Work Text:
why don’t we invent a new world to explore
x
Some imbecile has left their suitcase right in front of the stairs.
Normally, Louis is a considerate person; he’d just remove it himself. But today is the first day of his last year in uni, he’s just said goodbye to his swarm of teary siblings and he’d just like to set down the three bags he’s got on him and take a nap, even if it is on the lumpy residence hall mattress he knows awaits him. He most definitely does not want to deal with some entitled freshman blocking the stairs with their ginormous suitcase. He knows it’s a freshman, because anyone who has lived here longer knows not to ever obstruct the stairs.
Just as Louis’ about to put down his own bags and move the offending luggage himself (although not without a few choice swear words towards its owner), a pair of feet come rushing down the stairs, only to trip directly over the case and Louis, knocking them both onto the floor. This is why nobody blocks the stairs, Louis thinks, as he tries to figure out a way to get out from underneath this person currently crushing him.
When they’re both upright and he finally gets a look at the boy (definitely a fresher, because Louis would not forget that face), he’s almost ready to forgive him for everything. The boy is tall, a good few inches on Louis, with legs that go on for miles, dark hair that he seems to have tried to tame but is springing up into curls by his ears anyway, and green, green eyes. He’s pretty enough to dull Louis’ irritation, so he’s about to forgo the barb on his tongue when the boy speaks,
“Oops,” and is he pouting? Louis squints but yes that is definitely an overly-protruding (plump, pink, delicious) lower lip on a grown man and it should be totally ridiculous but instead it’s just endearing.
“Hi, mate,” Louis sounds friendly. Even if it’s not the salty rebuke he’d planned initially, it’s better than the ‘you can fall onto me anytime you want do you want to go snog in my bed’ monologue that’s going on in his head.
“I’m so sorry!” the boy is so earnest, Louis wants to hug him before uni can turn him into just another semi-perpetually stoned, impolite twat. His internal movie clip of taking him under his wing as he shows him the world and then maybe even marries him, is cut short by the boy talking, “I’m not really always this clumsy, I swear. Or well, actually I am but that doesn’t excuse this. Gemma says I just haven’t grown into my legs yet but she’s been saying that since I –.”
“Calm down, Curly,” Louis has to stop the rambling before he feels himself turn from superior Person of Importance to a puddle of heart eyes. “It’s fine. Just don’t make it a habit of falling on people. They may not take it as well as me,” he says, barely containing a wink, oh my god, he is flirting with a boy he’s just met.
“Yes, of course, absolutely,” and now the boy is smiling and he has dimples and Louis is officially done for. This boy is his personal devil come to take him to hell. He’ll go willingly.
“I’m Harry, by the way. Harry Styles,” and he’s still smiling. Louis wonders if it’s normal to want to drown in a dimple. Probably not. But this boy, Harry, has got the name of a rockstar and a smile that was probably sanctioned by Satan to be unleashed for nefarious purposes, so Louis figures his declining brain function is warranted.
“Louis Tomlinson,” he replies, and he doesn’t even sound as deranged as he feels. Louis – 1, universe – 0.
“Are you a first year as well, then?” Harry speaks at about half the speed of a normal person, Louis thinks. His voice is like the auditory equivalent of molasses and Louis wants to drown in it. That’s the second time Harry has made him contemplate drowning in five minutes and that just won’t stand. Besides, his position as Resident Terror of the halls is being questioned.
“Do I look like a freshman, young Harold?” and whatever response he is about to make is shut down by Louis’ most intimidating glare (it’s probably fonder directed at Harry than when he glares at Niall for stealing his chips). He has a feeling that a quip at his height was on the way (years of teasing has wisened him up) and had to shut it down immediately.
The two boys start to make their way up the stairs, the incriminating suitcase lifted in Harry’s (considerably large, Louis notices) hands, and exchange the usual small talk. Harry is nineteen, from some tiny village in Cheshire, he’s never lived alone before and he’s afraid he’ll miss his cat terribly. He’s at uni for Photography, and honestly Louis should have known he was a filthy hipster when he saw those horrid scuffed suede boots on his feet. He also knows from personal experience (read: Nick Grimshaw) that getting involved with hipsters is a Bad Idea. But Harry is so pretty and he seems genuinely interested to know that Louis is twenty-one, from Doncaster and in his final year of studying English Literature.
They arrive at the corridor of single rooms (because Zayn may be his best friend and roommate before this, but Louis is tired of their room constantly smelling of stale smoke and regret. Also Zayn and Liam have finally got their shit together and moved to flat off campus. He can’t grudge them their happiness, but it’ll take him at least a week to get over the betrayal.) and stop in front of 212 – Louis’ home for the next year.
It’s awkward for a second, because he still wants to throw his bags down and nap like planned, but now there’s Harry and he doesn’t want to let him go yet either. He unlocks the room, although it really is just a glorified cupboard with a bed squeezed in there, like all halls rooms are, and then faces Harry. They’ve barely known each other for five minutes and an accidental straddle, why does Louis want to keep him?
“Well, I suppose you’d like to go find your room and get settled in then,” although his brain is screaming ‘stay here and talk to me more please’. He doesn’t realise how dismissive he sounds until Harry’s face turns down into a frown, crinkle forming between his brows. Before Louis can verbally humiliate himself further or do something inane like kiss Harry till he smiles again, the other boy pastes a grin on his face, a shadow of the beam, dimples prominent in their absence.
“Yeah, I guess so. It was lovely to meet you Louis Tomlinson. I guess I’ll see you around.”
And then he’s dragging his suitcase behind him and disappearing around the corner towards his own corridor. Louis sits on his bare mattress, watching the probable man of his dreams walk away, without even getting his number.
He faceplants into the pillow and lets out a small scream, trying to rationalise that dating a freshman is probably a stupid idea anyway. But something tells him that Harry is no ordinary fickle, first year. As Louis proceeds to suffocate himself with his pillow, he can hear the sound of other students moving in, outside. He probably imagines the way their footsteps seem to chant idiot idiot idiot as they pass.
x
Harry doesn’t really know what to expect from the Whole Uni Experience™. He knows Gemma loved her whole time there, but Gemma’s always been the smart one in the family. Harry’s more of the easy-going sort. Manchester’s a lot bigger than Holmes Chapel anyway and he doesn’t know anybody here so it feels a bit daunting.
When he meets Louis (or rather lands on him, but whatever, semantics) while moving into halls, it’s almost a relief because Louis smiles and asks about Harry and it doesn’t hurt that he’s really rather pretty (Harry’s still getting used to calling himself bisexual out loud, because tiny villages don’t really allow declarations like that to pass by uncommented) so he gets his hopes up about making a friend (or maybe more, a voice in his mind whispers, but he quickly shuts it down).
But then Louis kicks him out of his room without even asking about Harry’s, so he’s back to his initial apprehension. Thankfully his roommate, a ginger lad with tattoos running down both his arms named Ed, seems pretty easy-going and friendly. He doesn’t bother unpacking anything except his guitar and his bong, after checking that Harry doesn’t mind. He’s claimed the lower bunk, strumming some Irish pub song as Harry unpacks. They talk and laugh, surpassing any initial awkwardness when their mutual appreciation for music helps break the ice.
By the end of the week, most of Harry’s nervousness has melted away. His classes are very interesting, despite beginning at arse o’clock in the morning and he’s made a few friends as well. It’s all going better than he could have imagined. On Friday, he arrives at the dining hall and claims a chair across from Ed at an empty table, when a whirlwind of blonde hair and loudness descends on the other lad.
“Sheeran mate! A bunch of us are heading to the pub after this. Some kind of let’s-celebrate-being-back-in-this-shithole thing. You in?” the thick Irish brogue asks, before noticing Harry, who is making his way through the mash that tastes more like sawdust. (The dining hall food is a bit of a travesty. Harry’s probably going to end up taking advantage of the student’s kitchen.)The boy is not a natural blonde, Harry notices, darker roots making themselves prominent.
“Hey mate, Niall Horan. You a friend of Ed’s?”
“His roommate, actually,” says Harry, glad of an excuse to discard the sawdust potatoes.
“Brilliant. Then you’ll come too, yeah? We’ll meet at the Lion at 8. First round of pints on me,” and then he’s gone as quickly as he appeared, seeming to greet every single person he meets between himself and the door.
“My cousin,” Ed explains, “or close enough anyway. His brother married my uncle’s sister’s niece or something of the sort. He’s a second year, studying Psychology believe it or not. But he’s good people.” He pushes his plate away, waiting for Harry to do the same so they can head upstairs. “So, you wanna come to the pub after this?”
Harry nods. Niall was loud, but definitely friendly. And he’s glad of the invite. It wouldn’t hurt to meet some more people, he decides.
At eight thirty, he is most definitely regretting that decision. He’d lost Ed within five minutes, to a group of rugby-team sized people whom he seems to know through Niall. The Irishman himself is nowhere to be found and the pub is absolutely packed. Obviously they weren’t the only ones with this plan. Harry wanders around for some time, chatting with a few girls from his class. They leave soon, in a blur of lipstick and perfume, telling him to join them at some club downtown, but he doesn’t feel like it. After a while of sitting at the bar nursing his pint alone, he’s about to give up and go back when he notices Louis, sat right in the centre of a group of girls, telling a story very animatedly if the way he’s gesturing seems to indicate. He’s definitely tipsy, if the colour high on his cheeks is to go by, and smiling wide and Harry finds it difficult to look away. He’s seen those eyes twinkling up close, albeit it being when he had been sprawled on top of him, and he knows how inviting they are.
He hasn’t seen Louis all week, despite passing his room as often as possible, so he figures it’s okay if he drinks in the sight of him. His staring is in no way subtle though, if the snort Niall gives when he notices is to go by, and maybe he’s a little tipsy too because where did Niall even come from.
“Are you a ghost?” he asks before he can help it, and yep, that’s a point for him being drunk right there. But Niall only laughs and nudges him back in Louis’ direction.
“Got a crush, huh? Want me to introduce you?” and there’s so many things wrong with his questions, Harry thinks. Because ‘crush’ barely covers the raw magnetism that exudes from Louis and Harry’s only nineteen but he’s never felt so captivated by a person after one conversation. He can’t say all this to Niall though, so he’s just about to say that he doesn’t need an introduction thank you very much, when Louis himself appears in front of him.
Either Harry is definitely drunk, or this bar gives everybody the power of Apparition, because this is the second time someone has appeared around Harry without him noticing. He’s also speaking out loud, it seems, because Louis laughs and says,
“Of course this place is magic. And also, yer a wizard, Harry,” in a terrible Scottish accent that makes Harry’s heart soar out of his chest and fall at Louis’ feet. “Nice to see you again. Didn’t really get to finish talking in the hallway, did we?”
This is it, the moment Harry has been waiting for all week. He’s just about ready to offer his number or his bed or his hand in marriage to Louis when Niall interrupts, “Tommo, you know Harry? You’re not one to go making nice with freshers when you can terrorise them instead.”
“I’ll have you know, Horan, that it was young Harold here who terrorised me.” How he manages to have a voice that’s high but also husky, Harry wonders. Maybe Louis Tomlinson is magic. That seems like a reasonable explanation. “Practically assaulted me on the stairs first day back.”
Harry’s about to protest vehemently, assert that it was an accident and he would never, but Louis’ bursting into giggles that make his eyes crinkle at the corners, so he’s having a little difficulty thinking.
Louis’ just so cute, is the thing, even if they are almost strangers, and Harry is so, so attracted to him, beyond just physically. He just wants to listen to him talk forever, and maybe kiss him a lot, okay. That’s totally normal.
Niall’s disappeared again so it’s just him and Louis at the bar. His eyes seem bluer than ever in the dim lighting and Harry knows he should probably talk instead of just staring at him but he really doesn’t remember what words are right now.
“Um, Harry?” Louis laughs, and god, Harry wants him to say his name all the time from now on. “You’re speaking out loud again, mate.”
And, oh. That’s probably not good. He can feel the mortification creeping up his collar, when Louis rests his hand on his arm.
“It’s okay, yeah? I’m quite flattered really, and um, obviously you’re quite gorgeous yourself.” Harry is going to die. Louis just called him gorgeous and is touching him and why is he drunk he wants to remember this forever. “But,” oh no, oh no, oh no, Harry thinks and it’s justified when Louis follows it up with, “maybe we should just be friends, okay?”
His heart sinks, but he manages a nod, as Louis squeezes his arm and gives him a brilliant smile before walking away.
Harry watches from the bar as he returns to the group of girls, curling himself into one of their sides and feels an irrational arrow of jealous quiver through him. And then, he stumbles off the stool and makes his way to the door and back to halls, alone. He’s going to be the best friend Louis’ ever had.
x
Louis is regretting the sensible part of him that ever decided that he and Harry should be friends. He’s perched on one of the chairs in the student kitchen, while the man himself cooks up fajitas for their dinner. (Because obviously his devilish good looks and sensitive warm heart weren’t enough, he had to be able to cook as well. And all it took was Louis complaining about the dining hall fare once, for Harry to instate weekly pot luck, where he would proceed to make some gourmet delicacy from scratch and Louis would contribute by buying the ice-cream and not eating eat before the actual food.)
Thing is, when Louis said that they should be friends, that fateful night at the bar two months earlier, he thought it would deter Harry from pursuing him. Not that Louis has given up his own infatuation, but he knows what happens when you get into a relationship in the first week of uni with someone older and it doesn’t end well. He’s made his own mistakes and he doesn’t want to be to Harry what Nick Grimshaw ended up for him.
Because he actually likes Harry, beyond his (excellent) body. He likes that Harry never complains about waking up early for class, but puts up with Louis’ incessant moans; he likes the way Harry laughs, loud and unabashed, at his jokes even when they’re not funny; he likes how close Harry is with his family and that he lets Louis be the same and he likes that Harry’s always willing at look at the positives in everyone. So Harry is just an all-around amazing human being and maybe Louis is an idiot for stopping things before they even started.
Having Harry as a friend is like dangling what he can’t have right under his nose. After that night in the pub, he’d expected Harry would give up and they’d smile politely when they bumped into each other in the dining hall and that would be it. Instead he’d woken up to post-it note on his door from him inviting him to a “one hundred percent platonic coffee”. Which, Louis had to accept, if only to teach Harry that tea was the obviously the superior beverage.
After that, he just kept showing up at Louis’ door to hang out, because “Ed’s always with his girlfriend and I don’t like being on my own, Lou, please” and it’s probably Louis’ duty as a human being to do everything within his power to keep Harry Styles smiling, so despite his best efforts to resist, they had become friends.
This brings them to now, when Harry’s adding vegetables to the meat for the fajitas, as Louis does his level best to sabotage him by kicking at his side.
“Lou, stop. You’re going to have to eat something green once in a while if you ever want to grow.”
Clutching at his chest, Louis mimes falling out of his chair like a soldier wounded in battle.
“Et tu, Styles? I thought we were friends,” and it’s obviously a testament to their newfound closeness that Louis lets him make jokes about his height at all, and that all Harry does is laugh at his dramatics, rather than console him. Sometimes Louis misses that first week, when Harry would blush dark every time Louis pretended to be insulted. Now he just teases him back. But Louis has never been one to be out done, so he continues,
“The youth of today, no respect at all for their elders. When I was your age, young Harold, I would never –.”
“Okay, Daddy,” that shuts Louis right up, because oh.
Obviously, Harry realises he’s won this round, if the smirk on his face is anything to go by. He serves up the fajitas and digs in, like he’s not totally ruined Louis with one word. He’s obviously some kind of alien, sent to destroy lesser mortals. Louis climbs back on to the chair and tries to go on with dinner and life, but one thought keeps running through his mind: Harry Styles is going to be the death of him.
x
December rolls around in a rush of exams and last minute Christmas shopping. Most of the residence hall is emptied, students heading home for the holidays. By the twenty second, even Ed sets off, leaving Harry with a hug and a threat to not open his present till Christmas. The corridors feel empty without sleep deprived students heading to or from class at odd hours, and the quiet is disconcerting so Harry settles for haunting the common room.
It takes Louis about five minutes to realise this and join him, and sometimes Harry is so grateful for his clumsiness because even if he didn’t get a boyfriend, he definitely got the best friend he’s ever had out of tripping over his suitcase. Case in point: Louis is staying back in the halls for Christmas because Harry doesn’t like being alone. His family’s gone on holiday to Spain and he hadn’t felt like dealing with the hassle of travel. So the boys are both staying on campus till the 28th, when they’ll head back home till the New Year. Sometimes Harry wonders if they’re too co-dependent, but it’s hard to be concerned when Louis is burying his way into his chest as he queues up Polar Express.
That’s another thing about Louis that Harry’s learnt – he’s a cuddler. It makes him feel like the universe is cruel, because how is he supposed to get over his crush on Louis when he willingly agrees to be his big spoon despite being smaller? That’s ‘some soulmate shit right there’, as Niall crudely puts it when he’s drunk. Niall has been the biggest supporter of what he terms ‘Larry’, ever since the first night at the pub and he constantly tries to provoke Harry into making a move. Harry doesn’t, because he respects that Louis probably doesn’t think of him that way, but it’s nice to know that someone other than him agrees that they would be good together.
This kind of thinking seems too melancholy and out of place when he’s actually got Louis in his arms watching Christmas films so Harry tries to focus on the present. Besides, as Zayn says, what would really be different if they were dating? (And although his dick would disagree and say lots of things, his brain can see that sometimes all their cuddling can be a bit non-platonic. But as long as Louis doesn’t stop it, he’s gonna cuddle him all he wants.) Zayn and Liam are the other things he’s gained through Louis, and the ease of their relationship makes him smile and burn with envy simultaneously. What they have is what he wants with Louis, but Niall assures him that even they were dumb about each other at first. (This puts unnecessary hope into Harry’s mind so he tries not to think about it too much.)
Halfway through the film, the couple in question show up to the common room with Niall in tow, and it really should be disconcerting how easy it is for them to enter the halls without actually living here, but instead it just makes Harry feel warm. All his friends are together and it’s nearly Christmas.
So of course the peace is disturbed when they drop a total bombshell on Harry. It’s actually Louis that Liam addresses, during a lull in the film,
“I guess we really are growing up responsibly, eh Tommo? Watching films inside instead of throwing a rager for your birthday?”
Louis laughs in a quiet, half-asleep way that makes his nose crinkle and Harry’s almost too distracted by that to notice the actual words Liam said. When he does, he jerks so much that he knocks Louis’ head off of him. Normally that would warrant an apology, but instead he half yells in his face,
“It’s your birthday?”
“Yeah, on Christmas Eve, mate,” Zayn can choke on his amused smile, honestly. Harry can’t believe nobody thought to tell him this crucial information till now. A billion half-formed plans emerge in his mind, but he spares a minute to think about how fitting it is for Louis to have been born as a Christmas present to the world. Then he spares another minute to think about how this kind of cheesiness is probably why Zayn is laughing at him.
But Louis who stops him before he can settle on a plan.
“It’s not a big deal yeah, Haz. Don’t make a fuss or anything,” and then he’s pulling him back to use as a pillow, like that’s the end of the conversation. Harry’s about to protest but he sees Zayn’s smile slip and Liam’s slight frown so he lets it go. By the time Polar Express fades into The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, Louis is fast asleep and Harry is itching for answers.
So when Zayn says he’s stepping out for a smoke, he follows.
Zayn’s silhouette is the kind of thing that would probably inspire poetry or art, the cut of his jaw almost reflecting the fading sunlight. But he’s not telling Harry anything, so his impossible attractiveness just annoys him. It’s only after the first cigarette burns down to the filter and he lights the second one that he starts volunteering information.
“You know about his mum, yeah?”
Harry nods, because they had talked about it one night, curled together in Louis’ bed, hiding under the blankets. About illness and helplessness and Louis’ mum and Harry’s stepdad and loss.
“When Lou was younger, his mum would always make a big deal on his birthday. He seems like a child sometimes you know, because of his pranks and his antics, but really he’s the most responsible of us all. He always looked after his sisters while Jay was working night shifts at the hospital. Got a part time job to help out, while the rest of us went to parties and pretended to be cool. He’d come along sometimes and get totally trashed of course, because he’s Louis, but mostly he’s a son and a brother, doing his best to make the rest of them happy, you know.”
Zayn’s voice is soft, to match the chill in the air, and Harry thinks it’s appropriate. Louis deserves soft things. It’s not like a lot of this is news to him, but Louis tends to be dismissive while talking about himself, so it warms him to know that others see him in the wondrous light that he does too.
“So Jay would always spoil him on his birthdays. Because he never really got to be a child any other time of the year and because she never wanted it to be overshadowed by Christmas. And he’d always have a giant party the day before. After she got sick, it all stopped because there were other things to worry about, you know. And when she passed, it was Louis trying to make sure Christmas was still Christmas for the rest of his siblings, so his birthday kind of -”
Zayn breaks off, shrugging, but Harry’s got the message anyway. His brain tries to take it all in. He can see it, is the thing. Can see Louis putting himself last, to make his siblings laugh despite the missing presence at their Christmas table. His heart feels overwhelmed with the feelings he has for this boy who’s loud and boisterous on the surface but so quiet and loving and strong within. He wants to hug Louis and tell him he’s the most wonderful person he knows. But something strikes him,
“Why didn’t he go home this year?”
“The older girls are spending Christmas with their dad and the babies are staying with Dan at his parents. Louis didn’t want to impose, not that he would have been, but since you were staying back anyway, he didn’t have to make the choice.”
Zayn kicks the cigarette butt and motions for them to head back inside. Harry’s mind is still reeling a bit, but he wants to be near his boy. Not that Louis is his boy, but he just feels like it’s okay, just this once. Before they step into the common room again, they can hear the sound of Louis yelling obscenities at Liam while Niall laughs, which means they’ve probably given up films for FIFA.
He can feel the grin rising on his face, when Zayn grips his shoulder and says, “Harry.” He sounds serious and not in the mysterious way he projects to keep his bad boy image intact.
“I know you like him, more than as a stupid crush. And I do think you’re good for him. But he’s graduating in a few months, and you’re not, which is something that he would worry about. So really think things through, before you tell him, okay?”
“Okay,” Harry says, but he can’t stop smiling. Zayn’s lips are twitching too, though the mysterious aura is mostly back in place as he asks, “What?”
“You just gave me the intentions speech,” Harry says, outright grinning. Zayn burst into a laugh then, and he looks years younger as he shakes his head and walks towards his boyfriend who is currently being sat on by Louis for winning at FIFA. “I guess I did.”
x
After too many rounds of FIFA in which Harry and Louis destroy the others and name themselves the dream team, the lads call it a night and decide to head out. With one last yell from Liam about dropping presents off tomorrow, they’re gone and then it’s just Louis and Harry in the common room.
There’s a companionable silence for a while, Harry cleaning while Louis contemplates his existence. It’s almost Christmas and his crush on Harry has just grown every day since they met. He still thinks he was right to not trap Harry into a relationship in the first week of college, but there’s a tiny niggling voice in his brain (which sounds suspiciously like Liam) telling him that it’s been ages and it’s alright to make a move now since he still likes him so much.
Thing is, he’s pretty sure Harry’s over his initial infatuation, if there was even any to begin with. The one thing that Louis has learnt about his best friend over the past four months is that not only is he a shameless flirt with everyone, he’s the most loving person on earth, probably. He always focuses his full attention on the people he’s with and Louis knows first-hand how intoxicating that feeling is, to be the centre of someone’s, Harry’s, focus. He’s not even ashamed to say that he’s occasionally gone out of his way to secure it. (It’s possible those were the times that he was drunk and not against clinging to Harry like a human-sized limpet to make him pay attention to him. So Louis can be needy, sue him.)
But either way, Harry flirts with everyone and he probably only pays more attention to Louis because they’re best friends. It’s a thought that makes Louis irrationally upset, so he curls up into the sofa facing away from Harry and decides to take a nap.
When he wakes up, he’s being half-suffocated by Harry’s giant arm swung across his chest. Also they are both in his bed, instead of the common room. Once he’s free of Harry’s octopus limbs, he pauses to take in the fact that Harry had probably carried him up from the common room. The thought sends a shiver down his spine. He knows Harry’s bigger than him, and obviously those weekly visits to the gym have made him strong. (Sometimes when they hug, he lifts Louis so his toes can’t make contact with the ground. It’s times like this that Louis thinks he’s doing a public service by having a crush on Harry. He may look like a cherub, but he’s really just a little shit.) But the thought of Harry actually carrying him places does things to him that probably isn’t a good idea when every inch of him is pressed up against Harry’s in his (their) tiny bed.
But he is Louis Tomlinson, and let it never be said that he can’t find his way out of hard (no pun intended) situations. He smacks Harry across the face. Of course, all that happens as a result of that is Harry tucking his face into Louis’ neck and away from his wandering hands, resolutely not waking up. Louis sighs, but does not admit defeat, as is the Tomlinson way. Poking him in the neck, he starts,
“Harry. Harry. Harold. H. Hazza. Ha-.”
But he’s cut off by a giant hand coming up to rest on his cheek, drawing him closer. He freezes. Harry’s voice is sleep heavy and twice as deep as he murmurs, “Shh, Lou. Let’s just sleep yeah, babe?”
Louis wonders if there will ever be a day when Harry’s voice isn’t enough to send tendrils of warmth rushing through him. Probably not. But he’s still about to protest, at least on principle, even though the bed is warm and Harry’s still holding him so gently and he’s tired, but never too tired to irritate Harry. Except then there’s a kiss being placed on his forehead and Louis feels all his protests drain out softly. He shuts his eyes, curls into Harry and goes to sleep.
The next day, Louis wakes up alone, feeling out of sorts. Harry’s never left him alone unless he has an early class, so he can’t help but feel cheated. What it says about their relationship that they spend most nights in the same bed is something Louis definitely doesn’t think about. Much. (Along with thoughts of how his pink lips would look, swollen from snogging for ages and the way his milky skin would tinge with bruises from Louis’ mouth and the way his hands would feel gripping –. But Louis is not thinking about it. That way lies doom.)
There’s a text on his phone, because even when Harry’s leaving him for no good reason he’s a considerate bastard. (Louis probably loves him)
Hiiiiii. Got some errands to run. I’ll bring supplies for dinner when I’m back. PLEASE EAT SOMETHING APART FROM COCO POPS. H x
So Harry’s left him alone till dinner. He’ll probably eat only coco pops out of spite. He’s heading to the student kitchen to do just that, but when he opens the fridge, there’s a covered plate with a note on it that says ‘Property of Louis Tomlinson, Do Not Touch On Pain of Death OR WORSE’ but with a smiley face drawn on the corner to counteract the threat. Louis feels the smile bubbling up his insides, this boy is just so endearing. He wants to wake up to breakfast and passive-aggressive notes forever.
As he sticks the plate into the microwave, it hits him. He’s in love with Harry. Not just in the crush way and definitely beyond a platonic way. In a forever way. And Louis’ seen his mum’s failed marriages and he knows love doesn’t always last, but he wants this one to. He’s in love with Harry Styles. He makes his way through the egg on toast in a haze, which is ironic because everything seems so much clearer now that he’s realised.
His phone buzzes with a text. It’s Liam, telling him to they’re waiting outside his room. Louis leaves the plate in the sink, he knows Harry’s going to frown at him later, but he’s in love and there are more important things to do than washing up. Like telling his best friends.
“I love Harry,” he says, to the three boys waiting at his door. Niall just snorts and collapses on his bed the second he opens the door.
“We know, mate.”
But they don’t get it. They’re used to Louis and Harry’s cheesy friendship. So he tries again,
“No. I’m in love with Harry,” he says. By now even Zayn and Liam are smirking.
“We know, mate.”
So maybe they do get it. Huh.
“How long have I been in love with Harry?”
It’s Liam (of course it is) who replies, “Probably since you met him.”
“And none of you thought to tell me?” Louis’ probably getting a bit screechy now, but he’s in love and his friends all knew and nobody did anything about it. He needs new friends. Actually, he needs Harry, because Harry would know exactly what to say to make him feel better. The irony of this doesn’t escape Louis, but he chooses to ignore it.
“Lou, you’re the one who said it would be stupid to get involved with a first year.”
“But he’s not just a first year, he’s Harry” Louis says, because Zayn can take his stupid logic and punch himself in the immaculate cheekbones with it.
“If it helps,” Niall says, from where he’s made himself comfortable in Louis’ bed (so maybe they’re all a bit co-dependent), “I’m pretty sure Harry’s in love with you too.”
Louis lets out a strangled sound that’s probably not within the human range of hearing. He can’t believe he’s only been awake for an hour and he’s already having a crisis of mega-proportions. He wants Harry, Harry is so soothing.
Harry is also missing, since he’s off on his mysterious errands, so Louis makes do. By which he means, he collapses onto Niall, probably kneeing him in the balls. The other two seem to realise the gravity of the situation, because they immediately join the cuddle. Louis loves his friends, just not the way he loves Harry.
“Should I tell him?” he asks in his smallest voice, because this is serious. These are the people who know him best, know his insecurities, and his fear of graduating and being forgotten, and how he hides all of that behind being loud and brash. (Harry knows all of that too, he thinks. Harry’s his best friend. He should tell him.)
“You should tell him,” Liam says, because sometimes he’s eerily similar to the voice in Louis’ head. They break up the cuddle after that, but Louis feels his insides settle, now that he’s made a rough decision. He can do this, probably. Even if Harry doesn’t feel the same (oh god, what if Harry doesn’t feel the same?) he won’t be cruel about it. Louis will be fine.
The boys don’t stay long after that, exchanging presents and hugging Louis before they leave, because they’re all driving home for Christmas. It’s a testament to how confused he is that he doesn’t immediately rip open his presents. (Two hours later, when he’s decided to woman up and just talk to Harry when he gets back, he tears his way through the wrapping despite Zayn’s strict instructions to wait till tomorrow at least. They’ve got him the skateboard he’s been eyeing for ages, and yeah, his friends are pretty great.)
By evening he’s almost vibrating out of his skin in anticipation and Harry’s not replied to any of his texts. He’s in the middle of composing the forty third variation of ‘where are you wanker I’m hungry and we need to talk’ when Harry walks in, totally casual, like there have been no life-changing epiphanies in his absence.
“Hi Lou, missed you today.”
This boy. How did the universe expect Louis to resist, honestly? Harry’s still talking though, something about getting changed and starting dinner and does Louis want pasta or tacos, but he’s not really paying attention because Harry’s nose is red from the cold and his eyes are sparkling and he’s just so pretty.
After dinner, Louis is going to tell him.
x
Harry sets the pan of water to boil on the hob, getting the pasta out. He can barely keep the smile off of his face. After talking to Zayn yesterday, he’d thought about him and Louis for a long time. Thing is, he can’t see why Louis graduating is a big deal for their potential relationship. Harry knows that he’s applied to a lot of positions in Manchester and a couple in London, so it’s not like they’ll be too far to ever see each other. He knows Louis’ scared because his ex vanished to London to become a radio DJ or something and then broke up with him over text. But Harry knows that they, Louis and him, are so much more than that. He may be only nineteen, but he knows he wants to grow old with Louis.
So he’d spent the day driving down to Doncaster. He knew that Louis was missing his family during the holidays and he couldn’t have him celebrate his birthday with just Harry. Mark and Dan were both easy to convince, and the girls and Ernest all ecstatic to be able to surprise Louis. Harry’s arranged for them to show up sometime after breakfast tomorrow, so they can have a family lunch and spend the day together. Not a huge fuss, but enough to remind Louis that his birthday still matters. And then in the evening, after they go back to Doncaster and he has Louis to himself, he’s thinking of telling him how he feels. Maybe cook him a special dinner, light some candles. It’ll be perfect, at least that’s what he hopes.
Harry can’t help the inexplicable joy building up in him, so he channels it the only way he knows – by baking cupcakes. Louis enters the kitchen just as the oven announces that they’re ready. He’s fiddling with the bottom of his jumper, a nervous tick that Harry can’t help but be endeared by.
“Pasta’s done, if you wanna grab plates,” he tells him, trying to maintain some sense of normalcy instead of smiling maniacally and giving away the surprise.
They eat in silence, which is unusual because Harry’s never known Louis to be silent for this long unless he’s upset. By the third time that Louis opens his mouth to speak before promptly shutting up, Harry is suspicious. But he can probably bribe it out of him with cupcakes, he figures.
He brings them out and the icing is a little sloppy, but he guesses it’s the thought that counts.
“You made cupcakes?” is the first thing Louis says to him, his voice and soft and he still sounds a little off. Hopefully the cupcakes get him to spill.
“Yeah. “ Harry says, because he can’t say ‘I love you so much I’m probably gonna marry you some day’ like he wants to. “I thought it’d be a nice pre-birthday treat. You know I used to be a bake – .”
“I’m in love with you,” Louis says.
Harry drops the cupcakes.
“What?!” and that came out a lot louder than Harry expected. Louis flinches and he’s not making eye contact anymore like he’s upset and he loves Harry, apparently so that just won’t do.
“I’m in love with you, Harry,” and yup, Harry’s probably died and gone to heaven because Louis loves him. “I know I was the one who said we should just be friends, and I tried really, but I just couldn’t help it. And it’s fine, I know you probably don’t feel the same, but I had to say something –.”
But Harry can’t listen anymore because he can’t have Louis thinking that he doesn’t love him back, so he just crosses the table in two steps and kisses him quiet instead.
Louis’ mouth is soft and wet and perfect, and Harry’s been dreaming of this moment for months now. He can’t help smiling into the kiss, which in turn makes Louis smile too, until they’re both just laughing into each other’s mouths, teeth clacking.
Harry draws back first, because he wants to look Louis in the eye when he says “I am so horribly in love with you, you absolute arsehole, Louis Tomlinson. I’d planned a romantic dinner and everything.”
And of course, Louis gives an indignant huff at that, but Harry can see his eyes shining brighter than ever so he just has to kiss him again.
And maybe Louis did ruin his romantic plan of a candlelit dinner, but he still has an epic surprise for him tomorrow, so it’s okay. As for what’s going to happen after Louis graduates, Harry thinks as he bites his lower lip (Louis lets out a delicious whine at that, which Harry can’t wait to explore later), they’ll figure it out. They’ve got all the time in the world.