Archive of Our Own

“Mate, you’ve gotta hurry up and get married already. You’re making me look bad!” Niall clasps a hand on Louis’ shoulder and shakes his head. “Eleanor brought up marriage again last night.”

“Why don’t you just do it?” Louis asked. “You know you’re going to anyway. It’s been two years and you’re still mad for her.” He looks at Niall, making sure that Niall knows he’s serious and not just joking around.

“Why don’t you?” Niall shoots back. “I’m still a free man, I can do what I want! You’re already tied down.”

“Sure, Niall. Whatever you say,” Louis says drily, rolling his blue eyes. Niall can say whatever he wants, but Eleanor could say she wants to put Niall on a leash and he would go for it. Not that she would. Eleanor, in addition to gorgeous, was smart and ambitious. She would never want Niall to follow her around; a quality that Louis knew Niall would love, as it would appease both his independent streak and his ego. It took minimal scheming for Louis to get them together. They would have found their way eventually. Louis’ own relationship, on the other hand, had required a little more effort.

Louis and Harry have been dating solidly for the past two years, but they started out in a rough patch. Their first few months together after Louis came to his senses and went back to Harry were a little rocky. Louis struggled to answer to someone else and show Harry that he was a priority, and Harry was so afraid to say anything in case Louis decided to run again. It wasn’t until Louis worked up the courage to tell Harry what he had known since that morning, that he loved Harry, that his boyfriend took a deep breath and relaxed. Since then, their relationship has been steady, but still exciting. Louis still got a thrill down his spine when Harry whispered in his ear, a warm feeling deep in his stomach when Harry kissed him gently, a little kiss to show he loved him.

As for their individual lives, Harry’s photography has continued to be successful, and he still teaches his yoga classes. Louis sent his novel to a few publishers, but he didn’t hear anything back and stopped trying to get it published. The rejection hurt too much each time.

“I’m serious, though,” Niall answered, locking his blue eyes onto Louis’. “Why aren’t you engaged already? I would’ve thought for sure Harry would have asked by now.”

“Well, if I’m honest, I thought Harry would’ve asked by now, too. I know he wants to. We’ve talked about marriage fairly often.” Harry loves to casually slip mentions of the future into his and Louis’s conversations. Louis has become so accustomed to hearing “In ten years…” or “I think that when we’re married, we should…” that he almost believed he was already married. But there’s been no inkling of a proposal on Harry’s end, no secret ring boxes found under his jumpers in the bureau or any odd behavior on his end.

“Should I be worried that he hasn’t asked?” Louis questions Niall, as he refills the coffee pots. It’s early afternoon on a Tuesday, and the store is dead. The lunch rush has come and gone, kids are in school, and adults are back at work. Within the past two years, Louis has been promoted to café manager, meaning a little extra money and he’s in charge of scheduling and inventory. Which means more shifts with Niall, someone he’s grown much closer to. Louis considers Niall his best friend now, and the feeling is mutual. “I mean, do you think I’ve done something wrong?”

“Honestly?” Niall asks, rhetorically. “I think maybe he’s waiting on you. I mean, Harry’s always wanted this. You’re the one who’s freaked out by commitment. Maybe he’s afraid you’re not ready.”

“But I am ready,” Louis insists, not realizing how much he means it until the words leave his mouth. “I’m really ready. I want this. A lot.”

“Then you just gotta man up and grow a pair,” Niall says, knocking Louis underneath his scruffy chin. “Ask him yourself. Cheers, lad.”

Niall bounces into the back room, saying he’s going to wash dishes, but Louis knows he’ll be texting Eleanor. Louis pulls out his own phone for a second, barely attempting to hide it under the counter as he sends a quick message to Harry.

Miss you. Can’t wait to see you tonight xx

Louis slides his phone into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans and decides to make himself a cup of tea, since his throat was feeling a bit sore this morning. He’s got nothing better to do, really. The dishes and cup refills can wait for the next shift, since Louis’ head is pounding too hard for him to do it himself, or even care.

“Are you alright, mate?” Niall asks as he comes back to the front counter, noticing Louis slumped over the counter, head in hands.

“Yeah, yeah” Louis assures him, forcing himself to stand up and talk to Niall. “Just a bit of a headache.”

“Are you sure?” Niall asks, concern spilled across his face. “Your voice sounds a little hoarse, too.”

“I’m fine, Niall. Just tired. I’ve had a cold for a few days that hasn’t gone away.”

“If you’re sure,” Niall says, knowing when to argue with Louis and when to drop it. “But there’s not much going on here today. If you wanted to go home early, I’m sure I could swing it until the next shift comes in.”

“I’m fine,” Louis replies. He stands on his feet for the next couple hours, trying to ignore the pain in his head and throat that seems to be spreading through his entire body. Worse than that, though, is how tired he is. Louis sleeps much better than he used to, actually getting more than two or three poor hours of sleep a night, but right now, he’s exhausted. He slags through the remainder of his shift, dreaming of Harry and his bed.

Harry’s phone buzzes and he looks at the message from his boyfriend, smiling to himself as he rests his phone on Liam’s kitchen table, where he’s waiting for Liam to come join him.

“Why do you think we’re not engaged, Li?” Harry whimpers, staring at his friend as Liam walks into the room, having just put Isla down for a nap.

“Christ, Harry, not this again.” Liam rolls his brown eyes, grabbing two water bottles from his fridge and tossing one to Harry.

“I’m serious, Li. It’s been two years. That’s about a normal time for someone to pop the question, isn’t it?” Harry takes a small sip of his water, keeping his eyes focused on Liam. Unfortunately for his best friend, Harry’s had a bit of a one-track mind lately.

“I don’t know, Harry. Two years is probably a normal amount of time, but since you’ve been waiting to get married to Louis since the day he yelled at you on his balcony, it probably seems much longer to you.” Liam can’t help but smile at his desperate best friend, running a hand through Harry’s curls as he sits next to him.

“Why won’t he ask me? It’s not like I don’t mention it! I practically find a way to mention ourselves getting married or being together forever in all of our conversations,” Harry whines, sticking out his lower lip like a baby. He looks as young as ever, a combination of fitness and a healthy diet with his long hair and dimples.

“You know you’re only 26, Haz. It’s not like you’re withering away or anything,” Liam reminds him, a twinkle in his chocolate eyes.

“Liam, we’re the same age and you’ve been married for three years with a two year old daughter,” Harry snaps, knowing Liam was going to say that.

“And I’ve known Zayn since I was a teenager, so we had been together long enough to make that decision together. And getting Isla when we did was a miracle. Some couples have to wait years to adopt.”

“Years!” Harry cries. “Exactly! What if it takes Louis and I five more years to get married and five more years to have kids? I can’t wait that long, Liam!”

“Harry,” Liam says flatly. “You have to relax. I didn’t even know Louis wanted kids.”

“Well…” Harry drawls. “He might not have said that he does, you know, like definitely. But he does. I’m sure he does.”

Liam looks thoughtful for a minute, clearly thinking of the right way to word what he’s about to say. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way Harry, because you know I love you, and I just want you to be happy, but are you really ready for marriage? If you and Louis haven’t even talked about kids, which I know you want, then how are you going to talk about anything else? You have to deal with this now, before you get married and possibly divorced because you want a family and Louis doesn’t.”

Harry considers Liam’s words for a few minutes, twisting the rings on his fingers. “I think you’re right, Li. Well, kind of. I guess I do have to talk to him. But even if he doesn’t want kids, I still want Louis, Liam. I don’t think I’ll ever want anything more than I want to be married to him.”

Liam smiles knowingly; like he has a secret that Harry knows nothing about. “I wish you all the best, then, Harry. Talk to him tonight. Maybe the next time I see you, you’ll have a ring on your finger.”

Harry gets to his feet, slowly, stretching his limbs. He grabs his phone and heads to the door. “I hope you’re right, Liam. Kiss Isla for me,” he yells over his shoulder as he walks to his car, already planning what dinner he’ll make and how many glasses of wine he’ll give Louis before he decides to have this talk with him.

“Babe, something smells really, really good,” Louis calls out as he walks into Harry’s flat, stepping out of his beat up, coffee stained vans and leaving them by the door.

“It should, since I worked really, really hard on it,” Harry yells in response, the sound of his voice leading Louis to his kitchen.

“Hi,” Louis mutters, coming up behind Harry and burrowing his head between Harry’s neck and shoulder while he wraps his arms around Harry’s torso.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Harry turns around to face his boyfriend, studying his tired face with a look of concern furrowed between his eyebrows. Harry knows Louis, knows how much he loves him, but also knows how much Louis hates to be clingy. He only wraps himself around Harry if he’s bothered by something.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just a bit tired,” Louis mumbles, hanging like dead weight onto Harry, eyes shut.

“I don’t think so, babe,” Harry argues, forcing Louis to stand up and look at him. Louis rarely gets sick, and he’s a right pain when he does, refusing to take medicine, lie in bed, see a doctor, or do anything actually beneficial to his health. He’s had a cold for a couple weeks, not that he’s done anything about it. If Harry were to guess, Louis’ cold finally got the best of him. He places the back of his palm on Louis’ forehead, checking for a temperature. Louis feels warm, really warm actually.

“Alright, you’ve got a fever. Get in bed,” Harry commands, shoving Louis off him and towards Harry’s bedroom.

“No, I’m fine. You cooked and I haven’t seen you all day.” Louis protests, heading to the couch instead, where he flops onto his back clumsily.

“Louis. Get in bed or I’m kicking you out. And don’t think I won’t,” Harry threatens, grabbing his hand and trying to pull Louis off the couch.

“Fine. But just know that you suck,” Louis hisses in response, pulling himself up and stumbling towards the bedroom.

“I’m bringing you some medicine in a few minutes,” Harry calls to his retreating back. And a full glass of water, and you’re drinking it all!”

Louis mumbles something in response that’s completely illegible to Harry, but he knows Louis well enough to know it’s not anything nice. Harry turns off the stove and moves his romantic dinner to the side, sighing as he reaches into the cabinet for a bottle of fever reducers and pouring Louis a glass of water. So much for having his big discussion with Louis tonight.

As he walks into his dark bedroom, he hears the sounds of Louis’ deep, even breathing. He leaves the pills and the water on his bedside table, kisses Louis’ hot, sweaty forehead, and tucks his boyfriend under the covers. Their conversation can wait, Harry thinks, as he walks back to the kitchen to eat his romantic meal alone.

//

“So have you talked to him yet?” Liam asks Harry, his voice slightly muffled by Isla’s shrieks in the background.

“Not yet, Liam. He’s still sick, you know?” Harry responds, tucking his phone between his ear and his shoulder as he pours soup into a bowl to bring to Louis. Louis has been in Harry’s bed for three days, mostly sleeping and refusing to eat, as Harry pleads with him to sip some soup and drink tea.

“Come on, Harry. It’s been three days. He’s got to be feeling better by now,” Liam replies.

“No, I’m starting to think he might be really sick,” Harry says, making his way to his bedroom and nudging his door open with his foot. Louis is asleep again, curled on his side like an angel, palms tucked under his face and legs bent together.

“And he hasn’t seen a doctor?” Liam asks.

“No. He, like, refuses to. I swear, taking care of Louis will be great practice for when we have kids,” Harry laughs as he tiptoes out of the room, not wanting to wake Louis, shutting the door behind him.

Louis’ eyes bolt open as soon as he hears the door shut. He was half asleep, in that in between state, when he heard Harry coming towards him. Kids? Shouldn’t they be thinking about an engagement first? Or even living together? He’s not even sure if he wants kids, to be honest. He considers getting up, trying to eavesdrop on Harry and Liam’s conversation a bit more, but that would require leaving Harry’s bed, meaning far too much effort for Louis to care. He gives in and shuts his eyes, knowing he can think about this more later. With the way he feels right now, he’ll never be leaving this bed again.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Harry cheers brightly the next morning, flicking on the lights in his room and tossing the covers off the bed.

“Fuck off,” Louis grunts into the pillow, refusing to turn his pounding head in the direction of the light.

“That’s not very nice to say to your own personal nurse, love,” Harry admonishes, tickling Louis’ side. “But I’ve got good news for both of us!”

“What’s that?” Louis slurs, his response muffled by the pillowcase his mouth is shoved against.

“The good news is that you’re still sick! And I made you a doctor’s appointment for a half hour from now, because you’re far too stubborn to do it yourself!” Harry’s tone is far too chipper, Louis thinks. But he supposes the devil wouldn’t appear outright evil, or he’d never get any new worshippers.

“M’not going,” Louis protests, stubbornly. “Now go away.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry ignores Louis’ comments, grabbing him by the shoulders. “You’re going to this appointment if it kills me. I can’t take a sick, miserable, sweaty boyfriend anymore,” he directs those words right to Louis, daring him to argue. “You’ve still got a fever and I’m quite tired of you contaminating my sheets,” Harry quips, pressing his hand to Louis’ forehead. “And you sound like there’s marbles in your throat when you try to speak. And you’re not eating. That, my friend, means doctor.”

“I hate you,” Louis gets out, his voice mangled by sick and sleep. He does get up, though, and makes his way to the bathroom. That’s when Harry knows how sick Louis really must be.

//

“We’ll need a blood test to be sure, but I’m almost one hundred percent certain it’s mono,” the doctor tells Harry, finishing his examination with Louis.

“What does that mean?” Louis asks, although the sour look on his face tells both Harry and the doctor that he already knows,

“It means bed rest, and lots of it. There’s no real treatment for mononucleosis,” Dr. Park replies. “But you can’t move around too much, because that causes a risk for complications. If you’re lucky, you’ll feel better in a few days, although the symptoms, especially the fatigue can last for months.”

“Months?” Louis whispers, struggling to speak with his swollen lymph nodes.

“I doubt it’ll last that long for you, especially if you continue to stay in bed,” Dr. Park reassures him, although both Louis and the doctor know there’s no way to guess how long the illness will last. “Cases range from mild to severe, but they can be so mild that people have mono without even realizing it. That’s why it’s so easy to spread. Sharing drinks, food, and of course, kissing, tend to spread mono the most, and people will do that when they don’t realize they’re sick.”

“Harry, I’m gonna kill you,” Louis mutters, eyes trying to shoot daggers, but they look a little whacked out from the fever and the fatigue.

“So what can he do for now?” Harry asks the doctor. “He’s really stubborn, and he doesn’t like to take medication, or do anything helpful when he’s sick.”

“Well, as I said, there’s no real treatment,” Dr. Park says. “You can give him some paracetamol for the fever and pain, plus cold beverages and soups. But I can bet he won’t want to eat anything until those lymph nodes are a little less swollen. Most people lose weight with mono. And for everything else, he just has to stay in bed. No physical activity. That means no exercise, working, and absolutely no contact sports. His spleen feels a little enlarged, nothing dangerous, but something that has to be taken seriously. He can probably return to normal activities a couple weeks after his sore throat and fever go away.”

Louis groans from his spot on the examination table, and Harry feels his heart break a little, seeing how miserable his boyfriend is.

“Alright, up you get, Lou,” Harry announces, making his way over to Louis and helping him stand. “Thanks, Dr. Park.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Louis grumbles, slowly making his way to his feet.

“We’ll call you as soon as we get the results of the blood test,” Dr. Park affirms as they make their way out of the examination room.

Harry spends the remainder of the day taking Louis to get blood work, waiting with him in the crowded office and running into Tesco before he takes Louis back to Harry’s own flat, buying paracetamol, ice cream, soup, and whatever else he thinks Louis might like.

“Come on, love, just lie down and go to sleep,” Harry pleads as he kisses Louis’ forehead, after maneuvering Louis into bed and making sure he was comfortable.

“I can’t be this sick, Haz,” Louis struggles to get out, visibly forcing himself to get words out. “I have to work, and this is unfair to you, and-“

“Shh,” Harry whispers, gently forcing Louis into lying down under the covers. “It’ll all be fine. People get sick, you know? It’s part of life.”

“Life sucks,” Louis whispers back. Harry smiles, laughs softly to himself, and walks back into the main area of his flat, texting Niall, Liam, and Zayn to let them know what’s wrong with Louis. Harry sits on his couch, thinking of his poor boy, miserable and exhausted in Harry’s bed. In sickness and in health, Harry thinks to himself, the thought of wedding vows bringing an inexplicable smile to his face. If Harry wants Louis when he’s ill and contagious, he knows he’ll want him through anything.

“Lou, I have good news for you,” Harry declares a few hours later as he walks into his bedroom and sees Louis sitting up, awake.

“That I don’t have mono and this is just a bad cold that will magically go away?” Louis asks sarcastically, looking forlorn and honestly a little pathetic, bundled up in Harry’s blankets like a human burrito, with pure misery etched into every cell on his body.

“Well, no,” Harry admits, sitting in bed next to his patient. “The doctor called. It’s definitely mono.”

Louis just moans, laying his head back against the bed.

“No, the good news is that I researched mono a bit and the age range for it is typically teenagers to young adults! So even though you’re technically twenty-eight, in health years you’re a youngin’.” He smiles brightly, hoping Louis will find a little bit of humor in this, knowing Louis hates aging.

“Or I’m just abnormal, sick, and old,” Louis mutters bitterly, shooting Harry a very pointed look with his blue eyes.

“Or that,” Harry agrees, knocking Louis’ shoulder lightly with his own.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?” Louis asks. “You don’t really want my germs.”

“Well,” Harry replies, trying to sound upbeat since Louis is so miserable. “As you so eloquently pointed out in the doctor’s office, I’m most likely the one who transferred the germs to you. Unless there’s someone else you’re kissing that you want to tell me about?”

“Not funny,” Louis grunts, clearly not amused with Harry’s admittedly bad jokes.

“Plus,” Harry continues, “I’m very consciously not kissing you on the lips, eating your food, not that you’re eating much, or drinking your water. Speaking of which, you need to drink some. You know it’s important to stay hydrated.”

“I don’t have any,” Louis points out, motioning to his empty glass. “My nurse is doing a poor job.”

“Don’t tease, Lou,” Harry admonishes, as he gets up to refill Louis’ glass. “I could be much, much, more overbearing. Wait and see.”

“You’re having way too much fun with this,” Louis attempts to call after Harry as he walks away, but his swollen lymph nodes are making it hard to speak, let alone yell.

“It’s only because I love you,” Harry calls back. He can always understand Louis, even when other people tell him he’s too quiet or mumbles too much. It’s like they’re tuned to the same frequency. Harry loves that about them.

//

“Still sick, huh?” Liam asks when Harry calls him the next day.

“Very much so,” Harry answers, trying to tidy his flat a bit while he chats with Liam. Taking care of Louis, on top of doing his own work and taking care of his own things, has put cleaning very low on the list of Harry’s priorities. His poor kitchen looks like a tidal wave crashed through, with dirty dishes, glasses, and half-drunk milkshake cups littering the counters. Harry remembers his mum buying him milkshakes whenever he had a sore throat. Unlike Louis, though, Harry never had to be coaxed and convinced to drink all of them. He can see Louis thinning out a bit, having eaten a few bites at most every day and sleeping most of the day and night. Neither Harry nor Louis has been to Louis’ flat, which must be musty and stuffy after being shut up for nearly a week. Harry makes a mental note to run over there later to open a window and grab Louis a new pair of sweatpants and some more knickers.

“How long is this going to last?” Liam asks Harry. “Isla’s missing her favorite uncle.”

“Her favorite uncle will be over as soon as his boyfriend’s fever has broken and he knows he’s not contagious anymore,” Harry tells Liam. “Which should be soon, as Louis doesn’t look as pale or crazy-eyed today.”

“Crazy-eyed?” Liam repeats. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that when Louis gets a fever, his eyes look funny. Glassy and weird,” Harry explains. “A little crazy.”

“He has mono, doesn’t he?” Liam asks. “Isn’t that the kissing disease?”

“It is if you’re twelve,” Harry shoots back, because honestly. The kissing disease?

“Well, who was he kissing to get the kissing disease?” Liam asks, sort of teasing, but with a serious undertone.

“Me, I guess,” Harry says. “It’s possible to be a carrier and not have mono yourself. Or at least not as bad as Louis has it.”

“I’m just saying,” Liam says, the implication going unsaid. “You never know, man.”

“Louis wouldn’t cheat!” Harry exclaims. “He wouldn’t, would he?”

“I would hope not,” Liam answers. “But you know, never say never and all that. And I guess you still haven’t had the marriage and kids talk, have you?”

“Not with him practically on his death bed.”

“Why not?” Liam asks. “It kind of seems like perfect timing. He has nothing better to do, if he’s stuck in bed anyway. Might as well talk.”

“Sure,” Harry replies. “Might as well go in there when he can barely speak and ask if he’s cheating on me, and then badger him about marriage and kids. Who wouldn’t love that when they can hardly stay awake?”

“I know you like it on Louis and all, but sarcasm’s not a good look on you, Harry,” Liam scolds.

“I’m hanging up on you now. Goodbye, jerk. Say hello to Zayn and kiss the princess for me.” Harry hangs up his phone and loads his dishwasher, cleaning off the counters too, before heading into his bedroom to check on Louis. He’s sleeping again, his caramel hair long and messy on Harry’s pillow, small body curled under the blankets. Harry places a hand on his forehead, happy to feel cool skin under his palm, and smooth’s Louis’ hair back before kissing the top of his head.

“Love you,” he whispers to Louis before he heads onto his balcony. Unfortunately, Harry’s garden has grown smaller in the past two years. Sage and Rosie have both passed on, although Persephone is still strong, along with a few others.

“Hello, lovelies,” Harry croons, running his fingers over the leaves and petals surrounding the perimeter of his balcony. “I’ve missed you these past few nights.” He sits down and begins to read, but he can’t ignore Liam’s voice in the back of his head. Louis wouldn’t cheat on him, would he? After Harry and Louis officially became a couple, Louis worked hard to gain Harry’s trust, and Liam’s as well. Whereas Zayn understood Louis freaking out, Liam and Harry didn’t. Louis won over Harry, but him and Liam have never gotten on so well. Does Liam actually believe Louis would cheat, or is he just looking out for Harry? Harry sighs and stands to his feet, going to join Louis in bed. Whichever reason Liam chose to suggest Louis cheating, Harry can’t ignore it now. It’s not crazy to wonder how his boyfriend got the kissing disease, when he doesn’t have it, is it? He resigns himself to a night of tossing and turning, until Louis wakes up and he can talk to him.

 

“Harry? Haz? Harry, wake up,” Louis murmurs in Harry’s ear, lightly jostling him awake.

“What?! What’s wrong?” Harry practically yells, sitting straight up.

Louis tries so hard not to laugh, but he can’t help laughing just a little bit. Harry’s curls are askew, his eyes are barely open, and he sat up so quickly that he seems a little disoriented.

“Sorry, love,” Louis giggles, ignoring the cute pout settling onto Harry’s face. Harry always looks especially young when he first wakes up, but even more so when he makes his baby face, sticking out his lower lip like a child. “I just wanted to tell you I feel better today! I don’t have any type of fever today, and listen to me! I can talk!”

“That’s great, Lou,” Harry mutters, shaking his head slightly. “That couldn’t wait until…” he trails off, squinting at his alarm clock. “It couldn’t wait until nine, at least?”

“Sorry, babe,” Louis laughs. “I guess I was so excited that I got a burst of energy.”

“Mmm,” Harry acknowledges, lying back down. “Save your energy for later and come back to sleep with me. You’ve been so hot the past week that I couldn’t even sleep under the blankets with you, let alone touch you.”

Louis grins and lies back down, wriggling back until his back is pressed against Harry’s chest, Harry’s arm wrapped around Louis’ waist. He could sleep more, come to think of it. He snuggles deeply into Harry and closes his eyes, both men falling asleep for a few more hours as the sun rises outside their window.

When Louis wakes up, Harry is out teaching a yoga class. Louis takes a deep breath and gets out of bed, walking down to the kitchen, which is honestly the furthest he’s walked in over a week, and it’s maybe fifteen feet away. Harry’s left a plate on the counter for him, with an egg on a piece of toast, along with a note.

Lou,

Had to teach a class this morning. If I’m not back before you wake up, eat this! And eat every bit of it. You’re getting too thin. I know you said you’re feeling better, but you still have to stay in bed today. I’ll be home by noon with a milkshake for you.

I love you,
Harry

Louis smiles and eats a few bites of his breakfast, his appetite still rather lacking. He takes out his phone and texts Niall.

Are you working? Call me if you’re not.

Louis’ phone rings less than a minute later.

“Dude! Are you feeling better yet?”

“Dude! I am, actually. Finally,” Louis laughs, happy to hear Niall’s chipper Irish brogue, even if it’s just over the phone. His own voice is finally strong again, albeit a little hoarse and scratchy still.

“When are ya coming back to work?” Niall asks. “I’ve had to work all my shifts with Jay, and he’s awful.”

“Ugh, really? He is awful. I can’t believe he’s lasted this long,” Louis replies. “But I probably won’t be back for another week. Is everyone doing ok down there?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Niall reassured him. “Even though I have to do inventory and the schedule since you’re not here. Your job sucks, by the way.”

“It might suck, but you don’t complain when you conveniently never have to work late on weekends,” Louis teases. “Or when you were made assistant manager. And you normally get to work with me, the world’s best coworker.”

“Besides El,” Niall points out. “I miss having her here.”

Eleanor quit Starbucks about six months ago, finally getting a job in fashion like she’s always wanted. It’s a small position, more getting coffee and sorting paperwork than designing and buying, but she loves it, and she wants to work her way up. She’ll do it, Louis knows. There’s not much Eleanor can’t learn when she puts her mind to it.

“Besides Eleanor,” Louis agrees. “How is she, anyway?”

“I don’t know, lad,” Niall sighs. “She’s been acting really weird lately.”

“Weird how?”

“Like she kept talking about marriage and kids, like a lot. And it’s not that I don’t want that, it’s just that we never mentioned it too much before, and I never really pictured myself married before thirty, you know? And when I told her that I wasn’t ready to get married yet, she got really quiet. I haven’t really talked to her in a few days. And she’s just acting really strange.”

“That doesn’t really sound like Eleanor,” Louis mused. It’s true. Eleanor’s not really the type to push Niall to do anything.

“I know,” Niall agreed. “I don’t really know what’s going on with her. But I think that when you’re feeling better, it’s time to go ring shopping.”

“You can’t be serious,” Louis said. “All of that about how you’re not ready and now you want to get engaged?”

“Well, yeah,” Niall said, like it was obvious. “Just because I’m not ready to get married, like, today, doesn’t mean I can’t get engaged. And if this is what it takes for Eleanor to stay with me, then I’ll do it.”

“Niall, you’re so frustrating,” Louis replied. “But I’m happy for you. And congratulations. Of course I’ll go ring shopping with you.”

“Are you going to look for yourself?” Niall asked. “I haven’t forgotten our conversation. If Louis Tomlinson, the world’s most moody, independent person wants to get married, then I figure there’s no reason I can’t.”

“How romantic!” Louis answered. “Be sure to tell Eleanor that’s why you want to get married. She’ll love that.”

“What can I say? I’m a charmer,” Niall laughed. “Text me when you’re feeling better. We’ll go shopping and you can buy me a pint for manning up and proposing.”

“Only if you buy me a pint in return,” Louis said. “We’re going to be old, married men soon. Might as well drink while we’re young and free.”

“Ok, Tommo, deal. But let’s wait a few days. I don’t want your weird kissing disease or whatever.”

“Goodbye, Niall” Louis singsongs into the phone, hanging up.

Louis tosses the rest of his food, standing up to stretch his legs a bit. He can’t believe just leaving bed and talking to Niall wiped him out, but he’s ready for sleep. A lot more sleep. Louis really does want to go ring shopping, and he can’t do that until he can walk more than a few feet without the need to return to bed. But if he wasn’t sure about proposing before he got sick, he’s sure now. Harry has been the world’s best boyfriend, taking care of Louis without Louis even asking, letting Louis sleep in his bed even though he’s sick and disgusting. Louis hasn’t been to his own flat in over a week and he doesn’t even miss it. He gets back into bed and turns on the telly, lasting about ten minutes before he falls back asleep.

//

“Hello, sleepyhead,” Harry grins when Louis joins him on the balcony a few hours later.

“Hey,” Louis mutters, too sleepy to be cheeky. He sits down next to Harry and wraps his arms around his waist, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“See, I know you’re not feeling well still, because you’re never this affectionate when you don’t want something or feel bad,” Harry comments, dropping a kiss on top of Louis’ bedhead.

“M’fine, just tired,” Louis mutters, his eyes staying shut as he leans on Harry.

The two of them sit like that for a while, quiet and comfortable. But Harry has this niggling question in the back of his mind, something he knows he shouldn’t ask but has to. A few of his students asked after Louis today, giggling and making suggestive comments when they heard he had mono. He swears, if he hears the term ‘kissing disease’ one more time, he’s going to lose it. Harry tries to rationalize accusing his ill boyfriend of cheating on him by telling himself that anyone else would do the same thing, but it’s not as comforting as he wishes it was.

“Louis? Babe, are you up?”

“Yes, Harry. I’m tired but not comatose.”

“I just…I know we already kind of mentioned it, and I totally trust you and if you say you didn’t then I’ll believe you, but I have to ask, only because I keep hearing about the ‘kissing disease,’ and it just seems kind of weird that you have it and I don’t. So…did you cheat on me?” Harry’s voice quivers as he asks that question, afraid of the backlash. Louis is always mildly pissed off about something, but he rarely gets shaking, yelling angry. Harry already knows this will set him over the edge.

Louis’ eyes flash as they snap open and focus on Harry. “Seriously, Harry? What the fuck?” Louis cries as he twists his body up and away from Harry. “No, I didn’t cheat on you. Do you think I would cheat on you, get sick from it, and spend weeks laying in your bed, having you take care of me? How despicable do you think I am that I would do something like that? I can’t believe you’d even ask that!” Louis is trying to yell, scream his anger out, but his throat is too sore and raw for him to do that, making him seem rather pathetic, which only serves to infuriate him further. He pushes himself to his feet and starts to turn inside.

“Louis, wait-“

“No, Harry. You said you trusted me, but if you did you would never even think that, let alone ask me. I know I fucked up, but that was two years ago. Two years, Harry! I’ve grown and changed since then, and I thought you did too, but apparently not.” He spits those last few words bitterly, storming into Harry’s flat to grab the few possessions he had there with him.

“Louis,” Harry pleads, watching Louis rampage around his bedroom.

“What?” Louis hisses, the anger dominating his voice.

“You can’t just go. You’re still sick. And I don’t want you to be mad at me. Stay? Please?” Harry begs, trying hard to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing Louis’ hand.

“I’m a grown man, Harry. I can take care of myself. And if you don’t want me to be mad at you, you shouldn’t have accused me of cheating on you. That would have been a great first step to ensuring I’m not mad at you,” Louis voice drips with disdain, his sarcasm cutting through Harry like glass.

“Lou, come on. Wouldn’t you be wondering the same thing if you were me? But I didn’t accuse you. I just had to ask! But I believe you, honest!” Harry exclaims like a little boy, his green eyes wide and scared.

“Good for you, Harry, for fucking believing your boyfriend of two years when he tells you he didn’t cheat on you. How big of you,” Louis gets out as he trips over Harry’s shoes on his way out of the flat. “Just leave me alone,” he mutters, broken, as he leaves Harry’s for his own home, his empty bed and musty furniture, untouched for weeks.

“Hey, Lou, it’s me, again. I guess you already knew that, ‘cause who else has been able to call you between the 50 million times I’ve tried to reach you in the last few hours? I just wanted to say I’m really sorry. Again. And I know being sorry doesn’t change anything, but I love you, you know. I’d love you no matter what your answer to that question was, to be honest. I love you unconditionally, Louis. So please call me. I’m sorry and I miss you a lot. I know that’s crazy, because you just left my bed for the first time in over a week, but it doesn’t feel good without your sick, sleeping body in it. It’s just empty and cold. I know you won’t call me back for a while. And I also know I deserve to be kept waiting. But I will be. Waiting, that is. I’ll be sitting by my phone until you finally call me, and if you weren’t sick and potentially sleeping I’d be at your door, pissing off your neighbors with all the racket I’d be making, because I was so, so stupid to ask you that question. So stupid. Please call me back. I love you.”

“My last message, I swear. Just…please don’t stop listening to yourself, ok? I know how you like to be busy, but you can make yourself really, really sick if you don’t get lots of rest and stay in bed. And I’ll worry about you endlessly if I’m not there taking care of you. So just take care of yourself, ok? I love you, Louis.”

Louis listens to his messages and pretends he doesn’t hear the worry and upset in Harry’s voice, the way he keeps sniffling and taking shaky breaths, meaning he’s crying, or trying not to. He also pretends he doesn’t feel his heart ripping in two as he listens to them, doesn’t feel like he has to physically grab his legs to stop himself from running back to Harry’s flat, his bed, their home. He tells himself he can’t feel gaping emptiness from the other side of his bed, the quiet that seeps into his bones and permeates his mind without the noises of Harry moving around, tending to his garden or doing yoga or cooking some concoction in the kitchen. But mostly, he tries to pretend he doesn’t have a storm of emotions raging in in his head. Anger, obviously, but a whole list of others, beginning with betrayal and ending with a little bit of self-doubt. Yes, he left Harry two years ago, but he never did it again. Shouldn’t that count for something? Has Louis been a poor boyfriend, worse than he thought he was? People don’t assume you’re cheating if you act like a proper boyfriend, do they? Louis muses over this, but as his immediate anger fades, so does his adrenaline. He falls asleep recounting every little thing he’s ever said that could have possibly been taken the wrong way, every eye roll or snarky comment. There are more of them than he wishes.

//

“Well, he didn’t cheat on me,” Harry tells Liam and Zayn despondently, holding Isla on his lap while she rolls her toy cars along the table.

“How do you know?” Liam asks, as Zayn exclaims, “What are you talking about?” at the same time.

“I mean I asked him three nights ago if he got mono from kissing someone else, and he told me no. And then he yelled at me a bit and stormed out and I don’t know if we’re broken up or if he’s just really, really pissed or if he’s even alive,” Harry moans, closing his eyes and leaning his head forward to breathe in Isla’s clean, baby shampoo scent.

“Oh, Harry,” Liam coos, sympathy spilled across his face. Sitting next to him, looking stiff and stormy, is Zayn. “You had to know, though,” Liam agrees, pity visible in his deep brown eyes.

“Oh, come off it, Liam! And you too, Harry! Are you daft?” Zayn bursts, making Liam and Harry jump with surprise, as Isla begins to wail. “Harry, your poor boyfriend, who I hear you whining about marrying all the time, is sick and bedridden and you accuse him of cheating on you? Seriously?”

“Zayn, you don’t have to be so harsh,” Liam says, looking at his husband with a mixture of surprise and confusion on his face. Zayn rarely raises his voice, or argues, for that matter. He’s generally quite agreeable, unless it’s early in the morning.

“No, Liam, I think I do,” Zayn snaps. “This is your fault, too. I know you planted the idea in Harry’s head. Just because you don’t trust Louis doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy. He fucked up once two years ago and you’ve been holding a grudge the entire time! It’s time to move on!”

“Don’t yell at Liam,” Harry interjects. “This is all my fault,” he mutters, glumly.

“Harry, come on. Do you even realize how easy it is to get sick? If Louis kissed a dog, sipped a drink, or even kissed Isla’s head after someone with mono did, he could get sick. Or you could be a carrier and not even know it. There’s literally hundreds of ways to get ill. But you have a problem if you automatically assume Louis was cheating on you,” Zayn points out, a little gentler then he was before. “That’s really unfair of you to just assume that of him. So there’s either a problem with your relationship or with you, and I think it might be the latter.”

As Harry mulls that over, Zayn plucks Isla from his lap and carries her upstairs, still upset over hearing her baba yell. Harry can hear him muttering soothing words, trying to comfort her.

“He’s right, you know,” Liam admits quietly. Harry looks up, noting the guilty look on Liam’s face. “I never trusted Louis, because he hurt you a long time ago, and even though you forgot it, I couldn’t. You’re like my brother, Harry. I wanted to kill Louis when all that happened. And I was too stubborn to let it go, as my much smarter husband pointed out. But he was right about Louis. He’s not a bad guy, and he clearly loves you a lot. I’m sorry I ever doubted him. And now I have to go do some serious ass kissing. And I think you have some things to sort out as well,” Liam says, standing up and following Zayn up the stairs, where Isla’s cries have faded to a dull whimper. Harry buries his head in his hands and replays Zayn’s words, realizing Zayn is right. The problem is with Harry. And the other problem is that he’s not sure how to fix it.

//

Louis lays in his bed, some movie on that he’s not paying attention to, when he gets a text from Niall.

Answer your door, you fucker! I have news!

There’s a knock on his door two seconds later.

“Niall?”

“I’m going to be a dad!” Niall booms by way of greeting, blue eyes shining with excitement!

“No way. Are you serious?” Louis asks, not one hundred percent positive if Niall’s playing some sort of weird prank on him. It wouldn’t even be his worst, after the time he dropped three espresso shots in Louis’ decaf coffee right before closing, leaving Louis hyper and excited all night long. Harry had watched Louis jump and dance around his flat, eyebrows raised with a smirk on his face, until he decided there was a better use for Louis’ newfound energy in his bedroom.

“Yeah, mate! I’m gonna be a dad!” Niall crows, a huge grin spreading across his face.

“Well, then…congratulations!” Louis pulls Niall into a hug, wrapping his arms around the back of Niall’s blue baseball tee.

“When did you find out?” Louis asks, both pleased and surprised by how happy Niall is with the news of his impending fatherhood. He knew Niall wanted kids one day, but not so soon.

“Couple hours ago,” Niall says, walking into Louis’ sitting room, dropping a brown bag Louis hadn’t noticed he was carrying onto his coffee table. “I figured since my best friend is still too sick to buy me a pint, I’d bring them to him,” he continued, pulling a six-pack out. “Cheers, lad!”

“Niall. If you just found out you’re having a baby, then why aren’t you with Eleanor? Shouldn’t this be something you do together?”

“Pregnant women can’t drink, Louis,” Niall replies, holding up his bottle in response. “Besides, she told me to come here.”

“She did?” Louis asks, a little confused. “Why?”

“Remember how I told you she kept asking about marriage?” Niall reminds him. “We were having another fight when I told her I had asked you to go ring shopping with me, and that if she wasn’t so damn impatient she might have one on her finger soon. And that’s when she burst into tears and told me that she was pregnant and wanted our baby to have married parents, but she didn’t want the baby to force me into doing anything I didn’t want to do,” Niall tells Louis, his eyes watering a little. Louis won’t tease Niall now, when he just received huge news and is so ecstatic about it, but he makes a mental note to do it later.

“So that’s when I asked her to marry me, officially. Got down on one knee and everything. We’re going to look at rings this weekend,” Niall finishes, knocking back a beer to accentuate his story.

“My god, Niall! I’m so happy for you! Still doesn’t explain why you’re here though…” Louis says slowly, reminding Niall to get to that point.

“Well, after El and I, um…celebrated,” Niall says lewdly, “I still had too much leftover energy. And she wanted to tell her friends. So she told me to come here and get it out of my system because she knew I wasn’t going to calm down anytime soon, especially not until I told you.”

“Aw, Niall, I’m touched,” Louis replies sarcastically. He is though, not that he’d tell Niall that. He thinks Niall probably knows anyway.

“Yeah, yeah, man. Now sit down and get properly drunk with me! I haven’t seen ya in a couple weeks and no one else can get drunk and bitchy quite like you do,” Niall commands, handing Louis a beer. “I figure I only have eight more months until I can’t do this whenever I want.”

“Even less,” Louis says. “Once you’re married, that’s it. When’s the wedding, anyway?”

“Haven’t figured it out yet,” Niall tells him. “I only get engaged a couple hours ago,” Niall reminds him. “But soon, I think. Really, really soon.”

“You seem so happy,” Louis says, taking in Niall’s bright eyes and the smile that has become permanently affixed to his face.

“Very happy. Over the moon, shouting from the rooftops happy,” Niall says. “It’s like everything hit me at once, and instead of freaking out about it, the world collapsed down into a single point, and I realized what that this was what I wanted and needed. A perfect, gorgeous fiancée, a baby on the way, and a best friend who looks like he needs a bath,” Niall answers, taking in Louis’ ratty sweatpants and dirty hoodie. “Seriously, man. When’s the last time you left your bed? Or changed?”

“It’s been a while,” Louis says, running his hands through his greasy hair.

“It’s probably been that long since you’ve eaten too, hasn’t it?” Niall asks, noticing how thin Louis looks. “You’re looking quite sickly, lad.”

“Funny how that happens when you’re sick,” Louis says drily. Niall doesn’t have to know his disheveled appearance and pale skin has more to do with Harry than the mono. Without Harry, his motivation to do anything had dropped considerably. He hasn’t eaten much since their fight either, since he’d grown accustomed to Harry feeding him, and his cabinets were sorely lacking anything other than crisps and expired food he hadn’t gotten around to throwing out.

“It’s funny how that happens when you get in a stupid fight with your boyfriend and are too stubborn to forgive him and call him back,” Niall replies, seeing right through Louis’ defenses. “Go in the shower. I’ll call us some takeaway,” Niall instructs, pushing Louis up and towards the washroom.

“I thought we were celebrating!” Louis protests, fighting Niall as he tries to force Louis into productivity.

“We’ll celebrate when you don’t look like a fucking dirty lolly!” Niall yells, succeeding in pushing him off the couch.

“A dirty lolly? Really?” Louis asks. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Yeah, cause your already big head’s starting to look too big for your body,” Niall grumbles. “And you’re dirty. So go.”

Louis laughs to himself as he starts undressing to get in the bath. Niall might not take as good care of him as Harry, but he’s infinitely more entertaining, Louis decides.

When he gets out and is dressed in clean clothes, Niall is waiting for him with pizza and more beer. “Look at that! You do know what soap is!”

“Piss off,” Louis shoots back, grabbing a slice of pizza. They eat and drink in comfortable silence, watching some crap television, before Niall brings it up again.

“So…how much longer are you going to wait to call Harry back? It’s been what, three days?”

“Five,” Louis instantly replies. Not like he’s been counting.

“Five days, Lou? Don’t you think it’s been long enough?”

“It’s not like he’s been banging down my door, Niall. I’ve been here the whole time and where is Harry? He tried calling me for one day and that’s it?”

“Come on, Louis, don’t be like that,” Niall says. “You know Harry. He’s the most considerate person on Earth, and kind of…careful, I guess. He doesn’t like to make the wrong move. And he knows you’re sick and tired and he probably is afraid that if he comes by you’ll either kick him out or you’ll be sleeping. Just call him.”

“Who’s side are you on, anyway?” Louis mumbles, taking a swig of beer.

“Yours,” Niall answers matter-of-fact. “And his. I know you miss him and you were talking about proposing before this whole thing. You don’t just go from wanting to get married to someone to not caring in a matter of days. It’s not like there’s a switch you can flip or something. So you might as well get over him kind of asking if you cheated on him when, to be honest, you have an illness who’s nickname suggests you did.”

Louis makes an acknowledging sound. “When did you become so wise on relationships, Niall?”

“Since my best friend set me up with this really fit, smart, cool girl we worked with. Best thing he could’ve done,” Niall answers. “A plot fit for a best man, I think.”

“Niall,” Louis says, trying to find the appropriate response. “Are you sure?”

“Course,” Niall says, grinning broadly again. “Who else will give such a sarcastic, condescending, too-smart-for-most-people-to-understand best man speech?”

“I’m honored,” Louis gets out, with only a hint of sarcasm. “Of course I’ll be your best man.”

“Excellent,” Niall replies. “There’s only one rule.”

“What?” Louis asks, sure it’s something ridiculous about his bachelor party or something.

“You have to bring Harry as your date.” Niall smiles smugly. “You should ask him. Now. I have a future wife and unborn child to get home to!” He yells, bounding off the couch and towards the door.

“Call him, you wanker!” he yells over his shoulder as he leaves.

Louis rolls his eyes, finishes his beer, and thinks about what Niall said. How is it possible that in less than a month, he went from wanting to propose to Harry while Niall shied away from proposing to Eleanor to not speaking to Harry while Niall gets engaged and finds out he’s having a baby? It’s unfair, he thinks.

Two beers later and Louis is feeling quite tipsy and rather tired. Tipsy enough that he decides to listen to Harry’s voicemails again. He didn’t delete them, of course not. It takes one word in Harry’s voice for Louis to break.

“Hullo?” Harry mutters sleepily, answering his ringing phone. When did his ringer turn so shrill?

“Harry?” Louis whispers. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” he answers, groggily. “I mean, yes. Of course,” he says, sitting up in bed and flicking on his lamp.

“I miss you,” Louis tells him, and the sound of his voice is the most wonderful noise Harry’s ever heard, even if it’s at two in the morning.

“I miss you too, Lou. So, so much. I’m so fucking sorry for what I said. I’m such an idiot,” Harry apologizes earnestly, afraid if he doesn’t say it now Louis will hang up and he’ll never get another chance.

“Enough to come over?” Louis asks.

“I’ll be there in five,” Harry tells him, jumping out of bed and pulling on his black, skinny jeans he wore earlier today.

“Ok,” Louis sighs sleepily, contented, as he lies back on his pillows.

When Harry lets himself into Louis’ apartment, the first thing he sees is an empty pizza box and six empty beer bottles, but no Louis.

“Lou?” He calls, walking through the flat. When he gets to Louis’ bedroom, he finds Louis curled on his side, breathing deep and even, fast asleep. He smiles to himself, taking in how cute Louis looks when he’s asleep. He’s seen a lot of sleeping Louis lately, but he’ll never get over how soft and relaxed he looks, curled on his side with his caramel hair falling across his face. Harry drops a kiss on his head and gets in beside him, curling up to Louis and wrapping his arms tight around his waist. Louis might wake up and regret calling Harry, so Harry’s not letting this opportunity go to waste.

Louis wakes up alone, but warm. He can hear the sound of someone moving in his kitchen, and smiles to himself. He was a little drunk last night, but not enough to forget calling Harry. He stretches and lies flat on his back, waiting a few more minutes before he gets up. Before he can, though, Harry creeps through the doorway, clearly trying to be quiet in case Louis is still sleeping.

“You’re up,” he smiles broadly, the corners of his green eyes crinkling.

“Hi,” Louis grins back, taking in Harry, his curls and dimples and shirtless, tattoo covered body standing in front of him.

“Can I sit?” Harry asks, moving gingerly towards Louis’ bed.

“Of course,” Louis responds.

“I got here just after you called me last night,” Harry tells him, sitting on the corner of the mattress. “You were already asleep, so I spent the night. I cleaned your flat and did some washing. Your hoodie was disgusting,” he jokes, smiling again.

“Thank you,” Louis replies, looking at him expectantly. He invited Harry and he’s ready to forgive him, but Harry’s got to do something more than just clean his admittedly filthy flat.

“Louis, I’m sorry,” Harry apologizes for what is probably the hundredth time but could never be enough. “I’m really, really sorry. I never should have asked you that. I guess I just wanted you so bad, and you’re so great and perfect for me that in some way I was always waiting for something to go wrong. I’ve always been that weird person with the plants and his camera, you know? People never really get me. But you do. You get me so completely that it terrifies me a little. And I think I was so afraid that I might lose you that I ended up letting my paranoia run my life. And I kept hearing so many people joke about ‘the kissing disease’ and all that it just started to get stuck in my head. But I’m really fucking sorry and I love you so much and I just want to be with you forever. If you’ll have me, that is.” He peeks up at Louis through his eyelashes, waiting for Louis to say something.

“Come here, Harry,” Louis sits up, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and pulling him towards himself. “I want to infect you,” he laughs, forehead pressed against Harry’s.

“Ew, Lou, you’re so disgusting,” Harry mutters, wrinkling his nose. He still leans forward and kisses him, though, kisses him deeply, until he can’t think straight. “It’s worth it,” he whispers when he pulls away finally, needing a minute to catch his breath.

“Harry,” Louis warns as Harry begins kissing down Louis’ neck, stopping to leave love bites every so often. Harry ignores him and continues his way down Louis’ body, stopping at the waistband of his sweatpants.

“The doctor said you can’t do any physical activity, Lou,” Harry says, looking up at Louis with a glint in his eyes. “He didn’t say I can’t,” he continues wickedly, as his hand works his way underneath Louis’ pants.

“Harry, you’re an animal,” Louis groans after they’re both panting, lying flat on their backs.

“I’m your animal,” Harry replies, smirking as he turns to look at Louis. “I just want to eat and sleep and be with you 24/7,” he mumbles, stroking his hand against Louis’ cheek.

Louis studies Harry, thinking for a moment before he finally speaks. He props himself up on one elbow, looking down into Harry’s green eyes and locking onto them, so Harry knows he means it.

“Marry me, animal?”

Harry’s entire being comes alive, lighting up like every nerve in his body has been turned on.

“You mean it, Lou?”

“Of course, Harry,” Louis whispers, fingers toying with Harry’s curls. “It’s not how I thought I would ask, but it feels right. So will you, Harry Styles, marry me? In very obvious sickness and in health?”

Harry cups his hand around Louis’ neck and pulls him down for a long kiss. “Absolutely,” he smiles against Louis’ mouth, breathing his answer.

And if they go against the doctor’s wishes after that, Louis and Harry decide it’s just a risk they’re willing to take.