Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The first time Harry makes the weather change to his mood, makes the clouds cry, the heavens weep, makes the rains fall, he’s 12 years old. He’s 12, and he’s just realised that when he looks at his mate, Josh, he feels tingles and butterflies and an incredible want to hold his hand, hold him close, keep him warm, safe.

He’s also 12 and has just heard two older guys from his school, speak loudly in the school’s courtyard about how Tommy and Alex from Manchester was seen kissing, was seen holding hands, was seen being in love, and how gross that was. How wrong it was.

He’s 12 years old, and he knows for the first time that there’s something wrong with him. But not like when he asks his mum to buy him the wrong pair of shoes or the wrong band shirt. This is something that can’t be mended, can’t be changed to suit his classmates.

He hugs Josh when the school day is over and his friend’s brown eyes laugh at him, and his arm clutch Harry close to him, and it feels so right, and it can’t be wrong, he doesn’t understand how it can, but there’s so many things he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how equations work, why he’s supposed to use letters to anything when it’s math and they’ve always used numbers, and he doesn’t understand what the German or French tourists that stumble across Cheshire say. But he will one day, his mum has said, so many things will make sense when he’s older. He’ll be able to solve equations, he will know what ‘ich liebe dich’ means and he’ll be able to say “Je suis allé au cinéma avec mes copains et ma famille”.

(something’s telling him, though, that he will never understand why two boys holding hands and looking at each other like one hung the sun and the other the moon is wrong)

“Josh, “ he whispers just before they part, and Josh smiles at him, and he takes a deep breath, “have you heard of Alex and Tommy from Manchester?”

Josh nods, once, looking a little uncomfortable, but Harry doesn’t know why, “yeah, my brother said what they did was wrong. That they were proper fags.”

He doesn’t look like he knows what fags mean, but he will know one day, and he will hate Harry. So Harry keeps his mouth shut and gives his friend another hug.

He runs the entire way home, the sky getting greyer and darker, the clouds growing more and more threatening with each thunder of his heart, with each tear that falls, because Josh called two guys in love fags, and Harry can’t stop thinking of his friend’s black, small curls, his brown eyes, the softness of his hand, and the warmth of his smile. It’s all so wrong, and yet it doesn’t feel wrong, and it doesn’t make sense, not to Harry at 12 whose heart is running wild, whose heart is breaking for no other reason than that he can never let it run free, untempered.

The skies above let out a screech that matches what he feels on the inside, and then the rain falls, and he slows down, feeling the tears in his eyes make their way down his cheeks too. It all seems like the end of the world, but he knows it’s not, he’s just being dramatic. But right now, in the rain so heavy he can barely make out anything past the next few metres, it doesn’t feel like he’s being dramatic, it feels like he can cry and break down without anyone watching. Like the rain is somehow protecting him from any curious eyes, protecting him from weeping over who his heart loves - he doesn’t know anything about love, but he knows that he’s never looked at any girl and felt the same need to hold her hand, hold her heart, that he feels when he looks at Josh - and weeping over the two lads from Manchester who loved and are now known throughout the North like their shame is being spread to make sure no other gets the idea that in this world love is equal, that in this world innocence and naivety isn’t punished.

He holds himself in his own arms, and it feels like it’s the only thing keeping his heart from falling out of his body. He’s not cold, the rain is warm and friendly, seems to want to wipe away his tears, want to wrap him up and keep him safe and away from unfriendly eyes and minds. He has plenty of friends, is well liked, but right now he can’t imagine any placer safer than here in the rain where no one’s judging him and the rain seems to wash his mind clear from the troubling thoughts threatening to break his heart and weigh him down.

The rain stop in the instant that his tears stop falling, and that maybe should’ve given him a clue that the rain wasn’t there because of whatever happens in the sky, but to keep him company, to show the world that here is a boy that is hurting on the inside and no one’s helping him.

The sky clears and he lets his arms fall from where they were wrapped around his chest. As he looks up, the sun begins to peak out behind the grey, dark rain clouds, and in the distance, he sees, not very clearly but if he squinted his eyes a bit, the beginning of a rainbow.

(he’s 12, doesn’t know the significance of a rainbow, doesn’t know it’s the sky’s way of showing him support, the sky that follows his every bid, but it makes him feel safe and warm inside anyway. it’s a beautiful sight after all, a rainbow shining in the sun after a rainfall.)

He’s soaked by the time he gets home to his mum, and she wraps him up in a blanket, makes him tea, and kisses his wet curls when he’s close to falling asleep on the sofa, tea untouched and blanket warm.

“I love you, H,” she whispers, and he smiles into the pillow.

The weather continues to do as Harry says, at first only what he’s thinking, what he wants to happen without ever voicing his desires. Once they’re supposed to go on a trip to some field at school, but only if it doesn’t rain too much, and Harry is bored, doesn’t want to know anything about dirt, doesn’t want to spot for birds, doesn’t want to know anything about corn, so he looks at the clear blue skies with the shining sun and white clouds and wishes that clouds would gather and darken, that thunder would roll and shake the walls, that the only light was from lightning skies.

It doesn’t happen right away, but it does happen, and the power in the school goes for twenty minutes, and Harry’s happy for the way the dark hides his grin at how his wish was granted. His mum picks him up after 45 minutes because the field trip was supposed to last for the rest of the day, and with this dreadful weather the teachers had to unfortunately cancel the trip. Harry tries not to look too smug about it in the car, fails miserably, but his mum doesn’t ask what he’s done now, because what 13 year old boy from Holmes Chapel, Cheshire could have anything to do with the sudden thunderstorm on a Tuesday the meteorologists said would have nothing but sun?

You can never trust what they say, anyway.

(they reschedule the field trip, this time he wants it to snow, knows it’s only October, but it feels like a thousand minus degrees outside, feels like it wouldn’t be too weird for there to fall five or ten centimetres snow a day before halloween. the teachers disagree and so does the daily post, and so does the entire nation, and Harry looks to the sky, confused, as to why the weather has now twice changed to the will of a little boy just wanting to get out of boring school stuff)

(he doesn’t know it’s thrice, nor will he, not until the next time he gets his heart broken)

The first time he’s absolutely certain the sky somehow listens to his every word, acts after his every wish when it appears, is when he wants the sun to shine in the middle of winter. When he’s feeling so low that he just wants to have one proper sun day, a proper summer day in the middle of winter, just to remind himself it won’t always be cold and grey, it will be green and warm in just a few months.

Right now, though, it’s January, and it should be the -9C that it’s been for the last three days.

That is, until one 14-year old Harry Styles looks to the sky and whispers a little prayer that wouldn’t it be nice if the sun would come back and shower the world in a little bit of warmth, just for a few minutes. Wouldn’t that just be nice?

He whispers his prayer, and turns to go inside because it’s still cold outside and the snow on the ground isn’t even proper snow, there’s too little of it, and the wind is biting, the sky’s grey, and the clouds heavy and no sunlight can penetrate them.

He walks two steps before everything around him is bathed in sunlight, the clouds moving away to uncover the heavens, and he looks back up, shields his eyes from the sun that he hasn’t seen properly since November he’d say, and he laughs when he feels his coat getting heavy and warm around him in a way it hasn’t all winter - always too thin, always too short - and he laughs when he looks down to see the pathetic snow melt because the temperature is rising and it’s rising fast, and so does his spirits. With every bit of sunlight his skin catches, and with every snowflake that melts, it feels like his soul brightens. So he laughs.

The sun is out for ten minutes, and in that timespan it’s risen 20 degrees, and no one knows how to handle that, especially when the clouds go back to covering the sun as soon as a little boy with curls and green eyes feels good enough to go back inside and start working on his music - because he has a song in his heart, and he has a feel for words and the guitar, and he has a dream - and it makes national news once more, and meteorologists put Holmes Chapel on their list of places with weird weather occurrences.

Harry goes four years without ever meeting another person who can do anything beyond what’s normal for a human, for a child. He’s tried to ask his sister a few times about special powers but she’s only looked strangely at him and said that he should talk to Josh about his newest superhero obsessions.

(and that’s another thing, josh is still his friend, and he still feels like holding his friend’s hand would make his heart less heavy, but he was right about josh learning what fags meant and even if his friend looks uncomfortable saying it, he still says it, and that’s enough for harry to never reach for the other boy’s hand, even if he does want to at times when they sit together under the tree sharing an illicit cigarette, under the sunshine harry so wanted, thinking that the cigarette didn’t have to be the only illicit thing they could share)

He’s 16, can make the sky change colour, can make the clouds shift, can make the sun shine bright or dim, can make the clouds rain and can make rainbows across the sky. He’s 16, maybe in love with his best friend, or maybe he’s just never met any other boy he wants to hold and love, and he’s hiding so much of himself he feels like breaking.

It’s not because he doesn’t think he could tell Gemma, at least, about him wanting to kiss boys, even though it’s just not done, but he knows that if he begins to spill his secrets, it’ll be a flood that can’t be stopped. If the dam is broken, that’s it, all his secrets will lie bare, open for Gemma to see and judge him for.

He loves his sister, trusts his sister, but he doesn’t dare jeopardize her love. She’s heard about boys loving boys, he knows this, but she hasn’t heard about her brother loving boys, she hasn’t heard about her brother controlling the weather and wanting to hold his best friend’s hand and kiss his cheeks and lips. He has no idea how she would react, doesn’t want to find out.

What he wants is to find someone who can do as he can do. Control things that weren’t meant to be controlled. Maybe also someone who loves somebody they’re not meant to love, were told not to love but does anyway.

Maybe also someone he can love, can kiss, have and hold. Someone who will love him, kiss him, hug him, be with him.

He wants all of that, and the sky above him turns a soft pink and purple, and it’s not supposed to because the sun shouldn’t go down for another two hours (and it doesn’t, it shines, the sky is just pink). He lays on the ground, in the soft grass, lifting his hand to the sky, imagines the soft colour of the sky on his nails and smiles a little at the thought.

It’s another thing he’s been told is wrong, a thing he’s always thought he would grow to understand why was wrong, but it feels so right, so him, that he’s not so sure the problem is with the thing itself but rather with the people’s opinion on it.

He imagines himself putting on a pretty, soft colour on his nails, to mirror how the sky echoes his feelings, and he doesn’t think ‘that’s weird’, he thinks ‘that’s me’.

He’s not very good at the nail polish in the beginning - he bought a soft purple, liked how it looked with his purple hoodie - but under the sky who’s always been his closest friend, he learns, gets better, can almost do his entire right hand without coating some of his skin in the purple colour by accident.

It’s not because he’s ashamed but he knows the kind of little town that Holmes Chapel is, and even though models on the runways in Paris wears eyeshadow and purple nails, it doesn’t mean he can do it in public here among his childhood friends and childhood memories. So he makes sure to wipe his nails clean, so he doesn’t seem like the odd one out, like the boy who’s hiding something.

All of his friends knows he’s hiding something, doesn’t have the guts to take a guess on his sexuality, doesn’t have the imagination to take a guess on how the sky follows his every command.

They think he’s hiding an infatuation with a girl, doesn’t understand why he’s so resistant to fessing up, it’s unfair to be honest, because they’ve all told him when they had a crush and now he’s holding back on him. They keep pushing, he keeps withholding, and eventually they give up, gets used to the fact that the new Harry is a Harry with secrets and that Harry is now the normal Harry.

Harry has a secret more, not as deeply hidden, but a secret nonetheless.

He’s gonna escape this town, by whatever means possible. He’s been in a band for the past few years, and they’ve done alright, they’re not the best, and they’ll never break through on their own because they will never get the real gigs. In those seedy bars where agents come to listen to the new and upcoming talents.

But there is an opportunity for him to get away using his voice, and maybe a bit his curls - the old ladies at the bakery where he works tells him often enough that his curls and green eyes are the reason for why half of the customers come through, which makes sense because a good half, or well a good third, is girls from his school who never knows what they want but smile at him so he smiles back because that’s what good customer service is all about - to succeed, to travel the world and sing at sold-out stadiums.

That may be in the distant, distant future, but the fact is that he has a chance.

The new singing contest, the X-Factor, has an open audition call in Manchester, and his mum has said that if he makes it past the first few screenings, she’ll drive him down and support him, of course she will, and he smiles at her and hugs her close.

“Thanks, mum,” he whispers into her shoulder.

In this position, his arms wrapped around his mum, embraced by hers, and his face hidden in her shoulder, it seems like he could confess all his sins and secrets, and she’d never judge him.

Maybe she wouldn’t, but until he knows how to break it to her that outside the sky is changing but it’s not because it wants to, it’s because he’s making it do it.

Until then, he doesn’t know how to tell her that he might be gay, because somehow those two secrets have always seemed connected. Like he can’t tell one without telling the other.

It doesn’t go wrong as per say, but reality does come crashing down, makes him understand a little bit clearly just what kind of Holmes Chapel is, and that it’s not changing anytime soon.

“Hazza, lad, what the fuck is that on your nails?”, is what Josh asks him one day, as they kick around a ball on a quiet villa road - another thing that lads are good at, that Harry sucks at - and Harry frowns confusedly.

“What’d ya mean?”, he asks, concentrating on getting the football lined up properly, so he can get a good shot in for once.

He doesn’t get the chance because Andy is a world class footie player and he quickly steals the ball from Harry’s unsure feet, and captures it under his one foot.

“Mate,” Andy laughs at him, “they’re pink.”

They’re laughing, and it sounds like thunder in Harry’s ears. Like the drums of hell. Like the apocalypse, and the final judgement on the final day.

Above their heads, the sky rumbles in displeasure to Harry’s sudden distress, and he feels a little comforted at that. He’s not alone. Not completely, anyway.

He throws his friends a shaky smile and lifts his nails for them to see, “Gems wanted to try out a few different colours for her date.”

For play, he looks down at them confusedly before shrugging, “must’ve forgot to clean them.”

Elliot who’s the more quiet one in the group of four looks at the others and shrugs, “looks good, mate.” And Harry almost lets himself smile in relief until Andy laughs loudly.

“Yeah, if ya a fag, Haz,” and he’s looking to Josh for support, getting a shaky smile and a quiet laugh, and Harry’s nodding even though he wants to scream.

And that’s when the sky opens up above him, and the sudden rain soaks them through in mere seconds.

Andy splutters, looking the most drowned of them all, though he doesn’t know that could ever happen (but he has an idea), and Andy looks up at the sky with furrowed brows.

“What the fuck happened?”

Josh laughs for real now, and he’s so pretty that Harry smiles as well, the storm in his heart calming a bit.

“What the fuck do you think happened, you idiot?”

Josh comes up and traps Harry in a headlock, “now superstar, let’s get you home, so you don’t get a cough.”

Harry laughs and struggles to get free. “Josh, let go of me for fucks sake.”

The laugh is now right beside his ear, “wouldn’t want to hurt your chances at getting away, Haz.”

And it sounds like reassurance, confirmation, comfort, and the closest thing Josh will ever get to taking a risk in this godforsaken town.

The sky clears bit after bit, and the rain stops, and the sun comes through, and a rainbow appears above the two of them.

Josh walks with Harry all the way to his house, takes his hand just before they part and smile at him.

“Looks good on you, Haz,” and then he walks away, and Harry smiles down at his nails, feeling warm, feeling assured, feeling good.

The rain has never made him sick or cold and it doesn’t start now. He’s not cold when he gets home, and he doesn’t have a scratchy throat in the morning, which is just as well because Josh wasn’t wrong.

He has a chance at getting away from the small town and the smallminded people. He has been given a chance to make it big. And wouldn’t that just be lovely? To make it big, to kiss a boyfriend, wear nail polish on his nails in public without having to blame his sister? To return to this town yearly, with everything he’s ever wanted, and the power to make people leave him alone?

He thinks that would be very wonderful indeed, and it’s the dream he keeps in his mind, and his way to his audition for the X-Factor is lit up by a shining sun on a clear sky, the sun bright and almost seems to be pulsating with joy and excitement, much like he himself feels.

It’s with bright eyes and a hopeful fire in his chest that he talks to television, spends his time waiting with his mum, trying to fight away the nervousness. He’ll do fine. He’s been singing for years, publicly too, and no one’s thrown anything at him yet, so his conclusion has always been that he can’t be that horrible.

But he still can’t get his hands to stop shaking, and he thinks he can hear the wind outside picking up a bit and he takes a shaky breath.

“Harry, love, are you alright?”, his mum asks him, a warm hand on his shoulder, and he nods once, not looking at her.

“Yeah, yeah,” he shrugs, “ it’s just stupid nerves, I’ll be fine.”

After ten minutes of waiting, and his hands not seeming to slow down and relax, and the winds outside are not slowing down either, and from what he can see the sky is darkening, and that’s not supposed to happen, not here, not today.

He’s not supposed to freak out.

He’s supposed to win the whole thing.

“I’m gonna go to the loo for a sec,” he tells his mum while trying to clear his head and calm his hands, get the sky outside to clear and the sun to shine, give him the motivation and courage he can’t find in himself as easily as he could in the car.

There’s no one inside when he goes to the one urinal, which is the best thing he could have hoped for. If he’s alone, he can concentrate on breathing, on counting to ten and finding that zen Gemma has begun talking so much after going to uni and meeting all kinds of new people with all kinds of new ideas and thoughts.

He thinks that even if he doesn’t make it today, he’ll go to uni soon, he’ll study laws amongst other things, and he’ll be out of the town of Holmes Chapel one way or the other. He knows this, so why can’t he just calm down?

There’s suddenly rustling beside him, and he looks up, looks to the side, where there’s suddenly a boy.

And not just a boy. A pretty boy. Prettier than even Josh. This boy is the most breathtaking boy Harry has ever seen, he’s… beautiful, and Harry doesn’t use that word lightly. Has only ever used it for flowers, his mum and sister, and the sky when he’s feeling particularly hopeful and full of love for life, for the future and all the possibilities it holds.

He’s never been in a situation like this, doesn’t know how to handle himself, hold himself, staring at the boy like he is. Staring at his blue, blue, blue eyes, blue like the sky on a day he’s particularly happy and the summer sun is out. Brown hair like chestnuts in the most softlooking fringe Harry ever seen. Skin like Harry’s sun personally came down and gave it a kiss (and if it did, Harry wants to thank it).

All these thoughts, all these observations, all these sudden butterflies in his belly, is pushing away all the thoughts of nervousness, of failure, of being stuck in Holmes Chapel for a few more years.

All he sees is the boy in front of him, and he doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to act cool. How to seduce. He’s never done this before.

He ends up messing it all up in a clumsy attempt at saying hello - who even does that at a urinal, in Great Britain no less - as he by accident, he swears, jostles his dick, and he stares at mortification down at the now wet spots on the other boy’s trouser leg.

Red hot shame heats his cheeks, and he wants to run away and hide forever, never see another soul in his entire life.

He should never be allowed outside of his house ever again, is what he concludes by his actions because all he can manage to save his skin and go back to cool, suave, is a pitiful, “oops.”

He’s ready for the the boy to yell at him, to huff in disgust and turn around and leave, but all the boy does is look at him with a small smile on his lips. And what a beautiful smile it is, it leaves Harry breathless.

“Hi,” the boy says, northern accent clear just from that little word, and his blue eyes never once waver from Harry’s.

It takes him a minute to first remember how to breathe, and then another to remember how to behave like a proper human being.

(he’s quite grateful that there isn’t any windows inside the loo, so the boy can’t see the sky change to what must be redhot, first because of the shame, and now the warm tingle that harry feels all over on the inside)

“I’m really, really sorry,” he says with a low voice, not knowing how to best phrase it, because how do you say sorry for spraying someone with your pee because you was too entranced by their beauty? “for, uhm, hitting you. I’m really-”

The boy looks at him with bright eyes, and the small smile spreads, and Harry’s breath is knocked right out of him.

“‘s alright,” the boy says, goes to the sink, and just as he turns around Harry hurries to tuck himself in, desperate to get his shit together, to look like someone this gorgeous boy would consider for more than a second if Harry hadn’t hit him with his - he swallows at this - pee.

The boy sprays a bit of water on his trousers, and turns around, smile blinding and wonderous, and Harry’s own smile widens a little, dimple proper coming out now, and the boy holds out his hand.

“‘m Louis,” he says, and Harry looks down at his hand, then at the bo-, at Louis’ own, clean, where Harry’s own is full of disgusting germs, but Louis just looks expectantly at him.

“I should,” he mumbles, looking to the sink, shaking his hand, and Louis laughs boastfully, and Harry almost melts at that.

He made him laugh.

“You’re good, mate, just shake my hand instead of letting me hang like an idiot”, Louis says easily, brightly, and Harry thinks that if he has ever met anyone who reminds him of how it feels when the sun warms him up from the inside, it’s the boy in front of him.

The smile that had faded from Harry’s lips in his confusion returns in full force, and he grips the outstretched hand tightly, and Louis looks pleased at that.

“Harry,” he says, “ Harry Styles.”

Louis tilts his head a little, “you here to sing, Harry Styles?”

Harry has a very hard time forcing himself to listen to Louis’ words, and not just the way those plumb lips move, but he manages to make sense of it, all smile, and nods.

“Yeah, ‘m here to make it big,” and to his surprise Louis doesn’t laugh at that, doesn’t scoff, but just smiles brilliantly.

“Yeah, yeah, I can see that,” Louis nods, their hands still tightly clasped together, neither letting go, holding onto each other, like they're keeping each other grounded, one the anchor, one the rope, and somehow it’s not weird at all. “Got that star quality, Harry Styles, reckon you’re gonna go on to break many a teenage girl’s heart just by smiling at them, dimples and all.”

Harry’s cheeks go a little rosy at that, he knows they do, and he hates it, but he also kinda wants Louis to keep complimenting him, and he also wants to compliment Louis.

“Thanks, mate,” he smiles, and kinda feels like ‘mate’ somehow doesn’t describe Louis well enough, even though they’re not even mates. “Means a lot. You here to audition too?”

Louis shrugs, “yeah, here to try my luck.”

Harry tilts his head at that, the bright boy’s smile fading a bit, and he gives the other boy’s hand a bit of a squeeze, that is hopefully reassuring, comforting, “hey, you’re gonna do great.”

Louis looks at him with bright eyes, smile hesitant for a moment, before it stretches wide, and Harry doesn’t know Louis, but he thinks that this smile might be a bit different from before.

“Cheers,” he says, shakes his head, like he doesn’t believe it, which he should, Harry wants him to believe it, he deserves to believe it, he deserves to make it, “don’t have the same star quality you do, though.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest, because that’s wrong, fundamentally, he knows that’s completely wrong and he wants to protest that, but nothing comes out, and Louis keeps on talking.

“Haven’t got the curly hair you have, the green heartthrob eyes,” Louis’ smiles seems almost… fond, admiring, as he presses on. “So when you reach the stars, I want to be your first official fan.”

“Official?”, Harry croaks out because he has no idea how any of that works, has no idea how Louis’ mind works - but he wants to know, he really does.

Louis laughs, “yeah, you know, with a proper autograph and a photo. All that.”

Harry stares at him for a bit, trying to wrap his head around it, trying to wrap his head around how quickly he wants to say yes, how eagerly he wants to please Louis.

“I mean,” Louis scrambles forward, “if you want.”

Harry smiles again, softly, almost on the verge of a little laugh, “of course, wouldn’t want to disappoint my first proper fan.”

Louis smiles and shakes his head, his voice soft when he speak like he’s not talking to Harry, like he’s not talking to anyone at all, “yeah, wouldn’t have that.”

They’re pressed tightly together when they take the selfie, and it should be awkward, should be uncomfortable, but Louis’ arm fit so well against Harry’s waist, and Harry’s arm fit so well around Louis’ shoulder, and in that moment he doesn’t know whether he should be scared of the thought that he wouldn’t mind staying here for the rest of eternity, or if he should embrace it.

Looking right at Louis when the shutter goes off, probably looking far too adoringly at the other boy for having only just met him, he thinks that this right here is the start of something new.

When he signs his autograph he takes good care to not make any spelling errors, he’s been known to throw in random letters when he’s stressed or just can’t be arsed, and looking over at Louis who’s looking at his phone with a small smile, he can’t resist adding his number at the bottom.

He folds the paper in two, and gives it to Louis, not letting go, till he’s said “it was nice to meet you. Good luck.”

He gives him one last smile, before he hurries out so Louis can’t shout horrible, horrible slurs at him for even thinking that Louis wants to hold Harry’s hand, like Harry wants to hold Louis’.

He finds his mum quickly enough, relieved to find that there’s fewer people in the grand hall than there’d been when he originally went to the bathroom.

His mum smiles at him, “the others will be here soon.”

He nods, sinks down into his seat, feeling exhausted but as he looks out the windows, sees the sun shine, sees the sky have a bit of a pink-orange colour to it, he feels nothing but calm excitement for what’s gonna happen in hopefully not too long.

“You were gone for awhile,” his mum comments with no judgement, no bite, and he shrugs.

“Yeah, there was a bit of a holdup at the, is cool,” he says returning to his phone that’s still as quiet as ever, and he thinks that he really did do the wise thing to run away from Louis before those blue eyes had a chance to turn disgusted, and that lovely voice and accent give him a piece of his homophobic mind.

(in his heart, he thinks that louis would never do that, would never say anything to harry, he doesn’t seem the person, and harry pretty good gut instincts, he thinks. he’d have let him down gently but he would never treat harry like andy would’ve treated him)

Later, when he’s on stage, looking out at the massive audience cooing at him and clapping for him, all he can think of is how someone with blue eyes like the sky and skin kissed by the sun, a voice like the angels, and a smile that could blind, had believed in him.

Had taken one look at Harry and hadn’t thought he looked too much like a kid, hadn’t looked at him and saw competition to intimidate into failing.

Louis had looked at him and smiled and believed. Had said that Harry would one day touch the stars.

Louis had been peed on and declared himself Harry’s first official fan.

He’ll have to tell his mum about that development later, about her demotion from being his first official fan. And then promptly decides against it, likes the idea of having Louis as his own little person, his own secret, the first of the kind he’s ever chosen himself.

So he might be disappointed by Louis Walsh’s no, but it’s not the end of the world. And if he’s being honest, even as he’s sent out with two yes’ and a ticket to the next step of the X-Factor journey, he’d have survived three noes as well.

Because someone had believed in him even when he himself hadn’t, and that was worth even more than getting three yes’.

(he’ll reach the stars, he’ll make it, for louis and his faith in a stranger, he vows he’ll make it. if only to one day call down to louis and have him pulled up beside him so they can walk through the stars together)

Louis doesn’t text him but that’s alright. Because Louis gave him a gift more valuable than a text back saying ‘i’m flattered but no thanks x.’. Louis gave him his dream back, gave him the belief in his dream back.

Harry will never be able to repay him, especially because he probably will never meet the boy again.

He’d tried to look up if he’d gone through to the next stage, but midway through his search he’d realized, he’d never gotten Louis’ last name and he wasn’t going to look through twenty different Louis’ just to be able to see if he’s gonna see the boy again.

Their first meeting hadn’t felt like a meeting but more like fate, and even if he’s never been superstitious in any capacity, and he feels like if they meet again, and they will, then it’ll be fate.

It doesn’t stop him from imagining, lying under the sun, warming him up, feeling like he’s in the embrace of someone he loves.

They meet again at bootcamp, Louis looking as radiantly beautiful as he did the first time Harry saw him. He looks sure as he smiles at everyone he meets, and Harry stands mesmerized for a few moments, just looking at this boy, so sure of himself, and Harry feels so young, so awkward, gangly, compared to him.

And then Louis looks over, his smile faltering for a second, and Harry feels his cheeks rosen, as he quickly turns around.

He hadn’t written him, of course he didn’t want to talk to- and that’s as far as he gets with the self-deprecating thoughts because Louis doesn’t look away, doesn’t ignore him, he leaves his newfound friends behind with a little wave and makes his way to Harry.

Just like that.

“Harold,” Louis greets, and Harry’s too taken with the smile, with the voice to tell him that technically, technically, his name is just Harry, no Harold in sight.

He doesn’t though, and just smiles and waves.

“Louis,” he says, and then he’s enveloped in a hug, and it feels like being warmed by the sun, just like he’s always thought, and he’s smiling into Louis’ shoulder before he pulls back.

They stand looking at each other for a few seconds before Louis, shuffling with his feet, hand dragging through his fringe, “listen, mate. Sorry for not texting.”

Harry’s already shaking his head, because that’s alright, they’re here, they’re gonna be here together to achieve their dreams. That’s enough.

“I forgot about it,” he shrugs apologetically, “and then when I remembered, it had been too long to not be weird, and yeah, I’m sorry.”

Harry wants to make that awkwardness go away, it’s almost vibrating through his soul, the want to make sure Louis knows he forgives him, wants Louis to smile again.

“It’s alright, Lou,” he says, and doesn’t even notice the nickname slipping out, before Louis is looking at him, not saying anything, just smiling, before his eyes widen and he almost goes pale.

“You don’t have to forgive me, if you think I was a jerk, really, I promise,” he scrambles to say, and Harry’s frowning, trying to understand where it all came from.

“It’s alright,” he repeats, means it, even if the rush of need to make sure Louis was okay is not present this time, or it is but not as consuming as before, almost like wind blowing out fire, leaving only embers behind.

“You’re sure?”, Louis asks again, and Harry smiles shakily, “yeah, I promise you it is.”

Louis’ smile is dazzling, beautiful in a way that has Harry wondering whether it’s possible to outshine the sun.

He takes a look out at the sky, the sun is glowing, but for the first time he thinks he’s found something even more beautiful.

(the sky turns a little pinkish at that, and louis turns to follow harry’s eyes, his eyes widening at the changing colours in the sky, mouth agape like he’s never seen it before. “it’s beautiful out,” he breathes, and harry flushes at that, the pink in the sky darkens a bit, and nods. “it is”. he may not be looking at the sky as he says it)

Louis is amazing, is kind, is gentle and funny, and Harry never gets tired of watching him talk to everyone at the bootcamp. He finds the kids that are the most nervous, tells them it’s gonna be alright, and he tells Harry every day that he’s amazing, that those stars he so craves to touch are just within reach and he’ll get there some day.

Harry doesn’t say how much he wants Louis there with him, because there’s only one winner, but he does. So instead he tells Louis that he’s amazing, that he’s never heard a voice like Louis’, and no one would shine as bright as Louis.

Louis doesn’t answer per say but he smiles, his cheeks flush a bit, and he can’t quite look Harry in the eyes, and Harry feels his own widen at tha, just a bitt.

Because it’s true. Louis’ voice is soft and beautiful, vulnerable and strong, and it feels like falling asleep, and lying under the sun, and it feels like silk beneath your fingers, and Harry has never heard anything like it. Has never been so enthralled by a voice like he is with Louis’, wants to hear it sing every song in the world, wants to hear the different, delicate nuances that Louis unconsciously has in his voice when he sings a line that is particularly emotional to him.

He’s so talented, and Harry wants to tell him this every day, at every moment. Because the thing is, thing is he’s not sure if Louis believes it.

“You’re amazing,” he says to Louis, and Louis tells him that “you’re gonna go far, Curly,” and they each hide their smiles, their rosy cheeks, and they tell each other that they’ll make it, together, somehow.

It’s nothing but two friends wanting to spend time with each other, share their journey towards the stars, but it feels like so much more.

They don’t make it, is the thing.

They don’t make it, their names aren’t called, and it feels like the earth could, should, swallow him whole. He’d thought, he’d believed, that they, he, had what it took to make it through.

He’s sure the winds are picking up outside, that the sky is crying along with him, and he barely feels Louis’ arms around him, when the camera is looking away.

“You were good, Harold,” someone whispers, and it’s in a Northern accent, one he knows so well, and he clutches to the other like he’s the only anchor Harry has, tries to calm down, “you are so good, so talented.”

He doesn’t know what to do with himself, can only stay in Louis’ arms, because it feels safe, feels less like the end of the world and more like it’s just the matter of one door being shut, he’ll find a way to get out of Holmes Chapel.

The sun will shine with him again, and he’ll find a way to the stars.

He looks at the other boys, all with tears in their eyes, each of them faced with the reality of having their dream taken away from them, their hope blown out, and he goes back to hiding from the world in Louis’ arms.

He looks at the boys that could’ve been his competition, but right now they’re all in the same boat, they’ve all been cast away. Right now there’s no more competition, no winners, not among them, here they’re all losers.

“You’re gonna make it as well, Lou,” he says, and he knows that he will, Louis shines too brightly to not make it. Harry knows that on stage, Louis will be magnificent.

There’s something in the back of his head that says it’d be amazing to share that experience with him. Being onstage, singing their hearts out, side by side, looking out over a massive crowd.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, standing in Louis’ arms, only knows that he’d rather stay here than go home on his own. Alone. Defeated.

“You want to go out and get some McDonald’s, or something?”, Louis whispers, with a slight grin, Harry can feel it against his shoulder, “to get over our sorrows.”

Harry laughs a little, and it feels wrong, to laugh here, in a room that is essentially the casket of all their dreams of making it big, but nothing really feels wrong when he’s with Louis.

“Yeah.”

They don’t make it far, don’t get to untangle even, before someone’s shouting names. Their names, specifically. And three other names, belonging to three other boys, each with tears streaming down their face, but with a new light in their eyes, and Harry can’t do anything but helplessly follow the others.

There are other names being shouted as well, but it’s like there’s something that covers his ears, he can’t focus on anything than Louis by his side, neither of them looking at each other, and the journey to the stage where they’d gotten their hearts and dreams broken not too long ago.

They’ve got another shot. They’ve got another shot at reaching the stars, at fame, at winning the whole thing.

His own joy is so warm that he’s sure the temperature outside has risen, that the sun is shining in celebration, and he feels so happy at the thought, or maybe it has to do with the fact that he has Louis in his arms just moments after Simon has announced that they’re not out, they’re not thrown to the curb, they have another shot at their dreams, and he wants to cry, wants to scream to the whole world that he’s gonna make it.

He’s gonna make it, but not alone. With Louis. With the shy but kind Liam Payne, who Harry has talked to a few times and knows just how much he too wants this, thinks that them two are probably the ones who want this the most, who needs this the most. With Niall Horan, a cheeky Irish lad with a little crooked teeth, bleached hair and a laugh that never fails to spread to everyone else. With Zayn Malik who didn’t wanna dance, but has the voice of an angel, the warmest eyes, and who smiles at Liam like he never wants to look away, and that’s a feeling that Harry recognises from whenever he looks at Louis.

They’re gonna make it, the five of them, he can feel it in his bones.

The sun is shining, they’ve got another chance, and he has Louis by his side.

They decide that it’s important for them to have a good bond before they perform. They want to be friends, and for that they need to spend some time just being them among each other.

So they go to Harry’s dad’s place, uses his bungalow, because it’s somewhere they can be alone, where they can be themselves, laugh and smile, share worries and life stories, and the sun is shining so brightly as Harry thinks of all the possibilities the future will bring them.

Louis arrives first, arrives with a smile and a cap over his unstyled fringe, and Harry’s breath is taken away. He’s happy that Zayn turns up only minutes after, because he's not sure voice would have worked if he'd remembered to use it.

He looks up at the sky to make sure it's stayed blue, a normal blue, but it's not. It's blue, blue like the ocean, blue like the sky, blue so beautiful he wants to always look at it, blue like Louis’ eyes.

“Hi Lou,” he greets him, opens his arms, needs Louis close, and Louis comes easily, and he's still not sure why cool, kind, beautiful Louis seems to like gangly, awkward, childlike Harry, but he doesn't complain because this, holding Louis, painting the sky the colour of Louis’ eyes, is, in this moment and possibly forever, all he wants.

“Good to see you, Haz,” Louis whispers, gives him a gentle squeeze, before he lets go, already on the move to greet Zayn.

Harry misses him the moment he lets go.

All the other boys are wonderful, Harry decides after they've spent ten minutes at the bungalow. All their stuff strewn around like a festival campsite, beers already going warm tucked in crates by the luggage, and five boys looking from each other, trying to make small talk without knowing what to say.

Liam is by far the most eager one to get started on actually rehearsing, Harry knows. Liam is like him, their future plans, their dreams, rely on the five of them getting this right.

Niall and Louis doesn't really seem all that concerned with the rehearsal part of it, just wants to talk, just wants to drink, just wants to have fun; just wants to make friends.

Zayn and Harry are both torn, and Harry thinks they may have the same reasoning for being torn. Harry wants to rehearse, he wants to do this properly, he wants to make it, he wants to reach the stars, but there's a boy with brown hair and blue eyes who's smiling and laughing and who wants Harry to join him in that.

Zayn on the other hand looks longingly at the beer in Niall's hand, at him and Louis laughing and cracking jokes, but every other moment he sneaks a peek at Liam who stands a little by the side, looking a little lost, a lot determined, hopeful but also not.

Harry thinks, that it's his dad's place and that makes him the host, so he should probably pick up the mantle - even though he doesn't want to, he's 16, the youngest of the bunch, and the others probably don't even want to listen to a kid when they’re older and more mature - and coughs, trying to get their attention.

He gets it too, Niall and Louis looking at him like they're about to crack up - which, fair - and Zayn looks kinda indifferent, and Liam looks at him with hope.

“Eh…”, he starts, hand going through his curls, trying to think of what to say, “welcome, I, eh, guess.”

“Cheers,” Niall says and tips his beer, Louis laughs and does the same, and Harry can't quite keep the smile off his face then.

“Do you have any ideas of what we should do?”, he asks then because again, he's the youngest, he hasn't done the whole prepping-to-be-the-next-big-boyband-thing before. None of them have, to be fair, but they’re all older, they’re all way cooler.

Especially Louis who is looking at Harry with an encouraging smile and sparkling eyes, and Harry can’t quite seem to look away from that electric blue that looks so soft, like water you could swim in for days, like the sky that stretches on forever. He thinks there hasn’t ever been a more beautiful colour, and he’d quite like that colour to surround not just him, but everyone.

He doesn’t even think the thought to an end, before the sky above them is changing, not a sudden change, probably not even a noticeable change, but if someone was to look up, they would see the sky was bluer than ever.

“I saw the sky move,” Niall says and Harry's eyes widen, and everyone else is turning to look at the Irish man as well.

Zayn's the first one to say something, to break the confused silence. “If you saw clouds moving, that's normal, mate.”

And Harry almost wants to sigh out of relief, but he doesn't dare to do anything that will bring any focus unto him. Louis is still watching him too, Harry can feel those blue eyes on him, can see him out the corner of his eye, watching silently, inquiringly. He's almost glad. If he's looking at Harry, he won't look up and see his eye colour mirrored in the sky.

“Nah, I know what I saw,” Niall says steadily, sounding so sure, for someone claiming something so outer worldly. The sky doesn't just move, it doesn't, it only does for Harry. “And the sky moved, changed. From blue to even more blue, a beautiful blue.”

Harry finally looks up to see what Niall's describing, and the colour is even more blinding, even more breathtakingly beautiful, than he ever could have imagined.

He doesn't have to imagine, he sees the very same colour whenever he looks into Louis’ eyes.

“Looks like your eyes, Lou”, he softly remarks, out of nowhere, and he only realises he said it moments later when Niall's laughing, hand on his belly, eyes shining with glee.

“The sky changed to imitate Louis,” and he's laughing and he's not stopping, and Harry's not sure what's happening, but he's sitting down next to Louis, and he's a comforting, warm weight to keep him from freaking out, from giving away his secret.

He chances a look at Louis, and he’s watching Harry with a soft smile on his lips.

“You think so, Haz?”, his voice isn’t loud enough for the other boys to hear, not with how they’re chattering away, telling Niall he needs to take it slow with the beers, and Niall defending himself saying he’s Irish, can hold his own liquor thank you, and he saw what he saw.

Harry nods, smile getting a little bigger at the nickname, “yeah, ‘course, Lou. Even the sky needs some inspiration sometimes.”

And it’s sappy, so goddamn sappy, and that’s usually not him, but Louis bites his lip to keep his smile from widening, looks down, and his cheeks turn a little rosy, and Harry hasn’t ever felt more confident.

It’s not awkward being around the boys, they’re fun, they’re calm, and they feel like friends after just a few hours.

He’s willing to bet that after a few weeks, or just at the end of their stay here, they’ll feel a little bit like home, and suddenly London and big crowds don’t seem as scary, don’t seem as daunting.

One night after a few beers, and when the fire is going strong - despite the rocky start because Louis is not as skilled in the way of camping as he thinks he is, but no way is Harry going to be the one to burst his bubble - and they sit in a circle, as they’ve done each night, he tries to voice this. Tries to tell him how thankful he is they all just clicked. It doesn’t come out as poetic as he wants it to, but as he begins to get sidetracked, maybe perhaps he was going to make sure Louis knew just how much Harry has especially appreciated getting to know him and how much he appreciates the other boy even deigning Harry a minute of his day and maybe also how much he’d like to kiss him, Liam jumps in to voice his two cents.

Sober, he might have thanked Liam for saving him from practically declaring his infatuation for Louis right there and then, but drunk as he is, he only gets irritated, maybe a little mopey to, and sits back to listen to Liam. Louis notices immediately, hooking an arm around Harry’s shoulders and whispers, “don’t worry, Haz, I thought what you said was brilliant”, and maybe it’s not so bad after all.

Louis is warm, his eyes are sparkling, and Harry can’t look away, doesn’t even look away when Niall spills beer in his lip, staining his trousers, and Louis reaches over with paper in hand to wipe it off.

Warmth rushes to his cheeks, as Louis quietly works to get the worst dried off, he can’t look away. He may be a little obsessed, but on the other hand, Louis keeps looking back, so he might not be alone in that.

The sky remains the same blue as Louis’ eyes, changing so slightly every time a new shade in Louis’ eyes springs forth. And every time it changes, he feels like he’s found his new favourite colour.

If anyone was to ask him, right this moment, what he’d want to do for the rest of his life, he’d answer ‘this’. Just this. Watching Louis, laughing with Louis, being with his boys. They’re all new to each other, to being potential stars, to sharing their dream of the stars with someone else. But he’s sure they’ll figure something out. They laugh together, they’re relaxed, they click.

They’re young, they’re hopeful, they’re maybe a bit naive. But they’ll do this together. They’ll win together, lose together, stick together.

It’s not what they hoped for in the beginning, but maybe it’s what they need. It’s scary to be all alone in the night sky. If they ever reach the stars, they’ll be able to keep each other warm in the empty blue.

“Whatcha thinking about, Hazza?”, and even though Harry knows that Hazza is just a laddy nickname, like Jezza is for Jeremy, hearing Louis calling him that still makes his inside warm up, still makes his heart flutter a bit.

The sky turns a bit pink, like his cheeks, he’d bet. Soft pink blending with Louis’ beautiful blue eyes. It feels poetic somehow. The colour of the nail polish he stole from his sister meshing with the beautiful blue, it feels like a clash of his past and hopefully future. It feels and looks a lot like hope.

“Nothing,” he says, smiles loopily, head rolling a little, before he locks eyes with Louis, smile widening at the sight of him, “a bit of everything. Thoughts running in and out. Past, present, future. I think we’ll be good, you know?”

Louis doesn’t answer immediately, just looks at him searchingly with a soft smile. Then nods.

“Yeah,” he says, voice lower, softer, “I think so too.”

Harry smiles, closes his eyes.

“Those stars better get ready,” he whispers, eyes opening, locking with Louis, and Louis laughs a bit.

“I don’t think anyone could ever be ready for Harry Styles.”

Harry frowns a bit, even as his insides flutter a bit. “Not Harry Styles, they should get ready for. One Direction.”

Louis smiles widely, “One Direction, you say?”

The others are listening now, and Harry looks over at them, not ruining the moment between him and Louis, he thinks, but expanding it. This isn’t for Harry and Louis only, this is for all of them. Their shared dream, their shared band.

“Yeah, One Direction. All hoping to go the same way. Up to the stars.”

The boys smile, and Harry looks up to the sky. If he says that it’d be beautiful if the stars would shine brighter that night, and they do, well then that probably is only a coincidence.

Louis is funny. Louis is loud. Louis is shy. Louis is beautiful.

There’s so many things to find out about Louis, there’s so many different facets of his personality, some of them contradictory, each as beautiful as the last.

Harry thinks that if everyone had someone like Louis Tomlinson in their lives, someone to keep a smile on their face, someone to hug, someone to admire, maybe the world would be a better place. Because Louis is happy, shining, like the stars, but warmer.

He’s the sun.

And Harry knows he’s only 16, has known Louis for what amounts to a little over a month now. He knows that they’re isolated from reality here, at bootcamp. That right now, when the whole world for him revolves around singing, around the boys, about Louis, that it isn’t reality. That when they go back to reality, nothing will be this easy.

But it’s hard to remember. Because right now, he has his boys. He has his dream, a beautiful view of the sea, of the stars every night. He has Louis, his kind smile, his gentle warmth, his shining eyes.

He has everything he’ll ever need, he thinks, right here.

A dream, a band, a boy.

It’s a bit later, well into the night, and it’s a beautiful starry night. The kind Harry was sure was the inspiration for the masterpiece Van Gogh produced among the fields of Province.

They’ve all kept up their tipsiness, Harry may be a bit beyond that point but not by far, not by far. He’s still relatively able to keep sitting upright, but when Louis offered his shoulder, Harry wouldn’t be one to just so rudely refuse.

He was raised well, with manners. He said please and thank you, and promptly draped himself against Louis, not needing to steal any warmth, it’s a beautiful night and they have their camp fire, but still trying.

Or maybe it’s just an excuse to be near Louis.

Louis’ shoulder is warm, Louis’ side is warm where Harry’s is pressed against it, and his head is buzzing pleasantly.

It’s so nice. This night. He’s so thankful they get to have this, this relaxed moment where they don’t have to worry about the future, about competition, about whether or not next week will be the week they go home.

Right now, there’s just them, the beers, the fire, and the bright stars above.

“Reckon, we should play a game,” Niall broke the silence after a bit of them all staring a bit mindlessly at the fire, “if we sit and think for much longer, we’ll all fall asleep where we’re sitting.”

Harry shrugs a bit, acutely aware of Louis’ and his body so, so close, his head on Louis’ shoulder and thinks, wouldn’t be that bad.

“Whatcha thinking ‘bout?”, Louis inquiries, smiling lazily, and he’s so pretty from this angle. Harry has to resist not thumb across Louis’ cheek in reverence.

Boundaries, he reminds his drunk self, are a thing, and you should keep to them.

“Something easy, where we get to know each other a bit deeper,” Niall explains, nodding to Harry who blinks a bit confused until he clarifies, “just so we don’t have a case of someone passing out on us over there.”

He is, categorically, not gonna pass out. He’s not a lightweight. He will not be the lightweight in this group. He may be 16, but he’s not gonna be so embarrassingly far behind the others.

Louis turns his head slightly to look down at Harry who still feels a bit like a deer caught in the headlights. He smiles at bit, puts an arm around Harry’s shoulder and lifts his hand to cart through his curls.

“You sleepy?”, he asks him gently, almost whispering, like he can hear Harry’s thoughts, “it’s okay if you are. We’re probably all gonna go to bed in a few.”

He shakes his head, feeling quite pitiful. “No, don’t wanna. ‘M awake.”

Louis smiles softly at him, but nods. He keeps his arm steadily around Harry’s shoulder though, and with the warmth surrounding him, refusing sleep seems more and more impossible.

Louis leans down after a bit, when Niall’s begun to explain the rules - basically truth and dare without the dare, because they’re all tired, some more than others, no offense Harry, lips close to his ear.

“The minute you want to go to bed, just say the word and I’ll follow you.”

Harry almost - almost - giggles at that, but manages to hold it off by biting his lip so hard it feels like he’ll bite through and draw blood. He can’t stop the massive smile, though.

“Thank you,” he whispers back, “you’re a darling.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, but he does begin to caress Harry’s shoulder a bit with his thumb.

It’s probably just to help him keep warm, Louis seems to buy Harry’s deception of being cold. He feels a bit smug about it.

He blinks a few times, leaning more heavily against Louis, suppressing the urge to use his hand to wipe a bit of sleep from his eyes. He wants to stay awake. He feels like a kid on Christmas Eve, determined to see Santa Claus come down through the chimney, or those first New Year’s where he had to fight to stay awake to see the fireworks and the new year.

Right now, he’s fighting to stay awake to see the night through.

“First question of the night,” Niall announced with a clap, looking expectantly at them all, smile bright and open. Harry already loved that about Niall. Proper ball of energy and literal sunshine. “Do you guys have any fears?”

Harry almost sits up entirely, not having expected such a deep one from the start. Tries to focus on the heartbeat, faintly notable where Harry’s head is resting on Louis’ shoulder, instead of the fear of them all knowing secrets they couldn’t possibly figure out just by looking at him. No one ever thinks someone can control the sky, the weather. No one thinks someone is gay, just by looking at him.

They couldn’t know.

They can’t know.

He doesn’t want to lose his newfound friends already.

In and out, he breathes, in and out, until his breathing isn’t that erratic anymore. Until he can stand opening his eyes again and look at the others, try and look for clues that they know.

He doesn’t see anything but curiosity and worry in their eyes, and he almost wants to cry.

“You’ve got any secrets, you wanna share, Haz?”, Louis gently asks him, and Harry shrugs.

Being rejected by you. Never achieving my dream, going back to Holmes Chapel, stuck in what feels like the past. Left behind while the others go on to travel to the stars.

Never knowing love.

“Rollercoasters,” he deadpans, and Louis barks a laughter besides him, arm holding him tighter against his side.

“Don’t worry, Haz, I’ll protect you if we go,” he reassures him, “nothing can touch you, when I’m here.”

“Alright, dragonslayer,” Niall laughs from the other side, “quit the flirting, so we can get some truths on the table.”

Harry bites his lip, waiting for Louis to take his arm off of Harry’s shoulder, move away entirely, suddenly shy and rejective. But Louis doesn’t do any of those things, he simply leans back a bit more against the tree they’re by, and when Harry chances a look at him, he looks as comfortable as can be. Right in the position he was.

Harry smiles a little to himself, missing Liam and Zayn’s answers but thinking he heard something very similar about them being afraid of not being good enough and frowns, looking over at them.

“You’re both perfect,” he tells them, tries to sit up a little, to properly get his point across. It’s harder, than he first anticipated, to get up from his position. He’d sunken deeper than he’d thought he had, almost lying entirely on Louis who, with a quiet laugh, helps him sit up properly. He reaches back to pat Louis on the cheek as a thank you, before resolutely looking back at Liam and Zayn, finger pointing accusingly at them, “you do not get to call yourselves anything but brilliant and talented, and some of the best damn voices in our band, and we haven’t even sung properly together. You’re perfect, and we’re gonna best friends, and my friends don’t get to say that about themselves.”

Liam look at him with a touched expression, and Zayn looks so amused, but Harry’s sure he’s touched and happy, he’s just hiding it. Have grown used to it, masking his real emotions. Harry decides that’s gonna end tonight.

In this band, they’re gonna be honest with each other. About the good things, the bad things, the easy things and the struggles.

“Thanks, Hazza,” Liam smiles at him, and Zayn blows him a kiss along with a wink, and Harry laughs brightly.

Louis’ arm almost immediately comes sneaking back around his shoulder, urging him to lie back down, and he goes easy. It’s by far more comfortable lying down here, having view of the fire, the boys, the stars and Louis looking happy and relaxed.

It’s quite a view.

“My turn,” Zayn says, hand going up and down his forearm, like he’s imagining something there, “opinions on tattoos?”

Niall shakes his head immediately, waving his hands a bit in front of him like he’s trying to get rid of some sort of smell, or simply trying to protect himself against the idea of tattoos. As if the word would manifest itself as tattoos on his skin.

“No,” he denies immediately, “no, no, never in a million years.”

Zayn simply grins at him, “see ya in a million and one years, we got ourselves a deal then.”

Niall promptly pulls the bird at him.

“I’d be willing to go for them,” Liam says with a shrug, “I’d want most of them to mean something, like deeply personal,though. I wouldn’t want something on me forever, if I couldn’t imagine forever with it, you know?”

Louis is laughing. “You don’t have to sign marriage license, mate.”

“Well, isn’t it a bit like marriage?”, Zayn defends Liam, and Harry smiles because that’s cute. He hopes Louis would defend him too, if he said something not quite right or smart.

“In a way,” Louis grants him, but is still smiling, like he’s found the perfect loophole, “but you can always get a divorce.”

“You’d get a tattoo erased?”, Harry asks, looking at him from where he’s resting on Louis’ shoulder, “or get one covered up?”

Louis looks down at Harry in surprise, holds his green eyes for a bit, before shrugging with one shoulder so as to not jostle Harry - he likes to think - and smiles weirdly.

“I don’t think I’m one for tattoos,” he admits, and that’s, that’s a bit disappointing, Harry thinks, ready to bring on the pout in full force. Louis’d look good with tattoos, sue him. “But maybe, for some reason, if there was something I’d want to immortalise, to remember even when I’m old and grey and forgetful. If there was something, I’d want to express somehow, maybe I’d get one.”

Harry smiles at that. He’s always liked the idea of using tattoos to tell a story, a story not everyone is to be granted access to understand. One for him and maybe one other.

“I’d go for them, in a heartbeat,” Harry chimes in, “think they’re absolutely sick.”

And it’s like that’s a trigger, that word, as he shoots up the instant he’s said it, diving, trying to scramble as far as possible, before vomit shoots up.

There’s some rustling in the leaves, and breathing heavily, feeling crappy and weak and tired and like he wants to sleep forever, he looks back.

Louis is walking, slowly, towards him, brows furrowed, eyes concerned.

“You alright, Haz?”

He wants to nod, but Louis is bending down to sit beside him, hand caressing his cheeks, going up to rustle his hair a bit, so he shakes his head, almost a pavlovian response to get Louis to continue.

He smiles softly, “poor thing, let’s get you to bed?”

“Please,” Harry whispers, and Louis nods resolutely.

“Let’s go then.”

Letting Louis guide him, gently, without too much pushing, waiting on him, but never letting him stumble or feel inadequate, Harry feels so light inside. In a way he hasn’t before.

When he’s in bed, everything turning on itself, like he’s on the top of a globus, and he feels quite intimidated by the headache that awaits him the next morning, he stretches out to take Louis’ hand or at least get his attention.

“You’re okay there, Haz?”, Louis asks him after a few seconds of him waving his arm around helplessly, and Harry looks at him with a smile and nods.

Louis smiles at him, head slightly tilted, hand caressing Harry’s slightly damp cheek. “Goodnight, Haz.”

Harry closes his eyes, focuses on getting his head to stay still, it’s circling, circling, circling, and when he opens his eyes again, Louis is gone. He might have fallen asleep, because his head is infinitely better.

He closes his eyes again, smiling, this was a good night, difficulties despite. Louis helped him. Led him back home. Like a compass leads the lost sailor and his ship home.

They sing with each other for the next many days. They laugh around the campfire, they get to know each other, they drink, they play footie - and Harry still isn’t better than he was on the school playground in Holmes Chapel, but Louis is helping him, with how to place his foot when he kicks, how to have better focus over the field.

It’s a shame his focus is mostly at Louis’ mouth working its way around the words as he enthusiastically tries to explain to Harry all the best techniques for all the positions. Louis is simply beautiful when he’s excited about something.

They might have once been competitors, but here, in the little forest by Harry’s dad’s, they become a band. They become friends.

“Simon Cowell ain’t ready for us,” Niall says, and when Harry looks at Liam, who’d been at the next stage before, he’s smiling.

“He won’t even see us coming,” Liam agrees, and Zayn slings an arm around his shoulders.

“Harry.”

“Haz.”

“Hazza.”

“H.”

“Harryyy.”

It’s morning, still golden and orange outside, the sky warming up, gathering the strength, to yet another day. The sun still half asleep, but slowly waking up.

Just like Harry.

Only his process has been slightly sped up by the boy who decided to first jump on top of him and then whisper, plead in his ears to wake up, to pay attention to him.

He groans a bit, hoping it’ll make Louis calm down a bit, just for five minutes. Harry just needs five minutes, then he’ll be ready. Ready to smile at Louis for an entire day, admire him, hope, hope, hope.

Ready to paint the sky in whatever colour Louis’ eyes are, showing the world how beautiful his boy is.

“Harry, open your eyes,” Louis whispers, a finger tracing the shape of his eyebrows, traveling down his nose, continuing, stopping by his mouth, lingers, continues down to his chin, traveling back up his jaw line, repeating the route.

One round, two rounds, three rounds, calming Harry, making him sink further into Louis’ touch, body, presence.

“Wake up, Harry,” Louis whispers, softly, soft like his hair, his smile, his voice. Everything about Louis is soft. Harry could go on, could mention every little thing about Louis that is soft, beautiful, magical.

“Don’t wanna, Lou,” he groans, stretching his back, legs, body a little, head pressing against Louis’ touch, “wanna sleep.”

Louis presses closer to him, and Harry does the same, magnets the two of them, drawn to each other, have been since the beginning.

“But I’m bored,” and that’s that really.

Louis’s bored. Harry wants do anything to keep Louis happy, light, smiling, shining.

So he opens his eyes, looks into Louis’ eyes, and they’re so beautiful. He doesn’t even look out the window to know, that the sky is changing in a second. Louis turns in a second when the entire light in the room changes, mouth gaping as he looks at the light blue sky that should be yellow, should be orange, shouldn’t be blue, can’t be blue, it’s only been a minute since it was golden.

“Did you see that?”, and Louis’ voice is wavering a bit, like he’s not quite trusting it, trusting himself, his eyes.

“See what?”, Harry says, yawns, tries to keep it subtle, tries to keep it relaxed.

“The sky,” Louis tells him, “the sky changed. Like magic.”

Harry finally tears his eyes away from Louis, looks at the sky, smiles a bit. “Looks magical.” His eyes automatically return to Louis, to those eyes. The sky may paint itself in whatever colour he wishes, but Harry wishes he could paint the entire world to fit Louis’ eyes. Everyone deserves to see a blue like this. He can see Louis wants to say something, is about to open his mouth, talk about how it’s impossible and maybe even remember how Niall once said the same. The sky’s colour changed in a second.

So he does what he does best, steals Louis’ attention. “Looks like you.”

Louis splutters a bit at that, blinks, looks from the sky to Harry, back again, and then Harry again.

Pouting, he says, “shut up,” and then pushes Harry off the bed.

“I wanna go swimming.”

He sits back up, grinning from ear to ear, fully awake and calmly says, “ what the king wants, the king gets.”

Louis grins, the corner of his mouth only shaking a bit, and laughs, pitch only slightly below what it usually is. “And don’t you forget it.”

It’s one of their days off. And because they’re a band and friends, and band of friends does everything together when they’ve only got each other and their dream, they do everything together. It’s mostly because they don’t know anyone else right now, they don’t trust anyone else right now, and a little bit - as Niall put it - training for when they make it big.

They’ll go through everything together when they win the X Factor, might as well start now, he said, and the others nodded along, hopeful gleams in their eyes and wide smiles.

If Niall grins at them all, and Harry and Louis, and Zayn and Liam, share secret smiles, just for them even if they’re not sure what they mean, then nobody’s saying anything about it.

The beach is always lovely, but today it’s amazing weather, the sun is shining because Harry is happy, and the sky is blue because Harry’s looking at Louis, and the water is bright and blue. So much blue around him, and the only blue he’s concerned about is in Louis’ eyes.

“Harry,” Liam says beside him, and it sounds a bit ominous because despite Liam being serious very often, wanting this so much with every fiber of his being, he’s learned to take a pause when they’re not practicing. To enjoy the journey with his boys, like they’re enjoying it with him.

Come what may, Harry always thinks, we have each other’s backs and that’s that.

“Yeah, Lee?” Harry answers, not really looking at Liam or paying attention, because Louis and Niall are playing in the water, and Louis’s laughing so brightly that Harry feels he may very well be blinded.

It’s like looking at the goddamn sun sometimes, Louis’ happiness. It’s infectious and warm.

“You know, Harry,” Liam says, calm as can be,” if it wasn’t because I was so sure you would never ignore me, I’d think you were more interested in watching Louis having fun.”

Harry’s head turns so quickly he may have gotten whiplash. “What? Why would you say that?” Not that it isn’t true, he just wants to know why Liam thinks so. And he’s just hoping there’s a way he can divert the conversation to be about Liam and Zayn in some way, and not Harry’s crush on the sun himself over there.

It’s just a crush though. Don’t get him wrong, he is so infatuated with Louis, his eyes, his smile, his laugh, his kindness, his- well everything about him, but he isn’t in love with him. Love is something deeper, something extraordinary, something that needs time to build and grow.

He doesn’t love Louis.

Not yet.

“Everything you do is in some way related to Louis,” Liam said, his voice soft, a smile playing at his lips when Harry turns to look at him, “like, we’re here as a band. We do everything together, but you, I don’t know, you do most of it because Louis wants to. Like today, waking up early and going to the beach? I know you were up too late to be up so early.”

Harry gapes at Liam for a few seconds, trying to figure out a way to answer, to shift the topic to Liam and Zayn, trying to figure out how Liam could have figured everything out, and why he would just lay it on Harry like this.

In the middle of the day, with no preparation.

“I-”, he wets his lips, looks out at the sea again, looks out at Louis, nods to himself, “I like to make him happy.”

When he looks back at Liam again, he’s just watching him with soft eyes.

“You know, Harry, I think that Louis likes to make you happy too,” he laughs a bit, “even if you don’t know it’ll make you happy. Like spending the day at the beach on only five hours sleep.”

Harry doesn’t know what to answer to that, just smiles, maybe he blushes - Liam doesn’t comment on it, and he’s never gonna admit to it. Because yeah, Harry was a bit tired when he woke up, maybe this wasn’t what he had planned, but he’s pretty happy. Content. To sit and watch.

“Yeah, guess we know each other pretty well by now.”

Liam probably would have said something, he always knows what to say, but a small cry from the ocean pulls away both their attention from their awkward, stilted conversation about feelings and what ifs.

Harry surges up, almost dizzy from how quickly he stood up, because he’s never heard that noise before, never wants to hear it again, but he’d recognise it anywhere nonetheless he thinks.

Louis.

“You alright, Lou?”, he yells out while running down the beach to where Zayn and Niall is helping him out of the water.

Louis immediately looks up at him, his face a little too blank like he’s trying to keep everything in, and Harry hates it, hated Louis keeping silent in those first few days, hates Louis being silent now.

He thinks idly, he’d hate Louis being silent at all times.

Louis is loud, Louis is bright, should never be contained or dimmed.

He slows his steps as he gets closer and closer to the others, takes over Niall’s place at Louis’ side without saying anything or Niall asking why. Holds Louis close with an arm around his waist.

“Lou, you okay?”, he asks again, “where does it hurt?”

When Louis doesn’t answer him, he looks desperately to Zayn.

He’s never really felt fear quite like this before. He’s felt fear of being outed, of his friends finding out who he’d wanted to love. He’s felt fear of inadequacy, of having to return disgraced to his hometown, return to small people with small minds.

He’s never before felt this fear mixed with protectiveness, wanting to do anything to take Louis’ pain away. This irrational fear of Louis not being okay, of not being able to think without confirmation that he’s gonna be okay.

“It’s his foot, I think,” Zayn says, nodding down at the red and swollen foot, and Harry’s grip on Louis tightens.

Liam and Niall are already calling out to producers to please call someone, hurry, it’s a bit of an emergency, while Harry and Zayn are helping Louis hobble over the sand.

Harry’s hand is firm around Louis’ wrist, his waist, and he’s mumbling soft words in Louis’ ear, to try and bring him out of his shell again, to soothe, calm.

“You’ll be alright,” he says, and Louis turns his head to, finally, look at him.

“What if I’m not?”, he whispers, a worry meant, Harry thinks, for Harry’s ears only. “What if you’ll have to sing without me?”

The fear that’s been grasping his heart gets tighter, and he feels a little breathless. Not at the thought that they may not succeed without Louis, more of the knowledge they won’t succeed without Louis. Plain and simple, their voices blend well together, but Louis gives them depth. Gives their choruses soul.

Without Louis, they’d be out of here and on a plane back to England in about 0.5 seconds.

They’re all phenomenal singers, and they all know it because they tell each other every day. Even when a producer makes a comment about something, they tell each other ‘you’re brilliant, mate, wouldn’t be here without you’ because it’s true, and no one will ever make them feel inadequate.

He tightens his grip on Louis, “you will be, you’ll be just fine, and we’ll smash it. I can feel it.”

And Louis smiles at him, and at the sight, Harry thinks, that they might just be alright. Whatever happens.

“It doesn’t sound right,” Liam says as they try to practice their chosen song.

Torn. What irony, Harry thinks, without Louis, the band really is torn.

“It’s not thick enough,” Harry agrees, sullen, heartbroken, because they might fine at the end, but in this competition? Without Louis? They’re done for. And they might not have known it before, but they sure do now.

And he can see the fear in the others’ eyes at the thought of their chances, their dreams, rely on whether Louis will be able to get back in time.

“What will we do?”, Zayn asks, timidly, and it sounds foreign, that tone, that insecurity, the fear, “if he doesn’t make it?”

Harry looks to Liam, because he’s the eldest now, the most mature, he’s done this stage before, but, one look is all it takes to realise. Liam doesn’t have a clue. He doesn’t know what they should do, because he’s done this before, he’s done this part before, but he hasn’t succeeded. This is where he failed last time, and this is what all his insecurities comes back to, and Harry looks to Niall.

Niall who’s always optimistic, always has a kind word, always has an encouraging hug to give out. Niall who knows how to read people and has come to the same conclusion as Harry.

“We’ll make do,” he says, and Harry smiles, “semper gumpy and all that. We’re one man down, but we’re good. We’re amazing, we’re not down for the count.”

The cameras want drama, they want suspense, to show the audience at home. They surely won’t show this, show them figuring it out, finding the confidence to do this despite everything.

The odds, he thinks, are probably very seldomly going to be in their favour anyhow, they might as well be used to beating them from the beginning.

“Let’s take it from the top, lads,” he encourages, and Liam looks at him with a glimmer of hope, “if Louis doesn’t make it, we’ll just have to give it all we’ve got.”

And it might not be the best odds, and they might not have high hopes, but they’re together in this, and they’ll overcome the obstacles. Together, like a band, like brothers, all for one and one for all.

Their voices aren't as full as they usually are when they blend together, because Louis' voices give their voices a certain depth that's so unique and can't be replicated.

But they can't give up, just like this, and they all know Louis wouldn't have let one of the others being stuck in a hospital stop him. They're just gonna have to do this for him if he doesn't make it back, they've worked too hard and too long for them to sit down on a bench, accepting defeat.

So when the song ends, they take it from the top again, and when Liam once again tells them, "this isn't thick enough. We need Louis", they do it again. They change it up, they try and make it better, thicker, tries to explore their voices in a way that can give them - not the same sound as when Louis is there, but a new sound that'll have to do.

It's not a One Direction sound, it's not as good, but Louis'd be proud of them, and that's the most important thing.

"You know," Niall says with a laugh, "that while we're trying to sing like everything from a goddamn fairy princess to an old man, he's being a little shit trying to get the doctors to let him out."

And they laugh, and it's good. It feels almost like this isn't a make it or break it challenge, but rather another good natured practice day.

"He'll make it, though," Zayn states, from his place under a palm tree, "he'll make it and we're gonna make Simon Cowell cream his pants from how good we're singing."

Harry can't really be held accountable for the squeaking laugh, that only Louis has been able to procure before (Zayn looks very smug), that's ripped from his throat at that.

Niall's laughing too, trying to get a cross statement out in between his giggles, "you're gonna have to calm it, Zee, Harry'll rip his vocal chords like that."

They might have been ready to do it alone, face the monster under the bed that is Simon Cowell, but Harry thinks he's never felt so relieved, like so much weight has been taken off his shoulders as when they get the call that they should better get out and receive someone out front.

It's harder to figure out what's more competitive, a 100 meter race at the Olympics, or the boys trying to get to Louis as the first.

Harry thinks the latter might be a prize, motivation, yards better than some cold gold trinket.
Getting to embrace Louis, lift him, the relief and the happiness he's feeling, he can think of no better euphoria than that moment. the boys are all laughing, and though he hides it well,

Harry can see the touched expression on Louis' face as he's slowly realising that his boys came running to him for him. They're in this together, and they may have been ready to do it without him if need be, but there's no world where any of them would choose willingly to go on without one.

Pirate code may be those who fall behind, get left behind - One Direction code is no one gets left behind, they're doing this together or not at all.

"Lads," Louis's laughing, his arm tight around Harry, "have ya missed us?"

And Harry thinks Liam might have punched Louis if he hadn't been so happy to see the guy, and Harry might have joined him to be quite honest, but as it is - Louis' weight against him is just too comforting, so Harry settles for pinching his cheek and then, in the heat of the moment, gives the same cheek a consoling kiss.

When he looks away, slowly (and then all at once) horribly realising what he's done, he almost turns around to tell Louis that wow, he really lost his head for a moment there and wow, what a mistake (it wasn't), and wow, could Louis believe he did that, oh the cheek of him - before that happens, Niall smiles beautifically at him, pride shining in his eyes like he's been waiting for Harry to do just that, and when he looks at Louis again, he doesn't look angry. More mesmerised. Mesmerised by Harry.

And that's, that's not the worst case scenario, definitely not, not at all.

Not the best case scenario either, if he's completely honest, because that involves a bit more kissing and none of the others boys present.

Like, ideally.

But this is good too, it's really good.

"Well, think I got my answer," Louis laughs, one arm stretching out, Zayn running to catch it and throw it over his shoulder, "let's go charm Simon Cowell's pants off."

While Niall snickers, Harry thinks that maybe he should take a good talk with Niall, Zayn and Louis about their metaphors for success, and an extra talk with Louis about how there's so many other people Louis could and have charmed the pants off of - mainly focusing on Harry being one of those people.

It's not perfect, they've been practising so much and Louis' wobbling on his hurt foot, but they smash it.

They make Simon Cowell cream his pants and then charm them off, as Niall says and Louis high fives him.

Harry just inches closer to Liam and Zayn (he only made the joke once and didn't laugh at Louis', he's forgiven), despite being an obvious third wheel to the awkward yet smooth flirting going on between them, because even just among them, he doesn't want to be associated with those jokes.

Childish is what they are, he decides, and feels very mature. He's gonna let Louis and Niall be children in their corner, and instead try and have a grown up conversation with Zayn and Liam - right now, they're talking about superheroes.

As he said, maturity en masse.

He might also be convinced to give Louis another chance when he comes to sit beside Harry (by dragging himself across the sofa, looking more like a drowning whale trying to get back to the water more than anything), throw his arms around him, and burying his head in Harry's neck.

"Was a bit scared, y'know," Louis whispers, insecurities meant for Harry's ears only, and Harry's hand, out of pure reflex, goes to circle one of Louis' wrists, his thumb caressing the other's hand. "Thought you'd realise you didn't need me anymore."

Harry immediately goes to hug him, arms squeezing Louis against him, "never." And his voice is intense, leaves no room for argument. "Never would we ever not need you, Louis. You bring our voices together."

Louis doesn't answer, but he rarely does. He hates telling Harry about his insecurities, says that Harry's the youngest, he carries too much already, everything's changed so much and so early for him. He doesn't need any more worries - and he very rarely strays from that principle, despite how much Harry tries to convince him otherwise. That he wants to hear everything, wants to carry Louis' problems and let Louis carry his.

But when Louis does speak up about what goes on inside him, he rarely knows what to say to rationalise his fears, his doubts. For him, the struggle, Harry thinks, isn't in just talking about it, it's in dwelling on his problems. Louis's never really done that, not with anyone but his mum. Talked about his problems more than just in passing.

It's something Harry wants to change, he wants to be able to tell Louis what he's struggling with knowing Louis'll come to Harry with his own struggles.

But for now, he'll tell Louis all the reasons for why he doesn't need to have any of those thoughts.

No one is unimportant, they made it together, they were made a group together, they'll stick together and win together. Or they'll lose together. Whatever comes.

He smiles into Louis' shoulder, whispers, "we'd get nowhere without you. We need you."

And Louis' arms around his neck tighten a bit.

"I'm glad I have you, Harry."

He might blush a little, but it's all good, no one can see it with his head pressed into Louis' hair.

"The sky is pink," Niall says, off handedly, like he's used to the sky being pink in the middle of the day.

Harry almost gets whiplash from looking up to see if it's true.

And it is.

He's willing to bet their place in the live shows that it fits the pink on his cheeks to a tee.

"It's beautiful," breathes Louis, his eyes sparkling when Harry looks down, and it's so beautiful on him that Harry almost says 'I'll make it stay like that forever if you want me to'.

He doesn't though.

Him and Louis aren't anything but friends.

Yet.

"It's weird is what it is," states Zayn from the corner where he and Liam are laying, "it's about four pm, why's it pink?"

He seems genuinely like he's two seconds from running to the kitchen to grab the tinfoil and then have Liam help him folding some hats for all five of them, before checking the fields for circles and then descending into their non-existent bunker.

None of them answers because no, it's not normal that it's pink outside because a pink sky usually only happens when it's sunset or sunrise, but the sun's shining well and strong, and is not even close to even contemplating setting yet.

"Let's just ignore the weirdness and enjoy the colour, eh lads?", Louis tries, and there's something in the way he says it, his voice, that has Zayn close his mouth and slumb relaxed back into the couch.

"You're right," Zayn finally says, "it's just the colour of the sky."

Harry looks back at him quickly, brows pinched, because usually Zayn would follow up with something about the physics of it and how it doesn't make sense. He's never quite done it with the colour of the sky, but mainly when Louis tries to cheat in mayer by turning the dice from one eye to six eyes.

He figures, though, that he's lucky Louis could talk Zayn down, because, well, it's hard to connect the sky being weird to Harry of all people but still. It's been happening to the boys, them seeing weird colours in the sky and the weather changing to their liking a little too often, for them to not catch on at some point.

He's gonna have to control it better.

"Oh look," Niall says, "the sky's turning purple and blue now."

A lot better.

Living with his boys for real in big London, away from little Holmes Chapel, away from the school yards where homophobic slurs were thrown around like they meant nothing, is something Harry has only ever dreamed of.

As he lays in bed, can look over to Louis' bed, only has to crane his neck to see the rest of his boys, he thinks of the little boy who put on nail polish and had to lie about it to be accepted by his friends.

He thinks of the crush he had on his best friend, about how guilty he felt for thinking like that about another boy, and he thinks of the day he got told Tommy and Alex had been beat up for being brave enough to kiss in broad daylight, had been brave enough to be happy and proud and not back down, and he thinks that the little boy was braver than he'll ever be again. He might not have told anyone of what he felt, he might have lied about the pastel pink on his nails, but he never got mean, he never gave in to the hatred, he never gave up dreaming.

One day, he vows, he'll be on stage somewhere, and the stars around him will be lights from the crowd, and he'll be able to say to that little boy, and all other little children around the world, that there's nothing wrong with them, and that however hard today is - there is tomorrow, and they'll find their way in life.

"What are you thinking about, Harry?"

He startles a bit, looks from the bottom of the bunk above him, to where Louis is lying in bed, reading a Shakespearean play. He does that a lot, reads for fun, and complex texts too. If it wasn't because the lad culture was so ingrained in both him and Louis, he'd probably tell him how impressed he is.

As it is, though, just him not mentioning it at all, is pretty much the act of an angel in the lad culture.

"Not much," he says, shrugs a bit, "the past, the future, the state of the world, armageddon, you know, light stuff."

Louis laughs and puts his book down - Antonius and Cleopatra, a sad one - in order to properly focus on Harry.

He likes when that happens. Him getting Louis' full attention.

"So, Socrates," he smiles, "found any answers to the mystery of the human life?"

He shakes his head, a smile spreading across his lips, "nah, mostly just thinking of how good life is right now."

Louis nods from his side of the room. "Yeah, we're pretty lucky, aren't we? Could be anywhere, but we're here."

"Long way from the toilets, that's for sure," and he doesn't quite know why that makes him a bit nervous. To think about that. How they met.

How Louis didn't call him again.

"Yeah, can you believe," Louis' eyes are sparkling, and Harry can't look away, "that this journey, when we tell it again, will have started with you peeing on me?"

He flushes bright red, and is lucky that Louis is looking away from the window because the sky, the traitor, follows suit. Red, red, red, red, red like blood, red like love.

"It was an honest mistake!", he can't help but whine, throwing an arm over his face, trying to hide the pink colour on his cheeks.

"Oh, an honest mistake?", and he sounds so smug, like he struck gold for the first time, and

Harry looks over at him with a looming sense of dread.

"Yeah," he croaks, "honest mistake."

"I gotta tell you though," Louis says with a fake lightness, "I haven't had many a gentlemen piss on me in my days, I'd go as far as to say you're the first."

Harry looks guiltily at the reddened sky, "oh well, you struck gold."

He doesn't think he's ever seen Louis lose it like that so quickly. He's normally very stoic, knows how to keep his laughter in for so long it makes Harry shuffle in his seat under the harsh judgement of his joke.

"Mate," Louis gets out between the laughter, "you surprise me every day."

And it may be because Louis has had him charmed since the start, but it makes something in Harry's stomach tingle. The fact that Harry, simple Harry, can be of continuous interest to Louis Tomlinson.

"What can I say," Harry nonchalantly offers, "I'm a man of depth."

Louis snorts and goes to pick up his book, "a man of depth, you're such a loser."

Normally Harry would take an affront to that, but he supposes, this once he'll let it slide.

A minute later, he steals another look at Louis who's staring out the window in awe.

Sky beginning to turn from red to blue, blue like Louis' eyes.

Their first performance, their first time on stage in front of a crowd together as a band, as a unit, completely blows him away. He thinks, if he could look outside, the stars on the sky outside might be blinking like fireworks. He’s not quite sure how he’s feeling, nervous or excited or stressed or happy, or maybe just all at once.

“That, lads,” Niall exclaims as they got out back, the night air cooling them down from the extreme heat in the studio, “was fucking insane. We did it!”

They’re all just looking at each other, smiling, as if in a daze, not quite realising that yes, they’ve done it. They performed at the live shows for the first time, they’re in the game now, and their dream of succeeding is within reach. Closer than it’s ever been before, at least.

“I’m proud of you, lads,” Zayn says, smiles at them, turning even more fond when he looks at Liam, “you were brilliant out there, Li.”

For some reason, it’s said in the same tone as Harry would say darling.

For an even stranger reason, he feels a bit sad that Louis didn’t compliment him in the same tone.

“Can you be in love with someone you aren’t in a relationship with?”

Liam looks up from his phone, eyes confused and inquiring. “Why?”

Harry shrugs a bit, doesn’t know how to properly put it into words. This feeling he gets whenever Louis is near.

How the sky always changes when he compliments him, when he looks into those ocean blue eyes.

“I don’t know,” he says, and Liam looks at him like he’s biggest bafoon in the world. “Asking for a friend, I guess.”

A laughter erupts from Liam, and he looks absolutely delighted. “A friend, you say?”

Harry nods resolutely, a friend. It’s for a friend. He has loads of friends. They’ll one day become infatuated with someone, and they’ll ask him this question, and Harry will have the answer because Liam always knows best.

It’s for a friend.

And a bit for himself.

Just a tiny bit.

“A friend,” Harry confirms. “Just a friend.”

For now.

Liam sighs, “well, I guess, it depends on what your friend’s relationship with the person is.”

“They’re really good friends, and he thinks of his friend as one of the funniest people there is, one of the most talented, the kindest person he knows,” he immediately answers, doesn’t even need to think about it, “one of the fittest too, to be honest. Chestnut hair, beautiful eyes, a body to die for. He think the world of them, and I really want… I mean, he really wants to know if he can be in love or just has a stupid crush.”

Harry’s ears are all red when he gets to the end, hands immediately going to play with his hair, trying to get attention away from his ears and rosy cheeks. Without even looking out, he knows the sky’s all pink, if not red even.

When he looks over at Liam, the other is smiling softly, not looking like he’s judging him at all. And Harry knew he wouldn’t of course, knows Liam and Zayn has got something going on, or knows they’re at least hoping to have something at some point. He does envy them a bit, their open affection for each other, knowing where they stand. It’s plain as day.

He wants that with Louis.

But more.

He wants so, so much with Louis. He wants forever, he thinks. Even if that’s naive, nothing lasts that long, especially not love, this country’s divorce rates being almost at fifty percent, but, he thinks, there’s nothing wrong with being a little naive. When it comes to love, you need to be hopeful, you need to be able to picture forever and still see that person next to you.

“Well, Harry,” Liam starts, smile still firmly in place, “I think you should tell your friend that if he feels the connection, the affection deeply enough, it’s not a crush. If he looks at other people and none of them measure up to Lou- to his friend, then it’s not just a crush.”

Harry nods because yeah, that’s what he thinks too.

“I don’t think he can be in love, if they’re not in a relationship. I think he can definitely be infatuated, feel love for the person his friend is, but without having ever experienced the other in a relationship, I don’t think it can be love like that.”

Harry looks up, brows pinched. “What do you mean?”

“I’m saying that to fall in love with a person for real, I think you need to be in a relationship. You can definitely be in love with the idea of you in a relationship with them, but how can you let yourself fall so deeply and completely as real love requires,, if you don’t know if they feel the same?”

He nods along. “So really, it’s all about courage?”

Liam shrugs, head going from side to side as he mulls it over, “yeah, you could say that, I suppose. Courage, hopefulness, naivety. Personally I wouldn’t want to be in love if I wasn’t sure my love would be returned. Normal feelings being unrequited, that hurts, but you’ll get over it. Love, that’s deep. Love comes from your heart. It isn’t something that’ll ever go away, not really.”

“So you think it’s subconscious? Our hearts, brains, not letting us fall too hard unless we’re sure it’s for real?”

Liam smiles, leaning back on the couch. It’s very endearing. “It’s human instinct, I suppose. To shield yourself from danger.”

Danger. Danger of heartbreak, danger of rejection, danger of a ruined friendship.
Danger.

“Do you think,” one breath, one breath out, calm down, “that my friend should be worried about that? His heart being in danger?”

He doesn’t look up at Liam, but he can hear the soft pattering of rain, of the sky sharing his worries, trying to comfort him, the only way it knows how. By letting him express his feelings, and giving him something soft and comforting to focus on. Instead of the whirling mess that is his mind and his feelings since he met Louis in that damn toilet.

“I don’t know your friend, Harry,” Liam reminds him gently, “but I do know you, and I know Louis, and I don’t think there’s anything to be scared of than what you should always be a little scared of when it comes to love. Falling together without fear.”

Harry’s eyes snap up at that, his mouth hanging a little open, his heart pumping a little too fast at the mere implication of what Liam is saying without saying.

“Do you really-”

Liam tilts his head a bit, eyes gentle, looking every inch the dad he’s appointed himself to be to their band of misfits.

“Yeah H, I do.”

And that’s that.

And it’s really- liberating. To know that Harry hasn’t jumped ten feet ahead of everyone else, that he isn’t reading everything Louis’ been giving him since the beginning all wrong.

Outside the rain has stopped, and he’s pretty sure the sun is shining oh so bright, feels like something inside him is lighting up like a beacon.

“Thank you,” he whispers hoarsely, “thank you so much, Liam.”

Liam looks at him, a bit searching, brows furrowed a bit, before he reaches over on the couch.

“Are you okay, Haz?”

His tone isn’t worried, not quite, but there’s obviously something in Harry’s expression that’s warranted some kind of concern in Liam. Because that’s who Liam is, he picks up on the small changes in people’s expressions, sees when they’re not quite feeling right, and asks about it. Doesn’t press but lets people know, he’s there for them, to listen, to give advice, to care.

He thinks Liam might be one of the best persons in the world.

He nods. “Yeah, I’m just-”

Relieved. Relieved that Louis perhaps, maybe, most certainly feels the same about him that he does about Louis. Relieved that he’s not falling love without reason, giving himself up for heartbreak without cause. Relieved that Liam wants to help Harry, wants to give him his happy ending. Relieved Liam doesn’t hate him. Relieved that he isn’t getting judged.

Relieved that he isn’t getting told off for who he is. Relieved he isn’t being punched and beaten like Tommy and Alex were.

Relieved Liam, his friends, all of them, loves him, all of him, quirks, sexuality - all of it.

Relieved he’s so incredibly lucky.

“I’m just,” he swallows, “happy.”

Liam smiles, nods. “Harry, if you ever need it. I’m here for you, always will be.”

He accepts the offer with a shaky smile and nod. “Thank you, thank you, really. Liam, thank you.”

He can’t really say thank you enough. For making him feel at ease with his feelings, for making him feel brave enough to believe Louis could have feelings for him.

For making him feel a little less like the scared boy he once was, making him feel a bit more like the man he’s gonna become some day.

Unafraid, unashamed; proud.

Liam pulls him against him, his arms heavy and warm around him, and Harry sinks into the embrace, blinking a few beginning tears from his eyes. It feels really nice. Being so openly accepted by his friend.

He knows that Liam isn’t straight either, but it’s still, he thinks, a bit nerve wrecking. Doing it. Putting himself out there, all of him. But that’s being brave, giving yourself to your friends, and getting them in return.

Giving your heart to someone, believing it’s enough for them, trusting them to take care of it.

He wants to be brave. He’s always wanted that. And with friends like the boys, with someone as special as Louis, he thinks he will be one day. If not right now, he will be one day, and that’s enough.

The promise that one day, one day he’ll be brave, he’ll be out and proud, and he’ll let all the small kids trapped in small minded towns know that there’s a tomorrow and it’ll be better than yesterday, and there’s an entire world in front of them, just waiting to be seized.

That the world doesn’t end in whatever little town they’re born in, the world is wide and varieted and beautiful, and there’s a space out there just for them where they’ll be happy and loved for all their special qualities that make them them

“I’m glad you’re here, Liam,” he whispers into the other’s neck, “you take care of us, ‘s nice talking about this.”

He can feel Liam’s smile against his shoulder, feel his mouth move when he answers, “you’re welcome. Haz. Just say the word and I’ll be there to help you get your prince.”

It feels good being able to laugh about, feeling carefree about it, his feelings. Feelings he always hoped he’d one day be able to feel and be accepted by all those he holds dear.

It feels, yeah, it feels pretty extraordinaire.

Walking around after that day feels lighter, there’s a spring in his step, and it’s ridiculous because he’s not even sure that Louis does actually return his feelings, Liam did say he did - but he can’t be sure, no one can be sure until Harry puts down his cards and talks to Louis.

No, the spring in his step, the lightness in his heart, he thinks is because Liam accepted him. Liam helped him. Liam listened to him. Liam didn’t judge him. Liam supported him. And that felt like such a relief, he hadn’t said the words, that he wasn’t straight, that he was gay or whatever he was, but Liam knew. Knew about his feelings. Knew about him. As the first, he knew, and he didn’t judge him. He embraced him, told him it was okay, and that he’d ensure Harry got his happy ending.

He thinks that might be one of the most important things someone has ever done for him. People knowing everything and still caring for him just the same is exactly what he’s always wanted, and he’s on his way to getting just that.

Louis and the other boys pick up on his sudden brighter mood, not because he was glum or anything before, but simply because he’s happy all the time. Even after hours of rehearsing, he still feels like he’s glowing. There hasn’t been a day without bright, bright sun since he told Liam, and he’s pretty sure only a catastrophe would make the sun go away.

He’s happy.

Niall asks him what’s up with him, if he’s got something lately - no, if he’s got his eyes on someone - maybe, if it’s someone Niall knows - yes, and then Harry’s practically running to get out of the conversation. Niall would eventually ask for a name, would eventually make him use pronouns, would eventually figure it out, probably already has.

Harry’s been half-way in love with Louis ever since those days spent at his dad’s place.

So he runs off, not because he doesn’t want to tell Niall. He wants to tell Niall about him, about what he feels for Louis, wants to feel that same acceptance, wants to know that Niall cares about him no matter what. Cares about him, not despite of, not because of, just cares about him, still.

He just doesn’t want to tell anyone else before he tells Louis.

Louis has quickly become one of the most important persons in his life, not because Harry has feelings for him, though that does play a part, but because he’s bright. Bright like the sun, lighting up every room he goes into, lights up Harry’s entire life with his humour, his quick wit, his kindness, his warmth, his ability to make Harry smile even when he’s dead on his feet.

Because he’s Louis, and Harry doesn’t think there’d ever be a universe where Louis isn’t in his life, isn’t there to help him, isn’t there to guide him in some way.

They’re not together, but Louis is easily one of the most influential persons in his life, and everything good in the world, he sees in Louis. He loves Louis, plain and simple, wants him around always.

He thinks back on his conversation with Liam, and he thinks that the way he loves Louis is not quite romantical love, because Liam’s right - Harry doesn’t know how Louis is in a romantic context. He hasn’t experienced Louis while he’s allowed to kiss him, he hasn’t experienced Louis while he’s allowed to hold his hands and slot their fingers together. He hasn’t experienced Louis while Louis knows about Harry’s feelings.

But he does love Louis because he knows Louis, he knows his quirks, his weird habits, the way he takes his tea and refuses to try something new. The way he looks when he’s waking up, when he’s tired and rubs his eyes to get the sleep out. The way he laughs when he’s surprised, when he’s too delighted for words, when Liam cracks a stupid joke, when Harry does something dumb. Harry knows Louis, knows how it is to have Louis’ friendship, have him in his life.

He knows Louis, and he knows just how much he has to lose if Louis doesn’t share his feelings and can’t get over Harry feeling them. He doesn’t know exactly how much it would hurt, but imagining Louis pulling away from him, flinching whenever Harry gets close, not laughing at his stupid puns or clumsy nature - hurts more than anything ever has. More than the ache in his chest when the boys back home made a homophobic comment, called someone a slur, more than the ache when he found out he wasn’t normal.

More than Louis never texting back after that first meeting.

He has so much to lose, but thinking about what he could gain? Makes all the difference. Thinking about kissing Louis, holding his hand, wiping away the tears, shoulder his burdens for him and have Louis shoulder his, supporting him, being held by him and feeling safe, taking care of him, loving him.

There really is no dilemma, not in Harry’s mind.

It’s scary, and he’s not sure he’s a brave person, but he’d like to be.

For Louis, he thinks he could be.

Telling Louis is what’s at the forefront of his mind because it’s not just something you do. Go to the brightest, kindest, sweetest person you know, your best friend, and tell him casually that you have feelings for him. That when you look into the future, the future you hope for, even if it’s naive and childish - all you see, really, is him. Him and you, together. You just don’t do that. One, because he might reject you, and your friendship could be ruined, even if he did try and be nice about it, because that’s Louis to you, he would try and make you feel good about yourself while also withdrawing to not give you false hopes. Two, because Louis, Louis is special, he deserves to be treated like the treasure he is, he deserves that extra effort from the start.

Problem is, Harry’s never told anyone in his life about his feelings. He doesn’t know where to start.

It’s after a show, when they’ve come off the scene, sweaty and panting, and they’re looking at each other with bright eyes because they did it, they smashed it. They sounded amazing, and Louis immediately grabs Harry, sweaty as he is, and throws his arms around his waist. Harry’s arms naturally circle around his neck, holding him close, hiding his face against Louis’ shoulder.

“We did it,” Louis whispers, not motioning to let go, and Harry sure as shit isn’t going to do anything to make him do that.

Harry nods, smiling against his shoulder, feeling all the adrenaline leaving his body slowly, but not leaving him drained. Content, content because he’s in Louis’ arms, and they all smashed it. They made an amazing performance, and Louis is holding him so close, rubbing his thumbs into Harry’s back, keeping him steady, anchored.

“I know,” he whispers, closing his eyes, reveling in the feeling, “you were fucking amazing.”

Louis doesn’t answer immediately but Harry can feel his smile against his shoulder, his lips curving up, his teeth lightly sinking into Harry’s skin, and he wants to lean into the touch. Get as much of Louis as he can before he eventually lets go.

“Thank you, Haz,” and his voice isn’t more than a whisper, almost like he’s too choked up to say it any louder, or too surprised, and Harry doesn’t like either of those options. He wants Louis to always know how important, talented, amazing he is, Harry will be there always to remind him but he wants Louis to tell it to himself.

He tightens his grip around Louis’ neck, trying to convey everything he’s feeling, the love, the feelings he has for him, the pride in and absolute awe he has of him and his singing, how he deserves the best and deserves to think only the best of himself. He doesn’t know if Louis can feel it, can understand the overwhelming amount of things he wants to convey, wants Louis to understand, wants to be brave enough to tell him, but Louis does bury his face a bit more into Harry’s shoulder and he does tighten a bit around him, and that’s fine too. That’s enough, it’ll have to be.

For now.

But when they part, are being told to part, because they need to get a move on. They need to get ready for interviews, they need to get ready for being told who’s through and who’s not, and they’re needed everywhere, and it hurts a bit to let go because where Harry needs to be right now is here with Louis. Telling him all the infinite ways Louis is amazing so that he believes it.

Telling him how he feels.

Liam throws him a little look as they scurries off, pointed stare at Louis’ back, the way Louis took Harry’s hand like it was second hand nature, to lead him, his grip light and there more than anything. Harry can only look at Liam with a little shrug that Liam answers with a smile.

Maybe it’s his hopeful mind, his foolish heart, but he doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Louis’ fingers curl a little tighter around Harry’s, pulling him a little quicker along.

Harry goes where Louis goes, that’s never been a question, and if Louis wants to go a little faster, Harry doesn’t mind getting pulled along.

He looks back briefly at Liam who’s falling a bit behind, but judging from the proud smile he’s flashing Harry, he doesn’t seem too bothered about Louis’ new tempo. He’s really lucky to have Liam, Liam who gets that Harry’s scared, because Liam’s scared too.

Because they both have found their person, a wonderful and kind and extraordinaire person who’ve become so important to them in so little time that feels like ages, and they both have so much at stake if they come clean. If they tell the other about their feelings. Or well, Liam hasn’t exactly admitted to Harry his feelings for Zayn, and normally Harry wouldn’t presume, because presuming gets people hurt more often than not, but Harry’s seen the way Liam looks at Zayn. Recognizes it all too well because that’s how he looks at Louis.

He’s pretty sure anyway. The amount of fondness and adoration is so clear and palpable in Liam’s brown eyes, and what he feels inside of him as he looks at Louis, it feels, looks, the same.

Liam smiles at him before making a shoo-movement with his hand, and Harry immediately, doesn’t need to be told twice - embarrassing he even had to be told once, turns back to Louis.

Louis who’s looking at him with a weird little, closed off expression that only brightens a bit when Harry smiles at him, and that’s even more weird. Louis isn’t closed off. Louis isn’t closed off to Harry.

It’s a weird feeling, and he doesn’t know how to handle it because it’s the first time he’s ever felt like this in Louis’ company: that feeling of not being adequate, of having done something wrong, of not being right. And he knows Louis would never want him to feel like that, but there’s that nagging thought in him that asks: do you really know that?

And he hates it, he hates that so little is needed for his belief in their friendship to rock because it’s not fair to Louis. Everyone’s allowed their off days, everyone’s allowed to keep their feelings to themselves, you can’t be positive twenty-four-seven, and that’s alright. So he hates himself a bit for having unconsciously expected it of Louis, but this is new. Louis shutting him out is new, and he doesn’t know how to react without blaming himself for it.

He was always so scared of that growing up, him revealing himself and getting judged, getting shut out, but Louis doesn’t know, he hasn’t told Louis anything, and if Louis figured it out and decided to hate him. He doesn’t know what he’d do. He’s aware his brain is running ahead, that he doesn’t know why Louis is being weird, if it has something to do with him, and there’s not even the slightest of proofs to why Louis would know about Harry’s crush, or his not hetersexual sexuality.

But it’s hard keeping his mind reigned in. It’s hard being logical.

So he loosens his hold on Louis’ fingers a bit in order to grab his hand, squeezes it tight, a little desperately, a little hopefully, and the weird glint in Louis’ eyes fade a bit. Harry can’t look away, holds Louis’ hand tightly, until the last bit of closed offness in Louis’ face has disappeared.

Until Louis is smiling, and Harry feels lighter inside, feels like all the dark thoughts, the panic, has been quelled, has been banished from his mind, and Harry’s smile widens, and for a moment, they’re just staring at each other, walking slower - Liam even walks past them, until they stand still.

Still just smiling at each other.

Louis’ smile turns a bit softer, and he lifts one hand to card through Harry’s curls. He pushes back against the touch, feels a bit like a kitten, but he loves having his curls touched, and he loves when Louis touches him, and he can’t help but crave moremoremore. He always wants more of what Louis wants to give him.

“You know,” Louis said softly, breaking the silence, but not in a way that feels like it ruins the mood, “if you wanted to hold my hand, all you had to do was say the word.”

And it’s not the right place for this conversation, there’s so much going on around them, people running everywhere, pushing past them, reminding them they need to go somewhere, they need to prepare, they need to do this and that, but looking into Louis’ eyes, it doesn’t feel like there’s any rush to be anywhere else in the world.

He looks down on their hands, and answers, just as quietly, as softly, “the word.”

Louis breathes a little laugh, and when he looks up, Louis’ eyes are so soft that they make Harry torn between getting teary eyed, because this expression he has only seen when Louis talks to or about his family, and blushing tomato red, because Louis looking at him like this isn’t something he’s trained himself to be able to take.

In the end, he does both, he thinks.

“Come on.”

Louis drags them towards the room the others are in, but Harry doesn’t look away from Louis. Trusting him to guide him there.

Louis like this, soft and open, is beautiful.

Louis like this, no matter if it’s gonna break his heart, he thinks he’ll fall in love with.

“I need to tell him,” he begins, and Liam looks up, eyes confused for a second before clearing up, smile bright.

“You do.”

Nothing more, nothing less, not an ‘about time’ because Liam knows, probably better than anyone, that even if you know that you feel something strongly for someone, you can’t tell them. There’s no rush in telling them, there’s no need pressuring oneself into telling them.

“You need to tell him too,” Harry points out.

“I do,” accepts Liam, and then there’s a blush spreading, and Harry gapes a bit.

“Unless,” and now he’s full on smiling, “unless you, Liam Payne, have been a sly dog, and already told him!”

Liam shakes his head, smiling. “I haven’t told him.”

Harry squints suspiciously, sure that Liam’s hiding something, and then Liam’s cheeks redden more, and Harry almost wants to pinch them. They look adorable. Like two small apples.

“I, I ehm,” he laughs a bit shakily, scratches his neck, “I agreed with him.”

Harry gapes, and then lets out a surprised, an overjoyed laugh. “He told you!”

When he runs to embrace Liam, he doesn’t think about anything but how absolutely overjoyed he is for them, how much they deserve to be happy, how Zayn always looks a bit more at ease on stage when he’s doing their choreographed moves when he can look over at Liam, and how Liam always smiles a bit brighter, stands a bit taller, prouder, when Zayn backs him up.

He holds Liam close, whispers words of pride, encouragement, and he can’t stop smiling, and Liam whispers that Harry’s probably more excited than Liam himself is, but he lets Harry hold him, and he thinks that Liam’s just trying to act a little tough.

Everyone needs a good hug once in a while.

Harry needs a hug from Louis all the time.

“Thank you, Harry,” Liam says with a smile, “now what’s your plan for Louis?”

“Wait and see. Wait and see.”

Being naturally clumsy, he’s actually so very proud of himself for being able to sneak up on Katie, another contestant, put an arm around her shoulders and present her with a rose, without her noticing him at all, leading her to let out a shriek that almost makes him break his facade.

“Would you go on a date with me, if I gave you this rose like this?”, he asks, paying no further attention to her shocked and confused expression.

“Harry, what the hell?” she exclaims, looking at him a bit like he’s gone absolutely mental from when she said good morning to him just seven hours ago.

“Would you go on a date with me, if I gave you this rose like this?” he repeats, still keeping a hopeful face, but waving the rose a little to get her back on track.

She still looks at him like he’s absolutely insane, until he begins to fidget under her gaze, and when he’s about to say something lame about how it’s not actually for her, he just needs some constructive criticism about the way he did it, and whether Louis would be surprised and excited, surprised and scared, or just weirded out. That this is his best idea, but he’s thought about using a sunflower because Louis is bright like the sun, and the sun always shines that much brighter when Harry looks at him, but Katie just smiles at him, relaxed and bright-eyed.

“Yeah Harry, I’d absolutely love to go on a date with you,” she tells him and claps the hand holding the rose.

His lips stretch into a big, big smile, and he’s sure the sun must blinding to the people outside. He doesn’t know the first thing about dating, other than the fact that he wants to do it with Louis, and he wants to learn everything there is about dating with Louis, and only ever Louis.

“Really?”, he urges her to clarify, “it wasn’t cheesy? Tacky?”

She laughs a bit, shakes her head. “Harry, you’re a cheesy person, but it isn’t a bad thing, not at all. It’s very romantic, very sweet. Louis is gonna love it.”

In that second, he doesn’t really speculate on how she could know, if she accepts him, if she thinks it’s weird, because she’s so happy for him, it’s so blatant, and Harry feels so, so warm, and so, so lucky he’s got such good, good friends. Friends who know him. Friends who accept him.

He gives her a big hug, mindful of the rose, even if he does think he’s gonna get a sunflower instead, and whispers a quiet thank you into her hair. She laughs again, but returns the hug, squeezes him and whispers back that she’s proud of him, that him and Louis are perfect for each other.

He gives her the rose and leaves, mostly because roses aren’t Louis’ thing, and he wants to give Louis the best of the best, and he wants it to be unique, and solely for Louis, and he just wants to do well with this. He really wants it to be perfect.

But also because Katie could see through him, and accepted him. She’s a darling girl, and rose means beauty, and she’s beautiful inside and out.

Louis is a little weird the rest of the day, doesn’t really give it himself when they rehearse, and doesn’t really react when Harry comes up to him to ask what’s wrong. It’s not that Louis seems mad at anyone in particular, just lost.

Like his world’s been turned upside, and he’s lost his footing, his understanding of the very foundation of the world.

Harry doesn’t know how to help, doesn’t know how to make it better.

Niall tells him that there’s nothing he can do, and if Niall seems a little melancholic, not angry, just resigned, then that’s probably just because he’s missing the bubbly, the happy and bright Louis that they all know and love.

Zayn tells him to talk to Louis later, that now isn’t the time, and yes, he’s right about that, but he doesn’t understand. They all act like they know what’s making Louis this upset, this lost, and Harry doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on with his best friend.

With the person he hopes to fall in love with.

Liam tells him that he’s sorry he misunderstood, but that he doesn’t understand what’s going on, and Harry looks at him like he has two heads.

“You don’t understand what?”, Harry inquires, refuses to let him run away like Louis, Zayn and Niall all did when he asked, “what are you so confused about?”

Liam shrugs, looking torn, “I don’t know, I guess I just read our conversations wrong.”

And Harry looks at him like he’s the one to have grown two heads, “what conversations?”

Liam looks a bit put on the spot. “You know, the conversations, those about, you know.”

“How could you possibly misunderstand that?”, and he’s so confused, he feels a bit like Louis, lost, not knowing where he’s going because everything is so weird.

Outside he can hear the wind pick up a bit.

“I just, I just didn’t see it coming,” Liam says, “because you, I got the impression, you were, ehm, gay?”

He looks so uncomfortable, and it’s so foreign to Harry who just shakes his head.

“No, I’m not,” he shrugs, “not really defining myself. Just not straight.”

Liam nods, “okay, okay, yeah, that’s great. That’s brilliant.”

Harry shakes his head a bit, “what are you on about, Liam?”

He looks caught out, his eyes a bit wide, and he shrugs. “I’m not on about anything, you’ve got all my support.”

He knows that, Harry knows that Liam supports him, he’s said it multiple times. Has told him how proud he is. What he doesn’t know is why Liam is so nervous, so cagey, and he doesn’t understand why Louis is like he is, and he doesn’t understand what the other guys are referring to.

He doesn’t understand anything.

“Can you at least tell me what Louis is sad about?”, he pleads, because he doesn’t think Louis will want to talk to him after all this, even if that’s when Niall and Zayn said he should seek out Louis.

With how he acted that night after they’d performed and today, maybe it’s just Louis losing interest in him.

“I think he was just very surprised, very surprised,” Liam seems to weigh his words carefully, “and I think he was just a bit hurt?”

Hurt?

“Hurt?”

The wind picks up a bit more outside, he can hear the trees shaking, can hear it howling, and he’s sure that he looks panicked, and Liam looks so, so torn. Like he wants to comfort Harry, but doesn’t know if he can, if he should, and Harry swears he’s never been so confused.

“Yeah, hurt, and feeling a bit stupid, I guess. He read the signs wrong.”

Signs?

Oh. Oh.

“Oh,” Harry whispers, and the wind outside has gone so quiet, everything has gone so so quiet, and he feels like Louis looked. Lost, with no sense of direction. “He liked someone?”

Liam looks at him weirdly now, “how could you not know?”

Harry shrugs, feeling stupid, so so stupid, and he feels a bit like crying, and so does the sky because the wind is being replaced by rain.

Rain, rain, rain. Cleansing rain. Washing away his worries, his tears, hiding his heartbreak from the world.

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs, “guess I’m just stupid.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, and Harry doesn’t know what he’s still doing here. He’s looking around the practice room, all the colours seemingly washed out, everything grey. It looks like he feels.

Miserable.

He turns to walk out, can’t really stand being inside, wants to get, wants to cry and let the rain hide it, wants to let the sky comfort him like it’s done so many times before, make sure he’s alone out there, that he won’t freeze, that he can just cry, cry, cry, and let the rain wash it away, and then come back in. A new person. A new Harry. Who won’t pester Louis with his stupid crush anymore.

“Though he liked me.”

And then he walks off, doesn’t really listen to whatever Liam’s shouting after him, because he’s been strong for long enough he feels. He let Louis shrug him off. He let Zayn be passive aggressive.

He let Liam break the news that broke his heart.

God. His heart. He should’ve listened to Liam. Don’t let yourself fall for real, don’t let it become more than a crush, when you don’t know if your feelings are returned.

It’s human instinct to turn away from danger, and for Louis, Harry went against all that. He let himself fallfallfall, like Icarus he flew too close to the sun, and now his hubris is being punished.

When he gets outside, he lets the rain envelope him.

It feels like a hug from his mum.

He continues to walk, arms wrapped around himself, clothes getting more and more soaked. He doesn’t want to cry until he’s far away from the building, before he’s sure he’s alone, and can cry away his heart ache. Somewhere they won’t find him before he’s pulled himself together, learned himself to be a Harry not halfway in love with Louis Tomlinson.

He doesn’t know how far he’s walked, all he knows is that it’s getting harder and harder to see where he’s going, but he’s definitely come a fair bit away from the others, and they probably won’t even run after him yet. Right now he’s just a dramatic boy who thought his first real crush was mutual, and it’s on him, he knows, to let himself believe it without having discussed it first.

He looks up at the sky, the rain falling heavier and heavier, and finally he lets his tears fall as well.

The sky is crying for its chosen boy, trying to protect him, shield his tears from prying eyes.

Louis finds him after what could have been an hour, could have been three. He looks so tired, so panicked, and he looks so relieved when he finally gets Harry to look up at him from his sitting position against a wall.

He’s not getting sick, the rain would never hurt him, but he’s tired. So very tired and drained, he just wants to sleep and forget all about what’s happened today. Forget all about his crush on Louis, so they could go back to being friends.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Louis’s chanting in his ear, voice so soft, and Harry really might just fall asleep from that alone. Louis’ voice is like a lullaby, calming him down, making him feel safe, home. “You scared me so much.”

Harry just shrugs in response to that because yeah, he might have, but Louis broke his heart without ever saying anything to him, so he’d call it even seven.

Even if it isn’t Louis’ fault that Harry’s naive.

“Harry”, Louis whispers, “Harry, Harry, would you please look at me?”

Harry, actually, doesn’t want to look at Louis. Doesn’t want to see the pity, so he keeps his eyes trained on the sky beside Louis, just so he can see him in the periphery of his eyes, but not Louis’ expression when he inevitably tells Harry that he’s sorry he let Harry believe he had feelings for him, that he still wants to be friends, that he’s flattered more than anything that Harry would have a crush on little ole him. It’d be kind and self-deprecating, and Harry would hate every single word and second of it.

“Look, Harry,” and Louis sighs, and here it comes. The gentle let down. “I’m sorry.”

Harry bites his lips, looks down at the ground again. He’s so stupid, so stupid, so stupid. He really let himself believe, and now he’s gonna get what’s coming for him. He’s such a child.

A naive child.

How could Louis, bright and confident and gentle Louis, ever fall for such a child? Even think about it?

“I’m sorry for being so childish,” he said, and Harry furrowed his brows a bit, but didn’t comment. “I should have talked to you. I shouldn’t have assumed. That wasn’t fair to you, wasn’t fair to anyone. I’m sorry.”

Harry shrugs, doesn’t understand the point of it, so he just answers, “‘s okay” in a hope that Louis will leave him alone with his tears in the rain.

“No, it’s not okay, Haz, it’s not,” Louis repeats, firm on standing his ground, it seems, “and I don’t think you’re getting what I’m trying to say right now, I’m not really that good at improvising.”

That’s bullshit, Harry knows that.

So he tells him, “that’s bullshit, you were a theater kid.”

Louis laughs softly, and it makes Harry’s heart tug, Louis’ laugh is so beautiful, it used to make the sun shine.

“Yeah, I was, but what I improvised then didn’t mean anything, “ Louis puts his hand on Harry’s wrist, not putting any pressure on it, but just keeping his hand there, like a comfort, warm, anchoring him, “this means something. This means so so much, you have to know that. I want to get this right.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at Louis, but he is very intrigued, he really wants to know where Louis is going with all this. Because it doesn’t sound like the beginning of Louis letting him down gently.

Louis takes a deep breath, and with a shaking voice, he says, “I saw you with Katie the other day. With the rose. She said she’d want to date you, and even though I knew I hadn’t heard it all, she sounded so sincere, and I thought.” He takes another breath, and Harry feels like his heart is gonna jump out of his chest. “I thought it was real. I thought you had feelings for her, and I didn’t understand because you always looked at me like I made your day by being there, and I looked at you the same, and I was so confused.”

Harry looks up at Louis, remembering what Liam said, “and hurt.”

He hurt Louis. He hurt Louis.

Louis nods, slowly, “yeah, and hurt.”

Harry feels like crying, but not like before. But because they’re both a little bit dumb, a little too easy to give up, a little too insecure, and all this could’ve been prevented if they’d spoken together at the beginning.

If only Harry hadn’t waited that extra day. Had trusted the rose to charm Louis without needing to consult Katie.

“I’m sorry for confusing you, Harry,” Louis said softly, “I’m not interested in anyone else, I’m only interested in you, and I thought you wanted something with Katie, and I just. I don’t know, I just panicked, thought I’d fucked up, let myself hope too much. I’m sorry for assuming, for hurting you.”

Oh yeah, he had hurt Harry too.

They’d hurt each other. By being dramatic, by not talking to each other. Lesson hard learned.

“No,” he told Louis, “no, it was a test run. I wanted to ask you on a surprise date, I tested it on Katie.”

And in hindsight it was probably not the best idea, though it was cute and he wouldn’t accept criticism, and he perhaps should have checked the perimeter for any unsuspecting, but a bit insecure Louis’s before conducting the experiment.

Louis looks crestfallen at that, “I ruined it all by being dramatic, I’m so sorry, Harry.”

Harry laughs a bit wetly at that, shaking his head, “no, you silly tosser. Well, yes, you did, but I’m not mad.”

And he isn’t. He’s a bit confused, but he thinks he’s got it all figured out, and he’s mainly just happy, happy and relieved. Because Louis likes him. He likes him back. So what, so fucking what, if they were a bit dramatic about getting this point?

Louis. Likes. Him. Back.

“And just to clarify,” Harry hurries to say, “I like you too. I’m interested in only you, too.”

Louis smiles fondly at him, his thumb caressing Harry’s wrist, doesn’t say anything, but his smile says loud and proud ‘I know’.

Harry clarifies anyway, because he’s nervous, and he doesn’t talk fast, but when he’s nervous he does talk a lot, just not as fast, and he also rambles in his thoughts, takes precautions for everything.

“Just thought, I’d, you know,” he wets his lips, “let you know. We’re on the same page.”

Louis nods, “yeah, I know that now.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, not talking, just looking at each other, Louis keeping him warm with a hand on his wrist, thumb caressing his wrist, and it’s so nice. Everything’s slowed down, and it’s just them, and the rain has stopped, and Harry isn’t crying, actually feels a bit like screaming.

When he’s slept a little. His eyes do hurt a bit, they’re heavy like he’s gonna close them soon and not be able to open them again.

“You look tired, love,” Louis says, and Harry can only nod, his head feeling like it’s underwater.

Louis smiles, other hand fondly swiping through his hair, resting on his hand on Harry’s cheek, not doing anything, just looking sweetly at him, resting his hand on his cheek.

Harry just smiles back at him, feels so content with all of Louis’ attention on him. He’s been craving it since the moment he met him, and it doesn’t feel like it’s too much, Louis’ attention on him, it feels like cosmos.

It always does.

The world slows down a bit, to his speed, when Louis’s by his side.

He never wants Louis to leave to be honest.

“Come on up, then,” Louis whispers, hands around Harry’s arms, dragging him up.

He’s lightheaded for a second as he stands up for the first time in quite long, or maybe it’s just the feeling of having told Louis about his feelings, having Louis return them, having had Louis literally run after him like this was The Notebook or Love Actually.

Like their love story was one of the classics, the biggest ones.

That’s a nice thought, innit?

Louis holds him steady, one hand on his arm and one on his waist, and he doesn’t let go, until Harry focuses on Louis, smiling, and reaching out with his hand, demanding, “the word.”

Louis stares a little, until a smile breaks out on his face, and then he takes Harry’s hand, holds it tightly in his, “as you wish.”

Ah. The Princess Bride.

That one had one of the five most important kisses in history, didn’t it?

Looking at Louis, smiling, blushing, he thinks that when they get to that stage, their kisses will be able to knock all the others of the list.

Without sounding too conceited.

As they slowly make their way back, there’s no rush, their voices soft, trading secrets and inside jokes, the sun makes it way out of the clouds immediately.

The sun is shining so, so bright, and in the leftover mist from the rain, a rainbow appears, and it’s the only thing the sky can do to comfort, show its support of its little boy.

But the sky’s boy isn’t alone, there’s someone by his side, there’s a lot of someones, but one in particular that seem so, so important.

The rainbow is for him too, even if they seem to preoccupied with each other to notice.

The next few days pass by in a haze of glory, Harry has never felt this high, on top of the world, embracing the future.

Nothing’s sealed yet, but Louis likes him, and Harry likes Louis, and they like each other, and Louis ran after him and held his hand the entire way back, and the boys smiled fondly at them, and Louis likes Harry. Like, like likes. He wants to go on a date with Harry, he wants to date Harry for a long time, not just one date, but multiple.

He wants to date Harry, and Harry’s never wanted anything more than date Louis, and it’s all coming together, and it’s just, it’s just great. It’s all so great.

Waking up in the morning, is one of the easiest things to do, just because he knows he’ll be spending the day with Louis. And that’s really the best motivation anyone could have to get Harry to do something.

Got Louis, got Harry. Package deal.

“Harry?”, Louis’ voice sounds behind him, and he whirls around, hair sticking out everywhere, towel around the nether part of his body, he looks at Louis much like he’d think a deer caught in the headlights would look like.

“Huh?”, he was gonna say something intelligent, but looking at Louis, hair soft, fringe soft, glasses on, looking a little sleepy, it’s really hard to focus on anything else.

And his eyes, of course. Blue, blue, blue.

And then he follows Louis’ eyes down, and it’s like it actually gets through to him that he’s not wearing anything but a fucking towel.

The sky outside turns a bright shade of pink, and Louis gets so confused, surprised, that he jumps back, eyes wide at the sky, allowing Harry to slip into their room to get himself some underpants at least.

Louis follows him after he’s had time to actually put clothes on, looking wide-eyed, eyes bright, almost like a little kid.

“Did you see that, Harry?”, and his voice is so excited that Harry can’t help but grin, and if his cheeks match the sky outside, no one’s saying anything.

“What?”

“The sky, you dolt!”, Louis exclaims, pointing out where yeah, the sky is still pink, has faded a bit, but it’s still pink.

Harry nods, scrambling to find a reply that doesn’t sound like he’s hiding something. Which is absurd because who would ever suspect a 16 year old, or any person really, to be able to affect the sky, the weather? No one. No one sane, that is.

Louis is, well, reasonably sane. No more insane than the rest of them.

“The sky?”, he says, and it’s said like a question, and so guilty, even though he shouldn’t feel guilty at all. Why’s he such a bad liar, God knows. “It’s very pretty.”

Louis stops for a second, looking a bit confused, but then nods, smiles softly. “Yeah, it is. Real pretty.”

Harry almost, only almost, gets the need to preen at that.

He doesn’t, but it was close, because that sky is because of him. He painted the sky pink. He made it pretty for Louis.

Without thinking, because that’s sort of a tradition lately, he says, “think it’s prettier when it’s blue, though.”

He doesn’t really absorb what he said until Louis lets out a soft yelp, and Harry lifts his eyes from where he’d been looking at his phone. No new messages.

Louis looks so surprised, cheeks a bit rosy, and his eyes are trained on the ground, and as Harry watches, his mouth goes from a little open, to pressed tightly together in a fond smile, like he’s trying to contain, holding back, but he can’t.

“You think so?”, Louis asks, and it feels loaded, and Harry doesn’t understand that really because it might not have been what he wanted to say, something he wanted Louis just yet, but it also feels like it’s a start of the push that’ll make the dominos fall over.

Right now, they’re still very much in limbo. And it’s not that it’s bad, because they need to talk about everything, they need to find out if they want to do this for real. Because one thing is liking each other, another is actually acting on it, being able to function in a date setting. Some people who start as friends shut down when they get feelings and act on them, feel like they don’t know the person across them anymore, just because there’s a new label instead of friends.

Harry doesn’t want that to happen to them. He wants them to be on the same page, want this, and understand that they know each other. They got along from the get go. They’ve been intune with each other from the moment they met.

He doesn’t want to fuck this up.

Harry nods fervently, maybe too enthusiastic, but he doesn’t really, actually care. He wants Louis to know just how much Harry thinks of him. That he adores every single part of him.

“I do, the blue sky’s beautiful,” and it’s so clearly not about the sky, even though it is very pretty when it matches Louis’ eyes, nothing could ever match up to Louis.

Louis turns away for a second, but Harry can see the smile on his face, can see the way his hands itch to do something, and he feels quite smug about being able to get a reaction like out of Louis.

He made Louis blush twice.

“D’ ya?”, and his voice is so soft, and Harry nods smiling, and then feels a surge of braveness, a surge of extreme adoration for the boy in front of him, reaches out his hand to him.

Louis looks at it for a second, and his smile turns even softer, hand coming up to grab Harry’s.

They just stand there for a while, looking at each other, feeling each others’ warmth, holding onto each other like they’re each other’s anchor. Louis presses their joined hands, and steps closer to Harry. It all feels so intimate, they’re alone, and so fragile, like if just one sound could be heard, the moment would be gone, and Louis would let go of his hand.

He holds onto Louis’ a bit tighter, just to make sure it doesn’t happen.

“You know, Harry Styles,” Louis says, “have anyone ever told you, you have the most captivating eyes?”

And no, no one really has before. Or if someone has, he doesn’t remember them right now, his mind blank, focused on Louis being so focused on him, eyes boring into his, apparently, captivating eyes.

“No,” he gets out, “not really, they’re just green.”

Louis huffs a little laughing-like sound, “just green? It’s beautiful. Reminds me of spring, everything coming back to life, you know? Especially when you smile.”

And that’s, well, that’s just brilliant.

“Thanks,” he says and he’s so, so sure he’s blushing, but he’s also so sure it doesn’t really bother him that much. He doesn’t really mind Louis knowing what he does to him.

He’s pretty sure Louis’ known since that first day, anyway.

“You know, what I regret most?”

Harry cocks his head, shaking it a bit, “Playing Danny Zuko in Grease?”

Louis barks a laugh at that, looking absolutely delighted, and Harry finds himself transfixed, sun hitting Louis eyes, making them shine like diamonds.

“I was brilliant in Grease, and you know it.”

Harry smiles at that, feeling proud like he does when Louis nails a note in a song, and nods. “Yeah, you were.”

Louis smiles at him, and for a second, they just stand in silence, again, and Harry thinks that if he never were to sat another word again in his life, it wouldn’t be so bad if only he had Louis to look at.

He’s insanely pretty.

Outside, the sky is changing lilac, and he knows that soon it will match Louis’ exact eye colour today.

It’s beautiful baby blue, funkling like a precious stone. As precious as Louis is.

Harry breaks the silnece, prompting, “what’s up, mate? Need someone beat up?”

He’s not quite sure why he said the last thing, but the magazines always said that girls were attracted to bad guys, and beating someone up for your love is pretty bad. He doesn’t know if it’s the same for Louis, but, it’s worth a try, innit.

Louis mouths the word ‘mate’ while laughing before shaking his head as well, not paying Harry’s bad boy attitude any mind. “Regret every day that I didn’t call you after we met. Was a right tit about-”

Harry immediately jumps. “Don’t worry about it, Lou. Seriously, there’s nothing to regret. We’re here now, yeah?”

“Well, we could’ve had more time,” he shrugs, “I’d liked to have more time with you.”

And that’s just incredibly sweet, innit?

“You’re adorable,” he says, and he’s almost surprised because it just slipped out, like reflex.

Louis looks absolutely affronted at that, mouth a little agape, as he splutters, “I am not adorable! I am a handsome, rugged man, don’t confuse me for you, mate!”

Harry almost gives him back, starting one of their infamous bicker rounds, before he sees a loophole to really egg Louis on.

“Aww, babe,” he coos, “you think I’m cute?”

Louis takes a lil step back, obviously not prepared for Harry to throw his words back at him like he did, and it makes Harry feel absolutely delighted.

And then Louis relaxes, and Harry thinks that he might look even more pretty now than before.

Louis steps closer to Harry again, and then closer, and again, until he’s just in front of Harry, blue eyes sparkling down at him.

The sky is so blue outside. So beautiful.

“Yeah, I do, love,” and Louis is calling him pet names now, and that’s really doing things to his heart, like making it beat a mile an hour, and Harry’s certain he looks absolutely in love.

He feels like it, anyway.

“I think you’re adorable, cute, and handsome, and,” Louis takes a little breath, “I would very much like to take you on a date.”

Harry blinks, then smiles, and then remembers something, and the smile vanishes, “like right now?”

Louis looks a bit uncertain, “well, that is, if you’re not busy with all your other significant others.”

Harry rolls his eyes fondly, shaking his head. “You’re being stupid, babe.”

Louis looks so happy, that Harry kinda wants to caress his cheek. So he does. Louis leans into the touch, and Harry wants to live in this moment forever.

“It’s only,” he says, “it’s only, I wanted to ask you-”

“Absolutely not, I’m the eldest,” Louis cuts in, looking dead serious, and yeah, Harry can’t really argue that.

“It’s just, I don’t really want my flower idea to go to waste,” he shrugs, feeling a little silly, but also determined. He’s not gonna let Louis take this from him. “It did get us to, like, admit our, well, our feelings? I guess? Thought it’d be poetic?”

When he finally looks at Louis again, Louis’s smiling so big, that Harry feels blinded by its brightness. Having Louis so close is overwhelmingly, having Louis smile at him like he’s just saved the entire planet - is something else entirely.

“Let me take you on a date, Harry,” Louis begs him, hand holding Harry’s tight, “and I’ll let you invite me on all the cheesy dates you want where we can talk about feelings and revelations, and you’ll gift me endless flowers.”

Harry dimples, happy and satisfied with the compromise, “deal.”

Louis smiles softly, whispering back, “deal.”

They look at each other again, and that’s been happening a lot recently, before Louis seems to steel himself.

Pressing a kiss against Harry’s cheek, Louis whispers, “I’ll take you out somewhere tonight. 6pm.”

Harry nods, as he watches Louis walk away, hand still lingering in the air from where Louis had held it so tightly, warmly, safely.

“He what?”

“Invited me on a date.”

Liam looks surprised, mouth opening and closing, and then a smile breaks out on his face. “He did it then?”

Harry cocks his head a bit, looking at Liam with a little smile, “did what?”

“Well, told you how he felt and all that?”

Harry nodded, trying to keep the blush from taking over his entire face. From the way Liam looked all endeared, he isn’t sure he managed, but that’s fine anyway. He doesn’t really mind getting these butterflies, getting a little embarrassed, because Louis likes him, Louis asked him on a date, he’s going on a date with Louis, and Louis likes him.

To be completely honest, he’s not sure anything could ever pull him down from this cloud.

Right now the stars could go fuck themselves, he’s completely fine where he is.

“Yeah, he did,” Harry admits, “a few days ago. When I ran away.”

Liam laughs goodheartedly. “So dramatic, the two of you.”

A silence lulls over them for a while, Harry mostly lost in thought about what he’s gonna wear because it has to be perfect and he wants Louis to be in awe of him, like he was earlier, and then Liam coughs a little.

“Hey, ehm, Haz?”

“Hm?”

“You know,” Liam looks a bit unsteady when Harry looks up, “sorry for, well, being so dramatic too. We were just so worried about Louis, and we didn’t-”

Harry immdiately shakes his head, “no, no. Please. We figured it out, don’t worry. Should just have been honest from the start, you know?”

Liam smiles a bit. “You always were, though.”

Harry scratches his hair, rocking his head from side to side a bit, reflecting over how best to put it.

“Not completely honest, was I? I didn’t tell him.” He shrugs. “Can’t expect anyone to be a mindreader?”

Liam shakes his head. “No, I suppose not. But sorry, for believing you’d caught feelings for someone else, when I knew.”

“Don’t stress it, it was a bit weird, but I,” he cuts himself off, looking out the window, “I think we needed the push. To actually put everything into words. Sometimes dramatic isn’t bad.”

He’s not sure how everything would have panned out if Louis hadn’t been there the day he gave Katie the rose, he’s not sure if he would have chickened out, and that’s the thing. There’s all these what ifs, that are essentially pointless to think about because in the end they got it sorted. There was perhaps a few more tears and a bit more rain involved than originally planned in Harry’s head, but whatever he had planned is something he will ever know if he’d succeed in.

No need dwelling on a past that won’t, can’t, be changed anyway. He knows Louis likes him back, even with all the rain and tears, and Louis knows Harry likes him, and they’re going on a date tonight, and they’re both on the same, they want to date, not just a one off thing.

It’s great. No matter what happened, this, right here, is what he’d dreamed about. And he’s gonna ask Louis to go on a date using a flower, and it’s great. All his plans are gonna come to fruition, they’re just a bit delayed, and that’s fine. It happens. Schedules change all the time, all that matters is the goal.

Liam doesn’t say anything, but he’s smiling, and looking a bit touched, and a bit proud, and Harry feels his cheeks go a little red because Liam is like a bit of a dad sometimes, he knows so much about singing and Harry can always go to him and get advice, and here’s Liam being proud of Harry for something he’s done by himself.

Liam’s hugs are always the best, they’re warm, and you just feel so at ease. You feel kinda at home with your family for a bit.

They just stand there for a bit, until Liam draws back, smiling, and Harry can’t help smile back.

“Let’s get you ready for the big night, yeah?”

When Louis picks Harry up, which is well, just knocking on his, their, door, he’s feeling proper stressed, nervous, and his stomach is all knotted up, and his hand almost shake as he goes to open the door.

Louis’s smiling at him though, and he’s looking gorgeous. He’s wearing his glasses and a striped blouse, and he’s the most gorgeous being Harry’s ever seen. He feels so lucky and so underdressed in his quite normal black shirt, can’t help but fiddle a bit with the buttons.

“Heya love,” Louis’ voice is cheery, excited and Harry’s butterflies go all sorts of crazy because that’s because of him, “you ready?”

Harry dimples back at him. “You got my carriage, ready?”

Louis laughs and puts out his arm for Harry to take, “of course you’d expect that, posh boy.”

Harry picks up the gauntlet, sticking his nose in the air. “I will not apologise for trying to uphold my reputation.”

Louis looks at him with a slightly different smile, and that too makes the butterflies pay even more attention, fly all the way up to his throat.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll make an honest woman out of you yet.”

Not even paying attention to the implications, because if he does, he’ll be thinking about that all night. Louis wanting a future with him, Louis himself hinting at marriage, life long commitment, rings, wedding, the whole shebang, and Louis wants it all with Harry.

Either that, or he’s gonna convince himself that Louis only said it to go along with the joke, and that’s not an acceptable option, so Harry’s electing to just ignore that it even exists.

He gives a serious nod back at him, taking Louis’ arm in his, feeling a little silly spanculating around with Louis like they’re going to a proper posh gala, but probably going to TGI Friday or something.

“Wouldn’t expect anything else, my good sir.”

Louis looks over at him, hand clapping Harry’s that’s resting on Louis’. “You needn’t worry, I’ll be a gentleman tonight, do nothing to tarnish that reputation of yours.”

Which is a bit disappointing.

But he did say tonight. So there’s also a chance of Louis tarnishing that reputation of Harry’s after midnight. Technically tomorrow.

He’ll have to see.

Right now, all that matters is that he’s holding Louis Tomlinson’s arm in his, and they’re walking side by side, and Louis is chattering away with how excited he’s been, and a little nervous, and he’s so endearing, his free arm whirling around trying to make up for the other arm’s absence in animating whatever Louis is saying.

He’s saying a lot. And Harry tries to hang onto every word, though he does get a little distracted by Louis’ mouth, enunciating words in that so specific Donny accent, and his sparkling blue eyes.

If he looked out, the night sky would be way too bright, trying to replicate Louis’ eyes, and Harry’s not even sorry about it.

It’s just so nice, being with Louis, heading to a date with Louis, that Louis invited him on, and Louis is so happy, and that makes Harry even happier, and he can’t believe this is his life.

He’s going on a date with the boy he wants to love, he’s in a band with the four best lad he’s ever met, and they’re getting more and more popular by the Friday - fans coming to see them, fans getting excited just for them, wanting to meet them, get their autographs, and it’s all so overwhelming, and Harry doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve all this.

He’s not going to criticize, but he just feels, yeah he just feels blessed. He was raised religious, not overly so but it was always there, present, in the evening prayers his mum did with him before going to bed, silly little ones like ‘dear God, please let the sun shine, amen’ and ‘dear God, please smite Gemma, she stole my truck, but also know I love her, amen’. But everything has been so good lately, he feels like every single one of his dreams are en route to become a reality, and he’s feeling so blessed. Even if there isn’t a God, he’d just like to send out a thank you to whatever force’s out there, keeping watch over him, making sure he’s getting what he wants.

“You alright there, love?”, Louis says after Harry’s been lost in thoughts, just staring a bit at Louis, caught up in how mesmerizing he looks, how lucky Harry is.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it enough to actually string sentences together, nods then. “Yeah, all good. Just a little, a little overwhelmed?”

Louis smiles at him, looking like he couldn’t have said anything better. “I overwhelm you? Just say the word, darling, I’ll try and dial it down for you.”

Harry’s sure he’s blushing down to his toes, getting even worse when he slowly shakes his head.

“Nah, ehm, no that’s, that’s alright.”

It’s not often Louis is rendered speechless, Harry thinks, but he’s accomplished it twice today. He’s pretty proud if he does say so himself.

And he does.

Louis clears his throat, lips twitching into a smile.

They don’t say much more, just walks beside each other until they get to the restaurant, but the air’s nice, and Louis is warmwarm by his side, and he feels so comfortable, at ease, and he can’t wait to sit across from Louis, have an excuse to look into his blue eyes for as long as he wants.

Louis gives his hand a little squeeze before opening the restaurant, and that’s when it hits Harry, for real. They’re going on a date, and yes, he knew that, but they’re entering the restaurant they’re gonna dine at for their first date with their arms wound around each other like a proper Victorian couple, and it’s too tender to be some banter between two lads, and Harry’s pretty sure he looks too fond, too affectionate for anyone to even contemplate them being anything but on a date.

They’re seated by a male waiter, and he’s, he doesn’t even blink, and Harry almost loses his jaw. Because that wasn’t what he expected, Louis’ and his arms are still linked, and he didn’t blink, the waiter. Didn’t do a double take. Didn’t drop any sort of line. He just, went about with his work, treating exactly the same as he would everyone else, and it makes Harry want to choke up a little, have a little cry in the bathroom when he goes to text Liam. He’s pretty sure the other boys are Louis’ to update.

It’s not that he’s expecting everyone to be homophobic, to be as close minded as they were back in Holmes Chapel, it’s just, it’s all so new to him. This quiet acceptance, quiet support, open acceptance, open support.

He always hoped he’d have that.

Sometimes he didn’t dare actually expect it.

“You alright, Haz?”, Louis asks, because he’s intune with Harry, and he can always sense Harry’s emotional state, if his thoughts are getting him sidetracked.

He quickly nods, smile a little shaky but there.

“Yeah, I’m,” he shrugs a little, “I’m good. Impressed with the service.”

And Louis smiles like he knows exactly what Harry is saying without saying, and he reaches across the table, and quickly, softly, squeezes Harry’s hand.

It warms Harry like if he was in front of a fireplace, and he smiles softly back at Louis. There couldn’t really be a better start to this evening he thinks, and he thinks Louis agrees by the way his hand hover in the after letting go of Harry’s.

Like he doesn’t actually want to let go.

They can’t order anything fancy, but it doesn’t really matter. They’re here, together. They get soda, even if Louis could get some wine or beer, and they get pasta, and it’s perfect, because they’re best friends before anything else, eating ugly isn’t something they’re worried about.

They’ve heard and smelled each other’s farts and burps, seen each other in the morning after they’ve been drinking till 6 am looking absolutely smashed. They’ve seen each other at their best, and their worst.

A little pasta isn’t going to make him nervous. It isn’t.

Or it wouldn’t if Louis wasn’t so damned good at eating pasta. Swirling it on the spoon into a perfect little ball, like he hasn’t been doing anything else since he popped out his mum’s womb on that wonderful, perfect Christmas Eve.

It’s really unfair, if Harry’s being completely honest, because he doesn’t have those skills. He can cut the pasta up a bit, and try to eat it without having to try and eat the whole fork, gape over it like he’s some kind of monster, all the while Louis is looking at him like he can’t decide whether to laugh or just be endeared.

“Shut up,” Harry grumbles after he’s dropped his pasta for the third time in a row. He’s trying to swirl it around the fork, right, and then he overdoes it once, and it all falls back down, and he’ll have to do it again, and it’s like pasta changes length or he just doesn’t learn, and Louis is sitting with a hand over his mouth, eyes crinkling, face turned almost all the way around so Harry can’t see it.

But he can, and it’s not funny because he wants his pasta, and he wants to do properly, and he wants to be as graceful as Louis, and he’s just not, and it’s so unfair, and Louis is just laughing.

He would too, if he was being honest with himself, but he’s not, so instead he’s just really offended tat Louis could do that to him.

“Love, you gotta calm down,” Louis tries to say as seriously as possible, even though he fails miserably, and Harry sends him a dark glare, or attempts to. He also fails miserably, so there’s that. “It can sense your fear.”

He makes a face. “Oi, fuck off, will ya?”

Louis smiles delighted, not even trying to holdback. “Ah love, am I beginning to rub off on you? My little posh boy, going all rogue-”

“Shut up, Louis.”

“I’m so proud, brings a tear to me eye, really it does.”

Harry can’t help his laughing, shakes his head. “You’re so fucking annoying, you know that?”

Louis shrugs, looking every bit as pleased with himself as he does when a prank turns out exactly the way he wants it. It’s very endearing, even if he pretends to be annoyed.

That applies to a lot of instances with Louis, really.

“Well, if you weren’t dropping your t’s like you are, I’d believe you a bit more,” and he looks like he could have just dropped the mic with how absolutely smug he looks.

Harry can’t help but just smile at him.

“Well, maybe, “ he shrugs a bit, “it’s not the worst habit to take over.”

Louis smiles, not cocky or smug, but rather sweetly, nods, like to himself and mutters, “no, it’s not.”

Harry looks down a little, trying to hide his blush.

Outside the sky is turning lilac.

Louis disrupts the silence after a little time. “You know, I’ve never seen such beautiful colours in the sky before.”

Harry’s head snaps, and then he remembers he doesn’t have anything to feel scared or guilty of, and then he follows Louis’ eyes to the sky outside.

It’s definitely beautiful, the pink and blue intertwining, like the sky can’t seem to agree on what it wants to show him the most. Louis’ blue eyes or his own blushing, and it brings out a beautiful, beautiful contrast.

It’s not clouds separating the colours, it’s being mixed together like two paintings being mixed, slowly, slowly becoming one.

“It is very pretty,” Harry agrees, smiling a bit. It’s beautiful, and it’s all because of Louis.

Louis is the reason the sky is so beautiful because Harry has only ever coloured the sky, these past few months, when he just couldn’t reign in his feelings, and it’s always been revolving around Louis.

He hasn’t had the sun shine just for fun in a long time, it hasn’t even crossed his mind, if he’s being honest. He’s been so busy with singing and pining and singing, and then a bit more pining. And now he’s busy being on a date with Louis Tomlinson, and in the future he’ll hopefully be busy with doing more of the dating and then some of the singing too.

Maybe even singing to Louis, while on a date. Singing with Louis.

“Never saw it like this.” There’s a brief pause, like Louis is debating whether to say something, and when he opens his mouth again, it feels like Harry has to hear every single breath and sound he makes. “Until I met you. The sky outside, Harry, it was so pink.”

He remembers, it was one of the first times it ever turned pink other than when he put his nails up to the sky imagining that the colour somehow could reflect back on his nails, only for him to see.

Louis’ voice is so soft, and Harry’s captivated by it.

“It’s weird, don’t you think?”

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever really heard Louis’ voice sound like this, not even when he sings and is at his most emotional. It’s such an alluring voice, he has, not only sexually, but just. You want to keep hearing it, want to give it everything it demands.

It feels like a siren call.

Harry subconsciously leans in closer, looking probably a bit dreamily at Louis whose blue eyes narrow a bit before clear again.

With a confidence he didn’t know he possessed, he reaches out to brush some of Louis’ fringe into line, having come loose at some point after they left the X-Factor house back home.

He shrugs, feeling calm, free. “Not really.”

Louis sits back so quickly, Harry almost jumps back, eyes wide, hand still extended and shaped to go through Louis’ hair again.

His voice is a bit hoarse, still alluring but it’s like he’s trying to hold back, which, selfish. Harry really liked the other voice.

“What do you mean?”

Harry hums again, hand waving impatiently trying to get Louis to move forward. After a bit he does, though he looks confused, because it’s true that Harry isn’t really that comfortable with PDA yet, but he really wants to comb his fingers through Louis’ soft, soft hair.

He could probably use it as a pillow.

He’d have to test that.

“Well, you know,” he throws his other hand around carelessly, gesturing to the room, the sky, at large, “it does as I say and feel, so.”

Louis looks immediately alert, and then he blinks, and looks at Harry closely.

Before he can say anything, this fuzzy lovely feeling of listening to Louis still present, even bigger now that he gave the answer Louis was looking, Louis is once more pulling away roughly, his eyes wide and a bit panicked, his mouth a little open, almost like he’s in shock.

Weird that.

“Harry,” and his voice is so different all of a sudden, that’s so random, Harry thinks. “Are you with me?”

Harry cocks his head a bit, fuzzy feeling still present, but it’s like it’s dwindling. Like before there was a steady stream of something keeping the feeling alive, and now it’s like the source’s been cut off, and the feeling is slowly lifting. Kind of like the mist in the morning.

He takes his hands up to his face, gives it a good scrub, yawns, feeling so so tired all of a sudden.

Through the yawn, he gets out, “yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

Louis doesn’t look convinced, is pouring some water from their shared flask into a glass, slowly pushing it towards Harry who takes it gratefully. There’s a little headache building, which is annoying.

He’s on a date with Louis, for gods sake. Could his body behave just for these next few hours?

“What did you say? Before?”, he asks, massaging his temple, trying to get the throbbing to stop, “With the sky and all that?”

He’s yawning again, and it feels so weird. Like he’s hungover, but he hasn’t had anything to drink today or for ages really. Too focused on Louis, finding out a way to ask Louis out (only for Louis to ask him out first, typical).

Louis looks increasingly horrified, and Harry’s blinking a little sluggishly, not bececause he’s feeling sick, he’s just so, so tired, and his head isn’t getting better despite the water he’s just pouring down.

“You don’t remember?”, Louis inquired, looking very distressed at that option, “any of what you said?”

Harry purses his lips, looking up while trying to remember if he does remember what he said. He doesn’t really.

“Nah,” he shrugs, waving his hand, like he’s waving all the problems goodbye, “don’t think it matters though. Was probably just something sappy about how blue skies always remind me of you.”

That does bring a little colour to Louis’ cheeks, making him look a little healthier, a little more alive, and that’s better than the pale, pale version he saw just moments ago.

He’s biting his lips, looking torn, and Harry’s just really confused. “Yeah, ehm, something like that.”

Harry nods. “See? Nothing special, I’ve told you that before.”

Louis nods, biting his lip. “Not quite like this.”

Harry shrugs again, feeling, looking completely unbothered. He’s tired but he also feels a bit like he’s on top of the world.

Huh, who knew you could get drunk of a soda?

Unless it’s not a soda.

“This is a soda, right?”, he says, pointing to the almost empty glass filled with what he thought was Fanta.

Louis blinks, lifts his eyebrows, throws his hand out to the glass. “Yeah, you haven’t been complaining that it’s not, so I assume.”

Harry hums quietly, thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Just worried they put something in there, really.”

Louis’ eyes snap to his. “Something?”

“Yeah, you know,” Harry blinks, waving his hand in front of his eyes, “‘feels fuzzy up here.”

“We should get you home, ba-Harry,” and that more than anything makes Harry squint his eyes suspiciously.

“Why didn’t you call me baby?”, and then a thought strikes him, and he grabs onto Louis tightly as the other comes around the table to help him up, he follows on shaky legs. “Was I that lousy a date? I’ll make it up to you, I swear, I’m sorry I’m feeling sick. I’m a great date, please, let me-”

Louis hushes him quietly, hand stroking his cheek placatingly, smile soft, eyes a touch… regretful? Why regretful?

“No, love,” Louis whispers, before looking over to where the waiter is coming over, briefly smiling, “don’t apologise. You were brilliant. If anything, I was the worst date you’ve ever been on.”

Harry’s vehemently shaking his head, not even able to put it into words how wrongwrongwrong Louis, how dare Louis call the love of Harry’s life the worst date? How actually dares he?

He’s still shaking his head when Louis’s paid, and Louis laughs a little at the sight, smile blinding for a moment before it disappears.

“Let’s get you home,” he whispers again, kissing Harry’s temple, and oh, oh how relieving that felt.

Like the magic kiss your mother gives you when you’re young. That’s Louis’ kiss. Heals anything it touches, he thinks.

That’s just Louis though, always helping, always comforting, always perfect.

“Thank you for tonight, Louis,” he whispers, and Louis smiles a little sadly at him, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist, holding him close, the other still holding Harryøs hand tightly.

“Thank you, Harry.”

When they get to the door, Harry’s feeling even fuzzier, and he hasn’t stopped giggling at this idea he got ten minutes ago, and Louis is throwing him some very concerned looks.

“Okay, Lou, Lou, Lou,” he giggles, “you have to say goodbye to me at my doorstep, like the gentleman you are.”

Louis smiling a little fondly, a small smile, but his mood considered, Harry counts it as a win.

“There’s no doorstop, and it’s the door into our shared room.”

Harry keeps giggling, a little weakly swatting Louis’ chest. “That’s not very open minded of you, mister!”

Louis shakes his head, before nodding. “Okay, okay. You absolute maniac.”

Harry throws him a finger kiss before separating him from Louis. “Do you want to come up?”

It’s meant to be innocent, but Louis bites his lip, looking a little out of his depth before shaking his head slowly, then blinking almost to wake up.

Harry can sympathise.

“Oh I shouldn’t, think of what the neighbours will think?”, he’s smiling though, and Harry’s smiling back.

“It’s cold outside, though,” he points out smugly, and Louis looks at him like he can’t believe him.

“Are you quoting Christmas songs at me, mr. Styles?”

Harry shrugs, though the need to giggle is still very much present. “Not Christmas songs, birthday songs, Louis.”

“Birthday- oh, oh, you think you’re so clever, huh?”

He goes in for a little tickle, and Harry gasps with laughter within just a few moments, and he’s turning his face to look at Louis, and finds Louis already looking at him, face lit up by a smile so bright that if he could, didn’t feel so tired, he’d demand the sky make the sun shine so he could compare what was brightest: Louis’ happiness or the Sun?

He knew what he would put his money on.

He can’t get himself to look away from Louis, even as the other backs him a bit closer to the door, head hanging a little, their faces in front of each other, and Harry’s sure he can feel his heart pumping stress and adrenaline through his body, and his mind going berserk with all the feelings of hope it’s filling his body with.

Louis closes his eyes for a bit, before reaches around Harry, and before he knows it, pulls the door handle a little down.

“Goodnight, mr. Styles,” Louis smiles, looking so happy, though there’s still something in his eyes. “It’s been a pleasure.”

Not able to look away, he’s just staring at Louis when he answers. “Thank you, it’s been fantastic, mr. Tomlinson. Thank you for taking me.”

Louis smiles sheepily. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Harry laughs, and then blushes when Louis gives his cheek a kiss, and then the other, and then a last one on his forehead.

He wants to honestly smack Louis for that.

“I’ll see you.”

Two minutes after there’s a knock on the door, and when Harry opens, there’s Louis.

With a rose in his hand.

Grumbling, and a little more awake, he accepts the rose gently, and then whispers furiously at Louis for the rest of the time they change into their night clothes - literally just underpants, but whatever - about how Louis had promised that Harry was gonna be the one to invite him on the next day, and he knew that Harry was gonna use a flower, and how unfair isn’t this? Stealing the other’s tricks?

“We’re not in a competition, love,” Louis tries to remind him gently, and Harry almost laughs, squinting distrustingly at him.

“Well, you would say that, since you’re winning and all, anyway.”

Louis laughs, shaking his head, before crawling under his duvet, muttering about how ridiculous Harry is being, and he looked offended at him.

“Don’t just slag me off under your breath, mate,” he whispers, “say it to my face.”

Louis looks over at him with an exasperated expression. “You’re deluded.”

Harry points a finger accusingly at Louis. “Just you wait and see, mister, I’ll be planning and planning, get ready to be wooed. Hard.”

Louis laughs while getting comfortable, fluffing the pillow, and looking all sorts of endearing.

“Can’t wait, love.”

Harry, satisfied, accepting this as Louis’ capitulation, gets ready for sleep as well, carefully puts down his rose on his night stand, just lying there, looking at it, feeling so so warm, and so, so blessed.

There was a little weird period tonight, but all in all, he thinks it was a good night. He doesn’t think anything could drag him down from here.

As he falls asleep, he prays for one of the first times since he left home and his mum behind to go chase an impossible dream with his four boys.

Dear God, thank for giving me, introducing me to Louis. Amen.

Turns out, nothing could drag him down, but a certain someone could.

Despite their evening being perfect, despite their banter going back and forth, and there not being a lull in conversation, and despite Louis giving him a rose at the end of the night, three kisses - granted, not on the mouth, but they still count, and after so many hints, he’s ignoring Harry from the moment they woke up to the alarm clock.

And he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand at all.

Last night things were good. They were perfect. They just as it should be, and Harry fell asleep a little dizzy, with a headache, but with such a hopeful spirit and heart, and not wanting to fall asleep, not wanting to not be with Louis, not wanting to not talk to him or look at him, and now he doesn’t even look in the general direction of Harry. And he doesn’t understand why. Nothing could have happened between when they went to sleep, and when they woke up.

They went to sleep at the same time. He knows he did. He stayed up a little to watch Louis, in a total non-creepy way, and he was so sure that Louis fell asleep.

When he looks to Liam, looking lost he’s sure and crestfallen and a bit heartbroken maybe, he doesn’t say anything, just gives a little shake with his head. He doesn’t even know what that’s supposed to mean. Louis said he was a good date, didn’t he? He did. Louis said that, and he sounded like he meant, and he was so affectionate and gentle, and that couldn’t have been a lie. Harry knows Louis, knows who Louis is, and he would never string along a person like this for no reason.

That’s not Louis.

Looking to Niall and Zayn, the latter sitting right by Liam’s side, almost glued there and it’s a little harder to be excited and happy for them this time around, doesn’t give him any more answers. He gets sad looks, confused looks, shrugs and headshakes. He can’t use any of that to anything.

Worse though, as the day progresses and Louis stays far away from him, is the pitying looks he gets. He’s never been the receiver of pity before. Not like this anyway. He’s lost a grandparent, and he’s had his hand shaken, gotten hugs, and he’s cried. But that was grief, that was for someone he was never gonna see again, someone he didn’t get to know properly, and the grief was for how unfair that was, to never have the chance.

But Louis is still here. He’s right there, so close that Harry could almost touch him if he wanted to. But Louis doesn’t want him to. He doesn’t want Harry near, he doesn’t want to date Harry, he doesn’t want to be Harry’s friend, he doesn’t even want to look at Harry.

This, this abrupt cut off from Louis’ side is so like the day that Harry ran into the rain, but that time the other boys knew what it was about. That day was all about a stupid miscommunication, this time it felt like it was for real. Louis had completely shut down all communication. Even Zayn had a hard time getting through to him, couldn’t even get him to mention Harry’s name or how it had went last night.

And that hurt. No matter what had happened, it hurt. Because Harry had trusted Louis with his heart, had believed, had gotten told, that it’d not be for that night only. Louis had said, had joked, with making an honest man out of Harry, and yes, Harry does get jokes, but who jokes about that on a first date? He knows they’re not boyfriends, know their future together wasn’t a guarantee, just a dream, but still, isn’t it a little messed up to joke about them having a future while going on a date?

Nothing makes sense in Harry’s head, and his heart hurts, and it doesn’t feel fair, that it just got over another Louis-induced heartbreak, and now they’re here again. Feeling stupid, feeling played, feeling naive. Feeling insecure.

He hates this, hates feeling like he’s not worth Louis, hates that it was Louis who made him feel like this, and he hates that he can’t even get angry and shout at Louis because he doesn’t want to fucking look at him. It’s a cowardly move, Harry thinks, to dump someone without even telling them.

To ghost them face to face.

Who even does that? Ignores their date, their bandmate, their best friend? Without telling anyone why?

Harry wants to hit him a little bit, and then he also wants to hug him, and he wants to scream at him, and he wants to beg him to tell him why? Why is he like this? He wants Louis to tell him what he’s done. He wants Louis to give him facts and reasons, tell him what Harry has done to warrant this treatment?

“Harry,” a voice says behind him, and he blinks, looking back startled at being so forcefully dragged out of the depths of his thoughts.

There’s Louis, and he’s looking tired, he’s looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, and he looks so, so sad. Harry’s hands twitch to reach out and pull him in for a hug, support him as best as he can, but Louis doesn’t want that, he’s sure. Everything in his body language is closed off, asking him stay far, far away.

That hurts more than anything.

He bites his lip, worrying it a bit, feeling almost numb to anything but the pain of his heart, so heavy it feels, like it might sink down, down, down, so heavy with rejection and sadness, and the insecurity pulsing through his veins.

He can’t bring himself to actually focus on Louis, doesn’t have the energy to feel as divided as he does when he sees how sad Louis looks, while also having to deal with how much Louis has hurt him in the span of just twenty-four hours.

It was cruel, Harry thinks, to get his hopes up. And Louis isn’t cruel, not at all, and he almost wants to cry with how weird, and confusing, and wrong it all is. Nothing adds up, and he just wants to go back to sleep, ants go back to the second before he woke up, tried to get in contact with Louis, and he evaded all eye contact.

He just wants this to stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop.

“Haz,” and Harry can’t help but flinch because what the fuck is wrong with Louis? You don’t go around making someone feel like a used rag doll all day, only to turn around and call them their nickname. That’s not how it works.

“Harry,” Louis amends, clearly trying to placate Harry as much as possible, and Harry hates it. He doesn’t want Louis to play nice with him, he just wants some goddamn answers.

“I know you’re hurt, and you’re confused,” Louis takes a deep breath, exhales shakily, and Harry’s still focusing on the ground, lips pressed tightly together. “And I’m sorry for that.”

Another pause in which Harry contemplates whether he should just leave. It sounds more and more like a break up speech, even if there never really was anything to break up.

Louis made sure there wasn’t.

“It’s just for the best, alright? Some day you’re gonna thank me for-”

Harry snorts, feeling hurt, stupid, and like every word out of Louis’ mouth right now is just another needle into his heart.

“Oh, this is a ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ kinda speech? Didn’t take you for such a cliché, Louis.”

“Harry, please,” Louis pleads, “don’t do that. I’m serious.”

Harry huffs a self-deprecating laugh. “And you think I’m not? This is some absolute bullshit, Louis! Either you tell me why you’re behaving like a fucking dickhead, or I don’t want to hear anything at all from you.”

And it’s not because he thought that a little threat from a 16 year old with red eyes, a shaking voice, would actually get Louis to drop this whole attitude, this facade. But maybe he’d hoped. Maybe he hoped that their friendship, at the very least, would be more important to Louis than whatever bullshit reason he could have to treat Harry like this.

But Louis stays silent, and when Harry finally looks up at him, disbelief and hurt written on his face, he just presses his lips tighter together, like he’s trying to prevent himself from crying.

Well, join the club, Harry thinks bitterly.

Harry shakes his head, blinking furiously for a few seconds, holding back the tears, bites his lip before nodding to himself.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Okay, got your message, Lou.”

And maybe it’s because he wants it to hurt a little, saying Louis’ nickname, rubbing in his face what exactly he’s losing here.

Mostly, though, it’s to say it one last time. Lou, Lou, Lou.

It hurts.

“I’ll ehm, I’ll see you later.” Pushing himself up from the sofa he’s been sitting on, he doesn’t look at Louis again.

He thinks there should be something powerful in leaving Louis behind, striding away quickly, not looking back.

It doesn’t.

It feels like defeat.

There’s nothing Harry hates quite like losing without having fought.

The boys let them each sulk for a total of a two days before they each get pulled into the living room, get sit down, together, side by side, and the boys look at them with judging expressions, but their eyes are worried.

Harry feels a bit numb. Has felt numb ever since he walked away from Louis. Ever since Louis just let him. He’s adopted Louis’ MO, has ignored him, and even when they’ve been practising he hasn’t looked at Louis, and it’s not because he’s conceited, but their dynamic is special and when it’s missing, the group is missing a vital organ.

It’s been hard too. Ignoring Louis. Experiencing things, thinking things, he knows Louis would have loved, would have laughed with him about, and it hurts all over again, needles to the heart, to remember that Louis and him aren’t talking. He doesn’t even know if they’re still friends, just taking a breather, or if Louis’ stupid mind has somehow convinced him that he can’t be friends with Harry either.

It’s been like living in a grey world. All the colour sucked out. All the joy of this experience. Not even the fans waiting for them was enough to bring a real smile to his face. He hasn’t been sleeping, thoughts churning, running a hundred miles an hour, trying to figure out what he’s done, or what Louis has done, that could possibly have led to this outcome.

An outcome he’d never ever saw coming.

Louis is warm beside him, and it’s stressing, being this close to him. His heart hasn’t really got the entire memo that Louis hurt him, that Louis doesn’t want him, doesn’t want anything to do with him really. If he could, he’d probably not even say anything when they’re practising.

It feels like an alternate reality, and he’s hating every single second of it.

“Lads,” Niall sighs, and Harry’s surprised Niall is leading this, intervention he supposes, but then feels all warm. Niall doesn’t like drama, but here he is, in the center of it, for them. He’s so lucky to have these boys, he feels a bit like crying if he’s honest. “We’re here to stage an intervention, if you hadn’t figured that out. What the fuck is wrong with you two?”

Harry can feel his lips twitch a little, despite how not funny it is.

Zayn clears his throat, and Niall looks over at him, looking surprised, but then nodding to himself.

“As I said, we’re here to make you two figure your shit out, because we’re not going to get kicked out of this because you can’t talk to each other.”

Zayn nods approvingly.

“So, what’s gonna happen is,” Liam declares, looking endlessly pleased, and Harry wants to punch him a little bit, “we’re gonna lock this door, and you’re gonna sit in here for as long as it takes for you two to go back to kissing each other.”

He wants to inject that they’ve not actually kissed, but that he’d very much like to, but catches himself because it’s not the right time for that. For jokes like that. Not when Louis and him haven’t even looked at each other, and he can feel Louis gathering up the courage to move away from Harry without seeming to obvious.

“Any protests?”, Liam asks, and Harry opens his mouth, only for Liam to shake his head furiously. “Scratch that. You don’t have a say until you declare your love for each other and grow up.”

The other two nod, and Harry can’t help but shake his head at the absolute ridiculousness of this.

They leave pretty quickly, probably to get out of the door, before he or Louis can react and run out of it first. Or rather, before Louis can react and run out of it. Because despite what Harry said, he still wants to know why Louis decided to act like he did. What demons Louis has in his head that makes him think he’s done something, or possesses something, that could ever make Harry hate him or not want to be with him.

He may be hurt right now, he may feel like this as unfair as it can get. He might feel like he deserves a million apologies for being treated this way. He might feel like Louis is acting like a child, even more immature than Harry is. But he wants to know. He wants to know what has Louis so scared that he would rather give up what he and Harry has as friends, what they could be as boyfriends, for this weird stand off-ish limbo they’re currently finding themselves in.

There doesn’t ever seem to have been a sound as loud as the click of the door lock.

He didn’t even know they could lock the door to the living room.

Louis is up in seconds after the door lock sounds, and yeah, that hurts too. That Louis can’t bring himself to sit beside Harry for anymore than he was forced to.

He starts pacing the room, intervally going over to check if the door really is locked, and every time it’s as solidly locked as before.

“Louis,” Harry sighs. Defeated.

Louis looks over at him, before testing the lock again, pulling the handle up and down. It doesn’t move more than an inch, the sound annoying and suffocating, making Harry feel like he’s imprisoned.

But he’s felt that way ever since they woke up and Louis ignored him, so it’s not that new of a sensation.

“Louis,” he tries again.

Louis doesn’t say anything, but slides down the door, like he’s finally come to terms with the fact that they’re not getting out of here, until someone actually lets them out.

And that won’t happen, not until they figure this out. Harry feels quite at peace with that, that they’re never gonna get out, because Louis looks just as closed off as the other day.

Harry sighs again, leaning back against the sofa, rubbing his temples, trying to get rid of the headache building.

“What did I do?”

He looks over at Louis, through half closed lids, not expecting an answer but just wanting to look at him. He’s not allowed himself that in a long time.

Outside, the sky is still grey, grey, grey.

Louis doesn’t say anything immediately, wets his lips, shaking his head like he’s internally debating with himself, like he wants to tell Harry but can’t, and it breaks Harry’s heart a bit. The fact that Louis is so obviously struggling with something, all by himself, that it bleeds into every corner of his life, and Harry never wants that for Louis. To feel like he’s alone. Because he’s not. Even he doesn’t want to talk to Harry, Louis has got so many who adore him. Who want the best for him.

It’s a shock, it makes Harry jump a bit, when he actually says something, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t do anything, you didn’t.”

And it sounds like he wants Harry to know that, to feel at peace with that, leave it at that, and move on.

Thing is, Harry can’t. Louis has been his focus for so long, ever since they first met, that even his dream of the stars paled in comparison. Everything compared next to Louis, if he’s being honest.

“That’s not an answer, I can accept, Louis,” Harry counters tiredly, “we were great, could have been greater, and now you can’t even look at me.”

It feels like they’re playing a tug of war, and Harry doesn’t want to participate anymore. He wants Louis to talk to him, he wants to fix this, he wants Louis back in whatever form he can get.

“I don’t know how to explain it.” Louis looks so sad, and like he’s on the verge of crying, and that makes Harry feel like crying to, even more than he’s been these last days. “I’ve never told anyone else before.”

Harry shakes his head, biting his lip, lump high in his throat.

“I want to help you, Louis,” he pleads with a hoarse voice, “but I can’t if you won’t let me.”

Louis finally looks back at him, and it’s like everything falls away, every shield Louis has had, every wall he’s built up, every glamour he’s enchanted, to make people not notice how tired and haggard he looks.

“Please, Louis.”

Louis nods, then shakes his head, and it’s such a struggle for Harry to see Louis so obviously torn, so distressed, and not even being able to comfort him, not knowing if he’s allowed.

He just wants to hold Louis, wants him to cry against Harry’s shoulder, and let out every worry and burden weighing him down.

He wants Louis to be happy, with himself, with Harry, with literally anyone in the world. He just wants Louis to be okay.

Just as he opens his mouth to plead again, to throw every inhibition, every concept of pride, and throw himself, ready to beg for Louis to just let go, let Harry in, Louis opens his mouth again.

“I’m not normal,” he whispers, “I’m a freak.”

Harry blinks, confused, at loss for words, and then his heart shatters, slowly comprehending, but not understanding why, what Louis is saying, telling him.

“No, Lou-”

“You can’t say no, you don’t know what I’ve done,” and now Louis looks so sick, like thinking about himself makes him want to vomit, and Harry feels breathless with this immense sadness, “what I’ve done to you.”

Harry cocks his head, not comprehending what Louis is saying to him at all.

“You don’t remember all of it,” Louis tells him, voice shaking, “but you remember the sensation. Like being drunk? Or high?”

Harry looks up, thinking of when he felt like that with Louis, quickly realising he’s talking about the date.

“The soda,” he starts, and Louis nods furiously, eyes wet.

“It weren’t the soda, that was normal soda,” he stresses, “it was me. I did it.”

“Roofied me? Or?”

Louis actually cries now, shaking his head furiously, and Harry’s entire body is itching to go to him, to hold him.

“No, no, don’t say that, I wouldn’t, you know I wouldn’t.”

Harry nods, rising from the sofa, walking slowly towards Louis, much like you approach a scared animal, because that’s what Louis is. Scared.

A scared kid, really. They’re all just kids.

Outside the rain is starting to patter down softly, mirroring Harry’s distress.

“I know, Louis, I know,” he comforts him softly, when he’s about two meters away, he sinks down into a squat, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Louis is shaking, Harry can see that from here, his whole body shaking with the sobs he’s holding, and Harry feels so devastated, not knowing what to do. How to help.

“Tell me, Louis,” he pleads quietly, “I promise I will not hold anything against you.”

Louis bites his lip, and then buries his face in his hands, finally letting the sobs out, and it’s heartbreaking, but Harry’s also happy that Louis is letting himself feel.

Absence of feeling is even worse than anger or sadness, in Harry’s opinion. It’s not natural to keep everything locked up, one day it’ll all be let out, and it’ll be even more painful and even more catastrophic than if you let it out gradually as you feel the emotions.

Louis mumbles something, and Harry inches closer, sticking his head and ear as far out as he can without tumbling over.

“What, Louis?”

Louis shakes his head, removes his hands a bit from his face, to be able to look Harry in the eyes, and Harry smiles softly, comfortingly, encouragingly.

“I made you fall in love with me,” Louis whispers, and Harry blinks.

Yeah, he did. With his entire person, with his brightness, with his brilliant and emotional voice, with how soft he can be, supportive, and how happy he makes Harry.

He nods. “Yeah, I reckon you did.”

Why that’s a bad thing, Harry can’t bring himself to understand. Louis is the brightest thing in Harry’s life, so beautiful even know that he’s obviously sleep deprived and so full of grief, and Harry wouldn’t want anyone else.

Louis sobs again, and it’s such a hurtful sound, and Harry inches forward again, stretching out his hand, trying to get to Louis, but stopping abruptly when Louis curls himself even tighter, trying desperately to get away from Harry.

Harry holds up his hand, trying to convey that he’s not gonna touch Louis, that he comes in peace, that all he wants is to comfort Louis, make him feel comfortable, and if he does that by staying back, he will.

“You don’t get it, Harry.” His face shows nothing but heartbreak and anguish, “you’re not in love with me. You just think so because I made you think so.”

Harry doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t know what to say. What do you say to that? It sounds out of this world, but looking at the window, at the rain that he had made fall, he thinks that oh, the world is cruel.

The first time he meets someone like him, someone with powers out of the ordinary, it’s like this.

“What do you mean?”

“I can make people say things, they don’t want to. I can make people give me things, believe things, they don’t. I have a power Harry,” Louis hiccups, “just like you. That’s what you told me that day. I asked about sky, and you told me it’s not weird because you made it like that.”

Oh. The sensation. The fuzziness. The alluring tone in Louis’ voice that he’s heard before, but not quite like that, not as strong, not as enchanting.

“Louis-”

“I’m sorry, Harry, I thought staying away would make the glamour fall, but,” Louis has to break himself off because of his sobs getting out of control, “but you still think you’re in love, you still think the world of me, and that’s not real. It’s not real, Harry!”

He seems panicked, like he has to make Harry believe it, and yeah, Harry gets it. But he’s never been so sure in his life of anything being that much of a life. Louis doesn’t believe it’s a lie, obviously, is driving himself into a panic attack at the thought, but Harry knows himself.

That evening on the date where he apparently let Louis in on his deepest, darkest, most wonderful secret, he’s never felt anything like it before. He’s never felt so pulled in by Louis in that way.

Every time his attention has been captured by Louis, every time he’s caught himself in staring at Louis, all the times he’s laughed, smiled at Louis, all the times he felt himself fall in love. Those times his head were clear, like the sun. He’s never felt more in control of his feelings as when it came to Louis.

Whatever he feels for Louis, he chose that himself. He walked into love, knowingly, with his head held high.

He smiles softly at Louis. “No, love, you couldn’t.”

Louis doesn’t seem to get it, he’s still shaking furiously, tears rolling down. “Yes, Harry! I’ve done it before, made someone kiss me because I wanted to, or I didn’t know I could, but then they woke up, and got so angry. So angry, Harry.”

Louis blinks at him, tears streaming down. “And you’ll be angry too.”

Harry shakes his head, hand still held high like a peace offering, a white flag. “No, Louis. I’ve wanted to tell you about my power for ages, all your power did was take away my inhibitions. I swear, I know how I feel.”

Louis doesn’t stop crying, but he’s not denying it vocally at least, so Harry takes it as a sign to continue.

“I have known since that first day how much I would adore you, you are so bright, Louis,” Harry stops to catch his breath a bit, blinking away his tears, “you are like the sun, I know because I’ve made the sun shine as bright as I could, and it never compared to you. Nothing compares to you. I have, from the moment I saw you in that urinal.”

Louis laughs wetly, looks almost confused for a second like he hadn’t meant to, and Harry smiles at him.

“I have known that if you would let me, I’d fall in love, and give you the absolute world. What can I say to make you believe me?”

Louis looks like he’s ready to crumple again, shaking his head. “You can’t. Everything you know, I’ve tarnished with this fucking curse.”

Curse. How cruel fate, the world, God, can be to give such different powers to people. One to control the sky, the other to control people.

Only, he doesn’t think Louis’ power, like Louis has used it on people, has ever done anything that could be called forcing. All it did, as he said, was take away all the doubts, the fears, the inhibitions.

It doesn’t make it okay, not completely, that Louis made someone kiss him without their will. But Louis was a kid, a kid in love, who wanted the person he loved to love him, and maybe the other kid did, but it must have been frightening. Finding out you did something you know you aren’t brave or willing to do.

He feels so bad for the little Louis and the other boy. So much heartbreak.

“Louis Tomlinson,” he starts, “we’re gonna play a game. Everything I say, you’ll say yes or no to, if you agree or not, okay?”

Louis nods, although he looks confused. Harry smiles encouragingly back at him.

“I am in love with you.”

“No- or well, I guess, you think so.”

Harry lifts his eyebrows, and Louis sighs.

“Yes.”

Harry smiles, satisfied.

“You’re the funniest person I know.”

When Louis says a confident “yes”, Harry almost laughs. Of course, Louis would think he’d have manipulated Harry into thinking he was the funniest.

“You’re the king of pranks.”

“Obviously yes.”

Harry can’t, as much as he tries, keep the smile from taking over his face, and Louis gives him a hesitant smile back.

“You’re one of the best singers I know.”

Louis looks gobsmacked, slowly shaking his head. “No? No, no, you are. Or Liam, Zayn, or Niall. I’m not.”

Harry’s hand twists at that, but he keeps going without answering.

“You, Louis Tomlinson, are so beautiful.”

Louis shakes his head again. “No.”

“You are the kindest and most supportive person.”

“Maybe? No? Your mum is pretty kind and supportive, Harry, don’t freeze her out because you’re in love.”

Harry laughs fondly, “you’re an idiot.”

“Yes.”

Harry frowns, that wasn’t one of the statements. Louis wasn’t supposed to agree to that so easily.

“You’re one of the smartest people I know.”

“No. Ask my geography teacher.”

He’ll personally fight that geography teacher for ever making Louis believe he isn’t smart or capable. That he couldn’t take over the world if he wanted to, and people would let him because power aside, Louis is the kind of person, people feel attracted to, he’s magnetic and bright.

He could take over the world, and people would thank him.

“You can do anything you set your eyes on.”

“Maybe.”

Harry doesn’t comment on that.

“You’re the brightest person I know.”

“Probably.”

“You’re perfect, with all your flaws, you’re perfect.”

“No.”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Do you remember what you said? How everything I knew about you, you’d shaped? You’d made me believe?”

Louis nods, mum.

“How come,” Harry presses his lips together, in an effort to not cry, “how come all the most important things, you don’t agree? I know you, Louis. I see you. I don’t know some image of you, you’ve projected. You’re amazing, Louis, and I love you.”

Louis looks at him like he’s the single most wonderful thing in the world, and Harry knows that’s a lie because that’s Louis.

“You-”, and Louis doesn’t seem to have anything to say, opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. Confused, helpless: amazed.

Harry smiles at him, hand lowering again, and Louis doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. Follows the hand lazily, not like a caged animal, and Harry feels so warm.

“I’m gonna come closer now, okay?”

Louis just nods wordlessly, and Harry’s smile brightens even further. When he gets so close to Louis, that their knees bump, he brings his hand up to Louis’ cheek. Slowly, gently caressing it, feeling so grateful he gets to do this.

Louis up close is an even different masterpiece than he is from far away. He’s so soft, and his eyes are so bright. Especially now that the grey skies are moving out of the way, giving way for a blue, blue, blue sky and the sun. The blue sky getting clearer the brighter Louis’ eyes get in the sunlight.

“London hasn’t ever had this much sunshine,” Louis whispers, like he’s afraid he’s gonna say something wrong.

Harry hums quietly, moving his hand from Louis’ cheek to his hair, back again, tracing the other’s features. Marvelling at the fact that he gets to do this, that Louis lets him.

“Don’t think I’ve been this happy either,” he replies in the same tone, “so it all adds up.”

Louis nods wordlessly, smile getting a bit bigger, a little more real, like he’s actually beginning to believe that this is happening. That this is not a ploy, that Harry is for real, that Louis gets to have this.

And he does. And more. Harry wants to give Louis everything in the world.

“Now, Louis Tomlinson,” he whispers, smiling conspiratorially, “I’m gonna kiss you.”

Louis’ smiles always rival the sun, but this time there’s a sure winner.

No one could ever measure up to Louis in Harry’s eyes.

“What are you waiting for then, mr. Styles?”

And that’s a good point, so he leans forward and captures Louis’ lips with his own, and it feels like coming home. They’re just as soft as he thought, and they don’t yield to him, they just move in sync, like they do everything. Together, as equals.

Outside the sun shines brighter and brighter, and there’s a little warm wind in the streets of London, making people feel confused as to why they’re suddenly feeling so warm in their coats.

Harry has never felt more content, happier, more warm, as he does right now.

Niall tells him later that he’s calling dibs on best man, and Harry doesn’t have the heart to tell him that Liam already did that ages ago.

You can have two best men, no worries. Louis laughs at him when he tells him this later, cuddled up on the sofa, but also placates him with a soft smile.

“We’ll figure it out, babe.”

And that’s that sorted, in Harry’s book, so instead of worrying that, he kisses Louis again.

Life has been way better since the quality of being allowed to kiss Louis when he wants to was added to it.

And he does. When Louis has nailed a high note, instead of just smiling or hugging him, Harry runs to kiss him. When Louis makes a good dumb, Harry kisses him. When Louis is a little bit drunk, animating the crowd with big hand gestures and a story that Harry hasn’t really paid attention - he can’t stop himself from pressing kisses to his cheek, slowly getting closer to his mouth, and Louis gets so easily distracted, one second leaning into Harry, and then remembering he has a story to tell, and then he leans back to Harry, and so it goes until people get tired of their obnoxious couple-ness, and they leave them behind, and Harry feels so much better when he has Louis’ attention on him.

It’s not that his life has really changed, because they’re still best friends, there’s just the added benefits of holding Louis’ hand, kissing him when he wants to, being allowed to smiling fondly and dumbly at Louis, staring at Louis without seeming weird, and holding Louis, cuddling into him, seeking the warmth and feeling of home.

He feels so happy, or doesn’t even just think it. He knows he’s happy, so happy. Louis’ presence has always had that effect on Harry, but especially now.

They sing, and they go through, and their fan base grow, and they do it all over again the week after.

It’s such a surreal experience, girls screaming for him, to get his autograph, and there’s more girls every single week. They’re here for him, for them, and they look at them like they’re something special.

When he has to let Louis’ hand go before going out to meet them, he doesn’t feel very special at all.

He feels like the little kid back in Holmes Chapel, he feels like there’s people judging him for loving Louis, who doesn’t like him purely because of that. He feels caged, and he doesn’t know how to escape because escaping means giving up the dream they’ve fought so hard for, all of them, and are within reach.

The stars get clearer and clearer every night they go on, and the girls, the crowd, scream and vote for them.

But it’s like the closer he gets to that, the more muddled the world seems. There’s more rules to follow, and they have to follow them, because they’re essentially kids, and what do they know of the industry, and someone mentions to them in passing that the girls wouldn’t like it.

And without the girls, where would they be?

So Harry presses his lips together and lets go of Louis’ hand as they go out the door, and he’s never felt so cold and warm at the same time.

The girls, their fans, their supporters, make him feel so loved and blessed. They’re here for them, for One Direction, and no one else. They’re waiting in the cold, they’re not guaranteed to meet them, see them, but they do it anyway, and they grow in numbers every friday.

Every day, actually.

It’s overwhelming, but he feels so thankful.

He can still keep a look on Louis, so it doesn’t feel like they’ve been separated completely, even if he does wish he could decide himself when he had to let go of Louis’ hand.

But Simon and their team has been in the game for ages, they know what sells, and they know how to get One Direction to the top, to win.

And they want to win so much, they’ve got blood on their teeth, and every Friday, they feel more and more powerful, more at ease on the stage.

When Louis turns to him as they lie together on the bed, watching some movie, and whispers if Harry still thinks Louis is one of the best singers, it breaks Harry’s heart because Louis’ voice is so instrumental to their overall sound, and he can’t believe they’re letting him think he’s not.

So Harry kisses him and promises a million times that of course he does, and that they’d get kicked out if Louis wasn’t there with them. That they wouldn’t have made it past bootcamp without him, and Louis smiles at him.

Some Fridays, Louis believes him completely. Other times, his smile is a little duller, but it’s there nonetheless.

Those times Harry holds him closer.

It’s one of the last Saturdays, and they’re still here. Still in the game, with more fans than they’ve ever had before. With more engagement than any of their competitors, and Harry hasn’t stopped smiling for weeks.

But this is the day, he’s decided. They’ve been so busy, only having small movie dates here and there, and the occasional meal by themselves, but Harry hasn’t forgotten the compromise.

He gets to take Louis on their next date, and he’s not gonna let go of that.

The flowers during the winter aren’t as beautiful, as alive, as they are during the summer, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t need to impress Louis as much as he’d originally planned back then. He feels pretty certain that he’s got Louis in the bag, and now it’s just about keeping him there.

Keeping him by Harry’s side.

Now, ideally, that would require a lot of glue and some rope and handcuffs, and Harry would practice being a koala. But it doesn’t look as brilliant on stage, so he’s gonna have to come up with something else.

He gets the other boys to distract Louis all day, employs Katie to run to the shops and buy the prettiest flower she can find, and then he gets to cooking.

Harry loves cooking, feels so at home in the kitchen, and he’s finding out, as he thinks about while stirring the pots and readying the meat, that he loves cooking for someone, that someone being Louis, even more.

He feels like a proper housewife, and he can’t stop smiling thinking about it. It makes him all excited for the future, whatever happens on the final in a few weeks, he knows that there’s a bright, bright future for him and Louis, and he can’t wait for it.

He imagines them getting a house, or maybe start with an apartment. The little house with a white picket fence, beautiful rose garden, playful dog and the sound of small feet tapping across the floor, can wait. There’s no stress.

He doesn’t see an end to them, now that they’ve found each other.

He doesn’t think Louis does either.

Katie comes back with a few minutes to spare, where he asked the boys to have Louis ready for a date, or ‘a fancy dinner’ so he doesn’t figure it out - Harry’s smart like that, and she’s brought a wonderful, perfect bouquet of daisies and white chrysanthemums, and Harry almost kisses her on the cheek in happiness, but she laughs at him and mouths ‘better not’, and he laughs thinking about Louis seeing the last time Harry used a flower with Katie in a move to charm Louis.

Yeah. Better not.

Everything’s going so splendidly, no need to mess it up with yet another miscommunication.

They had two too many before they even got together, and it’s a tradition he’s planning to leave behind. This is the new age. They’re together, and they’re gonna communicate, and they’re gonna be blessedly happy.

“Could I make you light up the candles?”, he whispers to Katie, gratefully liberating her of the bouquet, smiling at the thought of giving them to Louis.

She smiles, looking absolutely delighted.

He bought everyone pizzas to munch in their rooms, and then he spent the entire day making their living room into the most romantic room Louis is ever gonna see. Candles all around them, a beautiful white dew, and a single red rose in a vase.

And then of course, the white bouquet. That he’s gonna give to Louis as he picks him up.

As he gets ready to leave, Katie calls after him in hushed voice.

“By the way, Harry? Daisies means loyal love, and the white chrysanthemums mean happiness and a long life.”

Harry really has to restrain himself from giving her the biggest hug, swinging her around. She’s been the perfect assistant, and he feels, well without getting too choked up, he feels so lucky. So blessedly lucky, to have Louis, to have friends like Katie and the boys, to have the fans, to have the success they have.

To have his dream and seeing it get fulfilled in front of his eyes.

He doesn’t really know what he’s done to deserve it, but he wants to thank every little and big power in the universe for giving it to him anyway.

Three knocks.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

That’s what it takes for Louis to get to the door and open it, and when he does, Harry feels his breath getting taken away.

Louis hasn’t just cleaned up, he’s dressed up. He’s in a white shirt, in some nice pants, and they don’t fit him, are obviously Liam’s, but he looks amazing, he looks clean, he looks elegant.

He looks beautiful.

Harry gapes for a second, and Louis seems content to just stand there, smiles softly at him, and Harry soaks in every little detail. If time stopped right now, he wouldn’t even be mad.

“Hi,” Louis greets him with a smile, and Harry bites his lips, trying to rein in his smile a little.

“Oops,” he replies, and Louis looks at him a little confused before his eyes clear, and he looks so besotted Harry himself gets all red cheeked.

“You remembered our first words!”

Harry shrugs, because yeah, what don’t you do for romance? How could he ever forget, meeting Louis had effectively changed his life. For worse in terms of heartbreak, for better in terms of getting to know what it means to be in a relationship with someone who loves you and who you love.

They haven’t actually said those words since that day, and it’s okay, because they haven’t had the boyfriend talk yet. They’re exclusive, of course they are, but that maybe has more to do with the way they’re so excluded from normal society in this house.

He hopes not, but he can’t read Louis’ thoughts about them. Judging from how he’s looking at Harry right now, though, he’d hazard the guess that they’re very much on the same page.

“You sap,” Louis sighs, looking as charmed as he could, and that’s exactly what Harry had hoped for.

He holds the flowers out to him, smiling.

“For you, my lord,” he offers gallantly, and Louis laughs, shaking his head.

“You here to make an honest man out of me?”, and it’s a loaded question, and what did Harry say about being on the same page? Yeah, they’re very much there.

As Louis takes the offered bouquet, smelling the flowers, smiling softly, studying them for a bit, Harry puts out his arm. Mirroring the first date Louis took him out on.

He’s hoping for a better morning after than that, though.

Louis takes his arm with a little bow, and Harry dimples back at him, leaning in to softly tell him: “I’m planning on it.”

Louis looks back at him, affronted, shaking his head.

“No way, mister, no way,” and if Harry wasn’t sure where this was going, he’d be shitting bricks at that reaction, “I’m gonna make an honest man out of you. I promised first.”

Harry shrugs, smirking. “Well, should have been quicker.”

There’s a moment, a lull in the conversation, and then Harry’s brain catches up to him, and he quickly turns to Louis right as he opens his mouth, arrogant, annoying smugness evident in his entire posture as they walk down the hall.

“Harry Styles, will you be-”

He doesn’t get to finish because Harry shuts him up with a kiss, no way is Louis ruining this.

He’ll shut him up with a kiss the rest of the night until they get to the moment Harry has picked out.

Maybe they’re jumping a bit into it, but Harry hasn’t ever been as happy as he’s been these past few weeks, and he’s pretty sure Louis feels the same, and whatever’s gonna be thrown at them, he knows they’ll make it through them. With Louis’ hand in his, he feels like he’s soaring.

With Louis, he’s flying, and never coming back down.

Anyone who thinks something else can, quite frankly, suck his dick. Metaphorically. The only one who’s actually allowed is, at some point when they get to it, Louis.

Asking Louis to be his boyfriend is, when it all comes down to it, just a more elegant way of telling him exactly that.

Louis tries to break the kiss a couple times, tries to mumble his way through the question, but Harry refuses to let him, stopping their already very slow walk, hands cupping the back of Louis neck, fingers slowly thumbing his jaw.

When they finally let go of each other, Louis is looking dazed, smiling at him, and Harry has a hard time actually concentrating on getting them down the living room, dining room, whatever, actually just wants to stay here and give Louis another kiss, and another, and maybe one more.

“Weren’t we going somewhere, Harold?”, Louis whispers, like it’s a secret they share, and Harry actually really loves that concept.

Some things that are just theirs to know.

He nods, lets himself stare a little more at Louis, because he’s just pretty, lets Louis cart his fingers through Harry’s hair, lets him caress Harry’s cheek, and Harry leans into the touch.

He finally understands why cats purr when petted just right.

He clears his throat, but it’s a testament to how far they’ve come that it doesn’t break the moment, they’re not hurrying anywhere, lazily walking side by side. Hands, fingers, intertwined, and he can’t stop smiling as they go. Hands swinging, hips bumping into each other, it’s all very, it’s all very sweet yeah.

“Looks delicious, Harry!”, Louis exclaims the instant they see the food Katie had put out so neatly, and then he notices the rest of the room. He twirls around himself, looking at the ocean of candles, and Harry sends out a silent bless you and thank to Katie, wherever she has gone to hide.

This is perfect, he’s done it perfectly, just like he always wanted to do. For Louis, everything should always be perfect, and if the food just tastes like he hopes it does, felt it did earlier, then he’s done it. His goal.

Feels pretty good.

“You are such a romantic,” Louis whispers, almost reverently, and well, Harry’ll take it.

He’s loved love since he saw his first Disney movie when he was a kid, so it’s not really a surprise, and Louis knows he’s a romantic, teases him at least once on weekly basis. If he says something ridiculous, twice. This, though, is the first time Louis has sounded emotional about the fact, and Harry can’t help but smile even more at that.

“Do you wanna sit down?”, and when Louis nods, he goes to, he is a gentleman, draw one of the chairs out for Louis who rolls his eyes, but doesn’t comment on it, which in and of itself is a testament to how well Harry has done. Normally Louis would be all up in arms, being pampered like this, accept it with a smirk and smart comment, but today. Nothing.

It’s gonna be a good date.

And it is. Conversation is flowing, as always, between them, and Louis looks so radiant in the soft yellow candle light, and it feels like they’re in another, just for tonight. Just them. No stress of the X-Factor, no yelling housemates of which there aren’t that many left, no fans, no no one shouting down their necks or telling them what to do or giving them advice that isn’t an advice but a command to let go of each other’s hands.

Here Harry can reach across the table, and Louis will meet him halfway there, Here Louis can play with Harry’s fingers while regaling hilarious tales, the finger playing a substitute for his normal big arm gestures.

Harry finds he likes this better. The low volume stories, like Louis has catered them to fit Harry, like they’re just for Harry.

Louis’ eyes are warm and bright, and his laugh is beautiful when Harry tells his stupid jokes, and here, where there’s no one else, Louis doesn’t call him out on how bad they are, even if Harry can see it in the twitches in Louis’ smile, the shaking of his head as he laughs, like he doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to think they’re funny.

It’s nice, it really is. It feels like a breather. It feels like everything they’ve been missing, wanting.

He’s so grateful for everything, thanks God every day when he goes to bed for the opportunity, but for this, he’s even more. Them just being together is such a gift.

He doesn’t even know what the clock is, when he clears his throat, sits up straight and tries to quell his nerves. Their hands are still wrought tightly together, and Louis is smiling softly, like he knows what’s coming, and is trying to give Harry some of his courage.

Harry is so grateful for Louis too. Always will be, he thinks, no matter what. Getting to be with Louis, getting to meet the world, reach the stars - so close they are, with Louis, is a dream, he didn’t even he had when he was younger, come true.

“Go on, love,” Louis whispers, foot nudging Harry’s, and he smiles at him.

“I don’t even know why I’m nervous, “ he laughs, trying to conceal that he is actually proper nervous that everything’s just been banter. There’s a difference between knowing it’ll all go well, and actually being in the situation where you need everything to go well.

Louis does a minute shake of his head. “No need at all, love, I can answer now, if you want to be sure before you ask.”

Harry really wants to cry because how did he get so lucky, this doesn’t happen to people. You don’t get live your dreams and meet your love at the same time, on the same show, without having to pick or leave them behind.

You just don’t.

Except that they did, didn’t they.

They’re lucky beyond measure, and he’s not gonna waste a single second of that luck, takes a deep breath, and like so many times, he jumps out from the cliff.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend, Louis Tomlinson?”

And Louis smiles at him, squeezes his hand tightly in his and says, simple as that, “yes, I will, Harry Styles.”

Outside there’s a blaze of light, lighting up the entire sky despite it being late into the evening, if not even the night, and Louis jumps a bit, sees the world turn darker, go from yellow to orange to pink to lilac to blue.

He shakes his head, presses his lips back like he can’t deal with how dramatic Harry is.

“I told you,” he laughs, “such a fucking sap.”

Harry nods enthusiastically. “Your sap, though.”

And that’s that.

When they get to the room they share with the other boys, out of sheer habit, there’s a paper on the door: ROOM’S ALL YOURS, TAKE CARE OF IT and a lewd smiley, and Louis barks a laugh when he sees it.

“Cheeky fuckers,” he swears while ripping the paper down, turning around to Harry, sticking the paper out, “wanna save that? You are a sucker for old memories.”

He hadn’t thought about, but just to annoy Louis because he’s obviously joking, he nods sagely.

“Of course, hand it over.”

Louis does with an eye roll before opening the door.

Inside there’s a candle lit with a rose, and it’s so low effort, but they did it anyway, and it’s so touching, and despite what everything is obviously leading up, Harry kinda wants to cry with how sweet their friends are.

“They’ve really made up the honeymoon suite, haven’t they?”, Louis comments the moment he sees the candle and rose, and Harry turns around to look at him with a little, shaky smile.

He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, maybe it’s because they’ve so carefully tip-toed around the subject, this specific one. They’ve done numerous innuendos, but they’ve never actually discussed if any of them wants to, when they want to, and that puts Harry on edge. He needs to be told, he needs it written, he needs to absolutely know for sure what Louis wants because he doesn’t want to overstep, assume wrong.

He doesn’t want to look desperate or like a prude, and he doesn’t want to look as incompetent, as inexperienced as he is.

It’s not like he doesn’t know how it works because of course he does, but detached videos are so much different from the reality, this reality where they’re just looking at each other, almost sizing each other up, where it’s uncomfortable, where they don’t know anything about each other.

Harry wants this, he wants this so much, and more than anything he wants it with Louis, wants to experience every little thing with Louis, learn his own body, learn every little mole and creak in Louis’ body. He wants to make Louis moan, and he wants to suck and bite his skin, and he wants to know what Louis likes, what makes him breathless, what makes his hand tighten, what makes him plead and beg.

He wants everything, wants to learn everything, and he wants all of it only with Louis.

And he thinks he can see all that reflected back in Louis’ face, but he doesn’t know.

Louis carefully steps forward, hand outstretched, an offering for Harry to take or ignore, and Harry feels so uncomfortable really, because he wants it all, but he also wants Louis and him to know they’re on the same page with this.

But he doesn’t step back as Louis continues to move forward, not like a carnivore stalking its prey, but a little like a siren, a nympho. Like a boyfriend wanting to get it on with his boyfriend.

Louis puts his hands on Harry’s hips, squeezes, and puts his head down in the crook of Harry’s neck, breath hot on his skin.

“We don’t have to do anything, Haz,” he reassures him, “we can cuddle for a bit, sleep, and we’ll figure it all out.”

Harry’s still more focused on the way Louis’ hands stroke up and down on his body, the electricity running beneath his skin, like there’s lightning in Louis’ hands. He shivers every time Louis breathes, his breath going hitched.

Trying to keep himself under control, he nods.

“Yeah, let’s ehm,” swallow, “let’s wait, yeah?”

Louis smiles against his neck, glides his arms all the way around him, turning the sensual hold into a full on hug, and Harry is so grateful, feels himself relax against Louis, circling his body as well.

“Let’s do that, love,” Louis whispers, presses small kisses to Harry’s neck, and Harry is just really so thankful to have him. To have Louis as his boyfriend.

They get stripped down, the tense mood evaporating after they’ve thrown their clothes at each other, laughter bright between them, and Harry feels so much better, and he’s just really looking forward to his first night with Louis all alone.

Sure, they’ve fallen asleep together on the couch when they’ve watched movies long into the AM, and they’ve slept in a bed together when the boys have all been there, but they’ve never been alone like this.

It’s a bit daunting, but he’s most of all just really, really excited, can’t wait to be held close, burrow into Louis’ warmth, hold him close.

As they lie down, and Louis holds his arms open for Harry, he feels so fond, so happy, and so cared for, and he says it a lot, but he really is so lucky.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and Louis immediately shakes his head like his life depends it.

“Don’t ever thank me for respecting your boundaries, love, okay?”

He nods, kisses Louis, and the other quietly hums against Harry’s lips, hand sliding up to cup Harry’s head, fingers tangling with his curls, lightly playing with them.

It’s a sweet kiss, not meant to lead to anything, but to convey adoration and gratitude, and Louis slowly draws back, eyes blue and bright looking into Harry’s. He smiles, moves his hand down to cup his jaw, thumb gliding over Harry’s lips, gives them another peck and then settles down a little distance between them, like he’s saying. We’re not doing anything, don’t worry.

“Goodnight, love”

Harry smiles, hums contentedly. “Good night.”

It’s not that it’s uncomfortable, lying with Louis, and it’s not because he feels any pressure.

But maybe he does feel something crinkling in the air, the way he can’t quite settle down, feels his breathing is too loud, too uncontrolled, breath hitching, and he tries to make it quieter but that just makes it even more forced.

Louis’ hand slowly glides up and down Harry’s arm, and that doesn’t really help, and he wants to move, but he doesn’t want to reject Louis, and he’s still not sure he wants to do anything.

Everything feels suspended, and he wonders why these moments aren’t ever filmed, these moments of confusion, these moments of doubt and insecurity and self consciousness. It’s driving him mad.

Harry finds Louis other hand, holds it close. Louis twirls their fingers together, thumb caressing his handback.

After what could have been just a minute, or been ten minutes, it’s like this is limbo, time doesn’t exist, Louis stops his hands’ movements, and Harry immediately misses them, doesn’t want them to stop, so he starts caressing Louis’ hand back, and he tries to keep his breathing controlled because it feels like it’s building up to something.

It starts sweet, gentle and hesitated touches here and there, a playful tug of rope among the two of them, but instead of drawing back, they each reciprocate the other’s touch, getting closer, and closer, until they’re as close as they when they kissed, and it’s so, it’s not uncomfortable but he’s so self conscious, and he feels like there’s a string between them, being drawn tighter and tighter, and the thing is, he doesn’t know when it’ll snap. Doesn’t know what is gonna be the last drop in the glass.

It starts slow, so tenderly slow, with hands getting dauntier and dauntier, and them inconspicuously trying to inch closer to each other without actually moving all the way. It starts slow, it starts with hesitation and insecurity, it starts with wandering hands and gentle touches.

It starts slow, and then it snaps.

Louis moves forward, right into Harry’s open arms. It’s not a dirty kiss, but it’s definitely more hurried, more lustful than any of their other kisses, and he finds he’s really enjoying it, fingers immediately tugging themselves into his hair, curling around the long, soft strands.

“Do you want to go further, Harry?”, Louis whispers, breath caught.

He nods, because he has a panting Louis leaning over him, his lips are wet from their kiss, and he’s sure that he and the entire world is painted in red, a furious blush, a need coursing through his bloodstream.

“Yeah, yeah,” he gasps, hands going up to hold Louis’ hips close, “just have, have patience?”

Louis smiles, nose rubbing from side across Harry’s.

“We’re gonna go as slow, as you need,” and then he leans down to capture Harry’s lips again, and Harry hasn’t felt this alive ever before.

They sing, and they win, and they sing, and they win, and they sing, and they lose.

He’s not proud of it, Harry, he’s really not, but there was a second, not even a second, in the middle of the hurt and disappointment, in between feeling like crying and yelling how unfair it was and the stars fading in his mind, there was a moment where he breathed a sigh of relief when One Direction’s name wasn’t called.

In that very short moment, all he could think about was no more people telling him when to stop holding Louis’ hand.

Losing hurts. It does. It hurts because they’re still surrounded by the very building in which they watched their dreams unfold in front of them, in which they won week after week, in which they sung and won the hearts of so many, and it’s over. Just like that.

It hurts because he had let himself believe that the stars were so close, and they’d be able to reach them. They’d reach them, and he’d have Louis, and they’d experience the world together, and it might have been such a naive dream, and he should’ve thought differently but it was so easy getting caught up, being swept along by the excitement, by the screaming fans and them having such a smooth run throughout the show.

Realistically, he should have doubted. But, he didn’t really.

Not until their dreams shattered.

Louis holds him close when they get backstage, rocks him back and forth, whispering words of comfort into his hair, telling him of all the wonderful things they still have yet to experience, how they could go on interrail, how they could go to uni after Louis redoes his A levels, and how they could still play gigs with the boys. Their fans probably weren’t gonna abandon them all in one night, and they could maybe pull some gigs at the local pubs before they’d eventually have to go home.

Maybe they could get picked up for a demo from another label, if they’re really lucky.

He doubts it, though. They’ve been lucky from the start, stuff like that doesn’t last forever, it runs out more quickly than anyone would like.

“You were brilliant,” Harry whispers back to Louis, wanting him to know, understand, “you were so amazing throughout it all. You made us One Direction, Louis.”

He pushes back a little, looking at the other boys, everyone’s faces red and blotched, eyes red rimmed, tears running down their cheeks.

He wants them all to understand. Because the media doesn’t seem to, and he’s fucking tired of it, has been since the start.

“You all made One Direction, you made our sound,” and he has to pause a bit, because there’s a lump in his throat, and he doesn’t want to cry, “Liam, you took care of us, made us get serious, taught us exercises to do right from the start so we could learn to control our voices, blend together with each other. Zayn, your voice and charisma is unprecedented, nothing would have worked without you. Niall, god, your ah’s in Viva la Vida-”

Niall cracks a laugh, flipping him off. “Oi fuck off, Hazza.”

Harry smiles through the tears. “You’re amazing, Niall. Your guitar skills, unmatched, your personality - unmatched, your attitude - unmatched. Thank you for keeping us grounded, you know? In the middle of all the craziness, You are so talented, Niall, all of you, and I’ve been honoured to stand on that stage with you so many times.”

There’s a moment of silence, before Zayn clears his throat and wipes his eyes and nose, nodding to himself, before stretching out his arms.

“Come on, lads, bring it in.”

Group hugs with these boys, with One Direction, were always so different. They felt like home, safety, comfort. In a different way than being with Louis, being with these boys, all five of them gathered together, it felt like being home with his family. These boys were his family.

They each hold each other tight, no one letting go, either because letting go is a horrible metaphor for what might happen, and because here, in their little circle, they can cry, and grief for their dreams and hopes, and they’re together, they’re together in all the emotions, and no one’s judging them.

“It’s been a blast, lads,” Louis tells them, and they each raise their heads, smiling wetly at each other.

“Really, really thankful for you all,” Niall says, sounding choked up, and Harry itches to get to other side of the circle to give him a hug, “you gave me a home so far away from it, and you, ehm, you gave me a shot at my dream.”

“When I turned sixteen,” Liam took over, voice low, old hurt evident, “no one came to my birthday party. But you all, you took me in, you know? You made me one of yous, and I, ehm, I’m really glad you put up with me in the beginning. For making me see, success ain’t nothing if you don’t have your friends.”

Zayn presses a little kiss to Liam’s cheek, and it’s so soft, and Harry can feel Louis’ hand squeeze his shoulder.

“I wasn’t going to go, on the audition day,” Zayn admitted, and Harry’s eyebrows raise a bit. He hadn’t told them that before. “Didn’t want to, didn’t think it’d be worth it. I wasn’t gonna cut it, anyway. I didn’t wanna ridicule myself, you know? Everyone was watching, my family, my friends, and I was gonna humiliate me, and them, for nothing. But my mum forced me, and I’m so happy. You gave me the chance to find out what it means to be among the stars, thank you for that.”

Harry is up next, and he takes a deep breath. Doesn’t know how to phrase it properly, as well as the other boys.

“I grew up in Holmes Chapel, very small town, small people, small minds, there,” Harry took a breath, shot Louis a little look and got a comforting smile in return. He could do it. “All my life, all I knew was that me being me was wrong. It wasn’t anything my friends would ever accept, they laughed at a couple like me getting beat up. I always hoped to get out, go to a bigger city with bigger minds, and maybe get to touch the stars. And you guys made it all possible, and you respected and loved and accepted me, and I don’t know, I, ehm, I don’t know how to thank you enough for that.”

Louis cradles the side of Harry’s head, nudging it closer to him, kissing his temple when his head gets close enough, letting his lips linger, whispering simple words of comfort, and Harry mostly relaxes again. Letting Louis know by squeezing his hip gently, the hand that’s wound around Louis’ waist.

Louis clears his throat. “So this’s been emotional, huh? I just want to say thank for making me believe in myself a bit more, with never getting solos and that, it felt I wasn’t good enough. But you’ve never let me believe that for more than a second, unprompted told me how important I am, how good I sound, and I, yeah, thank you, lads.”

They stand in silence, soaking in the memories of everything they’ve been through, of the good times, the bad times, the easy times, the hard times. From the beginning to the end.

It’s all been worth it.

They’ve grown, they’ve experienced something very few get to do, and they’ve done it all together.

They can be proud, he thinks, of what they accomplished.

It doesn’t end there.

It’s only the beginning.

And in the midst of the excitement, of the joy, of the rebirthing of their dreams, and so many, many emotions and thoughts running through his mind. In the midst of being promised a contract, a career, in the midst of Louis kissing him, and Niall giving him the biggest hug, and Harry being so shocked that he doesn’t actually understand what’s happening until all the boys are yelling.

In the midst of it all, of so much good, of their luck being even bigger than they thought, there’s a single, fleeting moment.

A moment of disappointment, of dread, of regret.

In the middle of it all, there’s a single, solitaire moment where Harry doesn’t want to say yes, where he grips Louis’ hand tight like the second the moment they take the offer Simon’s given them - someone’s gonna rip them apart. Someone’s gonna say hand holding isn’t a good idea, isn’t gonna please the girls, and he feels ill.

No one is gonna tear them apart.

He won’t let them. So he grips Louis’ hand tight, kisses him with fervor and the promise of holding him close from this day until the end, and he does it all in front of Simon, and when he gets eye contact with Louis, he sees the same defiance mirrored in his boyfriend’s eyes.

They’re gonna say yes, but they’re not going down, not without a fight, not without a war.

They go home, and it’s weird, because the home they left behind feels foreign. It looks exactly the same, and that feels weird when they’ve all changed so much. When they’ve experienced so much, when they’ve accomplished so much, are gonna go on to hopefully do even more.

He left Harry Styles, and he came back a completely different Harry Styles. He came back national heartthrob, the dream guy, and he came back with a boyfriend, he came back with confidence.

He left hopeful, and he returns accomplished. He returns more himself than when he left.

His mum kisses him on the cheeks several times, holding him close, like she’s afraid he’s gonna leave again, and he can’t blame her.

That’s how he felt when he said goodbye to Louis.

He’s missed home, he’s missed being with his family, just them, no pressure, and he feels scared that he’s gonna leave it again. That they’re actually gonna go somewhere with One Direction, and it’s gonna be a struggle, a battle, but they’re gonna be in it together.

It’s gonna be worth it.

Harry goes to Louis’ after Christmas, and he, quite frankly, never wants to be away from Louis for that long ever again.

Running to meet him feels like running to safety, to home, and he feels almost like shedding a little tear when they embrace, and Louis lifts him up, swings him around a little.

“God, I missed you,” he whispers, and Harry tightens his arms around Louis’ neck, almost like he’s trying to syphon Louis’ warmth and feeling of safety.

He’s not quite sure how long they stand in each other’s arms, just enjoying the feel of having the other with them again, and Harry feels a sense of dread at the thought of actually having to let go. He tightens his grip subconsciously, and he can feel Louis’ lips into a big smile where he’s pressed against Harry’s coat.

“Don’t want to be away from you,” Harry admits, glad that he can’t see Louis’ reaction, feels a little naked admitting it. That he doesn’t feel entirely whole without Louis by his side, his laugh, stupid comments, jokes, and his many stories. Without being able to brush his hand against Louis’ hand, leg, shoulder, arm, waist, hair.

Without being able to hold him close at night.

“We’re together now, babe,” Louis reminds him, comforts him, and Harry feels all giddy, because yeah, they are.

They’re together, and their mums let them reunite the moment the formal traditions surrounding Christmas, and they’re gonna spend the time through New Year’s together. And they’re gonna stay together until they’ve been invited, with their parents, to discuss the future of One Direction with the rest of the boys some time early January.

It’s a bit daunting to look ahead and see in his future, all the responsibilities that’s gonna come with being signed to a label, building their brand, but then he remembers everything else, and it’s like the worries all fade away. Because thinking about what it means, what it entails, is so incomprehensible, so earth-shattering, humbling, exciting, wonderful, astronomical.

They’ve been chosen by Simon, by their fans, and they’re being given opportunities people only dream about, kids dream about and then later gives up because it’s so virtually unheard of; normal children auditioning and embarking on an absolute fairytale.

They’re gonna be recording their own music, they’re gonna be making their own album, they’re gonna have a tour, they’re gonna do so much.

It’s all in the future, it’s all uncertain, but Simon’s smile when he offered them the opportunity said pretty loudly that he was hopeful, that he was sure they were gonna go far.

He doesn’t think Simon would have offered them the deal if they weren’t someone he could see go far. They didn’t win, obviously the nation didn’t believe in them enough to give them the prize. But Simon did. Believed in them enough to invest.

It was daunting, it was new, it was an adventure. It was the dream.

They do eventually let go, and they do eventually get home to Louis’ house. The house is the definition of home, and Harry loves it the moment he walks through the door, the smell of Christmas cookies and warmth and family hitting him, and he looks back at Louis with an excited smile that’s returned easily.

“They’re really excited,” Louis tells him conspirationally, “but I told them to wait in the living room. When they’re home, they can get a bit, no sense in scaring you away as soon as possible.”

Harry shakes his head, smile as bright as can be. “Not possible.”

Louis sneaks an arm around Harry’s waist, presses himself close, and Harry lets him without hesitation, leans his head against Louis’ shoulder.

Pressing a kiss to Harry’s hair, or even sniffing it - Louis got a new habit just before the final, to bury his face in Harry’s hair when they were cuddling, telling him how good his shampoo always smelled, and Harry couldn’t stop giggling, feeling so fond of his ridiculous boy, and maybe also trying to cover up how pleased he was with any and all compliment that Louis ever bestows upon him.

Which, frankly, are quite a lot. Louis likes a lot, and that too can make Harry feel all liquid, just like the thought of Louis being his does.

He’s just very easy when it comes to Louis, when he thinks about. Has been since they met.

Louis lets him go, leads him through the house with a light hand on his waist, and Harry feels like a magnet, drawn to Louis and wherever he wants to go. It feels safe letting Louis lead him.

Meeting the Tomlinsons in their own home is an experience, to say the least, but the smile hasn’t Harry’s face for the entire time, and he laughs harder than he’s done most days at home, and he feels so utter charmed and intimidated, but also at home with, the entire family.

He keeps locking eyes with Louis and seeing him with his younger siblings, watching him make conversation, play along with their games, and letting them put hair elastics and clippers in his hair, him letting them with an indulgent smile, he feels so fond, so in love. He hasn’t said I love you to Louis, and he didn’t know when he wanted to, but watching him with his family, so open and carefree and caring, he wants to let Louis know how much he loves him, how much he wants with Louis. He wants everything with Louis, the enduring love, the family, the house with a white picket fence, the children, the bad times, the sad times, the sickness, the good times, the happy times, all the joyous moments that can’t be categorized, the everyday moments of waking up to Louis.

He wants a life with Louis.

He stares a little at Louis, wants to preserve this memory, feeling so happy, so fond, so close to tears at watching Louis with children. Wants to preserve this moment, how much he wants, wants, wants a family with Louis, to see him play with their own little children, wants their own daughters to put all sorts of different accessories in Louis’ hair, and Louis letting them, even helping them with adjusting it, and Harry feels so blessed.

He can’t wait for the future.

Of them all, Louis’ mum is the most charming, the most wonderful, and Harry feels so enchanted by her. He had met her on the X-Factor of course, but there’d always been so much going on, not enough time for him to even have enough time to catch him with his own family, much less getting to know someone new.

She’s beautiful, so kind, and it’s so obvious how much Louis loves her, they have little inside jokes, and they banter like they’re friends, and Harry could watch them as a fly on the wall without ever getting bored.

She doesn’t want him helping in the kitchen, tries to make Louis make Harry sit down and enjoy being the guest, but after Harry almost fell on his knees pleading, she smiled warmly and stretched out her hand to him.

“Alright then, mister, let’s go cook some lasagna.”

It turns into a full blown tea club, Louis making sure to make their cups of tea to perfection, and Harry feels so giddy at Louis taking care of him. Louis’ mum smiles fondly at them, especially when Harry wanders off mid-sentence because Louis is making silly faces at his baby sisters, or helping them with something, and Harry gets hit by vision after vision of their own family sometime in the future.

“You’re a good one,” she tells him, almost like a secret, and he looks at her with wide eyes, a disbelieving smile.

“You think so?”

She looks at him stunned before laughing. “I wanted my son to find someone who adored him,” she claps Harry gently on the cheek, smiling warmly, “and you dear adore him almost as much as me, if not more.”

He almost wants to say that’s not possible, because what Louis and her have is special, but he doesn’t. She’s giving him a compliment, and he’s been raised to just accept it instead of fighting it, and it’s not, it’s not a bad thing being told by your future mother-in-law - he is sure of it - and you don’t argue with mothers in law.

He learned that from TV. You just don’t. Mothers in law, they’ve got the power until that ring is put on your spouse’s finger, and that’s how it should be, if he’s honest. He wouldn’t walk down any aisle, would sign any city hall paper, if his mum wasn’t looking at him with a happy, proud, excited and teary look. If his mum didn’t trust his future spouse, if she was something he didn’t, he wouldn’t commit to anything that serious.

His mum, his sister, his dad, his stepdad, his family - they have to improve whoever’s he’s bringing into it.

And they love Louis. He’s not thinking about bringing anyone else but Louis into his family.

Knowing that Louis’ mum actually, really, believes that Harry is good enough, that his love is showing, and she believes it, she believes in him, in them, that feels so good.

He looks at her with a little smile that’s shaking due to how emotional it’s making him, her seeing his love for Louis and being happy for them, and she stretches out her arms, hands waving at him to come closer.

“I love your son,” he whispers, and she holds him a little tighter.

“I can see that,” she tells him just as hushed, “you should tell him.”

Louis comes back into the kitchen a few minutes later, when they’ve gone back to drinking tea and cutting vegetables for the salad, their conversation coming easily. Her telling him how exciting to watch them all grow better and closer each week, how proud she is of Louis, and how happy she is that he had Harry. She tells him stories of little baby Louis, and Harry can’t stop smiling at the thought of the little, sweet child that grew into his boyfriend, the boy he loved.

He tells her of Holmes Chapel, of his sister that he always admired and wanted to be just amazing as. He tells her about his mum, and she smiles widely, telling him how much she loved Anne, how wonderful she was when they met, and Harry feels such immense warmth at the thought of their families already having become intertwined like this.

Their mums loving each other, Jay tells him how they’d swapped recipes and as far as he knows - that’s how you become friends as adults, their sisters swapping histories and make up tips and having fun. He thinks it’s a special kind of wonderful, that Louis and him found each other, and their families all approve, and their families being so open, so supporting, and are all so genuinely kind and funny.

He still doesn’t know what he’s ever done to deserve all this, but it’s especially these quiet moments that get to him. That he can have this and everything else, it’s really nice. Really nice.

Louis comes back looking a little dishelved, his hair looking a bit more like a bird’s nest, and it’s giving Harry flashbacks that are really, really not appropriate having when he’s standing so close to Louis’ mum, so to distract him from Louis’ appearance, he focuses on his eyes, the brightness in them that is there because he’s so happy to be with his sisters, and it’s so beautiful, and Harry can’t resist going over there, give him a quick kiss on the cheek and enveloping him in a hug.

“Hey you,” Louis says, sounding as happy as he appears, “you holding up okay?”

Harry nods against Louis’ shoulder, more than alright.

“Missed you,” he says because it’s the truth. He misses Louis every time he’s not there, really.

Louis releases him, gives his lips a quick peck, and when Harry turns back to his chopping board, he’s pretty sure his cheeks are flaming.

They kissed. In front of his mum, and only his mum, in Louis’ childhood kitchen. He doesn’t know why, but it feels more intimate, more real than so many other of their kisses.

Maybe it’s because this is the real world, and the X-Factor had felt like a dream.

Jay’s smiling at them, though, and Harry feels so happy in this moment. This little moment right here, quiet and so familiar, even though it’s all new.

He can’t wait until it’s just everyday.

When they get to bed, hours later after an impromptu movie night facilitated by Louis’ sisters, there’s a quiet sense of peace in Harry. It’s just been so nice, so easy being with his family, lying in the sofa all cuddles up in the sofa like it was nothing, just everyday life, feeling Louis’ hands go up and down his arm, absentmindedly while focused on the movie.

It felt like a dream come true. Sometimes he forgets how this is his life, a life he gets to enjoy and share with Louis, and he gets warm all over again.

“So.” Louis breaks the silence, not looking exactly insecure or nervous, but definitely not just curious. “How’s it been? Your first day in the Tomlinson stable?”

“Absolutely wonderful,” Harry tells him, going over to hug him, leaning his cheek against Louis’, “your family’s wonderful, you’re wonderful. It’s been wonderful.”

He can feel Louis relax, and he rubs his back a little, to tell him that there’s nothing to get relieved or relaxed over. He needn’t doubt, Harry was always gonna love it here.

Louis’s here after all.

“Lots of wonder,” Louis remarks, and Harry laughs before angling his face so he can press small pecks against Louis’ cheek, humming agreeably.

“You know,” Louis continues, as Harry’s kisses move from the cheek, down to his mouth, “I’ve been thinking about what we are gonna do while you’re here, and-”

Harry cuts him off, which really is rude, with a kiss, so it’s alright, gently pressed to Louis’ lips.

Drawing back a little, Harry whispers, “do tell me, my good sir.”

“You’ve got some kind of regency era kink, I swear,” Louis tells him, but he doesn’t look entirely annoyed it, so Harry just accepts it with a nod and a shrug, like a ‘I’ll take it’ I’ll take it. “So I was thinking, the girls were pretty sad it didn’t snow this year, so-”

Harry looks up from where he’s been trailing kisses up and down Louis’ neck. “Yeah?”

“What are you doing?”

Harry hums non committedly, hands wandering up and down Louis’ waist, lips pressing sweet, sweet kisses, not breaking skin contact between them, up and down the side of Louis’ neck.

“Nothing, keep going.”

Louis takes a shuddering breath, his grip on Harry tightening, maybe in warning, Harry doesn’t know. Doesn’t really care. Not right now.

It’s not something he’s used to yet, the intimate part of their relationship. It’s not that he feels uncomfortable, he’s always comfortable with Louis, but he doesn’t feel very skilled, and he wants to make it so good for Louis so he very rarely actually initiates it. He’s always eager to respond when Louis does, but this, the seduction, the foreplay before the actual foreplay, is something he’s not practiced in.

Getting small whimpers out of Louis, inbetween Louis listing his plans, when Harry’s hands travel down to his arse, kneads it a bit before traveling back up his waist, going inside his shirt.

He returns to look directly at Louis, presses his lips against Louis’, effectively cutting him off.

“You know what, babe,” he whispers against his lips, “I think I actually have a better plan for tonight at least.”

Louis agrees with glazed over eyes, and Harry smiles proudly, feeling warm at being able to affect his boy in this manner, get this reaction out of him.

Before he gives in completely, though, Louis takes one last stand.

“Can you make it snow?”

“Yes, yes,” Harry agrees impatiently, motioning with his arms for Louis to come back, “there’ll be an entire snowstorm just for your girls.”

Louis looks immensely pleased with himself when he leans back in.

The next days pass in a blur of kisses, of cuddles, of giggles, cozy night ins, snow ball fights, building snowmen, skating. It feels like one never-ending winter wonderland, and he’s with Louis, and he feels so content.

He never wants time to move on from this, if he’s being honest.

Louis’ smile when they’re teaming up against his sisters is so joyful, so free, so open, and Harry could stare at it for hours. He would too, if Louis’ sisters didn’t have such good aim. One second out of focus, and he’d be hit with a snowball in the face.

And not like gently. Louis’ sisters don’t hold back, they throw as hard as they can. Little devils, they are, and he’d maybe be a bit annoyed if they weren’t so sweet.

And they are sweet. They’re funny and they fill the evenings with such joy because they don’t hold back, they think of a game and everyone must join in. It’s really nice, and Harry wouldn’t want it any other way. He tells Louis that every time he subtly reminds Harry that he doesn’t need to play with them all the time.

Louis’ smile whenever Harry tells him he loves playing with his sister, is unparallelled.

New Year’s Eve feels like the calm before the storm, and though it fills Harry with dread and uncontrolled butterflies, he’s dedicated to make this night the best for Louis. He’ll use the entire night reminding Louis in every single way he can possibly think of, that whatever happens, come hell or high water, Harry is Louis’ for as long as Louis wants him.

No matter what is waiting for them in the coming year, they’ll face it together. It’s maybe a bit foolish, a bit naive, but he feels like that as long as they’re together, nothing will be able to drag them down.

“What do you wish for in the New Year?”, Louis whispers when it’s close to midnight.

“Me?”, Harry tilts his head, considering, “happiness with you.”

Louis smiles beautifically at him, cheeks tinted red - which could be the cold, but Harry ignores that - and eyes shining.

“What about you?”

“So many things,” he tells him, looking at him softly, “happiness, success, so much, but I think, what I want most, is you. Just you. Any moment with you is something I will be looking forward to.”

Harry laughs fondly. “Just had to step me up, huh?”

“Just a bit.”

“Fucker.”

But he says it smilingly, adoringly, maybe lovingly. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever said ‘fucker’ more fondly in the history of humankind.

They spend the next hour talking mindlessly, about everything between earth and heaven, big and small. Harry loves these moments the most maybe, where they just talk, make each other laugh, there’s no reason to it other than how much they both being in each other’s company. It’s easy, laid back, it’s everything he’s ever wanted when he’s thought about love when he was younger.

Someone who’s your best friend, your biggest cheerleader, biggest supporter, who makes your heart race, and someone you’ll never get tired of exploring, of listening to, of going through life with.

Someone you love. Quite simply.

It’s almost midnight, and they’ve been looking at the stars for a bit, just pointing out the few constellations they know, spending the rest of the time bullshitting them.

“That’s the mermaid. See the those five stars? That’s the tail.”

“The mermaid?”

“The mermaid. Beloved and worshipped since Ancient Greece.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

And that’s how it continues, from classics such as the frog - “that’s you, Harry!” - to lesser known constellations, but no less loved, such as the Lambo and the football, and they might be a little drunk at this point, but it doesn’t really matter.

Harry’s head is pleasurably buzzed, and he can’t stop giggling at Louis’ jokes that only get worse as the night progresses, and Louis is definitely drunk because he’s laughed at Harry’s jokes all evening and never once pointed out how bad they were. And they were, or the last ones were at least, when Harry wanted to test how bad they had to be for Louis to comment on it. So far, none had been bad enough, apparently.

“You drunk?”, Harry whispered, trying to not break the calm atmosphere around them.

Louis looks back at him with red cheeks, eyes just small slits, and lips curved in a lazy, pleased smile. “Drunk in love.”

Harry giggles again. “You’re awful.”

Louis shakes his head, looking so damn pleased with himself. “No, I’m not.”

Harry smiles at him before leaning over to give him a kiss. “No, no, you’re not.”

It’s almost midnight, when Harry looks over at Louis to find him already looking at Harry. They sit in silence, and just before the stroke of midnight, Louis whispers.

“I wish it was snowing.”

And then the clocks resound throughout the city, and fireworks are going off, painting the sky in colour, and Louis reaches out to Harry, kisses him, and it’s full of promises and hope and love - Harry is pretty sure - and when they part, smiles soft, eyes fond, a tiny little snowflake floats down between them, and they both, slowly, look up.

Coloured by the seemingly eternal stream of fireworks, a little steady stream of snow falls down towards them.

It looks like falling rainbows, and he almost gets tears in his eyes, heart warm, and he looks at Louis. He’s still looking at the sky, lips parted in wonder, smile soft, eyes bright.

He looks so beautiful.

“I love you,” Harry whispers, and Louis looks at him quickly, eyes widened in shock at first, and Harry panics for a second, and then Louis is kissing him.

He can’t stop smiling into the kiss, and neither can Louis, and when they part, just enough to be able to look each other in the eyes, Louis says it back.

“I love you.”

He takes Louis’ hands in his, thinks he’s never going to let go, even if they force him to. He might physically let go, but no matter what anyone says. He’s going to keep Louis, and Louis will hopefully keep him, and that’s what matters.

There’s a lot waiting for them in the New Year, especially after the X-Factor tour is done, but with Louis by his side, he’s pretty sure he’s ready for it all.

Louis makes him feel invincible, and they might not be, but they’re gonna be alright. Maybe they’ll be told to conceal it, but love can’t be hidden.

“We’re gonna be alright,” he whispers to Louis, and he nods.

“They’ll never take us down,” Louis tells him with a winning smile, and Harry feels so warm, so comforted at it.

No matter what happens, Louis and him are on the same page, and they won’t take anything lying down.