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i.
It starts the way most of Louis’ ideas do: with a meager incentive and absolutely no preparation. Or at least, that’s what Harry tells himself. Perhaps he should have paid more attention Before – because his life now has to be divided into arbitrary categories like ‘Before’ and ‘After’ – but he'd been so caught up in the twisted inner-workings of Heidegger’s mind that he’d barely noticed his best friend had wandered off in the first place. When he tunes back in to hear Louis’ raspy voice as it draws nearer once more, the damp grass beneath him has long since pressed a myriad of unruly imprints into the backs of his calves, with a smattering of the surrounding blades taking their uprooted residence in his hair. Harry doesn't really remember how that happened either, but he knows Louis must have been behind it.
“Let me just make sure he’s on board,” Louis announces loudly, no doubt disturbing everyone in their immediate vicinity. “Hey, baby!”
Harry feels, more than sees, Louis swoop down to breathe this week's terrible idea against his skin, the warmth of his body resettling over Harry like a thick quilt. He nips playfully at Harry's earlobe, whispering, “How do you feel about going on a little adventure with me?” Still much too caught up in Heidegger’s writings, Harry definitely can't admit to the swooping sensation low in his stomach.
“Mm,” Harry murmurs, keeping his eyes fixed on the exact place he had stopped when he first heard Louis approaching again. “Yeah, sure. Just give me like five minutes to find a good stopping place, and I’m all yours.”
Louis’ lips trace a searing path along the edge of his jaw, and he stiffens, inhaling sharply as they make to pass over his jackhammering pulse point. “How about we make that three minutes.”
Harry can’t help wondering if he’s drunk. It wouldn't be the first time he’s drunkenly lain his affections on a little thick, of course, and it certainly won’t be the last. But even Louis, beautiful and stupidly affectionate Louis, usually has his limits when it comes to PDA with Harry in such a, well, public environment.
Taking a deep breath, Harry tries to control his heartbeat. If it keeps going at this rate, Louis will probably be able to see his heart jumping straight out of his chest. He needs a distraction, for both of their sakes. “Heidegger was a right cunt.”
Louis freezes and pulls back to cock an eyebrow at him. “I’m sorry, Harold. Did you just say that you think Heidegger was right?” The smirk toying at the edge of his lips is a dead giveaway that he’s just taking the piss, but it does nothing to stop the icy panic from flooding Harry’s veins.
He freezes for a moment, moving nothing but his eyes to see if anyone around them has caught onto Louis’ playful accusation, and then springs to action, snapping his book shut. “That's not what I said, and you know it,” he hisses.
Louis tsks. “I don't know, Haz.” The volume of his voice raises with each passing syllable. “It sounds a lot like you just said—”
His hand clamps down over Louis’ mouth as firmly as he can manage. “What do you want? C'mon, you have my full attention now. What. Do. You. Want.”
Louis manages to look apologetic as he licks slobbery circles around Harry's palm until he lets go. “Pretend to be my boyfriend,” he says, dramatically gulping in as much air as he can breathe.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“This bloke just came up to me, said he’d give us fifty quid to be in his music video.”
“And you said what? ‘Sure, just let me coerce my friend into it with uncomfortable amounts of PDA and blackmail’?”
Louis flinches. “I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable, we don't have to…”
“That’s not what I meant,” Harry sighs. He combs his fingers through his hair, untangling a few blades of grass along the way. “You know there's nothing I love more in this world than a good cuddle from you, Lou. It just feels like everyone’s eyes are on us all of a sudden, and I’m not...I don't...I’d just really prefer it if you wouldn't just spring something like this on me. I don't know how to pretend to be your boyfriend. Shouldn't that be the sort of thing that we, I don't know, practice beforehand?”
A slow, sheepish grin spreads across Louis’ face. “I don't know,” he says, shrugging, “Liam doesn't seem to think we need any practice.”
“Liam?”
“The bloke who's making the music video. He saw me putting grass in your hair before I snuck off to buy us some food—”
“Which it appears you forgot to bring back.”
“—and he asked if we were a couple. I was going to tell him we weren't, of course, but that we could pretend for the video if he needed us to. But then I thought ‘What the hell! If anyone can pull off acting like a couple even though they aren’t, it’s you and me.’ So here I am. I’m just a boy, kneeling beside another boy, asking him to pretend to love me.”
“You know I love you,” Harry says softly, reaching up to tug at the collar of Louis’ shirt. A sly smirk spreads slowly across his face. “Even if your taste in romance movies is mediocre at best.”
“Hey!” Louis frowns and pushes firmly against Harry’s chest until he’s pressed back into the grass. His baby-blues ensnare Harry’s own gaze for one tense moment, and then he sighs. “I do,” Louis whispers back. “Know you love me, that is.” He brings a hand up to cover Harry's where it still rests at the base of his throat, worrying at his bottom lip. “But can you pretend to be in love with me for the next fifteen minutes or so?”
Harry gulps. It isn't a matter of whether he can pretend. It’s a matter of whether he can let Louis pretend right alongside him and still come out of it with his heart intact. He takes a deep breath. “Okay. But I want a massive plate of chips from the pub when we're done.”
“Of course. I was already planning to use every cent we make from this on food and alcohol. Whatever you want, love.”
“Alright, it's a deal. But as my pretend boyfriend, you're gonna have to help me up.” Harry glances down at his legs. “I think the grass is trying to eat me.”
ii.
Louis hasn't let go of his hand for at least five minutes, and Harry can feel his palm growing slick with sweat. Liam, as Lou introduced him just a few minutes ago, is still fiddling with the settings of his camera, and despite his best efforts, Harry is becoming antsy. Louis seems to have zoned out completely, and Harry doesn't know how to tell him that the tiny circles his thumb is currently drawing onto the back of his hand are maddening. He loves them and he hates them at the same time because it's Louis, and with Louis there's always a little mix of love and hate.
Like he can hear Harry's thoughts, Louis comes back to the present and tucks himself into Harry's side, sending all the blood rushing to his ears in a deafening hum. He hopes to God that there isn't a pulse point on his palm because Louis is currently squeezing his hand tighter, tilting his head up to meet his eyes, nose just barely brushing against the underside of Harry's jaw, and Harry isn't sure he remembers how to breathe.
“Haz,” he whispers, “you're sure you're okay with this?”
He holds Louis’ gaze for a moment, and there’s something about it that anchors him in place as the rest of the world carries on around them. He can think of a thousand reasons why he should just untangle their hands and say no, but Louis is here, blinking slowly while he looks up beneath long eyelashes, and before Harry even realizes what he’s doing, he’s breathing a soft yes into the space between them. Louis’ returning grin is much too bright for him to even consider taking it back. God, he’s fucked.
“Alright, lads,” Liam says, jolting them both out of their private moment. Harry schools himself, turning to look at Liam with a polite smile. He looks back, eyes flitting between them with curiosity etched between his brows, and Harry’s ears fill with heat. So help him if this is the day Louis finally finds out what a hopeless sod he is – and at the remarkably keen perception of a near stranger, no less.
A pointed cough from Louis seems to break Liam free from the cage of his own thoughts, however, and Harry breathes out a sigh of relief. “Erm,” Liam continues, “I’ll start you off easy. I just want you to walk the same way you’ve already been doing. Talk to each other, exchange little glances and smiles. Louis—” Liam gestures widely. “A few minutes in, I’m going to give you a cue, and when you see the cue I need you to make Harry laugh. Got it?”
Louis raises his hand slowly.
Liam lifts a single eyebrow. “Yes, Louis?”
“What kind of laugh?”
“What do you mean?”
Louis bites his lip. “What kind of laugh do you want me to bring out of Harry?”
“There’s more than one?”
He nods seriously. “Seventeen, to be exact.”
Liam frowns. “Try a few of them, then, I guess. It can’t hurt to have options. Just choose, say, your top three favourites, and we’ll go from there.”
Louis nods firmly, the hand clasping Harry’s falling away and absently moving to caress Harry’s elbow. Harry feels like he’s just had an out-of-body experience, like someone’s lit all the nerve-ends in his brain on fire and he’s too preoccupied with the smoke filling his head to fully process this new revelation. Louis is a good actor. Better than Harry ever thought he’d be, at least.
Up until this moment, Harry has always been able to know when Louis is lying, always much more privy to Louis’ tells than the average person – the product of a long-term exposure to him at his best and his worst, he reckons. Now though, now Louis’ face is serene. He isn’t rolling his shoulders back like he needs to square up to do something ugly, or raising his eyebrows and blowing raspberries into the air, and Harry doesn’t quite know what to make of it.
Even more confounding is that Louis apparently knows exactly how many laughs he has. It's the kind of thing Harry doesn't even know about himself.
The light touch burning into Harry’s elbow is both foreign and familiar. It’s one of the few places Louis has never actually touched Harry before, one of their silently agreed-upon “too intimate” areas, but it still feels just as natural as any quick squeeze to his knee before an exam.
Liam is talking again, his mouth forming words that Harry can't make out with all the blood that's settled in his ears. It feels like he's Charlie Brown and Liam is his schoolteacher. He knows he should try to pay attention, but there's so much swirling around in his brain right now that he can't, no matter how hard he tries. He settles for nodding along to keep up the pretence that everything is okay. (It’s most definitely not okay.)
In an attempt to distract himself from his own thoughts, Harry slides into the role he’s supposed to be playing, slipping his own arm around Louis’ waist to rest a hand on his hip. It grounds him, being able to feel Louis beneath his fingertips, to rest his chin on his shoulder. It always has. He finally tunes back in to Liam’s spiel as he’s saying, “Ready?”
Louis turns to look at him again, his nose bumping against Harry’s cheek. “You're sure about this, love?” he asks one more time.
He swallows down the lump in his throat and smacks a wet kiss to Louis’ cheek. “No vinegar on the chips this time.”
“Why don't we get two orders? One with and one without.”
“Because then I won't be able to steal any of yours.”
Louis quirks an eyebrow and pinches the loose skin around Harry’s elbow. “That's kind of the point.”
“No vinegar on the chips,” Harry pouts. “And I want the biggest margarita they can make me.”
The glare Louis sends his way in response doesn’t hold for long. He bites his lip to contain the smile toying at his lips and says, “Fine.”
“Then fine.”
“Fine.” Louis crosses his eyes, and Harry can’t restrain the laugh that bubbles up out of him.
“Great!” Liam pipes up. Harry jumps, feeling a twinge of guilt for having forgotten he was there. “We’re gonna start rolling in 30, so if you guys want to get into position.”
Louis nods, schooling his features and taking one step out of Harry’s bubble so they can walk a little more comfortably. The air filling up the space Louis just occupied is a touch too cold, but he clasps Harry’s hand again, and that might just make up for the absence.
They begin walking down the pavement, starting off slow while Liam gets his camera ready. The ground beneath Harry’s feet is sturdy, holding him upright with an ease he hasn’t been able to find since Louis accosted him with this ridiculous plan in the park. He has time for one deep breath before Liam’s resounding Action! forces him into a role he never imagined he’d be able to play outside of a secret fantasy.
Louis nudges him with a small smile, and Harry falls into step beside him. “Did I ever tell you about the time I almost got me and Lotts arrested?”
Harry furrows his brow. “Mm, don’t think so. Must’ve been sick that day.”
Reaching with his free hand, Louis turns to boop Harry on the nose with his index finger, and he scrunches it up out of reflex. “Well buckle up, sweet cheeks, because it’s a wild ride.” And with that, he faces forward again and launches into his story.
Despite the reservations he’s been harboring about being able to act natural in front of the camera, Harry discovers that it’s easy to forget about everyone around them when Louis keeps calling back his attention with wide sweeping hand gestures and his lilting, raspy voice. He feels a sliver of regret for the stress they must be causing Liam with their complete inattentiveness, but then Louis puts on his announcer voice and mimes holding a bullhorn up to his lips as he relays the stern talking-to he’d gotten from a police officer a few summers back, and Harry’s chest tightens with his laughter, the regret shaking right off with his heaving shoulders.
“I was so tempted to just leave her there and let her take the fall for it.” Louis swings their hands between them like a pendulum. “I mean, it would have been more believable for me to be the ignorant accomplice of a twelve-year-old girl stalking this boyband than to be the orchestrator myself, right? But I knew mum would have killed me, so I lied and told them that we’d gotten lost. Asked if they could please help us find our way back to the lobby. Lotts was so scared. Would’ve snitched on me to mum, too, if I hadn’t bribed her with regular brother-sister ice cream dates for all of eternity. Still paying that one off.”
Harry can’t breathe. Just a few weeks ago, Louis came back from Easter hols, complaining about having to pay for all of his sisters’ ice creams. He’d made similar complaints before, but Harry had never really known why Louis always paid for the ice cream. Not until now, at least.
He wheezes, clutching at his chest with his free hand. “I can’t believe you stalked ‘N Sync to their hotel.”
Louis scowls. “Harry, I swear to God, if this is about J.T.’s hair…”
Harry knows he’s pretty close to reaching hyena laugh territory, but he can’t help the giggles that are pouring out of him. “Have you seen the side-by-side comparison of his hair and a block of dry ramen?”
“Haz,” Louis whines. “It was just curly hair. I like curly hair! You have curly hair, and I like that. Would you make fun of yourself the same way you’re making fun of Justin?”
Harry’s heart flutters in his chest. He’s always known that Louis must love his hair, what with the frequency he likes to play with it, but it still sends a jolt through him to hear it said out loud. “The difference, my dear Lewis,” Harry says with an exaggerated bow that nearly causes him to trip over his own feet, “is that my hair is naturally curly. Timberlake had a perm. And a bad one, at that.”
Louis manages to look affronted for all of five seconds before bursting into a fit of his own giggles. Harry’s heart nearly jumps out of his chest at the sound, and he has to squeeze Louis’ hand to keep his feet from flying up with it.
He gets a warm squeeze back as Louis’ laughter dies down. “Hey, Haz?” Louis says with a soft smile.
“Hm?”
“I’m glad you’re my best friend.”
Harry doesn’t quite know what to say to that, whether he should consider it the highest compliment or an unintentional snub against his feelings for Louis, so he distracts himself from both thoughts by burying his face into the crook of Louis’ neck.
He smells like cedar wood and mint leaves and home.
~~~
Liam decides that he has enough footage of them walking and ushers them all to the next site of the shoot. Because apparently they’re filming in three different locations. This is news to Harry, but he knows it’s his own damn fault for not listening when Liam gave his spiel, so he keeps his mouth shut and goes along with it.
They’ve migrated to a coffee shop on the main stretch of the university. It’s a warm reprieve from the chilly evening spring air, and Liam’s offered to buy them both coffees for this next shoot, and, well, Harry’s not gonna turn him down on the offer. The whole space smells like espresso and heaven, and Harry might just marry it if Louis wakes up one day and decides to break his heart.
“I’ll need one of you to drink a cappuccino,” Liam says as Harry and Louis settle in to the high-top table that’s been pre-reserved for them by the windows. “Not sure what you lads like, but that’s the only thing I absolutely need for this take. I’m gonna ask Zayn to make some art with the foam. Feel free to talk it over while I order.” He starts to walk away, but Harry stops him in his tracks.
“Wait, Liam!”
He turns back towards them slowly, casting a worried glance over his shoulder back at the coffee counter. “What’s up?”
“Erm,” Harry flushes when he notices that a few people have turned around to look at him. “I know that this is a coffee shop, but do they sell teas at all? Yorkshire, to be specific? Lou isn’t much of a coffee drinker.”
“Haz, no.” Louis’ hand finds his on the tabletop, and Harry looks back at him with a small frown. “I’ll try anything once,” Louis continues, “and I’ve never tried a cappuccino before.”
Harry’s frown deepens. “But you don’t like coffee. We’ve determined that you don’t like coffee. You shouldn’t be forced to sit here and sip on something you don’t like.”
Liam looks between them warily. “I mean, the menu’s all coffee, but I can ask Zayn if…”
“Liam, no.” Louis squeezes Harry’s hand. “I’ll take the cappuccino. Just be sure to get Harold here a black coffee. No milk, no sweeteners. He hates that.”
“Okay…” Liam hovers for one more moment, as if he’s waiting for one of them to interject and change the order yet again. When he’s met with nothing but their silence, he nods once, turns on his heel, and strolls back up to the counter.
Harry watches him with a frown as he smiles sheepishly and says something to the barista with the dark hair and golden smolder behind the counter, who then turns to look directly at Harry. Maybe in another timeline he would find the sudden onslaught of attention from such a beautiful man thrilling. He has high arching cheekbones, a jawline sharp enough to cut through stone, and eyes that look like honey from even this far back. He’s exactly what Harry would determine to be “everyone’s type,” and yet he can do nothing in this moment but look back at him with mild disinterest.
Louis’ ankle knocks against his own, and Harry forgets every other person in the room. The urge to make him smile rears its vicious head when he notices Louis wearing a small frown to match his own. He flips his hand over to entwine their fingers and squeezes gently.
“I could have taken the cappuccino,” he says softly.
“And I could have not made you waste your afternoon on my whims, but here we are.”
Harry drops his gaze to the table, follows the grain until it disappears. “You say that as if I’d be doing anything but reading if you hadn’t. ‘Sides, it’s not the worst gig in the world.”
Louis looks down just as Harry looks back up, his shoulders shrugging with a nonchalance that contradicts the rawness of his bottom lip. “Still doesn’t mean you should have to do the things you hate when you’re doing me a favour.”
Harry sighs. “S’pose that’s a fair point, if you think about it like that. But don’t you dare make this a habit. I will eat all your socks. You’re not meant to always do things you don’t like just because I also don’t like them.”
Louis hums. “I guess everyone else will be glad to know my socks are safe from your insatiable tum.”
A smirk toys at Harry’s lips. “Everyone else...but not you?”
“Well you know better than anyone that me feet prefer a little breathing room, Harold.”
This time, he can’t contain the grin that mushrooms across his face. He does know. It’s the very reason they usually opt for going out instead of inviting all the lads over. Louis’ shoes may very well be the most offensive smelling things in the city. And Harry wouldn’t trade them for anything (except maybe a slightly better smelling pair of shoes). He hardly notices he’s started leaning closer to Louis. It’s nothing new, really. They’re always in each other’s spaces. But when Liam sneaks up on them again and clears his throat, Harry feels like he’s been caught with his hand in the candy jar.
“Ready to go when you are, lads,” he says politely, and Harry’s never been more grateful for a distraction. Straightening his back, he looks to Liam for their cue.
It comes with a nearly imperceptible nod, and suddenly Harry’s entire world turns on its axis. Louis’ ankle is hooking around his calf, and he’s lifting their joined hands up off the table to press a warm kiss to the back of Harry’s, and Harry feels like a mountain lion has just rammed into his chest. His head spins, the dust and debris of every thought he’s ever had about Louis resurfacing until he’s choking on all of his memories.
He tells himself to smile, and when Louis pulls a face across the table, it comes easily. They both take a moment – Harry staring at Louis and Louis staring right back at Harry – before their coffees arrive. All of Harry’s emotions are giving him whiplash, and it doesn't help that Lou has crossed every invisible barrier between them again.
Louis’ breath is warm against his cheek, and he wants to bottle up the feeling before it disappears forever. “Do you think if I profess my undying love for Brown, he'll give us an extra week to write our final papers?” he murmurs huskily.
A honk slips past his lips before he can even think to stop it. Harry slaps a hand over his mouth, his cheeks flooding with heat when he feels several pairs of eyes lock on him. It's quite possibly the most embarrassing sound he's ever made, but Louis is looking at him with eyes that’ve gone a little soft around the edges, his tongue poking out from between his teeth, and Harry thinks that maybe he doesn't need to feel completely embarrassed.
Besides, the idea of their ethics professor going soft the moment Louis starts batting his eyelashes really is quite comical. Brown is the definition of a crotchety old man - stubborn, irritable, insensitive. Harry’s pretty sure he once saw a picture of their dear old professor next to the word “crotchety” in the dictionary.
“I don't like to play favourites,” Louis says distractedly, his thumb rubbing tiny circles to the back of Harry's hand, “but I think that might be my favourite of all your laughs.”
Harry’s heart catches in his throat, and he’s never been more grateful for an interruption as a cup and saucer are placed carefully in front of him, allowing him a brief moment to collect himself. Another cup and saucer follows shortly after, this one with a psychedelic heart painted on top with foam. He and Louis both turn and thank Zayn with small smiles, and he nods back serenely, eyes flitting questioningly to Liam before he heads back to the till.
Harry watches it play out like a transaction: Zayn glances at Liam, who mouths a brief thank you and then watches with a furrowed brow and his bottom lip caught between his teeth as Zayn walks away. He can’t help wondering if there’s something going on between them.
“Harold,” Louis says, giving a gentle tug to Harry’s hand to get his attention. There’s a small frown on his face that tugs at Harry’s heartstrings, but it disappears almost as soon as he’s seen it, the lines of Louis’ face smoothing out into a neutral expression. “I’m trying my first, and probably only, cappuccino. This is a momentous occasion. I need you to be my witness.”
Harry grins, lifting his steaming cup of coffee to his lips. “Niall’s gonna call you a dirty fucking liar when you tell him.”
“Which is why I need you to be my witness. Now prepare yourself.” He picks up the mug, eyeing it warily, and Harry makes a show of holding his breath. Louis draws it towards his mouth in painful slow motion, wrinkling his nose when he sniffs it like a glass of wine.
“Oh, get on with it,” Harry says with a fond roll of his eyes.
Louis huffs and lifts it all the way up, his whole face screwing up in disgust when he takes a big sip of it. “Eugh.”
“How is it?” Harry knocks their knees together under the table.
“It’s shit.”
Harry’s whole body shakes when he laughs this time, and he thinks someone must have slipped hallucinogens into his coffee when he hears Louis whisper, “This one’s also my favorite.”
~~~
Harry is acutely more aware of each individual blade of grass that touches his skin this time around. They’re back in the park where this all started, and Liam promises that this next shoot will be quick. He just wants to recreate the moment when he first spotted them, which means that Louis has just sprinkled a fistful of uprooted grass over the top of Harry’s head, and he can feel every single point of contact.
Most of it is tangled up in his hair, itching at his scalp, but a smaller clump has fallen down his shirt and is scratching away at the dimples in his back. If it weren’t for the way Louis is currently laughing – high-pitched and without abandon – Harry reckons he’d probably be pretty miffed at the present situation.
As it is, he tries to ignore it, to focus all of his energy on the book he’s pretending to read instead. It’s a copy of some novel Liam’s borrowing from Zayn. Initially, the plan had just been for him to open Being and Time again. When Harry told him he wasn’t sure he wanted videographic evidence of him reading it immortalized in what was supposed to be a romantic video, though, Liam had dug through his backpack and pulled out the book currently in Harry’s hands.
He hasn’t been able to focus long enough to actually read any of it yet. Louis, as it turns out, is infinitely more distracting in close proximity. It’s a fact that Harry has always been vaguely aware of, but he’s finding that the addition of a camera isn’t quite as easy to ignore as he initially thought. Rather, it’s beginning to make him hyper-aware of his every move.
He feels like a little kid in one of those psychology experiments where they leave the kid alone in the room with a piece of cake. The child is told that they can eat the piece of cake if they want, but that if they wait, they’ll get something even sweeter in the long-run, and then they’re left alone with a camera trained on them.
Louis is his piece of cake. The only difference is he’s being told to have at his piece of cake and there’s no greater reward waiting for him on the other side if he abstains. At least, none but the self-imposed “you won’t get your heart broken.” Still, he’s much too aware of the camera. It goads him, prodding at his every nerve, reminding him that every microexpression is being recorded.
He’s beginning to realize that as soon as Louis sees the video in its final form – if he sees it – he’ll be able to recognize Harry’s feelings for him for what they really are. Harry’s going to ruin his relationship with his best friend, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.
“Harry!” Liam’s voice cuts into his inner monologue, and his head snaps up. “You look fuckin’ constipated, mate. Try to relax. We’re almost done.”
Louis’ fingers slide into Harry’s hair, carding through it delicately in an attempt to loosen up all the grass. He squeezes his eyes shut and leans into the touch.
“Harry, love,” Louis says softly. “Do you want to take a break?”
He shakes his head. Their friendship is already doomed. They might as well finish out this favour for Liam before Harry has to start looking for a new place to live.
“Alright,” Louis says uncertainly. “C’mere.” He pats his lap, and Harry lets his head sink into it easily. Long fingers work their way into his scalp while Louis’ other hand reaches out to trace the contours of his face.
Harry doesn’t know how long they sit like that, whether it’s minutes or hours or days, but it feels simultaneously limitless and not long enough. Eventually, though, Louis’ hands both slow to a stop and then disappear altogether. His head is laid gently to the ground and he thinks he might whimper at the sudden absence of warmth. Louis is the one who usually runs cold, but in this moment Harry thinks he could give him a run for his money.
“Noooo, come back,” he whines, making blind grabby hands with his eyes still closed to block out the waning sun.
“Haz,” Louis says, barely a whisper. He cups Harry’s face, his thumb tracing smoothly over his jaw.
Harry’s eyes flutter open against his better judgment. Louis hovers slightly above him, blinking slowly while he worries at his lip. His eyes roam Harry’s face, searching for something. They settle on the lips Harry’s bitten raw over the course of the evening, and Harry’s breath catches in his throat. He sees Louis’ Adam’s apple bob up and down as he gulps, and then the tip of his nose brushes against Harry’s and he forgets how to breathe.
When Louis kisses him, Harry thinks vaguely that all the grass surrounding them must be in flames. Everything feels like too much – it’s too warm, too disorienting, too perfect. He’s waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under him, to douse him in ice water and electrocute him back into reality.
It’s just a soft brush of lips, and for a moment Harry thinks that he might be able to salvage this. But then Louis exhales against his mouth, and he finds himself kissing back despite the alarm bells blaring in his head. He wraps a hand around the back of Louis’ neck and uses it to pull him closer, his mouth opening up to Louis’ easily, and whatever Harry might’ve been able to pass off as something friendly and innocent flies all the way out of the city.
Because friends don’t melt into each other when they snog, and Harry is most definitely melting. Louis’ kisses directly contradict his very being. They’re slow and deliberate, a series of warm, wet strokes that pull Harry in until he’s not sure where his mouth ends and Louis’ begins. They’ve fused together, become a pair of symbiotes, unable to breathe unless they’re breathing each other’s air, and Harry decides that he doesn’t mind. Each kiss Louis presses to his lips is completely opposite to the way he barrels through life, and Harry wouldn’t stand a chance anyhow. He never has. He might as well just give in.
It’s only when Harry shifts, when he tries to take it further, that he remembers himself. One moment his thigh is slipping between both of Louis and he’s sucking Louis’ bottom lip between his teeth, and the next Louis is pulling away, punctuating this whole affair with a sweet, closed-mouth peck.
He smiles sheepishly, swiping his thumb over Harry’s top lip. “Erm.”
Liam clears his throat. “Alright, well I’ve got everything I need, lads, so I’m gonna take off and get to editing. I’ll leave you to it.”
And just like that, the ice bath Harry has been dreading comes down like a monsoon. Because this kiss, this full-on snog, wasn’t some charged, intimate moment between them. It was for the video. Suddenly Louis’ hesitance, his need to pull away when Harry tried to take things half a step further makes all the more sense.
Harry’s chest feels tight, each pump of his heart sending another blow to his ribcage, and he needs to get out of here. The last thing he sees before he hops to his feet is Louis’ paling face filling with concern.
“Harry?” His voice is small.
He runs.
iii.
“Tommo, Tommo breathe. He’s right here. Said he wanted to kip on my couch tonight.” Niall goes quiet, and Harry tries to bury himself deeper in the sofa cushions until they absorb him. He doesn’t want to listen to this. The Irish lad has been pacing back and forth in his kitchen since he picked up the phone just over two minutes ago, and Harry’s been on edge for almost as long. “You think he hasn’t bloody well been whining about as much since the second he walked inside? Honestly. I’ll buy a better one for you two to crash on when you fork over some money.”
To be fair, it makes sense that Louis called Niall looking for him. Harry’s received his own onslaught of panicked texts asking where he is and if he’s okay, but he hasn’t had the energy enough to answer any of them. Niall is their next best mate. It makes sense that Louis is calling him, but that doesn’t stop the ache in his chest from just knowing that Louis is only a phone call away and he’s not on Harry’s phone.
Part of him wants to get up, pluck the cell from Niall’s hand, and reassure Louis that everything’s fine. He’s fine. But the other part of him wants Louis to suffer because Harry himself is suffering. If he feels like someone’s twisting a knife in his gut over the impending doom of their friendship, then it’s only fair that Louis feel it too. He sticks to the sofa, opting to just listen.
“Did you two have a lovers’ spat or something?”
Harry laughs humourlessly from his burrow. That would imply that they were lovers to begin with. And they weren’t. They aren’t. That’s the whole problem. He wants too much.
“Well, I don’t fucking know! He just showed up at my door looking like a right mess, said he needed a place to kip for the night, and buried himself under some blankets on my couch. Oh yeah, and bitched about how much his back hurts. Hasn’t said much else.”
He goes quiet again, and Harry knows from the dramatic huff he lets out a moment later that Louis must be chewing him out for letting Harry sleep like this with his bad back. Despite all the other negative emotions swirling around his head right now, Harry can’t help but feel warm at that. Louis still cares even though he’s gone and made a right tit of himself.
“Right, yeah. I’ll tell him. Sure, Tommo. Yes, I’ll give him the bloody fucking bed if he wants it. Okay, I’ll insist he takes the bloody fucking bed. Bye, Louis. Bye Louis.”
Niall stomps back into the living room, muttering under his breath. “I swear to God, he’s worse than my mother.” He pauses his pacing in front of Harry. “Lou says he’s saving your winnings until you’re ready for those chips.”
“Tell him not to bother.”
That stops him completely, and he turns slowly to face Harry, crossing his arms. “Get up.”
Harry squeezes his eyes shut and pretends to be asleep. A moment later, all the blankets are ripped off his body, and he whines in protest.
“Harry Edward Styles, you are going to get up off this couch before you fuck up your back even more, and then you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on. Now get your scrawny little arse into the kitchen. I’ll make you a cuppa.”
Harry pouts but does as he’s told, groaning when his lower back spasms in its newly upright position. He trots toward the kitchen, pressing his hand into the spasming muscle as if that alone is enough to hold his broken bits together. Niall’s putting the kettle on just as he takes his seat at the table.
“It’ll be a minute,” he says, taking his own seat across from Harry. “Now, would you mind telling me what the fuck is going on? Why are you turning down some perfectly good chips? With Louis? Your favourite person? And more importantly, why wasn’t I invited? C’mon. Share with Uncle Niall.”
“Fuck you,” Harry mutters, but Niall only manages to look unimpressed. He sighs. “Lou and I kissed. Well, more like snogged. And I liked it, and he didn’t, and now I have to move out.”
Niall stares at him like he has three heads. “You mean to tell me,” he says slowly, clasping his hands together on the table, “that you two haven’t been snogging for the entire time I’ve known you?”
Harry frowns. “What? No, of course not.”
“Could’ve fooled me. Why do think I’m always comparing you to an old married couple? Why do you think I just asked Lou if you two were having some kind of lovers’ spat? Maybe you aren’t together, but mate. With the way you two act around each other, you might as well be.”
Harry doesn’t know what to say to that.
The kettle whistles, and Niall pinches his nose. “I’m gonna go make us both a cuppa, and when I come back, I want to hear the whole story.” He stands up and leaves Harry with his dizzying thoughts.
The thing is, Niall isn’t the first person who’s said that. It’s the assumption most people make about him and Louis when they first meet them. It’s what Liam assumed when he approached Louis about the video today. Usually, they just laugh it off. Harry’s always thought it’s because he’s being too obvious about his feelings in those moments when they meet someone new, but maybe it’s worse than that. Maybe he’s been so caught up in his feelings that he’s actually started to treat Louis like he’s his boyfriend. Maybe that’s what everyone’s been noticing. Harry and his pathetic, unruly crush.
Niall shoves a warm mug in his hands and takes back his seat across the table. He nods grimly. “From the top.”
So Harry tells him the whole story, every gritty detail, and Niall just sits there and listens. He reckons it’s the longest amount of time Niall’s ever kept his mouth shut. Even in his sleep, he’s usually a talker, but right now, he’s silent. He doesn’t even interject to ask if the two of them are putting him on when Harry gets to the bit about the cappuccino. When he finally gets the part where he arrived on Niall’s doorstep, Harry falls silent. It’s pretty clear what’s happened since then.
They’re both quiet for a moment, nothing more than the sounds of them slurping on their tea filling the room. Then Niall sets down his mug. “You two really are a couple of idiots, aren’t you?”
Harry pouts. “Nialler, I’m nursing a broken heart. You’re not allowed to be mean to me.”
He rolls his eyes. “I think you’ll live. Now finish your tea. Bob the Builder’s got nothing on me when it comes to broken hearts.”
“Does that mean you’ll watch The Notebook with me?” Harry bats his eyelashes.
“No, it means I’m gonna drive you back home and you and Louis are gonna try to work this out.”
~~~
The flat is eerily quiet when Harry unlocks the front door. All the lights are off, there’s no music playing, and not even the leaky faucet in the kitchen is dripping. He wonders if Louis finally called the plumber like he asked. He makes his way inside, footsteps echoing across the hardwood floor. Niall said he’d wait in the car to give them some privacy, but the more time Harry spends in the quiet, the more he wishes he’d insisted Niall come up with him.
He wanders through the flat. There’s no sign of Louis in the lounge, but he notes that it looks loads cleaner than it has in months. The bathroom is empty, and so is Louis’ bedroom. Harry casts a defeated glance towards his own bedroom door. He doesn’t want to go in there because he’s dreading the moment he’ll have to leave it behind forever. Besides, Louis rarely goes in his room. Most of the time they spend together is out in the lounge or out on the town.
With a sigh, he resigns himself to the sofa. It’s marginally more comfortable than Niall’s at least, and this way he can at least watch The Notebook while he waits for Lou to come home. He shoots a text to Niall.
He’s not home.
Want me to come up?
Nah, go home. I need to do this. I’ll call an uber if it doesn’t end well. Pray for me.
Niall sends back the prayer hands emoji, and Harry smiles despite his nerves. He grabs the fuzziest blanket from its perch over the back of the couch and settles in, placing an extra pillow under his back. The Notebook is already set in the DVD player, so all he has to do is change the input on the TV and hit play. It’s lonely without Louis there to whisper all the lines along with him, but he tries to lose himself in the story anyway.
It isn’t until the “if you’re a bird, I’m a bird” scene that he finally hears a door creak open. It comes from further inside the flat. Which means Louis has been here this entire time. He fumbles for the remote, smashing the pause button until it works. When he turns to look down the back hallway, Louis is standing there looking like a deer in the headlights. His eyes are rimmed red, and Harry’s bedroom door is wide open.
They stare at each other for a moment.
“You’re home,” Louis finally croaks.
“You’ve been home this whole time,” Harry whispers, glancing at his bedroom door again.
Louis looks back at it with a sheepish smile. “Erm, yeah. Didn’t know when you’d be home. If you’d be home, even. Took a kip in there. Smells like you.” He coughs. “Sorry. That was probably weird, wasn’t it? Sorry.” He coughs again and wanders further into the lounge.
Harry frowns. “Lou?”
“Hm?” He perches himself nervously on the edge of the cushion where Harry’s feet lay. With a sigh, Harry lifts up his feet and nods for Louis to settle back on the cushion, lying them back down in Louis’ lap once he obliges. His arm wraps around Harry’s ankles instinctually, and neither of them has the heart to correct it.
“I think we need to talk.”
Louis looks down at his toes. “Yeah.” He strokes his thumb absently over the curve of Harry’s ankle, and then turns to look at him with a weary smile. “Would you like to go first, or shall I?”
Harry shrugs, averting his gaze. He knows he should probably go first if he ever wants to say his piece, but it would be so much easier not to.
Louis slides his other arm underneath Harry’s knees. “I guess I’ll go.” He wiggles around in his seat for a minute, trying to get comfortable. When he settles, feet kicking up to rest on the coffee table, he sighs. “I guess I just want to start by saying that I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable or if you felt pressured to join in on my stupid idea. I just thought ‘Hey! That’s essentially free money for chips and booze! And I can take my favourite person along for the ride! It’s just a little acting!’ I thought I’d be able to get you to pretend you were in love with me for an hour and still keep my feelings in check. Turns out, I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
Harry furrows his brow. “I don’t understand.”
A sad smile blooms across Louis’ face, and it’s still the most beautiful thing Harry’s ever seen. “Harry, I love you.” Harry’s frown deepens, but Louis holds up a hand. “As in, I’m in love with you. I knew as much going into this today, and I also knew that you could never feel the same.” Harry opens his mouth to protest, but Louis barrels on. “Please, let me finish,” he pleads. “I just thought that somehow I’d be able to put my feelings aside. Even if it was just for an hour. But then you were there, and it was so easy to convince myself you felt the same. And who wouldn’t get carried away thinking that? I know I fucked everything up, and I just want to say that I am truly, deeply sorry.” He says it all in one breath, and then he falls silent.
“Are you finished?” Harry asks calmly.
Louis nods, refusing to meet his eyes. “Yes.”
“Thank God.” He kicks his feet off of Louis lap and plants them on the floor, wrestling the blanket off himself. His back quivers when he stands, but he pushes on until he’s standing directly in front of Louis, towering over him. Louis looks up, and Harry grins. “You’re a fucking idiot.” He crawls onto the sofa, spreading his legs to create a cage around Louis’ lap.
His arms wrap around Harry’s torso, a frown marring his face as his hands settle on his lower back. “No more sleeping on sofas,” he says sternly, massaging his fingers into Harry’s still spasming muscles. “Niall’s or otherwise. We’ll move the TV into your room.”
Harry leans forward, bumping the bridge of his nose against Louis’. “Aren’t you going to ask me why you’re a fucking idiot?”
Louis blinks slowly, as if their current position is only just dawning on him, and Harry has to hold back a giggle. A smile stretches across his face, and he looks up at Harry. “Why am I a fucking idiot, Haz?” he whispers.
Harry presses their lips together, running his tongue along the seam of Louis’ mouth. He opens up, and Harry dives right in, exploring all the ways their mouths can move together like he wasn’t able to earlier. Louis goes pliant beneath him, and he thinks maybe there’s something there for them to explore later on, but for now he just wants to taste Louis’ toothpaste and feel his stubble beneath his fingers.
They pull away after a few minutes, wearing matching dopey smiles, and, yeah, Harry could definitely get used to this. He swipes his thumb over Louis’ bottom lip. “Because I love you, too,” he whispers. “Have for as long as I can remember.”
“Well then.” Louis clears his throat. “Harry Styles, I believe I would like to take you out on a date. If you’ll have me.”
Harry pretends to think until Louis slaps his thigh playfully. “I suppose that’s doable. How about we start off easy? Just some chips and a couple margaritas? If I remember correctly, that was the bargain for a rather dramatic facade you made me partake in.”
Louis grins, skimming his nose along the line of Harry’s jaw. “No vinegar?”
“No vinegar. Tomorrow? I think today’s been exciting enough. Kinda wanna turn in.”
Louis pretends to think about it. “I suppose that’s doable,” he says with a smirk.
As they head back towards Harry’s bedroom with sleepy smiles, Harry thinks that maybe there was an even sweeter reward waiting for him in the After, after all.