuuuuuugh

When you feel better, can we talk about last night?

UUUUUUUUUUUGH DIE

Is that a no?

UUUUUUUUUGGHGHGHHG!!!!!

It’s only after he’s locked his screen that Louis realises he replied to Harry’s morning text despite swearing he never would.

He didn’t even think about it. He’s so, so screwed.

Chapter Text

Anonymous asked: OKAY SO my cousin was out in London last week and she SWEARS she saw Harry at the old queen’s head with friends. she saw him enter with Liam and Sophia and they went upstairs where they have a karaoke room and she tried to sneak upstairs to check but the door was closed and she didn’t dare open it so she has no pictures but she would NEVER lie about this I know her. and before she left she saw Harry leave with two guys and he was carrying one in his arms and I sent her a picture of Louis to ask if he looked like that and she said it was dark but she’s pretty sure it was him I’m screAMING omg halo is real

okay okay okay anon I’m taking this with a grain of salt but OMG this is the kind of receipt I love KEEP THEM COMING PEOPLE

#halo is real #i’m literally crying #receipts

Anonymous asked: okay if we’re giving halo receipts recently a friend of a friend was in a coffee shop in London and she saw Harry and Louis there. they were sitting near the back and discussing in low voices so she couldn’t hear anything and she says they were really intense and it looked serious as fuck but that they hugged at the end and Harry watched Louis walk out and yeah basically she said it looked like a couple making up and I HAVE PICTURES

fuck okay this is not a drill okay guys buckle up halo is back and WE’RE NOT READY

#coffee shop au #i hate them so much fuck #halo is real #receipts

It’s quite uncanny, Louis thinks, to watch blurry, unfocused pictures of himself with Harry on his own blog. It’s particularly horrifying to see how bad he looks from the side; it’s destroying his ego really. If this is how it feels like for celebrities to see candid pictures of themselves, he never wants to be famous.

He reblogs the pictures from their meeting in the coffee shop because it would be suspicious if he didn’t, and he reblogs the asks with the appropriate quantity of excited tags, again because the opposite would send a wave of questions in his ask box from his friends wondering if he saw the latest news. How exactly he ended up in a fandom for his own failed relationship, he’ll never know. He must have been a bad person in another life.

He stares at the blinking cursor on his screen for a while before he composes a text post.

I don’t think we should jump to conclusions too fast. like we don’t know the details, they might have always been friends and it’s the first time we notice yeah? I love halo and all but I think we’ve got to stay calm for now. it’s not like they were caught fucking or anything.

It doesn’t take long before his post gets reblogged and he rolls his eyes, taking a sip of wine before he reads the reply.

no one’s saying that they’re back together jesus don’t be so negative like we’re just happy that Harry potentially has his best friend back??? why do you got to be so negative about it can’t you just be happy for him? it’s not about whether he’s gay and dating Louis it’s just about seeing him with someone we know makes him happy.

He stretches on the couch and changes the channels until he finds something else to watch. He’s got the apartment for himself for the night and decided that he’d spend it on the couch, drinking wine and watching bad television. Infuriatingly, he can’t enjoy blogging in peace, though, because it’s been decreed that it’s the night where everyone’s being annoyingly obtuse.

I AM happy for him, fuck. but being all ‘HALO IS REAL’ when all we’ve got is a few grainy pictures, it’s stupid. like if I were Louis and saw you guys react that way about me seeing my ex, I’d panic and run in the opposite direction, y’know?

The reply comes quickly.

omg are you saying we might ruin their relationship because we’re supportive?! what next, it’s our fault they broke up in the first place? NOT that I’m saying they ever broke up, like we all know Elsie was just a stunt and that they’ve been happily secretly dating all this time but IF they did break up and are now about to get back together, we’re not going to ruin it by being supportive about it.

Louis downs his glass of wine and pours himself another one before he replies to that one.

we don’t know that??? that they never broke up??? like it’s just speculation and our own hopes but the proofs are all there, they bloody broke up after the x-factor so like YEAH it’s likely that if they’re talking again Louis might want to be careful??? and he might not want to get into this craziness if we’re being too insistent?

He knows he’ll get flack for what he’s writing, but he’s getting worked up, now, he’s annoyed and tired and a bit tipsy. He’s almost forgetting that he’s talking about himself, about his own relationship and his own life. He just feels bad for that poor guy who’s being assumed to want to date Harry Styles just because they used to, in the past, before Harry ruined everything.

I can’t believe what you’re writing, wtf is wrong with you? we’re not being insistent, we’re just expressing how happy we are to see that they’re talking again, calm down seriously. we don’t need antis like you to ruin it for us okay? management will do it all too soon.

The post now has close to a thousand notes and more replies than Louis can read. He knows that with every reply, he’s digging his grave deeper, but he can’t stop. One reply catches his eyes, though, and he burst out laughing, the sound echoing around the empty apartment and making him feel a bit pathetic.

SPEAKING OF MANAGEMENT RUINING EVERYTHING. looks like Harry has a new beard lined up -_-

Louis squints at the picture embedded. It’s the screen capture of a tweet where a girl is gushing about seeing Harry out in town with an unknown girl, looking cosy and intimate with her. Leaning closer, Louis studies the grainy picture before cackling so hard he almost chokes.

THAT’S HIS FUCKING SISTER OMG he replies. THEY LITERALLY HAVE THE SAME FACE

And before he can think twice about it, he uploads a picture he has on his drive, one of Harry and Gemma that he took himself during one of his visits to Holmes Chapel, the two of them giving the camera the same toothy, wide grin, with eyes screwed shut and dimpled cheeks. Louis has always loved this picture.

The reaction is immediate and devastating.

HOLY SHIT I’VE NEVER SEEN THAT BEFORE?! WHERE DOES THAT COME FROM???

FUCK LOOK AT HARRY HE’S SO YOUNG!!!! THAT’S BEFORE X-FACTOR FOR SURE OMG OMG OMG

KILL ME OMG HE’S SO CUTE?????

His ask box fills up faster than he can process, most of the questions anonymous and asking where he got that picture, and Louis screwed up so much that he considers deleting his account before it gets too bad.

Amongst the excited messages, there’s one that catches his attention, making his eyes roll so hard he’s worried he’ll hurt himself.

Anonymous asked: how can you say things like that? there’s no way Louis could resist Harry. have you seen how he used to look at him? no one can resist Harry, he’s just too sweet and kind and romantic. I bet he’d be the kind to take you to the nicest restaurant in london and pay for everything, or to plan a picnic under the stars or something like that. he’s got to be the corny romantic type of guy, Louis stands no chance.

love, even romanticism can’t excuse everything. if they did love each other as much as we assume they did, the thing that pulled them apart must have been huge. we don’t know what it was, but I don’t think a candlelit dinner can just erase it that easy. that’s not how feelings work.

Anonymous asked: “IF”??? what do you mean “if they loved each other”? haven’t you seen the pictures and the videos? Harry literally dedicated every single x-factor song to Lou. his ALBUM is dedicated to “my Lou”??? who else do you think he’s singing his love songs to????

Louis ignores the message, deleting it instead of replying. His name in Harry’s album keeps him awake at night when he thinks about it too much. It angered him so much when he bought the album and saw it there that he nearly threw it out. It was too much, much too soon.

He’s gaining followers by the second, his number almost doubling within an hour. If he were a worse person, he’d leak more pictures. He has material that could ruin Harry’s life on his computer, goofy pictures and sexy pictures, a few nudes Harry sent him near the end of the relationship. He has pictures of the body shots they did at Stan’s party and videos of Harry sucking him off, recordings of his scratchy morning voice and videos of Harry dancing stupidly to pop songs to make Louis laugh. He could be Harry’s worst nightmare if he decided he was done with him.

And just like that, he realises that he isn’t; he isn’t done with Harry. Just thinking about doing anything that might hurt him makes him sick to his stomach. He could never do that. He would never hurt his—

He stops his train of thought before it gets out of hand. Harry isn’t his anything. Not anymore. Harry made sure of that. Louis shuts the lid of his laptop and picks up his phone, thumbing through the screens quickly and opening Grindr. He sees he has a few messages and he opens them, sighing loudly when none of his options are appealing. He deletes the messages and starts browsing the app, but after a few minutes he switches out of it and opens his conversation thread with Harry. There’s a week worth of unanswered ‘good morning’ messages. Louis clicks to start typing and then freezes.

It’s not late, so technically, it isn’t a booty call. It’ll be the first time he initiates a conversation, though, so it’s understandable that he’s nervous, right? Right.

u up? he sends.

Louis, it’s 5:50pm.

So it’s a yes?

Yes, it’s a yes. How are you?

Cut the crap styles. I’m hungry. Cook for me?

Funny you text me that, I’m at Waitrose right now. What do you want to eat?

Whatever you were having. Your place?

Bring wine.

Louis receives a second message after that with Harry’s address. He whistles.

Kensington Court?!

I said I’d live there if I got rich and famous :)

How rich are we talking about???

;)

Louis giggles nervously. What is he doing? He’s fraternising with the enemy, he’s texted himself into what sounds suspiciously like a date with Harry, he’s giving in and doing all the work, he should be waiting for Harry to invite him rather than tumbling into his bed and—oh lord, his bed, they might have sex that night, if Louis gets the wrong kind of wine drunk they will definitely have sex, there’s no way he can resist Harry if they’re having dinner together in his posh apartment, and he hasn’t shaved anywhere in a week.

Louis hops in the shower and takes out his luxury products, the ones he got at Sephora on a whim and hasn’t used since because he can’t afford to buy new bottles if he starts liking them more than the cheap Boots stuff he usually uses. He exfoliates and scrubs and trims and moisturises his body into the closest he can feel to sexy, stepping out and spending nearly a half hour on his hair alone before running to get dressed and slipping on his tightest jeans and best sweater, the one that says ‘oh, this old thing?’ while also looking stunning on him.

He runs out of the door and to the Underground, texting Perrie as he powerwalks to the station that he’s a goddamn idiot and probably on his way to ruin his life by sleeping with his ex. The only thing she replies is the aubergine emoji and a thumb up so he groans and shoves his phone in his pocket.

Getting out at Harry’s station, Louis makes his way to his street, still not quite believing that Harry gave him the right address. The cars along the street are enough to give him vertigo, Mercedes and Porsche and Audi, a blood red Jaguar and a handful of Lexus, and on and on as far as the eye can see, and Louis isn’t a car guy, but fuck. The Jaguar is making him salivate, he’s only ever driven his old beat up Renault and his mother’s Mum car, never anything that had any sort of horse power, and he’s a sucker for a convertible. He wonders whether if he were able to find the owner of the Jag, he might suck his way into a ride.

Stopping in front of the number Harry texted him, Louis gapes at the building, shaking his head. He honestly doesn’t dare go up the stairs and ring the bell, afraid that a stranger will answer and call the police.

The door opens on Harry before Louis has made a decision. He’s quite a sight with his bare feet and tousled hair, tight black jeans and a simple white t-shirt completing the look.

“Were you going to ring at all?” he asks, giving Louis a lopsided smile as he steps out onto the porch to invite him in.

“I wasn’t sure it was the right place,” Louis replies, jogging up the few steps and walking into the house, swallowing thickly at the sight.

While the outside kept its ostentatious Victorian townhouse appearance, the inside has been entirely remodelled. The clash between the exterior, with its russet and sand bricks, with turrets and a steep roof, and the aggressively modern interior, all gunmetal walls and sleek leather couches, makes Louis’ head reel. Louis looks around in awe, gaping. The living room alone is as big as his own flat, with a plump leather couch facing a television bigger than Louis’ fridge hung above a fireplace. The décor is resolutely modern, sleek to the point of being almost impersonal. It’s exactly Louis’ tastes, and nothing like Harry ever mentioned liking. The thought sits uneasily in Louis’ stomach.

“How bloody rich are you?!” Louis asks, turning to Harry with eyes the size of saucers.

“Rich enough,” Harry replies, clearing his throat. “I didn’t pay for this place at once or anything. I have a mortgage.” He shrugs.

“You have a mortgage. You’re 19, for fuck’s sake.” Louis toes off his shoes and crosses the living room, uninvited and uncaring. “It smells good, what are you making us?”

Louis enters the kitchen and shakes his head, personally offended by how beautiful it is. The floor tiles are black and shiny enough to be mirrors. The appliances are all made of brushed stainless steel and look like the kind you see in that one Gordon Ramsey’s show filmed in his house. On the stove, there’s a pot simmering and Louis pads up to it, lifting the cover to smell.

“I smell wine,” he says, turning to find Harry nearby. He startles a little.

“Beef bourguignon. It’s beef cooked in wine. It’s a French recipe, I… I thought you might like it.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Thanks for calling me a drunkard.”

Leaving the kitchen, Louis keeps exploring, opening doors at random. The first he chooses is the linen pantry, which turns out to be bigger than his own bathroom, and then he finds Harry’s bathroom and he snorts in disbelief. The entire room is made of marble, white with black streaks.

“Well, that’s just preposterous,” Louis snaps, shutting the door behind him and opening the next, finding what is clearly a guest room. It manages to be even more impersonal than the rest of the flat.

The final door opens on a large bedroom, the first cosy room Louis has seen in the entire flat. A massive bed fills up most of it, so high it reaches up to Louis’ hips, the duvet a warm maroon, and thick. Louis wants nothing more than to jump on the bed and sleep for the next week. It might be the best option, too, otherwise he might ruin his life before the night is over.

The bed faces a fireplace and above it is a gilded mirror. An entire wall is occupied by windows, offering a view of Kensington Gardens. Louis walks up to it and looks out, shaking his head once more.

“Harry…” he breathes out. “Your house is ridiculous.”

Harry laughs, a quiet sound nothing like the bright explosion that Louis loved so much when they were young. He feels a pang to see it gone.

“I know. I love it.”

“I bet you do.” Louis nods at the bed. “We’re far from your squeaky Ikea twin bed, hm?”

“Y-yeah,” Harry replies, letting out a hesitant laugh. “I—I should check—” he points over his shoulder towards the kitchen and then he’s gone, hurrying out of the room.

It’s comforting to see Louis isn’t the only one too nervous to even breathe.

Louis follows him back to the kitchen and settles at the kitchen island, perching on a stool and picking up a nearby pen to fiddle with.

“I forgot the wine,” Louis admits. “Well, no. I intentionally didn’t bring wine because I’m too broke. I was drinking Tesco wine before coming here.”

Harry doesn’t turn away from the stove. “The first cabinet on the right, there, it’s a cellar.”

“Are you bloody fucking with me?!” Louis snaps, jumping off the stool to go check if Harry is telling the truth. He opens the cabinet and groans to see that Harry was telling the truth. He retrieves a bottle of red wine and rolls his eyes at the French label. “You’re so posh, I think I might throw up.”

With a giggle, Harry closes the pot and brings Louis a corkscrew and a decanter. “Nothing has changed, then.”

“Except you, you’re what, six feet tall now?”

“Not quite. You’re just small.”

Louis throws the cork at his head and grins when he catches Harry square in the forehead. It bounces off and falls back on the counter.

“Don’t bother picking it up, your butler will do it for you, won’t he?”

“I—I don’t have a butler.” Harry frowns. “I have a maid, but it’s just… I’m not here a lot…”

“I was joking…?” Louis rolls his eyes, pouring the wine into the decanter.

“I’m never sure with you nowadays. When you texted me earlier, I thought… well. I wasn’t sure you’d really come.”

“Is it why you were waiting for me at the door?” Louis asks, teasing, fiddling nervously with the cork, tearing it apart fragment by fragment.

“Yes,” Harry answers.

His honesty surprises Louis and he lowers his eyes, biting his lip. “I… I don’t know why I texted you. I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Is a reason really necessary?”

Louis looks up into his eyes for a second before averting his gaze and shaking his head. “No. It’s not.”

“I’m glad you texted me. I… I wanted to invite you for a long time, but I didn’t have the courage to be turned down.”

Louis gives a noncommittal shrug. “Well, you know… Grindr was boring today.”

Harry’s face falls almost in slow-motion, giving Louis plenty of time to regret his words. “Oh…” Harry says, turning once more to the stove. “Okay.”

The silence settling between them after Louis’ blunder is heavy with almost two years’ worth of things unsaid. Harry’s shoulders are a tensed line and he’s bouncing his left leg spasmodically, a nervous habit that’ always endeared Louis.

That’s the thing. He sees so much of the Harry he fell in love with in the young man standing in front of him. It was less obvious the other times he saw him, the need to appear inconspicuous in public forcing a foreign mannerism into his behaviour, but now that they’re alone in his home, it’s all coming back.

“You still have no arse, I see,” Louis comments, smirking.

Harry huffs. “That was gratuitous.”

“But true. It’s flat, flat, flat.”

“Compared to you, maybe,” Harry replies, turning to face Louis with a quirked eyebrow. He pours them wine and takes a sip. “It’s hard to believe that Grindr can be boring for a guy who looks like you.”

Louis lets out a breathless laugh that he tries to hide with a sip of wine, only making himself cough. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?” Harry asks, moving through the kitchen to finish preparing the meal. He takes a salad out of the fridge and starts cleaning it.

“Act like you’re okay with me using Grindr.”

There’s a pause. “Maybe I am.”

“You’re okay with me fucking random guys?”

Harry shrugs. “We’re not dating, are we?”

“No, but you want us to,” Louis spits out, downing his glass. “Don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

Louis nods, filling his glass and taking a long sip from it. “So, you mind.”

With a shaky exhale, Harry turns his back once more, looking through the cupboards for a salad bowl. “I try not to,” he replies. “Because I know I can’t. I’m not allowed.”

“Says who?” Louis hears himself spit out. He frowns, surprised by his own courage. “Don’t you think showing me that you care might actually help your case?!”

Harry heavily places the bowl on the island, his eyes fixed on Louis. “I had no idea I even had a case. I don’t know what you want, Louis. I don’t know how to act! Are we trying to be friends? Are we trying to be lovers? I just don’t know! You want the truth? Okay. The idea of you fucking someone else makes me sick.”

Louis throws his hands in the air. “Finally! Thank you! Was it so hard to say?!”

“So…” Harry narrows his eyes. “Jealousy is okay? I thought you’d hate it…”

“Jealousy…” Louis bites his lip, a second away from saying ‘jealousy means you might still want me.’ It would be pathetic. He is not; or at least, he tries not to be. “As long as you don’t get psycho crazy jealous, a little bit can’t hurt.”

“Can I say that I’m really jealous you had sex with Niall?”

Louis bursts out laughing, throwing his head back, his reaction an exaggerated one to hide how awful being reminded of that makes him feel. “Let me tell you, that was a huge mistake.”

“When…?”

“Before we… before this,” Louis motions between them. “You were definitely still out of the picture at the time.”

“Otherwise…?” Harry asks, a tentative smile on his lips. He looks hopeful and it makes Louis angry for reasons he doesn’t quite understand.

“Don’t flatter yourself, love. I haven’t entirely ruled out sex because you’re back.”

Harry’s face falls into a frown, his bottom lip jutting out in a comical pout for a second before he catches himself and schools his expression into a semblance of neutrality. “That’s not… I wasn’t saying that. Just… I didn’t cause that, did I?”

“Indirectly,” Louis answers bluntly, shrugging. “Most of what’s gone wrong in my life was caused by you, in a way. You fucked me up real good.” With a bitter laugh, Louis takes a sip of wine. “But hey, that’s life, isn’t it?”

Harry stares at him for a long time, his eyebrows furrowed and making him look almost angry, but Louis knows better. Louis knows every little twitch of Harry’s face and the meaning behind it. It hurts to be reminded of that.

“I know. If I could… there’s so many things I’d do differently.”

“Hold that thought,” Louis says, standing up. “We… we can talk about this, but… around food. I’m starving,” he stammers, needing a moment to brace himself for the conversation that’s coming. He’s afraid of it.

Harry nods and starts preparing plates for them while Louis gets the salad and the wine on the table. The entire scene takes place in the deepest, most complete silence yet and Louis’ stomach is churning with dread. A part of him knows that Harry is about to say that if he could, he’d stand up for them and fight for their relationship rather than dumping Louis, but a bigger part insists that no, what Harry is about to say is that he’d never date Louis in the first place because it was a mistake and they ruined each other. Louis is used to listening to that second part, so he expects the worst.

Once seated, Harry takes a deep, steadying breath, looks up at Louis for a moment before shaking his head and diving into his plate, taking a huge bite. Louis should stop assuming he’s the only one scared of what’s going on, but it’s so easy to vilify Harry. He’s done it so much, it’s an old habit by now.

“I thought a lot about what you said. About how I was a bad boyfriend to you. You’re right, you know. I was.” Harry looks up, waiting for Louis to interrupt, perhaps. Louis stays silent. “I took you for granted and I… well I was a child. I still am, but I like to think I’m a bit more mature than I was back then. I think I assumed that now that I had you, it was for good, you know? That I didn’t have to maintain our relationship. And I was wrong.”

While Harry talks, Louis just keeps stuffing his mouth with food, in part because he’s afraid of what he might blurt out if he’s able to talk.

“And I… I assumed you’d always be there for me while I went and tried to have a career. I thought things could stay the same even though our lives were changing, with you in uni and me… me on The X-Factor. You were always there for me and I wasn’t.”

Harry is a slow talker and Louis is a fast eater; by the time Harry is done, Louis has engulfed more than half of his plate. He swallows thickly and shakes his head.

“You weren’t all bad. It’s just… it was obvious that you were a child. And it’s my fault, I mean, I kept telling you that things wouldn’t change between us. Of course, I couldn’t predict you’d leave me for your career, but…” Louis shrugs. “We had good times together. I have fond memories with you.”

Harry’s hand is resting on the table and Louis reaches out to graze it lightly, his eyes fixed on the turquoise ring he gave him. He touches it, biting his lip.

“I never stopped wearing it,” Harry says. “That and…” He reaches inside of his shirt and takes out the turquoise pendant Louis had given him.

“I know,” Louis says, his voice coming out rougher than he expected. He takes a sip of wine. “They can be seen in a few photoshoots of you.”

“Speaking of that,” Harry segues. “You’ve been following my career, haven’t you? It’s what Niall told me. That you’re a fan.”

There’s a smile on Harry’s face and it infuriates Louis. “So what if I have? You’re a fairly decent singer. Besides, you’re everywhere.”

Harry eats, smiling and shaking his head. “Niall says you have a blog about me.”

Louis lets out an offended huff. “Niall’s a filthy liar!”

“Are you one of my stalkers? There’s a few fans, I see them everywhere, I think they collect pictures with me. Are you one of them?” Harry is growing increasingly amused, which in turns makes Louis exponentially annoyed.

“I’m not!” Louis snaps, finishing his glass of wine. “I am not! I was just… staying informed about you!”

“With a blog? About me? Niall said you have a pretty big following, too.”

“Oh, piss off,” Louis groans, admitting defeat. “Look, okay, you’re talented and charismatic and bloody sue me, I can like you as an artist even if the person you are broke my heart.”

Harry laughs, looking entirely too smug and proud of himself. “Do you want an autograph?”

“I’m literally seconds away from leaving and slamming the door in your bloody smug face.”

“I can give you a free CD and write ‘for Louis, my biggest fan’ inside of it, with my signature, would you like it?”

“You already wrote my name inside of your fucking album, you cunt,” Louis snaps, his anger boiling over and spilling out of his mouth before he can stop it. “You fucking dedicated your album to me, how could you?!”

Harry’s eyes widen in shock at the change of mood. “I… well. I wrote the songs for you, it was just… the natural thing to do.”

“How do you think I felt when I saw my bloody name there?!”

“Not everything is about you!” Harry snaps back, dropping his fork loudly into his empty plate. “I can’t live my life wondering how everything I do is going to make you feel! You sure don’t, otherwise maybe you’d keep quiet about all the men you had sex with! And you’d stop reminding me every second that I broke up with you! I remember!”

“Oh, so you don’t want to know that I fucked Aiden like ten times right after you dumped me? I fell right back into his arms!”

It’s a lie. It’s a filthy lie, but Louis’ brain is set on a single target: hurting Harry. From the way Harry has turned pale, it appears to be working.

“Why are you telling me that?”

“You were always so afraid that I’d leave you for him. In the end, he was the only one who was there for me. I really made a terrible choice the summer we met when I ended it with him.”

Harry swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looks away, runs a hand through his hair, and gets up to bring their plates to the sink.

“Yeah, well…” Harry says, voice rough. He clears his throat. “I started dating a girl, so. I can’t exactly say anything.”

“Yeah, so I was what, your one exception? Because you’d been with a girl before me and then another after…”

“What are you saying?!”

“That you might be straight, after all,” Louis says, shrugging. “I was just an experiment.”

Someone needs to tape his mouth shut. Louis expects Harry to get angry, to kick him out or throw things at him. He’s ready for an explosion, for something violent. What he doesn’t expect is the way Harry slumps forward, hands braced on the counter and head hanging low, breathing in long, shuddery breath.

“I’m not straight, Louis. You know that. Not being straight has cost me too much, how can you say that I am? If I were straight, I wouldn’t have had to choose between you or my career. I wouldn’t have had to pretend to date a girl whom, yes, I ended up actually dating for a while, but it started as a sham. I…” Harry hits his fist on the counter weakly, pushing himself away from it and towards the fridge, where he hesitates. “I have dessert if you want.” He turns to Louis. “Don’t deny what I am. Not you, too. Please.”

Louis lowers his head, feeling like the biggest jerk in the history of England. “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean it. Of course you’re bi, I know it. I know. It’s okay.”

Harry crosses the room to join Louis at the table, sitting down heavily. “I haven’t been with a guy since you, though. So sometimes I wonder if I truly am bi, or just…” He lets out a shaky breath. “Or if maybe it was just you.”

Louis shakes his head. “No, no, you’re not straight. Harry.” Louis pauses to look into Harry’s eyes, holding his gaze. “Harry, straight guys don’t take it up the arse and beg for more.”

The blush that blooms on Harry’s face is a thing of beauty. Louis wishes he could take a picture, but that’s not allowed. Harry rubs the back of his neck and shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips.

“I did quite like it.” Harry glances at Louis. “I miss it.”

Something coils inside of Louis’ belly, hot and demanding. He licks his lip. “What’s that supposed to mean? Should I show you how to use Grindr?” He tries to keep his voice light and playful, but he knows Harry heard the note of desire that blossomed in it.

“No, no, I was just saying.”

“We never did have the ritual break up sex, did we?”

There’s a long silence, filled only with the sound of Harry’s increasingly loud breathing. He’s devouring Louis’ face with his eyes and Louis preens under the attention, batting his eyelashes while his heart speeds up. He knows he shouldn’t want it, but it’s Harry and his lust for him works like muscle memory. He’s always going to crave his body.

“We can’t…” Harry says, without much conviction, his left leg bouncing rapidly under the table.

“Why not?”

“Because it’ll… it’ll make things complicated between us.”

“More complicated than they are right now?” Louis asks, laughing. “Harry, if you don’t want to have sex with me, just say it. I won’t be offended.”

“I want to.”

The answer comes out like a confession, a rushed exhale and a widening of the eyes accompanying it.

Louis nods, getting up. “Just so we’re clear, I wouldn’t be doing this sober,” he states, holding out his hand for Harry.

Harry hesitates a second before he takes it and lets Louis haul him up to his feet. He leads the way to the bedroom, Harry following a step behind, his hand clammy in Louis’. Once inside the room, Louis pulls him up against him and tips his head back for a kiss, the new angle as Harry bends down over him exhilarating.

Louis expects fireworks when their lips meet, he expects for the world to tilt out of its axis and for his heart to stop under the emotions. Instead, it’s like everything is brought back sharply into focus. Instead of losing his footing, he feels like he’s steady for the first time in months, like every cell in his body is realigning the way it should be. Kissing Harry again after all this time feels like coming home, like slipping into bed after a long day. It’s comforting and achingly familiar, and Louis clings to him, never wanting the feeling to stop.

Harry’s hands are broad on his hips, broader than he remembers them, and wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck forces him to get up on his tiptoes. Everything is different and the same at once, Harry’s lips working in a foreign way, but still as sinful as ever.

Unceremoniously, Louis starts pushing Harry towards the bed, biting his lip and pulling it with his teeth to draw a whimper from Harry’s throat. Harry sits on the bed and pulls Louis along by his shirt, moving back until he’s lying across the mattress and Louis has to climb on all fours above him to chase his kisses.

Louis buries his hands in Harry’s curls and pulls, harder than he would have before. He almost relishes the pained gasp that slips out of Harry’s mouth. A part of him, a dark, twisted part of him, wants to make sure that it’s not sweet, or romantic, or that it doesn’t feel like some sappy retrouvailles. It’s sex, pure dirty sex, and Harry better not hope for tenderness.

“Strip,” Louis rasps, sitting up on his haunches to pull off his sweater, watching with a satisfied smirk when Harry does the same.

Louis runs his hands down the taut skin of Harry’s torso, barely recognizing what he sees. He gives Harry’s nipples a sharp twist and the whine that he gets for it is like music to his ears. Raking his nails lower, over Harry’s stomach, Louis starts working on Harry’s belt, glancing up and grinning to see Harry’s dark, heavy-lidded eyes locked on him.

He reaches inside Harry’s trousers and pulls out his cock, letting out an appreciative hum. “You kept growing everywhere, I see.” He gives it a few tugs, delighted to feel it stiffen and grow in his hand. “Try not to come before I’ve fucked you.”

Harry pushes up his head, frowning. “I thought… the other way around?”

Louis lets out a loud cackle. “Not a chance. That option’s locked for heartbreakers.” He taps the tip of Harry’s nose and then moves off him swiftly, the pout that appeared on Harry’s face too reminiscent of the expressions of his youth to sit comfortably with Louis.

Getting off the bed, Louis wriggles out of his trousers. He’s thankful that they didn’t bother turning on the lights; he would hate for Harry to see his body in the state that it’s in, now, close to two stones heavier than the last time he’s seen him naked, pudgy and soft with a tummy and a fat arse. In the dark, he can only pray for the lack of light to blur out his round edges.

On the bed, Harry is wriggling out of his jeans, kicking them to the floor and sitting up to hold out his hands for Louis. Louis takes them and lets Harry pull him back on the bed, straddling his thighs and letting himself be kissed, a slow, soft press of lips that makes his head spin.

Harry’s hands travel down Louis’ back and over his bum, gripping it tight to pull their hips together. Louis keens to feel Harry’s cock against his and he dives in for a kiss that Harry returns with appetite for a moment – not long enough to Louis’ liking – before gently laying Louis down on the bed. Louis sinks into the thick duvet, holding out his arms to the sides and stroking its soft fabric. Harry begins kissing down his chest and Louis tenses up with every inch that he gets closer to his tummy. Louis sucks it in, hoping that Harry won’t notice any difference and won’t comment on it.

If Harry notices, he’s too much of a gentleman to say anything, and he makes quick work of reaching Louis’ hips, kissing the tip of his cock with a soft little gasp.

“First cock you’ve seen in a while, hm?” Louis comments, laughing until the sound gets stuck in his throat when Harry takes him in his mouth. “Someone’s hungry.”

Louis shudders as Harry starts working his mouth over his length, bobbing his head rhythmically. It’s exactly like it was before, when they were younger and Harry was only beginning to learn how to give head. It makes sense; Harry hasn’t had a chance to practice at all since they broke up, so it’s logical that he’d still give head like he’s always have. It’s messing with Louis’ head and closing his eyes doesn’t help, it only enhances the obscene sounds that Harry is making, his technique sloppy and loud.

Yet, it feels incredible, Harry’s lips lush and soft, his hands stroking Louis’ hips and sides almost soothingly. Louis could let himself go, fully abandoning himself to the moment, but just the thought of it makes him tense up and pull on Harry’s hair to make him stop.

“Don’t make me come. Stop,” Louis snaps, sitting up against the headboard to escape Harry’s insistent lips.

“I’m not very good, sorry,” Harry says, voice rough. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and Louis has to look away.

“Have you got what we need?” Louis ignores Harry’s comment, knowing it’d only take a few words to reassure him and unable to say them.

“I… does lube expire?”

Louis opens his mouth to reply, a snarky comment to show that he doesn’t understand, but he’s cut short when he sees Harry reach for his nightstand and pull a bottle out of the drawer. Louis takes it and squints at it in the dark to make out the words.

He nearly drops the bottle when he sees the print, ‘cheeky cherry’. It’s the one they bought for Harry’s birthday, come back to haunt him nearly two years later.

“I hope not,” Louis drawls, working hard to hide his discomfort. “You’ve got a condom, I hope?”

Harry hums and drops a box on the bed. Louis almost expects it to be the one Gemma gave him, but he knows it can’t be. Harry had a girlfriend for a while. Grabbing the bottle of lube, Louis opens the cap and sniffs it, grimacing at the gaudy scent. He squirts some in his hand and dismisses the bottle, rubbing his hands together to warm it up before coating his fingers.

“On your stomach,” he instructs, waiting for Harry to get in position before moving closer.

Louis nudges his legs apart with his knee and settles between them, spreading Harry’s bum cheeks apart. It’s hard to see what he’s doing in the dark so he rubs a finger up and down for a moment, searching for Harry’s entrance, and it makes Harry whimper and shift on the mattress, pushing his bum higher in the air. Louis purposely continues for a moment, stroking Harry’s entrance until he’s whining, high and demanding.

Pushing a first finger in is a challenge, Harry immediately tensing up. Louis bows down to kiss between his shoulder blades.

“Relax,” he says. “Or it’ll hurt.”

“It’s been a while,” Harry grits out, but Louis can feel him trying to unwind, allowing him more freedom to push in up to the knuckle.

He lets Harry adjust for a moment, waiting until his breath has returned to normal before he begins moving his finger in and out. It takes longer than it used to for Harry to relax enough to allow a second finger, but when he does it only goes faster from there. Harry’s body responds more and more and he’s letting out pleading moans that are shooting straight to Louis’ cock. It’s painful, too, because of how much it reminds Louis of their first time; the way Harry’s inexperience and lack of practice is surfacing, wiping away the confidence he’s grown in the past year and a half.

“I’m ready,” he says through a sigh, twisting on his back as soon as Louis pulled his fingers out to roll on the condom.

Louis clicks his tongue and slaps Harry’s hip. “No. Hands and knees.”

He cannot see Harry’s face during the act. He knows, without the shadow of a doubt, that it would destroy him. Despite the dimness off the room, Louis can see that Harry is disappointed by the request, but he obeys and climbs up on his knees and elbows, sighing loudly.

Once ready, Louis kneels behind Harry and lines up, stroking his back soothingly before he pushes in slowly, moaning to hear Harry let out a long, drawn-out moan. Harry is barely breathing, his entire body shaking under the intrusion, and Louis feels bad, realising he wasn’t as careful as he was the first time they did it.

“Okay…?” he chokes out, gripping Harry’s hips tightly to refrain from slamming into the hot tightness like his body’s craving to do.

“A minute.” Harry grits out. He presses his forehead to the mattress, his back arched and moonlight pale.

Just when Louis is about to ask again if Harry’s all right, he gets the okay to move. He pulls out and pushes back in, making Harry choke out a moan. His grip on Harry’s hips is still vice-like, his fingers digging into his flesh, and his hipbones slamming against Harry’s bum with ever thrust. He’s not trying to be careful, not trying to be delicate; it’s mindless fucking, and Louis goes as far as closing his eyes so he can forget that it’s Harry that’s underneath him.

Harry is groaning and grunting, his body pushed forward every time Louis pushes inside of him. It’s been a while since Louis topped and he forgot that he loves it, loves being in control.

He opens his eyes when the noises Harry makes change, growing desperate, and Louis moans to see that Harry’s stroking his own cock, head pressed to the mattress. Louis snakes his hand down to join Harry’s, squeezing teasingly and bending down to press a kiss to his shoulder when he lets out a squeal.

“Come on, rock star. Let go. Show me you’re not straight,” Louis whispers in Harry’s ear, biting his earlobe, and it’s Harry’s undoing.

Harry comes with a low moan, the sound rumbling through his ribcage and Louis can feel it from where he’s pressed against his back. He straightens up and speeds up his thrusts, slapping Harry’s bum, which draws a delicious hiss from him.

Louis comes after a few more minutes of that fast-paced rhythm and he buries himself deep in Harry, collapsing on top of him and biting his shoulder as he rides his orgasm, rolling his hips to get as deep as he possibly can.

As soon as Louis pulls out to flop down on the bed next to Harry, he springs off the bed and disappears out of the room. Louis hears a door closing, guessing it to be the bathroom, and he frowns as he yawns and stretches on the bed. He discards the soiled condom in the waste basket by Harry’s bed and sits up, getting off the bed to fetch his phone.

I might have just fucked my ex, Louis texts Perrie, giggling to himself. He’s an idiot and he knows he’ll regret this in the morning, but for the moment, he prefers to bask in the glow of one of the best orgasms he’s had in a while.

You should email the Daily Mail that you fucked Harry Styles, they’d pay you a fat load of ££££ for that story

Louis bursts out laughing just as Harry comes back. “Perrie says I should sell what I just did to the Daily Mail,” Louis jokes, grinning.

Harry looks at a loss for words, frozen on the spot by the end of the bed. He’s brought a robe back from the bathroom and he tightens it around him, brows furrowed. “It’s not funny.”

“Oh, come on, you know I wouldn’t do that, it’s just a bit of banter.”

“Did you have to tell Perrie?” Harry asks, a bit rough. “You can’t blog about this.”

“Fuck, Harry, relax. What’s with the sudden bad mood?” Louis snaps, increasingly annoyed.

Harry shrugs dismissively, going over to the bed to pick up the lube and condom. He shoves them back in his nightstand. “We shouldn’t have.”

“Why not? It was good.”

“You hurt me,” Harry deadpans, glaring at Louis.

“It always hurts a bit, you know that.”

With a shake of his head, Harry clicks his tongue. “I know. But you… I’m going to have bruises. And nail marks on my hips. It was bleeding a bit when I checked, your nails broke the skin.”

Louis has to laugh it off. Any other reaction would be too devastating and he’d hate himself even more, so he lets Harry’s comments bounce off him and he snorts a laugh. “Just because it wasn’t rose petals and champagne like I got you used to before doesn’t mean it wasn’t good.”

“It was hate sex. You… you hate-fucked me,” Harry spits out.

Louis lifts his eyebrows. “What did you expect? I hate you…? How else could it be? You wanted to check if you were straight, now you know you’re not.”

Louis needs to shut the fuck up. Every word that slips out of his mouth is worse than the one before and he can’t stop the flow of hate he’s spewing even if he doesn’t mean any of it. It’s like a dam broke and every bad thought he’s ever had about Harry is coming out.

Harry lets out a mirthless laugh. “Fuck, and here I thought we were making progress! Get out. Just… just bloody go away, please.” He walks around the room, throwing Louis’ clothes on the bed. “I thought you were serious about this, I’m a fucking idiot. Well, congrats, there’s a new notch on your bedpost and this time, it’s someone famous! You can go write that on your fucking blog and feel superior to teenage girls, good for you!”

“No, wait, Harry, I didn’t mean it! Calm down, I’m sorry!” Louis squeaks out, panicking. He stretches and turns on the bedside lamp, wrapping himself in the throw blanket he pulls from the foot of the bed. “Being with you freaks me out, okay! And I lash out, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean anything I said. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Harry sinks into the plush armchair by the hearth and he buries his face in his hands. He looks so young and vulnerable in that moment, Louis is yearning to pull him into his arms and promise him the world, but he’s frozen in place. He tightens the throw around his shoulders.

“I can’t do it if it’s always going to be this way, Louis. I’m not saying it has to be the way it was before, but… but you can’t keep punishing me and expect me to stick around. At some point… you don’t have to forgive me, but… if we can’t move on from what I did, then we’re both wasting our time.”

Louis scoots to the foot of the bed to be closer to Harry. “I want to move on. I’m trying really hard. I swear that I am.”

“Then you have to stop being so abrasive with me.”

“Oh, abrasive, that’s a big word!” Louis says before he can stop it.

“That’s what I mean!” Harry snaps. “You’ve always teased me and I liked it, but now you’re just plain mean.”

“Harry…” Louis begins slowly. “Maybe I can’t get over it. It’s a possibility we have to consider. Maybe… Maybe it’s not something we can move on from.”

Harry takes in a gasping breath and runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe. There’s no pressure for an answer, take all the time you need and I honestly mean it, but… but if you can’t stand to see me without being insulting or rude, maybe it’s better if we don’t see each other. While you work through your thoughts.”

Louis shakes his head vehemently. “No, no, that’s not what I want. I want to see you. I like seeing you. It helps.”

Harry gulps loud enough for Louis to hear. “You… you didn’t really hurt me that much. It… it was kind of hot, in a weird way. Y-you know I like to be bitten and all…”

“It’s okay if you didn’t like it. I was a jerk. I know. I wasn’t careful. There’s…” Louis sighs. “There’s this weird impulse I have sometimes that makes me want to hurt you. I don’t mean it.”

“You need to work through that before we can try to build something.”

“What are you saying?” Louis feels his chest tightening under the panic that’s flooding him.

“I know what I want, but you don’t. We’re not going anywhere right now, so…”

“No, no, no!” Louis snaps, nearly shouting. “No! You’re not pushing me away again! If you want me, you’ll take me with all of the mess that’s in there!” Louis taps his forehead. “You take me now or you lose me forever!”

“So I just hold on to you and wait to see if you want to date me or not?!”

“Even if we don’t end up dating, have you considered I might still want you as a friend?!”

“No, I haven’t, because you’ve been a proper bitch since we started talking again!”

There’s a lull in the conversation, the breadth of a breath, and then Louis bursts out laughing. He throws his head back and runs his hands down his face, moaning.

“Fuck, listen to us bickering like new divorcees.”

“That’d be a good band name, that. ‘The New Divorcees’,” Harry says with a small laugh.

“Their shows are two hours of death glares and indirect, passive-aggressive comments,” Louis adds. “So this was ‘I’m Perfectly Calm, Mark, You’re the One Who’s Shouting.’ Our next song is called ‘Do Not Use That Tone!’”

Harry laughs, his face finally brightening up. “Their tour is called ‘We’re Only Here Because Our Therapist Said It’d Be Good for Us’.”

“And underneath it,” Louis continues, spreading his hands in the air like he’s announcing a headline, “Dot, dot, dot, He Was Wrong.”

The peel of laughter that this gets out of Harry is like music to Louis’ ears, spreading through him like the warmth from a fire. He stretches and glances at Harry’s alarm clock, surprised to see that it’s still early. It’s hard to believe that so much went down between them in the span of a few hours.

Harry follows his gaze and frowns. “I thought it’d be later.”

“I was thinking the same,” Louis replies, not saying anything about the way they’re in sync even after everything. “I’m not spending the night.”

Harry bristles. “You’re not invited. I have to get up early tomorrow morning, I can’t be kept awake by someone hogging the entire bed.”

“I don’t do that! You’re the one who sleeps spread-eagle in the bed!”

“I don’t! You’re making stuff up, I have never done that!”

Louis frowns. “Have you really forgotten how it was to share a bed?”

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Harry shrugs. “Maybe… it’s been a while.”

An immeasurable sadness fills Louis. He finds it hard to believe that he might be forgetting memories he shared with Harry, but mostly, it’s heart-breaking to think that eventually he might not even have them anymore. Louis gets up and crosses the room to come press a kiss to the top of Harry’s head, pressing his nose into his curls for a few seconds, just long enough to let the familiar scent invade every corner of his mind, flooding it with the love he still feels for the boy.

“I think you said something about a dessert, earlier?”

-

Louis ends up leaving a little before midnight with a reusable grocery bag full of leftovers. He smiles to remember the jab he’d made at the number of Tupperware containers Harry owned, but had gladly accepted the food. It was nearly two weeks’ worth of lunches right there, as long as he could fit them in his freezer in between the pizza boxes and ice cream containers.

They treaded on thin ice for the rest of the evening, steering clear of contentious topics, and it was a refreshing thing to be with Harry without bickering or crying. The dessert Harry had mentioned was a cheesecake, which they shared in front of a movie, which turned into a second one, and it was only when Louis saw Harry nodding off that he’d said he’d better take off. Harry had walked him out, barefoot on the porch in the October chill, and the image of him waving Louis goodbye, bathed in the warm light of his open front door, would be one that stayed with him for a long time.

Niall was still up when Louis got home and he gave him a tight smile, hoping to avoid an interrogatory. He’d much rather go to bed and think about the evening.

“So, you fucked Harry?” Niall asks as soon as the door is closed behind Louis.

“Ugh, Perrie,” Louis groans, heading for the fridge to unload the contents of his bag. “What’s it to you?”

Niall turns off the television. Louis gulps, knowing now that he’s about to get lectured. “It’s none of my business,” Niall says, picking up his empty bottles of beer to put them back in their box. “But I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Hasn’t it already been established that I don’t, like ever?”

Niall lets out a snort. “Yeah, more than once.” He stretches with a yawn and then grabs a large envelope from the table, throwing it at Louis. “This came in the mail for you.”

“Oh! It’s the brochure I ordered for musical theatre!”

“So you’re going through with this?”

Louis shrugs. “Maybe. I’ll see what it takes to get in.”

With another yawn, Niall nods. “Well, I’m off to bed, but I’m glad to see your life might not entirely be about some dumb boy.”

“I try. Good night.”

Niall nods in return and quietly pads to his room, leaving Louis alone to rip open the envelope and take the contents back to his room. He gets settled in bed and then starts leafing through the prospectus.

He’d found out about the London School of Musical Theatre through Google and it had felt like a small miracle had just happened. He’d always expected having to go back to university to study musical theatre, which would mean four years of fees and of having to work part-time, which would mean being broke and exhausted and cranky, which would mean dropping out after the first semester. Yet, now, he has the possibility of doing it in a single year without having to convince a university to take back a dropout with bad grades. All he has to do is prepare an audition, get in and then a year later, he could actually have a career that he likes.

Grinning to himself, Louis flips through the prospectus, his enthusiasm growing with every page that he reads. He can already see himself up on a stage, first in small roles like perhaps Boq in Wicked or one of the two dozen boys in Newsies with lines, but then he would climb his way to the top and perhaps land a starring role, maybe Marius in Les Misérables or Melchior in Spring Awakening, or even, if miracles exist, Fiyero in Wicked. Louis lets out a happy sigh to imagine it all and turns the page.

His heart stops in his chest. Fees for the course commencing September 2014 are a total of £14,500.

Louis closes the prospectus and throws it across the room, watching with satisfaction as it hits the wall and falls to the ground. His stomach feels hollow, like someone is trying to suck it out of him, and he feels cold all over. He had honestly hoped he might have a chance at that, but it’s all over now, before it even began. There’s no way he’ll ever find £15,000 in time for the next autumn, not while he’s still paying off his loans from his one year of university and living pay check to pay check. It’s also highly unlikely he’ll get financial aid for a professional course like this one, especially in something as useless as the arts.

Basically, he’s fucked and condemned to work at Topshop for the rest of his life. Without thinking, Louis grabs his phone and opens the conversation thread with Harry.

Will you be my sugar daddy?

He watches the message appear as Delivered and then stares at his screen for a few minutes, waiting for it to switch to Read even though he knows Harry is in bed already.

Antsy, restless, his hopes crushed, Louis gets out of bed and tiptoes to the kitchen to get the bottle of wine he’d started earlier, bringing it back to bed, along with his laptop. He starts a movie and lets out a long sigh before drinking from the bottle.

Maybe, if he’s very lucky, he might become an alcoholic and have a legitimate excuse for the way his whole life has gone to shit, one that doesn’t involve admitting that he’s just not made for success, happiness, love, and good things in general. Perhaps he’s just doomed to being miserable, an endless source of comfort and schadenfreude for the people around him. Maybe that’s his calling in life: a cautionary tale. If he were a girl, he could look forward to becoming the neighbourhood’s witch, but as a guy, his only option is to become a drunk homeless man.

His last thought before going to sleep is that if he’s found sleeping in a puddle of wine, he’ll never have to worry about disappointing people ever again.

Chapter Text

Ever since Louis found out he basically has no future, he’s been going through his days on autopilot, dragging his feet and barely letting anything touch him.

He stepped into a puddle on the bathroom floor in his socks? Oh, well. It happens.

His boss at Topshop says she has to cut his hours? He’ll get to sleep in more, that’s a plus.

Harry hasn’t texted him since that dreadful sugar daddy text? Unsurprising. Louis would run away from Louis, too, if he could.

Louis hasn’t felt this down in months, not since the first weeks after his breakup with Harry, and he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t relish the numbness. It’s a nice break from, well, feelings as a whole. Besides, the upside of having gone through this sort of mood before means he’s got a real talent at hiding it.

He slips up sometimes, though, letting his gaze wander off and his traits fall, and whenever he catches himself he can see the way his friends look on with poorly disguised concern. His remedy to that, usually, is to push himself into telling a rambling, boisterous story until the clouds they witnessed have been forgotten. It works, most times.

Actually, it works quite well until Charlotte comes down to London for a visit, announcing she’ll be staying with him for a few days with a friend, the two of them claiming his bed before he has time to protest.

“Did you know about this?” Niall asks, looking on with bewilderment as the two fifteen year olds starts excitedly chattering about which shops they’ll visit first.

“No…?” Louis frowns, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He thumbs through his messages for a while and then groans. “Yes, I did, actually. They warned me like two weeks ago and I… I suppose I agreed.”

“What?! And you didn’t ask me?!”

“I forgot! I mean, my mum said they’d come and I was like ‘why?’ and she said they wanted to do a bit of shopping and then she took that as a yes, I suppose? It’s only for two or three days, how bad can it get?”

Very bad, is the answer. The girls take over the flat, claiming Louis’ entire bedroom and forcing him to sleep on the couch, or with Niall. Once glance at Niall told him he’d have to settle for the couch. Niall finds a way to be gone most of the time, being studious and spending time at the library for the first time since Louis met him, and Louis is coerced into being a tour guide for the girls.

Walking around his city as a tourist, visiting places he usually tries to avoid, all of it brought back the painful memories of when Harry had come to spend two weeks with him when he’d first moved to London, causing a precarious balance between his nostalgia and the fact that being out and about actually helps take his mind off the bullshit that’s going on in his life at the moment.

It’s fun to be with his sister, too. It’s easy to forget how much he misses his family when he goes about his day to day life, but to have Charlotte with him, to get to spend evenings curled up on the couch with her watching bad telly, even with her friend nearby, feels like a little bit of home brought to Louis right when he needed it.

On their last morning in London, Louis decides to try and be a good host, so he gets up earlier than usual to cook breakfast. He takes his time to make sure everything will be good, painstakingly making pancakes – throwing out half of them when they get burned – and frying eggs. He can hear the girls packing in his bedroom, their constant chatting and giggling a nice background noise, and for the first time in a long time, Louis feels light-hearted and like might not be an endless series of disappointments stacked on top of each other, threatening to topple, not unlike his pancakes at the moment.

“Lou!” Charlotte calls, tearing him away from the toast he’s buttering to pad down the hallway to his room.

“Yeah?”

“What’s that?” she asks, holding up the London School of Musical Theatre brochure he’d left where it fell after he threw it against the wall.

“Oh, that’s… that was a plan that’s just not going to happen,” he says, shrugging, his tone dismissive. “Unless you’ve found a way to grow money on trees, that is.”

“It looks wicked!” Charlotte’s friend says, taking it from Charlotte’s hand to leaf through it. “I might change my mind about studying psychology.”

“You can’t sing!” Charlotte squawks, laughing, and just like that, Louis is forgotten while the two girls bicker playfully.

Dragging his feet back to the kitchen, Louis looks at the mess he’s made of the kitchen with a sigh that seems to come from deep within him, carrying with it the weight of the world. He takes out his phone and opens the thread he has with Harry, staring at it for a moment before he rolls his eyes and starts typing.

Are you going to keep ignoring me like that for long?

The girls come out of the bedroom, dragging their bags which have multiplied since they arrived, and they get settled at the small table, thanking Louis a thousand times for the food he’s made. He joins them and eats without appetite, glancing at his phone every two seconds to see if Harry has replied. Charlotte notices and raises her eyebrows when she catches Louis’ eyes, the hint of a smirk on her lips.

“Is it a boy?” she asks, drawling teasingly.

Her friend perks up, her eyes widening with interest. “Are you seeing someone, Louis?! Oh! That’s so sweet! Tell us everything!”

“There’s nothing to say,” Louis replies, a bit too rough. He winces. “It’s not going anywhere, honestly. It’s just… a waste of time.”

“But have you told him that you’re interested?” Charlotte asks, now smirking in earnest. “He can be incredibly obtuse,” she explains to her friend with a knowing look that annoys Louis more than he can explain.

“Can we not do this?!” he snaps just as his phone vibrates.

Charlotte catches it before he can. Louis can see her amusement fade as she looks at the screen. “Louis…? Is it…?”

He pulls the phone out of her hand. “Yes,” he answers tightly. “And it’s none of your business.”

“What’s going on?” her friend asks, her face ravenous with interest.

“Louis’ texting his ex, the boy who broke his heart when he picked his career over the love of his life,” Charlotte explains to her friend, voice dripping with poison.

“Not just texting,” Louis mutters under his breath, unlocking his phone to see the message.

“Louis!” Charlotte shouts in indignation.

I wasn’t sure what to say after the other night. I was scared.

Louis has the burning desire to reply to Harry with a single ‘Coward!’ but he refrains, instead locking his phone once more and turning his attention to his sister.

“What,” he deadpans, blinking slowly at her. “It’s my life. I can fuck it up if I want to.”

“But he doesn’t deserve you!”

“Says who?”

“Says me!” Charlotte shakes her head, looking so much like their mother in that instant that Louis recoils in fear of being lectured. “Harry broke your heart! He’s not good for you!”

“Maybe my heart deserved to be broken. Some people just aren’t made for good things,” Louis recites, voicing one of the most persistent thought that’s been running through his mind for months.

“I’m telling Mum!” Charlotte continues, her face deformed with anger.

Louis finally falters at that. “What are you going to tell her? There’s nothing to tell!”

“I’ll tell her you’re getting bad again and you’ve been talking to Harry! I’ll tell her that you’re giving up on your dream and that you can’t manage on your own in London, that she needs to force you to come back home!”

“You can’t do that!” Louis shouts. “I’m not getting bad again!”

“You are! Niall told me! He says it’s almost as bad as it was the first time!”

“It’s not!” Louis replies and it’s like voicing it out loud shook something down to his core. He isn’t as bad as he used to be, that’s right, he just hasn’t noticed. “I’ve just been moping a bit because I can’t afford the school I want to go to.”

“And you’ve been seeing your ex, too. That’s pretty self-destructive.”

Louis shakes his head. “He’s been… he’s trying. I think he might still want me, against all odds.”

“Who cares if he still wants you, you don’t want him!”

Louis startles, frowning. “I never said that. I’ve been living for months waiting to see if he might still want me.” Again, the words surprise him as he says them. He definitely needs to learn to be more in tune with his own thoughts. “I’ve been searching for him in other men, but…” Louis shrugs. “There’s only one of him.”

“One that broke your heart, yes.”

With a sigh, Louis starts picking up the empty plates to put them in the sink. “It happens. Life is messy, but people deserve a second chance, don’t you think?” He gnaws at his lip for a moment. “It might be my only chance at love, Lottie.”

“Well, he’s not welcome at home. Mum will murder him if he crosses the threshold.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Louis takes a deep, steadying breath. “Don’t worry about me, love. I’m doing okay, all things considered. I’m not going to get as bad as I got the last time. I know how much I scared everyone. I won’t let it happen again.”

“Just try and preserve yourself, yeah? Don’t force it if it doesn’t feel right this time around.”

Louis pouts. “When did you get so grown up?”

Charlotte laughs. “When you left and made me the oldest child at home. I’ve been holding the fort for you all this time while you had your leisurely life here in London.”

“If you call having two jobs to make ends meet leisurely…” Louis sticks out his tongue. “Speaking of home, though, you’ve got a train to catch.”

Louis waits until he’s dropped the girls at King’s Cross before he replies to Harry, using his time on the Tube to try and sort through his thoughts so he can compose a reply. Walking home from the station, he decides to take a leap.

There’s no reason to be scared, at least on my end. I haven’t been feeling too good lately, though, so I can’t help you sort out your feelings about this. It’s on you.

Harry’s reply doesn’t take long to come. Is it my fault that you’re not feeling well? I can step back or disappear if it’s too much. I don’t want to cause you more distress. Do you want to talk about it?

Louis’ heart speeds up to see Harry being this considerate. It might not be a Harry thing, either, but perhaps just an effect of having someone care about how he feels.

I’ll be okay. Don’t worry :) but now I need to go to work :(

Topshop, yeah?

No, the bistro today.

Two jobs?!

Lifestyle of the poor and the unknown, babe

Where do you work?

Nice try. I’m not telling.

:(

Louis is home by the time he receives the last message and he hops in the shower, already dreading his shift. He’d much rather stay home watching Netflix and texting Harry, their back and forth feeling almost as it used to, before everything.

Almost as soon as he gets home, Louis has to leave again, making it to work right on time to change into his ridiculous, faux-French café boy uniform before he punches in and hurries to take his tables.

He hates that bistro so much. They’re one corny trinket away from downright painting an Eiffel tower on the wall, the food is overpriced for what basically amounts to French fast food, and he’s almost sure that he was only hired because his name can sound French if pronounced the right way. He’d overplayed it during his interview, too, mentioning his Belgian fraction to the delight of the manager. He has no actual waitressing skills, so it has to be the name. That, or the almost offensive option that the manager likes how his arse looks in his uniform.

In the end, nevertheless, his shifts are always marred by a couple of tourists who make a point of exclaiming loudly how disgusted they are by the concept of eating snails or asking if they serve frog legs, two items that are notoriously absent from the menu considering that this is England. They never tip the right percentage, either, and Louis is honestly so fed up he could cry.

About halfway through his shift, right about the time when his cheeks start aching from the goofy, lobotomised smile he forces on his face at all times, and when his stupid dress shoes start pinching his toes and making him limp, Louis lifts up his head at the sound of the door opening and his breath catches in his throat.

Harry walks in, subdued in plain clothes and sunglasses, looking like a million dollars even as he tries to be incognito. Louis looks around and his stomach sinks as he sees that the only available table is one of his. Obviously.

He watches as the maître d’hôtel walks Harry to his table and he uses the excuse of bringing an order to the kitchens to go take a moment to gather himself.

“Louis, oh my god,” one of his colleagues, a plump, freckled girl named Kathryn tells him (Catherine, her name tag says. Louis’ French-ish name theory is more than paranoia). “Harry Styles just walked in!”

“I know. I saw. He’s at one of my tables.”

From further away, Louis’ best work friend, Peggy (Marguerite, according to her name tag), gasps loudly. “You lucky sod! Can we trade?!”

At once, Louis’ stomach seizes up. “No! No, I’ll deal with him. I mean… I’ll take his table. It’s mine.” He sticks out his tongue at them and walks out, keeping his head high as he walks towards Harry.

“Good afternoon, sir, my name is Louis and I’ll be your waiter today.”

Harry looks up from his menu and he bursts out laughing. “How much are they paying you to wear that?!”

Louis looks down at his black trousers, white shirt and silly chequered apron and he groans. It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the hat, a bloody beret. “Not enough by a mile. How did you find me?”

“I asked Sophia, who asked Perrie.”

Louis groans even more, rolling his eyes. “Seriously, that girl does not know how to keep a secret, it’s astonishing.”

Harry laughs. “It works in my favour, so I won’t complain.” He looks down at the menu. “No snails or frog legs?” There’s a teasing hint to his voice and Louis kicks his foot under the table.

“Don’t try me,” he snarls, taking out his notepad and pen. “What will it be?”

“I’ll start with the onion soup,” Harry begins, gnawing at his lip as he thinks. “And then I’ll have the Parisian baguette.”

Louis lets out a laugh. “That’s literally £10 for a couple slices of ham and butter on hard bread.”

“Really? Hm, I’ll still have that, I don’t mind.”

“As you wish, Richie Rich,” Louis says, picking up Harry’s menu. “Anything to drink?”

“Just a water,” Harry replies, shrugging.

Harry looks uncomfortable and Louis realises with a start that he mustn’t be used to being out in public like that, exposed and at the mercy of the curious glances that keep being cast his way. Without flattering himself beyond reason, Louis is willing to assume Harry is here to see him, willing to be uncomfortable so they can talk, if only fleetingly.

Louis walks back to the kitchens with a barely contained grin, his air immediately noticed by his colleagues.

“Is he as charming as they say?!” Peggy asks, eyes wide and sparkling.

“Hm, yeah, yeah, of course. But it’s… we know each other, I mean, from before he was famous, so it’s…” Louis shrugs. “It’s just like a friend.”

“And you never mentioned it?!” Peggy hisses, hitting Louis’ arm. “You’re friends with Harry bloody Styles?!”

“Well, not really friends anymore, we lost touch when he…” Louis gulps, giving the order to the kitchens and pouring himself a glass of water.

Something about the way he said it must have been transparent, or else she’s very perceptive; Peggy gasps loudly and covers her mouth with her hands. “You’re the Louis, aren’t you?! I knew you were familiar!” She lowers her voice, whispering excitedly. “You’re his secret boyfriend?!”

It’s funny how you never really know the people you work with almost daily, Louis thinks as he feels his heart leap up into his throat with sheer panic. He’s managed to accidentally befriend a halo shipper, fucking lucky him.

He shakes his head violently. “I’m not his boyfriend!” he hisses. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Louis, please, I know it, you know it, let’s not lie.”

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Louis says sternly, holding her gaze steadily.

“But you used to be?”

Louis blinks, once, before turning on his heels. “I have tables to check on. And you do, too!” On second thought, Louis catches her arm. “You can’t tell anyone about this!” he tells her frantically. “If you’re a fan of his, you’ll respect his privacy. And if you’re my friend, you’ll respect mine!”

She nods, eyes wide and hungry for more details, but Louis shakes his head and walks out of the kitchen, stopping by all of his tables before he makes his way back to Harry to bring him a glass of water.

“One of my colleague is unto us, so be careful. The brunette by the fake Métropolitain sign on the wall. She’s, hm… she ships halo,” Louis whispers, feeling like a giant knobhead for saying those words out loud.

“She what?!”

“That’s what people who like us together as a couple call it. Halo is for… Harry and Louis…” Louis sighs, rolling his eyes. “It’s Internet nonsense.”

“People like us together? But… but how do they even know who you are?”

Louis lets out a dry laugh. “Oh, honey, do yourself a favour and Google yourself tonight.”

“I’ve tried to avoid it before, but… but okay. I’ll try. I might call you though if it becomes too overwhelming.”

There’s a touch of uncertainty in Harry’s sentence, just a hint of a question behind it.

“I might answer, then,” Louis replies, walking away to continue working. Coming back a few minutes later to bring Harry his soup, he lingers for a second. “Whatever you do, don’t read the stories they write.”

“The st—what?!”

“Just don’t.”

Harry lets out a nervous laugh and turns his attention to his soup so Louis leaves him to it, only coming back to take away the bowl and bring him his overpriced sandwich. They don’t mention the Internet again, in fact they barely talk at all after that, and Harry leaves as soon as he’s done eating, walking up to the register before Louis can even bring him his check.

“Sorry, I just… I feel like a zoo animal, I need to go hide in my flat,” he mutters when Louis rings his orders, gazing nervously around. “They keep whispering about me like I can’t hear.”

“I’m sorry. People are rude and awful and I hate them,” Louis says with a soft voice as he hands over the credit card reader.

Harry fiddles with it for a while, frowning for a moment like he’s forgotten his PIN, before he gives it back to Louis. “I don’t want my receipt. I just want to be out of here. I’ll… I’ll talk to you later,” Harry says quickly before pocketing his wallet and walking out of the bistro without another look at Louis.

“Wow, rude,” Louis mutters, printing the receipt and glancing at it. He freezes and looks again, his eyes widening. He grabs a colleague by the arm. “Tell me I’m reading right.”

His colleague takes the receipt and reads it, letting out a bark of laughter. “You got a £100 tip?! What did you do, give him a blowie under the table?!”

“Shut up! It’s not funny! That arsehole!”

Louis hurries to the kitchens, taking out his phone to text Harry.

How dare you?! I don’t need your charity!!

It’s not charity, it’s just a tip, Louis. Nothing huge.

NOTHING HUGE HARRY YOU TIPPED ME £100 YOU JERK

A thank you would have been appreciated but whatever, you’re welcome :/

Louis growls and doesn’t reply, shakily putting his phone back in his pocket. He can’t quite explain why he’s so insulted, but he’s outraged, he’s fuming and he has the strongest, biggest impulse to find Harry and punch him in the face. The nerve that this boy has, the gall, the—the—

Louis takes a deep breath to steady himself, knowing he can’t go back out in the state that he’s in. It’s just a tip, just his friend trying to help. It’s not like Louis doesn’t desperately need that £100, far from it. It’s the fact that Harry knows that he needs it that stings. That his younger ex-boyfriend somehow thinks he needs to help him financially, even if it’s true, well it’s shit.

He’s still fuming when he calls Perrie as he gets out of work, a couple of hours later, with the five £20 notes safely tucked inside his wallet.

“It’s not that I don’t need it!” he nearly shouts into the receiver, “but it’s the… the principle of it! It’s insulting!”

“It’s actually not?” Perrie says, laughing. “It’s quite flattering, really. He thinks your waitressing is worth £100, just take it.”

“No, that’s the thing! It’s not about the service I gave him! It’s about me, Louis Tomlinson, and the fact that he knows I’m poor! It’s bloody charity!”

There’s a pause. “Well, you do need charity.”

“I know! But I—” Louis stalls, not quite sure how to go on. “I’m still insulted!”

“You need to get over it, seriously. You didn’t coerce him to give you that tip, so stop being so dramatic! He gave it willingly because—I don’t know, because he’s rich and likes to make himself feel better by giving money! The reason why he did it doesn’t matter to you, that’s his shit to deal with. For you, all it means is £100 more in your pockets. End of discussion.”

“I suppose you’re right…” Louis sighs, rubbing at his eye. “It’s been a long weekend. I’m at the station, now, I’ve got to hang up.”

“Take care, love. And don’t spend that money stupidly!”

Louis hangs up without replying, expressing without words his thoughts on Perrie’s advice, before being engulfed by the station, grateful for the warmth inside against the biting November chill.

He has a missed call from Harry when he gets out at his stop and he waits until he’s comfortably settled at home in his pyjamas before calling him back.

“Sorry about earlier,” Louis says as soon as Harry replies. “Thank you for the tip, I’m really grateful for it.” It’s only partially a lie.

“And I’m sorry if you didn’t take it well. I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

“I know. I was just… bristled. It’s over, now. I’m… well, fuck, I can really use £100. I just had a long day, my temper’s shit.”

Harry hums, sounding distracted, and Louis rolls his eyes, settling more comfortably against his pillows. It hits him then that it’s the first time they do this, that they talk on the phone, since they broke up. He sits up a bit straighter.

“You called me for a reason, I imagine?” Louis says when there’s a long moment of silence, with only the sound of Harry typing in the background.

“Oh, yeah, huh. I did was you said, I Googled myself. It’s…” Louis hears him swallow. “I discovered a site called Tumblr, is this where you have your stalker blog?”

“Piss off,” Louis says. Then, “Yes.”

“Yeah, I figured. I made myself a blog and I followed a couple of people, maybe even you by mistake, what’s your… your name?”

Louis chokes on air at that. “You can’t do that, Harry!”

“Do what? Have a blog? I’m pretty sure I can…”

“No, no, but you can’t… you can’t follow the people of your own fandom! It’s supposed to be a safe space for fans, not a place where you might read the weird shit they write about you?”

“I’m just curious!” Harry says, almost whining. “I’m not going to pretend to be a fan or anything! And I won’t say it’s me!”

“It’s worse, oh my god! It’d be better if you were honest about it, like make it your official blog or whatever, like on Twitter.”

“No, I can’t do that. I barely control my Twitter, I don’t want my manager to take a hold of my blog, too.” Harry sighs loud enough to make the line crackle. “It’s not Harry Styles who has this blog, it’s just plain Harry.”

Louis sighs, too, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Fine, fine, but don’t read the fics or search for ‘halo’, you’ll regret it.”

“About that…”

“Harry!” Louis squawks. “I told you not to!”

“I was curious! I regret it, okay? I saw—I saw my face pasted on porn star’s bodies and I read a… a really filthy story about us! About us and… and Olly Murs, actually. The three of us… together.”

Louis bursts out laughing because he has to. There’s nothing else to do. “Oh, fuck, Harry, you’re hopeless.”

“But the… the fics are fine, I mean, it’s… creative? But it’s the way they talk about me that’s… well. Are you sure they’re my fans? Because all they do is insult me.”

Harry sounds distraught, which breaks Louis’ heart a little. “Oh, no, no, they love you. They adore you. That’s how they show it.”

“So… calling me a ‘bloody stupid idiot’ and saying they want to ‘set me on fire’ or that they hate me, it’s… it’s how they show they like me?”

Louis chuckles. “Yeah. It’s messed up, huh?”

Harry hums, distracted again. Louis can picture him scrolling through blogs. It makes his stomach recoil to think of the things he’ll find. “There’s so many pictures of me that I had no idea people could see. They were stolen from my friends’ Facebook pages… Louis, are there pictures of… of us? Doing compromising things?”

“I’ve never seen any. You have good friends, I think they made all of the pictures of us at parties and things like that private. Or they deleted them. And I personally asked my friends to get rid of the ones from Stan’s party.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause. “Thanks. Thanks for having my back, despite… despite everything.”

“You’re hard to hate,” Louis hears himself say and he bites his lip.

Harry stays silent for so long that Louis wonders if the line hasn’t been cut. “Do you watch that show, Gogglebox? It’s on, now, it’s one of my favourite right now.”

“Oh, is it on now? I keep missing it, I love it!” Louis jumps out of bed and hurries to the living room, waving at Niall, who’s working on a term paper on the table, on his way. “Niall, do you mind if I watch telly?”

“No, I couldn’t possibly be less productive on this shit anyway.”

“Thanks!” Louis tunes in for the show and gets settled, grinning. “Who’re your favourite?” he asks Harry.

Listening to Harry’s slow, drawling reply warms up something inside of Louis, some dark corner he hadn’t even noticed had gone cold until warmth seeped through it once more. They’ve done this so many times in the past, watching the same show or movie while talking on the phone, exchanging comments and snarky remarks as though they were doing it in the same room.

More than his love, Louis realises, he’d missed Harry’s friendship the most. Being friends with Harry is like being bathed in soothing light, like being accepted into an exclusive inner circle. Harry has this way of making people feel special, like they’re the single most important person he’s met; he makes his friends feel like they have value just for being alive. No wonder Louis had a hard time coping, he’d lost his biggest supporter. It’s hard to move forward when no one’s encouraging him and telling him he can do it.

But this, this friendship thing they’re developing, Louis could be satisfied with it. If they never moved beyond it, it could be enough.

He hopes so, because he’s not sure yet he’d be willing to be Harry’s boyfriend.

-

Calling Harry on the phone quickly becomes a sort of routine, one that sneaks up on Louis before he can notice the trend and stop it. Harry, it seems, learned his work schedule and finds a way to call most nights as soon as Louis is settling down for the evening, usually in front of the telly. They’ll watch the same show and comment on it, sometimes just sitting in complete silence for long stretches of time. Louis has come to look forward to the calls; it’s like he’s grown to need the soothing lull of Harry’s voice to unwind at the end of the day.

Which is why, when his phone rings while he’s having drinks with Perrie, he’s not surprised to see Harry’s name come up on the screen.

“Hey, I’m busy right now, can I call you back?” Louis answers, not unkindly. He shoots Perrie an apologetic glance.

There’s a long silence at the end of the line and all Louis can hear is Harry’s ragged, moist breath, sounding like he’s been crying. Something heavy settles in the pit of Louis’ stomach and he gulps.

“Harry? Are you—”

“My nan just died. It’s—she…” Harry takes a big gulp of air like he’s drowning. “She’d fallen ill recently, but it turned into pneumonia and—” Another gasp of air. “I just got the call, Gemma called me and—and—I didn’t know who to—I’m sorry.”

Louis grips his phone tighter. “Are you alone right now? Where are you? I’m coming over.”

He doesn’t even think twice, doesn’t take the time to weigh the pros and cons of running to his ex, he just knows that he needs to be by Harry’s side roughly two hours ago.

Harry lets out a sob that shatters Louis’ heart. “You don’t have to, I’m—” Harry hiccups wetly. “Please. Do you mind? Gemma is already home and I—I have no one else.”

“Yeah, of course, Haz. I’ll be there as soon as I can. You shouldn’t be alone right now,” Louis tells him in a soft voice. “Should I bring anything?”

Harry makes a noncommittal sound. “No, it’s fine, just…” He trails off and sighs, his breath jumping.

“Hang in there. I’ll be over soon.” Louis hangs up and turns to Perrie, biting his lip. “Do you mind if I go…? Harry’s nan just died and he’s wrecked.”

Perrie clicks her tongue. “Stupid question, of course not, just go!” She catches his arm before he jumps off his stool. “Hey, when the dust has settled, remember that he called you, not anyone else, to the rescue. Hm? Think that over.” There’s a half-smile on her face, a twinkle in her eye.

“Not everything is about my couple,” Louis snaps, downing his drink and grimacing. He lays a £5 note on the counter. “For my tap. Love you.” He leans in to kiss her cheeks and then heads out of the bar, hurrying towards the nearest Tube station.

He makes it to Harry’s in a little under an hour, having stopped to buy a tub of chocolate ice cream and a bottle of cheap wine. Once in front of Harry’s house, he hesitates for a second, not necessarily wanting to make Harry move from where he’s settled. Louis tries the door handle and smiles when it gives, stepping inside the house and softly closing the door behind him, locking it.

“Haz? I’m here,” he calls, stepping forward cautiously. “Where are you?”

“Bedroom,” comes the muffled reply, so Louis kicks off his shoes, pads to the kitchen for a corkscrew and spoons, and makes his way to the end of the hall, pushing open Harry’s bedroom door.

Harry is curled up in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, the iPad in his hands casting his face in blue light. There’s a fire purring in the hearth, providing the only light in the room. The temperature is almost suffocating, yet Harry is wrapped in a blanket. He looks up when Louis walks in and shuts the door behind them, wincing as it creaks.

“I’m…” Harry begins, sighing. “I had a train ticket to go see her at the hospital two days from now, my sister could take off work earlier and she got there this morning, just in time to—” Harry’s eyes fill with tears and he shakes his head, wiping them angrily with the back of his hand. “I’m trying to change my departure date for tomorrow instead, but I think I’ll have to buy a new one altogether.”

Louis stands motionless for a moment, feeling the weight of the ice cream and the wine in the plastic bag in his hand, and he hums in reply to Harry, nodding. Placing the bag down on the floor, Louis walks up to the armchair and carefully sits on the arm, pushing his toes underneath Harry’s thigh as he pulls him closer, wrapping his arms around his head as though shielding him from the outside world.

Harry melts against him and buries his face in Louis’ chest, his shoulders jumping after a few seconds under the strength of his sobs. Louis shushes him softly, stroking his hair and bending down to kiss the crown of his head.

“Shh, love, it’s okay. I’m here, you’re not alone. I’ll deal with the train, don’t worry,” Louis coos, closing his eyes to ignore the onslaught of emotions he feels all at once. “Let it all out, it’s okay.”

“She was fine two days ago!” Harry says, his voice cracking. “I can’t believe she’s gone! It’s not fair! I—I was—” He gasps for air. “I hadn’t seen her in months, I kept cancelling and now—now I’ll never get to see her again! Oh—oh god, she died thinking I didn’t love her, she must have, I was never there, I—”

Harry’s breath keeps itching higher and more frantic and Louis knows an anxiety attack when he sees one, so he hugs Harry tigher. “Hey, hey, love, no. Don’t think that. She knew you loved her and she knew how busy you were. You hear me, hm? She knew you loved her. She must have been so proud and so happy of all you’ve been doing, can you even imagine? Her grandson becoming a super star, I bet she told everyone at church every Sunday how proud of you she was.”

Harry hiccups and nods. “She had a—an album where she kept cuttings of articles about me. Mum said she took it out every time someone came to visit.”

“See? And you called her from time to time, didn’t you?”

“Ev—every week.”

“Don’t blame yourself, then. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“B-but I could have seen her one last time! I—I could have left this morning, but I—I—” Harry’s voice breaks and he starts crying harder than before.

Louis hold him through the thick of it, rocking him gently from side to side, trying to be an anchor for Harry as he rides the violent waves of his grief. It lasts for a while, every sob wrenched out of Harry breaking his heart a bit more, making him whisper sweet nothings that he has no control over. Once Harry calms down a bit, Louis gets up to go fetch a box of tissues and a glass of water for Harry before taking the iPad from his hands and sitting in the opposite armchair.

“Let’s see about that train ticket,” Louis says, forcing his voice to be steady despite how shaken he is by Harry’s state. “What’s your PIN?”

“2412,” Harry replies, sniffling. He blows his nose, but Louis notices that his blotchy, tears-swollen cheeks darken.

“My birthday, hm?” Louis comments, trying to keep his tone light despite the hammering of his heart. “Okay… I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call them and yell, if it comes to it.”

It takes Louis almost a full half hour to get it all settled once he caves and calls Customer Service. He changes the ticket for the next morning and when she asks if it’ll be all, Louis casts a glance a Harry and takes an impulsive decision.

“Actually, can you add a second ticket to the order, please? For Louis Tomlinson, please.”

Harry lets out a soft gasp and shakes his head, his eyes wide and glistening with tears.

Louis covers the receiver with his hand. “You can afford to pay me first class, don’t look so offended.” He sticks out his tongue and returns to the call, finishing it a few minutes later and hanging off. “I loved your nan,” he offers as an explanation.

Getting out of the chair, Louis goes to retrieve the ice cream tub and the wine, sitting down on the carpet in front of the hearth. “I brought supplies,” he explains when Harry looks on with confusion. “Chocolate ice cream to soothe your heart and dessert wine to soothe your soul. Come on, we’re not eating that on your fancy chairs.”

Harry clambers off the chair to sit by Louis’ side, tightening the blanket around his shoulders with a sniffle. He uncaps the ice cream and pouts.

“It’s all melted.” Taking a spoon, Harry pokes at the content of the tub with a sigh.

“Yeah, it’s because it must be about 100 degrees in this room,” Louis jokes, taking a spoon and using it to eat a big scoop. “Still good, though. Try it, it’s how I gained like twenty pounds since we broke up.”

Harry hesitates for a second before scooping out ice cream and eating it. He shrugs and does it again with a bit more enthusiasm.

“Good boy,” Louis coos, turning his attention to the bottle of wine. He uncorks it and takes a swig before handing it to Harry. “It’s not your usual stuff, though. It’s more like sweetened vinegar.”

“It’ll get me drunk, it’s all I’m asking for.”

Louis giggles and then sighs, holding out his hands to warm them over the flames. “I’m glad that you called me. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I wasn’t sure I was allowed.”

Louis clicks his tongue. “Don’t be ridiculous, we’re mates, aren’t we?” It’s a proper question, but Louis hopes his bravado will disguise it as a rhetorical statement.

“Are we?!”

“I’d say so, yeah. We’ve achieved that. But, love, this isn’t what tonight is about. Tonight, it’s about making you feel better, not about what we are or aren’t.”

Harry nods and falls silent, sipping the wine without offering any to Louis. He’s barely touching the ice cream so Louis pulls the tub closer and eats in earnest, channelling his nerves and confusion over everything he feels at the moment into it. The silence, if soothing for Harry, is suffocating for Louis, so when Harry yawns and shivers with tiredness, Louis jumps on his chance.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah? We’ll have a big day tomorrow.”

With a hitch of his breath, Harry tightens the blanket around his shoulders. “Will you stay the night?”

Louis’ first reflex is to snap that no, he won’t sleep over, they aren’t there yet, but he swallows it down and nods. “I’ll take the guest room.”

“Oh.” Harry looks down, his shoulders visibly slumping.

“Or… or I’ll make an exception and…” Louis sighs, struggling to get the words out. “I’ll share your bed. Just don’t… no funny business, hm? Sex was a mistake the last time, remember?”

“I couldn’t be further away from in the mood for sex,” Harry deadpans, visibly annoyed. “It’s not why I called you.”

“I know, I know. Sorry,” Louis sighs. “I’m a knob, you shouldn’t listen to me.” He gets up and cleans up, balancing the tub of ice cream and the half empty bottle of wine in his hands. “I’ll go clean up, get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Louis hurries out of Harry’s bedroom and to the kitchen, placing the ice cream in the freezer and the wine on the counter before bracing his hands on the edge of the counter, gasping in a breath. It’s a lot, it’s too much, it’s much, much too much, and his head is spinning because through all of this, all he’s wanted was to run away or give in and take Harry back and he’s just agreed to go spend a few days with him in Cheshire.

Pouring himself a glass of water, Louis takes a deep, steadying breath. He can do this. It isn’t about him or them, it’s about being a good friend for Harry. It’s about being there for him even if he wasn’t there when Louis needed him most. It’s not about keeping tabs or a tally of who’s been there the most for the other. Harry needs him even if he won’t say it outwardly; he probably thinks he’s not allowed to voice it and that alone is hard to stomach.

With shaking hands, Louis downs his glass of water and pours himself another, taking longer to sip it, trying to build up the courage he’ll need to go spend the night in the same bed as Harry. Louis places the glass at the bottom of the sink and tours the flat, making sure that the lights are all off and that the front door is locked. He’s stalling, now, and he knows it, so he sighs and makes his way to Harry’s bedroom, knocking lightly before walking in.

“Hey, ready for bed?” he asks, smiling against his will when he sees Harry snuggled up in his bed, his iPad balanced on his knees.

“Is that Louis?” comes Anne’s voice from the iPad and Louis blushes violently.

“Oh, sorry, I’ll come back later,” he stutters, backing out of the room.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Harry rushes to say. “Mum, yes, but… don’t make it weird.”

Louis hesitates in the doorway until Harry motions him closer. Without any excuses to refuse, Louis joins him on the bed, keeping a good foot of space between them. Harry turns the iPad so the screen faces Louis and he bites his lip as he waves at Anne.

“Hiya, Anne… it’s been a while.”

“Understatement of the year,” she says, chuckling. “You have no idea how happy and relieved I am to see you’re with Harry.”

“Hm, well… thanks.” Louis scratches his cheek, sure that he’s blushing. “It’s nothing, really. No one should be alone at a time like this.”

“Yes, of course, but Harry says you’re coming to the funeral?”

“Apparently, yes. It… it feels right.”

“Thank you,” she tells Louis earnestly and he blushes even more. “You’re more than welcome at our house, it goes without saying. Haz, darling, I’ll be at the station to pick you up tomorrow, text me when you’re near. I’m glad you’re not driving.”

“I couldn’t,” Harry says, voice scratchy and tired. “We’ll go to bed, okay Mum? I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Sleep tight. You, too, Louis.”

“Goodnight, Anne,” Louis says, letting out a deep sigh when the call ends. He slumps against the pillows and rubs his face a few times. “I didn’t know you had a car,” he says to fill the silence.

“Hm, yeah. I’ll show you one day.” Harry yawns and Louis glances at the time, surprised to see that it’s almost half past eleven already.

“Remember when I tried to show you how to drive? You nearly ruined my transmission,” Louis says with a soft laugh.

“It wasn’t my fault! Your clutch was shit!”

“The whole car was shit, yeah, but you kept confusing the clutch with the breaks, they’re not even on the same side!”

“Oh, piss off, I don’t deserve to be made fun of tonight!” Harry snaps and Louis is relieved to hear him laugh. “Anyway, I took out some pyjamas for you.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, reeling from the sudden change in tone. He grabs the clothes and goes to change in the bathroom, returning soon after, climbing in bed and slipping under the covers. “It was a nice day, though. When I tried to teach you to drive.”

Harry nods, shifting so he’s lying down. “One of the warmest days of the summer, wasn’t it? It was sweltering in your car so we found a clearing on the side of the road and snogged in the shade.”

Louis laughs, his heart tightening at the evocation of such sweet, intimate memories. “You’d brought a bag of cherries and kept spitting the pits out the window, I thought it was so annoying, but then we kissed and your lips were the sweetest I’d ever tasted,” he continues, voice rough.

“We’ll go on drives next summer, if you want,” Harry offers tentatively. “If… if things don’t go to shit once more. They’re bound to, aren’t they?” Harry’s voice thickens as tears threaten to fall once more.

“I think they’ve gone to shit enough for both our lifetimes,” Louis replies, shifting closer. “I’m not leaving unless you ask me to.”

“You could, though. I don’t deserve…”

“Harry,” Louis cuts him off. “Enough. Isn’t today hard enough already? Just try and go to sleep, yeah? Everything in its time.”

Harry sighs and nods, turning on his side so his back is to Louis’. Louis watches him move before returning his gaze to the hearth, bright orange flames still dancing in it, kept enclosed by the ornate wrought-iron guard Harry put in place.

“I don’t know how I’ll sleep. I feel like crying whenever I close my eyes,” Harry says in a small voice, sniffling.

Without thinking, Louis moves closer, pressing himself up against Harry’s back and holding him tight. “I’m here,” Louis whispers, kissing behind his ear.

It feels odd to be holding Harry as the little spoon with their new height difference, the new broadness of Harry particularly unsettling. Harry melts in his arms, letting out a long, shaky sigh and relaxing.

Louis lies, sleepless, for a long time after Harry’s breathing has slowed down and settled. He listens to the crackles of the fire until it’s reduced to dying embers and the temperature in the room goes down. Having Harry in his arms feels unreal; when Louis buries his nose in the crook of Harry’s neck, he could almost be convinced that the past two years never happened.

-

Louis barely sleeps at all the whole night, completely unused to sharing a bed with someone after so long. He abandons all hope of sleeping further around 6:30 in the morning and gets out of bed, leaving a note for Harry to tell him he’s gone home to pack and will meet him at Euston Station for their train.

Niall is still asleep when Louis gets home so he hurries to shower and pack, not wanting to be late to the station and cause Harry to think he’s being stood up for his nan’s funeral. Once packed for a few days, Louis heads out of the flat once more and makes his way to the station through the thickening rush hour crowd, calling his jobs as soon as he’s out of the Tube to lie about being sick and needing a few days off. If he loses his jobs over this impulsive trip, he’ll be really bloody pissed off.

He finds Harry standing in an isolated corner of the station, clearly trying to hide himself from view. Louis buys them two breakfast sandwiches and two coffees before joining him, watching carefully to be sure Harry eats before he starts his own.

The ease with which they were around each other the night before has evaporated and Louis struggles to find something to talk about. Harry looks wrecked, with dark circles under his eyes that show Louis he slept poorly, too.

Once on the train, Harry pulls on the hood of his sweatshirt and curls up in his seat, going to sleep almost before the train leaves the station. Louis fights it a bit longer, but as the countryside starts flying by out of the windows, he succumbs and lets his head loll onto Harry’s shoulder.

Seeing Anne after so long isn’t easy, not that Louis expected it to be. She doesn’t know how to act around him and neither does he, and Harry is too sleep-deprived and upset to be of any use. Louis gets offered the television room and the flashbacks are almost dizzying. He fetches blankets without needing any help finding them and he makes his bed, taking his time to let Harry have some time alone with his family. Louis doesn’t dare wander around the house; it’s hard to believe that not so long ago, he was like at home and would often make his way to the fridge and eat whatever he wanted without asking anyone.

Nothing has changed, making him feel like he’s travelled back in time. It’s uncanny and unsettling. He hates it and can’t quite believe that this’ll be his life for the next few days. Curious, Louis kneels on the floor by the couch and checks under it, using his phone’s flash as a torch to see underneath and—yes, as he predicted, there’s a few of his lost socks under there amongst the dust bunnies. It makes his head spin so he straightens up and turns on the telly to drown out the noises coming from downstairs.

Louis ends up spending a lot of time alone during the visit. Harry spends most of his time with his family, which is understandable, but Louis doesn’t feel comfortable joining them. When they go have a meeting at the funeral house to plan everything, he stays behind and goes for a walk to fill the time. When they have guests over, he stays out of the way, adopting the television room as the only area he’s comfortable in. Harry comes to see him from time to time, as though to recharge his batteries, but it’s never long before he’s called back downstairs to see an aunt or help plan, and Louis had never imagined it took so much planning to bury someone.

The funeral itself is excruciating. Louis makes sure to stay close to Harry, always a step behind him, and it’s torture to see everyone take a glance at them and assume they’re back together. Louis takes Harry’s arm when it’s time to move from the wake to the church and he doesn’t let go for the rest of the day, feeling Harry wavering and crumbling with every passing minute. Even during the service, Louis holds on to Harry’s hand, returning every squeeze with one of his own to remind Harry that he’s there. While the priest drones on reading excerpts of the Scriptures, Louis muses that it’s probably a massive sin to be holding hand with his sodomite ex-partner in church and he has to bite the inside of his cheeks not to laugh.

He’s exhausted and his nerves are fraying, and church is so very dull, he can’t be blamed for almost laughing.

During the interment, Louis stays even closer, seeking Harry’s warmth as the November cold seeps through his bones. The yellowed grass of the cemetery crunches with frost under their feet and it almost hurts to be standing in his best dress shoes on the frozen ground, the cold turning his toes into icicles.

It’s all forgotten when Harry finally breaks down and cries as they begin lowering the casket. Louis hurries to pull him into his arms, letting Harry bury his frozen nose in his neck and rubbing his back through his sobs. He’s almost supporting Harry’s whole weight at that point, but Louis bears it all in silence, holding him even tighter when the sobs subside and turn into shivers.

And just like that, it’s over. There’s a reception being held at the funeral home with a cold buffet and Louis gratefully takes the cup of hot coffee Harry offers him before being dragged away by relatives, leaving Louis alone for a moment. He uses that chance to disappear from view, needing a break from the curious glances of recognition he’s being given.

Gemma finds him hiding in the cloak room, sitting cross-legged on a table and sipping his coffee while nibbling the crust-less sandwiches and crudities he got from the buffet before his escape. She joins him on the table, pulling on her short, black velvet dress so it covers her thighs a bit more.

“You needed a break too, hm?” she asks, opening her clutch and taking a small flask out of it. She pours some of the clear alcohol – gin, from the smell – into Louis’ coffee cup before spiking her own. “Tired of being a zoo animal?”

Louis nods, thanking her for the alcohol before taking a sip. “It’s like I’ve grown a second head or something.”

“Well, gee, Harry’s ex gay lover is here, what could it possibly mean?!” she says mockingly, rolling her eyes. “Bloody classless gawkers. But thank you, it’s distracting them from my lavender hair.”

“Glad to be of service,” Louis replies. “He needed me, though. So there wasn’t any question about coming.”

Gemma smiles. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“Don’t I know it?!” Louis says with a sigh and a laugh. “How are you holding up?”

She shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. “It’s unreal, still. I mean, fuck, I was holding her hand when she died.”

“Fuck,” Louis says because there’s nothing else to say.

In the cramped room smelling strongly of humid wool and moth balls from the dozens of coats hanging around them, with the muffled chatter coming from the nearby reception room coming to them in waves, the whole of life’s immensity and finality seems to be unfurling around them, and Louis feels at once insignificant and infinite, intangible, and he shivers, taking a sip of coffee.

“It really puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?” he asks.

“What, a funeral? Death?”

“No, gin.” They laugh and Louis sighs. “Death, though. I mean—what’s the point of anything, you know?”

“I don’t know, but like, what’s the other option? Lie in bed for years waiting for death to take you away? Life has value because it’s finite.”

Louis lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Look at us, talking like bloody first year Philosophy students.”

“But professor, maybe Kant was wrong and I’m the first to realise it! Me, a 19 year-old!” Gemma adds, laughing, too. “Oh, oh, we shouldn’t be laughing like that at my nan’s funeral, we’re going to Hell.”

“Well, I’ve been on a highway to Hell since I kissed my first boy, so…”

She lets out a cackle which she muffles by placing her hands over her mouth, shaking her head and only taking them off when she calms down. “I missed you, you know.”

“I missed you, too,” Louis replies earnestly. “We need to go out for drinks or dinner or, hell, brunch, when we’re back in London.”

“Definitely. When’s your train, speaking of?”

“Same as Harry’s.”

“So same as mine, amazing.” She smiles, pouring more alcohol in Louis’ Styrofoam cup. “Let me go and try to find my brother, he’s probably being harassed by distant cousins who’re confusing a funeral with a free meet and greet.”

She winks at Louis and jumps off the table, leaving him alone with his thoughts. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that he and Harry are back together. For the first time, that thought isn’t unsettling; quite the contrary, it feels like a natural progression from where they’ve been threading lately, it feels just like peeking a few pages ahead in a book to see what’s coming. He wants to be there for Harry, wants to show him that he’s not alone in the world and that someone has his back. He wants that, to be the one person who has Harry’s back, to be his safety net and his home base.

More than that, though, he got drunk on the way people looked at him like he was Harry’s. He liked being seen as belonging to such a handsome, intelligent and beloved boy. It made him feel special, a thing he hasn’t felt since—well, since he and Harry broke up.

Hopping off the table, Louis finishes his coffee with a grimace and leaves the cloak room, determined to find Harry and take him home. He must be exhausted and in desperate need for some quiet time, and Louis wants to show him that he’s there for him by anticipating his needs.

He finds him discussing with a pair of great-aunts and Gemma, looking interested, but strained, almost threadbare. Louis has a feeling that a gust of wind would break him in half.

He makes his way to the group and sidles up next to Harry, placing a hand on the small of his back. Harry instinctively shifts closer and Louis’ heart gives a lurch.

“Are you ready to go home?” Louis whispers in his ear.

“Yes, please,” Harry replies, nodding. “I’m drained.”

“Make your excuses, I’ll go get our coats.”

Gemma gives Louis a tight-lipped smile as he leaves to go back to the cloak room, locating their coats with some difficulty amongst all the other similar ones hanging around him. He finds them just as Harry enters the room.

“Hey,” Louis says softly.

“Hey.” Harry slumps against the wall and buries his head in his hands. “Give me a moment.”

Louis waits, hugging Harry’s coat to his chest, his smell so strong on it that it’s dizzying. Harry is breathing hard, his chest and shoulders heaving with it, and he’s trembling like a leaf.

“Are you—” Louis begins.

“Yes.” Harry pushes himself off the wall and crosses the room to take his coat from Louis. “Let’s go.”

They head straight to Harry’s room when they’re back at his house and he collapses on his bed, burying his face in his pillow. Louis joins him, lying with his head on Harry’s back, stroking it soothingly. They don’t say anything; Louis doubts that there is anything to say.

-

“Come on, Team Rural Funeral, our train’s this way!” Gemma announces as she compares her ticket to the timetable overhead. “Let’s get out of Crewe and back to our beloved LDN.”

“We’ve only been in Crewe for twenty minutes,” Harry comments, smiling.

“That’s twenty minutes too many, little brother.”

Both of them have ruddy cheeks and sparkling eyes; Louis suspects that he’s not much different. They had an early brunch with Harry’s parents and the mimosas flowed a bit too freely. Louis feels loose and easy, like life just slips off him like water off a duck, and fuck, he loves getting tipsy on bubbly.

They find their train and make their way to their seats, Louis and Harry sitting next to each other while Gemma settles opposite them, using the spare seat for her bag.

“I’m so tired,” Harry moans, rubbing his face a few times. “I feel a hundred years old.”

“You look like it, too,” Gemma deadpans.

“That makes you 104.”

“But I’m still prettier, so I win by default,” Gemma replies, taking out her iPad and a pair of headphones.

“Louis, what do you think?” Harry asks.

Louis groans. “You’re asking me to choose between a girl and my ex? That’s cruel, even for you.”

The three of them laugh and Gemma shakes her head. “Well, I’m tuning you two out. Have fun.” She puts in her headphones and turns her attention to her screen.

“Do you mind if I sleep?” Harry asks, yawning. “I have a meeting when we get back, I need to be—I can’t fall asleep in front of my label.”

“No worries, I brought a book,” Louis says, patting Harry’s leg. “Enjoy your nap.”

Louis watches Harry get settled for his nap, pulling up his hood and crossing his arms over his chest as though hugging himself. Louis watches him until he feels bad for staring, moving his gaze instead outside the window for a while, until the endless stream of trees and fields nearly lull him to sleep. He takes out his book and starts reading, stealing glances at Harry from time to time, unable to stop despite knowing he’s being ridiculous.

The train gives a lurch as they make a turn and Harry’s sleeping form slips to the side. Louis catches him before he topples over and the natural progression is to lay Harry’s head on his shoulder, securing him there with a hand that he runs through his curls, observing him for a long moment.

“What are you doing?” Gemma asks, making Louis jump in surprise.

"Me? What... are you talking about?"

"I mean with my brother. Be careful, you're walking on thin ice there."

"He... I'm helping? What do you want me to do, Gemma? Just let him cry and ask him to bring me tea?"

"No, but there's a line between helping him and acting like the boyfriend he lost. He's beating himself up about it enough already, he doesn't need to be given mixed signals."

"It's not mixed signals at all! What are you thinking? I'm not acting like a boyfriend. I'm doing what's right." Louis frowns, annoyed. "He needs me right now. And... the fact that he wasn't there for me when I needed him... doesn't mean... It doesn't work that way."

Gemma is silent for a while. "You're not acting like a boyfriend? Are you sure about that? Look, I appreciate what you do for him, it makes me feel better to know he's not alone anymore to deal with his crazy life. But he's my brother and I need to protect him and right now, what you're doing is setting off alarms in my head. The 'must keep Harry safe' kind of alarms."

Louis rolls his eyes. "What are you trying to say?"

“I'm asking you to be careful with his heart. He's wearing it on his sleeve around you. I know what he did broke yours, Louis, I'm not saying he's faultless. But you know him as well as I do. We know that if he broke up with you, it's because he honestly thought he had no other choice."

"That doesn't mean I have to take him back without any questions either."

"It's not what I'm saying. But don't give him false hopes."

"I'm not doing anything a friend wouldn't do, okay? Give me a break. I missed work for your nan’s funeral, not to be lectured."

"Fine, fine. You're an adult, you do what you want. Two final questions, though: do you still love him and if so, is getting back with him part of your plans? I won't tell him."

"Of course you won't tell him because I won't tell you. Sorry, Gemma, but it’s none of your business."

Gemma rolls her eyes and returns her attention to her iPad. "Fine, whatever. It's not like I don't already know the answer anyway."

"What's the answer?" Louis snaps.

"You know I know you know."

"No. That's why I'm asking you. Because I don't know. I want to know what you think."

"I think yes. You still look at him like you can't believe he's real. You've always looked at him like that." Gemma’s voice softens, like she understood something Louis hasn’t and she’s threading carefully lest she scares him off.

"I can't help being nice with him, okay? But I'm not sure I want to get back with him. He hurt me and I'm not sure he won't do it again. Still.... I can't... He's still Harry, you know?" Louis sighs, looking out the window, worrying at a loose stitch in his scarf.

"I know my brother, he wouldn't hurt you intentionally, but I get it. He lost your trust. You're allowed to wait and see if he can get it back. I won't blame you for that. Just be careful that you don't end up hurting you both." Gemma gazes at Harry for a moment, her eyes soft. "He's endearing, yes. Those damn younger siblings, they know how to be cute and irresistible."

"I'm doing the best I can, but... it's hard. I'm fighting against my pride. A part of me just want to snog him all night and another forbids me to even be close to him, because... he... he nearly killed me, Gemma, okay? I can't let that happen again. If I go back with him, that's the end, you know? I want to be sure that if we get back together, we will die together. And right now, his life is too crazy to let me have any certainty about that." Louis sighs, reaching up to run a hand through Harry’s curls.

"I know. Your mum and mine talked a lot. I know what you went through. It nearly killed him too, you know. He had to look happy for the media and show everyone how glad he was to have won, but I don't think he's ever enjoyed it. Sometimes I wonder if he likes what he does or just does it because he has to. He'll never tell you that, by the way. I only know because I heard him tell Mum, not long after he broke up with Elsie. He kept saying he'd never be happy again because he couldn't get over you and that he hated his life." Her leg is bouncing as she speaks and she keeps shooting glances at Harry. "He's my baby brother and I can't do anything to help him. It's hard."

Something cold and dark seeps through Louis’ veins at Gemma’s words, twisting his stomach until he feels nauseous. "I thought... I thought he liked it, I mean... they told him to break up with me or he wouldn't make it, so I always supposed... He chose being a star over me. He doesn't like it...?"

"It cost him you. Of course he doesn't like it. He thought... he thought he could pretend to break up with you in front of him and then fix everything as soon as he was gone, but you never picked up your phone. It was a shit plan and he made the wrong choice, but it wasn't that he chose his career over you. It was the way he tried to have both."

Louis is quiet for a moment, letting Gemma’s words sink in. He knew all of that, of course, but only from Harry’s own mouth. It’s like something inside of him loosens up to know he told the same story to his family; it wasn’t all a lie to try and get Louis back, is what it means. He gently strokes Harry’s cheek, his heart hammering in his chest.

"It's the same... In the end, he chose the career instead of telling them we were too important to mess up with." Louis shrugs, at a loss for words, his thoughts too loud and chaotic. "Maybe we can make it better, Gemma, maybe he broke everything, I don't know yet. Right now, you guys have just lost your nan and it's my main concern. That and hoping I haven't lost my jobs."

“I'm just glad you've got each other again. You guys have always been stupidly co-dependent."

Louis rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue. “And just like that, you’ve ruined the mood.”

Gemma laughs. “I can’t say that I’m sorry.”

Louis swings his leg to kick her shin, flipping her off when she squawks with indignation. “Just let me read my book, yeah?”

“Fine!” She rolls her eyes and then grins, her smile matching Louis’.

Harry has to be woken up when the train pulls into Euston and it leaves him grumpy and short-tempered. Confronted to Harry’s foul mood, Louis announces that he’ll be heading home and he leaves the Styles at the station, exchanging numbers with Gemma and placing kisses on the siblings’ cheeks before weaving his way through the crowd.

It’s only when Louis enters his flat for the first time in four days that he realises how completely unreal everything he’s just lived feels. He crawls to his bed, stripping off his clothes and climbing into it for a well-deserved nap, but he finds that he can’t fall asleep.

Lying on his back, staring at the cracked paint of the ceiling, he misses the Styles. It only took four days for him to take for granted their presence, the easy banter between the two siblings, Anne’s kindness and Robin’s generous laugh, Harry’s smile and the sound of his voice quietly rumbling from other rooms of the house he’s in, and even his bed feels wrong after four nights on a couch. He’s feeling the same kind of blues that he did whenever he got home after spending some time at Harry’s house, but this time he can’t Skype him until it goes away. He has to deal with the nostalgia on his own.

Louis has rarely felt lonelier.

Chapter Text

Louis is fuming. More than that, he’s raging, he’s a volcano threatening to blow up, he’s going to bloody murder someone.

Disregarding the late hour of the night, he picks up his phone and calls Harry, gnawing at the skin of his thumb while he waits.

“Harry!” he shouts as soon as the line picks up. “Do you have a good lawyer?!”

There’s a long pause at the end of the line, stretching on for so long that Louis can feel his heartbeat quickening as his anger seeps and settles through his veins.

“What?” Harry finally asks. His voice is scratchy with sleep.

“People—no, fucking losers took pictures of you at your nan’s funeral. Around the church and at the cemetery and holy shit, Harry you have to sue them.”

Another pause, broken by a yawn. “Paparazzis?”

“No, bloody fangirls.”

“There’s nothing I can do, Louis. Paparazzis, I could have, but people… I don’t want to be a jerk.”

“They’re the jerks! You should see the pictures!” Louis says, desperate through his anger. He scrolls through his dashboard, heart thumping to see the shots of Harry, bereaved and photographed without his consent. He’s in a few of the shots, too, sticking by Harry’s side like his shadow, and everywhere online there’s buzzing excitement at the speculation that they’re back together. “They have no respect!”

“I know, I know, but it’s part of the game,” Harry replies. He sounds tired and strained, like the mere fact of being awake is burdening him. “I’ve seen them earlier. It doesn’t really matter. There’s nothing compromising.”

“But it’s such a lack of respect! How can you be so calm about it?!”

“I’m not calm about it, it’s repugnant, but there’s nothing I can do.” There’s a pause. “Are you upset because you’re in them, too? Because it makes people think even more that we’re together?”

“No!” Louis squawks. “I’m not the one who’s in the closet!”

“Thanks,” Harry deadpans.

Before Louis can reply to try and fix what he just did, the line cuts. He moves his phone away from his ear and stares at it in disbelief, so insulted that he can’t breathe properly. He calls Harry once more.

“You don’t get to hang up on me! I hang up on you!” Louis shouts as soon as Harry answers before hanging up, smiling to himself with satisfaction.

The sense of superiority fades away very fast as he continues browsing his dashboard. The pictures make him feel sick, like tens of intrusions into his private life; he’s been guilty of reblogging candid pictures of Harry before and he hates that he never considered how it must have made him feel to see that no one has any consideration for his private life. Worst of all, he knows Harry is right: he is mostly upset because he’s in most of the pictures, looking downright stupid in his faded black coat and windswept hair amongst Harry’s family.

is it bad that I’m excited about a funeral? a post on his dashboard says and Louis groans, rolling his eyes, and hits reply before he can stop it to type: yes.

look at how protective Louis is of Harry omg his hand on Harry’s back is my new religion

do you think Harry introduced him as his boyfriend to his family? I need to lay down I feel weak just thinking about it

#for better or for worse #JUST KILL ME #halo

Louis shuts the lid of his laptop roughly and picks up his dirty plate, placing it in the sink with his empty beer bottle and heading off to bed. If he doesn’t, he’ll pick a fight with strangers on the Internet and Niall will laugh to find him arguing with teenagers at four in the morning. His pride can’t take a repeat of that incident.

-

Louis wakes up to a text from Gemma telling him that Harry’s on the radio in a half hour, if he’d like to hear, punctuated with a winking emoji. He rolls his eyes and replies with a curt ‘thanks’ before rolling out of bed.

“G’morning,” Niall says, looking up from tuning his guitar. “There’s no more bread or milk for cereal.”

“Ugh,” Louis groans, grabbing a box of biscuits and joining Niall at the table. “Do we have a radio?”

“Don’t think so, 1998. Why?”

“There’s something I want to listen to this morning, is all.” Louis shrugs for good measure.

“Harry’s on, isn’t he?” Niall asks, smirking at Louis. He reaches across the table for a biscuit and swallows it whole.

“What if he is?”

Niall blows him a kiss and Louis groans again, taking the biscuits with him as he goes back to his room to try and find a way to listen to the radio show online. He finds it after a few minutes and puts on the streaming, munching on biscuits as he waits for Harry to come on.

Louis perks up when the host announces that they’ll be calling Harry Styles after the break and he turns the volume up in anticipation, only to be hit unexpectedly by one of Harry’s songs blasting through the speakers. His heart skips a beat like it always does whenever he hears one by surprise.

It’s one of his favourite off Harry’s new album, an upbeat pop song about—well, Louis isn’t an idiot, he knows it’s about him that Harry is singing when he sings ‘I don’t care what people say when we’re together’. Whether it’s a marketing scheme or a proof of a real, deep-rooted change in Harry’s attitude regarding the whole ‘being gay’ thing, Louis isn’t quite ready to decide. All he knows, for the moment, is that he bloody loves the song and its possible, in-a-perfect-world meaning.

The song ends and the host rings Harry to talk to him about his new album, rehashing the same old questions he’s answered a thousand times before. Louis’ attention drifts off as he logs on to Tumblr to join the liveblogging session that’s happening while the interview is taking place.

“So, Harry, I hear you’ve got some big news for us, haven’t you?” the host asks and Louis perks up.

“Yes, I’ll be going on tour at the beginning of 2014!” Harry says, voice cheerful and ever so lovely. “In the spring I’ll be crossing the pond to tour in America for a few months! It’s very, very exciting to be given this opportunity.”

“I bet!” the hosts replies, continuing on to other questions, but Louis can’t hear him talk anymore.

Harry will be going to America for months in the spring and he didn’t even think of telling Louis that this would be happening. He let Louis think he would be back in his life for good when in fact he was just counting down the days until he would be off to spend a couple of months on another continent.

Wounded, disheartened, Louis closes his laptop, shutting off the interview and the explosive reactions on Tumblr at the news that Harry would be going to America. He feels cheated, unreasonably. While he was trying to make plans for his future that would include Harry for the first time in a year and a half, Harry was planning a trip of several months far away from Louis, both physically and temporally because of the difference in time zones.

Picking up his phone, Louis opens the conversation thread he has with Harry.

I heard your interview.

It takes an hour for Harry to reply and Louis only sees it when he gets off the train to go to work.

What did you think? :D I think it went quite well! I hope I didn’t say anything stupid.

He ought to know what he did wrong—he’s just playing Louis, pretending that everything is normal when everything definitely isn’t. Annoyed, Louis texts back the flag of the United States before putting his phone on silent and walking into work.

Throughout the day, Louis half-expects Harry to barge into Topshop to explain everything and he keeps his eyes trained on the door just in case. It makes him jumpy and short-tempered with the clients, and by the time his shift ends seven hours later, Louis is craving a long, warm bath with a bottle of wine.

Checking his phone for the first time since he got to work, he sees that he as three missed calls and a couple text messages from Harry as well as a voicemail. The messages from Harry are apologies, the usual ‘I don’t understand why you’re so upset? But I’m sorry’ that he’s come to expect from him. He doesn’t return the calls, instead listening to the voicemail with a quick prayer that it’s not from Harry. It’d make him needy. Louis couldn’t stand it.

“Hiya Lou! It’s Perrie! Karaoke night tonight! No isn’t an answer! I’ll see you tonight at 8! Don’t be late!”

There goes his warm bath and bottle of wine.

-

Louis arrives last at the bar and he walks in while Perrie and her friends are singing and dancing along to a Spice Girls song. He’s almost sure they have the right choreography, too, the one from the video, and he has to admit that he’s impressed. His eyes wander across the room and his stomach clenches as he sees that Harry is there, deep in conversation with Liam and Niall—Niall, who appears to have become his new best friend in the span of Louis’ tardiness.

Taking a long sip from his drink, Louis makes his way to them and sits on the coffee table in front of them, giving them a tight-lipped smile when they look at him in unison.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he tells Harry tersely. “I wouldn’t have come, had I known.”

Liam clears his throat while Niall looks between them, eyes wide. Louis expects Harry to recoil, to flinch and double over with apologies, but Harry takes a sip of his drink and shakes his head.

“Always so charming, aren’t you? Is this still about the interview?”

The bite in Harry’s tone aggravates Louis. “It’s about how you didn’t even consider it necessary to tell me you were going to America for months, yes.”

Harry lifts his eyebrows. “Oh, I’m sorry, so today you want to be a part of my life? It’s just so hard to keep up with you. I found out last week about the tour, it’s not some big secret I’ve been purposefully hiding from you, I didn’t scheme to see how I could hurt you the most with it, whatever you might be thinking.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “How many of those has he had?” he asks Liam, motioning for the glass in Harry’s hands.

“It’s his first?” Liam asks earnestly, bless his soul. “We just got here.”

Louis clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Come on, Liam.”

“No, stop,” Harry snaps. “Don’t be rude to my friend. You’re mad at me, fine, but Liam’s done nothing wrong.”

Anger is boiling inside of Louis, rising higher with every second and threatening to spill everywhere. It’s all he’s been feeling lately, regarding Harry: anger. Ever since they came back from his nan’s funeral, something is askew. Louis can’t even think about Harry without feeling angry, or at the very least annoyed, on good days. Something is broken between them, even more than it was before. Perhaps irreparably. Even just looking at Harry, which used to fill him with a confusing mix of fondness, lust and hatred, now just makes Louis angry.

“I’ll be rude to whoever I want!” Louis snaps back; he’s had better comebacks. “You don’t get to tell me what to do! I thought we were making progress!”

“We are! Or we were, I don’t know what’s taken you today!”

Harry downs his drink and glances at the stage, where the girls’ song is ending. He gets up and walks over to them, all smiles and laughter, back to his charming self, and isn’t it grand that he’s only being a dick to Louis? Louis steals his spot on the couch, slumping heavily in it with an angry sigh, watching Harry leaf through the song selection for a while before he chooses one.

It only takes Louis a single note from the song before an indignant squawk is ripped out of him.

“You change your mind like a girl changes clothes...” Harry starts singing and the room erupts with laughter. “Yeah, you PMS like a bitch, I would know.”

Everyone laughs except for Louis, actually, who’s glaring daggers at Harry while he struts and smirks his way through the song, encouraged when he’s accompanied by his enraptured audience through the chorus.

“You don’t really want to stay, no, but you’re don’t really want to go,” Harry sings, pointing accusingly at Louis.

At that point, Louis is so insulted that he worries he’s going to be sick. He’s glued to the couch, unable to move, indignation and anger paralysing him. Niall keeps elbowing him in the side, as though he’s missing the point and Niall is making sure he understands what’s going on, as if Louis could ever possibly miss what’s happening at the moment.

The second the song ends, he springs to his feet and mumbles something about needing a wee before running out of the room and down the stairs to the dodgy restroom. He splashes water on his face and tries to take deep breaths to calm down, but he’s trembling with every unnameable emotion he’s feeling, wishing desperately that he were able to identify at least one so he could deal with it. He feels powerless, at the mercy of his temper and moods, and like his skin is too tight to contain all that he is.

He looks up from the porcelain sink when the door opens, letting in Harry and the loud conversations from the bar. It gets quiet at once when the door shuts, the only sound in the room coming from a leaking faucet. Louis stares at Harry through the mirror, his breath ragged and his mind swirling.

Harry is ravishing that night, wearing a black silk shirt that’s unbuttoned to his sternum, letting the birds tattooed on his collarbones peak through, and untucked over a pair of skinny black jeans. He runs a hand through his hair and Louis follows the motion with his eyes, licking his lips.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about America,” Harry finally says.

Louis lets out a sigh. He’d let his mind run wild for a moment and had let the hope that Harry might pin him up against a wall to take him right there in a public restroom, bent over the sink. He shivers with disappointment, and a bit of fear of his own thoughts.

“It was a shit thing to do.”

“I know. I—I was scared of how you might take it.”

“Better than I’m taking it now, let me tell you.” Louis sighs, still not turning around to face Harry. “How am I supposed to trust you if you won’t even tell me something as big as that? I shouldn’t have to find out on the radio like everyone else. I should matter more to you.”

“Should you? I don’t know what you want,” Harry replies, softly. He leans against the wall and shakes his head. “I’m sorry about the song, but... I meant it, you know?”

Louis nods. “I’m... I’m angry at you lately,” he says, choosing honesty. “I don’t know why.”

“I noticed. Since—”

“Since the funeral,” Louis cuts him. “I know. And it’s not because I came along, before you ask. I honestly wanted to. I just... I don’t know.”

“It meant everything to me that you came,” Harry says. “I realise I haven’t told you, yet, but it... I don’t know how I’d done it without you. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Louis shrugs. He finally turns around, leaning against the sink to look at Harry. “I’m really trying to... to get over whatever’s between us.”

Harry’s face falls. “You mean... oh. So we’ll be just friends, it’s okay,” he says, sounding everything but.

At his words, Louis’ heartbeat triples and he feels it lurch up in his throat. “No! It’s not what I meant!” Louis squeaks. “I meant the roadblocks! The—the thing that makes me so—so prickly.”

“Like a hedgehog, yes.”

“Shut up!” Louis says, rolling his eyes. A smile is tugging at the corner of his lips, infuriatingly. “You’re so bloody annoying.”

“You’re not much better! I can’t talk to you! It always turns into a fight!”

“That’s not true! And you know it!” Louis snaps, feeling the moment they were having break apart, which exacerbates his anger. “You’re not better! You’ve been giving me attitude since I arrived!”

Harry pushes himself off the wall, advancing on Louis. “Only because you’re being a massive knob! You’ve done nothing but attack me for days!”

Louis pulls himself up to his full height, which isn’t much, to be eye-level with Harry. “And you react too strongly! It’s like you’re trying to pick a fight! I just told you how I’ve been feeling weird lately and you’re just fucking making it worse on purpose!”

“Why do you always think everything I do is to hurt you?!”

“Because it fits what you’ve taught me to expect from you! You’re unreliable and untrustworthy!”

“What the fuck are you on about?! Why are we back to square one?!”

“I don’t know!” Louis shouts.

A second later he’s kissing Harry. He has no idea who initiated the kiss, he only remembers grabbing Harry by the lapels of his shirt to push him back, but perhaps he pulled him forward, and he made the mistake to glance at his lips and—oh, yes, Harry dove in after that, pressing a bruising kiss to Louis’ lips and he gave in, pulling him over closer and kissing back with the purpose of hurting him.

Lust, then. It was lust, not anger; pure, unbridled sexual frustration, and isn’t that logical.

Harry pulls back and Louis whines in protest, the sounds cut off in the middle when Harry presses another quick kiss to his lips before hurrying to lock the door. Louis pulls him closer as soon as he’s within reach to kiss him again, hoisting himself up on the lip of the sink and wrapping his legs around Harry’s hips, clinging to him like an octopus as he kisses the wits out of him.

“I thought you were going to punch me,” Harry says against Louis’ lips, hands roaming over his back.

“Me too,” Louis chuckles, biting down on Harry’s lip and pulling it back until he lets out a small yelp. “Get your cock out already, we haven’t got all night.”

Harry lets out a keening noise from the back of his throat and obeys, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down to mid-thighs.

“What…” Harry begins, his breath catching in his throat when Louis wraps a hand around his cock, pumping it a few times for the pleasure of seeing Harry’s face fall apart.

“I can’t decide if I want to punch you or shag you,” Louis says through a groan, undoing his trousers with his free hand while he still tugs at Harry’s cock, relishing the way he can feel it harden in his hand with each movement of his wrist. “I’d lose in a fight against you so I’ll try shagging you.”

“We—” Harry stops to whine when Louis twists his wrist, “We don’t have what we need.”

Louis clicks his tongue. “No shit, Sherlock. I don’t usually bring lube to a karaoke night with Niall.”

“Well, you might, with your history,” Harry comments with a smirk that turns into a gasp of pain when Louis slaps his bum.

Wriggling around, balanced precariously on the edge of the sink, Louis pushes down his trousers to free his cock, smiling to see the way Harry stares at it hungrily.

“May I—” Harry asks, hesitating with his hand almost touching.

Louis sighs and rolls his eyes. He leans back, arching his back so that he can rest his shoulders against the mirror, the faucet digging painfully in his spine, and spreads his legs as much as he can, pushing his trousers until they fall to his ankles. He’s on full display and his heart is hammering in his chest.

“Come and take it,” he croaks, stroking his own cock a few times, biting his lip.

Harry walks up to him, fitting himself between Louis’ legs and pulling his hips closer with a possessive hand on the small of his back while his other wraps around their cocks, giving them a tentative tug.

Louis whimpers and nods. “Stupid bloody big hands, yes, that’s—keep going,” he rambles.

The feeling of Harry’s hard length against his own, the perfect pressure of his hand, it’s exactly what Louis needed. He feels his tension and the constant frustration he’s been feeling for days dissolve with every flick of Harry’s wrist. He moans, deeply, and tightens his knees around Harry’s hips, his elbows digging in his bum to pull him closer.

Harry’s head drops against Louis’ shoulder and Louis reaches up to run his fingers through Harry’s curls, stroking and tugging at the soft strands. He drapes his other arm across Harry’s shoulders, almost cradling him to his chest.

Quickening his hand, Harry moans and whimpers with every stroke, his breath scalding against the skin of Louis’ neck. It’s like being with a teenager, Louis realises: he’ll come way too fast, before Louis is even halfway there, and it’s honestly so endearing that he grabs a handful of Harry’s hair and pulls on it so he can kiss him, smirking when it makes Harry hiss in pain.

“Are you close?” Louis asks against his lips, rubbing their noses together.

Harry nods and kisses him hard, moaning all the while.

“Is this the most erotic thing you’ve ever done?” Louis then asks, his voice light and teasing.

Another moan from Harry, another nod, and his hand moves faster, gripping tighter. Louis hisses and shifts, pushing his hips against the movement.

“Am I better than she was?”

This time, Harry looks up. His face is blotchy, but his eyes are narrowed. “Obviously. Don’t ruin the mood.”

“I was just asking!” Louis replies, giving Harry a smirk. “Don’t take everything so seriously!”

Harry clicks his tongue. “Do you want to come or not?” He removes his hand.

“Hey! No!” Louis gasps. “It was just getting good!”

“Then stop trying to pick a fight!”

Louis grins, trying to provoke Harry. “Make me.”

The kiss that follows knocks the breath out of Louis, forcing him to cling to Harry so he doesn’t fall off the sink. It’s bruising and hard, all bumping noses and teeth, and something inside of Louis, something he’s been keeping hidden, feeds on it. Their desperation mounts rapidly, and if the last time they had sex was almost clinically impersonal, this time Louis needs to be consciously reminded that it’s Harry he’s kissing; it’s Harry’s cock against his own and Harry’s hand stroking them, and Harry’s smell fills his nose while Harry’s moans are hot against his cheeks, churning heat in the pit of his stomach and making him keen and mewl.

Harry comes first with a startled gasp, the movements of his hand growing erratic as his body shakes. Before Louis has time to knock his hand away and finish the job himself, his nerves taut with the edge of his orgasm, Harry drops to his knees in front of him and takes Louis’s cock in his mouth.

Louis lets out a loud moan of surprise, one that’s sure to be heard from the bar, and he catches the spark of satisfaction in Harry’s eyes before he sinks down the length of his cock, taking in as much as he can. His eyes never leave Louis, looking up at him through his eyelashes. The sight is almost too much to bear, those big green eyes that Louis’ never been able to say no to staring at him with something akin to reverence.

Burying his hands through Harry’s hair, Louis lets his head drop back against the mirror to stare at the ceiling as his breathing grows louder and faster. He’s close, so close that every inhale feels like an electric charge coursing through him.

All it takes is a glance down at Harry, their eyes locking, and Louis is coming in Harry’s mouth, little mewls of surprise ripped out of him. Harry tries to swallow, but it’s the first time he does it, he’s messy and inexperienced; half of it ends up on his chin when he moves his head back. Louis pulls him up to his feet and kisses him, slow and careful to lick every inch of his skin clean, tasting himself on Harry’s lips.

As the tension goes down, Louis begins to realise what they’ve done and he sighs, moving out of the kiss and gently pushing Harry away.

“Hm, so we got that out of our system…”

To his credit, Harry catches on quickly and plays along. He nods and pulls up his trousers, walking up to the sink next to where Louis is still perched to wash his hands.

“Hm, yeah,” he mumbles. “I—I didn’t know it was there.”

“I didn’t either. Turns out our anger might have been desire, who’d have known.” Louis forces a laugh. “It was better than the last time.”

“It was only a quick handjob…”

Louis shakes his head. “It was better than last time,” he repeats, holding Harry’s gaze. “Wasn’t it? How do you feel?”

Harry nods. “Better than last time.”

“Good. Last time was a mistake in so many ways.” Tucking himself back in his trousers, Louis hops off the sink and tries to fix his messy, sweat-matted hair in the mirror. “Shit, we look like we had sex. They’ll know, upstairs.”

Louis turns to Harry and his breath gets caught in his throat when he sees his swollen lips and glazed eyes. Of course, for Louis a quick restroom hook-up is just an average night out, but for Harry – sweet, innocent Harry who’s only ever had sex with two people in his life – it has to be enough to make his head reel. Louis walks over to him and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Okay?” he asks, voice soft.

Harry licks his lips. “Y-yeah. Don’t worry.” He gives Louis an approximate smile and then runs a hand through his hair, shaking them out. “What do you want to drink? It’s on me.”

“A Long Island Iced Tea, please.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

Louis is quick to understand that he’s being dismissed. He joins the others in the room upstairs and slumps on the couch next to Perrie’s friend Jade, grinning at her. Louis opens his mouth to talk only to have her press a hand to his mouth to shut him up while Perrie walks up to the microphone.

The opening notes of the song make Louis’ stomach churn. He’s a gay boy, he’s seen his fair share of musicals, he knows his classics. Of course, he recognises a Barbra Streisand song when he hears one.

“Oh, my man I love him so. He’ll never know. All my life is just despair, but I don’t care. When he takes me in his arms the world is bright all right.”

Louis tears his eyes away from Perrie, scintillating under the single spotlight that accompanies the microphone in her sequined dress, to watch Harry walk into the room.

The thing with life is that it usually doesn’t have a soundtrack to dictate the mood of the moment you’re living, leaving plenty of room to interpretation. In any other circumstance, Louis wouldn’t have thought twice about how he felt when Harry entered the room. Yet, with Perrie crooning softly, her warm voice filling the room with a sorrowful song, Louis’ heart can’t be blamed for speeding up.

“What’s the difference if I say I’ll run away? When I know I’ll come back on my knees someday, for whatever my man is, I am his forever more!”

There is no helpful camera panning from Louis to Harry, no clichéd slow-motion or orchestra crescendo—no one but Louis notices the shift that’s happening, making him feel like the Earth just righted itself on its axis. As Perrie belts the last notes of the song, Harry places Louis’ drink on the table in front of him and sits down next to him in the narrow space left. Their thighs are touching from hip to knee and Louis can’t breathe, he feels—he feels like he might implode at any moment, his chest feels tight and his head feels light; for all he knows, he’s having a panic attack over a song.

The sound of applause tells Louis that the song is over and he breathes out loudly, reaching for his drink, feeling the way his jeans rub roughly against Harry’s as he moves. He takes a long sip and then another, leaning back against the back of the couch only to spring back forward when he accidentally did it against Harry’s shoulder.

“My turn!” Louis squawks when Perrie moves back to her seat, jumping to his feet. He grabs Harry’s hand before he can think twice about it and pulls him along. “A duet!”

He must sound manic. He’s shaking as he chooses a song for them to sing, not even bothering to ask if Harry knows it before he selects it and hands him a second microphone.

“What—” Harry begins, cutting short when Louis shakes his head.

“You know it,” he says just as the opening bars of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart drift out of the speakers. “I’m Kiki Dee.”

A shadow passes behind Harry’s eyes for a second, just the barest hint of doubt, before his face splits into a grin and he gets into it, swaying his hips like he’s a backup singer for The Supremes.

“Don’t go breaking my heart,” Harry sings in a way so camp that Louis bursts out laughing and misses his own cue, forcing Harry to continue alone, “oh honey if I get restless…”

“Baby you’re not that kind,” Louis replies.

The back and forth continues, Harry putting on faces and taking poses to try and make Louis laugh again and miss his lines, so Louis retaliates in kind, sticking out his bum and wiggling his hips, shimmying and pouting until both their eyes are crinkled and they’re breathless from holding back their laughter.

“Oh, oh, nobody knows it, but when you were down I was your clown. Oh, oh, nobody knows it that right from the start I gave you my heart,” they harmonise, their voices blending together perfectly, taking Louis’ breath away.

He knew they sounded good together from singing along in his car or in their rooms, it shouldn’t come as a surprise—everything they’ve ever done together has always been a success, except breaking up.

Harry grabs Louis’ hand and pulls him closer to him, making Louis’ voice waver. He glares at Harry even as Harry makes him turn. Louis gets tangled in his feet and stumbles into Harry’s side, and if he stays there instead of moving away, he’ll never admit that he did it willingly. The arm Harry slings over his shoulder helps him stay near, too, and he wraps his own around Harry’s waist, tentatively.

The song ends and they burst out laughing as their friends applaud. With his arm still around Louis’ shoulder, Harry pulls him along as he takes a bow and gives thanks like he’s just won a BRIT.

“And all they needed was to hook-up in the loo,” Niall says, provoking a round of laughter that makes Louis’ ears colour in shame.

“Shut up,” Louis snaps, moving back to the couch, his mood already clouded. He watches Harry hesitate before he joins Liam rather than Louis, glancing at Louis shyly. “You ruined it, Niall.”

It’s not Niall’s fault that it’s awkward between them, but it’s easier to blame him than to admit that wanking Harry in the restroom might not have been the brightest decision in his attempt at figuring out if he wants Harry back or not.

Louis startles when Perrie rubs his back. He turns to give her a grateful smile, making her stick out her tongue.

“You have no clue, do you?” she whispers in his ear as Liam and Sophia take the stage.

“What?” he asks, frowning.

“Oh, darling,” she coos and her tone is so annoying that Louis pushes off the couch and moves over to sit next to Harry, glaring at her from his new seat.

“It was fun,” Harry says in a low voice, his eyes trained on Liam and Sophia as they gently bicker over which song to sing.

“It was, wasn’t it? We sound good together.”

Harry nods. “Are—can we be friends?”

Louis looks up from the depth of his drink to meet Harry’s eyes, gulping. He licks his lips. “Aren’t we?”

“I wouldn’t be asking, would I? I—I want to spend time with you, y’know, go to the movies or museum or just—just go out for a pint and chips, y’know? Even if we’re never boyfriends again—”

“Don’t say never,” Louis cuts him, the words stumbling out of his mouth.

“Oh, hm—well, you know what I mean. You don’t hate me anymore, do you?”

“I never did,” Louis hears himself say. “It was the hardest part.”

Harry looks away at Liam and Sophia for a while, his shoulders a tensed line. “Friends, then? Can we be that?”

“Do friends fuck, sometimes?”

“Sometimes…”

“Friends, then. I can’t seem to get rid of you anyway,” Louis says, emphasising the lilting, joking tone of his voice to be sure Harry doesn’t miss it.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Harry then asks.

Louis studies his face for a moment before nodding. He downs his drink in one long sip and places the glass back on the coffee table too hard, making it bang loudly.

“Let’s go.”

They say goodbye quickly, all but running out of the door before they even put on their coats to avoid uncomfortable questions, and Louis half-expects Harry to hail a cab to take them home once they’re out in the cold November night, but instead he hooks his arm through Louis’ and starts walking.

“I’m starving,” Harry announces, scanning the shop fronts they pass. “It’s not even late, why is everything closed?! I’d go for fish and chips, wouldn’t that be good?”

“Could you be more cliché?”

“Calm down, Chandler,” Harry retorts, laughing. “My trainer won’t let me eat anything fried, all right? And I want to piss him off.”

“Your trainer?!” Louis squawks, laughing.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, I know you’ve noticed my abs.”

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t,” Louis says, still laughing.

“You know how to talk to a boy, eh?”

“It’s what I’m best at! Come on, then, let’s go get cheesecake, I know a good place nearby.”

Dragging Harry along, Louis feels light for the first time in weeks. Perhaps it’s time he stopped fighting.

Chapter Text

It’s not that Louis expected them to become friends with benefits, it’s just that he’s disappointed they didn’t.

It’s been two weeks since they’ve officially become friends again—or at all, really. They went from strangers to lovers the first time. Perhaps it’s healthy to take the steps in the proper order, this time.

Since the karaoke night, they’ve had a couple of outings together as friends, but it was just that. No matter how hard Louis tried to get Harry to accompany him home, or even just to the restroom, nothing worked. Harry stayed obstinately within an exclusively friendly zone. Louis has needs, though, pressing ones, and it’s not the easiest thing to spend so much time with Harry without climbing him like a tree.

Louis needs to get laid, is what is going on.

At its worst, he’s resorted to the lowest of the low: he’s ventured into the halo tag on Tumblr and found some fanfictions. If he can’t get laid, he’ll at least read about his fictional alter ego getting it. It begins ironically, really, one evening when he’s almost bored to tears, but he gets a liking to it. He particularly likes the ones that take place in alternate universes, the AUs as they’re called, and he gets a real kick at reading stories of himself as a knight or a Jedi or a mermaid.

He finds himself uploading a few on his phone to read as he commutes, but he makes a point of keeping the smutty ones for his bedtime only. The last thing he needs is to pop a boner on the Tube because he’s reading about Hogwarts versions of himself and Harry hooking up in the Room of Requirements.

He really loves the Harry Potter AUs.

Besides, it’s a form of weird sex education. It teaches him about things he’d have never considered attractive; things the fans are convinced they like. Even weirder, sometimes they’re a bit too good at guessing what they like. For one, Harry’s love for being bitten is a thing that comes back a lot, along with mentions of his cock being big. Also, unnervingly, Louis is almost always the bottom, which. Well.

They’ve never had a chance to explore that side of their relationship, not really. The handful of times they managed to fuck, they never really questioned the one way they’d always done it. And yes, Harry did top him once and it was brilliant, but then the next time they were together, it was almost natural that Louis would top.

And yet, whenever he’s with another man, Louis is systematically the one bending over. Obviously, he’s conscious that the fans assume his preference mostly based on the fact that with his slighter figure and bigger arse, he’s the logical bottom to Harry’s broader, taller top.

If they only knew, Louis always thinks before devouring the next smut piece he’s found, one hand down his pyjama trousers.

Despite his newfound narcissistic love for self-insert smutty fanfictions, Louis still desperately needs to fuck. He could go out clubbing and pick up a guy like he’s done plenty of times before, but the idea sits uneasily with him. He wants… well. He wants Harry, unnervingly enough. He’s not quite sure why he wants Harry so bad, now more than ever before, but he does and he has no idea how to get Harry to spread his legs for him.

“Harry,” Louis says as Harry picks up his phone. “Are you free tonight?”

“I should be, yeah. Why?”

“I’m taking you on a date.”

There’s a short pause. When Harry speaks again, Louis can hear the smile in his voice. “Okay, but I get to pick the restaurant and you can’t complain.”

“I’d only complain if it were too fancy for my budget, but I’ll assume you’ll pay and shut up. Deal?”

“Deal. It’s a date.”

“Dork,” Louis snaps before hanging up.

He’s getting laid that night, that’s for sure.

-

A few hours later, Louis gets a text from Harry saying he’ll pick him up in an hour and that he shouldn’t dress too fancy, so Louis gives himself a once over and judges his jeans and shirt to be suitable. The time he saves picking clothes he spends on his hair, making sure that his fringe has the right swoosh and the rest looks carefully careless.

“What’s with you?” Niall asks when Louis returns to the living room a half hour later. “You going out?”

“With Harry, yes.”

“A date?” Niall sounds disbelieving and it ruffles Louis’ feathers.

“Yes, a date. You got a problem with that?”

“No problem, no. But are you sure of what you’re doing?”

Louis rolls his eyes, sitting on the couch next to him. “No, never. Haven’t you figured it out, yet?”

“Trust your instincts?”

“My instincts say I should bang him.”

“Would it make you feel better about the whole thing if you did?”

“Didn’t work the first two times, but it can’t hurt to try, can it?” Louis sighs. “I don’t even know if he’ll want to. Lately he’s been a good friend, but he’s been ignoring the hints I’ve dropped. I’m literally throwing myself at him and he’s like, ‘oh, look Louis, there’s a funny bird there!’ it’s like he’s turned into a eunuch.”

“Maybe he’s no longer attracted to you?”

Louis wants to laugh it off, but Niall’s comment grips him and twists his stomach. “You don’t think so, do you?”

Niall shrugs. “I don’t know. But as guys, we both know that sex is like, always on our minds. And it’s like, if you’re offering yourself like a buffet table, and yet he’s looking away, he’s either already full or on a diet.”

Louis squints at Niall. “What?”

“I’m saying, he’s either getting his sex somewhere else or he’s not into you.”

“You don’t think he’s seeing someone else?!”

“You’ve been giving him the cold shoulder for weeks. Maybe he’s given up.”

“But we’re going on a date tonight! I specifically said it was a date! Stop messing with my head!” Louis snaps, getting up to pace the room for a while, shaking his hands as they go numb from nerves.

On one of his back and forth walks from the window to the kitchen and back, Louis freezes at the window.

“Aside from Harry, do we know someone else who’s rich?” he asks, peering down in disbelief.

“D’you think we’d live in this dump if we did?”

“Okay, that means Harry is picking me up in a bloody Jaguar.”

“What?!” Niall squawks, jumping to his feet to join Louis at the window. He whistles when he sees the red Jaguar parked on the other side of the street. They watch in astonished silence as Harry gets out of it and crosses the road briskly. “Can I date him, too?”

Louis elbows Niall in the ribs and tears his eyes from the window to go put on his shoes, his heart hammering in his chest. He’s never been a car guy, far from it considering how his Renault used to hold together with duct tape and sheer good will, but there’s something about Harry in a luxury sports car that makes his knees go weak. A reminder that he’s rich, perhaps.

Louis grabs his coat and runs down the stairs before Harry rings, laughing to make him yelp in surprise when he opens the door.

“Nice ride, Styles,” he says as a greeting, crossing the road to go look at the car. Louis runs his hand along the scarlet paint with a wistful smile, thinking he’d probably wreck a car like this within weeks, but that it’d be the best weeks of his life. “I remember seeing it on your street, I was like ‘maybe if I give a blowjob to the owner he might let me take it for a drive’ and hey, been there done that.” Louis punctuates his sentence with finger guns and he freezes, growing redder by the second. Who is he?!

Harry chuckles and throws the keys at Louis. “Been there done that, yeah. I’ve got my GPS, so you’ll be able to get us to the restaurant.”

“Are you serious?!” Louis squeals. He turns to his flat and notices Niall with his nose pressed to the window, making Louis feel like he’s left his needy pug home and now it’s whimpering at the window. “Niall wants to see it,” he says, motioning at Niall so he’ll come down. “We’ll leave after.”

Niall comes running, shoes unlaced and coat unzipped, and he grins at Harry, immediately beginning to babble about cars and motors and other words Louis doesn’t care about.

“You’re cruel, Harry,” Louis says, interrupting them just as Harry was about to open the hood to let Niall peer inside. “You picked me up in a convertible in December.”

Harry chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “I was going to take the Audi, but…” he shrugs.

“But you wanted to remind me how rich you are?” Louis asks, smirking even as he keeps petting the car with reverence.

“I wanted to impress you,” Harry replies, unsettlingly earnest.

“Dork,” is all Louis can reply and he leans against the side of the car as he waits for Harry and Niall to contemplate the engine.

Well, ‘lean’ is the wrong word. Louis is posing against it, pretending like he’s in a car commercial and he’s a model, trying to make himself enticing for Harry, hoping he might convince him to have sex later without having to ask.

Harry catches his eyes when he shuts the hood of the car and Louis sees them widen with a pinch to the pit of his stomach. Harry bites his lip and looks Louis up and down, his cheeks colouring slightly, and Louis is so thrilled he could squeal.

“Ready to go, stud?” Louis asks in his best approximation of an American accent.

And because it’s Harry, and because they’ve always been in sync, Harry gets the half-arsed reference, immediately humming ‘You’re The One That I Want’ and reminding Louis that he might actually be the love of his life.

“And that’s my cue,” Niall says, laughing as he leaves. “Bye!”

They return the greeting and then Louis grins at Harry. “Can I drive it, now?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Harry says, heading for the passenger seat.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Louis makes his way behind the wheel, grinning uncontrollably. “Where are we going?”

“Edgware.”

Louis turns to Harry, frowning. “Why in the world are we going to Edgware?”

It’s clear that the question makes Harry uneasy. He avoids Louis’ gaze and licks his lips, shrugging. “It’s quieter. For me, I mean, it’s not… I’m recognised less.”

“Oh.” Louis falls quiet for a beat before remembering where he is and placing the key in the ignition. “Well, get your GPS started, we’re going. I’m famished!”

Again, Louis isn’t a car guy. He couldn’t care less about engine power—hell, he drove an ancient Renault for two years without complaining. It doesn’t mean that turning Harry’s car on isn’t akin to a religious experience. The engine roars to life and Louis moans at the sound, causing Harry to laugh.

“She’s a nice little beast, eh?”

“Understatement of the year,” Louis replies, putting the car in reverse to get out of the parking spot. “I’m suddenly so glad we’re going to Edgware.”

Harry pats his knee, a split second of contact, and it makes Louis’ heart leap. “Try not to crash it.”

“Oh piss off,” Louis groans, rolling his eyes, grinning as he heads down the street.

Getting used to a car roughly a thousand times more powerful than his old one takes a few minutes, making Harry cringe and groan in fear whenever Louis presses too hard on the pedals. Shifting is harder, too, and even if Louis has the rough basics needed to drive stick, it’s still with a jerky start that they head out of London.

Harry turns on the radio when they hit traffic to get on the M1 and Louis doesn’t even pause to think before he stars singing along, smiling when Harry joins in.

“It’s not fair,” Louis comments, “not all of us have won The X-Factor, you’re making it hard to compete.”

“I didn’t know it was a competition? I’d have brought it on even more.”

“Don’t spare me, Styles.”

And Harry doesn’t, changing stations until he finds a song he likes and singing along to it, adding superfluous vocal runs that leave Louis speechless. He had no idea Harry’s voice could sound like that, the kind of music he’s chosen to do professionally not calling for them.

“Okay, now you’re just showing off,” Louis says when the song ends, glancing at Harry with a smirk.

“Did you like it, though?” he asks in return with a bravado that Louis has only ever glimpse briefly in him.

“It’s not cute to fish for compliments.”

“And yet, here I am.” Harry laughs.

Louis almost blurts out ‘fuck, you’re cute’, but he catches himself before he does, making him breathe out a sigh of relief. He’d really rather not be so open about what he thinks of Harry—not yet. It’d be too easy for him if he knew he’s basically already won Louis back.

The restaurant is an understated place, clearly a family-run business, and Louis doesn’t ask how Harry found out about it. He doesn’t want to hear about dates he might have had with Elsie.

Yet it’s obvious Harry is a regular when they walk in. It’s a weeknight so the place is near deserted, save for two or three families too busy trying to make their toddlers sit still to pay attention to their entrance. A waitress – a tall, slim brunette with wide blue eyes – walks over to them with a huge smile on her face, her eyes fixed on Harry.

“Harry! Hi! It’s been a while!” she exclaims, leaning in to kiss his cheeks, placing a possessive hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve been busy,” Harry replies with one of his charming smiles.

Louis’ stomach turns.

“And where’s your lady?” she asks, glancing at Louis.

“Alice, please.”

“Oh,” she laughs, “fine, fine, that was a bad joke, it almost made the front page of The Sun, it’s daft to try and pretend I don’t know she dumped you. Who’s your friend, then?”

Harry presses his hand at the top of Louis’ back, right below where his neck meets his torso. “This is Louis.”

She gives Harry a long, cryptic look before offering Louis her hand. “Alice. It’s a pleasure. Harry is one of our regular customers and possibly my favourite, mostly because of the obscene tips he leaves.”

Louis’ stomach churns. “Yeah, he tipped me obscenely, too. I work in a bistro in London,” he adds, knowing he felt the need to specify that it’s in London in an attempt to have something over this leggy brunette.

“Such a nice little millionaire, that one,” she says, pinching Harry’s cheek before grabbing two menus. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

She sits them at a table in the far right corner of the restaurant, away from the window front and out of sight from the front door. Harry sits with his back to the front of the restaurant, letting Louis take the chair that faces the room. Part of it is so that Harry is even more hidden, Louis knows, but he hopes it’s also a tiny bit because he remembered Louis loves to people-watch.

Waiting for Alice to leave, Louis opens his menu once she’s out of sight. “What do you recommend?” he asks, glancing up at Harry.

The words nearly get caught in his throat at the sight of him. The lights are dim, their table illuminated by three small candles, their dancing flames casting dramatic shadows on Harry’s face, sharpening his nose and chiselling his cheekbones. His hair, up in an artful quiff, only enhances how much Harry has grown into a man. Louis lowers his eyes, hurt that he wasn’t there to see it happen.

“The aubergine parmesan is good,” Harry replies, opening his own menu. “I quite like the lasagne, too.”

“It can’t be as good as yours, though,” Louis hears himself say. He winces.

“Hm, thanks.” Harry lets out a small laugh. “I’m getting the lamb, personally. Do you want wine?”

“Is water wet?”

Harry laughs again, more freely this time, and Louis is proud that he made that happen. “Remind me to buy a bottle of the wine Nick made me taste the other day, you’ll adore it.”

“Nick?” Louis frowns, trying not to let his mind run wild before he hears the answer.

“Grimshaw?” Harry looks uncertain, cautious.

Louis feels like a jerk. “Oh, yeah, right, you have famous friends now,” he says, forcing out a laugh. “So the wine was good, eh?”

As Harry begins telling the story of his wine discovery, his enthusiasm colouring his cheeks red. Louis allows himself to watch him freely, to enjoy his little quirks and idiosyncrasies, the drawl of his voice, the spark in his eyes. It’s quite possibly the most boring Louis has had to listen to in months; it’s a Harry story, with rambling details and no punchlines, but well, a Harry story is Harry’s, so Louis could listen to nothing else for the rest of his life and be happy.

Alice interrupts him to take their orders, and Louis glares at her for good measure. He orders the lasagne and bites his lip when Harry orders the priciest bottle of wine on the menu.

“You were saying?” Louis prompts him when Alice is gone.

“Oh, hm, I forgot what I was saying. It doesn’t matter, I know it was boring. I’m not a good storyteller.”

“Bullshit,” Louis spits out, shaking his head, rolling his eyes. He wants to kill the person who told Harry that. “I like your stories.”

“You’re the only one.”

“I’m sure Elsie liked them, too,” Louis tries, wincing as he says it.

Harry twitches and frowns. “It’s the first time you say her name.”

“Is it? I don’t think that’s right.”

“To my face, at least. You always called her her, with disdain.”

“Oh, well. I’m growing up, it would seem.”

Harry nods, silent for a moment. “It hurt you that I dated her, didn’t it?”

Louis lets out a dry laugh. “Do you really want to go there?”

“I think we need to.”

With a long, heavy sigh, Louis leans back in his chair, planting his hands palm down on the table to hold Harry’s gaze. “It hurt me, yes. More than I could ever say, really. It—” Louis sighs once more. “It’d have hurt less if you’d dated a guy.”

Harry gulps, but says nothing.

“Seeing you with a girl was like—well it made me wonder if I maybe wasn’t just an experiment, you know? You tried with a boy, but it was just too messy and complicated and you got scared, so you turned back to girls. I felt like a failed experiment.”

“You know I wondered the same. I already told you. If it bothered you so much that I’m bi, you should have said from the start, though. Before we fell in love.”

“It didn’t bother me as long as you were with me. It was—like, a girl can give you everything you could want. A normal wedding, children, it’s just so much simpler, isn’t it? And you don’t need to come out and risk your career if you’re with a girl. I can’t give you any of that.”

“So you think I’m only after a ‘normal’ wedding and an easy relationship? Don’t you know me at all? My first boyfriend lived two counties over and that didn’t stop me, did it? When have I ever been after simplicity?”

Opening his mouth to reply with something acerbic, feeling it form in the bile of his stomach, ready to be spit out, Louis closes it at once when Alice brings their wine and a basket of bread rolls. She lets Harry taste the wine, making easy small talk with him, and obviously Harry is all smiles and charms because it’s Harry and Louis is the only person with whom he’s not charming by some sick twist of fate that decided he’d be the exception to Harry’s sunny disposition.

Alice leaves with a lingering touch to Harry’s arm and Louis’ blood boils. He fills his glass with wine before Harry can do it for him, filling it almost to the brim, and he takes a long sip from it.

“I think you’re after what’s convenient for you,” he finally says, a light version of what he’d initially planned.

“You’ve never been convenient to me,” Harry deadpans.

“Well, you’re not after me, are you?”

Harry grows silent at that, taking a sip of wine, the crimson liquid matching the shade of his face. “Louis, come on,” he mutters without looking up.

With a half-smile, Louis nods to himself, pleased by what he’s heard. He knocks his foot against Harry’s, winking when he looks up.

Blinking a few times, Harry slowly returns the smile. “That’s quite the glass you’ve got there,” he says, nodding at Louis’ small basin of wine.

“There’s no use pretending we won’t finish the bottle. I’m just being efficient.”

Harry chuckles and nods, filling his own glass to the brim. “You’re a terrible role model.”

“You’re only realising this now? Wasn’t I the first one to get you drunk?”

“Oh, fuck, don’t make me remember that party,” Harry groans, playful. “I feel like I’m still hungover from it.”

“You were sloshed, mate. It was pitiful.”

“And high! Remember the brownies?”

A giggle bursts out of Louis. “Yes, yes, I remember! You’d stare at a wall for like five minutes and then reply to a question I’d asked you the day before, it was so cute!”

“Well, I haven’t tried weed since, it was way too intense.”

“You haven’t since?! Shit, mate, you’ve got to try high sex someday. It’s like nothing you could ever imagine. It’s the best.”

“Don’t ever try a career in marketing, you’re shit at selling things,” Harry says, laughing lightly. Progressively, though, with every passing second, his face falls. “Louis? How many men were you with?”

Louis’ smile fades. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because—well, you never said.”

“It’s none of your business. You don’t need to know.” Louis takes a long sip of wine. “Seriously. Don’t ask me that.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t!” Louis snaps. “I won’t let you ask that just so you can judge me on it! Oh, look at Louis, he’s such a slag, a real slut, I better boil him before I let him touch me again,” he says, mimicking Harry’s deep drawl.

Narrowing his eyes, Harry shakes his head. “I’d never call you a slag or a slut. What you’ve done when we were apart doesn’t matter. I’m just curious. You know about Elsie, I’d like to know about your side of things.”

“Well, you won’t. Ever. Never ask me that again, Harry, is that clear?”

“You don’t have to be ashamed.”

“I’m not ashamed!” Louis snaps. “I mean it, Harry, never ask me that again!”

“Fine! I won’t! I’ll just assume it was, like, ten.”

Louis let out a hollow laugh. “Is ten a lot to you or—”

“Well, yeah, ten is a lot.”

Letting out a low whistle, Louis gulps. “Yeah, so let’s say I was with ten men, then.”

“Twenty?”

“Stop!” Louis says, raising his voice. “I’m serious, Harry, don’t fucking ask me that.”

“Fine,” Harry snaps, falling into a sulking silence.

“At fucking last.” Louis rolls his eyes, downing his wine and looking around. “Where’s the bloody food?!”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“Being rude about service in a restaurant. They’re doing their best. We haven’t been here long.”

“Something else about me that you disapprove of? Any other advice on what kind of person I should be?”

“Less touchy, for one.”

“This is officially the worst date I’ve been on,” Louis declares.

He reaches for a roll and tears it in small pieces, nibbling on them while avoiding looking at Harry. When he chances at glance at him, he sees that Harry is on his phone, typing something rapidly.

“Liveblogging the shit date? ‘on a date with my ex, he’s being a knob #dodgedabullet’?”

“No!” Harry snaps. “Do you honestly think I’d do that?!”

“What? Use hashtags? No, you’re too much of a snotty hipster for that.”

Harry slams his phone on the table and pushes it towards Louis. “Look before you talk shit.”

Louis picks it up and checks the screen, seeing a half-composed email. He scrolls down to see that it’s a reply to a message from Harry’s manager asking if they can have a meeting regarding his upcoming single, with more mundane questions following.

“If I didn’t reply to the email, he’d have called me and I still have a sliver of hope that this date can be saved. If you disagree, just tell me and I’ll drive us back to London, there’s no need to force this. If you think there’s no hope for us, let’s not drag this out.”

“Always so eager to call it quits, eh? Am I a waste of your precious time? I can just leave, you know. Give me money for a cabbie and you can stay here and woo Alice, I know you’re dying to.”

“Is this what this is about?! You’re jealous of a friend of mine?”

“Should I be?!”

“No!” Harry says, raising his voice. “Of course not! She’s just a friend!”

“It’s obvious you’ve shagged her, though.”

“What?!” Harry squawks. “I haven’t! I’m not a slag!”

“Ah!” Louis shouts, no longer caring about the level of his voice. “So you do think that I’m a slag!”

Harry opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, looking like a goldfish. “Louis—”

Louis pushes back his chair and gets up. “Take me home.”

“We haven’t eaten yet!”

“I don’t care!” Louis shouts, finishing his glass of wine and taking the bottle. “And I’m taking this with me!”

Harry looks completely lost and confused, his eyes wide as saucers. He gets up, slowly, and nods. “G-go wait by the car.”

Without waiting for the end of the sentence, Louis grabs his coat and storms out of the restaurant, shaking and trembling from the cold and his emotions. He doesn’t even want to try and rationalise them, or try to understand them, all he wants is to let his anger extend its tendrils throughout his body and ruin him.

It takes almost ten minutes for Harry to come out of the restaurant. He breaks into a jog to reach Louis and hands him two Styrofoam boxes.

“Alice wrapped our food to go.”

“Oh, is that what took her so long? I thought she might be blowing you in the broom closet.”

“Shut up.” Harry snaps, unlocking the car and getting in before slamming the door hard enough to make the windows rattle.

Louis stalks to the other side and gets in, placing the containers on his thighs. The warmth is seeping out, almost unbearable, but he ignores it. Harry starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, not once looking Louis’ way. It’s quite inconvenient, really, because Louis is in the mood for a row.

“Don’t give me the silent treatment, for fuck’s sake. I know you’re pissed off, just fucking say it,” Louis says.

“I can’t be pissed off if I don’t understand what happened in there.”

“What happened is that you think I’m a slag!”

“I don’t!” Harry shouts.

The sound of it fuels the fire inside of Louis and he lets it consume him, shaking from the strength of it. “Yes, you do! You’re so fucking bothered by all the men I’ve fucked! I don’t know the exact number, if you so want to know! But it’s probably close to fifty! All sorts of men, different ages, body types, colours, I’d usually blow them in the bathroom of the club or they’d take me back to their flats and fuck me until I blacked out!”

Harry’s hands are shaking on the steering wheel. “Okay. I still don’t think you’re a slag.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, you thought that sleeping with that tart back there would make you a slag, it’s easy to imagine what you think of shagging fifty men!”

“Fine! Yes! It bothers me! It disgusts me to imagine you in bed with strangers! I feel like I’ll be sick whenever you talk about it, okay?! Even just talking to Niall is torture because he fucked you! I’m jealous of every man you were with! Happy?!” Harry shouts.

“Yes! Finally you’re being honest! Ugh! I can’t believe you have the nerve to judge me! It’s your fault that I had to get fucked by strangers! It’d have never happened if you hadn’t broken up with me!”

“We’re back on this again?! Are you ever going to let it go? We’d be at the altar and you’d mention it in your vows!”

Louis gasps, shaking, adrenaline coursing through his veins. “At the altar?! You think I want to marry you?! Oh, my lad, you’re so bloody mistaken. I wouldn’t marry you even if you were the last man alive on Earth.”

The car lurches forward as Harry pressed down on the gas, and Louis watches the needle of the speedometer go up, up, up. The engine is roaring loudly, the M1 stretching ahead of them, and it’s like their anger is radiating out of the car, the way clearing for them, allowing Harry to go even faster.

“What are you doing?! Are you trying to kill us?!” Louis squeals when the needle hits the 100mph mark.

“I need you out of my car!” Harry growls, his eyes focused on the road. “You wanted to go home, I’m taking you home!”

“Slow down! We’re not in Germany, you’ll get us killed!” Louis’ heart is beating so fast he can hear it. “Harry! Please! Slow down! You’ve gone mad!”

At last, after Louis worried his heart might leap out of his throat, Harry begins decelerating, the muscles of his forearm contracting as he shifts down, and only when they’re back at 60mph does Louis breathe out. Then, on the next inhale, he starts screaming.

“Are you completely mental?! Do you have a death wish? Just because you have a stupid muscle car doesn’t mean you’re above the law!”

“Do you even realise your words can hurt people or do you just not care?!” Harry shouts back.

“This isn’t about me! This is about your driving skills! We’re not on Top Gear, you’re definitely not a professional driver, you could have gotten us killed!”

“It is about you! I’m this close to letting you walk home if you don’t SHUT UP!” Harry roars.

It’s loud enough to stun Louis into silence.

“I’m so sick of constantly being blamed for whatever doesn’t work between us! I’m the only one who’s trying, Louis! I tried to give us a romantic dinner, but you turned it into a row! You turn everything into rows! Like, no shit your only friends are your roommate and his cousin! You’re impossible to deal with! It was cute when you were younger and sassy, but now you’re just a fucking cunt!”

“What did you just call me?!” Louis screams.

“You heard me!”

“How dare you?! I can’t believe you just said that!” Louis’ voice has gone an octave higher and usually he would mind, but not this time. He can’t remember having ever been this angry before. “Take it back!”

“I won’t! This is what you’re acting like!”

For a second, Louis considers throwing one of the containers at Harry, just for the satisfaction of seeing him covered in tomato sauce and melted cheese. Instead, he takes a swig of wine, closing his eyes.

He’s at a crossroads. What he says next has the potential to ruin everything, or—or he could get the most mind-blowing sex he’s had in his life. Love and hate are close, they say, but there’s something to be said about anger and lust.

“Don’t take me home,” Louis finally says, voice scratchy from having shouted. “Take me to yours. We have—this food can’t go to waste.”

Louis knew his words would surprise Harry, but he didn’t expect to have an impact so big that Harry misses the gear as he shifts. Harry cusses under his breath as he fixes his mistake, his face pale under the lights of the road.

“Nearly blew my transmission there, fuck,” he mutters.

Louis watches as Harry leaves Holloway Road and turns onto Camden Road.

“Where—” Louis asks, stopping short when he understands. Harry is taking him to his own flat. He gulps; he never imagined Harry would agree.

It’s another twenty minutes of slow, traffic-ridden road before they reach Kensington Court, and every second of it is spent in tense silence. Harry parks his car on the street, having no trouble finding a spot, and Louis wonders what kind of sorcery Harry is capable of to achieve that. Taking the boxes of food in one hand and the bottle of wine in the other, Louis gets out of the car and follows Harry to his flat, wondering if they’ll manage to eat without either fucking on the table or killing each other.

They walk inside in silence, still, and Louis toes off his shoes before padding to the kitchen and finding plates to empty the boxes on. He puts Harry’s in the microwave oven first, wrapping his arms around his body and leaning against the kitchen island as he waits. He doesn’t want to know where Harry is at that moment, doesn’t even want to turn around to check what he’s doing, all he wants is eat and maybe not lose Harry in the process.

He’s hyperaware of the sound of his breathing coming out too loud, disturbing the mausoleum silence of the flat. The floor creaks and Louis jumps, turning around to see that it’s Harry placing two sets of utensils on the island. Their eyes meet and they both look away at the same time.

“It was our first fight…” Louis finally says when he can’t take the silence any longer. He’s never been able to tolerate silence, his mother always joked he was allergic to it.

“It was violent,” Harry says after clearing his throat. “I didn’t like it.”

“I didn’t either, but… maybe we needed it?”

“I didn’t exactly need to call you—what I called you. I could have lived without it.”

Louis lets out a small laugh. “I was being a cunt.”

“You kind of were, yes…” Harry laughs, too, tentatively. “I honestly have no interest in Alice. She’s just a friend.”

“I know that.”

“You just like claiming me as your own without actually doing anything about it.”

And with that, anger flares up again inside of Louis. He spins around, planting his hands on the island to brace himself. “What the fuck is that about?!” he spits out.

“This,” Harry motions between them. “You love having this power over me, you’re getting off on it.”

“What if I do?” Louis sticks up his nose. “Maybe it’s all I’ve got going on for me!”

“That’d just be sad.”

“Are you saying my life is pathetic?” Louis snaps, watching as Harry begins circling the counter, closing in on him.

Every nerve in Louis’ body is firing off, making him thrum with energy. The tension between them is palpable, the air sparking with it.

“I’m saying only someone who really hates his life would torture a friend on purpose.”

Harry is close enough for Louis to smell his cologne, his heart tingling to realise Harry went back to the one he wore as a teenager.

Louis can sense the moment Harry is about to lean in and he strikes first, grabbing him by the lapels of his shirt and pushing him against the opposite counter, pressing a rough kiss to his lips. Harry lets out a surprised moan before kissing back, his broad hands landing on Louis’ waist.

The microwave oven beeps and is ignored.

“I’m not pathetic and I’m not torturing you,” Louis says against his lips, biting the bottom one. “I’m just trying to figure out how to be with you.”

“It’s not working well, obviously,” Harry replies, which earns him another bite on the lips.

“You don’t get to have an opinion on that. You’re the one who left.”

Harry sighs, long and hard, his hot breath tickling Louis’ lips. “You’ll never figure out how to be with me if you never forgive me.”

“Will you ever stop bloody talking?!” Louis snaps, pulling Harry into another, heated kiss. “Or maybe you want to skip having sex and instead have a chat? Maybe some tea?”

Louis smirks to hear Harry’s breath hitch at the mention of sex, and he smiles even wider when Harry’s hands travel from his waist to his bum, squeezing it as he pulls Louis closer.

“We’ll talk later,” Harry says, diving in for a kiss.

“Good boy.” Louis pulls Harry along as he walks backwards. “Bedroom. Guide me.”

And so Harry does, because he’s never not obeyed Louis, gently steering him towards his bedroom as they keep kissing. They collide into walls and giggle into the other’s mouth, and they trip over their own feet, and it’s as messy as the beating of Louis’ heart.

Louis begins stripping the second they’re in Harry’s room, making quick work of wiggling out of his trousers and shirt to climb on the bed to watch as Harry mirrors him, slower and more careful not to wrinkle his shirt.

“It’s just a bloody shirt,” Louis snaps, rolling his eyes as Harry folds the garment.

“It’s a Burberry shirt, though.”

“Fucking who cares?! I want to fuck you already, come on!”

The words came out on their own, before Louis could even think them through, but he finds that it’s what he wants—oh, is it ever what he wants.

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” Harry comments as he – finally – makes his way to the bed, climbing on it to straddle Louis’ thighs, his knees planted in the mattress on each side of Louis’ hips.

Louis looks Harry over and licks his lips, trailing a finger down his chest. “Don’t talk back. I’m still pissed at you.” He pinches one of Harry’s nipples and twists it, relishing the squeal Harry lets out.

“Always loved those,” Louis says, leaning in to kiss and suckle the reddened skin.

He scratches his nails down Harry’s back, feeling him shudder and twitch at the pain. Louis nibbles the nipple until Harry is whimpering and rolling his hips, seeking friction.

Moving over to the other nipple, Louis does the same, his hands roaming Harry’s back as he pulls with his teeth on the hardened nub. Harry gasps, the sound turning into a soft moan as Louis licks to soothe the pain, and he sneaks a hand down between them to wrap it around his cock, stroking it slowly. Louis leans back to watch and he bites his lip when he realises that Harry is teasing himself, letting his hand drag down his shaft slow and loose, barely enough to be felt.

Louis slaps Harry’s hand. “I didn’t say you could touch yourself.”

Obediently, Harry removes his hand. He hooks his arms around Louis’ neck and looks at him with wide, blown eyes. “Tell me what to do.”

His voice cracks and Louis breaks, stealing a harsh kiss that makes Harry whine through his nose.

“On your back,” Louis orders, slapping Harry’s bum to get him off his lap.

Again, Harry obeys, lying down without tearing his eyes away from Louis. His hair forms a halo of glossy curls around his head and Louis wants to kneel and worship at the altar of his body for the rest of the night.

Shaking his head, Louis looks away from Harry to dig through the nightstand drawer. He retrieves lubricant and a condom from it before climbing on the bed once more and settling between Harry’s legs with a tap to his knee so he’ll spread them.

Normally, he’d spend a long time blowing Harry, the sight of his hardening cock enough to make his mouth water, but this time Louis is more concerned with claiming him, with burying himself deep inside of Harry until he never again questions to whom he belongs.

Harry spreads his legs wider when he sees Louis popping open the lube, lifting them up and hooking his arms underneath his knees, keeping himself splayed out in front of Louis.

Louis has never seen him so submissive and the sight is intoxicating.

Louis dives in at once, working a first slick finger in, monitoring Harry’s reactions through his half-breaths and gasped moans. He adds a second finger quickly – perhaps too quickly – and kisses Harry’s ankle when he squirms with discomfort. Louis keeps it up, moving his fingers slowly as he kisses up Harry’s calf, and even if it’s been a while, Louis is quick to remember what he needs to do to make Harry lose his mind. He twists his hand and bends his fingers just so, and as he rubs against Harry’s prostate he grins to hear him moan deeply, Harry’s entire body shuddering from the sensation.

“No one has ever made you feel so good, hm? Just me. I’m the best shag you’ve ever had or ever will have. Don’t bloody forget it,” Louis grits through his teeth as he adds a third finger, watching Harry unravelling with relish.

Harry nods fervently, his breath ragged and loud.

“You’ll come from my cock alone, understood?” Louis continues, the words spilling from his lips uncontrollably. “And if you try to touch yourself, I’ll tie you to the headboard.”

Even Louis is shocked by his own words. Harry’s eyes are wide and almost completely black and when he opens his mouth to reply, only a whimper escapes.

“Good boy.”

Louis withdraws his fingers and wipes them on the bedspread so he can tear open the condom wrapper and put it on, stroking his cock a few times before. A squirt of lube and a deep breath later, he’s pushing into Harry, biting his lip to hold back his moan at the tight warmth he feels engulfed by.

Harry moans, a long, drawn out noise that rattles his entire body. Louis grabs his legs and places them over his own shoulders, folding Harry in half as he pushes in to the hilt. Without waiting to hear if Harry is okay, Louis begins thrusting, giving short, quick thrusts that draw little mewls from Harry’s lips.

The last time, he’d done everything to avoid looking Harry in the eyes as he fucked him. It had been the wrong thing to do, leaving them both feeling like they’d been used. This time, Louis won’t repeat his mistake.

He leans over Harry and smiles when Harry tries to lift his head for a kiss. Louis captures Harry’s mouth with his, kissing him, messy and rough. Harry’s legs fall opened, allowing Louis to press in even closer, to thrust in ever deeper. They keep kissing as Louis changes his hard thrust for deep figure eights, Harry’s cock trapped between their bellies, hot and hard and leaking.

Louis runs a hand through Harry’s sweaty hair, gently brushing a strand out of his face. To his surprise, Harry rolls his eyes.

“Are you going to start fucking me again any time soon?” he asks, pushing his hips against Louis to try and break the slow rhythm he’d settled into.

“I—oh. You shouldn’t have said that,” Louis replies with a smirk, pushing himself up so he can grab both of Harry’s legs and push them up.

Using the legs as leverage, Louis begins driving down into Harry, rough, exhausting thrusts that leave his muscles burning and his lungs on fire. It works, though, and Harry lets out a moan that’s more of a shout, his hands splaying out on the mattress, scrambling for purchase. He grabs the duvet and holds it tight in his fists, bracing himself every time Louis’ thrusts make his body move up the bed.

Louis won’t be able to keep up this rhythm for long, he’s already faltering, his muscles screaming for release and his lungs choking out breaths that leave his head spinning.

“Fucking come already,” Louis grits out, the words almost lost in the midst of his panting gasps.

He digs his nails into Harry’s calves and the sharp pain of it does it; Harry lets out a cry of ecstasy and comes, covering his belly and chest with it as his back arches off the bed and his mouth slackens into a silent moan.

The sight is maddening and Louis drives in deeper, sweat rolling off his body in beads, and he’s coming before Harry has come to, burying himself as deep as he can go as his body shakes with the force of it.

No one makes him come like Harry does and it’s unfair.

Trembling, barely conscious, Louis pulls out of Harry and gets rids of the condom, throwing it off the side of the bed before collapsing next to Harry and staring at the ceiling. He tries to catch his breath.

“F-fuck,” Harry gasps.

“Hm. Yeah.”

“I’m filming for Jonathan Ross tomorrow, I’ll have to walk straight to get to the chair.”

Louis lets out a breathless laugh. “You’ve never walked straight.”

Harry slaps his belly with a cluck of his tongue. Reflexively, Louis curls up on his side, trying to conceal his stomach. They had sex with the lights on and it’s fine, he forgot it in the heat of the moment, but there’s no way Harry gets to see how fat he’s gotten now that it’s over.

As if called to attention, Louis’ stomach grumbles with hunger. They still haven’t had dinner and Louis was hungry an hour before Harry picked him up.

“Go get us food. I’m starving.”

“Why me?” Harry whines with a pout.

“It’s your house, you sloth. Come on!” Louis pushes him towards the edge of the bed.

“No eating in my bed, though!” Harry says as he gets up. “Kitchen.”

He watches as Harry leaves the room without bothering to put on clothes, biting his lip as his pert little bum disappears out of the door. There is no way that Louis is walking around his house naked, none whatsoever, not with the body he’s stuck with now.

Thinking quickly, he gets up and starts searching through the dresser, pulling out a plaid shirt and measuring it in front of him. Satisfied, Louis puts it on and checks himself out in the mirror. It’s long enough to fit almost like a dress on him, but the second he moves, it hikes up and reveals his bum. He only buttons the last few, leaving the top opened to show off a collarbone as it slips off his shoulder ever so slightly. With the proper movement, it even lets his nipple peek out.

It’s perfect.

Louis pads to the kitchen, drawn by the rich smell of cheese and tomato sauce, and he smirks at the look Harry gives him when he walks in.

“I borrowed a shirt, if you don’t mind,” Louis says breezily, trying to hide the effect Harry’s naked body has on him. “I see you cleaned yourself, you dirty boy,” he adds, nodding at Harry’s come-free abdomen.

“Well, yeah. It had gotten tacky.” Harry takes out a plate from the microwave oven and puts a second one in.

“Is it mine?” Louis asks, the smell making him feel faint.

“Yeah, you can dig in, mine’ll be ready soon.”

Louis hops on to one of the kitchen stool and immediately digs in, barely able to stop himself from shovelling the food in his mouth. He’s rarely been hungrier.

“S’good,” Louis says around a mouthful. He grabs the bottle of wine and takes a swig from it, wincing to find it lukewarm.

“Yeah, I love going there. The food is wonderful.” Harry brings his own plate over and joins Louis at the counter. “My shirt looks great on you.”

“It’s a bit big on me.” Louis giggles, moving his shoulder so that the shirt slips off it, revealing his nipple. He’s rewarded with Harry’s hungry stare, sending chills up his spine that have nothing to do with sitting bare-arsed on a cold stool.

“Still. It’s…” Harry clears his throat. “It looks great.”

“I’ll keep it, then. Thank you.”

Louis resumes eating as Harry laughs, his eyes crinkling adorably. Without thinking about it, Louis pats his thigh, earning himself a smile bright enough to outshine the sun.

“When you smile like that, it’s like you’re still sixteen,” Louis says, not daring to look at Harry as he speaks. He focuses on his plate, pushing a mushroom with his fork. “Except for the tattoos and the size.”

“Do you like my tattoos?”

“Yes,” Louis replies, too quickly. “They look good.”

There’s a million more things Louis has to say about the tattoos. He’s written odes to them in his head, entire sonnets and declarations, soliloquies and heartfelt monologues; he loves them fiercely and dreams of one day allowing himself to lay Harry down and trace them with his tongue.

Instead of opening his mouth and making a fool of himself, Louis takes a big bite of pasta and nods.

“I want to get new ones, too, I have loads of ideas,” Harry begins and Louis smiles, nodding to encourage him as he tries to chew on the ambitious bite he used to gag himself. “I’ll show you, wait.”

Harry hops off his stool and goes to fetch his phone, perching back on it and flicking through pictures as he tells Louis of birds and butterflies, ships and flowers, and Louis listens with the ghost of a smile on his lips, lulled by the rhythm of Harry’s voice and warmed by his enthusiasm. The pictures are simple, but Harry weaves complicated details around them like fine lace, giving Louis a glimpse at the frantic pinwheel of his mind.

It would be so easy to forget they’re broken up, to just lean in and kiss Harry’s mouth and take him back to bed for round two, but—but Louis keeps his distance. He’s spent months in the past trying to understand Harry, to get inside his mind and understand how it works, see what makes Harry who he is, and he might, if he stayed.

He can’t stay.

“I—I have to go,” Louis stammers out, jumping off the stool.

Harry frowns. “It’s late, you could… I mean, I have a guest room, you could spend the night, I’d make breakfast in the morning.”

Alarms go off in Louis’ head, blaring at him to get out before he loses himself. “No, sorry, I really—I…” He shakes his head.

Louis hurries to the bedroom to put on his trousers, feeling more like a coward with every step he takes. They were getting close, closer than they’d been for months, and—and Louis loved it too much. He wanted more. He wanted his boyfriend back.

With a strangled whimper, Louis finishes getting dressed and abandons the shirt he’d said he’d keep on the bed, storming out of the bedroom and towards the front door without a glance at Harry.

“Louis, what did I do wrong?” Harry asks, following after him. He’s put on a robe that Louis guesses he fetched from the bathroom.

“N-nothing, you did nothing wrong, I just—I don’t spend the night, ever. It’s where I draw the line.”

Harry wraps his arms around himself, tightening the robe. “But I’m not just a random one-night stand, I’m… I mean, we’re…” He sighs and visibly deflates, folding in on himself. “Let me call you a cabbie.”

“No need, I’ll take the train,” Louis says, feeling like a massive tosser.

With another sigh, Harry nods. “Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says, putting on his trainers even though he feels like just running out of the house with his shoes in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Louis.”

“You did nothing wrong!” Louis replies, voice tight, heart hammering, “I’m just an idiot!”

And with that, Louis slams the front door shut and runs down the porch stairs like a man hounded.

He hasn’t even reached the Tube station that his phone buzzes.

Louis, next time you want to fuck something and then run away, invest in a blow doll, you won’t hurt its feelings like you just hurt mine. Also I have bruises on the insides of my thighs so thank you for that, too.

Louis’ heart drops to the bottom of his stomach and he stops dead in his tracks.

Jfc aren’t you sick of looking for a fight?! I’m SORRY I freaked out and ran out okay but it’s not exactly easy to act like boyfriends with my EX, thank you very much. And you used to love bruises you filthy liar don’t even act like it bothers you

Well it bothers me when the guy who gave them to me ran away like he was ashamed of what he’d just done.

Louis scoffs, conscious of what he must look like: dishevelled, his coat unbuttoned in early December, angrily typing on his phone on the corner of a street in the middle of the night. He must look like a right idiot.

NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT YOU JFC GET THIS THROUGH YOUR THICK HEAD it’s all on ME and ME alone that I ran out because I have a hard time dealing with my feelings haven’t you figured it out YET

How am I supposed to know when you don’t talk to me????

Idk, magic?

If that’s a Harry Potter joke, lose my number.

Louis lets out a laugh, rolling his eyes, his anger fading as he imagines the face Harry must be making. Scrunched up in anger, brows furrowed, every bit the frustrated kitten that he is.

Don’t you want to RP as Harry and Draco? I want to slither in your bed and show you my room of requirements ;)

Piss off

How big is your wand? Mine’s made of very hard wood ;) ;) ;)

You’re dead to me, Tomlinson

It’s Malfoy for you, doll

Stop texting me

Myrtle won’t be the only one moaning next time I see you

That last message goes unanswered despite being shown as Read so Louis sighs and heads off to the train, ruminating once more.

It’s becoming clearer by the second that he’s developed what one might call ‘commitment issues’. It’s something he might want to look into if he ever wants to get anywhere with Harry, because at their current rhythm, Louis might be able to take him back around his 80th birthday. He can’t even bring himself to wonder whether he still loves Harry; the second he tries to think about it, walls spring up in his mind and he chokes, his head spins and he feels like his lungs have shrunk.

Dragging his feet out of the train station, Louis takes out his phone, with still no reply from Harry.

About a block away from home. Am safe. Sorry again. I’m working on it.

The reply is immediate: 10 points for Slytherin.

A smile explodes on Louis’ face and he buries his face in his elbow to muffle his giggles.

They’re okay, or at least on their way to be.

-

HARRY’S GOING TO BE ON TOP OF THE POP FOR CHRISTMAS THIS IS NOT A DRILL OMG HARRY IS GOING TO SING CHRISTMAS CAROLS I CAN FEEL IT IT’S HAPPENING

okay but what if he sings I’ll be home for christmas like it’ll obviously be for Louis guys guys WHAT IF HE CROONS FOR LOUIS ON NATIONAL TELEVISION AND SAYS IT’S FOR LOU LIKE HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT IT

WHY WOULD YOU SAY THIS THREE WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS IT’S JUST CRUEL

plot twist: they’ll put him in a red nose and antlers and an ugly sweater and make him sing rudolph the red-nosed reindeer

you say that like it’s a bad thing

Louis rolls his eyes and keeps scrolling down, sighing. Another big news that Harry failed to mention to him, it’s like he’s not even trying to make them work at this point. And, yes, the idea of Harry singing in a Christmas special is enough to make his stomach flutter. Not enough to dull the sting of not having been told before he read it on the Internet, but still. There’s a bit of flutter. It’s quite nice, really.

Or, it’s nice for a few minutes before Louis begins feeling lousy. He groans and shuts the lid of his laptop, slumping lower on the couch. It’s not entirely Harry’s fault, but it’s so much easier to blame him than to face the fact that he’s doing absolutely nothing with his life while his roommate and ex-cum-future-cum-casual-boyfriend-thing-person is rising to the top of the British stardom. Hell, he’s going to America in the spring and it’ll be no time before Harry is an international superstar while Louis, dumb old Louis, will still be working two jobs to afford a shit flat with a roommate.

For the first time, he lets himself be crushed with the regret of having fucked up his choice of program when he started university. If he’d been clever or – and isn’t life fucking amazing – if he’d listened to Harry the way Harry listened to him and joined The X-Factor, he’d have picked something he liked from the start and he’d be almost done with a degree in musical theatre. He didn’t, though, because he’s Louis and he never listens to anyone before it’s too fucking late and he picked fucking accounting. He can’t even calculate the tips to leave at restaurants without using his phone, what was he thinking?!

Now, two years later, he’s got debts and a stain on his file that says he dropped all of his courses after the add-drop period, which means he failed all of his classes, which means he might be allowed to get back in something inoffensive and risk-free like English, but he’d be on academic probation and even then, he might not even get his loans back and just—everything is so fucked.

He won’t even get into his relationship with Harry because they keep taking two steps back for every step forward. He doesn’t even know if Harry still loves him, nor can he begin to question if he himself still loves Harry, nor can he see himself with anyone else, and it’s just—he’s so, so exhausted.

Louis used to be so cocky about his future, back when he had one. He never listened—he never fucking listened. It’s too late, now, he can’t fix what he’s done, and his future has been narrowed down to Topshop manager – if he’s lucky – or a pop star’s kept-boy—again, if he’s lucky.

He should have auditioned for The X-Factor, too. He can carry a tune, too, after all. He could be in Harry’s shoes if he’d been brave. It was easier to push his boyfriend towards it, though, rather than possibly face rejection. It’s easier to comfort someone who’s been rejected than living through that rejection, after all. And, well, maybe it’s the same fear that pushed Louis towards a pencil-pusher’s degree rather than something in the arts with a high rate of disappointment.

He’s been calling himself a coward in jest for years, but he might actually be one. What a horrifying concept.

Louis takes out his phone and stares at it for a moment, trying to will himself to call Harry and congratulate him on landing a spot on the show. He wipes his thumb across the black screen a few times, smudging the fingerprints there even more with every swipe, before he turns it on and dials his mother’s number instead.

It’s Daisy who answers and she chats with him for a few minutes while their mother finishes folding laundry. The sound of his sister’s voice is enough to calm Louis, pulling him out of his hole of despair a little bit, just enough to see a sliver of light at the top. He has his girls, no matter what else happens in his life. He mustn’t forget that.

“Louis? Hi!” his mother says when she finally picks up. “It’s been a while!”

There’s a hint of reproach in her voice that makes Louis wince. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve been—life has been hectic lately. Do you have time to talk? I—I need to talk.”

“I’ll call you on Skype then, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll hang up and log on, then.”

Louis hangs up and opens his laptop once more, groaning as he listens to it whirring and groaning as he tries to launch Skype. One day, when he won’t have to choose between rent and food, he’ll need to update it.

“Hi, love!” Jay greets him when he finally manages to connect. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been… weird. Life’s been weird and… and tough.”

“Lottie told me Harry’s back?” Even if her voice is made tinny by the poor quality of the speakers, Louis can easily hear the disapproval in her tone. “It’s why life is tough, isn’t it?”

Louis pauses for a long time. “Mum, he wants me back.” It comes out almost like a squeak and Louis hates himself so, so much.

She hums, lips pinched, eyes narrowed. “And what do you want?”

Louis shrugs. “I want to go back to when it was easy and simple.”

“Do you think taking him back would make it easy and simple again?”

Louis shrugs again. “It’s not just Harry. It’s everything. I’m going nowhere, Mum. I don’t know what I want to do with my life, I don’t know where I’m going, all I do is work shit jobs and eat peanut butter because it’s all I can afford. I fucked up everything.” His voice breaks and he clears his throat, lowering his eyes in shame.

“So do something about it. Didn’t you want to go back to school?”

“I can’t afford the school I want, Mum. And even if I could, I’d never get in.”

“Says who? Have you already tried?”

“No, but I’m not, like, exceptionally talented. I’m okay, but not… I wouldn’t get in. I just know it. I never get these things.”

“You don’t know that, Lou.”

“No, but I do! Nothing good ever happens to me, I’m just not lucky like that! It’s the same for Harry, why would he take me back when I’m no one?!”

“Hm, for one, it’s you who’s in control. You decide if you take him back, Louis. You don’t owe this boy a single thing,” she snaps and Louis winces to hear her be so hard on Harry. “You’re lost, but that doesn’t mean you’re no one. You’re still young, it’s normal. Just because you didn’t find your path right away doesn’t mean you’ll never find it. You have your entire life ahead of you.”

“But even if I wanted to go back to school, I can’t afford it!”

“Maybe not in London, but you could come back here and live at home while you study. That’d make it so much easier, financially.”

The mere thought of moving back to Doncaster grips Louis at the heart and makes him nauseous. Harry’s in London. He can’t move away from London, not now. And besides Harry, moving back home would be like admitting defeat, like he couldn’t even manage to live on his own and needs to run back to his mummy when it gets too hard.

“I don’t want to move back home. I love living in London. It’s just… everyone around me is going somewhere and I’m still stuck working two part-time jobs and just...” Louis sighs. “I’m sick of feeling like I’m not good enough. It was so much simpler when my biggest worry was whether I’d be able to go visit Harry for the weekend or not.”

“Welcome to adulthood,” she says with a small laugh. “Louis, listen to me. You’re good enough for anything you’ll put your heart into. You’re driven and passionate and you deserve the world, and I’m not just saying that as your mother. All you need to do is decide what you want to do and take the steps needed to achieve it. Don’t just sit around and mope because you can’t do it before you even looked at your options in details. That’s not like you to give up.”

“I suppose I could go meet with an advisor, yeah…” Louis sighs. “And what about Harry?”

Again, her face turns sour. “You know my opinion of that boy.”

“Yeah, Mum, I do, but he—he’s trying really hard to get me back. I’m giving him hell and he stays.”

“So what’s the matter?”

“I—” Louis gulps. “I’m scared of him. Whenever we’re… together, I end up running away.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you remember what happened?” Louis snarls, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, very acutely. But then, why do you keep seeing him if you can’t forgive him for what he’s done?”

“I can forgive him! I think…? I… I can’t imagine my life without him, not if I have a chance of getting him back, but I… I’m so scared of taking him back,” Louis blurts out, his voice breaking. “I’m scared of getting hurt again.”

“Part of being in love if risking being hurt, you know. It’s never painless. But if you think you can trust him, and if you still love him, don’t play games.”

His mother’s words sting with how accurate they are, unknowingly. “What do you mean?”

She sighs. “You know what I mean. Don’t leave him hanging, don’t lead him on. Just be decent!”

“But he wasn’t decent to me!” Louis snaps.

“So get him out of your life for good if that’s something you can’t move past.”

“I don’t want that either!”

“Are you being difficult on purpose?”

“No! I’m just confused and scared and lost and you’re not helping!”

She squares her shoulders and narrows her eyes. Louis knows immediately that he’s in trouble. “No one can help you if you don’t want to help yourself. I can’t choose what to do for you, no one can. You need to figure out what you want. It’s not like you to whine and do nothing, you’ve never been this weak. It’s not how I raised you. If you want my honest opinion, you shouldn’t take him back. He’s no good for you. But it’s your life and you do what you want with it. No one will point you in the right direction or tell you you’ve made a good choice. I’ll help as much as I can, but I won’t decide for you.”

Louis gulps, nodding, taking his mother’s anger without a word. He knows he deserves it. He has been mopey and whiny for months. He’s been complacent in his misery, enjoying the inertia and excuses it gave him to check out of living. It isn’t him, though. The Louis he used to be met a boy in Disney World and decided to make him his, he didn’t let him go and then whine about having lost him. He went after it and worked hard to make it work, and he took risks and was courageous. The Louis he used to be would be ashamed of the larvae he’s become.

“You’re right. Entirely right.” Louis bites his lip, twisting his hands. “So, hm, how’s your life been?”

By the time he hangs up with his mother, Louis has found a few schools that offer a degree in musical theatre and he’s pulled up the pages to schedule meetings with advisors. He doesn’t even look at the fees pages; the Louis he used to be wouldn’t have cared about fees, he’d have deemed them an irrelevant detail to be dealt with later. He even goes as far as fetching the prospectus he’d hidden under his bed to see if he can meet someone to talk about it, his mother’s pep talk having given him back a bit of his past confidence.

When he’s done with schools, he still has some confidence left and it pushes him to grab his phone and text Harry, asking if he wants to meet up for a pint later in the day to celebrate his big accomplishment, punctuated with the Santa emoji. He needs to do it before it all goes away and he returns to his now permanent state of cowardly slug.

He knows what he has to do: no more games, no more moping. He needs to face his life. That doesn’t mean he’s not dead afraid of doing so. It’s easy to run on artificially crafted confidence given by his mother, but in a few hours, he wonders if he’ll still be thinking the same.

One step at a time, he tells himself. Rome wasn’t built in a day, as they say, and he’s found that the world always feels better after a long, hot bath. So that’ll be the first step.

Step one: take a bath.

Step two: stop being afraid of the love of his life.

Step three: get a degree in musical theatre.

It’s not even anything hard. He can do it. He can, yeah? Yeah, he can do it. He must do it. It’s that or still working at Topshop when he’ll be forty.

There’s nothing like the threat of aging into failure to prickle his pride and propel him into action.

Chapter Text

Pacing his bedroom back and forth, twisting his fingers, Louis debates his options.

Considering that he has nothing to wear for his meeting with an advisor, a meeting which has the potential to change his life for the best, and considering that he’s broke, he may either:

A: Wear something he already owns, thereby risking his chances by looking like he crawled out of the dumpster behind a Primark;

B: Borrow something from Niall and so look like an American frat boy and an Irish farmer did nasty things together in the dumpster behind a Primark;

C: Cancel everything, accept his life as a dumpster-dwelling troll;

D: Call Harry for sartorial and/or monetary support.

None of these options are particularly enticing, especially the last one. He’d honestly rather wear one of Niall’s unfortunately pastel polo shirts than call Harry for help. It’s not that he fears calling Harry; that’s a common occurrence, now. It’s the ‘asking for help’ part that bothers him, right alongside the ‘admitting he’s desperate’ and the good old ‘hatred for relying on others’.

He should have left with the shirt he’d borrowed from Harry the other day. That would have been better than the spread he has in front of him at the moment, every piece more depressing than the next. It’s really when he has every shirt he owns laid out in front of him that Louis realises he still dresses like he’s a teenager.

With a frustrated groan, Louis flings himself on his bed, on top of his shirts, and winces as hangers dig in his back. There’s a fifth option for his predicament, if he’s being honest.

E: Go on a shopping spree.

But considering that he has roughly £100 in his bank account at the moment, unless he wants to literally shop in a Primark dumpster, he’s better off lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling in sulking frustration.

The meeting is in a week and he’s been going nuts with it, taking it more seriously than he ever did any job interview before in his life. He wants to show the man he’ll meet that he’s serious about this despite what his transcripts might say. He truly would be a great addition to their school, yes, of course, even if he flunked out of his first university semester.

Louis sighs, searching blindly for his phone amongst the mess on his bed. He turns it on and stares at it, holding it above his head. He could text Perrie and ask her if she’s down for a shopping spree and put it all on his credit card, leaving Louis from the future to deal with the debt. Or, he could text Harry for help. He could go for option D and use the fact that he has a young millionaire at his beck and call.

Sighing even louder to show himself that he disagrees with the final decision, Louis opens a conversation thread.

I need help, he sends Harry, groaning in frustration.

The answer only takes a minute to come. Are you okay? Did something bad happen?

No, no. But I have an important meeting next week and nothing to wear.

Oh! Sure. Give me half an hour and I’ll pick you up.

Louis’ stomach tightens. Now, Harry must think Louis is only after his money, that’s so much worse than his previous situation, fuck. He calls Harry.

“It’s not what I meant! I wasn’t asking you to buy stuff for me!”

“You weren’t?” Harry asks with a laugh. “All right, then, I won’t. You need help picking an outfit?”

“There’s nothing to pick when you don’t own anything that isn’t rubbish.”

“So… you do need new clothes. I’d give you some of the free sponsor things I get, but they’re too big for you.”

“Was that jab necessary?”

“Yeah, it kind of was. So, YSL or Burberry?”

“Hm, well… neither. I’d be happy with H&M, really.”

“Prada, then? Or do you need a suit? I’d see you in Armani, you have the cheekbones for it.”

“Harry! Stop it! I don’t need designer clothes!”

“No one needs designer clothes, but they’re nice to wear. They work wonders on your confidence. I’m offering and asking nothing in return, Louis. Proportionally, this is like if I were a regular friend buying you a combo at Nandos.”

Louis bites his lip, knowing already that he’ll accept the offer. No one in their right mind would refuse it, but his pride is battling with his logic and he’s not sure yet who will win.

“Fiiiiine. You can pick me up. But I’ll complain constantly!”

“I understand the principle behind it. Should I take the Jaguar or the Audi, this time?”

“What about you stop flashing your cash and just get over here?” Louis snaps before sighing. “Sorry. This is what you can expect all day. I apologise.”

“No need for it. I was bragging. I’ll be there in an hour, tops.”

And true to his words, Harry pulls up in front of Louis’ flat in his white Audi forty-eight minutes later. Joining him in the car, Louis slumps in the seat.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“What’s that big meeting, then?” Harry asks, pulling back into the traffic. “So I know where to take you.”

“I’m meeting with a uni advisor. I’d like to go back to school for…” Louis’ voice falters. “For musical theatre. Don’t laugh.”

“I’d never dare,” Harry says, serious. “I think it’s a brilliant idea.”

Louis shrugs. “I have literally no chance, though. It’s not a regular uni, it’s a private school, and since I flunked out of my first semester, they’ll never take me.”

“You don’t know that. Part of it has to be based on an audition, hasn’t it? That ought to save you.”

Another shrug. “Even if it does, I can’t afford it. I don’t even know why I’m going, honestly, I know I have no chance.”

“Don’t worry about the money,” Harry says, glancing at Louis as they stop for a red light.

“No! No, you don’t pay for it, I refuse!” Louis squawks.

“I’m not offering. I’ll do it. Just look at it as… hm, patronage? Is that the word? It’s not about the history between us. This is purely business, it’s Harry Styles, the Pop Star, sponsoring a promising young actor.”

“You don’t know that I’m promising.”

“Yeah, I do. I saw your Grease performance.”

Louis laughs. “Please, that doesn’t count. It was just a shit school play.”

“And yet you stole the spotlight from all the others.” Harry reaches across the console and pats Louis’ knee a few times before squeezing it. “I believe in you. I’ll help you every step of the way, if you’ll let me.”

At Harry’s words, Louis has to look away, staring out of the window at the people filling the streets. Harry is taking them to the nicest shops in town, Louis can easily guess it from how he can’t remember having ever been to this part of London. It’s confirmed when he sees a first designer shop, then a second, and he sighs and rolls his eyes, remembering why he’s always avoided Bond Street before that.

“I don’t need an Armani suit.”

“No, probably not. But you’d look lovely in Burberry.” Harry flashes him a smile that makes Louis’ heart skip a beat.

“Fine! Have it your way! Play dress up with me, I’m sick of fighting you and your stubbornness.”

Louis regrets giving Harry permission to do as he pleases exactly five minutes into the three-hour long process. He sticks to his word, though, and he follows Harry, letting him drag him from shop to shop, in and out of dressing room and of clothes worth more than Louis’ rent. The bags are piling up in the car and they’re drawing attention to themselves, and Louis’ annoyance begins to be replaced by worry.

A small crowd of girls are gathered by the entrance of the fourth shop they visit; Louis missed the name, but the clothes have no price tags on them so he guesses it has to be designer. He tries to ignore them, but he can hear their voices growing louder when they spot Harry walking up to Louis.

“Ignore them,” Harry whispers, focusing on the shirt he’s holding. “What do you think of that?”

Louis looks down at the pink silk shirt that Harry is holding and he scoffs. “I think that we should go to Chanel across the street so you can douse me in Chanel No. 5, slap this shirt on me and call me Marilyn.”

“So that’s a no, then,” Harry says, unfazed.

“You think?” Louis snarls, glancing at the storefront to see the girls cupping their hands against the window to see inside. “Haven’t they got security to deal with their sort?!”

Harry lets out a small laugh and strokes Louis’ back a few times. “Ignore them. Welcome to my life.”

“I hate your life. It’s shit.”

Haphazardly, Louis grabs a handful of shirts and stalks off to the dressing room, needing to get away from the gawkers.

He doesn’t even bother trying them on once in the changing room. He whips out his phone and opens Twitter, and within seconds his stomach drops to the bottom of his heels. The tweet saying that Harry was spotted at YSL on Bond Street with Louis has now close to 10,000 retweets and there’s a hashtag trending, a sickening #halolives with hundreds of thousands of posts under it already. All in the span of a couple of hours.

Discarding the shirts, Louis hurries out of the room and grabs Harry by the arm when he sees him, dragging him back to the changing room.

“Harry, we need to get out of here. It’s about to get insane outside.”

“The girls? It’s nothing, Louis, honestly. I’ve seen worse.”

“It’s all over Twitter, Harry! They know it’s me, too! They know you’re with Louis!”

“I’m with a friend, so what…?”

Louis clicks his tongue and sighs, exasperated. “Don’t play stupid, I know you know about halo. They’re going nuts. It’s trending on Twitter. Harry, we need to get out of here before the paparazzi are called.”

For the first time, there’s a glint of seriousness in Harry’s eyes. He’s finally grasping the weight of the situation. “Okay. We’re leaving. We’ll have to go through them, though, I—I didn’t think I’d need a bodyguard to go to Prada, fuck.”

“You shouldn’t have, but Twitter is hell.”

“I’ll have to stop for pictures, but you can run to the car, if you want,” Harry continues, grabbing clothes from the pile he’d made and bringing them over to the till.

“We were spotted at YSL, actually.”

Harry groans and rolls his eyes, taking his credit card out to pay without even glancing at the total. Louis’ head is spinning.

“I love my fans, yeah? But I don’t like being mobbed,” Harry says, voice tensed.

Louis strokes his back a few times, mirroring his action from a few minutes ago. “It’s not as bad as it seems, I think. The worst is online, but out there, it can’t be more than fifteen girls. It’s a Wednesday afternoon, most of them are in school right now, it’s our saving grace.”

Collecting the bags in one hand, Harry squares his shoulders and turns towards the exit. “I’ll distract them, head straight for the car.”

“All right, Mr Wayne. I’ll then call Alfred and tell him to send your Batmobile over,” Louis snaps. “I don’t need to be saved from a dozen teenage girls. It’s not me they want.” Louis takes the bags from Harry’s hand, rough. “You head for the car and I’ll stall them.”

“Okay, hm… what if we slowly and calmly make our way out together?”

Harry hesitates, biting his lip, before he sighs and nods. “Fine. It’s probably the best option.”

“Not just probably,” Louis mutters in reply. “It’s just a dozen teenagers, it won’t be that bad.”

It is that bad.

Or, well, it feels like it to Louis, who is unused to that kind of situation. The girls are respectful as they approach Harry, who is all smiles and charms, but Louis notices them taking pictures of Harry and him, sees them whispering, and he dreads checking Tumblr once he gets home. A few of the girls try to talk to him, but he shakes his head, taking a few steps back, making it clear that he is not an attraction at the circus.

It’s going well, really. It is, at least, until a girl asks them if they’re together. At once, Harry tenses and turns red, which is Louis’ cue to get him the fuck away before someone gets hurt.

“All right, we’ll get going now, yeah? We’ve got places to be, haven’t we, Harry? Come on, now, thank you everyone, let us through now, thanks,” Louis says as he firmly steers Harry away with a hand on his back, knowing as he does it that the pictures will tell a different story.

Once safe in the car, Louis doubles over and presses his forehead to his knees, feeling sick. “Fuck,” he groans.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, his voice shaky. “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

“Not your fault. You had it worse,” Louis replies, tone clipping. “Well, by the end of the day we’ll be all over the Internet as a couple…”

“But we didn’t act like one!”

“We didn’t need to. We were out shopping together. Fuck, you bought me YSL and Prada and—and Burberry and they saw you do it!”

Harry gulps audibly. “I’ll take you home, now. I… I might have to call my agent before he calls me…”

Louis nods, wrapping his arms around his torso, his heart beating in his ears. He’d never truly considered that aspect of taking Harry back. He’ll never get to go out in public with him as his boyfriend, not unless the tides change and he stops being represented by bigots. This’ll be their lives, this hiding and running away from fans who might make assumptions.

To be honest, he’s not sure it’s what he wants; he would have to go back into the closet.

Harry parks double by Louis’ building and doesn’t move to get out. “I’d go in, but… I can’t. I think I have damage control to do…?”

He looks lost and confused, completely overwhelmed. He probably hadn’t considered that part of their potential relationship, either. Louis feels terrible and he leans in to plant kisses on his cheeks before getting out of the car, his bags in hands.

“Thank you for all this,” he says through the open window. “And I’ll try to extinguish the fires online the best I can. It’ll be all right.”

“I hope you’re right,” Harry says before driving away.

Once inside, Louis hurries to go hide the bags at the back of his closet. He cannot tolerate looking at them at the moment, he feels like he’ll be sick if he so much as thinks about the day he’s just had. Grabbing a slice of cold pizza from the fridge, he opens Tumblr and sighs to see that it’s not a fire he has to extinguish, but an entire volcanic eruption.

Pictures of them have already made their way online and new ones pop up every time he refreshes his dashboard. People are talking about them as a done deal, as a couple for sure; they don’t even have an ounce of doubt, assuming that an outing together basically means an engagement.

And—and he can’t blame them, looking at the pictures. They look awfully close and like they’re in a world of their own. Louis realises with horror that everything he thinks he does platonically comes off as affectionate; whenever he tries to act sarcastic, it looks like he’s cherishing Harry. His body is betraying him and it’s been immortalized online for the rest of his life.

Louis keeps scrolling, listlessly reading what people have to say about his alleged relationship with Harry. It’s all the same, the boring old same, until it isn’t.

There’s a montage of pictures from the day, all of Louis holding bags from designer brands, and, below, the genius behind the post wrote now I ain’t saying he’s a gold digger

Louis lets out a squawk and pushes his laptop off his lap, indignation burning in him like acid. The post is gaining notes, too; the time it takes Louis to click through to the original poster’s blog, it gained almost a hundred notes, most of them reblogs. He isn’t a gold digger! Fuck! How dare they insinuate that he’s only with Harry for his money?! He’s not even with Harry, that’s some serious bullshit. He’s being painted as the bad guy, the one who left Harry, but came crawling back when he had money he could spend, and—and—and—

And Louis closes the tab on the original poster’s ask box before shutting the lid of his laptop. There’s no use trying to fix this, he’ll only make it worse with his big mouth and his lack of tact. The last thing Harry needs is for Louis to aggravate the situation.

He said he’d help Harry by doing damage control online, but he can’t bear to read the posts they’re making, the assumptions they’re coming up with, the conclusions they’re drawing. He feels sick and like he’s being pressured into a relationship with Harry, or like whether he wants one or not, he already has one, and it’s when a bite of pizza gives him nausea that he gets up to go rummage through his drawers, searching for a few minutes before he finally pulls out a pack of cigarettes he bought when he was still in school.

He hasn’t touched it since he dropped out of university; he’d been using it to channel his stress over being unceremoniously dumped by Harry, but going up to Yorkshire to spend some time with his mum made him stop drastically.

It’s been a while since he thought about those dark few weeks, he muses as he zips his coat and heads downstairs for a walk and a smoke. Once out of the building, he lights a cigarette and grimaces. He coughs when the smoke burns his throat, unused now to the feeling, but a few drags later he’s getting back into the habit, relishing the soothing effect of the nicotine.

He can’t remember having ever been as distraught as he was following Harry’s fatidic phone call, and he supposes he got so bad that Niall became afraid. It’s hard to say how bad he got, from his perspective, he reached a point where the days bled into one another into endless, sleepless nights, and he could hardly move, and he supposes it was a depression, the beast he had, or one hell of a heartbreak. In any case, Niall became afraid and it was too much for him to deal with, and he drove Louis to his mum’s house, borrowing a friend’s car and dragging Louis’ listless carcass out of their flat himself, and Louis ended up spending almost two months in Doncaster. Niall never asked about rent, or school, or anything that wasn’t about how Louis was coping. Louis will never, ever let himself lose Niall.

The thing is, though, he had his life back in control, for the most part, his need for the crutch cigarettes provided almost non-existent, coming back only that day, only because of the pictures and that one post and Harry’s insistence to spoil him and—

He’s fucked, is what’s happening.

-

Despite the fact that the whole mess with being spotted on Bond Street with Harry began because Louis needed new, non-joggers clothes for his meeting with an advisor, he ignores the bags hidden in his closet and settles for things he already owns, hoping to make a good impression in his slightly too small dark jeans and pilled sweater.

And he thinks he did, for the most part. He doesn’t walk out of the meeting with the urge to disappear from the face of the planet in shame, which is a huge improvement from the last time he met with a faculty advisor, after his phenomenal drop out post-break up. His main fear, going in, was that his catastrophic last transcript from university would be a nuisance, but the discussion really seemed to be putting the emphasis on the audition rather than his academic prowess—or lack thereof. All in all, Louis is confident that he could pull this off, that he has a proper chance at getting in that school. With Harry’s financial help – if he accepts it, which isn’t a given yet – would make his dream achievable for the first time in, hell, his entire life.

It almost feels too good to be true, really. He’s gotten so used to his life being a series of disappointments that he can’t quite believe that he’s really, finally getting back on tracks. He’s spent so many months thinking his future was hopeless that getting an enticing one, at last, has an ephemeral nature to it. Of course, nothing is guaranteed, he still needs to audition and figure out if he’ll sink low enough to accept his ex’s money, but he has choices. For the first time in months, he has choices offered to him, choices that are not whether he’ll pay rent or buy food.

Louis calls Perrie as soon as he’s out, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he lights a cigarette in between his enthusiastic retelling of the meeting. She cheers him on, insisting that they need to celebrate soon, and he’s on cloud nine, he can’t remember having been this happy in a very long time. It’s like he’s finally a person again. He feels like the hero of his own story, for once, rather than someone else’s supporting character. His coming-of-age quest is about to begin and there’s uplifting music in the background, and the audience is still full of hope that everything will go well for him.

The next call he makes after hanging up with Perrie is Harry, dialling his number without even thinking about it, his eagerness to share the news making him overlook everything else.

Harry is as elated as Louis is, congratulating him warmly and sincerely, making Louis’ heart swell.

“Let’s go out tonight,” Louis blurts out. “You and me, and Niall and Perrie and, like, Sophia and Liam, and—yeah. Let’s just go out. Not a karaoke, just a pint, yeah? I need to go out. I haven’t had that much energy in forever!”

Harry laughs and Louis hears the sound of rustled paper down the line, and he wonder what Harry might be doing as they’re talking. Composing, maybe, and that reminds him he’ll have to start preparing his audition, soon, and he has to fight against the flashbacks he gets from Harry preparing his X-Factor interview a millennium ago, it seems. His audition will lead to good things. What happened with Harry is in the past, he repeats to himself, it was a mistake, it won’t happen again. All the progress they made won’t be lost unless he chooses to toss it aside, which he hasn’t quite made his mind about just yet, but that’s another one of the choices he finally has, and it’s a good thing, all things considered.

He exhales a cloud of smoke towards the sky, trying to push all of his surge of anxiety out in the same breath.

“Sure, let’s go out. Just tell me when and where and I’ll bring my people,” Harry replies, voice warm.

“Brilliant! It’ll be fun! I’ll get drunk tonight, will you? It’s been forever since we’ve gotten drunk together!”

Harry laughs. “Not since Stan’s party, I reckon. I’ve got to go, but I’ll text you about tonight,” he says before they hang up.

Louis has felt like the shadow of who he used to be for so long, now, that he doesn’t immediately understand the lightness in his heart, the spring in his step; he’s got energy and a goal, he’s got good friends and not-entirely-demeaning jobs, he’s almost dating a pop star. It’s like his life has finally turned around, like his time in purgatory is finally over and he gets to enjoy his life once more. He’s allowed to, at last.

Things never go as planned, though. It began so well, so infuriatingly well, which really only makes it worse.

Louis and Niall got to the pub first, picking a table for the group and ordering their first drinks and some food, and Niall starts telling Louis about something that happened to him that day. Louis only half listens, his eyes trained on the door, waiting for Harry’s arrival with a hammering heart. It still feels weird to be able to hang out with Harry whenever he wants, he can’t really believe it’ll really happen until Harry has arrived.

He finally does, about a half hour after them and fifteen minutes after Perrie, and he’s accompanied by Liam and Sophia. It’s obvious in the way he’s dawdling a few steps behind them that he hopes not to draw attention to himself. The point is reinforced by the beanie he has pulled low over his head.

If Louis’ life has turned into a coming-of-age movie, Harry has just been introduced as the dreamy romantic interest. Louis’ heart speeds up at the sight.

“Hey,” Liam says as he pulls a chair for Sophia before sitting down, leaving an empty seat next to Louis for Harry. If he was aiming for subtlety, he missed the mark by a mile. “Soph says we’re here to celebrate something?”

“Well, not exactly,” Louis says, shrugging. “I just had a really good day.”

Liam shrugs, too. “That’s good enough for me.”

Louis watches him lean closer to Sophia to take her order before getting up to the bar, and he feels stupidly warm about this boy. He’s warming up to Liam in a way he never expected. It’s quite nice realising he might have made a friend by accident.

He turns to Harry and catches his eyes on him. They both look away with a nervous laugh and Louis doesn’t miss the snort Perrie lets out as she takes a sip of beer. He glares at her for good measure.

“I’m glad the meeting went well,” Harry says in a low voice, smiling at Liam when he places a beer in front of him before once more turning his attention on Louis.

“Yeah, me too,” Louis replies in the same tone, smiling. “I need to prepare an audition song, now, though. I mean, the auditions are not until the spring, but…” he shrugs, taking a sip of his beer. “It’s fun to have something to focus on, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m glad you’ve got plans and all,” Harry replies. “You seem happy.”

“Right now, I am, yeah,” Louis says. There’s a warmth to his voice he didn’t see coming. He bumps his shoulder against Harry’s. “It’s thanks to you, in part. You’re fixing what you fucked up.”

Harry shakes his head with a frown. “No. You’ve done all that on your own. I had nothing to do with it. You’re fixing yourself, you don’t need me for that.”

“No, but it helps to have you by my side.”

A smile bursts on Harry’s face and he tries to hide it in his pint with a long sip, but he chokes on it and blushes, looking away quickly. It’s a good timing, too, because Louis was a second away from leaning in to kiss Harry, which might have ruined everyone’s night; it’s unlikely Harry would be comfortable kissing a boy in public. Not yet.

“Hey, Niall!” Louis says loudly to give Harry some privacy as he composes his face. Too loudly; he catches the attention of a nearby table and the looks the men sitting at it give him makes his stomach turn. “You never finished telling me your story! Go on!”

Niall starts over for the newcomers and once more, Louis finds himself distracted. The men keep glancing towards him and laughing amongst themselves, and he has a bad feeling about the whole thing. It’s confirmed when he hears one of them say something that sounds an awful lot like ‘fucking fairy’.

Louis has been to this pub more times than he can count; it’s basically his second living room. He loves how quintessentially English the owners made it look, loves how it’s obvious that the décor has been recreated to look historical, and Louis loves every last inch of distressed wood. The ambiance is always mellow, the people are great, it’s easy to just sit back with friends and have a pint at the end of the day, and it’s far enough from the campus nearby that it’s not swarmed with students who remind him of his failures.

It’s the first time he’s given shit, though, but it’s also the first time he sees these guys and, clearly, they take issue with his person. A part of Louis wonders whether it’s because he’s feeling so much like himself that day that he’s being more flaming than usual. It might be, and it’s making him sick to think about it. He hadn’t even noticed he was acting differently.

He’s the first to notice when they start mocking him, and it goes straight to his stomach, twisting it painfully. He can’t remember the last time he was called a fairy, but it ought to have been a whole decade ago, at the very least. Their voices keep getting louder, it’s obvious they want him to hear. He puts his beer down as bile rises up his throat.

Harry notices next, exchanging a glance with Louis that says what he already knew: Harry can’t do anything about it without risking turning into the front page of the next day’s Daily Mail. Louis can’t kiss him in public no more than Harry can stand up and defend him without drawing attention to who he is. He’s working hard enough as it is to be inconspicuous after their last outing and the storm that resulted from it—Louis avoided gossip magazines, but his mother called him to give him an overview of how much they were discussed in them, and it made him want to lock himself indoors and never leave.

Perrie and Sophia grow increasingly uncomfortable as the men raise their voices even louder, but there’s five of them and only two of the girls; even with a reversed ratio, it’d be illogical for them to do anything. He wouldn’t want them to.

Louis worries what will happen once Niall and Liam notice. They don’t have any reason to fear causing a scene. To make matters worse, Louis has a hunch that Liam likes to play knight in shining armour, and Niall, well—Niall is Irish. It couldn’t possibly end well.

It cannot have been more than five minutes from the moment Louis first heard them to the men losing their patience with him, his resolve to ignore them riling them up even more, when they raise their voices and make sure that Liam and Niall hear, decidedly ruining the evening for good.

Niall chokes on his sip of beer, sputtering, offended. “Did they just called Lou a cocksucker?!” he spits out, slamming his pint on the table.

“That’s what I heard,” Liam replies, pale as a sheet, eyebrows knitted.

Before it all explodes, Louis has another thought to his accidental friendship with Liam. It’s a very pleasant, very welcome surprise, really.

Niall has had too many beers, Louis thinks to himself as he sees him spring off his stool and swagger over to the men’s table, pint in hand. He’s had too many beers and whenever it happens, either:

A: His speech slurs, his accent thickens, and he forgets not everyone speaks Gaelic;

B: He loses control of his body, which sometimes results in uncoordinated dancing, but mostly in fights (or sex, though Louis would rather forget about that part);

C: He gets uncontrollably emotional because he’s not a member of Celtic Thunder.

It doesn’t look like an option C night, to Louis’ dismay.

“Niall! Niall, it’s fine, don’t—” Louis begins, only to surrender when he sees Liam getting up and following Niall. “Fuck.”

“Liam!” Sophia snaps, “don’t get involved! They’re just looking for a fight, don’t give them that satisfaction.”

“Yeah,” one of the man sneers. “Listen to your bird, mate. That’s between us and the fairy.”

“The fairy’s my friend, aiteann!” Niall slurs.

It’s an A and B night, then.

“Niall, Liam, come on, ignore them. They’re scum, they’re just frustrated because they’ve got tiny pricks, eh? Just ignore them,” Louis calls after them, trying to act nonchalant, ignoring the thumping of his heart.

“Louis, don’t provoke them,” Harry whispers, head bent, looking like he’s trying to melt into and become one with his chair.

He speaks up too late, though, because the men are already standing up, five facing two, and it won’t be said that Louis lets other people wage his wars, so he gets up, too, intent on joining Niall and Liam.

Before it comes to blows, though, at the very second that the men get up, one of the bartender calls out, “Oi! None of that here, everyone sits the fuck down!”

Louis doesn’t sit so much as he falls on his chair, shaking from the stress of what he narrowly avoided. Niall and Liam come back seconds later, both of them red in the face, both of them shaking as much as Louis is.

“Look, let’s just finish our drinks and go somewhere else, yeah? Let’s be civilised,” Sophia snaps under her breath, glaring at Liam. “Before you embarrass me,” she tells him, shaking her head. “Seriously, men are children.”

Louis lets out a shaky laugh. “They’re bigger children than us.”

She opens her mouth to reply, but Perrie is faster. “Let’s just move on, everyone, right this second.”

The atmosphere is too tense for Louis, despite the conversations picking up once more. He feels responsible for the way the mood was ruined, he should have been quieter, less noticeable. It’s his fault.

“I need a fag,” he says to no one in particular as he gets up and shrugs on his coat before heading for the door, moving fast to avoid being stopped. The cold air hits him violently after the warmth indoors and he sighs in relief, feeling like he can finally breathe properly. He zips up his coat and breathes out in a cloud of condensation, fishing in his pockets for his pack of cigarettes to light one. He leans against the wall of the pub and closes his eyes, taking a first heavenly drag and exhaling it towards the night sky.

The air smells of snow; it’s prickly, sharp, almost tingling with it. It’ll snow before the night is over, Louis is sure. He hopes it does, he needs a break from London’s grey winter cloak. He needs something to put him in the mood of Christmas, what with it being in just over two weeks.

The door opens and closes and Louis doesn’t bother checking who walked out, his instincts telling him all he needs to know.

“I’m fine, Harry. Go back inside, I’ll be there in a moment. The smoke’s not good for your voice.”

At the first sound of laughter, Louis looks over and freezes. His instincts are shit.

It’s two of the five men from inside, matching smirks on their bulldog faces, and when Louis makes a move to get away, they close in on him, trapping him against the wall.

“Oi, piss off,” Louis says lamely. He blows smoke in their faces.

Up close, it’s obvious they’re not really men. They’re boys, roughly Louis’ age, trainers and joggers mismatched with their oversized parkas, and it’s a shame because Louis tries hard not to entertain stereotypes, having himself grown up with boys like them, but they’re not helping him at all.

“Aw, it’s cute, the little cocksucker’s trying to be brave and all without his mates,” one of them tells the other, who laughs. “But he’s going to be a good little slut, isn’t he?”

“I’m flattered, but you boys are not my type at all,” Louis replies, voice tight with nerves. “But I think you’re his,” he tells the first while pointing at the second.

“Oi, you take that back, mate!” the second boy squawks.

Louis barely hears him, though, because at the same time, the first boy punches him in the stomach, bending him in half and knocking the air out of his lungs. Louis gasps and falls to his knees, and in the white hot haze of gasping for air, he doesn’t see the second boy bracing himself to throw a punch and he can’t move out of the way, receiving the full force of the hit on his jaw with a cry of pain.

He falls to his hands and knees, gasping for air, spots of colours swimming in front of his eyes and his ears buzzing, and he knows what’s coming next, he’s seen enough fights to expect a kick in the stomach now that he’s on the ground, but it never comes.

Louis looks up just in time to see a shape throwing itself at the boy who was about to hit him, pinning him to the wall.

“Pick on someone your own size!” Louis hears Harry spit out, and he looks up to see that the first boy is on the ground, clutching his bloody nose, and the second is being held against the wall by Harry, his arm pressed against his windpipe, and Louis’ eyes widen.

It’s one thing to be aware of Harry’s bulk when he’s hugging him or they’re in bed, but seeing the strength that’s only usually implied in the width of his shoulders and the size of his arms in action is quite different.

Louis pushes himself up, painfully, his hands scratched and his jaw throbbing, and leans against the wall for support.

“Let him go, Harry. Don’t waste your time on him,” Louis wheezes out, his lungs aching.

Harry obeys, pushing the boy against the wall one last time before letting him go.

“Yeah, listen to your boyfriend, faggot,” the boy spits out.

Before Louis or the boy can see it coming, Harry is swinging his fist and punching him in the nose, and Louis hears a definite crack that makes him gag. He looks away, hands flat against the wall to stop the world from spinning.

He hears the sound of feet running on the pavement and when he opens his eyes, they’re alone on the deserted street, the streetlamps stretching their shadows halfway down the block.

“You okay?” Harry asks, rushing by Louis’ side. “Where did they hit you?”

“Stomach and jaw, I’m fine,” Louis says, teeth gritted. “You shouldn’t have punched them.”

Harry clicks his tongue. “Hush. I’ll take you home, yeah? I’ll text Liam from the cabbie, come on,” Harry says, voice soft, as he hauls Louis off the wall, wrapping his arm around his waist to help him support his weight.

For a second, Louis considers protesting, insisting that he’s fine and going back inside to pretend nothing happened. The second passes, though, and he nods, leaning against Harry.

“Okay,” he whispers, his stomach aching with every shaky breath that he takes.

He closes his eyes and lets Harry hail a cab, and once inside of it, he leans into him once more, seeking his warmth. Harry wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“I’m usually better in a fight,” Louis finally says. “I can hold my own. They just took me by surprise.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Harry says softly, and he strokes Louis’ shoulder.

“And like, don’t think I’m going to be all scarred and shit because I’ve been jumped, okay? No need to be all skittish around me or anything. I’m fine.” Louis swallows. “I’m not about to have a crisis because two moronic chavs couldn’t accept I’m gay.”

Harry lets out a small laugh. “I know. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Louis shakes his head. “It’s not about being strong!” he protests, because it’s not' and Harry doesn’t get it. “I’m not just pretending that I don’t care or anything. I’m honestly fine. My body aches, but my mind’s all right.”

“Yeah, I believe you,” Harry says, more serious this time. “You don’t sound broken or anything.”

“Why would I be? They’re not the first to punch me for sucking cock and they won’t be the last. I’m not going to crumble. I’m okay.”

Harry kisses his hair. “Okay. I can stay over for a bit if you want, though. Just to watch telly, nothing else.”

Louis swallows, once, and then he swallows his pride. “Yeah, okay.”

Harry nods and kisses his hair once more, and then he takes out his phone and starts checking Twitter, his arm still protectively wrapped around Louis, his demeanour showing that he’s offering Louis the privacy to quietly crumble if he needs to.

“Thanks for following me out,” Louis says into the silence after a moment. “I’d be in worse shape if you hadn’t.”

“Don’t mention it. When we saw them following you out, Liam, Niall and I jumped to our feet. I was faster than them.” Harry shrugs, not looking up from his phone. Louis is thankful for the insistence with which Harry is trying to give him time to compose himself, if needed.

“Yeah, well, thanks. They took me by surprise. I could have taken them.”

Harry hums, nodding. “I don’t doubt it.” He glances at Louis to smile at him, the blue light cast by his phone illuminating his face from below, highlighting the shadows. “You’ve got the spunk to take on two blokes.”

Satisfied by their exchange of lies, Louis nods to himself and moves out of Harry’s embrace, taking out his phone to text Niall to let him know Harry will be there when he gets home. When Niall replies with the aubergine and tongue emojis followed by a question mark, Louis puts his phone on silent and shoves it deep inside the pocket of his coat.

Once up in his flat, Louis makes a beeline to the bathroom, flipping on the lights to check himself in the mirror.

“Fuck! I won’t even have a bruise to show that I was in a pub fight!” he whines, looking at his jaw closely. “He could have aimed better and given me a black eye!”

Harry comes into the room and turns Louis around with his hands on his hips to check his jaw, looking at it closely. “No, I think it’ll bruise. It’s already darkening. And you’ll have your stomach, too, won’t you? Do you want me to check it?”

Louis spins back around quickly. There’s no way Harry is inspecting his belly. “No, it’s fine. I’ll check by myself. Go find something to watch on telly, I’ll be right out,” Louis says, pushing Harry out of the room and shutting the door.

He lifts his shirt and winces to see the dark bruise already forming in the middle of his stomach. He touches the tender skin carefully and grimaces in pain, lowering his shirt and sighing. He run a hand through his hair to fix them a bit and then wets a washcloth to wipe his face, before a quick, final onceover to make sure he’s presentable.

He joins Harry on the couch and snorts at his choice of channel for good measure, making sure not to curl up against Harry even though he’s dying to. He already did in the car, that would be pushing it to do it now.

After the agitation from earlier, Louis feels increasingly tired as he comes down from the adrenaline, and he tells himself he’ll only close his eyes for a few minutes, lulled by the sound of the television and Harry’s quiet chuckles.

When he opens them, the lights and the television are out. Louis rubs his eyes and sits up straighter, his heart speeding up to see Harry sleeping at the other end of the couch, his head leaned back against the back of it, mouth hanging open, breathing soft and deep. They must have fallen asleep roughly at the same time and Niall didn’t bother waking them up.

Across the room, the oven clock shows that it’s 3:14 in the morning in glowing green letters. There isn’t a sound in the flat apart from Harry’s slow breathing. The lights are out, but it’s not dark, the orange glow of the streetlights illuminating the room from outside. The street is quieter than usual and, curious, Louis makes his way to the window. He pushes aside the sheer curtains and smiles as he sees snow falling, a thin layer already lining the pavement and muffling the sound of passing cars. Everything is glittering and glimmering, scintillating under the cold light of the moon, and a fuzzy feeling of peace descends on Louis.

The first snow always made a romantic of him, making him yearn for yuletide sensations, for cosiness and for time to slow down, just for a bit, just so he can catch his breath for a moment and brace himself for what’s coming next.

So he does, he lets his mind go quiet as he watches the snow fall and envelop everything. It’ll be hell in the morning, but he doesn’t have to work, he can stay in bed and watch telly in his pyjamas all day if he wants to, and with Christmas just around the corner, he can look forward to some time off with his family.

And there’s Harry; Harry asleep on his couch, Harry flying to his rescue and getting into a fight for him, Harry so close to being his boyfriend once more that it’s almost just a formality at that point.

Louis shivers. He tears himself from the window and wanders around for a few minutes, looking for a blanket in the dark. He finds one on the floor of his bedroom and quietly pads back to the living room to place it over Harry before going to bed, wondering where the knot in his stomach went.

-

The snow hasn’t stopped when Louis gets up and he grins as he opens the blinds and sees it. He presses his nose to the glass with a laugh, fogging it up and wiping away the condensation before looking out at the white blanket covering everything. He doesn’t love snow enough to go out and play in it, but he likes to observe it from indoors.

He likes the cosiness of it and he makes sure that his day befits the weather. He finds Harry still fast asleep on the couch and he joins him there, going back to the spot he’d vacated a couple of hours earlier, and he slips between a light sleep and half-consciousness through most of the morning, keeping to his end of couch, and for once Louis doesn’t lie to himself and actually enjoy the small rest he’s allotted.

Niall wakes him up by dropping a bottle of shampoo in the shower and cursing out loud. It jostles Harry awake, too, and they exchange sheepish, sleepy grins when their gazes meet.

“Hey,” Harry croaks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to sleep.” He stretches, obviously in pain from knots caused by a night on the beat up couch.

“It’s okay. You couldn’t have left, it’s snowing like crazy outside.”

With a small smile, Harry gets up and walks over to the window, pushing the curtain aside. Louis joins him, their shoulders brushing as he stands by his side.

“I love snow,” Harry says, a dreamy note colouring his voice. “We should go play in it today.”

“No way. I hate being cold and you can’t afford to catch a cold with the big gig coming up. We’re staying in and watching movies.”

There’s a pause. “You don’t have to keep me over if you don’t want to.”

Louis bites his lip. “I want to. Besides, I can’t send you out there in the storm, you’ll catch your death.” Stepping away from the window, Louis pushes Harry towards the kitchen. “Go make us breakfast, now.”

After rummaging through the pantry and refrigerator, Harry manages to find what he needs to make them pancakes and Louis enthusiastically assists him in the preparation, ignoring Niall’s jokes that he’ll manage to ruin them just by standing by Harry’s side and looking at the bowl.

Niall’s jokes, it turns out, accompany them all day long, and Louis would never admit it, but he enjoys them thoroughly. The dynamic between the three of them is actually fun, something he’d have never predicted. Niall and Harry get along like two peas in a pod, especially when it comes to cracking jokes at Louis’ expense and mocking him, and he lets it slide only because he loves the attention just this side of too much.

They order a pizza halfway through the day and well into the third movie they watch, and by that time Louis has shifted from sitting squarely on the middle seat of the couch, sandwiched between his friends, to leaning into Harry’s side—just a bit, just enough to satisfy him while also looking like it’s unintentional. Harry’s arm is over the back of the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, and from time to time, Louis realises he’s staring at his endless legs and he has to look away quickly, completely confused with the plot of the movie. It’s embarrassing.

The snow finally lets up around nightfall and a game of heads or tails sends Harry out to venture for beer, and he makes a show of acting frozen when he comes back, but the colour in his cheeks and the twinkle in his eyes tells a different tale. Like a proper countryside boy, Harry loves winter, loves the bite of the cold air and Louis knew, in a way, that sending him outside was a reward rather than a curse.

Actually, it turns into a curse for Louis when Harry jumps back on the couch and wedges his frozen feet under Louis’ thigh like they always did to each other when they were younger. Before he can stop it, Louis ruffles Harry’s hair fondly and the smile Harry gives him in return is enough to make him feel faint.

A beer turns into a second beer turns into a third and by the time Louis uncaps his fourth, he notices that it’s almost midnight and that Harry has officially spent twenty-four hours with him, the longest they’ve been together since the break-up.

“Oi, Styles!” Louis calls as he makes his way to the living room, bringing the boys’ bottles with him. “You’ve been here a whole day now.”

“Is that a problem? I don’t see you throwing me out.” The alcohol has taken the defensive edge out of Harry’s voice. Louis likes it and hates it at the same time.

Louis reclaims his spot on the couch, leaning almost heavily into Harry, now. He’ll worry about it later, if he remembers to. “I don’t see you asking to leave, either.”

“Why leave when the company’s good?”

Rolling his eyes and clicking his tongue, Louis smacks Harry’s thigh. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Hey, I just like to make people feel good. It’s why people love me and why they think you’re abrasive.”

Niall bursts out laughing and Louis smacks his thigh. “I’m not abrasive! I’m assertive.” Louis sticks up his nose for good measure.

“Try control freak.”

Narrowing his eyes at Harry, Louis is overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him. He swallows. “Says the subby bottom to the top.”

It’s Harry’s turn to burst out laughing. “What has our sex life got to do with this?”

A fire lights up in Louis’ stomach when he hears Harry say ‘our’. He shifts and leans into him even more, hoping it’s subtle enough that Harry will think nothing of it.

“Well, when you’re stuck topping because your partner hasn’t got what it takes to top, you can’t be blamed for being controlling.”

Harry gasps, only partly for show. “Who says I haven’t got what it takes?”

“Have you ever?”

“Have you ever let me?”

Louis chuckles. “Yeah, once. That was all I needed to know.”

“It was my first time, though. Don’t you think I’ve picked up some moves in the past year I’ve spent with a girl?”

“Please,” Louis says with a snort, his breath short, his stomach sailing a stormy sea. He takes a long swig of beer. “Are you trying to tell me you think sex with a girl and sex with a lad is the same?”

“How would you know?” Niall interjects and Louis is a second away from turning the question back on him when he remembers. He bites his tongue.

“Yeah, how would you? You’re the only one in this room who’s never been with a girl,” Harry continues.

“I don’t need to put my hand in a meat grinder to know I won’t like it, though.”

“So, at least admit that you can’t assume I’ll be a bad top based on that one time you tested it when I was 17.”

“All I see is you being all talk and no action,” Louis replies, raising his eyebrows.

Throwing his head back, Harry finishes his beer in one go, his throat working up and down, sending sparks through Louis’ body as he watches. Still dazed from the sight, his brain is half a second late on keeping up with what’s happening and he misses how Harry jumps to his feet and picks him up, struggling a bit to throw him over his shoulder.

It’s only when Louis is upside down and being carried out of the living room that he feebly protests, just for show, just to encourage Harry. Inside, he’s on fire.

Niall is protesting loudly about sex while he’s there to hear and Louis gives him two thumbs up before Harry turns inside his bedroom and shuts the door, throwing him down on the bed when they’re alone.

With a giggle of delight, Louis sprawls on the bed, the alcohol making him feel loose and giddy. One more beer and he’d probably be doing something embarrassing like singing ‘I’m about to get laid, I’m about to get laid!’

“So, are you going to put your money where your mouth is?” he says instead, grinning.

“I didn’t know you were a gold digger, now,” Harry replies, a wolfish smile on his face, devouring Louis with his eyes.

Louis snorts. “What else could I possibly be?”

A small part of him is bristled by the accusation, Harry’s words reminding him too vividly of the comments he’d seen on Tumblr, but, sometimes, he has to have priorities. In this case, the priority is to get laid. He can have pride later.

Harry climbs on the bed, on all fours, and crawls over Louis, grinning all the while.

“Are you done talking?” Harry asks, sitting heavily on Louis’ thighs.

Louis lifts an eyebrow, his hands stroking Harry’s thighs. “Make me.”

A second passes, like time is taking in a sharp breath, and then Harry is diving in, pressing a bruising kiss to Louis’ lips, pinning him against the mattress with his weight, and it’s a wild kiss, all teeth and bites, and bruising fingers, and Louis feels like a teenager again with his head spinning and his heart racing out of control.

Clothes are teared off and there’s no caution with Harry’s undoubtedly designer shirt; this time, it joins the rest on the floor without ceremony. It’s insane, Louis hasn’t been this desperate since his first experiences with Aiden, he’s already hard just from making out, but the prospect of having Harry inside of him is overpowering and intoxicating.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, never-ending kisses between undulating bodies, and Louis almost replies ‘why’ when Harry asks if he’s got what they need. He motions vaguely at his bedside table and whines at the loss of warmth when Harry moves away.

Louis hisses a gasp when Harry presses a first finger in him, the first he’s had in nearly three months, now, and bloody Harry with his bloody thick fingers, Louis needs a moment to collect himself, but of course Harry won’t give it to him, this isn’t what this is about and they both know it, so Louis grips the sheets and relaxes his body, letting Harry in one finger at a time, opening up physically so much easier than emotionally.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, voice rough, and it occurs to Louis that Harry hasn’t done that in almost two years. A surge of love fills Louis and he smiles at him, nodding.

“Y-yeah, keep going, I’m doing splendidly.”

It’s not enough for Harry, though, he’s not convinced, and he makes Louis moan in surprise when he takes his cock in his mouth, suckling on it shallowly as he keeps opening him up. His blowjob technique still hasn’t much improved, but Louis is in no state to pay attention to it beyond ‘warm hot wet perfect wow’.

It’s hard not to push his hips up, he’s scared of choking Harry, so Louis grabs a hold of his curls and pulls his head up and away. “You’ve got a job to do, Styles,” he says when Harry looks at him questioningly, his lips swollen and red, glistening with spit.

They’re up to three fingers, now, and Louis squirms, needing wanting dying for more, and it must show in his eyes because Harry gently removes them to move on. His hands are trembling as he unwraps and puts on the condom, and Louis is hypnotised; if he ignores the tattoos, it’s like he’s travelled back in time.

“I’ll just…” Harry mumbles, some of his cocky confidence from earlier gone as he lines up between Louis’ legs.

“If this is how you are with a girl there’s nothing to br—” Louis begins, the words getting stuck in his throat as Harry pushes in. Louis’ mouth falls open on a silent moan when Harry doesn’t stop until he’s buried in to the hilt.

“You were saying?” he asks, already breathless, and Louis digs his fingernails in his biceps with a grunt.

“You took me by surprise. It doesn’t count.”

Louis’ words finally have the effect he was hoping for and Harry begins thrusting in roughly, snapping his hips hard enough to move Louis up the bed. Louis scrambles around for purchase, for something to hold on to, but he finds nothing and resorts to wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck, holding him close, clinging to him, breathing out sharp little moans with every movement of his hips. Even with his legs tight around Harry’s waist and his arms around his neck, Louis still doesn’t feel close enough to him and he pulls him down, changing the intensity of Harry’s thrusts, making them deeper, driving Louis crazy.

Harry wasn’t just bragging when he said he’d improved after his months with Elsie. His body has changed, too, through training and growing up, and Louis would venture as far as saying that he might be the best he’s ever had. He’d never admit it, but it’s there. And it’s terrifying.

Louis holds back, hyperaware that Niall is on the other side of the door, so he buries his face in Harry’s neck to muffle his noises, and he’s afraid Harry might think he’s not enjoying it because he’s too quiet. Louis has never been quiet. Then again, Harry, too, is quiet, only letting out grunts, his face contorted in concentration, and Louis is overcome with fondness. He strokes Harry’s back almost lovingly a few times before he catches himself at it.

“I don’t see you showing me your new skills,” Louis says, hating every word as it comes out.

It spurs Harry on, though, and in an instant he’s pulling himself up, using Louis’ legs as leverage to drive into him with more force; there’s no tenderness, there, no sweet love-making. It’s exactly what Louis needed.

Taking his cock in his hands, Louis starts pumping it, trying to match Harry’s movements. He arches his back off the bed, mewling and moaning, his entire body shaken with tremors, and Harry slows down, making every drag a torture, making Louis’ toes curl, and when Harry pushes in and then some more, making figure-eights, Louis comes with a cry.

In a daze, Louis smiles as Harry keeps fucking him, still riding the aftershock, still blissfully enjoying everything. He rolls his hips and clenches around Harry, relishing the moans it draws from his sinful lips and—speaking of his lips, Louis hooks a hand on the back of his neck and pulls him down, kissing him messily.

“Come on, rock star,” he says against Harry’s lips, “come inside of me.”

It’s only a matter of seconds after that, Harry’s body tensing and then trembling against him, and Louis hums happily as he strokes Harry’s hair through his orgasm.

Harry pulls out rapidly and discards the condom, rolling on his back, his wide hands splayed on his chest, catching his breath. For a second, Louis considers curling up against Harry’s side. It’s followed by an almost immediate sense of shame and he shifts away.

It’s shame that he let himself enjoy it, shame that he once again got in bed with his ex, shame that he’s caving in and that he really, stupidly wants Harry back. It’s shame that he’s so weak and shame that he’s torturing Harry and shame that he’s feeling shameful for being all of that, for being ambivalent and undecided and so fucking needy.

Harry shifts to cuddle up against Louis and he flinches away, too harshly. Harry sits up.

“What’s up? Did I hurt you?” he asks, concern and worry lacing his voice.

“N-no. It’s fine. It was good.” A beat. “You should leave.”

“Louis…” Harry begins, but Louis cuts him.

“I just need to be alone for a bit, okay? Please. It’s nothing you did, it’s all on me.”

Harry sighs and Louis shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the effects of his issues on him. “Don’t keep me out, please. Talk to me.”

“It’s fine, Harry, really.”

“Louis—”

Louis sighs and snaps. “I told you it wasn’t you! But I enjoyed it and I hate that I enjoyed it, okay?! So I need some time alone to think about it. That’s all. I’m not freaking out because you accidentally raped me or hurt me, I just have issues and it sucks, but this is part of the package, the nice arse comes wrapped in several layers of fucked up psyche.”

There’s complete silence in the room for a moment and Louis sighs, pressing his face in his pillow, trying hard to will the situation away. Why can’t he just enjoy bloody good sex without wanting to crawl out of his skin afterwards? He can’t possibly be that messed up. It’s impossible. Sex cannot be ruined for him.

“Okay,” Harry eventually says, getting up. “I’ll call you in the morning, okay? We could go out for brunch?”

“Hm, maybe.” Louis rubs his face a few times, forcing himself to sit up and put something on to walk Harry out. He wraps his pilling bathrobe around himself and waits as Harry gets dressed, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable. “It’s not against you. I never keep… men over.”

Harry tenses for a second before sighing, a long, painful-sounding sigh. “Ouch. So I’m just another man.”

“It’s not what I meant,” Louis replies, voice flat from too many conflicting emotions.”

“But it’s what you said.” Harry finishes buttoning up his shirt. “Don’t bother, I know where the door is,” he snaps before walking out of the room, slamming the door shut.

Not long after, Louis hears the front door slamming as well and he sinks down on his bed, burying his face in his hands.

There is something fundamentally wrong with him when he’s got a man like Harry ready to give him the moon and he panics whenever they have sex. Whenever they get close, and open, and vulnerable together.

It’s possible that Louis doesn’t trust him, still, after all he’s done to prove he was serious about trying again.

It’s possible Louis is the arsehole, in the situation. Maybe even from the start, when he refused to pick up after Harry broke up. If he had, everything would have been fixed almost two years ago, before it even got broken. Maybe it’s his fault, he’s the one ruining what would be the best relationship in his life because he’s hung up on a two years old grudge.

And, possibly, maybe, Harry will stop trying, soon. Even if he said he’d wait, he might give up. Louis wouldn’t blame him, he’d give up on himself, too. Hell, he’s done it before.

Louis might be the jerk in the story, after all.

Chapter Text

Louis’ suspicion that he might be the villain in his own story is confirmed when he tells Perrie what he’s done with Harry and she hangs up on him after saying she was done.

It’s possible Louis has fucked up too much to be excused, this time. It’s not fair that when things are finally starting to look up in one aspect of his life, when he’s finally beginning to build a possible future for himself, the rest goes to hell. He can’t seem to balance it out; when he was with Harry he’d settled for shit studies so he could focus on his boy, but now that he’s focusing on his future, he might lose Harry.

Knocking on Harry’s door, Louis’ stomach is a nest of snakes. He hasn’t texted him beforehand so it’s likely he’s not home. It would be so much simpler if he weren’t home. Louis could go back to his avoiding ways and he could ignore the problem until it resolved on its own. It was really just an impulse to cross the city and try to make amends, completely inspired by the guilt that had been driving him insane for the better part of the last week. He really shouldn’t be there.

Louis is about to turn and leave when the door unlocks, then opens, revealing a shirtless Harry wearing trackies and trainers, sweaty hair stuck to his forehead, face red and glistening. His eyes widen for a second when he sees Louis.

“Sorry, I was on the treadmill,” he says, slightly out of breath. “Hm, come in, come in.”

Louis kicks his boots by the door to get the wet, melting snow off them before stepping in, discarding his coat and boots before following Harry inside. His apartment is warmer than Louis keeps his own, cosy like an embrace, and a fire roars in the hearth.

“I’ll just hop in the shower, I’ll be quick,” Harry says before hurrying out of the room.

Louis still hasn’t said a single thing.

He sinks into one of the plump couches and brings his legs up to hug them to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. He only stays there for a few minutes before he grows restless and gets up, heading for the stove. Pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, he turns on the fan and lights one, closing his eyes as he takes the first drag. He can feel his nerves easing, feel his worries slipping away, and he sighs, blowing up the smoke towards the fan.

When he opens his eyes, Harry is staring at him, eyes wide, hair dripping on the shoulders of his white undershirt.

“You smoke, now?” he asks, frowning.

“When I’m stressed.” Louis looks around for an ashtray. “You got anything for—” he motions to his cigarette and Harry shakes his head, thinks for a moment, then fetches a ramequin from a cabinet.

“I had no idea,” he says, not quite looking at Louis.

“I’m not exactly proud.” Louis licks his lips. “I came to apologise,” he says, feeling like a coward for only being courageous with a cigarette between his fingers.

“Okay.” Harry is restless as he talks, walking over to the fridge to pour himself a glass of orange juice, then going over to the pantry for a snack, then fetching a plate for it, then going back for his glass, then settling down at the kitchen island before getting up again and opening a window, the biting, chilly wind entering the room making Louis shiver. “I’m listening.”

Louis waits until he’s sat quietly before he takes a long drag of his cigarette, blows it out, and speaks. “I was a jerk to you the other night. You gave me mind-blowing sex and I kicked you out like you don’t matter. You matter.”

“I’m getting tired of…” Harry trails off, runs a hand through his hair, sighs. “We shouldn’t have sex again, not until you’ve made up your mind about us.”

Louis swallows thickly. “It makes sense. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Harry nods, eyes focused on his snack, not looking at Louis. “It was good for me, too, just… too upsetting. Afterward.”

“I have issues and it’s unfair that I’m making you pay for them.”

“Yes, it is.”

Louis walks over to the sink to run his cigarette under the tap before throwing it out in the garbage can. He shuts the window and leans against the counter, wrapping his arms around his torso.

“Do you forgive me?” he asks, not quite able to look at Harry.

Harry gets up without answering, walking over to the hall. Louis can guess what’s coming: Harry will bring him his coat and push him out unceremoniously because he’s finally made him snap and decide that he was done trying. Louis has officially fucked up beyond repair.

Instead, Harry comes back with something clutched in his hand. He places it down on the counter. Louis walks over to see and frowns. It’s a gold keyring in the shape of a thimble with a key attached to it.

“What—”

“The other day, I… I was going to give you this. It’s a key to my flat, so you can…” Harry shrugs. “You can have it, if you want. I’m not sure anymore if you do.”

Louis’ breath gets stuck in his throat and he coughs, eyes wide, heart beating wildly. “It’s… hm… why the thimble?”

Harry blushes, visibly embarrassed. Louis regrets asking, and he regrets anything he might have done without being aware that made Harry ashamed of his mind and its quirky ideas.

“Well it’s just…” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “my pick up line for you was that you looked like Peter Pan, and… and when Wendy gives him a thimble, she says it’s a kiss, so…” he trails off, shifting on the stool.

Louis picks up the keyring with delicate fingers, eyes wide. “It’s…” he clears his throat. “You’re sure you want me to have a key to your place?”

“I was sure.” The rest of his sentence is implied, but Louis hears him loud and clear. “I also got, hm…” he opens his other hand and lets another keyring tumble on the counter, this time shaped like an acorn.

“The kiss Peter gives to Wendy,” Louis replies, voice rough. He clears his throat. “For my key. I—I don’t have a double, y-yet,” he stammers, overwhelmed by the commitment implied.

“Only if you want to.”

Louis looks up. “I want to. I meant it, I’m truly sorry. I want to… to get better, to treat you better. You deserve so much… better,” he finishes lamely, looking down once more.

Harry swallows, licks his lips. “I forgive you. But I was serious, earlier. No more sex. We can’t handle it.”

With a nod, Louis picks up the keyrings in his hand, stroking them with a delicate finger. “They’re gorgeous.”

“I had them handmade,” Harry replies, getting up from his stool to bring his empty glass in the sink.

It’s enough for Louis to understand that they’re solid gold, not gold-plated. He puts them down carefully. “You were busy before I got here, I’ll just… I’ll go.”

“You don’t have to. I wasn’t really busy, I was just working out. We can…” Harry shrugs, dismissive, bracing himself for rejection, “we could watch a movie, order pizza, just… hang out.”

“You’d cancel your workout?” Louis jokes and he waits, worried, to see if Harry will laugh.

When he hears him giggle and say he feels naughty, something inside of Louis loosens and he breathes out a sigh of relief. Once more, they’re okay. Miraculously, Harry has forgiven him. He hasn’t lost him, yet.

Pizza and a movie turns into three movies, the two of them sticking to his end of the couch. The conversations are a bit stilted, a bit stiff, but Louis can feel that they’re working towards fixing whatever he broke the other night. Louis even dares gently mocking Harry when he makes a show of putting logs in the fire, explaining what he’s doing like he’s on a home improvement show on telly.

The new logs make the room that much warmer and Louis feels fuzzy and blurry at the edges, sinking lower and lower on the couch as their third movie starts losing its coherence the more Louis’ consciousness slips out of his reach. He shuts his eyes for a second only, he swears, but when he opens them, he jolts upright because he has No Idea where he is.

Looking around in a panic, he sees the faint shape of a lamp in the dark and he fumbles until he can turn it on, bathing the room in a warm, orange light. It’s richly furnished, the mattress like a cloud under Louis, and once the wave of alarm recedes, he realises he’s in Harry’s guest room.

Sinking back on the pillow, Louis rubs his eyes. He must have fallen asleep and Harry carried him to bed and—Louis checks under the covers and blushes. He must have undressed him down to his pants before putting him to bed.

A part of him is disappointed that Harry put him in the guest room instead of his own, but—he understands. His phone is charging on the nightstand, another of Harry’s attentions, and Louis picks it up to check the time. It’s a little after 4.

He needs to go.

The urge to leave is so overwhelming that he stumbles out of bed and puts his clothes on hurriedly, feeling trapped and panicked and like everything moved too fast even though nothing happened. He just—he wasn’t prepared to wake up in Harry’s flat and it’s terrifying, it’s—too much. Much too much. He needs to leave.

He makes his way through the dark house, hands stretched out to feel the walls and avoid bumping into anything. Going through the kitchen, he catches a glimmer of something on the island—the keyring. He grabs it quickly and then puts his winter clothes on, walking out before he’s completely wiped the sleep from his eyes. He uses the key Harry gave him to lock the door behind him, not missing the irony.

Louis is alone in the streets and there’s a fine, unmarred layer of snow covering everything. It creaks underneath the soles of his boots with every step he takes. Looking up, Louis sees that the sky is greyed by clouds, easily confused with the ones formed by his breath whenever he exhales. The air is warmer than it was earlier in the day and everything is still. It’ll snow again before he gets home, he ventures.

The door to the Tube station is locked when he gets there and he gasps, only now remembering that of course the Tube closes during the night. It’s not even five o’clock in the morning, yet, he’s an idiot. He can’t afford the cab fare home, that’s for sure. He’s stuck in Kensington until 5:25, according to the timetable on the door. Looking around at the closed shops, Louis lets out a sigh, knowing he’ll have to walk back to Harry’s and admit defeat. It’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t wake him up when he gets back inside.

Finishing a spin on himself, his eyes land on the McDonald’s across the street, every light inside of it on, garish and loud in the quiet of the night. Checking both sides before crossing – uselessly – Louis walks up to the restaurant and enters, smiling at the half-asleep girl at the till.

“Morning,” Louis says, gazing up at the menu: breakfast. He could do breakfast.

He orders for himself and, at the last second, orders something for Harry, too. If he’ll wake him up by mistake at 5am, he should at least be bearing gifts, even if the gift is a cold breakfast sandwich.

The trek back to Harry’s flat feels more like a walk of shame and Louis munches on his sandwich mournfully. He’s such an idiot. He is the biggest idiot to ever have the audacity to dare walk the Earth. He’s a shame to the human race, is what he is. He can’t even sneak away properly.

Louis tries to be as quiet as possible as he unlocks the door and undresses once inside. He tiptoes to the kitchen, placing the bag with Harry’s sandwich in the oven to try and keep it warm, before going back to bed. He’s shivering from the cold outside and he curls up under the duvet, hiding completely underneath it and closing his eyes, praying for sleep to come.

He wakes up when something heavy lands on top of him. He lets out a loud “ouch!” and startles when the mass crushing him yelps in surprise.

“Louis?!”

Louis groans, pushing Harry off him and emerging from underneath the duvet. “What the fuck, Harry?!”

“I thought you’d left! I heard you leave in the middle of the night!”

Louis pales and he swallows, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “I, hm… I got a sudden craving for Maccies… I brought you some, it’s in the oven.”

Harry gets off him and off the bed, eyeing him incredulously. “You left at 4 in the morning to go get Maccies?”

“Hm, yes. I couldn’t sleep, I was hungry.” Louis shrugs, looks down. “The Tube was closed.”

“I see.” Harry’s voice is ice cold.

“No, okay, listen, please,” Louis sits up and reaches for Harry’s hand, clinging to it. “I panicked. I don’t usually sleep over, not anywhere. I… I’m sorry. I came back, didn’t I?”

Harry clicks his tongue. “Because you had nowhere else to go.”

“Y-yes, but also because I felt bad. I want to do better, I swear I do. I’m trying.”

There’s a moment, a breath during which Louis is convinced everything is ruined, convinced that Harry will walk out of the room and ask Louis to leave. It’s what he deserves, after all.

It passes.

“So you were the kid who cried at sleepovers, weren’t you?” Harry eventually says, sitting back on the bed, not letting go of Louis’ hand.

Relief washes over Louis like a shore break, nearly making him sway. He lets out a shy little hint of a laugh. “Mama’s boy, through and through.”

Harry nods, lacing their fingers. “What did you get me?”

“A sausage, egg and cheese bagel. I figured the bagel wouldn’t be quite as disgusting as the English muffin when reheated.” Louis sighs. “You’re not mad at me?”

“You came back. I…” he pauses, his brows furrowed in thought. “All this time, I thought it was only because you couldn’t forgive me, but… you have stuff to work through, too, don’t you?”

Louis nods emphatically. “I do, yes. And I’m trying, I really am.”

“Okay, so… you came back. That’s… that’s good.” He licks his lips. “Thanks for the sandwich. I… I have a lunch meeting, but you can stay here while I’m gone, make yourself at home. Eat whatever you want, no need to go out for food.”

Louis’ stomach twists at the accusation, but it immediately eases when Harry winks. “I won’t stay, I have stuff to do at home, but thanks for the offer.”

“All right, hm, I’ll go eat that sandwich you brought back, if you want to shower you can, and I can give you a ride home before my meeting.”

Acting fast, before he can change his mind, Louis leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Harry’s lips. “Thanks, love,” he whispers against them, stroking Harry’s cheek before moving back. “A shower sounds good.”

Two hours later, Harry stops the car in front of Louis’ flat and turns to face him. “Tomorrow’s your last day in London before you go to Donny, yeah?”

“No, second to last, I’m leaving right after my shift on the 23rd so I’m home for my birthday.” Louis can’t hold back his grin, he’s beside himself to be going home for almost a whole week.

“Are you free tomorrow night? We could—last night was fun, maybe we could repeat it? I can’t go home until the morning of the 25th because of Top of the Pop.”

Louis nods. “Yeah, sure, I’ll call you when I get out of work so we can plan.”

Harry smiles, wide and bright. “Great. See you tomorrow, Lou.”

He doesn’t kiss him so Louis does it, closing the gap between them with a quick kiss before climbing out. “Thanks for the ride.”

Louis stays on the curb to watch Harry drive away, a happy little smile tugging at his lips. Things are looking up.

-

Things are absolutely not looking up. What’s the opposite of looking up? Crashing and burning? The apocalypse? That might be it. The bloody apocalypse.

Thanks to Harry’s ride, Louis got to work on time, for once, and that put him in a good mood, making him chipper and bouncy, much more than is allowed when working retail. Christmas is in three days, his birthday in two, and by this time tomorrow, he’ll be playing with his sisters or talking with his mum, and before that he gets to go on a date with Harry, and things are spectacular until his manager calls him in his office as he’s headed back from his break.

“Louis? You’re off until the 27th, yeah?” he asks, making Louis sit.

“Hm, yeah. I’m going home for Christmas and my birthday.” Louis sits on his hands so he won’t wring them. He has a bad feeling.

“Yeah, hm… there’s been a mix-up. We allowed too many people to take off for Christmas and… I hate to tell you that, it’s just… you have the least seniority of all those who get off, so… I’m sorry, I can’t give you off.”

There’s a buzzing in Louis’ ears and his stomach feels like it’s filled with ice. “I asked three months ago, though. I was the first to ask.” He doesn’t recognise his own voice.

“I’m sorry, Louis. I truly am. We’re closed on the 25th, so you get that day off? But we need you on the 24th and the 26th.”

Louis swallows thickly, once, and again, swallowing back the urge to shout that he’s quitting. He can’t afford to quit. He depends on this job. He swallows again, this time against the bile that’s rising in his throat.

“I don’t have time to go home for a single day… it’s not worth the train fare.”

His manager winces and he looks truthfully sorry. It’s the only thing that saves him from being spit on, really. Without another word, Louis gets up and leaves his manager’s office, ignoring his calls of Louis’ name, to go lock himself in the restroom.

Louis holds it together until his mum picks up, and then he bursts out crying, choking out sobs as she coos softly to try and calm him down. He doesn’t have much time, though, and he has to regain his composure as fast as he lost it to go back on the floor. Promising to call her again when he gets out, Louis stands in front of the mirror and splashes cold water on his face to try and erase the splotches on his cheeks or the redness of his eyes. All he manages is to wet his hair.

The worst is that he can’t call in sick and still go to Doncaster. He has no sick days; he’d been saving his paid time off all year for Christmas, scrapping together every hour he managed to gain despite working part-time, and he’d collected enough to spend all of Christmastime at home and avoid the Boxing Day sales, it was perfect. That’ll teach him to get to work in a good mood.

Louis finishes his shift like a zombie, snapping at customers and coworkers alike, trying to spread his misery as much as he can just for the satisfaction of ruining someone’s too cheery Christmas greetings; they just bought a bloody Topshop gift card, they have no right to be proud of giving a lame present like that.

Getting out of work like a hurricane, not greeting anyone, Louis storms back home in a fury. He feels like a black hole, like he’s draining everyone’s happiness out of them, and he feels alive. He’s throbbing with anger, his disappointment mutated for self-preservation into something far more destructive, like a fire licking at his insides, making him shake under its strength.

Niall is packing when Louis gets home and he ignores it, as well as his protests, dragging him out and to a pub. He doesn’t even take the time to change out of his work clothes, he just grabs Niall’s arm, trailing melting snow all over the flat, and pulls him along.

They find the nearest hole in the wall, and it’s only four in the afternoon on a weekday so it’s filled with the regulars, a bunch about as miserable as Louis feels, and he feels such a strong kinship with them that he almost buys everyone a round. They, too, will most likely spend Christmas alone. He might come back there, come to think of it, so he’s not quite so alone.

Niall doesn’t ask questions, he doesn’t hold back Louis in his drinking, but he doesn’t follow him. For every drink he takes, Louis downs two, and after much coaxing he gets the explanation out of Louis, prompting him to start complaining just as loudly about how unfair it is. They commiserate about corporate heartlessness and Niall even offers to stay in London rather than fly to Mullingar, but of course Louis cannot accept that. Besides, the black hole where his heart used to be wants him to stay miserable over Christmas so it can be sustained and grow bigger, swallowing more and more of his sanity.

When they finally stumble out, Niall is sloshed, but Louis is plastered, barely able to hold himself up, and it’s Niall who has to half-carry him upstairs and into bed, fully dressed, where Louis passes out blissfully.

-

He wakes up, not as hungover as he expected to be considering how much he doesn’t remember drinking the night before. Bleary-eyed, feeling like he was left out in the sun to dry, he stumbles out of his room and finds that he’s alone. There’s a note on the table from Niall saying he left, wishing him a happy Christmas and assuring him that the pantry and refrigerator are as well-stocked as they can afford. Migrating from the table to the couch, Louis slumps there, kicking off his clothes from the day before to lie in his underwear. He closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep. It doesn’t even cross his mind that he’s expected at work at the bistro.

-

He spends most of the day in and out of consciousness, and then sleeps the night through, and it only occurs to him to check his phone the next morning, after a shower made him feel slightly closer to something belonging to the human species. It’s too early to be up, but he has to be at work at 9, and it’s a holiday so commuting will be slowed down. He hates his life.

He has a few missed calls and a voicemail from his mother, which sounds more concerned than upset that he didn’t call when he said he would. He’ll defuse that easily.

The messages from Harry as less indulgent, spanning several of the hours during which Louis was drinking to drown his feelings.

Hey are we still on for tonight?

Louis? Call me please, I’m about to head out to buy groceries I want to know what you want to eat.

Is pot pie okay with you? I feel like making a pot pie.

Okay so we’re eating pot pie, I’ll have red wine to go with it, it’ll feel wonderfully ye olde English whatever. Call me when you get out of work I’ll pick you up at home.

Louis?

Your phone goes straight to voicemail, are you okay?

The pot pie is in the oven in any case

I don’t want to assume you’re doing this on purpose but I’m feeling a bit insulted right now. Don’t push me out once more, we’d made such good progress.

I was concerned about your safety earlier but now I’m just mad at you. I know you check your phone more often than you breathe so like are you ignoring me or something? And rejecting my calls? You wouldn’t go this long without charging it, I know you.

And then a final one, a day later, sent while Louis was marinating in the alcohol from the night before and his phone had run out of battery on the floor, in the heap of his clothes: I’m done.

Louis curses out loud and scrambles to write back to Harry, fingers shaking.

Hey Harry I’m so sorry I got some shit news at work and I snapped and spent the night drinking with Niall, I got drunk and my phone ran out of battery and I spent all of yesterday being sick please please please call me I’m still in London I can’t go to Donny please

As soon as he’s sent it, Louis rings Harry, the call going to voicemail after a single ring. Harry is screening his calls. It’s all happening too quick, Louis never meant to hurt Harry, he just—he should know better than to act spontaneously, he always ends up messing up when he does.

Louis spends the day in a state of panic, trying Harry’s phone whenever he can hide at work, until he judges he’s probably recording Top of the Pop and Louis is crossing the line into psychopathic stalker. He smokes every time he gets a break at work, trying to loosen his nerves, but it’s only making him feel light-headed and jittery. He doesn’t dare calling him mum, he doesn’t want to be lectured on his mistakes.

She calls him, though, when he gets home from a ten hour shift at work, and he considers not answering for a second before he does. He hasn’t even pressed the phone to his ear that an explosion of sounds pours out of the receiver.

“Happy birthday!” his family yells in unison, and Louis’ heart sinks.

He’d forgotten his own bloody birthday.

And then he bursts out in tears and spends the entire call crying, every ounce of sadness he’d tried to ignore in the last two days crashing down on him. The phone call moves on to Skype after a while, and Louis spends a solid two hours being carried around the house through a laptop by the twins, and it’s not enough, but it helps. They place him on the floor by the tree and go through the presents for him, shaking whichever has Louis’ name on it, discussing the size and weight, trying to guess with him what it might be.

From time to time, he glances at his phone, but it remains silent.

They don’t hang up so much as Louis’ ancient laptop overheats and shuts down, and he texts his mother to thank her for making his birthday tolerable. It’s only a little after nine, though, and Louis can’t imagine he’ll be able to sleep any time soon. Or at all, really, not when Harry hasn’t texted him back.

Around 10, Louis feels like he’ll lose his mind if he doesn’t find something to do, and on an impulse – his impulsivity, betraying him again – he puts on Love Actually. Maybe, perhaps, if he’s lucky, his favourite movie will make him feel a little less dead inside. Despite his certainty that he wouldn’t sleep, Louis doses off on the couch halfway through the movie, his long day at work and his emotions having drained him entirely.

He’s roughly awakened by the door buzzer, sending his heart racing and up his throat with the shock. He buzzes the person in, hoping against hope that it might be Niall or Perrie; he has no other friends—and isn’t that sad?

Louis opens the door of his flat and freezes as he sees Harry ascending the stairs. Snowflakes are peppered over his perfectly styled hair, and Louis understands Harry came straight out of recording the next day’s television show. He gulps and steps back to let him in, staring with eyes the size of saucers the whole time.

“H-Harry, I—I didn’t ignore you intentionally, I swear!” he blurts out in lieu of greeting him, his blood cold with panic. He catches himself, though, and shakes his head. “Give me your coat, come on, take off your boots, don’t just stand there.”

Harry obeys, and it’s when he hands Louis his scarf that Louis notices he’s shaking. Louis carries his coat to a kitchen chair, hanging it over the back, and when he turns back around, Harry is still standing by the door, looking stunning in a deep red silk shirt and black jeans.

“S-sit,” Louis stutters, swallowing thickly.

Harry shakes his head. “I can’t do this anymore,” he lets out, voice weak, eyes downcast. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”

“Do w-what?”

“Being a doormat to your mood swings,” he spits out, eyes travelling from the floor to Louis, staring at him. “I thought I had the patience to let you work through your issues, but I-I don’t. It hurts too much, Louis.”

“Where is this coming from?” Louis’ voice is white with terror. He sits on the closest chair, his knees weak. “You said you’d wait.”

“And I did wait! I waited months! But for every step forward that we take, we take two backwards! It feels like it’s just a game for you!”

“It’s not a game!”

“Then what, is it revenge?! For how I broke up with you?!”

“Do you really think I would be that petty? Is this what you think of me? But you did break up with me, Harry! And it fucked me up!”

“And you think it didn’t fuck me up, too?! You think you’re the only one who went through a heartbreak? Breaking news, I lost my boyfriend, too. And it was my own fault! I didn’t have anyone else to blame, I didn’t have a scapegoat like you did!”

“Exactly! So it’s your job to atone for what you’ve done!” Louis shouts, riled up by Harry’s words. It’s not fair that he’s giving up. He wasn’t supposed to, it wasn’t part of the plan.

“When does it end?” Harry’s voice breaks. “When will you make up your mind?”

“I don’t have a schedule! That’s not how it works! You can’t rush me!”

“I’m not rushing you! I’m saying that the deal doesn’t work for me anymore!” Harry runs a hand through his hair, breaking it free from the product that kept it in place. “It’s killing me! It’s too hard, only having part of you. I… need more.”

“What do you want?” Louis doesn’t recognise his voice; it comes out hoarse and hushed, like he’s been screaming all day.

“I want all of you. I want to be your boyfriend. I want what we used to have.”

Louis lets out a dry laugh. “What we used to have? You mean, me doing everything for you while you sulk and do nothing in return?” He doesn’t mean that, he doesn’t mean that, he doesn’t mean that.

“A second chance, then. I want the chance to show you I can be a good boyfriend. That I can make you happy.”

“The last few months were your second chance and look how you’re treating it.”

“This isn’t a second chance! You’re just—you’re just using me! For money and sex!”

Louis has to laugh at that. “We had sex what, four times? I wouldn’t call that using you. As for money, you’re the one who keeps offering.”

Harry opens his mouth to speak a few times before shaking his head. He stalks over to Louis and for a second, he feels like Harry is about to punch him and he braces himself for it. Instead, Harry grabs his coat and scarf and starts putting them on hastily.

“You know what? Forget it. Just—forget my number. I need—I need to have some self-respect through this.”

Harry’s voice is tight when he speaks, choked up with held back tears, and Louis’ heart shatters at the sound. It sounds just like when he was younger, when he would pout and say he didn’t want Louis to go back to Doncaster, and it’s… it’s not fair.

“Harry, wait,” Louis says, getting up to grab at Harry’s sleeve, his fingers gripping the humid wool of is coat tightly. “Don’t go, please. I don’t want to give up on you. Sit down. I’m listening, I promise.”

Keeping his coat on, Harry sits at the table heavily, rubs his hands over his face. “I can’t do casual sex anymore. I can’t—I can’t always wonder if you’re with someone else when you don’t reply to me. I can’t—I—I’ll never be good enough for you, I know, but… I’m trying so hard to be what you need.”

“This isn’t what it’s about. It’s about… I don’t—” Louis doesn’t know how to phrase it. Every version sounds bad. “I’m scared of how much I was hurt before. Every time it’s fun and like it used to be, I just… all I can think about is how—how much it hurt when it ended the last time, how I want to die when you left me.”

He’s realising things as he speaks, like the pieces of the puzzle are getting into place by themselves. All the fear, all of the uncertainty he’s been feeling, all of the reticence and cautiousness he’s had around Harry, it was fear that it was just all temporary again. That Harry would realise how big of a loser he’s become and get fed up. Or that he’d find someone else, someone at his level, and wouldn’t need Louis anymore.

“Do you think you can ever forgive me?” Harry asks in a breath, eyes wide with fear.

“It’s not about forgiveness, it’s…” Louis sighs. “I’m just scared.”

Reaching across the table, Harry takes Louis’ hand in both of his. They engulf it, and Louis stares, amazed by the difference in size. “I still love you. I never stopped loving you,” Harry says, voice rough. “I know you don’t, it’s okay. But… I do.”

Louis feels like his skin has just shrunk two sizes, he feels too tight in his body, he’s too hot and too cold at the same time, and his heart is struggling to keep up with the rhythm it’s reached. He can’t breathe, Harry still loves him. Despite everything he’s done, despite the distance and the time, he still loves him.

A part of Louis always knew, it takes a besotted boy to endure the way Louis has been treating him, but hearing it—it shakes him to the core.

“It’s why I need to leave,” Harry continues. “Because I want something you can’t give me. And it’s okay, I only have myself to blame, it’s not your fault if I can’t have what we lost. I just… I wanted to wish you a happy birthday in person.” Letting go of Louis’ hand, he fishes in the inside pocket of his coat and takes out an envelope, placing it on the table. “It isn’t much, but—” With a shrug, he gets up. “Happy birthday, Louis. I—I’ll never forget you.”

His voice breaks and he turns quickly, heading for the door.

“Harry!” Louis shouts, ignoring the present, getting up. “Don’t fucking leave me again!”

“Why should I stay? You don’t love me, you don’t want me back. I can’t keep hanging on to your whims, waiting to see if it’s a good day or a bad day for us. I know what I want, do you?”

“I know I don’t want you to leave.” Louis swallows thickly.

“That’s not enough, not anymore. I need—I need more, I’m really sorry, I tried so hard to be good and patient for you, but I need more!” Harry wipes his eye quickly and Louis aches to be the one doing it for him. If Harry starts crying, he’ll break.

Again, Harry turns for the door and Louis yelps, running to go press his back to it, blocking the way. “What do you want me to tell you?! I’m scared to death right now, Harry.”

“What are you scared of? I want to help.”

“Me, you, us… I want this so bad, you have no idea.” Louis feels his throat constricting and he swallows, the tears he’s fighting burning his eyes. “I’m scared that if I don’t say exactly what you want to hear, you’ll walk out and I’ll have lost you again. I can’t lose you again.”

“You can't have it all, Louis. You can't have me hanging on to you while you keep me at a safe distance. I played by your rules, but I have enough self-respect to get out of this before I'm ashamed of myself.”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I never wanted you to feel like this, I swear! I was just… I still am, I’m just so scared.”

“So… what happens?” Harry bites his lip and he looks so much like his young self in that moment that Louis’ heart skips a beat.

“F-fuck, I still love you,” Louis stutters out, eyes wide, breath laboured. He’s pressed flat against the door, braced against it as though he might fall.

Harry sways, red splotches appearing on his cheeks as he gasps shakily, like a tearless sob. “Y-you do?”

“I never stopped, fuck, Harry, what do you think?!”

“You said you didn’t!”

“I lied, obviously! I lied because I wanted to hurt you, because I’m a petty idiot! Why do you think I’m so scared of you?!”

Harry gets down on his knees in front of Louis and for a shrill second, Louis panics that Harry is about to propose. All he does is take Louis’ hands and press his face against them, and Louis can feel his tears wetting them. It’s possible that Harry’s knees were too weak, not that he wanted to propose. It’s also a lot more logical.

“You still love me…” Harry chokes out, looking up at Louis through wet eyelashes, his eyes greener than Louis has seen them in months.

“I never stopped,” Louis says, freeing one of his hands to run it through Harry’s hair. “How could I?”

“I broke your heart. You should have.”

“You broke your own, too. And you couldn’t crumble like I did. You had to carry on.” Louis swallows, his heart swelling; it’s as though admitting he still loved Harry has broken the levee on his protective instincts towards the younger boy. “I don’t know how you did it.”

Harry shrugs, sniffling shakily. “Can we be boyfriends again, please?”

It’s the question that’s been hanging between them for months, unsaid and yet weighing on them heavily, tinting every one of their interactions. It’s the make or break moment, the big crossroads, the moment Louis will look back on in 25 years and whether he remembers it fondly or not depends on a single word.

There isn’t any alternative, there has never been, not since he laid eyes on that curly mop of hair and those gangly limbs in Heathrow a lifetime ago. It can only ever be Harry&Louis, ampersand and no spacing. This is his rom com moment, it’s Colin Firth learning Portuguese to propose and it’s running through an airport terminal; it’s Darcy in the rain, Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta at the school fair, it’s Kate Winslet saying ‘if you jump, I jump’ and it’s Julia Roberts being just a girl in love with a boy; if his life were a movie Christian and Satine would be singing ‘Come What May’ as he nods slowly.

The answer comes to him naturally, like loving Harry comes to him naturally: “Yes.”

Shakily, using Louis’ hand as leverage, Harry rises to his feet. The air seems to be crackling with electricity as they stare at each other, the few seconds stretching until it feels like an eternity has gone by since Louis answered.

Louis looks at Harry, at the boy he's cried himself raw over, and he takes in a shaky breath. If his life were a musical, this would be when the main theme is reprised. There'd be an instrumental bridge, a decrescendo of music until the audience is sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting for the orchestra to kick back in.

But there is no orchestra, just him and Harry in his shitty flat, Harry smelling of damp wool and absurdly priced cologne and looking at him like he’s the moon and the stars.

This is it, then. No more games, no more teasing. He wipes his hands on his sweatpants, wishing with all he has that the biggest moment of his life could be lived in better clothes. And then he takes a step forward. Harry sways, again, as if fighting the urge to close the distance between them.

What a great metaphor, actually, he thinks before nodding again. An uncertain smile blooms on Harry's face and Louis rushes forward, rising on his tiptoes to grab the sides of Harry's face and kiss him, hearing the younger boy let out a keening sound against his lips.

"I'm in love with you, I never wanted anything more than to be with you. I thought you knew that,” Louis says against Harry’s lips, talking without censorship, surprised by what he must have known from the beginning without having the courage to face it.

"You could have made it clearer, it'd have saved us a lot of trouble,” Harry replies with a shy laugh and a lopsided smile.

The sight is too much and Louis dives in again, pressing another kiss to Harry’s lips, petting his hair reverently. "You’ve always known I’m stupid. It isn’t news to anyone who knows me." Louis feels like there’s a sob stuck in his throat, like if he isn’t careful he might start crying without meaning to, and he swallows hard, trying to push it all away. "Can you hug me? You know, your hugs? When you crush me against you?"

Harry pulls him into a tight hug, so tight that it makes Louis gasp, and it’s perfect. Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, clinging to him, leaning into him enough for his feet to barely touch the ground, and he buries his face in his neck when he feels Harry’s nose rubbing in his hair.

"I love you, Harry. I'm so sorry about everything I put you through. Can you forgive me?"

Harry tightens his arms, swaying them from side to side. "I love you, too. There's nothing to forgive."

"That's the worst and the best birthday I ever had." Louis forces out a laugh. "You are staying the night, aren't you? You're not going anywhere, right? When do you have to go home?”

"I'm not going anywhere without you,” Harry whispers in his ear before kissing behind it. “I won’t let you spend Christmas here alone.”

"Then let me just lock the door so we can move away from the hall. I'm keeping you, you're too beautiful to let go of, my little kitten."

Louis moves out of Harry’s arm, but he doesn’t miss the way his breath stutters.

"I missed you calling me this,” Harry croaks out. “I… I never thought I’d get to hear it again.”

Louis locks the door and shuts the living room lights, leaving only the moonlight and streetlamps to light the room, casting an eerie feeling in it, as though they moved from reality to a dream.

"I missed so many things. I can't even begin to list them. But..." Louis trails off, moving closer to Harry, taking his hands in his. "Please, Hazza, can you kiss me?"

A bright smile appears on Harry’s face, visible even in the gloom, and he places his broad hands on Louis’ jaw, stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs softly. “Yes, I can,” he breathes out and leans down to kiss Louis.

It’s soft, hesitant, almost like a second first kiss. It’s too soft, dangerously soft, and it makes Louis’ barely held back sob bubble to the surface and break free. Louis clings to Harry, gripping his biceps like a drowning man, and he shuts his eyes tightly against the tears that try to fall. "I love you so much. And I'll never stop."

"Hey, hey, what's that about? Why are you crying, love? This is a happy moment. Am I such a bad kisser?" Harry teases, voice laced with concern as he strokes Louis’ cheek.

"I'm just so happy. I'm glad you didn't give up on me. And you're here—” Louis lets out another sob and he winces. “You're really here. I'm sorry... I just... I feel like my heart could burst. Sorry, I'm ruining the moment." He takes a deep, steadying breath, trying to stop his inconvenient tears.

"You sort of are, but I love you anyway,” Harry says with a small laugh. He leans in and presses gentle kisses to Louis’ cheek, wiping away his tears with them. “I could cry, too, if I weren’t too in shock that you said yes,” he admits, pressing their foreheads together.

"Okay, sorry,” Louis said, breathing in deeply again. “You wanted to snog. Let's do it. I don't think I'm sexy, though. I should probably change. We bought nice jeans together. Do you want me to put them on?"

"Do me a favour and stop talking,” Harry says through a laugh.

He advances on Louis, backing him up against the wall, and Louis lets out a squeal of delight when his back collides against it and Harry places his hands on each side of his head, trapping him against it. He’s gotten so tall, it ignites a fire in the pit of Louis’ stomach every time he’s confronted with the fact.

“Oh, okay, I guess you still think I talk too much. Sorry. I'll shut up,” Louis mumbles, partly for show, partly out of nerves. He places his hands on Harry’s narrow waist to try and ground himself.

Harry leans in to whisper in his ear. "Don't laugh, but I'm really nervous right now."

Louis laughs, incredulous. “Why?”

"I don't know. It feels like the first time all over again."

"We'll go slow, Kitten,” Louis coos, rubbing their noses together, still unable to believe he gets to do things like that again. The pet name, especially, he’d buried it in the darkest depths of his mind, never to be approached again. “I guess you should get to know the real me again."

"I look forward to it." Harry kisses him, slow and soft, and Louis sighs happily against his lips.

"Happy birthday to me,” Louis hums to himself, giggling and reaching up to run his fingers through Harry’s hair. He’s still a breath away from crying, overwhelmed by the turn his life has taken, but he’d rather not take the time to stop and think about it just yet. He’d rather live in the moment a bit longer.

Harry smiles, letting his hands travel down Louis’ arms and along the curve of his waist and hips before settling on the small of his back, his touch reverent, like Louis is a shrine he wants to worship. It makes him fidget with lust. "Happy birthday, Lou."

“Thanks, love,” Louis replies, smile bright enough to light the room at the nickname. "Hm, silly question. Your album. The Lou you dedicated to? It's me, right?"

"No, it's for the other Louis I'm dating,” Harry deadpans.

Louis clucks his tongue. "Not funny. I don't want to hear these jokes again. You're with me? And only with me?"

"If you'll have me."

"Yes. Of course, yes! So it was really for me, then? Those beautiful songs?"

"It's you, it's you, it's you they add up to,” Harry hums softly, and Louis has no idea if he’s ever mentioned that ‘Little Things’ is his favourite, but he feels like he might explode to hear it confirmed that it’s about him.

He laughs, feeling a blush creep up on his cheeks, and he hides in face in Harry’s neck. "Stop it, I'm going to cry again," he mumbles against his skin before kissing it, tasting salt.

"We can't have that." Harry takes a step back to shrug off his coat, hanging it carefully by the door while Louis watches and rolls his eyes at his minutia, before moving closer again and picking Louis up, making him yelp in surprise.

"No! Put me down! I'm not a baby, I can walk! Harry!" Louis protests for show, laughing uncontrollably.

“You weigh nothing, little one.” Harry laughs, moving his hands from Louis’ thighs to his bum, squeezing it playfully.

"Oh! It was just to touch my glorious bum!" Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and presses a kiss to his temple. "Where are you taking me?"

"Bed, probably. How does that sound?"

"Good, good. I'll just enjoy the ride then." Louis leans in close against Harry as he walks, scratching his back through the silk of his shirt. "Hey, Haz. Can I ask you a serious question now?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I the boyfriend of the beautiful, sexy, cute and wonderful Harry Styles?"

Harry stops walking and lets out a giggle that takes Louis back three years, to the 16 year-old who looked like he didn’t quite believe Louis was real. It used to make him feel so powerful and important. It still does, really, it’s almost exhilarating, and Louis has no idea how he went almost two years without it.

"I hope so because he really wants to be yours."

"Then I'm the luckiest boy in the world." Louis smiles at Harry, at his dimples and his bright eyes, and he leans in and presses kisses to his cheeks. "Hazza, love... To the bed, we said. Am I too heavy?” Louis teases.

“Pfft. You insult me." Harry resumes walking and stops by Louis’ bed, carefully placing him down on it.

"Come on!” Louis says with a laugh, pulling on Harry until he joins him on the bed, curling up into his side. Louis runs a hand through his hair and kisses the crown of his head. “I love you. I don't want to waste another day. We already missed too many."

Harry moves in even closer, resting his head on Louis’ chest. "I agree. We've been so dumb."

"We'll make up for it, I promise." Louis presses a quick kiss to his lips. "I'm thankful that you held on to me." He stretches and grabs a framed picture from his nightstand’s drawer, handing it to Harry. It’s a picture of them at Harry’s prom, arms linked and smiles bright in their tuxedos and matching ties and corsages. "I want to be like that again. With you. Madly in love and happy."

“I can’t believe you still have that.” Harry looks up from the frame, smiling. “I think we're on our way, love. I want nothing more."

Louis laughs. "Fuck. When did I became so sentimental? I feel like we’re in a Nora Roberts novel."

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh. "It's not just me? God, I didn't want to ruin your mood, but this is so corny, I'm afraid my balls will fall off soon."

"I hope not, I really hope not. I want to put them to work soon.”

"Do you, now?"

"Or do you want to stay in the romance novel a bit more?" Louis offers, hoping Harry will choose the latter.

"Whatever you want, love."

Louis sighs dramatically, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. "Too many options! I can't decide. My life is so hard! Do I live my childhood dream to talk all night with my boyfriend or do we just fuck till the morning comes? I don't know!"

"I'd say we could do both at the same time, but you're always too busy moaning loud enough to alert the entire block to say anything."

"Did you really thought I've changed that much? I'm still annoying and loud. Do you know what you put yourself into?" Louis pinches Harry’s cheek.

"Absolutely,” Harry replies earnestly, turning his head to kiss the palm of Louis’ hand.

Louis pushes up on his elbow to look down at Harry, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He can’t quite believe how things have turned around in the span of a few hours. He can’t believe that this boy, this wonderful, incredible boy still wants him, despite the hell he put him through, but also despite the way his own life is surreal. He could have his pick of the British stardom, and yet he wants a pudgy university dropout with no future or redeeming qualities. Just the fact that Harry wants him back should have been enough for Louis to forgive him, really. What was he thinking?

"We'll get undressed and go talk under the sheets. How does that sound? And you get to kiss me as often as you want. Oh! And we'll wake up together tomorrow morning. Niall is in Ireland, we won’t be bothered,” Louis eventually says, pressing a kiss to the tip of Harry’s nose for the pleasure of seeing him scrunch it up.

"That sounds perfect." Harry sits up and unbuttons his shirt, and Louis watches fondly as he gets up to fold it neatly on Louis’ dresser. He then undoes his jeans and pushes them down, keeping his pants on as he comes back to bed.

"Your jeans are really sexy,” Louis comments as he watches Harry undress, doing the same. He hurries under the covers as soon as he’s down to his pants. “Come here, now. I didn't get to touch you enough. And look at these silly tattoos."

"The jeans make the girls go wild. And a few boys, too,” Harry says with a wink as he slips under the covers and curls up against Louis once more. "Do you like them? My tattoos?"

"I can count myself in the lot, sadly." Louis gently picks up Harry’s arm and stretches it out to look at it, tracing the star with the tip of his finger. "Some of them are stupid, but some are beautiful. The birds... They're my favourites. If I’d known that enabling you to get the first one would lead to this...” Louis teases. “I so can’t see myself with one.”

Harry shrugs, dismissive. Louis braces himself for the bittersweet words to come. "They let me express myself freely. I don't get to do that a lot."

With a sigh, Louis presses a kiss to his shoulder. "I want you to tell me anything you want to say, okay? I don't want you to keep anything from me."

"I love what I'm doing, don't get me wrong. But sometimes… sometimes I wish I'd never auditioned."

"That is my fault. I'm sorry. I just… I love hearing you sing. I thought I shouldn't be the only one to have the pleasure of listening to your voice."

"Oh my god, don't blame yourself for this. I said I loved it. I really, really do. And now it'll only get better because I have you."

Louis presses a kiss to his lips. "I hope so. If you're happy, then I'll be. I just want to make this perfect for both of us. To make it like it was before the break up. I want to start back where we left off."

"One day, maybe not now, but one day, you'll have to tell me how you've been. Because something's changed in you, Lou, and it makes me sad."

Piqued, Louis shakes his head. "No. Nothing has changed. I missed you. That's all. What do you mean? Is it my hair cut or something? I could change it, if you like. The glasses? I never needed them in the first place."

"No, that's not what I meant. It's just a feeling I have, that you're different. It's not a bad different."

"I hope I'm not. Because... if you're in love with 18 years old me... I don't know what to do. You've changed a lot, too." Louis strokes the birds below his collarbones distractedly, he presses a kiss to his neck.

"It's just, the way you talk about yourself now. It makes me sad."

Louis clucks his tongue, lowering his gaze. He should have learned to hide it better. "Oh. That. Yeah."

Harry takes his chin softly between his fingers, raising his head. "Louis, look at me. Talk to me."

"Yes?" Louis lets out, voice a shameful squeak.

"What happened?" Harry’s voice is so soft that Louis has to strain to hear it. His gaze is unbearable and Louis fixes his eyes on a spot above his head.

"Nothing. You broke up with me and I thought I was worthless."

"But you're not!” Harry says with a fervour that surprises Louis out of his state of mortification. “You're not, you're not, you're not,” he continues, punctuating each iteration with a kiss to Louis’ lips.

"What do you think about me? Physically."

"I think you're really hot. Why?" Harry asks, matter-of-fact, almost confused.

"Really?” Louis sighs. “You don't think I'm bigger and I'm... I'm far from those gorgeous people you work with?"

“No! I think you're perfect. I love every part of you." Harry runs his hand down Louis’ torso and settles on his stomach, stroking it softly.

Immediately, Louis tenses and pushes Harry’s hand away, placing it on his hip instead. "I love you for thinking this. I'm a bit overwhelmed by all this. It's old, familiar, but new. And I could fall easily back in this. I can't believe the evil show business didn't break your beautiful spirit and soul. I'm so glad."

Almost like a challenge, Harry moves his hand back to Louis’ stomach. "It takes more than spotlights and expensive clothes to change me."

Again, Louis moves his hand away "You look handsome in those, though. Up on a stage, you’re… you’re stunning, baby. I can’t wait to see you on telly tomorrow. Will we watch it together?”

Harry smiles and presses a kiss to his cheek. “It’s cute how you’re changing the topic. We’ll come back to our other conversation, but yes, we will.”

Louis burrows closer to Harry, resting his head on his chest. “I know I said I wanted to talk all night, but… it’s been a long day. Can we… sleep?” Louis yawns and laughs. “I think my body’s giving up.”

“Yeah, sure. We’ll talk tomorrow. Sleep tight. I love you,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Louis falls asleep feeling whole for the first time.

-

He wakes up before Harry, tangled up with him, nearly crushed under his weight, and Louis’ breath stops to think that this will be his life from now on. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s woken up next to Harry, but soon it’ll be part of his routine. He’ll get to fall asleep with his head pillowed on Harry’s chest and wake up with a mouthful of his hair, and he’ll get to see him blink away sleep and slowly come to, and Louis isn’t a religious person, but he thinks that this is what heaven must be like.

It gets warm, though, after a while; Harry’s body is warm as a furnace, and Louis is getting bored, too, so he starts gently stroking Harry’s hair, hoping it’ll wake him up. When it doesn’t, Louis sighs and rolls his eyes fondly. He figures Harry needs his beauty sleep, that he must have had a rough few days, but Louis also needs his boyfriend and, also, attention.

“Haz, baby,” he says, voice rough with sleep. “Wake up.” He waits the length of a few breaths, and then sighs. “Harry. Haaaaaaarry. Harry. Wake up, darling. Harry!” Still nothing. Louis is growing annoyed. “Harold!” he snaps, shaking Harry.

With a groan, Harry comes to, shifting on top of Louis and blinking his eyes opened. Slowly, he focuses on Louis, and then he frowns, and Louis would pay a fortune he doesn’t have for a glimpse of what’s going through his head at the moment. At once, Harry’s face relaxes and he buries it in Louis’ neck. Louis can feel his smile against his skin.

“It wasn’t a dream,” Harry mutters, nuzzling the crook of Louis’ neck.

“No, it wasn’t. It’s real. I’m real. And I’m hungry.”

Harry chuckles. “Merry Christmas to you, too.” He places a kiss to Louis’ neck, then one of his shoulder and finally, one on his lips. “You’re the best present I’ve ever had, for the second time.”