Chapter Text
FEBRUARY 2023, AUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND.
Louis should only meet Harry in places where the weather is cold and stormy. Maybe only places where it’s snowing. If it’s cold and snowy, that prevents Harry from taking the streets for a run in the tiniest shorts Louis’ ever seen in his entire life. He didn’t even know Harry had worn the shorts while he was in Sydney, let alone that he was wearing them again today for his workout.
Louis hasn’t said a word since he walked in, even though Harry hasn’t shut up about the Australia shows since the door closed. Seriously, Louis just opened his eyes maybe ten minutes ago, fighting through jet lag and old pictures of Harry in tiny orange shorts, and he won’t shut up about stadiums.
“The stadiums over here are just insane, Lou, it makes me think of the band, honestly. You’ll have to sneak out there when we go for soundcheck and stuff and just… Stand there for a minute. I swear, you can hear the screams even when the place is deadly silent.”
Harry takes a few long pulls from a plastic water bottle and turns to face Louis. He’s still laying in bed, in nothing but a pair of briefs he’s fairly certain are Harry’s. His eyes are locked on Harry’s legs, the tiger tattoo inked on his thigh.
“Louis? Are you listening to me?” Harry asks, and obviously the answer is yes, but his ears are kind of ringing, so it’s a bit muted.
His eyes drag slowly up Harry’s body, and he nods. “Are you gonna shave?” He asks dumbly.
“Uh, probably not. Why? Should I?” Harry frowns. Louis shakes his head. “Are you, like, okay? You’re not still jet lagged, are you?”
Louis doesn’t even know what jet lag means anymore, for the past several years of his life he’s lived in a perpetual state of jet lag, to the point where it’s just… Normal. “I’m fine. Just, uh.” He stops abruptly as Harry crosses the room and stands at the foot of the bed.
Harry’s staring at him expectantly, and Louis smacks a hand over his eyes. “You shouldn’t be allowed to wear such skimpy fucking shorts in public!” He exclaims to the ceiling, and Harry laughs loudly.
The bed dips, Harry climbing onto it. Louis extends his legs and Harry crawls over them to settle in his lap. “You’re so sweaty and gross, get off the bed.”
“Someone will come change the sheets,” Harry says simply. He grabs Louis’ wrist and tries to pull his hand away, but Louis puts up a fight. “Look at me, Lo,” he pleads, and Louis whimpers both at the thought and at the nickname.
Harry’s sick, twisted, and cruel. Louis lets his hand be pulled away from his face. He blinks his eyes open, greeted by Harry in his lap. Sweaty, gorgeous, and in the smallest pair of shorts in the entire world. Louis’ hands fall to Harry’s bare thighs and he groans. “Seriously. Stop wearing shit like this in public, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one day.”
Harry leans closer, his nose nearly brushing Louis’. “I don’t think you mean that,” he whispers. Louis shakes his head slowly. “Are you gonna join me for a shower or should I fend for myself?”
Louis glances down. The stupid little orange shorts hide nothing, not like this, thighs splayed, perched in Louis’ lap like a perfect fucking wet dream or maybe Louis’ worst nightmare, he can never properly decide. He’s already well on his way to being hard. That has to be uncomfortable.
“Doesn’t that hurt? In these tiny things?” He asks aloud, pinching the hem of one of the legs of the tiny things in question.
“Yeah, a bit. That’s why the shower is urgent. Are you coming?” Harry asks, and Louis watches the joke play out in his brain and on his face in real time. Harry grins and his eyes light up, and Louis groans again in preparation for it, his head falling back against the pillows. “Well, I hope you’re coming. I know I will be. With or without you.”
Then he attaches his mouth to the side of Louis’ neck, soft lips and sharp teeth drawing quiet sighs out of Louis’s mouth. Harry hums and keeps at it, keeps Louis pinned to the bed with his body and his mouth. “Baby,” Louis rasps after another moment, when his neck starts feeling sore. “You’re gonna get us in trouble. Can’t walk around with seventeen hickies on my neck.”
Harry sits up again with a final lick to Louis’ neck. “Whoops,” he murmurs. He kisses Louis’ chin and then leans back, his hands resting on Louis’ thighs behind himself. “So. Coming?”
“Maybe you should consider shaving. Finally grew some fuckin’ facial hair and you don’t know how to act anymore.”
“Payback for making me suffer for years,” Harry says lightly, climbing off Louis and then off the bed entirely. He grabs Louis’ hand and pulls him up as well, wrapping an arm around Louis’ waist once he’s on his feet.
“You never suffered. You like it. I don’t.”
Harry is sweaty and hot in more ways than one. Louis bites his shoulder through his tee shirt. “Not shaving. Deal with it.”
Then he drags Louis off to the bathroom while Louis mutters under his breath about it only taking twenty five years or so for Harry to grow a beard and now he’s drunk on it. He will never, ever admit aloud that he’s kind of obsessed with it himself, but he’s obsessed with just about anything related to Harry, so. It’s whatever.
He’s the one who gets to peel the stupid little shorts off before the climb into the shower, so it’s all well and good.
**
Harry goes to the gym again the next morning and all Louis does is mumble some half-asleep nonsense about him being a gym rat before Harry kisses his temple and leaves the room. Louis sleeps for another thirty minutes or so before dragging himself out of bed despite how tired he still feels.
He calls down for breakfast, an assortment of things and a bottle of champagne and pitcher of orange juice, just in case. While he waits for Harry to get back, he takes his phone and pot out onto the balcony for a smoke. Sometimes he’d risk it and maybe just pack a bowl in the hotel room, but he doesn’t want to hear the earful from Harry when he gets back here.
He’s just lit a rather perfectly rolled joint — if he does say so himself — when his phone dings with Harry’s ringtone. He takes a hit and then picks it up. Harry sent him a picture and a message. Louis opens the picture and feels his heart drop to his stomach.
He’s in the gym, wearing black shorts and cute, bright trainers and, most notably, an old relic of a One Direction tee shirt. It seems a little tight around the shoulders but otherwise fits nicely, Louis would kill to see what it looks like from the back. He can already imagine the way the fabric is probably stretched across his shoulder blades, conforming to every ridge and muscle in his shoulders and upper back.
Louis zooms in on the picture, looking at Harry’s left hand first before dragging the image over to look at his tattooed right arm. Louis knows the ink and skin there better than he knows his own, yet every time he sees it, it always feels like the first time.
He moves up to Harry’s torso, ignoring the glaring image of their younger faces on the tee shirt to focus on the little bit of nail polish remaining on his fingers, the crease between his eyebrows, visible just above the phone, the curls on either side of his head. His face is hidden, but Louis can picture easily enough his perfect lips and cute nose and the hard, mocking, tough-guy look in his eye.
If he hadn’t just lit the perfect joint, Louis would probably risk running down to the gym to meet him there right now.
Harry’s message below the picture is simple: should I post it?
Louis laughs when he finally pulls himself away from the picture long enough to read the text and answer. u look like a douchebag, he says first, then: idk do i look like an instagram bf???
Harry laughs at both of them and Louis hides his silly smile by wrapping his lips around the joint.
i’m gonna do it. i’ll delete it right after.
Louis snorts, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ ridiculous,” he mutters to himself. He quickly types out a reply to Harry (don’t care what you do, but come back up soon) and then locks his phone, setting it face down on the table.
Halfway through his joint, he can faintly hear the door open and close. “Did you order breakfast? I’m fucking starving,” Harry’s saying as he comes in. “I have to shower and then I’m all yours.”
Louis looks over his shoulder. “Did you leave the room dressed like that?” He asks. Harry’s sitting on the edge of the couch, untying his trainers, and he just shrugs. “Where’d you even get that?”
“Dunno. Just came across it. I posted it and deleted it. We can laugh about what everyone’s saying later. But I’m fucking starving, and I’m gross.”
“You didn’t care about being gross yesterday,” Louis points out, making Harry huff out a laugh.
“Don’t get whoever brings our food up secondhand high, please,” Harry remarks, and then he’s off to the bathroom in his shirt and shorts and Louis feels like his brain is short circuiting and he’s not even that high yet.
He keeps smoking, and gets the food when there’s a knock at the door. He stands in the doorway, eating a piece of toast and smoking the rest of the joint while waiting for Harry to come out of the bathroom.
The door finally opens and Harry comes out, completely naked, all of his clothes in one arm. “Harold!” Louis shouts. “Where are your clothes?”
He hits the last of the joint and leaves it in the ashtray before grabbing his phone and shutting the balcony door. Harry drops his clothes beside his suitcase and picks up a new pair of pants, tugging them up his legs quickly. He ignores Louis’ question and doesn’t pull on anything other than the briefs. Louis pulls the curtain shut and sets his phone down on the coffee table before crossing the room.
Harry standing beside the breakfast cart, looking over everything. He picks up a piece of toast and takes a bite, chewing slowly. Louis brushes his fingertips over Harry’s shoulder blades as he passes by to get to the champagne. He pops the cork, making Harry’s head jerk over to look at him.
“Pulled out all the stops, hm?” He asks. Louis feels warm already from the pot, so he’s not planning on having all that much champagne, but he just shrugs. Harry eats another slice of toast while Louis gets their drinks ready. “This is a lot of food,” Harry points out, and Louis just shrugs again. “You’re, like, stupidly high, aren’t you?”
Louis finally looks up at him, smiling as he hands Harry a flute. “A little high,” he answers finally. “C’mon, let’s go sit.”
Harry moves to the couch, dropping down onto one of the cushions, his eyes following Louis as he crosses the room. Harry looks beautiful, but Louis always thinks that, and he’s definitely a little biased. He still refuses to go clean-shaven, but he still looks good, obviously, so Louis’ made his peace with it entirely.
When Louis finally sinks into the couch, Harry doesn’t waste a second before he’s putting his feet over Louis’ lap, wiggling his bare toes just to make Louis cringe. He wraps his free hand around Harry’s ankle, rubbing his thumb gently over the words dance again on his left one.
“Nervous for tonight?” Louis asks, and Harry shakes his head right away.
“Nah. I’m excited, actually. I don’t get to play here nearly as often as I’d like to. S’beautiful, and everyone’s always so happy to see us,” he replies.
“Well, that’s ‘cause they don’t get to see you very often.” And also because they love Harry a ridiculous amount. Louis understands, he feels very similarly.
“So did you like my selfie?” Harry asks around a grin. Louis rolls his eyes. “I wanna check what people are saying after, like, two mimosas. I can’t have that many anyway, but I want the maximum entertainment possible.”
Louis doesn’t even bother offering up a smoke, because he knows Harry will decline. He can have the entire conversation with himself at this point, it’s happened that many times; Harry would say it makes him sleepy, Louis would say something snarky like yeah, and horny, and Harry would pout, all mock-offended until Louis kissed him and said he was sorry for suggesting it in the first place.
“It was hot,” Louis admits. “Unexpected, but hot. I’m sure the internet is saying much of the same.”
There’s probably an all-platform media meltdown occurring right now, and it’s definitely about more than just how hot Harry looks. Harry swallows the last of his drink and slides the empty glass onto the table, Louis quickly following suit. He sits back again, studying Louis’ face. Louis just lets him look, not really sure what else to do but knowing that he doesn’t quite feel like looking away from Harry either.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says quietly. Louis smiles and nods his head slightly, not wanting to talk because he wants Harry to keep going, wants to hear his gentle voice saying sweet things for the rest of the day. If Louis had it his way, he would stay locked in this little hotel bubble until someone came banging on the door telling them they had things to do and flights to catch and whatever else.
“It feels different when you’re with me. It never matters where we are, but it always feels different. Better, but different.”
Louis smiles and nods again. “Yeah. I know.”
Harry narrows his eyes. “You’re very agreeable today.”
Louis shrugs one shoulder and squeezes Harry’s ankle. “You’re very pretty today. I dunno.”
Suddenly, Harry moves, straddling Louis’ lap and kissing his nose once he’s settled. “A couple minutes ago I was hot.”
He can’t adjust to having Harry this close. Louis rests one hand on his thigh and brings the other to Harry’s scruffy cheek. “Uh, you’re… Very fluid.”
Harry ahh ’s softly, nodding in understanding. “It’s a sliding scale. My attractiveness,” he muses, and Louis nods as he hooks two fingertips under Harry’s chin, slowly drawing their mouths closer together. Harry’s tongue darts out to lick his lips in anticipation. Louis’ heart clenches and his stomach flips.
“Nice recovery,” Harry whispers, his breath fanning over Louis’ lips, so close and so warm Louis can taste him even without actually feeling him. He would taste like champagne and orange juice and charisma and love. Louis can’t go another second without feeling it right now, knowing if he’s right.
Harry’s lips meet his and, of course, Louis is right. He smiles against Harry’s mouth and deepens the kiss right away, his hand sliding around to the back of Harry’s neck to keep him pressed firmly against Louis. “Love you,” Harry mumbles when they part for a breath, and Louis can do nothing but nod quickly in agreement, breathing the phrase back to him, and then quickly maneuvering them so Harry’s on his back on the couch.
**
Louis’ wrapped in one of Harry’s hoodies, the hood up as he stands backstage, watching Harry perform on the screen. It’s almost time for him to come off briefly before the encore, so Louis only lets himself watch for a couple more minutes before he moves, closer to where Harry will pop off for a drink and maybe a wee.
The sounds of Harry finishing up his last song are echoing throughout every single part of the stadium. The stadium which, as Harry explained, is massive and feels very reminiscent of days long gone, especially to Louis.
During soundcheck, Louis did sneak out onto the stage, and everything Harry said about it ended up being true. If Louis closed his eyes, he could imagine not only the music and screams that would be filling the place in a matter of hours, but the music and screaming that would have filled the place up years ago. Sometimes, it feels like it’s so far behind him it never really even happened in the first place.
Standing on that stage earlier, in the middle of an empty stadium, it felt so recent that he could practically taste it; the adrenaline, the drinks, the songs he worked so hard to write and get recorded and on an album, the fans screaming their names. When Louis opened his eyes again, Harry was standing in front of him, a foot away, silent and smiling sadly. Louis apologized, made a comment about how big the place was, and Harry just nodded understandingly.
It definitely wasn’t as painful as it could have been, despite the fact that the wounds felt more fresh than they had in a long time.
Now, Harry appears in front of him suddenly in almost a blur, sweaty and smiling, a water bottle clutched in his hands. “Hi,” Harry breathes out. “Doing okay?”
“Yeah, love, course. It’s amazing. You’re amazing.”
Harry beams even wider than he already was, which Louis didn’t think was possible, but apparently is. Louis kisses his cheek gently. “Don’t get distracted talking to me. Go do what you have to, you don’t have a lot of time.”
“Right. Thanks, darling,” he says, kissing Louis’ cheek in return. “I’ll see you later.”
“Good luck,” Louis calls after him, Harry flashing a thumbs up over his shoulder as he rushes away. Louis smiles and shakes his head, stopping to grab a beer on his way back into the shadows.
He watches with an uncontrollable smile as Harry finishes the show, dancing around in perfectly tailored purple pants and a sparkly shirt, giving his all as the fans give it right back to him. As Harry finishes up Kiwi and says his final goodbyes to everyone, Louis makes his way to the dressing room to wait for Harry there, like he always does.
Louis sits down on the couch and flicks through his phone while he waits. He’s used to this routine; when Louis is at shows Harry will stop at the dressing room to take out his in-ears, leave his wires and pack behind and give Louis a kiss before rushing out of the stadium before Louis leaves himself.
It’s practiced and familiar, practically seamless these days, they’ve done it so many times. The door clicks open and Harry comes in like a hurricane; dropping his stuff on the table and picking up his reusable water bottle. He’s holding a pride flag and a few other miscellaneous items, leaving all of those on the table as well. Louis smiles and watches him grab his bag before he finally stops and looks at Louis.
“Hi, love, I’ll see you at the hotel?” He asks, breathless, and Louis nods. Harry bends down and kisses his cheek, lingering for just long enough for Louis to feel his lips and breathe in his scent (which is, unsurprisingly, mostly sweat and stale cologne, but Louis savors it anyway) before he disappears.
“Oh, bring that stuff with you!” He shouts from the hallway, referring to some of the objects he left behind. That’s not uncommon, either, Louis is no stranger to smuggling out sometimes strange (but always sweet) knickknacks and whatever flag or hat or shirt he swiped off the floor on his way up or down the catwalk.
Louis calls an I love you at the empty doorway, and then laughs as the door slams shut and he’s left in silence. He leans forward to get a better look at all the shit Harry dropped onto the table when he came in.
He folds up the pride flags, takes a little stuffed toy, and takes another hat, this one without any suggestive wording on it (the last one was a bright pink bucket hat that had the word Daddy stitched into it. Thankfully this one is free of any words). Louis shoves it all into his own backpack, leaving the rest for the band to pick through. The only member he passes on his way to the exit is Elin, and she hugs him briefly and he congratulates her on the show and she says that they’ll see each other for the flight properly to catch up.
Distantly, Louis can hear Elin’s husband saying something about how Louis has to get back to his boy, and Louis flips them off over his shoulder as he reaches the end of the hallway. Their resounding laughter gets sealed off abruptly as soon as the door shuts.
Louis makes his way to his car quickly, having opted for a rental tonight (which gave a headache to his managers but he didn’t really care; they caved eventually because Louis is nothing if not persistent, especially where Harry’s involved). Louis gets in the drivers’ side and fishes his pack of cigarettes from it before flinging it into the passenger seat. He starts the car up and rolls the window down a little before lighting a cigarette, dropping the pack and lighter into the cupholder.
When he pulls out onto the street he finally hits the radio on, and of course Harry’s song is the one that starts blaring through his speakers. Louis laughs and shakes his head, then he turns it up even more.
It plays out for the short drive back to the hotel, changing to some other song Louis doesn’t care to hear just before he reaches his destination. He turns the radio back down before shutting it off completely as he pulls into the parking lot.
The whole way up to their hotel room, Louis is humming As It Was to himself, spinning his keys around his pointer finger as he holds his keycard up in front of the scanner. He bolts the door behind himself and tosses his backpack onto the couch before following the sound of the running shower.
He strips off his hoodie and tee shirt, leaving them both on top of his suitcase before he pushes the bathroom door open. Harry’s in the shower singing softly, the door fogged up from the heat. He jumps a little when Louis shuts the door, looking over at him.
His face spreads into a smile the second he sees Louis, his hand stopping wherever on his lower body he’d been washing himself. Louis tries not to think about it too much just yet. “Hi, Lou,” he says warmly. “Get out and get here okay?”
“Yup. No problems.”
Harry nods. “Just give me a minute, then you can come in. I wanna get this all off of me,” he tells Louis, and Louis nods understandingly. It’s another routine he’s very well accustomed to. Louis takes as long as he can, pulling off his joggers, pants, and socks while he waits for Harry to give him the okay.
He finally does, and Louis tries his best not to act too eager as he tugs the door open and climbs in. Harry steps back to give Louis a second to get his head and body wet, then Louis stands there, drinking him in for a moment because he properly can, privately, and he can do or say whatever he wants.
Louis can’t think of anything to say right now. Harry stares right back at him, not even shying away as Louis’ eyes comb over his entire body. He looks pretty much the same, toned and a little bit tan, the same as ever. Louis can see, though, a little scratch on his shoulder that he doesn’t know the origin of, and he knows if he grabbed one of Harry’s hands, they’d be a bit weathered from playing guitar tonight.
Louis reaches forward and gently touches the scratch on his shoulder. “What’s this from?” He whispers.
Harry looks down at the spot Louis is touching. “Oh, um. I dunno.” It’s right near where his guitar strap would lay, and Louis hums. “You okay?”
Louis nods. “Just looking at you, that’s all. Looks like it might have been from your guitar strap.”
“Oh. Maybe.” Harry says, shrugging. Louis runs his hand down Harry’s arm. “Aren’t you going to like, wash anything?”
Me? Nah. I took a shower before I met you at the stadium this afternoon,” Louis replies, taking a small step closer to him. Harry’s lips are already parted, anticipating Louis’ mouth on his any moment now. “Just thought I’d like to join you here.”
“Ah,” Harry breathes. Louis grabs his waist and pulls them flush together. “Okay.”
“Do you know words with any more syllables?” Louis asks teasingly, just to make Harry blush.
“Obviously,” Harry’s breath catches in his throat when Louis trails his fingertips down the small of his back, over one of his bum cheeks, down to his thigh. “We don’t have to talk.”
“Oh, baby, that’s half my schtick!” Louis exclaims playfully, nipping at the hinge of Harry’s jaw. He knows he can’t leave that many marks, not even on his torso because they never know when Harry will decide to have his fucking tits out onstage (Louis appreciates that, really, but it also really takes away a small indulgence of his). He’s restricted to Harry’s thighs, mostly, if he feels the need, which is definitely not an issue for either of them.
“Please don’t call dirty talking a schtick,” Harry begs, his big hand clutching Louis’ bicep, the other squeezing his hip periodically. “Do you want to fuck again or not?”
“Well, how could I not? When you talk to me all romantic like that.”
Harry laughs, resting his forehead against Louis. He bites at Louis’ top lip but doesn’t do anything else, waiting for Louis to make the move. “I love you,” he says, and that’s all it takes for Louis to seal their mouths together.
Harry’s lounging on the bed, on the phone with his mum while Louis stands on the balcony, lighting another (perfectly rolled) joint. He can hear their conversation, Harry’s voice carrying through the hotel room, that deep, slow, gentle drawl of his.
“It’s nice,” Harry’s saying. “No, we’re in, uh, Bangkok next, I think? We’ll have to get you and Gem out for a show soon, it’ll be good to have us all together again… Yeah, he’ll be with me for a bit. I dunno how long exactly, he has movie premieres kinda soon.”
Louis shuts the door and takes the joint back into the bedroom even though Harry’s probably going to yell at him. Harry looks over at him and holds a finger up. “Mum? I’m sorry to cut this short, but it’s really late here. Uh, yeah, almost one, I think.”
“Half twelve,” Louis whispers. He has no fucking clue what time it is back home, can’t be arsed to figure out that time difference.
“Whatever,” Harry whispers back, then stares at the ceiling again. “No, mum, I was talking to Lou, he was telling me the time. I’ll talk to you later, okay? I’ll call you before we board, it should still be early enough for you, right?” There’s a pause, Harry nodding, his eyes locked on the ceiling. “Okay, good. I love you, too. Yeah, I’ll tell him.”
“Tell her I love her too,” Louis says through a mouthful of smoke.
“Yeah, he said he loves you too. Bye, mum.”
Harry hangs up the phone and drops it onto the bed beside himself, looking over at Louis again. “You shouldn’t be smoking that inside,” he says, scolding him just like Louis assumed he would, but Louis just grins, and Harry rolls his eyes.
Louis crosses the room, sitting himself on top of Harry’s thighs. “Want a hit?” He asks, and Harry groans loudly. “C’mon, baby, you haven’t got any excuses now.”
“We have a flight tomorrow.”
“It’s not an early one. And we can always change it.”
Harry looks at him, beautiful eyes, tired smile, dimples on both his cheeks. “Fine. Gimme it.”
Louis grabs his hand and puts the joint between his fingers before letting go. Harry brings it to his lips, and Louis taps his fingers in mindless patterns over Harry’s abs as he gets his fill. He passes it back a minute or two later, Louis taking a long drag and holding it.
Harry tips his chin down to watch Louis as he smokes. “How’s your mum?” Louis asks before he takes another hit.
Harry hums. “She’s good. Misses me. And Us. You know how she gets.”
Louis nods. “Yeah. Like a mum.”
Harry’s face falls and he props himself up on his elbows immediately. “Lo, you know that’s not what I meant. I just—I don’t know, actually, because now I get how that could’ve been taken.”
“It’s fine, Sun,” Louis murmurs. He puts his hand on Harry’s chest, right over his heart, and feels how it’s racing beneath his palm. “I know what you meant. And I really meant she just… Sounds like a mum. She sounds like your mum.”
Thinking back on what Louis said in reply, Louis can see how Harry immediately thought something was wrong. “I should’ve specified that,” Louis says quietly. “Sorry.”
Harry motions for the joint back, and Louis hands it over without hesitating. He stares at Harry’s lips as they wrap around the joint, then the cut of his jaw. He lifts a hand to hold it, the stubbled curve of his jawline, stroking his thumb over it gently. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, watching Harry inhale and hold the smoke in his lungs.
Harry smiles, then exhales the smoke into Louis’ face slowly. “Thanks.”
They pass the joint back and forth until it’s gone, Louis getting up to put it in the ashtray. When he comes back, Harry’s moved to lay back against the pillows and opens his arms as soon as Louis comes in. Louis laughs softly and crawls into bed with him, wrapping Harry up in his arms. He rests his head on Louis’ chest, his arm wrapping around Louis’ torso.
Harry hums contentedly, kissing Louis’ bare skin and then tipping his face up to speak. “I wish we were home,” he says softly, and Louis hums questioningly.
They have literal homes in a lot of places, and Louis knows he doesn’t need to open his mouth and explain how it doesn’t matter where they are, whether or not they’re in one of those physical homes, that this is the closest he will ever get to feeling at home. He knows Harry is fully aware of that, so Louis knows he’s speaking in the literal sense, not the poetic, philosophical, metaphorical sense.
“Like, somewhere really warm. With all our stuff,” Harry elaborates. Louis smiles.
“LA?” He asks, because it’s the first place that comes to mind, and he knows their house there has a lot of their favorite amenities and essentials.
It’s torrid, in terms of fights and stunts and whatever else, but it’s also a place where a lot of really big, really good things have happened for them. And if Louis looked at a city and only thought of the shit times they had in it, he’d never be able to go anywhere, basically. So he always, always tries his best to keep his mind and heart focused on the better times.
Harry noses the crook of his neck, that spot that Harry’s always managed to fit in perfectly, no matter how tall or gangly or small, The first spot on Louis’ body that he was convinced was made specifically for Harry, just a couple weeks into knowing him, because of how well and easily he made himself fit in there.
“LA would be nice. No cameras, no tours, just us, getting high.”
“On rare occasions I can convince you to get high amid your busy schedule, you mean?” Louis asks, teasing. Harry licks his neck just to be a pest. Louis groans and wipes the spot, then wipes his slightly damp hand on Harry’s bare arm. “Gross. But, I get what you mean.”
“Yeah?” Harry asks quietly.
“Yeah,” Louis echoes. “The second you have even the smallest window of free time, baby, I’ll take you anywhere you fucking want. And we can do whatever you fucking want there.”
He knows it’s probably going to be awhile before they can do anything like that. They have to trade big time on for proper time off, just like they always have. Harry still has shows coming up, and Louis has his documentary coming out, red carpet premieres in a few different cities across the globe, on totally separate continents from Harry.
When Harry leaves Bangkok, Louis will go to Tokyo first. They’ll get by on text messages and FaceTime calls and voicemails until they see each other again, right around two weeks after they part, because that’s something that’s always worked, for the most part. Things get a little tense sometimes, but that’s expected. They both know that.
Louis tightens his arm around Harry, silently saying I love you, and we’ll be okay and Harry kisses his neck like it’s an answer, I love you, and I only want to go through this with you.
“If you were anyone else,” Harry says a second later, his lips brushing Louis’ skin. He slides his leg between Louis’ thighs, and Louis hooks his ankle, effectively tangling them together. “If you were anyone else, I wouldn’t go through all this shit.”
Louis presses his lips to Harry’s hairline and breathes in deeply. “I know, baby,” he whispers into his hair. “I feel the same.”
There’s another lull of silence, and Louis tries to figure out exactly what Harry is thinking, but he can’t. They’re both thinking far too much, about things far too serious, especially given that they’ve smoked. He kisses Harry’s head again and drags his fingertips up Harry’s arm, over his shoulder, stopping once he gets to Harry’s hair. It’s mostly dried from the shower, curls a little frizzy and springy without any product or proper treatment. Louis tugs a knot free with his fingers and takes a breath.
“This one of your more… Sentimental highs, then?” He asks, and Harry snorts. “You have horny highs or sentimental ones, H, that’s just about it.”
“What about that one time it was a different strain and I got super paranoid and almost Tweeted about it on my actual, Harry Styles Twitter account?” Harry asks.
Louis laughs softly, combing through the hair just above Harry’s ear. “That was years ago, Sunshine,” he murmurs, “and hasn’t really happened since that one time.”
Harry’s foot rubs his calf absently, and Louis lets it happen even though sometimes that motion tends to drive him crazy. “Am I gonna get in trouble? For being more sentimental than horny?”
“Baby, honestly, if you wanted to go again right now I think my cock would’ve had some serious protests. I’m perfectly happy to sit here and reminisce with you.”
“You need another joint,” Harry says. “Your sentences are too long.”
That makes Louis laugh loudly, the way that only Harry can. Harry presses his face against Louis’ neck like he just can’t miss a second, a vibration, a sound, and Louis feels overwhelmed with emotion he doesn’t feel ready to combat right now. The pot is right on the nightstand, so he reaches over and grabs it, settling everything he needs out on his stomach.
“Don’t make me laugh, love, or else we’ll be fucked. And not in any of the good ways.”
Harry doesn’t say anything, and Louis swears he can feel Harry’s eyes on his hands as he rolls the new joint. Harry’s gaze lands on his face when Louis licks it, then holds it up for inspection. Perfect, as they always are. He grabs the lighter and sparks it, Harry’s eyes on him the entire time.
Louis takes two, three long pulls, then tips his head back against the pillows. Harry laughs, delighted. “There we go,” he muses. He sits up, untangling them so he can sit himself on Louis’ lap. “Now you can get sentimental with me.”
Louis can’t help the stupid grin that’s on his face. He grabs Harry’s hip with his free hand, loving the expanse of skin before him. All of it’s a canvas, always has been, and it’s been a canvas he’s had reign of, he’s sometimes had a say over, since they were kids.
He’s done a lot of growing up all on his own, Louis has, but a lot of that has been centered around Harry. He wouldn’t have it any other way, of course not, but he knows that most of his growing up has been prompted either by or for Harry. It’s mostly been for him; doing things nobody wanted to do to protect him, having conversations Harry didn’t want to have or know how to have, explaining things that he didn’t quite understand in a way that Harry could fathom.
Somewhere between the band ending and now, Harry did a lot more growing up than Louis himself did. But in moments like this, Harry perched in his lap, his skin the same as it was when Louis touched him for the first time when they were so young, save for some ink and some invisible scars, it’s like no time has passed at all.
He takes another hit on the joint, gets jolted out of his thoughts by Harry speaking again. “You know it doesn’t matter where we are, right?” He asks, and Louis nods, because of course he does.
Harry delves into a rambled mess of remember when’s or imagine if’s and Louis loves him so fucking much his heart is clenching, feels like it’s beating impossibly fast and that’s not from the pot, it’s something no drug or drink could ever do to him. Louis just nods, and laughs, and smiles, and chimes in when he can, but it’s mostly Harry talking, telling these stories that Louis has heard a thousand times.
Every time Harry speaks, though, Louis feels like he’s hearing something that he’s never heard before.
“I love you,” he blurts, in the middle of one of Harry’s tales about the first leg of his first tour, and Harry stops. His gesticulating hands fall down, resting on Louis’ stomach.
“I love you, too,” Harry replies, his voice much softer, his smile easy. Louis wants to crawl inside the dimple on his cheek and live there forever.
And, like, that’s kind of it. He loves Harry, and Harry loves him, and that is the one thing that has never changed for as long as they’ve known each other. Everything else around him is always going at a million miles an hour, changing in more ways than he can keep track of, and this is the one thing that never really changes.
Himself and Harry, in some room somewhere — it never matters where — doors closed, lights off. This is always the same. It doesn’t matter how much is changing or how much will change, because the second he has Harry on him and the door seals them in a place they can just be themselves, it all falls away.
Louis abandons his joint in the ashtray and tugs him down for a kiss that he hopes conveys everything he’s thinking and feeling. Harry kisses him back and it feels like an answer.
I love you, thank you, I love you.
when you go, when you go
i can take you
somewhere better than
where you were before.