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Of all the ways Harry Styles thought he might be woken up on his nineteenth birthday, being pelted with snowballs was not one of them.
Yet that’s how he finds himself on the morning of February 1st, wrapped in his formerly dry duvet, rapidly melting snow clumped in his hair and sliding down his face.
“What the hell?” His roommate, Liam, snarls from across the room, apparently having met the same fate.
Harry forces himself out of sleep, bolting upright and holding the duvet in front of him like a shield, pretty sure he knows exactly who is behind his rude awakening.
His suspicions are confirmed when his eyes land on the pair of laughing boys in the doorway. Zayn and Louis. Both have their heads tossed back in laughter, cheeks bright red as if they’d just come in from outside. A red cooler sits between them, filled to the brim with snow, which Louis is dipping his gloved hands into to form another snowball.
The slight, curvy man lobs his creation at the other bed, the snowball exploding on contact and showering both Liam and the man sleeping next to him in a burst of white powder.
“Oi! Fuck off!” a voice calls from under the covers in an Irish brogue. Niall, Liam’s longtime boyfriend, pokes his head out from under the covers to tell the troublemakers off, but is quickly silenced by a mouthful of snow thanks to a well-aimed throw from Zayn.
“Come on, you lazy gits!” Louis laughs, his blue eyes dancing with merriment. He chucks another ball at Harry, this one hitting the wall behind his bed. “Fight back!”
Harry doesn’t want to fight back. He wants to sleep in and stay in bed all day and maybe go out with his mates later because it’s his fucking birthday, but clearly that isn’t an option.
“Why do you have to be such a shit all the time?” Harry spits, not bothering to hide the venom in his voice. Louis must pick up on it because his smile falters, the arm cocked back to throw another round falling to his side.
Zayn, the slightly more sensible of the pair, quickly picks up on Harry’s ire. “Hey, mate, we’re just having a laugh. No harm done, right?” he says placatingly, all the while reaching out and squeezing Louis’ shoulder comfortingly.
“You two have the worst sense of humour of anyone I’ve ever met,” Liam groans from the other bed, shaking snow out of the blankets as Niall shakes it from his hair. “Can’t you go one day without causing trouble?”
Louis’ carefully crafted smirk is once again in place as he lets the snowball in his hand drop back into the cooler with a wet sound. “We just wanted to inject some excitement into your otherwise dull lives, but we can take a hint. C’mon, Zayn.” He bends and hefts the cooler in his arms, turning on his heel and marching out of the room Harry and Liam (and, more often than not, Niall) shared.
Looking almost, almost apologetic, Zayn meets each of their eyes in turn before following behind his friend.
It had seemed like such a great idea at the time, getting a two bedroom flat and splitting the rent four ways. Harry and Liam had been friends since college, so it made sense that they would live together once they got to uni. And surely they could find a couple flatmates they could tolerate, and all save money in the long run.
What they got, however, was Louis and Zayn.
It had been Zayn—sweet, polite, reserved Zayn—who had answered their classified ad looking for flatmates. The quiet man with the thick, dark hair and inquisitive eyes seemed like he’d fit right in with Liam and Harry, both homebodies who relished having a calm place to escape to. It seemed like a perfect match.
“And you have a friend who wants to move in as well?” Liam had asked when they met Zayn for coffee, wanting to make sure they got on before signing a lease with a complete stranger.
Zayn nodded, slender fingers tapping the sides of his paper cup. “Yeah, Louis. He’s been my best mate since we were in nappies. He’s a lot of fun,” Zayn added, his lips curling into a fond smile. “I can see if he can swing by, if you want? So you can meet him?”
Liam and Harry shared a look. Both men liked Zayn, they really did, and wanted to sign their lease as soon as possible. So when Liam gave Harry a slight nod, Harry turned back to their prospective flatmate and said, “Nah, that won’t be necessary. If he’s a friend of yours, I’m sure we’ll like him too.”
Zayn smiled like he’d won the fucking lottery, and Harry didn’t know how wrong he could be.
The truth is, Harry can’t stand Louis Tomlinson. At first, he'd been overjoyed at the prospect of having the handsome, vibrant boy sharing his living space. With soft, floppy caramel hair and captivating blue eyes, Louis isn't exactly difficult to look at. And Harry had looked at him, a lot, until Louis had started being a menace to the household. He and Zayn are polar opposites. Where Zayn is shy, Louis is bold. Where Zayn is quiet and calm, Louis is boisterous and seemingly full of energy. Zayn follows Louis’ lead whenever the pair are together, and since Louis’ lead always tends to get them into mischief… well.
That’s how Liam and Harry had ended up with all their pants dyed pink, a live squirrel trapped in the bathroom, and half of their shoes on the roof of the flat (Harry’s left ones, Liam’s right, so neither boy had a pair between them until Niall had climbed up to fetch them). Louis’ pranks got worse and worse as the semester went on, and the snowball incident was just the icing on the cake, as it were.
“I’m so tired of him being such a pain in the ass!” Harry shouts, not caring if Louis can hear him. He hopes Louis hears him, hears how annoyed the curly-haired man is with him. “God forbid I get to sleep in on my birthday!”
Liam’s head snaps toward Harry, a sleepy smile spreading across his teddy bear face. “Oh, right! Happy birthday, mate!” Niall mutters his agreement, burrowing back under the duvet.
Harry sighs, swinging his feet out of bed and easing them onto the cold wooden floor of their bedroom. Once he’s up, he’s up, unfortunately, so there was no use trying to catch a few more hours of sleep. At least his birthday falls on a Saturday this year, and he has the whole day ahead of him to do whatever he pleases.
Pulling on his warmest clothes and bundling himself tightly against the cold February air, Harry heads out of the flat and down the recently-cleared sidewalk. There’s a coffee shop not far from where they live, and treating himself with an obscene amount of calories seems like the perfect way to make up for the unpleasant start to his day.
The gingerbread latte and cinnamon scones he purchases are delicious, and while he savors his treats he lazily scrolls through his mobile. He responds to ‘happy birthday’ texts from his older sister and his mum, both promising to phone him later on in the evening. He has dozens of Facebook notifications and tweets from well-wishing friends, as well as one Instagram notification from… Louis Tomlinson.
When he opens the picture, Harry feels his blood boil. It’s a picture of him just after he’s been hit with the first snowball, eyes wide and face contorted into what was clearly a moment of terror. It’s quite possibly the most embarrassing photo ever taken of Harry, and now it’s on the internet for people to have a laugh at.
Somehow, Louis has even managed to ruin Harry’s breakfast, the birthday boy unable to enjoy the rest of his beverage. He stands angrily, chucking the cup into the bin, and pushes roughly out of the coffee shop doors. He was going to have a word with Louis fucking Tomlinson, and he was going to do it right now.
He’s within paces of the door to their building, rehearsing every line he’s ever wanted to say to Louis, when something cold and wet hits him square in the back of the head. He doesn’t have to reach back to know that it was a snowball but he does anyway, shaking the remnants of the projectile from his curls.
He whips around, scanning the snow-covered grounds for his assailant,
Harry hears Louis before he sees him, sniggers coming from behind the large hedges lining the street. Louis steps into view, grinning broadly, another snowball ready to throw. “You make it too easy, mate!” he calls, still laughing.
Balling his hands into tight fists, Harry closes the distance between them, pushing his face close to Louis’ so their noses are only millimeters apart. Louis’ laughter falls away sharply, the only sound between them Harry’s annoyed huffs of air.
“What the hell is your problem? Why do you have to be so annoying all the time?” Harry demands, seething.
Something like hurt flickers in Louis’ eyes, but his face remains stony and calm. “Just living up to your expectations, aren’t I? I’m just a ‘pain in the ass,’ after all.” Louis’ voice comes out soft, his breath visible in the chill of the air.
Harry knows he’s hurt Louis’ feeling, and as much as he wishes he didn’t care, wants to yell at Louis for every immature stunt he’s pulled since they’ve lived together, he just can’t. He angrily tugs his fingers through his hair, taking a step back. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until it wooshes out of him suddenly as he lets his shoulders sag. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Harry admits reluctantly. “It’s just… The pranks are funny now and then, sure. The time you put powdered dye in the shower head and Niall had lavender hair for a week? That was priceless,” he says, smiling despite himself.
Louis grins as well. “Yeah, that was a pretty good one. At least it stopped him showering at our place for a bit.”
“True, our water bill has gone down quite a bit,” Harry agrees, giggling. “But what I’m getting at is maybe space them out a bit? I feel like we’ve never gotten to know the real you because you’re always acting out. I know there must be something more to you for Zayn to care so much about you. Why won’t you let anyone see it?”
He can tell he’s struck a nerve by the way Louis quickly glances away, mouth pressed into a thin line. “I don’t let people in very easily because I’m afraid they won’t like the person behind all the jokes,” he says, his voice a near whisper. “Zayn’s the only person who ever bothered to dig deeper and stuck around once he saw the real me.”
Harry can feel the sadness radiating off the normally vibrant boy in front of him, and the disparity between this Louis and the one sneaking dirty pictures into his Powerpoint presentations was incredible. The Louis before him now seems a lot smaller than Harry had ever realized, arms wrapped tightly around his midsection, long eyelashes fanning out over his downcast eyes.
Not quite knowing why he does it, Harry reaches out and takes one of Louis’ hands in his own. The other man’s hands are small, with delicately tapered fingers and bitten-down nails. Both of their hands are cold, neither of them having had the foresight to put on a pair of gloves, so Harry brings their joined hands to his mouth, exhaling a warming breath over their pinkened skin.
Louis meets Harry’s gaze with wide eyes, suddenly looking so vulnerable and soft in the hazy afternoon sunlight. He doesn’t know what prompts him to drag his lips across Louis’ knuckles, staring straight into eyes as wild as the sea.
Louis’ breath hitches, and he jerks his hand from Harry’s grasp, only to press it to the back of Harry’s head and haul the taller boy closer. He slots their chapped lips together, eyes fluttering closed, and holy shit they’re kissing.
Harry had tensed up at the initial contact, but as Louis’ lips move over his own he feels himself relaxing into the kiss, his hands finding Louis’ small waist and holding the smaller man tightly against him.
The kiss doesn’t go any deeper, but Harry still finds himself panting when Louis eventually pulls away, his cheeks no longer just red from the cold.
“What the hell was that?” Harry demands, though it comes out more awed than angry. He hadn’t in a million years expected a kiss from Louis Tomlinson. And it was such a good one, at that.
Louis’ familiar smirk is back in place, but it seems softer somehow, like kissing Harry had taken an edge off. He shrugs nonchalantly as he licks his lips, chasing the taste of Harry still lingering there. “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages. Seemed like as good a time as any.”
Harry’s jaw falls open as he balks at his flatmate. “Wait, you what?” he manages, though it comes out strangled. “All this time I thought you didn’t like me, let alone like like me! Why on earth are you such as ass all the time, then?” Harry is reeling, his mind unable to accept the reality of Louis, who up until a few moments ago was Harry’s worst enemy, having feelings for him.
Louis just laughs, completely unphased by Harry’s reaction. “Ah, Harry, haven’t you ever heard of little boys teasing girls on the playground? They pull their pigtails and complain about cooties, and that’s how they show their attraction.” He steps around Harry, purposely bumping their hips together as he holds open the door to their building. He looks over his shoulder at the brunet, who very much resembles a surprised fish at the moment. “Let’s just say I never really grew up, and your hair would look quite lovely in pigtails.” With a teasing wink, Louis disappears into the building, leaving Harry standing alone in the cold.
What in the hell just happened? Harry thinks, staring numbly after the last person he thought he’d ever be sad to see go. He’s confused, and doesn’t begin to know how to sort out the thoughts racing through his mind. He’d enjoyed that kiss quite a lot, but it was Louis, Louis who likes him and wants to share his cooties, or something like that.
Shaking his head, Harry decides he can deal with his conflicting feelings later. Right now, it’s still his birthday and he’ll be damned if he’s spending it outside by himself. Stooping to gather a handful of snow, he packs it tightly into a ball as he lets himself into the building. He grins to himself as he trods up the stairs, lips still tingling from the unexpected kiss. After all, he has a snowball fight to finish.