Archive of Our Own

OTRA Tour: Melbourne, Australia

14th of February, 2015

“Thank you for having us. We’ve been One Direction, and we hope to see you soon.”

Harry is the last one to get backstage—soaking in the final minutes with the fans before the music stops and the stadium lights switch back on. The other boys sprint ahead, screaming their thank you’s into the mics while he enjoys the feeling a moment longer.

He blows kisses into the crowd and shakes his clasped hands in appreciation toward them. Practice is the only reason why he’s able to do it so effortlessly as he walks backward toward the top of the stage.

His heart is still racing when he starts his journey back, walking through the dimly lit tunnel to make it to the main backstage area. He can hear the muffled voices of the rest of the boys further down, Liam screaming something to the others immediately following a laugh from Niall. That’s the only thing Harry has to go by, their silhouettes no longer in sight. They really must have sprinted the whole way down.

A flicker of annoyance tickles the back of his brain when he realizes who most likely led the pack.

“Wanker,” he mumbles, picking up speed as he sees the other end of the tunnel approaching. There’s still the rumble of the crowd echoing around him, fans collecting their things and chanting for another encore as they pack up. His mouth twitches when he hears the collective groan—the lights are back on then.

The smile growing on his face quickly falls when he reaches the area. He spots Niall and Paul almost immediately, the two of them chatting quietly as Niall catches his breath from the run. A few feet away from them are Liam and Zayn, perusing around the buffet table to grab the last of the snacks the crew had brought out for them.

Then there’s Lou. Caroline. Josh. Dan. Sandy. Everyone is here. Everyone is accounted for.

Everyone except one person—one very loud, very noticeable individual. At least to Harry. Always to Harry.

“You’re fucking with me,” he deadpans, turning in a circle. He stomps his feet a bit as he rotates, purposefully making noise in the slight chance that Louis will stop messing around and pop out from somewhere.

He doesn’t.

And Harry doesn’t even try to hold back his frustrated sigh, running a hand through his long hair as he takes in the scene in front of him.

The thing is, it isn’t abnormal for Louis to disappear after a show. He usually ends up MIA for an hour or two afterward, burning off the energy from being on stage (and the Red Bull cocktail). More often than not, one of the other boys will join him in wherever the hell he goes, and sometimes Harry will as well.

Except it’s Valentine’s day.

And Louis is nowhere to be found.

It’s fucking Valentine’s day, and Harry’s starting to think his wanker of a boyfriend fucking forgot.

And not only does Harry think he forgot, but it doesn't necessarily help that he and Louis have barely spoken all day.

Now, that in and of itself isn’t actually surprising, considering the full day of promo they had and the show following immediately after. He supposes that the boys being split up for the smaller outlets didn’t make it easier either.

But when he woke up this morning in their hotel room and shimmied backwards, hoping to be wrapped up again in Louis’ embrace only to be met with an empty bed...well.

He had immediately sat up, rubbing his eyes free of crust and waiting for his vision to adjust to the sunlight seeping through the window. Imagine his disappointment when met with the fact that Louis was not only up and dressed, but only able to offer a quick peck as a goodbye before being ushered out of the room and onto his rounds of interviews with Niall.

Not even thirty minutes later Harry was ushered away with Liam and Zayn. The next time he saw Louis was in this exact area, right before they all went out on stage. 

He’s not entirely sure where the day had gone, how time had moved so quickly. But he never did really, to be quite honest.

What he did know, however, was that the two of them had agreed to do something afterward, like they always did when they were on the road for holidays and anniversaries.

“Haz, of course we’re doing something,” Louis had mumbled into his hair three days prior. “It’s Valentine’s day. We never miss Valentine’s day.”

And they haven’t. Starting that one year in Paris.

But, Louis isn’t here.

And Harry thinks it’s because he actually, genuinely, fucking forgot.

With a huff, he stalks over to the rest of the boys, who have since migrated from their own conversations to devour what’s left of the buffet table. The heels of his golden boots click loudly on the floor, signaling his arrival before he speaks.

Zayn notices him first, raising an amused eyebrow. “Oh boy.”

Harry ignores his comment and the curious stares coming from Niall and Liam.

“Where’s Louis?” he asks lightly, trying to be casual. He cocks a hip out and surveys the room once more, attempting to appear as nonchalant as possible.

At first, he’s met with dead silence.

Then, he turns his head back to the boys slowly—tilting it to the side with an innocent look in his eyes, as if to say I’m waiting.

That’s enough to snap them out of whatever trance they're in, and Niall’s the first one to answer. Zayn and Liam conveniently take the opportunity to turn away and avoid Harry’s gaze.

Interesting.

“Not sure,” Niall says slowly, testing out the words. “Left almost as soon as he got back.”

Harry stares at him. “He left.”

“Yes.”

Liam swats Niall’s arm almost immediately following his answer, causing Niall’s eyes to widen slightly. Zayn rubs a hand over his forehead, shaking his head.

Harry only juts out his jaw, hoping this is a joke.

Because there is no way Louis fucking left.

At his silence (and most likely, his scowl), Niall raises his hands up cautiously.

“He didn’t leave per se, he’s just—well,” he looks at the three of them helplessly before shrugging one shoulder. “I just dunno where he is.”

Harry holds back a groan before turning to the others. “What about you two, hm?”

They shrug innocently, mumbling high-pitched ‘I don’t know’’s. Harry looks at them unimpressed, and they simply scratch the back of their heads and grab a few extra water bottles, avoiding his eyes.

Idiots.

“Zero help, absolutely none,” Harry deadpans, shaking his head as he turns away from his bandmates.

“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere!” Liam calls out half-heartedly, earning a glare from him, but a chuckle from the others.

The screams from the crowd are dying down a bit now, and Harry tries to keep out of the way as the crew packs up for Adelaide. He still keeps his eyes out for Louis, however.

How is it that his boyfriend manages to sneak away so easily?

Years of practice.

He takes a deep breath to keep his frustration at a reasonable level; he’ll be back.

For his own sake, he better be back.

When he exhales, he feels slightly calmer. But the moment he spots Lottie from across the room, that resolve is gone and he sprints toward her.

He weaves through crew members, twisting and leaning sideways in order to avoid the equipment being carried around him. It’s through his mumbled “oops” and “sorry” that Lottie hears him before he reaches her.

“Where’s your brother?” he asks quickly, forgoing a proper greeting.

She blinks up at him, “Hello to you too. I’m doing well, thank you. Good show?”

“Lotts,” he tries again with a slight whine, eliciting a smirk from her. Like brother, like sister. “Where the hell is he?”

She shrugs, “Not sure. Kind of sprinted out before I could catch him. Maybe he’s in the bathroom?”

“He went during the show.”

She purses her lips, fingers playing aimlessly with the lanyard around her neck. “Maybe he went again?” At Harry’s doubtful look, she pats his shoulder. “Sorry babes, then I’ve got no idea.”

“The fucker,” he mumbles, taking another look around the area. “He’s so not living this down.”

“Ah, the infamous boyfriend troubles,” she teases, chuckling. “What’d he do this time?”

Harry puffs out a breath. “More like what he didn’t do.”

She snorts. “What? Didn’t spend enough time together this morning or summat? I was sure he’d bombard you with a shit ton of roses like last year.” At Harry’s silence, her laughter dies down. “Oh no, he didn't.”

“He did.”

“You’re joking.” Her eyes widen. “He forgot?”

Harry raises his eyebrows and tilts his head to the side slightly, “Seems like it.”

“But didn’t you two talk about it like, three days ago?” Lottie questions, frowning. “And you mentioned the holiday to the crowd and—”

“And you should’ve seen his face,” Harry sighs. “Didn’t bat an eye.”

“Huh,” she says lightly, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking out a hip. “Explains why you kept talking to couples during the show.”

“Was trying to make a point,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sure your point was proven by the first one. Surely with the seventh.”

“You think?” Harry ponders, pursing his lips.

“You asked them what their plans were for Valentine’s day,” she deadpans. “Then proceeded to tell them all you hoped they had a lovely night. Since it’s Valentine’s day.”

“Yes, but—”

“If I took a shot for every time you said the words ‘Valentine’s Day,’ tonight, I’d be passed out in the dressing room.”

Harry points to her with narrowed eyes. “You’re not old enough to drink yet.”

She rolls her eyes. “Point still stands.” After a moment of silence between the two, she looks up at him with a grimace. “So, is he a dead man?”

Harry pretends to ponder for a moment before shrugging. “Most likely,” he agrees lightly.

With a sympathetic smile, she rubs his arm comfortingly. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for this, H. Just go look for him, yeah?”

He sighs, knocking his head back to stare at the ceiling. They should have been cuddling in the tour bus by now, watching a movie Harry knew Louis wouldn’t be paying attention to anyway.

But no, now he has to go find his boyfriend in this fucking stadium.

“See you tomorrow?” he says in response.

She throws him a thumbs up, walking over to Caroline on the opposite side of the room. “Good luck!”

Harry waves her a goodbye before turning around and heading toward the exit. It’d be best if he found Louis before the day ends—just for his own sake.

“Harry! Wait up.”

At the sound of his name, he turns around to see Niall, Liam, and Zayn approaching him. He raises an eyebrow at their enthusiastic expressions.

“Yes?” he asks suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

“We need your help.” Liam states.

Niall and Zayn exchange a look.

Harry’s eyes dart between the three of them. “With?”

“Sophia’s flying in tomorrow,” Liam explains. “Care to help me wrap something up for her?”

“So only you need my help,” he clarifies.

Zayn shrugs, “We’re here for moral support.”

Niall nods in agreement and Liam grins. “Please,” he draws out.

At his request, Harry bites his lip, feeling slightly guilty at what his answer is going to be—especially when he sees the hopeful look in Liam’s eyes. He turns his body toward the exit before warily looking back at him.

“I really need to go find Lou, Li,” he breathes out. “Maybe—”

“Oh, come on. Please Haz,” he begs, popping his bottom lip out and tilting his head to the side. One glance at the others shows Niall biting his fist to hold back a smile and Zayn’s mouth twitching. Fuckers. “You’re the best wrapper out of all of us.”

With a sigh, he smiles sympathetically. “I’m sorry bro, but—”

He immediately stops talking when Liam pulls out his secret weapon.

“Oh, that’s so not fair,” he whines, slumping slightly forward. “Really Liam, really?”

“Please,” he sings, gesturing in the direction of the dressing rooms.

Harry pinches his bottom lip, furrowing his brows at the three of them. Fuck those puppy dog eyes.

Even after nearly five years, he doesn’t stand a chance against them.

“Fuck, fine,” he groans, making Liam fist pump the air in victory. “But we’re making this quick, I need to find Louis.”

“Yes sir,” Liam salutes, motioning him toward the hallway.

Reluctantly, Harry follows.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell did you lot do to the room?” he mumbles when they reach the dressing room for the first time since the show ended. He steps over literal heaps of clothing to get to the couch and can spot knocked over water bottles and decor all over the place.

“Uhm,” Niall says casually, shrugging. “Was running late for call time.”

“It looks like a bomb went off in here.”

Niall purses his lips. “Really late?”

Harry rolls his eyes, shaking his head at Niall incredulously. “Where’s the stuff, Li?”

“I’ll go grab it for you,” he responds, taking wide steps over to his bag so he doesn’t step on anything.

The dressing room really is a fucking mess, and why the other lads decided to do this to it, he couldn’t be sure.

That isn’t his problem though.

He just needs to wrap this gift and go find his fucking boyfriend.

When Liam brings the gift back over, Harry gets to work, not wanting to waste any time. It’s a fairly simple wrapping job; Liam landed on the necklace they saw at Tiffany’s last time they were in New York.

He works quietly, snipping at the wrapping paper while humming a small tune. It’s when he stops for a moment, wanting to focus on cutting the paper evenly, that he notices the complete silence from the other boys.

He looks up curiously to see them all already watching him.

With his scissors in one hand and wrapping paper in the other, he nods toward them. “Can I help you?” he draws out.

Niall shakes his head. “Just wanna watch.”

Harry blinks, eyes moving to the other boys’ nodding heads. “Uhm. Alright.”

Why the hell is everyone acting so strange?

It takes him about ten minutes to wrap the gift, carefully taping the inner seams of the paper to make sure nothing is out of place. When he passes it back, Liam grins.

“Owe you one, Haz,” he sighs, patting Harry’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Was no problem,” he replies, moving to stand up. At the other boys’ gazes, he points to the door. Thank God he can finally leave. It’s starting to get late. “So I’ll just being going—”

“What the hell is this?” Paul booms, taking in the trashed state of the room.

Harry’s eyes widen at how red his face is, head whipping quickly to the other boys.

He’s met with calm expressions.

“Who did this?” Paul asks just as loudly, waving his arms around. His eyes travel from the heaps of clothing to the trash, and Harry already knows there’s a pained expression on his own face from the mess.

He goes to respond, quickly wanting to get himself out of the situation, but—

“It was Harry.”

His mouth falls open at Zayn’s words, immediately whipping his head toward him.

“Excuse me?!”

“Yeah, saw him do it earlier,” Niall adds on with a shrug. “Bit of a prank, really.”

Harry gapes, strangled noises coming out of his mouth as he starts to shake his head frantically.

“Ah yeah,” Liam draws out, nodding along. “I remember him saying something about that before the show.”

He looks at the three of them in shock.

That’s it. He’s leaving the band.

Quickly, he turns back to Paul, shaking his head. “That’s not—”

“Clean this up before you leave.”

“But I didn’t—”

“I mean it, Harry,” he says a bit more seriously before pinching the bridge of his nose. When he turns to walk away, he mumbles one last thing. “Toddlers, I swear. All of ‘em.”

Harry looks after him completely flabbergasted.

What. The. Fuck.

Slowly, he turns around to face the other boys.

They smile at him innocently.

“What the hell was that?” he says evenly, careful not to show too much of an outburst.

Niall is the first one to acknowledge him, shrugging at the question. “Got into trouble with him earlier today. He said if he caught me again, I’d be doing laps around the stadium in Adelaide.”

“So you threw me under the bus?”

“We’d normally do Louis, but he’s not here,” Zayn quips.

Harry clenches his jaw before getting up.

“Yeah, he isn’t,” he calls over his shoulder, snatching the water bottles off of the ground. “That’s,” he slams one on the table through gritted teeth. “The fucking.” Another. “Problem.”

As he starts to clean up the dressing room, he feels a hand on his shoulder. Warily, he looks up at Liam—who’s offering a comforting smile.

“Maybe he’ll show up while you’re cleaning.”

Harry slams another bottle down.

—

It only takes Harry another twenty minutes to clean up the dressing room, time going by much quicker when wanting to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.

Once he finishes, he lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he groans, moving to stand up. He wipes his hands on his jeans. “Now if you'll excuse me, I’m going back to the bus.”

“What?” Zayn chokes out, eyes widening slightly before fake coughing, trying to mask his outburst. At Harry’s raised eyebrow, he scratches the back of his neck. “I mean, uhm—how come?”

Harry shrugs, leaning against the couch. “Might as well, it’s late. If Louis’ not there yet, I’ll talk to him in the morning. ‘M tired,” he mumbles, ending the sentence with a yawn.

“But—”

“See you lot back there,” he says with a small wave before heading toward the door. “G’night.”

“Wait,” Niall says quickly, making Harry stop in his tracks. Before he can question Niall’s words, he steps in front of Harry and blocks the door.

Harry takes a step back at the abruptness, eyes bewildered.

Niall clasps his hand together. “There’s just one more—”

“Niall, it’s nearly midnight,” Harry groans, raising a hand to stop him. “I’m going back to the bus.”

“But—”

“Ni, move,” he warns, taking a step to the side.

Niall follows his movements. He narrows his eyes.

Harry takes a step to the other side.

Niall follows.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” he says, exasperatedly.

“I really need help with—”

“And I really wanted to go look for my boyfriend and yell at him for forgetting about our plans,” Harry says with a laugh, nearly hysterical. “But then I had to clean up this dressing room, which you three,” he gestures to Niall before turning to point at Liam and Zayn, “decided to trash!”

“We appreciate it greatly,” Zayn says coolly.

Harry flips him off behind his back.

Niall bites his lip. “H—”

“And I also had to wrap Sophia a gift,” he continues, pointedly turning to look at Liam. He averts his eyes. “Because for some reason that couldn’t have waited till morning.”

“You wrapped it very nicely,” Liam adds softly with a shrug.

Harry’s lips press into a thin line. “I’m going back to the bus.”

“No, you aren’t.” Niall shakes his head, propping his arms on the door frame to further block Harry.

He clenches his jaw, annoyance building. “Yes. I am.”

"No—"

"Yes—"

“But you can’t!”

Harry pauses. “What do you mean I can’t?”

“Niall, you idiot,” Zayn mumbles from behind them.

The blonde’s eyes widen, “Uhm—”

“Niall,” Harry warns.

“I just—” he swallows, eyes darting around the room frantically before landing back on Harry. “I can’t let you through, Haz.”

“The hell you can’t,” Harry scoffs, going to grab Niall’s arm. When it doesn't budge, he groans. “Really, Niall?”

“I was told not to let you through.”

“Excuse me?” Harry chokes out through a laugh. “By who?”

His eyes dart to the side. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Niall…”

“You don’t understand, Harold. My livelihood is at risk—”

“Niall, I swear—”

“My very way of being—”

“You will not have a way of being, if you don’t—“

“Oh my God, fine! I was told by Louis!” Niall finally blurts out, groaning. He tugs at his blonde hair in frustration. “By your fucking boyfriend!”

Harry freezes, eyebrows rising into his hairline.

Oh.

Without a second thought, he pinches the side of Niall’s hip, making him cower in on himself with a high-pitched squeal. Harry takes that as his opportunity to squeeze around him and sprint out to the buses.

“Harry, no!” Niall calls out, but he ignores him.

“You’re so dead,” he hears Liam laugh, followed by a groan from Niall.

Even at their calls, Harry runs out of the stadium as quickly as he can, almost immediately changing his rhythm from a dead sprint to a brisk walk—heels clicking loudly on the asphalt as he storms to the tour bus.

His lips are pressed into a thin line as he makes his way across the back end of the stadium, the only sound being heard is the occasionally banging from equipment being placed in the other carriers.

He walks with determination, heart rate picking up slightly at the sight of lights shining through the tinted windows of their bus.

While his first reaction is to feel anger, to be absolutely pissed, he’s not even sure if he can. Because in reality, he’s not entirely sure what the hell is even going on.

Surely, Louis didn’t purposefully keep him with the other boys for no reason. Surely, there’s a logical explanation as to why his boyfriend would rather he spend time with his bandmates than him.

Out of all the nights for Louis to want some alone time, he chooses tonight?

When he reaches the door of the bus, he pauses. It’d be best to plan what he’s going to say, demand an explanation for Louis forgetting the plans they had.

He decides to wing it.

With one more deep breath, he swings the door open and climbs up the stairs—purposefully stomping so his presence is known.

His jaw clenches when he hears soft music playing above, his annoyance resurfacing. “Louis! What—”

Harry stops mid sentence when he reaches the top of the stairs, eyes immediately landing on who he came here for.

At the sight of his boyfriend leaning over a table covered in a red cloth, he freezes.

Louis meets his eyes and promptly drops the multi-purpose lighter in his hand.

A beat passes where the two of them just stare at one another; Harry still at the top of the stairs and Louis at the table, which—how the hell did he even get that up here?

“Uhm,” Harry eventually says, eyes darting around briefly before returning to Louis.

At the sight of him, Louis’ eyes travel down his body with an unreadable expression. Then, he stands up and slumps his shoulders. “You’re fucking joking me.”

Harry simply stares, not knowing what to say.

Somehow in the time after the show, Louis had changed from his white tank top into a softer grey jumper. He even redid his hair, now brushed out into a soft fringe. As Harry’s eyes wander over their tour bus, he bites his bottom lip to keep a neutral expression.

There are roses. Everywhere.

Pink, white, and red in bouquets and vases on every surface of the bus. Each table now covered with a red tablecloth and holding framed photos that each of them take on the road to travel with a little piece of home.

The smaller, square table Louis somehow brought onto the bus holds two plates of spaghetti and a vase—with one rose of each color sitting delicately in the glass. Fortunately, Louis was able to light the two candles surrounding it before dropping the lighter.

As his eyes keep wandering, his shock only grows. The regular black leather of the couch, where they usually spend their time playing rounds of FIFA, is covered by a soft white blanket with two more folded right on top of it. The pillows from their bunks are laid out neatly, surrounded by bags of kettle corn and caramels.

The music that Harry had heard while he came up the stairs is still playing, and as he turns in place, he spots the television. The start menu of 10 Things I Hate About You is displayed.

He blinks, making sure his eyes aren't deceiving him.

Oh, he was way off the fucking mark about tonight.

With a dry mouth, he turns to Louis. Weakly, he gestures to the bus. “What’s all of this?”

Louis looks back at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape as he takes in Harry. Slowly, he picks up the lighter from the floor and tosses it on the couch. “You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

Harry furrows his eyebrows, a slight pout forming on his lips. “Excuse me?”

Louis shakes his head before walking toward him, eyebrows slanted slightly downward. Harry’s eyes widen at the sheer determination on his face, but he can still feel his mouth quirking upward slightly.

“Babe—”

“Nope,” Louis says, popping out the p. He pushes back on Harry’s chest when he tries to take a step forward, shaking his head feverishly. “No, no, no. You’re not supposed to be here yet.”

A large grin makes its way onto Harry’s face and he immediately grabs Louis’ forearms to push back. “Lou—”

“No! You’re supposed to be inside the stadium!” he whines, pushing against Harry’s resistance. With the two of them leaning on each other, they end up not moving a single inch. “Why aren’t you in the stadium?”

“Did you do this for me?” he says through a soft laugh.

Louis groans, letting him go and throwing his head back dramatically.

“Where is Niall?” he demands, straightening up a bit to look over Harry’s shoulder. “Neil! You’re a dead man! I gave you lot one job, one!”

Harry vaguely hears the distinct cackle from the other boys through the crack left in the bus door, but he ignores it. Instead, he squeezes Louis’ arms gently. “Baby, it doesn’t matter. I’m already here.”

“But—” Louis starts before shutting his mouth and huffing instead. He crosses his arms over his chest and then vaguely gestures to his set-up. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he mumbles.

A surprise.

Without wasting another moment, Harry wraps his arms around Louis and buries his face into the crook of his neck.

Louis goes in easily, letting out a sigh as he wraps his arms around Harry’s waist tightly.

“You remembered after all,” Harry mumbles into his skin, planting a small kiss.

Louis rocks them back and forth slightly, “What do you mean?”

Harry shrugs slightly. “Thought you forgot.”

Louis stops their swaying.

He pulls away from Harry with his mouth parted, looking as if Harry had just trashed the entire bus. “You thought I forgot?”

Oops.

Harry fish mouths a bit, before grimacing. “I mean—”

“We literally talked about our plans earlier this week.”

“Yes well, I—“ Harry stammers as Louis eyes him closely. “I couldn’t find you after the show! And we’ve barely spoken all day!”

“We had promo all day,” Louis counters, pointing a finger.

“Which is why I thought you may have forgotten,” he replies simply before smiling. “But, you didn’t. You remembered.”

Louis looks around incredulously, gesturing wildly to the bus. “Of course I fucking remembered! It’s Valentine’s Day!” 

“I know that now, but—”

“You seriously thought I forgot?” he continues, affronted. He blinks a few times, shaking his head. “You bloody idiot, you really thought—”

Harry cuts him off with a kiss.

It really is his favorite way of shutting Louis up.

Louis lets out a hmph at the abruptness, but immediately relaxes into it, humming happily as their lips move in sync with one another.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmurs, nudging his nose slightly with his own.

Louis nips at his bottom lip before soothing it over with a soft peck. “No, I am. I should’ve told you,” he says softly, shaking his head. “Or at least made sure you didn’t think I had forgotten.”

“You did have me fooled there for a second,” Harry points out.

Louis lets out a soft chuckle, before grimacing. “I’m sorry, love. Probably should’ve pulled you aside at some point. Maybe woken you up with flowers again, hm?”

Harry smiles, eyes darting down to his lips once more before standing up straight. His hand immediately finds Louis’, intertwining them as he takes in the bus once more.

Louis really outdid himself.

“So, want to explain to me what all this is?” he asks softly.

Louis bites his lip, “Oh you know, just a little something since we’ll be on the road through the night. Couldn’t really make any reservations at this time anyway.”

“So you brought dinner and a movie to the bus?” Harry replies, smirk evident.

Louis shies away slightly, shrugging sheepishly. “We never miss Valentine’s day. Wasn’t gonna let that happen just because we’re on tour.”

Harry can feel his heart swelling at the sight of the man with whom he knows, for a fact, he’ll be spending the rest of his life with.

“I love you,” he whispers, squeezing his hand. “You know that, right?”

Louis’ mouth twitches, and he grabs Harry by the belt loops on his jeans to pull him closer. He goes easily.

“I don’t know, do I?” he mumbles back, tilting his head innocently as he leans in closer. “You may have to remind me again in the morning.”

Harry giggles, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Not untrue,” Louis hums, eyes laser-focused on Harry’s lips as he licks his own. After a brief pause in the conversation, he locks their eyes. “But I do love you as well.”

Harry swipes a hand dramatically across his forehead. “Phew, was worried there for a moment.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Dork,” he chuckles, shaking his head. He runs a hand through Harry’s hair, smiling so widely that crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes. “Let’s eat, yeah?”

“And then movie time?” Harry grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

Louis sighs in faux dejection, “Yes love, then we’ll watch a rom-com.”

As they walk toward the table, Harry knocks his hip against Louis’. “I can’t believe you picked one voluntarily.”

Louis waves a hand in the air vaguely, sighing wistfully. “Simply preparing for the inevitable.”

As they sit down to eat, discussing the concert and the rounds of interviews they had to do separately throughout the day, Harry can’t help but continuously look around the tour bus.

It isn’t anything major, but it’s everything at the same time. It’s just what they needed, and the fact that Louis did this even after a slammed day, was able to kick the lads out for a bit in order to do this for them—

Harry’s entire body is thrumming with nothing but love for him.

Except, something is missing. But he can’t place what. It’s tickling the back of his brain throughout all of dinner, not knowing exactly what it is.

He’s here, with Louis. They’re celebrating Valentine’s day, and yet, there’s something fucking missing.

When it finally hits him he promptly drops his fork.

The sudden clattering against the plate makes Louis jump. “Christ, Haz. Y’alright?”

“I didn’t give you my gift!”

Louis freezes with his mouth open, a forkful of spaghetti in mid-air. “Gift?”

Harry immediately jumps up from his seat, walking further into the bus and to his bunk. Not even a minute passes before he’s back in his seat, passing the small package to Louis.

With a suspicious glint in his eyes, Louis grabs it. He takes his time unwrapping, making sure not to cause any unnecessary messes.

When he’s met with the clear case of a CD, sharpie scribbled on both sides, he drops the wrapping paper on the floor.

He blinks a few times before looking up at Harry with an unreadable expression. “You made me a mixtape?”

At his vague first reaction, Harry’s nerves immediately build. He tugs on his bottom lip and shrugs slightly. “Uhm, yes. Kind of?”

Louis raises an eyebrow curiously, so he continues. “I mean like, yes it’s a mixtape. But they’re kind of...snippets of songs? Bits and pieces of things I’ve written the past few months, for uhm. The album.”

“The album?”

Harry nods slowly. “Just a few, they’re uhm—well, they’re like, about you?”

A smirk breaks out on Louis’ face. “Are they?”

Aren’t they always?

Harry can feel the heat rushing to his cheeks. “Yeah,” he mumbles, pointing to the CD. “Track three is probably my favorite?”

Louis immediately turns over the case, reading out the mini tracklist Harry had listed out. His eyes soften even more as he reads. “If I Could Fly?”

At the sound of the title, Harry can feel his heart rate pick up. He almost didn’t put it on there, having finished the mixtape a few weeks beforehand.

But then Louis sang them the first verse of Home in the studio.

That was enough to make him burn another CD.

“It’s just around thirty seconds, still in the planning stages really. I have to work out some of the chords...but uhm, I wanted to include it?”

Louis bites his bottom lip, studying the gift intently. He flips it back and forth, taking it all in while Harry waits in (agonizing) silence.

“I love it,” he whispers, looking up at Harry in disbelief.

And really, that’s all Harry could have ever wanted.

“Are you sure you like it?” he asks hesitantly, still wanting to be sure. “Because I can—”

Louis gets up before he can finish, taking the few short steps to Harry’s chair and crouching down to be at eye level with him. He shakes his head fondly, smile widening.

“Even after all this time, you still manage to make me fall more in love with you,” he whispers, tugging lightly on a loose strand of hair dangling over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry bites the inside of his cheek to keep a neutral expression. “That didn’t answer my question,” he says teasingly.

Louis rolls his eyes before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I love it, baby. Really. Thank you.”

Victory.

“Good.” Harry hums, pecking his lips back in response. Then he playfully adds, “So, you think we can convince the boys to let us add some of these on the album?”

Louis tugs slightly harder at the ringlet around his finger, making Harry giggle. “As if they have a choice. They know better than to fight it after No Control.”

Now that makes Harry honk out a laugh. Louis follows shortly after with his own cackle.

And really, this right here, is all Harry will ever need.

—

Harry can feel the warmth radiating from the AC system, and from Louis, as they wrap around one another on the couch. He’s leaning back against Louis’ chest—in between his legs with his strong arms wrapped firmly around his waist. Even through their shirts and the sound of the movie playing softly, Harry can hear his heart beating.

“When are the boys coming back?” he mumbles, mindlessly tracing circles on the exposed skin on Louis’ arm.

“Whenever I tell them they can,” Louis hums lightly, tightening his hold around Harry’s stomach. He pats lightly around the area, searching for his hand, humphing when he can’t seem to find it.

Harry giggles at his frustration before easily intertwining their fingers with his right hand. He keeps the other moving from tattoo to tattoo on Louis’ arm, lightly scratching at the tic-tac-toe.

The movie has long been forgotten, acting more as background noise than anything else. He can feel Louis’ breathing getting slower the longer Harry traces aimlessly at the ink.

“Thank you for this,” he whispers, after a few moments of silence. “You didn’t have to, I know you’re tired from the show.”

“We never miss Valentine’s day,” Louis mumbles back, pressing a kiss to his hair. “That’s the rule.”

“One of the rules,” Harry smiles.

Louis sighs placing his chin on top of Harry’s hair. “One of them,” he confirms. “Can’t believe you thought I forgot.”

“To be fair, Niall, Liam, and Zayn are great actors.”

Louis chuckles, the sound vibrating through Harry. “I suppose they’re alright. I’m surprised they were able to keep you away for as long as they did.”

“They trashed the dressing room.”

Louis clicks his tongue. “Thank God they listened to me for once.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but snuggles further back into his chest. Of course, that was his idea. “You’re an idiot.”

“Oh love, but I’m your idiot,” Louis mumbles, kissing his head again, obnoxiously.

Harry can only smile in response, because yes. Louis is, in fact, his idiot.

Another silence falls over them, and Harry can tell the ending credits are about to start. By the sound of Louis’ yawn, he’ll probably let the boys back on the bus in a few minutes so they can head to bed.

Yet he stays still, enjoying the quiet and the rare moment they get alone on tour, while it lasts. Louis rubs his thumb over the top of his hand, squeezing it ever so often as his eyes focus on the ending scenes of the film.

Harry, for the first time quite possibly ever, can’t seem to focus on it. Throughout dinner, his mind had been whirring with a new tune, one that’s been forming in his mind for the last few days. He’s finally figured out.

It plays on loop in his brain as his nails graze Louis’ arm. Over the ‘oops!’, over the tally marks. They leave goosebumps in their wake, but they always do.

When the rolling credits finally appear on the screen, Louis lets out a silent yawn. “What are you humming?” he breathes out, placing his head in between the crook of Harry’s neck.

Harry just smiles as his finger drags further up the skin.

“Just a tune I’ve been toying with,” he replies softly.

Louis makes a happy noise, and Harry can feel the way his cheeks fill up and push against him when he smiles. “Any lyrics yet?”

He simply nods, slowly changing his hum to the short span of lyrics he has memorized from his journal. As he sings, he traces the compass on Louis’ forearm.

“Sweet creature, sweet creature,

When I run out of road…”