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Harry is pretty.
Okay, that is fairly obvious. And fairly unproblematic for most of the people who get to spend some time with him. The thing is though: Louis is gay. And Harry is too pretty. He is unfairly, undoubtedly, inexplicably, undeniably the prettiest boy Louis has ever seen and that is a thing that makes this whole concept of being in a band with this boy very highly problematic. At least for him.
See, Louis can't even look at Harry without admiring the way his dimples show when he smiles or without feeling the urge to run his hands through his soft curls or imagining how those pretty full pink lips would look wrapped around his––
It is all very, very problematic.
And Harry is, as far as Louis knows, very very oblivious. Even though it's not like Louis is subtle. God knows he really, really isn't.
Between constantly touching Harry, between things like “And I'd marry you, Harry” in front of cameras and calling him baby cakes on Twitter for the whole God damn world to see, there still are those times when no one is around. When no one can see or hear or know anything. When Harry's warm and beautiful body is curled up next to Louis' on their couch in their flat, with Harry's head resting on Louis' chest and his curls tickling Louis' chin and his fingers playing with the hem of Louis' shirt, with Harry only wearing a pair of boxer briefs because he's a God damn tease and a seventeen year old exhibitionist, who doesn't even know what he does to Louis.
Yeah, those nights exist, too, and Louis doesn't know if he wants to cry or smile when he thinks about it.
“It's all very complicated,” he says when his mum asks him - who had pretty much figured it all out before she had even seen Harry for the first time, just from how Louis' eyes light up whenever he talks about him. It's all very complicated and very problematic and it's been months and Harry is still very oblivious and Louis very extremely massively frustrated and in love. Frustratingly in love.
“Lou?”
“Hm?”
“You know what Niall said today?”
Harry looks up at him from where he's yet again sprawled almost all over Louis on their couch, his arm possessively wrapped around Louis' torso, his breath leaving a damp warm spot on Louis' neck.
“What?”
“He said he knows why you broke up with Hannah.”
Louis' heart possibly stops at that.
Harry sighs. “But I said that that's impossible because I know for a fact that you would have told me first, but you have never told me when I asked, so why would Niall know?”
Louis hates Niall sometimes. He has picked up on this whole Louis-likes-Harry-a-lot-and-tries-hard-not-to-show-it-but-fails-miserably thing almost as fast as his mum. And had, obviously, tried to get as much out of Louis as possible. So yeah, Niall and his mum are the only people on this planet who know he's got a huge fucking dumb crush on his two years younger best friend.
“I don't know why Niall would say that,” Louis tries to save himself, but he can feel it in the way Harry's body stiffens that he's not buying it.
“Bullshit. Niall can never keep his Irish mouth shut, but he only ever says the truth. Like he's cursed or something.” Then, a little weaker, “Why haven't you told me yet?”
Louis tries to do what he always does when he's forced to talk about subjects that make him uncomfortable: shrug it off.
“There's nothing to say, Harry. I just told Niall she wasn't the right one, that's it.”
But Harry, sweet oblivious Harry, stays persistent. “That's what you've told me, too. But like, I know that's not the whole truth. You only ever break up with someone because they're not the right person, that's the whole concept of a break-up, but why, Lou, why wasn't she the right one?”
He sounds desperate. Louis is dying a little death with every second that passes between them.
Because it's you. You're the right one you, you twat.
“I don't know. I just knew.”
Harry climbs completely off of Louis, sits in front of him with his legs crossed and looks down at him like he's about to spill his guts. “Then how did you know?” He sounds so young, curious, helpless, and just a little bit overwhelmed. Louis hasn't heard him sound like that in a while. “How do you know when someone's not right for you? Or like, how do you know if they are?”
Louis sits up, pulls his shirt down that Harry pushed up at one point and wishes he could find the courage to just tell him already.
Instead he says, “You just know.” And that's definitely the cheesiest and least helpful answer to that question ever. But it's still the truth.
Harry seems to think about it for a second, then looks up at Louis, his own reflection visible in Harry's eyes, sighs and says, “I'll go to bed now, Lou.”
He flashes him a smile before he gets up. Louis wants to reach out for his hand and make him stay. He doesn't.
“If you ever decide to tell me about what happened with Hannah, you know where to find me.”
“I'm gay,” Louis whispers seconds after he hears the door to Harry's bedroom shut and he falls back against the cushions, room too silent and too empty around him. “And she's not you.”
*
Harry almost seems to forget about it. Almost. It's only after a long day of interviews and a little gig in the evening with a few too many drinks for Harry at the after-party that he comes up with it again.
“Why did you break up with Hannah?”
Louis is currently making sure Harry doesn't fall over as he's trying to push his right shoe from his foot. The questions startles him.
“Why, Louis, why?”
Louis doesn't know how to help himself, so he shrugs. “She wasn't the right one,” he says again, hoping that in his current state Harry doesn't remember that that's the third time he's gotten that answer.
Harry manages to get his shoes off and turns around to face Louis. A few of his curls are sticking to his forehead and he licks his dry lips before he asks, “Who is the right one, then?”
Louis can feel the firm grip Harry has on his waist, probably so he doesn't stumble again, but it makes him shiver nonetheless. “I don't know yet,” he says and can hear his inner self screaming liarliarliarliarliar.
“I know who's the right one for me, though,” Harry says after a few seconds and looks a good bit less drunk than he did two minutes ago. “But he apparently hasn't found the right one yet, so he can't like me back.”
Louis is too busy trying to wrap his head around the fact that Harry is apparently in love, and in love with a him, to ask any further questions. Then, Harry is gone and Louis hears the sound of running water and Harry's young voice singing Drops of Jupiter in the shower.
*
“You've got to tell him, man. I swear. I can't believe you two haven't figured yourselves out yet. You're a true shitshow.”
They're in the tour bus, sitting on the couch in front of the muted telly while the other boys are sleeping in their bunks, curtains drawn shut, except for Harry's, obviously, who's still quite the exhibitionist, even when he's unconscious.
Louis snorts. “Fuck you very much, Nialler. I'm well able to figure this out myself.”
Now it's Niall's turn to snort. “Obviously not, judging by the way you're currently staring at a sleeping Harry drooling all over himself like he fucking hung the moon. Just man up and tell him, Tommo.”
Louis looks over at where Harry is peacefully taking a nap in his bunk bed and shakes his head. “I can't.”
Grunting, Niall buries his head in his hands. “You two are so stupid!”
He says it loud enough to make Harry shift around in his sleep, rolling to the edge of his bunk. He almost falls out. Louis is already up.
“Yeah,” Niall rolls his eyes, “go and save your damsel in distress.”
Louis flips him off but goes to make sure Harry stays safe in his bed nonetheless.
*
“Lou?”
“Hm?”
“You know what Niall told me today?”
Louis has a strange sort of deja-vu. It's the exact same words, except this time they're not on the couch in their living room but curled up in Harry's bed with Harry's laptop at the edge, the episode of The Simpsons on pause.
Louis looks over at Harry. His curls stick out against the white of his pillows and his warm body is pressed way too firm against Louis' side.
“What did he say?”
Harry almost whispers. “He said that he'd know who I'm in love with.”
By now, Louis is afraid to even breathe. Harry told him that he's in love with someone one night, but didn't mention who it was, and Louis didn't press on because Harry already sounded like he was about to cry. Just as he does now. So Louis lets him speak.
“You know, I'm starting to think Niall doesn't know it all.”
Louis swallows dry. “How come?”
“I haven't told him. I haven't even told you yet, and you know you'd be the first to know.”
At the same time, Louis does and does not want to ask his next question for so many reasons, but he knows it's going to be even worse if he doesn't.
“Then who are you in love with?”
Harry looks down at where he's playing with his jumper – Louis' jumper that Harry hadn't even asked for but just taken, because this is just another inexplicable thing that they do.
“The right one,” he says after a while, biting on his bottom lip as if he had just said something he shouldn't have.
“But... I thought you didn't know how to make sure they are the right one.”
Harry's smile is nostalgic, like he's remembering a memory dear to his heart. “I thought so but... I talked to Niall and... I don't know. I think I know now.”
Louis is sure he's about to explode. “But... how?”
When Harry looks back up at him, Louis feels his heart skip a beat. He forgot how beautiful Harry is when he's looking at him.
“I know because they–” He pauses, takes a shaking breath. ”Because he has always been the right one. You were right Louis, you just know it.”
Louis wants to kiss him so badly.
“Niall was right, too, though.” He clears his throat. “I did tell him why I broke up with Hannah. And I know I should have told you, too, but I couldn't because–”
Harry's finger on his lips actually startles him. Harry smiles at him, a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. It sends shivers down his spine.
“It's okay, Lou. You don't have to tell me.”
Louis shakes his head and Harry takes his finger back, leaving Louis' lips prickling and warm and missing his touch. “No, you deserve to know.”
Harry nods as he's holding on to his jumper for dear life. “Okay.”
He takes a breath. Louis feels like he might throw up, but he holds on to that last bit of hope he has left in his heart. “I broke up with Hannah, because she wasn't the right one. Because the right one–”
He doesn't get to finish his sentence, because suddenly there are Harry's lips on his before he can stop him.
The kiss is quick, way too quick, over before it has even started. Louis' head is foggy and his heart makes his blood pulse in his ears and Harry– Harry looks like he might actually start crying.
“I'm sorry, Lou, oh God, I'm so sorry, I–”
“Don't.”
Harry stops talking, but his lips are still parted, trembling, and Louis wants nothing more than to feel them on his again.
“Don't you dare say you're sorry, Styles.” Now Louis is the one wearing a smile. “It's you.”
“W-what is me?”
“The right one, Harry. You're the right one. I broke up with Hannah, because all I ever want is you.”
It takes Harry a full ten seconds of heavy, uncomfortable, tense silence before he seems to fully understand the words Louis has just said. And then he does the only thing he deems rational. He leans forward and kisses him.
Louis didn't see it coming. This time he doesn't let Harry pull away so fast, instead, he buries his fingers in Harry's pretty curls and pulls him into his lap, settles his other hand on Harry's hips and kisses him like he's always imagined it, soft and sweet and intimate, pouring his everything into his touch and taking in every little sigh that leaves Harry's lips, every whisper of his name that Louis suffocates in his mouth. Harry hums in return, curls his fingers into the fabric of Louis' shirt that actually belongs to him and lets Louis pull him closer, licking over his lips and tasting his skin.
They forget about Hannah and Niall and break-ups and any of those things until there's nothing left, except for desperate murmurs of 'Harry' and broken whimpers of 'Lou', and they know it's the one right thing in the world.