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One of Louis’ biggest pet peeves is people being late to dates.
It just annoys him how some people seem to not care about a date enough to get there on time, or at least reassure the other person that they are coming.
And that’s exactly why he’s extremely upset, alone outside of Wembley stadium’s entrance.
There are middle-aged couples walking straight past him every few seconds, some of them wearing matching jerseys, some waving flags, and some giggling like lovesick teens.
In front of him is a large crowd of energetic youngsters, who appear to be waiting for their friends. They are loudly chatting, something about the score prediction, hugging each other like they are about to go to war, and occasionally giving high-fives to newcomers.
The energy here makes excitement bubble beneath Louis’s skin and vibrate right down to the bones, he can literally feel and hear the high voltage zinging through all the people. He should be exhilarated by simply being among them, being here in his favorite event, but somehow, he feels like an outcast, all alone.
It’s 10 minutes before the match, and the guy he found on Tinder is nowhere to be seen.
He should have known it was a mistake to try online dating. Nothing good ever comes out of it.
He was never that fond of dating apps anyway, it was just that all his friends and family either have zero interest in football, or prefer watching it at home. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he could enjoy the match with someone this year. As usual, higher expectations lead to bigger disappointment. Watching crowds swarming the entrance and listening to the incredible din of chatter and laughter makes him feel smaller than ever, silently wishing the perfect company would magically fall from the sky and save him from loneliness.
By the time he gives up on waiting, more and more sweaty bodies are squeezing past him, and most of them are pushing against him harshly or stepping on his toes, only some having the decency to mumble a quiet “Sorry” when they bump into him.
Rubbing his sore shoulder, Louis decides not to let anything affect his mood — it’s the Euro Cup final after all, and it’s pretty safe to say that no one’s more excited than he is.
He swiftly walks into the stadium, cuts his way through the crowd, and finally finds his seats after shuffling across rows of people. The sight of the empty seat next to him still stings a little, reminding him that he probably just got stood up and has no one to talk to or celebrate with for the next 90 minutes.
Shaking the negative thoughts out of his head, Louis starts looking around and not-so-patiently waiting for the match to begin.
That’s when he lays his eyes on the stranger sitting next to him, and he realizes with a slight tingle that this stranger is… hot . No, it isn’t the you’re-quite-cute-kind of hot, it’s more like oh-fuck-I-am-in-love-can-we-marry-and-have-kids kind.
Which means, essentially, that Louis is fucked.
He has these chocolate curls that Louis wants to wrap his finger around so badly, a defined jawline that he wishes to press his lips on, not to mention broad shoulders and large biceps that look like they could lift Louis up oh-so-easily. Oh God, those fucking biceps . How can someone be this flawless?
Staring at the literal man of his dreams, all Louis can do is blink dumbly.
When the stranger turns around and catches Louis’ eye, he raises his eyebrows. Louis gives him his best nonchalant gaze and a weak smile, trying to hide the fact that he can’t stop staring at this Adonis-like stranger, but his color-infused cheeks are a dead giveaway.
Luckily, the match starts the moment Louis forces himself to focus on the pitch, and it temporarily makes him forget about the Greek god next to him.
Sort of.
Louis can still feel his gaze burning into his side profile, and he awkwardly shifts around in his seat, then pulls his oversized sweatshirt sleeves over his hands and plays with them mindlessly, fixing his eyes on the match.
He’s struggling to ignore the burning gaze and unfortunately, it’s getting harder and harder by the second.
“Why are you staring at me?” he finally blurts out when he can’t take it any longer, and mentally slaps himself at the exact same moment.
The horrified look on Louis’ face at his own words increases when he hears a choking noise before the stranger responds with, “Sorry, I, um, didn’t mean to — you’re just, very pretty. ”
Normally Louis wouldn’t be satisfied by this type of answer, he might even feel a little uncomfortable by how the stranger still doesn’t stop watching him, but perhaps it’s the stranger’s sincere tone or the slightly embarrassed grin on his handsome face that makes Louis feel like he’s being swarmed with butterflies instead.
“Oh, thank you.” he beams shyly.
The stranger adds, “I’m Harry, by the way.”
Before Louis gets to tell Harry his own name, thundering cheers and claps in the stadium snap their attention back to the match, and they realize that their home team has just scored. Louis immediately stands up and, without much thought, attacks Harry with an excitement-charged hug.
At that moment, an irrepressible wind of emotions is exploding in Louis’s chest, bubbling in his veins and flushing his face. His mind keeps screaming “we scored, we scored, we scored!” repeatedly, like he is trying to convince himself that this is not a dream.
While hugging Harry, Louis is also yelling and jumping up and down as if they were childhood best friends who have just reunited after years.
---
Once Louis has come down from his high, he notices something- several things actually.
The fact that Harry’s very fit is the first thing he notices.
As Louis buries his head into Harry’s muscly chest, he can feel how hard and firm it is, and he can even feel his toned abs through the thin T-shirt.
The second thing he notices is that he’s thinking about how toned a stranger is while hugging him. His cheeks immediately redden — God, why is he like this? It’s honestly a godsend that Harry can’t read his mind.
The third thing he notices is the way they fit perfectly when they hug, almost like they are two puzzle pieces that belong together, made for each other.
Harry’s holding his waist with his massive hands, and Louis has his arms wrapped around Harry’s neck effortlessly, without having to tip-toe like he always does when he hugs other people taller than him.
It just feels... right .
Then he notices that he’s squeezing Harry a bit too tightly, so he slowly pulls out of the hug. Ignoring how every single cell in his body is refusing to do so, he murmurs a quick, “Sorry” and sits back down. Harry hums noncommittally, seemingly thinking about something, and then comfortable silence washes over them.
The rest of the electrified crowd is still roaring and chanting, almost none of them have already sat down like Louis and Harry.
Feeling a bit out of place, they are both gazing down at the pitch blankly, waiting for everyone to settle down.
---
If Louis was just slightly distracted by Harry before they hugged, then he’s completely out of it after that. His mind keeps wandering back to the hug, craving for more, and the lingering sensation of Harry’s warmth doesn’t help either.
Just as he’s contemplating whether or not he should start another conversation with Harry, his date stomps towards him with an angry look on his face.
There is a tension in his manner, a tightness in his face, and his eyes move more robotically than others.
“Why didn’t you fucking wait for me?” he yells loudly, causing several heads to turn towards them, and making Louis flinch a little.
The date is towering over Louis and glaring at him with rage, he is standing only about a foot away at this point. His cheeks are flushed red and he clenches his jaw so tight, looking like he’s about to straight-up murder someone in the next second.
This is all so… ridiculous to Louis, he’s not the one who’s late to a date, why the fuck is he getting yelled at? But as much as Louis hates to admit it, the intense glaring and yelling does scare him a lot, rendering him almost wordless. The man in front of him is quite buff, and clearly mad. Who knows what he’ll do if Louis talks back?
Louis didn’t exactly want to find out.
“Why? Louis? Huh? So you can hook up with another guy?” The date leans closer and points at Harry aggressively. When the thought of Harry getting hurt pops up in his mind, Louis immediately panics and abruptly stands up, his mind swirling and his breaths shallow as tears start falling down his cheek.
“Enough, man. You’re obviously late for your date, it was totally reasonable for Louis to go in first or else he would’ve missed part of the game. If you don’t stop harassing us, I will be contacting security right now.” Harry fumes, his eyes darkening.
He then firmly grabs Louis’ hands and pulls him behind his back protectively. Louis staggers backward a little and gives Harry a concerned glance, but he squeezes his hand reassuringly.
The date seems to be slightly intimidated by Harry and his words, so he just huffs and mutters some insults and curses before he walks away to find another available seat.
The moment that man disappears from his eyesight, Louis lets out a long breath he didn’t know he had been holding, his legs weaken and he collapses into his seat.
“You okay?” Harry also sits back down, then softly cups Louis’ face, and wipes away the tears on his tear-stained cheeks with his thumb.
Louis nods, still processing what just happened.
“So… Louis, huh? What a pretty name for a pretty boy,” Harry says, attempting to lighten the mood.
“Awe, thank you” Louis laughs a little. “Your one’s not bad too... Harry,” he teases.
“Oh, believe me, I know,” Harry smiles cheekily.
This makes them both throw their heads back, laughing like little kids.
---
“I would like to take you out on a date this weekend, what do you say?”
“Okay.”
“Okay?’
“Yes, silly.”
---
Maybe something good does come out of people being late to dates after all.